Aliphor

CHAPTER EIGHT
By Beck McLaughlin

Elfie woke to shouting and wild rocking. She lay for a moment, blanket pulled to her chin, confused, until she remembered she was on a yacht. Throwing back the covers, she jumped to her feet, peering through the porthole. They were on Pridelock lands, the yacht tied up along the bank of the river. Fog lay thick over the water, but not thick enough to obscure the dark shapes of Pridelock guards waist-deep in the Ser, swords drawn, hauling a struggling man out of the water and up onto the deck above her.

Pulling on a gown from her new wardrobe, Elfie ran up the narrow steps and into the damp, chill morning. Amid a spreading pool of water, cursing and striking wildly at the guards around him, was Reven. One of the men succeeded in getting in a blow that even the kelblade's thick skull could not withstand and the young nobleman crumpled.

"What is going on here?"

Elfie jumped. Driade stood in the doorway behind the thief, resplendent in an embroidered, silk dressing gown, her black hair a shining trail down her back. She was furious.

"He got loose from his chains, highness -- knocked out his guard and leapt overboard ..."

"Indeed." Gathering the robe's shining folds, the woman crossed the deck. Reven's guards had succeeded in getting shackles on him again and he gathered himself up at her approach, eyes hot with fury and hatred. She looked coldly at him while his guards held him fast. He gave a sudden, savage twist and broke free, staggering to his feet, lurching at her. Driade gasped, recoiling.

The guards were after him at once. Unexpectedly, Elfie felt that tiny snap in her head. Crying out in alarm, the guards were flung away, crashing into the cabin or the railing. Reven gave her a startled, grateful look and, with a well placed thrust of his foot, pushed the princess of l'Sanjil overboard.

Storchi! You fool!

The shackles dropped from Lord Avril's wrists. Sending water everywhere, the sodden young kelblade bolted across the deck and before Elfie knew what he was about, grabbed her hand and pulled her after him. She had time for only a squeak of dismay as he leapt with her into the water. She panicked when it closed over her head, but his hand tightened, dragging her back to the surface. There was muck underfoot. Up the muddy bank they scrambled, her long skirts heavy and dragging with water.

"Stop -- stop it! I don't want to -- damn you!"

Branches slapped at her face, roots and her own skirts tripped her up. The kelblade never paused, flinging the obstacles aside with careless sweeps of his strong arm. Twisting about, Elfie looked back through the trees. She could see no one.

They're coming, all right. MOVE!

Gasping, half-sobbing, she suddenly dug in her heels and pulled back as hard as she could. Damn the kelblade and his murderous brethren! Damn Storchi - who did not mean her well! Avril's harsh oath turned to a gasp and he went to his knees. Abruptly released, Elfie jumped back, eyes widening as he groaned and tried to get to his feet. Pain twisted those fine features. He tried again to rise, hauling himself hand over hand up a nearby tree trunk.

The sounds of men crashing through brush were audible now. Storchi railed at her to help the kelblade, and finally, because she didn't know what else to do, she took his hand and pulled him after her. They crested a low hill and stopped dead.

There was a long, shallow valley in front of them and it was filled with tents. Elfie's mouth dropped. Reven swore softly.

"It -- it's an army!"

"Gods!" Reven wavered. "We have to warn ..." His words were cut off as he choked and fell heavily.

Some inner torment had him. His body curled into a tight ball; she could see the sweat beading on his gray flesh.

It was the sword! It must be! Swallowing sickness, she bent, reaching fumbling fingers for his belt buckle. Touching the wet leather of his vest, she was, for one horrifying second, awash in a sea of agony. She snatched away her hand, not sure whether the screaming was his -- or hers.

The red mist faded from her vision. Soldiers were all around, some running up from the valley -- others coming out of the wood behind them. One of them seized her and yanked her away from Reven. Several others, dripping seaweed and with no good will, vented their displeasure on the half-conscious kelblade before Driade's angry, imperious voice restored order.

