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Nocturnale	By : Skullbearer Category: A through F > Dragonlance Views: 1934 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
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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Nocturnale
Chapter Four - To Dread
Oh, what you do to me
No one knows
-No One Knows, Queens of the Stone Age

Riding a griffon was unlike anything Dalamar could remember, save perhaps the pegasi of Darken Wood. There were no bridles or riding gear, and instead of the familiar rocking motion of riding a horse, he felt a strange jerking every time the huge wings beat down. Raistlin clearly found the sensation disconcerting, for he hung on to the Dark elf tightly, as if afraid he was going to slip off.
The two mages were riding one griffon, Goldmoon and Riverwind were on a second, and Caramon had joined Tanis and Alhana on the third, the only one which looked strong enough the bear all three of them.
Raistlin was quite clearly exhausted, and Dalamar wished he'd let his lover get on in front, he could have rested on the griffon's neck and got some sleep. As it was, the human mage would doze off periodically, then wake up almost at once, hugging the dark-robed mage so hard it was almost painful.
The Dark elf reached back touched his companion’s white hair his lightly. "It's all right," he tried to reassure him. "They wouldn't let you fall-" Dalamar broke off, staring at something over Raistlin's shoulder. "Oh Gods..."
Dragons, a whole flight of the terrible creatures, all following them. Nuitari's dark light glinted off their scales and horns, enough for the elven wizard to realise these were nothing like the beasts they had seen before. Their markings, the way they flew, their very scales were different, glimmering blue in the starlight. Worse, they were much, much faster than the red dragons that had attacked Tarsis. Those had been huge, heavy and almost cumbersome in flight. This blue breed were different; they were slender and frighteningly swift, easily keeping pace with the smaller griffons.
The Red Robe had seen them too. Although he lacked Dalamar's keen eyes and couldn't see Nuitari, the dragons were easy to pick out; they blotted out the stars.
Nor were they the only one to have seen them; Caramon was shouting at Goldmoon and Riverwind, pointing at the following dragons.
The Dark elf tore his eyes from sight of their pursuers, his hand closing on Raistlin's where it clutched his waist and pulling the human mage closer until they were pressed up against each other, as much to share warmth as comfort, for the night was bitterly cold.
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The cold night was followed by an equally cold day and the continued sight of the blue dragons on the horizon. Despite the clearer light of the sun, they seemed no closer than the night before, and Dalamar hoped they had a chance to leave the swift-winged creatures behind.
That hope was about all that was bearable about the day. Perhaps it was the desperation, or that they had been riding for hours already, but the cold seemed even more biting than before. The wind cut straight through the Dark elf’s thick winter cloak and robes, and he was shaking even before the sun had risen clear of the horizon. Behind him, Raistlin was coughing uncontrollably.
Everything about the ride was crushingly exhausting: He hadn't slept since the night before last, the fear of their pursuers was draining, and the continued effort of riding the griffon sent aches through him until he wanted simply to scream from the sheer agony on it. His arms were weak with the effort of holding onto his mount's neck, his legs chafed and sore from riding without a saddle, his hands frozen from the icy air. The only mercy was that the misery of their present condition kept him from dwelling on anything else, particularly their destination.
Raistlin had finally fallen asleep around midday, slumped against Dalamar's back. Although the shared warmth was welcomed, the weight of the human mage made his back ache after a while.
By the time the griffons had managed to leave the dragons behind and circle down to land outside a small cave in a low series of hills, the elven wizard was almost too sore to climb from his mount. He half slipped, half fell off, every muscle aching and promising even worse come morning.
Raistlin slid off after, still mostly asleep. He rubbed his eyes and looked around blearily, looking only slightly better off than the Dark elf.
Dalamar forced himself upright, stretching his aching limbs before following Tanis and the others inside the cave.
The inside was just as dismal as the outside, damp and dank, and it was only with the aid of some deadwood that they managed to get a fire started. The brush was damp, and sent up a lot of smoke to begin with, but for once the Dark elf was grateful for the freezing wind, for it blew the smoke inside the cave instead of out where the dragons might have seen it. He and Raistlin were sitting behind a rocky outcropping in the cave wall, further away from the flames but out of the wind. They were huddled together on their bedroll, the blankets thrown over themselves to keep out the ever-present chill.
The dark-robed mage sighed, feeling the warmth of the fire sink into his bones, banishing the cold that seemed to have taken up permanent residence there, and the stresses and exhaustion of the last two days catch up with him. He leant back against the wall of the cave, his eyes drifting closed.
"Dalamar?" Raistlin's voice was soft.
The Dark elf opened one eye, wondering if he had dozed off.
