"Always a pleasure."
* * *
The Centauri was not moving. He hardly even seemed to breathe. His hand was on the hilt of his sword, and his eyes remained fixed on Moreil. Not on the two Wykhheran that had just appeared behind him, but on Moreil himself.
The Z'shailyl was impressed. That was a mark of courage, conviction and a certainty as to where the real threat lay. He directed the Wykhheran, mastering their mere animal desires to stalk and kill. If one of them was felled then he would be as before, but without him they would lose all intelligence and direction, lapsing into barbarian fury.
Do we kill, lord?
Not yet, Warrior. But be ready.
This one…. is strange to us. Is he a Master?
No, Warrior.
He stands as a Master. He looks as a Sin-tahri, but he acts as a Master. What is he?
A dangerous man, but a mortal all the same.
Do we kill him, lord?
Not yet. He may be better service to us alive.
This one is strange, lord.
Trust in the Dark Masters, Warrior.
The conversation had taken mere seconds, and Moreil was convinced no one could sense him communicating with the Wykhheran. He was wrong.
"Some sort of telepathy?" Marrago asked, not shifting his stance at all.
"What do you mean, once-Warmaster?"
"How you command them? Telepathy?"
"Not as you would understand it," Moreil replied. "This one is bonded to the Wykhheran, a chain created when they emerged in shadows at Thrakandar. Words ride faster than thought between this one and the Warriors."
"They obey your every command?"
"All serve the Dark Masters. While this one's commands are in Their service, the Warriors know to obey. Were this one to grow conceited and arrogant and power-hungry, they would turn on him."
"Your Dark Masters have gone. They aren't coming back."
Moreil hissed. "Lies," he said. "They have not abandoned this place. They will return."
"No, they won't. They lost the war, and they know it. That's why they left. None of us needed them any longer."
"Lies!"
"All you are doing is deluding yourself. You are carrying on their mistakes, their errors. You are making their true enemies stronger by pursuing a false creed. That is why you are here, isn't it? You don't want riches or power or revenge. You want to carry on their law. Chaos personified, that's it, isn't it? You want to serve them even though they are gone."
"This one follows the creed of the Dark Masters. This one remembers."
"Face facts. You failed them while they were here. You won't bring them back by over-compensating now."
Kill him! Moreil roared in his mind, anger and hatred and fury all coalescing into one raw, powerful, anguished emotion. He had never felt such hatred before, not for any living thing.
How could he have known? How could he have known of Moreil's failures? How could the once-Warmaster have known that if Moreil had only performed a little better, the Dark Masters would still be here?
The Centauri dropped into a defensive stance, moving precisely and effortlessly.
In a split second all thought of murder left Moreil's mind and a river of calm returned. No. Never fight a battle angry. His Warmaster had taught him that. He had forgotten. Once again, he had failed.
Stop! The Wykhheran did, although their thoughts were angry and confused. They never liked being pulled from a kill. For a few seconds their thoughts and Moreil's waged for dominance, but they soon conceded. The bond was too strong for them to do otherwise.
We want to kill, lord.
No. He is too strong.
Not as strong as we are.
He is strong in mind, not flesh. This battle he has won, Warrior. Accept and learn.
His flesh is weak.
His spirit is strong. No, Warrior. You shall not kill him today.
Marrago saw the Wykhheran step back and disappear from sight. He relaxed his guard, but only slightly. Moreil recognised the message there. Whatever he might appear to be, this mortal was always ready for battle.
"How do you know all these things?"
Marrago looked at him for a long while. The Wykhheran's angry thoughts flashed through Moreil's mind. He pacified them with promises of one of the captives the Brotherhood had taken from Gorash. While tearing apart a helpless prisoner was not nearly as exciting as facing down a true warrior, that did mollify the Wykhheran a little.
Marrago stepped back and folded his arms high on his chest. Still Moreil did not move. He knew the blade could be in his hands in less than a second.
