Cthilian shifted Djan carefully, trying to find a comfortable spot in the saddle.  The boy stirred, but did not wake.

"Give him to me, ir'dan," came a soft voice at his side.  "You've held him for the past three hours."

Cthilian shook his head.   "He isn't heavy, Lady Shieann, and it would be cruel to wake him."

She did not insist, but smiled in a way that warmed and confused him.  He tucked the edge of the blanket more securely around Djan's frail shoulders and stifled a yawn of his own.  The silence was soothing and his lids were heavy.  Hovering on the western horizon, the Devian moons poured silver over the landscape.  Dawn was less than an hour away, and with it a promised rest.  Mzara's plan was to move only at night, to count on surprise and darkness to get them safely to Visandri.

Lady Mistal and Lord Avran had both gone in separate directions, the young lord west to alert fellow conspirators to the new plan.  Shaela was bound for Sidhain.  She was a member of the Fastigium.  Her presence would be required at the calling of Names if Palas were to actually succeed in presenting her Challenge.  If.

None of that would happen, of course.  Benara had been Sher'dana since before most folk could remember.  With her warwitches at her side, she was far too powerful.  What most frightened Cthilian was that he could think of the horror to come and feel nothing.

"Cthilian?"  The Doctor's  quiet voice  was startling in the predawn hush.  "Are the alorin always ir'dan?"

"I -- yes, sir."

Djan stirred and whimpered.  The ir'dan whispered soothing nonsense into the pale hair and the child quieted.  Looking up, Cthilian saw the Doctor staring at him with a troubled expression, but when he spoke again, the Time Lord asked only:  "And how many alorin are sent out of  Sidhain to serve Clan lords?"

Cthilian thought about it.  "Very few.  We are mostly kept in Sidhain to provide aloridan to unbonded high danae."

The Doctor was silent a moment, grim.  "And if an alorin fails to bond with a high dana, he dies.  Is that correct?"

"Yes, sir."  Simply.

He waited for yet another disconcerting question, but the Doctor lapsed into a preoccupied silence and said nothing more for a long time.

They entered a wooded stretch as the countryside began to brighten.  The sky arched clear and cloudless.  Birds began their morning-song, a few at first, then more joining in until the wood was alive with twitters.  Ahead, the road split in two.  The larger and more traveled turned east, then south again to Visandri.  The other, little more than a cart-path, led to Visandri as well, but it ran through rough, hilly country.  Unsurprisingly, Mzara chose the latter path.

The tired ashas slowed on the steep grade.  Here and there, great boulders  pushed up through the forest floor.  Trees grew more closely together, old giants that towered against the sky

"Tell me about your Lady Katha," the Doctor said suddenly, and seeing Cthilian's start, "if you don't mind, of course.  She was high dana, was she not?"

There was sympathy, not pity, in those young-old eyes, and in spite of himself, Cthilian responded:  "Yes.  She was the most beautiful woman in the universe."  His throat tightened as a sudden flood of memories overtook him.   "Proud, brave and kind."

How did one describe what she was?  Katha had loved him, had risked the violent anger of the Raynig lord to be with him.  If  only he could have been her iri'dan.  The regret was bitter in his throat.

"Why didn't you bond?"

Cthilian bit his lip.  "She would not risk it.  She said she could not bear to be the cause of my death."

"Was she a warwitch?"

Cthilian nodded.  "But not like the others,  and nothing like her sister-in-law, Clayre!  Katha never cared that Kel would not live in Sidhain.  Benara's court was too ...it was not to her taste."

"A bit wild, is it?"

Cthilian shrugged, unwilling to describe the High Court, the lust and cruelty necessary to pique the jaded interests of the nobles who Benara called friends.  Few, if any, common Dev knew what went on behind the forbidding walls of Sidhain's Old Tarn.

Melting out of the gloom like a ghost, Danner joined them.  Dark hair was loose in the wind.  His fine-boned face was drawn, eyes smudged with weariness.

"I could use a nap," he admitted, mercurial grin encompassing them all.  "How's the kid doing?"

