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Flaming Summer!	By : Miqael Category: A through F > Dragonlance Views: 1914 -:- 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
- 3
- 4
Flaming Summer!
A Most Atrocious Parody by Chetwynd
Chapter 4: Nefarious Acts Result in Dire Consequences─Or Not
During his long sleep in whichever plane he had been in, Raistlin had missed something of Krynn very much ─the warbles of birds.
It was one of his most well kept secrets, that liking of his. You can’t maintain a reputation as a ruthless evil over-wizard if anyone knows you favour those sweet trills. Still, he adored them so much that when living in the Tower of Palanthas he had several huge cages where his little goldfinch and nightingale pets lived as kings, as pampered as only sons. He had concealed them under powerful illusions, just in case Dalamar decided to get snoopy and poke about his shalafi’s chambers. Now and again, he thought about his little birdies, wondering whether his loyal, undead servants had cared for them as the dears deserved.
That was the reason he braved the still, cold nights of spring with the shutters of his room open: to awaken to the gentle sounds of the birds perched on the branches of the vallenwood. Like this morning.
Sneezing, Raistlin burrowed into his blankets, unwilling to dispel the magic of the moment. Since returning from Wayreth, he had felt like loafing around, in appearance content with the simple, quiet life he led as Palin. Even if the little sisters from the Abyss and that psychotic brother of his collaborated a bit more! However, a nice ‘barrier against pests’ worked wonders with the former ─apparently it was as effective against mischievous nieces as it was against kender─ while he had become quite adept at avoiding the latter.
The only remarkable incident since then had taken place at the end of the journey back to Solace, while they were still a few miles away from the thriving town. A gang of bandits had thought that the three young men riding unconcernedly were easy prey, and ambushed them on the road. Had their lucky star been shining that day, the outlaws would have managed to escape after a mere sound thrashing at the hands of their victims. It was not to be though. After his blunder with the succubus and the long ride back, Raistlin had been so impatient to reach home and take a long, hot bath and an extended nap that the unexpected assault had peeved him mightily. Fed up, he had simply used the first spell able enough to get rid of them that had come to his mind. Possibly, he had gone a bit too far with that particular spell, after all it was one of the most powerful and deadly in existence. However, his nephews had fallen for his little deceit. Clearly, Tanin and Sturm had as much idea about magic as Par-Salian had about godly apparel. His secret was still safe.
Raistlin settled back blissfully amid the soft blankets, lazily pondering what he was not going to do today. He should get up some hours later in order to not pass Caramon before he went to pester his clientele. Maybe he could keep the brothers’ company, studying one of his spellbooks near Crystalmir Lake while Tanin and Sturm beat each other with the excuse of improving their prowess. That sounded quite good indeed.
“Hey, Palin,” piped a fluty voice from the outside of his window. Pity the magic ward wasn’t able to block out sounds as well. Opening a sleepy eye, the mage saw it was Dezra the Slicker.
“What do you want now?” he groaned. Well, there went his lovely morning. Once one of the imps clamped her metaphorical jaws on her prey, she never let it go. “Don’t you see I’m sleeping?”
“You are not,” replied the girl, then tsk-tsked: “And you know Mom doesn’t like you to sleep with that fancy stick. She says Un… you know who… did the same, and she doesn’t want to be reminded of him.”
“What she doesn’t see can’t hurt her,” the mage growled. Forecasting her following words, he sighed and reached for the money pouch he kept hidden under the mattress.
“But what she hears might,” Dezra nearly crowed. Her selfish, crooked grin made him believe for a moment she was the very reincarnation of Kitiara. “Poor mommy, her little son does dirty things with a piece of wood that belonged to…”
“How much?” Raistlin cut into her tirade. Abyss, the little monster knew how to ruin a nice morning!
She seemed to ponder the question for a long while.
“How about two steels?”
“Two…!” he spluttered, indignant. Nonetheless, he threw the coins at her through the open window in the hope that one of them would hurt her badly. No such luck though; she was nimble as a kender, and highly skilled at dodging her brother’s projectiles. “That’s armed robbery, anklebiter.”
Dezra, who had caught the steel pieces dexterously, regarded her ‘brother’ from under drooping eyelids. Her eyes were so cold and calculating that Raistlin wondered why he had not been yet murdered in his sleep for her to get all his money. Possibly because of the wards. Yes, too much like Kitiara, this one. A mercenary at heart. Laura, on the other hand, was not as profit-oriented. She simply relished torturing her sibling for the sake of amusement. Hers, of course.
