THE SORCERER’S

APPRENTICE
AN ORIGINAL NOVEL FEATURING THE FIRST DOCTOR,
BARBARA, IAN AND SUSAN.
‘THERE’S NO SUCH THING AS MAGIC,’ THE DOCTOR SAID.
But the land of Elbyon might just prove him to be wrong. It is a
place, populated by creatures of fantasy, where myth and legend
rule. Elves and dwarves live in harmony with mankind, wizards
wield arcane powers and armoured knights battle monstrous
dragons.

Yet is seems that Elbyon has secrets to hide. The TARDIS crew
find a relic from the thirtieth century hidden in the woods. Whose
sinister manipulations are threatening the stability of a once
peaceful lane? And what part does the planet play in a conflict
that may save an Empire, yet doom a galaxy?

To solve these puzzles, and save his companions, the Doctor must
learn to use the sorcery whose very existence he doubts.

This adventure takes place between the television stories Marco

Polo and The Keys of Marinus.

Christopher Bulis is the author of two previous Doctor Who

books, the New Adventure Shadowmind, and the Missing
Adventure State of Change.

ISBN 0 426 20447 6

 THE
SORCERER’S
APPRENTICE
Christopher Bulis
First published in Great Britain in 1995 by
Doctor Who Books
an imprint of Virgin Publishing Ltd
332 Ladbroke Grove
London W10 5AH

Copyright © Christopher Bulis 1995

The right of Christopher Bulis to be identified as the Author of

this Work has been asserted by him in accordance with the
Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

‘Doctor Who’ series copyright © British Broadcasting

Corporation 1995

ISBN 0 426 20447 6

Cover illustration by Paul Campbell

Typeset by Galleon Typesetting, Ipswich

Printed and bound in Great Britain by
Cox & Wyman Ltd, Reading, Berks

All characters in this publication are fictitious and any

resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely
coincidental.

This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by

way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out or
otherwise circulated without the publisher's prior written
consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in
which it is published and without a similar condition including
this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
 Contents
Prologue

1 – Apprentice

2 - Forest of Death

3 - For the Empire

4 - A Knight’s Duty

5 - Mission Specialists

6 – Wizard

7 - The Cat

8 - An Unwelcome Guest

9 - The Veil of Guinevere

10 - Merlin’s Helm

11 - The Hostages

12 - Lights in the Sky

13 - Task Force

14 - The Stolen Hour

15 – Descent

16 – Objectives

17 - Into the Shadows

 18 – Stairway

19 - The Dancers and the Ring

20 - Nightmare in Orbit

21 – Amateur Magic

22 - Witch Craft

23 – Flight

24 – Invasion

25 – Turnabout

26 - The Legacy of Avalon

 Prologue

T he system took care of everything.

Once it had been different, but now that fact was all
that mattered.
There had been a few restless spirits who never fitted in,
some dimly recalled. But they had departed long ago, leaving
the contented behind. That must have been, oh... when was it?
Never mind. The knowledge was there somewhere, of course,
but as nothing, fundamentally, changed anymore, why trouble
to count?
And so it was, and so it continued.
Then, one night, Klist (an otherwise quite ordinary person)
looked up at the stars, and decided he was getting bored with
them. They altered their relative positions, of course, but only
very slowly. Why couldn’t they be more interestingly arranged
to start with, he wondered, or at least more colourful.
So he chose a new pattern for them, including plenty of
interesting colours. Nothing happened.
It was unbelievable. It was frustrating, and Klist could not
remember when he had last felt that. Baffled and annoyed
(there was another novel sensation), he actually had to
consciously ask why they wouldn’t change as he wanted. He
was told that it was a third order adjustment, and to even
attempt it required a Nodal. That meant the tedium of
obtaining group consent. Oh, well, he might as well finish
what he had started.
Klist gathered together some of his friends, once they could
be prised away from their own indulgences, and talked them
round to his idea. They transferred to the nearest Locus, where
Klist used the Nodal interface to command the stars to move
into the aesthetically tasteful pattern they had all, more or less,
decided upon.
And was told he was asking for the impossible.
 Klist was embarrassed and amazed. How could anything be
impossible? Hastily, to cover his confusion, he demanded
some sort of change; at least put more colour into the stars, he
said. That was possible, he was informed, but it would take a
little time and a lot of power. Was it a priority?
Yes, said Klist, it was to him. Do it!
Yes, said the others, already getting bored. Do it! Promptly,
every light in the sky went out and black silence covered all
the world.
Punctuated only by the screaming, of course.

Time passed. The blackness lifted. But things were not the
same as before.

More time passed. Klist’s colour did appear amongst the stars.
But by then nobody seemed to appreciate it much.

Much more time passed. Others came. But as they weren’t

real people, it took a while for them to register...
 1

Apprentice

T he first cold wind of morning whispered across the moor.

It stirred the tussock grasses, the clumps of heather and
straggling dwarf furze. It blew over the humped granite mass
of the tor, whistling about dark caves in the rock, bringing
forth a cacophony of grunts and strange, chattering voices
from their depths. It keened about the sheer walls of the tower,
which rose like a single black fang from the rocks. On the
tower’s broad, turreted roof, inhuman sentries kept watch far
out across the rolling heathland.
In one high window a light glowed.
Marton Dhal smoothed down his raven black robes with
their silver thread tracery and reclined in his carved, high-
backed chair in satisfied reflection; watching the candles
throw dancing shadows about his chamber. At last, that
interfering old woman was out of the way! However, he must
perpetrate just a little more random mischief to ensure the
correct... he pondered over the appropriate word... yes:
atmosphere.
On the table before him, mounted on a tripod, was a globe
about a foot across. It was perfectly smooth and milky white,
perhaps made of polished stone or glass. He reached forward
and touched the sphere, and his cold, dark eyes closed. The
globe began to shine with a soft, pearly radiance. He stiffened,
reaching out for what he sought, searching... He drew in his
breath sharply as he made contact. His mouth twitching in a
half smile, he once more insinuated his will into the other.
They had done good work together yesterday. What might
today bring? His eyes opened again – but now they were red
as fire.
 2

Forest of Death

I an Chesterton had just stepped out into the corridor when he

heard the first low, pulsing, tones of the materialization
effect. Frowning, he turned quickly on his heel and re-entered
the TARDIS’s control room.
‘What’s happening, Doctor?’ he enquired. ‘Surely we can’t
be landing again so soon?’
The Doctor, busily fussing over the complex controls set
about the hexagonal console and muttering under his breath,
ignored his question. Ian sighed, thinking that such equipment
should, ideally, have been attended by technicians and
scientists in white lab coats. In practice, it was operated by an
eccentric old man in his sixties, perhaps, with collar-length
silver hair and wearing a black frock-coat. This strange
dichotomy also pervaded the rest of the chamber, where
complex machinery jostled with a scattering of antiques and
curios from many different periods. A room of anachronisms,
Ian thought; even I fit in at the moment. He was wearing a
striking black silk tunic, patterned and decorated in the
Chinese style. It was absolutely authentic thirteenth-century
workmanship, being an impromptu souvenir of the last place
they had visited: the court of Kublai Khan himself.
The rise and fall of the materialization pulses grew louder.
Ian coughed loudly and repeated his earlier enquiry.
The Doctor briefly lifted his gaze from the console to
transfix him with sharp blue eyes. It was the sort of look
normally exchanged between stern schoolmasters and
particularly dull pupils.
‘Really, Chesterton!’ he snapped impatiently. ‘For a
supposedly intelligent man, you sometimes ask the most
obtuse questions. Self-evidently we are materializing.’
Ian tried to overlook the slur on his intellect. ‘But we only
left China two minutes ago. Does this mean we’re landing
back on Earth again?’
‘Possibly, possibly,’ replied the Doctor, circling the console
once more. ‘Of course, the duration of travel time experienced
within the TARDIS has little to do with our eventual point of
arrival, you know. Millions of miles, or years, may have
passed outside.’
‘And I suppose you’re no nearer getting the ship under
control again and actually taking us back to our proper place
and time?’ replied Ian contentiously, reacting to the Doctor’s
patronizing manner. The Doctor turned upon him, eyes
dangerously hard and sharp, and thrust out a belligerent chin
as though preparing for another argument. Fortunately, at that
moment the other two members of the TARDIS’s crew
entered the room.
Barbara came to Ian’s side. Susan, still pulling on a
sleeveless dark green top over her loose shirt, ran quickly to
the console to examine the readings for herself.
‘Oh, we’re landing again so soon, Grandfather,’ she
exclaimed to the Doctor. ‘Do you know what kind of place it
is?’
Just a moment, my dear,’ replied the Doctor tolerantly, ‘the
readings are not clear yet.’
Like Barbara, Susan had managed to find time for a quick
clean-up and change after their departure from China, and her
fresh face gleamed with excitement. She looked like any girl
in her mid teens, with her close, urchin-cut hair and her half-
shy, half-challenging manner. But Ian had seen depths in her
eyes that suggested experiences far beyond those of most
teenagers. Of all of us, he thought, she is still the most eager
and enthusiastic traveller. She hasn’t developed the Doctor’s
intense, but rather clinical curiosity yet, nor is her appreciation
clouded by our desire to get home again.
Beside him, Barbara looked on as the TARDIS began to
materialize; hope and apprehension mingled on her concerned,
intelligent, strong-featured face, crowned by her bouffant of
dark hair. She was wearing a simple loose jumper and slacks,
with sensible flat shoes, having already learned the value of
practical dress when travelling with the Doctor;
‘Might it be Earth again?’ she whispered, unwilling to
disturb the Doctor’s activity about the console.
‘I don’t know. The Doctor won’t promise anything.’
She managed a rueful grin. ‘That’s nothing new, is it?’
The thrumming beat of materialization had grown deeper.
Suddenly it reached a crescendo with a solid thump. Then all
was quiet.
The scanner screen, mounted high on a section of wall
close to the console, lit up. The grey of the interdimensional
void had resolved into a stretch of rough grass, scattered with
flowers and backed by a wall of trees. It seemed so normal, so
like a section of traditional English woodland, that Ian felt his
pulse quicken. He stepped closer to the screen.
‘They look like oaks, don’t they? And I think those are
buttercups in the grass.’ The Doctor set the scanner rotating.
More of the same type of scenery rolled across the screen. The
TARDIS had evidently landed in a small open glade.
‘And looks can be deceiving,’ the Doctor warned.
‘However, the instruments do show the composition of the air
and temperature are both satisfactory. Susan, dear, what is the
radiation count?’
‘It reads normal, Grandfather.’
‘Are you sure?’ Ian asked quickly. ‘We don’t want a repeat
of what happened on Skaro.’
Susan grinned back. ‘I’m quite certain the meter’s working
properly this time.’ There was an assured certainty in her reply
at odds with her apparent youth. Sometimes Ian found it
disconcerting.
‘Then we can go outside,’ said Barbara quickly. Her eyes
were bright. ‘Ian, it must be Earth. It might even be England.’
He didn’t want to dampen her hopes, but he felt he had to
be cautious. ‘Yes, but when is it? What’s the date? If we’ve
simply moved in space and not time, then it’s still the Middle
Ages out there.’
‘And there could be a tarmac road on the other side of those
trees carrying nice normal people in cars having a summer’s
day out. This could be the New Forest, for all we know.
Wouldn’t that be lovely? Petrol fumes and picnic lunches...
Ian, we have to find out.’
‘Of course,’ he acknowledged gently, ‘but don’t build your
hopes up too high just yet.’ She smiled back in understanding.
‘Of course,’ Ian continued, turning to the Doctor, ‘it would be
useful if all this equipment could simply tell us where and
when we’ve landed first, wouldn’t it, Doctor?’
The Doctor sniffed haughtily. ‘And as I keep reminding
you, Chesterton, until I am allowed a little peace and quiet to
complete some minor repairs, and have a chance to properly
calibrate the instruments, I simply cannot provide that sort of
precise information.’
‘We’ll simply have to go outside and find out for ourselves,
won’t we, Grandfather?’ Susan said quickly, adding
cheerfully: ‘Besides, it’s more interesting that way!’

Ian felt the usual brief moment of disorientation as he passed

through the main doors of the TARDIS and stepped out into
the warm sunshine. He looked back. The ship had not changed
since they left China. The time-space craft, a miracle of
science and technology far beyond his understanding, still
stubbornly (and much to the annoyance of its owner)
preserved the outward appearance of a British police call box
of the mid-twentieth century.
While the Doctor and Susan wandered over to the nearest
tree, Barbara knelt down close by, examining the grass around
the TARDIS with mounting excitement.
‘You were right, Ian. Buttercups! And daisies and clover
too. And look,’ she held up a pink, wriggling form, ‘a worm.
Isn’t it lovely?’
‘Hardly the word I would have chosen, but it certainly
looks like one,’ he agreed.
Barbara carefully put the creature down and wiped her
hands, looking around at the tranquil scene. ‘Smell the air. It’s
so fresh and warm, just like an early summer’s day. And listen
to the birds. We must be on Earth.’
‘Yes,’ agreed Ian, half to himself, ‘but when on Earth are
we?’
Together they crossed the glade to where the Doctor was
examining the bark and leaves of a sizeable, and familiar, tree.
‘Mmm.’ the Doctor was deliberating. ‘Quercus robur, I
believe.’
‘It’s an oak, Doctor,’ said Barbara.
‘Precisely what I just said: the common oak. And note that
the acorns are not yet developed, indicating it is still early in
the season.’
Susan, who had wandered on a short way, suddenly called
out, ‘There’s a sort of path over here!’
‘Just a moment, my dear,’ the Doctor called back, ‘don’t
get yourself lost.’ He brandished his silver-handled walking
stick and set off briskly after her, with Ian and Barbara
following close behind.
The path curved away to the left and right under the green
canopy, weaving between the trees and thickets. The
compressed mud and old leaf litter that formed its surface bore
fading parallel ruts, suggesting it was used occasionally by
some type of wheeled vehicle. In one soft spot there was also
an imprint resembling that of a horse’s hoof.
The Doctor was looking up and down the track with
interest. ‘Well now, Chesterton. The answer to your question
should lie at one end or the other, eh? We should soon come to
some settlement or more substantial thoroughfare and be able
to establish our location.’ He beamed genially. ‘Yes, a fine
day for a walk, and no danger of getting lost as long as we
take the elementary precaution of remembering where we
joined the route.’
He fished about in his pocket and withdrew a small
compass, and noted the bearing. Then, with Susan at his side,
started off up the path. After a few paces he turned and waved
his stick commandingly at them. ‘Come along then, no
dawdling!’
Smiling, Ian and Barbara followed.

They must have gone a little over a mile, Ian estimated, when
they made their first discovery.
It seemed as though there had been a large bonfire beside
the path which had scorched the lower branches of the
surrounding trees, then burnt down to the earth leaving only a
fire-blackened, twisted mound of clinker in the centre. Flies
buzzed around it. Curiously, lying on the edge of the circle,
was a large wooden bow.
Then the nauseating smell of burnt flesh assailed them.
Susan went rigid, staring at the shape in the middle of the
blackened circle with widening eyes. ‘It’s a body,’ she
whispered hoarsely, then clapped her hand to her mouth.
Barbara turned her head aside in disgust, put her arm about
Susan’s shoulders and led her off a few paces.
Ian gulped, fighting to control his stomach. The Doctor
looked pale, and mopped his brow with a large white
handkerchief. ‘Dear me. This is most distressing,’ he managed
to say dully.
Ian forced himself to be detached. Carefully, he pressed his
hand to the burnt earth. ‘Cold. This must have happened
yesterday. No later than last night, anyway.’
‘Quite so. What about the bow?’
Gingerly, they circled the blackened grass. Ian put his
handkerchief over his nose and mouth and tried not to look at
the ghastly remains. Not that there was any detail visible. Such
had been the heat of the fire that flesh and clothing had fused
together into one cracked and charred shell. He could not even
tell if the body was male or female. Cautiously they examined
the weapon.
‘It’s a kind of longbow,’ said Ian. ‘Yew, I think, with a
leather strap grip, and a gut string. Scorched a bit by the fire.’
He looked at the old man’s taut features. ‘Well, Doctor, what
do you make of it? An accident... or some kind of ceremonial
cremation, perhaps?
‘If it were a deliberate ceremony, I would expect it to be in
some more suitable site, instead of half-under the trees like
this. And is it not usual for weapons, presumably belonging to
the corpse, to be deliberately burnt with their owner, instead of
carelessly left to one side? Besides, where is the ash from the
funeral pyre? There should be a fair quantity of wood to have
generated that much heat, yet I see hardly any ash.’
‘Perhaps it was accidental... a lightning strike, maybe?’
‘Perhaps so,’ the Doctor mused, brow furrowed in thought.
‘It does, however, suggest this path is unfrequented, or
someone would have dealt with the body by now.’
‘But it can’t have been here that long, or else scavengers
would have been feeding off it, and there are no signs of that
yet.’
‘Assuming there are any. Have you noticed any larger
animals so far?’
‘No, only birds. But I wouldn’t be surprised if there are
foxes about. If this is Earth’s past, there might even be
wolves.’
‘Unless something has frightened them off, of course.’
‘Have you finished, Grandfather?’ Susan’s voice came
plaintively from a little way along the path, where she and
Barbara were waiting.
‘Just coming, my child,’ the Doctor assured her. ‘There’s
nothing more to learn here.’
Ian recounted what they had found to Barbara, as they
continued down the path in a subdued manner.
‘And it seemed such a lovely day for a walk,’ she said
bitterly, then sighed. ‘I suppose this isn’t our own time, then.’
‘From the looks of the bow, I think it’s unlikely.’
Barbara walked along silently for several minutes. Ian
touched her arm lightly in sympathy, and she forced a brave
smile. ‘You did warn me not to get too hopeful,’ she admitted.
‘Never mind. Next time, maybe.’
‘Maybe...’

It was Susan who alerted them to their next find. The path had
just joined a wider track, with deeper rut marks in, when she
paled and wrinkled her nose.
‘I can smell it again,’ she said in a small voice. ‘Smoke –
and burnt things...’
They followed the track as it curved around a densely
thicketed copse, and found themselves at the gateway of a
stockade.
It was ringed by a shallow circular ditch, with the inner
bank of the excavation topped by a man-high wall of roughly
trimmed stakes. Over the top of the fence they could see a
cluster of low roofs. Or rather, the blackened poles that had
once supported roofs.
 The air was heavy with the tang of stale smoke and the
odour of death. It was very quiet. Even the birdsong in the
surrounding trees seemed muted. The gates of the stockade
hung open, sagging half off their hinges.
Cautiously, they entered.
A crudely fortified hamlet was the best description Ian
could think of. There had been a dozen or so simple, single-
storey dwellings with their small adjacent stock pens,
clustered round a tiny central square containing a traditional,
crank-and-bucket stone-walled well. Now a shattered handcart
lay beside the well and the buildings were a collection of
jagged, charred timbers projecting through mounds of ash. To
one side, a few scrawny chickens, apparently oblivious to the
change in their surroundings, were scratching in the dirt for
food. They pecked around the edges of several scorched
circles with blackened, contorted forms in their centres. Flies
buzzed industriously. The travellers did not need to go any
nearer to know what they were.
‘More burnt circles surrounding human remains,’ observed
the Doctor. ‘That suggests a similar cause.’
Ian pointed to the far wall of the compound. The fence
poles had been smashed inwards and the earth churned and
scraped. ‘Somebody, or something, came in there. But who, or
what?’
Susan suddenly stepped forward and picked something up
off the ground. It was a broken arrow, nearly a yard long,
fletched with feathers and tipped with a viciously sharp, bright
metal head. The Doctor examined it closely. ‘Most intriguing.
This very probably belongs with that bow we found in the
woods. Certainly it could only be fired from a weapon of
similar size.’
Ian looked grim. ‘Do you realize what you’re implying,
Doctor? Whoever, or whatever, did this followed the archer
after he fought it here. And whatever it was, heavy longbow
arrows didn’t stop it!’
They looked uncomfortably around the devastated
settlement and at the looming forest beyond. Though the sun
still shone brightly, it suddenly seemed to be getting colder.
‘Look,’ Ian said bluntly, ‘I think we’d better just go back to
the TARDIS. It’s obvious that something very dangerous is on
the loose and may still be around. There’s nothing else to see
here and, frankly, I don’t fancy being out after dark.’
For a moment it seemed that the Doctor’s singleminded
curiosity would overcome Ian’s commonsense suggestion, but
then he relented.
‘You may be right, Chesterton. Let us be going.’ At his
side, Susan gave a relieved smile.
They were turning to go when Barbara stopped short and
pointed to an impression in the soft earth close to the well.
‘Does that remind you of anything?’ she asked faintly.
It was like the print of a bird’s foot, but with three long toes
projecting forward, and a shorter one behind. The tips of each
toe print were deeply indented, as though by a curving talon.
From end to end it was at least four feet long.
‘It’s like one of those fossilized dinosaur footprints they
sometimes find in old river beds,’ Ian exclaimed.
‘Except,’ added the Doctor, kneeling down beside the
monstrous spoor, ‘this cannot be more than a day old! Most
remarkable. Are there more of them?’
Recognizing the signs, Ian caught him under the arm and
almost hauled him upright. ‘No Doctor,’ he said, defying the
old man’s indignant expression, and holding him firmly as he
tried to pull away. ‘We agreed to leaving now, remember?
We’re not going out of our way to find trouble!’
‘Have you no sense of curiosity, young man?’ the Doctor
demanded angrily.
‘Yes, but I also have a sense of self-preservation!’ Ian
retorted.
‘Ian’s right, Doctor,’ said Barbara supportively. ‘Please,
Grandfather,’ added Susan.
The Doctor glared back at them, but they held their ground.
‘Oh, very well,’ he conceded, almost petulantly, and stomped
off through the gateway and down the track.
The others followed gratefully, with many a backward
glance at the shattered hamlet and at the great wall of the
forest that rose, impassive and mysterious, over their heads.
An itch started up along Ian’s spine and centred itself
between his shoulder blades.
They had reached the stretch of pathway that passed the first
burnt circle when the Doctor halted to consult his compass.
‘I believe we can save ourselves some time if we cut
through here.’ He gestured at an angle through the trees. ‘The
path curves that way further down, if you recall, so there’s no
danger of us missing it.’ He glowered at Ian. ‘If that meets
with your approval of course, Chesterton?’
Ian ignored the barb. Anything that got them back to the
TARDIS earlier was worth considering, and keeping off a
well-marked, and exposed, pathway for a while might not be a
bad idea. Just in case. He looked enquiringly at Susan and
Barbara. They nodded.
‘All right, Doctor. Lead the way.’
The Doctor bowed slightly, with mock courtesy, and started
off through the wood.
Within five minutes, Ian was regretting their decision.
The undergrowth grew thicker under the trees, and they had
to pick their way around numerous tangled clumps of brier and
bramble, or push through shaggy curtains of ancient ivy that
hung from trunks and branches in graceful catenaries. Fallen
boughs, rotting and furred with moss, turned their progress
into something resembling an obstacle course. The Doctor,
unwilling to admit his short cut would probably take longer in
the end, pressed ahead briskly. Barbara and Susan exchanged
ironic, knowing glances, but made no comment. Ian, bringing
up the rear, decided that they might as well press on now. At
least the denser wood gave plenty of cover, and they would
not get lost while they had a compass.
Then he saw the Doctor stop abruptly, and kick at
something half buried in the grass. There was a dull metallic
clang.
They crowded round him as he tugged a buckled section of
metal plate free, and brushed away the debris clinging to its
surface. In places it still gleamed brightly. Edge on they saw
the plate was formed of two curving metal sheets sandwiching
several layers of honeycomb insulation. A length of bracing
rib was welded to the inner side.
The Doctor gazed at his find in delight. ‘You know what
this is?’ he demanded. ‘A section of spacecraft hull panel! A
product of advanced engineering technology. What is it doing
adjacent to the remains of a settlement more appropriate to
your Middle Ages, hmm?’
‘But where’s the rest of it?’ Barbara asked practically.
They all turned to look about them. There was a hollow in
the trees to one side, filled with tangled undergrowth and
slender saplings, and half covering what Ian first took to be a
cluster of large boulders. The Doctor pushed his way up to the
nearest one and thrust his stick through the tangle of grass and
ivy that smothered it. There was a hollow metallic resonance.
Gradually, Ian made out the shape of the vessel the forest
was steadily burying. It was perhaps sixty feet long, and had
originally comprised two spherical compartments linked by a
short section of cylindrical hull. Four outrigger landing legs,
now twisted and broken, had once projected from the sides of
the spheres. The regular lines of the craft had clearly been
distorted by the terrific impact of a crash landing. Cracks
showed in several places, and some hull panels were missing.
As they circled the wreck, they found themselves looking into
the shattered viewports of the control module, crumpled
around the remains of a thick tree stump.
‘I doubt if anyone in the cabin survived such an impact,’
the Doctor said solemnly.
They continued on round the wreck.
‘Look, the side hatch is open,’ exclaimed Susan.
A door set in the middle hull section hung twisted and
gaping, as though the shock of the crash had sprung its
catches. As they got closer they saw a faint pathway had been
trodden into the grass leading from the hatch.
‘Maybe there are still survivors, former passengers perhaps,
sheltering inside,’ said Barbara, half-whispering.
‘After all the years this has clearly lain here?’ pondered the
Doctor. He pointed with his stick at some gaps in the panelling
along the side of the hull. ‘Far more likely some of the locals
have been using the wreck as a source of ready refined metals,
I should think. The head of that arrow we found probably
came from here. But why not strip the entire craft, I wonder?
Perhaps some thought it taboo? Still, we’ll just have to see...’
He started for the open hatch.
 ‘Doctor,’ Ian said firmly, ‘we’re on our way back to the
TARDIS, remember?’
The Doctor looked dismayed. ‘We must at least make a
cursory examination, Chesterton. This is a first-class mystery.
Don’t you want to know what happened here?’
Ian sighed. The trouble was he was just as curious as the
Doctor, but he couldn’t forget the unknown danger the woods
might contain. Still, everything had been quiet so far.
‘All right,’ he relented, and tapped his watch. ‘Five minutes
only, understand?’
The Doctor beamed with almost boyish triumph and
stepped up to the hatchway.
The interior of the ship would have been pitch black except
for light filtering through the rents in the hull. Vines and
probing tree roots had also penetrated, spreading their tendrils
over bulkheads and deck plates alike. They were clearly in the
ship’s small hold and utility space, which was perhaps twenty
feet long and ten wide. Apart from conduits snaking along the
inside of the hull connected to flat, fuse-box-like terminals, it
was empty, and gave no indication of recent occupancy. A
heavy door at one end suggested access to the engine
compartment, while a short corridor in the other direction led
to the crew section. Its further end, however, was crumpled
and choked with impacted wreckage.
‘Well,’ said Ian, after peering about for a few moments,
‘there’s not much to see here, Doctor, unless you want to
inspect the engines.’
‘Not a bad suggestion, Chesterton. They might give us a
clue as to why the ship crashed.’
‘What’s this?’ said Barbara. She had noticed a small plate
set on the bulkhead opposite the entrance hatch, gleaming
dully under a growth of intruding ivy. She and Susan tugged
the strands away to reveal a brass plaque:

Armstrong Transolar Aerospace

–Inc–
‘Mercury Starhopper .C.’
Model No: 1427
Year of Manufacture: 2976
 Empire City, Tycho, Luna.

‘ “Twenty-nine seventy-six”?’ said Barbara.

‘Clearly this is the late thirtieth century,’ the Doctor
concluded.
‘But the village belongs to the tenth century rather than the
thirtieth. Yet, if this is the future, surely we should have heard
aircraft flying over by now, or something – unless.. Barbara’s
expression darkened. ‘Unless civilization has fallen somehow,
and the survivors have been reduced to a primitive level of
existence.’
‘That’s a depressing thought,’ Ian said.
‘But a possibility,’ conceded the Doctor. ‘Now, if we could
find out why this craft crashed, if it was accidental or if it was
shot down, for instance, then we would have more information
to work with.’
‘Grandfather, look at this!’ Susan sounded excited. She had
opened the front of one of the wall-mounted units to reveal the
components within, and had pulled out a thin transparent
wafer with intricate patterns traced upon it. ‘It’s an old-
fashioned beam etched micro circuit card, but look...’ She
squeezed the card gently in her fmgers and it snapped and
crumbled to dust.
‘Most unusual,’ agreed the Doctor, pulling a card free
himself and crumbling it between his fingers. ‘Now what
could have caused this?’
‘Corrosion?’ suggested Ian. ‘It’s been lying out here for
years, after all.’
‘No, no. This type of component, though rather primitive, is
extremely robust and durable. It really shouldn’t have –’
His words were cut short by the long-drawn-out bass tone
of an animal roar rumbling through the woods.
For a moment all four of them froze. Then Ian leapt to the
hatch and peered out. He could see nothing but the encircling
forest wall. Then it came again; a sustained and resonating
throaty bellow. It seemed slightly louder.
‘It’s between us and the village,’ Ian hissed. ‘Come on,
back to the TARDIS before we’re trapped here! Try not to
make too much noise.’
 They scrambled out of the wrecked ship and back on to the
Doctor’s original short-cut trail.
The Doctor himself set a good pace, consulting his compass
as he went, with Barbara and Susan beside him. Ian was a few
steps to the rear, constantly turning to watch behind. At this
speed he reckoned they were ten minutes from the TARDIS.
But did they have ten minutes? How fast could whatever it
was travel if it followed them? A distant rasping sibilation,
like escaping steam, whispered through the woods. He cursed
himself silently for letting them stop at the wreck.
Five minutes later they regained the original pathway, and
turned along it towards the glade where the TARDIS lay. They
were all breathing hard, but maintaining their pace now they
were on smoother ground. The Doctor was exhibiting once
again an unusual vitality for his years. They heard the bellow
again from behind them, but it seemed no closer.
Another two minutes and we’ll be safe, Ian thought.
Then came a snuffling hiss, loud and urgent, as though
something was scenting their trail. There was a rushing crack
and swish of branches. Ian twisted round in time to glimpse
some huge, bulky form moving between the trees. Iridescence
sparkled off rippling flanks, then the curve of the path hid it.
‘Faster!’ he yelled at the others.
They were on the last stretch now. The gap into the glade
was only a hundred yards ahead.
From down the path came the growing thud, thud, thud of
heavy feet, devouring the distance between them in monstrous
strides.
The opening was only yards away, the Doctor was scanning
the trees intently lest they overshoot. There was a terrible roar
from behind them, louder than any before. The pounding tread
made the earth tremble. Automatically Susan looked back, saw
what was pursuing them and let out a cry of fear and
amazement:
‘It’s... a dragon!’
Ian turned, knowing it was madness to waste even a
second, but unable to ignore Susan’s incredible words.
It was a dragon.
From twenty feet above the path, baleful red eyes glowed
out of a great horned and bearded reptilian head. A forked
tongue flickered between cruelly fanged jaws. A weaving
snake neck ridged with spines descended to a massive body,
coated in scales, shimmering with blue and green iridescence
over its back, with a vivid yellow underbelly. Claw-tipped bat
wings were folded against its sides, while its great taloned feet
ripped the turf as it surged towards them, trailing a long,
sinuous barbed tail in its wake.
With an effort, Ian forced himself to overcome the dreadful
fascination of the fantastic beast. ‘Run!’ he yelled at the
petrified Susan, and saw Barbara grab her hand and drag her
on through the trees. Then he realized the Doctor had also
paused in his flight; helplessly enthralled by their pursuer.
‘Impossible!’ the old scientist declared; standing in its path
as though his disbelief would somehow shield him from its
lethal intent.
Ian heard air rush in to fill the creature’s huge lungs. He
threw himself forward at the Doctor, knocking him to the
ground. With a furnace thunder a torrent of fire erupted from
the dragon’s maw and billowed just above their prone bodies,
scorching their exposed flesh, singeing their hair and setting
the branches of an oak ablaze.
Before the dragon could draw in another breath, Ian hauled
the Doctor to his feet and together they ran through the screen
of trees.
The glade opened before them with the TARDIS in its
centre. Ian thought he had never seen such a welcome sight.
Susan and Barbara had almost reached it. He saw Susan
holding her key ready to plunge into the lock. Good girl!
Behind them branches snapped as the dragon tried to force
its bulk between the close set trees. Just ten seconds more and
we’re safe, Ian thought.
Then he realized Susan was twisting the key frantically, but
the door wouldn’t open!
The Doctor at his side, they stumbled, panting, up to the
TARDIS. Susan turned a pale, distraught face.
‘It won’t unlock, Grandfather!’
The Doctor tore out her key and thrust his own in the lock,
twisting it urgently left and right even as the dragon burst
through the trees into the glade. Suddenly, blue sparks
crackled and licked across the TARDIS’s skin, causing the
Doctor to jerk his hands away.
‘The defence circuits are activated,’ he gasped. ‘The
TARDIS has shut us out. We’re trapped!’
 3

For the Empire

T he firm knock on his door came precisely on the hour, as

Nyborg had suspected it would. ‘Open,’ he commanded
from behind his desk. The door slid back to admit Captain
Shannon.
He entered, saluted crisply, deliberately watched the door
close behind him, and took the seat indicated. Nyborg
surveyed Shannon’s immaculate space marines uniform. It
fitted him a little too perfectly for regulation issue. But then,
that was not surprising in the circumstances.
‘I must confirm the room is shielded, Admiral,’ Shannon
said.
Nyborg swivelled the comm unit on the desk around to
show the CONFERENCE and SCRAMBLE lights were on.
‘Communications silence has been established?’
‘As of two minutes ago. Look, “Captain”, I know how to
follow orders. Even the S.S.D. should realize that!’
‘The Special Services Directorate is fully aware of your
record, Admiral, and has no doubt that you will follow orders.’
He withdrew a memory wafer still in its security seal from an
inside pocket. ‘And these are your orders from this moment
on, including details of our objective. And my own authority.
Please check that first before we proceed further.’
He watched impassively as Nyborg inserted the wafer into
the comm unit reader and entered his personal decode
sequence. Nyborg flicked his eyes over the text for a few
moments, then turned back to Shannon with a trace of
grudging respect and renewed interest.
‘You’re operating under instructions direct from the
Empress’s private office.’
 ‘I am.’
‘I didn’t realize. This mission actually has her personal
backing?’
For the first time, emotion seemed to animate Shannon. A
faint flush showed on his lean, hard cheeks, and he leant
slightly towards Nyborg.
‘Admiral. Our success may mean the difference between
life and death for the Empire itself!’
 4

A Knight’s Duty

T he dragon’s terrible bellow of triumph as it closed on

them blotted out all other sounds, leaving their ears
ringing as they stumbled around the side of the TARDIS.
There was the rush of indrawn breath filling huge lungs, then a
hissing roar as a gout of flame poured over the ship; licking
around its edges as they huddled in its lee, setting an arc of
grass around its base alight and sucking the air from their
lungs in its scalding wake.
The TARDIS remained undamaged; buying them a
moment’s grace even as it denied them sanctuary. But Barbara
knew the creature had only to circle it or crane its neck over
the machine and they were lost. Again the dragonfire spewed
out, setting them coughing and gasping for air. Then there was
an agonizing pause, as though the beast was puzzled by the
strange structure, neither rock nor tree, that defied its power,
and had temporarily forgotten about them. Barbara wanted to
scream: If you’re going to kill us do it quickly!
With a rasp of scales it moved closer. Then came a
snuffling and the TARDIS swayed as the dragon nuzzled it
curiously. They could smell its foul breath. The TARDIS
rocked again more forcefully. Electric sparks licked across its
surface in response, causing the travellers to flinch away. The
dragon shrieked in rage: the trumpeting scream of annoyance
cutting the air so sharply that they clasped their hands over
their ears in pain. There was a ripping sound as huge talons
clawed the turf and the beast turned. Its tail whipped and
thrashed in the air, then cracked against the side of the
TARDIS, rocking it dangerously. The very tip of the tail
curled about the farther side of the craft and caught Barbara
sharply across one shin, the horned scales tearing open a gash
in the material of her slacks. She cried out, feeling blood
flowing hot from her wound, and, sick with shock, started to
collapse. Suddenly Ian was supporting her, his eyes full of
desperate concern. The dragon’s tail beat against the TARDIS
again. The machine heeled over, crackling with sparks, and
began to topple. Barbara felt Ian sweep her up into his arms
and start to run.
‘Make for the trees!’ he shouted.
The Doctor and Susan just got clear before the TARDIS
crashed on to its side. The dragon turned, saw their frantic
dash for cover, and pounded after them.
The nearest trees were twenty yards away, and Barbara
knew the dragon would overtake them first. With ghastly
fascination she saw the great sea-horse head rise up, eyes
glowing like coals, forked tongue flickering. Jaws gaped and
saliva flowed about its jowls and dripped to earth. Every detail
seemed to be imprinting itself upon her mind, as though she
was packing her last moments of life with as much sensation
as possible to delay the inevitable end.
Then came the swelling beat of hooves.
An improbably magnificent white charger, tail flying, burst
into the lower end of the glade. Astride it, as though torn from
the pages of a history book, was a knight in a red-plumed
helmet bearing a shield and lance. Sunlight glittered off chain
mail. The horse reared with a shrill neigh, heavy front hooves
pawing the air defiantly, nostrils flared and steaming. The
knight held his lance aloft dramatically.
‘Turn and face me, foul beast!’ he cried.
The dragon’s head twisted round and it roared as though
accepting the challenge, tail whipping to and fro in renewed
fury. Suddenly forgotten, the TARDIS crew stumbled into the
shelter of the trees and collapsed into the long grass. Even if
they could have run further, it was impossible to turn their
backs on the impending confrontation. Susan pulled out a
handkerchief and began tying it about Barbara’s injured leg,
but even through her pain, Barbara’s eyes, like the others,
were riveted on dragon and knight.
With a malevolent hiss the dragon made a splay-legged,
waddling advance on its foe. The knight’s visor snapped
down, his lance lowered. His mount’s powerful hindquarters
bunched and extended and they surged forward in a spray of
torn earth and grass. Barbara gasped at the suicidal headlong
charge. Surely no armour could protect horse or rider from the
dragon’s fire?
She heard the terrible rasp of indrawing breath and saw the
serpent neck lift the head then snap it forward. A blossom of
flame billowed across the grass, just as the charger, with
remarkable agility for such a bulky animal, swerved to one
side. The knight threw up his shield. Incredibly, the fireball
seemed to flatten and spread, as though it had struck an
invisible wall extending beyond the shield itself, warding the
flame clear of both man and mount.
Then they were through the flame, past the dragon’s head
and circling round behind it, evading its thrashing tail. The
creature twisted about to follow them but they were too swift.
Before it could strike again, the knight tilted his lance and
charged the dragon’s exposed flank. Horse and rider staggered
with the force of the impact as the lance plunged home
between the beast’s ribs.

In his chamber, Marton Dhal gasped and clutched his side. For
a moment, the red glow in his eyes flickered.

The dragon roared in pain and rage and its sinuous body
bucked and writhed. Three feet of lance tip broke off, lodged
deep in the wound. Hooves tearing at the turf, the charger tried
to back clear of the convulsing beast, but a coil of tail snapped
round and caught its side sending it sprawling to the ground
and tossing the rider from his saddle. The horse struggled to its
feet and skittered away, panicked and confused.
With a dreadful trumpeting moan, the dragon staggered,
clawing futilely at its side, then reared over its fallen foe. A
torrent of fire beat down on to the earth. But, dazed though he
was, the knight had retained his shield. Again the flames were
deflected clear of his body. The dragon raised one heavy
clawed foreleg over him. What it could not burn, it could still
tear and crush.
At that moment Ian sprinted forward into the heart of the
fray.
‘No!’ Barbara cried in horror.
Ian snatched up the knight’s broken lance, still twelve feet
long, and charged on, shouting at the top of his voice. The
great head twisted around towards him. Taking advantage of
the distraction, the knight rolled clear of the descending talons
as they thudded on to the ground. The beast’s strength was
going and the head hung lower. As it tried to focus on him, Ian
seized his chance and thrust the lance into one red eye. With a
terrible shriek of pain and rage the creature clawed at its
bloody eye-socket. Ian and the knight fell flat as it writhed and
thrashed and churned great gouges in the grass.
Then Barbara heard distant cries ringing through the woods
and the sound of many running feet. Suddenly, soldiers clad in
chain mail and steel caps, armed with crossbows, pikes and
spears, were pouring into the glade out of the trees.
‘Fire at your will!’ came a shouted order.
The twang and snap of bows filled the air. Spears were
hurled. Many bounced off the dragon’s hide, but some
penetrated. Ten yards away a party of three soldiers appeared,
dragging a large, wheel-mounted siege bow behind them.
They turned it about, fired a heavy metal dart into the beast’s
side, and feverishly started cranking the bow back for a second
shot.
Under the new onslaught the creature’s convulsions
subsided, its moans muted and the pulse of its lungs faltered.
As its head sank to earth, the knight ran forward, clasped his
longsword in both hands, and drove it clean through the eye
socket and into the brain. There was a last spasmodic shudder,
a final death rattle, and the thing was still.
For a moment the glade was silent, then the soldiers began
to cheer and slap each other’s backs.
Light-headed with both shock and relief, Barbara got to her
feet, supported by Susan and the Doctor, and limped over to
Ian, who was standing beside the huge body, staring at it in
wonder. She didn’t know whether to hug or scold him, but the
others spoke first.
 ‘That was very brave,’ said Susan, in slightly awed tones,
‘wasn’t it, Grandfather?’
‘Mmm? Oh yes – most courageous,’ commented the
Doctor, absentmindedly shaking his head at the remains of the
creature that still clearly offended his rational senses. ‘It
shouldn’t exist!’ he muttered.
‘Did you have to take such a risk?’ Barbara managed to say
at last.
Ian managed a dazed grin. ‘Well, I couldn’t leave our
rescuer in the lurch like that, could I? Anyway, no harm done.’
The knight, after calming his frightened horse and checking
it was uninjured, now approached them. Emblazoned on his
surcoat, as on his shield, was the image of a dragon in red and
gold, set on a black field, overarched with a bow of seven
stars. He removed his helmet, and Barbara was surprised to
see proud, brown-skinned features, capped with dark curled
hair, suggesting African ancestry. But if his appearance was
unexpected, his manner was undeniably chivalrous. He drew
off a gauntlet, bowed slightly and clasped Ian’s hand.
‘I am in your debt, sir; that was stoutly done.’
He spoke with dignity and self-assurance, with a slightly
archaic inflection to his words.
‘It was only fair,’ Ian replied sincerely. ‘If you hadn’t
turned up when you did, we’d all be a dragon’s breakfast by
now.’ Ian nodded at the company of soldiers now milling
around the dragon. ‘It’s a good thing you were ready for it,
Sir...?’
The man straightened. ‘I am Bron of Westhold, and have
the honour to be in the service of Sir Stephan Palbury, Baron
of Fluxford and Steward of the South Share of Elbyon. We
had news yesterday that such a beast had despoiled several
small settlements in the forest, and I was commanded to seek
it out. We have been hunting it since dawn.’
‘We found some ruins a couple of miles down the track.
We didn’t realize how it had happened.’
Sir Bron looked at them curiously. ‘You must live in a
much favoured land not to know dragon’s work when you see
it.’
‘Yes, this was our first dragon,’ Ian remarked dryly. ‘We
are from... abroad.’
‘Forgive me, but it is then my duty to ask you to give an
account of yourselves and your intentions here.’
Barbara could see Ian was uncertain how to explain their
presence. Fortunately, at that moment, Sir Bron realized she
was injured and chivalry smoothed the way. He called for the
wagon, which had carried the bolt guns and their crews, to be
brought to the glade to provide her with a proper seat so her
leg could be tended. Meanwhile, he insisted she should rest a
little way clear from the dragon’s grisly corpse. This seemed
to make introducing she and Susan much easier, and he bowed
politely to them in due course. The Doctor’s introduction as a
‘learned man and explorer’, together with his distinguished
appearance, seemed to impress Sir Bron. He also accepted
Ian’s, slightly circumspect, explanation that they were
travellers from a ‘distant land’ called ‘United Kingdom’. But
the TARDIS was harder to pass off.
‘It’s a sort of... travelling device,’ said Ian, glancing
meaningfully at the Doctor, ‘but it doesn’t always work
properly. We were just trying to find out where it had landed
us, when we met the dragon.’
The Doctor interjected impatiently.
‘It is simply a mechanical contrivance which has
temporarily malfunctioned,’ he explained, glaring back at Ian.
‘Ah, a magical device,’ said Sir Bron. ‘I did not realize you
had wizardly skills, good Doctor.’
The Doctor smiled tolerantly. ‘Mechanical, not magical,
sir; neither am I a wizard.’ He clasped his lapels and thrust out
his chin. ‘I am a scientist.’
‘Forgive me, but I do not know of this word.’ Bron stepped
over to the fallen TARDIS where it lay in a circle of burnt
grass and examined it curiously. ‘But surely,’ he continued,
‘your box must be of magical origin. What else could have
withstood dragonfire unscathed?’
He reached out to touch the TARDIS and Ian said quickly:
‘Careful. You’ll get a shock doing that.’
‘Only if it is roughly handled, Chesterton, or the lock is
interfered with,’ the Doctor amplified.
Sir Bron looked puzzled. Ian turned to one of the pikemen
who was standing a respectful few paces back. ‘May I borrow
that for a moment, thank you.’ Ian held the pike by its wooden
shaft and struck the TARDIS sharply. On the second blow,
blue sparks crackled across its surface, causing the soldiers to
step back, muttering in surprise.
‘Clearly this is a device of strange power beyond my
understanding,’ stated Sir Bron. He appeared to reach a
decision. ‘This must be taken to Fluxford for examination by
Gramling, our wizard, to determine its nature,’ he stated. The
Doctor looked dismayed, but the knight held up a placating
hand. ‘We will carry your travelling box with great care,
Doctor, you may be sure. If it is judged to be safe it will be
returned to you.’
The Doctor looked intent on arguing further, so Barbara
said quickly: ‘Thank you, Sir Bron. We realize you are only
doing your duty.’
The knight bowed. ‘And you and your companions will of
course come too, Mistress Barbara. Your injury must be
properly tended.’ He paused reflectively. ‘I fear this an
inconvenient time for your arrival here. There is both joy and
unease abroad in the land...’
Dhal sipped a goblet of wine to take away the taste of
death. His side and one eye still troubled him with a memory
of relayed pain. Curse the meddling stranger! He had stayed
with the beast too long in trying to finish Bron, and now he
had lost a useful tool. Still, it had served its purpose, and he
had others like it, in one form or another. But who were these
strangers with their strange fire-proof box? Where had they
come from? And why come now of all times?

Half an hour later, together with a small escort, they were

bumping along the dappled forest road towards Fluxford. The
TARDIS was now securely lashed upright in the wagon, while
the four travellers sat on rough benches behind it. Sir Bron
rode a few yards off on his own mount, which they heard him
call ‘Ambler’. Every so often, Barbara felt him giving them
curious glances. Still, she had to admit his treatment of them
had been nothing but correct, and she was certainly glad to
leave the glade and the monstrous corpse of the dragon. As
they departed, a detail of soldiers was already preparing for
the grisly task of dismembering and burning it, except for
those parts which had special medicinal or thaumaturgical
properties, Bron had explained. The head he wanted for his
own trophy, but magnanimously he offered Ian a talon as a
memento.
Barbara noted that, while Susan was looking around her
with bright interest, the Doctor was sitting tight-lipped,
frowning, deep in thought.
‘Well, Doctor,’ Ian asked at length, ‘what do you make of
all this?’
‘And what’s happened to the TARDIS?’ Barbara added.
‘Why won’t it let us in?’
The Doctor appeared not to hear, but Susan turned to fix
them with her serious, dark eyes. The defence mechanism
comes on if there’s a danger of something harmful getting
inside,’ she said simply.
‘Harmful!’ exclaimed Ian sharply. ‘You mean dangerous to
us, like a gas or an infection, or just something which might
damage the ship itself, like the dragon?’
‘It could be any of those, if it’s working properly,’ Susan
admitted. ‘Though if it was the dragon that triggered it, it
should have turned itself off again by now.’
‘As it hasn’t,’ said Ian tersely, ‘that leaves us with some
unpleasant possibilities. If there is something harmful out here,
will it affect us, and if so, how?’
‘But there’s obviously plenty of life here, including people
like ourselves,’ Barbara pointed out, ‘and they seem all right.’
‘Perhaps they’ve become acclimatized to whatever it is,’
Ian suggested, darkly, then brightened. ‘Or perhaps the
TARDIS is simply malfunctioning again, Doctor?’ He gave
him a nudge.
‘Mmm... what?’ The Doctor came out of his reverie.
‘Really, Chesterton, do you have to interrupt my train of
thought like that?’
‘It depends whether you were thinking of anything useful.’
‘I was trying to piece together what we have learned so far
into some kind of order. Once we understand the nature of this
place, we will know what has happened to the TARDIS.’
 ‘And have you managed to fit crashed spacecraft and
dragons into their proper places yet?’ asked Ian, a touch
sarcastically.
‘The dragon, superficially at least, is an absurdity,’ the
Doctor replied firmly.
‘But it exists,’ Barbara reminded him, ‘even if it does seem
to have come from a fairy tale. It nearly killed us! Isn’t that
real enough for you?’
‘Of course I’m not denying its existence,’ the Doctor
replied sharply. ‘But I am questioning whether it is what it
seems to be. I wish I had had the chance to examine it more
closely.’ He frowned. ‘I have seen many strange creatures in
my travels, but a giant, winged, fire-breathing dragon is, as
you say, a creation of pure fantasy; belonging to the myths and
legends of your world’s past, along with harpies, pixies, elves
–’
‘Dwarves?’ suggested Barbara, in slightly strained tones.
‘Like those over there?’
Their little column had slowed and Sir Bron rode forward
to where a group of stocky, bearded figures, none over four
feet tall, waited by the roadside. Barbara saw him speak to
them, apparently imparting good news, for they began to look
more cheerful. After a few minutes they bid farewell. The file
of dwarves marched on as the wagon started off again, and
they glimpsed compact, ruddy features between beards and
caps, and saw they were all carrying picks and shovels slung
with their packs. The dwarves gazed curiously at the TARDIS
as they passed, then turned off the road and disappeared into
the greenwood.
Barbara couldn’t help smiling at the Doctor’s expression.
She called to Sir Bron, who rode up beside them.
‘Who were they?’ she asked.
‘A party of miners who have excavations in the forest,
Mistress Barbara. They were asking if it was safe to proceed,
having heard tell of the dragon. I was able to reassure them,
and they were pleased to be able to return to their workings,
for dwarvish folk have a great passion for burrowing into the
ground.’
‘I suppose,’ said Ian, straightfaced, not looking at the
Doctor, ‘that there are quite a few pixies and elves around here
as well?’
‘Not so many elves in these parts,’ Sir Bron replied matter-
of-factly. ‘There are more in the Silverwood, which is close to
my own home of Westhold. Here we have too many
mischievous goblins and slinking cephlies for comfort. But
then, they are ever to be found close to great cities such as
Fluxford.’
‘And dragons, of course,’ Susan reminded him.
Sir Bron chuckled grimly. ‘More than there used to be,
Mistress Susan. In the past it was just the odd guivre in a fen,
or a lindworm out on the heath. You wouldn’t hear of a full-
grown fire-herald, like the one you encountered, more than
once a year at most. But since Beltane Eve, I’ve raised my
shield three times to such beasts.’
‘Yes, I noticed your shield was rather... er, special,’ Ian
commented mildly. ‘The dragon’s fire just seemed to spread
without touching it.’
‘A prize of my family,’ Sir Bron said, proudly. ‘Handed
down from my father and his father before him. A runic
enchantment of great power is inscribed on the rim to turn
back fire from its bearer.’
Barbara heard the Doctor mutter under his breath:
‘Enchantments!’ in exasperated tones. But then he appeared to
think of something and asked aloud: ‘May I ask, Sir Bron,
what today’s date is? We... ah, have lost count during our
recent travels.’
‘Today is the fifteenth of June.’
‘And the year?’
The knight looked surprised. ‘You must have travelled far
and long indeed to have lost count of the year, Doctor.’
‘Indeed. Just how far we will know when you tell us what it
is.’
‘Then it is the fourteenth year of the reign of Magnus the
Third, eight hundred and forty six AL.’
‘Ah,’ the Doctor appeared pleased with himself. ‘But what
would it be by...’ his lips pursed speculatively, ‘the old
calendar?’ he hazarded.
Sir Bron’s puzzlement was clearly deepening. ‘Why, none
use the old counting anymore.’
‘But if they did,’ persisted the Doctor, ‘would it not be the
end of the thirtieth century now?’
‘I suppose so. But why trouble about it?’
‘And just what does “AL” signify?’ continued the Doctor,
regardless.
Sir Bron now looked increasingly suspicious. ‘How can
you not know that?’ he demanded. ‘All lands count from
then.’ His eyes narrowed. ‘Just where is this United Kingdom
of yours?’
The tense silence that followed was broken by quick,
chittering voices and a patter of feet from the track behind
them. Barbara saw a party of three stooping creatures, with
mottled pelts, large heads elongated at the back, and spindly
bodies, scamper across the road. One flashed them an
apprehensive, hang-dog glance, then they were gone.
Sir Bron must have seen the expression on her face,
because he asked levelly: ‘Do you not recognize common
cephlies, Mistress Barbara? Do any of you?’ Reluctantly they
shook their heads. ‘And you have never encountered a dragon
before. That is unbelievable. Again I ask: where do you come
from?’
‘Sir Bron,’ said the Doctor, sincerely. ‘We didn’t say more
earlier because we were not sure how you would treat our
somewhat unusual origins. You see, our... travelling box, has
carried us much further than you imagine. I shall try to
explain, but I genuinely believe it would help if I knew what
AL means.’
‘It means “After Landfall”, naturally.’
‘But landfall where?’
‘Here on Avalon, where else? The landfall of Merlin’s
skyboat Prydwen, when it bore the body of Arthur through the
Veil from the last great battle, to his rest amongst the stars.’
 5

Mission Specialists

D octor Jen Komati shifted uncomfortably in her seat. The

uniform still pinched her. She’d have to go back
to the auto-tailor again. Of course, she conceded, it might
simply be that she was not a natural soldier. She’d only been
in the forces for three weeks. Just time enough for the briefest
period of intensive training, of a very particular kind, and
learning who to salute. The fact that she was already wearing
the double stars of a lieutenant had little to do with her martial
prowess. It was intended, she realized, to put her
unquestionably within a command structure and under military
discipline, where orders would be obeyed. She glanced across
at professor Ivanov, similarly uniformed, and suspected he felt
equally uncomfortable.
The door of the small briefing room slid back and Shannon
and flight lieutenant Monadno entered. Komati and Ivanov
stood in as military a fashion as they could manage.
The first time she’d seen them together, Komati thought
they were related. Later she realized they had simply come out
of the same training mould. Physically lean, narrow waisted
and broad shouldered. Clear, steady eyes that tended to bore
through you. Hair trimmed down so close its colour hardly
showed. Necks bunched with thick tendons leading up to
resolute jaws. Not square jaws, particularly, just absolutely,
singlemindedly, determinedly set. Undeniably capable men.
Capable of anything.
‘Be seated,’ said Shannon, briskly. He did everything
briskly, Komati realized.
‘We are now approximately thirty hours from our objective.
This briefing is to acquaint you with the details of that
objective and the wider purpose of our mission. All mission
details are classified ultra secret, and are to be discussed with
no one outside our team. That includes the rest of the marine
contingent aboard. You are to report solely to me. Any
questions?’
Komati and Ivanov exchanged glances, and Ivanov
coughed slightly and spoke up.
‘Well, Captain, only the obvious one: why us? We’ve still
not been given a proper explanation. Doctor Komati and
myself were both involved in reserved research work when we
were, as the old expression has it, “drafted”. My work will
suffer, as I’m sure will the doctor’s. It had important defence
implications, you know.’
‘I am aware of your previous work, Lieutenant, but this
mission has absolute priority. You were serving the Empire in
your laboratories, and now you will do your duty in the field.’
‘But surely there are other military scientists and
technicians amongst the marine corps on board who could –’
‘You are to hold yourself apart from them as I have already
indicated,’ Shannon cut in. ‘They will provide our backup as
necessary after we have made the initial sortie.’ He surveyed
them coldly. ‘Frankly, I would also have preferred regular
military scientists. But that was not possible in the
circumstances, as you will learn. Now, if there is nothing
further...’
And very shortly Jen Komati discovered their purpose.
And began to be afraid.
 6

Wizard

I t was fortunate that Ambler knew the road to Fluxford ‘well,

for during the rest of the journey, Bron paid it little
attention.
Voyagers from beyond the Veil.
People from the oldworlds travelling inside that tiny box!
An incredible story, but he found himself believing it.
Apart from the box itself, with its half-tamed lightning,
there was Ian Chesterton’s word, which he judged to be good.
It also explained their incredibly foolish behaviour in walking
through the forest unarmed with the signs of dragons all about
them. Bron had seen the look of concern on Ian’s face as
Barbara’s injury had been tended, and he knew he would
never lead her into such danger had he known better. Yet the
man was evidently no fool. So he must truly not have known
better, which set him apart from all other Avalonians with any
sense.
And yet they looked so ordinary. Bar their strange dress, he
might have passed them without note. Well, perhaps not the
Doctor. There was a quality about him, which was as wizardly
as he had ever felt, never mind what he chose to call himself.
There was more than a touch of it in his grandchild too,
unsurprisingly. What would Sir Stephan make of the arrival of
such people today of all days, he wondered? For that matter,
what would old Gramling make of the Doctor and his
travelling box?

