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Summer of Flame	By : sinaline Category: A through F > Dragonlance Views: 1891 -:- 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
- 6
- 7
- 8
A/N: Reference for this chapter in regards to the Irda and Mischta can be found in the game accessory Otherlands (printed by TSR in 1990, ISBN # 0-88038-829-3). Alternatively, Wizards of the Coast are giving it away as a free full color PDF download (go figure...)
Also, I have decided to get the show on the road, lol ;) No more boring chapters because too much is going to happen. Enjoy the ride, it’s about to get bumpy...
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PART TWO: THE SUMMER OF CHAOS
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Chapter Six:

Children of the Irda

Raistlin had stripped off his cloak and was riding in his leather armor and the light linen tunic beneath it. Looking over at his nephews Tanin and Sturm, he saw that they were not doing much better in the heat. He smiled and pulled his horse up short to halt it, “Now you know why I like not having to wear armor, eh?”
Tanin gave him a sour look, and answered as he hopped off his horse and walked to the Vingaard River, which they were following to where it ran to the sea. He then washed himself in the cool water until the metal was not so hot. Sturm, seeing that Tanin was then cooled off, did the same. After a moments thought, and after shielding his eyes to see how long it would be until the sun set, Raistlin, too got off his horse and filled his waterskin. The two younger men watched as he took one of his clean square rags, rolled it into strip, soaked it, then tied that on his head to make a headband to hold back his hair and cool his brow.
A few minutes later, they did the same. “That was a brilliant idea, Uncle Raistlin,” pointed out Tanin.
Raistlin shrugged, “I try.”
* * *
Far to the North, more North than Gargath Isle even, a ship anchored just off a beach. It dared not go any closer for fear of running aground. After a short time a smaller boat, a landing craft, dropped into the water. Armored men climbed into it. A half an hour later, it landed on the beach.
The blue skinned warriors were known only as brutes, and the armored men and women honestly did not know a better name to call them, so left it as it was. These brutes moved onto the quiet isle while those in armor waited and sweated in the heat that seemed to radiate off the sand.
Just as the sun was setting, the Brutes came back with a dirty, wriggling form. The lead armored knight asked, “What is this?”
“The only natives on the island,” answered the leader of the Brutes as he dumped it unceremoniously on the ground.
The Knight of Takhisis looked from the dirty creature that barely qualified as humanoid, but was too passive for anything created by his Dark Queen, to the Brute. The Brute only shrugged his indifference, “You can put an outpost here if you want but I don’t see the point.”
The Dark Knight harumphed, and, shaking his sword as the creature curiously put a hand on it, watching as it recoiled in terror, said, “Neither do I, but that decision is out of my hands. Whatever the Dark Queen wills, we shall do.”
He made a motion, “Back to the ship. I will make my report when we reach port. Make a note on this isle, no worthwhile life to be seen. No point in putting an outpost here. Too remote.”
They left, a few laughing, and soon the ship left in the dying sunlight.
The pathetic wriggling creature stood straight, shedding the disguise in vague disdain, and silently watched as others came out of hiding. These others were far from pathetic, and like the one almost dragged off by the Dark Knights, was dressed in simple linen and silk tunics and robes. “‘No point in an outpost’, Protector?”
“That is, I believe, what he said, Decider,” said the one that had been closest to the Knights, one called by all the Protector, the closest thing on the island to a warrior.
“You would think the ruins would have attracted some attention,” although there was relief in her voice, there was also a vague amount of amusement.
“The ‘Brutes’ have no care of stone ruins,” pointed out the Protector. “However, had they actually sent a Knight, they would have seen. There would have been curiosity.”
The three walked back to the hidden village, where life among the Irda was slowly returning back to normal after the close call. When evening fell, a rare gathering of the Irda was called. The eldest of all the leading families met under one roof in the sight of their God, the ones the humans called Mishakel. The Decider, who in a way was king of the Irda, a descendent of Igrane, walked to the dias and said, “Today, outsiders landed on our Isle. We call this Council of the Families to decide on our course of action.”
“So, what now?” asked Protector. “We are fairly sure that they will not come back, but there is always that chance that they may.”
