Star Wars: The Courtship of Princess Leia Page 17

  “I won’t let you goad me into it,” Damaya said.

  The old woman cackled, said in a pouting voice, “She won’t let me goad her into it,” and the robed sisters behind her laughed. Han found himself unreasonably angry, wishing that Damaya would raise the blaster and plug a few of them. Instead, she holstered the blaster, and tapped Han on the shoulder, urging him to walk ahead of her so that she placed herself between him and the nine hooded sisters.

  The fortress turned out to be even more hammered than Han had seen from below. Everywhere around the patchwork of blast shielding the rock was cracked and pounded. Many of the cracks had been patched with some dark green, gummy substance so that the basalt took on a marbled appearance. Chunks of red sandstone lay scattered on the walkways outside, and Han wondered where the sandstone had come from—all the mountains nearby seemed to be volcanic in origin. Someone had to have carried the stones several kilometers.

  Two guards at the door to the fortress peeled from their posts and led the way. Han glanced back: A dozen Singing Mountain warriors followed on foot, guarding the robed women. They entered the dark chambers of the fortress, which was honeycombed with halls and stairways. The walls were covered with thick tapestries and lit by sconces. They quickly turned to a room carved into the corner of the fortress so that windows opened on two sides.

  The huge room was nearly triangular in shape, with six openings looking out to the prairie. Blaster rifles lay stacked near each window, flak jackets had been tossed in piles on the floor, and a solitary blaster cannon poked out toward the mountains to the east. A huge dent showed where something had smashed its housing, so that green liquid coolant lay puddled beside it on the floor. The cannon was useless. In the center of the room a cooking pit was filled with bright embers. A large animal roasted above the coals while two men basted it with a pungent sauce and turned the spit.

  The room was filled with a dozen women in glittering robes of reptile hide, all in helms. Near the back of the crowd, dressed as one of the warriors, Han saw Leia.

  One of the women stepped forward. “Welcome, Baritha,” she said to the old crone, ignoring Han. “On behalf of my sisters, I, Mother Augwynne, welcome you to the Singing Mountain clan.” The greeter stepped forward, and despite her kind words, her face was cold, somewhat guarded. Augwynne wore a tunic of glittering yellow scales, a hide robe with black lizard shapes sewn around its hem. Her headdress was made of smooth golden wood and decorated with cabochons of gleaming yellow tigereye.

  “You needn’t bother with formalities,” Baritha said, and the old woman tossed her broken spear to the floor, the purple veins in her head throbbing. “The Nightsisters have come for General Solo and the other offworlders. We captured them first, and by all right they belong to us!”

  “We found no Nightsisters with them,” Augwynne answered, “only Imperial stormtroopers trespassing on our land. We killed them, and have offered their prey sanctuary among us as equals. I’m afraid we can’t honor your claims to ownership.”

  “The stormtroopers were our slaves, working under our direction, as you well know,” Baritha answered. “They were bringing the offworlders to prison for interrogation.”

  “If you only want to interrogate General Solo, then perhaps I can help you. General Solo, why did you come to Dathomir?” Augwynne’s eyes flashed to the pouch at Han’s belt, and he took the cue.

  “I own this planet and everything on it,” Han said. “I came to check out my real estate.”

  As one, the Nightsisters began hissing, shaking their heads, and Baritha spat, “A man claims to own Dathomir?”

  Han fumbled in his pouch for the deed, found the box and pressed its switch. The holo of Dathomir appeared in the air above his palm, his name clearly registered as owner.

  “No!” Baritha shouted, waving her hand. The box flew from Han’s grip, tumbled to the floor.

  “That’s right,” Han said, “I own this world, and I want you and your Nightsisters off my planet!”

  Baritha glared at him. “Gladly,” she said. “Provide us a ship, and we will leave.”

  He felt an odd tugging in his mind, fought the urge to divulge the location of the Falcon.

  “Enough of this,” Augwynne said. “You have your answer, Baritha. Tell Gethzerion that General Solo will remain with the Singing Mountain clan, as a free man.”

