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| Volume 5: Among the Stars, like Giants | Part VII: .... Let No God Tear Asunder |
THEY were all aware of it. Wherever they were, whatever they were doing. A sense of....
.... finality.
Things moving to a close.
It was a war they had been fighting forever, for all of their lives that mattered. And slowly at first, but swifter now, it was coming to an end. What would come afterwards, if there would even be an afterwards....
None of them, not even those with the gift of prophecy, could say.
Apart from the Well of Souls of course, but if they could say, they would not. They were silent, content with the knowledge of the one thing they did not know.
It was coming to an end.
On Minbar, at Turon'val'na lenn-veni, the three of them sensed it. Marrain and Tirivail looked up from John Sheridan's empty coffin, and, moving as one, stared up into the sky, lost in thought. Marrago paused in his harsh breathing and his contemplation of the still lake, and he knew it as well, and his hearts beat a little faster.
On Centauri Prime, Londo stirred from restless sleep and gasped, clutching at his chest, fearing that his hearts would give way again, and unlike the previous two occasions, he would not survive. He was very much afraid he would die before it could all be finished properly.
In her prison cell, Timov, who had seeress blood in her veins stretching back many generations, thought she was experiencing a vision such as her great-great-great-grandmother had known. But there was only a fleeting moment of understanding, and then it passed.
Durla knew it, sitting outside, staring up at the stars he was convinced prophesied his own greatness. Moreil knew it, and better than most. He smiled grimly at the thought of the task he had been called upon to perform, a chance to serve the Dark Masters again, and to win some measure of redemption from the Chaos-Bringer.
G'Kar felt it with his first footstep on Centauri Prime, the soil cold and painful beneath his feet. He hesitated, as silent and as still as stone, and beside him L'Neer turned to him in concern, only to sense it herself, and stop.
Minister Vir Cotto and Commander Ta'Lon had no need to ask. They knew themselves. Vir was afraid. Ta'Lon was not.
Preparing themselves to enter the network, Susan and Talia knew it, and a moment of understanding passed between the two women. They were not friends and never had been, but they were bound by a common purpose, and that was enough.
Inside the network, Alfred Bester had a sudden moment of clarity, enabling him to recite the names of all the women he had ever kissed, before he came to Talia and her name once again escaped him. Still, he knew she was coming to him, and soon. And he knew what he had to do in the meantime.
On Proxima, David Corwin knew it, and he wept in silent, bitter frustration, for what else could the coming of an end mean to the people of that poor, beleaguered world.
Zack felt it, but did not recognise it for what it was. He was half-way through an old bottle of whisky he had found some weeks ago and had been saving for a special occasion. Julia had declined to share it with him.
In his cell, the blind, insane man stopped his rambling briefly and cried out a name no one there had ever heard him speak before, but then it was gone, and the nightmares returned.
Delenn sat alone, brooding about her recent visitor, and thinking about old loves and about the sheer number of people she had known who were now dead. All except him of course, the one who would never die, and that was both his blessing and his curse. She thought of things ending and knew that, for him, nothing would ever end.
Sinoval himself was standing on the pinnacle, running through the assault on Kazomi 7 in his mind. He knew it, and smiled.
Somewhere, Sebastian sensed it as well, and he too smiled, for he knew things Sinoval did not.
And the Well?
The Well knows the answer to every question ever asked save one, and there are few people who know what that one question is, and no one in all of history who can answer it.
But the Well knows the future. It will seldom give details, and only the rarest of people can win the truth of prophecy from it, but it is possible. The greatest truth of the future the Well keeps to itself.
All things end in death.
All things.
* * * * * * *
And somewhere else, a woman who has seemed young for all her existence, but is older than cities, raises her head, heavy in her chains, and she looks at her captors.
And through cracked lips, she smiles.
All things end in death.
* * * * * * *
"Gone," Marrain said hollowly. "Gone."
Tirivail was silent, her single eye half-closed. She seemed to be meditating. Marrain sat on the side of the hill staring across at the city, the lake behind him.
"Gone."
Marrago was beside him, turning his head slightly as he studied Yedor. He had never been to Minbar before. Marrain wished he could have shown his friend the true sights of the planet, the way he remembered them. The shrines at Sekigahara, the majesty of Shirohida, the white walls of Ashinagachi.
Not this.... monument to Valen.
"Beautiful, isn't it?" Marrago said.
"I always hated this city. This is his city. I am too weak here."
"It is a sign. Yedor was destroyed, torn apart by fire and madness and the vengeance of the heavens. Now look at it. Rising from the ashes. This city lives again. It gives me hope. This can be done once, therefore it can be done again. My world can live again."
Marrain looked at him, hesitating, and then shrugged. That was true. Yes, that was true.
He stood up. "Well, Sheridan's body is gone. We can do nothing here. Let us return to our base. Both of us have wasted too much time on this mission already."
"A moment more. I wish just.... to look."
Marrain turned from his friend with a sigh, and found himself looking at Tirivail. She was still in meditation, and seemed unaware of his presence. Even in meditation, an act designed to promote stillness and peace, her inner conflicts shone through. She could never allow herself to accept what she truly was. She denied her own greatness and shone light on her flaws. She could never know true peace.
He could understand. For so long he had found peace only in the most transitory of places and times. At war, with Derannimer, after death. He had changed with the renewal of life, and it was only upon returning to Minbar that he truly appreciated how much.
His heart went out to her. What would it take for her to find her own peace, as he had?
Her eyelid fluttered and she stirred, looking up. The first thing she saw was him staring at her, and she hesitated. She made to say something, but then stopped, and started again. "What?"
"Nothing," he said, harshly. She had rejected him, not the other way around. The fault lay with her. He had accepted what he was, and he could not change it. If she could not accept that....
"We should go. We have wasted enough time here."
"He was taken recently," she said. "By a group of people, perhaps six, and not far away. They worship the Aliens."
Marrain stared at her. Even Marrago turned from his reverie of Yedor to look at her.
She turned away from the surprise in their eyes. "I have been fighting them for years. I have learned how to read their ways."
"I have been a warrior for a thousand years," Marrain replied. "And I could not have divined that."
"There is a.... taint to the air where they walk. The clever among them can conceal it, but it lingers all the same. I have fought them for long enough to be able to sense it."
Marrago smiled. "I believe every word Marrain has said about you, lady. I admit I was sceptical at first, but now that I have seen you...."
She interrupted him angrily. "It is nothing!" she snapped. "Just a skill I have. Anyone could learn it."
"But we have not," the Centauri said calmly. "And you have."
"Can you track them?" Marrain asked.
"Of course. They performed some sort of ritual here. That is where the taint comes from. They tried to conceal it, but it was there, and I can follow it."
"Then lead on."
"This could be a trap," Marrago said. "Were they aware we had plans for Sheridan's body? If not, why take it now? And if they are aware you can follow their trail, they could be expecting us."
