Doctor Who_ Battlefield Part 12

'Yes, sir.'

'Check it's loaded in case we go in.'

The helicopter started its turn back towards the church.

Morgaine stood beside her son in a strange world. Her personal entourage of men-at-arms was arrayed in readiness beside her. They watched the pale sky beyond the stone tower.

'What did you see?' she said to Mordred.

'A flying machine. Like an ornithopter but with whirling blades for wings.'

Avallion had been neglected for too long. It had ceased to be the haven that the ancient books of lore described.

Morgaine had watched for an age, but she had not turned her eyes this way. Perhaps Avallion was no longer the dwelling place for peasants.

'The people of this world are obsessed with machinery,'

she said.

'So it would seem,' said her son.

'And thus by default, they can have no love of the living.

Nor bear honour for their fellows.'

The roar of the flying machine was growing louder again. It swooped in on them from behind the trees.

Morgaine gathered her power within her. 'Well then, let us teach them the limitations of their technologies.'

She flung out her arm and a bolt of electric blue light shot from her fingers.

A small explosion flamed from the rear of the flying machine's undercarriage.

Warning klaxons blared in the c.o.c.kpit. The helicopter lurched to one side.

'Malfunction!' yelled Lavel. 'Port engine! Felt like we hit something! Strap in. This could be rough!'

Lethbridge-Stewart clung to his seat. The helicopter started to spiral, leaving a coil of black smoke in its wake.

'Can we get down?' he said.

Red hazard lights flickered across the panel. Lavel clung to the controls and tried to right the portward list. 'Down is not the problem,' she snapped.

Mordred and Morgaine watched the flying machine sink like a wounded bird until it vanished beyond the woodland. They heard the crash of wood against metal and gla.s.s. Smoke still rose in a drifting column.

She turned away and stared down at the cold damp earth. Her power was weaker here. In the world at home, she would have blasted the machine out of the sky.

Arthur had chosen their final meeting place well. He had lured her here, knowing full well of this flaw in her power. Or were these the tricks of that jealous fool Merlin, who held the High King's ear in every matter from battle strategy to the choicest table wine?

No matter. Arthur had fled in the face of defeat. It had taken him twelve hundred years to summon courage to return and face her. She had scoured the Thirteen Planets for clues to his whereabouts. He may have been engaged in some protracted war, or beleagured in some eternal siege: she dismissed out of hand the rumour that he was bound in sleep, waiting to rise again like some hero of legend.

More likely, he had been sulking somewhere, his mind turning sourer and sicker as he nurtured some malignant plot against her. The mind of an immortal was always hungry for fresh stimulation. Allowed to linger with its own dark thoughts, it soon shrivelled to single coursed obsessions and madness. After so long, whatever scheme he hatched, she would still meet and confound his every ploy.

The power was still hers. She reminded herself daily of the duplicity for which she had vowed he would pay.

'Before this battle is out, both Arthur and Merlin will rot in h.e.l.l!'

Let every spirit hear her decree. And so be it.

The helicopter lay burning in the undergrowth of a small copse. Its rotors were twisted and broken. Its c.o.c.kpit window smashed.

As the Brigadier pulled Lavel clear of the craft, she grimaced and clutched at her leg. 'I'm all right!' she choked through gritted teeth.

He supported her as they struggled for cover. Behind them, the fuel tanks erupted into a giant fireball.

Lethbridge-Stewart and Lavel hurled themselves forward into the bracken as a barrage of shrapnel scythed overhead.

He thought she was going to cry. 'Seven million quid's worth of aircraft and I lost it. If they make me pay for that, I'll be poor forever.'

The Brigadier fingered her leg and she winced. 'I think you've pulled a ligament,' he said awkwardly.

'Good! I thought it might be something serious.'

He stood up and looked round to get his bearings. The church tower reared through the trees beyond the burning helicopter. 'I'm going to get help from the village.'

She screwed up her eyes, because he was standing with the sun directly behind him. 'Sir, we don't know what the situation is yet.'

He drew his pistol, the gun he had always kept since the old days. They had offered him a new revomatic at London Central, but if he had to fight, he wanted to do it comfortably.

'The situation is normal and it doesn't get much worse than that.' He took a deep breath. 'Do you know, I think I'm beginning to enjoy this.'

He disappeared in the direction of the church leaving Lavel alone in the warm damp gra.s.s.

The lieutenant immediately set about fashioning herself a makeshift crutch from one of her crashed helicopter's landing struts.

She tried her weight on the support. Her leg ached dully, but she was able to stand and drink in the sunlit air.

