Darth Maul: Restraint

Star Wars

Darth Maul

Restraint

by James Luceno

uploaded : 26.IV.2012

###############################################################################

Before Maul was a Sith—before he was Darth Maul—he was a young man, made to hide his true nature as he learned the ways of combat.

In the shadows, though, Darth Sidious taught him about the cruelty and power of the dark side of the Force.

It was the only world he knew, and he yearned for the chance to embrace what he knew to be his destiny.

But then his past came to reclaim him, and his whole world changed…

Above the frozen floor of the Vale of Pale Tears, young Maul zigzagged for cover, the scuffed toes of his combat boots digging into fragile ground, black-gloved hands seeking purchase where the grade steepened. Once more the gritty soil shifted under his feet and he fell hard on his right knee. Low-energy blaster bolts fired from below struck the slope to all sides of him, flinging hot shingle into his unprotected face. A bolt caught him in the calf as he scrambled upward, and he cursed his carelessness. As it was, his utility suit was holed from previous strikes, and his body was rashed with coin-sized welts and burns. If the goal of the pursuit had been elimination rather than capture, he would already be lying dead on the frigid bank of the valley’s meandering river.

A tall pinnacle of eroded stone provided momentary shelter. Maul narrowed himself behind it as blaster bolts added to the abuses nature had wrought. Breathless in the thin air and favoring his right knee, he lowered himself to peer from behind the base of the pillar. Ordinary eyes wouldn’t have been able to trace the movements of his would-be captors, but eyes enhanced by the Force allowed him to outsmart the camouflage provided by their suits. In the lead hurried the human, Meltch Krakko, who would have shot Maul years ago if not for Trezza’s intervention. Flanking him loped two of the short-snouted Rodians Meltch had trained, Hubnutz and Fretch, skilled in both tracking and sharp-shooting.

Even holding his genuine powers back, he had enjoyed a solid lead until a surprise move by Meltch had forced Maul to divert from his original plan. Splashing through the iced river, clambering into the rugged terrain of the valley’s north wall … Beings from hot, humid worlds shouldn’t have been able to keep up with him. But along with the mimetic suits, the Rodians were sporting respirator masks. As for Meltch, he was built for any climate, any terrain, and decades of combat on diverse worlds had transformed him into a kind of super-soldier. Not extraordinary in the way Maul was, but powerful in another way.

A profane way, as he had been taught to think of it.

Pressing his back to the pocked spire, he scanned his immediate surroundings, then lifted his gaze to the summit of the slope, limned against the cloudless blue-green sky. This part of Orsis was a landscape more suited to the planet’s outermost moon, and the reason the valley and its sinuous river were known as Pale Tears. Descending raggedly from the face of a volcano ten kilometers high, the river spilled onto a deeply fissured tableland, and over the eons had fashioned from the valley wall a veritable forest of mesas and towering pinnacles, cleaved by crevasses and dotted with spiny cacti whose translucent juice was said to cause hallucinations in some species.

A blaster bolt whizzed past the vestigial horns that crowned Maul’s hairless black and red skull, and he shot to his feet. A quick follow-up glance revealed that his pursuers were attempting to surround him, covering for one another as they raced between protective outcroppings, trusting in the masking properties of their high-tech outfits. Maul raised his blaster and drew a bead on the nearest Rodian, forefinger trembling on the trigger, as if urging him to shoot. And he would have, if not for the blowback that would follow from seeing what he shouldn’t have been able to see. Frustrated, he bared his teeth to the cold dry wind sweeping down from the glacier and muttered another curse. Only when he was compelled to remain in the profane world did his feet slip out from under him and his lungs strain to deliver sufficient oxygen to his muscles. Only in the profane world was he forced to play the inferior quarry to safeguard his strength in the Force.

Better to wait, he told himself. Better to lead the three of them to higher ground, where the air was even thinner and the mimetic suits would be hard-pressed to provide concealment. There he would turn the tables in what might at least appear to be an ordinary way.

In his thoughts, his Master spoke to him: Imagine your trail, and the Force will open it.

Backing out of the pinnacle’s meager shadow, he deliberately showed himself for an instant before commencing another upward slalom. Blaster bolts dogged his churning footsteps, then caught him in the same calf—and in the right shoulder. This time he engulfed the pain, and used it to fuel his mounting anger. But Meltch had to be wondering why his prey wasn’t slowing down or accepting defeat. So Maul stumbled before resuming his pace. A climb of some four hundred meters brought him just short of the valley rim, where water and wind had created a maze of spires and pinnacles.

How simple it would be to soar through them, leaving scarcely an imprint of my boots. But not here, not now; not in the profane world.

Well-aimed bolts caromed and ricocheted from the spires, filling the air with particulate debris. Maul turned once to return fire, missing wildly, as he should. The shooting stopped as he threaded his way deeper into the stony labyrinth, edging through tight passages, crawling through others, leaping narrow chasms. With the rim in sight, he began to formulate a plan for catching his pursuers unaware. Meltch would be harder to fool than the Rodians. By now the Mandalorian knew all of Maul’s tricks, and indeed was responsible for his learning some of them. But Maul had learned some of Meltch’s tricks that the human hadn’t meant to teach, and was counting on the fact that the Mandalorian would send the Rodians to outflank him, while he himself continued to hound Maul from behind.

Emerging from the spires, he crouched for a moment in the whistling silence. At the head of the valley loomed a snow-capped conical mountain, lording over all it surveyed, a sole cloud wafting from its summit like a lavender banner. Cautiously, Maul ascended to the top of the slope, only to spy Meltch not 50 meters in front of him, standing with his back to a jagged rend in the broken terrain. How Meltch had gotten past him, Maul couldn’t guess. Some Death Watch technique, he supposed. But Maul wasn’t supposed to be able to see him, so he steeled himself and advanced into the pain. Meltch’s first bolt struck him in the right shoulder, spinning him partway around, but Maul completed the turn of his own volition and began a mad dash for the edge of the snaking crevasse. With near-misses from the Mandalorian’s blaster prodding him forward, he realized suddenly that his eyes had deceived him. More gaping than it had appeared from his earlier vantage, the chasm should have proved an impossible leap for a fifteen-year-old Zabrak—even for one who had spent almost a decade in combat training. Meltch would expect him to stop short of the edge and surrender, but instead he quickened his pace and jumped, arms and legs pumping as if to grant him greater momentum.

He allowed himself to slam into the far wall, using the Force to cushion the impact and hooking his hands over an outcropping a few meters below the rim. Having found a narrower gap, Meltch and the Rodians weren’t long in reaching him, gathering in their supposed invisibility on the rim to gaze down at him. Maul had himself convinced that his rash move—his leap of faith—had earned him the respect of his fellow warriors. But only until they began to taunt him by kicking debris from the rim in the hope that Maul would lose his grip and plunge to an accidental death.

Scarcely the first under the Mando’s watch.

Anger consumed Maul. How much longer would he be required to conceal his real abilities, to be made to seem mediocre—like some still struggling neophyte—when he was so much more?

Calling on the Force again, he launched himself from the chasm, somersaulting and half-twisting in mid-air, so that when his boots struck the resilient ground he was facing the backs of his hunters with his blaster in hand. By the time the three of them whirled—Meltch’s lined face contorted in bafflement—Maul was already triggering bolts, as if firing at beings he couldn’t see but knew to be in front of him.

