Star Wars_ The New Rebellion - Kristine Kathryn Rusch [126]
Slowly Kueller drew his lightsaber, the hiss filling the street. Its blade burned blue.
“I don’t want to fight you, Dolph,” Luke said.
“You won’t be fighting Dolph,” Kueller replied. He slashed at Luke. In one quick movement, Luke grabbed his lightsaber and blocked Kueller’s swipe with his own blade. The electric clang of the sabers filled the air, sending sparks all around them. Each movement ripped at Luke’s back, but he focused on the blade instead: parrying, defending, blocking, never really attacking. He would wait until Kueller was open before making his move.
Kueller hit at Luke’s left, then his right, then his heart. But Luke kept blocking. Kueller pushed Luke backward, toward the house. Luke stumbled on his weak leg, and collapsed on the knee. A river of pain ran through his thigh. Kueller brought his lightsaber down onto Luke’s shoulder, but Luke rolled away from it, his back burning as dirt from the road ground into his wounds.
He pushed himself up and swiped at Kueller, singeing his cape. The hum of lightsabers filled the air. Sweat ran down Luke’s face. His strength was gone. He had gone through too much in the last few days. But he concentrated on Kueller’s movements, lived for Kueller’s movements, blocked them, anticipated them, and held his ground.
In a series of five rapid thrusts, Kueller moved Luke backward again. Luke parried, parried, parried, but couldn’t keep his balance. His ankle was clearly broken and unable to support him. Kueller jabbed at Luke’s left side. Luke swiveled to dodge, and Kueller jabbed again. Luke’s ankle buckled, but he didn’t fall. Kueller pushed closer, and knocked Luke’s lightsaber from his hand.
Kueller held his blue blade beneath Luke’s chin. Luke could feel its heat, smell its electric tang.
“I should kill you now,” Kueller said.
Luke was breathing hard, but he felt no fear. He could call the lightsaber to him, and continue the battle, but somehow he knew that Kueller wasn’t yet ready to kill him.
He met Kueller’s dark, empty gaze. “Killing me will not strengthen you.”
The mask smiled in a skeletal imitation of death. “Ah, but it will, Master Skywalker.”
“No,” Luke said. “A Jedi welcomes death. He does not fear it.”
“Are you telling me that, Skywalker, or yourself?”
“You, Dolph.”
“I am not Dolph!”
“As you wish,” Luke said. He was standing on his broken bone. The entire leg had gone numb.
“I should kill you,” Kueller said again, “but I need you to lure your sister here.”
“You don’t want to face two of us, Dolph.”
Kueller snapped his fingers. Dozens of stormtroopers, their white uniforms gleaming in the sun, emerged from the surrounding buildings. “Take him to Almania.”
“That’s a lot of soldiers for one man,” Luke said, with some amusement.
“I know who you are, Skywalker.” Kueller kept the tip of the lightsaber near the tender skin under Luke’s chin. “I will never underestimate you.”
The stormtroopers surrounded him. He braced himself, about to jump free, when something pricked the back of his neck. He brought up his hand, turned in surprise, and saw a stormtrooper behind him, holding a slight needle.
“Good night, Master Skywalker,” Kueller said, as Luke collapsed onto the ground.
Leia was nearly finished outfitting Alderaan. The ship was designed especially for her, an escape vehicle when she needed it, an emergency vehicle when the times called for it, as they had when Hethrir had stolen her children. Alderaan had no markings on her outside, and her name was known only to a few. She was identified by her number, and her owner was listed as a woman named Lelila. Lelila was actually Leia’s nickname from childhood, her second identity, one that had served her well in her search for her own children not so long ago.
It would serve her well now, in her search for her brother.
Luke? she sent again, but again, she received nothing in return.