The Red Robe leant close to him. "Could you tell me something about Silvanesti? The others have already tried to question Alhana but she won't talk and has just stormed off. I understand if you don't want to talk-"
Dalamar shook his head, cutting off the human mages words. He might as well talk; to see the place in words now might make it less painful to see in truth later. He sighed, forcing his mind back through the mental barrier he had erected around his memories. He didn't dare examine them too closely, to do that would be to revisit the dull agony of exile he'd been able to suppress for so long.
Forcibly dragging himself out of his reverie, the Dark elf rubbed the side of his face. "What do you want to know?"
"The princess mentioned that the Dragon orb was kept in the Tower of the Stars." Raistlin kept his voice pitched low so as not to attract the other's attention. "Start with that."
The human mage hadn't been quiet enough though, both Tanis and Riverwind had overheard. The two warriors had clearly put aside their hatred for the Dark elf and were listening intently. For a moment, Dalamar toyed with the idea of making something up that would send the pair on a wild-goose chase, then decided against it. He was just too tired and miserable to care, and besides, as his lover often commented, they might need the two idiots.
Instead, he blocked their presence from his mind and focused on his lover. "I don't know much about the Tower," he started, remembering the few times he had seen it as more than a feature on the horizon. "But it will hardly be difficult to find, seeing as it's one of the biggest buildings in Silvanost." Even speaking the name sent a shudder of remembered pain through him. "It's made of white marble and it stands in the centre of the city."
"And what about inside?" Tanis asked.
Dalamar sent the Half-elf a poisonous glower, but answered the question, "I don't really know, I was never allowed past the servant's quarters." He shrugged, feigning nonchalance. "I was from House Servitor after all." He sent Raistlin a thin smile. "I could give you a blow-by-blow account of all the kitchens in half the city, if you'd like."
The human mage smiled back, probably more pleased that he had made a joke than of the joke itself. "Why would that be? Did you like cooking back then?"
Dalamar chuckled despite himself. "That implies I had a choice on the subject!"
Raistlin looked at him oddly. "No choice? Who decided for you?"
The Dark elf couldn't withhold a smirk at the memory, glad that the conversation was moving into less painful topics, to things he hadn't minded leaving behind. "Oh, the steward. A puffed-up, pompous idiot by the name of Elfid. Rather like Brightblade, now that I think of it." The exile grinned at Tanis who looked away with a sigh.
"And, like the knight, he hated you?" the Red Robe put in.
Dalamar nodded. The Silvanesti had left Silvanost to the protection of Lorac and the Dragon orb. What a pity, the elven wizard would have liked to take the time to teach /Lord/ Elfid the lesson he had taught to Sturm in Tarsis. "Yes, which, of course, meant I had to do all the worse jobs,"
"-At the worse pay," the human mage finished.
The Dark elf shrugged idly. "Oh, I wasn't paid. None of us were."
Raistlin didn't answer, staring at him strangely. Half-elven and the others were also looking at him. A little disturbed by the attention, Dalamar looked questioningly at his lover.
"You weren't paid? How did they expect you to survive?" the human mage demanded softly.
The Dark elf sighed, relieved. So that was it, he simply hadn't made it clear. "Oh that was taken care of by our employers; food, lodging, that sort of thing," he answered, off-handedly.
The Red Robe was still frowning, confusion shifting to suspicion. "But you weren't actually paid? No steel, nor any chance to advance yourself?"
The elven wizard, wondering why Raistlin was making so much of this, shook his head and shrugged.
The silence was even heavier now, and even Tanis and the rest were looking at him in astonishment.
The human mage stared hard at him, speaking slowly, "Dalamar, that's slavery."
The dark-robed wizard couldn't help himself, he burst out laughing. The sheer absurdity of that statement! It was something he might have expected from the ignorant Plainsmen or the idiotic Caramon, but not Raistlin.
Correctly interpreting the Dark elf's reaction, the human mage held up a thin, golden hand, and started ticking off his points on his fingers. "You aren't paid; you must to do exactly what your employers tell you; you must to stay in that caste for the rest of your life, with no chance to improve your lot; and if you disobey your orders -or if the foreman doesn't like you- you are sent to do the most unpleasant jobs. All you need is a nice set of whips and no one could tell the difference!" The Red Robe broke off, coughing, before forcing down a mouthful of tea with a grimace.
Any retorts Dalamar could think off seemed to have gotten lost on the way to his tongue. He tried a dozen out in his mind but none sounded right. Raistlin was wrong, had to be wrong, but right now he couldn't quite think up an argument to refute the human mage's.
