Powers That Be

Powers That Be is the first main-series episode of The Knight of Time. It introduces several major characters and themes of the series.

Synopsis
After brief but glorious adventures with the Doctor, Sir Peter, the Knight of Time, returns to his home of Burgonshire in the late 1300s. As mysterious creatures begin to plague the areas surrounding Castle Burgonshire, Sir Peter is drawn back into the world of the strange at a crucial crossroad in his life.

Story
Little girl be all alone

Upon her stone, her make-shift throne.

She is mother, daughter, queen,

Of all this world that she's yet seen.

Do any dare disturb her rest?

Invade her nest, thus pass the test?

Cowardice the king still be

If all will kneel before She.

--From historical documents unearthed at Castle Burgonshire.

Robert of Locksley, who thought of himself as Robin Hood, had missed the forest. In Huntington, he resided as Earl, surrounded by riches and courtiers, given everything he could possibly desire. And yet he hated every moment spent in his castle's' depths. He had never fully realized how much he was missing locked up in his keep until his temporary banishment. In the castle he was trapped in the dark, shut away from the marvels of the land. But here in the deep woods, all alone on a winding path with nothing but the brambles to keep him company, he could appreciate his world as thoroughly as God intended.

Dismounting from his horse and strapping his bow to his back, he hopped to the ground and began studying the mud. There was no trace of the thing he hunted for, although a number of deer and wild hogs had evidently made their way down this path. He would have to arrange a hunting party soon; some of the stag tracks were fairly enormous. And just one of these hogs could supply enough pork for a feast--

A rumbling in the brambles near him made him jump to his feet in alarm, drawing his bow on basic instinct. The sound was gone as quickly as it came, but the feeling of another presence remained. He'd have to be careful here. Perhaps moving ahead of the rest of the search party had been a poor notion after all.

What makes forests so interesting, Robin decided rather ruefully, is that any "respect" they hold for you can be dropped the moment you look like a meal.

He considered for a moment, and then grinned. This probably makes them more similar to courtly life than I had considered.

Another horse came trotting into view, out from behind the dense thickets of Sherwood. The horseman was a thin yet suitably well-muscled man, a lieutenant of his named Simkins.

"Sir," began the man, "Thus far, our quarry has continued to evade us." His tone would indicate respect, but Robin knew it to be a ruse. Simkins didn't believe for a minute that any "quarry" was to be found--he'd been in London at the time of the dragon attack a month ago, and thus still believed things of magic to be things dwelling only in troubadour's tales.

"Thou art pleased to report such, are thee not?" asked Robin a little irritably. Simkins, while a good bowman and suitable as a drinking companion, was a little grating sometimes, especially when all evidence pointed to his being correct.

"Hardly pleased, sir," replied Simkins carefully, studying the reins of his horse as he did so. "After all, there are either demons running the woods or the serfs have stolen enough ale to make them thinketh so." He laughed a bit at this, clearly watching his lord's face to ensure this was not going to earn him a reprimand.

Robin also allowed himself a chuckle at the remark--though he was fairly certain it was the former option. Without genuinely thinking about it, he withdrew a small piece of--stone?--from his pocket.

It was a beautiful piece of material, despite its supposed origin. It glinted like gold in the sunlight, yet seemed to pale in the dark. Obvious qualities, to be sure, but they seemed somehow more so in this object, as if it were not but tricks of the light that caused these effects. As if it were alive, he thought involuntarily, and it sickened away from the light too long.

He hurriedly stowed the piece back in his pocket. He had been pressed into taking the oddity by one of the older peasant men in Huntington, who insisted that it was cursed, sliced off the back of a demon. In his raspy voice, the man had sworn by God and all the saints that the holder of the stone would be mercilessly hunted and killed by the demons. He had referred, of course, to the peculiar class of demons known as Oxknockers--the spiked horrors, adorned with golden armor that glistened unnaturally in the sun. They were said to be large enough to throw an ox to the ground with little effort, hence the name. They indeed sounded otherworldy in nature--and as a man who'd visited other worlds, Robin felt himself entitled to judge the matter.

He paused for a time, examining a bit of moss on a low tree branch. He heard the rumbling again, more faintly then before. Simkins froze, paling a bit. "Pray tell what that would be, sir," he croaked, "a bear, mayhaps?"

There were few scenarios in which a hungry bear would be the most preferable explanation. This, unfortunately, would be one of those scenarios.

"Methinks 'tis something else," said Robin gravely, drawing his bow again. "Stay close, Simkins, and face thy bow towards our rear flank. We shalt make our way back to the main party."

They began to do this, moving slowly through the forest. Where before there had been joyfully singing birds, and a myriad of squirrel movement in the trees, there was now an unnatural silence.

The silence gave way to screams and shouts.

