Star Wars: The Old Republic: Revan (5 page)

Yet here dozens—if not hundreds—of volumes filled the shelves on the left wall. Most of the books were large and thick, their bound pages protected by covers of leather or some similarly cured hide … though Scourge guessed that not all of them were made from skin cured from mindless beasts. They had an antiquated look about them, though most appeared to be preserved in good condition, if somewhat worn from use. Obviously Nyriss had paged through them many times.

The shelves on the right wall contained reference material that looked even more ancient and delicate. Loose leaves of yellowed parchment were held in place with delicate wire clips; rolled scrolls
were encased in clear protective tubes. A hinged glass cover sheltered several books that looked as if they might crumble into dust should a strong breeze pass through the room.

But not everything in the room was an archaic relic. On the rear wall was a large bank of holodisks and datacards, and in the center of the room was a computer workstation where a figure Scourge could only assume to be Darth Nyriss sat hunched, staring at the display monitor. The hood of her loose-fitting cowl—red, accented with purple and black—was pulled up over her head, and the long, loose sleeves even covered her hands and fingers as she worked at the terminal.

Neither Murtog nor Sechel made any sound to announce their presence, so Scourge took his cue from them and stood silently while Nyriss focused intently on the computer’s display. Her cloaked form blocked any view of the screen, so it was impossible for him to see what she was studying. However, he thought he could hazard a guess: Darth Nyriss was well known for her proficiency in the ancient arts of Sith sorcery.

During his time at the Academy, Scourge had discovered that there were many ways to draw upon the power of the Force. His natural talents had led him down the path of the warrior: learning to channel his emotions into strength and raw outbursts of lethal energy. But other students had trained with the Inquisitors, studying a very different curriculum.

Millennia earlier, those who followed the dark side had learned to harness and shape the Force through complex rituals that could control the mind of an enemy and sometimes even warp reality itself. Much of this arcane knowledge had been lost, but those who managed to unlock even a few of the secrets of the past were often rewarded with a more subtle—though just as potent—form of power.

It was rumored that the perpetual storms of Dromund Kaas were the result of the Emperor performing one of these rituals. Scourge didn’t know if that was true, but he knew that Nyriss had gained her place in the Dark Council through her knowledge and understanding of things he could never hope to fully grasp.

After several minutes Nyriss pushed herself away from the desk, rose from her chair, and turned to face them, pulling back the hood of her cloak as she did so.

Scourge was taken aback by her appearance, though he did his best to hide his reaction. Like him, she was a pure-blooded Sith. But her face was creased with deep wrinkles, and the tendrils dangling from her cheeks and chin were withered. Her skin was pale, more pink than red, and mottled with dark brown age spots.

He didn’t know how old Darth Nyriss was, though he knew she had served on the Dark Council for nearly two decades; only two other members had longer tenures. Despite this, he had been expecting someone more akin to the fiercely beautiful woman depicted in the statues of the courtyard. Instead, he was confronted with a shriveled hag.

Unbidden, the words of one of the instructors at the Academy leapt to the forefront of his mind:
The Force can be bent to your will, but often there is a cost. The most powerful rituals of the dark side exact a toll few are willing to pay
.

Perhaps Nyriss was not really as old as she appeared. A lifetime spent delving into the ancient secrets of Sith sorcery had given her one of the highest positions in the Empire. Maybe it had also drained her of her youth and vitality.

“Not what you expected?” Nyriss said as if reading his mind, a sly smile on her cracked and flaking lips.

In contrast with her decrepit features, her voice was strong and vibrant, and she stood tall and straight. A sharp gleam in her eye further belied her venerability, leading Scourge to surmise that her appearance was intentional.

There were a number of ways to stay young and beautiful; Nyriss could easily have afforded them had she wished to. Instead, she had chosen to let herself age prematurely. Either she didn’t care about the superficiality of physical attractiveness, or she chose to flaunt the ravishing effects of the dark side as a symbol of all she had learned and accomplished.