The sphere glowed into life once more at Dhal’s touch. He

hunched over it intently, straining to achieve the link with the
least possible disruption. This was not like riding an animal
mind, this had to be delicate. There, he had it! He spoke aloud
to reinforce his commands.
‘Listen to me. There are strangers coming to Fluxford. I
wish to learn more about them.’

Susan watched the forest thin and fall behind them, and they
emerged on to a better road that wound between fields and
scattered farmhouses. They crested a slight rise, and a river
valley opened before them. Behind high, curving walls jostled
the huddled roofs of Fluxford; spreading over both banks of
the river and linked by a single wide bridge. Dominating the
valley from a hilltop on the further bank was a great castle.
Tall towers rose from within encircling rings of turreted outer
walls. Early afternoon sun sparkled from its windows, and
pendants flew from every mast and pinnacle.
‘Oh, that looks wonderful,’ she said.
‘The finest castle in the southlands,’ Bron agreed. ‘Only the
King’s own fastness at Glazebry is grander.’
They followed the winding road down into the valley and
up to the city walls, where they passed through heavy studded
double gates and into a long cobbled street. Half timbered
three and four storey buildings ran along each side, throwing
out overhanging eves and gables. The thoroughfare bustled
with carts, horses and people, who were dressed in variations
of the medieval kirtle, or tunic and hose, with occasional
puffed sleeves and hooded caps. Moving amongst the ordinary
folk were stocky dwarves, and a few tall, graceful figures with
golden hair and pointed ears. Are they elves? Susan wondered.
The TARDIS and the four travellers received many curious
stares, but their escort cleared the way, and they rumbled
steadily on towards the river. They caught a glimpse of a busy
quayside as they passed through the arch of the gatehouse and
on to the bridge that linked the two halves of the city.
The bridge was a shallow bow that leapt the broad river in a
single span. It was apparently made solely of glass.
Susan grasped the side of the wagon a little tighter and
looked over its side. The road surface itself was finely dimpled
and frosted, presumably for traction. She could see, slightly
blurred, the flowing waters thirty feet below. The bridge
structure was only a few inches thick.
‘Sir Bron, who made this?’ asked the Doctor.
‘Why, ’tis said to be the work of Merlin, when men first
came to Avalon. But the secrets of such craft have long since
been lost. Surely you have such things on your world?’
‘We tend to make them... ah, a little more substantial,’ Ian
replied mildly, exchanging helpless glances with the others.
Barbara shook her head in bemusement. The Doctor’s
thoughtful scowl deepened.
They crossed over into the other half of the city and began
to ascend towards the castle. The winding street twisted
between even older and more closely packed houses than
those on the other bank. The castle walls loomed over them
and they began to appreciate its vast bulk. Topping the hill
they found a wide dry moat separated the last of the houses
from its outer walls.
Here they had to pause as a company of twenty mounted
men, bearing pennants on their lances and riding immaculately
groomed and harnessed horses, trotted out over the drawbridge
past them. They were led by a sturdy, fresh faced youth,
hardly out of his teens, who drew up briefly beside Bron,
surveying the TARDIS and the four travellers curiously.
‘I thought you were hunting dragon, Sir Bron,’ he said
cheerfully. ‘But what have you here?’
‘The hunt was successful, Master Edmund. But I found
these people and their box along the way. And a strange story
they have to tell.’
‘I look forward to hearing it. But I must not tarry now. Well
done!’ And he spurred his mount on after the others.
Boards rattled under the wagon’s wheels as they crossed
the drawbridge and entered the shadowy portals of the turreted
gatehouse, passing under two portcullises and between
massive double gates.
They emerged into what, Susan remembered, was called
the outer bailey. It was a broad stretch of open grass entirely
surrounding the inner walls and the castle keep, which rose
majestically from a great mound at its centre. To her surprise,
the space was dotted with brightly coloured tents with conical
roofs, each having a distinctive banner flying from its central
pole, and lances and shields displayed before them. The
figures of squires and pages in tabards bearing many different
heraldic designs, flitted about the forest of tents and across to
the inside of the wall, where horses were tethered under lean-
to shelters.
‘Do you usually have so many visitors?’ she exclaimed.
Sir Bron laughed lightly, white teeth flashing against his
dark skin. ‘I forget you do not know what all Elbyon has been
talking about for weeks. Tomorrow, Princess Mellisa, the
King’s youngest daughter, will be wed to Sir Stephan’s
youngest son Edmund; he who just passed us on his way to
escort the royal party over the last miles. It will be the
grandest celebration in years, with tournaments and
entertainments every day for a week up to the midsummer fair.
There are parties here from all over the land and a few
beyond.’ He smiled. ‘Though you must surely now count as
our most travelled guests.’
Their little column crossed a second moat, this time water
filled, and through a gatehouse no less substantial than the
first, then up a paved ramp flanked by high walls and roofed
by an iron grating. Susan noticed many slotted openings in the
stonework and realized what their deadly purpose would be,
should any invading force reach this far. The castle might look
romantic, but it was clearly built to serve a very practical
function. They passed through another solid gate and into the
inner bailey. Built up against its walls were buildings that
must have been the main stables, a smithy and store houses.
Sections of the grounds within the enclosure were walled of
presumably forming private gardens. In the middle was the
castle keep: a cluster of round towers built of pale stone, with
only slotted loopholes on their lower levels, capped by turrets
or conical pointed roofs, and bridged between by battlements
and crenellated walkways. The wagon clattered up to an
archway, passed under yet another portcullis, and emerged
within the central courtyard. This was overlooked by the large,
colourful traceried windows of staterooms and many hanging
balconies. The wagon swung round and drew up beside a
flight of steps ascending to a large doorway. An attendant ran
up to take charge of Ambler, and Sir Bron dismounted.
 ‘Please descend,’ he requested. ‘Your box will be taken
where it may be examined later. Can you walk a little ways,
Mistress Barbara?’ he asked solicitously, as Ian helped her
down from the wagon.
‘Thank you, Sir Bron,’ she replied with a wry smile,
rubbing her seat delicately, ‘but after that ride, a walk will be
welcome!’
Bron smiled understandingly. ‘I will try to contrive a
meeting for you with Sir Stephan, though you appreciate he is
much engaged with arrangements. The royal party will be
arriving in but a few hours.’
Sir Bron spoke briefly to the guards on the door, and they
passed through into a long, stone flagged corridor, busy with
pages and maids in flying skirts, dashing to and fro. The
homely smell of food suddenly impinged on Susan’s senses,
and she gazed hungrily at the laden trays and platters, clearly
destined for a feast, being carried past them. They were led
along the corridor, sometimes having to stand aside to let more
food and cases of tableware by, and then up a broad flight of
stairs to the entrance of a grand hall.
It was a spacious chamber, with heavy beams supporting its
high vaulted roof. A minstrels’ gallery bridged across one end.
On opposite walls, two huge fireplaces gaped under massive
chimney breasts, flanked by tall arched windows. Presently,
the hall was a hive of activity as servants prepared tables. At
the far end of the room they could see a compact, dapper man,
wearing fine robes, who was directing some details of the
operation. He was flanked by a slightly harassed looking
scribe carrying a small wooden desk top, supported
horizontally by a strap around his neck and a belt, before him.
This held his paper, quill and inkpot, and allowed him to walk
whilst taking notes.
They waited by the door while Sir Bron approached Sir
Stephan and spoke intently to him for several moments. They
saw the Baron cast several curious glances in their
direction. He gave some instructions to a pageboy, who
hurried out of the room, then the travellers were beckoned
over. Sir Bron introduced them, and the Doctor made a small,
dignified bow.
 ‘Please excuse our arrival at such an inconvenient time, Sir
Stephan. It was, I assure you, quite unplanned.’
‘So Bron has explained, good Doctor.’ The Baron peered at
them intently with bright, intelligent eyes, that contrasted with
his iron-grey hair. ‘But if you are indeed travellers from the
oldworlds come safely to us at last, as Bron is inclined to
believe you are, then your arrival is surely propitious. And this
travelling box he describes, that is so different to the skyboats
we know of, that intrigues me.’ He looked thoughtful. ‘Even
though time is short, I am minded to inspect such a remarkable
thing.’ He nodded to his scribe. ‘I believe Master Harding can
manage quite well without my aid for a while. Show me this
strange vessel of yours.’

The TARDIS had been placed in a small walled yard adjacent

to the castle gardens. The Baron inspected it closely and had
the Doctor explain its functions. With another borrowed pike,
the defence shield was again demonstrated.
‘And yet you say it is a device constructed purely of
mundane elements, without any magical principles at all?’ he
queried at length.
‘That is so,’ the Doctor replied firmly. ‘I know nothing
about what you call “magic”.’
‘Well, I have sent for one who is more expert than I in such
matters. Ah, here he comes now.’
An old man with a flowing white beard was approaching.
He wore a wine-red cloak which swept the ground, over a long
tunic belted with a wide gold sash, decorated with runic
inscriptions. On his head was a tall pointed hat patterned with
silver stars. He walked with the aid of a staff of dark, twisted
wood, nearly as tall as he was. He bowed stiffly as he came up
to Sir Stephan.
‘You sent for me, my lord, and I have come.’ His gaze
passed over the travellers and the TARDIS. ‘And these are the
strangers and their... device.’
‘Indeed. A mechanical travelling box of the Doctor’s, here.
And it appears to have shut them out against their will. What
do you make of it, Master Gramling?’
The old wizard circled the TARDIS, tapping it with his
staff, sniffing suspiciously. ‘It has a strange quality, certainly.’
‘We really would be grateful if you could open it,’ Barbara
said politely, ignoring the Doctor’s withering glance.
Gramling swelled slightly. ‘Open it, lady? Yes, I’m sure I
can do that, if your companion has lost the means. A simple
unlocking spell should suffice.’
The wizard made a complicated pass with his free hand,
chanting under his breath, and gestured with his staff. To the
amazement of the travellers, they saw a flare of bright green
light surge from its tip and strike the TARDIS door, tracing
the outline of its edges for a moment and sparkling around its
lock, then fading away. Gramling tapped the door expectantly.
Nothing happened. His face fell. He struck it harder.
‘I would advise against that,’ the Doctor warned, quickly
concealing his surprise at the show of magical pyrotechnics.
Sparks crackled over the TARDIS and licked out towards
Gramling, who leapt back with a start. ‘Aha,’ he said,
recovering himself. ‘It is protected by an elemental, I see.’
‘Nonsense,’ exclaimed the Doctor. ‘It is protected by a high
voltage surface electrical discharge!’
‘Allow me,’ said Gramling icily, taking a step towards the
Doctor in emphasis, ‘to make my own observations in a field
of knowledge in which I have made something of a study,
having identified forty-three distinct types of elemental
beings!’
‘And allow me,’ said the Doctor, taking a step towards
Gramling in turn, ‘to point out that the TARDIS is evidently
quite outside any such field of knowledge.’
‘I think I recognize the actions of elementals when I see
them!’ Gramling replied haughtily, edging still closer to his
detractor.
‘Your pardon, sir, but you do not!’ retorted the Doctor,
stepping closer again.
The two were practically nose to nose now, and Susan
realized that, except for Gramling’s flowing beard, they were
very much alike, with the same defiantly thrusting chins and
domineering manners.
Now just a minute,’ said Ian moderately, trying to get
between them. ‘Perhaps you’re both just disagreeing over
semantics here –’ He trailed off as two pairs of aged diamond-
hard eyes stared him into silence.
‘My lord,’ said Gramling suddenly, turning to Sir Stephan.
‘I believe my competence has been questioned by this man.
May I make a more substantial demonstration of my powers?’
Sir Stephan was looking amused by the confrontation.
‘Very well, Master Gramling. But nothing dangerous, mind.’
The wizard stepped back from the Doctor, eyes blazing.
Under his breath he spoke an incantation, stirring the air with
his staff. A thread of vapour appeared from nowhere, swirling
like a streamer, and grew more solid. In moments it had taken
on the form of a vividly coloured snake, coiled about the staff.
Growing larger, it slithered to the ground. Susan gasped and
shrank away instinctively. Barbara clasped Ian’s arm, but he
stood firm, fists clenched. The snake was twenty feet long, and
it still seemed to be uncoiling and growing. Hissing
menacingly, its fanged head reared over the Doctor, forked
tongue flickering.
Then the Doctor suddenly smiled in understanding.
‘It’s an illusion,’ he said triumphantly, and stepped forward
and slashed his stick through the snake’s neck.
It met no resistance. The others blinked. And there was
only a thin streamer of vapour in the air that slowly drifted
away. The idea that it had ever been a snake suddenly seemed
ridiculous.
Sir Stephan laughed. ‘I believe you have met a worthy
opponent, Gramling.’
The wizard coloured and frowned angrily at the Doctor.
‘How did you recognize the illusion so quickly? It was
perfect.’ He became suspicious. ‘Only one trained in the
magical arts could have done that.’
‘Not so,’ countered the Doctor sharply. ‘I am a scientist, an
observer. And your illusion, excellent though it was,’ he
allowed magnanimously, ‘lacked one important detail: it cast
no shadow on the ground!’ Gramling seemed taken aback, and
the Doctor pressed home his advantage, a mischievous smile
now playing about his lips. ‘Yes, I sometimes see things others
do not.’ He pointed dramatically. ‘That egg in your beard, for
example!’
 ‘What!’
‘Right there, sir, under your very chin!’ And before
anybody could move, the Doctor stepped quickly forward,
thrust his hand into the flowing mass of hair, and appeared to
withdraw from it a brown hen’s egg, which he held up for all
to see.
There was a momentary surprised silence, then general
laughter filled the yard.
The Doctor beamed and bowed genially to his impromptu
audience. ‘And all done without magical intervention,’ he
added, turning back to Gramling. ‘Now, sir, let us forget our
little difference and agree not to trespass on the other’s
territory, hmm?’
There was a moment’s hesitation, then Gramling bowed
slightly. ‘Perhaps that would be wisest, Doctor.’
‘Well said,’ applauded Sir Stephan. ‘Two such learned men
should not set against each other, especially on such a happy
occasion as this. Now, Master Gramling, do you believe there
is any evil in the Doctor’s vessel?’
Gramling recovered some of his poise. ‘It is a strange
contrivance, but no, I sense no evil.’
‘Just so. And I in turn judge these people to be good folk,
and offer them the hospitality of my house, in return only for
some tales of their travels and news of the oldworlds, when
time allows.’
The Doctor, now at his courteous best after his little
triumph, bowed. ‘Thank you, Sir Stephan. We accept your
most gracious offer.’

‘Well,’ observed Ian, half an hour later, ‘I think we could say

we’ve been rather lucky, all things considered.’
They had been found a couple of rooms on an upper floor
of the crowded castle, which, if not the best, were comfortable
enough. Ian was sharing with the Doctor, and Barbara with
Susan. A tray of food and a flagon of wine had been provided
to tide them over to the banquet that evening. At the moment
they were all in the women’s room, where Barbara rested her
injured leg on the bed. Boiled water in a glazed bowl had been
supplied, together with clean bandages and a small bottle of
raw alcohol for a disinfectant. Susan was cleaning and re-
bandaging the wound. Barbara would probably be limping for
the next few days.
‘I could have done with slightly more luck, thank you,’
Barbara said, wincing as Susan cleaned her wound, ‘but I
suppose it could have been worse.’ She glanced at the Doctor,
who was sitting with his hands clasped over the handle of his
cane, apparently lost in thought again. ‘So, Doctor, what have
you to say about magic, now that you’ve actually seen some
practised?’
‘Talking of which,’ Ian added quickly, ‘how did you do
that trick with the egg?’
The Doctor seemed annoyed. ‘Now why is it that you
assume what we saw demonstrated was “magic”, while my
own little contribution was merely a “trick”, eh? Can you tell
me how I did it?’
‘Some sort of sleight of hand, I suppose,’ said Ian.
‘Precisely. But where did I get the egg from in the first
place? Did I “magic” it out of thin air? No. I picked it up
unobtrusively when we passed all those food trays in the long
corridor, because I noticed my Susan was looking hungry, and
I thought a boiled egg would be better than nothing.’
Susan smiled. ‘Thank you, Grandfather.’
‘Of course, I had no idea that I might be able to produce it
to such good effect. You realize, I trust, that my somewhat
dramatic words and gestures served as a distraction, while I
palmed the egg and then appeared to retrieve it from
Gramling’s beard.’ He grinned almost boyishly. ‘A little trick
I picked up while I was in the United States once. Fellow
named Harry... something... showed me.’
‘Houdini, Grandfather,’ Susan reminded him gently, as she
finished tying Barbara’s bandage.
‘Yes, that was him. Better known for his escapology, but a
talented illusionist as well. Anyway, that is an example of
what I know of as “magic”. Now, how do you explain what
you saw Gramling do?’
‘Well, I can’t,’ admitted Ian. ‘The light that came out of his
staff, the giant snake – and in the open in broad daylight. Even
if that was an illusion without substance, it was a clever one.’
 ‘I see. So you immediately jump to the conclusion that it
must be a product of mystical forces and paranormal
phenomena, just because you can’t see any other obvious
explanation.’
‘But it does rather fit the pattern,’ put in Barbara. ‘We’ve
actually seen a dragon, dwarves and elves, and Bron’s flame-
proof shield. They’re no illusions. And King Arthur and
Merlin seem to be part of their history. This world is called
Avalon, which in the Arthurian Legends was meant to be his
last resting place. He was carried there on Merlin’s boat called
the Prydwen. I don’t pretend to understand it, but it does make
a sort of sense.’ She frowned. ‘Couldn’t we have gone
somewhere beyond our ordinary universe, where magic
actually does work, and where myth and fantasy become
reality?’
‘There are dimensions, in the darker recesses of time and
space, where the laws of nature as you know them are
distorted,’ the Doctor admitted solemnly. ‘But there was no
indication we made such a leap to get here. In any case, what
of the spacecraft we found, and why do they talk about
“skyboats” so freely, if this is such a place? What need or
understanding would they have of them? No, I am convinced
this is the end of the Thirtieth Century, by your calendar, and
that these people, perhaps originally an Earth colony, have,
over time, somehow confused real and mythical history so
they believe they are descended from the followers of Arthur
and Merlin.’
‘Hold on, Doctor,’ said Ian. ‘I can see how a pseudo-
medieval society might grow up if a colonizing attempt failed
for some reason. But all the confusion in the world is not
going to make “magic” work or dragons actually appear.
There is something unusual there, whatever you care to call it.’
The Doctor beamed benignly. ‘At last, my boy, you’re
starting to consider the problem objectively, and not leaping to
conclusions. I have never denied that the dragon was a reality,
Bron’s shield has special properties, or that the wizard has
access to powers I do not, as yet, understand. But I will never
call on the supernatural to explain it away before exploring
every other possibility first. To do that we must learn more
facts about this world and its history.’
‘But will that help us with the TARDIS?’ wondered
Barbara.
‘But of course,’ exclaimed the Doctor. ‘It is too much of a
coincidence for the unusual conditions here not to be linked to
the misbehaviour of the TARDIS. Once we know the facts
behind those, the problem will be explained.’ He hooked his
thumbs under his lapels in his deliberate way. ‘Believe me,
I’m certain of it.’
 7

The Cat

T he tiny cottage stood dark and silent amid the tall trees of
the deep wood. Its shingled roof sagged and its single
chimney stack twisted like a corkscrew, not quite reaching up
to the outflung lower branches of the nearest trees, which
overhung the dwelling and sheltered it from all but the highest
noonday sun. A faint, little used path meandered up to the
front door, which was blackened and ridge-grained with age.
The tiny lead-latticed windows with the rippled glass panes
were dark and cold, and reflected no cheery sparkle. It was
almost as though the cottage was dead.
A cat, yellow eyed and black as night, flitted silently
through the trees. Reaching the front door, it scratched to be
let in, then sat on the time-worn step with its tail flicking
impatiently.
There was no movement from inside.
The cat scratched again, more determinedly.
Still nothing.
It yowled stridently, its piercing tone normally a guarantee
of immediate attention.
All remained silent.
Irritated, it began a tour of inspection around the cottage,
looking for a window ajar. There was none.
The cat paced in frustration to and fro before the front door
for a minute, then trotted over to the lean-to woodshed. There
was a scrabbling and it appeared on the woodshed roof. A
springing leap, and it was on the main roof. It padded over to
the crazy chimney stack, reared up to hook its claws between
the bricks and began to climb. Reaching the top, it peered
cautiously down the smoke-blackened flue, but no fire burnt in
the grate below. It curled itself over the lip and disappeared.
No sound came from the cottage for several minutes.
Then there was a rapid scrabbling up the chimney and the
cat appeared again. It leaped from the top of the stack on to the
shingles, then from shingles to ground in practically one
movement. It landed bonelessly and silently and sprinted off
through the trees without a backward glance.
Its eyes still flashed yellow. But now, deep within them,
burned a purpose that had not been there before.
 8

An Unwelcome Guest

N ow tell me, Doctor,’ Ian heard Kilvenny Odoyle enquire,

‘how is it with the oldworld? I would dearly like to hear
tales of the Emerald Isle after all these long years.’
Odoyle sat on the other side of Susan and the Doctor from
Ian. He wore a bottle green tail-coat, breeches with buttoned
gaiters and silver buckled shoes. He had his own specially
raised chair, necessitated by the fact that he was slightly under
two feet tall. Which was probably quite a good height for a
leprechaun. They had all, including the Doctor, accepted him
with hardly a second glance. After what they had experienced
so far that day, Ian thought, being introduced to a leprechaun
as your table companion required little additional mental
adjustment.
In the space between the tables, a jester, apparently
engaged in a dispute with his own stick-and-bladder, executed
a pratfall, to the delight of the diners. In the minstrels’ gallery,
a small company of musicians plucked and blew at harps,
horns and pipes; producing a reedy but merry accompaniment
to the festivities.
‘Ireland,’ replied the Doctor carefully, raising his voice
above the noise, ‘was still the same charming, whimsical place
as always when I last visited it. Of course, that was a while
ago...’
Ian lost the rest of his noncommittal response as a fresh
wave of laughter washed through the Great Hall of Fluxford
Castle.
Three hundred guests sat at an extended ‘U’ of adjoining
tables, which stretched the length of the hall and across its
further end. From his own place, well down one side, Ian
could see the high table where the royal party and their host
sat. This was the closest they had yet been to the royal couple,
there having been no chance to include them in the official
introductions earlier. As far as he could judge, King Magnus
and Queen Leonora made an impressive spectacle in their fine
robes and crowns; balancing regal reserve and dignity nicely
with an easy conviviality. Beside them was Palbury, who they
had learned was a widower, together with his elder son Giles
and his wife, and Edmund. Next to Edmund was a pretty girl,
with golden hair worn in one long waist-length plait, who
could hardly have been more than seventeen. This was
Princess Mellisa, his bride to be. The, two kept exchanging
long, silent, slightly embarrassed smiles amid the noise and
clamour of the feast.
Barbara, seated beside Ian, had also noticed the pair’s
behaviour, and now leaned closer. ‘Where have we seen
expressions like that before?’ she asked.
Like Susan, she was now wearing a loose-sleeved, floor
length dress suitable for the occasion, chosen from a selection
which Sir Stephan considerately had sent to their room earlier,
together with night clothing for all of them. Ian suspected that,
apart from the need to replace Barbara’s torn and bloody
clothing, the sight of women in slacks was not thought quite
proper. His own costume and that of the Doctor had,
presumably, been judged unusual but acceptable, considering
their peculiar origins.
Ian grinned back. ‘I know, on the faces of any number of
lovesick sixth formers.’
Barbara frowned, pursing her lips experimentally,
‘Lovesixth sic formers – oh – I don’t think I could say that
quickly. It’s all this wine... it’s gone to my head.’ She shifted
in her chair and winced, as though her leg still pained her.
Ian noticed her discomfort. ‘Do you want to go to your
room and rest?’
‘I’ll be all right for a little while longer. I just wish there
was some plain water to drink.’
‘Maybe a spot of wine’s the best thing for you at the
moment. Besides, I’m not sure I’d trust the water.’ A troop of
jugglers and tumblers had taken the place of the jester in the
space between the tables. ‘At least there’s a free floor show,
and we’re certainly not going to starve.’
‘Oh, there’s plenty of food, if you like meat. I just wish it
wasn’t all so richly flavoured!’
The tables groaned under platters piled high with haunches,
ribs and slices of every type of meat. Venison, suckling pig,
mutton, pheasant and woodcock, jostled together with breaded
salmon and some dried sea fish they could not identify. There
were few vegetables present except roast potatoes, beans and
peas, and nothing as simple as plain gravy, but instead a
variety of heavily seasoned sauces, pungent with onion,
pepper, cloves, cinnamon and ginger. Apart from the fat
golden rolls of bread that were torn up to mop the plates, and
some fruit, mainly last year’s carefully preserved apples, the
blandest item on the menu was a side dish of almond
flavoured rice. Custard flans and sugared wafers provided a
sweet diversion.
The feast seemed to be without fixed courses, and all were
apparently expected to eat their fill as they chose. The only
interruptions were when the servants brought forth fresh
pitchers to replenish their cups. There was white wine, red
wine, wine sweetened with honey or spiced with nutmeg. Ale
and beer was being consumed freely on the lower tables. With
each serving, a new toast was proposed, and goblets of silver
and gold were raised to the King and Queen, to the Steward of
the South Share and to the future of the two betrothed. As the
banquet progressed and the toasts became more slurred and
merrier, Ian wondered who would be fit for tomorrow’s
ceremonies.
As he observed the banqueters, he realized how racially
diverse they were. Fairy tale beings aside, he saw many black,
brown and oriental faces amid the revellers, giving an
additional exotic quality to this pseudo-medieval feast.
Presumably the original colonists had come from all parts of
the Earth. But that still didn’t explain where the elves or
leprechauns came from, of course.
While he mused, Barbara was engaged in conversation by
Sir Peridor, who sat on her other side. He was a blond giant of
a man, resembling a reincarnated Viking, in the service of the
King. The Doctor was still conversing with Kilvenny Odoyle,
and Susan was chatting brightly with one of the ladies sitting
opposite, sipping quickly from her goblet as she did so. This
action inspired a sudden feeling of schoolmasterly
responsibility in Ian, possibly reinforced by the knowledge
that he was feeling a little light-headed himself.
Taking advantage of a break in their conversation, he
leaned closer and murmured: ‘I wouldn’t have too much wine,
if I were you, Susan. You might regret it in the morning.’
She blinked in incomprehension for a moment, and Ian had
the feeling she was translating an unfamiliar concept. Then she
replied simply: ‘Oh, it doesn’t matter what I drink. We don’t
get inebriated. Unless we want to, of course.’
And Ian had a brief glimpse, once again, of the gulf that
separated him from this seemingly normal girl and her
grandfather.
As the evening light slanting through the hall’s tall
windows mellowed, candles were lit in scrolled wall brackets,
or in great wheels suspended from the ceiling; filling the room
with dancing shadows and the heavy scent of wax. And as the
mood of the banqueters mellowed in sympathy, the minstrels
took their rest, and a troubadour was presented to the royal
table, to sing a lay specially composed for the occasion.
Feeling well fed and relaxed, Ian leaned back in his chair and
closed his eyes and let the gentle, liquid, mellifluous words
drift softly over him.
From outside he seemed to hear a breeze wash over the
traceried window panes.
Then there was a louder buffet of wind. Somewhere a
shutter banged suddenly.
The singer faltered for a moment as a cry of surprise rang
out from within the castle. There was a boiling, rushing noise
that grew sharply in pitch. The guards at the hall’s big double
doors turned, dropping their pikes to the ready. The sound rose
to a wailing scream.
The doors burst open, knocking the guards aside. A cold
hurricane blast tore through them, snuffing out the candles in
an instant and plunging the hall into grey half-light. A window
pane blew out, tableware toppled and spilled on to the floor,
banners and hangings billowed and snapped. A woman
screamed and men’s voices rose in surprise and anger.
Slowly the gale subsided and the last gusts faded and were
gone. People started to gather their wits, groping about almost
blindly in the gloom. The King’s voice could be heard over the
confusion calling for light.
And out of the murk in the middle of the hall came a cool,
sardonic reply: ‘Light, your Majesty? Certainly you shall have
light.’
A shadow moved with a rustle of cloth. There was a faint
multiple popping sound, and it seemed as though fireflies had
exploded about a candle bracket at one end of the hall, and a
flame suddenly danced over every smoking wick. Then the
next bracket came to life, and the next. A wave of illumination
rolled around them, finally causing the great hanging candle
wheels to blaze afresh.
A tall figure, wearing flowing dark robes and a wizard’s
hat, stood in the open space between the tables. Ian saw dark
eyes gleaming out of the handsome, sardonic face of a man no
older than himself. Power and arrogant self-assurance burned
in the gaze that passed across the assembly before coming to
rest on the occupants of the high table. Sir Bron and Gramling
sprang to their feet as the man strode up to the King, but the
intruder only bowed low before him, with a mocking
exaggerated flourish.
‘Pardon my late arrival, your Majesty, but my invitation to
this happy gathering seems to have gone astray.’ There came
the sound of feet pounding up the corridor outside. The man in
black waved his hand negligently at the big double doors and
with a rush of wind they slammed shut.
The King had recovered himself by now and stood to face
the man across the table.
‘There was no invitation, Dhal, as well you know. I would
not have the good humour of this day tainted by bloodshed,
but I swear if you do not leave this instant, I will have you
removed from here by whatever means necessary!’
Dhal’s voice lowered menacingly for a moment, ignoring
the thumping fists pounding on the outside of the doors. ‘Dare
you risk the consequences of such foolhardiness? I think not.’
Then he brightened again, as though dismissing the threat
from his mind, and became full of transparent charm once
more. Tut there is no cause to bear me ill will, when I seek
only to convey to your – beautiful – daughter, and her
husband-to-be, my best wishes for their future life together.’
And he bowed elegantly towards Princess Mellisa, but then
let his eyes linger so suggestively on her that Edmund sprang
to his feet, his face flushed with outrage, and lunged forward.
His older brother managed to restrain him, saying quickly:
‘Don’t, Edmund! He’s just trying to bait you!’
‘Ah, the voice of maturity,’ purred Dhal. He crooked an
eyebrow at the furious Edmund, then regarded the Princess
again. ‘A trifle headstrong, isn’t he, Princess?’ he observed.
‘Perhaps you might be better advised to find a more mature
mate after all.’
Sir Stephan clenched his fists at the new insult to his son.
Ian could feel the tension in the hall steadily rising and heard
angry shufflings and mutterings. He saw Sir Bron appear
ready to fly at Dhal even though he was weaponless.
Gramling, eyes blazing, held his staff and hand poised as
though about to cast a spell. Kilvenny Odoyle was standing on
his chair holding a tiny silver hammer before him, and Ian
sensed an aura of power about the little leprechaun. All eyes
were on the King and Dhal. But while Dhal restricted himself
only to words, Magnus held himself in check.
‘You have said your piece, Dhal. Now begone!’
‘There was just one other matter,’ Dhal drawled casually,
as though the King had not spoken. ‘When is my appointment
as Wizard Supreme, Sorcerer of Sorcerers and Magician to the
Royal Court to be confirmed?’ The assembly gasped as though
he had excelled his previous insults. Out of the corner of his
eye, Ian saw two castle guards, armed with crossbows, appear
at the rail of the minstrels’ gallery.
With a visible effort, the King maintained his composure.
‘Not another word! Go now! Or else –’
‘Or else what?’ sneered Dhal.
There came the snap and zip of crossbow bolts discharged
from the gallery.
They struck Dhal square in the chest, only to pass clean
through his body to shatter against the flagstones.
Dhal laughed and gestured upwards. There was a tearing
rush of wind in the gallery, and the two guards were blasted
out over the rail and plunged to the floor of the hall. Screams
and cries of horror rang out. Gramling’s staff spat a fireball
towards Dhal at the same moment as a searing blue-white
lightning bolt crackled from Odoyle’s hammer. Dhal flung out
his hands towards the two magic users, and fireball and
thunderbolt flared and burst a foot from his palms.
For a moment the tableau held. Dhal, arms outstretched to
ward off further attacks, Gramling and Odoyle weaving their
hands about as though probing his defences for some weak
point. The rest of the banqueters frozen in various cowering
postures, realizing that material weapons were useless against
the intruder.
‘You know what I desire,’ Dhal said, his voice carrying
clearly to all corners of the chamber. ‘You will deliver it to me
or else!’
And with that final ultimatum hanging in the air, another
rush of wind swirled about the hall. A second window blew
out and darkness filled the chamber again. By the time a
handful of candles could be re-lit, there was no sign of Dhal.

‘Just who was he anyway,’ asked Ian, ‘and what was he after?’
The banquet had ended with Dhal’s dramatic departure.
Both Palbury and the King had extolled their guests to remain
calm and not let the intrusion spoil the next day’s ceremonies.
Ian thought this was a forlorn hope; one of the guards Dhal
had blasted from the gallery had broken his neck, which was
hardly the ideal prelude to a wedding day. Now the travellers
were gathered in Ian and the Doctor’s dimly lamplit room
before turning in. Kilvenny Odoyle had accompanied them.
After the events of the evening, the castle still felt too restless
to think of sleep.
Odoyle, perched on the side of a bed, considered Ian’s
question while he filled a long stemmed, silver banded pipe
from his pouch and snapped his fingers to light it. The
leprechaun’s puckish face creased in thought and his long
upper lip twitched as he puffed away.
 ‘Well to be sure, it would be a long tale to tell in full of all
the doings that led Marton Dhal to where he is today, and I’d
not want to keep the ladies from their rest.’
‘We’d really like to know,’ said Susan brightly, ‘and we
couldn’t sleep anyway after what’s happened.’
‘As you will then, lass. I’ll try to tell the story in brief.’ He
puffed on his pipe. ‘Twenty years ago, it would be, when
Gramling took on young Dhal as his apprentice. The boy was
keen and a quick learner and all thought he would make a fine
addition to the chapter of magical practitioners, someday
following Gramling as Wizard Imprimis to the House of the
Stewards of the South Share. But there was an ambitious and
calculating streak in the boy that none had guessed at, and
which now Gramling, I know, bitterly regrets not spying
earlier. As young Dhal became more experienced in the craft
he started practising its darker side. In secret, as it would later
be known, he experimented on the transmutation and
metamorphosis of living things, a task normally only
undertaken by the most skilled in the field, for fear of the
consequences of such work. He also began to challenge his
master more often in magical matters to test their respective
strengths and abilities. Soon he had proved, to his own
satisfaction anyway, that he was the stronger. But he was no
longer content to supplant Gramling alone. Dhal now wanted
to be the first in all Elbyon, and so he petitioned to become
apprentice to the King’s own court magician, Tregandor of
Arndell, who had lost his own apprentice in an accident not
long before. And Tregandor was considering taking him on,
when Gramling discovered strong evidence that Dhal had
caused the death of his apprentice. So Tregandor challenged
Dhal to a wizard’s duel, so that justice might be served.’
Odoyle paused to puff at his pipe which was in danger of
going out.
‘And did they fight?’ asked Barbara.
‘Indeed they did, lady,’ Odoyle confirmed, ‘and a terrible
and wonderful battle it was, and all who witnessed it will
never forget it to their dying day.’
‘But what was the outcome?’ the Doctor demanded
impatiently.
 ‘Well it as near as killed both of them. Tregandor never
recovered properly and died later, while Dhal retreated to his
fastness on the moor to lick his wounds. His ambition
remained unchanged, however. So he waited on Tregandor’s
passing, then put himself forward for the vacant post, which he
could do, because the evidence against him was not proof
positive.’
‘But surely the King can choose someone else if he’s so
unsuitable?’ said Ian.
‘Indeed he can,’ agreed Odoyle, ‘but only if they put
themselves forward. And none have, knowing their first task
would be to face a new challenge from Dhal. To have fought
Tregandor to death’s door like that made it clear he is terribly
strong. I wouldn’t take him on, and that’s a fact.’
‘But can’t several wizards band together to defeat him?’
asked Barbara practically.
Odoyle chuckled ruefully. ‘That would be plain common
sense, would it not, lady. But common sense does not rule in
this case. It’s hard enough for magic users to combine their
powers on the most abstract matters. ’Tis our nature, you see.
Fearful as we are of the strength of one, the dangers of a cadre
might be even worse. Yet it might come to that in the end, if
Dhal is perceived by enough of us as the more immediate
peril. But so far he has confined his activities to the south of
Elbyon alone, and not antagonized more than he must, while at
the same time not allowing the King to forget that he must
appoint someone soon. By way of doing this, and testing his
own strength, he is, I fear, behind the strange happenings and
unexplained manifestations that have plagued the Share of
late.’
‘Including the dragons?’ Barbara asked, with an
involuntary shudder.
‘Ah, your own lively encounter in the forest. Yes, very
likely so. And now we witness his boldest move yet, though I
do not see how it has promoted his cause to have insulted both
Ruler and Steward so publicly. They are stout men and not to
be cowed by threats.’
‘Perhaps he hopes to force the appointment of a wizard in a
hurry, who he can then beat easily and take his place,’
suggested Susan.
‘That maybe so, young lady,’ conceded Odoyle.
The Doctor snorted. ‘All this for a title and position!’
‘That’s not the half of it,’ Odoyle replied. ‘You being
strangers to these parts don’t know what is entailed with the
job. The holder has access to a fine and rare collection of
magical writings, formulae and other devices of great power,
Merlin’s own staff amongst them. What use one of Dhal’s
make would put them to is not a pleasant thought, but they’ll
need someone capable to watch over them soon, for the
position can’t be left untended long.’
‘But if Dhal’s so strong, what’s to stop him simply taking
them?’ queried Ian.
‘lib, now, surely he would if he could, but he can’t. There’s
a binding laid upon them.’
‘A what?’ exclaimed Barbara.
‘A binding. A spell of compulsion set up in olden times that
has become part of the very fabric of the things and which
none can break. They can only safely be kept by the strongest
magician in the land, to prevent them being misused. But
counterwise, such a magician can only be rightfully appointed
by the freely given word of the King, at a gathering of his
peers and other persons of rank, who must also add their
consent to his choice.’
‘But if these items are so powerful,’ the Doctor pointed out,
‘couldn’t any suitable magician be properly appointed, and
then use them to overcome Dhal?’
‘These things, Doctor,’ Odoyle replied darkly, ‘are not
intended for everyday use, but only in the direst need. If one of
lesser quality should use them to win position against another,
then the threat would only have changed its name, for such
power is temptation for all but the strongest, and even they
should beware.’
While they thought on this, the leprechaun.stowed away his
pipe and slipped lightly off the bedside to the floor. ‘Well
now, the ladies must have their rest, and I’ll be away myself.
But I’ll be wanting you to show me this remarkable travelling
box of yours, tomorrow, Doctor, if you will.’
‘Just one thing,’ the Doctor said. ‘Am I right in believing
that was not actually Marton Dhal himself we saw in the hall
earlier, but merely an illusion?’
Odoyle smiled. ‘Ah, you have a seeing eye, Doctor. I
thought none but Gramling and myself would have realized
that. No, ‘twas a third level mirror simulacrum of the rogue,
I’d hazard. Dhal was probably safe in his tower all the time.
But he perhaps wanted us to think that he could transfer
himself bodily hither and yon, for that is power indeed.’
‘And the wind that accompanied his, rather theatrical,
arrival and departure?’
‘No doubt an air elemental under his control, hopefully of
no more use to him after the work he put it through. But now I
see your granddaughter is yawning while we chat on.’ His
eyes twinkled:

‘So I’ll be gone and out the door,

until the morrow when we’ll talk more.
From bed and rest no more will I keep,
so I bid you all a sound night’s sleep.’

And the little man tipped his hat, clicked his heels, and was
gone.
 9

The Veil of Guinevere

“H ave you learnt anything more about “magic” yet,

Doctor?’ Ian asked, with the trace of a smile. Susan
and Barbara had gone to their room, while the Doctor and Ian
prepared to take to their own beds. Ian had just finished
splashing his face in the washbowl and was drying himself
with a rather rough towel.
The Doctor was sitting up in his bed still looking
remarkably alert and thoughtful. ‘There has hardly been time
to reach any firm conclusions yet, Chesterton. But I admit I
have noted certain interesting details concerning the
phenomena. So would you if you would only apply yourself a
little harder. Constant observation, that’s the ticket.’
‘Well that can wait for tomorrow, like our leprechaun
friend said,’ he paused and shook his head in wonder. ‘I can
hardly believe I just said that! Leprechauns, dragons, wizards!
I am going to try and sleep,’ he stated firmly. ‘I don’t suppose
I shall manage it, but I’m going to try anyway. I’ve had quite
enough surprises for one day.’
‘Grandfather, Ian – look at this outside!’ It was Susan’s
voice, sounding excited, and apparently coming from their
window.
‘I spoke too soon,’ Ian sighed.
Their room, like that next door, opened out on to a tiny
balcony. Ian pulled aside the heavy drapes and they stepped
out into the night. A few feet to his left, Ian could make out
the pale, nightclothed forms of Susan and Barbara, standing on
their own balcony. Around and below him were the flickering
yellow torches of the castle grounds. Beyond those was the
faint constellation of lights that marked Fluxford itself. The air
was clear and mild. As his eyes adjusted to the dark, he looked
up into the night sky.
His jaw dropped.
Just lifting clear of the eastern horizon, turning with the
stars, was a glorious nebula of misty light that stretched almost
to the zenith. It resembled a huge and ghostly blossoming
flower hanging in the sky, with each unfolding petal sculpted
in translucent streamers of purple and violet about the edges,
with tints of cerulean, emerald and viridian towards its core. It
was probably the single most breathtaking thing he had ever
seen.
‘Isn’t it beautiful!’ came Barbara’s exclamation from out of
the darkness.
Even the Doctor seemed moved by the simple splendour of
the spectacle. ‘Most arresting. Merely the remnant of a stellar
explosion, of course, or perhaps a condensing cloud of dust
and gas out of which new stars will be born. But undeniably a
majestic sight.’
A spray of three shooting stars flashed silently across the
darker portion of the sky as though in tribute to the scene.
‘Guinevere’s Veil!’ Barbara said suddenly. ‘Somebody said
it at the banquet, but I didn’t realize what they meant. Bron
talked about travelling beyond a veil when we were on the
road here. This must be it.’
‘There’s a moon,’ said Susan, ‘just on the horizon.’
Ian could see a grey disc, a little smaller than Earth’s moon,
as it rose over a distant line of hills. Another shooting star
trailed across the sky. His eyes automatically followed its
track and saw that a circular notch seemed to be cut out of one
of the outer streamers of the nebula. ‘Hallo. There’s another
one a bit over halfway to the zenith. Looks about the same size
as the first.’
‘It’s rather dark, isn’t it,’ commented Susan. ‘I can’t see
any markings.’
The Doctor had been leaning over the balcony rail scanning
the western sky. Now he pointed upwards in turn. ‘Look there.
A faint crescent on the edge of the sunset afterglow.’
‘So there is,’ agreed Ian. ‘Three moons. And look at the
one that’s just risen. It’s already well clear of the horizon.’
 ‘Then they must be both smaller and nearer to this world
than your own is,’ the Doctor stated. ‘Mmm.. would you say
they were equidistantly spaced and travelling along the same
plane?’
‘Yes, I think so.’
‘And is their separation about one third that of the whole
arc of the sky?’
‘About that. What of it?’
‘It means that, if we waited long enough, we should see
another moon rise as the one furthest west sets. There are not
three moons orbiting this world, but six.’
‘Why should there be six?’
‘Because they would form a more stable arrangement,
gravitationally, whereas three moons, spaced as they appear to
be, would not.’
‘But can such an arrangement occur naturally?’
‘Most unlikely, especially in view of their uniform size and
appearance.’
‘You mean,’ cut in Barbara, ‘that they’ve been placed there
somehow?’
‘I suspect so.’
‘But that’s fantastic!’ exclaimed Ian. ‘Moving entire
worlds. Who did it... and why?’
‘That is a very good question,’ conceded the Doctor, ‘but
one which must wait until tomorrow for further investigation.
Even I must admit, we have now had sufficient problems
presented to us for one day.’ Then he chuckled lightly.
‘However, you will agree that whatever other shortcomings
the TARDIS may, occasionally, exhibit, it never fails to take
us somewhere interesting.’
‘No, Doctor,’ said Barbara dryly from the darkness, ‘we’d
never say that! Goodnight.’
They withdrew to their rooms.
Ian took one last look at the nebula before pulling the
drapes again. ‘Well, you’d never get tired of looking at the sky
if you lived here, I’ll say that.’
‘Oh I don’t know, Chesterton,’ replied the Doctor,
mischievously. ‘The people here probably take it entirely for
granted!’
Barbara had also gone to bed with the feeling that sleep was
sure to elude her. Her confused mind, stimulated by the
incredible experiences of the day, together with the ache of her
injured leg, would, she thought, prevent any chance of proper
rest. Neither did her bed’s rather coarsely woven sheets, its
straw mattress, or the rope webbing in lieu of springs greatly
help matters, she decided resignedly. What she wouldn’t give
for the comfort of her own bed back home in London, a
thousand years and heaven knew how many million miles
away. She could almost picture herself in it now; curled up
warm and content after a night-time mug of cocoa and ten
minutes read of a treasured book. A Jane Austen, perhaps, or
maybe a Wodehouse...
Catching her quite unawares, nature took its course and she
fell into a deep, exhausted, sleep.

Susan listened to her friend’s breathing slow and deepen and

smiled to herself. Barbara needed the rest. She really shouldn’t
have gone to the banquet at all, but she had a stubborn streak
and wouldn’t admit that her leg was troubling her. It was very
human. That was one of the reasons why Susan liked her.
Susan yawned again. And now she needed her rest too. Not as
much as humans did, of course, but still some. In a few years
time, when she had passed into her first maturation and had
mastered the physiological intricacies of her body fully, an
hour or two a night would be quite sufficient. Meanwhile, she
mentally put aside those thoughts and speculations that would
interfere with relaxation and concentrated on slowing her body
functions in the age-old manner of her kind.
Within ten seconds, she too was asleep.

Bron of Westhold slept in the manner of a warrior; which was

to say lightly, as though he were on a battlefield, with his
consciousness on a hair trigger, ready to spring into full
alertness at a moment’s warning. He would rather have gone
without sleep that night, but he also knew he needed it. He had
checked the castle security with the captain of the nightwatch
before retiring, and knew that all reasonable measures had
been taken. There was no cause to suppose Dhal would make
another move that night, and indeed, in conference with the
King and Palbury before his rounds, they had agreed that some
sort of disruption to the wedding itself was more likely. All the
more reason to be fresh for what the new day would bring.
And so he lay in his spartan chamber with a candle burning,
still wearing shirt and breeches, with his longsword Invictus
by his side, and let sleep take him...
And in a while he dreamed.
He was hunting a dragon – no, the dragon of that morning,
as it pursued the strangers in the forest. He saw it loom over
him, saw its red glowing eyes, felt its fire. He struck out but
the beast was receding. He smote again but it was slipping
away from him. Was it running? No, it was flying. He could
hear its wings beating, so many wings –
Then he was awake, Invictus in his hand.
Fire flashed red at his window. There were cries of alarm,
the clash of steel and, swelling into one continuous throbbing
pulse, the beating of many wings.
Bron tore open his door, dashed out into the corridor and
sprinted for the stairs that led up to the nearest battlements.
The beat of wings grew louder, and with it the rise and fall of
inhuman, jabbering, whooping voices. He pounded up the
spiralling stairs three at a time. The heavy door at their head
was open, and he could smell burning and hear somebody
screaming terribly. Then he was out on to the wall-walk and
into a mêlée of struggling figures and pools of burning fire.
Billowing acrid smoke swirled about him, catching in his
throat and stinging his eyes. In his blindness he stumbled over
the body of a guard and felt the slick of blood underfoot.
There was a snap and rush of wings from above.
Instinctively he twisted and swung upwards, feeling Invictus
bite into sinew and bone, even as a leathery membrane slapped
across his face. The thing crashed to the ground, writhing and
squealing, its entrails spilling out. In the flickering light he
saw a creature with the hairy, long-armed body of an ape,
perhaps five feet tall, with a curling prehensile tail, but
sporting the naked black wings of a bat on its back. It wore a
simple harness from which hung throwing stars and round
flasks, with wicks trailing from their stoppers. Still clutching a
light scimitar in its clawed hand, the beast snarled at him in
pain and defiance, bearing its fangs. Bron thrust cleanly
through its heart and it was still.
Ten feet away, another winged ape tore at the throat of a
fallen guard. Bron leaped upon it, Invictus sang through the air
and parted the creature’s head from its shoulders. A throwing
star rebounded from the flags beside him. He snatched up the
fallen guard’s crossbow and loosed a bolt at something
swooping above the walls. There was a yelp of pain and the
thing tumbled out of the sky in a flurry of wings.
Further along the battlements, a knot of guards were being
set upon by a dozen of the flying apes. The men were
defending themselves with their swords but had no chance to
reach cover or re-cock their crossbows. Bron ran to a rack of
spears beside an embrasure, snatched one up and hurled it into
the swirling mass of beating wings, skewering one beast. He
threw a second and third. The apes scattered in confusion for a
moment.
‘Make for the turret!’ he shouted. Together he and the
guards dashed for shelter, piling through the door of the turret
room and slamming it behind them. Bron looked into
frightened and confused faces and did not allow them time to
think.
‘Re-arm!’ Use bows, spears or throwing darts,’ he
commanded. ‘Pick the beasts off from shelter and don’t try to
engage them on the open walls. Pass the word along.’
From the narrow barred windows of the turret, he saw
several small fires already blazing about the castle, with
smoke billowing from windows and pools of burning oil. The
targets seemed mainly the inner walls and keep, though some
of the tents in the outer bailey were burning, and Bron could
hear the terrible shrill neighing of frightened horses. At least
Ambler was in a proper stable! He saw the creatures circling
overhead like wasps invading a beehive, diving out of the
darkness and smoke to hurl firebombs or glittering throwing
stars. Some dropped low over the heads of the defenders in
sudden swooping dives, slashing down at them with swords or
simply clawing and biting with talon and tooth.
 The dreadful realization struck him that any window would
allow these agile creatures access to the castle’s interior.
‘Hold fast here!’ he cried, ‘the King is at risk!’ and he raced
down the stairs towards the lower levels. A squad of guards
were pounding up to the turret top as he descended, and he
shouted instructions as he tore past them.
Down the stairs, along a corridor dimly lit by night candles
burning in their niches, through a heavy door and into the
floors of guest rooms. He burst through the last door and
straight into a struggling mass of apes and men that filled a
broad hallway. Here at close quarters a sword would tell better
than a bow, and he launched himself upon the nearest ape-
thing. Invictus sang through the air once more, weaving a net
of flashing steel about him, and he cut a path through to the
side of Sir Peridor, who held the mouth of the passage to the
King’s apartments with a handful of guards.
‘Is the King safe?’ Bron cried, between blows. ‘Yes. In an
inner room!’
‘Thanks be! Now let us finish these things!’
Together they pressed forward into the hall, driving back
the apes in a jabbering, whooping line before them, cutting
steadily into their ranks, slipping and skidding on a floor slick
with the blood of friend and foe alike. With a spark and
crackle of lightning, the doors at the other end of the hall burst
open and an ape fell through them, a hole burned in its chest.
Gramling appeared, clad in a nightshirt and hatless, but
clutching his staff, which he levelled at another ape. Fire
streamed from its tip and the creature was blasted off its feet to
crash lifeless against the wall.
Then came a cry: ‘They’re retreating!’ Sure enough, the
apes were suddenly turning and running on all fours, knuckles
to the ground. Towards windows or balconies they fled, with
the castle defenders at their heels, vengefully cutting down the
stragglers. The clamour of battle diminished as the last of the
apes fell or were lost in the night.
Gradually the sound of beating wings faded and was gone.
For a moment or two, Bron and Peridor rested on their
swords, panting from their exertions, silently contemplating
the carnage about them; knowing they had done their duty
well, but rueing the cost. The King emerged from his
chambers, still grasping his sword, with the Queen, pale-faced,
by his side.
‘Is it over?’ he asked simply.
‘Yes, your Majesty, they are all dead or fled. You are safe.’
Tor the moment,’ said the Queen despairingly. Then she
appeared to gather her composure. ‘I must assure Mellisa all is
well,’ she said firmly, ‘then we and our ladies shall help with
the wounded as we may.’ Bron and Peridor bowed as she
departed.
Sir Stephan, Edmund and Giles appeared at the run, bearing
bloody swords. Their relief was almost palpable when they
saw the King safe.
‘Your Majesty...’ Sir Stephan faltered, ‘that this should
happen under my roof. I have failed –’
‘Nonsense, Palbury,’ said the King dismissively. ‘Glazebry
itself could not have withstood an attack from such creatures
any better. Now, what about the fires these creatures started?’
‘None too serious, Sire. They are being contained –’
‘Bron... Sir Bron!’ It was Ian Chesterton’s voice. He burst
into the hall, dressed in a nightshirt, but carrying a bloody ape-
man scimitar. His face was ashen. ‘They’ve taken Susan!’ he
gasped.
But even as Bron started forward, a woman’s cry of despair
from the royal chambers froze him in his tracks. The King
blanched and ran for his daughter’s room, the others following
after him with dreadful foreboding in their hearts.
The Princess’s bedchamber presented a tragic scene.
The body of a lady-in-waiting lay crumpled and bloody in a
corner. Windows were wide open to the mild night air.
Bedding was strewn across the floor and the big canopied bed
itself was empty. Queen Leonora was kneeling at its foot,
clutching a sheet of parchment to her chest, and staring
sightlessly out into the night. Without a word, the King rested
his hand on her shoulder and gently drew the document from
her grasp. He glanced over it for a moment, then handed it to
Sir Stephan. Standing by his side, Bron read it too.

For the attention of Magnus III, King of

Elbyon.

Majesty,
You know of my desires, now learn of my
power. Have what I require brought to Fluxford
and prepare a suitable Convocation for the
assigning of rights. You have until
Midsummer’s Day, after which the welfare of
my new guests cannot be guaranteed. Any
move to recover them by force, or any
intrusion whatsoever into my private domain.
would be most unwise.

Marton Dhal.
 10

Merlin’s Helm

K omati and Ivanov sat in the most secluded corner of the

Prince Randolph’s officers’ mess; though they could
have sat in the very centre of the room for all the attention
they received. The clatter of plates and the buzz of
conversation seemed to pass them by, as they were studiously
ignored by the other diners.
‘This is ridiculous,’ said Jen, with quiet vehemence.
‘They’re behaving as though we don’t exist.’
‘No doubt they’ve had their orders, regarding us,’ Ivanov
replied moderately. ‘They know we are part of the special
mission team and understand the need for security.’
‘How can they? They don’t know what we’re after yet.’
‘The general principle is part of military discipline.’
‘Well I’m sick of military discipline and secrets! There are
too many of them. Maybe it’s a sign of the times. You can’t
pretend to rate them highly either.’
‘Certainly not. This should be an open, purely scientific
expedition. Still, in view of the potential of what we might
find, I suppose it is inevitable, in the circumstances.’ His tone
betrayed suppressed anticipation.
Jen looked at him closely. Tut aren’t you afraid at all?’
‘Well... yes, I admit I am. I’m trying not to think about it. I
know the landing might be dangerous, but afterward –’
‘No. I mean about what we might find down there!’
He blinked. ‘My dear Doctor Komati, it is what we might
find afterwards that makes this tedious charade worthwhile.
Surely you’ve speculated about its potential?’

