CHAPTER TEN

The corridor thundered with the sound of booted feet.  Dodging back into their niche, the Lady shook her head, brows drawn together in a preoccupied frown.   "More prisoners, and Scholars among them.  It looks like the Sher'dana's cracking down."

"Scholars?"  Cthilian was shocked to his soul.  "She would dare arrest Scholars?"

"From what I've seen of your Sher'dana, there's little she wouldn't dare.  Where does this corridor lead?"

"To the prisons beneath the castle."

She grimaced.  "Dungeons.  Lovely."

Uneasy, Cthilian said:  "If we go back to the transmat, maybe the way to the Sher'dana's suite will be clear by now, Lady."

He did not like this -- inexorably, they were being driven deep beneath the tarn.   He moved closer to the Lady as she considered, eyes on some distant point.  The noise died away.  

"We'll never get near her now," she said finally.  "If they've attacked the Temple, she'll know I'm not there.  Where exactly are they taking the prisoners?"

"The fifth level, Lady."

Beneath the cliff upon which the tarns were built, the catacombs ran deep.  They were old, older than any other part of the tarn except its heart, the ancient Sher.  Obscure legends claimed that ten thousand men had died cutting the labyrinth of narrow, triangular passages through the unforgiving rock.  But those were the days when the danae ruled, before the enlightenment of Vis.
.
"What's security like between here and there?"

"Besides guards, there are spy posts, although not all of them work any more."

"And these spy posts are. . .?"

Cthilian considered and said: "Electronic.  Like your video security cameras."

"How do you know about them?"

"Alorins learn their maintenance as part of our service training, but we don't have the knowledge to construct new parts to replace those that wear out."

She accepted that with a slight nod.  "Would you know which of these spy-posts are still functional?  And could you spot them along the way?"

"I -- think so," said Cthilian reluctantly.  "Maybe.  I know that there are none below the second level.  In fact, below the second level, everything is as it was two thousand years ago."

"Good!  Let's go."

Fortunately, he was able to keep his word about the spy-posts.  Cthilian spotted one in the rough stone at an intersection, another near the stair.   He remembered, vaguely, how much space they oversaw.  They slipped around the invisible danger zone easily.

"That one is not working," he said, pointing to the spy-post near the stair.  Nor was the next.  They did almost walk into a sentry, but Cthilian's sharp hearing warned them at the last moment.  Into a shadowy doorway they crept until the man disappeared down another passage.  Then they were moving again, half-running in a place where they should have been spotted at any second.

It was slow going.  Again and again they must detour up one passage or hide behind stacks of crates or barrels to escape detection.  Most of the sentries were in a great hurry, dashing back and forth as the search widened.  Perhaps the Lady was sending a thought command to ignore them.  Cthilian knew some danae of unusual strength could do such things.  The Sher'dana could.  Perhaps it was the combination of his ir'dan senses and Lady Palas' dana magic that kept them one step ahead of the search spreading through the tarn.

With each level they descended, the mass of stone overhead weighed more heavily on Cthilian's soul.  It was so very cold -- this horrible place where light must always be an invader.  The Lady seemed equally disturbed, her mouth twisting downward, glancing frequently behind her.  

At last they reached the final stair before the prison level.  Three large doors marked the corridor's end, six men guarding them.   Torches burned fitfully, blackening the stone with greasy soot.  They cast gyrating shadows all around, tricking the eye.  Suddenly, the Lady was moving, running around the corner and downing the guard on her right with a graceful, deadly kick.  She felled two more with her las-rod.  Cthilian startled himself by firing on another, and the man toppled to the floor.  The Lady did not stop firing, dancing in and out of return fire with an speed that made him blink.

All the guards were down.  Shaking a bit, he waited tensely as she plucked the keys from the pocket of one and opened the door.  Just inside, two more stood over the stair.  She took care of both, then ran down the twisting staircase.  Cthilian hurried to keep up with her.  

They came out into a short, empty passage.  Lamps hung on rusting brackets from the low ceiling.  The stone sweated, leaving a slick film on his hand when he brushed against it.  Now and again massive beams emerged briefly from the stone, threads of phosphorescence laying a fine tracery across the old, damp wood. 

Ahead, the corridor turned. The Lady used her las-rod again, swinging around the corner and taking another pair of sentries before Cthilian even realized they were there.  Once more, she searched for keys and found them.   Of the same ancient wood as the beams, the door was braced with rusting iron.  Three shiny, silver studs were an incongruous contrast, screwed in around the lock.

