As for returning home... well, Qualinesti might not be home to Dalamar, but it's close enough to hurt.
Myar: I actually, have an old (read: falling apart) copy of DoAT which I'm scribbling notes in for this fic!
Dalamar Nightson: Glad you like, it's partly address in this chapter.
Thank you to Chetwynd for the beta and the helpful notes.
Crepuscule
Chapter fourteen- Of Illness
When the sun comes down
When the rain wash away
All the hopes I can bring
To another day
Another day
-Lost Prophets, Sway.
Dalamar shivered, and Raistlin burrowed against him, trying to warm his lover and himself at the same time. He was starting to regret giving himself up.
They had been crammed into an iron barred cage, one of three-wheeled cages that were standing in what had once been Solace's town square. Raistlin looked around gloomily, beset by memories of this place. The Spring Dawning Festival took place here, he recalled, remembering good times and bad. All gone now, and the knowledge that it would have looked the same to him even if the dragons had not come brought no relief. Tomorrow they would take them... north presumably, to the heart of what was happening. The young mage just wished they could have travelled to the place in a different fashion.
The cold wasn't the most pressing problem, although it wasn't helping either. Raistlin's cough wouldn't stop. It had been hours since he'd taken his tea, and while he was fairly confident it wouldn't kill him -Fistandantilus would see to that- it was horribly painful.
Dalamar pulled him a little closer, hands still rubbing his back, offering what ease he could.
No one spoke, not even the kender, they were all too caught up in their own thoughts and fears. The two mages were more or less left alone save for Caramon, who kept sliding over and asking his twin if he was sure there was nothing he could do to help, and the elven newcomer -Gilthanas, Tanis called him- who kept scowling at Dalamar.
They had not met many elves in their travels, in this dangerous time most of them stayed in their forests, so Raistlin could only speculate on this one's reaction. All that was clear was that he hated the Dark elf on principle. Dalamar's hand slid up and cupped the young mage's face. "Ignore him," he whispered.
Raistlin would have laughed, but only coughed. He had expected he would have been the one to calm the Dark elf down! Very strange. He rested his cheek on his lover's chest, forcing the thoughts out of his mind and focusing on one thing -breathing.
Behind him, he felt Dalamar relax against the bars. "Go to sleep," the Dark elf murmured. "They won't come until morning."
It couldn't have been comfortable for his lover, with his back against the bars, but Raistlin's cough kept him awake long after theDark elf have managed to find rest. He must have slept however, because the next thing Raistlin knew, he was being woken by shouts, the clash of steel, and finally a deafening cry of rage and agony. The young wizard tried to stand, but doubled over again. If anything, his cough had only worsened.
Dalamar too sat up, looking around for the source of the scream. Gilthanas' eyes widened. He knew the voice, he explained. It was Theros Ironfeld, the blacksmith Tika had feared for. Someone had betrayed him.
A group of goblins, headed by Toede, hurried into view, dragging a heavily built man who appeared to be unconscious. Fewmaster opened the door to their cage and ordered to goblins to throw the man inside before leaving them to to hitch up the slave caravan. Apparently it was time to leave. Raistlin fought back the cough and looked over Half-elven's shoulder at Theros Ironfeld. He was unconscious, and no surprise. Someone had hacked the smith's arm off below the shoulder. Blood ran freely from the mangled limb and pooled on the floor. Raistlin blinked, glad when his cursed eyes turned the grisly scene to dust.
"Let that be an example to all those who help elves!" Fewmaster Toede laughed, eyes narrowed at Dalamar and Gilthanas. "He won't be forging anything ever again -unless it's a new arm!" With a snort, the hobgoblin turned and walked straight into the elk harnessed to their cage.
The coughing fit Raistlin had been trying to hold back grew too strong, and again he was forced to hunch over against the pain, hacking up blood. In between spasms, he watched as Goldmoon appealed to Mishakal to heal Theros, keeping his eyes locked on them as the healing worked, the dreadful wound closing, although the man did not wake up. Raistlin drew in a painful breath, and smiled weakly at Dalamar when the Dark elf started rubbing his back again.
The air warmed as the sun rose, and it was noon before the slave caravan started moving, followed by a troop of three score draconians and twice as many hobgoblins.
It was a depressing sight.
