Темное, кривое зеркало. Том 3 : След на песке

intentions. A desperate Centauri fleet had been assembled to try to hold off the Narns.

Each side was confident of victory, but the price in blood and lives would be high.

The Narn fleet bore down on the Centauri homeworld.

And then a third side intervened. Space shimmered, and they were there, ancient vessels built for the dissemination of chaos. They screamed as they came into sight, and without the slightest hesitation they made for the Narn fleet.

The first Narn warship died within moments, torn apart by the Shadow ships. A second soon followed. In those few moments the Narn war machine turned from disciplined order into anarchic chaos.

Aboard the flagship Pride of the Kha'Ri, Warleader G'Sten quickly managed to regain his grasp of leadership and began barking orders. He had never seen these ships before, but he knew someone who had. His nephew had once tried to warn him of their terrible evil, but he had not listened. He now wished he had.

The Centauri fleet took no action, obeying the orders of its commander, the Lord-General Marrago. He sat on the bridge of the Valerius and watched, reassuring his stunned captains. Soon, word of their Emperor's power spread throughout the fleet. The Emperor had promised them safety, and here he was, fulfilling his promises, bringing these ancient and powerful allies to their cause.

Marrago watched, and reported, and did not smile. Not once.

More Narn vessels fell before the onslaught, and G'Sten soon realised that victory was impossible. The enemy ships were uncountable, and beyond them lay the Centauri fleet. Better now to save as many of his ships as he could. Better to save as many of his soldiers as he could.

The order to retreat was given, and acted upon desperately. The Shadows were content to let the Narns flee. They had wreaked enough damage. Once every Narn invader had left the heavens of Centauri Prime the Shadows themselves disappeared.

A wild cheer rocked the fleet. Only two people abstained. Carn Mollari, nephew of the Emperor and Captain of the Valerius. He had seen, and fought, such ships before, and he knew what they meant.

And Lord-General Marrago. After a fashion, he had seen these ships before as well.

Once the Shadows had gone he rose from his seat and left the ship, not saying a word to anyone. He was Lord-General of the Centauri Republic, and he had duties. One of those duties was to report what he had seen to the Emperor, who was also his friend.

Another duty was to find and intercept one person who would learn of these events far sooner than anyone should. This person, this human, was to be found, and dealt with.

Marrago made his way to the nearest shuttle, and from there to the capital.

* * *

Kozorr drew his pike slowly and looked around him, his expression hardening. This place, for all its wonder, was a sign of the corruption and evil that had overtaken Sinoval. It was not a temple of wonder as he had first thought. As he looked around he saw the Well of Souls for what it truly was: a prison, holding the trapped souls of the dead, denying them the chance to progress on to the next life.

Kozorr had never been a true believer. He had never been a priestling. He had believed only in the intricacy of battle, in the sure and certain knowledge of what was right and what was wrong. As he looked around at this ancient prison, however, he believed. He believed everything.

Leave us, boomed the voice of the Well. You have no place here.

He ignored it, and continued his search. There was something…. that would mark the heart of this place. The globes in the walls around him were the souls, he knew that, but which one was the central soul? Where was the key?

If you will not leave, then you will be destroyed.

Before him, the air shimmered. He stepped back in silent wonder as a being materialised in front of him, an alien he had never seen before. It was half again as tall as he was, and covered with hard scales, from some of which burst long, wickedly-serrated spikes. It had one single eye, as large as his own fist, and from within its inky blackness there gleamed a fierce, feral intelligence. It had no arms as such, but six long tentacles emerged from its side. One of these wielded a weapon Kozorr could never have imagined.

Your soul will join us here and become part of Cathedral, as did his, in the millennia gone.

In silence the monster darted forward, one long tentacle lashing out with astonishing speed. Any doubts Kozorr might have has as to its tangibility ended when the tentacle wrapped around his legs and pulled him forward, sending him crashing to the ground. He kept a tight grip on his pike with his good hand.

His head jarred as he hit the ground, and the old scarring beneath his bone crest began to break open. He fought past the pain to remain conscious as the monster raised its weapon, which shifted form before his eyes to become a long spike. It thrust the spike down.

He brought his pike up and knocked the spike aside. Striking out, he broke the creature's grip on his legs and rolled aside. Scrambling to his feet, he darted away from the creature's advance.

Another tentacle lashed out, but this time he managed to jump over it. Ignoring the pain as he landed on his weak leg, he drew back his arm and threw his pike directly forward. It struck the creature squarely in the eye, and there was a vicious, psychic howl that sent Kozorr to his knees in agony.

When the pain had gone he looked up. The creature had gone, and his pike was lying on the floor. He crawled forward to reach it, but just as his hand touched it a booted foot came down, trapping the pike. He looked up and saw Sinoval standing there in his full glory.

'Why, Kozorr?' he asked simply.

'What happened to the monster?' he asked, rising to his feet. His head was aching.

'That was no monster,' replied another voice, an ancient, civilised one. Kozorr turned to see the Primarch Majestus et Conclavus walking forward. 'He was the last member of a race that died over seven hundred thousand years ago. They were an intelligent, artistic race, destroyed by natural disasters and plagues. We saved the last of them, and brought him here to add his essence to the Well of Souls.'

'Why, Kozorr?' asked Sinoval again. 'Why betray me?'

'I did it to save you,' he replied simply. 'You have been bewitched by these…. creatures.'

'You swore to follow me forever.'

'I want to follow you! My lord, I would follow you to the gates of oblivion and back…. but not these things. Cast them from your side, my lord, and all Minbari warriors will follow you for eternity.'

'I made a bargain, and it is not for me to break it. I am sorry, Kozorr. More than you can know.'

'Sorry! You have destroyed our people by your foolish bargains with these monsters! Can you not see that?'

'I am sorry, because I will have to explain this to Kats.' Kozorr fell silent. 'What should I tell her? I saw her when she thought you were dead. Her heart lay in pieces, her soul was drowning in a terrible blackness. She is not warrior as are we. Her caste were never prepared to accept the deaths of those they love.

'I think it would have been better for her to believe you dead, than for her to learn this.'

'Damn you! Damn you all! Tell her what you wish. She will never love me.'

'You are a fool, Kozorr. A stupid, arrogant, blind fool! She has loved you since the beginning, and you have not seen it.' Sinoval kicked Kozorr's pike across the floor to him, and he picked it up. 'Go from this place. Go to your new master and tell him….

'Tell him that if one more Minbari life ends at his hands, then I will hunt him down throughout the galaxy. I will destroy him and all who follow him, and his dream will be in ashes. We should be fighting the Enemy, not each other.

'See that he learns that.'

'I will tell him.'

'Oh, Kozorr…. think yourself fortunate. You could not have destroyed the Well of Souls. It is eternal and immortal. You would have died here, and your soul would have become just one of the countless thousands bound into the structure of Cathedral.'

'Have you taken on the power of prophecy now, Primarch?' He spat out the title as if it were an insult.