"Sleeping," Cthilian replied.  "Danner, I . . ."  he broke off, hesitating.  "Did the Lady speak to you about the Challenge."

"No."  The human's fingers went to the indanite at his throat.  He looked ahead to the Lady, riding with Mzara at the head of their small party.  "Why?"

Resentment shook Cthilian.  Naturally, neither the clan lord nor the Lady had thought to inform the iri'dan of his part in this affair.   "The Challenge drains dan from a dana with terrible, sometimes lethal speed.  Unbonded danae often have several ir'dan to sustain them, but you are bonded and so will stand with her on the field of Challenge.  You will be the difference between life and death for her."

"Are you serious?  I've got to be in on this fight?"

"I'm deathly serious, Danner. Challenge is not made lightly.  Sometimes even iri'dan die!  And if they do, so does their dana, because once the bond is broken, madness followsm, and death."

Danner was stunned.   "Hell," he said finally.  Then: "Is this Challenge a -- well, a public thing?  I mean -- will we have to -- er, right out in the open?"

Belatedly, the Dev remembered human attitudes toward alori'dan.   "Yes," he confirmed, apologetic. "But there are only danae to witness."

Danner laughed breathlessly and shook his head.

Their track dwindled to a narrow path, then faded completely.  Half seen among the trees was a ramshackle log cottage.  Lord Mzara stopped and dismounted.  With a firm grip on his asha's bridle, he advanced on the building, las-rod in the other hand.

"We're alone," called Palas impatiently.  Her voice cracked with weariness.

Mzara shook his head.  "The Sher'dana's people also have indanite.  Wait here, Lady."

Danner went to check the back of the building.  Cthilian sat holding his breath while the clan lord pushed the door with the toe of his foot.  It moved an inch or two, then swung abruptly inward.  Mzara's weapon came up -- dropped back.  Danner stood in the doorway.

"All clear."

They climbed from their ashas, too tired to speak.  Shieann reached for Djan and this time, Cthilian gave the boy over without demur.  His arms and shoulders ached, and he could barely stand.  The Doctor yawned and grinned.

"A roof," he said. "More than I had expected.  Is it a way station?"

Shieann shook her head.  "A squatter's cottage.  Probably infested with fleas and rats."

"Alorin!"  Mzara called, sending Cthilian's heart into his mouth.  "Help me with the ashas."

The ir'dan was suddenly and acutely nervous.  Until this moment, the lord had barely acknowledged his presence.  He followed Mzara around the cottage while the others went inside.  There was a grassy clearing in the back, ringed with a broken fence.  Mzara brought the animals into the pen and they set about removing their gear.  Trying not to think about how this man had turned his back on Katha, trying not to be anxious under the nobleman's open regard, the ir'dan picked up an armload of saddles.  Turning about, he found the clan lord directly in front of him.
He stepped back hastily.

"Cthilian, isn't it?"

"Yes, lord."

"You risked a great deal to bring my nephew to me.  Clan Mzara is under obligation."

Cthilian blinked.  This he had not expected.  "Thank you, lord."

Mzara shook his head.  "No, I thank you.  We know enough of what happened in Raynig Tarn.  She will be avenged.  I loved Katha very much."

"Than why didn't you let her come home when she begged you?"  Cthilian said fiercely.  "She might be alive today!"

Mzara's face darkened.  "There is more going on than you know, alorin.  Katha did what she had to do.  Perhaps one day you will understand."

"Why not make that day now?" The Dev lord spun around.  The Doctor stood outside the pen, leaning on the fence.  "Why not tell him the truth, Lord Mzara?  What could that hurt?  Truly?"

"I don't know what you're talking about, Doctor.  And I'll thank you to keep your nose out of Mzaran affairs!"  Mzara turned and strode back to the cabin.

Cthilian looked a question at the Time Lord, but the Doctor only shook his head.  "We all need sleep.  Here -- I'll help you carry some of that."

