Tales from the New Republic (36 page)

Fable awoke to a terrible sense of foreboding. Quickly dressing, she sat tentatively at the edge of the bed, hugging her knees against her chest as she scanned the shadows. Something was terribly wrong and she could feel it. Cradling the lightsaber in her lap, she took a deep breath, assured that she was ready for the worst, whatever that may be, whenever it might come.

The familiar knock came at her door. “Come in,” she replied, eager to share her concerns with Jaalib. But as the door opened, she was greeted by the foreboding shadow of her mentor. “Where’s Jaalib?”

“Jaalib is the one and only treasure left to my miserable existence,” Brandl snarled. “I forbid this to happen. I forbid it!”

“Where is he? I want to talk to him!”

Advancing into the room, Brandl cornered her. “The theater on Iscera will be opening in a few days. I sent him there to make preparations for our production. By the time he returns, you will be gone.”

Fable followed Brandl into the corridor with heavy, angry strides, allowing her emotions to seethe within her. On the verge of a temper tantrum, she braced herself as common sense called on her to reason. She had come to Trulalis to improve herself, to get an edge on the enemy who pursued her, and then to return, if possible, to her friends in the Rebel Alliance. Falling in love had no place in that design.

Brandl set a bowl of steaming broth at the end of the table and sat down on the opposite end. Fable slammed herself into the stool, barely able to curb her temper. “So what’s it like to be a pawn for the Emperor!”

“I brought pleasure to my master through the tears of his subjects.” Momentarily distracted by the sincerity of the spontaneous soliloquy, Brandl stared into his bowl. Recovering his cynicism, he glared across the small table. “The Emperor’s ideas are quite noble. It’s his methods which eventually offend those of lesser vision.”

“Sounds like you’re still loyal to him.” Through narrowed eyes, she retaliated. “Why not, he only tried to kill you.”

“In time, you will learn that an old friend is very much like a good mirror. The longer you stare into it, the harder it is to find the flaws.”

A shrill whine echoed from high above, sending a peculiar reverberation through the theater. Fable felt a chill as her ears recognized the distinct sounds of a shuttle flying overhead. Its exhaust boosters could be heard above the whine of the ion drive, as the pilot circled, looking for an appropriate place to land. “That’s Vialco. Isn’t it?”

Brandl closed his eyes and was silent. Fable straightened her shoulders as she rose from the table, turning her back on the Jedi. “No more bad dreams,” she whispered with firm resolve and stepped from the shadows of the theater into the dawn. Her body knew every hollow and rise in the unmarked trail that led to the picturesque grounds of Kovit’s graveyard. She stared across the entrance mound to where Vialco stood among the tarnished graves and markers. For a moment, the fear and horror of their first encounter returned in full force.

“You’ve matured much faster than I expected,” Vialco declared. “I never imagined Lord Brandl to be such a gracious host.”

Vialco walked among the raised tombs, brushing his gloved hands over the rough-hewn stone, as if drawing power from the shadows lurking at the site of each grave. His face was gangly and angular, unattractive, with gaunt cheeks and unusually large brows. Sensing her peripheral thoughts, he whispered, “No, no more bad dreams, girl. I’ve come for the harvest.” A sinister determination shadowed his pallid face. “What shall it be, hmm?”

Fable shifted her weight to one foot, cocking her hip arrogantly. As Vialco ignited his lightsaber, she calmly drew her own, assuming the ready stance. She parried his first, preemptive attempts to break through her defenses, losing no ground to him, and met his surprise with a coy smile.

“We are much improved,” he commented. “Have I left too much time for you to prepare?”

“Lord Brandl did say you were a coward,” Fable taunted. “But I already knew that.”

Vialco’s face flushed with rage as he began a series of short lunges, forcing Fable to move back along the perimeter of the muddy basin. Feinting to the left, she swung around behind him, delivering a swift kick to Vialco’s behind. Enraged by her insolence, Vialco turned on her, gripping the lightsaber tightly in his hands. Deliberately stretching her defenses, he attempted to penetrate her confidence.

“Fable?”

Fable heard the soft-spoken voice from the past, and without turning toward the shadowy image on the edge of her peripheral vision, she knew the illusion to be Arecelis. The image waved and laughed, sounding intimately like her dead friend. “No,” Fable whispered, “no, I don’t think so, Vialco. I saw what you did to him. I saw it!” she seethed. The tip of her lightsaber sliced easily through the shoulder of his cloak. “And that was your first mistake.”

