Pandemonium

I'd do anything to make you stay

No light no light

-No Light No Light, Florence + the Machine

He did not wait for Caramon. He teleported himself back to the tower, and locked the laboratory door. He sat in a moldering chair, closed his eyes.

The plans were there, crystalline clear, so cold Raistlin's breath came out in a cloud. He had the materials here. It would tire him, but – Raistlin's frozen voice cracked in a helpless, hopeless laugh – what was the hurry? He had years ahead of him! Centuries before his time. He could sleep for decades and it would change nothing-

Raistlin pushed the thoughts away, and got to work.

Caramon came to the door at one point, shouted something that Raistlin couldn't hear, then went away again. Came back, tried to force the door, and when that didn't work, Raistlin was left alone for a bit longer.

Finally, as he was putting the final touches on the artefact, there was a small knock. Raistlin sighed, let the magic settle, and went to the door. He listened, then cracked it open.

Tasslehoff looked up at him, a bowl of soup and a hunk of bread in his hands. "Hi," he smiled. "Caramon did say not to come, but I thought someone should bring you dinner." He tried not-so-subtly to edge around Raistlin to get a look at the laboratory. "You've been in here all day. Do you know where we are – or when we are, I guess?"

"Not yet; hopefully soon." Raistlin took the bowl. He tried to close the door, but Tasslehoff stuck his head in so enthusiastically, he was nearly decapitated. Raistlin sighed and let him in. He didn't care enough about this, and he was suddenly reminded of how incredibly hungry he was.

"Are we still going to the Tower?" Tasslehoff looked up at the crystal sphere, thankfully hovering out of his reach. "Caramon was really upset."

"I'm sure." Raistlin searched his pocket. No spoon. He looked at Tasslehoff; the kender flushed and handed it back. The soup was watery and nothing but turnips and a bit of flour, but it was food. He wolfed it down and wiped the bowl with the bread. Tasslehoff continued to potter around, peering into ancient pestles and looking longingly at the spellbooks. Raistlin quickly stacked them out of reach.

"He said you weren't you." Tasslehoff scratched his topknot. "Said you were- some other guy. Fistan- something."

"Yes." Raistlin looked gloomily into the bowl. This was all turning into some sick joke.

"I told him he was being silly, but he wasn't listening. Crysania was acting funny, too." Tasslehoff bit his lip. "I don't think you're some dead mage."

"Congratulations," Raistlin sighed, "you have proved yourself more intelligent than the entire Conclave." What was wrong with them that they could not see the obvious truth? What was wrong with them?

Or- a thrill of horror- what was wrong with him?

No. Raistlin set his back against that thought. I am not some dead, mad lich. I do not want to challenge gods, or demand world domination, or to massacre everything that ever lived. I am Raistlin Majere and I want to go home.

"I don't think you should go downstairs." Tasslehoff looked behind him. "They're pretty angry." A brisk stage whisper.

Raistlin nodded. He drew the crystal globe down and tucked it away inside his robes. Everything hurt. He wanted to curl up and sleep but- no. No. He could sleep later. He could sleep once he knew what had gone wrong.

The spell back to the library made him stumble, his body felt light, so drained he half-wondered if he would float off the floor. The globe pressed into the hollow under his chest, felt cold and warm at the same time.

The wind was picking up, cold. Raistlin leant against the wall, he could feel it coming.

The coughing fit was short, but painful. He wiped his mouth, and although there was no blood, it would get worse the closer he came to his own time. And he was coming closer. Raistlin gave a bitter smile. Day by day, little by little. He would be long dead by the time he drew even, but still-

Astinus was waiting for him. "You return, Fistandantilus."

"My name," through gritted teeth, "is Raistlin. Surely one who sees all would have been able to see that much – unless your eyes missed our battle?"

"I recorded the name as I recorded the battle," Astinus said, his voice coolly mocking. "Would you care to see the entry- Fistandantilus?"

Fine. Let them call him Fistandantilus. Let them call him a sky-blue field mouse if they wanted. Raistlin drew back his cloak and flicked the globe out, letting it drift over to Astinus. He crossed his arms, had nothing he wanted to say. Astinus examined the globe, eyes wide and bright with tears. "My payment," Raistlin snapped.

Astinus did not look up. "Can you not guess, Man of the Future and the Past? You have read the histories-"

Raistlin started. The memories started, coughed up a broken, fragmented image. Not from his own time, or from Istar- but a time between, a time when Fistandantilus had come forward in time to challenge the Dark Queen, with a gladiator and a cleric by his side-

To go to Thorbardin, take Zhaman, no doubt the portal had moved there at some point before the Cataclysm, try and open the portal-

And die.

