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Evermore: The Gathering	By : RosaTenebrum Category: A through F > Dragonlance Views: 9663 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own the Dragonlance series, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 11
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- 13
CHAPTER 11

Raistlin brought his hand under the lamplight, carefully examining the clogged wound. Bad as it was, it was not infected and so there was no need to sew it up. Good. Using needle and thread with his left hand would have been a messy business.

He wetted a piece of cloth with the disinfectant he had taken from the tower and pressed it over the cut. It burned like a bitch, but he held it there for some moments without flinching and then started to wrap the hand in a fresh bandage.

While doing it, his eyes went to the little object he had unexpectedly found at the tower, glittering on the table beside him, and a smile crept into his face. What better sign that he was on the right path?

He continued with the bandage, buried in concentration, when all of a sudden a terrible, pervasive feeling came over him: the feeling of being watched. There was no shadow where a shadow should have been, but he knew all the same that someone was standing just behind him, peering over his shoulder at what he was doing.

He did not stop working; only his eyes moved to his knife resting on the table.

Some moments passed. The presence behind him made no sound, but it was cold, so cold that his breath was coming out in white puffs.

His heart was pounding. He paused, waited. Then, in a flash, he grabbed the knife like a striking snake and rounded on the intruder.

The sight he saw was so bizarre, so horrible and yet defenseless, that he almost lost his grip on the hilt and only stared at the vision, paralyzed with surprise.

In front of him, at an arm's length, stood a human girl - or at least the faded and mutilated image of what had once been a girl. She was very young, probably around eighteen, and completely naked; a mass of knotted blonde hair hung about her shoulders in a wet, tangled mess, and her hardly formed breasts were washed in dark blood running all the way down to her thighs. Her face was haggard and pale, her eyes bright and restless. There was no doubt it was the same face he had seen looking at him in the moonlight, the same face he had seen through the water, floating above him. The piece of trash elf-lover, as she had been called by her livid husband.

Frightened by Raistlin's sudden move, the girl had drawn backwards the moment he turned, raising a protective hand to hide her mangled throat. Not fast enough: Raistlin had already seen that it was slit open, a deep ugly gash like a jagged smile right under her small pointy chin. The gurgling sound he had heard in the night and the silence after it... It all made sense now.

"Are you the one who's been making noise in my room? Are you the one I've been hearing?" His heart was hammering still and he continued to point the knife at the ghost, although she did not appear all that threatening; in fact, she seemed more scared of him. The girl's mouth opened and moved, but no voice was heard; exasperated, she settled for a nod.

"What about the other one? Your husband. Is he in here, too?"

The girl's thin eyebrows rose in something like surprise and she shook her head vigorously, her eyes never leaving Raistlin's face.

"I heard someone casting magic. Was it him? Two nights ago."

Again she shook her head, adding a frantic movement of her available hand: no, no.

"Was it you, then?" And when the girl continued to gesture denial: "Someone did cast magic, I'm sure of that. Let me speak to them."

The girl huddled into herself, palpably anxious.

"Did you die from a spell? Tell me."

She was growing agitated, clamping her hand ever tighter over her throat and backing away from him.

Worried that the girl might disappear if he continued with that line of questioning, Raistlin softened his tone. "Who are you? What do you want with me?"

Now a hopeful light appeared in the girl's eyes and, taking steps towards the door, she beckoned eagerly for Raistlin to come.

"You want me to follow you? What for?"

She pressed the palms of her hands together in a pleading gesture, revealing her ghastly throat. Eyeing the wound with fascination - he'd seen his share of injuries, but this one was particularly nasty - Raistlin asked, "And where is it you would take me?"

A look of exasperation came to her face again and she shook her head from side to side, gesturing at her mouth.

"You can't speak, I can see that." He leaned back in his chair, a little more at ease but not letting go of the knife. "But I don't see why I should come with you. I don't trust ghosts."

The corners of the girl's mouth turned down into a sad pout, but the next moment she looked back up at Raistlin with a mischievous sort of smile. Blinking her eyes, she touched her palm with her lips and blew him a kiss.

"So now I should trust you?" But he could not help grinning a little. He let his hand holding the knife fall.

The ghost girl sank down to her knees before him and again made that pleading gesture. She even put out a hand, dark with dried blood, trying to grab Raistlin's, but her hand slid right through.

"All right, all right," he said, pulling away from her, "I'll follow you. But not far." He grabbed his coat and slid the knife in the pocket. "Lead the way, then."

