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Red on Red	By : Sylviana_of_Qualinost Category: A through F > Dragonlance Views: 4499 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Dragonlance or any of the characters. DL belongs to Wizards of the Coast and Weis and Hickman. No money is made from these installments.

Chapter List
- 12
- 13
Chapter 12: Attacks and Confrontations

Silviana was sweating profusely under her cloak despite the late autumn chill. The morning was a bright one, with the sun swiftly rising and making the leaf strewn forest appear unbearably lucid. Or perhaps it was her over heightened imagination which made every little detail stand out vividly to her eyes. She still could not believe their luck, that everything should go off without a hitch like that. Perhaps there was something they had overlooked, something that she should be painfully aware of. Raistlin too worried her. She knew that of necessity all the information that was passed among their small group was brief as to avoid the revelation of their plan to their captors, yet Silviana got the distinct impression that there was more that the young mage was holding back from them all.

So be it, she thought. Now was not the time to contemplate what it might be. They were getting close to the usual place of ambush now, or so she gathered, as Loft had been slowing down his pace for some time and eventually came to a halt, motioning for them all to come together. For a split second Silviana caught Caramon's eye, but the big warrior broke off his gaze quickly in an effort to remained composed. Yet even the brief moment was enough for the elf-woman to recognize her own inner panic. Was it then so easy to spot? Could Terris look right through them?

By this time the outlaw leader had calmed down, his frantic anger at finding his regular crew indisposed fading to a mild annoyance. The normal sharp and speculative glint was once more in his squinting eyes. His own fifty men gathered around him, their hands on their weapons, awaiting instruction. A barely distinguished nod from Rudd had the Langtree group hanging back slightly, the men spreading out slowly to form a semi-circle around Terris and his men. The bandit leader would talk first, assigning position and discussing strategy. His regular cronies suffering from the mandrake induced illness forced Terris to re-construct his plan on the spot. Yet before places can be taken up alongside the road, Langtree's men would launch their own attack. The timing would have to be precise and Terris Loft had to be disposed of first, thus sabotaging the outlaws' chances of regrouping. Even with the majority of the bandits suffering the effects of the poisoned soup, Loft's men still outnumbered Langtree's two to one, which meant that the execution of the plan had to be precise in order for them to have the best chance of success.

It was up to Silviana to ensure that everything went according to plan. As Terris cleared his throat she slipped her fist inside the deep pocket of her cloak, her fingers deftly untangling a thorny plant from a jumble of roots and herbs contained within the pouch of her spell components.

“I realize that today has started off with an inconvenience,” Loft began, “however, that is no reason to let bounty slip from our fingers.”

A mild cheer went up from the surrounding crowd.

“Most of you have participated in ambush by this point, and for those who have not you will realize that it is a job that an idiot can do,” the outlaw ran a hand through his silver hair and laughed coarsely. “You hide and you stay quiet. When the caravan reaches the underside of the hillock and the last horses have passed the split beech tree on the right of the road you spring the attack.”

Silviana pulled her hand with the thorny vine from her pocket, rolling the plant up and down her palm, the words of the incantation ready upon her lips. The sun traveled upwards- it was nearly noon.
“If you look to your right and left,” Loft continued, gesturing, “you will note green ties on the trees marking spots that are prime for concealment. Slight ditches have been delved there and an abundance of natural brush placed in such a fashion that would make seeing hidden men from the road impossible.”

“I want you to split off into groups of four per location. We do not have long to wait so for those of you who have not been out yet, you will have to learn on the spot. I will organize the groups myself to ensure each is under strong leadership.” At this the outlaw leader began to motion to individual men and call out names.

Silviana, having remained apart from the main group, kept a close watch on Rudd. The older man's hand slipped over the pommel of his sword and adjusted his belt scabbard with a grunt. This was her sign- the time to act was now.

“Macante trissiulus trante mabinogus,” Silviana chanted quietly under her breath, extending her arm at shoulder level and pointing it at the speaking outlaw.

