Alliances (Star Wars: Thrawn, #2)(52)

“Perhaps you should have protested more vigorously,” Vader suggested. He focused on the man’s throat, stretching out to give it just the slightest hint of a squeeze.

Nodlia’s eyes bulged, his hands grabbing futilely at the untouchable grip on his throat. “Sirs, please—I beg you.”

“Calm yourself,” Thrawn said. His hand moved a few millimeters in Vader’s direction.

A suggestion. Possibly an order.

No matter. Vader had already planned for it to be a small, harmless lesson. The man knew too much to be killed outright. He released the grip, watching as the bartender seemed to collapse a little. “Who were they?” he asked. “More Darshi?”

Nodlia nodded, a jerky motion.

“Those Darshi?” Vader added, nodding toward three of the aliens who had come in during the Imperials’ absence and were now sitting around a back table, nervously watching the newcomers out of the corners of their eyes.

“No, not them,” Nodlia said. “Others.”

“Fortunately, the absence of the bodies is of little importance,” Thrawn said. “I had already seen what I needed. Lord Vader, would you bring me one of the knives from those Darshi?”

Vader snorted to himself. One of the knives? Surely the admiral was joking. Stretching out with the Force, he pulled all three of the weapons from their sheaths and brought them flying to the bar.

Thrawn was ready, reaching up one hand to catch the lead knife as it arrowed toward the wall behind the bar. Vader caught the other two.

One of the Darshi started to rise from his chair in protest, seemed to think better of it, and sat back down.

“Thank you,” Thrawn said calmly. “Do you see the blade, Lord Vader, and the pattern etched on the metal?”

“Yes,” Vader said, studying the knives in his hands. It wasn’t just simple etching, he saw now, but a highly intricate pattern of lines and curves set into the metal.

“There is little in the Imperial files on these beings,” Thrawn continued, “but you will immediately see that these knives are not at all like the one I showed you earlier. You will also see that these knives fit the slight curve of their sheaths, while our attacker’s knife was too short, too narrow, and with a straight blade. In addition, the grooves worn into our attacker’s belt were too deep to have been made by the sheath of a weapon that light. They were created by a knife of this size and heft.”

Vader thought back. He’d been distracted at the time, but he saw now that Thrawn was correct. “It was not the knife he normally carried.”

“Correct,” Thrawn said. “It was a substitute. The question is, why did he not have his normal knife?”

“And why did he not use the one he carried against us?” Vader said. “Even a ceremonial weapon should be used freely when death is the only alternative.”

“Indeed,” Thrawn said. “I suggest that someone had taken his normal knife, and that the replacement was there merely for show. Perhaps he feared that drawing it would reveal the deception to all around him.”

“Interesting,” Vader rumbled. “Perhaps the value of the weapons goes deeper than mere ceremony.”

“A token of honor and family, perhaps,” Thrawn agreed. “Something akin to the Kalikori of the Twi’leks. I note that the etchings on these three blades are of different lengths and complexities, which would support the idea that family heritage is a part of the design.”

“Perhaps we should inquire of them,” Vader suggested, turning toward the three Darshi.

“Perhaps we should,” Thrawn said. “Nodlia, which of them would you suggest would be most forthcoming?”

“Please,” Nodlia pleaded, his voice shaking. “I don’t want to be in the middle of this. Not again.”

“Then tell us what we need to know,” Thrawn said. “Tell us what was in the cylinders the strangers took to the houses.”

Nodlia looked at him, then at Vader, taking in the broken coating of gray stone on both of them. “I don’t know,” he said, keeping his voice down as if he was afraid the Darshi would hear. “They didn’t say. I didn’t ask.”

“Did the newcomers look like this?” Thrawn asked. Holding his holoprojector in front of him, he pulled up an image of a wide-shouldered creature with angled brow ridges, a tapered skull, and deep-set eyes.

Nodlia twitched back. “Yes,” he breathed. “That’s them. They brought in the coffins. The cylinders. They frightened us.”

Vader frowned at the image. The creatures weren’t pretty, certainly, but he’d faced plenty of bigger and nastier-looking opponents. “You are easily frightened,” he rumbled contemptuously.

Nodlia swallowed hard. “The Darshi were afraid of them,” he murmured. “Some of the Darshi became their servants.” He shook his head. “I’ve seen a lot of Darshi. Made them drinks, watched them argue. My experience is that they never serve anyone. Not willingly.”

Vader gestured to the image. “One of the First Legion’s prisoners?”

“Yes,” Thrawn confirmed. “Commander Kimmund sent it to me while you were bringing the freighter.” He half turned it around to gaze thoughtfully at the alien’s face. “So this is a Grysk.”

Nodlia inhaled sharply. “That’s a Grysk?”