Disclaimer: None of the characters mentioned in this chapter belong to me,
with the exceptions of: Josephi, Catherine, and the midwife. The title of
the chapter belongs to Simon and Garfunkle, my muses. It's the fourth line
in their song, "Patterns".
Like The Pieces of A Puzzle, Or A Child's Uneven Scrawl
Dalamar's face was tight with barely contained fury as he stormed into the Tower at Wayreth. Par-Salian was shocked when he entered the main hall to greet his guest to see the dark elf's normally emotionless demeanor broken. "Can I help you, Dalamar?" Par-Salian's query was cautious.
"A little late for that question, isn't it, 'Oh Wise One'?" Dalamar's thin face was even paler than normal, with brilliant red spots of anger, and he made Par-Salian's title drip with sarcasm.
Par-Salian gave the head of the Black Robes a puzzled look. "What ever are you talking about? Whatever it is, I'm sure we can fix it."
"Now, if you'd only told me that about, say fifteen years ago?" The dark elf seemed to grow bigger in his fury. He subtly tossed two balls of flash powder to either side. On making contact with the floor, two pillars of fire licked the ceiling. Dalamar counted the use of flash powder as one of the most helpful things he was taught by Raistlin. With his swift movements, to the Head of the Conclave, it would seem as though the fire was triggered by the dark elf's emotions alone.
Dalamar smiled eerily, the fires casting ominous shadows over the planes of his fine-boned face. "Still don't know what I'm talking about? Maybe, you could explain to me why today while scrying for family members, I happened across a young lady with all of my features? You know," his voice dripped with cynicism. "If it wasn't for her rounded ears, I would guess she was my daughter. Might you know anything about this, 'Master' Par-Salian?"
Dalamar's voice, though fairly quiet, held menace; more menace then Par- Salian had heard since Raistlin was banished to the Abyss. "Now Dalamar, let's not be hasty." Par-Salian's voice held that calming tone of an adult trying to calm a child with a temper tantrum. Unfortunately, Dalamar did not take kindly to being treated like a child.
"Hasty? You call fifteen years hasty? Now, why don't you tell me who that girl was, and why I didn't know about her." Dalamar's voice was as sharp as a Solamnic's sword.
"Well, you see, it's kind of a long story..." Par-Salian was obviously wasting time by being purposely circumloquatious.
"I for one have time; several hundred years in fact. You, on the other hand..."
"Right." Par-Salian was not sure whether to take Dalamar's statement as a veiled threat or as a simple statement referring to the longevity of elves. "Well, you see, it all started fifteen years ago, when I heard this story from a healer woman...
Nearly Sixteen Years Ago:
Kitiara uth Matar paced her luxurious room, every once in a while hurling a glass at the wall. All the while, she was cursing fluently, in many different languages. Suddenly, a knock on the door interrupted the Highlord's tirade. "My Lady?"
It was Kit's new toy, an admiral named Josephi, and the last person on Krynn she wanted to see now. "My Lady, what's wrong?"
Kit could stand it no longer. She stormed to the door and yanked it open. "Go away!" she shrieked. "Did I say I wanted to see you? No! My door is closed! Where I come from, that usually indicates a need for privacy. Leave now, before I demote you!" Kitiara slammed the door in the young man's shocked face.
When she heard him walk away, Kit sank onto her bed. "I just need to be alone," she whispered to herself, and then, Kitiara uth Matar, the Blue Lady, the woman of iron, broke down sobbing for only the third time in her life.
"How could this be happening to me?" Her question, though asked out loud was not aimed at anyone. "Why me? Why now?" Suddenly, Kit sat up with a start. Lord Soth had just floated through the wall, and after Josephi, he was the last person she wanted to see. Not only would he not understand, but he would *know*, and in knowing would say something. By voicing it, the truth would become undeniable.
Kitiara attempted to wipe her face. "Please, just go away." Soth nearly did, simply because of his shock at Kit's 'please'. However, true to form as an evil spectre, he did not.
