Star Wars: Lost Tribe of the Sith # 4 Savior Page 2

  “Will I see you again?”

  “What, today?”

  “No, I meant, ever?” Korsin laughed again. She’s uneasy, he thought. He wondered why. “Of course, today. We’re in the same city now, aren’t we?”

  Adari rolled her eyes at the colossal building behind them. “That’s a lot of effort just to have me around more.” She managed a smile.

  “Well, just know that I won’t be here tomorrow,” Korsin said. “Seelah’s medcenter is moving here from the temple. I’ll head up in the morning to inspect the whole place before we close everything down. It’s only for a day.”

  Absorbing his words, Adari touched his hand. “I should be going.”

  As she stepped away, Korsin looked again at his daughter, across the yard. Nida had paused to watch Jariad and his humbled combatants marching deliberately to their own mounts.

  And Tona, he saw, was watching her.

  “Your son should be careful, Adari,” Korsin said. “He’s been spending a lot of time with Nida.” He smirked. “It’s that Korsin charm that keeps you Vaals around.”

  “Well, not today, Your Grand Lordship,” Adari said, gesturing to her approaching son. “Tona’s coming with me. Family business.”

  “I understand,” Korsin said. Family business. Watching Jariad fly off to the north, he wished he had less of it himself.

  Years before, Izri Dazh had been her tormentor. Inquisitor for the Neshtovar, Dazh had branded Adari Vaal a heretic for not hewing to the legends about Kesh’s creation—and the role in it of their gods from above, the Skyborn.

  Dazh was long dead. But now his sons and grandsons sat silently across from Adari in Dazh’s candlelit drawing room. Adari’s resistance movement had met in various places over the years, from beneath an aqueduct to the back of an uvak stable Tona ran in Tahv. But seldom had they met in such luxury—or what had been considered luxury, before Adari brought people claiming to be the Skyborn into their midst to reshape the Keshiri’s standards. Now, in the dwelling that had once temporarily housed Grand Lord Korsin himself, Neshtovar and heretic together decided the fate of the Keshiri people.

  “This will work,” she said. “What you’ve taught me about uvak—what we’ve arranged for your people to do. This will work.”

  “It had better,” rumbled the eldest male. “We’re giving up a lot.”

  “You’ve already given up a lot. This is the only way back.”

  Adari knew she’d taken a chance by bringing members of the Neshtovar into her circle. But it had to be done, while the older Neshtovar still remembered what had been taken from them by the Sith. The memory of the benefits her old society had unfairly heaped on the uvak-riders had gained their cooperation now.

  Adari had recently realized that the uvak were the key. The Sith were powerful; one, acting alone, could keep scores of Keshiri at bay, perhaps even an entire village. But they had to reach the village first. And here, Kesh, with its sprawling landmass, worked against them.

  The Sith numbered nearly six hundred now, almost double what they had arrived with. But the villages of Kesh were more numerous still. Maintaining order required the Sith to make frequent uvak-flights to the hinterlands. Neshtovar fliers of another era had united the continent by surmounting the many natural barriers. Now the Sith used the same strategy, dispatching circuit riders to make appearances and consult with local bureaucracies, mostly staffed by onetime members of the Neshtovar.

  But while they were the Sith’s lieutenants on the ground, the Neshtovar were now also grounded. Though the Sith had taken the strongest uvak for themselves soon after their arrival, that still left teeming thousands of domesticated beasts to the Keshiri. Most had been employed as animal labor, but the Neshtovar were still allowed to fly uvak on visits to the Sith mountain retreat, among other administrative chores.

  That had ended after the disaster at the lakes. Uvak-riders were the Keshiri’s traditional news bearers, but the Sith wanted no word spread but theirs. Former riders not reduced to police work were now keeping the stables, nurturing creatures they would never be allowed to ride. Their uvak belonged to Sith probably still in the crèche. Adari had been allowed to keep Nink so that she could continue to visit Korsin, but she was the only one.

  “Korsin is going to the mountain temple tomorrow,” she said. “Seelah is there—and Jariad has left for the north.”

  The Neshtovar men nodded to one another. “Very good,” the eldest said. “We have adequate numbers in place everywhere, if your head count is right.”

