Before the Republic, Part 1: Dawning of the Jedi

by opalt

Before the Galactic Republic, as the Rakatan Empire faded from memory, two young orphans would find themselves growing up amidst events that would shape the Galaxy for thousands of years to come.

18. Chapter 14, The Obsidian Throne

Frost already crept along the branches of the trees, and the breath was cold and harsh in the lungs. The small fire the boys now huddled near for warmth had already consumed all the wood they had gathered, and only a few embers were left to lend heat to this unwelcoming night.

Marius and Beriven huddled as close as they could to the fading heat, shifting occasionally to hold bitterly cold fingers as near as they could. It had been an hour since they had tried to sleep, and only their mutual fear of the cloaked and scarred man who shared the fire with them kept the boys silent.

"Neither of you are going to sleep, are you?" He asked, with that peculiar laugh of his. It was a laugh that seemed a heartbeat away from fury.

"We're cold." Beriven said, poking his head from under the shirt he used to keep his ears warm. "Even the streets of Vos Ma'ar were warmer than this."

"When have you ever had anything handed to you?" He said, giving the embers a small poke with a stick. "If you're cold, go do something about it."

"We didn't want to offend, sir." Marius said, sitting up. "It is your fire, after all."

"Ah, prudence. But suffering in silence is pointless, you grow weak and gain nothing from it. Tell me, boys, do you fear death?" The man asked, smiling.

"Yes, sir." Both boys said, suddenly very attentive.

"Ah, without voice I know. You both stink of it, and very suddenly. Fear, boys, is the womb of ambition, the very beginning of power." He explained, leaning back slightly.

"You're both very familiar with it. You have been afraid of death since you can ever remember. Every hour of your lives has been a mad rush away from hunger, cowering in corners away from those who would do you harm. Fear of older boys who might believe you have food. Fear of the men and women who think you have something of theirs. Fear of not eating, fear of getting sick, fear of getting cut or breaking a bone, fear that the only thing you can trust in, the beating of your own heart, might be taken away from you.

From that fear, you grow. You learn how to stave off hunger, to find food, to escape your enemies. The thing that you never had a chance to learn properly, which I will have to teach you, is anger." He explained, with a sudden hungry look in his eyes.

"Anger, sir?" Beriven asked. "We know what anger is."

"No you don't. You've felt it, certainly, but you don't know it. To know anger, boys, is to turn against the things you fear, turn against the things that threaten you with death, threaten the things you want, and fight them. You lash out at the things that keep you hungry, destroy those who might destroy you, crush what keeps you poor, cold, and afraid. Have you ever, boys, gone out and destroyed something because you hated being afraid of it?"

The boys didn't say anything, and for too many moments, the only sound in the world was the irregular crackling of the fire. "No boys," the man said eventually, "you haven't. The reason for that, is because you found each other."

"The power in me, which gives me the strength you both wisely fear, is in you both as well. I suspect you saw it in each other, and it's why you both became so close, so quickly. But it's because you met each other that you never had the chance to lash out at the things that threatened you. With your calibre, you had no need to.

You met, and between the two of you, so startlingly capable, made not only yourselves but dozens of other little children safe. You gave them safety, and gave them security, and let them stop being afraid. If you loose your fears, you loose the potential for anger." He finished, with a hint of disgust in his voice.

"But sir, wasn't it good that we did all that?" Marius asked.

"That you demonstrated power, and a capacity to accomplish everything you have, is extraordinary. For anyone else, any children less gifted than the two of you, it would be worth my respect. But for the two of you, it is mediocrity, and stunts your potential to grow. You stopped being afraid, and such complacency is death to capacity. To become powerful, you need to be angry about being afraid."

"Angry about being afraid?" Beriven asked. "Angry at being hungry all the time?"

"Angry at being afraid of stronger boys with knives?" Marius asked.

"Exactly. Angry enough to destroy what makes you afraid, and powerful enough to act on that anger. That, I will make sure comes in time." He explained.

"Sir, why are you interested in us?" Marius asked, after a moment.

"Because you resonate, as I do, with a certain power that most people have no connection to. That potential took me decades to understand, and over a century to wield. It isn't something I can teach to just anyone, but perhaps the two of you can learn."

"Definitely. We're strong, and we can learn." Beriven asserted.

"But sir, I didn't ask that." Marius said, cautiously.

"That's not completely true." Beriven pointed out. "He wants us because we have the capacity for the same kind of power he has."

"But you're not asking that. You're wondering why I would want to teach you at all. After all, I've already admitted that I despise weakness and give nothing to those who do not earn it." The cowled man said. "That's an answer I would want as well, I suppose."

"Can you think of an answer?" The cowled man asked.

Beriven spoke up, after a moment of thought. "Because you want some way to measure your own power. Power is deserving, and if you can raise up someone you can become afraid of, you can become more powerful by conquering them."

The cowled man laughed at that, a laugh that touched even his eyes, but in a way that gave no hint of joy. "The two of you will become magnificent."

"Did you teach anyone before us?" Marius asked.

"And why are you here?" Beriven asked.

"That, boys, is a tale that I won't give you for free. What are you offering?" The cowled man asked, crossing his legs and sitting up.

"Firewood?" Beriven asked.

"That will do." The man said. "I expect a very large fire."

Both boys scampered to their feet and eagerly took to the woods, heads bowed towards the ground and eyes wide. As they stepped into the darkness beyond the fire, they stuck close together and talked.

"Why do you think he's here?" Beriven asked.

"As opposed to say, Alderaan, or Corellia?" Marius answered.

"I heard stories, when I was hiding in one of the taverns, about the Lord of the Obsidian Throne. They say he ruled an entire planet."

"An entire planet? They must have been lying." Marius answered.

"I don't think so. Too many people said the same thing." Beriven said. "They said he sat on a throne on top of a huge pyramid made of black rock. That cities bigger than this moon paid him tribute, and that he was six hundred years old.

They also say that he was overthrown in a huge war."

"That can't be true. People don't live for six hundred years." Marius asserted.

"People can't see the future, or pick up speeders with a wave of their hand, either." Beriven noted.

"True." Marius admitted, pausing in thought. "How much wood do you have?"

"My arms are almost full." Beriven said.

"Mine too." Marius replied. "Hope it's enough."

As they trunded back, they found the soft glow of embers readily enough, but their master was nowhere to be found.

"Master?" Beriven asked the darkness, softly.

"Up above." Came a voice from the trees, and they cast their eyes above, at the faint light of the moon, to find a black shape standing casually on top of a smaller branch far above their heads.

"This tale of mine demands a demonstration, to help you understand what kind of power can rule a planet, and what kind of power it takes to steal it." The cowled man said, pointing his hand to the sky.

"Don't think this is a trick of the light." He said, and turned his head.

From his outstretched hand, came a deafening crack, and the light that suddenly flashed all around the boys stung the eyes, forcing them to look away. The light died as suddenly as they came, and the night sky was as still as it had been.

The stars in the sky were still as brilliant as they had been before, and there were no clouds in the sky. Though neither boy knew what had happened, they were both convinced that their new master had done it.

"Once more, I suppose. Don't look away this time." He said, and pointed his hand straight into the sky. Once again, that deafening crack thundered through the air, and once again, that brilliant light stung their night-sensitive eyes.

But neither boy looked away this time, and watched as a few bolts, and this time they could watch the leftover image of their movement as the light burned afterimages in their eyes.

For all their light, the bolts of lightning looked darker than the night sky they shone against. The sudden wind from the passing of those bolts felt sinister, terrifying, and despite themselves, both boys were shaking.

"It is, perhaps, the most terrible of all the ways I've found to use this power. I wasn't alone in my studies; I had a teacher, but this lightning is mine. It was a power that marked me as having surpassed my own master. It's also the power, though which I brought the thousand city-states of Coruscant under heel." He explained.

"I am Iniquitus, the dark lord of Coruscant. It was under my orders that this moon was made habitable, and under my power that I had planned on finding and destroying anyone who had either the courage or ambition to oppose my rule." Iniquitus said.

Despite the sudden fear, the menace that they felt would tear their insides into ribbons, the boys stood and stared back at this dark lord.

Iniquitus leapt down from the high branch, and fell straight down, missing every other branch on the tree. Despite the fall, more than fifteen times the height of a tall man, he landed as easily as someone might have from a small hop.

"My apprentice, too, invented a power. Something he felt he could use to destroy me, but was at least enough to drive me from my throne. Even now, I'm not sure how he created it." Iniquitus admitted, sitting down beside the fire.

