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Crepuscule	By : Skullbearer Category: A through F > Dragonlance Views: 2832 -:- 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
Crepuscule
Chapter seven- Of Ambush
This is a tale of a northern soul
Looking for his way back home
-Northern Soul, The Verve.
Raistlin slowly drifted back to himself from a sleep so deep and peaceful that he couldn't remember the last time he had felt so refreshed. It was odd, because he normally didn't sleep well without a blanket of some kind, and what with the hardness of the ground, the tickle of the long grass he was laying on, it was lucky he had slept at all, never mind slept well.
There was a warm weight against his side, Dalamar's arm. Or at least, it had /better/ belong to the Dark elf. If it was anyone else's -such as a certain idiotic brother’s who didn't learn his lesson no matter how badly it was burnt into him- there was going to be trouble. He needn't have worried; when he opened his eyes, he saw the welcome, familiar sight of his elven lover, curled up and still fast asleep. Beyond him, Raistlin saw a rolling expanse of blasted, withered prairie -at least to his eyes they seemed so.
The Plains, he thought, puzzled. What were they doing here?
Raistlin sat up. The pegasi who had carried them this far had gone, yet they weren't even past the Eastwall Mountains. He could see them in the distance, cutting through the skyline like great stone knives.
"Oh, you're awake," a bleak voice spoke from behind him.
The young mage turned. Tanis was the only other one awake. "They couldn't carry us any further," he continued.
"Couldn't, or wouldn't?" Raistlin replied, glancing over at Dalamar. The winged horses had not been happy to carry them even /before/ they realised they would also be taking a Dark elf.
Tanis sighed, "They didn't dare go any further. Something about a darkness up ahead."
Raistlin smirked, just their luck to have been foisted off on a band of cowardly pegasi. There was darkness /everywhere/ on Krynn, or so it seemed.
Turning away from Half-elven, he leant forward and shook Dalamar's shoulder. They should really be moving, and he could use some decent company.
The Dark elf yawned and blinked, his silver eyes focusing on the human mage. He smiled. "Good morning." He rose up on his elbows and kissed Raistlin, pulling him in close. The memories of the night before had clearly not left Dalamar completely, and to be honest, Raistlin didn't feel entirely recovered either. The embrace was warm, a reminder that, despite the trials of Darken Wood, they were still alive and still together. The younger mage reached up and played with a few strands of the Silvanesti’s black hair, flicking them out of his face.
Finally, and rather reluctantly, Raistlin pulled away. Dalamar sat up and stretched in the early morning light, catching sight, for the first time, of their surroundings. "What in the Abyss..."
The Red Robe shook his head and explained. The elven wizard looked irritated. "It sounds as if they just left us here because they couldn't be bothered to take us any further."
The younger mage shook his head. "I disagree. They were cowardly, yes, but I do think that there is something Dark up ahead. Remember Riverwind's tale: 'Death on black wings'".
Dalamar was silent, thinking it over, then he nodded and changed the subject, "Who else is awake?"
"Only us and Half-elven." Raistlin nodded at Tanis.
The Half-Elf didn't seem to have heard; he was staring up over their heads and towards the horizon, where three columns of black smoke were rising lazily into the air, black threads against the gold of the coming dawn. The two mages looked at the smoke, and then at each other. There was no bet as to who had been attacked.
Tanis appeared to have come to the same conclusion. He leant over and shook Riverwind awake. The Plainsman awoke at once, and clearly feeling the tension, looked around. Stunned, he turned back to Tanis. "What's this? We're in the Plains of Abanasinia. Still about half a day journey from the Eastwall Mountains. My village lies to the east-" He pointed at the smoke, then broke off, horrified.
Definitely no bet.
Riverwind let out a low cry.
The noise woke Goldmoon up. Dazed, she turned to Riverwind, saw his expression, and followed his gaze. "No!"
Her voice roused the rest of the group from their slumber. "What is it?" Caramon asked drowsily.
"Their village," Tanis answered. "It's burning. Apparently the armies are moving faster than we thought."
Raistlin shook his head; right conclusion, wrong reasons. Typical. "No. Remember- the draconians clerics mentioned they had tracked the staff to a village in the Plains."
The silence was horrible.
