Chapter Eight
The Queen of Darkness is In the Details
The next morning Dalamar took a look outside the tent only to find his cousin sitting there. "Good morning, Dalamar," she said, with a half smile. "I do hope you realize the full import of what you did last night by now."

He groaned. "You honestly don't think I have not thought of that, have you?"

"I do believe there was some thought involved, I merely question with which head you thought with," she retorted a bit sharply, in Silvanesti. "You do realize what her family will do?"

With a short glare, he disappeared into the tent, only to reappear a short time later with his desert garb on. "I know, and I am tired of my being judged as a Dark Elf– you know nothing of my intent or of me, so don't presume to judge."

Usha simply stood up in one fluid motion and walked back to Meggin. Meggin shrugged before following the extremely agitated Usha to the edge of camp. Dalamar disappeared back inside again to look at his new wife. With a sigh, he also realized that he had forgotten about Jenna back in Palanthas. The repercussions there would be widespread with the conclave. They, like Usha had, would naturally assume that Dalamar had simply left Jenna, who was the daughter of Justarius of Palanthas, the Head of the Order of Red Robes, for Dezra Majere, the niece of Raistlin Majere to further his own plans to take the Palanthian Tower of High Sorcery for his own by right of inheritance.

Irony would have it that he had not really thought of that as an option. He had simply reacted– a part of him deeply rankled by the thought of an innocent being forced into a situation by mere birth as a woman... caught away from her father and by an unfair law...

...Like he had been while in Silvanost. In truth, he had not given any thought of actually marrying the girl, but his overly quick mind had seized on the option as it was either claim to be her betrothed, rendering the Sheik's claim on her as unlawful by the desert law, or claim to be her father. As the Sheik had known Caramon was Dezra's father, that would not have worked. And so it happened, and now he was a married man in the eyes of the Gods and the only way out of it was a divorce.

Divorces didn't happen in elven culture, nor in Palanthian, nor even amongst his own peers. There were cultures that would allow it (the Irda among them), but he was caught three ways. He sighed and sat across from his wife. Neither of them were required to make an appearance until the evening where he had been informed that a small feast would be declared in their honor. Until then he assumed they were supposed to talk about the new marriage contract and the affect it would have on their families. Dalamar didn't have any family to speak of, but Dezra did.

"So..." she said, looking up at him, her expression as morose as his. "Now what?"

He sighed, "I have put you into an awkward position with your family. For that I apologize profusely."

"The position could have been worse," said Dezra. "You could have had to explain to my father why I would have been married to a Sheik in the desert, never to be seen again."

"Good point," mused Dalamar, with a slight smile, trying to imagine a game of 'good news, bad news' with Caramon Majere. "Still, when your parents find out, how fast should I run?"

Realizing he was joking, Dezra smiled and reached out to touch his chin, "It won't be that bad. I was being kicked out anyway, Dalamar. If my father doesn't like it, we can point out that I traveled, saw the world with Usha, met you along the way, and if not for you I would be a wife, or concubine, of a Nomad in the Plains of Dust and likely never to be seen again. At least with you I can go to Solace whenever I like for a visit, and visiting me is in Solamnia anyway. My brothers are Knights..."

As if thinking of her brothers brought up memories of Palin, her expression darkened. Dalamar found his thoughts swiftly moving to the last time he had seen Palin Majere alive... outside the lab of Raistlin Majere in the Tower of High Sorcery shortly before his Test. He closed his eyes in sorrow. "You do realize where I... we... live?" he asked quietly.

"The Tower," she answered, equally subdued. "It can't be that bad... if you still live in it, right?"

"It really isn't once you get past the Grove," he explained. "In fact, it's actually rather nice. The garden within the gates is usually in full bloom as we still have to grow the herbs for our herb gardens. As we are more equatorial than the cooler weather in Solace, more varieties of plants can grow year round, the more delicate varieties can even survive outside without having to insulate them in the winter. The Tower itself, while black, yes, is in good, actually excellent repair, and is clean and luxurious inside. You'll actually like it there, I think."

"So... it's not all dark and gloomy?"

"No, the plants need true and actual sunlight to grow," answered Dalamar with a smile. "Don't be mistaken, there are areas in the Tower that are dark, terrible... even terrifying, but they are far from the living quarters and well contained. It will be much like Wayreth, if not exactly like Wayreth."

With a smile, Dezra said, "It doesn't sound so bad. The way everyone talks about it... it's like the sun refuses to touch it at all."