"Something worse than lightning?" Marius asked. "It couldn't have been worse, or you wouldn't have escaped."

"No, it wasn't worse. But it was a power, and like any power, it's most useful when your enemy doesn't know you have it. The fool had the gall to send it to me before he attacked. Try to remember this, boys, that no matter how weak your enemy, only gloat to a corpse." Iniquitus said.

"What was it? Could he turn the air into fire?" Beriven asked.

"Air into fire?" Iniquitus mulled to himself, toying with the thought the way a conisseur swirls a fine wine in a cup. "No. It wasn't even a power he invented, but a tool."

As he spoke, he reached into his robes, and drew out a cylindrical rod, in the shape of a flashlight, but slightly thinner, more like a hydrospanner.

"It looks the the handle of a sword, in a way." Marius said aloud.

"Such perception." Iniquitus said, giving Marius a slight nod. "But you would be wrong. It's hardly a sword, though it cuts like every sword maker dreams a sword could. It was the final key to driving me from my throne." He said, and ignited the weapon.

Where the terrifying thunder of the Master's lightning was a roar, the sound of the red beam as it tore into life was a scream. It seemed to rip into the air, like someone had grabbed two ends of the sky and started to rip.

What was left, humming in the air like a thousand hornets, all beating their wings in unison, was a beam of brilliant red light longer than a tall man's arm.

"It is the purest, most concentrated form of energy ever built." Iniquitus said, waving the blade through the air. "It can cut through through steel walls as if they were jelly. Even the hardest, densest metals are vaporized on contact. Flesh won't even slow it down."

He looked hard at the two boys, and said "Even my lightning couldn't break that blade."

"So that's how he won your throne." Marius commented.

"He must have somehow neutralized your armies, cornered the troops loyal to you, and countered your powers. Lacking the strength to overpower you, he used the sight of your inability to kill him to break the morale of your supporters." Beriven explained.

"It was an incomplete plan." Marius added.

"He didn't think of a way to keep you from escaping." Beriven agreed.

"Oho, my two little generals! You will be magnificent someday." Iniquitus said, a feirce grin on his face. "But let me tell you the story, and you can judge how accurate your surmising is afterwards."

---

Four days had passed since the stars had been seen by anyone beneath the Obsidian Throne. Four days that the sky had been a flickering haze of red, as blaster cannons pounded the energy shields above the capital. Four days the red beams smashed into the dome above the city, fire raining on the surface of the water.

Four days that Iniquitus sat in silence, waiting.

Those four days had not been idle on the part of the city garrison. Martaim Verre, in long discussions with Aryan Maizer, had set up a series of defensive perimeters designed to defend against a large-scale ground assault. For those four days, without the benefit of the Armada's overwhelming artillery potential, the marines and paratroopers had found themselves poorly equipped for a large scale ground assault, and were repeatedly beaten back beyond the shield perimeter.

So far, the tactical withdrawals from the peripheries of the city had been necessitated by the power resources that could be afforded to recharging the shield batteries, rather than the enemy's ground assaults.

"Prep the missiles. Everything that can reach that armada, I want ready to fire in half an hour." Martiam shouted into his comm link, nearly shaking in excitement. He switched it off and studied the skyline once again, reassuring himself that the ships in the Armada were still in their positions.

"Are you really going to waste all of the medium range missile batteries on this strike?" One of his lieutenants, a man quite a bit older than military service would normally allow, asked hesitantly.

"Of course. We don't have the firepower to win, and we're still a day or two away from having reinforcements." Martiam replied.

"But sir, most of our heavy firepower-" the lieutenant began, but Martiam cut him off.

"Most of our heavy firepower is useless for fending off the marines, and we don't have a chance in hell if that shield dies. If we scare them into being cautious about their firepower, our shields will last longer." Martiam explained. "Now go prepare the palace guard for their next assault."

The lieutenant passed out the doors just in time to watch a messenger run breathlessly into the room.

"Sir, the palace has authorized every available ballistic battery." He said, between pants. "Specific orders are detailed in the paperwork."

Martiam smiled at the thought, and said "Thank you. Go get some water and a bit of rest before returning to your duties."

The messenger saluted crisply before leaving.

Asides from the unstable mountain of papers on the desk, there were only two devices that sat, largely untended in a corner. The first, the comm link, was used only to relay information when urgency was more important than secrecy. The second, a direct cable line to the inner palace, was used only by the Immortal Lord of Coruscant, and had been collecting dust for the entire siege.

For the first time, it flared to life, its ringing unbelievably loud against even the drone of blaster cannons smashing against the energy shield above.

Martiam had the receiver on his ear before the second ring. "Sire?" He asked.

"It's a good plan, General." Iniquitus said, his voice at once grave and menacing. "I have one alteration to demand, however."

"Go ahead, sire." Martiam said, carefully.

"Focus your fire on one of their ships. The closest one, ideally. I want you to actually take one of those ships out of the sky."

"But sir, if they throw up their energy shields in time, we'll just be wasting energy." Martiam replied, a noticeable edge to his voice. The staff officers in the room cringed visibly as he spoke. Very few people had ever showed anything other than eager deference to the Obsidian Throne.

"Which is why you had better do two things. First, space the missile batteries closer to your chosen target. Second, and this is even more important, wait ninety seconds after the shield goes down before you start firing."

"Sir? The damage the armada can do in ninety seconds-" Martiam began

"Is nothing compared to what would happen if they were allowed to fire with impunity. See that it's done. You will have the assistance of the palace artillery batteries, as well as the use of the backup shield to protect the power plant. I expect this to work, General." Iniquitus said, and the line went dead.

Martiam sat in silence for a few long moments, looking for all the world as if he had just been stabbed in the stomach.

It was almost four minutes, which passed in deafening silence, before Martiam moved again.

He turned to one of the staff secretaries, starling her from her work, and said "Get me the Commander of the Guards, and the head of the Garrison. Once they're on the line, tell every outpost commander to withdraw to the next perimiter."

The secretary nodded, and picked up the phone.

"Lieutenant Mears!" The General shouted.

"Yes, sir!" Came the crisp response from across the room. A young man, wearing a uniform that was a couple of sizes too large, stepped forward.

"I want you to go to the shield generator, and ask to speak to Aryan Maizer. Tell her I sent you. The orders you are going to relay are exactly as follows. I will only repeat myself once, and you are only to tell it to her, in person and alone."

Martiam paused for a long breath, and said "02:15 exactly, overload relay plant B in the garden district."

Lieutenant Mears raised his eyebrows, and asked "sir?"

"You are not to write this down. Commit it to memory, and select a trustworthy aide to inform me immediately if you are killed before you relay this message. Once again, and for the last time; 02:15 exactly, overload relay plant B in the garden district."

"Sir!" Lieutenant Mears shouted, snapping to attention and giving the General a sharp salute before turning to the door.

"Oh, and Mears?" General Martiam asked.

The Lieutenant turned around.

"Don't die. I really don't want to hand that uniform to someone else."

"Why an overload, sir?" The General's aide asked, as Lieutenant Mears stepped outside.

---

"General Verre sounds surprisingly clever for a garrison commander." Marius noted.

"Too much so." Beriven agreed. "Where did you find him?"

Iniquitus smiled to himself, the dangerous smile of a satisfied predator. "General Martiam Verre was a lieutenant serving Itamius, a city-state under the Din'Alos Confederacy. That particular confederacy was one of the last places on Coruscant to defy my throne. The confederacy no longer exists, though I had to offer the citizens there a peculiar bit of autonomy in their choice of personal freedoms. Freedom of press, for one thing, and an elected government. Extraordinarily irritating, and I fully intended to dismantle it the moment General Verre dies of old age."

"Many people regarded it as a sign of weakness in my rule, to offer Din'Alos this compromise. They felt it was a recognition, somehow, of the spirit of independence that they had cultivated during their time of resistance. It did, though I didn't consider it when I made that compromise, make them much easier to rule." Iniquitus explained.

He looked harshly at the two boys for a long moment. "You'll find that, although not touched by whatever power fills us, some people possess talents, merits, of such quality that even expensive compromises like the one I made for Din'Alos are worth their service. General Verre is such a man."

"Is?" Beriven asked, quizzically.

