When Vestara looked over her shoulder, she saw only the fern-and-fungus jungle swallowing her path. When she paused to listen, she heard only the hammering of her own heart. When she pulled the hot, humid air through her nostrils and down into her heaving lungs, she smelled only the sour taint of her own fear. But she knew Ben Skywalker was behind her, just twenty or thirty meters down the slope. She could feel him, a fierce, fiery presence in the Force, clambering up the ridge behind her, tireless and determined and unforgiving.

It was her own fault, of course. Vestara could have tossed a thermal detonator into the medbay as she locked Ben inside, or she could have taken a minute to sabotage the Shadow’s fusion core before rushing away. But she had told herself that Ben was too quick and cunning to eliminate so easily, that trying to kill him would only decrease her chances of reaching Lord Taalon with the news of Ship’s return. The truth was, she simply had not wanted, to kill Ben. She had allowed her fondness to become weakness, and Vestara detested weakness … especially in herself.

Continuing to bound up the ridge, and drawing on the Force to combat her growing exhaustion, Vestara dared to glance back. She saw no sign of Ben, only a handful of fronds still fluttering in her wake. They would be still by the time he passed, and the thick undergrowth was perfect for an ambush. All she had to do was think of a way to negate his danger sense … or to overwhelm it. If she could find a circle of paroxispore or a brake of acid-feather, Ben would not know where the true threat lay. She would be able to camouflage herself nearby and—even with one shoulder only half usable—remedy her mistake. Her father would never need to hear of her weakness … and neither would High Lord Taalon.

Resolved to find a good place for an ambush, Vestara turned her gaze up the slope again and found a large, gray-green blossom hanging in front of her. It had no stamen or pistil, just a long tubular anther filled with a fine, rust-colored pollen.

“Ah, shrak!”

Vestara planted her heels and tried to whirl away, squeezing her eyes shut, but she was too late. There was already a spasm rolling up the anther, and a cloud of crimson pollen exploded into her face, filling her eyes with bright stinging pain. Her vision blossomed into flame-colored blindness. Knowing that to remain motionless was to die—no doubt slowly and painfully—she continued her spin and Force-leapt blindly away.

Whether she had turned across the slope or down it, Vestara had no idea—and she was never going to find out. She was still in the air when she slammed into a snarl of vines and simply hung there, bouncing. Thinking she had just gotten tangled, she reached for her lightsaber—then felt a vine tighten around her wrist and pull it away from her body. She tried to jerk free, but the vine was secured to her sleeve by a potent, sweet-smelling resin. When she grabbed it with the Force, its grasp grew tighter, stretching her arm out straight, pulling so hard that she feared her shoulder would pop out of its joint.

Vestara tried to blink her vision clear and succeeded only in coating her eyes with resin and making them sting even worse. She pulled her other arm from its sling and began to inch her hand toward her parang, trying to move slowly enough to avoid triggering another attack.

Something woody and sinuous slid up the inside of her arm and began to apply pressure in the opposite direction. Vestara’s heart began to hammer inside her chest, her breath coming in short gasps of panic. Another vine slithered up her leg, then twined itself around her torso and began to squeeze. Her thoughts began to whirl through her mind in a wild cyclone of anger and terror. After surviving so much on this world—attacks by carnivorous plants, Abeloth’s manipulations, being marooned with no hope of rescue—the thought of returning to it had filled Vestara’s heart with dread. But she had returned, because Lord Taalon had commanded it, and here she was again, blind and bound and about to become dinner for a tree.

“I … really … hate … this planet.”

Vestara grabbed her lightsaber in the Force and slipped it off its belt hook. The last thing she needed was for Ben to find her like this, and not only because she would be at his mercy. He had a bad habit of flunking he was saving her life, which usually manifested itself in a cocky grin that suggested he expected something in return—like maybe being honest or not betraying him when the chance came. She floated her lightsaber off to the side until it was several meters away, then depressed the activation switch.

