Marrago's hearts began to quicken. Had Londo found out? No, surely not. He had to remain ignorant. The blame had to remain diverted from the throne itself.
"Thank you for coming so quickly, old friend," Londo said, darkness in his tone. In fact there was much that seemed dark about the Emperor today.
"It is ever my duty to serve, Majesty," he replied.
"You are the only one, Marrago. The only one of all of them. The only one I can trust, the only one I can allow to become involved in this, the only one I can permit to know what.... You remember Mr. Morden, Ambassador Morden, I suppose now?"
"I remember him," Marrago said, with absolute tranquillity. He did remember Morden. He remembered being informed by his Shadow allies that Morden would have to be dealt with, and quickly. He was an agent of the Vorlons, a powerful and dangerous man. Marrago had arrested him, only for him to inexplicably escape and vanish soon afterwards.
"He has returned. No, do not ask how he got on to the planet, or even the capital. I hold no fault anywhere for that. He came to see me, in a private audience. He stood before me, and he threatened me. Me! On my own throne, in my own Court! He gave me two choices, in a way that was no choice at all.
"I could let this world fall to the Shadows, or be torn apart by the Narns. Or I could let him bring in his.... 'associates'. I could let him bring inquisitors and inspectors and Vorlon monsters to come and plague my world. As if I did not know what the Vorlons did to Delenn! As if I would regard giving them this world as a boon, as a gracious offer!
"We know what Cartagia said as he died. We know the promise I made to Malachi. Shall it be said that I lied in my last words to such an old friend? No, I will give him the better world I promised, and that will not include giving it to the Vorlons."
"What do you wish me to do, Londo?" Marrago asked simply.
"Whatever is necessary. I will keep the Centauri Republic whole and safe. We will not bend the knee to Vorlon or Shadow, or to the Alliance either. Do what is necessary to save us, friend. Find the Shadow presence here and burn it out. Let no Vorlon set one encounter–suited foot on this world. Let...."
He stopped, and both of them turned to the window. There was a sound, a terrible cry of triumph and exultation and pain, the cry of a dark beast being born.
Both ran to the window and looked outside. Neither of them saw Lennier fall to the ground, clutching his head in agony.
Both of them looked outside and saw a red cloud rise across the sky. And at its centre was a dark mass, a hideous, revolting flying monstrosity that was ugly because it was so beautiful.
It cried out again, and the red cloud expanded. Where its shadow fell, there came madness and death.
* * *
Kiro watched his creation rise. His son, almost. In the womb he had fed it with blood and dreams and hatred, and now before his eyes it was born.
The flower, now swollen and bloated, cracked, and the air around it was red. He breathed it in, and felt a sickly–sweet taint fill his lungs. Already scarred and weak from breathing smoke, he should have coughed and spluttered, but instead he was invigorated, filled with worship for his Dark Masters, filled with conviction and strength and power such as he had not felt since he was a young man, with the sure and certain knowledge he would become Emperor.
He glanced across at Mariel, tearing his eyes away from the birth of his beautiful son. She was terrified, her eyes wide, racking sobs crushing her frame. He laughed.
He looked around at the others, his followers, the mad, the dreamers, the lost, the damned. All come here to serve the Shadow, to serve him, to place him on the Purple Throne and elevate him to Emperor.
"Come," he said. "Now.... now we are ready. Now, our Masters will show us the way."
* * *
The birth of the last of the Byakheeshaggai did not go unnoticed by its Masters. For months they had been sheltering a small portion of their fleet, enough for two purposes: shelter, protection and rebirth if possible, and revenge if that was not.
The screams came to them across the fabric of hyperspace and they began to move, making for the distant world of Centauri Prime.
* * *
A million eyes turned to look upwards at once.
Lyndisty was alone in the palace gardens, torn between meditating, practising with her weapons and contemplating her new dress. She heard the creature's cry and immediately began running for her father.
Timov was looking at papers, records of trade agreements and meetings with merchants and officials. A shiver passed through her at the sound.
