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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
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CHAPTER 30

A sense of threat hung over the streets of Palanthas like a corpse from the gallows, slowly bloating and spreading its stench into all corners of the city. For two consecutive nights groups of masked men with torches and flash bombs had terrorized the Central Plaza, and in the poorest areas of Palanthas several groups of acolytes and clerics had been seen circulating among the people, drawing them aside and speaking to them in low voices. Did you hear that some windows have been broken, some market stalls overturned and looted? The citizens exchanged gossip and assessed the situation. What did clerics, respectable folks, sneak around at night for? Who were the masked men, and would they return tonight? And the posters, that was another thing. Everywhere in the city the posters announcing the inauguration of the new head of the church had been rudely vandalized. It all contributed to a general sense of upset that not even the rising sun in all its brightness managed to quench.

Hot and tired from the heat, but pacing quickly down the West Street Bridge, Raistlin shoved his way through the agitated crowds. He had spent the better part of the morning in the poor town, investigating, and the message that had emerged could not be any clearer: the common opinion was that Revered Daughter Crysania was not fit to become the leader of the church. A letter which no one had actually seen proved to the good people of Palanthas that they had been lied to about the lady - she was morally decrepit and incompetent, she was vain and selfish and spiteful and weak, like all aristocracy, like all women. Still, being a highborn and a woman was not an excuse for what she had done: she was a holy cleric, but that had not stopped her from fornicating with a black-robed mage. Yes, you heard right. Screwed him, humped him, banged him, did the horizontal dance, rode the wizard staff. From which it followed that the city was now on the brink of rebellion, and it was a little big bigger than what Raistlin had thought when he'd overheard the two clerics plotting on the street corner near the Bredell stables some weeks ago. It was a little more serious. So serious in fact that he needed to see Crysania. The way things were going, her life could be in danger; he needed to go and tell her that.

Near the markets a handful of people were gaping at one of the posters which proudly proclaimed the inauguration of Revered Whore Crysania as the leader of Paladine's Holy Church on the eighteenth day of Hiddumont. The new derogatory title had been painted in large, red letters over the old one; it was like a deep, ugly cut on pure white skin.

Raistlin crossed the street to the group and, jerking his head at the poster, asked one of the men, just to make sure, "What's this?"

"Haven't you heard?" said the fat man angrily. "We've been screwed. Holy cleric, my arse!" He spat on the ground.

"How's that?"

"She's sleeping around with a blackrobed wizard," a woman in a white hat chimed in. "Yeah. Couldn't believe it meself at first, but the clerics said they'd seen a letter."

"Yes, the letter," Raistlin said. "I heard it was written on official church stationery. You think there's any truth to that?"

The fat man scratched his beard. His fingernails were crusted with dirt. "Yeah. Fancy paper. Someone in the inner circle ratted her out."

"And you know what the worst part is?" cried a short woman behind him, possibly his wife. "She's still doing it, it says so in the letter. The blackrobe lives here in Palanthas, and they go on meeting each other in secret."

"Not for long, they won't!" His face darkening, the fat man struck his palm with a fist. "They have the wizard's name - he's supposedly a war hero, can you believe that - and they know where he lives. His days are numbered, and so are hers."

"Always thought something was off." The woman who had spoken first nodded so that the ribbons of her hat bobbed. "Too pretty."

"And she's blind," added a third crone. "How could that ever have worked out? A blind leader." She let out a laugh tinged with malicious wonder, and the others joined her. A disgusting collection of filthy, ignorant lowlives who got off from finding fault with better-off people. With a cold smirk Raistlin asked, after the shrieks of glee had somewhat settled down,

"What's going to happen now?"

"We ain't having it, that's for sure," said the fat man with a fierce gesture of his closed fist.

"You think the men will be back tonight?"

"They'd better, so that we can join them in ousting the slapper. Ain't that right?" the rabble-rouser cried, turning to his bloodthirsty comrades in hopes of support.

That was a minute wasted in the company of men - if one could even call them that. Raistlin resumed his steps towards the temple, irked yet completely unsurprised at the stupidity running rampant around the city. Pathetic how religious everyone was suddenly feeling. Years went by without their once sparing a thought for Paladine, but now, now they were theologically offended by a sleazy rumour? Of course, that was nothing but expected: most people were simpletons and simpletons were easily aroused into feelings of vengeful and righteous hatred, especially towards someone who was everything they could never be. Gods. All this business still further depressed his already low opinion of mankind, but on the other hand, he could have danced and sung with delight: the smouldering rebellion was one hell of a stroke of luck, which had come to him like a gift on a silver platter.