Panic clawed at Raistlin's throat. No. He had the kender. He clung to that as a lifeline. Fistandantilus did not. He carried with him one who could change time. He would not follow in his footsteps, he would not.

"So Fistandantilus came." He forced his voice steady. "But I did not come to this time. My spell was to take me to my own time-"

"To change your own fate," Astinus said icily. "To change the very fabric of time, unravel every thread and divert the River into a new course. Did you think the gods would not intervene in your meddling?"

Raistlin's blood ran hot and cold, his hands clenched. "You disrupted-"

"We did nothing. You have Fistandantilus' life force. You used your blood and it took you to where you were meant to go." Astinus did not look up. "You cannot change your fate, Fistandantilus."

Raistlin said nothing. The panic had banked, the rage died down. His blood- but he had others with him. He would use Tasslehoff's next time, and let the Gods meddle with that!

But- his books. By the Abyss, his books. He'd left them in the Sentinel Peaks. Safe and secure, waiting for his future self to find them-

Calm, calm. They were safe. He just had to go and get them. He needed the preliminary spells to create the circle, the activation spells he already had. It would take a few more weeks of travel, and the thought of that road drawing out so long almost made him despair. But he had a plan now, he could do it. He would do it.

"You crossed a name out, when I arrived earlier," Raistlin said finally. "My name. You may call me what you want, but it is my name you wrote-"

Astinus lifted his book, turned a few pages. As of this date, midday 30, visited by Fistandantilus and-

Pheragas's name had been crossed out, and Caramon's replaced it.

"Apparently I have already changed fate," Raistlin growled.

"This alters nothing," Astinus said coolly. "He came in his stead; that is all. An even exchange. Time flows on, undisturbed."

"And carries me with it?"

"Unless you have the power to change the course of rivers by tossing in a pebble."

"Then it depends on the size of the pebble." Raistlin got up. He had already spent too much time here. He had a journey to plan.

"Fistandantilus-" Raistlin did not slow. "The Gods laid down the laws of time before this world was made. They cannot be changed by any mortal."

Raistlin closed the door. It was too heavy to slam behind him. If these were the gods, then he wondered at Fistandantilus' plans to destroy them. It hardly seemed like a great challenge.

Raistlin took a deep breath, and put his hand on the door. He was tired, his endurance at an end. He had enough in him for one spell, maybe two. If this went bad, he would have to make them count.

He exhaled, and pushed the door open.

Caramon and Crysania were sitting by the fire, Tasslehoff by the door, clearly longing to explore again. But the Dead Ones had come closer again since Raistlin had left, and even the kender wasn't foolish enough to run into their waiting arms.

Tasslehoff smiled when Raistlin walked in, then that smile flickered. "Raistlin's back."

Caramon and Crysania were looking at him, their gazes baleful. Caramon's hands were on his sword, Crysania's on her medallion. Neither of them spoke. Raistlin met their looks squarely.

"So," Caramon said heavily. "Now we know."

"You have known many things in your time, my brother," Raistlin started. "None of them have-"

"And are you my brother?" Caramon snarled. He got up, not drawing his sword, not yet, but close. "I had a brother, once. His name was Raistlin. Tell them-" he waved at Crysania, Tasslehoff. "What did Astinus call you when we were there? Crysania tells me he knows everything that happened, sees everything. What did he call you?"

"He can call me whatever he wants," Raistlin hissed. He into Caramon's eyes; those familiar, so familiar, brown eyes. He'd once known them better than his own. Now he couldn't recognise them at all. "He has the right to be as ghastly as he wants in his own house-"

"Fistandantilus," Caramon answered him and gods, hearing that name from Caramon made his stomach revolve. "I heard strange stories about him, in Istar." He took a step forward.

"You saw him on the floor of the laboratory." Raistlin fought to stand his ground. "I killed him-"

"No." Caramon drew his sword. It was sleek, clear steel, no prop. "You killed my brother."

The moment stretched, like yarn spun too fine, too tight, about to snap. Crysania rose, her eyes were cold and angry. She had been lied to, first by Fistandantilus, then by Raistlin.

"Come on Caramon," Tasslehoff laughed shakily. "I mean, look at him!" He waved at Raistlin. "You know that's Raistlin. I'm pretty sure it couldn't be anyone else."

