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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
- 8
- 9
- 10
River Majere: Of course Sturm gets what's coming to him, Kit kills him doesn't she? As for everyone else... Well, that would be telling.
Dalamar Nightson: Yeah, sorry it took me so long to update!
Rose Angel: Thank you.
Crimson_ryu: University's scary, and I'm amazed I can still find time for this!
Tsukiyo no Yume: It's surprisingly easy to add Dalamar in, it just takes a bit of tweaking and a lot of things just seem to slot in to place perfectly. Incidentally, I've been wondering, what does your user name mean?
Crepuscule
Chapter 9- Of Mythology
Take a look into my eyes,
I tell you so many lies and then I'll let you go into the night
-Northern Soul, The Verve

It wasn't the first time Raistlin had been secretly glad of Dalamar's support, but this time he needed it more than any other he had. He felt exhausted in a way that had nothing to do with lack of sleep, and if not for the Dark elf's arm around his shoulders, he was sure he would have fallen before long.
The terrain was not helping either; the solid ground had once again given way to marsh, and this time there were no bridges spanning the murk. The water reached up to their waists, the cold and dampness making the young mage feel fainter still.
Support or no, it was only a matter of time before he collapsed.
He'd been using his staff to check his way forward, carefully probing through the water to test the ground, when there suddenly didn't seem to /be/ any ground. The staff sunk in the murk up to the crystal. Raistlin, off-balance and dizzy, lost his footing and fell down face-first into the filthy water.
The cold shot through him like a lightning bolt, throwing iron bands around his chest. Fighting the urge to cough, he struggled to get up, hanging onto Dalamar's arm to pull himself upright.
The Dark elf helped him up, brushing strands of sodden white hair out of the human's eyes. Raistlin shivered, then started to cough, choking up blood and swamp water.
Beside them, Sturm Brightblade sneered. Behind them, Caramon stepped forward, eager to offer help, as always.
Now thoroughly sick both with the group and with this whole blasted trek, Raistlin pulled away from his brother, starting forward with as much speed as his soaked robes and shattered body would allow.
It took an hour before they reached firm ground. The young mage sank gratefully to the grassy earth; beside him, Dalamar also sat down.
The Dark elf looked a mess. His robes were completely soaked through and he had pieces of swamp-grass in his hair. Raistlin smiled slightly as he reached up to pluck the slimy strands off his lover. If Dalamar looked bad, he must look worse, not to mention that he had lost all his equipment save for his spellbook and staff. He would have lost the latter as well, if not for the enchantment Magius had put on it that let it return on its own accord.
A cold wind started up, and once again Raistlin's cough doubled him over, as he mentally cursed Fistandantilus for every spasm. He could feel Dalamar's hands against his back, shockingly warm under the damp fabric, rubbing firmly until the spasm passed. When he could once again draw breath, he scooted back against the Dark elf, turning around to thank him.
The mist had lifted, blown away by the strong Easterly wind, until Raistlin could see the mountains they had left behind and beyond these.
Despite the ache present in every muscle, despite the crushing urge to sleep, the wizard struggled to his feet again, dragging on Dalamar's hand to urge the Dark elf to do the same. Grey eyes stared at him in shock. "Raistlin-"
The human mage pointed up. "Storm clouds-" Gods, could that be his voice? "They come from the north. We have no time. No time! We must reach Xak Tsaroth. Hurry! Before the moon sets!"
Storm clouds. Yes, that was the best description. But no clouds could ever be so thick, so black. No clouds could ever move so fast, not to mention against the wind! And the storm that would come from them would be like nothing anyone had every seen or imagined.
It was strange that he felt Fistandantilus's influence. Sometimes, on days where his cough left him mostly alone and he had something to keep himself occupied, he could almost forget about the old lich. It was rare that the mage interfered, rarer still when Raistlin deliberately drew on Fistandantilus's power. Yet either through the ancient mage’s meddling or through his own, the Red Robe had developed -or unlocked- something odd, something that whispered of the present, the future, and outcomes.