"Put your ear to it," she suggested.  "Tell me what you hear."

"Voices, metal clattering . . . "

She nodded and, before he knew what she was about, pulled up on the latch and went in.

Her dan power swirled around them, rushed into the cavern beyond.  Cthilian bit back an involuntary cry of protest and followed her as a hell-wind hurled men and equipment against the walls and to the ground.  Most were knocked senseless from the force of it, but some struggled to their feet, drawing their weapons.

His first shot went wild, glancing off several shields hanging on the nearby wall.  The next was nearly as bad, but its ricochet managed to clip a guard in the ear, sending the man back to the floor.   More las fire -- a web of it in all directions.  And none so much as touched them.  Cthilian could almost see her dan-shield in the suggestion of a shimmer in front of them.  He lowered his weapon a moment, looking anxiously at the Lady, but there was no sign of strain on her face.   She fired with quick, cold precision, easily picking off the disorganized, panicking guards.

More guards were running across the cavern floor; she seemed unfazed.  He started firing into the advancing line.  It was several seconds before he realized his weapon had lost its charge. Throwing it down, he picked up another.

Finally, there was no more return fire.  Cthilian and the Lady stood alone in the cavern.  Thirty men down, he counted, and was shaken.  Although he knew this power was possible in danae, the iri'dan had never seen such a raw display of it.  No Dev in living memory had, most likely.  This was what life would be like if the danae were unrestrained by law.  How had Vis rescued Devia from such formidable tyranny?  How had he convinced the danae to obey any but their own wills?

"Mzara!"  The Lady's voice echoed down the cave.  Cthilian moved forward, watching apprehensively for movement among the fallen guards.   His scavenged las-rod was at the lowest setting.  Its victims would soon be awake and in a foul mood.  His Lady's victims were not as lucky.  

He saw no cells at first, only a series of large grates scattered across the cavern floor.  Curious, Cthilian approached one and discovered a pit ten feet across and fifteen feet deep.  Through the heavy iron bars, he saw water running down the pit's sheer sides, gaunt, pale faces upturned at the bottom.  A foul stench reached him, sent him stumbling backwards in shock and horror.

"MZARA!"

A shout answered from far across the cave.  It was dark there, or nearly.  The Lady snatched a torch from the wall and ran in that direction. 

"Cthilian!  Help me with this!"

He hurried to obey, unable to bear the dull eyes staring up at him.  The Lady was hauling at the metal bar that braced shut one of the grates.  He joined her, and together they drew it, screeching, from its ring.  Beneath, he saw Mzara, bloody face split by a fierce grin.  Cthilian and the Lady slid a ladder down, and in seconds, the clanlord and his men were on the cavern floor beside them.

"Release the others," Mzara commanded, and his companions scattered.   Others went to guard the entrance.  The ir'dan clanlord was filthy and in tatters, a nasty bruise beneath one eye fading quickly.  Beside him stood a trembling Scholar, young, dazed, and with dried blood staining the shoulder of his purple robe.  He stared at the Lady as if she was a demon.  

"They sacked the Temple," said Mzara, "took Amdor, Shieann and my nephew.  Do you know of their fate?"  

"Djan?  They took Djan?"  Cthilian's world crashed.  He looked wildly at the Lady, but she only shook her head.  

"We left the College before the attack.  What will the reaction of your people be to this?"

"Anger, outrage -- and a greater fear than before," Mzara replied bitterly.  "We are finished.  The Sher'dan will bring all its power to crush what remains of us.  The best we can hope for, Lady, is to go north, lose ourselves in the mountains."

"I can't do that.  The woman has Danner and the Doctor in here somewhere.  Nor do I think Cthilian would agree to leave Djan behind."  The Lady looked about as, one by one, dozens of men, mostly in clan guard colors, scrambled from the hideous pits to gather around.  "There is an alternative to running, Mzara -- if you've the courage for it."

His eyes sharply narrowed.

"We are in the Tarn, my lord.  We're within striking distance of the enemy.  The bulk of her troops were moved to the Wall, remember?  They guard empty ruins."

"She's moved some back, used them to attack the College.  And if we did succeed in getting to the main level, she need only withdraw into the Sher."