By the end of the first day, Raistlin couldn't help but wonder whether he had been wrong in believing that the cough wouldn't kill him. Perhaps Fistandantilus thought that now would be an excellent time to finish him off and steal his body. It was the only explanation he could think of, although to be fair, it was hard to think about anything in this state. The pain in his lungs was making it nearly impossible to breathe, and what air he managed to take in was bought with blood. Sometimes even that wouldn't be enough and he would black out and hover somewhere between waking and sleep, barely aware of what was going on. Dalamar was constantly beside him, and while Raistlin wasn't surprised- in his place, he would have done the same, he was deeply grateful. To have to deal with this alone would be so very worse, particularly if Caramon decided to get involved. The two of them sat in a corner of the cage, Dalamar with his back against the bars, with Raistlin lying beside him, his head in his lap. There was little to mark time, and Raistlin soon lost track of the days. The only thing he had to go on was when their captors gave them water, although Dalamar had told him there was little pattern to this routine.
All the same, he guessed it must have been several days since they had left Solace that they met the old man. He had been fairly lucid that morning; he could recall Tika asking Dalamar if there was anything she could do to help and the Dark elf's curt answer that, unless she could get some herbs and a mug of hot water then no, and if she was so desperate to impress Caramon, she could do it elsewhere. He had drifted off then, and the next thing he remembered, though hazily, was his lover holding him upright and helping him drink. Raistlin recalled his rage at being so helpless that he couldn't drink water without aid. The liquid had rasped down his torn throat bringing more pain than relief and tasting of his own blood- an all too familiar taste during these last few days. The rest of the day was a blur, until the jerk as the wagon stopped roused him.
He looked up at Dalamar, coughing weakly. The Dark elf pulled him closer and rubbed his back in an effort to stop the spasms. For the first time since they'd been locked up, Raistlin saw his lover crack a smile. He tried to speak, to ask what was going on, "What-" His cracked, broken voice failed and he broke off, coughing. He felt utterly worn out, without the energy to hold back the spasms or even block out the pain.
Dalamar shook his head. "Don't speak. They've just stopped to pick up this mad old man. He looks like a magic user, which is probably the only reason they didn't kill him on the spot."
"I say, that's not very nice!" Raistlin couldn't see who said that. The coughing fit made him lose his hold on consciousness, and he passed out again. If this kept on, he thought muzzily, only semi-conscious, it wouldn't be long before he lost himself completely. Was this Fistandantilus' plan? Had the rotting creature gotten sick of waiting and decided to act now? He had never been this sick before.
Briefly, Raistlin wished he had told Dalamar the truth about his Test. If he was going to die, the Dark elf had a right to know the truth. Except it didn't look as though he would get the chance, not if his cough persisted in worsening. He couldn't draw on the old lich's power to control the spasms, he was unable to focus. A few wisps of the waking world slipped through to him then, and he felt a hand on his forehead. Not Dalamar's hand, cool and slender and comforting, but a gnarled old one.
Fistandantilus! Raistlin's confused mind screamed, then common sense kicked in and the unknown man's words filtered through the mass of pain fogging his thought.
"I am not who you think I am, but Fistandantilus will release his hold on you. This is not the time and he knows it."
The pain abated immediately and Raistlin opened his eyes in a flash, kicking out to get away from the old man who was kneeling beside him. The young mage shot backwards and rammed into one of the cage bars.
The world came into focus for the first time in days.
He was slumped in a corner of the slave caravan, as far away from the man as he could get. The old man in question was kneeling nonchalantly next to a very shocked-looking Dalamar. The Dark elf's face was drawn, the last few days had taken more out him than Raistlin had realised. The rest of the prisoners had stopped whatever it was they had been doing and were staring at him, save for Theros, who was still out cold.
The young mage turned his attention back to the old man, who was, he realised, most likely, the madman Dalamar had told him of earlier. He didn't look that insane to him, and no one, mad or sane, could have known of Fistandantilus -unless he had been talking in his delirium... But no, Dalamar would have looked a lot angrier if he had known. As it was, the Dark elf just looked bewildered.
Well, that made two of them. He saw a flicker of astonishment flash across the old man's face before it was replaced by a broad smile. "Hullo, name's -um- Fizban."
Well, here was one act he was not falling for.
The man was dressed in grey robes that may have once been white. "You are... magi?" He mentally winced at the hoarse whisper of his voice, but at least his cough was gone. This presumed madman had scared off Fistandantilus, and he would not be forgetting that little fact in a hurry.
"What was that about?"
Raistlin winced. Now that Fizban -or whoever he was- had gone off to entertain Tasslehoff, he had to face Dalamar. It would only have been fair to tell the Dark elf the truth- the last few days must have been just as unpleasent for him. But he didn't want to tell him, for reasons that went deeper than simply not wanting to burden his lover with the truth. He wasn't sure what it was, but it was linked with the fact that his lover still didn't trust him. It the elven mage could justify keeping secrets to himself, then the human wizard could too. It was a small and petty lie, but it was enough for Raistlin to avoid the question.
"He knew things," the young mage whispered. "Things I have never told anyone." If he might not feel comfortable telling Dalamar, the least he could was to tell the truth.
