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| Volume 5: Among the Stars, like Giants | Part II: Tales of Valen |
SEVEN years since the ascension of Valen.
Z'ha'dum, the Galactic Rim.
Valen closed his eyes and tried to meditate. To his two Ranger bodyguards he looked utterly prepared, utterly satisfied, and why should he not? It was over.
After over a decade of endless, bloody, nightmarish war, it was over. Z'ha'dum lay beneath them. The Shadow war fleets had been destroyed or driven back. Their allies had been bested and forced to surrender. Z'ha'dum lay all but defenceless before them. The largest war fleet in Minbari history was assembling, each warship adding to those that would end this conflict. In a day or two they would all be here, and then....
It would be over.
But Valen was not thinking these thoughts, because he knew the truth. It was not over. It would not be over for another thousand years, if then. He had resigned himself to never knowing the ultimate outcome of the final Shadow War. He had resigned himself to walking alongside his own footsteps following a path history and destiny had preordained. He had resigned himself to a lifetime without surprise or shock.
But he had never been, and he knew he never would be, able to resign himself to watching those who followed him die.
He opened his eyes and breathed out quietly. He looked up at his bodyguards - Nemain, who still looked young in spite of his experience and loss, and Mannamann, who was young, but did not look it. Valen wondered idly, not for the first time, if either knew the part they would play in history.
The door to his personal chamber opened and Derannimer entered. She stopped, and bowed her head in a gesture combining both love and respect.
He took time to study her, as he always did just before events that would shake the galaxy. Singled out from the moment of her birth to be his wife, she had loved him from their first meeting. Her destiny was written in the stars almost as large as his own, and the Vorlons had taken notice of that. They did not know the truth - Valen was certain of that, and that was one secret he was content to keep from them.
There was something of Catherine's presence in her, although with a more objective eye he would have to admit it was more that there was something of her in Catherine. A thousand years until she would be born, until they would meet, until he would lose her.
But until these things happened, her soul resided with Derannimer.
"Are you ready?" she asked slowly, diffidently, waiting for his reaction.
He had told her. Three years ago, after the battle on the dead world where her guardian, Warleader and elder brother in heart had died. Valen knew the truth of course, but he had not told her everything, just enough.
He had told her that he had been born a thousand years in the future, named Jeffrey Sinclair, a member of a race who had not yet even mastered radio waves. He had told her that he had come back a thousand years in fulfilment of an ancient prophecy that he had written himself. He had told her that humans and Minbari would have to come together, that so much hung upon the union between the Minbari and a race they did not even know existed.
And he had told her that her soul would be reborn into a woman he would know and love in a thousand years, and that he could not tell whether it was Derannimer he loved, or the spark of Catherine he saw in her.
She had been confused, and betrayed, and anguished, but ultimately she had accepted it. In turn, she had confessed that she had never known if she loved him truly, or if she had been preconditioned to love him by the Vorlons' prophecy.
She had not asked him about the course of the war, and he had not told her. Some things he could never tell her.
"Are you ready?" she asked again.
"Yes," he replied. He was not afraid. Those who followed him sensed that, and were encouraged by it. If the great Valen felt no fear, than how could they? "Yes."
"Everyone is waiting for you."
He walked to her, his hand gently brushing hers, and together they walked through the door, Nemain and Mannamann falling into step behind them. There should have been little to fear here, on the flagship of the mightiest Minbari fleet ever assembled, but there was always the need for caution. A Wykhheran had nearly killed him on Babylon 4 once. Only Marrain and Parlonn's intervention had saved him.
Marrain himself was waiting outside the door. He was standing perfectly still, as if he were a statue. The Stone Warrior, his clan called him, and with justification. A greater fighter there had never been in three hundred years of history, save perhaps his best friend.
Valen was not surprised to find Marrain there. He was not a Ranger, although he had served as a bodyguard before now. Of late, however, he had tended to remain on his flagship, the Osano-wo. Whenever he left the ship, it was always in Derannimer's company.
Marrain nodded once, brusquely. Nemain and Mannamann did not like his rudeness, but Valen tolerated it, and Derannimer cared for him deeply, so they did nothing. Marrain rarely spoke these days, and on the few occasions he did, it was either to give orders to his warriors or to converse with Derannimer.
This was evidently to be an exception.
"There is someone you have to see," he said simply.
"Who?" Valen asked in reply.
Marrain's eyes grew even darker, if such a thing were possible. "Hantiban," he said.
Valen sighed. In spite of everything he knew would happen, some things still disappointed him. Hantiban had joined the Shadows years ago, bargaining his entire clan for power. His alliance with them had been discovered and he had fled, taking a few loyalists with him. Even now, almost ten years later, some of them still appeared, spies and assassins.
Valen looked at Marrain closely, but if he expected any sign of emotion in that stone visage, there was none. Hantiban had been his lord. Marrain was now Warleader of the clan that Hantiban had betrayed.
"There is something you have to be told by him," Marrain continued, still looking at Valen. He flicked a glance at Derannimer, and his gaze softened. Just a little, but that was more than anyone else had ever managed to elicit. "You should not be there for it, my lady."
She straightened, a surprised look passing across her face. For a brief moment Valen was distracted by the thought of how much she looked like Catherine when she wore that expression, but then he absorbed Marrain's words and realised what the Stone Warrior had learned.
"Why?" Derannimer asked slowly. "You have never hidden anything from me before."
Actually, Valen knew, Marrain had hidden a great deal.
"You should not," he replied simply, his voice as soft as it ever became. "It is too...."
"No," Valen said, firmly. "She may know all that I know." He entwined one finger around hers, gently. Her skin felt very warm to him. She would have to know this eventually. He would just have preferred her not to know now.
"As my lord commands," Marrain spat. "This way."
He turned on his heel and stormed away. Even in his anger, however, he walked at a pace Derannimer could match.
"He was different once," Derannimer whispered softly, looking up into Valen's eyes. He could see deep into hers, deep into her soul. He imagined the reflections of a million tears trickling down her face.
"I know," he replied. He wished he could have known the true Marrain, but then he doubted that anyone ever had. Derannimer had come close, very close, but she was no more a warrior than Valen himself. There were just some things neither of them could understand.
From the first moment they had met, and even before, he had known that Marrain and Parlonn would betray him. But then the two warriors had only been abstract concepts, no more real than legends in a story or characters in a book. To know them, to hear their voices, to listen to their dreams, to look into their eyes.... that changed so much.
And he walked beside the woman he loved, the woman he had always known he would love, and he imagined her heart breaking when she learned what he had always known, but never been able to visualise.
