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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
- 36
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CHAPTER 36

Raistlin worked his way back through the dark alleys, moving as if on wings, his body pumping with adrenaline. All his awareness was fixed on himself, on that glorious rush and flow inside him, every nerve alive and throbbing: for the first time since he'd lost the magic, he felt he could do anything, anything at all, and there was no one to stop him.

There was a fountain in the middle of the tree-lined square by the library, portraying a scandalously-clad naiad riding a dragon spitting water from its gaping mouth. Shaking, breathing hard, Raistlin held his knife under the stream; he stared into the flowing red but all he could see was Adik's eyes as the understanding slowly slid into them. He could still feel the man's life slipping away from his body - at his command, at his mercy. A touch, slow and messy: death travelling from him to Adik. With magic, he could have pointed a finger from across the street and spoken a single word. He could have made his blood burn or turn his body into ice and crack it into splinters. This is what you get for messing with me. For lifting a finger against my love.

Under the glare of the red moon, Raistlin discarded the bloodied acolyte's robe and changed into his own black one that he produced from his rucksack. Feeling a little dizzy, he sat on the bench. Now that he had stopped shaking, the chill of the night air cut through him, clearing his thoughts. So, a change of plan. No time to go to the headquarters in the Old City now. He would have to go straight back to the stables.

Thunder cracked again, closer. Raistlin got up and started to walk, slower now, but keeping a steady pace. His mind lingered on Adik still - Adik the fanatic, Adik the fool. An untrained ape would have made a better cleric than Adik. There was no way he would have let that madman go. But what about the others? He stopped at the junction of Bridge Road and Old Avenue, weighing his options: should he or should he not follow his original plan? No. Let the rest of the idiots have their lucky escape. Adik's death would leave them demoralized and divided. He wouldn't need to worry about them. Besides, with the rain there was every chance the fire wouldn't even start.

Raistlin continued to walk, his already excited state further heightened by the knowledge that every step he took brought him closer to Crysania and their departure from the city. Just the thought of leaving her alone in that viper's nest aggravated him. If he hadn't returned when he did... But there was no point in dwelling on that. He had returned and he had saved her from those bloodthirsty, narrow-minded fools. Gods, he had had it up to here with their company. To Adik, Farag, Jankyn and Seth every fucking thing was a sin - every thought, every action. He used to think Crysania was over the top, but after seeing those morons take the moral high ground on behalf of the entire world he was willing to reconsider. When the letter he had penned had arrived, the fools had screamed and shouted in a religious frenzy with their cocks stiff under their robes at the idea of Crysania being a morally loose woman; sitting at the same table with them, he had seen lust masked by religious indignation in their gleaming eyes. So keen were they on the idea of her as a wicked woman, so high on their religious doctrines that they never even considered investigating the matter further. Not a forgery, they decided on the spot; every word true and right, a sin of the past renewed in the present. They were clerics, but amazingly enough it never even crossed their tiny little minds that the meetings between him and her could be about absolution, grace, forgiveness.

What unbelievable cretins. Raistlin smiled to himself as he passed under the archway of the Gate of Victory. It had been so easy to influence their thoughts. And not just that: in fact, everything had been so easy that under different circumstances he would almost have been willing to suspect divine favour. Thinking back on it now, he felt a shiver of pleasure. Posing as a zealous acolyte, spreading the story among the people, painting the posters over. Ildi walking through the wall to make sure Crysania was not there and him picking the lock on her balcony door; messing up the room to make it look like a burglary, taking the speech and the testament and the inaugural jewels; hiding the jewels and the speech in Cloade's room; burning the testament in the bathtub at the inn.

All just for Crysania. All for their future together.