"Things about your Test." The Dark elf's eyes grew dark.
"Yes." Despite whatever the old man had done, Raistlin felt his throat tighten in warning. He swallowed back the urge to cough.
They lapsed into silence. Dalamar didn't ask to know more. He seemed to have resigned himself to the fact that Raistlin would never tell him, although that didn't mean for a moment that he liked or even accepted it. He just didn't ask.
The silence hung between them like a lead weight.
The newfound awkwardness was an unpleasant addition to an already unpleasant situation. Raistlin knew that the Dark elf had probably tried to get information out of Fizban and given up in despair at the old man's behaviour. According to Tanis, they would have been travelling for four days come morning. The Red Robe sighed and hugged his knees. It had seemed like much longer.
He looked around the small cage, then walked over to sit beside Dalamar. The Dark elf had been sitting in a corner, lost in his own thoughts. It was awkward between them, that was the only word for it. Something that had never been there before; no matter how they had disagreed in the past, it had never threatened to drive a wedge between them like it did now.
"Dalamar."
The Dark elf didn't look up, ignoring him as utterly as if he had been Gilthanas. The former Silvanesti and the Qualinesti were coping with each other's presence by pretending the other didn't exist. And as much as the elven warrior deserved that treatment, Raistlin knew he didn't.
"Dalamar, we have been over this before."
"But it hasn't had this much impact before," the Dark elf answered, a flash of anger showing through his impassive facade. "You don't want to talk about your Test. Very well, I didn't want to talk about my past. But I told you, when it became important I told you. I told you because I knew it would affect you. All I want is for you to return that courtesy. But no. Raistlin Majere will have his secrets."
"My secrets?" Dalamar wasn't the only one beginning to lose his temper. "What of yours? You tell me to my face that you do not trust me. Am I to believe that you have told me everything?"
"I do not trust you," Dalamar hissed, "because I cannot trust anyone! Do you believe I don't want to? I would love to be able to trust you, not to jump to the worst conclusions at every turn, but I can't. All I want is you to prove me wrong, to prove that I should trust you, and I can't if you persist in keeping such secrets from me. Yes, I keep secrets, but I reveal them when they threaten to affect our lives. Your little secret almost killed you, yet you still refuse to tell me!"
Raistlin sighed, anger escaping him. His mind felt muddled, as if someone had shaken everything around. When did everything become so complicated? So confusing that he found it hard to hold a thought in his mind?
The elven mage closed his eyes, shaking his head. "I want to believe you have a reason for keeping this from me, and to be honest, everything you've done prior to this has proven that I can trust you. But I find it hard to imagine what."
"I can't tell you," Raistlin answered, "because it would only hurt you and there is nothing we can do about it. If there is, then believe me, you will be the first to know. But for now, please don't ask." He had to believe that.
The Dark elf sighed, opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again with another sigh, shaking his head.
They sat in silence, listening to the wagons bounce over loose rocks. This place was familiar, Raistlin realised with a jolt, and then bit down a bitter laugh. Of course it was familiar! He had been here before, long ago, when Theobald had sent him to barter spell components from the elves.
And when he had first met Dalamar.
Gods, things were so much simpler then. Looking back, Raistlin found he could barely recall the young man who had left Solace so long ago. He was so lost in his thoughts that he jumped when his lover took his hand. The Dark elf smiled; clearly, he remembered this place too. They sat in silence, feeling the tension drain away, listening to the rattle of the wagons, the silence making the bird calls abnormally loud in the still morning.
Dalamar sat up suddenly. Another call sounded, closer this time, then closer still, and then Raistlin was staring at Gilthanas in amazement as the elf put his fingers to his lips and returned the call.
"Qualinesti," Dalamar breathed. "We're near Qualinesti. Get down!"
The air was split with the unmistakable whirring of arrows as the two mages flattened themselves against the cage floor. Screams echoed around them as the arrows found their marks. The driver of their caravan was shot and the wagon rolled to a halt.
"What is it? What's going on?" Tanis shouted at Gilthanas over the noise.
"Porthios!" the elf called back.
"Tanis, what's happening?" Sturm looked bewildered.
"Porthios is Gilthanas' brother. I take it this is a rescue," Tanis answered.
"It won't be much of a rescue if we all end up dead!" Sturm ducked as an arrow flew over his head. "I thought elves were supposed to be expert marksmen!"
"Keep low," Gilthanas commanded. "The arrows are only to cover our escape. This is a strike and run raid. My people are not capable of attacking a large force directly. We must be ready to run for the woods."
"And how do we get out of these cages?"
"We cannot do everything for you! There are magic users-" Gilthanas sent Raistlin and Dalamar a hostile look.
