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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.

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Crepuscule
Chapter eighteen - Of the Dead
Just sway
You don't know
Just sway
All you want is to find home
Sway, Lost Prophets.

The sudden drop in temperature when they entered the right-hand tunnel reminded Raistlin as nothing so much as his meeting with Fistandantilus; the chill was the same, the chill of death and decay. The Red Robe shivered at the memory.
The whispers began the moment he set foot in the tunnel, the soft echoes of the future louder than they had been since Xak Tsaroth. They hissed of danger, of nameless fear and deathless evil locked here for centuries uncounted.
Nor was the young mage the only one sensing the growing darkness. Dalamar was on edge, occasionally even shuddering, and even the irrepressible Tasslehoff seemed uneasy. The feeling only increased as they approached the end of the tunnel, a hole had been bored into the wall and from it came such a feeling of malevolence that Raistlin took a step back and crashed into the dark-robed wizard.
Already unnerved, the Dark elf flinched away, then gave a self-deprecating smile.
"Are you alright?" The Red Robe’s low whisper seemed far too loud in the narrow tunnel and echoing dark.
Dalamar nodded. "This place... it reminds me of the night in Darken Wood, the moments just before the spectres appeared."
Raistlin looked down the pitch-black hole. "That same feeling of danger, of hostility," he finished, glancing back at his lover. The Silvanesti nodded.
But here, as in Darken Wood, they had no choice but to continue.
However, who would be the first through the dreadful opening?
"Well, we can't stay here forever." Eben was trying to sound decisive, but the shake in his voice gave him away. "Let the elf go in. He's the one who brought us here."
Gilthanas agreed, "I'll go, but I'll need light."
"None may touch the staff but I." The red-robed wizard felt insulted at the merest insinuation that he let the elf hold it. Ignoring the whispers' dire warnings, he stepped forward. "I'll go with you." Behind him, he heard Dalamar sigh and walk over to join him.
The Qualinesti prince scowled, "We don't need you."
The Dark elf sneered, "What a pity, because I am coming."
No one else spoke, but Raistlin saw the look Sturm turned on them both and tightened his grip on his staff.
Dalamar helped him over the rubble blocking the mouth of the hole, and the human mage nodded his thanks before holding the Staff of Magius up and letting the light from it illuminate the room.
Even the sight of the narrow room with its many stone doors was enough to make him shiver. The whispers were even louder now, more insistent, and the combination of those added to the feeling of ineffable evil cloaking this place was enough to give the Red Robe a splitting headache.
He rubbed his forehead, and looked around again.
The Silvanesti had walked forwards a few steps and was staring at one of the doors. "These carvings..." The Dark elf looked pensive, as though he was trying to remember something long forgotten.
Gilthanas had not forgotten though. "The Royal Crest!" There was no mistaking the dread in his voice.
Raistlin's looked at him. "What?"
"These are the crypts of the Royal Guard." The Qualinesti’s voice had dropped to a whisper, and he was backing away from the doors. "They are pledged to continue their duties, even in death, and guard the king -so the legends speak."
"And so the legends come to life," the human breathed.
Dalamar hurried back to stand beside him, just as each of the stone doors swung open. The cold was unbelievable and the Dark elf caught hold of Raistlin's arm. "We have to leave, now! These cannot be reasoned with, and we don't have the power to fight them. They only have one goal-"
"-To destroy all who dare disturb the king's rest!" The cold was even greater, and the human wizard doubled over coughing. His lover crouched over him, one hand on his back in a -futile- gesture of protection.
They were suddenly pushed aside, not by undead guardians, but by a very much alive Fizban and Goldmoon.
"What are you doing?" Dalamar shouted.
Raistlin hushed him. What good Goldmoon would be was debatable, but he had no doubt the old man had the skill to repulse this threat.
Fizban shook his head. "Young people. Alarmists."
