Doctor Who_ Curse of Peladon - Brian Hayles [42]
‘Princess,’ the High Priest’s voice cracked like a whip, ‘I know your mind. You think that you can lure the King’s Champion from the task that awaits him—but you are too late!’
His command shifted to Grun, who stood alert and waiting.
‘Make ready, Grun. The hour has come!’
Ssorg indicated the various pieces of armour hanging ready for use, and whispered urgently, ‘Prepare yourself, Doctor. You will need this primitive protection.’
The Doctor glanced at the breastplates and leg guards, and shook his head. They were heavy and well made—but little use against an axe or sword wielded by someone the size of Grun.
‘They’ll only slow me down, Ssorg,’ he said firmly. ‘What I need most is speed. Grun’s a trained warrior, and pretty deadly, I don’t doubt. I’m no match for him in a straight slogging match, so I’ll have to play it my way...’ He smiled at what must have been consternation in Ssorg’s mind. ‘I think I’ll give him a few surprises. Don’t worry...’
‘But, this Grun...’ hissed Ssorg, ‘ he will have armour. How can you hope to harm him? My people have long known that great strength in defence, added to superior fire-power, is essential to victory in battle.’
‘I knew your ancestors well, old chap,’ murmured the Doctor drily. ‘They were great warriors, bred for battle, and you’re the culmination of their greatest qualities. That isn’t so with me. I’ve come to discover that brute force isn’t always the answer,’ he smiled, ‘and now’s my chance to prove it!’
‘You are brave,’ hissed the puzzled Ice Warrior, ‘but you are foolish. Perhaps you are skilled in the use of Pel weapons?’ he added hopefully.
‘I’ll have no idea until I get to the Pit, old chap,’ said the Doctor cheerfully, taking off his cloak and folding it neatly. Ssorg took it from him. He also slipped out of his elegant jacket, and handed it to Ssorg for safe-keeping. Still strikingly elegant in his ruffled shirt and dark trews, the Doctor now had a freedom of movement. But to a trained soldier like Ssorg, he looked ridiculously vulnerable; like an insect to be swept aside and crushed.
‘At least take a suitable weapon of your own,’ insisted the Martian. ‘A laser pistol would destroy Grun and end the fight in seconds!’
‘The combat has to be on their terms, I’m afraid,’ pointed out the Doctor. ‘The weapons to be used are waiting for us in the Pit, and I doubt if there’ll be anything as sophisticated as that sonic gun of yours, Ssorg.’ The Doctor indicated the small but deadly sonic impulse destructor that was an integral part of the Ice Warriors forearm.
‘Grun will kill you,’ replied the Martian, fatefully.
‘He’s got to catch me, first,’ retorted the Doctor. ‘Float like the butterfly, sting like the bee,’ he quoted, with a wry smile and his own variation of the Ali shuffle, ‘so lets see what Grun will make of that!’
Alone in the temple, Peladon stood before the mighty image of the Royal Beast, its stern face seeming to shift and ripple in the drifting smoke of the incense burners. In the old days, the king would come here to pray, to seek guidance, or ask for reassurance for his own decisions. Now, Peladon had a dedication of a very different kind, and one for which, if Hepesh was right, the young king would be forever damned.
‘Oh, Aggedor,’ began Peladon, then stopped. Angrily, he realised he was confronting a being that, in all intelligence, he knew could not exist in any form other than an image. He was trying to communicate with a figment of Hepesh’s warped mind!
How can I ever hope to be a progressive ruler, he thought bitterly, if part of me is still bound up with the deepest superstitions of my backward people? Perhaps never, came his minds reply. But he could at least take the first step and release himself from the bondage of irrational belief: Peladon raised his face to the stone image yet again, but there was no fear or weakness in his voice now. When he spoke, it was to an equal.
‘Aggedor, you have cast this fear upon us, hear me, Peladon of Peladon, whom it is your duty to guide and protect. Your wisdom is that