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| Volume 4: A Future, Born in Pain | Part III: A Universe of Majesty and Terror |
"THEY call me a monster, they call me a heretic, a blasphemer, an abomination.
"They can call me whatever they like. I do not care. Their words cannot hurt me, their anger cannot harm me, their hatred is not a weapon I fear.
"Am I not still their leader?"
Primarch Sinoval the Accursed.
* * * * * * *
Some words, once spoken, can never be taken back. Some thoughts, once given birth, are forever. Some plans, once set in motion, can never be undone.
Sinoval is the Primarch Nominus et Corpus of the Order of Soul Hunters. He thinks he knows what that means.
He is the leader of the Minbari Federation, or at least of the part of it that recognises his sovereignty. He thinks he knows what that will cost him.
He is called the Accursed. He does not care.
He is incapable of love, but he understands revenge all too well. Of friends, he has had precious few, but his enemies are almost without number. He is not afraid of any living thing.
He has never looked back with regret, or shame. Anger, yes, grief, yes.... but never has he said 'if only I had done that' or 'if only I had not done that'. Those words have no power over him. He is not a slave to the past.
Only to the future.
That is the greatest strength, and his greatest flaw.
Those who cannot learn from the past are doomed to repeat it.
He stands on the pinnacle of Cathedral, the highest point of the ancient structure that is home to the Order of Soul Hunters. He stares out across the infinity of space. His heart is filled with anger, and hatred, and determination.
The Vorlons have taken away one he admired, and they have tainted one he respected. People not as fitting to lead in war as he is, but people so much more destined to lead in peace. They are lost now, both of them.
He will not let their loss be in vain.
He begins to speak, and without knowing he dooms himself, and maybe his people. He was warned, by the technomage Vejar for one and the Primarch Majestus et Conclavus for another, but he chose not to heed, or maybe he has heeded, and simply decides it is worth the risk.
"Tell me, Primarch," he says....
* * * * * * *
"Tell me, Primarch, in all the history of your order, ever since the Well of Souls was first born, has any of your order ever taken a Vorlon soul?"
It would take a great deal to shock or surprise the Primarch Majestus et Conclavus, spiritual leader of the Order of Soul Hunters and their link to the mystical Well of Souls. Sinoval's question did not do either.
"No," said the voice, the ageless voice. It had been almost two years since Sinoval had first come to Cathedral and stood before the Primarch, making his offer. In that time the two had come to know and respect each other, perhaps even become friends, if such a thing was possible for either. The Primarch was not surprised by that question: Sinoval's obsession with the Vorlons was in no way a secret.
"No. Vorlons are long-lived beings, and very solitary. We are no more welcome in their worlds than we would have been in Valen's Temples on Minbar. Vorlons do not die easily, or commonly." He paused, deep in thought. "There was.... a legend, of one of our Order who achieved such a thing. It was deep in Vorlon space, and he managed to save one of their souls.
"Alas, he never returned here. We believe, if there was any truth to the story, that he was intercepted and destroyed by Vorlon ships before he could leave. Of course, that may be a mere legend. The Well of Souls would know."
"It is possible, then?" Sinoval said. "It.... can be done."
"In theory, of course. All living beings of the universe have souls, and all living beings of the universe must die, whether sooner or later. It is very difficult, however, to save the soul of a Vorlon. As I said, they are long-lived, and dislike intruders into their realms."
A slow, self-satisfied smile crossed Sinoval's face. "There is no need to worry, Primarch," he said. "Vorlons have a tendency to die when I am around."
"What are you saying?"
Sinoval raised his pike, an ill-fated weapon he called Stormbringer, a name of ill-omen. "This has hurt a Vorlon before. It can do so again. And if it can hurt a Vorlon, then it can kill one. A Vorlon is a living thing of course, and anything that lives....
".... can be killed."
"That is not our way," breathed the Primarch. Now, he was shocked. "We do not kill. We.... save the souls of those who pass on naturally. We do not kill. Such.... such an act would break the pacts we swore so long ago."
"You will not have to kill anything. I will do it. You merely have to take the Vorlon's soul as it dies."
"No! This cannot be done. We do not kill."
"This must be done! Do you not see? The Vorlons sent Delenn to her death! They corrupted and tainted the Starkiller! They are pushing all the races to war against the Shadows, and for what? To rule all! I will destroy each and every one of them.... To do that, I need information. I need knowledge. The Vindrizi have some, but not enough. The Well of Souls will not answer me when I put those questions to it.
"I need a Vorlon soul."
"Please.... my friend.... this is not the way."
"It is the way. It can be done. And may I remind you, you swore to obey all my commands.... for so long as I am alive."