* * * * * * *
"Are you ready?"
The heat was almost unbearable now. None of them could stand near it. None of them save the Warrior of Fire. The flickering shadows cast by the inferno danced and whirled on the cavern walls, illuminating a ghastly frieze of horror and tragedy. Only the warrior of fire remained unmoved, staring silently into the flames.
"It needs to be hotter," he said.
"It is already hot enough, lord," one of the priests dared to whisper. There were more of them than many realised, the Cult of Shadow. They had existed even before the Day of Light, even before Markar'Arabar, speaking of Dark Gods at the edge of the galaxy. Now their day had come. Their Masters had come. Their champion had come.
"Is it as hot as the fury that rages in a warrior's soul? Is it as hot as the flames of perdition that will carry my spirit beyond? Is it as hot as the anger we feel towards those who have betrayed us? Is it as hot as the fire which burns within us?
"No? Then it needs to be hotter."
"Yes, lord," the acolyte whispered. They set about increasing the heat of the forge.
Thrakandar. Where the creations of the Shadows were formed, given shape and purpose and meaning. Sown from the food of life in vats, or crafted from the very essence of darkness, or purified and hardened in flames hot enough to burn the soul.
This was a place where weapons were created.
And every warrior needs a weapon to carry into his last battle.
"Are you ready, lord?" asked the Priest Prime. His name did not matter. He was one of those who had come here to plead the cause of peace. After the Day of Light, after Shryne had been executed, some of them had come here, to the edge of space, to speak of peace and mercy and togetherness.
A delegation of fools and dreamers and idealists. But some, a precious few, knew what would await them, and were ready for it. The Cult of Shadow.
Their Priest Prime was here for the ceremony. Their champion must be properly blessed before going to war. His weapon must be broken and reforged. He must be purified and made anew.
Of course, he had been broken and made new several times already. In the fires that consumed Ashinagachi, in the death of Giseinotoshi, in his own fall on Iwojim.
But in the years since his death he had known greater clarity, greater purpose, a greater sense of mission than ever before.
And it would all come to an end this day.
"Yes," he said, simply. "I am ready."
The priest began to chant. "We call upon you, our Dark Masters, to watch your servant and your champion as he strides towards war in your name.
"The Bringers of Chaos bless you.
"The Lords of War bless you.
"The Sculptors of Darkness bless you.
"The Masters of Shadow bless you."
The heat of the forge burned his skin, but he did not flinch. He stretched out his hand and the fire consumed it, but he plucked his blade from the heat and both he and it were stronger than before.
"Are you ready, lord?"
"Yes," replied Parlonn, Champion of the Chaos-Bringers. Fire burned in his eyes, in his soul. It was no wonder that the flames of the forge could not hurt him, that the heat of the fire could not burn him.
He was Fire, and his enemies would burn before him.
* * * * * * *
As all things must, the Shadow War came to an end.
The Battle of the Light at Midnight, at the world called Iwojim, had swung the pendulum. The Minbari had been tested through the absence of their leader, and they had embarked in darkness and fire to save him. They had returned triumphant, and victory sang in their hearts, hope in their souls.
It was a long three years to Z'ha'dum, but they were years of victory and glory. Minbari fought and died, the skies raining fire above the icy world of Norsa. Ba'alash saw Valen wounded almost unto death, but he healed and recovered. At Marais Derannimer herself orchestrated a flanking attack that routed and bested a Zarqheban nest-world. And the Minbari returned to Ikarra, to find the world battered and ruined, rent asunder, their people destroyed. Kin Stolving wept bloody tears when they were forced to destroy the remnants of the Ikarran fleet, now commanded by twisted war machines.
Rangers fought in the certain conviction that the One was watching over them. They swore oaths in his name. A million young warriors fell in love with the Lady of Air, and a million hearts broke every time she smiled. The old world was gone, irrevocably and eternally. Valen and Derannimer had built a new world on the ashes and the bones of the old. The war had brought about a change, not just in culture or tactics or leadership, but in the hearts and minds of the people.
And those who had given their blood in this war? Forgotten.
Marrain became a dark and brooding figure, rarely leaving his flagship, the Osano-wo, named after an ancient hero who wielded a weapon crafted of lightning and living stone. Marrain pursued death the way others would a bride, and yet he never found it. He could easily have succumbed to ultimate despair and committed morr'dechai, but two things kept him alive.
The first was his love for Derannimer. She was the only light in his dark soul, the only smile in his bitter expression.
The second was a nagging suspicion that had dawned on him a little less than a year after the Light at Midnight. Some of the tactics the Shadow vassal races were employing looked familiar. Some of the Minbari who had allied with the Shadows began to fight with a greater fury. Whispers of a new champion who had rejuvenated and exalted them began to reach Marrain's ears.
He understood what these meant, and he kept that realisation to himself. That could be considered an act of treachery, not his first perhaps, but his first major step on the ultimate road of betrayal.
Or it could be considered a last act of loyalty to his strongest friend.
Betrayal and loyalty going hand in hand. But then, no one ever said Marrain was an easy man to understand.
From An Account of the Shadow War, author unknown.
The book was declared heretical in the Year 229 of Valen's Coming,
and all but a handful of copies destroyed.
* * * * * * *
This was not the way a warrior should die. A warrior should die in battle, surrounded by a ring of enemies, lightning crashing, blood soaking the earth, weapon held high, screaming defiance upon those who would defy him.
This was no warrior's death, but then Hantiban, former Warleader of the Wind Swords, was not much of a warrior.
He looked towards the door of his cell as it opened. The two Rangers on either side of it straightened. One unconsciously touched his hand to his weapon, as if to reassure himself it was still there.
Hantiban had seen these denn'bok. Awful weapons. Ugly and graceless and entirely without honour. He wept for what the Minbari had become.
He already knew two of the three who entered, but his gaze was fixed on the third. He had not been sure what to expect, but he was not surprised by what he saw. It was not the height, or the build, or the eye colour, or the muscle tone. It was in the gestures, the posture and the gaze.
Hantiban had grown up with an elder brother who exuded power and authority, who had commanded servants with the slightest word. All his life he had wanted that same power, and only recently had he realised he would never attain it.
This Valen had that power. Certainty. No room for doubt, no room for remorse. No fear, no desire, no regret. Hantiban felt all three in plenty, and he felt marginally envious.
"I wanted to see you with my own eyes," he said, looking at Valen. "I thought you would be taller. My brother was taller."