“Lorry, Brand- you team up and Cara-” a whistling sound split the air and a whip like vine cut off Loft's words. The plant in Silviana's hand had transformed into a thick cable, speckled with large, piercing thorns which sprung from her arm at command and flew out to wrap itself around Loft's throat. The vine- turned- noose dug into the outlaw's throat and, with a yank from Silviana's arm, brought the man to his knees. Loft's eyes bulged as he struggled to clutch at the deadly plant whose thorns latched firmly unto his flesh, fingers attempting to pry loose the trap and slipping in the free flow of blood pouring from his mangled throat.

No sooner had Silviana let her thorn whip fly then Rudd, Caramon and the others of Langtree's party unsheathed their weapons, unleashing a rain of sharp, steel blows upon their unsuspecting enemies. Shouts went up among the surprised men as the outlaws realized what had happened and more swords and daggers flew free to meet the onslaught of the rebellious men. For many it was already too late for defense, their corpses going rigid among the blood- soaked tree roots, blind eyes staring questioningly into the equally blind ether. The rest were now in a frenzy to save their lives as the vehement blades of Langtree's men fell upon them with Caramon and Rudd leading the bloody charge.

Silviana felt a nauseous sensation creep upon her as she could sense the death throes of Terris Loft on the other end of her thorn whip. Raistlin had taught her this spell during their long weeks at camp yet it was the first time she had seen it in action rather than written inside the pages of his spell book. And it was the first time she herself was in control of another life, a life that was quickly fleeting away. I am a Healer! I should not aim to kill, not even him! A wild sob escaped her lips and Silviana pulled back the plant cable, letting go of the weapon before it ended the outlaw's life. The thorny noose around Terris' neck disappeared as Silviana broke the link with the plant and the man tumbled on the ground unconscious, mangled yet breathing.

The elf-woman fell to her knees as the fighting raged beside her, people falling victim to knife and sword. Her left arm rose above her shoulders finding and hooking an arrow into her short bow. Taking aim, Silviana released the arrow, turning it as it flew into a fiery red flare that ripped apart the blue late-morning sky- a signal for Raistlin to act.

Having done so Silviana collapsed bodily unto her knees, fighting to hold back tears. The men encircling the remaining bandit force held them successfully at bay and no one had the time and inclination to pay attention to the elf-woman. Her hands clenched on her lap, she began to shake. Horkin was right, she thought, I am no battle mage...

“Silviana! Sil-vi-ana!” Someone was adamantly shaking her shoulder, pulling her out of the abyss into which she began to spiral. Looking over to her left Silviana gazed upon the frantic Scrounger, his eyes alert with concern. The half-kender too jumped away from the bulk of the fighting as soon as he was able to do so, being oftentimes more of a hindrance than help. However, as has been previously agreed, he too would play his own role in this particular undertaking.

“Are you alright? We need to go and fetch Raistlin,” the young man spoke rapidly, all the while still shaking Silviana's shoulder.

What am I doing? I can't fall apart just yet- he still needs me!

“Yes, yes I know, I-”

Scrounger's weight suddenly plummeted into her and Silviana was pushed onto the ground as a giant ax spiraled past and embedded itself into a tree where Silviana's head had been mere seconds ago. The half-kender rolled off the elven girl, plucking a small dagger from his belt while Silviana agilely found her feet. A giant of a man stood in front of them, yanking the ax free of the tree with one arm and grinning menacingly. Stepen -or was it Troth?- advanced upon the two while around them Loft's men began to break through the tight circle of the Langtree mercenaries.

“I knew you lot couldn't be trusted!” the large man spat on the ground and swung the ax once more. He did not however anticipate the quickness of his adversaries. Scrounger's dagger shot out, hitting the outlaw in the forearm and sticking there, making the man involuntarily release his hold on the wicked ax. Simultaneously, Silviana had instinctively shot out her own arm calling for lightning, feeling the electric buzz around her fingertips as the bolt was unleashed. Flying at the speed of light, the magic weapon collided with the man's breast and he was at once engulfed in a silver flame. Letting her hand fall to her side, Silviana let out a shocked gasp. She hadn't meant for a killing blow, she'd only been trying to protect herself and her friend...

