“First and second units, go check out that ship,” he said. “Third unit explores the camp with me.”
Nine Jedi rushed off toward the Loranda, while Tho’natu and the others approached the camp. What they saw as they drew nearer filled them with revulsion: Someone had been literally chopped to pieces.
Eviscerated chunks of human anatomy littered the ground around the campfire. Arms had been hewn off at the shoulder, then sliced again at the elbows and wrist. The same had been done to the lower limbs, dismembered into feet, legs, and thighs. Even the torso had been carved into quarters. The clean, cauterized cuts left no doubt the butcher’s weapon of choice had been a lightsaber.
Only the head remained whole, placed like a trophy atop an upside-down cooking pot resting on the ground. A human male with long, black hair, he appeared to have been forty or fifty years of age. His features were twisted in a gruesome mask of pain and terror; Tho’natu wondered how many of the wounds had been inflicted while he was still alive.
“What kind of madness could make someone do this?” one of the others asked, but Master Tho’natu had no answer.
At a nod from their commander, the Jedi ignited their weapons. They crept toward the small shack, their commander in the lead. As a unit, they stopped when he heard a soft sound coming from inside the building: hard ragged breaths broken by trembling sobs and whimpers of fear.
A tattered blanket hung down across the building’s open doorway, obscuring their view. The Twi’lek reached out with the Force to try to sense whoever was hiding inside, but something—likely the strange, underlying power of the campsite itself—blurred his awareness.
“I am Master Tho’natu of the Jedi,” he called out, flicking off his lightsaber’s blade. “We’re here to help you.”
A scream of incoherent rage erupted from the shack. A young man burst from the doorway, brandishing a golden lightsaber above his head in his left hand. His right hand was nothing but a stump, and there was a crazed gleam in his eye.
“No!” he shrieked as he charged at them, flailing wildly with his weapon. “You’ll never get me! No! No! No!”
Master Tho’natu ignited his blade as the man fell on him with the fury of madness, his cries turning to mindless, beastly howls. The rest of his team reacted on instinct, leaping to their commander’s defense. The battle lasted less than three seconds, the raving young man cut down by a swarm of Jedi lightsabers.
When it was over, the Jedi took up defensive positions facing the shack, weapons poised as they braced themselves for another potential attack. For several seconds nothing happened, and there were no further sounds of life from inside. Motioning for the others to stay back, Tho’natu crept forward and pulled aside the blanket covering the doorway.
The room beyond was empty except for five lightsaber handles lying beside the door. The Jedi Master stepped inside the small building, his keen mind quickly piecing together what must have happened.
He recalled that Farfalla had used a golden blade, just like the one the man had attacked them with. The lightsabers here were trophies, taken from those who had died on Tython by their killer. The man outside was young, but the Jedi were taught that the dark side led to quick and easy power—power enough to kill Farfalla and the others, especially if they’d been led into some type of trap. The Sith had slain the Jedi and claimed their weapons, though he must have suffered grievous injuries in the battle, including the loss of his hand.
He had probably tried to call on the power of the dark side to heal himself. But the Jedi Master knew the dark side couldn’t heal; it only caused harm. The misguided attempt was likely what damaged the young man’s mind. Wounded and half mad, he had come to Ambria to seek aid from the healer. By the time he arrived at this place he would have been near death, and completely helpless.
That’s when Caleb must have dispatched the message drone to warn the Jedi.
A Sith Lord still lives. He killed five Jedi on Tython. He is now on Ambria, under the care of a healer named Caleb. He is badly injured and helpless.
He must have sensed who and what the young man was as he healed his horrific injuries. But Caleb had underestimated the Sith Lord’s power—and the degenerating state of his madness. Before the Jedi could arrive, the Sith had recovered enough to torture and kill Caleb for exposing him. The healer’s prolonged and visceral death must have further fueled the young man’s psychosis, reducing him to the raving creature that had lunged at them from the hut.
All the pieces fit. It all made sense.
