Fic: Side Quest (Torchwood/Krod Mandoon, PG-13)
Title: Side Quest.
Author: Prochytes.
Fandom: Torchwood/Kröd Mändoon and the Flaming Sword of Fire
Rating: PG-13. Smut; innuendo; some violence and swearing.
Characters/Pairing: Jack/Everyone.
Disclaimer: Not mine, any of it.
Summary: Dongalor’s latest plan bids fair to crush all with its evil. The Golden One and his boon companions must put their faith in a mysterious stranger. But does the one they call “Captain Jack Harkness” have reasons of his own for lending aid?
Word Count: 5794.
A/N: Spoilers for Kröd Mändoon down to 1x03: “Our Bounties Ourselves” and Torchwood 1x01: “Everything Changes”.
1. Creature of Havoc
It had not been a classic tavern brawl. The Myrmidon troops had been neither numerous nor competent enough to make a real fight of it; Kröd’s combat badinage had lacked, perhaps, a certain sparkle; and one of Aneka’s hand-spring sequences had needed an inelegant adjustment to stop her from cannoning into the shove ha’penny board. Still, it had been a solid display; a wholly adequate amount of derring-do had been derring-done. As Kröd gathered his thoughts for the post-match analysis, he felt that the team could be justly proud of their performance.
Then one of the downed Myrmidons spat out a tooth, smiled a scarlet smile, and began to chuckle.
Kröd frowned. Apart from anything else, there was no way that this guy should still be conscious. Standing battle instructions for Bruce were quite explicit: if he would insist on making no contribution to the actual melee besides cheerleading, he could at least go around making sure that decked bad guys really were out for the count. After all, even a punchy mook could use a crossbow, and not everyone shot like Loquasto. Also, the timbre of this chuckle was kind of freaky.
“You have something to contribute, ass-wipe?”
“Strut while yet you may, Mändoon.” The Myrmidon sneered up at him. “The span of your paltry Rebellion draws to its close. The time of the Void-Chylde is at hand.”
Kröd’s brow furrowed. “The Void-Chylde?”
“Aye, the Void-Chylde.” The Myrmidon spat blood again, and grinned. “A creature of Faerie, birthed from the night, garbed in the magicks. When Chancellor Dongalor takes her for his bride, two days from now, his warlocks will make her power his. All shall tremble before his peerless… urk.”
Kröd sighed. “Great timing, Bruce. We were getting some quality exposition there.”
Bruce pouted. “General Arcadius never complained that I came too soon.”
“There’s so much in that statement I’m not going near.” Kröd ran his hand through his hair. “Zez?”
Zezelryck put down the flagon of ale he had just confiscated as spoils of rebellion. “Huh?”
“How did this Void-Chylde thing blindside us? You’re supposed to be my go-to guy for what’s brewing in these parts.”
The soi-disant sorcerer narrowed his eyes. “I’m the only one round here with ears?”
Kröd shrugged. “People talk to you. They’re shy of approaching me because I’m kind of a big deal; Bruce… well, Bruce isn’t the sort that stout yeomen appreciate; Loquasto always forgets what they say; and when Aneka asks them stuff they usually reply to her chest.”
The Grobble looked hurt. Aneka patted his shoulder and glared at Kröd, who continued to address Zezelryck regardless:
“So yeah, intel is your thing. And will be until the happy day dawns when you actually manage to cast a spell.”
Zezelryck bridled. “I don’t think you fully recognize the practical difficulties of applied thaumaturg…”
“Guys,” Aneka cut in, “maybe that’s a discussion we could save for later? The Void-Chylde sounds urgent.”
“I guess you’re right.” Kröd surveyed the recumbent forms that strewed the taproom. “Let’s tie them up, bring a couple round, and make with the interrogation. Who knows what horrors Dongalor is planning, even as we sit here?”
***
“This is, you will appreciate, a grave matter,” said Dongalor.
Barnabus inclined his head sagely.
“Much hangs upon the choice I make here today.”
Barnabus murmured his acquiescence.
“In the crucible of such decisions, Barnabus, are imperial destinies forged or undone.”
