Chapter 1
Sinoval had been gone from our sight and our hearing for almost two years by that time, and had become little more than a fable or a legend. To some he was a great rebel hero, attacking an unjust and oppressive r?gime — a Robin Hood, a Sivalar'Miko, a Vizhtan.
To others he was a monster. A corrupt and terrifying opponent of everything the Alliance had tried to build. A follower of the old Gods of war, who would plunge the galaxy into fire and ruin with little thought or care for those he would destroy.
But it is doubtful if anyone really knew him. They all knew only a facet, an aspect of the whole. Kats knew the compassionate friend, Marrain the historian and tale-giver, Marrago the inspired leader, Delenn the ancient and honourable warrior, Sheridan the cold and merciless enemy.
Perhaps Susan Ivanova knew him best of all, perhaps not.?
But for those two years he was lost to us, moving on the Rim, discovering old secrets, discovering Golgotha and the ruins of the Enaid Accord, gathering allies to his side (q. v., chapter 13). Secret documents that have only recently come to light hint that the Alliance was aware of some of his activities, and that there was indeed an encounter between General Sheridan and Sinoval at Golgotha, over ten years before the end of the war.
As the Brotherhood Without Banners attacked Centauri Prime, Sinoval reappeared in force. Cathedral seemed to shake the heavens themselves as he ended the battle by sheer force of will. Military historians almost all agree that the Brotherhood would in any case have been annihilated by the Alliance fleet, but had it not been for Kulomani's quick thinking and strategically planned positioning of his Dark Star patrols — and of course his readiness to ignore orders where necessary — that fleet would never have arrived.
And so that is the irony. Sinoval prevented the massacre of those whom many believe deserved nothing less. He did it with his usual overwhelming presence, and in the process he bound many to his side who would otherwise have been his enemies.
Some say that act sowed the seeds of his downfall, and indeed the wisdom of his decision has been debated many times.
But whatever view is taken on that question, the fact remains that his reappearance at Centauri Prime was the first sign that the slow years of uneasy peace were ending, and bloody war was about to return.
The second sign was the shadow that fell over Narn.
? KRASNYANSKI, A. (2291) There's Always a Boom Tomorrow; see also
chapter 13 of this volume.
GILLESPIE, E. (2295) The First Sign of the Apocalypse. Chapter 7 of The Rise and
Fall of the United Alliance, the End of the Second Age and the Beginning of
the Third, vol. 4, The Dreaming Years. Ed: S. Barringer, G. Boshears,
A. E. Clements, D. G. Goldingay & M. G. Kerr.
* * *
"Where is G'Sten? Are there weapons hidden in the village? Is there money? Food? Where is the holy person?
"Where is G'Sten? Are there weapons hidden in the village? Is there money? Food? Where is the holy person?
"Where is G'Sten?
"Are there weapons hidden in the village?
"Is there money?
"Food?
"Where is the holy person?"
Every day there were the same questions. Every day, at precisely one minute before noon, the Centauri Captain gathered the entire population of the village into the square and picked one person at random. The same questions were asked, the same tortures inflicted whatever the answer. None of them knew where G'Sten was. There were no weapons, no money, no food. The holy person had died of a fever.
Every day the same questions.
G'Kar watched every day, praying they would not take him. G'Sten was his uncle, and his leader, but no one knew that. Not the villagers, not the Centauri. He was just a traveller, working in the fields for a pittance, secretly spying on Centauri troop movements. There were plenty of travellers these days, looking for something better.
None of them found it here.
An old man, crippled and ill, flogged to death in the village square.
A young mother, who had offered information freely to spare her pouchling daughter. The daughter was picked the next day to ensure nothing had been left out.
A terrified boy, who had lied for the sake of having something to say. He had been impaled slowly on a blunt pole.
Every day, the same questions.
Every day, the same answers.
Every day, the same screams.
G'Kar was never picked. Every day he watched, his hands clenched into fists behind his back, drawn so tight he drew blood from his palms.
One day I will kill you all, he kept telling himself. Every last one of you, women and children and old men and babies and merchants and nobles and soldiers.
