Adult-FanFiction.org : Books

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
- 12
- 13
- 14
Nocturnale
Chapter Twelve- To Command
Since were feeling so anesthetised
In our comfort zone
Reminds me of the second time
That I followed you home
-Bitter End, Placebo
Raistlin closed and locked the door behind him, then dug through his spell component pouches and traced runes of warding over the doorframe. Murmuring the incantation, he brushed his hand over the door, feeling the crackle of the magic keeping it closed. The runes he had traced glowed brightly for a moment, then faded, holding the door firmly closed from this side. If the impossible happened and he lost control, the wards would hold Fistandantilus back. While he wasn't arrogant enough to think that the runes would actually stop the lich, they would slow him down and hold at bay long enough for the human mage to regain control.
The spell finished, Raistlin stepped back and walked over to wagon's small table. The fears he had kept at bay for hours returned when he lay eyes on the bag lying on the tabletop, the cold, creeping dread, bringing with it memories of that night in Silvanesti, the icy clutch of the undead creature's thoughts.
He shook off the feelings picked up the bag, the plain canvas seeming to mock him in its ordinariness -so simple yet even he couldn't use it. He set it down beside the stand he had made to hold the Orb. It was rickety and badly made, and rather lopsided, but it would serve its purpose.
For all his scorn for foolish hope, Raistlin was unable to stop himself from trying one last time, opening the bag, willing it to show something other than darkness. As before, it was useless. The bag remained stubbornly empty and he closed it with a bitter sigh. He set it down on the stand before turning his attention inwards, his confidence belied by the cold grip of fear.
Fistandantilus' presence in his mind had died to a trickle of alien emotion behind the mental barriers he had thrown up. He could still feel the undead creature lurking there, feel the lich's emotions, muted behind the layers of thought keeping him at bay. Fistandantilus had backed him into a corner, and they both knew it. He could feel the lich's icy anticipation and satisfaction, and felt a fierce stab of hate towards the monster, momentarily distracting him from the dread creeping up his spine.

