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Nocturnale	By : Skullbearer Category: A through F > Dragonlance Views: 1934 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
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
If anyone other than Chetwynd, Shadow Valkyrie, Lord Eantr Jay and Halo Kitty is reading this fic, could they please tell me what they thought? I'd hate to think I was writing this for nothing.
To the few who did review, thank you so much, and I hope this chapter is as good as the others.

Nocturnale
Chapter eleven- To Delude
As they dance under the moon they bring doom
He calls her friend and says he'll change
She calls him friend and he deceives again
-Raistlin and the Rose, Lake of Tears.
The end of the tension between the two mages had its own ramifications. It was harder to keep up the sham-fight they put on for their audiences, and to hold up that same illusion in public -Raistlin doubted their audience would pay (or bet) as well if they thought the two so-called rivals were actually sharing the same bed. More annoyingly, the Red Robe was suffering unwanted attention from a completely unexpected source: he had hoped his treatment of Caramon during the dream had been enough to cure his twin of his insufferable attitude, but apparently not. Despite Tika's insistence and his own antagonism, Raistlin found himself once again plagued by his brother's brainless attentions.
No doubt Caramon had been delighted at the rift that had opened between his twin and the Dark elf, although any attempts at approaching Raistlin during that time had been met with a vicious snarl and a few well chosen verbal barbs. The human wizard was particularly satisfied with the one where he cuttingly asked his brother if, now he'd satisfied himself with the barmaid, he wanted to vent his 'attentions' on his brother too. Caramon had gone green and fled the room.
Despite the distance Raistlin was determined to maintain, he had no doubt that Caramon was hopeful he and Dalamar would remain apart, and been accordingly stung when the two mages decided to reconcile.
The smaller twin had been treated once again to the old spiel from his brother, something he had hoped had been left behind in the ashes of Solace. Yes, he was in love with the Dark elf. No, it wasn't infatuation. No, it wasn't any form of blackmail. No, he wasn't enchanted! If Caramon tried /anything/ to sabotage the fragile bridge he and Dalamar had built across the rift between them, the outcome would not be pleasant. Because it was a bridge, Raistlin saw no point in deluding himself on that point. His relationship with the Dark elf was shaky at best, and would remain so for as long as the human kept his unwilling silence.
He had been successful in shutting Fistandantilus out of his mind, but little else. Although the lich no longer had to strength to control him, he was still powerful enough to break down his mental barriers and force a coughing fit if Raistlin tried to speak about what had happened in Silvanesti -and in his Test before that.
The worst part was that Raistlin didn't think he would be able to change this for some time, because as much as he hated to admit it, he needed the lich. Or more precisely, he needed the Dragon Orb. Even without the memories of Tarsis, it was obvious that without the artefact’s aid he and Dalamar would almost certainly not survive this war. And the only way of getting the Orb was through Fistandantilus, there would be no retrieving the artefact without the lich's assistance-willing or not.
Still, Raistlin held out hope. Fistandantilus' power was waning, that much was clear. Before, the lich had been powerful enough to strip his mental defences to ashes and control him like a puppeteer, but now he could do nothing but lurk on the fringes of his mind, saving his strength for when the Red Robe threatened to divulge his presence. He would be able to command the undead presence, to retain control and force Fistandantilus to retrieve the Dragon Orb. He had held control this long until even the coughing fits the lich forced on him were not as strong as previously.
The human had caught himself wondering on occasion if Dalamar might be right, if Fistandantilus' power in the Silvanesti Nightmare had been directly leeched from the enchanted land. It would certainly explain why the undead creature was weakening, and hopefully it would continue the further they went from Silvanesti. Which was likely to be a long way.
Raistlin finished packing his bag, and looked once again around the room he and Dalamar had shared over the last month, making sure he hadn't left anything behind. They were leaving in a moment, and the last thing he wanted was to realise he had forgotten something. An exploration of the curtains revealed nothing, as did a check of the draws. A look under the beds disclosed nothing but dust and a minor coughing fit. He choked, swallowed hard, and sat up. He had already stripped the beds, which left -nothing. Despite this, Raistlin could suppress the nagging feeling that he was leaving something behind.
He smiled ruefully; perhaps what he was leaving behind was the place itself.