‘Yes. And I don’t like where it takes me. You know how it
could be misused!’
‘All the more reason why it should be in the hands of the
Empire, then. We have a unique chance to render signal
service both to science and our Empress, surely you see that.’
‘I’m not sure I want to. Actually, I can’t think of anybody
I’d trust with it. Certainly not the Empire!’
‘Please, Doctor! He looked about him in alarm, then leaned
closer. ‘I assumed you would recognize where your obligation
and duty lay.’
‘Obligation and duty are not necessarily the same thing,
you know. I’ve had quite enough talk of “duty” from
Shannon.’ She hung her head. ‘And, if I had the courage, I’d
tell him so!’
‘The universe is not perfect and never will be,’ Ivanov said,
not unsympathetically. ‘Our options are sometimes limited and
equally short of the ideal. But we must all decide eventually
where our loyalty lies.’
Jen forced a weak smile. ‘Yes. But by the time we decide,
will it be too late?’

The Steward’s Chamber of Fluxford castle became grey and

sombre as the pre-dawn light shrank the lamps to feeble
yellow flickers. Of course, Ian thought, as he scanned the
faces of those seated about the chamber’s large round table, its
occupants hardly enliven the scene, myself included.
Beside him the Doctor sat stone faced and intent; not
allowing his anxiety for Susan to show, except for a few brief
distracted moments. Across the table, Ian saw much the same
conflict between emotion and iron self-control visible in the
face of the King. On either side of him sat Palbury and his
sons, Edmund looking rather pale. Beside them were knights
and captains, lords of the dwarves and elves who owed
allegiance to Magnus, then Gramling, Odoyle and scribe
Harding, who would record their plans. All were members of
what was now a war council.
Ian wished Barbara was with them. But she had taken a
nasty blow to the head the previous night, and the Doctor had
told her firmly to rest.
Thinking of the assault made Ian shiver again. The memory
of being jerked awake by Barbara’s scream for help, the
wingbeats and inhuman voices of the flying apes outside their
window, dashing madly out of his door, only to collide with
one of the brutes in the corridor, as much to its surprise as his,
and catching it with a purely reflex right-cross to the jaw that
had laid it out (Ian unconsciously rubbed his bruised
knuckles). Bursting into the women’s room just in time to see
the apes lift Susan’s limp form off the balcony, Barbara
sprawled on the floor, blood on her forehead, for one terrible
instant thinking she was dead, turning to see the Doctor staring
aghast at Susan’s empty bed...
Ian jerked himself back to the present with an effort. This
would not help get Susan back.
Captain Morgane, commander of the castle guard, had just
finished giving a report of their casualties, the enemy dead, the
damage sustained and the repairs underway. At the end, he
formally offered his resignation from his post. Sir Stephan
refused.
‘You have not been derelict in your duty, Captain, unless
failing to anticipate the true depth of cunning and artifice of
Marton Dhal is dereliction, in which case I am just as
culpable. I will bear the responsibility of letting guests under
my roof come to harm, and that is all.’
‘The fault is mine,’ the King stated gravely. The eyes of the
table turned to him in surprise. ‘I should never have let the
matter of the wizardly succession go unresolved for so long.
Alas, I am now being sorely punished for my indecision.’
‘Excuse me, your Majesty,’ the Doctor interrupted sharply,
‘but I understood we are here to discuss action, not guilt.
These admissions are very fine and noble, but are quite
irrelevant to the situation we now find ourselves in. The only
question that must concern us now is how to get those we have
lost back safely!’
There were annoyed mutters at the Doctor’s blunt manner,
but the King silenced them with a wave of his hand. ‘No. He
speaks fairly. Continue, Doctor. If you have a plan, I will hear
it.’
The Doctor bowed slightly. ‘Thank you. First, however, I
must confirm one point. There is not, I take it, any question of
acceding to Dhal’s demands?’
Heads shook all round the table. ‘Even for my own
daughter,’ said the King, in deadly earnest, ‘I could not do
this. Dhal has miscalculated if he thinks he can force me to
grant him what he wishes, even if I truly believed such action
would guarantee her safe return, which I doubt. The
consequences for the country would be too terrible to risk.
Dhal simply cannot be trusted. I am sorry if that gives you
little hope for your own child, but that is how it must be.’
The Doctor nodded solemnly and resignedly. ‘I suspected
as much.’
‘Had there been even the slightest hope that Dhal would
have proved worthy of such power and position, Doctor, that
was lost last night,’ said Gramling. ‘He must now be opposed
with all the strength we can muster.’ There were nods of
agreement.
‘But what of Mellisa?’ Edmund Palbury said fearfully. ‘If
we move against Dhal, what will he do to her?’ ‘Steady, lad,’
his father murmured.
‘She will understand,’ the King said simply. ‘She knows
that there are some sacrifices that must be made –’
‘Wait a minute,’ interjected Ian hotly. ‘We’re all talking
here as though there’s no chance of getting them back. But
there must be something we can do. Is this place they’re being
held really totally impregnable?’
‘Quite so,’ agreed the Doctor. ‘What of this tower of
Dhal’s? Just where is it situated in relation to Fluxford, and
how is it protected? Let us study the problem methodically.
Remember, we do have one advantage. The consequences of
inaction are as grave as action, so we may dare anything to
destroy Dhal and free the hostages.’
‘As you say, we must try,’ agreed Sir Stephan. ‘Master
Harding, be so good as to bring out the maps.’
The scribe shortly unrolled a large, hand-drawn map of the
South Share, which he hung on the wall, together with a more
detailed map of the moor itself. For the first time, Ian began to
get an idea of the land they were in. Elbyon seemed to be
situated rather like France was in Continental Europe, with an
ocean to the north-west, and a long curving coastline of sea,
where the Mediterranean would have been, to the south and
east. Glazebry, the capital, was almost exactly in the centre of
the land, where the boundaries between four local regions, or
‘Shares’, met. The South Share extended along part of that
curving sea coast, then ran westwards. On its western
boundaries, putting Ian in mind of Dartmoor or Bodmin Moor,
was an oval of high country with few roads or settlements
marked on it. On the more detailed map, Harding indicated a
spot almost in its centre. ‘Here is Raven’s Tor, whereon
Dhal’s tower is set.’
After a moment’s study, Ian asked: ‘How long would it
take to reach the tower from here?’
‘By wing, as of those creatures of last night, perhaps two or
three hours,’ Harding said. ‘On horse, with clear roads, two or
three days,’ he ventured, looking at Sir Bron, who nodded. ‘By
foot, a week at least.’
‘And we have barely eight days,’ said the Doctor. ‘Hardly
time for a substantial force to reach the tower.’
‘But just time enough for me to have the artefacts sent
down from Glazebry, and arrange the convocation,’ the King
observed. ‘This was planned well.’
‘But what about the tower itself?’ Ian asked.
‘It is situated on a great mass of rock,’ replied Sir Bron.
‘This provides a natural defence from ground assault. Caves
are also said to lie within it. A sufficient force could certainly
take the tower, but not quickly, or with any chance of surprise.
With the natural disadvantages of the terrain, which is heath
and bog, and any mischief Dhal cares to throw at us, it would
be a costly enterprise.’
‘These flying apes that he has bred are a worrying factor,’
Peridor added. ‘I have not met their like before. They must
also be taken into the calculations for the success of any
assault. In open country like the moor, they would be a deadly
foe, quite apart from their use as scouts. How many more such
beasts does he have hidden away?’
‘Well, what about magic?’ said Ian, turning to the
magicians. ‘Even if you can’t use it to defeat Dhal outright,
couldn’t it at least help? Maybe you can whip up a flying
carpet or something?’
 Gramling and Odoyle regarded him tolerantly. ‘Flying
spells take the most effort to perform and maintain,’ Gramling
explained, ‘and in any case, Dhal is sure to have set protective
wards about his own domain, as I am now protecting this
castle against such intrusions of his so he may not spy upon
us. Or there may be negation spells. Would you care to
encounter one of those whilst flying? I’m afraid you have little
understanding of magic lore and method.’
‘No,’ agreed the Doctor quickly, ‘magic is, er, a lost art on
Earth. Men use complex machines to perform such tasks now.’
Ian alone heard him add thoughtfully under his breath, ‘which
do not seem to work here.’
‘For a start, a small force will be sent to watch Raven’s
Tor,’ the King said decisively, ‘without making any move that
might imperil the hostages. With carrier pigeons they can keep
us informed should Dhal venture from his stronghold. And I
will have reinforcements sent here from Glazebry, as it seems
Fluxford is the focus of Dhal’s actions at present.’
Gramling appeared to have been wrestling with some
internal conflict while the King spoke. Now he seemed
decided. ‘There is one other possibility,’ he said quietly. ‘A
means to defeat Dhal for ever, and most probably rescue the
hostages. But there is a risk – and a price.’
Everybody was staring at him, sensing the gravity of his
tone. ‘Speak out, man!’ implored Sir Stephan fervently. ‘If
there is any chance let us hear it.’
‘There is one relic of supreme power not among those kept
in Glazebry. Indeed, its exact location has been lost for
centuries. But with its aid, anything would be possible!’
‘Gramling, my friend,’ said Odoyle softly. ‘You surely
don’t mean –’
‘Yes. Merlin’s Helm!’
Gasps of surprise and incredulity echoed round the table.
‘Pardon our ignorance,’ said the Doctor, ‘but what is
Merlin’s Helm?’
‘None other than the cap worn by the great wizard himself,’
Kilvenny Odoyle explained, almost reverently. ‘It is an
amplifier and concentrator of thaumaturgic power, you see.
With its help he constructed the great skyboat Prydwen that
carried our ancestors across the sea of stars to Avalon. The
Glass Bridge that spans the Flux is but a small sample of its
powers.’
‘But the Helm was lost with the Prydwen and the remains
of Arthur and Merlin in ancient times,’ exclaimed Bron,
turning to Gramling. ‘How is it you now know where they
might be found?’
The old wizard looked weary. ‘It was no one thing I
discovered, but the summation of years of research into
ancient texts and relics of the founding days. A mention here,
a clue there. Gradually I pieced together enough to learn the
likely resting place of the Prydwen.’
‘You have proof of this, Gramling?’ asked the King, a
flicker of hope dawning in his eyes.
‘To my satisfaction, I do, your Majesty. I learned that the
resting place of the skyboat would be protected, apart from
diverse physical means, by a field of negation in which no
magical activity could occur. It was this, and not the relic
itself, that I searched for; sending the power of my divination
out to its furthest limits. And I found it. A discontinuity in the
thaumatic flux. Almost unnoticeable, but it is there!’
‘Why not speak of it sooner?’ asked Odoyle.
Gramling bowed slightly in tired acknowledgement. ‘I
made my discovery a year or two past, but have been unsure
of whether good or ill would come of it, even in the face of the
threat from my treacherous assistant. But now I am decided
that there is no other choice. The Helm must be used.’
‘But where is it hidden?’ asked Sir Stephan urgently. ‘Can
it be found in time?’
‘Please bring forth a map of the Circle Sea, Master
Harding,’ Gramling requested. The scribe quickly unrolled
and displayed the chart. Ian now saw that the curving south-
east coastline of Elbyon was only part of the coast of an
almost perfectly circular sea, some five hundred miles across
by the map scale, which was landlocked on all sides except for
a short section of its most eastern edge, where it opened into a
larger ocean.
‘A most extraordinary formation,’ the Doctor murmured.
Gramling pointed at the chart and a spot of light glowed
amongst a cluster of dots and symbols in the very centre of the
sea. ‘There lies the Prydwen and the Helm.’
‘The Shadow Isles!’ breathed Sir Peridor. ‘Those are
treacherous waters. Plagued by fogs and whirlpools and all
manner of strange creatures, I have heard.’
‘True, sir knight,’ agreed Gramling. ‘But where better to
hide such a treasure?’
Sir Stephan had also been studying the chart intensely.
Now he turned to the King. ‘It could be done in time, Sire. The
swiftest boat from Fluxmouth port could just make such a
journey and return before midsummer’s day, assuming it could
recover the Helm without delay.’
‘I can provide aid for such a trip,’ Gramling assured him.
‘At least to assist in reaching the isle of the Helm safely.’
***‘Just a minute,’ Ian said. ‘I’m a little confused here. If
this Helm is as powerful as you say, why aren’t there the same
objections to using it as there are to the other -magical items?
If Merlin’s staff is too risky to use, why isn’t his Helm?’
The rest of the table went quiet, as though Ian had touched
on an unpleasant point. Gramling sighed, suddenly looking old
and tired. ‘Three ways is the Helm protected. First by its
location. No magic may be used on the Isle, and there are
subtle guardian devices. It is written that only those seeking
selflessly for a just cause may take the Helm from its resting
place. Second, it also carries a binding upon it, which may
only be unlocked by the freely expressed will of a gathering of
rulers and seniors of the land.’
‘Well, Dhal wants you to assemble a convocation anyway,
so you can arrange that.’
‘True. Thirdly, however, using the Helm, even briefly,
carries a price. This is to protect it from misuse in all but the
most desperate times. Quite simply, to use the Helm means
death. Its power is too great to endure for long; perhaps just
for minutes. But it is only after the death of its wearer that the
Helm may be removed again.’ There was a moment of
absolute silence. Gramling added calmly: ‘Naturally, this duty
shall fall to me.’

Barbara lay on her bed, with a cold compress pressed to the

large bruise on her forehead. The Doctor and Ian sat beside her
on the edge of what had been Susan’s bed.
She squinted at them through her throbbing headache. ‘I
just wish you weren’t both going so soon. And I wish I was fit
enough to come with you.’ She shifted her injured leg
uncomfortably. ‘But I know I’d only be a burden like this.
Don’t worry, I’m not going to make a fuss.’
Ian felt equally unhappy about the arrangement, but knew
he had to be resolute. He smiled sympathetically at her, trying
to win her understanding. ‘It’s only going to be a small party,
and we’re going to slip out discreetly in case Dhal’s watching
somehow. We have to leave soon so we can reach the port
before nightfall.’
‘But are you really sure it’s worth it? I mean, a journey like
this one seems so ridiculous, it’s –’ she searched for an
analogy – ‘It’s like a fairy tale quest that Sinbad or Jason
would have undertaken.’
‘But that is precisely the point, my dear,’ said the Doctor
soothingly. ‘On Avalon it is not ridiculous to embark on such
a quest to solve our problems.’
‘Doctor,’ replied Barbara firmly, ‘I know we’ve kidded you
about the magic, or whatever it is, but this isn’t a fantasy
world we’re on.’
‘No. But it is a world shaped by fantasies and legends, in
some way. And if there is an answer to be found, then reason
suggests it should be on the craft that brought these people
here. There are bound to be clues to the early history of
Avalon there. Such knowledge may explain how this “magic”
functions. And then I will know what action to take against the
man who is holding Susan!’
For a moment, his passion showed, and Ian and Barbara
looked at each other uncomfortably. Then the Doctor was his
usual collected self again.
‘But you will not be idle yourself, either,’ he told Barbara
briskly. ‘There are certain tasks I need you to perform while
we are away.’ He held out a key on a length of black ribbon.
‘This is Susan’s TARDIS key. Every day you must test that
the defence system is still active. Then try the key to see if it
works. I’ll explain the correct turning sequence within the lock
in a moment. If you can open the doors, then at least you will
have a safe retreat should the castle be threatened again.’
‘I understand,’ said Barbara confidendy. ‘What else?’
‘Continue to try to find out all you can about “magic”, the
Helm and the history of Avalon. You may ask Gramling, but I
suggest you attempt your own researches first. A fresh
approach with an unbiased mind may be more productive. A
castle this size must have a library. See if you can gain access
to it.’
‘All right. Anything more?’
‘Well, if you take care to be discreet, and do not put
yourself at risk, then you might watch out for the spy in the
castle.’
‘What!’ Ian and Barbara exclaimed simultaneously.
The Doctor seemed surprised at their response. ‘It is highly
probable that one exists,’ he stated simply. ‘Mal might have
used his powers to determine all he needed for his plans
remotely, but such a link would surely be very tenuous and
subject to interception, therefore an additional physical agency
is likely. Think how quickly he modified his plans to include
one of us in his kidnapping plot. We had only been in the
castle a few hours, but his creatures knew exactly what room
to enter, which could hardly have been chance. His note to the
King spoke of “guests”, indicating he was anticipating taking
more than one hostage. Yet, if he wanted another person of
position to gain a hold over the King, why not the Queen? No.
This was the only other room the ape-hybrids entered with the
intent to kidnap its occupant. Either Susan or you, my dear,
were their targets.’ Barbara shivered as the Doctor’s
expression darkened, his lips tightening. ‘We are strangers
here, and have roused Dhal’s curiosity. I only hope my Susan
does not pay the price for it!’
 11

The Hostages

I t was the smells that Susan became aware of first. Damp

stone and rust, mildew, wet moss. Surely it had been drier
and warmer when she went to sleep? Then she remembered.
Wingbeats and strange voices. The balcony window
bursting in. Barbara’s cry. Strong hairy arms seizing her, and a
liquid soaked rag giving off a cloying vapour being pressed
over her nose and mouth. A sensation of falling. Then
darkness.
As the fog in her mind slowly lifted, she realized she was
resting on something even more lumpy than her previous bed.
A coarse blanket had been thrown over her. There was a sour
taste in her mouth. She felt sick and thick-headed. With an
effort, though they seemed gummed together, she managed to
force her eyes open.
The outline of a stone block swam into focus a foot or so
away. After a moment the shape made sense; she was facing a
wall. Pale daylight from some high, narrow source illuminated
it. Her eyes followed the stonework up to the ceiling, some
eight or nine feet above her. Cautiously, she raised her head
from the straw-filled sack that substituted for a pillow. Not far
beyond the foot of her crude mattress was the inner wall of the
room, with a low, heavy door in its centre. There was no lock
or handle on the inside. Carefully turning to see more of the
room, she found she was not alone.
Another rough pallet like her own lay beside the opposite
wall. Sprawled on it was a woman’s figure, half covered by a
blanket. Like Susan, she was wearing a nightdress, though of
finer material. Her head was turned away, but a long loose
mane of golden hair, slightly waved, flowed down her back,
over the pallet and on to the floor. Rolling on to her hands and
knees, not trusting herself to stand yet, Susan crawled over to
the figure so that she could see her face. It was Princess
Mellisa. Obviously she had been chloroformed, or whatever
the local equivalent was, as well.
For a couple of minutes, Susan concentrated on breathing
deeply and gathering her wits. Then she stood up, bracing
herself against the wall. The flagstones were cold and slightly
greasy under her bare feet. She had hoped she could see out of
the window, but the sill was above her head. Also, the inside
of the sill sloped downwards from the window opening itself,
so she could get no hold on the edge to pull herself up.
Stepping back, she saw that the recess was a good three feet
deep, with the narrow slotted window closed by one vertical
iron bar. Beyond was nothing but a strip of sky. The outer wall
curved slightly, she noted, suggesting the cell was in a round
tower. She could guess whose. With an effort she forced
herself to remain calm.
The Princess stirred slightly and moaned, as though she
was having a bad dream. As Susan knelt beside her, she flung
out her arms, struggling blindly, and gave a choking cry. Then
her eyes flickered open.
‘It’s all right,’ said Susan, taking her hand and trying to
sound reassuring, ‘they’re gone now. You’ll feel better in a
minute. Just lie still.’
The Princess blinked at her, her wide green eyes looking
confused and frightened. She licked her lips, and asked faintly,
‘Who... who are you?’
‘My name is Susan Foreman, I was at the banquet last night
but we hadn’t been introduced. I’m with a party of travellers
from a long way away. Sir Stephan may have mentioned us.’
‘Travellers?’ The Princess frowned. ‘Yes – four people in a
box – I remember...’ She started to take in her surroundings.
‘Where is this place?’ She suddenly gave a little gasp as
memory flooded back. ‘The apes! No! Keep away!’ she
shrieked, shrinking into the corner. Susan stroked her shoulder
in what she hoped was a comforting manner.
‘It’s all right, they’re gone. We’re in a cell in some kind of
tower. I think it must be Dhal’s.’ Gradually the Princess
relaxed, making a visible effort to regain her self-control,
though she was clearly frightened.
‘Please, excuse me. I remember now. A tower. Yes. Dhal
has one on Scud Moor.’ She was regaining her poise rapidly,
shaking her head to clear it. She tried to sit up, despite her
dizziness. Susan helped her, and she rested her back against
the wall, her face still very pale. ‘Thank you – I will be all
right.’ She licked her dry lips. ‘Is there anything to drink?’
‘Not at the moment, but I’m sure we can get something. I
mean, there’s no point in bringing us here just to let us die of
thirst, is there?’
Mellisa shook her head. ‘Unfortunately, that may be Dhal’s
intent. He may try to force me to plead with my father to grant
him what he wishes.’ Then her chin took on a determined set.
Tut I will not. Whatever he does to me!’
Tut your father will try to rescue you, won’t he? I know my
grandfather and my friends will try to find me...’ she trailed
off, a frightening possibility having just occurred to her. ‘As
long as they’re still all right.’
For a moment their eyes locked in mutual fear for family
and friends. Then the Princess said deliberately: ‘We must
believe they are still all safe. Fluxford castle is very strong. I
do not think even those flying creatures could have taken it
alone. If they had, then we would not be here. No, it is like
you said Susan, they have brought us here as hostages.’ Then
she frowned. ‘Your pardon, but are you somebody...
important? I understand why I am here, but what would Dhal
wish with you?’
Susan hadn’t thought about this. ‘I really don’t know. I’m
not important in the way you mean. Perhaps they took me by
mistake, or they were just after anybody else they could get?’
The Princess looked troubled. ‘It is said that Dhal does
nothing without good reason.’
Susan shuddered as she wondered what Dhal might want
her for. She thought of the image of the man who had
appeared at the banquet. Even though she had seen him only
briefly, she recalled the aura of arrogant power that had
surrounded him. There was nothing such a man would not do
to achieve his goal. Trying not to think about the unpleasant
possibilities, she said, ‘Well, we’ll have to get out of here
before he gets a chance to do anything, won’t we?’
‘Nobody escapes from Dhal.’
‘Well at least let’s try. For a start, we can find out what’s
outside. Do you feel well enough to stand up?’
‘Yes, I think so.’ With an arm up from Susan, she got to her
feet. ‘Brrr,’ she shivered. ‘The floor’s so cold.’ She walked up
and down the few paces their cell allowed to steady herself,
looking about her at the door, then the window. ‘But how can
we see out?’
Susan made a stirrup with her hands. ‘If I give you a leg up,
you can reach the bar, then I’ll push your feet and you pull
yourself as far forward as you can get.’
Within half a minute, after some scrabbling and shoving,
the Princess was wedged as far into the window aperture as
she could, her face pressed up beside the bar.
‘From the look of the light, I believe it is still morning,’ she
reported. ‘We must be very high, because I can see a long
way, I’m sure it’s Scud Moor, there’s lots of gorse and green
boggy patches, and just a low rocky hill in the distance.’
‘How high up are we?’
‘About two hundred feet.’
‘What’s right below?’
Mellisa twisted about. ‘I can’t see straight down, but there
are two small towers a little way off. They seem to have a hole
in their tops, like large chimneys. There are men, I think,
standing sentry on them.’
‘Isn’t there any outer wall?’
‘No. There is a low ditch and bank joining the towers.
Maybe they’re turrets whose linking walls haven’t been built
yet.’
‘What else can you see?’
‘Some paths tramped through the gorse. Closer to, there are
rocks. The Black Tower is built on a rock outcrop, I recall.
And that’s all.’
Susan helped her down and for a moment the two of them
looked glumly at each other.
‘We cannot possibly get down that way,’ the Princess
stated, ‘even if the window was unbarred. There is no escape.’
She lifted her chin bravely. ‘We must accept our situation with
courage and patience. My father and Palbury will come in
time and lay siege to this place because they cannot accede to
Dhal’s demands, nor can they now dare leave him be.’ Quietly
she added, ‘Even though doubtless my life, and maybe yours,
is forfeit by such actions. But at least we can face death with
dignity.’
‘Well I’d rather face life with hope!’ Susan responded
earnestly. ‘At least promise you’ll be ready to take advantage
of any chance that comes our way.’
The Princess looked at her curiously. ‘There is a strange
quality about you, Susan Foreman, that I have only seen in
people of rank and breeding. Are you sure you are not of high
birth?’
Susan half smiled. ‘Well, we do have a sort of title, but I’m
not sure how much it means here –’
There was the sound of footsteps outside their door, and the
rattle of a heavy bolt being slid back. They shrank back
against the far wall as the door swung open.
A pair of apemen stood outside.
These were larger than their winged brethren, standing
about five foot six, and had flatter faces. Their stooping
postures took away some of this height, but they still looked
very broad and strong. They also seemed to be better dressed
than Susan’s hazy memories of the ones who had abducted
her, wearing simple red tabards, belted at the waist, which
bore the symbol of a black tower. On their feet they wore
broad and rather oddly shaped soft leather boots. They each
carried a sword and a short whip hanging from their belts.
The leading apeman tilted its head to one side and
narrowed its eyes. ‘Urrr, you awake now,’ it growled heavily.
‘Master says take you to him when you awake. You come
now!’ It beckoned them. Susan and Mellisa hesitated. The
apeman frowned, and unhooked his whip from his belt. ‘You
not come, you feel this. Then you come anyway!’
Susan bit her lip. ‘We’d better go. There’s no choice.
Remember what I said.’
Cautiously they edged past the apeman and out of the door.
They were on a gloomy circular landing ringed by similar
heavy doors, at the centre of which was a wide stone spiral
staircase, with cantilevered treads turning about a massive
central core. Daylight filtered down from the very top of the
stairwell, while from its depths came only the flickering
shadows of torchlight and the faint echo of an animal cry.
Susan wondered if the shaft ran through the whole tower. The
ape guards gestured for them to ascend.
They passed an open landing before they came to a floor
where the stairwell was enclosed, with only one door leading
off it. The apes urged them through.
The chamber beyond was lofty, occupying two levels of the
tower, with the stair shaft running through its centre. Susan
estimated it was over sixty feet in diameter, and lit very dimly
by six narrow slotted windows set evenly around its outside
wall. It was full of racks and shelves and tables, clustered in
little islands about great iron candle trees that were caked with
ancient rivulets of wax. A complex chemical odour hung in
the air. Several shelves were neatly stacked with rows of
books and scrolls, many marked with slips and tags, while
others carried flasks containing preserved specimens of
animals, either dried or suspended in liquid. She saw row after
row of bottles filled with many coloured powders, or the dried
leaves and seeds of plants. On one worktable, a jumble of
flasks, bottles and dishes were scattered about a mortar and
pestle and a set of scales, as though a compound was in the
process of being mixed. On a clear section of floor, an
elaborate pentagram had been marked out. Against one wall
was a rack of small, very finely barred cages, containing what
seemed to be tiny creatures, which Susan could not identify
from where she stood.
As they tried to take in the strange scene, a voice said: ‘Ah,
I see my guests have arisen. Bring them over here.’ The
apemen urged them over to a study table bearing a large white
sphere, before which was set a high backed chair facing one of
the windows. Dhal was reclining in it, looking exactly as his
image had appeared the night before, his handsome, arrogant
features even more distinctive seen close to. Susan felt his
amused, dark, hard eyes upon her, and shivered. Dhal turned
his gaze to Mellisa. ‘I’m sorry to have spoiled your wedding
day, Princess, but your father was so unreasonable, I really
had to try to make him see sense. I do hope you understand?’
His voice was smooth, sardonic and teasing.
Mellisa replied with dignified contempt. ‘This is the end for
you, Dhal, you realize that. My father will not be influenced
by threats against me. Do what you like, but I will not plead
for my release, and in the end you will surely be destroyed!’
Dhal chuckled lightly. ‘Such spirited defiance! You really
are too good for young Palbury. But you have quite the wrong
idea. I have no intention of trying to extract such a plea from
you by crude means, entertaining as the process no doubt
would be. No, you will both serve me perfectly well merely by
being here. You will be my guests for the next few days and
amuse me in my leisure moments. Frankly, my creations,’ he
nodded towards the apemen, ‘though fine loyal creatures, are
not the most stimulating company.’
‘This girl is of no use to you,’ Mellisa said firmly. ‘There is
no need to keep her here.’
Dhal appeared moved. ‘Oh, how noble and self-
sacrificing!’ he exclaimed, turning to Susan. ‘She is trying to
save you from your fate, even though that would leave her all
alone.’
‘It’s a kinder gesture than you will ever be capable of,’
Susan retorted.
Dhal shrugged off her insult with a smile. ‘More spirited
defiance. But I’m afraid I intend to keep you anyway. Until
yesterday, I would have been satisfied with any of several
possible companions for the Princess. But then you
oldworlders arrived in that remarkable box. And escaped from
my dragon, which was very annoying. I heard of your strange
story, and so arranged for you to be brought here. I want to
know more about you, in case your presence may have a
bearing on my plans.’
And he began to stare with unnatural intensity. Susan felt
his cold eyes bore into her as though he were peeling her open
layer by layer. She turned her head aside, but her ape guard
twisted it back to face Dhal again.
‘Good,’ he said at length. ‘You are young, healthy and
intelligent. You will suit my needs admirably.’ He smiled. ‘If I
have time, I may make a more detailed physical examination
to determine if oldworlders differ from us in any ways.’ Susan
shivered.
‘You beast!’ exclaimed Mellisa. ‘What sort of man treats
helpless women this way? When my father comes for you he
will –’
‘He will do nothing!’ Dhal said sharply. ‘He is powerless
against me. Would you like to see the forces at my command?
Come!’
He sprang to his feet and strode from the chamber. The ape
guards pushed Susan and Mellisa after him.
They descended the spiral stairway through so many turns
that Susan began to feel dizzy. Daylit alcove windows
vanished to be replaced by wall-mounted torches, and she
realized they had passed the ground level. Coursed stonework
became hewn rock. Then the stairs ended in a tunnel floored
with sand and gravel that pricked her bare feet. Water trickled
down the walls. Grunts, moans and jabbering echoed about
them, and there was the stink of animal pens in the air that
reminded Susan fleetingly of a trip to London Zoo. A few
paces along and the tunnel opened out into a much larger
cavern. White daylight shone mistily through a hole in the
centre of the arching roof. Of course, she thought. The
chimney-like opening in one of the sentinel turrets.
‘Behold, my army,’ said Dhal proudly.
The cavern was ringed with stepped ledges, on which were
laid out sleeping pallets. Resting on these, rather look a
rookery, were hundreds of ape-bats, filling the air with their
whooping chatter and sudden snarls of anger.
‘This is but one company of my lightest aerial infantry.
Would you like to see some of my heavier troops? Follow
me.’
They were prodded after him as he strode towards one of
several tunnels opening into the cavern. Susan realized the
rock of the tor must be honeycombed with such caves. Dhal
led them briskly along a broad, torch-lit gallery connecting a
row of lesser chambers. The mouths of some were dark and
heavily barred, but in one Susan glimpsed a row of large glass
vats tended by a team of ape workers. Tiny mannequin forms
floated in coloured liquids. She realized they were miniature
versions of the ape-bats.
‘My growing rooms,’ said Dhal casually. ‘Once I have
combined the characteristics I wish for a creature in my
workroom through spellcraft, they are sent down here to
mature.’
Susan felt sick and stumbled on. There were other shapes
floating in the vats she could not begin to recognize.
The gallery opened out into a second cavern, similarly
illuminated by the turret shaft in its roof. Here the ledges
around its perimeter were carved far broader and deeper, and
for good reason. Twenty full-grown dragons lay sprawled
upon them. Susan and Mellisa edged uneasily backwards, even
though they saw massive collars and chains secured each
creature in its place.
Dhal smiled at their reaction. ‘Have no fear. They are
presently all drugged to keep them from fighting amongst
themselves. But you can be sure they will be fully alert when
the time comes. Well, Princess, what do you say now?’
Mellisa looked defiant. ‘Even if every cavern under your
tower is similarly stocked, it will not be enough, Dhal. You
may take Fluxford or even Glazebry, but you will never
conquer all Elbyon. And the prize you seek can never be won
by force!’
Dhal chuckled. ‘We shall see, Princess. We shall see.’

‘Hail, Bron of Westhold,’ said one of the two men striding

across the castle yard to where the wagon was loading. ‘As our
lords promised in the council, we have been chosen to
accompany your quest, so that all free peoples of Elbyon may
be represented.’
‘Greetings, Alammar,’ said Sir Bron, clasping his hand.
‘And to you, Thurguld. It cheers me to know I have such stout
company on this mission.’
While Bron made introductions, Ian sized up their new
companions. Alammar of Silverwood was a tall, golden-
haired, golden-eyed elf. He wore a bow and quiver across his
back and a long, rapier-like sword on his belt. Thurguld
Thongarson was a stocky, bearded, compact dwarf, dressed in
mail and a steel helmet. He carried a heavy, double-edged
battle axe. It looked well used. Yes, he agreed with Bron.
They seemed stout company.
‘Climb aboard, my friends,’ said Bron. ‘Our boat awaits us,
and we have a fair way to travel before day is done.’

The black cat circled the remains of the burned-out hamlet

twice before it ventured closer. There were fresh graves in a
small clearing outside the stockade. Inside were many
footmarks on the ground, which it sniffed at curiously. The
wandering poultry had now been rounded up and removed,
leaving the ruins utterly deserted. The cat padded out of the
gateway again, giving the dragon’s footprint in the soft earth a
wide berth, and headed purposefully off down the track again.

Back in the tower workroom, Susan and Mellisa watched

while Dhal sat before the white globe. He produced a vial
containing a glittering powder, which he sprinkled over it.
‘With the right knowledge, one can make use of the eyes of
others to see things far away. A person’s eyes are harder to
use, but an animal’s are quite easy. Let me see if I can show
you something I was watching earlier. Ah, here it is.’
The globe became transparent before Susan’s amazed eyes,
and it was as if she was looking down from the air on
countryside rolling underneath her. Dhal reached out to touch
the globe. ‘Literally a bird’s eye view,’ he commented. ‘Let
me see if I can make it go lower.’ His eyes narrowed in
concentration.
The ground swelled and treetops flashed past. A road ran
between the fields. There was a company of mounted troops
moving along it at a steady gallop. The spy bird swooped
down and passed across in front of the leading riders. Mellisa
gave a little gasp. At the head of the column was Edmund
Palbury.
‘Yes, it’s your intended, as hot-headed and impetuous as
ever. He’s on a road about ten miles outside of Fluxford,
determinedly heading this way to keep watch on my tower.
Perhaps he hopes for the chance of some dramatic rescue. Or
at least to pine away under your window to prove his love. But
really, he’ll wear out his horses if he keeps that pace up much
longer. Besides, I did leave a clear warning that I wouldn’t
stand for any intrusion into my domain. I think I must take
steps to dissuade him –’
‘No!’ gasped Mellisa. Dhal looked at her expectantly, but
she lowered her head, lips pinched tight. Susan reached across
and held her hand gently. The image on the globe shrank as
the spy bird rose higher, and its view shifted to show what
might have been a flock of birds flying low over the tree tops.
Except these were far too big to be ordinary birds.
‘I decided that some of my creatures should stay in the
vicinity of Fluxford after last night. Just in case.’
In the globe they saw the flying apes swoop down on the
horsemen, who scattered for cover under the trees. The apes
followed. As the spy bird circled the scene, they saw snatches
of a confused battle, with loose horses and sprawled bodies of
both apes and men. Mellisa leaned forward, desperate and
fearful for a glimpse of Edmund. Dhal smiled at her
expression, and touched the globe again. The picture blurred
and swirled, and suddenly it showed a view of jetties and ships
bobbing at their moorings, with men hurrying up and down
gangplanks and adjusting rigging.
‘No. Bring it back!’ cried Mellisa.
‘All in good time,’ said Dhal. ‘Meanwhile I have noticed
much activity in Fluxford dock I do not approve of. They seem
to be preparing for war. I think a little reminder that I am
aware of their activities would not go amiss here either. Do
watch closely. This will be rather amusing.’ His eyes
narrowed.
In horrified fascination, they saw the water swell and boil
around one of the ships. A monstrous head broke the surface
and arched into the air on a smooth, sinuous neck. Susan saw a
dragon face, but different from the one in the forest. This was
flatter and broader, with a wide, gaping mouth and more
tendrils trailing from its brow and chin. Slotted snake-eyes
gleamed greenly, and on its head were three horns. The two on
its crown were small, but rising from its brow between its
eyes, was an up-curving spike like that of a rhinoceros.
 ‘A freshwater guivre,’ explained Dhal. ‘I’ve been raising
one or two of them as pets.’ Men were fleeing in panic. The
guivre arched forward and plucked one off the rigging. For a
moment his legs kicked wildly, then he disappeared into that
terrible grinning mouth. The beast sank back out of sight for a
moment, then the ship rocked violently, as, though it had been
struck underwater. Slowly it started to list. The water swirled
between the berths, then another ship trembled and rocked,
bumping against the jetty wall. It also began to settle in the
water. Soldiers appeared along the dockside, watching for the
slightest ripple. Harpoons and arrows began to cut the waters
of the dock.
‘I think we can leave them to their fun,’ said Dhal, ‘they
will think twice about using the river now.’ He looked
enquiringly at the Princess. ‘Would you like to return to see
how young Palbury is doing?’
‘Please!’ Mellisa begged unashamedly.
The globe swirled and they were looking down on the
woods once more. There was no sign of the flying apes, only
soldiers regrouping, calming horses, tending their wounded.
For a moment Mellisa stared in despair at the scene, then she
pointed at a figure. ‘I see him! He’s not hurt!’ She sagged
against Susan, weak with relief.
‘How touching,’ said Dhal. He passed his hand over the
globe and it clouded to opacity. He faced the two young
women, a satisfied smile playing about his lips. ‘You have
seen but a small sample of my power. While your people,
Princess, have dithered in futile inaction, I have prepared and
planned. Let your precious Edmund come to my gates. He will
learn, too late, that he has been wasting his time. Now, you’d
better return to your room. I’ll have some food and water sent
along in due course. We shall talk again later.’
The apemen led Susan and Mellisa away, silent and
dejected.

Ian watched the green waters swirl past the prow of the small
barge. They were already a couple of miles downriver from
Fluxford, thanks to the favourable wind which filled the craft’s
neat sprit-sail. The barge’s six auxiliary oarsmen had needed
to add little extra effort to maintain a very fair rate of progress.
At this speed they would be in Fluxmouth port by sundown,
where, assuming the carrier pigeon message had been
received, they should find a ship waiting for them. As Avalon
had no significant tides, there should be no delay in setting sail
for the Shadow Isles. Then the quest really would begin.
Despite his concern for Susan, Ian suddenly smiled at the
direction his thoughts were taking him.
‘Something amusing you, Chesterton?’ enquired the
Doctor, joining him at the prow.
‘I couldn’t help it,’ Ian admitted. ‘I just remembered a
fantasy tale about a group of people setting out on a sort of
quest, and they included a wizard, a human warrior, and a
dwarf and an elf. They also travelled down a river for part of
the way.’
‘Indeed. And was their adventure successful?’
‘Only after much sacrifice on their part, and several
battles.’
‘I see. Well we must hope to avoid their mistakes then. I
trust you remember the story well, it might prove useful.’
‘It was only a work of fiction.’
The Doctor lowered his voice. ‘So is much of Avalon’s
history, I suspect, though I wouldn’t want our friends to know
it. Anything connected with ancient myths and legends may
have relevance here, so you would be well advised to – my
goodness, how remarkable!’
Ian turned to see what the Doctor was looking at. The river
was presently running through a twisting, steep-sided gorge
that clove through a line of hills, exposing sheer faces of
reddish rock on either side of them. Into the eastern wall, like
a giant frieze, had been carved seven towering figures.
Even at a glance he could tell they were ancient. Moss and
grasses and even small trees had colonized the upper slopes,
and weathering stains and generations of birdlime ran in long
streaks down their outer surfaces. Some of the figures
overlapped and the finer details of their features or costumes
had long since faded into mere suspicions of contours and
lines, leaving it hard to tell what they were meant to be doing.
From their poises they might have been playing some game or
sport, or even engaged in battle for all he could tell. Whatever
it was, it seemed to be active. Something about their
proportions put Ian in mind of American Football players,
though he couldn’t say exactly what.
‘Sir Bron,’ the Doctor asked, ‘what are these figures
called?’
The knight stepped over to them. ‘They are the Seven
Companions, Doctor. Though whose companions I’m sure I
have never heard. They are very old, that is certain. Some say
they date from before landfall, and are the work of ice giants
who lived here before men, and who Merlin drove back to the
north, during the Cold Years, before towns and castles, when
the land was wild.’
‘That is most interesting,’ said the Doctor, his eyes
narrowed in thought. ‘I would like to learn more of any similar
artifacts, and also of these “Cold Years”.’
Bron smiled politely, as though puzzled by the Doctor’s
interest. ‘I’m sure we will have time to talk of such things if
you wish, though what use talk of the past is in our present
situation, I cannot imagine.’
‘Perhaps a great deal,’ replied the Doctor. He looked up at
the huge carvings again. ‘Yes, perhaps a very great deal
indeed.’
 12

Lights in the Sky

E lectric blue sparks danced and crackled across the surface

of the TARDIS in response to the blow. Barbara lowered
the stick to the ground and leaned on it again, resting her leg.
She took out Susan’s key and carefully inserted it in the lock
in the manner the Doctor had described, and twisted it in the
unlocking sequence. The door remained firmly shut. She
sighed and replaced the key around her neck, then turned to
find she was no longer alone. Queen Leonora and Gramling
had just entered the little yard. A stick and a bad leg did not
allow for a graceful curtsy, so she made do with a slight bow
instead.
‘Good morning, your Majesty, master Gramling.’
The Queen was not a tall woman, but she carried herself
with an inner assurance that seemed to add inches to her
height. Her present demeanour seemed perfectly controlled,
but Barbara noted the carefully concealed puffiness about her
eyes and knew she had been crying.
‘This is Barbara Wright, your Majesty,’ said Gramling,
performing the introductions.
The Queen regarded her intently. ‘You are a friend of the
girl Susan, who was taken with my Mellisa?’
‘I am, your Majesty. Please accept my wishes for the
Princess’s safe return.’
‘Thank you.’ The Queen looked at the TARDIS. ‘And this
is the magical box you arrived in. There hardly seems room
enough for four persons within.’
‘It is hard to explain, but it’s much larger inside than out,
your Majesty,’ said Barbara. She had the feeling that the
Queen was making conversation for some reason.
 ‘That is most remarkable,’ she said. wish I could see such a
wonder for myself’
‘Unfortunately, the door refuses to open,’ admitted
Barbara. ‘Even master Gramling couldn’t shift it.’ The old
wizard stiffened slightly.
‘In that case he must try again,’ said the Queen firmly. ‘I
have an idea, mistress Wright. We shall leave him to
concentrate on the task, while we walk in the gardens.’
‘Your pardon, your Majesty,’ said Gramling, ‘but both Sir
Stephan and the King desired you not to venture out
unaccompanied. After the attack on the docks this morning,
and the continuing danger of the flying ape creatures –’
‘Wizard,’ said the Queen, with a distinct edge to her words,
‘we shall only be a few yards away in the orchard. There must
be fifty archers watching the skies, and I doubt a guivre could
make its way up here from the river unnoticed. In any case, I
do not believe it is any safer inside the castle’ – her voice
caught for a second – ‘as I learned to my cost last night.’ She
rallied again: ‘In any case, I desire some fresh air. You shall
attend to this device, and I shall walk in the orchard. That is
all.’ And taking Barbara’s arm, she strode determinedly away,
leaving Gramling standing by the TARDIS.
They passed through a gateway into a large walled orchard,
planted with rows of apple and pear trees. Raspberry canes
were trained up the inside of the walls, and in a corner Barbara
noticed traditional hump-backed beehives. It seemed very
peaceful, with the overhanging boughs hiding the towering
mass of the keep and the battlements of the inner bailey wall.
The Queen said nothing until they reached a bench set
between the trees, but then looked at Barbara intently.
‘I have reasons for wishing to talk to you alone and away
from my ladies or other ears, mistress Barbara. Things I wish
to ask as a mother, not as Queen.’
Barbara nodded: ‘I understand.’
The Queen smiled slightly. ‘Do you? Have you any
children of your own?’
‘Not yet. But I teach many children. I think I know what
you are feeling.’
‘You cannot,’ said the Queen simply, but not unkindly.
‘However, it is enough that you are understanding and of
sympathetic heart. First, your friend Susan. Like as not she is
my daughter’s only companion in an evil place. I know my
child will be strong and behave as fits her rank, but what of
Susan? Will she be a support to her?’
‘Well – Susan is kind, and intelligent and is naturally
cheerful. She can also be very brave, when she has to be. And
she’s resourceful. In fact, if I know her, she’ll already be
working on some means of escape even as we speak.’
The Queen’s taut features relaxed a little. ‘Your words
cheer me. I have little hope that two girls may escape Dhal’s
Tower, but it is good to think my daughter has such a
companion in her present adversity.’
Barbara smiled encouragingly. ‘Don’t be too hasty about
dismissing their chances. Susan has a lot of her grandfather’s
determination in her, you know.’
‘Yes, her grandfather. The Doctor he is called, I believe.’
The Queen became more intent again. ‘He, and your friend
Ian, showed great interest in the Helm, once its purpose had
been explained. They insisted on joining the quest to recover
it, I understand, despite the many dangers they may face.’
Barbara swallowed, trying to keep a steady face. The
Doctor and Ian had made light of the risks of the journey. Now
she wondered if they had been trying to save her further
worry.
‘But does their presence increase the chances of success?’
the Queen continued. ‘My husband and Sir Stephan seem to
think well of them, even after a few hours acquaintance. Is
their faith justified? Might I hold out some hope yet for my
child?’
Barbara had to steel herself, and she hoped her words came
out evenly, without revealing her new apprehension. ‘Yes,
there is always hope. Ian and the Doctor are both very single-
minded and determined in their own ways. They will do
everything possible to help get Susan, and your Mellisa, back
safely. You can rely on that.’
Queen Leonora sighed and allowed herself a fuller smile.
‘You do give me hope, mistress Barbara. Thank you.’
A fresh thought seemed to strike her. ‘It occurs to me that
you must be lonely without your friends. You must take your
meals with us, and we shall continue to hope together. Perhaps
you can divert us with tales of the oldworlds –’ She paused.
‘You realize that not for one moment will my daughter truly
be out of my thoughts. Today should have been her wedding
day – but I must seek some respite from worry, or else go
mad. The nights, I think, will be the worst. My husband’s fear
is just as deep, you may be sure, but he can show it even less
than I, and I must be there for him when he needs me...’ She
hesitated, peering intently at Barbara. ‘That is a most private
admission for me to have made, but as a woman, I think you
understand what I mean.’
‘I do. The best of men are just as vulnerable as we are in
such matters.’
‘Yes, but at least men can lose themselves in planning for
battle, or going off to adventure, whereas we can only wait.’
‘But for this leg,’ Barbara assured her, ‘I would have gone
with the Doctor and Ian.’
‘Would you really?’ the Queen asked curiously. ‘Yes, I
believe you would. But, the danger –?’
‘I’d be terrified,’ admitted Barbara, ‘but I’d still have
gone.’
‘Is this the way now, on the oldworlds beyond the veil?’
‘Yes, I think generally it is.’
‘Much has changed then.’
‘Oh, yes,’ agreed Barbara, ‘you, er, you wouldn’t know the
place.’
‘I can see we must talk more about this betimes. But I think
now we must be getting back to Gramling. I was firm with
him earlier for my own purposes, but we must not forget the
task he may face in but a few days. He deserves our
consideration for that and his long service to the Steward, so I
must make amends.’ As she spoke, there came a crackle of
electricity from the other yard, and a muffled curse. ‘Besides, I
do not believe he is having much success with opening your
travelling machine.’ Barbara smiled.
They started back through the orchard.
‘Is there aught else I can do to make your stay more
comfortable here? With the confusion of guests leaving and
troops being mustered, you might find the hospitality of
Fluxford castle passes you by unintentionally, and I know
Stephan would never forgive that.’
‘Thank you. But I’m quite all right as I am – except, I
would like to be able to use the castle library, if there is one.’
‘Why yes, there is a fine large library. Is it solace in words
that you seek?’
‘I do love books. But actually the Doctor suggested I might
do some research to find out anything that might help against
Dhal.’
‘For such a purpose, Barbara Wright, you may have all the
books that you require.’

That afternoon, Barbara stood in the library of Fluxford castle,

looking about her with a mixture of fascination tinged with
disappointment. She had forgotten that ‘fine’ and ‘large’ were
relative terms. For a quasi-medieval society, no doubt it was
exactly that. However, the library held, she estimated, less
than two thousand volumes. They were substantial volumes, of
course, mostly leather bound. Some of the larger ones
probably weighed fifteen pounds or more. They took up a lot
of shelf space.
Harding hovered nervously at her side. ‘Is there any
assistance you require, Lady Barbara?’
Barbara did not know how she had been promoted suddenly
to the status of an honorary ‘Lady’, and suspected that the
news had spread rapidly about her being in the Queen’s
favour, and dining with the royal party. Well, a little influence
wouldn’t do any harm.
‘Just a table I can work at, and a pen and paper, thank you.
And is there a catalogue or index? I want to look up some
specific subjects.’
‘Certainly, Lady. This way, if you please.’
Very soon she was set up in a comfortable alcove with
everything she required, including a page boy in attendance
who would fetch and carry the larger tomes for her. Harding
then made his excuses and returned to the administration of
the mobilization. Barbara rolled up her sleeves, both
figuratively and literally, and opened the catalogue. Very
shortly, the page was searching for the first book.
The afternoon wore on. The library grew warm and drowsy,
while Barbara struggled to read handwritten texts of differing
degrees of legibility and variable spelling. Gradually she
realized something unusual about them.
All the books were either copies of older texts, or written
about events after Avalon had been settled. There were no
actual books from Earth, or wherever the settlers had
originally come from, to be found anywhere. This was odd as
she would have expected at least a few to be preserved as
treasured mementos of the past. Surely all the originals could
not have been lost.
Then there was the strange bias of the earlier works. They
were almost all versions of Terrestrial heroic tales or
mythological fantasies, mainly of European subjects, but
treated as valid histories. She had come across a distorted
prose version of Spenser’s The Faerie Queene, which some
later reader had seriously tried to date by the ‘Old Calendar of
Earth’, as though it was historical fact. Where genuine history
did intrude, it was usually incredibly distorted; as she realized
when she found herself reading an account of how King
Arthur defeated the Nazi Armada off the coast of Cornwall
with the aid of Merlin’s remarkable, but unexplained, ‘Atome
Fire’. This event seemed to be related to the ‘last battle’,
which had caused the migration to Avalon, though the details
were oddly obscure.
In fact, Arthur and Merlin appeared so often in the
accounts, she realized they had become eponymous heroes,
credited with almost every military triumph or new invention
the writers could think of. Unfortunately, she had yet to find
more than a passing mention of the Helm. Still, the work did
stop her worrying about Ian, Susan and the Doctor.
By early evening, when she put down her quill, she felt at
least she had made a sound start. She had also made a minor
discovery which indicated how some historical detail could be
distorted. ‘Elbyon’ was a corrupted form of Albion: the old
name for Britain. So perhaps ‘Glazebry’ derived from
Glastonbury?
The evening meal was eaten taken in a smaller chamber than
the banquet hall of the previous night. Most diners were too
preoccupied to enjoy their food, but the King had decided they
should set an example by maintaining a regular domestic
routine despite the emergency. The King and Queen sat with
Palbury, Giles, and their senior knights and captains, and those
guests who had remained in the castle to play their part in the
confrontation to come. They all made dutiful, desultory
conversation. Barbara noticed there were fewer women about
now. Through the day, many of the wives and children had
been hastily packed away back home. Everybody knew
Fluxford was going to be the focus of Dhal’s attentions
shortly, in one form or another. Gradually the talk drifted on to
questions of offence and defence, and Barbara began to feel
guilty about spending so long in the library while around her
people had been dealing with far more urgent matters.
Then she heard Sir Peridor, who was seated next to her
again, talking to another knight about the problem of
defending the castle against further attacks by the flying apes,
and how there were too many windows to bar or shutter, and
what could be done about the exposed battlements? Suddenly,
the mood and problem seemed almost familiar.
‘Wires,’ she said aloud, almost without thinking.
‘Your pardon, Lady?’ said Peridor, with a polite frown.
‘To stop the flying apes. You do make wire, don’t you?
You wouldn’t need anything like as much material as bars use.
Stretch a few fine wires across a window and the apes will get
tangled up in them. At night they wouldn’t see them at all.
And you could string some along the battlements from posts, I
should think –’ she realized half the table seemed to be
listening to her and faltered ‘– they wouldn’t be able to swoop
down low like they did before, if you see what I mean, with
their big wingspans.’
There was a moment’s thoughtful silence, and she was
afraid she had said something foolish. Then Peridor nodded.
‘Yes, that might well work. What a surprise for our winged
friends. Thank you, Lady. Where did you get such an idea
from, may I ask?’
‘Oh, I was thinking of the blitz spirit and barrage balloons.
Never mind, it’s rather complicated.’
And she kept silent and listened to her idea being discussed
and amplified, while she pondered over something she had just
realized. These people were generally unused to change and
responding to new situations. This was a society frozen in a
mimicry of an unreal past, which had not significantly altered
for eight hundred years. But what was holding them back?
Magic, whatever that was, or some subtler force she had not
yet recognized?
She heard Sir Stephan saying enthusiastically he would find
out how quickly new wire could be produced. From the head
of the table, Queen Leonora nodded in approval. Barbara
smiled back.

