White Clerics, Black Magic
A/N: I got it in one day over par, forgive me! My excuse: I my Internet rights where withdrawn for the weekend because I got in a fight with my mother, I won the fight, …and lost all Internet privileges for a weekend. Anyway if you have so little of a life that you're still reading this, this chapter contains Tasslehoff Burrfoot, Fizban the Fabulous, Laura Majere, Crysania of the House of Tarinius, and the wonderful effable, ineffable, effanineffable, black robed mage…Raistlin!

By the way I changed the stories name from "Reunion" to White Clerics, Back Magic "Reunion" sounded just to…just to…well…boring, stupid, and all around slap happy for me.

Disclaimer: All of the above (save myself and my mother) belong to Margaret Weis and Tracy Hickman. The word effanineffable belongs to T.S. Eliot. The plotline, idea, and rest of the story belong to me, and if you try to steal from my clutches, pass it off as yours, and/or make money by sealing it in mass production (ha, ha, ha) I'll lock you in a extraordinarily boring dungeon, secured by magic, with one extremely bored kender who has taken a liking to whatever items you have on your personal. As for your house, I shall let a thousand kender have leave of it, and whatever is left I shall give to gnomes and their department of Ourstudyinthedwellingsofotherracesfarlesssuperiorthanourselvesandourstudysonhowtoinproveandrenovatethemwithlittletimemoneyorspacewithonlytheusageofsmallhousholditemsthathaveallbeenslightytamperedwithbyourselvesandoursuperiors(thegreatgnomishconsil)andweassureyouthatyouareperfectlyandcompleatlysafeforusandoursponcershavetestedthemmanytimeswithonlya68%fatalityrateandtheexplosionsyoumightormightnotofheardecoingfromourbuildinsareall(weasureyou)afigmentofyourimmgination….ext…ext…ext….

~Lady Crysania Majere

White Clerics, Black Magic

Chapter two: Fizban the Fabulous

By Lady Crysania Majere

Formerly known as 'Reunion'

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Tas sat, huddled in a corner, weeping in misery. Goldmoon was dead, Palin wanted to kill him, and most of all the High tower of Sorcery in Wayreth was about the most boring place one could find on Krynn, including the Abyss, he thought with a snuffle. All exits were blocked (including the long chimney he had made his first escape through), and all remotely possibly interesting places were blocked off with magical barriers to, which he found with much frustration (and a couple of burnt fingers), lock picks had no effect. Topping it off he couldn't even send up a prayer to the befuddled old Fizban, who was chaos knows were. All in all he wanted to go back to his home in the inn in Solace and hide under a blanket with some of the inns' customers more interesting items. Getting up shakily he brushed off his bright blue leggings and tried furiously to scrub the tear marks from his grubby face. 'I probably look like a gully dwarf' he thought sullenly, pressing a hand to each of the walls at his sides to help boost him up. The walls were smooth and cold to the touch and as he rose he noted that there was a small incline on the right walls surface, curiosity overtook him, there were no flaws in the Towers of High Sorcery, at least, no flaws made on accident. For almost an hour he pushed, pried, poked, prodded, and even pinched at the small slant in the wall, now he was exhausted plus more miserable then before. Irritated and weary he balled up his small fist and slammed a punch at the wall. The ground beneath him gave, and he found himself falling down a hole, instinctively he put his hands out to either side of him but the outlet was a hair breaths to wide for his arm span. As he fell he watched in fascination as the top of the channel close to leave him plummeting at a increasing rate in the now slightly glowing tunnel but otherwise considerably darker tunnle. He thoroughly enjoyed the ride and thus was greatly saddened when he halted, suspended still in mid air. Once he got over his brief disappointment of the fact that the ride was finished he glanced at his surroundings. Large multi-colored gems the size of the kenders head were embedded into the glowing walls, with a small intake of breath he reached for the largest, a darkly colored emerald, vaguely aware that his surroundings were strangely familiar. As his small hand touched the gem however the ride started again. Up and down he went, pushed by the magic of the tunnel, much enjoying the ride he realized that such a tunnel had once lead him to find Fizban after the mage was supposedly dead, buried in a pile of chicken feathers. The kender let out a snuffle he missed the old bumbling mage/god, what ever would he do if Tas wasn't there to find his hat?

His reverie was broken by the sensation of flying out the end of the passageway and landing on the hard cold stone of the tower. Glancing up Tas caught his breath and for only the second time in his long life Tasslehoff Burrfoot was speechless. In the direction the kender was gaping at was a large platinum portal, it's frame constructed to look like a large platinum dragon curled into a tight oval, but this is not what made our kender friend catch his breath (the portal to the Abyss had much the same features with much more color and quite a few more heads.) What made Tas catch his breath was the stooped figure of an old man clad in mousy gray robes with a lopsided dilapidated matching gray hat and a long wagging white beard who sat inside the gateway muttering to himself, as the mad are wont to do. Listening carefully to his ramblings one might hear the occasional word 'fire ball' tossed into the jumble of hodge-podge words. After about a minute of the kenders stunned silence he managed to choke out one single unbelievable, life changing, world altering, adventure starting, boredom ending word.

