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Torqueo	By : Skullbearer Category: A through F > Dragonlance Views: 1672 -:- 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.

Chapter List
- 3
- 4
- 5
Tiernan Hunter: Not quite like that, but thank you all the same, I’m glad I was able to fool you.
Alicia: Thank you.
Arrasailup: Thank you, you are very perceptive. I hope you enjoy this.
Shadow: Yes, as I have said, I am evil. Getting better, who are you kidding?
Koroko Serinia: Nope, and thank you.
Pirateslore: Thank you, and yes, I am being evil, and only getting eviler.
Shadowvalkyrie: Thank you so much, knowing I got the characters (character) right is great. I hope you like this one.
Arashi_neko: Not quite, and thank you.
Halokitty69: Covenant is great, I hope you like this too.

Torqueo
Chapter Four- Waking
A hundred clocks are ticking
The line becomes a circle
Spin the wheel of fortune
Or learn to navigate
-Call the Ships to Port, Covenant.
Dalamar opened his eyes a third time. He barely remembered the first, lying flat on a stone floor, miraculously unharmed after his plummet from the walkway. He'd still felt as though he was falling, staring up and feeling the voices around him wash over like water, wondering where the ceiling had come from. Then the voices had raised and covered him, and the ceiling had spun into darkness.
He remembered the second more clearly; he'd been lying in a bed, the same bed he was lying in now. Dark shapes had hovered over him, whispers trickling over his skin.
"...did he see..."
"...doesn't matter what, you saw what he did..."
"...one of yours Ladonna, your choice..."
"...his choice more than mine..."
Then the darker silhouette had bent over him, a woman's face. Funny, he'd been expecting Nuitari. "Takhisis?" His voice had been a cracked whisper.
The woman had shaken her head, and the world had faded to black once again.
The ceiling was different from the first time, Dalamar decided. He remembered the arches quite clearly, so high it seemed impossible for them to hang there unsupported. This time the ceiling was plain stone, cleverly slatted in a pattern that entranced the eye. Dalamar turned his head away, and saw he wasn't alone in the room.
It was the woman, the woman he had taken to be Takhisis, when he'd thought he was dead. She was sitting in the shadows beside a window, the curtains drawn. When she saw he was awake she stood up and drew them back.
The light was dazzling, and Dalamar closed his eyes again, covering his face with his hand. When he removed it she had come closer, and drawn her seat beside the bed.
Dalamar rubbed his face and peered blearily at the woman. She wore a black robe, he noted, realising simultaneously that he was missing his own, and was naked beneath the blanket. She was tall, probably as tall as he was, and straight-backed despite her obvious age, her hair was silver, and bound in a braid that rivaled the ceiling in intricacy. Her eyes were dark as a bird's, and fixed unblinkingly on Dalamar.
Dalamar frowned, and forced himself up on his elbows. His body moved more easily than it had for weeks, free of the aches and pains of rough living. He wondered how long he'd been asleep.
Had it all been a dream? Dalamar tried not to think about it, he could feel the memories closing in on his mind, and fought to keep them away. "Where am I?"
The woman laughed, a curiously deep sound, "Where? You risk all to travel and come here, and then ask where you are?"
Dalamar felt blood rise to his cheeks, "The Tower of High Sorcery then. But how did I get to this room?"
"We brought you here. You were too diligent for us to dream of turning you away."
"Only those who have passed the Test can come here." Dalamar snapped, drawing the covers to his bare chest.
The woman simply smiled.
Dalamar's fingers tightened on the soft wool of the blanket. Yes. Of course. The memories closed on him, claws raking the back of his mind. "My Test."
"Yes. Congratulations."
Closer. Raistlin's face. Fistandantilus' face. "I passed."
"You are alive."
Raistlin's hands. Fistandantilus' claws. He didn't feel like it.
"You were close to death." The woman admitted.
Fistandantilus' laughter. Raistlin... Raistlin. Oh please no. "Did you create them?"
"What did we create?"
"What I saw. What I..." Dalamar took a deep breath. "I saw another's Test. In the mirrors."
"Who's?" The woman's face became more intense, each line becoming deeper.
"Raistlin's." The name was a whisper.
