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Chapter Text

Dalamar couldn’t sleep. It was hardly surprising, given the recent news, but it was the last thing he needed. After long hours of tossing and turning on his featherbed, Dalamar gave up and got dressed. Perhaps a walk in the courtyard would quiet his mind.

His eyes strayed to his desk, the piles of paperwork, the missives waiting for him- or worse, the ones that were not waiting. Because they had never arrived, and would never arrive.

Dalamar pinched the bridge of his nose. No. Enough. Not tonight, just for one night. Sweet Nuitari, couldn’t he have just one night?

He lifted his hand to step through the magic, but it felt- frail, almost delicate. Like frayed lace, where the wrong move could tear it even further. Dalamar sighed, and pushed the door open. He’d walk down.

Outside, Wayreth was still and cold. Autumn was coming; Dalamar could smell it in the air, the brown tips of the leaves of the Grove, just starting to turn. He walked around the edge of the courtyard, his boots crunching on the gravel, breaking the silence of the night. Above him, the moons were high.

Dalamar sat down, looking up at his patron’s moon. The Three seemed- paled, and distant. As if They were struggling to reach them. Dalamar looked down at his hands, feeling the magic spark between his fingers; it was so much weaker than it had been. It felt like- trying to breathe through a straw, move through water. Everything was so much harder.

No. Stop. Dalamar buried his face in his hands, he needed to have faith. He needed to believe their Gods knew what was happening, that they were working to save them. But oh, it was becoming harder and harder to maintain that faith, with the Dark Queen’s claws at their throats, choking away their lives-

Crunch, crunch. Feet on gravel. Dalamar lifted his head and gave a weary smile. “You cannot sleep either, my dear?”

His smile faded as Jenna walked towards him. She was pale, face pinched and drawn. No. Please, no. How much more did they have to deal with? “You have news?” He whispered.

She nodded. She hadn’t looked this stricken since her father died. Dalamar gritted his teeth, braced himself- “They burned the mage quarters in Palanthas.” She said softly.

No. “And-“ He couldn’t finish his sentence.

She shook her head. Dalamar didn’t move. Couldn’t move. Oh no. Please no. Not his shalafi. Not her, please-

“She fought to the last, from our reports.” Jenna sat beside him, rested a hand on his shoulder. “But the Knights of the Thorn- they were too many. And their magic-“

“Is greater than ours, now.” He said harshly. “Her power drenches the world now, and we are drowning. Perhaps Ladonna was right to end it now, before She claims us all-“

“Hush!” She pulled him to her, tucking his head under her chin. “None of that. You cannot think like that. Lunitari knows we cannot lose any more.”

And how much good would that be? Dalamar closed his eyes, breathing in her scent. “How much mercy will it be to live, and see what horrors the Dark Queen will twist the world into?”

“She will not.” Jenna stroked his hair. “The balance will right itself in time, shalafi. Once, it tilted to the light, and the Cataclysm came. If it comes to it, there will be another, and this scourge will be wiped from the world just as Istar was.”

“And what will be left of us?” Dalamar sat up. “The Kingpriest all but wiped us out, and now the Dark Queen is about to finish what he started. The wards are failing, and they are hunting the Tower-“

“Even if we are gone.” She squeezed his hand. “The magic will survive. It was there long before us, it will be there long after we are gone.”

“Survive in chains to the Dark Queen.” He spat. “I would rather die. Would it choose otherwise?”

She had now answer to that, her eyes closing, pained. Dalamar turned away. He hadn’t wanted to hurt her, but what could he say? Palanthas was gone now. They would never go home, and his shalafi, dear Ladonna, was gone. “Any other news?” He tried, “Dunbar?”

“Ergoth is still holding out last we heard, if that’s what you mean.” She sighed, “But the Grey Robes are blocking any attempts to communicate with them- or them with us. Perhaps-“ She bit her lip.

Dalamar nodded, “How far did the hunting parties get today?”

“Slightly above halfway through the Grove.” She whispered, “With heavy losses, but-“

“The Knights have the numbers to spare.” Dalamar closed his eyes. He could feel Wayreth failing around them, its magic slowly being choked off from the Moons, withering like a tree in a desert. “How long do we have?”

“I don’t know.”

No, of course. “Start gathering our people, and begin to gather- the books.” It was a struggle, but he got the words out. He’d said it at last. “We need to have an escape plan.”

“To where?” She sounded so defeated.

“Ergoth, to begin with. Then-“ He sighed, shook his head. “I don’t know.”

Jenna sat beside him for a long moment, then stood up. “I’ll start drafting it then.” She tried to smile, but it didn’t come out right. “Tomorrow. Would you say no to company?”

“A little late to start that now.” He leaned in, resting his head against her hip. “We should have done something years ago, my dear. Why didn’t we?”

“It was never the right time.” She stroked his hair. “Or I had a lover, or you did, or one or other of us were too busy. And now there’s no time.”

“Regardless of what happens,” Dalamar got up. He felt so tired, but he knew there would be no sleep tonight. “I am glad to face it with you, my dear.”

“The two of us, against the end of the world.” She looked up at the moons. “Why did they not come and pluck us up too? They could set us all among the stars, as they did the Lost Tower, and we could lie in bed and watch the world go to the Abyss below us.”

“A beautiful dream.” He smiled bitterly. “Perhaps the Three knew what was coming, and that was why they took the Tower.”

“Or maybe they knew where the next Cataclysm is going to land, and wanted to get their things out of the way.”

A bark of laugh escaped Dalamar, surprising him. Gods, when was the last time he had laughed? He couldn’t remember. “Let it stay there then, among the moons, far from this madness. At least we may have one last home to dream of.”

Jenna kissed his cheek. “Go to bed, Dalamar. Try and dream of your Lost Tower.”

He didn’t want to lie to her, so he just shrugged. She squeezed his hand, then turn to leave. It was perhaps one good thing about the loss of their magic, Dalamar thought with a sad smile. Once, she would have stepped through the magic and be gone at once. Now, he could watch as she walked away, the easy, graceful motion of her body, the way her hair swung about her shoulders and back.

Then gone. He could have gone with her, but it would have felt- small, and pathetic. Two doomed creatures mindlessly rutting to forget their terrors. He closed his eyes, and let the wretched misery really hit. His shalafi¸ gone.

Ladonna had been one of the stalwarts of the Conclave, almost a hundred and still fierce and powerful and unbowed. She had taken him in when he had been nothing but a lost little exile, living on spite and terror and very little else. She had given him a hearth, a home, the learning he had desperately needed. And now, she was dead, spitted on a Knight’s sword, her head probably taken to adorn their trophy cabinet-

The magic stirred around it, ripples as if a stone had been dropped into a still pool, but Dalamar barely noticed, shivering with grief. Who would be next? Justarius was gone, and probably Dunbar too, for all their desperate hopes. Him, most likely. He was the Head of the Conclave now; his would be the next head they’d claim. Then Jenna, and her apprentice, that sweet young man from Solace- what was his name? One by one, they would be cut down. And the Order of High Sorcery would die, the magic would be locked away in Takhisis’ chains, and the world would fall.

Nuitari. He looked up at his patron. Please my Lord. Please. But there was no answer. Nuitari made to promises and so broke none, but Dalamar knew this silence was not of His doing. His Mother was winning against him too. The very light from His moon seemed to flicker for a moment, as if that too was slowly being blotted out.

He was so lost in despair that it took him a moment to realise that above him, high above, something was moving. Dalamar blinked and stood up, rubbing his eyes. A star seemed to have come loose from the firmament, and was drifting down towards them. A brilliant star, brighter than the others, a shimmering, beautiful green.

It flared, catching his eyes and almost dazzling him. Dalamar rubbed his eyes and when he looked up again, the light had reached the level of the upper battlements, lighting the roofs up as it slowly came down.

There was someone with it. Dalamar walked quickly towards where the light was falling. He shielded his eyes against the glare and- yes, there was a small figure, drifting just below the light as if being cradled by it, slowly being lowered to the ground.

Dalamar ran to catch up, holding out his hands- just in time for the body to land, limp, warm and heavy, in his arms. The light flashed once more, and Dalamar had to turn his head away from the brilliance, like staring right into the sun- then it was gone and the darkness was so blinding after the glare that it took his eyes a few moment to adjust.

In his arms was the sleeping body of a small gully dwarf, curled up and snuffling softly. In her hand, she held a green jewel that still sparked and shimmered from the power within.

Chapter Text

Dalamar looked up, trying to see where the gully dwarf had come from- but the sky was empty and dark. The stars cold and distant, the moons drifting towards the horizon as the night faded. Unless she had somehow jumped from Solinari, it seemed she had just- appeared out of the empty air.

Dalamar gently shook the gully dwarf, but she just muttered and curled up tighter in his arms, tucking the green jewel under her chin. She was very clean, Dalamar noticed, wearing a soft brown robe, her whiskers were clean, and her hair pulled back in a braid that was already coming loose. She wore no insignia, no sign of where she might have come from.

Finally, Dalamar made up his mind. He had never heard of the Knights using gully dwarves as spies, and besides, even if this one was a spy, Dalamar couldn’t think of much she would be able to do. He hoisted her more comfortably in his arms, and carried her inside.