  “It is.” Her movement included Keshiri aides to many of the major Sith. Tilden Kaah had been counting heads among Seelah’s retinue; she had other people close to Korsin and Jariad. Her son was even keeping track of Nida’s flying performers. “Noon tomorrow. This will work.”

  She thought about Korsin as she stepped into the torchlit alleyway behind the dwelling. Summoned—by Seelah?—Korsin wouldn’t go alone to the temple, no matter how mundane the matter. She double-checked the figures she’d marked on her hand. Yes, she’d have enough people there, just among the stable hands closing up shop.

  Tona appeared from the darkness. “I’ve been waiting.”

  “Sorry,” Adari said, looking up. “They wanted to go over everything again.”

  She could see her son’s flickering disappointment as he stepped into the light. She’d always thought both her children favored their father; now, in his late twenties, Tona surprised her with how much he was looking like her.

  “I should have been with you, Mother. I’m of the Neshtovar, too.”

  “They’re just being careful, Tona. The fewer people who know the details, the better.”

  “I want to ride with you tomorrow,” Tona said.

  “You’ve got your own job to do here,” Adari said. “And you’ll see me when you’ve succeeded.” She touched his cheek. “You shouldn’t be away from Nida and her people too long. Tomorrow will be busy. Get some sleep.”

  Adari watched as he turned into the night. Sweet, simple Tona. She hadn’t told him everything—but then, how could she? Her late mother had never understood her heresy—or her canonization. How could her son accept her martyrdom?

  The golden age had begun, Seelah thought as she surveyed her empty wardroom. And she was responsible.

  They’d done good work here in the years she ran the Tribe’s medical staff. All local maladies had been identified and controlled. With Keshiri aid, Seelah’s biologists had scoured the countryside, indexing botanical remedies useful to humans. The Force-healing skills of her staff, far from atrophying, had increased. So had the survival rate of amputees.

  The Tribe was a purer people, too—thanks to her attention to eugenics. Before too many generations, the blood of the Sith on Kesh would be fully human. She was sorry she wouldn’t live to see it.

  Or would she? A pleasant thought.

  But the Sith were already more pleasing to look at. She’d instilled in the younglings a respect for their bodies, a lust for physical perfection. The Sith Lords they’d left behind were atrocious role models: most of them a barbarian jangle of baubles and war paint. Seelah’s Tribe would have none of that. Tattoos were labels for slaves. A Sith of Kesh was already born a work of art.

  And after the losses in the purge, the Tribe’s numbers had begun to increase rapidly in the last few years. The prospect of a warm home near sea level was enough to stir the most independent-minded Sith with thoughts of family. Out in the courtyard, Seelah saw the Tribe’s leading hedonist, Orlenda, enormously pregnant. Wonders never ceased.

  “That’s everything,” Orlenda said, propping herself against a rickety cart of supplies about to leave for Tahv. The younger woman looked down nervously; Korsin was to arrive any minute. “Do … do you want me here for this? I can’t fly, but I can ride down on this cart with the breakables.”

  Seelah bit her lip. Seeing Orlenda at Seelah’s side when he arrived would put Korsin at ease. But if something went wrong here, Orlenda could make sure
Seelah’s policies lived on. “Go,” she said, sighing. “But hurry. They’re arriving.”

  Orlenda rattled off behind Keshiri bearers. Besides uvak, they were Kesh’s only beasts of burden.

  It was time. Seelah hurried toward the plaza formed by the domiciles and Omen’s shrine. Korsin’s entourage landed at the far end. Right on schedule, for a change. Korsin and Gloyd’s four bodyguards took their positions as Keshiri attendants walked the uvak away. Their stables would be the very last thing to close.

  Korsin studied the plaza around him.

  “Ah, Seelah. There you are.” He stepped toward her. Out in the open.

  “Yes. There you are.” She closed her eyes and concentrated. Now, Jariad!

  Chapter Three

  It wasn’t the rush of bodies that startled Korsin so much as where they came from. Black-clad Sith descended upon the plaza from the living quarters—doorways, upper windows, rooftops—and from the ramparts of Omen’s multilevel temple. Korsin ignited his lightsaber and stood his ground as the invaders approached. They were Jariad’s Sabers, the same team from the previous morning.