"Then it may be a trap," Marrain acknowledged. "If it is, they will try to fight us, and...." He smiled.
"And what?"
"We will give them the death they crave."
Marrago sighed. "Oh, to be young and to have such confidence."
"I am hardly young."
They stopped, realising that Tirivail was several paces ahead of them and heading towards the city. Both of them moved to follow her. Marrain's hand was at his belt, ready for his weapon at all times.
As was fitting for a warrior.
* * * * * * *
Mr. Morden looked out from his balcony at the world he had come to accept as his new home. The sight made him tense, as it always did. All these years, and still they were not done. He wondered if they ever would be.
Sometimes he felt he had been forgotten. He reported, as always, and occasionally he received orders, but they were few. His last orders had been over eighteen months ago, and they had been simple.
Defend Centauri Prime from attack. Maintain order. Search for heretics and traitors.
He was not unaware of the.... problems that had been developing among the Vorlons. It disturbed him. The Vorlons were meant to be unified - one purpose, one vision, driving forward to protect and shelter and guide the younger races, to remove chaos.
To imagine them fighting amongst themselves....
Mr. Morden hated chaos, and yet he found he had grown to love a world that knew nothing but chaos. Peasant uprisings, Courtly intrigue, ever-shifting alliances, a never-ending stream of attacks and riots. Only a few months ago there had been food riots in the southern cities. The most recent Court assassination had been only last month, and there had been countless attempts on Morden himself.
And yet he had grown to love this world and these people. He loved their culture, their history, their food and drink. The Centauri were a dying people, and it was his destiny to bring them back to life, to restore them to Order and discipline, to give them greatness again.
They didn't seem to want any of those things of course, but he would keep trying. In the absence of any more specific orders, that was all he could do.
Centauri Prime was the only planet he could still claim to control. Marrago and Sinoval had won all the rest. For years Morden had been pressing for more military support to defend the Centauri worlds, but he had always been turned down. The Centauri were just not important enough these days.
He remembered something he had heard from Mr. Edgars just before his suicide. Edgars had sent him a message commiserating him on the dead-end nature of his position. The Vorlons regarded the Centauri as a dying race. Once they had been purified of the Shadow influences there would be nothing remaining of any interest.
Morden missed the old man. He had been half-expecting it for some time, but to die that way.... Suicide. What could have happened to make Mr. Edgars do that?
He doubted he would ever know.
He owed the old man everything. His life, his job, his sanity. The Minbari had taken his family, and had almost killed him. He had survived through madness and delirium, drifting through life in a haze. His skills and his hatred of the Minbari had brought him to the attention of the Government, and he had been sent on the fateful mission to Sigma 957, where he had encountered the Vorlons.
He had worked for them and served them, but they were alien, and different and.... inhuman. Their war and their concerns were far above him.
Then he had been sent to recruit someone - the mysterious and elusive William Edgars, of Edgars Industries. Morden had worked for him before, in a sense, but he had never known or even seen his ultimate employer. Edgars was human, with human concerns and human feelings and human motivations. He gave the war a human face, and he reminded Morden of the true nature of what they were fighting for.
He served the Vorlons, yes, he had devoted his life to them and to the cause of Order, but most of it was due to Edgars.
He wished Edgars could have seen this world.
He moved away from the balcony. There were things to do, far too many things to do.
He would have plenty of time to rest later.
* * * * * * *
Are you ready?
The voice haunts him, although Sinoval is not sure whose voice it is. There is no one here. He is never truly alone, with the Well always a part of him, but this voice does not come from the Well.
He thinks it is hers. The voice of his conscience. But she died, twelve years ago - killed, in a very real way, by himself.
Susan has tried to replicate the rôle, but she is not the right person. He admires and respects and even likes her, but she is not Kats, and she never will be.
He still wears her necklace.
Are you ready?
What would she think of the things he has done in the twelve years since she fell? Twelve years....
The battle at Proxima. Soul-tearing, almost crippling. The Alien had been terrible, the primal fear of death given flesh. He understood why no one could stand before it, why the very sight of one had almost driven Dexter insane, but that was not why he had feared it so.
He feared it because he knew what it was.
A mirror.
In their world, the Aliens had been Soul Hunters. They had uncovered the secrets of death just as the Soul Hunters had, but they had run unrestricted, without morality or fear, unopposed and unbroken, and they had turned their universe into a graveyard.
There but for the grace of God, go I.
They were a mirror.
And a terribly accurate one, as well. What would Kats say afterwards? What words of reassurance could she provide him? The others had tried and failed. He had won, triumphed against the most terrible enemy he had ever faced, and then he had been forced to retreat at the very moment of his victory.
There were no words, and he doubted Kats would be able to supply him with any.
A monster. A mirror. A monster in the mirror.
He had gone to the Vree.
He can feel her disappointment. He does not imagine her words, for every time he thinks of that the words are harsher and more cutting and more painful, but he can envisage her terrible disappointment. He was meant to be a saviour, a leader, better than the Enemy.
He was not meant to be the sort of monster who unleashed Moreil upon the Vree children.
It had been better for them to die now rather than at the hands of the Enemy, but it was still a foul act, one of many. One of hundreds.
Are you ready?
The monster. The monster in the mirror.
Are you ready?
And then again, after the Vree rebellion. Again he had acted, but then he had seen the truth, and he had changed. Too late.
Much too late.
Are you ready?
The monster in the mirror.
He pushes her to the back of his mind. For six years, since the rebellion, since he banished Moreil and his like from Cathedral, he has restrained the monster in the mirror, kept it bound by chains of friendship and loyalty and morality.
And her memory, of course. Always her memory.
Soon, it will be time to let slip those chains.
Soon, it will be time to take the war to the enemy, and let them see the monster.
But he has things to do first.
Are you ready?
He has to retake Kazomi 7 from them.
"Yes," he whispers.
He is ready.
And his fleets move into position.
* * * * * * *
Floating, waiting, in a sea of light and nothingness.
Time had no meaning for him. For anyone here. He was free, slipped free of the chains which had bound him, but he had no idea how long it had been. And so, it did not matter how long he waited.
He sensed them from a long way distant, and that was troubling. If he was aware of them, then so might others be. Their greatest weapon was secrecy. He had learned the rules of the network, and he was very aware of the other creatures that roamed it. Some were possible to comprehend: trapped souls slipped free, or the Light Masters moving, or the Darkness passing through, blotting out the light as it passed.
But there were other creatures as well. Things no living human could comprehend. The tunnels and passageways of the network crossed into hyperspace after all, and there were things living there. Some were intelligent, some were mindless, but all were alien, and very dangerous.
He moved forward to reach them. Two of them, women. Appearance could be changed here, but he was sure he knew one of them. She was stronger, more real and solid. The other was.... ethereal, almost ghostly, and there was a presence behind her.
"Speak the words," he demanded. It was taking all his effort of will to remember what must be done and said. This was important. This must be done.
