Hurst had died that night. The authorities had ruled it a natural death. A heart attack, brought on by a combination of too much alcohol, a life working the mines, and the overexertion of nearly beating his own son to death with his bare hands. They never suspected the real cause. Neither had Bane. Not until now.
Trembling slightly; he rolled over, exhausted but knowing sleep wouldn't come again this night.
Fohargh wasn't the first person he had murdered with the Force. He probably wouldn't be the last. Bane was smart enough to understand that.
He shook his head to clear away the memory of Hurst's death. The man had deserved neither pity nor mercy. The weak would always be crushed by the strong. If Bane wanted to survive, he had to become one of the strong. That was why he was here at the Academy. That was his mission. That was the way of the dark side.
But the realization did nothing to quell the queasy feeling in his stomach, and when he closed his eyes he could still see father's face.
Chapter 12
'No!' Kas'im barked, disdainfully slapping Bane's training saber aside with his own weapon. 'Wrong! You're too slow on the first transition. You're leaving your left side wide open for a quick counter.'
The Blademaster was teaching him a new sequence; he'd been teaching it to him for more than a week. But for some reason Bane couldn't seem to grasp the intricacies of the movements. His blade felt clumsy and awkward in his hand.
He stepped back and resumed the ready position. Kas'im studied him briefly, then dropped into a defensive stance in front of him. Bane took a deep breath to focus his mind before letting his body trigger the sequence once again.
His muscles moved instinctively, exploding into action. There was a hiss as the downstroke of his blade carved through the air in the first move, a blur of motion… but far too slow. Kas'im responded by slipping to the side and bringing his own double-bladed weapon around in a long, swift arc that struck Bane hard in the ribs.
The breath whooshed out of him and he felt the searing pain of the pelko barbs, followed by the all-too- familiar numbness spreading up through the left side of his torso. He staggered back, helpless, as Kas'im watched silently. Bane struggled to stay upright and failed, collapsing awkwardly to the floor. The Blademaster shook his head in disappointment.
Bane dragged himself to his feet, trying not to let his frustration show. It had been nearly three weeks since he had beaten Fohargh in the ring, and since that time he had been training with Kas'im in individual sessions to improve his lightsaber combat. But for some reason he wasn't making any progress.
'I'm sorry, Master. I will go practice the drills again,' he said through gritted teeth.
'Drills?' the Twi'lek repeated, his voice cruel and mocking. 'What good will that do?'
'I… I must learn the sequence better. To become faster.'
Kas'im spat on the ground. 'If you truly believe that, then you're a fool.' Bane didn't know how to respond, so he kept silent.
The Blademaster stepped forward and gave him a sharp cuff on his ear. It was meant not to hurt, but to humiliate. 'Fohargh was better trained than you,' he snapped. 'He knew more sequences, he knew more forms. But they couldn't save him.
'The sequences are just tools. They help you free your mind so you can draw upon the Force. That is where you will find the key to victory. Not in the muscles of your arms or the quickness of your blade. You must call upon the dark side to destroy your enemies!'
Clenching his jaw from the burning pain now spreading through the entire left side of his body, Bane could only nod.
'You're holding back,' the Master went on. 'You aren't using the Force. Without it, your moves are slow and predictable.'
'I… I'll try harder, Master.'
'Try?' Kas'im turned away in disgust. 'You've lost your will to fight. This lesson is over.'
Realizing he had been dismissed, Bane slowly made his way to the stairs leading down from the temple roof. As he reached them, Kas'im called out one last piece of advice.
'Return when you are ready to embrace the dark side instead of pulling away from it.'
Bane didn't turn to look back: the pain and numbness of his left side made that impossible. But as he hobbled down the stairs, Lord Kas'im's words echoed in his ears with the ring of truth.
This wasn't the first training session he had failed in. And his failures weren't limited to Kas'im and the lightsaber. Bane had gained in both reputation and prestige when he defeated Fohargh; several of the Masters had shown a sudden willingness to give him individual, one-on-one training. Yet despite the extra attention, Bane's skills hadn't progressed at all. If anything, he'd actually taken several steps back.
He made his way through the halls to his room, then lay down gingerly on his bed. There wasn't anything he could do while he was temporarily crippled by the pelko venom except rest and meditate.
It was obvious something was wrong, but he couldn't say exactly what. He no longer felt sharp. He no longer felt alive. When he had first become conscious of the Force flowing through him, his senses had become hyperaware: the world had seemed more vibrant and more real. Now everything was muted and distant. He walked through the halls of the Academy as if he was in some kind of trance.
He wasn't sleeping well; he kept having nightmares. Sometimes he dreamed of his father and the night he died. Other times he dreamed of his fight with Fohargh. Sometimes the dreams blended together, merging into one terrible vision: the Makurth beating him in the apartment on Apatros, his father lying dead in the dueling ring atop the temple on Korriban. And each time Bane would wake choking back a scream, shivering even though his body was bathed in sweat.
