Flaming Summer!
A Most Atrocious Parody by Chetwynd
This chapter is dedicated to Skull Bearer, for obvious reasons. Hey, you make 'em suffer, so I do too...
As always, thank you reviewers for taking the trouble of R&R.
Chapter 8: Wanna Beat?
Raistlin knew he was dreaming because he had the nagging feeling that reality was not as comfortable as the oneiric fantasy that surrounded him at the moment. However, he was in two minds to open his eyes. In his experience, even those dreams that began nice and cosy tended to become nasty nightmares: The people that welcomed him as their hero would begin to taunt and mock him; the naked nymphs that appeared to entertain him would turn into dirty dark elves with wicked intent; the sweet cookies that mommy made for him would transmute into mercenary grub… He hated grub.
Before he could decide what to do, though, a soft breath caressed his ear.
"Oh, my dear friend, I'm so sorry you are suffering so much," whispered the soft, vaguely familiar voice.
So it began nice. Opening a sleepy eye, the wizard regarded a woman in foreign red clothes. He sighed.
"If you are supposed to be a wet dream, please go away and leave me alone. I'm not in the mood for the Black Robes chaining me to the bed right now," he requested groggily, and turned on his side trying to find a more comfortable position and covered his head with the blanket.
"You wanker! I'm not a wet dream!" she shouted and dealt him a cuff.
"Ow! You are right; you are no wet dream, but a nightmare! Leave me alone! Torture me no more, I have more than enough in the waking world," he hissed, glaring at her while with a hand felt for the bump now growing on his head. "Now that I pay attention, you don't even turn me on. Those robes of yours are so outdated they would cause blindness to Dalamar."
"You moron, I'm no dream at all."
"No? Then who you are? Lunitari that had come to ask for my forgiveness?" he mocked.
"No, plonker, I'm not the goddess. I'm your staff."
Raistlin directed a concerned look at his groin, then at the woman. "Now it speaks to me? Caramon's insanity must be infectious. Look, I'm sorry for the lack of action, but…"
"Your other staff, moron!"
"Oh," sighed the wizard, relieved. It had been very disturbing to think of that part of his anatomy in feminine terms. He tried to regain some of his usual composure, but it was quite difficult with him lying down on the bed, his eyes rheumy, and the bump on his head. "I suppose you have come to apologize for the dirty tricks you played on me."
"I was to, but I think I've changed my mind and I'll leave you here to snivel."
"Hey, I'm… I don't know where I am! Anyone can be wrong in my position, no?" the mage protested. "Why did you force me to do such suicide-oriented things? Killing Takhisis? I didn't even want to be a god!"
"Sorry about that," the Staff said sheepishly. She looked down to the floor. "It's in my nature, you know. Killing dragons, I mean. I'm Nectarine the Dragonslayer of the Age of Dreams."
"Nectarine? My, your parents hated you, didn't they?"
"Yes, you are right, my parents hated me, but they didn't name me. I did myself, in honour of the sweet fruit that swayed me from the evil path of destruction they followed."
"What do you have against evil paths?" inquired Raistlin in a threatening hiss.
"Not much, except for theirs. You have never caused wanton destruction to nature just for the sake of destruction as they did, or you'd have very nasty awakening one morning," she said, her lips widened in a savage grin. "Anyway, I called upon the gods to help me to fight the plague my parents and their kin posed to Krynn. The Three Cousins answered my pleas and proposed me a deal: Nuitari said I'd walk from that moment on as a mortal, Lunitari added that I'd serve as her servant, and Solinari that he'd feed me when after my death their power allowed me to carry on my quest."
"One moment! 'As a mortal'? What were you before?"
"A mighty Red Dragon," she growled.
"Let's see, to sum up, you were a vegetarian, ecologist red dragon that wanted to give mommy and daddy a sound trashing, so you asked the Idiot Three for help. They transformed you into a human Red Robe, and then into a magical staff when you died?"
"That's about it, yes," Nectarine agreed reluctantly.
"And I here thought that dragons, particularly red ones, were intelligent," the archmage snorted.
"What are you insinuating?" the dragon-turned-human-turned-staff huffed.
"Why on the abyss did you make me repeat Fistandantilus' idiotic scheme?"
"Because you could beat Takhisis! You are strong enough to, and more!" she cried, impassioned. "That would have been my highest achievement, and we might've gone against Tiamat, and then…"
"Hey, hey, you mad stick, shut up! No more, you hear me? I'll strike down dragons whenever I feel like it, but not because you want to quench your insatiable thirst for draconic blood."
"But I want one now and then," she pouted.
"I'll think about it. Now leave me be, I'm… tired I suppose," Raistlin ordered. "And don't even think about giving me nasty awakenings or I'll resurrect Immolatus just to be done with you!"
Nectarine the Dragonslayer Staff of Magius huffed annoyed at his owner's back. "We'll see."
When Raistlin woke up, it was to a dizzy world that tasted of cotton, looked lurching, and stank of vomit. Nothing of these agreed with his already upset stomach, and the splitting headache did not help either.
"I think he's coming to his senses," thundered a voice, a painful version of Sturm's.
"Not so loud, please," he whined, opening with caution his eyes. Light stabbed his mind as soon as his lids rose a bit. "Oooooo…"
After several gruelling minutes, the wizard managed to sit up, fall from the bunk he had been placed in, and vomit all over his robes, all without opening an eye.
