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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
- 7
- 8
- 9
Crepuscule
Chapter eight- Of Conflagration
Give me your powder and pills
I want to see if they cure my ills
I've not time for love and devotion
No time for old fashioned potion
-Northern Soul, The Verve.
Dalamar finally caught up with the dwarf and the kender as they were halfway across a log bridge. However, the Dark elf barely had time to open his mouth to speak before the first draconian stepped out of the undergrowth-
-Only to be met with the butt of Tasslehoff's hoopak staff. It swayed, then topped over off the log and into the murky water below. As it struggled to climb back on the log, it's three companions appeared and charged.
Tasslehoff shouted a warning to the others and Flint lunged forward, axe leading the way, but the dwarf had miscalculated his swing- unsurprisingly, as he had downed three quarters of the brandy. The new draconian took a step backwards; it's scales were smooth gold, and unlike the others it had no wings, it raised it's hands in front of itself in a way that was far too familiar to Dalamar.
"Spellcaster!" He gasped, then drew his dagger and started forward. As dangerous as it was to disrupt a spell, the thought of letting the creature finish it made the risk a welcome one.
He had taken barely two steps on the slippery log when he was stopped. Flint, drunk and carried forward by the momentum of his failed attack, lost his balance and slipped, starting to fall off the log. In a panic, the dwarf had scrabbled around for any support, and his hand closed around the Dark elf's robes.
Dalamar, his legs tangled in the black folds and the collar snatching tight enough to throttle him, lost his footing and followed the dwarf off the makeshift bridge and into the pool.
Filthy, muddy water filled Dalamar's eyes and mouth, as he struggled to the surface he heard a second splash as Tasslehoff decided that staying on a log faced with four angry draconians was not, as Tanis often put it, 'conductive to a long life'.
Cursing, the Dark elf kicked his way to the surface, Flint clinging to him like a leech. The dwarf was frantic, and his flailing about added to their problems. Finally, after his fist cracked Dalamar in the jaw, the elf slammed the hilt of his knife in the dwarf's temple and dragged them both over to the weed-choked bank.
Flint was out cold, but mercifully the draconians had been too occupied with the rest of the group to worry about them.
Tasslehoff had already reached the bank, and helped Dalamar drag the dwarf out of the stinking water before the Dark elf climbed out himself. The crouched down under the curtain off weeds, peering out.
There hadn't been much of a struggle, a globe of darkness covered most of the log now, and the whole area was covered with magically strong spider webs.
Although Dalamar hadn't heard Raistlin's scream in the underwater panic, he was frantic, shifting around to try and catch sight of what had happened to his lover. A twig snapped under him, and after that he stayed still.
The magical darkness finally vanished and more draconians arrived, they picked up the
bound bodies of the group- but the look of it, the draconian had also cast a sleep spell- and slipped away through the trees. Dalamar caught a flash of red from Raistlin's robes, but he was too far away to see the human. The other draconians followed behind with their possessions, one of them nearly burning its hand off trying to pick up the blue crystal staff.
It was everything Dalamar could do not to get up and charge after them, but as much as the thought of Raistlin in the claws of these creatures tormented him, he knew that such an action would be nothing less than suicidal. Trembling with a mixture of bone deep fear and impotent rage, he dug his nails into his palms and stayed still.
Flint groaned. Dalamar, snapping out of his black thoughts, looked at him in alarm, but the draconians seemed to be too far away to hear.
"What happened?" The dwarf touched his no doubt aching head.
"You fell off the log." Dalamar said shortly, starting to stand up. The draconians were out of sight and the Dark elf had every intention of following.
Still rubbing his head, Flint looked at him suspiciously, "How?"
"Don't argue." Tasslehoff interjected, also getting to his feet, "Can you walk?"
"Of course I can walk," the dwarf grumbled, swaying slightly as he got up. "Where is everybody?"
Dalamar gritted his teeth, "The draconians took them," he forced the words out, feeling the claw of fear tightening on his heart with every word.
"Everyone? Just like that?"
The elf was tempted to hit him again, "/Yes/, just like that."