"Your brother is dead," Valen said. His voice was.... old. Hantiban was not surprised by that either. There was a wealth of experience in those four simple words, almost enough for two lifetimes.
He simply smiled. "That is what you think. I wanted to see you, before the end."
"Have you come to surrender?"
"A Minbari warrior would never surrender. He would die first, by his own hand if necessary. Are you seriously asking if a Minbari warrior would come here, on the eve of the greatest battle of his life, to surrender to his enemy?"
"I am not your enemy."
"It does not matter in any event. I am no warrior. Marrain is a hundred times the warrior I could ever be, and he will tell you so. No, I am not here to surrender. I just wanted to see the infamous Valen with my own eyes." He looked behind Valen, to Derannimer. She had changed a lot in the past ten years. Experience and maturity had done that. Still beautiful, but hardened by loss and understanding. She was now the true leader he had always suspected she could be.
"'Lordship and dominion over all Minbari'," Hantiban quoted. "Well, you have that, or you will soon when this battle is done. I can see that. If he is the man you dreamed of, Lady Derannimer, I can hardly blame you for not accepting my suit.
"Well, Lord Valen, I have seen you. I am ready to die. It is over, and we all know it. I am just too much of a coward to sit and wait for the end. I am not even in command of our forces any longer. I have not been for some time."
"You have a new champion," Marrain said harshly, his voice like gravel.
Hantiban nodded. "Ironic, is it not? But strangely fitting as well."
"Name him," Valen said.
Hantiban smiled sadly. "You know his name."
"Name him."
"There is a saying, one Marrain knows well. 'The worst enemy any man can ever have is the one he once called friend.' Parlonn will prove that to you."
"Parlonn was never my friend," Valen whispered. "However, I thank you for delivering this message."
"It was my pleasure. He will fight a good deal harder and better than I ever could. Imagine that, the final battle, the battle for which I have spent ten years preparing, and now I have been replaced. It does not matter. I was never good enough.
"But I have come here without fear, and I accept my fate calmly. Will you end my life yourself, Valen, as a liege lord should? Or will you change that as you have changed so much else?"
"You will not die here."
"What?"
"You will be returned to Minbar to stand trial for your actions. The trial will be fair and impartial. If found guilty, you will be imprisoned for the rest of your natural life. There will be plenty of time for you to meditate and think on your deeds and those they have harmed."
"No!" Hantiban stumbled back. His one moment of courage. His one, single brave act, and to have it end like this. "No! You cannot do that!"
"I can. I see no advantage in killing without reason. You will be kept here until it is over."
He turned, not looking back, one hand gently caressing Derannimer's. The lady Hantiban had pursued and gone to war for looked at him with an expression of infinite pity, a gaze that burned him inside, and then she too left.
"There are things I wish to say to him," Marrain said to Valen, who simply nodded.
The door closed, and Marrain turned to the first of the Ranger guards. "You are both dismissed," he ordered. "Wait outside."
"We are not to leave this room," the Ranger replied.
"I have given you an order."
"You have no authority over us."
Hantiban knew what was coming. He saw the dark cloud slide over Marrain's eyes. He saw the split second in which Marrain reached for his dechai. Marrain's fighting style had always been based on endurance and immovability more than on reflexes, but he was capable of truly astonishing speed when necessary. And he was a warrior, his whole life a function of battle and death. The Rangers, half-trained weaklings, stood no chance.
The first one fell instantly, unconscious. The second raised his weapon, the clumsy, awkward denn'bok. Marrain shrugged the blow aside and struck at the Ranger's rib cage. He fell.
"You did not kill them," Hantiban noted.
"Why should I kill mere boys?" Marrain turned to face his former lord. "I have other things to attend to."
* * * * * * *
"Today is the day that I will die.
"That is certain. I may fall before him in battle, or I may triumph and be reborn in the flames of victory, but win or lose, I will die.
"I remember the words you spoke to me, as you dragged my body from the charnel house that the world had become.
"'Listen, at least. We lie, yes, and we have lied, but we do not lie now. Listen, and if you disagree you may leave, but at least hear us.
"'Well, will you listen?'
"And my own reply, as strong in my ears now as the day I said it.
"'I will hear your words.'
"You did not lie to me. I always knew, in some way, and I always doubted, but you did not lie to me. You merely confirmed what was always there.
"He will destroy us. Whether we win or we lose, he will destroy us. Valen does not care for what we are, for what we have always been. He cares only for the future. Well, let him have the future, but he will have to fight for it. Through darkness and fire, he said. Well, let him find proof in his own words. Let him walk through darkness and fire.
"Understand this. I do not do this for you. I am a warrior, and all warriors need a lord to serve, a lord who will never betray them. But I do not do this for you. I do this against them. I respect you as much as I hate them. Better an enemy you respect than a lord you despise, yes?
"You saved my life, and thus I have served you these past years. The debt is over. Win or lose, live or die, I will leave your service today.
"Do you understand?"
Parlonn rose and looked at the figure before him. Awesome and majestic, filled with the age and the wisdom of millennia, the being that commanded an empire few could even comprehend, one hidden from the prying eyes of mortals.
The Pale and Silent King nodded, once.
<Go with your Gods, warrior.
<Champion.>
* * * * * * *
Marrain ran his fingers idly down the razor-sharp blade of his dechai, drawing blood as he did so. There was slight pain, but he did not notice it. He noticed very little these days. Pain showed a person that he was still alive, and in a very real way Marrain was already dead.
"Shingen said once that a warrior should remember the face of every person he has ever killed, and a lord doubly so. A lord should remember not only those he has killed in battle, but those he has sent to their deaths in battle and those who have died at his word.
"I do not remember all those I have felled, but then I am far from being a perfect warrior. Tell me, lord. Do you remember all those you have killed?"
Hantiban bowed his head. "Not even close," he said, sadly. "Those I killed in battle, yes. Most of them at least. But the others.... no. There are too many."
"Yes," Marrain said, a hint of what might have been sadness in his voice. "There are too many. There is one in particular. Do you remember her?"
"Your.... friend. Yes, I remember her. I wish to my ancestors I did not. She did not scream, not once. Not when they.... cut her skin open, not when they burned her, not when they forced the nails into her hands, not even when they raped her.... She did not scream once. What would I not give to have that kind of courage."
"You think it was courage?"
"What else could it have been? She was not the first, I suppose you know that. Nor the last. I could blame Shryne, but.... He just planted the thoughts of treason in my mind. I went along with it because I was looking for something in the hearts and minds of the warriors who served me.