"Ah." She hadn't known. Dalamar felt the despair clawing at his heart, if she hadn't known; she couldn't have made it up. And if it hadn't been made up... Not yet. Not yet.
"It has been known to happen." She said eventually. "The currents of magic are the strongest during one's Test, they can be... unpredictable. Even to those controlling it."
"So what I saw..." He couldn't finish it.
"It happened."
Not yet. Not yet. "Thank you, my lady." He didn't know how he got the words out. He barely knew what he was saying. "If you would, I would like to be alone for a moment."
"Of course. When you are ready to leave, knock three times on the door. We will be waiting for you." With that, she left, fading into the air.
Dalamar didn't move at first, in case she hadn't left at all. He held his breath, listening, but there was nothing but silence.
Dalamar drew his knees against his chest. It was real then. Or it wasn't. They had Tested him. And none of it had happened. Raistlin. He looked at his hands. He knew now. Fistandantilus. Dalamar closed his eyes, shivering. His eyes burnt, but he couldn't cry, the tears wouldn't come. Fistandantilus had killed him. He'd killed Raistlin. He clung onto his knees. He couldn't... Oh Nuitari.
The undead monster had killed him like he had killed so many others. He had drained his life with the bloodstone and taken his body for his own, as he had so many others, over so many, many years. Raistlin had fought. Of course he had. But Nuitari only knew how many Fistandantilus had killed; Raistlin had fought him off to begin with but would only ever be one more, in the end.
Oh Nuitari. Dalamar touched his own face, feeling tears. He closed his eyes and felt them spill out and run down his cheeks. Raistlin was dead. Raistlin had died in the Blood Sea. What he had seen in Neraka... Fistandantilus had killed him and taken his body. What he had seen was a puppet, a dead puppet. Dalamar shuddered, his breath caught, choking, sobbing.
He had done so much, gone so far. He had kept going for so long, endlessly, never letting himself give up. He had tried, desperately; he hadn't let himself feel the pain of going on. For Raistlin, anything, everything for his lover. For nothing. It had been too late the moment he had begun. Raistlin. It hurt. Raistlin was dead. The memories were dazzling. Raistlin's eyes when he smiled, gold, blue, it didn't matter, the way they shone with that wicked, clever smile. The way he looked at Dalamar when the elf had managed to surprise him, the quicksilver wonder and amazement melting into delight. The smile slowly spreading across his face. The way he laughed, so hesitant at first, then more easily, baring his teeth in a sharp smile. His spectacular beauty, sharp-edged and gleaming.
He had never believed he would fail, never. He had never failed before, the world had fought against him, and he had lost so much, but he had always won in the end. He had thought this would be the same. He had believed, deep within his heart, that this was something he could fight his way through, it would hurt him, he would come out a little more damaged, but it would be worth it, and in the end Raistlin would be there again. Himself again.
He knew Raistlin would die in the end. That was the endless, tragic cliché of human and elven love. But not yet, not nearly yet. He had thought. He had assumed, damn him. He had let himself believe they would have the time, pushing away those fears. They had been in the middle of a war, risking their lives every day, but he had believed they would live forever. How could he not, with Raistlin always there, bright and burning and eternal as the sun.
And he was gone. He was gone forever, and all that was left was the twisted mockery he had seen in Neraka. Those hands, which had slipped so lightly over his skin, glowing with magic. Clenching into Fistandantilus' claws. Those eyes, so familiar, dead, cold.
Like a hook, like those fingers sinking into his chest. Hooking into his heart and tearing it to pieces. Dalamar touched his chest, as though expecting to feel the wounds the lich had clawed there. His felt nothing but smooth skin. Raistlin's fingers. Fistandantilus' claws. The pain and terror in Raistlin's eyes, the triumph in Fistandantilus'. He had known he would win in the end.
The hook turned into a tongue of flame. The same fury that had gripped him at the top of the Tower. Hatred. Fistandantilus had killed Raistlin. He had killed him and taken- oh Nuitari- had taken his body for his own. He had stolen his magic and life. Dalamar lifted his head from his hands; face still streaked with tears, eyes burning with rage. "You are dead." A promise.