"Anything wrong, my dear?" Soth's voice was sardonic, knowing exactly what the problem was. That was just enough to push Kit over the edge again.
"Just shut up! Shut up! You bastard, you have no emotions or caring at all! Can't you leave me alone for just a while? Go!" Kit's tirade ended in a shriek, and as Soth left, smirking, she collapsed again into shameful tears.
How was she going to deal with it this time? Who would have known, after all of those carefree years that this was going to happen, not just once, but thrice! Suddenly, Kit broke into hysterical laughter at the horrible irony of it.
'Yes,' she thought to herself. 'It is true. I can deny it no longer. I'm having another child. Me!' Suddenly, another mood swing hit her, and she started sobbing again. 'Me. Why me?'
It was then that Kitiara found out the true problem with living near an evil undead spectre. Lord Soth floated through the wall again, still smirking. And then, in that utterly infuriating manner of his, Soth read her mind.
Soth's voice dripped with false caring. "Well, Darling, when someone has as many lovers as you do, it's kind of hard not to get pregnant once in a while! Whose is it, by the way?"
"But why!?" was all that Kit managed to get out.
Soth grinned widely. "Well, Dearest, when a man and a woman really love each other..." His grin got even bigger when Kit cut him off by hurling a glass through him onto the wall. "Well, it seems as though someone's not feeling very social today!" Soth gave Kitiara a mocking bow, and he floated through the floor.
Many Months Later:
Kitiara drilled her troops vigorously, making them run back and forth endlessly. Anyone caught lagging was put to death. Finally, she shrieked for them to stop. That was something Kit had recently gotten very good at; shrieking. When the soldiers slowed to a walk, panting, Josephi walked over to Kit.
The young man was in excellent shape, and was barely breathing hard at all. "Kit, Love, you look pale. Do you need to sit or something? You look a bit ill..." Josephi's caring was not appreciated by the pregnant woman, who by now was swelling up like a ripe melon.
Kit whipped her sword out of its sheath faster than the eye could see. She waved it menacingly in front of the young man's face. "I'm fine, you hear? If I need help, I'll ask for it." Kit refrained from saying why she might need help; though it was hard not to see now, it was an unspoken law that no one was to mention Kit's pregnancy. She'd already beheaded several young men who'd made the mistake to comment a bit too loudly.
Suddenly, she felt a sharp spasm in her abdomen. She bit her lip to keep from crying out, and then felt blood pour from the bite. Suddenly, she realized: she was going into labor! From the other two times she'd been pregnant, she guessed that her water would break relatively soon. She grabbed Josephi's rapidly retreating arm.
"Come!" Kit snapped at the surprised admiral. Without actually saying she needed help, she leaned on him, steering him toward her fortress. She had just gotten to her room when Kit felt warm liquid gush down her leg. She quickly shed her ruined breeches with her usual lack of modesty.
With the calm authority of one who's already given birth a couple of times, she levered Josephi to her side for support as she squatted and waited for the next contraction. It came all too soon, and Josephi gasped in pain as Kitiara got a death grip on his arm until the pain passed.
It wasn't long before not even Kit could hold back her screams of agony. "Go!" she managed to gasp. "Get a healer. Not a cleric. A healing woman from town." For a second, Josephi hesitated, nervous about leaving his lover. "Go!" Kit managed to yell, even in her condition.
Kit was glad, not for the first time that Josephi was in such good shape. It was no longer than half an hour before the admiral came back, healer in tow, though to Kit it felt like half a week. By that time, Kit was no longer able to support herself during the contractions, and had gone to lie down on the bed.
When the midwife came in and saw Kit, she promptly chided her. "Young woman, why are you lying down? Let gravity do the work for you! Up you go!" Kitiara, surprised by the woman's brusque, business-like way of ordering her around, got up immediately. It was a mistake, however, as at that instant, another contraction ripped through Kit's body. She flailed, and cried out.
