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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.

Chapter List
- 5
- 6
- 7
Nocturnale
Chapter six - To Control
We wish so hard to be seen
and pray at night to be heard
-Figurehead, Kovenant.
Raistlin stared at Kitiara, at his sister's blood-soaked sword, then down at Dalamar. The Dark elf was still alive, but barely, blood pouring from the dreadful wound.
He couldn't move, but he had to. He was screaming, screaming but unable to make a sound as his own most terrible nightmare took physical form in front of him.
/"Move!"/ He felt Fistandantilus shriek inside him. /"Get the orb, forget the elf. The orb is what matters. Take it!"/
The mage ignored the voice that he been his constant companion- his traitorous whisperer- for so long, staring at Dalamar, struggling to relax his frozen muscles enough to go to him. There was nothing he could do, he was no healer, no cleric, but at the very least, he would be there.
An iron hand pulled at him from within, killing the motion before it had begun and his mind fogged as Fistandantilus struggled for control. /"What do you expect to do?"/ the old lich hissed. /"The elf's dead already. Get the orb, or do you want to join him?"/
He could feel Fistandantilus' anger, feel it mix with his own shattered emotions, killing the vague thought that, yes, at this point death might well be welcome. His own perceptions were shadowy and vague under the lich's control, barely noticing that his head moved without his volition, iron bands pulling the muscles, turning to stare at the huge dragon which was crouched, ready to pounce, beside Lorac's throne. With a wrench, Raistlin snapped the dead wizard’s control, and the world flew back into dizzying focus. He looked back at Dalamar. The Dark elf wasn't moving, lying in a pool of blood as black as the robes shrouding him, his chest rising and falling raggedly, still tenaciously clinging to life. Torn between his desperate desire to reach his friend and the old lich's equally frantic attempts to get to the Dragon orb; the Red Robe didn't move. His muscles were trembling from the conflicting messages, the world swimming in and out of focus, his nails biting into his free hand, knuckles turning white where he clutched the Staff of Magius, his mind filled with screams: Fistandantilus' shrieks and his own inarticulate howls of agony.
Kitiara sneered at him; no doubt, the tearing emotions ripping through him were obvious on his face. She slid her foot under Dalamar's inert body and kicked the Dark elf over on his back.
Even Fistandantilus' control was not enough to bite back Raistlin's soft moan of horror. The elven mage was pale, pallid as Solinari, save for the blood that still trickled from his parted lips. His grey eyes were wide, as if unable to understand what had happened to him, and the hideous wound on his chest bubbled over with black blood. Even as the younger wizard watched, the Dark elf's chest rose and fell a final time, and his eyes glazed over in death.
A dream, Raistlin's mind gibbered. A dream. This wasn’t real, /couldn’t/ be real. They'd awaken and it wouldn’t be true, Dalamar wasn't dead. It was an illusion, a dream, a nightmare-
The frozen moment was destroyed as the door flew open a third time, the already stressed hinges giving way and snapping under the blow as Half-elven and Brightblade ran in.
"Raistlin!" the knight roared. "By the Gods, you'll pay for your brother's life." He stopped suddenly, eyes locking on the terrible sight of Cyan Bloodbane.
Tanis said nothing. He looked from the human mage to Kitiara, then down at Dalamar's broken, dead body.
No, no nonononono... Raistlin's mind was screaming in denial. This was a dream, this wasn't real, his friend wasn't dead. The moment he would touch the orb and it realised it couldn't best him, the whole dream would vanish and nothing would be true. The knowledge, however, offered no comfort, his heart and soul howling as though they had been torn apart. Perhaps they had.
/"Move!"/ Fistandantilus screamed, cutting through his mental agony. /"Move now!"/
But the young wizard couldn't move, and by the time the old lich could force his frozen muscles to motion, it was too late.
Cyan Bloodbane, the huge, terrible green dragon who had shaped the dreadful nightmare that surrounded them, pounced.
Sturm jumped forwards, though if his target was the dragon or Raistlin was unclear; probably, the knight didn't even know himself. Once again, the world blurred like the dream it was as his control was overthrown.
"Hold!" Once again, the Red Robe felt his throat and mouth move and shape words not under his command.