"Before your Uncle laid claim to it, Justarius tells me it was like that. But before Raistlin fixed it, it was also falling apart," answered Dalamar with a short laugh. "It was as if it was slowing being reclaimed by the ground, slowing falling brick by brick into losing its very existence. Make no mistake, there are still undead guardians, still the Live Ones, still the creations of your Uncle Raistlin haunting the place– but I don't think you, of all people on Krynn, will have any problem with them."

"I hope that doesn't turn out to be a case of famous last words," she remarked before moving on to a new topic. "So... in case my parents demand a real wedding, the next problem is what cleric is going to actually preside over this?"

Dalamar's smile fell off his face. "Do we have to?"

"No, but if you really want to be married, my father may... and I stress may... insist on it. Likely to make sure we thought this through, test our resolve, or just to see if we're serious," said Dezra darkly. "I know my mother will."

Great, thought Dalamar. Just what I needed. "Obviously no clerics of Paladine... or any of his brood."

"I figured as much," agreed Dezra. "To tell the truth, their entire belief bothers me, so you won't get any argument from me. However, I don't think any of the Queen of Darkness' clerics, nor any other evil clerics, would be a good idea either."

"That leaves a cleric of Gilean..." said Dalamar with a sigh.

"...Or of my Uncle," said Dezra with a sly glance that eerily reminded Dalamar of her Uncle in question.

"I don't think he has any... yet."

"Not in specific, but he has independent avatars... fragments..." she smiled. "Guardians, if you catch my drift."

"Usha?" said Dalamar in disbelief.

"Or Marion Uth Maleste, if everything else fails," said Dezra. "A Guardian– a blooded representative of the very God of the Greater Balance, would be absolutely perfect. The Balance of Law and Chaos, and not of any particular following by Good or Evil. Even all the clerics would have to accept a marriage rite overseen by an avatar of a higher God."

Dalamar leaned back, "Do you honestly think Usha would? She thinks I married you for hereditary reasons to lay claim to the Tower. She may not even agree to it."

"Then Lady Uth Maleste!" exclaimed Dezra. "Or a dragon! We are bound to eventually to find one of them on this journey."

Dalamar took a breath. "A dragon may be easier to arrange than any of what you ask."

She took his hand in excitement, "Then we find a dragon. It is possible... we only have to find a suitably neutral party. Unless... you're having second thoughts?"

"Dezra..." he turned to her and shook his head. "Yes... and no... We never thought this out. We were swept up in a moment and let it take us. Except for today, we never even spoke to each with any romantic intent. We don't even know each one another other than what we have been told by others. Is that honestly what you want?"

She tipped her head to the side. "So... you took me... and now..."

"Stop– don't even pull that out!" he shouted. "You wanted it as much as I did! You made the first move!"

"I never asked for you to come to my defense!"

"Why you ungrateful– now I know why your father tossed you out," he said angrily, but quietly, pinching his nose to stave off the quickly building headache. "You're as capricious as your Aunt Kitiara."

For a moment, even though the temperature had to be in the high nineties outside, the temperature in the tent dropped to a glacial level. "Get out," she hissed.

"I will not, this is as much my tent as it is yours," he retorted.

"Get out, or I'll scream, and as you said, you know which side Usha will take first," with that, Dezra turned her back on him.

Dalamar blinked in surprise, then his lips set into a grim line. "I don't think so, Lady Majere..." as he grasped her wrist and spun her around and dragged her outside.

"What are you doing? Let me go!" she shrieked.

Seeing Usha and the Sheik, Dalamar said as they turned to face him, "You want the untamable screw, she yours, Sheik. I'll divorce the little ungrateful wretch right here and now and you can have her."

The Sheik's eyebrows lifted in amusement, but Usha's did not, although one of her eyebrows lifted in vague surprise, but seeing the anger on Dalamar's face and the rage on Dezra's, she said, "Oh my... a lover's quarrel..."

"What?" came from both Dalamar and Dezra.

The Sheik sighed, "I can see this is going to be an interesting journey..."

For the next few days, Dalamar would only be in the tent he shared with Dezra to sleep. They, however, slept in separate bedrolls. No effort to rekindle the passion they had found on the first night was made. Usha knew this by the stony silence between the two for the past two days. Dezra, as well, only went into the tent to sleep. It was beginning to fray the edges of their group and with a sigh, Usha looked over to Meggin, "I sometimes don't know what to think."

"If there is anything to say," said Meggin. "I don't think his intentions were impure. In fact– I don't think he really realized he was going to get himself into that mess until after it had happened."

"Dalamar can be cunning..." started Usha, remembering her first few weeks on Ansalon. "Trust me. It wouldn't be the first time he tried to further his own motives by using an innocent."

"True enough," agreed Meggin. "But I don't think he even though far enough ahead to have any cunning plans for Dezra– I think he merely reacted."

