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

And as she did every night, she spoke the three words, not to her husband, not to a servant or a guard or a doctor. Not even to herself. They were spoken to a man she hardly knew, had seldom talked to and had not seen in over a year.

As she did every night, she looked into the shadows at the corner of the room, hoping, almost praying that there would be the slightest sign of movement there, the faintest trace. She could not see him, but she knew from experience that that did not mean he was not there.

"Where are you?"

As it had been every night, there was no reply, no twitch of the shadows, no hint of motion, no sound of breath.

There was nothing.

And as she did every night, Timov sat forward in her chair, holding her husband's cold, cold hands, and looking into her husband's still, cold face, and she waited for him to wake up. It would not do for him to wake up to a lonely and empty room.

And as she did every morning, she turned and left the room, with her husband's motionless body still there, still alive, still trapped, still silent, still not showing the slightest indication that she had been there.

But as she did every morning, she walked from the room with pride and determination that belied her lack of sleep. She was Timov, daughter of Alghul, wife of Emperor Mollari II.

And she had work to do.

The apartment seemed darker than usual as he entered. There seemed to be things moving in the corners, just on the edge of his perception. As soon as he looked directly at them, they were still.

He dropped his coat casually on the chair, stepped over the pile of yesterday's newspapers on the floor, looked at the even larger pile of paperwork on the desk and sighed, going over to the commscreen.

"You have two audio messages," it said, and he activated them.

"Dexter," came the first. "It's Bethany. I was just wondering if you wanted to have dinner some time next week. I got a bottle of wine today and it'd be a shame to drink it alone. Let me know."

He sighed. That was not something he wanted to consider just now. He played the second message.

"Greetings, brother." He froze. It was the voice of the…. thing they had captured. That was impossible. He checked the time of the message, and his eyes widened. More than two hours after it had…. died, or dissolved, or committed suicide or whatever. He played the rest of the message.

"We cannot be got rid of so easily. Think on what we have said, brother. It will be so much easier if you join us of your own free will. We are the fortunate ones. There are many worse places to be.

"Think on it for a moment, brother. We will be watching you."

The message ended, and Dexter slowly looked around at the shadows of his room, one by one. "I don't scare that easily," he said, lying.

He went to the fridge and pulled out a bottle of beer. Drinking it slowly and kicking off his shoes, he went over to the table and looked at the pile of paperwork there.

"Nope," he said. "A problem for another day." He set down the bottle and picked up the pack of playing cards hidden beneath the financial budget documents. There were all sorts of silly cards available these days, even ones with Sheridan as the King of Spades and Delenn as the Queen of Hearts and other nonsense. But these were simple, normal, traditional cards.

He began to shuffle them idly, cutting and reshuffling. "So," he said, to no one in particular. "Explain that dealer chip again?"

A handful of cards caught on his finger and fell to the table. Muttering angrily, he set down the rest of the pack and picked them up.

The King of Clubs. The King of Spades. The Eight of Clubs. The Eight of Spades.

"You have got to be kidding me," he said, as he picked up the fifth card.

The Jack of Diamonds.

Dead Man's Hand.

Sighing, he threw all the cards over his shoulder. He could pick them up tomorrow. Things would feel a little better tomorrow. He'd come up with a reply to Bethany's invitation, finish off his speech to the Senate on Section 31(3) of the Wartime Emergency Provisions, and not jump at things that weren't there.

Everything would be better tomorrow.

He went to bed.

He was surrounded by darkness and only darkness. He worked the forms as assiduously as he ever had when he was a student. He danced with unseen opponents, recognising their moves and countering them with his own. Stormbringer seemed to flow in his hands, as much a part of him as ever. He had heard legends of warriors whose blades changed to match them, becoming a part of their soul, even. Well, Stormbringer was a part of his soul. It had been forged as such — a mirror to the darkness within him.

"But less of a darkness now, hmm, brother?" Sinoval said. He stopped his dance, and inclined his head in a gesture of respect to his imaginary opponents. "You see, Sech Durhan," he said. "I have not forgotten your teachings."

He then sat down to meditate. He did not sleep any more, and it was surprising how much more time was available without the need for slumber. There were countless affairs that needed his attention, however, and all his time was still taken up twice over.

There was another lesson he had learned from Durhan all those years ago. Make time for rest. Make time for nothingness. Make time to clear thoughts and mind and remember in that time precisely who and what you are.

"I know who I am," he said to the darkness. "I know what I am. I am not afraid, not of myself, and not of my enemies." He breathed out slowly. He no longer needed to breathe these days either, but it was a refreshingly normal action.

He sensed her arrival a few moments before she entered. He had tried to warn her about entering his donjon, but naturally she did not listen. He was fortunate she had heeded his advice about not entering the Well of Souls itself.

"Hi honey. I'm home!"

"Susan," he said, creating light with a mere thought. "Enter."

She walked in, pulling back the hood of her grey robe and shaking out her long dark hair. "This will take ages to wash properly," she complained. "Still practising?"

"Meditating."

"Ah. I was interrupting again. Bad Susan."

"It does not matter. How did it go?"

She sat down cross-legged across from him. "You were right. Again. The Vorlons have been doing something there, and they still are. Officially there's just the one Ambassador in Yedor, but there are at least another three or four floating around. I spoke to someone who saw several in Tuzanor."

"The network?"

