Гэрет Уильямс - Темное, кривое зеркало. Том 3 : След на песке

He stood back, ending the signal. Jump points opened, and his entire fleet fled into hyperspace. Sinoval would not try to follow. He was too experienced a warrior for that. A battle commenced in anger was a battle lost from the instant it started.

"A victory, my lord," observed Forell drily.

"Yes," he admitted, smiling. "A victory, but a beginning only. It is very far from over."

And on the pinnacle of his castle of the winds on Cathedral, standing above the space from which Sonovar and his ships had just fled, Primarch Sinoval was silent, looking at the devastated wreckage of the Hosigeru .

"I heard your words," he said softly, his eyes dark. "You will kill all I love, hmm? Ah, but Sonovar…. there is no one I love."

Londo looked at the throne before him, draped in the Imperial purple. How many had died for that strip of cloth and that uncomfortable-looking chair? He hobbled forward to it and ran his hands across the fabric.

Then he snorted and turned, trying to remember the way to Malachi's quarters. He had lived in the Court for most of his life, but it had never felt so alien to him as it did now.

There was the sound of movement off in a corner. "Who is there?" Londo barked, hoping his voice was sterner than he felt.

"Minister Mollari?" said a frightened voice, and a stumbling figure came out from behind the purple drapes. "It's me…. You remember me, don't you? Vir Cotto. I was Ambas…. I mean, Emperor Refa's attach? on Minbar."

"Vir! Yes, I remember you. I hadn't heard anything about you for months. I'd supposed you were dead. It is…. good to know that you are not. Have you heard anything from…. our other friend recently?"

"No. No, not a word. Interstellar communications have been down for a long time, apart from some special ministerial business. Emperor Refa made me a Runner for the Court and, well…."

"Yes, yes. We will have time to talk later. Which…. which way is it to…?"

There was the sound of more movement from behind him and Londo spun, as easily as he was able to, anyway. A lot of movement this time.

"Greetings, Londo," said a familiar voice, one he had never expected to hear here. "We have taken the capital. It is…. pacified and united."

"Marrago! What are you doing here? You were to stay behind in Gallia and Sphodria. You…." Behind him there were a great many soldiers, some Londo recognised from the Selini Guard, others from the palace itself.

"Your wife persuaded me otherwise. A most forceful woman."

"Oh, I know," he said, with a hint of pride. "What is the…. what is the state of things here, then?"

"Lord Valo is under arrest, and his men have been recalled. Valo's commanders are to answer for their actions, but his men will not be punished. There will be considerable leeway, I think, to explain today's events. A task that will fall to you, Majesty."

"Good. Is there any fighting still…. what did you call me?"

"Yes, Majesty. Some of Valo's men have refused to accept the recall order, but they will soon be caught. I would propose the institution of martial law in the capital and surrounding areas, as well as a curfew for the foreseeable future until order is restored. I will also send as many of our forces as can be spared to Selini, Gallia and Sphodria, to maintain peace there."

"Yes…. yes, that is fine, but…. about that 'Majesty' part…."

"There is no other viable candidate, Londo. None at all. The Republic must be made strong, and we cannot be made strong until we have a strong leader, and a strong military. I will deal with the military, but I fear the rest is up to you."

"I merely wanted to expose Cartagia and Elrisia…. reform the Centarum…. bring some order, and then let them choose a new Emperor. I never wanted…."

"I fear there is no choice in this matter, Majesty. Go…. claim your throne."

"But…."

"The army will follow me, and I will follow you. The Centarum can wait until later. It will take a long time to recover from the ramifications of these events, and a stern hand will be needed in the interim."

Londo nodded, his face ashen. "Damn her. She was right. Damn him too."

"Majesty?"

Londo waved in the direction of Cartagia's body. "Take…. take him away. He…. I will not let him win. You hear that, Marrago? I will not let him win."

"No, Majesty. He will not win."

Londo looked back at the throne, cursing softly. He had grown to hate that chair. It caused nothing but hatred, fear, and death. And now he was to sit in it. Oh well, someone had to. There was something Lennier had once said to him: Who better to claim power than the one who does not want it?

Lennier…. "Malachi!" Londo cried out. "He is wounded. Find him. Get him to a doctor. Now!"

"Your will, Majesty." Marrago turned and began barking orders to his soldiers. Londo made to go with him, but Marrago stopped him. "You will need a doctor yourself, Londo. Cartagia cannot have died easily."

"He wanted to die, Marrago. He foresaw…. all of this. I will be the Last Emperor, and I will guide us all to the brink of oblivion. He knew that. That was why he didn't want the task. He wasn't strong enough for it." The words were delivered quietly, in a near whisper. Only one other person heard them.

Marrago's reply was equally hushed. "Then prove him wrong. Be the Emperor you always wanted to be. Make us strong again. Take our people back to the stars…. Deliver our destiny."