“Well, dear Palin, doing deals with you is always a pleasure.” The girl shrugged. “By the way, Mom said that fat old master of yours wanted you to visit him at Poopbottom.” After taking a last, shrewd glance at him, the girl took her leave.
His humour dangerously soured, Raistlin got up from bed and, scowl in place, leant on the windowsill looking at the greenness of the family vallenwood without seeing it. He hadn’t even remembered his former master, Theobald. His apprenticeship at the hands of that lout in the den of stupidity he dared to call a school was a chapter of his past he had closed and pushed into the deepest recesses of his mind. The man had been ─and Raistlin supposed he still was─ a complete idiot, his classmates were more interested in putting their fingers up their noses than in learning magic, and since that period he hadn’t been able to smell cabbage without feeling the urge to incinerate something. However, if he wanted to continue with his charade, he couldn’t refuse the geezer’s request. Nevertheless, he was not an apprentice anymore, either as Raistlin or as Palin, so perhaps he could enjoy himself by making fun of the man.
His spirits a little higher, the mage had a wash and clothed himself. Before leaving his room, he put one of his new acquisitions into his bag and went to the common room of the inn.
The coast was clear; the common room of the inn was empty at this early hour. In addition, Caramon’s axe was missing from its customary place near the counter. That meant the dunce was deforesting the woods; with a bit of luck one day he would approach the Dark Forest to be eviscerated by its denizens, or maybe he would come across some radical ecologist elf and his swift bow. If only!
He was about to open the main door to leave when a sharp voice stopped him.
“Where do you think you are going, young man?”
“Oh. Good morning Mom.” He went to the kitchen’s entrance, where Tika was eyeing him with her keen green eyes, and pecked her obligingly on the cheek. In return, he received a thorough hugging and several kisses. Raistlin abhorred it. “I was going to Master Theobald’s.”
“Not before eating your breakfast, darling.” After making him take his usual seat, the barmaid-turned-innkeeper put a bowl of porridge, some toasted bread with jam, two fried eggs with sausages, fresh juice, and a jug of milk in front of him. The mage felt nauseated. “Remember to eat everything. You are scrawny, my little son, and I refuse to let one of my children look like… an undernourished fox,” Tika hissed viciously. She tenderly caressed his auburn hair and kissed him on the cheek again, then returned to the kitchen. Raistlin knew she would search the room later for any sign of leftovers.
Seriously thinking about magicking the food away, the mage saw his new best friend approach the table with its usual awkward gait. It was a stray black cat, with only a single eye and a torn ear. The poor beast had been a scrag before its extremely profitable association with Raistlin. Now, it was an incredibly fat cat, so huge it was knock-kneed due to its weight. The man called it ‘ mso-ansi-language:Salvador’.
As it did everyday, Salvador went under the table as stealthily as his girth allowed it, rubbed itself on Raistlin’s legs and waited impatiently for its breakfast to come. It knew better than demand it aloud though; the harpy two-legs with long, red fur would come, a suspicious expression on her face, to make sure her cub swallowed up to the last bite. Then the poor cub would feel ill ─his paunch was as small as a kitten’s─ and Salvador would feel hungry.
Raistlin stroked Salvador’s head. Except for birds, he had never been fond of animals, but he could not help becoming attached to his saviour. After passing the food surreptitiously to the cat, he witnessed the speed with which it made his breakfast disappear down its throat. It never failed to amaze him.
“You are a good friend, Salvador,” he whispered as the cat wobbled to the hole he used to enter the common room, already almost too small for him to fit. Raistlin wondered briefly if his not so little friend wasn’t a bit too fat. Maybe it was time to make it be on diet; it wouldn’t do to lose Salvador to either bad health or a too small hole.
He drank the juice and threw the remaining milk into the beer keg. Then, he brought the dishes and jugs to the kitchen, contorting his features into a grimace of satiety. He also moaned softly, to be safe.
“Ooooo… Here, Mom, take these.”
Tika’s smile was bright. And sadistic, Raistlin thought.
“Are you finished?”
“Yes, but do you think it’s necessary for me to eat so much? I’m barely able to move…” he pleaded.
“My dearest, you are all skin and bones!” The woman took his face with her hands. “So full of hard angles, where healthy roundness was before.”
“Mom, that was baby fat,” Raistlin protested, exasperated. “I’m merely on the side of thinness. I will explode one day if you continue to fatten me up so much.”
“I know what’s best for you, darling. I’m your mother, after all.” No you are not! “If I don’t force you to eat, you won’t do it yourself, and then you… will turn bad, my pet. And I don’t want you to.”
