In the training camp’s headquarters astride the turbulent sea, Trezza inspected the burns that covered Maul’s torso, which like his head and face was marked with esoteric black and red sigils.

“These require treatment.”

Trezza summoned a medical droid forward, but Maul shoved it away with his feet.

“Not from bacta,” he snarled. “I’ll heal myself.”

“And revel in the pain.”

“There is no pain.”

“So you’ve said.”

Maul looked at him. “You can’t understand.”

“Admittedly,” Trezza said. “But that doesn’t change the fact that you appear to have forgotten more than you’ve learned.”

Maul tugged the upper portion of the utility suit over his shoulders. “Perhaps I’ll know a thing or two when I’ve lived as long as you have.”

Trezza shrugged. “Continue dishonoring your oath, and you’ll be fortunate to see sixteen years.”

“That’s my concern.”

“Ultimately, it is.”

The Falleen had been silent during the return trip from the high valley, releasing pheromones meant to pacify Maul, even though he was largely immune to their effects. Nearing two hundred standard years, Trezza had spent half his life training mercenaries and paramilitaries for planetary governments throughout the Republic—not to mention supplying professional combatants for the Petranaki Arena on Geonosis and the Cauldron on Rattatak, and forging assassins and intelligence agents for royal houses and criminal cartels alike. An even more skilled fighter than Meltch, he was also the closest Maul had to a protector—in the ordinary world.

“Meltch is intent on goading you into revealing your true nature. Members of the Death Watch were brutally honest with one another and loyal to a fault.”

“Then why did the group splinter?”

“They underestimated a rival they thought they had eliminated. With their leader dead, the rest scattered and Meltch wound up here, because, we, too, value loyalty and tradition. If not an ideal trainer, he’s a gifted strategist. And he was correct about your making this personal. Especially now that your powers are increasing.”

Trezza met Maul’s silence with a faint grin. “The vault from the chasm was a brilliant move. But you demeaned it by giving in to your emotions.”

“I could have done far worse than tag Meltch and the Rodians with bolts,” Maul said.

Trezza’s smile collapsed. “You and I know that, but that’s how it should remain.” He paused briefly. “It’s not my place to question the purpose of keeping secret the full extent of your powers.”

Maul glowered. “Pretense.”

“You led me to believe that you were willing to accept it as part of your training.”

“Once,” Maul said.

Trezza placed his hands on Maul’s shoulders. “I wish you’d come to me under different circumstances, Maul, but we both need to honor the arrangement as it stands. Meltch has long suspected that you have the Force, and now you’ve given him further reason to distrust you. Perhaps he’s envious, or perhaps he’s one of those who doesn’t view the Force with favor. For my part, I’d sooner see you succeed here without employing the Force. As would your benefactor.” He fell silent, then said, almost as an afterthought: “He’s here, you know.”

Maul looked startled.

Trezza nodded. “He came to observe the exercise. He’s expecting you.”

In the cavernous main hall of the ancient manse his Master maintained at Blackguard Gorge on Orsis, Maul kneeled, waiting for Sidious to speak. During the lengthy speeder bike trip, he had tried to purge himself of anger and misgiving. He had hoped, in fact, for some being or creature to wander out in front of his racing machine on the aimless tracts that cut through the arid foothills. But none had, and so he had arrived at the stone castle the Muuns had raised with his emotions in the same raw state. His periodic absences from Trezza’s combat school had been going on since the start of his training, but he wasn’t the only trainee who came and went, and so they had ceased to be a topic of speculation.

“You’re not entirely to blame for what happened,” Sidious said at last, coming to a halt in front of him. “The dark side has taken a serious interest in you, and is gauging if you might be a proper vessel for its power. Seeking expression and loathing restraint, the dark sides tests us continually, competing with our will and our self-imposed priority for secrecy.”

A human of middle age and average height, Sidious wore a long, dark-blue cowl that often left his face in deep shadow.

“Yes, Master,” Maul said. “I was overcome.”

Sidious’ eyes blazed from the darkness of the robe’s hood. “Overcome? You dare aggrandize your mistake with a lie?”

Maul lowered his gaze to the stone cold floor.