They /had/ to get to Xak Tsaroth. The consequences if they didn't would be catastrophic.
Somehow, his choked words made them all understand. Everyone slowly got to their feet and started to walk. Raistlin refused Dalamar's offer of support this time; the Silvanesti was a little better off than he was, and the Red Robe had a feeling that they wouldn't have to go far.
He was right. Before long, they came across an obelisk. It had clearly once been a monument of some sort, but now it served as a bridge over the last stretch of muddy water. Raistlin knelt down beside it, lighting his staff to peer intently at the writing engraved over its surface.
Sturm was furious. "You've just told everything in a twenty mile radius that we're here!" he hissed.
Raistlin didn't even bother to stare down the knight, although he had a feeling that Dalamar hadn't been able to resist the temptation. A few moments later, the Dark elf joined him in translating the spidery writing.
It was hard going; the obelisk must have been ancient, and the writing dated back to before the Cataclysm. Here and there, the runes were cracked and flaking, hard to read, and the mages often had to pause to whisper over some particularly obscure or damaged word. Still they had to read it. They /had/ to know if this was indeed the place they had spent all night searching for.
When they had finished, Raistlin sat back on his haunches, sharing an ironic look with Dalamar. Upon Tanis' questioning look, he read aloud- "‘The Great City of Xak Tsaroth, whose beauty surrounds you, speaks to the good of its people and their generous deeds. The gods reward us in the grace of our home,’" he sneered and looked around at the desolate swamp. "A reward indeed."
Goldmoon shuddered. "How awful."
Dalamar spoke, a cold smile twitching his thin lips. "This place is dead, and has been for a long time. Nothing we can do to help. But unless you want /other/ homes to end up looking like this-" he waved a hand around the forbidding clearing, -"and I'm sure you don't, I suggest we get moving."
Goldmoon looked at the Dark elf in surprise, she'd probably been expecting a far more vicious remark, then nodded.
Raistlin stood up, muscles protesting, then raised his staff. "Dulak."
The night seemed even darker.
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Were not for Riverwind, Raistlin knew they would have been hopelessly lost within the hour. But the Plainsman seemed to know exactly where to go, all the trails to take. Here and there, they saw broken pieces of masonry, and something far more worrying -clawed footprints. Finally however, the trees opened out and they found themselves on a stretch of cobbles.
Raistlin smiled at Dalamar. "The outskirts of Xak Tsaroth." At last, they had reached it.
The Dark elf smiled back, though the expression was strained; clearly the memory of Riverwind's tale was foremost in his mind.
Still, whatever this 'death on black wings' was, it couldn't have picked a more dismal place to live. Xak Tsaroth was in worse condition than Que-shu: the streets were cracked and broken, and often lend nowhere; broken pieces of masonry dotted the place; and there was only one building left that hadn't been reduced to its foundations.
It was this building they were heading towards, stopping only briefly to inspect a well in the hopes of finding fresh water. Judging by the smell however, some animal had probably fallen down it and died. But what animal, when there were none to be seen or even heard? The city was as silent as a tomb.
They walked through the desolation of the once beautiful city, a city destroyed by the foolishness of a man who, long ago, was arrogant enough to place himelf above the gods.
They were closer to the only surviving building. It was constructed of white stone, pockmarked with age. Pillars rose up to support the large domed roof and the double doors gleamed in the dim light of Solinari.
As beautiful as the place was, Raistlin felt a bone-deep sense of foreboding as they approached. Beside him, he felt Dalamar tightening his hand around his own forearm.
"That was a temple to the ancient gods," Raistlin whispered ironically.
Dalamar nodded, lip curling. "I'm not going in there." A pause. "And neither are you."
The human mage sighed, he should have expected this. "We have to go."
"Why? So that some more skeletons can animate and finish what the spectres couldn't? No, I would rather chance the Plainsman's nightmare than go inside."
"I know, but we have to take the risk." Raistlin rubbed his forehead. "Whatever is in there-"
"-Will never welcome us," Dalamar finished firmly. "Let Half-human and the others go in. They are the play-heroes after all. Remember the welcome we had at Darken Wood."
