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Tower	By : Skullbearer Category: A through F > Dragonlance Views: 1927 -:- 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.

Chapter List
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Tower 3
Someone bending light comes along
& flowers lean towards the sun.
Some people fall in love & touch the sky
Some people fall in love & find quicksand.
-Quicksand, Incubus
Raistlin managed to stifle a mental curse before Fistandantilus heard it.
But then, what was the alternative? This was the only chance he had, the only option that had even the vaguest chance of succeeding. And, as horrible as it was, it was better than to risk that the lich would succeed in his plans, or to intervene and let the Dark Queen have free reign on Krynn. Briefly, Raistlin wondered how he'd ended up in the position of making these decisions.
Thoughts were strange in this place. Raistlin could sense his thoughts before they were fully manifested, while they were slowly taking form. So, he knew he was about to have an idea before it struck him, and was rather relieved. There was another option then.
Ah, of course.
It was rather obvious. Of course, Fistandantilus had a spell to take him back in time, but did he have one to take him forward in time? Yes, he must have one. The lich hadn't been seen or heard of between the Cataclysm and the Dwarfgate Wars — he must have decided to move forward in time. After the Cataclysm there had been no clerics, probably why the lich hadn't acted immediately, and the time of the Dwarfgate Wars was sufficiently far in the future for the Gods to have withdrawn and be less likely to notice his actions. Immortal or not, the lich was not the kind of creature to wait for a hundred years.
The part of Fistandantilus' thoughts that held spell knowledge was the most closely guarded of all in his mind, Raistlin knew better than to try that assault. But here and there, scattered around his mind, there were memories and plans that hinted that yes, there might well be a spell to bring him forward in time as well as back.
It was uncertain. If Raistlin was successful, the lich's spell knowledge would die with him, and he would be left to dig through an entire library in the hopes of finding just one spell, with the countdown to the Cataclysm hanging over his head. Raistlin shook the fear away. He would manage; it was not impossible, he had faced far worse and succeeded. Even if the search did take him so long that he was in danger, he could always leave Istar. Palanthas had remained unscathed by the Cataclysm, and perhaps he could find help from the Great Library. He would succeed, even if he had to make the spell himself.
Once he had it, the worst would be over. If nothing else, Fistandantilus had revealed that he had more raw power than he'd ever dared to suspect. Even if he couldn't memorize the spell, he could still scribe it or just not bother and cast it directly from the book — it wasn't as though he was planning to use it again.
He could do this. The relief was monumental. After so long — who knew how long—of scrabbling around in the back of his own mind, desperate to find a plan, any plan, that could work, he'd finally found one. It was difficult, but not—not!—impossible. He'd faced worse odds; it only remained to be seen just how good of a manipulator he was.
The memory was where he'd left it. Fistandantilus either hadn't seen it or hadn't bothered to hide it. This would be the hardest part: taking the memory without Fistandantilus noticing. The lich's attention was elsewhere, outwards, thoughts running a dull red with irritation. Good, distracted.
He let all thought and emotion flow out to behind The Wall, thinking of nothing, considering nothing, wrapping the memory in a thick cocoon of nothing, like an oyster with a piece of grit. Around and around until it couldn't be touched by thought, or touch thought. Isolated and hidden away.
/Forgotten./
He'd made Fistandantilus forget. He'd made him forget something so important it could spell death. And freedom. Raistlin was glad feelings could be so easily dismissed as he banished his relief, along with the cocoon and the vital piece of memory it held, behind The Wall, and buried it under the shield of grief. If Fistandantilus ever decided to look within that, he would have seen Raistlin's plans, and it wouldn't matter if the memory was there or not. But it was the one place Fistandantilus never really bothered with, and the memory could stay hidden for a long time, beyond consideration, beyond The Wall.
Fistandantilus had felt the loss, Raistlin could feel his thoughts turning inward, searching for what he'd forgotten. The best way to hide a loss was to offer something else, and Raistlin would never get a better chance.
It was agonizingly hard. If he offered the information directly, Fistandantilus would suspect the truth; if he coaxed the lich more slowly, he had a larger chance of being discovered. The best he could do would be to lead Fistandantilus to the conclusion. The lich was already searching the right thoughts; all he would need was a little... guidance.
The lich was examining his plans for going back in time, considering what might be wrong with them to cause the strange feeling of loss.
He'd been very thorough: the spells were correct; the cleric was an uncertainty, admittedly, but no harder than most; the next thought was vague and indistinct, something hidden behind impossibly high walls, but with a sense of threat—
Raistlin pounced on that thought: /threat/, enlarging it, letting it dig into the lich's mind. Fistandantilus snatched it up like a wolf would a rabbit. A threat? What threat? What could threaten his plans? Again that shadowy thought, but it was quickly dismissed. Raistlin wondered what it could be, this strange thing that disturbed the lich so much. Well, if it was obvious enough for the lich to know what it was and still ignore it, then there was no point dwelling on it, as it was unlikely to be much help.
