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

by Gareth D. Williams

  "I will know you all," he said to the empty room. "I will honour all your memories, and praise all your names."

  Then he willed all the lights to extinguish, and he was alone in darkness.

  Alone and waiting.

  * * *

  The package was small, neatly wrapped, and showed no indication of what it might contain. Lyndisty had a sufficient sense of curiosity to want to open it, but then she also possessed enough propriety to know not to do that. She was a little confused about this whole endeavour, but she knew enough not to question her father.

  He was gone now, gone to war, to defend the Republic and fight in its name. She was pleased he had taken time from his busy schedule to come to her. She loved her father with a passion that bordered on the fierce, and she trusted him totally. No one was as strong as him, no one as powerful, as mighty, as capable of defending the Republic.

  Which was why his words had worried her a little, almost scared her in fact.

  "Lyndisty.... you do know that I love you, don't you?"

  "Of course, father."

  "You also know.... to be careful. The Republic has many enemies. I have many enemies, people who would not hesitate to strike at me or at the Republic, through you."

  "Of course, father. I can protect myself. My trainer says I am improving."

  "Yes.... I know. I spoke to him yesterday, and he merely gave me another reason to be proud of you, as if I needed any more. I know you can look after yourself. I know you are intelligent and able. I know you ran our estate for a while when I was.... away, and your mother was ill. I know you can do many things you should not have to do as a lady of the Court.

  "But.... I have enemies, powerful enemies, and sometimes it is better to run and hide than to fight. That is why I made sure you were safely on Immolan during the.... troubles last year. You do understand that? There is no shame in running."

  "I understand. Father.... is.... something wrong?"

  "I do not know. I wish I did. I think.... I may have done something I should not have done, but it is too early to tell. Maybe nothing will come of it."

  "What can you have done wrong, father? You cannot have done anything to hurt the Republic, or to hurt me."

  "Ah.... sometimes an act done with the best of intentions can have the worst of outcomes. I will be going shortly. You will be well guarded while I am gone, you and your mother.... but.... there is something you must do. Something you must do alone."

  "Of course, father. I will do whatever you want of me."

  "Some day, Lyndisty, you will not be so trusting. A package has been delivered to you. There is a place you must take it. Someone will be waiting to receive it. Give it to them, and leave. Do not look inside the package, do not try to find the identity of the person you give it to. Hurry back to safety once this is done. Do you understand?"

  "Of course, father."

  "Lyndisty, this is important! If you never listen to another word I say, heed me on this. Be careful, and tell no one about this. No one!"

  "Father.... what is wrong?"

  "I don't know.... and that troubles me. I love you, Lyndisty."

  He was gone now, gone to Tolonius, fighting in the name of the Republic. The battle would probably have started by now, Lyndisty thought. She, meanwhile, was doing her part. She did not understand the need for secrecy, or the significance of the package, or why her father could not do this himself, but none of that mattered. She would do as he wished.

  She followed the directions she had been given exactly, and was not pleased that they led her into a disreputable area of the capital, the warehouse district, a part of the city almost gutted by the rioting of last year. It had not been a pleasant area even before that, and her mother would no doubt have an apoplexy at the thought of Lyndisty walking here, least of all alone.

  She became aware of the sound of footsteps behind her, and she quickened her pace. She was not unarmed - her long maurestii blade was a reassuringly heavy weight hidden in the folds of her dress - but she did not know how many there were following her, and it was always better to avoid combat if at all possible.

  Her quick ears picked up the sound of movement in front of her, and she slowed her pace, still moving forward, but looking for a place to hide if necessary. It was possible the people were harmless, but that was not something she wished to test.

  An alley came into view to one side, and she made for it. She was not sure if it led to a place of safety or not, but she could tell she was surrounded.

  "So," said a harsh voice, "what's a lady doing in this part of town?"

  She skidded to a halt, and backed slowly up against the wall. She could rush for the alley, but her pursuers had chosen to make themselves known, so it was best if she acknowledged that. There were four that she could see; two behind her, two in front. There could be others, of course. The one who had spoken was clearly the leader, and he was in front. There was a mocking leer on his face.