"Wait till the tale is over before you look to fill in holes." Iniquitus answered. "One of the first cities I attacked was difficult to conquer. Extremely difficult, considering I had already arranged the assassination of most of its senior military staff. When the city finally fell, fully two weeks longer than it should have, I found Martiam holed up in the southern quarter of the city, still shuttling civilians out of the city through a network of makeshift tunnels that he had dug during the siege."

Iniquitus raised his voice to stress his next few words. "His was the first city I had attacked, and the ninth to fall."

"I had to step inside personally to rout up the resistance. When I found him, a week without food, he was still holding a key corridor into the tunnel network, by himself."

The boys whistled in appreciation.

"I asked him if he was the commander who had annoyed me so, and he answered in the affirmative. My offer to him was simple, a chance to save the civilians of his confederacy, by granting them similar freedoms to what they already enjoyed, and the chance to change my army's battle tactics to avoid non-military casualties. My condition, was that he would have to join my side."

Iniquitus smiled. "To sweeten the deal, I told him that his men would have a third option; to leave the city weaponless, but unmolested, to make of their lives whatever they would. Freedom, for all of his charges, in exchange for a lifetime of service. For a man of his principles, it was a good offer.

He took it, of course. The Confederacy had abandoned his city, and it was common knowledge that I would win the war. When I took him into my service, I made him commander of my personal guard, and gave him full access to the official decisions of my war staff. He made himself extremely useful, and as long as I kept his capabilities a secret from my generals, I could keep his talents my own hidden asset. An investment that returned itself a thousand times over, when my apprentice betrayed me."

---

Aryan Maizer had fallen asleep at the computer console when Lieutenant Mears stepped inside and announced his presence.

"Is it almost time?" She asked, not really hearing who was speaking to her.

"The shield batteries will need to be changed at 02:19 exactly, ma'am." Lieutenant Mears answered. "We're preparing the laser and missile barrage for the pre-arranged battery change. The General has a specific order for you."

"What?" Aryan asked again, rubbing the sleep from her eyes.

"Did you need me to repeat myself, ma'am?" Mears asked.

"No, it's fine. But what message could the General have that couldn't be relayed by cable?" Aryan asked, confused.

"I'm under specific orders to only repeat this message once, so you will only have two opportunities to hear it. Are you ready, ma'am?" Mears inquired.

"Yes, go ahead."

Mears swallowed, and said "02:15 exactly, overload relay plant B in the Garden District."

Aryan nodded, and turned back to her desk.

"Will that be all, Ma'am?"

"Of course. I don't need to hear it twice. You're dealing with the mind that invented the energy shield.." Aryan replied, newly absorbed in her work.

"Anything to relay to the General, Ma'am? Be advised that any response to this message should be sent back with me, rather than by even cable." Mears asked.

"Just the following: Understood, it will be done."

Mears saluted, and rushed outside to return to his shuttle.

"02:15, an overload. What is that fool thinking?" Aryan asked herself, as she mulled over the display panel.

In front of her was the power relay for the entire city. A network of veins and arteries extending from two hearts. The first, and by far the larger, was the main generator for the city, now on the peripheries of the city still controlled by troops loyal to the Obsidian Throne. The smaller, in the very heart of the palace, would likely be the last station in the city to fall.

From those two hearts, power was distributed through six major arteries, the power relay stations. A through F. Each gradually shrinking portion of the city was powered by one of those six relays, and overloading any one of them would effectively kill any defenses that required power to operate. Moreover, each power relay covered an area direct from the peripheries of the defenses directly to the palace.

'Not quite', Aryan thought to herself as she looked closer at the map.

"Something perplexes you." Came a voice from behind her, thick with something beyond emotion. "To trouble a mind like yours, it must be confusing."

"My lord?" Aryan stumbled to her feet, struggling between the need to bow, and the urge to throw herself to the floor.

Part of her wondered how the General could even consider the defiance he constantly showed. It taxed her sanity to stay standing in front of this Emperor.

"As I said before, the usual forms of obedience have been waived." He said, and stepped around her to gaze at the screen. "What has the General ordered you to do?"

"He said '02:15 exactly, overload relay station B in the Garden District."

"Relay station B?" Iniquitus asked.

By the glow of the monitor, Aryan could look closely at the face that was normally kept cowled beneath a dark hood, hidden further by the darkness surrounding the Obsidian Throne.

It was badly scarred, as if someone had once taken it apart entirely, and made only a halfhearted attempt to put it back together. Long, jagged white lines stretched from the forehead to the chin, and patches were lighter, or darker, depending on where you looked. The nose, and the mouth both, looked as if they were missing pieces.

The eyes, that stared impassively at the monitor, looked as if the dark red veins that ran through them glowed.

"Show me what sections of the city this relay station feeds." Iniquitus commanded softly.

Aryan's palms were slick with sweat as she reached for the keyboard, and she missed a few keys before she managed to display the distribution map for relay station B. When she succeeded, the map zoomed in slightly to center the screen at the relay station, and the area in question turned a light shade of blue.

"Interesting." Iniquitus said.

"It's the only relay station that doesn't link into the inner city. Actually, if I made some minor adjustments to the power distribution, I could probably power the defenses right up to the next withdrawal point without this relay." Aryan explained, a moment of concentration letting her forget her own fears.

"He rewards my faith in him yet again." Iniquitus mulled. "The only strategically unimportant relay station we have left."

"What?" Aryan asked.

"It isn't worth explaining to you. Just do exactly as his orders require."

"Should I notify maintenance crews about this planned overload? Even if it doesn't link to the inner city, it does feed a large number of the ballistic batteries. With a little time, it shouldn't impair any of it." She said, quickly scanning the power relays.

"And ruin the whole point of his plan? I think not. Do exactly as the General has ordered, and nothing more. Don't even order people away from the relay station." Iniquitus said.

"But sir! An overload could kill dozens of people, and the loss of that sector could cost hundreds more." Aryan protested. She took a breath to say more, but her gaze met the eyes of the lord of the Obsidian Throne.

At once, her breath caught in her throat, her stomach lurched, and her knees buckled. She slipped into her chair for support, and found her breath coming out in short, ragged gasps.

"Lives are either used or wasted in war. If they die to help us win, they are used, and should be glad of it. Do as the General asks, and nothing more. Only transfer people away from that sector if he orders you to do so."

---

"So, my little strategists, tell me. Why did the General want that relay station to overload?" Iniquitus asked, mulling over the fire, which had again faded to a quiet haze of light.

"Think about it, as you go gather some more firewood." He added, waving his hand at the forest around them. "The night still has some time left to it, as does my story. The fire, though, needs a little more life."

The two boys stood up and jaunted into the woods, not even hesitating after Iniquitus finished speaking.

"It's pretty obvious, isn't it?" Marius asked Beriven, once they were well into the woods.

"Yeah. The General wanted a distraction. Something to focus the enemy's fire away from anywhere important, so that the 90 seconds with the shields down wouldn't be too bad on the populace." Beriven surmised, smiling. "He really is clever."

"Cleverer than you are, obviously." Marius shot with a grin. "He wanted more than a distraction. This was bait."

"Bait? That really could be it. But it's a little risky for bait, isn't it? If none of the ships get close enough, then you're wasting an entire power relay for nothing." Beriven countered.

"Hardly nothing. Even the faint chance that you could drop one of those ships would be reason enough. If it comes down, then the other ships become more cautious, and the shield batteries are guaranteed to last long enough for reinforcements to come. By the sounds of the things, the life of the shield generator was exactly how long the siege would last." Marius explained.

"Of course, but if the armada could somehow detect a power surge, they would have already knocked out the shield generator. If they can't see the power surge, it doesn't make much of a distraction." Beriven countered, finally burdening himself with a stick.

"Oh." Marius replied, sullenly. "That would be hard."

They boys picked up sticks in silence for a few more minutes, this sudden roadblock forcing the boys away from any answer, or any more words until they had filled their arms with wood.

"Any thoughts?" Iniquitus asked as they returned.

"We can't decide if it was a ruse or a distraction." Beriven explained, dumping his armload on the ground and sitting down beside it.

"Interesting. What is the difference?" Iniquitus asked.

"Well sir, a distraction would be an effort to draw enemy fire away from where you want it, to minimize the damage the barrage would cause. A ruse would be attempting to draw a ship closer, to improve the damage your counterattack would cause." Marius explained.

"Which of you thought of this?" Iniquitus asked, and before Marius could speak, Beriven pointed towards his friend.

"Ah, I see. Interesting." Iniquitus said to himself. "Why aren't you certain of this?"