But Cthilian could see the idea taking root in the clanlord's mind.  His equivocations were half-hearted.  Lady Palas sensed it, too, and pressed home her argument.

"Cthilian and I have neutralized some of the opposition between here and the levels above, but it won't last long.  I suggest we move on Benara now.  You have nothing to lose.  So what if she does barricade herself in this Sher?  With your clan warriors and my dan power, we could lay siege to it -- hold her there until you convince the people to join you."

Mzara shook his head, unconvinced.  "A nice picture, but not realistic.  You have more power than any danae I have ever seen, Lady Palas, but the strength of the Sher'dana is legendary.  She has lived over a millennium.  She knew Vis himself, and there are legends that she was his lover when the One departed from Devia."

"Or so we have always been taught," Cthilian ventured quietly.  "Her power has only been Challenged, twice, lord Mzara, hundreds of years ago.  They were no rivals for her, either of them.   How long has it been since she was truly tested?"

Mzara's jaw worked.  He looked over at the listening men.  They were weary and sore, but there was hope in their faces.  Taking a deep breath, he shouted: "Get weapons from the bodies.  Clan Yzele, Mistal -- take point up the stairs."

"I'll shield you as best I can," the Lady added, "but be ready to take some heat!  The Protectors are neither fools nor cowards.  It will not take them long to realize what they face!"

After that things became a blur.  The prisoners, armed with weapons taken from the fallen guards, swarmed up the stairs and onto the next level just as a new contingent of sentries approached.  Cthilian, pushed toward the back of the tiny army, saw the cramped passage ahead erupt in brilliance, heard screams and smelled burning flesh and fabric.  A few moments later, they surged forward again.  This time, there were bodies underfoot.  

A strange, dreamlike detachment descended upon the ir'dan, as if fear had become so much a part of him that he no longer noticed it.  The thought of Djan was a distant scream in the background of his consciousness; he refused to touch that for fear his nerve would fail.  The Lady was using up dan at a prohibitive rate - yet he had ceased to feel any concern for that, as well.  He simply ran where the others ran, ducked when they ducked, and once, when a patrol came unexpectedly around a corner behind them, fired until someone told him to stop.

It was not until they were one level below the Sher'dana's quarters that he came out of his daze, realizing with a shock where they were.  At the head of the troops, Lord Mzara called a halt.  Dropping to his haunches, Cthilian began to notice his surroundings again.

Their numbers had grown, it seemed.  Gray-clad soldiers now stood shoulder to shoulder with other clansmen -- palace guard who had thrown in their lot with the rebels.   Older alorin, too, were among them!  Cthilian recognized one as a childhood teacher.   A man in Clan Yzele's black and magenta was running toward them.   "Lord Mzara!" he shouted hoarsely.  "Protectors and warwitches have barricaded the stair ahead!  They demand to speak to the Lady!"

The Lady and clanlord hurried forward to meet the breathless Yzelen, several of Mzara's own guardsmen in close attendance.  They spoke rapidly and quietly to the scout.  Abruptly, Mzara clasped the Lady's hands and bowed over them.  Whirling about, he returned to the waiting fighters.  

The Lady did not follow, but walked away, toward the stair, accompanied by the Yzelen and Mzara's men.  Quickly, Cthilian started after her, but Mzara caught his arm.

"Stay put, boy.  You'll only get in the way."

With an angry, desperate twist, the ir'dan broke free.  "I am not clan-bound to you!  Leave me alone!  If I give my fealty to the Lady, you may not say otherwise!"

Mzara opened his mouth, anger leapt in his eyes.  Cthilian was past caring.  The Lady was almost out of sight and she would leave him behind without another thought.  With Mzara's shout echoing in his ears, he raced after her.  She turned and saw him coming.  He slowed, heart faltering for fear she would order him back.  That he really was -- as Mzara claimed -- useless.  But she only  nodded and, to his grateful surprise, moved to make room at her side.

***

"Time Lords?  Time Lords did this?"  Danner's voice rose dangerously and the Doctor winced.

"I'm afraid so," he said meekly.  "That *is* the Seal of Rassilon."

Danner was silent, pulling the Doctor's shirt back onto his shoulder absently.  It was long enough -- barely -- to give him some modesty.  Still, it was better than nothing and he was grateful for the Doctor's gift of it.

"Although I cannot understand why I never saw a record of it in the Matrix," the Time Lord muttered.