"F…Fizban?"

!*!*!*!*!*!*!*!*!*!*!*!*!*!*!*!*!*!*!*!*!*!*!*!*!*!*!*!*!*!*!*!*!*!*!*!*!*!*!*!*!*!*!*

The man seemed to fall in slow motion on to the inns gleaming wooden floorboards but no matter how slow he appeared to fall Crysania still got to him after he made the muffled thunk of body hitting hard against timbers. Being still a Cleric in her actions, even though Palidines disappearance had stripped her of title, she dropped to his side on the floor in an effort to aid him.

His skin was a deep bronze, the color you get from hanging out in the sun to long, he was short and stocky, wearing a milky white sleeveless shirt, and sporting dear leather jerkin. His gnarled right hand was still tightly clutching a small, thick staff of what appeared to be oak. All in all he made the distinctive impression of a semi rich merchant.

Instinctively she placed a hand to his forehead to check for fever, and what greeted her tentatively gentle hand made her draw back with a soft in taking of breath. An unnatural warmth pulsed from his brow, not the heat of fever but neither that of the regular human temperature. It felt like some sort of inner glow like an internal fire was burning inside him. A fire she had felt before with only one other person. The person whose face was the last she had seen before the world had gone dark on her, the person whose golden eyes shined in her deepest nightmares and most passionate dreams, whose metallic face seemed to be etched on the under side of her eyelids.

She rubbed her hand hard against her clothes as if to wip the notion from her, completely shaking the thought from her mind. She was just reacting to violently from the events of the last two weeks, that and her over active, highly sensitive imagination had been let

****Flashback****

Rain beat down furiously against the temple walls, and lighting cracked against the midnight sky illuminating it. Reverend Daughter of Palidine Crysania could see none of this but heard the thunder and the felling of large trees so she had a good enough idea of what kind of storm they were in for and that amounted to a monstrous one. As fast as she could she provided the refugees from the storm food and blanket, while trying to fend off some of the younger would be acolytes who kept trying to convince her that she should not be doing this kind of work and that they had the situation perfectly under control. She snorted. Yeah right. Bumbling bunch, the lot of them. Turning she headed toward the storeroom for more blankets the ones she had been distributing earlier where gone now. As she rounded a corner she felt a hand on her arm.

"Valin," she acknowledged facing him with a smile that was more than half percent fake.

She heard his deep chuckling, and when his mirth had ended she felt his lips brush across hers in a quick kiss of greeting.

"You never fail to surprise me Crys. How in the departured gods did you know it was me?" He questioned in his deep voice that held mock astonishment.

"Though you may try to walk as one not of the desert with your large and slightly clumsy feet," she replied in mockingly sweet tones, "my sensitive ears heard you coming two halls away." Truth to tell she hadn't heard Valin at all but the faint smell of roses and spice had alerted her of his presence. A scent that was just like his scent, a small part of her mind peeped. And that peep was like a trigger sending out more and more that had to do with him, some of witch would have made her blush had she allowed herself…. *Stop that!* She commanded her irritating thoughts. She shouldn't be thinking those kinds of thoughts in this situation, especially when related to him. *Who else?* Piped a dangerously traitorous part of her mind. With a shove she shoved the annoying thought in the back of her mind and continued to smile fakely at where she assumed Valins face to be hoping he would notice nothing was troubling her.

When he spoke next she could hear the frown of worry in his voice showing he had noticed something amiss. "Are you all right Crys?" he questioned tentatively.

Normally she would have been happy he noticed something was wrong, at the over concern in his voice, at the liberal use of her pet name but today it just succeeded in making her annoyed. Distinctly annoyed. Quite pissed off even. *Who was he to mess around in her personal business? Just because she was blind didn't make her some fragile, glass elf maid who should be locked in a safe else she topple over and shatter into a million pieces. Nor was she some illiterate, spoiled child who must be coddled with nicknames. Know that they shared a bed occasionally didn't mean she had to become one of those royal, petite, airheads for him.* Jerking her arm away from him in disgust she snarled, "I'm fine!" and stalked away. Leaving a hurt, confused Valin in her trailing wake.

Once she had cooled off she began to wonder why on earth she'd felt so damn angry and even when angry why she'd said what she had to him. He was just being his normal pleasant self and she'd lashed out like he'd insulted her core being. It could, she reflected, have something to do with the god cursed acolytes and the raging storm, but after dwelling on this theory for a while she tossed it. Of late she had been distinctly disgusted or enraged by many of Valins actions for unknown reasons. She had also been thinking of him much more than healthy (or so she deemed.) Frowning she pondered this and before her rational mind could come up with anything the small traitorous part of her was back saying *Because you still love Raistlin, you fool!* At this she snorted. She didn't love Raistlin, him and his arrogance, his pride, his smug sneers, his self-confidence…his ingenious mind, his occasional smiles, his treatment of her as an equal, his respect for a god he would challenge in an instant, and on those few times his soft touch on her brow comforting her confused mind. She shook the thoughts from her mind, blushing slightly. No she didn't love him, she told the smug voice in the back of her head. *I love Valin.* her only back up was a strong one, a wall over which the madding little voices who told her she loved a dead person , could not penetrate. That is, till the traitor of a thing whispered something that made the walls of her own rock-solid (or so she had thought) fortification come crumbling down upon and around her stupefied head;

*what if you don't?*

!@!@!@!@!@!@!@!@!@!@!@!@!@!@!@!@!@!@!@!@!@!@!@!@!@!@

She was brought out of her self inflicted stupor by a small hand tugging on the corner of her long white robe. She smiled sadly tossing her head to clear it of thoughts and looked down into the general vicinity of where either child or kender was yanking at her flowing skirts.

