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4. Hyperspace. 13 April 2246.

It had almost been a month since the disaster at Beta Durani. In that time, Neroon had been recalled from his command of the Ingata and now sat in front of the command centre of the Valen’tha. There were no differences between a standard Sharlin-class ship and the home of the Grey Council, aside from purple and green running lights illuminating its sides. In this way, it had been intended that the leaders of the Minbari would remain nicely inconspicuous and out of the way.
  Not for the first time, Neroon wondered if this might be a bad thing. Maybe if the ship had some sort of ornate decoration, or a gigantic sign half a mile high proclaiming, “Here Be Government, Do Not Shoot!”, then maybe this whole war could have been avoided. He had been happy at first, fighting his ship like he had been trained to do. But after a while, the slaughter became dull and meaningless. What test of a warrior’s mettle was an enemy that could not fight back? The Wind Swords, as ever, were still hungry for more killing but the other clans of the Warrior Caste were starting to question what they were doing.
  Then came the destruction of the Drala’Fi, and the more recent loss of two-thirds of the Almara Fleet at Beta Durani. Neroon was now convinced that this war was the final one Valen foretold. He had prophesied that two races would emerge after two great wars: in the first war a race key to beating the Shadows would barely survive extinction; in the second, a powerful race would become an unknowing pawn. Since the loss of the Drala’Fi, Neroon believed that the Humans were the herald of the Shadows, whether they knew it or not. The only question was, who the “Key” race Valen spoke of were.
  ‘I thought I would find you here, my friend,’ a strong yet gentle voice said, rousing Neroon from his thoughts. He turned to see the familiar tall, athletic form of Branmer standing next to him. Branmer’s training with the Anla’shok in his youth has stood him in good stead; even now, there were few who could hear him approach.
  ‘You took your sweet time,’ Neroon said, subconsciously lifting a phrase from Valen’s writings. ‘To what do I owe the honour, Shai’Alyt?’
  ‘Did you really think that I would let you face this nest of magadon on your own?’ the old warrior-priest said with a smile as he knelt beside Neroon. ‘No, the word is that Satais Morann and Taniri are looking for someone to carry the blame for our defeat at Beta Durani.’
  ‘Then they need look no further than Dalar,’ Neroon scoffed. ‘He ordered us to bombard the planet without first sweeping the system for resistance. He had us deploy in far too rigid a formation. And most importantly of all, he failed to take into account the possibility of the Humans finding a way to target our ships.’
  ‘Don’t be too sure,’ Branmer said with a heavy heart. ‘They managed to shift blame for the loss of the Drala’Fi from Malel to the Humans. Those two Wind Swords are determined to avoid any sort of disgrace falling on their clan.’
  ‘So they are placing the blame on me?’ Neroon said incredulously.
  ‘You ordered our forces to withdraw,’ Branmer said emotionlessly. ‘Cowardice in the face of an inferior enemy, that’s what they are calling it.’
  ‘I saved the Almara Fleet from certain destruction!’ Neroon hissed in a loud whisper.
  ‘It’s not me you have to convince, my friend,’ Branmer replied.
  With perfect poetic timing, the doors to the command centre opened. Six Religious Caste acolytes appeared from behind the two warriors and took up positions flanking the entrance. Each held a triangular wooden frame with small bells attached, and while Neroon had no knowledge of its purpose he knew that they looked and sounded ridiculous.
  ‘Into the nest then,’ Branmer said, standing.

‘So you admit your cowardice!’ Satai Morann bellowed with infuriating smugness. It was taking all of Neroon’s willpower not to pull his Denn’bok and beat the man around the head until his retinas detached.
  ‘I admit no such thing,’ he hissed instead, his tone disturbingly quiet. ‘I admit only to withdrawing the Almara Fleet in order to regroup and return to Human space. I think it is a more pressing question as to why we have not returned to Human space – maybe you can help me with that, Satai?’
  ‘You dare challenge my authority?’ the younger man spluttered.
  ‘No, just your intelligence,’ Neroon replied. Neroon knew Morann well, much better than Morann knew him. Morann had been an indifferent warrior but was the son to parents who were well regarded among the Wind Swords. This allowed him a faster progression through the ranks than anyone who actually had to work for it, and when he put himself forward for a place on the Grey Council his candidacy was aggressively supported by Sineval, Shakiri, Dalar, Malel and others who saw him as easy to manipulate.