The gully dwarf yawned when he put her down in his bed, stretching, and wriggling her bare toes on his coverlet. She smiled, and rolled over, pressing her face into his pillow, and going back to sleep. Dalamar let out his breath, and reached for the stone.

The gully dwarf didn’t want to let go of it, her hand was white-knuckled and when Dalamar tried to ease it out of her grip, she grunted, pulling it against her chest. Dalamar stopped still, and she sighed and didn’t wake. He waited another moment, then took her hand carefully, leaning down to take a better look.

The stone was an emerald, clear and beautiful. At first, it didn’t seem magical, but when Dalamar looked closer, he saw something traced out in gold, deep within a stone. Two triangles, joined at the points-

No, not triangles. An hourglass.

Dalamar frowned, trying to remember if he had ever heard of anything like this- but then a heavy pounding on the door made him jump.

The gully dwarf jumped too. She jerked away, eyes wide. “What? Who you? Where am I?”

“Stay!” Dalamar hissed, and threw the spare blanket over her. “Don’t move!” He added, as she squawked in outrage. He pulled the door open.

It was Jenna’s apprentice, young what’s-his-name. He was pale; eyes shadowed from lack of sleep, auburn hair a mess around his face. “My Lord!” he panted. “You have to come; there is a message from Captain Dunbar!”

“Nuitari!” Dalamar gasped. “Go at once; I will be there in a moment.”

He started to bow, but Dalamar shut the door in his face. He looked back at the gully dwarf, who was squirming out from under his blankets, scowling. “Stay here.” He ordered. “Do not move, or I will turn you into a slug!”

She didn’t look impressed. “You no big mage.” She snorted. “I know big mage. He prettier than you.”

Dalamar shook his head; he didn’t have time for this. He hurried out of the door and shut and locked it behind him. After a moment, he risked casting a ward to make sure the gully dwarf wouldn’t go anywhere.

The ward was a minor one, little more than he would have once used to keep kender out of his things- but it drained him to the point where he found it hard to keep his footing. The magic was stuttering and weak, running unevenly over the door. Gods, what was happening to them?

He shook himself, and ran downstairs into the Hall of Mages. Everyone was already there- gods, how few they were now- gathered around the message globe. It was glowing white, the magic flaring and flickering. Dunbar was struggling to maintain the connection. Jenna was there, hands on the globe, sending red feathering through the white; her face was tight in concentration, trying to hold on from their side.

Dalamar touched his fingers to the globe, adding his own ripples of darkness into the globe. White, red and black, the Three together. “Captain.” Dalamar whispered. “Thank Nuitari you’re alive.”

“-not- easy.” His voice crackled and faded in an out. “-warning- coming- found plans-“

“Coming for us?” Jenna pressed.

“-Wayreth.” He confirmed. “-coming to- help you- but delay- fast as we can-“

“Do not dare.” Dalamar snarled. “Stay in Ergoth, and we will try and reach you. Are you still in Gwynned?”

“-seige- needed to- hit and run- crossing- Qualinesti-“

“Stop at once!” Dalamar started, but Jenna shook her head.

“Nowhere is safe. Perhaps a moving target is harder to hit.”

“-coming-“ Dunbar agreed. “-fast as- gnomish help- surprise- hold on- be ready to go-“

“We are.” Dalamar looked around at the other members of the Conclave. “We will gather the books and artifacts, and be ready to run.”

“-coming for you-“ And the message globe cut out, going dark. Dalamar caught his breath, shaking his head at the sudden snapping of the magic. For a moment, he had been caught within it, safe and held and himself again. For a moment, he had been home.

Now, it was gone again, and he was shivering and exhausted and so very alone. Jenna took his hand, desperate to find something, anything to hold on to. Dalamar closed his eyes, and clung to her. Anything, rather than this terrible emptiness inside.

“My Lord? Lady?” The apprentice stepped forwards, hesitantly.

“You have your orders, Palin.” Jenna said wearily. “Make sure all our things are packed.”

“Yes lady, but- why is this gully dwarf here?”

Oh Abyss. Dalamar groaned, and looked down. The gully dwarf was standing on the edge of the hall, looking around, very unimpressed. “I like my home better.” She announced. “Much bigger and prettier. He prettier than you too.”

“What is she talking about?” Jenna shook her head, then he face stiffened in fear. “How did she come here? Has the Grove-“

“No, she didn’t come through the Grove.” Dalamar walked over to stand beside the dwarf. “I will explain later. You, come with me.”

“Who you?” She scowled at him. “I no know you.”

Dalamar drew in a deep breath through his nose, out through his mouth. “My name is Dalamar.” She kept his voice steady. “I assume you must be hungry. If you come with me, I can bring you food.”

It worked, her eyes lit up. “Oh, you not so bad then. I come. I Bupu.” She held out her hand.

Well, at least it was clean. Dalamar took it, and caught Jenna’s eye. She nodded, and started over to follow them, pulling her apprentice along behind them. “We had better start packing food as well.” She gave them a sad smile.

The kitchens were bustling, full of yawning mages getting breakfast and caf. Dalamar could feel the presence of the Tower more closely here, its desperation. It was dying, it knew it was dying, and it was trying to use its last strength to care for them. He stroked the wall. I am so sorry.

“This good!” The gully dwarf beamed, throwing herself into a seat and grabbing two bread rolls, one in each hand. “This good place. Good as home.”

“And where is your home?” Dalamar took the seat opposite her. The Tower’s magic flickered, ebbed, but there was a cup of caf in front of Dalamar. He patted the table in thanks.

“My home is up.” She nodded wisely. “With pretty man. He look after us.”

“How did you get here?” Jenna sat beside them. Her apprentice hurried to get her caf.

“I fall.” Bupu narrowed her eyes at her. “Long way. I get tired. Fall asleep. Wake up here.”

“She is telling the truth.” Dalamar put in, “I saw her last night, she fell out of the sky. Where is your home?”

“In sky.” She shrugged. “Big home, lots of people. Aghar, elf, human. Lots of us, it happy place. Pretty man look after us.”

Dalamar shook his head, wondering where to even start with that. “In the sky?”

“In sky.” She looked at him, as if wondering if Dalamar was a bit dim. “Like this place, but it fly, like bird. Pretty man do it.”

“Who is this pretty man?” Jenna nodded her thanks as her apprentice came back with the caf.

“He pretty man,” She rolled her eyes, as if they were being just too stupid. “It his home, but he let us stay. Look after us. He very good, very kind. We love him very much.”

“A flying citadel?” Jenna shook her head. “Are the Knights using those again?”

“Not that I have heard.” Gods, that was all they needed. “This pretty man,” he turned back to the gully dwarf, “Does he wear armor?”

She guffawed. “No! He look silly like that! No, he wear like you, pretty dress.” He waved at their robes, “But more colours. He pretty.”

A renegade mage? Dalamar shook his head, but all the renegades had gone to Takhisis. Who was this person? “He is a mage?”

“Does big great magic.” She agreed. “Biggest magic in the world. Keeps us safe.”

“And that gem,” Jenna pressed, “What is that?”

She bristled shoving the gem into a pocket of her robes. “It mine! You not have it!”

“No no,” Dalamar soothed her. “We just want to know where you got such a lovely gem, none of us would dream of taking it.”

She narrowed her eyes at him, clearly not fooled. “He give it to me.” She said begrudgingly, “He say ‘it keep you safe and bring you home, little one’. That his name for me, little one. He kind.”

“It will take you home?” Jenna leaned closer, “How?”

“I not know. Maybe this place help. It like home, just on ground.”

 “How is it like home?” He said softly.

“Home like here, but one tower, not two. Bigger, more trees. Trees bigger too.”

Dalamar opened his mouth, but didn’t have time to say anything. Because then, the alarms started to go off, one after the other.

No.

Chapter Text

They were running by the time they reached the courtyard. Dalamar threw the door open and staggered out, then started coughing as the smoke hit him. His eyes streamed, he wiped them furious and oh Nuitari, Nuitari no.

The Grove was burning.

The Tower was fighting back, calling down rain, growing new trees, soaking the ground below into bog. But the Knights of the Thorn were too powerful, and the rain was turning to steam, the trees withering before they were more than saplings, the ground blackened and dead. They called down rains of flame, firestorms, ringing the Tower around so it could not flee without roasting everyone within.

“Get everyone ready-“ The wind turned, blowing the smoke back in their faces, and Dalamar doubled over, coughing. “Get them ready.” He finished, wiping his mouth, “Gather everything we can carry and start teleporting them to Gwynned-“

“Master!” A young elf in red robes, face blackened and hair charred. “We cannot leave! Their fire burns within the magic itself, I barely got back before it caught me. We cannot run!”

Despite the flame, the world turned cold. Dalamar swallowed, and his throat didn’t seem to be working. This- was it then. The end. What had begun with the Kingpriest would be finished here. The last Tower would burn, and the High Sorcery would die.

He’d wondered what those masters of the Lost Towers had felt, when they’d looked down to see their home besieged, those Knights cutting their way through to murder them all. “Withdraw.” He said through numb lips. “Get into the Tower, and close of all entrances. We will fight.” Seeing Jenna about to protest; he held up a hand. “We will fight, until we cannot any more. Then we will- make sure they will not claim this Tower. Let us do our Gods proud, and cost them as dearly as we can.”

