Doctor Who_ Bunker Soldiers - Martin Day [49]
The soldier himself was small, and covered from head to foot in folds of light leather armour. The Doctor could just make out a conical helmet of metal – presumably it was this that flashed in the sunlight – as the man bent closer to the head of his horse, urging it to still greater speed.
The Doctor looked at the men from Kiev, and saw that their eyes were narrowed with contempt. They had clearly never seen a soldier of this ilk before, and he looked puny compared to the great clanking knights of Europe.
The Mongol was close to passing them by when Mykola cracked his reins again, and, as one, the horses crashed through the knotted trees and back on to the plain. The Russian soldiers let out whoops of joy, unsheathing their weapons in expectation of the battle to come.
The Mongol horseman seemed barely to look in their direction, concentrating instead on turning his horse around. In a moment, he was riding away from them.
‘He’s frightened, lads!’ exclaimed one of the soldiers. Mykola and the others, shouting in joyful abandon, pursued the fleeing figure across the plain.
The Doctor frowned. His mount seemed inclined to stay to the rear of the tight knot of soldiers, and he was grateful.
Without warning, there was a whispered whistle from one side; in the blink of an eye, four soldiers tumbled from their horses, screaming.
Panicked, the Doctor swung round in his saddle to look to the source of the sound – it came again, and three more men fell, blood arcing in the air – and saw two rows of Mongol bowmen standing proudly in the long grass.
The Doctor’s mount clattered over a fallen horse, stumbled, and then began to rear up on its hind legs.
With a sickening thud, an arrow embedded itself in the creature’s flank and it slid to the ground in a flurry of splayed limbs.
The Doctor was thrown free, and as he hit the ground hard the breath was knocked from him. His back exploded in agony and for a moment a kaleidoscope of colours sparkled before his eyes. Then his lungs sucked in air again, and his vision cleared. He saw a finely chiselled, golden face looking down at him. The mouth below a delicately trimmed moustache broke into a surprised smile.
Then the archer raised his bow, aiming its notched arrow at the Doctor’s chest.
XI
Libertas
I think I blacked out. Certainly, I remembered the awful skeletal thing launching itself at me; the next moment, I was on my own, and the creature was gone.
I shook my head. How long had I been lying on the floor? I couldn’t tell, though my arms and legs were stiff and cold.
In a rush of awful memory, I remembered the attack on Olexander and I forced myself to my feet, hobbling over to where the old man had fallen.
His skin, stretched tightly across his face, was translucent; his throat and shoulders a mass of sodden clothing and ripped skin.
One leg had buckled underneath him; his other foot had lost its shoe. The cracked leather boot rested some distance away, a pitiful detail.
I suddenly sensed I was not alone. I turned, and saw the
‘angel’ standing just within the doorway to the central tomb. It bent down and angled its face in my direction. It was blank, devoid of expression and meaning.
Even so, I was not prepared to abuse my good fortune, or whatever it was that had saved me from Olexander’s fate. Pure fear gripped me again.
I turned, and ran deeper into the catacombs.
I didn’t stop until I was in complete darkness, well away from Olexander’s path of feeble torches. For once, the shadows were welcoming.
But I also knew that I was very, very lost.
I wandered for hours. My knees and face and hands became sore with constant stumbling into invisible walls and columns; I couldn’t find any of the prepared torches here, but, in any case, I had nothing to light them with.
The breeze from what I hoped was an open door seemed to have stopped, leaving me without