Raistlin entered the gardens through the back gate and headed towards the shedding pot he had visited once before, when he had first gone to see Crysania, which now felt like a long time ago. Inside, he untied the leather straps that kept his bag shut, reached into it and extracted a grey piece of clothing, taken from a clothesline behind the acolytes' dormitory; he should have kept the first one while he had the chance, but lucky for him the young religious were trusting enough to leave their laundry unguarded.

He slipped the robe over his head, pushing his arms into the sleeves and smoothing the hem which reached almost to his ankles, and drew up the hood with both hands. Perfect. He knew he wouldn't stand out. He tilted his head, concentrating, and said quietly, "Ildi. Can you hear me?"

At first there was nothing, but then the ghost girl materialized before her, vague and faded, like an image under water. As she saw Raistlin her face pulled into a wide and delighted smile.

"I'm going to the temple," Raistlin said, not smiling back. "I want you to distract the guards for me."

Ildi looked dismayed. Holy place. Will hurt.

Raistlin gave the girl and impatient look. "You want to serve me or not?"

Why me? Why not like the last time?

"Here's a lesson: you don't ask questions. Understood?"

Her face fell into a sulk. Yes.

"Yes, magus."

Yes, magus.

"Come along, then." Raistlin held the door open for the ghost, and together they departed towards the main temple.

"All right, listen," he said as they climbed up the grassy path, Ildi's small figure gliding beside him without touching the ground. "All you have to do is show yourself when I say. You just dart across the hall as fast as you can, back and forth, again and again, right? The guards will come after you, and you must lure them away from the desk in the back. You will keep them occupied until you see me walking out through the main door. It's very important that you keep it up until you see me again. All right?"

There was no comment from the wraith. Raistlin glanced at her and saw she was frowning in thought.

"All right?" he repeated, louder this time.

Yes, magus.

"So what is it that you are to do? Tell me."

Dart about the temple. Keep guards busy.

"Take them where?"

Away from the desk.

"Until?"

Until magus reappears.

"Good. Excellent."

Determined and confident, Raistlin picked up speed, occasionally wiping his forehead of sweat in the stuffy heat of the thick robe. Preoccupied by his thoughts about what he was going to say to Crysania, he was only dimly aware of the ghost until her sulky voice suddenly entered his head again.

Are you in love with her?

Raistlin stopped walking and turned to give the ghost a stare. "What did we say about asking questions just now?"

Ildi stared back, looking like a child denied a treat. She turned her back on him and continued to glide on, her shoulder slumped.

That settled, Raistlin went back to thinking about entering the temple. Cloade would be there, and maybe Morzol the Minotaur. Maybe four to six patrolling guards. Shitloads of acolytes, dressed just like him, and clerics too. It was the busiest time of the day, which was exactly what he needed. Under the cover of the ensuing chaos, it would be fairly easy to sneak over to Cloade's desk and...

Again the ghost interrupted him.

She told you to get lost. She can't bear to be near you. She added quickly, Not a question.

That was something Raistlin didn't need to be reminded of. But he went on walking, ignoring the spasm of irritation. Yes, Crysania had told him to stay away, but she was wrong. She had not meant it.

As they neared the temple, Raistlin made Ildi disappear and then, pulling his hood deeper, he stepped into the entrance hall. He glanced furtively around him and knew that everything would go according to plan. Gaspar Cloade was at his desk, as always, but Morzol was nowhere to be seen, which was new. There were four guards in the rear, and - this too was new - two muscled brainiacs of the City Guard stood at each side of Crysania's door, halberds in hand. And of course, there were shitloads of clerics.

Raistlin stood in the corner for some time, waiting for a moment when as many people as possible would be crossing the hall at the same time. It soon came; he summoned Ildi and told her to do her job.

It took some time for the people to realize that something was amiss. "What the hell is that?" an acolyte suddenly shouted in a panic, pointing a finger, and everyone in the hall stopped, turning to look. What they saw was a human form which moved about in a white flurry of speed, now here and now there, one moment dashing across the floor and the next bolting up to the arched ceiling. The people looked on with bulging eyes and open mouths, and then they all started running. "It's a wraith! Paladine protect us!" The guards left their posts and darted after the intruder with raised weapons. Cloade too stood up and ran somewhere without a clear direction, devoted and always eager to help. Some acolytes pressed themselves against the walls, staring wildly, while many clerics actually went down on their knees to pray.