With all these thoughts going around in his head, Raistlin proceeded towards the temple, staying in the side alleys and avoiding the main avenues where he might run into vandals and looters. So many people had joined in the revolt, not even knowing what the uprising was fundamentally about. Earlier in the afternoon Seth had claimed that a group of laymen had invaded the Vault and freed the inmates. If that was true, then things were really getting out of hand. He needed to get to the temple fast and take Crysania out of harm's way. Please let her be there, he said to himself for at least the tenth time that night. Everything depended on it. He had paid the young messenger a couple of coins, telling him that he had a note to deliver from High Officer Gebhard Fouquet to the two men guarding Revered Daughter Crysania's door. The boy was to tell the guards that Her Reverence must be kept locked in her chambers and under no circumstances should be removed to a different location. The boy had believed him, of course, swearing to him afterwards that he had delivered the message loud and clear.

Before entering the stableyard Raistlin threw the gory robe into a gutter and then went straight to Digby. He saddled the horse quickly and was just strapping his bags to the saddle when he became aware of someone standing right behind him. He turned slowly, ready to use his knife, but when he saw who it was his grip relaxed.

"Oh, hello, Laura," Raistlin said lightly, although he could have done without the delay. "What are you doing up so late?"

"I couldn't sleep," Laura said. "The thunder frightens me." She was looking up at Raistlin with a sweet smile. The splint he had made was still on the girl's arm. In the crook of the other was the doll Zenyta.

"You don't have to be afraid of it," Raistlin said, putting the bridle on the gelding's head. "It's just noise. It can't hurt you." He hoped the girl would believe him and go back inside. For some reason he had a bad feeling about this. Very bad.

"Where are you going?" Laura demanded.

"On a holiday," Raistlin replied, taking Digby out of his stall and leading him out into the yard. Laura followed him, skipping ahead, then turning to face him once more.

"My tooth is loose," she said. "You wanna see?"

"Maybe later," Raistlin said distractedly, not looking at Laura and turning Digby around towards the exit. He still had an ominous feeling in the pit of his stomach, and sure enough, he was right: he looked in the direction of the alley and who should he see approaching but his friends Farag, Jankyn and Seth, with five other acolytes he himself had helped to recruit.

Farag raised his hand and the others stopped, blocking the exit to the street.

"Well, well, well," said Farag amiably. "What do we have here? One of our own doing a runner?"

Raistlin assessed the men calmly. Eight against one. He wouldn't be able to mount fast enough. Demoralized and divided, he recalled himself thinking. A very bad miscalculation, that. If he hadn't hesitated at the junction... If he hadn't sat in the square for so long in a complacent daze... He had lost focus. Never lose focus, never lose concentration. He knew all that - and yet here he was, looking into Farag's enraged face.

Examining Raistlin from head to toe, Farag said, "Whatever happened to your glasses, Beldinas? Funny. Looks like your robe's gone as well."
"Cut the drama, Farag," Raistlin said coldly, "we're not in a play. Now, be a good cleric and move aside. You do what I say, and no one needs to get hurt, right?" While speaking, Raistlin caught a flash out of the corner of his eye: Laura scurrying past him to hide behind his back.

Farag scoffed. "Says the man whose hands are covered in brother Adik's blood."

A barely perceptible smile passed over Raistlin's lips. "You're one to talk, aren't you, Farag? Tell me, how many people did you murder today, just because some dusty old scrolls said so?"

"The Platinum Father favours our cause," Farag said proudly, smiling the wide smile of a fanatic. "That's justification enough."

Raistlin shrugged. "And self-defence isn't? Did you think I would just sit back and wait for death?"

"You can sit or stand for all I care. But I think I'd prefer seeing you and your strumpet face Paladine's justice together. Where is she, by the way? Waiting for you at the Tower?"

"Yeah, you'd better start explaining," Acolyte Seth eagerly chimed in, "and while you're at it, why don't you show us your real face and say what you've done with Beldinas, you scum?"

Surprised, Raistlin shot a look at Seth, then shook his head and laughed derisively. "You utter moron," he said to Seth before turning back to Farag. "Did I ever really think that you'd get anywhere without me?"

Farag's eyes widened as understanding suddenly dawned: there was no Beldinas, there never had been. "So it was you all the time," he said matter-of-factly, "stirring up hostility against her, cheering us on... What you hoped to achieve with that stunt, I guess we'll never know. Doesn't matter. What matters is that the Platinum Father will punish you for your sins."