Brusque though she was, the healer knew her trade. She was at Kit's side in an instant, holding her elbow and giving her a place to grip. To her credit, the healer barely flinched at the Highlord's iron-like grip. The healer motioned for Josephi to take Kit's arm while checked Kit's dilation. The healer shook her head. Though she'd never say so, she doubted the other woman would live through the pregnancy, and she doubted the child would either.
Suddenly, Josephi and the healer looked up as Kit made an odd choking sound. Her eyes rolled back in her head, but her body stayed upright. Her eyes completely white, Kit started to make an odd keening noise. Abruptly, the awful sound stopped. However, what came next was even more disturbing. In a voice sounding much deeper and more masculine, but yet at the same time higher and more feminine, Kitiara spoke.
Or something did. "A child of two worlds, a child of one. A child of two faiths; a child of none. The world torn; as is the soul. One shall shatter; the other be made whole." The *thing* stopped it's chanting only to go into it's horrible keening once more. Finally, the noise stopped, and Kit collapsed. Thankfully, as she fainted, the baby slid out into the midwife's surprised hands.
Not surprisingly, to this day, neither midwife nor admiral could tell which sound was worse: the shrill, eardrum shattering shrieks, or the voice that was neither masculine nor feminine, but both, neither rough nor smooth but both, and neither melodious nor painful yet both. However, both knew they never wanted to hear either sound again, as long as they lived.
The midwife was a sensible woman, though and soon recovered. She thrust the baby into Josephi's surprised arms and went about the task of reviving the new mother. When Kit woke up, half in a daze, the midwife made her stand again, and encouraged her to push once more.
Josephi, thinking that Kit was giving birth to twins went dutifully to his knees, ready to catch the second child. Unfortunately for him, there was no twin. Apparently, Josephi didn't know about the afterbirth. Kit had another rapid contraction and having not moved, even after the midwife yelled at him, Josephi found himself covered in blood, mucous, and other fluids.
Though immensely tired, the half conscious Kit could not help but laugh at the admiral, covered in slime, holding the baby like a sack of potatoes. A sack of precious potatoes, perhaps, but a sack of potatoes none the less.
Finally, the midwife had both mother and child cleaned up, and Kit comfortable on her bed. Slightly more awake, Kit motioned for her baby. The midwife handed over the squalling package. Happily, Kit looked her child over. "A girl. My first girl!" Suddenly, as her eyes were able to focus more, she saw something about her new daughter's features. Her face turned sheet white. "No! I thought so, but hoped not."
"What is it, dear?" The midwife's tone was more kind now that Kit was finished with her ordeal.
"It can't be! It just can't!" The midwife put a comforting hand on the new mother's shoulder. "Dalamar." That was all that Kit said before she sank once more into the dark oblivion of a faint.
The midwife made a sign against evil, a horrified look on her face. And so it came that the midwife sought out the Forest of Wayreth, and the master of the Tower there. She related her story to him, as she'd heard and seen it. Listening sympathetically, the Master, Par-Salian considered her story. And then, the woman told Par-Salian of the beautiful, horrible voice and it's ominous prophesy. With the words of the prophesy, Par- Salian became quite worried. It would seem as if the child would destroy the world for her own gain.
Then, the midwife brought up an interesting point. It was quite doubtful that Kitiara would want to keep her child. She'd most likely want to foster it, as she'd done with her previous two children. For a bag of gold, and a charm with slight healing properties, the woman agreed to bring the child to Par-Salian.
The woman was correct in her assessment of Kitiara, and the next week, the Forest of Wayreth found the midwife with Kitiara's daughter in her arms. For about four years, the child was taken care of by mages and clerics while she still needed breast milk. Her Elven heritage became more and more evident with every passing day. At the end of those four years, she was about the size of a human child ready to be weaned.