Still trusting in the suits, they scattered, shooting blindly on the run. Though not a bolt found Maul, the Force guided his to their targets, and each pained outcry elated him. The blaster was almost depleted when Meltch deactivated his suit and shouted for Maul to stand down. But Maul ignored him. Swept up in the grip of sadistic delight, he kept firing, the dark side writhing through him like an aggrieved serpent.

And one day he would be able to unleash bolts of electricity from his fingertips!

Above him, cutting through the reports of the overheated blaster and the Mando’s calls for capitulation, an amplified voice Maul had known since childhood ordered him to cease fire.

Around the smoothed top of a low, bone-dry hill, an airspeeder came into view, settling into levitation mode as it put down at the edge of the chasm, a short but powerfully built Falleen seated at the controls. Aiming a glance at Meltch and the now-visible Rodians, the reptilian biped leapt from the speeder and approached Maul, snatching the blaster from his grip and tossing it aside.

“What were you thinking?” Trezza said under his breath.

Meltch had holstered his weapon and was gazing into the dark chasm, at the spot where Maul had seemingly been hanging on for dear life. When he swung around his eyes were narrowed in suspicion.

“How did you—?”

“I pushed off from a ledge,” Maul said.

Meltch took a second look and scowled. Turning back to Maul, he said, “How did you manage to target us?”

“The suits were glitched. They couldn’t decide how to blend you into the background.”

Meltch glanced to the Rodians, who shook their heads. Furious, then, he stormed past Trezza. Maul sensed the punch coming long before the Mando put his weight behind it. Standing still, he turned his head in the direction of the gauntleted blow and managed to remain on his feet. Spitting blood to the ground, he glared at the Mando.

Meltch snorted and offered up his square chin. “Go ahead, Maul, since you seem bent on making this personal.”

“You’ve made it personal for two years.”

“To push you to your limits,” Meltch said. “To make you a warrior.” Meltch held Maul’s yellow-eyed gaze. “Personal or professional. You can’t have it both ways.”

A head shorter than both Maul or Meltch, Trezza stepped between them. It was never a good sign when a Falleen took on color, and Trezza’s face was shifting through the spectrum.

“Enough,” he said. “No points for either side.”

Meltch scoffed. “He’ll never make the grade, Trezza. Not until he decides to be honest with us. Until then, we’re wasting our time.”

In the training camp’s headquarters astride the turbulent sea, Trezza inspected the burns that covered Maul’s torso, which like his head and face was marked with esoteric black and red sigils.

“These require treatment.”

Trezza summoned a medical droid forward, but Maul shoved it away with his feet.

“Not from bacta,” he snarled. “I’ll heal myself.”

“And revel in the pain.”

“There is no pain.”

“So you’ve said.”

Maul looked at him. “You can’t understand.”

“Admittedly,” Trezza said. “But that doesn’t change the fact that you appear to have forgotten more than you’ve learned.”

Maul tugged the upper portion of the utility suit over his shoulders. “Perhaps I’ll know a thing or two when I’ve lived as long as you have.”

Trezza shrugged. “Continue dishonoring your oath, and you’ll be fortunate to see sixteen years.”

“That’s my concern.”

“Ultimately, it is.”

The Falleen had been silent during the return trip from the high valley, releasing pheromones meant to pacify Maul, even though he was largely immune to their effects. Nearing two hundred standard years, Trezza had spent half his life training mercenaries and paramilitaries for planetary governments throughout the Republic—not to mention supplying professional combatants for the Petranaki Arena on Geonosis and the Cauldron on Rattatak, and forging assassins and intelligence agents for royal houses and criminal cartels alike. An even more skilled fighter than Meltch, he was also the closest Maul had to a protector—in the ordinary world.

“Meltch is intent on goading you into revealing your true nature. Members of the Death Watch were brutally honest with one another and loyal to a fault.”

“Then why did the group splinter?”

“They underestimated a rival they thought they had eliminated. With their leader dead, the rest scattered and Meltch wound up here, because, we, too, value loyalty and tradition. If not an ideal trainer, he’s a gifted strategist. And he was correct about your making this personal. Especially now that your powers are increasing.”

Trezza met Maul’s silence with a faint grin. “The vault from the chasm was a brilliant move. But you demeaned it by giving in to your emotions.”

“I could have done far worse than tag Meltch and the Rodians with bolts,” Maul said.

Trezza’s smile collapsed. “You and I know that, but that’s how it should remain.” He paused briefly. “It’s not my place to question the purpose of keeping secret the full extent of your powers.”

Maul glowered. “Pretense.”

“You led me to believe that you were willing to accept it as part of your training.”

“Once,” Maul said.

Trezza placed his hands on Maul’s shoulders. “I wish you’d come to me under different circumstances, Maul, but we both need to honor the arrangement as it stands. Meltch has long suspected that you have the Force, and now you’ve given him further reason to distrust you. Perhaps he’s envious, or perhaps he’s one of those who doesn’t view the Force with favor. For my part, I’d sooner see you succeed here without employing the Force. As would your benefactor.” He fell silent, then said, almost as an afterthought: “He’s here, you know.”

Maul looked startled.

Trezza nodded. “He came to observe the exercise. He’s expecting you.”

* * *

In the cavernous main hall of the ancient manse his Master maintained at Blackguard Gorge on Orsis, Maul kneeled, waiting for Sidious to speak. During the lengthy speeder bike trip, he had tried to purge himself of anger and misgiving. He had hoped, in fact, for some being or creature to wander out in front of his racing machine on the aimless tracts that cut through the arid foothills. But none had, and so he had arrived at the stone castle the Muuns had raised with his emotions in the same raw state. His periodic absences from Trezza’s combat school had been going on since the start of his training, but he wasn’t the only trainee who came and went, and so they had ceased to be a topic of speculation.

“You’re not entirely to blame for what happened,” Sidious said at last, coming to a halt in front of him. “The dark side has taken a serious interest in you, and is gauging if you might be a proper vessel for its power. Seeking expression and loathing restraint, the dark sides tests us continually, competing with our will and our self-imposed priority for secrecy.”

A human of middle age and average height, Sidious wore a long, dark-blue cowl that often left his face in deep shadow.

“Yes, Master,” Maul said. “I was overcome.”

Sidious’ eyes blazed from the darkness of the robe’s hood. “Overcome? You dare aggrandize your mistake with a lie?”

Maul lowered his gaze to the stone cold floor.

“I said that you weren’t entirely to blame. The willingness of the dark side to cooperate in your pitiful and prideful demonstration doesn’t exonerate you from debasing the vow you made to me and from jeopardizing my plans for you.” Sidious towered over him. “Did you actually imagine that you could come here and dodge responsibility for your blunder? That you could portray yourself as the guileless victim in all this?”

Maul wanted to ask for forgiveness but his steadfast anger wouldn’t permit it. In any case, what was the point, since he had received beatings for being right as often as he had for being wrong. Welling up from some unreachable source, rage lifted his head and set his tongue flapping.

But barely a word passed his lips when he felt his throat pinched closed by a negligent gesture of Sidious’ right hand.

“Don’t interrupt,” Sidious warned.

He paced away from Maul, eventually allowing him to breathe, then turned to him.

“In using the Force to extricate yourself from the trap your opponents fashioned, you have called unwanted attention to yourself. I’m aware that the Jedi have been continuing to harass Trezza for creating assassins and proxy armies, so consider what might have happened had a Jedi been present during the exercise. A Jedi would not only have grasped that you are strong in the Force, but that you have received training in the dark arts, endangering my position. And by the way, your little ploy at the chasm would have elicited little more than laughter from a Jedi Master, in much the way a clown provokes laughter from an audience.”