The last glow of sunset was at their backs as the ship slipped
out of Fluxmouth harbour and into the Circle Sea.
Ian had seen little of Fluxmouth, as the light was already
fading when their river barge had arrived. He had the
impression of a smaller town than Fluxford, rising up the cliffs
about a natural harbour formed by the arms of two curving
promontories. As they tied up at a wharf, its blocky houses
and steep, twisting streets, now being delineated by freshly lit
torches, reminded him of a Cornish fishing village. A lone
tower broke the skyline above the cliff top, with bright lantern
light shining from its topmost floor.
The message from Fluxford had evidently got through, for
they were met by the harbourmaster himself, who personally
escorted them to a ship berthed a little way along the dock.
Ian’s knowledge of sailing craft was insufficient to classify it
accurately. She had three masts, and resembled a very
compact galleon, with superstructure fore and aft and open
deck space between. At least it appeared reassuringly
substantial and seaworthy.
A distinctive figure met them as they stepped aboard. By
the light of the deck lanterns, they saw he was a stocky man
with a full black beard, touched with grey, and a weather-
beaten complexion. Ian was curious to see that, though
otherwise dressed in conventional tunic and hose, he wore a
large hat folded and pinned very much in the tricorn style.
Clearly an incongruous period detail had become absorbed
into local fashion.
‘I am Captain Tristram, and I welcome you aboard,’ he
said, in gravelly tones. The order from his Majesty
commanded that the best ship in Fluxmouth be put at your
disposal, ready provisioned for sailing. The Merrow is that
ship,’ he added, with a touch of pride.
Sir Bron presented Tristram with a wax sealed scroll.
‘Your commission and sailing orders, Captain.’ Tristram
took the scroll under a lamp, broke the seal, and read the
contents carefully. As he did his face fell. He turned back to
them somewhat less composed and self-assured.
‘The Shadow Isles is it then?’ he said, in a way that
suggested he hoped he had read wrongly.
‘You will be well compensated,’ Bron reminded him.
‘Oh, no. Reward enough to serve his Majesty,’ Tristram
insisted hastily. ‘Only, well, it’s the crew, you see, sir Knight.’
‘Do you have a discipline problem, Captain?’ said Bron
levelly. ‘Men should go where their master commands. And
you are going where your King commands. Whose loyalty
should I doubt, that of the captain or his crew?’
‘No, no! Follow me anywhere, these lads. Best sailors on
the Circle Sea. But the Shadow Isles. There are these stories
about them.’
‘Then we will have the opportunity to find out whether they
are true or not,’ said Bron.
‘Didn’t I just hear say,’ added Kilvenny Odoyle,
‘something about this being the best ship in Fluxmouth?’
Beside him, Thurguld was fingering his axe handle
thoughtfully, while Alammar fixed the Merrow’s captain with
a golden-eyed stare.
Tristram looked unhappily at the determined group before
him. ‘Prepare to set sail!’ he bellowed to his crew.
Mooring lines were cast off and drawn aboard. Orders were
shouted. Eight long, broad-bladed oars were unslung and slid
out through sockets in the bulwarks into the water. With two
men working each oar, they slowly pulled the ship away from
the dockside and out across the harbour towards the sea. As
they reached the harbour mouth, a breeze started to fill the
sails and the Merrow began to make headway without
assistance. The oars were shipped, and they glided on into the
night, trailing a slight phosphorescent wake through the indigo
waters.
Ian watched the lights of Fluxmouth shrink and fade into
the great sweep of the coastline that curved away to the
horizon on either side of him. This was it. They were on their
way towards – what?
The Doctor and Odoyle joined him at the rail. The
leprechaun hopped up, with effortless nimbleness, and seated
himself with his feet dangling over the side. He lit another
pipe. Ian realized he never actually saw him re-fill his tobacco
pouch, yet it always seemed to be full.
‘A fine night to set out on such a journey,’ Odoyle
observed, after a few minutes contented puffing.
‘Most gratifying,’ pronounced the Doctor. ‘We must hope
the weather holds for us all the way to the Shadow Isles.’
‘And all the way back,’ Ian added.
‘Naturally, Chesterton,’ replied the Doctor testily. ‘I had
not forgotten the necessity of a return trip.’
Ian smiled, and watched the stars come out as the last of the
dayglow faded. The great blossom of Guinevere’s Veil
swelled in the skies. A spread of moons displayed their
different phases. Shooting stars again put on a fine show, and
he began to count two or three a minute. The Doctor had
apparently noticed them as well.
‘Is this level of meteor activity typical?’ he asked Odoyle.
‘I would say tonight was much as usual.’
‘You mean you have a regular shower at this time of year?’
said Ian.
‘No,’ the leprechaun chuckled. ‘At certain times of the
year, the sky is far more busy than you see it now.’
‘Really,’ said the Doctor, half to himself. ‘Most
interesting.’
Ian had turned back to the sky again. ‘It certainly makes
our night sky seem boring by comparison,’ he admitted. ‘A
nebula, six moons, shooting stars like fireworks. You couldn’t
fit much more into it, could you?’
The Doctor suddenly remarked dryly, ‘I believe you have
spoken too soon again, Chesterton. Look!’
A glowing curtain of light seemed to be falling out of the
night from the north, reaching almost halfway to the zenith. It
billowed, as though disturbed by some stratospheric wind. As
Ian watched, he realized the rippling, shimmering ribbon was
turning across the sky like a spoke in a ghostly wheel, with its
hub set on Avalon’s pole. A second curtain twinkled and
sparkled into being, turning after the first. Then a third
appeared. Ian gazed silently at the breathtaking display for
several minutes, before looking at Kilvenny Odoyle again.
‘You must be getting very tired of this question, but is this
also a typical spectacle for an average Avalon night?’
‘Surely it is,’ said the Leprechaun simply. ‘”Guinevere’s
Tresses”, they are sometimes called, in keeping with her veil,
do you see. But you must journey to the northlands sometime,
to Thule and Borea. There the sky is ablaze, often in full
daylight.’
‘Why didn’t we see this last night if it’s so common?’
‘Because our rooms faced south, Chesterton,’ explained the
Doctor patiently.
‘But we’re only in the mid-latitudes. Aurora are not usually
visible from here, are they?’
‘Apparently they are on Avalon,’ said the Doctor, staring
intently at the phenomenon. Between the light in the sky and
the ship’s lanterns, Ian once again caught the suspicion of a
knowing gleam in his eye.
‘Right,’ said Ian decisively, ‘are there any other surprises in
the night sky I should know about, or is it safe to go to bed
without missing something?’
The leprechaun tilted his head thoughtfully on one side.
‘No,’ he said, ‘I think we’re about done now –’
A voice called out from the poop deck: ‘Captain. Look –
near the moon!’
‘There now, you’ve made me tempt fate,’ chided Odoyle.
He slipped down from the rail and skipped lightly up the steps
with the others close behind.
Captain Tristram was peering up at the sky through a long
brass telescope by the time they reached him, looking as
though his worst fears had already been confirmed. Ian saw it
almost at once. A bright moving blob of light between two of
the moons. He stared. It was moving faster than the moons,
catching them up. He narrowed his eyes further. It wasn’t one
object, it was several, travelling close together. The Doctor
had the telescope now, and was studying the new arrival with
interest.
‘I take it this is something new?’ Ian asked Odoyle.
The leprechaun nodded.
The Doctor handed Ian the telescope. The lens was poor,
and uncorrected for chromatic aberration. But it was sufficient
to confirm his suspicion. As he watched, the group of light
specks passed in front of the black limb of a moon. There were
five of them, quite distinctly arranged.
‘It’s a fleet of spacecraft, isn’t it?’
‘Yes,’ said the Doctor, ‘that is precisely what it is.’

The bolts of their cell were shot back, and Susan and Mellisa
were suddenly awake and blinking in the light of a lantern.
‘You, dark hair, come,’ said the ape guard. ‘Master want
talk with you now!’ Hardly giving her time to stand up, the
guard grabbed her arm in one large hairy paw, and pulled her
from the cell. He seemed to be in a great hurry and Susan
stumbled trying to keep up with him. They practically ran up
the spiral stairs and through the door into Dhal’s workroom.
Dhal himself was sitting at his table, staring at an image in the
seeing globe. As she was dragged to his side, he spun round to
face her.
‘Tell me what you see!’ he commanded.
Obediently, Susan peered into the depths of the globe.
What creature’s eyes Dhal was borrowing to make the image,
she could not imagine, but she could see blackness and starlike
points drifting across the field of view. Centred in the middle
was a regular pattern of five objects, shining brightly as
though they were reflecting the sun. Looking closer she saw
they were each formed of a series of spheres and spars, with
smaller modules supported on outrigger pylons.
‘Well, what do you make of them?’ Dhal demanded.
‘They’re spaceships. Quite large ones, I think.’
‘You mean skyboats?’
 ‘Yes, skyboats.’
‘What do you know of them?’
‘Nothing – what do you mean?’
‘You are from beyond the Veil. Have they followed you
here?’
‘No! I don’t know why they’re here. They’re nothing to do
with us!’ She felt his eyes burn into her and wanted to turn
away, but it was impossible. His gaze was hypnotic. ‘I don’t
know anything!’ she kept repeating tremulously. Then he
suddenly turned back to the globe and she sagged in relief.
‘No,’ said Dhal, ‘I do not believe you do.’ Then half to
himself: ‘But why have they chosen to come now? Oh, take
her back to her cell,’ he ordered dismissively.
As the ape led her out, Susan realized that Dhal’s supreme
self-confidence had been dented. This was something quite
outside his plans. For the first time he had actually seemed
worried.
 13

Task Force

‘S tandard low orbit about objective planet has been

achieved, Admiral. Squadron maintaining formation.’
‘Thank you, Captain. Are the energy flow readings between
the planet and its moons still constant?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Any idea what’s causing it yet?’
‘No, sir, but it’s too steady to be natural, I’d say. I’ve got a
tech team working on it right now.’
‘Good. And be sure to relay all data to Captain Shannon’s
team, of course.’
‘Understood.’
‘Could the flow prove any danger to our systems?’
‘It’s within shielding tolerances, sir. Most of the flow
appears to follow magnetic field lines down to the poles. No
problem while we remain in this orbit.’
‘And still no signals from planet surface?’
‘None detected so far, wide band all channels search has
been initiated.’
‘Hmm, odd there isn’t any traffic at all. Never mind, keep
looking. Meanwhile maintain Amber Alert status. Begin
photographic survey of planetary surface. Locate any signs of
cities or major population centres. Prepare drone probes for
reconnaissance of moons and planet. But planetary probes
must only be launched on my order.’
‘Aye, sir.’
Nyborg allowed himself to relax back in his chair for a
moment, surveying the bridge of the carrier ISS Prince
Randolph with satisfaction, while Captain Chandry efficiently
proceeded to initiate his orders. A good man, Chandry. A
‘backbone of the Empire type’, as people used to say. How he
wished the mission was just the responsibility of himself and
men like that. They would have seen it through all right,
without all this cloak and dagger nonsense of Shannon’s. Still,
orders were orders, and Shannon’s came practically from the
Empress herself. And Nyborg had never disobeyed a
legitimate order in his life.
The panoramic sweep of the main monitor screen showed
the blue-white globe turning serenely below them. What is
your secret, he wondered? On secondary screens were images
of the rest of his squadron; the cruisers Indus and Dorado, and
the destroyers Valkyrie and Tigershark. To some, their
functional assembly of crew-spheres, drive units and weapons
modules would have seemed crude. But to Nyborg they
achieved a kind of beauty. They were the finest craft of their
kind. The honest embodiment of Imperial power. Their
specifications had hardly changed for a hundred years, dating
from the old combined service days of the Imperial
Landsknechte Corps. True, he knew some of the newly
independent systems had begun producing their own designs,
but give him a ship built in an Empire yard every time, even if
spares and servicing had become somewhat erratic of late.
Still, Imperial ships were built to last.
The squadron fell on along its endless orbit about Avalon.
Electronic senses probed the world below. Inside the ships,
they recorded, analysed and prepared.

Barbara was surprised to receive Gramling’s invitation that

morning. She wasn’t sure the old wizard felt comfortable in
her company, considering his continuing failure to open the
TARDIS. However, she recalled the Queen’s words about
him, and decided the least she could do was try to be cheerful.
Besides, she had never been in a wizard’s tower before.
In the event, the steep climb up the spiral stairs to the top
meant she arrived resting heavily on her stick. Gramling met
her in the doorway, his face, such as could be seen behind his
flowing beard, full of concern.
‘Oh, dear. Take my arm, Mistress Barbara, let me help you
to a seat. There, there, I’d quite forgotten about your leg. How
is it, by the way?’ He seemed far more amiable and rather
vaguer than before.
‘Getting a little easier, thank you,’ said Barbara. ‘Stairs
don’t usually bother me like that.’
‘No, they never bothered me when I was younger. Of
course, my staff is my support now, but oddly I don’t seem
troubled by the walk up here. I suppose I must have got used
to it over the years, and just go up at my own pace. I’m usually
so preoccupied with some matter anyway, that I just seem
suddenly to find myself at the top without remembering the
climb. Probably a blessing really...’
As Gramling prattled on, Barbara looked about at his
untidy, and rather dusty, chamber. Apart from the lounger with
the stuffing coming through the splits which she sat on, and
the creaking high-backed chair of Gramling’s, there was a
single bed in an alcove, imperfectly concealed behind a half-
drawn, faded curtain, and a table cluttered with a few books
and a large dead white globe. Against the walls were sagging
shelves stacked with bottles and jars, containing various fluids
and powders and what she was very much afraid were bits of
preserved animals. One shelf held a small, tattered and well-
thumbed collection of books. Mystic charts hung in the free
spaces. On the floor was a very scuffed and faded pentagram,
while in one corner sat an Avalonian orrery; a collection of
tiny spheres rotating on geared arms, showing the motion of
the planets and moons of the system about its sun. She
wondered how having six moons complicated local
astrological forecasting. Not that it looked like Gramling had
practised much active magic in here for years.
She suddenly realized that Gramling had asked her
something. ‘Pardon?’
‘I asked if you would like some wine, Mistress Barbara.’
‘Oh, yes please.’
Actually, the wine was rather good, and Barbara found
herself relaxing a little. Gramling, however, appeared to be
noticing the state of his chambers for the first time.
‘Um, I suppose I should have tidied the place a bit. Haven’t
had many visitors for – well, a long time. Not really much
point now...’
 Barbara’s discomfort returned abruptly. How do you talk to
someone who was probably going to sacrifice his life in a few
days time? ‘Is there no alternative?’
‘Oh no. All the indications are that the power of the Helm
is too much for the body to stand. I hope to last long enough to
do what must be done, that is all.’
‘I’m... so sorry.’
‘No, no, you mustn’t be. It’s my responsibility. Dhal was
my apprentice, and I should have recognized the signs earlier.
But I suppose I was too busy with providing the knights’ next
quest, or defending the realm from invasion, or the
deprivations of dragons.’ He looked sad and wistful, staring
into nothing. ‘I have seen so many battles. So much blood. I
sometimes wonder what it’s all been for...’ He appeared to
gather himself. ‘Anyway, now this old body is about done, so
you see, I’ve nothing much to lose.’ He saw her expression.
‘Come, come, let us not dwell on the past. I invited you here
for a reason, not denying the pleasure of your company, of
course. May I ask if you looked at the sky last night?’
‘You mean that little group of moving lights? Yes, I saw
them.’
‘Others have noticed them too. Do you know what they
are?’
‘I think they must be what you call skyboats.’
‘Precisely. But they do not behave like any we have known
before. I have seen the remains of three such craft over the
years, and heard of others. Always they have fallen to earth
killing their occupants. No one knows why, though the
common folk have plenty of superstitions about them and
usually leave the remains alone.’
‘We found the wreckage of a spacecraft in the forest.’
‘Yes, that would be one of them. But now there are five of
the craft together, and they do not fall. They are waiting.
Look.’ He touched the globe on the table which lost its milky
whiteness and became a deep bluish purple. In the centre were
the cluster of five spacecraft. The image was slightly hazy, but
it was large enough to see details of their structure. ‘I have
been watching them each time they pass over us. The seeing is
not so good as it was, though, now the sun is up.’
 ‘But how do you get that picture?’
Gramling looked genuinely surprised. ‘You do not know of
seeing globes?’
‘Not... exactly.’
‘It is a simple enough magical art. We are presently looking
through an animal’s eyes. In this case those of a roc, nesting
high in the mountains where the air is thin. I have influenced it
slightly to hold the lights in its gaze.’
‘A roc – like the giant bird?’
‘Naturally.’
‘Of course,’ Barbara agreed quickly.
‘But what,’ continued Gramling, ‘are the intentions of the
skyboat’s masters? Why have they come here now?’
‘Perhaps they’re looking for the lost spacecraft, but I can
only guess at that. They’re nothing to do with us, that’s all I
can say.’
‘Can you communicate with them by any means?’
‘There might be a radio, a machine for speaking over long
distances, in the TARDIS. But that’s no use, unless we can get
back inside.’
‘Ah, a pity.’
‘Yes – oh, look. Something’s happening!’
In the globe, they saw a small dot of light detach itself from
the largest of the spacecraft and drop away. Gramling touched
the globe and closed his eyes for a moment, and the picture
turned to follow the dot as it fell, growing steadily larger and
larger.

‘Probe now at 75 miles. Powered atmospheric descent phase

initiated, trajectory holding true.’
Nyborg and Chandry watched the screen displaying the
view from the probe’s camera. The planet swelled, the
curvature of the horizon spread and flattened, becoming the
boundary of a landscape, rather than a sphere. The skin of
atmosphere showed as a purple and blue haze over its limb.
Great swirls of cloud began to seem tangible, with upwelling
thunderheads casting shadows like mountain peaks.
‘Probe now entering stratosphere,’ continued the
controller’s commentary, ‘repulsors to half power –
atmospheric sampling commencing.’
The first wisps of high cloud flashed across the screen. The
black of space shaded into purple and then blue.
‘Readings coming through: nitrogen, oxygen, ozone plus
trace gases, all within normal limits. Pressure now reading
eight millibars and rising steadily, temperature fluctuations
normal for upper atmosphere. Probe now at twenty miles,
repulsors on three-quarters.’
‘Looks like it’s all going smoothly, sir,’ said Chandry.
‘Let’s hope so, Chandry, let’s hope so.’
‘Probe at ten miles. Entering troposphere. Pressure now –
sensor telemetry link has failed!’
The image on the monitor screen suddenly flickered and
went black.
‘Camera link has been broken!’ said a probe technician.
Lights on control boards started to blink off, and others began
flashing red. ‘Attitude control has gone – repulsor drive
command link has failed!’
‘Switch to backup channel!’
‘Switching – backup does not respond!’
‘Visual tracking,’ demanded Chandry, ‘is probe still
intact?’
The man at the ship’s telescopic display screen checked:
‘Probe still intact, but falling free.’
‘Activate probe self-destruct,’ ordered Chandry.
The probe controller flipped the cover off a red button and
pressed. ‘Self-destruct activated.’
‘Visual?’
‘Probe still intact and falling,’ reported the telescope
monitor. ‘Still falling – impact!’
There was a moment’s silence on the bridge.
‘Probe lost, sir,’ Chandry reported formally.
‘Damn!’ said Nyborg softly.

Barbara looked in dismay at the image in the seeing globe,

which showed a thread of smoke rising from a distant forest.
The roc had followed the probe’s fall all the way to the
ground.
‘They seemed to lose control part of the way down. I hope
there was nobody on board. It looked quite small, maybe it
was an automatic landing craft.’
‘Your pardon?’
‘An unmanned machine to test the way is safe first.’
‘Ah, that would be a wise precaution.’
‘But why did it crash? Why did all the others crash?’
Gramling shrugged. ‘Alas, I do not know.’

The Merrow sailed on under an almost cloudless sky. The

coast had fallen away completely now, and the entire horizon
was empty sea. The wind held steady from a little north of
east, snatching the top off an occasional wave crest, but
leaving the waters otherwise resembling rippled sapphire. Ian,
leaning on the foredeck rail, the salt air breeze of their passage
ruffling his hair, contemplated the scene with some
satisfaction. Just let this weather hold, and they would reach
the Shadow Isles in another two days. Off their port side, a
school of porpoises broke the surface in a series of arching
plunges and leaps, and he saw their sleek grey bodies surging
through the clear water for a mile or more, playing about the
Merrow’s bow, before slipping away again on business of
their own. He could almost begin to enjoy the trip, if it wasn’t
for the constant worry about Susan.
Voices from the mid-deck disturbed his thoughts. The
Doctor had laid out some charts borrowed from Tristram on a
hatch cover. Bron, Odoyle, Alammar and Thurguld were
gathered about it curiously. ‘Now, Sir Bron,’ said the Doctor,
‘you promised yesterday that you would tell me about other
artifacts like the ‘Seven Companions’. And if you gentlemen
also know of such things, I would be very interested to hear of
them.’

The long mosaic of photographs filled most of one wall of the

Prince Randolph’s conference room. A continuous strip of
Avalon’s surface stretching over fifty degrees north and south
of the equator had been recorded in some detail, with features
of special interest displayed as enlargements to one side.
Nyborg and Chandry sat at the head of the table, with other
department chiefs down the sides. A two way audio-visual
channel linked the meeting to the ship’s science stations and
the rest of the squadron.
An hour before, they had lost a second probe, 9.4 miles
above the planet’s surface, in circumstances identical to the
first one. There could be no possibility of chance failure. But
what had disabled them? Nyborg forced his attention back to
the briefing as the keen young lieutenant heading the planetary
survey section pointed to the photo-mosaic.
‘We have identified several centres of population so far,
linked by a sparse network of roads... well, tracks for the most
part. Close-up views of some of the larger settlements have
shown structures which appear to correspond closely with
terrestrial architectural forms typical of the tenth to fifteenth
centuries. The greatest concentration of these centres we’ve
found so far is to the north-west of this distinctive circular sea.
Presumably, if this is a lost Earth colony, that was the area of
first landfall and earliest settlement.’
‘Any indication of an advanced technology?’ asked
Chandry.
‘No radio sources, or power plant emissions, Captain.
Everything is consistent with a medieval, pre-electrical culture
of the horse and cart level. Except for these of course.’ He
tapped the enlargements. ‘These don’t fit in at all!’

‘A pyramid three miles high, you say?’ said the Doctor,

marking the spot on the chart.
‘Ay, the top rose straight through the clouds. But that is not
the half of it,’ insisted Sir Bron. ‘Besides the sheer bulk of
such a thing, there was also the precision with which it had
been formed. The edges were as perfect and true as any rule,
and the whole thing seemed to be made of one solid block of
black stone, so hard it defied every attempt to mark it.’
‘Remarkable,’ said the Doctor, still scribbling.
‘If you wish to hear of ancient marvels,’ said Alammar, in
his smooth and clear tones, ‘then what of the Crystal Forest of
Glissandor.’ He pointed to a spot on the south-west of Elbyon.
‘Imagine a sheltered valley filled with a lush forest of
strangely shaped plants, but every plant, from greatest tree to
smallest flower, sculpted from clearest glass. Yet with every
grain of bark and vein of leaf perfectly formed, and the light
endlessly reflected and twisted on every side as you walk
through its crystal glades. A wonderful, yet deadly place.’
‘Deadly?’ asked Ian, who had come to stand on the edge of
the group.
‘Verily so, for it is not formed out of the tough stuff like
that of the bridge of Fluxford, but glass as fragile as a window.
The very grass underfoot may break and pierce your sole, and
I know of many who have been cut to shreds by a falling
branch. Yet it still draws many to wonder at it.’
‘If you want a wonder,’ cut in Thurguld, in his gruff tones,
‘then speak of the Great Fountain of Largos, which, exactly
ten times every day, mark you, throws up a spout of water
fully five hundred yards into the air, so chilling it, that it falls
to earth as a rain of ice and snow in cooler weather!’
‘Now that reminds me,’ said Odoyle, ‘of the river Dellberry
in me own little corner of the land. A charming bubbling
brook it starts as, twisting and turning by switchbacks down
the side of a hill. And as you follow it down it gradually swells
to a mighty torrent, which flows around the base of the hill as
a wide river. Then, neat as you please, runs back up again until
it is a brook, and starts all over.’
‘Runs back up?’ asked Ian uncertainly.
‘Certainly. ’Tis a well known local sight. And very
convenient for any who fall in, for their friends only have to
sit down on the bank and wait awhile, and they’ll be back
around again to be hauled out!’
While Ian was pondering this apparent absurdity, the
Doctor thanked the others for their help. They drifted away
while he continued to make notations on his charts. Eventually
he said: ‘Well, Chesterton, what do you make of that?’
Ian sighed. ‘I’d say it was the sheerest nonsense, if it wasn’t
for what we’ve already seen. Since they all claim to have seen
these things personally I must believe them. But is it
significant?’
‘Of course! You don’t suppose I was asking out of idle
curiosity. Look at the charts. I’ve been able to plot a dozen
different such incongruous structures or phenomena, drawing
only on the direct experiences of four individuals. By
extrapolation, we can assume that such things are scattered all
over this planet.’
‘So?’
The Doctor clicked his tongue in exasperation. ‘It’s a part
of the puzzle, Chesterton. Hold it in your mind and see where
it fits in. By the way, do you notice anything else of interest on
these charts?’
‘Well, the Circle Sea isn’t quite circular, though it’s pretty
close. The Shadow Isles are in the middle. It has a few circular
bays cut out of it in places. Come to that, there are quite a few
other rings and arcs of mountains on the lands around it, aren’t
there?’
‘Exactly. But what do they remind you of?’
‘Umm... oh yes. The craters of the moon!’
‘Precisely. The remains of ancient meteor craters, most of
which are now distorted by crustal movement, or worn down
with age. Now, put that together with the other phenomena we
have noted and you have two pieces of the puzzle ‘
‘And?’
‘When we recover the Helm, we may find a third that links
them!’

‘Clearly, the planet was once subject to a high level of meteor

activity,’ said the lieutenant, ‘so it would seem that the
artifacts we have noted in our survey must –’
Chandry’s table comm link buzzed: ‘Captain, you wanted
to be informed when the probe reached the moon.’
‘Right, put it on the conference room screens.’
It looks like a sooty billiard ball, thought Nyborg, as the
probe closed in. There was no sign of craters or mountains,
just a curving expanse of dull matt blackness. The probe
controller began his commentary.
Albedo, temperature and mass were all unusually low. The
last of these anomalies might have been explained by the
density readings, which were erratic: suggesting there were
large voids within it. In contrast, electromagnetic readings
began to rise the closer the probe got, as did the levels of raw
radiation. The moon was surrounded by a cloud of radioactive
particles.
‘Is that radioactivity natural?’ Nyborg asked.
‘Hard to tell, Admiral,’ said the Prince Randolph’s chief
technical officer. ‘Could simply have been gathered from the
solar wind by secondary field effects. Certainly makes it an
unhealthy place.’
‘Deliberate? A way of discouraging visitors?’
‘Perhaps, Admiral. Either way, a manned landing would be
risky.’
‘A pity. I think we could learn a lot down there.’
Then the screen revealed a change in the perfect symmetry
of the surface. A low dome, just as black as the rest of the
landscape, made a shallow hump barely visible against the
stars.
‘Probe control: head for that dome,’ Chandry ordered.
On the screen, the image of the black dome swelled. A
fuzzy electronic snow started to cloud the picture.
‘Transmission interference. Particle density and energy
readings increasing,’ the probe controller warned. ‘Radiation
approaching maximum engineering tolerances...’ There was a
monstrous flash of light which briefly lit up even the coal
black landscape. The monitor picture blazed white and went
dead. ‘Probe lost!’
‘What was that!’ exclaimed Nyborg. ‘A weapon?’
‘Just lightning, I think, Admiral,’ hazarded the chief. ‘The
potential difference between the probe and the moon caused a
discharge through the particle cloud. Need to make special
adaptations if you want to send another probe.’
The thoughtful silence that followed was broken by
Nyborg’s comm link.
‘This is the special survey team, Admiral,’ came Shannon’s
voice. ‘We request that another attempt be made to reach the
planet’s surface, but with a class three probe.’ Everybody
round the table, Nyborg noticed, was trying very deliberately
not to appear to be taking too much notice of the conversation.
The entire ship knew Shannon’s team was something special
and was keeping an officially sanctioned low profile.
Naturally this had only intensified the unofficial shipboard
speculation as to their purpose.
 ‘Class three, Captain?’ A class three probe was a simple
ballistic unpowered shell, braking by atmospheric resistance
and a parachute triggered by increasing air pressure. It
delivered a very basic short life instrument package to a
planet’s surface that transmitted limited environmental data.
‘Why do you believe it will be any more successful than the
others?’
‘It’s just a possibility we want to test out, Admiral,’
Shannon said. Nothing more. Uncomfortable glances were
exchanged about the table.
Don’t be a fool, Shannon, Nyborg thought. Give me a
reason or let me tell them about your mission and who you
represent. You can be anonymous or have rank here, not both.
I can’t be seen to grant requests blindly. That’s not how it’s
done. Aloud, speaking as though the idea had just occurred to
him, he said: ‘It might be as well to make another attempt on
the planet while we work on the problem of the moons. Please
arrange that, Chandry.’
‘Yes, Admiral,’ said Chandry smartly.
Nyborg turned off the comm link without another word to
Shannon.

Back in the library that afternoon, Barbara was diverted by the

unexpected discovery of an Avalonian Bestiary.
It seemed to contain every wild animal the author knew of,
listed alphabetically, together with some rather fanciful
illustrations and notes about their habits. She wondered how
all these animals had been brought here, along with all the
Earthly plants. The Prydwen, if it had actually existed, must
have been like Noah’s Ark. Perhaps they had carried the
animals as frozen embryos, or something?
What made the book unusual was that it listed ordinary
creatures beside fantastic ones without distinction, giving no
clue as to where they came from. She noted that dwarves,
elves and leprechauns were not listed, and were clearly seen as
people, at least by the author. But goblins were in their place:
after giraffes and before gryphons.
Curious, she flipped through: Aardvark, antelope, ape,
armadillo, bat (including, alarmingly, vampire), bear, boar
(including a giant variety), bogie (a kind of shape-changing
goblin), camel, cephlie, cheetah, crocodile, crab (including a
singing kind!), deer, dolphins, dragons – ahh. There were
several types of these listed. The fire herald, which they had
encountered, was at the top, and reckoned to be the most
dangerous. She shuddered when she discovered its tail could
deliver a deadly sting! (How close she had come!) Guivres
(sometimes also called knuckers), like the one that had
attacked the docks, were described as wingless and legless
water dwelling types, like giant snakes. Lindworms, which
Bron had mentioned, had one pair of legs and were fast
runners. Wyverns had eagle’s legs and leathery wings and
spread poison or disease...
Barbara shut the book firmly. Apart from interfering with
her research, she would never sleep tonight if she read any
more. She returned to her notes, and then paused. In the back
of her mind was the suspicion that she had seen something
significant. But she couldn’t think what.

The probe fell like a meteor, with a burning tail searing across
half the sky. This was quite intentional. As its heat shield
burnt away, it lost energy and speed, slowing it down from
thousands to mere hundreds of miles per hour. At a
predetermined height, a pressure switch jettisoned the charred
shield, and a parachute unfurled and snapped open. The small
ball of instruments floated to earth to land with a slight bump
in the middle of a patch of heathland. It transmitted data for
almost a minute and a half before failing from, presumably,
the same cause that had struck down its predecessors.

An hour afterwards, Shannon was facing Nyborg over the desk

in his quarters once again. Nyborg stopped him before he
could speak.
‘We shall get one thing perfectly clear, Captain Shannon,
or whatever your actual rank is. If we are to maintain this
fiction, you will give explanations when I ask for them. Is that
understood?’
For an instant Shannon looked puzzled, as though he
couldn’t see the point Nyborg was making. ‘You must have
known I would not make such a request lightly, Admiral.’
‘But don’t you see, I had to ask, man!’ Nyborg found
himself losing his temper, a thing he normally prided himself
on never doing. More evenly, he continued: ‘I’m sure you
have your reasons for wearing that uniform, even though I
may disagree with them. But while you are in it, you, like the
regular marine contingent on board, are under my ultimate
authority. I do not blindly grant requests from junior officers.
You’re a military man of some sort, so you must know that’s
how service discipline works. Next time you make such a
request in public, be sure to have at least a plausible excuse for
doing so. Do I make myself clear?’
‘Yes, Admiral.’ Shannon’s face was expressionless.
If Nyborg had expected an apology, he was disappointed.
Though not entirely surprised, he realized. For the first time he
began to wonder what the Empire was coming to when people
like Shannon held such positions. Did the fragmentation of the
services after the fall of the Landsknechte contribute to such
indiscipline? For a moment the image came to him of the
Empire fragmenting the same way. He marshalled his
thoughts. ‘Very well. The probe was a qualified success. What
have you learned from it?’
‘That a properly sealed vessel can reach the planet’s surface
before whatever it is disables the control systems. Also there is
a pattern to the way whatever it is affects the systems,
approximately in order of exposure to the atmosphere. Purely
mechanical moving parts do not seem to be affected at all.’ He
handed over a list. ‘If these modifications are made to a
standard Delta landing craft, I believe my team could be ready
to make planetfall in eighteen hours. Once the method is
proved, you can provide me with support and supplies as
required.’
‘But you can’t intend simply to land at random and hope to
find what you’re after.’
Shannon pulled out a folded graphic printout from his
pocket and smoothed it out on the desk before Nyborg. ‘Your
scanning teams produced this about half an hour ago. They
were fine-tuning their equipment to detect details of the moon-
to-planet energy flow, and discovered a secondary network of
energy transference fields across the surface of the planet
itself.’ The printout showed an outline map of the continents,
overlaid with an amorphous tonal pattern indicating energy
concentrations. ‘They were just going to tell you about it,’
continued Shannon pre-emptively, ‘when I said I’d inform you
myself.’
Nyborg made no further comment about protocol. Besides,
the discovery was fascinating. There were energy frequencies
and notes on observed fluctuations printed beside the map.
He’d never seen anything like them before. ‘All right. But how
does this help you choose a landing site?’
A rare flush of excitement coloured Shannon’s cheeks.
‘The resolution is not very high yet, but they’re working on it.
But you can already see that some of the areas of highest
concentration correspond to the anomalous structures we
found on the photographic survey, while others match with
centres of habitation. At the moment, the most active region is
around here.’ He tapped a spot on the map. ‘I think that would
be a good place to start. If we find out how this energy is
being used, we can learn how it is controlled. The answer is
down there, and I’m going after it!’

The realization struck Barbara just as she was considering

finishing for the day.
She was feeling slightly annoyed, having been frustrated by
several gaps in Avalon’s history after the first landing. There
was mention of the ‘time of giants’, and sometimes the ‘cold
years’, and then the structure of Avalonian society as she now
knew it seemed to suddenly come into being. It was rather
odd, if nothing else. She had at least found more references to
Merlin’s Helm, which bore out the general view that it was an
item of tremendous potential power, but deadly to its user.
However, there was no clue yet as to how it got to the Shadow
Isles, and she wondered if Gramling had those sources in his
own library, together with other works on magic. Should she
ask him, or persevere a little longer on her own? She
suspected, as the Doctor obviously had when he suggested the
research, that the old wizard might be secretive about such
things.
Then it happened.
The nagging matter of what she had subconsciously seen in
the Bestiary inverted itself in her mind. What was there that
should not have been, became what should be here but isn’t.
They would have realized sooner, if it hadn’t been for
Susan’s kidnapping and subsequent events. They might even
have suspected something when they first saw Fluxford from
the hillside, if their minds hadn’t been filled with thoughts of
dwarves and dragons. She remembered the panorama, with the
walled city, the river and the castle rising on the hill high
above it. But what other tall building should have been there,
dominating the skyline of the city, as it would in a true
medieval scene, where it formed an integral part of the
society? Who had not been at the banquet? What had she
found no mention of in any book in the library?
Fluxford had no cathedral, monastery or church. There had
been no clergyman of any kind at the feast. She had seen no
religious texts, or mention of religious thought or teaching in
any book in the library.
 14

The Stolen Hour

T he bolts of the cell slid back, the door swung open, and
Dhal and two apemen, carrying lanterns, walked in.
Susan and Mellisa did not stir.
They had piled their straw pallets one on top of the other to
make a more comfortable bed, and had doubled up their thin
blankets, under which they huddled close together to keep
warm. They were very still. Susan’s hand had slipped out from
under the blanket on to the cold stone floor. Dhal nudged it
with the toe of his boot. She stirred slightly, but did not wake.
Dhal looked at a tray resting on the floor bearing empty plates
and a pitcher of water, and he smiled.
‘The drug has taken effect most satisfactorily. The same
dose tomorrow at the same time, understand?’
‘Yes, Master,’ grunted the apemen.
‘Now, carry them up to my chamber. But note how they are
resting first. They must be returned here and replaced in
exactly the same positions, understand?’
‘Yes, Master – uh, why must they be same, Master?’
Dhal sighed. ‘Because they must not suspect anything has
happened to them. The process will not work if they fight it, so
they must not know there is anything to fight! Now do you
understand?’
‘Uh – yes, Master.’
Dhal stripped the covers from the sleeping figures. ‘See
how they are lying? That is how you will put them back when
I have finished with them. You will do exactly the same thing
for five nights. Now, take them to my chamber.’
With surprising gentleness, the apes carefully picked up
Susan and Mellisa and carried them out of the cell.
Slightly less than an hour later, the apes returned with their
burdens and laid them back on their bed, positioning them as
they had been before. The two young women were still asleep,
and did not stir until morning.
 15

Descent

F or the third morning, the TARDIS’s defence shield

crackled and its door refused to open. Barbara was not
really expecting otherwise, but it would have been nice to
have at least one problem resolve itself. Queen Leonora, this
time escorted by Sir Peridor, came by as she was finishing her
examination of the ship, and they walked again in the orchard.
It was obvious the Queen needed somebody to talk to and, as
was sometimes the case, it was easier to let her feelings show
before a near stranger. Peridor maintained a discreet distance
while they conversed. Barbara thought he understood.
Afterwards, after a token protest from Peridor, they
climbed the long stairs leading up to the battlements of the
inner walls. Barbara saw small masts being fitted into place
along sections of the wall walks, and learned with a modest
glow of pride, that they were for ‘Lady Barbara’s wires’.
Peridor confirmed that fresh wire was being drawn in all the
available forges, and would begin to be strung within a few
days.
The outer bailey looked more like an army camp now.
There were a few of the colourful knights’ pavilions still
visible, but they were outnumbered by the more utilitarian
shelters and tents being erected to provide for the growing
army now camped within the castle walls. It must be like this
in castles all over the South Share, she thought; troops being
mustered to prepare for whatever came after Dhal’s deadline
passed. She saw a squad of horsemen gallop out of the
gateway, and, shortly afterward, a company of foot soldiers
march in. All the roads and boundaries were being regularly
patrolled. Two days had passed without a sign of further
intrusions by Dhal’s creatures, but this may only have been
part of his strategy. No one believed he had given up his
ambitions.
And suddenly Barbara felt strangely isolated from the
activity below, looking down from the high castle grounds.
How she wished for a radio-phone, so that she might talk to
Ian and the Doctor and know they were making progress.
Something must have shown on her face, for the Queen turned
to her.
‘You look very pensive.’
‘I am thinking about my friends, your Majesty, and wishing
I could talk to them. It’s a shame Gramling can’t find a way.
And then also I...’
‘Yes?’
‘Well, I’m beginning to feel cooped up in here. Not that
I’m complaining about the hospitality, but I’d like to get out.
My leg is feeling better, and I think I could ride, if that were
possible.’
‘Excuse me, Lady,’ interjected Peridor, ‘but it is not wise to
venture forth beyond the walls. We know not what foul
creatures of Dhal’s may next assail us, or when.’
‘And that doesn’t help either,’ replied Barbara sharply, ‘to
know I’m well protected behind several thick, well defended
walls, while there are people out there with far less protection.
It makes me feel a bit guilty.’
‘If I may point out, Lady,’ said Peridor, ‘the castle itself is
more likely to be the focus of any attack than the town.’
‘Well if it’s just as dangerous here, why do you keep
wanting us to stay inside?’ Barbara put in quickly, leaving
Peridor momentarily lost for a counter argument.
The Queen smiled gently. ‘I believe I understand your
feelings, my dear, but what can we do?’
‘Well at least we could show ourselves outside the walls, to
let the people know we’re sharing the danger with them.
Inspect the troops. Maybe ride around the town.’
‘My husband and Stephan ride out regularly to do that very
thing, of course. But tomorrow they will go to the field where
they are preparing for the midsummer fair. Those creatures of
Dhal’s that stole away Mellisa also fired several houses, and
what with the guivre in the docks, there is much fear. Some
small entertainments may prove a diversion. It will not be as
grand as it should have been, but Stephan thought it would
give some cheer to the townsfolk.’
‘Exactly. Good for morale. We should go too!’
‘You know, Barbara, I think we shall.’
Peridor looked dismayed, but wisely said nothing.
They began to walk back to the keep. Barbara thought for a
minute, then asked: ‘Your Majesty, may I ask you a question
which you may find a little – strange?’
‘Certainly.’
‘What do you believe lies beyond life?’
The Queen frowned. ‘Beyond life? I do not quite
understand your meaning.’
‘An afterlife. The existence of the spirit after the body dies.
Going to heaven.’
Peridor, who had also heard her question, was looking as
bemused as the Queen.
‘I’m sure what happens when we die is a mystery, Barbara.
Perhaps it is only an eternal sleep. We can only be certain of
the life we have, so we should value it and live it to the full,
and face its end with courage and the knowledge that we have
done our best. If there is anything of us that survives death,
surely that is a matter beyond our comprehension. Is that not
what people hold to where you come from?’
‘Some do. But others try to prepare specially for death, to
ensure the survival of their spirit, by following special rules
governing their behaviour during their life.’
‘But how might that help?’
‘Well, they think when they die they are judged on how
well they held to those beliefs.’
‘Judged? But who could possibly judge them once they are
dead?’ exclaimed the Queen.
In the circumstances, Barbara could think of no suitable
reply.

On the road a few miles from Fluxford, a pedlar, pushing his

handcart of wares bound for the midsummer fair, flinched at a
sudden insistent mewing. A black cat was seated primly beside
a milestone. At the sight of him it sprang down, advanced
purposefully, and circled about his cart. When it had the man’s
curious attention, it walked a few steps into the forest, and
looked back at him meaningfully. The pedlar swallowed
nervously. He had heard too many stones over the last few
days about troubles around Fluxford, to follow any strange cat
into the forest. Besides, he didn’t like the look in the beast’s
eyes. He clasped the handles of his cart and set off again at a
rather brisker pace than before, determined to be safe inside
the city walls before evening.

The hangar deck of the Prince Randolph seemed positively

cavernous after the days Jen had spent in the warren of the
ship’s crew decks. It was also an incredibly busy place. A host
of mechanics were at work on the ranks of landers, shuttles
and sleek fighters. Engine panels hung open to the probing of
inspection torches. Fuel and power cables snaked across the
floor. In workshop bays, welding torches sparked with eye-
searing intensity, to the accompaniment of rivet guns and
echoing voices exchanging instructions and commands in their
own obscure technical sub-language.
But Jen’s attention focused on one particular craft that was
just being wheeled into position before the big airlock. She felt
her palms begin to sweat. She glanced at Ivanov standing by
her side, and could see a pulse throbbing in his temple. They
shouldered their personal packs and began the long walk
across the hangar floor, slightly encumbered by the bulky
outer coveralls of their survival suits. As they approached the
lander, Jen felt the surroundings of the hangar seemed to fade
away into the background as a sense of unreality overwhelmed
her, trying to deny the fact that she was committed to stepping
on board it.
The Delta lander was not a large craft, being less than fifty
feet long. It had the same solid, curving, stubby lines that all
such craft had borne for a thousand years; dictated by the
unchanging laws of aerodynamics that determined the
optimum form for a vessel capable of surviving the re-entry
fireball of an unpowered descent from orbit through an
atmosphere. Jen noticed there had been some modifications to
its tail thruster unit, based on the analysis they had made of the
previous probe flights. Theoretically they should allow them
to make a safe landing. Theoretically.
Once the craft was in place before the airlock, a gang of
mechanics descended on it again to make last-minute checks.
Its side hatch swung open to reveal Shannon, also dressed in a
survival suit.
‘Fifteen minutes to launch. Get stowed away and strapped
in,’ he commanded curtly.
Beside her, Ivanov cleared his throat and passed a tongue
over dry lips. He tried to force a smile. ‘After you, Doctor
Komati.’

‘Ah, come in, come in,’ said Dhal effusively, as the apes
ushered Susan and Mellisa into his workroom and lined them
up before him. ‘I’m afraid I neglected you yesterday because I
had a few pressing things to attend to. But I trust you slept
well and are quite comfortable?’
They had slept, but hardly comfortably. They were
beginning to feel grubby with only their nightdresses to wear,
and their cold, slightly damp cell was becoming oppressive.
Mellisa voiced their feelings with undimmed spirit. ‘Why do
you continue this cruel game, Dhal? We are not your guests,
we are your captives. If you truly cared for our comfort, you
would give us a better room, and clothes and a chance to wash
ourselves.’
Dhal smiled. ‘You find the accommodation rather basic do
you? But as you point out, Princess, you are my captives, and,
believe me, conditions could be made far more uncomfortable
for you if I wished.’ He paused to let the implication sink in,
then continued: ‘Besides, if you let prisoners have too many
home comforts, they tend to take liberties with your
hospitality, and ungratefully try to escape. Quite futile, of
course, but it is annoying. So you see, the secure, unfurnished
simplicity of your present quarters gives me peace of mind.’
‘Can we at least have enough water to wash in,’ asked
Susan, ‘and a comb –’ she bit her lip, ‘please?’ Her own hair
was tousled, but Mellisa’s long tresses were tangled and
straggly.
 Dhal considered. ‘I suppose I might allow that, since you
ask so politely. What about you, Princess? Is there anything
you would like to ask for? Another vision of your precious
Edmund, perhaps?’
Mellisa started slightly, but controlled herself. ‘I will not
beg, Dhal, if that is what you expect,’ she said stoutly.
‘Never mind, I was going to tell you anyway. I relented
after my first warning, and let him have an easy journey. His
little band has made good time, and will probably be camped
within watching distance shortly, like the intrepid scouts they
are. As long as they keep their distance, I will leave them be.
Actually this is quite a day for visitors,’ he continued, turning
to Susan, ‘the people in the skyboats I showed you have been
trying to land their machines on Avalon. I’ve been keeping a
close watch on them...’ he paused, as though listening to
something that was beyond their senses, ‘in fact, I believe
something is happening even now. How convenient. Would
you like to see how I deal with unwanted visitors?’
He faced the seeing globe and conjured up an image within
it. On the table beside it were several small jars and bottles,
presumably containing magical ingredients, and a cylindrical
glass tank two-thirds filled with water. In the globe they saw a
stubby deltaform shape dropping out of the purple void. As it
fell, a hazy aura started to envelop it, growing more intense
and streaming out into a funnel of thin rippling air behind. Red
shaded to orange and then yellow and the landing craft
disappeared in a ball of fire.

Jen saw the flames licking about the lander’s tiny viewports,
shivering and crackling as though fanned by the fiercest wind
she could imagine. She could hear their roar as well, but it was
curiously distant and muffled. The craft started to tremble and
shake as a continuous drumming vibration began to pound
away under the supports of their semi-reclining seats. The
deceleration pressure grew, pressing her down into the
contoured padding. She and Ivanov had the two rear seats in
the cabin, while Shannon and Monadno sat in front of them
before the control panels; Monadno in the left hand seat as
lander pilot, his hands steady on the chair arm joysticks.
Mounted between them was a newly installed auxiliary control
box, fitted with heavy manual levers, switches and plungers,
connected to a bank of hydraulic pressure bottles mounted
between the two rows of seats. Running out of them were
armoured conduits that snaked away and vanished through the
hull and into the engine compartment.
Two minutes after beginning atmospheric braking, the
vibration was getting worse. They were coming in steeply to
reduce their descent time to the minimum. The fire outside
blazed as brightly as before, pushing the tolerance of the heat
shield to the maximum. Jen tried not to think of what would
happen if it failed. Out of the corner of her eye she saw that
Ivanov had his eyes closed and appeared to be mumbling to
himself. She was glad she was wearing her suit gloves. It hid
her own hands that were gripping the chair arms with white-
knuckle intensity.
Three minutes into braking. The vibration gradually began
to die away. The fiery glow about the windows faded and was
gone. Jen heard faint pings and creaks of cooling metal
through the hull as the heatshield contracted. They had made
it! Outside the viewports, purple blue sky had replaced the
black of space. A wisp of thin cloud flashed by. Monadno
banked the lander on to a course for the target zone. Its
thrusters droned and Jen felt herself being pressed back into
her seat once more. They were in a hurry to get down.
Thirty seconds of powered flight.
Forty-five seconds.
One minute.
The drone of the thrusters stuttered and died away
unevenly.
‘Main drive control lost,’ announced Monadno calmly. Red
lights started to appear on his control panel. The lander began
to wallow. ‘Attitude thruster control gone.’
‘Initiating bypass,’ said Shannon, throwing a lever on the
alternate control box. There was a hiss of hydraulics. The
lander’s wings unfolded and bit into the air as more lights on
the control board flashed red. ‘System failure spreading,’
noted Shannon. How did he remain so infuriatingly cool?
wondered Jen.
 ‘Going to manual,’ Monadno confirmed, pulling the
emergency manual control yoke out of its recess and locking it
into place, abandoning the electronic joystick controls. The
wallowing died away as the wings locked into place at
maximum extension, cutting their airspeed but giving them
stability again. The cabin lights flickered and went out. The
last control board light died. ‘Total power failure,’ said
Shannon. Monadno was now flying the craft like a high speed
glider, without any power assistance, purely through manual
linkages. The only instruments left functioning were those
without electronics; the magnetic compass, altimeter, artificial
horizon and air speed indicator. A thousand years of flight
technology wiped out in moments, thought Jen. They flew on
in a strange calm, with only the soft rush of air caressing the
hull.
‘Airspeed dropping,’ said Monadno, ‘we’ll be short of
target zone. We need a boost. Ten second burn. Brace
yourselves!’ He pressed down on one of the control box
plungers. There was a pop and roar from the rear as a chemical
trigger ignited a solid fuel rocket tube, slamming them back in
their seats. The lander surged forward nose up, climbing,
velocity increasing. ‘Frisky,’ remarked Monadno, fighting the
controls to hold them steady. The solid fuel rocket burned out
and the peaceful whisper of air returned. He scanned his few
functioning instruments. ‘Speed good, height good, bearing...’
he banked the craft slightly, then straightened up ‘...good.
Target zone dead ahead.’

‘How persistent they are,’ Dhal commented, watching the

lander glide onward in his globe. ‘They have tamed demons of
fire and wind to drive them on. Unfortunately I cannot allow
outsiders to influence my plans at this stage.’
He unstoppered a vial and poured the contents into the
water tank. It billowed and spread like black ink. Speaking a
complex rhythmic verse under his breath, he took up a rod and
stirred. Then he emptied a tiny pot into the water. It seemed to
be full of silver glitter. He stirred again, still chanting.
The storm came out of nowhere.
Through the cockpit window Jen saw puffy white clouds
boiling up into great seething thunderheads, filling out and
darkening, coalescing. In moments, a solid wall of black cloud
was rolling towards them, blotting out land and sky as surely
as a drawn curtain. Lightning forked about its leading edge.
‘What the hell!’ exclaimed Monadno, for an instant his
professional calm deserting him. Then he slammed down a
plunger. A fresh rocket exploded into life, pressing them back
into their seats. Monadno pulled back on the controls, lifting
the lander’s nose, trying to get above the storm.
It was too late.
With a banshee wail the wind struck. The impact threw
them against their seat harnesses, almost as though they had
hit something solid. Daylight was snatched away to be
replaced by a grey half-light. The lander shuddered as the
wind screamed past them, bucking and tossing as Monadno
fought to keep control. There was a brilliant flash of light all
about them followed by an almost simultaneous deafening
thunderclap and smack of exploding air. Something broke
loose and rattled about in a storage locker. The rocket tube
burned out. Over the constant howl of wind came a creaking
groan from the wing sockets.
‘Retract the wings or we’ll lose them!’ shouted Monadno.
‘How will you land us?’ Shannon bellowed back.
A lightning bolt exploded against the hull, searing purple
after-images of the viewports into their retinas, the concussion
rattling their teeth. The lander pitched wildly, and Monadno
struggled to bring it level again.
‘I can’t, captain. We have to abort this target!’
For one ghastly moment, Jen thought Shannon was going to
order him to land anyway. Then he nodded, lips drawn tight in
a grimace of anger. He pulled a lever and with a hiss of
hydraulics the wings retracted. Monadno’s hand hovered over
the rocket tube plungers. ‘Trying for a sub-orbital hop to
another target zone. It’s going to be rough!’
He pushed down a spread of plungers.
Lightning exploded against the hull.
The ship tumbled.
 Something cracked inside the cabin, filling the air with the
smell of ozone.
Jen had the fleeting impression of Monadno’s hand jerking
wildly, trailing sparks. Then there was a boom from the rear of
the ship and a concerted roar of sound as every remaining
rocket tube burst into life. The shock wave slammed Jen back
into her seat, her head thudding into the rest. The flesh of her
cheeks was tugged backwards. A terrible weight seemed to
settle on her chest, driving the breath from her lungs. Her
eyeballs distorted under the pressure, squeezing her field of
vision into a narrowing grey tunnel.
Which mercifully faded into blackness.

The image within Dhal’s crystal disappeared in a swirl of

wind-torn cloud and stabbing spears of lightning. For a
moment, a ruddy glow suffused the leaden depths of the
maelstrom, then it was gone. ‘I believe I have discouraged
them successfully, don’t you?’ said Dhal with satisfaction.

Admiral Nyborg stared in dismay at the telescopic display

being projected on to the main bridge screen. A moment
before the landing zone had only one tenth cloud cover with
light winds, according to the met sensors. Now he was looking
down upon a black spiral of clouds thirty miles across, in
which a force twelve storm was raging.
There was a spark of light.
A meteor seemed to burst improbably up out of the boiling
cauldron and rise like an arrow towards the south-east and into
the stratosphere.
‘Lander detected. Wings retracted. Under maximum
thrust!’ reported one of the scanner team. The tail flare faded
and died fitfully as the differently graded rockets burned out
one by one, and the craft’s trajectory began to curve over in a
shallow arc. On the infra red display, the lander still glowed.
‘Readings indicate internal damage and possible cabin fire.’
‘Keep tracking!’ Chandry snapped. ‘Plot an intercept
course and prepare for emergency manoeuvring. Ready the
gravitic tractor beam –’
 ‘Cancel that order!’ Nyborg was shaking his head, staring
at a graphic display of the lander’s trajectory and the flickering
figures beside it. ‘Sorry, captain. They won’t quite make it out
of the atmosphere, and we daren’t risk the ship going down
after them until we know how this disabling effect works.’
‘I – yes, admiral.’
Nyborg watched the plot of the lander as it reached its
maximum altitude and started the long plunge back towards
the planet. Their only hope was an unpowered landing now. It
would need fine piloting. If there was anybody still capable of
piloting it. He saw where the display projected the lander’s
touchdown point would be and stiffened. ‘Wings still
retracted?’
‘Yes sir.’
Come on, thought Nyborg, open those wings and get some
control. I don’t like you, Shannon, but nobody should die like
this.

Barbara looked out of the library window. A change in the

quality of the light had disturbed her. Over the battlements to
the west she could see a mountain range of black cloud rising
over the horizon. She thought she heard the drawn out rumble
of distant thunder. Looks like we’re going to have a summer
storm, she thought, pulling the window to and returned to her
studies.
Not only had she still found no mention of any religion or
god, by any name, but she realized that traditional symbols of
evil had also been adjusted to suit Avalonian conditions. In the
ancient past during the time of the first landing, it was the Ice
Giants, long since driven back to the far north. If there was
disease or pestilence, wyverns got the blame, and so on. Could
atheism have swept away all traces of religion before these
people left Earth? Surely not. There should be some mention
of religious thought somewhere in these people’s history. But
there wasn’t. After talking to the Queen and Peridor, it seemed
the very concept was strange to them.
She sighed, realizing she would have to put the matter aside
for the moment, and turned her mind to the problem of magic
and Merlin’s Helm. She wished she could find out more,
especially about the origin of the Helm. Then she brightened
slightly. It occurred to her that she didn’t need to go to
Gramling to find out what books he had used for his research
after all.

Tristram and Odoyle leant over the rail talking to the figures in
the water, while the others kept a few feet back so as not to
alarm them. This was annoying to Ian who would rather like to
be able to claim, even though no one would ever believe him,
that he had once talked to a mermaid.
In fact only two of the sea people were mermaids. The
other three were mermen, or merrows, as he learned they were
called. They had none of their companion’s beauty, having
faces that combined the jaws of a moray eel with the features
of a bulldog. However, they seemed to be talking intelligently
enough to Odoyle and Tristram; the latter making great play of
the fact that he had named his ship after their kind.
The strange meeting had been instigated after Tristram
announced they would reach the Shadow Isles in another day.
He had conferred with Odoyle and Sir Bron, and they had
decided it would be wise to contact the sea people to check the
accuracy of their charts of the isles, and also see if they could
enlist their aid as guides through the dangerous waters of the
outer isles. The problem was, Ian discovered, that relations
between mer-folk and seamen were often acrimonious, due to
accidents with fishing nets, claims of deliberate wrecking and
enchanting humans into the sea. However, the attempt was
made. The Merrow reefed her sails and Tristram took a
belaying pin and began rapping it in a complex rhythm against
the ship’s side for several minutes at a stretch. Interspersed
with this, Odoyle stood at the prow and sang softly something
that might have been an Irish lullaby, his voice drifting out
across the blue sea.
Either the song or Tristram’s drumming had the desired
effect, for twenty minutes later, a woman’s blonde head rose
cautiously out of the water a few yards off their bow. A
moment later, the ugly snout of a merrow surfaced beside her.
Soon they were joined by three others, and the negotiations
began.
 Shortly afterwards the Merrow gathered speed again as the
steady breeze filled its sails. Two of the sea people, as agreed,
now swam before them, effortlessly keeping pace with the
ship. Porpoises had again appeared and seemed to frolic with
the mermen like dogs out for a walk with their masters. Ian
stood by the bowsprit, watching glittering scaled tails and
sleek grey flanks flashing under the water. Avalon had again
surpassed itself for novelty. And yet, as the Doctor said, it was
all part of the pattern. If he stayed here any length of time,
would he begin to take such wonders for granted?
He turned away from the bow, and as he did so, a dark spot
in the sky off their port quarter caught his attention. For a
moment he thought it was a large bird, for he was sure he
could make out wings. Then he realized it was trailing a thin
streamer of smoke behind it.
He raced to the gangway leading to the mid-deck and
clattered down it, shouting to attract the others. The spot was
growing steadily larger every second. It was definitely an
aircraft of some kind, with a flattened, oblate body, seen nose
on. Nose on? It was coming straight at them! On the poop
deck, Tristram took one look over his shoulder and spun the
wheel madly. The Merrow’s decks heeled over as the ship
began to turn. With a rising scream of air the strange craft
flashed past their beam hardly a hundred feet over the waves.
Ian had a momentary impression of a compact rounded
fuselage sprouting long, narrow wings like a glider, with a
cluster of tubes projecting from its stern leaking black smoke.
Then it was streaking away before them, dropping lower every
second, wings dipping one side then the other as though the
pilot was fighting desperately to keep her level.
They rushed to the rail to watch helplessly as the inevitable
crash came. The craft kissed the water once in a shower of
white spray and skipped like a skimming stone. It touched a
second time and ploughed a longer furrow through the waves.
The third time it stayed down, sending up twin walls of spray,
and trailing steam from its tail. One wing cut deeper into the
water and the craft slewed about, juddered side on to the sea
and came to rest, bobbing in the swell, half a mile off the
Merrow’s bow. Even as they turned towards it, the craft
started to settle a little lower.

