The Knight, Death, and the Devil

Chapter 6: From The Jaws Of Defeat

"You've gone from completely hopeless to merely inept."

Torin felt his spirits lifted by Vathamma's words. The removal of his shock collar hadn't hurt, either. Not that she'd done it out of the kindness of her heart—it would simply look odd for an apprentice to wear one to a duel.

Something's definitely wrong with me.

It was hardly praise, but it was a far cry from the abuse—both verbal and physical—that she had hurled at him over the past few days. She wore her usual black robe, though the red epaulets on her shoulders had been removed and in their place she wore a black headdress with silver lining. It hung down on either side of her her head, covering her hair and leaving only her face visible. A few new bits of jewelry had joined the usual pieces of gold clinging to the small tendrils hanging from her jawline. She wouldn't have looked out of place delivering a eulogy at someone's graveside—quite appropriate, really.

Not that she's going to shed any tears for me.

"You'll still lose, of course."

His heart dropped, and Nomi looked worriedly between Master and Apprentice. He got the distinct impression that she wanted to say something in encouragement, but to do so would contradict her Master—and Vathamma had already decided exactly how this duel would end.

Looking around the hall, Torin took in the mass of people assembled in the temple entryway. The antechamber was enormous, a stone-hewn corridor that led from the entrance to the temple proper. Robed statues stood against the walls with their stone hands clasped meditatively, though the heads seemed to have been violently removed. He recognized some of the designs adorning the walls and recalled the time he'd visited a Jedi temple with his father as a young boy—though he couldn't remember seeing any actual Jedi.

It occurred to him that this must have been a Jedi temple at some point. The Empire hadn't been here long enough for the Sith to get to work erecting stone megastructures. Instead they'd adapted the existing religious infrastructure to their purposes, perverting hallowed ground into something more aligned with their dark faith.

That was what the Sith were, after all—twisted, fallen Jedi. Beaten and exiled across known space, left to wallow in darkness and resentment, growing all wrong in a twisted cocoon until they burst forth on the galaxy like a disease. It'd been millennia since they'd split off from the Jedi order, but their hated origins were still unmistakably embedded in every bit of their culture.

Except for this 'Kaggath'.

He'd never heard of Jedi dueling each other to the death, and he couldn't imagine them ever doing so. Torin had certainly never expected to find himself drawn into one. The crowds of Sith around him huddled in small groups, mingling and whispering to each other while they shot him the occasional sidelong glance. This was his life on the line, but for them it was a mildly amusing weekday diversion. He could tell from the smirks on their faces that like Vathamma, they'd already long since determined the inevitable outcome of the fight.

"Oh, don't look so glum," the Sith said. "You nearly perished in some wretched prison camp. Instead, you can die with honor."

He feigned a smile. "I feel so lucky."

The sound of a gong being struck echoed in the chamber hall, and the crowd began to filter into the doorways lining the sides. Vathamma gripped his shoulders, pointing him to the arena doorway and the two priestly attendants standing on either side of the sealed door.

"You'll do fine," she whispered in his ear, then gave him a shove to get him moving. "Or, you won't."

She followed the crowds making their way to the arena's viewing area, waving a dismissive hand at Torin as he dragged his leaden feet forward. Nomi likewise gave him a small wave before tearing her eyes away and chasing after her master.