"One day a lemming will fly," said the more real woman, and he was struck again by the certainty that he knew her, that he had even met her inside the network before. "You know who we are."
"I am to guide you somewhere."
"Wait," said the other woman, the ghost. "We need to be sure you are who we are meant to meet. Who are you? Give us your name."
"My name...." That was irritating. It had slipped his mind. He had so much to remember, and he could only recall some of it. There were ghosts flickering through his mind. Ghosts and children and monsters.
"My name...."
One day a lemming will fly.
"My name is Alfred Bester," he said with certainty. Some things were becoming clearer now. "And your names?"
"Susan," said the ghost.
"Talia," said the other.
"Talia.... I know you. I know that name. We have met before."
"We did know each other," she admitted.
"The reunion can wait," said the ghost, Susan. "You know where we're going."
"Yes. Oh yes."
"Then take us there. We don't have much time."
A memory returned to him - a flicker, an image of the man he used to be: superior and arrogant, with a hint of sarcasm. He had been one of the special, the élite. Now he was special again. He knew this place - they did not. They needed him.
He was Alfred Bester, and he was one of the special ones.
"You will find," he said simply, enjoying the new layers of his personality he was uncovering, "that here, time is all we have."
And then he set off to lead them along the paths of heaven.
* * * * * * *
Despite their horrific losses, both Vizhak and Kulomani were determined to press on with their campaign to liberate Zhabar. There was however serious dissent from some of their Non-Aligned allies, most notably the Vree, who tried to recall their ships from the front line.
The central problem of course was the sheer power of the Aliens. They were akin to the First Ones of their galaxy, and the Drazi and Brakiri were no match for them. For the Vorlons, the successes of 2267 had largely overwritten memories of the disaster at Proxima, and they were becoming only too happy to employ their new allies again and again.
Their immediate target after the near-annihilation of the Drazi and Brakiri fleets was the homeworld of the Alliance, Kazomi 7. The planet was fairly central, and it had been a Drazi possession before being ceded to the Alliance. During the Shadow War there had been some talk of the Drazi demanding the world back, but in the end that had come to nothing.
Kazomi 7 had become something of an irrelevance since the construction of Babylon 5, a forgotten backwater of history. A Vorlon delegation was still based there, but in general the main powers had all been too busy to pay it much heed.
After the battle of Babylon 5 in 2263 the remnants of the Alliance Government had made their way to the planet, in an attempt to re-establish the name of the Alliance as distinct from Babylon 5 and the Vorlons. They met with only limited success, and soon afterwards they dispersed, leaving the world to the Vorlons, the dreamers and those with nowhere else to go.
However, in 2268, Kazomi 7 was once more the focus of attention from the Vorlon government and elsewhere. Early in that year the Vorlon Ambassador had been recalled to their homeworld to deal with other matters, and a new representative was installed. Shortly after this, it appears that Cathedral was sighted in the system. In an effort to flush Sinoval out, the new ambassador encouraged the Cult of Death to flourish on the planet, and then set about the construction of a gateway.
For months Kazomi 7 was filled with riots and madness. Although Sinoval's presence was never definitely confirmed, there were many rumours that he had been sighted. Then, near the end of the year, the violence ceased as suddenly as it had begun, and the rumours ceased with it.
A number of mysterious events suggest that more was involved than met the eye. At least two Vorlons died in questionable circumstances, and the Government building - already badly damaged in an assassination bombing several years previously - was infiltrated by persons unknown. More disturbingly, the gateway to the Alien universe could not be found when order was restored.
Meanwhile, Vizhak and Kulomani had drafted in outside assistance. Sinoval's whereabouts were still unknown, and Marrago was busy with the consolidation of Frallus and the next stage of his campaign, the Beata system. Marrain however was only too happy to assist. It is believed he had been involved with the hunting down of the Cult of Death on Minbari colony worlds, but there had been a quarrel of some description between him and Tirivail, and he had left.
Zhabar was already seething with potential insurrection, and Vizhak and Kulomani took advantage of that, initiating a guerilla war against the occupation. Marrain and the Tak'cha mounted lightning strikes against the Vorlons and the Alliance forces, then retreated before the Aliens could become involved.
And then, near the end of the year, a full-scale assault was launched against them. At first all went well. They were ready for the Aliens this time, and they had some assistance from the First Ones, whom the Aliens seemed reluctant to engage. Then, at the height of the battle, the Vree forces fled, abandoning the battlefield. That almost spelled defeat, but Kulomani recovered swiftly and Marrain held the line with a display of near-suicidal bravery. Eventually the battle was won, and the space around Zhabar was captured. The planet itself remained a battleground until the very end of the war, but the greatest victory had been won.
There remained of course the matter of the Vree, who had seized the opportunity provided by Sinoval's absence and the distraction of the battle to abandon their compulsory allies. It later became apparent that their Government had been in negotiation with the Vorlons for almost a year, and had been promised immunity in return for the betrayal.
The treachery went far further than desertion, however. Every alien in Vree space was arrested, and the Vree jump gates were closed to Drazi and Brakiri forces. At least three Drazi and Brakiri generals were executed and another four imprisoned. With Sinoval still otherwise engaged and Vizhak and Kulomani stretched to the limit holding Zhabar, it seemed that the Vree would remain unpunished.
But they had forgotten the person who had brought about their involvement in the first place. Moreil and his Shadow-vassal allies were engaged in assassination and guerilla warfare on Zhabar when they learned of the Vree rebellion. Angry at being personally defied, Moreil set off for the Vree worlds, and amply demonstrated what he was capable of when no limitations were imposed on his actions.
He bathed the Vree worlds in blood, murdering indiscriminately. He particularly targeted the children, destroying hospitals and schools. In only a few weeks every single member of the Vree Government was butchered, and there seemed to be no security precaution that could protect against his wrath. The Faceless moved throughout the Vree cities, the Wykhheran were let loose in the public places, and the Zarqheba filled the skies with madness.
Rumours emerging from the Vree worlds were met with increasing horror and disbelief. The Vorlons did not interfere, either believing this would help their propaganda war, or that the treacherous Vree deserved their fate. Sinoval was absent, and Moreil would listen to no one else.
He did not stop until he was forced to stop, early in 2269, and in the four months he was active he and those with him were responsible for the near-genocide of the entire Vree race. Even today, it is not clear whether they will recover.
But even after his exploits with the Vree, Moreil was far from finished with this war.
Williams, G. D. (2298) The Great War: A Study.
* * * * * * *
Moreil looked out across the city, its towers silhouetted against the night sky. This was a place that knew a great deal about fear. There had been much blood spilled here. He could taste it in the air, in every stone, in every breath.
The Faceless were in the city already, moving silently, waiting for the signal. In the mountains to the south the Zarqheba were nesting, waiting for his call to unleash terror. Shadowed and hidden, the Wykhheran were ready to bring death wherever they walked.
