Chapter 6

IN Valen's Name....
In Valen's Name, what have I done?
Alone in his quarters, paralysed, trapped with his thoughts and his memories and his anger, Sinoval of the Wind Swords clan, Shai Alyt of the holy jihad, Satai of the Grey Council, Entil'zha, Holy One, waited.
Deathwalker they called her, out in the Non-Aligned Worlds where her name was still feared and hated and remembered. Warmaster Jha'dur of the Dilgar. Deathwalker. For decades she had been gone, vanished, believed dead. Sinoval had known otherwise. He, and his predecessors in the Wind Swords clan had sheltered her, given her free rein to perform her sickening experiments and research, benefiting from her insane genius. And now Sinoval and all of Minbar would fall prey to that very same genius.
Outside this room and this spaceship, Minbari were fighting against the Ancient Enemy spoken of in Valen's prophecies. Fighting and dying. Sinoval had decided to order a retreat. The Enemy was too strong for them. But he had been deceived by the enemy within his very stronghold.
Deathwalker had spoken of her monument, of her legacy. Humanity would spread terror and death across the galaxy and become the very embodiment of the race they had destroyed. What a fitting irony. The first stage of this would be the destruction of the Minbari, the same race who had become like the Dilgar in nearly destroying humanity.
And Sinoval had enabled it all to happen.
His mind was burning with a revelation so intense that it left no room for sanity, no place for calm or reserve. No emotion could ever convey the feelings burning within his mind.
In Valen's Name....
You told me! he cried out inside his mind. You told me I had a destiny! You came to me in a vision and said that I would unite all of Minbar behind me, take my people to their fullest destiny! Was this the destiny you spoke of? To destroy them? Is this to be our fate?
He cast his mind back many years, to the first time he had stepped within the Dreaming. He had been at Varmain's side. The legendary warrior-diplomat was dying and she wished one last confirmation that what she had done had been right. He had been a hesitant child then, anxious and concerned, afraid to look up at one so touched by Valen.
"I cannot have a guide who will not look up," Varmain had told him, in that gently forceful tone of hers, the voice that had humbled ambassadors, prophets and emperors. "You will be forever bumping into things."
And he had looked up, and what had he seen? An old woman, who limped and hobbled, whose eyes were dimmed and whose movements were slow. Once warriors and prophets and rulers had trembled at the sound of her footsteps. Now she was simply old and frail, and needed his help to walk.
That had been an important realisation. Everyone, no matter how great, fell in time. No one could be victorious forever. He had later learned a saying from the decadent Centauri. 'Let no man be called happy or great until he be dead.' It had fit Varmain perfectly.
They had entered the Dreaming and Varmain had sat down, ushering him to sit beside her. She had talked slowly of her past and of her great deeds, all immortalised in legend. They had relived her childhood and her love through the images of the Dreaming. At one point she had stopped breathing and Sinoval turned to her. Her eyes opened and she smiled.
"So much," she had said. "Valen has blessed me indeed."
And then she died.
He had not been sure of how to react. Should he leave, call out to the people who waited in the Whisper Gallery, wait for them to come to him?
And then he saw Valen. Who else could it be - a glowing figure who looked at him, wreathed all in light, reaching out an arm. "Minbar's destiny lies in your hands, Sinoval of the Wind Swords clan," he said. "You will reunite Minbar, lead my people to their destiny. Through you, will the Minbari rule the galaxy."
He had passed out then, and when he had awoken, days later, he remembered the vision, and Valen's words, convinced of the rightness of his destiny. He had thrown himself into his work, training alongside Durhan, then still in the prime of life, working hard to rise in the ranks of his clan. When the war came he was an Alyt. By its end he was Shai Alyt, one of Branmer's most trusted advisors. After that, he had risen and risen. Made Satai after Sheridan's assault on the Grey Council over Mars, he soon became the dominant warrior caste voice after Shakat resigned, never having recovered from his injuries sustained in the attack over Mars. Then, with Deathwalker's help, his power grew. People loyal to him, such as Tryfan and Kalain, gained power in the great fleet being massed against the Enemy, and in the Rangers. After Branmer's death and Neroon's disappearance, Sinoval was the obvious choice to become the next Entil'zha. All it took was Delenn's disappearance. After that, the title of Holy One was easy. Sinoval now walked where no one save Valen had in a thousand years.
And all it had cost him was his soul.
Deathwalker had damned him, and doomed Minbar.
No. He had damned himself, and doomed Minbar himself.
In Valen's Name! Was this the destiny I was promised? Is this it?
No, said a voice.
Sinoval looked around, as much as Deathwalker's poison would let him. There was no one in sight.
"Who?" he asked. It took impossible effort even to speak.
You have a destiny. But your pride has subverted you from it. Learn from this. Your destiny is not yet confirmed.
"Valen," he whispered. "Forgive.... me.... Valen. I...."
You must forgive yourself. Learn of your destiny, Sinoval of the Wind Swords. You must learn.
His body was suddenly bathed in light. He closed his eyes tightly and screamed as pain tore through him. His arms jerked outwards, so that they were thrust out. Hidden nails of light pinned his hands and feet to the ground.
"Valen...." he cried. "Valen!"
The light faded and he opened his eyes. He could feel himself again. Slowly, hesitantly, he staggered to his feet, almost falling as he did so. "Valen, are you...?" There was no one.
"Isil'zha veni," he whispered.
Deathwalker. He had to save his people. He had to stop Deathwalker. He had to order the retreat, before his people were destroyed. He had to....
Suddenly, Sinoval stopped. He still had his pike - one of Durhan's nine blades - but that did not seem enough. He went to the small table, one of the few items of furniture in the room, and picked a small item up from it. It was a weapon, a human weapon. He had taken it from Sheridan over a year ago, the last time the human had been held prisoner on Minbar. He thought he knew how to use it.
He picked it up and stuffed it into a pocket in his robe.
"I will not fail you, Valen," he whispered.
"Isil'zha veni."
In Valen's Name....