The plainswoman broke in, "It's all right," she assured them. "Look!" She drew aside her cloak, revealing her medallion, which was glowing the same blue as the crystal staff! "Fizban said they would let us pass if they saw the medallion. And when he said that -it began to glow."
The Red Robe nodded, still too overcome by the spasms to speak. The proximity of so much necromancy had triggered his cough, as it had in Darken Wood. Despite the pain, he kept his eyes on the old magician. He had heard tales of clerics banishing or even destroying undead, but somehow he doubted that Goldmoon -a priestess of barely a week- could possibly daunt the small army of undead waiting to attack them. Or perhaps they would let her pass -in ages gone the elven clerics had been able to walk through this place-, only to attack the others as they tried to follow.
No, if anything could stop the dead, it would be Fizban.
Neither of the mages spoke as the two walked past, beckoning the others to follow.
Wiping the blood-flecked froth from his lips, he nodded to Dalamar. The Dark elf sighed; clearly, the idea of passing in front of a hoard of undead with only a barmy old magician and a novice priestess for protection didn't appeal to him. Still, he took Raistlin's arm and helped him follow.
All was still behind the open doors, whatever had been woken by their presence was asleep once more. Still, the Silvanesti’s tight grip on the younger mage's shoulder became more painful with every step they took inside the hall. The Dark elf's fears, however, were in vain. Even as they walked, the Red Robe could feel the evil presence slowly vanish, and the whispers die away.
Confidence revived, Tasslehoff ran past the two wizards and peered into one of the crypts. Despite the darkness, Raistlin could see the hollow bones and armour of an elven warrior laid out on a funeral bier. As Dalamar passed, the bones creaked warningly. It was a relief to reach the end of the hall and leave it by means of the double set of bronze doors set into the wall, eventually reaching a much less menacing room. The only difficulty there was in getting Flint to leave and in putting up with his endless ranting about dwarven construction afterwards.
There were two doors leading out of that room, neither particularly remarkable. After some deliberation, they picked the right-hand door. This seemed, on first impression, to lead to a dead end. The door at the end of the passageway was impossible to open.
Flint gave the door a once over and snorted, "It's a false door!"
Caramon, who had spent the past three minutes trying to open it, paused and wiped the sweat off his face. "It looks real to me! It's even got hinges!"
Flint snorted again. "Of course it does, we don't build false doors to look false -even a gully dwarf knows that."
Eben spoke up, and again Raistlin noticed that he seemed to have vanished when the undead had woken. Either way, he was no help now.
It was strange to build a tunnel only to have it end abruptly at a false door with not even a trap to catch unwary explorers, the young mage thought. "Stand back," he warned the others. Putting his staff to one side, he lay the tips of his fingers against the wall, murmuring the spell. /"Khetsaram pakliol."/
The light didn't come from that wall, as Raistlin had expected, but rather from the one with the false door. Caramon gave a shout as the whole wall -not to mention a sizable portion of the corridor- began to swing around.
"Quickly, before it shuts!" Tanis ordered.
Once on the other side, the physical effects of casting the spell caught up with the wizard and he was unable to hold back another coughing fit -fitting, since the spell he had cast had come from Fistandantilus' own spellbook. He hoped the other spells would not have that effect when he learnt to cast them.
"Are you alright?" Caramon sounded concerned.
Raistlin ignored him. The fit passed quickly, though he still felt weak and was grateful for Dalamar's hand on his arm.
The passageway ended in another door, which Tasslehoff reported -to his chagrin- to be open.
The room the corridor led to was strange, perfectly round, to the point that even the doors leading to and from it were curved to fit it. It was completely empty save from a massive chain. A chain that, Gilthanas reported, was part of the formidable defence mechanism for Pax Tharkas: Should the chain be released from its bracket, it would drop immovable blocks of granite behind the fortress's gates.
The Red Robe stared at the chain without really seeing it; he felt rather strange. At first he wondered if it had been due to casting an unfamiliar spell, but slowly realised it was something far more worrying. It was a feeling of danger, but overlaying it, was an aura of power unlike any he had felt since meeting Fistandantilus, and he sincerely doubted the old lich was here. The whispers were there, but only as a wordless hiss, a soft sound of mental static in the back of his mind.
