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Chapter Text

Horkin glowered at him. “You want what?”

Raistlin stood his ground and glared right back. “I hardly think our leaving during the quietest time of the year is likely to cause trouble, sir.”

“Yeah, last year, or the year before. You’re asking for this year, Red.”

“And we had an unusually quiet year so far, sir. A few skirmishes, here and there. You hardly needed us.”

“Oh do shut up and stop trying to be stupid, Red, you’re crap at it and it’s not convincing anyone.” Horkin glowered. “You know damn well it’s the calm before the storm.”

Raistlin didn’t try and argue. “We will be back well before Spring Dawning. Our- engagement only keeps us until Autumn Twilight, and we will be on our way back after that.”

Horkin was quiet for a long moment. “Not feeling good about this, Majere.” He said at last. “It’s not just going to be a storm, not by half. Something’s coming and it’s big, and I’m not going to be the one telling the Baron his two best mages have vanished when we need them the most, got it?”

“You have Scrounger, sir.”

“I thought I told you to shut up, Red?” But he was smiling. “Ah, Abyss. Fine, but I’d better get some of that fine ale from your little town. You’ve gone on about it long enough.”

“We will see what we can do.” Raistlin nodded and walked out.

The four of them had been enough for Horkin to finally make good on a long-fought battle and get the Baron to assign them better quarters. They were now on the ground floor, and for all he couldn’t see it, Raistlin took a moment to close his eyes and breath in the baked-in heat of the late summer air.

He walked out of the door to the small garden outside. It had taken him weeks of wrangling to get Horkin to allow him to plant it, and the thought of leaving it for months on end was galling. He checked over the seedlings carefully, blinking quickly to keep the fragile shoots from withering in his eyes. He pulled out a few stray weeds and made sure the black bryony was securely tied to its pole.

Hopefully it would be still there when they came back, Raistlin stroked the fine leaves. It had survived the journey from Haven in one of Lemuel’s packages, so with luck it could weather the winter.

And even if it didn’t, Raistlin sat back thoughtfully, perhaps he could bring back more. Haven wasn’t far from Solace, and although they’d have to be careful after the disaster of their last visit, it had been five years. They would avoid crowds and keep to the back streets, and Raistlin could see Lemuel for the first time in far too long.

The thought made him smile, thinking of how happy Lemuel would be to see them. It was the first aspect of their journey that he thought he could look forward to. He would write a letter to Lemuel this evening, and hopefully it would reach him before they did. They would go to Haven, spend some time with their friend. Then Solace, and keep that as quick and painless as possible, and leave the moment their vow was fulfilled. And finally back here, to prepare for- whatever would be coming in spring.

“Heard you were leaving?” Scrounger’s voice came from a little way behind him.

Raistlin nodded, cutting grooves to aerate the soil. “Not for long, but yes. Next week- or whenever the paymaster gets our steel together. There’s a bucket there, bring it here.”

Scrounger dragged the pail over and pulled out the dipper. “One on each plant?”

Raistlin nodded and sat back as Scrounger watered each shoot. “Do that twice a week, and make sure the weeds aren’t choking the seedlings, if the garden’s still more or less alive when we come back, I’ll bring you a bag of caf beans from a port.”

That got a grin. “Deal. I’ll even see if I can add to your collection, so get two bags, just in case.” He paused, looking down at the brown robes he’d recently taken to wearing, “Or, if you’re going anywhere that has a decent mage shop, I’d kill for some new scrolls. Everything we’ve got is either too easy or much too hard, you know?”

 Raistlin nodded, “We are going to visit our friend Lemuel, so yes. How much can you put up?”

Scrounger wrinkled his nose. “Ten? Twenty? Let’s say fifteen but try not to let him take you for a ride. The haggling you two did in the shop last week was painful.”

He laughed, “That is highly unlikely to be a problem, the trouble will be getting him to accept steel at all. How he has kept his shop running this long is beyond me. We will get more than enough to make you Scrounger the Great and Powerful.”

Scrounger pulled a face. “You’re never going to let me live that down, are you?”

“Never.” Raistlin agreed happily, he gave his garden one last quick glance, looking away before the shoots started to wither, and turned away. “Is Dalamar inside?”

“In the laboratory, yeah.”

“I will see you later.” Raistlin brushed his robes down and walked inside.

Dalamar was sitting at the table, their books stacked around him. He didn’t look up as Raistlin came in, didn’t have a book open in front of him. He was staring at the tabletop as if trying to burn a hole through it by force of will alone. Raistlin hesitated, not sure if he should come closer, or leave to avoid interrupting whatever Dalamar was thinking about.

But in that moment Dalamar blinked and sighed, sitting back in his chair, and rolling his shoulders. He met Raistlin’s eyes with a small smile. “Did he agree?”

“He could hardly refuse. We have completed our contract for the year, and we are not about to be made prisoners.” Raistlin walked to stand behind him, stroking over his shoulders. Raistlin could see the cabling of tendons up Dalamar’s neck, clenching his jaw. The muscles were so tense they had to hurt. “Is all well?”

Dalamar drew in a breath. “Yes. Of course.” He sighed in pleasure as Raistlin dug his fingers into the knots in his shoulders. “Apologies, I have been thinking about this journey.”

“Not a pleasant topic, but I think five years should be enough for people to forget. I was also thinking that we could go up to Haven for a little while; it would be good to see Lemuel again.”

“Hmm.” Dalamar nodded, hissing as Raistlin found a particularly tender spot and worked on it. “That would be something pleasant, at least.” He relaxed for a moment, then straightened, and Raistlin felt the tension return. “No, it was- something else. Something I would- like to do, while we are in Abanisinia.”

Raistlin frowned, what would-

No.

Dalamar must have felt his hand slacken, then tense, holding on to him as tightly as he could. No. “I am ready.” He breathed. “You know I am.”

No no no no no no no no. Not this. Not him. Not again. He swallowed, the world threatening to tip out from under his feet. “Of course you are.” He whispered and hated the misery in his voice.

They should be happy. They should be rejoicing. Instead all he wanted to do was wrap his arms around Dalamar and never let go. Dalamar stood and pushed the chair out of the way and pulled him in close. “I can do this.” He whispered into his ear. “I must do this.”

Raistlin nodded. It wasn’t as if they had much choice, they’d left it too long as it was. Sooner or later, someone would realise Dalamar had not taken the Test, and he would be branded renegade. Dalamar had been exiled enough; Raistlin would not see him lose this too.

But dear Lunitari, it would have been bad enough even if he hadn’t known what was waiting, but after his Test, seeing the sort of rabid lunatics who were running the Conclave-

At least Fistandantilus would not be there. It was a miserable consolation, but he clung to any comfort he could find. And perhaps Par-Salian had- fallen down the stairs or died of apoplexy or been murdered by someone else he’d decided to torture.

A frail hope, but it let him raise his head, and managed something approaching a smile. “We will go there afterwards then.” He was able to keep his voice steady. “Haven, then Solace, then Wayreth.” If nothing else, he was no longer dreading the meeting in Solace. Everything else had withered into insignificance compared to that.

“Then here.” Dalamar stroked his back. “We will be back before Winter Night. We will have to endure another of Horkin’s Yuletide drinking contests.”

This time, the smile felt a lot better, he choked back a laugh. “I will join in and spend the next day throwing up if that is the case.” He put his hand on Dalamar’s arm, held on tight. “We will have more than enough to celebrate.”

“And I admit I am- rather eager to know what happened to you.” Dalamar brushed his hair back.

Raistlin felt his chest tighten; he forced in a ragged breath. “Try- not to think about it. Keep it as far from your mind as possible, I don’t want them seeing any of it in your Test.” They’d been willing to murder Raistlin for simply speaking to Fistandantilus and cursing him when that failed. It was far too easy to imagine them trying to do the same thing to Dalamar, even for knowing such a secret existed.

But this was Dalamar. And more than anything, Dalamar was a survivor. If the Conclave couldn’t even finish him off, a half-crippled twenty-year-old, with the help of a mad lich, then the odds were Dalamar would come out of the Test without a scratch.

The fit closed on him, and Dalamar held him and rubbed his back as the coughs racked him. It was a short one, and he slumped in the chair as Dalamar went to get some hot water. The tea eased and clenching in his chest, and he drew in a steady breath. “We will not be staying long in Solace. I do not want to have a fit in front of Caramon. I do not want to imagine what he’d do.”

“Blame me, I suppose.” Dalamar sat beside him. “We will go in long enough to satisfy our vow and leave at once. If they try and follow us, we’ll put them to sleep like last time.”

“Given last time, I am tempted to do the whole thing invisible.” Raistlin smiled. “We are there, but no one need know. And if Caramon has any more- idiocies planned, we slip away unnoticed.”

And perhaps that way, they wouldn’t need to leave all at once. For all he loathed the idea of seeing his brother and his friends, some part of him still ached for home, the beauty of the vallenwoods. Even with his curse casting everything into winter, he would like to see them again.

“Certainly worth an attempt, but we would be pushing the limits of the vow.” Dalamar held his hand. “I will be fine, you know.”

“I know.” Raistlin tightened his grip on Dalamar’s fingers. “You can get through anything.”

The summer was fading fast when they reached the New Ports. The sun was still bright, but there was a bite to the air, and the trees lining to road to Haven were starting to turn. Dalamar pulled his old winter robes from the bottom of his pack, and wrapped them around himself, relishing the weight and warmth of them.

Raistlin smiled from the other side of the fire. He would not be cold either, their funds had stretched to buying him a new set of oxblood robes of fine wool, and a winter’s campaign two years ago had won them thick cloaks of sable and fox fur respectively. Whatever Raistlin’s brother and his idiot friends might think, at least they would not look like paupers.

And they had one more small luxury to make the journey a little more pleasant. Dalamar lay back on the bedroll and sighed in pleasure. The small enchantments worked into the leather and fabric had taken him, Raistlin, and Scrounger several weeks, but sweet Nuitari they were worth it. It might have been the best bed in Palanthas.

He felt the bedroll shift, and Raistlin lay down beside him. He hummed happily and tucked his face into the crook of Dalamar’s neck. Even with the usual heat of his body, his nose was freezing. “How are you feeling?”

Raistlin kissed the skin under his lips, “Reasonably well, the sea air always helps. I would prefer not to be sleeping out too late into the winter.”

“I promised you Yuletide back home.” Dalamar stroked his hair, “And we have the funds for inns even if we are delayed.”

“And unless we are very careful, Lemuel will be presenting us with a four-poster bed.” Dalamar laughed, “I will be glad to see him again. Although perhaps see is the wrong word. I am rather tempted to blindfold myself and pretend blindness.”

“He would offer his own eyes if you did that.” He felt Raistlin smile against his neck. “I am sorry, Raistlin.”

“It is hardly your fault.” Five years, and every attempt they’d made to circumvent Raistlin’s curse had failed. There was a growing resignation to his voice that sickened Dalamar. Five years, and Raistlin was twenty-six. Nearly a fifth of his life. Could he even remember what it was like, to see the world as it was? How long would it take before he would start to forget?

In a few weeks, they would be at Wayreth and, Nuitari willing, he would pass the Test. He and Raistlin could slip back in quietly and find the libraries. Perhaps even find a way into Par-Salian’s chambers, and locate whatever foul tome he’d found the curse in. There was hope; he had to hold onto that.

He drew Raistlin closer, slid one hand under the collar of his robes, slipped open a few buttons to stroke over his waist. Raistlin shivered. “Your hands are freezing.”

“Why do you think I like to warm them right here?” He reached down a little further, and relished the long, hungry shiver that worked through Raistlin as he brushed against him. “Still cold?”

“Hmm, you are warmer now.” His eyes drifted closed as Dalamar cupped him gently, rubbing his thumb on the crease of his groin. “Yes please.” He shifted closer and pressed his lips eagerly against Dalamar’s.

Dalamar kissed back, Raistlin’s lips were soft and burning, his cock stiffening under Dalamar’s fingers. Dalamar hummed in pleasure against his mouth as Raistlin untied his robes, getting his hand inside and closing it eagerly on his own parts.

Dalamar rolled his shoulders luxuriously, pleasure rising through his body like a growing flame. Raistlin shifted his weight, throwing one leg over Dalamar so they were pressed more closely together. He opened his mouth, tongue brushing Dalamar’s. “Just like this?” He licked his lips.

Dalamar nodded. “Just keep doing that.” Nuitari, but Raistlin had beautiful hands. Delicate and graceful and so very clever. After so many years, he knew just where to press, where to stroke, where to pinch. He got his fingers firmly around Raistlin and started an easy, comfortable rhythm. “Is that good?”

Raistlin nodded, eyes drifting closed, slumping down to rest his head on a tussock of grass. He looked so beautiful like that, stray leaves in his hair, face finally free from the pain and weariness that dogged him every day. Eyes half closed in bliss, lips kiss swollen. A small pink tongue came out to lick those lips, and Dalamar closed in for another kiss.

“My love.” Dalamar breathed. Raistlin shivered.

They kissed again, deeper, mouths opening. The cat-rough lick of their tongues together. Raistlin full hard and weighty in his hand, his own cock aching with sweet pain as Raistlin stroked the pad of his thumb just below the head. They were both close, but in no hurry to race for the climax. Dalamar’s spare hand skated over Raistlin’s shoulders, traced nonsense patterns over the back of his neck.

“I love you.” Raistlin breathed, shivering as Dalamar’s other hand made its way into his hair. “I’m- ah- going to make a mess of my robes.”

“We can clean them.” Dalamar leaned over to gently bite at the lobe of his ear. “You are so beautiful like this.”

“So are you.” Raistlin smiled, “I can see Nuitari shining in your eyes.” He stroked over Dalamar’s nose, brows, the edge of one ear. He pinched the tip, and that was enough, Dalamar let out his breath in a sigh and came in long, drawn out shudders in Raistlin’s hand.

When he opened his eyes, Raistlin was watching him ravenously. Dalamar smiled back, looking lax and loose limbed and deliriously happy. Raistlin drank him in, like fresh rain on parched soil. Dalamar pulled him closer, kissed him, their mouths wet and slipping against each other, and felt Raistlin shudder as he came in turn.

They cuddled up together, and Raistlin pulled the blankets over their heads. It was soft and warm in their little cocoon, and Dalamar undid the last of Raistlin’s robes, pulling them free and rolling them up to slide under Raistlin’s head. “I would go mad without you.” Raistlin whispered. “Watching you like this, it’s like seeing spring again.”

“You are my home.” Dalamar countered. “The only one I’ve ever had.”

The morning brought them to Haven. They pulled up their hoods when they approached the gates, but the guards manning them looked bored and barely looked at them. Even if they remembered the fiasco with the Belzorites, they didn’t connect these well-dressed strangers with the two ragged young mages six years ago. Then again, sometimes Dalamar struggled with that himself.

Raistlin was looking around, frowning faintly. “This is empty.” He murmured. “You remember how it was before. Where are the traders?”

“That was the Summer Home fair.” But- he couldn’t say Raistlin was wrong. They were alone in passing through the gate. Surely this entrance, and the road leading to New Ports, would be busier than this? And surely there would be some early arrivals for the Autumn Twilight fairs next week?

The town was eerily quiet as they walked down the street. No one was out, even at midmorning. Dalamar could pick up muffled voices coming from the marketplace, but even that seemed muted, and when they passed it, there were barely a dozen people there.

“What happened?” He found himself whispering despite himself. “Did the plague hit the town so badly they never recovered?”

“I’ve never heard of sweating plague killing that many.” Raistlin looked around. “Black pox, perhaps, but Lemuel would have said something. Where have these people gone?”

Indeed. Dalamar listened as they passed each house, and more than half were empty. He saw eyes peering at them through curtains as they passed, and shutters slammed shut behind them. A dog barked somewhere in the distance.

“When was the last time you heard from Lemuel?” Dalamar said in a low voice.

“Three weeks ago, but it took more than a month to arrive.” Raistlin’s hand was white knuckled on his staff. “He mentioned that the Seeker cult was being more demanding, but he didn’t seem worried. Just complaining that he’d need more in the way of bribes.”

There were more of those Seekers as they made their way further into town. Dalamar vaguely remembered them, grabbing the chance for power after the cult of Belzor had been driven out. They’d worn drab brown robes then, but those they saw now were more richly garbed. A few even held swords. They gave the two mages cold, and forbidding looks but didn’t try and stop them.

Raistlin picked up his pace when they reached Lemuel’s street but slowed as they reached the right house. He didn’t need to say anything. The sign of the three moons was still there, but the garden, Lemuel’s pride, and joy, was wild and overgrown. No one had tended it for several weeks.

Dalamar’s stomach clenched. Nuitari, no. “Come on.” Raistlin’s voice was taut and harsh. “Perhaps we can discover what happened.”

“I do not suppose he decided to leave after all?” The gate was unlocked; a quick-growing creeper was already starting to wind around the railings.

“He would have tried to take at least some of the plants with him.” Raistlin crouched beside the front door and pulled out his knife. “Make sure no one is watching.”

Dalamar glanced around, but the street was as deserted as the others. As hard as he listened, everything was silent. He had the creeping sensation they might be the only ones here. The click of the lock opening almost made him jump.

“Come on.”

The inside of the house was damp and musty. The fireplace still had the remains of a fire in it, but the ashes were long cold, and soot had fallen from the chimney. The furniture was in much the same places as they had been six years ago, but dusty, and there were the beginnings of mold on the sofa where they’d sat and drunk tea all those years ago. Well-thumbed books lined the mantelpiece, and Dalamar saw a little stack of letters tucked between them- he recognized Raistlin’s handwriting on the pages.

Dalamar was about to look upstairs when he heard Raistlin curse from the kitchen.

And that told its own story. The back door was open, hanging half off of its hinges. Pots and pans were scattered across the room, and there were splashes of blood on the tables, and on the doorstep. The remains of a meal were rotting on plates, and flies covered everything.

Dalamar picked up a pan, feeling ill. There was a large dent in it, as if Lemuel had tried to fight back when- whoever it was attacked him. Raistlin was pale and looking at the blood splattered table. “I do not believe he was killed, there isn’t enough blood.”

Raistlin shook his head. “No, someone took him away. Or something. Look here.” He pointed and what Dalamar had at first taken to be knife marks on the table. But there were a lot of them, and they all looked fresh. And upon a closer look- no, not knife marks. Claws.

Dalamar tried to think, goblins would not be strong enough to claw through solid wood, they were too deep to be that of a dog, and hobgoblins didn’t have claws. “A bugbear?”

“We would find fur, those things shed like trees in winter. Some half-breed creature perhaps. But why Lemuel?”

“Perhaps he could not pay the latest protection racket. Do you remember where the jail is? He might be held there. If its money they want, we might be able to pay his way out.”

Raistlin nodded and gave him a small smile. “Now I know you like him; they might demand a great deal.”

“Then he is lucky we owe him a great deal.”

They walked out of the back door. Even weeks later, the signs of a struggle were still there in trampled plants, and branches broken off bushes. Dalamar felt the cold dread settle in his stomach again. Would Lemuel have struggled so much if it were only Seekers come for protection money? The little man he remembered was so good natured he dusted around spiders; it was difficult to imagine him trying to fight off a band of half-breed thugs.

The jail appeared to be the only building in town to have any life in it. There were a number of those in brown Seeker robes around it, and most of them holding swords. They must be using it as some kind of barracks. The Seekers were huddling together in groups, heads down in hushed conversations, which broke off the moment the two mages appeared, so that even Dalamar couldn’t catch what they were saying. Their eyes were hard and angry at the sight of them. “What do you want?” A sneering woman looked them up and down.

“We are looking for someone we know.” Raistlin had his hood pulled down, but the woman’s eyes rested on the strange sheen of his skin and her face darkened even more. “A mage like us, Lemuel.”

“Never heard of him.”

“He lived here until recently. He was taken from his home, the mageware shop.”

“Run off, more like. Got lots of those these days.” Her eyes narrowed in mocking amusement. “A lot of people finding they got pressing business elsewhere, ‘f you get what I mean.”

Dalamar could guess and could read the woman’s face all too well. Now she had gotten over the shock of them being mages, her gaze was going hungrily to their fur-lined cloaks, the good cut of their robes, the golden glitter of Raistlin’s staff. They needed to leave quickly.

“Then who would know where he went?” Dalamar shifted his weight slightly, and when the woman looked at him, he let his hand rest casually against the dagger on his belt. Don’t even think about it.

This time, her eyes went from his dagger to the spell components on their belts, and lingered on Raistlin’s staff with a very different expression. “No one gives a damn, you want to go whining to anyone, try the High Theocrat.”

“And where could we find him?”

“How much is it to you?”

Dalamar glanced at Raistlin, who pulled a bag of coins out of his cloak. The woman’s eyes lit up hungrily.

“He was sent to that little rat hole in the trees, Solace. Gets drunk to pissing himself every night there.”

“Thank you.” Raistlin tossed her the bag. “We will not intrude on your hospitality any longer.”

They made their way to the gates, “How long have we got?” Dalamar breathed.

“Twenty minutes, less if she tries to open the bag. Hurry.”

They got out of the town well enough and ducked in the trees bordering the road. It was slower going, but it meant they were able to get down and hide when the same woman and a platoon of guards came charging down the road ten minutes later, looking livid.

Chapter Text

Solace.

Oh, Solace.

It was beautiful. He knew it had to be. Dalamar paused almost every other step, eyes wide, drinking in the glory of the autumn vallenwood. And Raistlin could almost see them, from the corner of his eyes, a moment after each blink. Just enough to glimpse the colours, the flicker of a waving leaf, faint droplets of relief against his parched soul.

But then those moments faded, and all he could see was winter. The trees stripped bare, bark peeling, dying as the snow fell in that endless darkness. For all it was a wretched lie, his heart ached at the sight. Dalamar squeezed his arm. “Close your eyes.”

Raistlin slowed his pace, feeling his way with his staff, and shut out the misery. “Can you remember the trees, my love?” Dalamar whispered in his ear. “The way they were that last autumn we were here?”

Yes. The images were blurred in his mind, like watercolours left out in the rain, but they were still there. The thousand colours of burnished fire of the twilight trees, the deep brown of the curling bark, the infinite delicacy of each beautiful leaf, the fist-sized seeds littering the ground, spicy with the scent of cinnamon.

“The colours are red and orange and yellow, there is no brown yet.” Dalamar murmured, leading him along the path. “The trees are not fully turned yet; there are a few green branches still near the top. Can you see them?”

“Yes. They must have had a good summer, if the uppers are still green.” He nearly tripped over a stone, but managed to catch his balance. He didn’t open his eyes. He could see the trees more clearly now, brown and green and red and orange. It had been so long since he had seen their beauty, yet it had only been five years. Would he one day forget? He’d rather cut his eyes out before that day came.

“You are most likely right. There are many new shoots on the ground.” Dalamar continued, “A few are already big enough that they’ll likely survive the winter. There will be new trees in a few years.”

“Can you see the lake?”

“Only just, over there. I can see the willows and reeds and the line of the water. There’s a nest of moorhens by that stone where we spent our summer.”

“Can you see my garden?”

Dalamar kissed the side of his head. “It’s in a sorry state. I can just about see where it was, but it’s overrun with weeds now, and the strawberry plant has taken over the rest.”

Raistlin sighed, but smiled. “I knew I should have uprooted it. Can you see anyone we know?”

“No.” There was a long, tense silence.

Raistlin braced himself, and finally opened his eyes. There was a flash of blinding light- true daylight after the darkness of his closed eyes- but then night fell, and cold, and Raistlin shivered despite the autumn warmth.

He raised his head, and looked up into the trees, at the walkways and the houses. The walkways were almost bare, even this late in the day, and home after home was dark and empty.

“Like Haven.” Raistlin said at last, the winter cold knotted in his stomach.

Dalamar nodded. His jaw was set, he was holding tightly onto Raistlin’s arm. Even in this moment, he was beautiful. The true sunlight rested in his hair, the autumn vallenwoods reflected in his eyes. Raistlin wanted to close his eyes and wrap himself in Dalamar and stay there forever.

He tried a breath; he could smell the sharp scent of cinnamon. This chill snagged in his lungs, he stuttered a cough, but the tension passed. “Shall we go and find this Hendrick?”

Dalamar nodded, “And be done with this idiotic vow. Let us go up now and see if the Theocrat is there, discharge our oath, and then we can go and find Lemuel.”

“I want to know what is going on.” Raistlin whispered. “This is- wrong. Something is happening here and in Haven. Where have these people gone?”

Dalamar closed his eyes, but he didn’t argue. Solace had been his home too, even for a year, even after the ignominious way they’d had to leave. “These Seekers are more powerful than the Belzorites were.” He said at last.

“And we are more powerful now.” He pushed down the ice-locked fear, tasted the first jumping flames of anger. The fierce warmth filled him, and everything he had dreaded here- Caramon and his idiot friends, the brute force of the Seekers- seemed pathetic. “Come on.”

“Wait.” Dalamar put a hand on his shoulder, frowning. Raistlin turned, and caught the foul stench as the wind turned. “Goblin.”

Raistlin tightened his grip on his staff as a half dozen of the creatures stepped out from the shadow of the trees. Goblins in Solace. It was something out of old stories, from the days following the Cataclysm, when Abanasinia was so overrun with goblins and bandits the people of Solace had taken to the trees to escape them. They grinned at them, eyes raking over them with the same greed as the Seekers in Haven. They too were wearing Seeker brown, Raistlin realised.

“No civilians allowed after dark.” They circled them, “That’s a fine of- eh, everything you’ve got. And a night in the cells.”

Raistlin shifted, fitting his back against Dalamar. He reached his hand back, and tapped on the Dalamar’s scrollcases. He felt the very slight nod in agreement. The goblins edged closer.

The goblin cocked its head, narrow eyes settling on the staff. “And that stick. All staffs to be imp- impon- nicked. Orders of the High Theocrat.”

The circle of goblins closed a little more. The creatures were wary of facing two mages, but with their greater numbers, were slowly building up courage. Seeing their hands closing on their rusty blades, Raistlin shifted his weight. “Shirak!”

The flare of light was blinding even to his eyes, after the dimness of the early evening under the trees. The goblin’s more sensitive eyes fared far worse. They squealed and howled, dropping their blades to cover their faces.

“Kair tangus miopiar!” The twin blasts of flame joined the white glare of the staff, and the screeching stopped.

“Dulak.” Raistlin blinked, giving his eyes a moment to adjust, and for once the curse showed him nothing but what was there, a half dozen corpses scorched to charcoal, twisted on the ground. Yes. He closed his eyes, allowed himself a small smile. They had power. If these Seekers thought they could deal with them so easily, they would be very surprised too.

Dalamar was checking what was left of the goblins’ bodies, and came out with a charred pouch. Raistlin smiled and he shrugged. “If we have to bribe this Theocrat, I would rather it be with his own coin.” He upturned the pouch, hissed as the still-hot steel clattered into his hand.

The silence deepened, stretched. Raistlin stepped over, and picked up one of the coins. They could both see it. That now-familiar emblem of the five-headed dragon.

“Here?” Dalamar whispered. “The last I heard that army was still tangled up in the Khalkists.”

Raistlin shook his head. “Agents?” He tried, “Sent ahead to cause chaos in preparation for an invasion?”

“It would take them a year to take Blodehelm, and the baron would make them bleed for every foot of ground. And even if they win and march directly through the Plains of Dust that’s certainly another year before they reach Abanasinia. And- I do not mean to disparage, this was my home too- but why would anyone want to invade here?”

It was a good question. They’d sat up more than a few nights, talking over the rumblings of the coming war, sometimes with Scrounger or even Horkin. It had seemed obvious that this Sanction army would head for Solamnia. It was the greatest threat and the greatest prize. “Perhaps this is a secondary approach. Come down here, take Crossing and the New Ports, and bring a second part of their army across.”

“And have the Seekers ready to provide supplies and-“ Dalamar broke off.

Raistlin knew the unspoken word, could taste it, hanging in the air as that little piece of the puzzle slotted ever-so-neatly into place. “Slaves.” He breathed.

“Nuitari.” Dalamar closed his eyes. “This Theocrat has best talk to us, or matters will become very unpleasant for him.” He took Raistlin’s arm, walking towards the stairs up.

For all their determination, the climb up the vallenwood stairs almost defeated Raistlin. Again and again, he had to stop and sit on the steps, struggling to breathe, his chest spasming in abortive coughs.

Dalamar rubbed his back, looking around. Raistlin wiped his mouth, “Anyone?” He croaked. Half a dozen goblins dead; and the steps he’d climbed for most of his life were threatening to end him. It was wretchedly humiliating.

“No one who cares.” He helped Raistlin up. “One more flight.”

He closed his eyes, gathered himself for that one last, impossible push.

The inn was the one part of the town which hadn’t changed. Dalamar pushed the door open, and his breath was stolen away at the sight. He could have stepped back in time seven years, and be walking into the inn for the first time, Raistlin at his side, as he used to be. Brilliant in white robes, auburn hair, blue eyes. Fierce and beautiful and happy.

He looked at the young mage now, and saw him as he was; sharper, more powerful, brighter and even more brilliant. All that power and inner strength, unbending as steel. Dalamar’s heart ached for him; his hands hungered to hold him. To the Abyss with Caramon and Tanis and the rest, if Raistlin wanted to get into whatever trouble was happening here, he’d get them that long-promised best room at the inn, and feast on that beautiful body in warmth and luxury.

The common room was loud and bustling, so hot Raistlin had to lean on his staff, trying to breathe regularly to stave off a fit. Dalamar spotted the innkeeper- gods, when had he gotten so old?- at the counter, beaming at everyone. One of the waitresses hurried over without really looking at them and her- yes, he remembered her. Nuitari, she’d been a child when they’d left.

This was something that made his blood run to ice. Gods, time ran so fast for them. Five short years and so changed. He hadn’t noticed it in Raistlin, but then he had seen him every day. What changes of those years had slipped past him? The cold, gnawing dread at the back of his mind. You know what it means. You don’t want to think about it, but it will not stop being true. How short their lives are.

And a Dark elf’s life is shorter still, he snapped back. I will make that decision when the time comes. He met the woman’s eyes, and watched them widen. “Oh.” She stopped dead. “You’re-“ she looked between him and Raistlin. “I remember. You said you’d be back in five years.”

“And sowe are.” Raistlin lifted his head to look at her, and a shaft of firelight cast across his face. His golden skin gleamed like living flame. The woman flinched. “Tika Wayland. Your father was the illusionist.”

“I remember you too.” She didn’t look very welcoming. “And I remember the night you left. Caramon was heartbroken. Do you know what happened to him?”

“You would have seen him more recently that I did.” Dalamar saw Raistlin swallow painfully, fighting down a fit. “We are not here for- reunions-“ he leaned on his staff, struggling to stifle the cough.

“Where is the High Theocrat?” Dalamar broke in, turning her attention to him. “We need to speak to him.”

“Over there.” She pointed to a man surrounded by others in brown robes. He was holding court among them, and even as they watched, he roared for more wine.

Tika grimaced, was about to step away, but Raistlin caught her by the arm. “People are missing.” He hissed; voice thin. “Both here and in Haven. Where are they?”

“No idea.” Her lips thinned for a moment, then she relented a little, “And if he knows, you won’t get him to talk. The Seekers don’t take kindly to anyone these days.”

Dalamar counted a few steel out from the goblin’s pouch, and dropped it into her hand. “Keep the drinks coming to his table. Get him drunk enough and you’ll get more.”

She looked between them, doubtfully, then finally nodded. “And wine and hot water for us, since we will be waiting.” Raistlin added. Tika sighed and hurried back to the bar to fetch the drinks.

The only table free was awkwardly placed, shoved up against the tree trunk. The only other occupant was an old man in a grey cloak; he was asleep with a battered hat over his face, a long white beard trailing down from under the brim.

They sat down reluctantly, at least the odd placement of the table allowed them to pull their chairs into the shadows of the trunk, and stay out of sight. Raistlin rested his elbows on the tabletop, propping his chin on his hands, keeping his eyes on the door. Dalamar put a hand on his leg, squeezed comfortingly.

They didn’t have long to wait. Tika had returned with the wine and water, Dalamar was just pouring himself a glass and Raistlin was preparing his tea, then he felt his lover tense. He glanced over and sighed. Half-Elven, the dwarf and the kender. The door closed behind them, and stayed shut. Just the three then.

“Caramon must have gone with Sturm after all.” Raistlin sipped his tea.

Dalamar nodded, certainly not company he would choose, but the easiest to deal with. Hopefully Sturm and Caramon and Kitiara would be late enough they would not need to deal with them long.

The three were coming towards their table, the only spare one in the room. Raistlin’s hands tightened on his mug.

Flint saw them first. “Oh Reorx.” He groaned. “Please tell me those two aren’t who I think they are.”

Half-Elven followed his gaze, and sagged at the sight of them. Tasslehoff bounced up to see them better and waved. At least someone was happy to see them. Dalamar lifted his glass in a mocking toast.

Flint and Tanis made their way over grimly, and dropped into chairs opposite. “You’re still alive.” The dwarf said flatly. “Would have been too much to ask otherwise.”

“Our apologies for disappointing you.” Raistlin snapped, hands clenched on his mug. “Would you rather be greeted by our corpses?”

The dwarf mumbled something inaudible into his beard and scowled. Tanis turned to call for more wine. “Well, you’re here.” He looked back at them. “Will you be staying?”

“We have business in Solace.” Dalamar put in. “Feel free to leave. Your part of the oath was not magically binding.”

The silence stretched awkwardly. Dalamar was miserably reminded of that last dinner, at least before the guards ran in. Tasslehoff was the only one trying to break the stony silence, cheerily digging through his pouches to show them the various scraps he’d collected in the past five years, oblivious to the tension.

“Have you heard from Caramon?” Tanis said at last, finishing his glass.

“Of course not. We were hardly going to leave any of you an address.” Raistlin hadn’t pulled back his hood, kept his hands as far into his sleeves as he could.  He wasn’t interested in these ones’ comments on his strange appearance. “He left with Sturm, I assume.”

“Dead drunk.” Flint scowled. “Came back crying after you ran off-“

“And what possible reason could we have had for that?” Dalamar said sweetly, and the silence fell again.

The common room was starting to empty now, people drifting away home in ones and twos. The Theocrat was slumped in his chair by the fire, apparently not noticing his audience had dwindled to one small boy and a man so drunk he was toppling out of his chair, and was continuing to talk about something Dalamar couldn’t catch. He met Raistlin’s eyes, and Raistlin gave a slight nod, they’d give it one more round, and see if the Theocrat was ready to talk.

As Tika walked over with that very round, she paused at their table. She gave Tanis a sympathetic look. “By the way, Tanis, this arrived for you today. Under strange circumstances.”

She slid a sealed scrollcase across the table, and Tanis quickly took it before it had time to vanish into Tasslehoff’s pouches. The Theocrat waved his cup and shouted admonition at Tika for taking so long with the wine and poured himself a full cup. Drink faster; we do not have all night.

“It’s Kitiara.” Tanis’ voice broke into his thoughts. “She’s not coming.”

He and Raistlin looked at each other, and nodded slowly. No, of course she wouldn’t be. Even five years ago, she had already been tangled up with the army in Sanction. She could hardly leave it on the brink of war.

Raistlin’s lip curled, reminding Dalamar that they had left their army on that precise brink of war. Dalamar gave a half-shrug, she’d had a choice, they hadn’t. A magical oath would have to be kept, idiotic as it might be. He hopes Raistlin would remember that the next time he was asked to swear anything on the magic.

“That’s done it,” Flint said dourly. “The circle is broken, the oath denied. Bad luck.” He gave Tanis a meaningful look.

Tanis seemed even more dispirited, staring at the scroll morosely. “It is hardly surprising.” Raistlin put in, “She often spoke of her mercenary work. Another, stronger oath must bind her.”

“Her duties with her new lord keep her busy.” Tanis continued. “She sends her regrets and best wishes to all of us and her love- her love to her brothers and to-” He coughed, and put the scroll away. “That’s all.”

“Love to who?” Tasslehoff perked up, and yelped as Flint stamped on his foot. “Oh.”

“Do you know who she means?” Tanis gave them both a cutting look. “What new lord does she talk about?”

Raistlin shrugged, sipped his tea. “There are whisperings of war everywhere. We would not have come ourselves had our vow not been so binding. I have not heard of her in the last five years either. As for the new lord, I’d say we now know why she broke her oath to us: she has sworn allegiance to another. She is, after all, a mercenary.”

Tanis looked between them, as if suspecting they might know more, but not being sure how to accuse them. Tika walked over to them, cleaning the empty table beside them.  “You say this arrived under strange circumstances? Tell me.”

“A man brought it in, late this morning. At least I think it was a man.” Tika flinched at the memory. “He was wrapped head to foot in clothing of every description. I couldn’t even see his face. His voice was hissing-like and he spoke with a strange accent. ‘Deliver this to one Tanis Half-Elven,’ he said. I told him you weren’t here and hadn’t been here for several years. ‘He will be,’ the man said. Then he left. That’s all I can tell you. The old man over there saw him.”

Dalamar glanced over to the Theocrat, he was alone now. The boy had gotten bored and was now sitting beside the old man, and the drunkard had finally fallen off his stool and was lying in a crumpled heap under the table. Dalamar got up, and Raistlin stood. “You will excuse us.” And hurried over to the Theocrat.

The Theocrat squinted at them through bloodshot eyes. “What do you want?” He blinked, trying to get them into focus. “I am a very- important man. My time is- very important. Make it quick.”

“We are looking for a man.” Raistlin lifted his hood just enough for the Theocrat to catch a glimpse of his strange eyes. “A mage from Haven, Lemuel. He vanished from his home almost a week ago.”

“And why are you- bothering my with such- such-“ his eyes rolled in an attempt to find the right word. “I am a very important man. You are wasting my time.”

“And if you give us an answer, we will not longer be here to waste it.” Dalamar put in softly. “An- important man such as yourself must know your congregation. Tell us where he is and we will leave,”

“I have people to take care of that sort of thing.” He waved a dismissive hand. “I’m too important to bother with such- such-“ another pause, “minutia!” He finished triumphantly.

Abyss, Dalamar gritted his teeth. He tried one more time. “We are not demanding your time without compensation.” He touched his coin pouch, letting it clink. “Such information might be minutia to you, but is of some importance for us.”

The Theocrat narrowed his eyes at them, the haze of alcohol was starting to fade, and there was the threat of something sharp within that sodden brain. “I can hardly be expected to hand out such information to all who ask. The man you mention is being held for crime against the new gods, and his fate is none of your concern.”

Yes, he could see it now. The sharp blade of fear in the man’s eyes. For all his bluster, something had driven him out of his town and down into a bottle every night, and it terrified him. Dalamar glanced over at Raistlin, perhaps he should try-

But before they could speak, the door opened.

Chapter Text

Raistlin felt his heart lurch unpleasantly within his chest. He had braced himself for this moment, but it was no easier for it. He wasn’t sure which part was worse; seeing his twin’s broad, so-familiar face for the first time in five years, or how it twisted and withered in the next moment, and he watched in fascinated horror as the handsome face shrank and wrinkled, the hair and teeth fell out, the skin peeled loose, and he was left staring at his brother’s bare skull.

He blinked, and it was Caramon again, walking in after Sturm and two others who were so wrapped in cloaks that he couldn’t see their faces. Caramon wasn’t paying them or Sturm any attention, eyes desperately scanning the crowd. Raistlin sighed, and straightened. This was going to be hideous.

Caramon’s eyes found him, and he sagged with relief. “Raist?”

Raistlin pulled his staff closer, coiling in on himself as Caramon stumbled forward. Caramon hesitated, hovering uncertainly between the urge to hug Raistlin and the reception that would receive. “Don’t you dare.” Raistlin hissed.

Caramon’s mouth moved, trying to find words, his eyes darted from Raistlin, to Dalamar. Dalamar glared and he drooped a bit more. He gave Raistlin a pleading look, begging for him to relent. Raistlin crossed his arms. Whatever he was looking for, he would not find it with them.

“Come, Caramon.” Sturm walked over from where he’d been getting the other two settled. “You knew it was going to be this way. Leave them to their own darkness-“

And then, just then, as if Fistandantilus had been waiting for the worst possible moment, he chose then. His chest clogged with burning spiderwebs, his throat closed and the breath he was drawing in rattled to nothing, his rips spasming in desperation, and he clutched his staff as the cough racked his body.

No oh by the magic not now please-

He tried to find that place in his mind, the cold where Fistandantilus’ power touched his- but it was like trying to catch smoke, and the world blinked out of coherence. He doubled over, shuddering. Dalamar caught his arm, taking his weight as his limbs no longer seemed able to carry him.

“What did you do?!” Caramon roared, “What happened to him?!”

Abyss. Raistlin shook his head furiously, but barely managed to rasp in a breath before the coughing overwhelmed him again. He closed his eyes, forced in another breath-

Dalamar gave a cry of pain. Caramon had lunged at him, grabbed him by the arm and was trying to drag him away from Raistlin. “How dare you!” Caramon shoved him back, grabbed for his sword, “What dark magic-“

Raistlin gasped a clear breath, his head spinning from the sudden influx of air. He brought his staff down on Caramon’s hand as hard as he could. Caramon yelped and dropped his sword, spinning around and grabbing Raistlin, almost dragging him off his feet, and knocking his hood back.

Horkin's training took over, and Raistlin drove his fingers into the meat of Caramon’s hand between thumb and forefinger. Caramon yelped and dropped him, although how much of that was from the pain and how much was from the shock wasn’t clear. Caramon’s eyes were wide with horror at the sight of him.

Raistlin’s stomach knotted, his skin crawled. Everyone was looking at him, taking in the metallic gold skin, the shock of white hair, the alien, terrible eyes. Freak. Monster. Horror. Raistlin straightened, pulled his robes straight. He wouldn’t hide, he would not be ashamed, and the only way out was the brazen it through. He sneered at Caramon, looked from him to Sturm, to Tanis, to Flint, all of them looking at him in shock and disgust. “Yes.” He spat, “This is what I look like now. I see it startles you.”

Caramon turned to Dalamar, revulsion turning to rage. “What did you do-“

“Be silent.” Raistlin swallowed, wished desperately for his tea. “When we last met, five years ago, we were all going our own ways. Do you remember where we were going?”

“You were searching to profit from some war, far away.” Sturm had recovered first, looking Raistlin up and down as if he was- some foul insect, too revolting even to crush. “Blodehelm, I believe.”

“And that was a lie.” Raistlin smiled, or at least, bared his teeth. “I had been selected by Par-Salian, the head of my order, to take the Test.” The old man ringing a dinner bell to any liches in attendance, come and get it.

“The Test!” Tanis stared at him, “But you were too young. What, twenty? The Test is given only to mages who have studied years and years-”

“Apparently some rules can be bent, when it is necessary.” Bent, twisted, and broken completely. “Dalamar and I travelled to Wayreth, to the last of the Towers. But Dalamar had not been called, so he was unable to enter.” He met Caramon’s eyes, and his brother looked away. Good. “Everything that happened to me; was done there. I nearly died in that wretched place, but Dalamar had no part in it.”

“I would have protected you.” Caramon snarled.

An exception to this rule is made in regard to Caramon Majere- and that was one secret he would never share. “And how would you have done that?” Raistlin hissed, “If Dalamar, a skilled and powerful mage, was unable to enter, how would you have gotten in? The very Tower wanders and moves to avoid those who are not welcome. You would have become lost within its groves, starved in its labyrinth, and never escaped.”

Caramon set his jaw, but didn’t have an answer. “So I awoke like this.” He looked down at his hands, that golden skin, “My skin and my hair as a mark of that suffering, my health broken and my eyes-“ and that was too much. Let them wonder about that, they would not hear it from him.

Dead silence. The High Theocrat had escaped to another chair closer to the fireplace, looked over everyone in disgust. Tanis stirred at last. “Was it worth it?”

That was the question. One he didn’t have an answer for. How could he? It was no Test, in the end. Just a mockery. No true challenge for his skills and knowledge, just a chance to feed Fistandantilus, and torture him into a weapon, to last only long enough to be of use, and destroy himself afterwards. “Of course. I have the magic, and power. That’s what I always wanted, after all.” And if there was the ring of irony in his voice, only Dalamar would hear it.

“But you’re- hurt.” Caramon said at last. “You were coughing and- Raist, that’s blood!”

Raistlin looked down at his hands, and wiped the blood off with his handkerchief. “That is none of your concern.”

“None- Raist, I’m your brother! I’m supposed to look after you! And you run off by yourself and now look at you!”

“And I tell you there is nothing you could have done. You are humiliating yourself, brother-“ His chest tightened, his breath came in a rasp. Raistlin closed his eyes, forcing back the coughing fit and the tears of frustration. Stop. Enough. Please.

“Drink.” Dalamar said softly, he must have gotten more hot water from the kitchen, because the mug he pressed into Raistlin’s hands was hot and steaming. The familiar scent of his tea eased the pain, and he breathed more easily. Raistlin nodded his thanks, bumping his shoulder against Dalamar’s companionably. Dalamar put an arm around him, and there was perhaps a touch of possessiveness there. Raistlin smiled.

Caramon looked ill. “How can you-“

“Do shut up.” Dalamar pulled Raistlin away from the group, at least now there were other places for them to sit.

They settled away from the others, leaving Caramon hanging awkwardly between them and the others. Tanis turned to Sturm, breaking the awkward silence with questions as to his travels. The Theocrat was ignoring them with magnificent dudgeon.

“What now?” Raistlin whispered, “He certainly won’t talk to us after that.”

“You won’t like it.” Dalamar sighed, “We send him a few more drinks, wait until he leaves, and drag him into some dark corner to question him. He’s a coward, and something is scaring him to stay silent. If he’s more scared of us, he’ll talk.”

“And we get chased out again.” So little time; and he’d missed his home-

“If you have any better ideas-“

“No.” Raistlin shook his head, resigning himself. “Another five years, then.”

Dalamar nodded, grey eyes soft, hair reflecting the firelight Raistlin couldn’t see. An island of beauty in the ruins. “In five years, we will have enough steel and magic to buy Solace for ourselves.” He kissed the side of Raistlin’s head, “And no one will be able to throw us out again.”

Raistlin smiled.

The discussion had trailed off, and the only one speaking was the old man. He was rambling along a long tale to the enchantment of the small boy sitting at his feet. The two strangers were also listening, and had removed their cloaks. Plainsmen, from the cut and design of their clothes, but the only notable thing about them were their lack of weapons. The woman carried a simple walking staff, but that was all. The man at least had a sword.

And yet all the others were looking at her. Even Dalamar was taking a second look. Raistlin blinked, trying to snatch a glimpse before his eyes leeched whatever beauty had captured their attention, he caught a fragment of silver-gold hair, then it was gone. “Is she that attractive?”

The woman’s companion, painfully thin and exhausted looking even through Raistlin's vision, gave him a cutting look. “Do you insult Chieftain’s Daughter?”

Tanis sighed, “He meant no offence, warrior, and he’s not interested in women anyway.” He gave the two mages weary looks.

“Indeed, my stories are true, child.” The old man’s voice cut through whatever retort the plainsman might give, “Ask these two. They carry such stories in their hearts.” He nodded at the two plainspeople.

 “Do you?” The boy turned bright eyes to them. “Can you tell me a story?”

Raistlin turned his attention away from that, and motioned to Tika. “More wine for the Theocrat.” He whispered.

“Is that a good idea?” Tika glanced over at the man, “I’ve seen him drunk before; he’s a mean one, and a nasty piece of work.”

“He will not be your problem.” Dalamar put in, “And he certainly cannot hurt us.”

The Theocrat nodded as the drink was placed before him. He was wavering now, and after downing it, seemed to be on the verge of getting up and finding his way to his bed. Raistlin and Dalamar glanced at each other and nodded, it was time to leave.

The song stopped them half out of their seats. The plainswoman- Goldmoon, she’d named herself- was holding a strange lute and was singing. Her voice was low, haunting, and there was something about the instrument in her hands, it gleamed and sparked with magic. It lent power to her voice, her tale of heartbreak and loss.

Tales of heartbreak and loss were ten a copper in Shrentak, but there was some thread of magic in this one, that slipped into his mind and pulled at his heart. Raistlin put a hand to his neck, and felt the ring Dalamar had given him long ago warm with power. He worked it onto his finger, and felt the magical ensnarement fade, the song now no better than any other tavern entertainment.

Dalamar was blinking, shaking his head. He could feel the enchantment too, but his elven blood was keeping it from finding purchase. As the song faded at last, it seemed as though the room had sighed wistfully. Even the Theocrat was fascinated, no longer interested in moving. Blast.

“She has the magic?” Dalamar whispered, “You felt it.”

“Not her. The old man gave her the lute, and it is gone now.”

And it was. She no longer had it, and it wasn’t on the floor or table. The old man’s hands were empty. He was smiling happily. “Thank you, my dear.”

“Now can I have a story?” the little boy pouted, apparently unimpressed by the song or the magic.

“Of course,” the man settled more comfortably in his chair. “Once upon a time, the great god, Paladine-“

Raistlin felt Dalamar tense beside him.

“Paladine?” the child chirped up, “I’ve never heard of a god named Paladine.”

Dalamar’s jaw was set, he wasn’t enjoying this conversation. Something strange was happening here. The disappearances and the lute and now this old man was speaking of the old gods when they had not been spoken of here since- well, since they had spoken of them, years ago.

“Paladine is one of the ancient gods, child. No one has worshiped him for a long time.”

“Why did he leave?”

“He did not leave us, men left him after the dark days of the Cataclysm. They blamed the destruction of the world on the gods, instead of on themselves, as they should have done.”

Raistlin found Dalamar’s arm and kept him from standing. “This is a trap. I cannot see its shape, but they want a reaction.”

And indeed, he could see the old man’s eye on them, twinkling in amusement. Raistlin felt his own anger rise. Ah yes, our fault for being burned at the stake in the name of those gods- stop. He could feel the magic tracing over him, trying to find the weak and vulnerable places to force him into a rage. The ring on his hand burned almost to the point of pain, forcing the charm off him.  Raistlin clenched his hands, feeling the wood bite into his skin, and forced himself to swallow his tea.

“We can leave.” Dalamar growled, “He’s drunk enough, he will be leaving soon-“

“Look.” Raistlin nodded at the Theocrat.

His drink-flushed face was purpling with rage as the old man cheerily told his tale of Huma and the stag. Whether the old man was winding the spell around him too, or if it was just his own outrage, it hardly mattered. Raistlin felt their control over the situation slipping out of their hands.

“Blasphemy! Heretic! Corrupting our youth! I’ll bring you before the counshel, old man.” The staggered, nearly fell. “Call the guardsh!” He waved at the remaining people in the inn, who were watching with interest. “Have them arresht thish man and thish woman for singing lewd songsh. And those two-“ At Raistlin and Dalamar. “Witches! All of them witches! I’ll confishcate their staffsh!”

The Theocrat lurched over to the plainswoman, stumbled and nearly ended up face down in her lap. He made a lunge for the staff. “No, that is mine. You cannot take it.”

 “Witch!” he slurred “I am the High Theocrat! I take what I want.” He tried to grab it again-

And found his way barred by the plainsman. “The Chieftain’s Daughter says you will not take it,” The Theocrat snarled something too drunken to be comprehensible, and made another lunge. The plainsman shoved him back.

A moment ago, Raistlin would have sworn the old man was sitting between the Theocrat and the fire, and that the plainsman’s blow would have sent the two of them toppling. But suddenly the old man was on the other side of the fireplace, and the Theocrat was falling backwards, with nothing to slow him, into the flames.

“Oh Abyss.” Dalamar groaned. Raistlin nodded in horror. They really were about to be chased out all over again.

It reminded him of a old man whose death he had seen Meggin dealing with. He’d been one of the town drunks, and had been found charred to death in his home. Meggin had decided that he had finally drunk so much that his whole body had become flammable, and the simple act of lighting a candle had spelled his end.

And if all that had needed was a candle, then there was nothing anyone could do for the Theocrat. The alcohol he had consumed had caught in the flames of the fireplace, and was engulfing him in blue-yellow flames. Tasslehoff hurried over, grabbing a cup and trying to throw the liquid on the Theocrat- but that turned out to be fortified wine, and the fire leaped up even more merrily. No one else dared to approach the fierce blaze, but several were already calling for the guards.

“Come.” He grabbed Dalamar’s arm. “We will go back to Haven and try there.”

A cry stopped them in mid-step. Tasslehoff had taken up the plainswoman’s staff and hit the Theocrat with it, possibly in an attempt to beat out the flames. A flash of blue light exploded the moment it struck the man, leaving the Theocrat flat on his back, unburnt and gasping for breath, and the kender holding a staff of brilliant blue crystal, singing with magic.

He looked at Dalamar, their eyes wide. For a moment, Raistlin’s mind scrambled for some explanation- illusion, some necromantic regeneration-

But then the Theocrat stood up, perfectly untouched, even his clothes restored, and there was no other explanation. True healing. Magic of the sort that had died with the Kingpriest-

“It healed him!” The old man bounced up, pointing. “The staff! Look at the staff! Call the guards! Arrest the kender! Arrest the barbarians! Arrest their friends! I saw them come in with this knight.”

A trap. Dalamar grabbed his hand and they were already moving for the door. The Theocrat was so angry he was on the verge of apoplexy; the magic had cured his drunkenness too, but left his fanaticism intact. “Foul witch! You have cured me with evil! Even as I burn to purify my flesh, you will burn to purify your soul!” And shoved his hand back into the fire.

Evil to be purged with fire. Raistlin had no idea where that idea had come from, but if he could find whoever was responsible, he’d give them a taste of the nightmare they’d condemned thousands to. They’d nearly been burnt once; they weren’t going to wait around for it again.

“You’ve got to get out of here!” Tika grabbed Tanis by the arm. “The whole town’s been hunting for that staff! Those hooded men told the Theocrat they’d destroy Solace if they caught someone harboring the staff. The townspeople will turn you over to the guards!”

 “But it’s not our staff!” Tanis tried.

“Do you think they will care?” Dalamar threw open the door, then slammed it shut. The guards were already surrounding the inn.

Raistlin scrambled for a spell, but they were surrounded, and there were more than enough people in the inn to cut off their escape. Caramon suddenly appeared, grabbing him by the arm. “Let me go-“

“We’ll go out through the kitchen!” Tanis was already shouldering his way towards the back. Raistlin wrenched his arm out of his brother’s grasp, and followed. As they passed the fireplace, he saw the old man sitting back in his chair, looking smug.

Raistlin was deeply tempted to tip him backwards into the same fire that had almost roasted the Theocrat, but there was no time. Sturm didn’t seem inclined to run, but perhaps he might slow the mob down long enough for them to get to safety. Tanis swore and ran back, trying to get the knight to move.

The drop down from the kitchen was fearsome, but they’d faced worse. Raistlin tightened his grip on his staff and glanced at Dalamar. The Dark elf frowned, “I am fine, I can-”

“We will need all our strength.” Raistlin countered. “Hold onto me.”

Dalamar nodded, and got a good grip on his shoulder. Raistlin closed his eyes, concentrating on the magic of the staff-

“How are you going to get down, Raist?” Caramon’s voice was like a slap, “I can carry you on my back-“

“Shut up and get out of the way!” Tanis and Sturm were coming back with the plainspeople. Tasslehoff was already halfway down the rope. Raistlin focused on the magic, and he and Dalamar stepped out into empty air. “Fveatherfall.”

The Staff of Magius glowed, the magic buoying them both up until they were floating down soft as falling leaves. Shocked gasps followed them down, and Raistlin hid a little smile at that. The awe sparking its own glow of pleasure inside him, warm and fierce.

The dead leaves crunched as they hit the ground. Tasslehoff was just hopping down from the rope, looking at them with eager eyes. “Can I go with you next time?”

“No.” Dalamar glanced up at the others, he was clearly weighting whether to stay, or run and take their chances on their own.

A shout from the ground made their minds up for them. The guards had left the trees, and were starting to search the ground. “Hurry!” Raistlin hissed.

Tanis swore, almost falling off the rope. Tika stuck her head out of the hole, “Go to my house!” She mouthed, waving them away furiously.

“I know the way.” Tasslehoff hurried up, “Follow me!”

Raistlin nodded, took a step, and felt a wave of weariness hit him. It had been a long day already, and the battle with the goblins and his coughing fit had further drained him. Lunitari, no. He would not show weakness in front of Caramon-

“Here.” Dalamar took his arm, Raistlin jerked away. Dalamar sighed, “Do not think of him. Tomorrow we will leave and never see him again. It doesn’t matter what he thinks.”

Raistlin gritted his teeth, but let Dalamar help him. “Gods,” he breathed.

“Gods indeed. Goblins with the insignia of the Dragon Queen, the old man’s tale of E’li, and now this.” He huffed a breathless laugh, “We thought about finding the true gods once. This is more than I could have dreamed.”

“And the line between a dream and a nightmare is a fine one.” Raistlin glanced back; he could make out torches in the distance, but none coming in their direction. The cold night air pulled at his lungs, making his choke.

“Raistlin.” There was a line of tension in Dalamar’s voice.

He knew what he was about to say. Raistlin wiped his mouth. “No.”

“Nuitari, Raistlin, surely it is worth trying.”

“And I know it will not work.” Oh, perhaps the staff might heal him, for a little while, but Fistandantilus would drain its power along with Raistlin’s life force, and Raistlin didn’t want to give the lich about more strength than it was already leeching from him. “Please,” his voice softened, the weariness biting deeper, “Let it go. It cannot help, believe me.”

Dalamar nodded, accepting it with a sigh, “Very well. But I will be taking my Test soon, when it is done, we will work to free you from these- chains.”

It was a frail hope, but Raistlin clung to it anyway, leaning against Dalamar’s warm body, relishing the solid comfort of him.

Chapter Text

They reached Tika’s tree. Tasslehoff led the way up, scuttling along the walkway like a lizard, and popping his head over the side to grin down at them. Raistlin closed his eyes, and steeled himself. More stairs. He gave his staff a weary look, “Why can you not carry us up as well as down?” He felt a brief flash of warmth, as if in apology.

Tika’s house was even smaller than theirs had been. Raistlin made it in, got as far as the kitchen, and collapsed on the floor before he could get to a chair. His chest was spasming and aching, threatening another fit. He opened his pouch of herbs and breathed, the scent easing the worst of the ache.

Tika had left the embers of a fire before going out, and Dalamar crouched down beside it, adding wood and stirring it to warm the room. Caramon came in next, hovering awkwardly beside Raistlin. “Raist-“

“I said, go away.” Raistlin closed his eyes as the warmth for the fire washed over him. Gods, he needed to sleep.

“Keep watch,” Tanis came in, and Caramon reluctantly stepped over to the window. Dalamar slid down the wall to settle beside Raistlin, and sweet magic but it was good to have him here. Raistlin leaned against him, and Dalamar found his hand, stroked his fingers gently. To the Abyss with their bedroll, he’d happily sleep right here.

“Your tea?” Dalamar breathed against his ear, Raistlin nodded, and handed him the pouch of herbs.

“What are you doing?” Caramon’s voice cut in, accusing.

“Not summoning goblins into the house.” Dalamar snapped back, “They are all still out there, so keep watch.”

Caramon lapsed into silence, but when the hot water was ready, and Dalamar added the herbs, “Raist, that smells horrible! He’s trying to poison you-“

“If you do not shut up,” Raistlin looked up wearily, “I will wait until you sleep and stitch your mouth shut.”

Caramon stared at him, that miserably familiar, betrayed look, then turned back to the window.

Raistlin looked back to the fire, and saw the plainsman looking at him, frowning between him and Caramon. “A tale you would know very well, plainsman,” Raistlin gave a small smile, “My brother disapproves of my lover. I assume if he had the power, he too would have sent him on some hopeless quest and stoned him for succeeding.”

Caramon made an outraged sound, Dalamar snorted from the fireplace, and handed Raistlin his tea. “I would have gotten any number of miraculous artifacts for you, you know that.”

The plainsman's his face cleared. “Ah, I see. You are a woman-man. I had a cousin who gave up a warrior’s role and chose skirts; my cousin was happy, but his family was shamed.”

Something Meggin had once said came back to him, “My mentor was one of your men-women. She often travelled to the tribes as a healer.”

The plainsman nodded, “The man-woman from the town, travelling with weapons and without a man. Yes, I saw her this summer. She left to travel with the Que-Kiri.”

And away from Solace. Meggin had always been quick on the uptake, Raistlin was glad there would be one less person for him to worry about. The man looked like he might have wanted to say more, but Tanis was turning to address Goldmoon, and he got up to stand beside her.

As they watched, she touched the staff to Tanis’ hands, torn bloody from the rope. Raistlin felt eh hair on the back of his neck stand up as the wounds closed before their eyes. As if watching natural healing only- impossibly fast, until there was nothing left but untouched skin and a few smears of long-dried blood. Tanis flexed his hands, awestruck.

“If she’s a charlatan, she’s a good one.” Raistlin murmured. Dalamar nodded.

The plainsman scowled, “Elf, you will keep your mate in line. He will not insult the Chieftan’s Daughter.”

Dalamar bit his lip so hard it he almost drew blood. “You heard the man, Raistlin.”

Raistlin elbowed him in the ribs. Dalamar huffed in amusement, and kissed the side of his head. Raistlin smiled. It felt- nice to be acknowledged, even like this.

“Riverwind-“ The woman looked up, she looked exhausted. “Please. He meant no harm. It is right that they do not trust us. They do not know us.”

 “And we do not know them.” The man looked around the room, taking them all in, and looked back at his Chieftain’s Daughter. Look at them. How can we trust such people?

The staff was wood again in her hands, and Raistlin’s hands itched to hold it. Did it feel like wood, or like crystal? Could one feel the power within it? “If I might examine it?”

The plainsman- Riverwind- frowned. He looked between Dalamar and Raistlin. The plainswoman nodded, and handed it to him.

For a moment, his hands touched cool wood. Then it- melted away, and he was holding something smooth and heavy and burning. A blue light flashed brilliant enough to blind, and for a moment Raistlin could taste smoke and oh but this was an artifact of the old gods, and it remembered what its creators did to mages.

He threw it away from him, snarling with pain and disgust. He wrapped his robes around himself, his hands raw and screaming as if they’d been caught in that pyre. He saw Dalamar start forwards and horror shot through him “Don’t touch it!”

Dalamar stopped, and looked at the staff, which had rolled under the table. “Are you hurt?”

Raistlin held out his hands, the skin seared red across both palms. “Remember what they used to do to us.” The Black Robes had been the first to fall prey to the Kingpriest. If Dalamar touched the staff- Dalamar paled, and nodded, tucking his hands into his robes protectively.

“What are you talking about?” Caramon had charged over from the window. “Raist, you’re hurt!”

“Don’t be a fool; she had nothing to do with it.” He spat. Evil is to be purged with fire.

He opened his pouch and drew out poultice of crushed comfrey. Dalamar took it gently at him, and rubbed it into his palms. Raistlin exhaled as the burn eased a little. He’d dropped it quickly enough, the burns were superficial, the pain already fading.

“What is it then?” Tanis frowned, “A staff that heals and injures at the same time?”

 “It knows its own.” Raistlin eyed the staff warily. “Go on, Half-Elven, pick it up. Or you Caramon. Or you, Sturm. It would love you, I think.”

They all looked at the staff. Finally, Sturm was unable to accept a challenge and picked up the staff. Nothing happened. “It is an artifact of some lost god of light, one of the Kingpriest’s gods. Only those they approve of can touch this artifact, and they made their opinion of mages quite clear.”

Sturm looked disgustingly vindicated at this, and Raistlin was about to say what he thought of such a mockery of goodness that accepted burning people- but the sound of footsteps interrupted them. Tasslehoff started up, “The Theocrat’s guards.”

They looked at each other in horror. Dalamar waved a hand and murmured a word, and the fire went out, plunging the house in darkness. “Everyone get down.”

A moment’s silence, then a fist pounded on the door. “The Seekers demand right of entry!” a goblin barked, paused. “No one home, do we kick the door in?”

“Naw,” a second goblin “We’d better just report to the Theocrat, let him kick the door down. Now if it was unlocked, that’d be different, we’re allowed to enter then.”

Raistlin felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up, felt Dalamar tense beside him- he’d felt it too. Magic. But not from them, he looked at the staff in Sturm’s hands, and it might be his imagination, but he thought he saw a faint blue glow around it.

And the door was unlocked, hanging half open.

The goblins poked their faces in eagerly, hooting in surprise. They looked around hungrily, first at Raistlin, then Sturm, then the others. There was some wariness at seeing so many of them, but the knowledge that many more of theirs were within earshot made them bold. “Look what we’ve got! Two staffs! Give us then! Hand ‘em over!”

One lunged for Raistlin, the other for Sturm. Raistlin lowered the staff as if to hand it over, then jerked the butt upwards up in a move Horkin had taken far too much pleasure in showing them. The goblin’s eyes crossed, and a high-pitched whine came from its throat, its knees trembled. Dalamar finished it off with a knife across its throat.

The other goblin was also lying on the floor in a pool of blood. “The staff belongs to the lady.” Sturm said firmly.

“Well, that’s torn it,” Tanis groaned. “We’ve murdered two more of the Theocrat’s guards. He’ll have the town up in arms. Now we can’t just lie low for a few days- we’ve got to get out of here! And you two had better come with us.”

“Wherever we’re going,” Flint muttered.

“Where were you headed?” Tanis asked Riverwind.

“We were traveling to Haven,” Riverwind looked between them, warily.

“There are wise men there,” Goldmoon said. “We hoped they could tell us about this staff. You see, the song I sang- it was true: the staff saved our lives-”

Raistlin met Dalamar’s eyes. Haven. It would be safer than travelling alone, and although he hated the idea, maybe having more of them might make the Seekers there more willing to talk. How had Lemuel of all people gotten himself in the middle of such a mess? “We will come, then. We have business with the Seekers and it is clear the Theocrat won’t be of help.”

Tanis gave them an alarmed look, and the plainsmen hardly seemed pleased either, but they didn’t say anything. Caramon perked up, “Then I’ll come too.”

“Like the last time we went.” Tasslehoff piped up happily, “In Flint’s wagon- do you still have it anyway? No? That’s a shame, what happened to it-“ Flint stormed over, and Tasslehoff shut up abruptly.

“We will travel north,” Tanis said, “We will escort these two until we come to the crossroads, then we can decide what to do from there. They can go on southwest to Haven, if they wish. I plan to travel farther north and see if the rumors about armies gathering are true.”

 “You can just say you are looking for Kitiara.” Raistlin snapped. “Go on then; and good luck with that.”

 Tanis flushed and couldn’t look them in the eye. “Is that plan all right?”

 “Though not the eldest among us, Tanis, you are the wisest,” Sturm looked at Raistlin with so much disgust that Raistlin was actually taken aback. Even before, the knight hadn't hated him that much. “We follow you as always.”

Goldmoon turned to Tanis, "We are grateful. You risk your lives for us, and we are strangers."

Tanis smiled, “I am Tanis. The big one is Caramon Majere. The knight is Sturm Brightblade. Flint Fireforge carries the wine and Tasslehoff Burrfoot is our clever locksmith. You are Goldmoon and he is Riverwind. There- we are strangers no longer.”

"And the mages? Who are they?"

The smile faltered. "They're not exactly friends of ours-"

"There's an understatement," Dalamar put in. “My name is Dalamar, my mate-“ Raistlin dug an elbow into his ribs, but he just grinned- “is Raistlin.”

“We have a friend in Haven,” Raistlin continued, “We are trying to find him."

“Since when do you have friends?” Flint sneered.

“Since I left you all behind.” Raistlin snarled, and Flint recoiled, he turned back to the plainsmen, “Lemuel vanished over a week ago; perhaps these wise men you spoke of might know where he is.”

They might all be like the Theocrat, or the guards, but hopefully they’d be able to get information out of somebody. Gods, how could someone just- vanish into thin air like this?

Goldmoon glanced between them and Tanis, clearly wishing the Half-Elf would come too, then sighed and resigned herself. “Very well, we will go to Haven.”

Outside, it was getting late, and the autumn night was cold. Raistlin choked off another cough, and huddled into his cloak. Dalamar tucked the fur collar a little more closely around his neck. “We need to find shelter; I can smell the rain coming. I don’t suppose you know of some other secret place where we can hide-“ he counted, and sighed, “Nine people?”

Raistlin pulled a face in response to that. No then. Perhaps they could split up and scatter to make themselves harder to find. He and Raistlin could find a nook between the tree roots for the evening-

Raistlin was looking up through the branches, to the faint glimmer of coloured light that marked the Inn of the Last Home. “It appears we will never get that best room.” He gave a rueful smile.

Dalamar smiled. “And Horkin will be disgustingly smug over us not fetching him the ale. I will make it up to you, can you walk?”

Raistlin drew in a breath carefully, and nodded. But he put a hand on Dalamar’s arm, the only admission that he must be exhausted.

“We could go by boat.” Tasslehoff pulled Tanis past them, “Crystalmir Lake’s only a short way. There’re caves on the other side, and it will cut walking time tomorrow.”

 “That’s a good idea, Tas, but we don’t have a boat.”

Dalamar didn’t know why Half-Elven even bothered, Tasslehoff just grinned and vanished. He would rather cut his tongue out than admit it, but kender did have their uses. He’d much prefer to have Scrounger here though.

“The lake then.” Raistlin murmured, steeling himself for the walk.

Dalamar covered his hand as they set out. “We will find a cave of our own,” He stroked his fingers. “Close to the lake, so we can see the moons in the water, and the reeds screen us. I’ll keep you warm in our bedroll, and we can listen to the rain.”

Raistlin leaned against his arm, smiling. “Is this you making it up to me?”

“As far as it is possible, yes.” He kissed Raistlin gently on the side of his head. Raistlin sighed in pleasure, and pressed a little closer. Mine.

He hadn’t really considered how pleasant it had been, in those five years, to not have someone glaring at him every time he kissed his lover. Dalamar turned, and met Caramon’s scowling face. “Yes?” He said sweetly.

Caramon didn’t say anything at first, jaw working in anger, then walked over to Raistlin’s other side. Dalamar could feel Raistlin’s shoulders sag wearily when he looked up at Caramon. “What do you want?” He said flatly.

“I- Raist, you look- if you want- I can help you, Raist.“

“I do not want you to. Go away.”

Caramon dropped back a little, but still too close for Dalamar’s liking. He forced his attention away from the man, and kept watch carefully. No one was at ground level out here yet, but he could hear patrols moving around above them. Then, just as they reached the woods around the lake, shouts broke out.

“They’ve found the bodies.” Tanis said grimly.

Raistlin’s grip on his arm tightened warningly. He hunched over, stumbling as the coughing fit racked him. Dalamar made to stop, but Raistlin shook his head, no. He would not let them be left behind.

“Nope!” Flint’s roar made them both jump. “I’m not getting in any boat!”

“Oh Abyss.” Raistlin groaned; he closed his eyes, head drooping wearily. “Is everything conspiring against us tonight?”

“Forget him. We’ll get to the boat, and you can rest. We'll need to move quickly if he gets caught.”

The torchlight of the guards had left the trees now, and were moving along the ground. Dalamar gritted his teeth, but Raistlin was moving as fast as he could, leaning more heavily on Dalamar’s arm. Dalamar put a hand on his pouches, in case anyone broke through the trees towards them.

“Not much further.” Raistlin breathed, more to himself than anyone.

Dalamar nodded, and finally they pulled free from the last bushes and were looking out over the lake. Raistlin stumbled, and Dalamar helped to ease him down to sit on the sand. Raistlin was breathing raggedly, but seemed to be able to hold back his cough. Dalamar closed his eyes for a moment, feeling the wave of exhaustion break over him in turn. Nuitari, he hoped the kender had been right about that boat.

