Bride Quest

An adventure of the Fourth Doctor, Sarah Jane Smith and Harry Sullivan.

by Clive May (clive@cj4386.demon.co.uk)

The copy right of all things pertaining to the concept and characters of Dr
Who is the property of the BBC.  This story is a work of fan fiction; it has
been written simply for the pleasure it gave me in writing it; and no money
has or will change hands with respect to the story.

The story and original characters are copyright Clive May 2001.

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Four

Clonhilden bustled out, pausing in the opening to shake the tangled skeins of
woolen threads at Demereen, a last reminder that life went on, and that looms
still had to be strung - even on the eve of the Holy Mother's Festival.

Demereen scowled.  How could Clonny expect her to focus her mind on such
mundane things as carding wool, stringing looms, grinding up the ingredients
for the dye vats - all the tiresome work that had to be done, and from which
her position as the Khan's daughter was no protection - especially after the
bitter disappointments of the morning.  Stringing a loom was a tricky and
trying job at the best of times; but with the girls all excited over the
festival, straining at the leash to be off enjoying themselves among the
booths and attractions, it would be impossible.

Demereen sighed again.  She seemed to be doing a lot of that just lately.
Without enthusiasm, she made to rise; but a familiar tightness inside her
head reminded the young woman that she was not alone.  The Shivan was still
here in the Pavilion, somewhere.  Demereen search the shadowy corners,
seeking the strange little creature; but the tent seemed empty - save for
herself.

"Shiv?  I know you're here.  Show yourself."

In the darkest corner, a patch of shadow blurred into the form of a short
woman in a grey shift, who tended to dumpiness.  A pixie face with large,
dark eyes was framed by a mane of black hair.  The creature grinned, and came
scampering over the rugs, to where Demereen sat.

Demereen had witnessed the Shivan cast off the glamour a thousand times; the
trick never failed to amaze her.  It wasn't that the Shivan possessed a cloak
of invisibility, or anything magical like that, only she did have an uncanny
knack of going unnoticed when she chose.  All the Shivan Witch needed to do
was to stand in the shadows; and if she decided that no one could see her,
then few did.  The creature had haunted the tents of Kulak Kharran Khan since
before Demereen could remember.  She was just like an old piece of
self-mobile, favourite furniture that had been in the family for generations.
In all that time, the appearance of the Shivan Witch had not changed one wit.

No one could give a plausible explanation for the Shivan creatures.  They
seemed to have always been there, right from the moment of first planet-fall,
in the almost mythical long ago.  They moved among the households of the
Kulak, attaching themselves to this Clan, or that, abandoning others, for no
reason discernible to the Kulak people.  It never occurred to anyone to
question their presence.  They were just accepted by everyone as part of the
rich and varied landscape of the Kulak.

The only one who took an exception to Shiv's presence was Rasaken.  The
feeling was mutual.  Whenever the Shivan looked at the old household priest,
a spirited irritation sparked in her eyes.

Well, Demereen thought, at least she showed good taste in her friends.  That
was one thing that could be said without equivocation about Shiv.

The creature hopped up to sit beside her. She took Demereen's hand, and
interlaced plump fingers with those of the girl.  Shiv's eyes were alive with
a gleeful mischief.  She asked in a loaded tone:  "It is good for the soul to
do devotion to the Goddess? Do you not think so, Demereen?"

The girl sighed.  She shifted moodily on the divan, failing to
appreciate the tone of conspiracy in the soft voice.  "Not today, Shiv," she
said; "I really don't think I could bear it."

"I_really_do_think you should go to the early evening devotion at the
Mammalan," Shiv urged, laying an ostentatious stress on the words.  "Perhaps
you would permit this unworthy person to walk along with you? A stroll to the
Temple would be very pleasant - just_the_two_of_us, of course.  No need to
bother Bellan or Dexan."

The conspiratorial smile that went with the assertion was infectious.
Despite her mood, Demereen grinned back.  "Yes," she agreed, comprehension
dawning.  "With the Shivan in attendance - of course I should not require my
escorts?"

'Just so, Lady Demereen," the Shivan concurred, eyes twinkling with
mischief. "Shall we set forth?  It is such a fine afternoon.  A stroll will
be so pleasant; and who knows - there might even be some delightful
distraction to amuse a sad lady at the fair.  Shall we then set forth?"

'Oh yes.  Let's - right now!" cried Demereen, jumping up in a swirl of hair
and skirts.

Shiv hopped down beside her, still gripping the girl's fingers.  Hand in
hand, the two women went to the opening, where Demereen lifted aside the
flap.  They stepped through into the warm late afternoon air.

The Breath of Holy Mother was picking up from the north, as it did every
evening.  The zyphre, as ever, was redolent with the scents of the
Mother's people, and their livestock.

