Jha’dur… she was fighting because it was all she knew. From birth she had been taught that the Dilgar were the superior people. Blessed with greater intelligence, greater strength, greater genius than all the other races, it was only natural to exploit them, to use them for the good of her people. Last of her race, Jha’dur was determined not to let them go unnoticed and unremembered. Humanity would be her monument to the Dilgar. She had set them on the right path and the countless deaths of Minbari here at the Second Line, they would be the foundation that would take humanity to depths of terror and death that not even the Dilgar had reached.

Jha’dur and Delenn were nowhere near as unevenly matched as Sheridan and Kalain. Both had been trained well. Delenn by her love Neroon, Jha’dur by the greatest warriors in the Wind Swords clan. Both knew how to wield the weapon, but Jha’dur revelled in death. She was fit and competent and unafraid. Delenn was still a stranger in her own body, uncertain and hesitant. She had just seen friends die at the hand of one of their own number.

Delenn stumbled over Matokh’s body and it took her a moment to right herself. While she did, Deathwalker simply waited and smiled.

“Why do you do this?” Jha’dur asked. “Why fight? What are you fighting for? Your people are doomed, dying… your precious Grey Council broken. You are outcast, Zha’valen… You have nothing to fight for.”

“I do,” she replied slowly. “I do.” Her breathing was harsh. Her ribs hurt and her muscles ached, and the pain behind her eyes was almost blinding.

“What? Tell me.”

“I fight… because it is right… because… we must never yield, never give in to the Darkness. When we meekly accept our fall, that is when we are truly lost. There must always be hope. Without it we are nothing.”

“I once heard something. An old saying. ’A man without hope is a man without fear.’ You cling to your little hopes, aspirations and dreams. They will never come to pass. You will die here, alone, forgotten and unremembered. No one will care. No one will…”

Jha’dur suddenly started and looked up. “What?” She looked around her, a look of… almost terror on her face. “No,” she breathed. “Display!” Around them the whole display of the battle appeared. Delenn could only assume that Deathwalker had arranged to have it turned off while she killed the Grey Council. She had gone to great effort to blame the worker caste for the tragedy. That could not be achieved if anyone else knew the truth. Delenn did not matter. She would never be believed…

Delenn also looked around. The great Minbari fleet now seemed such a small thing, hemmed in and surrounded by advancing Shadow ships. She could see a human ship – the Babylon – attacking the enemy, but even with their help, the Minbari seemed threatened, outnumbered… lost…

Except that they were not alone any longer.

All around them jump gates were opening and out were pouring huge mottled ships, green and red and golden. The Shadows were hesitating, doubtful about this new enemy. Delenn smiled.

“Vorlons!” Jha’dur spat. “This isn’t right! This isn’t by the rules! This…”

“They have come to help us,” Delenn said. “We are not as alone as you might think.”

“And what do you know? You’re just a little puppet for them. You had one once, didn’t you? Inside your head. It told you all the right things, set you on this path…” Jha’dur shook her head. “You know nothing. You really know nothing at all. I almost pity you.”

“You are afraid,” Delenn pointed out. “You have seen that your time is over. We are not as doomed as you say. There is always hope.”

“You’re deluded! A dreamer, playing with lives as if they’re your own private little toys. You have no idea of what you do.”

“And you do?”

“I know life and I know death…”

“And how to twist the one to the other? You know how to destroy happiness and bring chaos. I pity you. You are insane and you are alone, and what you have done today proves it.”

“You pity me?” Jha’dur’s smile widened. “You? You are just a puppet. You don’t even understand the game. You don’t even care. You will continue to serve them blindly until they decide to have you killed. What is your saying, the one you prate out so nobly whenever you have to get your hands stained with blood?

“’Some must be sacrificed if all are to be saved.’ You were sacrificed. How does that make you feel? When you are the victim?”

“I will gladly give my life for the good of my people.”

“Of course you would. And why? Because you want the fame, the glory, the honour of being the noble hero! A martyr! A messiah, even!” Jha’dur darted forward and lashed out at Delenn, who parried her blows awkwardly, stepping back slowly, always watching her feet. “What glory is there now? What fame? You are Zha’valen – outcast. This is your great sacrifice.”

“This is wrong.”

“So you say.” Jha’dur delivered a lightning-fast blow to Delenn’s head. Although Delenn managed to parry it, the force jarred her whole body. She swayed back.

“Who are you to say what is right and what is wrong?” Jha’dur spat. “The strong live, the weak die. What more is there to life?”

“Then your people must have been weak,” Delenn noted. “Since they are all dead. Or maybe… you are wrong.”

Jha’dur delivered a noise which was almost a snarl. She lunged forward. Pike clashed against pike…

Blood calls out for blood…

Sheridan parried a blow aimed at his head as Delenn deflected a strike from her body. Sheridan took a step forward and forced Kalain to backtrack just as Delenn caught Jha’dur off balance and punished her with a blow to the leg.

Kalain spun on one foot and thrust his pike at Sheridan’s neck. The Starkiller dodged and came close, inside Kalain’s reach. Sheridan broke his pike up to strike Kalain’s chest. The Minbari ducked back, half stumbling, half falling, and he brought his own pike back, holding it against Sheridan’s, their bodies and minds pressing hard against each other’s.

Delenn, her mind lost in training with Neroon, struck forward, knocking Jha’dur back. The Dilgar broke her pike up and struck Delenn across the head. Ears ringing and eyes streaming, Delenn lashed out. She heard the sound of her pike striking Jha’dur’s and the Dilgar’s brief cry of pain.

Sheridan and Kalain pressed hard against each other, locked in a corps-à-corps. Kalain was stronger, and fuelled by his angry madness. Sheridan was fuelled by something altogether different. He brought his knee up hard into Kalain’s stomach. And again. And again. The Minbari jerked and fell. A well-timed kick knocked the pike from his hand, and in a moment, Sheridan was kneeling over him, a pike held at his throat.

Delenn had regained the momentum. Her eyes were still bleary, but she found she could sense where Jha’dur was better than she had before. She remembered her last lesson with Neroon, when he had blindfolded her and told her to fight with her feelings. She had done so, and lost, but only barely. A blow struck Jha’dur’s side, a second merely pushed her back. It was the third that knocked her to the ground. Her pike fell from her grip.

“Well?” Kalain said, spitting venom from every syllable. “Kill me. Unarmed and alone. That is the human way, is it not?”

“Kill me,” Jha’dur said. “I can see that you want to. I can see it burning at the back of your mind. After what I’ve done today… I don’t deserve to live, do I? So… kill me!”

Sheridan hesitated, staring deep into Kalain’s maddened eyes. Hatred… it always ran so deep. Sheridan’s own hatred had killed his wife. Would giving in to it here gain him any better result in the future?

Delenn hesitated, looking at the being before her. What she said was true. Jha’dur did deserve death, and yet she could not grant it. Delenn had never taken a life with her own hands before, and she could not do it now.