Block by block, he dismantled the barriers he had put up to keep Fistandantilus at bay, feeling the defences that had kept him safe these past few weeks fade to insignificance. Finally, unable to force back a final shudder of revulsion and fear, Raistlin pushed past them, tentatively reaching down, as he had done before, to draw on the foul lich's power.
Almost tauntingly, as soon as he approached the presence waned, the lich drew back away from him. Grimacing, Raistlin grappled and pulled back, like someone trying to recall a particularly elusive memory. Again the undead presence moved away, a mocking laugh lingering on the very edges of hearing. Frustrated and angry, Raistlin drew on his own reserves of energy to stop the lich. The creature had been so eager to take possession of his body before; well, now he was offering it to him. Still Fistandantilus' thoughts twisted and curled away, not allowing him to come close.
It was tiring, and painful -as though Raistlin had drunk something cold too fast. It shot bolts of ice through his brain until even his teeth hurt and his eyes felt as though they were being pierced my frozen arrows. Ignoring the stabs of pain, he focused his mind on the lich, trying to force him back through sheer force of will.
And in that moment, Fistandantilus struck. With his mental defences down and his whole mind bent on the task, Raistlin reeled. It was as though he had been pulling hard on a rope that had suddenly given way, leaving him collapsed on his back like a stricken insect.
With horrifying ease, the lich brushed aside the young man’s consciousness, and the world flew out of focus to such a degree that for a moment all Raistlin could see was whiteness. His body felt filled with icy coldness, as though it was a pitcher it which freezing water had been poured, until even the cold air of the wagon seemed warm against his numb flesh. Disbelievingly, feeling his muscles clenching and relaxing to a will other than his own, he watched as his hand reached out to take the bag. Of its own accord, it made to put the sack away. Then his fingers tightened as he fought his way back, struggling against the cold, dead presence. He had fought Fistandantilus before, and he had won. He would do so again. Raistlin could feel the lich's mind, the thoughts crawling through his own like so many cold, blind worms, probing and grasping, trying to break his concentration and reaffirm control. He forced himself to ignore the revolting sensation and drew his defences more tightly around his sense of self, bending his will on his frozen hands.
His fingers, usually so deft, moved clumsily as he struggled to open the bag, Fistandantilus fighting him at every step. Twice he nearly dropped it as his hands relaxed without warning, fingertips fumbling with the simple ties keeping it closed. The world blurred in and out of focus, heat and chills racking his body and the balance swung from one combatant to the other. His body felt numb and unresponsive, as alien to him as if it had belonged to someone else, occasionally twitching in random motions as the undead invasor fought against him.
It was hard, harder than he had expected. The lich's grip on his was like iron, and Raistlin feared that this time he had been the one underestimating his opponent. But slowly, slowly, he could feel the undead’s control over him starting to weaken, the first shatter-cracks precluding the coming break.
With a final jerk of his numb, shaking hands, Raistlin forced open the drawstrings of the bag, feeling Fistandantilus's frustrated rage burst against his mind like the sea against breakers.
A soft, green glow filled the room from the open bag, as soothing as it was profoundly disturbing. Even from the depths of the sack the light seemed to flicker like an unearthly green candle, or the reflection of the sun off deep water. It recalled memories of Silvanesti, of the nightmare, and despite his triumph, Raistlin couldn't repress a shudder.
As though realising he had been beaten, Fistandantilus retreated, backing away into a corner of Raistlin's mind. Quickly, before the other had a chance to regain strength, the young mage threw his mental barriers back up, locking the dead presence out of his mind. They wouldn't be as strong as they had been, but he hoped they would be able to hold the weakened lich long enough for him to use the Orb. He had taken too long to retrieve the artefact, and he would have to use it tonight. He wanted to know how to control it before they reached Flotsam, because who knew what would happen then?
Briefly, Raistlin wondered if he should open the door to tell Dalamar he was alright, then discarded that thought. He would have to disable the wards to do so, and he wouldn't put it past Fistandantilus to spring a coughing fit on him as soon as he opened his mouth. No, he had wasted enough time.
Hesitantly, he slid his hand into the bag, his skin pricking with pins and needles -although whether that was due to the Orb's magic or the residual effects of Fistandantilus' possession, he didn't know.
The Orb had shrunk. The object his hand touched was little bigger than a child's marble. The surface was smooth, slightly warm, and utterly repulsive. Raistlin couldn't understand the sudden revulsion the object invoked in him, it seemed as though everything it was disgusted him, the very touch of it sickening.
Ignoring his discomfort, he withdrew the orb. The light from it sprang out to coat the walls in eerie green, as though they had been covered with a poisonous, diseased moss. Gritting his teeth, Raistlin placed the Orb on the stand he and Dalamar had fashioned for it. It looked ridiculous there, a tiny green sphere on a rickety, badly made stand far too big for it, yet, even as he watched, the orb seemed to swell, growing until it filled the stand, all the time seeming as though it wasn't it that was growing, but everything else that was shrinking.
Raistlin shook off the feeling. It was a trick, a trick meant to keep him off balance, and between commanding the Orb and controlling Fistandantilus, he had to keep himself steady. If not the consequences would be dire.
He forced himself to concentrate on the Dragon Orb. It seemed untouched from its time in the sack and the struggle in which it had been placed there.
As though that thought had summoned him, Raistlin felt his skin crawl as the lich stirred behind the walls he had thrown up. Felt the warning prickle of cold along the back of his arms. Savagely, he pushed up the barriers keeping the undead creature at bay. No, he thought fiercely.
He was unable to keep from dwelling on the memories of Silvanesti as he examined the Orb, a twisted reminder of what would happen if he failed and was unable to control the artefact. The thought was met with scorn. He had bested both Cyan Bloodbane and the broken shell of Lorac, and defeated Fistandantilus on the lich's own terms. He could command the Dragon Orb. He had the power. He had the control.
Slowly, Raistlin forced himself to relax, keeping his eyes and mind focused on the Orb, watching the colours swirl within its green depths, the faint shadows of dragon wings seeming to reach out to him. In return, he stretched out his own hands to gently cup it, placing his fingertips on the ancient crystal.
The throat froze, as though it had been turned to ice. But he didn't cough, instead, Fistandantilus' cold claws dug into his mind, destroying his focus and shredding his control.
/"Ast bilak mioparalan/ Suh akvlar tantangusar."/
He felt his mouth shape the words of magic, could taste them on his tongue and feel them reverberate in his throat, but it hadn't been his voice which had spoken. That voice was as sharp and cold as frost-bitten razors, the vocalisation of the same voice he had heard in his mind for so long.
