Star Wars_ The New Jedi Order 20_ The Final Prophecy - J. Gregory Keyes [37]
“Yes,” she said. “We just go in through the front door.”
“And where will we meet you?” Corran asked the Prophet.
“There is a shrine to Yun-Harla nearby. The shaper will know where it is. If I survive, I will see you there.”
“You haven’t seen whether you survive or not?” Corran asked.
The Prophet smiled. “I am confident that I will.”
“Well, good luck anyway,” Corran said.
“Yes. May the Force be with you.”
As the sounds of the Prophet’s footsteps faded, Corran opened his mouth to say something, and then stopped. He looked at Tahiri.
“Yes,” Tahiri assured him. “That was weird for me, too.”
Nom Anor continued grinning as he left the two Jedi. While nothing was certain, he did expect to survive the coming battle, because he did not intend to be in it. His followers would fight, and they would die, and he would leave by the way he had come in and make his way to the shrine. If the Jedi and the shaper died as well, then he would vanish back underground and try to think of something new.
He wasn’t particularly happy that Corran Horn had been chosen to come. While it looked good to his followers, for him it would be a continual danger. Horn was not the sort to be lulled easily out of suspicion. If he discovered the “Prophet’s” true identity, Nom Anor suspected that the appearance of present good intentions would not overshadow his actions against the Jedi in the past.
Of course, Tahiri was a problem, too. Her knowledge of Yuuzhan Vong ways made her another potential threat. She’d seemed less than entirely convinced by his explanation for the masquer.
He paused in the darkened tunnel, considering. Perhaps he shouldn’t go through with this, after all.
But, no, he had to. Since Ngaaluh’s death, Nom Anor’s influence had begun to wane. Shimrra was now extremely vigilant against spies at his court, even at the highest levels. Sweeps of the lower levels had increased, and Shamed Ones removed farther from where they might do harm. Worse, while his following hadn’t dropped off, it hadn’t grown, either, partly because too many of them were getting killed without any apparent movement toward the ultimate goal of “redemption.” The potential for an uprising that might catapult Nom Anor to power was farther away than it had ever been. He needed a new catalyst, a new source of strength. He needed, in short, new allies.
Still … He patted the pouch-creature fastened to the flesh beneath his arm. It contained the one piece of his past as a respected executor. He wasn’t even sure why he’d risked bringing it, but … if he were to deliver two Jedi, a rogue shaper, and the planet Zonama Sekot into Shimrra’s hands, it might be enough to …
No it wouldn’t. Not if even a suspicion of his role as Yu’shaa were to enter Shimrra’s mind.
No, he would have to work with what he had. It was far too late to flinch. Nor could he panic at the prospect of the trip he faced.
He did not, like his superstitious followers, believe in an ordained destiny—destiny was something created by sheer force of will, and that was something he had in abundance. So he would play the role of compassionate holy man for the Jedi. He would win them or they would die.
For Nom Anor, there could only be forward and upward, never back or down.
One moment nothing was happening; the next a yellow-green explosion blossomed from the side of the building across the square and the outer wall collapsed in sticky shards, as if it had melted. Warriors all across the square raced for the source of the explosion, but before they could reach it, a mob of Shamed Ones sprang from a pit near the buildings and fell upon the warriors with coufees, amphistaffs, batons, even pipes and rocks.
The fighting was confused by distance, but Tahiri could tell they weren’t faring very well, though they fought with absolute conviction, some impaling themselves on the amphistaffs