The weapon came to life, emitting the familiar drone-and-crackle of a power supply focused through one of the Lost Tribe’s efficient Lignan crystals. Directing the blade by its sound, she slashed through the vines above her head and adjacent to her. Instead of dropping to the ground, Vestara tumbled away head-over-heels and found herself hanging upside down, caught now by her ankles and one arm. She used the Force to bring the lightsaber around above her feet.

Her legs quickly fell free and swung down until they were even with her head. Now she was hanging parallel to the ground, caught only by her waist and one arm. Believing she just might spare herself the embarrassment of being rescued by her Jedi rival, she floated the lightsaber into her free hand so she could cut more accurately, then twisted her body around, reaching up above her waist.

“Stop!”

Ben, of course. Vestara dropped her chin in frustration, then slashed through a vine. Her feet swung down just as she had expected, but they did not touch ground, and she found herself hanging by her wrist.

“Vestara, no!” Ben blurted. His voice was coming from four or five meters away, a little below her and well off to one side. “What’s wrong with you? You’ll kill yourself!”

“Sure I will,” Vestara said, raising her blade above her head. “That’s just like you Jedi, trying to take advantage of a blind girl.”

“Blind?” Ben sounded genuinely surprised. “Vestara, I’m serious—you’re hanging over a cliff.”

“A cliff?”

Vestara deactivated her lightsaber and returned it to its hook. Then she pulled a spare energy bar from a thigh pocket and let it drop. She did not hear it hit the ground.

“Okay, so I’m hanging over a cliff.” Vestara could not keep the quaver out of her voice—and she did not bother trying. She was usually very good at concealing her emotions, but Ben had been using the Force to track her when she ran into the blossom, and he would have sensed her terror in her aura. “What are you going to do about it?”

She did not sense Ben moving any closer. “Why should I do anything?”

“Ben, you’re wasting time.” Vestara’s eyes burned as if someone were spraying hot ashes into them, and she could feel the lids beginning to swell. If she didn’t get the pollen flushed out soon, she would be blind for days—and on this planet, being blind was a death sentence. “If you were going to kill me, you wouldn’t have told me about the cliff.”

“Maybe I like you where you are.”

Vestara exhaled in exasperation. “I should have killed you when I had the chance.”

“You didn’t,” Ben replied. “Have a chance, I mean.”

Vestara turned her head in his direction, then used the Force to draw her parang from its scabbard and send it flying toward his voice. A strangled cry of surprise escaped Ben’s lips, and she heard the undergrowth rustle as he dived out of the weapon’s path.

“There’s always a chance, Ben,” Vestara reminded him. As she spoke, the vine tightened around her wrist, and she had an uneasy feeling that she was being drawn into the crown of whatever tree had captured her. “Now stop wasting time and tell me what you want.”

“Not much.” Ben sounded closer now, as though he had come over to the edge of the cliff. “I’d just like to know where you’re going in such a hurry.”

Vestara furrowed her brow, trying to puzzle out what Ben hoped to learn by asking such an obvious question. “Where do you think I’m going?” she asked. “The same place you are.”

“To the ruins,” Ben confirmed, “to tell Taalon that Ship is on its way back?”

Vestara whistled as though she were impressed. “You Jedi are smart. I didn’t expect you to figure that one out.”

“That part was easy.” Ben’s voice was even, betraying no hint that her sarcasm was bothering him. “What I want to know is, why you didn’t take the Emiax?”

It was a revealing question, and one so unexpected that Vestara had to consciously still her Force aura to keep from betraying her surprise.

“Why do you think I didn’t take it?” she asked, buying time to think. Whatever Ben threatened, no matter how angry he was about her latest betrayal, he wasn’t going to leave her hanging there blind and doomed—he couldn’t afford to, because he needed her to find his way through the jungle. “The Emiax is Lord Taalon’s shuttle.”

“And you were afraid I’d shoot it down,” Ben finished, supplying a better answer to his own question than Vestara ever could have. “Smart girl.”

“I have my moments,” Vestara said. Again, she had to work to conceal her surprise. It hadn’t occurred to her that Ben would actually fire on her after she had gone to such pains to spare his life … but these Jedi were full of surprises, which was what made them so dangerous. “Here’s what I’d like to know. After you broke out of the medbay, why didn’t you just take the Shadow and fly back to the ruins? You would have beat me by an hour.”