Overhead, the late afternoon sky was colourless and clear.  High up under the
vault of heaven, a Kite Hawk circled, peering down at the tide of merry
humanity, streaming past the Steading of Kulak Kharran Khan, inbound towards
Temple.

On the steps of a Prairie Wagon parked a hundred yards off among the tents,
Grimlak stood, watching the railed enclosure containing the Pavilion of
Kharran Khan.  As the two figures came forth from the tent, a nasty smile
cursed his lips.  Between his hands, he repeatedly snapped taunt, and
relaxed, a cord of leather.

The two family retainers, lounging against the wooden rails enclosing the
Kharran Pitching, straightened as the two women appeared.  These were the two
most ham fisted guards in her father's retinue.  Of course, she had to be
guarded, but what with her marriage proving so difficult to settle, the Khan
thought it politic that it should be those two.  He could not leave her
unguarded; that was simply too blatant a breach of protocol; but at least he
could make it as easy as possible for Kulaan.

The taller of the two stepped forward, making a futile effort to straighten
his livery.  He was a young man, with an amazing ability to make even the
smart Kharran livery look disheveled.  He smiled shyly at Demereen through
his straggle of beard.

Shiv waved the young man away.  "We shall not need an escort, Bellan.  I
shall accompany Lady Demereen to Temple for Evening Devotions.  Your services
will not be required.  Why not run along and enjoy the Festival?"

Taking a moment to pull a hood over her unbraided hair, Demereen placed a
hand in Shiv's, and together they set out for the Mammalan Temple, to do
devotion to the Holy Mother.

As they went out into the crowd of people, Grimlak leapt down from his
vantage point.  "Come on!" he snarled at his small gaggle of retainers.  "The
silly bitch's set her guards off.  I'll snatch the little baggage right now!"

He began to shove his way towards the two women.  Between his hands, he
continued to jerk the leather thong like a garrot, all the while twisting it
about his fingers in time to some inner turmoil that eat away at his peace of
mind.

Bryllaan put a restraining hand on his Bond Master's arm.  "She has the
Shivan Witch with her, sir," he warned.  "It's too risky." Grimlak glared at
the hand on his arm.  Bryllaan withdrew it hastily, and took a step back.
"Whatever you say, My Lord," he concurred submissively; but his expression
remained one of anger.  He was still seething over Grimlak involving him in
the blasphemy of a naked blade at the Open Swords practise half an hour
since.

All about the two women as they strolled, hand in hand, the entire temporary
city of tents and prairie wagons was astir with activity, as the clans
prepared for the night's festivities.

Demereen and Shiv made their way through the press of people without any
difficulty.  Wherever the Shivan went, a gap would open in the crowd.  It was
not respect, not awe, or even fear; it just occurred to the people to move
aside, and cede the Shivan the way.  It was one of those things that no one
was able to explain about them.  It could be damned useful, Demereen
mused, to have a Shivan haunting your household at times.

Soon they had moved out of the tented city, and into the town proper.  The
town of Temple was a haphazard scatter of groups of two storry stone and wood
buildings clustered about an enclosed court.  Each huddle of buildings housed
an Artisans Guild.  Fluttering from a tall mast above the Guild House, the
banner of the Guild flew, streamed by Holy Mother's Breath.  The devices were
all different; but all banners had the indigo chevron in common.  Even though
of sturdy stone and wood construction, these buildings held to themselves no
more quality of permanence than the tented city encircling them.

At last, the slow slap and gurgle of water sounded over the noise of happy
people. The pair came out, through a screen of willos, onto a river bank.
There they paused, watching the laden barges gliding on the slow flowing
waters.  Across the broad expanse of river, lay open country.  The gently
rolling grasslands were dotted with Flocks of sheep and clumps of trees.  At
the horizon, the sky was darkening with the coming night.  Soon, it would be
time for the most holy of the Kulak festivals: the Night of No Moons.

Of one mind, the two women looked to one another, and nodded.  Then, they
turned south along the west bank, past the shut up warehouses and loading
areas, to the elegantly arching bridge that spanned the river at the north
east corner of the Mammalan Temple.  An artifact of the ancients, it was much
worn and pitted by the passage of the centuries, but still remained
servicable.

Here, they turned west, and entered into the large oval area before the
Mammalon Temple.  The crowd was thinner here, all moving in one direction -
towards Temple.

The plaza was walled in on the north side by a grove of cherry trees in
blossom, and on the south side, by the wall of the Temple Grounds.  Over that
wall could be glimpsed the domed roof of the Temple itself, glowing faintly
golden in the last rays of the sun.

Demereen and Shiv stood to one side there, waiting while a flock of sheep
were driven past the Temple wall by a family group, before strolling on to
the tall leaf shaped opening at the centre point along the wall.  The gateway
was fronted by six broad steps.  As they arrived at the bottom, a gaggle of
heavily pregnant women issued in a chattering flock from the entrance.
Demereen stood with Shiv to one side, as the women came carefully down the
steps.  One in particular, Demereen noticed.  She was no older than herself.
Demereen knew her, a good friend.