“Master,” one of the other Jedi said, peeking in through the door. “The rest of the camp is deserted.”
“What about the ship? The Loranda?”
“Nobody on board,” he reported. “It looks like somebody sabotaged her before we got here.”
Probably Caleb, Tho’natu realized. He wanted to make sure the Sith couldn’t escape. If the young man had found out, that could explain the brutality of Caleb’s death.
“It would probably only take two or three days to make the repairs,” the Jedi informed him.
“Leave it for the junkers,” the Twi’lek said with a shake of his head. There were only two things he wanted to bring back from this accursed place. “Collect the healer’s remains. We’ll give him a proper burial on Coruscant.”
The man nodded and scurried off to relay his orders.
Master Tho’natu bent over and gathered up the lightsabers of his fallen comrades from Tython, so they could be given a place of honor in the Temple. The loss of Farfalla and his companions was a terrible tragedy, as was what had happened here. But at least he could go back to the Jedi Council and tell them with absolute certainty that the last of the Sith Lords had died on Ambria.
He exited the small shack and headed back to his ship, knowing that the memories of the gruesome massacre on Ambria would haunt him for the rest of his life. He never thought to examine the small sleeping mat in the corner. He never noticed the trapdoor built into the floor beneath it. And he never sensed the apprentice and her unconscious Master, masked by Sith sorcery, hiding silently in the cellar just below his feet.
EPILOGUE
It took Zannah three days to make the repairs to the Loranda. She’d loaded Bane into the ship and hooked him up to the bacta pump so he could continue to recuperate while she worked, sedating him to accelerate the healing process. Now that their vessel was ready to leave Ambria, she went in to check on her Master one last time.
He was still unconscious, lying on his back on the gurney as she had left him. She stepped forward to check his vitals and his eyes flew open, burning with rage. His hand snapped out and seized her wrist, clenching it with the strength of an iron claw.
“Where are the Jedi?” he asked in a fierce whisper, fixing her with a look of pure hatred as he lifted himself up onto one elbow. His grip on her wrist tightened, making her wince.
“They’re gone,” she said, trying to stay calm. “They’ve gone back to Coruscant.”
She could feel Bane’s power—whole once more—coursing through his veins. She could feel the heat of his anger, and she knew one wrong word and he’d snap her neck in two with the Force.
“Why?” he growled.
“They think they killed the Dark Lord on Ambria,” she replied. “They think the Sith are extinct.”
Bane tilted his head to the side, curious. “Caleb?”
“I killed him.”
“Your cousin?
“Dead. Killed by the Jedi.”
An unwanted vision of the pitiful creature she had turned Darovit into flashed through her mind. She remembered him huddled in the corner, quivering in terror. He clutched the handle of a lightsaber against his chest, his only defense against the horrors and nightmares he saw crawling toward him from every corner. She swept the memory away with a quick shake of her head.
Bane released his hold and lay back in his bed, his anger fading.
“You have done well, Zannah,” he said, his ever-cunning mind filling in
the blanks enough for him to surmise what she had done. She smiled at the compliment.
“I underestimated you,” he continued. “Had I known your plans, I would never have asked you to kill me.”
“You still have much to teach me,” Zannah reminded him. “I will continue to study at your feet, Master. I will learn from your wisdom. I will discover your secrets, unlocking them one by one until everything you know—all your knowledge and all your power—is mine. And once you are no longer of use to me, I will destroy you.”
Bane raised an eyebrow at her words, and she could tell he approved. Her ambition was good; it would give her power. Her talents and abilities would continue to grow. In time, she would challenge her Master for the right to rule, and only the stronger would survive. It was inevitable. It was the way of the Sith.
“One day I will surpass you,” Zannah warned him. “And on that day I will kill you, Lord Bane. But that day is not today.”
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
DREW KARPYSHYN is the New York Times bestselling author of Star Wars: Darth Bane: Path of Destruction and its sequel, Star Wars: Darth Bane: Rule of Two. He also wrote the acclaimed Mass Effect series of novels, and is an award-winning writer/designer of video games for BioWare. After spending most of his life in Canada he finally grew tired of the long, cold winters and headed south in search of a climate more conducive to year-round golf. He now lives in Texas with his wife, Jennifer, and their cat.
