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[Legacy Of The Force] - 03(30)

By:Troy Denning


Leia rose and raced toward the archway spinning and tumbling, batting the few blaster bolts that came her way back up the corridor. Han mirrored her progress, scrambling along sideways and laying suppression fire back toward the chandelier. He still had no idea what was happening here, but it was growing more and more apparent that nobody else did, either-and when that happened, the only rule became survival by any means possible.

As they passed through the archway, the pale woman pointed her chin toward the entrance by which they had arrived. “Stairs!”

“Fine by me,” Leia said, leading the way.

They met no resistance as they crossed the chamber, for the suitors who had not taken part in the attack were cowering behind furniture or cringing in corners, unwilling to risk their lives without weapons of their own. From what Han had seen of the assassin so far, it was probably a smart decision.

On the landing outside the chamber, the two door guards lay sprawled and motionless-as did two more on another landing on the opposite side of the turret. So far, there was no sign of any more guards-but Han knew that would be changing very shortly. He led the way down the stairs and into the corridor that led back toward the salon he and Leia had occupied earlier.

The assassin called out behind him. “Wait!”

Han stopped and glanced back to see her kneeling at the entrance to the turret. She was pointing both power blasters up the stairs, but looking toward Han and Leia.

“Where are you going?” she demanded.

“Back to the hangar,” Han answered. “We’ve got to get out of here.”

“No.” The pale woman glanced back into the turret and began to fire up the stairs. “We have a contract to finish.”

“We?” Leia asked.

“Maybe you’re not getting paid, but you’re part of this.” The woman continued to fire with one weapon, but pointed the other at Han’s chest. “And don’t look so surprised. This isn’t exactly the way I expected it to happen, either.”

The knuckles on Leia’s weapon hand went white, but luckily Han was the only one who saw. The royal guards had reached the top of the stairs, and the assassin was busy exchanging fire with them.

“Look,” Leia said. “I don’t know…”

“You obviously know who we are,” Han interrupted. He was beginning to see why the fight had seemed so crazy-the assassins had mistaken him and Leia for people who were supposed to help them get to Tenel Ka. “How about returning the favor?”

The assassin looked away from the stairs long enough to scowl at him. “You don’t know?”

“We haven’t exactly been in the loop,” Leia pointed out, picking up on Han’s strategy. “We just got in from Corellia.”

A flurry of blaster bolts flashed into the corridor, nearly taking off the assassin’s head. She merely rolled out of the doorway and pressed her back against the wall, then glanced over at Leia’s lightsaber.

“Why don’t you call me Nashtah?” She almost seemed to smile. “I’d like that.”

For some reason Han did not understand, the name sent a chill down his back-or maybe that was just the growing stream of blasterfire pouring through the doorway.

“All right, Nashtah,” he said. “In case you haven’t no-need, someone set us up.”

“Tenel Ka obviously knows about the assassination attempt,” Leia added. “And that means we have no chance of getting to her right now. All that can happen is we get trapped and killed.”

“I don’t think she knew we were involved until this started,” Han said. “But that’s changed. We’ve only got about two minutes to get back to the falcon-if we’re lucky. After that, the hangar is going to be sealed up so right even a Hghtsaber won’t be able to cut our way back inside.”

Nashtah’s eyes seemed to grow darker and more sunken as she considered this possibility. Suddenly she dropped into a squat, then whirled back into the doorway and poured a volley of blasterfire up the stairs. There was a chorus of anguished screams.

“Lead!” Nashtah rose and waved them down the corridor, then tapped Leia’s arm with a blaster barrel so hot that it singed the fabric of her robe. “And this had better not be a double cross. There is nothing I love more than killing Jedi.”





Chapter Eight


The Consorts’ Sitting Room stank of smoke, scorched fabric, and seared flesh, and the floor was strewn with charred furniture and blaster-burned bodies. Emergency crews were evacuating the injured while palace security agents holorecorded the dead. On the far side of the chamber, a group of dazed-looking nobles was being sequestered by a detail of the Hapan royal guard.