Star Wars_ The New Jedi Order 20_ The Final Prophecy - J. Gregory Keyes [39]
The Jedi cut down the last of their stunned opponents and stood panting over corpses, staring at her.
The gaze of the yellow-haired one struck Nen Yim like a thud bug, and a jolt of recognition ran through her. Everything changed, suddenly, and she realized her only triumph was death.
“You,” she said. “You’ve come to kill me.”
Tahiri gave Nen Yim a cold grin.
“You think so?” she said. “Why would I do that? Merely because you tortured me, turned my brain inside out, tried to turn me against everything I had ever known?”
“You two know each other, then,” Corran speculated.
Tahiri nodded grimly. “She’s one of the shapers who experimented on me. Her name is Nen Yim.” She looked at the fallen warriors. “I see you’ve got a new hand. Like Mezhan Kwaad’s.”
“Mezhan Kwaad was a master. Now I am.”
“I should have known it was you,” Tahiri said. Rage was suddenly a whirlwind in her. “Watch her hand, Corran. She has—”
“I saw what she did to the warriors,” Corran said. “If she thinks it will work on me, she’s welcome to try.”
“She’s mine, Corran,” Tahiri growled. She stepped forward, raising her weapon to guard between them. Turning to the shaper, she continued, “You have no idea what you’ve put me through, Nen Yim. I nearly died. I nearly went mad.”
“But you did not.”
“I did not. Nor did I become what you were trying to make of me.”
“That was fairly clear when you decapitated Mezhan Kwaad,” the shaper replied.
“Yes,” Tahiri said. “That was a quick end for her. My torture lasted a lot longer.”
The rage was blackening in her, a vua’sa nearing a rival’s den. She watched for the slightest twitch of the shaper’s hand, the smallest excuse to—
To what? Kill her?
She took a deep, slow breath, and lowered her weapon. Her hand was trembling and her belly was tight. She willed the muscles to relax.
“We’ve come a long way through a lot of trouble for you,” she said. “I don’t intend to kill you, not now. You’re the reason we’re here, aren’t you?”
“I wish to see Zonama Sekot,” the shaper said. “If you have come to take me there, then yes.”
“We should talk about this later,” Corran said.
“We will,” Tahiri said. “We certainly will. After we’ve gotten out of here but long before we reach Zonama Sekot. Do you understand me?”
“I understand you,” Nen Yim replied. “But for now, if we’re to escape, you must do as I say.”
“Time’s wasting,” Corran said. “What do we do?”
“The warriors I killed. Use your weapons on them.”
Corran grinned wryly. “I thought so.” He did as instructed, cutting through the wounds that were already there, erasing any sign that they had been killed by a shaper’s hand. Tahiri watched in disgust. A Yuuzhan Vong ought to own the violence she did.
“Next?”
“I need an opening in that wall, large enough for this ship to pass through. I’m certain your infi—your weapons can accomplish it.”
Tahiri nodded at Corran, and together they moved to the coral wall indicated and began carving chunks from it. While they were still less than half done, shouts went up behind them.
Before Corran could react, Tahiri spun and charged the new attackers. There were three of them.
“Finish!” she cried. “I’ll take these.”
All three bore amphistaffs. She hurled herself at them as if committed to a full-on charge, but at the last instant stopped short. As a result, the counterattack from the lead warrior was also short. She picked up the rigid end of his staff in a high bind and cut down through the juncture of neck and shoulder, sweeping her blade around to catch a second attacker in a high parry. Then she dropped, instinctively ducking the slash from the third. Even so, the second warrior recovered quickly and wrapped his suddenly flexible staff around her ankle. Tahiri used the Force to leap away, and the warrior yanked her back, which was what