Alliphor

CHAPTER NINE
By Beck McLaughlin

The sled pulled up to the fortress as the afternoon turned dark. The storm was almost upon them, damp wind gusting. Moric leaned back, looking up and up at soaring walls broken only by narrow, infrequent windows. The mage was not so awed, jumping out of the sled before it had fully stopped and running toward the enormous structure. Moric followed more slowly, staring down the length of it. He joined the Doctor who ran his hands busily across the seamless, black stone.

"I don't recognize the lock!" he muttered. "This may take a while."

Lock? Moric didn't see a door! And the man denied being a mage!

The minutes ticked by. Moric was wrapped in a wonderfully thick, padded coat, but even so, it was very cold. Whatever was he doing here? There was far too much excitement in his life these days. If only he'd had the presence of mind all those weeks ago to turn down Kellin's request, he'd be drinking sparkling wine in Lady Joanna's bedroom instead of shivering in the middle of a sorcerous city.

"Doctor!" he protested through chattering teeth. "I'm freezing! Conjure a warm fire or a stout wall to block this infernal wind!"

The mage straightened, looked at him, then around at the quickly-fading daylight. "You're right!" he said reluctantly. "Five more minutes!"

Moric sighed and trudged back across the snow to the sled. Burrowing under the blankets, he reflected ruefully on his predicament. A few, tiny snowflakes stung his cheek. He looked hopefully toward the building. The mage was a tiny, black slash against the greater darkness of the wall. Another gust of wind shook the sled and brought with it a fresh spate of snow. For a moment, Moric even lost sight of the massive fortress.

"DOCTOR!"

The wind took his words and tore them away. All around, the air filled with snow. Moric, still toasty in his blanket cocoon, wondered uneasily if the Doctor could find his way safely back to the sled. Recalling the control panel, he leaned forward. A tiny light illuminated it, but could not help the viscount interpret the strange symbols that explained each button.

After several minutes of intense consideration, Moric decided one symbol looked like a light and pushed the button above it. Lights sprang on in front of the sled, piercing the whirling darkness. A good start. Again, he stared intently at the symbols, waiting for enlightenment. With vague memories of the Doctor's motions, he touched another button. At once, the sled started forward.

Now to turn it toward the fortress. He waved his hand over a round crystal. The sled swerved wildly -- in the wrong direction! Quickly he waved in the other direction, but instead of turning back, it accelerated. Suddenly, Moric was hurtling through the storm with no idea where he was going.

Struggling free of the blankets, he scrambled into the driver's seat and began pushing all the buttons. The sled stopped, started, spun around, then went galloping off again, with Moric no more knowledgeable of their direction than before. Close to panic, he pressed this button and that, hoping to find "stop" again, but to no avail.

Something made him glance up. The lights showed him two snowy figures staring, wide-eyed, at the monster hurtling toward them. "STOP!" he shouted in frustration.

The sled stopped. One of the figures fell forward in the snow. The other, smaller and rounder, struggled to lift the first. Alas, unequal to the task, he toppled backwards into the drifts. Quickly, the Viscount snatched a blanket and jumped from the sled, plowing through the knee-deep snow toward them.

"Stay back!" came a high, light voice. "I'm armed!"

"Elfie?" The viscount stopped dead in his tracks.

Sure enough, a small face peered out at him from the depths of a fur hood. Delicate brows drew together sharply. "Oh!" she exclaimed in tones of deep disappointment. "It's you!"

"Marrowcroft?"

Stunned, Moric realized her companion was Avril. The kelblade was ghastly white, sweat standing out on his pasty face.

"Driade and her men are behind us somewhere," Avril rasped. One hand gripped the viscount's coat with febrile strength. "Where's the Doctor?"

"I --- I'm not sure," Moric admitted, "but that's his sled."

"Good! Help me get Lord Avril into it!" Elfie ordered briskly. "The Princess has a horrid controller thing. We need to get as far away from it as we can!"

There was an incoherent protest from Avril, ignored by his diminutive helpmate. She jumped into the sled, then leaned forward, holding out an impatient arm. "Hurry!"

Avril swore, a spasm of pain twisting his face. "Too late!" he shouted, pushing at Moric. "Get away! Now!"

He crumpled, doubling over. Ignoring him, struggling against the weight of the snow, the viscount managed somehow to drag his shaking cousin up again and toward the sled. Nearby, a new sound rose against the roar of the wind -- a strangely familiar wheezing. "Oh, Gods!" Elfie's voice was shrill with panic. "It's the Princess! Here! Reven! Give me your hand!"

Grimly, Avril reached for her.

"Lord Marrowcroft! Help me!" She tugged at the swordsman, but even her full weight wasn't enough to lift him into the sled. "Hurry! Go! Go! Go!"

"Don't say that . . ." Moric began, but too late. The sled shot forward, knocking Elfie back into the sled, he and Reven into the snow. She was lost to sight immediately.

From the direction of the strange sound appeared a line shadowy hulks. The line resolved itself into soldiers, swords drawn, advancing relentlessly upon them. Moric gave a desperate look toward the quickly-filling depressions left by the sled's runner.

"What ho! Avril! Let's go! Avril? Avril?"

There was no sign of the kelblade. Frantically, Moric began digging around in the waist-deep snow. His fingers were so numb he almost missed Avril, buried and semiconscious at his feet. He got his cousin upright again, but it was too late. The soldiers were on them.

Elfie clung to the side of the sled, concentrating on staying aboard. At least it was no longer careening madly. Storchi had taken control -- finally -- but he drove it at a harrowing speed, unmindful of her pleas to slow down. Snow pelted her face. Her numb fingers gripped the hand-rail with panicked strength. The shadowy form in the driver's seat turned, half-seen features formed into a faint smile. Then he was obscured by a fresh face-ful of snow. Dimly, out of the roaring wind, she heard a voice.