  “You cannot free him,” Baritha breathed threateningly. “We of the Nightsisters claim him as our slave!”

  Augwynne answered calmly, “He has won his freedom by saving the life of a clan sister. You cannot claim him as a slave.”

  “You lie!” Baritha said. “Whose life has he saved?”

  “He saved the life of clan sister Tandeer, and earned his freedom.”

  “I have never heard of a clan sister by that name,” Baritha argued. “Let me see her!”

  The women of the Singing Mountain clan parted, revealing Leia in the shadows. She wore a tunic of shimmering red scales, a helm of black iron decorated with small animal skulls. Baritha studied her face doubtfully. “Have I seen this one before?”

  “She is new to us, a spellcaster from the Northern Lakes region, and an adopted clan sister. Speak the words to the spell of discovery, and you will know that all I say is true.”

  Baritha glared at the women in the room. “I do not need the spell of discovery to tell me what is true,” she said. “You base your arguments for General Solo’s ownership upon technicalities!”

  “We base our arguments upon laws that you and your kind have never respected,” Augwynne countered.

  Baritha growled, “The Nightsisters dispute your right to these slaves. Release them to us, or we will be forced to take them!”

  “Do you threaten bloodshed?” Augwynne asked, and suddenly the room filled with humming, dozens of women all around Han mumbling with half-closed eyes. The Nightsisters retreated into a circle, backs to each other, and held hands, chanting, eyes closed, heads half-concealed in the shadows of their robes.

  Baritha shouted, “Gethzerion, we have found the offworlder. He has a starship, but the clan sisters will not give him to us!” Han could hear a humming in his ears, almost as if a fly buzzed within his skull. The hair raised on the back of his neck, and he knew for a certainty that no matter how far away this Gethzerion was, she had heard Baritha’s call and was now giving the woman instructions.

  Han started to back away from the Nightsisters, seeking shelter, but Baritha lunged from her circle and grabbed Han’s arms, her purple-skinned fingers biting into his shoulder like claws. He twisted and tried to pull free. One of the warriors of the Singing Mountain clan raised a blaster and fired at Baritha’s face, but Baritha merely released her grip, muttered a word, and used her hand to deflect the blaster bolt into the ceiling.

  As one the Nightsisters turned and leaped through the open windows, their black robes flapping. Han’s heart skipped a beat at the thought of those bodies smashing on the rocks two hundred meters below. But for a moment Baritha hovered in the air, twisted to sneer at them.

  “We will have blood!” she roared and the sound of her threat filled the room so that the very stone trembled. Then she let herself fall.

  Han ran to the window, looked out: The Nightsisters lightly dropped to the ground, scurried off like insects into the cover of the underbrush.

  Several clan sisters reached for blasters, but Augwynne said softly, “Let them go.”

  She came up behind Han and touched his shoulder lightly, looking at the blood that ran from his wounded biceps. “Well, General Solo, you should consider yourself fortunate that Gethzerion wants you alive. Welcome to Dathomir.”

  Chapter

  15

  Teneniel Djo watched her offworld spellcaster struggle at his bonds. She’d placed his hands in a wood stock, then tied them with whuffa leather. The stupid offworlders—both men—struggled secretly when they thought she was not looking, and this pleased her. The handsome one, he was no more than a commoner, beautiful but unab
le to cast spells. But this male witch, he was a catch to prize.

  She herded them through the foothills, unconcerned about whether her captives might try to escape. She had not bound their little machine, their droid. Oh yes, Teneniel knew what a droid was, though she had never seen one close. She feared its escape least of all. Like her other prisoners, it did not need a close guard.

  Instead, she watched the brush on the hills to both sides, often stopping to turn her head as if listening for pursuit. Something bothered her, a tingling feeling at the back of her scalp, a coldness that clawed the pit of her stomach. She whispered the spell of discovery and felt the dark ones stirring all across the wilderness. For four years she had sojourned in this waste, knowing that she was too close to the Imperial prison, yet she had never felt so many of the Nightsisters stir at once. She concentrated only on the nearest. She would need all her energy to keep from getting caught.

