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“No,” she said. “It is wrong. This one cannot take the place of a longtail she has killed.”

“I’m afraid you don’t have a choice,” Cilghal said. “We’re going to need a warrior leading the Order, and that’s not me.”

“And I’m too filled with anger and thoughts of vengeance,” Corran said. “If I take lead against Daala, I’ll walk us all into the dark side.”

Saba shook her head stubbornly. “It isn’t right.”

“But it is necessary,” Cilghal said. “You started this, Saba. You’re the one Daala fears. You must do this—for the good of the Order.”

Saba let her muzzle drop. She had hoped to escape this burden, to avoid being elevated by her mistake. But the Force was not so forgiving. Every act was a link in the chain of consequence, and she had been a fool to think that she could avoid the taint of the decision she had made in the hangar—to think that she could allow a Jedi to drop to his death and not find herself walking the line between the dark side and the light.

“Saba, we need you to say yes,” Corran said. “We’ll sort out the rest after it’s done, when the Order is safe and the Sith are defeated—”

“When Daala is gone,” Saba finished. She pointed at the chair at the head of the circle. “This one will do this until Grand Master Skywalker is sitting in that chair again. But when he is, this one will be judged.”

Corran nodded. “Fair enough. Now, tell us how we’re going to keep this thing from turning Coruscant into a battlefield.”

Saba looked over at him. “There is only one way to do that, Master Horn,” she said. “We must remove Daala from office.”

A TRIO OF KONDO-CLASS SHUTTLES HAD BEEN TRACING VAPOR TRAILS across the sky for the last half hour, searching in vain for an island located almost directly below them. Meanwhile, the small group of Sith warriors who were actually in the village, searching for Abeloth, were outnumbered six to one by Fallanassi adepts. Sarasu Taalon had grown so weak that he was swaying on his feet, and he looked more unsteady by the moment. So why the High Lord continued to believe he controlled the situation, Luke could not imagine.

“So Abeloth came to the Fallanassi for protection, and you expect me to believe you have no idea why?” Taalon demanded.

Taalon was standing in what had once been a stone courtyard but was now a moss-covered ring. Across from him, just beyond lightsaber’s reach, floated a cross-legged woman. She looked like Akanah, but Luke had begun to fear she was actually their quarry, Abeloth. The transformation might have been mere illusion, or it might have been complete replication, or it could even have been an actual transference of mind and spirit. Luke had no clue. He was certain of only one thing. If he wanted to destroy Abeloth for good, he needed to discover which.

“That is not what I told you,” Akanah said, replying to Taalon. “I said we don’t know who she is.”

Anger smoldered in Taalaon’s weary eyes. “Your answers are honest, yet they reveal nothing.” He stepped closer, and Akanah floated back. “I tire of this game.”

Akanah turned her palms up in a gesture of helplessness. “You are not here at our invitation. I see no reason to care how you feel.”

“Then perhaps Saber Khai should give you one.”

Taalon nodded to Khai, who now wore dark robes, having removed his bulky hazard suit when Taalon declared the Weeping Pox a Fallanassi deception. Luke could tell by Khai’s tense body language—and by that of the rest of the Sith, who had also switched to robes—that the act had been one of faith rather than belief. The Fallanassi illusion was still working on them, using their own minds to make them feel sick and prove Taalon’s mistake.

Khai extended his hand toward the edge of the circle, where dozens of Fallanassi Adepts stood watching the confrontation, and the gray-haired elder whom Taalon had struck earlier began to move forward, her toes dragging and digging small furrows into the moss. Worried about what might happen next, Luke let his hand edge toward the lightsaber hanging from his belt. He stepped away