“Indeed, sir.” Barnabus raised his quill. “Has the Chancellor, then, reached a conclusion?”
Dongalor nodded decisively. “I have. Doilies it is.”
Barnabus scribbled on the parchment in front of him. “Doilies. An excellent choice, if the Chancellor will grant me the liberty of saying so.”
“He does, Barnabus, he does.” Dongalor stretched. “The prospect of connubial bliss has made me lenient.”
Barnabus coughed discreetly. “Along, one suspects, with anticipation of the godhood that will accompany it?”
“You always were a sharp one, Barnabus, you old sly-boots.” Dongalor reclined in his chair. “Is that all for now?”
Barnabus ran an eye down the list of wedding arrangements, and stuffed it into his robe. “It is, sir.”
“Excellent. Well, toddle off and get organizing, do. The match of the millennium won’t arrange itself, you know.” Dongalor sighed happily. “To think that within the week, unlimited power and a blushing fairy bride will be mine. Oh, Barnabus?”
The withdrawing courtier halted. “Sir?”
“See to it, won’t you, that the guard on my lady’s chamber is doubled? We wouldn’t want her trying to escape again.”
“Of course, sir. I shall attend to the matter after I speak to the major domo about our cutlery shortage. ” Barnabus began to retreat once more. “Farewell, sir.”
With Barnabus gone, Dongalor sank into a reverie. Since the opportunity for apotheosis had fallen almost literally into his lap, he had had little time to sit back and savour his good fortune. Godhood and a fey bride, whose lilting accents and wide eyes plainly bespoke her origins in Faerie! He was, indeed, a lucky man.
Of course, as soon as Dongalor had made his intentions clear, those lilting accents had turned decidedly screechy. Nor had Dongalor’s attempt to shut those wild, wild eyes with kisses four, which he had hazily remembered to be the done thing in such circumstances, met with an auspicious conclusion. (The Court Physician assured him that he would be able to breathe through his nose again by the time of the ceremony.) Dongalor was reluctantly coming around to the idea that once the nuptials and the consequent transfusion of fey power had been effected, the Void-Chylde herself would have to be disposed of. He liked a girl with a bit of spirit, but had begun to suspect that his bride might, in fact, own the distillery.
Still, cross that bridge and so on. Dongalor hummed a merry ditty, and started to give some thought to the live entertainment.
***
“So, here’s where we’re at.” Kröd moistened his throat with some ale. Interrogation could be thirsty work. “About a week back, Dongalor captured this Void-Chylde creature, who had just arrived from the Fey Realm. She doesn’t seem to have any significant mo-jo herself. But her travel from Faerie imbued her with mystic forces, which a competent warlock…” (Kröd, exercising heroic self-restraint, managed to stop himself from looking at Zezelryck) “…could cream off and put at the disposal of a mortal. Like Dongalor.”
Kröd glanced around at the team. Aneka and Zez were hanging on his words. Loquasto’s frown of intense concentration probably meant that he was hanging on a word two or three paragraphs back. Bruce appeared to be spring-cleaning the taproom. Kröd gulped down some more beer, and ploughed on:
“Now, this transfer of power requires the appropriate ceremonies to come off. Dongalor actually has to marry this fairy babe properly if the spell that juices him up is going to work. So, all we need to do is swoop in, trash the wedding, and free the Void-Chylde. Problem solved.”
“Except,” said Zezelryck, “that we don’t know where the wedding’s gonna happen. Dongalor and his most trusted cronies left his castle a couple of days back, taking the Void-Chylde with them. The grunts we’ve questioned don’t know where they went.”
Kröd’s face clouded. “Bummer. If we can’t find that wedding in time, Dongalor gains godlike powers. Maximal suck ensues.” The ale-mugs jumped as he brought his clenched fist down on the table. “There has to be a way for us to…”
“Shhh…” hissed Aneka. The pagan warrioress flowed to her feet, a dagger in hand. “Someone’s coming.”