  ‘Enough!’ a female voice shouted. The only member of the Council younger than Morann silenced the argument with an authority that belied her lack of years. Delenn had been on the Grey Council for less than a Minbari year, yet her keen intellect was already coming to the fore.
  ‘This arguing is getting us nowhere,’ Delenn reiterated. ‘It is a simple concept to grasp, Morann. We have lost our technological edge. Neroon clearly did the right thing by withdrawing the fleet before it was lost in its entirety.’
  ‘Do you presume to dictate military policy now, Delenn?’ Morann replied archly. ‘Perhaps the rumours are true. Perhaps you shared Dukhat’s bed as well as his confidence.’
  Before Delenn could react to the accusation, Coplann crossed the floor and knocked Morann off his feet with one punch.
  ‘Know your place,’ the older warrior growled. ‘Your pathetic attempts at blaming others for the failures of your clansmen, dishonour the whole Warrior Caste! Delenn is right, we have lost our technological edge against these Humans. And the Wind Swords have clearly lost their own edge when it comes to combat!’
  ‘You dare?!’ Morann spat, staggering back to his feet.
  ‘I dare,’ Coplann replied, a dangerous edge to his voice. ‘I dare because Branmer, a priest who trained with the Anla’shok, is clearly a better commander than anyone you could care to put into the field! These Humans fight ingeniously, turning our own strategy against us in a way we have not seen in almost a millennium. Even their own tactics mirror those that were forgotten.’
  ‘What are you talking about?’ Taniri said, her voice one of contempt.
  ‘I mean that these Humans fight like we used to,’ Coplann said, as if educating a small child. ‘Have you never read Valen’s most basic tactics? They are remarkably similar to those employed by these Earthers.’
  ‘Valen again,’ Taniri scoffed.
  ‘Yes, Valen,’ Delenn said, her anger rising. ‘The greatest military commander Minbar ever saw. Founder of the Anla’shok. Prophet of the future. He who led us to victory against the Darkness, and he whose name this ship carries!’
  ‘I know who he was, child,’ Taniri said scornfully.
  ‘Then you should know that he formed the Anla’shok to carry out missions the Wind Swords deemed to be beneath them,’ Coplann pointed out. ‘It is only through centuries of your clan trying to establish hegemony over the Warrior Caste that we have become so rigid and inflexible.’
  ‘You would side with the priests, Coplann?’ Morann sneered.
  ‘I would win this war, boy,’ Coplann shot back. ‘Something that is clearly beyond the reach of you and your puppeteer Shakiri.’
  ‘This is getting us nowhere!’ Delenn shouted, physically putting herself between the two warriors. ‘We must decide what to do and soon. The Anla’shok tell us that the Humans are massing at Beta Durani. They clearly intend to begin retaking territory we have already captured. How do we proceed?’
  ‘First, this one,’ Taniri said, pointing scornfully at Neroon, ‘should be broken all the way back to foot soldier. Then, we liquidate the Humans on those worlds we have already taken.’
  ‘Liquidate how?’ Fenri of the Worker Caste asked. ‘I know we are waging a holy crusade to purge the Humans, but do we have the time to...’
  ‘We have our ways,’ Taniri replied, sharing a knowing glance with Morann.
  ‘No,’ Delenn said forcefully. ‘Our most pressing concern is the Human fleet, is that not so, Coplann?’
  ‘Yes...’ the warrior said, surprised at the young woman’s grasp of the urgency of the situation.
  ‘Then how do we proceed?’
  ‘Neroon shall be removed from command of the Ingata,’ Coplann said, the sparkle in his eye indicating to Neroon that there was more to come. ‘I propose to send the Kaliri Fleet to take command of the remainder of the Almara Fleet. This combined force will then proceed to strike at the Humans in whatever way its commander sees fit.’
  ‘Why that fleet?’ Tarini asked.
  ‘It has recently completed workup and was due to join the advance two weeks ago,’ Coplann said matter-of-factly. ‘Its warriors are the most prepared of all of us for the forthcoming battle.’
  ‘Then we shall vote,’ Delenn said. The resolution passed, with only Morann dissenting.
  ‘Very well, it is done,’ Coplann said. ‘All that remains is to notify the fleet commander of his new mission. How soon can you be under way, Branmer?’
  ‘What?’ Morann said, his head snapping round in surprise.
  ‘Within hours of my returning to the Pirak’Fi,’ Branmer replied, ignoring Morann. ‘It may take me two weeks at most to re-drill the survivors of Almara Fleet, but after that we can commence our mission.’