All was as the Dark Masters willed it.
It had not been easy. Centauri Prime had belonged to the Enemy for more than a decade. This planet had known their Inquisitors, their Dark Stars, battles beyond number. It was a world all too familiar with chaos.
Moreil approved. Even after fourteen years of trying to stamp their vision of Order on Centauri Prime, the Enemy had experienced only transitory success. He could see a slum area to the west of the city, fires burning in the night.
The Centauri were a weak people. Marrago, damn him for eternity, had chosen to serve the Dark Masters during the war and the Chaos Bringer after it, but the rest of his people were as nothing. Pitiful, pathetic, witless animals, who stumbled from one catastrophe to another, with no one to serve and no one to lead them.
Perhaps this Durla.... He could be the one. He showed drive and ambition. He seemed one such as even the Dark Masters might accept.
It was his own fault, Moreil supposed. He had forgotten the Dark Masters' creed. Chaos in all things. He had become too bogged down with hierarchies and rules. The Dark Masters were above all, and what else mattered?
He had enjoyed the slaughter of the Vree children, had known the righteousness that came of service in a true cause. But there had been more than that. He had felt primal exultation as he dipped his claws into the blood of their young, savage joy at their deaths.
It was only right that they be punished for their treason. They had sworn a vow of fealty and they had broken it. That was another lesson he had learned from the Dark Masters. They did not object to rebellion, but whoever rebelled would have to be strong enough to face the retribution which would follow.
The Vree had not been strong enough. They were unworthy allies, and they would serve best as a lesson. Moreil knew all too well the value of fear as a weapon.
The Chaos Bringer had stopped him, and he had not understood why. Perhaps there was another cause that required his attention, but if that had been so, he had never discovered it. He had been cast out, banished and exiled from the side of the Chaos Bringer. All through the words of the traitor Marrago.
Still, he had served as best he was able. He had spread chaos, and he had helped where he could. The Tak'cha had been able to use his services. Moreil liked their leader, Haxtur. There was a kinship of sorts there. And Marrain had been happy to meet with him upon occasion. Moreil liked him too. He had done a great service for the Dark Masters a long time ago, although Moreil was not sure of the details. He was one who was worth serving.
And maybe this Durla would be also.
He remembered the Brotherhood Without Banners, and how they had been the beginning of all this. A beginning to chaos and anarchy.
And where had they begun?
A Centauri world.
Sometimes things did revolve into a circle.
He spread his arms wide and stared up into the night sky, issuing a shrill, fierce cry. Behind him, the Wykhheran tensed.
The time of chaos had come.
* * * * * * *
Through her black chains, the woman looked up at her captors. She could see the madness burning in their eyes. Her words had evidently inspired them. She smiled through broken and cracked lips. Even in the moment of utter helplessness, there was power.
All it took were the right words.
The miasma was all around them, tangible, thick and heavy in the air. Death. It was the smell of rotting corpses, of worms and fresh soil, of wet swampland and the dead bones of the earth. They had worshipped their Lords of Death for so long, been in the presence of an artefact of Death for so long, that a part of that unholy touch had rubbed off on them. Irrevocably, eternally, their souls had been damned with that corruption.
Of course, all they truly cared about was the death of flesh.
And that was coming. Soon, that was coming.
In three forms. Earth, and Fire, and the third. Wisdom.
The leader of the Cult walked up to her. She could see all his secrets, all his innermost thoughts and desires. He was not an evil man. He was simply someone who had expected power only to see power taken away from him. He was a strong man always surrounded by stronger ones, a good man in the company of great men. Dukhat, Sinoval, Sonovar, Takier.... they had all taken what he felt was his.
And the bitterest tragedy of all was that he knew they were more worthy of the power they had wielded than he could ever have been.
"It will be done," he told her, keeping the triumph out of his voice. She admired that. He truly believed. Truly. "What you have told us will be, what you have prophesied will come.... It will be done.
"There shall be death, and nothing but death."
She was mouthing the words silently along with him, matching every tone and intonation and syllable. He did not seem to notice.
"You have served us well. Eventually. Now you understand the wisdom of not opposing us. You have guided us well. You have even given us the instrument we need to offer Them. We will meet the price they will require.
"And what a price it shall be."
He reached down and touched her forehead, almost in benediction. She closed her eyes and resisted the urge to shudder. The taint he had contracted felt like slick oil on her skin; rancid, disgusting fat filled with bile and venom.
"I must go now. There is still much to do. Think on what is to come. Think...." His eyes burned with messianic fervour.
"And glory in it."
Then he left. He would not die today. Not yet. That was not his fate. He believed in fate, this man, not like the others who had claimed his power. He believed, and so, when he had asked her to name the day of his death, she had told him the truth. Another man might have sought to avoid what was to happen, but not him. He would embrace it, and that made it all the easier for others to predict.
Even those who could not see the future.
She closed her eyes and tried to meditate. Thirty-four minutes until they would arrive. Her visions were more precise than they had ever been. Perhaps events were rushing to an end, or perhaps exposure to the Alien taint had simply heightened her true sight. Whatever the reason, she could see better than ever, better than the legends said anyone ever could.
Up to a point. Then there was nothing.
She had been having the same vision for more than twenty years. The black gate opening, the castle flying in the sky above a world filled with graves, the sound of countless souls screaming.
And on the station, the burst of light at the end of all.
And then....
Nothing.
This universe would end. After, there would be a new time, a different time, a time her sight could not penetrate.
She knew no fear, not now. No one could do anything to her that was worse than not knowing, than never knowing. After that burst of light.... what?
She would never know.
Valen would have empathised.
There was the sound of a door opening, a startled cry, a shout for assistance, and then a battle cry, a cry raised to the heavens in the style of a warrior a thousand years old.
"Shirohida!"
The fight was bloody, but ultimately the outcome was never in doubt. The Cult were ready to die, in fact they gloried in it. Their leader would fulfill the sacred mission, and they would all ascend to be with their Lords in death. It had been prophesied.
And they were fighting the leader of the group dedicated to hunting them down, and at her side one of the greatest warriors who ever breathed.
The outcome had always been known.
She waited until she was sure the fight was over. She could hear them talking. Marrain's voice was different from her memory of it, but the strength, the passion, the determination, they were all still there. The woman was bitter, but fiery, strong and resilient. The old man was sickened, but resolute.
She coughed, spitting blood from her throat, and called out to them.
Tirivail entered first, her weapon ready. She was slightly wounded, but she did not seem to notice. Her dark eye was clouded with suspicion. A moment later Marrain followed her.
He looked different. He was different, obviously. The body was a new one, but the soul was the same, hardened by truth and fire and a thousand years. It was still him.
"Who are you?" Tirivail asked. "Are there any more of the Cult nearby?"
Marrain was staring at her, trying to unlock an ancient memory. He knew this woman. He had met her once, long ago, in another life....