  "I am a lady of the Court," she said, in as haughty a tone as she could manage. She shifted the package so that she was holding it in only one hand, and her other slid into her dress, grasping the cold hilt of her maurestii. "I am here on Court business, and I would thank you not to obstruct me in this. If you report to my estate, I will be happy to provide you with small coin for your gracious service."

  "Small coin?" said the leader. She could see that his right arm ended in a stump just above the elbow. The other held a long knife. "Which estate is that, then? Not that it matters. You're all the same, each and every one of you. Parasites. Oh, you noticed this, did you?" he said, raising as much of the stump as he could. "The gracious whim of the fair Lady Elrisia. She said I touched her, she did, so she chopped off the hand that did it, and most of the arm as well. She would have taken out my eyes for looking at her too, but she decided to be merciful."

  "The Lady Elrisia is dead," Lyndisty said. Her charred corpse had been recovered not long after the end of the troubles.

  "Yeah, so we heard. Wasn't us, more's the pity, but.... what does it matter? You're all the same, all of you. I used to be a craftsman, a sculptor. There's actually one of my statues in Mollari's estate, him that's now the Emperor. You'll note he didn't try to save me from Elrisia, did he? Nobles always look after their own. Do you know him? The Emperor?"

  "My father does," she said, trying to keep her breath even and short. Her body was tense.

  "Who's your father?"

  "The Lord–General Marrago."

  The crippled craftsman laughed. "Well, I'll be damned. Reckon he'll pay a pretty ducat to get you back safe. Just think what could happen to a noble lady in the hands - pardon the expression - of thugs like us. All sorts of nastiness."

  "As I said, report to my estate, and you will be paid for your service. But I should tell you, I am a high–placed virgin of the Court, and if you dare touch me then your punishment will not be light."

  "Oh? What? Will they chop my other hand off? I'm a walking dead man anyway. We all are, and as they say.... might as well be beheaded for a ducat as a duck." He moved forward, touching the cold blade of the knife to Lyndisty's neck. It slid lower and began to cut the soft silk of her dress, exposing her bodice.

  "Stop that," she said firmly, her hand clenched tight on the hilt of her knife. "This is your last chance."

  "I'm not afraid," he hissed. "I'm not afraid of anything any more."

  "I'm sorry," she said, and she meant it. She pulled out her hand and the knife, and in one smooth motion, before he had time to react, a red line was drawn across his throat and he fell, his long knife spinning to the ground with a clatter.

  There was a moment of surprise as the other three stared at the man who had been their leader. These were probably simply common criminals who had joined with one who exuded charisma and a feeling of wronged determination. It took a moment before any sense of action presented itself.

  Lyndisty took advantage of this, turning and darting down the alley. They began to follow her, but the
re was no room for two to run abreast, and so their numbers were negated. She managed to spin on her feet, and taking care to keep a tight grasp of the package, not knowing if its contents were breakable or not, she thrust the maurestii out firmly. The leading criminal ran squarely on to it, his hearts pierced. She withdrew the blade from his body, and he fell.

  The other two were more careful now, moving more slowly, their own weapons to hand. Lyndisty did not dare take her eyes off them, and moved backwards slowly, wishing for a moment that her dress was not quite so long. Still, she had been trained to fight in all manner of regalia. As her father had said, you were very lucky if you got to choose when and where to fight.

  Something struck the side of her head, and she stumbled. The second assailant lifted another rock, and this one struck her side. Wincing, she almost dropped the package, and the first took advantage, lunging forward. Her maurestii caught him in the side and she drew it upwards, piercing his lungs and left heart, but as he fell the knife was torn from her grasp.

  His body fell into her, and she had to stagger back. The folds of her dress caught under her foot, and she fell. She kept hold of the package only with difficulty. The final attacker advanced on her, a wicked grin on his face. Desperately she tried to kick out the folds of her dress and rise to her feet, but the cloth was too thick.

