the next day or so. There would be a lot of.... civilian casualties and 'collateral damage' coming soon. Delenn might well die in the process.
After all, the Alliance would be perfectly willing to equate a scorched earth policy with the Shadows, wouldn't they?
Ambassador Sheridan walked into the room. Clark rose to meet him. 'Mr. President,' he said. 'There are some things we should discuss.'
'Indeed there are. Tell your.... associates to show themselves.'
The space around Sheridan shimmered, and three Shadows came into view. Clark smiled. His eyes began to glow.
'We are two dead men now, my friend,' he said, leaning on his desk. 'Two dead men, and nothing more.'
It was dark. That was fine by Kozorr. He liked the dark, at least he liked it here, in this place.
It was a place of heroes, of great deeds, a place where legends had once walked, where stories had been inspired. He had grown up hearing the tales of Derannimer and Nemain, and all those who had walked the corridors he walked now. He could feel them. Their touch was everywhere, their breath still hanging in the air, their whispers echoing just beyond hearing.
They were all mocking him, deriding him. He did not deserve to be here. He was a traitor, an oath–breaker, and he did not deserve to be here.
But then Marrain and Parlonn had been traitors, and they too had walked these halls. Maybe Parlonn's ghost still did, if he had been denied reincarnation. It had been he and Marrain who had discovered this station after all.
He was not alone. That would be foolish in such a potentially dangerous environment, but he could tell that the other warriors were feeling as he was. The Tak'cha had been filled with excitement at the first step into Anla'Verenn–veni, which they called Ende X'ton. Only a very few had even come aboard, most preferring to stay on their ships and protect their holy place.
And there were only a handful of Minbari here as well. Five in total. He himself, Tirivail, Rastenn and two others, both long–time followers of Sonovar. They were here to complete their mission. Or they would be, if any of them had any clue as to what their mission was.
None of them had been ordered here by Sonovar himself. All their orders had come directly from Forell. Oh, he had to be acting by Sonovar's will of course, he would not dare do otherwise, but still....
'You are to escort our noble and enlightened allies to the place they seek, you are to protect them on the way there and help them safeguard their holy and sacred heritage from any who might seek to harm it. We seek, as always, to help those who help us. Such is the mutual benefit of an alliance.'
Fine and noble words, coming from a diplomat, but they said nothing. What were they expected to do? Protect the Tak'cha.... but only protect them on the way here. Kozorr straightened, suddenly realising something. There had been no mention of the return journey. Were they even expected to return at all?
He shook his head, not liking the implications of that train of thought. Either Forell was acting on his own, or Sonovar was sending them here to die.
Or, of course, he was too shaken up by his surroundings.
The Tak'cha should be arriving at their shrine by now. Kozorr had no interest in such a place. He had always been fascinated by another legend here, by another story, and it was for that goal he was aiming. Tirivail and Rastenn had come with him, but as he turned back to speak to them he found they were nowhere in sight.
It was dark here. Too dark.
The Tak'cha had made it very clear they would not tolerate any outsiders present at their sacred shrine. Kozorr was free to follow his dreams, or his nightmares.
The door was already open and he stepped inside, his eyes looking around at the shadowed room before him. It was not how he had imagined it, but the mark of reality hung over the chamber and he knew this was what he had sought.
He stepped forward and saw the altar at the far side of the room. A curiously un–Minbari design, but the markings on the black stone were clearly those of mourning. There was no body there of course, but there never had been. Parlonn's body had never been recovered from Z'ha'dum, where he had fallen in mortal combat with his friend and blade–brother Marrain.
Still, it was here, in this room, that an effigy of Parlonn had been placed, and Valen had spoken words about his former friend and bitter enemy. A quiet funeral ceremony had been held here, the last time Marrain had stood beside Valen as a friend and ally.
Kozorr limped to the altar itself and touched the black stone. He knew what it represented, and when he closed his eyes he could see Valen standing behind him, Marrain at his side. Valen's speech at Parlonn's funeral had been erased from all the histories, as had nearly happened to the records of the event itself. There were many in the religious caste who found Valen's eulogy to one who had betrayed him a betrayal in itself. They of course had missed the point entirely.
'All of us can find redemption, yes?' Kozorr whispered as he looked at the black altar. 'You forgave one who had wronged you, and so you eased the pain of his betrayal.'
He picked out his pike and extended it slowly. Parlonn's pike had been recovered and had lain here with the effigy. What had happened to it after that.... no one was entirely sure.
He blinked slowly,
Kozorr blinked again, and took a slow step backwards. The image of the past faded and all was dead and shadows again. He trembled at the.... the reality of what he had seen, and as he took another step back his weak leg betrayed him and he fell, body striking the ground hard and his pike rolling from his grasp.
There was a soft clatter as it hit the ground and rolled away. Three seconds later, it stopped. Someone bent down and picked it up.
Tears of frustration and pain in his eyes, Kozorr managed to make it to his knees. He looked up, and his eyes widened.
Kats held his pike out towards him.
Marrago had acquired many skills throughout his long years as a soldier, and one of these was how to read a battle. It was a skill all good generals sought to cultivate, but it was one that was impossible to learn, in his estimation. It was a matter of instinct.
As he watched the formations of the Narn defences around Tolonius 7, and his own attacking positions, he knew how it would go. Battles were by their very nature chaotic affairs, but there were patterns that could be seen if you only cared to look hard enough.
Marrago was thinking about his soldiers. He was thinking about their wives and families and children. He was thinking about all the dead that would follow this battle if matters continued as they were now.
And he turned his gaze to the drawer wherein lay the Shadow orb. He remembered the Drakh's words. 'When you need them.... touch this and think the words. They will come.'
He had seen the military might of the Shadows. He had seen their strength and power first–hand. They were a match for the Narns, for whatever defences they hoped to erect.
But the cost of their bargain. Another 'favour' owed to the Drakh's dark masters. The first had not yet been paid. He did not like to think what payment might be required this time.
He saw one of his warships destroyed, blazing in flames under an onslaught of Narn ships.
These were his people. This was his army. Tolonius 7 was a world he had been charged to protect. There were almost a billion Centauri lives on that world, a world ruled by their most hated enemy.
Was the cost of a favour from the Shadows really so high?