"I know you," he said.
She looked at him. "I once told you something you did not want to know," she whispered.
He blinked, once, and then his eyes widened.
"Oracle?"
* * * * * * *
Timov had been woken by the sound of a cry, and she had not been able to sleep after that. It had chilled her in a way she had thought was no longer possible. It reminded her....
It reminded her of that creature in the sky, spreading madness with every beat of its wings. One look at that thing and....
She sighed. There was nothing she could do here in her cell. Either she would be fed the next day, or she would not, and there was nothing she could do about that either. That was one of the most important lessons in war, as in life.
Seek to change the things you can.
But still she could not sleep. The brief moments of slumber she did experience were filled with nightmare visions, and she always awoke cold and clammy and trembling.
"It should never have come to this, Londo," she whispered. "Never."
There was no point blaming him either. If she had involved him sooner, when they had still had a chance of success, then maybe, but Immolan had changed all that. She remembered the horrible confrontation with G'Kar; Durla and the Dark Stars; and Londo collapsing, pale and grey, the sound of his hearts so quiet and yet so loud at the same time.
He had survived, she was sure of that. He would not die, not while she was imprisoned down here. He was strong, in will at least if not in body.
Another sound from outside the cell alerted her, and she sat up. Her hearing had always been good, and that was the only real sense she had these days. People, and more than one. The sound of bolts being pulled back, hard and metal. A creaking sound as the door opened.
The light almost blinded her and she shied away from it. There were three people silhouetted in the doorway, and with a hand over her eyes, she turned to face them.
"May I...." she began, and then coughed. Her throat was dry. She had not spoken to a living being for a very long time. "May I have the honour of your name, sir?"
"Lady Consort," the guard said, and she noticed he was holding a kutari. "I regret to announce that I have long-standing orders. In the event of a rescue attempt, you are to be executed."
"May I at least die beneath the sun?"
"That is not possible, lady. You have my sympathy." He did not sound terribly sympathetic. He moved forward.
And then there was a blur behind him. None of them seemed to see it, and nor did Timov herself, but she heard a very faint swish of air as something moved impossibly fast along the corridor. The first two guards fell instantly. The third, the one with the sword, moved towards her, weapon raised, ready to carry out his order.
Something pierced his back and emerged from the front of his chest. Claws, three of them. There was the thick, coppery smell of blood, and the sword fell to the floor with a loud clang.
The thing behind him pushed his body away and Timov had the feeling it was looking at her. There seemed to be nothing there, nothing but a dark, humanoid shadow.
"Lady," it hissed, the voice a rasping of bone on glass, and she winced. "Come."
"Who are you, sir?" she whispered. "Am I to be rescued, or this is simply an exchange of prisons?"
"Lady.... come. You are to be.... freed."
"Well, then," she said, stepping forward. "At least do me the courtesy of telling me your name, unlike that poor man you have just killed."
There was another rasping sound, akin to laughter. "No name," it replied. "No face. Faceless, am I."
She swallowed hard, fighting to control her revulsion. She was a lady of the Court. She stepped forward and gestured to it to lead the way out of the cell.
* * * * * * *
"There shall be fire, and bloodshed, and chaos, and the fulfilment of a dream's ending. Your people have sinned, Lord-General. You have consumed worlds for your vanity, enslaved peoples for your service, destroyed dreams for your own whims. Now, your punishment for those deeds is complete.
"For good or for ill, it will end soon. Your world will either die in fire, beneath the shadow of Death, or it shall rise from the ashes as a phoenix, to become something new and refreshed, the sins of the old world cast off and atoned-for.
"And that choice rests on you."
Marrain stared at her, and then shrugged. "Good to see you, too, Oracle, if it is you."
Marrago was still, lost in the mysteries of thought, weighing up her prophecy. Finally he blinked, and looked at Marrain. "You know her?" he whispered.
"I think so. It's a little.... strange. I do not remember it well. It was before I died, but.... I think so. There was a temple on Delphis, abandoned. Parlonn and I went there to find news of Valen, and....
"There was a woman there. She told us where to look, and made other promises. She told me.... things I did not want to know."
"You asked me," the woman said, bitterly, a little wearily.
"Yes, I did. It was you, wasn't it?"
"Wait!" Marrago said. "How is this even possible? Could she have known you a thousand years ago? She looks.... normal."
"Thank you," she replied acidly. "I am far from normal. Would it be possible for either of you to free me from these chains? They are not comfortable."
"Answers first," Marrain said. "What is happening?"
"War, of course. What else?"
"Who are you?"
"An exile. My.... order cast me out a very long time ago. I have a certain gift for seeing the future, reading the pages of the galaxy. Not so different from the gift your people's seeresses display, Lord-General. I came back home to Minbar a few years ago, and the Cult captured me, knowing me for what I am. I read prophecies for them, all the while waiting for the moment of my deliverance.
"Waiting for you, Marrain."
"You can really tell the future?" Marrago asked. "Marrain, she made you a prophecy last time? Was it true?"
"Yes. It was painful and harsh, but it was true."
"I have to go."
"Wait." The Minbari grabbed his friend's arm. "Not yet. Think first. We have to complete what we came for. We've wasted enough time already. Sheridan's body, Oracle. Is it here?"
"Yes. Your friend has found it already. You will notice she fled from the sight of me. Some people have no wish to know what lies before them."
"I do not blame them, or her. Why did the Cult take Sheridan's body?"
"Because I told them to. Oh, they sensed the power Sinoval had woven into it. Something potent enough to prevent a dead body from decomposing indefinitely. That intrigued them. I gave them a prophecy that if they held it here, that which they most desired would be theirs."
"And was it?"
"They desired death, Marrain. So, yes, it was."
Tirivail walked slowly into the room, her single eye still staring at the Oracle. "I have found it," she said. "It was on a sort of altar. Completely normal, as if he had died two minutes ago."
"Would you like me to prophecy for you again, Marrain? Would you like to know if this one will ever love you as the last one did"
"Silence! I have heard enough from you, Oracle. We have what we came for. Now we can leave."
"Not yet. I know where their leader has gone, and what he intends to do. Do you care to save your world, Marrain? And your people?"
"Why should I care for this world or these people? They call me Betrayer even now. This is my home, and yet it rejects me. After this I will leave Minbar never to return, and not one person shall wish me to return.... so tell me, why should I care?"
Tirivail touched his arm. "Because you are a warrior," she said harshly.
"Because you are a hero," the Oracle clarified.
Marrain stared at her. "Then tell me, and be done with it."
"Not yet. All things have a price. One vision of the future I shall give freely. The others must be paid for."
"I am losing patience with this, Oracle. What price?"
"You must kill me."
* * * * * * *
It was wrong.
It was alien and terrifying, and the deeper into the network Susan passed, the more intense that feeling of wrongness became.
For a start everything was too bright, much too bright. But as they moved they came across patches of darkness, and these were much too dark.
