Star Wars_ Darth Bane 02_ Rule of Two - Drew Karpyshyn [108]
Farfalla’s eyes were cold and hard. “I doubt the Council will be in any great hurry to take action in this matter,” he warned.
“But Master Valenthyne—” Johun pleaded, only to have the other man cut him off with a sharp wave of his hand.
“The Council will not help you, Johun. Therefore we must go to Tython ourselves.”
Johun’s eyes went wide in surprise.
“I swore a vow to General Hoth,” Farfalla explained, his voice taking on the hard tone of military command he had not used since the disbanding of the Army of Light. “I promised I would not rest until the Sith had been cleansed from the galaxy. I still intend to honor that vow.
“Go find Masters Raskta and Worror,” he added. “They also served with Hoth on Ruusan. They will join us in our cause. Tell them we leave within the hour.”
The first thing Zannah did after the Loranda had escaped Coruscant’s orbit and made the jump to hyperspace was wash the black dye out of her hair.
She’d engaged and locked the autopilot before heading off to the staterooms in the aft decks, leaving Tomcat to wander freely about the vessel. When she emerged, still drying her restored blond locks with a towel, he was calmly waiting for her.
He had settled in on one of the long, padded couches in the Loranda’s sitting lounge, reclining comfortably along its length. Judging by the drink in his hand, he had also located the collection of ales Hetton had kept on board. Still dressed in the ragtag robes of a hermit, he cut an image that was slightly comical.
“Even with the dye job gone, you still don’t look anything like what I thought you’d grow up as,” he told her.
It wasn’t just her hair that Zannah had changed; she’d also replaced the drab Jedi robes with her more familiar and comfortable all-black garb. Being left-handed, she’d hung her lightsaber on that same hip, and the valuable datacard with the article on the orbalisks had been secured in a cargo pocket sewn into her trousers along the outside of her right thigh.
“This is the real me,” she assured him.
She had often assumed character roles and disguises in her missions for Darth Bane, and she was usually comfortable in the act of deception. Yet for some reason she’d found the guise of Nalia repellent, and she’d been eager—almost desperate—to rid herself of all remnants of the Padawan façade.
“So am I your prisoner?” he asked as she sat down on the seat across from him.
“I don’t think prisoners are allowed to drink tarul while they lounge on couches,” she noted, tossing the towel onto the cushions beside her.
“Then why did you bring me along?” Tomcat asked, sitting up and leaning forward, suddenly serious and intent.
“I couldn’t leave you behind. You were going to expose me and my Master to the Jedi Council. You were a threat to the Sith.”
“Do you really believe you’re a Sith, Rain?”
“Don’t call me that,” she said angrily. “Rain is dead. She died on Ruusan. My name’s Zannah now.”
“I guess Tomcat died on Ruusan, too,” he agreed somberly, slowly swirling the glass in his hand. “You should probably call me Darovit now. But you never answered my question. Do you really believe you’re a Sith?”
“I am Darth Zannah, apprentice of Darth Bane, Dark Lord of the Sith,” she said, making no effort to hide the fierce pride she felt in the titles. “And one day I will destroy my Master and choose an apprentice of my own, continuing the legacy of the dark side.”
“I don’t believe that,” Darovit told her, obviously unimpressed with her declaration. “I know you, Zannah. You’re not evil.”
“Evil is a word used by the ignorant and the weak,” she snapped. “The dark side is about survival. It’s about unleashing your inner power. It glorifies the strength of the individual.”
“That’s not you, either,” Darovit countered. “Followers of the dark side must be brutal and ruthless. You care about others, Zannah.”
“You don’t know me,” she sneered at him. “I’ve killed more people than you can possibly imagine.”
“I’ve killed people, too.