“That’s easy,” Ben said, leaving a long pause that suggested he was developing an explanation. “I was, uh, worried about you.”

“Worried?” Vestara echoed. “About a Sith? One who has betrayed you how many times?”

“You’re just an apprentice,” Ben replied easily. It did not sound like he was moving any closer, and the feeling in Vestara’s stomach definitely indicated that she was being pulled up into a tree. “There’s still time to redeem you.”

“Cute,” Vestara said. Her eyelids felt as big as her thumbs now, and she could feel pus starting to ooze out of her tear ducts. “But I wouldn’t hold my breath, Ben—and I wouldn’t leave me hanging here any longer, either. Two more minutes, and I won’t be able to see for weeks.”

“And that would matter to me why?”

Vestara smirked in the direction of his voice. “Because if you knew where the ruins were, you’d know you can’t get to them in a spaceship,” she said. “They’re in the jungle, in a ravine at the foot of the volcano. Where did you think you were going to land?”

Ben let out an angry huff, then retorted, “So you lied to me about the reason you didn’t take the Emiax?”

“So you expect me to believe you really would’ve have shot me down?” Vestara flashed him a sultry smile—at least she thought she was flashing it in his direction. “Come on, Ben. Help me down. I really do need to get this pollen out of my eyes.”

“Why should I?” Ben demanded.

“Uh, because you’d like to find your father before Ship finds Taalon?” Vestara replied. “Once the High Lord realizes that Ship is coming back—”

“I know what will happen when Taalon thinks he doesn’t need my father anymore,” Ben interrupted. “What I don’t know is why I should trust you.”

Vestara frowned and fell silent. That was a hard question—and one for which she had no good answer. “Look, Ben, you need me.”

“And you need me,” Ben replied. “So give me a reason to help you down.”

“A reason?” Vestara asked, growing more confused by the moment. “I’ve already given you one. Without me, you won’t find your father in time.”

“That’s an argument, maybe even a fact,” Ben insisted. “But it’s not a reason. If I’m going to help you down and find something to help your eyes in this medkit—”

“You brought a medkit?” Vestara interrupted.

“I’m a Jedi Knight,” Ben replied. “I always bring a medkit.”

Vestara had to smile—then the vine tightened around her wrist again, and she felt herself start to rise faster. “Okay, what do you want Ben?” she asked. “We’re running out of time here.”

“You know what I want,” Ben said. “Your word.”

“My word?” Vestara echoed. “You mean, just a promise?”

“Not just a promise. Your promise.”

“My promise?” Vestara felt sure Ben had to be pulling a trick—maybe some kind of Force binding or Jedi mind-lock—but she couldn’t sense anything unusual happening. “That’s all?”

“You’d have to mean it,” Ben replied. “If you want my help, you have to promise: no more betrayals.”

Vestara felt herself biting her lips, and that was when she realized what Ben was doing to her: he was playing on her emotions, trying to beat her at her own game.

She suppressed a smile. “For how long?” she asked. It wouldn’t do to seem too eager; he wouldn’t believe her if she surrendered too easily. “I’m not promising anything forever.”

Ben paused before answering, and Vestara knew she had him.

Finally, he nodded. “Fair enough—until Ship arrives. That’s when reactor cores are going to start going critical anyway.”

Vestara pretended to consider this for a moment, then shook her head. “Until you have a chance to tell your father about Ship. If I don’t tell Lord Taalon that he’s returning, I’ll be running for my life with you and your father … again.”

“Would that be so bad?”

Vestara nodded. “I’m no Jedi, Ben—and I don’t want to become one.”

“Okay, if you’re sure,” Ben said. Vestara felt him grab her in the Force. “So, I have your word?”

“Yes, Ben.” Vestara grabbed her lightsaber again and ignited the blade. She cut herself free of the last vine and felt Ben floating her toward him. “You have my word.”

For what it’s worth, she added silently.

