Гэрет Уильямс - Темное, кривое зеркало. Том 5 : Средь звезд, подобно гигантам

"In the Name of the Betrayer, so do we serve," she said, continuing the ancient oath spoken in Marrain's memory. Of course, he was no memory these days. Not to her.

"I am a warrior. I dance amidst the height of the storm. I ride among the stars. My sword clashes in the winds. The moon is my shield. My wings are of fire.

"I am a warrior. I shall not fall. I shall not let an enemy pass from my sight. I will walk in the dark places, and I shall know no fear.

"On death, my soul shall ascend to be judged by my ancestors and those who have come before. If found worthy, I shall be reborn, with no memories of my past life, but with the knowledge that I am a warrior in more lives than this."

She stopped, and looked at the stone. "Remember that, Kozorr. Remember that."

"Why do you do this?"

Tirivail turned, and saw Kats approaching. Her eyes grew even darker. Kats was shorter than she was. Kats had never been trained to wield a weapon, never stood on the bridge, never faced enemies in the certain knowledge that death was coming.

But Kozorr had loved her.

And, Tirivail grudgingly had to admit, she was brave.

"To remind him," she replied. "He was a warrior. His spirit should not be allowed to forget that."

"His spirit is gone. It has gone to the heavens, to rejoin the pool and wait to be reborn."

"Not to us. His spirit is everywhere. And he will return to us a warrior, if we but remind him often enough of what he is."

"He wanted to create. He was tired of destruction."

"And you think that is all we do? This city is ancient. You are rebuilding it now, but you are just building on top of what was already there. The bones of this city are our bones. The mortar that holds it together is our blood. There are so many ghosts here. I live with them every day."

"Yes, so do I."

"I merely honour his memory. That is all."

"So do I. But more than that. I come to talk to him. He cannot hear me, but I talk all the same. I tell him of my fears, of my nightmares, of my friends. I tell him all that has happened, and I tell him I wish he was here with me."

"I envy you," Tirivail sighed. "Sometimes I wish I could hate you. You had his touch, his caress, his heart. You had his love, and all I had was his respect. I wish I could hate you."

"Why do you not?"

"Because he loved you."

"There is one who loves you, Tirivail. Another you can love. I am sure of it."

"Oh? I wish I were. My father is planning a marriage for me. A way to bind our clan to one of the others, to gain political advantage. I am one of the few resources he has remaining if he wishes to rebuild our fortunes."

"Do you wish marry?"

"He is my lord. I swore to obey him, to die at his command, to die at his single word. I disobeyed my lord once before. I will not do so again."

"What order did you disobey?"

"I did not kill my sister. I leave you to your conversation, Satai. I must go and train."

She walked away, and did not look back.

There was a dark thought Emperor Londo Mollari II entertained in the middle of the night as he looked out over the domain he claimed to rule, a dark irony that was surely evidence of some malign force seeking to destroy him utterly.

It had not been three years ago that he had been a wanderer, travelling across the galaxy in exile, seeking allies, seeking friends. To his surprise he had found them. In those days he had had no power, but so many choices. Now that he had power, he had no choice at all.

Timov was sleeping. She slept like a child, far better than he did these days. He had spent far too many nights beside her, listening to his hearts beating and staring up at the ceiling.

Sighing, he turned away from his window and walked out into the corridor. The two members of his Palace Guard, not unused to such an occurrence, snapped to attention and followed him. Another two remained outside the room, guarding the Lady Consort. Londo supposed his midnight walks were no secret. They were not exactly uncommon these days.

He never had anywhere planned. He just went where his hearts took him, sometimes to the Royal Gardens, or to the throne room or the kitchens or out into the city or any number of places. He did not know where he was going to go tonight either. He just wanted to walk, to let his mind shut down and let his hearts guide him.

He could not do that tonight, though. There was too much to think about. The massacre at Gorash still preyed on his mind. So many dead, several taken. A parcel had arrived at the palace two days before. It contained the head of the Governor.

Things were little better here. The crops were failing again, disastrously this time. His advisors tried to conceal the truth from him, but he still knew. People were starving by the thousand. Was this what he had meant when he had promised Malachi he would look after the peasants?

He stopped suddenly as a shadowy figure emerged from the corridor in front of him, and he looked up. The Brakiri's dark eyes studied his own beneath the dark hood. Londo stiffened, recognising the lantern symbol on the breast of his robe.

It stood for light, of course. What did they say? 'We have power wherever there is light, and where the light is not, we bring it.'

Inquisitors. There were far too many of them. How many had they taken away? How many tried and executed? How many forced to suffer? He had saved Timov at least. That was a victory of sorts, however small, and he had to take his victories where he could find them.

The Inquisitor stepped aside and let Londo past. Not surprisingly, Mr. Morden was not far behind.