“I said that you weren’t entirely to blame. The willingness of the dark side to cooperate in your pitiful and prideful demonstration doesn’t exonerate you from debasing the vow you made to me and from jeopardizing my plans for you.” Sidious towered over him. “Did you actually imagine that you could come here and dodge responsibility for your blunder? That you could portray yourself as the guileless victim in all this?”

Maul wanted to ask for forgiveness but his steadfast anger wouldn’t permit it. In any case, what was the point, since he had received beatings for being right as often as he had for being wrong. Welling up from some unreachable source, rage lifted his head and set his tongue flapping. But barely a word passed his lips when he felt his throat pinched closed by a negligent gesture of Sidious’ right hand.

“Don’t interrupt,” Sidious warned.

He paced away from Maul, eventually allowing him to breathe, then turned to him.

“In using the Force to extricate yourself from the trap your opponents fashioned, you have called unwanted attention to yourself. I’m aware that the Jedi have been continuing to harass Trezza for creating assassins and proxy armies, so consider what might have happened had a Jedi been present during the exercise. A Jedi would not only have grasped that you are strong in the Force, but that you have received training in the dark arts, endangering my position. And by the way, your little ploy at the chasm would have elicited little more than laughter from a Jedi Master, in much the way a clown provokes laughter from an audience.”

Once more he stood before Maul. “Now—what did you wish to ask me earlier?”

Maul began tentatively, as if testing his ability to speak.

“How long must I go on being one thing here and another there? Trained in the Force here, and trained to do without it there? What are your plans for me, Master? What am I to you?”

Sidious sniffed. “You are my student, Maul, and one day you may become my apprentice.”

“Your apprentice,” Maul said, not sure what to make of the designation.

“Perhaps. But if that is meant to be, it will come at the end of many trials that will make these present ones seem insignificant. Removed from the shelter of Orsis, you will begin to understand that the Republic is built on deceit, and that it only survives because the Jedi Order wishes it to survive. Beings of all nature will attempt to fill your head with lies in an effort to sweep you into that deceit, and you will need to be resolute in your allegiance to the dark side of the Force.”

“I understand, Master.”

“No,” Sidious said. “You only think you do.”

From the folds of his robe he produced two lightsabers, tossing one of them to Maul before igniting the blade of his own. Maul guessed that the burns he was about to sustain would make the ones he had received from Meltch’s blaster seem like taps of affection.

Its circuitous innards exposed, the combat vibroblade rested on a low table, alongside a small tool kit. Electrodriver in hand, Maul was working feverishly on the knife’s ultrasonic vibration generator, intent on overriding the built-in arrestor to supply the blade with greater slashing power. If he wasn’t permitted to use the Force, then he would use everything short of it to satisfy the rage inside him; to gut every living thing he encountered during the coming Gora solo. Bathe in the blood he would shed, feast on warm flesh … Merely imagining it set his fingers trembling, and abruptly the tool slipped from its tenuous hold in the socket and stabbed deeply into the palm of his opposite hand, opening a small wound and bursting the dam of his pent-up emotion. Maul’s clenched right hand slammed down on the table, shattering its surface, and the vibroblade took flight, nearly impaling itself in his head. Straightening, he bared his filed teeth and tensed his body, close to loosing a scream that would have brought the barracks down around him.

Instead, he inhaled deeply, and lowered himself into a chair, hoping to get control of himself.

For the past year, each time he had returned from a training session with Sidious his anger had known no bounds, even on those rare occasions when his body didn’t bear burns from his Master’s lightsaber. Sidious had advised him to expect as much, counseling that as Maul’s body matured, the dark side would begin to recognize him as a potential ally and begin to lay claim to his thoughts and emotions. It would be a trying time for him, his Master had remarked, a rite of passage, though still not the trials Sidious promised would ultimately break him or earn him an apprenticeship—a partnership in whatever it was Sidious was doing.