Minister Durano was likewise engaged in paperwork, occasionally sipping from the still glass of water on his desk. As the glass trembled and cracked, silver droplets falling to the floor, he started and looked up, his fabled poise trembling for the first time he could remember.
Vir Cotto shook at the sound, his eyes flickering around the dark room. Beside him Mr. Morden smiled slightly, and made preparations to ride out the coming storm.
Countless light years away Carn Mollari heard something, the faintest echo in the back of his mind.
* * *
It lived. Once more, once again, it lived, awoken from the womb of the stars, crafted as perfect and as powerful as its race had always been.
But something was wrong. Where were the Guardians, where the Protectors and the Towers of Judgment, from where it would launch its first flight? This place felt wrong, the memories it had absorbed through the blood felt wrong. It could feel the domination of its Dark Masters, but they were not here. They were coming, but they were not here. Where was this place it recognised only vaguely, glimpsed in half–shadows through the slow awakening of the soul?
There were sentients here, beings who quailed and ran from its sight. Its consciousness expanded slowly, absorbing their thoughts and memories. It sent forth its eyes and ears with the crimson mists, and understanding dawned slowly.
There was consciousness here, many minds, each with the residue of potential, a race that could see beyond the veils of time, that could glimpse the soul's shadow.
With a thought to the Dark Masters, it continued extending its consciousness. In their name and in their service it would call all the minds of these.... Sehn'tahr'rhee into one, bringing a communion and an epiphany, and creating a world fit for the Dark Masters to make their own.
* * *
Londo looked out at his capital, and saw a single mass of flame. He could hear the cries of his people, but he remained here in his palace, powerless to act.
And he saw the creature, vast against the sky, in the centre of the red mist that swamped all the heavens, that filled the horizon, that brought madness and chaos.
It was happening again, all of it was happening again. Little more than a year since the inexplicable madness had all but destroyed Centauri Prime, and now it had returned, but here the madness was far from inexplicable. Here the cause was plain for all to see.
"Damn you, Cartagia," he swore. "I will not let you win. I will not!"
He heard a noise from behind him, and turned to see Marrago come into view. There were two members of the Palace Guard with him. "The palace is besieged," the Lord–General said simply. "Some of the besiegers are our own guards, driven mad. Most of the capital is burning."
"Yes, I can see. Has everyone gone mad?" He laughed. "Can we even know? Are communications working?"
"Mostly, as far as we can ascertain. I've received some reports from the rest of the planet. Remarin has been lost, so has everywhere covered by that mist. There's anarchy everywhere."
"But not here," Londo said. "Not in this palace. Around it, yes, but not in it. Why am I not mad? Why not you?"
"A question for another day, Londo, when we have more time to think. We cannot hold this for long. There are places from which we can escape, go into hiding, wait for reinforcements...."
"And then what? No, old friend. We cannot afford to lose the palace, not after everything we sacrificed to regain it. I cannot rule my peopl
e as some.... some hidden Emperor. No, we have to stay here. Can we secure the palace?"
"Truly, I do not think so. But if you stay, then I am honour bound to try."
Londo smiled mirthlessly. "Has it all come to this? Did any of our victories matter? Was Cartagia right, damn him? Was he right in his dark vision? I saw it, Marrago. I saw forces of darkness and light battling across the sky, searing our world with their war. Is this it?"
"No," said a new voice, one casual and yet knowledgeable. Both Londo and Marrago turned, the Lord–General drawing his kutari in one smooth motion. Londo did not see his friend's face change abruptly, from mute terror to righteous fury.
Morden stepped out from the shadows in the corner of the room. He brushed an imaginary piece of dirt from the sleeve of his immaculate suit, a futile display of fastidiousness, and smiled. "This is not the vision you saw, Majesty. This is merely the beginning of it. After all, the forces of darkness and light are not here yet. But they will be."
"What do you mean?" Londo spat. "More riddles?"