"Then he definitely just reaped the rewards for reacting," said Usha with a smile at the irony.

After the fifth day of travel Dezra shielded her eyes and asked Usha, "Is that... water I see?"

Usha looked to the glistening south. "Yes. Ocean, actually. But it's actually at least forty miles away. You can see it because we are on a plateau and actually above it somewhat. We'll be heading into the lowlands where the deserts get much cooler, but not by much. The sun still beats on it relentlessly, but you will notice the nights are going to be frigid."

"Oh," murmured Dezra. "So we won't actually see this trip?"

"Not this leg of it," said Usha. "Maybe not ever– who knows? Why?"

"I've never seen it."

"Oh," was Usha's only response, then she smiled. "Maybe on another trip. I guess we'll have a long time before I take you home again."

"Maybe," said Dezra. "Since I don't really have a home anymore, it doesn't really matter. So maybe I will do so on my own."

Usha lifted a slight brow at this, looked over to where Dalamar was pretending not to listen, but by the increasing set to his jaw she knew he was. And he was upset by what Dezra's words. Usha sighed, not sure what to make of this. It seemed the romance, what little there was, was now by far over. It wasn't the most tumultuous relationship she had ever heard of, but close enough. Well, at least Dalamar would have to realize that if he wanted to marry a Majere, he had damn well be sure that he had the patience to deal with an equal. Lovers were one thing, but wives and husbands were of a totally different breed. At least the idea was now put where it belonged– as a bad idea from the start. "You're all right with that, Dez?" asked Usha, concerned about the effect that Dezra's first serious romance would have on the young woman's emotions.

"Yeah, I guess so," she admitted. "I guess I'll have to be, eh?"

Usha smiled slightly, "Yes."

She caught Dezra's side glance, and her darkening expression, as she looked over at Dalamar's stiff back.

As the Bantere clan made camp for the sixth day, Dezra accepted a few of the young women's invitation to socialize for the night. Dalamar had nothing to do, as the men had gone hunting, and both Meggin and Usha were also in another women's conclave, only among the older, married women.

So he brooded, waiting for the maiden's to break up for the night. While there was little to worry about in the camp, his break with Dezra was rather public and he had caught more than a few glances toward the young Majere by the young, single men, in the camp. He snorted in derision– if they thought they honestly had a chance at taming the shrew, all the power to them. Still, he was concerned. He placated himself in that he was more concerned about Dezra's father, Caramon, and his reaction if it were in Dalamar's power to prevent something unfortunate from happening and he did nothing. Knowing that it was not the reason, and further annoyed by that, he tried to convince himself that if he told himself that he half feared Caramon's far reaching arm and that was the reason for his concern over Dezra Majere.

Finally the party started to wind down, and various maidens wandered out. A few of them were seized by the young men and half carried off to their tents. More than a few would find themselves suddenly married, even if they were new Head Wives for the majority. So it was in the desert. It was literally so unforgiving that any marriages, even that of polygamy, were acceptable as to continue their line. He stood just outside of the tent as Dezra unsteadily walked toward him. Helping her into the tent he could smell the sweet wine on her breath.

"What in the name of the Gods did you think you were doing?" he demanded.

"Why do you care?" she sulked.

He rubbed his temples, thinking honestly that she would literally be the death of him. "I care, never you mind that. I saw more than one of your new 'friends' be carried off to the tents of suitors that were unsuccessful in impressing their fathers. More than a few will find themselves married in the morning according to the Nomadic Law, and there will be nothing their fathers can do for them. Is that what you want?"

"No..." she mused. "Abyss... I can't even think of a good retort for that..."

She yawned, "I'm tired."

"You're drunk."

"Am not."

"And what do you think drinking that swill would make you?"

"I dunno..."

He closed his eyes in exasperation as he had to help her to undress and then dress for bed. She lay back. "You know, you're not so half bad, if you weren't such a pompous ass."

"I'll ignore that," he said, irony tinging his voice. "And it takes one to know one."

"Really?" she said with a huge smile. "Is that humor I hear?"

She was surprisingly articulate for a drunk. Then again, he supposed that if may have traveled in the Majere line. Once, a long time ago when he was fresh into his Apprenticeship under Raistlin, Dalamar had watched Raistlin absently go through at least three bottles of elven wine while in his lab. At first, Dalamar had been merely concerned, then terrified as Raistlin, while unsteady on his feet but strangely clear in words, had continued blithely into the experiment he had planned involving a risky summoning.

In retrospect, although the man would never admit to it and Dalamar would never accuse him of it, Dalamar rather suspected that Raistlin had needed that extra 'bravery' to even attempt the summoning, even if Raistlin had not fully realized he was doing it.

