Vhixarion nodded once, imperiously. Sonovar, trying not to show his amusement, bowed formally.
'You are the Zaron'dar, it is claimed,' Vhixarion said. Sonovar bridled inwardly. The Sah'thai was using the same old dialect he and Cozon had, but he had used the familiar address, speaking to Sonovar as if he were a child. 'You are the one who will guide us back to the Z'ondar, that we may atone.'
'Such has been said of me,' he replied, as respectfully as he could manage.
'And how are we to do this? By waging war on the False Satai, who makes alliances with the accursed Lords of the Dead? Tak'cha warriors are every day giving their lives for the good of the shipworlds that we may gain the lights of forgiveness, and yet.... and yet there is one question that touches me in my moments of meditation in my Grey Hall.
'Where is the Z'ondar?!'
Sonovar almost recoiled from the fury in Vhixarion's voice. He could see a light shining from the triple–bladed staff, and the Sah'thai's eyes glowed a fierce and bloody red.
'The Z'ondar has returned to us, we were told. He appeared in the Temple of the Old Ones on Minbar, and announced his return to us all. You told us of this, and told us that the False Satai had denied the presence of the Z'ondar.
'So where is the Z'ondar now? Why have we not rescued him from whatever captivity in which he is held?'
Sonovar coughed. He had no idea where Valen was now, all he knew was that he had vanished from Kazomi 7 almost a year ago. The priestlings there had jabbered on about him passing beyond in order to wage war against the Shadows, but Sonovar believed none of that. He was half inclined to agree with Sinoval that 'Valen' was a Vorlon imposter. Stating that to the Tak'cha would not be a wise idea, however.
'The Z'ondar is watching us all,' he replied, aiming for a mix of simple faith and awe–inspired wonder. 'His light guides our every action, and he watches as we all atone for sins past and present. We are still imperfect beings, and hence he still withholds himself from us.'
'You know where he is?'
'He will give us a sign to show that he is still here. We are proceeding as he would wish.'
'Then.... then we will wait for that sign. I am here, Zaron'dar, to witness the truth for myself and for my people, to gauge the wisdom of the alliance we have formed. If it be the Z'ondar's will that this alliance be forged, then he will give us the sign of which you speak.'
'He will.'
'Then let us pray to determine the nature of this sign, and to beg for his teaching.'
Sonovar almost groaned at the thought of another interminable ritual, but he hardened his resolve. All he could see was himself being acclaimed as the great hero he had always known he was, being recorded in the tomes of history as a great leader, and plaques and statues erected in his honour.
With all those in mind, the ritual was not such an ordeal after all.
Elsewhere another ritual of sorts was being carried out, a ritual such as had not been performed in many thousands of years. A ritual now forbidden because of its consequences.
Sinoval, Primarch Majestus et Conclavus, it was once said, knows how to break the rules in a good cause. His cause here was just, or so he believed, and he had taken precautions. Restoring a soul to life was forbidden because it could lead to madness and obsession with death. If the procedure was performed only once, however, there was little danger of either.
Or so he hoped.
'What are you doing, my lord?' asked a voice. A voice normally soft and gentle, filled with compassion and mercy, but hard and stern when necessary. He turned to look at her.
'You should not be here, my lady,' he told Kats. He was annoyed. He did not like her to watch some of the things he knew were necessary.
'Your Soul Hunters passed by as I walked. Your Primarch's Blades let me approach you. Please, my lord.... I know you are doing something you should not. What are you doing?'
'I am beginning that which will break Sonovar's power,' he explained. 'I am restoring a lost soul to the grace of life. I am offering him a single chance for redemption.'
'What are you doing?'
'I will restore Marrain to the life of the flesh, that he may walk again.'
She gasped, and her body shook. 'He was a traitor,' she whispered. 'A madman. You told me he died insane and in agony. He betrayed Valen!'
'All of us deserve a single chance for redemption,' he replied. 'Including him. This is forbidden by the Well of Souls itself. You should not be here, my lady.'
'I am here. My lord.... this is wrong. I failed to speak out once before when you were doing something that was wrong, and I lost my friend as a consequence. I am your conscience, and I tell you.... this is wrong.'
He smiled. 'My lady.... you do not understand him as I do. I have spoken to him, and explained what he must do. Have faith in me.... please.'
She looked doubtful, but then bowed her head. 'I will watch.'
'You do not have to....'
'I will watch.'
He chuckled mirthlessly, then turned from her. Marrain's soul globe hung suspended in the air above the body of a fallen Minbari warrior. He had died of an illness, and his family were all dead. He would no doubt feel honoured by being able to serve his lord, even in death.
Sinoval closed his eyes, stretched out his arms, and sought the knowledge of the Well of Souls. He was the Primarch Majestus et Conclavus now, and his mind was as that of Cathedral itself, was as old as the first race born to the universe. The knowledge and power of a legion of the dead were available to him.... as was the compunction to use it properly.
'I do not do this for pride,' he whispered. 'Nor for revenge, nor for hatred. I do this because it must be done, because all of us deserve a possibility for redemption, and because it will lead a lost soul to the grace of his people.'
In his mind, he heard the voice of the Well of Souls. W
'You will let me do this?' he whispered.
He smiled, and felt a great wind rush through his mind. A great light surrounded the soul globe, and then he was lost in the memories of millennia.
It was thinking of the Dark Ones again, the Masters, the Lords of Chaos. Its people had many names for them, many terms of respect, but only one attitude: absolute obedience. But obedience could still be tempered with arrogance, servitude with pride.
They were the first among all those in the Great Compact. Of all the races who served the Dark Masters; the Zener, the Z'shailyl, the countless others, the Drakh were prime. Their fleets might have been destroyed, their orbs shattered, their magi left blinded and lost, but still they were foremost, still they served, walking in shadows, moving in darkness, preparing, readying, performing their Masters' will.
It had a name, but one it would not speak here, not in this place of aliens. There were some here who worshipped the Dark Masters, showing them what their foolish alien brains believed to be the proper reverence. There were others who sought to barter with the Masters, bidding for their services as though this were commerce or business, both concepts the Drakh understood but dimly.
It was here to appear to those who professed to worship and to discuss with him who claimed to bargain. There were certain lessons both sides had to learn, and in the name of the Lords of Chaos, they would learn them.... and well.
The door to the chamber opened and in walked the barterer, the merchant, he who traded life and death as beads on a table, as instruments in a market. Fool! He might be as blind as any newling, as weak as any outcast, but among these people he was held to be strong. The Dark Masters admired that and sought to use him, to
