Read Star Wars - Lost Tribe of the Sith 01 - Precipice for Free Online Page B

Ahri.
    She barely paid attention to Tikk, keeping her eyes glued to the strange vessel as it grew smaller and finally vanished from her sight. When she could see it no longer, Vestara took a deep, steadying breath, then gathered up the long hem of her robes, turned to where Tikk patiently awaited her, and began to run as fast as her long legs would carry her in the cumbersome sand, using the Force to stabilize her feet and push her along.
    “Come on,” she called over her shoulder.
    “Where are we going?” asked Ahri, hastening to catch up.
    Vestara Force-leapt upward, landing gracefully on the broad back of the uvak. Ahri followed suit, his arms slipping around her waist as he sat behind her.
    “To follow the ship,” Vestara said. “Couldn’t you feel it? It was for us, Ahri.”
    Tikk gathered himself, shifting his weight from one clawed foot to the other, then sprang upward.
    “For us?” Ahri shouted over the beat of the membranous, veined wings—wings so very like those of the vessel that had brushed Vestara’s thoughts only a few heartbeats earlier.
    “For us,” Vestara repeated firmly. She didn’t know how she knew, only that she did.
    The vessel had come for them. For younglings. For apprentices.
    It had come for Sith.
    It was not a very great distance as an uvak flew to the Sith Temple. Accessible only from the air or by a perilous climb, the Temple had been created to protect and watch over the Ship of Destiny and house the survivors of the crash. Vestara had visited here many times before, ever since she had become a Tyro. But she was more excited now than she had been even on her first trip so long ago.
    Tikk’s leathery wings beat steadily, and the Temple came into view. It had been hewn from the very rock that had been the destruction of the Ship of Destiny—the
Omen.
It was very much like the Sith, Vestara thought, to take that which had been responsible for their greatest hardship and make it serve them. She knew the history of its creation; how the original Sith crew, equipped only with lightsabers and a few handheldenergy weapons, had cut into the mountain’s heart and shaped the spires, walls, and windows of the massive central Temple. Other wings were added as the centuries crawled past.
    Most of the initial work had been done by the Sith, who could move huge chunks of rock with the power of the Force. Later, here and many kilometers away in the capital city of Tahv, the Keshiri—Ahri’s people, the native humanoid species of this world—were put to work, with the Sith in charge. Tahv bore the stamp of a place that had been expanded by a people who had the luxury to appreciate art and beauty; the Temple, while beautiful in its own right, as the first home of the Sith was more functional than decorative. The statuary, of early Sith leaders, including Captain Yaru Korsin, the first commander of the
Omen
, had been brought in much later, and the lovely carvings were an almost delicate counterpoint to the hard beauty of the Temple architecture.
    Not visible from the air, but housed protectively within a special, highly secured section of the Temple, was said to be the
Omen
itself. Some muttered that the vessel was nothing more than bits and pieces of twisted metal, preserved only for sentimental reasons. Others believed that much of what it had once been still remained, its knowledge hoarded and shared with only the select few who ascended to the lofty ranks of the Sith Lords or the Masters.
    But Vestara was not interested in admiring the black spires and functional, simple terraces of the Temple, or the beautiful figurines of its courtyard. And for once, her thoughts did not drift toward wondering what secrets the
Omen
contained. This time, her eyes were on the sphere of livid orange-red that sat in the middle of the courtyard of the Sith Temple.
    Vestara’s breath caught in her throat again, and shestared, not even wanting to blink. Suddenly she felt as if all her life had simply been