Jenna nodded, ashen pale. Her apprentice was crying quietly beside her, but went with her as she hurried back inside.

Dalamar looked around, the flames were coming right up to the gates now, and beyond, he could see the outlines of the Knights, coming closer. Black armor, grey robes. The wings of blue dragons, fighting to come closer as the magic holding them back steadily faded.

Something pulled on his robes. Dalamar blinked, and looked down. Bupu was pale, her small face smudged with ash. “What happened?” He breathed, “Who these people?”

“They want to kill us.” Dalamar turned, pulling her with him. “We have to fight them.”

“They many.” She peered behind them. “I no like them.”

“Me neither.” Dalamar waved at a cluster of mages. “Gather the books and artifacts and bring them to the Heartcharmber!” He ordered. “We will need their power when the time comes.”

They understood. They shuddered, and two looked like they might be sick, but they nodded. Dalamar closed his eyes for a moment, trying to breathe. Gods, not like this. He didn’t want to go like this. But better to die in a pyre than to fall into the Knights’ hands. He had heard what they did to their prisoners.

“You need to call pretty man.” Bupu insisted. “He come. He flatten them.”

“Do call him then,” Dalamar said absently, jogging to the Hall of Mages to gather everyone. “We need all the help we can get.”

“You have big magic.” He huffed irritably, “You do it.”

Dalamar tuned her out. The mages who still had some grasp of the magic he sent to the battlements, to fight off the Knights for as long as they could. The rest he sent to gather the wonders of Wayreth to the Heartchamber. When the time came, he would feed their power into the Tower, and destroy its heart.

With luck, the resulting explosion would make what happened in Losacrum and Daltigoth look like the flicker of a candle. He gave a miserable smile. The last time the balance had broken this badly, the Gods had thrown down a flaming mountain. Now, they would simply have to provide one themselves.

Nuitari. He stopped at the top of the Tower, catching his breath. Show me mercy; let my soul find its way to you. Do not let the Dark Queen snare our souls to torment.

He could feel Her presence, closing on them, a noose around their throats. He could hear Her laughter, just out of hearing. Even the little gully dwarf was shivering, terrified. Where had she come from, Dalamar wondered. He hoped he would find out, in the world beyond this one. They hurried on, to the top of the Tower.

Up there, the full horror was laid out below them. Dalamar shuddered, gripping the crenelations as he looked down. The fire was out of control now, burning freely. He could feel the Tower’s magic drawing back, huddling within its walls. Reinforcing them as the Knights drew closer and closer, dragging enchanted war machined with them. A battering ram, the tip a cone of pure magic, but magic so poisoned it hurt for Dalamar to look at. He could feel the Dark Queen’s power seeping from it, as if it were a hole in the world, letting in Her poison. Anything that came close withered, the Knights themselves taking cover away from it.

How could they not see? Dalamar looked down at the anonymous mass of the Knights. How could they not realise what they were doing? Soon, the whole world would be riddled with these rents in the magic, bleeding out life. Soon, the world would be nothing but a rotting apple, riddled with maggot holes. How could they not see they were forging their own doom?

But they didn’t. And nothing Dalamar could say would convince them. He closed his eyes, and reached into himself. Deep inside, to where the flickering, struggling spark of his magic still dwelled, curled up inside his heart, away from the world. Dalamar drew it up, letting it fill his chest, his mouth, down his hands to his hands.

He opened his eyes, and got ready to fight.

“Ast kiranann kair soth-aran, suh kali jalaran!”

The first touch of the battering ram against the gates sent up a scream of agony from the Tower. Dalamar was thrown to his knees, hands over his ears and tasting blood in the back of his mouth. Oh Nuitari, Nuitari no.

“Focus on that thing!” He shouted- or tried to. He’d been casting and casting so much that his voice was an exhausted croak. “Destroy it now-“

But it was too late. The Knights roared their triumph, and brought the ram down against the gate again. A tearing shriek, like the world being broken in half. The silver-gold gates blackened, a tracery of decay running over it. For a moment, the Tower fought, trying to force back the rot- but the ram came back down the third time, and it crumbled to dust.

The gates were opened.

“There!” Dalamar trying to pull up what was left of his own power. “It’s a- bottleneck. They will be vulnerable-“

But the Knights knew that too. They were gathering around their strongest mages, shielding themselves. They would march in, and fortify themselves in the courtyard to start assaulting the Towers. Already, he could see them maneuvering the ram into place, getting ready to turn it against the great doors. Dozens of mages were below, fortifying it with every spell they had- but it would not be long now. Minutes, at most.

Dalamar caught his breath, and looked up. The sun was just setting behind the mountains, the Moons rising. Dalamar wondered if They had come up early, trying to feed them as much magic as They could. He shook his head wearily. I am sorry, my Masters. We fought as long as we could.

“Withdraw.” He rasped out. “Get back to the Heartchamber. This is the end.”

The end. Thousands of years of the Order of High Sorcery, and it ended with him. Dalamar Nightson, the last Head of the Order. His last act to make the cost as high as he could.

“Where we going?” Bupu frowned as he started towards the door.

“Inside.” Dalamar sighed. “I am sorry, you came to the wrong place at the wrong time.”

“You not going with them?” Bupu pointed up.

Dalamar followed where she was pointing and- there was something moving. Against the moons and the clouds, and the smoke rising from the Grove. At first, Dalamar thought it was a dragon, but it was too large even for that. He rubbed his eyes, then stared.

A ship. A huge ship, bigger than a galleon. And it was flying. Dalamar stared for a long moment, then pinched himself. His arm hurt. “Jenna!”

Jenna stumbled back, hunched over and panting for breath. “What?”

“Can you see that?” He pointed.

Jenna brushed her hair out of her face, blinked, blinked again. Her mouth opened; what-

And there, at the prow of the ship, was a figure in billowing white. Even as Dalamar watched, he called down a great blast of lightning, striking the monstrous ram and shattering it to sawdust. The tip of it flew aside and struck one of the leading Knights, they screamed and fell to the ground, thrashing as it burrowed into them.

“Move!” Another figure up on the ship, shouting through a speaking trumpet. “Get your scrawny arses up here!”

“We should go.” Bupu nodded wisely. “It not good here. I want to go home.”

Dalamar shook himself. Nuitari, thank you. “Keep the Knights back!” He ordered. “Every second we win is vital! We will be evacuating into the ship, with the artifacts! Hold them off!”

Jenna met his eyes, then set her jaw and nodded. “You, come with me!” He barked to Bupu and her apprentice. “We are going to the Heartchamber, and getting everyone out!”

Chapter Text

Hope. Gods, was this what hope felt like? Dalamar had forgotten. He saw it in the faces of the mages in the Tower, when they realised they might not be dying- or if they were, it was for a better reason than to make the enemy pay dearly. They lined up around the stairwells, getting ready to start casting the moment the Knights broke into the Tower. More- the youngest and most promising- began to evacuate the Tower, carrying the books and artifacts gathered over thousands of years, up into the flying ship.

Dear Nuitari, what had Dunbar been up to? Dalamar shook his head. Whatever it was, he would be kissing the man breathless if he got the chance.

“Keep moving!” He barked; organising the evacuating mages into relays. Everyone carrying something with them. The Heartchamber was emptying quickly, and Dalamar touched a hand to the beautiful, delicate model of the Tower within. There is hope, he told it in his mind, We will survive. It will not have been all for nothing.

He felt a wave of exhausted relief wash over him, and a question. Dalamar was silent for a long moment. He was almost completely drained but- he could not leave it. “Yes.” He whispered.

The Heartchamber was empty now, Dalamar stepped outside and the sounds of battle was deafening. The Knights were fighting their away up towards them, floor by floor. The screams, the clash of armor and blades, the crash when a Knight slipped from the stairwell. Only a handful of mages were left, pale and trembling, dredging up the last fragments of their magic to hold the Knights off, just a little longer.

“Go.” Dalamar ordered softly. “Run, now! Get out!”

“Master-“ A thin dwarf, barely on his feet, but jaw set stubbornly.

“It was an order.” Dalamar snapped. “Go!”

He looked at him, a long moment, then nodded. “Thank you.” He whispered.

“Dalamar!” Jenna was at the top of the stairs, shouting. “The dragons are getting close enough to attack the ship! We have to go now!”

“Go! I will follow!”

“Don’t you dare!” She screamed. “Get out! I’m not losing you too!”

“Move!” Somehow, he got the roar out. Jenna rocked back from the force of it.

She gave him one last, desperate look, then was gone. Dalamar ran back inside the Heartchamber. He looked down at the model of the Tower; it’s living, beating self. The core of its magic. In the Lost Battles, the mages had destroyed the core of their Towers, to make sure they would not be taken and- perverted.

But those had not been the last. He reached down, and gently picked up the tower’s core, cradling it in his arms.

And the whole Tower began to shake around him.

Dalamar turned and ran.

In the stairwell, the Knights were flat on the steps, clinging as the trembling grew around them. Dalamar gritted his teeth and ran, throwing himself up the stairs three at a time. In his arms, the core pulsed, bleeding magic into him. Dalamar closed his eyes, found that exhausted, worn out core of his own magic, and cast.