Raistlin stopped himself from snorting. Of course, she was referring to him, her brother-in-law. What had bad appetite to do with evilness? Nothing at all. Nevertheless, he suspected that Tika’s reluctance to ‘allow her son to become a hungry, evil man’ was more due to himself looking like… himself than anything else. If his twin was obsessed with making his son the very picture of the ‘ideal Raistlin’, his wife was as much obsessed with erasing any sign of his existence.
He sighed in defeat. Salvador’s diet should wait.
“All right, Mom, you win. Now I’m going.” The wizard bore her insufferable petting with resignation, then ran away as swiftly as he was able to.
Once outside, Raistlin walked to the closest staircase. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Dezra speaking with a giggling young woman. The latter seemed familiar, but he couldn’t place her. He shrugged, if the girl was stupid enough to allow one of the Majere sisters to con her, it was her fault. That was not his problem.
At least that’s what he thought.
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The Murky Boozer was a tavern of disreputable nature located in a shadowy crossroad of lesser-used paths leading to Newport to the south, and Solace to the north. Many would have termed it a den of thieves and cutthroats, and rightly so. It was a place where brigands and outlaws came to share some drinks with their peers after an arduous day of robbery and killing.
The owner was a hardened assassin that, having survived her life-risking career, had retired, and now occupied her time quenching the thirst of other delinquents with watered beer and lending an understanding ear to their occasional talkative clients. The middle-aged woman was respected among the patrons for her wisdom and her swift dagger.
That day had been a quiet one, everyone was out on the road making the most of the high months for crime that spring provided. Therefore, it was with great surprise she looked up from the little experiment with poisons she was carrying out on the counter to discover one of her best clients entering her tavern.
“Good afternoon, Groogh. What brings you here at this early hour?” she asked kindly. It was strange to see Groogh alone, the half-ogre was almost never separated from his older brother, Trucho. “Where is your brother, and the rest of the boys?”
The half-breed sat down heavily on the sturdy high stool in front of her, at the other side of the counter. “Dead, they all are dead, Lucy.”
“Dead? How is that possible?” Trucho’s gang was known for its deadliness and common sense when it came to choosing their victims. “What happened?”
“Well you know, we were at the northern part of the Hanged Path, at the branch leading to Solace,” the burly bandit began his tale of woe, anger strong in his voice. “Our intention was to position ourselves near the road to Haven, but Raskall came and said someone was riding up the path towards us. Young men, he said, two warriors and a lad wearing white robes. Easy prey, we all thought, so we got ready to ambush them.”
“I assume they were not.”
Groogh shook his head in despaired negation. “Not at all.”
“I was a bit behind, amid the trees, preparing the ropes and the knots, and that saved me. The warriors dismounted, bristling and with hands on the hilt of their swords, but the kid refused. I’ll never forget his frozen eyes as he regarded the band with a haughty grimace. Without a word, ignoring everything said to him, he raised one hand, pointed at them with a finger, and simply said one word: “Die.”
“And then every one of them collapsed to the ground. Dead.”
The big man suppressed a sob. One of his paws covered his face. “One of the warriors even said that spell was very cool!” Unable to hold it back anymore, the half-ogre burst into tears. “The bastard killed them all and never missed a beat! How insensitive can a human be?”
Lucy refrained from commenting that the gang would’ve slit the throats of the three men the moment they were subdued. Ah, the dangers of the bloody trade; Trucho’s men had finally met a fish too big for them to catch. She wondered at the distraught half-breed’s story though; the spell he described was much too powerful for a wizard as young as the one he described. It was intriguing, but it was not her problem; that mage had powerful spells, and the former assassin wouldn’t want to be on the bad side of any being that could kill with a word.
Meanwhile, Groogh’s tears of sorrow had turned into a snort of rage.
“By Hiddukel’s dagger, I swear I’ll kill the swine! I’ll revenge you, my brother, you’ll see!”
Lucy sighed. Some days it seemed that even the toughest had a death wish.
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The Head of the Black Robes appeared in the single classroom of the school of magic knows as Poolbottom with a resounding crack, amid a cloud of bluish smoke. Such additions weren’t necessary for the spell to function, but he liked the effect his theatrical entrances had on the mob, which always left them awed and terrified of the mighty elven wizard in black, sulphur stink notwithstanding.
His arrival, however, was not received with the suitable ohs and ahs or the scared faces the dark elf enjoyed so much. The snot-nosed students were absent; the classroom was empty. That didn’t help to mollify his dark mood in the least; he needed the grovelling of the masses to boost his presently damaged ego.