Though he had known Sidious for his entire life, he knew little about him. While Maul wasn’t a slave, he certainly belonged to Sidious in some way. It was Sidious who had delivered him into Trezza’s care eight years earlier. Prior to that, Maul had memories of being reared and tutored by Sidious and his droids on Mustafar, and of journeys by starship to a world called Tosste, where he had been trained in the dark arts. But he had no notion as to who Sidious was in the greater galaxy, or on which world he resided. For all Maul knew, he was a warlord, a sorcerer, a monarch, or even a banished Jedi Master. Whatever the case, for a being with scarcely a past or an identity, Maul found the prospect of eventually being Sidious’s apprentice greatly appealing, and though shaken, hurt, and confused by what had recently transpired, he remained determined to prove his worth to his Master.

It occurred to him to wonder if Sidious and Trezza had conspired so that Maul’s rite of passage in his Force training should coincide with the academy’s similar rite, during which he was to be left on his own in the Gora, to survive for an Orsis week without food or equipment, save for the vibroblade, in a realm of bloodthirsty beasts.

He was picking up the pieces of his short-lived fit—collecting the knife and the far-flung tools—when two of his fellow trainees entered the barracks.

The taller and older of the pair, Kilindi Matako, scanned the room, taking in the dismantled vibroblade, the table’s crazed top, and the fresh blood dripping from Maul’s punctured left hand. A Nautolan, her headdress of striped tentacles quivered.

“Everything all right?”

“Accident.”

She showed him a dubious look. “Since when.”

Kilindi had come to school as a former slave, and had since become Trezza’s ward and a capable warrior. From the first day he met her, Maul had nursed a mostly secret attraction for Kilindi. At times he thought she shared his feelings, but emotions were a terrain more perilous than any on Orsis.

The other female was a dark-haired human named Daleen. Rumored to be the princess of a royal house, she was absent from the academy even more often than Maul. Her fighting skills were limited, but Trezza was convinced that Daleen could become an effective stealth agent. The two of them helped Maul gather the last of the tools, then stood close enough for him to inhale their dizzying aromas. For a moment his rage gave way to a feeling of mystifying intoxication.

“Meltch came looking for you,” Kilindi said.

Maul gave the doorway a worried glance. “Where is he now?”

“Up top, I think,” Daleen said.

Up top was OOS—Orsis Orbital Station. It wasn’t unusual for Meltch to be there or off-world, scouting for talent, advising some paramilitary group, or executing a contract. Maul wondered if the Mandalorian and Sidious had ever crossed paths on OOS during their frequent comings and goings.

“Want any tips on what to watch out for in the Gora?” Kilindi said as Maul set to work on reassembling the vibroblade.

He shook his head. “I’ll make do.” I’ve killed dinkos with my bare hands, he wanted to add.

She laughed in a knowing way. “That’s what I said, and look where it got me.”

She didn’t need to display the scars that crisscrossed her muscular arms and shoulders for Maul to get the point.

“Just don’t get lost out there,” Daleen said in a seductive voice. She caressed the back of his head, careful to avoid touching any of his short horns. “We’re cooking up a surprise for your return.”

Across a sea of stars, the tall, wan Witch had listened attentively to the offworlder’s tale, subjected herself to images produced by the technology he brought, and now ordered two members of her coven to bring before her the Nightsister named Kycina.

The planet was known as Dathomir, and Mother Talzin’s clan held sway over that remote part of it, enacting rituals to honor the Winged Goddess and the Fanged God, learning the language of great beasts, like the rancor, and conjuring spirit ichor as a means of keeping the natural forces in balance. Few outsiders had seen demonstrations of the coven’s magicks, and most of those who had were dead.

Tainted descendants of an ostracized Jedi, the Nightsisters were nimble humans, though use of dark side powers had altered them physically as well as emotionally. Talzin’s silver eyes were rimmed with permanent bruises that extended upward from their outside corners onto a broad, hairless forehead, framing a shield-like medallion that dangled from a sharply peaked red hood. Her mouth, too, was bracketed by discolorations, as well as deep crevasses that ran from her nostrils to her boxy chin. The straight and swirling adornments that projected from her robes gave her the appearance of a winged insect, a red star, or a deadly flower.

Crowning a platform supported on the upraised arms of stylized human figures, her stone lair featured a facade shaped like an elongated face, whose howling mouth was the edifice’s principal entryway.