The Qualinesti prince exclaimed suddenly; he had found another secret door. A sensation of cold dread swept over the young mage and he looked from one door to the other, wondering if he should step forward to warn the others, or grab Dalamar and escape while he still could. "Don't open it!"
Sturm's eyes narrowed. "Why not?" The Solamnic’s voice was soft and dangerous, quite unlike his usual tone, and Raistlin saw his hand tighten on the grip of his sword. "Because you and Nightson want to alert someone before we find a way into Pax Tharkas?"
"Had I wanted to betray you, knight, I could have done so a thousand times before this! I sense a power behind that door greater than any I have felt since-" the wizard stopped, realising he had said too much.
"Since when?" his lover’s voice was sharp.
The young mage gritted his teeth and cursed himself, but it was too late to back off now. "Since the Tower of High Sorcery," he admitted. "I warn you, do not open that door!"
Dalamar's face was carefully expressionless, and Raistlin averted his eyes, feeling the Dark elf's grey ones boring into his back, feeling guilty. He had sworn to himself that if the Silvanesti told him what he and Eben had discussed, then he would tell the Dark elf about his Test. But when it had come to it, he had felt reluctant to do so. Telling him would change nothing, and perhaps the dark-robed elf would even suspect Raistlin hadn't told the whole truth. Anyway, it was hardly a fair trade of information, seeing as he had already suspected-
His train of thought broke off as Gilthanas impatiently reminded them that the way into Pax Tharkas was through a secret passage, and opened the door.
"Don't!" Dalamar exclaimed.
"You will regret this," the Red Robe warned.
The room it opened to was large and filled floor to ceiling with gold. It was a pretty sight, but a worthless one, and certainly not worth what Raistlin saw next.
"What is it?" Caramon yelled, staring at the apparition.
"I don't know," Sturm choked.
"A banshee!" Dalamar shouted. "The spirit of a Dark elf like me! Close the door you fools!"
"Run, all of you!" the younger wizard snarled. "You cannot fight her. Her touch is mortal and even the sound of her voice is death! Through the south door now!"
The translucent, shadowy shape within the room was taking shape, and there was something almost familiar in the ancient spirit's face, something he had seen before in his lover’s eyes, though this woman had died long ago. They had the same cold beauty.
"Somehow I don't think she's going to hold back because I'm there," Dalamar spat, as if reading his mind. The elven mage's hand closed above Raistlin's elbow as he pulled him away. "Come on!"
The Dark elf was right; at the sight of them, the banshee reached for them, her mouth dropping open, far wider than seemed possible, as though, like a snake, she could dislocate her jaws.
Before the spirit could give voice to her loathing and hate, the group turned and fled, piling through the bronze door. Caramon knocked into Raistlin, throwing the slender man to the ground before tripping over him and crashing down himself. The Staff of Magius span out of the mage’s grasp, the light scatting out all over the floor.
There was no need for light in order to see the advancing spirit though. Like the spectres of Darken Wood, the banshee's ethereal form was edged with ghost-lights, shimmering as she advanced.
Cursing his brother and groping for his staff, Raistlin stared as the spirit reached out and touched Eben, and the man screamed and collapsed.
Sturm reached to pull the man through the door, and as the younger wizard hand closed on the Staff, Dalamar pulled him to his feet. "Close the door!" the Red Robe ordered.
Caramon got to his feet and slammed the door closed just as the Solamnic dragged Eben through.
"That won't stop her!" the weakened man cried.
"No," Raistlin murmured. "Her magic is powerful, more powerful than anything I possess. We must cast a spell on that door, to hold or stall her." He leant the Staff against the wall of the corridor. "You still have the spell?" he asked Dalamar.
The Dark elf's face was pale in the light of the staff, but he nodded. "If your Test was anything like this, no wonder you don't want to talk about it," he muttered, pressing both hands against the door.