"Did you think you were the only warrior to fail his lord?" Marrago asked.
Moreil did not reply.
"Is there going to be any action against me for helping the girl?"
"This one shall not care for the girl. If you desire her, then she is yours, by all this one cares. You should be wary, once-Warmaster. Soon you will stumble and your eyes will close and your death will be nearby."
"I have been a soldier of the Republic all my life. Death has never been far from me."
Moreil turned to leave, thinking carefully. As he reached the door, something came to him, and he turned. "This one remembers," he said. "The girl-child you rescued…."
"Yes?"
"You had a girl-child of your own. She is now dead."
Marrago's eyes darkened.
"Yes."
Moreil waited for something more. There was nothing.
He left, the angry thoughts of the Wykhheran still with him. They complained about not being able to kill this Sin-tahri. But their complaints were too many, too loud, too boisterous. They were hiding something. After a while Moreil realised what that was, and that realisation troubled him more than anything else he had experienced with this Marrago.
The Wykhheran were afraid of him.
* * *
Why are they so afraid of me? Why do they not see?
As he waited patiently in the anteroom, these two questions preyed on Morden's mind more and more. This would be so much easier if people just sat down and thought about things for a while. They would soon see what was the right thing to do.
But no, people never thought. They reacted out of fear and anger and greed and they would never learn to put aside personal concerns for the greater good. It was because of people like that, that his wife….
Human or Centauri, they were all the same. The Centauri had played their Great Game for so long, all they saw was the Game itself and none of the reasons for it. They never saw beyond. They spoke of tradition and heritage and legacies and never looked to the future.
Well, Morden would drag them into the future, kicking and screaming if he had to.
Londo's condition was not improving. It had been over six days since his heart attack. The best doctors in the Republic were working on him, but Morden knew full well that all of them were motivated by political concerns. Some were no doubt being paid off by various nobles. Some were worried about their own health, whether they cured or killed him. He had planned to bring in Alliance doctors, only to be told that was unthinkable. The Republic dared not be seen to be crawling to aliens for medical help. They had their pride, after all.
Their pride was going to kill their Emperor.
Morden had had enough.
The aide, who possessed some elaborate and wholly unnecessary title, came in and told Morden the Centarum was now ready for him. He rose and walked calmly into the massive room.
An antiquated custom, all of it. The Centarum was a product of the Great Game that always seemed to survive. No matter who tried to suppress or weaken it, it was always capable of rising again. Ironically most of the people here hated each other passionately, but still they remained together, arrogantly secure in their right to rule.
Morden took up his place at the Speaker's lectern and looked around. The room was full. How many of the nobility had died during the 'Troubles'? And somehow there were always more of them.
"Greetings to the Centarum," he said formally. Time enough to honour their etiquette for now. Besides, politeness cost nothing. "I stand before you as the official representative from the United Alliance of Kazomi Seven to the Centauri Republic." Over a year he had been here and not once had he addressed this body. Not once had he been permitted to and not once had they asked him to. Even over matters of Alliance concern, such as the Inquisitors, the Centarum had turned to Londo. No wonder the poor man had collapsed like that. The stress must have been intolerable.
"There has been no change in the Emperor's condition," he continued. "We have to consider the very real possibility that he will never recover." There was not a great deal of shock at this. He had a feeling almost everyone here had already considered that. "Contrary to some of the rumours circulating at present, the Inquisitors and the Ministry for the Interior have confirmed in their joint investigation that the Emperor's collapse was entirely natural, the inevitable result of poor health and stress. I am satisfied there was no foul play involved.
"However, the Emperor's illness has caused a considerable power vacuum here. The Republic as a whole is suffering as a result. The Alliance has decided to lend its support to the Centauri Republic during this time of crisis. Ambassador Durano has formally requested aid from the Alliance, and this has been granted.
"Military assistance will be provided in certain vulnerable systems, especially Gorash, Frallus and Immolan. This will be under the overall control of Commander N'Rothak, who is already in charge of the peacekeeping forces on Gorash Seven.