"They were magic users," Tasslehoff clarified.
"Well, so am I." Dalamar clenched his fists, they had wasted too much time already, "And we are following them."
Flint nodded, still looking a little dazed, "Where's my helm?"
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After an all-too-long argument concerning the whereabouts of Flint's helm and- to the dwarf's horror- axe, where Dalamar threatened to throw the dwarf back into the water if he wanted to find them so badly, they set off. Flint was still muttering about 'how they were going to get anyone out with only a stick knife, some magic tricks and an overgrown slingshot' even after they had reached the draconians trail.
A trail with was easy to follow, too easy. Not only were the creatures clearly unconcerned with keeping their existence quiet, this was also a trail often used. The earth beneath the Dark elf's boots was churned up from hundreds of clawed feet.
It was a long walk, Dalamar's robes were soaking wet and clung to him tighter than the dwarf had done, doing little to keep out the evening chill. A cold of a very different kind was lodged in his chest, whispering horrible possibilities whenever his thoughts turned to Raistlin.
Nothing was going to stop him getting his lover out of the draconians scaly grasp, but what would they have done to the human mage? They had taken them all captive for a reason, but the Dark elf remembered all too well the gibbet in Que-shu. If this Verminaad would so proudly display those who took unwanted captives, then what would he do to the captives themselves? If they didn't get to whatever camp to draconians had, the creatures might decided that their prisoners were not worth keeping, and Dalamar shuddered at the thought of what that would mean.
Night had fallen fully before they caught sight of the dull orange glow of a great campfire. Quietly, they crept off the path and crouched in the bushes, just out of sight of any sentries there might be. Carefully, they peered out.
It was a huge camp, and Dalamar wasn't sure he was in agreement with Tasslehoff's reassurance that the more of them there were, the less likely they were to notice intruders.
What was for sure, the Dark elf knew it would be impossible to sneak in without a diversion of some kind, even before he noticed what was lurking inside the shell of a great building.
Flint saw it first.
"Great Reorx!" He gaped, his eyes nearly leaving their sockets, "A dragon!"
Dalamar looked where the dwarf was staring and was suddenly very, very glad he was sitting down.
It /was/ a dragon. A great, black dragon, coiled threateningly inside the wreaked building. Its head alone was almost as long as Dalamar was tall, and it rested on the ground just beyond the ring of firelight.
Dalamar had heard of dragons being mentioned in the incoming war, but never had he imagined they would be facing one in the flesh. Dear Nuitari! How in the world would they win against such a creature?
Except...
Except there seemed to be something... almost... /wrong/ about the creature. And it was not just, as the fearless kender put it, that it 'wasn't very lively', although that was true. It was something else.
Then it hit him.
The dragon was /cold/.
In the darkness, he was been relying on his elvensight, seeing heat instead of light, and the dragon just wasn't showing up. The heat such a huge creature must generate must he enormous, but the one lying in front of them just didn't. It had the odd patch of dull heat where someone had touched it or where the fire had warmed it, but was otherwise the same temperature and the building it was crouched inside.
"It isn't alive." Dalamar whispered, amazed.
Flint looked at him as if thinking the elf had lost his mind, "Go up and tickle it's foot," he snorted, "they we'll see how dead it is."
"I think I'll do that," Tasslehoff answered, before darting off around the clearing towards the building.
The dwarf cursed, but Dalamar followed. The camp was celebrating and no one was likely to notice them skulking around in the shadows. Besides, prisoners would
probably be kept near the so-called 'dragon', and Tasslehoff's investigation might be just the diversion they needed. Behind him, he hear Flint swear a second time, then
follow them.
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It was even darker behind the ruined building that served as the dragon's lair. A small, suspiciously well-used door was set into the back wall. Dalamar's eyes narrowed, surely a dragon couldn't get through /that/? Still, he had to struggle against the fear that if they were wrong, they would serve as the dragon's next meal, before pushing the door open. Silently, it opened.