"No, no more riddles. The Enemy is beaten, Londo. They know it, we know it, everyone knows it, and they're preparing. They have two goals now, only two ambitions. First, they want to salvage something from this war, to seed worlds to begin again in another thousand years. And if they can't have that, then, well.... they want to make sure that no one forgets them this time. They'll die, but they won't die easily, and they'll leave a million scorched worlds behind them. This will be one of them."
"What? But why? What have we....?"
"You were one of the first, Londo. You and G'Kar were the first to raise arms against them. That merits some revenge, does it not? Also, they were contacted, almost invited here. A bargain for a bargain. A simple question. What do you want? And the price of getting what you want is a simple favour, but it is never worth it. Ever. Is it, Lord–General?"
Marrago said nothing. He could not find the words. Londo looked at him, and the dull light of understanding rose. "You?" he whispered, unable to believe it. Unable to comprehend it at all. "No. You lie, Morden. You lie."
"Do I? Ask him."
"Londo," Marrago said, his face gone ashen. "Londo, I...."
"But.... how could you...?" He turned on Morden, an anger blazing within him such as he had never known. "You know all this and you do nothing? Help us, damn you! You said it yourself, we were the first. We were the first in this damned war, and is this the price we pay for it? Help us!"
"You know our price. We have no interest in saving a Shadow–tainted world, only in destroying it."
"But you'll die, too."
"Will I?" Morden smiled. "Deliver to us all those who allied with the Shadow, agree to our terms, and we will bring a fleet here. We will destroy the creature, help restore order, and lend our strength to reforging and consolidating the Centauri Republic. We will even help you sort out some sort of amicable deal with the Narns. You can't say fairer than that now, can you?"
"Get out of here!" Londo roared. "Get out of here!"
"I am always open to reconsideration," Morden replied calmly. He walked forward past Marrago's guards, and stopped as he reached the door, turning. "By the way, I am to thank for protecting you from the madness. A fairly straightforward psionic blocking device. I made sure you were adequately protected last time, and now I'm doing the same. You see, Londo? We are helping you."
And with that he was gone.
The Emperor of the Centauri Republic looked at his Lord–General. It was strange, but he had never seen Marrago look so old. "Londo.... Majesty.... I...."
"Not now," Londo said curtly. "Save this palace. Serve your Emperor." He made each word sound like a barb, and Marrago winced with every one.
"As my Emperor commands," he said stiffly, and then he left.
Londo looked out once more across his capital, and dark thoughts moved through his mind.
* * *
Kiro moved through the corridors of the palace, exulting in every step. He moved unopposed, there was no one to challenge him. The few guards who stood in his path fell before the power of his glorious son, kneeling before him and begging him to be their Emperor. Mariel was at his side. She could not leave him now, she was bound to him utterly. She would not be his Empress, no. He knew in the darkness of his mind that another was destined for that. But she would be important. Very much so. She was a living reminder that, where once he had been weak, a pawn, he could so easily be strong again. He had suffered torture and agony at her hands, and that had opened his eyes to the darkness he now saw between the stars.
Guards moved forward to oppose him. He stretched out his hand and his eyes flashed crimson. Within an instant, they knelt at his feet. He moved past them, not seeing or caring. His eyes focussed on one thing only.
He walked slowly up the steps to the Purple Throne and sat down.
I am Emperor!
* * *
He moved with the force and determination of the prophet he was, bearing his message in front of him as a talisman. Those he saw trembled before him. None dared block him as he walked closer and closer towards the seat of power of his people, a place he had once trod, and now, through necessity of circumstance, would tread again.
The guards stepped aside, bowing reverently. He did not notice them.
The familiar chamber opened up before him, and there was a hush as its inhabitants saw him enter. Slowly, drawing out every moment, he walked towards the podium in the centre and looked up at the collected Circles all around him.
Ha'Cormar'ah G'Kar opened his mouth and began to address the Kha'Ri.
