Star Wars_ Fate of the Jedi 04_ Backlash - Aaron Allston [131]
“Oh, Apprentice?”
She froze, then spun back toward Lord Gaalan. “Sir?”
“Well done.”
“Thank you, my lord.” She nodded, then returned to her task.
She did not allow the elation she felt to show on her face. Praise from a Lord. It was rare and it was meaningful.
When she reached the edge of the forest, she found that Halliava, though still securely bound, had wriggled her way, worm-like, several dozen meters back into the forest. “No, no, you mustn’t do that. You’ll end up in the belly of a pack of lizards for sure.” Vestara hauled Halliava upright and picked her up rescuer-style once more. “And now you’ve got even more dirt and leaves on you.” Jauntily, she walked back toward the meadow.
As she reached the edge once more, she was surprised to see the two Sabers who had been inside the last shuttle, one man and one woman, both human, emerge through the hatch with their unlit lightsabers. Lord Gaalan and his female aide now stood side by side, weapons in hand, staring to the southwest, well to the left of Vestara’s position.
From a depression in the rolling ground of the meadow there leapt Luke, Ben, and Dyon.
Vestara froze. This was not good.
Should she return to the shuttle to help? The Sith might not need it—would not need it, certainly. And if any of the three newcomers escaped alive, her role in the capture of the Nightsisters, and the deception she had practiced on the Raining Leaves and Broken Columns, would be revealed. Yet that deception was at an end; her self-appointed task here was complete. Still, it was hard just to abandon the fabric of half-truths and relationships she had so painstakingly built.
And all of her considerations meant nothing if the Skywalkers had seen her walking from Lord Gaalan’s presence to the forest.
Absently, she shrugged Halliava off her shoulders. The woman fell to the ground, hitting hard and grunting in pain.
In her moments of indecision, the Jedi and Sith moved.
The Sith leader’s voice was cultured, surprisingly pleasant. “You are Grand Master Luke Skywalker.”
Luke nodded. “My son, Ben. Our friend Dyon Stadd.”
“I am Lord Viun Gaalan, the last man you will ever meet. Much admiration will be accorded me for killing Luke Skywalker. Especially by the family of Lady Rhea, whom you slew.”
Luke shook his head. “No, you aren’t, and no, it won’t.” Lord Gaalan ignited his lightsaber; the clover-like growth on the meadow glowed red in its light. The other three Sith and the Jedi ignited theirs a split second afterward. Dyon drew his twin blaster pistols.
Luke and Gaalan hurtled together, green lightsaber blade crashing on red, a blow that would have thrown any two lesser Force-users back half a dozen meters, but the two of them were unmoved. The female Sith beside Gaalan struck at Luke, but he merely adjusted the angle of his blade against Gaalan’s to catch her attack. Luke kicked, forcing the woman back; she fell, rolling into a backward somersault and coming up on her feet.
Ben hurtled toward the other Sith male. Luke, in his peripheral vision, saw his son stop short and reverse direction. The Sith man, lunging toward him, slipped off-balance, and his lightsaber flew from his hand.
Blasterfire flashed from Dyon at the disarmed Sith. The Sith man caught the first bolt with his open hand, but, still off-balance, could not catch the second. It seared into his knee. The third took him in the shoulder; the fourth, in the throat.
The second Sith female leapt toward Dyon. He retreated, an expert dodge that caused her to miss his left arm with her lightsaber; the blow cleaved through his left-hand blaster instead.
The woman who’d supported Gaalan now ran at Ben.
Gaalan struck at Luke, high, low, a series of subtle and sophisticated blows that would have bewildered any lesser duelist. He was good; Luke gave him that. He might have been a match for an expert swordsmaster such as Kyp or Kyle Katarn. He would have been too much for a comparatively