“And my second?”

“Letting me live to remember it!” She lunged savagely at him, knocking Vialco against the tomb of Brandl’s wife. Breaking off the assault, she somersaulted back down into the depression. Disengaging her lightsaber, she stood there defiantly. “Shall I play with you like you played with him?”

“Wretched girl!” Vialco hissed, spittle flying from the corners of his mouth. “If you will not be turned, you will die!” Summoning the corrupt powers of the dark side, Vialco felt the energy coursing through him. He extended his arms, curling his fingertips as the first tendrils of lightning surged from his hands.

Fable flinched, awkwardly balanced as she tried to back away. The arc of lightning shot through her, ripping into her flesh. Screaming in pain, she dropped to the ground, curling into a fetal ball as the agony washed through her. Before she could collect herself, a second and third blow left her tortured body temporarily paralyzed.

“Have we come so far to fall so low?” Vialco taunted. “Tsk, tsk, what a pity,” he smacked his thin lips.

Reeling with the corrupt power surge, Fable jumped to her feet. As Vialco took aim, she somersaulted, voicing a shrill squeal of effort as the pulse of electricity cuffed her shoulder. Wielding the lightsaber in both hands, she began the subtle movements of the first cadence. As each tendril of lightning arced at her, she swept the blade of the lightsaber across it, effectively deflecting it. She imagined that each arc was a new series of lines. Each point was the metal reflection of a ball bearing, the shiny wick of a candle.

Twenty, thirty… she lost count of the number of successful deflections. Even as the crescent of lightning arced behind her, slipping in above her head, she simply brought the lightsaber over her shoulder into its path. Never turning to look, her body reacted as her eyes designed the next path.

Fable fought her way to the top of the mound. Knocking Vialco from his feet, she pushed him down into the depression. She watched in horror as the tendrils of lightning rebelled against their master, burning through his clothing and flesh. He lurched for his lightsaber and fumbled, knocking the weapon out of reach. “Have we come so far to lie so low?” Fable mocked. She slid down the face of the mound, raising her lightsaber to finish him.

Vialco cowered below her, writhing in the mud. Something in his groveling manner made Fable hesitate, dropping her arms to chest height, as the lightsaber hummed insistently in her hands.

“Will you give him the chance to betray you again?” Keeping her eyes on Vialco, Fable felt the dark presence of her master. “Kill him and be done with it,” Brandl whispered. “Only then will you know that the nightmare is over.”

Fable disengaged the lightsaber and turned to her Jedi mentor. “It is over. Why kill him?”

“Remember what he is and what he has done. He will betray your dreams, as he has done before, and use them to his advantage. End the nightmare, Fable. Kill him.”

Fable heard the pulse of the lightsaber before she saw it. Wondering how Vialco had gotten hold of his weapon without her sensing it, she whirled, igniting her lightsaber. Vialco arced his blade toward her vulnerable legs. In a wild strike, she severed his head from the shoulders, never losing momentum. But as he fell, she clearly saw his empty hands. The lightsaber was still on the ground, several meters from his body.

“Who’s tricking who?” Fable hissed, enraged by Brandl’s careful deceit. Lunging toward her mentor, she met the abrupt thrust of his lightsaber. Dominating and powerful, he knocked Fable off of her feet and drove her back into the opposite mound. “You lied to me!” she gasped, weakly rubbing her bruised cheek. “What have you done?”

“I have set your place at the Emperor’s table,” Brandl replied. “Soon, I shall again stand at my master’s side and you shall stand beside me.” He glared down at her, mocking the injury in her eyes. “You knew there would be a price.”

“What price?”

Brandl smiled, posing arrogantly for his small audience. Offering his hand, he whispered, “Worship me and call me master and all that I have shall be yours, including Jaalib’s affections. There’s no use fighting it, Fable. Accept and you will be well cared for, this I promise you.” Brandl turned to leave. “Don’t bother running to your ship. Thermal detonators are rather effective tools.” Gently caressing the scars at his temple, he chuckled, “I should know.”