None of the others spoke, but Tanis looked slightly stunned and they turned away without another word.
Raistlin glanced at the mouth of the cave where Alhana had gone to tend to the griffons, then shook his head. "Embodiment of good..." he snorted sarcastically.
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The mood, when Alhana returned, was noticeably chilly. Despite their general hate for Dalamar, the others clearly disliked slavers a lot more. The Dark elf still thought Raistlin was completely mistaken, but he continued to be unable to think up a decent retort.
The princess clearly felt the newfound hostility, but mistook it. "I have told you, I cannot tell you about Silvanost-"
Tanis waved her off, jerking his head in Dalamar's direction. "He told us more than enough." The dark tone to his voice hinted that not all of it had been his liking.
Starbreeze stared furiously at her former subject, who rolled his eyes. He wasn't in the mood for a scowling match, and his lover seemed to be doing more than well enough as it was. Alhana dropped her eyes away from the human mage’s unearthly gold ones.
Tanis looked from Starbreeze to the two mages, and sighed, changing the subject to the Dragon orb they were going to try to retrieve. Apparently, they had come across a book on the artefacts in the library of Tarsis and had come to the obvious conclusions that such magic would be vital to winning -or even surviving!- the war. Unfortunately, it had been only due to Tasslehoff that they had been able to read the tome at all, and the kender had been unable to tell them where the surviving Dragon orbs were to be found before the attack on Tarsis had separated them. The book was surely still in Tasslehoff's possession.
The Half-elf turned to the two mages. "I was hoping you might know something about them. What are they?"
Dalamar glanced at Raistlin almost without thinking. He had become used to the power difference, he realised sadly. Gone was the time when they would confer before answering, now he, like the others, turned to human for answers because he thought -rightly!- the younger mage would know more than he did. The Red Robe didn't mean to keep knowledge from him, /most/ of the time, at least, but he would still know more because there would be things the Dark elf would consider unimportant, that might, in the future, become much more vital.
Like the Dragon orbs.
This time however, Raistlin turned to someone else for information. He looked at Alhana. "You said there was a Dragon orb in Silvanesti, surely I am not the one to ask."
He didn't look to Dalamar, but the Dark elf didn't take offence, after all, he had pretty much admitted his ignorance of what was in the Tower of the Stars.
"I know little about it," the princess said, startled. "We keep it as a relic of bygone days, more a curiosity than anything else. Who believed humans would once again wake this evil and bring the dragons back to Krynn?"
The dark-robed elf rolled his eyes, wondering if he could possibly have been this arrogant before his two years in Tarsis had beaten it out of him. Probably not.
Riverwind snarled at the Silvanesti princess; clearly it irked him that a slaver could put on such airs. "You have no proof that it was humans."
Starbreeze just looked at him, not bothering to waste words. Raistlin ignored the pair of them.
Looking back at the human, Dalamar saw an odd look on the mage's face. It was an expression he had seen rarely, and only in times of great stress or danger. He had witnessed it in Pax Tharkas, when the young wizard had sealed the door against the banshee, and before that, in Xak Tsaroth when they were escaping from the crumbling city in the lift. It was a cold, dark look, and one that suited Raistlin not at all.
The Red Robe hung his head. His eyes closed and strands of white hair curled around his face, he looked as though he was struggling to remember something long forgotten, or –the Dark elf felt a strange chill- as though he were drawing the memories from an unknown source. Then Raistlin looked up, covering his mouth as a coughing fit racked him. He swallowed a mouthful of his tea to dispel it, and spoke softly.
"The orbs were created during the Third Dragon War, to defend from the depredations of the dragons of Takhisis. The highest of the Order of High Sorcery met together in the greatest of the Towers -the Tower of Palanthas." Raistlin hesitated as the name passed his lips, then continued, "They entered the chamber at the top of the Tower as their moons rose. First those of the White Robes, as Solinari rose, then Lunitari, guiding those of the Red Robes, and finally those of the Black Robes, led by the black disc of Nuitari."
The young wizard paused again, as if wondering how to phrase his next words. "It was one of the only times the three orders had come together under one goal. It would happen only once more, in the Lost Battles. They came together knowing that the evil sweeping the world was intent on destroying all the magic of the world, so that only its own would remain."
Dalamar was probably the only one who saw Raistlin flinch as he spoke, as if someone had brandished a whip at him, and the Dark elf understood perfectly. To destroy the magic... his mind had problems even comprehending the concept, and the idea revolted him to the core.
"And so the Dragon orbs were made, one a night where all three moons were full in the sky."
"Three moons?" Tanis asked, puzzled, and the elven mage fought down the urge to speak. What did the Half-elf think /he/ followed? The sky?