The ape guard carefully put the large bowl and pitcher of
water down on the cell floor before the two subdued young
women, while his companion placed a folded towel and comb
beside it. ‘Master say you can have these,’ the first growled.
‘You make selves clean and hair straight again.’
‘Yes – thank you,’ replied Mellisa woodenly.
‘Make hair long and shiny again?’ queried the second ape.
‘Yes – that’s right, I will.’
‘Golden hair nice,’ observed the first ape.
‘Thank you,’
The two apes nodded to each other slowly, as though a
weighty aesthetic point had been agreed, and withdrew.
‘I think you’ve got an admirer there,’ Susan whispered with
mock confidentiality, trying to lighten their gloom. For a
moment Mellisa looked at her in bafflement, then they broke
into mutual giggles.

Jen felt herself stumbling through events as though in a dream,

still dazedly recovering from the high ‘g’ force blackout.
There was blood in her mouth. She’d bitten her tongue as they
had hit. Dimly, she was aware of the craft settling in the water,
and the cabin floor tilting backwards as the engine
compartment began to flood. She saw Shannon and Monadno
release their safety harnesses, Monadno fumbling over it
because his right arm was still numb from the shock he had
received. Beside her, Ivanov groaned and clutched his head.
‘Unstrap,’ Shannon ordered crisply, his commanding voice
cutting through their daze, setting fingers reaching for harness
buckles as though of their own accord. He was sliding out of
his control chair and reaching up to the emergency hatch in the
cabin roof, as he spoke. ‘Grab your number one packs and be
ready.’ He released a handle on a long length of cord, stood
back and yanked hard. There was a sharp bang of explosive
bolts and the hatch panel blew out and disappeared. Sunlight
poured in through the aperture. Shannon opened a locker,
pulled out the tightly folded bundle of an inflatable raft and a
lightweight ladder, which he hooked over the edge of the
hatch, and rapidly scrambled up, boosting the bundle ahead of
him, then drew himself effortlessly out on to the fuselage.
‘Ivanov. Pack first, now yourself. Move!’
The professor clattered up the ladder and was hauled out of
sight. Lightheadedly, Jen threw her pack after him and
followed, stumbling up the steps. Shannon’s strong hand
caught her by the collar of her suit and almost lifted her bodily
clear. She stood teetering on the slippery curve of the fuselage,
trying to keep her balance on the angled surface. Steaming
bubbles were rising from the tail of the lander, which was
already awash. The bright sunlight glinting off the incredible
sapphire blue sea dazzled her, and the freshness of the salty
breeze was almost shocking after weeks of canned and
reprocessed ship air. There was a hissing sound, and she
realized the raft, tethered to a safety-line eyelet beside the
hatch, was already in the water and automatically inflating.
‘Into the raft,’ Shannon ordered. ‘Get ready to catch
whatever we can salvage!’
As the bulging shape unfolded and flipped upright, Jen and
Ivanov slithered down the fuselage and jumped into the water,
grabbing for the hand loops around the raft’s outer ring. Their
survival suits kept them dry and buoyant as they awkwardly
hauled themselves aboard. They had hardly managed to sit
upright before Shannon was throwing the other number one
packs over to them. Then an equipment case, spare med-pack
and ration boxes were tossed over in quick succession as
Monadno scavenged from their stores. With a fizz and turgid
rush of bubbles the lander began to slip lower, its nose lifting
skyward for the last time.
‘Get out!’ Jen screamed. ‘It’s going under!’
Shannon reached down as a wave broke over the rim of the
hatch and hauled. Monadno scrambled out into the open air.
Shannon released the raft tether and they slithered across and
leaped clear of the fuselage even as the waters closed in over
it. There was an explosive rush as gouts of air erupted from
the hatch, breaking into a brief plume of spray. As the marines
reached the side of the raft the waves met across the lander’s
nose with a rush and slap. With a last plume of bubbles and
upwelling of displaced water, which briefly set the raft
rocking, the lander was gone.
The two hauled themselves into the raft and sat with their
heads bowed for a moment, taking a few deep breaths to
recover from the adrenaline surge the crash had generated. Jen
wondered if their armour of professional cool had been
cracked, and they might actually admit how close they had all
come to dying just then. But if they felt like opening up, it
became clear they did not intend to do so before two quasi-
soldiers like Ivanov and herself. Shannon merely gestured to
Monadno’s arm. ‘How is it?’
Monadno flexed his fingers. ‘Feeling’s coming back. Just a
secondary zap from the charge that blew the rockets...’ he
looked over Shannon’s shoulder. ‘Captain. We’ve got
company.’
They all twisted round. The antique sailing craft they had
glimpsed seconds before impact was now perhaps four
hundred yards away and bearing down upon them. ‘Maybe
they’re just coming to rescue us?’ Jen said hopefully.
Shannon unsnapped the cover of his holster. ‘Maybe, but
we won’t take any chances.’
‘My God!’ gasped Ivanov, pointing to one side. ‘What’s
that?’
Ten feet away, a hideous head balanced on human
shoulders had risen from the sea to stare curiously at them
with goggling fish eyes. Another rose beside it. Their jaws
were full of needle sharp teeth. Shannon and Monadno had
instinctively drawn their guns when Monadno swore, tapping
the power gauge on the base of the barrel. ‘Charge reads zero!’
‘Mine too. How are the stunners?’ Shannon snapped at Jen
and Ivanov. They fumbled their lesser weapons from their
holsters and found they were also dead. Shannon started to
rummage in a pack for something, appeared to think better of
it, and grabbed one of the folding paddles instead, raising it as
a makeshift club. Monadno did the same. Jen thought she saw
a glint of scales under the water and a third head broke the
surface. This one was strikingly female, with long, blonde
hair, into which appeared to have been plaited strings of
pearls. For the first time Shannon actually showed surprise,
giving Jen a small glow of satisfaction as it provided company
for her own shocked disbelief. As they stared in amazement at
the latest arrival, a faint voice floated across the waters from
the approaching ship.
‘Leave them be! They only want to help you!’
The words were understandable but slightly stilted, with an
intonation that made Jen think of historical telefictions. The
speaker was leaning over the ship’s rail shouting through what
seemed to be a metal trumpet. Shannon and Monadno
exchanged questioning glances, then slowly lowered their
paddles.
‘Were there any more in your craft?’ asked the voice from
the ship. She could make the speaker out now. He was
wearing a strangely shaped black hat.
Shannon cupped his hands together. ‘No,’ he shouted back.
‘Then, if you are able, we shall heave too, and you can
make your way over to us.’ They could hear orders being
shouted, and saw activity in the rigging as sails were taken in.
The ship began to lose way, slowly drifting to a gently
wallowing stop some thirty yards away. A heavy rope net was
thrown over the side.
Shannon started paddling, and Monadno followed suit.
‘They may be friendly, but stay alert and keep together,’ he
directed.
Jen saw the fish people and the woman following them a
few yards off. There was something odd about the way they
swam. She could see no sign of kicking legs, just glinting
scales and an occasional flicker of fins. She began to feel
queasy. Perhaps it was seasickness. But the feeling of
unsettling unreality grew stronger as they tied up alongside the
ship. Its hull was actually made of separate sections of real
wood, she noticed. Cautiously they clambered up the net to the
deck.
The strangest group of people were waiting for them.

‘No, Lady Barbara,’ said Harding, ‘I do not recall Master

Gramling using the castle library much in, oh, let me see... five
years.’
‘But I understood he had done some research quite
recently. I was wondering if there was any record of his
references I might borrow.’
‘As I say, I know of none, Lady.’
‘Is there a library in Fluxford he may have gone to, or some
other place?’
‘Gramling has only infrequently stirred from the castle in
years, Lady.’ He lowered his voice discreetly. ‘His age is
telling, I believe. Many a time I have come across him in the
grounds dozing, on some seat, or else staring ahead of him at
nothing...’ he trailed off awkwardly. ‘You understand, I mean
no disrespect to his past achievements. But I believe when the
treachery of Dhal was fully revealed, he was never quite
himself afterwards.’
‘I see. Thank you.’
She was obviously going to have to ask the old wizard
directly, after all. Well, he couldn’t object as it was all for the
common cause. She pictured the handful of books she had
seen in his room. It shouldn’t take her long to look through
those.
 16

Objectives

T ristram’s cabin was crowded, but it seemed more

appropriate to talk in here than out on the open deck. At
least it was light and airy enough, with the afternoon sun
streaming in through the open sterncastle windows. Besides,
they might have to discuss things that Bron would rather the
crew did not hear. He studied the four newcomers carefully,
noting the differences between them and the Doctor’s party.
There was clearly much variety in the peoples of the
oldworlds. That two of them were soldiers was obvious from
their bearing before they gave their ranks during the
introductions. The woman and the thin, scholarly man were
puzzles, falling in their manner somewhere between the
soldiers and the Doctor and Ian. He wished he understood
more fully what being a scientist truly meant. It was a word
they had used several times already. There was an aura of
power about it, rather like ‘wizard’, and it suggested things
beyond the capabilities of ordinary people. He saw the Doctor
was as keenly interested in the newcomers as he was, and
Bron let him carry the conversation for the while, as he felt he
understood them better. At the moment, the Doctor’s fingers
met in a thoughtful pyramid under his chin as he stared across
the table at Shannon, who seemed to do most of the talking.
‘So,’ the Doctor concluded at length, ‘you are now
marooned on Avalon like we are. Still, it was fortunate we
happened to be around when you crashed, or else you might
have had a long wait before you made landfall.’
‘After all our rockets blew we couldn’t make it back to the
coast again,’ explained Monadno, ‘so we were trying to reach
some islands we’d seen from orbit.’ He looked thoughtful. ‘I
guess that’s where you’re going too, from the way you were
heading.’
‘We are, as it happens,’ admitted the Doctor. ‘But you
mention rockets. Rather primitive for your type of craft, I
would have thought. Reactionless impellers or thrusters would
be more suitable. Unless you were expecting trouble, of
course.’
Shannon smiled tightly. ‘We had already lost some test
probes, so we knew something was wrong.’
‘Such cautious use of probes suggests you already had your
suspicions about Avalon even before you arrived. And you
have come in squadron strength as well. Did you envisage the
likelihood of a military confrontation?’
Monadno cut in, trying to sound helpful. ‘It is very simple,
Doctor. Over the years several ships have been lost in this
sector. At last the likely source of the problem was narrowed
down to this system. Since it was possible that an enemy of
the Empire was at work the military got involved. Now it
looks like some natural phenomenon is responsible, we can let
the scientists study it.’
Bron noticed the reactions of Monadno’s companions while
he spoke. Shannon and Ivanov quickly nodded as though to
reinforce his explanation, but Komati sat still, staring fixedly
at a knot in the surface of the table.
‘But you were not expecting Avalon to be inhabited, were
you?’
‘Clearly a lost colony world, Doctor,’ Shannon said firmly.
‘The Empire will be glad to take it back under her protection.’
Bron scowled at the implication, but the Doctor spoke first.
‘Forgive me, but I do not believe your empire was in
existence when these people’s forebears left Earth. After eight
hundred years of isolation, they must surely be accorded the
status of a fully independent world, must they not?’
‘Of course,’ Shannon said quickly. ‘I’m sure the Interstellar
Court of Justice will rule that is the case. But in the meantime
–’
‘In the meantime, we must remember we are guests here,
however unwittingly, and behave accordingly. We have been
treated with every courtesy by these people, and I’m sure such
consideration will be extended to yourselves. Which means
any further investigations into the nature of this world can
only be undertaken with their permission. That is only
civilized, do you not agree?’
Shannon nodded fractionally. Monadno was noncommittal.
Komati continued to stare at the table top. Ivanov spoke up.
‘Naturally, Doctor, we shall respect local feelings. But it is
surely in everyone’s best interests to understand what is going
on here. We must learn how this disabling effect functions,
and whether it has any other properties we should know about.
As a scientist you must understand that.’
‘And have you discovered anything yet?’
‘Be fair, Doctor. We’ve only just arrived.’
‘But you have had the opportunity to observe Avalon from
orbit and send down probes. What results have you obtained
from that?’
‘Nothing conclusive. So far.’
‘And what of the moons? Have you probed them yet? I’m
sure you’ll find a closer inspection most rewarding.’ The
Doctor was leaning forward intently, his eyes glittering with
little diamond points, ready to pounce on any new scrap of
knowledge.
‘They are being examined, of course,’ admitted Ivanov,
noncommittally, his eyes turning aside from the Doctor’s.
There was a silence which Shannon broke quickly by
asking: ‘If your spacecraft is back in this place called Fluxford
on the mainland, why are you on this ship, Doctor? Is this a
pleasure cruise – or have you some special reason for being
out here?’
Bron frowned. The man was no fool. Well, it would be
impossible to conceal their objective anyway, once they
reached the island. They would have to stay on the ship as
there was nowhere they could safely be put ashore. At least it
was certain these people were no agents of Dhal.
‘I must explain,’ he began, ‘that a state of war exists in the
South Share of our land...’

It was the last free cabin on the Merrow, and cramped with the
four of them inside, but at least it afforded a measure of
privacy. They stacked their packs in a corner and sat on the
narrow bunks. Even Shannon and Monadno seemed to feel the
need to think quietly for a moment, while Ivanov was
scowling fiercely at the timber bulkhead. For herself, Jen
Komati felt her head would burst with the effort of trying to
take in the improbable story they had just been told. War with
a magician! A quest for a mythical relic! Yet the image of that
leprechaun sitting at the table calmly smoking his pipe kept
floating before her eyes. Then there was the dwarf and the elf
and the sea people (she could hardly make herself use the
word mermaid). If they had been the most grotesque aliens
they would have been easier to accept. But these were humans.
Or rather, they were not humans. Eight hundred years of
isolation could not have caused such changes to the original
colonists, but where else could they have come from?
‘Are those freaks out there for real?’ Monadno said at
length, giving vent to his mounting exasperation.
‘They certainly appear to be corporeal enough,’ observed
Ivanov.
‘But elves and mermaids from fairy tales! It’s got to be a
con. I mean, hasn’t it?’ Jen was surprised to see the fear and
resentment in his eyes. His icy professionalism and nerve, so
evident while piloting the lander, seemed to have deserted
him. It was a form of xenophobia, she suspected. ‘I
remember,’ he continued, ‘that there used to be a fashion for
people changing themselves like that fifty years ago. Maybe
that’s what’s going on here.’
‘Body-bepple,’ Ivanov confirmed. ‘But it was largely
abandoned after the city riots. It had unexpected side effects. It
also needs a level six culture to support it at a minimum,
lieutenant, and this is at best level three.’
‘What about,’ said Jen, forcing herself to think reasonably,
‘the planetary energy field? It’s operating on some unusual
frequencies. Prolonged exposure could lead to genetic
instability.’
‘There might be a slight increased incidence of mutation,’
agreed Ivanov, ‘but it could hardly explain both the diverse
and particular nature of the humanoid species we have seen.
All we can say is that it cannot be chance they resemble such
mythological types as they do.’
Jen sighed. She hadn’t really believed the possibility either,
but she was trying to cling to at least a semblance of
rationality. The alternatives were too wildly improbable to
consider.
‘It doesn’t matter,’ said Shannon firmly. They all turned to
him. He was looking resolute and certain once again. ‘We’re
not here to study the indigenous population. If what we’re
after has anything to do with these changes, we’ll investigate
that later.’
From an inside pocket of his survival suit, he withdrew a
waterproof wallet, took out a map of the planetary energy field
patterns and laid it on the floor between them. ‘Look,’ he
pointed, ‘we’re about here, heading for what they call the
Shadow Isles, where they think some sort of ancient artefact is
hidden. But, on one of the islands we had already plotted a
steady point source node within a discontinuity in the energy
flow. I even considered it as a secondary target briefly, but
dismissed it because it was not showing any activity. But if the
locals also think there’s something there, something powerful,
then it’s worth looking at.’
‘But they say they need it for use against this wizard,’ Jen
protested. ‘He has hostages –’
‘They are not our concern, Komati. Your sworn loyalty is
to the Empire, remember that. Our mission takes priority over
everything else, understand?’ His eyes blazed with absolute
conviction and determination. They were not easy to defy.
Jen nodded dumbly.
‘That reminds me,’ said Monadno, cooler again now they
had put the matter of the mutations to one side, ‘what about
this Doctor and his friend? Curious thing, other offworlders
turning up here just before we did. And they also seem pretty
keen to go after this Helm thing.’
‘But the Doctor’s granddaughter is one of the hostages,’
Jen said. ‘Of course he wants to find the Helm if he thinks it
will help her.’
Shannon regarded her with barely concealed contempt.
‘Use your brains, Komati. That’s just what he told us she is. It
could be a trick to get in with the locals.’ Jen marvelled,
appalled at the paranoiac twists of his thought processes.
‘We’ll watch them with the rest,’ he continued. ‘They must
not be allowed to interfere with our objective. If this Helm, or
anything found with it, is associated with the energy field, then
we must be able to study it first. That is a priority.’
With an effort, Jen replied moderately: ‘I don’t see the
locals letting us take it quite as easily as that. Our weapons
don’t work here, remember?’
Shannon allowed himself a thin smile. ‘I had allowed for
that possibility. We will be able to back up our demands with
whatever force is necessary if we need to. By then we should
also be able to call down any additional support from up top.’
He glanced at his watch almost by reflex, then cursed sharply.
The shockproof, waterproof, immensely accurate, immensely
rugged sliver of micro electronics on his wrist was dead. So
was everybody else’s.
Jen could forgive his oversight. Watches were so reliable
and ubiquitous you never thought about them failing. But
whatever it was about Avalon had affected them too. She
wondered how long it had taken. Did they fail when the lander
systems went down, or did they last longer? It would have
been useful to know.
‘Hey, Captain,’ exclaimed Monadno, ‘the Doctor and his
friend were wearing some kind of antique watches, weren’t
they?’
‘So?’ Shannon snapped, still angry with himself for not
anticipating the problem.
‘So their old mechanical watches were still working. I saw
the Doctor pull out that fat pendulum on a chain to check it.’
‘An interesting observation,’ agreed Ivanov.
‘More than that. It looks like they came prepared, doesn’t
it? But they said they landed here by accident.’
Shannon’s eyes narrowed. ‘Maybe we’re all after the same
thing. But we must get it first!’

Barbara was able to speak with Gramling after the evening

meal, as they walked back to their rooms. She asked politely,
with due deference and apologies for any inconvenience, if she
might look at the books he used into his own researches into
the Helm. And was there anything about the origins of magic
in his collection, while they were on the subject.
‘Of course, Lady Barbara,’ he replied, with absent-minded
amiability, ‘I shan’t be needing them again. They are all there,
indexed and cross referenced...’ Then he paused, blinking,
with the oddest expression on his face. ‘No. I am sorry, I
should not have said that. It will not be – appropriate for you
to see them.’
‘But why not?’ Barbara exclaimed in bewilderment. ‘How
can it hurt? I may find something useful. I know I’m not an
expert, but a fresh mind, a different point of view; it might
help.’
‘I’m sorry,’ said the old wizard stiffly, ‘but it is simply not
permissible.’
‘But how can it do any harm? You know my reasons. Look,
forget what I said about magic. I’ll just look at anything to do
with the Helm.’
‘I should have made myself clear,’ said Gramling, with iron
in his words. ‘It is not possible for you to look at any of those
books.’
Barbara set her clenched fists on her hips angrily. ‘Well
why on earth not?’
‘Because I have burnt them all, that’s why!’ And he
stomped off, his staff clicking on the flagstones.

The most inconspicuous spot on the Merrow at night was in

the shadows by the rail of the mid-deck. Here Shannon waited
silently until the cluster of lights that marked the orbiting
starships rose into view over the horizon. Then he took a
heavy, torch-like object from his pocket, held it out over the
rail well clear of his body, and pulled back a sliding switch.
The dome covering the end snapped open. Keeping the torch
pointing at the cluster of lights he began tapping his thumb
rapidly on a second button switch. After several minutes he
closed the end of the device. From another pocket he withdrew
a thick pair of goggles which he put on, continuing to stare
fixedly at the spacefleet. After a minute, he used the torch
again briefly. Then, replacing torch and goggles, he slipped
silently back through the door that led to his cabin.
In their own cabin, the Doctor and Ian were still talking even
though the light was out.
‘I don’t trust that man Shannon,’ said Ian flatly. ‘He and his
party are up to something much more important than tracking
down lost spacecraft.’
‘Regrettably, I must agree with you, Chesterton. The
trouble is, we don’t know exactly what. They were certainly
concealing something earlier. You noted that Shannon grew
increasingly interested as Bron told them about the Helm. He’s
a dangerous man. As loyal and committed to his own cause as
Sir Bron is to his.’
‘Well it’s obvious that thirtieth century weapons don’t
work here, and Shannon’s party are outnumbered, so I don’t
think they’ll try to start a rough house.’
The Doctor pursed his lips. ‘Nevertheless, we’ll have to
take care. Something about this world has caught the attention
of powerful forces. But why? What are they really after?’

Nyborg and Chandry read over the transcript of Shannon’s

signal several times. Then they called the Prince Randolph’s
chief engineering and weapons officers to the briefing room,
together with their counterparts from the marine corps
contingent. The conference lasted nearly two hours. Then the
work began in earnest.
 17

Into the Shadows

S hortly after dawn, the black cat trotted through the gates of
Fluxford new town and made its way steadily down the
long high street, skipping lightly from side to side to save its
tail from cartwheels and careless feet. It trotted over the glass
bridge and started up towards the castle. A dog, loping out of
an alley, growled threateningly. The cat spared it one baleful
flash of its eyes. The dog whined and backed away. As the cat
reached the castle’s outer drawbridge it slowed down, as
though it was beginning to feel uneasy. Reluctantly, it crossed
over with a squad of soldiers and made its way up past the
confusion of the outer bailey and under the arch of the next
gateway. The towers of the keep rose before it. The cat halted.
For an unhappy minute it paced up and down, flicking its tail
irritably. Then it hissed, backed away, and bounded out
through the gate again.

In the middle of the morning, the King, Palbury and a

company of knights rode slowly down through the winding
streets of the old town, across the glass bridge, and along the
broad high street. The people applauded and cheered warmly
when they saw that the Queen accompanied the party. Barbara
even received a few cheers herself, which she tried to respond
to by copying the Queen’s gracious wave. But most of the
time she concentrated on staying upright on her horse. She had
never mastered the art of riding side-saddle, and it was more
difficult than it looked.
They took nearly two hours over the exercise, making a
point of riding along all the main thoroughfares, and stopping
several times in squares and by towers in the city walls to
reassure the people and review the guards. Eventually they
passed out through the city gate and across the wide green
meadow where the midsummer fair was to be held. Tents and
stalls were already being erected, and pitches marked out as
the first of the traders and entertainers began to arrive from
across the share. Some had brightly painted wagons, others led
laden donkeys, and a few were simply tinkers, with all their
wares in a single pack on their backs.
‘It is good to see news of Dhal’s activities has not turned all
folk back along the roads to whence they came,’ observed Sir
Stephan, with a slight smile. ‘Matters of business and the
simple desire to enjoy oneself still prevails over his black
arts.’
But for how long, thought Barbara.
They made a dutiful circuit of the field, watching the posts
and rails go up to mark the jousting rings and stock pens. A
large pavilion tent had been erected, inside which a long table
had been laid. Here the party sat down to their luncheon. It
could hardly be called a carefree picnic, but Barbara felt better
for having got out of the castle. She was beginning to feel
stuffy working in the library. Besides, she wanted time to
think after Gramling’s surprising revelation the previous night.
The King also seemed to feel the exercise had been a good
idea, as far as strengthening the populace’s morale was
concerned, and thanked her for her participation. Watching the
royal couple, Barbara thought they were displaying as much
ease and good-natured resolve as could be expected in the
circumstances. She wondered how much effort such a front
took to maintain. There were moments, as she caught the
Queen’s unguarded expression, when she thought she knew.
After the meal, the party walked about the field once more
on foot, gathering quite a crowd, as some people had decided
to follow the royal example and leave the shelter of the city
walls. Barbara saw several well dressed couples carefully
placing themselves in the path of the royal party, then bowing
low with the deepest of reverence. Barbara smiled at the
ingratiating tactics of transparent social climbers, which were,
even in the thirtieth century, apparently still going strong.
And then, on the edge of the crowd, she saw Susan.
The bank of fog stretched for miles across the Merrow’s
course. Its cold grey wreaths contrasted strangely with the blue
sky. Oddly, the steady wind, which had been their constant
attendant all through the voyage, seemed to have no effect on
it. They sailed on. The sky grew duller, and the sun faded to a
murky orange ball. Ian, standing on the foredeck, shivered,
pulled his quilted jerkin more tightly about him, and made his
way aft. As he crossed the mid-deck, he passed Bron,
Alammar and Thurguld, who were standing alertly by the rail,
weapons resting beside them at the ready. Ian touched the
handle of his own sheathed sword, which Bron had given him,
and wondered if he would have to use it. Komati and Ivanov,
he noticed, were leaning on the opposite rail, staring out into
the grey murk. Komati gave him a slight, uncertain smile.
From the helm, Tristram ordered the sails to be reefed and
the oars to be unshipped. To the accompaniment of the regular
wash of water over blades, they edged into the greyness.
Visibility shrank to a few yards beyond the prow. The tops of
the masts were invisible. The grey fang of an upthrust rock
glided past and was lost in the fog again. If it had not been for
the guidance of the mermen they would hardly have dared
move in such conditions. Even with their help, Tristram had a
crewman taking regular depth soundings with a lead-weighted
line.
A table had been set up beside the wheel displaying charts
of the islands, such as they were, together with Gramling’s
own maps and other items he had provided to help them reach
their goal. The Doctor was bending over it, while Odoyle held
up a flat piece of metal shaped like a fish, suspended from a
piece of thread. As he swung it to and fro it twisted to point
almost directly ahead, rather like a compass needle. The
leprechaun took note of the direction that the fish’s head was
pointing in and consulted with the others, who checked the
charts and nodded. The Shadow Isles were surrounded by a
ring of small islets and treacherous reefs, through which there
were few known clear channels. Hopefully they were heading
for one of them.
Standing to one side of the navigators, watching the
proceedings with keen, if suspicious, interest, were Shannon
and Monadno. Ian was wondering whether it was worth trying
to make conversation, when there came a call from the man on
the prow, and a relayed message from the mermen. Tristram
adjusted their course slightly and slowed the stroke rate. Ian
became aware of a deeper, darker greyness to either side of
them, and the sound of sluggish waves breaking languidly
against rocks. More instructions came from the mermen and
the course was changed again. As Merrow glided on it grew
darker. He realized they were in the channel now, moving
between the sheer cliffs of two close-set islets.
All seemed peaceful, if rather gloomy, at first. But
gradually the weight of the unseen rock faces seemed to press
in on him. He felt the hairs of the back of his neck begin to
lift. A dreadful sense of anticipation began to steal over him.
He could see it in the eyes of the others as well. Odoyle
whispered something to the Doctor, who picked up an item
from the table and held it ready. Ian realized Odoyle was
clasping his silver hammer. There were shouts from the water
bidding them a hasty farewell, and their mermen guides were
gone.
There was a distant rumbling, groaning sound. Water
suddenly swirled and slapped against the hull. The rumble
came again, but louder this time. Rock grated against rock.
Pebbles rattled and clattered down the cliff and splashed into
the water. Then with a booming roar of shattering stone, the
cliff sides began to collapse on top of them.

The sight of Susan stunned Barbara, and for fully ten seconds
she stood with her mouth gaping wide in astonishment,
heedless of the crowd that surged around her. Recovering
herself, she was about to call out, when she saw Susan put her
finger to her lips in a secretive gesture, beckon to her urgently,
then slip away between the stalls. Bemusedly, Barbara looked
around, realized she had fallen behind the main party and
nobody was paying her much attention for the moment, and
followed.
She emerged on the other side of the stalls to find Susan
was already running lightly towards the trees on the edge of
the field. Barbara realized she was still wearing her white
nightdress, making her a distinctive figure. Susan ran past one
of the guards patrolling between the fair and the woods, but he
seemed to take no notice of her. Barbara hesitated uncertainly.
Susan turned and beckoned her on again. Barbara picked up
her skirts and ran after her, still confused but convinced, for
some reason, that she must not lose sight of her. Thankfully
her leg seemed to have stopped aching. She also passed close
by the patrolling guard. He glanced over curiously, then his
attention seemed to slide past. Susan disappeared between the
trees and a moment later so did Barbara.

‘Row lads, row!’ yelled Tristram as the rocks began to rain

down. The men heaved on their long oars. Crashing boulders
threw up plumes of spray, the impacts sending the Merrow
tossing and pitching in the waves. Odoyle gestured upwards
with his hammer. There was a blaze of light, and a huge mass
of toppling rock that threatened to crush them was dashed to
one side. The Doctor leaned over the stern rail and threw the
object Odoyle had given him into the seething waters.
There was a rush of bubbles and the water rose beneath the
Merrow’s stern, bulging upward as though a monstrous wave
was being born in the narrow channel. The decks tilted crazily
and everybody staggered to remain on their feet. Even as the
Merrow started to slide down the liquid slope, the huge swell
rolled forward through the collapsing canyon, bursting against
the rock sides and throwing breakers back at them, carrying
the ship along with it; oars akimbo, sheets flapping in the
sudden blast of displaced air and shreds of fog as the ship was
practically thrown out from under the falling cliffs. Ian,
clinging to a rigging line, had one brief crazy image of the
ship skimming the wave tops like a misshapen surfboard. Then
they burst out of the canyon into open waters once more. The
tumult of crashing rocks behind the Merrow subsided. The
wave they rode collapsed into a thousand lesser wavelets and a
tracery of spreading foam, leaving the ship bobbing gently to
rest.
Kilvenny Odoyle dusted off his knees and straightened his
hat. ‘Just like a merry ride on the Dellberry,’ he commented
mildly.
 ‘What was that?’ Ian asked.
‘A token containing an imprisoned water elemental,
apparently,’ explained the Doctor, also regaining his feet.
‘Gramling thought it might come in handy, and it seemed he
was proved right, wouldn’t you say?’
Ian caught sight of the expressions on the faces of Shannon
and Monadno. They were looking at the Doctor and especially
Odoyle. Cynical curiosity had been replaced, if only briefly,
by a measure of awed respect. There’s nothing like a brush
with death to make a believer out of one, Ian thought.

The trees, interspersed with tracks and clearings, gradually

thickened into denser woods. Susan continued to dance on
lightly ahead of her, ignoring Barbara’s occasional cries to
stop and talk. Every so often she would pause to put her finger
to her lips again, and beckon her on. Try as she might, Barbara
could not get closer than ten yards. At least her leg was
holding up, she thought again. And she herself was running
strongly. Actually, now that she came to think about it, she felt
curiously detached from any strain, moving with a slightly
dream-like quality. There was a lingering notion in the back of
her mind that she shouldn’t have left the field without telling
someone, but that was rapidly buried under the overwhelming
desire to catch Susan. She had to catch Susan.
They ran on.

The wall of fog fell away behind them. The sky brightened a
little, and a light wind picked up, filling the Merrow’s sails
and giving the rowers their rest. On the horizon were the
smudges that marked the positions of the central isles of the
group. The metal fish in Odoyle’s hands, which Gramling had
sensitized to the nullifying field surrounding the isle, pointed
towards them. Ian could feel the unease of the crew, but
Tristram kept them busy with their tasks and stood by the
wheel with fatalistic determination, waiting to see what would
come next. Ian had by now heard enough of the stories about
the isles to know that falling rocks were only one of its
hazards. On the mid-deck he saw Shannon’s crew conversing
in a huddle. He wondered what the spacemen and scientists
were making of life on the seas of Avalon.
He became aware of a steadily growing roaring sound.
There was a yell from the forward lookout: ‘Rough waters
ahead!’ Followed a moment later by: ‘Whirlpool Captain!
Whirlpool dead ahead!’

Barbara had no sense of time left. The sun was lost in the trees
and she did not notice its movement. All she could do was
keep on running after the ever elusive Susan, deeper and
deeper into the forest. She was vaguely aware that her dress
was being torn by the brambles, and that what she was doing
did not actually, at some fundamental level, make sense. But
by now it seemed impossible to stop. She thought Susan was
beginning to show signs of tiredness, and several times she
appeared to be talking to someone Barbara couldn’t see. Then
she ran on again. But however much her footsteps dragged,
Barbara could not catch her.

The keep of Fluxford castle would have disappeared in the

whirlpool. Before they could change their course the current
had them, dragging the Merrow into the long spiral that could
only end in the plunge down the curving wall of water to the
booming blue and purple depths. The growing thunder made
speech all but impossible. The crew frantically tore at the
water with their oars, but they could only slow the inevitable.
They saw a huge rotted tree trunk protrude from the wall as it
spiralled down and was gone. A school of fish leaped high in
the air in their desperate bid to swim clear. A ghastly paralysis
seemed to take hold of them as they edged inexorably over the
funnel edge of the maelstrom and looked down into a pit of
darkness. Incongruously, Ian noticed there was a rainbow
sparkling in the spray, arched perfectly over the vortex of
death.

At last she saw Susan slow down and stop, panting; bending
over to clasp her hands to her knees. They were in a hollow
between the trunks of some massive trees, far taller than any
Barbara had yet seen. It began to impinge upon her how
gloomy it all seemed. Then her leg began to hurt. She realized
she was panting herself, gasping for air in fact. A stitch
stabbed her side. Suddenly her legs felt as if they were on fire.
How far had she run? Where was she? Her torn dress was
stained with sweat. A red mist tinted her vision and she sank
to her knees. ‘Susan...’ she croaked, through a parched and
raw throat. She saw a puzzled Susan appear to look right
through her.
Then she faded away into nothing.
For a second Barbara gazed in horror at the place Susan had
stood. Then unnaturally suppressed exhaustion claimed her
and she collapsed unconscious to the forest floor.

Odoyle sang.

‘Rainbow of light, beauteous and clear,

Carry us on your ray,
Vision’s delight, spare us from fear,
Fashion a smoother way,
Wondrous sight,
Shimmering bright,
Carry this bark away.’

Over the roar of the whirlpool his words should really not
have been audible, but somehow they were. Ian thought the
tune sounded a little like the Skye Boat Song.
And the rainbow over the funnel of cascading water
changed.
It turned about and laid down on its side and unbowed. One
end seemed to swoop towards them as they swung around the
pit. Suddenly they were no longer riding on water, but on a
sparkling bridge of light that arched over the depths and
carried them, awestruck and silent, half a mile clear of the
turbulent waters before setting the Merrow gently down again.
And all the while, Odoyle kept singing.
Then, when they were safely clear, he collapsed to the
deck, his tiny body making a peculiarly pathetic bundle, so
different from the vitality he radiated normally. The Doctor
was by his side in two quick strides, kneeling down to
examine the little wizard.
‘He’s passed out,’ he concluded rapidly. ‘The effort of
sustaining the spell must have been tremendous. Let’s take
him down to the cabin. I’m sure all he needs is some rest.’
‘Thank goodness he managed as long as he did,’ said Ian,
carefully scooping up the leprechaun in his arms. ‘Let’s just
hope we don’t come across any other obstacles.’
‘I’m very much afraid that we will encounter at least one
more,’ said the Doctor darkly.
‘How do you know?’
‘The significance of the number three,’ he said
mysteriously.

When Susan had recovered her breath she said angrily: ‘Why
are you doing this?’
She was standing in the pentagram in Dhal’s chamber, with
one of the ape guards just outside it with his whip trailing on
the floor to ensure she co-operated. For hours, it seemed, she
had been obeying a string of pointless orders; running on the
spot, standing with her finger to her lips or beckoning absurdly
to Dhal. The longer the strange exercises went on, the more
confused she became. Half the time he seemed to be ignoring
her, or had his eyes closed, or else he had been staring fixedly
into his seeing globe.
Now a smile touched his lips. ‘For my own purposes,
naturally. And, you might say, for your friend Barbara.’
The colour drained from Susan’s face, and she took a step
towards Dhal only to be caught in the firm grip of the guard.
‘What have you done!’
‘I have been projecting your image into her mind. Nobody
else could see you. With a little additional help from me, she’s
taken quite a long trip into the forest, from which, I fear, it is
unlikely she will emerge for some days, if ever. It can be quite
dangerous, you know, especially if you are lost and exhausted
as she is. They will send out search parties to look for her, of
course, which will be something else to keep them occupied.
And serve as a useful reminder of my powers.’
 He broke off, his eyes unfocusing, as though he was seeing
or hearing something which she could not.
‘Take her away,’ he snapped abruptly, and turned once
again to his desk.

It was half an hour after leaving the whirlpool that they

sighted the monster.
At first, when he heard the cry of the lookout, Ian thought it
was a string of small islets off the bow. Then a monstrous
head lifted clear of the water. It was the king of sea serpents.
Its features were somewhat dragon-like, but there any
resemblance ceased. It could have swallowed the dragon that
had pursued them in the forest whole. Glassy eyes as wide as
his outstretched arms swivelled to focus on them. The head
was thrown back and the beast gave vent to a bellowing,
moaning foghorn cry, which actually sent shivers across the
waves. Then the neck arched and plunged down, and ripple
after ripple of sinuous body looped after it, heading straight
towards them.
‘A kraken! Break out the harpoons!’ yelled Tristram to the
terrified crew. It was a futile gesture, as though harpoons
would mean anything more than pinpricks to a beast of that
size. But they obeyed. Bron also seized one, as did Thurguld
and Alammar.
‘Aim for the eyes!’ Ian heard him shout.
Beside him, the Doctor rummaged amongst the magical
artifacts Gramling had supplied. Odoyle was still recovering in
his cabin.
‘Will one of them help?’ gasped Ian.
‘I don’t know!’ the Doctor snapped back. ‘Their functions
have not been explained in full.’
‘Well make a guess, Doctor. We’ve got nothing to lose!’
The Doctor snatched one of the items up at random. ‘That
is precisely what I was going to do!’ He ran to the ship’s rail.
The kraken’s head erupted from the sea not thirty yards
away, water cascading from its body as it rose up. And up. Ian
felt his neck crick as the thing towered over them. One blow
from the beast would shatter the Merrow to matchwood! A
harpoon bounced futilely from its scales. The Doctor swung
back his arm to throw the magical token –
A pale pink tentacle as thick as a tree trunk whipped up out
of the water and coiled about the kraken. A second followed it,
coiling the other way. The kraken roared and plunged its great
head down into the water after its new enemy. For a moment it
disappeared from their sight under the boiling swell. Then its
sinuous scaled body burst forth again. But now it twisted and
arched in mortal combat, held within the horrible embrace of a
nest of writhing tentacles.
‘Some form of giant squid, or octopus!’ the Doctor shouted
above the breaking waters.
The sea exploded as the two behemoths fought. A shower
of spray drenched the Merrow. Surging waves threw the ship
on to its beam ends. Tristram yelled orders and spun the
wheel, trying to steer them clear. Men slipped and staggered
across the pitching decks to deploy the oars once more, pulling
with all their strength. The tip of a huge tentacle lashed across
the ship’s side, snapping an oar and tearing away ten feet of
rail. Two crewmen were knocked halfway across the deck by
the blow, while a third, crushed against the shattered timbers,
crumpled and fell over the side and vanished under the surging
waters. Through the sheets of water and billows of spray
thrown up by the titanic struggle, Ian glimpsed a pale, sack-
like body as big as the Merrow fastened to the underbelly of
the kraken by its many-suckered arms. He saw the flash of a
huge, startlingly human eye, and a great beak, like a parrot’s,
snapping and tearing into the serpent’s flesh. The foam began
to run pink and red, even as the kraken caught a loop of
tentacle between its jaws and severed it with one bite.
An oar from the other side was brought across to replace
the one that had been lost. Thurguld’s axe cut away the debris,
allowing it to be crudely lashed into place. Bron and Alammar
threw down their harpoons and helped pull on it. Ian saw
Komati at the side of one of the injured crewmen, applying an
emergency bandage from her suit’s medical pack to a deep
wound on the man’s arm. After a moment’s hesitation, Ivanov
helped her. Shannon and Monadno stood alert but uncertain by
their salvaged dinghy which had been lashed to the middle of
the deck. Another tentacle flailed close to the ship. Monadno
reached into an inside pocket, but Shannon stayed his hand.
Gradually, painfully slowly, the Merrow began to draw
away from the incredible conflict.
Then, with a clash of waves, the two beasts submerged
again, leaving only spreading rings of foam to show where
they had been, and the occasional uneasy upwelling of water
to tell that the mortal combat continued into the depths, which
could only result in the death of one or both of the monsters.
With the sun dipping in the east, the Merrow limped
onward.

It was almost totally dark under the trees when Barbara awoke
from her exhausted sleep. The glow of sunset was so filtered
by the lofty forest canopy, that night already seemed to be
creeping out of the shadows all around her. With an effort she
sat up, and began massaging life back into her aching limbs,
looking anxiously about as she did so. For the moment,
however, bitter anger was keeping fear at bay. It had to be
Dhal who lured her out here, she realized, there was no other
explanation for what she had seen. Or rather, thought she had
seen. How he had induced her to run so far without tiredness
she did not know, but she had to admit it was a cunning way
of making somebody lose themselves. Because she was
certainly very lost. In fact, her recollections of entering the
woods were so confused, that she was not even certain which
way Fluxford lay.
A pale shape flitted silently through the trees, making her
start in fright. Then she heard an owl hoot, and relaxed again.
But she knew the forests of Avalon contained far more
dangerous things than owls. She had to find some more secure
shelter for the night, and quickly while there was still some
light left. Climbing a tree would have been better than nothing,
but the monstrous trunks surrounding her offered little chance
of that. Her legs still felt like rubber, so she rolled on to her
hands and knees and shuffled over to the skeletal form of a
dead branch a few yards away. A minute’s pushing and
pulling broke off a reasonably stout stick about four feet long.
Resting on it, she hauled herself to her feet. It would be her
support, and means of testing the way when it got darker. And
a weapon, if it came to it.
In the gloom an unidentified animal yelped in pain or
fright, making her jump. There was the distant sound of
pattering feet.
Stiffly, she hobbled away into the gathering darkness.

As the last molten red sliver of the sun slipped below the
horizon, the Merrow sailed into the harbour of Helm Island.
Seen close to, there could be no doubt it was the place they
sought. Everybody on the ship had crowded the rails as they
approached, taking in as much as possible while the light
lasted.
Once it had probably been just an island like the others in
the group; a rock about three miles long by one wide, rising to
a summit a few thousand feet above sea level, lightly
encrusted with vegetation.
Now it looked machine-made.
The contours of the old island had been preserved, but cut
into five massive terraces, rising in decreasing size, in a series
of perfectly vertical walls and flat plateaus, without any sign
of vegetation. The base terrace rose sheerly from the sea for
two hundred feet before turning a precise forty-five degree
chamfered edge to form the first plateau. The second terrace
rose even higher, as did the third. The only visible link
between each level was a staggered series of single, soaring,
impossibly slender free-spanning arches. They sparkled like
glass, and Ian was reminded of the bridge at Fluxford. On the
lowest arch they could just make out the fine divisions of
steps. It would be a long climb to the top.
Each stairway had an odd detail. Halfway up it pierced the
centre of a vertical disc of glass that entirely surrounded the
arch structure. The image struck Ian as being disturbingly
familiar, and it took him a moment to recall where he had seen
it before. Copper discs were slotted over the mooring ropes of
ships in dock to prevent rats climbing up them to get on board.
Yet, there would be no point in the incredible stairways if
there was not some way through or round the obstructions.
Perhaps they would discover it when they climbed them, for
that was obviously the way to their goal.
 The top of the highest precipice forming the apex of the
island was not flat, but curved smoothly into a regular dome-
like cap, perhaps two hundred yards across. As the last rays of
sunlight touched the dome, they could see it sparkle through
great slotted windows in its sides. Clearly it served as the
repository for something of great importance.
Without some means of aerial transport, even making a
landing on the lowest level would have been next to
impossible, had it not been for the discovery of a narrow inlet,
just a hundred yards deep, which cut into one end of the island
forming a sheltered, if rather claustrophobic anchorage. At its
head was a wide glass staircase rising up to the first terrace.
Here they dropped anchor.
‘We will begin our ascent at sunrise,’ declared Bron. ‘We
need a few hours rest to prepare ourselves for the climb. In
any case, such a task would best be undertaken in daylight.’
Tristram looked uneasy. ‘That, er... that would not be all of
us, Sir Knight? I mean, someone’s got to stay with the ship.
To keep it safe, that is.’
‘I do not believe there will be any further physical threats to
your ship, Captain,’ the Doctor assured him. ‘I suspect the
only tests we now have to pass are purely immaterial ones.’
Bron smiled. ‘In any case, you will not be required for the
journey, Captain. That is the task of the chosen seekers.’
‘What about us?’ said Shannon.
The Imperial party had been keeping so much to
themselves over the last few hours that Ian had almost
forgotten about them. Now he realized Shannon had been
taking a keen interest in everything that had been going on.
‘What do you mean?’ Bron asked.
‘We came here to find out what caused our ships to crash
over the years. Maybe this Helm of yours has something to do
with it. We have a duty to find out.’
‘The Helm can have nothing to do with such events.’
‘It won’t matter if we have a look at it, then.’
Bron scrutinized him closely for a moment. ‘You may
look,’ he said at length, ‘but you understand it is destined to
serve a vital purpose elsewhere. There can be no delay in
returning with it.’
 ‘I understand,’ said Shannon crisply, and walked stiffly
away.
Bron turned to Ian and the Doctor. Alammar and Thurguld,
who had been listening, also drew closer.
‘He is not telling all that he knows,’ the knight said softly.
The others nodded. ‘I agreed that his party should accompany
us because I would rather have him where he can be watched.
Take care. As he reminds us, he too has his duty to perform,
and I think he is a man who takes such obligation seriously.’
 18

Stairway

T here was a dreadful brooding presence in the forest.

Barbara could feel it as she stumbled blindly on, her dress
torn, her legs scratched and bruised by several falls. It felt like
an amalgam of all her worst fears and nightmares, coalescing
and taking tangible form, ready to creep up behind her. She
kept twisting round to see it, but there was nothing there, just
the ever present imminence of the thing. It was that fear, more
than anything else, that drove her on. After the first hour she
had given up hope of finding any shelter, and now she only
staggered on because of what would happen if she stopped and
it caught up with her.
In what remained of the light from Guinevere’s Veil and
the shimmer of the aurora, after it had filtered down through
the branches, she saw the recumbent form of a fallen tree. It
was a good eight feet thick. Might it be hollow? Cautiously,
she probed about between its splayed roots. Yes, the
heartwood had rotted away. Dizzy with relief, she started to
edge inside. Then she became aware of a warm, animal scent.
Four pairs of eyes flicked open in the darkness. There was a
shrill chattering. Barbara scrambled out of the hollow in
alarm, tripped over a straggling root and fell heavily. The
stooping, bulbous-headed form of a cephlie emerged from the
tree to jabber angrily at her for a minute, before seeming to
lose interest and slouch back into its shelter again.
‘Please – let me in,’ Barbara begged. ‘I won’t hurt you.’
She tried edging closer to the entrance again. There was more
shrill chattering, and the cephlies began to throw small sticks
and twigs at her. Wretchedly, she stumbled away again into
the darkness.
 At some point not long after this, though whether it was
five minutes or an hour she could no longer tell, she slipped
down an unexpected bank and fell into a small, muddy stream.
For a moment she sat there in the water without the strength to
pull herself out, feeling more miserable, desperate and
frightened than she could ever recall. Surely things couldn’t
get any worse.
Then she heard the light patter of paws, and a snuffling,
panting noise. With a stifled gasp she dragged herself out of
the stream, up the shallow bank, and pressed herself into the
shadow of the nearest tree. Dimly she saw a pale form lope
across a tiny clearing not thirty yards away. Closer to she
thought she saw the glow of red eyes. Then there was another
flicker of movement through the trees, and another. The
snuffling, rustling sound grew louder. She turned and ran. An
urgent howl rang out in the darkness and with the patter of
many feet the wolf pack followed her.
Even as she ran for her life, Barbara knew she was only
postponing the inevitable. Unless she could find some sort of
cover there was no escape. Desperately, she lunged upward in
an attempt to grab the lowest of the overhanging branches, but
it was far beyond her reach. She staggered, nearing the end of
her strength, and half fell into the best shelter she could find,
which was the hollow between two massive splayed tree roots.
Grasping her stick firmly, she turned to face the pack. Half a
dozen pairs of feral eyes gleamed at her as the wolves fanned
out before the tree. She waved the stick at them and shouted,
but they edged closer. The boldest one, the leader, gathered
itself to spring.
Then came an incredibly shrill and furious cry.
A small dark form streaked out of the night, leaped and
fastened itself on to the lead wolf’s head in a spitting,
screeching ball of teeth and claws. The wolf howled in pain,
rolling about and clawing at his small tormentor, while the rest
of the pack drew back in surprise. Then the creature sprang
clear and the wolf, whimpering in pain, staggered away. The
pack growled at the intruder, pawing the ground uncertainly.
The creature hissed back at them, whipping its tail to and fro,
as though daring them to challenge it. Slowly, with a few
unhappy whines, the pack drew back into the shadows and
was gone.
The creature turned to Barbara, and she realized for the first
time that it was a large black cat. She also saw why the wolves
had been afraid of it. Its eyes were yellow, but not the
reflected yellow of an ordinary cat’s. Its eyes actually glowed,
as though lit from within. They also seemed uncomfortably
intelligent. She half raised her stick again as it approached her,
but it merely rubbed itself about her legs in a polite manner,
purring fiercely. Then it walked away a few steps and turned
back to look at her questioningly.
‘You want me to follow you, don’t you?’ asked Barbara,
too dazed by shock and relief to care if she sounded foolish. If
the cat had answered back she wouldn’t have been surprised.
It contented itself merely with purring again, but with a
new, distinctly satisfied rhythm. At last, it seemed to say.

Jen was roused by Monadno’s hand on her shoulder. She

blinked awake to find he and Shannon were already dressed,
while Ivanov was putting his outer coverall over the lighter
crewsuits they had been sleeping in.
‘Suit up and bring your basic pack,’ Monadno said softly.
Jen found herself obeying while still half asleep. ‘What’s
happening? I thought we were waiting for dawn?’
‘They are, we’re not,’ Shannon said simply.
‘It makes sense,’ Ivanov explained reasonably. ‘These
people can have no idea what they have here, with all their
talk of mythological fantasies. We must examine this Helm
first to see what it really is. It might be the key to everything.’
His thin face flushed with excitement.
‘This island is no fairy tale,’ added Shannon. ‘And it wasn’t
chiselled away by hand, either. It was built with advanced
technology to shelter something important in that dome on the
summit, and make it damned hard to reach. If I’d looked
closer at the recon photos I might have given it a higher
priority.’
‘Maybe that storm wasn’t so unlucky after all,’ Monadno
speculated.
‘Maybe. Now we’re here, we’re going to find out exactly
where that energy point source is coming from. All ready?’
He blew out the lantern, and quietly opened the door.

There was no reply to her knocking at the door of the tiny,

ramshackle cottage that huddled in the heart of the forest. The
cat wove impatiently about Barbara’s ankles. She tried the
latch, which opened stiffly, and the door swung open with a
slight squeak. The cat brushed past her and trotted inside.
‘Hallo,’ she called out uncertainly. ‘Is there anyone there?’
There was no reply. She could hear the cat purring
impatiently in the darkness, so she stepped gingerly inside. All
she could see was the faint glow of light coming through two
small lead latticed windows. After a moment her eyes
adjusted, and she made out a table set before one of them, on
which stood a half burned candle. Beside it was something she
had become familiar with in the last few days: a metal
tinderbox. She felt her way over to the table across a
flagstoned floor, opened the box, and fumbled with the flint
and striker. After a few showers of sparks, she managed to get
the cup of dry moss glowing redly, touched the candle wick to
it and blew until it caught. Yellow light flooded the small
room.
And Barbara found herself staring straight into the face of
an old woman in an apron and black dress, sitting stiffly
beside the table.

‘Prepare yourselves!’ said Bron, putting his head round the

door of the Doctor and Ian’s cabin after a peremptory knock.
‘What’s the matter?’ said Ian blearily, throwing back his
covers.
‘The watchmen have been struck down and Shannon’s
company are missing. They must have gone after the Helm.’
‘The fools,’ exclaimed the Doctor, already hurriedly
dressing, ‘they cannot imagine the power that might be in that
dome. We must stop them before it is too late!’

She was not dead, as Barbara had first thought. Her skin was
cool, but not cold, and her breathing incredibly shallow; no
more than three a minute, she estimated. If it was sleep, then it
was so deep that nothing Barbara could do would wake her.
How long had she been like this? There was an outline in the
dust on the table where Barbara moved one of the woman’s
hands aside. Her arm felt stiff, though not with the rigidity of
rigor mortis. Was it a stroke, or was it some kind of seizure?
An epileptic fit, perhaps? Barbara realized the cat was playing
with something underneath the table. It suddenly rolled out
into the light. Barbara picked it up. It was an apple with one
bite taken out of it. She looked about her and saw a basket of
similar apples on a tiny kitchen dresser. It suddenly made her
realize how hungry and thirsty she was.
‘I’m going to try to make you comfortable,’ she said, just in
case the old woman was aware but unable to respond. ‘But I’m
terribly hungry, so if I could just have a drink and a bite of
something first.’ She took a step towards the dresser. The cat
gave a low, moaning yowl. She took another step and it
bounded across the floor, sprang up on to the dresser and stood
guard over the apples, hissing.
‘Look, I’m going to do what I can for her, but I need to eat
too –’ she frowned, then went back to the bitten apple she had
left on the table. Unless somebody had just dropped it, it must
have been lying on the floor for days. If so, why wasn’t it
rotten? On an impulse, she gently prised the woman’s jaws
apart. There was a sliver of apple resting on her tongue. She
pulled it out. The old woman seemed to relax slightly, settling
less stiffly in her chair. A slight sigh whispered from her lips.
Barbara decided not to eat an apple after all.

Ian had never seen such a perfectly flat surface as the island’s
lower terrace. The grey pre-dawn light only emphasized its
strangeness. With the sheer walls of the next level rising above
them, and the dome-topped tower of the last level above that,
it reminded him of a vast plaza skirting the base of a
skyscraper, except the surface they were crossing was not
paved. Something had cut through the living rock like the
proverbial knife through butter, leaving it so smooth as to be
almost slippery. He began to appreciate the vast forces that
had shaped this place.
 ‘Come on, Chesterton,’ said the Doctor impatiently.
‘We’ve got to catch them up!’
He followed on after the Doctor, Bron, Alammar and
Thurguld. Kilvenny Odoyle had remained on the Merrow, still
recovering from his exertions over the whirlpool. ‘In any case,
my skills are no good here,’ he admitted, a blanket still
wrapped about him, puffing away at a restorative pipe. ‘Can
you not feel the power of the place?’ Now, striding along
towards the base of the first staircase, Ian realized he could. It
was not an entirely pleasant sensation.
Seen up close by the light of their lantern, the staircase
seemed to be made of exactly the same material as the glass
bridge. It was ten feet wide, with no hand rail, only a low
coping running along either side of the steps. He looked up at
the transparent arch, soaring up unsupported for over five
hundred feet, rising at about fifty degrees at first, then arching
over to touch the lip of the second terrace. A spot of light
glimmered far up the arch above them. Shannon’s party had
already passed the first of the mid-point discs.
Without a word, they started up, the Doctor showing his
usual vigour by setting a brisk pace. Ian did not think they
could maintain such a rate, however. How many steps had
they to go? Assuming they had to climb twenty-five hundred
feet, and each step was about eight inches high, that would be
three thousand seven hundred and fifty steps. At an ideal
steady two steps a second, that would mean over thirty
minutes continuous climbing. He guessed it would be more
like forty-five minutes to an hour in practice.
They pressed on. Already he thought he could feel the
tendons along the back of his legs begin to ache.

