To Call Our Own (7/36)
May. 13th, 2008 01:34 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
amberfocus
Chapter Seven: Assassination
“We’ve done what we can here,” the Doctor said as the last of the dead were laid into mass graves and buried. He ran a hand over his face. “So few survive.”
“None would have without you,” said Nialandra coming up behind him and Rose. “It is difficult to know we have lost 60 percent of the Reeven population. But the outlying cities were infected later and the medication has stopped the plague’s momentum. We are looking at only a 10 percent death rate outside this city. That is something you should be proud of.”
“He may not survive,” said Rose softly.
“Then I need to bring news of that home. And there is nothing I can do here any longer. The men take over reviving the city.” Her eyes clouded and Rose knew Nialandra was thinking of the husband she had lost, that her man was not reviving the city, but instead lay buried in a private grave in the palace cemetery. For a moment her violet eyes glittered in anger, but just as quickly that moment passed, and Rose thought she must have been mistaken.
“Very well,” said the Doctor. “You may travel with us. Just do not be alarmed by our mode of transport.”
“Naya has told me of your ship. A miraculous creation, she said of it.”
“We’ll be leaving within the hour.”
Their arrival in the main Rindin city of Talmere did not go unnoticed. Not when they emerged in the palace courtyard to see a full cordon of soldiers. Though they walked under a crimson banner of parley, according to the Dirindian Charter, they did so with full knowledge that King Travenn could very well ignore it.
They were escorted into the main chamber and brought to stand before the king. “You let my people die,” Travenn said his eyes focused on Jack and the Doctor, dismissing Rose and Donna as unimportant.
“Did we?” said the Doctor, his voice cold. “Did we really? Because our information clearly says that it was you, Travenn that created this plague and set it loose amongst both the Dirsans and your own people.”
Travenn’s eyes narrowed. “You will call me King,” he roared.
“I will call you Travenn. You are not my king,” the Doctor roared back in a voice Rose had only heard once before, when the Doctor had shouted down the Sycorax leader years ago. “In fact, I think what I’ll call you is murderer.”
A hush fell over the assembled and Travenn took a deep breath to shout when he was cut off by his son. “They come to us under a banner of parley, father. Charter law states clearly we must hear them out. Shall I serve drinks?”
Travenn looked annoyed at his son’s interference, but with so many witnesses in the room, decided it was better to play along. For the moment. He nodded curtly at Vandarian who moved to a sideboard to prepare the refreshments. Naya moved over to his side. “May I help you?” she asked.
Vandarian jumped guiltily, his hand quickly pulling back the small flask of poison that he’d poured into his father’s goblet. In the sweet cordial his father preferred it would never be noticed and its effects too quick once drank, would not be traceable once bound to those particular sugars. He nodded.
“The goblet with the jewels is for Father. All others may be used for anyone.” Naya took the tray and set it upon the king’s table.
“I will deal with you soon, daughter,” Travenn whispered harshly, his eyes dark with anger.
Naya retrieved the jeweled goblet and set it before the king, then in one swift motion she had drawn her belt knife and plunged it up under the king’s ribcage into his heart, withdrawing quickly to move up and slice it across Travenn’s throat.
It said much about the guard and the court that no one moved to help the man as his life’s blood gurgled from his neck and chest. Naya stepped back from him, her hands covered in blood. “And still your hands have more blood on them than mine,” she said watching him coldly, a bitter smile upon her face.
Vandarian was the first to move as he rushed to the table and grabbed the king’s goblet, flinging it across the room and spilling its contents across the wall, lest anyone be tempted to drink it. He then pulled his father’s body away from the table and ordered one of the guards to, “Take this away!”
“Gaman,” he said to the head guard. “Tell Galian that he is free to distribute the blood serum to the villagers and initiate distribution to the rest of the country for immediate dispersal.” He turned to another man, “Farvenn, at the outskirts of Talasten forest you’ll find Prince Tiron. Take his sister,” and he pointed to Nialandra, "And bring him back. When you are ready,” he said the last to Nialandra.
Only then did he turn back to his sister who had backed to the wall behind her and slid down to the ground, her violet eyes glassy with shock, but Jack was already with her, pulling her into his arms and asking, “Where can I take her?”
Vandarian pointed to the antechamber door and said, “There’s a room back there with a bed. You may put her there.” He turned away and pointed to another guard, “Valemon, find Sersun. My sister is in shock.”
“Now, Doctor,” Vandarian said finally turning to face the Time Lord. “What can I do for you?”
“We have medication that can cure stage one plague,” the Doctor said striding forward and handing a large bag full of tablets to the prince. “Two of these for a grown woman, three for a grown man, one for a child under ten, half for a baby.”
“Amblo!” he called. “See that these make their way to Galian. And make sure a half dosage of one tablet is given to Neralta.” He repeated the dosage requirements that the Doctor had given him and the man disappeared with the pack.
“Now what’s this about blood serum?” the Doctor asked.
“My son can tell you better than I. Trisson, send for Davin.”
When the boy appeared he explained while the Doctor watched him in bemused fashion, nodding in agreement with much of what he said. “An ancient remedy,” the Doctor said, “For an ancient plague. This boy bears watching.”
“Indeed. Now, Doctor, I need news of Dirsa. How bad is it there? Can we do anything to help?”
“I think,” said Nialandra coming over to his side, “That knowledge of the blood serum alone for the second stage victims will do much to bring peace to our peoples. We have lost so very, very many people. My mother. My husband, so many others.”
“As have we. All victim’s of a small king.”
“This must end. Beyond the plague, I mean,” Vandarian told her fiercely. “Our people cannot war with each other. There are two few of us left and it is never necessary. The bonds must be made strong between our people so this never happens again.”
“Tiron will marry Naya. My father still gives his blessing for this union if it can in any way be salvaged.”
“I’m afraid Naya has sunk into the darkness,” said Sersun approaching Vandarian. “She is at risk of losing her mind. The remedy for this takes many months. She will not be in any state to marry.”
Vandarian shook his head, his frustration apparent. Then he turned to Nialandra. “You said that your husband died in the plague?”
“Yes,” she answered startled.
“As did my wife.” He sighed then turned his mind to the obvious solution. “We cannot let this chance for peace slip away from us. Are you willing?” he asked her.
She was quiet for a moment, her face reflecting her sorrow over her husband’s death, but then she nodded. “I am willing.”
“Very well then. We’ll send a message to your father and if he agrees we will be wed within the week.”
“Not the most romantic proposal,” said Donna from her place between Rose and Jack.
“Not the happiest of endings, either,” said Jack his eyes straying over to the antechamber where Naya lay, her mind buried in her temporary madness.
“But the people will live and the plague will be defeated,” said Rose. “The war will end and the kingdoms will unite.”
“All in all,” said the Doctor, “Not bad for a couple weeks of work.”
“Shall we just slip out then?” said Jack. “Leave them to it?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” said the Doctor. “I wouldn’t mind staying for the wedding.”
They all turned to look at him in shock. “What?” said the Doctor. “Gotten quite fond of weddings recently. Though really,” he added, “They don’t hold a candle to the honeymoon.” And the look he turned on his wife made her blush from head to toe.
He stuck his hands in his pockets and turned around. “Still, for now, it’s best to get out of the way and let the new king get on with the running of his country.” And quietly they withdrew from the palace and returned to their ship.
Ch. 8: http://amberfocus.livejournal.com/66865.html
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