"You're a mess," sighed Tanin. As far as the archmage was concerned, the young man sighed too loudly.
"I wouldn't if you had not switched my elven wine for that dreadful poison. I thought you liked me, Tanin, but now I know you hate me and want me dead," he whispered mournfully.
"We would've lost the bet if you hadn't taken part," protested Sturm, and groaned as his own voice hammered into his head. "In the end, we lost because of you anyway. You didn't even hold one swig; you tasted the dwarf spirits and collapsed in a heap."
"You might have warned me I was going to drink liquefied hellfire!" spat the mage. He took his head in his hands. "If the world is so rough with my eyes closed, I can't imagine how much so it will be with them open."
"We are in some kind of ship, Palin," explained Tanin. "And you're not poisoned, but hung-over."
"An experience I wouldn't have cared to experience," growled the elder Majere. "What are we doing in a ship?"
"Dunno," was the unison answer.
"We think they've a dragon up there," warned Sturm. "Hear that? It sound's like a black dragon."
They were right, the sound reminded him of Onyx spewing her acid breath at Riverwind in Xak Tsaroth. But what would a dragon do in a ship? Acid and wood did not mix well, and he was not sure the stinking black dragons would be friends with water. "We'll take care of that little detail when… I feel a little more human than just right now," he suggested.
Some indefinite time later, he managed to open his eyes, bringing up into a bucket immediately after that. He hated ships. Now, he had to deal with not only hangover, but also seasickness. He felt knackered, fitful sleep notwithstanding, but he had the impression it was not merely due to these two ailments he was suffering; there was something else. However, he was at a loss for thoughts. It was as though something integral was missing, but his magic, all his limbs and bodily parts, and even that pesky staff of his were there. It was during this inventory he realised someone had taken from him his spell components, his dagger, his scrolls, his books and well, everything except his clothes –all pockets now empty– and the Staff of Magius, which stood upright in the air near the bunk. (Since the Majere brothers were used to the artefact's weird behaviour, they were not surprised at this.) Nevertheless, the loss of material property had never been important for the wizard, so even if incredibly annoying, he was sure this was not what affected him thus.
As far as his nephews were concerned, he saw they were faring a little better; they were only a bit green around the gills and did not vomit anymore. He envied them their endurance.
A bit more focused, he got up from the hammock. After tentatively keeping his balance and not falling again, he approached to the closed door of the bare cabin.
"We must be prisoners of the dwarf and his gnome cutthroats from the tavern," Tanin said. "I bet the door is bolted."
Raistlin studied the abovementioned door, and declared, "I don't think so. It would be extremely difficult for the door to be locked when someone has pulled out the lock." He pointed to the hole in the wood. "Let's get to the bottom of the matter."
Tanin held him by the arm. "I think we should go first, brother. You look like you don't remember your own name, much less any spell, so…"
The wizard felt warmed at his nephew's concern for him. With the so-called Companions it had been quite the opposite; "Let the mage go first, with any luck the creepies will eat him," would have growled Flint or Sturm Brightblade. How charming and amiable those two had been… Thus, in their inane outings to 'learn the ways of life', he had always been sent to the front line, with Caramon hard on his heels, of course; that would allow him to 'save' his baby brother, like that time with the nymphs… The archmage had not wanted to be saved from them!
"So it's logical to let you both to go up first, confront unarmed the dragon, and be melted by the beast?" the archmage countered. "I, however, have my Staff, which was created to fight them."
"Yes, you have a weapon. Much good it will do when you vomit your insides in front of the monster. You really look terrible, Palin," counter-attacked the older nephew. "Let us assess the situation first, that will allow you some time to think what to do."
Tanin was right, the archwizard was not feeling well in the least; all he wanted was to curl into a ball of misery and snivel to himself until it went away. That nagging feeling of loss was like a toothache. He was not overly worried about his nephews' safety anyway. He was sure there was no dragon; otherwise, Nectarine would already have urged him to attack the poor beast. As it was, the Staff did not even stir. Nevertheless, he had a very bad feeling about their marine adventure; he had discovered someone had taken from him his woollen socks, the black ones with embroidered fireballs. Sock robbery never bode well.
His misgivings proved true when they reached the deck, a deck not guarded by a dragon, but full of the most dreaded creatures on Krynn: Kender.
Raistlin ran to the rail and vomited.
Tanin and Sturm watched the bustle on deck with open-mouthed awe, at least until they were nearly washed off by a sudden shower of salty water, decapitated by a wild yardarm, and battered by a fish rainfall. Wiping their stinging eyes, the two men regarded the crew manning the weird ship, all of them hooting with laughter as they tried to catch the slippery animals. They heard yelling and cursing, and saw a dwarf tied up with ropes to what they thought was the mainmast.
"End this trav'sty now, yeh scoundrels," was shouting the dwarf, whose clothes had been foppish long ago before he had been subjected to multiple seawater and fish showers.
"Hey, you the dwarf that dared us," said Sturm, squinting in the sunlight.
"Halt, you landlubbers! Don't touch our prisoner or else," came a shrill and all too known voice from the aftercastle.
"Uncle Tas!" exclaimed the two knights, and winced.