Caramon's eyes flickered, something like doubt in there, but then it died under his brother's blind, bull-headed stubbornness. Raistlin was suddenly, painfully reminded of Neraka. Now, as then, Caramon had seen the brother he liked better in Fistandantilus, and that would be his true brother. And there was nothing Raistlin could say, Tasslehoff could say, that would change it.

"Very well," Raistlin snarled recklessly. "Let us say I killed your brother." He infused the words with as much scorn as he could manage. "I am also the only one who can bring you home. Kill me, and you will be trapped here, in this cursed tower, three hundred years before your own time."

Caramon stopped. The grip on his sword loosened. "Three hundred years?" He repeated, stunned.

Raistlin nodded. "Less than fifty years after the Cataclysm. Unless you wish to spend the rest of your miserable life here- and miserable it will be, and short- you will allow me to return us all to our own time. Then you may enact any delusional revenge you wish."

"Raistlin had different plans," Crysania said softly. "He sought to obliterate evil, bring us into a brighter time-"

"Like the Kingpriest?" Raistlin snapped. Although the Kingpriest's most deranged dreams paled to nothing before Fistandantilus' calm plans. The death of the Gods, then the death of everything else. A barren, blasted world for him to reshape as he saw fit. Raistlin looked at Crysania in revulsion. "We go home. Unless you have another Device of Time Travel with you."

"In the Blood Sea-" Tasslehoff tried, hopelessly.

"More likely the Abyss." Raistlin shrugged. "Where the Dark Queen took the temple after the Cataclysm. Unless you wish to end up there, I suggest we rest, and prepare for a long journey."

"Where are we going?" Caramon's eyes were narrowed.

"South."

The horse rolled its eyes at Raistlin. It shifted as he tried to mount, turning again and again every time Raistlin struggled to get a foot in the stirrup. He drew in a calming breath, and fought down the urge to charm the blasted thing.

Finally, he got up. Once he settled in the saddle, the horse quieted, ears tilted forward. The rain drove down on his drawn hood, and spared them any excuses for not talking. At least, Tasslehoff was trying, sitting behind Crysania, but was being ignored. Raistlin huddled back and closed his eyes for a moment. Just a moment to rest on the long road-

The horse snorted suddenly, backed off a pace, then tensed as though to bolt. Raistlin grabbed the reins, and pulled it back quickly, gods, he hated horses-

Then something hit him across the head, and everything collapsed in stars.

It wasn't the first time Raistlin had woken up lying in the mud. The best thing in that situation was to keep his eyes closed, stay quiet, and hope they'd just made off with his money pouch.

Unfortunately, the sounds around him suggested otherwise. "Bind his hands behind his back and gag him." A harsh, rasping voice. "If he so much as croaks, cut out his tongue. That'll end his spellcasting days for good."

Raistlin didn't move, didn't open his eyes as his hands were tied together, a gag pressed between his teeth. He fell back limply when dropped and let his hood drop over his face, his sleeves covering his hands. The gag he could chew through, the ropes he could work around.

"Why don't we just kill him now?" Sooner rather than later. Raistlin moved his jaw quickly. As expected, the man who'd gagged him had been too eager to get away to do it properly. He got his tongue around the gag and started pushing it out.

"Go ahead, Brack," the first voice said, honey-sweet. "Take your knife and slit his throat."

"Not with my hands."

The gag fell free, Raistlin swallowed a few times to wet his dry throat, turned his attention to his hands. The idiots had tied his hands in front of him. A limiting factor, but he could think of at least a dozen spells he could cast with minimal use of his hands.

"No? You'd rather I was the one cursed for murdering a Black Robe? You'd enjoy seeing my sword hand wither and drop off?" Raistlin twitched his wrist making sure he could get at his dagger. Dagger, mouth free, he checked them off. Now, a spell- he closed his eyes and let it fill his mind. A firestrike, blinding everyone in the area and setting them on fire-

"I—I didn't mean that, of course, Steeltoe. I—I wasn't thinking, that's all."

"Then start thinking. He can't harm us now. Look at him!"

Raistlin lay very still, let the spell fade from his mind. He bit the gag between his teeth to maintain the illusion, and closed his eyes.

Large hands grabbed him, shook him. The hood fell off, the shadow of the firelight burned through his closed eyelids. "Sleeping like a baby," the first voice- Steeltoe?- sneered. He dropped Raistlin unceremoniously to the ground. Raistlin rolled slightly on the way down; made sure he was lying on his front. His hair hung loose, shadowing his face, and his hands were under him. A few minutes to pull himself free-

But the minutes didn't come. Steeltoe spent only a few moments gloating before Raistlin was grabbed and thrown over his horse's saddle. He could hear Caramon grunting and growling behind him. He cracked an eye open carefully, squinting through the filthy strands of his own hair. Crysania was on the leader's horse. Stiff and terrified with his arms around her.