It was through that yawning hole that Talzin emerged with the offworlder and two red-clad Nightsisters, the latter armed with short swords. The appearance of the four came on learning that Kycina had been located and brought to the Font—a shallow rectangular basin that served as both an altar and a repository for conjured ichor, and around which the members of the coven would gather to perform rituals. The humid air was redolent with the smell of ripening fruits that hung pendulously from the arching, leafless limbs of nearby plants.

Positioned between two Nightsisters on the far side of the Font, Kycina watched Talzin and the others approach. Petite and youthful looking despite her age, she was unarmed, and had the hood of her garment lowered, revealing close-cropped, light-colored hair.

“A Dathomiri Zabrak has been discovered to reside on a distant world known as Orsis,” Talzin said without preamble.

For the sake of the offworlder, she spoke in Basic, but her heavy accent undermined her intention. She asked that he show Kycina the holographic images he had shown her earlier, her disdain for the offworlder’s device obvious.

“This is the one,” Talzin said, gesturing to the device’s display screen. “His markings indicate that he was consecrated a Nightbrother before he left our world.” Subservient to the Nightsisters and kept for breeding and warfare, the Dathomiri Zabrak Nightbrothers were confined to the outlying villages of Talzin’s domain.

“Clearly, Mother,” Kycina said, shifting her gaze from the screen. “But why do you bring this to my attention?”

“This one’s markings suggest that he is of the same clan as Savage Opress and Feral.” Talzin’s eyes narrowed perceptibly. “You birthed him, Sister, and somehow you allowed him to be taken from us.”

Kycina squared her narrow shoulders, but her face had lost what little color was natural to it. “Why would I do such a thing?”

The words had scarcely left her mouth when a gesture from Talzin levitated Kycina a meter off the ground and bent her backward, arching her like one of the surrounding plants, so that her ashen face was tilted to the red sky.

“Indeed, why would you do such a thing?” Talzin said, circling her.

Kycina grappled with the spell Talzin had cast, straining to speak. “Did you, Mother, not allow Asajj Ventress to be taken from us?”

Talzin’s sentinels brandished their bladed energy weapons. “Blasphemy,” one of them said.

But Talzin ordered her to fall back, and continued to circle the suspended Nightsister.

“When I gave away infant Ventress, I did so to protect the sanctity of our coven. Had I not, Hal’Sted’s Siniteen slavers would have waged war on us, and Dathomir would have suffered.”

“You accepted payment,” Kycina struggled to say. “At least I took nothing in return.”

“So you admit it.” Talzin came to a halt.

Kycina’s eyes found Talzin’s. “I wanted to save him from you. To save him from a life of enslavement and war; to save him from being fodder for your arcane campaigns. You already took Savage and Feral from me. I wanted a different life for Maul.”

“Then you failed, Sister, for that is precisely the life into which Maul has been delivered. To whom did you give him?”

Kycina squeezed her eyes shut. “I didn’t learn his name. An elegantly dressed human I encountered in Blue Desert City. Influential—and powerful in his own right.”

Talzin grew pensive. “Evidently, that one didn’t appreciate your gift. Your offspring was handed on to a Falleen who trains spies, mercenaries, and gladiators.”

Kycina blew out her breath. “No matter. So long as he’s out of your reach.”

“Don’t be too sure.” She cut her eyes to the Nightsisters who had found Kycina. “Lock her away until I devise a suitable punishment.”

Another pass from Talzin and Kycina fell like a stone to the ground. When the Nightsisters had dragged her away, Talzin turned to the offworlder. “Normally I could be persuaded to excuse such a transgression, but not with a Nightbrother of such martial prowess.”

“Stands to reason,” the offworlder said.

Talzin appraised him. “I appreciate your bringing this information to our attention, but your reason for doing so is anything but transparent.”

“Maul isn’t simply another adolescent trainee,” the man said. “I think he might be an agent, inserted into Trezza’s school by some Republic faction or the Jedi Order. Periodically he leaves the school, probably to meet with his control.”

Her eyes fell on the tattoos emblazoned on the off-worlder’s thick arms. “You display the shriek-hawk—the mark of the Mandalorian warriors.”

Meltch inclined his head in response.

“Why, then, haven’t you eliminated Maul on your own?”

“Maul is Trezza’s pet.”

“And you don’t wish to put your business relationship with the Falleen at risk.”

