Was there anyone who was not hiding something from him?

"How long?" he asked.

"Not long," she replied. "Less than a year. I was never.... satisfied with the Alliance, not really. Certainly not with the response to the Drazi's declaration of independence. My dislike reached certain ears and someone approached me."

"Who?"

"That's for me to know, Ha'Cormar'ah."

"What did you know?"

"If you mean about G'Kael, I did not know. If you mean certain problems with the homeworld, then yes, I did know. I knew we were supporting a group of raiders in an attack on Centauri space, but not that we had Shadow help."

"You could have...!" G'Kar paused. "No, there is no point in recriminations. I am as much to blame as anyone. Do you have a plan?"

"Indeed I do." She walked to the table and picked up a blaster and a long knife.

"You can't fight them all off on your own."

"I won't have to."

G'Kar's eyes widened.

"Yes, Ha'Cormar'ah, he is on his way here."

"You're going to turn this station into your battlefield. No, you can't do this!"

"Ha'Cormar'ah, I have the greatest of respect for everything you have achieved, but you were blind in more than one eye long before you went to Narn. Perhaps this could have been resolved peacefully, but not now. I have sent out a call to certain of our allies. Their ships will be here soon. If the Vorlons think they can take this place, they will have to fight for it."

"It will be a massacre!"

"I would rather die than live as a slave, Ha'Cormar'ah. I am sure you sympathise." She raised the knife, and G'Kar felt as though he had been transported back in time, and was watching the young and beautiful Da'Kal performing the same action.

He reeled backwards and slumped against the wall, staring at his hands. They seemed to be covered in blood. By G'Quan, was there no one he could trust, no one who would not betray him?

He glanced to one side. L'Neer was huddled in the corner of the room, rocking slowly back and forth. She looked up and met his eye, and he saw the sheer fear in hers.

He crawled over and put his arms around her. She sank into his embrace with a wail. G'Kar wished he could weep - for Lennier, for Lethke, for Da'Kal, for the Alliance, for all those who would die today. But he could not.

His one eye would not let him.

OBEY

The air was thick and heavy, the red duller and darker, the voices....

whispering

and screaming

and seductively soft and

enticing

as death

itself.

They were there, near the edge, too near, tendrils lapping over on to the world of

mortals.

They wrapped around him.

Stupid, so

stupid....

He'd known they were here. He'd been to

Golgotha

He'd seen the ruins of the

Enaid Accord

He knew they were nearby

worshipped

feared

monsters

Gods

Monsters worshipped by Gods.

You will obey us.

That was their cry, the cry of the Lords of Order

But even they obeyed someone else

The beings that waited beyond this universe, beyond the gates, beyond the

doors

Worshipped by a few

cult

conspiracy

The Lords of Order sought

changelessness

....

but even they

changed.

New rulers

New Governments

Secret members who worshipped secret Gods

Bewitched by a war millennia old

the war that had destroyed

Golgotha

and the

Enaid Accord.

Sinoval could feel himself

screaming

lost

Stupid.

A warrior

a leader

leads from the

front.

They were here

waiting

close to the edge.

He did not

fear

them

But he knew what they were and he

feared

for others

For those who did know

fear.

These creatures were fear.

Ancient

terrible

death incarnate

black hearts beating in the mausoleums of stars.

So near

whispering to him

No.

Not yet.

He was Primarch

He was Sinoval

the Accursed

the Saviour.

He had the

responsibility

the

duty

the

....

the

....

the

power!

He called out his

name

and

hyperspace parted.

The door opened and

closed

behind him.

US

Sinoval the Accursed, Primarch Majestus et Conclavus, stumbled back to real space, reeling and nauseous. He fell to his knees, the welcome weight of Stormbringer at his side. Around him power crackled, burning and forceful and pounding.

He looked up, his head almost too heavy to lift.

"Primarch Sinoval, I presume?"

YOU WILL

Susan ran as fast as she could, until she thought her lungs were going to burst into flames and her legs collapse into jelly. Never in her life had she moved with more urgency.

Each step leading to the precipice seemed steeper and higher than the last.

The Well had been angry, dark whispers resounding in her mind. It wasn't as if she wanted to hear that gibberish. Death, lots of warnings about death.

And danger.

There is danger. Remember.

Of course there was danger. They were about to besiege a space station housing the most important people in the Alliance and guarded by a massive Vorlon fleet. Of course there was danger.

And where was Sinoval?

She thought she knew, but she prayed she was wrong.

There was a figure standing on the precipice, but it wasn't Sinoval.

Moreil turned sinuously to face her.

"The Chaos–Bringer is not here," he hissed, his ugly, rasping voice hitting her like fingernails on slate.

"No," she whispered, trying to get her breath back.

"He has gone ahead of us, to bring the war to the enemy."

"Yes," she breathed.

Yes, gone ahead to take on the Vorlons in single combat, presumably. God save her from all this death–or–glory rubbish.

"Then we must follow him, and spread the fire with our footsteps."

She looked at the alien, the Shadow–spawned alien, and she saw the fanatical zeal and passion in his twisted, wrong eyes. She knew why Sinoval had spared his life, and she knew he could be used, but she didn't like it, and she didn't like associating with him.

But as she raised her head and looked at the fleet arrayed in hyperspace around Cathedral, waiting for the order, and as she remembered her purpose, she made the decision that Sinoval had always known she would have to make.

Sinoval, if we both survive this, I'm going to....

She never completed that thought. Instead she looked at Moreil.

"Yes," she said.

OBEY US

No one troubled him.

No one stopped him.

No one interfered or even looked at him

Anyone who passed him by ducked to one side, pressing themselves tightly against the corridor rather than meet his gaze.

John Sheridan had acquired a reputation amongst the Minbari when he was younger. He was the Starkiller, and more than one Minbari child had woken from nightmare visions of his face in the dark. The John Sheridan who walked through the corridors of Babylon 5 was more terrible by far than all of those dream images put together.