BOOKS BY DREW KARPYSHYN
Baldur’s Gate II: Throne of Bhaal
Temple Hill
Mass Effect: Revelation
Mass Effect: Ascension
Star Wars: Darth Bane: Path of Destruction
Star Wars: Darth Bane: Rule of Two
Star Wars: Darth Bane: Dynasty of Evil
STAR WARS—The Expanded Universe
You saw the movies. You watched the cartoon series, or maybe played some of the video games. But did you know …
In The Empire Strikes Back, Princess Leia Organa said to Han Solo, “I love you.” Han said, “I know.” But did you know that they actually got married? And had three Jedi children: the twins, Jacen and Jaina, and a younger son, Anakin?
Luke Skywalker was trained as a Jedi by Obi-Wan Kenobi and Yoda. But did you know that, years later, he went on to revive the Jedi Order and its commitment to defending the galaxy from evil and injustice?
Obi-Wan said to Luke, “For over a thousand generations, the Jedi Knights were the guardians of peace and justice in the Old Republic. Before the dark times. Before the Empire.” Did you know that over those millennia, legendary Jedi and infamous Sith Lords were adding their names to the annals of Republic history?
Yoda explained that the dreaded Sith tend to come in twos: “Always two, there are. No more, no less. A Master, and an apprentice.” But did you know that the Sith didn’t always exist in pairs? That at one time in the ancient Republic there were as many Sith as Jedi, until a Sith Lord named Darth Bane was the lone survivor of a great Sith war and created the “Rule of Two”?
All this and much, much more is brought to life in the many novels and comics of the Star Wars expanded universe. You’ve seen the movies and watched the cartoon. Now venture out into the wider worlds of Star Wars!
Turn the page or jump to the timeline of Star Wars novels to learn more.
PROLOGUE
Darth Bane, the reigning Dark Lord of the Sith, kicked the covers from his bed and swung his feet over the edge, resting them on the cold marble floor. He tilted his head from side to side, straining to work out the knots in his heavily muscled neck and shoulders.
He finally rose with an audible grunt. Taking a deep breath, he exhaled slowly, reaching his arms up high above his head as he stretched to his full two-meter height. He could feel the sharp pop-pop-pop of each individual vertebra along his spine loosening as he extended himself until his fingertips brushed against the ceiling.
Satisfied, he lowered his arms and scooped up his lightsaber from the ornate nightstand at the side of the bed. The curved handle felt reassuring in his grip. Familiar. Solid. Yet holding it couldn’t stop his free hand from trembling ever so slightly. Scowling, he clenched his left hand into a fist, the fingers digging into the flesh of his palm—a crude but effective way to tame the tremor.
Moving silently, he slipped from the bedchamber out into the hallways of the mansion he now called home. Luminous tapestries covered the walls and colorful, handwoven rugs lined the corridors as he made his way past room after room, each decorated with custom-made furniture, rare objets d’art, and other unmistakable signs of wealth. It took him almost a full minute to traverse the length of the building and reach the back door that led out to the open-air grounds surrounding his estate.
Barefoot and naked from the waist up, he shivered and glanced down at the abstract mosaic of the stone courtyard illuminated in the light of Ciutric IV’s twin moons. Goose bumps crawled across his flesh, but he ignored the night’s chill as he ignited his lightsaber and began to practice the aggressive forms of Djem So.
His muscles groaned in protest, his joints clicking and grinding as he moved carefully through a variety of sequences. Slash. Feint. Thrust. The soles of his feet slapped softly against the surface of the courtyard stones, a sporadic rhythm marking the progress of every advance and retreat against his imaginary opponent.
The last vestiges of sleep and fatigue clung stubbornly to his body, spurring the tiny voice inside that urged him to abandon his training and return to the comfort of his bed. Bane drowned it out by silently reciting the opening line of the Sith Code: Peace is a lie; there is only passion.