It was chaos unleashed: shouting, pushing, thumping. Raistlin had to admit he was impressed - he was glad he had decided to give the ghost a chance when she'd asked to serve him. Just when he thought that Ildi had reached the top of her game - she was all speed and light, ducking under the halberds - the girl came up with another stunt: she attacked Cloade's desk, making the drawers open and sending the papers up in the air in a small whirlwind, and then she was speeding back towards the main door again with the guards behind her.

This was the moment Raistlin had been waiting for. He started to walk very fast, approaching Cloade's messed up desk in long strides. He reached it, and after a cursory look to make sure no one was watching, he quietly slipped the ring of keys off the hook under the desk and started to proceed at a brisk pace towards Crysania's door.

Before putting the key in the lock, he looked around him again. Nothing to worry. Everyone was occupied with the commotion.

He found Crysania sitting at the table by the Mishakal tapestry. She was staring blankly ahead, giving no sign that she had heard him enter. There was nothing on her face: not a frown, not a smile. Just nothing.

"Crysania." Raistlin spoke her name gently, slightly overwhelmed by the mixture of tenderness and lust seeing her always sparked in him.

She bolted up from the chair, alarmed; but for a split second Raistlin could have sworn he saw her face light up, just for a tiny moment, before her brows drew into a frown of puzzlement and pain.

"Before you say anything, let me just get this one out, all right?" Raistlin said, not daring to step any closer.

Crysania shook her head, folding her arms in outrage. "Unbelievable. You can't come here. How many times do I have to tell you? I mean, how did you even..."

He cut her short. "Listen to me. There's a smear campaign going on against you. I'm sorry to have to tell you like this, but I thought you should know."

The frown stayed on Crysania's face. Everything about her expressed rejection, denial: from the rigid posture of her head to the way her fingers dug into her arms like grappling hooks. It was a trifle upsetting, and Raistlin had to spent a moment contemplating the view: was it really that bad, being in the same room with him? She looked as if she was in physical pain. She didn't say anything for a moment, but then a small, weary smile appeared, followed by another shake of the head just as weary. "Why are you doing this?" she asked tiredly. "Why can't you leave me be?"

"Because your life may be in danger, for one. And mine too, because, as I have just learnt, they know I'm in the city. They know we've met."

"'They?' Who's 'they'?" Her tone of voice said it all: she thought it was utter nonsense.

"A bunch of your dear colleagues. At least a hundred. They want you out and they've already started. I assume your people haven't told you," Raistlin said caustically. "I assume they're not even aware. That's just brilliant, that is. They're supposed to be protecting you, and this is what you get."

"I hardly think you're in the position to criticize," Crysania said indignantly. "If there's something going on, our officers will respond accordingly."

"When will they do that? When the temple is on fire? Don't think I'm going to stand aside when there's a load of maniacs coming for you. Crysania, this is bad. They're planning an attack. They're out there right now, agitating people. If you saw the Central Plaza... It's a mess. Everywhere's a mess."

Crysania's face had gone serious. But then anger flared up again. "Why would I believe anything you say?" she said, trembling, struggling for control. "Do you think you can just walk in and out of my life when it suits you, frightening me with some made-up stories?" Her voice, quiet at first, grew progressively louder with each word.

"Crysania," Raistlin tried to put in, raising his voice against hers. "Crysania. They know."

She fell silent and stared at him, breathing hard.

"Yes. They know about the Abyss. About you and me."

Her legs almost gave way; she grabbed the table edge, drawing a shaky breath. But she quickly collected herself. "There is no you and me," she said flatly. "There never was."

"Very well. Shall I tell them, or will you?"

Unable to answer, Crysania turned away from him and stood still, holding the back of her hand to her mouth, taking deep breaths.

Raistlin approached her cautiously. "Apparently there was a letter," he said when he was near her, and she flinched, but turned her head to listen. "Someone put down on paper what they knew and posted it to the rebel group. I'm afraid it must have been someone close to you, someone with an access into the storage rooms, because the sender used official stationery. This is not in my head," he added softly. "I wish it was, but it's not."

She was trying to absorb the information, frowning, pondering. What she said was more of a discouraged statement than a question: "Clerics."

"Yes."

"Hundreds."

"Yes. And someone had the information. Who do you think that was, hm? Who knows about your past?"

"Only a few."

"How many?"

She remained quiet.

"Crysania, this involves me too. Tell me."

Her shoulders went slack with a sigh. "Seven. I think."

"All right. Do they all have master keys for the whole temple?"

"Only Master Cloade. But it wouldn't be difficult for any of them to obtain the key." She sighed again and shook her head again: she couldn't believe they were even discussing the matter.