"Don't bother," she advised the men, waving them away from the kelblade. "He can't feel it over the corrector."

The princess was soaking wet, hair hanging in bedraggled locks down her back. She held a small metal box that she aimed at Reven's contorted body. Something whispered by Elfie's thoughts. With a hoarse groan, the kelblade's clawed fingers, dug deep in the earth, went limp. The woman said something under her breath and turned to Elfie. The girl tried to shrink away, but her captors' grip was unflinching.

"I thought we had an agreement, Elfie."

"It wasn't me," Elfie gulped. "It was Storchi ..."

Driade hissed and slapped her -- hard. Ears ringing, the girl stared at the princess through swimming eyes.

"Don't even try that fable on me, you pathetic primitive. There is no ghost, no shade! There is only your own, crudely designed human brain. It is you and only you who facilitated Lord Avril's foolish attempt to escape. Do it again and I'll fit you with a neural disrupter!"

Elfie shook her head, wishing she could rub her aching jaw. Reven was too weak, too shaken to fight them as they manhandled him back to the river. Even when they pushed him, laughing, down the muddy bank to fall on his face in the water, he didn't resist.

Thonnor and the prince were on deck, waiting. Ankaran grinned maliciously at his wife. "You look charming, my dear."

She returned a smile so cold and devoid of interest that he paled, curling his lip and failing to impart more than bravado. To Thonnor, she said: "Do you have the information I asked for?"

"Yes." replied the swordslave. He pointedly did not look at the shivering kelblade dumped unceremoniously at their feet. "Avril's disappearance has been blamed on the Doctor. They're hunting for him."

"Hunting? They haven't arrested him?" She was displeased. "What of his TARDIS?"

"Our agent reported that his magic box is in the room where it has been since he arrived," replied Thonnor.

"Excellent. As long as he doesn't have access to it. Thonnor, take Lord Avril back to the hold and convince him that I am very displeased. Clearly, he is a slow learner. You, girl."

Elfie, shivering in the new morning chill, looked fearfully at the princess.

"Get into some dry clothes and wait in your cabin." She paused and smiled unpleasantly. "We will be leaving soon. Use the time to reflect on Lord Avril's situation, and what life will be like if I were to make you into what he is."

"Cup of tea?"

Moric looked up. The mage stood over him, steaming mug in hand and a tentative smile on his face.

"This -- is demon magic, isn't it, Doctor?"

The mage gently, but insistently, closed Moric's nerveless fingers around the cup. "No," he said, "It's Time Lord magic -- except it isn't really magic, but technology."

"There's a difference?" Moric had no intention of drinking anything in this hellish place.

"Yes -- and no. Technology is just magic explained. For instance, the demons you all feared so much were people, like you, from another world. They just looked different and had different tools."

"They almost destroyed us!"

"Believe me," the Doctor said wryly, "that sort of behavior is not exclusive to demons. Drink your tea. It's chamomile with a bit of peppermint -- it'll help calm you down."

"I don't want to be calm! We must go back to the palace!"

The Doctor shook his head. He seemed genuinely regretful. "We can't do that, Moric, not yet. There were things I needed to find out -- things only the TARDIS could show me."

"Like what?" Moric looked doubtfully into his cup.

"Like whether the Rani's TARDIS is on Aliphor, and where it is."

The thought of two such magical ships was hardly a comfort. "Is it?"

"Yes." The Doctor pulled another armchair over to the small island of light in this vast, mad room.

Without thinking, Moric sipped at the tea. It was very good.

"What does she want? She's already a princess."

The mage's sparkling grin appeared. "Not everyone covets a crown, Moric. The Rani is a scientist. Unlocking the deepest secrets of life is her obsession -- and never mind the consequences to her subjects. The thing is, I still can't figure out what she wants here. If she was a physicist or an engineer, I could certainly understand it -- the Wells fascinate me -- but she's a biologist. Aliphor's biological life isn't particularly unique."