He would kill him, he would. To Nuitari he swore, God of secrets and magic... and vengeance. He would kill him. Never mind that the lich was the most powerful mage on Krynn, even more so with Raistlin's power under his command. Never mind that Dalamar had no idea where to start, or even where he was, or that the creature had the power of a Dragon Orb under his command. He would do it. Even if he had to emulate his Test and die along with him.
It would almost be a relief, and Dalamar hated himself for it. It would be so easy just to give up afterwards, if there was an afterwards. It was cowardly but sweet Nuitari what was the point in going on if it was going to hurt this much?
No. Dalamar shook his head. He was not going to give up now. He couldn't. Failure was not an option, not even a possibility. Fistandantilus was dead, even though the foul creature didn't know it yet. He would kill him no matter what it cost him. Even if it was as anti-climatic as waiting until he slept and putting a pillow over his face.
Dalamar closed his eyes, his mind clearing as it always did. A goal, he could go on forever as long as he had something to focus on. His goal had carried him from Kalaman to Neraka to Wayreth, to end here. Nuitari only knew where this one would carry him, or for how long, but he would do it, he would follow Fistandantilus as doggedly as he had followed- /thought he'd followed/- Raistlin. He would do it, as he had in his Test. He would do it. Nuitari as his witness, he would see Raistlin avenged.
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When Dalamar knocked at the door, his hand was steady, although he was pale and his eyes blood-shot. He felt cold, cold through and through, as though he had become his own reflection. The door opened, although no one was behind it. A light shone in the distance, down what appeared to be a flight of stairs. Slowly, one hand on the banister to steady his still unsteady legs, Dalamar followed it.
The stairs looked much like the ones he had raced up during his Test, but the sun was shining through the windows, and when Dalamar looked into them, all he saw was his own, faint reflection and the courtyard of the Tower. Gritting his teeth, biting back the pain that dragged at his heart, he continued down.
They were waiting for him, in the very hall Dalamar knew he had been earlier, the high, vaulted hall without pillars to support it, rising up like obsidian waves. At the far end were tier upon tier of seats, stacked up in a semi-circle. The Hall of Mages. The heart of arcane magic in Krynn.
Raistlin had told him about it. Dalamar could remember his face, after they had recovered from the shock of his Test, talking animatedly in that whispering voice that would become so familiar. Telling him about the Tower and the Hall. The light in his eyes, the smile on his face. Dalamar felt his own eyes burn, his vision swim, but he didn't let the tears fall. Not here, not in front of them.
There were only three, sitting in the three great chairs at the fore of the others. An old man in white robes, sitting on the far left. A man in red robes, sitting in the center, and the woman in black, sitting on the right. They were bathed in a colourless white light that came from nowhere. A pool of light painted the floor in front of them, and Dalamar stepped into it. It didn't blind him, rather illuminating everything around him.
"Do you know who we are now, Dalamar Nightson?" The woman was smiling, and Dalamar felt renewed flash of rage, as her mocking tone.
He didn't let his emotions show. "Yes." He looked at the woman, in her rich robes, "You are Ladonna, the Black Poison, head of the black robes."
At her nod, he turned to the Red Robe. He remembered how Raistlin had worn those robes, and the man in the ruins of Istar. "You are Justarius, head of the Red."
The man inclined his head, and Dalamar turned to the third and last, and the flame in his throat turned into a wildfire. "You are Par-Salian." How his voice was so steady, Dalamar would never know. "Head of the White." You cursed my lover, you threw him at the mercy of an undead monster and let him be torn to pieces, then forced him into a war that wasn't his, and once he'd won it, let Fistandantilus keep him. Or waited for him to kill himself, whichever came first.
"You know us." Justarius nodded again, "But perhaps, not so surprising." He looked meaningfully at Par-Salian, who didn't rise to the bait
"We've been over this." He ignored Dalamar, turning to Ladonna. "Are you sure, this seems too sudden."
"You often tell us to trust in the Gods, Par-Salian." She smiled at him, "Trust in them this time. This is our best chance."
It reminded Dalamar of being in Silvanesti, an insignificant servant, talked over by his masters.
"We cannot afford to delay our plans." Justarius put in, "It has been more than a month and there has been no answer from Palanthas, he means to eventually move against us." There was fear in his eyes, fear in all their eyes, although well hidden.