"Zamaleen!" Demereen called out.

"Demmy," the girl cried in delight.  Her face was flushed with excitement,
her eyes alight with that_special_joy.  She waddled down the steps to
Demereen; and the two girls embraced fondly.

Zamaleen stepped back.  She took Demereen's hands and placed them over the
swell of her belly, pressing them tight to herself.  She said: "It's tonight!
Goddess be praised, Demmy!  The Priestesses say it should be tonight."

"Oh Zammy!  That's marvelous!  How wonderful!" Demereen pulled the elated
girl to her, and kissed her in an excess of happiness for her friend's luck.
Then she drew back, squeezing Zamaleen's hands fiercely.  "I'll try to be
there, but I might be....detained on the way."

The two girls exchanged conspiratorial grins. Zamaleen went to speak again,
but was forestalled by an imperious: "Zamaleen!  Do come along girl!" from
one of the other women.

"Must dash," Zamaleen cried, kissed Demereen quickly on the cheek, and was
gone in a whirl of long hair and skirts.

A terrible longing gripped Demereen.  She looked down at her own flat belly
with a wistful expression, and stroked a hand over her skirts.

"Oh, Kulaan!  Do_hurry_up" she sighed longingly.  "Oh, Kulaan, Kulaan, do
hurry!"

Glancing down at Shiv, Demereen was startled to see naked emotion on the
usually placid face.  The eyes were full of a yearning pain, such that it
made Demereen's heart clutch in her chest. It was only there for a second.
Realising that she was observed, the contorted features fluxed and faded into
the bland smile that it was the Shivan's habit to show to the world.

She reached out and took Demereen's hand, pulling her towards the steps,
fronting the leaf shaped opening in the wall.  "Come on Lady Dem.  The
devotions will be starting."

Beyond the gate, was a court laid out with formal gardens.  A broad path led
straight to another wall, over which could be glimpsed the domed roof of the
Mammalan Temple of the Great Mother Goddess of Kulak.  They strolled hand in
hand along the path.

There were a good number of people hanging around in the gardens of Outer
Temple, waiting for the summons to the Evening Devotion.  They were mostly
women, a fair number of them patently pregnant, some gloriously so.  They
stood about in little groups, admiring each other's progress towards
apotheosis.  Their chattering voices filled the flower scented air as they
indulged enthusiastically in Goddess Talk.  A few men stood around, making a
vain attempt at looking nonchalant.

Other women, with young babies in carrying slings, stood around, pretending
not to notice the extra attention they were getting.  The sacred mark of the
Goddess stood out plain on their bare upper arms.  The indigo chevrons glowed
against the pale skin, on the right arm for a girl, the left for a boy.

Still other women sat on the benches, scattered about the gardens, and in
secluded corners, nursing their babies.  These drew the most fond looks of
all from those there gathered.

By the time Demereen had walked the length of the path to the entrance to
Inner Court, she was all a-tremble with maternal feelings.  The Shivan Witch,
walking at her side, now appeared quite serene.  Nothing of her deep
frustration and inner yearning showed.  She was under control again.  Shiv
never liked coming to Temple, and avoided it at all costs.  But today was
special, necessary.

At the gateway to Inner Temple, Shiv dropped Demereen's hand and stood back.
This was as far as any Shivan Witch would come, they could not be encouraged
into entering Inner Court, let alone the Mammalan Temple itself.  No
explanation for this reluctance had ever been given.  No one felt moved to
ask.  It was a thing peculiar to the Shivan - that they seemed to exercise a
strange influence over the wills of those around them.  If the Shivan were
ready, or willing, to answer such a question, then it might occur to someone
to ask it. Otherwise, the question would not be asked, nor even thought
about, in any serious way.

There were two elderly Priestesses sitting on a bench against the wall of
Inner Temple, to the left of the entrance.  Shiv moved to stand before the
two elderly ladies, who were taking their ease in the soft afternoon air.
She did a small courtsy before them and extended both hands.  Demereen
thought the little woman was going to request a blessing from the
priestesses, but was startled to see Shiv's hands palms down, as though she
was offering the blessing.  Demereen was even more puzzled to see first one,
then the other, extend hands, palms up, to receive blessing.  The sight
disturbed Demereen in some profound and elemental way, though she could not
exactly say why.

the Devotion Bell began to clang from Inner Temple, to signal the beginning
of the evening service.  Demereen took a few seconds to compose herself for
an audience with her Goddess.  When she felt ready, with a parting: "I'll be
out directly," she entered through the leaf shaped opening into the Court of
Inner Temple.