"The others.... all the others.... they screamed, they wept, they confessed little sins, they invented larger ones. They were all weak, all of them. She was strong, but....
"If I knew then what I know now, I would still have done as I did. She was strong, but you are far stronger. Look at yourself, Marrain. You are so much stronger without her. I would rather have one such as you than an army of a thousand of them. Purge half the clan and render the remaining half as stone itself. Let them chill the blood of their enemies as they march. Let their names be spoken of with terror and dread. Let them discard the wounded bodies of their comrades without a second glance, marching ever forwards."
"Shingen's words," Marrain noted.
"Shingen's dream. My brother once said I dreamed too large, too much for my abilities. He was right. What I did to her.... it was a test. I was testing her, I was testing you, and I was testing myself. She and you both proved yourselves, but I....
"When it was almost done, when there was no confession but still certainty, I sent the inquisitors to take her, to rape her. I turned away. I could not bear to watch that.
"You see, Marrain. In the end I proved myself weak. From that very moment I knew I was not fit to lead the clan, and that I never would be. All those years you served a weakling, one filled with fear and doubt. You deserved better than that."
"We all did," Marrain replied coldly. "Unari died alone, countless light years from home. Berevain died in agony, broken and mutilated and violated at your word. I have died, one piece at a time, one day at a time.
"You should have stayed. You should have fought back. If you had not hurt her, I would have stayed with you. I would have tolerated anything else, and I would have stayed with you. When Valen came, we could have fought him together, and we would have won.
"Anything else! Anything else I could have endured. You think I cared that you knew fear? You think I cared that you were weak? I knew you were not Hantenn, but that did not matter. You were my lord, and I would have followed you. But I could not endure that.
"Never."
"Marrain.... I would not have wanted you that way. You had to choose, the ultimate choice. I do not blame you for what you did. Hantenn should have lived. I would have remained in his shadow always, but he should have lived. The two of you could have destroyed Valen and everything he stood for, but I was never strong enough.
"What will you do now?"
"Win or lose, I will die today. A warrior's death, in battle. I will lose, and die - or win, and be reborn.
"You killed Berevain. I did not love her, but she loved me, and she deserved better from both of us. You butchered her, tortured her, dishonoured her. But she is dead, and she will come back, eventually.
"You made me stronger, but some days I think I would prefer to be weak. Regardless of my wishes, I am what you made me. You must pay the price for that."
"I am not to expect morr'dechai, am I?"
"You do not deserve it."
"No. I do not. Will it be quick?"
"You do not deserve that, either. But yes, it will be quick."
Hantiban nodded, and closed his eyes. "You were right, brother. All along, you were right. I will be with you soon."
It was quick, little more than an instant, and then he died.
In a thousand years he would be reborn, although neither he nor Marrain knew that, and the inheritor of his mistakes and his tragedy would not know it either.
* * * * * * *
Cathedral, on the edge of perception.
Sinoval's eyes closed.
"Would you, Sonovar?"
* * * * * * *
Z'ha'dum.
"You knew, didn't you?"
Valen looked at her, realising more than once the double curse of his existence. He could see the future, he knew almost everything that was to come, and yet he could not change a single instant of it. He had known of Derannimer and Marrain and Parlonn, but now they were real. Now he could hear their voices, know their thoughts, feel their presence, and everything he knew hit him all the harder.
"Yes," he said simply.
Derannimer nodded, sadly.
"You could have told me."
"Would you have wanted me to?"
"Yes.... No! I don't know."
Valen shook his head. "You would not want me to. To know.... what is to come...."
"You know what will happen to Marrain. You know what will happen to Nemain, and Zathras and Kin and all the others." A pause, then she continued more softly. "You know what will happen to me."
He said nothing.
"Where will our wedding be held? How many children will we have? What will their names be? Which of us will die first?" Unshed tears sparkled in her infinite, beautiful, sorrowful eyes. "Or is any of that to happen? Will I die here? Will I even survive this minute?
"Don't tell me. I do not want to know. How can you bear this?" She raised a hand to her face and the soft sound of sobbing could be heard from behind it. "How can you...?"
Then she looked up. "Is there any way we can bring him back? Any way at all? We can talk to him. I can talk to him. I've known Parlonn all my life. If I...."
"No," he said. "There is nothing that can be done."
"He is going to die, isn't he?"
"We all die."
"I mean today."
"Do not ask me. Please."
"I.... I need to be alone. I need to think."
He nodded, and she rose to leave. "I love you," he said as she reached the door.
She turned. "Did you know you were going to say that?" she asked. "Do you know what I am going to do next? I do not."
She left.
* * * * * * *
There was blood on Marrain's hands. There always was. As he danced the forms with his dechai, he remembered the first warrior he had killed.
He had scarcely completed the first stage of his training when he had been assigned to accompany Hantenn, not Warleader then, to the Imperial Court. There had been the usual mix of political scheming and alliances and posturing. Marrain had been the victim of some of the mass of boasting and bragging, attracting the attention of the Star Riders champion, Kozukenn. Insult had followed insult and finally a duel had been arranged.
The foot of the steps of the Temple of Varenni had been chosen, that the old Gods might watch over them. Marrain had not been afraid, even though Kozukenn was more than ten years his elder and vastly more experienced. Hantenn was there to watch him and his ancestors burned within his soul, but more than that, there was something.... an inexplicable sense that he simply could not die here. Even if he threw his dechai away and ran on to the exposed blade of his opponent's weapon, he would survive. He was meant for.... more.
Kozukenn's attack had been furious and savage and skilled, but Marrain's dechai formed a wall that simply could not be broken. He did not set a foot backwards or forwards. He merely endured his opponent's assault and finally found a weakness.
Some of Kozukenn's blood had spilled on his hands. He remembered that as a mark of shame. The killing blow should have been cleaner.
There had been blood on his hands then, and there always would be. Always, until the day he died.
He could have killed the two Rangers. It would have been simplicity itself. But he did not. He was not sure if that was a sign that he still possessed a soul or not.
He moved with the simple grace and eternal resilience that had always been his trademark. He was stone and iron. Stone does not feel, iron does not cry. Neither feels grief or sorrow or betrayal. They simply endure.
He spun around, dechai flashing in his hands, completing the Stroke of the Third Wind.
Derannimer was standing there, silent and still, directly in front of him. He stopped the downward strike just in time and it came to rest on her shoulder.
The silence, which a moment before had been welcoming, was now suddenly oppressive. She had been crying recently, he could see that, but there were no tears now. For the first time since he had known her, there was iron in her eyes.