"Go hunting the Vorlons, and that may not be for long."
Sinoval smiled. "Well, then. You will need to be there to save my soul when I die, no? And if I fail, you will be free of me, and can leave the affairs of mortal beings again."
"You do not understand."
"I understand all too well. You will do this, Primarch. I am your leader, and I command it."
The Primarch sighed softly, and then bowed. "Very well. I am ready. Do you have a plan, or are we just going to storm the Vorlon homeworld?"
"No.... I think that can wait. After all, we will need something to do tomorrow. And I do have a plan. Listen...."
The Primarch did, but his mind was on something else entirely.
* * * * * * *
His injuries still plagued him. Never a day passed when they did not. He was a warrior. His whole life was bound up with his fitness, his strength, his endurance. He had been brought up to the warriors' code. When a warrior could not stand, it was time for him to die.
Kozorr could still stand, even if his stance was twisted to compensate for his shattered leg. The break in the bones had never healed properly, nor had the damage to his spine.
He could also wield a weapon, although not with the skill he once had. His hand was torn and mutilated. He was unable to flex his fingers, to grip and relax, to touch or to grasp. He had forged a denn'bok he could use with only his one good hand. In the year and more since he had been injured, he had learned to adjust his entire fighting style to compensate.
He was a capable warrior now. Before, he had been so much better. Precious few had been able to match him. Kalain had been better, as their brief fight had proved so painfully. Sonovar, probably. Deeron, almost certainly. Sech Durhan, without a doubt.
Sinoval, of course.
But now.... he would never be as skilled with the pike as he had been, but he was still a warrior. He could still fight, and he would continue to do so while there was breath in his body.
He was a warrior. War was all he knew.
His opponent's pike parried his swift, thrusting blows, knocking them aside. He had to thrust more than was possible with a normal-sized pike, but his was now quicker and easier to handle than his old one. His opponent had to adjust her fighting style as well. So many of the techniques she knew were only for opponents wielding full-sized blades.
She lashed out with a sweeping blow aimed at his ribs. He caught it with his blade and turned the blow aside, down and away. A gentle push, and she was slightly off balance. Spiralling on his good leg, he spun into her side, thumping his elbow into her armpit. His weight forced her off balance, and she fell.
His weak leg gave way beneath him however, and he fell also. He maintained his grip on his pike and managed to keep it away from her as he fell, so that he did not accidentally injure her with it.
He could hear her sharp release of breath as he landed on top of her, and see her dark eyes widen with shock and pain. A moment later however, they were dancing.
"There's no need to throw yourself at me," she said. She was smiling.
"My apologies, my la.... My apologies, Tirivail," he said. He had been about to call her 'my lady'. He had only ever called one woman that, and she was not here.
"No need to apologise," she said, still smiling. "Unless you really want to, of course. Where did I go wrong?"
"You overextended your swing," came a soft voice from the side. Tirivail's smile faded, and she muttered something unpleasant under her breath. Kozorr allowed himself the luxury of a smile as he rolled away from her and forced himself awkwardly to his feet. His weak leg was paining him. He ignored it.
Rastenn stepped forward. "You left yourself too open to a swift thrust, or indeed a manouevre such as that performed by the Shai Alyt."
Kozorr grimaced when he heard that title. He had not used it since he had come to Sonovar, but some of the others here insisted on giving him it. He had of course been awarded the title by Kalain, so he supposed some of them here might still acknowledge it.
Tirivail jumped to her feet with such grace that Kozorr winced. He had been able to move like that, once.
"I'd like to see you take him on, Rastenn," she said sardonically. "You'd be surprised how different it is fighting against someone with.... ah.... such a small weapon." Kozorr smiled.
He and Tirivail had been training almost every day since his return from Cathedral and his failed mission to destroy the Well of Souls. She seemed to enjoy his company, and he did.... find some pleasure in hers. She had a ready wit, a determined dedication both to serve her people and learn from him, and she was.... not unattractive. She had made it clear to him more than once that she might wish to take matters a little further.
But she was not Kats, she was not the one he loved and dreamed of. It had been to help Kats that he had sustained his injuries in the first place, and he would gladly have done the same again, even knowing the price. He wanted nothing more than to tell Kats how he felt, what he wished more than anything else....
But he could not. Not yet. Not until he had proven himself better than Sinoval. Not until he had proven himself more worthy of her love than the Primarch.
"Shai Alyt Kozorr is a better blademaster than I could ever be," Rastenn said with a graceful bow. "With a normal-sized pike, or otherwise. We are fortunate he is willing to teach us what he knows."