"Ah, Majesty," Morden said. He was as immaculately dressed as ever, not a hair out of place. G reat Maker, Londo thought, does this man never sleep?

No, probably not.

"Are you sure you should be up at this time of night, Majesty? With all the burdens of your position, surely you need rest?"

"I do not let Timov treat me like a child, Mr. Morden, and she is far closer to me than you are. Kindly credit me with the wisdom to determine for myself how much sleep I need."

"Of course, of course." Morden took the rebuke without any sign of anger, as he always did. And why not? He could afford to allow Londo a stinging remark or two.

"I see your Inquisitors are out in force again. Whom have they arrested this time, I wonder?"

"The glorious work they do demands a lot of effort, Majesty, but as for your question, one of the maids in your kitchens was acting as an intelligence agent for the Enemy, leaving information of palace comings and goings under a rock in the garden. She is being…. questioned to determine her employer. We shall discover it soon enough."

Londo sighed. What Morden had just described had being going on for centuries. It was all a part of the Great Game of Houses, and quite frequently had nothing to do with the Shadows at all. Every noble House had agents in the palace, and in all the other Houses come to that. But if the Inquisitors found even the slightest trace of wrongdoing they would seize on it, and the Great Maker help those they focussed on.

"I commend your diligence," Londo spat.

"I will pass that on to them. Oh, by the way, Majesty, I received some interesting news about an hour ago. I was going to tell you when you woke up. A peacekeeping force has been assembled by the Alliance to protect Gorash and a few of the other vulnerable worlds. They will also help restore order and oversee the presence of humanitarian aid."

"I believe you humans have a saying about stable doors and horses," Londo said dryly. "Still, that is good news. I merely wish it were not necessary." I wish all those who were killed could be brought back. I wish we didn't have to go begging on hands and knees to aliens for the right to defend our own worlds. I wish Mr. Morden and his Inquisitors would all go back to the rock from which they came.

"Indeed it is. Commander N'Rothak will be taking overall charge. He's a very experienced captain and administrator. He will soon…."

"A Narn? Great Maker, they could not be so foolish, surely. The Alliance have sent a Narn to lead the peacekeeping force?"

"Why would they not? Eighty percent of the overall force are Narns. There are obvious advantages. You share a border, they are near enough to Gorash for there to be little time wasted. They know the system and the world…."

"And why is that? Because they occupied it for a year, because they spent decades attacking it! I do not believe this. How long were we and the Narns at war? Too long to let them take over one of our worlds in this way!"

"The war between you and the Narn is over now, Majesty. You are all part of the Alliance now. The Kha'Ri specifically requested this role, as a symbol that the past is done, and an example of renewed co-operation. Of course, if you would rather the people of Gorash starve, then you have but to say so."

"You know full well I cannot do that. Good night, Mr. Morden. I am suddenly feeling…. very tired."

And he was indeed feeling very tired, but there was little to be done about that. He needed more than one night to make himself feel better.

He lay still and silent beside Timov until dawn, listening to the sound of his own hearts beating. They seemed so much louder than they had before.

Councils were rare among the Brotherhood Without Banners. Usually there was little to discuss, little to agree upon. The captains came and went as they saw fit, banding together only for a common purpose.

They had, however, agreed upon a few situations that would necessitate a meeting of all the captains. A proposition to launch a new attack. A potential threat to their base, in particular from the Alliance. The expulsion of one of their number. Or the acceptance of a new member.

Moreil knew it was the latter, and that was why he actually deigned to attend this meeting. Usually he did not. Petty politics did not suit him. He did not care which of them led, which futile ploy of revenge they followed first. All he cared about was the service of chaos.

But something stirred within him as he walked the darkened corridors of their home. Something told him this would be important.

Behind him, the Wykhheran complained angrily. There had been little for them to eat recently, at least little worth the effort. Some of the prisoners taken at Gorash had died here, either from injuries or torture or suicide, and Moreil had let their carcasses serve as food, but that was cold meat. The Wykhheran wanted warm fare.

Why, they complained, could they not devour the Sin-tahri female? She was young and healthy and warm. What interest could Moreil have in her? Or, for that matter, in the elder Sin-tahri male who owned her? Surely neither of them mattered?

Moreil did not answer them. He did not have to, and they all knew it, but this time he did not reply because he did not have a valid answer. Rem Lanas meant nothing to him, but the girl…. He seemed to recognise something within her, and a hunch, an instinct, a revelation from the Dark Masters even, told him she would be needed alive at some point.

Patience, he told them. T here will be plenty to eat soon.

It was time enough for another raid. If the whole of the Brotherhood did not agree to such an action, then Moreil would take out his own ship and go hunting. The service of the Dark Masters did not allow for a rest.

He entered the room that had been set aside as the meeting place, and immediately he noticed the other captains wince slightly. They feared him. That was good. All of them knew about his honour guard, and those who were wise feared the Wykhheran.