The voice faded. Londo swore. G'Kar whispered a prayer.
Sinoval stood alone.
'My people will not die!' roared Mollari at last. 'I will not let them die! Do you hear me?'
The Well of Souls did not respond, although it was a question to which it surely knew the answer.
'I will defend you, Delenn,' Neroon said. 'No shadow will touch you while there is breath in my body.'
Delenn looked past him to the creature walking towards them. She recognised it as a Drakh. Not one of their warriors, or a magus, but a Drakh all the same. She remembered the carnage they had wrought at Kazomi 7. She saw again the children they had killed, the hopes they had destroyed, the people they had made mad with their Keepers.
She had found it difficult to hate anything or anyone since she had seen what had happened to Earth, but she did hate the Drakh.
Behind it walked two Shadows, their inky-black carapaces seeming to meld and dissolve in the flickering shadows cast by Parlonn's candle.
And yet she could sense that they were uncomfortable here. There was something about this place they disliked. Maybe Ivanova had been right after all. Maybe her mysterious friend was here.
'Come from this place,' hissed the Drakh. 'This flight is futile.'
'Step no closer,' said Neroon. 'You may come no closer.'
<Did you think we would let you betray us?> came another voice, a different voice. Delenn knew it was the voice of one of the Shadows. The Drakh was now directly in front of Neroon. <We made you ours. You.... are ours.>
'D.... Del....' His throat was tightening as he tried to say her name. She could see his grip on his pike grow loose, until it slid from his nerveless fingers. With a strangled cry he fell to his knees, head bowed. Delenn took an anguished step back.
The Drakh stood over him, studying him closely. It looked back at its masters, and then turned back to Neroon, a faint trace of a smile on its face. It was the most hideous sight Delenn had ever seen.
The Drakh reached down and plunged its hand into Neroon's chest. The warrior stiffened, a terrible cry leaving his mouth. His head was thrown back, his eyes wide and staring. His face was very pale, all the blood draining from it.
'Delenn!' he cried, and then the Drakh withdrew its hand and Neroon fell slumped to the ground. Delenn did not need to go to him to know that he was dead, but she went anyway, cradling his head in her lap and looking into his dead, oh-so-pale eyes.
'No!' cried a voice from behind her. Ivanova. 'You promised me I'd be safe, dammit! You promised!' Delenn was not sure who she was speaking to — the Shadows, or her mysterious friend.
<Yes,> said the voice of the Shadows. <We promised.>
'Stuff your promise!' she shouted. Delenn watched in horror as Susan turned and took a lurching step towards the edge of the chasm. She rose from Neroon's body, trying to reach out, but she was too far away.
Susan Ivanova disappeared off the edge of the precipice, vanishing into open space.
Delenn felt the cold, clammy hand of the Drakh touch her arm, and she pulled away, stumbling forward as she scrambled for the edge of the cliff. Her arm was burning, and she could hear the Shadows whispering in her mind.
Something burst in the back of her knee and she fell. Warmth ran down the back of her leg, and she landed awkwardly, striking her head. She tried to rise, but her body would not obey her.
Turning, she saw the Drakh advance on her. It was saying something, but she could not hear the words over the roaring of her blood in her ears.
Darkness took her.
He sat alone in his office, a half-finished cup of coffee in front of him. Proxima's Chief of Security and Spymaster General had found something more interesting than his coffee.
Mr. Welles had once wondered what it would be like to be able to see the future. Then he had remembered the tale of someone who had been able to see the future, but been unable to prevent it or to warn anyone else of it.
He knew how she felt.
He could see it all happening, everything unfolding before him. Clark talking about war with the Alliance. War with the Alliance! What foolishness was that? War with the Minbari, yes. Even against G'Kar. That made some sort of sense, but what reason to attack the Alliance?
What reason but that humanity's allies demanded it? What reason but a wish for suicide?
He was alone, without allies. For three years he had been fumbling, desperately trying to get someone to listen to him, someone to work with him. Nothing had worked. Bester had betrayed him, had betrayed them all, for some little game of his. Bester was rumoured to be dead now. Welles did not believe it. He would always turn up again.
But then, just when everything seemed lost, help could come from the least likely of places.
He put down the piece of paper he had been reading and picked up his coffee, taking a sip. He very quickly spat it out.
He looked back at the paper. It was a warrant for the arrest of one Dexter Smith, last known location Sector 301, on a charge of murder.
Delenn could hear the voice as she recovered consciousness. Slowly she rose, looking around. This place seemed little different from any other in Z'ha'dum, but she could feel something different. An air.... almost of holiness.
'Where am I?' she asked, not realising she had spoken aloud.
'A very good question,' said another voice, an old voice, filled with loss and wisdom and wonder. 'Who are you? That is another good question. What do you want? I wonder if anyone up there can answer them. Can you?'
'I know the answers,' she replied. 'Who are you?'
'Someone welcoming a guest to his home. Welcome, Delenn of Mir. I believe we have a great deal to talk about.'
Part 2 : The Opening of an Unexpected Door.
Deep beneath Z'ha'dum Delenn meets the First One, and is presented with the choice the technomages spoke of so long ago. How will she choose - the safety of all that is, against the hope of all that is to come? Meanwhile there are two very different homecomings - for Mr. Morden, and for Captain Sheridan.... and there is a bitter discovery in store for Sinoval.