  She led her captives up to a thicket of short trees so that she could survey the trails ahead. She climbed out on a rock. The mountains here were nearly impassable, and Teneniel dared not take her captives on the rougher trails. The machine person would never be able to make it under any circumstances, and the men would need their hands free. Teneniel sang the discovery spell again. She could feel Nightsisters to three sides of them—one was two kilometers to the south, another three kilometers to the west, and one a kilometer straight ahead to the east. To the north, you could not climb the mountain unless you knew the spells for levitation, and Teneniel doubted she could persuade the others to let her levitate them. She whimpered softly.

  “They’re hunting us, aren’t they?” the male witch whispered.

  Teneniel nodded, studying the landscape. She wiped the perspiration from her forehead.

  “Free me!” the male witch urged her. “Whatever is out there, I can help you.” She glanced at him doubtfully. She had never met an offworlder she could trust. But if he did not even know what was hunting them, then maybe he did not know of the Nightsisters and their lackeys at the Imperial prison. Or maybe he was in league with the Nightsisters and only feigned ignorance.

  “If I free your hands, do you promise not to run away?” Teneniel asked. Nearby, the handsome slave twisted his head around, listening to them.

  “If I stay with you, what will you do with me?” the male witch asked.

  “I will take you to my clan,” Teneniel said honestly, “and all of my sisters will witness that I have caught you fairly. Once you are registered as my property, you will live in my hut and sire daughters on me. Do you agree to this?” She held her breath. She was offering him a good deal.

  “I can’t agree to that,” the male witch said. “I hardly know you.”

  “What?” Teneniel asked. “Am I so ugly that you would rather be captured by the Nightsisters? Would you rather spawn with one of them and watch your daughters master their spells?”

  “I … don’t know what the Nightsisters are,” the male witch said, yet his blue eyes opened wide with fear, and his voice was tight.

  “You can feel them nearby, can’t you?” Teneniel asked. “Isn’t that enough? You will be a valuable breeder. Who has ever heard of a male spellcaster? Rather than let you—rather than let any of us—fall into their hands, I will kill us all.” She pulled out one of their blasters.

  The little mechanical person squealed and its metal housing rattled on its frame. Its single blue eye swiveled from Teneniel to the male witch.

  “No!” the male witch said, nodding toward his friends. “It’s not them that the Nightsisters want, is it? It’s you and me. The Nightsisters are drawn to us. Let my friends go. The Nightsisters will not bother them. You and I can escape!”

  “You will be my mate?” Teneniel asked hopefully. The male witch licked his lips, looked at her—not just at her face, but at her body, and Teneniel realized with a start that he thought she was attractive. Overhead a warm wind stirred the trees, and the leaves began to whisper.

  “Perhaps,” the male witch said. “But I won’t make that choice unwillingly. I didn’t come to this planet looking for a wife. I’m not your property, and I won’t allow you to kill anyone here, including yourself.”

  The male witch’s lightsaber flipped from her belt, activated itself and tumbled through the air, slicing his bonds and returning to his hand.

  “I had to ask, at least,” Teneniel said, glancing away. She had been wondering all day if it was possible to keep a male witch enslaved. The ease with which he’d just freed himself answered that question, and the fact that he could cast spells without voicing them or using gestures unnerved her. Some of the sisters could do that with simple spells, but this male witch did it with even complex spells. She didn’t want him to see the fear in her face, or the hope. “Tell me, offworlder, do men on your planet have names?”

  “I am Luke Skywalker, a Jedi Knight. These are my friends, Isolder and Artoo.”

  Teneniel laughed. “A Knight? You are not much of a warrior, Luke Skywalker.” He used the lightsaber to cut the bonds of the handsome prisoner.

  Teneniel told Isolder and Artoo, “Luke Skywalker and I will lead the Nightsisters away from here. As Luke Skywalker has said, they may not be interested in you. If you want shelter, then you must go to that mountain—the one that juts up like a wall.” She pointed forty kilometers in the distance. “There you will find my clan sisters.” She did not tell them that if they survived the journey, she would take them slave again. She was not interested in Isolder as a breeder, not with Luke Skywalker around, but she was sure she could sell him for a small fortune.