The Abanasinian copied him, locking his mind into the focus needed for casting. "/Kalis-an budrunin-/"
A cry of pain from Dalamar interrupted his casting; the banshee had stretched an incorporeal arm though the partly warded door and stroked the Dark elf's face in a deceptively gentle gesture. He staggered back and fell over.
Raistlin tried to block out the fear now crawling across his mind. He couldn't do anything for the Silvanesti if he stopped; he reminded himself that, if he wanted to help his lover, he should finish the spell. If he didn’t, then they would both die.
But the spell was gone, flown from his memory in that moment of indecision, and he could feel the door shudder as he leant against it, the weak wards trembling and falling against the banshee's onslaught. Should she come through, it would mean their deaths. Dalamar was in no state to help him and had probably also lost the spell, and Fizban was nowhere in sight.
The Red Robe closed his eyes. He hated doing this, but as in the Sentinel Peaks, as in Xak Tsaroth, he had no choice. Tentatively, he reached down to the cold, dead place inside himself, the place of the link between himself and Fistandantilus. The lich drew on Raistlin's life to survive, and now the young wizard would draw on the archmage's power to do just the same.
"Kalis-an budrinin kara-emarath!" His voice was triumphant and barely recognisable as his own.
He quickly withdrew from the point of power, fearful that Fistandantilus would have noticed. Behind the door came a wail of anguish and rage as the wards held.
Raistlin stumbled backwards, then fell over as the exhausting double blow of casting and stealing power hit him. He must have blacked out, because when he opened his eyes it was to the all-too welcome sight of Dalamar. "Are you alright?" He felt groggy and tired beyond belief.
The Dark elf gave a thin smile. "I /really/ hate undead," he said by means of an answer, then reached down and helped his human lover to his feet. "The banshee is trapped, we've finally reached the cellar of Pax Tharkas, and the kender and the old man are missing. So, all good news."
"Fizban's gone?" Raistlin queried as he picked up the staff. He wasn't worried about the old man, he had absolutely no doubt that he could look after himself, but it did mean that they were on their own from now on.
The others were packing up the remains of a meal -clearly, he had been unconscious for quite some time. They were in what was clearly a storage room, several crates and boxes had been thrown in here, marked for either Gateway or Solace. Dalamar was right, they had finally reached the cellars of Pax Tharkas.
Gilthanas had unrolled a map on one of the crates. "We are in the cellars here on the lowest level. Down this hallway, about fifty feet from here, are the rooms where the women are imprisoned. This here is a guard room, across from the women, and this-" He tapped the map with a grim expression- "is the lair of one of the red dragons, the one Lord Verminaard calls Ember."
/One/ of the red dragons? How many were there? Raistlin hoped that they had all gone with the army, but realised this was quite likely a futile expectation. /Of course/ the dragons would still be there.
"The dragon is so big, of course, that the lair extends up above ground level, communicating with Lord Verminaard's chambers on the first floor, up through the gallery on the second floor, and out into the open sky."
This meant that the dragon they would quite likely have to face would be far, far larger than the one they had fought in Pax Tharkas, and this time they would have no crystal staff to help them.
The Qualinesti prince went back to the rest of the map. "On the first floor, behind Verminaard’s chambers, there is the prison where the children are kept. The Dragon Highlord is wise. He keeps the hostages separated, knowing that the women will not leave without their children, and the men not leave without their families. A second red dragon in this room guards the children. The men -about three hundred of them- work in the mines out in the mountain caves. There are several gully dwarves working in the mines as well."
"You seem to know a lot about Pax Tharkas," Eben said darkly.
"What do you insinuate?" Gilthanas' expression said that he knew what the human swordman was saying all too well.
"I'm not insinuating anything. It's just that you know a lot about this place for never having been here! And wasn't it interesting that we kept running into creatures that damn near killed us in the Sla-Mori." Eben made a good point, but one that fell apart if you thought about it for more than two seconds. The only thing capable stopping the draconian invasion of Qualinesti was them, and Raistlin didn't believe for one moment that the elven prince wanted his homeland destroyed and his people put to the sword.