He was not even here on his volition, but as a side effect of the misfortune that had befallen him in these late times. Jenna was being completely insensitive to his adversity, to the point of considering him the only one to blame, and had gone to her father to tell him of her dissatisfaction. Being the insufferable daddy he was, Justarius had taken offence at the brazenness of the dark elf that dared to displease his dear little daughter so. Therefore, the Head of the Conclave, as a veiled punishment for his insolence, had sent Dalamar to this rundown place to investigate the death of a useless old teacher.
Nearly growling in anger and frustration, the Silvanesti looked around, trying to locate anyone to begin this so-called investigation. Nevertheless, the whole school appeared deserted, until he reached the kitchen and saw Palin Majere tinkering with some pots.
“Oh, well met, master Dalamar,” said the boy in his too gentle voice.
The dark elf swished his loose robes as he entered the dirty room, noticing that his effort was wasted on the unflappable young mage that regarded him, kettle in hand. Dalamar glared at the expression of beatitude the human displayed, contrasting with the bleakness of the silent school. On another occasion, his sweet smile would have sent shivers down the Black Robe’s spine, but at that moment he was so angry he barely registered it.
“Where are the students?” snapped the Silvanesti.
“Am I to assume that you are here to investigate the circumstances of master Theobald’s death?” asked the White Robe, his smile never wavering. “I’m honoured you deign yourself to grace us… I mean the school and I with your presence. As for the pupils, I sent them away until this matter is solved and a suitable replacement for the position is found. Nonetheless, if you have need of them to give testimony, I can make them attend.”
The Black Robe shook his head. “I haven’t the least desire to deal with the brats unless it is absolutely necessary; I can’t stand them,” he said, his hand dismissing the mere idea with a gesture. “However, you don’t seem too saddened by your master’s death.”
Palin had crouched to hang the kettle from the bar that crossed the interior of the fireplace and turned his head to look up at the elder wizard. “I am sad. Master Theobald, nevertheless, was a very old man, full of ailments and already lacking the patience or energy to deal with the younger pupils. His time was already approaching, so my sorrow for the loss is balanced with the knowledge that he is now in Solinari’s realm, free from his miseries.”
“However, I’m also puzzled by the strange nature of his death.”
“You don’t seem puzzled.”
At this, the young man’s mild expression changed briefly to one of perplexity, then he smiled a faint smile. “No? That would mean I’m getting better at hiding my emotions. Everybody told me I was like an open book, too easy to read. It wouldn’t do me any good to reveal my intentions to my enemies just displaying them on my face, so I did some training before the mirror to change that.”
The Silvanesti raised one eyebrow. “Do you have many enemies?”
The White Robe stood up, hardly holding back a laugh. “None that I know of yet, but that could change if I do as I intend and go with my brothers into adventure. Please, come with me, I’ll lead you to the room where the… master Theobald is.” The human went outside the kitchen, missing the dark elf’s narrowed eyes.
Dalamar’s anger grew. Palin Majere was not to be allowed a life of adventuring! That way he would not only be unfettered but unmonitored too, and he needed the boy watched carefully. Even if he was a bumpkin, humble origins didn’t always lead to humble lives or aspirations, as in the case of the idiot’s uncle or himself. Yes, he was soft and meek, very different from power-hungry Raistlin, but there was something in him that not only exasperated the dark elf, but also scared him. In addition, too many strange things had happened since his Test, which had also been cause for concern.
“You seem bring death where you go, young magus,” he said nastily, and he delighted in the pained grimace on his smooth features. When Palin turned to face him, his eyes were full of confusion and hurt.
“Why do you say so?” the young man asked, resentment clearly tingeing his gentle voice.
Ah, his training is not too good, thought the Silvanesti, gloating to himself.
“Par-Salian also died during your stay at Wayreth.”
Again confusion marred Palin’s features. “He was still alive? But how old was that man?”
“Too old for anyone’s liking,” murmured Dalamar, carefully studying the other man’s reactions. He seemed truthfully baffled. “Nonetheless, his death, as your master’s,” he sneered the last word,” was too strange to be merely dismissed as natural.”
He didn’t mind at all why or how the geezer had died, not even if it had been at the clutches of a rabid dragon. Justarius had been very precise in his assignment, though; return when the matter is solved, or don’t return at all. And Dalamar refused to renounce his comfortable Tower and the army of apprentices desirous to grovel at his feet. Or the couturiers willing to make him the most fashionable robes in the continent.
“And why would that be?”
“Well, no one could specify the cause of his death, not even by means of divination. It seemed as if the old man had died several times, in different ways.”
