A Dark, Distorted Mirror. Volume 4. A Future, Born in Pain

'Oh?' said Smith. 'I don't think you know them as well as you think.'

Trace prepared to say something, but then he stopped and looked up. There were no warning systems here in the Pit. Why should there be, when no one cared who lived or died here?

But there were certain instincts, ancient and primaeval, that spoke within all humanity - ancient genetic memories. They spoke of danger.

'Oh hell,' Trace said softly, all the colour draining from his face.

A good many things happened at once. There were cries of terror from the crowd, angry panic from Trace, and a desperate scuffle to escape, to get away from here, away from the invaders who would surely seek revenge on those who had murdered their leader. There were pleas for forgiveness, prayers to Gods worshipped and Gods ignored.

The crowd surged forward, trying to move somewhere, anywhere. Smith threw himself on Delenn's body, desperate to protect her now as he had not before. A sharp pain exploded in his leg as someone trod on it. He tried to raise his arms to protect his head, but a foot slammed into the side of his skull, and he was thrown into a world where all he knew was his nightmares.

* * *

The Dark Stars had always been slightly.... unusual ships. They were of Vorlon design and manufacture of course, with their systems crafted to be useable by many of the younger races. There were some who were uncomfortable being in them, and some, such as Flight–lieutenant Neeoma Connally, who refused to set foot on one unless absolutely necessary.

Many however, were beginning to find an odd sense of peace on board a Dark Star. Captain John Sheridan hardly left his flagship at all these days.

A probable cause of this was the sheer effectiveness of the Dark Stars in combat against the previously superior Shadow ships. Advanced jamming and shielding techniques coupled with powerful weapons systems made the fight much more even.

But the Dark Stars still held mysteries, and they had certainly never done this before.

'What the hell?' whispered Corwin.

For one instant, a mere handful of seconds after Byron began to scream, a brilliant light filled every room of the Dark Star 3 - the Agamemnon. The entire ship was bathed in a pure and perfect rejection of the darkness, and somewhere, in a lost and forgotten place, another scream was added, a slight and almost imperceptible echo of Byron's own. And then another, and then another. But no one heard them.

The light soon faded, but Corwin's attention was quickly drawn away from the unusual phenomenon, as he mentally filed it at the top of a very long list of unusual phenomena.

'Captain,' said the tech. 'Something.... something's happened.'

'What?'

'The Earthforce ships.... they've.... stopped.'

'Stopped what?'

'No, Captain. Just stopped dead. They're not moving, not powering weapons. Nothing. The De'Molay and the Dark Thunder might as well be floating hulks. The Morningstar is just turning in circles, and the Saint– Germain looks to be operating at about quarter–strength.'

'What about the Shadow ships?'

'Some are paralysed, a few others are moving sluggishly. Some of them are still advancing.'

'He knew this would be too easy,' muttered Corwin. 'Whatever's happened.... he knew about it.'

'Sorry, Captain? What are your orders?'

'Hit the Shadow ships that are still moving. Do not fire on Earthforce ships unless they pose a threat to us.'

'Aye, sir.'

Corwin sat back, feeling something throbbing beneath him, above him, all around him. He did not know what had happened, but he had a very uncomfortable and unpleasant feeling.

For one brief instant he thought he heard a scream, coming from somewhere far, far away.

* * *

In a place far from the fates of men and nations being decided at Proxima, Sinoval, Primarch Majestus et Conclavus, was talking to people who had been dead for ten centuries.

'I wonder if he understood,' he was saying, walking slowly around the first Hall of the Grey Council. Memories of the terrible bloodshed and torture that had occurred in the second Hall still touched him, as did the vision of his death in this place. He was thinking about Kats, and her part in his vision.

He was thinking about Sonovar.

'I wonder if he understood why they betrayed him. I would think not. Marrain and Parlonn were warriors, raised in a different culture, a different world from him. I have no idea what the Vorlons put into his mind, but hypnosis, subliminal influence, years of lessons.... all of these are no match for a lifetime of training. Marrain and Parlonn were born warriors, in the days when the word meant something, when you served your lord unto death, to the last breath, to the last whisper.

'Whatever else Valen was, he could not be a warrior like that. The histories show it. He abolished the Morr'dechai, elevated the workers, ended the rite of denn'cha. His coming was a hurricane of change. And still.... I wonder if he truly understood why they betrayed him. I certainly did not know why I was betrayed.

'Until now, anyway.

'Love is a strange thing, would you not agree? I have never understood it myself, but then I am told that those who have experienced it themselves rarely understand it either. Hatred is something I do understand, all too well. That is where Valen mis–stepped. He understood love, but not hatred.... and it doomed him. It also doomed Marrain and Parlonn.'

Stormbringer tapped slowly against the side of his leg as he walked around the circle. 'How many of you understood? How many of my Grey Council would understand? The religious caste have always made a show of not understanding, and claiming that they are wiser in doing so than are we who claim to comprehend. It is possible they are right, although this is the first time I have ever accepted that as a possibility.'

Slowly, he walked into the centre of the circle. The ghosts of nine Councillors watched him with silent eyes.

And one moment later, one of the columns was no longer occupied by a ghost of the past, but by a harbinger of the future. And then another. And another. And another.

And that was all.

Eyes darkening, Sinoval glanced quickly around the circle. Four. Only four. He could not see Kats' body, and that was welcome. Maybe Lanniel and the others had managed to save her. He hoped so.

But then he could not see Sonovar either. Or Kozorr.

He did not like this. He had seen the future, and known it for what it was. Had his careful manipulations come to nothing, or was this just a simple.... flux?

'I was expecting more of you,' he said softly.

'We will be enough,' said the first warrior. He recognised her, although by reputation only. Lanniel's sister, the daughter of Takier of the Storm Dancers clan. Tirivail, that was her name. Takier had been the most influential surviving lord to ally with Sonovar. He was not here either.

'Where is Sonovar?'

'Lord Sonovar thought this beneath his attention.'

Now Sinoval was confused. His careful efforts to force the truth of his vision did not seem to have worked. Or maybe they had been about to.... and someone, or something else had interfered.

'And Kozorr?' he asked, casually.

Tirivail extended her pike. 'No more words,' she said.

They charged forward. The columns of light went out.

* * *

'Scorched Earth.' Welles laughed, a sound entirely devoid of humour. 'Scorched Earth, but who's going to do