"No, we didn't," said the miniature Dorvan. "Though not for lack of trying. We weren't even able to identify the false Jedi you killed. He simply didn't exist."

Nek felt his fur rippling even under the cast as the words sank in.

"We know they weren't real Jedi," he said, "and we know that someone wanted to make sure he wasn't identified. Someone went to a very great deal of effort and paid a large number of credits to ensure that."

"Indeed," said Dorvan. "Sir, you must keep pretending that you remember nothing. Esquire Bwua'tu, Asokaji-one of you, or someone that I personally appoint, is to be with the admiral at all times." He frowned, thinking. "We might even get a Jedi sentry, now that they're all cured. Given the current climate, it will soothe possible fears-and give you added protection. It will have to be someone we can trust completely, though, and that might be challenging."

"Sir? Are you comfortable with that?" asked Asokaji.

"No," Nek said. "Their first loyalty is to the Order. They will think they will have to tell-who is in charge?"

"Master Sebatyne."

Nek grimaced a little at the thought of that fierce warrior leading the Jedi. "Any Jedi will tell her. And if we try to lie, they will sense it. I might be able to fool the doctors, but I'm not a good enough actor to fool a Jedi."

Dorvan sighed. "You raise a good point, sir. I'd like to inform the Jedi at some point, however."

"Agreed, but not just yet. Forgive me, but I am extremely weary. Can we speak again later?"

In truth, blackness was already nudging in around the corners of his vision.

"Of course, sir," said Dorvan. "This all smacks of something far deeper than a simple personal vendetta. I have a great deal on my plate, but I will begin following the threads and ..."

As he drifted into a weary but true sleep, Nek Bwua'tu thought with a pang of Natasi Daala. He then absently wondered if the fact that Wynn Dorvan's droning voice was letting him drift off swiftly into dreamland was a good or bad thing.

"I mean no insult," Padnel Ovin said, digging into a thick nerf steak in one of the better restaurants in the Senate District, "but Wynn Dorvan's voice put half the Senate to sleep today. I am sure what he said was important, but most of it was drowned out by snoring on my right and left."

Padnel Ovin, former leader of Ovin's Sand Panthers, looked woefully out of place in the refined, subdued atmosphere of the restaurant. Even though he no longer bristled with weapons or wore sand-saturated robes, he looked what he was-a rough-hewn warrior, more used to using a knife to kill an enemy than to simply cut up a nerf steak.

Han and Leia exchanged amused glances. "You're not the only one to have commented on that," Leia said. "And don't worry. He's the first to acknowledge it."

"He would not have made a good Sand Panther."

Han made a noise that fell somewhere between laughter and choking. Leia patted him on the back, hard-pressed not to smile herself. "I do not think Wynn Dorvan would have joined such an organization."

Always alert for criticism, even from friends, Ovin looked at her sharply. "Because he thinks I am a terrorist?"

"Goals can be reached in different ways," Leia said, "and his strengths lie in different areas. Perhaps if one such as Dorvan had been a Klatooinian elder, for instance, the Treaty of Vontor might have been abolished legally. Surely even your brother would have admitted that would be preferable to violence. I know you feel so."

He nodded, and said gruffly, "As I said ... I believe Acting Chief of State Dorvan has things worth listening to. But a leader needs more. A leader needs charisma and the power of his conviction."

Leia thought of watching Dorvan racing up the steps in an effort to save Raynar Thul from being killed. "Give him a bit more time. He might surprise you. Still waters run deep."

"All waters run deep where I am from," Padnel said. His jowls shook lightly. It took Leia and Han a moment to realize he was making a joke, and then they all laughed.

"It's good to see you, Padnel," Han said. "I'm glad they let you in. I think the Klatooinians have a lot to offer. You'll get in there, shake things up, and the galaxy will be the better for it." The compliment was genuine. The Senate, as it had recently proved, was a staid and conservative gathering of beings for the most part. There were a few exceptions, such as Han and Leia's friend Luewet Wuul. Word of the new Senator from B'nish, Kameron Suldar, was positive, as well.

"That means a great deal coming from you two," Padnel said. "I will do what I can. Perhaps ..." He hesitated.

"Go on," Leia encouraged.

"Perhaps ... I am where I should be. Grunel was the founder and the real leader of the Sand Panthers, and will always be remembered as such. But if I can help this way, then perhaps I will honor his legacy while creating my own."

"I think, my friend," she said, "you are well on your way."

KORRIBAN.

THE AIR ITSELF FELT THICK, AS IF IT WERE TRYING TO CHOKE BEN. IT was like ... inhaling malice. Ben struggled not to cough, or shake off what seemed like a cloak of invisible cobwebs in the Force.

It was worse here than on Ziost. He wasn't sure why; perhaps because this was home to the original Sith, and origins of things had power. He let calm ripple through him in the Force. His breathing became easier and some of the apprehension was chased away into the back of his mind.

Luke showed no sign of distress, though he was clearly on the alert. Jaina was somewhere in between the Skywalkers; she was calmer than Ben, but not as focused as Luke.