Locked in her room, Fable rocked quietly from side to side, wiping tears on her sleeve. Her fingers were blood-covered and black with grime, the nails shredded from a recent tantrum at the site of her X-wing. In an attempt to avoid her impending fate, she had fled to the vessel and found the gutted remains of her starfighter in a blackened blast diameter. Only the central frame of the X-wing had survived the initial blast. Vialco’s shuttle was also consumed by the explosion, strewn across a sunken depression of scorched earth. Cursing Brandl, she rocked faster and harder, desperate to find some way to escape him.

The door opened slowly, a small crack that grew larger as the hunched figure skulked into the room. Fable’s eyes brightened immediately, recognizing the face. “Jaalib,” she whispered, swept into his arms. “Your father’s—”

“Shh, I know,” he hushed. Sitting down on the bed beside her, he gently pulled her trembling body against him. “I just happened to go over my ship’s backup logs and discovered my father’s side trip to Byss.”

“Byss?”

“The Emperor’s pleasure world. I hurried back as soon as I could and found what was left of your X-wing. Wasn’t hard to figure out the next scene.” He picked up a small satchel of her things and threw it over his shoulders.

“What are you doing?”

“You’re leaving,” he replied curtly. “Don’t talk. Don’t think. Don’t even breathe heavy or he’ll find us.”

“He’ll know eventually, as soon as we step outside this theater.”

“And that doesn’t give us much time,” he argued. “So just run.”

Following the trail out of the settlement, Jaalib jogged toward the mountain range, using the jutting lip of the Khoehng Heights as a guide beneath the moonlit skies of Trulalis. Fable matched his earnest strides and together they ran the short kilometer to the wheat field, where a familiar ship was waiting for them.

“The
Prodigal
!” she screamed. “Deke!”

“Heard you got yourself in a spot of trouble,” the Socorran grumbled with relief. “Didn’t think I’d let you go down alone, did you?” Hearing a proximity alarm from within the ship, Deke nodded to Jaalib. “I set the sensors just like you said.” He eyed his ship dubiously. “Something or somebody just tripped the perimeter sensor.”

“It’s him,” Fable trembled, casting her gaze to the far-off theater steeple.

“Then you had better go,” Jaalib whispered.

“What about you?” Fable protested. “Come with us.”

“He’s my father, Fable. It’s not that easy.”

“And you call this easy?” she croaked, tears in her voice. Seeing the denial in his eyes, Fable pleaded, “Jaalib—”

Cutting off her objections with a kiss, Jaalib gently crowded her toward the ship. “For once in your life, listen, and go before he gets here.”

“But—”

“No, Fable!” Jaalib hissed. “You’re nothing but a consolation prize to the Emperor!”

“He’s right, Capt’n,” Deke insisted. “Time to bail.”

Desperately appealing to her defiant eyes, Jaalib grinned, anxious to subdue her temper. “I was born to play this role, remember? I am the Edjian-Prince.” Swallowing his sorrow, he embraced her warmly. “It’s the last act, Fable. I have to burn the forest down now.”

“Then burn it,” she sobbed, cradling her head against his shoulder.

“I can’t. Not while you’re still here.”

Fable stumbled up the ramp and cued the hatch controls. Leaning heavily on the secured door, she wiped absently at a tear, sensing the warmth of Jaalib’s touch on her cheek.

Shielding his eyes from the freighter’s exhaust, Jaalib stepped back into the swaying fields of wheat. Engines glowing red with the strain of sudden acceleration, the
Prodigal
banked sharply against the foot of the mountains, carrying Fable away. Lightning signaled her departure, bringing on a deluge of cold, cold rain. Jaalib took a deep breath, bracing himself for the wrath of the brooding presence slowly moving up behind him.

Brandl briefly glanced up, searching for some signs of Fable—his squandered prize. There were none and his austere gaze fell heavily on Jaalib. “Arrogant, deceitful child,” he snarled.

Feeling the subtle constriction of his throat, Jaalib resisted panic as his windpipe contracted, seized by invisible fingers. “No less arrogant than my father,” he rasped. Desperate for air, he dropped to his knees, slowly losing consciousness as the grip tightened about his throat. His father abruptly released him and the cool, damp air flowed into his body.

Staring after the retreating figure of his father, Jaalib staggered precariously. Compelled to follow, he screamed, “Long… live… the king!”

“Sabacc!”

