Sonovar knew none of this, not caring to find out. His mind was always on the future and so, sometimes, he neglected the past. It was a small sin of the many he possessed, and yet history would judge him for it.
He was in practice with Takier when Cozon and Vhixarion came to see him. At first he was irritated, not liking one of his few moments of peace to be interrupted, but when he saw the excitement in Vhixarion's bearing and tone, his irritation faded rapidly. Something important had surely happened.
"You were correct, Zaron'dar," said Vhixarion, his alien voice marked with a clear Minbari tone: awe. "The sign we have asked you for has come."
Sonovar of course had no idea what this sign was, but he also knew he could not admit that. One of the great things about the cretinously religious was that a good many things could be interpreted in various ways so as to manipulate and control them. Sonovar lived according to his wits, his strength and his conviction. The universe favoured such as him.
"It has been found again. That which was lost. Ende X'ton. We have found it."
Still Sonovar was silent. There was something coming. He could feel it.
"But...." Vhixarion said, enthusiasm replaced by a righteous anger. "Our enemy has found it first. We received a message, a challenge, contempt for us, the Z'ondar's chosen."
Sonovar's eyes darkened. He had been wondering for some time now when Sinoval would emerge again. Had he not been so concerned with the Alliance he might have hunted him down, but Forell had so accurately predicted that Sinoval would surface soon enough, and how much more of a challenge and how much greater the victory to best him on his own ground.
"We will mass the war fleets of the Tak'cha," Vhixarion said. "We will assemble our warriors and our priests and our chosen and our forgiven, and we will go to reclaim Ende X'ton from the accursed one and his Lords of Death. And at our side.... will ride with us the Zaron'dar."
There was no sign on Sonovar's carefully masked visage, but something within him rankled. He, ride with them? He was master here, he the lord, he the visionary and the hero to be.
But that could wait. Something else mattered. Sinoval. He was there. On this.... lost station. He had issued a challenge all right, but not to the Tak'cha.... to Sonovar himself.
"I will ready myself," he said. "Takier.... prepare your ships. Talk to your captains. Sah'thai...." One day I will destroy you. "Sah'thai.... I give you my word, we will reclaim your holy place." A place he could not pronounce if he had a year to practise. "And we will defeat the accursed one and his Lords of Death."
Yes.... Sinoval. They would defeat him, break him utterly. And in the end, Sinoval would acknowledge him Master.
Before he died.
Sonovar barked out a few more orders, although there was little point. Takier knew what to do, and Vhixarion would not listen. They all rushed away, and Sonovar stood in his practice chamber for a moment, alone and basking in the glory of this moment.
"Great lord," said a familiar voice, and Forell moved into view.
"Go away, Forell," Sonovar snapped. "This is a time for warriors, not weaklings. Stay here and pray for all our souls."
"You will not go to Anla'Verenn–veni, great lord."
"What? You.... dare command me?" Sonovar raised his pike. "You dare command me, little worm?" He took a step forward and Forell met his gaze evenly.
"I think only of your best interests, great lord."
Sonovar lowered his pike. "Yes," he said softly. "I suppose you do. Then I will let you explain yourself, Forell. Why am I not to go?"
"This is clearly a trap, great lord, a ploy to draw you in. Sinoval is cunning. Meet him on your terms, great lord, not his. Others are more capable of such a task. Why dirty your own hands with such.... a mundane and tedious purpose?"
"Hah! Of course. I am Sonovar. This is beneath me. Let the Tak'cha have their dead and dusty temples. I will.... guide them from here. Kozorr and Tirivail can handle this in my stead. Yes.... Yes, I know best. Forell! Go to Kozorr and Tirivail and see they are told what to do. Yes.... I will stay here and co–ordinate matters."
"I bow before your great wisdom, great lord," Forell said, suiting the action to the words. He shuffled into the darkness, and the voice of the Keeper in his mind was very satisfied.
The old man knew all about power. He knew everything there was to know about controlling people, nations, destinies. For years now he had been secretly running the human race. Oh, not their Government, or their industry or their economy. Those things he left to his subordinates, although he occasionally became involved when he had to.
No, he guided the fate of humanity. He watched everything happening, the onward push of history, and he moulded events slightly, subtly, according to the grand design. Sometimes he wondered if he was himself controlled by this design.
It did not matter. When he died - in truth this time, and not merely as an illusion to keep himself hidden - few people would know anything about his accomplishments, but they would be there. Humanity would be forever changed by his actions.
It was unfortunate that so many would have to die, and it was slightly out of keeping with his philosophy. If anything, the next stage of the grand design was more the sort of strategy that the Enemy might pursue.
That of course made it all the more attractive. Humanity had chosen wrongly, acting in error for selfish reasons, little knowing or caring what they had done when they willingly signed themselves over to the Shadows.
They had to be punished for that error. Any punishment had a number of purposes, of course. First, there was the reinforcement that what had been done was wrong - a lesson. And then there was the deterrent, ensuring that the error would never be repeated.
The lesson would be the deaths of so many; the deterrent the way the deaths would be explained away.
It was a shame, yes, but it was necessary. To bring humanity to Heaven, it must first know Hell. As Rameses had once said: 'Canaan is devastated, Ashkelon is fallen, Gezer is ruined, Yenoam is reduced to nothing, Israel is desolate and her seed is no more, and Palestine has become a widow for Egypt.
'All the countries are unified and pacified.'
"Who said that?" asked a familiar voice, and the old man turned. It was Morden, walking forward, his hand in his pocket as was his habit. "It had the feel of a quotation."
The old man shook his head, smiling slightly. Morden was not much of a historian, not of Earth history anyway. "An ancient king, long dead now."
"All the countries are unified and pacified," Morden repeated. "I don't like the sound of this. It's.... too much like what they might do, the Enemy."
"Yes, it is. But it is not them, it is us. The Enemy believe in chaos, disorder, anarchy. A struggle for supremacy, where everything succumbs to force, to technology, to the movement of armies. We.... Well, for us it is a slow, gentle, loving climb up. Our friends love all the races, even those who make mistakes. To err, is, after all, only human.
"However, no loving parent would spare the rod. To do so only spoils the child. Sometimes, my friend, it is sadly necessary to be cruel to be kind."
"I suppose so. Sacrifices are sometimes necessary." Morden looked up at the machine before them. The telepath, Byron, was still, motionless, his mouth open in a silent scream. "I thought I'd find you here."
"It is a marvel, is it not? A clear and precise image of just how far there is to go. We feel that because we can walk between the stars, conquer worlds and dominate races, we know all there is to know.
"We do not, and I for one hope we never will."
"The never–ending necessity for human achievement. I met a taxi driver a few months ago who was talking about the same thing. Anyway, there is a message for you. From our.... ah.... Lady Gwenhyfar."