Once more he stood before Maul. “Now—what did you wish to ask me earlier?”

Maul began tentatively, as if testing his ability to speak.

“How long must I go on being one thing here and another there? Trained in the Force here, and trained to do without it there? What are your plans for me, Master? What am I to you?”

Sidious sniffed. “You are my student, Maul, and one day you may become my apprentice.”

“Your apprentice,” Maul said, not sure what to make of the designation.

“Perhaps. But if that is meant to be, it will come at the end of many trials that will make these present ones seem insignificant. Removed from the shelter of Orsis, you will begin to understand that the Republic is built on deceit, and that it only survives because the Jedi Order wishes it to survive. Beings of all nature will attempt to fill your head with lies in an effort to sweep you into that deceit, and you will need to be resolute in your allegiance to the dark side of the Force.”

“I understand, Master.”

“No,” Sidious said. “You only think you do.”

From the folds of his robe he produced two lightsabers, tossing one of them to Maul before igniting the blade of his own. Maul guessed that the burns he was about to sustain would make the ones he had received from Meltch’s blaster seem like taps of affection.

* * *

Its circuitous innards exposed, the combat vibroblade rested on a low table, alongside a small tool kit. Electrodriver in hand, Maul was working feverishly on the knife’s ultrasonic vibration generator, intent on overriding the built-in arrestor to supply the blade with greater slashing power. If he wasn’t permitted to use the Force, then he would use everything short of it to satisfy the rage inside him; to gut every living thing he encountered during the coming Gora solo. Bathe in the blood he would shed, feast on warm flesh… Merely imagining it set his fingers trembling, and abruptly the tool slipped from its tenuous hold in the socket and stabbed deeply into the palm of his opposite hand, opening a small wound and bursting the dam of his pent-up emotion. Maul’s clenched right hand slammed down on the table, shattering its surface, and the vibroblade took flight, nearly impaling itself in his head. Straightening, he bared his filed teeth and tensed his body, close to loosing a scream that would have brought the barracks down around him.

Instead, he inhaled deeply, and lowered himself into a chair, hoping to get control of himself.

For the past year, each time he had returned from a training session with Sidious his anger had known no bounds, even on those rare occasions when his body didn’t bear burns from his Master’s lightsaber. Sidious had advised him to expect as much, counseling that as Maul’s body matured, the dark side would begin to recognize him as a potential ally and begin to lay claim to his thoughts and emotions. It would be a trying time for him, his Master had remarked, a rite of passage, though still not the trials Sidious promised would ultimately break him or earn him an apprenticeship—a partnership in whatever it was Sidious was doing.

Though he had known Sidious for his entire life, he knew little about him. While Maul wasn’t a slave, he certainly belonged to Sidious in some way. It was Sidious who had delivered him into Trezza’s care eight years earlier. Prior to that, Maul had memories of being reared and tutored by Sidious and his droids on Mustafar, and of journeys by starship to a world called Tosste, where he had been trained in the dark arts. But he had no notion as to who Sidious was in the greater galaxy, or on which world he resided. For all Maul knew, he was a warlord, a sorcerer, a monarch, or even a banished Jedi Master. Whatever the case, for a being with scarcely a past or an identity, Maul found the prospect of eventually being Sidious’s apprentice greatly appealing, and though shaken, hurt, and confused by what had recently transpired, he remained determined to prove his worth to his Master.

It occurred to him to wonder if Sidious and Trezza had conspired so that Maul’s rite of passage in his Force training should coincide with the academy’s similar rite, during which he was to be left on his own in the Gora, to survive for an Orsis week without food or equipment, save for the vibroblade, in a realm of bloodthirsty beasts.

He was picking up the pieces of his short-lived fit—collecting the knife and the far-flung tools—when two of his fellow trainees entered the barracks.

The taller and older of the pair, Kilindi Matako, scanned the room, taking in the dismantled vibroblade, the table’s crazed top, and the fresh blood dripping from Maul’s punctured left hand. A Nautolan, her headdress of striped tentacles quivered.

“Everything all right?”

“Accident.”

She showed him a dubious look. “Since when.”

Kilindi had come to school as a former slave, and had since become Trezza’s ward and a capable warrior. From the first day he met her, Maul had nursed a mostly secret attraction for Kilindi. At times he thought she shared his feelings, but emotions were a terrain more perilous than any on Orsis.

The other female was a dark-haired human named Daleen. Rumored to be the princess of a royal house, she was absent from the academy even more often than Maul. Her fighting skills were limited, but Trezza was convinced that Daleen could become an effective stealth agent. The two of them helped Maul gather the last of the tools, then stood close enough for him to inhale their dizzying aromas. For a moment his rage gave way to a feeling of mystifying intoxication.

“Meltch came looking for you,” Kilindi said.

Maul gave the doorway a worried glance. “Where is he now?”

“Up top, I think,” Daleen said.

Up top was OOS—Orsis Orbital Station. It wasn’t unusual for Meltch to be there or off-world, scouting for talent, advising some paramilitary group, or executing a contract. Maul wondered if the Mandalorian and Sidious had ever crossed paths on OOS during their frequent comings and goings.

“Want any tips on what to watch out for in the Gora?” Kilindi said as Maul set to work on reassembling the vibroblade.

He shook his head. “I’ll make do.” I’ve killed dinkos with my bare hands, he wanted to add.

She laughed in a knowing way. “That’s what I said, and look where it got me.”

She didn’t need to display the scars that crisscrossed her muscular arms and shoulders for Maul to get the point.

“Just don’t get lost out there,” Daleen said in a seductive voice. She caressed the back of his head, careful to avoid touching any of his short horns. “We’re cooking up a surprise for your return.”

* * *

Across a sea of stars, the tall, wan Witch had listened attentively to the off-worlder’s tale, subjected herself to images produced by the technology he brought, and now ordered two members of her coven to bring before her the Nightsister named Kycina.

The planet was known as Dathomir, and Mother Talzin’s clan held sway over that remote part of it, enacting rituals to honor the Winged Goddess and the Fanged God, learning the language of great beasts, like the rancor, and conjuring spirit ichor as a means of keeping the natural forces in balance. Few outsiders had seen demonstrations of the coven’s magicks, and most of those who had were dead.

Tainted descendants of an ostracized Jedi, the Nightsisters were nimble humans, though use of dark side powers had altered them physically as well as emotionally. Talzin’s silver eyes were rimmed with permanent bruises that extended upward from their outside corners onto a broad, hairless forehead, framing a shield-like medallion that dangled from a sharply peaked red hood. Her mouth, too, was bracketed by discolorations, as well as deep crevasses that ran from her nostrils to her boxy chin. The straight and swirling adornments that projected from her robes gave her the appearance of a winged insect, a red star, or a deadly flower.

Crowning a platform supported on the upraised arms of stylized human figures, her stone lair featured a facade shaped like an elongated face, whose howling mouth was the edifice’s principal entryway.

It was through that yawning hole that Talzin emerged with the offworlder and two red-clad Nightsisters, the latter armed with short swords. The appearance of the four came on learning that Kycina had been located and brought to the Font—a shallow rectangular basin that served as both an altar and a repository for conjured ichor, and around which the members of the coven would gather to perform rituals. The humid air was redolent with the smell of ripening fruits that hung pendulously from the arching, leafless limbs of nearby plants.