"There may no even /be/ any guardians," Raistlin commented, smiling thinly.
The Dark elf laughed, "Look around you Raistlin! This place has been razed and we have seen draconian tracks everywhere. Do you think they would have left the temple alone if there wasn't something keeping them away?"
From behind them, Flint called out, "We're here mage, what now?"
Raistlin ignored him. "Dalamar, Riverwind got the staff from this place, most likely from that temple. And that staff, need I add, saved your life in Darken Wood. I sincerely doubt whatever controls it would have saved you then in order to kill you now."
The elf was just about to argue when Tasslehoff shouted from behind them, "Draconian!"
The two mages spun around. The creature was perched on the rim of the well, looking balefully at them. At the kender's shout, it spread its wings and leaped into the well.
"Stop it!” Tanis yelled. "It will alert others!"
Raistlin hurried over and looked down. The draconian was still in sigh, floating down into the darkness. The mage raised a hand to prepare to cast a spell, but each thought scraped over his nerves like sandpaper. Gods, he was so /tired/...
Dalamar knelt by him, shaking his head; he too was out of both spells and energy. An arm went around his shoulders, and they both sat down, backs against the wall.
Another shudder passed through the younger mage's frail body, and he sat up sharply.
The whisper that had had warned him of the storm clouds was screaming now. Deep under the earth, he could almost feel the threat waking, uncoiling, rushing up...
Dalamar shook his shoulder, clearly wondering what was worng.
Tanis was speaking, "We're /all/ tired. If something's down there, the draconian warned it. There's nothing we can do now. We've got to rest."
Raistlin stared at Tanis. The whisper, though no longer shrieking, was still there. "The draconian /has/ gone to warn something, can't you feel it? Evil about to awaken and come forth."
The silence was complete.
Tasslehoff had climbed up on the edge of the well and was peering down inside with interest. "Look, the draconian is floating down, just like a leaf. Its wings don't flap-"
"Be quiet!" Tanis and Dalamar spoke at the same time, voices taut with fear. So, they felt it too, the building fear that had nothing to do with the whisper hissing in the young mage's mind.
Raistlin stumbled to his feet; nothing on Krynn could have forced him to stay there another moment. Slowly, as to not draw any more notice from the unknown terror within the well, he backed away.
Dalamar had no such qualms. The Dark elf had decided that whatever was inside there already knew they were there, so the only issue was to get as far away as possible, as quickly as possible. He dragged on Raistlin's shoulder, wordlessly urging him to go, to run, to get /away/ from this place.
"Get him away from there!" the Red Robe screamed, pointing at the kender, his voice thin and unrecognisable with dread.
The Half-elf hadn't taken two steps towards Tasslehoff when the ground started to shake. Raistlin could feel the tremors through the soles to his boots.
The Plainsman grabbed the kender before he was shaken loose as the wall around the well started to crumble.
The ground churned again, more violently and Dalamar had to grab hold of a shattered pillar to avoid being thrown off his feet. Around them, the ruins cracked and shuddered.
A blast of freezing air erupted from the pit, and even from where they were standing, the two mages gagged at the foul stench, Raistlin coughing hoarsely.
"Run!"
The Dark elf grabbed hold of his wrist and broke into a run, dragging the young mage behind him. Behind them, the moan of escaping air heightened to a shriek so high it was barely audible, piecing the skull like a chisel blade.
In his hand, the Staff of Magius burnt hot enough to blister, almost as hot as the fire that had engulfed the black, wooden, and above all, /fake/ dragon.
A staff which sole purpose was to destroy one /specific/ type of creature...
A staff that had only been needed now....
Somehow, Raistlin knew what was coming before he saw it.

The stones of the well started to slide inwards. Tanis screamed at Riverwind to run, he was too close. The ground shook hard enough to shatter a nearby pillar and heaved up around the pit. The well seemed the shrink closed for a moment, then burst open, masonry flying in all directions and the ebon-black dragon exploded from the mouth.