There was a splash, and there was the boat. Tasslehoff was struggling with the oars, but he tossed a rope to shore, and Tanis and Caramon dragged it up on the sand. “Come on.” Dalamar nudged Raistlin. “A few more steps.”

Raistlin grimaced, and forced himself to his feet, leaning heavily on his staff. He looked between them and the boat. Then sighed. “Can you help me in?”

“As long as you help me get there in turn.” That got him a weary smile. He put an arm around Raistlin, and shoved him up over the side. Raistlin dropped unceremoniously into the boat, then turned and held out his hands to help Dalamar in. By his smile, he knew damn well this was nothing but show, but it was a show to ease his raw pride, and by the warmth in Raistlin's eyes, he appreciated it.

All the same, it was helpful to have a steadying hand when he slid down inside in turn. They settled in the back of the boat, trying to make themselves as warm and comfortable as possible. Raistlin unpinned his cloak, and snuggled into Dalamar’s, throwing his own over their knees to keep off the chill of the night. With only the cloth of their robes separating them, Dalamar could feel their shared body heat pool and soak into their weary limbs.

Raistlin tucked his head under Dalamar’s chin, a simple motion they had done a thousand times, and Dalamar exhaled the stress and frustration of the night, relishing the tender moment. The sharp trill of whistles broke the silence, and Dalamar raised his head, scowling at the shore where the rest of the companions were still bickering. “Those are warning whistles,” he snapped, “Get in or don’t, we need to go now.”

Caramon hesitated at the side of the boat, clearly torn. Finally, the plainsmen made up their minds and climbed in, followed by Sturm. Tanis came back after trying to reason with Flint- clearly fruitless, and got in too. The dwarf had vanished into the trees, and Dalamar met Tanis’ eyes as Caramon shoved them out into the lake. “Could you not have dragged him here? He knows where we are and where we’re going. If the Theocrat is willing to search every house in the town to find this staff, what do you think they’ll do to him?”

Tanis grimaced, “You go and reason with him then, he made it clear if anyone tried to get him into the boat, we’d answer to his ax. Besides, he’s stubborn as any dwarf, and more than most, he won’t tell them anything-“

More whistles, and louder. Faint shouts in goblin- they’d found the dwarf. Dalamar sat up, straining his eyes to see into the trees, and saw the flash of steel. Nuitari, they’d gotten away just in time.

“Hold it!” Flint smashed through the bracken, legs pumping so fast they were a blur, “Hang on! I’m coming!”

“Caramon! Wait for Flint!”

“Don’t you dare!” Dalamar stared in horror, Caramon had stopped and was dragging the boat back to shore. “Look! They’re right behind him-“

“Goblins Flint! Behind you! Run!”

The dwarf was barreling towards the water like a loosed bolt, but the goblins were just behind him. Raistlin drew in a breath and lifted his head, unfolding himself stiffly from Dalamar’s embrace, and looking back towards the shore. Tanis was loosing arrows at the goblins, but there were too many of them.

Flint reached the lake, jumped, and sank seamlessly into the water like a stone. Caramon let go of the boat, diving down to try and grab hold of the dwarf. The boat swung around slowly, drifting further into the lake- and the goblins drew their bows.

“Where are they?” Raistlin whispered, reaching for his beltpouches.

“On the right.” Dalamar shook his head, forcing his exhausted mind to the magic. “Up from the cove, where Solinari is shining.” Raistlin nodded.

“Ast tasarak sinuralan krynawi,” he breathed, and the tight knot of goblins collapsed. Heads banged together, bows fell to the ground and were splintered as the goblins collapsed on top of them.

Dalamar lifted his own hands; the magic came reluctantly to his weary mind, in fits and starts as his hands span the spell. “Edar gedeng madulas.” The magic flickered, warmed and finally flared to life. Dalamar sighed in pleasure as the blazing power flooded through him.

The goblins charging down to the water lost their footing as the ground suddenly became slick with oil. They fell like a stack of Jump tokens.

“Raistlin, can you follow that-“ Dalamar broke off. Raistlin had sunk down to his knees, struggling to breathe. Abyss.

Caramon heaved a half drowned Flint into the boat with a crash that nearly capsized them. The boat lurched again, nearly tipping them all out as Caramon threw himself at the side of the boat. Dalamar grabbed Raistlin to keep him from falling, and aimed a kick at Caramon. “Let go you idiot!”

Sturm and Tanis grabbed Caramon, heaving him in. At last, they were starting to move out into the lake, the goblins squawking and loosing half hearted arrows towards them. They ducked down inside the boat, the shafts hitting the sides with dull thuds.

Raistlin’s shoulders shook with coughs. Caramon shuffled over, reaching out to do- something, and Raistlin drew back in warning. “Don’t be a fool-“ he choked, “As if getting me wet would help.” Caramon looked down at his soaked clothes, and drew back awkwardly.

Raistlin sank back against Dalamar, huddling into their cloaks. He was shivering with exhaustion and cold, his chest starting and stuttering as he struggled to draw in a full breath. “We will make a fire.” Dalamar breathed, “You’ll have your tea soon enough.”

Raistlin nodded wearily, turning his head to rest it against Dalamar’s shoulder. He was tired and in pain, and sick to his back teeth of being tired and in pain. Dalamar carded his fingers through Raistlin’s hair, and he felt his lover slowly relax. The boat moved almost soundlessly through the water, and Dalamar felt his eyes grow heavy. He tucked Raistlin’s head against his chest, rolling his own head back against the side of the boat, looking up at the sky. There was a brief break in the clouds, and he caught a glimpse of obsidian. Nuitari, watch over us. Let this be the last thing we have to deal with this evening-

He blinked. Looked again. Blinked. “Raistlin.”

Raistlin opened his eyes wearily, “What is it now?”

“Look.”

He lifted his head, looking. The exhaustion fell away from his face, and the golden sheen of his skin paled. High above them, Nuitari was blazing down from the empty hole in the sky, as if frustrated that it had taken Dalamar this long to notice. When had this happened? They’d navigated the night before by the star at the tip of the Queen of Darkness’ tail. Everyone knew it always pointed north-

But it didn’t point north. It didn’t point anything. It was gone. The whole of the constellation was gone, a gaping hole of nothing in the sky. “Nuitari, Dark Son, where has your Mother gone?” Dalamar whispered.

“Not just Her.” Raistlin’s fingers dug into his arm. “He’s gone too.”

And there. Mirroring the darkness, another hole. House Cleric would be throwing a fit right about now, Dalamar thought vaguely, waiting for the constellation of E’li to appear in their skylights above their temples and- nothing. More nothing than usual, rather.

“Has this ever happened before?” Dalamar whispered, racking his memory for anything he might have read or heard of. But even during the Cataclysm the gods had remained in the sky. They had a better view up there, probably.

“Huma.” Raistlin rasped, and Dalamar’s blood ran even colder. “She is- gone, come to Krynn, like then. He had gone to fight her. It will be- as we feared. War, death, destruction-“ He broke off, coughing.

Everyone else in the boat was staring at them. “What are you two lunatics babbling about?” Sturm growled from the oars.

Raistlin didn’t even bother using his voice, pointing up at the gaping holes in the sky. The two plainsmen had also seen it, and were huddling together, murmuring in their own language.

“You shouldn’t get so worked up Raist,” Caramon glared at Dalamar, clearly blaming him for this, “It’s only a bunch of stars.”

Raistlin gave him a look of disgusted disbelief. He opened his mouth, but only doubled over again. Dalamar rubbed his back, sneering at Caramon. “Only a bunch of stars?” He hissed. “Do mountains and forests fly away regularly around you? The moons are the gods of magic, and the stars are the other divinities! Only a bunch of stars!”

Nuitari lingered in the black hollow. Look, He seemed to demand, see what She has done, behold Her power. Fear this sight, loyal one of mine, my Mother walks the world again.

Chapter Text

Raistlin was half dozing by the time they reached the far side of the lake. It was starting to rain, and Dalamar had pulled out their oilskins and fashioned a sort of low tent at the back of the boat. When the boat’s keel crunched into the sand, he didn’t want to move. Let them stay and sleep here, and be in a better position to push off should they be found.

“Come.” Dalamar nudged him. Raistlin groaned and got a kiss for his troubles. “If anyone finds us, they will find the boat first. And the others have found a cave.”

“Fine.”

He pulled his oilskin over his head, and let Dalamar help him to his feet. They scrambled out of the boat, up towards a half overgrown crack in the cliff face. Inside the cave opened up wide enough to hold all of them, and was covered with soft dry sand. Riverwind had started a fire, and the heat of it was rapidly chasing the chill out. The sudden change from cold to heat caught in Raistlin’s throat, and he stumbled, dropping his pack and doubling over as his lungs spasmed and closed.

He felt the others draw away, in fear and disgust as the fit shook him. Even Caramon hesitated to approach when he saw blood staining Raistlin’s hands. His chest jerked and shuddered, the world starting to fade around the edges as he fought for air. Dalamar eased him down to the ground, rubbing his back until the pain faded, and he finally managed to draw in a full breath.

Dalamar pulled him back, settling them against the wall. Raistlin was happy to oblige, scooting back until he was almost sitting in the elf's lap and those warm arms were wrapped around him. It was a simple motion then, for Dalamar to brush his white hair away and to press his thin lips against the tender skin of his neck.

Even through the exhaustion, Raistlin felt the familiar flame of desire flicker up inside him, as if scenting the air for possibilities. Raistlin smiled ruefully, so much for the best room in the inn. The cave was large but hardly provided much for privacy. Still, they’d had worse-

He lifted his head, and Dalamar hummed in pleasure as Raistlin kissed him just under his ear. He shivered, and leaned in, letting Raistlin take the lobe of his ear between his teeth and nip slightly. The flame rose higher, and the weariness no longer seemed quite so demanding, even the ache from his coughing fit fading into the background. Dalamar turned, leaned in to kiss him.

“Can- oh.” Raistlin stopped, turned to see Goldmoon hovering awkwardly beside them, a cup in her hands. She hesitated, then turned to Dalamar. “If he can drink this, I thought it might help?” It was wine. At least it might serve to get the taste of blood out of his mouth. Raistlin nodded, not trusting his voice, and sipped it. “Is he- better?”

Dalamar stroked Raistlin's back. “As well as he can be.”

“Perhaps- my staff?”

Dalamar looked between her and Raistlin, “Perhaps-“

Raistlin broke in before he could say any more. “No.” His voice was ragged, “Even if it helped, it would not last. Do not waste it on me. If it is a blessed artifact- its sacred power is limited.” He choked, paused to breathe, and took a swallow of wine. Dalamar didn’t say anything, but he expression suggested he would happily see the staff turned to dust if it gave Raistlin even an hour of relief. Raistlin’s heart ached; he rested his head against Dalamar’s shoulder. “This damage is permanent. Nothing can help.”

Dalamar looked down, pain and grief in his eyes, and shook his head. “I will not believe that. We will be done here soon enough, and we will go to Wayreth. Then we will find a way to end his- horror.”

“If there is something I can do-“ Goldmoon started, but was interrupted by Sturm coming in, carrying Flint. The dwarf looked half drowned, white as a ghost and could only babble ‘B-b-b-boat’ before his eyes rolled back and he went limp.

The knight dropped him in disgust and went back to stand by the entrance. “I’ll take first watch.”

Riverwind stood too quickly, protesting, and Goldmoon hurried to restrain him. Dalamar sighed, “The bedroll?”

“Please.” The plainsman and the knight seemed on the verge of blows. Raistlin felt tired just listening to them.

Dalamar untied it from his pack, and rolled it out. Lying on the smooth sand, the enchanted padding made him want to groan with pleasure. He pulled off his boots, and undid his robes.

Dalamar was watching him hungrily, Raistlin smiled. “Not now.” He balled up his robes and tucked them under his head. “But tomorrow. If we wake early enough.”

Dalamar smiled, and followed his lead to get undressed. Lingering just long enough on each tie, the motions slow and graceful, to draw Raistlin’s tempted eye. “Tomorrow?”

He joined Raistlin under the covers, sighing in pleasure. So close, skin to skin. Raistlin would have very much liked to take Dalamar up on his offer, audience or no audience- but the day’s exhaustion had left him limp and unresponsive, even when Dalamar took him in hand. “I’m sorry; the flesh is a little too weary.”

He got a soft kiss, but Dalamar didn’t let go of him. He didn’t try and excite a reaction, just holding him with gentle fingers, the warm of his hand soaking into his cock. “You said tomorrow.” Dalamar breathed, “This way I will be ready as early as possible.”

Raistlin smiled, shifted a little closer and wrapping a leg around Dalamar. He nuzzled his bare chest, breathing his scent, the familiar comfort soaking through him with their shared body heat. He could hear the rain falling outside, soft and soothing, the lapping waters of the lake.

 In the end, it didn’t matter where they were. This was home.

There was a cold draft between his shoulder blades. Dalamar groaned and rolled over, tugging the blankets over his head in an effort to get away from the irritating sensation. He tried to go back to sleep but it was too late, he was awake.

Growling to himself, Dalamar sat up, rubbing his eyes in the dawn light filtering through the tree branches piled by the cave mouth. The only other one awake was Caramon, taking the dead man's watch. Beside him, Raistlin sighed and stirred, snuggling a little closer. Dalamar sat up, tucking the blankets more closer around Raistlin, and dug out his spellbook. After the chaos of the previous day, he hadn’t had the chance to study his spells.

He suspected they would need all the magic they could get, today. Raistlin seemed to sense the magic, and curled up closer, resting his head in Dalamar’s lap. He hummed, and nuzzled his hip, slipping into deeper sleep. Dalamar reached down, absently petting his hair.

It was sweet bliss, reading by the first light of morning, and embers of the dying fire. Raistlin warm against him, and the magical sigils nesting themselves in his mind. Finally he closed his eyes, the magic settling inside him, part of him.

Footsteps crunched on the sand, and Dalamar bit back a groan, looking up.

Caramon, shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot. Then he stopped, squared his shoulders, as if steeling himself.

“What do you want?” Dalamar set his spellbook aside, and put a hand on Raistlin’s head.

And oh, but he hated that, didn’t he? That flash of rage in the big man’s eyes. “Haven’t you done enough?” He hissed. Dalamar felt his hackles rise, pushed down the urge to bare his teeth. “Look at him. He can barely walk, he nearly died last night. You’re going to stay until there’s nothing left of him, aren’t you?”

It was a little too close to some of Dalamar’s own inner thoughts; how could you have let them hurt him? Dalamar didn’t move, fighting the urge to blast Caramon out of the cave. “Are you done?” He said at last.

Caramon grimaced, looking between them. Dalamar’s hand tightened on Raistlin’s long hair. Mine, mine you bastard. “Leave him.” Caramon snarled, half under his breath. “You pretend to love him, so leave. Stop hurting him, so I can look after him. He never got hurt so badly before you came along.”

“And why aren’t you telling him that?” Dalamar met his eyes, held the gaze until Caramon looked away, glaring at the floor so furiously he half expected the sand to turn to glass. “Why not tell him such revelations, beg him to leave me, crawl for him to take you back-“

“Shut up.” Caramon spat.

“What happened the last time you tried that? Or the time before? Or the one before that? I was there, remember? It’s been five years. Haven’t you moved on yet? He has.”

Caramon turned, and stormed back to the cave entrance, throwing himself down and giving Dalamar one last look of pure loathing, before turning his back on them.

Raistlin stirred, rolling over and starting to wake up. Dalamar put his spellbook away, and slid back inside the bedroll. Raistlin rolled his shoulders back, arching his back like a cat in a ray of sunlight. Dalamar ran a hand over his chest, down his stomach, and it was very little effort to reach down and cup Raistlin’s cock with his free hand. That woke him the rest of the way, golden eyes flickering open for a moment, then closing again in pleasure.

And there, that was better than last night. Raistlin sighed, rolling over on his back and opening his legs to give Dalamar better access. They would have to be quick, and quiet, but having Raistlin sweet and pliant under him was all the incitement he needed.

And fucking under Caramon’s nose never quite lost its smug luster.

Raistlin squinted at him, guessing his thoughts, “Stop that at once, and hurry up before he notices.”

Dalamar grinned, settling down on top of Raistlin, bracing himself on one elbow to keep his weight off his chest. His free hand continued to stroke his cock, feeling the warm flesh under his hand slowly harden and press up eagerly under his palm. He shifted down until his own cock was pressing against Raistlin’s lean thighs, then hissed as Raistlin closed them around him, tight and close and hot, lubricated by the first beadings of sweat. “Good?” Dalamar breathed.

Raistlin nodded, head thrown back, face blessedly free from the lines of weariness and pain, lost in building pleasure. He canted his hips up, giving Dalamar a better angle to thrust against the butter-soft skin of his inner thighs. Dalamar kissed him, his hand moving faster.

They were close, growing closer. Their mouths slipped against each other, panting. Dalamar licked down over Raistlin’s throat, tasting sweat, last night’s rain, felt the rapid pulse against his tongue and in his hand both. He bit down, scraping his teeth under Raistlin’s chin, and felt the groan rip free from his throat.

“Raist? Are you- oh.”

Dalamar grinned against the soft skin, and thrust harder, arching his back to give just a little bit of a show. Like a preening suitor, unable to resist showing off his conquest. Raistlin, mercifully, didn’t notice, biting his hand to keep any further sounds from escaping, more’s the pity. His eyes were closed, lashes trembling, and finally bucked up against Dalamar with a hoarse gasp, spilling hot and furious in his hand.

Dalamar released him, braced himself better on top of Raistlin, and managed to shift up until his cock was pressed against Raistlin’s softening one, warm and damp and tender and pushing him that last step over the edge, and he was coming across Raistlin’s narrow stomach, another possessive mark. Mine.

“Here.” Raistlin sighed, groping in their pack for a handkerchief, and starting to clean up the mess before it could stain their bedroll.

Dalamar lifted his hand, the one still smeared white, and licked his fingers. Raistlin’s eyes widened, pupils widening. His spent cock twitched against Dalamar’s thigh. “Enough.” His voice was deep, husky. “Let me.”

Dalamar allowed him to wipe down his hand, clean off the last of the come on his stomach. He sat up, groping for his robes- and saw Caramon sitting bolt upright with his back to them, all but shaking in his intensity to ignore them. “Oh Abyss.”

“Don’t blame me.” Dalamar found his robes, and pulled them on. “You need to be quieter.”

“And you’d just redouble your effort to make me scream.” Raistlin buttoned his own, then leaned over to help Dalamar with his sash. “You will not be happy until we’re fucking in the middle of the town square on market day.”

“Exactly.” He smiled smugly, and Raistlin shoved him.

“See if we have any water, I need my tea.”

They did, Dalamar warmed Raistlin’s mug in the fire's ashes as his lover studied his own spellbook. "How are you feeling this morning?" Dalamar said softly, handing him the mug.

"Much better," Raistlin drank and sighed in relief, "You?"

"I am fine, and I wasn't the one coughing myself hoarse yesterday." Dalamar leant over and kissed first the mage's cheek, and then his lips.

"Do we really have bear witness to your sordid affairs?" Ah, Sturm was up.

Dalamar reluctantly broke the kiss, "I don't see you criticizing them." he pointed at Riverwind and Goldmoon, both of whom were still asleep and curled up together.

Sturm scowled and went off to join Caramon.

“There’s another one who needs a long visit to Ergoth.” Raistlin sipped his tea.

“Or an evening getting kicked up and down the mustering field by Horkin.”

Raistlin snorted into his tea, almost choking. “Gods, yes. Can you imagine-“ He broke off and- Dalamar could feel it too. An surge of longing for the place that had been their home for the last five years. “At least no one cares, there.”

“The company is definitely better.” Dalamar agreed. Horkin, Scrounger. Nuitari, but he wished they were here rather that these idiots.

Tasslehoff woke up next, hopping over to them for a hug. Dalamar pushed the kender away just in time; Raistlin snatched his herb pouch back before he made off with it. Tasslehoff pouted at them, then went over to bother Flint. The dwarf ignored all of them, dead to the world, until he woke himself up after a particularly loud snore.

Raistlin ignored the noise, taking out his books and starting to study his spells for the day. Dalamar sorted through their backpacks, checking on their supplies. They could be better, they’d hoped to restock in Haven, or at least Solace. He closed the packs, “Is that oatmeal?”

Goldmoon nodded from where she was sitting with Tasslehoff by the fire. “There is not much food, I’m afraid.”

“And most of its already eating itself,” Tasslehoff piped up, tossing a fragment of cheese towards them. Dalamar grimaced, the chunk breaking apart and wriggling into the sand, more maggots than actual cheese. “There’s some bread and meat, and that’s it. Tika must eat her meals out.”

“Riverwind and I didn’t bring any provisions,” Goldmoon said. “We really didn’t expect to make this trip.”

Dalamar tucked their packs behind him; they still had some food, enough for a few days, but he wasn’t about to tell anyone. Caramon was looking despondently at the oatmeal. It would be gone in a few mouthfuls, if they were foolish enough to share.

Raistlin didn’t complain, eating slowly, eyes still fixed on his books. Dalamar saw Caramon’s hand creep towards his brother’s bowl and felt a flash of rage. He brought the hilt of his dagger down on the big man’s fingers with a satisfying crack. Caramon recoiled with a cry of pain.

“I hardly care.” Raistlin murmured, “You know I’m not hungry.”

“And you know I am not going to leave you alone after just two mouthfuls.” Dalamar narrowed his eyes, “Half the bowl, and I will be satisfied.”

“Or else you’ll pin me down and feed me mouth to mouth, like a baby bird.” Raistlin smiled; that lovely little smile that just touched his lips, seen more in the little lines around his eyes.

“Precisely,” Dalamar leaned in, and kissed those lines away.

Caramon turned away, and got into a fight with Tasslehoff instead, trying to sneak the kender’s share of bread. Tasslehoff was too quick for him, stuffing the whole heel into his mouth, cheeks and eyes popping with the effort of getting it all in.

Finally, Raistlin had managed a few more mouthfuls and the bowl was- if not half empty, then mostly there. They left it for Caramon to finish as Dalamar took care of their bedroll, while Raistlin packed their books away. Outside, Dalamar could hear Tasslehoff chirping after Flint; “So shipmate, how’s the price of fish today-" followed by a cry of pain as Flint hit him.

“Stop this!” Sturm dragged Flint and Tasslehoff back inside, and dumped them on the floor in disgust. “I could hear these two clear down by the lake. They’ll have every goblin in Krynn on us. We’ve got to get out of here. Well, which way are we headed?”

There was a long, uncomfortable silence. “Haven for us.” Raistlin stood up carefully, leaning on his staff. Yesterday’s trek was still wearing on him. “The Seekers have Lemuel, we will be going to find him.”

Tanis looked at them, “So you’re going with the staff.” He said grimly, “We’ve searched for a sign of the true gods for years. It seems we may have found one. I am not about to hand it over to that Solace fraud. Tika said she believed the Highseekers in Haven were still interested in the truth. They may be able to tell us about the staff, where it came from, what its powers are. Tas, give me the map.”

Dalamar glanced at Raistlin, who looked away. Sometimes, every so often, Tanis had some glimpse of the truth. Even if Lemuel were to walk in right now, perfectly safe and unharmed, would they leave? They had found the first sign of the vanished gods in three hundred years; would they abandon this clue and go home?

Curiosity, a mage’s curse. Raistlin gave him a rueful look, he felt the same way. “To the Abyss with the pair of us.” Dalamar breathed, and was rewarded with a smile.

The others were huddled around Tasslehoff’s stack of maps, trying to piece together a path to Haven that wouldn’t take them straight into the path of the Seeker guards.

“We could go south to Qualinesti-“ Tanis started.

Dalamar’s felt his hackles rise, his stomach lurch. “No.” He snarled.

Tanis glared at him, but Riverwind stepped in, “Neither can humans enter, we are forbidden. If there is no other way-”

“Darken Wood.” Raistlin said softly, “The paths of Darken wood, they would lead us to Haven.”

“Once again, you have an overblown opinion of my skills as a necromancer.” Dalamar touched Raistlin’s hand. “Yet it might be better than risking the roads.”

“Darken Wood?” Caramon stared at him in revulsion. “I’ll fight the living any day of the week- but not the dead!”

“The dead?” Tasslehoff’s eyes brightened, “Tell me, Caramon-”

 “Shut up, Tas!” Sturm glared at them “Darken Wood is madness. None who enter have ever returned. You would have us take this prize there, you mages? To corrupt it and take it for yourselves-“

 “Hold!” Tanis got up, rubbing his face.

Dalamar turned out their squabbling and finished their packing. “Darken Wood?” They stood up, pulling their packs over their shoulders.

“As Sturm said, none will go there. And if undead beset us, you can bind them to our purpose and march them on Haven. Then they’ll tell us anything we want.”

“You are being absurd.” But Raistlin’ eyes were dancing with amusement; and Dalamar could never do anything to dim that joy. He kissed the back of his neck.

Chapter Text

The final decision was to go by Haven road. Raistlin bit his tongue against what he would very much like to say- any protests on their part would only set the others even more against their ideas.

He’d- forgotten how awful it had been. It was gutting to admit he’d fallen prey to nostalgia on any level, but the years had softened the memories. He remembered the- bigger problems, but had ignored the low, grinding misery of being looked at with constant revulsion and distrust, as if they were all expecting him to do something vile at any moment.

Or perhaps, he hadn’t recognized it because he hadn’t been able to recognize it. It was only now, after five years of being treated like- like a person as opposed to some kind of disgusting insect, that he could realise just how bad it had been. He’d often expressed his exasperation to Dalamar about his lover’s inability to recognize how miserable his life in Silvanesti had been- when he’d been utterly blind to the wretchedness in his own life. Had he really lived so many years being treated like this? How had he not gone mad?

For a moment, Raistlin didn’t care about the Blue Crystal Staff, he struggled to care about Lemuel, he just wanted to take Dalamar and go home. Back to Langtree and Horkin and Scrounger and people who looked on them with a nod and a wave and a call over to join them in a game of Jump. Dalamar saw his expression and nodded taking his hand. “They are filth.” He whispered, “Not worth the mud on your boots. We’ll be done with them and gone soon enough.”

Raistlin smiled, and at last, they all broke through the treeline and onto the road. Despite his fears, the road was completely empty. Raistlin recognized the route he and Dalamar had taken, just yesterday, and all those years ago. It was been bustling then, alive with birds and squirrels and travelers, and the memory made the silence all the more eerie.

Tasslehoff led the way, singing a travel song. The stillness made his voice high and wavering, and even the irrepressible kender found it hard to keep up the cheer, his voice finally trailing off after the last few verses into uncomfortable silence. Flint was trying to distract Caramon with an old argument, but bringing up that idiotic boating trip was just making things worse, Caramon glowering miserably at Raistlin at the reminder of a time before Dalamar came into their lives. Raistlin ignored him; just looking at Caramon was exhausting.

Dalamar caught his arm, and carefully slowed their pace. Raistlin gave him a quick, questioning look, and Dalamar shook his head very slightly. They dropped behind Caramon and Flint, and as the dwarf’s grumbling faded, his ears caught the low voices of Tanis and Goldmoon, coming behind them. She was telling her and Riverwind’s story.

It was interesting- oh, not so much the tale of doomed love. Tales of doomed love were ten a copper in taverns, and besides, they were both still alive so it could not be that doomed. But Riverwind’s recollection of where he had found the staff, a broken city, where death had black wings; and a lady in blue had given him the staff.

“Quenesti-Pah's colour is blue.” Dalamar murmured. “Mishakal?”

“Goddess of healing.” Raistlin agreed. “And the death on black wings?”

“Morgion of the Black Wind?”

“Or Takhisis.” Raistlin touched his coin pouch. The five headed dragon. The missing stars.

Dalamar shuddered, “If the tales of Huma are to be believed, I think we would know if She was loose upon the world."

"It's only been a day-" He broke off, Tasslehoff was racing back towards them. For a brief, absurd moment, Raistlin thought he might just tell them he’d seen a five headed dragon flying their way and Tanis, what should we do-

“Clerics!” Tasslehoff stumbled to a stop, panting. “A party of clerics. Eight.”

They hurried off the road, crouching in the bushes. Sturm refused to move, hand on his sword. “I thought it was a battalion of goblin guards at the least. I believe we can handle a party of clerics.”

 “I don’t know,” Tasslehoff said, the kender looked oddly serious, biting his lip, “I’ve seen clerics from every part of Krynn and I’ve never seen any like these. Do you remember what Tika said about the strange men in Solace- hanging around with Hederick? How they were hooded and dressed in heavy robes? Well, that describes these clerics exactly! And, Tanis, they gave me an eerie feeling.” He glanced over to the bushes, clearly inclined to join Raistlin and Dalamar in there.

The others made their way out of sight, but Sturm refused to move. Stupid, the clerics would see him and know he was unlikely to be alone. But again, any protest on their part would likely get the opposite result.

In fact- “Good, stay there Brightblade,” He snapped, “It would be good for us to see what we are dealing with, after they butcher you.”

Sturm and Tanis gave him a hateful look, but didn’t move. Raistlin sagged. So much for that plan. Dalamar squeezed his shoulder in condolence.

They could see the clerics now. They moved slowly, reminding Raistlin unpleasantly of the Belzorites they had met on this very road. But these men were even stranger, moving in heavy, unsteady strides, as if all somehow deformed. They dragged a handcart behind them. “You spoke of Morgion.” Raistlin murmured to Dalamar. “They could almost be clerics of His.”

“Why not?” Dalamar breathed, watching intently. “We have found proof of one god, why not two?”

He looked thoughtful; that first god had been cruel to them, could another be the same? Would a god of darkness not be more welcoming to them than the scourging ones of light?

“Don’t be too eager. It’s too large of coincidence for the staff and the clerics to come at the same time. Perhaps this staff is truly theirs, by right.” Even as he said it, he doubted his own words.

“These clerics would not be allowed within Silvanost, let alone the Temple of the Healing Hand.” Dalamar was tense beside him. “There is something-“

Yes. Raistlin could see it too. There was something very wrong about the clerics. All of them were tall. All had bodies that bulged grotesquely; all wore bandages around their hands and feet, like lepers. Were these clerics of the lost god of plague and disease? It seemed more and more likely by the moment.

“And if they are,” Dalamar’s words were barely a breath, “And if they have similar artifacts- do you think they might be willing to part with one in exchange for the other? A tool of darkness; that might be more willing to heal you?”

Raistlin gave him a sharp look, but- could he be right? The gods of darkness had been renowned for their control of undead. Might there be something that could drag Fistandantilus out of-

Perhaps it was the cold, the faint drizzle now falling. Perhaps it was something else. Raistlin doubled over, coughing miserably. Dalamar rubbed his back, tucking Raistlin’s head against his chest to help muffle the noise.

When it passed at last and Raistlin was able to sit up, the clerics had reached Sturm and were talking with him. “We seek a staff,” the cleric’s voice was low, hissing. “A blue crystal staff. We heard that it had been sighted in Solace. Do you know aught of it?”

 “Yes,” Sturm said calmly. “I heard of such a staff in Solace. I heard of the armies to the north from the same companions. Am I to believe these stories or not? And tell me, why do you seek a blue crystal staff? Surely one of plain, sturdy wood would suit you reverend gentlemen better.”

 “It is a sacred staff of healing,” the cleric rasped “One of our brothers is sorely ill; he will die without the blessed touch of this holy relic.”

“Healing?” For all his disgust with deception, the knight was a rather skillful liar. “A sacred staff of healing would be of great value. How did you come to misplace such a rare and wonderful object?”

 “We did not misplace it!” the cleric snarled, their hands clenched, and Raistlin felt Dalamar tense beside him. He was about to ask what he had seen- and then he saw it too. The bandages covering the cleric’s hands had slipped a little, revealing long, hooked claws.

“Lemuel’s table.” He breathed, Dalamar nodded. So, these were the creatures who had taken their friend.

“It was stolen from our holy order. We tracked the foul thief to a barbarian village in the Plains, then lost his trail. There are rumors of strange doings in Solace, however, and it is there we go.” He waved at the cart, “This dismal journey is but little sacrifice for us compared to the pain and agony our brother endures.”

“I’m afraid I cannot help—” Sturm began.

“I can help you!” Raistlin pulled Dalamar further into the grasses as Goldmoon suddenly stood up, striding towards the road, the staff held high.

“Goldmoon!” Tanis tried to pull her back down.

“I must know!” She pulled herself free, and stepped out onto the road. Riverwind quickly followed her, then Caramon too. Tasslehoff would have gone too, but Tanis grabbed him in time and threw him to Flint for safekeeping. Not that it would do much good, they were making so much noise the clerics must know there were more of them in the brush. Dalamar pulled them to one side, away from the noise and closer to the road.

“I am the bearer of the blue crystal staff,” Goldmoon held up the staff. The others gathered around her. “But we did not steal it; the staff was given to us.”

The cleric’s face was hidden, but their misshapen, lumpen body twitched in outrage. “So you say.” They sneered, groping for the staff.

Goldmoon pulled it away. The others tightened their grip on their weapons.  “The staff was carried out of a place of great evil,” she said. “I will do what I can to help your dying brother, but I will not relinquish this staff to you or to anyone else until I am firmly convinced of your rightful claim to it.”

“A more pleasant way to tell someone to go to the Abyss.” Raistlin murmured. Dalamar smiled. He had one hand on his spellpouches, the other on his dagger.

To their surprise, the cleric nodded. “We will be grateful for whatever aid you can give our poor brother, and then I hope you and your companions will return with us to Haven. I promise you that you will be convinced that the staff has come into your possession wrongly.”

Goldmoon looked taken aback, her face softened and she stepped over to the cart. Bent down. The cleric, eyes glittering, pulled the cloth covering it away. Goldmoon cried out in horror, and there was a blinding blue flash from the staff. The scream of something inhuman came from the cart, and everyone drew their blades. One of the clerics pulled out a signal horn, preparing to sound it.

Raistlin cast quickly, “Ast tasarak sinuralan kyrnawi!”

Dalamar was not even a heartbeat behind him, “Mas daya ente diyos mati!”

The blast shattered the horn, and the cleric wavered as the sleep spell hit them. They dropped the remains of the horn- then shook their cowled head, and Raistlin could feel them throwing off the spell, like water slipping against oil. “Magic resistant!”

The creature- for creature it must be, and nothing natural- turned towards them, clawed hand groping for its sword- and was then hit by Flint from behind, knocking back its hood.

Dear Lunitari- that wasn’t anything Raistlin had ever heard of. There were tales of lizard-men that lived in mangrove swamps far to the north, but even those creatures must seem more natural and less foul than this- mixture of man and reptile, twisted and lurching and unfinished. It bared needle-sharp teeth and spat, turning to stab at Flint. Raistlin forced his mind to focus, and tried again- “Ast tasarak sinuralan kyrnawi!”

He pushed harder, and felt the magic catch this time. The creature stumbled, lost its footing, and fell. Flint brought his axe down on the back of its head, splitting it down the middle like a melon. Instantly, the creature turned to stone. Flint roared in fury, trying to yank his axe free.

Raistlin risked a glance at Dalamar, had he ever heard of such creatures? But Dalamar was looking back at him, clearly hoping Raistlin might know more than he did. “Never heard of their like in my life.” Dalamar breathed, “Try fire.”

Raistlin gave a short nodded, and drew his hands up again, the magic still flaring bright and brilliant inside him, “Kair tangus miopar!”

The blast of flame caught three of the creatures, and set the cart on fire. Beside him, he heard Dalamar chorus the same spell, and those flames finished off the three already burning. The collapsed in little heaps of crumbling magma and the two mages caught their breath, leaning together as the magic flickered and faded, leaving them cold and empty and pressing against each other for warmth.

“More coming!” Tasslehoff shouted, and Raistlin fought back a groan, the battle had drained him, how far would he be able to run?

The others were still standing, but Sturm was wavering, blood all over his face. “What is with him, and clerics giving him head wounds?” Dalamar sighed, and Raistlin smiled.

“Get into the woods!” Tanis shouted; more of the lizard-creatures were coming out of the trees, stubby wings allowing them to glide down.

Raistlin drew in a breath, reaching once more for the magic as the creatures closed. Riverwind had his bow out, snapping arrows into the creatures, but there were too many. They needed to run. “Edar gedeng madulas.”

The creatures staggered, slipping and falling as the ground suddenly became too slick to stand on. Goldmoon reached Sturm, and touched his staff to his head. There was a flicker of blue light, but it seemed weaker than before. It was losing power.

One of the creatures must have been hiding in the trees, because the moment they turned to run- it was there. Raistlin jumped back, lifting his staff as it closed on them, drawing its sword. It slashed at his throat and Raistlin managed to block the blow just in time, the staff ringing like a bell under the notched steel. He would never, ever complain about Horkin’s drills again.

The creature snarled, teeth snapping inches from Raistlin’s face. Then it staggered back, Dalamar had lunged at it, and buried his dagger up to the hilt in its eye. “Quick!” Raistlin gasped, “Before it-“ But it was too late. Dalamar groaned as the thing turned to stone, his blade locked in granite.

They looked at each other. Dalamar grimaced and shook his head, grabbing Raistlin’s arm and pulling him off the road and into the trees.

“We can return after-“

“You know that’s not going to happen.” Dalamar said grimly. “It’s gone, forget about it.”

Tanis crashed through the bushes next, then Flint, the plainsmen, and Caramon- helping Sturm who was still struggling to walk. And then, finally Tasslehoff appeared. He was covered in dust and grinning, dragging Sturm’s sword behind him. “They just crumbled away! The creature turned to dust! Oh, Tanis, it was wonderful. I walked up and pulled on the sword and it wouldn’t come out, so I pulled again and-"

“Not now! Get back to the others!” Tanis pulled him away.

“Oh, I got yours too.” Tasslehoff beamed up at Dalamar, and pulled his dagger from his belt. “It was so strange; the creature just fell to bits like a dandelion puff. Do you think that’s how they breed? All those bits of dust will grow more lizard monsters?”

Dalamar said nothing, snatching the blade from the kender’s hand and quickly tucking it under his robes. He wanted to say something; Raistlin could feel it, a thanks or- something, but not here, not in this company. He wouldn’t dare let them see any chink in his armor.

Raistlin nodded at Tasslehoff. “I doubt that is the case. I certainly hope not or there would be thousands very soon. But regardless, we need to move quickly.”

“I suppose.” Tasslehoff kept pace with them as they hurried further into the trees. “What are they though? I’ve never heard of anything like that, and I saw a wooly mammoth once, did I tell you about it?”

And it was a mark of the goodwill he’d garnered that Dalamar let him tell the story, all the way through, with the extra part about the sea witch, before he shoved him into a bush.

Dalamar scowled as he realised his hand had gone again to his dagger. It was irritating, but he couldn’t seem to shake the need to reassure himself it was still there. The thought that he had lost it had been shockingly painful.

“Perhaps I will ask you to name it after all.” He whispered to Raistlin.

Raistlin nodded and smiled, but didn’t dare answer. It was taking everything he had to keep going as they forged deeper and deeper into the wood. He had a hand on Dalamar’s arm, eyes half closed as he focused all of his energy on keeping his breathing steady and even.

“Why aren’t they chasing us?” Flint grumbled from somewhere ahead.

 “They don’t need to,” Tanis sighed, “We are trapped. They’ve undoubtedly blocked all the exits from this forest. With the exception of Darken Wood-”

 Goldmoon started. “Darken Wood! Is it truly necessary to go that way?”

 “It may not be,” Tanis said. “We’ll get a look around from Prayer’s Eye Peak.”

Dalamar looked up; the Peak was just visible through the trees. It would be a good two more hours to reach it. “There’s our goal,” He murmured to Raistlin, “Can you reach it?”

“What are our options?” Raistlin gave a weary shrug.

“Well, it could mean another Tarn-“

Raistlin gave him a furious glare. “It is not a Tarn. Not in front of them.”

“I would prefer to be laughed at by them, than leave you to be murdered by lizard monsters.”

“I wouldn’t.” Raistlin scowled at his staff, but forced himself on, if only out of sheer spite.

In the end, they didn’t need to reach the mountain. Sturm staggered all of a sudden, going cross-eyed and nearly walking into a tree. When Tanis tried to steady him, he collapsed. “Fine.” Tanis stood over the fallen knight. “We could all need a rest.”

Raistlin pulled them over to a small tussock of long grass, and slumped down unceremoniously with a sigh of relief. Dalamar sat down beside him, and pulled his head down into his lap. “Really?” He made a half-hearted attempt to sit up.

“Give me this.” Dalamar stroked his hair. “No Tarns today; but let me play with your hair.”

“Fine,” Raistlin snuggled in more comfortably, “But no braids.”

“Two braids, your hair’s too long, it’s getting in your face.”

“Bastard.” Raistlin grumbled, but smiled, “Just two, if I wake up and you’ve done whatever you did to me last midwinter night, I’ll shave my head.”

“You wouldn’t dare.” Dalamar tightened his grip on the long, soft curls, and started the soothing task of untangling them, and picking out the leaves and twigs from their trek.

Raistlin made a low, happy sound, and for that blissful moment, everything was soft and tender and good.

The others were sitting nearby, keeping a distance away from the pair of them. Caramon gave Dalamar a hateful look, but was preoccupied with looking after Sturm. Good. Perhaps if the knight ended up permanently infirm, Caramon would latch onto him instead and forget about Raistlin once and for all.

Tanis was sitting beside Riverwind. “You’ve fought those creatures before, haven’t you?”

“In the broken city.” His voice was so low Dalamar had to strain to hear. “It all came back to me when I looked inside the cart and saw that thing leering at me! At least- at least I know now that I’m not going insane. Those horrible creatures really do exist- I had wondered sometimes.”

 “I can imagine,” Tanis murmured. “So these creatures are spreading all over Krynn, unless your broken city was near here.”

 “No. I came into Que-shu out of the east. It was far from Solace, beyond the Plains of my homeland.”

“And they are in Haven as well,” Raistlin murmured sleepily, “They must be the same ones as those who took Lemuel. They are working for the Seekers.”

“Or the Seekers are working for them. Perhaps unwillingly, I think we’ve found what the Theocrat was so terrified of.”

“But what would they want with Lemuel?”

Dalamar had a few ideas of what these brute, monstrous creatures might want with the plump and well fleshed young mage, but he wasn’t about to say them out loud. Raistlin shivered, “Gods, don’t think like that. I do not want to imagine such happening to him.”

“But such things do happen; and worst might be coming to us. But let us hope they just needed him as a slave for Ariakas’ Army, and we will be coming to save him soon.”

Raistlin nodded, “A denial of reality.” He stroked Dalamar’s thigh, “Until we can make it true.” He was starting to doze as Dalamar finished one braid, and started on a second.

Chapter Text

Dalamar barely had time to finish his work before Tasslehoff came hurrying back from scouting, to say there was movement on the trail behind them. There was a collective groan, and slowly everyone got up. Raistlin rubbed his face and touched a hand to the back of his head. “Those are not two braids.”

“They are.” Dalamar helped him up, “You didn’t specify the number of strands.”

“There are at least three braids in each. Do you wish me to be mistaken for one of your elven princesses?” But Raistlin was smiling. He slid his pack over his shoulders, and even with the runes to lighten it, the weight was started to tell on him.

“Yes.” Dalamar said, unrepentant. “I would have you in a crown, with khol around your eyes and dressed one of those lovely diaphanous dresses that leave nothing to the imagination.”

Raistlin choked, covering his mouth to keep from laughing. “Shut up. I need my breath for walking.”

Tanis stared at Raistlin as they started off, speechless at the braids. Dalamar gave a smug smile. Jealous, you sorry weakling? Tanis shook his head, and went back to studiously ignoring them.

A soft rain started to fall. Raistlin huddled in his cloak, leaning more heavily on his staff. Dalamar winced as his shoulders started to shake, the inevitable coughing fit brought on by the damp air. Raistlin opened his herb pouch, and breathed in the scent to ease the pain.

Thankfully, the rain passed quickly, Prayer’s Eye Peak loomed larger and larger before them. Dalamar didn’t think they’d ever come so close to the place. They’d never gone too far from the shores of Crystalmir lake; even when looking for herbs and spell components. The trails were growing more faint and hard to follow, and Dalamar was once again tempted to break away from the group and try and hide. Between Caramon and Sturm, they were leaving a track any idiot could follow, but he and Raistlin were lighter of foot, they might be able to find a different trail, follow it to safety-

“Stop!” Sturm roared.

Dalamar jumped, hands up and halfway through a spell before he realised there was nothing there. The knight was staring into empty air, without even the subtle sign of waving branches where someone had ducked out of sight.

“What is it?” Tanis hurried back to join them.

Sturm lifted his hand to point, then wobbled, and covered his face, as if he might be sick.

“I’m sorry, Sturm,” Tanis said. “I didn’t realize you were as sick as this. We can rest. We’re at the foot of Prayer’s Eye Peak. I’m going to climb the mountain and see-“

“No! Look!” Sturm grabbed hold of Tanis, and pointed a wavering had into empty air. “See it? The white stag!”

Oh Abyss, that was all they needed. “Caramon,” Dalamar looked back up the trail, “Your patient needs you.”

“He’s not- oh shut up, you’re foul.” Caramon spat, and hurried back to join Sturm.

“The white stag?” Tanis blinked. “Where? I don’t-”

“There,” Sturm pointed again, stumbling forwards a few steps. “He wants us to follow him. Like Huma!”

“I see no stag of any color,” Riverwind frowned.

 “Head wound.” Caramon sighed, and tried to take Sturm’s arm. “C’mon, Sturm, lie down and rest while-”

“You great blithering idiot!” Caramon recoiled as Sturm turned on him, “With your brains in your stomach, it is just as well you do not see the stag. You would probably shoot it and cook it! I tell you this- we must follow it!”

“The madness of the head wound,” Riverwind sighed “I have seen it often.”

Dalamar nodded, “Like Scrounger the Great and Powerful.”

When Riverwind looked questioningly at him, he explained. “Our friend, an apprentice mage. He drank too much for his day of Life’s Gift and walked into a door. He was convinced he was a powerful archmage for half an hour, then passed out under the bookshelves.”

Riverwind rolled his eyes and shook his head, as if despairing of all mages everywhere.

“I’m not so sure.” Raistlin whispered. “Remember who started all of this, the old man who told that story about Huma and the Stag.”

Dalamar frowned, could be just a coincidence, but- he waved a hand, and murmured “Batin corak sihir saya.”

It was a simple spell, but he was already weary enough that the magic was a brief blush of ecstasy, and the cold and loss rushed in far too quickly. “Nothing.”

“It would not be our kind of magic.” Raistlin walked over to Sturm, leaning heavily on his staff. “Besides, is this the strangest thing we’ve ever done?”

Sturm seemed to have had enough of their bickering, and charged off into the trees. Well, perhaps it might be good to leave the trail. Nuitari knew it would be the last thing their pursuers would expect. Not that they would have trouble following them, given the hole in the undergrowth they were leaving behind them- Dalamar ducked as a branch Sturm had swept aside swung back, almost catching him in the face. That, he suspected, was deliberate.

And then, quite without fanfare, they broke through the last wall of greenery, and found themselves in a wide, open trail. Broad enough for a half-dozen horsemen to ride down- or any number of stags. It was completely empty, but was flat and well trodden as if to be in constant use. The grass ended neatly beside the verge, as precise as if it had been paved.

This was magic, and as Raistlin had said, it wasn’t theirs. Dalamar felt his blood chill at the thought, when that magic had last been seen on Krynn; it had been in the hands of those who would burn them alive. What was to say that whoever or whatever had made this trail was any better?

“Would you prefer to risk the lizard-creatures?” Raistlin joined him, looking grim, “I don’t like this either, but we have no choice.” He touched Dalamar’s arm, “We will look after each other.”

Their progress was easier now, but after this long walking, and the magic they had cast so recklessly earlier, Dalamar wasn’t sure how long they would last. Raistlin was pale under that golden sheen, lips thin and bloodless with the effort of keeping going. “Tarn.”

“You have your braids, don’t push your luck.” Raistlin rasped. He closed his eyes. “I can do this.”

The trail was steep now; they were climbing higher and higher. Dalamar craned his head up and caught a glimpse of the tip of Prayer’s Eye Peak, now looming over them. “We must be nearly there.” The sun was just cresting the hands, a shocking reminder that it was barely midday. They couldn’t do a full day of this.

Their relief came in the form of Tanis, begging Sturm to stop and let them rest. Raistlin didn’t even try and find somewhere to sit this time, just dropping flat into a pile of dead leaves. Dalamar only bothered to take his pack off, and joined him, easing Raistlin’s pack off his thin shoulders. “Not Tarn, but can I at least carry this. I think the enchantment might be fading.”

“Liar.” Raistlin huffed. “But yes, take the wretched thing. Lunitari, I am so tired.” His mouth twisted miserably.

Tanis walked past them, going to scout back the way they had come and see if anyone was following them. Caramon followed, hesitated, then turned to them.

“No.” Raistlin closed his eyes, leaning back against Dalamar.

“But-“

“Nuitari, go away.” Dalamar snarled, “Can’t you see where you’re not wanted?”

For a moment, he though Caramon might hit him. He paled, but just turned on his heel, storming back to where Sturm was staring into space- at his white stag, probably.

Dalamar closed his eyes, curling up with Raistlin on the covering of dead leaves. “The best bed at the inn.” Raistlin mumbled.

Dalamar kissed him, “Only the finest for you.” He felt Raistlin smile against his lips.

They might have slept, the world flickered and dimmed around them for a little while, but it felt like no more than a few moments before crunching footsteps brought them back to themselves. Just two, so unlikely to be more of the reptile things. Dalamar opened his eyes wearily.

Half-Elven and Riverwind hurried back, pausing to catch their breath. “It’s just as well we left the trail,” Tanis panted, “The trails are swarming with these creatures, we would have been ambushed.”

Oh Abyss. Dalamar groaned as he sat up. Raistlin grimacing and starting to gather their things. “Then we had best go, and quickly before they find this trail.” Dalamar gathered their packs.

Half-Elven shifted uncomfortably. “The trail- wasn’t there. Then it was. I don’t think they’ll be able to find it. Anyway-“ He quickly changed the subject, “Riverwind and I saw evidence of campfires to the North, hundreds of campfires. Enough for an army.”

Had Ariakas’ army already arrived? It seemed impossible, but how many more armies could there be? Raistlin frowned, trying to make sense of it. “They come from Sanction, and that is a seaport. If they crossed the New Sea this summer, and took Despair and Crossing-“

“I think we would have heard something at Shrentak, or New Ports.” Dalamar pointed out. Raistlin shrugged helplessly.

“So the rumors are confirmed,” Sturm said thoughtfully, “There is an army to the north.”

“But what army? Whose? And why? What are they going to attack?” Caramon snorted. “No one would send an army after this staff, would they?”

“A tool of the lost gods?” Dalamar gave Caramon a tired look, “Of course they would. Wars have been fought over much less.”

“And the staff is but a part of this,” Raistlin straightened, rolling his shoulders. “Remember the fallen stars-” He reached for his pack, but Dalamar had gotten it first. Raistlin glared.

“Children’s stories!” Flint scoffed.

“Do children’s stories tear the stars from the sky?” Raistlin snarled, “Or offer a staff of true healing?”

“There it is! There’s the stag!” Sturm broke in, which was probably just as well. “It is time to go.”

Dalamar took Raistlin’s arm, his lover was still fuming. “Ignore them.”

“How can they be-“ Raistlin waved a hand at them helplessly, “Can’t they see?”

“You know they can’t. You know them better than I do.”

“I had forgotten that part.” Raistlin scowled. “It wouldn’t be like this in Langtree. Is Solace so prone to idiots?”

Dalamar considered, “Solace is sheltered, and Langtree is not. In Blodehelm, all the idiots have been eaten by ogres before they could come of age. Whereas, in Solace, they survive to irritate us.”

That got a smile. Then they couldn’t talk any more, the slope grew steeper as they reached the gap between the peaks. A southern breeze dispersed the looming stormclouds overhead, and carried the sweet smells of late summer meadows and fallen leaves. It seemed to ease Raistlin’s cough, and he was breathing deeply and steadily when they reached the top of the peak.

Caramon and Flint were grumbling about food just ahead, reminding Dalamar painfully that they hadn’t eaten before that morning. He slowed his pace, letting the two draw further ahead. Raistlin kept beside him, giving him a curious look, and then smiled when Dalamar drew a small pack of trail rations from his pouch.

It was one of the few foods Raistlin could eat properly, the dried nuts and fruit so withered that there was little his curse could do to them. It was a mark of how worn he must be feeling that he didn’t even argue, just taking the small bag and eating in little mouthfuls.

Walking out of the canyon between the peaks was like walking into summer. The late afternoon sun was brilliant in gold, soaking into Dalamar's cloak until he had to take it off, feeling too hot under his black robes. Even Raistlin lifted his head, eyes closed to better feel the sun. He stayed huddled in his cloak, trying to hoard as much heat as he could.

Then he opened his eyes, and looked down across the landscape. “You see it?”

Dalamar nodded. The meadow below was welcoming enough, thick with wildflowers and yellow prairie grasses, but beyond that- “Is that Darken Wood?”

He didn’t really need to see Raistlin nod to know. The late summer ended at the treeline. Beyond it, winter gripped the forest as far as he could see. Gnarled, twisted branches bare of leaves or any life, bleak and forbidding as a predator crouched and waiting. Like guards barring their path. Like guards, charging into a cave, throwing him to the ground. Dalamar shuddered.

Raistlin’s hand found his. “What do you see?”

“I do not think my necromantic powers would be a match for this forest.” The joke fell flat. “These trees do not love us, Raistlin, we had best stay away from them.”

The others were looking at them incredulously. “That’s all we need. They’re both mad.” Flint glowered at them.

“It doesn’t look so bad to me.” Tasslehoff looked puzzled, “Maybe when we come closer, and you can get a better look.”

“Looks are as deceptive as a light fingered kender.” Raistlin shook his head.

“I’m not deceptive. I washed yesterday!” Tasslehoff pouted. “You’ll see, Sturm says the stag’s going that way anyhow.”

Sturm and Tanis were already heading down. Dalamar steeled himself, and took Raistlin’s arm as they descended. Even the Forest of Wayreth had not felt so forbidding. This felt like- like-

He’d dragged himself up, clutching his robes against his chest. They stank with dye, still damp and leaving bluish streaks across his chest. He lifted his head and looked up, at the line of trees that marked the borders of Silvanesti-

And the trees looked back, cold, forbidding. Like a family from which he had been banished from, forever.

–foul thing-

-exile-

-traitor to the light-

He closed his eyes, pulled his robes around himself, and turned away, walking away into the Plains of Dust. He never dared to look back.

“Who says that is Darken Wood?” Sturm’s voice snapped him back to himself.

“The mages.”

“Bah!” Sturm glowered at them and for a moment he was just- all a part of it. The same look on his face as that on those who had cast him out. He recoiled, baring his teeth, Sturm took a step back. “They are both crazed.”

“And this coming from a man following an invisible deer,” Dalamar snarled, glad to have someone to lash out at. “I would be careful before I handed out opinions on sanity, Brightblade."

Sturm's eyes were narrowed in hatred. "Can't you hold your tongue and stay out of other people's business, Dark elf?” Dark elf. It had stopped feeling like a blow a long time ago, but now, here, it hurt all over again. “This stag led us away from those creatures. I will follow the stag -as did Huma- even if it leads me into Darken Wood." He started down the mountainside.

Dalamar gritted his teeth, drew in an unsteady breath. Raistlin’s hand on his arm was tight, nails digging in as he tried to pull him out of those wretched memories. Dalamar turned towards him, inhaled the smell of him, felt a little better. “Stay.” Raistlin breathed. “You are not there.”

“Here is not much better.” Dalamar sighed.

Tanis fell into step beside them. "How certain are you that this forest is Darken Wood?”

Raistlin glared, "We have said our piece. Listen or do not, that is up to you. But go ahead. Walk into the wood no living man has ever walked out of. Death is life's great certainty."

“Don’t.” Dalamar breathed. He couldn’t stand hearing of death right now. The slow, seductive drag of that inevitable path. In miserable times like this, it became far too tempting.

Raistlin’s face softened, drew Dalamar's head down to rest on his shoulder. Dalamar wanted to pull away, Nuitari, not here, with these people-

“I have my weakness,” Raistlin whispered, “You have yours. I can protect you from this.”

“Arrogant.” Dalamar smiled weakly, kissed his ear.

Tanis was looking at them, his face torn between disgust and- was that jealousy? Did Tanis envy them given his choice in lovers? It did lighten Dalamar’s heart a little. "I'm going with Sturm,” Tanis said at last. “But I'll be responsible to no one else in this decision. The rest of you may follow if you choose."

“Choose?” Dalamar lifted his head, “What choice? What choice is that meant to be? Caramon will follow you like a sheep into the slaughterhouse, as will Flint. Tasslehoff will, of course, come and the Plainsmen will not want to be left alone with us. What else are we meant to do? Stay on the mountainside until the reptile-men cut us down?"

Tanis scowled, as if he wished they would do just that, but Raistlin spoke before he could open his mouth: "You have led us this far- there can be no turning back. It is the Ogre's Choice you offer us- Die fast or die slow."

Tanis stomped away, but Raistlin didn’t move at first. “Or,” he whispered, “We can leave them to it, turn ourselves invisible, and find somewhere to hide.” He looked at Dalamar, “This place- They-" he pointed at the group heading into the trees- "see a normal wood, perhaps even more than that; they see a pleasant wood. I see a cold and unwelcoming place. I can only shudder at the thought of what you are seeing." He stared off into the boughs of a tree that -to Dalamar at least- appeared so twisted it seemed about to fall and crush anyone on the path, it's branches reaching towards them as if to snatch them up.

Dalamar caught his breath, snatched Raistlin’s arm "You can see this place? Your eyes-"

Raistlin smiled grimly. "Yes, this place is not affected by my curse. I wasn’t sure at first, the trees are bare, but this close-“ He looked up as they approached the trees and for a moment he looked so raw and starving that Dalamar's heart ached to see him. “This is a danger. For both of us, but for you in particular. This is the same magic as we felt before, but far more powerful, and it has no love for darkness.”

Dalamar’s spine crawled, but his shook his head, forcing himself to set foot under the trees, "We will be in danger no matter where we go. This is a danger of enchantment and magic, what we are best at. I would rather be in here, no matter the risk-" He dropped his voice, "Than out there at the mercy of those creatures."

Raistlin shook his head helplessly. "I know. It's no choice at all. Just please be careful. We have best be on our guard, no matter what they think." He jerked his head towards the rest of the companions.

“Whatever is here, we cannot attract its attention.” Dalamar could feel the trees more clearly now, cold and forbidding as walls of ice around them. The slightest contact with the wall, the least crack, would cause an avalanche. “We cannot touch anything here. We cannot hunt or burn wood or- anything.”

Raistlin nodded; he was no elf, but the magic was so thick here that they could almost taste it with every breath.

But, of course, it could not be that simple. “Maybe there’ll be some game in here,” Caramon said cheerfully, “Not stags, of course. Rabbits, maybe.”

 Dalamar gave Raistlin a desperate look. “Shoot nothing. Eat nothing. Drink nothing in Darken Wood,” Raistlin hurried to catch up with the others. “There is a great and powerful magic laid on this wood.”

“Evil?” Tanis frowned at them.

Raistlin glared, “Whatever that means. No.”

“Then you are the only ones who need fear this forest,” Sturm could have been one of the trees, he was cold and forbidding enough.

Caramon glared at Sturm, but gave Dalamar a look the Dark elf did not like at all- it was thoughtful, and almost calculating. Maybe, with Raistlin gone, the man had started the impossible task of thinking for himself, it was a worrying thought. The last thing they needed was more problems, here.

Well, it made no difference anyway, there was no chance in the Abyss he was letting his guard down in a place like this.

They walked on, watching the woods.

In the hollows of a thousand trunks, unseen eyes watched them back.

Chapter Text

It was- idiotic to think of any comfort to this place- a place that was determined to show them just how unwelcome they were- but Raistlin didn’t seem to be able to stop. He found himself constantly turning to look, and probably Dalamar thought he was keeping watch, making sure nothing could creep up on them, but it wasn’t that.

Look there, the little tussocks of fresh green grass beneath that gnarled oak. Look at it, oh, just look, like a feast, feeling that starved part of him gorge. And there, that cluster of amanitas so red, and when had he last seen something of such a brilliant hue? He wanted to ask Dalamar if that was how his robes looked.

Insects. Lunitari, they died so quickly in his eyes that he hadn’t seen them in years. Forbidding insects of course, fluttering moths and mosquitoes and carrion flies- but the joke was on whatever ruled this place, because they were beautiful too. The infinite delicacy of the moth’s feathery antenna, the shimmer and dance of the mosquitoes’ wings, the iridescent gleam of the flies’ carapaces-

A crow called a warning, and Raistlin actually stopped, looking up at it. Its eyes so bright, the wings an oily rainbow of colours. He- it was hard to breathe, there was so much; like the tales of men lost in a desert who found an oasis, and drowned themselves in their desperation to drink-

And Dalamar knew. He saw Raistlin’s expression and for a moment all those walls fell, and his face was open and so tender he was almost in tears. “Oh love.” It was a half laugh, “We will find whoever rules this place and butcher them, and live here forever. We have found your cure.”

Raistlin gave a weak, broken smile and pressed his face against Dalamar’s shoulder, and was pulled close. It was still dark, still threatening- but it was beautiful all the same.

The others didn’t seem to notice the menace. They had long ago sheathed their swords, and were strolling comfortably, chatting and barely paying attention to where they were going. They would be no help, and Raistlin wondered how much good he would be, half drunk on these deadly jewels.

Finally, twilight came. That time when everything appeared to have been leeched of its colour until it resembled a surreal charcoal sketch, and the shapes were vague and indistinct. Raistlin found his pace slowing, as much from the need to look than weariness.

Finally, the path opened out into a small clearing. The grass was long and tangled, surrounded by the hunched trees. A thin stream trickled through a rocky gully nearby, and the dying sunlight glinted on the wings of stinging insects, the luminous eyes of toads. Lovely.

The others clearly thought so too. Raistlin groaned they left the path, “Do not-“ he started, then gave up.

They ignored him, strolled into the long grasses, and started to set up camp. Raistlin winced as the grasses were flattened and trampled, but mercifully, nothing seemed to have been alerted by this disturbance.

Tanis looked back at them, still on the path, and rolled his eyes. “We’ll be all right. The path is in plain sight, not ten feet away. Come on. We all need to rest. I don’t think this is Darken Wood. According to this-“ He held up a map.

 Raistlin turned away, “You are all fools. This is Darken Wood, as you will see before the night is ended.” He put his staff down and slowly sat down. His whole body ached from the long, long day. “But, as you say, we need rest. However, we will not leave the path.”

As if to drive home the point, Dalamar sat beside him, resting a hand on Raistlin’s arm. "No power on Krynn would have me leave the path, night or day."

Raistlin gave him an apologetic look. Whatever he himself saw, Dalamar would be seeing far worse. Such horror, and all Raistlin could see was the beauty. “Forgive me.” He breathed, “But everything I see-“

“I know.” Dalamar pulled him close. “I will not begrudge you a moment of joy, regardless of the danger.” All the same, the Dark elf’s eyes tracked over the clearing, then back behind them, over and over, making sure nothing could creep up on them. “This place- it reminds me of the temple in Hope’s End. It does not care to have us in it, and I do not know how far it will go to be rid of us.”

Caramon walked towards them, scowling. "Raist, don't let that elf spook you, there's nothing to be scared of. Join us, Tas has gone for wood, and maybe I can shoot a rabbit-"

Raistlin’s stomach lurched at the idea of what could happen. Dalamar was right, it was like the temple, and he could feel some- malign intelligence keeping watch on this place. It had not seen them yet, but if it did- "Shoot nothing! Harm nothing in Darken Wood! Neither plant nor tree, bird or animal."

Not that they listened, but it seemed that the creatures that lived in this enchanted wood had learned a little of their own magic, for the moment any of them glimpsed a rabbit, or a ground fowl, they vanished into thin air. Caramon was swearing and hacking at the grass where he knew the coney had bolted, when Tasslehoff returned with an armful of firewood.

“It’s okay.” He nodded at Raistlin, “Don’t be scared. I just picked it off the ground. Whoever lives here isn’t going to be angry about us taking wood they’re just leaving lying around, right?”

“Are they?” Dalamar whispered as the others started piling the wood up into a campfire. Raistlin gave a helpless shrug. In the end, it was all moot. None of them could get the wood to light.

Finally, the reality of where they were was starting to sink in for everyone. They looked uncomfortably at each other, then back at Raistlin and Dalamar. “We need light,” Flint admitted gruffly.

 “I thought you did not believe in children’s stories,” Raistlin sniped, and got a glare.

 “No! I just want to make certain the kender doesn’t rifle my pack in the dark.”

“Hey!” Tasslehoff pouted.

 “Very well,” Raistlin dug the bottom of his staff into the ground, it was soft enough that he got it in a few inches, so it could stand by itself. “Shirak. There, you have light,”

The light was soft and comforting, like a little globe of protection. It would not mean much against the great power of this wood, but he appreciated the effort. Raistlin touched the staff gently in thanks, and felt it warm against his hand.

“I am finding it hard to see them.” Dalamar whispered, nodding at the others. “This place has some- barrier against my eyes as well. Everything is shadows, even my eyes cannot pierce it.”

Raistlin nodded, pulling Dalamar closer to him, further into the circle of magelight. “Can you sleep?”

Dalamar grimaced. “Here? I hardly want to, but-“ He was exhausted, they both were. “We will have to take turns.”

“I will stay awake a little longer.” Raistlin eased his head down until Dalamar was in his lap. “I- want to enjoy this while I can.”

It was dark enough that bats were starting to appear now, flitting in wheeling circles over them to snatch up insects drawn by the magelight. One landed on only a few feet away, a moth in its mouth. It stretched its delicate wings; its fur looked so soft. Raistlin couldn’t look away.

Dalamar smiled. “Enjoy it, love. Wake me when you need me to take over.”

The others were looking at each other uneasily as they settled down in the grass for the night. Above them, the moons started to rise. Lunitari was almost at High Sanction, and Raistlin turned his face up to the Goddess’ light. He could almost feel it, like sunlight, soaking through him, sparking in his magic.

Raistlin wasn’t Dalamar, piety didn’t come easily to him, but he tried anyway. Lady, watch over us. This isn’t your magic, but we’re caught in it anyway. Let us get out of this web in one piece, or Horkin will be furious if we don’t turn up for this winter.

It might be his imagination, but the sparks inside him felt like they flared, at once amused and sorrowful. She would help, but She couldn’t. They were in the hands of a power greater than Her’s. Raistlin shuddered; he could see the hollow of the missing stars high above them. Takhisis and Paladine.

He’d feared that the Dark Queen might have returned, like in Huma’s time, but what was to say Paladine would be any better if He was on Kyrnn? He seemed a brutal and cruel god, and Raistlin had not forgotten how He had happily given the Kingpriest the power to enact his mass murders, only turning against him when the man got too big for his boots.

His shoulderblades itched, he hunched over Dalamar’s sleeping form. The Dark elf sighed and pressed closer, curling more tightly around Raistlin so that his knees were pressed against Raistlin’s hip. Raistlin looked up, and thought he could just see where Nuitari was, just clearing the bare boughs of the trees. I hope you’re watching too. Raistlin thought miserably. We need all the help we can get.

He saw it a moment too late. In the dark, Tanis had gotten up, and walked over to the stream. Raistlin spotted him as he leaned down, scooping some of the water to his mouth. The cry of warning died in his throat, a heartbeat far too late.

A moment before, they were alone. The next, they were surrounded. Dalamar jerked up, seizing Raistlin’s shoulder- but it was too late. They both froze, staring around them and oh, how fitting it was that such a terrible place should have equally terrible guardians.

They were dead.

An army of shadowy warriors slain in battles so unimaginably distant long ago, even the most ancient book Raistlin had read did not mention them. The fleeting corpse-light that outlined their bodies shimmered over bizarre, archaic helms and armor, over dreadful remembered wounds and even more dreadfully remembered blades. Raistlin was hideously reminded of Fistandantilus, but dear Lunitari- at least then there had been just one of him-

Raistlin wasn’t sure how, but he and Dalamar had dragged each other upright, and were standing, hands gripping each other white-knuckled. Desperately trying to think of something they could do- but their minds had gone blank.

Then Dalamar was moving, standing in front of him. Gods, was he trying to protect him? But Dalamar tightened his grip on Raistlin- “Battin bentuk-“ but before he could finish the spell, one of the undead lifted a hand and he screamed, head thrown back in agony. He staggered, nearly fell. Raistlin caught him, and forced Dalamar behind him.

“Stay back!” He snarled. “Don’t move, there’s nothing we can do to hurt them, and they can see through any magic of ours.”

A dim, hungry light glowed in the eyesockets of the lead undead. Its armor was encrusted in jewels, and it wore a gleaming crown. Its dead eyes raked over Raistlin, dismissing him, and locked ravenously on Dalamar. It nodded.

As one, the undead turned their shattered, skull-like faces towards the Dark elf. As one, they drew their swords. As one, they advanced.

Dalamar paled. He rose and stumbled backwards, off the path, and into a looming yew tree.

“No!” Raistlin forced himself up, “Stay on the path!”

But it was too late; the undead were coming, flocking around him and- Dalamar didn’t seem able to move. His back pressed against the trunk, he stared back at the undead, eyes wide with terror.

Gods; not like this. Raistlin gritted his teeth, and forced himself off the path, standing in front of the dead. He lifted his staff, and the undead hesitated, the light painful to them, burning with the power of the three moons. Raistlin drew in a breath, and it came steady. Even Fistandantilus didn’t want him to get devoured just yet.

“Raistlin-“ Tanis’s voice seemed to come from a long way away. “What are these?”

“Spectral minions.” Raistlin said grimly. He felt Dalamar’s hand close on his shoulder, shaking uncontrollably. Raistlin gave a wretched smile, “So much for necromancy.”

Dalamar gave a choked laugh. The undead were edging closer, slowed, but not ready to stop. Anything was worth trying at this moment. He scrambled to think-

“Kulit ayun dari-“ the hand on Raistlin’s shoulder flew off, Dalamar staggered back as the specters’ power racked him. Raistlin span around, Dalamar was barely standing, clinging to a sapling and shuddering in agony.  Raistlin reached for him-

And huge arms came down around him. Raistlin cried out as Caramon grabbed him and lifted him bodily off the ground, dragging him away from Dalamar. “Let me go!”

“Let them take him!” Caramon snarled, “Only those who bring evil with them! I told you-“ and that broke into a shout of pain as Raistlin twisted and slammed his staff in his brother’s face. His grip loosened, and Raistlin tore himself free, staggering back to Dalamar.

The undead had taken their moment, closing around Dalamar. Their hands grasping for him, their fleshless jaws snapping. Like Fistandantilus. The terrible hunger of the undead. He threw himself to Dalamar’s side. “Get behind me!”

Dalamar gave him a wild, helpless look. The dead warriors were yet closer. The closest, the crowned one, tilted its blade towards Dalamar's chest. “No- Raistlin! What can we do- Nuitari, we’ve been such fools-“

Raistlin met his eyes, and dropped his voice to that firm, commanding tone. “Get behind me.”

And thank the magic, it worked. Dalamar didn’t fight when he shoved him back. “They will not attack me.” Raistlin met the leader’s eyes, and it halted. Silently, it made a gesture: Step aside.