It was still strange, for how unsteady he had been on his feet, and unable to focus his eyes after awhile, he had been able to recall the necessary incantation and chant in chilling accuracy the words to the difficult spell and successfully cast it.

Raistlin had passed out afterwards however– and Dalamar was never sure whether it had been alcohol induced or the taxing nature of the spell. It was one thing he never told the Conclave, nor any one else, and was a secret about his Shalafi he would likely take to his grave.

Dezra had the same strange ability to not sound drunk, even if she was a whole lot more bluntly honest than when sober. "Tell me," he said, half under his breath. "Do you do this to me to hurt me?"

"Oh no," she answered, and he looked up surprised. "You hurt me. I thought you actually liked me, but then again, maybe it was a bid for power. I felt... still feel... a bit used."

"It was not for power," said Dalamar, his voice turning a curious note of sorrow. "I could not allow another to be forced into a situation that they did not want... into a role that they don't want... simply for being born into the wrong social class for the society in question– It would be like allowing them to fall into what I was in Silvanost. I could not allow it."

"Was that it?" she asked. "Wow, the ice king grows a heart."

He looked up, "Gods, I pity your future husband, Dezra, even as I envy him. You have a fearless nature tempered by innocence, or vice versa, and it is strangely compelling, even as I admit I'm a bit envious by that."

"I think..." she yawned again. "That's the nicest thing anyone said about me..."

Afterwards she unmistakingly passed out from the amount of alcohol in her system.

"Oh great," he muttered. "Back to where we started."

Dezra woke to find herself tangled, even if still clothed, with Dalamar in the bed roll. Pushing herself up she suddenly became aware of the impending nausea that swept over her. Clapping one hand over her mouth, she ran outside and began to throw up whatever she might have had in her stomach. She was aware of a hand holding her hair back and the other moving in soothing circles on her back.

When she was reduced to dry heaves, Dalamar gently picked her up and brought her back inside the tent, laying her in the soft quilts. "Better?" he asked softly.

With a moan, she said, "No."

He chuckled softly, and handed her a cup of water, "Here, drink this. It will help calm your stomach, as well as re-hydrate you. Alcohol does that; dries you out, ironically."

She greedily drank the taste of... whatever... was in her mouth, and lay back as he did so opposite of her. "Rest now," he said. "Trust me, it will help."

"Dalamar?"

"Yes, Dezra?"

"Did you mean what you said last night?"

Dalamar started– usually after being so drunk he assumed she would not have remembered anything of last night. "I don't say things I don't mean. Ever."

"Oh."

She was silent for a long time after and he naturally assumed she had finally fallen back to sleep. "I'm sorry I'm so difficult."

"Ah?" he looked up in surprise.

"I said–"

"I know what you said, but I'm a little confused on why you would say it," he admitted.

"Because I don't say things I don't mean. Ever."

"Then we have that in common at least," Dalamar sighed. "When we are out of the desert, I'll release you from the marriage agreement and we can get a divorce."

"Really?" she asked, looking up and rolling over. "Is that what you want?"

"Honestly..." he paused. "I don't know yet. Maybe yes– I'm not exactly the marriageable type. I'm a Dark Elf, I use people for power. I could even use you."

"But maybe no?"

"Well," again he paused, not exactly sure what to say here. "I meant as I said last night. Your interest, and your hand in marriage, would be a great honor. And we have much in common– perhaps too much in common– and so I cannot see us not at least able to live with each other."

"I see," the silence was a bit ominous. "So... you like me... but you don't love me."

"I don't know you enough to love you," he clarified.

"So... maybe by the time this is all over, we won't want to divorce?" she pointed out. "I can see your point– we don't know each other well enough. But we understand enough to know that we share quite a bit in common. We may not be compatible as husband and wife in the end, but we won't know that for quite some time yet, so..."

"So..." he said, also thinking. "I guess... we can at least try it out."

"The best that can happen is that we like our mutual situation enough to remain," she said. "The worst is that we'll be merely right back where we started. Until then, truce?"

"I can live with a truce," he agreed, shaking her hand. "Well met, my lady. My name is Dalamar Nightson, Master of the Tower of High Sorcery in Palanthas and Head of the Order of Black Robes in the Conclave of High Wizardry."

"Lord Dalamar, it is a pleasure to meet you," she said, accepting his hand. "My name is Dezra Majere of Solace. Coincidence has it that my Uncle, Raistlin Majere, taught you when you were an apprentice and my brother Palin was also a wizard. I see we share that in common..."

A/N: A bit blah, but we had to get a bit of the relationship out of the way after the last chapter. I promise there will be more excitement in the chapters to come.