He looked up into the clear blue skies and reached deep within his heart, finding a shadow of anger, the pain he had felt in his life. He knew how to use anger as a tool, a weapon. Zekk gathered the winds. Beside him, he felt the other dark-side warriors doing the same, drawing thunderheads until lumpy black clouds rolled in from the horizon.
The wind picked up and grew colder, charged with static electricity. Zekk’s scarlet-lined cape rippled around him. Stray strands of his dark hair whipped around his face as the wind snatched them free of his ponytail. Flashing bolts of lightning skittered from one thunderhead to another. The rumble of noise drowned out even the sound of TIE fighters crisscrossing overhead.
Zekk smiled. Yes, a storm was coming, a victorious storm.
But as the clouds continued to swell, releasing a powerful weather energy, he heard sounds of repeated laser cannon fire and glanced to the sky, where another battle was taking place: a one-sided dogfight. A smoking ship careened overhead, pursued by a lone TIE fighter that shot its energy bolts again and again, mercilessly pummeling its prey.
Astonished, Zekk recognized the clunky patchwork form of the Lightning Rod, the cargo ship of his old friend Peckhum, the man with whom he had lived for many years.
Peckhum! They had been close companions, good friends despite how little they had in common. Too late, he remembered that the old spacer earned extra credits by making occasional supply runs to Skywalker’s Jedi academy. Could it be that his old friend had been here on the jungle moon when this morning’s attack began?
His heart sank, and a wrenching dismay filled his stomach. His concentration on the storm faltered.
In the backlash, winds whipped the trees closer to him, blowing back branches as the other Dark Jedi struggled to retain control of the gusting squall.
“No, Peckhum,” Zekk said, looking up as he watched the TIE fighter blasting the hapless Lightning Rod. A small explosion flared on its hull, and Zekk knew that the battered supply ship had just lost its shields.
The Lightning Rod was going down—and there was nothing he could do about it.
He heard shouts of surprise next to him as the Dark Jedi Knights completely lost control of the gathering storm. The winds continued to snap branches and uproot saplings, then gradually dissipated as the dark-side warriors stopped manipulating the weather.
Their attention had been drawn to a young Jedi trainee they discovered in the underbrush—someone who had either been creeping up on them or simply hiding from Zekk’s advance.
The boy scrambled out of the weeds, spiky pale hair blowing around his flushed face. His clothes and robes were so ridiculously garish—bright purples and golds and greens and reds—that they hurt Zekk’s eyes. How could this young man have thought to hide while dressed like that?
The boy appeared frightened, but determined. He thrust his lower lip out and stood with his hands on his hips, his rainbow-colored robes rippling around him in the last vestiges of the angry wind.
“Very well, you give me no choice,” the boy said, then cleared his throat. “I am Raynar, Jedi Knight … uh, in training. You will either surrender now—or force me to attack you.”
Two of Zekk’s companions laughed in wholehearted amusement, ignited their lightsabers, and stalked toward the trapped young man. Raynar stepped backward until he bumped against the rough trunk of a tree. He squeezed his eyes shut, struggling to concentrate. He held his breath until his face turned bright red, then purplish.
Zekk felt a slight invisible push as the boy attempted to use the Force to drive them back. The two lightsaber-bearing Dark Jedi seemed not even to notice.
Zekk found, though, that he had no stomach for outright slaughter. This boy seemed proud and brash, but there was something about him—an innocence …
Thinking quickly, before his two companions could drive in and make short work of Raynar, Zekk reached out with the Force, grabbed the boy by his bright robes, and yanked him off his feet. With a flick of his mind, he hurled Raynar over the heads of his companions, tossing him out into the river. Raynar yowled as he flew, then plunged belly-first into the thin, muddy waters.
The two Dark Jedi whirled, looking angrily at Zekk. Out in the water, Raynar splashed to the shallows, completely soaked in mud, his robes covered with river slime.
“It is a greater victory to utterly humiliate your enemy than simply to kill him,” Zekk said. “And we have humiliated this Jedi in a way he will never forget.”
The dark warriors next to him chuckled at the observation, and Zekk knew he had defused their anger … for the moment, at least.
Then he looked longingly into the sky, hoping to spot any trace of the Lightning Rod, but he saw only a dissipating cloud of smoke overhead. He wished he could find some way to help his friend; would he be forced to count the loss of Peckhum as part of the cost of victory?
The wounded ship had passed out of sight to where the battle would reach its foregone conclusion. He was certain he would never see the Lightning Rod or Peckhum again.
13
Qorl’s TIE fighter flew low over the jungle, mapping out targets for the assault squadron. The rest of his fighter wing had their own orders, and they flew in their own attack patterns.
He doubted, though, that his student Norys would bother to follow orders once the battles actually started and laser shots began to fly. The bully would blunder from target to target like a mad gundark, likely to cause as much damage to the Imperial plans as he did to the Rebels.
Qorl felt cold inside, liquid dismay hardening to ice. He had expected to be exhilarated by flying and fighting again, piloting his own TIE fighter in battle for the Second Imperium.
Instead, he had only reservations and second thoughts. He dreaded the possibility that he had made a bad decision and that the Second Imperium might have to pay the price.
Norys continued to be a great disappointment. When Qorl had selected the tough young man, he knew the bully’s personality had hardened during years of harsh living, though he had lorded over the Lost Ones on Coruscant. The broad-shouldered boy had been dedicated, vowing to become an Imperial soldier because it gave him a feeling of power and confidence—exactly what the Second Imperium needed.
However, a loyal soldier was also required to obey orders. A servant of the Empire couldn’t be a loose cannon, following his own wishes rather than the commands of his superiors. As he’d grown accustomed to his situation, Norys had become increasingly disrespectful, even insubordinate.
The bully was truly bloodthirsty, wanting simply to dominate, to cause pain, to achieve utter victory. He did not fight for the glory of the Second Imperium, or for bringing back the New Order—or for any sort of political goal. He fought simply to fight. And that was a deadly attitude, no matter which side he fought for.
Qorl circled, zeroing in on a raging forest fire that had been started by one of the TIE bombers, then streaked along the river to where Tamith Kai’s battle platform hovered over the trees. Over his cockpit communication channel, Qorl heard a loud, desperate transmission on all bands—and recognized the voice.
“Attention, New Republic. We have an emergency! This is Jacen Solo on Yavin 4, requesting immediate assistance. We are under attack by the Shadow Academy!”
Qorl sat up, adjusted his black helmet, and flew steadily. He remembered the young twins who had helped fix his TIE fighter, the brother and sister who had been his prisoners around the campfire in the depths of the jungle. They had offered him friendship … and tried to turn him from his loyalty to the Second Imperium. But he had been indoctrinated too well.