Two Blades – 3661.245 BY
Zanleya spun her weapon round, hastily parrying a strike aimed for her head. Leaping sideways she struck out, only for her opponent to block the attack with ease, following through and nearly stabbing her in the thigh in the process.
Their combat lesson with Harkun had finished and as usual there had been the chance for acolytes to challenge each other to duels. They wielded simple practice blades, each lined with tiny spikes laced with pelko bug venom, any injury caused by the weapon induced temporary paralysis in the limb struck and thus stimulated having an arm or leg cut off by a lightsaber. Traz had challenged her, the big rattataki seemed to have taken a severe dislike to her and was intent on using her to vent some of his rage.
The two pulled apart, his sweaty tattooed face leering at her as he circled round like a hungry nexu. The other acolytes and overseer Harkun had formed a ring around the top of the small sandy pit. Unlike the spectators of the street fights or brawls that had broken out on Nar Shaddaa, they remained completely silent, watching and studying. Zanleya took a deep breath, grateful for the short respite; her arms were aching from the sheer force of Traz's blows and the effort of blocking them. The last year had passed in a whirlwind of lessons, trials and drills. The runaway slave she had once been was now a lithe seventeen year old. She was fitter, stronger and a far better fighter than the girl who first came to Korriban…. But she could not match the sheer brute strength and endurance of the massive rattataki.
"Peace is a lie! Stop admiring each other!" Overseer Harkun snapped angrily. Traz grunted like an angry tuk'ata and charged at Zanleya, blade held low. Zanleya bent her knees and readied herself, keeping her own weapon pointing at her opponent's throat. He swung upwards in a cleaving swipe which she ducked, letting him stumble forward. Seeing an opening she lashed out, slashing at his chest, he pivoted away on one foot and brought his blade sweeping back down. They clashed again in a series of metallic crashes, Traz lunged, she sidestepped and slashed at his torso for a second time. Showing amazing agility for somebody built like a brick wall Traz dodged the attack and brought his leg up. Zanleya's breath exploded from her body as his knee struck her in the chest; she doubled over, dropping her blade in the process. Traz struck the side of her head with his left fist, knocking her over. She collapsed, head ringing from the blow, but before she had even hit the ground his weapon swung round and slashed across her chest, blade tearing through her training garments just above her hips. Pain lanced through her body as the venom took hold, paralysing her almost instantly from the waist down. She crashed onto the sandy floor, jarring her spine, still without regaining her breath. Zanleya gaped like a fish out of water, but no air came, her diaphragm partly restrained by some of the venom. Her vision started to swim, but not before she saw Traz raise his boot over her face, the dark underside blotting out the orange sun of Korriban.
"That's enough!" She heard Harkun shout, his voice sounding as if it came from far away or from deep underwater. The boot readjusted and instead thundered into her side and her entire world went black.
Slowly her surroundings swam back into view, the dark haze gradually lifting from her vision. Zanleya groaned in agony, her head pounding, her chest and side stinging as if a wompa had taken a bite out of her whilst every bit of her felt like one massive bruise. She gritted her teeth and forced her eyes to focus, at first making out very little, then a grey ceiling materialised along with a bright strip light. She tried to roll over, but gave up almost instantly as her chest blazed with fiery fury again.
"Please hold still, excessive movement will increase recovery time," a mechanical voice droned. Meddroid, Zanleya thought, she was in a medbay, which was something at least, the overseers had clearly not chosen to simply throw her into the wilds for her failure. Ignoring the droid she made a second attempt at moving and hauled herself into a sitting position, supressing a scream of pain in the process. She leant back against the wall, breathing heavily. She was in a small room, sitting on what was once a white sheeted bed, now decorated with ominous crimson patches. A humanoid meddroid stood beside the bed, a syringe of something in one hand. There was a small operating table behind it whilst the walls were whitewashed and lined with a vast assortment of medical equipment.
"Please hold still," the droid repeated. It took her arm in its cold grip and jabbed the needle into her, she ground her teeth again, trying to block out the pain. However, the concoction did presently bring her some relief.
"What's the… time… droid?" Zanleya croaked, her voice hoarse.
"It is eighteen ten planet time," the droid intoned. She cursed.
"I have to… go," she declared, swinging her legs over the edge of the bed, bringing forth another gasp from her lips as she did so.
"You may cause yourself further serious injury," the droid warned, its green eyes flashing at her. However it knew better than to try and restrain her.
"Trust me droid… if I'm late to Darth Kharvak I'll… suffer far more than a serious injury," she retorted sombrely. She knew she had to get to his chambers quickly, he would be expecting her at eighteen thirty. She groaned again, realising that she had been unconscious for the majority of the day. Gingerly she pulled herself up and nearly collapsed, her legs giving beneath her. The droid caught her and helped her to her feet.