  There was a sudden light behind her, and the crackle of flames. She could not see who or what it was, but she could see the look of pure terror on her assailant's face. He took a step backwards and then turned and ran frantically for the exit of the alley. Another figure stood there, seemingly holding a flame in his hand. The outlaw let out a strangled cry and continued running. The fire moved, and struck him directly in the face. He screamed, and in an instant all his clothing was alight.

  Lyndisty winced and turned her head. Slowly, she managed to disentangle herself from her dress and rise to her feet. She picked up her maurestii and turned to face the man behind her.

  "You should not be here," he said. She could not see his face, only the tall brand he held, blazing brightly.

  "I have a package to deliver."

  "Then give it to me, and I shall see it is taken to its destination."

  "I cannot do that. I must take it there myself."

  "How do you know I am not the person for whom it is intended?"

  "I was told to say this. 'There are whispers in the darkness.' The person who will receive this will know what else to say." It meant nothing to her, but evidently it meant something to this man.

  "'But in the light, there is nothing but silence,'" he said softly. "I think that is mine."

  "I think it is," she said quietly, handing it over to him. "I have discharged my duty, sir.... and now I will leave."

  "Wait!" he said. There was something in the tone of voice. This man was a nobleman, or had been once. He was used to commanding others. "What is your name, that I may know whom to thank for this?"

  "I am Lyndisty, of House Marrago," she said simply. She then wiped the blood from her blade and walked away.

  "Lyndisty," he said, putting down the brand. "Yes.... I know you now." He looked at the package, and something dark grew within him. "Yes. I know you now."

  * * *

  They were coming. Clark could feel them, like songs just in the next room, whispered conversations, pinpricks of light just off the horizon.

  It was coming. Humanity's greatest defeat, and their greatest victory. He would personally see that humanity was saved from Hell. Alas, he doubted he would be able to see her led towards Heaven.

  He wondered sometimes, in the dead of night, if there could have been another way, but he always knew there was not. At heart, people were stupid. They were petty, pathetic, venal, selfish and self–absorbed. That was the first true lesson any politician learned. People were stupid.

  Oh, when Clark had started out, years ago, he had had all sorts of grand designs, great dreams. He would change the world, make Earth a better place. He would bring his beliefs and his dreams. All he needed was power, one single chance, and then everything would be so much better.

  Time and experience had hardened him. People did not want change. They never did. Oh, they said they wanted improvements. Ban this, legalise that, lower this, raise that, change this.... reforms, new legislation....

  But what they really wanted was for tomorrow to be just the same as today.

  Humanity needed to change. They had made an error in allying themselves with the Shadows. It was not just the work of the leaders, the politicians, the diplomats. No, they had all done it. Everyone out there had accepted this alliance. Their reasons were understandable, really. They didn't know what they were doing. A.... minor slip. These things happened.

  But that had been three years ago, and they had made no effort to correct their mistake. Change was necessary, just this once, but did they want to do that? No, of course not.

  Force was the only approach any of them understood. The same was true of most races to a certain extent, but none more than humanity.

  Ah. Clark smiled. He was coming. Sheridan. He should have done this sooner, but he was a diplomat, and always too cautious. A commendable trait, most of the time. But not now.

  Clark tried to calculate how long it would be before the Dark Star fleet arrived. A few hours, perhaps. There was time enough.

  "Ambassador Sheridan is here to see you, Mr. President," said his secretary.

  "Send him in. Oh, and take an early lunch. Send away all the Security in this area of the building as well."

  "Are you sure, sir?"

  "Of course I am. There is no danger from Ambassador Sheridan now, is there?" It probably wouldn't have mattered if the security guards had stayed. Most of them were new, brought in from off–world in the aftermath of Welles' arrest. That was something Clark had not been pleased about. Who would have thought he would have acquired enough backbone to do something like that? Clark thought he would have learned after the whole Takashima business.

  It was annoying. He wished he could have had Delenn killed long ago. She should have died on Z'ha'dum of course, but this had seemed.... a blessing in disguise. A chance to lure the Alliance here, all in due time of course, and then kill her before Captain Sheridan's eyes. That would give him more than enough cause to hate the Shadows.

  But no, she had to go and escape. Oh, well.... things might still work out. She would be unlikely to see past 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 potentia
lly 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.