Her hand gently touched his bare arm and she pushed the blade from her shoulder. It fell to the ground, and there was a crash as it landed. When the last echoes of the noise had faded, she took a step forward.
The kiss was surprising, but passionate. Her arm curled around his neck. She stood on tiptoe a little, and pressed her slender body hard against him. To his surprise, his arms wrapped around her waist and pulled her closer to him. She had always seemed ethereal before, as if she would turn to mist and disappear through his grasp, but now she was real. Very real.
She pulled back slowly, looking deeply into his eyes.
"I am going to marry Valen," she said softly.
He had not thought that anything could hurt him any more. No wound or scratch or word had ever caused him pain since Berevain had died, but these words cut to his soul. He did not release her though. She was so alive and warm in his arms.
"There is no other way," she continued. She did not release her embrace either. "The Vorlons have seen to that. From the moment I was born, they knew this day would come." She bowed her head, placing it on his chest. Her breath was so loud.
"I hate them." His voice was hard and unforgiving, but his eyes revealed the truth.
She raised her head, her eyes filled with tears. "So do I."
"We could leave," he said, true hope beating in his heart for the first time. "We could just.... leave. Return to Shirohida or anywhere at all."
"No," she whispered. "We can't."
"I love you." That was the first time he had ever spoken those words, to anyone. He had never voiced them to Berevain. Not once.
"So does he," she replied. "I love you both. Is that wrong? I loved Parlonn as well, and he has gone to them. One of you will die tomorrow. Did you think I did not know? Your final battle.... the two of you. You will finally know who is better."
"Yes."
"Did you never think how I would feel?"
"Always."
"No. You didn't. I'm not a warrior. I never had the soul. There are some things I just do not understand and never will. Nor will Valen. Neither of us is a warrior."
"I love you."
She kissed him again, harder and more passionately. Her hands clawed at his back, but he did not notice.
"And I love you," she whispered.
For those few hours, she was very real. Air and Earth came together, in fury and in fire and in love.
When Marrain awoke from the most peaceful sleep he had known in years, she was gone, and the only sign that she had ever been there was the memory of soft kisses on his shoulder.
* * * * * * *
Cathedral.
"I think that night changed Marrain more than anything else. When people look at his fall, they choose to focus on the Light at Midnight, or the 'Times to Come' speech, or even what happened later, at Z'ha'dum.
"Personally, I think it was that night that doomed him more than anything else. In her arms he knew love and contentment and joy, things he had never known before. The stone cracked, just a little, but enough.
"Having known those things, he was lifted higher than before, and being higher, he had further to fall."
"I never knew you were such a romantic."
"Very funny. But I am not."
"You could have fooled me."
"I am.... remembering the mistakes they all made. For Marrain, and for Derannimer, that night was a mistake. I do not blame either of them. Love, passion, they can.... make people do things."
"Isn't that the truth."
"I have to learn from everything they all did wrong. That is the point of this exercise, is it not? To learn from the mistakes of the past, so they are not repeated."
"And instead, you'll make a whole load of new ones."
"What do you mean?"
"Why did I come here again? It wasn't for the view. If Marrain hadn't been so cold-hearted in the first place, things might never have got that far. You think by emulating him, you'll do better. Cold, passionless, unfeeling.... That won't get you anywhere."
"It will 'get' me a victory."
"And turn you into a tyrant far worse than the Vorlons or the Shadows could be. Oh, do I ever have my work cut out for me."
"The universe is not a fair place."
"Humour, see? That's something to be going on with."
* * * * * * *
Z'ha'dum.
Parlonn could feel.... something. There was something out there, a strange combination of love and hatred and destiny and malign fate all working together, all moving as one, threads weaving and merging and joining.
And the blade was ready to cut them free.
He could not meditate. He could not practise. He could not check or recheck the defensive positioning. He could do nothing but pace up and down, his hands caressing the fire-tempered edge of his reforged dechai. The blade did not cut him - his skin was too tough for that.
He was Fire, and nothing made of flame could hurt him. Nothing at all.
He looked up as the warrior entered. Here it was. The thing he had been sensing, feeling.
"We have a prisoner, lord," he said simply.
Parlonn nodded.
Bound, beaten, bruised, bloodied, Derannimer fell into the room.
* * * * * * *
They would meet twice more, before the end.
A tale seven years in creation, a tale spun out in legends, would soon come to an end. Twice more would they meet. This was the last chance either of them had to change what was to come, but that would not happen. One knew all too well the folly of changing what was destined, and the other....
The other was too angry, too consumed by love and hatred and fury to think.
"You will never understand," Marrain hissed. "Our honour, our ways, our ancient traditions.... what were they to you? You will never understand."
Valen straightened. "Your honour and your ways.... how many deaths have they caused? People have died for meaningless words. There will be no killing. Do you hear me, Marrain? No Minbari shall slay another.
"It ends! I swear it, it will all end!"
"And what life will there be? You would have taken his life as surely as if you had killed him yourself. You would just have turned his every second into a torment."
"You murdered a prisoner in my care. You assaulted the soldiers I set to guard him. You did not just kill a prisoner, Marrain, you killed my honour. Think on that."
"You have no honour, and I could easily have killed your little soldier boys as well. I hated Hantiban more than anyone else alive for what he did, but he was still my lord, and he was still a warrior, and he deserved a quick death."
"Stop that!" Valen roared. Even his Ranger attendants recoiled from the fury in his words. Only Zathras, unusually silent, did not. "Stop talking of death as if it were an old friend! Death is not an ally, not a comfort. There is nothing honourable about death.
"It is the loss of possibility and hope and love. Think about all those you have killed. Think about what you have taken away from us, from Minbar, from the galaxy. One of those warriors could have been a poet, to inspire worlds with beauty. Another could have been an artist, or a diplomat, bringing peace across the galaxy.
"When you kill someone, you do not just end one life, you end the possibility of everything they could ever have been. You end the lives of their children unborn. You diminish the lives of those they would have touched. Hantiban could have redeemed himself for what he did. He could have taken some step, however small, along the path to salvation.
"You took that from him. When you kill, you take all potential from someone."
"And what of those whose only potential is death? What of those who can only kill - for whom death is all they know, and all they will ever know?"
"Such people will not be welcome in my great house."
"And there you have it. You do not understand, and you never will. Such people have been dying for you since the beginning, since before they knew your name, and you will simply cast them aside.
"Have no fear for me. I want no place in your great house."
"You will not have one. You are stripped of your titles as Warleader and as Shai Alyt. You are to be returned to Minbar to stand trial for the murder of a prisoner."