At the end of those four years, Par-Salian had made up his mind. He had to get rid of the child. Dalamar still didn't know about her, and Kit couldn't care less what happened to the child. He could not take the risk that she would destroy his world! The world he loved was in jeopardy! He could not sit around and do nothing.
So, that afternoon, he called Ladonna, Head of the Order of the Black Robes, to the nursery where they were keeping the child. He quietly told Ladonna of his plan: he would open a gateway to another world, and drop the child through. That would be the end of the whole affair. The world would not have the same magics as Krynn, so even if she learned magic there, she would have no way to get back.
Ladonna shook her head. "Par-Salian, you can't do this! Prophesies are chancy, and you don't even know if the prophesy is referring to her! Please."
Par-Salian shook his head. "I'm sorry, Ladonna, but I have thought it out, and I believe that this is the only way."
Neither adult noticed when the child's eyes opened slightly, betraying her consciousness. "Are you sure? I mean, she's just a child!" Ladonna seemed horrified at the thought.
"Of course I'm sure! It's obvious she's *their* child. How could the prophesy not be referring to her?" The White Robe's voice was determined.
"Just give her a chance. You can't honestly mean to banish her! And anyway, what if the world she's put into doesn't have any elves? What then?"
Par-Salian proudly took out a scroll. "I've already thought of that. This will sever the tips of her ears and heal them. She shouldn't feel to much."
Ladonna looked shocked. "Par-Salian! Have you know heart? You're supposed to be the White Robe, the good one! You're taking away who she is. And, on top of that, you said she *shouldn't* feel *much*! What does that mean? Hasn't your spell been tested?"
Par-Salian looked slightly embarrassed. "Well, no, not on sentient beings. But it seemed to work fine on the rats!"
"You monster! How can you do this?" Ladonna was now screeching, but Par- Salian paid her no heed. He was already holding one of the child's pointed ears gently. He murmured a few words in the spidery language of magic and the tip of the girl's ear came off.
The child screamed a heart-wrenching sound, and Ladonna could barely stop herself from assassinating the Head of the Conclave. With another couple of words, the ear healed nicely. It was now rounded, and only an expert would be able to tell there had been horrible surgery performed upon it.
Ignoring Ladonna's choked gasp, Par-Salian ruthlessly did the same for her other ear. When he was done, the child pulled away from the mage's firm grasp and curled up in a ball of pain.
Par-Salian then looked over another scroll quickly, and raised his hands. Ladonna cut in. "Par-Salian, what are you doing? She's been through a lot. Let her stay with us just another couple of weeks. Please!" Ladonna's voice was pleading.
However, Par-Salian shook his head. "I'm sorry, Ladonna. It has to be now or never. Now, you must help me. I used too much strength cutting her ears. Do not make me force you, as you know I'm perfectly capable of doing."
Sadly, Ladonna moved into position. She knew he was right, unfortunately. Within seconds, the two had opened a portal in front of a building that Ladonna guessed was an orphanage. She gently laid the child on the steps, placing on top of her a letter to the owners of the building. Sadly, she took her hand back through; she had loved the child.
Over the next four or five years, the Conclave kept tabs on the child, seeing that she was safe, but did not possess the knowledge to come to Krynn. Seeing that was true, they stopped wasting their energy. However, no one who knew forgot the prophesy.
In the present:
"And that is what happened, by the god Gilean's own book. I'm sorry we never told you. We were afraid you would interfere."
Dalamar's face was now dangerously calm. "I see. You were afraid. You never told me I sired a child because you were afraid, and now you're sorry. Well, that definitely makes everything all right." On that sarcastic note, Dalamar the Dark stalked out of the Tower at Wayreth. He had some studying to do.
