Star Wars_ The Dark Lord Trilogy - James Luceno [151]
Kenobi’s response to this friendly word was to regard him with a twinkle of gentle amusement in his eye.
“Very well, then,” the Jedi said, and shot straight upward over Dooku’s head so fast it seemed he’d vanished.
And in the space where Kenobi’s chest had been was now only the blue lightning of Skywalker’s blade driving straight for Dooku’s heart.
Only a desperate whirl to one side made what would have been a smoking hole in his chest into a line of scorch through his armorweave cloak.
Dooku thought, What?
He threw himself spinning up and away from the two Jedi to land on the situation table, disengaging for a moment to recover his composure—that had been entirely too close—but by the time his boots touched down Kenobi was there to meet him, blade weaving through a defensive velocity so bewilderingly fast that Dooku dared not even try a strike; he threw a feint toward Kenobi’s face, then dropped and spun in a reverse ankle-sweep—
But not only did Kenobi easily overleap this attack, Dooku nearly lost his own foot to a slash from Skywalker who had again come out of nowhere and now carved through the table so that it collapsed under Dooku’s weight and dumped the Sith Lord unceremoniously to the floor.
This was not in the plan.
Skywalker slammed his following strike down so hard that the shock of deflecting it buckled Dooku’s elbows. Dooku threw himself into a backroll that brought him to his feet—and Kenobi’s blade was there to meet his neck. Only a desperate whirling slash-block, coupled with a wheel kick that caught Kenobi on the thigh, bought him enough time to leap away again, and when he touched down—
Skywalker was already there.
The first overhand chop of Skywalker’s blade slid off Dooku’s instinctive guard. The second bent Dooku’s wrist. The third flash of blue forced Dooku’s scarlet blade so far to the inside that his own lightsaber scorched his shoulder, and Dooku was forced to give ground.
Dooku felt himself blanch. Where had this come from?
Skywalker came on, mechanically inexorable, impossibly powerful, a destroyer droid with a lightsaber: each step a blow and each blow a step. Dooku backed away as fast as he dared; Skywalker stayed right on top of him. Dooku’s breath went short and hard. He no longer tried to block Skywalker’s strikes but only to guide them slanting away; he could not meet Skywalker strength-to-strength—not only did the boy wield tremendous reserves of Force energy, but his sheer physical power was astonishing—
And only then did Dooku understand that he’d been suckered.
Skywalker’s Shien ready-stance had been a ruse, as had his Ataro gymmnastics; the boy was a Djem So stylist, and as fine a one as Dooku had ever seen. His own elegant Makashi simply did not generate the kinetic power to meet Djem So head-to-head. Especially not while also defending against a second attacker.
It was time to alter his own tactics.
He dropped low and spun into another reverse ankle-sweep—the weakness of Djem So was its lack of mobility—that slapped Skywalker’s boot sharply enough to throw the young Jedi off balance, giving Dooku the opportunity to leap away—
Only to find himself again facing the wheel of blue lightning that was Kenobi’s blade.
Dooku decided that the comedy had ended.
Now it was time to kill.
Kenobi’s Master had been Qui-Gon Jinn, Dooku’s own Padawan; Dooku had fenced Qui-Gon thousands of times, and he knew every weakness of the Ataro form, with its ridiculous acrobatics. He drove a series of flashing thrusts toward Kenobi’s legs to draw the Jedi Master into a flipping overhead leap so that Dooku could burn through his spine from kidneys to shoulder blades—and this image, this plan, was so clear in Dooku’s mind that he almost failed to notice that Kenobi met every one of his thrusts without so much as moving his feet, staying perfectly centered, perfectly balanced, blade never moving a millimeter more than was necessary, deflecting