Marrain laughed, once and once only.
His hand reached for his dechai.
"Who will make me? I will fill this room with blood first."
There was nothing else to say. No one could truly know the thoughts in Valen's mind - the anger, and beneath that the grim determination to save Marrain from his fate.
Marrain, who had known love for the first time in his life, was consumed by it, the stone cracked and torn and the fire beneath blazing.
Something intervened. Call it fate, perhaps, if you wish.
Rashok of Dosh, Ranger.
"Lord Valen," he cried, running into view. "Lord Valen! It is Lady Derannimer."
A cold fist clutched Valen's heart. He knew something, although not what. He knew she would not die here, but.... He doubted. God forgive him, he doubted.
"She has gone. Her flyer left the flagship more than an hour ago."
"Z'ha'dum," Valen whispered. She had gone to find Parlonn.
Marrain had spun on his heel and made to leave, moving with a speed Valen had never seen in him before. He had to chase after the warrior, but he caught him. "You are to...."
Marrain spun around, his dechai flashing into his hands. Valen saw the faintest glint of light on the blade before blood filled his vision. He reeled, and fell, knowing even through the pain that Marrain could have killed him had he wanted to.
There was the sound of Rangers rushing forward, pikes at the ready. There was the sound of Zathras moving, and of Marrain adopting a fighting stance. There was the distant echo of Derannimer's breath in his ear.
"Come then," Marrain hissed. "All of you. Come and die."
"No!" roared Zathras. "Is foolishness, all. Great foolishness! You listen to Zathras. If Valen can listen to Zathras, you can listen to Zathras. You, Rashok, you listen to Zathras before."
"Yes," Rashok replied, somewhat hesitantly.
"Then you all listen to Zathras now. We fight the Shadows, not each other!"
Slowly, one hand pressed to the wound in his forehead, the other wiping the blood from his face, Valen stood up. "You cannot go after her, Marrain," he said, slowly and calmly. "The rest of the fleet is not here. You cannot attack Z'ha'dum by yourself, and I will not send other ships to die beside you."
"Not even to save her?"
"She will.... understand."
"You were never worthy of her. Never! We will fight and we will die. We will fall on Z'ha'dum with the thunder and fury of the hero my ship is named for."
"You will die."
"Then we will die. Tell me this.... What do any of us have to live for?"
He left.
No one challenged him.
* * * * * * *
"I did not want to believe it.
"I did not want to....
"How could you?"
Parlonn paused, thinking deeply. "You do not understand," he said finally.
Derannimer looked up. She bore her injuries well. He had heard the tale of her capture. She had fought bravely. She was no coward. She never had been.
"Then make me!" she cried. "Make me understand! At first.... I did not want to believe. Then, I thought.... some form of control, or manipulation, but no.... It is you. Just you."
"Just me."
"Why?" She lowered her head, seeming to sink under the weight of her despair. "Of all people, why you?"
"He would have killed us all. He will kill us all. I am not saying he is wrong, I am not saying he is deluded, I am not saying he does not truly believe in the rightness of his cause. But I am saying that there will be no place in his world for people like me."
"You won't even say his name."
"I have to oppose him. I have had.... doubts for a long time, but I knew it would not matter. I would not live out the war, so what did it matter the world this war would create? When I lay bleeding and dying on Iwojim, I.... saw things.
"I saw how selfish that was. His strength stems from his conviction, his genuine belief that he is making our world better through his actions. I believe just as strongly that what he is doing is wrong. Why should I not channel that belief, that conviction, just as he does? I have spoken to the leaders here. We all believe the same thing. We should never have been fighting them. All they want is for us to be strong."
"You're lying."
"Have I ever been able to lie to you?"
"No.... you haven't. You don't see it. You really don't."
"I will fight with all the courage, all the conviction, all that I am, to stop what he is doing to us. I will kill him if I must. To preserve what we are....
"I will do anything."
"I cried so much. I thought you were dead, and I cried for a long time. I missed you so much. I.... needed someone to talk to, and there was no one! I love Valen, and I love Marrain, and I am trying not to hurt either of them, but....
"I couldn't talk to you!"
Slowly, Parlonn knelt down beside her, gently taking her head between his hands. He kissed her once on the forehead.
"You have learned strength on your own. I am proud of you, but I can help you no longer."
He rose and left. The sound of her tears followed him as he prepared himself for war.
* * * * * * *
Marrain found a single moment to stop and think before breaking free of the rest of the fleet.
One single moment.
"We are attacking prematurely, Shai Alyt."
"We are writing our names in history," he replied, not having reached that moment yet. "We will achieve the deaths we have always deserved, the deaths he would deny us. Any who wish to may leave. I will not hold a single thing against anyone who does so."
No one moved.
"Then we go to our ancestors."
The Osano-wo surged forward, making for Z'ha'dum and the Shadow war fleet waiting there.
Marrain would not be leading the attack. He had something more important to do. He would find Derannimer, and protect her.
And he would find Parlonn, and.... it would be over.
He had been thinking of that fight and that fight alone for more than ten years. Only now, with the memory of Derannimer's kisses on his shoulder, there were other thoughts as well, intruding on his moment of death.
They were thoughts of life.
One moment of clarity.
In which he realised he wanted to live after all.
But only with her.
* * * * * * *
"War.... I wish I could say otherwise, but I have never truly mastered it. I watched my people die once in a war brought about by ignorance and misunderstanding, and now I am seeing it again.
"No, I lie. I do not wish to master war. Ever. After today, I will not have to. It ends.
"I've known this will happen. Has that.... changed me, do you think? Would any true general think like this? The intelligent thing to do is to wait for the rest of the fleet to arrive. We are fortified here. Z'ha'dum is strong, but with the full might of our fleet behind us we will destroy their defences. To join Marrain, to attack now....
"I know why he is going. I want Derannimer to be safe just as much as he does, but I know she will be safe. Does that.... negate everything that makes this worthwhile, that knowledge of the outcome?
"What am I to do?"
Zathras shrugged. "You great general. Zathras just keep ships running on time. You not tell Zathras how to repair ships, Zathras not tell you how to lead people."
"I need advice, old friend, and you are the only one.... the only one who can understand. You know what the future will bring, just as much as I do."
"Zathras knows great many things. Zathras not as stupid as some say."
"I've never thought of you as stupid. Quite the reverse. I think, in some ways, you know even more than I do."
"Zathras knows how to use three eighths gripley. Do you know how to use three eighths gripley?"