The spell carried him almost to the top of the stairs, and he staggered, almost falling as the ground threatened to tip from under his feet. Pieces of the stairwell were cracking now, falling away to crash into the Knights below. They were screaming now, in pain and rage and terror, calling to their Queen-

And one of them, only a staircase down from where he had been, raised a crossbow.

Dalamar threw himself at the door- but not quite fast enough. The bolt hit him in the arm with a dull, wet thunk, like a knife driven through wet meat. He screamed, almost dropped the core, but forced himself forwards, out onto the battlements.

And into a pair of massive arms. “Got him!” Dunbar roared, “Up!”

Dalamar caught his breath as the ground fell away from under his feet. He tightened his grip on the core, looking up with pain fogged eyes into Dunbar’s broad, smiling face. “Got you.” He sighed, in a somewhat quieter tone. “You didn’t think we were going to leave you in there, did you?”

Looking up, Dalamar blinked, stunned. Dunbar was hanging out of the ship, being held by an even bigger Ergothian man, who was in turn being held by the ancles by a yet bigger Ergothian woman, with what seemed like most of the Conclave holding onto her. Slowly, they were hauling them all back up.

A deafening boom shook the ship, and Dunbar snarled and tightened his grip as Dalamar felt himself start to slip. Below, the Tower was falling apart. With the core gone, the magic that had held it for so many thousands of years was dissipating. He could hear the screams of the Knights as the stones fell away from under their feet, the walls falling in to crush them.

It didn’t help. Dalamar felt the strength leave his limbs as first one turret, then the other, slid down and vanished into the rising column of dust and rubble, like a stormhead reaching up to the sky. It was gone. Dalamar choked, hot tears burning down his cheeks. Oh Nuitari, it was gone. Wayreth. His home. His only home, and the only home the magic had left. And now it was gone. He, Dalamar Nightson, would be known as the last Highmage of Wayreth. The one who had let the Tower fall.

If- there was even anyone left to write the histories, when this was all over.

Dunbar grunted as he was hauled over the railing, pulling Dalamar with him. “Up you go.” He set Dalamar on his feet. Dalamar’s legs didn’t even try to hold him up, just folding up under him. He collapsed sideways, jarring his wounded arm. He groaned, curled up around it, and the world just- went away, for a while.

Dalamar opened his eyes. The world was blurred and swimming around him, lurching unsteadily from one side to the other. His whole body felt drained and beaten, his arm throbbing with pain, but there was something- odd too. Something familiar and gentle- but his head was pounding too hard to identify it. His stomach heaved; he rolled over with a groan.

“There you go.” A bowl was put in front of him, and he threw up- or tried to. He brought up a trickle of bile, and his throat burned, suggesting this wasn’t the first time he’d been sick. He slumped back against the pillow, closing his eyes as he tried to get himself under control.

“Are you awake?” Dalamar opened his eyes, and swallowed as his gorge rose again. The world was wavering nauseatingly around him.

A blur of red leaned over him, he blinked again, and manage a weak smile. “Jenna.” He croaked.

“Yes.” She found his hand, and squeezed it. “You did it, my dear; you saved the Tower’s heart.”

The memories slammed back. Dalamar closed his eyes, swallowed again- but not against nausea, the tears burned under his eyelids. “It’s gone.” He whispered.

“Yes.” The chair beside him creaked, Jenna sitting down. “We got everyone out, with all the books, and most of the artifacts. And those filthy Grey Robes paid dearly for their crimes.”

“I don’t care.” Dalamar whispered. She leaned over, and he turned into her, pressing his face into her arm.

She held him for a long moment, stroking his hair like a mother consoling a heartbroken child. “I know.” She whispered, and he could hear the tears in her voice. “I know. I am so sorry. You did all you could, we all did.”

He let himself have this, just a few moments, letting the world crumble around him and his heart shatter in his chest. Just a little while, to feel the agony and loss. Jenna knew him better than almost anyone else, he could be weak with her, just for a little while.

At last, he sat up. The world was a little steadier now, less inclined to slip out from under him. He sniffed, and Jenna passed him a handkerchief. Dalamar wiped his eyes and nose, noting distantly that his wounded arm had been carefully wrapped. “How bad is it?” He croaked.

“The bolt passed clean through, and Dunbar’s people have skilled healers. Can you move your hand?”

Dalamar flexed his fingers, clenched a fist. It hurt, but everything was still working. That was- something at least. He relaxed on the bed, and again there was that- strange sensation inside, comforting and familiar. What was it? His head was pounding.

Jenna was smiling, it was morning, and a shaft of sunlight caught in her hair, made her robes glow. “You feel it too?”

Dalamar nodded, again mentally prodding inside him, feeling the pleasant feeling coiling and warming inside him. He knew this, it was like finding an old friend, so long lost-

He blinked, sitting up. Inside him, the magic was a warm, blazing fire. “Oh.” He gasped, and curled up, wrapping himself around the blaze as if to protect it. Over the last year, it had burned down to no more that flickering embers, suffocated by the Dark Queen’s power.

But now, it was restored. Just as it had been. Dalamar choked, unable to hold back his tears- of joy, this time. Even here, in the daylight, he could feel the presence of his God, His power close around him, as if rejoicing to have him safe at last.

“Can you get up?” Jenna patted his shoulder. “You should see this.”

Chapter Text

Getting up was a struggle, but Dalamar managed it. Jenna firmly tucked his arm under hers, steadying him as the world wavered and threatened to slide out from under his feet. Dalamar closed his eyes, and she led him out, into the bright, chill air of the morning.

Dalamar lifted his head, breathing in the sweetness of the air. He leaned against the railing, letting his other senses take in the world. The wind so sharp and cold, roaring in his airs. The thrum and pulse of the ship around them, the creaking of strange mechanisms. The smell of grease and wood and magic.

Oh, the magic, so much of it. He- hadn’t realised how much they had lost until it had suddenly returned. Gods, they had been dying, like fish in a drought, drowning in air as the water evaporated around them. The magic ran through him, lightning in his blood, through the wood of the railing, into the ship and the wind and the world around him, Jenna’s own magic joining to answer his.

Dalamar let out a long breath, feeling that terrible, crushing dread slide of his shoulders. He had the magic, it was his again, as long as he had this, he could face anything. He opened his eyes.

The light was dazzling at first, blinding him. Dalamar blinked, and blinked again.

At first, he thought the ship was flying through a great canyon, but a third blink and he realised the truth. The canyons were clouds, endlessly and impossibly huge, towering on either side of the side, bigger than any mountains in Ansalon. Dalamar caught his breath, looking up in awe. The clouds were immense, but strangely delicate, feathering to strands and tatters around their edges, the colours fading from grey to bluish to blinding white.

“Quite something, isn’t it?” Dalamar smiled, turning, and Dunbar pulled him into a warm hug. “It’s taking a bit of getting used to after the ocean, I’ll grant you, but it’s got its own beauties.”

Dalamar sighed, relaxing into the hug. Gods, how had this happened? Here they were, all three of them, together again. The magic was theirs again. They were going- somewhere. Dalamar hardly cared where. The Tower was gone, and Dalamar would mourn it forever, but the core was still theirs, and in time, they would raise it again, more beautiful than before. “Thank you, my friend.” Dalamar whispered.

“Come, you’d have done the same.” Dunbar patted his shoulder. “Now, I’m betting you’re dying to ask how all of this happened.”

“I hadn’t quite gotten that far yet.” Dalamar smiled, “But I think if you explained it over a plate of breakfast, I would become very curious.”

Dunbar burst out laughing, and led them into a forward cabin on the ship.

It was packed with people, mostly mages, but Dalamar also saw a number of Ergothians there too, helping themselves to trays of food. Dalamar recognised Jenna’s apprentice at one of the tables, furiously digging into a plate of bread and cheese, and even the little gully dwarf, half hidden behind a pile of pancakes. His stomach cramped painfully, and Dalamar didn’t know if he was going to be sick, or eat everything in the room.

“Something light for you, I think.” Dunbar helped him over to one of the long tables, “Porridge and fruit?”

Dalamar nodded, and in moments, a bowl of steaming porridge was in front of him, fragrant with honey and cut apples. Dalamar tried a mouthful, and fought the urge to just down the lot on the spot. Steeling himself, he forced himself to swallow just one spoonful at a time. “Now, you were going to tell me about how you came to captain this- incredible ship.”

“Alas, I’m not the captain.” Dunbar smiled. “That will be the formidable Captain Moira Mastermate.”

“A relation?” Jenna sat beside them, her plate heaped with eggs and bacon, Dalamar tried not to whine at the smell.

“My tender and loving mother, in fact.” He beamed, and as if on cue, a bellowing voice roared out from outside, although Dalamar couldn’t quite make out what she was saying.

“It all started with the gnomes, of course.” Dunbar waved down one of the younger mages, who’d taken it upon themselves to take on the role of teaboy. “You know how they are. The Knights were besieging Mount Nevermind, so the gnomes decided the only way to break the siege was to fly the mountain to somewhere ‘more hospitable’. They came up with these ships, powered by the gases from the mountain, and were trying to use them to lift the mountain off the ground.”

“I assume that didn’t work?” Dalamar sipped his tea, and felt strength bleed back into him. Gods that felt good.