I will kill every last one of you.
Every last one.
It became a litany, just like theirs.
"Where is G'Sten?"
One day I will kill you all.
"Are there weapons hidden in the village?"
Every last one of you.
"Is there money?"
Women and children and….
"Food?"
…. old men and babies and….
"Where is the holy person?"
…. merchants and nobles and soldiers.
"Where is G'Sten?"
One day I will….
* * *
The ships were still, hanging motionless in air, staring at each other, every one ready to fire. On one side the dreaded Dark Stars of the United Alliance, on the other the renegade rag-tag mercenaries of the Brotherhood Without Banners, bulked up by a Tuchanq fleet cannibalised from Narn and Centauri warships.
And in the middle was Cathedral, the dark citadel wherein reigned the man whose name was whispered in terror and awe and fear.
Sinoval the Accursed, himself.
His voice came across their channels, in languages they could all understand.
"To the Alliance: this battle is over. We will leave, myself and these others. They will retreat from Centauri Prime and those who so desire may come with me. Any who are left you may do with as you please. Try to stop us leaving…."
Even across the comm channel, even without the immediacy of his presence, everyone listening shuddered.
"And you will regret it."
Fleet-Captain Bethany Tikopai contacted Babylon 5, and Commander Kulomani.
"Let them leave," the Brakiri said simply.
"But, sir…."
"Fight them and we will die. Your mission was to protect Centauri Prime. That will be done. Any of the raiders who remain are to be stopped, by any means necessary. Secure the defence of the planet and contact the authorities on the surface. Centauri Prime has been deliberately left unguarded, and someone will answer for this.
"But do not engage with Sinoval! None of you."
"Yes, sir."
"To the raiders, to the Songless, to the Bannerless: I offer you songs. I offer you purpose. The worthy and the just may join with me. The others may choose to remain here and die. Come with me, if you so desire, and be judged. Reject me, and I leave you to the mercy of the Alliance and the Centauri."
Co-ordinates were sent over, to all Alliance and Brotherhood ships.
"My lord of darkness and fury and vengeance," Moreil whispered. "You came to us, as was promised, as was prophesied. Under your dark hand we shall destroy our enemies and raise a banner once more. The galaxy will shake at our footsteps.
"Oh, yes, my lord. I will follow you to the gates of heaven themselves."
"Commander?" one of his crew asked him. Dasouri looked at the silent image of Cathedral. They could not find the captain. Marrago's comm was silent.
"We go," Dasouri said. "What choice do we have?"
"To the Centauri: I give you back your world. Think about those who would have tried to take it from you. Think about those who would have let it be taken from you. Think and open your eyes and appreciate the world you have."
In the throne room, Timov shivered slightly on the Purple Throne. "Well," she said. "What an…. intense young man."
Durla's eyes were shining.
At that point one of the servants ran into the room, panting and exhausted and close to collapse. "Lady!" he cried. "Lady!"
"What? And I do have a name, you know."
"It is the Emperor!"
The Brotherhood and the Tuchanq went with him of course. As Dasouri said, what choice did they have?
The Alliance let them go. What choice did they have?
* * *
It was like looking out on a whole new world, a new day, with new eyes. A new person.
General John Sheridan had woken early this morning and risen quietly, so as not to wake Delenn. He had showered and dressed and wandered out into the wide world, his eyes truly open for the first time in almost three years.
As he reached the door, he stopped and looked back. Delenn was still sleeping, flat on her back, facing the ceiling. She had never really adapted to human sleeping habits and still preferred to lie on her back. She looked very still, almost as if she were dead.
For the first time he noticed a streak of grey in her hair. Once it had been raven black, as deep and vibrant as her soul. Now there was grey. Only a little, but it was there. Even in sleep she looked careworn and tired and…. old.
How must he look?
He had left, not wanting to wake her. He would have to talk to her, but later. He felt as though he had been defined by her for too long. What he wanted now was to know himself. Alone and isolated, as Sinoval had tried to force him to be. Strip away the surface, the surroundings. Remove Delenn and the Alliance and the Dark Stars and what was there?