"Wells?"

"Wells are gates through time and space. In the neighboring galaxy, there are dozens of them -- most leading to other human worlds very like Aliphor. In fact, the similarity of these worlds in culture and language is one of the most interesting things about the Wells, especially when one takes into account that the humans had nothing to do with their design or manufacture."

Moric shook his head, trying to sort it out. "Then why are you here? Because of these Wells?"

"Ironically, no. My people had information that the Rani had been seen in this area. On my world, she's a criminal, a fugitive. She leaves a trail of horror where ever she goes. I came to find out what mischief she's hatching, and to stop her."

Moric nodded, putting down his mug and looking toward the door. "So where are we going, Doctor? To find her? When do we leave?"

"Leave? We're almost there. Come, I'll show you."

The mage led Moric to the pillar in the center of the huge room -- time rotor, the Doctor called it. A box hung from the ceiling next to it. The Doctor touched something on the time-rotor's control console and the box suddenly revealed a window looking out into a swirl of endlessly shifting colors.

"We're outside space and time -- drifting, so to speak."

Moric stared up at the screen, fascinated. "Can we go outside and see it - first hand?"

"No. We'd die instantly. We're safer here than anywhere else. Just as soon as the TARDIS finishes her --- oh, sorry, old girl. The calculations are ready."

Moric looked around but they were alone. The mage bent his head above the console and began touching things here, here and there. A subtle whine added itself to the rotor's wheeze. Nothing happened. Moric was about comment on the fact when the whole room shivered and was still. The wheezing stopped.

"We're here!" the Doctor announced cheerfully.

In the window-box, the colors were gone. High ridges of snow replaced them. Moric saw a shape rearing out of the glittering, white expanse, slim and dark -- like a bit of blackened bone. Further on was another and beyond that, still more.

"Now," said the Doctor, "we go out -- or, at least, I do. You're welcome to stay behind if you like. It's certainly warmer."

"Nonsense!" Moric had no desire to be alone in this place. "Someone has to keep an eye on you."

"Very well, let's find you some warm clothes and ..." The mage broke off, peering into the box again. "A sled, I think -- don't you?"

War. Closing his eyes, Reven could see the vista of tents hidden behind the trees. There had been a thousand men there, easily. A thousand was not enough to invade Seroult in the usual sense, but with the aid of treachery, a thousand was more than adequate to take the Kel. It was an audacious plan and, considering the men he'd seen leaving the yacht when he was brought aboard, very likely to succeed. Did Moric know his father was one of the conspirators?

The door screeched on rusted hinges. Dreading the sound, Reven shrank closer to the wall. Thonnor's silhouette filled the opening, framed by lamplight falling down the stairs. The other swordslave stared wordlessly at his former commander, then crossed the hold to his side. Dull-eyed, tense, Reven waited, expecting more abuse, but this time, Thonnor unlocked his chains from the ring overhead and pulled him to his feet.

Waning afternoon light lay over the deck. A light breeze teased along the river, shaking the trailing willow boughs, sending the banners to snapping high above. The deck was crowded with soldiers wearing Ankharan colors. Elfie stood nearby, dwarfed between two guards. She was pale as milk, clutching a carpetbag in her arms. Her eyes met his.

Driade stepped forward and raised a hand. At once, the soft murmur of voices ceased. The only sound was the water lapping against the hull.

"Today, history will be made. Kellin's heresy will be ended and the rule of Aliphor returned to the righteous. I know that there are those of you who wanted to join your brothers in the assault upon the Kel, but the duties that face you now are every bit as important to our victory." She looked around. "We go to confront the demonic forces that support Prince Kellin. It is our task to face them in their lair, just as our ancestors did all those years ago! And, like our ancestors, we go armed with the weapons of the gods.