An old kender came closer to the 'prisoners' on one feet and one wooden leg that he did not need at all. He moved the patch over his left eye to cover the right one as he prodded his parrot, perched on his shoulder, to caw "Treasures ahoy!"
Meanwhile, the mage went on purging his empty stomach. Abducted by kender. Even worse, by kender captained by Tasslehoff Burrfoot. He must make sure no one learned of this indignity. If only he could remember that chain lightning spell…
"Welcome to the Miracle, lads," said the smiling kender. "Where do you hail from?"
"A cabin downstairs," replied a confused Tanin. "We thought we'd been kidnapped by a dwarf and his crew of gnomes."
"Oh, them. They are in the hold, those scumbags. You see, I and me mates here took a cool course on piracy in Saifhum and, when we heard about a gnomic ship setting sails towards Lunitari we joined in the fun. The captain, this dour dwarf here, refused to take us in, so we mutinied. We captured the ship and now I'm the new captain, but we haven't managed to make it take off…"
"I'm sure your 'men' knew we were downstairs; all our belongings are missing," Raistlin groaned from the rail, hoping to stop the flood of words.
The kender captain gave him a pitying glance. "Palin, you look… green. Not feeling well, lad?"
A dry heave was the only answer.
"Uncle Tas, I don't think this ship was headed for the red moon. I thought that was a tale about Sturm Brightblade and Aunt Kitiara," the younger knight commented. "By the way, where's the dragon?"
The kender crew looked around excitedly, just expecting an unsuspecting beast to appear.
"What dragon? There's no dragon aboard, not that we've found at least," Tas replied. "Oh, do you mean those bubbling sounds! That's the ship working. Weird, isn't it?"
"So, are we in a gnomish ship?" the mage asked from the rail he held on. At the affirmative –and gleeful– answer, he groaned in a low, despaired voice, "I just want to be put out of my misery. Now I'm sure Paladine didn't forgive and rescue me from the Dark Queen; this is one of her worst insidious punishments." And dry-heaved again.
"Stop feelin' sorry fer yerself an' face yer duty, Guardian!" growled the dwarf. "Takhisis doesn' 'ave imagination enough ter devise sumthin' this devious!"
Raistlin groaned and wished himself to faint in that dramatic way he had perfected through the years. A new shower of water and fish made him reconsider this option, since he did not want to die drowned in a deck full of thieving kender. That kind of death was extremely embarrassing.
"And what is my duty, according to you?" he asked.
"First an' foremost, untyin' me."
"I don't think so. I prefer you tied up rather than tricking them into poisoning me," came the mage's hissing reply. Sturm was ready to protest their innocence –they had not poisoned him– but his brother stopped him with a stern shake of his soaked head. "Explain yourself, dwarf, then I might free you."
The prisoner shrugged. "Miiro, yeh must rescue the Greygem," he said gravely.
"Of course," Raistlin drawled, sneer in place. "Now tell me again why I should untie a crazed dwarf."
"What's a Miiro?" asked Sturm in a whisper to his brother.
"No clue."
"Yeh'ave a contract ter comply with," growled the short man, his eyes almost disappearing under his frown.
Raistlin smirked. "I didn't see anything about the Greygem in it."
"Its theft affects the Greater Balance, don' yeh see, yeh chump?"
"No, I don't see," replied the archmage attentively studying his nails with bored air. "And don't think for a moment that insulting me will do you any favours in recruiting my help. Anyway, if it has been stolen, you should ask your little friends here. I'm sure they know its whereabouts."
The former captain of the Miracle grumbled under his breath, no doubt cursing the stubborn mage in colourful dwarven terms. "Yeh'll regret yer refusal ter me call fer help, wizard. Right." His eyes glinted maliciously. "Yeh hear me ov'r there?" he said to the empty air. "This Guardian here's useless, yeh hear me? Shouldn' he be punished with tha' funny armour o' his? He's a slacker an'…"
At these words, Raistlin paled. He had to stop the dwarf before whomever he was talking to agreed that he was not complying with the damned contract. Unluckily for him, his younger nephew had also decided to step in.
Sturm, even if not gifted with his uncle's brainiac mind, had a fine one working under his auburn mop of hair. As a matter of fact, had he been consulted on the matter, he would have been able to solve several tricky issues of philosophic and metaphysical matter single-handedly. That is, if he hadn't also been cursed with a kender-like attention span and a tendency to overload whenever the input saturated his mind, as it did at the moment. The Greygem? he was thinking. Wasn't it the artefact that had cursed Krynn with kender? What was a Miiro? Had Palin found a job and not told them? Weren't wizards forbidden to wear armour? And why did his little brother seem to have taken a crash course on snarkiness? Was there a Greater Balance? Did that mean that there was a Lesser Balance too? Did that mean that there were other gods besides the ones they knew? What were the gods in fact...? So many questions were overburdening his bright but flimsy mind; he had to stop them from coming to allow him time to absorb them. Usually, he would have knocked out the source of such overload, but taking into account that one was his little brother and the other an unarmed dwarf tied to a mast, he decided on the diplomatic way.
"Stop!" he roared, then winced and cursed himself for being as idiotic as to forget he was still hung-over.
Next to him, brave Tanin cringed in pain. Even the kender and the dwarf seemed taken aback.