He did not know. Not even Sinoval had been able to force that understanding on to him.
It was there. All he had to do was find it.
Himself.
And so he walked, aimlessly, his feet taking him in whatever direction they wished. One tiny fragment of chaos. He was not sure if he liked that or not, but he would trust to it. He was so buried in order, that he had lost almost everything but the machine in which he was a cog.
Perhaps by taking the other path he could become something more.
He began to whistle softly on his journey.
* * *
Darkness and shadows. The means of his existence. His means of communication.
There were many ironies in this galaxy, and Lennier, once of the Third Fane of Chudomo, had no time to appreciate even half of them. He was a Ranger, a servant of the light. He had once worn that symbol with pride, the sunburst on his chest. He had believed in the light.
And yet he carried his darkness with him, a Keeper permanently attached to his body and his mind. He hid and skulked and moved in the shadows, gathering information as a spy. He had remained hidden for two years, concealing himself from the light.
He was a warrior of the light.
He was a Ranger.
All he had to do was to keep telling himself that.
"There is nothing more we can do," said his companion. Lennier was not really listening. He was standing at the side of the window, looking out. A small group of children was running down the street, laughing and shouting, playing some incomprehensible game. A girl followed them, shouting to them to wait so that she could catch up.
"We have to leave!" Ta'Lon hissed.
It had been a big risk for them to meet up like this. The Thenta Ma'Kur assassins were hunting for them both, as were the more regular Narn security forces. In their own separate ways, both had uncovered a great deal of darkness within the Narn homeworld. Unfortunately they had made themselves a little too visible — and vulnerable — in the process, and were hunted men as a consequence.
And G'Kar was missing.
"This is the home of my people," Ta'Lon said. "I was not born here, but my people were. These rocks are our bones, this wind is our breath, this water is our blood. More than anything else, more than the Rangers, more than even Ha'Cormar'ah G'Kar himself, I am sworn to defend it."
"I am sworn to nothing," Lennier said quietly. "All the things I do are done because I choose them.
"I choose them!" he hissed to his Keeper.
"And I choose to find G'Kar."
"Maybe he is dead. The signal stopped, but it will have reached the Alliance, and it will have reached the Vorlons. If they try to send their Inquisitors and their Dark Stars then I will fight them, but if I can reach the Alliance Council, if I can talk to Delenn and Lethke and G'Kael, then there might be a way.
"If there is not, then I will fight. But I will fight for this world — not for one man, however great he is."
"I will stay, and search for him. I will find him and free him."
"And if he is dead?"
Lennier paused, still looking outside. The sky was bright with promise and power and it hurt his eyes. "That," he said carefully, "I shall deal with as and when I can."
Ta'Lon stirred and nodded, his eyepatch seeming to cast a shadow that fell over half his face. "So be it." He held out a hand. "It was an honour to know you and fight beside you, Lennier of Minbar. May G'Quan see us all back home."
"I have no home," Lennier replied. But he took the one-eyed Narn's hand.
Then he set out into the light.
He had a task to perform.
* * *
To Susan Ivanova's admittedly mortal and tired eyes, he looked…. weary. Almost exhausted.
"Well?" she asked, her voice rising in a crescendo of fury.
"Well what?"
"Well…. are you going to tell me what in God's name happened?"
"God?" he said, looking at her. "Do you still believe in your Creator? After all you have seen and witnessed and done, do you still believe, or do you simply wield his name as a talisman, a little shield of faith against the hostility of the universe?"
"I…." This was making little sense. She had found him comatose in meditation, and the Well of Souls itself shaken and injured. She had had to command Cathedral herself and become directly involved, stopping the battle on her own initiative.
Then she had looked at the two fleets with herself between them and realised that she had absolutely no idea of what to do or say.
Sinoval himself had appeared at that point, and the dim lights had grown somehow stronger and weaker at the same time. And he had spoken, delivering his ultimatum. Cathedral had left, the Brotherhood and the Tuchanq going with them. But now, as she looked at him, she saw the fatigue in his face. He did not need sleep, or food. He was sustained by a power she could barely comprehend, and yet he looked…. almost ill.