Once they crested the ridge, Ben abandoned all pretense of needing advice to locate the ruins. The pyre smoke was wafting up through the jungle so thick and acrid that he had to use the Force to avoid the embarrassment of gagging in front of Vestara, and then it was a simple matter to descend into the stench. With her vision still blurry and her eyes continuing to drain, Vestara stayed close on his heels, holding on to his equipment belt and using the Force to steady herself on the steep slope. Walking that close behind him was the last place he would have preferred to have an armed Sith, but Vestara’s promise to him was stronger than she knew—and any trust he placed in her would only increase its power.

After a few minutes, wisps of dark fume began to drift through the fronds and moss, and Ben felt Vestara’s hand tense on the back of his belt. He pretended not to notice, but kept his lightsaber ready and his thumb near the activation switch. He could feel their fathers and Taalon a few hundred meters down the slope, wary and alert, more suspicious of his unexpected return than alarmed by it—and that meant Ben still had time to warn his father about Ship.

They continued to descend, and the jungle began to grow less dense. The ruins slowly came into view below, set in a small gorge at the foot of the volcano. The ancient complex had a simple plan, with a gray stone courtyard ringed on three sides by an arcade built into the face of a ten-meter cliff. The open end of the court overlooked a steaming swamp draped in moss and vines, but the centerpiece was a gurgling fountain swaddled in acrid yellow vapor.

Thirty meters from the fountain stood Gavar Khai, a dark-hooded figure feeding chopped fronds and chunks of fungus to a large, smoldering pyre. Ben’s father and Lord Taalon were nowhere to be seen, but their Force presences could be felt under the opposite slope, presumably exploring a warren of subterranean rooms beyond the arcade.

Ben stopped and spoke over his shoulder in a near whisper. “Remember your promise?”

“How could I forget?” Vestara replied, also whispering. “I don’t make that many of them.”

“I’m flattered—I guess.” Ben stepped to the edge of the cliff, which was actually the roof of the arcade on their side of the ruin, then said, “How’s your vision?”

“Good enough to imagine my father’s face,” she said. “I won’t be able to stall long, so I hope you’ve thought of a good reason for abandoning our post.”

“Not really,” Ben said. “But by the time that matters, it won’t matter anymore.”

Vestara’s Force aura rippled with confusion. “What does that mean?”

“Just trust me … and be ready.” Ben turned sideways. “The next step is a long one.”

He stepped off the roof, trailing one hand along the stone wall and using the Force to slow his descent. Behind him, Vestara released his belt and simply dropped. At the last instant, she extended a hand over her head and broke her fall by pulling against the top of the arcade, landing well ahead of Ben—and as gently as a feather. It was a sobering reminder of just how naturally the Sith of the Lost Tribe used the Force, and of how little the Jedi really knew about them.

By the time Ben was on the ground, Vestara was already crossing the courtyard toward her glowering father, her stride purposeful and confident despite her injured shoulder and the trouble her oozing eyes were causing her. Ben paused to brush off his robes, allowing Vestara ample time to betray him … because he knew she would not. She would realize the opportunity was intentional and suspect a trap, and Vestara feared mistakes more than she feared death. Rather than risk looking foolish in front of her father and Lord Taalon, she would honor her word and discover how good it felt to keep a promise … and once she had taken that first step toward redemption, Ben would have her. He would keep drawing her into the light a little at a time, just as his father had done with his mother, and eventually Vestara would grow accustomed to its warmth and move out of the shadows forever.

But Gavar Khai barely glanced in Vestara’s direction as she stopped before him. Instead he kept his gaze fixed on Ben, one hand ready to launch a bolt of Force lightning and the other resting on the pommel of his lightsaber. Ben allowed father and daughter a few seconds alone, then smiled like a nervous suitor and started across the courtyard to join them. He could feel his own father’s curiosity through the Force, a dull pang of uneasiness in the pit of his stomach, and he responded by concentrating on his feelings of urgency and alarm, a silent warning that their strained alliance was about to snap entirely.

Once Ben had joined the Khais in the smoke-clouded air next to the pyre, Gavar Khai finally turned to his daughter. “High Lord Taalon told you to stay with the Jedi, did he not?”

Vestara dropped her gaze and nodded. “He did.”