And the noise. Everything was too noisy. Screams mostly, but also whispers, a million different conversations of which she heard only a smattering, some of which she was sure were remembered, or illusionary, or just plain insane.
"Mummy needn't know...."
"Blue! The blue shielded me...."
"Freak and monster and abomination...."
There were aliens there as well, but they were.... They just were. Their conversations were different, and largely incomprehensible, but they were there, adding to the background noise.
She did not want to be here, but she had no choice. There was a debt of honour involved. More than one, truthfully. One for herself, one for David....
Oh, David, trust me, I'll be out of here soon, I promise.
She felt ghostly voices turn to her. They were very cold in her mind.
David.... out of here soon.... take us with you.... take us outside.... away from the light.... always so bright
Stop it! she hissed mentally. Stop it stop it stop it!
The ghostly voices stopped for a moment, and when they resumed they had more or less returned to their original volume. Talia and Bester were just ahead of her. They had paused, and Talia was looking back at her.
You shouldn't have done that, came her thoughts. We were relying on stealth, and you've just let everyone for miles around know we're here.
She bit back her rising anger and apologised. I just.... wasn't expecting them to be this loud.
It's as I taught you. Try not to let your emotions get the better of you. Keep very calm, and don't listen to any of the voices you hear. Absolutely do not talk to them.
Fine, fine. Let's get on with it.
They moved on, not walking or swimming, but sort of drifting, or maybe flying. The paths of the network made little sense to her. She knew that bits of it crossed over into hyperspace, the Vorlons having created little tunnels of hyperspace in between the nodes. Telepathic powers were heightened in hyperspace, although no one knew why.
But then, there was a lot about hyperspace no one knew. There had been legends about things living in hyperspace for as long as she could remember. All the old myths back on Earth, about sea monsters and serpents and ghostly ships and lost islands.... all of them resurfaced in hyperspace.
And things had a tendency to move about in the network.
Susan.... came a voice, an achingly familiar voice. Susan.... I'm cold.
No, she thought. No, that's not fair. My mother's dead, damn you.
Susan.... we're all here. We've missed you. Ganya, and your Papa. We've been waiting for you all this time.
She tried to move on, but her mother's haunting voice followed her.
Susan....
My mother's dead.
And so am I, came another voice. Or did you forget about me? I died as well, and you forgot all about me.
Laurel.... I'm....
And me. You killed me, remember. I was just falling in love again, and then you came and killed me.
Marcus, I....
She couldn't see Talia or Bester any more. Everything around her was too bright. She couldn't even see any of the ghosts, but they were there, given form by her imagination and her fears and her nightmares.
You're not real.
How do you know where we go when we die? Marcus countered. You could have asked Sinoval, but you never did. You were always too afraid.
How do you know about Sinoval? You died before I met him.
What do you think the dead do with their time? Laurel asked. We watch the living.
Especially you, Marcus said. You killed me, and now you think you can forget about me.
Forget about us, said her mother.
Smile and flirt and be happy with someone else, Laurel said bitterly.
They were becoming more real now, more solid to her gaze. Their eyes were accusing, their voices angry.
And behind them, invisible to her as yet, there swam a creature, lazily staring at her, waiting for the moment when she would surrender totally to her demons. It was not intelligent, not even truly sentient. It had been drawn into the network from hyperspace centuries ago, and it had no idea it was anywhere other than the place it had always called home.
But what it was, was big, and dangerous....
And hungry.
* * * * * * *
After the liberation of Zhabar towards the end of 2268, progress of the war slowed almost to a standstill. Some places still experienced fighting, and Zhabar in particular was involved in some heavy ground-based combat, but for the most part the galaxy was quiet. It was hoped that the colossal bloodshed of the last few years might be giving way to a lasting peace.
Of course the leaders knew full well that peace was impossible, but both sides welcomed the opportunity to catch their breaths, metaphorically speaking. Sinoval himself had been out of the public eye for some time, having disappeared not long after the conscription of the Vree in 2266. Over the following years he was allegedly sighted on a number of occasions, but it is clear his forces were largely without his guiding hand.
One place where Sinoval clearly did intervene was on the Vree homeworld, early in 2269. Moreil had embarked on his brutal 'punishment' of the Vree, and no one was capable of restraining him. At least, not until Sinoval appeared.
There are numerous eyewitness accounts of what happened, all contradictory, but it is known that Sinoval appeared in person in the main square of one of Vreetan's major cities. They talked, and Moreil knelt before him, and all his activities on Vreetan ceased.
It is uncertain what happened after that. Moreil was active later in the war, apparently without official sanction, although he was seen co-operating with the Tak'cha and Marrain. It is clear that Jorah Marrago had never been in favour of Moreil's being brought on board in the first place, and it is rumoured that after the events on Vreetan he insisted to Sinoval that he be rid of Moreil. Information on this is sparse, however, as L'Neer of Narn, the most reliable source on the period, never once mentions Moreil's name.
In the Vorlon Government, the precarious balance between members of the Cult of Death and non-Cultists had become critical. Although the Aliens were officially allies of the Vorlons, until this point they had been treated more as a tool which could be used, then concealed as necessary. However, it was becoming increasingly clear to the non-Cultists that the Aliens definitely did not regard themselves as tools.
The exact sequence of events on the Vorlon worlds is unclear, but it is believed there was a great deal of political manoeuvring, possibly even open combat. The struggle occupied the greater part of the year, but at the end the Cult of Death was undoubtedly in charge. The Cult was determined to show Sinoval what it was capable of, and it chose the Brakiri colony of Kara for its demonstration.
The reasoning behind the choice of Kara is obscure. It was not a very important planet, although it was a supply point for the forces on Zhabar and a useful link between Brakiri and Drazi worlds. However, this was the selected target.
And the Aliens scoured it clean of all life.
The war had entered a new and very deadly stage. There would never again be a time of peace until the very end.
Williams, G. D. (2298) The Great War: A Study.
* * * * * * *
He had no right to come here. No right at all. This was her place, her haven, her sanctuary. This was the place where she could do good away from the horrors of the war, away from the false glories Sinoval and men like him perpetuated.
He had tainted the place now, tainted it forever.
"Mother?"
Delenn looked up, tired and drained. She had hardly slept since he left, not that she had been sleeping much in the days before he arrived anyway. There was always something to do.
And since he had been here, she had been pushing herself even harder. She did not like to sleep. She did not like the....
.... dreams....
.... that came with sleep.
Dreams about John, mainly. Of that time in the garden, of the shining wedding ring, of his words wounding her. Of the grave on Minbar, of the headstone, of the sheer inevitability of it all.
She had survived twelve years, and had managed to put him behind her, only for Sinoval to turn up and destroy everything she had worked to achieve.
"Mother?"
She blinked, and realised Cathrenn was standing nervously in the doorway. She stood up, wearily, feeling so very tired.