The Red Robe wondered if it would be best to reveal what he and Dalamar knew, or if it would not truly matter. The Dark elf looked at him, the same question clear in his eyes, and the human finally shook his head. He doubted if it would make much of a difference and to do it now would simply invite suspicion to fall on them.
Tanis spoke up, replying that if there was a traitor, they would have betrayed them long before this, because what was the point of letting them make it this far?
"To bring me and the Disks to Lord Verminaard." Goldmoon was pale, but her voice was calm. "He knows I am here, Tanis. He and I are linked by our faith."
Sturm snorted, dismissing the idea, but the plainswoman continued, reminding them of the missing constellations. "Verminaard worships the Queen of Darkness as I worship Mishakal: That is what my Goddess meant when she said we had to restore the balance. The promise of good that I bring is the one thing he fears and he is exerting all his will to find me. The longer I stay here..."
"All the more reason to stop bickering," the half-elf said shortly, staring at Eben.
The human shrugged. "Enough said, I'm with you."
"What's the plan Gilthanas?"
The Qualinesti’s plan was simple: he and his warriors were to disguise themselves as women, go to the men in the mines -Verminaard allowed the men's wives one visit a day to show that he was keeping his end of the bargain-, and tell them of the plan to free the hostages, warning them to be alert for an attack. Unfortunately, they hadn't thought much beyond that, and had no idea how to free the children. Gilthanas said that he expected that Lord Verminaard himself and his dragon would have left by tomorrow, to oversee the attack on Qualinesti. Raistlin glanced over at Dalamar, who shook his head, perhaps they were pessimists, but they could remember all too well another instance where they had believed the dragon had left.
The two stayed silent as the others discussed the elf’s plan. It was decided that they would have a look at the dragon guarding the children before putting their plan into action; it might give them an idea of how to avoid or bypass that particular obstacle.
Then, quietly, they left the storeroom.
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It was just as well the draconians in the guard post were drunk, otherwise the women's cries as the group entered their room might quite well had shot the plan before it started. As it was, either they didn't notice or they didn't care, for no one came.
It took a few moments before they could calm everyone down enough to be able to explain their plan. Once convinced that the newcomers were not going to harm them, the thirty or so women in the cell were quite happy to listen to the plan the companions had set out, although they were somewhat less eager to take part. Eventually, one of them, a woman called Maritta, restored some semblance of order and offered to help.
The two mages sat back as the others disguised themselves. They were staying behind; Raistlin was still exhausted from the banshee's attack, and Dalamar hadn't fully recovered either.
Sturm had been furious at the thought of leave two -as he thought- suspected traitors at their back, but Tanis talked him round. "It'll be hard enough to convince the men to come as it is. Having a Dark elf with us won't help matters."
The Red Robe watched, somewhat amused, as the women found and modified some old clothes to fit the men. The first problem came when the Solamnic was asked to shave off his moustaches. Dalamar stifled a laugh at the look on the knight's face and his roar of rage at the very idea.
"I can burn them off, if you want," the Dark elf offered, and Raistlin couldn't help but laugh.
Tanis shot them both a poisonous look and offered a solution -that Sturm cover his face with a scarf.
After that was settled, and Riverwind was also appeased -apparently wearing woman's clothing was a mark of shame among the Que-shu- the small group, along with Maritta and the rest of the women, waited for the guards to lead them out to bring dinner to the men.
The two wizards huddled back into the corner of the cell furthest from the door, hoping the guards would be drunk enough to overlook them. Mercifully, when the draconians did come, they were so intoxicated that they could barely stand upright. After shooing the women out of the room, they staggered out again without even giving the cell another look.
The door closed with a bang, and Raistlin closed his eyes. He was tired, more tired than he had thought. He would study his spellbook later, but for now, he was too tired to do anything but sleep.

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