The cabin was bare, the floor dirty and strewn with dead leaves.  Early daylight glinted through chinks between the logs.  Still, the roof was intact and it was shelter.  Danner and Mzara argued just outside the door, something about who took first watch.  Cthilian felt not the slightest obligation to join the debate.  He lay down next to Djan and the Doctor, his mind worrying at the Doctor's question and Lord Mzara's response.   He meant to ask the Time Lord to explain himself, but sleep overtook him almost before his eyes closed.

* * *

The probe was now twenty-four hours late.  There was no sign of the Time Lords, but Anna knew it was only a matter of time and probably a short time at that.  She convened an emergency meeting of Alliance department heads, her nerves on edge.  Sitting at the head of the conference table, looking around at the mistrustful faces of her "allies,"  she developed a sudden sympathy for despotism.  The animosity between the individual members was almost palpable.  They were together only because they feared this ship.

Masterson slumped in the seat on her right, fingers steepled in front of him, watching the assembly with hooded eyes.  So far, the blackstone had been uncharacteristically quiet; she prayed that he stayed that way.  The last thing she needed was to set the Cardinal off again.  The blackstone was an affront to the clerics. Cardinal Harrington, the Church's delegate, had wasted everyone's time threatening to walk out of Alan was allowed to stay.  Anna sometimes wondered
if Alan realized how very fortunate he had been, sheltered all those years by the Consortium.

Miles, on the other hand, subscribed to the McAllister School of Diplomacy.  His response was pure Palas:  "Too fucking bad!  Masterson stays.  You don't like it?  There's the door, Harrington!"

The result had been a predictable uproar. Yet, when it died away, there was no more discussion of Masterson leaving.

"Who are these Time Lords?"  Grant M'bara, the Consortium's abrasive Chief of Security, stared in disbelief at the file before him.  "Where the hell did they come from?"

"They are the Doctor's people.  And they come from Gallifrey."  Everything was in the files, of course.  M'bara was stalling.

"It's this devil ship," snapped Harrington.  "As long as it's here, Satan's minions will be drawn to it.  It should be destroyed!"

"How?  By blowing it up?  I've heard the crackpot schemes being hatched in Deet.  The gravitational upheaval will tear this planet apart."   Masterson straightened.  "It's out of the question."

"You have nothing to say about this, abomination!  Bah!  I will not be forced to stay in the same room as this depraved son of Satan!"

"Jesus!  Do you think it's possible to be any more brainless and irrational. . ."

"And a blasphemer!"  Harrington was getting shrill.  Anna clenched her teeth and plunged into the fray.

"Stop it!"  She banged her fist on the table, shocking everyone into silence.  "This is pointless!  The Time Lords outclass us every step of the way.  If we argue and posture, they'll take us easily!"

"Let them take the ship."  Harrington leaned back, making a sweeping motion with his hand.  "If that's what they want, give it to them."

"NO!"  This came from all the other representatives at the table, including non-representatives like Alan.

"We need this ship, this technology!" the blackstone said angrily.  "There may be other danships coming, you moron!  We have no defense otherwise!  Did you enjoy being subject to aliens the first time around?"

"It was God's will."

"Yeah?  I'll show you God's will, you pompous, son of a . . ."

In the end, Anna threw Masterson out and told Harrington she was giving Palas a full report of his behavior.  Satisfied that he had driven away the demon, the man was on perfect behavior for the rest of the meeting.

Afterwards, Anna tracked Alan down in the small, star-map chamber just outside the core of the protoship.  He was cross-legged on the mosaic floor, doing measurements on a pocket calculator.   Through the empty spectacles, his eyes glittered with the same cold fire as his biocrystal.

"Thank you for kicking me out of the meeting," he snapped.  "I love being reminded that I'm subhuman."

"Oh, shut up.  You're almost two-hundred years old, try acting like it for a change. You, of all people, can see the bigger picture.  I wasn't going to get the reinforcements we needed as long as you were sitting there provoking Harrington."  She sat beside him.  "You gave up on the control center?"