Hinges creaked at the entrance to the tavern. Framed in the doorway stood a tall, broad-shouldered man. Kröd, himself no mean exponent of the art of standing on thresholds, had to acknowledge that this guy was pure liminal poetry to behold. You could be forgiven for thinking that the doorframe had actually been built around him.
The stranger moved forward into the silent taproom. Firelight revealed dark hair, chiselled features, and a coat of curious device. Tall though the stranger was, this garment well-nigh swept the ground as he advanced. He halted by a bench, casually propped a booted foot on it, and rested an elbow on his thigh.
“A fair evening to you, lady and gentlemen. I seek that diamond chip of a rogue they call Kröd Mändoon.“
“Search no more, my friend.” Kröd walked over to stand before the stranger. “For so my mother named me.”
“Hail to you, then, Kröd Mändoon.” The stranger’s teeth gleamed in the firelight. The feather-duster fell from Bruce’s nerveless hand. “I’m Captain Jack Harkness. And I might just be here to save your day.”
2. The Forest of Doom
Oak-leaves sifted the rays of the sun, as it set behind the hills that cradled the legendary Forest of Nerph. Kröd liked the way the dappled shadows brought out the toning of his abs. After all, anyone could wear a big coat, whereas abs spoke to both a disciplined lifestyle and natural hunkitude.
Not that their mutual quest was in any way a competition, of course. The present peril was much bigger than Captain Jack Harkness, Kröd’s team, or even Kröd himself, for all the not-unimpressive bulk of his musculature. This in mind, Kröd strolled over the edge of the clearing, where his newest ally was again manipulating that strange bracelet with which he claimed to be capable of tracking the Void-Chylde.
“How’s it coming, Jack?”
Jack looked up from his wrist. “About as well as can be expected. The Void-Chylde doesn’t seem to be moving any. The closer we get, the more accurately this device will be able to pinpoint her.”
Kröd nodded. “Bruce says that hidden somewhere deep within this forest there’s a secret Imperial stronghold. That must be where Dongalor has the Void-Chylde stashed.”
“Makes sense. We should reach the spot at just after noon tomorrow. If the ceremony takes as long as you’ve said, we’ll arrive in plenty of time to crash it.”
“Cool.” Kröd shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “Er, Jack…”
“Uh-huh?”
“Do you mind if I ask you a personal question?”
“Go right ahead. I just adore it when teammates get personal.”
“What land do you call home? From the way you talk, I’d guess it’s somewhere in the New World, but you don’t sound exactly like anyone I’ve ever met. Where are you from, precisely?”
Jack met Kröd’s eyes with the frank and tranquil gaze of a square-dealing man. “Eternia.”
“Eternia? Where’s that?”
“You probably won’t have heard of it. It’s next to Gondor. Just the other side of Warrior’s Crack. I don’t suppose you’re familiar with that, either?” Jack sighed. “I thought not. They don’t even bother to put it on maps, in these parts. Gotta love those crazy cartographers.”
“OK.” Kröd scratched his head. “And why is an… Eternian interested in helping us to free the Void-Chylde?”
Jack shrugged. “Because it’s the right thing to do, of course.” He lifted his arms expansively. “What other reason does a healthy man need to quest?”
“Fair point, I suppose.”
“Mind if I throw a question back at you, Kröd?”
“Fine by me.”
“I’m sensing some tension within your team. Care to fill me in on that?”
“How long have you got?” Kröd glanced over his shoulder, and shuffled closer to Jack. “Aneka is my ex. We broke up a while back - long story - let’s just say that pagan rituals and raccoons had a part to play. Zezelryck, as you’ve probably noticed, is a sorcerer who lacks any obvious aptitude for magic. Loquasto has to be reminded every five minutes that he isn’t my slave. And Bruce is going to have to make do without a job description for the moment, because there is no way I plan to introduce him as ‘my deceased mentor’s catamite’. Hence the rather snappish workplace environment.”
“I see.” Jack looked back into the clearing. “You know, back in Eternia I have a certain reputation for finding ways to resolve these kinds of problems. Would you be willing to let me have a crack at them?”