Goldmoon insisted that they leave immediately for her village and, without waiting for an answer, she started off towards the smoke, Riverwind in tow.
The two mages stood together, watching them go, the Dark elf's arm around Raistlin's waist and the unspoken question about whether to follow hanging in the air.
Dalamar then shrugged. "They've got the staff," he said, by means of an answer.
Raistlin nodded, and bent down to pick up his own staff and pack. It was oddly heavy and the frail mage wondered which idiot had put stones in it. Pulling it open, he looked inside.
Instead of the half-empty bag he expected, it was full. Inside were enough provisions for several days. What was more, the young wizard noticed that his dagger, the dagger that he had been given long ago in Haven, was back in its sheath.
Nor was he the only one to have noticed; apparently everyone had full pack and had their weapons returned, even Dalamar.
"At least that's one thing we won't have to worry about," Tanis said gloomily, as they started to follow the Plainsmen.
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Raistlin had participated in several skirmishes and even in a few full-scale wars in his and Dalamar's five years as mercenaries, but nothing could have prepared him for the wreckage of the Que-shu village. It was as if the curse Par-Salian had put on Raistlin had been extended to the world. For once, the Red Robe knew that what he saw was being shared by everyone.
If whoever it was had wanted the village razed to the ground, they couldn't have done it better. Raistlin knew he and Dalamar saw it for what it was: An example shown to the rest of Krynn. Everything had been levelled until no buildings were more than a few bricks high, and even the stones themselves were strangely melted, like butter on a hot day.
Nor were the buildings the only things to have been put to the torch. Bodies littered the streets, scorched, blackened, and twisted, as if the victims had attempted to flee before being incinerated. The ruins were still smouldering, a tribute to the heat that had been turned on them, even though more than a day had passed since the massacre.
Raistlin stared at one of the half-molten walls. A charred corpse was lying against the wall, a small dog chewing at it, trying to find some meat that hadn't been carbonised. The stones were too hot to touch or even to approach too closely, and looked like shapeless blobs, melted by some unknown but tremendous heat.
The human mage turned, then reached over to attract Dalamar's attention.
A crude gibbet hung behind them, the wood blasted and blistered. From the blackened wood hung three chains, and on the end of these there were three bodies. The corpses of three hobgoblins, their eyes picked out by carrion crows, stared blankly out over the devastation. Above them, nailed to the wood, hung a shield. Words were carved on its dented surface:
/This is what happens to those who take prisoners without my commands,/ it read. /Kill or be killed. Verminaad./
No one was paying the gibbet, or the two mages, much attention. Flint was consoling the kender, who was sobbing in a corner. Sturm was kneeling over a dead body, whispering prayers to Paladine. Tanis was staring at one of the ruined houses, too horror-struck to speak. Riverwind too was staring around, clearly not seeing anything, while Goldmoon was running through the village, vainly trying to find any who might have escaped, calling out and being answered only by echoes.
Dalamar tapped Raistlin on the shoulder. He was holding a handful of dust, in which were stuck several arrowheads. "Dead draconians," he said softly. "They may come back."
They had no chance, the young wizard though. They fought, but they had no chance.
He walked over to the shell-shocked Tanis and shook him. "We must leave. There is nothing here and we must reach Xak Tsaroth. Then we may have our revenge."
Half-elven looked at him blindly, then, as the words finally registered, he nodded vaguely and started off towards the Eastwall Mountains.
One by one, the others followed.
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The walk was long and exhausting, for once they started walking, no one wanted to stop; that meant having to confront what they had seem. As night started to fall, Raistlin once again had to have Dalamar help him, or he would have fallen behind. He was tired, even after the previous night’s rest, and while he was not in the state of shock the others were in, the sight of the broken village had shaken him. What weapons did the draconians have that could do such devastation?
Dalamar beside him was also silent. The Dark elf, used as he was to terrible things, had also been stunned. Raistlin tightened his grip on the elf's hand, and the elven wizard blinked, then smiled at him before drifting back into his own thoughts.
The younger mage too, was thinking deeply. If these draconians were vicious enough to murder -and Raistlin was quite sure the Plainsmen had not stared the offensive- a whole village full of people for no other discernable reason than they knew of the Blue Crystal Staff, even though the Que-shu believed it to be a hoax, then what were they /unwilling/ to do?
