It’s been decided.

A helpful hold became a tighter grip—and Yaru Korsin turned his brother to face the setting sun over the ocean. “I willcomplete my mission,” he said, looking over the side to the ocean yawning far below. “And I will protect my crew.”

He let go.

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Chapter F our

It was nearly night when Korsin appeared on the twice-trodden trail, pulling a makeshift sledge crafted from a mess table. With thermal blankets and the remaining foodpaks heaped upon it, Korsin had needed the help of the Force a few times to get it down the mountain.

Straps from pouches cut into his shoulders and neck, leaving ugly welts. The single campfire had become several. He was glad to see them.

Ravilan appeared glad to see him, too, after an initial surprised reaction. “The beacon! Is it working?”

“I pushed the button myself,” Korsin announced.

“And?”

“And we wait.”

Ravilan’s eyes narrowed in the smoky haze. “You know where we are? You spoke to someone?” Korsin’s attention had already turned to unloading the packs to anxious crewmembers. Ravilan lowered his voice. “Where . . . are your Massassi?”

Korsin didn’t look up. “All dead. You don’t think I wanted to do this myself, do you?”

The quartermaster’s crimson face paled a little. “No, of course not—Commander.” He looked back at the sum-mit, fading in the surrounding darkness. “Perhaps others of us could have a look at the transmitter. We might—”

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Star Wars: Lost Tribe of the Sith:Precipice 29

“Ravilan, if you want to go back up there, you’re welcome to. But I’d bring a team with some heavy equipment, because if we don’t get some supports under that ship, the next person who boards could take it on its last flight.” Korsin set down the last pack and stretched his neck. “Where are yourMassassi?”

Ravilan stared. “All dead.”

Korsin stepped free, at last, from the cabling he’d used to drag the sledge. The bonfire blazed invitingly.

So why was he so cold?

“Seelah.”

“Where’s Devore?”

He looked at her coldly. Seelah stood, her tarnished gold uniform flickering in the firelight. “Where isDevore?” he repeated.

“He went up—” She stopped herself. No one was supposed to leave camp. And now, the look in Yaru Korsin’s eyes.

She squeezed Jariad, who woke crying.

The pep talk began as many of Korsin’s did—with a summation of Things Everyone Already Knows. But this speech was different, because there were so many things nobody knew, himself included. The assurance that Naga Sadow still valued their cargo rang true for all, and while they were clearly a long way from any-where, few could imagine the Sith Lord’s desire exceeding his reach. Even if they were less sanguine about what Sadow felt about them,Korsin knew his crew would accept that someone, somewhere, was looking for them.

They just didn’t need to know how long that might take. It was too soon for that. Sadow, he would figure out later. This place couldn’t be about what was next.

It had to be about now.

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unusually philosophical: “It was our destiny to land on this rock—and we are bound to our destiny. For a time, it looks like, we’re also bound to this rock,” he said.

“So be it. We’re Sith. Let’s make it ours.”

He looked toward a satellite campfire and spotted Gloyd and the remains of his gunnery crew bristling against the breeze. He waved them to the main bonfire.

It would be another hard night, Korsin knew, and the supplies he’d brought would soon run out.

But he knew something else. Something he’d seen, that no one else had.

The winged beast had carried a rider.

The Force was with them.

Gripping her son, Seelah watched the circle break.

Nodding, human Sith set to their tasks, stepping around Ravilan, the master without Massassi. He stood aloof, commiserating with the Red Sith and the few other surviving aliens. Energized and triumphant, Yaru Korsin conferred with Gloyd—keeping his confidences, as he always had, to the huge alien. Too strong to be defeated, too stupid to betray him—and dumb to the Force.

The perfect ally.

Turning away from the Houk, Korsin saw Seelah. A new land to be broken to his will, and no one to stand in his way. He smiled.

Seelah returned his gaze coldly. Thinking of Devore, thinking of little Jariad, she made a quick decision.

Summoning all her anger, all her hatred, all her will . . .

. . . Seelah smiled back.

Devore had underestimated Yaru Korsin. Whatever came, Seelah thought, she would not. She would bide her time.

Time, they had.

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Read on for an excerpt from

Star Wars: Fate of the Jedi:Omen by Christie Golden

Published by Del Rey Books

K e s h

T w o Y e a r s E a r l i e r

The ocean sighed as it rushed forward and receded in a rhythm even more ancient than what was unfolding on its lavender- sand shores. While the sun was bright and warm, a breeze came from the sea to cool the heated faces of the two figures standing there.

They faced each other, as still as if they were carved from stone, the only motion around them that of their hair and heavy black robes as the wind toyed with them.

Then, as if by some unheard signal, one of them moved. The soft sound of the ocean was punctuated by a sharp snap- hiss.The almost perfectly symmetrical, light purple features of Vestara Khai’s adversary were abruptly cast into sickly green relief. Vestara activated her own weapon with a fluid motion, saluted her opponent with it, settled into position, and waited to see who would make the first move. She balanced lightly on the balls of her booted feet, ready to leap left, right, or straight up. Still her opponent did not move.

The sun was at its height and its light was harsh, beating down on them like something physical. Their mill_9780345519382_3p_all_r1.qxp:8p insert template 4/28/09

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Christie Golden

heavy dark robes were stifling hot, but Vestara would no sooner abandon her robes than she would abandon her weapon or her heritage. The robes were traditional, ancient, a deep and valued part of who she was, and she would endure the encumbrance. The Tribe valued strength as much as it valued beauty; rewarded patience as much as initiative. The wise being was the one who knew when which was called for.

Vestara sprang.

Not at her opponent, but to the left and past him, leaping upward, turning in the air, and slashing outward with the blade. She felt the blade impact and heard its distinctive sizzle. He gasped as she landed, flipped, and crouched back into a defensive position.

The sandy surface was treacherous, and her foot slipped. She righted herself almost instantly, but that moment was all he needed to come at her.

He hammered her with blows that were more of strength than grace, his lithe body all lean muscle. She parried each strike, the blades clashing and sizzling, and ducked underneath the final one. Lightness and agility were her allies, and she used them freely.

Her long, light brown hair had come loose from its quickly twisted braid, and the tendrils were a distraction. She blew upward to clear her vision just in time to block another one of the strong blows.

“Blast,” she muttered, leaping back and switching the blade to her other hand. She was completely ambidex-trous. “You’re getting good, Ahri.”

Ahri Raas, apprentice, member of the native— and conquered— species of Keshiri and Vestara Khai’s close friend, offered her a smile. “I’d say the same about you, Ves, except for the fact that that sand- jump messes you up every single ti—”