The inside of the house looked like that of a mad basket-weaver. Everything in the place had been torn out- Dalamar could still make out the ridge where the first floor had been- to make room for what looked like an enormous wicker cave. It was as if some giant had decided to make a basket, got bored halfway through, and left the unfinished product lying on it's side.
For a moment there was silence, each of them trying to work out what in the /Abyss/ was going on, Flint even suggesting they might have got the wrong house- a ridiculous notion, as this was the only building in the immediate area- then Tasslehoff gave a squeak of excitement.
"That's the dragon!" He whispered, giggling, "It's a fake dragon, it's there to scare people."
"Like the Belzorite statue," Dalamar said softly, remembering the mad cult and the 'living' statue of their deity. "The draconians clearly think it's real," he had seen them presenting the blue crystal staff to the 'dragon'.
Still grinning, the kender scuttled into the wicker dragon. Dalamar started forward, then stopped and shrugged. He wanted a diversion, here was a diversion. Hopefully the kender would make so much noise that he would be able to get Raistlin out without too much fuss.
Pulling the reluctant Flint out with him- the dwarf hadn't been keen on using the kender as a diversion and had tried to stop Tas- the Dark elf left the house. They circled around the house and cautiously looked around the corner.
Dalamar congratulated himself on being right, the cage in which prisoners were locked was close by, but they hadn't taken more that two paces towards it before the dragon started to shriek.
As much as Dalamar disliked Tasslehoff (which was actually marginally less than he disliked the kender's friends) he had to admit that he knew how to act. The draconians were certainly fooled by the sudden noise and motion.
Not that the noise was reserved solely for the dragon, Caramon, locked inside the bamboo cage, was also kicking up an enormous fuss for some unknown reason. The big man was apparently trying to tear the cage to pieces with his bare hands, and succeeding. Dalamar gritted his teeth, willing the oaf to /be quiet/! He was attracting far too much attention.
The Tasslehoff-dragon came to the rescue, demanding that Caramon be brought in front him. Crouching down and squinting against the firelight, he could see a pile of their equipment, not to mention the crystal staff, lying near the wicker dragon, beside the fire pit.
After a quick discussion, a group of draconians- clearly leaders of some sort- dragged Caramon out of the wreaked cage and towards the 'dragon'.
Flint dug Dalamar in the ribs and pointed at the rest of the group, "I'm going to get them out."
"No- wait- Blast!" Dalamar swore, Flint had already left and to follow him would be to make them twice as conspicuous. Cursing the dwarf, Dalamar pressed himself against the rough-hewn wall of the building and watched as the draconians threw Caramon down in front of the dragon.
There were tears in the big man's eyes, Dalamar could see them in the firelight.
Calm down, the Dark elf thought to himself, trying to quiet the hot surge of panic that shot through his stomach and turned his legs to water. Calm down, it's probably not what you think. It /won't/ be what you think. Oh please Nuitari...
Then his worse fears were confirmed when Caramon spoke, his voice shaking, "My brother is dying, do what you will to me. I ask only one thing. Give me my sword so I can die fighting."
Fear might lend strength, but the horror filling the Dark elf weakened him until he could barely stand. He hung onto the wall feeling like he might collapse if he let go, the rough stone of the building rough against the side of his head.
He wanted to leave the cover of the building and run to Raistlin's side, but what good would that do save to get himself noticed? He was no healer, and the staff-
The staff!
The draconians' attentions were fixed on the dragon and Caramon, the dragon was flapping it's wings and leering down at Caramon, in all appearances preparing to eat him, and everyone was watching them. The blue crystal staff lay on top of a pile of their equipment, it's smooth sides gleaming in the light of the nearby fire.
Fighting down the mad desire to just rush in and grab the staff, Dalamar forced himself to move slowly. Ignoring the screaming voice inside him telling him that this was /not/ the moment to take his time, that any delay would cost Raistlin his life, the Dark elf inched forward on his haunches, ready to snatch the staff and bolt if he was spotted.
Mercifully, the draconians were to engrossed in their spectacle to notice.
The last few meters were the hardest, he was close to the fire and had to crawl forward on his belly in order not to attract attention, fear and the fire's heat sending trickles of sweat running down his face. Finally he had reached the pile of equipment, and reached out a hand to grasp the staff's smooth haft.