Positioned between two Nightsisters on the far side of the Font, Kycina watched Talzin and the others approach. Petite and youthful looking despite her age, she was unarmed, and had the hood of her garment lowered, revealing close-cropped, light-colored hair.

“A Dathomiri Zabrak has been discovered to reside on a distant world known as Orsis,” Talzin said without preamble.

For the sake of the offworlder, she spoke in Basic, but her heavy accent undermined her intention. She asked that he show Kycina the holographic images he had shown her earlier, her disdain for the offworlder’s device obvious.

“This is the one,” Talzin said, gesturing to the device’s display screen. “His markings indicate that he was consecrated a Nightbrother before he left our world.” Subservient to the Nightsisters and kept for breeding and warfare, the Dathomiri Zabrak Nightbrothers were confined to the outlying villages of Talzin’s domain.

“Clearly, Mother,” Kycina said, shifting her gaze from the screen. “But why do you bring this to my attention?”

“This one’s markings suggest that he is of the same clan as Savage Opress and Feral.” Talzin’s eyes narrowed perceptibly. “You birthed him, Sister, and somehow you allowed him to be taken from us.”

Kycina squared her narrow shoulders, but her face had lost what little color was natural to it. “Why would I do such a thing?”

The words had scarcely left her mouth when a gesture from Talzin levitated Kycina a meter off the ground and bent her backward, arching her like one of the surrounding plants, so that her ashen face was tilted to the red sky.

“Indeed, why would you do such a thing?” Talzin said, circling her.

Kycina grappled with the spell Talzin had cast, straining to speak. “Did you, Mother, not allow Asajj Ventress to be taken from us?”

Talzin’s sentinels brandished their bladed energy weapons. “Blasphemy,” one of them said.

But Talzin ordered her to fall back, and continued to circle the suspended Nightsister.

“When I gave away infant Ventress, I did so to protect the sanctity of our coven. Had I not, Hal’Sted’s Siniteen slavers would have waged war on us, and Dathomir would have suffered.”

“You accepted payment,” Kycina struggled to say. “At least I took nothing in return.”

“So you admit it.” Talzin came to a halt.

Kycina’s eyes found Talzin’s. “I wanted to save him from you. To save him from a life of enslavement and war; to save him from being fodder for your arcane campaigns. You already took Savage and Feral from me. I wanted a different life for Maul.”

“Then you failed, Sister, for that is precisely the life into which Maul has been delivered. To whom did you give him?”

Kycina squeezed her eyes shut. “I didn’t learn his name. An elegantly dressed human I encountered in Blue Desert City. Influential—and powerful in his own right.”

Talzin grew pensive. “Evidently, that one didn’t appreciate your gift. Your offspring was handed on to a Falleen who trains spies, mercenaries, and gladiators.”

Kycina blew out her breath. “No matter. So long as he’s out of your reach.”

“Don’t be too sure.” She cut her eyes to the Nightsisters who had found Kycina. “Lock her away until I devise a suitable punishment.”

Another pass from Talzin and Kycina fell like a stone to the ground. When the Nightsisters had dragged her away, Talzin turned to the offworlder. “Normally I could be persuaded to excuse such a transgression, but not with a Nightbrother of such martial prowess.”

“Stands to reason,” the offworlder said.

Talzin appraised him. “I appreciate your bringing this information to our attention, but your reason for doing so is anything but transparent.”

“Maul isn’t simply another adolescent trainee,” the man said. “I think he might be an agent, inserted into Trezza’s school by some Republic faction or the Jedi Order. Periodically he leaves the school, probably to meet with his control.”

Her eyes fell on the tattoos emblazoned on the off-worlder’s thick arms. “You display the shriek-hawk—the mark of the Mandalorian warriors.”

Meltch inclined his head in response.

“Why, then, haven’t you eliminated Maul on your own?”

“Maul is Trezza’s pet.”

“And you don’t wish to put your business relationship with the Falleen at risk.”

“Right again.”

Talzin considered it. “Benefits of a mutual sort will follow from our actions.”

“You’ll send your Nightsisters to Orsis to reclaim him?”

“I wouldn’t entrust this to anyone but myself.”

Meltch blinked in genuine surprise. “Then let me play a part. You’ll need to transit through Orsis Orbital Station, and you’ll need access codes to continue down the well to the academy. I can supply everything you need, and I know precisely where you can capture him, without his even being missed.”

* * *

Maul was completing his seventh major kill in as many local days when the freak storm blew in.

Dropping from the canopy of an ancient tree onto the biped’s humped back, he had plunged the enhanced vibroblade again and again between the armor plates that protected its long neck, until the creature had dropped on its side to the ground. By then most of the fight had gone out of the beast, and yet it had managed to snap its powerful jaws at Maul when he rolled clear. Springing forward, he delivered the killing stroke, and the plaintive cry that bellowed from the creature’s mouth had reverberated from the palisades and sent avians perched in the nearby trees scattering.

Distant cries from the beast’s cohorts had echoed the dying creature’s, and then lightning cracked open the sky and teeming rain and hail had burst forth. The fact that Maul’s week-long and mostly sleepless transit of the Gora was nearly finished made the storm feel even more personally punishing.

The Gora crater was the aftermath of a volcanic explosion that had tipped Orsis from its original axis and rendered the planet’s northern hemisphere habitable. An immense basin of dense forests and vast swamps—and even a low, central mountain that was the reemergent volcano itself—the Gora was home to countless species of animals that had found their way into it millennia earlier. The near vertical circumference and treacherous air currents had prevented all save the strongest avians from escaping. The remainder had been left to evolve in their own fashion in an environment that was less a landscape than an arena, a festering cauldron in which the struggle for survival never ceased.

Of Maul’s many kills there, only one had been for sustenance—the others had been for survival or sport. No matter what Trezza or Sidious said about the importance of being able to triumph in the profane world, the dark side couldn’t simply be dimmed down like some glow rod outfitted with a dampener. None of the creatures with whom Maul clashed had exercised restraint; they had attacked and defended themselves without reservation. They simply were their nature. Which made Maul wonder: Was he expected to rise above his nature? Was the exercise of restraint a way for him to better understand his true nature? Did the dark side only want beings who were capable of rising above themselves?

Such had been his inner tempest. Now he was in the middle of a genuine storm, and it was as if it had been engineered to pose one final challenge before he reached the rustic outpost from which he could call for an airspeeder evac. It wasn’t unusual for squalls to blow across the Gora, swelling the waterfalls, sluggish rivers, and bogs, but this one meant business. One moment the eastern sky had been clear; the next, it was a frenzy of ominous clouds. He thought about holing up, but the wind and relentless rain forced him to trudge on. Behind him, trees were toppling, and overhead, clouds of displaced insects swarmed.

Eventually the storm began to abate, dwindling to fat droplets of rain as he emerged soaked to the bone from a thorn forest onto an expansive savannah. The wind, too, died down, but in its place a sound of heavy footfalls filled the ozone-rich air. Llan beasts, Maul determined after a moment. Perhaps the very ones that had responded to the death call of his most recent kill. Yanking the vibroblade from the sheath strapped to his upper leg, he scanned the grasslands around him, searching for wood from which he might shape a lance. Finding nothing useful, he made a dash for the distant tree line. Perhaps catching the scent of him on the dying wind, the still unseen beasts changed direction with him, and their movements puzzled him, since most of the Gora’s largest creatures—even those that were semi-sentient—tended to be solitary rather than herd animals.