Raistlin shook his head. "You will not harm me, and I will not let you harm him." And finally, finally, he thought of something. “Ast bilak parbilakar. Suh tangus moipar!” If he could just get these things talking-

The leader paused, seemed to consider him for a moment. Then, almost regretfully, it stretched a skeletal hand out towards him.

It was like Fistandantilus, because it didn’t even need to touch him. The moment the hand breached the circle of light, Raistlin staggered and doubled over as his lungs clenched and his throat closed. The wounds Fistandantilus had inflicted on him were rotten with necromantic power, and all the undead needed to do was get close enough.

Raistlin clung to the staff, struggling to stay upright, but it was driving him down, hacking and choking until blood flowed from his mouth and he was on his knees. Throat rattling for air that wouldn’t come, the staff hit the ground, and the light went out.

And the undead swept past him, hands outstretched, surrounding them. No- Raistlin wanted to scream, but the words were trapping in his throat, he couldn’t move, he could cast- he could do nothing but watch as the undead closed around Dalamar, hands hungry for his death. Even without touching him, they were so close Dalamar staggered and fell, strength draining out of him as the undead drank his life force. No- not like this not like this not again NO-

It was his Test, all over again. He was watching Dalamar die and there was nothing he could do about it-

Then, from the clearing, came a blinding flash.

Raistlin dragged in a breath, throat suddenly clear, lungs dragging in sweet, wonderful air. If it hadn’t been for the taste of blood in his mouth, the fit might not have happened. He shielded his eyes against the terrible flash, stumbling up and gasping in relief as he hands found Dalamar. The Dark elf was trembling, pulling him close.

The light reached its zenith, until they were curling up against the terrible burning glare of it. Then it faded, dimming until they could finally see the colour of it.

Blue.

The staff.

Goldmoon held the staff high, she looked lost and bewildered, uncertain what was happening- whoever had commanded the staff, it was not her.

When the light finally went out, the undead had retreated back to the edges of the clearing, their ghostly swords were sheathed, and he and Dalamar were alone.

The silence was deafening.

Chapter Text

Shoulders still shaking from the spasms, Raistlin struggled to his feet. He was clutching the Staff of Magius so hard his fingers had gone numb, and knuckles were white. Swaying slightly and fighting to draw breath, he stared across the field to the mass ranks of undead. Dragged in air, and took a step towards them. “Shirak."

He heard Dalamar choke a warning, struggling up and towards him.

"Stay back!" Raistlin could barely recognize his own voice, raw and hacking.

The rest of the group were still cowering in the clearing, Caramon had collapsed by the side of the path, nursing a bloody nose.

Good, he would think twice about interfering again. Dalamar was ashen, in the light of the moons, he looked half dead himself. He struggled towards Raistlin, but his knees gave way suddenly and he fell to the ground. For a moment, he looked like he might pass out, but Dalamar shook his head furiously, and tried again to get up.

“Don’t move.” Raistlin breathed, and turned back to the dead.

"Raist!" Caramon's scream was like nails on slate, but Raistlin gritted his teeth and ignored him.

"Stay back, all of you!" He tried to keep his voice steady, reach that tone of command, but he was drained and trembling and his voice broke on the last syllable.

"Come back, you idiot," Dalamar whispered, on his hands and knees on the grass.

"What are you going to do?" Tanis stumbled a few steps forwards, but didn’t dare come any closer.

"Stay back!" Raistlin spotted the crowned undead, and began to walk towards it. For a moment, all he could see was the Silvanesti from his Test; that had killed Dalamar’s double, and almost killed him. The memories pressed too close. His hands trembled as he traced out the symbols, and spoke the words of the spell. “Ast bilak parbilakir, suh tangus moipiar."

The leader of the undead just looked at him for a long moment. The spirit lights edging its empty eye sockets moved, just a little, to settle its unearthly gaze on Dalamar. “No.” Raistlin shook his head. “He will not be yours.”

It looked back at Raistlin, then inclined its head. It stretched out a hand towards him. Raistlin stared at the twisted, hideous hands- so much like Fistandantilus’. He heard Dalamar’s scream of denial behind him.

“Don’t move!” Raistlin snapped, the magic burned through him, sweet flame and sunlight, until the power of the undead was no more than a snowflake in a firestorm. "You who have been long dead, use my living voice to tell of your bitter sorrow." The ritual words spilled out of his mouth, like the song of a pipe to a charmed serpent. "Then give us leave to pass through this forest, for our purpose is not to harm this place, as you will see if you read our hearts." The last was spat, bitterly as the anger touched his throat. Gods, how many had these things killed, for the crime of some- ancient definition of evil?

The undead’s hand hesitated, as if it could feel the heat burning off him, the flame of rage that, in that moment, might just burn it to ashes. Then it bowed.

Okay, okay. Raistlin drew in a breath, tasted magic and the moons light. He bowed back, just a harsh jerk of his head.

And the cold, oh that cold. So very like Fistandantilus. A freezing, grasping hand closing on his heart, ripping through his lungs. Raistlin gasped, choked as if he’d fallen through ice, into freezing water. And, meeting it; was an answering chill. And that was Fistandantilus.

Mine!

Raistlin closed his eyes. Gods, not now. Groped for that cold, frozen place inside him, and tried to push the lich away. He had tried, so many times, fighting for breath, desperate to breathe, but he might as well have been trying to lift a mountain.

But this time, it moved. The hands of the undead helping his, slowly, slowly closing that draining, open door. Raistlin blinked, sucked in a raw breath- but then the power of the Darken Wood dead filled him instead. It rose, splitting his skull in a burst of agony, and felt his mouth move of its own accord.

The words left his throat in a cloud of freezing fog, echoed as if coming from an open grave, far, far underground. "Who are you that have brought such evil, and the Blue Crystal Staff, to Darken Wood?"

Raistlin closed his eyes, tried to answer, but his voice was not his own any more. He tried to step back, break the spell, but he couldn’t move. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Dalamar struggle towards him, fall again to his hands and knees. He turned his face up to the sky, mouth moving soundlessly- Nuitari.

And there, just behind him, was Caramon. He was pale, but Raistlin could see the beginnings of an idea glimmering in his eyes. If these things wanted Dalamar dead so badly, perhaps he could give them permission.

Raistlin gathered himself to try and break the spell again- but Caramon wasn’t quite fast enough, and Tasslehoff jumped in first, eyes shining in delight. Flint tried to make a grab for the kender's topknot but missed.

"I am Tasslehoff Burrfoot, but my friends call me Tas. Who are you?" He ran right up to the undead, looking up at the leader’s face with a broad smile.

Just as well, Raistlin thought wretchedly. Dalamar was in no state to speak, and the kender might be the only one who wouldn't suggest that the undead finish them off.
“It matters little,” the specter stared down at Tasslehoff, “Know only that we are warriors from a time long forgotten.”

“Is it true that you broke a pledge and that’s how you come to be here?” Tasslehoff leaned in to get a better look at the undead’s weapon.

“It is. We pledged to guard this land. Then came the smoldering mountain from the heavens. The land was ripped apart. Evil things crept out from the bowels of the earth and we dropped our swords and fled in terror until bitter death overtook us. We have been called to fulfill our oath, as evil once more stalks the land.” And- the pain. A racking, screaming agony, Fistandantilus struggling with the barrier, ripping into Raistlin as he fought to break free. “Why do you plead innocent intent, when you have brought evil into our lands?”

Tasslehoff jumped back when Raistlin cried out, then glanced back at the Dalamar, no longer so cheerful. "Oh, Dalamar? He’s not evil. I think he’s quite nice, actually. Raistlin thinks so, anyway- that Raistlin, by the way- although you shouldn’t allow him near mousetraps, that was quite evil. But he’s nice! Not evil at all! And Raistlin isn’t either! Can you not- make him scream like that? That didn’t sound pleasant. Anyway, they let me tell my wooly mammoth story today, and no one ever lets me to that. Have you heard it? Well-”

Raistlin sagged, struggling for breath as Tasslehoff kept talking. Torn between the hands of two undead, he could feel Fistandantilus raging and snarling in the corner of his head, and oh Lunitari, make it stop.

The undead ignored the kender and turned their sightless eyes on Dalamar. Their hollow, empty voices ripped through Raistlin’s throat again, even as Fistandantilus’ power clawed at his heart, his lungs. Make it stop. 

And the undead reached out, and closed its hand around Raistlin’s arm.

Raistlin staggered, almost vomited.

Fistandantilus howled as the specter’s power filled him, like a wave of freezing water, ice-locking his bones, freezing his spine to icicles. Somewhere, a long way off, he thought he heard a scream.

And suddenly, warmth. Raistlin opened his eyes the cold washed away, like a tide ebbing out. He breathed out a cloud of snow, and looked down. Dalamar had somehow covered the whole clearing in a heartbeat, and had his arms wrapped around his waist, trying to drag him away from the undead. Raistlin reached down his free hand, wonderingly, and rested his hand in Dalamar’s hair. He felt him shuddering at the touch, and when the Dark elf looked up, strands of hair stuck to his damp face.

Oh, how I love you. Raistlin smiled, drew in a breath, and felt it come as smoothly and easily as it hadn’t for- too many years. He was suspended, caught between the power of the two undead. For a moment, they were both at a stalemate, and he belonged to himself for the first time in years. Dalamar looked up at him, blinking black tears, groaned, and buried his face in Raistlin’s robes.

The undead looked down at him, and for a moment, their hands went to their swords.
There was another flare of blue light, and Tasslehoff’s wail, “I said don’t-” 

They stepped back, but Raistlin could feel the depth of the hatred, foul and sickening until his stomach lurched again. A shard of what had been; the same hatred that had burned and murdered so many. The forces of Good. To think such a foul thing had ever pretended to be good-

The hatred faded, replaced by impatience. They needed to go, get rid of these living things. If they could not kill them, they would make sure they didn’t remain here. The words were ripped up from inside him, a dry heave. "The Goddess has deemed that you may pass unharmed, Dark One. Begone, and if you value your life, never return." 

Dalamar turned his face up, desperate and pleading. Raistlin nodded, the grip of the undead eased and he was himself again, just for a moment. "It's alright, I'm fine." He managed to get the words out, his throat aching with cold. "We have to go now. We've been summoned."

Dalamar looked at him uncomprehendingly, then nodded. Yes, please. Now.

“Come on.” Raistlin breathed. “We must go.”

Dalamar dragged in a breath, and forced himself upright. He was trembling, barely standing. He looked at the undead, its hand gripping Raistlin’s arm, and shuddered in horror. Raistlin nodded, and took his hand. “Come.”

Caramon cried out from behind them. “Stop them!”

 “We can’t!” Tanis’ voice came from behind them as they started towards the trees. “We’ll follow them. They’re magi, Caramon- we can’t understand. We’ll follow-”

Raistlin walked into the circle of undead, and felt the years fall away with every step. The screams of an ancient, long forgotten battle rose around them. The war, one of the thousands after the Cataclysm; that had killed these creatures. The screams grew louder, louder- until it was the undead who were screaming, their bodies writhing and twisting as they were cut down, all over again, endlessly.

The hand fell away from Raistlin’s arm, and Raistlin staggered. The specter’s power vanished in an instant and he was only able to drag in a quick, desperate breath before Fistandantilus’ power returned in a storm. He fell to his knees, doubling over coughing.
“Raistlin!” Dalamar pulled him up, holding him close. “Oh, Nuitari-“

“I-” He tried to speak, but his throat closed, shuddering as the spasms racked him. Finally, he slumped in Dalamar’s arms, air coming at last. He blinked tears out of his eyes, swallowed blood, and was finally able to look around.

The dead were gone.

Raistlin was shivering against him. Dalamar eased them carefully to the ground, pulling Raistlin against his chest and rubbing his back to soothe his cough and work living warmth into his body. He was so cold it hurt to hold him. Behind him, he could hear the others blundering through the trees, but he ignored them, for that moment, nothing mattered but the young mage in his arms.

Slowly, Raistlin’s thin arms wound around him in turn and his golden eyes opened again. Dalamar thought he had never seen anything more beautiful, he gave a trembling smile, and lowered his head to press a kiss to his forehead. Raistlin blinked, and exhausted smile touching his lips. Dalamar felt the prickle of power as the last shards of Raistlin’s spell faded. Raistlin shivered, and pressed closer.

"Are you alright?" He whispered; voice hoarse.

“You were the one they touched, worry about yourself first." Dalamar brushed Raistlin’s hair back. The braids he had done- Nuitari, only a few hours ago- were loose and frayed. He closed his eyes, and buried his face in the soft curls.

Raistlin shook his head, smiling slightly and rested his head against Dalamar’s chest. "They meant me no harm, and their touch only kills it they wish it. You-” He shuddered, “They wanted you dead."

Dalamar’s arms tightened around Raistlin. "Yes." Dalamar whispered harshly. "And you were right; we should never have set foot in this place. Nuitari! We were nearly killed!" How arrogant they had been, so certain of their own power. Dalamar would not forget this lesson quickly.

Raistlin’s eyes drifted close. "Are they gone now? I- oh, Lunitari, I’m so tired."

Dalamar couldn't help but smile. "Yes, they're gone, you can rest."

Finally, Raistlin closed his eyes with a sigh, and his breathing eased into sleep. Dalamar bent, and kissed his lips gently, tasting his exhaustion and the last, fading shivers of cold. The only light came from Solinari, high above. The two other moons were missing shadows in the night sky. Not that Dalamar could blame them; he wouldn’t want to stay here either.

"But not here." The booming voice rang out from behind them. Dalamar's head snapped around so fast his black hair lashed Raistlin's face.

Even the white moon seemed shy in this place, the light faint and uncertain on the face of the man who had spoken. No, not a man, Dalamar could see that now. There was enough light for his elven eyes to pick out the horse's body. Nuitari, he had heard of these creatures, some were said to live in Silvanesti- but he had never seen one.

"A centaur," Dalamar whispered.

The creature stepped forwards into the light; his cold, dark eyes burning into Dalamar. The moonlight gleaming on the point of his spear. "Indeed, Dark elf. And this is a sorry time that we had to allow one such as thou into our forest." And, when Dalamar groped for his dagger- "Put thy puny weapons down, ye be surrounded and have not a chance."

As if they had been waiting for his command, the rest of the herd trotted out from the woods. Dalamar drew Raistlin closer. Gods, not again. They had not just escaped the undead to die at the hands of these drunken beasts-

The moment stretched, broken only by a fit of sneezing from Flint. Finally, the lead centaur looked around at the others. "Thee must come with us," he ordered imperiously.

“We can hardly walk.” Dalamar snapped.

"My brother is unconscious." The Dark elf blinked. For once, Caramon's deranged protectiveness was actually welcome. "He can't go anywhere."

"Place him upon my back," was the cool answer, the centaur's dark eyes flickered over the two mages in distaste. "In fact, if any of you be tired, thee may ride where we go."

Dalamar gathered himself and forced himself to his feet, carrying Raistlin in his arms. Raistlin stirred, his eyes flickered, “Not Tarn.” He mumbled.

“I’m sorry,” Dalamar breathed, “But it is.” Like their campaign in Tarn, where Raistlin had gotten so sick in the thin mountain air that Dalamar had to carry him back down to the plains.

Raistlin groaned, tried to struggle against Dalamar’s arms, but finally, finally- even he had to admit defeat. His eyes closed, and he curled up against Dalamar’s chest, face smoothing into peace as he slipped away into sleep.

Dalamar pressed a kiss to his lips. How I love you. He settled Raistlin more comfortably, and walked towards the centaur- but he hadn't come more than a few steps before the butt of a spear knocked him to the ground. Raistlin fell senselessly to the grass, groaned but didn’t wake. Caramon hurried over. 

The centaur advanced on Dalamar, the heavy hooves stamping dangerously close to him. "The guardians may have allowed thou to pass, but thou will not touch me, thy has not the right." The dark eyes narrowed with loathing, a hoof struck the ground barely inches from his hand. 

Dalamar rolled over, the blow had knocked the air from his lungs, and his chest ached- but Nuitari, if all he had to worry about tomorrow was bruises, he would count himself very lucky. "Unless you have failed notice, my lover," he drew out the word, watching Caramon squirm; "is unable to ride. Someone will have to stay with him to make sure he doesn't fall off."

"And someone will." The centaur's voice was grimly amused as he turned to Caramon. "Climb up. I can bear the weight of both thee and thy brother will need thy support."

Caramon’s eyes lit up. He gave Dalamar a look of smug glee, and picked Raistlin’s body. Dalamar snarled and tried to get up, but the centaur pressed the butt of its spear against Dalamar's chest, pinning him to the ground.
Caramon threw Raistlin roughly over the centaur’s back, and dragged himself up as well. Dalamar snarled wordlessly, struggled to his feet, but was forced back down, with bruising force. He snarled helplessly; the centaur sneered, lifting his spear and turning away. Raistlin slumped against the centaur's back with Caramon's arm around his waist. He stirred, tried to pull away- but Caramon held him in place, and he lost consciousness again.

Dalamar’s hand clenched into fists, but he didn’t dare lash out. He was filled with the kind of impotent rage he had not felt since he had been exiled, longing to hurt, but knowing that the first blow would be his last. Here, like in Silvanesti, they were longing for the excuse to do away with him, and he could not give them that.

The others copied Caramon and clambered on the centaur's broad backs. A few of them shot him amused looks as the centaurs galloped off down the trail, leaving him alone. Tasslehoff pulled at his centaur’s hair, pointing out they’d left someone behind- but the creature ignored him, and as one, the herd galloped away down the trail, leaving Dalamar alone. 

Dalamar gave a hoarse cry of rage as he was left alone on the path. Tears burnt his eyes, but he refused to let them fall. He gathered all his rage, his pain and the barely faded terror- and crammed them back inside himself, trapping them within the cage of his ribs. He swallowed, drew in a breath. There was no danger just yet, but they were not safe- and Raistlin was unable to defend himself, and in the hands of someone Dalamar wouldn’t trust with a rock.

He got up unsteadily, and braced himself on a twisted tree. An oak, but cold and hateful as any Silvanesti aspen. His touch repelled it, he was foul to it. Exile. Cast from the light. Dalamar straightened, and let go of it, risking a step. His limbs trembled, his chest ached abominably. Ahead of him, the trail was barely visible, featureless black even to his eyesight.

Dalamar looked up at the night sky. With the constellations gone, and the two moons missing, it seemed strange and alien. Fixing his gaze on the space where he knew Nuitari had risen, he whispered a short prayer. He needed help. "Nuitari, Dark Son, aid me. Guide me through this darkness not of your making. Watch over Raistlin while I cannot be with him."

It was only a heartbeat, but Dalamar was sure he saw a brief flash of the dark light from his patron's moon, breaking through whatever foul enchantment gripped these woods. Clenching his fists, Dalamar walked into the pitch darkness. 

He didn't know how long he walked, he couldn't see the path, could barely see his own hands, and time lost its meaning in such blackness. But somehow, whether through Nuitari's blessing or because whoever owned the wood didn't want him to get lost, he finally found the others. In fact, he nearly walked into them. It was no lighter here than anywhere else, and he almost tripped over Flint.

"Ow!" the dwarf growled as he kicked him in the back. "Who was that?"

"Who do you think?" Dalamar snarled back. "Did you have a nice ride?"

"Oh, great." Tanis’ voice, came somewhere to his left. "Well, I suppose that means we're all here. Weaponless, but all here."

"Weaponless?" Oh Abyss no.

"I have my staff," Goldmoon’s put in, uncertainly.

Dalamar grabbed at his belt- but to his surprise, his dagger was there. He drew it out of its sheathe, just a little, and saw a faint, dark shimmer along the edge of the blade. 

No, he gave a small smile. They couldn’t take it. For the same reason he couldn’t touch Goldmoon’s staff, after this long, it belonged to another. He really would have to take up Raistlin’s offer to find a name for it-

Raistlin.

He closed his eyes, listening as hard as he could. A moment’s silence, and he caught the faint rasp and rattle of Raistlin’s breathing, a little ahead and to the right. He took a step forward.

“Back off.” Caramon growled, in the half light, he saw the hulking outline of the big man, his eyes narrowed into furious slits.

Dalamar opened his mouth to snarl back- but was interrupted by a deep voice; that seemed to come from everywhere at once. "And a formidable weapon that is, daughter of Que-shu, a weapon for good, intended to combat illness and injure and disease."

“Get out of my way-“ Dalamar tried to push past Caramon-

"Silence!" The voice whip-lashed through the darkness, and Dalamar felt a crack of pain across his shoulders, and for a moment- he was back. Back in Silvanesti. 

Elfid’s mocking laughter was in his ears, the crack of the rod against his back. Count them, Argent. Count or I start again-

His throat was raw with screaming with rage, his back a blooming tapestry of pain- but he refused to count. Finally Elfid’s arm was too tired to continue, and Dalamar’s back was a mass of welts and bruises. He was untied, and left to curl up on the floor of the punishment room until he could gather himself enough to crawl back to his quarters- 

He staggered, fell to his knees. He was dry heaving with pain, blind and shuddering under the whip of the memory. The voice came again, coldly pleased. "You are here only on the volition of the Goddess, Dark elf. Be thankful you were spared, for you would have been slain by the guardians."

Which would- be almost welcome, right now. Dalamar closed his eyes, rested his head on the cool grass. Here. Here. Not there. He was not there. He would never be there again- and in this moment he was desperately grateful for it. Raistlin, where was his lover? He needed him-

"Who are you?" Tanis' voice seemed to come from a long way away.

"We won't harm you," Caramon put in. Dalamar saw a flash of red in the man’s arms, and bared his teeth in futile rage. Mine. Get your hands on him you disgusting creature, he’s mine-

"Of course you won't. You have no weapons. I will return them when the time is propitious."
Dalamar’s hand closed on the hilt of his dagger. He could feel the magic of this place pulling at it, trying to spirit it away- but after so long at his side, it was consecrated to Nuitari, the Black Moon’s power binding it to Dalamar. He would not His follower to go unarmed in this foul place.

"No one brings weapons into Darken Wood," the voice continued. "Not even a knight of Solamnia. Do not fear, noble knight-"

Dalamar took advantage of the distraction, and the darkness, and crept closer. Then he caught sight of Raistlin’s face as last. He was curled up on a tussock of soft grass, frowning in his sleep. Dalamar felt the rage and pain inside him soften, running against his ribs like water as a warmer emotions filled his chest. My love. He stroked Raistlin’s cheek, and the frown faded from his lover’s face as he settled into more peaceful rest.

"-but even the great Huma laid the Dragonlance at my feet."

"Huma!" he heard Sturm shout, focusing all attention on him. "Who are you?"

Dalamar pulled Raistlin against his chest. He huffed, and stirred in his arms.

"I am the Forestmaster." The darkness lifted so suddenly Dalamar was left blinking, his eyes raw from the effort of trying to pierce the shadows. Raistlin started up, eyes opening, and then turned away, shielding his face.

Oh. Dalamar swallowed. The creature standing on the rock ledge above them was- beautiful. And yet, it was more than that. Everyone knew that unicorns were beautiful- those would still believed in them, that is. It was more than that. Just looking at it reached down into the depths of Dalamar’s soul and found some- old, forgotten self; buried deep. The spirit of the child he had been, so long ago. Wide eyed and innocent and gentle. 

Look at what you used to be, a mocking sorrow. Look at what you are now. What would this child make of you now? How horrified would he be to see you? When you are this?

That child died when his parents died! Dalamar screamed back inside his own head. Where were you then, Forestmaster? Where was your healing touch? Where were the blessings of the gods you honor? How dare you! If I am this, then it was you and yours who made me this!

“Dalamar.” And Raistlin was there. He was too weak to sit up, but he gripped Dalamar’s hand. “Don’t.” He breathed. “Don’t look at her. They only mean-“ he broke off, closing his eyes as if those few words had drained him, “They only mean to hurt you.”

Dalamar nodded. To hurt him, to break him back into that- ignorant, feeble child, like every other elf in Silvanesti. Blind and senseless as gnomish clockwork, miming endless prayers to gods who never answered. Serving, little more than living furniture.

Beaten, when he remembered he was a man. He nodded. Raistlin reached up and pulled his head down, guiding him down until his face was buried in soft red robes. Oh, his Raistlin, his lover. He smelled so good, sweet and soft as sinking into a bed of roses. Raistlin stroked his hair. “That’s it. I am here. You are here. One day, I will burn them all to the ground.” His voice trembled with rage.

Dalamar didn’t move until he heard the unicorn’s hooves move away, then he lifted his head, helping Raistlin to sit up. They curled up together with their backs to one of the great trees. “I think we are seeing the same thing.” Dalamar’s voice wavered, felt brittle and hoarse. Raistlin nodded.

They saw the same peaceful, beautiful clearing the others saw, but Dalamar was sure that only they felt the terrible aura of menace that overlaid everything. The huge trees- standing like sentinels around the clearing- might have seemed protective to the others, but Dalamar knew they were those the trees had been tasked to keep away. They were waiting for the slightest excuse to be rid of them.

Raistlin rested his head on Dalamar’s shoulder. His hand held Dalamar’s tight. Mouthing the words, so no one could hear, Raistlin whispered, "Where are we?"

Dalamar looked around carefully to make sure they were alone and couldn't be overheard. Sure enough, the others were too enraptured by the appearance of the Forestmaster to pay them any attention. Dalamar leant close and murmured into Raistlin’s ear, "I haven't the faintest idea."

Raistlin's thin lips twitched into a smile, and he pressed closer. Dalamar took the opportunity to pull the other mage into a tight embrace. Red clad arms slid around him in turn and Dalamar let out a low sigh, letting the stresses and terror of the evening out with his breath. It was little more than an illusion, but somehow, as long as Raistlin was there, he could feel safe. 

Chapter Text

Raistlin held him for a long moment, his hands wandered down his back, and Dalamar hissed as his fingers brushed against the too-real wounds of his beating- it had not all been memory. "What happened to you?"

Dalamar closed his eyes, nuzzled Raistlin’s hair. Here, not there. "It's been a rough evening.”

Raistlin undid the top few ties, and got his hands under Dalamar’s robes. It would have been seductive, anywhere but here. Dalamar closed his eyes as Raistlin’s fingers felt out the swollen weals on his back, light and gentle as butterfly wings. “They beat you?”

“It happened a long time ago.” Dalamar spoke against his skin. “They faded then, they will now.”

He didn’t need to look to know he would see Silvanesti burning in Raistlin’s eyes but, mercifully, he didn’t say anything. They sat together, so physically and emotionally drained that the grass seemed so soft under them. It would be so good to just curl up together and close their eyes and- no, of course not. It was far too dangerous here. Even now, the Forestmaster might decide to send the dead after them again, and even the Staff might not save them this time.

“Rest yourselves,” the Forestmaster’s voice made him flinch, “You are tired and hungry. Food will be brought and fresh water for cleansing. You may put aside your watchfulness and fears for this evening. Safety exists here, if it exists anywhere in this land tonight.”

Food. Gods, when had they last eaten? The trail rations at midday, half a day away.

“Probably more berries anyway-" Caramon grumbled, then broke off when he saw them. His eyes widened at the pair of them, and something dark contorted in his face. “Raist! Are you-“

Raistlin closed his eyes, and turned to rest his head on Dalamar’s shoulder as if even the act of looking at his brother was too much. “What part of ‘go away’ is beyond you, brother?”

“They knew he was bad.” Caramon glanced back at the others, but they were all pretending not to hear, the cowards. “Raist, he was so foul they wouldn’t even let him touch them! He’s evil­-“

“Enough!” Raistlin choked, wiped his mouth. “Lunitari, if you ever say that word again, I’ll put you to sleep and leave you to the draconians.”

Caramon scowled, gritted his teeth. “I was there. I looked after you- he’d have left you if I hadn’t-“

Mercifully, given Raistlin seemed on the verge of attacking him, he didn’t managed to finish. The centaurs had returned, carrying lights, chairs, bowls of water, and Caramon had to shuffle awkwardly out of the way when they spread a large tablecloth out on the grass.

Raistlin closed his eyes and sighed, pulling himself back under control. “What happened?”

Dalamar shrugged. "The centaurs. I wanted to ride with you. They didn't want a foul Dark elf touching them and made that-" He touched the aching bruise across his chest. “Perfectly clear.”

"And you had to walk?" Raistlin was incredulous. Dalamar nodded. "And how precisely did I manage not to fall off?"

“As he said.” Dalamar nodded at Caramon. “He took you, and they wouldn’t let me near you.” He gave a weary smile, “Like those old stories of centaurs, charging into villages and carrying away the most beautiful young people.”

“Idiot.” Raistlin dug his elbow into Dalamar’s side. He was smiling, but he sent Caramon a coldly furious look. It eased the hot, angry knot inside him. Raistlin saw him, and the smile broadened. “Are you jealous?”

Dalamar hesitated, trying to find an argument- but then decided against it. He gave Raistlin a helpless shrug. “I love you. And yet people sometimes behave like he has some- right to you. I hate that.” Raistlin smiled, pleased. “Stop looking so smug. Shall we?” Dalamar indicated the bowls of water the centaurs had left.

Raistlin nodded, he straightened, groped at the bark of the tree behind him, trying to level himself up. Finally, he sighed and took Dalamar’s offered arm. “Fine.” He grumbled. Dalamar pulled him upright and the two made their way over to the bowls.

The water was clear, cold, and energizing. Dalamar splashed his face and it felt almost like waking up. As if the last few hours had been some miserable nightmare; and it had finally ended. He wet his fingers and carded it through his hair, pulling the knots out and composing himself. Raistlin was unwinding the remains of his braids, smiled when he heard Dalamar grumbling. “You can give me more tomorrow.” He dug out a comb from his pack and wet it, working it through his curls. “I give you permission, you can do something- absurdly ornate, so no one doubts who gave them to me.”

Dalamar closed his eyes to better relish the blooming warmth inside him. “Thank you.” I love you.

Raistlin finished at the washbowl, and straightened his robes. He felt a little more alive, but the exhaustion was still a deep, grinding ache inside him. A reminder that he was reaching the limits of his own strength, and no matter how stubborn he was, he couldn’t keep going forever. He allowed Dalamar to help him up, and they walked over to the chairs.

At a glance, Raistlin doubted the chairs would bear even his frail weight. They had only one slender leg, and he would have expected it to snap if he risked it- yet the others were managing. Even Caramon was sitting in one, looking completely absurd. The only one not sitting was Tasslehoff, who was poking and prodding at one of the glowing globes, watching the fireflies inside flutter and dance.

Dalamar risked the chair; it rocked, then seemed to shift around him, cradling him more comfortably. Raistlin took the one next to him, as far from Caramon as he could.

Caramon. This was- well, it had passed laughable some time ago. Now Raistlin was starting to genuinely worry. Caramon’s behavior was growing more and more erratic, and Raistlin wasn’t sure what he could do to get him to stop. He glanced over at Sturm; the knight hated them, but he also wanted to keep Caramon away. Sturm caught him looking and frowned, suspiciously. It was a long shot, but- it might be worth a try.

Dalamar took his hand. “Don’t think about them.”

Raistlin nodded, leaning closer until their shoulders bumped. Just the contact was a relief, a reminder that he wasn’t alone. What would it be like here, if he was? If Dalamar had stayed behind in Langtree, and he was facing draconians with nothing but Caramon’s cloying obsession to protect him, the others probably happy to see him dead-

He turned, found Dalamar’s mouth, and kissed him. Dalamar started in surprise, then relaxed into the kiss, his mouth moving against Raistlin’s. His hands came up, settled on Raistlin’s shoulders, and the world warmed and softened. For a moment, everything was gentle, and tender, and good.

The sound of the centaurs returning broke that sweet illusion. Raistlin pulled away, and Dalamar was smiling, and oh, he looked so tired. Worse than Raistlin felt. “If they let us leave, let us go home. Never come back.” Raistlin whispered.

“And leave Lemuel?” Dalamar murmured. “And- all this?”

Raistlin sighed, and shrugged, no, of course not. But it was nice to dream. To go home, to be around Horkin and Scrounger people who treated them like people.

The centaurs gave them cold glares as they walked over and lifted the tablecloth. Raistlin felt the flicker of magic around it, and it stayed in mid-air. Tasslehoff gaped in delight, “How splendid! How do they do that?” He pushed at the cloth, which didn’t budge, then peered under it. “There’s nothing under there!”

Raistlin ran his fingers other the cloth, felt the familiar prickle of magic. It was their kind of magic, this time. Raistlin wondered who had enchanted it. Had they lived to regret it, when the powers of good had decided mages were acceptable sacrifices?

The centaurs returned, this time carrying platters of food and eating utensils. Raistlin closed his traitorous eyes, and drew in a breath. Spiced meat, fruit, fresh bread. As long as he didn’t open his eyes, his stomach stirred shyly. It had been a long night, and many hours since their last small meal. He felt Dalamar’s hand rest on his questioningly, and Raistlin nodded. He could eat.

The centaurs had continued to refuse to serve Dalamar, and he’d been given neither plate nor cutlery. Dalamar ignored them right back, turning his back on them. Raistlin scowled, and pushed his own plate towards Dalamar. "We'll share.”

Dalamar nodded, and reached over to stab his dagger into one of the platters of meat, dropping several slices of venison on their plate. Raistlin reached for his own knife- but it was gone.

“They took everyone’s weapons.” Dalamar sighed, “They don’t trust us that much, apparently.”

“And they left yours?”

Dalamar smiled, “That reminds me, you need to choose a name for this one.” He offered the dagger to Raistlin.

Touching it, he felt it. The soft whisper of power within the steel, touched by the black moon. “Magic’s Guard.” He tried, “Nuitari’s Blade. Dark Moon’s Shadow.” He smiled at the scowling centaurs, “Light’s Bane.”

“I like them all.” Dalamar took the dagger back, and speared a piece of meat. “I will have to think about it. It deserves the right one.”

Raistlin nodded, he took a little of the bread, closing his eyes and dipping it into a cup of water to make it easier to eat. It was warm and soft, settling comfortably in his stomach. Dalamar pressed a bunch of grapes into his hand, and Raistlin nodded, peeling and eating them. As long as he didn’t have to look, it was a good meal, sweet and filling. He felt a little more revived- and the same time, it was a reminder of just how tired he was.

Around them, the conversation rose, and with his eyes closed, it was easy to pick out details. Caramon and Flint’s boastful story of fighting trolls he ignored. He’d heard it more times than he could count growing up. Tasslehoff peppering Sturm with questions about Solamnia held his interest for a few moments, but again, little he hadn’t already heard from the knight. Goldmoon and Tanis’ conversation was curious, Goldmoon was trying to sound Tanis out if any of the dragon-creatures had been seen within Qualinesti, but was doing it so deftly he doubted Tanis noticed what she was doing.

Dalamar touched his arm in warning, and Riverwind’s voice came very close by- he must be on Dalamar’s other side. “Elf, why does your mate eat like that, with his eyes closed? He is making a shameful mess.”

It was loud enough that the other conversations paused. Raistlin managed not to wince; he’d thought he’d grown better at keeping his food in his plate when eating, but clearly not. “It is not-“

“Anything to do with you.” Dalamar said smoothly, slipping an arm through Raistlin’s. “You say he is mine, Plainsman, then it is my concern, not yours.”

Raistlin opened his eyes, and glared at Dalamar. Dalamar shrugged apologetically, but still looked smug, the brat. Raistlin mouthed a little spell under his breath, and touched icy fingers to the back of Dalamar’s neck. The Dark elf yelped and nearly fell of his chair. “Bastard.”

Raistlin smiled sweetly. Riverwind looked between them, and shook his head. Mages.

“Do you blame me?” Dalamar rubbed the back of his neck. “If our positions were reversed, and I was the one with an obsessed brother trying to stake his claim, wouldn’t you do the same?”

“Of course.” Raistlin smiled, “But I would have to be ready to face the consequences.” He moved in quickly, touched a freezing kiss to Dalamar’s lips, before letting the spell go.

Dalamar touched fingers to his lips and shivered happily. “I will hold you to that promise.” He said huskily.

The meal was ending. The centaurs took the plates away, Tasslehoff trailing after them, trying teach them his trailsong. The Forestmaster was still there, on the edge of the trees. It was a strange and terrible beauty, alien as the missing stars. The dark eyes felt like they could carve straight through Raistlin, and sneered at what they saw in there. If this creature was Good, as she claimed, then Raistlin wondered what that meant. No kindness, that was sure. No gentleness or mercy. Did the Kingpriest have eyes like that? The Gods had clearly missed a spot; they should have sent a second, smaller rock to Abanasinia to finish the job.

He glanced over to check with Dalamar, the Dark elf nodded. “Go on. She knows more than we do, and me should try and get something useless out of this evening. I would speak, but they wouldn’t listen to me.”

He was right, and Raistlin was sorely tempted to demand to know what the Forestmaster treated her guests so foully- but it would be a waste of time. Yes, that was what she reminded him of. The Forestmaster was very like Par-Salian; looking at Raistlin like he was- foul, unworthy, as if Raistlin should be thankful they deigned to torture him-

He shoved the thoughts back, swallowed, and faced the unicorn. "Forestmaster, today we fought loathsome creatures that we have never seen before on Krynn. Can you tell us of these?"

The silence was complete and abrupt. Everyone looked at each other grimly. The Forestmaster didn’t move, that strangely expressive, equine head showed no surprise. Caramon spoke next. "They walk like men, but look like reptiles. They've clawed hands and feet and wings and they turn to stone when they die."

“She knows.” Dalamar leaned forwards. “She’s seen them before. They came here, didn’t they? And you killed them.”

The Forestmaster lowered her head, perhaps in agreement, perhaps to show Dalamar the arrow-sharp spear of her horn. “A few weeks ago. They entered with a party of goblins from Haven. They wore hoods and cloaks, no doubt to disguise their horrible appearance. The centaurs followed them in secret, to make certain they harmed no one before the spectral minions dealt with them."

“And you believed we were members of their army.” Dalamar put in.

Those cold, empty eyes rested on Dalamar. “All creatures of evil who enter Darken Wood are slain, Exile. Do not try my patience.”

Dalamar ground his teeth, Raistlin took his hand. One day, they would come back and burn this place to the ground.

“Please, Forestmaster, go on.” Goldmoon stepped in. “Tell us about these creatures.”

"The centaurs reported that the creatures call themselves 'draconians' and speak of belonging to an 'Order of the Draco.'"

Draco- Dragon, in old Istarian. The five-headed dragon coins, the missing constellation of Takhisis. Dragon-beasts. Dragons, dragons, again and again.

Raistlin took a sip of water, "Draco, but who are they? Of what race or species?"

"I do not know. I can tell you only this: they are not of the animal world, and they belong to none of the races of Krynn."

A new species? “Has this ever happened before?” Raistlin leaned over to Dalamar, whispered half under his breath.

“Not since the Age of Dreams. The Greygem, I think. From that book of Lemuel’s.”

Could that be possible? The Greygem hadn’t been seen for millennia, “Whether or not they have it, the power whoever did this must have-“

“I don’t understand.” Caramon interrupted, leaning over.

"Be silent!” Raistlin snapped. “They are not from this world, can’t you understand that?”

“Even the Graygem races had some kind of- progenitor species.” Dalamar ignored Caramon, resting his chin on his hands. “What were these creatures originally, before they were so- deformed?”

The Forestmaster stared at Dalamar, long and hateful. "I cannot answer that." Her voice was like frost on a windowpane, icy and brittle. "But I can tell you that before the spectral minions put an end to these draconians, they spoke of 'armies in the north.'"

“The campfires.” Tanis stood up, looking panicked. "Armies! Of these Draconians? There must be thousands!"

"Impossible!" That was Sturm.

"Precisely what in the past few days has qualified as 'possible'?" Dalamar snapped, but Raistlin gripped his shoulder, pulled him down.

“Langtree.” He whispered.

Dalamar fell still, and nodded. “How can we get word back?” He whispered. “If we found a ship in New Ports, but-“

But how could they go back now, with so much unanswered? They could send a missive, but Lunitari only knew when it would arrive. There were spells that could carry messages in moments, but neither of them knew them. Raistlin closed his eyes. Horkin, Scrounger, Tumbler and the Baron and all these people, this place that had been their home for five years. They knew a war was coming, but could not imagine just what a threat they would face.

“The Baron is no fool.” Dalamar leaned against him, “He will not be taken by surprise. They will-“ and he couldn’t finish the sentence. He sighed, and shrugged, “I am no optimist, but it will not be the first time they surprise us.”

Raistlin nodded, he- tried to believe Dalamar was right, but it felt frail and pointless. Hope was so useless without action to force it into reality. Like shouting into the wind, trying to turn back the tide.

“Who’s behind this? The Seekers? By the gods,” Caramon got up, “I’ve got a notion to go to Haven and bash-”

“Go to Solamnia, not to Haven,” Sturm broke in.

“We should travel to Qualinost,” Tanis argued. “The elves-”

“Maybe we should go home,” Dalamar scowled, “if these idiots are going to Qualinesti-“

The Forestmaster interrupted the rapidly growing argument, "The elves have their own problems, as do the Highseekers of Haven. No place is safe-”

No, nowhere would be. If these draconians were here, they could be anywhere. Raistlin could only hope- such useless hope- that they would not bother with Blodehelm, or, if they did, that would think Langtree too much of a bother and ignore it. There was nothing they could do.

“-but I will tell you where you must go to find answers to your questions."

“You knew we were coming.” Dalamar said flatly.

"Yes, Exile, I was expecting you. A great and shining being appeared to me in the wilderness this day. He told me that the one bearing the Blue Crystal Staff would come this night to Darken Wood."

And this had been their welcome? Raistlin found Dalamar’s hand, held it tight.

"The spectral minions would let the staff-bearer and her companions pass," the Forestmaster continued. "Though they have let no human or elf or dwarf or kender to enter Darken Wood since the Cataclysm, I was to give the staff-bearer this message: 'You must fly straight away across the Eastwall Mountains. In two days, the staff-bearer must be within Xak Tsaroth. There, if you prove worthy, you shall receive the greatest gift given to the world.'"

“Eastwall Mountains!” Flint stares “We’ll need to fly all right, to reach Xak Tsaroth in two days time. Shining being! Hah!”

Well, he wasn’t wrong. Even their magic couldn’t carry them that fast. Tanis looked around at everyone, Raistlin shrugged, “I’m afraid the dwarf is right, Forestmaster. The journey to Xak Tsaroth would be long and perilous. We would have to go back through lands we know are inhabited by goblins and these draconians.”

“And then we would have to pass through the Plains,” Riverwind lifted his head. “Our lives are forfeit. The Que-shu are fierce fighters and they know the land. They are waiting. We would never get through safely.” He looked at Tanis and Dalamar. “And my people have no love for elves.”

“You said Meggin is with your tribes now,” Raistlin thought it over, “if we were to find her-“ but that still didn’t solve the trouble of crossing the plains in two days.

“The Que-kiri are ancestral enemies of our tribe.” Riverwind shook his head, “They allow her to come and tend the wounded, but will kill her if they believe we are with her.”

“What do you think?” Raistlin looked at Dalamar, “Back to Langtree?”

Dalamar shook his head. “We will not be safe there. And-“ He hesitated, “That first campaign, Raistlin. Ariarkas’ army. They know about Langtree, and know them for enemies. They will strike there before long, and they already know the strength of the Baron’s army.”

Raistlin closed his eyes. Lunitari guard them, he prayed, knowing it was pointless. Who will you drink with, my lady, if Horkin isn’t there? “So we go to Xak Tsaroth-“ he stopped, touched his lips. “Xak Tsaroth.” He repeated.

“Do you know the place?” Dalamar frowned.

“No.” But in that moment, saying the word- it had felt familiar. A word that had once come easily as his own name. He licked his lips, tasted frost. Fistandantilus. The lich- had been there, long ago.

His chest tightened, and he doubled over, clutching at Dalamar’s arm to keep from falling off his chair as the coughs shook him. Oh, he hadn’t been meant to see that. Fistandantilus had slipped, uncertain after the specters’ attack. You have something in Xak Tsaroth, Raistlin screamed inside his head, And no amount of coughing will make me forget that.

And it stopped, suddenly and abrupt as a candle snuffing out. Raistlin straightened, dragging in an unsteady breath. Dalamar rubbed his back, poured him a cup of water, “Can you make your tea?”

Raistlin held up a hand, swallowed against his raw throat. He sipped the water, and washed the taste of blood out of his mouth. “It is fine-“ he broke off, Tanis was walking towards them.

“A word with both of you.” He crossed his arms, frowning.

They looked at each other, “We can talk here.” Raistlin wiped his mouth.

“No, away from the others.”

“Why?” Tasslehoff was half crawling on top of the hovering tablecloth in interest. “Why can’t you discuss it with us?”

“Because we’d probably rip their hearts out,” Sturm snarled. Raistlin blinked, stared. There was pure hatred in the knight’s eyes. “There’s a dark side to your brother, and I’ve seen what it did to you, Caramon. Tanis has seen it. For which I’m grateful. He can deal with it. I can’t.”

“What in the Abyss are you talking about?” So much for finding an ally in Sturm. Raistlin looked between him and Caramon. Sturm was all but trembling with rage; Caramon looked miserable, and humiliated. Something had happened after they’d left.

“Come on.” Tanis took his arm.

Raistlin yanked it away. “No, what are you both talking about? If you are plotting our deaths, you can all go to the Abyss and welcome.”

“Don’t, Sturm.” Caramon said in a low, agonized voice. “Leave it. He’s here now.”

“And he’ll leave again, and then what will happen? It took a year-“

“Don’t-“ Caramon’s face contorted. “Not like this! Not in front of him-“ He sent a look of utter hatred towards Dalamar.

“What happened?” Dalamar got up, eyes narrowed. “After we left. What did you do-“

“Stop!“ Caramon’s hand went to his sword- but of course, it was gone. He clenched his fists. “Gods, Raist-“ That begging, pleading look. He’d seen it far too often.

Raistlin crossed his arms, and Caramon slumped, hands clenching. The moment stretched, and it was a blessed relief when Tanis broke in, “What do you know of Xak Tsaroth?”

“What do you care?” Raistlin snapped. “We will go, you all can run off to Solamnia and Qualinesti and bugger yourselves with your own swords, for all I care.”

That got complete silence. Had they never heard anyone swear before? Then again, they’d been in Solamnia and Qualinesti for the last five years, probably the knights and elves would die of shock after being exposed to Horkin for half an hour. Tasslehoff was giggling uncontrollably.

“Just- tell us.” Tanis looked pained.

“It was an outpost of Istar before the Cataclysm,” Dalamar said at last, “A powerful city, under the sway of the Kingpriest. Perhaps some artifact of that time was left behind.”

“A temple,” Raistlin closed his eyes; it had been an old, old book, a copy of a copy of the memoirs of a very lucky wizard. She’d been captured by the Kingpriest’s forces, and would have been burned, but the Cataclysm came just as she was being tied to the pyre, and she’d bolted as the city fell into panic. “To- Mishakal, I believe. The healing hands. It was destroyed in the Cataclysm and its people fled. It passed from memory. I did not know it still existed.” The memoirs had detailed how the sea had crashed in, swamping the city- but she had never returned, and who was to say the tides had not receded over the centuries?

“A great treasure.” Dalamar murmured, “Hidden in a temple.”

Raistlin gave him a look but- he had a point. The temple in Hope’s End had held claim to a great treasure, although for all of Scrounger and Dalamar’s efforts, they had never found it. Did all temples have such secrets- or had the Hope’s End treasure been moved, centuries ago? Perhaps- here?

“What did you see?” Tanis was looked at him, eyes narrowed. “You looked- far away. What did you see?”

“What are you talking about? What would I-“ Raistlin broke off, Tanis looked uncomfortable. “Would you like that?” He breathed. He looked between Tanis and the others. “Would you all prefer if it was like that? Like our mother, Caramon. Would you like me better like that, mindless and raving-“ He was out of his chair. His limbed trembled and Gods, he was so weak. The anger from all the misery and abuse of that night roiled inside him like a firestorm, fighting for a way out, and he was too useless to give it form-

“He didn’t mean it like that-“ Caramon said weakly. “You’re just smarter than us, Raist. He just wants to know.”

Raistlin drew in a ragged breath through his nose. Dalamar put a hand on his shoulder, and he leaned into his side. Calm, calm. The fire banked, ebbed. Gods, he wanted to be anywhere but here. “They are nothing to us.” Dalamar breathed into his ear. “They are filth, unworthy even to call us master.”

Raistlin nodded, opened his eyes. “You saw the armies, Tanis. What do you think they will do? They are here to conquer. Solace, Haven- perhaps Qualinesti too, and across the sea to Solamnia.” Tanis and Sturm flinched, and that did make him feel a little better. “That is why we must reach Xak Tsaroth. What we will find there will prove this army’s undoing.”

“That is why we are being sent. But who is sending us?” Dalamar murmured.

They were being used, yes. Raistlin closed his eyes, weapons. Had Par-Salian known? Had this- great and shining being visited him too? Take this young mage, twist and break him until he’ll die for this cause. And what guarantee was there that this Forestmaster or her master would be any kinder?

“But why are there armies?” Tanis seemed to be scrambling for any argument to get out of this situation. “What would anyone want with control of Solace and Haven and the Plains to the east? Is it the Seekers?”

Two days. Gods, that was it. He turned to Dalamar, “No, there will be no point in going back to Langtree. In two days, the Baron and Horkin and Scrounger and all of them will be in the same nightmare we are facing. The armies are moving their last forces in place, within two days time, life on Krynn as we have known it will come to an end.”

“The Dark Queen.” Dalamar breathed. “She has come to observe the final motions in person. How far will they reach?” Raistlin shook his head, and Dalamar turned away. “It’s not that far south, from Langtree, a few days’ march. A week, perhaps. Little between an army and the border hedges-” His voice cracked.

Raistlin took his hand. Personally, he could have heard that the armies had burnt Silvanesti to the ground and toasted their services, but Dalamar looked heartsick at the thought.

 “Your advice?” Tanis prompted.

Raistlin sighed, “We will go to Xak Tsaroth. We will leave tonight, but whatever means the Forestmaster may provide, or by our own strength if not. We have two days, or the draconians will find this gift before we will.”

“What do you think this gift will be?” And for once, Tanis spoke for all of them.

Raistlin shook his head. His first thought would be something like the blue crystal staff- but no. It was more than that. Something more than- whatever it was Fistandantilus didn’t want him to find. Not a weapon, but a- spark. Something which in the wrong hands could be snuffed out in an instant, but in the right hands could be fanned to a blaze to consume the world. He tightened his grip on Dalamar’s hand, and tried not to shiver.

Chapter Text

Dalamar dreamed of summer. They had been stationed up in the mountain chain above Vantal, on the border with Blode. A very undemanding assignment that gave them plenty of time to explore the plateaus and valleys. Raistlin added plant after plant to his collections, carefully wrapped up more to send to Lemuel when they returned to Vantal. Dalamar enjoyed the quiet afternoons under the blue, blue sky. The endless fields of wildflowers, the streams and rivers plunging to great waterfalls.

The evenings together, curled up in the dry grasses as the sun set. Breathing in the scents of Raistlin’s hair and the almost hay-like smell of the meadows-

Dalamar sat up. He had rolled onto his back and the pain from the still raw wounds had jerked him awake. Long grasses were waving overhead when he opened his eyes, and the sky above was the pale, washed out blue of dawn, and the memories came back in pieces. Darken Wood. The Dead. The Forestmaster. The strange flight of pegasi and the spell of sleep that coiled around them. It had not touched him, but it hardly had to, he’d been so exhausted he couldn’t have kept his eyes open anyway. He’d put his head down against Raistlin’s back, and-

Woken up here. Dalamar reached out and found Raistlin, still asleep beside him. His face was soft in rest, and for a moment, Dalamar was tempted to just let him sleep, enjoy a few moments of peace before-

He sighed, and gently shook Raistlin’s shoulder. That time had gone, and the two days left were fading fast. Raistlin opened his eyes and smiled sleepily, still lost in whatever gentle dreams he had wandered in that night. Dalamar reached over and kissed him. “We have to move.”

The last shreds of the dream fled and Raistlin sat up quickly. “Yes. We must-“ He looked around. “This is not Xak Tsaroth.”

That was it; that was where they were going. Dalamar got up and shaded his eyes, scanning the horizon. He could just see the mountains making the edge of Solace vale to the east, and to the west, much closer, the Eastwall mountains. “The plains. They took us some of the way at least.” He reached down and helped Raistlin to his feet. They brushed themselves down as best they could; their fine robes were growing somewhat battered by this rough treatment. Dalamar picked up his pack and winced as it settled on his still-raw shoulders. “We can make the rest of the distance in two days.”

“But why did they not take us?” Raistlin frowned, found his pack and lifted up onto his shoulders. “The Forestmaster said-“

“The pegasi didn’t like the idea of carrying me, perhaps they rebelled.” Dalamar spotted Tanis, hunched moodily a few feet away. Around them, the others were also waking. “What is-“

He stopped. Raistlin froze. Oh. That was why. On the horizon, three columns of black smoke were rising. And they had been in enough wars to know the smoke of burning villages. “Que-shu.” Raistlin breathed.

The cry from Riverwind confirmed it. “The armies are on the move.” Dalamar caught Raistlin’s arm. “We may not have two days.”

“No,” Raistlin shook his head. “Remember- the draconian clerics mentioned they had traced the staff to a village in the Plains.”

“My people,” Goldmoon was on her feet, the wretched staff held loosely, drooping to the ground. “My father-”

 “We’d better get going.” Caramon put in.

 “Yes,” Tanis said. “We’ve definitely got to get out of here. But where do we go?”

 “Que-shu,” Goldmoon’s face was a set mask of determination, “It’s on our way. The Eastwall Mountains are just beyond my village.”

Raistlin and Dalamar looked at each other. “As she said, it is on the way.” Dalamar whispered, “And it may help to see what this army is capable of.”

Raistlin nodded, he was pale under the golden sheen, “If we see anything move,” He breathed, “We use our invisibility spells and run for the mountains, have you got yours?”

“You hardly need to ask. I have two, in case I need to hide you as well.” Raistlin smiled.

They joined the group as they set up, walking towards the smoke. Dalamar forced himself to look as they started up a low hill that would give them a better view. It would be bad- but they had seen bad before. Perhaps there might be a few survivors Raistlin could help, and they could get a full story out of. Regardless, they had best eat now, while they still had an appetite.

To his surprise, their pouches and packs were full. Some magic of the Forestmaster’s had refilled their supplies and returned their weapons. Even Raistlin had his knife back. Dalamar found a few strips of dried and cured meat, and handed them to Raistlin, along with a handful of dried fruit, simple food, easy to eat but filling and giving them strength to see- whatever they were going to see.

Then they crested the hill and- oh Nuitari. Oh blessed moons-

He had been warned, hadn’t he? Nuitari had warned him. Behold Her power. He didn’t speak. No one spoke. They walked down into the ruins of the village is utter silence. Dalamar reached for Raistlin and his gripped his hand so tightly it was almost painful. Raistlin’s face was almost expressionless, but Dalamar could see the tension in his jaw, how hard he was clenching his teeth, and Dalamar knew he was thinking of home.

Would Solace look like this? Would Langtree, in a matter of days? Nuitari, if only they had the power to walk the paths of magic and warn them before it was too late-

There was nothing left in the village above knee-height. The buildings had been razed- no, not razed, melted. What magic had done that? Dalamar wondered distantly. What impossible heat had been needed until the very stones had lost shape and run like butter, before solidifying again as blackened crystals. Here and there, he could see the bodies of those who had not been able to get out of the way, and had been engulfed by the molten stone. Their fleshless faces screamed eternally.

And they were not the only ones. Bodies littered the streets, scorched, blackened, and twisted, as if the victims had attempted to flee before being incinerated. The ruins were still smoldering, a tribute to the heat that had been turned on them, even though more than a day had passed since the massacre. This was not simply a massacre, Dalamar realised. This was an example. Someone wanted them to see this. “They were expecting someone would come back.” He said to no one.

Raistlin didn’t answer. He was staring at one of the half-molten walls. A charred corpse was lying against the wall, a small dog chewing at it, trying to find some meat that hadn't been carbonised. The stones were too hot to touch or even to approach too closely, and looked like shapeless blobs, melted by some unknown but tremendous heat. “Are these my eyes?” He whispered, “Or yours?”

Dalamar grimaced, and pulled him close. “We cannot stay here. Look.”

A crude gibbet hung just ahead, the only structure left of any size. From the blackened wood hung three chains, and on the end of these there were three bodies. The corpses of three hobgoblins, their eyes picked out by carrion crows, stared blankly out over the devastation. Above them, nailed to the wood, hung a shield. Words were carved on its dented surface:

This is what happens to those who take prisoners without my commands. Kill or be killed. Verminaad.

Verminaad. Dalamar tried to fix the name more securely into his mind. There was so much in there right now; it was in danger of getting lost. “We need to move.” Definitely a warning. Gods, is this what they would see in Langtree? The castle, the village gone, their friends blackened corpses?

Raistlin shuddered wretchedly. “We can do nothing.” And Dalamar didn’t know if he was talking about this place, or their home. Nuitari guard them; warn them of the terrors they face. Nuitari made no promises, but he hoped He would be able to deliver this much. Horkin, Scrounger- they were not Nuitari’s, but they were mages. He hoped that would be enough.

No one was paying the gibbet, or the two of them, any attention. Flint was consoling the kender, who was sobbing in a corner. Sturm was kneeling over a dead body, whispering prayers to Paladine. Tanis was staring at one of the ruined houses, too horror-struck to speak. Riverwind too was staring around, clearly not seeing anything, while Goldmoon was running through the village, vainly trying to find any who might have escaped, calling out and being answered only by echoes.

“Draconians.” Raistlin breathed. He pointed at little piles of dust and arrowheads. “The plainsmen fought.”

“They should have run.” Dalamar closed his eyes. Run Scrounger, you are quick and clever; you know when a battle cannot be won. Save Horkin, the stubborn old bastard. You are the only one who can. Keep him alive until we can reach you.

Raistlin nodded, walked over to the shell-shocked Tanis and shook him. "We must leave. There is nothing here and we must reach Xak Tsaroth. Then we may have our revenge."

Tanis didn’t seem to be able to look at any of them; he started walking slowly towards the mountains. One by one, the others followed.

They walked like the dead themselves, blind and senseless, for hours. Raistlin didn’t come back to himself until late in the afternoon. He blinked, and suddenly registered the great jutting crags of the Eastwall mountains ahead of them. Gods, how had they come so far? It seemed like only a heartbeat ago they had been in Que-Shu; but his body was heavy with exhaustion from the walk, his throat sore from a coughing fit he couldn’t remember.

“Dalamar.” He turned, and found the Dark elf walking silently, his head down. He caught his arm, and gently pulled at his sleeve. Dalamar turned, and for a moment it was as if he didn’t know Raistlin, he was lost so far down in his own dark thoughts. Then he blinked, and knew him and closed the space between them with a low moan, and they were in each other’s arms.

And it was good. A single, lone spark of light in an endlessly dark sea. It might be just the illusion of comfort, but it was real in this moment. And it would be there for the next one, and the next, and perhaps the next after that. And perhaps, in time, they could use this spark to light their own fire, and guide their way back to dawn. “Oh, thank you.” Dalamar breathed. “I love you. I was seeing-“

“I know.” Home. Langtree, and Solace, and maybe Silvanesti too. Would they all meet the same fate? “I am here. We have each other.”

Dalamar nodded, and kissed him. Raistlin allowed themselves one more blessed moment of comfort, of love burning between them, and let go. “We have to reach the mountains before dark.” He took Dalamar’s arm and pulled him close. “Can you make it?”

“I should be asking you that.” Dalamar gave him a weary smile. “Let’s see how far we can get.”

The sun was fully set before the others finally stopped walking. Most of them just collapsed in mid-step, curling up together in the little valley between the first peaks. The two plainsmen were in a huddle beside a smell tree, speaking in their own language and choking on their tears. Tasslehoff was trying to start a fire, but was crying so hard kept putting out any spark from the tinderbox. In the end, Flint managed get the fire going; and the kender latched onto him, sobbing into his shoulder.

It was a mark of how bad things were that the dwarf only muttered a half hearted “My armor’s gonna rust,” and didn’t even push Tasslehoff away.

Dalamar sat down beside the fire, and pulled Raistlin against him. Raistlin closed his eyes, rested his head on his chest. “We cannot go back to Solace.” He whispered miserably. “They will know the staff was taken there. The people of Solace know it is real- they all saw the healing. If the armies did this to a village who thought it was a fraud-“

He couldn’t continue. His throat closed. Home. Every home they had ever known was in danger of flying to ashes around them. He racked his mind for any- way out, any other option, but all was darkness around them. He pressed close, held Dalamar and was held in turn. A spark between them, so frail.

“Can we-“ he started, and trailed off, uncertain.

“Can we what?” Dalamar’s lips brushed his ear.

He wasn’t going to be able to guess this time. Raistlin grimaced and forced the words out. “Can we- be together? Have- sex?”

Dalamar hesitated. “Here?”

Lunitari, as if it wasn’t difficult enough already. “I need- I can’t think like this. I need you- inside me. Nothing clears my mind so well. If you- fuck me, and we- orgasm, we might be able to consider this situation more clearly. Can you-“ he couldn’t continue, his face was burning almost painfully.

Dalamar looked at him, smiling helplessly and oh, there was so much joy and love there. “That is probably the longest I’ve ever heard you speak about sex.” He stroked Raistlin’s cheek. “Just to clear our heads, hmm?”

“It works.” Raistlin stiffened defensively, “Yes, I would very much like the comfort as well, but we also need to be able to think, and it’s the best means-“ Dalamar kissed him to shut him up.

“Of course we can.” Dalamar breathed. He glanced around, “I think we might be able to get a little privacy behind those rocks.” He helped Raistlin up.

“Where are you going?” Sturm glowered at them as they stepped outside the circle of firelight.

“This was a hideous day, and we’re going to have sex over there.” Dalamar pointed. “Don’t bother us.”

Sturm grimaced, and turned his back on them. Caramon growled something incoherent, hand gripping his sword. Flint snorted and shifted closer to the fire, Tasslehoff slumped against his back and snuffling in his sleep. Riverwind and Goldmoon stared at them.

“After everything we’ve seen- my home-“ Goldmoon was pale and shivering in the firelight, “You can still think of such things?”

“I would suggest you do the same.” Raistlin leaned against Dalamar. “It helps. You will feel better afterwards.”

Goldmoon looked away, Riverwind took her hand and they curled up against each other. Hopefully they’d give it a go; they both clearly needed a release after the horrors of the day. They turned away and ducked behind a cluster of boulders. The grass between the rocks was soft and after kicking away a few smaller pebbles, Raistlin lay on his back, looking up into the sky. The clouds were heavy overhead, hiding the holes among the stars. Raistlin closed his eyes and sighed happily as Dalamar stroked a hand over his chest.

He opened his eyes, and saw Dalamar on his side beside him. He was smiling down at him, “I’ll need a moment.” He opened Raistlin’s robes, ran a hand over his bare skin. “Today was not exactly- inspiring for such things.”

Raistlin nodded, and shifted down a bit. He undid Dalamar’s sash, then opened his robes. “What? Are you really- ah!”

Raistlin reached in and cupped Dalamar’s cock. It was quite soft but deliciously warm, and it was a pleasure to lift the head to his lips and take it into his mouth.

“You are- quite wonderfully determined.” Dalamar was half laughing, winding his hands into Raistlin’s hair. “I- ah, yes. I think that will be- very effective. Nuitari, I love you.”

He was hardening nicely in Raistlin’s mouth, filling him, the tip nudging the back of his throat. The taste was no more pleasant than every other time they’d done this, but after five years of daily coughing fits, whatever gag reflex he’d had was long gone, and it was easy to lean in and swallow him down all the way.

Dalamar hummed and arched his back, one leg hooking around Raistlin’s shoulder, rocking into him. “That- really is good. Oh, you do have the best ideas. Do that again-” after Raistlin swallowed around him, his throat flexing over his cock.

Instead, Raistlin drew back, giving Dalamar’ now very firm cock a last lick and kiss and sat back on his elbows. “I believe I asked for something specific.”

“Bastard.” Dalamar wrapped a hand around himself, grinning. “What was it you wanted? I might have forgotten after that.”

Raistlin narrowed his eyes, and smiled. “I said I want you to fuck me.” Dropping his voice to that lower, commanding timber than Dalamar loved.

It didn’t fail. Dalamar shivered happily. “Go on then.” He reached into his pack, and found the little flask of oil. “Let me watch you get yourself ready. Give me something worth seeing after today.”

Raistlin lifted the skirt of his robes, and pulled off his underclothes. The oil was cool in his hand and he waited a moment to let it warm before coating his fingers in it. Then he reached down, and started working his fingers into himself. Dalamar made a low, guttural sound as first one finger went in, then two. And just that, just by itself already felt good. His cock perked up and lifted against the tangled bunch of his robes, and Raistlin yanked the cloth higher impatiently, freeing it.

“Lovely.” Dalamar breathed, and leaned down to suck him. Up, then down, a teasing lick at the head that made Raistlin shudder and twitch, then he let him go, and settled between Raistlin’s legs. Raistlin pulled his fingers out and lifted his hips, Dalamar leaning over him, his cock sliding into him smooth and easy as a kiss.

There. There it was. Raistlin closed his eyes and dropped back on the ground. Oh, that was what he needed. Dalamar hot and burning inside him, the hard, forceful thrusts pinning him here, now, his traitorous mind forced to exist in nothing but this moment. No past, no future, nothing but this delicious, endless now. “Oh, that’s wonderful.” Raistlin pulled Dalamar’s head down for a ragged kiss. “Harder. I want nothing to exist in this world but you.”

Dalamar bit the side of his neck, sinking his teeth in hungrily, and that was perfection. For a moment, there was nothing but this, their bodies, moving in familiar unison. Dalamar pushing inside him, harder and harder, Raistlin rising to meet every thrust. And then Dalamar got the angle just right and he was hitting that sweet, perfect place inside Raistlin that made spark burst behind his eyes and he couldn’t have thought of anything even if he’d wanted to, mind swamped in pleasure, all the fear and anger and pain drowned in bliss. This. Nothing but this. Let it last forever.

It couldn’t, of course. Dalamar released the swollen lovebite he’d been working on and came with a low, shuddering groan. Hot and wet and slick and marking Raistlin from inside. Raistlin reached down and found his aching cock, stroked himself twice and came at once, across their robes and stomachs.

Dalamar pulled out gently, and settled down beside Raistlin, brushing sweaty hair out of his face. “How was that? Did my performance satisfy-”

Raistlin forced himself to sit up, and kissed Dalamar firmly, cutting off any more words. “You were wonderful. “ He whispered, “As you know perfectly well.”

“Hmm.” Dalamar nuzzled him, pulling Raistlin closer until they were curled up side by side. “And did it work? Are you feeling better?”

“A lot.” Everything seemed- so much clearer, the clouds of dread and terror banished. He could look at the coming threats with calm evaluation. They would just have to trust Scrounger and Horkin would make it out alive. How many times had Horkin told them how he had survived every other mage who had come to the army? If anyone could weather the storm, it was them. Solace was in a key strategic position, vital for any army’s supply lines. Would this army really kill everyone in the town and raze it, forcing them to spend valuable resources to built and man a new settlement there, just to cover up the loss of the staff? He would have to hope the army was run by cooler heads than his Verminaad.

No, all they needed to worry about was themselves. There was more than enough to be concerned about right here without distracting themselves with more terrors. And any distraction might end up being fatal against such enemies.

Raistlin opened his eyes, and met Dalamar’s. “It helps, doesn’t it?”

“Trust you to find more uses for sex.” Dalamar kissed him, “Yes, it does. You are an excellent healer; you know exactly what to prescribe.”

“Are you two quite finished?” Flint snapped from the campfire.

Chapter Text

Raistlin had been wise in more than one way; the evening’s sex also wearied them enough to make it easy to sleep that night. The horrors of the day were waiting in the darkness, but every time they drove Dalamar out of his nightmares and back to the waking world, Raistlin was there, warm and curled up in his arms. Once, they woke up at the same time, shared sleepy smiles and warm kisses of comfort, and steeled themselves to dream again.

The pre-dawn was dull and drizzling. Raistlin was already awake, stirring up the damp embers of the fire and trying to warm his tea, coughing hoarsely. Dalamar sat up and started packing their bedroll away, carefully checking the wards on it. Those of softness and warmth were still good, but those against damp were starting to wear away. They’d have to spend an evening re-doing them.

Raistlin sipped his tea as Dalamar came to join him. He dug a small pan from their packs, and started breakfast. The Forestmaster had given them a good supply of oats and dried fruit, and the smell of sweet porridge made his stomach stir. Raistlin closed his eyes and breathed in, “That does smell good.” He murmured.

The others were waking- those who had slept. Goldmoon and Riverwind didn’t seem to have taken their advice, she was sleeping restlessly, he exhausted and grim, keeping watch. He glanced over at them, and gave them a weary nod. Dalamar proffered the pot, raising his eyebrows in question.

Riverwind looked back at Goldmoon, then nodded. He walked heavily over to them, and dug a small bowl out of his own pack. “Thank you.” He grunted as Dalamar spooned a share of the porridge into it.

Dalamar nodded, and served Raistlin. Raistlin sighed, setting down his mug and closing his eyes to eat. “Is it some kind of curse, that makes you eat like this?” Riverwind asked softly.

“Something like that.” Raistlin ate slowly, “We have made a few enemies, Dalamar has been luckier than I have been.”

“So far.” Dalamar stroked his shoulder.

Raistlin shivered, “I’m afraid that will have to wait.” He set his bowl aside, the food half finished. “I don’t think we can spare the time to get to the Tower just yet.”

“Don’t sound too relieved.” Dalamar smiled. “But I hope the Conclave will understand a war got in the way.”

They sat in silence for a long moment. “Do you know where we are?” Dalamar asked Riverwind at last.

He nodded, turning to look along the trail, “We call in the East Sageway. I did not follow it far, but it will take us through the mountains, I do not know if it will take us to Xak Tsaroth.”

“We are not far.” Raistlin closed his eyes. “Twenty, maybe thirty miles, but the land may be difficult to traverse. The Cataclysm was not kind here.”

“You know this place?” Riverwind frowned, before Dalamar could ask.

“I have heard tales of it.” Raistlin sipped his tea, “You know more about it than us.”

Riverwind turned away, and shook his head. “I remember little.” He said shortly. “And I said what I remember. But you are right, we are not far. I can only hope what I recall was the product of my fever, not-“

A cry from Tanis interrupted him. Riverwind groaned and got up to wake the Half elf before he brought attention on them. Tanis groaned and rolled over, mercifully falling silent. His cries woke Goldmoon, and she sat up reaching out to check her staff was still there. It seemed so innocuous like this, plain wood with a few feathers and beads tied to it.

“How precious it has become,” Raistlin said softly. “Now that it has been purchased by the blood of innocents.”

Goldmoon heard them, Dalamar edged away from the staff. “Is it worth it? Is it worth the lives of my people?” She looked down at it miserably.

“If it isn’t, then your people will have died for nothing.” Dalamar offered her a bowl of porridge.

She turned away, paling. Dalamar winced, that was brutal, even for him. He shook his head. “I am tired and cold, and spoke cruelly.”

She sighed, and took the bowl. She looked down miserably down into the oatmeal. "But you are right. They are dead because of this. How could it be worth it?”

No one could answer her.

They must have gone further into the mountains than they’d realised, that or they’d found an unusually short pass, because they had barely been on the road an hour before the ground around them grew damper and more marshy, the mountains left behind in favour of a low, swampy forest. An hour later, and the path faded to a trail, then to an animal path, and finally was lost completely into what was becoming a thick and impassable marsh.