“Then what are you doing here?” Khai demanded. “He was relying on you to prevent them from betraying us.”

“Yes, I know.” Vestara shot a demanding glance in Ben’s direction, silently threatening to break her promise unless he came to her rescue. “But there were … circumstances.”

Khai narrowed his eyes and glanced in Ben’s direction, then looked back to Vestara. “Let us hope High Lord Taalon finds your circumstances acceptable,” he said. “He is not one to easily forgive disobedience.”

Vestara swallowed hard and dropped her gaze. “I await his judgment.” She gave Ben a sidelong glare, clearly warning him not to push her. He smiled and remained silent; a promise meant nothing if it was easy to keep. She fought off a sneer and looked back to her father. “Once the High Lord hears the facts, I’m confident he’ll understand.”

Khai studied her for a moment; then his expression grew worried. “You should not be confident, daughter … not at all.” His gaze lingered as the color drained from her face. Then he turned to Ben and stepped forward until they stood chin-to-nose. “Now, young Skywalker, tell me what you did to my daughter?”

Ben rolled his eyes and, without tipping his chin back, met Khai’s gaze. “I saved her life.”

Khai’s expression grew even stonier. “And you had to blacken both eyes to do it?”

Ben glanced over at Vestara’s purple, swollen eyes and realized that it did look as though she had been hit. Vestara smirked and looked away, letting him know that he was on his own. He returned the smirk with a one-sided grin, then looked back to her father.

“You’d rather I leave her hanging in a bloodvine?”

A hint of fear flashed across Khai’s face, then vanished as quickly as it had appeared. He made no move to step away or seem any less threatening, but Ben knew that he had made his point—and that the time had come to prove to Vestara that he could be trusted not to betray her, either.

“That’s what I thought,” Ben said. “And she didn’t disobey anyone’s orders. She was chasing me.”

Khai scowled. “She was behind you?” he asked. “And you are still alive?”

Ben rolled his eyes. “Skywalkers aren’t easy to kill,” he said. “You should know that by now.”

A cold presence entered the courtyard about five meters behind Ben, then a silken Keshiri voice said, “Oh, we do know, Jedi Skywalker—you may be certain of that.”

Vestara and her father pressed their sword hands to their chests and bowed, and Ben turned to see High Lord Taalon crossing the courtyard toward him. Next to the Sith walked Ben’s own father, his expression as curious as his Force aura was energized and wary.

Taalon stopped two paces short of Ben, at optimum striking distance for his lightsaber, then demanded, “So the question becomes: why were you disobeying orders?” He pivoted so that he was standing at an angle to Ben and Luke, smoothly placing himself in better position to address them—or to defend himself against them. “I’m aware that you Jedi don’t place the same value on discipline as we Sith do, but surely when a father gives a command, he expects his son to obey.”

Luke faced Taalon directly and frowned. “That works for you? With teenagers?” He put on an expression that managed to look both surprised and doubtful. “I hope you don’t expect me to believe that.”

Taalon’s eyes went cold. “I assure you, Master Skywalker, I won’t be distracted by your mockery.” He turned back to Ben. “Now, will you instruct your son to answer me? Or shall I have to ask Vestara?”

Taking his father’s cue to act the part of an unruly teenager, Ben spoke without permission. “It was the smoke.” He waved an arm toward the funeral pyre, gesturing so energetically that Taalon flinched and half reached for his lightsaber. “I picked it up on the Shadow’s sensors and thought there might be a … a problem.”

“A fight, you mean,” Taalon surmised. “And so you crossed the ridge on foot, because you thought we would still be in combat … an hour later?”

“Well, yeah.” Ben glanced in Gavar Khai’s direction, then scowled as though Taalon’s explanation made perfect sense. “There are two of you, so I thought it would take Dad a while to finish you off.”

“Your lack of faith hurts me.” Luke’s stern tone was belied by the amusement in his Force aura. “Clearly, we need to elevate your training sessions.”

Taalon’s expression turned sour. “I hadn’t realized you Jedi were such comedians. When I return home, perhaps I will bring a few of you along to amuse our young ones.” His eyes turned colder and angrier than ever. “Until then, I see that if I want a truthful answer, I must get it out of Vestara.”