So it was remarkable when, halfway to the forest, a quartet of llans leaped into the clearing—two in front of him and one to either side. What was even more remarkable was the fact that each llan was being ridden! The riders were slim figures dressed in red hooded garments, and they were armed with energy bows and pikes. Were they what Kilindi had wanted to warn him about before he had set out on the solo? Maul doubted it. He could sense that the riders were not trainees from the academy, but far more dangerous beings.

The dark side began to well up inside him, feverish for expression. No matter all the blood he had spilled, the dark side’s lust for violence had yet to be sated. But at the edge of giving free rein to his powers, he held back. Rather than being part of the usual ordeal, the beast riders could have been sent by his Master to test his resolve.

Radiant quarrels flew at him from energized bows, though not aimed to strike so much as to move him toward a llan that had separated from the rest—a large spotted male whose spined tail was flicking back and forth in anticipation. If capture was once more the objective, then surely Sidious was behind it. Reversing his course, Maul was dodging arrows when he was abruptly knocked backward and completely off his feet. It was as if he had run straight into a wall; but instead of being thrown onto his back, he found himself suspended and immobilized a meter above the ground. His eyes provided him with an upside-down image of a tall figure, dismounting from the snuffling llan to approach him. A human female whose pale face was as blemished as his was marked by tattoos, and from whose thin neck dangled a trove of amulets and talismans.

“Don’t resist, Nightbrother Maul,” she intoned in deeply accented Basic. Her hands moved in a ritual way.

An agent of Sidious, he decided, for he could perceive the Force in her. In league with his Master, or perhaps an apprentice.

He tried to say as much, but then she touched him on the forehead and he was plunged into unconsciousness.

* * *

Orsis Orbital Station consisted of two oblong pods linked by several cylindrically shaped concourses. In the control tower of the pod dedicated to the arrival and departure of cargo vessels, the traffic controller swung to a group of beings gathered at the observation bay.

“The drop ship is returning. The blue tri-fin is just coming into view.”

Meltch glanced at the ship. “Direct it to cargo bay five, and send a message that all non-essential personnel should leave the area.” He waited for the controller to carry out the command, then turned to the warlord. “Your troops are in position?”

Osika Kirske’s huge head bobbed. A Vollick from remote Rattatak—where warfare was a way of life—Kirske commanded a vast army, but had come to Orsis with scarcely three score of Weequay and Siniteen mercenaries.

“You’re confident the legion is adequate?” Meltch asked.

“It is comprised of some of my finest warriors.”

“They had better be.”

Kirske’s enormous shoulders heaved in disregard. “How, Meltch, were you able to lure the Nightsisters off Dathomir? I was told that it is rare to find them even outside their native land. Hal’Sted was only able to take possession of infant Ventress because Talzin feared exposure.”

“Word has it that Ventress has turned into quite the warrior,” Meltch said, ignoring the question.

The sharp planes and angles of Kirske’s gray face contorted. “We’ll soon see how young Ventress fares against those of her own kind.”

Meltch thought about it. “Good luck breaking them. Now that I’ve met the Nightsisters, I plan on steering clear of Dathomir. But, then, you’re not paying me to advise you.”

Kirske grunted. “Advice from a Mandalorian is always welcome.”

Meltch took the compliment in stride.

“A few years of fighting in the Cauldron arena and the Nightsisters will be begging to serve in my army,” Kirske added. “But the question still stands: how did you entice them here?”

“They came to collect one of their own,” Meltch said at last.

Kirske’s oblique eyes widened as much as his bony brow permitted. “Trezza has been training a Nightsister?”

Meltch shook his head. “A Dathomiri Zabrak male from a clan of Nightbrothers. The women use the males for breeding and as soldiers.”

Kirske’s gaze shifted to the approaching ship. “What would you have us do with the Zabrak?”

“He’s yours. I’m throwing him in for free.”

Kirske looked confused. “We can at least add something to what we’ve paid you.”

Meltch smirked. “That’s not necessary. You’ll be doing me a favor just by taking him off Orsis.”

* * *

Feeling as if he had been robbed of the Force—not unlike the way he occasionally felt during his training sessions with Sidious—Maul surfaced groggily from the trance the witch had engineered. Even before he opened his eyes, his senses told him that he was aboard a small ship.

In fact, he was reclined in an accelerator chair. His vibroblade sheath was empty, but such was the witch’s belief in her female soldiers and in her own powers that Maul wasn’t cuffed or shackled.

“You are skilled, Maul,” she said when his yellow eyes focused on her, “but perhaps not as skilled as I was led to believe.”

Maul sneered. “That seems to be the common opinion lately.”

She appraised him. “Very revealing. A few moments ago I was thinking that I erred in coming so far and in risking so much to return you to your clan brothers. And yet I sense that you are strong in the Force.”

“I have no brothers,” Maul said, as if spitting the word.

“Ah, but you do. And once among them your life will be very different. On Dathomir you will be nurtured and trained as the Winged Goddess and the Fanged God meant you to be trained. When the time is right you will face the Nightbrothers’ equivalents of the Tests of Fury, Night, and Elevation. And should you pass those trials, you may be fortunate enough to be transformed into an extraordinary warrior. Your strength will be enhanced tenfold, and those puny horns that stipple your head presently will become long and lethal.”

Maul had stopped listening almost immediately. The Witch was playing her part in a plan Sidious had designed. He had said that beings would attempt to use and deceive him, and here the Witch was doing just that.

“I won’t be going to Dathomir.”

The witch cocked an eyebrow. “You’ve no interest in seeing your birth world or meeting the members of your Nightbrother clan?”

“Neither.”

She looked disappointed. “You are fated to serve us, Maul, one way or the other. It has always been thus.”

“I serve only one Master,” Maul said.

The Witch smiled without mirth. “The Falleen you answer to will have to find another.”

Maul thought he had provided the correct response, but clearly he hadn’t, or Talzin had completely missed the reference. He considered mentioning Sidious by name, but thought better of it.

One of the Witch’s confederates slipped into the cabin. “Mother Talzin, we are approaching the station.”

Talzin nodded and studied Maul. “Can I trust you to behave while we transfer to our vessel, or do you wish simply to awaken aboard it?”

Maul glanced at the young female’s short sword and energy bow. “For the moment, you have the upper hand. I won’t make trouble.”

“Of course you won’t.”

Maul was comforted to learn that the station was none other than Orsis Orbital. As a tractor beam was easing the drop ship into the cargo bay, he decided he would show his Master that, until Sidious said otherwise, Orsis would remain Maul’s home. But a sudden feeling of apprehension took precedence over his plan. Talzin must have sensed something as well, because she turned to look at him while he was accompanying her and the Nightsisters down the drop ship’s ramp, perhaps thinking he was the cause of her concern.

“Trouble,” Maul told her.

Without so much as a word from Talzin, the three Nightsisters drew their swords and enabled their energy bows. The dimly illuminated docking bay appeared to be deserted, but Maul could perceive the presence of armed beings lurking in the dark periphery. Regardless, Talzin continued to march into the open, as if without a care.

“Stay right where you are and lower your weapons,” a gruff voice barked in Basic over the cargo bay loudspeakers.

The beings Maul had sensed began to edge from the shadows, contingents of top-knotted Weequays and big-brained Siniteens armed with blaster rifles. At the center of the group stood a towering Vollick clad head to foot in garish battle armor.