Fistandantilus' emotions burned through him, as real as though they had been his own. Rage, rage at Raistlin for not moving and at Dalamar for being the cause. /"You fool,"/ the lich seethed as the green dragon stalked towards them. /"Your idiocy may well have destroyed you, and your /dearest/ Dark elf as well. Are you such a fool as not to recognise weakness when you see it?"/
The words shot cold bolts through the wizard, and the arm holding the Staff of Magius faltered. Fistandantilus had berated him for his emotions towards Dalamar, insisting that the Dark elf would have been a far better tool than Caramon, allowing him to steal magic as well as life. Raistlin had ignored those remarks, but this time he was unable to refute them. His love for the Dark elf had cost them a chance to seize the Dragon Orb, and however powerful, he should have been able to master the emotion. As foul as it was to admit, his emotions /were/ a weakness. No. No, some part of his wailed, no, that wasn't right. It was cut off. The damage had been done, and he would force himself under control. This was a dream, none of it was real, but if he didn't get to the Dragon orb, it wouldn't matter.
Raistlin felt a blanket of icy calm thrown over himself, and for once, he was grateful to Fistandantilus. The pain was too unbearable. He didn't care what the lich did, just as long as it allowed him control over his emotions, just as long as it stopped hurting. Forcing himself to turn his back on Dalamar's corpse and concentrating on the task ahead, the mage faced Cyan Bloodbane. The dragon advanced slowly, savouring the moment, whispering its nightmares, its red eyes agleam with promises of death beyond death.
The Red Robe knew what would happen before it did; there was no mistaking the set to Brightblade's jaw as he fought down the suffocating dragonfear. Drawing his blade, the Solamnic stepped forwards to meet Bloodbane.
Tanis cried out, and the wizard cursed, the words as much his as Fistandantilus'. They couldn't cast, any spell would hit the knight first and what -if anything- would be left to hit the dragon would be too weak to hurt the beast.
If Cyan Bloodbane would be so accommodating to just kill the knight quickly, it would be much appreciated.
A low moan cut through the air suddenly, rising to a roar, the brassy bellow of Solamnic war horns. Bolstered by the sound, Brightblade hefted his sword and charged.
Raistlin's skin started to crawl as the sound changed, rising in note until it was the shrill screech of the dragonarmy horns. As if summoned by the sound, he suddenly noticed the shadowy shapes of draconians creeping around the base of the elfking's throne, the faint moonlight glinting off their blades. Still higher the note rose, until it was no longer the sound of a horn, but that of screaming, as though the silent suffering of the elven trees had been suddenly given voice.
And then, the mage saw the draconians.
He remembered how Alhana had told them that Silvanesti had been under siege. The poor, twisted creatures crawling towards them were the remnants of that dragonarmy. Deformed and warped, in unspeakable agony, their bodies shaped to resemble nothing less than living weapons, they were nevertheless a terrible threat.
Teeth and claws had been elongated freakishly, some had bone spurs protruding from their scaly hides, sawing and cutting into flesh as they moved. Others had muscles that bulged through their skins, splitting their scales. Green blood leaked and splattered on the floor as they lunged for Brightblade. Behind them, Bloodbane reared over his twisted army, laughing.
Sturm hesitated, almost too disgusted to attack, then froze as the dragon advanced. Dragonfear hit the knight, and Raistlin watched as his sword clattered to the ground. A vague flicker of satisfaction woke inside the mage -he was unsure whom it belonged to- as Bloodbane bore down on Brightblade, the beast's tortured draconians dragging him before the dragon.
Lazily, amused, and clearly enjoying the theatrics, Cyan Bloodbane impaled the knight with his claws.
Tanis cried out, and, curiously, so did Kitiara. Risking a brief glace behind him, the wizard saw that his foul sister had troubles of her own. A mass of shadows had detached from the wall and swarmed on top of her, twining and binding her sword and starting to pull her backwards. This time, the thrill of satisfaction was entirely Raistlin's, but with Brightblade's death, he was free to drive the dragon back, so he turned away from the spectacle.
Nevertheless, before he could draw up the energy to form the spell that would hurt Bloodbane badly enough to allow him to reach the orb, there was a flash of motion and, once again, someone stepped in the way.