"Our little problem has nothing to do with the ship's equipment."  Alan shoved the calculator into his pocket.  A muscle in his jaw twitched, but he was trying.  "The probe has been shut down from where it originates -- Devia.  And without the interface crystal, there's not a damn thing we can do about it."

"So we've lost them?"

"Unless it's re-activated from their side, I'm afraid so."

"Oh, damn!"

"I knew we shouldn't have given that interface crystal to the Doctor."

"Hindsight is twenty-twenty vision," Anna sighed.  "What kind of defenses does this heap have, anyway?"

Alan hesitated, then shrugged.  "It's armed to the teeth.  I only know what a few of the weapons are, and I don't know how to operate any of them.  But theoretically, there's enough firepower aboard to slice and dice the planet a few times over."

"I had a feeling that was the case."  Anna said morosely.  "Just to torment myself, were you planning on informing anyone of this?"

"How long do you think it'd take any of those charmers downstairs to make an attempt on the ship if they knew?  Thanks, but no thanks. And anyway, we need small arms."  He grinned mockingly at her expression.  "I assume you're thinking of the defense against the Gallifreyens?"

She nodded.

"Personally, I think we're toast," Alan said frankly.  "From what the Doctor told me -- and more importantly, did not tell me -- we're facing another Dev-level race in the Time Lords."

"Are you recommending I simply hand over the keys?"

"Of course not!  But the best defense we can mount on short notice are guerrilla strike teams and they'll only be effective if we can keep the Time Lords from moving the ship.   We have to making certain they can't use the drive engines."

"Do you think they have that capability?  Without the crystal?"

"Why not?  They invented the TARDIS, didn't they?"   The affront in the conference room was forgotten; Alan had a Project.  "It looks like this boat has a specific set of relays that, if removed, will theoretically insure it stays parked.  All we have to do is get to it, remove the panel and keep it out of Time Lord hands."

"They wouldn't be able to just fix the thing?'

"Eventually.  Maybe.  It'll sure slow them down, though.  And I think there's another crystal involved -- at least that's how I interpret it.  But we have to get down under the interface chamber to see."

"Down by the Eye?"  Anna felt a sudden, acute longing.

"The Eye is gone.  When the crystal was taken out of its bed, the connection was broken."

"No," contradicted someone behind them.  "There is still a connection between this ship and that world.  It's why the probe could find the ship in the first place."

A woman stepped from behind a column and into the light.  She was wearing Horde green and brown, pale hair tied at the nape of her neck.  She had an ageless, translucent beauty Anna recognized at once.   Romana, Time Lady and member of the Gallifreyen High Council.

"You don't have much time, Dr. Taylor," Romana continued, hands in the pockets of her brown Horde jacket.  "My people are already here.  And you're right about the crystal, Professor Masterson.  It's a smaller version of the primary drive interface."

"Let me guess."  Alan's eyes glittered.  "You're here to make one final appeal for us to give up peacefully?"

Anna caught her breath, seeing the gleam of metal in his hand.  Romana saw it, too, but beyond a small moue of distaste, she was unimpressed.

"No," she replied.  "I've come to help you keep it out of the hands of the High Council -- Dr. Taylor!"

Anna quickly withdrew her telepathic probe.  Romana's mouth turned down; her eyes were troubled.  "So," she said finally.  "The Doctor was right.   Did you see what you wanted, Anna?"

"I saw enough. We'll be glad of your help, Romana."  Anna turned to a gaping Masterson.  "Put the blaster away.  You've been whining all year about the shortage of adequate technical help.   Well, meet your new assistant."

"Assistant?"  Romana sounded outraged.  "To a human?  Not bloody likely!"

Satisfied that they would get along fine, Anna opened the door to the heart of the danship and ushered them, still arguing, through it.

***
Late afternoon sunlight filled the small clearing, banishing the woodland chill.  It warmed the Doctor's shoulders as he sat on the cabin's stoop, staring absently into the trees.  Technology was alive and well on this world.  Almost certainly the Sher'dan had it, but how much -- and more importantly, did they understand what they had?   The continued freedom of himself and his companions suggested to the Time Lord that they did not.  It appeared that, on this world at least, the formidable Devian technology had devolved into dogma, never to be changed, only repeated
endlessly.  A lot like Gallifrey, in fact.