“Not exactly, but by the time they realised that, they had several hundred flying ships tethered to the mountain. They cut the top off the mountain, decided that counted as Mount Nevermind, and evacuated the whole damn place. Then they cut the tethers and flew off. The ships can fly higher than dragons can, so there wasn’t much the Knights could do. Of course, the ships weren’t built with any kind of steering in mind, so they were pretty much stuck going anywhere the wind took them, and it so happened there was a southward wind blowing that day.”

“To Ergoth.” Jenna sat back, cradling the mug in her hands.

“You can imagine what the reaction was when that came over the horizon.” Dunbar snorted. “They very nearly got shot out of the sky- the ships had lost a lot of height by that point; and it was only my mother taking charge and asking questions first that saved them.”

“What did Emperor Redic say about that?” Dalamar looked down at his bowl, and sadly pushed it away. He desperately wanted more, but he had to slow down or risk being sick again.

“Nothing.” Dunbar’s face was solemn, “The Knights took Gwynned last month, and His Honour refused to leave. He stayed with the last of the army, fighting to the end.”

Dalamar swallowed. Jenna paled. “Ergoth has fallen?”

Dunbar’s face crumpled, his shoulders slumped and he sudden seemed- very small, despite his bulk. Dalamar caught Jenna’s eye, and they leaned forwards, holding Dunbar, letting him take whatever comfort his could from their presence.

“Thank you.” He said at last, sitting back. “I am sorry. It has been-“

“We know.” Jenna stoked his arm. “Believe us, we know.”

“Of course you do.” Dunbar shook himself. “Anyway, by that point we’d been getting our own mages on the ships, working out a way to get them to run on magic. The gnomes agreed to take us along if we could keep the ships flying, so most of Gwynned is on the ships.” He lifted his head, and smiled. “And we should be coming on the flotilla now. Come and have a look, it’s something to see.”

“Permission to dock!” Captain Moira roared as they approached. Dalamar winced, even from several decks down; that hurt his ears.

Bupu had her hands over her ears. “She too loud.” She complained, peering through the bars. “This not home either,” She huffed. “When you take me home?”

“When we find out where it is.” Dalamar said absently, staring out at the flotilla.

Gods, there were so many. He’d tried to imagine how many ships the gnomes would have made to try and sail away with a mountain, but clearly his imagination was lacking, because there was a whole city out there, among the clouds.

More ships that he could count, and even that could not be all of them, because as the clouds ebbed and surged, he could see more tucked away within those towering mountains. Some larger than theirs, most smaller. Some with strange balloons swollen above them, some, like theirs, without, but with humming magic flowing through them. Gnomes everywhere, Ergothians everywhere. Kender of course, and even a few lost looking Kagonesti, sitting on the roofs looking out that this new, impossible landscape.

And so many, many mages. Dalamar caught his breath, feeling a heavy knot of grief he’d barely been aware of, relax at last. Thank the Three, but it seemed like almost all those who had been with Dunbar had made it. A few turned and saw them, and sent up little flashes of magic in welcome. Dalamar waved back, breathless with joy.

“It big.” Bupu shrugged, “But my home bigger. It up. Long way up.”

“Of course.” Dalamar wasn't listening. Their ship drifted smoothly into a gap between several others, and ropes were thrown between them, tethering the ship securely into the gap. Gangways were slotted into place, and Dunbar bounded off the ship, hugging the mages clustering around them. “We got them all!” He beamed. “Even Highmage Nightson- although I had to carry him out in the end.”

“And all the books.” Dalamar followed him off, he tried not to look down- but his morbid curiosity got the better of him, and he did. Oddly, it was not at all frightening. They were so high up that he saw nothing but more clouds below, a faint bluish haze the only clue that he would be facing a hideously long fall if he slipped. Dalamar braced himself and strode firmly onto the other ship, Bupu bouncing across after him without any hesitation at all.

He was pulled into warm arms, passed around as everyone seemed to want to hug him, shake his good hand or pat his back. “We got the books.” Dalamar managed, “And the artifacts-“

“And he stayed behind last of all.” Jenna finished, following them. “And saved the core of the Tower. It may be lost, but in time, it will be again.”

“Thank Nuitari!” And oh. Dalamar found her in the crowd and pulled her into a tight hug of his own. Praise be to the Gods, she was all right. “Ah, there you are. Let me go, little brother, you’ll crush me.”

“You deserve it, Iolanthe.” Dalamar smiled. “I was afraid, after Palanthas-“

Her face shuttered, she looked away. “I know. I heard. I hope it was fast.”

“She wouldn’t have let them take her.” Dalamar squeezed her hand. Iolanthe had been Ladonna’s apprentice before him, and had always lorded that seniority over him. It had rankled at first, but now it was a blessed balm to his bruised soul. “And she would be glad we are both whole and safe.”

“Safe is the words of the day,” She turned to Dunbar, “Have you heard the latest plans?”

“How?” Dunbar frowned, “We’ve been sailing non-stop for days.”

“They’re having a meeting over it right now.” She motioned them to follow. “We had best hurry if we’re to get our own word in.”

Chapter Text

The meeting was held on a number of ships, floating beside each other so as the make a massive amphitheatre. Delegates from all the different factions were there, a gaggle of gnomes that must be from their decision committee. A middle-aged Ergothian man in fine garb, his face tight with grief, who must be the Emperor’s son- now Emperor himself. Several stern looking Kagonesti, leaning together to discuss in hushed voices. Even an older kender, his topknot grey streaked; his wrinkled face like an old apple, uncharacteristically sad.

“Uncle Tas!” Jenna’s apprentice cried out, starting forwards. She grabbed hold of his shoulder, pulling him back.

The kender looked up, and his gnarled face lifted in a smile. “Palin!” He leaped up, and rushed towards them; Palin sank to his knees and hugged the old kender, crying quietly. “Do you know- are mother and father-“

The kender’s face fell again, he shook his head. “I don’t know. I tried to get them to come, but they wouldn’t leave Solace.”

Palin nodded; swallowed. “I bet. After what happened-“

Dunbar nudged Dalamar, turning his attention away from the pair. The mages were all looking at him. Oh, of course. He was Head of the Conclave. It would be up to him to represent them. He stepped forwards, tucking his hands into the sleeves of his robes, letting the cloak of authority settle on his shoulders.

The Emperor nodded at the sight of him, the gnomes inclined their heads. The Kagonesti scowled, Dalamar wasn’t sure if it was his black robes, or that he was Silvanesti that they hated most.

“I think,” One of the gnomes said; her voice loud and precise, deliberately slow, “That we are ready to start. Shimisha, chair of the Directional and Piloting Committee.”

“Reldrin the First, Emperor of Ergoth, in exile.” The Emperor looked like just saying the words were agony.

“Kerlan the Younger.” A tall Kagonesti stepped up, “Chief of the Lost Tribe.”

“Tasslehoff Burrfoot.” The old kender jumped down, “For- I suppose the kender?” He glanced around, uncertain.

Burrfoot, the name sounded familiar. Dalamar shook his head, and stepped forwards. “Dalamar Nightson, Head of the Conclave.”

“Good.” The Chair unrolled a long scroll. “The meeting is so opened. The journey west will begin as soon as sufficient supplies have been gathered. The mages will be assigned to each ship in order to make sure all are flying-“

“Hold!” Dalamar had been about to interrupt, but the Emperor had been faster, the Kagonesti also looked rebellious. “You speak of giving up?”

“There are no knights.” The gnome crossed her arms, “No empire. The elves won’t last long. The dwarves have locked themselves underground again. The mage tower is gone. We are the only ones left; let us get out while we still can.”

“To abandon the forests-“ Kerlan started, but one of his people pulled him back, whispering in his ear.

Tasslehoff bit his lips. “It could be a great adventure, but-“

“To spit on the bones of my ancestors,” The Emperor looked furious, “For Takhisis’ brats to rule Ergoth-“

“They already do.” The gnome scowled. “The knights went on like that, and they’re dead too. We lost. Either we get away, or we’re all lost.”

Was she wrong? Dalamar didn’t know. The thought of fleeing was- nauseating, but it might be their only hope-

He thought of the moons.

“Our very magic is being suffocated by the Dark Queen’s power.” He said at last. “With such power, where can we go that She may not find us? With her dragons and her flying citadels, where can we go that her Knights will not hunt us?”

“Better than if we stayed here.” The gnome shrugged. “Give us a chance to regroup, fortify. Hold out longer than here, anyway.”

“The dragonarmies have entered Qualinesti.” Another of the Kagonesti stepped forwards, looking weary. “Already the woods burn, we have seen the smoke from the ships, even the wind in Ergoth tastes of burning when it blows from the east. The Silvanesti are fighting, but they will not hold them off long. The dragonarmies will kill them all. We were the first of the elves, and we will soon be the last, let us flee, and save what little we can.”

Dalamar stomach lurched. He’d- known it, deep in his bones. His people, so blind and foolish as to let the Dark Queen divide them. They would be hunted down, wiped out. One day, one day quite soon, he would be the last of the Silvanesti. He shuddered, wondering if he really was about to be sick. A small hand pulled on his robes.

Bupu was at his side, frowning at the gathering. “What they talk about? We not go west. We need go up. Home not far, look-“ She held up her gem. In its green depths, a faint light was flickering.