Raistlin couldn't speak, and for once, his lack of breath had nothing to do with his cough. The wyrm was clear of the well now, its tail lashing the ruined remains of the wall. Its lithe body shone with an oily patina of colours, the ash of the clouds, the bone-white of Solinari, the blood of Lunitari. A funeral rainbow streaking up.
As some point, Raistlin realised he was on the ground, although he couldn't remember falling over. Dalamar's hand was a death-grip on his shoulder, and the staff burnt dully in his hand, its angry flare a lone beacon of defiance in the terror of the moment.
It was only now, with the dragon high above them, that he realised the sheer size of the creature. Nose to tail it was as tall as a vallenwood, its body thicker than any of the branches that supported the Inn of the Last Home. Its head alone was larger than Caramon.
The dragon was /huge/.
Huddled together, the two mages just stared at the circling wyrm. Raistlin couldn't remember ever being so frightened, not all the years spent as a mercenary, not even during the Test.
A part of his mind, a part that wasn't gibbering in paralytic terror, remembered the book he had taken from Theobald's study, when dragons had been little more than a rumour and not a living -breathing!- fact: /A dragon is surrounded by an aura of terror potent enough to paralyse the most fearless man. This Dragonfear is magical in origin and can be fended off by the strong willed./
He remember that passage because he's sneered at the complete lack of imagination the author had demonstrated. 'Dragonfear'! But fear seemed a poor understatement compared to the mind churning terror he was struggling to control, a panic so sharp it was almost physical pain.
Higher and higher, the wyrm circled. Then it spoke.
Just one word.
"Dulak."
Just one word was all it took, one word of the language of magic spoken in a voice so cold it froze the air to icicles.
It was as if the jet storm clouds above them had fallen from the sky to swallow them. The lack of light was utter and complete, darker than any night, any shuttered room. It was the darkness of the void between the stars.
It was the darkness of being buried alive.
Raistlin threw himself down, suddenly certain that the dragon would sweep down, silent as an owl, and tear them both to pieces.
When the dragon did attack however, it was with a shriek that split the sky like a vocal lightning bolt, its wings a shrieking hurricane as it dived. The young mage dug his fingers into the soft fabric of Dalamar's robes and shut his useless eyes.
The sound came from behind them, but to Raistlin panic-addled mind the shrieks seemed to come from right above. Then a thunderous hiss, like steam released from a monstrous kettle, spat out. A moment later, it was drowned out by cracks and pops of stones as they split under the assault.
The young wizard remember the melted stones in Que-shu, and buried his face in Dalamar's shoulder.
The crackle grew louder, like wet wood in a roaring fire, then it in turn was drowned out by a terrible scream. Raistlin clamped his hands over his ears to keep out the dreadful sound, hearing it echo inside his skull long after it had died away.
Finally, the ground he was lying on bucked up like a mad horse, shuddering several times before slowly growing still.
The silence was even more deafening than the previous chaos.

When the darkness lifted, the two mages sat up, unwilling to let go of each other. Raistlin's shoulder ached where Dalamar's nails had bitten though the skin and bruised the muscle.
The well was a ruin, now little more than a gaping hole in the earth, and the rest of the group was scattered all around the courtyard around it. He and Dalamar had managed to get the furthest away. Morbidly, Raistlin wondered who had been the one to scream.
It didn't take long to find out, though the Red Robe had to guess as to his identity. Tanis, Caramon, and Sturm were unharmed; the figure was too tall to be Flint or Tasslehoff, and Goldmoon had vanished even before the dragon had awakened. So that left...
"Riverwind," Tanis moaned.
The Plainsman no longer resembled anything human. The flesh had been scraped off him so that his face was little more than a skull, jelly-filled pits marking where his eyes had been and his lipless mouth fixed in an eternal, ghastly grin. The man's ribcage had been laid bare, yet somehow the organs within it were untouched, pulsing horribly under Lunitari's light.
Raistlin was almost grateful when the remaining flesh slowly melted from the man's bones, and those crumbled to dust and ashes.