“Silviana!” Scrounger was tugging at her sleeve impatiently. “Silviana we have to GO! We have to go back for Raistlin!”

Silviana shook her head, pushing aside her conflicting morals for the time being. Grasping the little half-kender by the hand, the elf-woman turned and began to run back up the trail. If all went well back at the encampment, Raistlin was to meet them back at the small clearing where they had gathered herbs while Caramon and Rudd would lead the rest of the men up the main road towards Hope's End where they would eventually reconvene. With the goblins being riled up in a frenzy it made little sense for the mercenaries to return to the encampment so it was up to Silviana and Scrounger to go back for Raistlin. The elf-woman hoped against hope that the young mage was safe. It was a risky business for him to remain alone among the slaughtering gobs and hobs and if they found out that Loft's tent did not hold the promised treasure before Raistlin had a chance to get away his life was forfeit. Yet, the red-robe had insisted on staying back, both as a decoy to prevent Loft from getting suspicious and – as Silviana suspected- for alternate reasons of his own.

Whatever those might be, it did not matter now, the elf-woman told herself as her and Scrounger raced up the path, the clashes and shouts of fighting men quickly fading behind them. She just hoped he was still alive. It seemed like mere seconds before they reached the small clearing, although the exerted state of their bodies spoke of long minutes running at full speed. Silviana and Scrounger leaned heavily against a solid oak, panting and looking around to see if anyone followed. The only sounds in the clearing remained those of the forest animals serenely going about their business. Silviana looked up to the sky, squinting her slanted eyes to make out the shape of the sun behind the canopy of dying leaves.

“Just past noon,” she whispered breathlessly.

“We are early,” Scrounger nodded beside her. “Which is for the best.”

“Yes, it all happened so quickly- and all those men dead,” Silviana found her eyes tearing up despite herself.

The half-kender squeezed her shoulder gently.

“They were not good people, Silvi. Not good people at all,” Scrounger said reassuringly. “I know how you feel- this is no honest combat. Heck none of this is honest in the least! The whole plan with the soup and the goblins attacking while the men are sick? But then what other choice did we have? Attempt to capture a city with an outlaw force of three hundred?”

Silviana laughed sadly.

“Oh I know, I know how it is. But I am Elven and a healer and thus mourn death- even of those that might have rightfully deserved it. Yet it does comfort me to know that it was not for nothing and that we are free now- or at least most of us.”

“I am sure Raistlin will be fine, Silvi. I have seen him come out against bad odds time and time again. He is a trickster that mage,” Scrounger said this with some unpleasantness in his voice.

The two fell into silence then, straightening up against the oak and keeping guard, ears alert for sign of either friend or foe.

A half hour passed before a rustling of hurried footsteps came up the trail behind them.

Wrong direction, Silviana thought. Raistlin should have been coming from up ahead... and he would not have made such clanking noise.

Seconds later Caramon rushed into the clearing, blood and sweat matted into his curly hair.

“Raist?” was the first word out of his mouth, his eyes searching the clearing and coming to rest upon Silviana's face.

“Not here yet... it's been a half hour since we got here. How is everyone else?”

“In a good stroke of luck the oncoming caravan turned out to have a well trained guard force. They heard the sounds of battle from ahead and came to our aid. The men are convalescing now before beginning the rest of the journey toward the city.”

“Hopefully they have no run- ins with any of the goblins...” Scrounger began.

“Doubtful. Hobs and gobs care about treasure and it takes a lot to make them go willingly into a fight unless the odds are stacked in their favor from the start,” Caramon reassured him. “Unless of course they realize the trick Raistlin has played on them and will wish to find whoever is responsible.” The big warrior added the last in a panicked tone.

“Car- he isn't here yet,” Silviana felt herself turn frantic. “It should not have taken this long, whatever he was about back at camp. Something is not right.”