There were footsteps at his back .  The Time Lord turned and saw Palas, white and hollow-eyed, standing in the doorway.  Her gaze found his and shifted away.  She pulled her cloak tight and stepped into the sun.  He slid over on the stoop.  After a moment, she sat next to him.  He let her soak in sun and silence for a moment, then: "Nightmares?"

She frown abstractedly, and shrugged.

"Danner told me what happened," he went on.  "What you did was very dangerous; most psi races forbid telepathic contact at the moment of death, especially violent death.  Madness is one consequence."

At first she did not reply, rubbing her eyes with unsteady hands.  Then:  "Did you know, Doctor, that to become a warwitch, you have to kill someone?  And, as proof of the kill, you take the victim's memories  back to Sidhain and share them with your sisters.  So you see, I can actually, legally qualify."

"Palas," he said, quietly alarmed, "don't forget who you are."

"Danner's already assigned himself as my conscience, Doctor, so please don't bother.  I'm fine."

"You won't stay that way if you keep taking unacceptable risks."  Then, feeling like a cad, he asked:  "What did you learn?"

Her lips twitched.  Unexpectedly, she reached over and laid a slim, callused hand on his.  The brief touch was unsettling, but she seemed not to notice.

"Chalana was among the lower ranks of the warwitch sorority.  She didn't know much, but she heard a lot of rumors.  Warwitches have heard of  the Exiles -- although mostly through legend.  This Clayre Raynig, her commander, told her that Mzara was a traitor and harboring Heretics insurgents.  Apparently, Mzara has been under suspicion for some time."

"Had she seen the Beacon?"

Elbow propped on her knee, chin resting in her hand, Palas considered.  "No.  Only higher ranked witches, favored nobles and the alorin get into the old tarn -- the Sher.  She'd heard of it, thought.  And like Shaela Mistal, heard that it had gone silent."

"The Sher'dana has probably figured out how to turn it off.   I suspect that the Beacon not only served to warn Devia of the returning danships but may actually have been designed to make an alternate link between the ships and homeworld."  The Doctor paused a moment.  "And speaking of Lady Mistal -- she made some remarks to Mzara about a legend, do you remember those?"

Palas nodded.  "Chalana knows the legend.  It's quite common.  Vis, the Devian god-sage or whatever, had a consort; the legend refers to her only as The One.  The One had the powers of the danae, and more besides.  At one point, the One leaves Vis -- presumably to heaven or whatever -- with promises to return.   Folklore declares that when she comes back it will be to herald the return of Vis himself.  I'm sure I'm missing dozens of cultural nuances, but the One seems kind of schizoid to me -- a lifegiver on one hand, destroyer of life on the other.  Vis apparently keeps her in line."

"Ah, yes.  Nature restrained by Intellect."  The Doctor grinned at her immediate bristling.  "Well -- the l'Shylian did call you a Prime."

"Right.  Well, for your information, Doctor, The One was invincible, as any good apocalyptic figure should be.  I almost didn't come out the winner in that little tussle with Chalana -- and she was young, inexperienced, and of low rank. This is the Devian homeworld, for heaven's sakes, not some ancient spaceship on an endless voyage of exile."

"Ah, but what is a planet but just such a spaceship?"  The Doctor asked lightly.  "You're right, however.  I suspect that the l'Shylian we met were only a pale reflection of what they once were."  He looked again at her wan, strained features.  "What you need, Palas, is sleep.  We've a few more hours until sunset."

"I can't.  I've got too much to think about.  This Challenge thing -- I need to go over Chalana's memories again."

Leaning a bit closer, he tempted: "I know this interesting massage technique from a priestess on Skeltor Vax.  Charming woman.  It is absolutely guaranteed to lull you to sleep."

In spite of herself, she smiled.  "Massage?"

"Head massage," he said quickly, seeing a familiar (and not entirely unwelcome) light appear in her eyes.  "If you'll just sit here."