“Forgive me, my lord,” he said with a slight bow, employing the gender-neutral honorific used to address Sith Lords of either sex. “There was an incident on my arrival that has left me a little off-balance.”

“I’m well aware of what transpired in the courtyard,” Nyriss said, tilting her wizened head in the direction of the monitor. A still image
of Scourge in the first few seconds after the battle was frozen on the screen, captured by one of the stronghold’s security cams. “You dealt with the assassins quite efficiently.”

Scourge hesitated a split second before replying. He wanted to speak with Nyriss about his suspicions, but both Murtog and Sechel were in the room. Even if they hadn’t been, it was dangerous to throw out unfounded accusations implicating two of her highest-ranking followers without proof; they wouldn’t have been in their current positions if she didn’t have some level of trust in them.

“I expect this will not be the last such incident,” he said, choosing his words carefully.

“It appears you are wounded,” Nyriss remarked, noticing the scorch marks on the shoulder plating of his armor. “Do you need medical attention?”

“It can wait. The injury is not serious, and the pain is irrelevant. I would rather finish our business here.”

Nyriss nodded in approval. “I would like to hear your analysis of the attack,” she continued. “Perhaps we can learn something of who was behind it.”

“That would have been easier if Murtog’s troops had not killed the second assassin just as she was about to surrender,” he replied.

From the corner of his eye he saw Murtog bristle, but the security chief remained silent.

“You think Murtog made a mistake?” Nyriss pressed.

“He was somewhat overzealous in his efforts to eliminate an immediate threat,” Scourge answered diplomatically.

Sechel stifled a high-pitched giggle, and Nyriss shot him a stern glare.

“Let’s continue this conversation in private,” she said, dismissing Murtog and Sechel with a wave of her hand.

The two quickly bowed and turned to the door, which had already been opened by the Twi’lek slave, who closed the door behind them before retreating to her corner.

“You have something you wish to tell me,” Nyriss said once they were gone. “Discretion and subtlety have their place, but now when you speak to me I expect total candor.”

Scourge nodded.

“Let me guess,” she continued. “You suspect my own people are behind these recent attempts on my life.”

“No one is above suspicion,” Scourge admitted. “But I assume you have very thoroughly investigated everyone on your staff. If they were guilty, you probably would have discovered something by now.”

“I’m glad to see you understand I am not completely incompetent.”

“I do not believe the attack in the courtyard was another attempt on your life,” Scourge said. “I think the mercenaries were hired to eliminate
me
.”

“And since Murtog sees you as a rival and potential threat, you naturally suspect he was behind it.”

“Possibly. Or it may have been Sechel. Or both working in concert.”

“And what do you have to base this on?”

“Mostly circumstantial evidence. But my instincts feel there is enough to act on.”

“You expect me to turn on two of my most trusted servants based on little more than your hunch?”

“My instincts are seldom wrong,” Scourge said. “My reputation is well earned.”

“So what is it you suggest I do? Dismissal? Execution?”

Suddenly the conversation felt like a test, as if Nyriss was trying to evaluate him based on his answers. If so, he was ready for the challenge.

“It would be foolish to throw away someone as valuable as either Murtog or Sechel without concrete proof,” Scourge replied. “But I would like the chance to interrogate both of them.”

“A good interrogator can make a subject admit to anything,” Nyriss countered. “Even something that isn’t true.”

“Torturing a false confession out of them wouldn’t serve any purpose,” Scourge assured her. “I need the truth, and I would be careful not to do any permanent physical or mental damage. If one or both prove to be innocent, I’m sure you would want them to be just as capable when they return to their post as they were before my questioning.”

A flicker of approval on Nyriss’s face convinced Scourge he had given a satisfactory answer. However, the test was not over yet.

“If I did allow you to question them, whom would you speak with first?”

“Your security chief. Murtog.”

“Why Murtog?”

“If he’s guilty, he will be easier to break.”

Nyriss raised an eyebrow in surprise. “You think Sechel could withstand interrogation longer than Murtog?”

