Star Wars_ The Dark Lord Trilogy - James Luceno [377]
His black cloak unfurling, Vader spun around to find the helmeted head of Commander Appo coming to a rocky rest at his feet.
A few meters away Roan Shryne stood with his legs spread to shoulder width, Forte’s blue blade angled high and to one side. Alongside him, blasters in both six-fingered hands, Archyr was dropping every stormtrooper who approached.
“Get away from him!” Shryne yelled at Starstone.
She gaped at him. “How did you—”
“Filli was keeping us updated. Now move away—hurry!”
Vader made no effort to prevent her from slinking past him. “Very touching, Shryne,” he said after a moment. “Treating her like your personal learner.”
Shryne gestured broadly. “Olee, get the wounded into the drop ship!” Advancing on Vader, he said: “I’m the one you want, Vader. So here’s your chance. Me for them.”
“Shryne, no—” Starstone started.
“Take the wounded!” he cut her off. “Jula’s waiting.”
“I’m not leaving you!”
“I’ll catch up with you when I’m done with him.”
Vader looked from Shryne to Starstone. “Listen to your Master, Padawan. He has already lost two learners. I’m certain he doesn’t want to lose a third.”
Coming back to herself, Starstone hurried to help Lambe, Klossi, Nam, and some of the Wookiees get aboard the drop ship. Determined to quiet her fears for Shryne, she forced herself not to look at him, but she could feel him reaching out to her.
He is a Jedi again.
With gunships circling Kachirho like insects spilled from an aggravated nest, Skeck powered the drop ship over the edge of the balcony and dived for the beleaguered landing platform. Airbursts from Imperial artillery crawlers raked and scorched the ship, inside which Starstone sat slumped on her knees with her arm around Klossi Anno, who was going in and out of consciousness, the wound on her back like a blackened trench. Across the cramped passenger bay Lambe and Nam, white-faced with fear, were nursing their amputated limbs and calling on the Force to keep from going into shock.
Wookiees huddled, braying in anger or whimpering in pain. Two of those Starstone and Archyr had helped carry aboard were dead.
Who was Vader? she asked herself. What was he?
She looked again at Klossi’s wound, then at the one in her upper arm she hadn’t even felt herself sustain. Vader’s way of marking them with a Sith brand.
Could even Shryne defeat him?
“Hold tight!” Archyr yelled from the drop ship’s copilot’s seat. “This’ll be one to remember!”
Skeck was taking the ship in fast. While the impaired repulsors were managing to keep it airborne, the ship was tipped acutely to one side. As a result, the wing on that side made first contact with the platform, gouging a ragged furrow in the wooden surface and whipping the ship into a spin that sent it crashing into a parked ferry in even sorrier condition.
Starstone’s head slammed against the bulkhead with such force that she saw stars. Setting Klossi down gently, she checked on Lambe and Nam. Then she stumbled through the drop ship hatch, with Archyr trailing while Skeck remained at the controls.
Daylight was fading and the air was filled with the smoke and grit of battle.
The sky wailed with ships and pulsed with strobing explosions. Wookiees and other beings were running every which way across the landing platform. Elsewhere, bands of Wookiees, including some of those the Jedi had met, were carrying the wounded to shelter. Many of the traders’ ships had lifted off, but just as many had been savaged by gunship fire or were buried under debris that had fallen from Kachirho’s uppermost limbs and branches.
Principal fighting had moved east of the platform, closer to the lake. There, several crashed gunships were in flames, and the ground was piled high with the bodies of dead Wookiees and clone troopers. Imperial forces were storming the tree-city from all sides, even from the far shore of the lake, arriving on swamp-speeders and other watercraft. Searing hyphens of blasterfire were