A Dark, Distorted Mirror. Volume 5 : Among the Stars, like Giants. Part 3 : On the Edges of Percepti

Prime.

The Security team reported back.

Kulomani breathed out and gave instructions for the Alliance fleets to move to Centauri Prime, top priority, and for a medical team to go to General Sheridan's quarters.

He gave them in that order.

* * *

'Sinoval! Where are you?'

Susan Ivanova called until her throat was hoarse. She ran through the neverending, always-winding pathways of Cathedral until her feet ached and her legs burned with pain.

It was happening. The Brotherhood had launched their attack. The Centauri ships were being outmatched and overcome. Brotherhood shuttles were already heading for the planet's surface. Centauri Prime was teetering on the brink of one disaster too many.

And where the hell was Sinoval?

'Damn you, Sinoval!' Ivanova called out to the empty darkness. She could not even see any of the Soul Hunters, not even the Praetors Tutelary who were always near Sinoval. It was as if Cathedral had died in a split second and she just had not been told yet.

'Sinoval, if you make me do this by myself, I swear by almighty God I'll....'

She ran into the training ground without even realising it. He was there, sitting cross-legged as if in meditation, Stormbringer on the floor in front of him. He was staring into nothingness.

'Damn you!' she cried out. 'Didn't you hear me? It's starting!'

There was no reply.

She ran up to him and shook him roughly. He did not move. 'Sinoval, don't you....' She shook him again. His skin was cold, unbelievably cold. 'Sinoval!' She pushed him.

He fell backwards. His eyes continued to stare up into the darkness.

Chapter 4

There are no secrets under the sun.

There are no hiding places for the shadows.

There is no time for one last request.

Those who would betray the light will fall and die, destroyed by their own darkness. Shadows flee when even a single ray of light is cast upon them. One glimpse of the sun and they are gone.

Turned to dust.

And soon there is no memory that they ever existed.

Let those who oppose the light know this: by opposing us, you align yourselves with the shadow.

Let those who align themselves with the shadow know this:

There are no secrets under the sun.

We will find you.

In a hall of endless mirrors, a place of shadows and light, one voice ringing out from all corners, John Sheridan moved, searching eternally for a way out.

* * *

Blood and darkness and wine.

The feast was continuing in the shadow of his mind. Never-ending joy and merriment and wine and women and, yes, even song.

No pain. No grief. No loss.

But as he drank it, he saw for the first time that the wine was not wine, but blood, and the food was not the flesh of animals, but the flesh of his people, and the song was not of rapturous celebration but a dirge for the dead and the dying.

Go back, the voices said.

Go back, the song said.

Go back, the singers said.

'No,' replied Emperor Londo Mollari II. 'I am happy here.'

* * *

If only his people were so happy....

The Tuchanq attacked with a savage, careless, heedless frenzy. They suicide-rammed the few defence grid satellites still working. They hurled their ships into buildings and lakes. The earth rose and fell.

They brought their song to the land.

They sang as they died.

And where were the others? Where were the defenders of Centauri Prime?

The First Image:

Morden closed his eyes in a gesture that might have been prayer or might simply have been a refusal to accept what was happening. There was no fear. Why would he be afraid?

He was safe in a fortified bunker half a mile under the ground.

He had been woken up in the middle of the night by an Inquisitor at his bedside. He had been afraid then, for a single moment. The Drazi Inquisitor's ice-cold eyes stared at him, as if looking directly into his soul. Morden knew he had done nothing for which he should be afraid, but the fear was there regardless. He said nothing.

The Drazi nodded. 'Come.'

They had taken him to this place, a secret place they had constructed in quiet, in silence. It was a place of torture, of screams, of agonies born in nightmares. It was also, for now, a place of sanctuary.

Morden wanted to do something, anything. The Inquisitors had their ships. Surely they were more than a match for any bandit raiders? A message had been sent to the Alliance, but surely there was something to do now?

'No,' the Inquisitor had said, when he had dared broach the subject. 'He is here. We must draw him out into the light.'

'He?' Morden had a sickening feeling he knew who. Only one person could inspire that much hatred in an Inquisitor.

'The Accursed.'

'Sinoval?'

The Inquisitor's hand had suddenly been at his throat, squeezing tightly. Morden felt all the breath leave his body a second after all the warmth left his soul.

The Drazi spoke slowly, flawlessly, dwelling on every syllable.

'You will never speak that name again.'

He had not.

And so all he had to do was wait.

The Second Image:

Durla at her side, Timov looked at the cold, uncomfortable chair in front of her. Durla had been assigned to watch her, although many people might have wondered whether it was for her safety or their own. Few of them, few of the players in the Great Game, would imagine she was equally capable of watching him back.

Besides, for now, they had.... an understanding of sorts.

Londo's bedchamber was well guarded, as many guards as they could spare, but Timov herself had to be here. This was no time to hide. Power had to be wielded and be seen to be wielded, and she could do more here. The Ministers and lords and nobility had fled, some to hide or defend their estates, others to take the fight to the enemy. Timov was alone.

'They will make for the palace, lady,' Durla said. She looked at him. 'If they plan to invade and occupy they will need to secure the palace. If they merely desire plunder they will get more of that here than anywhere else. If they desire destruction, what better place to destroy?'