  ‘And I would assume that as he has been relieved of his other duties, Neroon will be rejoining you as your aide?’ Coplann continued.
  ‘Of course,’ Branmer said, privately revelling in Morann’s fury. ‘If we are dismissed, we will get under way. Time, as Valen said, is of the essence.’

Hours later, Coplann was walking to his quarters on the Valen’tha when he heard the Denn’bok extend. Instinctively, he grabbed his own pike and extended it, just in time to catch the swing from his assailant.
  ‘You should work on your stealth, boy,’ he said, turning to see Morann stood behind him.
  ‘You bring disgrace on us all!’ Morann hissed, swinging his pike back and telegraphing his next attack for all the world to see.
  ‘You disgrace yourself,’ Coplann said, expertly parrying the blow and then knocking Morann’s feet from beneath him.
  ‘Now get out of here, before I break something,’ Coplann said to Morann, his contempt naked. The younger warrior looked like he might respond, but the arrival of others who had heard the altercation gave him pause. After a while, Morann got to his feet and slouched off.
  ‘You should be careful,’ the female voice said. Coplann looked to his left, finding the diminutive form of Delenn looking on.
  ‘The day I lose to that whelp is the day I go to the sea,’ Coplann said scornfully.
  ‘Can I trust you, Coplann?’ Delenn asked suddenly, her voice taking on an edge of urgency.
  ‘...Yes...’ the older warrior replied, unsure of where this conversation was going. For a moment, Delenn looked uncertain, before apparently making up her mind.
  ‘Meet me in Dukhat’s sanctuary,’ she said. ‘There is something there I think you should see.’

Less than an hour later, Coplann stood outside the door to Dukhat’s meditation chamber. It had been sealed for months, ever since their Chosen One’s death. Only Anla’shok Na Lenonn, and his successor Turval, had entered since then apart from Delenn. Coplann sighed, then opened the door.
  ‘You decided to come,’ he heard Delenn’s voice say from within the darkened chamber. ‘Please, come in, Coplann.’
  ‘Do we have lights in here?’ Coplann said in snarky tones. As far as he could tell, apart from the ever-present candles that the Religious Caste used every damned where, there were only two lights in the room: one green, the other red.
  ‘Come further in,’ Delenn’s soothing voice prompted. Coplann sighed, and stepped into the sanctuary, letting the door close behind him.
  Suddenly, the two lights ahead of him moved. They advanced forwards at a walking pace, revealing the strange structures they were attached to. They were both mechanical-looking things, slightly taller than him with no visible limbs. They glided across the floor, the lights attached to a head-like object at the top that was partly submerged into a recess in the shoulder area. Although Coplann struggled to make them out in the candlelight, it was clear that the one with the green light attached was a light bronze colour, while the red light was attached to a more aggressive-looking violet equivalent.
  ‘What is this?’ Coplann said, taking a step back.
  ‘They are Naranek,’ Delenn’s voice purred as she stepped into the light. ‘It is the Vorlon word for Ambassador.’
  ‘Vorlon?’ Coplann said, stepping back again and almost tripping over his own robe.
  ‘Yes,’ the bronze one purred. The voice sounded ethereal, like a soloist being backed by a choir.
  ‘Coplann, allow me to introduce Kosh and Ulkesh,’ Delenn said, indicating the bronze and purple Vorlons in turn.
  ‘Why?’ Coplann asked, stuttering in shock. ‘Why are they here, now, on this ship?’
  ‘The time is at hand,’ Ulkesh said, its voice sounding younger and more abrasive than Kosh. ‘The darkness moves again. You do much to rouse it.’
  ‘You mean the war?’ Coplann said, still feeling his skin crawl in fear at being confronted by a legend. ‘Then it is true, all of it. This is the great war Valen spoke of.’
  ‘Which is why we have to stop it,’ Delenn said forcefully.
  ‘Why?’ Coplann asked. ‘Surely then the Humans are the harbingers of the Shadows, as Valen prophesised?’
  ‘No,’ Kosh said. ‘They are the key.’
  ‘They can’t be!’ Coplann said desperately. ‘Surely the Dilgar invasion was the first of the wars Valen predicted! Surely the key is one of the races that survived that!’
  ‘No,’ Ulkesh said firmly. ‘There is yet another war to come.’
  ‘We have to stop this war, and soon,’ Delenn said. ‘If the Wind Swords are permitted to carry out genocide against the Humans over the death of one man, it will doom us all.’

