Temporal 3

[skull_bearer]

 

Temporal

 

Hades

 

The End.

I’ll never look into your eyes,

Again.

The End, The Doors.

 

Waiting was like being suspended, half asleep and half awake, forbidden both. There was no more to do, adding more thoughts to his cage would just bend his mind towards it and attract Fistandantilus' attention, he just had to wait, curling up among his thoughts with none of his own and waiting for the right moment. It was easier not to think here, where thoughts were solid and he had learnt to simply bat them away. Control, above all.

 

Something flickered, snapping Raistlin's attention. The Wall was weakening. Raistlin started, only just pushing away the surprise that it was already time. He slipped through the Wall, and into the thin flickers of colour which was all he could make of the world outside.

 

He could not see much, as though wearing horse blinkers and his eyes veiled with gauze. But he saw enough to know this was not Istar. This was the Tower of High Sorcery in Palanthas, the seeing pool deep underground. The Wall always weakened when the lich used it. Still, Raistlin watched anyway. They lich was checking up on his pawns, making sure they were moving in his favour.

 

"She's dead..."

 

Despite the veils, despite the rippled surface of the pool, Raistlin would always recognise Caramon. The large man was kneeling beside the body of a young woman, which, judging by the lich's flashes of rage; must have been the young cleric it had been planning to lure into Istar and use.

 

She seemed to be indeed dead, if the lich's fury was anything to go by. Raistlin's anger almost equalled it, everything that delayed the lich's plans made it more likely that his own would fail, and at the very least that he would be trapped for longer.

 

His brother looked well, Raistlin thought bitterly. Gods, for Fistandantilus to trust the cleric's safety to that brute. Just as well the idiot had a few substitutes.

 

"I -- I'm not sure Caramon. I think --"

 

And the kender, on top of everything. What a wonderful plan the lich had in mind. Although Fistandantilus was calming now, less angry.

 

“I've seen death often enough, believe me. She'd dead. Tika was right, I shouldn't have come. I should have talked to Tanis... I should... It's my fault..."

 

"That filthy fool." It was horrible to hear, even through the thinned wall, his own voice as spoken by Fistandantilus. Nails on slate was nothing to the sheer wrongness inherent in that. "What happened? What went wrong!"

 

Flashes of thought, Fistandantilus had sowed the thoughts of reaching Caramon into the priestess' thoughts. She had clearly done this, had convinced Caramon and more particularly his wife into coming with her, for 'Raistlin's' sake of course.

 

"What are you doing?"

 

"Digging a grave. We've got to bury her."

 

Raistlin wanted to hit something, and the frustrated urge only made him angrier, so close! Now what? Fistandantilus was seething.

 

"Bury her?" Hissed through gritted teeth. "Bury her! Of all the things he can think of to do!" The lich turned to something Raistlin was quite grateful his blurred vision could not focus on. "What did you see?"

 

Raistlin listened carefully, so draconians had come, but Caramon had killed them, well, the big man was useful for something at least. Then the... thing described a 'big dark with eyes of fire', whatever that was. The world was getting harder to see, the Wall was thickening, sight and hearing blocked. He thought he heard something, a voice that... well, never mind. He it was always confusing when the Wall came back up. He slipped out again through the cracks, and listened to the lich's thoughts.

 

Kitiara, the stupid bitch had sent one of her minions to kill the cleric. Fistandantilus had tried to use her, and she had double-crossed him. Gods, was the lich trying to use everyone close to Raistlin? Gods, he hoped Dalamar was far away, he was sure the lich would have thought of that and where he was concerned even Wayreth would not be far enough.

And wasn't it typical of his sister that even now, she would do everything in her power to thwart Raistlin's plans. It would do little good, though, he could feel Fistandantilus plotting a new course-

Raistlin snapped back behind the Wall just in time, seeing the lich's intent only moments before it was acted on. He shot behind the Wall and huddled under the shields and cages as the lich's thoughts swept out like a hurricane, searching through Raistlin's memories.

 

It was revolting, like being pared apart, without pain but with the sickening feeling of being defiled. His thoughts scrutinised, and thrown away as worthless. Raistlin crouched, gathered his secret thoughts and the mental cage inside the shell of grief that had served him for so long. Fistandantilus slipped over, dismissing it, and, having found what he was looking for, left, washing back over the wall and away to reality.

 

Raistlin slipped out, trying to gather the thoughts scattered by Fistandantilus' ravages. Memories and thoughts confused and out of order. Here fragments of his childhood, there a piece of his Test... Raistlin tried to sort through them, what had Fistandantilus been looking for?