The Irda, or as this particular descendant was actually called the Mischta as during the Cataclysm their Isle had been rent in two and the original Irda had been lost. Well, the Mischta were also Irda, but the story of them was a sad one, and dated back to the Cataclysm that all but the very youngest could not remember.
Except for one that was absent.
While the Mischta debated what to do, this one had crept just into hearing range. The prospect of outsiders, while it frightened her, also drew her. She was, after all, a sort of outsider herself. If she had any Mischta blood in her at all, it was diluted with the human. When the gathering grew quiet again, she crept back to the home she shared with her adoptive father, the Protector.
He walked in, his lips compressed into a thin pale blue line and ran a hand through his thick black hair. “What is it?” she asked.
“Usha...” he said, and shook himself out of the reverie that he had found himself in. “The Council has decided that we have to find a way to insure that the island is never found, much like the way it was before the Rending.”
She tipped her head to the side, “The Rending? Hide the Isle? How?”
“It will all be in a letter I am sending you to take to Dalamar of Palanthas,” he said. “Unfortunately, we need all the magic we can get, and you are just not powerful enough.”
Usha stared at him in disbelief. Leave? He wanted her to leave? No! This was her home, as much as he, how could he ask such a thing of her. But he was looking at her with something else... hope. She recalled how he was sending her with a letter. She nodded bravely, “I will carry your message to Dalamar.”
For a moment, Protector seemed surprised. He had expected a temper tantrum like the ones she had always thrown when things did not go her way. This was rather unexpected, then she held up her hand, “But not because I want to. Because, even if I don’t have magic like you, you have entrusted me with a responsibility. You could have sent one of the others, and they would have gone and been back by now.”
He nodded and they began to pack her things.
* * *
Tanin and Sturm were hot. The Vingaard dunkings, as the little ritual every so often didn’t seem to be enough. It had taken weeks of travel by horse to finally arrive in the sight of Kalaman. It was at this point that Tanin, with a sinking sensation in his stomach watched Raistlin look up once, then go boneless as he slid off the horse he was riding in a faint from the heat.
Tanin pulled his horse up short, and called out, “Sturm, stop!”
Sturm, who had been leading, and therefore ahead of Tanin and Raistlin, turned the horse around and cantered back. He slid off his horse and quickly took charge of the horses before the nervous feeling they would sense off Tanin could spook them. Tanin rolled his Uncle over and his uncle murmured something a bit too unintelligible for either to pick up. He rolled his pale blue eyes to both of them, then his eyelids slid shut and he abruptly relaxed as he passed completely out.
“Shit,” swore Sturm. “Now what?”
“We’re within sight of Kalaman,” said Tanin. “Give me his waterskin.”
Sturm grabbed it, opened it, then said quietly, “It’s dry.”
Tanin picked up his Uncle and loaded him on his own horse before climbing up behind him.
“It’s too far to go back to the Vingaard now, we’ll have to ride on.”
Sturm climbed on his own horse and tied off the reins to Raistlin’s horse. Tanin coaxed his already tired mount into a quick canter, and Sturm followed. Tanin had to support his Uncle the entire ride and around noon when the sun began to truly scorch, his horse gave up under the added weight. Dismounting, Sturm’s practiced eye told him, “You can’t ride him. He’ll be all right though.”
Tanin mounted Raistlin’s nervous black stallion and Sturm passed Raistlin up to Tanin, “I’ll ride ahead on Darkmist, you follow behind at what pace you can manage.”
Sturm nodded, and Tanin, not realizing that Darkmist hardly required any prodding at all, gave him a nudge like he would have other Solamnic horses.
He had to hold on for dear life as Darkmist perked right up and began to gallop at a breakneck speed. After a moment (and after he got used to the speed...) Tanin relaxed into the ride. Perhaps it was then he realized that Darkmist didn’t run like normal Solamnic horses at all. The landscape was practically a blur, and instead of another half day ride like he had thought it might be, they arrived in just a little over an hour.
Gently, he gave a tug on the reins to slow the archmage’s horse to a gentle canter as they came up to the city gates of Kalaman. The gates were open and he rode in, and stopped when a city guard stopped him. Darkmist stomped an impatient hoof as if knowing the urgency of the situation. Tanin introduced himself, “I am Tanin Majere, Knight of the Crown. My brother collapsed in the heat...”