So, that was three of them. He tried to listen to the talk of the men around them. Two were leading his horse, discussing how much they would get for selling Caramon, the fun they would have with Crysania, and the various ways they could find of killing Raistlin without dropping dead of a curse. Not a word about Tasslehoff.

Good. Of all in this little fiasco, Tasslehoff was irreplaceable. He needed his blood for the time travel spell, his presence for destroying Fistandantilus. At least now, Raistlin only needed to worry about getting himself away safely.

It felt- oddly familiar. Raistlin smiled thinly. Xak Tsaroth, the draconians. All of them in a cage and Tasslehoff, Flint and Dalamar having to rescue them. Well, now Flint was dead, Dalamar was- gods he would give several limbs to have the elf with him right now- was not here, so that left Tasslehoff. Hopefully he wouldn't find a way of setting himself on fire this time too.

Raistlin tested the little sheath on his wrist, the presence of his dagger. They would manage. At least he wasn't poisoned.

He tried to relax. He was tired, feeling seasick from the horse's movements – he really hated that animal – and there wasn't anything he needed to do right now. Gather strength, clear his head for the moment where escape presented itself.

The horse was pulled short. Raistlin drew in a breath and tasted wood smoke. He was pulled hard off his horse, and the animal shied away, kicking dirt in Raistlin's face. He really, really hated horses.

"You-"

Caramon, lying beside him. Raistlin closed his eyes and lay limp.

"Are you awake?"

Raistlin didn't respond. He had nothing to say to the man, let him think him unconscious.

Caramon huffed, and fell silent. Finally, he was dragged away, and Raistlin opened his eyes carefully. The big ogre was sitting in a sort of throne beside the fire, Crysania kneeling beside him. The camp was large, the tents solid and well built, and the men - Raistlin turns his head slowly, trying not to attract attention. They were not the usual desperate farmers-turned-raiders. One passed close by and Raistlin was able to pick out the badly scratched sigil of the rose and kingfisher on his sword. Lovely, Solamnic Knights on top of everything.

Raistlin revised his plan. Attack and he might stun a few, but these were trained warriors and he could not be sure of getting all of them from his vantage point on the ground. And those who survived would not flee, but would attack when he was weakened.

Get his hands free first, reach for his components pouch for a bit of gum arabic, pull out one of his eyelashes and walk out of the camp unseen. He could decide what to do when he was in a better position.

"Time to die, warrior," Steeltoe said easily as Caramon was forced down in front of him. "I'm certain, lady, you won't mind if our tryst is postponed a few moments while I take care of this matter. Just think of this as a little before-bed entertainment, my dear."

Something clenched hard in Raistlin stomach, and he suddenly needed to get away. Get away now. He hated the cleric, Fistandantilus' would-be lover, but he did not need to see this. Not to her, not to anyone.

Calm. Calm. Raistlin closed his eyes and forced his breathing to even out. He needed control, even in the face of this threat, not even directed at him, thank the gods, but pressing on an old wound.

Caramon shouted and blustered, and Steeltoe showed himself an equal idiot by accepting his challenge. Fine. Raistlin sighed impatiently through the gag. He'd hoped to wait until the camp was asleep, but now everyone was converging on the firepit to watch. He managed to roll away until his back was against the nearby woodpile, staying out of the way so no one stepped on him.

He couldn't see much through the forest of legs in front of him, and any sounds from the fight were lost in the whoops and cheers of the observers. Raistlin sighed and closed his eyes. It was getting late, the noise was irritating, but the smell of the pine logs around him was sweet. Not the best place he'd ever had to rest, but not the worst either.

He must have managed to doze off, because the next thing he knew he was being woken by a hand shaking his shoulder. "Raistlin?"

Ah, so Tasslehoff had kept up. Raistlin lifted his head. Tasslehoff was crouched beside him, in the shadow of the logpile, if Raistlin hadn't been looking for him, he might have been invisible. He nodded.

Tasslehoff quickly pulled Raistlin's gag out, cut the ropes on his wrist. "They knocked you out? How many fingers am I holding up?"

Raistlin wiped his mouth, spat to get the foul taste out of his mouth, "Two and my scroll case."

"Oh, is that yours?"

Raistlin took it back and hooked it on his belt without much hope it would stay there.

"Where's Caramon?"