Laurana darted to Sturm's fallen body, snatching up the knight's sword as the draconians closed in. "Touch him and you will die." The words were a low sob, but resolute.
"Tanis!" Kitiara shrieked. The coils of blackness covered her now, and she seemed as though the dark absorbed her into itself.
The Half-elven looked from her to Laurana, who stood strong over Brightblade's body even as the warped dragonmen surrounded her.
"Tanis!" The human woman's voice was higher, even more terrified as the darkness crawled up her throat.
The half-elf, torn by conflicting emotions, did nothing. The elfmaiden fell silently under the draconian's claws, and with a final shriek, Kitiara vanished into the hungry shadows.
The wizard saw the horror cross Half-elven's face- Half-human, Dalamar's voice sneered in the back of his mind, and Raistlin felt the blanket of cold draw tighter around himself against the razor-sharp pain the memory caused.
/"Think not of him!"/ Fistandantilus snarled. /"Now. Take your chance now, forget the elf, get the orb."/
Gritting his teeth, the young mage obeyed.
Cyan Bloodbane roared as he stepped forwards. The dragon's eyes narrowed at this new threat, obviously recognising the danger.
/"Now!"/
Raistlin felt the cold chill of the lich’s control sweep over him, but the world didn't blur; if anything, the focus was sharper than ever. The warm sensation of magical energy filled him, even as foreign words wrote themselves in his mind in letters of ice.
His power. Fistandantilus' spell.
/"Busuk perubahan semua berair dari mereka!"/
The words were alien and familiar at the same time, spoken by his own strange tongue, but it worked, and screams rent the air anew.
The draconian's bodies shrivelled and died, their cries as much of relief as of pain when their tortured forms withered and fell apart. Cyan Bloodbane reeled, strong enough to throw off the spell but terribly injured, even his draconic resistance faltering under the onslaught. Seizing the opportunity as he had failed to earlier, Raistlin threw himself forwards.
The dragon started to advance, then froze, shaking its head as though attempting to throw off the Dragon orb's commands. It dug its feet into the marble floor, Raistlin could hear the stone crack under its claws, but finally the artefact forced the beast into combat.
It was too late; they were too close. The wizard closed the last step, and reached out, fingertips brushing against the smooth surface of the Dragon orb. It felt like sun-warmed glass, and for a moment, it flashed red hot, searing his hand and the green light within it swirled wildly-
Then quietened, it cooled, and Raistlin watched the swirling patterns inside calm, swaying hypnotically under his hand as the room, the Tower, the whole world seemed to slowly... melt away.
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Raistlin blinked. The light hurt his eyes and he screwed them shut, the brightness evident even behind closed lids. Tentatively, he opened them again, squinting in the light of the first dawn Silvanesti had seen in many, many weeks.
Exhaustion hit him like a falling portcullis, and for a few moments he thought he was going to faint. Finally, he looked up groggily, rubbing his burning eyes. His robes were red again, he noted, glancing around the room. He had felt more than seen the Nightmare dissolve, and other than the light and the rather conspicuous absence of Cyan Bloodbane, the room was unchanged. Tanis had collapsed, one hand clenched over nothing, and Dalamar-
The young wizard turned so fast his hand slipped from the pacified Dragon orb.
Dalamar appeared to be fine, although whether he was unconscious or simply too stunned to move was unclear. He was breathing again, and Raistlin's legs nearly buckled under the wave of sheer relief.
A flicker of scorn touched his mind, a cold, unwelcome presence that now made no secret whom it belonged. Fistandantilus' thoughts hammered at him, pounding on his mind, blaming him for the earlier delay, for his weakness with the Dark elf. The human mage tried to shove the alien thoughts from his mind, but the lich didn't budge. The emotions were touched with amusement, mocking, a whisper from whose advice he had been more grateful for in earlier times.
Fistandantilus, the whisperer, less quiet now. Raistlin couldn't imagine how he could have ever mistaken the cold, dead voice for anyone else's. Prescient indeed! He had been a fool.
Forcing himself to ignore the old lich, he walked over to where Dalamar was lying, curled up on his side.