“Is this your brother?”
“Yes, the one that collapsed,” said Tanin. “I have another brother, a Knight as well, who is riding at a more relaxed pace about a half day ride behind.”
“This one’s a wizard...” the guard looked up at Tanin in suspicion.
“He’s also a Knight Auxiliary,” pointed out Tanin.
“Very well, we’ll tend to him,” the guard took Raistlin from Tanin and lay him on a cot inside a cool room.
Fresh water for the horse was brought and Darkmist was cooled down and brushed before being allowed in the stables. The stabler came out and said, “Fine beast. Hardly sweating for as hard as you rode him. I watched him come in. Fastest horse I ever saw...”
Tanin nodded with half an ear as the healer tended to the heat exhausted Raistlin. He stood up, and said, “He’ll be all right. The heat got to him, as well as lack of water. He should rest for a day or so, just to get himself right again.”
Again, Tanin found himself nodding in agreement as the healer listed off his treatment for Raistlin.
* * *
Protector stood in the circle as the Decider took a tooled hammer and chisel. Setting the chisel, the Decider took the hammer and in one blow cracked open the Greygem...
* * *
A small boat, too graceful of a make for human hands glided into the Palanthas harbor just as an unearthly red light began to glow in the North East. The Minotaurs saw this light, took note of it, then went back to their planning of conquest.
One person on this isle, however, did take notice.
And her blood and the blood that ran in her veins turned a sudden chill as she whispered one word in complete and utter horror, “Chaos...”
* * *
Tanin watched in horror as the Knights turned in shock as Raistlin arched in agony on the bed, words in a different language than even magic on his lips. It sounded like warning cries, of death throes. The healer turned his full attention back to him as Raistlin began to convulse in seizures. Tanin helped hold him down as the healer tried everything to stop him from convulsing and thrashing on the bed.
Tanin, while holding his Uncle’s arm down, noticed something. The simplest ring on Raistlin’s finger burned with a blue fire as the stone practically seemed to pulsate and the power streaming from it was causing the veins in Raistlin’s arms to glow and pulsate in time with the ring.
The healer saw it, and said, “Get it off of him. It’s likely what causing the seizures.”
Tanin put one hand on the ring to pull it from Raistlin’s finger, but was surprised when his sight was no longer of the little room in which they fought for his Uncle’s life and well being. If anything, it was of a blasted isle where a fire giant rampaged, and two halves of the...
... Oh no. He wasn’t seeing that.
The two halves of the Greygem. Tanin gasped and was suddenly in the room again. The healer had recoiled in horror, and seemed to be in the midst of retreat. When Tanin looked down, he could see why. His uncle’s skin was the legendary molten gold color and his silver white hair was wild as he tangled it more with each spasm that wracked his whole being, as if his very soul was being ripped out of his body. His eyes were rolled up in his head, but the small slits of what he could see of the irises were also gold.
Finally he uncle sat bolt upright and screamed. Tanin clamped his hands over his ears, as did the healer. With that one scream, he went lax and collapsed into the bed, his breaths deep, but labored as if he had just ran a race. The gold color faded, then disappeared, and everything was as it had been before his fit.
The healer looked at Tanin, “He’s not your brother at all, is he? You lied to us! That’s that Black Robe... That’s Raistlin Majere!”
Tanin nodded numbly, “I would appreciate it if you kept this to yourself. Patient and healer confidentiality?”
The healer seemed to have a stubborn set to his jaw, then relaxed it in resignation. “Fine. On your Father’s sake, I won’t say anything. But I won’t help you anymore if it concerns him. As far as I’m concerned, the minute I walk out of the door, I’m done with him for good.”
“Fine,” agreed Tanin. “As long as you don’t say anything.”
“Agreed.”
With that the healer turned on his heal and left the room. The guard came in and asked in a low voice, “We heard an unholy scream, what happened?”
“My brother had a seizure, a bad one. The heat did more damage than we thought,” answered Tanin in concern.
The guard made a sympathetic rumble in his throat, “You will need a place to stay, there is an inn in town. I made arrangements for the night for you.”