Aside from the tension between himself and Dalamar, the last few weeks had been uniquely pleasant ones. The performances had been as entertaining to enact as they had apparently been to watch, and being looked at with something other than dislike by someone who wasn't his lover (Caramon didn't count) was rather refreshing. Besides, the duels between he and they Dark elf may have been an act, but they were good practise for the real thing. The irony of practising their spellcraft literally under the noses of those who they would be fighting was not lost on Raistlin, and he often hid a smile at the sight of draconians in the audience. If only they knew...
The door opened and Dalamar poked his head in. "We've left nothing downstairs and the others are all getting ready to leave, so..." He waved him over.
Raistlin slid his pack over his shoulders and got up; it was pleasantly light, holding only his spellbooks and spare spell components since all their provisions were already downstairs. Picking up the Staff of Magius, he followed Dalamar down the stairs to the taproom where the others were waiting. Their appearance prompted a burst of spontaneous cheering from the patrons, all of who had watched at least one performance of 'The Red Wizard and the Necromancer' -as their show had been dubbed. He rolled his eyes at the standing ovation, while the dark-robed elf gave a slightly mocking bow.
Raistlin glanced around the room, and noted two were missing. "Where are Caramon and Tanis?" he asked Goldmoon.
"Gone to get the wagon," she answered, glancing over his shoulder towards the street outside.
The Red Robe nodded and turned away. Tanis had made good of his wish to purchase a wagon, and he certainly wasn't about to complain since he and Dalamar would be the ones sleeping inside it. The others would do so in a gaudy pavilion outside, and for that privacy, Raistlin would have gladly paid twice his share. They could afford it anyway; even after buying enough horses for each of them, they'd had enough to buy provisions to last them the weeks it would take them to get to Flotsam. They would continue to perform during their travels, so he had no doubt that by the time they reached the port city, they would have enough steel to buy passage to /Tarsis/ if they wanted. Finding a ship was also looking much easier now, with the help of pig-face William, who had given them a letter of recommendation to a sea captain he knew who was reliable, would be in port around this time, and affordable.
The rattle of wheels on cobblestones and the clip of horse's hooves heralded Tanis's arrival and they filed out to meet him. The wagon prompted loud cheering by those who had come to see them off -most of Balifor, it seemed-, but Raistlin just rolled his eyes. Caramon had /insisted/ on wearing that stupid bearskin suit, saying it would amuse the children. It did, but the wizard hardly shared their opinion. /He’d/ be the one sitting with the lout, after all. Still, at least he'd managed to convince his twin to wash the outfit, saying that the smell of the bear would panic the horses. So now the large man just stank of cloves instead. The horses didn't mind, but everyone else did.
With a sigh, Raistlin scrambled up to sit on the roof of the wagon, trying to stay upwind of his brother. Dalamar climbed up next to him, grimacing at the smell and covering his nose with the sleeve of his new robes. There had been enough money to buy all of them new clothing -for which the human wizard was thankful. It was midwinter now and though they would be travelling north, the chill air was biting even through his thick robes and cloak. The others climbed on after them, it had been decided they would all ride out together, and with a resounding cheer from the people of Balifor Caramon flicked the reins and got the horses moving.
As the wagon rattled into the more open thoroughfare, the wind became colder still, a fierce southern one blowing up from the Icewall. Raistlin shivered and leant against Dalamar, and the Dark elf put am arm around him. The two mages looked at each other for a moment before looking over at the astonished crowd, all of whom had been under the impression that the two mages hated each other. Perhaps in order to convince the doubters of just how wrong they were, the elf pulled his companion in for a blistering kiss that melted the cold and turned the biting wind into a warm summer breeze.
Raistlin smiled. "Exhibitionist," he whispered against the Dark elf's burning lips.
"Always." Dalamar grinned, hugging him tightly.
The human let him, nuzzling the gap between the clasp of the elf's cloak and the collar of his robes, pressing a kiss on the sliver of skin between them. He had missed this so much in the first few weeks, before mutual need had drawn them back together.