It put her in mind of her home in Brittany; there was an atmosphere of something ancient and unfathomable that haunted both Cornish and Breton regions. The Celtic links were tangible in both history and myth. She loosened her tightly-pinned hair and shook it free. Somewhere, a lark rose singing into the blue-white sky.

Lavel was suddenly aware of someone approaching through the copse.

Pat Rowlinson, a first-aid kit under his arm, had come searching for survivors from the crash. He stopped to stare at the smoking sh.e.l.l of the helicopter and tensed as he felt the cold metal of a gun press in by his ear.

'Don't move,' said Lavel. 'Where are you from?'

He managed to say, 'The hotel across the way. I own it.'

'Then I am very sorry for you,' she said. As she lowered her gun, she saw something move in the bushes.

' Regard! Regard! ' she shouted and pushed him clear as a soldier in armour came running at her, sword raised. ' she shouted and pushed him clear as a soldier in armour came running at her, sword raised.

She pivoted round on the metal crutch and kicked him in the chest with her good leg. He reeled backwards and she swung the crutch, clubbing him neatly around the head.

He collapsed and lay still.

Pat was totally bewildered. 'Is it dead?' he said.

She leant against him, breathing heavily and searching the copse around them for further trouble. 'I can't tell.

Come on, we're too exposed out here.'

'The hotel. You'd better come with me.'

Mordred had marched his men down the path beside the stone tower. Along the road ahead was a form of monument: a carven stone cross raised on a plinth. There were inscriptions on a bronze plate worked into the granite base.

Morgaine waited impatiently while her son studied the runes. When he turned to her, she recognized the frightened look he reserved for her impending anger.

'It is a shrine, to those fallen in battle,' he said.

'So they are not the savages you led us to believe,' she accused. 'You fought on their soil without proper respect for the dead.'

'Mother...'

Those brown eyes of his imploring her again. So like his father in every mannerism. The memories froze in her gullet.

'You have dishonoured us, Mordred. What is victory without honour? Leave us!'

He saluted coldly, turned and walked away along the road. She watched him go. He would return when his sulking was done.

In the meantime, the spirits of those knights they had dishonoured must be appeased. She formed the men-at-arms up before the shrine. They raised their swords in a grim salute to the dead.

As they stood in silent contemplation, she heard someone approaching on the road. She descended the steps to the lych gate and saw the figure of a man walking towards her. He seemed startled as she stepped out into his path.

'What manner of man are you?' she challenged.

Lethbridge-Stewart a.s.sumed the cla.s.sic duelling position: the body turned sideways, the pistol held straight-armed and aimed at Morgaine.

The men-at-arms raised their weapons in threat. The Brigadier did not flinch.

Morgaine was impressed and greatly amused. 'A warrior, no less.' She faced his gun and enquired merrily, 'How goes the day?'

'I've had better,' said the Brigadier carefully.

'I am Morgaine Sunkiller,' she proclaimed imperiously.

'Dominator of the thirteen worlds and Battle Queen of the S'rax. What say you, sir warrior?'

He recognized the laws of parley and slowly lowered his pistol. 'I am Brigadier Lethbridge-Stewart. Surrender now and we can avoid bloodshed.'

She laughed. 'Are all your knights so resolute?'

'b.l.o.o.d.y, bold and resolute, madam.'

'It is well.' She indicated the war memorial. 'No blood shall be spilled until we have done full honour to those of your warriors who have died in battle.'

'Let me see if I understand you correctly,' he said. 'You are holding a remembrance ceremony for the dead of our World Wars. A ceasefire to remain in force for the duration of said ceremony. Right?'

She nodded slowly. 'Your words are strange, but that is the meaning, yes.' She signalled the men-at-arms to lower their weapons.

The Brigadier holstered his gun. 'Very well. What must I do?'

They stood silently, side by side, while the men-at-arms knelt in ranks before the memorial. The Battle Queen and the veteran soldier. United in respect for one another's warriors and the etiquette of war.

After minutes had pa.s.sed, Morgaine lifted her head and said, 'I wish you to know that I bear you no malice.'

'I understand,' he said.

'But when we meet again, I shall kill you.'

She turned, the sunlight glancing on her armour and her flowing red hair. She led her soldiers away along the road towards the village.

He would have been proud to lead such a well-drilled company. Nor did he doubt that they were formidable fighters. He was honoured that the Battle Queen deemed him a worthy opponent. But whether she had leapt from out of the past or from some other world where the laws of chivalry held sway, he could not tell.

It was imperative that he find the Doctor quickly. He retraced his steps back to where he had left Lavel, but there was no sign of her.

On the road, he saw a small blue car turning into the drive of a country hotel. He quickened his pace and started to run.