“Thanks for the offer, Jack, but it’d be kind of weird, you know, if someone else went fishing into my team’s issues while I just hung around and watched. It’s a Golden One thing.”
“I figured you would say that. Oh well.” Jack rummaged through the pockets of his coat, and produced a flask. “Zezelryck left me in charge of the drinks while he went off hunting for mushrooms. Can I tempt you to a nip?”
“I don’t see why not.” Kröd accepted the flask, and took a swig. “It’s been a long da…”
***
Dongalor inspected his reflection critically. “The purple feathers verge on the exotic, perhaps.”
“Quite so, sir.”
“But impart a necessary edge of danger to the ensemble.”
“My thoughts exactly, sir.”
“We should never be afraid to tweak the nose of fashion, should we, Barnabus?”
“The Chancellor’s wedding attire,” Barnabus shaded his eyes to mitigate the glare from the medallions, “is that of a man without fear.”
“Jolly good.” Dongalor chinked and rustled back to a seat. “How go the rest of the preparations?”
Barnabus consulted his parchment. “Progress is satisfactory, sir. The day of the wedding has been presaged by the best portents money could buy. The cutlery shortage is still a puzzle, but smiths are toiling around the clock to rectify it. And it gives me the greatest pleasure to confirm that, in accordance with the Chancellor’s wishes, we have secured the services of ‘Yodellin’ On’, the official Yorick Mewler tribute band, to perform after the ceremony.”
“Excellent. But now you should leave me for a time, Barnabus.” Dongalor rested his brow upon his hand. “The musings of a man who must soon abandon his days as a gay bachelor forever are perforce solitary ones.”
“Of course, sir.”
It was certainly true, Dongalor reflected, that the impending union with the Void-Chylde had led to some profound moments of self-examination on his part. He had little suspected, for example, how much he would miss the presence of that cute girl from the village, who was currently squirreled away on the other side of his domain, far from the prying eyes of the media; the Xanusian Empire could be surprisingly censorious about those of its governing class who too publicly had their cake and ate it. The rather… self-willed behaviour of the Void-Chylde had thrown into relief his former love’s more pliable charms, and Dongalor now found himself thinking much about Whatshername, with her comely stillness and her bashful dignity and her breasts. Not that the Void-Chylde was in any sense under-endowed in that department. Dongalor was fairly certain that a more than acceptable rack came as standard for fairy brides. But it was hard to enjoy a cleavage through a concussion.
Dongalor decided that once the ritual was over and the Void-Chylde despatched, he would do everything in his godlike power to make it up to Thingummy for their enforced separation. He would shower her with presents; apologize at least three more times about that whole “killing her father” thing; and even make a concerted effort to remember her name. She was bound to appreciate it. Of course, Dongalor would be a grieving widower by then, which had to help. Everyone knew how much women went for that. And black was so frightfully slimming.
***
“I can only say ‘sorry’ so many times, man,” whispered Zezelryck, as he peered through the bracken.
“I’m sure it won’t kill you to say it again,” Kröd replied. He, too, took care not to raise his voice. The party had stopped on the outskirts of a clearing, which opened out in front of a fortified tower. According to Jack’s bracelet, this was where the Void-Chylde had been secreted. Having arrived at their destination a little early, the band was now taking the opportunity for some reconnaissance. “It wouldn’t have happened if you had just labelled those damned flasks of yours.”
“I told Jack quite clearly before I went mushroom-hunting: blue flask for the wine; red flask for the Goof-Juice. It’s not my fault Eternians are colour-blind. And look: at least we were already about to make camp for the night. We didn’t lose any time because you happened to be in a coma for most of it.”
Kröd tried to think of an adequate expression for his reaction to this line of reasoning, but had to settle for a disgruntled “huh”. It struck him that Zez had been acting a lot more self-assured, since that unfortunate mix-up with the Goof-Juice. In fact, the whole gang seemed somehow to have got their shit together, during the period when Kröd himself had been hors de combat. The phenomenon, while welcome, invited exploration.
“Zez?”
The warlock was muttering under his breath as he squinted at a great sigil inscribed on the double doors of the tower. “Huh?”