With a jolt the wagon picked up speed, clattering over the cobbles to the whoops and cheers of half of Balifor; kender, humans and all. They were actually accosted by a draconian at one point. They had all tensed as it strolled towards them, but it only wanted to know if they were passing through Bloodwatch, and if so, if they could put on a show for the troops stationed there. They all smiled and nodded, and Raistlin had a feeling he wasn't the only one making a mental vow never to step inside Bloodwatch for as long as he lived. He still remembered first few nerve-racking performances when the draconians had come to watch, unable to stop wondering when they would be recognised. Mercifully, it had never happened, but none of them wanted to tempt fate.
Finally, they reached the city gates and climbed down to bid William farewell. The pig-faced innkeeper hugged each of them, although he seemed selectively blind to Dalamar's presence and retreated when he saw the 'don't even think about it' look on Raistlin's face. To make up for it, he hugged Tika twice.
They didn't all get back on the wagon, instead, Tika and Caramon climbed on to drive, and the others mounted up on the horses Tanis had picked out. Raistlin mounted a chestnut palfrey and Dalamar a grey mare, and followed the others out of the main gate and up the northern road.
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By all the many and varied way they had travelled -by foot, by horse or even by griffon-, Raistlin decided the weeks spent travelling north from Balifor were by far the most luxurious. The wagon might be cramped and the bunk he shared with Dalamar small, but it was warm and the privacy was wonderful. They also had the option of staying inside as they travelled, something infinitely more preferable than riding in the freezing winter air.
Raistlin spent a long time analyzing the enchanted sack in which the Dragon Orb was hidden, hoping against hope that he could find some way of retrieving the artefact without calling on the lich who still lurked on the edges of his mind. Unfortunately, it appeared his initial assumption had been the right one: There didn't seem to be a way of retrieving the Orb without the assistance of the one who had put it in there in the first place. Raistlin had been able to break the seal that prevented him from putting his hand in, but this simply made it impossible to find the Orb. He could fumble inside it as much as he wanted, and be unable to lay his hand on the artefact. Bitterly he cursed the dead Lorac for enchanting such an effective thief's tool; no doubt it had come in very useful when the elfmage had stolen the Orb from Istar.
Raistlin had told Dalamar as much as he could about the Orb and the bag that held it, and the Dark elf was certainly bright enough to fill in the gaps himself. He knew that his companion couldn't get the Orb out, and that to do so he would have to recall whatever had happened to him in Silvanesti. Needless to say, he wasn't particularly pleased with this information, and Raistlin's reassurances that he would be in control didn't really convince the elf. Still, he knew as well as the human did that they needed the Orb if there were to have any chance of coming out of this war alive, although he had put forward a rather intriguing suggestion: If Raistlin was successful in controlling the Orb (the possibility that he might fail had been carefully ignored), could he possibly use it to banish whatever it was that still lurked within him? The thought that the artefact could be used to destroy Fistandantilus, or at least force the lich to leave, had no occurred to Raistlin, although he had to admit it was a tempting thought. After all, the Orb's power had been able to reshape a whole land; surely its powers amounted to more than simply controlling dragons?
Surely it would be more than worth the risk?
Had Raistlin been the only one in danger, he would have taken the chance, but whatever worries he had for himself, they were completely eclipsed by his fears for the Dark elf. Fistandantilus would welcome the chance to attack Dalamar, if only to hurt and weaken his host. If the lich managed to slip his control, the dark-robed wizard might well be his first target.
Raistlin wasn't ready to risk that yet. He still harboured the fleeting hope that he might yet break the enchantment on the bag and retrieve the Orb without risk to either of them. But even if it failed, the longer he held Fistandantilus back the weaker the undead would be, and he would need every advantage he could get.
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The weather grew milder as they travelled north, performing at the many villages along the way and gathering a substantial amount of coin. The weeks were the most peaceful and pleasant Raistlin had enjoyed since he had left Solace all those years ago. Travelling in the warmth meant that his health had improved, and the privacy allowed himself and Dalamar more time alone.
Even Caramon wasn't as irritating as usual, although that was probably because he was hardly ever there. Dalamar had mentioned that his twin had started up a relationship with the young barmaid Tika. Raistlin had snorted and remarked that anything that kept his twin away was fine by him. The barmaid disliked both of them intensely and did everything to keep Caramon away from them, for which the smaller brother was thankful. It was ironic, he mused, he had honestly thought that Caramon would be glad when he realised his twin didn't need him anymore, and could spend more time with his friends instead of hanging on to him like a limpet. Raistlin shook his head; it had taken the big warrior seven years to realise this and he still looked at the Red Robe as though he thought his brother was going to complain. If Raistlin didn't know better, he would have thought his brother had only taken up with Tika to make him jealous.