“I’m certain my daughter will tell you everything you wish to know,” Khai said, a little too quick to promise his daughter’s cooperation. He turned to Ben. “But what of your wounded friend? Has he died, or did you simply abandon his care?”

Khai was stalling, trying to force Ben to reveal the reason he and Vestara had abandoned their post. Maybe he had been eavesdropping when the pair stopped at the clifftop to discuss their agreement, or maybe he simply sensed the same thing Ben did—that Vestara liked Ben enough to lie for him. In either case, Khai was only trying to protect his daughter, and it was hard to blame a father for that.

“Dyon is on the mend,” Ben said. “He was alert enough to take care of himself, or I wouldn’t have locked Vestara in the medbay with him.”

Taalon’s brow rose, and he turned to Vestara. “Young Skywalker tricked you?”

Vestara let her chin drop. “I’m afraid so, High Lord.” The flush that came to her cheeks was deep enough to look like true embarrassment, and Ben could detect no hint of deception in her Force aura. “He asked me to help him change a bandage, then stepped outside and sealed the hatch.”

“I see.” Taalon clasped her shoulder and turned her toward the arcade on the far side of the ruin. “You can explain over here … in private.”

“Yes.” Vestara glanced back, shooting Ben an angry scowl that suggested she now considered her promise completely fulfilled. “That might be best.”

Gavar Khai remained behind with Ben and Luke, his expression stoic and unreadable as his daughter vanished into the shadows with Taalon. Ben fidgeted beneath his gaze, wishing that the Sith would step away to feed the pyre fire, or do anything that would give Ben a chance to have a few quiet words with his father. Finally realizing he would need to make his own opportunity, Ben turned toward the arcade.

“I didn’t mean to shove Vestara into the fusion chamber,” he said. “Lord Taalon’s not going to hurt her, is he?”

“She’ll be punished.” Khai’s tone was sharp and blaming, and he could not stop himself from staring into the arcade after his daughter. “How severely depends on how badly she failed her assignment.”

“It wasn’t that bad.” Ben allowed his very real concern to creep into his voice. “It’s not like she actually lost me.”

Khai continued to stare into the arcade. “But you are the one who saved her life, and that will trouble Lord Taalon.”

“Oh—well, I won’t make the same mistake with him.”

As Ben spoke, he nudged his father with an elbow, then made a walking motion with his fingers and pointed into the jungle. He felt bad about the trouble Vestara was in, but he needed to get his father away from there before Ship arrived—and he had no idea how soon that might happen.

Unfortunately, his father seemed to have other ideas. Luke simply shook his head at Ben’s fingers, then nodded across the courtyard toward Abeloth’s shrouded corpse. He wasn’t leaving without a body to take back for analysis.

Ben scowled and mouthed the word, Ship!

Luke’s brow shot up, but he made no motion toward the jungle.

Soon! Ben mouthed.

“What are you two whispering about?” demanded Gavar Khai’s angry voice. “We have had enough Jedi tricks for one day.”

“This is no trick,” Luke said, turning toward the arcade where Taalon had taken Vestara. “But Sith or not, I won’t stand by and allow a sixteen-year-old girl to be beaten.”

Without awaiting a reply—and ignoring for the moment the fact that there was no indication that anyone was being beaten—Luke started across the courtyard. Taken even more by surprise than Ben was, Khai stood with his jaw hanging for a couple of heartbeats, then finally seemed to realize that he needed to do something.

By then, Luke was only a couple of steps from the arcade.

“Wait!” Khai extended his hand, using the Force to jerk Luke to a stop. “You can’t interaaagggghh!”

The objection came to a shrieking end as Luke whirled around, using his own Force strength to supplement Khai’s. The Sith left the ground and flew across five paces of courtyard into the iron-tight grasp of Luke’s artificial hand.

“Someone needs to intervene,” Luke said calmly. “And since her father won’t, I will.”

