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Ice and Steel	By : Skullbearer Category: A through F > Dragonlance Views: 3083 -:- 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
- 7
- 8
- 9
Mayhem and Exhaustion
I know it's the last day on Earth,
We'll never say goodbye."
-Last day on Earth, Marilyn Manson.

If it hadn't been for Caramon, that would probably have been it for Raistlin. The others had been thrown out of the temple shortly after the riot and made their way back to the fairgrounds.
Even Dalamar, although Tanis had some trouble convincing him.
Caramon, though, was even more stubborn than the Dark elf. He'd lagged behind and mooched around the temple grounds waiting for his brother to come out.
When he finally saw Raistlin, his twin was being dragged out of the temple by the Haven guard. They were followed by a gaggle of townsfolk, all whispering about how the mage had been caught in the very act of killing Judith, there would be a trial the next morning and no doubt a hanging.
One of the guardsmen, one close to Caramon, was talking and pointing at a bloodstained knife he held in his hands.
Kit's knife.
The murder weapon.
Caramon stared, stunned, as the procession rounded the corner towards the guardhouse. He then took to his heels, running as fast as he could for the fairgrounds.
When he blundered into their tent, sweating and out of breath, he never saw the dark shadow that flitted after him and crouched outside the tent.
Caramon found Kitiara sitting there pulling her boots off..
It didn't take long for Caramon to splutter out his story; Raistlin's capture, the murder, tomorrow's trial, Kit's knife, everything.
Kitiara's face seemed a mask. "There are a lot of knives in this world."
"Not many with Flint's mark, or the braided leather on the hilt. Kit, I saw you wrap it yourself! It was your knife, I know it." Caramon was getting angry at the waste of time.
"Does Raistlin know? Never mind, they wouldn't believe him anyway."
"Then you're going to say something. You killed her, didn't you, Kit?"
His sister shrugged, red moonlight reflected in her uncaring eyes.
"Then I'm going to tell them Kit. I'm going to tell them the truth."
Kitiara caught his sleeve as he turned to leave, "Caramon, wait! There's something you have to consider. Something you haven't thought about."
"Well, what's that?" Caramon scowled.
Kitiara lowered her voice, "Did you know Raistlin could do magic like that?"
"Like what?"
"Like the spell he cast tonight. It was a powerful spell Caramon. I know, I've been around magic users some, and what I've seen...Well, never mind what I've seen, but trust me on this. What Raistlin did he shouldn't have been able to do. Not as young as he is."
"He's good at magic," Caramon said off-handedly.
Kitiara snarled "Are you part gully dwarf to be so thick headed? Can't you understand? You say Raistlin's good at magic, I say he's too good at magic. I hadn't realized it until tonight. I though he was just playing at being a wizard. How could I know he was this powerful? I didn't expect-"
"What are you saying Kitiara?" Caramon said impatiently.
"Let them have him, Caramon," Kit's voice was low and deadly, her eyes gleaming. "Let them hang him! Raistlin is dangerous. He's like one of those vipers. As long as he's charmed, he'll be nice. But if you cross him...Don't go back to the prison, Caramon. Just go to bed. In the morning, if someone asks you about the knife, say it was his."
"You want me...to let Raistlin...die?" Caramon choked hoarsely.
"Just let whatever's going to happen, happen." She said soothingly, "It will be for-"
A hand snagged Kitiara's shoulder and she turned impatiently to see who it was.
She never even saw Dalamar's fist coming.
Caramon blinked. The Dark elf had somehow materialized behind Kit and hit her so hard he'd knocked her out. The Black robe was trembling with fury.
"You." He snarled at Caramon, "Get the half elf, the knight, the dwarf and the kender, we're going to the prison and turning her"-he spat- "in."
Caramon nodded, taking a hurried step back from the icy rage that all but radiated from Dalamar.