“I don’t think we should leave.” Tasslehoff spoke up. “In the last war, we thought it was hopeless, but it wasn’t, and we all saved the day. I’ve been asking Paladine about it, since we’re good friends, he’s not answered yet, but I bet he’s just busy-“

“The last war!” The gnome rolled her eyes. “Always the last war! The knights wanted it to be the last war, they all played at being Sturm Brightblade, and now they’re all dead like him! It’s not the last war, and the Dark Queen won. If your Paladine is anywhere, he’s off with Reorx making another mountain to throw at us! If we go west, at least we’ll be out of the way-“

“I will not abandon my people and my land!” The Emperor looked about to explode, red under his dark skin. “If you will flee, then do so! But let my people back down so we can find a way to fight back. If we lose, then let us do so honoring those who came before!”

The gnome said something, but Dalamar couldn’t hear it, because the Kagonesti were shouting. And the Ergothians, several of the mages were also joining in, although Dalamar couldn’t hear them either, or know what side they were supporting. Bupu flinched at the din. “We need go.” She looked up at him pleadingly. “They coming.”

“What?”

Bupu pointed.

Dalamar turned and followed her pointing finger. There, in the distant clouds, dark shapes were moving. Horror ripped through Dalamar.

“Dragons!” He roared.

That stopped the argument. Everyone froze. “Impossible.” The gnome ran up to join him, “We’re too high up-“

But Dalamar could see them now. A flight of blues, coming out of the massed walls of cloud. He shuddered as a wave of the Dark Queen’s magic washed over them, like a rising tide, threatening to drown them. It was Her power keeping the dragons alive, where the air was too thin for them to breathe, keeping them flying.

“Sound the alarm!” The gnome roared. “Back to your ships! Scatter!”

“Come on!” Dalamar grabbed Bupu’s hand. “We have to climb; Her power is closing on us!”

“Yes!” Bupu beamed. “Now you right! We go home!”

“Uncle Tas! Come with us!” Palin shouted, and the old kender hurried after them.

“Run, the lot of you!” Dunbar pushed them on, herding them back to the ship. Dalamar could feel the Dark Queen’s power lapping at their feet, slowly rising to crush the magic out of them.

The ships were starting to break away from each other as they ran. The captain was already casting off by the time they reached the gangplank. Dalamar gritted his teeth and forced himself to run across, not thinking of the sheer drop on either side, Bupu just behind him. Dunbar grabbed a rope and swung aboard. Iolanthe and Jenna hesitated, then ran across too, Palin and Tasslehoff bringing up the rear.

The last of the ropes fell away, and the ship swung up, the magical engines roaring. The dragons were closing fast, lightning crackling form their jaws. So close now, Dalamar could see the mages clinging to their backs, calling on Takhisis’ power to keep them flying. Her grey robes. Even here, they were hunted.

“Yes!” Bupu shouted, running to the front of the ship. “We go! Keep up! We go home!”

Tasslehoff stopped, staring at the gully dwarf. “Is that-“

But any more was lost as the Captain’s voice bellowed. “Clear the decks! Mages to the engines, we need to go fast. Get that gully dwarf off the prow!”

Dalamar tried to grab Bupu, but she shook him off impatiently. “We close!” She shouted, holding up her pendant. “Watch! It take us!”

The pendant was truly glowing, almost as brightly as it had been the first time Dalamar had seen it. As he stared, it lifted out of Bupu’s hand, rising into the air until only her grip on the chain held it in place.

Bupu looked up at Dalamar, smiled. And let go. “We go home.”

As the pendant rose the light brightened until it was like staring at a fragment of the sun, brilliant green. “Follow that light!” He shouted to the foredeck.

“I’m the Captain here!” Was bellowed back. Then, after a pause. “Follow that light!”

“Yes, Captain!” Dalamar saluted, and pulled Bupu with him.

She looked back up at the pendant, still rising. “It take us.” She patted his hand. “No dragons there! Pretty Man not let them, he kill them all, kill them dead!”

“I hope so.” Dalamar looked back at they reached the rear engines. The dragons were circling, some way below. The other ships were scattering in all directions, and they seemed to be deciding which group to follow. Dalamar looked over at the other mage ships, rising with them. Higher now, where the magic was still strong. Gods, he hoped Bupu was right.

They took it in turns, fuelling the ship. It was deceptively simple, just resting their hands on a large faceted gem, and pouring their magic into it. But when Dalamar let go, some uncertain time later, the world was swimming around him, and he grabbed someone’s arm to stay upright. “Easy, Master.” Jenna’s apprentice steadied him. “Do you want some fresh air?”

“Please.” He managed.

Outside, the air was freezing. Dalamar gasped, reality returning like a slap to the face. His breath came in clouds. On the foredeck he saw Jenna and Iolanthe casting, maintaining a bubble of air around the ship. The dragons were nowhere to be seen; even the Dark Queen’s gift couldn’t keep them flying this far up. A handful of other ships were following them, their own magics shimmering around them.

Bupu was at the prow again, climbing up on the railings until she was leaning head and shoulders into the wind. Above her, the pendant was still climbing. The glow was so bright now that Dalamar had to shield his eyes, feeling the light on his skin like the sun.

Bupu turned to him, grinning, “We nearly home! Look!”

The pendant was evening out, steering them into a strange valley between the clouds. The clouds looked- different. Like stormclouds, black and purple and angry, but how could there be thunderclouds this high up? He felt his hair stand on end as lightning crackled within, that same unearthly green as the pendant.

Dalamar found himself struggling to catch his breath, and it had nothing to do with the thinness of the air. An exultation he had not felt for decades welled inside him. Not since he had come to Wayreth and seen the Tower for the first time.

“Batten the hatches!” A roar from just behind him made Dalamar almost jump over the side. The Captain was right there, even more massive this close to. Broad-shouldered, with burnished dark skin and a bosom that could double as a battering ram. She looked at Dalamar and her weathered skin creased in a frown. “Where in the Abyss is that thing leading us?”

“Home!” Bupu beamed.

“I have no idea.” Dalamar shrugged helplessly. “Only that it has to be better than where we left.”

She glowered at him another long moment, then gave such a massive sigh Dalamar was sure the sails fluttered, filling more. “Can’t say anything to that.” She looked at the green flares in the clouds. “Just don’t get us killed.”

“I promise we will do our best.”

“Pretty Man not kill you.” Bupu snorted. “He kind.”

“What is that one babbling about?” She shook her head.

“I’m not sure, but we may be about to find out.”

Ahead of them loomed a massive wall of clouds. It stretched from so far below that Dalamar couldn’t see the end of it, to so high up Dalamar wondered if the moons must touch it when they passed over. The lightning was brighter there, furious and flaring like a wall of raw magic. Dalamar could feel it between his teeth, brilliant and so incredible it made Dalamar want to fall to his knees in awe and worship.

Dear Nuitari, but who could be causing this? Or what? Whatever Bupu’s Pretty Man was, his power was incalculable. How could this be?

For a moment, all the pain, all the horror of the past few years was swept away. Dalamar felt his cheeks sting as his tears froze to his skin.

“Dragons!”

Oh, Abyss no. Dalamar turned- and there they were, flying into the cloud canyon. Somehow, the dragons had followed them. It was the Dark Queen, he realised, sick to his stomach. She wanted them all dead, so She could claim all of Krynn’s magic as he own-

“We can’t fly through that!” The Captain snarled. She glared at Dalamar. “You trapped us, you damn bastards! They’ll fry us and there isn’t a damned thing we can-“

“We go!” Bupu rolled her eyes at the histrionics. “Look!”

The pendant had drifted into the wall of clouds, the light blazing into the veils of mist, boring in deep- and where it touched, the lightning retreated.

“Oh Kiri-Joliths balls!” The Captain swore. “All ahead full! Get us in there now! Go go go-“

Any more was gone as the ships lurched forwards. Dalamar lost his footing and crashed to the deck, gasping in pain as he jarred his bad arm. Bupu whooped.

Then everything was lost as the clouds closed around them. And the world drowned in darkness and brilliant, boiling green.

Chapter Text

Dalamar got up slowly. It was so dark that even with his eyes he could only see a few feet on front of him. Bupu was still clinging to the railing, cheering at the top of her lungs. “We home now! I come! Pretty Man, I okay!”

The Captain was clinging to the mast as the ship bucked violently. “Steady her out!” She roared, but even her voice was deadened in the cloud.

“We’re doing all we can, but it’s fighting us! The magic-“

“You stop!” Bupu rolled her eyes. “Pretty Man is doing it. We safe, look!”

And before Dalamar could stop her, she had jumped off the railing, over the side of the ship.

Dalamar shouting something even he didn’t hear, rushing to the side to try and cast something- although what he had no idea-

But Bupu was there again, smiling as she rose up in front of him. She held her arms out, shimmering with green light. “See? We safe. We all safe. No one hurt us now.”

She stepped on the edge of the railing, balancing on one foot. Dalamar and the Captain shared helpless looks. “Cut all power!” He shouted at last.

“What?”

“Cut it!” Dalamar ordered. “We are in the hands of one far more powerful that we. Let us conserve what power we have left!”

And oh, but the magic. It flowed over them like waves, great and drowning and wonderful. Dalamar swallowed it deep, shuddering with joy as it overwhelmed him, his skin blazing. Whatever was on the far side, Dalamar almost didn’t care what it did to them. Whatever it was, it would be wonderful.