On emerging half an hour later, she found the formal gardens of Outer Temple
had grown indistinct in a soft twilight.  Little First Moon was just setting,
barely visible in the thin band of golden haze of sunset.  Little Second Moon
would not rise until a few minutes before sunrise.  Directly overhead, the
misty silver stain of stars the Kulak called "The Milk of the Goddess", arced
over the Temple like a pale rainbow, denoting that it was Night of No Moons,
the night of the Festival of the Mother Goddess - the greatest and most holy
of the festivals observed by the Kulak people.

It should have been her wedding night.

It was always especially lucky to be joined on this one night of the year.
Demereen sighed (she was still doing that a lot) and searched the twilit
gardens for Shiv.

The Shivan stood, with two others of her kind, just off the path to the
right.  They had their heads bent together in earnest conversation; but as
soon as Demereen's gaze touched them, they straightened.  Touching hands
briefly, they nodded in unison, and parted.  While Shiv stood waiting for
her, the others scampered away into the twilit garden.  Demereen went to the
little figure; Shiv took her hand; and in company with a few other early
leavers from the service, they made their way up the path to the gateway to
Temple Plaza.  A taunt expectancy communicated itself to Demereen through the
firm grip of Shiv's hand.

On the steps, they paused to let the others pass.  In the cherry grove
opposite, the lanterns hung in the trees, were being lit.  Shiv peered
around the open space, searching the crowds.  Her gaze lit upon a ragged
dressed young man standing at the head of a bony horse, soothing the
nervous animal by stroking its nose.  His attention, though, was
elsewhere. Shiv smiled, and nodded to the boy. He acknowledged the signal
with a little nod - and sprang towards them.

Demereen let out a yelp of alarm.  A moment later, she recognised the madly
grinning boy clutching a leather thong.  Realisation dawned.

"Oh!  Shiv!  You sweet darling!" she exclaimed, and bending, gave Shiv a
fierce hug.  The Shivan hardly noticed; she stood rigid, eyes closed,
concentrating hard.  Demereen stepped towards Kulaan, holding out her hands
for the rope, as custom required.

By the Holy Mother, it was going to work.  It was going to work - at last
It was...

But it was not.

Thirty yards away, amid the jostling throng of people about the stalls and
booths set up at the western end of Temple Plaza, three people, were
attracted by the yell.  No one else seemed to have noticed anything amiss.

"...But why isn't anyone going to help her?" demanded an alarmed Harry
Sullivan.

"The Shivan witch is exercising the glamour," the Doctor explained.

"The what?"

"It's a sort of mass hypnosis.  No one can see what's going on, because
that little woman on the steps doesn't want them to."

"You mean she's stopping all these people from seeing what's happening?"
Sarah asked.

"Not on her own, of course," the Doctor answered her in that annoying tone of
superior knowledge that she found so irritating.  His blue eyes searched the
crowd.  "She can't maintain a Cone of Influence big enough on her own.
There'll be at least two more somewhere nearby."

At the foot of the marble steps, the young man had bound the wrists of the
girl, and was dragging her towards the horse.

"You mean no one's going to help?" asked Sarah.

"Not while the Shivan Witch is holding up that Cone of Influence." the
Doctor confirmed.

"Well!  We'll soon see about that!" Harry cried, leaping into heroic
action.  "I'll soon put a stop to the bounder's little game!" He took off
down the street.

"WAIT!  HARRY!" the Doctor yelled.  He made a lung for him; but the Navy
surgeon was already steaming gallantly to the rescue of the damsel in
distress.

As he pounded up, the young man was trying to boost the woman into the
saddle.   Hampered by the bound hands, the enterprise was proving rather
difficult.

Harry let out a tremendous yell.  The scene froze for a long, horrified
second.  The little woman in grey robes standing on the steps, started
violently.  She took a step back.  A certain indefinable "something" thinned
from the air.  The tableaux unfroze.  As one, the passers-by stopped
whatever they were about, and turned to look in the direction of the action.

One in particular took in what was afoot in an instant.  He drew a skinning
knife and moved to the head of the horse.  Grimlak Vylian smiled nastily as
he grasped the halter rope.  This was too good an opportunity to waste.  He
could eliminate the opposition.  He began rehearsing the excuses in his head
while he awaited the right moment to strike. "A terrible accident...of
course he should not have had a naked blade before Temple on the night of
Festival - but..." His lips curled in a feral smile.

Kulaan was unaware of his danger.  He had other things to think about just
then. His face contorting with panic and indecision, he glanced quickly
about at the suddenly interested people, then back to the big stranger.
The man was descending on them like a summer storm on the Kulak. Kulaan came
to the only decision possible.

"Sheep shit!" he swore.  Grabbing Demereen around the neck, he kissed her
fiercely, before shoving her away.  He sprang for the horse, just as the man
lunged for him.  There was a moment of mad uncertainty as the stranger's
hands closed on his ragged tunic.

Grimlak chose that moment to thrust his knife into the boy's chest.