"In a fight-" Raistlin started, but then was drowned out as the crowd burst into cheers. Either Caramon had won and they could go- or he had lost, and Raistlin would try and convince the kender to leave Crysania and follow him away.

It was a somewhat tempting concept, but then the crowd parted, melting away as though those by the fire had suddenly been gripped by the sweating fever. Raistlin sat up, grabbed his staff and propped himself to his feet. Saw what had just happened.

You utter idiot! Raistlin was incensed. Gods, was he the only one around here with any kind of brain at all? Caramon was staring at Crysania in astonishment, his wounds healed, his bruises gone. Crysania had healed him, and by the growing shouts, was about to get the four of them burnt for her troubles.

"Witchcraft! She healed him! Burn the witch!"

"Burn them both, witch and wizard!"

"They hold the warrior in thrall. We'll take them and free his soul!"

"Oh, is this like Haven?" Tasslehoff hopped up on the logs to better see. "Do you remember, Raistlin? With Belzor? Are we going to have to rescue them too?"

The men scowled towards them, but Raistlin must have seemed too much of a threat- or maybe Tasslehoff just looked like too much of a bother- and they didn't approach.

Caramon, thankfully, seemed to be getting the upper hand of the situation, claiming Crysania was his and no threat to them. "We must go." Raistlin walked towards them. "Let us be on our way." The men were at least impressed enough for now, they might be able to get their horses back- and even some supplies if they were convincing enough-

"No." Caramon's voice was strange. He was looking at the men with an odd look in his eye- one Raistlin had once seen in Tanis'. "Wait, I've got an idea."

Raistlin was about to say something waspish about snow falling in the Abyss, then his mouth dried to ash. Caramon picked up the dead Steeltoe's sword and lifted it easily. He looked absurd, naked and waving the sword around like some kind of bombastic Istarian statue, but the Knights were looking at him as though he were Huma come again.

"I have destroyed your leader. Now I claim the right to take his place!" Caramon shouted, his voice echoing among the trees. "I ask only one thing- that you leave this life of butchery and rape and robbery. We travel south-"

The roar that broke out made them all jump. Tasslehoff fell off the logs and Crysania nearly ended up in the firepit. "South! South! They travel south!"

"Is there a big fair in the south or something?" Tasslehoff blinked up at him.

Raistlin shook his head, equally lost. He walked over to Caramon. "What are you doing?"

Caramon ignored him as surely as Raistlin had ignored him earlier. A young man with a noticeable lack of moustaches came up. "You travel south? Do you, perchance, seek the fabled wealth of the dwarves in Thorbardin?"

What? Raistlin's heart hit somewhere below his feet. No. Stop it. Stop it now-

But the words didn't come, Caramon was oblivious. "We go south," he said, "it is true. But for our own reasons. What is this you say of wealth in Thorbardin?"

"It is said that the dwarves have stored great wealth in the kingdom beneath the mountain," the man said eagerly, and the crowd erupted into grievances against the dwarves, a myriad of outrages made up wholesale to cover the truth. The dwarves had the most valuable resource in the entirety of this benighted world. Food.

"We cannot." Raistlin tried, but his voice came out a croak. No. "We must move on, we cannot wait for-"

"We cannot get there without help." Then Caramon turned his back to him. "We go south to Thorbardin."

"We would follow you without hesitation, great warrior," said the knight, "but what have you to do with this black-robed wizard? Who is he, that we should follow him?"

"My name is Raistlin," Raistlin snapped. "And you needn't follow me anywhere-" And Caramon's hand snapped tight around Raistlin's shoulder.

It wasn't the old, friendly clasp from a decade ago, or the helpless, hopeful slap of a brother desperate for recognition. This was a threat, tight and hard and crushing. Raistlin looked at it in astonishment, so stunned he forgot his spells, the dagger at his sleeve. Caramon's hand was tight as a wolf's jaw, massive fingers driving into the thin muscles deep enough to leave bruises.

"He follows me," Caramon growled. "But the mage's real name is Fistandantilus."

Had Caramon followed that up with a punch, it might have hurt less. Raistlin stumbled. Would have fallen, if not for Caramon's hand on his shoulder. The ground threatened to run away from under his feet and for a moment, he thought he could feel the world turning under him, pulling him, inexorably, to a fate that wasn't his.

He looked around, fear clawing up his spine. The men's eyes shone at Caramon. They would follow him, Raistlin knew. They would follow him to the Abyss, this man who commanded wizards and witches. And that was exactly where they would go, screaming his praises.

The army of Fistandantilus.