He shrugged, it hardly mattered now.
The road they had taken had been slow and meandering, with frequent stops to perform at various villages. They had actually stayed two nights at the small town of Brightfield, and three at the larger Patience. Tonight was to be their last performance, in a small village hidden in the forests that bordered Flotsam, a village so small it only appeared as a small dot on even the most detailed map they had. Tomorrow they would enter Flotsam, and Raistlin knew he had run out of time. His efforts to open the bag had come to nothing, and if he waited any longer he would forfeit the privacy he needed. Tonight would be the last chance he had of retrieving the Dragon Orb, and if he had to call on Fistandantilus' assistance, then so be it.
Despite his conviction, it was with a marked hesitance that he put down the bag which held the Orb, unwilling to admit defeat. With a sigh, he got to his feet, drank a sip of his tea, and picked out the gaudy outfit he performed in. They were his old robes, thin with long wear, but Tika had sewn patches of satin on the poor cloth, and in the right light it seemed as though he were wearing robes of flickering flame.
Dalamar smiled and pulled on his own outfit. Again, Tika had made it from a set of his old robes. They'd been a Nameday gift from Raistlin from their first year together and they were worn to holes. The former barmaid had cut the battered cloth to tattered ribbons, and sewn white skulls and bones over the obvious holes and faded patches. Personally, Raistlin thought it looked ridiculous, but the Dark elf reminded him that unlike them, the villagers had no idea what an actual necromancer looked like, and since Dalamar was supposed to be one, he may as well make it obvious. Besides, however absurd the robes were, the overall effect was good. The thin shreds of the fabric seemed to float when the Silvanesti walked, and he actually looked quite menacing. Not to mention that Dalamar looked good in /anything/ and this was no exception. Raistlin wasn't the only one with this opinion; he had seen several women shooting glances at the Dark elf.
The human mage jumped as Dalamar kissed the back of his neck gently, tucking his white hair under his collar to keep it out of the way. "They'll be waiting for us to start, best to leave soon."
Raistlin nodded, picking up his staff and mug before wrapping his cloak around his shoulders. The night promised to be a cold one and he didn't want the performance marred by a coughing fit, not to mention that it wouldn't help what he planned to do later... He pushed the unwelcome thought out of his mind. Not now. This could be their last hour of peace, he wouldn't have it ruined.
The performance took place in the place the villagers proudly termed the main square, a battered patch of ground surrounded on two sides by trees, and by cottages on the others. As the two mages were to come on last they took a seat in the shadows, out of sight and watched the others do their acts.
First on was Caramon, dressed once more in the bearskin suit -the smell mercifully muted after weeks of travelling. The big man stomped into the circle of firelight, snarling playfully at benchful of dirty-faced children who shrieked and giggled in excitement. The warrior walked over to the children, took a firm hold of the bench they were sitting on and lifted it- children and all- into the air. The crowd gasped and cheered.
Raistlin sighed, leaning against Dalamar and taking a sip of his tea. The Dark elf put his arm around him.
Caramon's act ended, and it was Tanis' go. The Half-elf called everyone over to the shadows away from the firelight, where he had set up three archery targets. The crowd gasped as he asked for three brave volunteers to stand in front of each. After warning them not to move, he moved back three hundred paces and took aim.With his keen eyesight and bow skill, Half-elven had no trouble hitting the targets, striking them sometimes only a hairsbreadth away from the person. The crowd screamed and cheered.
"What would he do it he missed and hit the person, do you think?" Dalamar asked, lazily stroking circles around Raistlin's collarbone.
"Apologise profusely and call Goldmoon," the human answered, "who would then turn the whole thing into a sermon to get more worshippers."
The elf smiled and chuckled. "That, I'll grant you."
As though mentioning her had been a summoning, Goldmoon stepped up as Tanis' performance finished. Riverwind was with her as usual, and Raistlin was glad none of the Dragonarmies were attending this performance. The Plainswoman's songs were invariably about the old Gods, and the mage had spent the last few performances on edge, wondering if this would be the night they would be arrested for fermenting dissidence. Mercifully, it had never happened.