“You won’t be returning to Dathomir, Mother Talzin,” the Vollick said. “The five of you are going to be my guests on Rattatak, where you will eventually become members of my elite army.” He drew an outsize blaster from its holster and triggered a shot toward the bay’s tall ceiling.

“Our weapons are set on stun, but we’ll shoot to kill if you decide to refuse my invitation.”

Talzin didn’t bother to reply. With a motion of her hands, the docking bay was suddenly filled with dozens of Nightsister warriors, though sporting robes and weapons that struck Maul as of ancient design. He understood that he was being treated to a dazzling Force illusion, but the Vollick’s soldiers were fully taken in. Just as the warlord had warned, the selector switches of a dozen blasters went from stun to full on, and a harried storm of bolts began to crisscross the bay, putting everyone in jeopardy.

The real Nightsisters were as fast on the draw as their opponents, and managed to drop several soldiers with energy quarrels before Talzin’s conjured illusion of ancient warriors began to evaporate into the same recycled air out of which they had appeared. Emboldened then—and ignoring the Vollick’s commands for cease-fire—the Weequays and Siniteens charged, dropping one of the Nightsisters and wounding Talzin in the thigh.

Maul thought about racing back into the drop ship, but doubted that it had sufficient power to overcome the bay’s tractor beam array. Instead he made a mad run for the fallen Nightsister, leaping, whirling, and tumbling across the deck until his hands seized on her energy bow.

Retreating to the ship, he took cover behind one of the landing struts and began to return fire.

If this was a test, he thought, it was for keeps.

Several meters away, Talzin was flat on the deck with the two remaining Nightsisters unleashing a dark-side barrage of arrows, many of which were finding their marks.

Maul scanned the cargo bay. Having passed through this station on several occasions—typically en route to extrasystem contests arranged by Trezza—he knew that its cargo and passenger hubs were linked at several points by airlock corridors. If he could make it to the passenger pod, he could commandeer a drop ship and be back on Orsis before anyone even discovered that he was missing. But it would be easier said than done if he had to continue playing by the rules his Master had laid out.

He was preparing to make a break for the nearest hatchway when Mother Talzin called to him.

“Don’t leave us, Maul!”

He turned to see that she was on her feet, supported by one of the Nightsisters while the other was covering them.

“Maul!” Talzin repeated.

Confliction paralyzed him. Would his Master expect him to show sympathy? Even if the test had gone awry, Talzin might still be one of Sidious’ agents, and thus deserving of his help. Did the dark side of the Force ever permit self-sacrifice?

Cursing through his gritted teeth, he put his right arm through the bow and hooked it over his shoulder, then ran through a hail of blaster bolts to reach Talzin. Heaving her over his shoulder, he raced for the safety of the adjacent bay, the two Nightsisters steps behind.

* * *

“She’s dead,” one of the leather-faced Weequays reported as Warlord Osika Kirske approached the fallen Nightsister.

The Vollick’s massive right boot caught the lean humanoid under the chin and lifted the Weequay a meter off the deck.

“There were too many of them,” another Weequay tried to explain, only to take a gauntleted fist straight to the face.

Kirske then turned to the few soldiers who remained standing. “The Witch achieved the impossible: she made bigger idiots of you than even I believed possible!” His eyes went to the hatch through which Talzin and the others had fled. “They’ll attempt to reach their ship. Intercept them! And try to leave me with at least one witch in working order. We’ll rendezvous in the passenger hub.”

Close by, Meltch watched Kirske’s mercs hurry off. “I tried to warn you,” he said. “Now you’ve got a fight on your hands.”

The Vollick made a guttural sound. “We Rattataki live to fight.”

Meltch nodded. “One final piece of advice, then: send for reinforcements.”

“You’re leaving?” Kirske said to the Mandalorian’s back.

“I’ve done my part, Warlord,” Meltch said over his shoulder. “This is your mess to clean up.”

* * *

The entrance to one of the station’s cylindrical connectors was scarcely 50 meters away, but Maul and the three Dathomiri were pinned down behind a cargo container by fire from the Vollick warlord’s reinforcements.

“Our magicks don’t work in this sterile place,” Talzin said with abhorrence. “That’s why I could not sustain the illusion.”

Blaster bolts were ricocheting from the container. The two Nightsisters were returning fire.

“The illusion that nearly got all of us killed,” Maul said.

Talzin took her hand from the deep black-edged groove in her outer thigh and winced. Maul regarded the wound in stony silence. Black against red, like the zigzag markings on his face and head.

“On Dathomir I would be able to heal myself.”

“No one asked you to come here,” he said, even though that might not have been the case.

“We came for your sake.”

That much was a lie and he said so.

Talzin’s silver eyes flared. “You fail to grasp that you belong to a great heritage, Maul. That you were spirited away from Dathomir doesn’t alter the fact that you are a Nightbrother, and that your fate is joined with ours.”

He snorted. “Everyone has a plan for me.”

She searched his fearsome face for clues to his meaning. “I don’t understand,” she said at last.

But Maul had fallen back into silence.

In the empty space between the cargo container and the soldiers, a dozen automated load lifter droids were hauling similar containers to various designated areas on the burnished deck, unfazed by the firefight taking place in their midst. The containers were drifting into the bay on powerful tractor beams from a cargo ship too large to be berthed inside the station. The entire process was under the guidance of a computer housed in the bay’s upper tier control room.

Maul spent a long moment observing, then said: “We’ve one chance to make it through the connector and into the passager pod.” He fixed Talzin with a penetrating gaze. “I’m going to need one of your energy swords.”

Talzin returned the look. “You’ve no training in the use of that weapon.”

Maul shrugged out of the bow. “I’ll just have to improvise.”

* * *

Trezza and Sidious stood in the tall grass of the savannah where Maul had last been seen. The landspeeder that had carried them into the Gora was parked nearby. A strong wind tugged at their robes, and they had to converse loudly to prevent their words from being carried away.

“We were tracking him until the storm blew in and destroyed most of the remote cams,” the Falleen was saying. “By then he was close to the outpost, and we expected him to comm for evac before nightfall.” He paused, then added: “No one I’ve trained ever fared as well on a solo.”

“And yet Maul has vanished,” Sidious said.

“The search party I dispatched was able to track him to this point,” Trezza said, “but there’s no evidence of his trail from here on.”

Sidious scanned the savannah and the far tree line. “Maul wasn’t alone.”

Trezza followed Sidious’ gaze to areas where the grass had been disturbed and flattened. He nodded. “Llans made these. The trackers were able to identify the prints of four different beasts.”

Sidious turned slightly toward him. “Here … simultaneously?”

“Apparently.”

“You suspect that the llans had something to do with Maul’s disappearance?”

“There’s no evidence to confirm that. But there’s no arguing that Maul and the llans were here at the same time.”

The relationship between the Falleen and the human went back eight years, to when Sidious had executed Darth Plagueis’ order that Maul be relocated from Mustafar to the Orsis combat academy. That first visit, Sidious had come in disguise. Now he merely hid his visage deep within the raised cowl of the robe. Sidious trusted the Falleen implicitly, and saw no reason to doubt him now. Still, the idea that a quartet of llan beasts could overcome Maul was preposterous.

“When have you ever known llans to act in concert?”

“Never,” Trezza said.