The lich was running through different scenarios; the one of the threat occurring in the Tower had been dismissed. Raistlin waited patiently.
A threat from the cleric? He waited.
No. From Palanthas itself? He waited.
No. From the Conclave? Get on with it.
No. From Istar? Raistlin nudged that one into the foreground of the lich's thoughts.
From Istar? That was impossible. He'd been so very careful that no threat should come from there. The Kingpriest wouldn't dare, cowardly little worm that he was.
A fanatic zealot? Determined to purge the world of evil? Laughable, even assuming one could get close to him. They wouldn't dare go against the Kingpriest's wishes.
The Conclave? His past self had-
Oh. His past self. Of course. Of course. Of course! Raistlin pushed the lich's fear as far forwards as he dared.
His past self was still in Istar, still attempting the very plan he had come to attempt! Of course he would be a threat! He could keep his presence hidden—
Raistlin pushed that thought into the background.
—But that wouldn't work, he needed the spellbooks, and his past self would hardly hand them over willingly.
/There is no place for two such deities in Krynn/. Raistlin dared to put that thought forward, and the lich's mind fell on it ravenously. No, of course not. The danger...
Fear. Fear. Raistlin pressed.
Not as powerful, not as powerful as he was now, but damn him, cunning! Oh, how he knew how cunning! If he didn't strike first, his past self would!
Raistlin was amazed at how easy this was. One nudge in the right direction and the lich's thoughts spiraled down in flames. Even more amazing that the lich had tried that with him and failed. Raistlin tucked the warm glow of pride into a corner, something to enjoy later, along with the just as warm, but bittersweet memories of why it hadn't worked. If he could have, he would have smiled. Love and trust, that was all, love and trust, and Fistandantilus, who allowed neither, was being plunged into a deeper and deeper morass under the weight of his own fears.
What if he killed his past self?
Raistlin jumped into action again. This was going to be delicate. The old memory was gone, but he had to make sure Fistandantilus didn't pick up a new one. He nudged the lich's thoughts gently, ever so gently, like guiding a broad boat along a narrow river. But a deadly river, with any wrong move ending in death. He pushed aside any fears for failure—
He would not fail. He was too powerful to fail. He would succeed, and his past self would be dust—
Raistlin saw the danger just in time, and pulled Fistandantilus' knowledge of the effects of Time-travel beyond The Wall. He would isolate and hide the most dangerous information later. For now, enough that it was out of the way while Fistandantilus was making his decision.
How long was this taking? Raistlin had no idea. It was hardly a decision one would make lightly, yet the lich's thoughts did seem fast. But then, to a turtle a glacier seems fast. He wondered how much time had gone by 'outside', then forced the thought away. He couldn't think about that, he had no way of knowing what was happening, and thinking of outside, and the inevitable thoughts of Dalamar that accompanied it, was too dangerous and too painful. He had to focus.
The idea of killing his past self was settling with Fistandantilus, a solid surface to spring future thoughts off of. Raistlin began to back away slowly, disentangling his thoughts from Fistandantilus', like removing a mould from a wax model, trying not to crack it and hoping it would stand on its own when it is removed.
A flash of greed so strong it seemed almost a living thought made Raistlin freeze, not daring to move in case he was noticed. He withdrew all thought and tried to remain invisible.
But then—Fistandantilus' thoughts seemed abnormally loud—but then, why could he not take /advantage/ of the situation? If he timed it right, his other self would have a new body, a new life. He had the Bloodstone, just as his other self did, so why not take power along with life and use it on his past self? Knowledge too, he wouldn't have to read his old spellbooks to remember the spells he needed—
Raistlin barely had the time to disguise his thoughts before he all but threw this idea at Fistandantilus. The thought that he might actually /gain/ something from this horrible mess was almost too much to bear. All of Fistandantilus' knowledge and power, not to mention—if the lich's estimation his other self's spell knowledge was correct—a foolproof way of getting home. He would have the spell; all that remained would be to cast it!
It would be harder, of course. If Fistandantilus was in control when he used the Bloodstone, all the knowledge would be lost when he died. Raistlin would have to seize control, and at just the right moment, or it couldn't work. And if he failed, if he tried too early or Fistandantilus was able to fight him off, his entire plan could fail.
But it was still possible. Fistandantilus would be weakened from casting the Timespin spell and from the battle with his other self. He would find it very hard to stop Raistlin from taking control, if only for a short time.
And, even if he did manage to realize what Raistlin was trying to do, he would still be facing an enraged past self, which he might well end up killing out of self-defense. It was still a risk, but by all the Gods, wouldn't it be worth it? All that power, all that knowledge, everything he'd ever wanted from the magic and more besides, at his beck and call.
It would take work, and it would have to be done well and quickly. Well, because any mental prison that had to hold /Fistandantilus/ would have to be without flaws, and quickly, because, judging by the lich's level of anticipation, it would not be long before his plans were put into action.
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Tower