"I don't know," she groused, settling back, her spine against his knees.  He pressed skilled fingers into the pressure points at her temples and beneath her eyes.   "I'm not sleepy."

She lasted five minutes.

* * *

At dusk, the fugitives were up and moving again.  They ate sparingly of their field rations: spiced dried vegetable strips and some kind of salted fish.  Hardly  satisfying fare, but there was no other choice.  The fields were just plowed, the trees just budding.  There was no time to hunt.

It was a cool night with a brisk wind.  The ashas were rested and full of energy, and took the rough path without complaining. Through trackless forest they rode, only once seeing signs of human habitation.  Emerging from a large stand of cinderwood, the riders found themselves unexpectedly on a bluff overlooking a valley.  The silver line of a river ran through it, and cottages nestled at the far end.   Then Mzara turned back into the trees.

Shortly past midnight their path led them to a real road.  For a while, the way was easier.  Djan began to fret.  At a sharp word from Lord Mzara, the child quieted at once, shrinking against Cthilian.  Danner appeared as if by magic, scowling at the Dev lord.  He produced something from his pocket and the small, grimy face lit up.  As the Doctor rode past them, he saw a piece of fruit in the blackstone's hand, slightly bruised, but sweet and juicy.  Djan settled happily to getting even stickier.

The Doctor persuaded his asha (affectionately dubbed Sarah Jane) to amble a little faster to catch up with Palas and Mzara.  The land was sinking gradually into Visandri'tan.  Around them, rocky hills gentled, the forest thinned.  Soon it was not cinderwood on every side, but thick grass clipped short by grazing. Clouds were gathering again in the east, but moonlight struggled through, illuminating a vast flood-plain dotted with villages.  Brighter tracings marked distant lakes and waterways.  Very straight, those rivers; very evenly spaced, those lakes.

They rode on, keeping to the high ground and the edge of the forest.  Swollen clouds raced over the land.  Lightning danced across the horizon.  Sweeping toward the hills was a gray wall of rain.  The Doctor fell back to join Danner, just in time to see the blackstone turn suddenly and look back along their trail.   The Doctor tensed, trusting blackstone senses.

"We've got trouble coming in from the north," Danner said shortly.  He urged his mount forward to tell the others.

Mzara swore.   "They've found our trail.  We've got to run for it!"

The tired little party went as swiftly as they dared, keeping to the trees, following the curve of the hills.  Rain caught them up them at last, blinding sheets of it.  The Doctor huddled over the saddle, letting his plucky asha pick her own path.  He looked over his shoulder, but could see nothing through the downpour.  Still, in spite of the indanite he too wore, there was an unpleasant feeling crawling along his nerve endings.

"Spread out!  They're Seeking!"  Shieann shouted above the din, confirming his fears.

At once, the Doctor chucked his asha's reins, sending her staggering down the hillside in surprise and disapproval.  Indanite created a blind spot, true -- but too many blind spots too close together would attract attention. Now he could only pray that he didn't lose the others.

Lightning struck in the trees nearby.  The asha reared in fright as thunder crashed around them.  The Doctor gasped, nearly losing the reins.  He snatched for them wildly, catching the leather at the last moment.

Light showed fitfully ahead.  Shieann.  A bright sphere bobbed wildly at her shoulder, fighting the wind.  She stood at the edge of a ravine through which a stream tumbled.  Palas was already coaxing her asha down the muddy slope toward the water.  Lord Mzara, standing opposite his granddaughter, impatiently motioned Cthilian to follow.  The Doctor rode after the two young Dev.  There was a bad moment when Cthilian's asha slipped, skidding toward the rushing stream.  The Doctor urged a reluctant Sarah Jane down after them and managed to get between the panicking asha and the stream.

Down inside the ravine's steep banks, they were out of the worst of the wind.  Trees growing along the lip of the cut sheltered the riders from the heaviest rain.  They followed the stream downhill, treacherous footing and winding course slowing them to half their previous speed.   After what seemed hours, the rain slackened and stopped.  The walls of the ravine fell away, leaving them on an open hillside.