"I was trained by Neroon and Branmer," Kozorr said, looking at the two of them. They had been two of the first to join Sonovar in his rebellion against Sinoval. They were the people Sonovar trusted most, apart from Tirivail's father Takier, and the loathsome, mutilated little priestling Forell. He could well see why Rastenn and Tirivail were so trusted. They were loyal, strong and brave. Neither Rastenn's youth and inexperience nor the treachery of Tirivail's sister Lanniel had altered that. Rastenn's youth belied a strong desire for glory and victory, almost as strong as that within Sonovar himself, and Tirivail had proved herself countless times over.
"And after them, by Sinoval the Traitor," added Rastenn. "A fine pedigree."
"Sinoval was not always so.... misguided," sighed Kozorr. "He believed in the good of our people, once."
"And now he has lost his way, corrupted by Shagh Toth and workers. A shame, to be sure."
"Yes," said Kozorr softly. He was thinking of workers again, or one worker in particular.
"Come on," said Tirivail, stepping forward and raising her pike again. "One more try. I won't be beaten so easily this time."
"We shall see," said Rastenn pessimistically.
Kozorr dared to smile, and raised his pike. "In the Name of the Betrayer," he said, formally. "So do we serve."
"So do we serve," added Tirivail.
They moved forward to spar once more.
* * * * * * *
Another fun-filled day of work in the Pit.
Zack Allan, the ever-busy and ever-popular Chief of Security for Sector 301, Proxima, returned to his apartment in the same mood he usually did: complete boredom with a side serving of depression and a dash of self-pity.
It had been an ordinary, run-of-the-mill sort of day. No murders (although not from lack of trying), a couple of assaults, assorted robberies, a number of drunk and disorderly, and further reports on the non-apprehension of Sector 301's most wanted.
So, after a productive day spent talking to Trace, watching the game and making a heady effort at demolishing his new supply of chocolate, Zack headed home, ready for a night of his usual. Pizza from the place around the corner, a couple of cans of something vaguely alcoholic and whatever drivel was on the vids.
Join the Security Forces. Serve your people. That's what the ads had said.
Yeah, right. This was just what he had had in mind when he joined up, serving his people. Running the biggest dirt pile anywhere this side of the Rim, taking money from big businessmen to turn a blind eye to whatever they were doing to his people, and generally trying to forget what a scummy life he had.
Well, it could be worse. He was alive, pretty well off as far as money went, he had a decent apartment, a couple of good friends.
His apartment had one of the best security systems available anywhere in Sector 301. Of course, that meant that anywhere else on Proxima it was the sort of thing you'd use to guard a dog kennel. It also meant that anyone with an iota of skill at electronic lock-breaking could get in and out easily. Not that he had anything worth stealing.
As he ambled through to his lounge, tossing the pizza box onto the nearby table, he didn't bother activating the lights. He only sighed softly and plonked himself down on the sofa. "All right," he said in a tired voice. "Who's there?"
"Lights," said a soft, female voice.
The lights came on, and he saw two people standing across the room from him at either side of the door. One, the man, was pointing a gun directly at him. The woman had no visible weapon, but then she didn't need one.
"Oh, look," he said. "Don't I recognise you two from somewhere? Oh, yes, you were on Crimewatch last night, weren't you?" He reached for the pizza.
"Drop it," said the man.
Zack sighed. "Pepperoni, anchovies and olives," he said, flipping the lid open. "Hardly a deadly weapon." He paused. "Well, not yet. You could wait until I've eaten it, and then let me breathe on you. Vid on, sports channel. You don't mind, do you? Only I missed the end of the game today. Someone went and got beaten up, and I had to go out and deal with it."
"Poor you," observed the woman.
"Yeah, what I can say? It's a tough job, but somebody's gotta do it. So," he said, taking a bite of the pizza and leaning back. "You do realise that breaking and entering with intent to threaten, or with intent to commit grievous bodily harm, carries a prison sentence under the.... oh, under some law somewhere. Of course, when we have a murderer here, I guess that's not too much to worry about. Hey, look at that, the Archers lost. That's good to hear."
"It was self defence," said the man.
Zack shrugged. "I'm not gonna say I agree with you, just in case you've got some sort of recording device there. You say it was self defence, witnesses say it was an unprovoked attack."
"Witnesses intimidated by Trace."
"Hey, Trace is a good man."
"You don't believe that."
"I don't believe much of anything." He took another bite of the pizza. "Do you want any? This is pretty good. They must be back to using real olives."
"What's Trace's deal with IPX?" asked the woman suddenly.
"I have no idea. I didn't know he had anything to do with them. And yeah, I know you're a telepath. There's probably something I could bring you in on, if I really put my mind to it."