*  *  *  *  *  *  *

Warleader Na'Kal of the J'Tok looked up at the two ships soaring slowly towards him and the Centauri warship, and closed his eyes. He was not a particularly pious man - his mother had been a haphazard follower of G'Lan, his father had died before Na'Kal had emerged from his mother's pouch. He did however believe in G'Kar, not as a prophet, or as a holy figure, but as a man, as one man with a vision. He did not necessarily believe in that vision, but he knew the chaos his home planet was in. He knew, like G'Kar, that the Narns were a dying people unless action could be taken. Their current war with the Centauri proved that. Na'Kal had fought in the previous war, and he knew just how closely the Narns had come to being annihilated and occupied again. But no, no one else believed that. And now they were making the same mistakes they had always made.
There was something G'Kar had said during his last speech before the Kha'Ri, something he had later repeated in private to Na'Kal. 'Freedom brings responsibility, which is why so many fear it.'
For those raised during the occupation, such as G'Kar and Na'Kal, freedom had come at a very high cost. For those who were younger, freedom was all they had ever known.
The Narns were a dying race, and they would stay that way unless G'Kar did something about it. No one else could.
But perhaps Na'Kal could make a difference.
"Captain Mollari," he said over the commlink. "How is your telepath?"
"Only barely conscious," came the reply. "Certainly not able to hold them off. What about yours?"
"One dead, one near to burn-out." Narn telepaths had been created recently in a private deal between G'Kar and a human telepath. As of yet they were unstable and low-powered.
"Well," Carn Mollari said. "How many of their ships have you taken out? Just for the bet?"
Na'Kal smiled. "Two of their big ships. Five of the smaller ones. You?"
Carn made a gesture of surprise. "The same. Uncle Londo will be disappointed. If we can't best a Narn, who can we beat?"
"It is not over yet. Remember to toast our memory when you celebrate."
"What? Na'Kal, don't...."
Na'Kal deactivated the commlink. He looked up at the ships approaching him. Huge, black, vast against the night of space. Ancient, timeless, powerful. The symbol of past legends, past nightmares, past fears....
Na'Kal closed his eyes and ordered a full forward charge, activating a full-focussed, forward blast as he did so. The J'Tok could not maintain such firepower or such speed long, but it would not need to.
The first Shadow ship's energy blast tore into the front of the J'Tok, destroying everything and everyone on the bridge in a blinding flash of light, but that did not matter.
The J'Tok smashed into the vessel, and exploded. The Shadow ship emitted a scream that tore through the minds of everyone on board the Valerius, as it died.
Na'Kal had won his bet after all.