Caramon looked blatantly worried now.

“You are right,” he said just as a loud explosion sounded from the direction of the outlaw encampment. The sound was accompanied by an ethereal force that sent shock waves through the ground, it's strength so powerful that it bent the surrounding trees back like dominoes. The three in the clearing were momentarily lifted off their feet and sent flying backwards several feet, coming to land hard unto the ground along with several surprised and terrified forest animals.

Climbering back unto his feet, Scrounger exclaimed:

“What in the Abyss was that?”

“Magic,” Silviana answered, feeling its aftermath boil through her veins. “Really strong magic.”

Without another word the elf-woman herself was on her feet and running back toward the camp. She could hear the two men calling for her to slow down and wait but she had no time to wait for them. She had to reach Raistlin.
***
The sudden surge of power was incredibly strong. Beneath his fingers, Raistlin could feel the wood of the Staff become warm with magic which pulsed through it like blood through a limb. A profound exhilaration flooded the young mage as he and the Staff became one, merged by the charged circuit of magic. He was the source and it was the conduit, both ready to erupt in a wave of devastating energy. The orb in its dragon claw which adorned the Staff of Magius glowed a bright, toxic red. With a shock, Raistlin realized that he himself was radiating the same light, making his golden skin appear a deep amber.
The strange part about it all was that he did not know how he was doing it. Upon seeing his adversary, Caine Blacksworth, Raistlin reacted instantly, words of magic coming to his lips unbidden.
In the back of his mind, overrun with adrenaline, a voice had emerged- one he felt that he has heard already but could not quite pinpoint. The voice was assuring and commanding at the same time.
Let me help you, friend. Repeat my words.
The words were ancient, in a magic language he did not recognize, yet they flowed through Raistlin’s lips fluently and gracefully, releasing the flow of energy which travelled from the Staff of Magius and engulfed both Staff and mage. Raistlin felt it bubbling impatiently within him, waiting to be unleashed.
A panicked look crossed Blacksworth’s face – the black-robe had not expected his opponent to be so quick to defend himself. The Solamnic wizard could feel the awesome reservoir of power that Raistlin had tapped and which was now flowing inside the younger mage. Trying to break the other’s concentration, Blacksworth hurriedly threw forward his right arm and sent bolts of radiant violet rays blasting towards Raistlin.
He was too late.
The voice inside Raistlin laughed hoarsely and maniacally and a grin spread upon his face. Blacksworth’s bolts hit the younger wizard full force and disappeared, being absorbed by his golden skin.
“Nice try,” Raistlin sneered and brought the bottom of the Staff slamming into the ground. At that gesture, the black-robe’s violet bolts shot forth from inside the Staff’s orb, reinforced and made stronger by the red-robe’s own power. Raistlin sent the wizard’s own spell back at him, magnified immensely by the magic he had called upon.
Caine Blacksworth had only moments to drop to the ground and roll bodily out of the way to avoid being hit by the violent missiles. The magic bolts hit the tapestry of the Terris Loft’s tent, setting it instantly on fire. The black-robe caught the whiff of burnt hair and knew that it was his own. Impressed and slightly afraid, the Solamnic mage jumped to a crouch his hands moving in quick gestures to throw up a magic shield around himself. The cylindrical case he held earlier dropped forgotten out of his grip and rolled on the ground to lie between himself and Raistlin. Around them the tent was caught in a furious flame and thick black smoke enveloped the two opponents. Blacksworth coughed, knowing that he would not last long without air and noting at the same time that his opponent seemed virtually unfazed.
Who WAS this strange young man that wielded such immense, raw power?
It was Raistlin’s turn to attack. The young mage thrust the Staff of Magius in the air and screamed a command word that the black-robe did not recognize. A wave of red flame rolled away from Raistlin, engulfing everything in its path. It collided with Blacksworth’s shield, but instead of being entirely repelled by its magic, it pressed down upon the older wizard’s defense, enclosing him in a tight, glowing red bubble. The pressure on the shield intensified, as if the magic fire was a sentient creature seeking to infiltrate the barricade through sheer force alone. The black-robe was running out of air and time and had to act quickly so as not to be incinerated on the spot.