A bright flare of scorn tore his mind with every step, and, as before, Raistlin struggled to refute it. The Dark elf was a weakness, and would become ever more of one the more powerful he himself grew. He was competent enough now, while Dalamar hadn't even passed his Test. It was dangerous to trust so much of his self to someone who was no longer remotely his equal.
Raistlin shook himself; what was he doing listening to /Fistandantilus/? Point or not, he couldn't imagine why the old lich would do anything for his benefit.
/Or perhaps the old magician’s stake in him was such that he didn't want him to die?/
Liar.
Raistlin knelt down next to the Dark elf. Now he was closer, he could see he was shaking, and when he touched the other wizard’s shoulder, the elf scrambled away from him as though he was being attacked.
The memory of Kitiara's sword cleaving through the chest of his lover flashed through the human mage's mind and he bit his lip, staying where he was, letting Dalamar see that it was him. For once however, this didn't seem to pacify the Dark elf, who kept retreating until he hit the far wall, still shaking uncontrollably and staring at Raistlin as though he had never seen him before.
A vague memory of the Nightmare flickered into the Red Robe's mind. Most of his recollections of that endless night were fuzzy, Fistandantilus' presence having blurred them indistinctly, but one moment flared into his mind: Dalamar's face as the old lich spoke through him. He had seen the Dark elf truly afraid a rare few times, but this was the first time he had been the source. An iron claw closed over his heart. He shuddered at the thought that the elven exile had been quite right to be afraid; while many of his memories were fuzzy, those of his argument with Fistandantilus were not. The lich would have had him use Dalamar to reach the Tower, to drain life from him to buy the undead archmage enough power to help him defeat those opposing them. Raistlin felt his gorge rise at the thought.
The alien emotions besetting his stirred again, remarking that it would have still been much better to use his lover instead of his brother. /"After all,"/ it leered hungrily. /"The elf is a mage, and I could have taken that power along with life, but from that oaf I received nothing but vitality."/
Sickened, as disgusted by the concept as he had been when it had first been outlined, he ignored the old lich. Struggling to force the creature out of his mind.
"Dalamar." Raistlin reached out a hand to him, speaking low and soothingly. "It's alright. It's over, calm down."
The Dark elf neither responded nor calmed down, hugging his knees against his chest and pressing himself against the wall. A flash of anger shot through him at the sight of Dalamar's reaction. Did he really think he would have hurt him? It was rapidly followed by an even brighter flash of rage- at himself. Of course Dalamar would think that, he had all but led him to his death!
The human mage sighed and got to his feet. Nothing could be done until his friend calmed down, and it seemed his presence only agitated the already terrified elf. Forcing himself to turn his back on his companion, Raistlin walked back to the Dragon orb. Lorac was unconscious, he noted dispassionately; clearly, the sudden withdrawal of the orb from his mind had sent him into shock.
Tanis wasn't moving either, still clutching resolutely at nothing. As he watched, the half-elf opened his eyes. The moment they landed on Raistlin he jumped to his feet, lunging towards him.
The now-familiar cold burn filled his body, but the motion was as much his as Fistandantilus’ as he raised one hand in warning, his eyes narrowed at Tanis, the message clear- 'one more step, and you die'.
The half-elf stopped, staring from Raistlin to the orb, then back to where Dalamar finally seemed to be dredging up some form of control.
"Where are they?" he demanded angrily. "Laurana? Sturm? And the others? Your brother? Are they dead?" If they were, it was obvious on whom the blame would fall, at least in the half-elf's eyes. A nervous glance. "And the dragon-"
"The dragon is gone." The Red Robe couldn't keep the note of weariness from his voice. "The orb sent him away when it realised it could not defeat me. As for the others-" He shrugged. As though he cared "-I do not know."
They probably had though, clinging to reality despite the nightmare. Dalamar because he never knew when to give up, Caramon because he was too stupid to know dream from reality, Sturm... Gods willing, Sturm would be the one who never woke up at all.
Tanis looked over at Lorac uneasily. The elfking looked like one of his undead subjects, gaunt and skeletal, jaws locked in a silent scream. Only the faint rise and fall of his chest indicated he was still alive.
"What's wrong with him?" the half-elf wondered aloud.