*  *  *  *  *  *  *

"Valen said that we would reunite with the other half of our soul in a war against the common enemy. We all know who the Enemy is, and they have returned. As for the other half of our soul...."
Delenn drew a deep breath and hoped that her wince at the pain in her chest was not noticeable. She could see that many of those looking at her were doing so with hatred and suspicion. She was Zha'valen - outcast. By all rights they should not even be listening to her.
"The other half of our soul are the humans. They share our souls. They have Minbari souls. Minbari and humans are closely linked. My very presence here proves it. I am now partially human. I made this change to become a bridge between our peoples, a focus point to unite us against the Enemy.
"We have lost our way. We have all abandoned our covenant with Valen! This war.... it is wrong. We are destroying our own souls, and we are forsaking Valen's memory and wishes. If we have abandoned him, if we have abandoned everything that makes us who we are, then what do we have left?"
There was a moment's silence. Delenn could see the bitter, angry gazes focussed on her. Beside her Lennann shuffled his feet nervously. She knew that this was dangerous. By Minbari law no one should speak to her, or even look at her. But she had to try. She had to make then listen. She had to make them understand.
"You tell us, Delenn," said a voice she knew and recognised. Callenn, head of her clan. He had always been so convinced of Minbari purity. She remembered his reaction when Dukhat had been killed - a fury that rivalled that of any warrior.
"You tell us what our future holds. Looking like you - becoming like you. Letting the humans kill us all as they killed Dukhat, and Shakiri, letting them cripple us as they crippled Shakat and Branmer. I would have thought that you more than anyone would not be advocating this course. Remember that it was you whose casting vote began this war."
Delenn remembered. How could she ever forget?
"I remember," she said softly. "And I freely admit it as a mistake. I was wrong! We were wrong! How far must we go before we admit our mistake? How many must we kill before we realise we are fighting the wrong enemy? In how much blood must we all wade before we realise this is wrong?"
"You have been among humans too long, Delenn," Callenn noted. "You have even begun to speak like them."
"The humans have their own perspective on things. Who is to say that theirs is any less accurate than our own?"
"Certainly not a traitor. The Grey Council has named you Zha'valen, Delenn. The Grey Council calls you traitor, anathema. The Grey Council says that you helped Sheridan Starkiller escape from his imprisonment before. The Grey Council says that you work with the Enemy, of your own will. Now perhaps the Grey Council is wrong, but your very appearance before us, looking like that, speaking those words.... that confirms that it is you who has lost your way, Delenn. It is you who has abandoned our covenant with Valen. It is you who has betrayed us all.
"I do not hate you, Delenn. You have been corrupted by humans, by the Starkiller. I simply pity you. You have lost your way. And so, in memory of what you once were, I do not wish to punish you any more than has already been done.
"In sorrow, and memory, Delenn."
Callenn inclined his head gently, not making the full Minbari gesture of departure, and then he left. Slowly, the others began to file out after him. "No!" Delenn cried. "You must listen! Please, you must listen to me!"
But they did not listen, and they did not care. Only one other person stopped to look at her before leaving. Delenn recognised him. It was Ashan, a member of the Third Fane of Chudomo, and an acolyte in service to the Grey Council.
He said one word. "Zha'valen."
And then he left.
Lennann touched Delenn's shoulder gently. "I am sorry, Delenn," he said. "We tried."
"But we did not try hard enough," she said, her eyes blazing. "We will try harder."
"Delenn, if your own clan will not listen to you, then who...?"
"The Grey Council. They will listen, if I have to make them listen. This is wrong, Lennann! This is wrong and I must show them that it is so. I was the chosen of Dukhat, and I held him when he died. His spirit is in my eyes. If he could see what his people have become, then he would curse us from where he now rests with Valen! I must fulfill his last legacy, Lennann.
"The Grey Council will listen to me. There is no other alternative."

