Star Wars_ The Old Republic_ Revan - Drew Karpyshyn [107]
Eventually they turned down a hall that terminated at a pair of large durasteel doors.
“The throne room lies beyond,” Captain Yarri told him. “There you will find the Emperor.” She turned to face him. “I will give you one last chance to reconsider.”
“I’ve made my decision.”
“Then you must proceed alone. I will not violate the sanctity of the throne room.”
She motioned with her hand, and two of the soldiers stepped forward, one by each of the massive doors. Grunting with exertion, they pushed the doors inward; then they stepped to the side, standing at attention with their backs against the wall just outside the throne room’s now-open entrance.
Scourge expected them to search him, or at least instruct him to turn over his weapons. But Yarri and the others simply stood at attention, waiting for him to enter. The fact that they showed no concern over letting an armed Sith Lord speak to the Emperor face-to-face without any kind of preparation was a testament to the Emperor’s unfathomable power.
Thinking about that power gave Scourge pause. Like Revan, the Emperor understood the Force in ways Scourge never would. It was possible he experienced the same kinds of visions as the Jedi; it was also possible he could peer into Scourge’s mind and instantly know the truth of everything he was saying. Meeting him face-to-face could be tantamount to suicide.
No, Scourge thought. If that were the case, he would have sensed Nyriss’s betrayal long ago.
As powerful as the Emperor might be, he was not omniscient. He was, however, intelligent and cunning enough to have held on to his throne for over a thousand years—an unprecedented reign among the conniving and cutthroat politics of the Sith. Which meant Scourge would have to be very careful not to say anything that might give him away.
Captain Yarri and the other guards were still patiently waiting. No doubt they were used to seeing this kind of hesitation in those who were about to meet with the Emperor.
Steeling himself, Scourge stepped inside.
The throne room was enormous: twenty meters wide and at least forty meters long, with an arched ceiling that rose fifteen meters above. Apart from the throne at the far end, it was virtually empty.
The throne sat on an elevated circular pedestal, several meters in diameter. As Scourge walked forward, he noticed that the throne was facing away from him, its high back effectively blocking any view of its occupant.
After a few more steps, the pedestal swiveled around, turning the throne so that it faced him. And for the first time in his life, Scourge set eyes upon the Emperor.
The figure before him appeared unremarkable. The Emperor was clad in unadorned black robes, the raised hood effectively hiding his face. Yet Scourge could feel the power of the dark side emanating from him with such intensity that it caused a faint rippling of the air.
The Emperor rose to his feet, and the durasteel doors swung shut behind Scourge with a booming crash. Scourge’s step faltered briefly at the sound, but he continued forward.
As he reached the foot of the pedestal he dropped to one knee, bowing low, his eyes focused on a spot on the ground in front of him.
“Rise, Lord Scourge,” the Emperor told him, “and speak your piece.”
Scourge stood up to address the Sith looming above him. The Emperor had thrown back his hood to reveal his face; his eyes were as black as the Void itself.
Staring into the hollow darkness of the Emperor’s gaze, Scourge’s mind flashed back to Nathema, and he shivered at the memory.
He tried to speak, but the words stuck in his throat. His mouth was suddenly so dry he felt as if he might choke. He swallowed hard and coughed, finally bringing up enough saliva to talk.
“Three years ago I went to serve Darth Nyriss at your request,” Scourge began. “I discovered that Darth Xedrix was a traitor. He had allied himself with separatists to kill Nyriss, and