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“Stronger than I?” said Vol mildly, his face pleasant, as if he were engaged in idle chitchat on a lovely summer’s day.

Yur was unruffled as he turned toward the Grand Lord, bowing as he replied.

“She is an ancient being,” he said. “It seems to me foolish not to learn what we can from her.” Vol smiled a little; Yur had not actually answered the question.

“One may learn much about a rukaro by standing in its path,” Vol continued. “But one might not survive to benefit from that knowledge.”

“True,” Yur agreed. “Nonetheless, she is useful. Let us suck her dry before discarding the husk. Reports indicate that she still has much knowledge and skill in manipulating the Force to teach us and future generations of the Lost Tribe.”

“She is not Sith,” said Workan. The scorn in his melodious voice indicated that that single, damning observation should be the end of the debate.

“She is!” Sashal protested.

“Not the way we are Sith,” Workan continued. “And our way—our culture, our values, our heritage—must be the only way if our destiny is to remain pure and unsullied. We risk dooming ourselves by becoming overly reliant on someone not of the Tribe—no matter how powerful she might be.”

“Sith take what we want,” said Sashal, stepping toward Workan. Vol watched both of them closely, idly wondering if Sashal was issuing a challenge to her superior. It would be foolish. She was nowhere near as powerful as Workan. But sometimes ambition and wisdom did not go hand in hand.

Her full diminutive height was drawn up, and she projected great confidence in the Force. “We will take her, and use her, and discard her when we are done. But for love of the dark side, let us take her first! Listen to High Lord Yur! Think what we can learn! From all that we have heard, she has powers we cannot imagine!”

“From all that we have heard, she is unpredictable and dangerous,” countered Workan. “Only a fool rides the uvak he cannot control. I’ve no desire to continue to sacrifice Sith Sabers and Lords on the altar of aiding Abeloth and furthering her agenda—whatever it might be. Or have you failed to realize that we don’t even truly know what that is?”

Vol detected a slight sense of worry and urgency from the figure currently approaching the Circle Chambers. It was Saber Yasvan, her attractive features drawn in a frown of concern.

“Only a fool throws away a weapon that still has use,” countered Yur. “Something so ancient—we should string her along and unlock her secrets.”

“Our numbers are finite, Lord Yur,” Workan said. “At the rate Sith are dying interacting with her, we won’t be around to learn very much.”

Vol listened as Yasvan whispered in his ear, then nodded and, with a liver-spotted hand, dismissed the Saber.

“Entertaining as this debate has been,” he said, “it is time for it to conclude. I have just learned that Ship has made contact with our planetary defenses. Abeloth and the Sith I have sent to accompany her will not be far behind.”

They had all known to expect her; it was, indeed, the primary reason the meeting had been called. All eyes turned to him expectantly. What would their Grand Lord decide?

He let them stew. He was old, and few things amused him these days, so he permitted himself to enjoy the moment. At last, he said, “I have heard the arguments for continuing to work closely with her, and the arguments to sever ties. While I confess I am not overly fond of the former, and have made little secret of my opinion, neither do I think it is time for the latter. The best way to win is to cover all angles of the situation. And so Kesh and the Circle of Lords will invite Abeloth to our world. We shall give her a grand welcome, with feasting, and arts, and displays of our proud and powerful culture. And,” he added, eyeing them all intently, “we will watch, and learn, and listen. And then we will make our decision as to what is best for the Lost Tribe of Kesh.”

Sith Saber Gavar Khai sat in the captain’s chair on the bridge of the Black Wave, the ChaseMaster frigate that had once belonged