“That’s proof enough I didn’t have anything to do with it,” said the brat. “I’m merely a novice; I don’t posses the kind of power needed to… kill anyone several times. Not that I would like to, of course.”
The dark elf shrugged, conceding the point. After all, he hadn’t even suspected the boy’s implication in Par-Salian’s long awaited decease, he just wanted to toy with him a little. As the uncle had liked to do with him.
They arrived at the small room where the corpse was kept. Dalamar grimaced at the stink and covered his nose and mouth with a silken handkerchief before getting closer to it. “Couldn’t you preserve the body a bit better?”
The young man stared at the Black Robe, a slight frown marring his brow. So much for keeping a cool façade. “I would have, if I were powerful enough to cast a stasis spell. But then, it wouldn’t be necessary for you to be here investigating his death, would it? I put it in the coldest room in all the school.”
Ah, the boy was bitter about his lack of power. Interesting. Maybe he was not as unflappable as he seemed.
“He seems… terrified,” Dalamar commented after observing carefully the deceased’s face for some long moments. “What happened?”
“That’s what confuses me. Let’s see… Master Theobald summoned me two days ago, so I came here in the morning. He wanted to speak to me about one missive you had sent him, and we went into his study to discuss it. I did read it and, when I looked up again, he was like this, I mean, dead.”
Nodding absently, Dalamar performed some quick spells to determine the cause of the death and if magic had been involved. He frowned at the results. No magic, no physical injuries or fatal illnesses. Apparently, the old man had died of fright quite simply.
“Did you notice anything unusual?”
“Nothing at all. It was as if he had seen something truly terrifying, but there was nothing apart from us. And I don’t think the boys would’ve dared to play one of their annoying jokes with me there; you see, they are quite fond of me. Anyway, I questioned them and they seemed to speak the truth; they were too sleepy. However, if you prefer to speak with them personally…”
“No, no, I don’t think it will be necessary,” Dalamar hurried to reply. “Nevertheless, you must admit that the circumstances are very strange.”
“That’s why I said I was puzzled. Am I a suspect, master Dalamar? If so, I would prefer you to carry out the inquiries drinking a cup of tea in the study, and not here, with… a dead… man. That way you can examine the study too,” Palin asked calmly, as if the assumption didn’t worry him.
The elven wizard thought that the younger Majere son would never hurt a fly, he probably cried when accidentally killed any. However, he had to carry out an investigation and he had nothing apart from a corpse that didn’t tell him much, and the boy. So the boy it was. Moreover, he wanted to question him about the missive he had sent to the dead man. Thus, he nodded his head in agreement, leaving for the so-called study while the human went to fetch the tea.
The “study” was a room more likely used for napping than anything else. Its walls were almost bare of shelves and the few of them were nearly devoid of books. It was pathetic; it didn’t even have that sensation of otherworldliness the dwelling places of mages exude, not even slightly. After checking again for the presence of magic by means of his spells, the dark elf concluded that his senses were accurate indeed. No arcane forces had been worked here, ever. His handkerchief held more energy than the whole room.
“Have you found anything revealing, master Dalamar?” asked Palin as he put down the tray with the kettle and the cups.
“Was Theobald really a wizard?”
“He used to say he was restrained with the magic. I know it’s not nice to speak ill of the dead, but I think he was merely not very good at it. However, he passed the Test and had his teaching certificate.” He pointed to a yellowed parchment put up on the wall, nearly merged with it. “Please, take a seat, master Dalamar. May I serve you some tea? You seem a bit… frustrated.” Had his blue eyes glinted fleetingly with malice or he had just imagined it?
The Black Robe refrained from biting the younger man’s head off with considerable effort. Surely he couldn’t know of what had befallen him! And he was frustrated. Therefore, he chose to file the comment as the stupid concern so typical of naïve White Robes. On the other hand, he absently noted the way Palin kept caressing the cover of the single book on the table, it was disturbingly reminiscent of his uncle. It was really eerie. That reminded him of his reasons for sending his missive.
“It’s nothing to concern yourself with,” the elven mage almost snarled. “However, I would like to know why my suggestion was not followed.”
His features painted with wonderment and abashment, cheeks lightly stained red, the immaculately-clothed human raised his hands in an apologetic gesture. “Simply because it was a suggestion, master Dalamar.”
“And what made you refuse my proposal, young magus?” Dalamar questioned, before sipping some of the offered tea. He looked down at the chipped clay cup in surprise. It was good! He had not tasted a tea as good as this since… since ages, he thought. The elf saw how the human’s smile widened in pride and satisfaction at his evident approval. “This blend is excellent.”