A/N: Well, here it was, an extra long, and in my opinion, extra good chapter to make up for the last one. Thanks as always to my wonderful reviewers. Kenderling: hope this chap. answered most of your questions. Pen D. Fox and Guan, glad you liked it. By the way, I'm sure there's a question all of you want answered. I do know that I wrote Kit had two previous children. This will be explained...probably in the next chapter. Hope you liked it. Please review! ~Dalamar Nightson
Like The Pieces of A Puzzle, Or A Child's Uneven Scrawl
Dalamar's face was tight with barely contained fury as he stormed into the Tower at Wayreth. Par-Salian was shocked when he entered the main hall to greet his guest to see the dark elf's normally emotionless demeanor broken. "Can I help you, Dalamar?" Par-Salian's query was cautious.
"A little late for that question, isn't it, 'Oh Wise One'?" Dalamar's thin face was even paler than normal, with brilliant red spots of anger, and he made Par-Salian's title drip with sarcasm.
Par-Salian gave the head of the Black Robes a puzzled look. "What ever are you talking about? Whatever it is, I'm sure we can fix it."
"Now, if you'd only told me that about, say fifteen years ago?" The dark elf seemed to grow bigger in his fury. He subtly tossed two balls of flash powder to either side. On making contact with the floor, two pillars of fire licked the ceiling. Dalamar counted the use of flash powder as one of the most helpful things he was taught by Raistlin. With his swift movements, to the Head of the Conclave, it would seem as though the fire was triggered by the dark elf's emotions alone.
Dalamar smiled eerily, the fires casting ominous shadows over the planes of his fine-boned face. "Still don't know what I'm talking about? Maybe, you could explain to me why today while scrying for family members, I happened across a young lady with all of my features? You know," his voice dripped with cynicism. "If it wasn't for her rounded ears, I would guess she was my daughter. Might you know anything about this, 'Master' Par-Salian?"
Dalamar's voice, though fairly quiet, held menace; more menace then Par- Salian had heard since Raistlin was banished to the Abyss. "Now Dalamar, let's not be hasty." Par-Salian's voice held that calming tone of an adult trying to calm a child with a temper tantrum. Unfortunately, Dalamar did not take kindly to being treated like a child.
"Hasty? You call fifteen years hasty? Now, why don't you tell me who that girl was, and why I didn't know about her." Dalamar's voice was as sharp as a Solamnic's sword.
"Well, you see, it's kind of a long story..." Par-Salian was obviously wasting time by being purposely circumloquatious.
"I for one have time; several hundred years in fact. You, on the other hand..."
"Right." Par-Salian was not sure whether to take Dalamar's statement as a veiled threat or as a simple statement referring to the longevity of elves. "Well, you see, it all started fifteen years ago, when I heard this story from a healer woman...
Nearly Sixteen Years Ago:
Kitiara uth Matar paced her luxurious room, every once in a while hurling a glass at the wall. All the while, she was cursing fluently, in many different languages. Suddenly, a knock on the door interrupted the Highlord's tirade. "My Lady?"
It was Kit's new toy, an admiral named Josephi, and the last person on Krynn she wanted to see now. "My Lady, what's wrong?"
Kit could stand it no longer. She stormed to the door and yanked it open. "Go away!" she shrieked. "Did I say I wanted to see you? No! My door is closed! Where I come from, that usually indicates a need for privacy. Leave now, before I demote you!" Kitiara slammed the door in the young man's shocked face.
When she heard him walk away, Kit sank onto her bed. "I just need to be alone," she whispered to herself, and then, Kitiara uth Matar, the Blue Lady, the woman of iron, broke down sobbing for only the third time in her life.
"How could this be happening to me?" Her question, though asked out loud was not aimed at anyone. "Why me? Why now?" Suddenly, Kit sat up with a start. Lord Soth had just floated through the wall, and after Josephi, he was the last person she wanted to see. Not only would he not understand, but he would *know*, and in knowing would say something. By voicing it, the truth would become undeniable.
Kitiara attempted to wipe her face. "Please, just go away." Soth nearly did, simply because of his shock at Kit's 'please'. However, true to form as an evil spectre, he did not.