"Tonight you will see wonders not seen since the last days of the war, when the high priests of the Three drove back the demons and destroyed them all. The gods have entrusted to me the knowledge of the magic that brought the evil ones to ruin. Do not be dismayed by what you see in the hours ahead. Hold strong to your faith. The charm that each of you wears will protect you against the evil that we go to face. The powers of hell will not stand against us!"

A cheer rose from the deck. Lies! Reven thought, but kept the angry accusation between his teeth. The men quieted at another gesture from the princess.

"Go down to the aft hold," she continued. "Follow the orders of Captain Elb. I will be with you shortly."

The men fell in and went below deck. When the last of them was gone, the princess turned to Thonnor. "Bring me the case."

Reven felt a twinge of unease as the other swordslave presented a long, slender, wooden case worked with intricate, silver inlay. She opened it. Even Thonnor cringed at the malevolence that poured out. The Rani, eyes sparkling with pride, lifted out the third of the hell swords -- Soulstealer, whose lightest touch drove men mad. Even silver could not completely quench its power.

"Do you remember who carried this, Lord Avril?" she asked. It was a light blade, almost a rapier, but neither Reven nor Thonnor were likely to underestimate it.

"Yes," replied the kelblade between stiff lips.

"Lord Michaels. A charming gentleman, a philanthropist and your best friend, wasn't he?"

Reven said nothing, kept his face woodenly still.

She swung the blade from its shoulder strap and then, before he knew what she was doing, slipped it's strap over his head. It banged gently against his chest and he was, for a moment, nearly overwhelmed with horror.

"Since you killed the original bearer, you may transport it," Driade said coldly. "It should keep you distracted and out of trouble. Inside."

As the soldiers before them, Reven, Elfie, Thonnor and the princess left the deck, descending into the holds. Thonnor moved ahead and opened the door to a hold, but instead of a cramped, smelly compartment, the room they entered was enormous.

It was the nature of hell swords that they could not abide each other's presence. Reven's joints twinged, his brain filled with odd fancies. Desperately, he tried to focus on this unnatural place. There were wooden benches along the walls, a table. It all had a haphazard feel, as if someone had been in a hurry to furnish it. Driade was speaking.

"This chamber is in the hands of the gods. Hold their charms close to your hearts and don't be afraid."

Her words met with frightened silence while everyone shifted uneasily, looking about. Reven swayed, the room dimming. Small, strong hands steadied him. Elfie. Not thinking clearly, Reven bowed his head, trying to slip the swordbelt from around his neck. Thonnor swore at him, jerking his chains, pulling him up.

But then the sword belt lifted away, seemingly of its own accord, and drifted a few feet to the left before hitting the floor with a clatter. Immediately, the worst of Reven's pain and dizziness passed. Elfie met his eyes, then bit her lip and looked away.

Driade returned. She carried an armload of furs which she threw to the ground in front of them. Her mouth tightened when she saw Soulstealer. To Thonnor, she said: "Unchain him. I have the neural disrupter -- he'll not resist again. Elfie, return that sword to Lord Avril."

"No," the girl replied in a wavering voice. "No, I won't. Can't you see it makes him sick?"

Driade shrugged. "Either he carries it or you do. Make up your mind, girl."

The thief's small chin tilted defiantly. A bit unsteadily, the sword raised itself from the floor and floated there. One dark eyebrow lifted. "As you wish. Find something that fits among those coats. It's cold where we're going."

Elfie found him a cloak of warm, thick dizzle fur -- or something very like. She had to help him into it, too, Reven having barely the strength to lift his arms. After that, he sank into a stupor. Bloodsinger bled strength back into him, healing the cuts and bruises, soothing nerves lacerated by Soulstealer. When Elfie shook him, he found that his wits were sharper.

"She says we're here."

He nodded and got up, still a little unsteady. The others were likewise bundled against the promised cold, including Driade. They bunched together, no one speaking, apprehensive. Without warning, the door opened and a blast of frigid air swirled into the room. The yacht was gone. Someone swore. Driade, ignoring them all, pulled her own gleaming black fur tight against her throat and sailed out.

