Star Wars_ Darth Bane 01_ Path of Destruction - Drew Karpyshyn [133]
From the pungent smell of death Bane suspected some smaller confrontation had been recently fought over this territory, as well. His suspicions were confirmed when he crested a rise and came across a scene of slaughter. It was hard to tell who had won: bodies clad in the garb of each side were everywhere, intermingled as if the combatants had remained locked together in hatred long after they had all been slain. Most of the dead were likely to be followers of the Jedi or minions of the Sith, rather than actual Jedi Knights or members of the Brotherhood, though he noticed dark Sith robes on a handful of the bodies.
Hovering above the killing field were the bouncers, a unique species native to Ruusan. There were at least half a dozen, spherical in shape and of various sizes, with most being between one and two meters across. Their round bodies were covered with thick green fur, as were the finlike appendages protruding from their sides and the long ribbonlike tails that streamed out behind them. They had no visible facial features other than dark, lidless eyes.
Reports indicated they were sentient, yet to Bane they looked like animals scavenging the remains of the battle. As he approached he realized they were communicating, though they possessed no mouths. Somehow they were projecting mental images of succor and comfort, as if they sought to heal the wounds of the scarred land beneath them.
They scattered at Bane’s approach, whisking themselves away like a bizarre school of fish capable of swimming through the skies. As he drew nearer, he realized they had been congregating over one of the fallen. The human man was not quite dead, though the gaping wound in his gut gave stark evidence that he wouldn’t live to see the night.
He wore the robes of the Sith, and the shattered remains of a lightsaber’s hilt lay near his outstretched hand. Bane recognized him as one of the lesser students from the Academy on Korriban: so weak in the dark side, it wasn’t even worth the bother of learning his name. Yet he knew Bane.
With a groan the man rolled onto his back and hauled himself up to a sitting position, leaning his head and shoulders against a nearby stone. His eyes—glazed and dilated—cleared momentarily and came into focus. “Lord Bane …,” he gasped. “Kaan told us … you were dead.”
There was no point in replying, so Bane said nothing.
“You missed the fight …,” the man mumbled, the words hard to hear through the choking bubbles of blood welling up in his throat. A coughing fit cut off what he was going to say next. He was too weak to even bring up his hand to cover his mouth as he spewed red spots over Bane’s dark boots.
“The battle was glorious,” he finally croaked out. “It’s an honor to … fall in such a splendid battle.”
Bane laughed loudly, the only appropriate response to such ridiculous stupidity. “Glory means nothing for the dead,” he said, though it wasn’t clear if the man could even hear him in his fevered state.
He turned to go, then paused when he felt a feeble tug on his heel. “Help me, Lord Bane.”
Lifting his boot free of the clutching hand, Bane answered, “My name is Darth Bane.” There was a sickening crunch as his boot slammed down, grinding the man’s skull into the rocks propping him up. His body convulsed once then lay still.
The purging of the Sith had begun.
Lord Kaan lay on his back on the small cot in his tent, eyes closed, gently massaging his temples. The strain of keeping his followers united in a common cause was taking a heavy toll, and his head constantly pulsed with a dull and relentless ache.
Despite their success in recent battles with the Jedi on Ruusan,