Before the Storm - Michael P. Kube-McDowell [98]
Nodding his appreciation, Luke turned and started across the open ground toward the ruined ring dwelling at the foot of the highest of the enclosing hills. But he was not even halfway there when a scream froze him. He whirled, his cape sweeping outward, and a blaster bolt burned past him so close that he could smell the heat.
He rolled away from the heat, came out of the roll with a forward flip that carried him five meters away from where he had stood, and ended the flip searching for his attacker, his lightsaber in his right hand. There were two men near Akanah, who was huddled on her knees with an arm raised as though she had just fended off a blow.
“Akanah!” he cried, and charged toward them.
The next blaster bolt was dead on target, but Luke deflected it neatly skyward with his lightsaber. In the next moment he drew deeply on the Force and reached out to crush the blaster with a thought as powerful as a vise. His next thought yanked the disabled weapon from the man’s hand and hurled it far out of reach.
Akanah had raised her head when he called her name. “No, Luke, don’t—” she cried.
But Luke’s focus was the second man, who was now showing a weapon, too—pointed at Akanah. “Keep your distance!” the man shouted at Luke. He did not sound afraid.
Luke’s answer was a thought-blow that tore the blaster from the man’s hand and smashed it against the wall of the dwelling behind him. It exploded into a shower of sparks and shattered into a dozen fragments.
Then he was on them, the lightsaber held for attack, not defense. The first man he had disarmed projected a personal shield, which blunted Luke’s initial stroke. But the blow took the man to his knees all the same. The next stroke, with the power of the lightsaber married to the will of a Jedi Master, sliced through the shield and deep into the assailant’s chest. He gasped once as blood erupted, then crumpled backward onto the hard ground.
Turning quickly, Luke found the second man closing on Akanah again, reaching for her, as though meaning to use her as his shield. Instantly Luke threw his lightsaber, spinning the weapon end over end with a sharp snap of his wrist. It scythed through the air, severing the attacker’s left arm above the elbow. The man screamed and collapsed as Luke brought the lightsaber back to his hand.
“Who are you?” Luke demanded, standing over the fallen attacker.
The stump of his arm scarcely bled. “Commander Paffen reporting—Skywalker,” the man said. Then he closed his eyes, and his entire body shuddered. A moment later his eyes flew open again. “Skywalker is here.”
With a flick of the tip of his lightsaber, Luke disabled the comlink on the man’s equipment belt. “Who are you?” he demanded again. “Why are you here?”
“Not fair—waited so long,” the man said, and moaned. “We only expected the witch.”
“Why were you waiting? What did you want?”
The man grimaced. “They said the poison wouldn’t hurt,” the man whispered, and died, still staring at the sky.
Wearing a mask of worry, Luke crouched beside Akanah, who was still huddled on the ground, shaking from head to toe and sobbing. “Akanah—are you hurt?” he asked, touching her arm.
Recoiling violently from his touch, she turned away from him.
“I’m sorry—I must have been distracted,” he said, shifting to where he could see her face. “I should have known they were here. But it’s over. They can’t hurt you now.”
Still trembling, Akanah turned away from him again. “They never could have hurt me.”
“What are you talking about? You screamed—you were on the ground—”
“I wasn’t hurt. I wasn’t in danger. There was no reason for what you did—”
“What I did—”
With a will, she gathered her feet under her and staggered away from him, hugging herself fiercely. He followed, dimly beginning to grasp that the depth of her distress came from the second assault, not the first—his acts, not the acts of the dead men.
“I thought you were in trouble,” he said.
“Couldn’t you have protected us without harming them?” she demanded,