A Dark, Distorted Mirror. Volume 4. A Future, Born in Pain

He shook the thought from his head and sat forward, barking orders to his captains. A gap had opened in their lines, a gap the Narns were seeking to exploit. It had to be closed. Carn heard the orders and brought his Valerius around to block it. Marrago smiled. Carn was a fine soldier. Londo should be proud of him.

The Valerius came under heavy fire. Marrago could see the Narn were focussing their efforts on that weak spot in the lines. It was an old technique, first used by one of his ancestors at the invasion of the Beta system. In other circumstances, Marrago might have been flattered at its adoption by the Narns.

The Valerius was fighting back, supported by two other capital ships. For a moment they seemed to be holding the line.

Then another Narn cruiser appeared, striking out at the Valerius' forward weapon systems. It staggered back, and blows rained down upon it from all sides. The other ships had seen the danger and were moving forward to help protect the flagship, but the Narns were capitalising on its weakness.

Carn was a good soldier. He was the nephew of Marrago's oldest friend. He read Minbari poetry, liked to paint landscapes and was madly infatuated with a young noblewoman of the Court.

Marrago leapt to his feet and ran to the drawer. Pulling it open he picked up the Shadow orb. It seemed to become warmer in his hands, as if it had been expecting him.

'I need you,' he whispered. 'Come!'

The very instant he said those words, space shimmered and the Shadows were there.

After that, the battle was a foregone conclusion.

* * *

They were here, coming near. Zarwin and....

No, not Zarwin. Zarwin was dead, wasn't he? He must be.

'Death,' Marrain whispered, standing in the shrine to the Z'ondar. He remembered the last time he had been here, just after Zarwin had been banished.

'Death,' he said again.

That was all. That was the meaning of life, the point, the focus. Ever and only death.

And only he understood. No, that was not true. Sinoval understood. He trusted him. Trust.... that was a rare feeling. Foolishness, of course, but welcoming as well.

There was the sound of footsteps outside. Marrain was alone, waiting for the visitors. Sinoval had wanted to leave some of his guards here, but Marrain had refused. A handful of guards would not help if all the Tak'cha chose to attack, and more than that could not be spared from protecting Sinoval's pretty worker.

Besides, guards might get in the way of the glorious death that was coming.

Or was it? Where was glory in death without a glorious life behind it? Sinoval had said something along those lines, but for a moment Marrain was a thousand years in the past, in the middle of a debate between Parlonn and Valen.

'There is no glory save to die in the name of your lord!' Parlonn had cried.

'Ah, but dying is easy, Parlonn. Living in the name of your lord is so much harder. And so much more worthwhile.'

Valen had been a fool, or had he? A thousand years on and he was still remembered, still revered, still worshipped. While what of Parlonn, what of Marrain? Traitors both. Betrayers and oath–breakers.

'Here,' said a voice. 'Here is our shrine.'

Marrain straightened and was ready as the first Tak'cha guards entered the shrine. Behind them came a figure who was obviously their leader. He carried a long staff, crafted in homage - or was it mockery? - of Valen's fabled Grey Staff.

'Welcome,' Marrain said softly. He stepped forward. 'It has been a long time.'

* * *

It was an impressive sight, there was no doubt about it. Whatever else might be said about the Dark Star ships, they looked suitably awesome.

And they were not alone. Supported by Narn cruisers, Brakiri ships, Drazi Sunhawks, vessels from the Llort, the Vree, the Abbai, a true alliance of races, gathered together to save one of their own from their own leaders.

There had been no speech to mark the beginning of the journey to Proxima. Corwin had passed the instructions on to the various captains. Most had objected, pointing out the sudden change of plan, the dangers involved, the fact that it would be impossible to hide their intentions, and that they would surely be expected.

Corwin knew all this, and he shared every one of their concerns, but somehow he managed to fill them with a false sense of confidence. The Captain knew what he was doing. Corwin supposed Sheridan was not the Captain any more. He was the General now.

He remembered an old tradition of John's. When he had taken on command of a new vessel, he had given a speech to his new crew. He had not done that on taking command of the Dark Star 1. Corwin had not done that either when he had been made Captain of the Dark Star 3, the Agamemnon.

But now as he looked around at his crew, many of whom he knew well, many of whom had served with him on the Parmenion, he felt the need to say something. The Dark Stars had a mix of races as their crews, formed from the armies of the League worlds and G'Kar's Rangers. The Dark Star 3, however, was almost all human, refugees from Clark, those who had been on the Parmenion and chosen to stay behind after its destruction. They were his people, his crew, and he felt he should say something.

'What we are going to do.... will be dangerous,' he said, choosing his words carefully. He hated speaking in public. 'This is not Earthforce. This is not as it was in the days before the war. We are not fighting to defend Earth, for Earth is long gone.

'We are fighting for our people. Humanity's leaders have made a destructive and a fatal bargain. They have acted out of fear, and ambition, and they will bring all humanity down with them when they fall. It is up to us to prevent that, to save us all from that bargain.

'The fight will not be easy, but nothing worthwhile ever is. I cannot promise you victory. I cannot promise riches or happiness or salvation. What I can promise you is this:

'After today, we will never be exiles again. We will retake Proxima. We will reclaim our Government. We will reclaim our people. We will reclaim our home.

'We will never again be lost and alone.

'We are going home. For good.'

And with those words the Agamemnon joined the rest of the Dark Star fleet, heading for Proxima.

Chapter 4

Where are they, the players in the great game of kings and destinies and nations? Where are they all as the forces of destiny converge on Proxima 3? Once, over two years ago, a fleet descended on this world, this last bastion of hope, intent on destruction, on annihilation, on genocide. They were defeated, cast back, driven away.

Now a fleet comes once more, and once more they will be met on the outskirts of the system. And once more, as before, the fates of entire peoples will be in the balance.

The leader of humanity, President William Morgan Clark, stands still and ready in his private office. For years he has been planning this, moving with the approval of the alien that shares his body and his soul. He has been preparing for his greatest defeat, and humanity's greatest victory.

Ambassador David Sheridan is with him, realising at last things he has suspected, but never been able to prove. There is a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach, the awareness of experience that tells him his opponent has a hidden card up his sleeve, and not knowing if it is an ace or a joker.