"Maybe another renegade?"  Danner knew a little of the Doctor's past.  "Someone else who stole a TARDIS and went off to meddle in everyone's affairs?"

"Time Lords do not generally do those things," was the dignified response. 

"Hmm.  No comment."  Danner looked up at the male statue's grave face. "Do you recognize him?"

"No, but I wouldn't expect to, really.  This Time Lord may have regenerated since the sculpture was created.  I supposed it could be the Master, but I cannot imagine him bringing peace and justice to any planet he could otherwise exploit into oblivion.  This was rather more of a good- intentioned interference."

"Oh -- like your usual style, eh?"

The Doctor 's eyebrows rose.  "Feeling better, are we?"

Danner grinned, unrepentant.  "But yes, like my usual style.  Rassilon!  Who could it have been?  The Beacon is clearly of a similar design to the Matrix, and although it's much more primitive, constructing it would have taken more than routine Time Lord knowledge."

"Got me," Danner shrugged.  "Maybe we should think about this *after* we get out of here."

"It's important to get to the bottom of this," the Doctor muttered, only half heeding him.  "I wonder how much more Time Lord technology Benara has?"

Danner turned and had another look at the dana figure.  Unexpectedly its soft gaze hardened, the features melting into Miyel's face.  He felt her slender fingers lock around the iron collar, pressing into the side of his neck.  She held out the small, golden disk for him to see, waited as his overburdened heart slammed back into high gear, then pressed it against his breastbone.  Pain obliterated everything.

"Danner!  DANNER!"

He was on his knees again, sweat running into his eyes, every muscle twitching. .  "I didn't talk," he pleaded hoarsely.  "I swear I never said a word!"

Saying nothing, the Time Lord helped him back to his feet.  Strong, gentle hands steadied him until the worst of the weakness had passed.  

"Sorry," muttered the blackstone, dangerously close to breaking down again.

"Don't be," replied the Doctor quietly.  "You've been through a hideous experience.  It's unrealistic to pretend there will not be after-effects."

"Yeah, yeah, you're right.  Of course."  His muscles were taking forever to unknot.  To hide the trembling that would not stop, Danner left the Time Lord, heading for the door.  Looking around, he saw the Doctor hurrying after him.

"Pretty quiet," he said.  "Maybe they've gone.  Why not try picking the lock?"

He thought the Doctor would refuse, but the Time Lord nodded.  "Go back, pretend you're still chained and unconscious."

Danner did as he was told, laying down once more on the icy stone, wrapping the loose chains around his hands.  Rather than picking the lock, however, the Doctor began banging on the door and shouting: "Guard!  GUARDS!  Come quickly!"

Oh, jeez.  Not that tired old trick.  

The door opened.  A Protector poked in his head, glowered suspiciously at the Doctor.  From beneath his eyelashes, Danner saw the tip of a las-rod.

"What is it?  Stand back!"

"It's my friend!"  The hysterical edge in the Doctor's voice was, in Danner's opinion, a bit over the top.  "He's stopped breathing!  Come quickly!"

The guard turned and said something to his partners, then, motioning the Doctor to stand back, came into the room.  Danner closed his eyes tightly, listening as the footsteps drew nearer.  It took all the blackstone's will to remain quiescent  as the man crouched beside him and began to turn him over.   And when Danner sensed that the other man's balance was at its most precarious, he came alive.

Rolling swiftly away, he was on his feet, chain swinging.  It wrapped around the startled guard's ankles and sent him crashing to the ground.  Danner followed through without a pause, driving his bare heel into the guard's larynx.  With the guard's death-rattle echoing in his ears, he ran toward the open door.  The Doctor was already through.  Another guard lay flat on his back, unconscious.

"I thought you said there were nine of them?"

"There were."  The Doctor appeared surprised, looking up and down the deserted passage.

Danner helped himself to the unfortunate guard's trousers.  They were too short and a bit too roomy, but they would do.  He also picked up the fallen las-rod.  It was almost fully charged.  Deliberately, he jammed the setting up to max.  The hell with 'em all.

"This way," said the Doctor, pointing left.  Danner balked.

"I've already been there.  Nothing but a bunch of perverts.  Let's get out of here."

But the Doctor was moving purposefully off in that direction.  Cursing, Danner reluctantly followed.  

