Chapter 7

Roltan listened carefully as Dalamar explained the situation. The Elf's words were fast, rushed almost, and there was a hint of a warm flush just beneath his pale skin. When he finally paused for breath, Roltan held up a hand to stem the flow of words.

"What you are suggesting is a very long, arduous process that may very well drive you and your master to distraction long before you finish." he explained gently. "The resurrection of an individual who has died last week takes the better part of a month to complete, and even then there is a requirement for extensive physical therapy and mental assistance for weeks, even years afterwards. Memory loss is common, and emotional instability rampant. There is no telling what the fallout would be from an undertaking as involved as you are referring to, Dalamar."

"By your own admission we have nothing but time, my Lord. Will you speak with my Shalafi?"

Roltan sighed, looking down at the unruffled pool spread out before him in the moonlight. His pale skin glistened in the haunted blue light, the shadows of tree branches scattered across his eyes. Dalamar lowered himself to the ground at the vampire's feet, sitting cross-legged on the soft grass.

"Your master...he is relatively focused." Roltan noted carefully.

Dalamar almost smiled. The statement was so beautifully far off the mark.

"My Shalafi is the very epitome of intensity. I have never known him to relax. At least, not until recent events..." he trailed off, looking out over the pond. A strange gentleness touched his heart, and he picked up a willow twig from the grass at his feet, studying the intricate leaves. Roltan sighed.

"You know, I had heard a great deal about young Master Majere and his apprentice before the two of you arrived here, but nothing that did either one of you any justice. He is truly a power to be reckoned with, and you..."

Dalamar looked sharply up at him.

"What about me?"

"Take no offense, Dark Elf. I was about to say that you seem a great deal softer and kinder than I was led to believe. Are you truly the same individual who killed his master's sister, who gave all the world of Krynn good reason to hate and fear him even as he strove for ever greater power by betraying his teacher to the Conclave?"

Dalamar looked away, anger making his eyes darken.

"I am. I mean, I was. Before the plague." he found himself opening up to Lord Roltan, the words coming forth in a sudden gush as though draining from a deep wound. "I don't know why I stayed with my Shalafi when the plague struck. Maybe it was because I thought that I would be all right in the end if I didn't stray too far. Everyone was dying, stinking, clogging the streets and the water supplies with their bodies. The water turned to poison but people were burning with fever and drank it anyway. There was fear everywhere, and horror. The clerics died first, found bloated and stiff in their temples by shocked followers. Then the worshippers of Paladin. All the good and kind folk of the world seemed to be fading, their eyes failing, their bodies falling apart. We still do not know why. There was sickness everywhere, and the people of balance began to die. We knew we were next. My Shalafi did not call to me, but yet I sought him in the darkest places of the world. It was widely believed that he was being tormented in the Abyss, but with the disappearance of the gods he was freed. I found him, bleeding and furious and terribly weak, at the Inn of the Last Home. His brother's son was already dead, and Caramon was too ill to rise from his bed." Dalamar felt a lump rising in his throat, and he closed his eyes against the sting of tears. Roltan knelt beside him on the grass, and the vampire's hand was gentle on Dalamar's shoulder.

"Go on."

After drawing a deep breath, Dalamar continued.

"I came over the hill in the evening and saw him. Tika had done her best to tend his wounds and he was wearing some of Caramon's clothes. But the blood, the blood was still coming. His back was oozing pus and blood and the wounds would not heal. He'd been flogged, among other things. Tika didn't know what to do, and Raistlin was never a very cooperative patient. He was struggling to cut wood for the house, but could barely lift the axe. I ran to him and took the axe, and he stared at me as though I were a ghost. Tika came out of the house. She didn't say a word, just came to Raistlin and compelled him to go inside. I cut the wood and carried it in, boiled water, cleaned my Shalafi's wounds properly and applied the proper herbs. He slept for two days, and I slept on a cot beside his bed. Then we rose, and began making it more comfortable for his family to die."

He fell silent, and Roltan did not speak. They looked out over the night-cloaked garden together. Somewhere deep in the woods a curlew called mournfully, followed by another distant call from even farther away.

The night around them was cool and close, the moonlight glinting off the pond and the flashing willow leaves and the tears running down Dalamar's white cheeks.

Finally Roltan broke the stillness.

"What you did was very brave, Elf. It was more than that, in fact. If your fellow countrymen had any decency at all, they would have allowed you to return to your home for the goodness that hides within your heart. You and your Shalafi were wasted in Krynn. Here, you will be properly respected and treated well."

"Will you help my Shalafi resurrect his family?"