"Beriven said that if the enemy could detect a power surge, they would have already taken out the shield emitter." Marius explained. "I believe that."

"And you would both be quite right. If they could have detected a power surge, it would have been a very short seige. You're missing one key component, something they can detect." Iniquitus said, and only a short pause separated his last word, and the two boys speaking up in unison.

"The comm link!" They both shouted, and cheered each other from across the fire.

"Exactly. It isn't necessarily the power surge itself he wanted, but the comm chatter that would come from that kind of emergency. As you both already deduced, a power surge at one of the relay stations would likely come from either the shield emitter or the power generator, and the destruction of either would make the rest of the siege last mere hours, rather than days. It would be too tempting a target for them to pass up, too tempting for them to use their usual caution, and monitor the ground for retaliatory strikes." Iniquitus explained. "Very impressive."

"Not so much, sir. We didn't figure out all of it." Marius admitted, but Iniquitus waved the comment away.

"You understood the opportunity in the decision, the potential where it could cause the most harm. You see potential in events, the possibility of the hurricane in the flapping bird's wings. Develop it." Iniquitus said sternly, and Marius only gulped in reply.

"As for you," Iniquitus pointed to Beriven, to strugged to hold still as he was spoken to. "You understood exactly where the plan was lacking, where it was weakest and most frail. Something about you can see that weakness, that point of stress where everything unravels from. That talent of yours will serve you well in the future."

The boys felt something in their hearts as he spoke, a sense of their own significance, measured for them by a man who had conquered an entire planet. Despite their fear, Iniquitus' words threatened to make them bold.

"What happened next?" Beriven asked.

"Did it work?" Marius added.

---

The lord of the Obsidian Throne stood on the topmost spire of his palace, on a lookout that allowed him to watch all nine of the hovering ships that orbited overhead. The sky, sunless, was illuminated by a near constant flickering of red, as blaster charges smashed into the energy shield.

He watched the ships pass around the city, and he reached out his hand towards one, watching his own hand block it from his sight, and closing his hand into a fist.

There was a part of him, irrationally, that wished he could crush those ships with such ease.

He put his hand down and looked at the ship that still launched the ceaseless barrage against his shields. His apprentice, ever the weak-willed coward, had not appeared on the front. No flashes of lightning or broken gates to terrify the city guards, not even an appearance to bolster the obviously failing morale of the para-commandos who were, by all accounts, being soundly beaten.

In the back of his mind, far away from his thoughts, he began hearing the clapping of soft shoes against the marble stairway.

It came in quick, rapid claps, punctuated by a heavy breathing that immediately brought to mind a gasping fish, as it lay on the ground and suffocated.

Iniquitus turned in time to watch a messenger push his way around the balcony door. It was with a little more than mild disgust as he watched this breathless fool pant and moan, struggling to give his burning lungs the air they needed.

"The natural consequence of being a weak, fat sycophant. I would throw you off this tower right now if it weren't so common." Iniquitus remarked, and smirked with some satisfaction and the messenger threw himself onto the floor, bowing with his arms splayed towards his master's feet, and breathlessly mumbling an apology.

"Get up and do your duty." Iniquitus said, with menace in his voice.

"Sire!" the messenger gasped, throwing himself up to a knee and leaning on it, panting. "There's an overload at one of the power relays!"

"Relay station B, perhaps?" Iniquius commented dryly.

"Yes, sire! How did you-" the messenger began, but a glance from the lord of Courascent cut him off.

"Do you have anything to report to me, that I don't already know?" Iniquitus asked.

"Sire, the civil engineering core is in a panic, they're not sure if they can fix it in time, and claim that it won't be safe there during the battery change." The messenger finished.

"Tell them to abandon any hope of fixing that relay station. Instead, have them assist Aryan Maizer with the shield battery, or with re-routing power through the other relay stations. Any word on the cause of this overload?"

"No, sire. The civil engineering core is at a loss, and Aryan Maizer just keeps saying "it's the wierdest order she's ever been given."

"I see." Iniquitus said. "Any word from the army?"

The messenger looked surprised at the query, but quickly said "General Verre wished me to relay only the following: Everything is in place."

"Excellent. Relay my orders to the engineers. You may leave." Iniquitus said, turning back to the balcony.

"Oh, and get some more exercise. If it weren't for the pressing matters at hand, I would have killed you." Iniquitus explained. The messenger held his head low, and stepped back into the hallway.

Iniquitus watched as the messenger shuffled back through the door, toying with the idea of simply killing him anyway. As often as he had stretched the definition of treason to include incompetence, it wouldn't serve to murder a man just because he was fat and weak. His weakness was useful, his incompetence a blessing, as it meant his only chance for success in life was obedience.

Obedience was something he was finding in short supply.

He closed his eyes and let his thoughts drift. Without sight, through the power woven through the entire planet, he cast his gaze across mountains, to look far beyond the city or the battle, and see his world.

He watched, pleased, as he felt a gathering of small candles on the edges of his perception. He watched them for a moment, looking at them the way a man looks at city lights from a mountaintop. He watched them stand in columns, rows upon rows of fluttering hearts and small wills, wavering with the breezes of fear that continuously washed through their ranks.

Iniquitus smiled to himself. His generals had assembled.

Another set of footsteps pounded against the stairs, and stopped just behind the door. Instead of thrusting it aside, as his messengers were prone to doing, there was a tentative, polite knock against the door.

"Enter." Iniquiuts commanded.

A young man, hardly more than a boy with facial hair, stepped inside and gave an enthusiastic, if sloppy, salute. "Sire, I have General Verre's communications."

"Hand them to me." Inquitus said, holding out his hand.

"Forgive me sire," the young man began "but General Verre's orders were to deliver them verbally, and in person. He said certain orders were better never delivered than intercepted." The young man apologised, with a shiver.

"Your name, boy?" Iniquitus asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Lieutenant Hensan Mears, sire." the young man replied.

"You're quite young to be a lieutenant. I know the general is having staffing problems from casualties, but he is the kind of person who, when he doesn't have someone that he knows can do the job, simply leaves it undone. Why, boy, does he trust you with such important work?" The lord of the obsidian throne asked, with menace in his voice.

For a long, terrible moment, Hensan Mears struggled for an answer. He knew, quite well, that a less than precise answer might get him killed. Moreover, lord Iniquitus was well known for having an irrational temper, and might do the deed before he could relay his messages.

"Sire, if you'll forgive my impertinence, it's because I am capable of the tasks he gives me." Lieutenant Mears said, standing at attention and catching his breath.

Iniquitus regarded him for a long moment, and said "I smell Verre's defiance in you." He chuckled as he spoke, flexing his right hand slowly. "Relay your message, boy. I'll decide what your impertinence merits afterward."

"Sire," he began "missile batteries are all in place, and arranged to fire at a target three hundred meters above relay station B. Measures have been put in place to draw a target to that position, and comm chatter has been kept as authentic as possible. I have been sent by his office to assist in arranging the palace ballistics to compliment the barrage."

As he paused for breath, Hensan took two small watches out from his pocket, and offered one of them to Iniquitus. "When the first timer reaches zero, the shields will drop. The delay between the dropped shields and the barrage will be ninety seconds, as requested. Priority target is to be chosen based on proximity to the optimal range for the missile barrage. The shields will be re-engaged five minutes after the barrage begins, the destruction of one of the ships, or immediately if the armada gets their shields up in time." Hensan finished, breathlessly.

"I see." Iniquitus said. "Have you confirmed that the armada is monitoring the comm chatter?"

"No, sire."

"Then I suggest you do it now. Look out there, and see how three of the armada's ships have moved over the garden district. Do you see those three domes on top, the large round bulges on each of those ships?" Iniquitus asked.

"Yes, sire." Hensan answered.

"Good." Iniquitus said, more to himself. "Did you know, boy, that asides from the apprentice busy waging rebellion, no one has ever been more defiant to me than General Verre?"

"I didn't know that, sire." Lieutenant Mears admitted.

"Do you know why he lives, still?"

Mears shook his head.

"It's because he's talented." Iniquitus said. "Now, more importantly, do you know why he serves me? Even now, when his capitulation would mean my utter defeat, do you know why he defends the capital so brilliantly?"

"Loyalty, sire?"

"Yes, loyalty. He is loyal to something, but not to me. Have you ever wondered why the Din'Alos cities were offered the treaty of the burning republic? Why, when having crushed their resistance, I offered them so much, when I could easily have burned the cities to the ground and had done with it?"