Vestara was a conundrum of conflicting emotions.

Concern mixed with-Ben could only describe it as giddiness. She wanted to shrink away from such potent dark-side energy, but at the same time yearned to approach it. He caught her eye and gave her a rea.s.suring nod and smile, and she gave him one of her own-albeit a slightly shaky one.

"Check in," Luke said. "Anyone sense anything?"

"Other than a desire to put on my cloak from Nam Chorios in the middle of a dry, hot world just to have something between me and the creepiness of this place, no," Ben replied.

"I don't sense Abeloth, or any of the Sith," Jaina replied. "Just ... smaller energies. Dark, though."

"I sense them, as well," Vestara said. "It's ... stronger than I antic.i.p.ated."

"You come from a world of Sith," Ben said, not cruelly, but just curious. "This should be old hat for you."

"We made our world," Vestara said. "I'm used to it. Used to the eddies and flows. This ... this is not my world."

Her voice dropped to a hush on the last few words, and Ben understood. Her people were different-they'd had five thousand years to evolve into something that, while definitely Sith, was neither the true old or new Sith. They were unique.

"Those smaller energies are animals, not human or Keshiri," Luke said. "But they're there. Our arrival has not gone unnoticed." He activated his lightsaber, and the rest did likewise. The familiar sound calmed Ben further until he felt ... almost normal. He had been able to deal with Ziost alone at fourteen. He could handle Korriban with his father and cousin at sixteen.

"Let's start with the citadel," Luke said, and strode across the hard-baked sand toward it. Ben supposed he preferred a place that was intended for the living to dwell rather than a place for the dead, but truth be told, it was all unpleasant.

The complex, an ancient cloister, was encased by a high stone wall. The domes of the towers within were visible over the enclosure. The wall had seen better days. Once, it had been covered in blue tiles, a sort of mosaic. The few tiles that remained depicted unsettling images-fangs, eyes, claws.

Detritus that looked to be decades old was propped up beside the wall, and these pieces of odds and ends-depleted power core casings, portable deflector shields-had also seen better days. All of it was covered in a thick layer of sand, and none of it looked like it had been touched for years.

"I usually don't think of the Sith as being messy," Ben said.

"Our homes are meticulous," said Vestara absently, frowning in concentration. She reached out a foot and nudged a rusted piece of something that once might have come out a landspeeder. A forty-year-old landspeeder.

"It certainly doesn't look like anyone has been here for a while," Luke said. "But looks can be deceiving."

He followed the wall down to the gate, a four-meter slab of durasteel. This, too, showed red flakes of corrosion.

"What are we going to do, ring the doorbell?" Jaina asked.

"Let ourselves in," Luke said. He lifted his hands slightly and concentrated; the others imitated him. At first the ma.s.sive door resisted, then slowly, centimeter by centimeter, it began to rise.

Ben felt sweat bead on his forehead, and his muscles were quivering with the mental strain. Even Luke's brow was deeply furrowed. They were able to lift the door only about six centimeters before it dropped down again with a definitive thud on the hard sand.

Ben dragged a hand over his forehead. "That shouldn't have been that hard," he said.

"No," Luke said. "It's been altered somehow. Perhaps in its creation the Sith used some of their alchemies. It can resist Force manipulation."

"What about a good old-fashioned lightsaber?" suggested Jaina. "Durasteel is durasteel, isn't it?"

Luke chuckled. Ben stared at him. Here in this forsaken, and-Ben had to be realistic-evil world, his father had chuckled.

"Let's give it a shot," Luke said.

All of them reactivated their lightsabers and began working together to cut a square hole, each taking one line. To Ben's surprise, though it was slow going, it worked. Sometimes, it would seem, the more pragmatic solution was the simplest.

They put their shoulders to the square and pushed. Groaning in protest, it eventually, sullenly yielded, and there was a loud, echoing bang as it fell inward.

"And that's definitely rung the doorbell," Jaina murmured.

They moved inside quickly, their lightsabers providing more than enough illumination. Ben extended his senses, but found nothing more sinister than vermin lurking inside. They moved slowly through an archway; a few cautious steps forward brought them into a central courtyard. Balconies glowered down at them, and doorways, any doors long since gone, seemed like empty staring eyes. The sand beneath their feet had changed to black cobblestones. Their backs to one another, their lightsabers at the ready, they slowly looked around. It didn't take much imagination to envision the balconies filled with dark-cloaked, hooded figures, or the yawning doorways opening onto terrors within.

But the reek of the dark side was old here. Not ancient, but certainly not fresh.

"There's no one here," Jaina said. The echoing effect of this place distorted her voice.

Vestara slowly nodded agreement. "It's deserted."

But could they really be sure? Ben wondered. "Do ... should we search it?" This was a large place. Searching would take hours. And every minute they lingered here, the dark side had a chance to work its will upon them.

Luke focused a little longer, then shook his head. "No. We walked right into what could have been a perfect trap, and we'd be easy prey if anyone was here."