They made no sound on the deep carpets.  Ahead, the corridor widened into a large, round chamber.  Three corridors radiated from it, also empty.  For the first time, they saw something other than sphere-light.  The domed roof was transparent, revealing a sky blushing rosily into morning.  Chairs and divans stood in companionable clusters, and there were flowering plants in great brass containers.  On the floor near one divan a wineglass lay on its side, its contents puddling on the gleaming stone.  A plate was overturned beside it, sweetmeats scattered in all directions.  

"Maybe everyone passed out," Danner said, mystified.  "They were drinking a lot of that wine or whatever."

"I don't think so."  The Doctor stood in the center of the room, uneasy.

Restlessly, Danner prowled the room's perimeter while the Doctor stood, eyes narrowed, thinking.  Finally, shaking his head, the Doctor started off down the right corridor. 

More empty corridors.  The Doctor paused and thrust open a door, sending Danner's heart into his mouth.  But there was no one inside.  A bed, its coverlets rumpled, stood empty beneath its red silk canopy.  Someone's clothes were thrown carelessly on the floor beside it.

"Do you get the feeling we've missed something?"  Danner asked, slipping past the Time Lord to look into an adjoining chamber.  It was also empty.

"A reasonable hypothesis," agreed the Time Lord.

Danner froze.  "Doctor, there's someone coming!"

The Time Lord dived behind a chair while Danner flattened himself against the wall beside the door.  Leaving it open just a crack, he listened as the thud of many feet grew louder.  Lifting his weapon, he tried to distance himself from a rush of panic.  Carefully, he swung around and peered through the narrow opening.  A group of Protectors surged past and were gone.  Able to breathe again, Danner leaned his head against the wall, shaking.

"What is it?"

"Protectors, and in a hell of a hurry.  I don't think it's us they're after.  In fact, if I didn't know better, I'd say the Tarn is under attack."

Across the room, the Doctor's wide, hazel gaze met Danner's  His lips twitched.  

"Palas!"  They chorused.

"Let's go!"  The Doctor dashed recklessly from the room.  

"Doctor!  WAIT!"   The idiot was running in the wrong direction!  They should be heading after the Protector patrol and toward the action, not away from it.  Danner pounded after the Time Lord, but as he drew near, the Doctor disappeared around a corner -- and reappeared almost at once, waving furiously.  "Run!"

Danner caught only a glimpse of who followed -- white hair, indigo, glittering diamond in the center of her forehead -- and fired.  A shriek of pain and rage (damn, missed) and the las-rod ripped from his fingers.  He was knocked to the floor by the same invisible force and held there.   His vision dimmed as his lungs strained for air.  Footsteps, rapid and light surrounded him.  In seconds, there were binders around his wrists, cutting into the raw, half-healed flesh.  The force vanished.  Rough hands hauled him to his feet.  Cold eyes stared into his.

"I'm so glad you decided not to go," Miyel said.  "We were having such fun, weren't we?"

He swallowed, completely unable to speak.  The dana had changed into warwitch garb, erasing the illusion of softness given by her crimson silks.  Deathly pale, she held her forearm tightly.  Blood seeped between her fingers.  Another dana came up on her elbow and was angrily ordered away.  

"What a shame you learned nothing from our little training session," she added, and drove her small fist into his belly, knocking the breath out of him.  He went to the floor, bent double and gasping.  There was an exclamation from the Time Lord.

Once again, Danner was pulled upright.  Clenching his jaw, he met her mocking gaze with an angry, obstinate glare.  Her smile only widened.  She stepped aside and he saw the Doctor, similarly bound, a long, wicked blade pressed against his throat.

"Displease me again, slave, and he dies."

The fight drained out of him and he stared stonily ahead.  Her hand slid possessively under his shirt and across his chest.  She laughed softly and turned to the others:  "Bring them," she ordered.  "Lady Benara is waiting."  

* * *

Access to the stair was blocked by a jumble of furniture - couches, tables, a large, ornately carved cabinet.  The carpet before it was soaked with blood; bodies were strewn everywhere, most of them Yzelen.  Cthilian's heart was pounding, his mind reeling with the horror of so much death.  He felt acutely vulnerable walking with the Lady toward that barricade, expecting las-fire to erupt from it at any second.  The Lady stepped over the bodies without looking, seemingly unmoved by the carnage.  The Yzelen scout fell back, ill at ease, and looked uncertainly at the dana.