*  *  *  *  *  *  *

David Corwin had seen many things in his life thus far. He had seen life, he had seen death. He had seen the terrifying sight of Minbari cruisers bearing down upon the Babylon. He had seen the joy in Susan's eyes reflected in his own. He had seen the death in her eyes when she had betrayed them all. He had seen Delenn's first, faltering steps as partially human. He had seen the Captain's eyes in the second when he had killed his wife.
David Corwin had seen many things, but nothing had affected him as badly as the sight of Alisa Beldon dying on the bridge of the Parmenion, shaking, trembling, whimpering, exhausted by her ordeals.
Corwin was not a telepath, and he had always looked upon the trait with mixed feelings when he imagined what it would be like. The wonder of touching someone's mind compared to the terror of the utterly alien. Alisa had been experiencing the latter for hours now, jamming and delaying the vast Shadow vessels, making contact with something so utterly, terrifyingly alien that it nearly paralysed him.
The battle had not gone entirely as planned - the Captain's capture for one thing - but at least they were still alive, and it looked as if Proxima 3 had been saved. From the Minbari at least. Whether it could be saved from the Shadows was another matter.
Alisa's eyes fluttered and Corwin knelt down beside her. Medical staff had been called, but he knew that it was futile. She was dying. She had drained herself. All for him and the Captain. She was dying because she trusted him to do the right thing with her life.
Damn you, Bester! he thought. Damn you for making me do this! And damn the Captain for leaving and making me the one who had to be here. Damn all of them!
"Did I.... do.... well?" she asked. He nodded, and closed his eyes, unable to think of anything to say.
One of the techs looked up. "Another Shadow vessel closing, sir."
"Bring us around," Corwin ordered. He rose, but he was still looking at Alisa. She tried to stagger to her feet as well. "Stay and rest," he ordered.
"Sorry, sir," she whispered, looking up at the viewscreen and the approaching ship. "I.... can't.... do.... that...."
He saw the ship hesitate. She wasn't strong enough to paralyse it completely, but it was delayed.
"Hit it!" he shouted. "Break that bloody thing apart!"
Broadsides, forward cannon, all poured at the ship. It shook slightly as more and more energy rained on it. Before his eyes, it withered and died.
It wasn't the only one. As he turned, Alisa collapsed again. This time she would not get up. He knew it. He went to her side, and waited patiently as her last breaths faded. He did not have to wait long.
Gently, he closed her eyes and looked back up at the viewscreen. Now he understood what he had never understood before. The Captain's attack on the Minbari over Mars. Theoretically his attack should never have had the effect that it did. But he had torn apart a Minbari fleet and crippled the Grey Council. How? Pure anger. He had been working on a fury so intense, so strong, that it had been almost tangible.
Corwin felt that strong now. He felt that anger. He felt that fury.
Every instinct was telling him to pull back, to reorganise the ship, to draw in the Starfuries. It was the logical response, but he didn't care about logic now.
"Take us forward!" he ordered. "Into the fire."

*  *  *  *  *  *  *

Captain Sheridan was also dwelling on life and death. When he was alone and in a seemingly difficult situation, he tended to fall into morbidity. While Delenn had been here his mind had been racing with ploys for escape, or a means to cheer her up. The two had ended up swapping stories with each other. He wasn't sure, but he did think that some of her stories put paid to the old idea that Minbari did not lie.
But now he was alone, surrounded by darkness. His plans for escape were still germinating, but for the moment had not reached fruition. His thoughts had moved back to that peculiar incident not long ago.
The door had opened, and Sheridan had half started forward, expecting to see Delenn there. Instead it had been a figure he had not recognised. The figure stepped forward and the door closed.
Anticipating an attack, he had tried to prepare himself, but there had been a sudden and almost impossibly fast thrust to his abdomen and he had fallen. There had been a light pin prick and a feeling of numbness in his neck and then he had blacked out. That was it. No words, no gloating, no.... nothing.
Perhaps it had been some sort of drug. Regardless, he was not worrying about it now. If he ever got out of this, then he would have to get it checked out by the doctors on Sanctuary. If he didn't, then it didn't matter, did it?
He started. The door was opening again. For a small cell, this place was certainly busy. He waited for someone to enter, but no one did. "You may come out, Captain," said a voice. The owner of the voice was speaking System English, but with a heavy Minbari accent. Sheridan slowly stepped forward and left the cell.
The transition from the dark cell to the lit corridor had been a little difficult and he was forced to blink rapidly to order his vision. He kept himself close to the doorway in case this was a trick of some kind.
It was not.
The Minbari was wearing a white robe and he bowed slightly when he looked at Sheridan. "You are free, Captain," the Minbari said. "Holy One Sinoval has ordered me to free you. If you will follow me, then I will escort you to a shuttle from where you may go back to your ship."
"What? Why would Sinoval do that?"
"The Holy One does not share his reasonings with me."
"Where is Delenn?"
The acolyte winced a little. "Where the Zha'valen is, is not my concern, Captain. You are. If you will...."
"I'm not leaving without Delenn."
The acolyte made a gesture that in a human would be taken as a sigh. "Holy One Sinoval did say that you might take this attitude. I was expecting her to be here, but as she is not, I do not know where she is. I may, however, know one who does. If you will care to follow me."
"If this is some trap...."
"Are all humans so paranoid? Surely if this were a trap, I could have left you in there. Oh, Holy One Sinoval told me to give this to you as well."
The acolyte handed over a small cylinder of metal. Sheridan recognised the pike Delenn had given him - the one she had taken from the future Susan aboard Babylon 4, the one that Susan had originally taken from Delenn during her capture on Minbar. Time paradoxes made his head hurt.
Yes, this was definitely that pike. He extended it. The old bloodstains there were in exactly the same position he remembered. Evidently Susan had not cleaned it between whenever they were caused and the time Delenn had taken the weapon back.
"This is a bit dangerous, isn't it?" Sheridan said. "What if I attacked you with this now?"
"That would not be advisable. Now. If you would follow me. We will see if we can find the Zha'valen."