Once Goldmoon finished, Tika stood up to take her place and Riverwind struck up a more rapid beat, Goldmoon joining in on a lute. The former barmaid started dancing to the music, dressed in an outfit which Raistlin imagined would leave nothing to the imagination of those watching. The girl’s dancing was greeting with loud cheers and wolf-whistles -mostly from the menfolk.
Raistlin glanced up at Dalamar, and was relieved that the Dark elf wasn't even pretending to look interested. The Silvanesti had an annoying tendency to eye up supposedly pretty women, particularly if he thought it might rile up his lover. At least he wasn't bothering with that this evening.
Tika bowed as her act ended to tremendous applause. Then it was the mages' turn.
Dalamar grinned at Raistlin, kissed his forehead, then got up and stalked into the circle of firelight. An excited hush fell over the crowd as the Dark elf glowered at them, flickering light wreathing one outstretched hand.
The Red Robe had to admit Tika knew what she'd been doing when she'd made Dalamar's robes: the white patches on the elf's robes caught the firelight and glowed like lanterns in the dark fabric of his clothing. Silently, the elf turned to him and beckoned.
Raistlin drank the last of his tea and stepped out of the darkness. His robes glittered as he moved, and unlike Dalamar he kept his hood down, throwing his features into shadow.
Neither of them spoke -there was no need, their reputation as rivals had preceded them. They had discussed the performance several times beforehand. It was to be their last one, so it was only fair if it was their most spectacular.
Dalamar moved first, lifting his arms as he shaped the first of the spells of illusion, and on command, greyish-white shapes started to materialise in the trees. Raistlin hid a smile, for all that the Dark elf hated undead, he could create illusions of them that could fool a real necromancer. The human mage raised his hands to make a show of defending himself from the 'wraiths' that were even now swooping out of the trees, their translucent faces locked in grimaces of agony. He couldn't quite repress a shudder, the illusion was good, very good, and it served as an unpleasant reminder of what was waiting for him after this performance.
Again, Raistlin tried to put the thought out of his mind, forcing himself back to the spell he was trying to cast. /"Khalayan anak corak elak emas!"/
A despairing shriek filled the air as shimmering golden bolts shot towards the wraiths. Raistlin was impressed, he hadn't realised that Dalamar would create illusionary sound as well as sight. The bolts struck home, and the undead disintegrated at a touch. The Red Robe raised his hands and brought the bolts around, sending them flying towards his opponent instead.
The Dark elf snarled, conjuring silver shields out of thin air; when the bolts struck them, both shield and bolt vanished. With a bitter curse, Dalamar leaped into the shadows, tearing off one of the skull patches on his robes and throwing it at Raistlin, flicking his wrist to shape the illusion. The crowd gasped and a few children screamed as the patch transformed, twisting into a real skull, it's jaw dropping slackly open as it flew towards Raistlin, revealing razor-sharp teeth.
The human mage took a step backwards, affecting fear before weaving strands of magic into a suitably fancy shield to block the illusion. The glowing white shield was only half-finished when, as planned, the bolt struck home. It felt as though he had been caught in a blast of winter air, and Raistlin swallowed back on the tightening in his chest as the illusion dissipated and he let himself slump to the ground.
Dalamar's howl of manic laughter almost drowned out the gasp from the crowd, all of whom were on the edge of their seats.
Slowly, affecting great pain, Raistlin staggered to his feet; a quick cantrip made it look as though smoke was rising from his robes, while a command to the illusion changed his robes to appear suitably tattered and burnt. The effect of casting was starting to tell, so he whispered a few words in the language of magic and the illusion changed again, a shimmering spear he sent flying at Dalamar, followed by a hail of magic missiles. The Dark elf blocked them all, and sent back a bolt of ice. A quick shift of the illusion and the human was surrounded by a wall or roaring flame. Obediently, the bolt melted and hissed into steam. The intense concentration of maintaining the illusion made everything seem distant and dreamlike, until nothing was real except the trancelike delight of the magic. He barely saw the illusion, and when thinking back on it he could almost think he saw the magic itself in its pure form, untouched and unshaped.
