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“You were comparing yourself to her, weren’t you? To Brisha Syo. You have one purpose left to you, and when that’s done you wonder if you’re just going to vanish, leaving no trace behind.”

Jag’s expression darkened. He sat upright, his posture once again rigidly military. “Jedi mind tricks.”

“I wasn’t reading your mind, Jag. Just your face.”

Jag rose. His voice became cordial but impersonal. “I need to see about commissioning the building of some specialized gear.” He spun on his heel and strode from the hangar, boot heels clicking.

chapter four

SANCTUARY MOON OF ENDOR, JEDI OUTPOST

The flat top of the outpost had once been a landing pad for shuttles and TIE fighters, and now, some forty standard years later, relics of that era still littered the pad—a discarded wheel from a shuttle’s landing gear, a rusty rolling cart that had once held tools, a scattering of corroded nuts and bolts that neither wind nor time had managed to scour from the surface.

They met there, Jedi Masters in exile: Luke Skywalker, Kyle Katarn, the Mon Cal healer Cilghal, Kyp Durron, Corran Horn, the fierce reptilian Saba Sebatyne, and Octa Ramis of Chandrila. Octa, trained by Kam and Tionne Solusar, both still recovering from their near-fatal wounds at the hands of Jacen Solo’s soldiers, was more subdued than the rest, her stillness in the Force clearly a consequence of rigid self-control rather than inner peace.

Kyp caught Luke’s attention. “I have something to bounce off you.” With a flick of his wrist and an exertion through the Force, he sent the ancient wheel soaring through the air toward Luke.

Luke somersaulted to the right and the wheel flew harmlessly over him. He came to his feet, igniting his lightsaber, as the wheel dropped to the landing pad surface and rolled nearly to the far edge of the roof before toppling and lying still. “Funny.” He advanced toward Kyp in mock menace. “Is this every Master for himself?”

Kyp shrugged and ignited his own lightsaber. “Might as well.”

Luke heard snap-hisses as the other Masters lit their weapons. This friendly exercise would be horribly dangerous to anyone but a Jedi Master, but all of those present were so in tune with the Force and one another that the odds of a mishap were, as usual, almost nil.

Luke charged Kyp but then, well outside lightsaber strike range, skidded to an abrupt halt. Kyp’s face had just enough time to register suspicion before Luke exerted himself through the Force, reaching upward to tree limbs that had grown out over the outpost. He yanked downward. A broad branch slapped down atop Kyp, bearing him to the landing pad surface and sending leaves swirling out all over the roof.

Kyp laughed and rolled free, coming up to his feet. “No fair.”

“Tactical superiority is never fair.”

“I mean, getting leaves and bugs in my hair.”

Luke felt the approach of Cilghal from behind. He leapt up and backward, inverting as he flew, and blocked the Mon Cal Master’s strike with his blade in passing. He landed behind her. A few meters away, Saba Sebatyne and Corran Horn dueled, each adopting a traditional, formalized lightsaber posture—Saba using a lightsaber in each hand, Corran with his own weapon adjusted to its second setting, its blade now three meters in length and a brilliant purple instead of its usual silver. Octa Ramis, who had supplied Saba with her second weapon, was content to stand off to one side, using the Force to hurl stones, plucked from the ground far below, through the tumult of practicing Masters. Kyle Katarn stood near her, watching all the others, practicing ritualized sword forms and waiting for an opponent to come open.

Kyp advanced against Luke again, striking at Luke’s ankles while Cilghal engaged the Grand Master’s blade. Luke danced over the low strike and put a foot into Cilghal’s torso, more of a push than a kick, before landing again. The Mon Cal staggered back a few steps, offering a nod of appreciation.

Kyp threw a succession of fast blows at Luke’s shoulders, occupying him while Cilghal recovered. “Actually, it’s a plan for a mission against