And so his path had led him back to Aiur. It became clear that the protoss were too cowardly to save their embattled brethren, even though they now did not have the excuse of ignorance. Heartless, pathetic fools. They would turn their back on their homeworld, the world that the dark templar had mourned with their very souls whenforced to leave it. Those that were forsaken deserved no kindness.

It had seemed to him so very easy to gather to himself the worried, frightened refugees who had been abandoned on their devastated homeworld. To convince them to follow him, to soothe and control them with the fabricated drug that penetrated their skins and bloodstreams and freed them from the invasiveness of the Khala.

He had not expected them to turn against him, even when confronted with the truth—or at least part of it—of what their benefactor truly was. Curse the terrans. The male, strong enough to bear for at least a while the vastness of what it meant to be a preserver. The female, strong enough to resist the drug and by doing so, demonstrate that it could be done. The ingratitude and betrayal stunned him. He had rescued them, and they had repaid him with hatred, loathing, and rebellion.

Ulrezaj was slightly mollified as he recollected how vastly he had been outnumbered. The onslaught of the Dominion vessels and the zerg, combined with the psionic storms the protoss had somehow pulled themselves together sufficiently to create—there was no shame in retreating from that. Wisdom often necessitated retreat, regrouping, and planning.

But regardless of how he justified it, he had been wounded. Much of his energy had been drained. He might have been able to recover had he been able to rest, even for a few days, in the chambers of the xel'naga. But they had dogged him even there, the zerg; the humans had given up and the protoss had either fled or died where they stood. Like a beast gone to ground unwillingly flushed, Ulrezaj had been forced to run.

The thought galled him.

Even as he maneuvered himself into one of the xel'naga vessels he simmered with resentment. At full strength, he could teleport the distance. But he was weak.

Ulrezaj despised weakness, even in himself.

They were following, and he knew it. Yet they did not attack.

We all wish the preserver, one part of him put forth. They wish to capture her, to determine what she knows. I wish to destroy her and render her silent.

They think I know where to find her, and therefore, they follow me, another part concluded.

It was undoubtedly so. And Ulrezaj did know where the preserver would flee. Perhaps not immediately, no, perhaps it would take a while for her and the human she was using to discover their destination.

But Ulrezaj knew. He knew and he would be there when Zamara and Jacob Jefferson Ramsey arrived. He would be the spider, sitting quietly, his web subtle and sensitive and lethal.

Would the zerg that followed him try to kill him upon his arrival? Perhaps. Although he thought their queen wiser than that; for they did not know this was the destination. What if their quarry had come to this place merely to heal? Ah, what then if they slew him before they knew for certain the preserver would come? That would be a fool's choice, and Sarah Kerrigan was no fool.

His followers had pursued Zamara once before. Had blasted apart a carrier in search of her, had driven her small vessel to crash in a dead xel'naga temple. Their reports had been accurate, so far as they went. They had told him that she was either dead on impact or soon would be; she could not live long on so inhospitable a planet. And they were correct. Zamara, the protoss preserver, had not lived long.

Not in that body at least.

But she had found another body, and like a parasite had attached herself to the first host that had had the misfortune to stumble across her. And so she, and the secret she carried, still existed and could possibly ruin everything.

Ulrezaj would not permit that to happen. Zerg or no, he would travel to the place where he knew she would come. He would rest, and heal, and think.

Zamara had eluded him once. She would not do so again.

All heads turned to the dark templar.

"You do? You can?" The exclamation came from Artanis. Even he, apparently, was startled by this statement. Thus taken by surprise, Artanis inadvertently seemed very young in his reaction.

A dry raspy chuckle came from Mohandar. "We have shared much with our brethren from whom we were separated so long ago. But we dark templar have a thousand years of history separate from you. Not all can be explained or revealed in a mere handful of years. Especially when the present and the future seem more dire than thepast."

Rosemary watched him closely, her eyes narrowing. That much was true, yes—but she suspected this canny elder would not play his hand before he had to. She was willing to bet there was a great deal the dark templar still kept to themselves. After all, that was the great lesson, wasn't it—to hide in the shadows, to keep themselves secret and therefore be safe? That, too, wasn't going to change in a mere handful of years.

"Speak now, then," said Selendis. For all her counsel to Rosemary on patience and always having time to do things the right way, she clearly was more than ready to depart. "Where is this place?"

"I said that I believe that I knew where Zamara would wish to go. It is possible though that Zamara herself does not know this. Preservers know a great deal, but it is unlikely she is aware of the existence of this place. This is dark templar knowledge—profound, and powerful, and sacred."

The old bastard's enjoying this, Rosemary realized.

"Yes," came Selendis's private thought, obviously annoyed. "He is."

Mohandar sat back in his chair, surveying the protoss who were all gazing at him with rapt attention. His eyes crinkled in a smile. "When we were cast out of Aiur, we traveled for centuries. We became nomads, explorers, finding and investigating many worlds. Some we stayed on only temporarily. Others, we built structures upon, and they became anchors of a sort. But nothing permanent. Nothing we could truly feel in our souls as home, until we found Shakuras and its temple.

"The site I mention, though, is still an important place to my people. It is called the Alys'aril, the Sanctuary of Wisdom. The little moon upon which it was built is called Ehlna. It means 'Haven' in our language," he added for Rosemary's benefit. "It was one of the first places we settled, and we stayed there for well over a century before we decided to move on. Still, it was not abandoned. It could never be abandoned. Many stayed behind, to tend the Sanctuary of Wisdom. And to this day, those of us who left to find our true home return there on pilgrimage toward the end of our days, if such a thing is at all possible."

Like creatures that returned to the place they were born to reproduce—or die, Rosemary thought. But why? Just for nostalgia's sake?

"There is a nexus of energy there that alters the khaydarin crystals," Mohandar continued. "I will not say 'refines' them, for that is not truly accurate. I think even our terran friend here knows that the crystals serve us in many ways. They can calm us, channel and focus our energies. We even use them in our technology. One use of the crystals is data storage. The energies on Ehlna render them uniquely fit for this specific task, less so for others." Mohandar turned and looked squarely at Rosemary. "Therefore, it is a library of the greatest sort. A collection of as much knowledge as the dark templar can assemble—taken from the very minds and memories of our people to be recorded forever."

Rosemary gasped. "Yeah, that would be where Zamara would want to go all right," she agreed. "She knew you guys had the ability to do something like this, but she had to find a dark templar to find out where. That's why she wanted to come to Shakuras."