Iniquitus laughed. "It was the price I paid for General Verre. Even now, by serving me, he protects their rights and privileges. He, alone, earned them the dignity of their history, the privilege of their elected government, and the preservation of their peculiar little culture. Their grand word of defiance, 'republic', still exists because he bought it from me."

"Tell me, Lieutenant, are you from Din'Alos?

"Yes, sire." Mears answered, hesitantly.

"Then I offer you the same, if you can take the palace blaster batteries, and hit the shield generators on all three of those ships." Iniquitus finished.

---

"The same offer as General Verre?" Beriven asked.

"How did you know so much about this Lieutenant?" Marius asked.

"The quality of a general is best demonstrated by what he views as the most important tasks. The quality of a general's subordinates can be determined by who he gives those tasks. General Verre had always viewed effective lines of communications as the most important asset to an army. When he commanded the armies that conquered the Din'Alos states, particularly Garvery and Thamaska, he would spend days in advance drilling his subordinates on how to relay information. He would often ask for radios and sattelite feed before even missiles or soldiers. He was fond of saying that any obstacle could be solved by a better plan, except for a communication problem." Iniquitus said.

"So you understood how much Verre valued him, because this Mears was trusted to relay information to Aryan and you?" Beriven asked.

"And knowing that, you gave him a task to test him." Marius added.

"Indeed." Iniquits affirmed. "Now, a serious question, boys. What were Martiam's motives in presenting Mears to me?"

"A successor?" Marius asked. "It would make sense, because exchanging something for your service can't last past the end of that service. General Verre might have been looking out for the future of Din'Alos."

"Though it's much harder to take away those ideals if they're not taken right away. In light of the rebellion, repressing Din'Alos further might have stirred up more problems." Beriven countered.

"No, I think it had nothing to do with you, and more to do with Mears. If he is going to mould someone into an officer of substance, he needed to know how they handled themselves around you, master." Beriven explained.

"Would Verre really use such an important message just to test a subordinate?" Marius asked.

"True." Beriven acknowledged.

"Of course, it may just be as simple as not having anyone more reliable. Palace guards are often a ceremonial unit, and as competent as General Verre is, it's possible his subordinates aren't." Marius added.

"True. But why would someone from Din'Alos be stationed in the palace guard?" Beriven pointed out.

Both boys turned back to Iniquitus, and Beriven asked "Master, what is the answer?"

Iniquitus laughed. "I honestly don't know. You see, I never really had a chance to ask Martiam about it. My apprentice, you see, had his own plans.

---

"General!" the comm link suddenly shouted, startling an otherwise silent room.

Martiam Verre pressed a button on his desk and spoke into the air. "Yes?"

"There's been an overload! One of the power relay stations, we believe it's in the garden district, just surged at 137% of its output capacity. There's been an explosion." The officer on the other end shouted. "Fire crews are already attacking the blaze, and the civil core of engineers is trying to re-route power through other relay stations."

"Good work. All troops not attached to defensive ballistics should help the non-combatants into other sectors of the city. Missile and blaster batteries should standby for orders."

"Understood, sir." came the response from the comm link, before Martiam turned it off.

General Verre turned to look across his desk, at a small clock with a timer steadily working its way to zero.

"Longest eight minutes of my life, General." One of the officers commented, pointing to the same clock. It had just counted down past the eight minute mark. General Verre turned, to regard a woman who looked a far cry from young.

"Captain Irial, I trust all is well." Martiam said.

"It is, Captain. Every piece of artillery, and every missile launcher on the outer perimeter has been moved to where you want them. It was all done extremely quietly, and the rail crews didn't make much of a fuss."

"Good. Hopefully, this goes off without a hitch." Martiam said fervently.

"Won't that be a first." She said blithely.

"Truth be told, Captain, nothing ever happens in war without a hitch. The best you can hope for is that the hitch doesn't bother your plans too much." Martiam admitted. "Has Lieutenant Mears arrived at the Palace?"

"Yes, sir." Captain Irial replied.

"Good. Monitor the comm link, and re-deploy troops as needed. Notify me immediately if something seems amiss." Martiam commanded.

Captain Irial saluted sharply, and turned away, heading back to her desk.

The general sighed, loudly, when he looked at the timer. It had just moved past six minutes.

He wrung he hands together as he watched the timer crawl itself towards zero, as each second seemed to grow just a little longer than the last.

Martiam recalled something Iniquitus had told him, some years ago. On the night before a battle, as he sat and poured over his plans, the lord of the Obsidian Throne had stood beside him and pointed into the city on the horizon.

"General Verre, are you ready for tomorrow's battle?" He had asked.

"Yes, sire." Martiam remembered himself replying, surprised at his own confidence.

"Then stop waiting. Either attack them now or go to sleep." He had replied, and walked away.

He smiled to himself. It was as friendly as the lord of the Obsidian Throne had ever been, and it's simplicity belied the clarity of thought that fostered such an opinion.

It was to do something useful.

Martiam put his feet up against the top of the desk, and let his eyes close. He would have only minutes before the launch began, but a short nap for a soldier could make a world of difference.

He hardly remembered closing his eyes before one of his aides dashed into his office, shouting "the shields just dropped, the shields just dropped!"

"Good." Martiam said to himself, and he walked to the window.

As the shields dropped, the Amrada noticed that their ballistic batteries were suddenly connecting with the ground. The endless pounding against the energy shield, like rain against water, had stopped. Suddenly it was the rending of concrete and metal that ripped through the air.

"Ninety seconds." Martiam muttered to himself. "Come on, come on."

The pounding grew, as more ships moved closer to the garden district, laser batteries ripping apart the small buildings and grounds. The sudden pounding had taken on an overeager tone, as even four ships hovered less than a hundred feet from the ground, intent on finding and destroying the only real obstacle to their success; the energy shield that guarded the capital.

The sub-lieutanant in charge of monitoring the position of the armada reported in suddenly. "Five different ships are within optimal target range. Ballistic commanders are reporting in, asking which ships they should select."

Martiam whirled around and almost ran to the desk. "Tell them to choose the ship closest to the capital, and as supplementary targets, the two ships closest to the new primary target. Remind them to spare no missile."

"Yes, sir." The officer replied, picking up the hard line and dialing.

Time crawled along, as it dragged fate into the present. Some of the staff officers in the other room had broken into a nervous sweat, and the rest were too anxious to notice. Even Martiam, who had earned his rank from hundreds of battles in almost a dozen different wars, fidgeted with the keys in his pocket.

The opening moment might have gone unmarked completely, were it not for the small timer on Martiam's desk. Not the sudden howls of missiles, or the screams of blaster batteries as they launched particle beams at the armada, could be heard over the incessant din of artillery fire from the ships above. The only thing that marked that moment, was the quiet chirping of an alarm clock.

Martiam leapt to the balcony, pushing aside officers as he forced his already stressed limbs across the floor.

He arrived just in time to watch a wave of bright yellow bulbs shoot out from the city, all of them in a straight arch, drawing the eye up above them, towards the spot where they would all converge.

Martiam watched without breathing, his every hope hinging on the response time of the officers aboard the ships. If they had been drilled, thoroughly, they wouldn't be able to get the shields up until slightly after the first wave of missiles struck. Hopefully, the damage would be severe enough to drop the ship.

As they sped upwards, there was a brief, startling moment when the missiles dissapeared from view, vanished under the shadow of the ship. For that moment, barely longer than a drawn breath, Martiam's heart did not beat.

Then the explosions began.

The belly of the ship suddenly burst into light, as explosions ripped open the hull. Sudden fire burst windows, gun turrents were blown apart, and the entire bottom side of the ship was littered with smoldering holes.

Martiam squinted his eyes, scanning along the superficial damage for the important sections of the ship, and how damaged they were.

At the stern, half of the main thrusters were dark, obviously damaged and their functions terminated to prevent further damage. Martiam scowled, respecting whatever professionalism had allowed such a necessary order to be carried out so quickly. His gazed wandered a little, searching for the stabilizing thrusters that held the ship in place.

In between blinks of the eye, the ship started to fall.

Martiam cheered, not caring who might have heard, as the ship's bow fell. Like syrup, it fell so slowly that a less professional eye might wonder if it moved at all. For nearly a minute, it slowly tipped, angling just slightly further towards the ground, until it stooped at an ominous tilt, and stopped.

At that moment, the rest of the stabilizing thrusters cut out, and the ship fell.