“Thank you, master Dalamar. I consider myself a sort of novice herbalist, but everybody says I have a knack for teas. I’ll give you some of this one if you wish. Concerning the position, I don’t think I’m up to the challenge; I’m too young and inexperienced to handle such a task. Being in charge of the education of our future wizardry generations is a great responsibility, one that a more capable mage should take.”
Those puppy blue eyes were so full of shame and sadness, the dark elf had no alternative but to believe the truthfulness of Palin’s mournful assertions. The lout thought that being a teacher was an honour. How very different to his uncle in that regard!
“We know it is a great responsibility, but one you can manage, rest assured.”
“But I wanted to go with my brothers for a while and see the world and learn new things before settling,” pleaded the white robed wizard.
Anger returned in full force to Dalamar. He wanted the little creep here, monitored and weighed down by the ungrateful job. Swift as a striking viper, the Silvanesti stood up banging his hands against the table and brought his face close to the human’s until their noses were almost touching. His slanted eyes smouldered and his tea-sweetened breath was hot against the other’s cheek. “You will do as ordered!”
Strangely, the eyes of the boy didn’t reflect any fear or surprise, only an uncharacteristic coolness. However, he lowered them quickly, the very picture of misery. “I cannot.”
“And why not?” hissed the dark elf, feeling his blood boil. How dare he?
“Because Uncle Raistlin wouldn’t want me to be a teacher,” Palin said.
Enraged beyond control, the Black Robe grabbed the human by the shoulders and shook him violently. “You little shite, you will become the teacher of this fucking school or I’ll have you declared a renegade, do you hear me?” he barked. “You will… will…”
“Not be responsible for your death,” whispered the young wizard, his voice so soft it was almost inaudible. The sorrow in his tone and eyes managed to calm the elf’s fury, replacing it with apprehensiveness. He let go of him as the human continued: “He told me you would try to deter me, to hold me back because you fear I become like him. He said that he… that he had a spell with your name… it didn’t sound very nice.”
The Silvanesti blanched, apprehensiveness morphing into dread. He sat down heavily, his heart thumping painfully in his chest.
“Do you understand why I cannot, master Dalamar? I didn’t say anything before because I didn’t want to upset you even more, either in Wayreth or here.”
Nodding shakily, the dark elf brought the cup to his lips, drank the remaining tea in one gulp, and served himself another. “I think it’d be better if you choose any other career,” he said in a thin voice.
It was as if he had cast an enchantment upon the young man. His distressed semblance suddenly brightened, eyes big with joy and lips wide with a genial smile. “Thank you, master Dalamar!”
Agitated, the Silvanesti wished he’d brought with him a bottle of his light, elven wine to drown his sorrows. Sweet Nuitari, even the dead were against him! Why did the shadow of his shalafi continue threatening him? He only wanted to be the evilest, coolest wizard in the world, and for that he needed to be free of any likely hindrance or contestant. Perhaps was it too much? All right, he had betrayed his master to achieve his goals, and had kept his Tower for himself, but that was the way of the Black Robes. In his place, the shalafi would’ve done the same or even worse. However, here he was, frustrated, angry, and frightened, a shadow of the elf he was supposed to be!
“Um, sorry, master Dalamar. I must go home to have supper, or my Mom will come here in search of me.”
The elven mage sighed and stood up. “I will come with you. The investigation is not yet closed and I’ve no desire to remain here for the night, I’d rather stay in your parent’s inn.”
“Well, since you are an evil influence, Mom will try to frighten you away and Father will pester you with tales of the ‘old times’, but it’s your choice.” The boy shrugged.
In the end, Dalamar accompanied the young man, preferring to brave Tika’s motherly schemes or Caramon’s verbal diarrhoea to spending the night in a depressing, lonely school that stank of dead human.
The walk to Solace was unexpectedly pleasant. Palin was like a puppy with an affinity to magic knowledge instead of to bones, his questions surprisingly clever and curious. Were he not feeling so dejected due to all his misfortunes, the dark elf would have enjoyed using his charm and coolness to impress that deficient copy of his former master. The peacefulness of the moment, however, was completely broken when a group of men, about thirteen, came suddenly from the trees into the road. All of them were heavily armed with a varied assortment of weapons, and at least seven bows were aimed at the mages. They were headed by an ugly, hulking man that didn’t take his eyes off the Majere boy.
“You, sneaking bastard, you die this day,” boomed the brute, wildly brandishing his two-handed broadsword. “We won’t simply fall under your spell and die when you say so, as you did with my brother and the boys! My archers will run you through the very moment you open your dirty wizard mouth.”