"Yes, that's there, but I don't think that was it. I couldn't really investigate any further without putting myself at risk, but there's something under Yedor. Damned if I know what, though."

"Were you in any danger?"

"No. Someone I knew recognised me. Not someone I thought I'd be seeing, believe me."

"Is this person a danger?"

"No. Definitely not. Take my word for it."

"I will. Very well, then. I will have to see if I can get a few others there to investigate. I dare not overplay my hand, but if the Vorlons are doing something to Minbar, I want to know what and why. Perhaps someone else, if you fear you would be recognised there again?"

"Feel free, and yes, I think I will be. This would be one of your many other agents I don't know about? And don't tell me that what I don't know won't get me killed. I've seen enough of war to know it's usually the exact opposite."

"What you do not know cannot be pulled from your mind by telepaths or the network."

"Ah. Good point. So, how was your mission?"

"It went…. as expected."

"How was John? Did you convince him? Or should you not be telling me this?"

"The Vorlons know everything that happened there. That was the point, after all. And no, he did not listen."

"What about the Vorlons themselves? Did they listen?"

"Of course not. Oh, they were…. shaken, although they hid it very well. They did not realise how much of their past I know about. The revelation that I knew about Golgotha was a surprise to them."

"Fine, you've shaken them up, but was it all worth it? They know what you are doing, they know not to underestimate you…."

"I would like to think they knew that anyway. They would find out about my summoning the First Ones sooner or later. Now they have found that out by my urging, at a time and place of my choosing. 'Choose your battlefield and make your enemy come to you.' They will now no doubt wonder what else I know about them, and they will act with caution, allowing me more time to do what must be done."

She shrugged. "As you like, but the whole thing sounded like a waste of time to me."

"Oh, I would not say that." Sinoval reached into a pocket of his robe and pulled out a small globe, filled with red mist and smoke. Clearly visible, trapped by the swirling fog and flashes of lightning was a human being. It was the exact image of General John Sheridan.

"No. I would not say that at all."

Он пришел тысячу лет назад, минбарец рожденный не от минбарца. Он принес им победу и надежду, и он изменил их общество на десять столетий. Но кто он был? Кто были те, кто поддерживал его и те, кто его предал? Кто были те, кто любил его, и те, кто его ненавидел? И величайший вопрос из всех — куда он ушел, в тот памятный день когда он покинул этот мир? Пришло время того, чтобы на все вопросы было отвечено и более чем одна тайна была раскрыта…

Маррэйн прищурил темные глаза, глядя на сияющие белые башни Ашинагачи. Заходящее солнце и сумерки сделали белый мрамор стен огненно — алым. Алым, как огонь, что забрал Императора Шингена на этом самом месте. Алым, как кровь предков Маррэйна, что пролилась на землю.

Его подчиненные не смели беспокоить его здесь, в такой момент. Они все знали историю. Они все знали о его предках.

Более трех сотен лет назад предки Маррэйна склонились перед Шингеном у этих самых стен. Ашинагачи когда — то принадлежал Клинкам Ветра, до того как Шинген и его Огненные Крылья взяли город. Это была последняя битва в его восьмилетней кампании. В Ашинагачи держались против его непобедимой конницы дольше, чем где — либо, но в конце концов этого оказалось недостаточно. Не желая сдавать свой город захватчикам, предок Маррэйна бросился со стены, и его тело разбилось о землю.

Дед Маррэйна умер здесь же. Через две сотни и пятьдесят лет после смерти Шингена Клинки Ветра вновь испытали судьбу. И потерпели поражение.

Отец Маррэйна не увидел этих стен. Смертельно раненый в стычке на пути сюда, он предпочел повернуть обратно, нежели ввязаться в бой, который не мог выиграть.

Но сейчас сам Маррэйн пришел сюда. И он не проиграет. У него есть долг. Есть честь. Он прямо и честно служит своему лорду. Есть три сотни лет истории его предков, что будут направлять его.

И есть его собственное мастерство, его личный талант.

Уже в юном возрасте его называли одним из величайших тактиков его поколения, быть может величайшим со времен Шингена. Он сражался и выиграл в семнадцати поединках. Он вел флоты Клинков Ветра в битве против вторгнувшихся пришельцев, которых называли Тенями, у Икарры, и он был одним из Трех Сотен выживших в резне у Маркар'Арабар, где те самые Тени разбили гордость минбарского космического флота. Пятнадцать тысяч погибло там, и лишь тремстам удалось выжить.

Да, Маррэйн был признан как один из лучших тактиков своего поколения. И лишь одного полагали равным ему.

И Парлонн из Огненных Крыльев был за стенами Ашинагачи, планируя его оборону.

Порой, когда он закрывал глаза в медитации или во сне, Маррэйн заново видел Маркар'Арабар. Он видел движение Теней, видел как свет впитывался их пятнистой, черной кожей и пропадал навечно. Он чувствовал жару и вонь, слышал крики умирающих и торжествующий, страшный вопль кораблей Теней, проплывающих мимо.

То была последняя схватка с Тенями. Первые Воины собрались обсудить дальнейшие действия. И была сделка, оставившая гнев и чувство предательства. Маркабы и икарране просили помощи Минбара против могучего врага, нападавшего на их торговые пути и колонии. Кланы посылали свои флоты им на помощь, но почему они должны продолжать войну? Тени не атаковали миры Минбара. Они не трогали минбарских торговых трасс.