With an effort, and taking several rests, Barbara managed to

half drag, half carry the old woman upstairs to the cottage’s
single bedroom, and made her as comfortable as possible in
the narrow wooden frame bed she found there. The cat
watched the procedure intently, with apparent approval.
By the time dawn was colouring the sky, she had a fire
going in the kitchen hearth, water drawn from the hand pump
outside the back door, and had a soup heating in a pot made
from the vegetables she had to hand. Even if the old woman
couldn’t take any yet, Barbara felt she needed something
substantial herself. The only other food she had found was
hard bread and cheese in a cupboard, which had done little to
satisfy her. While the soup warmed she sat in the old woman’s
kitchen rocking chair and wondered what to do next.
She had to let the others know she was all right as soon as
possible. They would probably be making some kind of search
for her, of course, but that would take up valuable time and
manpower that could be better spent strengthening the castle’s
defences. Maybe that was why she had been lured away. It
added to the confusion and uncertainty even more than an
outright killing, which, presumably, Dhal could have quite
easily arranged. He was playing games with them, and
Barbara didn’t like being used as a pawn.
She had noticed a faint path leading away from the cottage
when she had gone out for water. Presumably it led
somewhere. Even if she was ten miles from Fluxford, she
should reach it if she set out early enough. She didn’t like the
thought of another walk in the forest, but at least it would be
light. In any case, she felt she had to tell someone about the
old woman. And the apples. Did they have any part in the
overall scheme of things, or were they just coincidental? She
wondered vaguely if anything that happened on Avalon was
truly coincidental...
It was at this point that she fell asleep.
She was woken by the sound of soup boiling over and the
smell of burning as it put out the fire.

The first of the glass discs was even more impressive seen
close to. It was over twenty-five feet across, and would have
been almost impossible to climb round. There was a hole in its
centre large enough for one person to pass through at a time.
But as they stood on the steps below the portal, massaging
their calves, they hesitated. They could all feel the aura of
power surrounding it, pressing at the edge of their
consciousness.
Are you determined? Are you worthy? Is your cause true?
They knew it would be impossible to pass through unless
they could answer those unspoken challenges honestly.
Bron look resolute. ‘I am here on a noble and just mission
for my King and country,’ he said boldly. ‘I do not fear to
carry on.’ And he stepped through the portal. One by one the
others followed.
Ahead of them, Shannon’s party had reached the second
terrace.

‘I’ve made her as comfortable as I can, and now I’m going to

get help, do you understand?’ The cat continued to stare at
Barbara with feline inscrutability and did nothing to indicate
whether it approved or not.
‘I’ve left this window hooked open, you see, so you can get
in and out if you need to.’ The cat tilted its head as it took in
her explanation. She was beginning to suspect the animal of
condescension. ‘And the fire’s banked up and I’ve put the
guard around it,’ she finished, determinedly. ‘And now I’m
going. I should be back before dark, or at least somebody will,
I hope.’
The cat padded up to her, brushed around her legs for a
moment, then trotted away and bounded up the cottage’s tiny
twisted stairs. And that is goodbye, she thought. She let herself
quietly out of the door, closed it firmly behind her, took a deep
breath and set off along the path that snaked away between the
great trees.

It was as they began the ascent of the last stairway, the tallest
and steepest, that they saw Shannon’s group pause at the
portal disc. They had gained slightly on them during the
ascent, but they were still tiny figures, several hundred feet
above. Now they saw them milling about in some confusion.
Then three of the party passed through the portal and
continued up towards the summit, while one sat down on the
stairs; even at this distance, the posture communicating every
sign of weary dejection.

The last portal had defeated Jen Komati. Whatever mental

field the structures generated had become stronger each time,
testing her resolve and belief beyond endurance. There was a
limit, she discovered, to her sense of duty, loyalty to the
Empire, and fear of Shannon’s wrath. It was a joke, really.
Even he couldn’t force her through. It was hardly the place to
start a struggle, and he had no time to stage a court-martial, or
whatever, which she knew he would have preferred. He had to
be content with giving her one last look of uncomprehending
contempt, before passing through the portal. Neither he nor
Monadno had any difficulty with that, they were armoured by
their sense of duty and purpose. She suspected that if they had
sheltered any secret desire to use whatever they found for
themselves, the portals would not have let them pass. But that
was one thing you could not have accused them of; they were
true patriots of the Empire. Ivanov gave her a slightly more
sympathetic glance before passing through in turn. He was
protected by a different sense of duty and altruism. The quest
for knowledge for its own sake, without concern for the
consequences. As the mission progressed, she had seen his
courage grow as he began to appreciate the scientific value of
what they might find; but he seemed blind as to how it might
be used in reality. Of them all, he was the one who
disappointed her most. No scientist should be that certain and
single minded, there should always be doubt; and now she had
that in plenty.
So she sat, her head in her hands, with the rising sun
making the stairway glow like fire, while their pursuers toiled
up the steps towards her.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said miserably, as they arrived panting and
moving stiffly. ‘It was wrong. Whatever’s in there doesn’t
belong to us, and it might be incredibly dangerous. I must
explain –’
‘Later, my dear,’ said the Doctor, not unkindly. ‘We must
stop them if we can. You wait here.’
One by one, the party passed through the portal and
continued on up towards the great dome.
‘Be careful,’ she called after them. ‘I think Shannon and
Monadno have some kind of weapons.’

Ian tried not to look down as they climbed. The view through
the very stairs he was walking on was disconcerting. Even
though he knew, intellectually, that they must be made of
some incredibly strong substance, there was the nagging fear
that one heavy footfall would shatter them like plain glass, and
he would plunge hundreds of feet to the hard terrace below.
He kept his eyes fixed ahead, where Shannon, Monadno and
Ivanov kept slipping almost out of sight behind the bow of the
stairs. It was ridiculous. This close they should be running
after them, but the ascent up the great stairways had reduced
both parties to the same rubber-legged plodding pace.
Then he saw their quarry disappear through the entrance of
the dome itself. How far ahead were they? Three minutes...
four? How long would it take them to find Merlin’s Helm in
the dome? Was it mounted in splendid isolation on a plinth in
its very centre for all to see and pick up at will, or would it be
concealed or protected in some way? He realized that all their
efforts had been focused on simply getting here, and that he
really had no idea of what they might find. Well, they would
know soon.
The dome swelled over them, glowing warmly in the low
morning sun. The stairway entered through an archway in its
side, just where the sheer side of the tower that supported it
began to curve over. They were twenty yards away when
Monadno appeared in the archway with an old-fashioned
automatic pistol in his hand.
‘That’s far enough,’ he said.

The path seemed to peter out about half a mile from the
cottage in the middle of a dell, ringed by trees hung with
streamers of ivy and trailing beards of moss. There were
several possible ways out, but they were hardly more than
animal tracks, with no indication of which led to the nearest
settlement. Barbara had not exactly been expecting a signpost,
but she had hoped to strike a more substantial path by now.
She shrugged, made a note of the way she had come should
she need to return this way to the cottage, and set off along
one of the paths. She didn’t notice what appeared to be a
tussock of long grass beside the path lift itself up on to spindly
legs and watch her go by with bright mischievous eyes.
‘You cannot hope to leave here again,’ Bron called out to
Monadno. ‘You will be marooned. How will that aid your
cause?’
‘We’ve got rations for a few days,’ came the calm reply.
‘Our people in orbit are working on modified landers that will
get us back up there again. There’s plenty of flat ground here
for them to touch down. Now, I don’t want to hurt you people,
so just stay clear, understand?’ They hesitated for a moment,
and he fired a single shot at the steps in front of them. It
ricocheted off the glass leaving a splash of lead and whined
away into the sky.
Bron motioned to the others, and they retreated a little way
down the steps.
‘I thought their weapons did not work here?’ he said to the
Doctor.
‘They must have brought others in case of such an
eventuality. These are of a far more primitive type but still
deadly. They use the expanding gas from a fast burning
powder to fire small metal pellets. They will penetrate
ordinary armour.’
‘And now they will surely take the Helm. None could resist
such a prize,’ he said grimly.
‘But it will be of no use to them without the proper
ceremony,’ Alammar pointed out.
‘They would not believe that if we told them so, and how
long will it take them to learn the truth for themselves, after
they have carried it back to their skyboats? We cannot afford
any delay in returning to Fluxford.’
‘Then we must act now,’ growled Thurguld, unslinging his
shield and clasping his axe. ‘Ready your bow, Alammar, while
I draw him out. The rest of you must be prepared to rush him.
If I fall, tell my lord I died well.’
Ian swallowed. The dwarf’s action was almost suicidal.
‘Hold your shield at an angle. The bullets may glance off.’
Thurguld smiled grimly. ‘Thank you, friend Ian. I will do
that.’ And he advanced, crouching behind his shield. It made a
hard kind of sense, Ian realized. Of them all, he made the
smallest target. Alammar unslung his slender elf bow and
notched an arrow to the string. Bron drew his sword. Ian
loosened his own sword in its scabbard, wondering if he could
use it to strike down a man who was only doing his duty as he
saw it. Then he thought of Susan and the Princess, and
tightened his grip.
To do Monadno credit, he called out a warning before he
fired his first shot. It struck Thurguld’s shield, but did not
seem to harm the dwarf. Thurguld shuffled quickly to one
side, trying to spoil the man’s aim, and draw him out of the
shelter of the archway. Monadno fired again. A hole appeared
in Thurguld’s shield and he jerked as though he had been hit.
Alammar loosed an arrow which rebounded from the side of
the arch, causing Monadno to flinch back. Thurguld advanced
another few steps, rapping his axe against his shield. ‘I am
coming for you, sky warrior. Prepare yourself!’
Then it happened. Monadno and Alammar fired almost
simultaneously. Thurguld gasped and slumped down on the
steps, while Alammar’s arrow caught Monadno in the
shoulder and he staggered backwards. Bron and Ian charged
forward. Weakly, Monadno raised his gun. Alammar strung
and loosed a second arrow with incredible speed. It struck
Monadno in the chest and he fell. Alammar ran after Bron and
Ian as they entered the dome.
The Doctor paused for a moment as he reached Thurguld.
The dwarf was still and there was a spreading red stain on his
chest. The Doctor shook his head sadly, and followed after the
others.
In the entrance he found Ian in the act of picking up
Monadno’s gun. Monadno, quite evidently dead, lay on the
floor. Bron and Alammar were running down the corridor
leading to the heart of the dome. As they reached its far end
they halted in amazement. A moment later Ian and the Doctor
joined them.
They were standing on a broad walkway that circled the
inside of the dome, which was golden lit by the rising sun
shining through the great slotted windows. But now they
realized the dome was the cap of a great funnel cut into the
heart of the rock. Almost filling it was the squat column of a
huge, steel-grey space craft. Its prow rose into the cup of the
dome high above, while its tail was lost in the gloomy depths
hundreds of feet below. On its side was the boldly emblazoned
name: Prydwen.
‘The ship of our ancestors!’ breathed Sir Bron.
‘No time for sightseeing!’ said the Doctor sharply.
Another glass bridge extended out from the walkway to
touch the hull of the ship just below an open hatch. They
crossed over and cautiously stepped through the hatch, which
proved to be the outer door of an airlock. Beyond the inner
door they found themselves in a wide corridor branching three
ways.
‘We’ll try the control room first,’ said the Doctor.
They headed down the centre corridor. Metal deck-plates
rattled under their feet. Ian realized the lighting panels set in
the ceiling were all dead, yet, mysteriously, there was a soft
glow coming from the walls themselves. It suggested the way
had been prepared a long time before. He shivered. They came
to a central well containing stairways rising through the core
of the ship. The sound of voices came from somewhere above.
They silently climbed two levels until they came to a wide
doorway. There was movement beyond it. Weapons ready,
they slipped inside.
It was clearly the Prydwen’s control room. Banks of
instruments and monitors were racked against every wall of
the room, with heavily padded chairs set before them. But the
controls were still and filmed with dust, while the monitors
gaped blankly like empty eye sockets. One chair alone, set at
the centre of the room, still had an occupant: the desiccated
corpse of a man in a stained and faded coverall. A pile of
books was stacked on the floor by his feet. The Empire men
stood beside this strange tableau. Shannon must have heard a
sound, because he drew his automatic and spun round even as
Ivanov reached for the thing resting on the corpse’s head; the
thing that was no part of the standard equipment of any colony
ship.
It was a large silver skullcap that seemed to glitter even in
the soft light that shone from the walls.
Merlin’s Helm.
Ian and Shannon held each other covered in a classic stand-
off. But Alammar had an arrow strung again and the tip was
also pointing at Shannon. ‘Don’t be stupid!’ Ian warned
Shannon. ‘One of us will get you. He’s a very good shot.’
Shannon’s gun never wavered.
‘Both your comrade and ours are dead,’ said the Doctor
bitterly. ‘Let us have no more needless bloodshed!’
‘My sworn duty is to serve and protect the Empire,’ said
Shannon, unmoved by his plea. ‘And I’ve never failed to do
my duty yet. This device may be the key to preserving that
Empire and nothing is going to stop us taking it.’
Bron said: ‘And I am sworn to serve my King and country,
and in that duty neither have I ever failed. We must have the
Helm to save our Princess and defeat an enemy of the realm.
You are outnumbered. It is hopeless. Surrender now and you
have my word you will not be harmed.’
Shannon smiled grimly, his stance unchanged. ‘Even if you
take me, the fleet knows where we are and what we’re after.’
‘No communications equipment can work here,’ countered
the Doctor.
‘I have a radiation torch. No circuitry. Crude and slow but
detectable by the right sensors from orbit. They replied by
infra-red laser, which can be seen with sensitized goggles.
Believe me. They’ll track your ship, and when they’ve
modified the landers as I instructed, they’ll be down after this
thing, you can count on it.’
Ian felt his nerves fraying as he stared down the barrel of
Shannon’s gun. ‘Look, after we’ve used it, perhaps you can
work out some sort of compromise and borrow it for study –’
‘No, Chesterton,’ said the Doctor sharply, ‘that would be
exceedingly unwise.’
Then it happened.
Disturbed by vibrations and air currents it had not been
subjected to for over eight hundred years, the corpse in the
chair simply crumbled to dust before their eyes. As it tumbled,
Ivanov who was nearest, instinctively caught the Helm.
The rest of them froze, uncertain yet expectant.
Ivanov turned the Helm over, examining it. Ian could see
padding inside. ‘It has to be part of some control system,
doesn’t it, Doctor,’ Ivanov said, almost absently. ‘But there
are no connection sockets or terminals inside or out. Direct
telepathic control, perhaps...’
The Doctor caught the gleam in his eye. ‘No! It’s not meant
for you!’
But Ivanov had slipped the Helm over his own head. His
eyes rolled up until only the whites showed, then closed.
He swayed almost drunkenly.
His arms jerked as though animated by electric shocks.
Then, slowly, he broke into the most satisfied smile Ian had
ever seen.
‘Of course... how simple. It’s obvious now. The
possibilities! You could move mountains just by thinking...’
he flung out his arms.
His eyes opened.
They were glowing.
Then the look of supreme contentment was wiped from his
face to be replaced by stark horror. He screamed and clawed at
the Helm.
A wind sprang up from nowhere, tearing at their clothes
and shredding the remains of the ancient corpse.
The walls of the control room rippled as though drawn by
some invisible hand, then tore out; metal screaming against
metal, as control units, panels and stanchions were blasted into
intervening compartments to punch out through the hull itself.
Distantly there came the crack and rumble of shattered stone.
And the mountain moved.
Slowly, inexorably, the dome began to collapse about them.
 19

The Dancers and the Ring

T he faint pathway Barbara had been following disappeared

unexpectedly into a clump of rhododendron bushes,
leaving her staring about in puzzlement. She seemed to have
moved into a part of the forest with more undergrowth
between the trees, which was making it harder to keep a sense
of direction. Shrugging, she turned back the way she had
come, thinking she would return to the dell where several
paths divided and try another way.
After fifty yards of retracing her footsteps, she found the
path had disappeared behind her as well.

The Prydwen shook as fragments of the dome began to strike

its hull.
Bron and the Doctor both sprang towards the body of
Ivanov.
Shannon turned towards them, gun blazing, even as
Alammar’s bow twanged. Ian pulled the trigger almost by
reflex and his own gun thundered in the confined space.
A section of wall stove inwards and the ceiling began to
buckle. A beam snapped and swung loose on the end of a
length of cabling, catching Ian across the chest and knocking
him flat. The ship trembled as thousands of tons of rock
shattered its upper decks and began to beat them flat. Bron’s
strong hand caught Ian under the arm and hauled him to his
feet. In his other hand was the Helm. The deck pitched and the
whole ship tilted as they all staggered out into the corridor.
Behind them the control room caved in and the doorway filled
with wreckage. The Doctor was clutching a book he had
snatched from the pile beside the corpse. Alammar’s arm was
bleeding. They half fell down the stairs as the upper levels
collapsed under the weight of the debris. A cloud of dust
billowed after them. They reached the entrance level. At the
end of the corridor they saw the glass bridge bouncing as
rocks shattered and rebounded from it, but amazingly it
remained unbroken.
Gradually the shriek and clamour of stone and metal
subsided. Slowly the reverberations died away and the
Prydwen became still once more.
They looked into each other’s faces and saw the relief of
being alive. Ian straightened up carefully. The ceiling was
battered in above them. He walked back to the central access
core, which was impassibly choked with debris.
‘Shannon!’ he shouted.
There was no answer.
He imagined the state of the levels above, shook his head
resignedly, and returned to the others. Bron was tying a strip
of cloth around Alammar’s wounded arm. ‘Well, that’s that
then.’
‘Not quite, Chesterton,’ said the Doctor, dusting off his
coat. He glanced around keenly for a moment then started
investigating the rooms on their level. Rents in the hull now
illuminated those not lit by the still glowing walls. After a few
moments they heard him utter a small cry of satisfaction, and
he shortly emerged carrying a laboratory microscope.
‘There was sure to be one around somewhere,’ he confided.
‘This was a self-contained colony ship, and they would have
been prepared to make tests on soil samples and that sort of
thing.’
‘But why do you need it?’ asked Ian.
‘To confirm a theory, my boy,’ he said, as they made their
way towards the hatchway. ‘It is time we had some answers.’
‘But we’ve got the Helm.’
‘Yes. And we know without doubt how powerful it is. But
it doesn’t tell us how it operates. Ivanov knew, before the end,
poor man. I think he knew almost everything for a moment.
But the shock was too much. I hope to solve part of the puzzle
by less drastic methods.’ He tapped the instrument in his arms.
‘For the rest, I hope that young woman waiting on the stairs
will tell us.’

Barbara was trying not to allow panic to overcome her, but it

was getting harder by the minute. She had taken special care to
note the way she had come precisely to avoid getting lost
again, yet here she was in just that situation. She was in a
slight clearing that she was sure she had come through not five
minutes before. Except then it had been quite open, and now it
was half full of bushes. It couldn’t be the same one, or could
it? Determinedly, she searched around until she found a sharp-
edged stone and scratched an arrow in the bark of the nearest
tree on its sunward side, pointing in the direction she was
heading. Then she strode off purposefully.
Behind her, the bushes rustled.

An hour later the Merrow was slowly rowed out of the inlet of
Helm Island. As the ramparts of its geometric cliffs fell away,
a breeze sprang up and filled the sail.
‘The wind has turned and is in our favour once again,’
declared Tristram. ‘Is this your doing, Master Odoyle?’
‘Not mine,’ replied the leprechaun. ‘I’ve had a wind spell
ready, but we’ve not needed it yet.’
‘Well keep it handy,’ said Ian, morbidly. ‘We’re bound to
need a push getting back through that avalanche canyon. If a
whirlpool or sea monster doesn’t get us first.’
‘Somehow, I think we shall have an easy return journey,’
the Doctor suggested. ‘I doubt landing-craft from the Empire
ships will be ready to intercept us at sea, whatever Shannon
said. The technical problems they must surmount are
considerable. Any further challenges will come after we reach
Fluxford. Just in time for the finale. The final confrontation,
you might say.’
Ian looked at him suspiciously ‘You’re sounding very
lyrical all of a sudden, Doctor. What makes you think that?’
‘Because it would be more... appropriate, that way.’
He said no more for the moment. Bron, standing with them
at the stern rail, also seemed wrapped up in his own thoughts.
Silently, they watched the summit of the island, capped now
by the jagged rim which was all that remained of the dome.
Up there, they had also left cairns of dome rubble covering the
bodies of Thurguld Thongarson and Lieutenant Vincent
Monadno.

The Merrow sailed on and was soon lost in the grey of the fog
bank that surrounded the Shadow Isles.
On the summit of Helm Island the wind whistled eerily
through the jagged ruins of the dome that now filled half the
funnel that held the Prydwen. The torn and smashed upper
decks were laid open to the skies.
Then there was a movement amid the remains. A piece of
metal plate scraped and fell aside, revealing a hole leading up
through the tangled wreckage, out of which a scratched and
bloody hand appeared. Shannon’s head emerged. Painfully, he
dragged himself clear and lay sprawled across a section of hull
panel, panting and exhausted. But his gaze turned upward to
the open sky, and he smiled through his cracked lips as he
fingered the radiation torch in his pocket.

Barbara groaned in dismay as she found the arrow scratched in

the tree. She was sure she had been going in a straight line.
How could she have circled back on herself?
Looking round in desperation, searching for some clue as to
the right path, she noticed the tree opposite also had an arrow
scratched on it, but pointing in the opposite direction. She
walked over to examine it. Yes, it seemed like one she had
made. Then she saw an arrow on the next tree, pointing at an
angle to the other two. How could she have made this one as
well? In the next five minutes she found twenty trees marked
with arrows, no two of which quite pointed the same way.

‘Come in, my dear ladies,’ Dhal said heartily. ‘I trust you slept
well?’
It was Dhal’s usual, half-rhetorical enquiry. But they were
too preoccupied to respond. Susan was worried about Barbara,
while Mellisa had been spending long periods squeezed into
the window embrasure looking out over the moor and thinking
of Edmund.
Dhal was sitting before his seeing globe, and waved them
closer. The image within was of Fluxford as seen from the air.
‘I thought you might be interested to see this. Note the
activity on the roads. Patrols constantly leaving. Fields and
woods around the town being searched. All this for your friend
Barbara.’ Susan looked up hopefully. ‘But I’m afraid she has
not yet been found.’ Susan’s head dropped again. ‘And now
I’m going to make their search a little more... mmm,
challenging, just in case they might have thought I had
forgotten them.’
‘You mean more of your beasts shall be let loose to
terrorize and destroy,’ said Mellisa contemptuously.
Dhal smiled. ‘I see you have grasped my methods. Yes,
there will be more of that, including some novel distractions
for tonight that I will enjoy telling you about later. But never,
of course, enough to interfere with the gathering for the
convocation that will be taking place shortly.’
‘My father will never give you what you want!’
Dhal smiled. ‘But he has sent word to the appropriate
dignitaries, and they are on their way. Fact, I assure you. Also,
a heavily guarded caravan has set out from Glazebry. What do
you think that contains, eh?’ Mellisa fell silent and uncertain.
‘Meanwhile to business,’ Dhal continued briskly, laying his
hands on the globe.
They had to endure a full quarter hour witnessing Dhal’s
creatures bursting out of their hiding places about the
countryside around Fluxford, and falling upon soldiers or
farmers working their fields. Susan tried not to show the
depths of her dismay when she realized how long and
thoroughly he had been planning his actions. How had all that
preparation been concealed from Palbury or Gramling?
Suddenly Dhal looked distracted for a moment, passed his
hands over the globe and the image changed. It showed the
orbiting space fleet. As they watched they saw three small
points of light were falling away from the formation and
growing larger. The globe tracked them as they fell.
‘These oldworlders are persistent, I see. But cautious after
what befell their previous manned vessel. These are but
mechanical devices again, I believe. They can do me no
harm.’ Tolerantly he watched the craft descend in balls of fire,
switching to the eyes of another of his spy-birds to see them
deploy parachutes just two thousand feet above the ground.
Widespread shock-absorbing legs sprang out and the three
craft landed safely within a mile of each other.
But then, unexpectedly, the upper section of one of the craft
immediately spouted flames and blasted away into the sky
again. Dhal glowered angrily and peered closer at the globe. A
minute after the first one, an upper stage lifted from the second
probe. A minute after that, the third did. The rockets of the
third ascent craft failed when it was only a mile up. The probe
curved over and began the long plunge to earth again. Dhal
smiled. The first ascent stage fared little better, failing at ten
miles up. But the second blasted on, soaring rapidly upwards.
Only when it was over fifty miles up did the rockets splutter
and die, as it at last succumbed to the mysterious disabling
force. But it had made a low orbit, Susan realized, even if it
was not a stable one.
She saw the scowl on Dhal’s face and inspiration struck.
Boldly, she leaned forward, resting her hands on Dhal’s
desk, as though to emphasize her words. ‘I know what they’re
doing. They’re finding a way to make a safe return to orbit.
That means very soon they’ll be landing larger forces, and you
won’t be able to stop them all. They might bring advanced
weapons you cannot even imagine. If they find out you
sabotaged their first landing craft –’
‘Get her out of here!’ Dhal roared, losing his temper for the
first time. Susan sprang back from his desk with her arms
wrapped around her, as though fearing a physical blow. The
guards caught hold of them and dragged them away. Dhal
returned to contemplating the globe, a dark scowl on his face.

‘I didn’t choose to come here. I’m not really a soldier. I want

to explain.’
Jen Komati sat in Tristram’s cabin. Before her were the
Doctor, Ian, Bron, Alammar and Odoyle. How much the
native Avalonians would understand of her story she was not
sure. Mainly she spoke to the Doctor. She had a feeling he
would understand everything.
‘This region of space was pretty well unexplored until
recently. We didn’t even know a colony ship had landed here.
I suppose it must have been one of the twenty-second century
diaspora. A lot of them were never heard of again. All we did
know was that a few private prospecting ships had got lost
around here over the years, and there had been a garbled
emergency transmission saying a ship was going down over a
planet because its controls had failed. But the full co-ordinates
were never received, so it could never be followed up.
‘What was most interesting was the nearby nebula. When a
science expedition finally got around to examining it, the
Empire began to take serious interest. That’s where Shannon
and the military come into the picture. You see, they
discovered the original star should never have gone nova in
the first place, at least, by all the rules of stellar evolution we
know of. Even the shape and longevity of the remnant are
unusual. So they analysed the local interstellar dust clouds,
corrected for shift over time, and discovered an ancient
ionization trail leading back to this system. It seems, two
thousand years ago or so, an energy beam of incredible power
projected from here made that star explode. You can see why
the military took an interest. The first survey showed this
planet was strange, with macro-engineered moons and
unexplained energy fields. Obviously the most likely source of
the beam.’
The Doctor was nodding sadly. Sir Bron was struggling to
understand.
‘The stars are but suns seen a great distance off, that I
know,’ he said slowly. ‘And worlds are warmed by them and
turn about them, as Avalon does. Your warriors wanted
control of a weapon that would destroy a sun?’ Komati
nodded. ‘And all its worlds with it?’ She nodded again. Bron
looked appalled. ‘Where is the honour in that? That is not how
men should fight!’
‘I didn’t say it was honourable.’ Komati sank her head in
her hands again. ‘Please don’t think I agree with it. I didn’t
know any of this at first. They didn’t tell Doctor Ivanov or
myself until we were almost here. I’m sorry I didn’t have the
courage to refuse to co-operate earlier. But it was my duty...’
she sighed. ‘We were brought along because the whole thing
was arranged so quickly and secretly. They needed specialists
for the initial lander team. They thought it might be tough
getting down, so the team would have to be small, physically
fit, and encompass as many useful disciplines as possible, in
view of what they thought they would find here. The remains
of an extinct alien civilization probably. Well, we were both
healthy enough. Ivanov has – had, degrees in fusion
engineering, cybernetic control systems and astrophysics. I’m
qualified in microtronics, physics and xenotechnology.
Together we fulfilled the requirements for the ground-
breaking team. Later, when they’d solved the landing
problems, larger teams would have come.’
‘General weapons technicians, I presume,’ said the Doctor
coldly. ‘To operate the equipment you had identified as the
control mechanism for the nova trigger device.’
‘Or to dismantle it if it could be installed elsewhere,’ she
conceded wearily. ‘When Shannon heard about the Helm, he
guessed it might be something to do with the control system,
as it linked in with the energy fields we’d already detected.’
‘But why should your Empire need such a weapon?’
exclaimed Ian. ‘Are you at war?’
Komati looked at him sadly. ‘Only with time and change.
The Empire is simply dying for want of anything better to do.
It has been for fifty years. Longer, probably, only people
didn’t see it. We expanded as far as we could and became too
cumbersome to rule efficiently. Technical progress slowed and
became moribund. We turned inwards and became soft.
Classic signs. It’s coming to pieces now. Old colonies are
breaking away and declaring independence. New alliances are
forming and other powers are just waiting for the big fall, or
the senile whimper, whatever. But there were still fervent
patriots, like Shannon, who realized with a weapon like this...
you can guess the rest. You can’t blame him, I suppose. He
was only doing his duty.’
There was a long silence after she had finished. Then the
Doctor spoke up in his carefully considered tones.
‘Humanity is not mature enough to use such powers
responsibly. In a million years, perhaps... perhaps. But that is
only half the story Avalon has to tell.’ He picked up the book
he had rescued from the control room of the Prydwen, and
started to turn the pages. ‘Stellar manipulators may be the least
of your worries.’

As the door of their cell closed behind their guards, Mellisa

looked curiously at Susan. She had walked back from Dhal’s
chamber with her head down and arms still wrapped about
herself. But as soon as the bolts rattled to, she raised her head
to reveal an unexpected smile. She withdrew her hands from
her armpits and opened them triumphantly. A small glass vial
rested in each palm. One held a clear fluid, the other oily
yellow.
‘How did you get those!’ Mellisa exclaimed.
Susan grinned. ‘They were in the clutter on the table. I just
picked them up when I leaned over to speak to Dhal. It was
easy.’
‘But what good are they?’
‘I’m hoping they might be acids. He must have some
amongst all those chemicals. We can try them on the window
bar or the door hinges, maybe.’
‘What are acids?’
‘Liquids that eat metal, amongst other things. We might be
able to break out of here.’
The Princess was looking at her intently. ‘How do you
know such things? Are you skilled in the wizardly arts like
your grandfather?’
‘No, we’re scientists.’
‘What are they?’
Susan sighed. It was not an easy question to answer on
Avalon. ‘Well, I suppose they are a bit like wizards, but they
do things by different rules.’
Mellisa, suddenly worried, asked, ‘What if Dhal notices
they’re gone?’
‘We’ll have to hide them.’
Mellisa looked around their bare cell. ‘But where?’
‘We may never know the name of the writer,’ said the Doctor,
flicking through the book. Ian noticed the pages did not rustle
like paper. They seemed more like very thin plastic. ‘It is
clearly a diary of some kind, but the earlier pages are badly
faded.’ He fished his monocle from his pocket and used it like
a magnifying glass. ‘I can only make out occasional words and
phrases. It seems to be a journal of the first landing on this
planet and its early settlement. Perhaps written by the leader of
the colony. I can make out a date 28 September 2145.’
‘That is the year of landfall by the old calendar,’ exclaimed
Bron. ‘But, were those Merlin’s remains we saw?’
‘No, my friend,’ said the Doctor gently. ‘Please bear with
me for the moment. You will understand in time, though I fear
the truth may seem disturbing at first.’ Bron frowned. The
Doctor continued: ‘The entries become erratic, and the writing
less distinct. I can make out power failure and creatures... in
the woods... the rest is very confused. Ahh. Something
different.’
Leaning over, Ian could see the faded handwriting ceased,
and on a new page, bolder, clear letters appeared. They almost
looked as if they had been burned on to the plasticized sheets.
‘This is most extraordinary,’ said the Doctor solemnly. ‘I
will read it in full:

‘ “I know I’m dying. Hard to think straight.

This metal cap focuses so much power and
knowledge. Dangerous. Too much for one
man’s mind. But I can’t remove it now. I’ve
done what I can to safeguard it. Nobody can
use it unless it’s life or death. Now I must
explain, if I have time. The words are
appearing on the page as fast as I can think
them. With the cap you can work miracles. I
moved the ship and shaped this island in
minutes. But the effect also works with group
subconscious. Gradual at first. Didn’t realize. It
had been dormant a long time when we arrived.
Then our machines started breaking down for
no reason. People started seeing things. It was a
 terrible winter. Electronic readers failed. My
books were only real ones left. Read old stories
to children. Just my hobby, to give names to
these new lands. But they believed. And what
they believed started to come true. People in
the outlying settlements are changing, getting
smaller or taller, and others are starting to work
magic. I know what it really is now, but better
magic than the other. Forgive me if I have
sinned! I had to take the knowledge away and
make the changes. So many minds I touched. I
feel unclean. But safer this way. They must
never think like that again. I’d put it all right
again but there’s no time. I’ve done my best,
really. It was when they prayed, you see. They
imagined gods and they got them! Manmade in
his own image! But they fought. They would
have destroyed us for our imperfections. Had to
stop that. I’d found the helmet in a cave that
had once been a great hall. Could feel it was
old and powerful. Knew everything as soon as
I put it on. Wish I could destroy the whole
system, but only they can do that. But it’s been
so long, perhaps they’ve forgotten how. Too
late now...” ’

The Doctor looked up gravely. ‘It ends there,’ he said

simply.

To get lost once in a forest may be regarded as a misfortune,

Barbara paraphrased with grim humour; to do so twice looks
like carelessness.
But she hadn’t been careless, that was what made it so
unfair. She almost sobbed aloud, and tried to get a grip on
herself again. But the forest showed no sympathy for her
plight, and continued to press in closer. Somebody was
playing games with her. Was it Dhal again? She had begun to
think she was being watched, and kept twisting round
suddenly to try to catch it... them, whatever. But there was
nothing there, only flickers of movement in the corner of her
eye. She stumbled on uncaring now. Only wishing she could
arrive wherever it was and get it over with.

Susan and Mellisa looked up as the door of their cell was

suddenly thrown open. Marton Dhal strode briskly in followed
by four of his ape servants.
‘Take them outside and search them,’ he gestured
impatiently. Two of the guards caught the young women by
their arms and dragged them unceremoniously out of the cell
to the landing, where they proceeded to pat and prod for
anything concealed under their nightdresses. In response to
this treatment, Susan and Mellisa struggled and complained
with appropriate indignation. From inside the cell they heard
rustling and scrapings as their few belongings were examined.
‘Are you sure they’re not in the bedding? Look for any cracks
that are large enough... you, check the window ledge...’ A
minute later Dhal emerged, frowning uncertainly, to stand
before them. ‘Anything?’ he asked the ape guards.
‘No, Master,’ they chorused.
‘What is the purpose of this, Dhal?’ Mellisa demanded,
with suitable hauteur.
‘I find I am missing two vials of potion, and it occurred to
me that you might have taken them, for some foolish reason.’
‘As you can see, we have not.’
‘Apparently so,’ Dhal admitted grudgingly.
‘Perhaps you’ve simply forgotten where you put them,’
suggested Susan simply, but with a condescending edge to her
words. ‘You’ve been working so hard at your nasty plots and
schemes that you’ve probably overdone it a bit. I mean, I don’t
suppose even you claim to be infallible.’
Dhal swelled with annoyance, but contented himself with
stalking away back up the stairs to his chamber without
another word.
The apes locked them back in their cell, where they silently
straightened up the disorder left by the search. When they
were quite sure the landing was deserted, Mellisa stood with
her back to the window, made a stirrup with her interlocked
fingers, and boosted Susan up into the window recess. Susan
edged as far forward as she could, reached out of the window
and to one side, grasped something held in the cleft between
two stone blocks, and carefully brought it back inside the cell.
The two vials were linked by a length of golden thread,
formed out of several long strands of Mellisa’s hair plaited
together, tied about their necks. In the middle of the thread
was an overtied knot large enough to catch in the crack
between the wall blocks.
Mellisa smiled broadly. ‘It was worth being handled by
those creatures to see the expression on Dhal’s face.’
Susan grinned back. ‘I really think he believes he must
have lost them himself now. Anything we can do to make him
uncertain, even in a small way, is worth the risk.’
‘But can you use these as you said to remove the window
bar or the door hinges?’
Susan examined the contents of the vials carefully, holding
them up to the light from the window, then unstopping them
and cautiously sniffing. ‘They could be acids, but there are so
many different kinds and strengths. I’ll experiment on the bar
first, and we’ll just have to hope for the best. Help me up
again.’
Wedged into the window recess, Susan carefully deposited
a few drops from both vials on to the joint where the bar was
mortared into the window masonry. She looked closely at the
result. Yes, there was a definite bubbling where the fluid
touched the metal. That was encouraging. She replaced their
stoppers, returned the vials to their hiding place, and slid back
down into the cell.
‘We’ll give it a while,’ she said quietly, ‘but I think it’s
working.’
Mellisa’s face lit up. ‘That would be wonderful. I am sure
this chemistry you have spoken of is but a branch of sorcery
not known to the magicians of Avalon. You might have
something to teach them. It is a shame you could not become
one.’
‘It’s only very simple chemistry,’ replied Susan lightly,
then frowned. ‘And what do you mean, I couldn’t become
one?’
‘Well, you could become a witch, I suppose, though it is
hardly a fitting calling for a lady.’
‘I’m sure if I knew how he did it, I could do anything Dhal
does. Or Gramling, for that matter. Grandfather is certain there
is a rational explanation for everything magical that we’ve
seen. It’s just a question of looking hard enough.’
‘But you are a woman.’
‘So?’
Mellisa looked at her thoughtfully. ‘I do believe you would
do this if you could.’ She smiled. ‘I wish you luck, Susan
Foreman, but I fear you will be hard pressed to find your
explanations. Magical practitioners are loath to reveal secrets
of their art to any but their chosen successors. It has always
been that way.’
Susan considered what she had seen of the practice of
magic so far. It passed the time and at least it was better than
pointlessly fretting over their predicament. ‘What is it that
wizards and such actually do?’ she said, half to herself. ‘When
they cast a spell they concentrate, chant a bit, wave their hands
about and... hey presto! as they say on Earth, something
amazing happens.’
‘They have staffs, and use potions and powers as well,’
Mellisa pointed out.
‘But not all the time. Dhal hasn’t used a staff yet, that I’ve
seen. And Kilvenny Odoyle has that little silver hammer.
Besides, if it was just a question of staffs or potions, wouldn’t
people simply steal them for their own use?’
‘Nobody would dare steal a magician’s staff,’ Mellisa said
firmly. ‘And no potion will work if it is not fairly obtained.’
‘But do staffs make magicians, or magicians make staffs?
Where did the first magician come from?’
‘Well, Merlin was the first on Avalon, of course.’
Susan wondered if this was an appropriate time to tell
Mellisa the truth about the past. It might be a shock to her. She
edged round the point. ‘I mean, where do new magicians come
from? Can anybody be taught, or is it simply a talent that some
people have? Perhaps it’s a bit of both.’
Mellisa was giving her that uncertain but wondering look
again, which meant she was behaving in an unAvalonian
manner.
 ‘I do not believe I have heard anybody speak of the thing in
such a way. To us, magic is simply part of life. Magicians are
what they are. It has always been so. You seem to want to pull
the matter into little pieces and find out how it works. Is this
what your chemistry is all about?’
‘A lot of it, like most science. In fact, it was through the
efforts of people long ago trying to make what you would call
“magic” work, that scientific methods were discovered. That
sort of thing happens all the time all over the universe.’ And as
she spoke, she felt she was on the brink of an important
insight. If she only knew what it was.

The objects on the microscope slide were smaller than dust

motes. They varied in detail between themselves, but were all
regularly formed and bi-laterally symmetrical. A few appeared
to be moving; beating tiny hair-like rods about their sides, like
the cilia of some protozoa. Except those objects were not
animal or vegetable.
They were not living organisms of any kind.
Ian relinquished his place for Komati to have a look. The
native Avalonians followed on curiously.
‘All right, Doctor,’ Ian conceded. ‘You’ve shown us half a
dozen slides of clothing, food and seawater, and I agree these
things are in all of them. But what are they?’
The Doctor’s eyes twinkled. ‘I believe Doctor Komati
knows. They are related to one of her own specialities.’
‘But I never dreamed I would see them in such profusion,’
she admitted. ‘Microscopic self-replicating machines.
Microtons or nanobots, they’re sometimes called. Are they
really everywhere?’
‘I believe the planet is saturated with them, from high in the
atmosphere to deep underground. They feed off and control
the energy fields you detected. Sensors, actuator mechanisms,
force generators, power and matter transmitters all combined
in one pan-global network, whose countless trillions of
component parts are too small to see with the naked eye. The
ultimate multi-purpose machine!’
Komati said slowly: ‘So it’s these things that interfered
with our probes and lander controls. Even our watches!’
 ‘Exactly. They are programmed not to tolerate other
electronic mechanisms, even to the extent of actively
penetrating and neutralizing them; no doubt to avoid any
danger of interference or contamination of the system.’
‘That’s why the TARDIS wouldn’t let us in!’ Ian
exclaimed.
The Doctor looked pleased he had worked it out for
himself. ‘Precisely, Chesterton. We would have brought the
nanobots in with us. The TARDIS has a force field to filter the
air, but they would have already been embedded in our
clothes, even within our lungs by then, so it had to lock us out
and seal itself completely.’
Komati suddenly looked appalled. ‘But, how can we ever
get off this planet again if we carry these things with us?’
‘Ah, perhaps you begin to appreciate the danger now. Until
we learn how to neutralize them, we dare not.’

‘Valkyrie to flagship. Have recovered ascent stage of test

probe gamma as ordered. Returning to squadron, ETA twelve
minutes.’
‘Roger, Valkyrie. Good fishing. Status of probe?’
‘Systems read dead, Randolph. Holding it in gray beam
lock until we can transfer to your science module as per
specified handling instructions.’
‘Confirmed, Valkyrie. We’ll take it from there. Randolph
out.’

The music was faint at first, but slowly Barbara made out the
wistful note of pan pipes and the plucking of harps. They
seemed to settle her mind, and her fear gradually fell away.
She stumbled unthinkingly towards it. The music was so pure
and clear she wanted to hear it up close, to drink it in, to bathe
in it. She passed swathes of ivy trailing like curtains and
tapestries. The great trees began to line up like the columns of
some lofty arboreal hall. Flowers spotted about the path,
glowing in colours and variety she had never seen before.
Their scent filled the air with a heady aroma more delicate
than the offerings of the finest perfumer. Through the
darkening green veils ahead she saw a light dancing like a
will-o’-the-wisp. She followed it, arms outstretched.

‘Valkyrie to Randolph, come in.’

‘Randolph receiving, Valkyrie.’
‘Minor problem, Randolph. Main gray beam projector has
failed. The probe slipped away from us for a while until we
could snag it again with the secondaries. Back on track now.
ETA now eight minutes.’
‘Understood, Valkyrie. Just as long as you get it here. The
techs want to check its data recorders soonest possible.
Randolph out.’

The company of fair folk ringed the glade. Or was it a hall?

For a moment Barbara thought they were seated on grassy
banks, but then she realized they were actually long couches
draped in forest green cloth, decorated with flowers of golden
thread. Some were robed in silk while others were clad in
dresses of petals and woven leaves and a few wore only a
nimbus of glowing light. There were handsome, slender, regal
men and women as tall as she, then smaller, grotesque beings
with large noses and long ears. Some had donkey tails and
goat-like, shaggy haunches with cloven hooves. Tiny creatures
flew on insect wings. And they talked and sang with sweet
voices. Then she found a golden goblet in her hand, and all
were watching her, urging her to drink. She sipped. It was the
sweetest nectar. She drank some more.

‘Valkyrie to Randolph. Emergency! Emergency! Come in

Randolph!’
‘Randolph receiving. What is your emergency, Valkyrie?’
‘Massive systems failure spreading through ship! Can’t
stop it. Main computer down, life support failing... there go
the main lights... putting on emergency suit... may have to
abandon ship, understand, Randolph?’
‘Understood. Notifying command of your situation. We can
be in your position in three minutes.’
‘Hearing you... suited up now... main transmitter starting –
switched to the portable reserve unit. Do you read, Randolph?’
‘Still reading, Valkyrie. Hang on.’
‘Central air has just died. Sealing helmet... Lifeboat stations
sounding... The Captain says... hell... main comm has cut. It’s
spreading... Oh God. If it reaches the power core and the
containment fields! Listen, Randolph, we think it started in the
gray beam generator room... uhh... emergency lights have
gone now. My torch... no... that’s fading. The gray beam,
understand? Maybe when we –’

The atomic fireball that consumed the Valkyrie brought a

brief, false dawn to half the night-time hemisphere of Avalon.

There was a ring of toadstools in the grass. Or was it a carpet?

The fairy dancers were prancing and leaping about within,
circling round and round. The music was louder, and they
waved and beckoned her to join them. Barbara clasped small
hands, and stepped inside. Her feet seemed to leave the ground
and she was whirled away with the rest. The tempo increased
and she spun faster. She became dizzy. The nectar was warm
within her. The fairy faces began to blur and change. Then
there was only the light and timeless music left.
 20

Nightmare in Orbit

T
again.
he Doctor had been sitting staring into nothing for some
time. Now he faced the other occupants of the cabin

‘From what the diary has told us, together with my own
observations, I believe I can now extrapolate the history of
Avalon before the Prydwen landed.’ He looked at Bron,
Odoyle and Alammar. ‘I’m afraid this may come as a shock
for you, but I am sure the principal facts are correct.’
‘We do not shy from the truth, Doctor,’ said Bron, ‘even if
it is hard to comprehend.’ He glanced at his fellow
Avalonians. ‘We realize something is amiss here. The
Prydwen is a great craft, but it is just a machine. If it bore the
remains of Arthur and Merlin we would feel it. But we do
not.’ He looked grave. ‘I have touched the Helm, but it also
feels... wrong, somehow. Not of human origin. I cannot
believe Merlin ever made or wore such a thing. Neither were
those remains Merlin’s, and that account was never written by
him. It tells a strange story, which I but half understand. But is
it the truth?’
‘You can speak frankly, Doctor,’ confirmed Odoyle.
‘We’re not children, you know.’
‘Then I will tell you the truth. Arthur and Merlin are
characters from historical myth. They never came to Avalon.
They probably never even existed.’
Komati was nodding. ‘They’re just legends. I read about
them when I was at school. Sorry.’
Ian admired Bron’s self-control. The foundation of his
world was being demolished, but all he said was: ‘Continue,
Doctor.’
 ‘Very well. Thousands of years ago, a technologically
advanced race lived on Avalon. They made two crucial
inventions. The first was a system of gathering and focusing
solar energy on a planetary scale to deflect or destroy the
unusually large and dangerous numbers of meteors and
asteroids in this system. The Circle Sea was the result of one
such ancient impact, and the shooting stars you see every night
are but remnants of this process. They built the moons to
become part of the system, which also supplied their whole
planet with power. This was then used to energize the second
of their inventions: the nanobots you have just seen.
Eventually their numbers and sophistication meant that, at the
right mental command, energy, force or matter could be
directed and manipulated at will. Creation directed by pure
thought! They no longer needed to work, and every wish,
within reason, could be granted. And that is what you call
magic.’
‘You’re saying,’ exclaimed Odoyle, ‘that I make all those
little motes do the work for me? But if so, why am I tired after
casting a powerful spell?’
‘Because the system was designed for alien minds to use. It
takes other beings continuous effort to maintain control and
ability must vary from person to person. Some, I suspect,
would never be able to interface with the system at all.’
Odoyle clicked his tongue. ‘Well, I’d never have guessed.’
‘But it was their downfall. It was the last invention they
ever needed to make. It destroyed true creativity and
ingenuity. They began to decline. The nearby nebula suggests
their ordered lives came to some violent end: war, or some ill
conceived experiment, perhaps. But something changed, or
else how did the colonist get hold of the Helm, which, I
suspect, is a master control and amplifying device for handling
more complex tasks.’ He looked at Bron. ‘Your ancestors,
when they arrived here, inadvertently fed the system with their
new ideas from history and legend. Especially the children.
They had heard tales of knights and castles and fantastic
creatures. After the destruction of their machines by the
nanobots, the system began to give their dreams and fantasies
form, which stimulated their imaginations in turn. And so the
Avalon of today was born.’
There was a long, thoughtful silence.
Cautiously, Ian asked: ‘What did the diary mean about the
gods? Was that literally true?’
‘I fear so. It said the system responded to group
consciousness. Or unconsciousness. But it had no sense of
discrimination. Think of intense religious belief given tangible
form. The writer meant people had begun to create gods in
their own images! Imagine rival gods fighting? Imagine being
forced to live by a set of values enforced upon you by a
mockery of a living God? A God given virtually unlimited
powers by the nanobots. It must have been a nightmare. So in
desperation he wiped such knowledge from their minds and
records, leaving only a dim memory of war with the ice giants.
That was what he felt so guilty about. It was, many would say,
a crime, though we may not judge too harshly, for he was
clearly dying when he made the choice he thought best. The
choice of the lesser of two evils.
He could not deactivate the system itself. Only its makers
could do that. So the ideas he had unwittingly let loose had to
continue. They shaped Avalonian society, with magic as a sort
of safety valve. At least its use by individuals would never
result in total domination. Except, of course, for the Helm. Its
potential power, even with safeguards, poses a grave threat.’
‘Gramling must use it as planned,’ Bron reminded him. He
was feeling dazed by the Doctor’s revelations. Just what were
‘gods’ anyway? But he clung firmly to his original purpose.
Whatever the truth of the past, he had his duty to the present.
‘But afterwards it must be dealt with somehow,’ the Doctor
insisted.
Komati said firmly: ‘It must never leave here. If any of this
spreads to other worlds – the chaos and damage it could cause
does not bear thinking of!’
‘One thing, Doctor,’ Ian asked. ‘These people who created
the Helm and the nanobots in the first place. What happened to
them?’
The Doctor smiled enigmatically. ‘You shall see,
Chesterton, in due course.’
The faces around the Prince Randolph’s conference table had
never been grimmer. A wretched, numbing business, thought
Nyborg; the post-mortem on the loss of a ship and two
hundred and fifty crewmen. He had known Captain Selmon
for five years... He pulled himself together. Time for personal
grief later.
‘It was not sabotage in the ordinary sense,’ the Randolph’s
chief engineer stated. ‘Not any sort of conventional failure that
I’ve ever seen. We received enough of their emergency
telemetry before the end to know that. We can plot the
breakdown spread through the ship. It does look like it started
in the main gray beam unit as they said. Then it grew from
secondary sources in an almost exponential curve. It reached
the power core before they could shut it down, and when the
containment fields cut...’ He spread his hands expressively.
‘It wasn’t just a computer failure?’ somebody asked.
‘Not until it reached the main bank itself. Actual physical
breakdown of multiple units and conduits in linkage sequence.
Like the way the first probes went down.’
‘We are forced to suppose, then,’ said Chandry, ‘that
somehow the Valkyrie became “infected”, for want of a better
word, by the same agency responsible for those and the other
crashes. But the Valkyrie never entered the atmosphere, even
when it recovered the probe ascent stage. The only contact it
had with the probe was purely immaterial through its gray
beam – oh.’
Nyborg voiced their suspicions.
‘Could something have entered the ship through the gray
beam projector mount? Something brought up from the
surface with the probe? It destroyed its systems, then was
drawn along the beam to the Valkyrie, where it somehow got
inside and did the same there.’
‘We’re talking about a physical entity then, Admiral,’ the
engineer speculated. ‘But too small to see, or else the Valkyrie
would have spotted it on the probe. It almost behaves like a
virus... hell! Of course. Sorry, sir, but that’s what it is: a
microscopic agent, either a biological mutation or a synthetic
nanobotic replica. It must be programmed to seek out and
attack any foreign mechanisms. Probably feeds off them,
replicating itself as it goes. Power conduits would be ideal
sources of new material, energy and a means to spread
further.’
Chandry looked appalled. ‘How can we. stop it, chief?’
‘Right at this moment, I don’t know, sir. That was what the
probes would have told us. We packed in multiple shielding
on general principles, trying out different systems to see what
worked best. The gamma probe almost made it back, which
tells us something. But if these nanobots are programmed to
actively penetrate any mechanism or component unlike
themselves, then any type of shielding will break down
eventually, or else be so massive it impairs the function of the
equipment it’s protecting.’
‘Well, work on it, chief. We must have some way of
shielding it out or neutralizing it. At least some foolproof
decontamination procedure. Otherwise we can never recover
our landing party.’
‘Best if I had some sample nanobots to work with, sir.’
Chandry smiled grimly. ‘Tinker up some of your own,
Chief. We can’t risk collecting any more samples.’
‘Meanwhile,’ said Nyborg, ‘no craft will go within one
hundred miles of the planet’s surface except on my specific
orders. If we weren’t acting under conditions of strictest
secrecy, I would put this planet under galactic quarantine. The
thought of what might happen if a contaminated craft ever
reached another world is horrendous.’
‘But what about the landing party, sir?’
‘We can keep them supplied with one way, unmanned
cargo landers for as long as necessary.’
‘And if they call for marine back up?’
‘That would have to be on a volunteer only basis. They
would have to know we may never be able to lift them off
again. Next time we are in contact with Shannon we must
explain the new situation. We must halt the work on the lander
modifications for the moment to give priority to this new
problem –’
His table comm unit beeped: ‘Signal received from Captain
Shannon, Admiral. Priority prefix and coded.’
‘Relay to my screen.’ Nyborg entered his decode and
studied the message. Around the table, the others saw a look
of amazement cross his face. Eventually he turned back to
them. ‘It seems I am forced to countermand my previous
orders. Captain Shannon has discovered something of
immense potential value to the future security of the Empire.
The securing of this item must take absolute top priority. The
solution of the nanobot problem must wait. Meanwhile, the
modification of additional landers and weapons systems must
be stepped up. Mobilize all technicians. Call in extra personnel
from the other ships if required. Shannon is no longer on the
sailing craft, but it must still be constantly monitored. It should
be returning to its home port on the north-west coast of the
circular sea. Our aim is to intercept it before it reaches that
destination!’

Susan woke sluggishly as a thin sliver of morning light struck

the back of their cell and started to work its way across the
wall. The window was on the north side of the tower, so only
in the morning and evening did they see any direct sunlight.
She shook her head dully, realizing she had slept heavily
again, despite the uncomfortable conditions. Her arm itched,
however, and she saw insect bite marks had appeared
overnight. They had unwelcome guests! Perhaps Dhal would
allow them some fresh straw for the mattresses.
Mellisa stirred into wakefulness, and turned to face her,
shivering slightly under their thin blankets, but smiling
gamely. ‘Good morning. Brrr... I suppose we must be thankful
that Dhal chose summer to put his plans into action. Oh, how
is the window bar? We must see how your potion is doing
before the guards start their morning rounds.’
After a minute’s stretching and bending to work the kinks
out of their muscles, Mellisa helped Susan up into the window
aperture to examine her handiwork. To her delight, she found
the bar half eaten through where it was bedded into the mortar.
She retrieved the vials from their hiding place and added a few
more drops to complete the job, then lowered herself back into
the cell again to report the good news.
‘I think what you have done is wonderful,’ admitted
Mellisa, ‘but what good will it do when we are still so high
up? Even if we made ropes out of the blankets, they would not
stretch a tenth of the way. Would it not be better to try to open
the door, so we might have a chance to escape down the
stairs?’
‘The acid will eat through the hinges, but it’ll be no good if
the guards come in when it’s half done. It might come loose in
their hands!’
‘Then you must apply it last thing at night, so that we may
escape in the early hours.’
‘Where to? There’s certainly no way out through the pits,
and the main doors will be guarded night and day for sure. But
outside, all the sentries will be looking away from the tower
and there’s some cover amongst the rocks and gorse, so if we
could get down unnoticed, we’d have a chance to stay hidden.’
‘But there is no way we can descend the outside of the
tower. At least we have a chance by the stairs. Why do you
cast doubt upon the obvious choice?’
Susan frowned, chewing her lip. ‘I don’t know myself
really. I just have this feeling that it’s the... appropriate way to
do it.’
‘A strange choice of words.’
‘Sorry.’ Susan looked about her at the few items in the
room, Mellisa and the vials in her hand. ‘But I really think it’s
the best way I can put it. We have everything we need here to
get down safely, if we use it correctly. I know we have. Trust
me.’
‘I still do not understand. But I do trust you. What shall we
do?’
‘Keep watch out the window as often as we can and note
anything that might be useful to us later. When we can remove
the bar, we can see further either side.’ She looked at the two
vials of acid and frowned again. ‘I wonder if there’s anything
else I can use these for?’
‘More of your chemical magic, you mean?’
Susan smiled. ‘Possibly, yes.’
Mellisa scratched her leg, which had also suffered from the
attentions of the mattress bugs. ‘Is your magic capable of
ridding us of these pests?’ she asked hopefully.
Dhal was seated in his high-backed chair, his eyes closed, his
breathing slowed, reaching out with his mind. He had felt the
change the night before. There had been a shock, an upheaval
in the world-shape of the latent magical field that surrounded
and permeated everything. All magic users could sense this to
a greater or lesser degree, but he prided himself on being
specially sensitive to its fluctuations beyond his shielded
tower. Every time one of those craft had descended from the
sky he had felt the alien intrusion, the strangeness of the thing,
before the essence of Avalon permeated it. He had been
frustrated that their parent vessels had circled the world
beyond his reach. But now, something had caused the aura to
extend itself, tenuously, beyond its normal bounds. Now they
were no longer so inaccessible.