A small child carrying a priceless artifact, who had suddenly let it go, would not have startled Martiam as much as the ship's sudden, terrifying descent did. It made no noise as it fell, but the sudden movement was as jarring as if a cloud had suddenly been ripped from the horizon, and thrown to the ground.

Martiam ducked for cover as the ship crashed onto the city. Towers and fortifications crumbed beneath it, and the sudden shock of a half a cubic kilometer of metal hitting the ground rocked the city, with a howl that could be heard across the horizon.

The city trembled, throwing most of the residents from their feet. Nearby windows smashed, and taller towers swayed.

The moment the world seemed to stop again, Martiam threw himself to his feet, surprised by how eager he was to see, for certain, that the ship had fallen.

The city line was now blotched, with much of the outskirts now covered by a steel mountain that dwarfed any tower still standing nearby. Smoke rose from it in fickle streams, and the occasional flicker of yellow marked the still burning sections of the wreckage.

The comm link, and every available communication line was suddenly drowned in cheers, as defense crews across the city threw hats and fired rounds into the air, jubilant in their triumph.

Martiam, however, was busy staring at the palace, noticing for the first time that the batteries had not engaged along with the rest of the defenses. The palace's guns, though primed and aimed, had not released a single salvo.

His eyes widened, and he held his breath, as he suddenly understood.

Bright red charges lanced across the sky in a sudden fury, flinging energy across the sky with sudden, terrifying brilliance. The scream of blaster salvos could be heard across the city, in stark contrast to the sudden silence that had come in the aftermath of the first ship's crash.

The salvos flung themselves into the now charged shields of the two ships still floating just above the garden district. Brilliant blue ripples blotted out hulls that the shields protected, and new ripples seemed to flow straight around the entire ship.

"The emperor is just wasting ballistic fire." One of the aides said from behind Martiam. "Why didn't he help when we needed it?"

"It's brilliant." Martiam replied, with a fierce grin on his face. "Can't you see what he's dong?"

"Only wasting power, sir." The aide said.

"Far from it. You know that we can't generate a shield that protects the point of origin, right?" Martiam asked.

"Yes. It's the reason we keep the emitter's location a secret." The aide replied.

"Well, what do you think they're shooting at?" Martiam asked pointedly, as an explosion suddenly pounded against their ears.

High above them, at the top of the ship, a large dome shaped object exploded.

Martiam raced back into the command center, and snatched the comm link from his desk. "Shield crews on standby, you are not to re-engage the shield generator except on my order. All ballistic batteries, open fire on the ship above the north end of the garden district. Visually confirm that its shields are down, and let them have it!"

No one responded to that order, not verbally at least. But laser fire erupted from across the city, pounding against the suddenly defenseless ship. The palace batteries swung seamlessly from the defenseless ship to the last ship with its shield batteries exposed, and started firing.

Both ships started turning, flaring their engines and angling their noses towards the sky. The rest of the armada was already in motions to put their ships further away from the reach of the palace batteries, and still had their shields up. Only the ship with the damaged shields was returning fire, but much of their fire was wasted burning holes into the great stretches of rubble that dotted the city.

The troops on the ground, having watched the city shields hold back a storm of energy blasts for nearly four straight days, now smelled blood. Energy blasts ripped into the engines of the retreating vessel, and fires had broken out across many of the decks.

The command office began to cheer as the second ship started to slow, and then, as if something had just let it go, fell from the sky and crashed into the outskirts of the city.

Almost at the same time, the palace batteries knocked out the shield generator on the third ship.

Someone else in the command office shouted into the comm link "The palace just knocked out the shields on the third ship. Give'em hell, lads!"

Martiam watched the sudden rout with trepidation, as decades of experience in campaigns had made him suspicious of good fortune. Even as laser fire crashed into the engines of the fleeing vessel, he watched above them to the seven ships who still did not engage their weapons to cover their retreat.

Dozens of questions poured through Martiam's mind. Part of him hoped that it was fear that prevented them from lowering their shields and punishing the ground with a barrage of artillery. The more suspicious part of him, the part that had made him a General, was waiting for the reason they weren't firing to reveal itself.

It was a hazy glint against the light, nearly masked completely by the streaks of red that still tore across the sky. Hard to make out, and masked against the rising smoke of the wreckage of two ships, Martiam saw four small shapes push their way through the haze of light.

He didn't look again, didn't doubt his eyes or even attempt to disbelieve what he saw. He ran for his desk, and the cable line that ran directly to the Obsidian throne.

He turned it on without preamble, and asked "Sire?" loudly.

"What is it, General?" Came the reply, almost immediately.

"Four troop transports have slipped through the defense perimeter. I haven't verified their destination, but I suspect they're heading for the palace."

"How did they get past your defenses?" Iniquitus asked, with a heavy note of displeasure in his voice.

Even used to it as he was, Martiam still shuddered before he replied. "They used the wreckage of the two ships we dropped to slip through the radar without making a blip. I rather doubt any of the troops were prepared enough to shoot them down anyway, given the circumstances."

"I see. Clever, if opportunistic. Neither of us are used to sacrificing so much for such a small gain, so we didn't expect it. Tell me, General, how did you notice then?" Iniquitus asked, the irritation replaced by a note of concern in his voice. Martiam wondered, idly, if he heard fear.

"Soldier's suspicion, Sire." Martiam admitted. "Trust no fortune, and suspect all good turns."

"It served you well." Iniquitus commented. "Get a squad assembled immediately. Soldiers prepared to fight in close corridors against their marines." Iniquitus commanded.

"I'll instruct the Palace guards to concentrate their deployment near the throne. Honestly, sire, it would be prudent to evacuate the palace." Martiam suggested.

"You try my patience." Iniquitus said, disconnecting the line.

---

"Who was your apprentice?" Marius asked. "Loosing three ships is a heavy price just to drop a bunch of marines in the palace. A couple of missiles will take out the escape route, and no drop ship is large enough to outnumber your security forces."

"As things look, it's just stupid. But we're obviously missing something." Beriven admitted.

"Yeah." Marius agreed. "Was your apprentice in the assault force?"

"Oh!" Beriven exclaimed, pointing at Marius. "That's it! He has to have been, he didn't want the Master, he wanted to use the throne."

"More precisely, he wanted to use the communication links that only the throne has access to. If he convinced the generals that he had taken the capital and sent me into flight, who do you think they would side with?" Iniquitus asked.

"That would be the end of the rebellion, wouldn't it?" Beriven asked.

"Then this is the plan that worked, isn't it?" Marius asked.

"As pleased as I am by your minds, you children need to learn some restraint. Most questions will answer themselves quickly enough, unless you're a complete idiot. You asked about my apprentice, shall I tell you about him?"

"Yes!" Both boys shouted, sitting up a little straighter.

"Much like you boys, I found him an orphan in the slums of a city. He was remarkably well fed for a rat on the streets, and the other children feared him. Like you, I could sense the power in him from well outside the city. He isn't, perhaps, as naturally resonant in this power as the two of you are, but he already understood hatred. He had already killed, and was already aware, if just slightly, of the existence of this power and his own connection to it.

He understood enough to know that I was coming. Would you believe the little bastard had the audacity to lie in wait and try to ambush me?"

"Why did he do that?"

"Because he hated being afraid. He had surpassed you both that way, and he was just a bit younger than you are now. He understood how much stronger that anger could make him, and how much that strength could achieve." He said. "It's something neither of you understand, yet."

"Like you both, when I found him, and proved that I was far stronger, I took him in as my apprentice. I taught him power, and how to use it to destroy his enemies. I used him, and drove the will of my throne down upon the lives of every person on that planet.

When there was no one left to conquer, I began building ships. The first foray was this moon, a terraforming project from which I could build a habitable outpost. I built ships and began to recruit explorers, to begin charting these new hyperspace routes.

It was my apprentice, who kept insisting on building an armada, with which to conquer the stars. You see, boys, life throughout the galaxy will be ruled by those who, like us, are touched by this power. How often have I demonstrated that many were ruled over by a few, or just one? How often were these powers overthrown, except by even greater powers, even stronger men?" Iniquitus asked.

Both boys were silent.

"Only power overcomes power, and only to replace it." Iniquitus finished, in a dark, hungry tone.

"Master?" Marius asked. "Was your apprentice stronger than you?"

"Judge for yourselves." Iniquitus said.

---

Iniquitus sat on the black throne, his head leaning against the cold obsidian, his mouth twisted in a predatory snarl. His sight, though shut behind his eyelids, watched the fluttering hearts of his enemies as they descended from their ships, and marched through the halls.