*  *  *  *  *  *  *

Choking I'm choking pain can't think can't think Marcus choking I'm choking pain Marcus Marcus.... help me choking Marcus help me help me help me
Lyta Alexander was hovering on the thin border between consciousness and unconsciousness and the equally thin border between sanity and madness. All she could see was the dark core of pain burning in the eyes of Susan Ivanova as she tried to choke her life from her.
Again she tried to reach her telepathic powers and again she failed. The sleepers she had been given were too strong. The Vorlon who had helped her override their control before was gone now. Either gone or not willing to help her. There was no weapon near enough, Ivanova's Minbari fighting pike - the very one which had killed Marcus - having rolled out of her grip.
She was alone, more so than she had ever been before.
Marcus....
Her body shook as she tried desperately to draw in some breath. A last, frantic urge to survive, to endure this brutal, pain-maddened assault. She had no time to think, no energy to rationalise. She could only see the woman who had killed the one she loved and who was now trying to kill her.
She clawed out with her fingers, desperately trying to reach the pike, hoping beyond hope that it was still within reach.
It wasn't.
Choking I'm choking Marcus help me Marcus you can't be dead Marcus help me
Lyta closed her eyes, willing at last to surrender. She would not be alone when she died. At least, she hoped she wouldn't be. She hoped that she would meet up with Marcus again. She hoped that....
Her fingers touched the pike's cold surface and she instinctively wrapped them around it. For a moment she thought she was hallucinating, but then she felt it stick to her skin, the tackiness of Marcus' freshly spilled blood.
Acting almost on instinct, she extended the weapon. She had never wielded one before. She had never even seen one before, but that hardly mattered. There were many subtle fighting styles and techniques involved with the fighting pike, some of which took decades to master. Not even the legendary Durhan had learned them all.
Lyta didn't care. She wasn't planning on fighting anyone with it.
She manoeuvred the pike around and brought it up into Ivanova's side. The Shadow agent started and loosened her grip on Lyta's neck, allowing the telepath to breathe at last. Gasping, almost gagging for breath, Lyta brought the pike up again. The blow was harder this time and Ivanova fell back. She too seemed breathless and in agony.
Lyta pulled herself up to a kneeling position and looked at Ivanova, breathing harshly, but her eyes still as dark. Slowly, almost without realising what she was doing, holding the pike in two hands, she swung it in a deadly arc.
There was a slow, damp crunch as the weapon struck the side of Ivanova's head. The Shadow agent slumped to the ground, her body engulfed by spasms and twitches. Low moans and gasps came from her mouth.
Lyta dropped the weapon and slumped to the ground herself. It took her every effort to remain conscious and to simply breathe. Her side ached, the bruises from her beating by Security Officer Boggs seemed more sore and painful than before. Her head pounded, both from Ivanova's attack and from her ordeal in breaking past the sleepers. She was certain that she was partially concussed. Her vision was swimming.
After a while she was dimly aware of gentle hands shaking her. Marcus! was her first thought, but then she relived his death, remembering it in agonisingly slow motion. Then she thought about the security guards, and she was gripped by sheer panic. But then.... but then....
Her eyes opened almost dreamily and she found herself staring at the concerned face of a Narn. His red eyes seemed to peer into her very soul. Gently, he helped her up to a sitting position. She rested against him for a moment, allowing herself the hopeless illusion that he was Marcus, come back to life to be with her. Then reality intruded, as it always did.
"Miss Alexander, my name is Ta'Lon," the Narn said. "I have been sent here to help you and Marcus Cole...."
"He's dead," she whispered. "He's.... dead."
"I know. I am sorry I arrived too late. We.... we have to go. I have a shuttle that can take us away from here. Sooner or later people will discover what you have done here, and then you will be in trouble."
"Why.... why come and help me?"
"The one I work for believes you may be a great assistance to him. He has been told about your.... silent companion."
He meant the Vorlon. She knew he meant the Vorlon. "I don't care," she whispered. "He couldn't...." Kosh couldn't save Marcus and he wouldn't help her. She hoped to never hear his voice again. "I...."
"Can you walk? I can carry you, but...."
"No. I can walk. I just want to...."
Lyta staggered to her feet and moved forward, haltingly and unsteadily, towards Marcus. She knelt down beside him. He was dead and his face was marked by the same grief and anger and confusion that had marked his whole life. Not even in death had he found peace.
"You left me alone," she said, almost accusingly. "You.... left.... me.... alone.... Oh, Marcus!" She began to cry, slow, halting tears. She simply leaned over his body, crying. She couldn't think of anything else to say, she couldn't think of all the things she should have told him, all the things they should have done....
It didn't make sense, but then life didn't. All she knew was that she was alone again.
"I'm ready," she said, as she hobbled away from Marcus, throwing the bloodied pike aside. She never wanted to look at it again. She shot at glance at Ivanova. Impossibly, the Shadow agent was still alive, but much of her face was caved in, covered with blood. Her eyes were rolled up into her skull and she was whimpering softly, trembling and shaking. Lyta walked away. She didn't.... she couldn't.... she just wanted to be away from here.
Ta'Lon did not need to carry her. She could carry herself. She always had before and she would have to again.
Outside the door they both ran into General Hague.