-----------------------------------Flint's POV----------------------------------------
Flint wasn't exactly pleased to be shaken out of a sound sleep and dragged out into the dark night by a frantic Caramon.
Judging by the garbled explanation he'd received, Kitiara had done something (Caramon being particularly incoherent at this point), and the city guard thought Raistlin had done it instead, so they were going down to the guardhouse to sort it out. Exactly why Kitiara had been knocked out and was being dragged along by Dalamar wasn't entirely clear, but Tanis hadn't been too pleased by this.
The half elf was trying to get an explanation from Caramon when he was interrupted by a cry echoing through the grounds from the temple.
"There's going to be a wizard-burning! Come and see! They're going to burn the wizard!"
The group stood stock still, and for one moment Flint saw Dalamar's mask of steely ice collapse, muted under the flash of horror that passed before his eyes.
Then the Dark elf had dropped Kitiara and the five of them were running towards the temple.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The temple grounds were in chaos, swarming with people. Here and there the pale blue robes of a Belzorite priest could be seen. Flint caught a flash of white that might have been Raistlin's robes, but it was quickly swallowed in the howling, drunken crowd.
Sturm, who had a better view than the dwarf due to his height, was already shoving his way through the throng; his strong, clear voice ringing out over the din.
"Halt! What is the meaning of this?"
The procession had been closer to them than Flint had first thought, and Sturm had just brought it to a stop. He stood proudly in front of them, sword drawn, challenging.
Flint could now just about see Raistlin, the young man looked barely conscious, being half carried by the priests.
"You fools!" The high priest shouted. "He's one man and alone! Knock him aside and keep going!"
Flint tried to shove his way to help his friend, but was elbowed back by a young man, who then picked up a stone and hurled it at Sturm.
It struck Sturm on the forehead and the crowd, who had fallen silent at the young man's dramatic entrance, now roared with laughter and several ruffians ran at Sturm, dragging him to the ground.
Flint leaped at the man who had thrown the stone and pummeled him to the ground, socking him in the mouth before getting up and starting to fight his way towards where Raistlin was now being tied to the deadwood pyre.
Before Flint could get much closer, however, some eager drunk had put a torch to the wood.
Flames licked up the sides of the pyre, the crackle lost in the shouts of the crowd. Flint put his head down and barreled his way through them.
He finally got close enough to the pyre to see Tasslehoff, the kender had been able to sneak close enought to climb up it and was now standing just behind Raistlin, knife working at the ropes that kept the young mage bound to the stake. Then it was over and the ropes fell free and Raistlin half stumbled, half fell to the grass below, Tas hopping down after him.
And all hell broke loose.
Caramon and Tanis had attacked, blades out and fighting their way over. A stream of strange words hissed over from Flint's right and he turned in time to see Dalamar, face a study in rage, blasting two priest out of his way with a sheet of flame.
Then the crowd surged, his friends were lost from view and Flint had more pressing problems on his hands, i.e. Beating the living daylights out of the priests who were even now trying to attack Tasslehoff.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
When Raistlin hit the mercifully cool ground after the heat of the pyre, he just wanted to curl up there and go to sleep. To the abyss with the priests. Still, a voice in the back of his head was franticly reminding him that he had to get out of here now.
Raistlin raised his head and tried to get up. The noise about him had, if anything, increased, and mixed in with the yells from the crowd were the unmistakable sounds of clashing steel.
The young mage pulled himself away as best he could from the now blazing pyre and the shouts of enraged priests. Someone suddenly grabbed him from behind and pulled him upright. Raistlin tried to lift the dagger Tasslehoff had given him to defend himself but his arms didn't seem to want to move.
For some reason the man (who Raistlin could have sworn had been part of the crowd earlier) didn't seem to be about to attack him, instead he seemed to be congratulating Raistlin on his escape.
The fickle mob, excited by the rescue now it seemed that a wizard-burning was off the agenda, had turned on the priests and now the rocks flew, not at the rescuers, but at the temple and it's clergy.
