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Crepuscule	By : Skullbearer Category: A through F > Dragonlance Views: 2832 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own the book(s) that this fanfiction is written for, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 11
- 12
- 13
Dedicated to Myar for drawing my first fan art: http://www.deviantart.com/deviation/25142356/ I'm still squeeing over it.
And Chetwynd, for the great beta work.
Crepuscule
Chapter twelve- Of Traitors
And I can't seem to get it out.
Northern Soul, The Verve
Stars exploded in front of Raistlin's eyes, and the cobblestones under him seemed to sway. Still, he refused to give in to blackness, hanging grimly onto consciousness. There was a clatter as the Staff of Magius fell to the ground.
Another blow, harder than the first, and Raistlin felt his grip on consciousness weakening, starting to spiral down into darkness. A third one, and the young mage could no longer hold on. He slipped down into the dark, the draconians's rasping voice echoing in his ears.
"Take them to Lady Khirsanth."
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Raistlin came to slowly. He had blood in his mouth from a split lip, and the draconian's rough scales had scoured the side of his face bloody. He was lying on something hard, and a peculiar reptilian scent filled his nostrils, strange and dank, making his breath catch.
"I know you are awake, mage." The voice was a low purr.
The Red Robe kept his eyes closed. It was an easy guess where he was. If he couldn't see the beast, it might not affect him so badly.
Something sharp dug into his stomach, and the young mage’s eyes opened involuntarily.
He had expected to see the dragon, just not so close. The great, jagged head was mere feet 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 smiled, making sure the young wizard caught a good look at her teeth. "A pity not all your allies are as trustworthy as your little friend here."
With a visible 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.
Briefly, the young Red Robe entertained the notion of grabbing the staff and striking the dragon full in the face with it, then discarded the thought. As useful against those monstrosities as it may be, he doubted even its power could destroy the horrific creature with one blow.
As if reading his thoughts, the enormous creature idly reached out a claw and held him down, making as though to tear at the young mage. Despite being half frozen from fear, Raistlin flinched.
"Oh, do not be in such a hurry to leave." The dragon's smile said exactly the opposite. "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.
Raistlin didn't answer, the dragon's words shooting through him like a bolt of ice. The five hundred count must have ended long ago, and now Dalamar and the others were coming here, walking straight into a trap. He tried to sit up but the beast pinned him back down again. "Of course, you just 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."
The wizard lay still, struggling to force air into lungs tight with fear. He tensed suddenly as he heard voices. Already? He must have been unconscious longer than he had first thought. /'Go back!'/ he thought frantically, /'Don't come here!'/
The dragon's smile widened, looking over to where the sounds came from. /"Dulak./
Raistlin closed his eyes, expecting the dragon to leap off the pedestal and... He didn't want to imagine what would happen next. Mercifully, the creature didn't move except to cover his body with her paw. The young mage shuddered involuntarily, the pressure making it hard to breathe.
Judging by the increase of noise, the others had realised that they had been trapped. Caught in the same darkness as the dragon had conjured beside the well, they had to know now that they had been expected.
The black dragon waited, listening, as Raistlin was, to the clatter as the group climbed out of the passageway. Then she 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. He spotted Dalamar near the back, face pale with shock.
"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, foul knight of Solamnia!" The dragon roared. "Stand back or your magic-user will use magic no more!" She lifted her foot, clearly savouring their expressions.
Raistlin caught Dalamar's horrified look, silently trying to assure the Dark elf that he was unhurt. The dark robed mage gave a small nod. He was still pale, but he lunged forward to stop Caramon from advancing. "Don't move you idiot!"
The big man tried to pull free from the Dark elf. "Let him go! Your fight is with me!"
"My fight is with none of you." The dragon's foot twitched, digging one claw teasingly into Raistlin's abdomen. The young mage closed his eyes and tried to ignore the pain. He had to escape. The staff was out of reach, but now that the dragon had turned her attention to the rest of the group, he might have time to cast a spell.