Sunrise was lurid through the clouds.  A village lay to their west, another village was visible further on.  Farmland stretched around them and trees dotted the landscape.   But what immediately drew the eye,  massive against another advancing line of threatening clouds, was a city.

Visandri was built off the ground, supported by massive arches and columns of stone -- or, as the Time Lord suspected -- some sophisticated synthetic material.  Higher, in ascending tiers, bridges ran from one tower to the next to form an intricate pattern of spans, arches and spires that lay against the brightening horizon like a ribbon of fine lace.  The engineering and architectural skill necessary to build such a marvel took the Doctor's breath away.

"Visandri," Mzara said shortly.  "Come.  If we hurry, we'll be in time to catch the farmers heading to market."

Mzara led them down through the last, low hills to the valley floor.  They found a raised road that reminded the Doctor of Mzara Tarn's causeway.  There was no sign of their pursuers, but he was not reassured.  At least they traveled at a less taxing pace.  For the moment, Mzara seemed content to blend with the traffic heading toward Visandri.  On either side of the road, pools of rainwater reflected the crimson sunrise.  A breeze lifted the damp hair from the Doctor's cheeks, blew it out of his eyes.  He caught Shieann's curious eyes on him and grinned.  Surprised, she smiled tremulously back.

The respite was brief.  Danner saw them first, a line of asha coming down from the hills.  Mzara set heel to his mount and they sprang forward, startling the carters and peddlers around them.  The Doctor spared a worried glance for Cthilian and Djan, but the ir'dan had a firm grip on the child as the animals lengthened their stride -- for the moment on open road.

The city loomed before them.  Mzara slowed, for the first time seemed indecisive.  The Time Lord could see the main "gate" -- three ramps that curved gracefully around each other and up.   They were guarded, although the security did not look excessive.  On either side were stone platforms over which dangled a series of large wooden pallets raised and lowered on chains.   Farmers drew their vehicles up amid the arches and unloaded their wares onto the elevators.

Ahead, the guards realized at last that something untoward was occurring.  The crowd waiting to enter the city scattered, shrieking, as the ashas thundered into their midst.  Catching up to Palas, the Doctor shouted:   "Don't do anything hasty!"

She tossed him a swift, bemused look, then urged her asha forward to join Mzara.

The guards were in a quandary.  Swords and staves flashed in the new morning as they attempted to break through the excited throng to reach the invaders.  Their efforts were in vain.  One guard, brave but foolhardy, flung himself in Mzara's path.  The lord's powerful asha did not even slow, but sprang over the man, deadly hooves just missing his head.

Up the wide, spiral ramp they rode, sending more folk fleeing to safety.  There was another check-post at the top, ignored as easily as the first.   They were into Visandri proper.  Their luck was holding, but for how much longer?

The Doctor had only a blurred impression of the city  as they fled through a maze of  streets, bridges  and ramps.  Buildings reared on either side of them, whimsical with balconies, widows' walks and turrets.  The sky was swiftly going dark again as the storm's second wave advanced.

Suddenly, the streets were empty.  The Doctor belatedly drew back on Sarah Jane's reins as, ahead, the lane ended in a broad plaza.  Facing them across the expanse of flagged stone was a  cathedral of pale marble inset with magnificent stained-glass windows.

"The Temple of Visandri,"  Lord Mzara announced unnecessarily.  "Come!"

He rode out onto the plaza, the others close behind.  All except Danner.  The Doctor turned and saw the blackstone hanging back, expression clouded.  The hair rose on the back of the Doctor's  neck.

Mzara was halfway across the plaza, Palas at his side.  Cthilian, close on their heels, suddenly twisted about in the saddle.  As if a dam had broken somewhere, a tide of purple uniforms poured from all sides into the plaza.  The air hummed with power.  Every muscle tensed as the Seeking probed around them.

"Shit!  Danner passed him at full speed.  The Doctor had no need to urge Sarah Jane.  His wise beast had already assessed the situation and was after Danner with bone-rattling speed.

