who spread the Shadows'pestilence with every whispering breath-the source of the infection, the shadow at the heart of the Shadows.
Galen focused on his target-and received a message, written in the runes of the Shadows. He translated.
At last you have come, Wierden wrote. You must take my place.
Sheridan fled through dark stone tunnels, while inside him, Kosh rose up out of hiding to the surface of his mind. There, a countdown took place. One hundred ten. One hundred nine. One hundred eight. The seconds remaining to Sheridan's life. Still he searched for a way back to his shuttle, but all ways were blocked to him. All but one.
The enemy drove Sheridan into a trap. When that trap closed around him, he would call down the White Star. If the fabulist Galen had done what his words to Sheridan suggested, the Eye would be unable to stop it. Sheridan-and much of the enemy stronghold-would be destroyed.
Such a thing had not happened since the ancient agreement had been reached, since the forces of chaos and order had stopped their direct attacks upon each other. It hardly seemed possible.
The war had recurred countless times. Usually its course, its players, were clear. With their disciplined reasoning, Vorlons foresaw much before it actually occurred.
For the first time, Kosh felt the universe falling into uncertainty. He had not expected Galen's path to cross with Sheridan's. If they were successful, the consequences of Z'ha'dum's destruction were unclear. Although many would be killed, the major portion of the enemy's fleet was elsewhere. Their attacks would continue, would become more vicious and desperate. And with Sheridan gone, the alliance would degenerate into chaos. Kosh feared, too, what the Vorlons would do once they saw the