“What exactly happened during the time that I was out?”
“Oh, nothing much. Nothing at all, really. Jack just took us through some… team-building exercises.”
“Team-building exercises?”
“Hell, yeah.” Zezelryck’s eyes had glazed somewhat. “Man, that dude goes deep.”
“Is that why Aneka had a limp this morning? It’s not like her to strain a muscle.”
“Let’s just say that Jack found ways to stretch even Aneka to her limits.” Zezelryck sighed appreciatively. “That’s a night I won’t forget in a hurry.”
Kröd looked back over his shoulder and eyed Jack, who directed a lazy grin back at him. He stirred uncomfortably, and decided to change the subject. “So, what’s the situation here?”
“Well, we haven’t seen exterior guards. My guess is that they don’t think they need any. The thing on the door is the Seal of Imri-Shan. It’s a big-assed rune of protection. They’re probably relying on that to keep out the gate-crashers.”
“But we can walk straight up to it without anything going off?”
“That’s right.”
“Then let’s do this.” Kröd heaved himself to his feet, and motioned to the others to join them. “Keep it tight, people. We’re going in.”
The freedom-fighters were almost at the tower when its doors swung open. Beyond the great portal stood thirty Myrmidons. Each of them had a longbow in his hands.
“Kröd Mändoon.” Behind the serried ranks, Dongalor smiled. “How fortunate that I decided to take a short constitutional in the forest before my big day. Otherwise I might not have had the chance to welcome your little band to my reception. Now…”
With a snap of the despot’s fingers, thirty arrows were cocked and aimed.
“.. which of you wants to catch the bouquet?”
3. The Citadel of Chaos
“Nice costume, Dongalor.” Kröd’s mouth was dry, though he had no intention of letting his nemesis know it. “But are you safe to be out in the woods dressed like that? It’s been a good couple of weeks since the twelfth of the month.”
“Very droll, Mändoon,” Dongalor sneered, as the archers moved together out of the tower, “but I think you’ll find that the pagan wench is the only game bird around here.” Kröd did not need to see Aneka, who was standing just behind him, to know that she was rolling her eyes. Dongalor yawned affectedly. “I find my desire for the sylvan air to be marvellously sated. And much as I have enjoyed the parry and riposte in our duels of wit, Mändoon, I have a wedding to attend, and godhood to assume. Guards! End him.”
Kröd began to square his chest for the shafts, ready to meet his end like a man, and a man with really quite fine pectoral definition to boot. But a powerful shove in the small of his back sent him stumbling. For a moment, Kröd had merely the confused sense that another burly form had stepped into his place. Then he recovered his footing, and could only watch as Captain Jack Harkness, his body riddled with the arrows meant for another, slumped dying to the ground. Dongalor sniggered.
“A comrade lays down his life for your ineptitude. Better watch out for that, Mändoon. It’s getting to be a habit.” Dongalor turned, and began to mount the staircase behind him. “Let them watch the newcomer breathe his last, and appreciate the futility of his sacrifice. Then kill them all.”
“This is why you’ll never win, Dongalor.” The great doors were already closing, leaving the glade to the Myrmidons and the freedom-fighters, but Kröd shouted at his disappearing enemy regardless. “Because there will always be men like Jack Harkness, prepared to put it on the line…”
“Er, master…”
“Not now, Loquasto. Prepared to put it on the line, I say, for another’s quest, and to do what’s right with a quip and a wink…”
“Master, I really think you need to…”
“…with a quip and a wink, because, hey, that’s all a decent man can do. Even if he has to die to do it.”
“Jack’s not dead.”
Kröd turned around abruptly. “What?”
“Jack’s not dead.” Loquasto shrugged helplessly. “Well, not any more. One minute he was. The next, he wasn’t.”
Kröd watched as the man in the coat clambered back to his feet, brushing off broken arrow-shafts like straw. He was covered in blood, yet no longer showed any visible blemish on his skin. “But how…”
“I brought him back.” Zezelryck strode forward, and surveyed the gaping Myrmidons before him. “Yeah, that’s right. The magicks of Zezelryck the Mighty brought him back. Now, do you Myrmidon boys want to see what other tricks this bad-assed motherfucker of a necromancer has up his tastefully embroidered sleeve?”