"I don't even know what a three eighths gripley is."
"Tool. For tightening panels on control pads."
"I think you know even more than that. You know, the one thing that seems to have escaped the histories.... I know what happens to Marrain, and Parlonn, and Derannimer, and all the others. I knew A'Iago would die at Red Star, I know Nemain will succeed Derannimer as leader of the Grey Council....
"But I do not know what will happen to you."
"Zathras not important enough for histories to mention."
"I think there's more to it than that."
"Zathras not know, but Zathras be ready when time comes. Time is not today."
"Then what do we do today?"
"That is for Valen to decide. If Zathras knew answers to these questions, then Zathras lead Minbari and Valen sweep floors."
Valen sighed. "Then let's get it over with. After today it won't matter. None of it.
"Let's go to Z'ha'dum."
* * * * * * *
A great wave of anticipation spread through Z'ha'dum that day. Everyone, Shadow and Minbari, knew that this would be the final battle, not just of this war, but of all wars. Valen had promised a thousand years of peace, and they all seemed to know that it would happen.
Marrain in particular fought with a fury that had never been witnessed before, all the more powerful for its being controlled. In the space of only a day he had killed his former lord, raised arms against his current one, known the truest of loves and experienced a profound revelation. He went to war, for the first time in his life, with something truly worth fighting for.
The Osano-wo was destroyed, as was inevitable, but it died with honour, deliberately launching a desperate suicide attack into the heart of the planet. Fire and thunder shook Z'ha'dum as the ship tore into the rock.
Marrain was not aboard when the Osano-wo died. He had taken a shuttle, and in the midst of flames and fury and madness he descended to the surface and set off in search of Derannimer. She filled his thoughts, his mind, his memories, his everything. Priests of Fallen Midnight, Heart Guards, Wykhheran, the Cult of Shadow, all fell before him. The very bones of Z'ha'dum seemed to shake as he moved deeper and deeper into the heart of the world.
He did not know that Valen had joined the battle, and that the Shadow ships were dying one by one. They were a race countless millennia old, and the death of even one of their kind ended priceless memories.
But some remained, some remembered.
Parlonn waited, not taking to the skies. He could have faced Marrain that way, ship to ship, but it would not have been right.
They were warriors. This had to be done as warriors, blade to blade, face to face.
The final battle....
From Darkness, Fire and Honour: The Military Campaigns of the Shadow War,
by Sech Akodogen of the Star Riders, published in the Earth year 1848.
* * * * * * *
It seemed as though she were sleeping, peaceful and tranquil, bathed in the light of heaven itself. Parlonn touched her forehead gently.
"I am proud of you," he whispered. "Always know that."
He looked up, at the massive, still, statuesque form of the Pale and Silent King. He had come to this place, a pinnacle overlooking a vast chasm, stretching far down into the bowels of the planet. Parlonn had come here, knowing even as the battle raged above that Marrain would find his way here, to him.
"I have served you loyally and well," he said to the silent Shadow. "That is my duty as a warrior to his lord, and I have no right to ask anything of you in return. But a lord is as bound to his servants as his servants are to him. I have been both lord and warrior and I know this.
"I ask you this, as a warrior who marches to his death.
"See that she lives, or if she must die, at least let it be on her feet. She has not been ordained, but she is a warrior at heart. I think she is the finest of all, the more so because she does not see it. I have known her, and loved her.
"That is my last, and first, wish of you, lord."
The Pale and Silent King nodded. <It shall be.>
A light seemed to rise from the chasm, a bright and brilliant light that banished all shadows and illuminated the darkest recesses of his soul. Parlonn turned, not looking at it, and walked away.
There was no sound of battle to reach his ears, no cries or screams or exhortations. There was nothing as he walked save his certainty. It was over at last. No more doubts or fears. A thousand years of peace that would stagnate and destroy his society would pass without him. He had tried to fight it, but any warrior could only do so much.
Marrain came into view.
* * * * * * *
Who are you?
That is the same question they ask. I don't think they really know the answer themselves. It is a terrible thing when those you love fight, isn't it?
Marrain, he....
Came for you. As you knew he would.
I didn't....
You wanted him to come.
Yes. I wanted.... I wanted someone who thought only of me. I love Valen, but he.... how can I share him with an entire people? Every single Minbari alive, not to mention half the rest of the galaxy, they're calling on him. They have his attention. As well as people who won't even be born for a thousand years. I wanted someone who thinks only of me.
But he doesn't. He is a warrior. Like Valen, he has his own life that you will never be part of, never can be part of.
I don't understand it. Their code. I just do not understand it.
It is not meant to be understood. That is their strength, that is one thing Valen has taken from them and adopted for his own. Acceptance. Honour is all, courage, duty, loyalty, the hierarchy. You do not question, you simply obey. It will be the same for the Rangers.
You think that's wrong?
Do you?
Yes. I think everything about their warrior code is wrong. Every last thing.
Why?
Honour, courage, loyalty.... Where is compassion, where is love, where is friendship?
They exist, perhaps, in more places than you might expect.
You remind me of someone.
Who?
My father. He tried to.... teach me things. I didn't understand them all, but he kept trying. Even when he died, he was trying to teach me. You're trying to teach people as well.
I tried. Few of them listened. It is a terrible thing when your children fight. I believed once.... They stayed behind when the others left, to shepherd and guide the younger races, but all they have done is fight. They stay to prove they were right and the others were wrong.
The Shadows?
And the Vorlons. Both of them, locked in an endless cycle, unable to see what they have become. Sadly, most of them do not care. They too have taken your warriors' concepts and adapted them for their own purpose. The Shadows believe in honour and courage. They think they do me honour by remaining here. They do not understand. And the Vorlons.... duty and hierarchy. They demand that of the younger races. None should think save by their will.
The Vorlons are our allies.
Do you really think so?
No. They destroyed my life. Their.... prophecy.... singled me out from the day I was born. How did they know?
They have some gift for prescience. They are powerful, and they have always been good students. Some races have seers, oracles....
Yes.
The Vorlons have them as well, although far more powerful than those you know. They.... see time, they see its flows and its nexus points and its twists and turns.
How can they do that?
I taught them. I saw.... great tragedy in their future, and I hoped to make them aware of what they were doing, that they might reconsider. I was wrong. That is why I came here, to wait and watch and pray that either side might gain understanding.
Why are you telling me this?
That you might understand.
I have a destiny? I know that.
You, your descendants, their descendants. Yes, there is a destiny. I have seen some of it. I wished to see you with my own eyes, as it were. I wished to see another as well.
