"Delenn?" he whispered at last. "Are you...?"
"I'm here," she said softly in reply. His eyes flickered open. They were bloodshot and haunted.
"Had.... dreams.... Dreaming now.... See.... things...."
"What things?" she asked. According to the reports she had received, Kalain had been delusional for many months as the virus coursed through his system. He might well have suffered hallucinations.
John chuckled softly; a hideous sound, entirely devoid of laughter. "My.... Dad.... I.... saw.... my Dad.... He was.... working for.... for.... them...." The sweat was standing out on his brow. "A.... stupid.... dream.... wasn't it?" The last two words were a plaintive cry.
Delenn blinked away tears. "Yes," she lied softly, thereby making the second greatest mistake of her life, one that would be even harder to atone for than the first. "Yes. It was just a dream.
"Just.... a dream."
The next day the new Vorlon Ambassador came before the Council of the United Alliance. He gave his name as Ulkesh Naranek, and Delenn shivered as she recognised him from a long time ago, another life. Lyta walked before him, as his herald. He had been here for some time, and he had been waiting. Waiting for the mortal beings to make their own choice as to where they stood.
Elsewhere, Ambassador David Sheridan returned to Z'ha'dum and reported his failure sorrowfully to his superiors. He provided as full reports as he could on all the members of the Council, save one. The report on Delenn of Mir was left to his aide, the one person who had once known her better than anyone else alive. Neroon's analysis was most comprehensive.
Captain Dexter Smith went out into the cities of Proxima 3, and inevitably found himself among the people of his old home. Sector 301. The Pit. It had changed very little since he had last seen it. He found an apartment and lay on his bed, staring at the ceiling long into the night.
On Centauri Prime, Mr. Morden met with an old acquaintance, and was delighted to hear that Vir Cotto had gone up in the world slightly since their last meeting. Much was said about Emperor Mollari and about Ha'Cormar'ah G'Kar. Meanwhile, Lord-General Marrago and Minister Durano continued their graceful, elegant dance around each other, gambling their lives, their future and their planet on who would win their little contest for power over the other.
Ha'Cormar'ah G'Kar was somewhere out in deep space, making preparations for his arrival on Centauri Prime. He was somewhat surprised to discover that Mr. Morden was already there.
Alfred Bester sat alone in his dark chair, thinking about the day when Sanctuary would become anything but.
Kozorr and Sonovar spoke long into the night; about Kats, about Sinoval, about the Soul Hunters, about honour and duty and the warrior's code. By the time the night was over, Kozorr had unwittingly agreed to Sonovar's plans. It would merely take a little longer to reinforce the suggestions. Forell hung ever-attentive in the background.
Ulkesh Naranek spoke of war.
And somewhere in deep space, at a vital crossroads on a Brakiri trading route, four Shadow vessels shimmered out of hyperspace and attacked the three Brakiri trading ships they encountered there.
There were no survivors.
Gareth D. Williams
Through Darkness and Fire.
What is one life worth? What is one soul worth? And who must pay the price? The war has begun, and Delenn is faced with a most difficult choice by the new Vorlon ambassador. An offer of salvation is made, but is it too much for anyone to pay? Elsewhere Sinoval encounters the sting of treachery, and the war comes to Centauri Prime, bringing with it a great fire and a terrible Darkness.
Chapter 1
Their tactics are seemingly without rhyme or reason. There is no logical pattern to their choice of targets. Of this I am certain. The worlds that have come under fire so far have no distinguishing characteristics. There is no progression from one area to another; no discernible goal; no readily ascertainable purpose.
The respected representatives from the other clans will no doubt regard this as inadequacy on my part, and far be it from me to presume to compare myself to the wisdom of such people, but if I may reach above myself for a moment, I believe I have a theory.
None of us has been able to discern an overall strategy to the actions of the race we have dubbed 'Shadows'. We know that they are not a haphazard race in general, because when it comes to a direct engagement there are clear, well-defined tactics and very precise attack formations. They have tactics, they merely lack a strategy.
I believe their strategy is nothing but the spreading of chaos. They exist to create fear in our minds, to disrupt and damage, but not to destroy.
My lords, I do not think they want us dead. On the contrary, they want us alive, but.... directed in some way. They want us to panic, to blame each other for our lack of skill, to sow doubt and dissension. Their reasons for this, alas, I have not been able to determine, but then I am just a simple warrior and such things are doubtless beyond me. Perhaps the revered Shalma Drekenn may be able to enlighten me.
What is clear is that they have some purpose for us, and I for one have no intention of letting them accomplish it....
An excerpt from A Report upon the War, by Parlonn, Warleader of the Fire Wings clan, presented before the Gathering of Fanes in the city of Tuzanor, in the third year of the last great Shadow War.
[This report was declared highly seditious in light of Parlonn's later actions and was sealed in the Great Archives in Yedor following the conclusion of the war. All copies were lost when the Library was destroyed by human bombardment in the Earth Year 2259.]
They came from nowhere, simply appearing, shimmering into view. There were three of them, black and sinister, shadows against the night sky.
The crew of the two Drazi ships knew full well what they were, and they were not afraid. Perhaps these.... mysterious aliens had been able to defeat the Brakiri expeditionary force sent out against them, but what could you expect from Brakiri anyway? This crew were Drazi, and they were true warriors. After all, hadn't they fought these.... Shadows already? At Epsilon 3. They had survived that, and they would survive this.
The first Sunhawk was sliced in pieces by the first Shadow ship. Its crew died without the chance even to scream. The other soared forward, firing its forward ion cannons. The Shadow dodged the blast effortlessly and rose above the warship.
An instant later, the second Sunhawk was gone.
The three Shadow vessels departed from normal space, none so much as scratched, leaving behind them only the wreckage and the dead.
The images faded, and Delenn sighed softly. So many dead, so many lives annihilated in a mere split second. Such a tragic waste, and it had been she who had arranged their deaths. Oh, refusing the Shadows' false offers of peace had been the only course of action, but ultimately it had been her decision. She had made it, and these people had died as result.
There was a gentle hush amongst the members of the Council. Delenn's first glance was to Vizhak and Taan Churok, the two Drazi members. They had been here from the very beginning, and they had each served the Alliance well. But they were still Drazi, and some things remained no matter how much time was spent among aliens.