He had his left hand over a small communicator, and in his right, the small cylinder of glittering steel. His thumb flickered over the ignition switch periodically, and his entire body seemed tense, nervous.

For the first time since he had sat on this throne, the Emperor of Courascant felt fear.

"There's a squad at the conservatory, on the fifty-first floor. Fourteen men strong." The dark lord said, turning his head towards his left hand. "They're heading towards the elevators. Prepare for them in the main halls, use the blast doors to seal off their escape."

Iniquitus flicked off the switch and watched, with disgust. Pompous sycophants and men too weak for proper army work, his guards were systematically slaughtered by the well co-ordinated tactics of the Armada's marines. Finally in their element, and suddenly freed from the deadly tactics of General Verre, they were proving more than a match for anything his subordinates could throw at them.

Anger boiled through his veins, quivering through his body like poison. Lightning flickered along his fingertips as the dark lord stood up, and stepped down from his throne.

"Sire! You don't need to dirty your hands with this lot. We will handle it!" One of the guards at the door shouted, giving a sharp salute.

Iniquitus looked at him for a moment. "The last time I was forced to go into battle was at Itamus, when the world was still fractured. In it, General Verre had transformed a leaderless mob of soft, weak men into a force that resisted occupation for longer than any other city in the confederacy. Why is it then, in a palace full of my servants, that I have to go out now, to kill sixty men?"

"Sire-" the officer began, but a wave of Iniquitus' hand cut him short.

Iniquitus paused after he cut the man off, considering something for a long, heavy moment. The pause caused both men at the door to break into sweat.

Iniquitus pointed his hand, and brilliant bolts of energy shot from his fingertips, sweeping the guard that had spoken from his feet, and sending him crashing into the corner of the room.

The Lord of the Obsidian throne turned to the other man, now cowering in fear. "Boy, when I step outside, lock up this room. Let no one through, no matter how long you spend inside. It will mean death if you open it willingly for anyone else."

Iniquitus stepped into the hall, his sight still keenly fixed on the racing hearts of the intruders. A few of them met the fragile heartbeats of his own guards, and one or two would burn out suddenly, as if someone had snuffed out a candle.

His gaze kept watch over a few of those fragile lives, the ones closest to what looked to be a swirling fog, tinted red, that clouded those closest to it.

A passing patrol stopped behind Iniquitus, standing at attention in two neat rows behind him. Its commander, far from young and very far from experienced, quivered a little as he saluted.

"S-sire! We're ready to assist you." He said.

"Follow me, then. We're going to meet my wayward apprentice."

Iniquitus closed his eyes as he felt the fear wash over the soldiers behind him, the urge to kill suddenly boiling up in his stomach. It was harder to tell who his greater enemy was, if it was the skill of his enemies or the ineptitude of his own guards.

"My apprentice has troops coming through the audience hall just through those doors." Iniquitus pointed to the doors at the end of the hall. "His troops will be there in less than a minute. Set up some barricades, and aim for the door."

The soldiers nodded, and streamed past Iniquitus into the other room. As the last guard stepped through, Iniquitus followed.

Soldiers were dragging desks and furniture into a semi-circle around the other entrance, while others were checking their weapons behind pillars. The commander had taken a position slightly higher up, entrenching himself behind a damaged monument.

Iniquitus stepped into the very centre of the room, with his hands resting at his sides, occasionally resting his fingers on the cold metal of his apprentice's energy blade.

His troops, despite the well stocked armory that the place kept, were armed only with standard issue blaster rifles, many of which had yet to be discharged. More than a few of these boys, Iniquitus thought to himself, were unlikely to have a working weapon.

The guards, after nearly half a minute, gave up fiddling with their unfamiliar weapons, and waited.

The guards waited. Only Iniquitus watched.

He watched as the flickering, pulsating lights grew closer, and clustered around the far side of the door.

The swirling red haze reached the doors, and Iniquitus smiled. "They're here."

The words barely finished before the door burst into splinters, exploding into the hall. Pieces of wood and marble shards scattered across the floor, and some of the closer guards stumbled backwards.

Iniquitus paused only a heartbeat, barely long enough for the doors to finish exploding, before he raised his hands and pointed them at the now open doorway.

He breathed in, sharply, and hissed as his hands erupted in light. Great arcs of energy shot through the air, into the dusty haze of the doorway, blowing marble shards back into the hall.

Iniquitus smiled as pained screams echoed in the hall, and those flickering lights went out. Other, panicked shouts echoed in the darkness, and the guards around the dark lord cheered.

Iniquitus narrowed his eyes and cast another brilliant bolt into the darkness, rewarded by more screams of anguish. Some of those flickering lights turned and fled, a few more went out, and the red haze behind them finally stepped forward.

Even in the darkness, Iniquitus could see the cloaked man, tall and terrible, that stood at the centre of that red haze. The pungent feeling of his hatred was powerful, even from this distance.

The soldiers shivered, and said "what is that?"

Iniquitus smiled. "My apprentice."

the cloaked man stepped forward a little, still deep in the dark hallway. A voice, hoarse and deep, said "No longer, Iniquitus. Only Therran Amar, lord of the Obsidian throne."

"You're forgetting something, my wayward apprentice. Save the satisfaction of gloating for the corpses in your wake, not the enemies in front of you." Iniquitus said, taking two more short steps towards the door. His hands were still pointed at the hall, and his eyes didn't blink.

"I am gloating to a corpse." Therran said from the dark. As he spoke, a startling hiss echoed in the hall, and a red blade appeared in his hand. "You can't harm me, and you don't have the power to save yourself."

Iniquitus scowled, and hurled another brilliant bolt of lightning at his now visible apprentice. Brighter than the last, it illuminated the hall, and the lightning ripped deep scars into the walls.

Therran raised his blade up, holding it in two hands, with its tip pointed to the ceiling. Bracing himself, he held the blade against the bolts. The bright light hit the red blade, and with a squeal of energy, ended.

Iniquitus stared in fury, his hands trembling. With a roar of frustration, he sent more lightning towards his apprentice, tearing at the marble around the doorway in his rage. Energy ripped along the hall, tore into marble and soldiers with ease, and sent the men near Therran reeling.

Therran stood, and as the lightning struck the blade, it broke and vanished.

Iniquitus stumbled, his hands on his legs. He gasped for breath, and bent his knees to catch himself. Only his eyes stayed fixed on his enemy, eyes that betrayed the fear that he now felt.

Therran smirked, and reached behind him. Under his cloak, tied to his back, was a long cylinder, a tube large enough to fit an arm inside. He leveled it at Iniquitus, and said "I win."

A new scream filled Iniquitus' ears, as a rocket sped towards him. For the palace guards, there was just enough time to blink twice before the hall erupted into flame.

---

"What happened next?" Beriven asked, enthralled.

"I survived, obviously." Iniquitus said, taking a deep breath. "But there's a lesson in it, one you absolutely must mark if you are going to survive your lessons. The greatest weapon that this power gives you, more than anything else, is the ability to know how to win. To see beyond sight, to foresee beyond intellect, and to know how your actions affect those things. Being able to hurl lightning at your foes, choke the life out of them, even the ability to see armies across worlds and see your foe's plans, are only tools that can be beaten by better ones. The only unconquerable power is knowing how you can win. Do you understand?"

"Like a Dejarek board, master?" Marius asked.

"Every type of power is just a piece on the board. Except knowledge, which is what makes those pieces dangerous." Beriven affirmed.

"Except knowledge is also knowing what pieces you and your enemies actually have, and unlike Dejarek, you can't always see all the pieces." Marius added.

"Good. You two really have been listening. Now, this is the only time I will ever show you this. It's what happened to me in that hall, the mark of my failure. It was the price I paid for not knowing my apprentice's power. It is less than the price my apprentice will pay for not being able to follow through."

The darkness around Iniquitus seemed to part a little, as he reached one gloved hand to the wrappings around his face. The black cloth made the skin seem all that much lighter, as it came into view. Slowly, as if unwrapping each layer was painful, Iniquitus unwound the cloth around his face.

Most of the skin beneath his face was stark pale, and caught every change of the firelight. Along that brilliantly white skin were deep blue lines, of veins across the face, that looked as if someone had drawn them across his face with a knife.

Along the forehead, and all across the top right half of his face, was a series of black scars. It startled the boys, but in the firelight, the skin looked as if it still smoldered. Even the smell of the smoke from the fire seemed to eminate instead from the newly exposed skin.