"I will do what I can, though it may well invoke the wrath of the gods."

"He may be mad, you know."

"Raistlin? Yes, I have no doubt that he is, to an extent. But I will still assist him. You, Dalamar, for your part I would have you help him to heal. His heart has been bruised, his pride shattered, his whole life a study in suffering. You are in a position to ease his turmoil. I suggest that you do this."

Dalamar nodded slowly, hope rising in his heart.

"I will never abandon him, Lord Roltan. Never."

The necromancer stood up.

"I know that you have a great dislike for my kind, Dalamar. If it is any consolation to you, I only embraced the teachings of the discipline to help the mortals around me escape their condition. We're not all bad."

"I have heard that you are a twin, and that your brother possesses great power as well..."

Was it a trick of the light, or did Roltan's eyes suddenly flash dangerously? Dalamar drew back almost imperceptibly, his hand going to his side to grasp a dagger hilt that wasn't there.

But the moment passed, and Roltan smiled tiredly.

"My brother is not like me." he said simply, and turned away.

When Dalamar let himself back into the laboratory, he was relieved to see that Raistlin was fast asleep. The mage lay sprawled across the wide bed, a fold of the goose-down comforter haphazardly pulled across his chest with one gold hand. A single candle still sputtered in its silver holder, and Dalamar limped over to light a few more. He sat down at the table.

The wine bottle was empty, but there was still half a glass before him. He picked it up, inhaling the stringent fruitiness of the foreign libation.

"This is exhausting." he murmured.

"Poor Elf, so tired and so in pain." purred Aegis, padding out from beneath the bed. Her slim cat's body elongated languidly, stretching up into the visual delight that was her human form. She sat down beside him, the heat of her closeness distracting.

"I had thought you were out hunting, Lady." Dalamar said softly, watching the way the candlelight made shadows play across the woman's feline features.

"And who says that I am not?" she asked silkily.

"I would make very poor prey tonight, I'm afraid."

"Yes, you do rather look all in, as it were. Can I interest you in a very long nap? They seem to make absolutely everything better."

"Spoken like a true cat. Will I have to curl up on the foot of the bed?"

"Certainly not, precious Elf. The divan is more than adequate. And I shall be there to keep you warm."

Dalamar eyed her, a stirring of interest making his stomach tingle. She was definitely enchanting, but he was far too exhausted to properly return her advances this evening. He flashed her a tired smile.

"Take me to bed, Lady. But try not to expect too much. I've had rather a rough week."

Aegis stood up, taking his hand in hers and pulling him to his feet. She led him over to the luxuriant couch, already spread with a variety of soft blankets. He did not resist as she gently undressed him and helped him to lie down on the cool satin. Aegis turned away to blow out the candles, and there was darkness.

He felt her approach him, the blankets drawn back and a slim body pressing next to his, only to be replaced in a matter of moments with a warm little lump of fur.

"I wouldn't dream of claiming weakened prey." she growled next to his ear, and nuzzled the side of his head with her small dry nose. Dalamar scratched her head sleepily, closing his eyes.

"I have no doubt that I will present you with an adequate challenge after a bit of rest." he whispered, feeling himself drifting off. The last thing he thought of before falling asleep was the sound of the servants bathing his Shalafi, and he smiled at the memory of the arch-mage's discomfiture.

Roltan waited a decent interval before re-entering the lab, his mind miles away. The conversation he'd had with Dalamar troubled him deeply. It was the thought of defying the gods that caused a small stab of worry in his chest, and nothing beyond that.

"I really had thought that the days of trouble would be over." he mused aloud. His silver eyes flicked to the rows upon rows of potion ingredients and medicinal unguents. There sat a jar of leaves from the Silverthorne bush, the rarest herb in all the land. It was vital in the reanimation of a body, having exceptional powers to recirculate and oxygenate the bloodstream. In a little green bottle there was a small measure of water from the Moon Pool on Aeshalon, a sacred spring that was rumored to be the birthplace of the Gods themselves. It could pull the soul back into the body, however long the two entities had been apart. Roltan sat down on a wine-colored velvet settee, looking at his hands. These hands were so capable, so experienced. They'd held newborn babes and beating hearts, dying children, wounded Dracs, sleeping cats and giggling faeries. His hands had been used, throughout his long life, primarily to heal.

His brother's had been used to hurt.

Roltan leaned back with a sigh, closing his bright eyes.

Bringing back the contents of even a single family from some other realm was a vastly difficult undertaking, and would undoubtedly disturb the Gods beyond understanding.

But for Raistlin, the strange feverish arch-mage from Krynn, he was willing to make the attempt.