Flint didn't notice the abrupt end, and walked off the edge and into a pool of deathmire. It took both Caramon and Sturm to pull him out again.

"We can't walk through this!" Tanis despaired. "Maybe we should turn back."

“We have no time!” Gods no. Raistlin gritted his teeth, a day, less now. He could feel the time trickling away between their fingers. And- once again, he could feel Fistandantilus. Something was drawing out a memory. Something in Xak Tsaroth. Raistlin hesitated, then pushed, just a little. His throat tightened, his lungs spasmed-

A flicker, memories that were not his. A city of beauty, of white marble chased with gold. The lich’s foul presence like a drop of poison in a feast. A laboratory, in the shadows the city that would not acknowledge that they existed-

“And there is no other way.” Riverwind’s voice cut through his trance, dragging him back to the world- and into a coughing fit. Raistlin closed his eyes, bracing himself on a tree as the coughs shook him. Dalamar steadied him. “And we can get through- I know a path.”

“What?” Tanis frowned, “I thought you said-”

“I’ve been here,” When Raistlin wiped his mouth and looked up, Riverwind was ashen. “I can’t remember when, but I’ve been here. I know the way through the swamp. And it leads to-“

“Leads to a broken city of evil?” Tanis finished.

“Xak Tsaroth!” Raistlin choked, groping for his flask of tea and forcing down a mouthful. The pain faded, and he had it. Fistandantilus had left something there, something he had been forced to leave behind in the Cataclysm. Something he did not want Raistlin to know about.

“We must go now!” He forced the words out. “We must be there by midnight tonight.” The army would tear the city apart to find this treasure, and Fistandantilus feared they would find his treasure too.

Dalamar was frowning at Raistlin, just a little. As Riverwind led the way into the swamp, Dalamar leaned closer so he could whisper soft enough for no one else to hear. “What is it?”

Oh, Lunitari no. What could he say? The moment he spoke, Fistandantilus would know. He looked up and met Dalamar’s eyes. “Remember when we first met?” he murmured, almost under his breath. “I was amazed at how well you could read me, even when I didn’t need to say a word.”

Dalamar blinked, what-

Please, even inside his head, the thought was a whisper. Look. Read me. I would speak if I could, but I cannot. Please, trust me.

It was a lot to ask from anyone, let alone Dalamar, for whom trust came still with such difficulty. Dalamar’s frowned deepened. “What is it?” He repeated, even more softly.

Raistlin shook his head just a little. He tried to find that dark, cold place inside his head where Fistandantilus lurked, and tried to- wall that part of himself off. It felt frail and delicate as paper, but it might hold, just for a few moments. “Please. I cannot.”

The frown turned to real fear, “Raistlin-“

Fistandantilus was noticing, probing the attempt at the wall. Raistlin shook his head, and turned away- just in time for Fistandantilus to rip down the barrier, and his lungs closed and clogged, leaving him staggering and coughing.

Dalamar held him up as the fit racked him, rubbing his back. He was still alarmed, still not understanding- how could he?- but did not say anything. Thank you. Raistlin managed to draw in a thin breath, and pressed against Dalamar gratefully. Dalamar’s face softened, and gently pulled him in. Raistlin closed his eyes, and let this fill his mind. Nothing but the gentle tenderness, the love that nearly seven years had only deepened. Fistandantilus faded into the back of his mind with a sneer, satisfied that Raistlin was only trying to defend himself and wasn’t prying to find the-

There.

A single fragment of memory, of a blue bound spellbook. Raistlin turned his face up to Dalamar and smiled. Dalamar blinked, stroked his cheek, and wiped the blood off his lips. “You will tell me? He breathed.

Raistlin checked Fistandantilus wasn’t looking, and gave a very short nod.

Raistlin seemed to be feeling better once they got out of the marsh. He was moving more easily, leaning on his staff a little more heavily than usual, but his breathing was steady and even. He glanced back at Dalamar as they finally headed out of the murk and onto a small island, and gave a small smile.

He had something planned. Normally, Dalamar would happily leave it to him, and enjoy the reveal when it came. Raistlin was at his heart a showman, and there was nothing he liked more than amazing them all with a feat of magic or sleight of hand or brilliance. But this felt- different. This was not something Raistlin wanted to keep secret, it was something he was being forced to keep secret.

It had to be about his Test. Something in Xak Tsaroth was connected with his Test, and he desperately wanted to tell Dalamar and- couldn’t.

The silence around what had caused his cough was bad enough, but now this secret was starting to gnaw at other parts of their lives. And with Dalamar’s own Test and any chance of the truth being revealed now seeming even further away than ever, was this secret even worth keeping any more? Dalamar already knew so much, what would a few more details matter?

“Now what?” Caramon broke into his thoughts, they were all looking around, trying to see where to go next.

 “This.” Riverwind said, and pointed into the thickest part of the trees surrounding them. Dalamar saw it then, a little rope bridge strung above the water. It was unlike the bridges in Solace, being strung not between the thickest branches, but spreading the weight throughout the trees, in a complex knot like a spiderweb. Those walking on it would not disturb the trees, the moss had been encouraged to grow all over it, hiding it further. This was built by people who wanted to move as silently as possible.

 “Who built it?” Tanis asked.

 “I don’t know,” Riverwind shook his head. “But you will find them all along the path, wherever it becomes impassable.”

 “I told you Xak Tsaroth would not remain abandoned,” Raistlin whispered, frowning thoughtfully.

“Draconians?” Dalamar murmured.

“I think not. Look at how the trees have grown around the ropes; these have been here for years. I think we would have noticed draconians when we were in Solace.”

He was right. “Not draconians, probably not plainsmen if Riverwind and Goldmoon don’t know.” Dalamar worked it out under his breath. “No dwarves would live here, and the work is too carefully done for kender, but not intricate enough for elves. A race of cautious, practical creatures- fairly small given how narrow the bridge is.”

“And unlikely to be a danger.” Raistlin stepped on the bridge, his slight weight so distributed that even the smallest twigs didn’t stir. “Not them, at least.” He pointed to marks on the moss. “Like at Lemuels.”

The same clawmarks, dug into the wood of the bridge, fraying the rope handrail. “Draconians.”

Raistlin nodded grimly.

Despite the signs of their presence, the draconians didn’t seem around. Although Dalamar often stopped and tried to turn out the others and strained for any sound, any tiny movement- nothing bigger than a mirebird was near them. They stopped briefly at midday, and Dalamar had to force himself to eat, the smell of the swamp killing his appetite. Raistlin picked at the trail nuts and dried fruit, more interested in making walnuts dance between his knuckles than eating them. “Come on.” Dalamar nudged him.

Raistlin sighed, and forced down a little mouthful of nuts. He juggled a dried cherry from hand to hand, then threw it at Dalamar. Dalamar traced the arc, shifted over a little, and opened his mouth. It landed it neatly, and he chewed happily. Sweet and tart and lovely, a piece of the vanishing summer. Raistlin grinned. Nuitari, Dalamar loved him.

Goldmoon looked at them, then back at Riverwind. Dalamar met the Plainsman’s eyes and nodded, go on. But he turned away and sighed. Idiots. Dalamar shook his head. Imagine going through so much pain, with the chance to share it with one who wanted nothing but to help- and still refusing.

Like Raistlin was? Dalamar sighed, and it was his turn to look away. Raistlin had his reasons. He had to believe that. For all he couldn’t imagine them, he had to trust him. “Come on.” Dalamar got up, and held out a hand to help Raistlin to his feet. “How are you feeling?” Softer.

“Good.” Raistlin nodded. “I can keep going. I must, we have to reach to Xak Tsaroth.”

He should not have tempted fate. The air grew heavy and dull, and Raistlin struggled to get air in. He’d managed to stave off any more coughing fits, but it was only a matter of time, and he was running out of tea. There would be no clean water here for more.

There was a burst of laughter, and he was shoved aside. Raistlin staggered, and Flint barged past him, grinning as the mage had to cling to the handrail to keep from being thrown into the swamp. Lunitari, what was wrong with them? Tasslehoff followed, and at least gave Raistlin an apologetic look. “Come on Flint, my turn.”

“You’ve had enough.” Flint slurred, and oh no, there was flask of Otik’s best brandy in his hand. Please no. They had too much trouble already. He caught up with Dalamar and the two of them shared helpless looks.

“They’ll be fine.” Tanis sighed, coming up behind them. “At least it stopped the dwarf’s grouching.”

“This was your idea?” Raistlin gaped at him, appalled. “We’re going to Riverwind’s city of horrors and you thought the dwarf should be drunk?”

“Oh, shut up.” Tanis rolled his eyes, and stormed past too.

Oh Lunitari, what was this? Had they always been this idiotic, or had they all spent the last five years being hit over the head with heavy objects? Raistlin wished desperately Horkin was here, or Scrounger. Hells, even that bastard Nemiss would be welcome. People who understood danger and battle, and knew how to behave in enemy territory. Someone would hear the dwarf, prepare an ambush, and they were all going to die horribly.

Dalamar was glancing around them, he was preparing for everything to go badly and trying to find an escape route- but there wasn’t one. The Dark elf’s mouth pulled in dismay, hands dragging at his robes nervously, he felt trapped, and he wasn’t wrong. Raistlin took his hand. Together.

Dalamar sighed, nodded, and gave him a little smile. Raistlin could see the worry in his eyes still, but he seemed to be willing to leave it in Raistlin’s hands. Trusting him. Thank you. Raistlin smiled, if everything went well, he would be able to repay that trust with a certain spellbook. Spells and power that might be the difference between life and death, that might hold enough of Fistandantilus’ secrets to finally free Raistlin.

They moved out of the spider bridges, and onto an immense bridge made from a long-fallen ironclaw tree, so old the wood had almost petrified. Flint and Tasslehoff were ahead, and- oh for the love of Lunitari- the dwarf was starting to sing.

“That’s it.” Dalamar growled. He patted Raistlin’s hand. “I’ll be right back.”

He stormed out on the bridge and reached out to drag the dwarf and kender back to the group- and suddenly, impossibly, they were surrounded. One moment, it was just the three of them on the bridge, the next, a good dozen draconians had appeared.

Tasslehoff reacted first. “Tanis! Ambush!” And caught the lead draconian a blow on the side of the head. It staggered and fell off the log.

Dalamar leaped back, on hand going to his spell components, Raistlin hissed and lifted his hands to cast- and then everything went black. “Magic!” Raistlin lifted his staff instead. “These are magic users! Stand aside, you cannot fight them.”

There was a cry from somewhere in front, Tasslehoff’s. Then first one splash, then another- louder one- or was it two, almost together? Please, Raistlin gritted his teeth, let Dalamar have jumped rather than be surrounded by magic using draconians. “Shirak-“

The light flared, dispelling the darkness for a heartbeat- just long enough for the sleek scaled, golden draconian to take aim and throw something at him.

Raistlin turned and took the thing on his shoulder. It struck with a sharp sting- then a deeper, terrible burn. Raistlin groped desperately up his arm, and found something small and sharp. He pulled it out and- oh no.

The dart was small, but the shaft was slick with poison. Raistlin could feel the burning race along his arm, his hand numbed, the staff falling from suddenly nerveless fingers. The light went out, but it barely mattered, darkness was falling in Raistlin’s eyes. He tried to find his herb pouch, something that could stave off the paralysis before it could spread-

Somewhere, very far away, he thought he heard someone calling his name. But he didn’t know if it was Dalamar or Caramon.

Chapter Text

Dalamar came up with a gasp. The water was freezing, and his waterlogged robes were threatening to drag him down. He kicked his legs furiously, trying to keep his head above water.

A hand grabbed the back of his collar, and he gave a strangled cry- but it was just the dwarf. He was still clinging to Dalamar after having dragged him off the log, eyes wide in panic. “Let- me- go-“ Dalamar gritted out, trying to free himself.

Flint didn’t seem to hear him, clinging to his back like a leech with one hand, the other flailing around in an attempt to- beat the water into submission? Dalamar didn’t know, and- after the dwarf caught him a hard blow on the jaw and sent him back under- didn’t care. Dalamar found his dagger, and hit Flint hard in the temple with the butt of it. The dwarf’s eyes rolled back and his stranglehold on Dalamar finally loosened.

Dalamar was momentarily tempted to just let the dwarf go under, but the others were being attacked, they needed everyone they had. Dalamar growled and got Flint around the neck, dragging him back to the shoreline.

Tasslehoff was already there, dripping wet under a patch of ferns. He saw them and waved them over, one finger to his lips. “Shh.”

The sound of the fight was gone, the tree bridge eerily silent under a great ball of darkness. Along the edges, Dalamar could see draconians getting ropes ready.

Stop. Dalamar snarled at the howling, terrified part of himself. Look. They’re taking them prisoner. They’re alive. Shut up and think. He shifted forwards, trying to get a better view, but a twig snapped under his foot and Tasslehoff grabbed him, shaking his head furiously. Dalamar clenched his fists, and forced himself still.

The darkness blinked out, and oh, there was Raistlin. He was unconscious, under a tangle of enchanted webbing, but he was breathing. Unsteady and ragged, but breathing. Dalamar felt the screaming terror inside him fade a little. The draconians didn’t bother tying Raistlin up, just dragging him away webs and all.

He’s okay. Dalamar closed his eyes a moment, dragging in a breath. Alive. He was alive. Now it would be up to Dalamar to get him out of this mess. It wouldn’t be the first time. Dalamar looked at Tasslehoff, and the kender nodded, giving him a small smile. “They’re okay.” He hissed. “We’ll get them out.”

There was a flash of blue as one of the draconians tried to pick up the blue crystal staff. It spat and swore, then wrapped the staff in a blanket to carry it. Slowly, the little convoy set off. The others all seemed to be asleep; had the gold draconian had cast that spell too?

Nuitari, Dalamar shook his head. How could this be? Was this creature some kind of renegade? The magic felt- strange, and alien, but didn't have the stagnant taste he’d felt around Judith, all those years ago. Wherever this creature was drawing its magic from, it was a source Dalamar had never encountered. His stomach kicked in revulsion. How dare this things draw on the magic? How dare they touch Raistlin?

Flint groaned, rolling over and sitting up. “What-“

“Shut up.” Dalamar covered his mouth before he could make any more noise. “They are right there.”

The dwarf looked up, and his eyes widened, the draconians were passing only a few feet away. He nodded, and closed his mouth tight. Dalamar waited until the draconians were out of sight, and got up. “Come on.”

“What happened?” Flint shook his head, a lump the size of a pigeon’s egg was coming up where Dalamar had hit him.

“You fell off the log.” Dalamar snapped, “And dragged us with you. Now get moving before we lose them.” Tasslehoff was already on the path, creeping after the draconians.

Flint touched the bump on his head and grimaced with the pain. “How?” He growled suspiciously.

“Like he said, you hit your head.” Tasslehoff put in, “Can you walk?”

“Of course I can- walk.” Flint got up, and almost fell over again. He turned faintly green. “Where is everyone?”

“The draconians took them.” Dalamar joined Tasslehoff on the path. “We need to go now.”

“All of them?” Flint’s eyes narrowed, as if suspecting Dalamar of- something. “Just like that?”

Dalamar’s hand clenched on his dagger, tempted to knock the dwarf out again and leave him. “Yes, just like that. Now move.”

“They were magic-users-“ Tasslehoff started.

“And so am I,” Dalamar snarled. “And we are following them.”

“Right, yeah.” Flint stumbled onto the path, then touched his head again, groping frantically. “Where’s my helm?”

“At the bottom of the swamp.” Dalamar yanked him forwards, starting down the path. His pack was mercifully still there. He hoped the waterproofing wards had held.

“My axe!” The dwarf’s eyes went wide, looking around desperately.

Dalamar snarled wordlessly, and shoved him again. “Move!”

“And do what?” Flint glared at him.

“At least we’re alive,” Tasslehoff piped up, “Now we’ve got to rescue the others.”

“And how do you propose to do that without any weapons except a stick knife, and few magic tricks, and that overgrown slingshot?” Flint was still scowling, but was moving on his own now.

 “We’ll think of something,” But even Tasslehoff didn’t look too certain. He patted Dalamar’s arm. “We’ll get them back.”

Dalamar nodded, forcing himself to stay calm, focus. Tasslehoff pointed out the draconian tracks, and they started following them. Gods, there were far too many of them. And what if this Verminaad was there? If this creature had been happy to butcher those who took prisoners, what would it do to the captives?

Dalamar looked up at the slivers of the night sky between the trees, and was rewarded by Nuitari’s gleam high above. “Guard him, Dark Son, watch over him. Let him know I’m coming.” He breathed, then turned, and spotted the distant red glow of Lunitari. “Veiled Lady, I am not yours, but Raistlin is. Throw your illusions over him, cloak him from these threats.”

“If you don’t shut up you’ll get them all on us.” Flint was pale, “There’s a whole damn army up there! What do you think praying to the bloody moons is supposed to do?”

Tasslehoff quickly jumped in before Dalamar had time to say what he thought of that, “That’s good! The more of them there are of them, the harder it’ll be to see us! And Dalamar, if you could ask the moons to just- duck down behind a mountain or something, or maybe some clouds, just to make it is a bit more difficult for them-“

As if in answer to the kender’s suggestion, the path grew that little darker. Dalamar looked up, and saw threads of stormclouds starting to cover the moons. Lunitari peeked cheekily once more from between the clouds, as if winking, and vanished. Dalamar looked down at Tasslehoff, who blinked in amazement. “Come on,” Dalamar hurried onwards, “We have no time to lose.”

They heard the camp before they saw it. The draconians were roaring drunk, singing in harsh voices, and falling into fights. They were celebrating. Please Nuitari let it be over taking captives and not what they were going to do to their captives. At least if they were going to eat them, they’d start with Sturm or Caramon, Raistlin would be far too skinny to be their first choice-

Dalamar was almost running by the time they reach the edge of the clearing, and only stopped because Flint grabbed the back of his robes and yanked him back into the shadows of a bush. “Stop!” The dwarf was staring in horror, “Look!”

Dalamar looked, and oh Nuitari, he was very very glad he was already sitting down.

“Great Reorx.” Flint breathed, “A dragon!”

And perhaps some part of Dalamar had been expecting this all along. All those tales of dragons, the coins, the missing constellation of the Dark Queen- was it all leading to this? The huge, hulking form of the beast coiled inside a half collapsed ruin. Its head resting on a pile of rubble, watching lazily as the draconians kneeled in front of it, offering it the staff.

Oh Nuitari, what were they going to do now? Throw the dwarf at it and try and get to Raistlin while it was distracted? Dalamar tore his eyes away from the thing, and scanned the camp. There was a cluster of bamboo cages to one side, and he thought he saw a flash of red. There. Okay. Okay. He could cast a spell of invisibility, creep over and- what? He couldn’t maintain the spell if he was breaking open the cage, and it would take too long to get it open before the draconians would see him. Dalamar gritted his teeth, was about to cast and take the risk anyway-

“There’s something strange about that dragon,” Tas frowned at it.

 “Like they’re not supposed to exist?” Flint growled.

 “That’s just the point,” Tas said. “Look at it. The creature isn’t moving or reacting to anything. It’s just sitting there. I always thought that dragons would be more lively, don’t you know?”

“Perhaps it’s asleep?” Dalamar glanced back it the dragon. It certainly didn’t seem to be reacting to the staff in front of it. And- there was something strange-

Then it hit him.

The dragon was cold.

In the darkness, his eyes had slipped into nightsight, seeing heat instead of light, and the dragon just wasn't there. The heat such a huge creature must generate must he enormous, but the one lying in front of them just didn't. It had the odd patch of dull heat where someone had touched it or where the fire had warmed it, but was otherwise the same temperature and the building it was crouched inside.

"It isn't alive." Dalamar whispered, amazed.

Flint looked at him as if thinking he had had lost his mind, "Go up and tickle its foot," he snorted, "then we'll see how dead it is."

"I think I'll do that," Tasslehoff answered, before darting off around the clearing towards the building.

The world came back hazy, veiled in agony. Raistlin tried to draw in a breath, and choked as the pain spiked blindingly. Poison. The dart- poison. His herb pouch. Valerian for- muscle relaxant. Before the paralysis- reached his heart and throat. It took a world of effort to open his eyes. The world was a meaningless blur around him, sound wavered in and out of focus. People were talking around him, but he- couldn’t make it out.

There. Just- within reach. His herb pouch. Valerian. Which pouch had he put it in? Breathe- it hurt. The- grey one, with the ginger. Raistlin tried to move his right hand- and the pain rose so hard the world blotted out. His muscles spasmed helplessly. Oh, it hurt so much. He was so tired. He wanted to just close his eyes and curl up back up in whatever warm, dark place he had woken from.

Do that and he’d never wake up again. Raistlin dragged in a rattling breath, groped for his pouch with his left hand. His hand moved, slow and jerking like a half-crushed spider, towards his pouch. There. There. His fingers touched the rough leather. Raistlin closed his eyes; focusing everything he was on finding the clasp, the strap, working it free-

A roar broke out somewhere above him. Raistlin struggled; his fingers were stiffening as the poison reached them too. Come on, please. He would not die here. He would not. This was an entirely absurd way to die. Dalamar would never forgive him.

The pouch was open, Raistlin forced his hand it. Valerian root. Thin and spidery, smooth skin. Lots of- branches. His fingers brushed a little woody tangle and he forced in another breath, please- please-

Something hit him, knocking him to the side, the pouch spinning out of his hands. Oh no. Please no. For a moment, he saw Caramon, lashing out and tearing the cage around them to pieces, kicking the pouch aside and trampling it.

I hope Dalamar kills you for that. Raistlin tried to get up, crawl, but his body refused to move. Both hands now meaningless clubs of bone and muscle. Fistandantilus, you idiot lich, unless you want me to die you had better do something-

Come crawling to me, little brat? Perhaps I should be done with you. You’ve been nothing but trouble. Perhaps I should take one of those draconians instead, or that pretty elf of yours-

Raistlin tried to scream- but the muscles in his jaw were so tightly locked he couldn’t open his mouth. The valerian root probably wouldn’t have done much good. He’d have never been able to get it in his mouth.

Dalamar, I’m sorry. Stay away from me. Throw my body in the swamp. Nuitari, don’t let that thing get hold of Dalamar. Keep him safe. Tell him how sorry I am. He tried to breathe; the air came in a thin, desperate trickle. He was dying.

Not like this, dear Lunitari. Not like this.

It was even darker behind the ruined building that served as the dragon's lair. At first glance, it appeared to be nothing but impassable rubble, but Tasslehoff ducked behind a bush and found a little trail leading further in. The back of the building was oddly well kept compared to the wreckage surrounding it, and a small, suspiciously well-used door was set into the back wall. Dalamar's eyes narrowed; surely a dragon couldn't get through that? He crept closer; Tasslehoff was already working on the shining new lock keeping the door closed. There was a trick here, something not right-

Tasslehoff looked up and grinned, opening the door. Dalamar nodded, struggling against the fear that if they were wrong, they would serve as the dragon's next meal. The door opened smoothly and silently.

The inside of the house looked like that of a mad basket-weaver. Everything in the place had been torn out- Dalamar could still make out the ridge where the first floor had been- to make room for what looked like an enormous wicker cave. It was as if some giant had decided to make a basket, got bored halfway through, and left the unfinished product lying on its side.

For a moment there was silence, what in the Abyss is going on? Flint followed through, blinked, then peered back outside. “Is this the right house?”

“There aren’t any others!” Dalamar hissed.

 Tasslehoff gave a squeak of excitement. "That's the dragon!" He whispered, giggling, "It's a fake dragon, it's there to scare people."

That was it. "Like the Belzorite statue," Dalamar breathed, “The draconians think it’s real. This Verminaad must use it to keep them in line.” It was a good trick. Tell everyone about dragons, use it on their coins, their symbols- it would prime them to believe anything.

But the stars. That was real.

Before Flint could stop him, Tasslehoff grinned and darted into the dragon, climbing into the wicker cave and out of sight. Dalamar started forward, then stopped and shrugged. He wanted a diversion, here was a diversion. Hopefully the kender would make so much noise that he would be able to get Raistlin out without too much fuss.

“We’re leaving him?” Flint struggled as Dalamar dragged him out of the house.

“He can look after himself. Get to the others before the draconians realise what’s happening.”

They circled around the house and cautiously looked around the corner. There, the bamboo cages were just outside the circle of firelight. They didn’t look too strong, and he could see the little huddle of figures in the one closest to the firepit. Six of them; he could see the light gleaming on Sturm’s armor, Goldmoon’s hair. The faint suggestion of red in the corner- why was Raistlin lying down?

Dalamar swallowed, and forced the rising panic down again, and starting forwards. A roar suddenly broke out from the cage, forcing him to drop flat, dragging Flint down with him as draconians turned to see what the noise was. Someone was standing in the cage and trying to tear it apart- Caramon by the size of him. Nuitari, not now! Sit down you moron-

Mercifully, Tasslehoff decided this was the moment to start the show. The dragon lifted it’s head and roared, wings flapping and teeth snapping. The draconians forgot all about Caramon and fell to their knees in a panic.

“Bring the warrior to me!” Some trick of acoustics made the kender’s voice deeper and more resonant, but it was unmistakably Tasslehoff.

Thank you. Dalamar kept down, huddling in the scrubby grass. Get the idiot out of there while Dalamar actually got them out-

The draconians were bewildered, huddling together and hurriedly conversing-

“What is the delay?” Tasslehoff roared, “Bring the warrior to me!” Finally, the lead draconian shrugged helplessly, and waved his creatures over to drag Caramon out of the cage.

“We mete out justice swiftly and surely, human scum,” Tasslehoff roared, clearly thoroughly enjoying himself. Dalamar smiled, he hoped Raistlin was watching. It was an excellent show, he’d appreciate it.

Then he saw Caramon. The big man was pale and shaking, tears in his eyes.

No. No Nuitari it wasn’t that. Shut up shut up it wasn’t that. It was the knight, or Tanis or anyone- all of them if it came to that, just not-

“My brother is dying,” Caramon shouted. “Do what you will to me. I ask only one thing. Give me my sword so that I can die fighting!”

Dalamar almost got up and ran, then and there, and to the Abyss with the draconians, or anything. No. Think. Think! Dying not dead. He needed to-

The staff! That blasted, cursed bastard of a staff that had started all of this. The staff that could heal. Flint was already running for the cage, but Dalamar didn’t follow. There. On a pile of their packs and belongings.

“This will be fun. Let him have his weapon,” Tasslehoff shrieked. Good. Keep them looking at you, kender. Get us just that little more time. Dalamar closed his eyes, dragged in a breath, forcing himself not to run. Fail and he dies, he snarled at himself. Do this properly, and he lives.

Raistlin, hold on.

“Battin bentuk tak’kelithatan.”

The magic burned in his blood, and now he ran. Tasslehoff howled and Caramon- bastard- turned back to the pile of weapons, grabbing his sword. Dalamar had to stop as the man moved with what felt like impossible slowness, drawing out the blade from under the staff, raising it in challenge to the dragon. Move you idiot! Or grab the staff and do something-

Finally, he stepped away. Dalamar threw himself down beside the pile, risked one more glance around- the draconians were all watching the show, some of the placing bets on how long it would take for their dragon to eat Caramon. Good. Dalamar grabbed the staff.

It was then he remembered what happened when someone the Gods of light didn't like touched the staff.

There was a flash of light which was mercifully lost in the glare of the fire, and a shock of agony tore through Dalamar's hand. It was as if he had touched a bar of red-hot iron. The spell of invisibility failed at once, and Dalamar almost bit through his tongue in the effort of not crying out.

I’m trying to save someone, you imbecilic piece of rock! Dalamar refused to let go, despite the pain. He threw himself backwards, crawling on his stomach back towards the building. Isn’t that what you like, you creatures of good? Healing and saving lives and- oh Nuitari that hurts.

The pain was so intense it sent shudders of weakness through him. At last, Dalamar reached the shadow of the building and collapsed, struggling to catch his breath. His hands were red raw and blistered. Bastards, all you gods of light. Useless and worse than useless. Go fuck your dead Kingpriest and die in a fire. He wrapped his damp cloak around the staff, got to his feet, and started running towards the cage.

Flint was at the cage, talking to the others in whispers. They all looked up as he ran up to them, and Dalamar met Goldmoon’s eyes. She saw the staff and sagged in relief. Oh, Nuitari, thank you, it wasn’t too late. He thrust the staff at her wordlessly. Please. Please know what to do. Please.

Tanis, Sturm and Riverwind climbed out of the cage, hurrying over to join Caramon. And there, on the floor, was Raistlin. His body was contorted in agony, spasming. His face was ash pale, and each breath was a desperate whistling rasp. “It was poison.” Goldmoon knelt down beside him, laying the staff beside Raistlin. “A dart.”

Dalamar nodded, kneeling down beside Raistlin. He found his hand and- oh, he was so cold. But his eyelids fluttered, and Dalamar saw a sliver of gold. “I’m here, my love.” Dalamar whispered.

Raistlin’s mouth twisted, as if trying to smile. His eyes closed, and his breath came even more shallowly. His lips were already turning blue.

“Work.” Goldmoon whispered, “Please.” The staff just lay there innocently, a worthless scrap of wood.

“It won’t work.” Flint groaned, “It’s all used up.”

“Please,” Goldmoon knelt next to him, “whoever is master of this staff, heal this man. Please.”

“They don’t care about prayers.” Dalamar snarled, “They’ll never answer.”

Goldmoon gave him a helpless look. “What else can we do?” She breathed.

A huge crash came from the firepit. Tasslehoff had managed to rock the whole dragon forwards into the flames. Its wings were still flapping, and the nearby huts and foliage were starting to catch fire. One of the nearby cages went up in flames.

“No.” Dalamar drew his dagger, and pressed the steel against the grain of the staff. “You feel this blade, staff?” He hissed. “Heal him, or I will test Nuitari’s Tooth against your crystal. Do you think your gods of light will save you? They’re not known for keeping their promises. I will shatter you to sand.”

Nothing. Dalamar drove his blade harder into the wood- and felt the shift as it turned to crystal. The soft, blue glow filled it, and Dalamar sat back on his heels, almost choking in relief as the light soaked into Raistlin. He groaned, and his knotted body relaxed, slumping down and dragging in a full breath, then another. Dalamar found his hand, gripping it tightly as Raistlin opened his eyes. He was still far too pale, but his lips were losing that terrible bluish hue. “Dalamar?”

Dalamar nodded.

“Valerian- root.” Raistlin groped for his pouches. His limbs were still trembling, muscles twitching as the remnants of the poison left them.

Dalamar nodded, and found the pouch, digging out the half crushed root and holding it to Raistlin’s lips. He bit down on it, closing his eyes of focus on chewing. “Tarn?” Dalamar whispered.

Raistlin cracked an eye open, the ghost of a smile on his lips. He nodded. Dalamar picked him up, and Goldmoon joined them in running for the trees. They ducked down in the shelter of the bushes. “Is he better?” Goldmoon looked down at Raistlin, cradled in Dalamar’s lap.

“A little.” Raistlin tried to sit up, but wobbled and collapsed against Dalamar. He closed his eyes and curled up closer, Dalamar tried to wrap his cloak around Raistlin- then realised it was still soaked. He’d barely realised how wet he was before, but now the cold was starting to bite. “Bentuk cilin sihir.”

The worst of the water sluiced out of his clothes, leaving it damp and clinging, but better than before. Raistlin sighed and pressed closer, tasting his magic. “What happened?” He breathed.

Dalamar wasn’t sure he could speak, just holding Raistlin close. “Quite a lot.” He managed at last.

Chapter Text

Raistlin managed to stand up. He reached out, and the Staff of Magius was there, warm in his hand. He leaned on it gratefully. His head was swimming, the world threatening to tilt out from under his feet. Dalamar had an arm around him.

“Where did Flint go?” Dalamar looked at Goldmoon.

“He went to the dragon, he said something about Tasslehoff-“

“A dragon?” Raistlin wished he could feel surprised.

“Not a real one." Dalamar gave a small smile, clearly thinking along the same lines. “No, really. It's made of wicker, a puppet of sorts to intimidate the draconians, like the statue of Belzor we saw in Haven." Raistlin nodded, prompting the Dark elf to continue, "We discovered how to get inside it and the kender must have found some way of controlling it. Unfortunately," Dalamar sighed, "it’s on fire, and he's still inside it."

Raistlin looked back at the camp, now burning furiously. If Tasslehoff was still in the dragon, none of them could reach him now. Burning. Raistlin shuddered, Lunitari, he hoped it had been quick, at least. The kender didn’t deserve that.

The others suddenly burst through the bushes, running furiously and carrying- a dragon’s head?- between them. Two blue-clad legs stuck out from the open maw like a lolling tongue. Dalamar smiled. Raistlin snorted, his laugh thin and ragged from his exhausted body. The others gave him alarmed looks- had they never seen him laugh before?

“The kender’s stuck in here!” Sturm interrupted, dropping the head. “We’ve got to get him out.” He gave Raistlin a cold glare, “What’s the matter with him? Still poisoned?”

“I am fine.” Raistlin shook his head, his back ached from the spasms, and laughing hadn’t helped.

“A pity.” Sturm spat.

That cut any amusement like a knife. Raistlin blinked at Sturm, and saw nothing but loathing in the knight’s eyes. What is going on? Gods, he would see him dead- and probably Dalamar too.

Goldmoon stared at the knight, then back at Raistlin. “Why do you say this? What is-“

But any more was interrupted by Caramon rushing up to join them, carrying all the packs. “How- Raist! You’re okay!”

“No thanks to you!” Raistlin snarled. “Your little stunt almost killed me, you mindless idiot-“

“Another word, mage, and it will.” Sturm touched the hilt of his sword.

The moment stretched hideously. “Help.” Tasslehoff’s voice came, small and desperate from inside the dragon’s head. “I’m stuck. Get me out, please?”

“Sure.” Caramon quickly grabbed the dragon’s head, starting to pry it apart. He looked far too relieved at the distraction. The others quickly turned away, hurrying to find anything to pretend the last few moments hadn’t happened.

Sturm turned, giving them one last, hateful look, but Dalamar was fast. Raistlin staggered as his lover suddenly vanished from his side, and seemed to appear by magic behind the knight, his dagger blade at the back of his neck. “I once told you if you threaten me or my own again, I would place your blade somewhere very unpleasant. You will not approach us again, or you will not wake tomorrow.”

Sturm turned, eyes blazing, and dragged his sword from his sheathe. “By the Gods, Exile, I will end this now-“

Oh Abyss. Raistlin fumbled for his pouches, hoped he could dredge up enough magic. “Stop this at once!” Goldmoon stepped in, thrusting her staff between them. “I do not pretend to understand what disagreements you have, but this is not the place, we must move!”

Sturm hesitated, then put away his sword. “As the lady commands.” He turned his back, dismissing Dalamar.

“Don’t.” Raistlin joined Dalamar, resting a hand on his arm. “We have to go, there’s no time.”

Dalamar drew in a breath, and nodded, returning his dagger to its sheathe. He grimaced when he released it, flexing his hands. “You are hurt?” Raistlin took his hand, and winced.

“That bad?” Dalamar managed a smile.

Raistlin shook his head, “They are superficial.” He dug into his pouches, and found a stem of aloe. He crushed it, and rubbed it into Dalamar’s hand. Dalamar closed his eyes in relief. “Did you get too close to the flames?”

Dalamar shook his head, “The staff.” He sighed, “It didn’t like me touching it.”

“But you took it anyway.” Raistlin leaned against him, their shoulders bumping. “To save me.”

“I’d do a lot more for that.” Lunitari, so much love in his eyes. Hate from Sturm, love from Dalamar. He wondered what it was about him that garnered such- extreme reactions.

They set off, heading deeper into the swamp. Behind them, Raistlin could hear war horns, the draconians trying to reestablish order. But they were behind them, and growing more distant as they kept walking. The ground grew swampier, there didn’t seem to be any rope bridges now. Raistlin could see the remnants of some hanging from the trees; destroyed, perhaps to try and cut off the draconians.

He groaned as they were forced to wade, the water deep and getting deeper. His robes dragged at him, the cold clenching around his chest. Raistlin closed his eyes and struggled on. Come on, just a little longer, he could be as sick as he wanted tomorrow, today he had to keep moving-

He'd been using his staff to check his way forward, carefully probing through the water to test the ground, when there suddenly didn't seem to be any ground. The staff sunk in the murk up to the crystal. Raistlin, off-balance and dizzy, lost his footing and fell down face-first into the filthy water.

The cold shot through him like a lightning bolt, throwing iron bands around his chest. Fighting the urge to cough, he struggled to get up, hanging onto Dalamar's arm to pull himself upright.

Dalamar dragged him up. Raistlin coughed and spat water, brushing strands of sodden white hair out of his eyes. Dalamar rubbed his back, pulling him back to solid ground.

Beside them, Sturm Brightblade sneered.

Above them, the storm clouds were thickening, flashing across the stars. They needed to be faster, time was running out. He hardly cared about the- whatever the Forestmaster had talked about, but if Fistandantilus was considering targeting Dalamar-

His throat closed, he doubled, over, coughing miserably. Fistandantilus was hungry. The spellbook. He had to find that spellbook-

“Storm clouds.” Gods, could that be his voice?. “They come from the north. We have no time. No time! We must reach Xak Tsaroth. Hurry! Before the moon sets!”

Dalamar helped him up, held his arm as they forged onwards. “Why do you care?” Dalamar whispered, “Who cares if the draconians find whatever miserable artifact of light is in that place?”

Raistlin shook his head. Gods, he should know, if only to understand the threat. “More in the city.” He croaked, “Something else-“ he broke off, and almost fell as Fistandantilus tightened his grip on his lungs, suffocating him.

The fit wrung him out, drained what little strength he had left. Raistlin wiped his mouth. “Come on.” Raistlin whispered, and pulled Dalamar on.

The ground fell away again, barred by more black water. “Not again!” Flint moaned.

 “No, we do not have to wade again. Come look,” Riverwind pointed. An obelisk had fallen across the swamp, huge and long enough to reach the far shore.

“I’ll go first,” Tas hopped up. “Hey, there’s writing on this thing. Runes of some sort.”

 “I must see!” Raistlin crouched down, keeping his attention on the cold place in his mind. Come on, you filthy undead, give me your secrets.  “Shirak.”

It was hard going; the obelisk must have been ancient, and the writing dated back to before the Cataclysm. Here and there, the runes were cracked and flaking, hard to read; and he and Dalamar often had to pause to whisper over some particularly obscure or damaged word.

When they had finished, Raistlin sat back on his haunches, sharing an ironic look with Dalamar. Upon Tanis' questioning look, he read aloud- "‘The Great City of Xak Tsaroth, whose beauty surrounds you, speaks to the good of its people and their generous deeds. The gods reward us in the grace of our home.’”

And as if the words had been a spell, suddenly the image in front of him was replaced by another, vivid and brilliant. The obelisk was standing, tall and proud, on the outskirts of a gleaming city- bigger and more beautiful than anything Raistlin could have imagined. He felt the echo of the lich’s amusement as he headed towards the magnificent temple. It would be a good place to hide his spellbook, in the shadow of the goodly god, as he hid in the shadow of the Kingpriest-

Filth! Fistandantilus wrenched the memory away. Mine, you pathetic little wretch!

Beside the temple. Raistlin gave a taut smile, That’s where you hid it.

The only response he got was a second coughing fit. Oh Lunitari no. He staggered; fell to his knees on the obelisk. Not now, they had no time-

Raistlin closed his eyes, and marshaled all of his remaining strength. He remembered Darken Wood, how the Dead had pushed Fistandantilus away. Like ice, a wall of ice, as endless and towering as the glaciers in Icewall. He turned to the cold place in his mind, where Fistandantilus lurked, and pushed.

Little by little, very much like moving a glacier. But it worked, the tension in his lungs unknotted, and he dragged in a breath, then another. Fistandantilus snarled in rage but it was- further away. Raistlin straightened. Met Dalamar’s eyes. “Surrounds.” Dalamar helped him up, “We must be there, then.”

“How awful.” Goldmoon shuddered.

“I read about the city once.” Dalamar turned to her, “An account from a mage they were trying to burn alive. I’d say the gods gave them exactly what they deserved.”

“We must keep going.” Gods, he was so tired. “The temple. I doubt the Gods would have smashed their own effigies.”

Were not for Riverwind, Raistlin knew they would have been hopelessly lost within the hour. But the Plainsman seemed to know exactly where to go, all the trails to take. Here and there, they saw broken pieces of masonry, and something far more worrying -clawed footprints. Finally however, the trees opened out and they found themselves on a stretch of cobbles.

Raistlin smiled at Dalamar. "Xak Tsaroth." At last, they had reached it.

“And death on black wings.” Dalamar murmured. He was looking around warily, picking out places they could run, or hide. He looked at the broken circle of a well, then away to a half collapsed wall, which had fallen in such a way as to make a little cave. Raistlin squeezed his hand.

“Hopefully we will not need to do that.” He could see the temple now, still standing, but worn and cracked, white marble stained and dulled.

Caramon peered at the well, and grimaced. “Deep at that,” he said. “Smells bad, too.”

“Maybe an animal fell down in and died.” Raistlin looked around. The place was silent and desolate. The temple was the only building still standing, the rest cracked and shattered. Beside the temple, he could see the shattered flagstone of a public square. Where the burnings had been held.

“What animal?” Dalamar dragged his thoughts back to here and now. “Nothing lives here.”

It was true. There were no sounds of birds, no crickets; even ants seemed shy of scuttling across the broken city. Raistlin looked around, trying to find something to pull at Fistandantilus’ memories, but either the lich was guarding them more carefully, or this place had been so thoroughly destroyed that nothing was as it had been. He walked over to the side of the courtyard, and stopped, “Sweet Lunitari.”

Half of the statue’s face had been smashed, and it was broken off at the ankles, lying on the courtyard like a drunkard. But there was no mistaking that crown, the worn inscription of Pilofiro on the podium. Raistlin met the statue’s one remaining eye and shuddered, then spat on him. I hope it hurt, being hit by that flaming mountain.

Dalamar walked up beside him, and looked down at the statue. “Well, I think we found our latrine.” Raistlin smiled, and leaned against him. “We’re here, he isn’t. Even his miserable God didn’t want him, in the end.”

Ahead, the temple loomed. Raistlin shivered, reminded all too piercingly on the temple in Hope’s End. It was cold and forbidding, he could almost sense the patron goddess frowning at their approach. How dare these faithless wretches approach Her holy place? Goldmoon came to join them, looking up. “This was a temple to the ancient gods.”

“A temple?” Her eyes were shining. “How beautiful.” She started walking towards it.

Dalamar’s hand tightened on Raistlin’s arm. "I'm not going in there." A pause. "And neither are you."

Raistlin covered his hand. "We may have to go.”

"Why? So that some more skeletons can animate and finish what the specters couldn't?”

"I know, but we have to take the risk." Raistlin rubbed his forehead. "Whatever is in there-"

"-will never welcome us," Dalamar finished firmly. "Let the others go in. Remember the welcome we had at Darken Wood."

From behind them, Flint called out, "We're here mage, what now?"

“Dalamar, there is something here. Something-“ he could feel the glacier start to crumble, Fistandantilus lashing out furiously. His throat tightened. “Close by, I need to find it but this place is in no state-“ He cough, shuttering, struggled to force the lich back.

“What is it?” Dalamar held him, sensing the coming fit.

“A spellbook.” Raistlin hissed through a closing throat. “Black, bound in night blue-“ and Fistandantilus broke the last of the wall and tore into him. He fell to his knees as his lungs filled with blood, coughing and coughing and coughing until his blood splattered the cobblestones.

Raistlin wiped his mouth, and pointedly looked at the blood splatters, then back up at Dalamar. Down, and up. You know me, my love. Understand this. Dalamar’s eyes went wide. “Nuitari.” He breathed. “Of course yes. Come on.” He helped Raistlin up.

Wretch.

Begone. This time, Raistlin managed to force the wall back up. Breathe. Breathe.

Suddenly Tasslehoff shouted, “Draconian!”

Oh Abyss. Raistlin forced himself up, turned. The draconian was crouched beside the well, glowering at them. It saw them looking at it, and bared its teeth. Then it spread its wings and jumped into the well.

"Stop it!” Tanis yelled. "It will alert others!"

Raistlin hurried over and looked down. The draconian was still in sight, floating down into the darkness. He raised a hand to prepare to cast a spell, but each thought scraped over his nerves like sandpaper, this throat and lungs burning with every breath. Gods, he was so tired-

Dalamar knelt by him, shaking his head; he too was out of both spells and energy. He put an arm around his shoulders, and they both sat down, backs against the wall. “I can’t,” Raistlin whispered. “I can’t think. I can’t concentrate. I must sleep!”

“We’re all tired,” Tanis walked over. “If something’s down there, it warned it. There’s nothing we can do now. We’ve got to rest.”

Raistlin lifted his head, but before he could speak, something stirred in the magic. Dalamar straightened as well. He could feel it too. “Rest here? Can’t you feel it?”

“Something is coming.” Dalamar put in, “Some great power. Raistlin, we have to move-“

Raistlin struggled to his feet, wavered and leaned hard on his staff. Gods, they needed to run, but how-

Tasslehoff had climbed up on the edge of the well and was peering down inside with interest. "Look, the draconian is floating down, just like a leaf. Its wings don't flap-"

“Be quiet!” Tanis was turning pale, he was feeling it too. A cold, drawing terror starting to spread from the well like a miasma. Something- strangely familiar. When had he felt this before? Slowly, as to not draw any more notice from the unknown terror within the well, he started to back away.

Dalamar had no such qualms. "They know we’re here.” He hissed, “Run! Before it can get up here.” He dragged on Raistlin's shoulder, urging him to go, to run, to get away from this place.

"Get him away from there!" Raistlin pointed at Tasslehoff.

But Tanis hadn't taken two steps towards Tasslehoff when the ground started to shake. Raistlin could feel the tremors through the soles of his boots.  Riverwind grabbed the kender before he was shaken loose, as the wall around the well started to crumble.

The ground churned again, more violently and Dalamar had to grab hold of a shattered podium to avoid being thrown off his feet. Around them, the ruins cracked and shuddered. The Kingpriest’s statue shuddered as if sensing another Cataclysm.

A blast of freezing air erupted from the pit, and even from where they were standing, Dalamar gagged at the foul stench, Raistlin coughing hoarsely. The terror rose, blinding, screaming- gods, he knew this-

"Run!"

Dalamar grabbed hold of his wrist and broke into a run, dragging the Raistlin behind him. In the well, the moan of escaping air heightened to a shriek so high it was barely audible, piecing the skull like a chisel blade.

In his hand, the Staff of Magius burnt hot enough to blister, the crystal on the staff flared furiously. Raistlin stared at it- it had never done this before since-

Since Immolatus.

That fear. The fear that had blinded him, until his own rage had burnt through it. That supernatural, screaming terror.

The last piece of the puzzle slipped into place, and Raistlin wasn’t feeling tired any more. He was running as fast as he could, tattered lungs burning- but that hardly mattered. A coughing fit later would be welcome, because that meant there would be a later.

The stones of the well started to slide inwards. Raistlin heard Tanis screaming at Riverwind to run. The earth shook hard enough to topple a nearby pillar; it hit the ground and shattered. The ground heaved up around the pit. The well seemed to shrink closed for a moment, then burst open, masonry flying in all directions as the ebon-black dragon exploded from the mouth.

Raistlin couldn't speak, couldn’t breathe. The wyrm was clear of the well now, its tail lashing the ruined remains of the wall. Its lithe body shone with an oily patina of colours, the ash of the clouds, the bone-white of Solinari, the blood of Lunitari. A funeral rainbow streaking up.

As some point, Raistlin realised they were on the ground, although he couldn't remember falling over. Dalamar's hand was a death-grip on his shoulder, and the staff burnt dully in his hand, its angry flare a lone beacon of defiance in the terror of the moment.

It was only now, with the dragon high above them, that he realised the sheer size of the creature. Nose to tail it was as tall as a young vallenwood, its body thicker than any of the branches that supported the Inn of the Last Home. Its head alone was larger than Caramon.

The dragon was huge.

Huddled together, clutching at each other, Raistlin and Dalamar just stared at the circling wyrm. Oh Lunitari, it was exactly like Immolatus. Exactly like that. The dragonfear. Raistlin felt hysterical laughter building in his throat. He’d hated himself for what he's thought was cowardice, and Immolatus had been a dragon all along. He must be laughing at them now.

Raistlin looked up and let the dragon’s burning eyes. It seemed to smile and it circled higher and higher. Then it spoke. Just one word.

"Dulak."

Just one word was all it took, one word of the language of magic spoken in a voice so cold it froze the air to icicles and it was as if the jet storm clouds above had fallen from the sky to swallow them. The lack of light was utter and complete, darker than any night, any shuttered room. It was the darkness of the void between the stars.

It was the darkness of being buried alive.

Dalamar grabbed him, and pulled him up again. Raistlin hesitated, suddenly certain that the dragon would sweep down, silent as an owl, and tear them both to pieces.

“Move!” Dalamar begged, pulling him forwards.

Raistlin closed his eyes, and ran, Dalamar dragging them down and under an outcropping. That little hollow Dalamar had found, Nuitari bless his paranoia-

They reached the cover just in time. A terrible shriek split the sky, like a thunder coming before the lightning. The dragon’s wings were a screaming hurricane as it dived. Raistlin dug his fingers into the soft fabric of Dalamar's robes, felt Dalamar pull him painfully close in turn, their legs tangled, their faces pressed together. If they were to die, they would go together.

The sound came from behind them, but to Raistlin panic-addled mind seemed to come from right above. A thunderous hiss, like steam released from a monstrous kettle, spat out. A moment later, it was drowned out by the cracks and pops of stones as they split under the assault. Oh Gods the stones. The stones of Que-She. He’d wondered what could have done that. Now he knew.

The crackle grew louder, like wet wood in a roaring fire, then it in turn was drowned out by a terrible scream. Raistlin clamped his hands over his ears to keep out the dreadful sound, hearing it echo inside his head long after it had died away. Finally, the ground he was lying on bucked up like a mad horse, shuddering several times before slowly growing still.

Chapter Text

“Shirak.” Raistlin whispered.

The Staff of Magius must have sensed the need for caution, and the light came soft and dim, just enough to light up Dalamar’s face in their shelter. His eyes were rolling white in terror, face ashen. He lifted his head, looking behind Raistlin and out. “It’s gone.” He said hoarsely.

Raistlin nodded, and slowly, painfully the two of them crawled out of the hollow. The sky was innocently clear, stars winking at them from between gaps in the stormclouds. The dragon was gone, back down the pit that was all that was left of the well.

“A dragon.” Raistlin breathed.

Dalamar nodded, trembling. “The draconians- they knew. The wicker dragon was to trick them when- that thing can’t go in person.” He shuddered.

“There are others.” Raistlin gripped his arm, “That fear; I felt it before, with Immolatus. He must have been one too.”

“Nuitari.” Dalamar stared at him, then gave a shaken smile. “But you killed him. You told me you beat him to death.”

“And if you can get that one to turn into a human, we might have a chance.” Raistlin shook his head. “Gods, he was trying to turn back, if he’d succeeded- we would all have been obliterated.”

“That still makes you a Dragonslayer.” He kissed the side of Raistlin’s head.

“You’re not going to let me forget this, are you?” Raistlin felt the urge to start laughing build inside him. Hysteria after the utter terror of the past few moments. “Later, we need to get under cover, before it comes back-“

A cry made them both jump, ready to run- but it was Tanis, staring down at- something, on the ground.

Oh Gods, that scream. The dragon had killed someone. Raistlin braced himself, and they approached.

It was- difficult to know who it had been, at first. The acid had eaten so much of them away that there was little left. The face was gone, only a few clumps of dark hair still clinging to the bleached bones of the skull, the ribcage stripped bare, leaving the pulsing organs inside gleaming in the dim light of the moons. Raistlin was painfully glad when his curse fastened on the sight, and the corpse withered into nothing but bones. Too tall for Goldmoon or Sturm, too thin for Caramon-

“The Plainsman.” Dalamar breathed, Raistlin nodded. He glanced around, there were Caramon and Sturm, slowly getting to their feet, Flint and Tasslehoff were crawling out of a bush just behind them. Goldmoon was gone.

But before Raistlin could say anything, Sturm cried out in horror, “May the true gods have mercy! Tanis, he’s still alive! I saw his hand move!”

And oh, but it did. Raistlin looked down and saw the skeletal fingers twitch; reach into the air almost questioningly. Dalamar’s grip on Raistlin’s shoulder tightened, almost painfully. He was thinking the same thing- that could have been one of them. Raistlin could be looking at Dalamar, like this.

“End it!” Tanis retched again, “End it! Sturm-”

Sturm was starting to chant some- Solamnic death song. It was painfully slow and Raistlin shuddered as Riverwind twitched again, could see where the remaining acid was still eating away at what was left of his flesh. Enough. He drew the knife from the wrist sheathe. It would not be the first time he had delivered this mercy, and it was best to do it quickly and painlessly, rather than wait for this- sadistic pageantry.

“Stop!” Raistlin hesitated, knife held in his hand. He turned.

Goldmoon was standing in the doorway of the temple, pale and trembling, but determined. “Bring him to me.”

Raistlin was about to say something, but Dalamar shook his head. “Look at her.”

A blink, then another blink. Goldmoon was wreathed in faint blue light, and as he looked, he could feel his curse trying to grip her- but something was holding it back. The temple gleamed in Solinari’s light, like the temple in Hope’s End but- more. That temple had still felt the touch of those long-gone gods. This-

Raistlin stepped up to Tanis and grabbed his arm. “Do as she says. Carry him to her.”

Tanis stared at him, and for a moment, there was nothing but hatred in his eyes. Oh Gods, what now? Raistlin wanted to scream, was the crime of keeping his head in this madness worthy of such loathing? “Take him to her,” he snarled, “It is not for us to choose death for this man. That is for the gods.”

Dalamar nodded stiffly. His eyes were locked on the temple and- Lunitari, what was he seeing? What horrors was this place bringing back to him? That was all they needed. He took Dalamar’s hand. Please, hold on. I can’t deal with you falling apart as well.

Dalamar met his eyes, and drew in a breath, steeling himself. He nodded. Raistlin squeezed his hand. The others were making a stretcher for Riverwind and had at least stopped glaring at him. “Let us get through this.” Raistlin breathed, “I am here for you, but we need to survive.”

Dalamar closed his eyes, nodded. “Don’t let go.”

Raistlin leaned against him. “Of course.”

Tanis came up to meet Goldmoon, but whatever he said to her didn’t change her alien, ethereal expression. She looked back at them, then turned and led the way into the temple.

Raistlin did not let go of his hand as they stepped into the temple. His tight grip a lone point of comfort as the world became- colder, more oppressive. The weight of the temple settled on Dalamar’s shoulders, and he could feel the presence of the Goddess. So much more real than in Hope’s End, even more than in the Temple of E’li. Here was not simply a place where the Goddess had walked, and never been again- here She was now.

Dalamar had never been in the presence of any God but his own. He could sense Nuitari with him, casting protection over one of His own, forcing back the pain of trespassing on alien ground. Dalamar glanced over at Raistlin, and thought he saw the faint flash of red moonlight in his eyes. Their Gods would not abandon them.

In the middle of the temple was a statue, and that made Dalamar start because- he knew this. This had been carved in his homeland, the marks of House Mason on every detail of the robed figure. Her hand was lifted as if in benediction of those beneath her shadow, but the darkness of the temple left her face distant and cold, her blessings held in judgment of those should found worthy. In her other hand was the crystal staff, glowing that same, faint blue.

Goldmoon stood under the statue, and for a moment, she too could have been carved of that same marble. Then she looked down at the little, Riverwind’s shrouded body, and that forbidding expression broke, became human again. “Remove the blanket.”

Tanis tried to argue, but the blankets shrouding the Plainsman’s body was already stained with blood and fluids, and the body beneath trembling in agony from the contact. Raistlin had enough and pulled the covers back himself.

Dalamar managed not to flinch this time, but dear Nuitari how was the man still alive? He had seen soldiers drenching in boiling lead that looked better, and at least they had died from the pain almost at once. Goldmoon went white, and wavered on her feet. She took the staff from the statue, and laid it tenderly beside the dying man.

And perhaps the Goddess had some mercy, because the blue light grew, filling the temple, enveloping Goldmoon and Riverwind. Dalamar pulled Raistlin away as the light reached for them. He could feel the power of the Goddess gnawing at him, a sear of pain where it touched his skin. Begone, it hissed in his ear, creature of evil, exiled from the light. Run; filth, crawl away into the darkness you have chosen.

Raistlin gently pushed him back, facing the light himself, letting Dalamar take shelter in his shadow. Finally, the glare faded. Under the statue, Riverwind was in Goldmoon’s arms- completely unharmed and weeping soundlessly. Goldmoon had her eyes closed; her face turned up to the statue’s as if awaiting a kiss. Dalamar could feel the power of the Goddess around them, fierce and triumphant.

“Were you so generous to those who died in the shadow of your temple, Quanesti-Pah?” Dalamar whispered, “Did you heal those screaming in the flames kindled by your followers? Or did you laugh as they burned?”

Raistlin shook his head. “She is the enemy of the Dark Queen.” He murmured, “And her shrieking hosts.”

Dalamar nodded. He was right; but what a position to be in. Dragons on one site, gods of murder on the other. Nuitari walk with us, we will need all the help we can get.

Goldmoon looked over to all of them, a small smile on her tear-stained face. "This is Mishakal, the Goddess of Healing. She showed me the truth: the Gods never turned away from man; it is we who turned away from them.”

Dalamar stiffened- but Raistlin got a good grip on his arm and dug his nails in, shaking his head. Not the time.

“They waited, waited for someone to call them in truth and need." She reached down and stroked Riverwind's hair gently. "Then, they would be there to answer."

“I know.” Raistlin breathed in his ear, “But did you think She would tell the truth?”

“All the more reason to tell her-“

“Do you think she would believe you? After the Goddess brought her lover back?”

There was nothing Dalamar could say to that, but the words burned in his throat, desperate to be let free. How dare you, he snarled inside his head, you heard my prayers, Quanesti-Pah. You saw me kneeling in your temple, night after night during the plague. I was beaten many times for my exhaustion in the day, just so I could come to you. What part of my desperate plea did you find wanting? What arrogance did that weeping child show that you ignored him, and left his parents to die?

There was no answer. There never was. Perhaps one day he would have Goldmoon ask it for him, and have her listen to the silence that was all everyone else had heard, no matter how hard they prayed.

"What else did the Goddess tell you, Plainswoman?" Raistlin asked softly, not letting go of Dalamar’s arm.

Goldmoon paused, and there was that strange, alien cast to her face again. Mirroring the marble of the statue. As if she was seeing through Raistlin, into something beyond him. Then she blinked, and she was mortal again. "She told me- she told me that Krynn was in great danger, that the Gods of Evil had also returned. The dragon outside. And there are others. They have returned as well."

"The fallen stars.” Dalamar managed through numb lips, “The Dark Queen returned, and that is why the Gods of Good have decided to start answering.” He ignored Raistlin’s tight grip, and glared at Goldmoon. “Perhaps your people have forgotten the Gods, but I have seen thousands who did not. Thousands who prayed, and thousands who heard nothing but silence. Perhaps the Gods of Good feared if they continued, we would all turn to the Dark Gods in desperation.”

“Not everyone is as foul as you both.” Sturm scowled.

“Really?” Dalamar didn’t look away from Goldmoon. “Tell me, Plainswoman. If this was a temple to the Dark Queen, and She offered Her blessing to heal your beloved, would you say no?”

Goldmoon paled, but Riverwind got to his feet. “Be silent, elf.” He said wearily. “She has been through much, and we have more to face without spitting in the face of such blessings.”

“The dragon.” Tanis broke in quickly, before Dalamar had time to say anything. “Goldmoon, how are we supposed to defeat such as that?"

Goldmoon closed her eyes. "Yes. She- she said the greatest gift we were told about is hidden here, in the catacombs under the city. They are the key to stopping this. With them, we will not need the Staff to call upon the Goddess' aid. She named them the 'Disks of Mishakal'."

Dalamar felt his skin prickle. True healing. Not from an artifact, but directly from the Gods. “The last person who had the power to do that was the Kingpriest.” Dalamar said softly, “Is returning such a gift to the world worth risking another Cataclysm?”

“It is not a burning mountain you fear, but the pyre.” Sturm gripped his sword. “You fear that should the Gods of Good return, they will cast you back where you belong- in the flames.”

“No.” Goldmoon looked between them, uncertain and fearful. Then she closed her eyes and drew herself up. “No.” She said more firmly. “There will be no burnings. Whatever failures the Kingpriest had, whatever horrors he enacted, they were by his own choice. This is a place of good, of kindness and healing. Gifts that will be desperately needed in the months to come.”

Dalamar caught his breath, wanted to say more- "Stop." Raistlin broke in, “If the Gods wish to return, then they will, no matter our actions. Let it be through her, rather than for them to choose someone worse.”

He wasn’t wrong. Goldmoon was at least not unfriendly to them. If the Gods chose someone like Brightblade, they’d be tied up and screaming in the flames the moment he got his powers. “Very well.”

“These Disks are in the dragon’s lair, are they not?” Raistlin continued.

Goldmoon nodded and, to her credit, she showed no fear, only determination. "We will need to retrieve them. Without them-" She raised a hand to forestall the inevitable arguments "-we will stand no chance."

Flint snorted, “We have no chance anyway.”

Goldmoon either didn't hear the dwarf or ignored him, because she continued as if he hadn't spoken, "And so, we must find a way down into the ruined city that lies somewhere below the temple, and we must remove the Disks from the dragon's lair."

Mercifully, there was a small chamber off the main temple, less blessed than the other chambers of worship and more comfortable for them to rest in. Raistlin threw down his pack and collapsed against the wall, pulling Dalamar down to rest beside him. “Stop.”

“You stop.” Dalamar growled into his robes, then sighed. “I’m not going to get into any more fights. Nuitari, I’m so tired.” Bitterly.

“You will not win.” Raistlin said softly, “We are caught in a riptide current in the River of Time, the best we can do is to try and steer ourselves to a safe harbor.”

Dalamar nodded, and for a moment he relaxed in Raistlin’s arms, and Raistlin dared to hope they might finally get some rest- “And there is more.” Dalamar said at last, “There is something here that can heal you. It is the spellbook, isn’t it?”

Raistlin swallowed through the warning tightness in his lungs; but Fistandantilus didn’t seem to like this place any more than Dalamar did- less probably, without any Gods of Magic willing to protect him from the power of the Gods. “Yes.” He managed. “And you heard the dragon, it knew magic.”

“So the spellbook may be in its claws.” Dalamar finished. “And while those fools are running around trying to get these Disks, we can find the spellbook and run.”

“It isn’t a bad plan.” Raistlin shrugged. “Sturm will probably try and duel the beast, it’ll be a decent distraction.”

Dalamar nodded, and seemed more mollified. Raistlin leaned back, feeling the weariness close around him. The others were starting to settle down too. Flint leaned closer to examine a helmet he had found by the light of his staff. “That’s hair from the mane of a griffon.” He claimed loudly.

“Keep it down.” Dalamar snapped, “And griffons don’t have manes.”

“This one does.” Flint pointed triumphantly, and put the helm on with a flourish.

“We’d better get some sleep,” Sturm broke in. “I’ll take first watch.”

“No one need keep watch this night,” Goldmoon was sitting on the opposite side of the room, with Riverwind’s head in her lap. A strange mirror of himself and Dalamar. “We are safe here,”

“I think Goldmoon is right,” Tasslehoff hopped down to sit next to Flint. “Let’s trust these old gods, since it seems we have found them.”

 “The elves never lost them; neither did the dwarves,” Flint scowled. “I don’t understand any of this! Reorx is one of the ancient gods, presumably. We have worshiped him since before the Cataclysm.”

 “Worship?” Tanis asked. “Or cry to him in despair because your people were shut out of the Kingdom under the Mountain?”

“What’s the difference?” Oh Abyss. Dalamar lifted his head. “Exactly how much despair is allowed in prayer? Is crying too embarrassing for the gods to pay attention to?”

Tanis flushed, “I do not know how it is in Silvanesti, but the elven clerics vanished long ago-“

“You are right, you do not know- Silvanesti.” Dalamar stumbled over the word. “Do you remember the cleric, Raistlin, in Shrentak?”

“They do not have healing powers.” Raistlin put in wearily.

“No, nothing so merciful and kind, but the power of exile? That, they have. They pray, they lead prayer. Thousands kneel every day in prayer to E’li and Quanesti-Pah. Are all of them unworthy? Is there not one loyal heart among them?”

“And you would know that?” Tanis looked at him, and for a moment, he looked very elven indeed, a flicker of disgust in his eyes at Dalamar’s robes.

“I believed.” Dalamar shrugged, “For so many years, I prayed, and held onto my faith until it withered in silence. Eventually, I found a God who listened, even if He made no promises. The Gods of Good were silent for centuries, to all prayers, good and bad. They can return now if they want, but I will not have them blame us for their absence.”

There was a long silence. Finally Tanis sighed. “I say we take turns on watch tonight. I am sorry, lady. I wish my faith were as strong as yours.”

“Are you done?” Raistlin whispered.

Dalamar gave a tired smile. “Yes. Did you expect me to say any less?”

No. But it hadn’t helped. Goldmoon was looking at them, hurt and angry. Tanis as unhelpful as ever, and Sturm's eyes cold with hatred. They had made no friends, and alienated one of the few allies they had. And for what?

For the peace in Dalamar’s face, right now. For letting him have the chance to let out this old hurt where it might actually have an impact. To throw the crimes of the Gods back in their faces, in this small way. Dalamar could no more have kept his mouth shut than he could have been contented in his menial, slavish life in Silvanesti. He would never stand in silence if he could speak. It was something Raistlin loved him for, for good and for ill. Raistlin closed his eyes, and resigned himself to them being completely on their own from now on.

"And to think we planned this as a holiday." He sighed.

Chapter Text

When Dalamar woke up, Raistlin was already awake. The faint, pre-dawn light suggested it was still a good while before dawn, and his lover was hunched over his spellbook, his staff pulled close to keep the light from waking Dalamar.

Dalamar yawned and sat up; rubbing his eyes, and glanced over at the smoldering remains of the last night’s fire. Raistlin nodded in thanks, and Dalamar gathered their mugs and started to prepare the morning’s tea.

Everyone was asleep, even Sturm had collapsed where he had been keeping watch. Dalamar felt his skin prickle. Goldmoon had told them all to sleep, and the gods made sure they had.

They would not spend another night here. Dalamar was very determined about that. They would descend and find this spellbook, leave and get as far from this hideous place as possible. If it wasn’t for the spellbook, Dalamar would suggest they leave immediately.

But-

Nuitari, what was that about? Dalamar looked down at the warming mugs. A spellbook only Raistlin knew about, despite them having shared every book they had found in the past seven years. A spellbook that might have something to do with that terrible cough Raistlin had suffered since his Test.

It had to be something to do with that. And given Dalamar couldn’t imagine they would have time to get to Wayreth for months yet, once they had finished here Dalamar would find out what had happened. The Conclave could all drown in the New Sea, things had gone too far. Dalamar picked up the mugs by the handles and brought them back to where Raistlin was sitting. Raistlin gave an absent nod and picked up his red mug, sipping his tea with a sigh of relief.

Dalamar sat at his side, feeling the warmth of his sleepy body against his. Lovely. His own tea was sweeter-smelling than Raistlin’s, a strong brew he’d bought in Vantal, and he felt the world settle around them.

They were picking their way through breakfast as the others started waking up. Dalamar had his own spellbook out, flicking through the spells. Spells of hiding, of speed, of obstructions they could throw up between them and a pursuer. Raistlin’s mouth moved, going over an old spell they’d found in Ergoth- a little spell of charming. “So the plan is to cast that and ask the dragon very nicely for the spellbook?”

Raistlin started, and smiled, “It might have minions.” He whispered back, “If I could get it to work on a draconian, it might be able to go in and get the book for us.”

Not a bad idea. Dalamar nodded.

One by one, the others got ready. Raistlin got up, and reached down to help him up. For a moment, they didn’t let go. Regardless of their preparations, all their plans, they were about to face a dragon. The fate that had almost befallen Riverwind could be theirs.

“But we have nothing to fear.” Dalamar murmured against Raistlin’s soft hair, “For the great Dragonslayer is with us.”

“Bastard.” Raistlin drove an elbow in his side.

“You deserve it; all the times you’ve mocked me for necromancy. Our shows had better be ‘The Dragonslayer and the Necromancer’ from now on.”

“Then after I crush that dragon’s skull, you can raise it as an undead servant, and we can fly home on its back.” Raistlin picked up his pack, and threw it over his shoulders.

“Right into Haven,” Dalamar smiled, finding his own and settling it on his back. “They will hand Lemuel over in moments at the sight of such horrors.”

Raistlin kissed him to shut him up, and they turned to follow the others deeper into the temple.

A staircase led further down, cracked and crumbling, over overgrown with mushrooms and lichen. Raistlin lifted his staff and examined the walls, there might have once have been carvings there, but they were long gone. Raistlin frowned, as if trying to remember something- “The Paths of the Dead.”

“This?” Dalamar asked.

Raistlin nodded; that pleading look on his face. I know what I am asking, but do not question it. Trust me. Please, truth me.

Dalamar sighed, and nodded. Later. It must have been something from his Test, although how he could have known so much-

“How in the name of Reorx do you know that?” Flint spoke what Dalamar wouldn’t.

 “I have read something of this city,” Raistlin shrugged, nudging Dalamar. Dalamar nodded.

 “This is the first we’ve heard of it,” Sturm narrowed his eyes at them. “What else do you know that you haven’t told us?”

“Would you like to sit here and let me list them?” Raistlin said sweetly. “How many times have you seen me with a book, while you were too busy hitting each other with sticks-”

“Yes, study of that which is dark and mysterious,” the knight sneered. “What really happened in the Towers of High Sorcery, Raistlin? You didn’t gain these wonderful powers of yours without giving something in return-“

“Speak again and I will push you down the stairs.” Dalamar snapped; having Brightblade speak what was in his heart was nauseating.

“Yeah, what did they do to you there, Raist?” Caramon turned from beside Sturm. “What did he do to you?”

“I told you, Dalamar wasn’t-“ Raistlin snapped.

“Enough.” Tanis broke in before things could get worse. “Can you guide us through this place?”

Raistlin closed his eyes, seemed once again to be reaching for memories Dalamar would swear he could not have. “I could have, if we had come here prior to the Cataclysm. The- books I studied dated back hundreds of years. During the Cataclysm, when the fiery mountain struck Krynn, the city of Xak Tsaroth was cast down the side of a cliff. I recognize this staircase because it is still intact. As for beyond-” He shrugged.

“Where do the stairs lead?”

Raistlin didn’t answer at once, Dalamar wasn’t sure if it was his imagination, but the air seemed- colder, Raistlin’s golden skin paler. “To a place known as the Hall of the Ancestors. Priests and kings of Xak Tsaroth were buried in crypts there.”

“Let’s get moving,” Caramon shifted uncomfortably. “All we’re doing here is scaring ourselves.”

“Yes.” Raistlin opened his eyes, then stumbled, a coughing fit suddenly catching him. “We must go-“ He choked, “and go quickly- we have until nightfall- by tomorrow, this city will be overrun-”

“Bah!” Sturm turned away in disgust. “You may know lots of things as you claim; mage, but you can’t know that! Caramon is right, though- we have stayed here too long. I will take the lead.”

