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

"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? There is no one I love. It 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.

"My lord," she said, softly.

"My lady," he replied, numbly. "Why have your wounds not been tended to?"

"There are others here with more serious injuries than mine. I tend to them first."

"You will be no use to them if you pass out here. Rest, my lady. That is an order."

She lifted her head, eyes blazing. "You are a warrior, my lord. You kill! I am a worker, and so I build! Allow me to build here."

For a moment he was taken aback. "My lady…." he said softly. "Speak to me…."

"Kozorr is dead," she whispered, and he closed his eyes. He had known it. He had known somehow, back when the warrior had first given his vow of fealty. "He died, in my stead."

Sinoval nodded, unable to think of words to say. Kats turned from him to resume her work. He spun on his heel and stalked from the room.

There would be a reckoning. Some day soon, there would be a reckoning.

"I…. I am…. dying now…."

Londo looked down at the ashen face of one of his oldest friends, and tried to think of the words. He was feeling very light-headed, almost giddy with the day's events. He had not yet had time to eat, and Timov would be furious if she were here.

"Hush, Malachi. You will make a fine recovery."

"Bad…. liar, Londo. Never a good trait in a politician…. but a…. welcome one in…. you…." Malachi winced, and tried to sit up. "Much to tell you…. Doctors…. have…. given me…. drugs to…. dull the pain. But they…. make me…. sleepy."

"Then you should rest. You will need to recover your strength."

"Why? For my execution? No…. Londo. Better…. I die here. You…. more than anyone…. you were right for this task. I tried…. to spare you…. this…." He coughed, and reached out with a trembling hand for the beaker at his side. Londo helped steady the dying man's hand and guided it to his mouth. Malachi drank deeply, and spluttered.

"Foul stuff," he rasped, his voice a little stronger now. "Why…. must all medicine taste so awful, Londo?"

"One of life's great mysteries," came the reply.

"Ah…. well. I will have to wonder. Londo…. it was a custom, a long time ago, for leaders to record their thoughts and advice on their death. A chance…. for their wisdom never to die. It has not been used much…. recently. Too many would not want this…. advice…. or would try to exploit it for their own purposes. We have fallen far, Londo. Very far."

"We will return, Malachi. You will be there at my side all the way."

"Deluded…. Londo. No, let me explain. This is…. my deathbed confession, I suppose. I've done a lot that I have not been proud of. I only wish history could remember the good…. as well as the bad."

"History will. I…. I will see to that."

"Thank you…. My…. confession. I ordered the murder of Emperor Refa, and arranged for you to be framed. I sent guards to kill you, although I…. hoped they would not succeed. I only wanted to frighten you, Londo. I wanted you…. gone. Somewhere safe. With G'Kar…. perhaps. Fighting a greater war than ours."

"You…. know about G'Kar?"

"I know a great deal. After Turhan died, I left here. I…. I wanted to retire somewhere, live out my remaining days in peace. It…. was not to be. I was sent a message by Lady Morella the night after my retirement. She…. gave me a…. vision. One I had to heed. I…. I would change our people, fulfill the destiny I always wanted. So…. I faked my suicide, and disappeared. I travelled throughout our Republic in disguise…. learning and…. seeing all the things I had missed for so many years." He began to cough again, and wiped his mouth awkwardly with a cloth.

"Londo…. do you know who my father was?"

"I…." He hesitated. "Yes…. I…. give me a moment…. Lord Revil…. Yes…. that was it…. Oh…. no, I remember…. You…."

"I…. was adopted…. yes. My true father was a carpenter in a village on Immolan Five. I was…. adopted by Lord Revil after his death, at Turhan's request."

Londo was stunned. He had known none of this. "I…. why? How did this happen?"

"Ah…. I'm jumping around. Forgive me, Londo. The dying ramblings of an old man. Turhan and his father visited Immolan Five when he was a child, as was I. The procession passed through our village, and…. assassins tried to kill Turhan that night. My father shouted a warning…. and saved his life. The Emperor offered my father any reward…. and he asked…. he asked for a better life for his son. The Emperor promised to have me adopted by a noble of the Court.

"He then carried on his way, and forgot all about it. My father was beaten to death by some of the Royal Guard a few weeks afterwards. Turhan…. he reminded his father of his promise, and I was…. adopted by Lord Revil, and placed close to the Court. My prior identity was destroyed, wiped from existence. I was a new noble of the Court, not a carpenter's son.

"Do you know what life is like for the lower classes, Londo? Of course not…. how could you? You were born to the purple. That was why I….

"Oh…. sorry. Jumping around again. Turhan promised social reform, but…. he tried…. He was truly a good man. He tried to reform, lower taxes, erase local corruption…. but he failed. The entire nobility, a fraction of our people, survive by the hard work and slavery of so many…. and no one cares. Turhan failed…. but he tried. It was more than his son would do…. More than the rest of you would do. You were all born to the purple.

"That was all I wanted. The lower classes…. the farmers and artisans and leather workers and…. all of them…. they can rule themselves. They're not…. puppets for our courtly games. They're not slaves or servants for our pleasure. They're us, Londo. We could not see that. The Court…. could not see that.

"You've lived in the Court all your life. You know what our nobility has become. Weak and indecisive, like Jarno. Paranoid and nostalgic, like Kiro…. Monsters, like Cartagia. We are not fit to rule any longer. I…. all I wished to do was show the Court that. I would turn all their games upon themselves…. bind them into corners…. and all the while…. the rest of the Republic would work on…. alone, and content. They would have peace…. and eventually…. even freedom.

"I tried…. Londo. I…. I caused a lot of pain, and a great…. many deaths. I set Valo off on his course, I'm sorry — but I had nothing to do with Cartagia…. or with Marrago's betrayal. I had no idea the Narns would attack so fast. I…. I thought they would be more cautious. I…. I'm sorry…. Londo. I….

"I…. I can't…. keep…. awake."

Londo stood back, silent in horror. "No one will know," he said at last. "No one will know, my friend. I…. I'll finish your work. I'll reform our Republic. I'll make it mean something. I'll make it all mean something. For all of us. Malachi…. Malachi!"

There was a gentle pressure on his arm and he turned, blinking past his tears, to see Marrago standing there. "He will not wake up again, Majesty. He took a fatal dose. He…. he knew what he was doing."

"He was my friend, Marrago! Whatever he did, he was my friend!"

"I…. I did not hear his last words, Majesty," Marrago said, lying smoothly. "I am sure he will be remembered with all the honour and glory he deserves."

"He…. was my friend."

"He was a great man."

"So…. is that it, Marrago? Is it all over now? Did…. did all this bloodshed have some sort of meaning?"

"It is never over. Elrisia is still free, and there is the matter of what to do with Jarno. Lord Kiro is threatening a dire revenge…. once he recovers sufficiently. The Shadow Criers are still a threat, of course. And…. there are always the Narns."

"So…. did we accomplish anything by this?"

"Of course we did. The Court is united and pacified. We have saved the Republic from Hell, Majesty…. now we will help her to Heaven. The restoration will begin here…. it has to begin somewhere, after all."

"So…. what now?"

"Now…. Now there are a great many people who wish to speak to their Emperor."

<She is gone.>

Valen stiffened. He began to say something, but then he realised he did not know what to say. He had felt it, somehow. He had known. He had tried to warn her…. but….

He had known. Somehow he had always known.

In all his memories of the past yet to come, Catherine had been in none of them.

<She is gone.>

"No," he whispered. "She is not gone. I will remember her…. I…. will…. find her again."

The Vorlon gave a look that might have been quizzical. <We were…. wrong. We have been wrong in so much…. but never more so than here.>