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Then there were the voices. These were not the little voices of mundanes, but the anguished cries of her own people. She could hear them coming from barred cages. She could feel the fear and the panic within them all. They were bound together, joined by a network of.... of gateways.
They were her people, and they were trapped, able to sense each other, but not to talk. Their bodies were wasting away, but their minds.... they were being harnessed.
She shuddered, recognising that voice. It was Matt, Matthew Stoner. Her husband. The two of them had been married by the Corps some years ago in the hope of producing powerful children, until a radiation accident had made him sterile. He had disappeared last year, his ship having gone missing.
She had thought him dead. This was worse.
All the voices suddenly died, caught in a choking scream. The light was there now, all of it, washing them out, cutting her off from them.
<Not yet,> said a voice, firm and booming, secure in complete mastery.
She opened her eyes, her mind returning to her body. She felt sick. She was shaking. Desperately she tried to stretch her head to see where she was. Vines held her body down. They seemed to be.... growing around her. She could feel a soft throbbing where they touched her bare skin, almost like a pulse.
She tried to look around her. She was lying down, tightly bound. The rest of the room seemed.... cold, sterile. A laboratory of some kind. She did not know where....
Someone came into view. She could hear the sound of his footsteps. She strained still further to see who it was, but then a vine slid around her neck and pulled her back. Gasping for air, nearly choking, she sank back. Dots flashed in front of her eyes, and all she could see was a man wearing gloves and a white coat and.... some sort of mask....
A syringe. Her body tensed, but to her surprise the scientist did not inject it into her, but into the vines around her. They seemed to relax, and then a slow drowsiness spread through Talia's body. She blinked, and tried to reach out with her mind to touch the scientist.
No voices. No sound at all.
She....
.... tried to keep....
.... her eyes....
.... open....
She closed her eyes, and blackness and dark dreams and the anguished voices of her people, trapped and bound, awaited her.
Primarch Sinoval the Accursed reached down to touch his pike. Something within its cold metal grew warm at his touch, enough even for him to feel it through his glove. With a flash of insight he could see the Well of Souls, the countless sparks of light stretching outwards into infinity. He could feel the intelligence there, guiding him.... to the creation of Stormbringer.
And perhaps to here.
Destiny. He had never believed in it. He made his own destiny. But he could feel the endless patience of the Well of Souls. He could sense the.... feelings of.... inevitability.... For so long the Well had been waiting. For him, for a Primarch Nominus et Corpus. There had been one before, one who had come to an ill-fated end.
For one brief moment, Sinoval felt the first spark of self-doubt in his entire life. Maybe.... maybe all the warnings should be heeded. Maybe he should listen to the Primarch, go to the Well and seek its counsel. Maybe he should talk to Kats. He had never heard her give him any advice that was less than perfect.
Then he saw the Vorlon enter the vast chamber of the Starfire Wheel, and his resolve hardened. These creatures had killed Delenn, they had tainted Sheridan, they had enslaved his people here.
It would die, and from its soul he would learn all he needed to know.
It was tall, its encounter suit jet black, the light seeming to slide from it. Its eye stalk was long and slender, a tiny, gleaming, golden light at its heart. Beneath the dark suit Sinoval could.... feel something. He could see its soul, a precious thing. He could feel the Well of Souls looking at the Vorlon through his eyes.
Just beside the Vorlon stood Sherann. She had stopped, hesitating as it crossed the boundary. Her eyes betrayed her concern, but she did not move. Sinoval almost smiled. There was true bravery there.
He walked forward, making each step as firm and proud as he could. He was a warrior and a leader of warriors. This was his world, and these his people. He slid his pike from his belt and extended it, in one smooth motion.
He was not afraid. He was a warrior.
He stopped, standing directly in front of the Starfire Wheel. It was not open yet; it would not open until all was ready. He could feel the Soul Hunters here, hidden deep in the shadows. They had prepared well. They had had ample time to prepare. The Primarch was here as well. To him fell the most important task, that of capturing the Vorlon's soul.
The Vorlon hesitated, and then, with a twitch of its eye stalk and a brief, mocking gleam of light, it stepped forward. Sherann followed it hesitantly. It crossed a faint, undrawn line as it moved. It did not notice, nor did Sherann, but Sinoval did.
'I welcome you to this place,' said Sinoval, his voice commanding. 'I am the leader here.'
There was a hiss of contemptuous breath from the Vorlon, and a sound like that of dead men's bones beating on shields of stone. <No,> came the voice.
Sinoval smiled, and raised Stormbringer. A near-imperceptible signal was sent.
There was a flurry of motion, and the floor became alive with power. A part of the power that guided Cathedral, the very power of the Well of Souls focussed on one being. The floor around the Vorlon crackled and blazed. There was the sound of rending and ripping as its encounter suit began to crack.
Sinoval could feel the Well of Souls watching intently. There was no sound, no warning, nothing but a still silence. Not even the breathing of the dead could be heard.
Sinoval darted forward, Stormbringer raised. In a practised, skilful motion, he hammered the end of his pike into the Vorlon's chest. There was a crack as of bones shattering, and the Vorlon stumbled back. Its eye stalk rose and began to fill with light, the same light now pouring from holes in the armour. It was bright, so bright as to be almost blinding.
<No!> boomed the voice of the Vorlon, as Sinoval felt a blast of sheer, focussed anger tear into him. He brought Stormbringer down in time, but still he was thrown backwards, stumbling and nearly falling over a step. As he struggled to right himself he saw the Vorlon's encounter suit opening. It was riddled with holes and rents, and light could be seen blazing from each one.
<No,> it said again, as the light began to coalesce into one form. Sinoval staggered, clutching Stormbringer as a drowning man clutches a float. He straightened his stance, and made to step forward.
Something within the light turned, mists and colour formed a head, a face, a torso. It was a Minbari, robed in smoke, with eyes of mirrors. It looked at Sinoval, and in its eyes he saw himself.
<You thought to defy us,> it said, although the words came not from its mouth but from the air itself. <You thought yourself superior to us, who have walked the galaxy since your race crawled beneath the rocks.>
The light was continuing to coalesce. Great wings emerged from the figure's back, long and fiery, the air crackling around them.
An arm formed, and then another.
<You thought to challenge us.... here!>
One of the hands clenched into a fist, and a long, curved sword appeared in it.
The encounter suit, now empty and dead, crumpled in pieces on the ground.
<We have always been here. We are not afraid.>
Sinoval took another step forward. His ribs hurt and his breath came in short gasps, but his eyes were as cold and hard as they had ever been. He saw himself reflected in the Vorlon image's own eyes, and he saw there a