Scourge knew it sounded unlikely: a trained soldier should easily outlast a cowardly sycophant. “Murtog is physically stronger,” he said, “but tolerance for pain is useful only against the simplest and least effective interrogation methods. There are far more subtle and effective ways to get answers. Murtog, like most soldiers, will have had training in interrogation resistance. I know these techniques, and I know how to counter them. Sechel, on the other hand, is far less predictable. On the surface he seems weak and helpless. But he has risen to a position of rank by using cunning, creativity, and quick thinking. It will take me time to truly understand how his mind works. I will have to learn all his tricks before I can set my trap. His interrogation would be a much more involved and complicated process than Murtog’s.”

“Very impressive,” Nyriss remarked. “However, the interrogations won’t be necessary.”

Scourge shook his head, puzzled.

“You were right about the mercenaries, but I already know who hired them to try to kill you.”

“Who?”

“Me.”

“You?” Scourge exclaimed. Her admission had caught him off guard.

“After the second assassination attempt, Murtog and Sechel found a lead. I hired those mercenaries to follow up on it. But before they could, the Emperor decided to interfere, forcing me to bring you in. Your arrival left me with an excess of outside agents, so I told Sechel to instruct the mercenaries to try to take you out of the picture. Consider it a test.”

“Of course,” Scourge muttered, silently cursing himself for being so shortsighted.

He had originally assumed Nyriss had brought him here because she had heard of his success in his earlier postings. If that had been true, she would have had no need to reassure herself of his potential.

But the truth was very different. As she herself had said, his presence here was only because of what she considered to be the Emperor’s interference in her affairs. Given that, it was only logical she would want proof of his competence.

“If they managed to kill you, then you weren’t worthy of serving me,” Nyriss explained. “If you killed them, then you proved that they were a waste of resources. Either way, I would be left with the most suitable candidate for the job.”

Scourge wasn’t resentful over what Nyriss had done; in fact, he admired her for it. His only regret was that he had been blind to her machinations.

“I’ve spent too much time away from Dromund Kaas,” he grumbled. “I’ve forgotten the ways of the Sith.”

“That time away is what earned you this post,” she reminded him. “It wasn’t just your success at quashing the rebels and eliminating their leaders. The Emperor chose you because he knew you had been removed from the politics of Dromund Kaas and the Dark Council; you were untainted by any allegiance to a secret master who might be involved in the conspiracy against me. That made you a candidate I couldn’t possibly object to.”

There was almost something insulting in her tone, as if Scourge’s lack of political experience was a personal weakness. Perhaps it was.

Nyriss had held on to her position for the past twenty years; to do so required as much cunning and intelligence as raw power. Next to her, he was little more than a naïve child.

The realization excited him. Now that he had survived Darth Nyriss’s unexpected initiation, he would have a chance to learn at the feet of a master manipulator … providing there wasn’t another attempt on her life.

“You said you found a lead,” he said, quickly moving on to the reason he had been sent here in the first place. “Something you wanted the mercenaries to follow up on.”

Nyriss didn’t reply right away. Instead she seemed to be studying him. “You are familiar with the details of the last attempt on my life?” she asked finally.

“One of your serving droids was replaced with a duplicate,” Scourge said, recalling the details from the file. “The droid was equipped with a disruptor beam; it was programmed to fire once it had a clear shot at you, but the bolt missed and struck one of your servants instead.”

“My best chef. I still haven’t found a replacement for her,” Nyriss said with what seemed like genuine remorse. “The droid wiped its memory core immediately after the attempt, but Sechel was able to slice the core and salvage some of the data.”

“Was he able to identify who programmed the droid?”

“No, but he was able to determine where it was manufactured—a privately owned plant on Hallion.”

Scourge recognized the name. Hallion was a recently conquered world; it had been brought into the Empire’s fold only in the last decade. The difficult transition from private enterprise to an Imperial economy was still taking place. No doubt it would be easy to convince those who owned an asset like a droid manufacturing plant to strike back at the Empire before it seized full control of the facility.