The black creature seemed to read his mind, because she drove her talon deeper, making him gasp. "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 focus. To cast would be his death, he knew that much, and he would be lucky to finish it before the dragon killed him. He could feel Dalamar's eyes on him, silently begging him not to move.
The Dark elf wasn't the only one speaking to him.
The whisper in his mind was louder than ever now, clearer than it had ever been before, hissing warnings to him, not to cast, that it wasn't his place to die, that someone else would take his place.
Yes, Raistlin thought, someone will die if I don't cast, the only person who would die for me. His stomach twisted at the thought. Anything would be better than that; this is why I am casting.
The voice was softer now, asking in whispers why he should care so much for one who had told him to his face that he would be never trusted.
The young wizard didn't dignify that with a response. Instead, he took a deep breath and started the spell, /"Astol arakhkh um-"/
/"Look,"/ the whisper hissed. /"Look before you throw your life away."/
Raistlin opened his eyes. Goldmoon and Sturm were approaching, the staff clutched in the barbarian chieftain’s hand.
A new voice echoed in his mind, Goldmoon's, telling him to wait.
The Red Robe gave a tiny, unperceivable nod and lay back, letting the spell slip away. I was wrong, he thought, feeling a deep rush of relief that Dalamar would not be the one to make the sacrifice. She would take his place. All the young mage had to worry about would be getting away.
"Lay the staff down with the other remnants of mankind's folly," the dragon demanded.
"What will you give us in return for this miraculous staff?" Raistlin was impressed despite himself; the Plainswoman's voice barely trembled at all.
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. The young mage could see his own blood coating the talon. "-It is not inconceivable that Lord Verminaad -the Dragon Highlord- may view favourably the fact that you surrender the Staff."
Verminaad again, Raistlin noted, and the fact that she called him Lord meant that he was powerful enough to make a dragon wary -or was connected to those that would make one wary.
"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!"
Raistlin looked back at the rest of the group. Tanis was saying something to Riverwind, probably /priceless/ pearls of wisdom about sacrifice and other noble garbage. The Plainsman nodded. Half-elven then turned to a white-faced Dalamar, probably stating something along the same lines. The Dark elf punched him.
Goldmoon stepped forward. She didn't look afraid, instead, her eyes flashed, and, for a moment, she reminded Raistlin of the statue of Mishakal in the temple. "We do not choose to surrender!" she shouted.
/"NOW!"/ the voices cried in unison. His was no longer a whisper, it was a shout.
Raistlin threw himself off the altar, landing on his hands and knees in the dragon's treasure, groping for his staff. A blinding azure flash filled the room, followed by a low ringing noise, and he looked back in time to see the blue staff, which Goldmoon had swung at the beast, shatter. Instead of dying, as it previously had done, the light only grew brighter, engulfing the monster and Goldmoon both.
Both were burnt to ashes in moments.
The Red Robe covered his eyes from the glare and stumbled backwards, crashing into Dalamar who had been trying to reach him.
The Dark elf was pale, but also smiling. He hugged Raistlin close. "Are you alright?" he whispered in his ear, under the increasing noise.
Raistlin nodded. "Help me find the spellbook."
Dalamar looked as though he was about to argue, then nodded, probably deciding that if the human was well enough to worry about a spellbook, then he would be fine.
It was no use though; after only a few moments of searching, the young mage heard a deafening crack from above them. He grabbed the back of his lover’s robe and dragged him away as a large chunk of ceiling crashed down where they had been standing.
The two wizards looked at the gigantic rock that had nearly flattened them. Then, a hand took hold of Raistlin's shoulder and shook him.
Tanis was livid, an effect only enhanced by the spreading purple bruise across his cheekbone where Dalamar had punched him. "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 wished he knew a spell of invisibility, or some other way of getting Bupu and themselves out, while leaving the others behind to their deaths. His expression must have been clear, because the Half-elf took an involuntary step backwards. Behind him, Sturm was trembling with fury.
Finally, the Red Robe strode back to the altar, knelt down, and asked the gully dwarf to show them the way out.