They walked down; Raistlin leaned against Dalamar, trying to stifle his cough. “Nightfall?”

Raistlin nodded, “The draconians know we’re here.” He said harshly, “We were lucky last night. Reinforcements will not be long in coming.”

Dalamar nodded. “Raistlin.” He whispered.

Raistlin looked at him, and knew what he was thinking. “Yes. I am sorry. I will. But the danger-“

“We are facing a dragon.” Dalamar reminded him.

That got him a weak smile. “Very well. I-“ he coughed again, swallowed, managed a breath. “I will tell you. When we are out of here.”

Although they were going further down, more lights seemed to be coming from ahead. They were reaching somewhere. Raistlin whispered “Dulak,” and put out the light in his staff. The others held still for a moment, listening. Tasslehoff ran ahead to get a better look.

There was the sound of falling water, and some kind of metallic grinding. It reminded Raistlin vaguely of the sound a portcullis might make, being raised or lowered. Then a series of low cracks, like whips. Raistlin glanced at Dalamar and the Dark elf had his eyes closed; the better to listen. “I hear footsteps.” He said at last, “Small ones.”

“Goblins?”

Dalamar shook his head, “Smaller- look out!”

He pulled Raistlin back as the footsteps suddenly became fully audible, and a rush of people flashed past an archway just ahead. Small people, as Dalamar had said, much shorter than goblins- or even kender. “Small enough to use those walkways we saw?” Raistlin murmured.

Dalamar blinked, and nodded. Flint sniffed, frowning. “I smell something- something familiar. I can’t place it.”

Raistlin breathed in, his lungs still raw and painful from the coughing fits. The air smelled of salt water and mushrooms to him.

“I smell death,” Goldmoon put in, shivering.

“Naw, this is something worse,” Then Flint’s eyes went wide with rage. “I’ve got it! Gully dwarf!” He unslung his axe. “That’s what those miserable little things were. Well, they won’t be gully dwarves for long. They’ll be stinking corpses!”

Gods of the Abyss, were they all utterly insane? Gully dwarves? Mercifully the others quickly restrained Flint before the dwarf told every draconian where they were. The idiot had apparently been taken prisoner by gully dwarves for years, and had sworn to murder every one of the poor creatures he came across.

Sometimes, the world became so obscene Raistlin wasn’t sure what to say. “Slaves,” He put in instead, “Undoubtedly the gully dwarves have lived here many years, probably ever since the city was abandoned. When the draconians were sent, perhaps, to guard the Disks, they found the gully dwarves and used them as slave labor.”

They’d run into a few tribes of gully dwarves before, mostly living in the more isolated corners of the Blode mountains, trying to stay out of the way of ogres and goblins and humans, and generally struggling to survive. Still-

Dalamar had clearly had the same idea. One thing gully dwarves were good at was staying out of sight. No one would pay them much attention- even a dragon.

They had not gone far before a group of gully dwarves found them. They rushed down the corridor towards them, parted as neatly as a stream around a stone, and kept going. Caramon tried to stop one, and the dwarf only shushed him, and kept running. There was another cracking sound, louder than before.

“A whip.” Dalamar breathed, and Raistlin nodded.

The gully dwarves looked squat at first glance, but that turned out to be just the layers of tattered clothes on their bodies. They were thin and filthy and looked exhausted, and the whip had left deep weals on their skin. Raistlin was sickeningly reminded of the slaves they’d seen at Hope’s End, from Ariakas’ army.

They followed, and quickly caught up with the gully dwarves. They were packed in a corridor, flinching as the whip cracked out again.

“I wonder why the little guys are lined up,” Caramon said.

“This is our chance to find out.“ Raistlin pulled Tanis back, stepping forwards. “Leave this to us.” Dalamar was beside him, ready. “Shrentak routine? We need to get their attention.”

“Perhaps we could put on such a show that the draconians and dragon will enjoy it.” Dalamar said dryly, “And give us the Disks and spellbook as rewards.”

Raistlin smiled, fighting back a laugh. Gods, he loved this man.

“We had better come with you,” Sturm growled, “to cover you, of course.”

There was no point in arguing. “Stay well behind us.” He walked down towards the line of gully dwarves.

The Aghar blinked up at him, fearful for a moment, then relieved when they realised he was not a draconian, no matter how strange he looked. A few pulled at his robes in interest, while another took his hand and rubbed at his skin, trying to see if the gold came off. Then there was another crack of the whip, and they flinched, quickly turning away to this greater threat.

Raistlin glanced at Dalamar, and he nodded. Raistlin conjured several balls out of thin air; silver, gold, red and blue. The gully dwarves turned back, nudging each other and smiling in delight as their wretched lives sudden became a lot more colourful. Raistlin tossed the balls to Dalamar, who threw them back, the balls rose up, and span around them. Then turned into a shower of gold coins that fell around the Aghar, who cheered and clapped in delight. The coins vanished, only to suddenly pour from the noses of the front few Aghar. They blinked in amazement, and dug fingers up their noses to make sure none had been left behind. Raistlin smiled, and drew the spell in his mind.

Sorry small ones, I will try and keep you out of danger.

“Suh tangus moipar, ast akular kalipad.”

The gully dwarves watched in delight at this new part of the show, and cheered as little ribbons of magic swirled around them. Raistlin wondered how much of the delight in their eyes when they looked at him was due to the spell, and how much had just been from the joy of the display.

“Friend!” They crowded around Raistlin, patting his robes and leaving grubby handprints along the hem. “Our friend!”

One of the gully dwarves- a female, smaller than the others, grabbed Dalamar by the hand. “This our friend!” She pointed. “He your friend too?”

Dalamar smiled at Raistlin, “Of course. A very good friend.” The gully dwarf released him, satisfied.

Raistlin met his eyes, then looked away. Yes, Dalamar was his friend. And Lemuel, Scrounger, maybe Horkin too. Four, and it had taken him years to get that many. Now, he had dozens. It was all too easy to see how some mages preferred to use this- shortcut, no matter how it might make his skin crawl. “Yes.” He said gently. “You are all my friends. Now, tell me, my friends, where does this corridor lead?”

Unfortunately, this question sorely taxed the Aghar’s uncertain grasp of common, but the gully dwarves were desperate to answer, happily pointing in all directions to explain where each corridor went, breaking in and out of the native tongue and talking over each other in eagerness to be helpful.

Finally, the little gully dwarf woman who had accosted Dalamar took charge, cracking heads together, the other Aghar quickly backing away, respect in their eyes. She looked up at Raistlin, shifting a massive bag over one shoulder. “That way?” She pointed back up the corridor.

Raistlin nodded.

“That way lead to daraphen- big bosses.” Her face set grimly.

“Tell me, little one,” Raistlin said. “How many bosses?”

This one seemed to have a better grasp of Common, but numbers were a trial. She counted on her fingers, frowned at them, and then finally held up four helplessly. “Two?”

“Not quite.”

There was another cracking sound, and the gully dwarf jumped. Raistlin couldn’t help but notice how she held her bag awkwardly on her shoulder, rather than against her back. Her dress was ragged there, stained brown. “The whip?” Raistlin said gently. She nodded, face expressionless.

“I might be able to help.”

“Bosses get mad.” She pointed down the corridor as another crack broke the air, “We go.”

“What is it you do for the bosses?” Raistlin struggled to keep his footing as the gully dwarves hurried off around him, but was forced to stumble along to avoid being knocked over.

 “We go. You see.” The gully dwarves called up in a cacophony. “We down. They up. Down. Up. Down. Up. Come. You go. We give ride down.”

Probably one answer could have been coherent, but Raistlin shook his head helplessly. Dalamar was being carried along with him, and the others were bringing up the rear. Thankfully, they stopped before the draconians actually came into view. “We wait our turn.” The gully dwarf pointed ahead again.

Raistlin looked down at her and smiled, “What’s your name, little one?”

She looked up at him, eyes bright at the affection. “Bupu.”

“Do you know where the dragon’s lair is, Bupu?”

Bupu’s eyes went wide, “You want dragon?!”

“No, no.” Raistlin carefully revised his vocabulary. “We don’t want the dragon. We want the dragon’s home- where the dragon lives.”

“Oh,” she calmed down; relieved her new friend wasn’t suicidal. “Me not know that. But me take you to the great Highbulp. He know lots.”

Raistlin looked up at Tanis and the others, packed in along the walls by the mass of Aghar. “This Highbulp is probably head of the clan, maybe head of several clans.”

 “If he’s as intelligent as this lot, he won’t know where his own wash bowl is, let alone the dragon,” Sturm scowled at the gully dwarves. Several were rubbing at his armor and blinking at their own reflections in the steel.

They didn’t understand. Raistlin caught Dalamar’s eye, and was relieved to see Dalamar did. Then again, Dalamar probably knew very well what it was like to be among people who spoke a language unfamiliar to him. He had once told Raistlin he’d known barely any Common when he was first exiled.

Tasslehoff came back then, delighted to explain the sort of lift he’d seen ahead. The Aghar were being used as a counterweight to the opposing lift, which was used by the draconians to get up and down. “Pot full of big bosses.” Bupu agreed.

Tanis shifted, “So these are the bosses. How many draconians are there by the pot?”

Bupu looked down at her fingers, and again held up four. “Two? Not more than two?”

“That’s four, little one.”

Bupu looked at her fingers, mouthing four under her breath.

The others put their heads together, bickering. Dalamar shifted closer to Raistlin. “I’ve changed my mind, use that charm spell on those idiots, and we’ll sit back with the gully dwarves while they get eaten.”

Raistlin smiled, and leaned against him. The Aghar were far more pleasant company. Bupu snuggled into his robes happily. “Fine.” Tanis turned to the gully dwarves. “When you get to the lift- er, pot- don’t jump in. Just dodge aside and keep out of the way. All right?”

The gully dwarves looked up at Raistlin, checking if this was okay. Raistlin nodded. “Don’t jump in, just get out of the way and stay safe. We will take care of the big bosses.”

The crack of the whip was deafening, this close. They must be using a bullwhip. “Quit loafing, you scum, or we’ll chop your nasty feet off and give you an excuse for being slow!”

“We’ll see whose feet get chopped off,” Caramon drew his sword.

“You cut off their feet?” One of the gully dwarves perked up- the so familiar joy of the slave about to watch something unpleasant happen to the slavemaster. “This be some fun!”

It was, in fact, a disaster. The lift was swarming with draconians, and it was only the gully dwarves jumping in the spare pot put to bring the others back up that saved them from being cut to ribbons. Tanis was swaying on his feet when they dragged him out of the pot; the others were bloody and smeared with draconian ichor. Dalamar threw one last spell after the disappearing pot of draconians, and stepped back, catching his breath. Raistlin checked his staff to make sure it had not been damaged from being used to block the mechanism.

“We can’t get down that way!” Sturm said, climbing out of the pot. “And we can’t stay around up here. It won’t take them long to get this lift back in operation and then they’ll be after us. We’ll have to go back.”

“No! Don’t go!” The little gully dwarf Bupu was still at Raistlin’s side, pointing up the corridor. “I know way to Highbulp! Good way! Secret way! No bosses,” She looked up at Raistlin, and stroked his hand gently. “I not let bosses get you. You pretty.”

Raistlin pointedly didn’t look at him, but despite the mess Dalamar couldn’t help but grin. “I agree completely.”

“Do shut up.”

“I am never going to let you forget this, you know that.”

“Bupu, please get him to shut up.” The Aghar’s eyes lit up and she turned and punched Dalamar hard in the calf.

“Ow!”

“You deserved that. Thank you little one.” Bupu beamed.

She led them down a corridor. There were the sounds of more draconians ahead, but Bupu skidded to a halt in front of a seemingly unmarked stretched of wall. She dug a moth eaten stuffed rat from her bag, and waved it at the wall. With the grinding of stone, a door opened out of nowhere.

“Come on.” Raistlin lifted his staff, “Shirak.”

“I know way down.” Bupu led them into a small room covered in lichen and fungi. “No worry.”

“How did you open the door, little one?” Raistlin glanced back at the door.

“Magic,” she set her shoulders back proudly, holding the dead rat by the tail.

“It’s not magic, Raistlin,” Tasslehoff nudged them, giggling. “It’s a simple, hidden floor lock. I saw it when she pointed at the wall and I was about to say something when she went through this magic rigmarole-”

Bupu’s eyes were wide with fear and oh. “Magic!” She insisted desperately.

“Of course it’s magic, little one.” Raistlin gave Tasslehoff a furious look. “Everyone knows Bupu is the great mage of Xak Tsaroth. The kender is a fool.”

Tasslehoff opened his mouth to protest, but Dalamar stamped on his foot. A gully dwarf in such a miserable place, and even smaller than the others. She would be an easy target for draconians and bigger gully dwarves, but if she could make them believe she could do magic-

It was something Dalamar had never known. He had never been weak, not like that. But judging by the look on Raistlin’s face, he did know. Knew it so very well. Dalamar put a hand on his shoulder gently, and resigned himself to having the gully dwarf tagging along for- probably the next month or so.

“Come, you go.” Bupu pointed ahead, and led the way through to a half collapsed room. The mouth of a large pipe stuck out of the wall. “Go down!”

Raistlin bent down, sticking his staff inside and letting Dalamar look down. “How far does it go?”

“Further than I can see.” Dalamar pulled his head out, grimacing at the wet slime clinging to his hair- it was going to get a lot worse, if they were going down this.

“Come, you go!” Bupu winced as the great chain started creaking again, the lift had been repaired. “Bosses can’t follow.”

“That’s probably true,” Tanis said. “Not with their wings.”

 “But there’s not room enough to swing a sword,” Sturm glared at the pipe.

“Then get behind us.” Raistlin walked over to the pipe, “There’s enough space to cast.”

“I will not rely on your foul-“

Thankfully, Tasslehoff chose that moment to dive into the pipe. “Me first!”

Dalamar looked at Sturm, who ground his teeth. Bupu went in after, Raistlin tucked his staff along his backpack, and came in after that. Dalamar sighed, and hoped his cantrips would be enough to clean up the hideous mess they’d make of their robes.

The pipe was foul, slippery with algae and moss. “Shirak.” Raistlin murmured, and the staff on his back flared, lighting the way down. Behind them, the screech and clang of Sturm and Caramon’s armor set his teeth on edge.

“Are you alright?” Dalamar touched the back of Raistlin’s leg. There was no answer, which was answer enough. He could hear Raistlin’s breathing, deliberately steady. He was fighting back a fit. “Can we hurry?” He called to Bupu.

“I try! But stupid scum-gulpers in way!” She shouted something down the pipe in her own language, and other gully dwarves yelled back. Whatever she said carried weight, however, because the other gully dwarves started backing down the pipe, grumbling. It was too much for Raistlin, he sat with his back against the pipe, coughing miserably.

Dalamar reached over and rubbed his back. “Come on.” Dalamar whispered, “Let’s get through this, and we can rest.” Raistlin wiped his mouth nodded, curling up against him. Dalamar kissed his head, then his cheek.

“I help.” Bupu burrowed against his thigh. “I have cure for cough. Here.” She dug into her pockets emptying out a heel of moldy bread, several strips of willow bark, a fat, bewildered looking frog, and a fistful of jewels. Raistlin and Dalamar looked at each other, astonished. “What is that?” Raistlin croaked.

“Pretty rocks.” Bupu shrugged, and kept digging.

Raistlin picked one up, in the light of the staff; it gleamed like sunlight through leaves. “An emerald.”

“You like?” She beamed up at him. When they both nodded furiously, she closed Raistlin’s hand over the stone. “You keep. Ah, here!”

She pulled out another stuffed animal- a lizard, this time. “You wear around neck. Cure cough.”

Raistlin took it, closed his eyes and inhaled, then smiled. Dalamar could smell it from here; Bupu had made a pomander out of it, stuffed with mint, rosemary and thyme. Good herbs for a cough. “Thank you little one.” Raistlin handed it back. “But I am better. Keep your cure.”

Bupu nodded, and packed up her pouch. She was about to pack up the gems, then looked from them, to Dalamar, then reached in and pulled out a sapphire, set in silver. A broach. “For you.” She handed it to Dalamar, “Wear in hair.”

“And what magic will that do?” Dalamar gathered his hair and clipped it in as a tie.

“Pretty magic. Make you look nice for him.” Nodding at Raistlin.

Raistlin covered his smile.

Chapter Text

“Bentuk cilin sihir.” Dalamar cast wearily. “Bentuk cilin sihir.”

“Save your strength, they’re as good as they’re going to get.” Raistlin protested. His robes were dry, at least. He doubted anything would shift the stains. The slime of the pipe, followed by the moldy flour of the bakery they had landed in and the dampness of the air outside had left discolored blotches on the red cloth. Dalamar was better off with black.

Looking down, he could see almost all the way straight down the sheer cliff-face. The Cataclysm must have thrown all of Xak Tsaroth down here, then collapsed the ceiling on top to form this immense cavern. Water cascaded down the walls, but there must be some channel out at the bottom, because he could see the cobbles of the courtyard far below, under a thin sheen of water.

Dalamar looked a little easier in the open space, drawing in a calming breath. The spray from the falls landed in little diamonds in his black hair, sparkled on the sapphire in his hair. Sometimes, it was all Raistlin could do just to look, and gorge himself on beauty.

“Follow river.” Bupu pulled on his robes, and pointed down the street they were on, then down to a pile of buildings far below. “This Highbulp’s-“ She frowned, mouth moving. “Bidul? House? Big pretty house?”

“Palace?” Raistlin tried.

She considered, and nodded. “Palace. Pretty place. Bosses not go there.”

They walked down, it was eerie and uncomfortable looking up at the buildings hunched up above them, the mass of houses and cobblestones and rubble looming over the cavern. Dalamar took his hand as they walked. “Some things you wouldn’t imagine could be possible.” He murmured.

He wasn’t wrong. “Does it make all this worth it?”

“Ask me again when we are out of here.” This beautiful, dazzling smile, brighter than any gem. “Unharmed, and with a spellbook.”

“You want book?” Bupu looked up from his side. “I have book. Nice pictures.”

“A magic book.” Raistlin corrected.

Bupu considered, “I not have one of those.” She admitted. “I find you one.”

“Shouldn’t the spell have worn off by now?” Dalamar whispered in his ear as Bupu continued ahead.

“I stopped holding it when we attacked the lift.” Raistlin murmured back. “This is all her.”

“She is an excellent judge of character.”

“Who lives in the reconstructed buildings right below us?” Tanis broke in, catching up with them.

“Bosses,” Bupu frowned up at him.

“How many bosses?”

“One, and one, and one.” Bupu counted all her fingers, and stared at them miserably. “Two,” she said. “Not more than two. Two-two-two.” She huffed in exasperation. “Gi, bi, pi. Why you not count properly?”

“Which could be anything from two hundred to two thousand,” Sturm growled. “How do we get to see the High-whoop.”

“Highbulp!” Bupu bristled, surrounded by these unfriendly people; she looked like a cornered cat. Raistlin hurried to walk beside her. “Highbulp Phudge I. The great.”

“How do we get to him, without the bosses catching us?”

“The draconians don’t know about the route we took.” Raistlin said wearily, “They will be searching for us above, and most likely have called up reinforcements to help.”

Bupu nodded, and pointed at the chain and pot contraptions, that was already drawing up another gang of draconians. More were waiting for their turn below.

“All right,” Sturm said. “But how in the name of Istar do we get down? Most of us can’t fly!”

 Bupu rolled her eyes, looking up in condolence to Raistlin for putting up with such idiots. “Vines.” She pointed.

The sheer cliff ahead was overrun with thick creepers, pale from the lack of sunlight, but thick and sturdy. They checked over the edge, but the fall was a clear one. “You use your staff.” Dalamar nodded, “I’ll cast it myself. If we stay close to the cliff face, we should be out of sight from the draconians.”

“We might need to take passengers.” Raistlin nodded. Goldmoon was at the edge of the cliff, looking down. Her face was white. “Can you take her? I’ll bring Bupu.”

Dalamar narrowed his eyes playfully, “Oh, you get the sweet little gully dwarf, and I have to take the priestess of Quanesti-Pah? That is hardly fair.”

Raistlin smirked, and looked down at Bupu. “What do you think, little one, who do you want to ride with?” Bupu latched on to his robe. “I think she’s made up her mind.”

“Bastard.” Dalamar groaned.

“It’ll mean more coming from you.” Raistlin nudged him.

“Do you really expect it to make a difference?”

He leaned closer. “If they do get those Disks, we might be able to get a look at them and-“ a wary glance at Goldmoon, “A spell or two, to melt just a little platinum, change some commandment for purification by fire to-“

“Purification by bathing, or cake.” Dalamar smirked. “Very well, I’ll be the cleric’s ride down.”

Goldmoon narrowed her eyes in suspicion as he approached. “I can climb.” But her voice was hoarse, and when she looked down, her dark face went greenish.

“That is your choice, but you do not have to.” Dalamar shrugged. “Raistlin has the other most beautiful lady riding with him, I tried my best.”

Riverwind spluttered something, but Goldmoon gave a weak smile and waved him off. “The Gods give me strength, but you do not trust them. Why offer to help me?”

Dalamar sighed. “Because we are facing a dragon, and need all the help we can get. Now, are you coming or not?”

“Kan-toka,” Riverwind stepped forward, took her hands. “It will be all right. We saw them jump down at the inn. Just don’t look down.” He glared at Dalamar. “If she comes to harm-“

“We’ll be both splattered on the stones below, and you and Raistlin will be mourning us.”

“Don’t say that.” Raistlin snapped before Riverwind could say anything. The plainsman nodded.

Dalamar smiled. “Do you doubt my magic, husband?” A wink at Riverwind.

“I hate all of you.” Raistlin sighed. “The others are climbing down, come on.”

Bupu nodded, “Need to get to Highbulp.” She was clinging to Raistlin’s robes; Raistlin had an arm around her. Dalamar stamped down a surge of idiotic jealousy.

Goldmoon drew in a breath and walked over to Dalamar. She wound one hand into the straps of his pack, the other clenching tight on his shoulder. She shut her eyes tight. “I am ready.”

Raistlin and Bupu jumped. Dalamar stepped back to the edge of the gulf. Normally he’d have let himself fall first, but Goldmoon looked so terrified he didn’t have the heart. “Pveatherfall.” He breathed, and stepped off.

Goldmoon gave a high noise in her throat, fingers digging in painfully, burying her face in his robes. “Hold on!” Riverwind called, starting to climb down after them. “Do not let go. It is working!”

Slowly, they drifted down. Dalamar saw Raistlin, a little way below, light flaring from his staff. A few moments later, he landed. Bupu jumping out of his arms and starting to lead the way across the courtyard. “We are almost there.” Dalamar told the plainswoman.

Goldmoon didn’t appear to have heard, her head down, long hair shrouding her face.

They landed unsteadily on the slick cobbles. Goldmoon gasped, opened her eyes and stumbled back. “Oh.” She looked up to where the others were still descending, then closed her eyes and shuddered. “That was so fast. Thank you.”

“Dalamar.” Raistlin walked over to meet them, touched his arm.

“Did you really doubt my magic?” Dalamar leaned in, touching their cheeks together.

“No, but I don’t like you joking about such things.”

Dalamar put his arms around Raistlin, and pulled him close. “None of that.” He whispered. “I’m here, I’m not going anywhere.”

Beside them, Goldmoon was leaning against Riverwind, eyes closed. Dalamar met the plainsman’s eyes, and shared a small smile.

“Great Plaza that way.” Bupu pulled at their robes. “Come. You follow. Go see Highbulp!”

Tanis grabbed her as she started away. “Wait! Just listen a moment! What about the dragon? Where’s the dragon?”

 Bupu pulled away, looking in alarm between Tanis and Raistlin. “You want dragon?”

“No!” Tanis snapped. “We don’t want the dragon. But we need to know if the dragon comes into this part of the city-” Sturm rolled his eyes and pulled him away. “Forget it. Never mind. Go on.”

“She doesn’t know where the dragon is.” Raistlin pulled away from Dalamar wearily. “She already told us.”

“They want dragon?” Bupu took his hand. “They with dragon?”

“No.” They started down the ruined street.

“Then why want dragon? Dragon kill us. Kill us like us rats.” She looked down, wretchedly.

Raistlin rested a hand on her head. “They want to kill the dragon.”

“Then they mad. Dragon kill them, then kill us for helping.”

She wasn’t wrong. Dalamar met Raistlin’s eyes, if the others did manage to steal the Disks- or if they themselves stole the spellbook- the dragon might well be so furious as to take it out on the gully dwarves. “If that happens, you can come with us.” Raistlin promised, “We will keep you safe.”

“My people? My family? She shook her head. “I not leave them to die.”

They had no answer to that. “Perhaps the others will fight the dragon, and we can run off with the spellbook while it vents its spleen on them.” Dalamar tried.

Raistlin pulled a face. He probably wasn’t quite reconciled with leaving his brother to die. Dalamar sighed. This was going to be a disaster.

“But if they do kill the dragon.” Raistlin said gently, “Wouldn’t that be better? It wouldn’t be there to hurt your people then.”

“We try. When it first come. We kill big deer, stuff with poison mushrooms. Fliphub mushroom. Kill like-“ she snapped her fingers- “Old Highbulp offer it to dragon. Dragon eat it. Then her. It not die. Not even sick.”

“The others want to stab it with swords.”

Bupu paused, thought it over. “Maybe work. But need to hit hard.”

“That’s all they’re good at.”

The street opened up to a great plaza. The water swirled heavily in the center, forming a slowly spinning whirlpool. Beyond it, in the mists, Dalamar picked out the ruins of a once beautiful structure. “The palace of Xak Tsaroth.”

Raistlin frowned, trying to see- but it was too late, and mists closed again.

Bupu pointed, “Other side Great Plaza. You come, Highbulp this way.”

“The Royal Palace.” Raistlin peered, then pulled a face and covered his mouth, struggling with a cough.

“Shh!” Goldmoon was staring into the fog. “Can’t you see? No, wait-“

Dalamar looked, then grabbed Raistlin and dragged him back into the shadows. Raistlin caught Bupu by the arm and pulled her too.

The dragon came, trailing streamers of mists behind it. Dalamar pulled Raistlin down behind an outcropping of rubble, Bupu pressed tight against them. “That dragon.” She gave them an ironic smile. “You still want?”

“Shh.”

Raistlin threw his cloak over his staff, the crystal was starting to glow angrily. A weapon to destroy dragons, it sensed its enemy. “And if you get us caught, you’ll end your days on that thing’s hoard.” Dalamar hissed to the artifact. “Stop it at once!”

The crystal dimmed, abashed. Raistlin smiled, “You have a talent for intimidating magical staffs.”

“I have crafted enough objects not to be in awe.”

The dragon was fully out of the palace now. Its body was lean and coiled like a serpent, mostly neck and tail. Great horns curled around its head, and greenish acid dripped from its jaws, smoking where it hit the ground. A few feet away, hidden behind their own shelter, Riverwind shuddered, and Goldmoon covered his hand with hers.

“I cannot believe this report! None could have escaped me.” The dragon hissed, voice soft and almost liquid. “The staff was not with them. I would have sensed its presence. You say these intruders are still above, in the upper chambers? Are you certain?”

“There is no way down, royal one, except the lift.” The draconian was one of the bronze ones, trembling in terror so close to the dragon.

“There are other ways, you lizard,” The dragon snapped its teeth in scorn, “These miserable gully dwarves crawl around the place like parasites.” Bupu huddled closer, trembling. Raistlin put a hand on her shoulder. “The intruders have the staff, and they are trying to get down into the city. That means only one thing- they are after the Disks! How could they have learned of them?” The creature hissed, spitting more acid. The draconian dodged just in time.

Then the dragon reared, clawing the ground in rage. The draconian fell it its knees. “The staff! That miserable staff! Verminaard should have foreseen this with those clerical powers he touts so highly, then it could have been destroyed. But, no, he is busy with his war while I must rot here in this dank tomb of a city.”

So, the Gods of Darkness did have clerics already. This Verminaad was one of them. Dalamar weighed that carefully. If- if- they could bargain with the dragon, for the spellbook, and perhaps a little healing magic-

Raistlin stepped, very deliberately, on his foot. “No.”

“You could destroy the Disks,” the draconian trembled, hands outstretched for mercy.

“Fool, don’t you think we’ve tried? No, it is far too dangerous to stay here longer. If these intruders know of the secret, others must also. The Disks should be removed to a safe place. Inform Lord Verminaard that I am leaving Xak Tsaroth. I will join him in Pax Tharkas and I will bring the intruders with me for questioning.”

“Inform Lord Verminaard?” Horror filled the draconians eyes. Perhaps Raistlin was right, if this Verminaad scared this monster more than the dragon did, then it would be too much of a risk to try and deal with him. Dalamar pulled a face, it was Hope’s End all over again, but this time they were stuck with these idiots, instead of a professional army.

“Very well,” the dragon rolled its eyes, “If you insist on the charade, ask my Lord’s permission. I suppose you have sent most of the troops up to the top?”

“Yes, royal one.” The draconian bowed.

The dragon grumbled to itself. “Perhaps you are not such an idiot after all, I can handle things below. Concentrate your search in the upper parts of the city. When you find these intruders, bring them straight to me. Do not hurt them any more than necessary to subdue them. And be careful of that staff!”

The draconian backed away, bowing with every step. The dragon turned away, and walked into the fogs, towards the palace. As it vanished, it felt as if the world had let out a breath it had been holding. The draconians was gone, hurrying back to the lift.

“Scumbulp.” Bupu moaned, “She know. She go after us.” She hesitated for a long moment, then steeled herself. “Come. We go. Not get worse now.”

Raistlin looked at him. Dalamar sighed. “I know, enough.”

“My arguments still stand.” Raistlin whispered, “You saw what they did in the village. Do you want to put us in such a creature’s power? Any of us?” Looking and Bupu.

“It would be nice to be among allies we didn’t need to protect.” Dalamar looked back at where the dragon had vanished. “To fight such a creature? With no one but Brightblade and your brother?”

“You think I have not thought of that?” Raistlin grimaced, “But if we are not strong enough to fight such a thing, we will be at the mercy of this Lord Verminaad- and whatever other monsters in this army.”

“Would that not be better than being hunted by them?” Dalamar sighed. “Weak allies we can perhaps trust, or strong ones we definitely cannot?”

Raistlin didn’t answer, but looked down at Bupu, trotting along beside them, so trustingly. Oh Abyss. Dalamar shook his head, knowing he was lost. Raistlin had steel inside him, and he knew he would not bend on this.

The gully dwarves had been crammed into the poorest, most damaged part of the city. There were far too many of them for such small space, and all were fearful and exhausted, staring at them from corners and ruined windows. A small child, barely coming up to Raistlin’s knee, peered at them in astonishment, and was quickly pulled away. As they started down the streets, whispered started, rising to shouts of warning. One particularly brave individual threw a brick at Sturm. The knight bristled and grabbed his sword.

“Can’t you get them to be quieter?” Tanis said desperately.

Bupu shrugged “No bosses. They not come here.” She gave Raistlin an ironic smile, “Afraid of great Highbulp.”

Some of the gully dwarves from above were there, whispering to the others- perhaps sharing the story of the battle at the lift. The gully dwarves’ faces brightened- hoping these warriors would be there to save them, Raistlin thought with a sinking heart.

Bupu winked at him, and led them down the foulest alley Raistlin had ever seen. It seemed to have been deliberately designed to be as revolting at possible. Bupu winked again.

“Do we have to go in there?” Sturm looked like me might be sick.

“The smell alone is enough to knock a troll dead,” Caramon was faintly green. “And I’d rather die under the dragon’s claw than have a gully dwarf hovel fall on top of me.”

“Which is exactly what they want the draconians to think.” Raistlin knew that tactic. He’d even tried it once. After a particularly horrible day at school, he’d been chased down to the lake by a dozen jeering boys. He’d had the idea to dive into the smelliest mud he could find, and none of them had wanted to hit him after that. It had taken the best part of a week to get the smell off, but it had been worth it.

“The Highbulp!” Bupu whispered, pointing. The house was at first glance to be the most rickety and ruined on the block- but a closer look showed the damage to be just cosmetic. Here and there, it had been carefully reinforced in case a draconian did try to enter.

 “Stay here and keep watch if you want,” Tanis had had enough. “I’ll go talk with the Highbulp.”

 “No.” Sturm scowled. “We’re in this together.”

The alley led to a dead end. Bupu pushed them out of the way, coming to the front, while the curiois gully dwarves brought up the rear.

 “Ambush!” Sturm span around. He and Caramon drew their swords, and the gully dwarves gave Raistlin a shocked and betrayed look, and fled in panic.

“Make them stop!” Bupu was horrified. “Or I no take to Highbulp!”

“Put your sword away.” Raistlin shook his head. Gods, he was tired. “Unless you think you’ve found a foe worthy of you.”

For a moment, he thought Sturm was going to attack him. In such a narrow alley, it would take no more than a step for him to lunge and spit Raistlin on the blade. Dalamar and Bupu grabbed his robes, pulling him away from the rabid knight. But at the last moment, he controlled himself, and sheathed his sword. “I wish I knew what your game was, mage,” He spat. “You were so eager to come to this city, even before we knew about the Disks. Why? What are you after?”

Oh for the love of- Raistlin was struggling to find words, but Dalamar broke in. “You boast of knowing about dragons, knightling,” He snarled, “You did not hear of its tales of treasure and riches? Perhaps we merely want to help ourselves to its hoard, while you are busy running off and dying.”

“Enough.” Raistlin hoped the inside of the house was better than the outside. He was so tired. “They will not trouble you further, little one,” he nodded at Bupu.

Chapter Text

They should probably have guessed. Dalamar thought, hiding a smile. Gully dwarves had always been poor and wretched; it made sense that during their peaceful life here, they would have gone a little- wild with the riches of Xak Tsaroth.

There was something deeply satisfying seeing the riches of one of the Kingpriest’s greatest cities like this. An intricate tapestry honouring some elven statesman had been decorated in brilliant colours, and man himself in bright green and sporting a grossly oversized penis. Delicate statues of the Gods had been broken up and used as a sort of game, with E’li head with Habbakuk’s wings on Kiri-Jolith’s body. A beautiful crown, perhaps a copy of the Kingpriest's own, was being used as a footbath.

But the Highbulp himself had been far too helpful, and Dalamar didn’t like it at all. He was stilling going over the meeting in his head as he sat down beside Raistlin and Bupu in the antechamber. The gully dwarf offered them a grilled rodent on a stick. “Squirrel?”

“Thank you, no.” Raistlin sipped his tea, eyes closed in relief.

Dalamar shrugged, and took it. “Thank you.”

It was well cooked and tender, and it saved them from eating their own supplies. Raistlin leaned against him, eyes closing. His breath slowed, evening out into sleep. Dalamar settled him more comfortably against his side, and pressed a kiss on the side of his head.

“He okay?” Bupu whispered.

Dalamar hesitated. “He will be,” he said finally, “I will make sure of it.”

Bupu smiled. “He kind. I no see kind big one before.”

“I’m not kind,” Dalamar stroked Raistlin’s side. He sighs and curled up close. “I’ll kill anyone who hurts him.”

“Good.”

They sat quietly, and Dalamar felt his own eyes start to close, lulled by the quiet, and Raistlin’s warm weight beside him. He struggled to keep them open- and felt Bupu touch his hand. “I keep watch. Someone come, I wake you.”

If Raistlin did insist on bringing this one with them, Dalamar didn’t think he’d argue too much. He relaxed against the thick hangings, and closed his eyes, breathing in the scent of his lover. For a few, precious moments, there was nothing but the two of them, suspended in the void.

Then Bupu was shaking his arm. “They come. With map.”

“Map.” A new gully dwarf agreed, proffering a rolled up scrap of parchment.

Bupu took it, and handed it to Raistlin, who was sitting up and yawning. Raistlin started to undo it- only to have it snatched out of his hands by Tanis, who tore it open and lay it down.

Dalamar snorted. “They don’t think much of our intelligence, do they?”

“Oh, quite the opposite.” Raistlin murmured, looking down at the vague scribble on the parchment. “I think he knew it was exactly what we’d expect.”

“What are you talking about?” Sturm scowled.

“He doesn’t have a map.” Raistlin stretched. “That is why he has never returned for the treasure.” He picked it up and sniffed the parchment. “The ink is fresh; he gave us the map we would expect, from a gully dwarf.”

“So what do we do now?” Tanis sighed.

Raistlin looked down at Bupu and- oh, the jewels, the brooch Dalamar still had in his hair. Bupu glared at both of them. “You know.” She accused.

“We are cleverer than most.” Raistlin said gently, “And we need you, little one.”

The anger ebbed. “Just for show, to get dragon away?”

“Of course.”

This felt wrong. Dalamar looked down at the map again. A fake map. To appease them, so they would leave without hurting anyone? Or was there something more sinister planned, to lull them into a false sense of security? “Did you give the Highbulp some pretty rocks before?”

Bupu shrugged, “He Highbulp, he like pretty rocks.”

So, he would also know that Bupu knew the way to the dragon’s hoard. Dalamar gave Raistlin a sharp look.

Raistlin chewed his lip, “We carry on with the plan.”

“Raistlin-“

“I know, but it is our best chance.” Raistlin leaned against him, drank a swallow of his tea to steel himself. “The book is night-blue leather,” he breathed, “With runes in silver-“ he broke off, the coughing fit gripping him.

He couldn’t speak of it. Something wasn't letting him speak of it. Every time Raistlin had spoken of the spellbook, he had rushed to get the words out before the fit caught him. Dalamar felt a sick chill run through him. There was some malign intelligence behind Raistlin’s sickness. Horror filled him for a moment- and then turned into blinding, incandescent rage so explosive he could do nothing but shake from the force of it.

Was it some mage from the Conclave, binding him to silence? Or worse, was it some- oh Nuitari- withering spell, draining Raistlin’s life and feeding it to some- oh no, he wouldn’t think of such a thing. He would find out the truth soon enough, he would not torment himself with black imaginings.

The fit passed, Raistlin managed another swallow of tea. “I can do this.”

“I know you can.” Dalamar took his hand, “But you do not need to. Let me do it, my love. You go in, and get the spellbook. I’ll distract the dragon.”

Raistlin closed his eyes, rested against him. “I cannot.” He whispered. “I can barely speak of it. If I were to try and take it-“ the cough racked him, making it too clear what he meant.

“Whoever is hurting you,” And Raistlin stared at him, eyes wide. Dalamar smiled. I know. “Will they not try and force these fits on you when the dragon approaches?” Raistlin opened his mouth, but struggled to breathe, his lungs spasming and only letting the air in with a raw whistle. He shook his head. “It doesn’t want you dead, is that it?” A nod. “I love you.” Dalamar held him close. “I will get the spellbook, and when we are safe, you will tell me what is going on. And I will find whoever is doing this to you, and tear their spine out through their eyesockets.”

Arrogant. Fistandantilus spat, furious as they made their way through the streets. But he was right, the lich wasn’t so stupid as to force a fit on him now, and risk the dragon destroying the pair of them. I should devour you now, wretch.

No you can’t. Raistlin gave him a cold smile. You would have done so long ago, if you could.

He got a wordless snarl in response, Raistlin tried to put him out of his mind and focus on what they were doing. The gully dwarves had all vanished; no doubt someone had overheard and spread the word that everyone should keep their heads down.

All the same, Raistlin’s skin crawled. Too quiet. The instincts born of five years of campaigning were screaming that something was wrong. They were walking into a trap.

He looked down at Bupu who had also stopped, chewing her bottom lip. She had felt it too. Raistlin opened his mouth to call this off. They had to go back before it was too late-

But it already was. A heavy blow hit him on the back of the head, and the world somersaulted, blinking out in a kaleidoscope of stars. He scrabbled for consciousness, feeling it slip hopelessly through his fingers until he finally managed to catch the last threads of it. Somewhere far away, he was aware of someone picking him up, a faint cry that must come from Bupu- and something else, something huge and terrifying and laughing that made him glad he was so far away. It almost tempted him to let go, flee into the security of the darkness-

No. No he could not lose himself. If they thought him unconscious, he might have a chance- if an absurdly slim one. Raistlin kept his eyes closed; letting his body fall limp. Slowly, his senses returned. His head ached abominably; he could taste blood from a split lip. He could feel the hands carrying him- clawed hands. Draconian.

“Bring him here.” The terrible voice rang through him like a bell, Raistlin managed not to flinch. That voice. The dragon.

Like Immolatus. Raistlin could feel the choking terror that surrounded the beast, driving out all thought but blind panic, like a rabbit in a trap. Raistlin managed not to move, and thankfully the draconian was shaking so hard in terror it didn’t feel him tense.

The draconian stumbled, walking on something unsteady. Raistlin heard the clink and slip of metal under its feet- then was thrown up onto some kind of flat surface. The cold stone was a relief against his back, something solid to pin down his wavering thoughts. Think, damn you, think. Raistlin bludgeoned his mind furiously; he needed to get out, and quickly. Invisibility would not work, even if he got the spell off he was in no state to move with any speed, the dragon would gut him in seconds. Gods, if only he and Dalamar had some kind of teleportation-

Oh Luntiari, Dalamar.

They would be coming. Gods, how much time had passed? The world had blinked out for what seemed to be a moment but might have been much longer. The count might be long since finished, and Dalamar could be hurrying here, with no idea he was running into a trap-

"I know you are awake, mage." The voice was a low purr.

Raistlin kept his eyes closed. He could feel the dragon’s foul breath against his cheek, and dragonfear twisting his stomach, but perhaps if he couldn't see the beast; it might not affect him so badly-

Something sharp dug into his stomach, and Raistlin’s eyes opened involuntarily.

Oh Lunitari. Oh sweet gods. The great, jagged head was a mere foot away from his own. So close that Raistlin could see in perfect detail the heavy fangs, each as long as his forearm, the glittering eyes with their slit pupils fixed mercilessly on his own, and the slow drips of acid running from the dragon's maw. One drop landed on his arm, and Raistlin flinched, feeling it burn through the material and sear his flesh.

The dragon’s mouth drew up in a hideous smile, bearing those teeth. "A pity not all your allies are as trustworthy as your little friend here."

With a wrench of effort, Raistlin tore his eyes away from the dragon's and looked over the edge of the altar he was lying on. Bupu was huddled and crying on a pile of the beast’s treasure, the Staff of Magius next to her.

The staff- it had killed Immolatus, and even from here he could see the crystal glowing furiously, as if enraged to be so close to a dragon. If he could just grab it-

He might be able to get a blow in, perhaps two, but no more before the dragon killed him. He had only won against Immolatus because the dragon was in human guise. Unless this one decided to make itself so vulnerable, he would have no chance.

Besides, the dragon had not killed him yet. There might still be a way out.

As if reading his thoughts, the enormous creature idly reached out a claw and held him down. The grey-black hook dug through his robes, pressed against his stomach hard enough to draw blood. Despite being half frozen from fear, Raistlin flinched.

"Oh, do not be in such a hurry to leave. We are going to wait for the rest of your friends to arrive. They have the Blue Crystal Staff, you see, and I am not so unfair as to take it while giving nothing in return.”

Oh Lunitari, it did know. Gods, it must have been that Highbulp. What were the lives of a few outsiders against those of all his people? Nuitari, warn Dalamar. Don’t let him come here- he tried to sit up but the beast pinned him back down again. "Of course, you only have to be alive for this, not unharmed. Do not move mage, or perhaps you would like to see how well you can spellcast without a tongue, or hands, or eyes."

Raistlin couldn’t have moved if he tried, frozen from dragonfear, struggling to force air into lungs tight with fear. And then, soft from the corner of the room- voices. Oh Gods no. Go back! Don't come here!

The dragon's smile widened, looking over to where the sounds came from. "Dulak.”

She would attack now. Like at the well. Jump up and blast them all with acid- trapped together, coming through the passage, they would all be caught in it. The sickening fear when they had seen Riverwind, realised how close they had come to that fate- that would be the truth. Dalamar would die screaming, and in agony.

But the dragon didn’t move. It arched its wings, smiling in pleasure at the sudden cries of fear and horror, only shifting to cover Raistlin with its paw, so those coming in could not see him. They had time. They still had time. Everything else could go hang, as long as they could get out together.

The black dragon waited, listening to the clatter as the group climbed out of the passageway. Then it lifted the darkness. Raistlin looked around the beast's claw; the companions were standing in a corner of the huge room, blinking in the sudden light. And- oh thank you, thank you, Dalamar was not there.

The dragon narrowed its eyes, "Feeling betrayed?" Raistlin could feel the vibrations of the dragon's voice.

Sturm lunged forward, his face flushed and furious, drawing his blade. "The mage betrayed us! Where is he? Serving you?"

Only as a potential meal, Raistlin thought, feeling sick.

"Stand back, all of you!” The dragon roared. "Stand back or your magic-user will use magic no more!" She lifted her foot, savoring their expressions.

Caramon roared and lunged for his sword, but Riverwind grabbed his arm before he could charge forwards. The dragon sneered, and its tail lashed out at thin air- and struck Dalamar in mid-stride. The Dark elf had been invisible, trying to get close enough to free Raistlin. Dalamar was thrown back into one of the pillars with a hideous crack. He fell down hard to his hands and knees, trying to breathe.

Oh no, please no. Raistlin met Dalamar’s eyes desperately. Run. Dalamar grimaced, shook his head. No, he wasn’t going anywhere. It wasn’t as if Raistlin would do differently, in his place. They shared a helpless look.

Caramon twisted, tried to pull free from Riverwind. "Let him go! Your fight is with me!"

"My fight is with none of you." The dragon's foot twitched, digging its claw teasingly into Raistlin's abdomen.

Raistlin closed his eyes, focusing inwards. He couldn’t run, could not hide. If he was going to die anyway, he would fight. He searched through his mind, fastening on a spell. So be it then, it would be better than dying to a poisoned dart, at least.

The dragon seemed to read his mind though, because she drove her talon deeper, making him gasp, the thoughts of the spell fleeing his grasp. "Don't even twitch mage. We speak the same language, remember? One word of a spell and your friends' carcasses will be used to feed the gully dwarves."

Raistlin didn't open his eyes, feeling the first trickle of blood running down his side as he tried to regain focus. To cast would be his death, and he would be lucky to finish it before the dragon killed him. He didn’t open his eyes, didn’t look at Dalamar. I am sorry, love. But at least one of us should get out of here alive.

Be still, fool!

Oh for the love of Lunitari, go away. Go and- take the dragon instead, you deserve each other.

It’s not our place to die, you self-sacrificial little bastard. Someone else will take our place, make the sacrifice.

Yes, someone will die if I don't cast, the only person who would die for me. His stomach twisted. Anything would be better than that; that is why I am casting.

Look, you sniveling little idiot. Look before you throw your life away.

Raistlin opened his eyes. Goldmoon and Sturm were approaching, the staff clutched in her hand.

Goldmoon’s eyes rested on him, and for a moment, she was as she had been in the temple- unaging and terrible. Not you, a third voice resounded in his head- it was getting crowded in there- stay still mage, this is not your time.

Raistlin gave a tiny, unperceivable nod and lay back, letting the spell slip away. He could see Dalamar from the corner of his eye, getting up unsteadily. No, Raistlin looked at him. She will be the one to die. Be ready to get us away.

Dalamar held his gaze a moment, then nodded. He held himself still and ready to run to Raistlin- run into the open jaws of a dragon, for him. Raistlin managed a small smile. I love you.

"Lay the staff down with the other remnants of mankind's folly," the dragon demanded, arching its wings.

"What will you give us in return for this miraculous staff?" Goldmoon stood before the dragon, all but glowing with the power of her Goddess. It was alien, terrifying and wondrous. No wonder most of the world had followed the Kingpriest so blindly, if this is what they saw.

The dragon laughed, "What will I give you? Nothing! Nothing at all. I do not deal with thieves. Still-" Raistlin winced as the beast’s claw dug deeper, then lifted it. He could see his own blood coating the talon. "It is not inconceivable that Lord Verminaad may view favorably the fact that you surrender the Staff. He may even be inclined to mercy -he is a cleric and they have strange values, after all. But know this, lady of Que-shu, Lord Verminaad does not need your friends. Give up the staff now and they will be spared. Force me to take it- and they will die. The mage first of all!"

Goldmoon stepped forward. Her eyes were burning, so terrible that even the dragon recoiled. She raised the staff. "We do not choose to surrender!" she roared, in a voice that shook the ruins.

"NOW!" Fistandantilus and the other screamed in Raistlin’s head, making his teeth ache from the force of it. He closed his eyes and threw himself off the altar as the dragon reared back.

He landed on his hands and knees in the dragon's treasure, up to his elbows in worthless gold coins. He grabbed his staff with one hand and Bupu in the other, struggling to get to his feet. A blinding blue flash filled the room, followed by a high, shrieking ringing. It was as if a bell was being rung so loudly it was shattering to pieces, and when he looked back it was in time to see the blue staff shatter. The blue light exploded like a sun, engulfing the monster and Goldmoon both.

Both were burnt to ashes in moments.

And there- or sweet magic thank you- there was Dalamar. The Dark elf pulled him upright, dragging him close for a blessed, wonderful moment. A single heartbeat to assure themselves- I am here, and so are you.

“Are you alright?” Dalamar touched his stomach, where he robes had been torn.

“Scratches.” Raistlin gave a sharp smile, “Like the last time. Help me find the spellbook.”

Dalamar glanced back- but the dragon was nothing but a pile of blackened bone fragments. The light was still there, growing brighter and bright, the ringing more and more piercing. “Quickly!”

Raistlin took a step- but Fistandantilus seized his lungs, and he staggered, coughing. “Get moving.” Dalamar pushed him. “I’ll look. Get out.”

But he had barely gone two steps before there was a hideous crack somewhere above. Raistlin gave a hoarse cry of warning, and Dalamar leaped back as a huge chunk of masonry fell where he had been standing a moment ago. A hand took hold of Raistlin's shoulder and yanked him back.

Tanis was livid, pale and shaking with rage. Behind him, Sturm had his sword out. "Stop looting and get that gully dwarf of yours to show us the way out, or so help me, I'll kill you both!"

Raistlin pulled himself free, and Dalamar hurried back to join him. Raistlin looked over to him, hoping he might still have a spell of invisibility, that they could just grab Bupu and run- but there was another even louder crash, more of the ceiling was coming down and- oh Lunitari no- water was starting to pour through the cracks in the walls.

Bupu gave a scream of horror, “Shurgap!” She shrieked, and bolted, “Av shurgap! Ve lop!”

“Come on!” Dalamar grabbed his arm, “We’ll all be drowned like rats!”

“We must wait for Tanis!” Sturm roared.

Raistlin turned; Half-elven was running back to drag Riverwind out. The plainsman had fallen to his knees, staring where Goldmoon had been. Oh Abyss. Raistlin shuddered, suddenly, viciously reminded of his Test. But if the plainsman preferred to end it there, who were they to stop him?

"If we wait, we will all die." Raistlin turned away.

Sturm turned on them, eyes blazing with rage. "You're the one who should have died; mage!" he screamed. "We should have left you to the dragon. Both of you!"

Dalamar didn’t wait to hear more, or to see if Sturm was about to make good on his threat. He had Raistlin by the hand and was dragging him down the passageway. They raced after Bupu, who was running as fast as she could down the passages, finally emerging into the main square. “Tilak!” She shouted at a gaggle of gully dwarves, “Bel tilak! Shurgap! Lop lop!”

The dwarves shrieked and started running, most towards the lifts- but several back to their quarters. A bell started ringing frantically.

Raistlin touched Bupu’s shoulder; she was shuddering, tears running down her face. “I am sorry, little one.”

She pulled away, shaking her head. “Scumpluper! All stupid scumpluper!” She punched her hand furiously.

“Later. We must get out.”

“The lift.” Dalamar pulled them towards it. “We won’t be getting back up that pipe, not unless we’re swimming.”

Which sounded all too possible. By the time they reached the lift, the water was ankle deep and rising fast. The gully dwarves were all out of their homes and running for the wall of vines, carrying their tiny children on their backs as they started the long climb. Above them, Raistlin could see parts of the sky as more and more of the ceiling fell in.

He looked wearily at his staff, as you sure you can’t carry us up as well as down? He got an apologetic flash of light. Fine. The lift it was.

The lift was surrounded by draconians, Raistlin slowed his run, his lungs ached wretchedly. Are you going to make me have a fit here? Raistlin snarled to Fistandantilus. Now?

The fit passed. One of the lift pots were coming down, pulling up the other up. Terrified gully dwarves were clinging to the pot. They jumped before it even had time to touch the ground and ran for the vines. The water was up to their waists. The draconians started swarming the now-empty pot.

Raistlin and Dalamar looked at each other. “Sleep spell?” Raistlin offered.

“Sleep spell,” Dalamar agreed. “I wish we had time for some of those explosive runes.”

“Ast tasarak sinuralan krynawi,” They cast together.

Half the draconians staggered and fell, packed so close together that the whole crowd staggered and tripped over each other. Any remaining order was lost in the chaos. Beside them came a low, terrible roar. Raistlin was almost knocked over as Riverwind suddenly broke past them and crashed into the draconians. The plainsman didn’t even draw his sword, just falling on the creatures like a maddened wolf, tearing at them with his hands and teeth.

Faced with this new terror, the draconians scattered, screaming. The pot, now empty, started moving up.

“Come on.” They ran for the lift. Dalamar threw Bupu inside, boosted Raistlin in, and they in turn pulled himself up. Their combined weight slowed the pot a little, but the other pot was still coming down- when Raistlin looked up, he couldn’t see any gully dwarves hanging onto it.

Caramon threw himself at the pot, dragging it down.  Sturm dragged Tanis over to it and threw him in. The Half-elf collapsed, half conscious and with blood down half of his face. Flint got in, then Tasslehoff. Even the kender was wide-eyed and fearful, staring at the cracking walls as the water poured in.

Sturm found Riverwind and pushed him in too. The plainsman collapsed in the bottom of the pot, eyes open but sightless. He was covered in blood, draconian and his own. Tasslehoff gave a cry, trying to staunch the wounds with his handkerchiefs. Then they were rising up, the twin pot coming down to meet them.

Bupu gave a scream of horror when they saw what was inside it.

The gully dwarves at the top had refused to get into the pot and drown in the too-deep water, so the draconians had not given them the choice. The other pot was full of small bodies, heaped and bloodied. She turned, and buried her face in Raistlin’s robes.

Chapter Text

Dalamar shoved Raistlin up the last few steps as the stairs began to collapse behind them. But finally they were out, stumbling into the blessedly cool air of the temple. And there, inside and seemingly asleep, was Goldmoon.

Riverwind was on his knees, weeping. Tanis staring in shock. Sturm’s head was bowed in prayer, Caramon blinking in confusion. Flint smiled, pulling Tasslehoff over so the crying kender could see the miracle.

 Bupu stared at Goldmoon for a long moment, then rushed to the doors with a howl, shoving them open and racing out into the evening.

The whole of Xak Tsaroth was caving in, the ruins crumbling and falling into the growing pit below. The roar of the sea was deafening, and even from here, they could look in and see the great, swirling cauldron where the sunken city was drowning.

And everywhere, darting in all directions like rabbits, were gully dwarves. They were climbing out of the gaping hole, and from dozens of hidden tunnels around them. Bupu sagged, falling to her knees and burying her face in her hands.

Raistlin bent down and touched her shoulder. “Little one, I am sorry-“

And Bupu punched him in the stomach. Small as she was, she was fueled by so much rage that Raistlin doubled, over, choking. “You do this!” She screamed. “You bring staff! You make shurgap! Tikal! They kill us because of you! Then you save pretty woman, and leave Aghar!” She turned, and ran for the trees.

Raistlin straightened, struggling to get in a breath. Dalamar eased him up, put his arms around Raistlin as he buried his face in Dalamar’s robes. “She didn’t mean it.”

“Is she wrong?” Raistlin whispered. “It’s as you said after Que-shu, how many lives will be lost for the return of the gods? They vanished in death and fire, and return in blood and weeping.”

For a moment, they just stood there. Raistlin trembled in his arms, warm and burning. It had almost been him, torn apart by the dragon, lost to the death, and Dalamar lost to the weeping. Dalamar kissed his forehead, then, when Raistlin lifted his head, claimed his mouth.

“You were right,” Raistlin sighed at last, “We should have left them. This was not worth it.”

Dalamar dug a handful of jewels he’d managed to snatch up, and pressed them into Raistlin’s hands. “We did not come out of this empty-handed, and it was worth the risk for a chance for the spellbook.” Lost now, at the bottom of the sea, and whatever secrets it had to help Raistlin gone with it. “At least we are alive, and with Bupu the gully dwarves got a warning in time.”

“No more.” Raistlin shook his head. “We are going back to Solace, and burning that Theocrat alive until he tells us where Lemuel is.”

“No more.” Dalamar echoed. “You have something to tell me.”

Raistlin paled, and looked down at the hideous pit that was all left of Xak Tsaroth. “I thought there might be something- we could do-“ He choked, coughed.

“And there might still be.” Dalamar cradled his face. “Tell me, my love. I might be able to help, and even if we can’t do anything now, we can fight together.”

Raistlin nodded, closed his eyes. But before he could say anything, a terrible distant braying broke the silence of the evening. The doors of the temple opened, and the others raced out, blinking around in a panic.

“We must leave here,” Raistlin said wearily, leaning against Dalamar. “Listen.”

It came again, louder, more of them. The horns of war.

They others readied themselves without a word. Dalamar held back a shudder at the sight of Goldmoon. She was burning with the Goddess’ light, and he could feel Her scorn of him. This lost little creature who had chosen to crawl away and become vermin-

He turned, and Raistlin pulled him away. The moons were rising, and he lifted his face to Nuitari, feeling His light soak into his magic. Like a cat in a sunbeam.

They headed out into the swamp. Dalamar sent Raistlin a long look, “This isn’t over.”

Raistlin sighed, looked up at the brilliant light of the red moon. “I know, but- let us rest first. I cannot-“

He had been hit over the head, savaged by a dragon, and almost drowned, Dalamar reminded himself. “Very well. One night.”

Raistlin held his hand tightly. “Thank you. I love you.”

“I love you too.” Dalamar kissed his cheek.

“Never leave me.” Raistlin whispered.

Dalamar blinked. “Never. Raistlin-“

But Raistlin was already walking, head down.

Raistlin came back to himself slowly, little by little. He had fallen asleep with Dalamar curled up around him, one arm over him, breath soft against his cheek. It was still late at night, the moons high overhead, and for a moment he wondered what had brought him out of sleep.

Then he looked down, and saw Bupu, curled up beside them and crying. He reached out and touched her small shoulder, but Bupu pulled away, hurrying to the edge of the clearing. Raistlin sighed, and carefully extricated himself out of Dalamar’s arms. The Dark elf sighed, and rolled over. Raistlin stroked his hair, then got up and followed Bupu.

She led them into the trees around the clearing, then sat down on a small fallen branch, rubbed her face furiously. “I still angry.”

“I know.” Raistlin sat cross legged beside her. “I am truly sorry.”

“Not you.” She shook her head. “Not with you. You want help Aghar. Others not. They make shurgap. The woman, she do it.”

“I don’t think Goldmoon wanted to-“

“Not her.” Bupu waved a hand irritably. “Other woman. Blue one.”

Oh, Her. “Yes, She did.” He touched her shoulder, and this time Bupu didn’t pull away. She covered his hand with hers, still crying. “Did all your people get out?”

She nodded, looked down at her hands, her fingers. “Not more than two.” She gave him a broken smile.

Raistlin pulled her close and let her cry into his robes. “I not angry with you. I sorry. I don’t want to leave you. I want to go with you. But- oh- I will miss my people!”

Raistlin nodded. “You are a hero now, Bupu.” She looked up at him. “You saved them from the flood, you raised the warning. And your people need a leader, a better leader than the last one.”

She blinked at him, stunned out of tears. “I not be Highbulp!”

Smaller than even most of her people. Weak. Despised. “You can, and it’s what your people need now. The draconians are gone; you can make sure they never come back.” He pulled out one of the emeralds Dalamar had given him, murmured a little spell of protection, and tucked it into her hand.

Bupu looked down at the gem, then swallowed, nodded. “We break bridge; dig up islands- but you.” She looked up at Raistlin, “How you come back if we do that?”

“I have magic, little one. I can make my way back.”

“Soon?”

“I hope so. You have been a good and true friend to me. You saved my life and the lives of those I care about. Now you will do one last thing for me, little one. Go back. I must travel roads that will be dark and dangerous before the end of my long journey. I cannot ask you to go with me.”

 Bupu blinked at him, hope filling her eyes, then she sighed. “You will be unhappy without me.”

“I will be well.” Raistlin glanced back, and smiled to see Dalamar stirring. The elf had realised even in sleep that Raistlin was not there. He sat up and looked around, smiling when he saw them.

Bupu gave him a suspicious look. “He look after you?”

“Yes.” Raistlin smiled. “You see? I will be fine.”

“You sure?”

“I am sure,”

“Then I go.” Bupu stood up. “But first, you take gift.”

Oh dear, more stuffed lizards- but then his mouth dropped open as Bupu dragged the spellbook from her bag. Black, with silver runes on a night blue binding, and so familiar it sent a rush of ice through him. So familiar, but those were not his memories.

“You like?” Bupu gave an uncertain smile. “You say you want magic book?”

“Yes, little one!” Raistlin tucked it against his chest, “Where-“ And Fistandantilus realised what he had, and he choked, breath coming thin and ragged.

“I take from dragon,” Bupu said, “when blue light shine. I glad you like. Now, I go- That cough, you sure you not want lizard cure?”

Raistlin shook his head. Rage as much as you want, he snarled inside his head, it’s mine, Dark One. I will not rest until I have your secrets, and tear you out of me forever-

Then the pain rose, crested blindingly. Raistlin was almost prone, coughing as his lungs felt like they were filling with blood. Still, he did not release the book.

The scent of herbs filled his nose, and he was helped up. Dalamar pressed a mug of lukewarm tea in his hands, while Bupu firmly tied the stuffed lizard around his neck. “He idiot.” She pronounced to Dalamar. “You keep him safe.”

“I promise I will.” Dalamar rubbed his back.

Raistlin sipped the tea, and felt the dreadful, draining ache start to fade. He closed his eyes, and focused every shred of his will of forcing the door between himself and Fistandantilus shut, and barring it from within.

Bupu waited to see he was breathing, hesitated for a moment, then grabbed his hand and kissed it. Then she gave Dalamar one last glare of warning, and vanished into the trees.

“She isn’t wrong.” Dalamar pulled Raistlin closer, “What are you doing out of bed, and without your cloak?”

Raistlin sighed, and shook his head. “I wanted to say goodbye.”

They sat there quietly for a moment, Raistlin drank his tea, and the stars circled overhead. “I won’t pretend to understand,” Dalamar sighed, “But she was kind to you, and I need little else to be sorry she’s gone.”

“We are outcasts, her and I.” Raistlin breathed in Dalamar’s scent, oh, he was warm, a counterpoint to the deathly chill of the book held against his chest. “Despised, and weak. Worthless but for the entertainment of being tormented.”

Dalamar didn’t understand that either. He had never seen Raistlin like that, probably had never been in a position to look at anyone like that, gully dwarf or otherwise. “You are not weak.” He said at last.

“I was,” Raistlin shrugged, “Not long before I met you. It took a long time for the magic to come to me.”

“But it has.” Dalamar said firmly, then, “What is that?”

Raistlin smiled, and showed him the spellbook. Dalamar’s eyes went wide.

Inside his head, he could feel Fistandantilus fighting. He closed his eyes, shutting him out. “Open it.” He breathed. “You wanted to know. Open it and tell me.”

Dalamar took it reverently. “Blue bindings.” He murmured, “Silver runes-“ He opened the book, and saw the name on the first page.

The pain was like red hot thorns, coiling in his chest. Raistlin clenched his eyes, picturing his head filling with ice, blocking Fistandantilus and forcing him back. He got in a breath, shuddering, and opened his eyes.

Dalamar was frozen, hands locked on the tome. He was paling, lips thinned almost to nothing. A muscle was twitching in his jaw and neck. “Tell me,” He whispered, “That you need this for your curse. That there is something inside you so foul that you need this mage’s power to free yourself.”

Raistlin couldn’t have spoken if he wanted to, Dalamar met his eyes and Raistlin’s heart twisted because the pain, the horror in his eyes. Tell me. He begged silently; tell me this is not true. Tell me it is anything but this.

He swallowed. “I’m sorry.” His voice cracked and rasped. “In my Test, he-“ He broke off coughing.

Dalamar shivered, just a faint motion, like the first tremor before an earthquake. So small, but threatening to shatter him from within. Oh please no, let this not be what breaks you. I should have left after my Test and spared you this. But then Dalamar closed his eyes, and drew in a deep breath, and Raistlin could almost see him pulling the parts of himself together, forging them back into one. “Fistandantilus.”

Raistlin shuddered, then nodded. Fistandantilus was snarling in rage, tearing at the barrier between them.

“He did not die in Zhaman, then.” Dalamar put the book down with deliberate care. “What was he doing in your Test?”

Fool, Fistandantilus snarled. You have doomed him, and yourself.

And how is that different to before? Raistlin bared his teeth. You intended to devour me, and him. What can you threaten that will be worse?

He shoved Fistandantilus back, and forced the door closed between them. Then started as hands closed on his. “He isn’t letting you speak.” Dalamar pulled him closed. “What can I do?”

Raistlin shook his head. He should tell him to go, save himself- “Stay.” He croaked. “Please.”

Dalamar kissed his head. “Always.”

Without hesitation, without doubt. Dalamar had charged into a dragon’s jaws, for him. Telling him to leave would be a waste of precious breath. “He- not just me. He wants-“ Another agonising fit. His lungs already raw and being ripped open all over again. Tears burned Raistlin’s eyes.

“Me?” Dalamar kissed his forehead. “He will not have me. He will not have you. I swear, on the magic and Nuitari, you will be freed.”

Dalamar waiting until Raistlin was curled up and sleeping in their bedroll, exhausted from the repeated, brutal coughing fits. Even now, Raistlin’s breathing came ragged and unsteady. Dalamar bit his lip, feeling the iron bands he’d locked his emotions away in threaten to break loose. He touched his forehead to Raistlin’s, his lover’s skin burning against his. I will not leave you.

That vow, he knew he could fulfill, but sweet magic, how would he manage the other?

Dalamar got up, and stepped away from the bedroll, and into the trees. He needed advice, and Raistlin was hardly in a position to give it to him, even if he could speak. There was only one other he could turn to.

The clearing was small and dark, Solinari had set, and Lunitari was still hidden below the horizon. Dalamar looked up, and found his patron’s moon, just cresting the tops of the trees, bathing the mountain pass where they were resting. Nuitari, Night’s Son. I need guidance. He closed his eyes. My lover and I are set against the foulest of renegades, a traitor to Your name and Your order. Guide me to find his destruction, to free Raistlin from this horror.

There was no answer, but Dalamar wasn’t expecting one. Nuitari made no promises, and so broke none. All the same, he felt the weight of His attention on him, like a heavy cloak pulled around his shoulders, shielding and warming him. He was not alone. Whatever happened, he was not alone. “Thank you, my God.” He whispered.

And felt- something, a shiver inside him. A reminder of what they had done in Xak Tsaroth. The Gods were returning, and it would be down to them to prevent the new priests from declaring new Lost Battles. Fistandantilus had played a part in those too, Dalamar recalled, with a chill. He had given the Kingpriest the tools to destroy the Towers.

“I understand.” He nodded, trying to shove down the sick feeling inside. Why us? He wanted to ask. We so are young, I have not even been Tested. Why can this not fall to someone more skilled, more powerful?

There was no answer there either. Dalamar sighed and got up. He bowed to Nuitari, and tried not to think about what they would have to do. It was too huge, like staring up at a mountain lost in clouds and preparing to scale it. One step at a time.

“Enough!” The snarl came from so close Dalamar jumped and almost tripped over a bush. “I don’t want to hear any more!” Caramon.

“You can and you will.” Sturm’s, even closer. Dalamar quickly ducked behind the bush as the two men broke out of the undergrowth. “I have had enough, Caramon! You nearly died, trying to attack that dragon and for what? Has he even looked at you since we got out?”

“You told me to wait until we came back!” Caramon’s voice was a wail. “You said it would be different-“

“I said you would see who he really was!” Sturm grabbed him by the arm, pulling him to a halt. “And you have! If he had not fallen to darkness before, he has now. They only one he cares about is that foul exile. He’d kill you, kill me, kill us all if he had to, for his disgusting craft and that Dark elf!”

“You said-“

“I said what I needed to get you to stop drinking!” Sturm pulled on his moustaches so hard it was a miracle he didn’t drag them out by the roots. “In Huma’s name, you were killing yourself! I am sorry if that brought your hopes up, but you must let your brother go! Whatever you saw in him before it is gone. He is a creature of evil now, and past helping.”

Caramon doubled over, tears running down his face. “I can’t.” He whispered. “I can’t give up on him, Sturm.”

“You cannot help a man who refuses it.” Sturm’s voice softened. He clasped Caramon’s arm, holding him up. “Let him go, turn away from the darkness, my friend. The others only tolerate Raistlin and the Dark elf for your sake, without you, we can be rid of them for good.”

Dalamar froze. Gods, he needed to get back to Raistlin now.

“Couldn’t we just- kill him?” Caramon sighed, “That Dark elf? Maybe when he’s gone, Raistlin might realise what he’s become.” He seemed to perk up. “Maybe the elf’s enchanted him, and if he’s dead-“

“If you kill him, your brother will kill you.” Sturm didn’t let go. “Look at me, Caramon. You know it’s true.” Caramon was shaking his head furiously. “He cares nothing for you, but if you kill the exile, he will run as mad as Riverwind. Just- leave them. It is said darkness turns upon itself, and so they will. Perhaps if your brother prevails, he might realise his mistake.” Sturm looked pained, he didn’t believe it himself.

Caramon sighed, and Sturm drew him away, back into the trees. Dalamar crawled uncomfortably out of the bush, but didn’t get up, head resting against his knees. Oh Nuitari, this was the last thing they all needed. Raistlin wasn’t in immediate danger, at least, and Dalamar wasn’t remotely afraid of Caramon and Sturm, but-

Nuitari, how many enemies were surrounding them? The dragonarmies, the dragons. Now their own so-called companions were also ready to murder them too. And then there was what was lurking inside Raistlin-

Dalamar closed his eyes, sliding forwards to rest on his knees. Nuitari help them, for no one else would.

“Dalamar!” Raistlin’s cry was raw and desperate.

Oh Nuitari, Nuitari- Dalamar threw himself to his feet, running to back to their bedrolls.

Raistlin was alone- or at least, Dalamar couldn’t see anyone. That was no guarantee of anything, now. “What is it?” He hurried to his side.

Raistlin was looking up, through the pass to the west. “Look.” He grabbed Dalamar’s arm. “There.”

At first, Dalamar thought it was the coming dawn. A rosy glow on the horizon. But this was not the sun. This far up in the mountains, they could see right across the plains, all the way to-

Oh no. Please no. Dalamar felt another blow connect to his soul, felt himself crack, just a little more. “Solace.” He whispered.

Raistlin nodded, ashen pale, eyes wide. “Solace is burning.”

Chapter Text

The vallenwoods were gone.

Oh, there were a few left, huddling around the edges of the valley like shell-shocked survivors, but the center of the vale, the whole of Solace- was a barren, stripped crater. Ashes still smoldering, soot flying with the wind catching and smearing on their clothes.

The others were talking, but Raistlin couldn’t quite hear them. He kept walking. The land around him was unrecognizable even without his curse, but he knew where he was going. He could feel it in the marrow of his bones.