The Time Lord saw the others ahead -- Mzara and Palas in the lead, Cthilian and Shieann an arms' length behind, riding hard and fast.  Purple-clad forms, afoot and astride, swarmed across the plaza, heading for the broad Temple steps to cut them off.

Mzara hauled back on his mount.  He shouted, but noise and distance made it unintelligible to the Time Lord.  His hand lifted, something gripped in it tightly.  The Doctor's hearts faltered.

"Mzara -- NO!"

The Time Lord's cry was lost in the din of advancing storm and the shouts of the soldiers.   Cthilian, close behind Mzara, stared in frozen horror at the las-rod pointed at the child in his arms.  He yanked hard on the reins, tried to move.  Light flared and Djan screamed.  Sick with horror, the Doctor tried desperately to get to the boy, but the Visandrians block his path.

For a moment, he lost sight of them.  Then bodies shifted and he saw it was not Djan, but Cthilian who slumped forward against the terrified boy.  Mzara's lips moved and he took aim again.  But this time, there was Danner to reckon with.  The blackstone could not reach Mzara in time; three mounted Visandrans stood in his way.  Unfazed, with a speed that defied the eye, the Terran blackstone let something bright and metallic fly.  Mzara roared in pain and fury, his las-rod falling from suddenly nerveless fingers.  Teeth bared, the dev lord gripped the dagger and pulled it from his forearm.  Tucking the limb against his chest, he wheeled his asha and rode straight at the wall of blue between the fugitives and sanctuary. Then the Visandrians blocked his view again.

The storm was now almost directly overhead.  Drowned in false twilight, the plaza was lit only by frequent flashes of lightning.  Soldiers were everywhere.  There seemed no end to their numbers.  The Doctor tried to dodge three in front of him, only to come up against another two on his left.  He turned -- there were more to the right and behind him.  Pulling back on the reins, he stopped, rising in his stirrups, hoping to see some sign of the others, but Visandrans pulled him from the saddle and pushed him to the ground.  Almost at once, they were replaced by grim, braided men in indigo.  The indanite was ripped from his neck, and the Doctor was hauled
roughly through the press of asha and soldiers.  In the center of an open area, given wide berth by both Protectors and Visandrians, were two figures on enormous war mounts.  The Time Lord recognized the unpleasant Lord Ksirin and Lady Clayre Raynig.

"We meet again, Heretic!"  The Lady looked down her patrician nose at the disheveled captive.   Ksirin leaned over and whispered in her ear.  The Time Lord smiled hopefully, but she was unmoved.  "You made quite an impression on my brothers.  I'm sure they'll be among the first to welcome you to the Sher."  She turned to the Protector standing beside her.  "Get him out of here."

The Doctor did not resist as they manhandled him toward a narrow lane where a carriage waited.  It was an ugly thing, heavy and dark, with barred windows and a ring of Protectors around it.  He tried to see across the plaza as they hustled him up to it, but the rain had started, obscuring everything in shifting curtains of gray.  A protector pulled open the carriage door, another pushed the Doctor in and slammed it behind him.

He was not alone.

"I can't speak for anyone else,"  drawled a familiar voice, "but I think Visandri sucks."

Danner leaned down, helping the Doctor off the floor and onto the wooden seat next to him.   Anticipating his question, Danner continued:   "They made it.  Palas told me -- up here."  He tapped his forehead.

The Doctor drew a long breath and forced himself to relax.  Outside, someone shouted.   A whip cracked and they were moving.  Bracing himself against the wild rocking, the Time Lord began to hum a Chorelian mantra.

"Doctor, are you singing?"

"No.  I'm gathering my strength.  I imagine things might get a bit sticky ahead."

"A bit sticky."  Danner laughed shakily.  "You're pretty cool about all this, Doctor."

The Time Lord shrugged philosophically.   "Well, our ultimate destination was Sidhain, wasn't it?"

"Yeah," grumbled Danner, slumping back against the carriage wall.  "Although it would make me a lot happier if you would avoid using words like 'ultimate.'"

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