"I don't need your help," Zanlyea hissed, although knowing that truthfully she did. Gripping the edge of the bed she staggered to the door, each step sending a spasm of pain through her. She hated Traz, she would make him suffer she promised herself; one day she would be standing above him, laughing as she stomped on his broken body. That mental image gave her strength; she slapped her hand on the door control and was faced with a bare corridor.
"Where am I droid?" Zanleya demanded, not turning round.
"On the twelfth level in the east wing," the droid replied, its basic logic processors telling it not to sound smug that she had just asked for help.
She stumbled out, keeping one hand on the wall. Darth Kharvak's chambers were far above her current position, up on the fifth level in the main section of the academy… she was going to be late, she realised with dread. Uttering a string of curses that would have horrified her younger self, she limped along the corridor, her progress tracked by the concerned meddroid. Every movement of her hips sent another ripple of agony through her. She clasped one hand to her waist and kept the other on the wall to support herself then staggering to the end of the corridor and up to the stairs, before cursing again in irritation that the Dark Council had not bothered investing in a few turbolifts. Gritting her teeth she began to limp her way up the stairs.
"Can I assist you my Lord?" A timid voice asked, after she had ascended a floor. Her head snapped round to see a blue skinned male twi'lek in the garments of a slave.
"No. Weakness is not tolerated," she retorted, echoing the words of Darth Kharvak. The reaction was instinctive, the necessity of self-reliance having been drilled into her over the last couple of years. Perhaps the Zanleya that had lived on Nar Shaddaa would have gladly accepted the help, but not now, she knew she had to make it on her own, both to Kharvak's chambers now and in life in general. Showing weakness was not an option.
"Of course my Lord," the twi'lek acknowledged, before scurrying off. Spurred on by her own words she resumed her climb up the seven flights of stairs to the fifth level.
Zanleya was as good as a gasping wreck by the time she reached the top. She was certain she had felt something give in her midriff and imagined the meddroid would not be impressed, nevertheless, she had other far more pressing concerns.
Darth Kharvak's chamber was in the main section, still a fair distance from her current position. Resuming her limping loping walk she made her way to the Dark Lord's sanctum, passing several other Sith along the way, most in the garb of Lords at least, very few acolytes came to the upper levels. Most of them ignored her, a few sneered at her battered appearance but she was thankful that none stopped or challenged her.
Twenty minutes later and Zanleya stood before the imposing black door that gave entrance to Kharvak's chambers the Imperial logo embossed upon it. Her breaths came in ragged gasps and every part of her body hurt. If it was possible to replicate the feeling of falling off the back of a swoop bike she imagined it would be very similar to what she currently felt.
With a trembling finger Zanleya pressed the intercom, although knowing full well her master would have sensed her presence already. She equally knew that she was late and that did not bode well. The door slid open. Kharvak stood before his desk with his back to her an empty high backed chair facing him. The walls were adorned with numerous tablets bearing inscriptions in ancient languages, another door at the rear of the chamber led to the rest of his domain. Priceless artefacts and carvings decorated a number of the spaces on the floor whilst a pair of red banners hung from the wall behind the desk, the imperial logo displayed in white upon them. Zanleya's attention however was most certainly not on the room's decorations but on the back of the hooded figure.
She shut the door and dropped to her knees, which was not difficult in her current state; bowing her head she prepared to face the storm. Whether he was going to beat her, torture her mind or expose her to some other sorcery of the darkside she did not know, but her tardiness would almost certainly incur punishment.
"You're late," his deep voice spoke the words calmly but condemningly.
"I'm sorry my Lord… I was in the medbay," Zanleya apologised, her voice still quiet and hoarse, now tinged with fear.
"I am aware. You were defeated in the duelling pit," he stated, spinning round to glare at her with his burning orange eyes, there was contempt and unbridled fury behind them. He was clad in his black battle armour, not that that was a surprise to her, she had never seen him out of it.
"I…" he raised a gauntleted hand threateningly and she quickly shut her mouth.
"Do not think yourself so special that I cannot find myself another acolyte. The force may have destined us to meet, but do not think it directs the future, the future is what we make it and Traz is proving himself to be very capable," he threatened, taking a step forwards. He had purposefully chosen to name Traz to anger her, a fact they both knew, but it worked nonetheless, her freckled cheeks flushed red. "I picked you off the streets of Nar Shaddaa because I felt there was something special about you; you have a strong connection to the force it is true, one that will blossom into something fierce with appropriate training… but that is useless if you fight like a blind jawa," he continued.
"My Lord I…" she protested.
"Did I give you permission to speak?!" He thundered, she flinched waiting for a blow, none fell.