"If I am not needed." This time Dalamar failed to keep the note of anger out of his voice. "I can wait elsewhere." He could feel the pain clawing up his throat again, and it was everything he could do to keep the tears from his eyes. He wanted this to be over quickly, and find somewhere quiet.
"My apologies." Par-Salian smiled at him kindly, like a grandfather at an errant child. Dalamar wanted to strangle him. "We do need you, Nightson." He paused, rubbing his chin. "What do you know, Dark elf, of the Tower of Palanthas?"
Dalamar frowned, an ember of suspicion flickering in his chest. It was ridiculous, but... why else would they choose him? And the dragon, the dragon had been flying west. "I know," He said slowly, "That the Tower has been closed and cursed since the days of the Kingpriest, and none have been able to enter."
"But one has entered it." Justarius' hands were clenched, anger and fear slipping through his impassive facade. "As was foretold."
Foretold? Dalamar knew the stories. Had studied them with... with Raistlin. The Tower of Palanthas would be closed until the right person came. "The Master of Past and Present." His mouth went dry, because he knew who that was, knew it as well as his own name, and his next word was a whisper. "Fistandantilus."
The three mages didn't hear him. "You know the legend." Par-Salian nodded. "The one has come. You know his name."
Yes I do, but not the one you know. Dalamar nodded stiffly, he wouldn't insult Raistlin but giving that monster his name.
"Raistlin Majere." Ladonna smiled at Dalamar. "I believe you... knew him." She knew what Raistlin was to him, and found it amusing. Dalamar didn't let himself twitch, keeping his face and body completely impassive, he wouldn't let her see how deeply that hurt.
"He betrayed you." Par-Salian looked grave. No he didn't, if nothing else, Dalamar would always know that Raistlin had never betrayed him, and never lied to him without good reason. He didn't respond, and Par-Salian continued.
"And now, he has betrayed us." He didn't, he wouldn't. Fistandantilus betrayed you, as he did everyone.
"He is the Master of Past and Present." But he shouldn't be. Raistlin should be, Raistlin should be there, and Dalamar should be with him, lying in the Tower, surrounded by more magic than they could dream of and laughing at the rest of the world.
He wouldn't cry. He wouldn't cry. He wouldn't let them see his tears. He'd only let Raistlin see that, and Raistlin was dead.
"He has entered the Tower. He is a powerful mage, far more powerful, I think, that you remember." Par-Salian looked intently at Dalamar, but Dalamar didn't flinch. He couldn't.
"Powerful enough to forbid us the Tower." Of course. He saw anger in Ladonna's eyes as she spat the words, and fear, ridiculous fear. She knew that if this upstart wanted her position, he would have it. Dalamar knew Fistandantilus would never bother.
"But he does not forbid it, to all." She continued.
"If you think he would let me in, for what I was to him..." Dalamar hated them, hated them so much. They had not called him in for his skill with the magic, for his knowledge or anything but the fact that he had been Raistlin Majere's lover. Ever the whore.
To his surprise, Par-Salian shook his head, and his fury ebbed a little. "No, we would not think that. But he will allow one into the Tower. An apprentice.”
"And you mean to send me." Shock came first, then incredulity, and finally, a furious joy that cut more deeply than it soothed. He would kill Fistandantilus, under the cloak of the Conclave, with their blessings on his back.
Justarius nodded once, grudgingly, and Dalamar suspected he had been initially opposed to this. "You have shown great resourcefulness and skill in the Test, and in your travels."
Ladonna broke in, and Dalamar wondered how long they had rehearsed this. "You kept your loyalties hidden from the Silvanesti for years; they had to find you with a dark tome in your hand to exile you." How dare she!
"And most importantly," Par-Salian finished. "You know Raistlin Majere. You know what he is like." Yes, and if that was any use I wouldn't be here. "He has asked for an apprentice, but we would send a spy." Or a whore, either would do.
"I would kill him." His voice was hoarse.
"That may come." Ladonna nodded, "But you have no chance at the moment, he is too powerful. He will not harm you, we have made it clear that a blow against you is a blow against the Conclave, and he is not powerful enough yet to move against us." Here face grew harsher. "I will not command you."
She didn't don't need to. There was never any other option. "I accept."
Skull Bearer.
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Torqueo