"Tell us what we want to know, and we'll leave you alone."
"Oh, gee.... you mean you won't kill me? Here's a question, Mr. Big War Hero. Do you think I care? Take a look around. This is my life. This is it! Someone dumped me right here because I didn't fit in his beloved ship. This is all my life at the moment, and it's probably all my life's ever gonna be. Do you think this is what I had in mind as a kid? Do you think this is what I wanted?
"So go on, shoot me. No one's gonna care. And it ain't like another murder's gonna do too much to you. They can only mind-wipe you once."
"What do you know about Compass Deliveries?" asked the woman.
"Never heard of them."
"I didn't want you on the Babylon because I had doubts about your fitness to do your job, Allan. Looking at this, can you tell me I was wrong?" Zack looked at the man. "I mean.... for God's sake, look at yourself. I never thought you'd fall this far. You're abusing these people here, and you know it."
"Yeah? Quick lesson for you, Mr. Silver Star Man. No one cares! If anyone here's getting the short end of the stick.... well, hey! Tough! They shouldn't be here in the first place. You think there's gonna be anyone coming to pay respects to my name on the plaque when I'm dead? Hah! Yeah, right. Go ahead and shoot me. I'm not telling you anything, and I don't know anything anyway.
"And I'm certainly not gonna see the error of my ways and become a righteous social crusader for the poor, downtrodden masses.
"Well?"
The man turned to look at the woman. Neither of them said anything.
Zack's attention was suddenly drawn away by the voice from the viewscreen.
We interrupt the sports news with a very special announcement. President Clark formally announced today the apprehension and capture of the notorious war criminal and mass murderer Satai Delenn of the Minbari Grey Council, leader of the United Alliance of Kazomi Seven.
A further statement is expected to be forthcoming later tonight, but it is widely believed she will be put on trial as soon as possible.
We will return to this story as soon as there are any further developments. We repeat....
Zack sat back, smiling broadly. "Well, I'll be damned," he said.
* * * * * * *
The dream was the same. It was always the same. Every time.
The sky rained fire. She crawled out of her hiding place high in the mountains to look up, and saw the heavens begin to pour with flame. She could hear screams, and hasty prayers to Valen. She had not been sure there was anything to pray for.
And after the flames there had come the sickness. She saw them again every night in her dreams. Skin flaking away, eyes filled with blood and pus, muscles trembling, blood seeping from every pore. She had watched them die. For weeks she had watched them die, unable to go for help, not knowing if there was even anyone to get help from.
And then she had been the last one left. She had started to sicken herself. They had said it was the food, the water, the ground, even the air.
Then they had come. The light had filled her mind, and the voice had echoed in her ears.
With a scream, Sherann woke.
Again. Every night she dreamed about it. Kalain's genocidal purge. Hiding for so long.
And then.... the flames, the sickness, and the light.
Slowly she rose from her bed and walked to the little shrine in the corner of the room. Sitting before it, she tried to focus her will enough to meditate, but she could not. Whenever she closed her eyes, all she could see was the light.
There was a gentle chime from the door, and Sherann turned. "Yes?"
"Sherann? Are you well?"
She breathed out slowly. Kats. "Yes. Enter."
The door opened and Sherann's cousin walked in. She looked dignified and composed. It was still a marvel that a worker could walk about so free here, in a society ruled by a warrior. Sherann could never forget the months of the purging.
"I was worried that you slept so late," Kats said. "It is past noon."
"Really? I.... ah.... bad dreams."
Kats nodded, and sat down beside her. "The same ones?"
"Yes. Always.... the same.... ones."
"I used to dream as well. About.... Kalain, and the Council. It doesn't last forever." Sherann marvelled that her cousin could speak of this with such calmness. Kats had told her about what she had suffered during the purges. All those months of torture and humiliation.
"Do you still.... have the dreams?"
"Not those, no. Now I dream of someone.... something completely different." She looked down demurely. "You do not need to know."
Sherann smiled. It was almost as it had been in their childhood, talking happily about their dreams, goals, ambitions. Kats had wanted to serve, always. She had not wanted to lead.
"I had a message today," Kats said suddenly, breaking the mood. "It was from Sinoval."
"Is he coming back?" Sherann asked breathlessly. She had come here to find him, to find the legendary Primarch Sinoval, only to discover she had missed him by a matter of days. He had been on Kazomi Seven for weeks.
"Yes. He will be here tomorrow."
Sherann breathed out slowly and bowed her head, almost crying. "And he will help us?" she whispered. "He.... will.... help us?"
"I am sure he will. He is.... a good person at heart."
"You must know him well."
"I.... think I do, but he is warrior, and different from us. Different from most warriors, as well."
