The Sorcerer's Apprentice

280 Pages·2009·1.1 MB·English

by  Christopher Bulis

THE SORCERER’S
APPRENTICE
AN ORIGINAL NOVEL FEATURING THE FIRST DOCTOR,
BARBARA, IAN AND SUSAN.
‘THERE’S NO SUCH THING AS MAGIC,’ THE DOCTOR SAID.
But the land of Elbyon might just prove him to be wrong. It is a
place, populated by creatures of fantasy, where myth and legend
rule. Elves and dwarves live in harmony with mankind, wizards
wield arcane powers and armoured knights battle monstrous
dragons.

Yet is seems that Elbyon has secrets to hide. The TARDIS crew
find a relic from the thirtieth century hidden in the woods. Whose
sinister manipulations are threatening the stability of a once
peaceful lane? And what part does the planet play in a conflict
that may save an Empire, yet doom a galaxy?

To solve these puzzles, and save his companions, the Doctor must
learn to use the sorcery whose very existence he doubts.

This adventure takes place between the television stories Marco
Polo and The Keys of Marinus.
Christopher Bulis is the author of two previous Doctor Who
books, the New Adventure Shadowmind, and the Missing
Adventure State of Change.

ISBN 0 426 20447 6
THE
SORCERER’S
APPRENTICE
Christopher Bulis
First published in Great Britain in 1995 by
Doctor Who Books
an imprint of Virgin Publishing Ltd
332 Ladbroke Grove
London W10 5AH

Copyright © Christopher Bulis 1995

The right of Christopher Bulis to be identified as the Author of
this Work has been asserted by him in accordance with the
Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

‘Doctor Who’ series copyright © British Broadcasting
Corporation 1995

ISBN 0 426 20447 6

Cover illustration by Paul Campbell

Typeset by Galleon Typesetting, Ipswich
Printed and bound in Great Britain by
Cox & Wyman Ltd, Reading, Berks

All characters in this publication are fictitious and any
resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely
coincidental.

This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by
way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out or
otherwise circulated without the publisher's prior written
consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in
which it is published and without a similar condition including
this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
Contents
Prologue

1 – Apprentice

2 - Forest of Death

3 - For the Empire

4 - A Knight’s Duty

5 - Mission Specialists

6 – Wizard

7 - The Cat

8 - An Unwelcome Guest

9 - The Veil of Guinevere

10 - Merlin’s Helm

11 - The Hostages

12 - Lights in the Sky

13 - Task Force

14 - The Stolen Hour

15 – Descent

16 – Objectives

17 - Into the Shadows
18 – Stairway

19 - The Dancers and the Ring

20 - Nightmare in Orbit

21 – Amateur Magic

22 - Witch Craft

23 – Flight

24 – Invasion

25 – Turnabout

26 - The Legacy of Avalon
Prologue
T
he system took care of everything.
Once it had been different, but now that fact was all
that mattered.
There had been a few restless spirits who never fitted in,
some dimly recalled. But they had departed long ago, leaving
the contented behind. That must have been, oh... when was it?
Never mind. The knowledge was there somewhere, of course,
but as nothing, fundamentally, changed anymore, why trouble
to count?
And so it was, and so it continued.
Then, one night, Klist (an otherwise quite ordinary person)
looked up at the stars, and decided he was getting bored with
them. They altered their relative positions, of course, but only
very slowly. Why couldn’t they be more interestingly arranged
to start with, he wondered, or at least more colourful.
So he chose a new pattern for them, including plenty of
interesting colours. Nothing happened.
It was unbelievable. It was frustrating, and Klist could not
remember when he had last felt that. Baffled and annoyed
(there was another novel sensation), he actually had to
consciously ask why they wouldn’t change as he wanted. He
was told that it was a third order adjustment, and to even
attempt it required a Nodal. That meant the tedium of
obtaining group consent. Oh, well, he might as well finish
what he had started.
Klist gathered together some of his friends, once they could
be prised away from their own indulgences, and talked them
round to his idea. They transferred to the nearest Locus, where
Klist used the Nodal interface to command the stars to move
into the aesthetically tasteful pattern they had all, more or less,
decided upon.
And was told he was asking for the impossible.
Klist was embarrassed and amazed. How could anything be
impossible? Hastily, to cover his confusion, he demanded
some sort of change; at least put more colour into the stars, he
said. That was possible, he was informed, but it would take a
little time and a lot of power. Was it a priority?
Yes, said Klist, it was to him. Do it!
Yes, said the others, already getting bored. Do it! Promptly,
every light in the sky went out and black silence covered all
the world.
Punctuated only by the screaming, of course.
Time passed. The blackness lifted. But things were not the
same as before.
More time passed. Klist’s colour did appear amongst the stars.
But by then nobody seemed to appreciate it much.
Much more time passed. Others came. But as they weren’t
real people, it took a while for them to register...
1

Apprentice
T
he first cold wind of morning whispered across the moor.
It stirred the tussock grasses, the clumps of heather and
straggling dwarf furze. It blew over the humped granite mass
of the tor, whistling about dark caves in the rock, bringing
forth a cacophony of grunts and strange, chattering voices
from their depths. It keened about the sheer walls of the tower,
which rose like a single black fang from the rocks. On the
tower’s broad, turreted roof, inhuman sentries kept watch far
out across the rolling heathland.
In one high window a light glowed.
Marton Dhal smoothed down his raven black robes with
their silver thread tracery and reclined in his carved, high-
backed chair in satisfied reflection; watching the candles
throw dancing shadows about his chamber. At last, that
interfering old woman was out of the way! However, he must
perpetrate just a little more random mischief to ensure the
correct... he pondered over the appropriate word... yes:
atmosphere.
On the table before him, mounted on a tripod, was a globe
about a foot across. It was perfectly smooth and milky white,
perhaps made of polished stone or glass. He reached forward
and touched the sphere, and his cold, dark eyes closed. The
globe began to shine with a soft, pearly radiance. He stiffened,
reaching out for what he sought, searching... He drew in his
breath sharply as he made contact. His mouth twitching in a
half smile, he once more insinuated his will into the other.
They had done good work together yesterday. What might
today bring? His eyes opened again – but now they were red
as fire.
2

Forest of Death
I
an Chesterton had just stepped out into the corridor when he
heard the first low, pulsing, tones of the materialization
effect. Frowning, he turned quickly on his heel and re-entered
the TARDIS’s control room.
‘What’s happening, Doctor?’ he enquired. ‘Surely we can’t
be landing again so soon?’
The Doctor, busily fussing over the complex controls set
about the hexagonal console and muttering under his breath,
ignored his question. Ian sighed, thinking that such equipment
should, ideally, have been attended by technicians and
scientists in white lab coats. In practice, it was operated by an
eccentric old man in his sixties, perhaps, with collar-length
silver hair and wearing a black frock-coat. This strange
dichotomy also pervaded the rest of the chamber, where
complex machinery jostled with a scattering of antiques and
curios from many different periods. A room of anachronisms,
Ian thought; even I fit in at the moment. He was wearing a
striking black silk tunic, patterned and decorated in the
Chinese style. It was absolutely authentic thirteenth-century
workmanship, being an impromptu souvenir of the last place
they had visited: the court of Kublai Khan himself.
The rise and fall of the materialization pulses grew louder.
Ian coughed loudly and repeated his earlier enquiry.
The Doctor briefly lifted his gaze from the console to
transfix him with sharp blue eyes. It was the sort of look
normally exchanged between stern schoolmasters and
particularly dull pupils.
‘Really, Chesterton!’ he snapped impatiently. ‘For a
supposedly intelligent man, you sometimes ask the most