Moreover, Raistlin knew that there would be no reasoning with those creatures or their mysterious Verminaad. They knew of the staff, and what was more, they knew it was not a fake. If this Verminaad had been prepared to expend troops to not only destroy Que-shu but also to raze their buildings to the ground, then they would be very eager to get their hands on himself and Dalamar, not to mention the rest of the group.
The younger mage shuddered, and Dalamar rubbed his back gently.
It was long past nightfall before they stopped to rest, and unlike last night, sleep brought little comfort, merely fearful dreams where draconians, like their namesakes, breathed white-hot flame on flesh that melted like the stones of Que-shu, running down over bone like butter under a hot flame.
Raistlin awoke with a jump, and burrowed back against Dalamar's warm body, the Dark elf's arm coiling around his waist.
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What sleep didn't bring, the morning did, offering some measure of comfort. The horrors of the previous day seemed softened, hazy behind the veil of a night's sleep, peaceful or not.
The two mages had curled up on the hard ground, facing each other, all the better to offer ease when a nightmare gripped the other. As he woke up, Raistlin could feel Dalamar's hands stroking his hair, soothing and erasing the memories of dark dreams and darker memories.
Lying there, feeling much calmer, Raistlin felt a stab of love for the Dark elf. He rolled over, lying on his back and looking up at Dalamar's amused face. The Silvanesti also looked much better for the night's rest. Today it was Raistlin's turn to sit up and kiss his lover, and, if they had been alone, the human mage knew that it wouldn't have ended there. There were many ways to offer comfort, after all.
Unfortunately for them both, they weren't alone. The Plainsmen were already awake, although by the looks on their faces, they probably hadn't gone to sleep in the first place. They sat close together, a position Raistlin knew very well. He and Dalamar had sat like that all too many times, when they had needed to draw strength from each other's presence. For once, there was no scorn in the mage's eyes.
Tanis and Tasslehoff were also awake; they had one of the kender's maps and were trying to puzzle it out. A hopeless endeavour, since the map dated from before Cataclysm and the whole land had been ripped asunder since it had been drawn.
Still, Xak Tsaroth didn't appear to be too far away.
Raistlin turned away, stoking up the fire for his tea.
Although the others were not long in waking up, no one spoke unless they had too, and it was a singularly gloomy group that huddled around the newly revived fire.
Goldmoon was sitting beside Raistlin, her staff laying across her lap as the Staff of Magius lay across the young mage's, but even the Staff of Magius was not so stained with blood as the Blue Crystal Staff.
In his mind's eye, Raistlin could see that Staff, still shining and polished even in his sight, dripping red with the blood of Goldmoon's people, people who had died to keep its existence secret. Whose blood would stain it next? Its bearer's? Raistlin's?
Dalamar's?
"How precious it has become," he murmured sardonically, "now that it has been purchased with the blood of innocents."
Tanis shot him a look, then, seeing no scorn in the young wizard's hourglass eyes, turned away.
Goldmoon barely noticed the non-verbal exchange. "Is it worth it?" Her voice was as exhausted as she looked. "Is it worth the lives of my people?"
Dalamar answered, his eyes silver-grey as they focused on her, "If it isn't, then your people will have died for nothing, /Chieftain’s Daughter/."
Not even Riverwind spoke, too appalled to speak. Goldmoon flinched as it the words had been a blow, but brutal as they were, they were true.
The Plainswoman's jaws seemed to be locked, yet she managed to force her words out. "You are right, the True Gods damn your cold heart, Dark elf. I am Chieftain’s Daughter... and my father would be ashamed of me."
Riverwind threw a murderous look at Dalamar before turning to comfort Goldmoon. "No, you are Chieftain."
"Chieftain of the dead," Dalamar added with crushing callousness.
The Plainsman looked like he would have liked to hit the Dark elf; his hand twitched towards his scabbard, but he didn't draw the blade. "You are one to speak of the dead, Nightson. They should have taken you in Darken Wood."
This time it was Dalamar who flinched.
The barbarian's eyes were cold as he spoke, "We should get going, it's nearly dawn."
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The road Tasslehoff's map showed might once have been well travelled, but now it was old and broken, stones cracking and falling even as they stepped on it, and occasionally it vanished altogether, a dirt track taking it's place. It had probably once led all the way to Xak Tsaroth, but now it finished, without warning, in the middle of a swamp.