The Myrmidons looked at Jack. Then they looked at Zezelryck. Then they scarpered. Zezelryck smiled smugly, as the Imperial troops vanished into the trees.
“I didn’t think so.”
***
“So, what actually happened just then?” Kröd asked Jack several minutes later.
“I told you.” Zezelryck was now running his hands over the Seal of Imri-Shan. “My arcane puissance…”
“I hate to rain on your parade, Zez, especially as you just hauled our asses out of the firing line - for which kudos, by the way…”
“Thanks, man, much appreciated.”
“… but last Thursday your arcane puissance couldn’t get a camp-fire started.”
“It was late; I was tired; the elemental fluxes were out of alignment…”
“Whatever. I’m just saying that it’s a bit of a jump from that to raising the dead.” Kröd turned back to Jack. “Why couldn’t the arrows keep you down?”
Jack shrugged. “A legacy of something that happened to me once, back in Eternia. It’s a long story.” He too rested his hands against the tower doors. “And unless we can get these open before the wedding is over, I doubt if I’ll have any time to tell it.”
“The man has a point, Zez. Any news on breaking the Seal?”
“Good and bad. The bad news is that whoever put this ward up did a good job. Mundane force isn’t going to shift it.”
“But the doors opened and shut for Dongalor by themselves!”
“He’s a Xanusian dignitary. Magic sucks up to the Man, my friend. It’s lucky for you that I’m a free spirit.”
“What’s the good news, then?”
“Like I said, brute force can’t break it. But equal or greater magical power can.”
“Uh-huh,” said Kröd. “And that helps us how, exactly?”
Aneka sighed. “Magic like, oh, I don’t know, a huge flaming sword, do you mean, Zez?”
“The lady gets it in one.”
“My sword. Which flames. Occasionally.” Kröd bit his lip. “Are you sure that this is the only thing that works?”
“Seems that way, He-Man.” Jack was leaning against the Seal, arms folded. “Sometimes you just have to crack out the Power of Grayskull.”
“Right. Er. The thing is…” Kröd minutely inspected a patch of grass at his feet. “I don’t think I can do it.”
Aneka frowned at him. “What?”
“I’ve been having trouble… performing.” Kröd sighed, and lifted his head. “It’s a confidence thing. You know: the two of us split up; the Rebellion hasn’t been going so well lately; we had to be rescued from Dongalor by that guy…”
“Are you still sore from the Longshaft, my friend?” asked Bruce solicitously.
Kröd decided not to dignify this with a comment, and continued: “It’s all taken its toll. At the end of the day, I’m just a big guy who’s good at hitting things. I’m not the leader you need me to be.”
Jack kicked off the doors, and put his hands on Kröd’s shoulders. Kröd stiffened for a moment, but there was something very natural about that firm grasp on his upper arms. He found himself relaxing
“Let me tell you something, Kröd Mändoon.” Steady blue eyes stared into his own. “Leadership? It’s a con. A shell game played by desperate men, to fool people into thinking that they have a chance.”
Jack’s nearness was affecting Kröd strangely. He started to feel the stirrings of a familiar warmth. The man in the strange coat continued to hold his gaze.
“But sometimes, thinking you have a chance is all you need. That’s why I learned a long time ago, in Eternia, that leadership is the only con that’s worth the candle.” Jack stepped backwards. “The floor is yours, hero. Time to take us home.”
Kröd wrenched his sword from its scabbard, and held it high. Aneka gasped; Bruce whispered, awe-struck, “It’s never been as big as that before”; and Kröd brought down the flaming blade against the sigil. The Seal of Imri-Shan flared for a moment, and was gone. Jack Harkness grinned.
“Not exactly sonic, but close enough.”
