Drew Karpyshyn: Darth Bane: Rule of Two

Two of the mercenaries vanished into the forest, crashing through the underbrush. The third-the one who had paused to look back- stood still as stone. A second later his head toppled forward from his shoulders to bounce and roll across the ground, severed from the cauterized stump of his neck by the crimson blade of Bane's thrown lightsaber. As if the fallen head were a signal, the rigid limbs of the decapitated corpse went suddenly limp, and it fell over sideways.

Bane extinguished his lightsaber, the blade vanishing with a sharp hiss. For a brief instant he reveled in his victory, drinking in the last lingering remnants of his victims1 emotions, drawing power from their fear and suffering. And then the moment was gone, fleeing like those who had escaped his wrath. He could have pursued them, but as much as he yearned to taste their panic, he understood the purpose of letting them live.

"You let them get away."

He spun around in surprise to see Zannah standing just inside the perimeter of the camp. Engrossed in the slaughter, he hadn't sensed her approach. Either that, or his young apprentice had taken pains to shield her presence from him.

Don't underestimate her, Bane reminded himself. She has the power to one day surpass you.

"You let them get away" Zannah repeated. She didn't sound angry, or disappointed, or even pleased. She just seemed puzzled.

"I told you to wait for me," Bane admonished her. "Why did you disobey?"

She didn't answer right away, weighing her words carefully until she could find an answer that would appease her Master. "1 wanted to see the true power of the dark side," she admitted finally. "Can you teach me to…?" She trailed off, unable to find the words to describe what she had just witnessed. Instead she simply waved her hand, indicating the totality of the carnage he had unleashed.

"You will learn," Bane assured her, attaching the hooked handle of his lightsaber back onto his belt.

She didn't smile, but there was an eager expression in her gaze, a hunger her Master knew well. He'd seen the same raw ambition in the eyes of Githany, his former lover and one of Kaan's doomed followers. He knew that if Zannah did not learn to temper and control her ambition, it would lead her down a path of destruction, just as it had with Githany.

"Prowess in combat is the simplest display of the dark side's power," her Master cautioned her. "Brutal and quick, it serves a purpose. Yet it is often less effective than subtlety and cunning. Ultimately letting those mercenaries live may prove more useful than killing them."

"But they were weak," his apprentice protested, throwing his own teachings back at him. "They deserved to die!"

"Few beings in the galaxy ever get what they truly deserve," he noted, choosing his words with care. The dark side was not easily understood; even be was still learning to work his way through its complexities and contradictions. He had to be careful not to overwhelm his young apprentice, yet it was important that she grasp the essence of what he had done here. "Our mission is not to bring death to all those unfit to live. We answer to a greater calling. All I have done on Ruusan, and all that we will do from this day forward, must serve our true purpose: the preservation of our Order and the survival of the Sith."

After a moment's consideration, Zannah shook her head. "I'm sorry, Master" she admitted, "I still don't get why you didn't just kill them."

"As servants of the dark side we revel in the vanquishing of our enemies. We draw power from their suffering, but we must balance this against greater gains. We must recognize that killing for sadistic pleasure-killing without reason, need, or purpose-is the act of a fool."

A frown of confusion crossed the young girl's face. "What purpose is there in letting scum like that live?"

"The Jedi believe the Order of the Sith died here on Ruusan," he explained patiently. "There are followers of the dark side on many other worlds: the Marauders of Honoghr and Gamorr, the Shadow Assassins of Ryloth and Umbara. But those with the greatest power-all those individuals with the potential to become true Sith Masters-had gathered together in Kaan's Brotherhood. As one they followed him into this war, and as one they followed him into death.

"But there will be those who doubt the totality of the Sith extinction. There will always be whispers that the Sith survive, hints and rumors that somewhere in the galaxy a Dark Lord lives. And if the Jedi ever find proof of our existence, they will be relentless in hunting us down."

He paused to let the implications of his last statement sink in before continuing. "We cannot live in isolation, cut off from the rest of the galaxy while cowering in fear. We must work to grow our power; we will need to interact with individuals of many species across many worlds. It is inevitable that some among them will recognize us for what we are, no matter our disguise. Eventually word of our existence will reach the ears of the Jedi."

Zannah was studying him closely, absorbing every word, seeking enlightenment in the murky logic of the dark side.

"Since we cannot hide the fact of our survival," Bane continued, "we must obscure it with half-truths. We must encourage the rumors, spreading them so thick they blind our enemies until they cannot separate myth from reality."

A glimmer of understanding illuminated Zannah's face. "A rumor is only as reliable as its source!" she exclaimed.

Bane nodded in satisfaction. "The survivors will spread the tale, but who will believe the likes of them? Everyone will know they are self-serving mercenaries who fled the final battle to save themselves, then came to loot the camp of their former allies. They will be spit upon as traitors and thieves. Nobody who hears their story will believe it, and the truth will be dismissed as a worthless rumor.

"And if there are any other witnesses to our presence on Ruusan " Bane added, spinning out the final thread of the convoluted tapestry of deception, "their accounts are now less likely to be believed. They will be tainted by their similarity to the so-called lies spewing from the mouths of cowardly looters."

"No use or purpose in their deaths" Zannah muttered, half to herself. She didn't say anything else, seemingly lost in thought as she mulled over all that she had been told.

Bane turned his attention away from his apprentice and focused on the items the looters had gathered in the center of the camp. He was the last of the Sith. If there was anything here of value, then by rights it should belong to him.

Most of what they had collected held no interest for Bane. Some of

Kaan's Brotherhood had hoarded items of immense value, believing that the greed and envy they inspired in others could feed the power of the dark side. The mercenaries had grabbed these trinkets-ornate rings and necklaces fashioned from precious metals and set with glittering stones; ceremonial daggers and knives, their hilts inlaid with gleaming gems; intricately carved masks and small statues of remarkable skill shaped from rare and delicate materials-and thrown them haphazardly in a pile.

Surveying the invaluable treasures that were worthless to his purpose, Bane felt another jolt of pain at the back of his head. In the same instant he saw a figure flicker at the corner of his right eye, then vanish from his field of vision.

He snapped his head around in the direction of the movement, but saw nothing. It hadn't been Zannah; this figure was much taller. He reached out with the Force, but felt only himself and his apprentice within the perimeter of the camp.

"What's the matter?" she asked, noting his sudden unease. "Is someone coming?"

"It's nothing," Bane replied. Was it nothing? he wondered. Or is this another side effect of the thought bomb?