Fragments of old memories, from... how long had it been, months or years ago? In Xak Tsaroth. Raistlin hesitated -- what was the lich looking through that for? -- and risked passing back through the Wall. Fistandantilus was once again concentrating on the outside, and the Wall had weakened enough for Raistlin to once again see outside, Fistandantilus must have cast a spell. He could make out Caramon again, and the cleric and Tasslehoff, and another small figure-

Had he a face, Raistlin would have grimaced. Bupu, the little gully dwarf from Xak Tsaroth. That was what the lich had been after. How in the Abyss had she gotten here? Was the lich determined to drag everyone Raistlin had remotely cared about into this mess? Who would he have to worry about next, Weird Meggin? Gods, please let Dalamar be safe. Raistlin didn’t know if the gods could hear prayers spoken by people haunting their own minds, but please.

Voices echoed from outside:

 

"Me help."

 

"No, Bupu!"

 

"You no like my magic! Me go home. But first me help pretty lady!"

 

He made out the hurried motion as Bupu dug out an old lizard out of her bag, probably the same lizard she had once tried to use to cure Raistlin. Fistandantilus wound a spell around her, and the cleric began to breathe again. An illusion, but the woman wasn't dead, and the Conclave would have to send her back in time to the only priest with the power to heal her, the Kingpriest.

Raistlin pulled back behind the Wall. He hoped Bupu would be safe, he didn't care what happened to the other three idiots, but he hoped the gully dwarf would have the sense to stay out of this and go home.

It would not be long now, whether the Conclave sent the cleric along or not, Fistandantilus believed they would, and would cast the spell to take him to Istar. Then it didn't matter how badly Fistandantilus' plan ended, he would be dead. At last. Raistlin shut out thought and went back to waiting. Not long now. For what time was worth in this place. Not long.

 

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Dalamar didn't speak. He cursed in every language he knew within his own mind, but he didn’t let his dismay show on his face. Fistandantilus' voice dropped to a lulling hiss. "Sleep, kender, sleep gull dwarf. And sleep you as well, Lady Crysania, in the realm where Paladin protects you." He beckoned, "And now come, Forest of Wayreth. Creep up on them as they sleep. Lure them onto your secret paths."

And they would be sent to Wayreth, Dalamar wasn't sure how this would help the lich. For all that Lord Soth had somehow failed (and wasn’t that his fault for hoping that idiot Kitiara would finally do something right?), Crysania was all but dead. The power of her God had saved her, but as a cost, her body lived, but her soul had been drawn to safety among the gods she worshiped, and since not even the most powerful clerics could see into Paladine's realm, let alone call anyone from there, she’d stay there for good.

Which was why the Conclave, Dalamar realised, led by that fool Par-Salian, would see no other plan than to send her back in time to be healed by the Kingpriest. And never mind the danger of giving Fistandantilus the very thing he wanted. Dalamar knew Par-Salian well enough to realise this would be exactly what the bastard would do. He would happily sign off who knows how many to horrible fates in the name of ‘fate’ or ‘the will of the gods’ or ‘the good of all’, but if it actually came to killing someone, or doing nothing when he knew something could be done never mind the consequences, his raddled old conscience would allow nothing less. Dalamar dug his nails into his palms. He had to get to the Conclave. Either to warn them or to kill the cleric himself.

But first-

 

"And you come, apprentice. Come to my study. It is time for us to talk."

 

Dalamar followed Fistandantilus out of the Accused's cells, and looked around as they reached ground level; Andras Rannoch was hiding in the shadows of the stairwell. Dalamar couldn't speak without attracting the lich's attention, but Rannoch was no idiot, and could read Dalamar’s face well enough to know it was going to be ugly. The spectre sank through the floor.

Well, what did he expect? Rannoch may be an ally, but he was also a helpless coward where Fistandantilus was concerned. And sweet Nuitari, who could blame him?

 

Dalamar sat facing the lich. The fire in the grating had been lit, as it had the first time Dalamar had seen this room. The warmth vied with the freezing cold emanating from Fistandantilus' spellbooks; Dalamar had risked opening them once, burning his hands, and had to close it immediately, The words were written in a script that, if looked at too long, would drive one mad. Fistandantilus had caught him, and what happened then was not something Dalamar wanted to think of, not now, when he was once again facing the lich.

 

He didn't flinch under the creature's dead eyes. Its fingers twitched over the binding of one spellbook after another, greedily, long, delicate fingers. Raistlin’s hands. Fear vanished, burnt to ashes under the full force of Dalamar's hatred. He met those eyes fearlessly. Under the table, his hand clasped the hilt of his dagger, drawing it out and tucking it into the sleeve of his robe. If magic wasn't enough, cold steel would have to be. He didn't think Fistandantilus would let him leave this time unscathed.