The two bowmen quickly abandoned their strategic defense, rushing towards their party at a swift pace. When they arrived back at the clearing they had gathered in, a loathsome sight met their eyes. Simkins retched.

The entire party--all of the dogs, the horses, the soldiers and horn-bearers--lay in shreds. Shreds, as if some angry cat had torn apart a sheet of parchment. Blood soaked into the ground, and loose bits of flesh clung to plants.

Robin dismounted quickly, surveying the carnage with horror and disgust. As near he could tell, nothing had been devoured... only torn apart. "What would do this," he muttered to himself. "I can see some finery on the ground, and steel weapons lay scattered. Bandits would not have done this."

Simkins shook his head. "Nothing of Earth would have done this," he moaned, dropping his bow and withdrawing a crucifix from his sack. "The serfs spoke true. The world be at its end and demons plague the woods..."

Those were the last words Robin ever heard from Simkins. A tremendous rumbling filled the air, and a massive bulk of a thing crashed through the trees, knocking Robin horse and all thirty feet. They collided with a sickening crack, falling to the ground. The horse, its spine broken, lay atop of him, crushing the life from him. Through the haze of shock and pain that clouded his mind, Robin could just make out an enormous gold-colored beast. Rumbling and the shrieks of a dying Simkins filled his ears.

As the beast devoured its meal, Robin struggled with the dead horse. If he could just get his other arm free, he could grab his bow...

He heard a thud, and could see the shredded remnants of his lieutenant fall to the ground. The beast turned and began to approach.

Lord, if ever thou hast loved me, let me up, Robin prayed desperately, ''let me at least live long enough to give my goodbyes... to Tuck, to John, to Marian...''

A sudden thought occured to him. Struggling with the hand that was crushed in between him and the horse, he clutched the golden demon skin and yanked his arm free.

As the piece came into view, the Oxknocker snarled. By now it was close enough to view properly. It was easily as large as the elephants he had seen in Africa, but covered in golden armor of the same material as the piece. Its face... that was the interesting part. Because golden flesh notwithstanding, it could have been the face of an ox calf staring down at him.

A sudden flick of the wrist sent the piece flying in another direction. Moving almost like an enormous kitten, the Oxknocker bounded off towards the place it had landed. With a prayer of thanks, Robin pushed his way out from under the horse and grabbed his bow.

The demon had already reached the gold piece, and had gripped it in its ox-like jaw. It raised its head to glare at the bow, a dumb look spreading across its face. Another deep rumble filled the air as it took steps towards him.

The shot couldn't have been simpler. Robin let his arrow fly, piercing the armor coating the beast's head. It let out a roar of rage and began to charge, but by now Robin was in a cycle. Arrow after arrow he let loose, until the demon fell to the ground, its head riddled with arrows.

"Back to hell with thee," muttered Robin. But he felt no mirth. It took only a glance to see that Simkins was dead, shredded like the other men in the hunting party. The Oxknocker had done its butchery quickly.

Unable to help those already dead, Robin shifted his mind back to the pragmatic. It was sometimes difficult, but years of fighting had schooled him well in this regard.

''With our horses dead I shalt have to walk back to the castle. And of course, I shan't be able to haul this carcass back on my own.''

He drew a dagger and sliced off a portion of golden hide. ''Clearly it puts me at risk, but it shall have to do. I must have some evidence of my claims, however slim it may be.''

He stored the skin in his pocket, and lapsed back into introspection as he began to march back to the castle.

It had been a month since his last encounter with the world of the arcane--he had been stranded in the world's distant past, and immediately thereafter had faced onslaught from a fire-spouting dragon. Both times he had been aided by his friend, the eccentric character who styled himself "Doctor". Last time he had seen him, the Doctor had gone off on a dangerous quest with another friend of his, Sir Peter of Burgonshire. That had been a month ago--should they not have returned by this time? One thing was sure: he could not deal with this fresh demonic onslaught alone. He would at least need an army, but Prince Edward would by now be marching his men to the sea so they could continue their decades-long war with France. They'd be stopping briefly in Burgonshire, but then...

Another sudden thought came to him, hastily answered by a sense of foreboding. If he failed... for that matter, if he succeeded... he looked around the forest, at the now cheerfully singing birds, at the magnificent trees lightly coated in moss.

Slowly, he put his hand on the demon skin and smiled.

A flock of pheasants foraged in the clearing, scattering at the first Vworp. The forest air filled with the sound as ancient engines ground their way into existence, materializing as a wooden blue box in the middle of the woods.

The box had scarcely stood for a minute before the doors flew open, pushed aside as a man stumbled out. The man was dressed head to toe in full plate armor, soaking wet. His armor made a sloshing sound when he walked, which irritated the pheasants even further. With a light racket they hurried away from him.

