and altered, enhanced and.... directed.
That was why they were here. They could feel one of their number nearby, spreading their creed of hatred and death to races they had never even imagined.
Sinoval ignored them. They were evil, yes.... but they were not here. They could not be here.
Like blood–red water, the mists of hyperspace slipped past him and he appeared in the world of flesh, in the hallway of Sonovar's derelict and dying ship.
A harsh, ululating wail rose up. There was a whip–crack that tore the air in half. And there was a smell, a stench of death that filled every corner of the ship.
'Look at where your ambition has brought you, Sonovar,' he whispered. 'You now rule only the dead.'
Sinoval lifted Stormbringer and felt its darkness glow, rising up at the thought of what was to come. He began to sing as he went into battle.
Sonovar was ready to die.
The pain was less now. Even the shame and the humiliation were almost gone. Yes, he had been used, manipulated, controlled, but that did not matter. He had turned against his controllers and waged war on them, as much as he could. Now he was to face down one of their minions, a mighty adversary. He would die as a warrior should.
The smell came to him first, and then a gentle swishing noise, the sound of long tentacles caressing the corridor walls of his ship. It was here, searching for him. He had come here to make his last stand. Let it find him. Let it come for him. This was his ship after all, the last thing other than his blade and his soul that he could call his own.
He stepped forward and raised his pike. The broken fingers of his left hand clenched around it with no pain. His blood–filled vision did not prevent him from seeing. The shattered ribs, the mangled leg, the agonising pain in his head, none of them mattered. He had transcended pain now, moved to a place where he was something beyond mortal. This must have been how Kalain had felt at the end. He had tried to explain to Sonovar, but understanding had not come then. Now it did.
Sinoval's words came back to him, and this time they did not bring anger, but an ironic smile. 'Yes,' he rasped. 'I am dying. We are all dying. But some of us.... some of us die great deaths.'
The air trembled as the minion of the Shadows came into view. It was much taller than Sonovar himself, and shimmered half–in and half–out of sight. Not of this dimension, it was not bound by many of its rules. It was an abomination, a creature that existed only to kill.
'Yes,' Sonovar whispered. 'Yes.' This was a worthy foe. It did not matter if he lost here. What other warrior could claim to have been sent to his ancestors by such a beast?
One black eye focussed on him, and there was a warm wind blowing in his mind, a wind that brought the stench of rotting meat with it. He saw in his mind's eye a world filled with the dead, their bodies raised up to walk, to serve, and to be killed once more. He sensed the unbelievable hatred these things felt for all that lived, from the greatest warrior to the smallest bacterium.
'No!' he roared. A lifetime of meditation, of preparation, of mental, spiritual and emotional equilibrium had taught him well. He cast off its mental image and stepped forward. Limbs moving without obstruction, body moving without pain, soul moving without fear, he struck at it. They had fought before, over the weeks this creature had been roaming his ship, but they had been nothing but skirmishes. This was the final battle.
A tentacle brushed against his side and a dart of pain shot up his arm. His fingers trembled and tensed on the pike, but he kept his grip and lashed out, stepping backwards cautiously, watching the beast move, waiting for his opening.
A number of things happened at once. He heard a song of his ancestors, a warrior song, proud and triumphant, in a deep voice. The beast turned, darting around, something between fear and hatred shining in its bearing. Sonovar moved.
Pain swept outwards from the mind of the creature, exploding in Sonovar's body as a tentacle tore into his leg. At the same moment his pike struck its body. Despite the beast's distraction with the newcomer, a tentacle slid around the pike and tore it from Sonovar's grip. There was a horrific sound, and Sonovar screamed as he saw his weapon snapped in half. Wielding part of his pike - his pike! - the beast smashed a blow into his chest, shattering ribs and grazing his heart. Sonovar fell, blood spilling from his wound.
The voices swimming in his mind - Forell's, Sinoval's, his own - faded as the song began to rise. He blinked, shaking droplets of blood from his eyelids, and struggled to stand. He could see someone fighting the creature, a Minbari, a warrior singing a song of battle and glory.
Sonovar's eyes widened and he smiled, beginning to sing himself. This was one of his ancestors, one of the warriors of his past, come here to mark his passing with glory.
He sang louder, still struggling to rise. His ancestor was fighting well, but the minion of the Shadows was an ancient, powerful evil from a universe that was not this one. It was wounded and seemingly afraid, but it was still powerful, still evil.
Through crimson vision, his eyes lit on the broken half of his pike. One half was still in the grasp of the beast, but the other.... was within his reach.
His ancestor moved forward, landing blow after blow on the creature.
Sonovar darted to his side, scooping up his pike in numbed, broken fingers that seemed three times their normal size.
'I am Sonovar!' he roared, and hurled the broken pike with all his might. The creature's eye opened, flickering darkness, and the broken pike penetrated the dark orb, shattering it.
The beast fell, its tentacles folding up into itself, its body becoming ethereal, as if it did not truly exist in this world. It slid to the floor and passed through it, returning to the dimension that had given it birth, returning now, in death.
Sonovar smiled, and slumped back to the floor. He had won, and such a victory! His ancestors would be proud. Now he was ready to die.
'You did well,' said the voice of the spirit that had come to his aid, and his smile broadened. Then he started. He knew that voice.
'But then,' Sinoval said, walking forward, 'I never doubted it.'
Sonovar began to laugh; hollow, mocking laughter. 'Well.... you have won.'
'Yes.'
'It's over.'
'Yes.'
'It doesn't matter, anyway. It never did. Win or lose, I no longer care. The warriors of the future will hail my name, they will follow my legacy, they will remember my deeds.... and they will know me. Maybe they will accept me as a great man, maybe they never will.
'I know this, though. I have lost the war, yes.... but in my own way, I have won. And that is enough. Do you understand me?'
'Yes, Sonovar. I understand you all too well.'
'Ah.... I think you do. This is the way it should have been. A warrior's death, a death in battle. Not from Deathwalker's legacy, not from Forell's machinations. I go to join my ancestors now. You have won, the Minbari are yours.'
'No. They are not mine, and no, you are not going to your ancestors.'
'What do you mean?'
'I will be leaving them. While I am with them, there will always be war. They will not follow me, Takier and the others, and if they do, it will be from fear. I will be leaving now. I am done with this world for the time being.
'But I will be taking something with me. I want you to know, Sonovar. I am not doing this because I hate you, nor to punish you. I offered you a chance to talk, a chance for peace, and you refused me, twice. You will die now, yes.... and if you do, you will be reborn, and it will happen again. There is something in you, a spark. It may
