Of course he had not. Of course he had gone alone.
In the dark cave, Obi-Wan studied his friend with a frown. The Hutts and Whiphids had taken the only lights into a larger cavern, so that only reflected light had worked its way in.
The Arconans had settled into the back of the highest cavern — and what strange caverns they were. Each cave measured four meters wide at its narrowest point, and ten meters tall. Perhaps a dozen passages led to the surface. But tunnels opened wide into huge hollows in many places. Claw marks on the floors showed that an animal had dug them, yet the Arconans found nothing in the lair.
The Offworlders guarded the entrance to make certain no one fled. Stalactites hung overhead like glittering spears, and there was nothing to sit on but broken stones. In the dank shadows, the eyes of the Arconans glowed faintly.
Si Treemba was humming in Arconan. Others nearby did the same. Obi-Wan leaned closer to his friend.
“What are you humming?” he asked softly.
“We sing a song of thanksgiving,” Si Treemba said. He Translated for Obi-wan.
“The sun in finally hidden, and here our world is black. In this cave we have the stones And our brothers at our back.
“Outside the storms may threaten But here the day is calm. We’ll cleave to earth like flesh to bone. With out brothers we belong.”
It seemed a sad song to Obi-Wan. But he was not an Arconan. He was not used to making a cave his home. Perhaps to Si Treemba, the song sounded more joyous.
The Arconans sounded as if they were resigned to their deaths. He could not understand such resignation. The urge to act, to fight, was becoming stronger by the minute. Obi-Wan struggled against the feeling. He’d he been warned about his impatience again and again? This was his test. He must live by the Jedi Code and wait, even while his friend faded. It was the hardest thing he’d ever done. But he trusted Qui-Gon.
“Promise me,” Obi-Wan said quietly to Si Treemba, “that you won’t let yourself die here.”
“We won’t let ourselves die,” Si Treemba promised.
“Do you mean it? You’ll hold on until Qui-Gon comes back?” Obi-Wan asked urgently.
“We will try to live, Obi-Wan,” Si Treemba promised. “But the dactyl must come soon.”
Chapter 19
Cautiously, Qui-Gon Jinn inched up a ledge that no Humans should have been able to climb. In a pouring rain, he grasped small crevices with his fingers and toes, barely holding on.
He knew that he had to hurry. He had spent extra time approaching from the side of the mountain, knowing he would be too east to spot if he climbed directly up. But at last he’d come to a point where he had to risk exposure. From now on, his path was straight up.
At the moment, he was more concerned about the draigons than the Hutts. The creatures were active now. Many had landed on crags above, as if to wait out the storm. He remained in the shadows, moving beneath rocks, afraid he might be spotted. Sometimes, he had to wait painful minutes until some draigon would turn its scaly silver head.
Patience, he told himself over and over again. We must have patience. That was the unwritten part of the Jedi Code. Yet it was hard to be patient when so many lives hung in the balance.
His fingers were chafed and bleeding. Nearby, lightning split the sky and thunder snarled. The sky was dark and lowering. Wind gusted and whistled among the stones.
He felt terribly exposed. He was a big man, a large target for the draigons. A flash of lightning could expose his position — or even knock him to his death.
He stopped for a long moment, panting. Rain poured down his forehead and made his clothes feel heavy. He felt half-frozen, and still weak from the wounds the pirate had dealt. He glanced toward the ocean. Not far off, a gleaming draigon dropped like a blaster bolt toward the sea, its wings folded.
It plunged into the pounding surf, then flapped its wings. As it rose from the white-capped waves, a huge glittering fish wriggled in its mouth.
Thankfully, the draigon had not seen him. Or if it had, it did not care for human flesh. Perhaps the draigons had never seen animals on land, and did not think to hunt there.
Qui-Gon did not dare looked down. Up above him a few hundred meters, he could see a faint mist vented from a crevice blowing wildly in the wind. It would take the sharp eye of someone who knew what they were looking for, but the mist was definitely tinted with yellow.
The dactyl would be there.
The travel was hard. There were no trails. Not a rock on this planet had ever been crushed underfoot. If he stepped on a rock, it was likely to twist beneath him. Even if it didn’t turn, they felt sharp and painful beneath his feet. The only plants he found were small gray lichens that crusted over everything. When they were dry, walking on them was like walking on carpet. But once the morning rains began to fall, the lichens turned slick.
Though he could feel the Force guiding him to the dactyl, it still seemed an almost impossible task.
Lightning sizzled through the air. Thunder shook the stone beneath his fingertips. Wind gusted at his back. Qui-Gon clung to the face of the rock wall. His shoulder throbbed.
Not much farther, he told himself.
There was a flash just above his head. Splinters of rock stung his cheek.
For half a moment, he thought that a lightning bolt had nearly pierced him. But he realized that it was too small.
A blaster. Someone had shot at him!
Qui-Gon craned his neck, and tried to look down. He spotted them immediately in the rocks below. It was difficult for a Hutt to hide. It was Grelb, Jemba’s errand boy. He slithered along, flanked by several Whiphids. They raised heavy blaster rifles and fired again. The Hutt laughed merrily.
Blaster bolts exploded all around Qui-Gon.
His lightsaber was useless. There was nowhere to hide, no way to fight.
Painfully, Qui-Gon struggled upward.
Grelb the Hutt chortled in delight. His plan had worked perfectly. He knew Qui-Gon would have to appear around the side of the mountain and make the last ascent straight up to the dactyl. All he had to do was find a position, and wait.
At first, he’d been afraid of the draigons, and he’d kept still, hoping to be mistaken for a rock. But gradually, Grelb had grown comfortable. The draigons were probably fish-eaters, nothing more.
He didn’t fear their teeth — but the rough stones of this world threatened to tear through even Grelb’s thick hide. The Hutt wanted nothing more that to slither carefully back to the ship.