*  *  *  *  *  *  *

For a thousand years the Grey Council had been the leaders of Minbar, the nine greatest of the Minbari, who led with wisdom and courage and grace. Formed by Valen at the end of the last Great War, the gathering of nine had ended centuries of bloody civil warring on Minbar. From then on, no Minbari would ever kill another. All of Minbar trusted and followed their nine leaders who inherited the legacy of Valen.
So when did the Nine fall? The death of Dukhat? The bloody, genocidal war against the humans? The ascension of one as proud and as arrogant as Sinoval to Holy One? The moment when Delenn - perhaps their last hope - was declared Zha'valen? Or had the Council always been corrupted by darkness and that darkness had simply never been evident before?
Regardless of where it began, it ended at the Battle of the Second Line.
It is easy to speak of if only.... If only Delenn had gone straight to the Hall of the Council and not wasted time talking with her clan.... if only Sinoval had killed Deathwalker instead of exiling her.... if only Sheridan had escaped the trap on Vega 7.... if only wise Hedronn had spoken up against Sinoval's ambition.... if only Sinoval had had Sheridan freed a few moments earlier.... if only Dukhat had reacted quicker.... if only Delenn's casting vote had been different....
Dwelling on the past is largely futile, for it cannot be changed, but still, that does not stop anyone trying....
When Delenn and Lennann arrived at the Hall of the Council it was to find the columns of light dead. They slowed and hesitated. There had been no acolytes on duty outside the Hall - an unprecedented event. Even when the Council was absent, the acolytes were always there. And the Council should not be absent. Yes, Sinoval had sent them away to meditate, but they had been recalled. This was wrong. This was very, very....
Delenn stumbled in the darkness and had to sway to regain her balance. Her equilibrium was not ideal at the best of times since her change, but this was no accident. She had tripped over something.
"Lights," she called out. The nine columns of light appeared and Delenn saw what she had tripped over.
"In Valen's Name," Lennann rasped. Delenn was silent. She could not think of any words to say to greet the sight of Satai Dulann's body. Her throat had been crushed. Not far from Satai Dulann was Satai Matokh, a warrior.... and another behind him, and another....
Four of the Nine lay in the circle, their bodies twisted and broken. Almost half of the Grey Council killed. In the centre of the circle was another, but he was not dead....
Hedronn was kneeling, rasping angry prayers to Valen, prayers that went unheeded. Beside him was the staff of the Grey Council, the one Sinoval carried in his position as Holy One, the one he allowed Hedronn to carry in his absence. The staff was covered in blood.
"Hedronn," Delenn whispered, horrified. She had know him for many cycles. She had trusted in his wisdom and his clarity of thought. He had been stubborn, yes, but always wise. To see.... this....
"Hedronn." He heard her and turned, and Delenn started. In his eyes.... madness.... a pure, intense, psychopathic madness. He scooped up the staff and charged forward, holding it over his head, issuing a roar of anger and hatred that Delenn would not have thought possible.
Delenn remained transfixed and would doubtless have been killed had not Lennann acted, pulling her out of the way. Hedronn's charge continued and he stumbled over Dulann's body, crashing to the floor. He was weeping, harsh, angry, tragic tears.
"Valen.... forgive me.... Valen.... forgive...."
"Alcohol," said a quietly observant, half mocking voice. "Alcohol. Such a wonderful substance. Humans turn to it for comfort and as a rite of passage. Narns pride themselves on their alcoholic drinks, making them with a precision and love that not even decades of occupation could erase. The Centauri drink it almost as much as they breathe their air. The Minbari alone in the entire galaxy react to alcohol in this way. Homicidal paranoia. Murderous anger. It is refreshing to know that deep down, you are no better than the humans. Worse even."
"Who?" Lennann asked. "You.... you did this. You...."
The figure stepped forward and bowed deeply. "Warmaster Jha'dur of the Dilgar. Some call me Deathwalker."