Parlonn? Marrain?
No, one not yet given thought, but given life. It was a pleasure to meet with you. Farewell, little mother.
* * * * * * *
As was destined, foreordained, blessed by the will of fate, the two warriors met in the darkened tunnels towards the heart of Z'ha'dum.
Parlonn, purpose and understanding having given way to inevitability and ancient wisdom. He has died once, beneath the brightly lit sky at Midnight, and returned to the world, new purpose and new ambition burning in his veins as the fire he always claimed to wield. That purpose is forgotten, for now. Should he win, his mission will return, although weaker than before. He is fighting to save the Minbari people, but in his fire-shadowed eyes, very few of the Minbari people are worth saving.
Marrain, love and compassion shining in his memories for the first time. He has died a thousand times every day since he watched Berevain surrender her soul to her ancestors, but only today has he not envisioned her face when he closes his eyes. For the first time in his life he has something to fight and die for besides a dying code and a forgotten way of life. That love, that memory, they remain, even as he stares at his opponent.
Enemies once, friends once, something more. Now....
What?
"You have changed," Parlonn said calmly.
"So have you."
"No, it is in your eyes."
"Is she safe?"
"She is alive. She is strong."
"I know."
"Nothing would have made me happier than to let you marry her. Nothing at all."
"I will marry her."
"I would like to think so. I will have to fight you."
"I know."
"A warrior defending his lord, guarding the inner sanctum. One final, last stand as the castle falls."
"You do not have to explain to me."
"I was not. I will have to explain to the others."
"Why bother? They will never understand."
"No, but that is the point. They will never understand."
"I do."
"We are the last. No more after us. Nothing more after this. Nothing."
"No. There will be our children, and theirs. Someone will remember."
"I would like to think so. Are you ready?"
"I have been ready for ten years."
"As have I."
It was the end, and the time had come. The dark walls of black stone loomed over them and there was no light - but neither of them needed light. They fought by the power of their souls and the ties of their honour.
It was the last dechai duel ever fought. No eyes witnessed it, no historians or bards recorded the deeds.
None of that mattered. Not one bit.
* * * * * * *
Valen closed his eyes, and the sound and the heat and the fury of the battle were somewhere far distant.
"I hate this. I hate war.
"This will be the end. The last. No one else will have to know this, to feel this. No more fear, no more loss. Peace.
"A thousand years of peace.
"And after that...?"
He opened his eyes. That was not for him to know.
* * * * * * *
Cathedral.
"It was an event that would never happen again. The titans, the legends of the Minbari, they whom some had even called Gods.
"If I had to pinpoint the exact moment the old days ended, it would be with that final duel. After that, things would never be the same. Marrain and Parlonn were the only two remaining who truly understood what it meant to be a warrior. The others were all dead. Hantenn, Shuzen, Magatsen. Shingen had presided over the greatest era of the warrior that had ever existed and with his death all things began to end, but when Marrain and Parlonn met in battle for the last time it was the final, flickering flame. Valen had ushered in his new era of peace, and there was no place in the thousand years of peace for such people.
"What is past, is past. If it had been possible for that one duel to extend into eternity, both warriors would have taken that chance, but it was not. Ultimately, there could only be one victor. Both of them had found a new purpose, a new driving ambition, but while Parlonn saw his hopes fade and die, Marrain's lived on.
"Who else could the victor ever have been?"
* * * * * * *
Marrain, bloodied, battered, almost all strength having left his body, knelt down by his fallen friend and enemy and reached out a hand.
Parlonn slowly reached up and took it, blood filling his mouth, the fire leaving his eyes.
Neither spoke.
The tiny light in the cavern grew fainter as he died
* * * * * * *
Derannimer stirred in her sleep. She could feel the Shadow King above her, and the strange, old man whose soul shone with light.
She could feel another approaching as well, and her heart soared, even as the conversation left her memory.
She was too weak to move, or speak, or concentrate, and she missed what happened next, but when she felt the strong arms around her and heard the words of love in her ear, she opened her eyes.
"I love you," she heard a voice say to her. "I have always loved you."
"I love you," she replied, emotion too strong for words welling in her heart. "I have always loved you, Valen."
* * * * * * *
"Lord Valen!"
"Yes?"
"They're.... they're all gone. All the ships. All of them.
"We.... we won!"
* * * * * * *
He set foot on the scarlet world the one thing he had never wanted to be: a conqueror. A taker of worlds, a winner of wars.
He had the rest of his life to become known as something else.
"You should not be here, lord," Nemain said from his side. "You are putting yourself in danger. There could well still be Shadows here."
"I am perfectly safe," he replied.
He looked up and saw a figure walking through the shadowed tunnels towards him. Marrain emerged through the smoke and the dust looking like the true warrior he was. He was carrying Derannimer.
"They are dead," he said. "All of them."
He was covered in blood, some of it likely to be his own. His tunic was torn and ragged, his eyes dull and heavy.
"Parlonn?" Valen whispered.
"Dead. All of them." Gently, ever so gently, he laid Derannimer at his feet. "Parlonn, the Shadow King, all of them. They are all dead."
"The Osano-wo is...."
"I know. Treat her well. If you break her heart, I will destroy you. Do you understand me?"
"I understand." He knelt down to caress Derannimer's face. When he looked up, Marrain was gone.
* * * * * * *
Time ceased to have any meaning for him. He did not know how long the work took him. Such concerns no longer mattered. The pain from his wounds, the ache in his muscles, the anguish in his heart, all receded into the distance.
This was the last act of Marrain, Warleader of the Wind Swords, in honour of his fallen friend.
Finally, the work completed, he stood back. It was not good enough, but then it would never be good enough. Parlonn should not have died down here, in the dark, in the shadows, unnoticed and unmourned and remembered only as a traitor.
This shrine was something. Some little memory. In a thousand years time, as Valen's era of peace drew to an end, someone might find it. A true warrior might be born again who would find this shrine and remember the way things had once been.
Here was slain Parlonn, of the First Fane of the warrior caste of the Minbari peoples, at the hand of Marrain, now of no fane, no caste and no people. May Parlonn's soul ascend to the old Gods of his fane, to join his brethren there. May they forgive him his choices, just as they will surely never forgive mine.
And the final words, the sure understanding of the future.
Thus he was saved from his third betrayal, and thus his doom is averted, and taken upon my shoulders instead.
A candle was set there, but it was unlit. The one who would find this place.... to that person fell the task of lighting it.
Marrain stood in silence for some time, and then he turned and left.
All was silent. All was still.