The glade in the forest was cold and empty by the morning.
There was no sign of the fairy company who had invested it
with light and music the night before. Barbara lay in the
hollow of an earthy bank as though asleep. A light dew had
settled on her, and a spider web glistened across the folds of
her dress, but she did not stir. A tendril of ivy curled itself
about her ankle.

The Merrow sailed on peacefully. The wind was at their backs

once more and Tristram strutted about the decks cheerfully.
They had passed through the fog bank surrounding the
Shadow Isles without encountering kraken, octopus or
whirlpool. The passage through the narrow channel between
the sentinel islets had proved entirely uneventful. Ian
wondered if these hazards were only triggered when a ship
tried to enter the Shadow Isles. Or perhaps the Helm, locked
away in a chest in Bron’s cabin, granted them some sort of
immunity. He would have questioned the Doctor about it, but
curiously, the old man seemed to be staying in his cabin for
long stretches, or else holding private discussions with Odoyle
in quiet corners. What was he up to now?

By mid-morning, the base of the window bar was completely

eaten through, leaving a dark stained socket hole in the
stonework. Susan thought she might have to apply acid to the
top of the bar as well, which would have been far more
awkward than the base. But once the bottom was free, she
found the top could be worked loose by rocking the bar to and
fro, and turning the base around in a circular motion, gradually
cracking away the damp mortar. She and Mellisa took ten-
minute turns, one working on the bar, while the other listened
at the door for the guards. So far today, they had received their
meals, but not their usual summons to Dhal’s chamber. One of
the ape guards had asked how they slept, presumably on his
behalf. Perhaps he was too busy with something else. Still,
while they were undisturbed they could work on. They got
blisters, but slowly the bar began to loosen.

In the glade, a second strand of ivy had twined itself around

Barbara’s leg, and a third had begun to circle about her
outstretched arm. From the top of the bank, a questing bramble
stalk was bowing lower and lower over her.

Artificer first class Harley Zelk was collecting electronics

spares from the racks of Prince Randolph’s stores when he felt
he was being watched. The hairs on his neck prickled, and he
turned round expecting the quartermaster to be standing over
him. There was nobody there. Puzzled, he walked to the end of
the stack and peered down the passage between the ranks of
shelves. There was the sergeant in his office at the end.
Frowning, he went back to filling his list, rolling the cart with
his selections over to the next stack. He felt it again.
Somebody watching him from the shadows.
‘Buzz – is that you?’ Buzz Garton was capable of playing
the fool even with the present workload and after what
happened to the Valkyrie. There was no response. But he saw
a dim figure through the shelves moving silently down the
next aisle.
‘Quit messing, I see you.’ The figure vanished into the
shadows. Zelk ran to the end of the stack and looked down the
aisle. Nobody there. Then he saw a movement through two
intervening racks. ‘Sarge,’ he called out uncertainly. ‘Is there
somebody else down here?’ The air seemed to chill. He edged
along the rack ends and peered cautiously around the corner.
There was a dim figure standing with his back to him. He was
wearing some kind of robe. What was the fancy dress for?
Who was this joker who’d been trying to give him the shivers
anyway? Indignantly he strode up behind him and reached out
for his shoulder.
‘All right, you’ve had your fun –’
The figure turned round.
Its face was horrible.
Zelk sprang backwards with a yell even the dozing
quartermaster heard; tripped, fell over, cracked the back of his
head on the corner of a shelf and lost interest in events for the
next two hours.

Two levels above on the hangar deck, a technician installing

new hydraulic lines in a landing craft failed to notice a loop of
cable rise up behind him, as though held by invisible hands,
until it dropped over his head and tightened remorselessly
about his neck. When he was found later, his fingers were still
locked about the cable as though trying to tear it free.

Shortly afterwards, on the Dorado, the thermostatic controls in

a bank of shower stalls failed, and suddenly discharged
scalding water. Four crew received first degree burns.

The head cook on the Indus, preparing a tossed salad for high
table in the officers’ mess, continued, inexplicably, to
vigorously slice Aldebaran red celery for at least half a minute
after severing three of his own fingers, before noticing his
error.

On the Tigershark, the second lieutenant was seen to run

screaming down a corridor, enter an airlock, and frantically
attempt to open the outer hatch without wearing a spacesuit.
Fortunately, somebody hit the override in time. When they
finally got him back inside again, his only explanation was
that he thought he was on fire, and that the airlock led to a
swimming pool.

On the hand-weapons range in the Prince Randolph, a marine

firearms instructor of fifteen years experience calmly turned
one of the antique-pattern automatic rifles he was testing upon
the others using the range, and shot five marines precisely
through the chest, just as though they had been cutout targets
at the end of the range. Which to him, for ten seconds, they
had been.

‘Nyborg to all ships! Emergency manoeuvring command.

Increase orbital parameters by fifty miles immediately!’
The ship trembled as the main reactor drive cut in. On the
screens, Nyborg saw tail flares lance out from the other ships
as they followed his order. Something half-seen, half-felt
moved through the control room of the Prince Randolph. It
brushed past the operators at the consoles and stirred papers on
the chart table. A monitor screen flared with sparks. For a
moment a manlike shape seemed to be standing before it.
Then the image faded, slipped away and was gone as the
squadron lifted to a higher orbit.

With a final heave, the bar came away in Susan’s hands. She
twisted around in the window recess and waved it
triumphantly to Mellisa.
‘Well done! Can you see more outside now?’
Cautiously, Susan leant out of the aperture. The evening
sun was lowering and shining into the window once more, but
she doubted if any of the guards would see her up here.
Twisting around she saw the tower rose fifty or sixty feet to
end in the overhanging lip of the battlements. No escape that
way. Below was a dizzy drop to the rocks that formed the tor,
but there were no walls or other surrounds. If only they could
get down! She could now see four of the squat turret chimneys
ranged about the base of the rock. The ditch ran continuously
between them, but it was no impassable barrier. There were
several patches of scrub within the perimeter, and the ground
was uneven, with worn paths and hillocks. The cover was
there, if only they could use it.
‘Right,’ she said, slithering back down into the cell. ‘First
we must make up a plug of straw to pack out the lower socket
hole, to hold the bar in place when we’re not looking out.’
‘What are we looking for?’
‘The routine of the guards. Any regular patrols. The best
possible route with the most cover. We must learn the ground
like the back of our hands so we can cross it in the dark. We
know your Edmund is out there somewhere and the only
chance of reaching him is at night. And we’ve got three nights
left before midsummer.’

In the gathering gloom of the glade, Barbara was now half-

enveloped in a shaggy cocoon of ivy. Several bramble stalks
had already coiled loosely about her, but they were slowly,
inexorably, tightening their grip. An early fox on the prowl
trotted into the glade, paused curiously and pricked up its ears,
then slowly padded over towards her still form. He got within
ten feet of her when he sniffed suddenly and saw the toadstool
ring on the grass. He turned and ran and in a moment had
disappeared through the trees. The forest waited on.

‘Whatever it was,’ the Prince Randolph’s chief engineer

admitted forlornly, ‘it could work through our shields, at least
at low power. But they didn’t register any penetration.’
‘Things may be different with shields on full, chief,’
Chandry suggested.
‘I hope so, sir.’
‘Meanwhile we seem to have got beyond the range of the...
er, effect, whatever it was.’
‘Six dead, several minor injuries and a serious loss of
morale and operational efficiency,’ Nyborg stated flatly. ‘All
achieved within ten minutes, possibly by some half-seen
ghost, which may or may not be responsible for illusions and
psycho-kinetic manifestations. Or it may have been merely
another illusion in itself.’ He glowered down the length of the
table. ‘There was no prior attempt at peaceful communication.
These are deliberate acts of sabotage. From this moment on,
we must consider ourselves at war with persons or forces, as
yet unknown, on the planet below. I am open to suggestions as
to how we may deal with this situation. For a start, is it
connected with the nanobot presence on the planet?’
‘Theoretically,’ said the chief, ‘nanobots in large enough
numbers could project electromagnetic, or gravimetric pulses
that could simulate what we experienced, without the need for
actual physical contact. But it would eat up a lot of power, and
only function over a relatively short range.’
‘That’s something to be thankful for, at least.’
‘If we can ascertain the exact time and duration of these
events,’ the head of planetary scanning suggested, ‘we may be
able to match them with specific energy fluctuations on the
planet’s surface. Assuming there is a fixed point of origin to
these attacks, we can then identify it.’
Nyborg brightened. ‘That sounds promising, lieutenant.
We’re operating blind here. The enemy can see us, but we
can’t see him. But if we have a definite target,’ his voice
dropped, ‘then they shall learn the cost of assaulting ships of
the Empire!’
 21

Amateur Magic

F or the first time, Dhal did not enquire how they had slept.
This was probably for the best, as they had taken turns
watching out of the window through most of the night, and so
were quite tired. As it happened, Dhal didn’t look as though
he’d had much sleep himself. He was unshaven, there were
dark circles under his eyes and his clothes were crumpled. The
workbenches of his chamber were littered with a jumble of
magical paraphernalia, and the smell of strange potions hung
in the air.
‘The other day you taunted me with the threat posed by the
oldworlders,’ he said to Susan. ‘That was very impolite.’ He
let an ominous silence develop until she swallowed uneasily,
fearing he was going to take some sort of revenge for her
impudence. He smiled at her anxiety. ‘I just thought you might
be interested in the steps I have taken against them,’ he
finished mildly.
The images of the orbiting ships hung within his seeing
globe. ‘You notice they are smaller than they were,’ he
pointed out, almost as though he were giving a lecture. ‘My
actions have caused them to move further away from Avalon’s
surface. They have learned, I believe, to respect my powers.
Unlike some,’ he added meaningfully.
‘But there are only four ships,’ Susan exclaimed. ‘You
haven’t...’
‘I cannot take the credit for that,’ Dhal admitted candidly.
‘The other skyboat may have simply left, but I suspect they
may have been careless and come too close to our world and
suffered the same fate as all such vessels do. Still, by whatever
means, there is one less for me to worry about. If they all
leave, they are of no further concern. If they approach again to
land more of their small boats,’ he smiled, ‘then I am well
prepared. I have learnt what vessel to keep special watch on.
Would you like to see what I have prepared for it?’
On the workbench next to his desk was a box-like shape,
about a foot square, covered by a thick black cloth. Dhal
stepped over to it, motioning them after him, and drew the
cover off with a flourish. They instinctively flinched away
when they saw the thing inside the tiny cage. Yet there was a
terrible fascination when they realized it was, improbably, in a
real sense, alive. They couldn’t help but lean closer to stare
disbelievingly.
‘Engaging little creature, isn’t it?’ said Dhal proudly.
‘They’re quite hard to capture and keep securely, as you can
imagine. Feeding, of course, is no problem. You just have to
be sure it doesn’t eat too much or it has a tendency to grow out
of control. But then, that is the nature of the beast.’ He picked
up the box with a pair of long tongs and carried it over to the
centre of the pentagram marked on the floor, and carefully set
it down. ‘I am prepared to send this to them, if necessary. It
will be an effort, but the thing is so nearly immaterial already
that I’m sure I will manage the task. But its cage, I fear, will
be beyond me. They will have to catch and tame it afresh. I
trust they will find it diverting.’
Susan and Mellisa looked at him in horror as they realized
his intent.
‘Would you like to watch?’ he enquired considerately. ‘I
promise to have you brought up here if there’s time. No? Oh
well, please yourselves.’

There was a sharp bang from below decks, making everybody

on the Merrow flinch. Thin streamers of white smoke drifted
out of the ship’s ports and swirled away behind them. There
was a shout of fire! and a rush for buckets. Ian and Jen
clattered down the steps from the upper deck only to meet
Kilvenny Odoyle emerging from the companionway, coughing
slightly.
‘No need for alarm,’ he assured them. ‘Just a minor mishap.
No damage. No fire,’ he assured Tristram and the bucket laden
crewmen who dashed up to the doorway.
‘What is going on?’ Ian demanded. ‘The Doctor’s up to
something, isn’t he?’
‘Ah, well, my friend, you’d better ask him that for yourself.
And if he’s a mind, he’ll tell you. But I’d wait a while longer,
if I were you.’ And the leprechaun smiled and winked, and
returned down below once more.

A snail had crawled across Barbara’s face in the night, leaving

a glistening trail over her cheek. She had not stirred. There had
been a brief shower of rain, soaking the grass and her dress.
She slept on, the rhythm of her breathing so shallow as to be
almost imperceptible. The ivy had totally enveloped her lower
body, binding her legs and arms to the ground, and working its
way across her chest with a tightening web. Soon it would
reach her throat, but there was a length of green and supple
bramble already circling her neck, slowly tightening. Already
it had drawn the first pinprick drops of blood on its thorns. As
it did so, its stem was infused with a scarlet tint.

Back in their cell, Susan’s face still burned with anger as she
thought of what Dhal planned.
‘I am so sorry,’ Mellisa said sympathetically, ‘but even
your fellow oldworlders are doomed if they oppose him. We
can never match his power.’
‘No,’ Susan replied determinedly. ‘I’m sure there’s nothing
impossible about what he does, as long as you know the trick.’
Yes, she thought, but what is the trick? Well at least I can try.
What is there to lose?
‘Is your chemical magic powerful enough?’
‘Maybe! For a start I’ll...’ What? Something simple.
Something not too unlikely that she could believe was almost
conventionally possible. ‘... I’ll get rid of the bed bugs!’
Well, it was mundane, but it was a start. Even as she spoke
she was aware that she had no real idea of how to do what she
so confidently claimed was possible.
But, perhaps, absolute knowledge was not actually
necessary. Did Dhal or Gramling really know how their spells
worked in every detail? Or were they like the drivers of those
wonderful antique twentieth-century cars she had ridden in
during her time on Earth? Few of them knew what went on
under their bonnets, but they could still drive them perfectly
well. A few simple actions made a far more complex, but
hidden, mechanism work. They believed that turning a key
and treading on a pedal would make the car go, and, usually, it
did. But was belief in itself important here? Some instinct told
her it was. It was bad science to think belief could affect the
outcome of such an experiment. But perhaps it was good
magic.
‘Right. We’ve got time before they bring the meal round,’
she said briskly. ‘We’ll get the bottles back inside. Stand the
mattresses up against the wall.’
In two minutes they were ready. The base rim of the
upturned washing bowl gave her a simple mixing crucible. She
had plucked a few protruding straws from the offending
mattresses for symbolic effect, and had crumbled them into it
with a little water. Now she had the vials ready to pour. There
were many gases that such a reaction might genuinely produce
which would serve her purpose, of course, but hardly in the
quantities required. Never mind. This was not conventional
chemistry. She knew what she wanted to happen. All she need
do was give it a nudge in the right direction. She swallowed
nervously knowing this would only work if she had total
confidence. She knelt before the bowl, concentrated, gestured,
poured a few drops from the vials. A rhyme! What should she
say? And then some simple words fell into place:

‘Compounds combine upon this plate,

to make a smoke that will fumigate.
Cleanse the filling of this poor bed,
so in comfort I may rest my head.
Rid us of bugs and mites that bite,
so we sleep easy for once all night.’

A fountain of glowing green smoke rose from her improvised

crucible, spiralled in the air for a moment, then streamed into
the mattresses and vanished. There was a faint hissing, like
hundreds of tiny insect bodies simultaneously popping, then
the sound died away.
There was a long silence in the cell while Mellisa looked at
her in awe.
‘You really did it. You are a magician!’ she said at last, her
face alive with wonder and hope for the first time in days.
Susan, still slightly dazed by her success, felt herself smile
foolishly for a moment before common sense reasserted itself.
She had to face facts, even if it meant disappointing Mellisa. ‘I
made one very simple spell work, that’s all. If you think I can
simply fly us out of here right now, forget it, because I daren’t
risk anything that complicated. I’ve got a day and a bit, at
most, to use what little we have to get us out of here. I just
hope Dhal’s too busy to notice what we’re doing right under
his nose!’

On the screens and graphic displays of the Prince Randolph’s

bridge, they watched first the Tigershark, then the Dorado
make a low orbital sweep over half the hemisphere of Avalon.
Their retuned and amplified scanners strained to record any
fluctuation of the energy flow across the planet. Nothing
interfered with the passage of the vessels that anybody could
detect. Crewmen waiting by open comm lines, ready to call
out at the first sign of abnormal behaviour or any inexplicable
incident, saw nothing.
‘They’re not buying it, Admiral,’ said Chandry.
Nyborg was very much afraid that he was right.
The Indus made her pass with the same anticlimactic
results.
‘All right, Bob. Let’s make the bait more tempting. Prepare
to make the pass ourselves. Remind the crew of the drill.’
It was the first time Chandry could remember the Admiral
calling him by his Christian name on the bridge.

Dhal saw the largest of the ships leave formation and start its
run in. He smiled and closed his eyes in concentration. He
spoke the words of power and mixed the waiting powders. He
pushed with his mind and felt the living aura of the planet
bend to his will. It was a strain when he tried to accomplish
such a feat. But soon that would all change. There. It was
done!
The little cage in the middle of the pentagram was empty.

‘Fire in hangar deck! Emergency! Fire in the hangar deck!’

The alarms wailed. Isolation doors slammed shut. Crewmen
rushed forward with extinguishers spraying clouds of foam
and gas. But the spinning, dancing fireball, which had popped
out of nowhere, seemed always to elude them.
Then it stetched and uncurled.
A figure of fire a foot high pranced before them. A perfect
little man of red and yellow flame, who skipped and cavorted
through the cavernous hangar deck. And everywhere his feet
touched, if it was remotely flammable, they left tiny burning
imprints that flared up and spread. Across work benches and
through the hatches of the landers under modification it flitted,
and the trail of fire followed. Metal scorched and blistered.
Supposedly flameproof plastics melted, smoked and flared
briefly.
But still it was frustrated. Nothing burned really well here.
The fire sprite danced on, hungrily searching. Some strange
sense attracted it towards a long metal container resting on the
floor beside a lander.
CAUTION: EXPLOSIVES: MARK 3 SOLID FUEL
BOOSTER UNITS.
The sprite could not read, but it knew what food smelt like.
It sprang for the lid, searching for the slightest crack.
Extinguisher foam sprayed over it. The little figure seemed to
shrivel and then it was gone. The fire crew smothered the case
in foam and stood back. Nothing happened. They turned to
each other, foolish grins of relief showing behind their masks.
The case lid blew upwards.
A solid fuel rocket erupted from within, flared into life and
cartwheeled across the hangar. The sprite rode it like a
bucking bronco, but facing backwards; washing its hands in
the blazing exhaust as it lashed across men and machines. And
it was growing even as it tumbled about on its blazing wild
broomstick. Two feet tall, three feet, four feet.
A second rocket ignited in the case, blowing out the sides
and scattering the rest of the tubes about the hangar, some
already igniting as they went. The hangar filled with smoke
and unquenchable oxidant-fed fire.
Rows of explosive bolts blew in the hangar’s huge inner
airlock door, releasing a panel only slightly smaller than the
door itself, which hinged down and dropped flat. Beyond was
the outer door. A second string of bolts blew out its central
panel in turn, and tons of air pressure tumbled it away towards
the stars.
The hurricane wind of decompression blasted through the
hangar, picking up everything loose in its path. Smoke,
blazing rocket tubes, small tools, scraps and work sheets,
trailing cables and the sprite, now eight feet tall, were all
carried away; tumbling and whirling end over end out into the
void.
And with them, eight men.
A ninth was trapped within an open lander cabin and was
rescued by the emergency crew. He lived, but anoxia and
explosive decompression would leave him permanently brain-
damaged.

The sharp pricks of pain and a terrible sensation of being

squeezed tighter and tighter at last penetrated the depths of
Barbara’s unnatural slumber. Feebly, she began to struggle, as
though she was caught in the throes of a nightmare and
desperate to wake up; but she could not break free or even
open her eyes. She started to choke, and the world began to
slip away. The last thing she was aware of was a small,
rasping tongue licking her face, and, distantly, a voice saying:
‘Here’s a fine pickle for a young lass to be in...’

Sir Bron was worried about the Doctor. Over the week that he
had known him, he had grown quite fond of the old man. For
all his irascibility and impatient mannerisms, he respected his
obvious wisdom and stalwart determination. Yet, just when he
could have done with wise council to help him reconcile the
strange truth that had been revealed about Avalon, he had shut
himself away in his cabin, seeing almost no one but Kilvenny
Odoyle. And now he had come to him with a most peculiar
request. Would he compensate Tristram for the price of some
small bolts of material the captain had in the hold, unsold from
his last trip? And who could he borrow scissors, needle and
thread from? Oh, yes, and some wire if possible. Puzzled,
Bron had agreed to cover the cost, and the Doctor had
retreated to his cabin again. Oddly, he could not see that the
Doctor’s own strangely fashioned clothes needed repairing. In
any case, what would he want with several yards of red silk?

The inspiration came to Susan as she watched Mellisa comb

out her long hair with the carved bone comb Dhal had
provided.
They had taken to washing and trying to keep as neat and
clean as possible once they were locked in for the night, and
would not be disturbed again until morning. Combing out her
striking mane of hair was something the Princess clearly took
great care over. In the mornings Susan plaited it for her, taking
time over the task. Any diversion to fill the long hours of their
incarceration was welcome. But now another association
clicked into place in Susan’s mind, and she grinned broadly.
‘Appropriate’ had indeed been the right word.
‘I know how we can get down from here,’ she announced
brightly. Mellisa paused in mid-stroke.
‘You have a spell? That is wonderful! What is it?’
‘Just a minute. We must decide when to go first. It has to
work first time, you see. We won’t be able to wait and try
again later.’
‘Why not tonight?’
‘I want to get out of here as much as you, but I think it
might be sensible to wait until tomorrow night.’
‘But that is almost the last minute. The next day is
midsummer when Dhal’s ultimatum expires.’
‘Exactly. And the nearer we escape to that deadline, the
more chance we have of spoiling his plans. Look, you know
there’s a chance they’ll capture us again before we get very
far, and, even if we do reach Edmund, we might not make it
home anyway?’ Mellisa nodded glumly. ‘But the closer to the
deadline the more likely it is that Dhal will have other things
on his mind. Midsummer may have some magical significance
for the handing over of these treasures. Whatever reason he
wants us there for, that will be the time when we can hurt him
most.’
Mellisa was silent for a long time, then she nodded. ‘Yes,
Susan, I see your reason in this. I will resign myself to being
apart from my Edmund for one more night. At least we are
safe here until then. But now you must tell me, how can we
get down?’
‘Well, you will have to make a small sacrifice, I’m afraid...’

Nyborg turned a grey face towards the lieutenant in charge of

the scanner team.
‘Have you found it? This bloody mess had better be worth
it.’
‘Yes, Admiral. We’ve correlated against previous readings
and matched the event with the flow patterns.’ He pointed to a
spot on the printout map of Avalon. ‘Just there. An isolated
tower-like structure, in the middle of this open moorland.’
Nyborg stared at it for a long time in silence. Finally he
said: ‘We shall synchronize our response. As soon as we’ve
repaired the damage, and have a sufficient force of modified
landers ready, they will go in after our prime objective. But
before they leave the ship, we shall obliterate that tower from
the face of the planet!’
 22

Witch Craft

C onsciousness did not return easily to Barbara. For the first

time in days, it seemed, she was warm and comfortable.
She simply didn’t want to wake up. But there was a sound
troubling her; a regular clicking that seemed irritatingly
persistent. Its rhythm stirred a vague recollection of being lost
in the forest and dancing. And then... She jerked up with a
start, pushing at the ivy that wrapped about her.
Except it was not ivy but blankets. She was staring up at the
low, sagging, black-beamed ceiling of the tiny bedroom of the
cat’s cottage.
‘There, there, me dear. Don’t you fret now. I’ve tended
your hurts. It’s all over.’
Sitting in a rocking chair beside the bed, was the old
woman she had found in the kitchen. She put down her
knitting and offered Barbara a sip of water from a china mug
sitting on the tiny bedside table. Her eyes were now as black
and bright as blackberries, Barbara realized; so different from
the glaze she had last seen over them.
‘Thank you,’ Barbara said faintly. ‘I remember... you found
me in the woods.’
‘Nearly gone, you was,’ the old woman admitted. ‘But cat
found you. Soon as I came to myself, he was bothering me
over you. He knew you’d met trouble, and he was right.’
‘I got lost. I made marks on the trees, but somebody must
have been playing tricks, because more kept appearing. I was
only trying to get help for you, and get word to Fluxford that I
was all right.’
‘Some puck or bogie having his prank, no doubt. But you
should never have wandered into the fairy ring, specially near
midsummer.’
‘I didn’t know. They offered me something to drink, and I
was so thirsty by then.’
The old woman sucked in her breath through her teeth
censoriously. ‘Never take food nor drink offered to you in a
fairy revel. They has funny ways with intruders. You were
lucky they only left you for the forest to claim, or else...’ she
trailed off darkly. ‘Still, who am I to talk, seeing how I was
caught by a weasly trick myself. And it was kind what you
did, and really ’tis I who should be thanking you for taking
care of me before, mistress. Ah, now, I haven’t had your name
yet.’
‘It’s Barbara Wright.’
‘That has the ring of a sound and sensible name. I’m Anni.
Old Anni, they sometimes call me round here. Anni
Glassfeather in full.’ She smiled, ‘”Cos I sees clearly, goes
lightly, and is harder than I looks.’
Barbara liked her smile: It was reassuring. Despite her
wrinkled features, Anni seemed to glow with vitality. Perhaps
she had seen so much of life that she had stored it up within
her. ‘Do you live out here all alone?’ she asked.
‘Of course. ’Tis only right and proper considering my
calling.’
‘Oh, what do you do?’
‘Why, I’m a witch, of course.’
I shouldn’t be surprised, Barbara thought. Really it was
only a matter of time in a country like this. Still, it sounded
odd to hear the word spoken so matter-of-factly. Aloud she
said: ‘Sorry, I didn’t realize. I’m from... abroad, you see.’
‘I could tell you wasn’t from around these parts. But do you
know what’s afoot in the land? You mentioned Fluxford.
There is a nasty taste to the air from that way, and I’d say it
was wizard magic. Is it that Dhal? I reckon he was the one
who tainted those apples. Should have known they was too
fresh to have kept over winter natural, like, when I bought
them.’
‘They were poisoned, then?’
‘They were coated in faerie sleep. Not unlike what made
you swoon.’
 ‘But why not actually... well, poison you?’
‘Not so easy to tell as poison, see. And anyway, he knows
killing me would cause ructions. Others in the sisterhood
would sense it and come to see what had caused it. No. Better
have Old Anni out the way snoozing till it were all over.
Might it have been him, then?’
‘Probably. He’s given the King an ultimatum to make him
the royal sorcerer, and he’s kidnapped Princess Mellisa and a
friend of mine, and –’
‘Whoa, there, Mistress Barbara. You’ve a long tale to tell,
that’s for sure. Tell it to me slow and steady like, and then
we’ll see about making Marton Dhal rue the day he were born!
Faerie apples indeed!’

There was no reason why Queen Leonora should not have

attended the war council meeting in the Stewards Room. It
was simply that the Queen of Elbyon was expected to attend to
other matters at such times.
Today she decided she no longer cared whether it was
expected or not.
The comfortable order she had known for so long was
sliding away. They had received visitors from beyond the veil
in a magic box. Now the circling skyboats of others could be
seen every night. Gramling was unsure of their intentions.
How would they influence Dhal’s plans? Whatever the
outcome, something different would take its place. Now was
not the time to blindly obey protocol. Besides, decisions made
at the meeting might mean the difference between life or death
for her daughter. So she simply told Magnus that she would
attend that day, and he made no fuss, the poor man was so
tired. So they sat together at the table while the reports were
read, and opinions given; and she commended where she
agreed, and countered where she thought otherwise. Halfway
through the meeting, she felt her husband’s hand slip into hers
under the table, and give a little squeeze. Then she knew she
had done right by coming. She had Barbara to thank for the
inspiration. Poor Barbara.
‘The search for Lady Barbara has had to be abandoned, I
regret, Sire,’ Peridor reported. ‘Keeping the roads open,
maintaining order, and the protection of the surrounding farms
is making too great a call on our time. However, there has
been a great exodus of folk of many types from the forest,
driven out by Dhal’s creatures, and we are questioning all we
can for any news of her. At least we have heard nothing
untoward as yet.’
‘I understand. What of our military strength?’
‘The build-up continues, though some forces have been
harried on their way here and delayed. The muster as of this
morning was three hundred knights, eight hundred skilled
archers and some two thousand trained foot soldiers. In
addition, there are perhaps as many again half-armed
yeomanry. The main body of troops from Glazebry has yet to
arrive. They have suffered most from assaults and delays, no
doubt the work of Dhal. They cannot be expected before the
morrow.’
‘I see. Thank you, Peridor. Captain Morgane?’
‘The additional defences are almost complete, Sire. Lady
Barbara’s wires... your pardon, but that is what they are being
called, have been strung over all main battlements and
windows. Extra javelins and crossbow bolts have been made
ready. Dhal’s flying apes shall not enter the castle so easily a
second time!’
‘Of that I am sure. Now, Palbury, should this become a
siege, how long would we and the town last?’
‘Master Harding has been keeping check of the exact totals.
In general, however, I believe we could last a month, no more.
In this time before harvest, the stores in the castle and town
are low. If additional supplies of fresh game and forage were
cut by siege, and with extra mouths to feed sheltering within
our walls and those of the town, it cannot be otherwise.
Concerning which, Sire, many goblins, cephlies and others
have also been driven out of the forest and are seeking shelter.
There has been some trouble over the common folk objecting
to sharing with them. If food becomes a problem –’
‘We shall shelter all,’ the Queen interjected firmly,
‘whatever their natures. Dhal’s creatures make no distinction,
neither shall we. Please allow them to stay within the outer
walls, Stephan, if the town will not have them.’ Palbury
inclined his head in assent.
‘It may not come to a siege, of course,’ the King pondered.
‘I do not see that Dhal has the patience. Though to be sure, he
has been a long time in planning this confrontation. Wizard,
have your arts been able to penetrate his stronghold and gain
any insight into his plans...’ he faltered ‘...or any news of the
Princess?’
‘Sadly, no, Majesty. He has shielded his fastness against
such spying as I am holding this castle against his. But as you
say, he has prepared long for this day. How one wizard, even
one as powerful as he, can have created such forces I do not
know. When this is over we may learn who has aided him, for
he must have had aid. But time enough for that later. Our best
hope, still, I feel, must lie with those sent after Merlin’s Helm.
That will be a weapon which Dhal cannot resist.’
‘Sire,’ said Palbury, ‘the river has been made dangerous
again by further attacks of Dhal’s creatures on watercraft.
Should we not send a message to Fluxmouth to warn Bron’s
party on their return, so they may be prepared?’
‘A wise precaution. When might they return at the
earliest?’
‘If they have met with no unexpected delays and the
weather has been kind,’ Gramling answered him, ‘then it is
possible for them to return today. But more likely it will be
tonight or even tomorrow. I could make divination for them,
but I hesitate to do so lest it leave the castle unguarded, or
even draw Dhal’s attention in their direction.’
‘That must be avoided at all costs,’ the King agreed. ‘Their
only chance is to remain inconspicuous and unimportant
should he come across them. But I fear it will be a close run
thing.’
‘It was always going to be so, Majesty,’ Gramling agreed
solemnly.

A few hours rest had left Barbara feeling fully recovered

again. She had no idea what sort of ointment Anni applied to
the many minor injuries picked up during her time in the
forest, and thought it best not to speculate about what it
contained, but scratches and bruises alike had practically
disappeared. Even the dragon scar on her leg had faded, and it
no longer ached.
In the early afternoon, she climbed down the narrow
creaking stairs of the cottage to find Anni busy in the kitchen.
Many of the bunches of herbs and odd looking plants,
previously strung from the beams, were now scattered about
the table. Several pots hung on the hooks over the fire,
bubbling merrily. The cat was stretched out on the mat in front
of it, one cocked ear swivelled round to follow Barbara’s
footsteps, but otherwise it did not stir. Anni, wearing her apron
once more, was frowning over a large, yellowed book propped
up on the table, while she chopped and ground different
coloured seeds, leaves and powders. An assortment of small
bottles and tiny drawstringed bags waited to be filled with the
end results of her labours.
‘Ah, you be looking better, me dear,’ said Anni cheerfully,
without actually looking up from her work.
‘I am, thank you. Are you cooking something special?’
‘In a manner of means. I’m cooking, dear, but more
truthfully I’m potioning.’
‘Sorry?’
‘A wizard has a workroom to prepare his potions in, but a
witch’s workroom is her kitchen. Besides, it’s convenient if I
get peckish while I’m busy.’
‘So all these ingredients are for, uh, magic potions?’ She
couldn’t help hesitating. It still sounded foolish out loud.
‘Will be, if they’re mixed proper,’ Anni replied practically.
‘But what are they for?’
‘They’re for just in case, me dear.’
Shortly, all the liquids and powders had been decanted, the
pots were off the fire, the table was cleared, and Anni was
putting the last of the bottles and bags into her apron pockets.
A simple cloth bag with an over-the-shoulder strap bulged
with the rest.
‘Now, we’ve got to look the part,’ she continued, surveying
Barbara critically. ‘Good thing your dress has seen a bit of
dirt, recently, ’cos I don’t know that I’d have anything to fit.
Hmm, just a scarf and you’ll do, I’d say.’ She opened a
cramped cupboard under the stairs, took out a headscarf of
indeterminate colour and handed it to her.
‘Do? Do for what?’
Anni had retrieved a traditional tall black witch’s hat from
the cupboard. She frowned at the point for a moment, then
pressed it firmly and it concertinaed down until it resembled a
crumpled boater. This she tied on with a length of black ribbon
under her chin. ‘Why, paying a visit to Marton Dhal’s tower,
of course. You want to get your friend back, don’t you? Not to
mention Princess Mellisa, poor dear.’
‘Yes, of course. But at Fluxford, they thought it would take
an army to capture Dhal’s tower.’
‘Well, what of it? That’s typical of men to think of sieges
and great battles. Who wants Dhal’s tower anyhow? We just
want to get the girls out.’
‘But how?’
‘Wizards and kings can only think of going in the front
door. But witches are used to going in the back.’
‘Just the two of us?’
Anni pulled a tin bucket and mop out from the cupboard,
stood them ready, then reached inside again. ‘Couldn’t carry
no more, could we?’
‘Oh.’
The last two items Anni retrieved should really not have
surprised her, in the circumstances. After all, how else had she
thought they were going to travel?
 23

Flight

I t was early evening when the Merrow finally glided into

Fluxmouth harbour and made her berth.
There were waves and cheers from the quayside. Where the
Merrow had gone was a mystery, but the people were relieved
to see her back. The gangplank was slid out, but even before
they could step ashore, the harbourmaster had run on board
and thrust a carrier pigeon message slip at Sir Bron, with as
much deference as haste permitted. ‘Said it must be given to
you as soon as you docked, sir,’ he puffed.
Bron read the message and grew grave. ‘The river way to
Fluxford may now be unsafe. It may be better if we return
overland.’
‘That’ll take too long,’ Ian protested.
‘It may be the only way. We must hope to make it in time.’
‘I believe I may be able to manage something,’ said
Kilvenny Odoyle, thoughtfully. ‘I think I can fly us back.’
Ian thought of the leprechaun passing out after flying the
Merrow. Obviously five people would be easier, but they
would presumably still need to ride in something, and the
journey would be far longer. ‘Are you sure?’
‘It won’t be easy, I admit. Flying spells need a lot of
concentration. But I have the makings with me. Now if we can
have a few of those gull feathers over there, and borrow a row
boat, the lighter the better, then we’re away.’
‘If you want a really light boat,’ said Komati, who had been
listening on the edge of the group, ‘then you’re welcome to
our raft.’
Odoyle beamed. ‘A fine idea, lass. A boat of air to ride the
air. ‘Twill make the job half the strain.’
 ‘On one condition,’ she added.
Bron looked at her suspiciously. ‘What is that?’
‘That I go with you.’ She looked up at the sky for a
moment. ‘They won’t give up, you know. Shannon told them
enough to find this Fluxford of yours, and gave an idea of
what the Helm might be. They’ll come after it. Maybe I can
help. At least I can try to talk to them.’
‘Very well,’ Bron agreed.
Ian had also looked upwards. The sky was clouding over.
In fact, it was beginning to look ominous.

Barbara would have pinched herself to check if she was

dreaming, if she had not been gripping the shaft of the
broomstick quite so firmly with both hands. I’m flying on a
witch’s broomstick. No. On her spare broomstick, she
corrected herself, feeling a grimace of panic tug up the corners
of her mouth. It was ridiculous. Unfortunately, that didn’t stop
it being real. Anni Glassfeather, who was calmly sitting on a
second broom ten feet away, glanced over.
‘That’s better, dear; you enjoy yourself.’
The next solid object beyond Anni was the ground, perhaps
two thousand feet below. Barbara had never had any fear of
heights or flying until now. But then, being enclosed in a solid
fuselage was not the same as perching on an inch and a half
thickness of broom handle. And yet, it wasn’t quite as simple
as that either.
She had to admit it was more comfortable than she’d
expected. Some pressure seemed to be supporting her and
spreading the load, so that she was flying with the broom,
rather than wholly resting upon it. The rush of air past her was
also reduced to a light breeze. How? And for that matter, why
hadn’t Gramling or anyone else in the castle mentioned Anni
before? Was it unconscious male chauvinism? And could only
witches and women ride broomsticks? More mysteries.
They flew on. The sky was filling with clouds, it looked
like they were going to have a storm.

Bron and Ian took the oars and hesitantly pulled on them.
Odoyle muttered something under his breath and shook some
powder on to the inflatable’s bulging prow. The feathers tied
to the oar blades fluttered. There was a slight scraping and the
raft rose silently off the deck of the Merrow and into the air.
The sailors waved and shouted. ‘Farewell!’ Tristram called
after them. Fluxmouth shrank below as they turned sedately
inland towards the mountains.
Ian saw the Doctor’s face. He was sitting beside Jen
Komati, who looked slightly green. The Doctor, however,
seemed perfectly calm. No longer annoyed or irritated; almost
as though he was thinking how easy it all was when you knew
how. On his knees was a tightly wrapped bundle of red silk.

Barbara and Anni touched down on the moor a few miles from
Raven’s Tor. Staring at the expanse of rolling, boggy ground
they now had to cross on foot, Barbara suddenly found herself
missing flying. She had actually begun to tolerate travelling on
the broomstick, and, though Anni was obviously helping guide
her stick, she was quite pleased with the way she had pulled
up its nose just as they touched down and slipped off to finish
her flight smoothly with a few running steps. With a bit of
practice, she might even come to enjoy it.
‘Edmund’s company of scouts should be around here
somewhere,’ Barbara said.
‘Well we’ll just have to avoid them, won’t we, lass? Dhal’s
bound to be watching them.’
‘So we sneak past them and up to the door of the tower –’
‘No, me dear. We watches where we puts our feet, walks
boldly up to the door and knocks.’
‘And they just let us in?’
‘Dhal don’t rely on other people, see, just these creatures
he’s made, and they’re quite stupid outside doing what they’re
told. With a little persuading they’ll take us for what we look
like. Remember what I said about back doors? Why do you
think we brought the mop and bucket?’
Barbara hadn’t liked to ask. Now she began to understand.
It was absurd. But perhaps no more so than the broomsticks.
Shannon stood in the ruined dome of Helm Island staring up at
the sky. At his back the sun was going down but the stars were
not yet out. Through his sensitized goggles he read the pulsing
spot of light that marked the position of the squadron.
PREPARE FOR RECOVERY WITHIN NEXT THREE
HOURS.
At last they were ready!
He sent an acknowledgement with the radiation torch, then
awkwardly slung his pack. One arm was in a sling, and he
limped as he walked. His survival suit was torn and dirty, but
his bearing was still erect and upright. Before he left the dome
through the passage to the head of the stairs, he paused by
Monadno’s cairn and saluted it. At least they had treated his
comrade correctly. When this was over, he would see his
remains were returned to Earth for a proper funeral. He saluted
Thurguld’s cairn as well, as one warrior to another. Besides,
he had no argument with the dead.
Then he limped off towards the stairs.

Shardrog, commander of the third turret, did not know what to

make of the insistent banging on the heavy outer door, which a
puzzled guard had called him about. Hardly anybody used the
paths now all the linking tunnels were complete. What stupid
ape was outside at this time? He looked down from the
battlements and saw, in the gathering gloom, two human
women carrying brooms, bucket and mop.
‘Come on! We ain’t got all day,’ the older and smaller of
the two called out. ‘He said to be here before sundown and
we’re nearly late already and you know he doesn’t like to be
kept waiting.’
Even through his bafflement, Shardrog knew who ‘he’ was.
But what were these two doing outside? He looked about
anxiously at the landscape being swallowed rapidly by purple
shadows. There was no sign of any besieging force, and in any
case, he was fairly sure armies were not usually preceded by
women with buckets who knocked at the door first. Actually
he would have preferred an army. This was more complicated.
‘What you doing here?’ he asked doubtfully.
The older woman raised her broom and shook it in the air.
‘We’ve come to clean up his quarters, of course. Special job.
Wants them clean for tomorrow. Special day tomorrow.’
That was true. They were all preparing for it down below.
And the two couldn’t have got past the traps on the moor
without knowing the safe path, or setting off alarms. But he
wished he’d been told. ‘Over there is tower,’ he growled down
at them. ‘Why you come here?’
‘’Cos we want an escort across all those paths and rough
ground up to the tower door and see we get let in. That’s only
right and proper when going to an important place like this,
isn’t it?’
And Shardrog suddenly realized that was the proper way,
and wondered why he hadn’t remembered. A feeling of panic
swept over him. He mustn’t keep him waiting. He must send
down an escort.
‘You women wait there. Guard come down quick.’
‘Thank you, dearie.’

Dhal had been watching the skyboats in his seeing globe for
some time. They had adjusted their orbit slightly, and he
suspected they might be trying another approach. Because
they could move so fast, he only dared take his eyes off them
for a minute or two. Briefly he changed to a view of Fluxford
to check on progress there. At least that was going well. His
attentions had reduced it to a city under siege. Then he
changed to a quite different scene before he returned to the
ships.
And now he couldn’t find what he was looking for!
He started searching, with a growing sense of panic,
ignoring the ships. There were only so many routes, surely.
Ah, that explained it. But they had gone further than he
expected. How long until...?
His plans for tomorrow dissolved in a glorious and
frightening realization.
It would be tonight!

Susan and Mellisa heard the beginning of the commotion not

long after final lock-up. For a moment they were paralysed
with dismay. It was as though the tower was coming alive.
There were distant muffled orders being shouted, the
drumming of many feet, the clink of armour and deep moans
and roars from the pits. A sense of panic seemed to drive the
activity. Were they under attack? Or was Dhal making his
move earlier than they had thought? Whatever it was, it was
too soon for their plans.
Susan could not read Mellisa’s face in the last of the grey
light that filtered in through the window, but she could sense
her anguish. The guards might come for them at any moment.
It was probably hopeless. But what was there to lose? Taking a
deep breath she said firmly: ‘We go now!’
‘But it’s –’
‘Now!’ Susan put all her determination into the word.
Mellisa obeyed.
They assembled the necessary items almost totally by
touch. They had practised it earlier, planning to make the
attempt in the middle of the night. Susan had made a very
limited test of her spell, the satisfactory result of which had
been stuffed into the mattress so the guards would not see it.
Now they would know if it would work for real. They were
ready. She took a deep breath, poured the last drops from the
vials, and began to speak her rhyme.

The ape guard had led them halfway from the perimeter ditch
to the base of the rock when the activity began. For a moment
he was horribly undecided which way to run, knowing it was a
call to arms, but having been ordered to take the two servant
women to the tower. The older one helped him make up his
mind.
‘Don’t you worry about us,’ she said cheerfully. ‘I’m sure
you’ve got lots more important things to do. You run along
now. You forget about us...’
And in a moment he had. He ran off, taking the lantern with
him.
Anni drew Barbara into the cover of a straggling gorse
bush. ‘Fair buzzing like a wasps’ nest stirred with a stick,’ she
observed.
‘Randolph to Dorado. Arm warhead and begin your approach
run. Good luck and good shooting.’

‘Fetch my cloak,’ Dhal commanded his servants, marshalling

the confusion into order. ‘You! Put the globe in its carrier...
don’t drop it, fool. Take it to my personal mount. You two,
fetch the women and take them below. Hurry!’

‘This is Admiral Nyborg to all Marine commanders: confirm

your men are boarded and ready. Departure on my signal.’

The bolts slid back and the cell door was thrown open.
‘You come with us now,’ growled one of the apes.
There was no response. Its companion unhooked a lantern
from the wall beside the door and held it aloft.
The prisoners were gone.
They stepped inside and looked about them in
astonishment. There was a slight scraping noise. They saw the
window bar was now wedged horizontally across the aperture.
About its middle was knotted what looked like the end of a
golden rope, extending tautly out into the night. Even as they
watched, the rope trembled slightly.
With a grunt of alarm the first ape leaped for the window,
grabbed hold of the bar, and began tugging at it. His
companion took his shoulders and added his weight. Slowly
the rope was drawn back into the cell. Then the tension
vanished and the apes fell backwards, pulling a length of slack
rope after them. In the light it was obviously a continuous plait
of blonde hair, but pierced through at regular intervals by foot-
long spikes of bone to serve as rungs. The apes looked at each
other in horror for a moment, then scrambled to their feet and
left the cell in a shambling run. Lying unnoticed in a corner of
the cell was a comb. Most of its teeth were missing.

Susan and Mellisa rolled down the bank of thin turf that
skirted the tower base until they reached a level stretch and
came to a halt. They lay gasping for a moment, shocked and
winded by their forced drop from the hair rope. They had grey
blankets tied about their necks as camouflage. Weakly,
Mellisa pulled hers over her head, concealing a mop of golden
hair now as short as Susan’s.
Determinedly, Susan got to her feet and pulled Mellisa with
her. ‘Come on,’ she hissed. ‘We must keep moving!’
They scrambled down the rocks, skidding and slipping and
taking desperate risks in the darkness, which was now almost
total. Only a faint glow penetrated the heavily overcast sky,
and, so far, only a few torches glowed on the tower and its
outflung perimeter turrets. That at least was to their advantage.
But Susan wanted to be well clear before those few torches
turned into many. If only they hadn’t been discovered so
quickly. In another minute they had reached level ground.
How long would it take for word to spread and the search to
start in earnest? Should they make a run for it, or conceal
themselves within the perimeter, where they could sneak out
later behind any search parties?
Even as they hesitated, an unseen door opened in the rock
of the tor itself, catching them on the edge of a widening fan
of light. They dashed off into the darkness, but a grunting cry
told them they had been spotted. Booted feet pounded after
them. They heard more shouts. Torches began flickering
across the crest of the tor. They stumbled on across the rutted
ground, heading for the open moor. If they could just cross the
ditch they might have a chance. Then they saw lights around
the bases of the turrets, and knew the net was closing about
them. The running feet following them were getting closer.
There was an odd popping, crackling sound, followed by a
sharp hissing. The jerking torches behind them became blurred
and hazy as a cloud of thick smoke billowed up from nowhere.
The cries of the guards became confused shouts of rage and
alarm, interspersed with coughing. Susan and Mellisa halted
uncertainly as there were more firecracker explosions. Within
moments, the tower and turrets had vanished in a pall of
smoke.
Then a figure appeared out of the gloom.
‘This way, quickly!’ It was Barbara’s voice.

For five days, Edmund and his small company had camped
uncomfortably in the shelter of the jagged rock outcrop some
three miles or so from the tower. It had been a frustrating,
anxious time, spent circling the tor from afar, probing its
defences. He had sent regular messages back to Fluxford
detailing its situation and the pits, bogs and other traps they
had discovered that protected it, and noting the comings and
goings of Dhal’s flying beasts. But that was all he could do. It
was anguish, knowing Mellisa was so near, yet quite beyond
his reach.
He was dreaming of her when the sentry roused him.
Sounds of confusion were drifting over the marshy plain.
Through his spyglass he surveyed the flickering torchlights,
strangely hazed, as though by fog or smoke. The details were
maddeningly indistinct. If only there was more light!
It was as though his wish had been granted.
A sparkling green point sped upwards from the top of the
black tower like a shooting star, reached the underside of the
cloud sheet and burst. It was as though the whole plain were
illuminated by a continuous lightning flash diffused and
reflected by the clouds, casting a sickly green half-light back
to Earth. Now he saw clearly through his glass the hurrying
specks of four figures beyond the turret ring. As he watched
they grouped into pairs.
Then rose into the air.
Even as he followed the flying forms through his glass,
wild hope growing within him, he saw an incredible sight. For
a moment he thought the sentinel turrets were burning, as
some dark rushing mass appeared to be boiling out of them
like smoke from chimney pots. Then he realized the mass was
composed of living creatures. The pits of Raven’s Tor were
discharging their spawn.
There must have been hundreds, perhaps thousands, of the
small flying apes, together with dozens of larger animals with
massive wingspans. Dragons and even stranger beasts he had
no doubt. The host rose in streamers up into the sky, still lit by
the unnatural green fireball. Over the tower they merged into
one mass of beating wings, like a wheeling flock of monstrous
birds; circling, waiting. Waiting for their master?
Edmund found his voice, and called to the man who kept
the carrier pigeons: ‘Send word to Fluxford – Dhal is coming
with a great force of flying beasts – be quick!’ But could the
bird reach Fluxford before Dhal?
There was movement in the air over his head. The figures
he had seen escaping were now circling the outcrop, riding
two apiece on... broomsticks?
‘We’re safe, Edmund. Take care of yourself now!’ It was
Mellisa!
‘I’d keep your head down, lad!’ came an older voice from
above. Then the riders shot off low across the moor towards
the east and were lost in the night.
As he turned back to the tower, dizzy both with relief and
amazement, he realized Mellisa and the other riders were
being pursued. The main body of the host still circled over the
tower, but flying low and furiously after them were two
winged beasts somewhere between dragons and huge bats.
Mounted on them were riders carrying slender lances.
‘To your bows! They must not pass!’ he yelled.
It was doubtful if the riders realized the rocks sheltered
their enemies, or else they would have flown higher. But they
were only intent on their prey. Until it was too late.
A hail of arrows rose to meet them. One beast squealed and
tumbled from the sky, mortally wounded, spilling its rider as it
crashed to earth. The second received only minor damage as
quarrels passed cleanly through its membranous wings. But its
rider was struck in the leg and side and reeled in the saddle,
losing the reins. Uncontrolled and confused, the beast flapped
down heavily to land in the shallow valley beyond the rock
outcrop.
On a wild impulse, Edmund sprinted towards it, calling
back over his shoulder to his men: ‘Take cover! Your job is
done!’
He reached the flapping, jittery beast in half a minute. He
ignored the teeth in its gaping, bloated frog mouth, which
snapped at him, and the wild glare in its red eyes. The beast’s
ape-like rider swung feebly at him with a long, spike-ended
riding crop. He ducked under the blow, caught the ape’s leg
and heaved it up and out of the stirrup. It crashed to earth with
a thud on the other side, dropping the crop. Edmund snatched
it up, gathered the trailing reins, and vaulted into the saddle.
He had never ridden such a beast in his life, but he would not
let his new mount know that. He spurred it like a horse and
flicked the crop across its flanks. It hopped forward, wings
beating heavily, then launched itself into the air after the
broomstick riders.

Dhal’s mount resided in its own pit within the caverns,

beneath the widest of the turret chimneys. It was a golden
dragon with wings spanning eighty feet. No saddle would fit
such a girth, so he rode a high backed chair mounted over its
dorsal spines, and enclosed within a canopy. Secured by a
hoop mesh to one arm of the chair was his seeing globe. Upon
his command the dragon spread its wings and rose up through
the turret chimney and out into the open air. As the fireball
above them started to splutter and fade, the dragon took its
place at the head of the airborne army. The circle broke as he
turned towards the east, and the lesser beasts and ape-bats
trailed after it.
Within his aerial palanquin, Dhal focused his thoughts on
the seeing globe, looking for the keen eyes of the beasts
pursuing the broomstick riders. The two girls had to be
recovered safely. If that interfering witch was involved in their
escape, then he would deal with her once and for all! But he
could only find a single beast in pursuit, and, far from catching
up with the broomstick riders, it was being left behind. Curse
the old besom! No, wait. Dhal pondered. Perhaps interception
was unnecessary. They were all headed for the same place.
They would be to hand when he needed them.
Then he felt the intrusion into the planetary aura.
The skyboats! He had ignored them for too long. Even as
he cast about for some counter measure, he sensed a smaller
object separate from the main vessel and plunge earthward at a
speed far greater than anything he had previously known.
Far behind them now, the lonely spike of the Black Tower
rose from the rolling moor. A blue-white spear of light burst
out of the clouds like a thunderbolt and struck precisely at its
base.
There was a flash that lit up the sky for fifty miles around,
and punched a hole through the clouds into the clear sky
above. The tower vanished in a red and yellow tongue of fire
that licked upward, erupting into the void, scattering splashes
of molten rock like ejecta from a volcano. Unseen, the
shockwave expanded through the caverns beneath the tor,
venting red hot from the turrets in secondary blasts that
shattered them into piles of smoking rubble. Then the earth
heaved, the cavern roofs gave way, and the remains of Ravens
Tor collapsed into a glowing crater half a mile across.
 24

Invasion

A ir was hissing from two arrow holes before Bron

managed to convince the castle defenders of their
identity. Gently, the unlikely craft spiralled down into the
central courtyard of the keep and grated to rest on the gravel.
Odoyle looked relieved, and mopped his brow with a spotted
handkerchief.
‘Well rowed, lads,’ he commended. ‘My, but that was
getting a bit of a strain towards the end, there.’
Ian smiled, massaging his aching arms. ‘Next time, we use
an outboard motor.’
Captain Morgane and a handful of guards ran up to them,
gaping incredulously. ‘Is it really you? I could hardly believe
it.’
‘I can scarce credit it myself,’ Bron admitted. ‘But what has
been happening here? We saw fires in the town and folk
sheltering within the walls. Has it got so bad?’
‘Yes. Creatures appear and work their mischief then
disappear into the forest again before we can respond. When
our forces pursue them, many do not come back. The river is
hazardous and many roads are closed to all but parties of great
strength... But none of this matters now if you have met with
success. Have you?’
Bron lifted a small locked chest from the raft.
‘Merlin’s Helm...’ he hesitated, glancing at the Doctor for a
moment. ‘What we were commanded to find is in here.’
Gramling emerged from an archway and hurried over to
them, his staff scraping over the gravel.
‘You arrived much sooner than I thought. Is it in there?’
‘That it is, my friend,’ confirmed Odoyle. ‘We brought
home the bacon and no mistake!’ His tone grew serious. ‘Now
’tis up to you... if you’re still determined?’
Gramling stiffened, looking resolute. ‘I am. Please inform
his Majesty the convocation may start in one hour. I will now
go to prepare myself.’ And he turned and walked away.
Ian was looking around the courtyard amongst the small
crowd that had gathered. ‘Where’s Barbara? Doesn’t she know
we’ve returned yet?’
Morgane looked grave. ‘Forgive me for not speaking
sooner, but I have sad news for you...’ In a few words he told
of Barbara’s disappearance and the subsequent fruitless
search. Bron, Alammar and Komati listened sympathetically.
Ian’s lips became pinched and white and his fists clenched.
‘We’ve got to go out and look again –’
‘No, Chesterton,’ said the Doctor. His words carried the
weight of timeless authority that commanded attention. ‘You
know that would be a futile, quixotic gesture in the present
circumstances,’ he continued gravely. ‘You saw the state of
the surrounding countryside when we flew in. If you went out
now, we would only lose you too.’
‘But we must do something!’
‘Of course. But to help Barbara, we must resolve the matter
of the Helm first. Believe me, everything rests on that. Once it
is successfully concluded, a full scale search can be resumed.
Think hard, Chesterton. Don’t let your heart rule your head in
this. You know it’s the only way.’
Ian took a deep breath, and slowly nodded. ‘All right,
Doctor. What do you suggest we do?’
‘First, I have a small task for you, but a vital one,
nevertheless.’ He drew Ian a little aside and spoke quietly but
rapidly to him. Ian looked surprised, but nodded. The Doctor
turned to Morgane. ‘Captain, can you spare one man to go
with my friend and allow him to pass through to the outer
bailey? I assure you it is most important. With any luck it will
help bring an end to this whole sorry business.’
Morgane looked doubtful for a moment, glanced at Bron,
then nodded. ‘Certainly, Doctor, if that is so.’ He detailed a
guard to accompany Ian, and the two set off.
‘Now I must present the Helm to the King,’ said Bron.
 ‘And I must accompany you to give my account of
Thurguld’s death to his lord,’ said Alammar, ‘if he be in the
castle.’
‘He is indeed, Master elf,’ Morgane assured him as the
three and their escort walked away. ‘Together with dignitaries
from far around. All are gathered again for the convocation.
Dhal may believe it is to grant him power. But after your
success it will have a finer purpose!’
‘Well, I’m off for a drink myself,’ said Odoyle. ‘And then
to put me head down for half an hour. I’ll be seeing you at the
ceremony then.’ And he walked wearily away.
Suddenly left alone, Komati glanced uncertainly at the
Doctor. He smiled back, not entirely reassuringly. ‘You had
best come with me, Doctor Komati. I assure you we will not
miss anything. Like a classic drama, you see, all the players
will be gathered together for the final resolution. For good or
ill.’
There was a rumble of thunder from the heavy clouds
overhead. Jen shivered, though the air was becoming close and
oppressive. ‘Well, there’s a gathering storm at least.’
The Doctor looked up. ‘Yes. The symbolism of the storm.
And when it breaks? Signs and portents. How appropriate.’