The big stranger yanked.  Kulaan lost his grip.  He began to slide back off
the horse.  It saved his life.  Instead of going home in flesh, the blade
sliced the tatty jerkin, and opened a shallow gash across his abdomen.  In
his panic, Kulaan didn't even notice.

The hem of the rotten tunic tore suddenly away.  Kulaan slid forward, almost
pitching over the neck of the horse, presenting his throat to Grimlak, who
struck again.  The horse shied at the sudden movement under its head. The
knife made a shallow gash in the frightened creature's shoulder.  It screamed
in panic, and took off at a gallop, brushing aside the Kulak Lord in its mad
flight.

Harry, still clutching the piece of rag, waved it at the departing horse and
rider, shouting dire threats.  Grimlak faded back into the press of startled
people, who had stopped to watch the spectacle.

Demereen watched Kulaan's fast-disappearing back, her mouth hanging open in
utter disbelief.  So close, Kulaan had come so close.  And then,  then,  this
stupid oaf...

Harry finished waving his arms uselessly at the fleeing horseman and turned
to the girl, to see if she was alright.

With an ear splitting scream of utter frustration, Demereen launched herself
at him.  She drove her bound fists into his face, venting all her pent up
fury in one great punch.

Harry went down like a pole-axed sheep.  He was a big man, and strong; but
Demereen was no weakling.  The heavy work she had been accustomed to since
she could walk had armed her with a powerful set of muscles.  Even so, it
was possibly the surprise that undid Harry Sullivan?

He measured his length in the mud, and other things in Temple Plaza.  There
was a great deal of "other things", for it was customary to drive the flocks
past the wall of the Temple to gain the blessing of the Great Mother.  The
manure was collected to be used in the Temple gardens.  That which was left
over was sold to the farmers of the semi-settled steaddings to provide Temple
with a small additional income.  The manure was greatly prized as it carried
the blessing of the Holy Mother.

Harry was well blessed.

With a little sad shake of his head, the Doctor handed the
lead rope of his "little accident" to Sarah, shoved his hands in his pockets,
and sauntered over to sort the matter out.

"Excuse me.  I'm the Doctor.  Can I help?" he inquired of the young woman who
was laying into Harry with a booted foot.  She stopped kicking the prone man,
and turned an angry expression on the Doctor.  It seemed she was on the point
of either speaking, or exploding; but she did neither.  Instead, tears welled
into her eyes, her mouth pulled into a tight line as she fought for control,
for the decorum proper to a daughter of Kharran Khan.  The effort proved a
little too much.  She was just too angry. Deliberately, she aimed a parting
kick at the bemused Harry, before pushing past the Doctor.

"Come!  Shivan!" she grated out between clenched teeth, stalking away.

The crowd that had gathered, opened before her.  Most of them were aware of
the nuances underlying the little scene.  The expressions varied from great
good humour on the faces of the men, to heartfelt commiseration on those of
the women.

As the crowd closed around Demereen, Grimlak fell in beside her.  He drew out
a length of leather thong.  "Well met, wife!" he leered at her, snapping the
thong between his hands like a garrote.

No one noticed in the press of people.  The crowd's attention was
elsewhere.  The air buzzed with an animated interest. This sort of
spectacle was not too uncommon at Festival time; but they were usually better
organised than this; they seldom went so spectacularly wrong.  Most of those
there gathered were also aware that it was not the first attempt to carry off
Kharran Khan's daughter in a Briding Quest.  In the tight knit community  of
the Kulak People, Everybody knew everybody else's business . Everyone there
would play his, or her, part in trying to prevent the kidnap.   It was
generally a time for high jinx. Sometimes, people got hurt; but the game had
to be played properly, if it were to be played at all?  Besides, the Khan
would be honour bound to reward those who saved his daughter's honour - it
was all part of the fun.

The tale would soon be doing the rounds of the tents.  If there was a
balladeer in the crowd, there would be a new song sung at the Tent of the
Minstrels before the sun rose tomorrow.

With a particularly vexed expression, the little woman in grey watched the
crowds closing around her young charge.  Hands on hips, she looked down at
Harry laying in the mud.  Her lips drew into a tight line, expressing to
perfection, her annoyance.  She looked, just for a moment, as though she
might launch her own kick at the bemused man lying on the ground.  Harry lay
there groaning, and fingering his abused cheek; possibly it was this that
saved him from further assault.

At last, the Shivan sighed.  It was a quite vexed noise. It sounded loud
even against the rising murmur of the crowd.  She looked up at the Doctor,
meeting his blue gaze with her own black eyes.  She arched eyebrows at him.
Her expression changed to weary resignation.  She shrugged.  The Doctor
smiled down at her in a moment of silent commiseration.

Of a sudden, the little woman's head jerked around, questing about like a
blood hound scenting a trail.  She shot off in the direction Demereen had
taken.