 

When the lich spoke, Dalamar had to struggle not to flinch; he had been expecting a killing spell.

"You were very young, to have taken the Test."

Dalamar didn't speak.

"Perhaps ninety is young for an elf, but I, I was twenty-one."

He didn't react to that either, but let his eyelids droop a little, a quiet who do you think you're fooling? If the lich was trying to get him angry enough to attack it, it was wasting its time. If nothing else, since he had come here Dalamar had learnt to keep his mouth shut.

 

"I passed, you saw me when I left that place, my hair white, my skin with this golden tint, and my eyes... You know what I see with my eyes, these hourglass eyes?"

You don't see anything. Dalamar cupped his chin in his hands, the dagger blade cold against his arm. They are not your eyes.

"With them I see time as it affect all things." And I hope your enjoy them, you rotting monster. "Human flesh withers before these eyes, flowers wilt and die, the very rocks themselves crumble under my sight. Even you, apprentice, even elven flesh ages that ages so slowly in the passing of the years are as rain showers in the spring -- even upon your young face Dalamar -- I see the mark of death!"

Dalamar managed not to flinch, even now; the lich was still able to sting him. He couldn't help but wonder, was this true? Was this what Raistlin had seen, but hadn’t wanted to tell him? Dalamar threw the thoughts away. If it was, then Raistlin would not have been so eager to be close to him, and would have told him. Raistlin had never betrayed him, had never truly lied to him. Fistandantilus was a filthy liar and besides, perhaps this was how all undead saw the world.

“Do you not care.” Mocking. “But then, you are brave, you have courage. When you stand behind me in the laboratory, facing those I have dragged from the planes of existence, you are brave. You knew that if I but drew breath at the wrong time, they would tear the hearts from our bodies and devour them while we writhed before them in torment."

"I did not fear." Dalamar's voice was flat. You do not breathe, or rely on a beating heart, and probably cannot even feel pain, and if those things did tear us to pieces, I would die with a glad heart as long as you died too.

"I have seen that." Fistandantilus smiled, it was sickening. "And you knew, did you not, that if such an event occurred, I would save myself and not you?"

Dalamar didn't speak, staring it in the eye. If the lich thought this would wound him it was sadly mistaken.

"For the magic."

"For Nuitari." Dalamar murmured. For vengeance.

 

The lich was silent, and Dalamar dared to hope he would be able to excuse himself and run from this Tower long enough to warn the Conclave and kill the cleric. But then, "I wonder, apprentice, at the heights of your ambitions. Have you never guessed at mine?"

This time Dalamar hesitated, although he managed to keep his face impassive. How much could he say? Less would be best. He had been silent thus far, and let the lich draw his own conclusions, now to go back to playing the fool apprentice.

"I have wondered, Shalafi. You are powerful." It was painful to admit anything that could be constituted as a compliment. "This city, this land of Solamnia, this continent of Ansalon could be yours."

"You think I wish to rule the world." Mocking again. "But my ambition goes further."

Was it planning to actually tell Dalamar? It must know that no matter what it promised, Dalamar would never join it. But surely, it still needed the Conclave to send it its cleric, and it would not risk angering them by killing Dalamar, even at this late date.

"You have seen the great door at the very back of the laboratory? The door of steel, with runes of silver and gold set within? The door without a lock?"

Yes. He was going to tell him. Dalamar didn't blink. "Yes."

"Do you know where it leads?" Amused.

"Yes." No Shalafi now.

"And you know why it is not opened?"

"Only one of great and powerful magic, and one of true and holy powers may open the door." Dalamar recited.

"You already know, do you not?” Fistandantilus looked more thoughtful than amused now. Somehow, it had only now realised Dalamar knew. “You already know the heights -- and the depths -- of my ambitions."

Dalamar shrugged one shoulder, as though he couldn't care less about the possible replacement of one of his gods by the creature in front of him.

"You think me mad? You must think me mad, if it was my sister who told you this."

I think you dead. I dream you dead. You will die.

"It is madness, with my powers as they are." Ah, bitterness. "That is why I am about to undertake a journey."

Well, if it was about to tell him anyway. "To the past, and Istar, and the Kingpriest." And may you judge time wrong and land right under the Cataclysm.

"You are right." Fistandantilus frowned, Raistlin’s thin white brows drawing together in a way utterly unsuited to the thin face; and Dalamar wondered if he actually worried the lich. "You are quite right. How very astute. And I dare say you know what happened to Lady Crysania?"