"Anything wrong, my dear?" Soth's voice was sardonic, knowing exactly what the problem was. That was just enough to push Kit over the edge again.
"Just shut up! Shut up! You bastard, you have no emotions or caring at all! Can't you leave me alone for just a while? Go!" Kit's tirade ended in a shriek, and as Soth left, smirking, she collapsed again into shameful tears.
How was she going to deal with it this time? Who would have known, after all of those carefree years that this was going to happen, not just once, but thrice! Suddenly, Kit broke into hysterical laughter at the horrible irony of it.
'Yes,' she thought to herself. 'It is true. I can deny it no longer. I'm having another child. Me!' Suddenly, another mood swing hit her, and she started sobbing again. 'Me. Why me?'
It was then that Kitiara found out the true problem with living near an evil undead spectre. Lord Soth floated through the wall again, still smirking. And then, in that utterly infuriating manner of his, Soth read her mind.
Soth's voice dripped with false caring. "Well, Darling, when someone has as many lovers as you do, it's kind of hard not to get pregnant once in a while! Whose is it, by the way?"
"But why!?" was all that Kit managed to get out.
Soth grinned widely. "Well, Dearest, when a man and a woman really love each other..." His grin got even bigger when Kit cut him off by hurling a glass through him onto the wall. "Well, it seems as though someone's not feeling very social today!" Soth gave Kitiara a mocking bow, and he floated through the floor.
Many Months Later:
Kitiara drilled her troops vigorously, making them run back and forth endlessly. Anyone caught lagging was put to death. Finally, she shrieked for them to stop. That was something Kit had recently gotten very good at; shrieking. When the soldiers slowed to a walk, panting, Josephi walked over to Kit.
The young man was in excellent shape, and was barely breathing hard at all. "Kit, Love, you look pale. Do you need to sit or something? You look a bit ill..." Josephi's caring was not appreciated by the pregnant woman, who by now was swelling up like a ripe melon.
Kit whipped her sword out of its sheath faster than the eye could see. She waved it menacingly in front of the young man's face. "I'm fine, you hear? If I need help, I'll ask for it." Kit refrained from saying why she might need help; though it was hard not to see now, it was an unspoken law that no one was to mention Kit's pregnancy. She'd already beheaded several young men who'd made the mistake to comment a bit too loudly.
Suddenly, she felt a sharp spasm in her abdomen. She bit her lip to keep from crying out, and then felt blood pour from the bite. Suddenly, she realized: she was going into labor! From the other two times she'd been pregnant, she guessed that her water would break relatively soon. She grabbed Josephi's rapidly retreating arm.
"Come!" Kit snapped at the surprised admiral. Without actually saying she needed help, she leaned on him, steering him toward her fortress. She had just gotten to her room when Kit felt warm liquid gush down her leg. She quickly shed her ruined breeches with her usual lack of modesty.
With the calm authority of one who's already given birth a couple of times, she levered Josephi to her side for support as she squatted and waited for the next contraction. It came all too soon, and Josephi gasped in pain as Kitiara got a death grip on his arm until the pain passed.
It wasn't long before not even Kit could hold back her screams of agony. "Go!" she managed to gasp. "Get a healer. Not a cleric. A healing woman from town." For a second, Josephi hesitated, nervous about leaving his lover. "Go!" Kit managed to yell, even in her condition.
Kit was glad, not for the first time that Josephi was in such good shape. It was no longer than half an hour before the admiral came back, healer in tow, though to Kit it felt like half a week. By that time, Kit was no longer able to support herself during the contractions, and had gone to lie down on the bed.
When the midwife came in and saw Kit, she promptly chided her. "Young woman, why are you lying down? Let gravity do the work for you! Up you go!" Kitiara, surprised by the woman's brusque, business-like way of ordering her around, got up immediately. It was a mistake, however, as at that instant, another contraction ripped through Kit's body. She flailed, and cried out.
