again, once for every mage who had died.
He couldn't think of them. There was no past, no future, just the moment, and the task required, and he, the mechanism that would carry out that task.
He quenched the fireballs, plunging them back into near-darkness. Londo's panting filled the room.
Galen visualized the spell, conjured a breeze. With equations of motion, slowly he coiled the breeze about Londo. The mist followed its movement. Papers on the desk flipped.
He accelerated the air's flow, drew it tighter and tighter around Londo, faster and faster.
"I tell you it was all an accident," Londo yelled, flailing against the wind. "The ship was old! It didn't even belong to me!"
Galen approached him. The lace curtains whipped in frustrated zigzags, papers flew up off the desk, caught in the whirlwind. Wrapped in the swirling mist, the struggling Londo looked like a demon himself.
"This is madness!" Londo threw the statue in his general direction. "It was Morden! He did it! He did it!"
"They speak to me, Londo. And this is what they say: 'Let not your vengeance die, though we are dead.' " Galen tightened the whirlwind until it became an extra layer over Londo's body, a Londo-shaped maelstrom.
Londo staggered, bending over. Within the vortex, he couldn't breathe.
Galen constricted the wind yet further. He was burning, churning, surging with energy. Still a minute remained until security would arrive. Alwyn would thank him if he killed Londo. As would G'Leel and millions of Narns. This man had left such destruction in his wake. As much as Galen had.
Galen wanted to crush him, crush him, crush him, and the tech returned each impulse, echoing and reechoing, filling him with hate.
Londo fell to his knees, clutching at his throat.