Again, Sidious looked around, turning through a full circle. “This storm … ”

“Also something of an anomaly. Whipped up out of nowhere.”

Sidious was silent for a long moment. “Have any ships come or gone?”

“Not from the crater. The academy spaceport has seen the usual traffic.”

“Supply drop ships,” Sidious said.

“Precisely.”

“Are any other trainees or instructors absent?”

Trezza thought about it. “Meltch has been away on business for a standard week, but he’s expected to return later today.”

Sidious touched his cleft chin. “The Mandalorian.”

“Could Maul have fled?” Trezza asked carefully.

Sidious pivoted to face him, staring from the darkness of the hood. “How do you mean?”

“Could he have reached his limit with … the training?”

“And decided to cover his tracks after completing the most brilliant solo you have ever witnessed?”

Trezza looked away. “I’m only suggesting a possibility. Maul wouldn’t be the first to do so.”

“It’s unlikely that Maul would flee the only real home he has ever known.” Sidious lifted his face to the sky. “Tell your trackers to call an end to the search. I will pursue this matter personally.”

* * *

Short sword in hand and evading bolts from Weequay and Siniteen blasters, Maul sprinted for the control room bulkhead. For a moment it appeared that he intended to run up the wall, but instead he launched himself straight up from the deck when he was a few meters short of the bulkhead. At the same time he raised the sword over his head in a two-handed grip and plunged it into the control room’s broad transparisteel window. A normal blade would simply have bounced off the transparency, but energized by the dark side of the Force the Nightsister’s sword not only penetrated the pane the way a lightsaber would, but opened a vertical tear in the window as gravity struggled to return Maul to the deck. Dangling from the weapon’s hilt, he rode with it for a short distance, then swung his body up and around the sword, bringing his feet in front of him and slamming them against the pane. That the gambit worked, however, owed less to the amount of momentum Maul was able to supply, and more to the concentrated blaster fire provided by the Vollick’s warriors.

Feet first, Maul flew through the smashed window into the control room, with dozens of blaster bolts following him through and ricocheting wildly. Several devices in the room were struck, and, as circuits fried, the small space began to fill with acrid smoke. Crawling below the ruined opening, Maul moved to the computer’s main control board and began doing input on a touch screen. He was by no means an expert slicer, but Trezza placed as much importance on computer skills as he did on poison production and assassination techniques. More important, slicing into the programs that oversaw Orsis’ automated cargo transfer system didn’t require the skills of an expert.

With bolts continuing to streak into the room, Maul worked his way into the program that managed the tractor beam array and retasked it. The system kept asking him if he was absolutely certain that he wanted the changes applied, but once he had convinced it, the consequences were almost immediate.

Where moments earlier cargo containers had been floating gently into the bay, they were suddenly soaring in at rapid speed. The large vessel parked outside the station was unaffected by the increased pull of the tractor beam, but the containers themselves were arriving too quickly for the load lifters to handle. Instead, they were piling up on the deck, erecting what amounted to a towering wall between the mercenaries and the Nightsisters, though without preventing the latter from being able to reach the connector leading to the facility’s passenger hub.

Grasping the eventual outcome, several of the soldiers broke from cover in an attempt to make it to the far side of the cargo bay, only to end up crushed by incoming containers. A couple of the load lifters also wound up hemmed in, becoming part of an impromptu partition that was close to spilling out of the pressurized bay.

With enemy attention diverted to the wall, Maul was able to leap safely from the control room to the deck and return to Talzin’s side.

“Technological magic,” she said, though not without a hint of appreciation.

Maul helped her to her feet and wrapped his left arm around her waist.

With the Nightsisters bringing up the rear, the two of them hurried into the corridor and through the first of several hatches: Maul using the Force to open it as they approached, Talzin using the Force to close it, and the pair of Nightsisters using their energy quarrels to destroy the control panel. All the way through the connector, their teamwork was repeated. Maul wasn’t sure if his actions would ultimately be seen as inspired or ill-conceived. But his belief that he was being tested was given credence as he and Talzin were passing through the final hatch and into Orsis Orbital’s passenger hub, and the revelation was so powerful it stopped him in his tracks.

“Why are you waiting?” Talzin said. “Our ship isn’t far.”

“You can stop pretending,” he told her.

She gave her head a confused shake. “About what?”

“About Dathomir, the Nightbrothers, and the rest. I know that you were sent by my Master.”

She stared at him in puzzlement.

“I know, because I perceive him. My Master is here.”

* * *

Sirens wailed throughout the passenger hub, and emergency lights brought a scarlet glow to some of the concourses and hangars.

Sweating profusely beneath his body armor, Warlord Kirske paced behind the soldiers he had deployed in a bay at the far end of the connector his four quarries were said to have entered. Other soldiers had been ordered to engage station security, and a contingent of Weequay mercenaries had been dispatched to secure the Nightsisters’ ship, just in case Talzin and the rest made it that far. That left a mere skeleton crew aboard Kirske’s own starship.

Considering the ruination the Dathomiri Zabrak had engineered in one of the cargo bays, Kirske had begun to wonder if it was he who had been set up. Meltch had been almost dismissive about the so-called Nightbrother, and yet Trezza’s Dathomiri trainee was proving to be more dangerous than Mother Talzin herself. Could the Mandalorian have cut a separate deal with some other Rattataki warlord to draw him into a trap? Certainly Kirske had no shortage of enemies on the contested world.

Kirske glanced in the direction of the connector egress and whirled on one of his Siniteen lieutenants. “What’s taking them so long? Why haven’t they exited? And why is it so kriffing hot in here?”

Carefully, he wedged a clawed finger into the ring collar of his tunic and gave it an outward tug, hoping to release some of the heat that was building up under his breastplate. The leathery scalps of the Weequay nearby were beaded with sweat.

“My lord, our forward scouts report no sign of them,” the Siniteen said at last.

Kirske tried to sharpen his view of the connector egress, but found his distance vision slightly blurred. To his eyes, the far side of the bay looked as if it were obscured by fog. The optical illusion may have been the result of sweat running into his eyes. Or perhaps not. Just in case, he made note of the location of the nearest bay egress.

In a utility room below the bay in which Kirske’s soldiers were deployed, Maul and the Nightsisters stood on a maintenance gantry several meters above the room’s flooded deck. The deluge owed to ruptures in the broad pipes that coursed overhead, opened by slashes from Maul’s Dathomiri blade. As fast as the water gushed from the pipes, Talzin—motioning broadly with her arms—was turning most of it to steam, and clouds were beginning to rise through the slotted deck plates of the bay above.

“It won’t be as powerful as the storm I conjured on Orsis,” Talzin said, “but it should do.”

Like Maul and the two Nightsisters, she was wearing one of the emergency respirator masks Maul had snatched from a nearby airlock after he and Talzin had both sensed the ambush awaiting them at the end of the connector. They had picked their way down into maintenance corridors that ran beneath the passenger hub’s concourse level. Where earlier Talzin had been unable to bring her magicks to bear, her powers to alter water were apparently unaffected by the techno-sterility of the rest of the station.

Talzin continued to make magical passes with one hand, while the other dug deeply into a pocket in her robe. Mumbling in Dathomiri, she extracted a crystalline ampoule and began to fling its amber contents in the clouds of superheated steam. Motioning with both hands she swirled the clouds, directing them to rise more rapidly, as if blown upward by powerful fans.

The four of them waited until they heard coughing and retching sounds from above; then made their way to the end of the gantry and ascended a ladder that accessed the upper bay.