Description
body div#devskin0 hr { }

4. Hyperspace. 13 April 2246.

It had almost been a month since the disaster at Beta Durani. In that time, Neroon had been recalled from his command of the Ingata and now sat in front of the command centre of the Valen’tha. There were no differences between a standard Sharlin-class ship and the home of the Grey Council, aside from purple and green running lights illuminating its sides. In this way, it had been intended that the leaders of the Minbari would remain nicely inconspicuous and out of the way.
  Not for the first time, Neroon wondered if this might be a bad thing. Maybe if the ship had some sort of ornate decoration, or a gigantic sign half a mile high proclaiming, “Here Be Government, Do Not Shoot!”, then maybe this whole war could have been avoided. He had been happy at first, fighting his ship like he had been trained to do. But after a while, the slaughter became dull and meaningless. What test of a warrior’s mettle was an enemy that could not fight back? The Wind Swords, as ever, were still hungry for more killing but the other clans of the Warrior Caste were starting to question what they were doing.
  Then came the destruction of the Drala’Fi, and the more recent loss of two-thirds of the Almara Fleet at Beta Durani. Neroon was now convinced that this war was the final one Valen foretold. He had prophesied that two races would emerge after two great wars: in the first war a race key to beating the Shadows would barely survive extinction; in the second, a powerful race would become an unknowing pawn. Since the loss of the Drala’Fi, Neroon believed that the Humans were the herald of the Shadows, whether they knew it or not. The only question was, who the “Key” race Valen spoke of were.
  ‘I thought I would find you here, my friend,’ a strong yet gentle voice said, rousing Neroon from his thoughts. He turned to see the familiar tall, athletic form of Branmer standing next to him. Branmer’s training with the Anla’shok in his youth has stood him in good stead; even now, there were few who could hear him approach.
  ‘You took your sweet time,’ Neroon said, subconsciously lifting a phrase from Valen’s writings. ‘To what do I owe the honour, Shai’Alyt?’
  ‘Did you really think that I would let you face this nest of magadon on your own?’ the old warrior-priest said with a smile as he knelt beside Neroon. ‘No, the word is that Satais Morann and Taniri are looking for someone to carry the blame for our defeat at Beta Durani.’
  ‘Then they need look no further than Dalar,’ Neroon scoffed. ‘He ordered us to bombard the planet without first sweeping the system for resistance. He had us deploy in far too rigid a formation. And most importantly of all, he failed to take into account the possibility of the Humans finding a way to target our ships.’
  ‘Don’t be too sure,’ Branmer said with a heavy heart. ‘They managed to shift blame for the loss of the Drala’Fi from Malel to the Humans. Those two Wind Swords are determined to avoid any sort of disgrace falling on their clan.’
  ‘So they are placing the blame on me?’ Neroon said incredulously.
  ‘You ordered our forces to withdraw,’ Branmer said emotionlessly. ‘Cowardice in the face of an inferior enemy, that’s what they are calling it.’
  ‘I saved the Almara Fleet from certain destruction!’ Neroon hissed in a loud whisper.
  ‘It’s not me you have to convince, my friend,’ Branmer replied.
  With perfect poetic timing, the doors to the command centre opened. Six Religious Caste acolytes appeared from behind the two warriors and took up positions flanking the entrance. Each held a triangular wooden frame with small bells attached, and while Neroon had no knowledge of its purpose he knew that they looked and sounded ridiculous.
  ‘Into the nest then,’ Branmer said, standing.

‘So you admit your cowardice!’ Satai Morann bellowed with infuriating smugness. It was taking all of Neroon’s willpower not to pull his Denn’bok and beat the man around the head until his retinas detached.
  ‘I admit no such thing,’ he hissed instead, his tone disturbingly quiet. ‘I admit only to withdrawing the Almara Fleet in order to regroup and return to Human space. I think it is a more pressing question as to why we have not returned to Human space – maybe you can help me with that, Satai?’
  ‘You dare challenge my authority?’ the younger man spluttered.
  ‘No, just your intelligence,’ Neroon replied. Neroon knew Morann well, much better than Morann knew him. Morann had been an indifferent warrior but was the son to parents who were well regarded among the Wind Swords. This allowed him a faster progression through the ranks than anyone who actually had to work for it, and when he put himself forward for a place on the Grey Council his candidacy was aggressively supported by Sineval, Shakiri, Dalar, Malel and others who saw him as easy to manipulate.