"What sort of person is he? I have only ever heard the rumours. The warriors here, the.... Primarch's.... Pikes?"
"The Primarch's Blades," Kats corrected.
"They seem to follow him unreservedly. I heard one of them swear an oath to die if the Primarch asked. What sort of person could make a warrior say something like that?"
Kats paused. "He is.... intense. He believes he can do anything he sets his mind to, and that obstacles are merely brief inconveniences. I sometimes feel he can do anything at all. When he is there.... everything else pales beside him. The air seems to crackle. And his eyes.... I am very, very thankful he considers me his friend....
"I would never wish to be his enemy."
"He does think you a friend?" Kats nodded. "I don't.... I really don't believe it. You have moved up in the world since.... before."
"Things have changed," she said softly. "Few of them for the better. Sinoval can be a force for great good, if he wishes to be. I.... took on my rôle to ensure that everything he does is for good.... I tried, but.... some.... things...."
"This would be the warrior? What was his name?"
"Kozorr. He is.... gone. Please.... do not...."
Sherann nodded, swallowing. "I understand." She was just grateful Kats had not asked about Inesval. She had seen his body, and the things the warriors had done to it.
"Sinoval will be here tomorrow. You can speak to him then."
"And he will listen to me?"
"Yes. He will listen."
* * * * * * *
"I don't believe it. I'll be damned. Guess the R'Gov finally did something useful."
Dexter Smith was not listening. He was still staring at the vidscreen. The sports results had resumed, but flashing at the bottom of the screen was the news report. .... war criminal Delenn captured by Resistance Government forces. For more information check....
"Turn that thing off," said Talia angrily.
Zack shrugged. "Off." Smith shook his head and turned back to the man on the sofa. Zack was still munching at his pizza. "You've met her, haven't you?" he remarked
"What do you mean?"
"You've met her. Delenn. I've seen her a couple of times. While I was on the Babylon, of course. She was completely Minbari for a while, and then she was.... really weird-looking. Sort of half-human, half-Minbari but not quite either. Freaked me out, it did. I guess she's perfected the process since then. Some of the guys down the station actually think she's kind of hot-looking." Zack shook his head. "Takes all kinds, huh?" He looked at Smith, and sighed. "Oh, yeah, you've met her."
"Once.... yes...."
Zack began to chuckle. "You thought she was pretty hot yourself, didn't you? Sheesh! What is it about alien women that affects some men? I mean me.... I'd much rather take a look at that pretty not bad piece beside you.... er.... no offence intended."
"Believe me," Talia said. "Of all the things I might take offence at about you, the fact that you find me attractive won't be one."
Zack thought about that for a moment. "So.... was that a compliment?"
"No."
"Oh.... Oh well. Pity. Was beginning to think I was in there."
"Dexter, wake up!" Talia said sharply. Smith blinked, and then seemed more alert. "Glad you're still with us. You, Allan.... for the last time.... what is Trace up to with IPX?"
"I told you, I don't know. You could read my mind and find out, assuming you haven't already, I guess. Look.... it's like this. Mr. Trace is a good man. He's a businessman. He's brought a lot of money and jobs and even a little respect into this sector, and God knows how long it's been since we had any of the last one.
"Now, if from time to time, he, as a respected civic figure and member of the community, wants certain matters attended to by the Security Forces, who are after all paid for by his tax money, then it's my duty to help out in any way I can, right?
"However, I don't know a thing about IPX, telepaths, big large-scale conspiracies, or the grassy knoll. Any more questions?"
"Yes, here's one," said Talia. "What's to stop me shooting you right here and now?"
"Well, three answers to that one. First, that'd be first degree murder in cold blood of a Security officer, and I'm fairly sure the Wartime Emergency Provisions have that little one down in the death penalty section of the rules.
"Secondly, you're a pretty nice-looking lady, and I'm sure you wouldn't shoot someone in cold blood.
"And thirdly.... what was it thirdly...?"
Talia suddenly started, and looked around. She swore. "Too long! Come on!" There was the sound of footsteps outside the window.
"Oh yeah, thirdly.... the Security guys that have just surrounded the place are going to stop you. You see, on a scale of one to ten.... how thick do you think I am? Yeah, the security system on the apartment's patheticness personified, but there's enough high-tech camera stuff around here to alert the station if any undesirables come calling. They certainly took their time though."
Talia was still swearing. Smith looked at Zack. "Maybe.... but you're stuck in here with us."
"You think? Nah. You're stuck in here with me. I've done a few hostage situations, and believe me, if you want to try and stick this thing out, both of you are going out of here in a bag. Probably the same bag, you know how it is with budget cutbacks.