Victims of Talzin’s soporific and near-impenetrable fog, the warlord’s soldiers were stumbling about as if inebriated or bent over and vomiting onto the deck. The two Nightsisters waded into their midst with swords flashing. The few Weequays and Siniteens who hadn’t succumbed fully to Talzin’s strange brew opened fire with their blasters, but were quickly cut down. Leaving the swordplay to the masked Dathomiri, Maul tore into the Vollick’s rear guard with fists and feet, bruising bodies and breaking bones as he fought his way to the warlord himself. Out of the fog came a hail of fire from the Vollick’s close-in defenders, forcing Maul to hit the deck, bleeding from a bolt that had grazed his upper right arm. Clambering to his feet, he resumed the charge, but by then the warlord and his top lieutenants had beat a retreat through one of the exits. Only Talzin’s voice kept Maul from giving pursuit.

“Our ship!” she called.

Waves of her hands caused the spreading mist to coalesce into a liquid sphere, which she then burst with a single magical pass, showering the deck with water. Yanking the respirator from her face and hurling it aside, she gestured in the direction in which the ship was berthed.

“Quickly!”

* * *

Talzin hadn’t expected Maul to heed her command, and wondered as she ran why he was running with them. Did he actually intend to accompany them to Dathomir? She had begun to doubt that she had the power to subdue him a second time, or to persuade him to come. So what had changed? Had combat forged a primal connection of some sort? Or was he now prepared to accept his fate, despite what he had said about having perceived the presence of his Master?

Racing into the hangar, they saw that the deck was littered with fallen Weequays. None of the discolored bodies showed evidence of obvious wounds, but to a soldier they were dead. Clearly the Vollick had deployed them to keep Talzin and the rest from reaching the starship. Could they have turned on one another? She scarcely had time to consider it when she saw Maul come to an abrupt stop and drop to one knee with his head bowed.

“Master,” Talzin heard him say.

A human male stepped into view. Of average height, he wore a dark robe whose hood was raised over his head, concealing his face. Talzin could feel his power, not only in the Force, but in the dark side, as it was known to some. Even the Nightsisters could sense the man’s strength, and fell back a step in uncertainty, their energy bows aimed at the deck. For a long moment, he and Talzin regarded each other in portentous silence. Then the robed man gestured to Maul.

“This one does not belong to Dathomir,” he said in Basic, his words heavy with meaning. “He is mine.”

Talzin recalled what Nightsister Kycina had said about having given infant Maul to a distinguished, powerful human. “Then you didn’t merely abandon him to the Falleen.”

“On the contrary,” he said.

She glanced at Maul. “You have trained him well.”

In the shadows fashioned by the robe’s raised hood, the man’s hairless upper lip curled. “I don’t need you to verify what I know to be true, woman.”

“Of course,” she said, though without a hint of apology.

He motioned to their ship. “You’ll find the body of your fallen Nightsister aboard.”

Talzin nodded her head in gratitude.

He folded his hands into the opposite sleeves of his robe. “Now, be gone from here before I have a change of mind.”

Unaccustomed to taking orders, Talzin hesitated, but not for long, and ultimately gestured to the Nightsisters to board the ship. Alongside her, Maul was still kneeling with his head lowered. Casually she allowed her dangling left hand to graze the bloody wound that had been opened in his arm. Then she walked, limping slightly, to the boarding ramp. There she brought her left hand to one of the talismans that dangled from her neck, and impressed Maul’s blood upon it.

With this, I will always know where to find you.

Acknowledging Maul’s Master with a final glance, she climbed the boarding ramp and disappeared into the ship.

When the starship had departed, Sidious moved to an observation window that overlooked multihued Orsis. Maul followed, dropping into a kneeling posture and waiting for his Master to speak.

“You did well, Maul,” Sidious said at last. “It pleases me that you showed restraint and betrayed none of your deep training in the dark side of the Force.”

“I did so in the hope of one day becoming your apprentice,” Maul said.

Sidious turned partly from the view to gaze down at him. “Then consider yourself one step closer.”

Maul let out his breath in relief. “Thank you, Master.”

Sidious paced away from the window. “The time has come for you to learn certain things about the nature of our undertaking. As I told you, I have for more years than you have been alive been putting into motion the stages of a Grand Plan—a plan you may play a part in if you can continue to demonstrate worthiness and abiding loyalty. You should know, though, that this plan was not fully devised by me, and has in fact been in the making for a millennium. It springs from the minds of many beings, all of whom serve a great tradition.” He paused to look at Maul. “A tradition of far greater import than the Dathomiri brotherhood Talzin surely told you about. It is the tradition of the ancient order known as the Sith.”

Maul narrowed his eyes in thought. “You told me of the Sith when I was young, Master.”

“What I kept from you then is that I am the Sith Lord, Darth Sidious. My Master both named and conferred the title on me, and at my discretion, you may one day be afforded the same honor by me.”

Maul swallowed hard. “I will strive to prove my worth to you, Master.”

“Yes, you will,” Sidious said, then added: “From this point on I will begin to tutor you in the ways of the Sith, and gradually I will allow you to learn some things about my alter-ego, and about our ultimate purpose. For now, it must suffice that we are opponents of the Republic, and the sworn enemies of the Jedi Order. It will be our task to see the former brought down and the latter expunged from the galaxy. Where I will remain the guiding hand in this, it will fall to you to execute missions that could pose a risk to my position should the true purpose of our acts be discovered.”

Maul’s heart pounded.

“Nothing less than perfection will be sufficient, Maul,” Sidious said. “Do you understand?”

“I understand, Master.”

“Then let’s put that to the proof, shall we?”

Maul looked up. “Another test?”

Sidious’s brow furrowed. “Another?”

“As you engineered with Mother Talzin?”

Sidious grinned faintly. “What happened on Orsis and aboard this station was not set in motion by my hand, Maul. In fact, you were betrayed by one who told Talzin where to find you, and then aided and abetted her plan to capture you.”

Maul’s eyes widened. “May I know the identity of my betrayer, Master?”

Sidious thought it over. Finally he said: “Meltch Krakko.”

Maul gawked at him in surprise.

“Did Trezza know, Master?”

Sidious shook his head. “Trezza knew nothing. However, I fear that we may not be able to contain the damage that has been done. The Mandalorian knows too much, and though I have always trusted Trezza, we can’t risk that word of your disappearance and all that followed may spread.” He fell silent, touching his chin. “I will deal with the Vollick warlord. But it will be your task to deal with Trezza and the others at the school.”

Maul gazed at him in question.

“They need to die, Maul. Instructor and trainee alike, to the last of them.”

Maul’s heart turned to stone. “I live to do your bidding, Master.”

Sidious nodded. “And as long as you do, you will continue to live.”

Maul reclined in the compact cabin space of the drop ship that was returning him to Orsis, the blue, white, and brown world filling the viewport alongside his seat, thinking about the task ahead.

He decided that he would miss Daleen and Kilindi, and Trezza especially. But he accepted that their deaths were essential to Darth Sidious’ plan—a Grand Plan, in which Maul was now an accomplice. At any given moment there could be as many as five hundred beings at the academy, and he wrestled with ideas for ensuring that all of them died.

Sidious had forbidden the use of a lightsaber, but he had said nothing about exercising restraint. Maul looked forward to confronting Meltch, and of finally being able to demonstrate his full abilities to the Mandalorian.