"He's living a nightmare." Raistlin's lip curled in distain, and with a flash of horror, he realised the motion wasn't his. He tried to stop talking, but it was as though his skin had turned to ice, the words all but steaming with frost. "He tried to control the Dragon orb but was not strong enough, so the orb seized control of him. The orb called Cyan Bloodbane here to guard Silvanesti, and the dragon decided to destroy it by whispering nightmares into Lorac's ear, nightmares he then made real through his belief in it, and his empathy with the land. It was his dream we were living when we entered, his dream -and our own. We too came under the dragon's control when we stepped into Silvanesti."
This time, not even the threat of magic could stop Half-elven. He grabbed the mage’s shoulder and shook him. "You knew we faced this! You knew what we were walking into, there on the shores of the river!"
The Red Robe pulled away, conscious of Dalamar listening intently. Surely he didn't believe he would lie to him-
/"Of course not,"/ the mocking voice of Fistandantilus whispered. /"Of course he wouldn't believe that, this exile who swore to your face he could never trust you, that he would always come to the worse conclusions..."/
/"Shut up,"/ came the sharp mental reply, he could hear the blood pounding in his ears, and tears of rage wellling behind his frozen eyes.
The moment was broken as the door burst open and Caramon ran in, eyes wide. "Raist..." he whispered.
The big man was as white as curdled milk, badly shaken, and though he seemed unaccountably relieved to see Raistlin, the mage noticed he made no move to approach him.
All the same... Caramon looked at Half-elven, standing threateningly close to his brother. "Leave him alone, Tanis," he warned.
The half-elf scowled at him. "He left you to die," he started from between gritted teeth, when he was interrupted by a soft moan coming from the other side of Lorac's throne.
Raistlin gritted his teeth, the irony of Tanis words were not lost on him. He had left Dalamar to die. Fistandantilus had left him to die. The lich had left him and was even now whispering poisoned hate to him to turn him against the Dark elf. With a final snarl of rage, he forced the evil lich back out of his mind.
Shivering with the chill of his cold body, Raistlin walked over to where Tanis and Caramon were standing and looked cautiously into the shadows. His lips twitched at the sight, the sight striking amusement into even his torn heart.
Alhana Starbreeze was huddled beside her father's throne, as far away from the windows as she could get. She was rocking backwards and forwards, and sobbing hysterically, not responding even when Tanis shook her.
Leaving the two to comfort the distraught princess, the Red Robe walked back to Dalamar, who appeared to have somewhat recovered his composure. He watched Raistlin warily, silver eyes glinting under strands of knotted black hair.
The human mage walked until he was a few paces from the Dark elf, and sank to his knees, not getting too close in case his lover panicked again. "Dalamar," he whispered soothingly, as though he were Weird Meggin calming a frightened faun. "Dalamar, it's over."
The Dark elf didn't move, but the angry light in his eyes told Raistlin that no, it wasn't over, not by any means.
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It was Tanis who broke the stalemate of silence, drawing away from the inconsolable Alhana and turning to Raistlin. "The orb..." he trailed off.
The human mage snapped his head around irritably. The dream-energy Fistandantilus had absorbed from Caramon was being quickly consumed, and soon the lich would once again turn his attention on him for life. He could feel the lich lurking in the back of his mind, and it was only a matter of time before he had another coughing fit. The lich had damped down the pain in his ruined lungs, but soon he would stop and Raistlin would be in for a bad few minutes as all the pain he had avoided in the last few -hours? Days?- made itself know at once. He scowled at the half-elf. "What?"
"Is it still in control?"
That was a point. In the chaos, he had forgotten that the abrupt breaking of the connection might have damaged the orb itself. It was unlikely, and certainly, the orb's glow -while nowhere near as blinding- was still there. There was still a chance, however.
He pushed himself to his feet and walked over to the orb, his legs now starting to complain seriously about this treatment. A quick spell banished his fears. Although the reddish light edging the globe indicating its enchantment was dim to the others' eyes, to his it was dazzling, showing the orb was still powerful, and once again in control of itself after the brief period of confusion when he had touched it.
Raistlin nodded. "The orb is still enchanted. I had feared its power might have died when I touched it, but it is still in control."