It was then he remembered what happened when someone the Gods of good didn't like touched the staff.
There was a flash of light which was mercifully lost in the glare of the fire, and a shock of agony tore through Dalamar's hand. It was as it he had touched a bar of red-hot iron.
Somehow, he kept from screaming and, trying to block out a pain so intense it sent shivers of weakness through him, he crawled back out into the shadows of the house.
Cursing the staff's maker and fighting back the urge to pass out, he wrapped the staff in his wet cloak and ran as fast as he dared towards the cage.
Flint was filling Tanis and the others in when he arrived, still holding furiously hot staff under his cloak. They turned as he arrived, and the relief he saw in their eyes was enough. It was not too late.
Wordlessly, Goldmoon held her hand out for the staff, and Dalamar handed it to her.
He could see Raistlin now. The human mage was slumped on the ground unconscious, and he could also see how even Caramon had come to the conclusion he was dying.
The golden face was ash-pale, and he was barely breathing. There was no sign of a wound, but when he turned to Tanis for an explanation, the Half-elf said nothing, only holding up a small dart.
Poison.
The Dark elf shuddered, then turned back to Goldmoon. The staff had to work, it /had/ to. Dalamar didn't know what he would do if it didn't.
But mercifully, there still seemed to be some power within the staff, for when Goldmoon lay it against the young mage, the staff glowed. Not with the harsh flash it had emitted when Dalamar had touched it, but a soft blue light which softened even Raistlin's thin, pain-filled face.
Behind them, pandemonium was setting in. Tasslehoff's mad flapping of the dragon's wings had sent sparks flying in every direction, and some of the had ignited the draconians bamboo huts. The draconians themselves were too engrossed to notice.
They also overlooked the soft series of cracks as Flint, Sturm, Tanis and Dalamar finished demolishing the bamboo cage. The dwarf, the knight and the Half-elf, banding with Riverwind, hurried over to get Caramon, while Dalamar picked up the barely conscious Raistlin before he and Goldmoon fled into the trees.
The loud yells behind them informed Dalamar that their escape had finally been noticed, but it was drowned out by a loud crash and a crackle of flame.
Glancing back, Dalamar saw that Tasslehoff had somehow pushed the whole dragon into the roaring fire, and that the wicker was doing what any huge pile off kindling would do, and blazing merrily.
The Dark elf had a sudden, insane, hysterical urge to laugh. The evening had been a study in impossibility and the desire to let go and howl was almost too much.
In his arms, Raistlin gave a low groan, finally starting to wake up. Deciding they had gone far enough, Dalamar knelt down and lay the younger mage on the ground.
Raistlin was still pale, but the dreadful ashen colour had gone from his face and his eyes were clear. "What happened?"
The Dark elf gave a weak smile, he didn't know where to start, so he just helped his lover sit up and then hugged him tightly. A little uncertainly, Raistlin hugged him back.
Dalamar stayed like that for a long time, his head resting against the young mage's chest. At some point Raistlin let go of him and ran his fingers through the his hair, over and over again, a soothing, calming feeling.
The mad adrenaline rush was dying away, and Dalamar was suddenly all too conscious of the stabbing pain in his burnt hands.
But even despite the pain, he didn't want to move, didn't want to let go and would have happily sat like that all night, but before long the others came running over.
Caramon had clearly been told about what had happened, because he want straight to his brother side, backing up a few steps when he saw the Dark elf.
"Are you alright?" the big man's voice was unsure, he never seemed to know what to say when he saw Raistlin and Dalamar together.
"I'm fine." Raistlin said coldly.
Dalamar said nothing, staring at Caramon with narrowed eyes, but before he could tell the human exactly what he thought of his heroic plan to get eaten by the dragon while his brother died, everyone's attention was drawn to Flint.
The dwarf had gone white, then turned and ran back towards the camp, towards the burning dragon and a hoard of panic-stricken draconians. "Tas! In the dragon!"