"What?" she asked.
"It's.... it's one of the patients. The human. He's raving again."
There was no need to ask for more details. She knew whom Cathrenn meant. It was the blind man. With a soft sigh, Delenn nodded, and gestured to Cathrenn to lead the way.
The walk seemed twice as long as normal. She stumbled over her own feet and had to rest against the wall. Everything felt so warm, much too warm, and her eyes kept closing, sleep almost overtaking her.
"Mother?"
"I am fine, Cathrenn. Please.... continue."
"You look so tired, Mother. I am sorry. I should not have woken you."
"I was not asleep, child. I do not sleep these days. Continue."
Cathrenn looked doubtful, but after taking Delenn's hand she eventually carried on. The gesture upset Delenn as much as it relieved her. She needed help, it was just galling to admit it. She had once stood up to rulers and warlords and leaders across the galaxy, and now she needed help to walk down a flight of stairs.
She could hear him from the other end of the corridor. Clearly, the other patients could hear him too. They were whispering to themselves, muttering and screaming. Her heart went out to them, but she carried on as fast as she could towards the last room.
The light blinded her at first and she had to stagger back. He was lying on his bed, shaking and convulsing as if in an epileptic fit. Light, blinding, dazzling light, poured from his mouth and ears.
"Everything's dead!" he was shouting. "They know you're coming. It's a trap. It's all a trap. He's dead and you can't bring him back, it's not fair, but he's been trapped there for so long. Everything's dead...."
Delenn moved forward to try to restrain him. There were straps attached to the beds in case of this sort of situation. Cathrenn moved alongside her.
"I killed you," he sobbed to her. "I killed you and you came back. Is this Hell? I must be dead. Everyone else is dead. I'm dreaming about them, and they're going to die too. Everyone dies.
"We killed a girl once. She called out 'Mother' as she died, but we killed her. I didn't know, but I did it. We opened the gate and the things came out."
Delenn grabbed his arm and tried to force it down. Cathrenn was preparing the straps.
He turned to face her, and she was struck by the life that she saw behind his gouged eyes.
"I killed you," he sobbed. "How are you still here?"
She paused, and looked at him. The light was searing into her eyes.
The light is killing me.
We've won. It's over.
Yes. It's over.
The light was killing her.
Nothing is written in stone, Delenn, and even if it were, stones can be shattered.
She pulled back, reeling.
"They're all going to die," he sobbed. "And we're all going to die as well. It's behind you, you see."
She turned and stared. The light was beginning to coalesce, taking form.
Becoming real.
"We're all going to die."
* * * * * * *
"I have to go home."
Marrago looked at his two companions, neither of whom was looking at the other. The Oracle had been freed from her chains and was moving about awkwardly, walking with a severe limp. Marrain was sitting in silent meditation, his dechai on the floor in front of him, but Marrago knew about meditation, and Marrain's soul was far from tranquil. Tirivail was standing still, arms crossed high on her chest, staring at nothing.
"Do you believe in prophecy?" he said, speaking to no one in particular. No one answered, and so he continued. "When I was a young man, my great-aunt returned from the Imperial Court. We had estates far outside the capital then, although my father's brother took them when my father died.
"My great-aunt was a seeress, one of the Imperial Telepaths. She could foretell the future, and she terrified me. To have these strange powers, to see things that have not happened yet!
"She offered to tell me how I would die, but I turned her down. I had not had the death dream then, and I still have not had it now. I told her I would rather keep my life and death a mystery even to myself. She accepted that. She died two days later, of a fall downstairs."
No one said anything, and he sighed.
"I have to go home."
"We have to return Sheridan's body first," Marrain said. "Sinoval will have begun his own preparations by now. He is bound by a timescale."
"I will see it is done, and then I will return home. As quickly as I can. It is time to muster my armies and take them to Centauri Prime. We are not ready, but it does not appear that we have time to become ready. Do we, Oracle?"
"No," she replied.
"Then so be it."
The Oracle knelt down before Marrain. He rose, and extended the twin blades of his dechai. She took the long blade in her hands.
"Your knowledge first," Marrain said.
"Satai Takier. They have him. It has taken many years of preparation, but they have him, and they will spread madness through him. One of the Lords of the Realm Beyond will manifest itself inside his soul, and use him as the instrument to bring death across this universe. There will be no armies, no great battles, just one man."
"How much time do we have?"
"Little. Very little."
"Well then. I have your prophecy. Are you ready?"
"She will never love you. Not as you wish."
Marrain's eyes darkened, his hands tightened over the small blade of the dechai, and he thrust it down. The Oracle died without a sound.
He turned from her body, to look at Marrago and Tirivail.
"Go, my friend. And good fortune to you. My Tak'cha are yours, if you want them."
"I will accept them gladly. And good fortune to you, also." Marrago bowed his head once.
Marrain looked at Tirivail. "Go. Return to your shrine. This is my fight."
"I do not take orders from you," she said coldly. "And he is my father."
"Does he know that? The way he has treated you would imply otherwise."
"I do not take orders from you."
He shrugged, and replaced his dechai at his belt. Then, with his bloodstained fingers, he drew two long, thin lines from his eyes down his face.
"Then come with me. We have a battle to fight."
* * * * * * *
It was not unusual for him to dream about Susan. Sometimes those dreams were incredibly vivid and real. But David knew instantly that this one was more than just a dream.
She was floating in a long river of light and energy, talking to no one, just speaking to the empty air. She sounded angry and upset and in a fury of emotion.
"How do you know about Sinoval?" she asked. "You died before I met him."
Susan, he thought to her. Susan, of course I know about Sinoval. I'm not dead. Susan.
She didn't seem to hear him, or if she did, she ignored him. "How dare you?" she suddenly called out. "I don't have to justify myself to any of you."
Another pause.
"I know what I did, and I know why, and all that's in the past. I'm a different person now, you hear me."
Susan.... can you hear me?
Obviously she could not.
Frustrated, David tried to look around, to see where they were and what was happening. He thought he could see two other figures far ahead, almost out of sight. He tried to call to them, but they didn't hear him either.
He turned back to Susan.
And stopped.
Susan! he called.
Something emerged from the shadows around him. The very shadows themselves seemed larger and more prominent than they had been only a moment before. It was a vast creature, fish-like in appearance, with three long, tentacle-like tails, each ending in a vicious spiked barb. It had no eyes that David could see, but more long tentacles emerged from its forehead. Its mouth almost split its body in two, and he could see hundreds of glittering teeth inside.
Susan! he called again.
She turned to face it, almost too late, as it lunged for her. With a silent cry, she raised a psi-shield and it bounced off her hasty defences. It swam backwards swiftly, circling around her, waiting for another opportunity. Susan kept turning to face it, always wary.
David wished he could do something, but he was somehow aware that although this was real, it was also only a dream. He could do nothing but watch.