***
Although there were other Myrmidons in the tower, it swiftly transpired that the ones who had already fled into the woods had been by far the largest contingent. The lower floors of the stronghold were cleared in a few frenetic minutes. What troops were able to withstand the initial onrush of Kröd and his sword quickly succumbed to Aneka’s melee skills, Zezelryck’s smoke-bombs, or Loquasto, whose work-rate always improved sharply once he stopped trying to shoot opponents with his crossbow and simply hit them over the head with it instead.
As the team neared the top of the tower, where, to judge from the architecture, the room in which the wedding was taking place would have to be, they turned a corner, and found that another party was coming the other way. Dongalor and Barnabus were at its centre, the despot’s elite bodyguards forming a cordon around them. All looked somewhat harried.
“The game’s up, Dongalor!” Kröd roared. “Yield the Void-Chylde to us now, or by all the powers of good I’ll…”
“OK,” said Dongalor.
Kröd lowered his sword a fraction. “Huh?”
“You win.” Sweat beaded Dongalor’s brow, and he kept throwing furtive glances back up the staircase. “Better man on the day and all that. She’s yours.” He frowned, and stared at Jack. “Didn’t I kill you already?”
Kröd’s brow wrinkled. “You mean you’re just going to cave?”
“Damn you for your intransigence, Mändoon. I warrant you’ll not be satisfied until my very lifeblood is yours. Barnabus, give the man something for those widows and orphans he’s always banging on about.”
Barnabus (who, Kröd noticed, was bleeding from a nasty gash on the right cheek) smiled in an embarrassed fashion, and tossed a coin-pouch. It produced a satisfyingly solid “chink” as Loquasto caught it.
“Keep the change,” Dongalor said over his shoulder, as the phalanx surged past Kröd’s band and down the corridor.
“Is it just me, or was there something deeply wrong with that picture?” asked Aneka, as the Myrmidons and their leaders disappeared from view.
“We’ll worry about that in a moment.” Kröd took the final steps to the room at the top of the tower two at a time. “The Void-Chylde still needs rescuing.” He flung open the heavy door. And ducked. It was fortunate that he had had the presence of mind to do so, since the knife that thudded into the wall behind him a moment later reached it through the exact spot of air his head had occupied.
The room in front of Kröd was a lavishly appointed one. The only upright figure in it was a woman, with large eyes, dark hair, and pale, freckled skin. The bridal dress she wore, white silk and satin, was very beautiful. Except for all the blood.
The woman held a long carving knife in one hand, and was already picking up a second, more aerodynamic blade with the other. Her gaze was fixed on Kröd. He wondered, belatedly, whether the folks who had enchanted his sword had also thought to install anything that was helpful against projectile weaponry.
“Did that fat little bald bastard send you?” The woman spoke in an odd, sing-song accent. Perhaps that was how they talked in Faerie. “Well, you can tell him from me that it doesn’t matter how far he runs, I’m still going to hunt him down and chop off his slimy…” The striking eyes widened, as she focussed on something behind Kröd’s shoulder. Both knives dropped from her hands. “Jack!”
“Hi, Gwen.” Jack Harkness stepped round Kröd and smiled. “We’re here to rescue you from the forces of evil.” He surveyed the chamber, and took in the ten or so figures curled up in private worlds of hurt around virtuoso displays of combat cutlery. He scratched his head. “Although now I’m thinking that we may have got that back-to-front.”
Epilogue
“‘Void-Chylde’, huh,” said Jack ruminatively. “Wasn’t that a glam rock band in the Seventies? I’m fairly sure I dated the drummer. And the backing vocals. And the guitarist.”
Gwen glared. Jack raised his hands in conciliatory fashion. “I’m sorry it took us so long to find you. The energy signature on the Rift spike that whisked you off was pretty exotic. By the time Tosh had worked out a way to piggy-back the signal and send me after you, there had already been… developments.”
“Too bloody right there had.” Gwen inspected her dress, and made a few ineffectual attempts to dab other people’s plasma off of it. “Stark-naked, I was, when I fell out of thin air onto Chancellor Ding-a-ling’s tea party.”
“Ianto has your clothes ironed and pressed back at the Hub, by the way.”