"My lightning was enough to destroy the missile, but the explosion was close enough to leave me marked. The pain hasn't stopped, even a year after it happened. Each and every day, it feels just as it did when I first felt it."

---

Iniquitus awoke to his own howls, as he screamed into the air and clutched his face. His eyes suddenly wide, he looked around wildly and raised his hands, as if to strike down whoever was causing him this pain.

"You have no enemies here, sire." Martiam said, from across the room. Iniquitus stopped screaming when he heard that voice, turning his sinister eyes to meet his general.

"My face still burns." Iniquitus remarked, clutching his hand.

"We haven't been able to treat you, sire. Every time someone tried, you kept killing them. This is, actually, the first time you've been lucid since we dragged you from the palace half a day ago." Martiam explained.

"Then my apprentice-"

"Didn't secure the palace, no. I managed to bottle up the marines, cut off the power, and gassed the upper halls. The survivors retreated. The damage, however, is already done."

"Explain that." Iniquitus commanded, sitting up.

"He managed to get into the throne room long enough to talk to Marshall Doran of the Ninth. The Marshall relayed what he had been told, of course, and the generals are coming here to liberate the city. Six battalions will be here in less than four hours."

"Liberate?" Iniquitus asked, his voice hoarse with rage.

"Their words, sire. Free the world from the tyranny of iniquity." Martiam confirmed. "Marshall Doran was already on his way, when reports came in about us dropping two of the Armada's ships. They were less than nine hours away, before Therran got a hold of him. He's twenty minutes away from the city walls."

"Most of the generals, after hearing Therran from your throne, are operating under his assertion that you're dead."

"I'm dead?"

"You haven't had the opportunity to contradict him. I've been in contact with Doran for half the day, doing what I can to persuade him that your apprentice doesn't control the palace. Because you've been out of commission for the last twelve hours, though, most of the field generals are siding with Therran, and even Doran is urging me to surrender.

Quite frankly sire, this is the last time I will be able to offer you the chance to escape. Any longer, and word will get around that you're still alive. Once that happens, you'll be hunted if you escape." Martiam said, sternly.

"I see. If I choose to fight?"

"Once the city garrison realizes the odds, they'll capitulate. The palace guards might fight with you after that, but we're in this predicament partially because of their lack of competence." Martiam explained.

Iniquitus held his hand in a fist, his eyes as bloody red as some of the burns on his face. "Flee now, or flee and be hunted. Fighting is no longer an option." Iniquitus muttered to himself, his quiet words quivering with rage. "Once the generals are committed to this treachery, they'll follow through. They have no choice. Disloyalty is death, by mine or my enemy's hands. If they turn again, they make themselves disloyal not only to me, but my erstwhile apprentice.

Tell me, General, do you think Therran knows I live still?" Iniquitus asked.

"I am almost certain he believes you're dead, sire. He's left himself just a little too exposed with his assurances to the generals. If you had woken up three hours ago, you might have been able to use it against him." Martiam replied.

"Any other proof?" Iniquitus said.

"Only that he's offering me a conditional surrender. An immediate ceasefire, amnesty to every soldier and officer, and a generous pension to spend my retirement. He even offered to put a statue of me in the garden district." Martiam said, with a hint of scorn in his voice.

"A statue? Interesting." Iniquitus mused. "How long do you have to accept his offer?"

"Another thirty minutes. Otherwise, the bombardment starts again."

Iniquitus stood, slowly, and stepped towards the open window. Outside, he could see one of the four ships still floating in the skies above the city. "I will come back for my throne. You will live to see it happen."

Martiam didn't reply, and the silence stretched into minutes.

"I will need you to keep yourself informed about the politics of Courascent. Keep watch on the temperament of the generals, particularly their loyalty. Political movements, dissidence, all of it. It's information I will need in a hurry when I return, information that will save me years of planning. Beyond that, General, take your retirement." Iniquitus replied.

"Sire." Martiam saluted.

Iniquitus smiled. "I see you left no one else in the room. Your heart is still too soft for my liking, general. I trust the status of my health is a matter you've kept close to your chest?"

"Of course. As soon as I procure a body, I'll have it flash-burned with munitions. Once that happens, not even your apprentice will doubt that you've been killed." Martiam answered.

"Do you think my apprentice will really spare you?" Iniquitus asked.

"I do, sire. His success was precarious, and still depends on the good graces of the army's generals. My summary execution would suggest that their heads were also in line for the cutting block, and he can't afford to neuter the army because it's the only thing preventing a massive civil uprising. Particularly in the former city-states." Martiam replied.

The former Lord of the Obsidian Throne regarded his general for a long, quiet moment. "You're planning to rebel, aren't you? Itamus would revolt if you were executed, and the other city states would follow. If my apprentice can't afford to execute you, how can he expect to withstand your open rebellion?"

Iniquitus only turned back to the window, staring at the armada's ships. "How do you plan on getting my ship out unnoticed?"

"On one of the cargo train lines. There's a lot of ship wreckage that will need to be transported, and mixing a small ship into it shouldn't be a problem if I grease a few palms. Claiming salvage shouldn't raise too many eyebrows, particularly since it will be Marshall Doran claiming it."

"Won't the Marshall wonder about an unexpected gift?" Iniquitus asked.

"He already knows about receiving a ship. The fact that there will be two on the train isn't a detail I bothered to relay." Martiam added.

"I see. Where do you plan on sending me?" Iniquitus asked.

"The ship has a hyperdrive, so I would suggest Laxum. You should be able to blend in there better than one of the inhabited planets explorers have found. It's your choice, of course, and I've assembled as complete a hyperspace database as I could find."

"Very good." Iniquitus said. "When does the train leave?"

"In six hours. It reaches its destination a week later, where you should be able to take off without anyone noticing. I've left the manual inside, in case you need it. There was no time to find a qualified pilot."

"It will do."

---

"We were wrong." Marius admitted.

"We thought Therran simply wasn't a good enough general, to let you escape." Beriven agreed.

"Your apprentice is actually an idiot." Marius said.

"You think so?" Iniquitus said. "You honestly regard someone capable enough to turn the admirals against their lord, and drive me from my own throne was a bungling fool who just got lucky?"

"Well," Marius started, but Iniquitus interrupted him.

"Luck doesn't exist. Nothing happens that isn't within someone's capacity to achieve. If they can do it on occasion, they can learn to do it consistently. Now, keeping that in mind, why do you think my apprentice is such a fool?"

"Because he won't be able to control the world as you were able to. His original plan was probably to use the armada to keep the people fearful, and cull the army's generals to keep them loyal. Since Martiam used a vastly inferior force to not only hold them off for five days, but drop two of them, he'll need the army to do the job he thought the armada could. Since the army wasn't particularly loyal to him in the first place, he can't use them the way you could. Nor can he remove generals to keep the others loyal. He couldn't even hang Martiam as a traitor." Marius insisted.

"He isn't strong enough to make the people fear him, or inspiring enough to make the army love him. Even if you don't return, he might be overthrown by the army." Beriven agreed.

Iniquitus looked startled as they spoke. "I hadn't considered this. Not this completely. I wonder if perhaps I should kill you both before you, like him, feel you've grown too much to benefit from my tutelage."

Both boys gulped, but held their seats.

"Do you understand my anger, boys?" Inqitus said, his hands clenched.

"No, master." Marius said. "He became what he is because of your tutelage."

"I do, master." Beriven said. "I believe you're angry because you felt pride in your apprentice's success, and to have it regarded as a weak creation makes you look even weaker."

"Is that true?" Marius asked.

"It is." Iniquitus admitted. "I won't live forever, though it will be a long time yet before my will fails. It is a matter of pride to be able to create such strength. When I return, if I fail to reclaim the throne, it is only an example of the power I created. If I succeed, I will have become more powerful for it."

He paused, and stared at Marius for a long moment. "I see. You understood that pride, even if you didn't understand my anger. What you're saying is that your own growth, enough to understand the failings of my apprentice's rule, is only another example of my own capacity."

Marius nodded in agreement.

"The two of you need to get your feet wet. Your pride for your own shrewd minds needs to be mellowed, if you're going to learn properly. It's perhaps time that you tried, and failed, so that you can learn the anger you will need."

"I'll think on it. Now, I can do without any more distractions. Sleep." He ordered. The two boys curled up as close to the fire as they dared, and closed their eyes.