Tanis lagged behind to get Riverwind, who had apparently gone catatonic with shock.
Once outside the room, it because obvious that not only the building was collapsing, but also the whole of Xak Tsaroth. Water seeped through new cracks, it was only a matter of time until the Newsea crashed in on them, and they were drowned like rats.
And Sturm wanted to /wait/ for /Tanis/?
The two wizards looked at the Solamnic in amazement, and Raistlin snarled, "If we wait we will all die, knight!"
Sturm turned on the Red Robe, 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!"
A deafening crack put an end to the shouts; one wall had shattered and water was pouring in. Raistlin was just about to grab Dalamar and flee, letting the others follow as they will, when Riverwind appeared, carrying Half-elven.
A chunk of masonry had caught the half-elf on the back of the head, and Riverwind had to carry him most of the way.
At last, they were able to leave the dying city, racing across the plaza -now knee-deep in water- and fighting their way past the panicking gully dwarves, finally heading east towards the only way out, the lift.
Unfortunately, they weren't the first to have had that idea. The lift was surrounded by a mass of draconians.
Raistlin and Dalamar looked at each other. "Sleep spell?" the human offered.
Dalamar nodded. "Sleep spell."
They waited until a new pot was in view, unfortunate gully dwarves hanging onto the chain. The draconians were fighting amongst themselves, none wanting to be left behind, military discipline withering in the face of this disaster.
The two wizards nodded and started casting. The Silvanesti’s spell put several to sleep, Raistlin's a few more. Out of the twenty-two draconians, about half were out cold.
Caramon and Sturm raced out with their swords drawn, followed by Riverwind. The Plainsman didn't even draw his sword, tearing into his enemies in a berserk rage instead.
The draconians fled.
"The lift!" Dalamar shouted, pointing at the pot. Now empty, it was beginning to rise.
Caramon grabbed hold of it and held it in place. The Dark elf climbed up and pulled Raistlin in after him, the young mage leaning out to help Bupu. Sturm lagged back; Riverwind had collapsed again and the knight had to drag him to the pot and lift him in, then doing the same with the unconscious Tanis before climbing in himself. Flint and Tasslehoff followed him.
Finally, Caramon heaved himself inside. Without the big man holding it, the pot shot up.
Raistlin collapsed inside the pot. The last spell had exhausted him. Dalamar looked little better, crouched beside him, and worst of all, they had another fight to look forward to when the pot arrived at the upper levels.
The red robed wizard couldn't stop shivering, shoulders shaking with suppressed coughs. He pressed himself closer to the Dark elf, who was also trembling.
Dalamar looked at him, obviously still shaken. "You..." he whispered, sliding one arm around the young mage's shoulders. "You are going to be the death of me."
Raistlin couldn't help but smile. "I can look after myself."
"That you can." Dalamar looked up. "Blast!"
The pot shuddered suddenly, dropping about a foot. Either my horrible bad luck or because of the draconians, the mechanism was breaking apart. What was more, two of the dragon men had just jumped down, clearly meaning to land on the pot and drive it down still further.
The human mage shot a look at the Silvanesti. "Do you have any more spells?"
The Dark elf shook his head. "That was my last, but-"
"I have strength for one more," Raistlin interrupted, "but if they see me, they might well fight it off." He pondered for a moment, then smiled. "Caramon?"
Ever-ready, the big man hurried over. "What is it, Raist?"
"I need to be able to cast a spell without being seen. Use your shield to cover me."
"Are you sure-" Caramon's argument withered under the twin scowls he received, and obediently he picked up his shield, standing over his brother.
Raistlin smiled; he could get used to this blind obedience. He reached up a hand, fighting down exhaustion, and whispered the words of the incantation, eyes locked on the first of the rapidly descending draconian. The familiar burn of magic shot through him, and the spell went off, enveloping the hapless creature in sticky webbing. The dragon man fell past them with a shriek.