“Raistlin? Raistlin-“

Dalamar was hurrying after him, but Raistlin didn’t hear him. He kept walking, was vaguely aware that someone else was joining him, walking in the same dazed dream-state.

There. That tree. That stump. Smaller than the others, not quite fully grown. It had only been- ten years, or so. It would just have been coming into full adult bloom, this summer.

But it never would. It was dead. A blackened, shattered stele. A gravestone indeed. Raistlin fell to his knees besides his parents’ grave tree, choking as the tears burned his eyes. Mother. Father. No.

His father had told them the souls of the dead lived in the trees, looked down lovingly at the children and grandchildren playing under their boughs, living in their branches. What did it mean when they died? Raistlin had never seen a vallenwood die. They were so huge even a lightning strike couldn’t kill them, lived so long they seemed eternal.

Dragonfire. Raistlin recognised the smell. The same stench that had clung to Immolatus, that had gloated over the ruins of Que-shu. The dragons had come to Solace, and murdered his parents all over again.

“Raist.” Raistlin lifted his head. Caramon was on his knees beside him, staring at the dead tree. “What are we going to do?” he whispered.

His face was smeared with soot, his clothes blackened from it. For a moment he looked- very young indeed. They could have stepped back ten years, and it was summer again. He was coming home, lavender in his arms, the sickening scent filling his nose-

He shook his head. “I don’t know.”

Caramon turned to him, and the years of anger and bitterness seemed to fall away between them. This was just his brother, terrified and in pain and begging him to do something. Make it stop. Raistlin shook his head. What did Caramon think he could do?

A hand rested on his shoulder, and he was drawn back to here, now. His parents were dead. Had been dead for a decade. He was kneeling in the ashes of his old home, and the dragons laughed mockingly from the shadows. He turned, and buried his face in Dalamar’s robes.

Dalamar held him close, pressed kisses against his head. He felt the Dark elf’s own tears wetting his hair, and Raistlin buried himself deeper against him. “I am so sorry.” Dalamar breathed. He touched his cheek to Raistlin’s head. “They are with the Gods now, it seems They came back just in time.”

Yes. Perhaps they would be, now. His mother would be with- Solinari, perhaps. Divination and foresight was His domain. His father- Chislev. Goddess of the woods and nature. The forest had always been his home. He curled up against Dalamar, and let the tears come.

Dalamar rocked him gently, and through him, Raistlin felt the touch of his God, very close. Like a comforting cloak thrown over the pair of them, giving them a moment’s peace to gather themselves.

Finally, Raistlin lifted his head. “The dragons.” He croaked.

Dalamar nodded. He had been crying too. For the trees, Raistlin realised. He had loved them too, and joined him in mourning. “There are draconians everywhere.” He whispered. “The others want to go to the inn, and see what has happened.”

“I think it’s clear what has happened.” They got up, steadying each other. Raistlin looked around bleakly. “It’s rather blindingly obvious. How is the inn still standing?”

“The draconians saved a few buildings, the inn, the store too. But- that’s about it.” He helped Raistlin towards the inn, looking sunken and denuded all alone on the blackened ground.

Raistlin looked around, actually taking it in for the first time. Everything was gone. The tree their family home had been in had been complete obliterated, nothing but a pit where it had stood- the dragons had taken the tree up by the roots, probably- probably for the wood. Raistlin shuddered, nausea rising inside him. His father had said it was his grandparent’s grandparents who had been buried under it, now draconians would build war machines from his ancestor’s bones.

They came inside at last. Tika’s eyes widened when she saw them, but thank the magic for small mercies, she didn’t give them away. “Sit down anywhere, strangers.” It was a bit too loud, but no one seemed to notice. They found a table in the corner of the inn, and huddled down. Raistlin held on to the arms of the chair, a pitiful refuge against the force of this storm.

Then, as if waiting for the moment’s calm to strike, he started coughing. Oh please no. He buried his face in his hands, he was so tired, it already hurt so much-

Tika put a mug of hot water in front of him, and Raistlin was so worn out he didn’t even make a token protest when Dalamar dug the herbs out of his pouches and made his tea for him. “Drink.”

Raistlin nodded wearily, and sipped the tea. The warmth eased the pain in his lungs, gave the frail illusion of comfort. He leaned against Dalamar, and closed his eyes to rest, just for a moment.

“Raistlin.” Dalamar whispered in his ear. “There’s an elf here.”

Gods, could this day get worse? Raistlin lifted his head wearily. “Where?”

Dalamar gave a very small nod at a hooded and cloaked figure in the corner of the taproom. They were tense, eyes boring into Dalamar. Raistlin met his eyes, scowling; don’t you have literally anything else to do? The elf held his gaze a moment, then flinched and looked away.

“There is no reason to stay here.” Raistlin said at last. “Let us make our way to Haven and-“ he stopped.

And what? Where would they go? What would they do? Like the canticle of Huma, the shrieking hosts of the Dark Queen would be everywhere by now. There was nowhere to go. They were trapped in a burning world, and could not run.

But dear Lunitari, how could they fight?

Tika had joined their table, hanging off Caramon as she quickly explained what had happened. It was much as they had imagined, the dragonarmies had been waiting to strike, and had. Dalamar was looking into his glass to wine, lost in thought. “Wayreth.” He said at last. “We must try and reach it.” He saw Raistlin’s horrified look, and gave a weary smile. “I know, but there is nowhere else. The dragonarmies cannot find the Tower unless it wishes to be found. It will be the only safe place for us to rest and gather ourselves. We cannot fight when we are this utterly surrounded by enemies.”

“And there, we will be surrounded by more.” Raistlin said grimly, sipping his tea. The bitter reminder of what had happened to him there. “Besides, if the dragonarmies are here, the Tower will not be letting itself be found.”

“We must find somewhere.” Dalamar stroked his back. “We have enough to deal with before even starting with this war.”

“And that,” Raistlin’s throat tightened, and swallowed another mouthful. It eased a little. “Will have to wait.” He sighed at Dalamar’s rebellious expression. “I have lived with that thing for five years. I can survive a few more months.”

In the back of his head, he felt Fistandantilus stir, a mocking snicker. The others were talking around them, trying to decide where to go- and having no more luck than they had. Everywhere the same. The shrieking host loosed and destroying all in their paths-

A cry drew them all out of their dark reveries. The elven stranger had gotten up, and was- oh Lunitari please no- heading towards them. One of the draconians had tripped him, and his hood had come off. The draconians spat and snarled, drawing their swords.

“And we’re out of here.” Dalamar sighed, helping Raistlin up. “Let’s at least try and reach Haven-“

Which was when Sturm charged into the draconians, sword in hand. Caramon right behind him.

Raistlin sagged, dropping back into the chair. He glanced around the room- but there was no way out, the kitchen must have broken off when the inn had fallen from its tree, because there was nothing back there but a badly boarded up wall. The melee was between them and the door, and more draconians were pouring into the inn at the sounds of the brawl. Dalamar was glancing around, clearly preparing a spell, but Raistlin covered his hand, shaking his head. Even invisible, they would not be able to make the door without the spell spoiling and someone seeing them.

Tanis charged into the battle, then Flint and Riverwind followed. Raistlin picked up his mug, and handed Dalamar his glass of wine. They looked at each other helplessly. Goldmoon stared at them in astonishment “Do something! Use your magic-“

“And do what?” Dalamar waved a hand at the chaos. Horns were starting to blare outside.

“It is hopeless.” Raistlin shook his head. “We must conserve our strength for when it can be of use.”

Goldmoon’s lips thinned, and there was that flash in her eyes, the cold hatred of her Goddess. But there was nothing she could say, she saw they were right.

“Great Reorx!” Flint staggered to his feet, covered in ale. “We’ve got to get out of here! Come on! Out the back!”

 “There is no back!” Tika waved her skillet wildly, cracking a draconian across the head.

 “No,” A smug voice came from the door as even more draconians pushed their way in. “There is no back. You are my prisoners.”

“Thank you for that.” Raistlin murmured as they leaned against each other on the floor of the cage. “You truly terrified them.”

“A little cantrip, at best.” Dalamar kissed the top of his head, “It was your story that had them soiling themselves. The great and terrible worm Catyrpelius, I wonder what it becomes when it pupas?”

“The impossibly beautiful and monstrous Utterflaer.” Raistlin smiled, “With wings the size of whole mountainsides, which when they beat blow away whole armies.”

“I miss our little shows.” Dalamar shifted over when Raistlin shivered. It was growing colder, and the small cage they were shut up in offered no protection from the wind.

“It was a quieter life.” Raistlin agreed.

“Be quiet, both of you.” Tanis groaned, “Get some sleep.”

The draconians had taken their packs, so they did their best with their cloaks, bundling themselves up as close as they could against the night chill. “No.” Raistlin turned away, positioning himself until he was lying back to chest with Dalamar. “Like this.”

Dalamar stroked the side of his neck, the junction of his shoulder. “Your cough?”

Raistlin sighed, and nodded. He closed his eyes and curled up in Dalamar’s arms, his eyes closing. He was focusing everything he had on breathing.

“How long will it take to reach Pax Tharkas?”

Raistlin sighed, “A week, perhaps a little less.” His voice caught on the last word; he coughed, just a little.

A week. Raistlin needed his tea most days. Dalamar felt the despair lurch inside him. Please, no. Please, enough. It was too much already.

Raistlin found his fingers, squeezed them. “I can do it.” He whispered.

“I know. Now sleep, save your strength. You will need it.”

Raistlin nodded, Dalamar watched as his stumbling breathing evened out, steadied as he fell asleep at last. Dalamar kissed him once more, on his cheek. I love you. He looked up at the black moon, bowed his head. “Nuitari, Dark Son, guard us-“ He started.

“Spare us your blasphemies.” Dalamar started, the elf from the inn had been thrown in the cage with them, and his eyes were glittering with hatred. “Your dark gods cannot save us, filth.”

“Then pray to the gods of light.” Dalamar hissed. Raistlin was thankfully still asleep. “Let us see who will aid us.”

The elf spat in disgust, and turned away.

He must have slept, although he didn’t remember it. Dalamar was woken with a start as a terrible cry cut through the early morning mists. Raistlin sat up with a jerk, then choked and started coughing.

“I know that voice,” The elf was on his feet, hands on the bars. “Theros Ironfeld. I feared this. He’s been helping elves escape ever since the slaughter. This Lord Verminaard has sworn to exterminate the elves- or didn’t you know?” He sent Tanis a cutting glare.

“No!” Tanis snarled back, “I didn’t know. How could I?”

That shut Gilthanas up, “Forgive me,” he said at last. “It appears I have misjudged you. I thought perhaps that was why you had grown the beard, and traveling with a Dark elf-”

“Never!” Tanis scowled “How dare you accuse me-”

“Tanis,” Sturm held up a hand.

The goblins were coming back, dragging a heavily built Ergothian man between them. They left a thick trail of dark blood behind them.

“I heard Theros had been betrayed,” Gilthanas said softly. “I returned to warn him. But for him, I never would have escaped Solace alive. I was supposed to meet him in the Inn last night. When he did not come, I was afraid-”

The hobgoblin, Toede, threw open the cage, and motioned to the goblins. They pushed the unconscious man inside the cage. “That’s it!” Toede snapped, “Hitch up the beasts, we’re moving out.”

The Ergothian groaned, the gore pooling around his face bubbling. Dalamar lifted his head to keep him from choking on his own blood, and the others rolled him over.

Oh Nuitari. Dalamar grimaced. Gods only know how they did it, but the Goblins had managed to hack through his upper arm, right through the heavy bone. He could see the thin rim of white, and the deeper red of the marrow through the gushing blood.

“Let that be a lesson to all those who help elves!” Toede sneered. “He won’t be forging anything ever again, unless it be a new arm!”

They ignored him. Raistlin loosed the man’s shirt, and pulled it down around the stump of the arm to stem the bleeding. “Get me his belt.” He croaked.

Dalamar pulled it free from the man’s pants, and handed it to Raistlin. He quickly looped it around the top of the missing arm, and pulled it as tight as he could. “Caramon,” Caramon started in surprise. “Get hold of this, and pull as hard as you can. He’s bleeding out.”

“Save your foul craft.” The elf snapped, “He paid for his loyalty with his life, there is no wont to prolong it.”

“No,” Goldmoon knelt beside Raistlin, “He need not die. I am a healer.”

“Lady,” Gilthanas turned on her, “there exists no healer on Krynn who could help this man. He has lost more blood than the dwarf has in his whole body! His lifebeat is so faint I can barely feel it. The kindest thing to do is let him die in peace without any of your barbarian rituals!”

Goldmoon ignored him, closing her eyes and placing her hands on the soaked bandage around the wound. “Mishakal, beloved goddess of healing, grace this man with your blessing. If his destiny be not fulfilled, heal him, that he may live and serve the cause of truth.”

Dalamar pulled away, drawing Raistlin with him as the blue light of the Goddess’ power filled the cage. It seared his skin where it touched him, like the burning desert sun.

Then it was gone. Goldmoon gently drew the soaked bandages away from the man’s wound, and the skin there was smooth and even, so completely healed that it was as if he had never had an arm, and had been born like this. The Ergothian’s face relaxed from the lines of pain and horror, and into sleep.

Raistlin tried to wipe off the worst of the blood, sighing. Dalamar drew him back, murmuring a few cantrips to help dry his robes. “Save your magic.” Raistlin sighed. “We will need all of our power if a chance presents itself for escape-” he choked off, coughing again.

Dalamar sat down, pulling Raistlin into his lap and rubbing his back to ease the coughing. Raistlin closed his eyes, and managed to draw a breath, then another. He rubbed his eyes, wiping away tears of pain, then stared.

More and more of the dragonarmies were coming to fill the blackened clearing. Goblins, mercenaries, draconians- dozens, maybe even a hundred.

“Our escape?” Dalamar said dryly.

Raistlin couldn’t remember having ever been so tired.

It was- natural, he supposed. After everything that had happened in Xak Tsaroth, then the destruction of Solace, it make perfect sense to be exhausted. But he could barely close his eyes. He could not sleep.

He could not stop coughing.

Dalamar murmured a spell, warming the small cup of water. “Drink.” He said softly.

Raistlin tried to. They’d run out of herbs for his tea yesterday, but Dalamar was doing what he could. Even Bupu’s stuffed lizard had been sacrificed, those herbs going into the mug of hot water. He managed to get the tea into his mouth, holding it there and trying to let it trickle down his throat. But his lungs spasmed, he choked, spitting water across the cage board- falling onto all fours, coughing and coughing and coughing until blood came, until the world threatened to blot out.

I did warn you.

No. No please. That voice, so much closer than it had been before. Raistlin closed his eyes, trying to shove Fistandantilus back, wall him back with ice-

And he started coughing again. He doubled over, limbs collapsing under him and curling up on his side and the spasms racked and twisted him like an old rag. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t breathe-

Poor little fool. He could feel Fistandantilus’ smile. You truly believed you could fight me. Feel how weak you really are, little dove. A frail thing of brittle bones, in my hands. One clench of my fingers, and I will crush you.

And then what? Raistlin bared his teeth. You’re in the same position I am, fool. In a cage, surrounded by draconians-

A low, mocking laugh. You think these are a threat to me? I, who butchered entire armies in the dwarfgate wars? Ah, my little mourning dove, how blind you are. I will take you now, yes. And your Dark elf, and the rest of these wretched fools. Then with their strength, I will destroy this paltry force.

No! Raistlin screamed, throwing everything he had against the lich. For a moment, he was forced back, for a moment, Raistlin’s body spasmed, spitting out a thick clot of dark blood, drawing in a clear breath-

Then the lich came back, hungry claws ripping through his lungs, his stomach and his liver, digging hungrily for his heart. Raistlin bared his teeth, holding him off. Never. Never, you disgusting, rotting thing-

You cannot fight forever, little dove. You grow weak. And I am waiting. I will always be waiting.

Raistlin closed his eyes, fighting for every breath. He shuddered as Dalamar helped him to sit up, held him in his arms. I’m sorry, He tried to say, but he couldn’t get the breath, his whole body limp and useless. I am so sorry, my love.

Raistlin was fighting. Raistlin was fighting and he was losing. Goldmoon hesitated, her hands clenching and unclenching. “I do not know-“

“Look at him.” Dalamar wanted to cry, the world was coming apart and there was nothing he could do. “How can you possibly make it worse?”

The plainswoman drew in a breath, rested her hands on Raistlin’s chest. “Mishakal,” she prayed, “Goddess of healing, beloved one. Look upon this weary man, grant him relief from his struggles, keep him from-“

She broke off with a cry. And for a moment, Dalamar saw it, black coils like smoke, rising from Raistlin’s body to ensnare her hands. A heartbeat and it was gone, Goldmoon staggering backwards. She was ashen, her hands white as if with frostbite. “What-“ Riverwind caught her, pulling her to the far side of the cage. “There was something, some force-“

“The power of darkness.” Sturm lifted his head. He had been silent for the whole journey, now he turned a dulled glare on them, on Caramon. “They have sold themselves to the dark gods, and there is their power. He is being devoured by his own evil.”

“Sturm-“ Caramon protested weakly.

“I told you. And now it seeks to consume us all. You know what we must do.” He turned to the others, “Give the order, Tanis.”

“If you move, knight,” Dalamar managed through numb lips, “I will show you the powers of darkness you accuse us of. Do not touch him. Do not look at him.” He felt cold madness clenching on him, terror and desperation like that of a wolf with its leg caught in a trap, and by Nuitari Dalamar would gnaw his own leg off if it meant saving Raistlin.

Raistlin’s eyes were half open when Dalamar returned to his side, settled his head in his lap. Raistlin opened his mouth and choked up a clot of black blood. “Sorry.” His voice was a bare whisper, thin as spider webs.

“Hush.” Dalamar stroked his hair.

“They are right.” He swallowed, grimacing in pain. Dalamar found the mug and filled out, murmuring his spell to warm it. “It- wants to consume you too.”

“Then I will destroy it.” Dalamar held the cup to his lips, Raistlin managed to drink a little. “It will not have me. It will not have you.” So frail, those words, like trying to grasp smoke.

“Do not let her-“ Raistlin coughs wretchedly, “It drew strength from her. You have to-“

“Shh,” He stroked Raistlin’s hair, “I know. Fight him, my love. Take my strength, don’t let him win.”

Raistlin nodded, eyes closing.

Chapter Text

Raistlin coughed, weakly. The pain in his lungs was making it nearly impossible to breathe, and what air he managed to take was bought with blood. Occasionally he would black out and hover somewhere between waking and sleep, grasping a few bare handfuls of rest.

But it wasn’t enough. Every time to tried to force Fistandantilus back, he grew weaker and weaker. The lich let him exhaust himself, waiting smug and hungry on the outskirts of his mind, like a vulture waiting for its dying prey to expire.

There was little to mark time, and Raistlin soon lost track of the days. He wasn’t sure how long it had been when he was vaguely aware of something happening outside the cage. Noise, shouting. The bang of the cage door and the sound of someone falling over.

He must have drifted off then, and the next thing he remembered, though hazily, was his lover helping him upright and helping him drink. Raistlin coughed, exhausted rage at being so helpless that he couldn't even drink water without aid. The liquid had rasped down his torn throat bringing more pain than relief. Somewhere to his right, he heard someone talking.

He tried to speak, to ask what was going on, "What-" His cracked, broken voice failed and he broke off, coughing.

Dalamar shook his head, "Don't speak, they've just stopped to pick up this mad old man. He looks like a magic user, which is probably the only reason they didn't kill him on the spot."

"I say, that's not very nice!" Raistlin didn't see who had said that. A new coughing fit racked him, and his grip on consciousness weakened. He passed out again.

He was floating, somewhere between worlds. A non-place of grey nothing, like being underwater. Somewhere far away, he was aware of his body, limp and lifeless, Dalamar starting to shout.

No! He screamed, but not even bubbles left his mouth. No you will not! I will not let you! I will fight-

You cannot. And Fistandantilus was there, huge and terrifying, engulfing everything. He reached out a hand, and plucked Raistlin out of the ether, gripping him between his fingers. Look at you, he sneered, mocking. How frail, how weak. There is nothing left of you, little dove. You cannot fight.

No! And he knew the lich was right. He was torn to shreds, nothing left but a shadow of himself. He would be devoured, and there would be nothing of him left. He screamed in wordless, helpless rage. The same rage he had felt when he watched his mother die.

Yes, and you couldn’t save her either. Fistandantilus mocked. You couldn’t save her, or yourself, or anyone else. You cannot save your lover. You are a wretched failure, a nothing. Now step aside and let someone worthwhile make use of your body.

Raistlin couldn’t speak, couldn’t scream. He was withering, wasting away and growing smaller as the lich grew larger and larger. Soon, there would only be Fistandantilus in his mind, and Raistlin would be gone.

Raistlin looked up at the lich’s face and the despair inside him suddenly- erupted. That helplessness into blazing, screaming fury. He screamed, was vaguely aware of his body jerking upright, and threw himself at the lich’s face.

Fistandantilus laughed, lifting a hand to crush him to nothing- but this was still Raistlin’s mind.

The grey space ignited, flames exploding from thin air to engulf the lich. He cried out in shock and surprise, recoiling. Raistlin bared his teeth, and drove his hands into the lich’s eye. He felt rotting blood bursting over his hands, his arms. Fistandantilus’ face was huge, each eyesocket the size of a barrel. Raistlin screamed and punched again, feeling the jelly of the eye give and burst.

The flames rose higher, and Raistlin was suddenly aware they were consuming him too. His skin tightened and blistered from their touch- but he was small, and there was so much more of Fistandantilus to consume.

He was shrinking now, trying to get away from the inferno. Raistlin closed his eyes and focused all of his remaining strength into the flames. Burn, you bastard. I don’t care if I burn with you, but this ends now.

You blind fool! Fistandantilus screamed, he was barely larger than Raistlin now, struggling to beat out the flames licking hungrily at him. You will die too!

You were about to murder me! Raistlin sneered. Do not be surprised if I put a price on my life, filth!

No.

A third voice. It was like that he had heard in Xak Tsaroth, but- different. More. Brilliant and terrible and so old it made Fistandantilus seem like a child. The flames flickered, and turned white. A pale, blazing light cut through the fire, bathing them both. Raistlin staggered, blinded and reeling as his skin seemed to shrivel under the force of the glare. Fistandantilus screamed, his entire body twisting and withering. He threw himself back, trying to flee back into the shadows.

Raistlin snarled, and threw himself at the lich. The light was agony, but he didn’t care, dragging Fistandantilus back into the light. Die! Die you wretch! Die and be gone from me for good-

Fistandantilus will release his hold on you, and you will release him. The voice intoned. This is not the time, and you both know it.

The light brightened, and Raistlin screamed in turn, releasing the lich. Fistandantilus took the chance and fled, vanishing into the darkness.

Raistlin jerked awake, kicking out in panic as he was suddenly dragged back to his body. The afternoon light seemed blindingly bright after the darkness inside his mind. Raistlin felt hands on him and threw himself backwards, ramming into the bars and catching himself a hard blow on the back of the head.

The world came into focus for the first time in days.

Dalamar was crouched beside him, pale, eyes shadowed from lack of sleep, and red from crying. “Raistlin.” He breathed.

Raistlin drew in a breath. Then another. Then another. The air came sweet and easy. Fistandantilus was- if not gone, then hiding in such a distant corner of his mind that Raistlin could not feel him. Raistlin couldn’t speak- then threw his arms around Dalamar. The Dark elf was still for a moment, then gave a low moan and wrapped himself around Raistlin. For a long moment, they didn’t move, holding each other with white knuckled hands.

“You were dying.” Dalamar whispered.

“I was.” Raistlin felt Dalamar shudder under his hands, and turned his face into Dalamar’s neck. “I wanted to, so he would die too.”

“Nuitari.” Dalamar whispered, and Raistlin felt new hot tears running into the fabric of his robes. “Please no.”

“He’s gone now.” Raistlin kissed the soft skin under his lips. “That voice- it drove him away.”

“What voice?”

Raistlin sat back, and looked around and- there. That old man, who was watching them so closely. He gave Raistlin a wide, idiot smile. “Oh, don’t mind me. It’s really very sweet to watch you two. Just pretend I’m not there.”

“Who are you?” Raistlin croaked. The man looked normal- or normal enough for an old mage. But there was something that hadn’t quite faded yet. The faint remains of that burning light, as if he was struggling to cover it up before anyone noticed, but just a sliver was still shining. Even as he watched, it vanished. “Hullo,” He beamed. “Name’s- uh- Fizban.”

 “The draconians picked him up a little while ago.” Dalamar said softly. “He is a mage.”

 “Am I?” The man frowned, then his face cleared, “Why, yes, I suppose I am!”

“So are we.” Raistlin sat up, pulling his robes around himself. Oh, he was so cold. He could feel Fistandantilus’ fading touch all through his body. He wanted to be sick. Gods, he had come to close-

“No kidding!” Fizban patted Raistlin’s arm, and there was a rush of warmth as the contact, forcing the deathly chill back. “Small world, Krynn. I’ll have to teach you a few of my spells. I have one- a fireball- let’s see, how did that go-”

 The old mage kept talking about nothing, and Raistlin tuned him out. He hadn’t released Dalamar, and Dalamar hadn’t released him either. Raistlin looked down at their hands, locked on each other’s robes. “I am sorry.” Raistlin whispered. “I think- after I told you, he decided it wasn’t worth waiting any longer.”

Dalamar shuddered, “What can I do?”

Raistlin closed his eyes, rested his head on Dalamar’s chest. Nothing. There was nothing he could do. Dalamar knew it, and gave a low, pained moan. “Please.” He whispered. “There must be something.”

“I’m sorry.”

Dalamar curled up around him, as if begging the world to hurt him, rather than Raistlin. Raistlin managed to let go of his robes, and put his arms around his lover. “I will keep fighting,” He whispered, “I swear, I will fight him. I will not let him take me.” It was the one thing he could be sure of, and Fistandantilus knew it too. Raistlin would burn them both to ashes before he let the lich take his body.

Raistlin slept in his arms. Those last, terrible days had exhausted him, and his rest was deep and sound. Dalamar kissed his cheek, closing his eyes to better relish the warm weight of him. Alive. Alive. He swallowed back the tears. Not here. Not in front of these people.

He might have slept; he wasn’t sure, but jerked back to himself when something kicked him hard in the leg. Dalamar jerked up, magic flaring between his fingers. Tasslehoff hopped back quickly in alarm, and Riverwind collared the kender and shoved him to the back of the cage. “Enough!” He hissed, “The Chieftain’s Daughter will have no more of you, and the mages need rest.”

Tasslehoff grumbled and grouched, but sat with his back to them, legs dangling over the back of the cart. Riverwind hesitated, then stepped closer to Dalamar. “He is better?”

Dalamar checked Raistlin, but thankfully he hadn’t woken. He sighed, and snuggled deeper into Dalamar’s cloak. “Yes.”

“The knight says there is some dark and mighty power involved. Even Chieftain’s Daughter fears him now.” The plainsman’s long, dark face was furrowed in worry. “Is this true?”

“The knight has hated him for years.” Dalamar said wearily, “But-“ He looked down at Raistlin, he was fine now, but- “He is fighting it. He will not let it win.”

“My people have dark tales of magic.” He touched Dalamar’s shoulder, “Creatures such as you are said to be- monsters, but I can see you are not. May it be some- corruption, eating away at him? If he were to cast his magic aside, could that not free him?”

“You’ve been talking to Caramon.” Dalamar tried to be angry, but couldn’t. “No, it is not the magic. His magic is the only thing that can save him.” For a moment, the urge to tell him was blinding. The words seemed too big to hold inside him until he thought he might burst from it. “It is not my story to tell. But- this is someone else’s doing, not ours, and not anyone within our reach.”

Riverwind nodded thoughtfully. Mercifully, he didn’t ask more, just sitting beside them and glaring every time Tasslehoff made any movement towards them. Dalamar closed his eyes and let himself relax, following Raistlin into sleep.

This time, he was woken by someone shaking his shoulder. Dalamar blinked, it was late into the night, that still hour just before dawn. But Raistlin was awake, eyes gleaming in the faint light of the stars. “Look.” He whispered.

Dalamar looked around. The others were asleep in the cart, even the kender. The moons had set, and the landscape was featureless, nothing but a thin path worn between the hills leading up to the Sentinel peaks-

Oh. Dalamar smiled. It had been so long since he’d smiled, his face felt stiff. “It was here, wasn’t it?”

“Those caves there-“ Raistlin pointed. “I saw them before Solinari set. That’s where we went, where I saw you for the first time.”

Dalamar could see them. He wondered which one they had chosen. He remembered the bear, that shock of panic as it had barreled out towards them. They’d cast together then, for the first time. Dalamar hugged Raistlin tightly. Gods, where would he be, if they hadn’t met, hadn’t spoken that day? Alone. Perhaps even among the dragonarmies. Probably dead. Raistlin alone, with no one to help him as he fought for his life.

They sat together for long moments, watching the strange yet familiar landscape pass around them. The sky began to grey in the east.

The bird’s cry came loud and sudden, setting off more answering calls as the other birds decided it was time for the dawn chorus. The others started to stir and Dalamar sighed, seeing the kender wake up. Another day. He wondered when they would reach Pax Tharkas. He hoped- whatever Raistlin and the old mage had done to hold Fistandantilus back- would last until they got there.

The elf, Gilthanas, suddenly sprang to his feet. He cupped his hands over his mouth, and let out a deafening whistle- like the call of a bird.

Oh Nuitari. Dalamar threw himself flat, dragging Raistlin down a moment before the first arrows flew. “Qualinesti.” He hissed.

Raistlin nodded, rolling onto his back and throwing up a shimmering shield of magic- just in time as an arrow struck it- an arrow that would have gone straight through his leg. “We need to get out.”

“What is it? What’s going on?” Tanis shouted.

Gilthanas didn’t pay them any attention, reaching out through the bars. “Porthios!” He shouted.

“Tanis, what’s happening?” Sturm sat up.

“Porthios is Gilthanas’s brother. I take it this is a rescue,” Tanis said.

More arrows. Riverwind grabbed Goldmoon and pulled her under the shield too. Another arrow struck and nearly broke through. Dalamar pressed his hands to the shield, strengthening it with his own magic.

“It won’t be much of a rescue if we end up dead!” Sturm joined them on the floor. “I thought elves were expert marksmen!”

"Keep low," Gilthanas commanded. "The arrows are only to cover our escape. This is a strike and run raid. My people are not capable of attacking a large force directly. We must be ready to run for the woods."

"And how do we get out of these cages?"

"We cannot do everything for you! There are magic users-"

Raistlin gave him an incredulous look. “We have our own problems!” Tasslehoff and Tika had joined the huddle behind the shield.

“Perhaps I can help!” Fizban sat up happily. “Now, let me think-”

“Oh Nuitari.” Dalamar gritted his teeth. "I still have a spell. Cover me."

Raistlin nodded, shifting back slowly towards the door to the cage. Dalamar knelt down and closed his eyes. Thank you, Dark Son. Did You know how precious that little spell would be, when You led us to it?

“Mas daya ente diyos mati.” The little spell from Ergoth worked as well as ever, disintegrating the lock. Dalamar kicked the door open and dropped out, reaching back in to pull Raistlin with him.

"Why didn't you do that from the start?" Tanis was incredulous.

Gods below. "And then what? Get caught and shut up again? This was the first chance we've had of getting out."

"And if we'd been dragged to the slave mines without getting that chance?" Sturm demanded, following them out.

Dalamar bared his teeth, feeling the flames of all the pain and frustration of the past few days coming up to vent themselves on so willing a target. "Why, then I'd have freed Raistlin and myself, and we'd have left you all to rot."

Sturm’s eyes flared, but Riverwind put a hand on his shoulder, holding him back. “This is not the time! We must move at once.”

Tika and Goldmoon were next out, carrying the dazed Theros between them. Tanis sighed, "Fine! Caramon, get our weapons from the supply wagon. Sturm, go with him. Flint and Tasslehoff, get the packs. Raistlin-"

Raistlin bristled, "We will get our packs. No one may touch them but us." He closed his eyes, and, between one blink and another, his staff was back in his hand. Raistlin gave a small smile. “Come on.”

Gilthanas had clearly thought the same; he ignored Tanis and was hurrying to the supply wagon. Dalamar followed quickly. Order in the caravan had completely broken down. Toede had fled, and the draconians were taking cover behind the carts. Several were starting to edge towards the supply wagon, clearly hoping to raid it.

And the elves. Dalamar caught his breath as the first few stepped free of the trees, running to the carts and starting to break the locks open. His blood ran cold at the sight. Slender and graceful, their armor and cloaks blending so well with the trees. So like his own people- yet so unlike. The barrier between now and before fractured, threaten to shatter. Raistlin dug his fingers into his arm. “We have to move.” He hissed.

Dalamar nodded, he shoved the memories back. Not now. He would deal with this later. They needed to get out of here.

Gilthanas was already at the wagon, buckling on his sword and throwing his bow over his shoulder. Raistlin found their packs and dragged them off. Dalamar let out his breath in relief, his dagger was still there. He buckled the sheath back on his belt, feeling the familiar weight like- a missing limb, now returned. Tanis came to join them, and Gilthanas glared at him, jumping down and hurrying to the tree line.

“I think I’ve heard of him.” Raistlin remarked, “Tanis told us about him, they were raised together, in the Home of the Speaker of the Suns. He didn’t mention they hated each other.”

Dalamar shrugged, throwing his pack over his shoulders. "They had an argument while you were unconscious. He wanted to know what he was doing, traveling with a Dark elf."

Raistlin winced. "Will they let you into Qualinesti?"

"Of course not." Dalamar sighed. “Exile is exile, anywhere, and my robes mark me as such. I still have a spell of invisibility, I’ll cast it on us and we can run to the caves.” He gave a little smile. “Like old times.”

More elves were coming, driving the draconians back. The others were raiding the supply wagon, grabbing swords and armor and charging into the draconians as well. Dalamar nodded, now would be best.

“Where are you going?” Tanis shouted, seeing them slip away.

“The caves.” Dalamar nodded to the plainsmen. Riverwind nodded back, picking up his sword and bow. They didn’t like the thought of going into Qualinesti either. “We will take cover there, and get ready to move out when it gets dark.”

“We must follow them!” Tanis protested, but Goldmoon had joined them too. She still didn’t seem comfortable with Raistlin, staying close to Riverwind and helping Theros. The big man was standing by himself now, but looked dazed, still shaking from bloodloss. Flint stood beside Tanis, but was unable to keep from sending cold looks back at the elves. Tasslehoff shifted from foot to foot, looking between the two groups, torn.

Caramon looked between them, agonized. “Raist-“

“Please, go.” Raistlin waved at him, “We will be fine, go with Tanis.”

For a short, golden moment, Dalamar thought it might work. Sturm took Caramon by the shoulder. “Come, Caramon. You saw what he is; they will crawl into some hole and let them stay there.”

Caramon hesitated, then shook his hand off. “I can’t, Sturm. I have to.”

“You really don’t.” Raistlin groaned.

Sturm bit his moustache wretchedly. “Tanis, I cannot leave him. Besides, it seems that with the elves, we came closer to getting killed than with just about anything short of the dragon.”

“What are you waiting for!” Gilthanas shouted at them from the treeline. “Leave the exile and get moving!”

“They won’t leave him!” Tanis snarled.

“Look out!” Riverwind shouted, lifting his bow and loosing an arrow. More draconians were coming, and they were starting to get organized. Riverwind’s arrow caught one in the throat and it collapsed. It did not turn to stone, but- dissolved. It melted into a foul greenish yellow fluid, slopping over the gravel of the path. The stones smoked and spat. Acid.

Riverwind paled, his hands shaking as he tried to fit a second arrow to his bow. Caramon and Sturm drew their swords, getting ready to charge. And- oh Abyss- more draconians were coming from the other direction. The caves would not be safe.

Raistlin had come to the same conclusion, and he was leaning heavily on his staff. He was tired, and had no spells. Dalamar still had the spell of invisibility, but how far could that get them? The mountains looked to be crawling with the creatures.

“He has to come!” Tanis sent Dalamar a murderous glare. “It’s the only way they’ll come.”

The elf hesitated, then swore as a band of draconians broke off and charged towards them. They fell, arrows driving into their bodies, but more were coming. “Fine!” He snarled. “But you will have to explain it to Porthios. Move!”

Oh Nuitari. Dalamar hesitated, then grabbed Raistlin’s arm. “Come on.”

Raistlin stared at him, “You want to follow them? You said they’ll kill you!”

“What are our options?” He had to do this quickly, before he had time to think about it too much. “If we stay out here they’ll track us down. If the elves decided to kill me we can use the spells and hide. It’ll be easier in a forest.” And there, I’ll be the only one in danger, he didn’t say.

He didn’t need to. Raistlin’s face contorted, he shook his head. “No.” He dug his fingers into Dalamar’s arm. “I will not let you. Not again.”

The Test. Dalamar gritted his teeth. The draconians were clashing with Riverwind, Caramon and Sturm. The warriors were staggering back from the press of bodies, and the foul pools of acid now starting to cover the road. He wanted to tell Raistlin he was going in, kicking and screaming if he had to- “Then keep me safe.” He said instead. “I trust you.”

Raistlin’s face crumpled. “I can’t lose you.” He whispered.

“Mage.” Goldmoon joined them. “We cannot fight them all, and Theros cannot run.” The Ergothian blinked at them, trying to get them into focus. “We must go.”

“We will not let them harm you,” Riverwind backed up, his sword pocked from draconian acid. “But we cannot stay. The elves are no friends of the plainspeople either, we will guard each other.”

By the looks on Caramon and Sturm’s faces, they were not about to agree to that, but mercifully they didn’t say anything.

Raistlin was in agony, but didn’t resist when Dalamar took his arm, leading him into the forest. “Please.” He whispered, so softly Dalamar could barely hear him. “Please. No.”

Chapter Text

Raistlin actually saw the moment they crossed over the border into elven lands. There was no visible change to the land, just the same unbroken wall of trees around them- but suddenly, Dalamar faltered. He flinched, a shudder of pain running through him. Raistlin tightened his grip desperately on Dalamar’s hand. “Is it hurting you?”

“Like Darken Wood.” He whispered, “But- crueler. It knows where to hurt me.”

Inside, Raistlin was screaming. He wanted to burn this place to the ground. He wanted to find every elf in this place and spear them on spikes. He wanted to send a firestorm to incinerate every draconian. He wanted Fistandantilus ripped out of him and hacked to pieces. He wanted- he wanted-

It was too much. It had been too much back in Solace and since then it had just become bigger. The draconians. Fistandantilus. And now this.

Oh Lunitari. It was so much like his Test. The trees were different, but there was something about them that sent cold horrors through him. The elves were all around them, fingering their bows longingly. They wanted to kill Dalamar, all the wanted was an excuse. And if they did, there was nothing Raistlin could do about it. He was exhausted, his magic little more than dull embers inside him. The shielding spell had taken the last shreds of his strength, and now he was struggling to keep up with the others, leaning heavily on his staff.

So hopeless, mourning dove.

Oh Abyss, not you again. Raistlin closed his eyes, and filled his mind with the raging flame. The lich hissed and slipped away.

“Raistlin?”

“Hush, worry about yourself.”

“Where are we?” Theros seemed to be coming back to himself, but was still slurring. He looked down at Goldmoon, “Who are you?” Then down at the stump of his shoulder. “Who’s got my arm? I want it back.”

“It’s okay.” Goldmoon patted his shoulder. “You are safe.”

“But my arm.” He blinked at where it wasn’t, then over at Tasslehoff. “Did the kender steal it?”

“I didn’t!” Tasslehoff was outraged. “I never!”

Mercifully, they broke through the trees then, and into a wide clearing. Most of the Solace prisoners were there, and a well dressed elf was speaking to them. “You are free to go, if any are free to go in this land. We have heard rumors that the lands south of Pax Tharkas are not under the control of the Dragon Highlord. I suggest, therefore, that you head southeast. Move as far and as fast as you can this day. We have food and supplies for your journey, all that we can spare. We can do little else for you.”

Oh Abyss. Raistlin stared at the refugees. They were thin and worn, many of them nursing wounds from the draconians. It might have been kinder for the elves to leave them in the slave caravans, at least then they might have had a chance of surviving. This was a death sentence. Gods, Raistlin recognised some of them- that there was the farmer Caramon used to work with. And there- wasn’t that Miranda, Caramon’s old flame? And they were all going to die, within a few days at most.

Goldmoon was pale with anger. “How can you be so cruel? Look at these people. They have never been out of Solace in their lives and you tell them calmly to walk through a land overrun by enemy forces-”

 “What would you have me do, human?” Oh, that sneer. “Lead them south myself? It is enough that we have freed them. My people have their own problems. I cannot be concerned with those of humans.” He scowled at them all. “I warn you. Time is wasting. Be on your way!”

Goldmoon opened her mouth, looking desperately at Tanis. He wouldn’t look at her, turning away. She set her jaw, staring after the people, then back at Raistlin and Dalamar.

For half a bent copper, he would have gone with her. Dragged Dalamar along, and trusted their fate to the winds. But it would be suicide. They had to rest, and being surrounded by a hoard of vulnerable people would just attract more attention. Goldmoon lowered her head, long hair falling forwards and hiding her face. “How can you care so little for-”

 “For humans?” The elf’s lip curled. “It was humans who brought the Cataclysm upon us. They were the ones who sought the gods, demanding in their pride the power that was granted Huma in humility. It was humans who caused the gods to turn their faces from us-”

 “They haven’t!” Goldmoon lifted her head, eyes burning. “The gods are among us!” Her hand went to the amulet of Mishakal around her neck.

“Don’t.” Raistlin whispered to Dalamar.

“Oh, it’s nothing I haven’t heard ten thousand times.” Dalamar gave the ghost of a smile. “They say the same in Silvanesti. Everyone blaming everyone else.”

He must have spoken too loud. The elf turned and saw him. His eyes went wide, his face pale with outrage. He drew his sword.

Oh Lunitari no. For a moment, day turned to night. They were alone, but for this elf. Such a familiar one, with his sword drawn, black with Dalamar’s blood-

Then Dalamar was there, standing in front of him, one hand free for whatever spells he had left. The elf lifted his blade and Raistlin heard the creak of bowstrings.

NO!

He did it without thinking. He reached into himself with fingers of flame, and found Fistandantilus. The lich gave a wordless cry of surprised, but it was too late.

Mine, you bastard.

Raistlin tore into him, and pulled.

The arrows loosed with a shrill hiss like a thousand snakes.

“Kendala meshuot gedeng lingkaran!” Raistlin screamed, the words leaving his mouth in a cloud of ice.

The arrows shattered.

One moment, Dalamar had been staring at the drawn bows and- oh Raistlin I am sorry, Nuitari watch over him please- then somehow, without quite knowing how he got there, he was on the ground.

Raistlin’s face was frozen, hands outstretched. He was lost in that horrible memory of his Test, the memory that had almost become far too real. They were alone in the middle of the clearing, surrounded by a sphere of force. The elves were frozen in shock, staring in disbelief at the piles of their splintered arrows.

Raistlin looked at the elf, lifting his hand. The man recoiled, face riven in fear now. He drew his sword back-

“Cair bisau api.” Raistlin spat.

The elf screamed as his blade suddenly turned white hot, searing his hand. He threw it down, clutching his wrist and staggering.

“We were offered safe passage.” Raistlin breathed, so softly, but the clearing was so utterly silent, that it might have been a shout. “Draw those bows again, and you will burn.” There was so much hatred in his voice; the last word was almost a flame. “All of you will burn.”

How was he doing this? Half an hour ago, Raistlin had been barely been able to hold up a spell of shielding. Now- this? They had glanced at these spells, yes, but no more, and somehow Raistlin could just- cast them.

Raistlin’s skin was rimed with ice, his sleeves frozen stiff.

“No.” Dalamar breathed. “Oh please no. Not for me, please-“

“Shut up.” Raistlin hissed.

“Is this the honor of the elves?!” Riverwind shouted. “To attack those invited, and cast away those in need? The Gods turn their faces from you in shame!”

Oh Nuitari, Dalamar hoped Raistlin could let the plainsman inside the sphere, because several of the elves were drawing new arrows.

“Porthios.” The elf turned, still panting in pain from his scorched hand. Gilthanas stepped forward. “I do not like it either, but the others would not come without the Exile. Including-“ he glanced over to Tanis.

Judging by this Porthios’ expression, he would have gladly ordered his elves to kill the lot of them, including Tanis. He looked back at Raistlin, then away, quickly. “You ask us to commit blasphemy, Tanthalas.” Tanis was clearly an easier target. “Let this be on your life, then. If the Dark one trespasses on our generosity, then you will pay for it too.”

Tanis sagged, looking defeated. “Fine.” He said helplessly. “We need to move, now.”

One good thing about this disaster, the people of Solace had clearly decided anywhere was better than here, and had all vanished. Raistlin reached down, and helped Dalamar up.

His hand was warm. Whatever he had done, it was finished, and Raistlin didn’t seem any the worse for it. “It’s okay,” he whispered. “I have control, and I would risk far more for you.”

Dalamar gritted his teeth. “Please don’t.”

Raistlin didn’t say anything, he waved a hand, and the sphere shimmered to nothing. “Come on.” He didn’t let go. “I’ll kill them if they so much as look at you.”

He said it in the voice. That voice. And suddenly Dalamar was dazed and terrified and absurdly aroused. He tried not to laugh. He wanted to cry. And yet- it worked. He did feel safe, as if the words had wrapped a warm cloak around him, one that could protect him from anything in the world.

“I hope you know what you’re doing.” He said instead, pressing close against Raistlin’s side. Then. “I love you.”

“Always.” Raistlin bared his teeth as they set off.

The elves stayed close around them, gripping their bows and spears and eyeing them warily. Dalamar tried not to look at them. Tried not to look at anything. Because they were getting deeper into the forest now and-

It was like Silvanesti. So like. Oh, the trees were different. Still mostly aspens, but there were a few maples, a great swaying strand of poplars, little pockets of purple ash. Then they were in a grove of white willows, delicate and trembling in the breeze. His heart ached; he had seen so many trees, spent time in places far more beautiful than this, but-

But he could feel them. They were there, in his mind. Once, he could have spoken to them, and heard them answer. But now- he had been cut away, excised from the elven world. A ragged, bleeding wound within him that he had spent a decade trying to forget. Now it was hurting all over again, just as raw and screaming as when it had been first made. And he knew it would never heal.

He reached for Raistlin before he was aware of what he was doing. Raistlin took his hand, and held it in both of his, so tightly it hurt, and Dalamar welcomed the pain. It was a relief, one pain drowning out the other. And Raistlin was here, Raistlin was with him. And dear Nuitari that was so much to put on his lover’s slender shoulders.

He wondered if that was how other Dark elves did it. Those who survived. They found something else to love, something else to pour that devotion and belonging into until the world started feeling worth living in. Now, Raistlin felt so fragile beside him. The world edging closer and closer to that Abyss until he almost regretted that Raistlin had stopped those arrows.

“Don’t let go.” Dalamar whispered.

“Never.” Raistlin’s hands were like steel.

They walked for hours. The sun rose to its zenith, then started to sink. Raistlin had been exhausted before they’d even started, and as the sun began to set he was so tired he could barely keep up. The only thing keeping him from admitting Tarn was that Dalamar could not see him as weak, not now.

Raistlin had kept a tight grip on his hand all day, until Dalamar’s fingers were white around the nails from the lack of blood. Occasionally, the Dark elf swapped hands, flexing his fingers to work feeling back into them. Dalamar was still far too pale, trembling as if every step he took drove a hidden knife deeper.

I can’t. Some part of Raistlin had been sobbing since he’d seen those arrows loosed. I can’t. He knew that voice, had felt it inside him all his life. He shoved it away, and took another step. Then another. To that tree. Then that tree. Then that tree. Breaking the impossible march into something he could manage, and trying to not think about how badly his body would punish him for this tomorrow. He needed to be strong. Dalamar needed him to be strong.

“How could such wonder exist with such cruelty?” Goldmoon whispered as they crested the hill. “I never imagined beauty like this existed.”

Raistlin lifted his head and looked down on the city of Qualinost. Even in his eyes, it was beautiful. Elves built their cities to last, it seemed. Buildings made not of crumbling brick or rotting wood, but clear and sparkling quartz. The trees twining around them, coaxed into living arches and bowers. The flowers, between blinks, he could just see them- spilling out from countless urns and flowerbeds, some even crowning the buildings.

And there, in the center, was a great tower that shone as if from solid gold.

He leaned against Dalamar. “Close your eyes.”

“A little late for that.” Dalamar looked down on the city with bleak eyes. “It wouldn’t make a difference, it’s in here now.” He touched his free hand to his head. “I won’t be able to forget it.”

“Is it very like?” Raistlin whispered.

“Yes.” Dalamar’s lips were as bloodless as his fingers. “The sun to the moon. Day and night, but just the same.”

“Would you like me to burn it down?” It didn’t matter how tired he was, if Dalamar said yes, he wouldn’t stop until this place was as ruined as Solace and Que-shu.

Dalamar smiled. “No. Just- stay, please. I- need you.”

He knew, but Dalamar had never said it before. “I am here. I will always be here.”

“Thank you.”

“We are to rest.” Riverwind joined them. “The elf must go ahead, and we are to remain here. For a few moments.”

Oh Lunitari, thank you. Raistlin let his legs fold under him, collapsing to the ground. Dalamar followed him, and Raistlin pulled his head down firmly until he was resting in his lap. Dalamar breathed in, nuzzling his robes to get his scent, and closed his eyes. His arms wound around Raistlin’s waist. Raistlin stroked his hair, feeling his grip relax as his lover slowly slipped into an exhausted sleep.

“Was this his home?” Goldmoon sat beside them, Riverwind on her other side.

“No, but it is close enough to hurt.” Raistlin dug a little bundle of ties from his belt, and started braiding Dalamar’s hair. He wasn’t as good at it as his lover, but Dalamar would feel better to find a few little decorations had been put in while he slept. “You know what that feels like.”

Riverwind closed his eyes, nodded. Goldmoon rested against him, and it was almost like looking into a strange mirror of himself and Dalamar. Night and day. Dawn and dusk. Love was the same regardless. Raistlin smiled.

Too soon, Gilthanas returned, and they were motioned to follow. Raistlin gently shook Dalamar. Dalamar groaned, just holding on to him tightly and burying his face in Raistlin’s stomach. “We have to move.”

Dalamar sat up, his hand coming to his head. A small crown of braids pulled his hair away from his eyes, falling in a twelve strand rope down his back, a few little wildflowers woven in. Raistlin was pleased at how well it had come out. “You did my hair?”

“I wanted you to look your best.” He kissed Dalamar. “Let them all be jealous.”

Dalamar touched their heads together. “My love.”

Slowly, they got going again. The old mage wandered ahead, shouting at trees. Dalamar sighed and rolled his eyes, but seemed glad of the distraction. “Look away.” Raistlin whispered, “Just keep him in the corner of your eye, and watch.”

Dalamar cocked his head, silently thanking from for the distraction, and did as he was told. The moment he thought he wasn’t being watched, the old mage dropped the madman act, and hurried along with the group. “He isn’t mad.”

“He wasn’t mad in Solace either, remember.” Raistlin said, trying not to move his lips.

“What is he?”

Raistlin remembered the voice in his head. The light, burning Fistandantilus. “Powerful.” He whispered.

Dalamar nodded. Opened his mouth to ask-

Then Tanis stopped dead in the path, and Dalamar walked straight into his back.

Tanis didn’t seem to notice. "Leaving Qualinesti?"

Dalamar stared. Gilthanas sent him a black look and nodded to Tanis.

"You can't mean it!  Leaving Qualinesti! Why? Surely things aren't so bad-"

"They are worse," Gilthanas said shortly, "And if you don't tell that pet Dark elf of yours to stop eavesdropping, we will make sure he never tells anyone about this- or anything else- again."

“Make that threat.” Raistlin hissed, “And you will never say anything ever again.”

The elf scowled at him, but didn’t dare say more, turning and striding away. Tanis glared at them, and followed, leading them deeper into Qualinost.

They passed through the outskirts of the city. Raistlin caught the smell of smoke- something was burning. They passed small fires, the elves throwing anything they couldn’t carry with them onto a pyre- they were fleeing.

Good. Raistlin bared his teeth. Let it burn. Let it all burn. Let the fires spread and devour the houses, the trees, the very skies. Let these people scream and flee in terror, consumed by flame. Let the bows burst into flame and the swords melt and the arrows scorch to ash. This is what you deserve, for threatening my own.

For a moment, there was nothing but the fire inside him, furious and welling like a storm. No pain, no exhaustion, no fear. Just the rage, roiling and screaming to burn. Dalamar squeezed his hand, “I am here.” He whispered against his cheek.

The Tower of the Sun.

Oh it was so familiar. They could have been twins, the Sun and the Stars. The beauty, gold instead of silver. That same delicate grace, every last corner of it covered in decorations and embellishments. The elves, in elaborate dress, rushing to and fro from its doors. The meticulously tended gardens, lush with flowers even so late into autumn.

Did they have a House Servitor here? Dalamar wondered suddenly. To tend the gardens, to polish the endless carvings, to weave and wash those beautiful robes? He had done that, so very often.

He would never have been allowed to approach the great gates of the Tower, like they were doing now. If he had been allowed in at all, it would have been through the servants’ entrance, to slave away in the kitchens. Now, they could not keep him out. Dalamar allowed himself a small smile. They were too powerful.

Raistlin was too powerful.

Dalamar glanced at him, as they were led into a small antechamber. Raistlin was pale with exhaustion, lips pressed tight. He was angry; and drawing strength from that anger.

“This room is just off the main chamber,” Gilthanas said. “My father is meeting with the Heads of Household to plan the evacuation. My brother has gone to tell him of our arrival. When the business is finished, we will be summoned.”

Ah, there were the servants. Dalamar knew those dull clothes, made to blend into the background. Those downcast eyes. He made a point to meet each one, and watched them shudder and turn away. They quickly put down their basins of water, and hurried away.

Unsurprisingly, he hadn’t been given one. Raistlin pushed his over, they’d share. Dalamar ran his fingers through the crystal clear water, sighing in relief. “You don’t need to be angry for me.” He whispered.

Raistlin smiled, hands slipping into the water to touch Dalamar’s, fingers linking. “I know.” He murmured, “But it makes me feel better.”

Dalamar smiled back. A real smile, to his surprise, and felt Raistlin kiss the side of his face lightly.

“I would not trade you for any number of homelands.” He kissed him back.

Raistlin blinked, for a moment the anger was gone, his expression open and tender with love. They kissed again, deeper and sweeter-

“You are called.” A harsh voice cut in.

It was that one. The elf who had nearly killed him. The rage was back in Raistlin’s eyes. He took Dalamar’s hand firmly, and they stood.

Chapter Text

Even in Silvanesti, Dalamar had never been into the Speaker's chamber. None of so lowly an order as House Servitor would be allowed in such hallowed halls. Dalamar wondered distantly how they managed to keep such a great room clean. Did other orders lower themselves to do the cleaning, or was this some enchantment, to spare them the effort?

This room was almost perfectly round; built of flawless white marble. Mirrors and high windows brought the light in and magnified it against the white walls until even so late into the afternoon the sunbeams within was almost dazzling. Dalamar felt his hand come up to pull at his robes nervously, as if the glare could become a pyre and consume him. He tried to burrow deeper into his robes, his skin all but smarting from the light.

The light he had been cast from, a blazing eye upon him, mocking and scorning this foul thing that crawled under its gaze- Dalamar tore his eyes away. To try and distance himself, he looked up at the ceiling. That too had been decorated, inlayed with a mosaic that mirrored the sky. Half of the dome was given to the day, blue sky and golden sun, while the other was to the night, to the stars and the two moons.

Then Dalamar smiled. There. Nuitari was with him, even here. A few tiles had fallen out of the night mosaic, forming a dark circle beside the other two moons. Glory to you, Dark Son. Walk with me in this place.

Strength washed through him, dark power like cool rivers running through him, to shield him from the burning light. It was strength enough to lift his eyes and meet those of the elves filling the chamber. The nobility, heads of orders and households. They looked enough disgruntled just at having to accommodate the likes of humans and dwarves, although they limited themselves to forbidding looks. Sturm had his fair share of shocked expressions, and there were more than a few mutters and signs against evil at the sight of Raistlin in his red robes.

They had no such restraint at the sight of Dalamar. The chamber rang with outraged hisses. One particularly refined woman fainted outright, and more cringed away in horror. One elf stepped forward, face set with loathing and barely able to look at Dalamar. "Speaker!" he demanded, looking over at an older elf- presumably the Speaker- dressed in yellow robes, "I demand to know the reason for this outrage. To allow a Dark elf within our lands! And at this time of war!"

“Rashas speaks truth.” The Speaker’s voice was low; he glanced at Dalamar and turned away in revulsion, as if at the sight of a maggot, or a plague rat. “This was to be a happy occasion, my sons. I feared never see either of you in this life again, but you come here, bringing this-“ Words failed, he flicked a hand at Dalamar, “This Exiled vermin with you?”

Dalamar felt Raistlin all but shaking beside him, and tightened his grip, shaking his head. It wasn’t worth it. They could call him anything they liked, as long as he and Raistlin could walk out of here safely.

“I will explain, father.” Gilthanas spoke up, "There will be time enough after this. They are going nowhere."

The Speaker did not look satisfied, but sat back on his throne. The other elf, Rashas, subsisted, but not without more muttering and dark looks at Dalamar.

“Don’t be angry.” Dalamar leaned over to Raistlin, “It would be worse if they had been kind. This will just make it easier when it is time to leave.”

“I already want to.” Raistlin grumbled, but took his hand, squeezing it.

That got another round of outraged whispers. Raistlin eyes gleamed; he reached up and took Dalamar firmly by his braid, and pulled him down into a deep and devouring kiss.

Dalamar smiled against Raistlin’s lips, as the chamber erupted into hisses of shock and disgust. Yes, look upon the matings of those in darkness. Do any of your pale and bloodless paramours have this fire, this lust? I think not. When they broke apart, Raistlin was panting, Dalamar shivering and more than half hard under his robes.

Oh, but he wanted him. When was the last time they had been together? The night before Xak Tsaroth. Too long. “Tonight.” Dalamar whispered.

Raistlin grinned, “I will make you forget every one of these bastards.”

“Shut up.” Tanis snarled under his breath.

Deciding they had pushed their luck enough for one day, Dalamar pulled Raistlin back away from the scrutiny of the crowd, into the shadows around the edges of the chamber. The Speaker sent them one last cutting look, and turned back to his sons.

Dalamar smiled, turning back as Gilthanas continued, describing how his group had fallen foul of a draconian patrol and how he had been left for dead. Gasps of shock rose as he portrayed Solace's destruction, and how his men had been executed, burnt to ashes by the breath of a red dragon. Hadn’t the one Raistlin had killed been red? He glanced over and Raistlin narrowed his eyes. Don’t you dare. The dragon had a rider, the elf continued, a cleric of the Dark Queen by the name of Verminaad.

He had been right then, the Dark Queen had moved more quickly than the Gods of light, and had snapped up the best clerics before they could get moving. Now E’li and the rest of them were scrambling to catch up, handing out their power to the handful of people still willing to listen.

And it was that power that Gilthanas was now recalling, telling them all how Goldmoon had healed Theros Ironfeld.

The Speaker's face twisted in rage, and he looked at Goldmoon with much the same expression as when he’d looked on Dalamar. He opened his mouth to demand- something, but they saw the pendant of Mishakal.

"Blasphemy!" The Speaker lunged forward, actually reaching out to rip the medallion from her throat with his own hands.

Riverwind gave a shout of rage, and Dalamar and Raistlin reached for their components pouches. Oh well, it would almost be a relief to fight at this point-

But before they could move, there was a flare of blue light and the Speaker was blasted back into his throne. Dalamar took a step back as swords were drawn, and Raistlin did the same. “Can you do the sphere again?” Dalamar breathed. “Goldmoon, Riverwind, stay close.”

“I might have to.” Raistlin was pale, but his face was set in determination.

"Stop this nonsense!" Fizban shoved past both of them. The elven guards drew their swords to stab the old man, but in the next moment, without Dalamar quite seeing how- he was past them, tottering up to the Speaker. And no one was trying to stop him. The guards were frozen in place. The crowd of nobles could be statues. Even that Rashas was held in place, throat working as he tried to shout- but couldn’t get the words out. Dalamar tried to lift his feet- but they might have grown roots, fixing him to the floor.

No one could move to stop Fizban as he reached the Speaker and helped him to his feet, muttering inanely to himself and waving his hat all over the place. “Now, Solostaran, I suggest you call off your guards and tell everyone to settle down. I, for one, would like to hear the story of this young woman’s adventures, and you, for one, would do well to listen. It wouldn’t hurt you to apologize, either.”

He was casting a spell, Dalamar realised. A spell without motions or words, but the Speaker’s eyes glazed over. He even mumbled an apology to Goldmoon- Dalamar doubted the man had ever said sorry in his entire ancient life.

Goldmoon looked at the Speaker, then Fizban, then back at them and Riverwind. Then she set her shoulders and steeled herself, telling her now familiar story. The Speaker, his eyes still filmed over, did not speak until she’d finished. It felt exactly like the first time they’d heard her tale- the same spell of charming washing over them- even more powerful this time, for even the elves were falling prey to the magic. Dalamar could feel it wash over him- but didn’t grasp him. Raistlin fumbled for his ring for a moment, then realised they were not the targets.

Slowly, the spell ebbed, and a collective sigh seemed to rise from the crowd as they woke from the charm. For a long moment of relief, there was silence. “I must consider all of this and what it means to us,” The Speaker started, eyes still vague and uncertain.

Then they locked on Dalamar, and rage cleared them. Whatever power the old man had, he clearly didn’t want to expend it for Dalamar’s benefit. The Speaker looked over at his sons, grim faced, "But you have not explained why, in this time of such danger, you have broken our laws and brought a Dark elf into our midst. To do such a thing even in a time of peace-"

“He has stood beside us with bravery and strength.” Riverwind broke in.

Goldmoon nodded, reluctantly, “Whatever his allegiance-“

"His companions have vouched for his behaviour," Gilthanas interrupted, "He was locked in the slave cages with the rest, and was the one who got us out of there in the first place. The others would not have come with us without him."

"But still-" The Speaker looked back at Dalamar, grimacing, "You! Exile! You were from Silvanesti, were you not?"

Dalamar gave Raistlin a short look telling him to stay put, and stepped forwards. "I'm sure they would deny it if you asked them-"

The Speaker flicked a hand, and one of the guards cracked Dalamar across the back with the butt of his spear. “Kneel before the Speaker, filth!”

Dalamar choked with pain as the wind was knocked out of him, forced to his knees. Raistlin snarled wordlessly, but mercifully only helped him back up, glaring daggers at the guards. Riverwind stepped between him and the guard, crossing his arms and glowering at the elf. Dalamar nodded in thanks, trying to catch his breath.

"Answer the question." The Speaker spat.

"Yes." Dalamar forced out, his back was screaming and he couldn't stand up straight.

“When were you exiled?”

Dalamar shuddered, his stomach lurching. “Ten years ago.”

The Speaker narrowed his eyes, "The Silvanesti have let in Dragonarmy emissaries."

"What?" Dalamar forgot the pain. Nuitari, what was this? He’d have called the Speaker a liar, but why such a lie? Certainly the man believed it, but it was- impossible. After everything they had done to him, they would let in worshipers of the Dark Queen?

“You pretend ignorance?” The Speaker was incredulous.

“They would hardly have told me anything! Why-“

But the answer came, so very clearly. Protection. The dragonarmies could devour the world, as long as they were willing to leave Silvanesti. Nuitari, they were such fools, but then Silvanesti had not needed to deal diplomatically for more than three hundred years. Outwitting them would be like outwitting a toddler. Oh Nuitari, Dalamar closed his eyes. His lost home, in the hands of utter idiots. His former people would hand it right over to the dragonarmies, and it would end up like Solace- ruined and in agony. His stomach lurched, tears burned his eyes.

“Father, it’s clear he knows nothing.” Gilthanas grimaced, and turned away from him. “We gave our word.”

“The Silvanesti deal with creatures of the Dark Queen, and we allow Black Robe exiles within our borders.” The Speaker sighed, and looked at Gilthanas. “So the darkness closes on all of us. You brought him in, and his behavior will be on your shoulders. If he betrays us-“ He let that hang.

Gilthanas bowed. “I understand.” He looked ill, and gave Tanis a very nasty look. “We will have him watched.”

The one downside of being angry all the time, Raistlin decided, was that it was even more exhausting than walking. He kept trying to feel it, bask in the fire- but it was burning lower all the time, leaving him feeling washed out and sick, and so very tired.

 “You can stop.” Dalamar whispered, standing closer and letting Raistlin lean against him. “There is no one worthy of your anger, my love. And they will not hurt us now.”

Fine. Raistlin looked around wearily. The worst part was that it could have been- better, at least. It had been a long time since he was in a place where most of the people there didn’t rot. Oh, some of them did, the oldest, with only a century or so left to them, but many elves were much as Dalamar, beautiful and ageless, the sight of them slaking the weary drought inside Raistlin.

And there was another. A young woman this time; brown skinned and golden haired, her face delicate and winsome. She smiled at them- even at Dalamar, although there was clear fear there.

“She is indeed pretty.” Raistlin said coolly, stepping up beside Dalamar. “Should I be jealous? I could slap you, you know.”

Dalamar started, then grinned, a real, lovely smile. “Mostly in awe of her hair. How does she keep it so long, and looking like that, do you think?”

“She’s the Speaker’s daughter, so I assume she has servants for that.” For a moment, he entertained the image of how Dalamar would look, with hair down to his waist. “It must be a nightmare in bed.”

“I doubt the Speaker would be pleased about us speaking about his daughter in bed.” Dalamar said dryly. “Although- look at Tanis.”

He was starting at the girl too. Rather the same way he used to look at Kitiara. Oh Abyss, he’d dealt with Half-elven being lovesick once, never again.

The lady met Tanis’ stare, then looked away quickly. "I welcome you to Qualinost, honored guests. Please follow me. The way is not far, and there is food and drink at the end."

They were led out of the Tower, through to one of the many groves clustering in the heart of the city. Aspens, this time, with a clear steam bubbled and sang between their roots. Dalamar looked up at the graceful trees and made a soft noise of pain deep in his throat.

“How does it hurt you?” Raistlin asked softly as they settled beneath the arching branches. “Is it the trees?”

“It is.” Dalamar looked up at the waving leaves- deep gold, this far in autumn. “Once, I could speak to them, hear their song. It is still there, but so very far away. The trees can no longer feel me, and I am left as a- ghost, amongst them.” He closed his eyes.

Raistlin drew him into his arms, and held him close. “I am here. I can hold you. Feel yourself through me.”

Dalamar nodded, and nuzzled into Raistlin’s chest. It was a- strangely powerful feeling. Regardless of how frail and shattered he was, when he was holding Dalamar like this, Raistlin felt as big and powerful as Caramon.

He wondered if that was why his brother was so determined not to let him go, so he could keep feeling like this all the time. The thought made his skin crawl.

Finally, Dalamar sat up, rubbing his face. “Should we wash?” He indicated the stream.

Gods yes. Raistlin got up, and they walked over to the bank. "Do you believe the Speaker told you the truth? About Silvanesti?"

Dalamar sighed, stripping off his robes and quickly splashing himself. “Why would he lie? Besides, my people never cared what happened beyond their borders. If the dragonarmies offered to leave them alone, the whole world could perish in a new Cataclysm, and the Silvanesti would not care.”

Raistlin removed his robes, the water was not quite cold, but the evening air was starting to bite. He quickly scrubbed himself, and wrapped himself gratefully in his cloak again, shivering. “Would they really be such fools?” Dalamar looked at him, and Raistlin snorted. “No, you are right. Anyone stupid enough to cast you out must be utterly imbecilic.”

"There's an old joke in Tarsis," Dalamar murmured, drying himself on his cloak, and pulling out his spare robes and getting changed, "Gods, that’s better- How many Silvanesti does it take to change a lamp wick?"

Raistlin smiled, finding his spare robes, and getting dressed in blissfully clean clothes. “I think I heard that one. None. The humans burnt it out, let them fix it."

Dalamar looked up suddenly, spotting Laurana walking towards them. He stared at her coldly. "Yes, what do you want?"

She was trying to smile, but her eyes were wide in fascinated dread at the sight of Dalamar. Probably she had been told horror stories about Dark elves. Raistlin wondered what those were. Did she expect Dalamar to snatch her up into the night? Go on a murder spree? Eat babies?

"I thought you might be hungry." She looked between them, hands shaking a little as she proffered a basket to them. The contents sank in on its own decay, but the smell of freshly baked bread remained, reminding Raistlin that they had not eaten today.

Dalamar hesitated, waiting to see why she had really come to speak to them, but finally, when no terms seemed to be forthcoming, he reached out and took the basket. "Thank you."

Laurana backed away, as if afraid Dalamar would attack her when her back was turned.

“He is a necromancer of terrible power,” Raistlin called after her, “Who summons demons to tear apart those who cross him-“

Dalamar nudged him hard in the ribs as the girl fled. “Come now, she’s scared enough already. She was at least trying to play the gracious hostess, even to us. Besides, this bread looks as though it will taste every bit as pleasant as it looks.”

“As good as it smells, I hope.” They settled back in the clearing. “Don’t move the basket.” Raistlin closed his eyes, and found one of the soft buns. It was indeed delicious.

They shared the food there and then, sitting under the trees. Raistlin occasionally dipped the bread in some water to make it easier to eat. Raistlin wasn’t aware they were shifting to sit closer and closer until Dalamar’s leg’s were almost entangled in his, almost sitting in each other’s laps. The clearing was quiet, the others either absent or asleep.

Really, it had been far too long since they'd had this kind of privacy. And while they couldn't indulge themselves the way they might like to, it would be enough just to be together like this.

Dalamar had a similar idea. He lent back against a tree, then reached out and slipped an arm around Raistlin’s waist, pulling him the last few inches fully into his lap. Raistlin sighed happily, leaning into the cuddle. His arms came up, winding around Dalamar’s neck, and leaned his head back for a delicious kiss. “The bread was very good.” He murmured, “But it tastes best from your lips.”

“You are always delicious.” Dalamar purred against his lips, and kissed him again, “But I am not complaining. I would like to taste rather more of you, though.”

“There is always tonight.”

Dalamar licked his lips, eyes dilating. He was most definitely interested, and Raistlin was in the best position to feel just how interested he was. His hard cock prodding eagerly against his arse.

Raistlin turned in Dalamar's arms and kissed him again, hands on his shoulders. It was almost like a magic of its own, a few small kisses and Raistlin felt the exhaustion and miseries of the last few days just- slough away. They were safe, they were whole, and they were together.

“I have been thinking.” Dalamar breathed, holding him close. “Of how I could never, ever have had this if I had stayed in Silvanesti.”

“And am I a worthy trade?” Raistlin stroked his hair. He’d have to redo those braids, they were coming loose.

“For moments like this?” Dalamar ran a hand over his back. “This desire, this delight? These moment, this love? This way of living, never to be alone? This treasure?”

Raistlin was blushing, he was sure of it. He hoped his golden skin could hide it.

“This person?” Dalamar cupped his backside, stroking over the cleft of his arse. “So beautiful, so incredible?”

Bastard. Raistlin couldn’t stop grinning.

“If I ever see Alhana Starbreeze again, I will thank her.” And Dalamar kissed him again, deep and hungry.