Raistlin merely fainted.
Drifting between wakefulness and unconsciousness, Raistlin felt that missing part of him was within his grasp. He was very near to the source of such distressing feeling. He reached out his hand…
"Hey, don't play hard to get, Uncle," said a voice and the archwizard was shaken into consciousness. "You've been out for more than one hour. It's time for you to wake up; I don't know how much longer that door will hold on the crew."
Damn, he had lost it! The rude treatment and the feeling of danger cleared his senses, snatching away the little piece of knowledge that had almost been his for the taking. Opening his eyes, he saw his younger nephew sitting next to his hammock. The young man was watching him carefully, hand still on his shoulder, awe and amazement warring in his reddened eyes.
"Uh… What…?" The mage reached up to hold his head in his hand, only to see the golden glint of his cursed skin. "Damned dwarf!" He looked up at Sturm.
"Don't worry, Uncle Raistlin, Tanin told me your story. And Palin's, as you knew it," said the young man soberly. "I'm sad for him. I was a dolt for not realising how father and mother really treated him –and you. I'm proud he was such a good boy 'till the end. And I'm glad you're here for us, even if you're such a miser as far as expending money on booze and grub is concerned." He smiled. "No wonder you're so thin."
"Well, after your mother tried to feed me up into bloating away, I feel sick whenever I think of food," sighed the wizard. "And I don't want you to end like your father in the drinking department."
"You appreciate us, don't you?" marvelled the warrior.
Raistlin simply shrugged. Sitting up precariously in the hammock, he pointed the barricade against the door of the cabin. "Why that?"
Sturm expression turned anxious. "When you fainted… you also turned golden, so everybody onboard recognised you…"
"...The kender included" finished the archmage in a horrified murmur.
"And they wanted to see you close up. We managed to extricate you from them before they sheared your hair. Do you know it's in fashion to keep the beard or hair of famous people as souvenir in Kendermore?"
"From kender, I wouldn't be surprised," Raistlin growled. "Do not fret, nephew of mine, I can defend myself from hair-thieving kender."
While Sturm took away the barricade, the archwizard tried to cast a repulsion spell –one spell Tas was well acquainted with–, but had to give up since he was missing the necessary components. For a moment, he thought he was going to regret his claim about handling the little men, then decided to take a more physical approach as his Staff was at hand.
"Why could you not be a kenderslaying artefact?" he murmured under his breath as he eyed the golden tint of his skin with distaste. It had never bothered him before; quite the opposite, that weird coloration had helped to increase his aura of mystery and otherworldliness, although right now it only meant trouble. And he was sure the kender would not be as eager to get his hair as they were if it was auburn. No one would believe them if they told it was Raistlin's and it was not white. Not completely sure it would work, he willed his cursed 'armour' away. To his relief, it faded out.
"Uncle, Dougan, the dwarf, told us that you must help him to regain the Greygem or the world will come to an end," explained the knight as he pushed aside several barrels.
"So he calls himself Dougan, eh? The world coming to an end… nonsense!" muttered the mage disdainfully. "That is what all of them say when they want us to get them off the hook…"
After a gruelling climbing to the deck that left behind at least two unconscious kender, Raistlin –auburn mane still intact– went to the aftercastle where the dwarf and Tanin were trying to make sense of what it was supposed to be the helm.
"I wonder why they didn't shear your beard, Reorx!" spat Raistlin.
"Reorx!" exclaimed both human warriors.
Eyeing the greedy looks of the kender crew, the dwarven god turned to the smirking wizard. "Tattletale!"
"Me? You were the one that blew up my cover! Hear me out, I am not going to help you! I am sick of you all meddling in my affairs! All I wanted was to sleep in peace. Since you did not allow that, let me live in peace at least!"
"Yeh 'ave a duty ter carry out, Guardian! The Greygem…"
"It's your responsibility. You lost it again, you get it," sneered the wizard.
Instead of the angry growl the archmage had been expecting, the ousted captain snorted what might be a laugh and looked up at the human with shining, calculating eyes. "I know sumthing yeh don', boy."
"Probably, dwarf. Your kind always knows something we do not, mainly because it is of your doing. Now, farewell, godling. Enjoy the company of your past clangers' results."
Darkness surrounded the three men as magic landed them delicately on solid ground. At least that was what Raistlin thought. His nephews' opinion on the matter was likely very different, since none of them had ever travelled on the wings of a spell, and that did disagree with their un-wizardly stomachs.
"Shirak," murmured the archmage, amid the sound of retching. With a grimace, he thought Tanin and Sturm were sullying his sacred laboratory's floor with their vomit, but as he remembered that his own –and his blood– had also stained it long ago, he decided he would let it go this time. The poor boys seemed to be paying for their sacrilege hard enough; both were an unhealthy shade of green. "Um… Do you feel… er… better already?"
"This is your vengeance, isn't it, uncle Raistlin?" Sturm groaned. "I swear that I'll never make fun of you again when you get seasick."
"Your sickness is not of my doing, at least not intentionally. I think it's because you are not in the habit of teleporting and, sometimes, magic tends to act nastily on those of no magical nature."
"Remind me to never trust a magical weapon then," Tanin growled.
"I'll do that," said his uncle with a smirk. "Now come, I want to see if my servants still bake my favourite cookies."