"Stop!"

The sled came to an abrupt halt, throwing Elfie forward and into the front seat. She lay, light-headed and numb, aching with cold. A face appeared over her, but it took several blinks of her ice-caked lashes to come into focus.

"D--Doctor?"

"Elfie! Where's Moric? Who turned on the sled's voice-module?"

"Too -- many -- questions."

"Rassilon!" He vanished, reappearing almost at once with a huge armload of blankets. She was deftly wrapped in them and whisked from the sled. She caught a glimpse of a tall, blue box -- rather like a guard-post -- standing stolidly in the snow. There was warmth and the wind went suddenly silent.

The mage carried her through quiet, dimly-lit corridors to a bedroom. He dropped her gently onto a feather-soft mattress and vanished. She was so cold her teeth had stopped chattering. Bewildered, she took in the canopied bed, the deep carpets on a floor polished to a soft shine. A fire burned in a small hearth across the room.

Within a few minutes, the Doctor was back. "Drink this," he said gently, bringing a cup to her lips. Elfie smelled strawberries and mint and something deeper, spicier. It tingled on her tongue. She tried to speak.

"R---Rani."

"She's here, is she?" He did not seem particularly distressed, but brought the cup back to her lips. Obediently, she took another mouthful. Warmth suffused her blood.

"Y--y--yes. She has Reven ..."

"I thought as much." The long, expressive face darkened. "Lie down, Elfie. You've got a bit of frostbite. The drink will help heal and dull the pain, but you must be still."

"She knows who you are!"

"I would think so." Gently, he pressed her back into the bed which suddenly seemed irresistibly soft and comfortable. He pulled a mound of quilts to her chin. Dreamily, she watched as he settled into a high-backed chair beside her.

"She'll come for the sword!"

That got his attention. He straightened. "Sword?"

"Soul . . .Soulstealer."

"You have one of them? Here?"

"I'm a thief," she retorted drowsily. "It's in the sled. Storchi snatched it."

He vanished again. Drifting in a pleasant cloud, Elfie was vaguely aware that her hands and feet throbbed mercilessly. Thanks to the Doctor's potion, no pain touched her. She closed her eyes. When she opened them again, the Doctor had returned to his place near her bed, but this time, he had Soulstealer across his lap. Even through her blissful lassitude, fear blossomed. He looked up and smiled. "It's all right, Elfie. It can't hurt you."

The mage bent his head, curls gleaming in the ruddy light, turning the blade over and over in slim, strong hands. Frowning slightly, he leaned toward the lamp, holding the hilt to its magical glow. One hand darted into his pocket and came out with a metal tool that made her think at once of lock-picks. Again, Elfie dozed off.

The second time she woke, it was to his hand on her shoulder. "Time to get up," he said softly. "We're about to have company."

Elfie sat up, still groggy. "Is this a TARDIS?"

Startled, the mage nodded. "How did you know?"

"I can feel it. Like the Rani's, but different. Nicer." Perhaps the potion lingered, for Elfie was not as frightened as she should have been. Yawning, she let the mage help her to her feet and put her into her coat. He gave her gloves, silver and silky soft, warm in spite of their gossamer weight. Then, with a sudden leap of her heart, she saw that he was wearing Soulstealer at his back.

"I've fixed it," he explained cryptically, correctly interpreting her horrified glance. "Thanks for having the presence of mind to bring this, by the way."

Elfie's head was clearing fast and with it came second thoughts. She bit her lip as the Doctor opened the door. How far should one really trust mages? Who might not be tempted by the power in the demon swords?

She followed him from the room and into a cathedral-like room with a roof of stars and whirling spheres. Power hummed around her and again, she caught the strong sense of presence. She scampered after the Doctor, not sure whether she liked the way that presence was poking around her thoughts.

Elfie and the mage stepped out of the sky-room into darkness, the smell damp stone, and an echoing, desolate silence. Lights sprang on, unbidden, faint and greenish. Elfie moved closer to the mage, heart in her throat. Moisture beaded on walls and a low ceiling. They were in a central hall of some sort, corridors leading off in several directions.

"Are -- do you think any demons are still here?"

"Probably not." The mage sounded regretful. "I don't think this was a colony -- only a research station. We'll see, though."

The place was a labyrinth. Within a very few minutes, Elfie's sense of direction -- usually superb -- was completely turned around. Perhaps it was the ceiling, so low that sometimes even she had to stoop, or the snake-like appearance of tubes that ran along the sweating walls, that oppressed her spirits. Wishing there was some sign that Storchi was about, she trudged after the mage.

She had quickly removed her coat and now, even her silk gown seemed over-warm. The floor began to slope upward. Unexpectedly, the walls and ceiling fell away, and their surroundings radically changed. Hair rose on the back of her neck. Like the TARDIS, this place was alive!

"Just as I thought," the mage happily announced. "They built their fortress around the well controls."

The room was cavernous and filled with shadows. Banks of machinery -- computers, the Doctor claimed -- marched the length of the cavernous chamber, most as high as her shoulder. Silence lay, heavy as the dust. Elfie's skin crawled. The mage conjured a flameless torch and let the narrow beam of light travel over their surroundings.

"It looks like your terrible demons were a group of scientists, " he noted. "Probably come to investigate the Wells. That would explain the advanced technology"

"Glinogri."

Elfie's heart stopped. The Doctor exclaimed in dismay, whirling about. Soldiers melted from the shadows of the great room. Reven and Lord Marrowcroft were captive among them. The men stepped aside, pulling their prisoners with them. Into the dim light, hateful smile curving her beautiful mouth, came the Rani.

"They were called the Glinogri," she repeated, "and of course their technology was advanced. They were mine."