Brusque though she was, the healer knew her trade. She was at Kit's side in an instant, holding her elbow and giving her a place to grip. To her credit, the healer barely flinched at the Highlord's iron-like grip. The healer motioned for Josephi to take Kit's arm while checked Kit's dilation. The healer shook her head. Though she'd never say so, she doubted the other woman would live through the pregnancy, and she doubted the child would either.
Suddenly, Josephi and the healer looked up as Kit made an odd choking sound. Her eyes rolled back in her head, but her body stayed upright. Her eyes completely white, Kit started to make an odd keening noise. Abruptly, the awful sound stopped. However, what came next was even more disturbing. In a voice sounding much deeper and more masculine, but yet at the same time higher and more feminine, Kitiara spoke.
Or something did. "A child of two worlds, a child of one. A child of two faiths; a child of none. The world torn; as is the soul. One shall shatter; the other be made whole." The *thing* stopped it's chanting only to go into it's horrible keening once more. Finally, the noise stopped, and Kit collapsed. Thankfully, as she fainted, the baby slid out into the midwife's surprised hands.
Not surprisingly, to this day, neither midwife nor admiral could tell which sound was worse: the shrill, eardrum shattering shrieks, or the voice that was neither masculine nor feminine, but both, neither rough nor smooth but both, and neither melodious nor painful yet both. However, both knew they never wanted to hear either sound again, as long as they lived.
The midwife was a sensible woman, though and soon recovered. She thrust the baby into Josephi's surprised arms and went about the task of reviving the new mother. When Kit woke up, half in a daze, the midwife made her stand again, and encouraged her to push once more.
Josephi, thinking that Kit was giving birth to twins went dutifully to his knees, ready to catch the second child. Unfortunately for him, there was no twin. Apparently, Josephi didn't know about the afterbirth. Kit had another rapid contraction and having not moved, even after the midwife yelled at him, Josephi found himself covered in blood, mucous, and other fluids.
Though immensely tired, the half conscious Kit could not help but laugh at the admiral, covered in slime, holding the baby like a sack of potatoes. A sack of precious potatoes, perhaps, but a sack of potatoes none the less.
Finally, the midwife had both mother and child cleaned up, and Kit comfortable on her bed. Slightly more awake, Kit motioned for her baby. The midwife handed over the squalling package. Happily, Kit looked her child over. "A girl. My first girl!" Suddenly, as her eyes were able to focus more, she saw something about her new daughter's features. Her face turned sheet white. "No! I thought so, but hoped not."
"What is it, dear?" The midwife's tone was more kind now that Kit was finished with her ordeal.
"It can't be! It just can't!" The midwife put a comforting hand on the new mother's shoulder. "Dalamar." That was all that Kit said before she sank once more into the dark oblivion of a faint.
The midwife made a sign against evil, a horrified look on her face. And so it came that the midwife sought out the Forest of Wayreth, and the master of the Tower there. She related her story to him, as she'd heard and seen it. Listening sympathetically, the Master, Par-Salian considered her story. And then, the woman told Par-Salian of the beautiful, horrible voice and it's ominous prophesy. With the words of the prophesy, Par- Salian became quite worried. It would seem as if the child would destroy the world for her own gain.
Then, the midwife brought up an interesting point. It was quite doubtful that Kitiara would want to keep her child. She'd most likely want to foster it, as she'd done with her previous two children. For a bag of gold, and a charm with slight healing properties, the woman agreed to bring the child to Par-Salian.
The woman was correct in her assessment of Kitiara, and the next week, the Forest of Wayreth found the midwife with Kitiara's daughter in her arms. For about four years, the child was taken care of by mages and clerics while she still needed breast milk. Her Elven heritage became more and more evident with every passing day. At the end of those four years, she was about the size of a human child ready to be weaned.
At the end of those four years, Par-Salian had made up his mind. He had to get rid of the child. Dalamar still didn't know about her, and Kit couldn't care less what happened to the child. He could not take the risk that she would destroy his world! The world he loved was in jeopardy! He could not sit around and do nothing.