"I thought you said they wanted to talk?"  The Lady looked this way and that.  Cthilian saw the air start to shimmer around them again.  She was not unaware of their danger.

"Here!"

Cthilian caught his breath.  Indigo-clad forms pulled away several large chairs and the cabinet.  A warwitch stepped into the open under the watchful eyes of her escort.  

Lady Clayre.  He saw no weapons.

"Ah, Clayre of Raynig," the Lady greeted her.  The danae smiled at each other and the air crackled.  "We meet again."

"So we do.  You are here for the Challenge?"

"Why should I bother?  We have the Tarn - or most of it.  You may have disabled the transmats, but all you've bought is time.  Your guards are deserting in droves, reinforcements are coming in from Clans all over the countryside.  There are even danae among us now.   Tell the Sher'dana,  if she surrenders, the Clans may be merciful."

"Surrender?"  Lady Clayre was genuinely amused.  "The Sher'dana is concerned for her subjects and wishes to avoid further bloodshed.  That is all that saves you from annihilation."

"Whatever."  The Lady turned on her heel and started away.  Cthilian scrambled to catch her up.

"We have your iri'dan!  And the boy!"

Lady Palas stopped, as did Cthilian's heart - or very nearly.

"The Sher'dana has accepted your Challenge," continued Lady Clayre.  "What is your answer?"

The human warwitch shrugged, turned to face her.  "Very well.  Let's do it - settle this business here and now."

"That is not how it is done, but of course, you're an outworlder.  One would think your Exile masters would have trained you better."

"My 'exile masters' are dead or prisoners.  The Clan l'Shylian no longer exists, and I am not interested in walking into ambush."

"Challenge has been issued and accepted. *We* at least will honor the traditions - they are, after all, untainted by the heresies of Vis.  However, if it's a sign of good faith you desire. . ."

Lady Clayre gestured to someone standing by the barricade.  A moment later, Shieann was pushed out into the open.  She stood, trembling, as Lady Clayre removed the binders from her wrists  and gave her a gentle push forward.  Her robe hanging in ribbons, bruises stark on her white face, Shieann seemed unable to speak or move; it was Cthilian who finally stepped forward and drew her away.

"A sign of good faith would be the return of all the prisoners ."

Lady Clayre shrugged.  "The Sher'dana has bent as far as she will.  What is your answer, Lady Palas?  Do we settle this by true Devian law - or will you plunge Devia into civil war?"

"When and where?"

"The Sanctum, tonight."

Lady Palas nodded shortly and with a mocking smile, the Raynig warwitch vanished back behind the barricade.

****

Sidhain's heart was the two tarns, but the tarns' heart was the Sher.  Crossing the narrow stone bridge from the Old Tarn into it was like coming up on dawn.  Dark, mildewed stone gave way to opaline marble.  Low ceilings soared without warning into vaulted, transparent roofs.  Plants grew everywhere, twining about slender pillars, or hanging from baskets that seemed to float in the sunlight.  The Doctor heard birds among the foliage, the musical splashing of a fountain somewhere nearby.  As they turned down a brief passage lined with windows, he saw the Old
Tarn.  Its towering, black walls completely surrounded the Sher, sheltering it, showing a harsh, uncompromising face to the world.

Their escorts abruptly swerved from their hitherto straight path, herding the prisoners toward a wide, expanse of open floor.  The roof ended and they were on a balcony.  Although the sun had but recently risen, the pale, polished stone was warm underfoot.  As they approached the balustrade, the Doctor saw a hint of lush garden below.  Beyond it, the Tarn's protective bulk seemed to hold up the sky. 

Ksirin laid a hand on the Doctor's shoulder, halting him.  The hand lingered.  Doing his best to ignore that, the Time Lord threw an anxious glance toward Danner.   The blackstone stood silently in the grip of Lady Miyel, staring at nothing, seemingly oblivious to his surroundings.   Lady Miyel's wandering hands elicited no visible response -- a fact that was beginning to anger her.  

There was a table of beautifully carved and bent wood at the edge of the balcony.  Graceful chairs were arranged around it, and a fine breakfast had been laid out on an embroidered cloth.   Seated at the table were Benara and five other danae.  The five were in typical Protector garb; the Sher'dana wore a frothy confection of white lace and silk.  He was reminded, incongruously, of an eighteenth century English noblewoman at tea.  