Doune’s resounding laughter echoed through the gambling hall, the Herglic’s huge body shaking with the effort. “You lose again, boy.”

Vee-Six, Doune’s droid, quickly calculated his master’s winnings and enthusiastically reported the total for all to hear.

The gathered crowd cheered as the Herglic claimed the pot, leaving Nyo with a single credit to his name.

The young man lowered his head in disbelief, fighting back tears.
How could I have been so stupid
? Nyo thought as he stared at the lone cred chip that constituted all the money he had in the galaxy. Now, all hope was gone.

“Doune… the great gambler. Able to steal the money from a poor farmboy with ease. I suppose you are equally skilled at firing your heavy blaster on unarmed opponents.”

The bold words silenced the room.

The Herglic looked up in shock, searching the sycophantic circle of admirers who always clung to winners for the dissonant voice.

The spectators parted for the cloaked figure as if he were a thermal detonator. A large hood kept the stranger’s face in shadow, but the dark visage was obviously focused on the Herglic.

“You think you could do better, friend?” Doune asked, a dangerous edge in his deep voice.

The figure gestured to the crowd. “I wouldn’t want to embarrass you in front of all your… friends.”

“I never turn away anyone so obviously willing to lose his money to me,” Doune chuckled. “Sit down.”

The stranger paused for a moment, then slid into the empty seat. “Very well. I must warn you, though…”

The Herglic cocked an eyebrow. “Wait, don’t tell me. Let me guess.” Doune gestured dramatically. “You’re the greatest gambler who ever lived, right?”

“Actually, I was just going to say that I don’t have any money on me, but now that you mention it…” The stranger lowered his hood, eliciting a collective gasp from the spectators. “I am.”

The stranger’s close-cropped hair was white, though streaks of silver snaked their way through the ivory. His eyes were pale violet, like tropical flowers that had withered and lost their luster. A jagged scar wound its way around his lip, cutting an unnatural line up past his nose. With stony features reminiscent of a royal statue, the man was undeniably handsome; however, that wasn’t the reason for the crowd’s reaction.

The whispers had begun, and the buzzing made it seem as if a colony of insects had descended upon the room. Throughout the snatches of conversation in the multitude of languages, two words were repeated with frightening frequency.

Kinnin Vo-Shay
.

Doune’s thick flesh had begun to mottle, a sure sign the Herglic was agitated.

“This is nothing but a trick, Master.” Vee-Six leaned forward, eyes flashing as his databanks began recalling information. “The
Ashanda Ray
was reported lost in the Tyus cluster half a century ago. If Kinnin Vo-Shay had survived, which is highly unlikely, he would be well over one hundred standard years old. The man was lucky, but he was no Jedi.”

“It would seem you are not who you appear to be, after all.” Doune seemed to calm down a bit, his usual predatory smirk returning to his face. “I must admit, though, the resemblance is uncanny. You must have paid a fortune on cosmetic alterations. No wonder you’ve broke.”

A nervous chuckle escaped the crowd.

“For such a renowned gambler, Doune, you’ve a much faster dealer of opinions than cards.” The stranger leveled his piercing gaze. “Perhaps you win by talking until your opponents die of sheer boredom.”

“The one thing I never deal in is charity,” the Herglic said, a note of irritation creeping into his voice. “Until you ante up, there will be no game.”

That drew a mixed reaction from the crowd. Many wanted to see if the stranger really was telling the truth, and there was only one way to decide that…

“But, Doune, what if he really is Vo-Shay?” one brave soul asked.

The Herglic had had enough, and his blubber shook with fury. “I don’t care if he’s Jabba the Hutt. Without money, he doesn’t play!”

A single credit spun through the air, shimmering in the dim glowlights. Without blinking, Vo-Shay plucked the cred from its flight with practiced ease. He slowly turned to face his surprise benefactor.

Nyo started to say something, but Vo-Shay offered a wink that was so quick the young man was scarcely sure he saw it at all.

“From one loser to another… how appropriate. Are you ready, then?” Doune demanded.

Vo-Shay’s face lost all expression, resembling a droid that had been abruptly powered down. Those strange eyes took on a faraway look, as if they were staring into eternity. He spoke only a single word, but it sent a chill down the spine of every being present who had one.

“Deal,” Vo-Shay said.

The room grew deathly quiet.

And the game began…