"Of Lorac?" Dalamar spoke up for the first time. The Dark elf's voice was hoarse and raw.
The human mage glanced over at him, but there was little warmth in the Dark elf's grey eyes. "No, of itself. It has released Lorac."
The elven wizard got to his feet stiffly, rubbing one hand over his shoulder, no doubt aching in sympathy with the dream-pain. "How did you do that?" he breathed, eyes boring into Raistlin's. "How did you defeat it?"
The Red Robe knew exactly what Dalamar was asking, but avoided the question. "The orb is not defeated," he answered sharply. "With help, I was able to defeat the dragon-"
"Whose help?" The Dark elf's voice was a mere hiss, his face falling into shadow, and for the first time, Raistlin felt an edge of menace cloak his lover, and fear flickered in his mind, a flicker which quickly forged into anger.
Fistandantilus hissed wordless glee in his ear, and the human wizard screamed wordlessly at him. No. Shut up. I won't listen to your lies.
"Who's help?" Dalamar's voice was louder, an edge of hysteria in his voice.
Raistlin felt a burn of anger at the Dark elf, couldn't he understand? He could feel Fistandantilus' claws in his mind, and he barely spare thought, let alone breath. "You know I can't-" he felt his lips move without his control, and clenched his teeth.
The edge of danger had vanished, and Dalamar's face twisted in pain, as though he was grappling against the pain of a terrible injury. For once though, he didn't ask any more. He cast one final, helpless look at his human lover, then sat back down. Raistlin couldn't think, his anger at Fistandantilus blurring with the lich's hate until he could barely tell them apart.
"We can free Lorac now," Raistlin told the others coldly unsure if it was his words his spoke, of Fistandantilus'. He turned to face the tormented elfking and lay his fingers against the old man's neck. The skin felt like thin parchment, and if not of the faint life beat, the wizard would have thought him dead, so cold Lorac was. "He lives, for the time being at least, the heartbeat is very weak. You may come closer."
Tanis was looking at the Dragon orb, clearly unwilling to come any closer to it than he was already. A flicker of alien amusement touched mage’s mind, and he smiled in response, beckoning Half-elven to come closer.
"One last thing." The half-elf hesitated. "Can the orb be of use to us?"
This time the whisper was one of agreement, and impatience. Fistandantilus was eager for him to use the orb, and while that would normally have been reason enough to avoid it at all costs, Raistlin didn't have any choice.
"Yes," he answered finally, adding under his breath, "If we dare."
The moment the Red Robe removed Lorac's wasted hand from the Dragon orb's smooth surface, he felt the last tenuous shreds of control binding the elfking to the enslaving artefact break. The old man drew in a deep, shuddering breath, then screamed, a terrible, soundless cry, an echo of those of the trees. The Silvanesti had clearly screamed so much and for so long that he was unable to make a sound. His hands groped around, locking on the orb's stand, on the arms of his twisted throne, and Raistlin drew back as he made to grab at him. Eyes still screwed shut, Lorac's cry died to a corpse-rattle as his lungs emptied, only to drag in another breath and scream anew.
"Father!" Alhana sprang to her feet from where Caramon had been trying to calm her and threw herself at the elfking, kneeling before him holding his hands in hers.
The human mage looked at the lot of them in distaste, watching their flesh rot and fall under his cursed eyes. The king of the living dead and his madwoman daughter, with their court of walking corpses.
The princess clutched at her father's hands, weeping wildly as Lorac continued to scream.
"Name of the Gods." Caramon winced. "I can't take much more of this."
"Father!" Starbreeze called to Lorac over and over again, a mantra that drove through Raistlin's skull and made even Fistandantilus' whispers pleasant in comparison.
Finally, either due to his daughter's cries or to the broken connection to the Dragon orb, the king of Silvanesti seemed to regain some semblance of sanity. Slowly, his screams died away to sobs, then to true silence. Finally, as though fearing what he might see, he opened his eyes.