The Doctor's sled was another magical marvel. Beautifully carved, painted in bright reds, blues and greens, it was large enough to comfortably hold them both, and required neither horses nor dogs to make it go. Heaps of fat, goose-down quilts kept them safe from the icy wind blowing in from the sea. Krisalka was an island, explained the mage, pressing buttons on the panel in front of him. Moric found this information less startling than the sudden surge of the sled across the snow.

They were some distance from the demon fortress -- the mage preferring, he said, not to alert the Rani if she was already here. As they'd seen from the TARDIS, twin rows of black obelisks marked a road, of sorts, marching across the snowy plain toward a low cluster of hills. Beyond the hills were mountains, heavily shrouded in snow except where high winds scoured the upper ridges.

The sled soon reached the hills, turning east with the obelisks. Moric began to see other structures in the waning light -- low buildings scattered here and there, windowless, doorless -- little more than blocks of dark stone planted in the snow. When he pointed them out, the Doctor nodded absentmindedly.

"I've seen this before," he replied.

Moric waited for some elaboration, but it never came. The mage slumped down further in the seat, blankets to his nose, blue eyes distant.

When they reached the fortress, Moric was stunned by the size of it. Unlike the other structures, this one had doors and windows. It was easily the size of Kellin's palace and Temple combined. Towers marked the east and west ends, and in the shallow valley at its feet, the ground was perfectly flat and covered with seamless black stone. There was not a speck of snow on it anywhere.

On the tallest hill, frowning down upon Krisalka was a gigantic stone ring. It reared against the sky, framing the garish sunset, more sinister somehow than the fortress itself. The Doctor pushed a button and the sled stopped. Unmindful of the cold, he hopped out and, shading his eyes against the sunset, regarded the thing soberly.

"The well," the mage replied to Moric's question. "But it looks to me like Krisalka is a much later construction. Maybe I'm looking in the wrong direction. Maybe it was Aliphor's so-called demons and not the well that brought the Rani here!"

Moric was less interested in the Doctor's suspicions than an ominous ridge of clouds spreading across the glowing horizon. The mage cast an eye in their direction and agreed that a storm was coming. He hopped back into the sled and, to Moric's alarm, they headed -- not back to the TARDIS -- but directly toward the demon fortress.

Elfie sat buried beneath several furs and waited with chattering teeth as the soldiers set up the tents. Driade was back inside her magic ship, "running tests." The door to the silver box she called a TARDIS was closed firmly against her former passengers. Storchi whispered that the ship behaved oddly in the presence of the swords.

In spite of her furs, Elfie's hands and feet were quickly turning to blocks of ice. She watched as Reven drove a tent stake deep into the snow, then moved on to the next. His pale hair had long since come loose from its braid, flying around his shoulders in a way she found disconcerting. He pushed it from his eyes impatiently and stood back while Thonnor tested the strength of the cords. The wind had risen and now battered at the tents. A few snowflakes stung the girl's face. Thonnor said something to Reven, then turned and shouted to the other soldiers. Reven tromped through the snow to her side.

"Come on, thief -- help me get these things into the tents. And hurry! Thonnor says the princess will cast a spell around the camp to keep out the storm."

With another troubled glance at the brooding skies, Elfie did as she was told, hauling boxes and bundles from the pile outside Driade's ship. It soon became clear that she and the swordslave were to share one of the tents. Reven, poking about the boxes, brought out an oddly shaped cannister, which he put in the middle of their small space. Muttering, he fussed with it.

"What are you doing?" Her words were nearly unintelligible, so hard were her teeth chattering.

"The Doctor has one of these," he replied, taking another swipe at his rebellious locks. "It's a heater. He swears it's not magic, but something anyone can use."

"It is?"