Flint didn't notice the abrupt end to the path and his reflexes were too slow to avoid the drop, the result being that he walked off the edge and into a pool of deathmire. It took both Caramon and Sturm to pull him out again.
"We can't walk through this!" Tanis despaired. "Maybe we should turn back."
"No time," Raistlin choked. The air was thick and damp, and, even thought in was mid morning, mist still clung to the trees. It made it hard to breath, and the human mage was constantly fighting back coughing fits.
"And there is a way." Riverwind's voice was oddly vague, as if he was remembering a dream.
The Red Robe stared at him, wondering if he would know the way through this; they were miles from where Que-shu had once stood. Then it dawned.
"And we can get through," the Plainsman continued, still in the same strange voice. "I know a path."
Of /course/. Raistlin should have guessed before this; after all, the Plainsman had found one priceless artefact there already.
"I know the way through the swamp. And it leads to-" he broke off, but the young wizard knew what he was going to say.
"The broken city of evil?" Tanis finished grimly.
Riverwind nodded.
Dalamar smiled thinly; no doubt he too had guess before it was said. "Xak Tsaroth. Of course. Where else would we find our answers?"
"And we must go there now!" Raistlin added, feeling the burn of anxiety start in his chest. Couldn't they understand the importance of what the thrice-damned Forestmaster had said? "We must be there by midnight tonight."
Riverwind led them now. He looked dazed, as if walking in a dream. Yet each time an area looked impassable, he was able to pick out a safe path through the mire. Despite the mist that still swirled stubbornly around them and the vines that trailed down from the trees, the Plainsman never put a step wrong, nor did he hesitate, even in places where a misstep would lead to a lingering death in the morass.
Where there was truly no way through, Riverwind pointed out crude rope bridges strung over the mud, telling them they were always there when an area proved impassable.
Raistlin and Dalamar looked at each other; it wasn't particularly reassuring. Who had built these bridges? The human mage had a feeling they didn't want to know, but where going to find out all too soon.
By the time the trees had started to thin, Raistlin was trembling with chills and barely suppressed coughs. They had to wade several times and the wet clothes clung to his thin body, the cold and the stench making him feel ill.
What was more, although the tree were thinning, the swamp still continued, murkier than ever, deep pools of stagnant water scattered all over their path. They had to use the rope bridges more and more often, and Raistlin found he couldn't repress his cough any more, doubling over, hand to his mouth. Even when he recovered enough to walk on, the mist made him feel as if he was inhaling clouds.
Flint and Tasslehoff were leading the way by now, and by the sound of it, they had somehow been able to get their hands on some alcohol. The noise they were making made the Red Robe wince; they were louder than the rest of the group put together.
Beside him, Raistlin heard Dalamar sigh. The Dark elf slid past, clearly intending to catch up with the tipsy pair and shut them up. Since the dwarf and the kender were some way ahead, Raistlin lost sight of Dalamar through the mist before long.
There was a moment's calm, then Tasslehoff's voice cut through the fog shockingly loud and making them all jump. "Tanis! Ambush!"
Caramon swore and drew his sword, but Raistlin had barely reached for his spell components before there was a loud splash, then another, and four draconians ran through the mist.
A moment later, too quickly for anyone to act, everything went black. The young wizard couldn’t see anything, and couldn't risk trying to cast in total darkness.
This time it was the Red Robe who cursed. A magic-user, he thought, fighting down a burst of panic. If these draconians had magic, what had they done to Dalamar? Even a simple binding spell could be fatal in this place; a fall in the mud would lead the Dark elf to a drowning death.
Biting down his fear and struggling to keep his voice steady, he called to Tanis, "Magic! These are magic-users. Stand aside, you cannot fight them."
By all the Gods, if these creatures had so much as laid a hand on Dalamar-
Before he could act, before he could even finish that thought, a shock of pain shot through his skull. Even as his hand jerked up to the dart sticking out of his neck, the whip-slash burn of poison shot through his veins. His head seemed to be filled with ice, his legs too weakened to hold him up. As his throat closed up, Raistlin had time for one shot cry of agony before he fell to the ground and the darkness behind his eyes swallowed him.

Skull Bearer.
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