Chapter Text

The feast started at nightfall. Dalamar took one look at the food, and knew it would be beyond him. The culinary traditions of the Qualinesti had not gone far from the Silvanesti, and the very smell caught him by the throat and choked him.

Raistlin took him gently but firmly by the arm, and walked them away from the table, to a little stand of pines nearby. Close enough to hear what was being said, but far enough that Dalamar couldn’t see the food; and the sweet scent of needles and sap blocked the smells from the table.

After a few courses, Goldmoon and Riverwind rose quietly and ducked away from the table, coming to join them. Riverwind looked miserable, Goldmoon seemed about to cry. “Was the Speaker cruel to you again?” Raistlin asked.

“No. He said nothing to me, but- oh, it is foolish.” She wiped her eyes. “It is so much like the feast after my mother died. It was just this unbearable. You are wise to sit it out.” She sat beside them, for once looking entirely human, without a trace of the Goddess about her. Riverwind pulled her close, stroking her hair and whispered to her in their own tongue.

Raistlin seemed to have decided to do the same. Dalamar was pulled firmly into his lap, stroking his hair and loosening his braids. “Where’s the comb?”

“Second pouch on the left.” He closed his eyes, sighing in pleasure as Raistlin got to work. Not just for the delight of the touch, but enjoying the picture they must be presenting to the elves at the table. They so miserable and silent, them sweet and warm and together. Exile was the worst punishment they could imagine, and he was happier than they were.

He turned his face into Raistlin waist, and drew in a breath. Even after the wash, his scent was stronger here, so close to his groin. He licked his lips.

“Later.” Raistlin murmured. He finished with the comb, Dalamar’s hair smooth and soft, and started working in the braids. “I do like your hair loose.” He said wistfully, pausing to massage Dalamar’s ears.

“You don’t have to live with the knots.” Dalamar sighed, his mind going lax with delight at the caresses. “Oh Nuitari, that’s wonderful.”

“I love you.” Raistlin bent down, and kissed first one ear, then the other.

At the table, one of the elves had started singing. The accent was different, the inflections- but it was still Elven, sending the memories clawing inside his skull. He’d heard so many songs, not so long ago. He’d sung many of them himself, while working in the gardens, cleaning in the kitchens- The young dancing master, or the bird on the wing- Gods, he’d forgotten so many of the words.

“Shh,” Raistlin stroked his neck, his ears. “Don’t listen.”

Nuitari, he’d forgotten so much. Sometimes, he wished he could forget everything about Silvanesti, but then almost at once he was terrified of losing the least detail, knowing it would be gone forever. He would never hear these songs again, he would never remember the words. Did the dancing master dance with the oak first, or the willow? What was the rhyme with Kith’pa? Ilara? Alinsa? He couldn’t remember.

“Should I sing to you, and drown it out?” He heard the smile in Raistlin’s voice. “You won’t thank me for it. All I know are Kitiara’s alehouse songs.”

“Thank you.” Dalamar sat up, and kissed him.

The song ended, the lights flickering out with the final chords. The stars above suddenly seemed brilliant. Lunitari had not risen; Solinari just a thin sliver just cresting the mountains, but Nuitari was high, a brilliant, glowing eyes keeping a close watch on everything below. Dalamar smiled, feeling his patron’s power soaking into him.

“And now,” The Speaker of the Sun stood up, “it is time for the meeting of the High Council. It will be held in the Hall of the Sky. Tanthalas, if you will lead your companions there.”

“Come on then.” Dalamar got up wearily, reaching down to help Raistlin up. Goldmoon and Riverwind were dozing together.

Riverwind stirred as they got up. “Are are going?” He yawned.

“For a while, and not far.”

Goldmoon grumbled something incoherent in her own language, pulling her hair back roughly. Dalamar stroked his own braids; Raistlin had worked on three broad braids, one on each side of his head, one on top, twisting in an intricate knot at the back of his head. “You are getting very good at this.”

“I learn quickly.” Raistlin smiled. “I wonder if there is a way to work magic that way, weaving your hair into sigils, trapping a spell to cast later.”

“Not my hair.” They set off, following the others. “It would unwind long before I would use it, and it would probably turn me into a rabbit.”

“I do like rabbits.” Raistlin smiled, and kissed him. “Perhaps you can do it to mine, then.”

Raistlin’s curls held styles much better than his, “I could certainly see you as a rabbit.” Dalamar took his hand as they walked, “One of the white furred, red eyed ones.”

Raistlin smiled, leaned against him as they walked.

The Hall of the Sky was well-named, seeing as it had no roof. Only a few torches lit the square, enough to illuminate without dazzling. The Speaker stood in the centre, with their little group around him. What appeared to be half the population of Qualinesti gathered around them.

"Here you see our situation." The Speaker explained, gesturing at the ground. It was laid out to show the world in meticulous detail. The Speaker was standing where Qualinost was, Raistlin lifted his feet, he was standing on a range of bumps that marked the Barrier Mountains, and when Dalamar looked down, he saw from the little painted swamps that he was actually standing on Xak Tsaroth. Beside them, Tasslehoff was bouncing from foot to foot like a cat on a hot roof, trying to see every detail.

"There's Solace!" He pointed out, delighted.

The Speaker nodded, "Yes Kenderkin, and that it where the Dragonarmies mass. In Solace and in Haven." He touched the spots on the map with his staff, "Lord Verminaad has made no secret of his plans to invade Qualinesti. He waits only to gather his forces and secure his supply routes. We cannot hope to stand before such a hoard."

They were running. It was- madness. Dalamar shook his head. Where were they going to go? The Speaker was talking about how their defences would be useless against dragons- but where were they going to go that the dragons could not find them? They would be hunted down while on the run, without even the defenses of their home to protect them.

He and Raistlin had come to that conclusion weeks ago, how could all of these people not see?

“But then,” The Speaker continued, “we learned of a third dragonarmy at Pax Tharkas, less than a day’s journey from us. Unless that army is stopped, we are doomed.”

 “And you know a way to stop that army?” Tanis asked.

 “Yes.” The Speaker looked at Tanis and- oh Abyss. It was them, wasn’t it? The elves were going to throw them into the dragons’ jaws in order to buy them time for their escape. They’d hoped the refugees from Solace would have acted as a distraction, but it hadn’t worked. Now they were to be sent to Pax Tharkas, to start a revolt and cause new problems to buy them time.

Raistlin caught his eye, and Dalamar nodded. “I don’t like playing the bait for the dragonarmies.” Raistlin whispered, “But there is no point staying here, and even less in going with them.”

“Wayreth?” Dalamar gave a small smile.

“Just another hole to hide in; and full of scorpions.” Raistlin grimaced, “Besides, the Tower sometimes wanders to Pax Tharkas.”

He wasn’t wrong. “I have been spending too much time with humans,” Dalamar lamented, “You always want to be doing something, even if it’s hopeless, and now you have me doing it.”

“It opens options.” Raistlin shrugged, “And perhaps you have forgotten, but I am still intending to find Lemuel.”

Lemuel. There was something else that had completely slipped his mind. Raistlin smiled at his embarrassment. “He did a lot to help us, after all.”

“Fine.” Dalamar sighed, “But afterwards, we are taking Lemuel and trying to find the Tower before the dragons hunt us down.”

Raistlin sighed, then nodded.

The others seemed to have finally grasped what was being asked of them. Tanis frowned and spoke up "And you mean for us to lead the revolt."

"Yes, Tanthalas,” The Speaker frowned. “Gilthanas knows a way into Pax Tharkas- the Sla-Mori. He can lead you into the fortress. You have not only a chance to free your own kind, but you offer the elves a chance to escape."

Then the Speaker’s attention turned to Dalamar, frown deepening. Dalamar stiffened, eyes narrowing. "I have been torn as to whether you should accompany them, Dark elf, and I believe it would be best for the others to undertake this task without you. You will be escorted to the edge of the forest, and you will go to- wherever will take you."

“Dalamar goes where I go.” Raistlin said before Dalamar manage an answer, leaning on his staff. “Is your pride so great that you would jeopardise your escape for it?”

The Speaker glowered at them; Tanis sent him a pleading look. Riverwind looked mutinous, but before the plainsman could stand by them, the Speaker nodded reluctantly. "Very well, so be it. But understand this, Exile. Understand that if you betray us, we will never stop hunting you. You will never know a moment's safety or a moment's rest until you are dead."

Which was probably the most pathetic threat Dalamar had ever heard, given this man couldn’t even stand and fight when his homeland- his elven homeland- was being invaded. Raistlin didn’t seem to see it that way, his eyes narrowed, boring into the Speaker's. He saw a spasm cross the elf's face at the sheer baleful anger directed at him.

"We must have time to consider," Tanis broke in. The Speaker nodded stiffly and they were led to a small grove away from the crowd.

Tanis turned to them, sighing, "I will go Pax Tharkas, but I believe that it is time we separate, my friends. Before you speak, let me say this. I would send Tika Goldmoon, Riverwind, Caramon, Dalamar and Raistlin, yes, and you Fizban, with the elves in hope that you may carry the disks to safety. The Disks are too precious to risk in a raid on Pax Tharkas."

“We have our own reasons to come along.” Dalamar shrugged, “We will come.”

“Besides,” Raistlin shook his head. “It is not among the Qualinesti elves that Goldmoon will find the one she seeks.”

 “How do you know?” Tanis blinked.

“He doesn’t know anything, Tanis,” Sturm interrupted bitterly. “More talk-”

“You are from this place.” Dalamar rolled his eyes, “What do you think?”

The others broke in, all in agreement that they would not be leaving. Then Fizban stepped in, and Dalamar watched as that befuddled mask- slipped. Like a shaft of sunlight through clouds, just like it had been in the cages, when he’d freed Raistlin from Fistandantilus. “I go where I choose in this world, and I choose to go with you, Tanis Half-Elven.” He said softly.

Tanis glanced at Raistlin, and sidled over, leaning closer- Dalamar tried not to bristle.

“I speak you this, Raistlin,” He murmured in camp talk.

“We talk if want,” Raistlin shrugged, “but he know it too.” He eyed the old man. “Know talk. Know more magic. Know we not stop him.”

Fizban gave an innocent smile, pretending to look up at a bird. “Oh look, starlings!”

Tanis sagged, helplessly. “Fine.” He rubbed his face. "As if there wasn't enough danger already." Tanis said bitterly, "We take our own in with us in the form of a doddering old magician."

Sturm's eyes narrowed, "It's not the old man I'm worried about," He said darkly.

Oh Abyss. Dalamar closed his eyes. Raistlin looked like he wanted to say something, but Dalamar's hand closed around Raistlin's upper arm and nudged him out of the grove, back into the shadows of the trees. "Come now," he said softly, "Let's go to bed."

They turned away, hearing the faint strains of Flint's "As if two crazed mages wasn't bad enough!" as they headed away.

“Bed?” Raistlin gave a small smile. “Are you tired?”

“There are other activities we can do in bed.” Dalamar pushed Raistlin backwards until he was pressed against a beautiful young aspen, then leaned in and devoured him in a kiss.

Raistlin blinked, eyes glazed. “Oh,” he breathed.

“Yes, oh.” Dalamar licked his lips, and came in for a second kiss, deeper, sweeter. Raistlin kissing back ravenously. Yes. “I want to make the most of the time we will spend among these trees.”

Raistlin slid a leg between his and Dalamar hissed; pressing down against him, the delicious friction making sparks fly behind his eyes. “Why does this remind me of Ergoth?” Raistlin kissed a line down his neck, “When you invited Nuitari to join us? Now you want to bring trees into our bed.”

Dalamar tilted his head up and kissed him again. “Open yourself to them.” He breathed against Raistlin’s lips. “Feel them around us. That life, even if you can’t see it.”

Raistlin closed his eyes, drawing in a deep breath, then smiled, just a little. It was so sweet Dalamar could help but lean in and taste it. “Then let’s find the right place. I wouldn’t want you to have to put up with anything but the best.”

They didn’t need to go far; the most beautiful groves must be around the Tower because before long Dalamar pulled him under the arching boughs of the trees. Raistlin looked around, even through his own eyes, the place was lovely, an icebound garden with a small stream running beside them, the trees bare and slender above. “Tell me what you see?”

Dalamar helped him down, and Raistlin slid down to  rest on the soft moss blanketing the ground. With the drifts of fallen leaves, it was a better bed than they’d had in the past few nights. Dalamar settled on top of him, “A grove of willows.” He breathed against Raistlin’s cheek, “the branches make a curtain around us, for a little privacy. There are late summer wildflowers on the ground all around us. You can smell them. Nuitari right above us, as if He wanted us here.”

Raistlin drew in a breath, and caught the faint scent of yarrow and asters. He closed his eyes, trying to draw the picture in his mind. “The leaves on the trees are yellow,” Dalamar continued, “The moss is deep green, and you shine among them like pure gold.” His fingers brushed Raistlin’s hair, “And your hair is bright as Solinari itself.” A kiss, and a touch to the side of his head, something scratching behind his ear. “And now you have a meadow star in your hair.”

Raistlin risked opening his eyes, just a sliver. Dalamar was smiling down at him, face drawn up in happiness, eyes open and unguarded. It was such a rare sight to see him without the walls up inside, able to be vulnerable, even for a little while. The stars shone down, catching in his hair, the black moon gleaming in his eyes. Dalamar leaned down and gently nipped under his jaw. Raistlin groaned and lifted his legs up, a soft sigh yes.

“Feel them under you.” Dalamar whispered against his neck. “All that life, those roots deep under the ground. The branches above you-“

“Yes.” Raistlin gasped, arching up to grind against Dalamar.

Dalamar reached down and ran his hands gently up Raistlin’s legs, pulling up his robes. With a smile, he plucked the flower from Raistlin’s hair and ran it up the inside of Raistlin’s thigh. Light as a feather, making the hair stand up on the back of his neck and his cock tighten in his underclothes.

Raistlin sighed, arching up and starting up undo his robes. The night air was sharp against his bare skin, but then Dalamar was there, kissing down his chest. Burning kisses brushed down, nosing the cloth aside to press a kiss to each nipple. Each touch bright and vivid and making Raistlin arch against him. The stem of the flower ran over his groin, pressing just hard enough for him to hiss for more contact.

“Please.” Raistlin caught his breath. He reached for Dalamar, undoing his sash and starting on his robes. Dalamar let him work, undoing Raistlin’s robes, and then sat back, pulling his robes off. Raistlin didn’t bother, just opening his robes the rest of the way and pulling them wide, letting Dalamar look.

And looking himself. Just like this, just Dalamar and above him, the eternal sky. Not the wintering trees and ruined, snow covered buildings, not the dying forms of those they traveled with, just this.

"Finished looking?" Dalamar asked at last, leaning down and stroking Raistlin's soft white hair.

Raistlin smiled. "Never," he said, and meant it. He lifted his hips, and pulled his underclothes off.

Dalamar smiled back, eyes taking him in hungrily. He removed his own underclothes, and bent down to kiss him. Raistlin closed his eyes, and focused on his other senses. The smooth skin under his palms, the tickle as he ran one hand through Dalamar's hair. The sound of his lover’s breathing, interrupted by a soft moan as Raistlin reached up and spread his hands to stroke his chest. The scent of the elf’s skin, the smell of earth, of smoke, of magic, the taste as the Dalamar’s tongue curled around his own, dipping in to lick the inside of his mouth. Everything, and the sheer joy that Dalamar was here, that despite all they had gone through they were still here, still together.

Sighing with pleasure, his cock aching almost to the point of pain within the constraints of his underclothes. Raistlin dropped his head back, letting Dalamar kiss, bite, and lick his way along his neck, occasionally pausing to suck and nibble at a particularly tender spot.

Raistlin shivered as a sharp breeze picked up, and felt his chest tighten warningly. Dalamar pulled him up a little, rubbing his back and pulling him close, Raistlin buried his face in the soft skin of the Dark elf's shoulder and hugged him back. Between the soothing touch and the warmth of his lover’s body, it was enough to unknot the pain in his lungs. Dalamar found their cloaks and pulled them over the both of them, shielding them from the wind and trapping the warmth of their bodies.

Then back down, lying flat on the ground, Dalamar on top of him, smooth skin and sharp bone and burning heat against him. Raistlin groaned, hands closing and tightening on the Dark elf's shoulder blades, then shifting down to pull Dalamar against him more insistently. Enough was enough; it had been far too long since they had enjoyed this. “Hurry.” Raistlin hissed. His cock was pressed against Dalamar’s stomach and he wanted him.

Dalamar grinned. "Like this?" Then shifted up until his aching erection was pressing against Raistlin's.

Raistlin slumped back down, groaning, "Yes, like that."

Dalamar smiled, kissing Raistlin's cheekbone. He reached over to find their belt pouches, and pulled out the precious vial of oil. “We’ll need to find more soon.” He murmured.

“We will find something.” Raistlin drew his legs up invitingly, until Dalamar’s groin was pressed against his arse. “It didn’t stop you that first time, after all.”

Another kiss. “And I know it hurt you. I don’t want to do that.” He unstoppered the oil and poured it carefully over his fingers.

“Well, I am in a great deal of pain now.” Raistlin smiled, rocking his cock against Dalamar’s stomach. “Do make it stop.”

And dropped his head back as Dalamar pushed his fingers inside him. Two at first, and even that felt like a lot. It had been a while since they had last done this, and the cold wasn’t helping. He looked up into Dalamar's face as he felt his lover move his fingers inside him, idly wondering if he'd be able to walk any distance tomorrow. Then Dalamar found that spot inside him and Raistlin's thoughts stopped abruptly, disintegrating into the blur of pleasure that shot through him.

Pain or not, it would be worth it, he thought muzzily, thrusting up against Dalamar's stomach, the friction making him gasp.

With less oil, Dalamar was making sure to take his time. Preparing him thoroughly, sliding a third finger inside him, pulling out, then in again, stretching him slowly and carefully. “Please.” Raistlin hissed. His cock was fully hard and aching to the point of sweet pain, pressed against his stomach.

Dalamar smiled, hungrily. “Please what?” He whispered.

For the love of. “Please.” He hissed. “I need-“

“Need what?” Dalamar kissed him. “I love to hear you say it.”

“Bastard.” Raistlin panted, pushing back against the fingers inside him. “I want you.”

Another kiss. “You have me. You will have to be more specific.”

“Bastard!” Raistlin choked a laugh. “I want- your cock. Inside me. Please.”

“There you go.” Another kiss, between his eyes. “It’s entirely yours.” He drew his fingers out, and rubbed his oil-slick digits over his cock.

"About time," Raistlin sighed, feeling Dalamar position himself over him, lifting his legs and wrapping them around the Dark elf's bare waist. A few longer, agonising moments as Dalamar pulled his legs higher, one hand on the ground to brace himself, before finally leaning forwards and sheathing himself in one tight stroke.

It had been almost ten years since they’d first done this, and after so long, Dalamar knew exactly what Raistlin wanted. His cock found the sweet place inside Raistlin with the first stroke and Raistlin bucked up under him. Yes.

Another thrust, harder than the last, again pressing against the same place. Raistlin cried out aloud this time, the sound dying to a groan as Dalamar lowered himself on top of him, one hand reaching down to find his cock.

"What in the name of-"

Oh Abyss. Raistlin tried not to laugh. It wasn’t the first time they’d done this in public and had someone walk in, and it had even come to add a little more spice to their lovemaking. And he hardly cared about what the people here thought.

Dalamar didn’t seem to have noticed, or more likely, cared even less. He thrust in Raistlin again, finding a sweet and perfect rhythm, his hand moving on Raistlin’s cock in time. His thumb pressing in just to the point of pain, catching under the head. Raistlin threw his head back, whining desperately.

Vaguely, somewhere in the back of his mind, he heard someone calling for guards in a voice that hovered somewhere between revolted and horrified, which then turned into a stream of elven profanity that would have made a sailor blush. But it wasn't worth focusing on, not with Dalamar inside and around and part of him, driving away the pain and exhaustion of the past week. “ I love you.” Raistlin panted. “I love you-“

Another kiss, even more savage. He felt Dalamar bite his lip, tasted blood but didn't care, his hands locking on the Dark elf's shoulders, bucking up one final time as he lost what control he had left and spilled hot and burning over Dalamar's hand and stomach. Dalamar gave a deep and hungry groan, and came in turn, wet and hot inside him.

Raistlin slumped back, hands still locked on Dalamar’s shoulders and pulling him down with him. So warm, so soft, so completely his. Raistlin traced a line of kisses over his cheek and nibbled on the lope of his ear. “Love you.” He whispered happily.

Dalamar wrapped his arms around him, cradling him almost protectively. ‘I have you.” He sighed. “My own.”

The sound of racing footsteps and the chink of armor made them both look up. Oh Abyss, they really had called the guards. Raistlin blinked, squinting as torchlight suddenly filled their little grove.

An ashen faced elf was standing beside the stream, staring at them with wide, horrified eyes. “Sick-“ He gasped, “repulsive- no better than animals-"

“Oh, go away.” Raistlin sneered. Hadn’t that been the elf who had protested about Dalamar’s presence in the Tower? Rashas or something like?

“As if you didn’t enjoy the show.” Dalamar smirked.

“Guards!” The man screamed, and the guards ran in, grabbing them and hauling them up. “Get these- things out of my garden!”

Raistlin grabbed his robes and tried to pull them closed around him. Dalamar didn’t even bother, just gathering their cloaks and his robes to his chest. “A very fine garden.” He sneered at the elf, “The trees certainly enjoyed the show.”

“Out!” Rashas howled. "Get them out of my sight!"

Dalamar pulled free from the guards. “Come then Raistlin; let him grieve over what he will never have.” He pulled Raistlin away from them.

The guards looked like they wanted to be anywhere but here. “Go back to the others.” One wiped his hands on his jerkin, as if worried Dalamar might infect him. “Do not leave.”

“Gladly.” Raistlin tucked his arm into Dalamar’s, as if they were having a stroll through the town rather than standing there half or wholly naked. “A good evening to you.” He bared his teeth.

Rashas swelled like a bullfrog in impotent rage and the two of them made a quick escape. They managed to get halfway back to the clearing before their laughter broke loose.

Chapter Text

The morning came too soon. Raistlin sighed, trying to burrow more closely against Dalamar. Skin soft and warm and tender against his, their bodies still smelled of each other after their lovemaking. Reluctantly, he opened his eyes.

The sun was not quite up yet, the sky grey and only faintly touched with pink. Dalamar groaned and rolled over, rubbing his eyes. “Already?”

Raistlin kissed the tempting expanse of bare shoulderblade. Dalamar had two small moles there, and Raistlin kissed them too. Dalamar turned onto his back, and met Raistlin’s kisses with one of his own. “You do make it worth it.” He smiled.

Raistlin indulged in one last kiss, then pushed the blankets back. “We have to move. Look.”

Dalamar frowned at him, then looked up. He gave a deep, weary sigh. “Storm clouds. Does the enemy army have weather mages?”

“Or perhaps the Gods want us to see how little time we have left.” Raistlin wriggled out of the bedroll, and found his robes. “Let’s take the chance for a wash; it may be the last for a while.”

The others were stirring by the time they came back. Raistlin read over his spellbooks while Dalamar checked the runes on their packs and bedroll. “We will need to redo them soon.” Dalamar sighed and set them aside, “Do you think these armies will give us a few days?”

“You can ask,” Raistlin smiled, handing him his spellbook. “I doubt you will have much luck though.”

The elves came, with supplies for them. Goldmoon went off to help Tika get her armor on, and the rest of them split the rations between them. Caramon looked horrified at the sheets of pressed dried fruit, and Raistlin saw a frisson of pain passed over Dalamar’s face at the sight. “Is it the same in Silvanesti?” he whispered.

Dalamar nodded, breaking off a piece and eating it slowly. His eyes closed, savouring it. “Sometimes.” He gave a small smile.” Mostly when I was set to cleaning House Protector’s packs, sometimes I’d steal a few mouthfuls. The fruit is different; this is apples and cherries mostly. Silvanesti- they used apricots and peaches, but the process is much the same.”

Raistlin tried it, it was sweet and tangy, although so sticky it threatened to glue his teeth together. They would have to look for more twigs to chew to make sure their teeth were clean. Perhaps that cleaning cantrip could be modified to help?

The thought reminded him. Raistlin opened his pouch and checked on his components, then grimaced. “Ruined. Yours?”

Dalamar checked, and shook his head. “We will have to find more today.”

“How are you feeling?” Raistlin dropped his voice.

Dalamar smiled. “Better. Glad to leave. This place- it is not my home; and even the trees do not welcome me. I will be glad to be back on the road, even if this is meant to be a suicide mission.”

No one was waiting to bid them farewell and they left the city without fanfare, slipping into the misty forest unseen. Still, there were a few people who would not be forgetting their presence in a hurry. Raistlin caught Dalamar’s eye, and they shared a smile.

As they pushed further in, the forest grew thicker and the pace slowed. With such a clear trail laid out for them it seemed like a good moment. Dalamar must have had the same idea, because he nodded at Raistlin and stepped off the trail.

Perhaps it was the gentle, innate magic of the elven woods, but their spell components were not hard to find. After five years on campaign, they had become adept at finding what they needed. Some webbing from a tattered spider web, scraps of fur and wool torn off in briars, some feathers in an abandoned waterbird’s nest, even some burdock and coltsfoot for Raistlin’s tea. They didn’t need to go far, and returned to the path before the others had gone very far ahead.

But not before they had been missed.

"Where are those two?" Gilthanas' voice was harsh.

"Maybe something's happened-“ Caramon. Raistlin sighed.

"Nonsense! What could have happened to them? There is no enemy for miles. They must have gone off somewhere, for some purpose." The suspicion was clear. Raistlin picked up his pace.

"What are you saying?"

Sturm scowled. "Maybe they left to-"

"-to collect what we need for the making of our magic, knight," Raistlin finished, stepping out of the brush as he did so. "And to replenish the herbs I need to heal my cough."

“Raist?” Caramon was looking at him uncertainly. “You shouldn’t go off by yourself, it's dangerous."

“Our spell components are secret.” Raistlin snapped, “And I was hardly alone.”

“With that Dark elf.” Gilthanas narrowed his eyes at Dalamar. “It is said you kind are the first to turn to the evil Gods, for protection.”

“And praise Nuitari, He accepted my pledge.” Dalamar bared his teeth, and Gilthanas recoiled. “Where are your Gods, Gilthanas?”

“Someone’s following us!” Fizban spoke up brightly, “Just there.” He pointed.

“Bah!” Gilthanas shook his head, “The old man is as mad as you, Dark elf. Let us go now. The Sla-Mori is still many miles and we must be there by sundown.”

 “I’ll take rear guard,” Sturm gave them both a suspicious glare, “In case anyone tried to slip close- or away.”

 Raistlin fell into step beside Dalamar and Fizban. The old man hummed happily, looking around at the trees and occasionally doffing his hat in greeting to one or other of them. “Are we being followed?” Raistlin asked the old man.

“Oh yes, that tree there, in particular. Keep seeing her, again and again! Clearly following us.”

Dalamar shook his head. “He won’t make sense if you ask.” He sighed. “The others are getting paranoid now we are moving into enemy country. They will be suspicious.”

“Of us? After everything?” There was stupid, and then there was this. Raistlin close his eyes miserably.

“No one said they were intelligent.” Dalamar took his hand.

The day wore on. Yesterday had been long; and today promised to be just as bad. After the days spent sitting in the cage, Dalamar had gotten out of habit of such long walks. A muscle in his inner thigh twitched in pain, and his back ached. Raistlin was quiet, leaning on his staff and summoning up all his strength to keep up, reminding Dalamar painfully of those first few months after the Test.

The only relief was the ebbing sensation of the elven lands, slowly fading into the peace and comfort of a simple forest. Dalamar exhaled, feeling the tightness behind his eyes fade, the grief loosening its hold on his heart.

It was well past midday when the others suddenly ran off ahead. Raistlin lowered his head against his staff and groaned. “Come,” Dalamar stroked his back, “Before they accuse us of sending messages to the dragon highlords.”

“Don’t joke about it.” Raistlin picked up his pace, he was limping a little. “They have no sense of humor, Sturm particularly.”

They broke through the edge of the trees into a clearing. The remains of a battle were strewn everywhere, bodies starting to rot and stink. Crows snapped at them from their perches on the corpses. The others were clustered around a survivor. A tall man with black hair, he was wavering on his feet, but was smiling.

“Eben!” Gilthanas exclaimed, “how did you survive the battle at the ravine?”

“How did you, for that matter?” The man snapped back. Then his eyes went wide, staring over to the side.

Dalamar caught it too. The crack of a branch underfoot, the branches waving as something moved behind them. “Look out!” He pushed Raistlin back.

“Draconian!”

A dozen of them marched out of the tree line. The lead creature frowned at them, baring its teeth and turning to regard them with first one eye, then the other. “All strangers in the land are to be taken to the Dragon Highlord for questioning,” It snapped. “We charge you to come with us peacefully.”

“No one was supposed to know about this path to Sla-Mori,” Sturm snarled in a harsh whisper. “According to the elf, that is!” He glanced back at Dalamar and Raistlin in disgust.

“We do not take orders from Lord Verminaard!” Tanis shouted.

“You will, soon enough,” the draconian grinned, and drew its blade.

Not the slender, wingless breed that could use magic, Dalamar noted, but the smaller fighting breed. He caught Raistlin’s eye and saw him nod, this was a fight they could win.

Which was when the old mage reached into his pouch for some gat guano, and started mumbling a spell.

“Oh Abyss!” Dalamar grabbed him and forced him down. “Not here!”

"Not fireball! You'll incinerate everyone out there!" Raistlin ducked down beside him.

"Oh, really?" The old man's face was a mask of innocence that Dalamar did not believe at all. "Wait -I'll think of something else."

“Stay put and don’t do anything.” Dalamar found the mage’s component pouch and tossed it away into the trees.

“Oi!” He frowned at Dalamar, “That’s really not very nice, young man. A bad example to set for your boyfriend-“

Any more was lost in the roar of the draconians’ attack. Dalamar scrambled to his feet and pulled Raistlin up with him. He threw a quick lash of lightning at one draconian, shocking its hand and forcing it to drop its sword. Raistlin nodded and threw a cluster of small missiles at it as it bent to find its weapon. The draconian staggered, and a second lash killed it.

They shared a smile. They were getting good at this. A second draconian was charging at Tasslehoff, and that one they brought down with twin blasts of flame. It fell to its knees and Tasslehoff stabbed it through the eye, grinning at them in thanks.

Three more of the creatures had clearly had enough of that, then, and turned on them. Dalamar set his foot back, bracing himself as the three charged. There was no time to reach for their components, but-

He remembered what Horkin had said, all those years ago. How he had been in that position, staring down a charging enemy. He threw himself into the spell, almost a dance as his whole body fed the magic. “Kair tangus miopiar!”

Beside him, he heard Raistlin casting, in the same heartbeat. The draconians screamed in the blast of fire, bursting into flame and collapsing- then crackling into stone. Behind them, the rest of the draconians were dead or dying. They had won.

The fierce joy and wonder of the magic blazing through him, Dalamar grinned at Raistlin. “Horkin would be proud.” Not even their most powerful spells, but they had cast them so well and skillfully they had killed five of their enemy! They were growing in power, and soon, none could stand against them-

And he was pulled into a burning, incredible kiss. Dalamar reached up and clutched at Raistlin’s face, pressing him closer, devouring him. Oh my own, my wonderful one. When they broke the kiss, Raistlin’s eyes were shining, brilliant amber. “Aren’t we amazing?” He purred.

Dalamar nodded, and kissed him again, harder. Mine. Soon, the hollow exhaustion of casting would set in, but for now, he wanted to ride this high, enjoy every sweet moment. “You were perfect.” He breathed against Raistlin’s lips.

One last kiss; and the chill caught them. Dalamar shivered, feeling the strength drain out of him- not as bad as it could be, but still a deep and weary ache. Raistlin exhaled, and huddled against him, lowering the staff of Magius as if he couldn’t bear its weight. The two of them pressing together for warmth.

Then it passed too, leaving them tired, but not too much. The others were starting to cluster around Eben, questioning him. “Was he fighting?” Raistlin whispered.

“I didn’t see him.” Dalamar shook his head.

“I do call that very rude.” Fizban put in, coming to join them and dusting off his component pouch. “Tasslehoff was right about the pair of you.”

“Be glad I didn’t fill that full of mousetraps.” Dalamar snapped.

Raistlin frowned. “That tree that was following us,” He said softly, “Did it look like that one?” He pointed at Eben.

“Oh very much. It was- let me think. Yes, I think that’s it. Just like a tree!” He beamed.

Which, for all the nonsense, was still a yes. Dalamar nodded, and they walked over to join the others.

“As long as you’re fighting draconians, your fight is my fight,” Eben was talking easily. “My name’s Eben Shatterstone. I come from Gateway. You’ve probably heard of my family,” he said. “We had one of the most impressive mansions-” He kept talking; rattling on about nothing- then glanced back at Dalamar. He held his gaze for a long moment, curiously, then turned away. The hair on the back of Dalamar’s neck prickled.

Their travels south had never brought them as far east as Pax Tharkas. Raistlin had heard that his father’s family came from around here, but even if that were true, they were long gone. They passed the remains of villages, but there was nothing left but overgrown ruins and burnt timbers. The dragons had been here, although not recently.

Then they came in view of Pax Tharas proper. Raistlin caught his breath. It was a stunning sight, certainly the mightiest fortress they had ever laid eyes on. Only the Tower of High Sorcery could rival it, but that had its own inner power. This fortress, massive stone towers sitting squat and stubborn in the pass, had its own impressive grandeur.

“I heard it was crafted by elves and dwarfs.” Dalamar murmured, “But I see nothing of elven grace in this.”

“Perhaps the elves were in charge of the landscaping.” Raistlin smiled. “The stone withstands dragonfire, the trees would not.”

“Now you’re making me sad.” Dalamar shook his head.

Anymore was lost as the great gates opened, disgorging a flood of hobgoblins, draconians and human mercenaries onto the plain beyond. The now-familiar warhorns blared, drum rattled, and- oh Lunitari-

There was the dragon.

It was crouched on the battlements, smug as a toad as it looked out over the army. Red, this one. Burning red. Even from here, he could feel the ripple of fear rising off it like a heat haze. He swallowed, tightened his grip on the Staff of Magius, it glowed angrily in his hand, eager to strike. He managed a smile.

“Like Immolatus.” Raistlin whispered, “He was one like that, a red.”

“Then we have nothing to worry about.” Dalamar kissed him, “Dragonslayer.”

Bastard. Raistlin leaned against him, but it worked. He did feel better- or perhaps it was because the dragon had ducked back inside the fortress and out of sight.

"They march on Qualinesti," Gilthanas said in a broken whisper. "We must get inside and free the prisoners, then Verminaard will be forced to call his army back."

"You're going inside Pax Tharkas!" Eben exclaimed.

Gilthanas sighed, clearly angry at having let slip that much. "Yes.”

"Whew! You people have guts, I tell you that. So -how do we get in there? Wait until the army leaves? There will probably be only a few guards at the front gate. We could handle them easily, couldn't we, big man?" Eben nudged Caramon, who grinned.

"That is not the plan," Gilthanas said coldly, pointing at a narrow vale leading into the mountains. "That is our way. We will cross under cover of darkness."

They were walking, under the cover of the trees, when Dalamar stopped. He turned back, eyes closed to listen more carefully. “You hear something?” Raistlin breathed. Dalamar frowned, he wasn’t sure.

“That’s another of them trees.” Fizban said happily, “The nice young aspen I saw earlier.”

This time, Raistlin caught it. The faint crunch of a footfall on dead leaves. And he wasn’t the only one to have heard it. Dalamar nodded, and Sturm glowered, looking between the two of them before hurrying to warn Tanis.

It was true then, Raistlin thought grimly. They were being followed.

There were a few more signs of them as they began to climb, but as they got higher and the undergrowth grew more sparse; they must be drawing back, staying out of sight. They climbed up along a stream, and when they reached the crest of the pass, Gilthanas had vanished.

A break. Dalamar eased off his pack and took the chance to work on it. The sigils to keep it light and waterproof were definitely wearing away now. He found a needle and thread, and started to redo them. Beside him, Raistlin curled up on a small patch of heather, closing his eyes and trying to snatch a little sleep. His burnished skin shimmered in the light of the setting sun, turning him into living flame. Beautiful. Dalamar smiled. Sometimes it still took him aback that this incredible creature was all his. He was so very lucky.

Gilthanas came back then; Dalamar sighed and slid his pack over his shoulders, and rolled over to wake Raistlin. He groaned and sat up, and when he brushed his hair back, little buds of heather were caught in his curls. Dalamar wished he could draw, and capture this moment.

“It is not much farther,” Gilthanas called out to them. “The brush thins up ahead and the walking is easier.”

“I say we just go in the front gate,” Eben frowned, and Dalamar again saw him glance over to him, as if expecting him to say something.

“I agree,” Caramon said.

“There’s a dragon.” Raistlin yawned. “And we do not have another blue crystal staff.”

“We could camp here tonight and go in by the front gates at dawn,” Sturm narrowed his eyes as Raistlin.

“We stick to the original plan,” Tanis snapped. “We make camp once we reach the Sla-Mori.”

Flint agreed. “You can go ring the bell at the gate and ask Lord Verminaard to let you in if you want, Sturm Brightblade. I’m sure he’d oblige. C’mon, Tanis.” The dwarf got up, starting to follow Gilthanas.

“At least,” Tanis turned to Sturm, “maybe this will throw off our pursuer.”

“Whoever or whatever it is,” Sturm had not looked away from Dalamar and Raistlin.

Dalamar had had enough. “Go and bang on the door if you want Brightblade, I'm sure Verminaard will be very helpful and we would be rid of your company."

The knight wheeled around. "And I would be equally glad to be rid of yours, Dark elf. Of all those here, you are the one I trust least! Keep your lying tongue behind your teeth and I might not remove it." Turning, the Solamnic stomped along after Gilthanas and Tanis.

“Don’t.” Raistlin said wearily, getting up.

“He would have us dead.” Dalamar said curtly.

“And if he succeeds in turning the others against us, he will have help.” Raistlin took his arm as they set off. “They are all looking for a scapegoat they can brand traitor, and that will either be us or Gilthanas at this rate.”

He wasn’t wrong, and Dalamar was too tired to argue. They drove further through the brush, and emerged at the foot of a massive cliff. Gilthanas was feeling for something along the bare stone, and as they watched, he found a small hollow. He placed a small gem inside it, and started to chant.

Dalamar blinked, a spell! He even knew it, one for opening hidden doors. The elf was a mage? But no. His lip curled. Just a dabbler, not even a true hedgemage like Horkin or Lemuel. One to whom magic was just a toy.

It was pathetic. And sickening. How many years had he spent like that? Nothing but the barest scraps of magic, the meanest cantrips. He was the prince of a kingdom with all the magic he could ever wish, and this man had chosen to live like this? Beside him, Raistlin’s mouth twisted in a sneer, in equal disgust.

The spell worked, the thin magic Gilthanas could draw up slowly rolling a heavy stone out of the way, revealing a passage inside. A blast of chill, stagnant air made them all shiver. The inside was pitch dark, and rippled with power and alien anger. This place would not welcome them. “What lovely places we always seem to end up in.” Dalamar sighed.

"What's in there?" Caramon frowned.

"I do not know what is in there now, I have never entered," Gilthanas answered. "I know only of this place through the lore of my people."

Caramon snorted, "All right, what used to be in there?"

"This was the burial place of Kith-Kanan."

Kith-Kanan? They were going to strange places indeed. Dalamar had heard of him only in tales. The fabled ruler who had ended the Kinslayer War; but who then had turned away from Silvanesti and stolen her people for his own kingdom of Qualinesti. And now the first Silvanesti to set foot in his burial place would be him. Someone somewhere was probably very angry about this.

"More spooks," Flint grouched. "Send the mages in first; they can warn them that we're coming."

"Send the dwarf in first," Dalamar tossed back. "And let him bore them to oblivion."

Flint snorted. Tanis broke in before he could say anything. "All right, what do you two sense about this place?"

“Nothing pleasant.” Raistlin said.

"And great danger," Dalamar agreed.

"But also great goodness too," Fizban put it unexpectedly. "The elves are not truly forgotten within, though evil things have come to rule in their stead."

“Great good like Darken Wood?” Dalamar snapped.

“The Dark elf is right!” Eben suddenly broke in. Dalamar blinked. “I can’t believe you people are going in there, even the black robe can tell there’s evil inside that hole. I can feel it! Go back around to the front, sure, there’ll be one or two guards, but that’s nothing compared to whatever lurks in that darkness beyond!”

The worst part as that if there was any doubt he was spying on them; that decided it. Apart from Raistlin, the only people who had ever been on his side had been paid for doing it. What was he trying to do? Drive more wedges between them? Or was there more to it? Eben sent him a cool, thoughtful look, eyes lingering on his robes.

“He likes you.” Raistlin commented as they walked into the dank passageway.

Dalamar glanced at him, then smiled, slow and delicious. “Are you jealous?”

Raistlin started, then smiled back. “Perhaps a little.” He allowed.

“How dare I have friends.” Dalamar shook his head. “He is a tool of the dragonarmies; and do you remember what happened, at Hope’s End?”

“Ah, so they will once again try and recruit you. What will it be this time? You turned down being commander, so I suppose they must up their offer. General? High mage of Sanction? Perhaps a dragonarmy of your own?”

Raistlin was joking, but- Dalamar hesitated. Yes, they had turned it down back then, but what about now? “We are more powerful.” He said slowly, “They would not be able to force us into anything we didn’t want to do, now.”

How much power did this army have? They were snatching lands from here to Sanction- probably beyond. They had clerics of the Dark Gods, black robed mages and not to forget the dragons. What couldn’t they do? And if these people could, say, save Raistlin from his parasite, what wouldn’t he do?

Raistlin knew what he was thinking, and for once, he didn’t immediately say anything. The group started to set up camp within the cave, and he joined them, quietly unrolling their bedroll, and setting up dinner.

Dalamar sighed, and sat down on the bedroll, waiting.

“What do you want me to say?” Raistlin said wearily. “You know my argument.”

“But are we not more powerful now?” Dalamar insisted.

Raistlin got up, and walked over to him. “Think of what we’ve seen.” Raistlin sat beside him. “Que-shu. Solace. The villages on the way here. Think of Lemuel, and Goldmoon and Riverwind, and what they will do to our friends in Langtree. Think of what these people are going to do. They will murder every one of your people; do you want to be part of that?”

No. Dalamar sighed, looked down at his robes. Was that his choice? To be part of such brutal cruelty, or to be the victim of it? “I would do it for you.” Dalamar said softly.

“I do not want that.” Raistlin sighed. “And my problem-“ he choked, coughed, “Will not be solved by them-“ He stopped, he could not breath. Dalamar held him, rubbing his back until the fit passed.

Raistlin wiped his mouth, found his flask of tea and sipped it. “Don’t.”

“Let me at least find out what they want.” Dalamar nuzzled his hair. “This Eben wants to see if I would turn traitor. I can see what he is offering.” Raistlin didn’t say anything, but his expression told Dalamar enough. “I won’t do anything without discussing it with you. Do you think, if our positions were reversed, you would do differently?”

Raistlin shuddered at the thought. He drank more tea, but didn’t need to speak. They both knew the answer.

Chapter Text

The night had been restless. Raistlin tried not to turn too much in the bedroll. It was small, and he didn’t want to wake Dalamar. Despite the long day, it was a struggle to sleep, and he woke far too early.

He sighed, and wriggled out of the bedroll. The stream outside was clean and clear, and he washed himself quickly.

He didn’t come back in right away. He straightened, and looked over towards the hulking mass of Pax Tharkas. It should be just touched by the dawn, but in his eyes it was nightbound, and snowclad. I should burn you. He spat miserably inside his own head.

You won’t. Fistandantilus, sickly smug. That is why I chose you. That is how I choose all of my prey. Your hope is your own downfall. Another man would choose to die, to sacrifice himself to kill Fistandantilus the Dark once and for all. But you will not. You still hold out for the dream of having everything you want, despite knowing it will lose you everything.

No. I just know I can kill you any time I wish. Raistlin bared his teeth, I would not push my luck if I were you.

A mocking hiss; and he was gone. Raistlin closed his eyes, turning his face up to the unseen sun, enjoying its warmth. What if he did do it? Right here, right now? He could, the flame was still his. It would consume Fistandantilus, and him. Dalamar would wake to find a husk lying beside the stream.

And then what would he do? Fistandantilus could mock him as much as he cared, but this was why he could never do it. Because his death would destroy Dalamar, and in the middle of this war- no, he didn’t even want to imagine it.

What a choice. Dalamar was right; they needed to investigate every option they had. He had no faith in them joining the dragonarmies, but there might be- something. Some artifact they could steal; some cleric they could trick. There were always other ways. He had to believe that.

Sturm was on watch when he came back. He glowered at him. “Where have you been?”

“Washing.” Raistlin felt exhausted just talking to him. Dalamar was stirring, and Raistlin walked over to sit beside him, pressing a kiss to that sleep-mussed hair. “Good morning.”

“Hmm.” Dalamar rolled over, and caught him, pulling him in for a proper kiss. “You smell like the sun.” he said happily.

What wouldn’t he do, for him? Raistlin sighed, and kissed Dalamar again.

“What did he say?”

“Not much.” Dalamar shrugged, getting up. “Nothing that would implicate him, just hints of a more powerful force we could ally with, and how doomed our current plans are. Nothing untrue.”

“Hmm.” Raistlin wasn’t going to waste his breath on this argument. He pulled out his pouches, and started making his tea.

“I will see if he will say more.” Dalamar joined him at the fire.

“Hmm.”

“We cannot expect him to announce everything in just one evening.”

“Hmm.”

“You are very aggravating, you know that?”

Raistlin smiled, and got another kiss. “I do not see the point of saying what you already know.”

“Brat.” Another kiss. “Come on then, let’s see how far we can get today.”

They got going, walking down the passageway to the crossroads ahead. Riverwind bent down, checking the tracks, and a cold wind blew through the caves. And there was something more, something even colder. Something foul, and not of this world, something so full of hate the very wind stank of it. “We must not go to the right.” He said finally, “Whatever is there- it wants us dead.”

Thankfully, they actually listened to him, took the left. It was a dusty, broken tunnel, and the going was harder now; bits of debris covered the ground, probably knocked loose during the Cataclysm. Twice Raistlin stumbled and once nearly fell, but Dalamar caught him. He had been quiet since the morning, almost tentative. It was rare that they two of them disagreed, and even rarer that they hadn’t settled matters. Raistlin sighed and stroked his hand. Neither spoke, but the silence was heavy with their words.

Several hundred feet on, the left had wall had been rent apart, the debris partially blocking the passageway. Raistlin held up his staff, the light flaring from the crystal. He stepped through the hole first, and held up the light. Dalamar and the others clambered through after him.

The hall must once have been one of the finest in Ansalon, even through his eyes he could see it was now so damaged that the tattered remnants of beauty seemed almost a mockery of what the place once stood for. Two rows of seven columns supported the roof, though some had been broken, and at the back, the ceiling had fallen in entirely. Beside this ruin stood a tarnished bronze double door.

Caramon suddenly cried out and Raistlin spun around, staff pointed to find whatever was attacking them.

There were no attackers; or rather, not yet. The ragged form of a skeleton sat on a massive throne, flanked by two statues. The robes and finery, though tarnished, showed that this had been a person of great importance, and the bony hands rested on a beautiful sword that even Raistlin’s curse could not tarnish.

Behind him, he heard Dalamar gasp. "Kith-Kanan!" he breathed.

Raistlin stepped beside him, “A great hero?”

“Hardly.” He gave a shaky smile. “A traitor, to my people. They would have him forgotten if they could. Strike his name from the rolls and forbid him to be spoken of. We have much in common, him and I.”

Gilthanas had fallen to his knees and gave Dalamar a look of disgust. "Do not speak his name, Exile. We stand in the Hall of Ancients, his burial tomb. None had seen this sight since the elven clerics vanished in the Cataclysm."

And now they were here instead, a Red Robe and a Black Robe exile. Those clerics must he rolling in their graves- which was far too possible. There was something too knowing in the skull’s eyesockets. He swallowed, lifted his hands to cast. “Batin corak sihir saya.”

The spell washed over the skeleton, gathered like a thousand fireflies around the sword and- was that a faint shimmer of magic, around the skull? It was gone as he tried to focus on it. Nothing else glowed, but then, perhaps it simply had not activated yet. "The sword is enchanted."

Tasslehoff came over for a closer look. "Good enchantment? Or bad?"

“Remember what happened in Darken Wood, when Tanis drank from the stream.” Dalamar joined them. Tasslehoff shivered at the memory. “Do not touch it.”

“Mage!” Gilthanas was at the far door, examining them. “I need light, come here.”

There was something on the door. A map. Raistlin walked over, Dalamar and Tasslehoff in tow. Tasslehoff stood up on tiptoe, trying to read this new map. It was filthy and discolored, the bronze tarnished almost black. “Do you have some charcoal left?” Dalamar dug a thin sheet of paper from his pack. Raistlin handed it to him, and he took a careful rubbing.

“Oh, make me one!” Tasslehoff beamed, digging into his own pouch and found a scrap of parchment. “No one’s seen this map for centuries!”

Dalamar ignored the kender, putting up a hand. “Hush.”

“What is it?” Tasslehoff turned.

“Listen!”

A strange sound reached their ears, a soft scraping, shuffling sound. Suddenly a blast of foul smelling air came from the half-open door. Raistlin reeled and started coughing. "Shut the door!” he wheezed, trying to push against the door. Gilthanas, Tasslehoff and Dalamar joined him, but the hinges must be rusted in place, they couldn’t budge it.

Caramon and Sturm made a run for the doors, but before they could reach them, something huge hit the doors from the other side. The hinges screamed, and all of them were thrown back. Dalamar tripped over Tasslehoff as the intruder forced its way in.

Raistlin had expected guards, draconians, perhaps even undead, but what actually came out was so malformed, twisted, and hideous that it was almost a relief when it withered and crumpled in his sight.

“A slug!” Tasslehoff exclaimed, bouncing to his feet. “But look at the size of that thing! How do you suppose it got so big? I wonder what it eats-”

“Us, you ninny!” Flint shouted, grabbing the kender and dragging him out the way.

“Mishakal!” Goldmoon called out, lifting her hand.

Blue light wreathed her, bringing down a beam of blue down like a sword. The slug gave a painfully high squeal, thrashing in pain, and spat a stream of saliva at her. Riverwind screamed, and threw himself at Goldmoon, knocking her out of the way of the liquid. It struck the wall, and started to smoke. Riverwind moaned in horror, eyes wide.

“Stay back!” Raistlin lifted his staff, and cast- thank Horkin for teaching them how to cast so quickly. The bolts of flame struck the slug’s eyestalks, blinding it. It twisted, spat more acid blindly. It struck the remains of a pillar and melted it.

Dalamar cast a moment after, the lash of lightning making it spasm, blundering into the rubble and scattering loose stones everywhere. Then the warriors went in, hacking at the slug’s thick hide. Out of the corner of his eye, Raistlin saw Eben slip out from behind the pillar, step over to Dalamar’s side. Oh Lunitari no-

 Then someone came running in from the passageway, “Talanthas!”

Oh Abyss, it was the girl from Qualinesti. Tanis turned at her, shocked, and the slug lunged for him, splattering acid all over his sword and melting it to slag. Raistlin gritted his teeth, and started to cast again. Please Dalamar, don’t-

Dalamar's spell, the one from the Sentinel Peaks, hit the slug in the head. The monster reared back, only to catch Raistlin’s blast of flame in its rubbery mouth. The creature's skin boiled and bubbled under the heat, splitting to let fall more of the foul acidic liquid.

Dalamar caught his eye, and they both nodded. Sensing an opportunity, they cast again, the bolts of magic punching through the slug's dripping maw and out through its back. Grievously wounded, the creature slithered back. Oozing clear liquid from its many wounds, it finally keeled over and struck the doors. They closed with a deafening bang as its weight struck them. The creature slid down them to rest on the ground, quite dead and completely blocking the doors with its stinking carcass and dripping acid.

Raistlin choked from the stench and he opened his herb pouch, hoping that the scent would banish the tightness around his chest.

The silence after the din of the battle was deafening. And it was only then that Raistlin saw Eben emerge from behind one of the pillars and make to stand next to Dalamar, but the Dark elf stepped away from him and walked to Raistlin’s side. Dalamar looked away, embarrassed. “He told you to leave us?” Raistlin whispered.

“When the girl turned up, yes.” Dalamar took his arm. Behind them, Gilthanas and Tanis were gathering to shout at that same girl.

“And you would not abandon me.” Raistlin smiled.

“You are intolerable.” Dalamar sighed. “Of course you gloat.”

“There is no place in that army for how we feel.” Raistlin stroked his hand. “I saw it back in Hope’s End and I see it now. Eben knew that, and asked you to sacrifice it in order to join him.”

“And I would rather carve out my own eyes that to do that.” Dalamar rolled them, “Are you quite finished?”

“It depends, are you going to be tempted again?”

“Are you going to die in my arms again?” Dalamar breathed.

Raistlin flinched. He couldn’t answer.

“I will not stop trying to free you.” Dalamar drew him close, and kissed him. “Do not ask me to try.”

Raistlin squeezed his arm, and they walked back to the rest of the group. They were still arguing over the girl- Laurana, that was her name. "We are losing time, and I for one do not want to spend any longer than I must in this dank and musty tunnel. The girl has made her decision. We can hardly spare anyone to go back with her."

Dalamar nodded. "She can't go back by herself either, she knows far too much, and should she be captured, this Verminaard would have her tell everything."

Tanis gave them a look of pure loathing, but there was nothing he could say. Instead he looked at the Laurana. "You are on your own, I can't hang around protecting you. Neither can Gilthanas. You have behaved like a spoiled brat. I told you once before- you had better grow up. Now, if you don't, you're going to die and probably get the rest of us killed along with you!"

“I’m sorry, Tanthalas,” Laurana whispered “But I couldn’t lose you, not again. I love you.” Her lips tightened and she said softly, “I’ll make you proud of me.”

“Oh Nuitari help us.” Dalamar groaned.

Laurana shuddered at the God’s name, looking at Dalamar warily. Tanis ignored her. "It seems we must take the right-hand corridor after all, whether or not Raistlin's feelings about their intent were correct." He buckled on his new sword, and for the first time, the Raistlin saw it fully.

The sword of Kith-Kanan.

"Where did you get that?" he whispered.

Half-elven turned around, looking back at the throne. "I was near the body of the elven king, looking for something to throw at the slug, when, suddenly, the sword was in my hand. It had been taken out of its sheath and-" Tanis' voice broke off as he reached the same conclusion.

"Yes?"

"He gave it to me. I remember his hand touched mine. He pulled from the sheath."

"Who?" Dalamar hissed.

"Kith-Kanan-" Tanis breathed, looking again at the throne. The skeleton's hands were indeed empty.

“Those elves almost got us killed by the slug, I wonder what’s in store for us down here?”

Eben was looking at him when he said that, Dalamar was not surprised, he had turned away from his offer, and now was going to be a new target. He tried to ignore him as they made their way back to the crossroads, and along the right hand path. The temperature dropped sharply the moment they stepped in, a sharp, biting cold that cared nothing for the layers they might bundle themselves in. It reminded Dalamar sickeningly of the cold that sometimes claimed Raistlin, when that- thing was closer to the surface.

Looking at him, he could see Raistlin was thinking the same thing. He doubled over, coughing thinly. Dalamar took his arm, steadying him.

Finally, they reached a place where the ceiling had collapsed leaving a ragged hole of utter darkness as the only way through.

“It’s not that I’m afraid,” Tasslehoff whispered, pressed against Flint. “Its just that I’d rather be somewhere else.”

Well, that made all of them. Even Raistlin’s hands were shaking, making the light of his staff flicker and dance against he walls.

“Well, we can’t stay here forever,” Eben sneered. “Let the elves go in. They’re the ones who brought us here!”

“I’ll go,” Gilthanas answered. “But I’ll need light.”

“None may touch the staff but I,” Raistlin snapped. He glanced at Dalamar. Dalamar shrugged, they would both end up going through anyway. “We’ll go with you.”

“Raist-” Caramon growled. “I’ll go, too,”

Mercifully, Tanis broke in. “No, you stay here and guard the others. The elves, Raistlin and I will go.”

 Gilthanas scowled at being grouped with Dalamar, then turned on his heel, back to the hole. Dalamar followed, slipping just a little in front of Raistlin. Raistlin gave him a weary look, “Darken Wood.”

Dalamar winced. “You said it yourself; we have no blue crystal staff now. If they decide to attack, they’ll butcher the lot of us.”

And oh, but it was so much like Darken Wood. The cold bit deep, drawing up old, wretched memories of Tarsis. The cold, the gnawing hunger of frost settling into his bones. Every breath biting his lungs, tasting iron and blood with every breath.

The hallway was so shrouded in darkness that even the light of Raistlin’s staff could not penetrate it far. But Dalamar could make out the rows of great stone doors, marked with delicate inscriptions. Gods, he’d seen this before. That tapestry, showing Kith Kanan- the sigil of the- what was it-

Gilthanas recoiled. "The Royal Crest!"

Raistlin looked at him. "What?"

"These are the crypts of the Royal Guard." Gilthanas’ voice had dropped to a whisper, and he backed away from the doors. "They are pledged to continue their duties, even in death, and guard the king -so the legends speak."

"And so the legends come to life," Raistlin tightened his grip on the staff.

Dalamar hurried back to stand beside him, just as each of the stone doors swung open. The cold was agonizing; Dalamar blinked away snowflakes from his lashes, and caught hold of Raistlin's arm.

"We have to leave, now! These cannot be reasoned with, and we don't have the power to fight them. They only have one goal-"

"-to destroy all who dare disturb the king's rest!" Raistlin finished. He started back- but the cold was growing more and more devouring, and he choked, doubled over coughing. Dalamar hesitated, then steeled himself to grab his lover and run for the doors-

“Oh calm down. Really, you two are far too high strung.” A hand caught him by the shoulder, pulling him aside. Dalamar recoiled- but the hand was very much a living one. Fizban rolled his eyes at the pair of them. "Young people. Alarmists."

No, they didn’t have a blue crystal staff, but it seemed the old mage had more power even than that. Beside him, Goldmoon stood with her hand raised, the pendant of Mishakal lifted aloft. "It's all right," she assured them. "Look! Fizban said they would let us pass if they saw the medallion. And when he said that- it began to glow."

It was glowing. That same deep and terrible blue as the staff, as the temple of her Goddess. A cruel and cutting eye, watching all without mercy. Dalamar felt its piercing gaze for a moment, but then felt the warm weight of Nuitari’s cloak resting against him in protection.

Raistlin lifted his head, wiping blood from his lips. He shook his head when Dalamar looked at him in question. “No.” He croaked. “Just the proximity. Necromantic magic. It- does not help.”

It was a mark of how bad things were that Raistlin didn’t argue when Dalamar put an arm around his waist to help him along. They made a strange little procession. The old mage in the lead, then Goldmoon with her medallion aloft, then Tanis, then the two of them, then the others. Dalamar risked a glance into one of the crypts, and shivered at the sight of the many, many undead, now lying back on their byres. Some of them were still twitching as the magic that had animated them dissipated.

“I am sorry I am not the necromancer you dream me to be.” Dalamar whispered, and got a faint smile.

“It can be something to work on.”

The dreadful cold finally started to fade as they left the undead behind. So deep underground, Dalamar still felt his skin prickle from the impossible weight of stone above them, but he kept his mouth shut. They had enough problems. He wondered why Kith-Kanan and his guard had agreed to be walled up down here. No wonder their spirits were restless, endlessly searching for a way out.

They entered a massive hall, and there Dalamar could breathe a little more easily, the high ceiling giving the illusion that they were not underground. Flint looked around proudly. “That’s dwarven stonework, that is.” He proclaimed, “Look at that jointing! And those pillars! No mortar to the stones, see that? Just carved to fit so well you won’t be able to get a blade between them, see!” When Tasslehoff tried to do just that. “Not even a scratch!”

“What about these?” Tanis waved towards a pair of identical bronze doors lining the wall ahead.

“How should I know?” Flint shrugged irritably. “The pillars, now! Twenty three of them, and not a crack after all these centuries! And you see that this room is the only one who hasn’t been touched by the Cataclysm? Only dwarven work survived it, except in Istar. And even then, I bet somewhere in the Blood Sea certain lucky fish are living very comfortably-“

Tasslehoff pulled the dwarf along as they took the right hand door, delving deeper and deeper within the fortress. The door ahead was false, but a quick spell found the secret passage, and they were through that too.

This was going too well. It was a nasty, nagging feeling in the back of Dalamar’s head as they made their way into a chamber with a massive chain in the middle of it- so massive they’d at first thought it a pillar. There was something wrong here. It was faint, but when he closed his eyes and focused, he recognised the creeping chill of the undead here too. “Stop.” He whispered.

Raistlin paused, then nodded, he’d recognised it too. They looked around warily. “More guards?”

“No.” Dalamar whispered. “That was proclaimed proudly, a warning telling us to stay away. This is more secretive. It wants us to find it, so it can attack us unnoticed. There-“ He pointed at what at first he thought was a bare wall- then he saw the faint outline of a door.

And Tasslehoff, feeling around the edges for a catch. “No!”

Tasslehoff blinked. “It’s just a door?”

“And Darken Wood was just a forest?” Dalamar hurried over, pulling the kender away. “There is something behind that door, something waiting, and deadly-“

“Or perhaps that is here with us.” Sturm narrowed his eyes. “Because you want to alert someone before we find the way into Pax Tharkas.”

“If we had wanted to betray you, we could have done so a thousand times before this!” Raistlin came to stand beside them. “I sense a power behind that door greater than any I have felt since-“ He broke off.

Dalamar understood. “Since the Test.” Raistlin, paling, nodded. That had been Fistandantilus. What was waiting for them behind this door?

Tanis wavered, then turned to Flint. “See where the south door leads.”

“You let yourself be ruled by this Exile?” Gilthanas looked at Tanis in disgust. “The way to Pax Tharkas is through a secret door.” And before they could stop him, he was at the door, finding the catch to open it.

“No!” Dalamar started forwards, but Sturm and Caramon were there, hands on his sword.

“You will regret this.” Raistlin hissed.

The door opened in a cloud of dust, and Raistlin turned away, covering his mouth and nose. At first, nothing moved in the small room beyond, the light of the staff sparking off heaps of gleaming gold. A fortune- three hundred years ago. Now just a pile of worthless soft metal.

And then- the touch of something hungry and bleak and hateful. Raistlin and Dalamar started back as the figure coalesced over the hoard. Slender and delicate, but stripped of life and colour. Blank white eyes turned to them and the long, cruel face lifted in a terrible smile.

"What is it?!" Caramon yelled, staring at the apparition.

"I don't know!" Sturm choked.

"A banshee!" Dalamar shouted. "The spirit of a Dark elf like myself! Close the door you fools!"

"Run, all of you!" Raistlin snarled. "You cannot fight her. Her touch is mortal and even the sound of her voice is death! Through the south door now!"

The translucent, shadowy shape within the room was fully taking shape now, and there was something almost familiar in the ancient spirit's face, something that sent a cold shiver down Dalamar’s spine. Something he had sometimes glimpsed in his own face, though this woman had died long ago. The mark of Exile.

"Somehow I don't think she's going to hold back because I'm there," Dalamar’s hand closed just above Raistlin's elbow as he pulled him away. "Come on!"

And oh, she looked hungry. She saw him, and knew he was like her- but he had survived, and she had not. There was an endless sea of hatred in her face as the banshee reached for them, her mouth dropping open, far wider than seemed possible, as though, like a snake, she could dislocate her jaws.

Before the spirit could give voice to her loathing and hate, Dalamar turned and fled, he and Raistlin running through the bronze door with the others. Caramon knocked into Raistlin, throwing him to the ground, and dragging Dalamar down him, before Caramon tripped over them and crashed down himself. The Staff of Magius span out of Raistlin’s grasp, the light scatting out all over the floor.

There was no need for light in order to see the advancing spirit though. Like the specters of Darken Wood, the banshee's ethereal form was edged with ghost-lights, shimmering as she advanced.

“Get off me you idiot!” Raistlin snarled, and groped for his staff. Dalamar crawled back on his elbows, staring as the spirit reached out and touched Eben. The man screamed and collapsed. Dalamar met the spirit’s eyes. Take him, he offered. Let the rest of us go, and you can have him and welcome.

There was no answer, but the creature’s mouth twisted, her teeth bared. She was hungry, and one would not be enough- and not when she could have one such as him to devour and to join her in her unending death. She wanted him. A soul for her to claim and hold forever. Never to rest, never to reach Nuitari’s realm-

Oh Abyss no. “Close the door!” Dalamar screamed.

Caramon got to his feet and slammed the door closed just as the Solamnic dragged Eben through. "That won't stop her!" Raistlin staggered to his feet, leaning heavily on his staff. "Her magic is powerful, more powerful than anything I possess. We must cast a spell on that door, to hold or stall her."

Dalamar swallowed. It took an act of deliberate will to stand and even more to step towards the door. He pressed his hands on the door before Raistlin had time to join him, locking his mind into the focus needed for casting. "Kalis-an budrinin kara-emarath!"

The magic flash, burned bright- and Dalamar jerked back with a scream. An explosion of pain racked his face and head, and he staggered back into the wall, sinking down to his knees. He felt like he had eaten so much snow, his brain was frozen in agony. He clutched his skull, shuddering.

Somewhere far away, he heard Raistlin casting, reinforcing the spell with his own, again and again until at last, the terrible aura of the undead faded.

Then Raistlin was there, cradling his head, hand pressed to his cheek. “Lunitari, Dalamar-“

Dalamar winced, but the pain was slowly ebbing. “What-“ He croaked.

“It touched you.” Raistlin shivered, “It stroked your face, I feared-“

“No.” Dalamar rubbed his face. “The spell worked, or I would be dead. It weakened its touch. Nuitari, my head hurts.”

“You saved us.” Raistlin smiled. “You held her back.”

“Good.” Dalamar tried to nod, realised his mistake a little too late, and the world blacked out.

Chapter Text

Riverwind lowered Dalamar to the ground, frowning over him in concern. “Is there something we can do? Goldmoon-“

“Would only hurt him.” Raistlin sighed, settling down beside Dalamar. “Thank you. I will stay with him.”

Dalamar was pale, but coming around slowly, the three white marks on his cheek starting to fade. Raistlin could see his eyes moving behind the closed lids, his fingers twitching, Raistlin took his hand in both of his, and felt the too-cold skin start to warm. Dalamar groaned, tried to lift his head. “Don’t move.” Raistlin squeezed his hand.

He blinked, blinked again, and squinted at Raistlin. “What happened?” He slurred.

“I have Tarn.” Raistlin smiled, “You now have Pax Tharkas.” Dalamar groaned again, and tried to sit up.

Raistlin lowered the staff and checked his pupils. Good, they were the same size, and contracted in the light. Dalamar grimaced, and pushed it away. “I really hate undead. Where are we?”

“The basement of Pax Tharkas. We have gotten here at last-“ Raistlin broke off, scowling as an argument broke out among the other- it was too far away for him to catch the details, but it made Dalamar groan in pain.

“Be quiet!” he hissed, “Unless you wish to alert the entire place to our presence!”

That did work, the noise died to grumbles. Raistlin look curiously at Goldmoon. “The old man and the kender,” she sat down on a pile of crates beside them. “They are gone, no one saw them go.”

Raistlin glanced around too- yes, Tasslehoff and Fizban were nowhere to be seen. “Leave them; I suspect they will be just fine.”

“The old man will be, and kender are like cats, only with more lives.” Dalamar rubbed his face and risked sitting up. Raistlin tucked a pack behind his head to steady him- he still looked grey. “What do you think he is?” He dropped his voice lower.

“I have no idea, but if I had to guess, I would say a dragon.” Raistlin shifted to sit more comfortably. “Like Immolatus; and I remember reading that the goodly dragons could also take human shape- Huma was supposed to have fallen in love with one, according to legends.”

“I hope she chose a better form than Fizban, unless Huma had some very strange tastes.” Dalamar managed a smile. “Wouldn’t your staff know? It seems to sense the beasts?”

“Perhaps only the evil ones.” Raistlin looked at his staff, lying beside him on the ground, “Magius fought those, not the metallic dragons. But- this is guess work. He could be anything.”

“Anything but actually a demented old mage.” Dalamar agreed. “I’m feeling better; can you help me to sit up?”

Raistlin took him under the arms, and helped hoist him up until he could lean against a box. Dalamar blinked, too quickly, but his breathing was steady. The marks from the banshee’s touch were almost gone now, only faint smudges against the tan of his skin. Raistlin kissed the marks, felt them vanish under his lips, and pressed close. Putting an arm around Dalamar and pulling him close to rest against his chest.

“You are enjoying this.” He felt Dalamar smile.

“I like being the strong one for you. It has novelty.”

“Hmm.” Dalamar lifted his head and kissed the sliver of skin at the neck of his robes. “And here I thought you were always the strong one.”

“You carried me more than once.”

“Physically stronger, I suppose. But since when does that matter? Wouldn’t you love me if I was broken in body as well as inside?”

“You know I would.”

“Hmm.” Dalamar sighed happily. He wasn’t sleeping, just- resting, in Raistlin’s arms, as sure and peaceful as a child. He wondered if there had been anyone else he could have relaxed with, with such trust.

“My own.” Raistlin kissed him, and held him.

On the other side of the room, the others were pouring over a map, making plans. Raistlin listened with one ear. Gilthanas running through the different parts of the fortress; the women’s room where they would go to first, the dragon’s lair, the children. The men and the gully dwarves.

“You know a lot about Pax Tharkas.” Eben slipped in, snidely. Raistlin rolled his eyes and Dalamar groaned, more of this.

“What do you insinuate?” Gilthanas scowled.

“I’m not insinuating anything,” Eben shrugged. “It’s just that you know a lot about this place for never having been here! And wasn’t it interesting that we kept running into creatures who damn near killed us back in the Sla-Mori.”

“Eben,” Tanis finally stepped in, “we’ve had enough of your suspicions. I don’t believe any of us is a traitor. As Raistlin said, the traitor could have betrayed any of us long before this. What’s the point of coming this far?”

 Goldmoon stood up from beside them, walked over to the group. “To bring me and the Disks to Lord Verminaard. He knows I am here, Tanis. He and I are linked by our faith.”

 “That’s ridiculous!” Sturm snorted.

 “No, it isn’t,” Goldmoon said. “Remember, there are two constellations missing. One was the Queen of Darkness. From what little I have been able to understand in the Disks of Mishakal, the Queen was also one of the ancient gods. The gods of good are matched by the gods of evil, with the gods of neutrality striving to keep the balance. Verminaard worships the Queen of Darkness as I worship Mishakal: that is what Mishakal meant when she said we were to restore the balance. The promise of good that I bring is the one thing he fears and he is exerting all his will to find me. The longer I stay here-” Her voice died.

“All the more reason to quit bickering,” Tanis stated, switching his gaze to Eben.

The fighter shrugged again, as if all of this was nothing but a game- which is probably was, to him. Goldmoon was pale, her hand at her through, the symbol of her Goddess. Raistlin could feel the aura of her, shining with a light that was felt rather than seen. And against her, swarming in the corners of their eyes, gone no matter how quickly they turned, was a darkness.

