Drew Karpyshyn - Star Wars: Darth Bane: Dynasty of Evil: A Novel of the Old Republic (Star Wars (Del Rey))

Darth Bane, the reigning Dark Lord of theSith, kicked the covers from his bed and swung his feet over the edge, restingthem on the cold marble floor. He tilted his head from side to side; strainingto work out the knots in his heavily muscled neck and shoulders.

He finally rose with an audible grunt. Takinga deep breath, he exhaled slowly, reaching his arms up high above his head ashe stretched to his full two-meter height. He could feel the sharp pop-pop-popof each individual vertebra along his spine loosening as he extended himselfuntil his fingertips brushed against the ceiling.

Satisfied, he lowered his arms and scooped uphis lightsaber from the ornate nightstand at the side of the bed. The curvedhandle felt reassuring in his grip. Familiar. Solid. Yet holding it couldn'tstop his free hand from trembling ever so slightly. Scowling, he clenched hisleft hand into a fist, the fingers digging into the flesh of his palm-a crudebut effective way to tame the tremor.

Moving silently, he slipped from thebedchamber out into the hallways of the mansion he now called home. Luminoustapestries covered the walls and colorful, hand-woven rugs lined the corridorsas he made his way past room after room, each decorated with custom-madefurniture, rare objets d'art, and other unmistakable signs of wealth. It tookhim almost a full minute to traverse the length of the building and reach theback door that led out to the open-air grounds surrounding his estate.

Barefoot and naked from the waist up, heshivered and glanced down at the abstract mosaic of the stone courtyardilluminated in the light of Ciutric IV's twin moons. Goose bumps crawled acrosshis flesh, but he ignored the night's chill as he ignited his lightsaber andbegan to practice the aggressive forms of Djem So.

His muscles groaned in protest, his jointsclicking and grinding as he moved carefully through a variety of sequences.Slash. Feint. Thrust. The soles of his feet slapped softly against the surfaceof the courtyard stones, a sporadic rhythm marking the progress of everyadvance and retreat against his imaginary opponent.

The last vestiges of sleep and fatigue clungstubbornly to his body, spurring the tiny voice inside that urged him toabandon his training and return to the comfort of his bed. Bane drowned it outby silently reciting the opening line of the Sith Code: Peace is a lie; thereis only passion.

Ten standard years had passed since he hadlost his orbalisk armor. Ten years since his body had been burned almost beyondrecognition by the devastating power of Force lightning unleashed from his ownhand. Ten years since the healer Caleb had brought him back from the brink ofdeath and Zannah, his apprentice, had slaughtered Caleb and the Jedi who hadcome to find them.

Thanks to Zannah's manipulations, the Jedi nowbelieved the Sith to be extinct. Bane and his apprentice had spent the decadesince those events perpetuating that myth: living in the shadows, gatheringresources, and harboring their strength for the day they would strike backagainst the Jedi. On that glorious day the Sith would reveal themselves, evenas they wiped their enemies from existence.

Bane knew he might never live to see that day.He was in his mid-forties now, and the first faint scars of time and age hadbegun to leave their marks on his body. Yet he had dedicated himself to theidea that one day, even if it took centuries, the Sith-his Sith-would rule thegalaxy.

As he continued to ignore the aches and painsthat inevitably accompanied the first half of his nightly regime, Bane'smovements began to pick up speed. The air hissed and crackled as it was splittime and time again by the crimson blade that had become an extension of hisindomitable will.

He still cut an imposing figure. The powerful musclesbuilt up during a youth spent working the mines on Apatros rippled beneath hisskin, flexing with each slash and strike of his lightsaber. But a tiny sliverof the brute strength he once possessed had been whittled away.

He leapt high in the air, his lightsaberarcing above his head before chopping straight down in a blow powerful enoughto cleave an enemy in two. His feet hit the hard surface of the courtyardstones with a sharp, sudden smack as he landed. Bane still moved with fiercegrace and terrifying intensity. His lightsaber still flickered with blindingspeed as he performed his martial drills, yet it was the merest fraction slowerthan it had once been.

The aging process was subtle, but inescapable.Bane accepted this; what he lost in strength and speed he could easilycompensate for with wisdom, knowledge, and experience. But it was not age thatwas to blame for the involuntary tremor that sometimes afflicted his left hand.

A shadow passed over one of the twin moons; adark cloud heavy with the threat of a fierce storm. Bane paused, brieflyconsidering cutting his ritual short to avoid the impending downpour. But hismuscles were warm now, and the blood was pumping furiously through his veins.The minor aches and pains were gone, banished by the adrenaline rush of intensephysical training. Now was no time to quit.

Feeling a blast of cold wind blow in, hecrouched low and opened himself up to the Force, letting it flow through him.Drawing on it to extend his awareness out to encompass each individual bead ofrain as it fell from the sky, he resolved not to let a single drop touch hisexposed flesh.

He could sense the power of the dark sidebuilding inside him. It began, as it always did, with a faint spark, a tinyflicker of light and heat. Muscles tense and coiled in anticipation, he fed thespark, fueling it with his own passion, letting his anger and fury transformthe flame into an inferno waiting to be unleashed.

As the first fat drops splattered onto thepatio stones around him, Bane exploded into action. Abandoning the overpoweringstyle of Djem So, he shifted to the quicker sequences of Soresu, his lightsabertracing tight circles above his head in a series of movements designed tointercept enemy blaster bolts.

The wind rose to a howling gale, and thescattered drops quickly became a downpour. His body and mind united as one, hechanneled the infinite power of the Force against the driving rain. Tiny cloudsof hissing steam formed as his blade picked off the descending drops while Banetwisted, twirled, and contorted his body to evade those few that managed toslip through his defenses.

For the next ten minutes he battled thepelting storm, reveling in the power of the dark side. And then, as suddenly asit had begun, the tempest was gone, the dark cloud scurrying away on thebreeze. Breathing hard, Bane extinguished his lightsaber. His skin was sheenedin sweat, but not a single drop of rain had touched his bare flesh.

Sudden storms were an almost nightlyoccurrence on Ciutric, particularly here in the lush forest on the outskirts ofthe capital city of Daplona.Yet this minor inconvenience was easily tolerated when set against all theadvantages the planet had to offer.

Located on the Outer Rim, far from the seat ofgalactic power and far from the prying eyes of the Jedi Council, Ciutric hadthe good fortune to exist at the nexus of several hyperspace trading routes.Vessels stopped at the planet frequently, giving rise to a small but highlyprofitable industrial society centered on trade and shipping.

More importantly to Bane, the constant flow ofvisitors from regions scattered across the galaxy gave him easy access tocontacts and information, allowing him to build up a network of informants andagents that he could personally oversee.

This would have been impossible had his bodystill been covered with the orbalisks-a host of chitinous parasites that fedupon his flesh in exchange for the strength and protection they afforded. Hisliving armor had made him nearly invincible in one-on-one combat, yet itsmonstrous appearance had forced him to remain hidden from the eyes of thegalaxy.