Dalamar, his stomach painfully knotted, saw how Palin looked at him out of the corner of his eye, unbelievably calm. Scornfully so. He had recognised the crude description of the spell for what it actually was: something the boy shouldn’t even have been able even to dream about. And the human had undoubtedly noticed his reaction… He couldn’t suppress a frightened whine.
Mistaking the source of the dark elf’s distress, the bandits laughed. “Look at that elf, he’s so shit-scared he’s going to wet his fanciful robes! Hey, you brat, are you dumb? Why are you grinning like that?”
Overcome with dread, the dark elf absently thought that the leader of the brigands might have a little more common sense than the rest of the gang. The gigantic man stumbled back to the tress when the mild boy disappeared from the face of the human, superseded by a fierce man, his smile so wicked, so evil, that it was the scariest thing he had seen in all his life. Then the pale skin, blue eyes and auburn hair were also gone, the gleaming gold and white cutting short the merriment of the bandits.
The Silvanesti almost wet his robes as he witnessed the methodical and swift execution of those idiots who had dared to face the most powerful wizard on Krynn, knowing that he was probably the next. He was not a novice, but a mighty mage on his own; however, he was so terrified that even the thought of protective spells evaded his deeply scared mind. Shaking, eyes on the point of shedding tears of anguish, Dalamar waited for his sentence to be pronounced and carried out.
“The leader has run away. He seemed familiar… Oh, well, it doesn’t matter,” commented Raistlin in a conversational tone, as if he was speaking about the fine weather. He shrugged, turning toward the frightened elf. “Hello, apprentice.”
Dalamar’s response was a high-pitched, anguished whimper.
“Did the cat swallow your tongue?” the archmage smirked. He leant lazily on the Staff of Magius that a moment before had not been in his hand.
“Sha-shalafi! You a-are alive!” squeaked Dalamar, recovering his lost voice.
“You have such a gift for stating the obvious,” mocked the human.
“But… but has it been you all the time? But your robes… the Test…”
“I’m so good at acting I would’ve been a wonderful performer were it not for the magic,” said Raistlin, very proud of himself. “Not a soul has suspected a bit. And yes, it was me since the incident at the Tower.”
“What did happen to Palin then? Did you lure him into the Abyss and then you possessed him? I understand perfectly your need of a handsomer body, your life must have been dreadful within that horrible husk you had…” Dalamar added in a conciliatory tone. Now convinced that his life was not going to expire at the hands of his former master in the next moments, at least, not until Raistlin had explained his grand scheme, gloating over his cleverness - drama was one of his weakness─ some of his courage returned to him. That would provide him with some time to convince his former master that he was more useful alive than dead… or undead.
“You still allow your mouth get the better of you, you’ll never learn. For your information, I neither attracted my nephew to anywhere nor possessed him. This is my body, so refrain from insulting it again. And don’t dare interrupt me with your sorry excuses! It was your fault that Takhisis took him prisoner,” snarled the human wizard, making him cringe. The elf had brought up a tricky subject; Raistlin had been always been touchy about his appearance… Sweet Nuitari, he had called him ugly to his face during his drinking binge in Wayreth! He was surely doomed! The archmage never forgot a slight and was more vindictive than Sargonass, the god of Vengeance.
After fixing a cool, pain-promising gaze on him, the archmage carried on with his story: “Contrary to what people are so fond of believing, I was not being tortured. I was sleeping peacefully until Lunitari and her dummy cousins decided to awaken me to charge me with the duty of saving the poor wretch. It seems that your stupidity allowed the Whore to make him enter her realm, where she waited for me to be forced to go to the rescue. To cut a long story short, the Bitch killed my nephew accidentally while she was trying to carve me up, and then the next thing I remember is awakening in Solace, with everybody calling me ‘Palin’.”
The elven wizard considered his story carefully. “I don’t know what to think. Since it’s so unbelievable I’d think it to be true, but you are so fond of preposterous lies I’m not sure anymore. I was so gullible, falling for your fibs, in Wayreth and back when I was your apprentice─like when you told me that rubbing nettles relieved sunburn…”
“Oh, I always thought you hadn’t swallowed that one. I didn’t see any rash.”
“That’s right, you didn’t see it!” grumbled Dalamar, clearly remembering his pained bum as if it had been yesterday. “But no more!”
Raistlin’s appearance had reverted to the Palin look-alike, or maybe he had always been that way, at least before the Test had changed him so drastically. But then, why had no one recognised him? The boy surely hadn’t been a carbon-copy of his uncle, there must be some differences between them. He hadn’t been able to spot them, yet he had not known the brat for more than several hours before he committed suicide by going into the Abyss; moreover, the father had been pestering him too much for him to pay attention to the features of the son. At any rate, what of Caramon and his goody-goody family? Perhaps it was that they, as the Heads of the Conclave had chosen to do, saw only what they wanted to see.