"Why?" Lennann asked. "Why have you...?"
"The name. They call me Deathwalker. Besides, I am merely fulfilling the prophecies. Valen said that the Council would be broken, did he not? And lo, it is broken. Four dead.... sorry, five, if you include poor, dear Rathenn. Hedronn will doubtless kill himself when the alcohol I gave him wears off and he realises just what he has done. Sinoval.... can wait, and Kalain will probably be more useful to me alive. Especially when word reaches him that the Grey Council was killed by a worker."
"Minbari do not kill Minbari," Lennann whispered, horrified.
"That is the saying, is it not? Unfortunately it appears that someone let a certain Centauri Ambassador know of events here, and word of this will reach Minbar soon. There is no Valen to help save you this time."
Lennann let out a long, wordless scream and charged forward. Deathwalker smiled, and drew her fighting pike. Sinoval was better at the pike than Deathwalker was, but Sinoval was better than everyone. Lennann had no weapon. He did not stand a chance.
His body slumped to the floor, sightless eyes staring up into the light.
Delenn backed away slowly and paused beside Matokh's body. He would have a pike. He always carried his weapon, despite rulings to the contrary. Sure enough, it was hidden under his robes.
Delenn had been trained well with the pike. Draal had been known to wield it from time to time, but it was Neroon, the only Minbari alive who could pose a match to Sinoval, who had taught her the art of wielding such a weapon. He had even given her his weapon, which had been given to him by Durhan - one of the fabled nine blades. That weapon was lost now. Sinoval probably had it. It was tainted anyway, having been wielded in murder by Susan Ivanova. Matokh's might serve to avenge him.
Deathwalker smiled.
If only....

*  *  *  *  *  *  *

General William Hague had also had a high image of himself. A lofty, noble image. He served Earth and humanity. He had risen high. His record was impressive. His actions were noble.
He was never certain of where it began. Jealousy of Captain Sheridan, for doing what he could not? Perhaps. Hatred of the Minbari for destroying Earth, for killing his wife and family? Almost certainly. Fear of what the Minbari would do when they came to Proxima 3? Yes. God, yes.
He tried rationalising it to himself. What Ivanova had said had been correct. Lyta Alexander would die anyway without Shadow assistance. She would probably be executed for treason even if the Minbari didn't destroy Proxima. What harm was there in letting Ivanova take her? What harm?
Hague could justify it to himself as many times as he liked, but the fact remained that he knew in his heart that what he had done was wrong. Very, very wrong. He had betrayed everything he stood for, everything he set himself up to be. He had come here, down to Ivanova's quarters, not to stop what was happening, but simply to be here. Simply to.... to what? Perform penance? To listen as Ivanova killed Lyta?
Instead he was staring at the one he had sent to her death. Slowly, he bowed his head, unable to think. He could see Lyta staring at him. She was still alive, then. Maybe.... maybe what he had done hadn't mattered then. Maybe....
"Where.... where is Ambassador.... Ivanova?" he asked, slowly.
"Inside," Lyta replied. She was bruised, and limping, but she was still alive. That was good. That was.... good.
"Go!" Hague snapped. "I.... Go.... Leave here. We're damned. We're all damned."
He brushed past them and entered Ivanova's quarters. He had a feeling that they would be leaving. He hoped.... he just hoped that.... that they would be.... safe. That.... they would....
He looked around slowly. Ivanova was curled up into a foetal position, whimpering and crying out and covered with blood. A man's body lay just opposite her. It was Marcus Cole, Sheridan's - and later Ivanova's - bodyguard. And elsewhere there were.... two.... things....
Hague dropped to his knees. He wanted to cry, but there was no room for tears, no place for remorse, no time for anguish. There was only one thing to do. Only one thing he could do.
He took out his PPG and placed it inside his mouth.
What was one more body in the foundations of Golgotha?