* * *
Lord–General Marrago could feel his world collapsing around him, the final death of everything he had ever believed in or trusted. Two things alone remained. First, Lyndisty. He had to see her safe. He had to. And second, he must die as a servant of the Republic. He knew his duty. He would die, and all his sins would be washed clean. There was no other option now.
Or so he thought until he returned to his quarters and found the Drakh waiting for him.
"Peace," hissed the Drakh. "A favour is owed. One last favour, yes?"
Marrago's kutari was already in his hand. "You think I will give you anything after this? That creature tearing up my world? That is yours, isn't it? And mine, too?"
"Its delivery was the first payment, yes. There is a second."
"I will give you nothing."
"We can call it off now. It has done its task. It can be taken elsewhere. All can be well again. Your world, your people, they can be strong again, strong and united. All we need is your one favour."
"What this time? My right arm?"
"Your daughter." There was a moment's pause as the two words hung in the air. "She will be Empress of the new Centauri Republic. Through her will come the new Emperors, the leaders who will bring you back to glory. Give her to us, and we will ensure your survival, your greater destiny."
There was no thought, no moment of conception. The kutari moved, Marrago moved. The two were as one. An instant later the Drakh was dead, collapsed on the floor.
Dark clouds swept across Marrago's eyes, a terrible rage, a fire that would blaze within him. It would burn itself out soon enough, but he had time. He could do what was necessary.
Find Lyndisty, and then die in his Emperor's service.
* * *
Lyndisty ran, her skirts hitched up in a most undignified manner. Her mother, could she but see this, would be having a heart attack. Lyndisty did not care.
She moved through the palace swiftly, preferring speed to stealth. It did not seem to matter. No one stopped her. She saw fighting, she saw those she knew standing still as statues, she saw comatose bodies drooling, chewing on their lips, blood flowing down their chins.
And still she ran.
The throne room. That would be a safe place. That was where the Emperor would be, and he would know where her father was. Then everything would be all right.
She pushed her way through the d
oors and took a step inside, then she stopped.
There was someone on the throne, but it was not the Emperor.
Lord Kiro smiled. "My Empress," he said, welcoming her. "You have arrived at last."
* * *
The byakheeshaggai raised its head and looked up, trembling with anticipation. In the skies, in the heavens, came its Dark Masters. One by one they emerged above Centauri Prime, encircling the planet. They would claim it for their own. They would claim these people for their own. Temples would be built in their Name, to their worship.
The byakheeshaggai imagined the future and marvelled at it. It howled, and the red cloud expanded.
* * *
He could hear it somewhere, just at the back of his mind, a million screams in one voice. General Carn Mollari paced up and down the bridge of the Valerius impatiently, angrily. Something was happening, but not here. Not here, where he stood immobile, watching the equally immobile Narn ships. A balance of terror.
Something was happening. He knew it.
Hence it was no surprise when he received a communication from the homeworld, from no less than his uncle, Emperor Mollari II.
"Carn," his uncle said. "We don't have much time. Get every ship you can find. Bring them all here, to the homeworld. The.... the Shadows are attacking."
"What? But why? What can we do against the likes of them?"
"Whatever must be done. They want Centauri Prime. They want it for their own, a place of refuge. We must deny them that."
"And the Narns? Can we dare leave this frontier unguarded?"
"We have no choice, Carn. None at all. Come here. We must save the homeworld, that above all else. And.... Carn.... I am proud of you. Your father is proud of you." Then the communication ended.
Carn sat back, his mind racing, but above all he remembered one of the earliest lessons Lord–General Marrago had taught him. A great leader can always take time to think. Rushing headlong forward will only bring disaster. Time for thought, even only a moment, will bring victory.
He sat forward. "Send a hail to the leader of the Narn fleet." The order was questioned, but ultimately obeyed. Soon enough the face of Warleader Na'Tok appeared on the holoscreen. A much younger man than the recently retired Warleader G'Sten, Na'Tok was nonetheless tough in appearance, a hardened soldier and veteran.
A Dark, Distorted Mirror. Volume 4. A Future, Born in Pain addm-4 Page 63