Fistandantilus had wanted the Orb in Silvanesti, and he wanted it now. The control was tentative, but in Raistlin’s moment of distraction, it had been enough to catch him off guard. With a wordless mental snarl, the living mage crushed the lich's control. The Dragon Orb was his, he wasn't about to lose it to a creature which didn't even have a body of his own!
Ignoring the angry clenching in his chest, Raistlin forced out the words, repeating the chant in his own voice, under his own command: /"Ast bilak mioparalan/ Suh akvlar tantangusar!"/
As if had only been waiting for him to speak, the green colour swirling within the orb was suddenly joined and swallowed by a myriad of others, twisting and whirling until they were no longer of the spectrum Raistlin knew; nameless colours, spinning faster like water in a maelstrom. The surface of the Orb became even colder, matching the freezing turmoil within the wizard himself.
He could feel the lich's longing for the Orb, for the power it offered, even as his own echoed it. He crushed the undead’s control easily, throwing Fistandantilus' mind aside as feeling rushed back into his own body, reclaiming it. But his command was as fragile as his adversary's and just as easily broken; in a heartbeat, Raistlin found himself once again expelled from his own mind by the lich, his thoughts shredded and scattered in an effort to distract him.
He and Fistandantilus were still struggling when the hands drifted out of the light congealing within the Orb. Slender hands, and it was probably his perception that made them seem so much like Dalamar's. Before he could withdraw his numbing hands from the Orb, they closed on his.
His distraction proved to be his undoing; Fistandantilus took the opportunity to strike, driving daggers of pain into Raistlin's mind and forcing control. The world blurring even as the world vanished, leaving just the hands, gripping his... Slowly drawing him closer...
Raistlin roughly shoved the lich's mind away as the undead struggled to pull back. Once in command of himself, the young mage bent his mind to the task of pulling away. Letting go was not an option, this dark place would swallow both of them whole, with not even the oblivion of death to offer comfort. Focusing his mind he pulled back, concentrating solely on the cold, tight grip of the hands on his.
And again, Fistandantilus took advantage of his focusing elsewhere to regain control, only to be thrown back again. Again and again they fought, the world sliding in and out of focus around them, their minds warring as much with themselves as with the Orb, whose hands were drawing them slowly ever closer...
Blind to the danger, Raistlin defended against yet another attack, struggling only on maintaining control of his own body, fighting off the continued, unending attacks from the undead lich. His hands were still numb from Fistandantilus' control, and it was only when feeling returned and he felt the crushing pain of the Orb's hands of him, that he became conscious the danger.
The realisation of how close he was to losing control over the Orb hit Raistlin like a dash of cold water, and he felt his shock echoed as Fistandantilus reached the same conclusion. If they lost control everything they were fighting for would be for nothing, leaving them both as destroyed and tormented as Lorac.
Unlike those of the Test and the Nightmare, this agreement went unspoken, a mutual acknowledgment of the disaster that would take them both if they didn't stop fighting each other. Minds bent to the task, they clasped hold of the Orb's hands and pulled back.
It took all of their shared willpower to force their hands back, they were so far gone. Inch by inch, step by step, they recoiled. Raistlin couldn't feel his hands as they pulled away, but whether this was because of Fistandantilus or the Dragon Orb, he didn't know.
Working together, they were more than strong enough to command the orb, and slowly the vice-like grip on Raistlin's numb hands relaxed, no longer pulling, but holding tightly in clasped acknowledgment of control. Holding him up as the exhaustion of mental combat rushed through him.
/"What are you?"/ he asked silently, /"Good? Evil?"/
He thought he heard Fistandantilus laugh in mockery, but the Orb answered, in a voice which was as featureless as its hands, /"I am neither. I am nothing. I am everything. I am the essence of dragons captured long ago."/
/"How do you work?"/ His voice was a whisper. /"How do you control the dragons?"/
/"At your command, I will call to them to me, they cannot resist my call, they will obey."/
/"And the Dragonriders?"/ Raistlin felt a jolt as Fistandantilus' voice snapped out like a whip. In his exhaustion, he'd almost forgotten the lich was there. /"Will the dragons turn against them too? Will they fall under my command?"/
/"That depends on the strength of the master and the bond between the two. In some instances, this is so strong that the rider can maintain control of the dragon. But most will do as you ask of the. They cannot help themselves."/
I have to study this, Raistlin thought, not sure and not caring if the Orb heard. He tried to push Fistandantilus' mind away, but he didn't seem to be able to focus properly.
The lich ignored his feeble efforts and spoke again, the cold voice cracking the air to icicles, /"The books, yours and mine. They are lost. Do you..."/ The thought broke off, and Raistlin realised the lich was little better off than he was.
/"I know many secrets, things lost, things forgotten."/
/"What secrets?"/ Fistandantilus demanded.
Raistlin struggled to stay awake, but he felt his grip on the hands slipping. A bolt of cold shot through him and the world blurred, the grip tightening again. The young wizard struggled against the lich, but exhaustion prevented his from even voicing his protests.
/"What secrets?"/ the undead demanded again, the last words Raistlin heard as both his tiredness and one final shove from the lich sent him tumbling into unconsciousness.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Raistlin woke up groggily. He was lying on the floor, where he must have fallen at some point. His mind felt strangely blank and for a single, brilliant moment, he thought that he was finally alone within it, that Fistandantilus' had exerted himself to the point of destruction.
But no, he should have known better than to expect the lich to disappear. The presence in his mind was diminished almost to the point of invisibility, but it was still there, and his lungs still caught with every breath -he must have suffered a coughing fit at some point, no doubt the unwanted tenant had tried to draw strength from him.
"Raistlin?"
It occurred to him that his head appeared to be resting on something.
"Raistlin? Are you awake?"
Or someone.
Slowly, Raistlin opened his eyes and stared up into Dalamar's worried eyes, the green light from the Dragon orb throwing strange shadows across his face. The human mage was again suddenly, painfully reminded of the Silvanesti Nightmare, and tried to reach up to touch the elf. His hand lifted a little way, then dropped back down. Dalamar caught hold of his hand and pressed it to his cheek.
"Are you all right?"
Raistlin smiled, and nodded, even that faint movement exhausting him. He was all right. He would have to examine his memories of his duel with the Orb later, but right now he felt nothing but an overwhelming urge to sleep.
He should have been annoyed that Dalamar had disobeyed his orders and come in, no doubt shattering the wards along the way, but he just didn't have the energy. Besides, he was unhurt and there was no one in whose arms Raistlin would rather sleep.
The rest could wait until the morning.

Only two more chapters to go until DoSD!

Skull Bearer.
- 12
- 13
- 14
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

Nocturnale