“And what if I do lie? What are you going to do then?” mocked the human mage. Then he sighed. “Believe it, for once it’s the truth.”
“Even if it was not, what else can I do? You’ll kill me at the first sign of rebellion,” whispered Dalamar, bitterness infusing his voice.
The scorn was back in Raistlin’s. “Oh, such impotence.”
The dark elf blinked repeatedly, eyes fixed on his master. After some astounded moments, they widened, first in surprise, then in happiness. “Does that mean that ‘little Dally’ isn’t failing me on its own, that it’s something of your making?” He felt like dancing in joy.
“‘Little Dally’? No, I don’t want to know. And don’t ask me why I did it. Call it preventive punishment or simply evilness, I don’t mind. You have your frustrations and free yourself from them dumping promising young wizards into a school and tying them down to the despicable trade of teacher; I get rid of mine frustrating my former apprentice. Now, bear it like an elf,” he smirked.
“You are so cruel, shalafi. I suppose that you were also the one who sent that succubus to torment me shortly after your visit to Wayreth.”
The archmage shrugged carelessly, not affirming it, but not denying it either.
“Then you killed Theobald.”
“No, at least not directly,” denied the more powerful wizard. His smirk twisted a bit more. “Actually it was your missive did that. I was so furious when I read it that my armour slipped back. The shock was too strong for his heart. Just like Par-Salian’s first time. At least Theobald was less fussy and died silently.”
There isn’t any doubt, thought Dalamar, this is Raistlin; no one can be so carelessly callous. Well, one─no, two mysteries solved. The problem was what he was going to tell Justarius. “And why do you continue impersonating your nephew?”
The archmage stared at his former apprentice for long seconds.
“Do you know my sister-in-law?”
“Oh, yes, I see. She’s known to be as fond of you as Kitiara was, or even less. But, once you were out of her reach, what? Why did you return?”
Another tense pause and that shrewd, cool gaze nailing his figure. “Dalamar, take off your robes.”
“No, shalafi, please, allow me at least to die in a way more dignified than in my undergarments!” pleaded the dark elf. However, Raistlin refused and he began to undress amid shaking sobs. When he finished ─after trying to delay it as for as long as possible─, his sight was blurred and his nose was runny.
“Nice underclothes. Here, hold this and give me yours. And stop snivelling and look.”
As he tried to wipe his eyes of tears, he managed to see Raistlin, also naked except for an unfashionable clout, put his clothes on. They were too big for the human, and he lacked the frame required to let them show how splendid they were. Then… “My beautiful robes! What have you done to them!”
“Now you see why I cannot reveal myself: Any garment I don becomes horribly white, apart from that black line in the hem. It would completely ruin my infamous reputation.”
“My robes! My latest-fashion, blacker than blackest robes!” wailed Dalamar.
“My, you’re taking it worse than when you thought I was going to slaughter you. Give me mine, yours are too fancy for my liking. Stop already; if you cry any harder your brain will come out your nose.”
“You are an evil, cruel man, Raistlin Majere! Now what am I going to do with white robes? What of my reputation?”
“Well, that’s not my problem, is it? As it isn’t my concern what you are going to tell the crooks back in Wayreth about all this. I don’t want to be pestered by your idiot peers yet. I like it better this way for the moment,” he lowered his voice to an intimidating whisper. “Thus, you’ll make sure they remain ignorant of my return, or ‘little Dally’, instead of merely being unresponsive, will not be attached to ‘big Dally’ anymore.”
Pale and red-eyed, Dalamar nodded, all the while surreptitiously covering that precious part of his anatomy with a trembling hand.
“Find some idiot to fill the position of teacher of dunderheads and don’t bother me again, understood? Come on, I want to get home before Tika gets suspicious. And yes, you are going with me, I need someone to eat my leftovers. And don’t despair; if you are a good elf I might lift the curse on you and your ‘little friend’ will be as frisky as it ever was.”
“That-that would be nice, shalafi. I won’t tell a soul.”
Raistlin handed him a small sack, full of fragrant dried herbs. “Good boy. Here. It tastes awful and won’t stop the stomach cramps or the runs, but I’d advise you to take it unless you want the poison I laced your tea with to kill you,” he said brightly, although before he could finish his sentence the Black Robe had already run for the trees at full speed.
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Flaming Summer!