“Right again.”

Talzin considered it. “Benefits of a mutual sort will follow from our actions.”

“You’ll send your Nightsisters to Orsis to reclaim him?”

“I wouldn’t entrust this to anyone but myself.”

Meltch blinked in genuine surprise. “Then let me play a part. You’ll need to transit through Orsis Orbital Station, and you’ll need access codes to continue down the well to the academy. I can supply everything you need, and I know precisely where you can capture him, without his even being missed.”

Maul was completing his seventh major kill in as many local days when the freak storm blew in.

Dropping from the canopy of an ancient tree onto the biped’s humped back, he had plunged the enhanced vibroblade again and again between the armor plates that protected its long neck, until the creature had dropped on its side to the ground. By then most of the fight had gone out of the beast, and yet it had managed to snap its powerful jaws at Maul when he rolled clear. Springing forward, he delivered the killing stroke, and the plaintive cry that bellowed from the creature’s mouth had reverberated from the palisades and sent avians perched in the nearby trees scattering.

Distant cries from the beast’s cohorts had echoed the dying creature’s, and then lightning cracked open the sky and teeming rain and hail had burst forth. The fact that Maul’s week-long and mostly sleepless transit of the Gora was nearly finished made the storm feel even more personally punishing.

The Gora crater was the aftermath of a volcanic explosion that had tipped Orsis from its original axis and rendered the planet’s northern hemisphere habitable. An immense basin of dense forests and vast swamps—and even a low, central mountain that was the reemergent volcano itself—the Gora was home to countless species of animals that had found their way into it millennia earlier. The near vertical circumference and treacherous air currents had prevented all save the strongest avians from escaping. The remainder had been left to evolve in their own fashion in an environment that was less a landscape than an arena, a festering cauldron in which the struggle for survival never ceased.

Of Maul’s many kills there, only one had been for sustenance—the others had been for survival or sport. No matter what Trezza or Sidious said about the importance of being able to triumph in the profane world, the dark side couldn’t simply be dimmed down like some glow rod outfitted with a dampener. None of the creatures with whom Maul clashed had exercised restraint; they had attacked and defended themselves without reservation. They simply were their nature. Which made Maul wonder: Was he expected to rise above his nature? Was the exercise of restraint a way for him to better understand his true nature? Did the dark side only want beings who were capable of rising above themselves?

Such had been his inner tempest. Now he was in the middle of a genuine storm, and it was as if it had been engineered to pose one final challenge before he reached the rustic outpost from which he could call for an airspeeder evac. It wasn’t unusual for squalls to blow across the Gora, swelling the waterfalls, sluggish rivers, and bogs, but this one meant business. One moment the eastern sky had been clear; the next, it was a frenzy of ominous clouds. He thought about holing up, but the wind and relentless rain forced him to trudge on. Behind him, trees were toppling, and overhead, clouds of displaced insects swarmed.

Eventually the storm began to abate, dwindling to fat droplets of rain as he emerged soaked to the bone from a thorn forest onto an expansive savannah. The wind, too, died down, but in its place a sound of heavy footfalls filled the ozone-rich air. Llan beasts, Maul determined after a moment. Perhaps the very ones that had responded to the death call of his most recent kill. Yanking the vibroblade from the sheath strapped to his upper leg, he scanned the grasslands around him, searching for wood from which he might shape a lance. Finding nothing useful, he made a dash for the distant tree line. Perhaps catching the scent of him on the dying wind, the still unseen beasts changed direction with him, and their movements puzzled him, since most of the Gora’s largest creatures—even those that were semi-sentient—tended to be solitary rather than herd animals.

So it was remarkable when, halfway to the forest, a quartet of llans leaped into the clearing—two in front of him and one to either side. What was even more remarkable was the fact that each llan was being ridden! The riders were slim figures dressed in red hooded garments, and they were armed with energy bows and pikes. Were they what Kilindi had wanted to warn him about before he had set out on the solo? Maul doubted it. He could sense that the riders were not trainees from the academy, but far more dangerous beings.

The dark side began to well up inside him, feverish for expression. No matter all the blood he had spilled, the dark side’s lust for violence had yet to be sated. But at the edge of giving free rein to his powers, he held back. Rather than being part of the usual ordeal, the beast riders could have been sent by his Master to test his resolve.

