destroy you. 'Sah'thai.... I give you my word, we will reclaim your holy place.' A place he could not pronounce if he had a year to practise. 'And we will defeat the accursed one and his Lords of Death.'
Yes.... Sinoval. They would defeat him, break him utterly. And in the end, Sinoval would acknowledge him Master.
Before he died.
Sonovar barked out a few more orders, although there was little point. Takier knew what to do, and Vhixarion would not listen. They all rushed away, and Sonovar stood in his practice chamber for a moment, alone and basking in the glory of this moment.
'Great lord,' said a familiar voice, and Forell moved into view.
'Go away, Forell,' Sonovar snapped. 'This is a time for warriors, not weaklings. Stay here and pray for all our souls.'
'You will not go to Anla'Verenn–veni, great lord.'
'What? You.... dare command me?' Sonovar raised his pike. 'You dare command me, little worm?' He took a step forward and Forell met his gaze evenly.
'I think only of your best interests, great lord.'
Sonovar lowered his pike. 'Yes,' he said softly. 'I suppose you do. Then I will let you explain yourself, Forell. Why am I not to go?'
'This is clearly a trap, great lord, a ploy to draw you in. Sinoval is cunning. Meet him on your terms, great lord, not his. Others are more capable of such a task. Why dirty your own hands with such.... a mundane and tedious purpose?'
'Hah! Of course. I am Sonovar. This is beneath me. Let the Tak'cha have their dead and dusty temples. I will.... guide them from here. Kozorr and Tirivail can handle this in my stead. Yes.... Yes, I know best. Forell! Go to Kozorr and Tirivail and see they are told what to do. Yes.... I will stay here and co–ordinate matters.'
'I bow before your great wisdom, great lord,' Forell said, suiting the action to the words. He shuffled into the darkness, and the voice of the Keeper in his mind was very satisfied.
The old man knew all about power. He knew everything there was to know about controlling people, nations, destinies. For years now he had been secretly running the human race. Oh, not their Government, or their industry or their economy. Those things he left to his subordinates, although he occasionally became involved when he had to.
No, he guided the fate of humanity. He watched everything happening, the onward push of history, and he moulded events slightly, subtly, according to the grand design. Sometimes he wondered if he was himself controlled by this design.
It did not matter. When he died - in truth this time, and not merely as an illusion to keep himself hidden - few people would know anything about his accomplishments, but they would be there. Humanity would be forever changed by his actions.
It was unfortunate that so many would have to die, and it was slightly out of keeping with his philosophy. If anything, the next stage of the grand design was more the sort of strategy that the Enemy might pursue.
That of course made it all the more attractive. Humanity had chosen wrongly, acting in error for selfish reasons, little knowing or caring what they had done when they willingly signed themselves over to the Shadows.
They had to be punished for that error. Any punishment had a number of purposes, of course. First, there was the reinforcement that what had been done was wrong - a lesson. And then there was the deterrent, ensuring that the error would never be repeated.
The lesson would be the deaths of so many; the deterrent the way the deaths would be explained away.
It was a shame, yes, but it was necessary. To bring humanity to Heaven, it must first know Hell. As Rameses had once said: 'Canaan is devastated, Ashkelon is fallen, Gezer is ruined, Yenoam is reduced to nothing, Israel is desolate and her seed is no more, and Palestine has become a widow for Egypt.
'All the countries are unified and pacified.'
'Who said that?' asked a familiar voice, and the old man turned. It was Morden, walking forward, his hand in his pocket as was his habit. 'It had the feel of a quotation.'
The old man shook his head, smiling slightly. Morden was not much of a historian, not of Earth history anyway. 'An ancient king, long dead now.'
'All the countries are unified and pacified,' Morden repeated. 'I don't like the sound of this. It's.... too much like what they might do, the Enemy.'
'Yes, it is. But it is not them, it is us. The Enemy believe in chaos, disorder, anarchy. A struggle for supremacy, where everything succumbs to force, to technology, to the movement of armies. We.... Well, for us it is a slow, gentle, loving climb up. Our friends love all the races, even those who make mistakes. To err, is, after all, only human.
'However, no loving parent would spare the rod. To do so only spoils the child. Sometimes, my friend, it is sadly necessary to be cruel to be kind.'
'I suppose so. Sacrifices are sometimes necessary.' Morden looked up at the machine before them. The telepath, Byron, was still, motionless, his mouth open in a silent scream. 'I thought I'd find you here.'
'It is a marvel, is it not? A clear and precise image of just how far there is to go. We feel that because we can walk between the stars, conquer worlds and dominate races, we know all there is to know.
'We do not, and I for one hope we never will.'
'The never–ending necessity for human achievement. I met a taxi driver a few months ago who was talking about the same thing. Anyway, there is a message for you. From our.... ah.... Lady Gwenhyfar.'
Morden handed over the sheet and the old man grabbed it with uncharacteristic haste. 'Lady Gwenhyfar' was of no value in herself, but she was a representative of those who held themselves to be the secret masters of humanity. For centuries there had been those who had ruled by stealth, by secrecy, by the invisible knife in the dark. Names changed constantly, they meant little in the end. Bureau 13 had been the previous appellation, only to be replaced in recent years by the designation of an ancient age of chivalry - the Round Table.
And 'Gwenhyfar' was his eyes and ears there.
''King Arthur' has called a meeting of his knights,' the old man muttered, crumpling up the page. It was written in code of course, but still, no evidence should be kept of his involvement in this, not yet. Morden did not react. Both of them knew who 'King Arthur' was.
'It is the first time he has sought to convene a full meeting since his return from Z'ha'dum. I think he is close to making a move against the President.'
'You're sure?'
'He must be. He's a cautious man, and patient, but time is running out and he knows it. This war with the Alliance, their new
'Will they?'
'I don't know. Some will. Maybe enough.'
'So what are we going to do about it? We can't wake Mr. Byron here yet, can we?'
'No. That would reveal our hand to the Enemy far too soon. The network is powerful, yes, but if an Enemy ship decided to blow this whole building apart, there's precious little we could do about it. We can't activate Byron until the fleet is here.' The old man paused. 'We're going to have to accelerate the timetable. The sooner the
'Are we going to be ready this soon? Is the fleet going to be ready?'
'It'll have to be.'
'Do you want me to contact Captain Sheridan?'
The old man shook his head. 'No, he may know who you are. Sinoval's met you, and he definitely knows who you are, and who you work for. He and Sheridan are not very close, but he might have told somebody something. So might Mollari, for that matter. We'd be better off not revealing just who we're working for.