"What are you going to do, Farag?" Raistlin asked. "Kill every blackrobe in the city?"

Farag's face lit with the fire of righteousness. "If that is what Paladine wishes of me, then I will gladly accept. But I know He wants me to start with the one who holds Him in contempt by taking His Revered Daughter as his whore."

"Why do you care?" Raistlin said, glancing furtively about, trying to buy time to figure out his next move. The exit still blocked; Digby boredly munching the hay on the ground, entirely oblivious; Laura still there behind him, quiet as a mouse. Raistlin looked back at Farag and said, "She's forfeited her title, you said it yourself. Come on now, Farag - think! There's nothing to stop you now. You've got the vestry. Adik's gone. Crown yourself the head of the church and rule it according to your purpose. Just let me be on my way, and I will leave the city quickly."

Farag seemed to consider this for a moment. But then his eyes lighted up with hatred and he said, almost chuckling, "'The mage must die.' Your own words. So if you think I'm going to let you mount that horse and let him take you where that bitch can mount you, then you're truly mistaken."

Raistlin smirked. "Jealousy doesn't suit you, Farag."

Farag stared at him and then his face distorted in rage. "Seize him!" he cried. "In Paladine's name, seize him!"

The fanatics started to spring forward to attack, but before they could take one step, Raistlin reached behind him without a second's thought, pulled Laura Bredell around to his front, flicked out his knife and pressed it against the girl's throat.

"Any of you fuckers move, and the girl gets it," he said in a low and menacing voice.

The clerics had stopped in their tracks. They were all staring at Raistlin in a state of confusion, doubt and fear reflected on their faces.

"You really want to do this, Farag?" Raistlin asked, nodding down at the tiny body in his grasp. "Is she a heretic, too? Does she deserve to die? Her blood will be on your hands, Farag."

Not a sound came from Laura; the little girl was shaking with fright, her body as rigid as her doll's, as Raistlin kept on looking at the clerics and talking to them in the same even voice. "I want you to turn around, walk away, and keep walking. All the way back to the old temple. How's it gonna be, Farag?" he asked, pressing the knife closer to the girl's throat. "Your call."

"You wouldn't," Farag said, his face pale, looking Raistlin in the eye. He took a cautious step towards the mage and the girl.

Raistlin returned Farag's stare unblinking. "I'm warning you, Farag. The Platinum Father's looking down on you. You think He likes what He sees? Hm? An innocent little girl."

He pressed the knife closer still. Laura remained as rigid as a statue, her little hands clenched into fists, her heart beating madly against his arm; a stream of warm urine spread in a puddle on the cobblestones under her, splashing onto Raistlin's boots.

Ignoring it, Raistlin held Farag's gaze. "You can end this nicely or you can end this very badly, Farag. Just turn around and start walking, now, and we're even. You do like I say, and we never have to see one another again."

Farag did not turn or move, just kept looking Raistlin in the eye, terrified indecision keeping him locked in place.

Right then a blood-curdling scream pierced the night. Raistlin shot a glance to his left and saw Molly Bredell in the dark doorway, staring at her daughter with her hands over her mouth, her eyes wide as plates. Everyone else was staring at the mother, their attention distracted from Raistlin by the woman's hysterical scream.

His moment had come. In a flash of movement Raistlin pushed Laura away from him, sending the girl tumbling down on all fours, mounted Digby, dug his heels into his sides and rode him straight at the gaping rebels. Grunting and yelling, jumping in all directions, the clerics dodged the horse's flailing hooves.

The rain was starting again; the first hard drops pattered on Raistlin's shoulders as he galloped into the alleyway. He took the right turn, but when he realised what was happening, he brought Digby to a violent stop mid-gallop, turned him around and rode him full speed in the opposite direction. He glanced behind his shoulder just in time to see the drunken thugs turn into the Bredell alley. All that screaming and shouting must have drawn their attention.

Raistlin tightened his grip on the reins and kicked Digby forward faster.
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Evermore: The Gathering