Radiant quarrels flew at him from energized bows, though not aimed to strike so much as to move him toward a llan that had separated from the rest—a large spotted male whose spined tail was flicking back and forth in anticipation. If capture was once more the objective, then surely Sidious was behind it. Reversing his course, Maul was dodging arrows when he was abruptly knocked backward and completely off his feet. It was as if he had run straight into a wall; but instead of being thrown onto his back, he found himself suspended and immobilized a meter above the ground. His eyes provided him with an upside-down image of a tall figure, dismounting from the snuffling llan to approach him. A human female whose pale face was as blemished as his was marked by tattoos, and from whose thin neck dangled a trove of amulets and talismans.

“Don’t resist, Nightbrother Maul,” she intoned in deeply accented Basic. Her hands moved in a ritual way.

An agent of Sidious, he decided, for he could perceive the Force in her. In league with his Master, or perhaps an apprentice.

He tried to say as much, but then she touched him on the forehead and he was plunged into unconsciousness.

Orsis Orbital Station consisted of two oblong pods linked by several cylindrically shaped concourses. In the control tower of the pod dedicated to the arrival and departure of cargo vessels, the traffic controller swung to a group of beings gathered at the observation bay.

“The drop ship is returning. The blue tri-fin is just coming into view.”

Meltch glanced at the ship. “Direct it to cargo bay five, and send a message that all non-essential personnel should leave the area.” He waited for the controller to carry out the command, then turned to the warlord. “Your troops are in position?”

Osika Kirske’s huge head bobbed. A Vollick from remote Rattatak—where warfare was a way of life—Kirske commanded a vast army, but had come to Orsis with scarcely three score of Weequay and Siniteen mercenaries.

“You’re confident the legion is adequate?” Meltch asked.

“It is comprised of some of my finest warriors.”

“They had better be.”

Kirske’s enormous shoulders heaved in disregard. “How, Meltch, were you able to lure the Nightsisters off Dathomir? I was told that it is rare to find them even outside their native land. Hal’Sted was only able to take possession of infant Ventress because Talzin feared exposure.”

“Word has it that Ventress has turned into quite the warrior,” Meltch said, ignoring the question.

The sharp planes and angles of Kirske’s gray face contorted. “We’ll soon see how young Ventress fares against those of her own kind.”

Meltch thought about it. “Good luck breaking them. Now that I’ve met the Nightsisters, I plan on steering clear of Dathomir. But, then, you’re not paying me to advise you.”

Kirske grunted. “Advice from a Mandalorian is always welcome.”

Meltch took the compliment in stride.

“A few years of fighting in the Cauldron arena and the Nightsisters will be begging to serve in my army,” Kirske added. “But the question still stands: how did you entice them here?”

“They came to collect one of their own,” Meltch said at last.

Kirske’s oblique eyes widened as much as his bony brow permitted. “Trezza has been training a Nightsister?”

Meltch shook his head. “A Dathomiri Zabrak male from a clan of Nightbrothers. The women use the males for breeding and as soldiers.”

Kirske’s gaze shifted to the approaching ship. “What would you have us do with the Zabrak?”

“He’s yours. I’m throwing him in for free.”

Kirske looked confused. “We can at least add something to what we’ve paid you.”

Meltch smirked. “That’s not necessary. You’ll be doing me a favor just by taking him off Orsis.”

Feeling as if he had been robbed of the Force—not unlike the way he occasionally felt during his training sessions with Sidious—Maul surfaced groggily from the trance the witch had engineered. Even before he opened his eyes, his senses told him that he was aboard a small ship. In fact, he was reclined in an accelerator chair. His vibroblade sheath was empty, but such was the witch’s belief in her female soldiers and in her own powers that Maul wasn’t cuffed or shackled.

“You are skilled, Maul,” she said when his yellow eyes focused on her, “but perhaps not as skilled as I was led to believe.”

Maul sneered. “That seems to be the common opinion lately.”

She appraised him. “Very revealing. A few moments ago I was thinking that I erred in coming so far and in risking so much to return you to your clan brothers. And yet I sense that you are strong in the Force.”