So, that afternoon, he called Ladonna, Head of the Order of the Black Robes, to the nursery where they were keeping the child. He quietly told Ladonna of his plan: he would open a gateway to another world, and drop the child through. That would be the end of the whole affair. The world would not have the same magics as Krynn, so even if she learned magic there, she would have no way to get back.
Ladonna shook her head. "Par-Salian, you can't do this! Prophesies are chancy, and you don't even know if the prophesy is referring to her! Please."
Par-Salian shook his head. "I'm sorry, Ladonna, but I have thought it out, and I believe that this is the only way."
Neither adult noticed when the child's eyes opened slightly, betraying her consciousness. "Are you sure? I mean, she's just a child!" Ladonna seemed horrified at the thought.
"Of course I'm sure! It's obvious she's *their* child. How could the prophesy not be referring to her?" The White Robe's voice was determined.
"Just give her a chance. You can't honestly mean to banish her! And anyway, what if the world she's put into doesn't have any elves? What then?"
Par-Salian proudly took out a scroll. "I've already thought of that. This will sever the tips of her ears and heal them. She shouldn't feel to much."
Ladonna looked shocked. "Par-Salian! Have you know heart? You're supposed to be the White Robe, the good one! You're taking away who she is. And, on top of that, you said she *shouldn't* feel *much*! What does that mean? Hasn't your spell been tested?"
Par-Salian looked slightly embarrassed. "Well, no, not on sentient beings. But it seemed to work fine on the rats!"
"You monster! How can you do this?" Ladonna was now screeching, but Par- Salian paid her no heed. He was already holding one of the child's pointed ears gently. He murmured a few words in the spidery language of magic and the tip of the girl's ear came off.
The child screamed a heart-wrenching sound, and Ladonna could barely stop herself from assassinating the Head of the Conclave. With another couple of words, the ear healed nicely. It was now rounded, and only an expert would be able to tell there had been horrible surgery performed upon it.
Ignoring Ladonna's choked gasp, Par-Salian ruthlessly did the same for her other ear. When he was done, the child pulled away from the mage's firm grasp and curled up in a ball of pain.
Par-Salian then looked over another scroll quickly, and raised his hands. Ladonna cut in. "Par-Salian, what are you doing? She's been through a lot. Let her stay with us just another couple of weeks. Please!" Ladonna's voice was pleading.
However, Par-Salian shook his head. "I'm sorry, Ladonna. It has to be now or never. Now, you must help me. I used too much strength cutting her ears. Do not make me force you, as you know I'm perfectly capable of doing."
Sadly, Ladonna moved into position. She knew he was right, unfortunately. Within seconds, the two had opened a portal in front of a building that Ladonna guessed was an orphanage. She gently laid the child on the steps, placing on top of her a letter to the owners of the building. Sadly, she took her hand back through; she had loved the child.
Over the next four or five years, the Conclave kept tabs on the child, seeing that she was safe, but did not possess the knowledge to come to Krynn. Seeing that was true, they stopped wasting their energy. However, no one who knew forgot the prophesy.
In the present:
"And that is what happened, by the god Gilean's own book. I'm sorry we never told you. We were afraid you would interfere."
Dalamar's face was now dangerously calm. "I see. You were afraid. You never told me I sired a child because you were afraid, and now you're sorry. Well, that definitely makes everything all right." On that sarcastic note, Dalamar the Dark stalked out of the Tower at Wayreth. He had some studying to do.
A/N: Well, here it was, an extra long, and in my opinion, extra good chapter to make up for the last one. Thanks as always to my wonderful reviewers. Kenderling: hope this chap. answered most of your questions. Pen D. Fox and Guan, glad you liked it. By the way, I'm sure there's a question all of you want answered. I do know that I wrote Kit had two previous children. This will be explained...probably in the next chapter. Hope you liked it. Please review! ~Dalamar Nightson