In answer, Reven gasped and sat back, sucking on a finger while the cannister began to glow. Eflie stretched her hands gratefully to the warmth. The kelblade tossed her a blanket roll, then sat down on another. He looked tired and dispirited. Outside the tent, the howling of the wind suddenly died away, the billowing tent walls going limp.

"Are you going to try to escape?" she asked curiously.

"Escape where?" Reven kicked his bedroll open. "Even in these furs we'd be dead of cold within hours."

"Coward."

He rolled his eyes and lay down. She glowered at him for a while, but Reven paid no heed and soon dozed off. Finally, she pulled her coat tight around her and pushed out of the tent, stopping short in wonder.

It was as if someone had upended an invisible bowl over their tents. The wind and snow whirled around them in ceaseless, hypnotic patterns. Driade's box stood a short distance away; there was no sign of the princess. Curious, Elfie advanced on the invisible wall. Placing her hand against it, she caught her breath as a tingling ran up her arm. Jerking her hand back, she looked toward the other tents. It seemed she was the only one who dared venture out.

"Storchi?"

No answer. Worried, she returned to her tent. "Lord Avril?"

No answer there, either. She unrolled her blankets and crawled into them. The warm glow of the heater cast the tent in soft shadow; her companion's deep, easy breathing lulled her. In spite of Elfie's best intentions, she dozed off.

Thiefling!

Eflie's eyes flew open. Storchi?

He's here! Not far!

"Who? Who's here?" Pushing back the blankets, she sat up, but Storchi wasn't in a corporeal mood, it seemed. Reven muttered and opened his eyes, staring at her across the tent.

The Doctor! He's come!

"Where?"

"What is it? Elfie?"

"Storchi says the Doctor is nearby."

Reven digested the information in silence. "He's sure?"

"Yes!" Her heart thumped with excitement.

"Does he know where?"

"North. Toward the demon fortress."

Reven's eyes blazed with excitement. "Still interested in making a run for it, brat?"

"I'm not a brat!"

His grin was lopsided, but he nodded. "Very well -- care to make a run for it -- Miss Elfie?"

"Yes, but ..." Elfie remembered their abortive escape attempt by the river, "... what if she casts that neural disrupter spell on you again."

"Then you go on alone," he replied. "If anyone can stop Driade, it's the mage. One of us must get to him!"

She nodded soberly. He scrambled back into his furs. Strapping Bloodsinger on his back, he gave her a startled look when Storchi lifted the other sword.

"He says the Doctor would want to see this," she defended the spirit. Reven looked distinctly unhappy at the thought, but nodded. Together, they crept out of the tent.

The storm continued to whirl, unabated, around Driade's spell. Almost at once, they discovered a problem. They were kept in as efficiently as the snow and ice were kept out. No amount of pushing on the invisible walls gave them passage through. Reven cursed and laid his hand on Bloodsinger's hilt.

"NO!" Elfie caught his arm. "Not until everything else fails!"

She dropped to her knees and began digging. A moment later, the kelblade was beside her, his own large hands scooping great mounds of snow. Two feet down, they broke through. Elfie wriggled excitedly.

Reven motioned her impatiently out of the way. Her hands aching and half-frozen, she was only too happy to let him finish their little tunnel. She crouched at his side, keeping a wary eye on the tents and on the magic box.

"Go!" He said softly. "Hurry!"

She squirmed through the small passage, coming up on the other side of the bowl. At once, she was engulfed in the blizzard. Terrified of becoming lost, she stopped in her tracks, hunkering down and pulling her hood forward. A moment later, a dark shape emerged from the hole after her, sputtering and swearing. Reven's strong, cold hand locked around her wrist and pulled her close.

"Are you all right?"

She nodded, teeth rattling again. He lifted her effortlessly to her feet. "Which way?"

Abruptly, a bright glow showed in the dark ahead of them. It was the other demon sword -- Soulstealer -- a beacon in the chaos.

"Follow Storchi," she shouted. "And don't let go!"

Fingers tightening in hers, Reven grinned at her, and together they headed into the growing dark.