Gathering all his strength together, Caine Blacksworth launched himself in the air, his shield lasting just long enough for the mage to fly through and above the fiery wall surrounding him. The black-robe sailed fifteen feet in the air and levitated above his enemy, making sure that the younger mage did not see his rattled condition, nor that he was desperately trying to fill his lungs with much needed air. Raistlin smiled up at him from below, one thin golden hand clasped around the black cylinder Caine had dropped.
“I think you dropped something, Blacksworth!” Raistlin mocked incessantly.
The black-robe sneered down on him from his position in the air, the flames of the raging fire reflected in his squinting eyes. Around them squealing sounds of goblins were carried on the wind as the flames set to the tent spread over the encampment and those that still remained alive fled away as fast as their legs could carry them.
“This is not over, Majere!” Blacksworth slid a dagger loose from his belt, whispering a quick spell over the blade and making sure to keep it out of Raistlin’s sight till the last moment. “Just remember that you are not impervious to steel!” With that the enchanted blade was cast towards the younger wizard, coming towards him in a straight path, aimed to strike a direct target. Surprised, Raistlin raised his arm instinctively to block, not prepared for an assault with a weapon. Up above Blacksworth disappeared into thin air with a flourish of his black cloak, not waiting to see if his attack had landed.
The wizard’s dagger caught Raistlin in the shoulder, embedding itself to the hilt. With a scream, Raistlin dropped to his knees, releasing the Staff of Magius as he went and relinquishing the link between them. His inner fire, the fire of the Staff, went out in the blink of an eye and the young man was left to cough violently as fire crackled around him. He was seeing red and black, his vision obscured by flame and smoke that ravaged his lungs which were no longer protected by magic. He tasted blood on his lips as he collapsed bodily unto the ground. His left arm was useless and he was losing consciousness fast- there was almost nothing to it but to die…
You can’t die- not yet!
It was the voice again, quiet and commanding and angry. Again it was whispering words only Raistlin could hear, telling him to listen and repeat. In a coarse whisper Raistlin spoke the incantation that the voice recited. The fire that was about to burn him froze in its tracks; the flames that devoured the trees and ground all around him stood still and motionless.
Even on the verge of unconsciousness, Raistlin was awestruck.
He had actually managed to stop time!
Yes, yes you have- but it shall not last long so get out of here before it is too late! The voice spurred him on urgently.
Raistlin thrust Blacksworth’s cylinder in his robes and with the last of his strength used his good arm to grasp the Staff. He could not rise to his feet so he launched himself over the edge of the frozen flame from a kneeling position and rolled when he hit the ground. Luckily he was on an incline, so his body gained momentum as he fell down the hill, feeling rocks, roots and branches stab at him all the while. Somewhere behind him the time spell dropped and the crackling of the flame resumed. Raistlin reached the end of the drop and lay sprawled on the ground, trying to will himself to move further away before the fire spread.
But Raistlin knew his attempts were useless. Something was broken, possibly his sternum and the knife wound in his shoulder was bleeding profusely, the dagger itself becoming dislodged on his way down.
“This is it then,” he murmured to himself and closed his golden eyes, suddenly not caring about living or dying. He smirked to himself, dried blood cracking on his lips.
Everything was becoming hazy.
Suddenly, he heard voices shouting nearby, voices he knew.
“He’s over there, Caramon, look!”
“Raist! Raist! Oh damnittt-”
“Hurry! Hurry – we must run before this blaze fries all of us on the spot!”
A pair of strong and familiar arms came about him and Raistlin was raised up in the air.
“Is he dead?”
“No, still breathing but we have to get out of here now! Run!”
Raistlin head slumped against Caramon’s shoulder as his brother lunged into a run and the mage lost consciousness.
- 12
- 13
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Red on Red