“I have no brothers,” Maul said, as if spitting the word.

“Ah, but you do. And once among them your life will be very different. On Dathomir you will be nurtured and trained as the Winged Goddess and the Fanged God meant you to be trained. When the time is right you will face the Nightbrothers’ equivalents of the Tests of Fury, Night, and Elevation. And should you pass those trials, you may be fortunate enough to be transformed into an extraordinary warrior. Your strength will be enhanced tenfold, and those puny horns that stipple your head presently will become long and lethal.”

Maul had stopped listening almost immediately. The Witch was playing her part in a plan Sidious had designed. He had said that beings would attempt to use and deceive him, and here the Witch was doing just that.

“I won’t be going to Dathomir.”

The witch cocked an eyebrow. “You’ve no interest in seeing your birth world or meeting the members of your Nightbrother clan?”

“Neither.”

She looked disappointed. “You are fated to serve us, Maul, one way or the other. It has always been thus.”

“I serve only one Master,” Maul said.

The Witch smiled without mirth. “The Falleen you answer to will have to find another.”

Maul thought he had provided the correct response, but clearly he hadn’t, or Talzin had completely missed the reference. He considered mentioning Sidious by name, but thought better of it.

One of the Witch’s confederates slipped into the cabin. “Mother Talzin, we are approaching the station.”

Talzin nodded and studied Maul. “Can I trust you to behave while we transfer to our vessel, or do you wish simply to awaken aboard it?”

Maul glanced at the young female’s short sword and energy bow. “For the moment, you have the upper hand. I won’t make trouble.”

“Of course you won’t.”

Maul was comforted to learn that the station was none other than Orsis Orbital. As a tractor beam was easing the drop ship into the cargo bay, he decided he would show his Master that, until Sidious said otherwise, Orsis would remain Maul’s home. But a sudden feeling of apprehension took precedence over his plan. Talzin must have sensed something as well, because she turned to look at him while he was accompanying her and the Nightsisters down the drop ship’s ramp, perhaps thinking he was the cause of her concern.

“Trouble,” Maul told her.

Without so much as a word from Talzin, the three Nightsisters drew their swords and enabled their energy bows. The dimly illuminated docking bay appeared to be deserted, but Maul could perceive the presence of armed beings lurking in the dark periphery. Regardless, Talzin continued to march into the open, as if without a care.

“Stay right where you are and lower your weapons,” a gruff voice barked in Basic over the cargo bay loudspeakers.

The beings Maul had sensed began to edge from the shadows, contingents of top-knotted Weequays and big-brained Siniteens armed with blaster rifles. At the center of the group stood a towering Vollick clad head to foot in garish battle armor.

“You won’t be returning to Dathomir, Mother Talzin,” the Vollick said. “The five of you are going to be my guests on Rattatak, where you will eventually become members of my elite army.” He drew an outsize blaster from its holster and triggered a shot toward the bay’s tall ceiling. “Our weapons are set on stun, but we’ll shoot to kill if you decide to refuse my invitation.”

Talzin didn’t bother to reply. With a motion of her hands, the docking bay was suddenly filled with dozens of Nightsister warriors, though sporting robes and weapons that struck Maul as of ancient design. He understood that he was being treated to a dazzling Force illusion, but the Vollick’s soldiers were fully taken in. Just as the warlord had warned, the selector switches of a dozen blasters went from stun to full on, and a harried storm of bolts began to crisscross the bay, putting everyone in jeopardy.

The real Nightsisters were as fast on the draw as their opponents, and managed to drop several soldiers with energy quarrels before Talzin’s conjured illusion of ancient warriors began to evaporate into the same recycled air out of which they had appeared. Emboldened then—and ignoring the Vollick’s commands for cease-fire—the Weequays and Siniteens charged, dropping one of the Nightsisters and wounding Talzin in the thigh.

Maul thought about racing back into the drop ship, but doubted that it had sufficient power to overcome the bay’s tractor beam array. Instead he made a mad run for the fallen Nightsister, leaping, whirling, and tumbling across the deck until his hands seized on her energy bow. Retreating to the ship, he took cover behind one of the landing struts and began to return fire.