  ‘Enough!’ a female voice shouted. The only member of the Council younger than Morann silenced the argument with an authority that belied her lack of years. Delenn had been on the Grey Council for less than a Minbari year, yet her keen intellect was already coming to the fore.
  ‘This arguing is getting us nowhere,’ Delenn reiterated. ‘It is a simple concept to grasp, Morann. We have lost our technological edge. Neroon clearly did the right thing by withdrawing the fleet before it was lost in its entirety.’
  ‘Do you presume to dictate military policy now, Delenn?’ Morann replied archly. ‘Perhaps the rumours are true. Perhaps you shared Dukhat’s bed as well as his confidence.’
  Before Delenn could react to the accusation, Coplann crossed the floor and knocked Morann off his feet with one punch.
  ‘Know your place,’ the older warrior growled. ‘Your pathetic attempts at blaming others for the failures of your clansmen, dishonour the whole Warrior Caste! Delenn is right, we have lost our technological edge against these Humans. And the Wind Swords have clearly lost their own edge when it comes to combat!’
  ‘You dare?!’ Morann spat, staggering back to his feet.
  ‘I dare,’ Coplann replied, a dangerous edge to his voice. ‘I dare because Branmer, a priest who trained with the Anla’shok, is clearly a better commander than anyone you could care to put into the field! These Humans fight ingeniously, turning our own strategy against us in a way we have not seen in almost a millennium. Even their own tactics mirror those that were forgotten.’
  ‘What are you talking about?’ Taniri said, her voice one of contempt.
  ‘I mean that these Humans fight like we used to,’ Coplann said, as if educating a small child. ‘Have you never read Valen’s most basic tactics? They are remarkably similar to those employed by these Earthers.’
  ‘Valen again,’ Taniri scoffed.
  ‘Yes, Valen,’ Delenn said, her anger rising. ‘The greatest military commander Minbar ever saw. Founder of the Anla’shok. Prophet of the future. He who led us to victory against the Darkness, and he whose name this ship carries!’
  ‘I know who he was, child,’ Taniri said scornfully.
  ‘Then you should know that he formed the Anla’shok to carry out missions the Wind Swords deemed to be beneath them,’ Coplann pointed out. ‘It is only through centuries of your clan trying to establish hegemony over the Warrior Caste that we have become so rigid and inflexible.’
  ‘You would side with the priests, Coplann?’ Morann sneered.
  ‘I would win this war, boy,’ Coplann shot back. ‘Something that is clearly beyond the reach of you and your puppeteer Shakiri.’
  ‘This is getting us nowhere!’ Delenn shouted, physically putting herself between the two warriors. ‘We must decide what to do and soon. The Anla’shok tell us that the Humans are massing at Beta Durani. They clearly intend to begin retaking territory we have already captured. How do we proceed?’
  ‘First, this one,’ Taniri said, pointing scornfully at Neroon, ‘should be broken all the way back to foot soldier. Then, we liquidate the Humans on those worlds we have already taken.’
  ‘Liquidate how?’ Fenri of the Worker Caste asked. ‘I know we are waging a holy crusade to purge the Humans, but do we have the time to...’
  ‘We have our ways,’ Taniri replied, sharing a knowing glance with Morann.
  ‘No,’ Delenn said forcefully. ‘Our most pressing concern is the Human fleet, is that not so, Coplann?’
  ‘Yes...’ the warrior said, surprised at the young woman’s grasp of the urgency of the situation.
  ‘Then how do we proceed?’
  ‘Neroon shall be removed from command of the Ingata,’ Coplann said, the sparkle in his eye indicating to Neroon that there was more to come. ‘I propose to send the Kaliri Fleet to take command of the remainder of the Almara Fleet. This combined force will then proceed to strike at the Humans in whatever way its commander sees fit.’
  ‘Why that fleet?’ Tarini asked.
  ‘It has recently completed workup and was due to join the advance two weeks ago,’ Coplann said matter-of-factly. ‘Its warriors are the most prepared of all of us for the forthcoming battle.’
  ‘Then we shall vote,’ Delenn said. The resolution passed, with only Morann dissenting.
  ‘Very well, it is done,’ Coplann said. ‘All that remains is to notify the fleet commander of his new mission. How soon can you be under way, Branmer?’
  ‘What?’ Morann said, his head snapping round in surprise.
  ‘Within hours of my returning to the Pirak’Fi,’ Branmer replied, ignoring Morann. ‘It may take me two weeks at most to re-drill the survivors of Almara Fleet, but after that we can commence our mission.’