Dalamar, however, did not have the luxury of Raistlin's eyes; the Dark elf had turned his head away, a hand to his forehead, nails digging into the skin as if wishing he could physically tear the terrible image out of his mind.
The cadaver's hand twitched suddenly, plucking at empty air. Sturm exclaimed in horror.
"End it!" Tanis looked as it was about to be sick. "End it! Sturm-"
The young mage turned away as the knight started a slow chant, looking to the living rather than the dead.
Dalamar had still not looked around; his eyes were closed and he was rubbing the bridge of his nose. He noticed Raistlin's attention and looked at him, being careful not to lay eyes on Riverwind's mangled body. "To think-" he murmured in an emotionless voice. "To think that it could have been one of /us/!"
The Red Robe laid a hand on the Dark elf's shoulder. "It wasn't, nor would it have been. Had he run-" Raistlin jerked his hand at Riverwind- "he wouldn't have been caught in it. He was a fool not to."
Behind him, he didn't notice Sturm's shocked pause in his chant, nor the look the Solamnic shot at him.
Nothing escaped Dalamar's keen eyes, though, and the young mage saw a flash of rage blaze across the Dark elf's grimly handsome face.
Then, from behind them, came a new voice. One Raistlin had not imagined to hear, and certainly not so calm.
"Stop. Bring him to me."
Goldmoon was standing in the temple doorway.
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This time around, Raistlin had little trouble in convincing Dalamar to enter the temple. Whatever guardians the ancient gods had within, nothing could compare to the nightmare outside that might return at any time. The Dark elf didn't speak, just followed the young mage inside.
The temple was a light, airy place that somehow seemed to press down on Raistlin like a dead weight. The rafters of the place were lost in shadow, too dark for the Staff's light to find them, yet to him it was as if they were scant feet off the ground. Everything in the place seemed to press down, much as it had been in Darken Wood. The message too was the same: /You are not welcome. Begone/.
Raistlin reached back and caught Dalamar's hand in his own. Whatever he was feeling, it would be immeasurably worse for the Silvanesti.
The dark-robed wizard was scowling into the shadows, his jaw set, a defiant expression set on his thin features.
But when Raistlin took his hand, he felt the trembling the Dark elf was trying desperately to conceal.
Before them were Half-elven, then Caramon and Sturm, the two humans carrying Riverwind on a makeshift litter. Flint and an unusually sombre Tasslehoff walked on either side. Now and again, one of them would glance back and shoot the two mages a look, which ran the gamut from 'Are you alright?' (Caramon) to 'Go away, we don't want you here' (Sturm).
The little procession stopped in front of the towering statue of a stern-faced woman in flowing robes, and once again, Raistlin knew that the others would be seeing different things. But it didn't matter, because soon it would all shatter and crack and be nothing but dust on the floor.
Yet somehow, it didn't age. Untouched by time and Raistlin's curse, the statue stood as still as any of the pillars. Surprised, the young mage looked closer. An amulet hung around the statue's neck, a holy symbol, he recalled, racking his brain to remember which one. Healing. The Goddess of healing. Mishakal.
In the statue's hand was the Blue Crystal Staff.
Goldmoon stood underneath the statue's outstretched hands. "Remove the blanket." Her voice was distant as she gestured towards the bedroll that had been used to cover Riverwind's body. Already blood was seeping through the thick fabric.
Tanis tried to protest, but before he could speak more than a word, Raistlin stepped forward and tore the blanket off. Let them look upon death as he did.
Again, he missed Sturm's expression, and how the knight's hand twitched towards his sword.
But nothing escaped those silver eyes.
Goldmoon went as pale as the statue. Shakily, she took the staff from the marble hands of the Goddess and stepped towards Riverwind, whispering softly in her own tongue.
The Plainsman's terribly burnt hands twitched again, as if he had sensed her. Then, with a final shudder, he lay still.
Ignoring the tears that streamed down her face, Goldmoon silently laid the staff across the Plainsman's body. Once again the staff glowed blue, brighter than it ever had, shining beams of light around the temple, lighting up all their faces.
Only Raistlin and Dalamar, standing in the darkness, it didn't touch.