"Fine, continue, finish your excuse," he said very calmly. She knew that was worse, when he spoke gently it was almost always the calm that proceeded the storm of his wrath.
"I fight much better when we practice with duel sabres," she said meekly.
"Is that so?" Darth Kharvak stated, Zanleya raised her eyes to look at him; he was stood feet shoulder width apart, hands clasped behind his back glaring at her.
"Yes my Lord, but Harkun won't let me use one in the duelling pit," she elaborated, unsure if she was digging herself a deeper grave or climbing out if it.
"Prove it," Kharvak retorted simply. He held a hand out and a double bladed lightsaber shot off a rack on the wall and flew into his palm, he turned it round and tossed it to her. She caught it and stared at the weapon in fascination. It was the first time she had ever held a lightsaber before, the legendary weapon of the Sith. The cool metal casing felt right in her hand, as if it belonged. The two blade projectors were identical, plain in style but somehow beautiful in their simplicity. She thought…
The harsh sound of a lightsaber igniting broke her reverie; Zanleya's eyes snapped up to see Kharvak leaping towards her, his own crimson red blade held high. Her eyes widened in panic and she threw herself sideways into a roll, sending a wave of white hot pain lancing through her body. He landed where she had been kneeling a mere fraction of a second ago, his lightsaber striking the floor in a flurry of sparks. Her expression was one of shock, she had not expected her master to try and kill her! Frantically she ignited the weapon she had been thrown, a pair of deep blue blades extending from it, apparently it was the weapon of one of Kharvak's vanquished foes. She raised it above her head just in time to intercept a brutal chop from the Dark Lord of the Sith, adrenaline now pumping through her bloodstream. The blades met with the distinctive energised crash of a lightsaber duel. Was this her punishment she thought in panic, was he about to kill her or was he proving her weakness?
Zanleya desperately extended her left palm and shoved with the force, trying to push her would be master back. He barely even reacted, deflecting the force attack by waving his left hand as if he was lazily swatting at a fly. She gritted her teeth and jumped to her feet, leaping backwards and spinning the double bladed sabre in front of herself as she did so in an attempt to stop the pureblood from simply impaling her. He did not lunge however. She landed and almost collapsed again as the impact jarred her already beaten body. Then Kharvak charged.
"Peace is a lie!" Zanleya spat through gritted teeth as she stumbled backwards, intoning the first part of the Sith code in an attempt to force herself to focus. She knew she had to ignore the pain or Kharvak would simply hack her apart. Balancing herself again Zanleya pushed his sweeping attack aside, bringing the other end of her weapon round to chop at his legs. It was a pathetic and very predictable attack, one Kharvak barely even bothered registering, he simply stepped over it and slashed down at her. She backed away, spinning her weapon as she had been taught to try to parry and deflect her master's flurry of strikes.
Kharvak's face was hard and surprisingly emotionless, his blows precise. It was the best Zanleya could do to get either end of her lightsaber round to stop his single blade. His weapon seemed to be everywhere at once. Her arms were weak and her chest was on fire; she could not keep the fight up and they both knew it.
Grunting in anger and frustration Zanleya blocked another of his assaults then jabbed with the end of her weapon, pushing him back. She swore to herself that if this was to be her end she would make sure she hurt him first. Thoughts of dying had crossed her mind plenty of times although admittedly she had not envisioned it happening like this. She had to exact at least a bit of revenge on her tutor before the inevitable. She slashed aggressively left with one end then swung the weapon round to hack at Kharvak's other side with the opposite end of her lightsaber. The move forced Kharvak to block attacks from both sides… something he did with ease, swapping his lightsaber to his left hand to counter her second strike. Then in a sudden burst he struck upwards, forcing Zanleya's weapon up, in a normal mind-set she might have been able to spot or predict the move, but battered and exhausted as she was she did not. She cried out as her arm was knocked up and in the same move he jabbed with his right fist, striking her shoulder. The lightsaber flew from her grip and clattered across the floor blades extinguished. Zanleya stumbled backwards and struck the wall, her vision beginning to swim. The red tip of Kharvak's lightsaber appeared at her throat, the humming blade mere millimetres away. His burning eyes caught hers and held them, staring into her very being as if he were analysing every part of her soul and spirit. Zanleya matched the stare with all her anger and pain; she mentally vowed she would not give him the satisfaction of seeing her beg, although it was all she could do to stop herself simply falling forwards onto the blade in exhaustion. Her limbs were shaking, body screaming, strained far beyond its limits.
"Better," he stated simply. "I shall see to it that you train with a double bladed weapon from now on." He flicked his lightsaber off and clipped it to his belt in one smooth move. Almost instantly Zanleya pitched forwards face first; Kharvak caught her with the force and lowered her to the floor where she blacked out once more.