'Durla,' Marrago whispered. A former Palace Guardsman, dismissed years ago by the late Emperor Turhan after some scandal or another. His was a face Marrago had always remembered, a man consumed by ambition, a man he had always expected to see again one day.
Just not like this.
'The Emperor has put a price on your head, old man,' Durla said. 'A large price, for crimes against the Republic. As a dutiful servant of the Republic and the Emperor, I am honoured to be able to serve him in this matter.'
'I'm gone and forgotten, Durla,' Marrago whispered. 'Leave me be and let me die.'
'Funny, those are almost exactly the Emperor's orders.... except I was to hasten the death. He wants your body cold at his feet.'
That was not Londo. Marrago knew that much. That was the Vorlons. Them and their human puppet. Londo had risked a lot getting Marrago off Centauri Prime. He had given him a head start, that was all.
'I found three individuals most agreeable to a deal,' Durla continued. 'None of them likes me very much, but they like you even less. Besides, they will have all the price on your head between them. I am not working for money, but for the good of the Republic.'
Durla leaned in close. 'I heard your daughter was killed. A pity. She was always very pretty. Did she look so pretty when she was dead, I wonder, her body cut apart? You know what they say in the capital, on the homeworld?'
'What?' Marrago whispered. His breath was hard and cold in his chest. Lyndisty.
'That you killed her.'
Marrago moved, his spirit commanding what his aged muscles were willing to do. He grabbed Durla's throat and squeezed, hauling the former Guard into the air. Durla choked, but reacted quickly, kicking out. His boots caught Marrago's knees and ribs, and pain flared in his body, but he did not let go.
Something exploded in his back and he stumbled forward, his grip slackening. A second blow crashed onto the back of his skull, and he fell to his knees.
Looking up, he could see the Drazi and the Narns standing above him. They looked even larger from this perspective.
'The friends I told you about,' Durla said. 'They will be paid very well for this, but that is only secondary. They hate you. A lot. Much more than I do. You are nothing, old man. Nothing and no one, and we'll drag your body back to the homeworld and toss it into the lime pits next to your whore of a daughter. And I.... shall be recognised in my Emperor's sight again.'
A boot crashed into Marrago's rib cage. Another one came down, but he reached up and caught it, pushing the Narn backwards. His strength was ebbing, sapped away.... but he could not die here. He could not.
He was suddenly aware of someone else nearby, a cold presence and a stark, painful smell. Marrago had been on hundreds of battlefields and he knew that smell intimately.
It was death.
His attackers had sensed the arrival as well, and they turned. Taking this advantage, Marrago rolled to his feet, his body protesting, but his will, as ever, pre–eminent.
The stranger was tall, dressed in black robes and a hood. He carried a long pike, a Minbari weapon, but this blade was jet black.
'Whoever you are,' Durla began, 'this has nothing to do with you. Go....' He stopped. He could sense it as well, and he took an involuntary step backwards.
The bounty hunters moved forward, and the stranger met them. His pike flowed in his hands as if it were water. Marrago knew little about the Minbari denn'bok, but he could recognise a master when he saw one.
He turned to Durla, who had drawn his kutari. As Marrago moved, Durla executed a near–flawless thrust, cutting badly into his side, but still the former Lord–General kept coming. Seizing Durla's sword arm, he broke it in one swift move, the lessons of his training strong in his mind. He had fought alongside Londo and Urza and they had learned unarmed combat together. All three had been strong with the kutari, but only Marrago had mastered bare– hand fighting.
Evidently so had Durla, although of a much rougher style. Ignoring the pain of his broken arm he lashed out with his fingers, aiming to gouge out Marrago's eyes. Moving quickly, Marrago caught his arm and pushed his opponent back. His foot moved forward as he curled his leg around the retreating Durla, toppling him to the ground. Durla struggled to rise, but Marrago's kick caught the side of his head, and he went down.
Marrago grabbed Durla's fallen kutari and spun round, only to see the stranger effortlessly take down the last of his attackers. He moved forward, stepping over the bodies.
'Thank you for your help,' Marrago said softly. 'It was uncalled for.... but welcome.'
'My motive was not entirely altruistic.' He spoke Centauri with a near–perfect accent, only a little strong on the vowels, a slight clipping at the end of the words. 'I came looking for you, Lord–General.'
'Then you found the wrong person. I am no one.'
The stranger reached out and touched Marrago's arm. Warmth flowed through the harshness of his glove and Marrago stepped back. The pain.... all of it was gone. The frantic beating of his hearts, the burning in his lungs, the cuts, the bruises.... all of it gone.
'Who are you?' he asked.
The stranger partially lifted his hood. Dark eyes met Marrago's own, eyes so impossibly dark he felt he could see infinity within them, stars shining deep within a pool of eternity. The edges of a Minbari headbone could just be seen, but in the centre of the forehead nestled a jewel, incandescent with a myriad of colours, within which he could see....
.... souls?
'I believe you know who I am,' he said.
'Yes,' Marrago said. 'I know who you are. Why did you help me?'
'I need something from you, and I can give you something in return.'
'There's nothing you can give....' He stopped, whispered legends coming to him. 'Can you bring her back to life? My Lyndisty? Can you bring her back to me?'
'No,' he said simply. 'None of us was there when she died, and in any event, we are not Gods. The universe alone can create life. We merely extend it. She will return of her own will, in her own time, when the time is right. But I can give you something else.'
'What?'
'A purpose. A cause to fight for, and an opportunity to free your world, your people....
'Your Emperor.'
'Why do you need me?'
'You are one of the greatest tacticians alive. Perhaps the greatest. And you are lost and alone. I am a leader and I am a general, but I cannot do everything. You can do a great deal.
'Besides, what is the point in fighting a war for myself alone? I need to fight it for everyone, and that means everyone will have to fight alongside me. You would be a good start, Lord–General.'
Marrago stepped back, flexing Durla's kutari in his hand. The weight was just right, it was a finely–balanced, expertly crafted blade. His had been almost as fine, but he did not have his own any more. He had broken it with his own hands before leaving Centauri Prime. Then, he had thought he would never need to kill again.
Now, it seemed he would have to.
He looked down at Durla. He was not dead. Marrago knew he would not kill him. Durla was merely trying to serve his Emperor, and his Republic.
All that Marrago himself had ever desired to do.
'I will help you,' he said simply.
'I never had any doubt,' replied Sinoval the Cursed, Primarch Majestus et Conclavus.
Lyta waited until she was sure David was asleep, and then she rose and dressed quickly. There was not much time. Ulkesh would soon notice her absence, and she had to be gone from Kazomi 7 before he did.
She should not have stayed. She should have gone as soon as she could, and left David. He would have died, yes.... but how many more would die if Sinoval did not stop the Vorlons? She should have left him.