Fireballs flew and burst, terrible dragons tore at each other, fiends appeared and disappeared in the blink of an eye. All the while the audience was screaming and cheering. Finally, Dalamar slipped, stumbling over his cloak and Raistlin was on him, blasts of fire and ice striking him, and the Dark elf screamed. The terrible howl torn through the magic-trance the human was in, shocking him back to the real world. He was unable to repress a chill of dread, even though he knew better than anyone did that the Dark elf absolutely fine. But still, as the Silvanesti crumpled to the ground, he had to fight the urge to run over and check if the Dark elf was fine; instead, he focused on maintaining the illusion, making it look as though Dalamar's body was crumbling to dust before vanishing utterly.
Raistlin shoved back the sudden panic gripping him, losing his grasp on the spell. It was an illusion, he knew that; Dalamar was invisible, as they had decided beforehand. But still... it had been just a little too real, it little too close to home. Memories from the Silvanesti Nightmare returned and he had to fight the urge to reach out and check if his lover was really alright.
As if in answer to his fears, Raistlin felt a light touch on his shoulder, Dalamar quietly reassuring him. The red-robed wizard forced a smile for the now cheering crowd and bowed, before doubling back to the bench and gathering his mug, leaving the others to collect the night's earnings.
Once safely out of sight, Dalamar reappeared, completely unharmed. "Was that so hard?"
Raistlin smiled sadly. "Would you find it easier?" he retorted, lifting his head for a kiss.
The Silvanesti took his time. He cupped Raistlin's chin with one hand and slid the other around the human mage's waist, then slowly leant down until his lips brushed his lover’s. He paused for a moment, sharing breath, their tongues flicking out to touch, to lick over each other's lips.
Raistlin straightened and his mouth closed over the Dark elf's, hands curling around Dalamar's head and holding on tight. He shut his eyes against the memory of the past and the fears of the future, melting into the Silvanesti’s arms and letting his presence block out everything.
"Are you alright?" Dalamar breathed against his lips.
Raistlin didn't answer, instead leaning against the elf, burying his face in his lover's patched robes. The cold dread returned, coiling tightly around his heart. It seemed so unutterably foolish to even think about what he was planning. Was the Dragon Orb worth risking not only his own life, but also Dalamar? If it had simply been his... he had faced as much during the Test. But this was his friend’s safety, and worse, he couldn't even explain the risks!
As if he had read his thoughts, Dalamar titled his face up and looked down at him. "Don't do this," he murmured. "You don't want to. I don't want you to-"
"I have to," he answered, his voice harsher than he meant it. "You remember Tarsis, you remember the dragons." -You remember what it felt like to think we were both going to die-. "How would it have been if we had the Dragon Orb? To be able to command the dragons ourselves, to make them stay away, or attack their own, or /anything/ we want. With it, we have the best possible chance of surviving, without it... we know better than anyone what we are up against."
Dalamar's face had that shuttered look he had when he knew he was losing an argument. He nodded and sighed. "Yes, I'm not disputing that, but-"
"There isn't another way; we won't be able to retrieve the Orb without-" Raistlin felt his throat clench warningly, and swallowed, "-without assistance."
Dalamar nodded stiffly. "You are decided then?"
The Red Robe just looked at him, then reached up to touch the elf's shoulder as Dalamar leant in and nuzzled his neck, whispering against his hair, "Such a risk though, and I don't know the half of it."
Raistlin carded his fingers through the Dark elf's hair, fingers snagging on the knots. "You will," he whispered. "I swore to tell you and I will."
Quietly, they walked back to the wagon. All was silent, the others were staying the night in the village and no one was about.
The Dark elf made to go in, but Raistlin barred his way. "Stay outside, Dalamar. Whatever happens, don't go in."
The Silvanesti hesitated, questions obvious on his face, but he didn't speak them. Instead, he sighed and kissed Raistlin's forehead. "Nuitari walk with you," he whispered against his skin.
Raistlin was forcibly reminded of the Dark elf's same words when he had taken the Test. He held the Dark elf tightly and returned the blessing, "And with you."
Dalamar hugged him back, then released him with a thin smile.
Raistlin opened the door and paused before stepping in; he wished he could warn his companion of the danger, and railed against the control he had yet to regain. Instead, he swallowed against the tightness in his chest and spoke hoarsely. "Make sure nobody comes in."
With a final, grim smile, Raistlin shut the door behind him.

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