When Raistlin opened the door, there was a burst of light and sound, and little pieces of coloured parchment floated in the air, around them. At the other side, there was a horrible, very mixed group of undead. Wichtlyns shacked rattles, ghosts catcalled, crawling hands beat tambourines, and ghouls and ghasts threw streamers. Two shadows held a colourful banner in which "WELCOME BACK, BOSS!" could be read in bold letters. The leader of the merry band was a spectre that had a key hanging around his insubstantial neck and who came forward to bow to the archmage.
"Welcome home, Master!" wailed happily the undead –those who could speak, that is.
Even the snarky archwizard could not be unmoved by such show of appreciation. He rubbed surreptitiously his teary eyes. "Oh, my boys, I'm also glad to be back."
"We knew you couldn't be dead, Master," cried a ghoul. "You know, it's a case of the proverbial…"
"Shut up, you dolt!" warned a fellow ghast with a hiss and an elbow to its ribs. "You want to end pulling up the weeds of the Grove with Rannoch?"
"Yeh look well, boss," said the spectre in order to distract the archmage's attention from its fellow's blunder. "Yeh seem ter 'ave put sum fat on yer bones an' light in yer eyes."
"Um, yes. What are you doing with the key of my lab around your neck?" asked Raistlin, frowning.
"Soddin' elf ordered me ter guard t'door. I s'ppose 'e didn't want yeh ter come back, but we knew yeh'd make it."
"Then who's looking after my…"
"Shalafi!" A wailing with a living quality to it cut him short. Shoving undead and living aside, a dark-robed figure made his way towards his master and threw himself to his knees before Raistlin. "You must put an end to it! Please, please!"
The archmage sneered, ready to chastise his former apprentice for his effrontery; he had told the dark elf in distinct terms he would remove the curse when he felt the pointy-eared peacock had earned it. However, the pathetic scene of the imploring Black Robe made –inexplicably– his heart bleed, and he could not help but think the elven mage's features were rather handsome, with his bright eyes, tear-stained cheeks, and moist lips… Shocked by those thoughts and the strange –and wholly inappropriate– images that shot through his mind, Raistlin mentally chastised himself. Where did those came from? He did not even stand the snivelling coward!
"What are you bawling about, you dolt?" he snapped, annoyed by the immediate pang of regret he felt upon saying such sharp words.
"My reputation as ladies' man is completely ruined! Jenna has dumped me and now she threatens to sue me for lying about my past!"
"And that should matter to me, how?" Raistlin drawled. It was hard for him to remain aloof before the imploring elf though.
Tanin, frowning, moved forward. "You shouldn't be so harsh, Uncle, after your history with him." The undead nodded sagely.
The archmage regarded them as if they had lost their minds. "What history?"
"That's what I mean, shalafi! Everybody is convinced we… we… I never did that! Never! I couldn't have known you at the time!"
"You know, Uncle, you're as bad as they say, treating so cruelly your former lover," added Sturm in a chiding tone.
The wizard blinked in bewilderment. "Uh?"
"Everybody thinks we were something of an item when you were young!" bemoaned Dalamar. "And… and I remember things that I know I never did! I'm not bisexual!"
As the elf uttered those anguished words, Raistlin felt the thoughts –memories, more like– he had been trying to apprehend but had stubbornly eluded him hiding in the darkest recesses of his mind coming forward with a vengeance. They were recollections of a past he had not remembered never before, a past where Dalamar was the lord of his heart, where he had loved and been loved… by a handsome, brave, and arrogant dark elf far different from the fop now kneeled before him.
"You also have those memories!" gasped his apprentice. The horrified elf proceeded to cry his eyes out.
"But this cannot be! I did not have them yesterday!" protested the archmage.
Tanin regarded him thoughtfully. "Now that you mention it, I think you're right. I don't remember being so sure you both had been boyfriends." The two mages glowered at him at hearing the last term.
"Yeah," added Sturm. "I remember fearing that Master Dalamar had a thing for Palin, but I would've been truly afraid if I had known the elf was a cradle snatcher."
"I would hardly be such a thing even if these recollections were true," snapped the Black Robe with a hateful look at the younger knight. "My dear Raistlin was a grown man when I seduced him," he sighed wistfully, then punched himself, horrified.
The younger knight murmured something about baby brothers/uncles and perverted elves.
"I suspect foul play," muttered the archwizard, ignoring his apprentice's disgraceful words. He could hardly punish the elf for his misplaced yearning when he himself felt the same. "Dougan! This is what he meant! That… that… dwarf!" he hissed, enraged.
Repressing the desire to kiss the delectable –idiot, idiot!– elf, he commanded him sharply to get up. "Prepare my quarters and have some of my favourite cookies backed, we will be back the moment we have seen to this matter."
Dalamar looked at him with adoring eyes. "You'll solve this, won't you, shalafi? I'll warm your bed for you when you return… Euh… I mean, I'll have your bed warmed!" Before the white-robed mage had time to reply, the distressed dark elf took to his heels down the stairs and into the darkness of the tower.
Raistlin shook his head and reined in his unwanted desire to chase the Head of the Black Robes and allow him to warm his bed. With a sigh that sounded like a growl, he gestured to his nephews to follow him back into the laboratory. He walked over a dark corner, towards a huge trunk. After opening the seemingly heavy lid with ease, he leant forward, rummaging inside. After a while, he nearly disappeared into the trunk in his eagerness to reach his prize.