“Thank you,” said Tanin. “My other brother?”
“When he arrives, we shall notify him of where you are staying,” said the guard, then saluted. “Paladine be with you.”
“And with you,” saluted Tanin in return.
He then picked up his Uncle and, finding Darkmist, again loaded his Uncle on the remarkable horse and led it to the Cornahir Inn. As he was about to take his Uncle off the horse, Raistlin sat up a bit and blinked his eyes in surprise. “Where’re we?” his voice was soft, just barely above a whisper, and very tired sounding.
“We’re in Kalaman, Uncle,” answered Tanin. “You, ah, had a fit and you and I had to ride ahead to get you treated. We’re outside of an inn where you will rest the night and recover from the fit.”
“I had... a fit...?” Raistlin seemed to have a difficult time focusing as Tanin helped him down and walk into the Inn.
A boy walked Darkmist into the Inn’s stable after Tanin handed him a silver piece. He pushed open the door and helped Raistlin to a plush chair. The innkeeper came out and caught sight of them. “Tanin Majere, Palin Majere?”
“Yes,” answered Tanin.
“Here are your keys, good sirs,” said the innkeeper as he handed Tanin keys and led them up to the first room.
Tanin helped Raistlin, almost carrying him as his uncle stumbled and half staggered to the bed. When his uncle was lying down and comfortable, Tanin was shown to his own room where there was two beds. “We figured the wizard would like some peace to study,” said the innkeeper with a shrug. “This will accommodate your other brother and you.”
“Ah, yes, thank you,” said Tanin, effectively dismissing the man as he walked into the room where his uncle was already asleep.
He pulled his uncles boots off his feet and otherwise made sure that his uncle was comfortable before pulling up the covers of the bed and covering up his uncle under them.
* * *
When Sturm finally managed to get to the gates of Kalaman, the sun was beginning to set,
although a bright glow in the north west was strange. He rode up to the gates and yelled out, “My name is Sturm Majere, Knight of the Crown.”
“Well met, Knight Majere,” called out another man. “What business do you have in Kalaman?”
“We were sent by our superior officers to Kalaman,” answered Sturm. “I am about half a day behind another set of riders, these being my brothers, one also a Knight by the name of Tanin Majere. Have they made it?”
“Aye, they have,” the gate began to open and when Sturm was able to ride in and meet the person he was able to talk to over the gate, he slid off his horse and shook the man’s hand as he finished. “Your younger brother, I believe, the wizard? He took a fit. He recovered, but he needed rest. He and your brother we sent to the Cornahir Inn. You are about four hours behind them.”
Sturm nodded, then said, “Thank you, I would stay and exchange news but I am rather worried about my brother.”
“Oh, of course, of course,” said the guard. “Paladine be with you, Knight.”
“And with you,” said Sturm before he rode off.
A short while later he too paid the stable boy a silver each for the horses, then entered the inn. The innkeeper came out and asked, “How may I help you?”
“My name is Sturm Majere, Knight of the Crown,” answered Sturm, holding out his hand to shake the innkeepers.
The innkeeper accepted his hand warmly and answered, “Your brothers have been waiting for you. Second room on the right.”
“Thank you.”
Sturm walked up the stairs and to the second room on the right and walked in. Tanin looked up from the small desk and Sturm asked, “I was told at the gate that Uncle Raistlin ‘had a fit’. What did they mean by that?”
“They mean exactly that,” said Tanin gravely. “The heat nearly killed him. He went into convulsions when we arrived. He’s resting now, we believe he’ll be all right.”
Sturm looked over in the next room as the two rooms were connected by a single door. “Good,” said Sturm wholeheartedly. “When I heard that he had a fit, I was scared that the next news would be that he was dead, this time for good.”
“He’s tougher than everyone gives him credit for,” pointed out Tanin. “You want to know the really weird thing, though?”
“What?” asked Sturm curiously.
“He turned golden skinned in the midst of the attack, and in a language I have never heard before cried... something... out. It could have been warnings, or even complete gibberish,” recalled Tanin. “Then he screamed like his soul was on fire, then simply collapsed into what we see now.”
Sturm ran his hand down his face. “Strange.”
- 6
- 7
- 8
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Summer of Flame