  ‘And I would assume that as he has been relieved of his other duties, Neroon will be rejoining you as your aide?’ Coplann continued.
  ‘Of course,’ Branmer said, privately revelling in Morann’s fury. ‘If we are dismissed, we will get under way. Time, as Valen said, is of the essence.’

Hours later, Coplann was walking to his quarters on the Valen’tha when he heard the Denn’bok extend. Instinctively, he grabbed his own pike and extended it, just in time to catch the swing from his assailant.
  ‘You should work on your stealth, boy,’ he said, turning to see Morann stood behind him.
  ‘You bring disgrace on us all!’ Morann hissed, swinging his pike back and telegraphing his next attack for all the world to see.
  ‘You disgrace yourself,’ Coplann said, expertly parrying the blow and then knocking Morann’s feet from beneath him.
  ‘Now get out of here, before I break something,’ Coplann said to Morann, his contempt naked. The younger warrior looked like he might respond, but the arrival of others who had heard the altercation gave him pause. After a while, Morann got to his feet and slouched off.
  ‘You should be careful,’ the female voice said. Coplann looked to his left, finding the diminutive form of Delenn looking on.
  ‘The day I lose to that whelp is the day I go to the sea,’ Coplann said scornfully.
  ‘Can I trust you, Coplann?’ Delenn asked suddenly, her voice taking on an edge of urgency.
  ‘...Yes...’ the older warrior replied, unsure of where this conversation was going. For a moment, Delenn looked uncertain, before apparently making up her mind.
  ‘Meet me in Dukhat’s sanctuary,’ she said. ‘There is something there I think you should see.’

Less than an hour later, Coplann stood outside the door to Dukhat’s meditation chamber. It had been sealed for months, ever since their Chosen One’s death. Only Anla’shok Na Lenonn, and his successor Turval, had entered since then apart from Delenn. Coplann sighed, then opened the door.
  ‘You decided to come,’ he heard Delenn’s voice say from within the darkened chamber. ‘Please, come in, Coplann.’
  ‘Do we have lights in here?’ Coplann said in snarky tones. As far as he could tell, apart from the ever-present candles that the Religious Caste used every damned where, there were only two lights in the room: one green, the other red.
  ‘Come further in,’ Delenn’s soothing voice prompted. Coplann sighed, and stepped into the sanctuary, letting the door close behind him.
  Suddenly, the two lights ahead of him moved. They advanced forwards at a walking pace, revealing the strange structures they were attached to. They were both mechanical-looking things, slightly taller than him with no visible limbs. They glided across the floor, the lights attached to a head-like object at the top that was partly submerged into a recess in the shoulder area. Although Coplann struggled to make them out in the candlelight, it was clear that the one with the green light attached was a light bronze colour, while the red light was attached to a more aggressive-looking violet equivalent.
  ‘What is this?’ Coplann said, taking a step back.
  ‘They are Naranek,’ Delenn’s voice purred as she stepped into the light. ‘It is the Vorlon word for Ambassador.’
  ‘Vorlon?’ Coplann said, stepping back again and almost tripping over his own robe.
  ‘Yes,’ the bronze one purred. The voice sounded ethereal, like a soloist being backed by a choir.
  ‘Coplann, allow me to introduce Kosh and Ulkesh,’ Delenn said, indicating the bronze and purple Vorlons in turn.
  ‘Why?’ Coplann asked, stuttering in shock. ‘Why are they here, now, on this ship?’
  ‘The time is at hand,’ Ulkesh said, its voice sounding younger and more abrasive than Kosh. ‘The darkness moves again. You do much to rouse it.’
  ‘You mean the war?’ Coplann said, still feeling his skin crawl in fear at being confronted by a legend. ‘Then it is true, all of it. This is the great war Valen spoke of.’
  ‘Which is why we have to stop it,’ Delenn said forcefully.
  ‘Why?’ Coplann asked. ‘Surely then the Humans are the harbingers of the Shadows, as Valen prophesised?’
  ‘No,’ Kosh said. ‘They are the key.’
  ‘They can’t be!’ Coplann said desperately. ‘Surely the Dilgar invasion was the first of the wars Valen predicted! Surely the key is one of the races that survived that!’
  ‘No,’ Ulkesh said firmly. ‘There is yet another war to come.’
  ‘We have to stop this war, and soon,’ Delenn said. ‘If the Wind Swords are permitted to carry out genocide against the Humans over the death of one man, it will doom us all.’