"Alhana?" Raistlin winced, the elfking sounded worse than he did after a coughing fit. "Alhana, my child. Alive!" The princess shuddered when Lorac's bony hand touched her cheek, but she didn't move. "It cannot be! I saw you die! I saw you die a hundred times, each time more horrifying than the last. He killed you, Alhana! He wanted /me/ to kill you! But I could not. I know not why, I have killed so many..." The cracked voice trailed off, and suddenly he sat up, noticing the others for the first time. So sudden was the motion that Alhana was knocked backwards. "You!" The elfking's broken voice strained in rage. "You, half-elf! I killed you -or tried to. I must protect Silvanesti! I killed you! I killed all of you!" Then his eyes went to the Red Robe, and Fistandantilus laughed as cold terror replaced the anger. Trembling, he shrank back. "You... you I could not kill... you..." He looked at the human mage again, confusion mixing with fear. "No... Your robes are red, you are not he... yet you were! Who are you?" Frantic, he looked back at Tanis. "And you, you are not a threat? What have I done?"
"Do you have all afternoon?" Dalamar's voice spat pain and anger in equal measure. "For it will certainly take that long."
Lorac stared at the dark-robed elf for the fist time, recognition flickering in his eyes. “You... the exile... The woman killed you when my warriors could not... they would not... would not go near a destroyer...” His voice died, eyes wide with fear. “You do not know.”
"Don't, father," Alhana pleaded, sanity returning to her features. "You must rest now. The nightmare is ended, Silvanesti is safe.
Raistlin fought back a snort. Safe! He had looked out of the window the princess did not dare go near, he had seen what was left of the elven land. It was, if anything, even more horrific in the cold light of day than it had been at night. The dead warriors were at rest, but the warped monsters still stalked the woods, now hideously visible, and the trees still screamed their silent symphony to their tormentor.
Dalamar looked at him, and for a moment the human saw a familiar expression on the Dark elf's face. Lorac's words had puzzled his elven lover as much as they had him, and for a moment he dared to hope his friend would turn to him with his questions, as he had so many times. Even though he had no more idea than the elf had, it would a blessing to be able to speak to his lover and breach the silence between them. Yet, the look died as soon as it had appeared, crushed under the memories of the dream, and Dalamar turned away again.
Raistlin sighed, closing his eyes and wincing as the door was thrown open and Tika, Goldmoon, and Riverwind burst in. His head was aching, and the temptation to throw everything to the winds and just fireball everyone in the room was overwhelming. Anything for some quiet.
Without warning, his chest clenched as the net of numbing magic Fistandantilus had woven around his lungs vanished. Tears blurred his sight as he doubled over, coughing so hard that flecks of blood splattered the floor, as though he was retching pieces of his ravaged lungs. The pain was such that he fell to his knees, head lowered, struggling to ride out the spasm the threatened to tear him apart from the inside.
A hand touched his shoulder. Dalamar? Was this pain enough that the Dark elf had forgiven him? He tried to look up, but the agony was such that he could barely move, blinded by sweat and tears. A hand was rubbing his back soothingly, easing away the aches and pains that automatically accompanied a coughing fit, and a last Raistlin was able to draw in a ragged breath. One hand came up to wipe away the blood that filled his mouth and dripped down his chin, not just that in his lungs, but he had bloodied his own lip. Spitting the liquid out, he looked up.
Caramon looked back at him, forehead furrowed in anxiousness.
A blaze of fury shot through the human wizard and he shoved his brother away, the motion so sudden that the big man lost his balance and fell over. Shakily, he got to his feet and stumbled over to where Dalamar was standing, unmoving, looking out over the ravages of his ever-lost homeland.
The anger spilled out eager to include Dalamar in it condemnation. He had been hurting, yet the Dark elf had ignored him and left /Caramon/ to deal with him.
"Do you not care?" he hissed, voice weak and shaking with suppressed rage. "How could you leave me?"
The elven mage didn't move. His face was as pale and cold as marble, arms crossed as he stared impassively out of the window. "You should know," he whispered, as much to himself as to his companion. "You left me to die."
The words hit Raistlin like an arrow to the gut, and he could only stare as Dalamar turned and walked away. Within his mind, the bloated leech Fistandantilus was laughing. All this weakness, he gloated, all this pain, for a whore of a Dark elf who didn't trust him and didn't care.
And for once, Raistlin had no answer.

Skull Bearer.
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