Strum and Riverwind went charging after the dwarf and Raistlin looked at Dalamar, clearly demanding an explanation.
"There's a dragon back there; no, not a real one-" Dalamar added, seeing the human mage’s shocked expression, "- It's made of wicker, a puppet of sorts to intimidate the draconians, like the statue of Belzor we saw in Haven." Raistlin nodded, prompting the Dark elf to continue, "We found out how to get inside it and the kender must have found some way of controlling it. Unfortunately," the Dark elf shrugged, "he's still inside it."
Raistlin glanced over at the ruins of the draconian encampment, then echoed Dalamar's sentiments and shrugged. This was war; people died, and kender too. At the moment they had their own lives to worry about. Raistlin offered Dalamar his arm and the Dark elf pulled him upright, for a moment the young mage swayed and Dalamar put an arm around his chest to steady him, a shock of pain flashing through his burnt hand at the contact.
Raistlin brought a hand to his forehead, "Did someone knock me out?" He whispered. Clearly, although the poison had been neutralised, the residual venom had left him weakened.
Dalamar's hold on his lover tightened a little, and he found himself having to force each word out, "No. They hit you with a dart. Poison."
"Ah." Raistlin gave a small smile, and he lifted his hand to cover Dalamar's. "And you brought the staff." Still holding the Dark elf's hand, he gently turned it over. The palm was badly burnt, worse than Raistlin's had been. The skin was seared, burnt red and blisters were coming up on his fingers.
Dalamar smiled, ignoring the stabs of pain from the burnt tissue. "Yes, I did." Raistlin's fingers slid down his hand and squeezed his forearm.
"Thank you." Raistlin's eyes were lowered, a small smile playing on his lips.It was amazing how much could be said in so few words, Dalamar nodded. Raistlin's words might be seen as little compensation for the scalding on his palms, but the Dark elf knew how rare thanks were from the human mage. He could say that Raistlin didn't need to thank him, which was true- Dalamar knew Raistlin would do the same- but he also knew that it would be a waste of breath. Breath that could be better spent on different words. Standing behind the other mage, Dalamar lay his head on Raistlin's shoulder. "I love you."
He didn't need to see the mage's face to know he was smiling, nor did he need to hear Raistlin's voice to know he felt the same way.
He never knew if Raistlin was actually going speak, because Flint, Riverwind and Sturm chose that moment to run back into the camp, the two human's carrying what looked like the dragon's head. It took a moment for the Dark elf to notice Tasslehoff's legs sticking out of the wooden dragon's maw.
Raistlin tapped him on the shoulder and nodded towards the rest of the group. From their angle they must have been unable to see anything but the dragon's head through the smoke and the expression were enough to bring back the mad urge to laugh; this time, he gave in, and Raistlin joined him.
The others stared at them in alarm, then turned away quickly. Sturm took the opportunity to explain that Tasslehoff was stuck inside the dragon's head, then shot the still laughing Raistlin an ugly look. "What's up with him?" He spat, "Still poisoned?"
Tanis shook him head, kneeling down beside the dragon's mouth, "No, he's better."
"A pity." Sturm’s lip curled.
Dalamar didn't say anything. Sometimes words were useless.
He had always disliked the knight, avoided him if he could, even hated him, but this was the first time to actively saw Sturm as an enemy. He'd put up with the Solamnic for the moment, but after this mess was over, he'd make sure the knight would wake up one morning with the Dark elf's blade laying open his throat.
But for the moment he stood in silence, watching as Caramon ripped the dragon head open and pulled Tasslehoff out. Tanis interrupted the kender's babble about how /wonderful/ the last half-hour had been- had it been only that? Dalamar wondered, it felt like so much longer- and urged them to continue.
It took a while to get everyone moving, they were all shaken and it was a mark of how weakened Raistlin was that he didn't even argue when Dalamar gave him his arm to lean on.
And it was only then, when they were all walking, heading towards the now not-so distant ruins of Xak Tsaroth, that Dalamar's eyes locked balefully with Sturm's in a quiet acknowledgement of hatred.

Skull Bearer.
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