It was several minutes before the Sher'dana condescended to notice them.  She dismissed her companions,  waved away a hovering slave and beckoned to Ksirin.  The Dev's greedy fingers tightened on his shoulder as he pushed the Doctor toward the table.  Looking up at the Time Lord, shading her eyes against the sunlight, she said:  "Doctor.  You disappoint me.  Did you honestly think you could escape?"

He smiled and shrugged.  "My lady, did you honestly think I would not try?"

Laughing, she motioned to the recently vacated chair beside her.  "Come. Sit.  Have some fruit and sweet breads.  Ksirin, dear, untie him."

Again, the Dev lord's hands lingered about their business.  It was all the Doctor could do to keep from jerking away from that unnerving, caressing touch.  He took the offered chair.  Benara looked past him to Danner.

"The iri'dan, too," she commanded.

With ill grace, the Lady Miyel untied Danner and pushed him forward.  He sat stiffly at his place across the table.  The Sher'dana leaned forward and pushed dark hair from smoldering eyes.  A muscle twitched in his jaw.

"Your Lady," she told him, "has agreed to meet me tonight in Challenge.  Are you ready?"

He said nothing, only reached deliberately across the table and selected a sugared bun.  Lady Benara looked up and, half-teasing, gently chided Miyel.   "His behavior is not much improved, my love."

The warwitch scowled sulkily.  "I did not have enough time."

"Yes, well -- t'is of no matter."  Benara dismissed her.  To the Doctor, she commented:  "You know, I suppose, that Mzara and that foolish witch of yours has dared mount an insurrection against me?"

"We had suspected something of that nature," the Doctor agreed.  Danner was quietly and methodically reducing his bun to crumbs.   Hoping the volatile blackstone would not do something foolish, the Doctor returned his attention to the Sher'dana.  "I take it things aren't going well.  Not that it surprises me, of course.  Captain McAllister is not someone I would care to cross."

"Perhaps not among the Exiles.  Here, things are a bit different.  Does she realize, I wonder, the power of a true Devian Sher'dana?"

"Probably not," he admitted.  "But then - do you realize the power of a Terran Prime?"

"A what?"  She straightened, eyes glinting. 

The Doctor, reaching for a piece of purple fruit, froze.  "Prime," he repeated.  "You're familiar with the term?"

Was that a brittle edge to the trilling laughter?  Risking a look across the table, the Doctor saw that Danner, too, was suddenly and intensely alert.

"Prime, indeed!  What nonsense!  Oh, I've heard the absurd rumors...the One is among us, come to herald the return of Vis!   Quite ridiculous."  With studied nonchalance, the Sher'dana poured herself another cup of steaming green tea. 

"Oh, I don't know."  The Doctor took the fruit and began to peel it, trying to keep his own features uninformative.  "It's funny how legends and prophecies work out sometimes."

Now he could see it, fear crawling under the bright, artificial smile.  How far could he push her?

"After all.  If Vis does return, who is to say he'll  look the same?  My people, for instance, regenerate different physical forms throughout their life span.  Vis might be here and you wouldn't even know it."

For a moment, she seemed incapable of breathing.  Color drained from her face.  Still smiling, still cordial, the Doctor leaned toward her and offered a piece of his fruit.  She shook her head.

"Gallifrey," he said, and popped the rejected morsel into his mouth.

She was on her feet in a swirl of lace and silk.  "Ksirin - the binders!  Miyel!"

The Dev lord seized the startled Time Lord's arms, locked the restraints around them.  Danner jumped up, but the Sher'dana, with an enraged snarl, flung out her hand and the blackstone was hurled against the balustrade.  He slid unconscious to the ground.  

"Take the iri'dan," Benara commanded the warwitch tersely, "and prepare him for aloridan.  As for you, Doctor, your little game is played out.  I do not know who you are, but I do know who you are not.  Ksirin!  Give me a lead!"

Madness danced in her perfect eyes as she held out her hand. Ksirin placed a leash in it.  She hooked the end of it onto the gold collar still around the Doctor's neck.  "Come."

"Where are you taking me?"  He resisted her pull, wondering if he had just blundered - badly.

She giggled, a sound like fingernails scraped across a blackboard.   Wrapping the leather strap around her hand, she pulled his face close to hers.   Warm breath tickled his ear; her hair smelled like roses.  "To show you why your words are meaningless.  We're going to see Vis."

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