If Raistlin noticed the interruption, he ignored it. "The magic wrought was so powerful that some of the mages didn't survive its making, and those who did were mentally and physically drained. But by morning, it had been done, and the five Dragon orbs were complete. All but one were taken from Palanthas to each of the old Towers of High Sorcery. There they helped rid the world of the Queen of Darkness."
The Red Robe finished his narration, sipping his tea. Dalamar looked at his lover, torn between being impressed and being irritated. Would it have been too much to ask for the human to have leant to him whatever books he had learnt that from? It sounded incredibly detailed, especially since all knowledge of the orbs were said to have died in the Lost Battles Raistlin had mentioned. He felt another pang of irritation.
Tanis broke the silence, "What did you mean by three moons?"
The Dark elf would have liked to hit the Half-elf. Of all the pointless things to ask! "Three moons," he answered before the human wizard could. "One for those of the White Robes, one for the Red-" He indicated Raistlin "-and one for those of the Black." He indicated himself. "Only those sworn to Nuitari can see the black moon."
"Alright," Tanis sighed, then turned back to Raistlin. "But how did you know all of that?"
"I knew," Raistlin said shortly. "I know more than any of you."
Dalamar, who had just been about to inform Half-elven that there were such things as books, had the strange and unwelcome sensation that he was being included in that generalisation. More than that, he had the sinking feeling that his friend’s information had /not/ come from a book.
"I know one more thing," Raistlin added, wrapping a blanket around himself. "As the Dragon orbs were created by the high mages, only the most powerful of my order could use them. It was said that great evil would come to those not strong in magic who tried to command the orbs." The Red Robe sighed; clearly, the task of talking for so long -especially after the endless ride- was too much for him. Rolling over onto their bedroll, he curled up and leant his head in the exile’s lap, falling asleep almost instantly.
The Dark elf, on the other hand, felt little inclination to sleep, despite his earlier exhaustion. He looked up as Alhana walked over. The elfwoman ignored him, staring down at Raistlin. Reflexively, Dalamar caught hold of the human mage's shoulder, glowering up at the pricess.
"Strong in the magic!" She whispered Raistlin's words fearfully. "My father."
"You think he tried to use the orb?" Dalamar blinked as the obvious conclusion hit him.
Alhana ignored him. "He said he alone could fight the evil and keep it from our land," she moaned. "He must have meant-" She knelt down beside the sleeping wizard, reaching over to shake him. "Wake him!" she commanded, as though the Dark elf was still one of her subjects.
/One of her slaves,/ Raistlin's voice echoed in his mind.
He snatched hold of her hand, feeling the fine bones of her wrist twist in his grasp. "Go to the Abyss!" he snarled, shoving her back.
For once, Tanis didn't come to her defence, simply taking her by the hand and leading her out of the cave to talk in privacy. Caramon followed.
Ignoring them, he looked back down at his lover, who had slept soundly through the whole episode. Idly, he carded his fingers through the human's white hair. Gazing at the sleeping mage, Dalamar sighed. 'What is it about you, Raistlin Majere,' he thought sadly, 'that means you have to hide things like this?'
Why couldn't he talk? Why /wouldn't/ he talk? Could it have been that he was afraid what Dalamar would think of him, the way he had kept the pain of his past secret? Could it be that the Red Robe, like him, could simply not trust anyone with the information? It would explain why he was always so angry when the Dark elf questioned him. After all, he of all people could understand. But then, it didn't explain why Raistlin seemed so certain that the knowledge would do more harm to Dalamar himself. But why? The Dark elf shook his head sadly. Why keep it quiet when the silence was hurting more than anything else ever could? Why not speak? Whatever the human was hiding they would cope with, together, as they always did. So why didn't he break the silence that hung over them like a pall. And why did Dalamar feel that if the silence weren’t broken, that things would be immeasurably worse for both of them?
Sighing again, this time in defeat, the Dark elf lay back against the cave wall, one hand on Raistlin's hair, the other holding the human's hand. Without realising it, he drifted off to sleep.
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The morning came too early for Dalamar. Still worn out from the previous day's ride and the emotionally charged night, it was an effort to rise and once they had mounted the griffons, he didn't even spare a glance to see if the dragons were following, simply falling asleep with his head resting on Raistlin's back.
When he awoke, it was late afternoon and the pursuing dragons were little more than specks on the horizon. Either the griffons were too fast for them, or the blue beasts had other reasons to keep away.