The exhaustion hit him so hard that, for a moment, Raistlin wondered if someone had struck him. The young mage stumbled, struggling to stay awake. There was one more draconian coming, so he struggled to marshal enough energy to fight it off. If the creature landed, it would send the whole lot of them plummeting to their deaths.
Raistlin shut his eyes and reached into himself, drawing on the cold, dead power that had been locked inside him since the Test.
Suddenly, everything seemed clearer, sharper, more into focus. The power burnt inside him like icy fire, and the draconian, catching sight of him, obviously thought better of attacking and fled.
The stolen energy dissipated, and the young mage’s legs folded under him. He felt Dalamar's arms embrace him and sagged against the Dark elf.
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He might have passed out for a moment, because the next thing Raistlin remembered was Dalamar half carrying him out of the lift. Above them came the deafening crack of the roof starting to cave in.
"Run!" Ah, Tanis was awake. "Back to the temple of Mishakal!" The words were barely out of his mouth when the floor behind them splintered, sending the whole lift contraption tumbling into the depths.
Raistlin stumbled forwards and nearly fell again. Finally, Dalamar sent him an apologetic look and picked him up. The young mage twisted in his arms, annoyed but unable to refute the Dark elf's logic -the roof was falling in and they would move faster if he were carried. Survival over pride.
Riverwind clearly disagreed with this. The Plainsman was kneeling on the ground while Sturm and Tanis shouted at him to move.
"Come on!" Flint yelled. The dwarf was hurrying ahead. "We'll be safe in the temple, dwarven stonework like that survived the Cataclysm. It'll survive this!"
Raistlin nodded, struggling to make his thin voice hear above the din. "Yes, we will be safe there; the Goddess would not harm those held in her palm."
He thought he heard Dalamar snort, but the Dark elf didn't argue, running after the dwarf, Bupu and Caramon hurrying after them. Tasslehoff lagged behind, waiting for the others.
The walls shook with every crash, sending clouds of dust rising into the air. The human mage choked and covered his mouth, fighting down a coughing fit. When they came to the staircase leading up, he slid out of Dalamar's arms and assured the elven wizard he was well enough to make the climb by himself. Besides, the stairs were so treacherous that they would be lucky to make it as they were, never mind while carrying someone.
Climbing the steps was a nightmare. Some of them were missing and the drop beneath them had never seemed more threatening. Finally, though, they were at the top.
Raistlin stumbled away from the sagging opening and collapsed against the wall of the circular room, feeling it shake. The coughing fit he had been fighting off overtook him and he doubled over, choking up blood and dust.
Dalamar knelt down beside him, rubbing his shoulders and smiling through a mask of dirt. The young mage wiped his mouth and looked up. The Dark elf was a mess, and Raistlin knew he looked no better; they were both as filthy as gully dwarves.
The dark robed elf looked back towards where Caramon was waiting anxiously for the others to appear. "Wouldn't it be wonderful if the roof fell in while they were down there? No more Half-elven, no more plainsman or kender and, best of all, no more Sturm Brightblade."
Raistlin hid a smile. "While it would be a fine dream," he mentally winced at how thin his voice sounded, "and I would like to see the end of Brightblade as much as you do, we need the others. Alone, we would be vulnerable."
The Dark elf sighed and shrugged. "I know, but it was a nice thought."
They didn't wait to see if the others did get out. The Red Robe was still tired beyond belief, and his dark companion was no better. The room was stable and they simply curled around each other for warmth and went to sleep.
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A loud scream from above shocked Raistlin awake. He looked around, disorientated.
Sturm and Tanis were arguing, and Riverwind was nowhere to be seen.
"What's going on?" he whispered to Dalamar. The Dark elf seemed more alert, and the young mage guessed he had been awake for a while.
"I think the Plainsman's just joined his chieftain," Dalamar answered in a low voice.
Raistlin looked at the Silvanesti, suddenly remembering those few, awful moments where he believed the one meant to die was his lover, and his own death wish. So, Riverwind had made the same decision. Silently, he stood up, one hand on the Dark elf's shoulder to bid him to follow, and started towards the doors.