Sarah arrived.  The black face of the mare peered over her shoulder,
looking disdainful.  Sarah passed the halter rope back to the Doctor, and
unslung her camera bag.  She took out her Zenith, began setting it with a
mischievous smile, and began moving around to get the best angle for the
photograph.  This was most certainly going to be one for the album.

'Sarah!  Don't you dare," warned Harry.  He put down a hand to lever
himself up - right into some of those ubiquitous "other things".  The Doctor,
who had stepped up and extended a hand to help the man up, suddenly had
second thoughts, and withdrew the offer.  With a detached amusement, he stood
back, stroking the neck of the mare, while he watched Sarah taking her
pictures.

When Sarah had finished, they adjourned to one of the nearby stone and wood
buildings along the riverside.  Its usual function was as a warehouse; but
during the Festival, it was doing service as a tavern.  The atmosphere inside
was rank with the smells of people, animals and cooking.  It was crowded.
Most were sitting on rugs, in tight family circles.  Green Clan Banners flew
over each family circle.

 A few goats and sheep were wandering around, chewing experimentally at the
rugs, at the bright coloured woolens worn by the people, and even at the
plats of hair that were not wound up onto heads out of the way.

The place was lit by lanterns strung from the ceiling.  In shape they
resembled Pot bellied women with transparent abdomens.  Inside each a
candle burned.  They reminded Sarah of nothing so much as a pregnant woman.

Around the walls, tables had been set up.  The Doctor led his two companions
to one of these, in a far corner.   They settled around it.  A bowl of some
milky liquid had been set before each seat.

"But I don't understand," Harry complained to the Doctor as he slid onto
his seat.  The puzzlement in his voice was overlaid with a resentful tone.
"All I did was try and rescue the woman from the rogue.  And...And she hit
me?" He gently fingered his swollen cheek.

"That's going to be a fantastic shiner," Sarah observed, amusement in her
voice.  She was having the devil of a job keeping a straight face.  The
sight of Harry, being floored by the girl, would stay with her to her dying
day.

Harry glared at her.  To cover the amusement she could not get off her
face, Sarah examined the china bowl of pale liquid.  "Doctor? What is
this?"

"Kerd.  It's the local distilled alcoholic beverage - made from fermented
milk - among other things."

Sarah's mouth pulled into a little mou of disgust.  She sniffed it; to
her surprise, it had a very enticing smell - aromatic and spicy with a
hint of alien fruits.   "Is it safe to drink?"

"Yes - provided you don't drink too much.  It's very potent."

Sarah picked up the bowl.  The unsteady light from the lanterns wavered and
shimmered on the surface, momentarily reminding Sarah of the glistening skin
of monsters.  There had been so many monsters.  Still, it was all experience.
She took an experimental sip.

"Go easy on that, Sarah," the Doctor warned again.

"I don't understand," said Harry, a plaintiff note in his voice. "Why did
she hit me - I mean, I was only trying to help?"

"Ah well now," the Doctor told him, "that's the whole point - she didn't
want any help."

"Not want any help!" Harry echoed; "but that scoundrel was tying her up!
And he looked a right desperate character.  Who knows what beastliness
 he was intending?"

"Oh.  I should say she understood perfectly his  intentions." said the
Doctor  with a twinkle in his eye.  "He was going to kidnap her, carry her
off to his camp and have his wicked way with her."

Harry was aghast; his mouth dropped open.  He was not a particularly
imaginative man; but neither was he stupid.  It dawned slowly on
him that the Doctor was gently poking fun at his  archetypical
English  Gentleman's view of the world.



Harry closed his mouth.  Shaking his head, he admitted. "I don't
understand.  What was *really* going on?"

Sarah looked from Harry to the Doctor; various comments suggested
themselves to her; but instead she said nothing, lifted the bowl in
both hands, and took another good long pull at the Kerd.

"You blundered into a Briding Quest, Harry," the Doctor explained, eyeing
Sarah with not a little concern. "It's a quaint custom they have here...I
say, Sarah!  Go steady on that!"

Sarah dabbled her tongue in the milky liquid, making very unladylike
slurping sounds.  Yes, she decided; once you got over the initial burn, it
was not that unpleasant; in fact - it was really rather good.  She set down
the bowl which was at least a third empty.

"Bride Quest?  What's that, Doctor?" she inquired.

"An ancient and popular custom they have here," he said, "a hold-over from
an early and more barbaric time.  It grew up in the years after the driving
down of the First Terran Empire, and the breaking of contact.  Things were
pretty rough here for a while.  The Daleks used this planet and its people
for one of their nastier experiments in controlling the populations of
humans in the galaxy.  They contaminated the planet with a genetically
altered virus that made most women infertile.  Populations crashed
planet-wide, not just here on the Kulak.  There was massive unrest, riots,
wars...All over the planet the structure of society broke down almost
overnight when the realisation of how serious their predicament was sank
in."