I go through so much effort to keep my equipment dry, and I fall into a pool, Sir Peter thought mirthlessly. His armor had certainly taken a great quantity from the TARDIS swimming pool. He supposed he was grateful--the fall from Skouros' Tower should have killed him, had the Doctor not come in time. And he was grateful that his armor didn't drown him once he was in the pool. But still. There were times when he deeply regretted not having a squire to dry his armor for him.

Peter surveyed his surroundings. He was still not used to this disappearing-and-appearing-elsewhere nonsense. Moments before they had been hurtling over an infinite battlefield, where gods schemed as Creation unraveled. Now, they stood in the woods on a hot summer day as pheasants indignantly made their way to another clearing.

As he moved out of the way, the man he had come to know as "the Doctor" cheerfully stepped out, looking around at the old growth forest.

"Ha! There's an elm! I've got you at least as close as the Cenzoic. TARDIS had me worried there for a minute, skipping over a chrono-check like that." He shot an irritated look at the blue box. "You should be in Burgonshire. 1369. July 2nd, a day after you left."

The Doctor made for an odd sight, dressed in a strange suit with suspenders. On his neck was a peculiar tie in the shape of a bow, which he insisted was "very cool" whenever asked about it. Truly, the things the man said did nothing to soften the impression of strangeness he gave.

Yet despite his strangeness--or perhaps in part because of it--Peter had come to trust him in the short space of time he had known him.

"This is Burgonshire," Peter said, slightly confused. "Are we not going back to retrieve the demat gun?"

The Doctor looked at him curiously for a moment. "I am. You're staying here."

An indignant anger began to stir in Peter. "What meanest thou? I am under obligation to help thee. I am a knight and a Time Agent--I cannot stand idly by while others fight for our cause." His voice was rising.

"Oh? I think we both know that Big Voicey-Thing Skouros would just grab you right back again. He's a Primordial Dragon, Peter. You're lucky to have gotten out of his reach the first time. He gets you again, and even I might not be able to rescue you, and I'm quite frankly marvelous."

Sir Peter frowned, looking down at his particle gun. "What can I do, then?"

The Doctor looked around, at the forest and the sky. "Skouros broke the Time Lock. Do you know what that means?"

"The end of the world?", Peter asked dryly. He'd grown to detect a pattern when it came to dealings with the Doctor.

"No," the Doctor replied, "well, yes. That too. But we're talking bigger here, bigger than anything I've faced in a long while. That Time Lock was the only thing keeping the Last Great Time War from seeping all over the place. You know how the water in a glass spreads out over a table when it's spilled?"

"Yes," said Peter slowly, fairly sure he knew what the Doctor was getting at.

"Well, it's nothing like that, but it makes for fine imagery. So why not."

The Doctor looked up at the sky.

"Right now," he said, some his flippancy dissipating, "or rather, loose in the Time Vortex and therefore simultaneously in every point of time at once, there are a million and one terrible things flying about, eating, destroying, exterminating, and breeding. The Horde of Travesties. The Skaro Degradations. The Nightmare Child will be mucking about someplace, putting its Eyes everywhere. As we speak, the Could've Been King will be summoning up a fresh batch of Meanwhiles and Neverweres, ready to lay waste to a universe too busy with the others horrors of the universe to even notice they're there."

"We need," he concluded, " what we desperately need, is for people to know. The universe is hurt. She's in danger. But, and this is a big but, the universe is a mother. She has billions of children ready to fight for her... if someone can keep them from squabbling amongst themselves. You might have to put some of them in the corner. OK, with that, I'm killing this extended metaphor. But the point remains. You need to rally the universe, to save reality."

"I cannot... I can't do that!" stammered Peter, bewildered.

"Of course you can. You're a child of the universe, aren't you?"

"I suppose..."

The Doctor clapped him on the shoulder. "Good to hear it, good sir knight!  The Time Agency should come to pick you up once they've detected you. The old rascal's probably already here."

"Old rascal?"

"Yes, him."

"But who's-"

"Er, sorry. Spoilers, I'm af--"

An odd sound began to emenate from the TARDIS; a sort of ringing.

"Never mind that!", shouted the Doctor, rushing inside his ship. "My door into the Death Zone is closing! I've got to get through now!"

He started to slam the doors, but Sir Peter stopped the door with his hand. "Doctor..." he said uneasily, "How? How do I do these things? How does one prepare the universe for the end of reality?"

The Doctor looked at him for a moment, and then burst into a wide smile. "Do what I do. Shout 'Geronimo' and jump right in the middle of trouble. You'll figure your way out on the way down."

Puzzled, Peter stepped away from the TARDIS. As he watched, the Doctor gave a final wave, and the big blue box gradually faded away in a series of vworps.