Star Wars - Lost Tribe of the Sith 01 - Precipice

“No, of course not—Commander.” He looked back at the summit, fading in the surrounding darkness. “Perhaps others of us could have a look at the transmitter. We might—”
    “Ravilan, if you want to go back up there, you’re welcome to. But I’d bring a team with some heavy equipment, because if we don’t get some supports under that ship, the next person who boards could take it on its last flight.” Korsin set down the last pack and stretched his neck. “Where are
your
Massassi?”
    Ravilan stared. “All dead.”
    Korsin stepped free, at last, from the cabling he’d used to drag the sledge. The bonfire blazed invitingly. So why was he so cold?
    “Seelah.”
    “Where’s Devore?”
    He looked at her coldly. Seelah stood, her tarnished gold uniform flickering in the firelight. “Where
is
Devore?” he repeated.
    “He went up—” She stopped herself. No one was supposed to leave camp. And now, the look in Yaru Korsin’s eyes.
    She squeezed Jariad, who woke crying.
    The pep talk began as many of Korsin’s did—with a summation of Things Everyone Already Knows. But this speech was different, because there were so many things nobody knew, himself included. The assurance that Naga Sadow still valued their cargo rang true for all, and while they were clearly a long way from anywhere, few could imagine the Sith Lord’s desire exceeding his reach. Even if they were less sanguine about what Sadow felt about
them
, Korsin knew his crew would accept that someone, somewhere, was looking for them.
    They just didn’t need to know how long that might take. It was too soon for that. Sadow, he would figure out later. This place couldn’t be about what was next. It had to be about now.
    By the speech’s end, Korsin found himself growingunusually philosophical: “It was our destiny to land on this rock—and we are bound to our destiny. For a time, it looks like, we’re also bound to this rock,” he said. “So be it. We’re Sith. Let’s make it ours.”
    He looked toward a satellite campfire and spotted Gloyd and the remains of his gunnery crew bristling against the breeze. He waved them to the main bonfire. It would be another hard night, Korsin knew, and the supplies he’d brought would soon run out.
    But he knew something else. Something he’d seen, that no one else had.
    The winged beast had carried a rider.
    The Force was with them.
    Gripping her son, Seelah watched the circle break. Nodding, human Sith set to their tasks, stepping around Ravilan, the master without Massassi. He stood aloof, commiserating with the Red Sith and the few other surviving aliens. Energized and triumphant, Yaru Korsin conferred with Gloyd—keeping his confidences, as he always had, to the huge alien. Too strong to be defeated, too stupid to betray him—and dumb to the Force. The perfect ally.
    Turning away from the Houk, Korsin saw Seelah. A new land to be broken to his will, and no one to stand in his way. He smiled.
    Seelah returned his gaze coldly. Thinking of Devore, thinking of little Jariad, she made a quick decision. Summoning all her anger, all her hatred, all her will …
    … Seelah smiled back.
    Devore had underestimated Yaru Korsin. Whatever came, Seelah thought, she would not. She would bide her time.
    Time, they had.

Read on for an excerpt from
    Star Wars: Fate of the Jedi: Omen
    by Christie Golden
    Published by Del Rey Books
Kesh
Two Years Earlier
    The ocean sighed as it rushed forward and receded in a rhythm even more ancient than what was unfolding on its lavender-sand shores. While the sun was bright and warm, a breeze came from the sea to cool the heated faces of the two figures standing there.
    They faced each other, as still as if they were carved from stone, the only motion around them that of their hair and heavy black robes as the wind toyed with them.
    Then, as if by some unheard signal, one of them moved. The soft sound of the ocean was punctuated by a sharp
snap-hiss.
The almost perfectly symmetrical, light purple features of Vestara Khai’s adversary were abruptly cast into sickly green relief. Vestara activated her own weapon with a fluid motion, saluted her opponent with it, settled into position, and waited to see who would make the first move. She balanced lightly on the balls of her booted feet, ready to leap left, right, or straight up. Still her opponent did not move.
    The sun was at its height and its light was harsh, beating down on them like something physical. Theirheavy