"Her soul is with Paladine, her body is all but dead, but you made her body show signs of life to keep Caramon Majere from burying her."

Fistandantilus nodded. "Astute, as I said. A useful trait for a spy."

 

Dalamar didn't show any sign of shock. Instead he rose to his feet. He hunched forward a little, as though about to bow in farewell, but that was only to hide the thunderous beating of his heart, which he was sure could be see through his robes.

"What, no denials, apprentice?"

Dalamar smiled slightly, the first time he had ever smiled in front of the lich, and shook his head. Then he lunged.

 

For once, Dalamar had managed to surprise Fistandantilus. He’d gotten across the table and thrown out his dagger before the lich managed to screech a shielding spell. Dalamar's dagger blade screamed against it, so close it rent the lich's black robes.

Dalamar's free hand struck it in the face, that familiar alien face, he dropped the useless dagger and rammed his fist into the lich's abdomen. He was no longer thinking as a mage, because fighting as a mage would do nothing against this monster. He was fighting as he had in Tarsis, fighting as he would against a muscled thug or a she-whore trying to oust him from her patch. He brought his head down hard against Fistandantilus', knocking it back, and punched it again in the stomach, trying to knock the breath out of it, as his other hand tightened around it's throat.

But a dead mage had no breath to lose.

Dalamar did not hear what spell Fistandantilus cast, too mad with finally released rage and grief to even hear it. He felt the lich's hand scrabbling against his chest before pressing flat, trying to push him away. Dalamar almost laughed. The lich had inherited Raistlin's strength along with his body, if it thought-

The pain almost blinded him. Dalamar threw his head back and screamed, hurling himself away from the hand that felt as though it were burning straight through him. His legs refused to carry him, and Dalamar collapsed, coughing to keep from screaming.

 

Fistandantilus had collapsed against the desk, its robes torn, its dead flesh bruised, hacking hard and clutching at its throat where Dalamar had almost throttled it. "Give Par-Salian my regards..." Its voice gave way and it coughed. "Apprentice!" And disappeared.

 

Dalamar groaned, the pain in his chest wasn't abating and gods, it hurt. He lay back, trying to breathe and feeling absurdly clear-headed. It had run away. The lich had run away. Well. That was something if nothing else. He coughed again, then decided there was no reason to keep it in and screamed. Then screamed, then screamed again. He kept screaming until a bottle clinked beside him. Dalamar drew in a ragged breath, and looked at it. A potion of healing, and with Andras Rannoch leaning over him looking as concerned as a spectre could manage.

"...Won't do much." Dalamar groaned as he sat up, and pulled the seared robes away from his chest. It hurt less without them there. Five holes burnt into his chest from a spell so lethal it destroyed everything it touched. "It won't heal."

And it never would. It was Fistandantilus' spell, and he could feel it still burning his flesh. It would keep burning forever, draining his strength and feeding it to the lich. Dalamar coughed again, it might have been a laugh. The same spell. He would bet his life, whatever that was worth; that this was the exact same spell the lich had cast on Raistlin. It had been through that spell the lich had kept Raistlin weak, and it was through that spell that Fistandantilus had killed Raistlin, and it was through this spell that it meant to kill Dalamar.

 

"It knows I'm a threat." Dalamar pushed himself backwards until he was resting against the wall. The pain had faded as much as it would, as it ever would. "It did this," His head dropped back against the wall, gasping. "It did this because it means it will be able to kill me at once if I stand against it."

 

Rannoch's eyes were lower down that usual, although whether that meant it was kneeling or just sinking through the floor was uncertain. It looked concerned.

 

"It doesn't mean much." Dalamar managed a smile. "I will wait in the laboratory for it to come back. It will be weak from fighting the Dark Queen. I will push it back through the portal to Her tender mercies. I don't think it can kill me that fast." But it would kill him, that was all but certain. It would kill him, and Dalamar knew what that meant.

It meant an eternity here, an eternity in the Tower as a spectre. In this cold and dark and dead alone save for the other dead, never to feel the magic, never to truly die and never to see Raistlin again. But sweet Nuitari what was the alternative? To live, or die outside the tower, and let the lich carry out its plans and... and... Dalamar didn’t even want to think about what that would mean, but he didn’t think being dead would stop the lich from tormenting him if it decided to. Sweet Nuitari, this wasn’t for him, this wasn’t how things were supposed to work. But here he was, in the Tower, alone but for an undead spectre, and the only thing standing between Fistandantilus and Godhood.

"Sweet Nuitari." Dalamar moaned. "Sweet Nuitari." Andras Rannoch watched in helpless silence as the Dark elf doubled over and wept.