  Korsin exchanged glances with Gloyd. Their bodyguards flanked them, forming a defensive huddle facing outward. Four to one. “Stick together.”

  Korsin watched as Jariad strode purposefully from the temple doorway, weapon lit. “This doesn’t look like the Northern Reaches to me, Jariad.”

  His nephew said nothing. He had that wild look again. Devore’s look.

  “I agreed to your little group to give you something to do,” Korsin yelled. He addressed Jariad’s stern companions. “You should be ashamed. Get back to Tahv.”

  “I’m not like Nida,” Jariad said, still approaching. “I don’t need hobbies. Enough time has been wasted.” He walked around his confederates, now forming a perimeter of glowing lightsabers around Korsin’s group. “It’s time to make your reckoning, Commander Korsin. You told us yourself. A new age has dawned. It’s time for military authority to end. This is about succession—about who should best lead the Tribe.”

  “Who? You?” Korsin tried to act surprised—and chuckled. “Oh, Jariad—I really don’t think so. Go home.”

  Jariad froze, evidently aware of the watchful stares from his own forces. Gloyd, seeming to catch the idea, guffawed. “Commander, I wouldn’t put this one in charge of mucking out the uvak stalls.”

  “I’m the future!” Jariad boomed. “I’m the youngest of those born on high. All Sith after me are Kesh-born.” He raised his lightsaber. “The leader of the Sith should be special.”

  Korsin glared—and growled. “You’re not special. I’ve seen your like before.”

  A woman’s voice rang out. “Tell him about it!” Seelah. He’d forgotten about her. She stood at the end of the plaza, now joined by several of her loyal retainers. All armed. “Tell him about how you saw his father die, Yaru. Tell him how you killed him and threw his body onto the rocks, all to keep control of us!”

  Korsin started to respond, only to see Jariad step backward. The Sabers closed in. Clearly, Jariad was going to let them take the first blows before entering for the kill. Korsin steeled himself—and looked to the clouds. Noon.

  Suddenly shadowy figures sailed across the quad. Five, ten—dozens of creatures took to the skies, lifting from behind the temple. Uvak.

  Theirs.

  “What in blazes?” Jariad looked to his mother. Seelah appeared to have no more idea than he did.

  An answer finally came from one of her aides, rushing breathlessly up the staircase to the plaza. “The stable-hands—the Keshiri! They’re stealing our uvak!”

  Several of Jariad’s Sabers looked up, stunned. Korsin saw his chance. He and Gloyd launched toward the black-suits on their side, sweeping a deadly path toward the nearest building. Their bodyguards closed in behind them, blocking pursuit as best they could.

  Korsin and Gloyd dashed through the building, followed by a mob of Sabers. Korsin made for the staircase, beckoning for Gloyd to follow.

  “Nice trick, Commander,” Gloyd said. “But we could’ve used more than that!”

  “It’s not my trick,” Korsin said, reaching a window. “And you’re right!”

  He looked urgently toward the skies and probed the Force in vain. He had been delivered from the mountain years before. But he could sense that his deliverer now was far away.

  Her riding had improved since her first desperate flight, years before. Now Adari ably guided Nink as he soared, following the jagged coastline below. Behind her flew more than a hundred uvak—the entire population of the stables at the mountain temple, ridden by Keshiri stable hands, domestics, and laborers. All agents of Adari’s movement, all carefully positioned there for this day. If any mounts had been left to the Sith in the temple, no one was using them to follow.

  The flock approaching far from the east was one of hers. There’d be others. In villages across the continent, the same thing would be happening: Neshtovar conspirators merely tending their uvak would, instead, take to the air with them, leaving none behind.

  There wouldn’t be riders enough, but that didn’t matter. While not natural herd animals, even unbroken uvak were strongly suggestible to the booming bleats of elder males—the exact sort the Neshtovar tended. Stories had been passed down of aerial roundups over the centuries, with riders leading clouds of the reptiles through the sky. Adari’s would be a rolling storm front, sweeping up all the animals in the countryside in vast, successive waves. They’d crafted their routes to funnel every uvak that wasn’t tied down toward the Sessal Spire, looming ahead in its smoldering majesty.