Raistlin was about to ask the elven warrior exactly how they were supposed to magic their way out without spell components, not to mention that in his delirium he had forgotten what spells he had. Dalamar stopped him before he spoke, laying a hand on his arm.
"I still have a spell." He sent the others a cold glance, making it clear he was not doing this for their benefit, before kneeling down next to the lock.
Raistlin smiled as he recognised the words the Dark elf spoke. They hadn't known, when they had found it in those ruins, just how useful the little spell would be. It worked as well as ever, disintegrating the lock. Dalamar kicked the door open and dropped out.
"Why didn't you do that from the start?" Tanis was incredulous.
"And then what?" the Dark elf snorted. "Get caught and shut up again? This is the first chance we've had of escaping!"
"And if we'd been dragged to the slave mines without getting that chance?" Sturm demanded.
Dalamar grinned, obviously glad to take out his frustrations of the last few days on so willing a target. "Why, then I'd have freed Raistlin and myself, and we'd have left you all to rot."
The Half-elf had to grab hold of the Solamnic to stop him from attacking the dark mage.
Raistlin slipped out of the cage and sneered, "Don't forget, knight, if it wasn't for him, we'd all have been slaughtered." He nodded back to where he had seen a gang of draconians making their way towards them.
Tanis scowled, but the threat present by the draconians was too much to overlook. "Fine! Caramon, get our weapons from the supply wagon. Sturm, go with him. Flint and Tasslehoff, get the packs. Raistlin-"
"I will get my pack and staff. No one may touch them but me." He felt irked that Half-elven would think to order him about as he would Caramon, he turned to walk to the abandoned supply wagon, Dalamar in tow. Gilthanas clearly thought the same because he left soon after.
"I take it he doesn't like Tanis," Raistlin remarked, finding his backpack and staff. He had heard about the elven warrior long ago, when he and the Half-elf had still been on speaking terms. Gilthanas was a member of the Speaker of the Sun's family, and had grown up with Tanis.
Dalamar shrugged, picking up his pack and dagger. "They had an argument while you were unconscious. He wanted to know what Half-human was doing, travelling with a Dark elf."
The Red Robe gave a thin smile, which quickly faded. "Will they let you into Qualinesti?"
"Of course not." Dalamar shrugged. "You know that. But if we manage to hide on the outskirts until dusk, we could creep away safely."
The young mage thought for a moment, and glanced back to where the draconians had caught up with the rest of the group. They were holding their own, but Raistlin knew that if the two of them were ambushed they would be hard-pressed to survive. He glanced at the woods, they would be safest with the elves, and while of course he would never abandon Dalamar, it would be best if he could find some way of convincing them. A flicker of plan formed in Raistlin's mind; and he grasped Dalamar's arm and pulled him towards the wood and away from more approaching draconians.
They hadn't gone halfway before a hail of arrows shot out and rained down on their pursuers. The rest of the group ran for the trees, arriving there just as ten elves, led by Gilthanas, ran out. At the sight of Dalamar, they froze, and Raistlin saw one of two knock a new arrow to their bows. His heart jumped, and he hoped his plan could work. It would be a pretty fate if they survived the slave caravan only to be killed by their rescuers.
To his relief, Gilthanas lifted a hand to stop the over-zealous archers and turned to Dalamar, speaking to him for the first time. "You know perfectly well you cannot enter." He spat the words out.
Raistlin narrowed his eyes, now to see if his plan would work. It was simple, and he was relying on his brother being even simpler. He spoke before Dalamar could formulate an answer. "Then we will both stay," his voice was flat, forestalling any argument.The Qualinesti prince stared at him in surprise.
"If Raist's staying, then so am I." Caramon. The young wizard clenched his hands; good, his brother's misguided sense of loyalty had prompted him to follow as he had hoped.
"We can't leave them here-" Riverwind started.
Tanis interrupted, glancing back to the caravan. "Gilthanas, please. If you don't let Dalamar in, Raistlin won't come, and if Raistlin won't come, then his brother will stay too, and if Caramon stays, so will everyone else. We don't have time for this, that Dark elf saved our lives in the wagon; we wouldn't have got out without him. Please, Gilthanas."
The elf threw his arms up in despair. "Fine!" He turned to Dalamar. "But you're the one vouching on his good behaviour, Talthanas. And one move, Dark elf-" He glowered at Dalamar- "one move, and I order my men to shoot you."
Dalamar, who was about three inches taller than the prince, looked down on the elf in distain. A distain, Raistlin knew, mostly false. He knew the Dark elf well enough to know when he was hiding pain behind his eyes. For a moment, he wondered if Dalamar would refuse to come with them- had he been alone, Raistlin suspected he would have. As it was, he glanced at Raistlin, then nodded stiffly.
Skull Bearer.