They quit the room and proceeded along the moonlit silent corridor, the girl gliding before Raistlin without a sound, leaving behind a trail of small wet footprints, her naked body faintly glowing. He found his eyes going to her slim legs, her round little ass, all the while wondering if he was being led into a trap. A trap laid by whom? And to what possible end? He didn't have to look far for an answer. It would definitely fit Takhisis's sense of humour, or rather the lack of it, to send a naked girl to torment him.

Stopping now and then to make sure Raistlin was still following her, the ghost led him out of the abandoned floor where his room was located and down the stairs through the bottom floors. Behind the doors the other guests were sleeping; he could hear some of them happily snoring away, ignorant of what passed.

They arrived at the dark lounge and made their silent way through the rows of tables towards the door in the back. Raistlin had seen the kitchen maid Bessie emerge from there with bottles, and his hand in his pocket closed around the hilt of his knife: the ghost was leading him into the wine cellars.

She walked straight through the door and reappeared a second later, looking at Raistlin impatiently. Fine, he thought. The door could be locked, anyway. It wasn't, though, and as he turned the handle he found himself at the top of a narrow, steep stairway that plunged down between the damp walls into the darkness beyond. He gave the ghost a sideways look, tightening his grip on the hilt. "You first."

Making sure no one was following them, Raistlin closed the door and started to descend the stairs after his unworldly guide. It would have been pitch-dark, if not for the torches scattered on the walls alight with green elven fire. A wise solution, that; you could leave elven fire unattended without fear of conflagration.

The air got cold and moist as the cellar went deeper. He almost lost his footing once or twice, and he was constantly on the lookout for a stab in the back, taking nervous glances into the winding passage behind him. He descended a little bit faster to not lose sight of the ghost and called out to her, "This had better be worth my time, you hear me?" But the girl kept on going, a steady resolve in her step.

After twenty-five steps they reached the wine cellar at the bottom of the inn. Turning to Raistlin with an excited look on her plain face, the ghost beckoned to him once more and then squatted down between the large wooden casks. Lowering her head, she peered at something through the floorboards.

Not knowing what to expect, Raistlin approached the ghost warily and hunkered down next to her. She was right - there was something there under the planks. He could just make out what looked like a little rusty - "It's a key, isn't it? Is that what you wanted me to see?"
He glanced up and was startled to find the girl's face very close to his own; she was gazing at him brazenly from under her eyelashes, her lips parted into a sly smile. She wasn't bothered by her nakedness; rather, she was inviting him to inspect the obscene pose that showed off her bloodied body as she crouched there with her legs apart, her nipples hard like little pink diamonds. Coldly, Raistlin looked at her from head to foot. No wonder her husband had had enough.

He got up, half amused by the girl's discouraged expression, looking around him and spotting a convenient hammer sitting on the shelf behind him. He grabbed it and pried open one of the floorboards without so much as a glance at the girl whose eyes he could feel all over him as he worked. Once finished, he put in his uninjured hand, careful of the sharp edges, and fished out the key.

"Well? What is it?" he asked the girl, turning the key over in his hands. "Why did you want me to have it?"

She appeared somewhat sulky and unhappy now. She shrugged.

"Does it open a door here at the inn? A door to your room?" Although he could see it was not of the same kind as the key to his room.

A shake of the head. She was sitting decently on the floor now with her legs folded under her, carefully holding her hand across her throat.

"No? Another door in Palanthas then?" He had to admit he was starting to get curious.

Another shake of the head.

"Look. I'm not in the mood for games. I don't give a... I don't care what the key is. In fact, I might just put it back." He started to lower the key into the floor, and right away the girl lunged forward, frantically trying to stop him, desperation glimmering in her eyes.

He pulled his hand back out and started to rise. "I think I've had enough for one night."

In the grip of indecision, the ghost raised her eyes to the heavens, a picture of frustration. But then an idea seemed to strike her. She lifted a finger and started to draw large loops in the air.

Raistlin's expression softened, following her dancing fingers. "Is it numbers? You're drawing numbers, yes?"

She gave an eager nod and did it again, slowly and deliberately.

"One, zero, five. Is that right?"

She nodded excitedly.

"It's a year. Am I right?"

Yes, yes.

"And what about the key? Come on now, write me the answer."

She spread her hands, shaking her head. And then, just when Raistlin was about to speak, she darted a terrified glance over her shoulder and vanished before his eyes.

Perplexed, he stood in the damp cellar for a moment longer, gazing at the key in his hand. One hundred and five.

But no matter how many times he would say it, he would be no closer to the answer.
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Evermore: The Gathering