Whereas the mage was ransacking for whatever he was looking for, the two knights looked around in rattled apprehension. The laboratory was every bit as forbidding as they had been told it was, crammed with glass jars full of bodily parts of unknown beings, shelves bursting of books covering a significant part of the walls, the table of black stone nearly crowding one half of the room. The thick dust made it even gloomier; no one knew what sorcery, darkness, time, and grime might have bred while Raistlin had been gone. Overall, the room emanated the feeling it was a very magical place, therefore they felt quite ill at ease.
The grinning guardian staring friendly at them from the door did not help to assuage their discomfort.
"A-ha!" exclaimed the current owner of the daunting place. "Here it is." He lifted from inside the truck a strange gold-and-crimson helmet, then he pulled with all his forces and tried to take out the rest of an assembled armour suit. He managed with the help of his nephews.
"What strange armour! It's heavier than any other I seen before!" Tanin commented, eyeing appreciatively the suit. Its manufacture was also peculiar, very fine, but outlandish.
"I wonder what's this," his brother pointed to a round, darkened area in the palm of the heavy-looking gauntlet.
"Oh, I seem to recall these were the outlets of the repulsive rays or something like that. I never finished reading the instructions," explained Raistlin. He pressed a part of the breastplate and the armour… opened with a hiss, as if it were stripping itself down, but only just to allow someone to enter it. There was strange, soft, coloured light and weird sounds coming from the inside.
"You said magic could be nasty towards non-magic-users, Uncle Raistlin," said the elder knight, taking a step back. He pulled back his brother, who had leaned forward to better see what was inside the suit.
"This is no magic, Nephew," explained the archamage as he eyed his old favourite chair with a grimace of disgust. A wave of his hand and one short spell later, he sat on the good-as-new seat. "Some time ago, I dabbled into summoning beings from other planes. In one occasion, my magic brought here the wearer of this armour. I cannot remember his name, but I recall he was a drunkard and he suggested exchanging the suit for a bottle of my best wine. He told me he was tired of avenging people or something along these lines. So I gave him the bottle, and he taught me the basics about the armour, then left."
"And what became of him?" Sturm asked.
Raistlin shook his head. "I don't know. I was too entertained with the novelty of the suit at the moment to notice his departure. Now that I think about it, I don't recall my servants reporting anyone leaving the Tower at the time… so he possibly died in his way out the Grove," he murmured pensively, then brightened. "But don't worry about him, he was so drunk at that stage it was likely that he didn't suffer at all. My retainers are shift in dealing death to those who haven't roused my wrath."
"Good to know it," Tanin muttered. Louder, he added, "I thought your… creepies didn't attack those who left the Tower."
"Only if I say so," replied the mage. His malevolent smirk made the brothers shudder, and he laughed openly at their alarmed expressions. "None of that now, my dear nephews. I have mended my ways, haven't I?"
The two brothers joined him with their own nervous laughter.
"Well, let's find Dalamar." He nearly bit his tongue at the longing tone he had used to pronounce the name. "He will provide you, Sturm, with accommodations while Tanin and I go to regain the Greygem."
"That means that I won't be coming back to the Miracle with you?" asked the younger knight. At his uncle's affirmative answer, he uttered a loud "yippee!" and laughed in delight.
"I thought you wanted to come with us," commented the archmage, a frown on his brow.
"Not if that means I have to be teleported back!" said the warrior.
Tanin, who had paled at the reminder of what awaited him, looked at the sighing wizard. "Dougan said the Graygem was in a tropical island, and that we'd fry in our armours. This one is also of metal…"
"It has internal refrigeration, I caught a nasty cold trying it. Don't worry, I'll teach you to activate the help mode later.
The warrior groaned in dismay.
"I hate teleportation," Tanin growled as he purged again his empty stomach. Luckily for him, his new armour had internal cleaning system so that he did not drown in his own vomit.
"I agree," groaned Dougan as he did the same as the human, sans the armour. He threw a poisonous glare to the unruffled wizard that, smirk in his lips, studied absently the surroundings where they had appeared.
"Would you have preferred to berth close to the beach, allowing thus the pesky kender to land as well? Since that thing doesn't have any boat, we're safe here from their thieving hands." Raistlin pointed the distant Miracle, marvelling at the fact that such a… craft could stay afloat. Maybe it was that Zeboim, the wild queen of the seas, did not want that kind of junk to soil her seabed.
The Majere's stay at the Tower of High Sorcery had been brief, which agreed with the archmage. The closeness of Dalamar had been driving him round the bend, quickly eroding his willpower to the point he almost did not give a damn and took up the former steamy relationship that had never taken place. Or that he tried to assure himself over and over. As time passed, however, the past he regarded as true became blurrier and vaguer, sharpening his sordid history with the elf. Getting away as farther as possible allowed him to think as the burning desire dulled into a grievous longing.
He had been right. Dougan knew what the ailment they suffered was, but had been adamant in remaining tight-lipped about it until Raistlin helped him to obtain back the Greygem. Angry and aching, the archwizard knew better than threatening the avatar of Reorx while aboard a gnomish ship full of kender. With his luck, he would be stuck with them forever and ever. Therefore, he had agreed to help the dwarf.