"Centauri Prime itself will also be protected by Alliance peacekeeping forces. These will consist of a squadron of Dark Star ships, two multi-racial detachments of support ships and five thousand ground based soldiers. The objective is obviously to prevent further recurrence of civil unrest during this difficult time. The leader of this force has not yet been chosen, but he or she will work directly in liaison with my office and with the Inquisition base established here.
"These measures are only for the duration of the current emergency and disruption will be minimised as much as is possible, but obviously the location and capture of Shadow agents and dissidents is of the utmost priority.
"Furthermore, the Alliance office will assume direct control of the Government for the duration of the crisis. All Government officials will take instructions directly from the emergency cabinet currently being constituted, of which I will be a member, as will the Commander of the Alliance forces, and the High Inquisitor.
"As a result, this body is suspended for the duration of the crisis. It is the recommendation of the Alliance that you return to your estates and help maintain order there. Alliance forces will be occupying the major centres of population of the assisted worlds and it is expected that all local officials and landowners will co-operate fully with them.
"There will of course be restrictions on travel, but I personally guarantee your return journeys to your estates will be given second-most priority after the movement of Alliance officials, and any delays are minimised."
Morden stood back and looked around at the expressions of anger and disbelief. They all believed themselves immune from any harm, all of them. Simply because of accidents of birth, they held themselves inviolate. Even when former First Minister Malachi had dissolved the Centarum during the Troubles, that was accepted. Malachi had been one of them. He played the same game they did, by the same rules.
But Morden did not play their game, and he did not play by their rules. He would bring order to the Centauri Republic if he had to break every rule, shatter every tradition and tear the society apart in order to do it.
"Are there any questions?" he asked at last.
There was a flurry of comments. "Outrageous!" was one. "You can't do this!" was another.
Morden smiled. It was rare that duty and pleasure came together at the same time and he took care to savour every such moment when he could. "Oh, we can do this. Read the Treaty you signed when you joined the Alliance. It gives me the authority to do exactly this.
"Your days of prestige and power are over, gentlemen. The Republic is teetering on the edge of the abyss, again. It seems that no sooner are you saved from one catastrophe than another emerges.
"I am interested in more than a mere quick fix. I will see to it that you are strengthened, fortified and made fit and ready to be a productive member of the Alliance instead of the burden and drain you all are at present.
"And, I should point out, if any of you feel you are having ideas, Captain Durla is outside this very building with an entire Imperial Legion, as well as three Inquisitors.
"You have been given your instructions. What comes from me, comes directly from the Alliance Council itself. Heed them. Defy them at your peril.
"This meeting is now over. I wish you all safe travel back to your estates, gentlemen."
With that, he left. Maybe now he would have time to do everything that had to be done.
* * *
Whispers from the Day of the Dead — VIIThere had not been enough time. Not nearly enough time.
How could two people undo the mistakes of an entire lifetime in one night? How could a mere few hours' words make amends for decades of recrimination and anger and pride?
Oh, he had tried. Both of them had. But there had just not been enough time, and too many memories pulling at them both.
Kulomani, Captain of the Dark Star fleet, sat alone as the Day of the Dead ended, and looked up as the comet herald faded from the skies. It would not come again in his lifetime, he knew that. Nor his son's. He wondered what would have happened had he died at any time in the war now gone. Would he have come back to meet his son? Would his son even have come to talk to him?
And would they have made even half an effort to undo everything that had passed between them? Would they even try?
"Where are you now, I wonder?" he asked himself. They were still alive, his wife, his son. Perhaps his wife had remarried. Perhaps his son was already wed by now. Could he have grandchildren he knew nothing about? It was possible. It was very possible.
Would any of them welcome him back into their lives?
Would his pride even let him try?
"We chose our own paths," he said. "You did not understand mine, and I do not understand yours." Something his father had said from beyond the veil mere hours ago stayed with him.