It was an alien darkness, so very unlike the familiar, warm shadows he associated with Dalamar. This had more in common with the black dragon, and her spells. Cold and airless, like being buried alive. He shuddered. No, this was not something he wanted them to have any part of. That darkness would devour his lover, just as hungrily as Fistandantilus. It would take that warmth; that comfort in Dalamar, and turn it just as cold. No. Never.

“You feel it too.” Goldmoon looked at him. The others were continuing with their plans, discussing how to get to the women, to disguise themselves to reach the men, and free the hostages- “You have a God?”

“Mages have our own Gods.” Raistlin said softly.

Dalamar lifted his head, smiling when Raistlin looked at him. “Hush, I’m not going to bite. Yes.” He said to Goldmoon. “Mine is a God of Darkness, just like his.”

“Not like this one.” Raistlin shook his head. “This one is cruel. Nuitari isn’t that.”

“The black moon-“ She shivered. “My people say that moon is a ghost, snatching up souls at it passes.”

“He doesn’t.” Dalamar gave a small smile. “He gives the magic to us who walk under his shadow, and spurs us to ambition and to hold our secrets close. And he never abandoned us. Not in the pyres of the Kingpriest, or the Cataclysm, or anything that came after.”

Goldmoon met his eyes for a long moment, then looked away. “And you, Raistlin?”

Raistlin blinked in surprise, smiled. “Lunitari, the Veiled Lady. Master of Illusions and the Red Moon. You follow the Goddess of Light, and you the Dark moon, so my Goddess swings between them, keeping the balance.”

“And is loved for it.” Dalamar kissed him.

“But there is darkness in you.” Goldmoon whispered, “I felt it, in the cages.”

“Not one of the Gods.” Raistlin choked, coughed. Fistandantilus stirring at being mentioned.

“It is a battle we must wage.” Dalamar took his hand. “As you war against your darkness, plainswoman.”

Goldmoon gave a slow nod. “So we have all three, within our group. That is- strong, isn’t it? The balance, it’s stronger than anything.”

“The balance brought down the Kingpriest,” Raistlin agreed. “But remember how that turned out?”

Dalamar’s head was still aching when they got going, but it was a low, throbbing ache instead of the hideous dagger behind his eyes. He was on his feet, at least, and the ground no longer felt like it was about to collapse from under him.

The women scattered when they opened the door to their cells, hiding in the corners in fear- then emerged again in surprised at the sight of them. Only one stood her ground, a tall stout woman who put her hands on her hips and scowled at them. “What is this? Who are you people?”

“Calm yourself.” Tanis put his hands out, “We are here to help. We are here to save you.”

The woman looked thunderously doubtful, eyes narrowed. “A likely story. One of those draco tricks, I’ll be bound. We played that game, and they punished us. So you can fuck along your way, you bunch of-“

“Stop, Maritta.” A soft voice, from behind one of the barrels. A woman, slight and tired, but her eyes were locked on Raistlin. “I know him.”

Raistlin started. “Oh. I know you. You were-“

“You comforted me, at the Temple.” She gave a small smile and Dalamar knew her now. The woman in Haven, that they had almost burnt alive for. “After they cast me out and cursed my child. This is the mage who stopped the Belzorites, Maritta, I would never forget him.”

“So that was you, was it?” The woman, Maritta, looked at them warily. “And the elf. I remember you too. If you’d just run off and do for Verminaad like you did for that priestess; that would be great-“

“That is what we are here for.” Tanis said quickly. “We are going to free you, and your men. We just need your help-“

Dalamar tuned him out, walking to stand beside Raistlin. The woman was standing beside him, one hand on his arm. When they had last seen her she had been worn with grief and pain, exhausted. Now, even despite everything, she looked better, and she was smiling. It was good to see. For all the good Raistlin had done, so few had thanked him, he deserved it.

It didn’t stop Dalamar from joining him, putting a hand not so subtly on his arm. Mine. Raistlin knew what he was doing, and gave him a fond glare.

The woman didn’t seem to notice, smiling at him. “And you. Both of you. I was never able to thank you. I asked after you but you had already gone.”

“There is something you can do to help us.” Dalamar put in, “We are looking for someone from Haven, Lemuel the herbalist.”

She smiled, “The nice young mage with all the plants? Yes, he is here.”

Dalamar felt Raistlin sag beside him in relief, a tension he hadn’t been aware of in himself ease. “Good.” It came out more gentle than he intended. “He does not deserve this either. We will free him and you.”

“Right.” Tanis’s voice rose. “They are getting us some spare clothes, get dressed.”

The woman giggled. “You look about my size, I’ll see if I have something that can fit you, and in your colours. Mages like their colours, I heard.”

It turned out to be a dress, deep red-brown. Raistlin smiled. “Thank you. I do like red.”

“It suits you.” She held it up to Raistlin, frowning thoughtfully, “Yes, a lighter red would make you look more jaundiced, but this will bring out your colour. Why is your skin gold? It wasn’t before.”

“We mages take the Test. It can change how we look. Do you have something for Dalamar?”

“I will look to see what else we have. I think those dresses would be a little too short for me.”

He found an old charcoal grey dress that was as close enough to black to be acceptable. It was still a little short, but he used his dagger to unpick the hem to get a few more inches. He turned to ask Raistlin for some thread and-

Oh.

He was beautiful.

The deep red made his skin and hair shine; brought more colour to the gold. And, well. He had always been happy with his faithfulness to Raistlin. But seeing him dressed like this, as a beautiful woman, with rags stuffed down the bust to give him breasts- it reminded him of late summers in Silvanesti, when the overseers were too lazy to watch them. Evenings with serving girls in the long grasses, quiet trysts in laundry rooms with young maids. A more innocent time.

Raistlin yelped as Dalamar swept in and caught him in his arms, holding him close. “You are lovely.” He kissed him.

Raistlin gave a soft laugh. “And here I thought you liked me well enough as a man.”

“I adore you as a man, and I would worship you as a woman.” Dalamar kissed him again. “I have tastes for both, and thus you have me both ways.” He squeezed Raistlin’s bust.

“I’d have you as you are.” Raistlin said softly, holding him in turn, “Whatever you are wearing.”

“No!”

Riverwind was scarlet, unable even to look at the green dress being held out to him. “I cannot.” He pleaded.

“It’s just a dress.” Tanis looked about to rip his beard out. “First Sturm and now you, it's just for a little while.”

“I will not betray my heart!” He looked at Goldmoon, desperately. “I will not spit in the face of the love I feel. I cannot do this, I am sorry.”

“I give up. Stay here then!” Tanis stormed off.

Goldmoon, sighed. She looked at the dress, then away, grimacing. “We must find a way.”

Raistlin walked over to them. “You will not be like me. I am a woman-man, you are not.”

“But I will be.” He looked down at the dress. “And a woman-man cannot marry a woman. Even for a few hours, I would be spitting upon my love. Would you do so with your heart, mage?”

Well, Dalamar would certainly not care, but he didn’t bother saying that. “If you would be willing, I can cast a spell on you that would make you invisible.”

Riverwind hesitated, torn between wariness of magic and revulsion at the dress. Goldmoon put her hand on his arm. “We need to do this.” She said softly, “I trusted his magic in Xak Tsaroth, and it brought me no harm.”

“That is all it will do?” Riverwind threw the dress down. “I will not be sent to some- dark place? And when it is finished I will come back?”

“We have used this spell many times.” Raistlin assured him, “We are fine.”

By Riverwind’s expression, he didn’t consider Raistlin as an example of ‘fine¸ but Goldmoon squeezed his arm. “For me, my love. Please.”

Riverwind sighed and sagged, nodding at last.

“Battin bentuk tak’kelithatan,” and the man disappeared. He gave a low cry of panic, but Goldmoon reached out, finding him and holding- probably his hand. “I will not let you go.” She promised, “You will not lose me.”

“Such an unnatural state.” Riverwind’s voice was shaking. “I know this is your craft, but it is too strange for me.”

“Just a little longer.” Raistlin sighed. They were already setting off.

And finally, after all these weeks. There was Lemuel.

He looked up, shocked and amazed at the sight of them, staggering to his feet. “I- Raistlin? And Dalamar?”

“We did say we were coming to see you.” Raistlin pushed the hood of his cloak back. He couldn’t hold back a smile.

Gods, he looked thin. Worn and tired, but that didn’t slow him down. Lemuel lurched to his feet and rushed over. He stopped just before them, uncertain, but Raistlin closed the last few inches and hugged him. Lemuel gave a deep, long sigh and rested against him, eyes closed. “I’m glad you did.” He whispered. “Thank you.”

“We are going to get you out.” Dalamar put in, walking over and resting a hand on Lemuel’s shoulder. “That’s why we came, so that’s what we will do.”

“Are you sure?” Lemuel straightened, surreptitiously wiping his eyes. Raistlin pretended not to see, letting him keep a little dignity. “It doesn’t sound like your friends are having much luck.”

They were not. Unfortunately that idiot Hendrick had been brought here too, and had managed to make himself the leader of the men. And he was not inclined to listen to Goldmoon any more than the last time. “Look at what they did to me!” he was shouting, waving his burnt hand. “The fires of evil of these barbarian witches!”

“Then we leave, and to the Abyss with the lot of them.” Dalamar sighed, “I can cast that invisibility spell over the three of us, and we can creep out.”

“The gates are shut.” Raistlin sighed, “And we can hardly go back the way we came. I don’t suppose you know any other way out?” To Lemuel.

He shook his head, shrugging, “I have no idea, we’ve been shut up here for weeks.”

Goldmoon walked over to join them, looking cast down. Her hand still curled in Riverwind’s invisible one. “They will not listen.”

“No, they’re not going to.” Lemuel growled. Raistlin looked at him in surprise. He’d never heard Lemuel angry. “The Seekers traded us, men and women for steel. First it was just a ‘tithe’ they called it, a bit more every month- I think I wrote to you about that- but then it got worse, and if you couldn’t pay, you were taken. And then one week I was late-“ he sighed.

“We know; we found your home.”

“Oh, is it still standing?” He cheered up. “I was worried they’d burnt it, they did that sometimes. I was so worried about my garden, is it okay?”

“A little overgrown, but everything was still there-“ Raistlin broke off when someone near them coughed.

After years of his own, Raistlin had become an expert on coughs. This was a bad one, deep and raw and hacking, a struggle of breath. “Lemuel? Maritta?”

“Here I am.” She hurried over. “A bit of soup, Elistan? Come on young man, let me see you drink a bit-“

“Her.” A thin, worn looking man sat up from what Raistlin had taken to be a pile of rags. He drew in a breath and Raistlin grimaced at the hollow whistling it made.

“What is wrong with this man?” Goldmoon took a step back.

“Lungrot, most likely.” Raistlin said, “Thankfully too advanced to be contagious, but the man is clearly dying. A few days at most.”

Goldmoon frowned, then straightened. “Who is this man?”

“One of the Highseekers- one of the better ones.” Lemuel sighed. “He vanished around the beginning, everyone thinks Hendrick had a hand in it; clearing off the competition, you know.”

“If they will not believe, then perhaps I will show them.” She lifted her head. “And if he is a leader, than perhaps he will show them this is the only way.” She walked over to Elistan. “You wish to speak to me?”

“Young woman,” he frowned at her, “you claim to bring word from ancient gods. If it truly was we humans who turned from them, not the gods who turned from us as we’ve always thought, then why have they waited so long to make their presence known?”

Goldmoon hesitated. She looked from Dalamar, then back at the man. “I do not claim to know.” She said at last. “The Gods have their ways, and their plans. But this is the time, and I am the bearers of their word.” She touched her pack, where she carried the Disks. “They have returned, and we have found them. They have been a hand, reaching out for the right one to find them. A gem, lost in a forest, waiting for the right traveler to discover its secrets.”

“And you are the right one?” He frowned.

Goldmoon lifted her head again, “I am.” She touched a hand to her Goddess’ medallion, and the familiar deep blue glow shimmered around her.

“Where are the mages?!” Sturm barked, breaking the moment.

Raistlin turned irritably. “We are right here, where else could we be?”

Sturm scowled at them, turn turned to Tanis. “We can expect the guards soon enough,” He growled, “Eben and Gilthanas are gone.”

Chapter Text

Dalamar was having a very bad feeling about this plan. They’d returned to the women’s cells, to find Gilthanas and Eben waiting for them. The row over that had lasted most of the night, and had been entirely pointless. It didn’t matter which of them had carried word of their plan to the dragonarmies, one of them had, and they needed to change the plan, and fast.

He glanced over at Goldmoon- but they wouldn’t have much luck there. Oh, the old man had been very happy to take her healing and learn about her Goddess, but it had been very clear he considered himself to be the one in charge, not some barbarian plainswoman. She had done her part in bringing him word of these Gods; she could now stand aside and let him take over. Goldmoon was still pale with anger, hand spasming on her medallion.

If they got out of here alive, Dalamar would make sure he got his hands on those Disks, and make those changes he and Raistlin had spoken of. As much as his disliked her Goddess, Goldmoon was a more reasonable figure than this Elistan.

About the only good news they had, he thought wearily, curling up in the bedroll beside Raistlin, was that hardly anyone even bothered trying to blame them now. Brightblade had scowled at them a few times, and Caramon had muttered a few times about Dalamar using dark magic, but even he hadn’t been able to keep it up. They had been in the middle of the group the whole time, thank Nuitari. Eben had tried to throw suspicion on Riverwind- after all, how did they really know he had stayed with the group- but thankfully for the plainsmen that hadn’t convinced anyone.

“Shh.” Raistlin shoved him. “Stop thinking and sleep.”

“I doubt anyone’s getting much sleep tonight.” Dalamar sighed, but obediently closed his eyes.

He must have slept after all, because they were all woken just before dawn by Tanis. It was time to go. Dalamar yawned over a mug of tea as Tanis went through the plan one more time. They would free the children, bring them to the courtyard, the women would get them there and bring them to the mines. Then all of them would slip away together through the passages, and out of the mountains. Dalamar nodded wearily, trying to wake up. It all sounded very good, but there were the dragons to consider.

He flicked through his spellbook, trying to find spells that might be of use. The exploding runes might be useful. If they set them off inside a hall or gate, the falling debris could trap a dragon, or perhaps just block their way in. Invisibility of course, although the black dragon had been able to see through that. Another of speed, for obvious reasons- he stifled a yawn.

Raistlin was quiet. He drank his tea slowly, making it last as he poured over his own spellbook. He met Dalamar’s eyes over the binding and they shared a helpless look. There really wasn’t much their magic could do against these creatures, and as Raistlin had pointed out, they had no blue crystal staff.

“Maybe we could just throw this Elistan and Hendrick and all of those idiots at the beasts.” Raistlin murmured, “And after eating them they’ve have such indigestion they’d have to take a nap.”

Dalamar couldn’t hold back a smile, leaning over to kiss him. “Lemuel is with them,” he reminded Raistlin, “I assume he’d like to get out in one piece, at least.”

Finally, it was time to leave. He cast the spell of invisibility of Riverwind again, and they made their way out, and the guard oddly let them be. Dalamar swallowed, feeling the jaws of the traps closing around them. He found Raistlin’s arm and held on, ready to cast the invisibility spell again and run.

When they reached the top of the stairs, Dalamar saw that the door leading out was guarded. It had to be more than coincidence. Hands on their weapons, they walked forwards.

"You're early this morning," one of the draconian guards remarked.

"It smells of thunder," Maritta answered and the Dalamar smiled. Not many people could tell such a bold-faced lie to a snarling draconian. "I want the children to have their exercise before the storm hits. And what are you doing here? This door is never guarded. You'll frighten the children."

The draconian's version of a grin was twisted, and showed off row after row of far-too-sharp teeth. "Lord Verminaard's command. He and Ember are gone this morning to finish the elves. We're ordered to search you before you enter." The draconian looked from Goldmoon to Maritta to Dalamar, eyes glittering eagerly. "That's going to be a pleasure, I'd say."

It would have been funny had the situation not been so serious, and the moment the draconian stepped towards him, Dalamar lashed out, driving the point of his dagger through the bottom of the creature's jaw and into its brain. The draconian fossilised instantly but the force of its movement drove it forwards to shatter noisily on the floor.

The other guards had been quickly dispatched with a blow from Sturm’s sword, and an upward slice from Flint’s axe before they could raise the alarm, but they all winced at the sudden noise.

"Never mind that!" Tanis snapped. "Into the playroom. Hurry!"

Dalamar paused to pick up his dagger from the mess of smashed stone, picking up his pace to keep up. Raistlin was just ahead, his head down as he focused on breathing. A coughing fit now would be a disaster.

"If anyone finds these bodies, it'll all be over," Caramon groaned.

"It was over before we began!" Sturm snarled, glancing back at- oh Nuitari not again- at them. "We've been betrayed, so it's just a matter of time!"

"Keep moving!" Tanis called out sharply.

"Be very quiet," Maritta whispered. "Flamestrike generally sleeps soundly. If she does waken, act like women. She'll never recognise you. She's blind in one eye."

Dalamar swallowed as they walked into the passageway leading to the dragon’s lair. Raistlin drew in a careful breath, wary of making a noise. Dalamar touched his back. “Dragonslayer.” He whispered, and was rewarded with a tight smile.

Then they were out of the passage, and into the great chamber and- oh by the magic.

For all of his jokes, Dalamar did know that if the red dragon -Flamestrike- had been younger or less crippled, they would never have stood a chance. Not even with a dozen blue crystal staffs and an army of dragonslayers.

The black dragon had been huge, but this creature was something else entirely. The lair was over a hundred feet long, and yet the dragon's tail still curled along the end wall, and the massive neck- scarred and pitted from thousands of battles- was bent back so that the massive head rested against the forefeet. The creature's head alone was larger than a wagon, and the teeth, yellowing and broken as they were, were still the size of Tanis's sword.

Yes, had this creature been in its prime, they would all be dead. Fortunately, it wasn't. The massive wings were dry and cracked, rent from ancient battles fought long before Dalamar's great-great-grandfather had ever been born, and the red scales were faded and scarred. When it opened its eyes as the group came in, one was milky white, and the other seemed to struggle to get them into focus.

“Is it time for breakfast already, Maritta?” The dragon’s voice seemed to come from deep within its throat, low and sleepy.

 “Yes, we’re just a bit early today, dearie,” Maritta soothed. “But there’s a storm brewing and I want the children to have their exercise before it breaks. Go back to sleep. I’ll see they don’t wake you on their way out.”

 “I don’t mind.” The dragon yawned, and Dalamar shivered to see the flames flickering in the depths of its gullet. The flames that had destroyed Solace, and melted the stone of Que-shu. This dragon might be ancient, but it was still deadly. He glanced at Raistlin.

Raistlin was pulling a rag more tightly around his staff, scowling at it. “Dulak, stop it. This is a stealth mission. Didn’t Magius ever go on one of those?” He gave Dalamar a weary look.

There was also a low buzzing, quiet now, but getting louder. Dalamar shook his head. “Can you get it to stop?”

“That’s not mine.” Raistlin looked around. “Where is-“

Tanis had drawn his sword. It was glowing too, and making a noise like a hive of upset wasps. “Oh no.” Dalamar breathed. “Kith-Kanan’s sword. The idiot brought it here.”

Tanis looked over at them, panicked, “Can you stop it?”

“You brought a sword called Wyrmslayer to a dragon’s lair and act surprised when it does this?” And the dragon was waking up again, shaking its head angrily at the noise. Abyss, Abyss- Dalamar grabbed Raistlin’s hand, pulling him away.

“This is an abysmal time to remember!” Tanis snarled.

“Or a very convenient time.” Sturm had his hand on his sword.

“It is hardly out fault you are all ill-read idiots-” Dalamar snapped, but Raistlin yanked him away.

The dragon was on its feet now, struggling to see them with its good eye. "What have you brought Maritta? I hear a sound I have not heard in centuries, and I smell the foul scent of steel! These are not the women! These are warriors!"

Slowly the huge dragon started to raise itself up to attack, the half-elf drew his sword in response.

"Don't hurt her!" Maritta begged.

"I may not have any choice!" Although, but by the looks of things, it might not come to a fight after all. Once drawn, the sword shone with a blinding light and the dragon backed away from it. Taking Tanis' lead, Raistlin undid the cloth covering his staff, and the light from the crystal grew even brighter, filling the room and throwing everything into sharp, blinding contrasts of black and white.

"Run, get the children!" Half-elven shouted, he and Raistlin moved forward, Dalamar following. He wasn’t sure how much good it would do, but lifted his dagger in the air and tapped it. “Shirak.”

The light was blinding, and the dragon shrieked, raising its wings to shield itself. Slowly, they backed the dragon far enough for Maritta and Goldmoon to get through to the playroom. The others followed quickly.

Raistlin took his eyes off the weakened dragon and looked over at Dalamar, the light from sword and staff glancing off his metallic skin and making his eyes glitter. “Perhaps we should have called it dragonsbane instead.” He whispered.

Dalamar smiled. “I’ll leave that to you.” He breathed, then he too turned away from the dragon as the others came back, herding a group of children, one of whom actually lunged at Tanis for attacking the dragon.

"Get them out of here!" Half-elven shouted.

“Children, please!” Goldmoon stepped in, her voice soft but stern, “Tanis will not hurt the dragon if he does not have to. He is a gentle man. You must leave now. Your mothers need you.”

The children hesitated, milling around in confusion. Marietta started leading them out of the room, and slowly they all followed, some turning to wave at the cowering dragon.

“Good-bye, Flamestrike!”

“We’ll never forget you! You’ll always be our dragon!”

“If you hurt her, I’ll scrag you!” That was the pugnacious boy that had jumped at Tanis.

“No!” The dragon howled, and Dalamar started back as it suddenly started forwards- before Tanis raised Wyrmslayer and it backed down, moaning. “No! Don’t fight my children. Please! It is me you want! Fight me! Don’t harm my children!”

Dalamar caught Raistlin’s eye, puzzled. But Raistlin shook his head. “She’s not here.” He said softly. “She’s somewhere else, long ago.”

How did he know- oh. From him. Because Raistlin had seen him like that, when the memories of Tarsis or Exile were threatening to devour him.

Sturm had joined Tanis, his sword drawn. The dragon was so lost in war millennia past that it was preparing to lash out, fight enemies so long dead they were probably dust by now. Dalamar looked at the beast, and just felt a dull, heavy weight inside his chest. Dragonslayer, it didn’t feel glorious. It felt pathetic, and ugly.

Raistlin was rubbing off on him far too much.

“Leave us, both of you.” Dalamar said wearily, “We will make sure it does not follow.”

Sturm glared at them, eyes narrowing. Raistlin gave Dalamar a grateful look. “There is little we can do, but nothing you can. Move back near the tunnel. When you hear us start to speak, run.”

The dragon was starting to thrash, attacking enemies that were not there. Raistlin and Dalamar backed away, Tanis heading back to the tunnel, holding the sword high- but the dragon wasn’t seeing it, wailing and howling in agony.

Raistlin drew in a breath, and held out a hand, throwing himself into the spell. The same spell the black dragon had used, back in Xak Tsaroth. “Dulak.”

The dragon was so lost it didn’t seem to even notice at first, throwing itself against the walls, tearing at it with its claws even with the globe of darkness surroundingits head. Dalamar grabbed Raistlin’s arm and they started to run, the dragon landed heavily, finally realizing it could not see.

“I’ll burn them!” It howled. “They will not escape! I’ll- No! I dare not. My children! I might harm my children-” The ground shook at the dragon landed heavily on the floor, moaning. Raistlin staggered, but Dalamar kept him upright, running to the doors.

“Dragonslayer?” Dalamar panted, and got a brief smile from Raistlin.

“Immolatus was much nastier.” He breathed. “I have no interest to add that one’s head to my wall.”

“Not my children! Please, fight me! Don’t hurt my children!” The dragon wailed behind them.

Raistlin caught his breath. His lungs were burning from the run, and he staggered against Dalamar, a cough rattling in his throat. The spell had worked, but casting Fistandantilus’ spells had brought the lich too close, and his body was shivering from the stress of casting and the following run.

But he had barely drawn in a clear breath before the ground shook again. For a moment, he wondered if the dragon was trying to follow them- but no. This was coming from outside.

This was the other dragon.

“Oh Abyss.” Dalamar breathed. “Look.”

It- was probably what Immolatus had looked like, in his true form. A massive, hulking beast, not as large as the old one, but young and strong, and terrifyingly swift as it tore out out of Pax Tharkas, climbing into the air. “Come on.” Raistlin choked, “Find Lemuel, and anyone else who’ll come. We need to reach the mines.”

He pulled at him, but Dalamar was still, eyes closed as he concentrated, “Berjalan sekali cepat, laksana imbas,” he cast.

Raistlin felt his feet grow light, the weariness easing. He nodded in thanks. “There, I can see the men.”

It must have been Eben’s plan, he thought grimly as they pushed their way through the throngs of people. the spell helping them to run like the wind. The men had been let out too early, and were charging into the courtyard, trying to find their families and flee. “Raistlin!”

“There.” Raistlin pointed. They tried to shove their way towards Lemuel, who was huddled in the doorway, not daring to venture out as the dragon rose above, roaring. Wise. He spotted the young woman with him, and huddle of others who must not have had families to worry about.

Raistlin glanced back at the screaming crowd and grimaced. In his eyes, they were already blackened, rotting corpses, and in a few moments, that would be truth. They needed to get as many people as possible and run.

“Can you see Goldmoon or Riverwind?”

Dalamar shook his head. They could see Elistan, screaming for order and being ignored. “If they have sense, they’ll already be in the mines. We can’t wait.”

Raistlin nodded. Gods, they were all going to die. Goldmoon, Riverwind, Tanis and Sturm-

And Caramon. The thought made his stomach twist. His brother. He would have been happy never seeing him again, but at least he wanted to know he was alive.

He shook himself. “Quickly, all of you. To the mines. The dragon will be- busy. We need to move while it is distracted.”

The people paled at the thought of leaving their companions, but nodded. Above them, the dragon roared again, and dived. It had a rider, Raistlin saw, a man in black armor that must be the Highlord Verminaad. He was gesturing down at the crowd- but his words were lost in the slipstream. The dragon circled once more, and landed like an immense vulture on one of the towers.

“Oh thank Nuitari, he’s going to waste time gloating.” Dalamar hissed, “Run, this is our chance.”

The spell carried them quickly along the walls, Raistlin waved furiously at Lemuel, ushering him into the safety of the mines. The mage hesitated, then nodded, “Hurry.” He whispered.

Raistlin nodded, about to follow- but Dalamar was not there. Raistlin turned, and saw him a few paces away, glaring into the crowd. “Move-” Raistlin tried to shout, and doubled over, hacking.

“Oh Nuitari no. No you don’t.” Dalamar snarled. Through streaming eyes, Raistlin saw what he was looking at. Eben. The traitor was running towards the gates, dragging someone after him.

The others had also seen him. Sturm gave a roar of rage that was audible even over the din of the crowd, shoving his way through to reach Eben, Tanis at his heels.

Raistlin glanced up at the dragon, it looked ready to attack, but the rider seemed more interested in getting the sun to glare intimidatingly off his armor to attack right away. They might have a few moments. “Quickly.” He managed. “Before he gets away.”

Dalamar gave him a harsh smile, about to cast- then Sturm was in the way, grabbing Eben and blocking their view. “Traitor!” Sturm roared. “Though I die this day, I’ll send you to the Abyss first!”

And suddenly, someone else was there. A tall, oddly ageless looking man. Raistlin blinked, blinked again. In the crowd, he had not noticed him at first.

But the man was not aging.

Irda.

Oh Abyss no. Raistlin recoiled, the spell slipping from his mind as a knot of panic exploded inside him. No no no. He grabbed Dalamar’s arm and yanked him back. “We have to go!” Raistlin coughed. “Now!”

The man turned, and Raistlin could see him better. Not beautiful, not the way the- Amberyl had been. But alien and strange and- Gods, a green gem in the middle of his chest.

Dalamar saw it too, eyes wide. He opened his mouth- but anything he might say was lost as the ground started to shake under them.

“Look out!” Lemuel grabbed them both by the back of their robes, dragging them back into the mines as a massive crack opened in the fortress gates. Eben stopped running, looking up in terror. The Irda stopped too, but seemed almost- thoughtful as the first of the massive boulders began to fall.

Sturm and Tanis were already running, barely ahead of the avalanche as rocks the size of horses pounded down on the flagstones below-

And on top of Eben and the Irda.

Raistlin caught his breath. Gone. His racing heart started to slow. Gone. It couldn’t go near him, or Dalamar. It was gone, thank all the Gods.

“What was that?” Dalamar breathed.

“Irda.” Raistlin managed.

Dalamar paled, and took his hand. “Well, then that was fortunate. Good riddance.”

The dragon had been startled by the sudden rockfall, wings flaring like a frightened crow, but the rider kept it under control. “This is your final act of defiance!” Verminaad roared, clearly annoyed the incident had interrupted his grand entrance. “I offered you a chance to work to further the glory of my Queen. I cared for you and your families. But you are stubborn and foolish. You will pay with your lives! I will destroy the men. I will destroy the women! I will destroy the children!”

The red dragon reared into the air on the command, circling high above to add its dragonfear to the chaos below. It beat its wings to hover, opening jaws already rimmed in flame.

“Run!” Lemuel gasped.

“No time.” Dalamar shoved Raistlin down, and threw himself beside him. “Keep down!”

A terrible scream suddenly cut through the air. The red dragon hesitated, turning- and was hit in mid air by another dragon. Nuitari, Dalamar pushed himself up on his elbows, that was the ancient one they’d left inside. In her panic and devoured by her memories, she'd attacked the first thing she’d seen.

The younger red rolled in a panic, throwing off the old matriarch and clawing at her- but she didn’t seem to notice, roaring into its face.

Verminaad scrambled to hold on, but slipped and fell off unceremoniously, hitting the ground and bouncing twice before ending up in a groaning heap on the ground- barely six feet from them.

“Move!” Dalamar got up, pushed Lemuel. “Get in as far as you can. We will stop him.”

"He is a cleric of the Dark Queen," Raistlin got to his feet, "and he can call on her aid as Goldmoon calls on Mishakal, his powers will be far more deadly though. And he has had more practice."

“And I have a Dark God of my own.” Dalamar’s eyes narrowed, drawing his dagger. Nuitari’s Tooth, Dark Son, be with us. “Besides, we are not alone.”

The others had reached them at last. Tanis, Caramon, Sturm and Goldmoon. The plainswoman was pale, but her face was set, and Dalamar’s skin crawled at the faint glimmering light of her Goddess.

The six of them circled the Dragon Highlord, stopping him from backing against a wall and trying to outflank him to attack. Verminaard got up, staying crouched down, his black iron mace held in front of him. Slowly he turned, following them.

Dalamar slid around to the Highlord's back; with his dragon helm on, Verminaard’s vision was obscured, cut off to the sides. If he kept moving, always staying at the cleric's back, he could keep the man from seeing him. Dalamar considered a spell, then decided against it; even a short spell like the one of the Sentinel ruins might give the Highlord enough time to attack, not to mention destroying the advantage of surprise.

Quietly, Dalamar shifted his dagger to stab; the cleric wore light armour and the dagger was enchanted enough to punch through what he had on. He crouched down, gathering his breath and preparing to attack-

Verminaard moved first. He leaped out of his defensive position and grabbing Raistlin by the shoulder. Dalamar didn't hear the words he spoke, but the effect was horrifying. Raistlin screamed as though in the claws of the Dark Queen herself, and sank to the ground.

Plan completely forgotten, the Dark elf lunged forwards, his only though to drive his dagger through the enemy’s shoulder blades and stop whatever he had cast. Unfortunately, Caramon sprang at the cleric with a deafening roar, blocking his way.

The blow was clumsy one and Verminaard turned almost casually and blocked it, his counterattack catching the big man a glancing blow. "Midnight."

Gods, that wasn;t a spell, that was a word of command. The mace was enchanted, and the effect was immediate. Caramon staggered back, clawing at his eyes. “I can’t see! Tanis, help me!”

Dalamar found Raistlin and pulled him back- but at the first touch of his hand Raistlin screamed again, shuddering as if Dalamar was driving his blade into his body. Tanis and Sturm were attacking Verminaad, but it was not promising, Tanis had been thrown to the ground, and Sturm seemed to be frozen in place. Verminaard had his back to them, mace raised to crush Sturm’s skull.

Dalamar drew in a breath, and took the chance. He stepped as quickly and silently as he could towards the Dragon Highlord, then jumped at him, dagger outstretched.

The blade sank into Verminaad’s back, scraped his backbone, and slid under the shoulder blade. The man gave a cry that was as much fury as pain and spun around, wrenching the handle of the dagger out of Dalamar's hands. The Dark elf jumped out of the way as the mace whistled past his ribs and backed away. Still holding the mace out to deter any further attacks, the cleric groped for the dagger handle, but seemed to be having trouble getting a grip on it.

Quickly. Dalamar raised his hands and cast as fast as he could- “Mas daya ente-“.

Verminaad roared again, forgetting the dagger and lashing out with his mace. Dalamar ducked just in time, and the spell was wrenched out of his mind, a searing jolt of pain that staggered him for a moment.

That moment was enough nevertheless. Verminaard caught him a vicious downcut on the shoulder, and stars exploded in front of Dalamar's eyes. Tears of pain stung his cheeks as he sank to his knees, his shoulder felt broken.

"Midnight." The darkness that fell was as deep and terrible as that the black dragon had cast on them. Dalamar staggered back, and landed painfully on his ruined shoulder. He groped out- Raistlin, where was Raistlin? He needed-

Everything was a blur of pain and darkness, broken only by the steady sound of Verminaard’s footsteps, far too close by. His foot caught on something, and Raistlin gave a renewed cry of pain. Dalamar fell heavily on his bad side. The pain was so intense he nearly passed out, rolling the other way and curling up instinctively against the agony.

The footsteps were closer now, but they were not alone.

Suddenly, blindingly, the darkness lifted. Painfully Dalamar pushed himself up on his good arm.

Verminaard was right beside him, mace raised. Between them was Goldmoon, one hand catching the Dragon Highlord's thick wrist. The darkness was gone. Sturm was shaking himself, grabbing his sword. Raistlin groaned and pushed himself up. The magic binding them was gone.

With a guttural roar of rage, Verminaad tried to throw the Goldmoon to the ground, but his couldn’t move. For a moment, she was marble, the living statue from Xak Tsaroth, her eyes burning that terrible blue. So close, Dalamar could see Verminnad’s eyes widen in fear.

Then there was Riverwind, leaping up behind the Dragon Highlord. Verminaad shoved Goldmoon away and turned, but the plainswoman caught her balance and closed again, grabbing the hilt of Dalamar’s dagger. She gave a gasp of pain, but didn’t let go, driving it in deeper still.

Verminaad fell to his knees, and Dalamar saw blood dripping from the opening in his helmet, then Sturm raised his blade and cut the Dragon Highlord's head from his shoulders.

Chapter Text

"Hold still.” Raistlin snapped, feeling Dalamar’s shoulder.

Dalamar closed his eyes, focusing on his own breath but couldn’t hold back a low cry of pain as Raistlin probed the flesh and bone. Oh, it hurt. Nuitari, please let it not be broken.

“It’s sprained.” Raistlin answered his prayer. “It’s already swelling, and you’re going to have a lot of bruising; but the bone is whole. We need to make a sling to keep it still.”

Dalamar nodded, breathing more easily. “Then I will need you more than before, we are not free yet.”

Raistlin gave him a sharp look, digging out a length of bandages from his pack. “I don’t want that.”

Dalamar smiled, wincing as Raistlin moved his arm into place, “I know, but know you are needed. You are never a burden.”

Raistlin didn’t look at him, tying off the sling. Dalamar sighed in relief as the weight was taken off his raw shoulder. “Thank you.”

“Shut up-“ Raistlin broke off, Goldmoon was there. She hesitated, one hand held out. “You are hurt, perhaps I could-“

Dalamar recoiled. “No.” He could feel her Goddess’ power from here; and he would take this pain for far longer than the few weeks it would take to heal, rather than open himself up to Her power.

Goldmoon’s mouth twisted, she looked at her hand. “I do not want to hurt you.” She said helplessly. “Goddess, why do you hurt him? Can you not speak with his God, and find some- common ground?”

“Your Goddess spent decades burning our people to death.” Raistlin sighed, hugging his knees. “I doubt today will be enough to smooth over their differences.”

Goldmoon looked at her hand again, her beautiful face torn up in misery. “You have staked your position, lady.” Dalamar sighed, pushing himself up to his feet with his good hand. “The light is a burning thing, and stepping into its glare would be far more painful that this wound. You felt my God’s power when you touched my blade.” He leaned over and pulled it out of Verminaad’s back with his good hand, wiped the blade.

Riverwind came up behind Goldmoon, and paced his hand on her shoulder. “I am here, Goldmoon.” He said softly, “I will follow, no matter where this path takes you, into darkness or into light.”

She turned, and buried her face into his shoulder. He stroked her hair and back, looking at the two of them helplessly. He was lost too. The Gods had returned, and none of them knew what that would mean. If they had met in the years before, they would have been their friends, like Horkin or Scrounger. Now- Dalamar didn’t know. Someone far more powerful than them had drawn new lines around the world, and they were staring at each other helplessly from over the boundaries, like the people after the Cataclysm, wondering where this sea had suddenly come from. He closed his eyes and sighed.

“Come on.” It was Tanis. “Flint says he knows this place, and we can find shelter here. We need to move before the dragonarmies gather their strength again.”

Dalamar sighed, and gathered himself. He got his legs under him and slowly levered himself up. Gods, his arm hurt. Raistlin steadied him, and he leaned against him. “I have you.” Raistlin stroked his good arm. “Come on.”

The road out of Pax Tharkas was far more trying that Dalamar wanted to admit. Each step jarred his arm and he struggled to stifle his groans. They had barely passed under of the gates and the world was starting to blotch out in pain.

“I still have some left over, if it would help-“

Dalamar blinked, had Lemuel joined them? He thought it was him, but his eyes were struggling with focusing. Raistlin held him still. “Here, chew this.”

Dalamar bit down obediently, and tasted the bitter tang of willow bark. “Oh, thank you.” He leaned against Raistlin, closing his eyes and trusting Raistlin to guide them.

The pain ebbed as they walked, and by the time they made camp below the shelter of an escarpment, Dalamar could move his arm a little, and the swelling was starting to abate.

They were now at the head of a small army. The men and women of Solace, Haven, and dozens of smaller villages and hamlets. They were armed and supplied haphazardly from whatever they could carry from Pax Tharkas. Most were giving the small camp he, Raistlin and Lemuel had set up a wide berth.

“Where are Goldmoon and Riverwind?” Dalamar took the bowl of stew from Lemuel, balancing it in his lap and clumsily starting to feed himself left-handed.

“They have found survivors from their own people.” Raistlin took his share, dipping bread into the stew and nibbling. “Goldmoon is the only Chieftain left amongst them, so they are trying to get them organized.”

“And where are we going?” He looked around; they were deep into the Kharolis Mountains. “Not Qualinesti?”

“No, I don’t think even Gilthanas and Laurana believe we’d have a warm welcome there.” Raistlin gave a tight smile. “Flint is leading parties to find a valley for us to winter in.”

Dalamar sighed, and rubbed his arm. It ached, deep and raw. “Probably a good idea.” He admitted. “I won’t be much good for at least a week. And we deserve a rest.”

“I doubt it’s going to last.” Raistlin sighed.

“Well, no.” Lemuel sat beside them, tucking into his stew. “But we all need to rest and get some solid meals in us. Then we can worry about other things.”

A rest. Dalamar closed his eyes, leaning against Raistlin. At last, a chance to catch their breaths. Raistlin was right that it would not be for long, but any time would be precious.

Raistlin was rolling out their bedroll, and maybe they’d have to get up early to join the search for shelter, but- it would be safe. For the first time since they set foot in Nuitari-forsaken Abanasinia, they would be safe.

Lemuel was settling beside them. He had found a bedroll from somewhere- judging by the odd size, it was probably meant for draconians, but he didn’t mind, wriggling inside and sighing in pleasure. “Oh, that’s good. After the mines, it’s as good as a featherbed.”

Their bedroll wasn’t quite so wonderful. The wards were definitely fraying, and Dalamar could feel a few too many rocks through it. “I’ll fix it up.” He sighed, rolling over on his good side.

Raistlin had his outer robes off, down to the soft red shift he wore under them. It never failed to make Dalamar’s mouth water. He slipped in beside him, so warm, so closer. Dalamar leaned in and breathed in the scent of his hair. “I love you,” He breathed.

“And I you.” Raistlin rolled over, smiling up at him, eyes veiled with white lashes. “Don’t get any ideas. I am exhausted and Lemuel is right there.”

“I’m right where?” Lemuel lifted his head, frowning at them- then realised what they meant and flushed scarlet. “Oh! I could go- elsewhere. There’s some rocks over there, I could-“

“Nothing is happening tonight.” Raistlin said firmly. Dalamar sighed. “And if anything does we will be the ones moving. Go to sleep.”

Lemuel smiled and snuggled in, Dalamar huffed. “Hush you.” Raistlin kissed him, “You are in no state to do anything anyway.”

“I might not be able to take the initiative.” Dalamar kissed him, “But you could. I could just lie here, unable to do anything, while you do everything you want to me.”

Raistlin flushed; his eyes bright. “Tomorrow.” His voice was husky. “We’ll find a quiet place, and I can show you everything I’ve been thinking of, these past few weeks.”

It wasn’t tomorrow. Or even the day after. Raistlin got up after another night spent on the too-rocky ground, and groaned. His back and hips were knots of pain, and needed Dalamar to help him up and straighten. Growing old. No. He wouldn’t think of that.

“I’ll redo the wards on our bedrolls when we find somewhere.” Dalamar rubbed his shoulders. He was smiling, but there was something in his eyes. He wasn’t thinking about it either, and it was hard work not to.

What would he do without him? The fear was a sneaking, foul whisper in the back of his mind. Dalamar seemed so strong, but Raistlin had seen the broken parts of him, the deep, deep fractures cut into his soul. If Raistlin was gone, what would happen to him? Raistlin closed his eyes and pulled Dalamar into his arms. Holding tight.

“Just ahead!” The cry from the returning scouts broke him out of his reverie. “A beautiful valley full of game! And caves enough for all of us!”

The sigh of relief from the crowd was so palpable it was as if the very mountains let out their breaths with them. Dalamar squeezed his hand. “It sounds like we may have a roof over our heads tonight, and a little privacy.”

He was smiling, but it was too forced. He was forcing it back, and it was so big it was taking everything he was not to think about it. Raistlin leaned in again, and kissed him as hard as his could, imagining sucking the foul thoughts out of him and swallowing them down.

Then he took his hand, and they set off, following the scouts towards the narrow pass between the mountains. It was rough going, the ground craggy and unstable- but that was all to the good. The harder it was to get in, the harder it would be for anyone to follow them.

And above, high above, Raistlin could see the overhanging mass of the snowcaps. Once they were in, he could make sure no one followed them.

The valley below was ice-locked and barren, but Raistlin had long since learned not to trust his eyes. He closed his eyes, feeling the faint warmth of the last few days of autumn. “What do you see?”

“A rich and beautiful valley.” Dalamar stroked his hand. “A piece of summer, the leaves of the trees still barely turned. The ground is alive with rabbit holes, and the woods with deer and wood fowl. River run clean and clear through the valley, and there is a wondrous waterfall to the north. Look.” He tilted Raistlin’s head up. “I think you can see that.”

He could. The waterfall was frozen, but even his curse couldn’t steal its beauty. Bright and shining, long icicles hanging down from the great, jagged rocks. “And the caves?”

“Over there.” A line of dark, weathered shadows in the lee of the mountains- good, they would be out of the wind. “Let’s hurry, and make sure we have the first pick.”

“Close to the trees.” Raistlin leaned on his staff, but the air was fresh and clear, easy on his lungs. “I don’t want to go too far for herbs, or firewood.”

“Maybe we can get Raist to bring down some snow.” Raistlin looked up as they passed Caramon and Tanis. “Make sure no one can follow-“

“Tell me when everyone is in, and we will do it.” Raistlin broke in.

Caramon turned, smiling in surprise at the sight of him. These past few days, he had been managing to keep out of his brother’s way. “Raist! I was just- yeah. If you could-“

“As I said, tell us when everyone is here. For now, Dalamar and I are going to find a cave,” He smiled, watching Caramon’s face fall. Nearly ten years, and he still too far too much pleasure in watching his brother flinch at the reminder.

“Raistlin.” Dalamar sighed. Raistlin followed him. “Don’t encourage him.”

“It is his problem for not getting over it. It has been the best part of a decade.”

“So long.” Dalamar gave a wistful smile, tucking Raistlin’s arm in his.

“Eight years this spring.”

“I don’t think any number of years would be enough.” Dalamar breathed, and Raistlin felt something tight clench around his heart. No. Not now.

“That one.” Raistlin pointed. It looked good, and if it looked good for him it must be perfect. A small stream ran just beside the cave, close enough for ready water but not so close that the cave would be damp. A strand of small willows stood around the entrance, giving a veil of privacy. Dalamar smiled. “Perfect.” He sighed. “Let’s move in before anyone grabs it first.”

Inside, the cave was wide, but with a nice little ridge portioning off part of it. They could have the fire at the front, letting the smoke out, and put their bedroll around the back away from the wind. “A good place.” Raistlin nodded, “For as long as it lasts.”

“Long enough, I hope.” Dalamar slid his arm out of his sling, carefully moved it in a circle, wincing.

“How does it feel?” Raistlin threw down his pack, straightening with a sigh. They also needed to work on the runes on their backpacks, they were fraying badly.

“Painful if I try and lift it above here.” Dalamar lifted his elbow even to his shoulder. “Or push it back.”

“Then don’t do that.” Raistlin felt his shoulder. “The swelling is almost gone. Don’t strain yourself and it will be healed with a week or two.”

“A week or two?” Dalamar smiled; that slow, sweet smile that sent fire down Raistlin’s spine, his cock stiffening eagerly. “So I will be quite helpless this evening. You can do whatever you want to me.”

Seven years. Almost eight. The passion was a low burning fire inside him, constant and warming, but still able to flare into a blaze every bit as brilliant as in the first weeks of their relationship. Could he have imagined anything like this, before he’d met Dalamar? “I think I saw some heather not far from the cave.” He smiled, “It might make for a better bed, until we get the runes re-done.”

Dalamar lay back on the bedroll, looking up at Raistlin. The heather was springy and felt wonderful, but he didn’t try and get into the bedroll. With the fire at the entrance and the ridge sheltering them, it was comfortably warm even like this. Dalamar unbuttoned his robes, taking his time with each of the fastenings. Raistlin was crouched beside him, the firelight playing on his face. His eyes were shining, the hourglasses wide, almost like cat’s eyes.

He lifted his shoulders up, pulling the robes down from his shoulders. His shoulder twinged, but the pain was brief and fleeting. Then he had the sleeve off, then the other. Then he was pulling his robes off all the way, kicking them off and toeing off his boots. He lifted his hips, about to deal with his underclothes- but Raistlin was there, delicate hands sliding under the fabric and easing it off.

Raistlin drew in a soft breath as the cloth slipped off. Dalamar smiled, feeling his cock slide free, hard and bobbing between his thighs. “Everything I want?” Raistlin breathed.

Dalamar smiled, spreading his thighs in invitation. “All yours.”

Raistlin licked his lips, and stood up, leaning on his staff. Dalamar frowned curiously, what was he-

“Touch yourself.” And oh that voice. Dalamar shuddered, his hips bucking, his cock suddenly going from half hard to fully, painfully hard in a heartbeat.

He gave a low whine, deep in his throat. He reached down to find his cock-

“No.” Another, more desperate whimper. “Not there.” Raistlin paused, swallowed and cleared his throat.

“Where?” Dalamar gave him a coy smile. “You’ll have to be specific.”

Raistlin flushed copper. “Your- balls.” His voice cracked. He swallowed. “Touch your balls.”

That voice. Oh that voice. Harsh and commanding and impossible to disobey. Dalamar whimpered as he reached down and cupped his own balls, rolling them. “Ah- Raistlin-”

“Slowly.” Raistlin swallowed; his eyes too bright, feasting on him. “Reach back. Push your- fingers in.”

He had the bottle of oil in hand. When Dalamar freed one hand, reaching down to the cleft of his arse, he uncapped it and pours a thin trickle over his fingers- they would have to see if their supplies included olive oil to restock-

“F-fuck yourself.” Raistlin stuttered, going even redder. “On your fingers.”

“Yes my shalafi.” Dalamar breathed, shivering as he pressed his fingers inside him.

“Don’t stop.” Raistlin’s voice so harsh, even cruel. Gods, Dalamar loved him. “Keep touching yourself.”

Dalamar closed his eyes, letting his head fall back and canting his legs up for better access. His fingers buried three deep inside his own arse. His other hand working over his balls, squeezing and rolling and teasing. His cock was pressed up against his stomach, leaking uncontrollably. “Raistlin.” He choked.

“Gods.” Raistlin panted. Dalamar opened his eyes and saw Raistlin had his hand inside his robes, his cock peeking out from between the folds, red-raw and desperate. Raistlin’s throat worked as he swallowed, stroking himself. “You are so beautiful.”

“K-keep talking.” Dalamar panted. “That voice. I love it when you use that voice.”

Raistlin’s smile was all teeth. “Beg.” Dalamar choked. “Beg me to touch you.”

“Please.” Dalamar gasped, arching his hips up. His cock ached, head almost purple with need. “Please, Raistlin, my own. Touch me. Please.”

“Call me that again.” Raistlin’s voice was husky. “That- name you used.”

Name? Oh. Dalamar grinned. “Shalafi.” He purred. “Master.”

Raistlin shivered, thumb working over his cock. “Fell free to call me that- any time you like.” He panted. “Beg me again. Tell me what you want.”

“Your hands.” Dalamar drove down on his fingers, fucking himself desperately. The angle wasn’t quite right, and that sweet spot inside him tantalizingly out of reach. Pleasure teasing and never quite there. “Your mouth. Please. Raistlin. My shalafi. Please touch me.”

“That looks painful.” Raistlin sat beside him, looking hungrily down at Dalamar’s poor, raw cock. “Tell me what it feels like.”

“It wants you.” His balls drawn up, reading to come but just out of reach. His hole slick and sloppy, his fingers struggling to reach. “It hurts, oh, I want you. Please Raistlin. Please, shalafi, my own.”

“I love this.” Raistlin breathed. “You are so beautiful.”

Dalamar drew in a breath to beg more- then Raistlin’s lips touched the head of his cock. A light, feathery kiss, so light and barely there that Dalamar almost kneed him in the jaw from shock. He keened, desperate. “Please!”

“Hold still.” Dalamar choked, almost sobbing, but Raistlin was merciless, sitting impassive until he forced himself to relax, lying back down on the bedroll.

“Please.” His mouth was bone dry. Oh, he was so close, his cock was swollen and raw and so painful. “Please.”

“Do not move.” Raistlin leaned down and pressed a line of kisses along the length of his cock. Dalamar gave a ragged cry, but managed to hold himself still. “Good boy.”

Oh, Dalamar was going to die. Raistlin was going to kill him and it was going to be glorious. Dalamar gave a weak smile. “Please. More.”

“Shh.” Raistlin kissed a circle around the root of his cock, gently tonguing his shaft, then back up. He took the head in his mouth, suckling lightly.

And that was all it took. Dalamar gave a high, desperate howl and came like a thunderbolt. His body spasmed and shook, his heels drumming on the hard cave floor as his cock spasmed and he came and came and came, in great waves rushing through him. And Raistlin- stayed, taking it, mouth soft and hot and sweet and so perfect-

And then it was gone, washed through him and leaving Dalamar wrung out and shivering, drenched in sweat. He drew his fingers out of himself unsteadily, his other hand coming up to stroke Raistlin’s cheek. Raistlin sat up, putting a handkerchief to his lips to spit out the mess. He pulled a face and Dalamar grinned. “Thank you.” He slurred.

“We are not finished.” Raistlin shook his head and opened his robes fully. His own cock was rock hard, tight against his belly. “Suck me.”

“Come up here then.” Dalamar helped Raistlin straddle him, kneeling on either side of his shoulders. Dalamar lifted his head, and Raistlin guided his cock to his lips.

Ah, Raistlin might still dislike doing this, but Dalamar had grown to love the taste of him. Musky and deep and hungry. He pulled Raistlin closer, the length sliding down his throat. Raistlin choked and shuddered. “Swallow.” He gasped.

Dalamar was never, ever going to get used to that voice. Even so utterly spent, his exhausted cock still managed to twitch, just from that. Dalamar relaxed his jaw to take him in deeper, swallowing around Raistlin.

“Oh.” Raistlin choked, hands coming down to grip his hair. “You are beautiful.” He panted. “You are perfect- more-“

He couldn’t manage his orders any more, just shuddering and panting desperately as Dalamar swallowed him down and sucked ravenously. Finally, Raistlin gave a low, rattling groan, deep in his chest, and came hard.

Dalamar didn’t spit it out, swallowing obediently as Raistlin came in hot bursts down his throat. Finally he shuffled back, and Dalamar whined in dismay as his cock slipped out of his lips. “Spoilt.” Raistlin smiled lopsidedly, and rolled over to lie beside Dalamar. “I spoil you too much.”

“You can discipline me like this any time you like.” Dalamar grinned. “I welcome your punishment. Would you like to spank me?”

Raistlin was already flushed, but he still managed to get redder. “Perhaps later.” He snuggled against Dalamar. “I think we both need a rest after that.”

Dalamar groped for his pack and found the flask of water and rinsed his mouth out before handing it to Raistlin. Raistlin nodded in thanks and cleaned his own mouth out, before wetting a cloth and starting to clean them both off.”So. Shalafi?” He said at last, smiling.

“Hmm, it seemed to fit.” Dalamar stretched happily. “I am happy to let you be my master in this.”

Raistlin kissed him, deep and sweet. “I like it. I- really enjoyed this. Did you like it?” It was almost tentative.

“So very much.” Dalamar rolled onto his side, and pulled Raistlin into a tight hug. “Thank you, my love. It was wonderful.”

“Good.” Raistlin smiled, resting his head on his chest. “We will do it again soon then.”

Chapter Text

Despite his determination not to be maudlin about it, Raistlin couldn’t avoid the fact that the wedding was making him- think about things.

Goldmoon and Riverwind were holding hands, heads bowed together. The ceremony was a confused mash up between Que-Shu tradition and the rites they had gleaned from the Disks of Mishakal.

Raistlin shook his head. Elistan had announced he would be conducting the wedding, which hardly pleased Goldmoon. They were surrounded by the survivors from their tribe, who had apparently tried to stone them the death the last time they’d met. The Pax Tharkas refugees seemed happy, but really they were just glad to have something to celebrate after their ordeal.

It shouldn’t have made sense, it should have been a disaster, but somehow, it wasn’t. Riverwind and Goldmoon were holding hands so tightly, looking at each other with such deep and desperate joy that everything around them seemed to- fade to insignificance. For all that in his eyes they were two withered corpses, the sheer love seemed to shine out of them like the sun.

It was something he knew rather well, Raistlin mused, stepping away as the ceremony ended. That fierce, ravenous love, deep as the ocean. So much a part of him Raistlin sometimes wondered if he would one day see it, if it would manifest into the world.

Perhaps he could see why people got married.

He’d always considered the act rather- absurd. Self indulgent and pointless. Oh, it was useful to sort out inheritance and paternity for children, but unless they found a very particular and specific spell, Raistlin didn’t imagine he or Dalamar were in danger of producing bastards anytime soon.

Not- with each other, anyway.

No. Raistlin shoved that thought away. And as for inheritance, well, Lunitari forefend it, but if anything happened to him or Dalamar, he doubted anyone else would try and claim what little they owned. It set a cold clench of misery in his stomach, imagining it, Dalamar gone, with only his spellbooks and his dagger left. Far too close to the memories from his Test.

But there he was. Dalamar was sitting on a boulder overlooking the valley, watching the ceremony from enough of a distance to avoid the ugly looks. Most of the refugees didn’t like to even look at him, and the plainspeople were worse. He gave Raistlin a warm smile, reaching down to pull him up beside him. “Done at last?”

“Hmm.” Raistlin leaned into him. “They did want at least one of us to be present.”

“Thank you for your noble sacrifice.” Dalamar loosened his cloak, wrapping it around both of their shoulders. The sun was gone now, and the winter cold was closing in. But they were warm.

Really, would it be so absurd? For a moment, Raistlin let himself- imagine it. Not sure a large ceremony of course, Gods no. A small gathering; them and Lemuel, Horkin and Scrounger. Riverwind and Goldmoon, if they were willing, perhaps even Bupu. Raistlin smiled. They’d probably have to get Horkin to do it, given how close he was to Lunitari, which the man would take far too much pleasure in. He might even have Caramon there; perhaps that might finally drive it home to the idiot.

There would be rings. Raistlin didn’t know how the Silvanesti did it, but it was rings in Abanasinia. He would have one make for Dalamar, in silver and obsidian and black opals. His hand came up to play with the ring he still wore around his neck. He might have that one- updated, he decided. Cover the wood in gold leaf; replace the blue stones with amber. It could still be beautiful, and he could wear it again.

It would be a mess, but- it could work. It had worked for the plainsmen, after all. They could have that too, that joy, that happiness. And people around them who would be happy to celebrate it with them. Raistlin smiled, snuggling in closer. Dalamar put his arm around him. “What are you thinking?” He brushed hair out of his face, “Happy thoughts, I think. Are you planning something for after the feast?”

“I would not be against that.” Raistlin rested his head on Dalamar’s shoulder. “But no, I was not thinking of that. No, I am being rather idiotically maudlin. Have you never imagined what our own wedding might be like?”

Something Raistlin had always been proud of was that he had always been- careful about those broken places within Dalamar. Even when they had first met, and were still feeling their way around each other, he had managed to avoid blundering into anything painful. And then later, when he’d understood the nature of his wounds, he had always worked to be gentle and tender, letting Dalamar know he had safe with him.

And now, he had completely ruined that.

Dalamar’s face paled, his body going rigid against Raistlin. His hands clenched, shaking. “Oh Abyss.” Raistlin rolled onto his knees in front of Dalamar. “Oh Lunitari, I am sorry. Dalamar. Dalamar, look at me. I am so sorry.”

“No.” Dalamar was still there, but oh, Raistlin had hurt him. That wound ran deep, and he’d had no idea it existed. Dalamar closed his eyes, took a deep breath. Tried to- patch himself back together. As Raistlin had seen him do, so many times. And this time it was because of him. “No. I am sorry.”

“I refuse to have you apologise.” Raistlin found his hands, squeezed them. “I should not have mentioned it.”

“Why not?” Dalamar looked away, lips thin and almost bloodless. “How would you know? I never- thought of it. Tried not to think of it. How would you know something I tried not to consider myself?”

Raistlin waited, but Dalamar just hung his head, trying to steady his breathing. After a moment, Raistlin released his hands, and reached out, gently pulling Dalamar into his arms. Dalamar went, pressed his head into the crook of his neck. “Thank you.” He whispered.

“I refuse to have you thank me either.” Raistlin sighed, rubbing his back.

For a moment, they just sat there, breathing together. At last, Dalamar straightened, rubbing his face. “Nuitari,” He sighed, “I hate this.”

“I understand implicitly.” Raistlin smiled, and got a weak smile back. It was probably perverse, but Raistlin was- glad they could share this too. He was broken in body, Dalamar was broken in spirit. Together, they could make each other whole, at least for a while. “If you do not wish to speak of it, you do not have to. But if you do, I am here.” He stroked Dalamar’s cheek.

“Thank you.” Dalamar shifted back, then lay back on the stone, resting his head in Raistlin’s lap. “It is- difficult to explain.”

“Is it Silvanesti?” The shudder that went through Dalamar was answer enough. “Is there some elven tradition? We could still-“

“No.” Dalamar opened his eyes, and the look on his face cut Raistlin off dead. He sighed, and closed his eyes again. “You are- correct. It is that, but we cannot do it. It is… Nuitari, how to explain it? You cannot understand.”

“I can try.” Raistlin felt needled. “I may not have experienced this, but I have some gift of imagination.”

That got him a ghost of a smile, then it twisted, bitter and miserable. “Very well. This is what- I would have done. What I should have done. What you deserve.” He opened his eyes, looking up at the sky, the dying light of the sun, the emerging stars. “I should have done it one of the nights I came to the cave, to study my books. I would have left the cave, and walked up to a clearing nearby. I would have sat there, looking up at the stars. I would-“ His voice cracked, his eyes shimmered.

Raistlin found his hand and squeezed it. “You do not need to.”

“No, I should tell you. I can’t give it to you now, but I can describe it. There is a magic in Silvanesti, a magic so old it has no name, older by far than the Orders of High Sorcery. It has no components, and no words. All it takes is to reach out and- touch it.” His hand twitched in Raistlin’s. “This is the Stardream. I would have sat there, letting the land, my home, work through me, and carry me to the stars.”

He stopped, swallowed. Gods, this was hurting him, so badly. “Don’t.” Raistlin whispered. “I do not need to know.”

“I don’t think I could ever imagine you saying that.” Dalamar pressed his cheek into Raistlin’s lap, kissed his knee. “No. Let me. I want you to understand this, and I want to say it.”

He took a deep breath. “I would dream there, among the stars, and I would see you. Before we’d ever met, perhaps even before you’d been born, but I’d know you. You are the love of my life, and the stars would sing of you to me.”

Dalamar had slipped into elvish, and Raistlin felt a prickle run up his spine at the slow, lyrical language, sweet and heavy as honey from Dalamar’s lips. He was very glad he'd taken the time to master the language from Tanis when he was young. Dalamar’s accent was strange, but he still understood.

“And I would see what I would give you.” Dalamar continued, “The quenta-para I would make for you. It would be of vallenwood, I think, and stones in gold and blue both.”

Quenta-para, star-jewel? Token? Something like that. “We give rings.” Raistlin put in, feeling like something should be said.

“I know, I saw the plainspeople giving theirs. But this is- more. Part of that magic will be caught in the jewels, and as long as you carried it, I would be with you. All my love, always.” He looked at Raistlin, “It would have made our first meeting more direct, if a little more confusing.” He was trying for a joke, but his voice trembled.

Raistlin stroked his hair. “I would love you always.” He said softly. “You know that. And I do not need jewels to prove it.”

“It isn’t just the jewel.” Dalamar sat up, speaking Common again. “It is everything you deserve. The greatest expression of love anyone can give, and I- cannot do it.” He turned away, looking east, at the distant wall of the mountains and beyond- to the homeland long gone. “Worse, I knew what I was doing.” He said softly. “I made my choice, and I cut out that magic's heart on Nuitari’s altar. And now I will love you forever, but we can never be Shalori.”

Beloved. Dalamar was right; Raistlin knew this was something he could never understand. Dalamar had been able to touch some- other form of magic, something not arcane or divine but more, something of blood and root and bone. And it had been stripped from him. “You had to choose between it and the magic,” Raistlin held him, “And you chose the magic.”

“I did.” Dalamar sighed, “As did you.”

Raistlin snorted, “It is hardly similar.” His eyes had been Par-Salian’s sadism, his cough Fistandantilus’ hunger. The only thing he’d sacrificed in the Test had been his good looks, and despite what Dalamar might say, that was hardly a great loss.

“No, I suppose not.” Dalamar kissed him, “But you would. I knew that the first time I saw you, I knew I would love you.”

It was growing dark, and the feast fires were springing up among the trees. There would be a great feast tonight, but Dalamar didn’t think he’d have much appetite. “Let us get something anyway.” Raistlin took his hand, “In case you want it later.”

“Am I really so wretched that you are offering to eat for my benefit?” Dalamar tried the joke, and it more or less worked. Raistlin smiled.

“Get us some of that hot cider they have over there, and I will get the food.” He gave Dalamar’s hand a last squeeze, and stepped away.

For a moment, all Dalamar could do was watch him go. His Raistlin. His. A slender flame of red, in the growing shadows of the evening. The firelight dancing off his staff, catching in his white hair. Sometimes Dalamar- tried to feel it. All of it, all that love. It felt too big, as if his heart would burst with it.

What a wonderful way to die. He smiled, and turned away to fetch the drinks.

And stopped.

Nuitari. Was that- but that was impossible. He ducked behind a tree, peering out to look again.

Gods, it was him. The man he’d seen with Eben. The man Raistlin had said was Irda. The man he’d been certain had been crushed by that avalanche of boulders. And yet he was here, unharmed. Eating a plate of venison and steamed vegetables.

Had Raistlin not told him what the man was, Dalamar would have thought him just an ordinary human. Grey haired, but with a young, unlined face. But- there was something about his eyes, they looked- wrong. As if someone else was staring out from behind them, as if his face was really just a mask.

Could it be a magical disguise? Tales told that Irda had strange and terrible powers, and while Amberyl had not shown much aptitude for it, this one may be more powerful- far more, if he could survive being crushed. Dalamar swallowed, heart racing.

Kill him; was his first instinct. He could justify it by the knowledge that this creature was a danger to everyone, but really, he knew the truth. He would get rid of the man because Raistlin would not be able to rest knowing this creature was loose in the valley.

Dalamar drew his dagger, then hesitated. As tempting as it was, the man was surrounded by dozens of people. If he just walked over and started stabbing, he’d getting perhaps one or two in before the shock wore off and he would be attacked. And even assuming he killed the Irda, these people already distrusted him for being a Black Robe, and what had happened with Judith, justifying their suspicions would cause them all too much trouble.

As for his magic, now he was really looking, he could feel the power radiating off the man. Alien and strange, and sending shivers up his spine. He wasn’t sure any of his spells would even work, even should he get the man to walk across a set of exploding runes.

No, this wouldn’t work. Dalamar drew in a breath, and looked back. He could just see Raistlin in the crowd, carefully picking out the choicest morsels for their meal. His heart squeezed painfully. No. He would not bring him into this. He would deal with this quickly and never speak of it to him, as he did Amberyl. Alas, this would have to be somewhat less bloodless.

Dalamar brushed down his robes, straightened up and swept his cloak back so it would fan out behind him as he walked. He set his pouches in full view, and sheathed his dagger on his hip, where it would he clear for all to see. He tidied his hair and pretended very hard that he was that terrible and monstrous Dark elf they all believed him to be, and not someone who had been having a quiet breakdown half an hour earlier.

The Necromancer. He smiled. Like from their shows.

He marched across the clearing towards the Irda. The man looked up from his plate and paled at the sight of him. Dalamar gave him a cold smile, glowering down at him and resting a hand on the hilt of his dagger. “I know what you are.” He said softly, so only the Irda could hear him.

If he was pale before, now he was livid. He shoved his plate away in a panic, stumbling to his feet. Good. “Your tricks will not work on me.” Dalamar hissed. “I see through your illusions. I know.”

The Irda backed away, and Dalamar felt a hot, ugly rush of power. It was like that, with Amberyl. Seeing the fear in her eyes, the realization of what he had come to do. “You will leave, now.” Dalamar continued, following him. “You will crawl over the mountains or into a hole, and die in the snow. I care not, but if you stay here any longer-“ He let his voice trail off, letting the Irda finish it himself.

He nodded desperately, tripped over a root and falling backwards, crawling on his elbows. Dalamar was aware of people walking over wondering what was going on, and grimace. He needed to get this done now. “Go.” He spat, “Pray I never see you again.”

He shook his head wildly, rolled over to his feet and vanished into the bushes. Heading- east, back towards the pass. It was buried in snow; hopefully he’d freeze to death on the way out. Dalamar let out a long breath, good.

Dalamar Nightson, Irda-Bane. Or, perhaps, Bane of Everything that Hurts Raistlin Majere. He smiled.

He turned, and the people who had come to see what was going on recoiled. Dalamar bared his teeth. “This is my business, fools. Pray you are not involved.”

His reputation was good for something, the people quickly hurried away, deciding that their meals were far more important than whatever Dalamar was doing.

Right, Dalamar drew in a breath. The hot cider. Gods.

Dalamar was late coming back. Raistlin shifted uncomfortably, he didn’t like being in public like this. None of the people here were fond of him.

And that was preferable, sometimes. Raistlin gritted his teeth as Caramon shuffled over. “What do you want.” He said flatly.

“I just- wanted to see if you were okay?” Caramon gave him a sideways look. “I just want to talk, without-“ he trailed off, looking to where Dalamar had vanished.

“And I have no interest in speaking to you.” Raistlin glared.

For a moment, it looked like it might work; Caramon started to wilt, then straightened, setting his jaw. “But I do want to.” He insisted. “Raist, now he’s gone- can’t you see what he’s doing? I barely know you anymore, you’re so different.”

“It’s been five years.” Raistlin cut in witheringly, “Some of us are interested in moving on with our lives. I would recommend it, brother.”

“He’s using some magic on you.” Caramon pressed. “Ever since you first met him, and it’s just been getting worse, can’t you see-“

“Enough!” Raistlin snarled- and choked. He’d pushed his lungs too far, and he doubled over, coughing.

“You see?” Caramon stepped closer and took his arm. “He hurt you, Raist. Look at you? You’re so sick all the time.”

Raistlin tried to pull himself free, but Caramon didn’t let go. His hand were so broad they wrapped easily around his upper arm, and his grip tightened, almost to the point of pain.

Raistlin stared at him, shocked, and Caramon recoiled, but didn’t let go. “I didn’t mean-“

“Let me go-“ Raistlin pulled again, and this time, Caramon did.

Raistlin wiped his mouth, tasting blood. “I just want to help you.” Caramon leaned and for the first time in his life, Raistlin realise how big his brother was. How massively strong. “It’s just getting worse for you, can’t you just listen to me?”

“Go away.” Raistlin shoved down the trembling shock inside him- not fear, he could not be afraid of Caramon- and took a step back, holding his staff out. “You have told me, again and again for eight years. It was idiocy then, and it is now. Go away.”

Caramon ground his teeth, but mercifully before he could come up with anything more, Dalamar arrived. “Ah, am I interrupting something?” He gave Caramon a look of cool distain, and the world- righted itself. This was just Caramon. His idiot, brainless brother.

Raistlin let out his breath, feeling his heartbeat slow. “Nothing that I could not recite in my sleep, by now. Was there a crowd around the cider? You have been gone a while.”

A muscle in the corner of Dalamar’s mouth twitched; a suppressed wince. Ah. “They were being unpleasant?” Raistlin tucked his arm under his. “Then let us leave, the company here is sorely lacking.”

“Something like that.” Dalamar agreed, and they set off together. Caramon looked like he might follow for a moment, but then Sturm came up, and he sagged, turning back to the feast. “But I am glad I came in time to rescue you.”

It was a joke, but Raistlin felt the world tilt a little under his feet. No, no he was just being foolish. They had enough trouble to deal with without adding Caramon of all people into the mess. “He is trying, but at least Brightblade is serving a purpose and keeping him away. Perhaps theirs will be the next wedding.” He smirked.

Dalamar smiled back, “And here I thought your brother was rather taken with that red-haired waitress, I hope she doesn’t mind sharing, or Sturm might have his head bashed in with a skillet.”

“Tika?” Raistlin blinked. Oh, she had been hanging off Caramon rather a lot. “I cannot say much for her taste, and Caramon was never the most loyal to his girls.”

“Enough about him.” Dalamar stroked his hand. “He is nothing, and I am starting to work up an appetite.”

Raistlin opened his mouth to tell him he’d packed away from potatoes and venison, and a small cluster of winter apples- but then he saw Dalamar’s smile, the hungry gaze resting on him. Ah, that appetite. Raistlin smiled, and leaning in for a kiss, letting that tender touch burn away all doubts and fears, if only for a moment.

Just a moment, in the darkness of the world. Just this, they could have.

Around them, the trees whispered.