“He’s a star, as always.”
“So, how did this ‘Void-Chylde’ thing get started?”
Gwen sighed. “Mr. Evil Overlord’s crumpet companion when I dropped in was some big Imperial warlock. That’s him over there, in the corner - I thought his magic would be less trouble if I skewered his hand to a table. Anyway, he told Dingledong that he could see a corona of power around me. It must have been the remnants of the Rift energies.”
“Really?” Zezelryck looked puzzled. “I can’t see anything.”
“It’s probably something only evil warlocks can do,” said Gwen, confirming Kröd’s suspicion that she was a kind-hearted woman, when not actually trying to kill people with sharp stuff.
“So, this woman’s actually from Eternia too, like Jack?” asked Aneka. “That figures. I thought she was a bit short and freckly for a Fey.”
Gwen bristled. “Oh, Fetish Barbie here thinks I’m not built like a fairy princess, does she?”
“If you want a piece of me, gappy, all you have to do is ask.”
“Well, since you’re offering…”
“Ladies, ladies.” Jack swiftly insinuated himself between Gwen and Aneka. “While I bet that I’m not the only man here with a more than academic interest in watching the two of you tussle…”
“True enough,” said Kröd. “You might want to sit down until that subsides, big guy.”
“Sorry, master.”
“… I think that more than enough butt has already been kicked today. Agreed?”
“Fair point,” said Aneka. She looked the room over with professional appreciation. The prostrate form of the current (and, to judge from the exact position of that fork, probably the last) Baron Nerph whimpered at her feet. “This is impressive work, actually. Do you have pagan blood in you, Gwen?”
“Probably. My family tree is large and unusual. And sorry for what I said about your outfit. I’m just jealous you have the figure to pull it off.”
Aneka blushed. “The corset does most of the work, really. But thanks anyway.”
“Don’t mention it, sweetheart.”
“The fact that you two are gal-pals is really touching and all,” said Zezelryck, “but it doesn’t solve a big problem. There’s no easy way for Jack and Gwen to get back to Eternia.”
“Not necessarily,” Jack replied. “Lefty over there,” he nodded at the skewered warlock, “was being optimistic if he thought that the Rift energies lingering on Gwen could be harnessed to make Dongalor a god. Beef him up a little, shave a bit off his refractory period - perhaps. Apotheosis - no. But that doesn’t mean they can’t be focussed to do something else.”
Jack started manipulating his bracer. “Back in Eternia, we have a friend called Toshiko. She’s… well, I suppose you would have to call her a wizard. But her magic is a little thing we call ‘technology’. Before I left, she encoded a spell into my wrist-device. So if I use it to absorb the Rift energies from me and Gwen… so… and focus them… thus…”
With a dramatic flourish of his arm, which Kröd considered entirely unnecessary and intended to copy at the first possible opportunity, Jack aimed his bracer at the nearest wall. As if a curtain had been pulled aside, a wobbly, crackling vista shimmered into view.
“…Let’s do the time-warp again.”
The freedom-fighters crowded around the shimmering portal, and stared at the city that was dimly visible beyond it. Eternia seemed to be distinguished by very large buildings, and an awful lot of rain.
“The window isn’t going to stay open very long,” said Jack, “so I guess this means goodbye.” He turned to Kröd, and threw him a salute. “Keep fighting the good fight, Kröd Mändoon. It was a pleasure working with you.”
Kröd returned the salute. “Right back at ya, Captain Jack Harkness.”
Gwen smiled warmly at them all. “Thanks again for everything. Goodbye.”
Jack offered Gwen his arm, which she demurely accepted. The two stepped into the crackling vista, speaking quietly to each other as they went (“Eternia? You told them we were from Eternia?” “Hey, it was a tight spot, and I had to improvise. Be thankful I didn’t go with the Kingdom of Caring.”). The portal faded, and the bare stone wall snapped back into focus. Kröd took a deep breath.
“If you claim that you did that, Zez, we’ll see if you can magic a flaming sword out of your ass, you hear what I’m saying?”
FINIS