Star Wars_ Darth Bane 01_ Path of Destruction - Drew Karpyshyn [83]
For an instant none of the spectators was even aware of what had happened; it took their minds a moment to catch up and register the blur of action that had occurred so much quicker than their eyes could see.
Sirak lay crumpled on the ground, writhing in agony and clutching with his one good hand at the chunk of bone protruding from his shin. Bane hesitated a split second before moving in to finish him off, savoring the moment … and giving Kas’im the opportunity to intervene.
“Enough!” the Blademaster shouted, and the apprentice obeyed, freezing his saber even in the act of chopping it down on his helpless foe. “It’s over, Bane.”
Slowly, Bane lowered his saber and stepped away. The fury and focus that had turned him into a conduit of the dark side’s unstoppable power was gone, replaced by a hyperconscious awareness of his physical surroundings. He was standing atop the temple roof in the middle of a raging storm, drenched in cold rain, his body half frozen.
He began to shiver as he cast about the ground for his discarded cloak. He picked it up but, finding it soaked completely through, didn’t bother to put it on.
Kas’im stepped from the crowd, smoothly placing himself between Bane and the helpless Zabrak.
“You have witnessed an amazing victory today,” he told the assembled throng, shouting to be heard above the pounding rain. “Bane’s triumph was as much a result of his brilliant strategy as his superior skill.”
Bane was barely listening to the words. He merely stood in the center of the ring, silent save for the chattering of his teeth.
“He was patient and careful. He didn’t just want to defeat his opponent … he wanted to destroy him! He achieved dun möch—not because he was better than Sirak, but because he was smarter.”
The Blademaster reached out a hand and placed it on Bane’s bare shoulder.
“Let this be a lesson to you all,” he concluded. “Secrecy can be your greatest weapon. Keep your true strength hidden until you are ready to unleash the killing blow.”
He let go of Bane’s shoulder and whispered, “You should go inside before you catch a chill.” Then he turned to address the stunned Zabrak siblings standing at the edge of the circled students. “Take Sirak down to the medcenter.”
As they moved forward to carry their moaning and barely conscious champion away, Bane turned toward the stairs. Kas’im was right: he had to get out of the rain.
Feeling strangely surreal, he walked stiffly toward the stairs that led into the warmth and shelter of the rooms below. The crowd parted quickly to let him through. Most of the other apprentices were staring at him with expressions of fear and open wonder, yet he barely noticed. He descended the steps to the temple’s main floor, walking in a stupor that was broken only when he heard Githany call his name.
“Bane!” she shouted, and he turned to see her hurrying down the stairs after him. Her drenched hair was plastered haphazardly to her face and forehead. Her soaked clothes clung tightly to her body, accentuating every curve of her shapely form. She was breathing hard, though whether from excitement or the exertion of catching up to him he couldn’t say.
He waited at the base of the stairs as she approached. She ran down the steps toward him, and for a moment he thought she would continue on into his arms. At the last second she stopped, however, and stood mere centimeters from him.
Githany took a second to catch her breath before she spoke. When she did, her words were harsh, though her voice was low. “What happened up there? Why didn’t you kill him?”
Part of him had been expecting this reaction, though another part of him was hoping she had come to congratulate him on his victory. He couldn’t help but feel disappointed.
“He sent me to the bacta tank in our first duel. Now I’ve done the same to him,” he replied. “That’s vengeance.”
“That’s foolish!” she shot back. “You think Sirak’s going