  She tossed Isolder his blaster, hoping it would be enough to get him to the clan alive. He already had his pack with its food and tent.

  “Come with me, Luke Skywalker,” Teneniel said.

  “Just call me Luke.”

  She nodded, took off through the woods at a run, heading east through a sunny glade where dewplates grew thick and green. Her discovery spell still worked; she could feel the Nightsister ahead, not half a kilometer off. Teneniel tried to form her plans, consider her battle spells, but somehow the effort of trying to run and think at the same time seemed too much. She felt confused, unsure even which direction she was running, and she wondered if she might not be under the influence of a spell herself—but the thought slipped away before she could grasp it. Teneniel’s gift was casting the Force storm, and here in the trees such a storm should be able to hide them. She hoped to meet the Nightsister head-on, then slip past her in the storm. It seemed a daring plan to Teneniel, a brilliant plan, to rush toward the Nightsister. Once the plan was formed, Teneniel felt a great sense of ease, knowing she had made the right decision.

  Luke ran effortlessly. At first she thought he must have great stamina, but after a few minutes she saw that he did not sweat like a normal person. Therefore, he must have cast a spell—some spell she’d never heard of, and Teneniel had the unnerving realization that he might be more powerful than she’d imagined. Truly, she had captured him easily, and he had trudged along through the day making a show of pulling at his bonds. But he could have freed himself at any time, and she could feel that he did not fear her. And he knew secret spells that none of the sisters had ever heard.

  “Do you always use words when you cast spells?” Luke asked almost casually as he ran.

  “Or gestures. Some learn to cast silently, as you do,” Teneniel gasped, sucking for air. Luke gauged her as she struggled up the hill, sweating. Teneniel knew she did not look her best at the moment. When they got back to the clan, she could dress in clean clothes.

  The Nightsister could not be far ahead, so as they ran for the top of a small wooded rise, Teneniel began chanting, eyes half-closed, preparing her spell. She stopped with Luke, and the wind above her trembled, feeling her power. She peeked over the hill into a small valley filled with young snowbark trees. Through the thick woods she saw the Nightsister dressed in purple robes, along with twenty of Zsinj’s men dressed in the camouflaged armor
of Imperial stormtroopers.

  One trooper shouted, “Up there!” and raised a blaster rifle. Teneniel focused her spell. Immediately the magic wind rose—storming across the ground so hard that rotted leaves and twigs rose in a maelstrom, blinding her enemies. The trees swayed and cracked in the wind.

  Luke would have stood watching, but Teneniel grabbed his hand and rushed through the storm, the wind following at their backs, unable to see more than an arm’s length in front of them. The wind began to die a bit, and Teneniel worked harder, drawing energy from the land. The tempest grew black as Teneniel was compelled to blast topsoil from the ground, and all around them the maelstrom denuded the slender green leaves from the snowbarks.

  The filthy wind blotted out the sun, and Teneniel dodged and wove through the trees, seeking a way past the Nightsister. Teneniel could still feel her, twenty meters to their right, and just when Teneniel was sure she was past, a bolt of blue lightning pierced through the haze, struck Teneniel in the breast, jarring her mind, lifting her in the air.

  The Nightsister stood before them, flames flying from her fingertips, and Teneniel recognized the hag: Ocheron, a woman who had been powerful in her clan, a woman gifted at deception. Too late, Teneniel realized that Ocheron had caused them to run into her trap.

  Ocheron laughed and the blue lightning arced from her fingertips, sucked Teneniel’s breath away. She shrieked for help. The flames dug into her like fiery claws. The world reeled, and the blue lightning played over her. It touched a breast, and the breast went so cold it felt as if it had been severed. Tongues of lightning played up her left arm, and the arm seemed to die and wither instantly, like a cut ola vine. A bolt of lightning sizzled into her ear, and all sound left her, another arc touched her eye and half the world went black.

  The lightning sucked the very life from each limb it touched—slicing parts of her away like a giant blade. She could not fight it, could not run away. She felt so helpless, she could not even scream as she collapsed.