Apocalypse by Troy Denning Read Free Book Online Page B

the indicated location, then drew his shoulders square and stood at attention. Workan studied the pallet from behind a large glass desk at the far end of the room. He was a distinguished-looking man with dark hair and darker eyes. Though Vestara had not revealed this to the Jedi’s mission planners, she had met the High Lord once before, back on Kesh when she had been summoned to become Lady Rhea’s apprentice. He had struck her as a cunning and observant man, and the venom in his gaze suggested that he had seen through her disguise and confirmed her identity for himself.
    Finally, Workan gestured toward the tray in Vestara’s hands, using the Force to summon the small envelope she was carrying. Ben let out a gasp of surprise that managed to sound spontaneous enough to be credible. Had Workan and his fellow impostors not already known that they were looking at a pair of spies, the act might have fooled them. As it was, two of the High Lord’s bodyguards were on Ben before his mouth closed, one holding the heavy, curved blade of a glass parang to his throat while the other pressed the emitter nozzle of an unlit lightsaber to his back.
    In the same instant, Vestara felt the sharp tip of a shikkar pricking the flesh over her left kidney. “Not a word, traitor,” the redhead warned. “Don’t even flinch.”
    Vestara obeyed, watching in silence as Workan inspected the envelope for signs of poison. By now, Luke Skywalker would be starting across the visitors’ parlor with the other two members of the assault team. It would take them less than a minute to overpower the sentries in the outer office and reach the security door. Yet even thirty seconds was a long time for Vestara and Ben to survive as unarmed captives, and the safe thing would have been to abort the operation back in the pages’ closet, when it grew apparent they weren’t going to be admitted before the Jedi surprise attack began.
    But aborting the operation would have meant allowing Workan to live, and allowing Workan to live was not an option. Vestara had realized back on the Sith world of Upekzar, when she had sacrificed Jedi Knight Natua Wan to the ancient Dream Singer in order to save Ben, that she would not be able to hide among the Jedi forever. And as a High Lord, Workan was bound by Sith custom to hunt down and slay Vestara for daring to kill High Lord Sarasu Taalon on Pydyr. Therefore, Workan—like all of his fellow High Lords—had to die before Vestara could safely leave the protection of the Jedi Order.
    Finally satisfied that the envelope was not a death trap, Workan read the exterior salutation aloud. “ ‘My dear friend Kameron.’ ”
    At this point, less than a minute remained before the first Jedi assaults began and Workan started to feel Sith dying across all of Coruscant. Vestara and Ben were supposed to be serving cafasho, doing whatever it took to hold the High Lord’s attention while Luke and the rest of the team stormed the outer offices. Well, they might not be serving cafasho now, but Vestara was pretty sure that they had captured Workan’s
complete
attention.
    Workan removed a folded flimsiplast from inside the envelope and read that aloud, too: “ ‘Did you truly think I wouldn’t know who you are?’ ”
    A ripple of alarm rolled through the Force as Workan’s subordinates grasped the significance of Wuul’s message. The High Lord himself looked almost as though he had been expecting such a note, merely cocking a thin black brow and looking at Ben.
    “Is this some sort of joke?”
    “Not at all.”
    As Ben spoke, muffled voices began to sound in the outer office. Knowing the next few moments would determine whether Ben lived or died, Vestara started to address Workan in an attempt to distract him … and felt a tiny stab of pain as the shikkar broke the surface of her skin.
    If Ben noticed, he showed no sign. “Turn the note over,” he said. “I think that will explain things.”
    Workan did as Ben