Looking down, Dalamar could guess at one of them. They were approaching Silvanesti and the sight of the glittering river Thon-Thalas made him feel as though he had been stabbed. The panic and dread of the previous day had kept the thought of their destination at bay, but the sight of the Lord's River drove it home again.
The Dark elf closed his eyes and leant against Raistlin. The human mage stirred and one hand tightened over Dalamar's. "I'm here," he murmured under the whistle of the wind.
The elven wizard leant his head on his companion’s shoulder and looked over at the thick forest they were approaching. Yes, Raistlin was there, as he had promised, but there was a deeper vow within his soul, one that promised pain the moment he set foot in his old, lost home.
Even here, far above the land, it felt as though an iron hand closed around his heart. Each sight dealt a dagger-sharp stab of pain. It hurt now, it would hurt later. Nothing had prepared him for this, fragmented memories and shards of thought raking his mind the way they hadn't since Tarsis had frozen them over. He was vaguely aware that he was shaking, and holding Raistlin far too tightly, but didn't seem to be able to stop as the repressed memories crashed over him. It wasn't any particular moment, but a sensation present in every moment, the underlying, ever-present sense of belonging and of home that linked every elf with their homeland. That link had been broken when Dalamar had been exiled. The two years in Tarsis had dulled the pain, but it had never stopped hurting completely. Now the ice had shattered and he was bleeding inside.
His human friend was stroking his hair, whispering nonsense words of comfort that the Dark elf couldn't even hear through the howl of pain and desolation and loss.
It would pass, that Dalamar knew, but the knowledge was bitter. When they landed, the pain would vanish, only to return tenfold when they left. He felt as he had in Darken Wood, when he had had believed the spectres were about to kill Raistlin. The knowledge that something dear, sweet and beloved to him was about to be ripped away forever rising up to drown him in despair.
He could never remember the first few weeks of his exile. Now he knew why.
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The griffons started losing height just before crossing the Thon-Thalas, but Dalamar couldn't begin to care. He stared dully at the Tower of the Stars through eyes fogged with tears, feeling another envenomed dart lodge within his heart at the sight. Another and another until everything hurt inside and he was surprised his didn't splinter and fall apart at the seams. Surprised, and disappointed.
His attention was drawn out of his own misery as Raistlin stirred. The human mage had been silent, holding and comforting his companion as best he could given their positions, but now he spoke. "There's no sign of a battle," he remarked, staring at the unmarked trees and towers of Silvanost.
Perhaps it would have hurt less had Silvanesti itself been burnt to the ground as Solace had been, if there had been nothing left for him to recognise. The unmarked buildings and forest just made everything hurt even more, particularly since there was a chance they had come all this way for nothing. After all, if the elven nation had not been invaded, what was the chance Lorac was going to let them -an exile and a human- have their Dragon orb? Dalamar would have laughed at the very idea, had he been able to remember how to do it. As it was, he just watched as the treetops drew closer, peripherally aware of Alhana shouting at the griffons, ordering them to take them to the Tower.
The griffons ignored her, circling lower, and finally landing on the far bank of the river. Raistlin slid off first, prompting Dalamar to get down, the Dark elf too heartsick to do anything but obey.
He had expected a surcease of the pain when he stood on the ground, that or being smitten to ashes by some angered deity. But neither happened. The ground was hard under his feet, the sight of the wood sickeningly familiar and distant at once, as though he was yearning for something he had never had. Yet underneath all that, beneath the layers of bone-deep hurt, there was the faint undercurrent of something far more familiar. The feeling of danger.
Normally, the sensation would have made him more alert, made him draw his dagger or reach for his spell components. As it was, he stared dully over the river towards the far bank, unable to care one way or another.
A soft touch on his cheek made him turn, and he looked over at Raistlin. The human mage's golden eyes were locked with his, keeping his gaze until the exile felt as though he was drowning in hourglass shadows. Then the Red Robe pulled him close, slid his thin arms around the Dark elf's still trembling frame, and held him close.
Dalamar let himself be held, not reacting for long moments. Then, slowly, he leant his head against Raistlin's shoulder, breathing in the scent of sweet spices and sweeter decay that clung to his red robes. This was familiarity of a difference sort, yet at once the same. The life he had built in the last ten years had been supported as much by his relationship with the human as it had been by the magic, the loss of the exile swallowed up by the joy he had found with the younger mage.
Closing his eyes, the Dark elf let out his breath with a low sigh, pushing out his pain and loss with it. Walls came up to lock them out, reinforced with strength of will. This wasn't the time to break down. They would get through this, find the Dragon orb, and leave.
And when they were far enough away, he would find somewhere quiet, away from the others, for him to cry out his pain in Raistlin's arms.

Skull Bearer.
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