"On the other hand, give yourselves up now, and.... well.... you'll get a couple of days longer at least, and someone might even put in a good word for you. You never know.
"So." He finished off his pizza. "What d'you say?"
* * * * * * *
He has long ago forgotten the place or date of his birth. These are facts that hold no importance for him now. He may once have had a name, but if so it has been lost for millennia. He probably once had futile ambitions, but on the day he looked upon the Well of Souls he realised just how pointless they were.
He does not even know for sure exactly how old he is. He is not the oldest of the order, but he is close.
He has seen civilisations rise and fall, great empires, great wonders. He has saved politicians and warriors and poets and writers. From their dreams, which have become a part of his own, he has seen mysteries long gone, and lived among peoples dead for millennia.
The Primarch Majestus et Conclavus of the Order of Soul Hunters can feel change. He can feel it now. The whispers of the Well of Souls have told him that change is inevitable. The future he has seen will come to pass.
But the one lesson the Soul Hunters have remembered from their founders is that nothing is written in stone. A lesson their new Primarch Nominus et Corpus would have welcomed gladly.
Before Sinoval came he had not left Cathedral at all in a thousand years, not since he had met Valen on the shifting sands of the world the Minbari had called Iwojim. Since Sinoval's arrival he has seen more of the peoples of this day and age. He has seen the Great Machine, he has seen Minbar again, and other places, other worlds.
He will leave Cathedral again once more after this. And soon.
But for now, he is thinking of another. Sinoval, the one the Well of Souls has been speaking of for so long, is walking a dark road, a path that may consume him, and in doing so destroy the order, and Cathedral, and most importantly the Well of Souls. There is only one person who might be able to divert him from that path.
The Primarch stood alone on the pinnacle of Cathedral, looking out at the world beneath him. Tarolin 2, a minor, insignificant world that had become notorious and important only recently. He could feel her there. Her soul was intertwined with Sinoval's. She was the light to his dark, the calm to his anger, the conscience to his soul.
He closed his eyes and began to concentrate. He could feel her. A million souls on Tarolin 2, and he could see them all. Hers shone brightest.
He stepped forward and the pinnacle faded away. He did not fall, instead the air seemed to warp around him. He could hear voices whispering and crackling as he continued to walk. His eyes remained closed. Opening them would.... not be wise, even for one as experienced at this as he was. There were many dimensions that could be seen if one chose to look. Mortal beings looked at the realm they called hyperspace and thought they knew it all. They did not realise that space could be travelled in other ways.
And there were beings on the other side, straining to break through. Monsters, abominations, horrors, beings so filled with hatred that they wanted to wipe out everything on this world. He could feel them, but he was not afraid. The Vorlons would keep them back, and the Well of Souls would fight them if they came.
There. Here she was. The Primarch stopped and willed himself to slip between the worlds again. There was a rush of air and a burst of light. He opened his eyes and found himself in the corner of a room. He stepped forward into the light.
He could see her now, facing the door with her back to him. She was seated at a desk, writing something, flipping through papers, hard at work, buried in her responsibilities, hoping no doubt to be free of her suffering through her duties.
The Primarch sighed. She had had a hard life, and no doubt things would become no easier. Mortal beings had a terrible burden sometimes.
"My lady," he said formally.
She started, and turned. For a moment a flash of panic crossed her face, but then she saw who it was and her fear turned to surprise.
"You thought I was someone else," he said. "A face that haunts your dreams."
"Some faces that used to," she replied carefully. "How did you get in here? There are guards on the door, and no other way in or out."
"No other way accessible by mortal beings," he replied. "I have other ways, and I thought it wise not to let your guards know I am here. This meeting must not become known to Sinoval."
"I.... see." She rose from her desk and went to a nearby table. There was a small pitcher of a clear liquid there, and two glasses. She poured a glass for herself. "Do you wish something to drink?"
"The need for food and drink has long since passed me by. It has been so long since last I drank, I fear I have forgotten how."
She returned to her seat by the desk and turned the chair round. "You've come to talk about Sinoval, haven't you?"
"Very perceptive, my lady."
"I.... saw him when he returned. He wanted to see Sherann. He has.... a plan. Something's going to happen, isn't it? Something.... bad."
"He wishes to...."
"No!"
The Primarch paused, mildly surprised by the conviction in her voice.
"No. I don't want to know."
"You are his conscience."
"I was his conscience. Not any longer."
"What he is planning.... I will not say it is not laudable. It is a strategist's approach to things. The work of a master tactician. I have heard his plan, developed with the unknowing aid of your friend Sherann. It may well work.