"I thought the god of dwarves would be more resilient than that," commented Tanin as Dougan wiped his lips with the sleeve of his ruined fancy dress coat.
"Magic an' dwarves, ev'n godly ones, don't mix well, lad," grumbled the short man.
Raistlin came down the tree he had climbed in order to see where they should head for. Usually, he would have made a show of pondering over the matter, researching into arcane tomes, and using foreign magic to solve it, thus increasing his aura of mystery and erudite reputation. However, since he was in a hurry to get rid of those unwanted feelings, he decided to dispense with the act and to resort directly to common –and quicker– means. "We must go that way."
"Have you felt the magic of the Greygem, Uncle?" The voice of the younger Majere came out inhuman from inside the golden and crimson helmet.
The mage, already dripping with sweat in his now dirty robes, shook his head. He would have loved to strip off the wet garments, whatever to feel a dash of fresh air over his overheated skin, but he was too shy, even only in the presence of his nephew and an entity he was sure had witnessed worse things. Anyway, he was not sure nudity would provide him any relief in this damned hot, humid isle. "The isle is supersaturated with magic, so trying to pinpoint a higher concentration is useless. There's a high tower that way though."
"Oh."
"I don't see any track," Dougan growled. If Raistlin felt stifled by his simple linen robe, he guessed the dwarf, still wearing his full, faded regalia, was close to collapsing. It seemed that Reorx –or this incarnation of his– was even shier than him. No wonder, with that fashion sense.
"Tanin will open one for us," the wizard said with a half smile.
"But, Uncle, I don't have any blade to make our way."
"You simply walk on, Nephew."
The knight did, the powerful armour he wore beating a path through the undergrowth, crushing thickets and trees equally under his heels. In no time, they crossed the jungle, leaving a clear track behind and exterminating several species unknown to the rest of Krynn, to make it to the tower roughly in the centre of the island.
Raistlin had thought the Tower of the Stars in Silvanesti had been hideous after Lorac persisted in transforming his realm into an undead festival, but it was nothing compared to the construction gruesomely twisted by the magic of the Graygem. It reminded him of the building style they had in the Abyss. The humongous door was as unwelcoming as the rest of the tower, changing its form every now and then.
"Tanin, blast the door away with one of the repulsive rays, as we tested with Dalamar's mannequins," ordered the elder Majere.
"Aye, Uncle!" The knight raised his gauntleted hand, pointing his palm to what his uncle insisted that was a door and issued the mental command. Nothing happened though. "Uh, Uncle Raistlin. It doesn't work anymore. Here it reads 'out of battery', whatever it means. Um, it read 'low battery' before, I wonder why it has changed..."
"Damn, the energy that drives the suit has run out. Good timing!" snorted the archwizard and helped his nephew to come out inside the armour, now too heavy for the young man to move.
Dougan eyed the mage condescendingly. "Maybe yeh should've recharged it?"
"I wonder how I could. I don't even know what a socket is."
Before the dwarf could reply, the doors opened and the head of a woman came out. She glanced at them, her eyes stopping briefly at both humans appreciatively and completely disregarding Dougan, and grinned.
"Hey, girls, the strippers are here!"
"I don't think this is a good idea, mage," whispered Dougan to the human next to him. They were off stage, hidden by the curtains, glancing dismayed at Raistlin's nephew dancing around a pole amid the whistling and cheering of a legion of eager women.
"Well, I haven't heard any better from you yet," hissed the wizard trying to devise a plan to get the Graygem those perverted women had hung from the ceiling so the magical stone spun around itself reflecting the light from the blue-flamed torches before Tanin ran out of garments to take off. He shuddered at the thought; that would mean he would have to go on stage. "Magic doesn't work properly under the influence of that damned rock and we are far outnumbered. Our only chance is to snatch it up and scarper. Jump higher, Tanin, you're almost there," he whispered loudly to his nephew.
The knight cast him a desperate glance.
"By Takhisis's fillings, he can't reach it!"
"Hey, here you are," said a sultry voice from behind the two horrified spectators. "Get ready, handsome, it's your turn next. I hope your number is as good as your pal's. He's driving them crazy. I don't know why you brought with you this ugly dwarf though. Perhaps he's your agent?"
Raistlin, recognising the obscenely dulcet tones, tried to hide his face behind his auburn locks and turn away from the speaker. "That's right," he said gruffly, trying to alter his usual soft voice.
Dougan frowned, looking up from the blushful mage to the skimpy-attired, bat-winged woman speaking to them. "Um, yeah, Dougan Redhammer, agent o' strippers. Pleased ter meet yeh."
"I'm Barbie, owner of Gargath Luxury Resort. I'm sorry I couldn't welcome you, I was a mite busy abducting a teenage girl from one of the local villages."
"Abductin'?" The dwarf's frown nearly touched his beard.
The busty woman laughed airily. "I know how it sounds, but it's not like that. You see, the former owner of the tower ─a horrible old man named Gargath─ had taken prisoner all the women of the isle to entertain himself. They rebelled against the fart and locked him away, then decided to keep the place for themselves and don't go back to their enslaving life as wives. When I arrived here, however, they were bored out of their minds, so I offered them a deal they couldn't refuse and turned that dreary place into this haven of entertainment. As a girl is beginning to reach adulthood, I rescue her from men's clutches and bring her here for her to join her fellow women."