Sarah shuddered, "That's horrible.  What did they do about it?"

"There was very little anyone could do," the Doctor went on.  "Before they
even knew about it, the damage had been done."

"Didn't they send for help?" asked Harry, his own trifling wounds
forgotten.

"There was no help to be had.  The First Empire went down like a house of
cards in a gale under the Dalek onslaught.  Even if there had been
anyone able to help, I doubt if they'd have come to the aid of this planet
 - there was a terrible danger of infection spreading to the rest of the
 Empire."

The navy surgeon was horrified.  "I can't believe they'd just abandon the
people here to such a grisly fate?" he exclaimed.  "It's inhuman!"

The Doctor looked upon the medical man with heart-felt compassion.  "It was
not as cruel and callous as it sounds," he assured him.  "It was not a
decision taken lightly - there really was little choice about it.  Once
that infection got itself ingrained in the human stock here, there was
little good that could have been done, when set against the harm which
would have been done by carrying the infection to other worlds in the
Terran Empire.  The whole social and technological structure was collapsing
in on itself.  In the aftermath of that Dalek onslaught, and for many
centuries afterwards, most of those worlds were hard put to hang on to some
semblance of civilised lifestyle.  Certainly they were in no state to deal
with an infection specifically designed to be inimical to earth human
stock."

"But - even so, Doctor..." Harry interrupted; but the Doctor plunged on,
well launched on his history lesson.

"It was a time of madness and war, of cowardice and cruelty, and of insane
heroics. It went on for centuries.  Here on the Kulak, when things settled
down a bit, fertile women were at a premium.  In some places they gained
great power because they could confer the prize of children on a group or
community.  They became centrally important to the developing culture.
Groups or communities who did not have a fertile woman were doomed to
extinction. A system of raiding began - stealing fertile women became a
sort of way of life."

"Didn't that cause a lot of trouble?" inquired Harry, watching Sarah,
knowing her mind on this sort of thing, expecting an outburst.  But she was
gazing bleary eyed at the lamps lighting the large hall, a vague smile on
her face.  She seemed not to be listening.

"Yes." the Doctor confirmed, his voice low.  "A great deal of trouble,
killings, wars, all sorts of violence and terror.  In the fighting, many
fertile women died unnecessarily, until the men came to their senses.  But
by that time, the first post catastrophe generation of girls were becoming
mature, and the practice of stealing women became a tradition without any
real meaning.  It evolved into the formal tradition of the
Bride Quest of today."

"Thash hideous," Sarah managed to say.

"Not really," the Doctor demurred, eyeing the journalist with concern.  "It
still has a function today.  If there is a strong romantic attachment, but
the suitor cannot raise the proper bride price, then,  if the Flock Master
of the Clan agrees, arrangements will be made for him to steal is bride."

"It sounds awfully romantic," Harry said; "but isn't it just a silly game?"
 "It's no game, Harry," the Doctor assured him. "Attempts to stop the
kidnap will be in earnest, as the Clan Lord is bound by custom to reward
those who preserve the honour of his daughter."

"But that's even sillier.  Someone could get hurt."

"They do get hurt, sometimes, quite badly hurt when the people who catch
him get a little carried away with the fun.  But braving the danger is all
part of the quest.  It shows the strength of his affection, his prowess and
skill in arms, his fearlessness.  In short what a good husband he will
make.  Things are settled here now on the Kulak, but for most of the last
two thousand years, this has been a very dangerous place.  What better way
could they have of testing the commitment and abilities of a prospective
husband?"

Harry nodded thoughtfully.  Needing a moment to digest all the implications
of the Doctor's words, he took up the bowl to sip the contents - and was
delightfully surprised.  He smacked his lips in appreciation. "Mmmm - this
is good, reminds me of the old rum ration back in the Navy."

"Ah," said the Doctor, peering through the uncertain light to the entrance.
"The Khan is here to haggle over the reward."

In the doorway stood a large burly man in a sleeveless leather jerkin.  It
was dark brown and plain.  Under it he wore a loose white shirt with short
sleeves, tied in below the elbow.  A long grey-green cape was thrown over
his broad shoulders; it was held at the throat by a bronze broach.  Silver
chased leather guards enclosed each wrist.  A slightly curved cavalry type
sword hung at his hip against loose fitting tan breeches.  The tip of the
intricately curlicued sheath touch the top of calf length riding boots,
rather muddy and ill-kempt.  One hand rested on the pommel of the sword
while his eyes searched the room.

At his side stood a small wiry little man in leather armour - on his other
side another soldier in the same kind of lacquered leather gear.  The
breast plates were embossed with a silver eagle with wings spread, the
standard of the Kulak Kharran Khan's entourage.