"Miss's?" came the high, questioning, slightly trembling voice. *child,* she concluded, *kender would have no fear in questioning, nor in anything for that matter .*

In the best grown up, self-assured, comforting voice she could muster she answered, "Child." A sniffle greeted her words. She offered a handkerchief which was taken by grubby hands. The loud blowing of a nose was heard, and in to her open hand the now faintly damp handkerchief was deposited.

"Thanks Miss's." came the slightly muffled voice. The tiny high voice then came again more urgently, "Miss's! Raistlin's stuck in a tree an I ca' get em down! En I don't think i'll survive, what wit da storm en' all." The minute voice ended in pleading tones and the noise of shuffling feet.

Crysania took a step backward, bewildered. A powerful arch magus- evil arch magus – she corrected herself, who was supposed to be dead was stuck in a tree in the middle of the worst lightning storm Krynn had know in centuries and had no way of getting down? She was more than a little confused, and apparently it showed on her face, perhaps she misunderstood the child?

The girl, seeing the noble lady's confusion, said in the tones of a well educated adult speaking to an ignorant child, "Well ya' see Miss's I was playing with em'…" she broke of at the startled look on Crysania's face as the Reverend Daughter herself was thinking *Raistlin…playing?!*

The girl thinking the Clerics confusion revolved around the game played continued, adding a small explanation, "We was play'n magic ya see. Pretending he was da real Raistlin…" Crysania's confusion cleared. The child must obviously have a brother or friend named after the infamous archmage, who was know in a tree unable to get down and seek cover from the storm. Needing to know the facts before trotting into the storms fray to save this namesake of Raistlin she gave the small female before her, her undivided attention. The child, seeing her audience was all ears, continued, "Raistlin…" The young girl paused and Crysania would have bet money the girl was giving her a calculating glance, "you do know who Raistlin is don't ya?"

Crysania gave a curt nod and a wry smile, "We're acquainted." Though Crysania could not see the effect of her words she guessed they had made some impression, an impression, she realized, that would not help her in finding the ware bouts of the other child. She was right. For the child's small blue eyes widened and her lips parted into what I, the writer, can only call open-mouthed astonishment.

After her amazed silence passed she became as curious and inquisitive as a kender. "You're 'quainted with Him Miss's?! 'Quainted? Not seen, or talked to or met but you knew 'im? My Da say's e saw 'im once. Says e's got skin made of solid gold an 'air that white as sun bleached bone, says you get a weird feeling when you're near e'm, like e's death or someting an lots more to. But my Da say's the strangest thing 'bout e'm is the eyes, all molten gold like, and in the center where those small black balls shou' be are black hourglass'! Da say's you look into those eye's en see yourself reflected in em, but you look all lifeless like, no matter 'ow much your moving or wat you waring! Says you look lifeless…and alone…." Seeing the lady's response the girl trailed off. The Clerics face, before quite white, had now gone to an unnatural pallor, the lips a light blue. The coloring of something or some one dead by a knife in the back, a sword in the gut, death by ice, or the plague, the way the girls own mother died. Her wizard hero had obviously not left pleasant memories with this lady, he seemed not to do so on the older people she met. Respecting the nobles privacy (but just barely) she changed the subject.

"Anyway, like I was saying before, we was playing magic, de other Raistlin an me, an e was stupid enough to get himself stuck in the big maple outside, would ya help me…meaning would ya get em down Miss's…?"

Crysania smiled in relief and nodded, she had been having enough confusion and difficulty with the subject of him as the picture constructed of not-entirely-suppressed dreams, memories, and the image supposedly sketched under her eyelids, this fresh reminder was not welcome and further discussion of the of the topic would most likely end with the younger girl throw out on her head into the storm.

The miniature girl then grabbed her hand and led her out into the raging tempest, her guide to an inner crossroads, a life changing rut in her life's road, and event for which both women were totally unawares.

****Still in Flashback****

E/N (end note): Yes, *sigh* we're still in the flashback but bare with me here. Robin McKinley does this all the time. *sweat drops* that's not an excuse for me though is it? Oh well, I've got camp so don't expect the next one out for a couple of weeks, I'll try to make it longer and I would of finished the flashback in this chapter but I promised I'd have it out yesterday at the latest and I'm late! Maybe I shouldn't take so much time on E/N notes, no? Anyway, for an excuse and reveiws:

I want 20 REVEIWS to keep going or I'll just continue to sit on my rump reading your fics. FOR EVERY EXTRA FIVE I'LL WRITE AN EXTRA PAGE! Thank You!

~Lady Crysania Majere