The avatar of Reorx looked up at the enterprising demon in amazement. He was to say something, but a mighty uproar shook the walls and a stark naked Tanin covering himself the best he could ran away offstage shouting, "Please, ladies, let me go! I mustn't break my vows!"
Barbie turned to the wizard, grabbing him by the arm as he seemed ready to dash after the other human. "Your turn, heart-throb... Hey, you're my former master! How sweet, coming back to your loving succubus..."
"No way!" Raistlin shrieked, slapping away the arms that tried to enfold him. In his hurry to get away from Barbie, he stepped back on the stage.
A hullabaloo of whistles, cheers, and shouts assaulted him immediately. Deafened, blinded by the sharp sparkles of light on the Greygem, he turned around, to face the leering stares of what he thought hundreds of females. He tried to move, to get away from the stage, but he was paralysed with fright. He felt his face burn with shame, and his limbs heavy and quivering at the same time. This was one of his worst nightmares coming true.
"Hey, wizard, show us what you wear under your robes!" shouted an anonymous voice. A chorus of 'yes' and 'yeah' followed.
"He's a shy one!" shouted a voice. "Here, this will help you!" A coin landed near his boot.
This was shameful! The coin was not even a steel piece. He had to do something, anything, or that throng of women would got bored of not getting what they wanted and would take the matter in their hands. But he was unable to move. He felt like crying and calling his sweet Dalamar for help, not caring how wrong he would have considered that thought merely a few minutes ago.
The Greygem glinted malevolently well above his head, out of reach, and Raistlin felt it inflaming the audience. The damned rock knew who he was and what he had come to do here, and apparently did not like it. With a mighty effort of will, he summoned his staff to his hand, spurred into action by the approaching hands. Maybe he could bash the Greygem hard enough to make it drop. Or not.
"Look, he's no White Robe!"
"He's Raistlin Majere!"
Looking down to his hands he realised the damned lump of stone had made his golden shade appear. Cursing in every language he knew, the archmage tried to get rid of the paws that grabbed his robes and dodge those approaching as he brandished the Staff of Magius. He had to strike!
"We'll cure you of your queerness, hottie!"
The roaming hands were dragging him down, away from the twinkling stone. He felt its rejoicing as the Staff was snatched from his fist, a sharp ache in his temples drowning the gleeful cheers and gasps of delight. He also felt his robes ripping, but he could not see anything, he was suffocating, buried under a sea of hands.
"Uncle!" he heard, far, far away.
The Greygem sparkled again, and Raistlin felt himself lose his grasp on consciousness.
Dalamar... was his last thought before darkness claimed him.
Tanin surveyed the destruction that swooped on Gargath Luxury Resort. Of what had been a mighty but horrendous tower, only a decapitated and ruined building remained, and he was glad to see it razed. In the distance, he also saw the hole bored into the former inactive volcano, now awakened again from its age-old slumber. It made known its fury bellowing smoke and shaking the earth.
The knight wore a leopard loincloth, the only article of clothing he had managed to salvage from the dressing rooms. However, he was in no danger of being assaulted by lecherous women, not anymore; all of them had fled in terror upon the destruction of their haven and the disclosure of its ruin's architect. He missed the feminine attention, though, even if it had been almost the death of his uncle. Looking down, he glanced at Raistlin, who studied the scene with a pensive frown on his scratched face.
The new attire of the archwizard did not go well with his male build, hanging too loosely around his shoulders and not covering much of his thin torso. It was Barbie's black robe ─now white with a dark hemline─ which he had wrenched away from her. Anyway, the succubus had seemed not to have any objection to roam naked. Quite the opposite, she had tried to use it to seduce the worn out mage, but he had pushed her away with threats of striking her down with his staff. The pouting demon had snarled something about "sodding fairy wizards" and left for the closest village.
"It's a pity the Greygem got away amidst the confusion," sighed the younger Majere.
At his side, his uncle snorted. "I don't give a damn about that treacherous stone."
Dougan, eyes fixed on the volcano, growled an unintelligible comment.
"You were very lucky Tas and his kender crashed into the tower just then, Uncle."
"Too lucky, I must say," grumbled the dwarf. "Too much coincidence. An' I'd swear t'ship didn't fly 'afore." He narrowed his eyes.
"I couldn't care less," said Raistlin. "Just tell me what you know about this thing my apprentice and me are suffering and let us be gone."
For a moment, it seemed that Dougan would refuse, but then nodded reluctantly. "Yeh did yer part o' the agreement, e'en if we didn't manage. Alright, yeh go to Astinus' an' ask 'im."
"What! That's everything you have to say? You... you... cheating scoundrel!" the wizard spat in anger. "I would have gone to the Library anyway! Now I remember why I hate the gods so much. I wish your forge gets invaded by an army of kender!" The seething archmage and his nephew disappeared, taken away by the magic of the former.
Alone in this site of desolation, the avatar of Reorx sighed. He had lost not a bet, but two. Again.
He wondered if Sargonass would be willing to bet on how long took a crew of kender to sink an island.
Next: Sturm has a big problem, and Salvador a plan! An ugly truth is revealed and Tandar's fate too!