The imposing man's perusal of the room was leisurely, bespeaking great ease
and confidence.  At last his gaze came to their corner.  With a hand, he
reached up and brushed long braids  of hair back over his powerful
shoulders and spoke to the two men with him.  They moved forwards,
preceding him into the room.  they began a leisurely circulation among the
family parties on the rugs, slapping shoulders in greeting, saying a word
here and swapping a jest there, disentangling the fingers of the young boys
who tried to lay hands on the swords at their belts.

Kharran Khan watched his two retainers for a moment, then picked his way
among the rugs and came to stand at the table where the Doctor and his
companions sat.  He looked the three of them over with a frank, assessing
gaze before addressing himself without preamble to Harry.

"Sir." he began,   "it seems that I owe you a debt..." He broke off and
leaned over to peer att Harry's face.  His full lips, half hidden by the
thick walrus moustache, quirked up in an amused smile.  "My.  But that's an
impressive bruise." His eyes twinkled with amusement and a fatherly pride.
"That daughter of mine certainly packs a wallop! Got a good strong right
arm -  my Demereen.  Make someone a fine wife.  If only we get this
damned Questing business settled."

At the look of utter panic in Harry's face, the Doctor rose, his own eyes
twinkling with mirth to formally invite the Khan to join them.  "Please?
Sir will you grace our humble gathering with your presence?"

"Delighted!"  The Khan slid onto a bench across from a bleary eyed Sarah.
He raised an eyebrow at the half empty bowl, but made no comment.   He
turned his attention to Harry.

"Now then?  The matter of the bounty?  You're not going to drive a hard
bargain, I hope?"

Harry made a silent appeal to the Doctor to rescue him.  Noting this, the
Khan immediately turned his attention to him. He looked the Doctor up and
down with undisguised dislike. "So!  You'll be the factor then?  Can't
abide lawyers.  Oily scoundrels to a man.  By the Holy Mother!  Between
lawyers" fees and those balladeer romancers filling my Demereen's head with
romantical notions of marriage, I'm looking at ruin - Ruin I say!"

"I'm no lawyer -" the Doctor protest indignantly; but Kharran Khan
interrupted him.

"Not a Lawyer eh?  Glad to hear it!  Sensible fellow!  But you *do* speak
for the man?"

"I suppose I do," the Doctor admitted, with a nod at the Navy Surgeon.
Harry looked very relieved.  This was all a bit out of his league.

"Fine!  Now we're gettin' somewhere!  Make your claim.  But I warn you, I'm
not a rich man any more.  This Bride Questin' business's costing me dear!
Why!  The young fella's first run at it already cost me m'prize ram.  I tell
you sir - I'm running out of hiding places for the rest of m'stock." Kharran
Khan delivered this with a twinkle in his eye.  It is very hard to make brown
eyes twinkle, but he managed it effortlessly.  The Doctor warmed to him
immediately.

"My dear fellow," the Doctor began with an expansive smile; "we are on
holiday, and trying to see as much as we can.  It would be very generous of
you if we could join your Clan for the Festival tonight.  We'd get a grand
view of the procession that way."

"Splendid notion!  sir!  Was going to suggest it m'self in fact!  After
what Nylan told me of your facing down that young cur, Grimlak.  You'll be
a man after my own heart, I'll wager!  And you're handy with a blade, I hear?
I've a mind to go a few rounds with you m'self - practice swords of course -
how about it?  After the Festival, of course?"

The Doctor beamed, always pleased to have his finer qualities appreciated.
"Splendid idea, old chap.  I'd be  delighted.  It'd be an honour, sir."

"Splendid!" the Khan boomed with an answering grin.  He clapped the
Doctor on the shoulder.  "Since it seems you'll be joining my entourage for
the celebrations, think proper introductions might be the order of the day?"

The doctor rose.  "Harry - allow me to introduce Kulak Kharran Khan, Grand
Flock Master, Lord of Shepherds, First Counsel -"

The big man's face twisted into a grimace.  He cleared his throat with
deliberate emphasis.  The Doctor broke off and bent an inquiring look at
the man.

"Don't bother with all that palaver, m'fellow, or we'll still be here on
the Eve of next Festival. Informality's  the thing. 'll bring the sheep
home very nicely. Dontcha think?"  The Khan twinkled.

The Doctor pushed a hand through his unruly curls. He seemed a little
non-plussed. "Oh well," he concurred, "in that case - Harry meet Kulak
Kharran, father of the lady Demereen, the girl  whose *honour* you saved
this evening."

Harry winced at the stress laid on the word honour; but the twinkle in the
Doctor's eyes softened the embarrassment a little.

"Khan - meet Harry Sullivan.  A good friend of mine and a fine Healer." The
Doctor turned to Sarah.  "And this is Sarah Jane...Oh?  She, ah?  seems to
have fallen under the table.  Please forgive such an appalling lapse in
manners?"

The Khan roared with laughter.

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