"But the price.... He must not do this. It will damn him, and all of us with him. I have tried to explain, but his anger, his darkness is such that he will not listen. Too many betrayals recently, too many defeats.... he has lost too much.
"Only you, my lady. Only you can turn him aside from this path."
"No," she whispered. "No.... I cannot."
"My lady...."
"Don't call me that! I am tired. Tired of all this. I'm not a warrior. They are trained from birth to give up everything for the sake of our people. They will sacrifice their lives, their friends, their families.... their loves.... for the greater good, the good of our people. I'm not a warrior. They fight, they die!
"I build."
"Then build a better world. Talk to him! He will listen to you."
"No. I will not.... become involved.... in whatever he plans. He can go to war, he can shed innocent blood, he can do whatever he wishes. I will remain here, and build."
The Primarch breathed out slowly, and nodded. "I understand." She was his last hope. He knew what he had to do now. It would not be easy, he could feel that, but it would have to be done. "People will die, my lady. A great many people will die if Sinoval continues to walk the dark path he walks now."
"There are worse fates than death."
"Yes," he said, with complete understanding. "Yes, there are. You have suffered enough for one lifetime, my lady. I will leave you here.... to your building. Be at peace, and be happy."
He turned and left. It was time to return to Cathedral and prepare himself for what was to come.
There are worse fates than death.
* * * * * * *
A great man.
Am I a great man?
Sonovar stood alone on the bridge of the E'ibrek K'Tarr, lost in thought. Ramde Cozon was deep in discussion with the other Ramde of the fleet, and maybe even with their authorities. Sonovar knew very little about the social and governmental organisation of the Tak'cha, and he did not care. He knew their strength in battle, he knew their fanaticism, and he knew their never-ending desire to atone for their sin. That was enough for him.
"Am I a great man?" he whispered to himself, looking around at the empty room.
What is a great man? He had asked that question countless times, of himself, of his teachers, of Kats, of Kozorr.... What was the standard of greatness? What was it that made Valen or Nemain or Varmain great people? Was it even anything that could be measured?
He had to know.
For only if he knew the answer could he become great himself.
Forell had once come to him, appearing from nowhere in the slimy way he had, sidling up to him. He had remained there in silence for several minutes before asking a question. It had seemed simple enough, but it had taken Sonovar a very long time to formulate an answer.
"What do you want, great lord?"
"I want.... I want to be a hero. I want to be in all the books and lores and tales of history. I want my name to be written alongside that of Varmain, or Marrain, or Valen himself! I want to be great.
"I want to be great."
Forell had hesitated for a moment, and then smiled. "Then all this you shall have, great lord."
For as long as he could remember, Sonovar had wanted to be a hero. He had always believed in the right of the hierarchy, of the leaders of the Fanes and the clans, and ultimately of the Grey Council itself. He would ascend that ladder, in time.
And yet he had watched as others less able than himself had climbed. He had observed as workers and priestlings raised their cronies and blocked the true warriors from advancing. He had served the Grey Council all those years, and what had he to show for it?
It had taken two people, one his greatest idol and the other his greatest enemy, to show him his true mistake.
Kalain had raised him to the Grey Council, and had then proceeded to abuse and profane that sacred institution. He had tortured and violated Kats in that most holy of places, in a sickening display. Sonovar had watched, confused and puzzled and privately revolted, but he had done nothing, because he believed. Kalain was of the Grey Council. Therefore, surely anything he did was for the good of Minbar?
Only when Sinoval returned had the scales fallen from his eyes. Only then did he truly understand.
A great man did not humbly or meekly abide by the sanctions of society. A great man broke all chains binding him. A great man disregarded his destiny, ignored the words of others, and rose by his will alone. Valen had not acted according to convention when he had formed the Anla'Shok and created the Grey Council, and neither had Sinoval when he had shattered both.
"Am I a great man?" he asked again, and realised the sheer futility of that question.
He would never know. History would judge him, and the decision would not be made until long after his death. If he was fortunate, if the old Gods of war favoured him, he would be reborn into another body, another life, and then he would look back at history's judgment of his former life, and only then would he know.
There was the soft sound of footsteps at his side, and he turned, smiling when he saw who it was. Takier, clan leader of the Storm Dancers clan, was one of his greatest allies. He had been among the first to spurn Sinoval's leadership, and when Sonovar announced himself in opposition, Takier had brought his entire clan to his side.
Almost his entire clan.
Takier had been blessed with three children. His son had been killed in the assault on Minbar. He had two daughters. Tirivail had come with her father willingly, recognising the needs of Minbar and her duty to her clan.
Lanniel had gone elsewhere.