"If ... they wanted to harm us," Vestara offered. Ben looked at her. Vestara sometimes told the truth when asked a direct question, but it was unlike her to volunteer information.

"What do you mean?" asked Jaina.

"Well," Vestara continued, "if the whole plan is to hide, they wouldn't come out even if we were easy prey."

"A good point," Luke said, "but this close? Your people are good, Vestara, but I don't think so many of them could hide so completely from three Jedi." To ill.u.s.trate how confident he was, he extinguished his lightsaber.

Nothing happened.

"They may still be here on this world, but not at this site," he said. "Let's go. Daylight's burning, and I don't think we want to be out here at night."

Ben couldn't suppress a shudder.

The walk down the Valley of the Dark Lords was little better. The statues were enormous and loomed over them, casting long shadows literally now as the beings they represented did metaphorically in life. In those shadows, Ben felt cold.

"Why does this feel ... wrong?" he wondered aloud. "I mean-I really thought we'd find them here."

"It did seem like our best bet," Jaina agreed glumly.

"We've only just started to look," Luke pointed out. "And if Vestara's guess is right-that any Sith that might be here are hiding-they could have sensed us approaching with enough time to flee the citadel, if not the planet."

"And make it look like no one had been there for years?" Ben asked skeptically.

"Don't underestimate the Sith," Vestara said. "But Master Skywalker is right. They might have left the citadel and be hiding among the ruins in small groups hoping we wouldn't bother to check. It's the sort of thing my-my father would do."

Ben looked at her searchingly. It certainly did sound as though she was doing her best to be of help. Or maybe she was just setting them up, encouraging them to walk into places steeped in the dark side for some kind of ambush? Stang, how he hated this ... if he could only know one way or the other where she stood. He still hoped that one day, that would come to pa.s.s ... and that she would stand with him, with the light side.

"So," he said, to take his mind off that line of thought, "we just ... pick a tomb and start poking around?"

"If you have a better idea, I'm open to suggestions," Luke said with a touch of wryness.

Ben didn't.

These were worse, much worse, than the citadel. Ben could feel the chill of the dark side increase almost with every step they took. He extended his senses in the Force, bracing himself for the more intimate brush with the dark side energies lurking here like stagnant pools of ice water. They ascended the steep, long stairs up to the first tomb, craning their necks to look up into the hooded face that scowled down upon them.

There was no face carved on the statue, and that unsettled Ben more than any horrific snarl he might have encountered.

They reached the final step and paused, waiting for Luke's instructions. Ben's father stood looking as calm and unruffled as if he were comfortably in the Jedi Temple, but Ben could sense his alertness. There was a knot in his own stomach, and his brain was telling him, Flee, flee while you can, but he ignored it. He knew it for what it was-simple fear, not a true warning. The certainty produced a peacefulness, and the talons digging into him loosened their grip on his mind.

Luke stepped forward and placed a hand on the tomb, his brow furrowing in concentration. He stepped back and shook his head.

"The ancient masons did their work well. This tomb is completely sealed. There's no ventilation, and I sensed nothing living inside. Let's move on to the next one."

The sensation of apprehension, of cold malice, didn't lessen, even as they continued to find nothing in tomb after tomb. One or two of them had been broken into, but robbers-incredibly stupid or incredibly brave, Ben thought-had been there long before. All that remained were scattered coins, utensils, and the bones of the hapless beings that had been condemned to death simply to honor the dead Dark Lord. The tombs themselves were empty and covered with cobwebs.

Ben stepped gladly out of the shadows into the sunlight, feeble as it was, as they moved on to the next tomb.

"Dad," he ventured, "I'm starting to think we're going to come up empty-handed."

"I think Ben's right," Jaina said. "So far, we've found zilch. This is starting to feel like one big waste of time."

"Korriban is but one of many places with Sith history," Luke reminded them. "It was a good idea to start looking here, but I agree that it's looking more and more like we're hunting in the wrong place." He glanced meaningfully over at Vestara, who by either accident or design missed the look. "If we-"

The sudden surge in dark-side energy crashed on them like an unexpected wave. Anger, outrage, hatred, and murderous intent buffeted them. The feeling in the Force was echoed by a hair-raising howling sound that seemed to come from all directions at once.

The shadows cast by the looming figures of beings long dead seemed to come to life, but Ben realized almost immediately what the dark, uncannily fast creatures with glowing red eyes, three rows of teeth from which droplets of slaver fell, and strange wing-like extensions, had to be.

They had disturbed the guardians of the tombs, who were now descending, more than a dozen of them, with a single, driving thought: Kill the intruders.

And the Sith hounds would. Ben realized that almost at once. There were simply too many of them, and they were too strong with the dark side of the Force.

Ben had faced death before, and a peculiar calmness descended on him. He lifted his lightsaber, fixed his gaze with that of the leader, and prepared to slay as many of them as he could before the inevitable. The sudden, absurd thought came to him that they were much, much bigger than he had expected them to be.

What happened next stunned him.