But when the light died away and all that was left were bright shadows under their eyelids, Riverwind was unhurt and alive, curled up against Goldmoon, both of them weeping with joy.
Still holding the Plainsman, Goldmoon raised her head, looking at the other. She smiled, her eyes still filled with tears, and pressed a kiss against her beloved's forehead.
Tanis's jaw was hanging open, eyes nearly popping from his skull. Clearly, while the Half-elf could accept minor healing, resurrection was something else entirely.
Caramon and Flint were little better off, still standing beside the stretcher, thunderstruck.
Sturm was muttering to himself, presumably a prayer of some kind.
Only Raistlin, Dalamar and Tasslehoff were not left speechless, the mages because they had read about such miracles in tomes dating from before the Cataclysm, and the kender because nothing /ever/ fazed a kender.
"How..." Tanis' voice trailed off.
Goldmoon looked up at the statue above them, a small smile on her tear-stained face. "She showed me the truth: the Gods never turned away from man, it is we who turned away from them. They waited, waited for someone to call them in truth and need." She reached down and stroke Riverwind's hair gently. "Then, they would be there to answer."
"The statue...?" Tanis was completely lost.
"The Goddess. Mishakal," Goldmoon murmured.
"Goddess of Healing," Raistlin added, nodding.
Half-elven looked from the statue to the healed Riverwind and shook his head in amazement. "Obviously."
"What did the Goddess tell you, Plainswoman?" Raistlin asked softly.
Goldmoon paused, looking up again at the marble face of Mishakal. "She told me... She told me that Krynn was in great danger, that the Gods of Evil had also returned. The dragon outside... There are others... They have returned as well."
"The Gods of Evil," Dalamar breathed. "Remember the coins."
The steel coins with the head of Takhisis. Yes, Raistlin remembered.
"But... that creature... Goldmoon, how are we supposed to defeat such as /that/?"
The Plainswoman looked down at Riverwind. He was unhurt, but still shaken. A spasm of pain crossed her face before she turned back to Tanis -so she was not as unaffected as she pretends to be, tears or no, Raistlin noted. Interesting. Of course, in her place, he would have felt the same.
"The 'greatest gift' we were told about is hidden here, in the catacombs under the city-" Where the dragon is, Raistlin thought. How surprising. "They are the key to stopping this. With them, we will not need the Staff to call upon the Goddess' aid. She named them the 'Disks of Mishakal'."
"Did she tell you where they were?" By the look on his face, Dalamar had reached the same conclusion as Raistlin.
Goldmoon nodded and, to her credit, she showed no fear, only determination. "They are within the dragon's lair. Without them-" She raised a hand to forestall the inevitable arguments "-we will stand no chance."
Raistlin heard something suspiciously close to "We have no chance anyway" coming from Flint.
Goldmoon either didn't hear the dwarf or ignored him, because she continued as if he hadn't spoke, "And so, we must find a way down into the ruined city that lies somewhere below the temple, and we must remove the disks from the dragon's lair."
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It was only now, when everyone had calmed down and they were ready to eat a frugal dinner, that Raistlin took the opportunity to ask Dalamar, "May I borrow one of your spellbooks, please?"
The Dark elf raised an eyebrow, smiling. "They are as much yours as mine, you were the one to find them." Nevertheless, he reached into his pack and pulled out the three books the young mage had rescued from his Test.
He had never told his lover the truth about the books, such would be impossible without mentioning Fistandantilus, which he would not do. Instead, he simply told the Dark elf that finding the books had been the goal of his Test, which was true enough.
He had come across a passage in one of them that interested him greatly.
Raistlin had read about Xak Tsaroth before, although, as the books dated prior to the Cataclysm, this was of little use, at least on the surface. When underground, he had a feeling it would become far more important.
But it was not that old tome, now probably mouldering in his old tutor's study, that drew his attention, but a reference he had read in the smallest of the spellbooks. It had several pages dedicated, not to spells, but to the history of someone Raistlin knew all too well.
Fistandantilus.