Ten standard years had passed since he had lost his orbalisk armor. Ten years since his body had been burned almost beyond recognition by the devastating power of Force lightning unleashed from his own hand. Ten years since the healer Caleb had brought him back from the brink of death and Zannah, his apprentice, had slaughtered Caleb and the Jedi who had come to find them.
Thanks to Zannah’s manipulations, the Jedi now believed the Sith to be extinct. Bane and his apprentice had spent the decade since those events perpetuating that myth: living in the shadows, gathering resources, and harboring their strength for the day they would strike back against the Jedi. On that glorious day the Sith would reveal themselves, even as they wiped their enemies from existence.
Bane knew he might never live to see that day. He was in his midforties now, and the first faint scars of time and age had begun to leave their marks on his body. Yet he had dedicated himself to the idea that one day, even if it took centuries, the Sith—his Sith—would rule the galaxy.
As he continued to ignore the aches and pains that inevitably accompanied the first half of his nightly regime, Bane’s movements began to pick up speed. The air hissed and crackled as it was split time and time again by the crimson blade that had become an extension of his indomitable will.
He still cut an imposing figure. The powerful muscles built up during a youth spent working the mines on Apatros rippled beneath his skin, flexing with each slash and strike of his lightsaber. But a tiny sliver of the brute strength he once possessed had been whittled away.
He leapt high in the air, his lightsaber arcing above his head before chopping straight down in a blow powerful enough to cleave an enemy in two. His feet hit the hard surface of the courtyard stones with a sharp, sudden smack as he landed. Bane still moved with fierce grace and terrifying intensity. His lightsaber still flickered with blinding speed as he performed his martial drills, yet it was the merest fraction slower than it had once been.
The aging process was subtle, but inescapable. Bane accepted this; what he lost in strength and speed he could easily compensate for with wisdom, knowledge, and experience. But it was not age that was to blame for the involuntary tremor that sometimes afflicted his left hand.
A shadow passed over one of the twin moons; a dark cloud heavy with the threat of a fierce storm. Bane paused, briefly considering cutting his ritual sh
ort to avoid the impending downpour. But his muscles were warm now, and the blood was pumping furiously through his veins. The minor aches and pains were gone, banished by the adrenaline rush of intense physical training. Now was no time to quit.
Feeling a blast of cold wind blow in, he crouched low and opened himself up to the Force, letting it flow through him. Drawing on it to extend his awareness out to encompass each individual bead of rain as it fell from the sky, he resolved not to let a single drop touch his exposed flesh.
He could sense the power of the dark side building inside him. It began, as it always did, with a faint spark, a tiny flicker of light and heat. Muscles tense and coiled in anticipation, he fed the spark, fueling it with his own passion, letting his anger and fury transform the flame into an inferno waiting to be unleashed.
As the first fat drops splattered onto the patio stones around him, Bane exploded into action. Abandoning the overpowering style of Djem So, he shifted to the quicker sequences of Soresu, his lightsaber tracing tight circles above his head in a series of movements designed to intercept enemy blaster bolts.
The wind rose to a howling gale, and the scattered drops quickly became a downpour. His body and mind united as one, he channeled the infinite power of the Force against the driving rain. Tiny clouds of hissing steam formed as his blade picked off the descending drops while Bane twisted, twirled, and contorted his body to evade those few that managed to slip through his defenses.
For the next ten minutes he battled the pelting storm, reveling in the power of the dark side. And then, as suddenly as it had begun, the tempest was gone, the dark cloud scurrying away on the breeze. Breathing hard, Bane extinguished his lightsaber. His skin was sheened in sweat, but not a single drop of rain had touched his bare flesh.
Sudden storms were an almost nightly occurrence on Ciutric, particularly here in the lush forest on the outskirts of the capital city of Daplona. Yet this minor inconvenience was easily tolerated when set against all the advantages the planet had to offer.