“Here we go!” Bupu held up her hands. “We home!”

The clouds parted, and Dalamar almost fell to his knees. He felt a bubble of almost hysterical laughter rise within him because of course.

Of course.

It was in all the tales, of course. After the War of the Lance, the Gods of Magic had spirited away the Tower of Palanthas, brought it among the moons.

And here it was.

A tall Tower of black stone, shining and beautiful and crackling with green-gold power. Around it coiled great, massive trees. The Shoikan grove still ringed the Tower, but beyond it were trees so huge and majestic they took Dalamar’s breath away. All together, standing on a massive shard of stone the size of hundreds of flying citadels.

“Vallenwoods!” Jenna and her apprentice had joined them on deck, Palin clinging to the rails in awe. “Like back home!”

“Wow.” The old kender had joined them. He frowned for a moment, looking at the trees, then at Bupu, then back at the trees. His eyes went wide. “Wait, Palin, do you think-“

Palin paled, but his eyes were shining. “Could it be?” He whispered. “But it’s been so long-“

A deep groaning almost deafened them. The ship was flying straight into what appeared to be a solid wall of the trees- but they were moving. The massive trunks, each almost the size of the Tower, were slowly twisting aside, leaving an opening wide enough for the ship to pass through.

Jenna stood beside Dalamar, rested a hand on his arm. She was smiling; the same smile Dalamar knew was on his face. A joy so deep and desperate it almost brought them to tears.

“We had best take the time to prepare.” Dalamar said hoarsely. “Whoever the Master of this Tower is, we will be meeting them soon. Let us make a good impression.”

Raistlin Majere woke up, knowing something was wrong. No, perhaps not wrong, but- off. Out of place. He sat up in bed and stretched, reaching across the Tower to find what was disturbing him. But whatever it was; was too small to be immediately apparently, like a stone in his shoe.

Finally, Raistlin shook himself and got up, sliding his feet into his slippers. The morning was bright and lovely, smelling of vallenwoods and oaks. He found his dressing gown and put it on against the chill, padding to the washroom to get ready for the day.

The nagging feeling had not abated by the time he’d washed and dressed. The Tower had left out a small breakfast of fruit and pastries on his desk, and Raistlin sighed and picked up an apple and a honey roll to appease it. He felt it ripple happily- but all too soon that ebbed away, leaving that unsettled feeling.

Raistlin sighed, and resigned himself to spending the morning unpicking the thread of this mystery.

He found Lemuel in the garden, digging happily. “Morning,” he beamed when he saw Raistlin. “Slept well?”

“Well enough.” It was clear Lemuel didn’t feel anything, but then his friend’s magic was never too potent, even after years of Raistlin’s guidance.

“I asked around about Bupu again, but no news.” He bit his lip. “You don’t think-“ He looked towards the edges of the Grove, and beyond.

“She has her emerald,” Raistlin said firmly, trying to convince himself. “If she has- left, it will keep her safe, and guide her home.”

“I hope so, poor little thing.” Lemuel sighed. “I swear, the longer I stay here, Raistlin, the worst it seems down there. The memories just seem worse and worse. Is it the same to you?”

“Yes.” Not a day went by that he didn’t thank the Three for guiding him here, and his own power in being able to make that choice. He patted Lemuel’s shoulder, and walked on.

The Highbulp of the gully dwarves was sunning herself on the grass by the greenhouses, fat and happy and surrounded by a pile of apple cores. She perked up as he walked past, and threw herself at his feet. “Great mage! We welcome!”

“I greet you, Highbulp.” He spoke in her language. “How goes your search for Bupu?”

Her face fell. “We searched all the tunnels, all around. But-“ She hesitated, trembling.

So many years, and still they feared. Raistlin sat on his haunches, and patted her shoulder. “I will not hurt you, no matter what you say. What happened to Bupu?”

“We found a hole.” She whispered into the grass. “The tunnel fell in, open to the sky. If she was there when it broke-“

“She would have fallen.” Raistlin closed his eyes. “But she had her emerald?”

“Always.” The Highbulp sat up, “It keep her safe?”

“It should, and guide her home.” Raistlin sighed, and got up. “What about the hole?”

“We put up warnings, and nets. Some like to go and look. Pretty clouds.”

“Be very careful, and tell me at once if there are any more accidents.”

“Yes great mage. Thank you, great mage.”

Raistlin bit back a wince at the fawning, but- she was one of the older ones, she could remember how things were. The gulf between what had been, and the life Raistlin had given them, safe and happy, high above the clouds. He gave her a smile, and cast a little cantrip, setting golden motes floating around her. She gasped in happiness, holding up her hands to catch the display.

Raistlin walked across the lawns, through the Shoikan Grove- now little more than decoration, given the vallenwoods and the impossible gulf below. They shook their boughs out, leaves fluffing and perking up as he passed, as if to prove themselves. Raistlin ran a hand through the leaves to soothe them.

But before he could even reach the gates, there was a deep and resounding groan from the vallenwoods. Raistlin jumped back, looking up as the massive trees started to twist and move- letting something through. A green light cut through the sky. Emerald green.

Bupu.

Raistlin caught his breath. He hurried to the gates, throwing them open. Around him, the Grove bristled happily; glad to be of use at long last.

“What in the Abyss is going on, Red?” Horkin huffed as he caught up with Raistlin. “Visitors?”

“I believe Bupu has found a way to return in some style.” Raistlin smiled.

They were all crowding at the gates by the time the vallenwoods before them groaned and started to part. Horkin, Lemuel, Scrounger, the gully dwarves. Even Meggin had levered herself out of her chair and hobbled to join them, hunched and leaning heavily on her staff.

Then the trees swept apart and in it came. They all caught their breaths at the sight of the ships. Flying ships! Raistlin waved them all back as the lead one approached, gnomish inventions had a certain reputation. But it only shuddered slightly as the keel rested on the grass. Raistlin lifted a hand to call up roots to form a dock.

But the little figure was already jumping off the lead ship, the emerald shining green as it slowed her fall. Then she was off and running, arms wide. Raistlin crouched down and Bupu flew into his arms, hugging him desperately. “I miss you.”

“I missed you too, little one.” Raistlin hugged her back. “Are you hurt?”

“No. I fine.” She beamed up at him. “I bring friends, look! Big mages like you.”

Mages. Raistlin stiffened, feeling like he’d swallowed ice. No. The Conclave, that wretched, hateful Conclave. Probably coming to try and reclaim the Tower from him. His mind filled with the horrors he’d suffered at their hands: His Test. Fistandantilus. His curse. His brother watching his most dreadful moment- and then, when he was too powerful them to hurt, then cast him out. Branded him renegade, for saving their lives and their Gods and the very magic.

“Stay back.” He could barely recognise his own voice. “If the Conclave is here, they may want to cause us harm.”

“Those motherless piss-drinkers!” Horkin scowled. “Let them try, the pig-fucking bastards, they’ll have to go through old Horkin first!”

“Invaders!” The Highbulp started back- then steeled herself. “We defend home! We fight for you!”

“Fight?” Bupu frowned. “But they kind. They look after me.”

“Perhaps. Perhaps they just wanted to find this Tower.” Raistlin frowned. The mages were starting to emerge.

But as they walked out, Raistlin felt himself start to relax because- he knew none of these people. Then again, he should probably have guessed as much. It had been almost thirty years since he’d left that hateful world, no doubt Par-Salian and Ladonna were long dead, and Justarius had probably retired. The three Heads of the Orders stepped forwards, and he had never seen any of them before. The white robe was a big Ergothian, his face creased by sun and smile lines. The Head of the Red Robes a handsome Solamnic woman with prematurely grey-streaked hair, solemn and stern.

And the Head of the Black Robes-

Raistlin swallowed.

He had long since broken the curse on his eyes, but they had left a- mark. It was difficult to find most creatures attractive when he was still bracing himself to see them rot. All but elves. They were all so ageless, so beautiful. They made the blood thrum hot in his veins, even now.

And this one was even more staggeringly beautiful than most. Tanned and strong under his black robes, eyes dark and weary, long black hair framing a delicate, striking face. He stepped forwards, opening his mouth to speak.

But was beaten to it by a young mage standing beside the red robe. He lurched forwards, eyes wide. “Uncle Raistlin!”

Oh. Oh by the Gods. Raistlin couldn’t breathe. A young mage in red robes, with Caramon’s broad frame and Tika’s green eyes- and his own delicate hands.

It- shouldn’t be too much of a surprise. Of course Caramon would have spawned, and magic did run in their family, after all. He managed to gather himself. “Yes. You are-“

“Palin! Palin Majere- oh.” He stumbled into a bow. “Child of Caramon Majere. He told me so much about you.”

“I can only imagine.” Caramon. His brother. Oh, his heart ached. “Is he well?”

The silence was hideous. Raistlin felt his hands start to shake. No. Not Caramon. Not his brother. He should have come back. He should have gone to see him-

“Easy.” Meggin put a gnarled hand on his. “I’m sorry, child.”

“I don’t know.” Palin whispered, “I’m sorry.”

“It’s Caramon.” And oh dear magic was that Tasslehoff? He looked so much older. He put a hand on Palin’s arm, smiling at Raistlin with tears in his eyes. “They won’t get him, and Tika will beat them all over the head with a skillet. Hullo Raistlin.”