‘Scanner team, anything yet?’ Nyborg demanded.

‘Still waiting for the effects of our missile strike to clear,
Admiral... ah, beginning to get something now. Patterns are
coming through... Yes, they’ve changed. Whatever was in that
structure on the moor is no longer part of the energy web.
Flow lines are now bypassing the site.’
‘Good.’ Nyborg opened another channel. ‘Admiral Nyborg
to all lander crews: your attention please. I can now confirm
the source of the hostile interference on the planet’s surface
has been destroyed. You can proceed with your mission
without any further worries from that quarter.’ He paused,
then continued in slightly softer tones. ‘You are all volunteers,
and have been fully briefed on the situation down there. You
know why you have to use special arms and equipment, and
why it may not be possible to withdraw you from the surface
for some time. But let me assure you that we will be up here
giving you all the support and backup you require for as long
as it takes. Never doubt that what you do today may be the
finest service you can render to the Empire which we all serve.
In the name of the Empress, good luck to you all!
‘Lander one: proceed with recovery mission. Immediate
launch. Main force: Ready for launch in two minutes for prime
target.’

Dhal flew on at the head of his army. Shock began to fade. His
tower was gone, and that was it. He had only one possible
objective left. But success was still in his grasp. If all went
well, nothing that had gone before mattered anyway. Then he
would show them all who was master. And the interfering
oldworlders would be the first to taste his revenge.

The keep guards, already jittery after the sudden appearance of

the flying raft, loosed several more arrows at the four
broomstick riders, until they realized they were firing at a
royal princess and her friends. The party glided down out of
the night to land in the courtyard beside the deflating and
abandoned raft, which Susan and Barbara regarded with
special curiosity.
The news of their safe return spread rapidly through the
castle, already roused by the arrival of the Helm. Before
Mellisa could leave the courtyard, people started opening
windows and coming on to balconies to call down to her.
Others poured out of doors. Soon she was in the middle of a
welcoming throng. Then the crowd parted and the King and
Queen hurried up and embraced her. Many freely wept with
tears of joy, and not just the royal family. And then the Doctor
was at Susan’s side, hugging her to him. Barbara saw the relief
clearly written across his face. For a moment she thought she
heard them exchanging quick words in some strange language,
but it was soon drowned by the general cheering and
jubilation.
When she could finally interrupt them, she asked anxiously:
‘Where’s Ian? Is he –’
‘Chesterton is quite all right. He’s within the castle walls
running an errand for me. You’ll see him shortly: Meanwhile,
I must thank you for helping bring Susan back safely to me. If
anything had happened to her... The old man trailed off, for
once at a loss for words.
Embarrassed, Barbara said lightly. ‘Well, you really should
thank Anni Glassfeather, not me. She was the brains behind it
all.’
The Doctor was introduced to Anni, who had been standing
on the edge of the throng, beaming upon the reunited families
and friends in a satisfied way. The Doctor exhibited the gallant
charm he was quite capable of when he chose, and Barbara
thought he came within a fraction of kissing Anni’s hand. The
witch, flattered by his attentions, blushed almost coquettishly.
‘I understand, madam,’ he continued politely, ‘that you are
a practitioner of the magical arts; a field in which I have
recently become most interested myself.’
Susan piped up: ‘But Grandfather, I was trying to tell you.
I’ve found out how to work magic myself. Ask Mellisa.’ But
the Princess was still within the embrace of her parents, while
reassuring Sir Stephan that Edmund had been safe the last time
they had seen him. Then she spoke more urgently to her
father, and suddenly the King was calling for silence above the
chatter.
‘People of Fluxford castle. This should be a time of joy
unconfined, as those who were lost have been returned to us.
But my daughter has just given me news that requires us to put
personal feelings aside and return to our duty. The renegade
Marton Dhal is approaching Fluxford even now with a great
army of winged beasts, no doubt intent on taking by force
what he could not win by threats and kidnap. But this castle
must be defended while the ceremony of convocation is
enacted. Then the mightiest tool of our ancestors may be
turned to good purpose, and we shall be rid of his villainy for
ever. Now to your posts and do your duty!’
There was a loud cry of resolute approval and the throng
started to disperse. Then came a cry from the highest tower.
Everybody looked up. A yellow fire trail arced across the sky,
then another and another. They did not move like Avalon’s
typical shooting stars.
 ‘Landing craft,’ Komati said despairingly. ‘They know
you’ve got the Helm, and now they want it for the Empire!’

Ian was in the outer bailey, having just found what the Doctor
requested, when he heard the roar of retrorockets. For a
moment he thought it was another roll of thunder, then he saw
the flare trails. There was a flash of lightning, and he saw a
dozen deltaform bodies, wings extended, frozen by the
lightning strobe in the act of swinging around for their landing
run. These were much bigger than the lander Shannon’s party
had arrived in.
The castle guard who had accompanied him gasped: ‘They
are Dhal’s creatures come for us!’
‘No,’ Ian retorted grimly, ‘but they still mean trouble.
Come on, we’ve got what we came for!’
They started quickly back up towards the inner gateway
amid the fresh cries from the refugees sheltering within the
walls. Fortunately, after some initial protest, Ian’s new charge
allowed itself to be led along docilely; looking around but
otherwise seeming unmoved by the growing commotion.
Behind them, five of the landers extended their wheels and
bumped down on to the turf of the outer bailey. Their breaking
rockets blazed, pulling them up quickly within the confined
space, sending the refugees and soldiers alike running for
cover. The rest came down outside the walls, as far as Ian
could tell. Was this chance, or deliberate? Had they put
sufficient forces inside to open the gates for the rest if needed?
They passed through the inner gate complex. The gates and
portcullis closed behind them. By the stairs leading up to the
gateway turrets they met the Doctor, Komati, Bron and
Alammar. The Doctor was still carrying his mysterious
bundle, Ian noticed.
‘I’m going to try to talk sense to them,’ Komati said
quickly.
‘But if they do not listen, we shall be ready to fight!’
exclaimed Bron, and he and Alammar ran up the stairs.
‘I’ve got what you wanted,’ said Ian to the Doctor.
‘Yes, I can see that. Good. Go to the Great Hall, the
ceremony is starting shortly. But keep it out of sight for the
moment. If there’s any chance, you know what to do.’
‘And it’ll end it?’
‘Oh yes. I think it will be pleased to. By the way,’ he
beamed, ‘you’ll find Barbara waiting for you.’
‘What!’
‘Yes. She and Susan and the Princess arrived back safely a
few minutes ago. No time to explain now. Well go on, my
boy; don’t delay!’
With a deeper boom of thunder than any before, the rain
started to fall.

Only one end of the Great Hall was well lit, focusing all eyes
and all thoughts upon it. That was intentional, Barbara
realized.
She was standing with Anni and Susan near the front of the
sparse crowd of attendants witnessing the ceremony. She
realized that they must look rather bedraggled in their stained
and torn clothes. At least cloaks had been found for Susan and
Mellisa to replace their blankets, and slip-on pumps for their
bare feet. Anni looked the most dignified of the three of them
in her black dress. She still carried her broomstick, and that,
together with her tall hat, made it unmistakably clear who, and
what, she was. She had received some puzzled glances, but a
respectfully wide berth.
At the head of the hall, an empty chair had been placed on a
small dais. Resting on a cushion on the chair was the Helm.
Seated in concentric circles around the dais were two dozen
dignitaries and nobles, representing the various peoples and
castes of society in the South Share of Elbyon. The royal
family and Palbury were there of course, together with
Kilvenny Odoyle, lords of the elves and dwarves, barons and
elders of the city of Fluxford. In turn, each would stand, walk
up to the Helm, state clearly their name and position, and then
repeat the same phrase:
‘I hereby freely commend the use of this Helm of power to
Gramling, Wizard of Fluxford, to use as he may without let or
hindrance.’
The wording of the ceremony had been discovered by
Gramling during his researches, Barbara remembered.
Researches. She smiled to herself, remembering her own
labours in the library. Had that only been a few days ago? She
would never be sure now if she had found anything useful,
except more questions. And she never had got around to
searching for the Doctor’s suspected spy. Perhaps if she’d not
been lured away like that... Out of the corner of her eye she
saw a hand waving over the heads from the back of the hall.
Leaving Susan with Anni, she pushed her way through the
intent crowd until she reached Ian. She was so pleased and
relieved to see him, that they had hugged for at least ten
seconds before she realized he had a most unexpected
companion.
And suddenly she knew what she had seen in the bestiary
that shouldn’t have been there.

From the gateway turret Bron watched the stationary landers

through the steady downpour. A few arrows had bounced off
their hulls before the order was given to cease firing. Catapults
and heavy bolt guns were being turned to bear upon them. In a
moment Morgane would order them to fire. He was waiting
for the last of the refugees to get into shelter around the far
side of the castle. But why didn’t they attack? Bron wondered.
They had forces inside close to the gates. If they took those,
they could open the way for the rest. He turned to the Doctor
and Komati.
‘What manner of weapons will these soldiers have? Are
they so powerful they can afford to wait while we prepare to
smash their vessels with our catapults?’
‘I don’t know why they’re waiting,’ replied Komati. ‘They
can’t use energy weapons down here, but the marines probably
have old style guns, like you saw on the island, but which fire
more shots and with greater power. And grenades – uh, larger
charges of the explosive that propels the bullets, which can
blow holes in wood or even stone.’
‘Do these marines wear armour?’
‘Body armour, yes.’
‘And is this amour proof against sword or arrow?’
‘Probably... it’s a light synthetic. Very tough.’
‘Does it have joints?’
 ‘Yes.’
‘Hah!’!’ exclaimed Bron, clenching his fist. ‘Where there is
a joint there is a weakness. Tell your men, Morgane. These
oldworlders bleed just like us. I have seen it. Get in close and
they die just as easily.’
‘But they won’t let you get close!’ said Komati. ‘They’ll
shoot you first.’
‘Do they carry an endless supply of these bullets?’
‘No.’
‘They must stop to replenish their quivers then?’
‘Their magazines. Yes, of course.’
‘Then we shall get in close,’ Bron said fiercely.
‘It is possible they underestimate your strength or
determination,’ suggested the Doctor. ‘They may plan a
demonstration of power to awe you into submission without
the need for all-out war. But if they wish to parley, keep them
talking. With a little more time, all may be resolved without
further bloodshed.’
‘Of course. Gramling can use the power of the Helm to
smite these people as easily as he will Dhal!’
The Doctor made no comment.
‘Look!’ said Komati.
The flare of braking rockets marked the arrival of another
lander. It glided in low over the castle walls, touched down,
and ran along the turf up beside the other craft.
‘Perhaps this is what they were waiting for,’ said the
Doctor.
The lander’s side hatch swung open and a ramp extended
slowly, as though it were being wound down by hand, and
touched the ground. A voice called out: ‘I wish to speak with
someone of authority.’
Komati went pale. ‘That sounds like... Shannon!’
Bron frowned. ‘We shall see.’ He shouted down: ‘You may
come out to speak. We will not shoot. You have my word.’
Shannon stepped out of the hatch and down the ramp. He
was clad in black segmented body armour now. He held one
arm stiffly, and there was a suspicion of a limp, but he still
carried himself erect. He walked across until he stood opposite
the turret on the edge of the moat.
 ‘We thought you dead,’ Bron said. ‘Or we would not have
left as we did.’
‘I believe you,’ Shannon replied, as though the matter was
of no importance any more. His eyes flickered across the line
of faces looking down upon him. ‘Lieutenant Komati, are you
being held here against your will?’
‘What? No, I –’
‘Then you will be charged under military law with
cowardice, desertion, and conspiring with the enemy,’ he said,
crisply and coldly.
‘The woman may stay here as long as she wishes,’ said
Bron. ‘She has made her peace with us, and we do not hold
her responsible for your actions. Now, what have you to say?’
‘You know what we want. We have weapons far more
powerful than you can imagine. Do you wish to see them in
action? Give us the Helm and we will leave you in peace.’
‘Captain Shannon,’ the Doctor said, ‘you dare not take the
Helm off this planet. There is a type of microscopic
contamination here –’
‘I know about the nanobots. We will find a way to
neutralize them. The Helm may even be the key to their
control.’
‘But don’t you see, you cannot simply walk off with the
Helm. The nanobots and the nova trigger are indivisible. It’s
an integrated system. The planet itself is part of it. At full
power the beam is probably focused using Avalon’s energy
field. You cannot have one without the other, and you cannot
risk spreading nanobotic contamination.’
‘Maybe you’re right. That’s for the scientists to decide. But
the Helm’s still a vital part. And if it takes a month or a year,
we’ll learn how to control it. We can call down all the support
we need for as long as necessary. So hand it over peacefully,
or we’ll take it from you.’
Bron laughed dryly. ‘Do you think us such fools? Even if
we gave you this thing, could we be sure you would never turn
it against us, supposing you could make it work?’
‘Your society is of no importance to us. Why should we
trouble you again?’
‘Because it is in your nature. I have heard a little of your
history over recent days. You wish to rebuild your Empire,
and empires only grow by conquest. With such a tool as the
Helm, what else would you use it for?’
‘How it would be used is not my concern. My only
objective is to recover it safely.’
‘How can you be so cold-blooded!’ cried Komati.
‘I’m just following orders, lieutenant. Something you
should have done.’
‘Eventually you’ve got to think for yourself!’ she retorted
spiritedly. ‘I don’t trust anybody with the power of this thing.
But at least these people only want it for self-defence.’
‘Will their intentions always remain so modest?’
‘I don’t know. But I do know what the Empire will use it
for. It’s more dangerous than you can imagine! Let me explain
–’
‘If they will not give it up, there is nothing more to say,
lieutenant. You will die here with the rest, or face trial in due
course.’
‘If we die,’ Bron called out, ‘at least we do so defending
our home! We are not as helpless as you think. In the last
resort we will turn the power of the Helm on you. Remember
what it did on the island!’
‘If you had it ready now, you would not have let us land,
therefore it is not yet operational,’ Shannon concluded. And he
turned away and strode back to his lander.
‘Wait!’ the Doctor called after him. ‘You still don’t know
the real danger of the Helm!’ But Shannon ignored him.
Bron spun round to the Doctor and Komati. ‘Curse my
foolish words! He will move all the more swiftly now! Go to
the hall at once,’ he commanded. ‘The parley ends the moment
he is inside his vessel.’
There was no arguing with him. Komati and the Doctor ran
down the steps.
They heard the crackle of an automatic weapon. In
response came the swish and thud of a catapult.

‘But why have you brought it in here?’ Barbara whispered.

‘It was the Doctor’s idea. He said... well, maybe you’d
better ask him yourself. I’ve only had the potted version so far.
He probably thinks we should work the rest out for ourselves
like a class exercise.’
Barbara smiled ruefully. ‘Isn’t he infuriating like that.
Where has he gone anyway?’
‘Trying to talk peace with the Empire landing force –’
There came the sound of gunfire and explosions from outside.
‘It sounds as though he’s failed,’ Barbara said flatly.
‘They’d better get a move on in here, then. How long does
this take?’
‘It’s about half over, I think. When they’ve finished this
part, Gramling will be called in and the Helm will be offered.
They want to be sure it’s safe. At least, as safe as it can be.’
‘I can’t blame them, I suppose. I saw what it did to
somebody unprepared.’
‘Does it really kill its user?’
‘Yes, but that’s only the half of it. Talk to Jen Komati and
you’ll hear a definition of a real terror weapon. That’s what
the Empire wants, apparently.’
‘I meant to ask about her,’ said Barbara with a touch of
coolness. ‘Just how did you meet –’
The Doctor and Komati entered the hall at that moment.
While the doors were open the sound of fighting was
noticeably louder.
***‘Useless, useless... !’ the Doctor was muttering. ‘He
wouldn’t listen,’ said Jen.
‘Who?’ asked Ian.
‘Shannon. He’s still alive. He seems to be commanding the
marines out there.’
‘But we thought –’
‘He doesn’t care about that! That’s what’s so frightening.
All he wants is the Helm. And he’ll stop at nothing to get it!’

An explosion blew open the outer gates and the rest of the
marine force poured in. Grenades tossed on to the wall walks
cleared them of defenders. Arrows rained down, but most
rebounded from the invaders’ armour. One or two marines fell
when an arrow found a weak link, or were beaten down by a
hail of stones flung from a catapult. A lander was crushed by a
heavy catapult stone and pierced by dragon gun bolts. Fire
arrows set it alight and exploding munitions blew it apart
fitfully. But the invaders still advanced.
Bron could admire their discipline even as he strove for
their deaths. They held a quarter section of the outer bailey
and were moving towards the inner gateway. Surely the moat
would slow them down? But as their comrades kept up a hail
of covering fire, others reached the moat’s edge. Rifle
grenades started to rain down on to the walls and into the
turret rooms. Some were loaded with explosive charges, others
with smoke or choking, stinging gas. That, at least, was one
weapon that did not work as they planned, Bron realized. The
rain damped down the gas and smoke alike, but still they came
on.
Rocket-propelled grappling irons flew over the moat and
locked into place between the merlons of the battlements. The
attackers swung across the moat and began to climb, even as
the defenders tried to dislodge their purchase. Many fell back,
but others climbed on and some reached the top. Then it was a
hand to hand battle on the wall walks. At last Bron could reach
them with Invictus and lay open those chinks in their armour
as he promised, and he felt the fierce lust for battle burn within
him as he became one with his sword and shield. Others felt it
too, he knew. Morgane was everywhere, dashing along the
ways, rallying his guards, hacking at the heads which topped
the parapet. And when the marines slowed, pausing to refill
their weapons, Alammar and the other archers, at closer range
now, would pour deadly accurate arrows down upon them.
More began to fall.
At last they were holding them back!
Then came a huge explosion.
The entire gateway disintegrated in a sheet of red and
yellow fire.
Masonry blocks were hurled about like pebbles.
Alammar and Morgane vanished from his sight as the blast
knocked Bron off his feet and threw him ten feet back along
the walkway. Through the ringing in his ears he heard cries of
‘They’re through! The gate is lost!’
Even as he struggled to regain his senses, his hand
scrabbling automatically for Invictus, he realized that a black-
armoured marine was standing over him, rifle levelled at his
chest.

They heard the explosion in the Great Hall, even as the escort
was sent to the ante-room to fetch Gramling. The sounds of
combat grew louder and closer. Several men present
unobtrusively edged towards the doors and slipped out,
drawing their swords as they went. Ian fingered the grip of the
sword he had worn during the quest.
‘They’d better hurry up,’ he said quietly.

With a shrill cry a winged creature soared over the walkway.

The marine instinctively raised his gun to cover it. Bron
kicked out at the man’s knee and he fell against the parapet,
swinging his gun back again even as Bron’s hands closed on
Invictus. A figure seemed to fall out of the air, tumble as he hit
the walkway, and come up thrusting a sword into the marine’s
throat. The man kicked and gurgled, then was still.
‘Come, Bron, we must move! Dhal’s host is at my heels!’
It was Edmund Palbury.

Barbara, who had rejoined Susan at the front of the gathering,

found a lump came to her throat as Gramling walked in with
dignity, dressed in his finest robes, his pointed hat no longer
looking as absurd to her as it had the first time they met; his
staff clicking on the flagstones. ‘I’m going to miss him,’ she
admitted in a whisper to Susan. ‘He was quite sweet, really.
Even if he did make a fuss about his books.’
‘What books?’ Susan asked absently, as Gramling took his
seat.
‘Oh, just references about magic and the Helm.’
‘Dhal had loads of books. All neatly set out with lots of
bookmarks in them.’
‘Gramling only had a few really, all very untidy...’
She trailed off. A slow chill seemed to rise up her spine. In
a faint voice, she asked: ‘Did Dhal have a seeing globe?’
‘Yes, he was always using it.’
But Barbara was pushing her way through the
congregation. ‘Doctor... Doctor!’
But a new sound rose above the alien chatter of automatic
weapons and the crump of grenades. It was the whirr of many
wings and the roar of dragons.

Dhal’s beasts set down where the Empire landers could not:
within the inner yards of the castle and upon the keep itself.
Hordes of the winged apes tried to land as they had before, but
the wires that stretched across walkways, windows and
balconies, almost invisible in the dark and rain, trapped many.
Dhal raged. In his haste he had forgotten to warn them of the
new hazard. But it didn’t matter now. The wires snapped
under the bulk of his larger beasts as they smashed their way
in, opening a pathway for him into the heart of the castle.

Bron and Edmund ran towards the keep through an incredible

confusion. Winged apes flew thick overhead, casting down
their throwing stars or flasks of oil that splashed liquid fire as
they struck. Larger beasts smashed through the walls of the
yards. Some dragons breathed fire, while others blew jets of
green smoke that bleached white all it touched, and seared the
lungs. Some, bizarrely, exhaled clouds of freezing vapour that
chilled the life from whatever it touched, turning men to
statues of ice. Petrified in mid-stride or swing of sword, they
toppled and shattered on the ground like glass.
But men fought back. They saw castle guard and Empire
marine suddenly standing side by side against a common,
indiscriminate foe. Winged apes dropped from the sky,
feathered with arrows or punctured with bullet wounds.
Arrows and swords stabbed the great beasts, while grenades
tore gaping wounds in scaled reptilian flesh or severed limbs
and long, sinuous necks. Blood laced the rain puddles.
Inexorably, the conflict spilled over into the rooms and
corridors of the keep itself.

‘Doctor!’ Barbara almost shouted above the clash of arms that

rang out from the corridor. ‘It’s Gramling!. I think he –’
King Magnus placed the Helm upon Gramling’s head.
 ‘Gramling, wizard. We freely grant you the power to save
our land from the evil of two enemies now at our very doors.
Act swiftly!’
Gramling’s eyes glazed.

A grey veil seemed to envelop the castle and its grounds. The
very air seemed to thicken. Raindrops slowed their fall, flames
flickered and died, sounds became muffled. Swords dragged in
mid swing and stopped, bullets in flight became visible,
slowed and trickled to the ground as though they were falling
through treacle. And every combatant, man or beast, found
themselves locked rigidly within an invisible cocoon, as
though the air had solidified around them. Bron and Edmund,
frozen in mid stride, fought in vain against its tightening vice.
Consciousness began to slip away as the sluggish air flowed
ever slower into their lungs.

Inside the hall, they heard the sounds of conflict fade away to
an unnatural silence.
‘He’s done it!’ somebody called out, in wondering,
uncertain relief.
Then they heard a single pair of footsteps approach along
the corridor outside. The double doors swung open. Marton
Dhal, robed in black and silver, stood smiling triumphantly at
them from the entranceway. A clear tunnel was visible in the
thickened grey air behind him.
There was a long moment of stunned surprise, then the
King turned to Gramling: ‘Wizard, your treacherous
apprentice is here before you. Destroy him!’
And Dhal threw back his head and laughed.
 25

Turnabout

A translucent floor-to-ceiling curtain materialized within

the Great Hall, shimmering like Avalon’s own aurora.
It enclosed the doorway where Dhal stood, the dais and
Gramling’s seated figure. Peridor, sword drawn, lunged at it.
There was an electric crackle and he was thrown back in a
shower of sparks. Odoyle had pulled his silver hammer from
his belt while Anni Glassfeather reached into her pocket for a
potion bottle. Dhal laughed again. ‘This shield draws on the
power of the Helm, against which you are quite powerless, as
you well know.’ He strode confidently towards the dais. The
shimmering curtain contracted to follow him until it formed a
circle about its base, while he stood beside Gramling’s chair.
‘You are wondering, perhaps,’ Dhal continued, addressing
the room at large, ‘why my late master does not smite me
down? That is because, some years ago, he incautiously
probed too deeply into my affairs through his seeing globe.
And I was able to take over his mind. He has been my tool
ever since!’
There was a stifled groan of horror and dismay from the
assembly. Barbara felt her stomach knot. Beside her the
Doctor and Ian were both tight-lipped and impassive. ‘A fifth
column by proxy!’ Komati muttered. The Doctor motioned her
to be quiet.
With an effort, the King said firmly: ‘Your victory is only
temporary, Dhal. Only while Gramling lives. In that time you
still cannot force us to grant you the position of court sorcerer,
nor will you ever gain access to the treasures pertaining to that
position.’
Dhal’s mocking smile merely deepened.
 ‘Have you still not realized?’ he said contemptuously. ‘It
was the Helm I wanted all along!’
There was dead silence, broken only by the Doctor’s
faintest murmured: ‘Of course!’
‘The other baubles are nothing in comparison,’ Dhal
continued. ‘Ever since my researches uncovered its location, I
wondered how I might make the Helm my own. But it was
well protected and could not simply be taken. So I created the
circumstances where it would be recovered for me, then be
freely given for the use of my agent here.’ He smiled down at
Kilvenny Odoyle. ‘I trust your party had a pleasant voyage. I
kept watch over you as often as I could and ensured
favourable winds, and of course I knew Gramling had
provided every aid to success. Naturally, should you have
been delayed, I would have permitted unobtrusively, every
possible extension of my deadline. Sorry about the close call
with the kraken, but I was able to induce that octopus to
intervene in time. Your unexpected oldworld guests were, I
admit, inadvertently my fault. I was quite surprised to see
where they turned up. But you managed to cope with them in
the end.’
‘Thurguld died through their actions!’ Odoyle retorted.
‘Did he? Well, everything has a price, they say.’
‘Gramling is paying the price for you, Dhal,’ Odoyle said
with a sneer, ‘but he cannot last more than a few minutes
longer. Anything you plan must be done by then, because
when this shield falls –’
‘Really! Do you think I have not anticipated that?’ He
raised a beckoning finger. ‘Come forward, my dears.’
Two cylinders of the misty shield formed within the
assembly, causing those nearest to recoil in alarm.
They enclosed Susan and Mellisa.
Their faces had suddenly slackened into mask-like
blankness.
With a fearful cry, Queen Leonora clutched desperately at
her daughter, but was repelled by a crackling discharge of
sparks. The two young women moved like automata, the
shields following them. Ian and Barbara instinctively started
forward, but the Doctor held them back.
 ‘Not yet!’ he hissed. ‘Wait!’ Out of the corner of her eye,
Barbara saw him unroll the parcel he had been carrying, then
slip back into the shadows.
A bolt from Odoyle’s hammer burst against Mellisa’s
shield, while glittering powder cast by Anni Glassfeather
sparkled futilely against Susan’s. The two walked on, their
shields merging with the one surrounding the dais, until they
stood beside Dhal.
‘More of my servants, you see,’ he said. ‘I took great care
over their conditioning to ensure they are completely under
my control. This is how I circumvent the binding on the Helm.
Before Gramling dies, he will, at my command, nominate one
of the women as his successor, conferring his right to use the
Helm, and she in turn will pass it on to the other. But always
they will be my creatures. I think, by the time they are all
spent, I will have secured my position on this world beyond
any possible interference.’
Queen Leonora, half cradled in her husband’s arms,
screamed out: ‘No! Take me, not Mellisa!’
Dhal smiled pitilessly. ‘I fear, your Majesty, you would not
be suitable. But now, as my colleague Master Odoyle pointed
out, time is running short. First, I think I will take a little
revenge.’ Those nearest flinched away. He laughed. ‘Present
company excepted, for the moment.’ He rubbed his hands
together in a ghastly, gleeful gesture. ‘First, I am feeling
particularly annoyed with the vessel of the oldworlder’s that
destroyed my tower.’ He gestured. A ten-foot wide black
sphere appeared hanging in the air over the assembly’s heads.
Within it, like a seeing globe, hung the images of the starfleet
ships. ‘Now, which one was it? Ah, yes...’

It was pure chance that Nyborg noticed the secondary monitor

image. He saw the web of light briefly glow into being across
the face of a black moon and flow into a dome in the centre of
its disc. And he knew the power to destroy a star was about to
be unleashed on those who had come to take it for themselves.
‘All ships! Maximum power to shields!’
A brilliant blue lance of raw energy lashed out across space
towards the squadron. It punched through a force shield as
though it had not been there, and turned the cruiser Dorado
into a swelling fireball of white heat. The shockwave
transmitted by the expanding vapour cloud was so intense it
sent the rest of the formation tumbling wildly through space.
Clinging to his chair, Nyborg shouted: ‘Evasive action!’
The surviving ships’ drives glowed and in moments they
were scattering across the sky.

‘That will keep them occupied for a while,’ Dhal concluded

with satisfaction. ‘And now –’ Gramling stirred and groaned,
and slumped a little deeper in his chair. ‘Ah, the strain is
telling. Gramling is not what he was.’ He leaned over the old
man. ‘Speak now. Nominate the girl Susan as your successor!’
Barbara clenched her fists in helpless horror.
Then it happened.
A mistiness seemed to envelop the heads of apprentice and
master. Dhal jerked away, clutching at his temples, crying out
in pain. The haze followed him, thickening. For a moment it
seemed as though pale wreaths streamed between the two
wizards’ heads. Then Gramling moaned and jerked wildly in
his chair, while Dhal straightened up calmly.
But, somehow, it was not Dhal.
He extended his hands before him, turning them over as
though seeing them for the first time. Then he looked at
Gramling, who was struggling ever more feebly, trying to
remove the Helm. He moved to stand over him. ‘You have no
idea how long I have planned for this moment,’ he said softly.
The voice was Dhal’s, but the intonation had changed.
‘Don’t do this!’ The old wizard’s face was ghastly.
‘Do you remember what I said when I chose you for my
apprentice?’
‘Please master... please...’ Gramling gasped.
‘I said we would have a great future together.’
‘No, don’t...’
‘Well your part has ended now. You had your proxies but I
had you. Did you really think you could take over my mind so
easily? And you never realized that the Helm was capable of
this, did you? But I did. At least, I hoped so. But then, I had
nothing to lose. And now you’re too weak to reverse the
process. Too weak to prevent my controlling you now.’
Gramling’s old face blanked and the clawing hands froze. ‘I
prepared for this a long time ago, you see, but I had to wait for
the right moment.’
Palbury had stepped forward to the edge of the shield
curtain. ‘Gramling? Is it... really you?’
Dhal’s eyes now animated by Gramling’s mind stared
coldly back at him. ‘It is, my lord.’
‘It is incredible,’ he said in a wondering voice. ‘Then... you
have triumphed! It is over! Let down this shield and release
the captives!’
For one long, agonizing moment, Gramling hesitated.
‘I’m sorry, my lord,’ he said, softly.
The body that had once been Marton Dhal’s reached over
to grasp the Helm, ready to lift it clear. His glance flashed at
Susan, and she obediently knelt down beside the chair to
receive it.
‘What are you doing? I command you to stop!’ cried
Palbury.
The wizard ignored him.
‘Gramling... why?’ It was Odoyle who spoke; his voice
dulled by shock and incomprehension.
‘Greed, plain and simple,’ Anni pronounced. ‘It’s taken
many a better man before him this way, I’m sorry to say.’
‘Is it greed that I simply want to live to fulfil a purpose? Is
that so hard to understand?’ Gramling retorted. ‘Because I still
have work to do, but no longer the strength? I was old in your
father’s time, Palbury. How long ago that was... I have
stretched my life as far as I can. Now, at last, the chance for
real power, the chance for –’
‘But at the cost of these innocent lives!’ said the King.
‘You have triumphed over Dhal. Stop now for pity’s sake!’
‘And lose the Helm? No. Never! It will be worth the cost, I
promise. There will be unity; a better order. There will be no
more war or conflict. I can make Avalon a paradise, you’ll see.
There will be nothing beyond us –’
The shield curtain around the dais flickered. Barbara saw
Odoyle and Anni tense.
Then a remarkable figure pushed past her and strode
masterfully towards the dais. She heard gasps of surprise from
the assembly.
It was the Doctor.
But his frock coat was now covered by a flowing red robe
with voluminous sleeves, decorated with stars. On his head, its
wire stiffening a little crooked after being wrapped in a bundle
for so long, was a wizard’s hat. His eyes locked with
Gramling’s.
‘If you attempt to put the Helm on my Susan, I swear you
will die!’ the Doctor said simply. His tone left no doubt that he
was speaking the absolute truth. Barbara had never heard such
icy determination. ‘I too am a magician, you see, and I will
use all the power I command to strike you down!’
‘It’s true,’ Odoyle spoke up loudly in confirmation. ‘I
coached him on the journey back here, and he’s a mighty fast
learner. The Doctor has the skill for sure.’
‘You can’t use the full power of the Helm just before
changeover, can you?’ the Doctor continued. ‘Even if your
natural power is combined with that of Dhal’s, I don’t believe
you have the strength to hold us all at bay! Listen to me,
Gramling, before it’s too late! I understand the temptation, and
your aim may be a noble one, but this is not the way to build a
better world. Nothing built upon the calculated sacrifice of
innocent lives can be! And what would you gain? The power
of the Helm is a trap, a dead end! It destroyed its builders by
granting too much! Show us you have more sense and courage
than your apprentice. Don’t let it destroy you!’
A momentary flicker of doubt passed across Gramling’s
face, causing Barbara to catch her breath. Then he shook his
head, almost regretfully. ‘No, it is too late, Doctor. If you had
shared even the briefest moment of what I have already
experienced through the Helm, you would understand. The
only justification for what I have already done is to go
forward. There is only one path for me now.’
Then Gramling’s old body died.
The shield curtain flickered away.
Gramling snatched at the Helm.

Outside, the veil lifted from Fluxford castle. Men and beasts
fell gasping to the ground as the air flowed freely once more.
At the head of the advancing marines, Shannon struggled
grimly to his feet.
‘Get inside the main building. Find it!’

Gramling thrust the Helm towards Susan. Odoyle, Anni

Glassfeather and the Doctor struck at him. Eldritch fire
streamed from silver hammer, broomstick and the Doctor’s
sapphire ring.

Free again, Bron and Edmund stumbled, gulped down fresh

air, picked themselves up and ran on. Amid the tumbled yard
walls and churned earth of the castle orchard they found an
advance party of three marines, lying crushed and torn beside
the carcass of the dragon that had died slaying them. Bron
snatched up a pair of their automatic rifles and tossed one to
Edmund.
‘I have seen how these work,’ he cried. ‘Let us turn them to
our own use!’

Fire flared off Gramling’s personal shield. He staggered back,

shocked but unharmed, dropping the Helm. Susan and Mellisa
shook their heads dizzily as the control over them slipped.
‘Get down!’ Ian yelled, and they leaped off the side of the
dais and fell flat. Chairs tumbled over as the assembled
dignitaries scrambled clear of the magical conflict.
Gramling snatched up his own staff which had been laid
beside his chair, even as Anni tossed a potion bottle at his feet.
Thick green tendrils of ivy erupted from the boards of the dais
and twined about Gramling’s legs, pinioning him to the spot.
He pointed his staff at the floor under Anni’s feet. The
flagstones lifted and tossed her aside as red-brown chitinous
forms expanded beneath them. Three five-foot long earwigs
were suddenly standing amid the shattered stones, shifting
about uncertainly, their huge rear pincers snapping
menacingly. The Doctor pointed upwards. His ring sparkled.
A spider dropped down from a beam on a thread of silk that
became a rope as it swelled to enormous size. It fell on to the
earwigs and started to entwine them in its web.
Odoyle turned his silver hammer on a hanging candle
wheel. It began to spin, snapping its chains, and dived towards
Gramling hissing like a flail. Gramling caught the wheel on
the end of his staff and it became a child’s spinning top, which
he whipped back at Odoyle so fast he had to duck and tumble
out of the way as the missile screamed over his head and
shattered against the far wall.
Anni had scrambled clear of the earwigs. Now she cast a
bag of sparkling powder over a jumble of fallen chairs by her
side, and muttered a few words. The chairs seemed to unfold
and twist in a complicated fashion, becoming stick figures that
stalked stiffly towards Gramling as he struggled clear of the
ivy around his legs, and began to club at his staff, trying to
knock it from his grasp. He gestured with his free hand. A
crossed pair of ornamental axes detached themselves from the
wall and flew through the air to start hacking at the animated
chairs. The Doctor pointed his ring and a row of hanging
shields bearing assorted coats of arms swooped in front of the
axes. The hall rang with the clang of metal on metal.
Odoyle’s body elongated and his head swelled. He became
a huge, emerald green snake. Forty feet of sinuous body
suddenly uncoiled, writhing around the side of the hall,
sending the cowering guests leaping for fresh cover. It reared
up behind Gramling as he was guiding the axes against the
Doctor’s flying shields and Anni’s chair warriors, and struck.
Gramling disappeared as coil after coil enveloped him.
They tightened slowly, immobilizing Gramling.
‘Now I have you!’ Odoyle hissed. ‘Sorry it should come to
this, my old friend.’
Then there was a blaze of flame and heat that lit up the hall,
radiating out from between the coils.
Odoyle’s eyes widened and his snake body writhed. ‘No...
!’
Then it burst apart; disintegrating into a mushroom of green
vapour which rolled up into the roof.
And Odoyle was gone.
In his place, towering over them, was a replica of the
dragon that had pursued them in the forest. Flame streamed
from its gaping jaws, setting fire to a hanging tapestry.
Anni threw a potion vial down at her own feet. There was a
pop and billow of bright orange smoke. She grew in size with
the rising cloud of smoke, her pointed hat spearing upwards
until it brushed the ceiling and she was as tall as the dragon.
Swinging her broom vigorously, she began to drive it back
into a corner, knocking its huge head left and right, bringing
forth roars of pain and fury. Desperately it flamed again,
setting her broom alight. As Anni beat at the flames it lashed
out with its tail, catching her in the ribs and sending her
crashing against the wall, cracking the stonework. She slid
down to the floor limply, slowly shrinking back to her normal
size. The dragon roared in triumph.

The Doctor pointed at the stained glass window by its head. A

section of ultramarine glass representing the sea suddenly
spewed a torrent of water with such force that it knocked the
dragon sideways, quenching its flame. The Doctor gestured at
another window containing a section of sky. A blast of wind
whistled forth, setting everybody in the hall shivering. A
glistening, frosted cocoon formed about the dragon, freezing it
rigid even as it struggled upright.
For a moment everything was very still in the hall, but from
outside they heard the sound of fighting once more. It was
getting closer.
Sheltering at the back with Barbara, Komati and their
temporary charge, Ian strained his eyes in the faint light of the
remaining candles. He saw Susan and the Princess crouching
in the far corner beyond the dais behind some upturned chairs,
apparently unhurt. But where was the Helm?
Then the ice shattered about the dragon and its quasi-solid
form boiled away into noxious steaming slime. The vapour
dispersed and there was Gramling, looking tired and dazed. As
soon as he saw the Doctor he raised his staff, even as the
Doctor extended his ring-hand in a spell-casting gesture.
‘So. It is down to you and me, Doctor,’ Gramling said.
The Doctor also seemed drained by his efforts, but his
voice was still firm. ‘You can never use the Helm now. Susan
and Mellisa know about the conditioning and will resist, and
that would make them unsuitable cat’s paws, wouldn’t it?
Why continue this madness?’
Gramling laughed without humour.
‘Perhaps it is fated, or perhaps I have gone too far to turn
back. Or, just possibly, it is personal. You humiliated me at
our first meeting, Doctor, remember? The old Gramling had
no time to bear grudges, but now I find my sense of pride
renewed afresh. Retribution appeals to me once more. And
now you have interfered again and cost me dearly. I really
can’t leave that unpunished.’
‘That is Dhal speaking, not Gramling!’ the Doctor riposted.
‘Gramling spoke of nobler aims than petty revenge, however
misguided were his methods. Perhaps there is still a little of
Dhal left in you?’
For a moment Gramling looked uncertain and clutched his
brow. ‘Don’t try to confuse me! I know who I am! I am the
master, Doctor, and you are but an upstart apprentice!’
Fire seared from his staff.
The Doctor’s ring blazed in blue-white brilliance.
A hot wind sprang up and howled through the hall, blowing
out the remaining candles, shattering windows and filling the
darkness with the eerie glow of the fierce magical emission.
Chairs began to scrape and slither across the floor, driven back
by the discharge. All illusions and animations were
abandoned, as though they had only been preliminaries;
preparation for the ultimate confrontation between wizards.
Now it was simply a battle of raw energy as they drew more
and more from the global power web.
Challenging each other to see who would burn out first.

Outside the rain grew heavier. A vortex of cloud swirled over

the keep. Lightning forks began to stab down at the clustered
towers and the struggling forms of beasts and men.

Peal after peal of thunder reverberated through the Great Hall.

The Doctor and Gramling had almost vanished behind
glowing shields. The air between them crackled and flared
with criss-cross bolts and spears of energy, lighting up the
whole chamber with arc-lamp brilliance, and sending crazy
shadows dancing about the vaulted roof. Creeping tendrils of
electricity writhed and earthed. The flagstones about them
cracked and melted and the boards of the dais began to char
and smoulder.
And then Ian saw the Helm, caught in the angle between
the dais and the floor.
This was it. Now or never!
Dragging their frightened burden between them, with
Komati helping push it forward, Ian and Barbara forced their
way towards the dais, stumbling over the tumbling chairs and
toppling candle trees. The scorching wind beat them down,
drawing sparks from their hair. Crawling, they clung to cracks
in the flagstones, pulling the struggling creature along with
them until they could move no closer to the dais.
The hall doors burst open. Gunfire could be heard.
Ian lifted his head. ‘Susan!’ he yelled, ‘can you reach the
Helm?’
Sheltering in the far corner behind upturned chairs, Susan
shielded her eyes against the fearful blast of heat and light.
The Helm was perhaps twelve feet from her, but the pressure
of the discharge was already fearsome at this distance. How
could she get closer? Could she move the Helm by magic? No,
she couldn’t concentrate amid the noise and confusion.
Desperately she looked around. There was a halberd lying on
the floor, fallen from its display hooks. Its shaft had to be eight
feet long, surely. She scrabbled towards it.
Backing into the howling gale came Bron and Edmund,
firing their captured weapons.
Susan grasped the shaft of the halberd and pulled it to her.
Bron ran out of ammunition and drew Invictus. They fell
back to one side of the doorway, sheltering in the jumble of
scattered furniture. Shannon and a marine appeared at the
doors, dazzled for a moment by the light of the magical
discharge.
Susan stretched forward, extending the halberd towards the
Helm, biting her lip as the heat scorched the exposed flesh of
her arm.
Edmund fired and the marine beside Shannon fell.
 The tip of the halberd touched the Helm. It rolled free, was
caught by the wind and tumbled and bounced away.
Edmund’s rifle clicked empty.
Ian snatched at the Helm as it sailed past, but missed.
Shannon swung his rifle to cover Edmund and Bron, saw
his magazine gauge, and hesitated.
Komati, a few feet behind Ian, caught the bouncing Helm
by pure reflex. Ian reached out his hand. Komati began to
crawl towards him.
Shannon, still covering Bron and Edmund, snatched a
glance at her.
‘Bring it here, Komati!’ he commanded, his words cutting
through the thunder and crackle of energy.
‘Give it to me,’ shouted Ian. ‘I can finish this thing!’
Komati looked helplessly from one to the other.
‘It’s your duty, lieutenant!’
‘Stop telling me my duty!’ she yelled. She threw the Helm
to Ian as Shannon twisted and fired. The impact sent her
sprawling jerkily across the floor like a rag doll as Ian caught
the Helm.
Shannon’s gun turned to him.
And clicked dryly.
As Shannon grabbed for a fresh magazine, Bron lunged
forward, swinging Invictus.
Ian tore the padding from inside the Helm, and, as Barbara
held their squirming captive, he thrust it into place.
The Helm fitted the contours of the cephlie’s head
perfectly.

Sounds of combat outside ceased abruptly. The blaze of

energy around the magicians dimmed and was gone. The heat
was snatched out of the half-melted flagstones at their feet as
though it had never been there. The searing wind became a
whisper and died away. Outside the last rumbles of thunder
faded. Silence and darkness seemed to ring in Barbara’s ears.

All the candles in the hall sprang alight.

By the dais, Barbara saw the Doctor still standing, but
looking utterly exhausted. Gramling was slumped to the
ground and lay very still, his robes blackened. His face... she
turned away.
Slowly, as though half dazed, people began to move. She
saw Ian examine Komati’s still form and shake his head sadly.
Then Edmund stumbled over to Mellisa, with the King, Queen
and Palbury beside him, and kissed her; while Susan ran over
to the Doctor and hugged him. The Doctor lifted his head and
murmured reassurance. Barbara saw Anni stirring, and she and
Ian helped her to her feet, as Peridor was giving a supporting
arm to Bron, who stood, swaying slightly, over Shannon’s
body.
Then they all turned to the cephlie who stood impassively
in the middle of the Great Hall.
No longer a furtive or hangdog creature.
Purpose and intelligence seemed to radiate from it.
With an effort, the Doctor straightened himself up, brushed
off his robe, and approached it.
‘Do you understand what has occurred?’ he asked gravely.
The cephlie spoke in clear and precise tones. ‘I know of
every action made upon our world since the system was
created.’
‘Then you know why it must be shut down, or else its
influence will spread to other worlds.’
‘I understand. Its end shall be ours as well.’
‘But is there no other way?’
‘Not for us. We are too closely bound up with it. Do not
concern yourself. It is all we crave now. My fellows are
coming. I have called them...’
And to her amazement, Barbara saw cephlies emerging
from the shadows out of the corners of the hall. Bron flinched
as they pushed past him. Surely they had not come in through
the door? A dozen, twenty. How could they have got there?
Where did they come from so quickly? She would never
know. Silently, gravely, they clustered round the cephlie
wearing the Helm.
‘The starship’s weapons have been neutralized, as have
those of their ground forces. There will be no more fighting.’
It turned its gaze to the Doctor again. ‘You have learned
most of our story, Doctor. We place the rest into your mind
now. Tell it in full when we are gone.’
‘I will,’ the Doctor promised solemnly. ‘Thank you for
putting matters right.’
‘Ultimately it was our responsibility,’ it said simply. ‘You
will need a representative from the Empire forces to be present
to talk of peace,’ it added. ‘We will arrange that.’ The cephlie
turned to the King and Queen, who returned its penetrating
gaze uncertainly. ‘Take care of this world. It truly belongs to
you now. But do not make the same mistake we did. Do not
force perfection. And learn when to move on.’
And it lowered its head.
Barbara felt the change wave surge through her.
The sky blazed.

In the Prince Randolph they looked up from wrestling with

unaccountably locked weapon circuits to see the moons grow
searingly brilliant. Torrents of stored energy radiated away
into space. Briefly Avalon was encircled by a necklace of
miniature suns. Then the light slowly faded. The moons
cooled, sinking through orange and red and down into the dull
blackness of dead and empty husks.
Then a technician called to Nyborg: ‘Sir, look at the
planet... Admiral? Admiral!’
A shockwave of light expanded out from Fluxford and
swept across the globe.
Night became day once more as the whole world glowed.

Barbara felt herself lost in a mist of light and cold brilliance. It

burned within her. Tiny firefly pinpricks spilling out with her
breath; flaring and dying. Her hands glittered with them. The
air about her sparkled with millions of them. The people
around her were figures of fire.
Then the light faded and was gone.
And so were the cephlies and the Helm.
In their place, still seated in his bridge chair, was Admiral
Nyborg.
The Doctor, formidable in his magician’s robes, was
standing over him, scrutinizing the dumbfounded Empire
officer closely. Then he said commandingly: ‘Sir Bron?’
‘Yes, Doctor?’
‘Please escort this man into the castle grounds. Let him tell
his men there will be no more fighting. Show him the dead, so
he may understand what has been done in the name of his
Empire. Then bring him back here.’ The Doctor turned to the
King and Palbury.
‘And then you will all talk of peace together.’
 26

The Legacy of Avalon

I t was the dawn of midsummer’s day.

‘I think it is time for us to go,’ said the Doctor gently.
‘They do not need our help anymore.’
‘We’ll miss a wedding... and some funerals,’ Ian said.
‘Alammar, Komati... and Odoyle. He was... well, so full of
life.’
‘I will miss him too, Chesterton. I will miss all of them.
The price has been high, and must never be forgotten. But the
Avalonians must learn to forge their own destiny now, without
magic or outsiders to aid them.’ He breathed in the fresh
morning air. There was distant birdsong. ‘I believe it is going
to be a fine day. I trust this is a good omen. Now, have you all
got everything?’
Susan, Ian and Barbara nodded. They began to pick their
way through the battlescarred grounds to the TARDIS.
‘I said goodbye to Mellisa and Edmund,’ Susan confirmed.
‘But they were too busy gazing into each other’s eyes to take
much notice.’
‘Sir Bron was just going into the talks in the Steward’s
Room when I left him,’ said Ian. ‘The King and Palbury are
there, with the Admiral and his advisors. They’re negotiating
reparations. His Empire may be falling, but I reckon Nyborg
will behave decently. I think what the cephlies did rattled him
a bit.’
‘I trust they will reach some amicable compromise,’ said
the Doctor. ‘They may need each other shortly. Avalon’s
isolation is ended, and it needs the Empire’s protection for a
while. But they do have something to bargain with, as I
pointed out to the King.’
 ‘What’s that?’
‘Land. This is a sparsely populated world. With the Empire
fragmenting, there will inevitably be people looking for
simpler lifestyles on new worlds. It is best to organize such
things from the start in an orderly manner.’
Barbara smiled. ‘Queen Leonora will make sure of that,’
she confirmed. ‘Oh, and I said goodbye to Anni on our behalf.
She was setting off back to her cottage. She was worried about
her cat. I suggested to Peridor that he arrange for some
transport, as she can’t use her broomstick again. Still, she
seemed cheerful enough, in the circumstances.’
‘She struck me as a most practical woman,’ the Doctor
commented, ignoring the others’ sudden grins.
Then Barbara frowned. ‘The magic really has gone
completely, hasn’t it?’
‘Certainly. And, if I may say so, good riddance to it!’
‘But you can’t deny the system behind it was an incredible
invention,’ said Ian.
‘A dead end, Chesterton,’ the Doctor responded firmly. ‘It
reduced the cephlies to a brilliant futility, living in a sterile
paradise. They had god-like powers with no outlet but building
self-indulgent follies, culminating in the destruction of a star
for purely aesthetic purposes. What value true creativity and
ingenuity then?’
‘Still, it’s a pity something couldn’t have been saved.’
The Doctor looked at him despairingly. ‘The system, had it
spread through nanobotic contamination, would have brought
about the fall of all other technologies, and hence galactic
civilization itself!’
‘But if people knew how to use it, they wouldn’t need
anything else. They needn’t have gone the way of the
cephlies.’
The Doctor regarded him with mild exasperation. ‘You still
don’t appreciate its true power, do you?’
‘Surely there’s nothing else!’ exclaimed Barbara.
‘Something so obvious, we didn’t realize it. On Avalon,
normal cause and effect and self-determination were subject to
the prevailing expectations of the dominant mythological
structure. The incidents and supposedly chance encounters we
experienced from our first day, the crash of the lander close to
the Merrow, perhaps even our arrival itself at such a crucial
time, were not simply coincidental. The system shaped
everything to fit the pattern!’
Barbara looked shocked. ‘I had a feeling people here were
set in their ways, but I never realized we might be affected.’
‘We were agents of change,’ said the Doctor. ‘Our new
ideas upset the established order and possibly influenced
others. But if the system had survived, and we had stayed long
enough, who knows?’
Susan nodded understandingly. Ian shook his head in
amazement, then suddenly said: ‘That was what you meant
about the significance of “three” on the Merrow!’
‘Yes. It seemed a suitable token number for a series of
encounters in those circumstances. Now, would you really like
everyone to live their whole lives subject to such arbitrary
forces?’
‘All right Doctor, you’ve convinced me,’ said Ian fervently.
‘Good riddance to magic! Still, it will be a pity to think
there’ll be no more dragons.’
‘Speak for yourself!’ said Barbara with feeling.
‘Oh, I expect the dragons and such will live on,’ said the
Doctor, ‘but merely as large reptiles. The fire breathing and
the flying was all due to the nanobots enhancing their abilities
to produce the appropriate image.’
‘That was the word I thought of, Grandfather,’ said Susan.
‘When I was wondering how to escape from Dhal’s tower
when I remembered the story of Rapunzel.’ She smiled. ‘That
had to be appropriate. But belief was also important. Mellisa
believed in me, and I found it easier to work the spells. Those
vials I stole from Dhal may not have been acids after all, but I
hoped they were, and convinced Mellisa, and gradually they
began to work.’
‘Yes. All the spells and potions did was to concentrate the
user’s mind on what he wanted to happen. Only the cephlies
could integrate with the system fully, of course. But some
people...’ he paused modestly, ‘with the right talent, and
suitable application of method, could obtain satisfactory
results.’
 ‘That explains your magician’s costume,’ said Barbara.
‘You had to look the part, so that people believed in you!’
‘Exactly. I was convinced there would be some final
confrontation, though I could hardly have guessed its form. It
was obvious that presenting myself as a magician at the crucial
moment would be advantageous, but I had to do so in the
“appropriate” manner.’
They arrived at the TARDIS. The Doctor took out his key
and turned it in the lock. The door opened smoothly. He
beamed at them.
‘But how did you know the cephlies were indigenous to
Avalon?’ Ian wondered.
‘They were the odd ones out in the bestiary list!’ said
Barbara.
‘Quite so,’ the Doctor confirmed. ‘They were not creations
like Dhal’s hybrids, nor legendary creatures from Earthly
myths. They had to be natives, the only natives we
encountered, so they had to be special. And their name. The
similarity to “cephalic”, pertaining to the cranium. Surely a
fragment of a longer scientific description which could only
have been given by the first colonists before the fall. We
actually saw further proof when sailing down the river,
Chesterton. “The Seven Companions” remember?’
‘Of course! A cephlie sculpture! I thought the proportions
were a bit odd.’
‘Yes, and thousands of years old. They had to be the
original dominant race here.’
‘And now they’ve just... died,’ said Barbara.
‘They wanted an end,’ the Doctor said simply. ‘They were
very old, as individuals, I mean. The system had been
extending their lives artificially. All those we saw may have
been older than the blackout disaster. Virtual immortality. Yet,
for all its potential, their system did not have enough
safeguards. It could be overruled by people who had long
forgotten, through laziness, the consequences of their actions.
Until they almost drained the system of energy for several
months to fulfil a foolish whim. Those that survived never
recovered from the shock, and feared further contact with the
Helm, or similar devices, even though that was the only thing
that could bring them release. From then on they existed, but
nothing more. They had forgotten change is part of life,
without which there is only stagnation. The Empire will also
learn that fact soon, I believe... but that is another story.
‘Now, shall we be going?’
Susan and Barbara slipped inside the TARDIS, but Ian
paused.
‘The way you’ve summed up, Doctor, almost makes
me believe you had it all worked out from the start.’
‘Not quite, Chesterton,’ he replied modestly, ‘but I did
hold one key fact firmly in mind which proved useful.’
‘Oh, what was that?’
‘That there is no such thing as magic,’ said the Doctor.
They entered the police box and the door closed.
A moment later the deep thrumming pulse of
dematerialization sounded in the yard. And, almost magically,
the TARDIS faded away.