The man holding Raistlin was pulling him towards his brother and friends, stopping only to snag a bottle of brandy from a nearby drunk and pour some of it's contents down Raistlin's throat.
It didn't do much good, Raistlin now felt sick as well as everything else.
Neither did his new benefactor's shout of "Oi!" do much for the pounding in his skull. The man suddenly released him and Raistlin staggered sideways, swaying as he tried to stay upright on legs that seemed determined to collapse.
A new set of arms wrapped around him and Raistlin found himself leaning against someone, face pressed into black cloth that smelt of woodsmoke, damp earth and the lightning crackle scent of magic.
A hand came up and brushed his scorched hair back from his face.
"It's okay....Shhh....It's going to be okay."
Dalamar.
Raistlin smiled into the Dark elf's robes and shut his eyes; the noise around them washed over him like waves and he held onto Dalamar as if he'd drown if he let go.
"It's okay Raistlin...Oh Nuitari, let's get you out of here..."
".... he okay?"
A new voice.
"....haven't the first idea, Lemuel..."
"...hurt?... Ointment for burns...."
"Thank you....need to go now...."
The words blurred into background noise and Raistlin was almost asleep on his feet when Dalamar spoke on him, voice shocking him back to dazed consciousness.
"We're going back to the fairgrounds, do you think you can make it?"
Raistlin nodded, barely understanding what Dalamar was talking about.
It took them the better part of half an hour to get back to the grounds, half an hour which Raistlin remembered only as a fuzz of exhaustion punctuated by the occasional blur of dull colour when he found the strength to open his eyes.
Dalamar was almost carrying him, one arm thrown across his back, holding him up and pulling him along. Raistlin rather felt as if he was falling without ever quite hitting the ground.
It was almost dawn by the time Dalamar pulled open the tent flaps. The Dark elf grabbed his bedroll and both of their blankets before pulling them outside again.
"Why'we out here?" Raistlin slurred, sliding gratefully to the grassy earth.
"Because I don't trust your sister anywhere near enough to sleep close to her, especially tonight."
None of which made any sense to Raistlin, but that was okay, nothing made sense at the moment and Dalamar would explain in the morning.
The tents had been pitched beside a small grove of trees, and the pair of them were sitting a little way inside the grove, in a small, grassy hollow. It wasn't entirely uncomfortable, but then Raistlin could have slept on rusted nails.
He'd almost dozed off again when Dalamar helped him take off his singed robes and boots before climbing into their blankets. He wondered about this vaguely, they had shared their tent with Caramon and Kitiara and had agreed that, for this trip, they wouldn't sleep together.
Another question for the morning.
"Raistlin."
He groaned, he just wanted to sleep.
"Where are you hurt?"
Everywhere.
"Raistlin?"
"Tired."
"I know that, where are you hurting most?"
Forcing the welcome haze of sleep from his mind, Raistlin tried to focus on the question. His head was pounding heavily and here and there he felt the dull/sharp ache of burnt skin.
"Arms, " His voice sounded strange even to his own ears. "Lower legs. Head."
He felt Dalamar's slender hands taking first one wrist, then the other, and rubbing something into the skin, skin scorched by the burning wood when he'd slid off the pyre.
The pain was soothed and he felt hands on his ankles, and the same substance was applied again.
There was a soft rustle of cloth and he felt Dalamar's warm body settle down beside him. The Dark elf pulled the blankets over the two of them and snuggled in close, resting his head on Raistlin's robes.
"Now you can sleep," he murmured.
Raistlin did just that.

Raistlin's condition in this chapter is drawn directly from my own experiences of being drunk/exhausted/both, things I know far too well.
Anyone else think Kitiara deserved that punch?
Please review, I'd hate to think I stayed up until nearly 3.00am just to have nobody read this.

Skull Bearer.
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- 9
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Ice and Steel