  Here, safely away from the crater, the lead riders would set their beasts down just long enough to dismount. Remaining aloft, Adari would order Nink to give a nesting cry: a powerful command compelling all uvak within earshot to immediately follow. At forty, pampered Nink was the oldest uvak in memory. All uvak would blindly heed his command—briefly. But long enough, Adari figured, for her to soar into the clouds high above the smoking crater—and disappear.

  It wouldn’t be suicide. It would be deliverance.

  The Sith had traveled far on uvak-back, but the Neshtovar were the recipients of generations of knowledge of the air currents of Kesh. They knew the odd things the jet stream did when the Sessal Spire acted up. Riders flying high enough simply vanished, hurtling beyond the morning horizon, far over the great eastern sea. She would climb high—and the wind would claim her and any uvak that followed.

  Despite her initial dislike of uvak, she winced at the thought of what would follow. The frantic flock would struggle against the vortex, but at such an elevation, Kesh was in command. Perhaps a similar phenomenon had disabled the Sith vessel; Adari didn’t know. But by the time the winds weakened, she—and every uvak she could convince to follow—would be headed for a watery end. Just like my husband, she mused.

  Her co-conspirators loved their uvak, but they hated the Sith more. They had often discussed what would happen next. The Sith leaders would descend on their service path, but it would take time—time during which Adari’s allies would strike at the major Sith sympathizers in each village. There would be no open resistance. It would be shikkar blades in the night. The Sith might be proud.

  In truth, of course, the Sith would lash out. Tahv would surely feel their wrath. But the Sith would be running their pogrom on foot. Their transportation would be gone from the map—literally. And the Keshiri would find it easier to kill the remaining stray uvak than Sith.

  The Sith now had young of their own to protect; they might simply stake out a chunk of territory for themselves and leave it at that. Or, better still, they might retire to their mountain refuge for good. Most Keshiri still idolized their Protectors—but as long as some of them were willing to poison their masters, they would forever be a danger.

  Presuming poison killed the Sith at all. Adari had never really shared her confederates’ enthusiasm about the aftermath. She knew what the Sith were capable of. It might take a thousan
d Keshiri to kill a single one. But even if it did? Right now, the odds still favored the Keshiri. They wouldn’t later on. Which is why this has to be today, she thought.

  Kesh teemed with life. That one of its species would pay a price for its usefulness was tragic. But the Keshiri had already paid a price for their own usefulness to the Sith. Both had to end.

  Her group merging with the fliers from the east, Adari whipped Nink around and looked in the direction of Tahv. That would be the big wave.

  When it arrived.

  Where were they?

  Seelah dashed across the rooftop of her old home. For half her life, she’d awakened to the same view of the sea that had swallowed Devore. Now, looking down, she saw her forces closing in on the man who’d sent him there.

  She hadn’t seen how, but Korsin and Gloyd had gotten separated. The lumbering Houk was still alive, she knew—her loyal aides had chased him into another part of the complex. But Korsin was the key. He’d chosen his bodyguards well. Two remained alive, injured but effective in their misguided defense.

  Jariad’s team of Sabers, meanwhile, had proven lacking in formal training. He’d insisted on being their only mentor, but had only begun serious combat training in recent weeks, after Seelah made the decision to strike. Jariad reminded her more of his father every day. There was no corner Devore Korsin would not cut.

  The uvak disappearance was an unexpected problem, but it cut equally, removing escape for all. The Keshiri had cleared all the animals out. Had Jariad made that preparation without telling her? Unlikely. But it seemed to have affected Korsin’s hopes. There, down on the reinforced slope beside Omen’s temple, he continued to look up. Seelah was certain he wasn’t looking at her.

  She relished the view. Jariad had Korsin now. Trained or not, his Sabers had the numbers. As his bodyguards lagged, Korsin backed toward the precipice, the same mark from which Devore had fallen. Jariad would like that. He seemed to be relishing every moment—slashing again and again at Korsin, his blade occasionally finding its mark. Korsin was hurt now—bleeding badly. Jariad pushed ever closer, driving his uncle backward.