"Right. And does anyone besides Cloade know that we've been seeing each other?"

She was aghast. "We haven't been seeing each other."

"You know what I mean. Well?"

"Gaspar's the only one who knows. But he would never betray me like that." Her tone of voice was at complete odds with the conviction of her words.

"No? How well do you know him?"

"Not that well," she admitted. "But that doesn't mean a thing. See, I've learnt firsthand that even when you think you know someone very well, they're still capable of letting you down and doing something you never thought possible."

Raistlin stared at her. One mistake. One. But she would go on reminding him for the rest of his days. Some cleric. "Well," he said rigidly. "I can't speak for you, but I'm not going to get murdered in a back alley. Which is why I think it would be wise to take Cloade for questioning. He might start talking, identify the rest of the conspirators before things get out of hand. Because, believe me, they are getting out of hand out there, and fast."

She made a frustrated gesture, running a hand through her hair; suddenly she looked as if she was going to burst out laughing. "This is insane," she said, attempting a scornful tone. But then she realized something, and her face again settled into a worried and incredulous expression. "Did Gaspar let you in? In front of everybody?"

"No. The door was unlocked."

"But the guards..." She grew still.

"Which guards? Crysania," Raistlin insisted when she didn't respond, "has something happened?"

"No."

Gods, she was a terrible liar. "Crysania."

Another exasperated sigh. "Fine. Someone broke in."

"What, here?"

"Yes."

"And?"

"They took my speech," she said dejectedly. "They took Elistan's testament and they took the inaugural jewels. Everything that was needed for the ceremony."

"See, I told you this was serious! Those rebels or conspirators or whatever you prefer to call them don't want you as their leader, and they're going to do everything to prevent that. Was the lock broken?"

She was reluctant to answer. "No," she eventually said. "But..."

"So there you have it, it all falls into place. Who knows about me? Cloade. Who can easily get their hands on church stationery and has access everywhere in the temple, including your rooms? Again, Cloade."

"The cleaners have access," she protested, but her voice carried a note of doubt. "My assistant has access. Several people do."

"Yet none of them knew about the two audiences you were kind enough to grant me, did they?"

"Gaspar is a good employee," she said stubbornly. "He's trustworthy. Loyal."

"Maybe, maybe not. Do you really want to try your luck?" Raistlin demanded. "Moreover, do you want to take the chance of multiple people getting hurt? No. You need to tell your guards to look into the matter. Today."

"Do you realize what you're saying?" She was growing more and more nervous: she was still making as if she didn't believe him, but you could see she was coming around. "I can't just barge in there, accusing Gaspar of a plot to depose me."

"Listen to me," Raistlin said slowly, with an air of patience tried beyond endurance. "They're out there right now, stirring people up and inciting violence against you. If the mob get in here, deposal is the least of your worries. You wouldn't believe the state they're in. They're gonna hurt people. They're gonna wreck the place. The point is, you're not safe here."

She gave him a disdainful smile. "So I should just come with you and I'll be safe, is that what you're saying?"

"I'm saying you should be careful," Raistlin said, ignoring the poisonous remark she had yet again decided to make. "You must have Cloade investigated. And as for the other rebels... You just leave that to me. I'll take care of it."

Her arched brows rose in astonishment. "How? Hundreds, you said."

"Don't worry about that. There's something I've got to do and I might as well start at once."

"But..."

"You just take care of Cloade, and leave the rest to me."

Raistlin turned to leave. At the door he stopped and looked back at her. "Crysania."

When she turned, distraught and helpless-looking, he said, "I won't let anything bad happen to you."

For some moments he held her in his gaze, a brief smile touching his lips, and then he departed.

Stunned, Crysania stared after Raistin, into the unseen doorframe through which he had disappeared, his words sweeping through her like a cool, tingling wind. I won't let anything bad happen to you. It was at once ridiculous, tactless and romantic, and she did not know how to respond to any of it. Neither did she know what to make of his news, except that it was all starting to make sense in a horrible way. Two days ago she had had to cut short her usual round at the marketplace; without knowing the cause, she had sensed the guards' concern and alarm as they quickly walked her away from the crowds. Now she knew she had heard right: as she was leaning forward to hand a beggar a silver coin and bless her, a voice had spoken into her ear, uttering just one word, low and mean. Whore, the voice had said.

So there was that, and then, of course, there was the burglary. The burglar with the key and the letter-writer with classified information.

Where's Gaspar, she'd asked right after the robbery, and Araminta had replied, Couldn't find him.

She covered her mouth with her hand.
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Evermore: The Gathering