Tanis beat him to it, storming out into the temple, screaming and raging at the gods that had let this happen.
More quietly, the two mages followed, joined by the rest of the companions. They stepped forward a few feet, and then halted, stunned at the sight before them.
Riverwind was kneeling before the statue of Mishakal. Lying on the pedestal, was Goldmoon, unharmed and fast asleep, with an amulet around her neck. The same amulet they had last seen adorning the statue standing above her.
Dalamar closed his eyes and shook his head. Clearly, the Dark elf had seen enough miracles for today. Raistlin was in full agreement; the only miracle they needed now was that of a full night's rest.
Goldmoon opened her eyes, reaching out to touch Riverwind's face. She sighed, then stood, looking around at them, then down at the necklace around her throat. "I am a true cleric now," she murmured. "I am a disciple of Mishakal and, though I have much to learn, I have the power of my faith. Above all else, I am a healer. I bring the gift of healing back into the land."
She reached out again, touching Tanis' face and whispering something Raistlin couldn't catch. He might not be able to hear the words, but they sent a shiver up his spine. Dalamar's hand tightened on his shoulder.
Whatever she said, the results were obvious: True healing. Half-elven had been badly hurt during the mad race out of Xak Tsaroth, yet now he stood unharmed.
"A cleric," Dalamar said softly. "But this Verminaad is a cleric too, and a powerful one if he can cow a dragon. I hope there is something in those disks that can help us, or else we've risked all this for nothing."
And no spellbook either, Raistlin thought grimly. He was going to have a few words with Caramon over that.
Goldmoon nodded reluctantly. "You are right, I am not a warrior. I am a healer. I do not have the power to unite the people of our world to fight this evil and restore the balance. My duty is to /find/ the person who has the strength and wisdom for this task. I am to give the disks of Mishakal to that person."
There was a long moment of silence, then...
"Listen," the Dark elf whispered hoarsely.
Horns. Horns on the wind. The shrill braying of war.
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"I wish my task was as clear as the Plainswoman's," Dalamar said idly, sitting down on a hillock. "Sometimes I have no idea what I'm meant to do here."
Raistlin smiled and sat next to the Dark elf. It was late, they had left Xak Tsaroth as quickly as they could and were now setting up camp for the night a good few leagues from the place. "That is our freedom, to do as we will. Goldmoon's task is a restriction, not a blessing. But if you like, I'll give you a task: To learn as much magic as is mortally possible; scare, annoy, and otherwise disconcert our highly annoying companions-"
"-And make you scream all night long," Dalamar finished.
Raistlin laughed despite his weariness. "There is that."
The dark robed wizard grinned, wrapped an arm around his lover’s waist. A pity they was so little privacy, Raistlin mused. But even if there was, he doubted he'd have the energy anyway.
He pressed a kiss against the Dark elf's temple anyway, and was rewarded with being tugged a little closer.
"Tired?"
Raistlin closed his eyes and nodded, stifling a yawn. He was tired, tired enough to fall asleep quite happily there and them. He lay his head on Dalamar's shoulder and the Dark elf kissed his neck.
"At least do me the favour of sleeping in my arms," Dalamar whispered against his skin.
"Since when do I sleep anywhere else?" This time he was unable to withold the yawn, which set his lover off in turn.
The arm around the young mage's waist tightened, "Bed."
Raistlin nodded, and helped Dalamar unpack the bedroll before sliding inside, only bothing to pull his boots off in the process. While he prefered sleeping without clothing- his robes tended to get tangled and it was always nicer when both of them were naked anyway- it /was/ getting cold and he was too tired to be bothered with getting undressed.
The Dark elf followed his lead and curled up next to him, chest to back, one hand around Raistlin's waist.
"I love you," he whispered.
The Red Robe smiled into the dusk, one hand closing over his lover’s. "And I you."
"Don't leave me."
"Never."
One last kiss, on the nape of his neck, then Raistlin closed his eyes and drifted off.

Skull Bearer.
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Crepuscule