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Luke continued to lead the way to the speeder. “If there are snipers, we’re already in their sights. So be—”

“Vestara Khai.” The voice was a distant wail, high-pitched, like a keening ghost from a spooky holodrama. It echoed from the ravine walls.

Ben glanced back at her. “It’s for you.”

She scowled at him. “You’re not helping.”

There was a blur of motion, and then a woman landed atop their airspeeder, clearly having jumped up from ground level behind it. She was of average height, lean, a little broad in the shoulder, with dark skin and short black hair. Like Luke, Ben, and Vestara, she wore garments suited to Newcomers—pants and a lined jacket of hard-wearing cloth, sturdy leather boots, an overcloak and hood, goggles.

Vestara gave her a close look, as close as she could at this distance. “Who are you?”

“You know me, traitor.” The woman raised her arms high, stretching, then put her hands down on her hips. She twisted her body back and forth, a loosening-up exercise. “And it’s time for your companions to die, and for you to be taken to your father for questioning.”

There was something familiar about the woman’s voice, and Vestara finally recognized it. The woman should have had flawless lavender skin and hair as white as snow. Clearly she was in makeup and a wig, disguised to be able to move among the people of Nam Chorios without standing out. “Tola Annax.”

“Your brains haven’t seized up completely, Vestara. Now surrender like a good girl. We need to take you back to your father so you can experience only the most carefully thought-out torture and explain which of you cut down Lord Taalon. If you didn’t do it, you clearly conspired with his killer—you’re not their prisoner.”

Vestara ignited her lightsaber and began moving forward again. “He had to die. He was … changing. He was no longer fit to lead us.” She had not the slightest faith that her words would be believed, but it was something to talk about while making her approach.

“Oh, we’re aware of the genetic mutations he was experiencing. Accelerated changes, grotesque mutations … you might even be acquitted of complicity because of them. If you surrender.”

“Of course. Come down here and I’ll give you my weapon personally.” As she spoke, Vestara was aware of, and curiously glad of, the footsteps of the Skywalkers following her.

Tola’s words meant the Sith didn’t know who had killed Taalon. Therefore her father had not told them what he had overheard. That realization struck Vestara with the same effect that stepping out into the cold wind had a few minutes earlier. Gavar Khai was … protecting her? Showing concern for her fate? She felt a sudden confusion, not sure for a moment whether her father was the man she had grown up with or the one to whom she had been writing her ridiculously emotional, never-to-be-sent letters.

She was now thirty meters from the speeder, and still Tola had not drawn her own lightsaber. Tola did seem to have something in the palm of her hand, but it was nowhere near the size of a lightsaber hilt. Now she changed subjects. “Have you found Abeloth yet? We have some justice in mind for her, too.”

Vestara didn’t answer.

Apparently Tola didn’t expect her to. Suddenly three men charged from behind the airspeeder, coming to a halt halfway between the speeder and Vestara. All were human, in good shape, dressed like Tola, and carrying lightsabers. One after another they ignited their weapons, and the red blades sprang into life.

Vestara heard Ben’s and Luke’s weapons snap-hiss into readiness behind her.

There were no further attempts at negotiation. The Sith in the center of the enemy line bounded forward toward Vestara. The other two went right and left, circling to engage the Skywalkers.

Vestara recognized her opponent. He was a Saber, a petty officer under her father’s command. He was big, physically imposing, a handful of years older than her. More experienced, if one went only by number of years.

He came at her with the speed and lack of grace of a fast-moving crawler