"Yes. You are right…. although I wish you weren't." Londo stepped back and looked at the throne for a third time. It was raised on a dais, just a short step, but an important symbolic one. It looked a thousand feet high to him now. He could not make the ascent alone.

"Help me to my throne, old friend."

"It will be my pleasure…. my Emperor."

Slowly and gently, Marrago guided Londo to the throne. He sat down.

There were things that went well beyond anger, past fury, and into an infinitely more dangerous sense of calm and peace. Sinoval felt at peace as he walked through the ruined streets of Tarolin 2, mentally assessing the damage. It was as if he were in a void, his warrior's instincts having taken over. Everything had become a matter of tactics and logistics, paper numbers of gain and loss.

The damage was concentrated on the Government buildings and thereabouts. There had been no general orbital bombardment, but a precise and targeted destruction of a specific area of the city.

Not far away there lay a body. By what he could tell from her clothing she was a worker, an administrator in the Ministry of Agriculture. The body was comparatively fresh. She had survived the initial attack, but had been taken down by a precise blow to the back of the neck, which had severed vital nerve tissue and caused immediate death.

Sinoval paused, musing on this. It was not an uncommon mode of killing, used primarily on those in flight, but there was something different about the wound. Almost as if it had been done by a very clumsy warrior, which hardly seemed to fit, or by someone working a little differently. Sonovar's alien allies, in all likelihood. Their weapons were similar to the denn'bok, but with subtle differences.

These aliens must have done the majority of the ground-based killing, mopping up those who had escaped the immediate attack. Did Sonovar trust the aliens more than his own warriors, or had the warriors refused to kill their own people? Possibilities for weakness on the rebel's part, there.

A child was sitting next to the body, trying to make the woman wake up. The child — he could not tell if it was male or female — looked up at Sinoval with pleading eyes. He ignored it, and walked on. He had always hated children.

As he walked through the city, accompanied as always by his guard of two Soul Hunters, and by a larger group of Minbari warriors who called themselves the Primarch's Blades, he collated information, studying and storing it.

A precise attack, concentrated at one point. Sonovar did not want to harm civilians. He was hitting only those in the Government. Why? To take out the power base, and destabilise? Or as a punishment for allying with Sinoval?

But if the latter were the case, then where were Kats and Kozorr? They had been the first, after all, to swear fealty.

His heart began to quicken, but he calmed himself. He could do no good to either of them by panicking.

Not long afterwards one of the Primarch's Blades stepped up to him. There were a great many of them now, more than he had expected. All of them were warriors, having renounced their former clans and taken on a new one. They all wore black, with Sinoval's personal crest affixed to the front of their tunics. Each of them also bore a tattoo on their face. It resembled a blindfold, a black line from either side of the crest, across the eyes.

Sinoval smiled to himself, recognising an old custom from a very old time.

"We have found her, Primarch," the Blade said, bowing formally. "The Lady Kats. She claims to be busy in a place of respite nearby. I will guide you there, by your will, Primarch."

Sinoval nodded and stepped up after the Blade, his honour guard of Soul Hunters following him, easily matching his pace. Kats was alive, then. That was good. He was…. happy to hear that.

What had he said to himself after receiving Sonovar's message? T here is no one I love. I t was true. He had never really been capable of that emotion, for no reason he understood. He had simply never been able to share his life or soul with another, never been able to open himself up, to place himself at risk in that way. He had looked at those who were in love: Delenn with her Starkiller, Kozorr's slow and hesitant feelings around Kats, and he had never envied any of them. He had come close with Deeron, but that was more a matter of mutual respect between warriors. She had not loved him, of that he was sure, and for his part, he had respected her, admired her. In his youth he had thought that might be love, but the moment she had fled from his side during the first night of their sleep-watching ceremony he had known the truth, and had always been content.

But Kats…. about her, he was not sure, and that troubled him.

The building was damaged, but not badly. It did not seem to have been a target for the initial phase of the attack. Subtle signs indicated that Sonovar's aliens had been here however, and they had not been alone. Sonovar himself had been here with them.

What could be here that was so important as to attract Sonovar himself? The Primarch had an uncomfortable feeling that he knew the answer.

He stepped inside and saw countless bodies, some dead, some dying. People tried desperately or futilely to heal or comfort them. He looked around intently, studying each face, and committing them to memory. They had served and died in his name, and they would be remembered.

Then he saw Kats, and his composure shattered.

He strode through the room, stepping over or around the bodies on the floor. As she heard his approach she turned and sighed softly, bowing her head.

For his part, Sinoval was shocked. She was covered in scratches and marks and bruises, and her simple smock was heavily stained with blood. He had known veteran warriors who would have collapsed with fewer injuries, and yet she was still on her feet, working.