"They talk," said Takier, half dismissively. "They talk, they pray, they argue. It is strange, but they remind me a great deal of the priestlings debating a foolish point of law in Valen's prophecies."
Sonovar nodded in recognition. "True, but these priestlings have teeth. By all the old Gods, they can fight."
"Oh yes," Takier acknowledged. "They can fight."
"Do you think they will agree?"
"I think they will.... in due time. In fact, I believe you will have to hold them back from all-out war. They may well decide that intensifying the raids on Alliance ships is not enough, and a full assault is preferable. Kazomi Seven was after all the last known location of their Valen. He has not been seen in many months, or so I am told. Some of the Tak'cha believe he was murdered by the Alliance."
"And you, Takier? What do you believe?"
"Valen.... was a man, like any other. It is the doom of all men to die. He lived a thousand years ago, and he died then. Whoever this.... imposter is, he is not Valen, and whatever the Alliance have done to him is of the supremest irrelevance to me."
"All great men die," Sonovar mused to himself.
"Ah, but they live on in another way." Sonovar cocked his head and looked at his companion. "They live on in the eyes and hearts and souls of everyone who has ever wanted to be them. It is by the telling of tales of great men that we remind ourselves that we also may be great. We emulate them, maybe even surpass them, and so they live on.... forever."
"Immortality. Life eternal through song and poem and memory. Now there is something worth living for."
"Worth dying for."
"Worth dying for. Indeed."
Yes. I will be great, and thus will I live forever. What more can any warrior ask for?
* * * * * * *
Elsewhere another warrior was standing alone, but the pinnacle of Cathedral was a very different place from the bridge of the E'ibrek K'Tarr.
Sinoval was not thinking of greatness, or of Valen, or of the Alliance. He was thinking of the Vorlons, and of the plan he had been hatching for so long. It was ready now. It would work. His meeting with Kats' cousin had only served to tighten some of the possibilities.
"I survived. I hid. There were many of us who hid. From the purges, from Kalain and his warriors. We didn't know he had fallen. We saw the skies rain fire and the ground begin to sicken, and we did not know what had happened. We remained in hiding.
"At.... at first we were too afraid to come out, and after, we were too weak. We fell ill, so ill.... I saw more of us die. Not just workers. There were some religious caste as well. And even a warrior or two.... those who had chosen to stay behind, I suppose.
"Then they came. They found us. They sought us out, and they found us all. We were rounded up and taken to Yedor. They'd set up base there. Those of us who.... were not too sick, began to recover. They did something to us. They did something to the land. They purged the poisons, but.... I don't know. I don't know what they're capable of, but they left the damage to the atmosphere. They left the impact sites and all the dust everywhere....
"I heard one of them say something. It said.... they were correcting the influence of the Enemy, putting right what should not have been done. They seemed.... angry, somehow. They seemed angry about the poison and the sickness, but not about anything else.
"I didn't understand it.
"They set us to work, once we were able. Some of us were telepaths. They.... disappeared. The rest of us they set to work, rebuilding, trying to tend the fields, doing as much as possible to repair the damage. They didn't seem to recognise that we needed to eat.... and sleep. They worked us until we collapsed.
"I was lucky. I managed to steal a shuttle and escape. There are others there. Not many now.... but they're going to die. They're being worked to death. Please.... Kats said you would help. She promised that you would help them. Help us."
"How many Vorlons are on the planet? How many ships?"
"There were.... there were a lot. Most of them left. I saw one ship as I fled. I don't think it noticed my shuttle. There is one in Yedor that I know of.... and some others in the southern cities. Most of them left.
"Will you help us? Please."
"Yes. Yes, I will help."
He had had the basics of this set up a long time ago, in crude form, when he first joined the Soul Hunters. Sherann had only helped confirm certain details. She would help him still further, although she did not realise it yet.
I don't think it noticed my shuttle.
That was the one thing he had learned from her. They had noticed. They had let her escape. They were luring him to Minbar, to deal with him for good. Whether they actually wanted him dead or merely distracted he was not sure. A direct confrontation was not their way. It had never been their way. They were.... setting him up for something.
So be it. He was ready, and he had a trap all of his own to spring.
He raised his arms to the sky, Stormbringer above his head.
"I'm coming for you!" he roared. "Hide all you like! You can't hide from me!"
* * * * * * *
On Minbar, in the partially repaired ruins of the city of Yedor, a Vorlon standing alone looking at the Temple of Varenni stopped and twitched slightly, as if it had heard.
Its eye stalk shook momentarily, and a flash of light came forth.
It then resumed its journey.
Anyone who had seen that brief, momentary burst of light would have known without a shadow of a doubt what it was. Some things are clear between all races.
The Vorlon had smiled.