*  *  *  *  *  *  *

And elsewhere there was death too. Death stalked the corridors of the Grey Council's ship. Of the fabled Grey Council, only two lived. Each knew a little piece of what had happened. Sinoval knew of what Deathwalker was planning to do, but not how she was planning to do it. And Kalain had seen the results of what she had done, but not who had done it.
He had seen Hedronn, lying alone in the darkness, surrounded by bodies. He could see his people outside, dying at the hands of the enemy, needing an order to retreat that would never come. He could see the Grey Council reduced to nothing, and his sole thought was one word.
Starkiller.
Kalain had seen the Starkiller's furious assault over Mars and he had been afraid. His fear had let two members of the Grey Council die before the guns and bombs of the Babylon. He had seen the Starkiller on Epsilon 3, where they had fought hand to hand. Kalain had nearly won - would have won if it had not been for the interference of that damned Narn. He had learned the truth about Sheridan Starkiller - that he was just a man. A man who bled and hurt and died. Kalain's anger turned inwards, focussed on himself rather than the Starkiller. He made a silent promise to Sinoval, to Valen and to himself that he would kill the Starkiller.
But now he was too late. The Grey Council was broken and only one man could be responsible. The Starkiller. In his haste, in his anger, Kalain had missed every clue, and Deathwalker had let him, not knowing that if he succeeded, then her plans would be under threat as well. But she let him be. Anger was always a useful servant.
And, lo and behold, the Starkiller was not in his cell. Neither was the Zha'valen whore who had let him escape last time. Kalain forgot everything else that he was and became a simple force of nature, a being who existed only to kill the Starkiller.
And, soon enough, he did.
Sheridan was with an acolyte - another traitor to Minbar. Yet another traitor. Did no one believe in Valen, in the Nine, in the One any more?
Kalain killed the acolyte first. A blow to the base of the spine and then a killing strike to the neck.
Sheridan staggered back, obviously trying to flee. He reached instinctively for his dishonourable human weapon, which was of course not there.
Another weapon was. He extended the pike and Kalain's eyes widened. He recognised the markings. One of Durhan's nine. An Earther.... the Starkiller wielded one of Durhan's nine blades! Sacrilege left no word for it.
Kalain gave a roar of anger and pain and grief and charged forward.... There could be no mercy, and no Narns this time.

*  *  *  *  *  *  *

"Report?" Corwin ordered. He was discovering a hard lesson. Even the greatest of furies only lasts so long.
"Hull integrity just over thirty percent. Jump engines down. Left broadsides exhausted. Right broadsides not far off. Forward and aft batteries off line."
"Any word from Ben Zayn, from the Narn ship, from Proxima, from anyone?"
"Negative, sir."
Corwin sat back. "Well, I don't suppose anyone gets to live forever, do you?"
"I wouldn't mind giving it a try," muttered the lieutenant.
Corwin couldn't help but look at Alisa. The medical staff were too busy to remove her body, and so he left it where it was. Death was no respecter of dignity. "We all would," he said softly.
"Hold on," barked the lieutenant. "There's a jump gate opening. A lot of jump gates opening."
Corwin leapt to his feet. "More Minbari?" Even they were preferable to those Shadows.
"No. They're.... Oh, my God."
"On screen."
Corwin looked at the sight before him. "What do those ships look like to you, lieutenant?"
"I'm not sure, sir, but if I had to.... I'd say they were Vorlon ships."
"I'd say you were right."