The creature lunged for Susan again, and again it was repelled by her shield, although she was visibly weakened by this attack. David's heart went out to her. Her psi powers were still too new and untested, especially without the assistance of the Well. The artefact that had amplified them had been an unknown quantity, and she had not said much about it to him. All he knew was that the Well had knowledge of an ancient and long-dead race who had achieved almost god-like psychic abilities through some sort of technology, and Susan had used it.
He wished he knew more. He wished there was something he could do.
The creature swam past Susan, lashing at her with its tails. She dodged two and blocked the other, but she was visibly tiring. The creature turned and lunged at her again.
And a bolt of lightning struck it. A horrible clicking sound came from the creature as it thrashed around, growing visibly weaker A second bolt of lightning struck it, and it died, dropping to the bottom of the tunnel and passing out of sight.
"What was that?" Susan asked.
David looked at the newcomer. It was one of the figures he had seen farther along the tunnel. He knew he had seen her before, but could not remember a great deal about her. She was another of Sinoval's agents, he was sure of that.
"A predator from hyperspace," the woman replied. "Dangerous, although far from the greatest danger we'll meet on this trip. Hurry. Time is running short. The battle's already begun outside."
Susan swam off after her, and David, having nothing better to do, followed, silent and invisible.
They passed through the corridors and tunnels of the network, and David saw and heard things that chilled him utterly, things his waking mind would mercifully forget. Susan did not seem to know where she was going, but the woman did. And her companion.
It took David some time to recognise Bester, and he was shocked when he did. He had been sure Bester was dead.
Finally they seemed to emerge into a room, vast, almost infinite. Tunnels sprouted off from it in all different directions, far more than David could count. The room itself was so bright it was blinding.
"Here we are," the other woman announced.
Shielding his eyes, David looked into the centre of the room. There was something there, although he couldn't see what. He turned away, the light burning his eyes, and then he saw something else, something moving.
A sudden, intense pang of fear consumed him as he recognised one of the Aliens - not just one. Two, three, four, five, ten. More. They reminded him not of guards protecting something of value, but.... of priests, holding court at a holy shrine.
But what could be here that was of such value?
He strained again, and looked into the light - past the light. There was a humanoid figure there, in the very centre of the room, bound in a coffin made of pulsating energy.
A figure....
Someone he knew....
Understanding came, and he started. It couldn't be! This was wrong!
It was John Sheridan.
* * * * * * *
"I see."
The first and most important skill necessary for a diplomat, he had learned, was to keep a straight face at all times. Never let anyone see you upset or worried or afraid. Poker players need a similar skill, and Mr. Morden would have made a very good poker player.
Still, poker face or not, the news was disturbing. Three Ministers killed in their homes last night, a squad of guards torn to shreds just outside the palace, a least one village in the foothills of the Byzantine Mountains massacred, and no contact whatsoever with another three in the same area.
Part of the key to Morden's impassive expression was that he always pretended he knew exactly what was going on. In this particular situation, however, he did know exactly what was going on.
He had kept as up to date as possible with the events of the war, and one of the things he had paid very close attention to was the massacres on the Vree homeworld, both sets of them. The first authorised by Sinoval, and very carefully controlled, the second unauthorised - random, wild and chaotic.
He recognised the work of Shadow vassal races when he saw them. A single Wykhheran was more than capable of butchering a squad of guards, especially if they weren't expecting it, and the Wykhheran could turn invisible to evade detection. The Faceless assassins could easily have been responsible for the deaths of the Ministers. The Byzantine Mountains would be perfect lairs for the Zarqheba.
But the targets.... not strictly controlled, but certainly not quite random. All three Ministers were very vocal loyalists to the ideals of the Alliance, and to Morden personally, although for very different reasons. The guards were an obvious target. The villages....
That was different. Nothing of value there, except as a message.
So, this was not Sinoval, even if he had re-hired the Shadow creatures he had expelled from his service in '69. And they weren't doing it just for the fun of it, or he would be swimming in blood by now.
So, someone was controlling them, or directing them, but someone with a lighter hand than Sinoval. Not Marrago. Morden had studied the former Lord-General very closely, and had personally questioned those of his associates, friends, former lovers and military subordinates that the Inquisitors had left alive. He would not do this. His early campaigns had utilised Shadow-creatures, yes, but never since '69. So, not him.
Morden was not aware that he had any political rivals on Centauri Prime. But that could be it. The last Inquisitor had left several years ago, claiming their work was done. Long enough for people to forget. But no Centauri could offer the Shadow creatures anything.
And then there was this latest piece of news. Disturbing news, to say the least.
"Hmm," he said.
What on earth could the Prophet G'Kar and his apprentice be doing on Centauri Prime, least of all arriving on a Centauri ship?
His spy network might not be up to the standards of the Inquisition, but it was more than adequate for his purposes, and his satellite surveillance was among the best in the galaxy, installed by the order of the Inquisition after Marrago's liberationist tendencies had become apparent. It would take a very good scout to sneak through onto Centauri Prime.
Someone like the Z'shailyl, of course.
"Have them arrested," he decided finally. The Guards-Captain who had brought him this unfortunate piece of news had not shifted from his stiff stance at attention. "They're not to be hurt unless absolutely necessary, but I want them in the palace. I want to talk with them myself."
"Yes, sir."
"You may go."
"Yes, sir."
The Guards-Captain turned sharply and made to leave. Morden blinked, and saw the flicker of heat haze a second too late.
The Z'shailyl flickered into view, moving with the speed of a striking cobra. His razor-sharp claws tore into the guardsman's neck, nearly taking his head off. The guardsman died without a sound. Morden did not need to be psychic to work out that the two guards at the door had met a similarly silent fate.
"You would be Moreil, I imagine," he said.
The Z'shailyl moved forward.
* * * * * * *
All around him, the battle raged. He could see everything from where he was, directing it by word and thought. As he had known, Kazomi 7 was adequately defended, but no more than adequately, and certainly no match for the forces he had been able to muster while the enemy thought him elsewhere.
But what was the enemy doing while he was here?
Perhaps there was nothing amiss. There had been no major engagements for three years, not since he had fought alongside Takier and the First Ones at Minbar and driven the Aliens away from his former home. Since then the enemy had preferred to fight by stealth and infiltration, utilising the arts they had perfected over the thousands of years of their cold war with the Shadows.
Perhaps there was no reason to be concerned.
And they surely could not know the real reason he had come to Kazomi 7, could they? Could he but grasp this one thing, he would leave the rest of the planet to them.
They could not foresee what he intended. It was not in their natures. They knew nothing of self-sacrifice, save where they would coerce others into it, and they knew very little of honour and the burden of debts unpaid.
He paused to direct the deployment of the second Soul Hunter wing, and then returned his gaze to the planet.
Kazomi 7, cradle of the Alliance, birthplace of hope during the Shadow War.
And the place that held the one thing he now needed.
Debts unpaid....
He smiled, thinking of death.