He flicked through the pages, finally stopping on the one he wanted. The author believed that in his younger years, the Archmagus had actually lived in Xak Tsaroth for a while, even leaving one of his early spellbooks they when he left.
Raistlin closed the books, deep in thought. If the spellbook was still there (and he was quite sure of it, Fistandantilus would certainly not leave the book where just anyone would find it) and supposing it had survived the Cataclysm (again, very likely, since few spellbooks were without a some wards to protect them), where would it be?
The answer was obvious. Such a prize was invaluable, especially if you could cast spells.
And the dragon, as they had all seen, could indeed cast spells.
Such a book would be worth a great deal to get hold of; spellbooks were very rare and if the one question had once belonged to a more powerful mage you were planning to destroy one day... well, then it was worth even more.
"Well?" Dalamar asked. "Did you find what you were looking for?”
Raistlin shrugged, telling the Dark elf that he had thought the book might have some references to Xak Tsaroth. It was a lie, and one he felt more than slightly ashamed about, but didn't admit to. It was true enough in its own right.

There was little enough to eat, and Raistlin spent the time picking idly at his food, listening and watching the others.
Caramon vanished for a time, only to come back and report that he had found a half-ruined staircase leading down into the wreaked city below.
Tasslehoff also had left, spending some time picking in the corners of the room before coming back with a new helmet for Flint. Apparently, the previous one had been lost in the swamp.
Otherwise, it was a quiet meal. Dalamar too ate little, and the young wizard suspected the Dark elf hadn't entirely believed his story about the books. The soft sigh of the nearby sea whispered through the columns of the temple as they ate.
When it was finished, they started preparing to spend the night in the temple. They were all exhausted and nobody wanted to risk sleeping outside. Sturm offered to take first watch.
"No one need keep watch this night." Goldmoon's voice was soft. "We are safe here."
"That's debatable," Dalamar muttered, glancing over his shoulder at the statue of Mishakal, making Raistlin wonder what the Dark elf saw when he laid eyes on the depiction of the Goddess.
"No, we /are/ safe here." Although, to be honest, at this point Raistlin could have slept on nails. "We may be unwelcome here, but we are not in danger." He took hold of Dalamar's hand and squeezed it. "Come, I am tired and I always sleep better with you beside me."
This was more than enough to make Dalamar crack a smile. "Very well, but if you're wrong, I'm holding you personally responsible."
Raistlin smiled back, and the two retreated into the shadows at the back of the temple. It took a moment to unpack their bedroll –the Red Robe was very thankful that the Silvanesti had been the one to carry it, or they would be submitted to a very uncomfortable night indeed.
Dalamar gave a soft sigh, breaking Raistlin out of the half-sleep he had drifted into. He was laying on top of the Dark elf, his head pillowed on his lover's chest and with Dalamar's fingers toying with his hair. Sweet.
"What is it?" he whispered sleepily.
He couldn't see the Dark elf's smile, but he knew it was there. "I wish we were back in Solace."
Raistlin shook his head; what had brought this on? "So do I, why?"
Dalamar's hands tracked down under the blankets and stroked the young mage's back sensuously. "Solace," he continued. "Or anywhere with some privacy, really."
This time the Dark elf was answered with a kiss. "As I said, so do I."
"It's been far too long, if this keeps up I may just have to find somewhere quiet and try not to scream too much."
Raistlin laughed softly, "When we both have enough energy to do so, that is."
"Hmm, of course." The hands running up and down his back paused, nails digging in teasingly. "And to think we planned this as a holiday."
The young mage kissed him again, but this time the Dark elf was the one to pull back. "Don't. If you go on I won't be able to stop myself, and I don't especially want that band of idiots-" Dalamar waved a hand over to where Sturm was keeping watch, "-to overhear."
The human mage sighed and nodded, he was too tired anyway. Raistlin scooted back down to his previous position and closed his eyes. He had a feeling that whatever they would meet underground, it would prove a bigger problem than lack of privacy, and they would need all their faculties in order to face it.

Skull Bearer.
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Crepuscule