Ben knew what his father was doing, of course, and he was already stepping toward Abeloth’s shrouded body, reaching out to grasp it in the Force and float it around the far side of the funeral pyre. As gruesome as it seemed to sneak off with a stinking, three-day-old corpse, he understood why his father insisted on retrieving it. Assuming they were actually able to reach the Jade Shadow with Abeloth’s body and return it to the Jedi Temple, it was impossible to say how much Cilghal might learn by studying the thing. She might be able to identify a species, or at least hazard a guess as to what kind of being Abeloth had been. And if they could not return to Coruscant with the cadaver itself, at least they might be able to take tissue samples and make a couple of vids.

But most important, by taking the corpse themselves the Skywalkers would prevent Taalon from keeping it. Given what the Lost Tribe’s intentions had been—to subjugate Abeloth and turn her into their own living Force weapon—it was a risk well worth taking. Ben just wished he had thought to bring a thermal detonator along—except, of course, that it would have been a violation of their truce with the Sith.

Ben had just made it past the funeral pyre and was only three steps from the jungle when he felt Abeloth’s corpse being drawn back into the courtyard. Cursing under his breath, he snatched the lightsaber from his belt and began to pull harder, then heard a familiar female voice behind him.

“Oh no you don’t, Ben! That wasn’t part of the deal.”

Ben exhaled in frustration and, pulling harder than ever, spun around to find Vestara pursuing him around the pyre. Coming around the other side was Taalon himself, his lightsaber in hand and his eyes burning orange with rage. Luke and Khai remained out of sight beyond the pyre, still arguing and—judging by their Force auras—unaware of what was happening on the other side of the flames.

“Well done, Vestara.” Taalon ignited his crimson blade and started to circle toward Ben’s flank. “See to Abeloth. I’ll handle the boy.”

A pang of sadness and loss shot through Vestara’s Force aura, but she merely inclined her head. “As you wish, Lord Taalon. I’m just glad I was right.”

She began to exert herself more fully in the Force, pulling hard enough that Ben knew it would prove impossible to hold the body and defend himself from Taalon. He reached for his father in the Force … and cursed, “Aw, bloah!”

Taalon sprang, coming in fast and hard with a vertical slash that felt almost contemptuous in its power and bluntness. Ben easily pivoted aside, simultaneously releasing Abeloth’s body and sending it toward the pyre with a powerful Force shove. Then he continued his pivot and landed a spinning back kick square in the small of Taalon’s back and began to think he just might win this fight.

And that, of course, was a very bad mistake.

Instead of flying splay-limbed into the jungle as Ben had expected, Taalon used the Force to plant himself like a tree and did not budge a centimeter. Ben’s knee buckled, slipping, popping, and erupting in dull, aching pain. In the next instant Taalon’s elbow was slamming into his temple, landing with such bone-crunching power that, had Ben not used the Force to send himself cartwheeling away sideways, the fight would have ended right there.

Ben was still tumbling when he saw Taalon’s crimson blade slashing for his midsection. He brought his own lightsaber around to block—and felt the invisible hand of the Force pushing his arm aside, leaving a clear path for the High Lord’s strike.

“Wait!” Vestara’s voice boomed across the courtyard like a thermite detonation. “It’s a trick!”

“A trick?” Taalon echoed.

Ben suddenly found himself hanging upside down, his ankle locked in the High Lord’s crushing grasp and his eyes fixed on the crimson blade that was no more than a centimeter from pushing into his chest. In the next instant Luke and Gavar Khai came rushing around the pyre together, their lightsabers ignited but not yet crossing. When they saw the situation—and how close Ben was to death—both men stopped in their tracks.

Taalon glanced at them only briefly, then looked back toward Vestara. “Explain.”

“They switched bodies,” Vestara said. “I don’t understand how, but they did.”

Ben turned his head toward her voice and found her standing next to the pyre, using the Force to levitate the corpse over which they had been fighting. The bloody shroud had been torn away during the tug-of-war, and now he could see that the corpse was not Abeloth’s at all.

In fact, it wasn’t even female.

“This isn’t Abeloth,” Vestara continued. She floated the corpse toward Taalon, and Ben found himself looking at a much-battered, but still recognizable male face. “It’s Dyon Stadd!”