The other mages had been watching this in confusion. The black robe glanced at the red robe, and she stepped forwards. “Palin, will you do the introductions?”

“Oh, right.” The young mage flushed. He looked in good health, at least. Raistlin thought bleakly. Clearly this Conclave wasn’t as interested in tormenting initiates as the last one. “Uncle, this is Lady Jenna of Palanthas, Head of the Red Robes. With her are Master Dunbar Mastermate, of the White Robes, and Head of the Conclave and the Black Robes, Dalamar Nightson. Masters, this is Raistlin Majere, Hero of the Lance, and my uncle.”

Chapter Text

Raistlin Majere.

Dalamar knew the name- although he was one of the few, he suspect, who did. Raistlin Majere’s name seemed to have been meticulously erased from all of the Conclaves records. There was only the date of his Test, and his subsequence exile from the Order and- nothing. Even outside of the Conclave, few seemed to speak of him. He had been part of the Heroes of the Lance- but an unwanted and despised part. He had played some small role, before betraying the heroes- or not, the tales were rather confused on that fact- and disappearing from history.

But Dalamar had been Silvanesti, and no Silvanesti would forget the strange human mage who had vanquished Lorac’s Nightmare, and freed their homeland. He bit back the absurd urge to thank the mage.

But dear Nuitari, Dalamar didn’t know what to say. It had been decades since he had felt himself so stricken when facing anyone, but this man succeeded where so many others had failed. He was beautiful, unearthly and striking with golden skin and stark white hair, his eyes glimmering gold. Why hadn’t any of the tales spoken of his beauty?

But more than that, far more, was the sheer power that came from the mage. It was like standing before a pillar of flame, twisting and blazing and almost blinding in its otherworldly light, casting even the ancient staff in his hand into shadow. Another part of Dalamar was very tempted to throw himself at the man’s feet in worship.

Instead, he held himself steady and took a step forward. “It is an honour to meet you.”

“An honour?” The man’s lip curled in a sardonic smile. “That is a novelty. The Conclave I knew was nowhere near so cordial.”

The Conclave he had known? Dalamar threw his mind back- who had been the Head then? Justarius- no, he would have been too young. He vaguely remembered an old white robe from when he took his Test, but he doubted he’d met the man twice before he’d died, and the name escaped him.

He bowed, scrambling to find something to say. “I do not know why you were cast out, but it is of no matter now. We find ourselves cast upon your shores, and implore you for sanctuary.”

Majere frowned for a moment, then sighed and bowed in return. “Very well. But if this is an attempt by the Conclave to get your Tower back, I assure you it will fail.”

One look at this mage was proof enough of that. Dalamar wondered what could have possibly possessed the old Conclave to cast this mage out.

Gods, if they’d had him with them, these past few months-

No. No. Dalamar would not think of that. “We thank you sincerely, and will abide by any rules you see fit. You are the Master of this place, after all.”

Majere looked mollified, and nodded. “Very well. It would be- good to hear news of the world below. It has been a long time since we have travelled there. Or at least, long for most of us.” He smiled down at Bupu with open affection, and the gully dwarf beamed, snuggling into his robes.

He didn’t know. Dalamar swallowed. “Indeed, archmage. There are- many things that have happened since you left.”

“What!” Raistlin stood up, unable to sit still from the sheer shock of it. “She won?”

“All but.” The young elf stared into his glass of wine, unable to meet Raistlin’s gaze- in shame, Raistlin realised, feeling ill. For having failed, even against such overwhelming odds.

“But-“ Raistlin turned, searching the shelves until he found it. “They swore to me!” He grabbed the shattered pieces of crystal off the shelf and threw them on the table. “They swore it would be the last time I would need to meddle in the world! And barely a year later They do this!”

The elf looked down at the pieces of gemstone. “I do not understand, what is this?”

“The Greygem of Gargath!” Raistlin pulled his hair. Bastards, all of them bastards. This is what came of trusting the Gods. He should have known better. Now the world was crushed under Takhisis’ claws, Wayreth destroyed, and his brother- Caramon-

He took a breath, downed his glass of wine to compose himself. “A year ago, the Gods came to me for aid. Some absolute idiot had managed to smash the gem, loosing Chaos upon the world, and since no one else seemed capable of removing their heads from their backsides, they needed me to deal with him before He grew too powerful, and destroyed the world.”

Nightson stared at him, speechless. “What?” He breathed.

“The Father of All and Nothing.” Raistlin scowled. It had taken months for the burns to heal; and even now he had an ugly, discoloured scar running across his back from shoulder to waist. “He apparently didn’t like what his children had done with the place, and decided to burn it all down. It was a deeply unpleasant battle, but eventually He decided Krynn wasn’t worth all this hassle and just left. But-“ He broke off, drumming his fingers on the table. They weren’t memories he enjoyed revisiting, but-

“By the magic, I wondered.” He snarled, “I wondered why She was spending all her time skulking at the back, why She turned Her dragons away from the main battles- keeping them in reserve, She said, but of course not. Of course She was waiting for all the other Gods to exhaust their efforts against Chaos, and now it’s all over, She walks in and flattens what’s left.”

The elf stared at him for a long moment. Then he hunched over, and started to cry.

Raistlin was frozen, horrified and with no idea what to do. The black robe looked equally mortified, fumbling in his pocket for a handkerchief- but of course it was gone. Raistlin found his own and handed it over. “Keep it.” He muttered, “I’ll get yours back from Tasslehoff.”

The elf buried his face in it, turning away to try and maintain some dignity. Raistlin quickly walked over to the window, trying to look entranced by the sight of a group of aghar trying to get the mages to join in their game of Gully Ball. At last he risked a glance back.

Nightson had managed to compose himself, although his nose and eyes were still red. “I apologise.” He whispered. “It has been a- trying few months.”

“I can only imagine.” He poured him another glass of wine, proud that he’d managed to keep his hands steady. He sat back down as Nightson downed half the glass in one swallow, colour coming back into his cheeks. He looked ghastly, and no wonder.

“And so you were forced to flee.” Raistlin sighed, “Did Wayreth fall?”

That had been entirely the wrong thing to say, the elf seemed to shrink back into himself as if it had been a blow. He nodded, staring at the ground in shame.

Gods, but how else could it have gone? Raistlin hesitated, then reached out and rested his hand on Nightson’s. Between Par-Salian’s tortures and Fistandantilus devouring any survivors, no wonder the Conclave had been left so stripped and denuded. That the elf had managed to keep so many alive must have been nothing but a miracle.

“I should have stayed.” He said at last. “You should not have faced this alone.”

“If what you say is true, we are only alive to have these troubles because of you.” Nightson attempted a smile, shakily and uncertain. “But we have found you now.”

Raistlin bit back a sigh. It was the last thing he wanted, but- “Yes. You have found me.”

The question was more how far he wanted to go. Conquering the world seemed the first step, for all he felt exhausted just thinking of it, but would that be enough? Raistlin bit back a groan. The idea of becoming a God had long since lost any appeal, but perhaps- he wouldn’t have to be him? Perhaps he could find another to take Takhisis’ place? This young elf, perhaps?

Or better yet, he could kill Takhisis and Paladine and Gilean as well. Raistlin smiled, feeling immensely cheered. Yes, that would maintain the balance nicely, and it would teach all the Gods a lesson about lying to his face.

He stroked the elf’s hand. He did have beautiful hands, those of a true mage, delicate and strong. “And I will not let them get away with these horrors.” He said firmly. “It ends now.”

Nightson looked at him in near disbelief, as if he couldn’t believe Raistlin was real. Raistlin bit back a wince, because- how often had he seen that look? Most who had come to live with him had worn one much like it. Lemuel, bursting into tears when Raistlin found him among the ruins of his home, carrying him away to security. Horkin, starving and exhausted among a handful of survivors from the Nerakan slave pits. The gully dwarves, hunted and driven to desperation.

He got up and stepped forwards, resting his hand on Nightson’s shoulders. The elf closed his eyes tight, and buried his face in Raistlin’s robes, hands coming up to hold onto him in desperation. Raistlin smiled, and stroked his back.

Once he would have loved this, to have the Archmage of the Conclave all but at his feet, weeping for his mercy- but this young elf was nothing to do with Par-Salian and his ilk, and Raistlin leaned down, and put his arms around him, holding him close.

It was only then, so close, breathing in the scent of ozone and jasmine and magic, the elf’s lean, muscled frame warm in his arms- that it occurred to Raistlin that he was currently very, very close to an extremely attractive man. Easily the most attractive since his sweet if somewhat abortive romance with Lemuel, a good decade ago.

Oh dear.

Chapter Text

They were shown to spare rooms in the Tower- even with its current inhabitants, there was no shortage of places to stay, and Majere showed Dalamar into a broad suit of rooms, windows wide and letting in the late afternoon sun, and fragrance from the gardens. Majere quickly made his excuses and almost dashed away, leaving Dalamar staring after him, trying to find the words to thank him.

He walked in, and sat heavily on the side of the bed, his head swimming. He swallowed against the lump in his throat, managed to bite back the surge of yet more tears. He didn’t care if he was alone, he would not shame himself again by crying.

Oh dear Nuitari, but could he have made a worse impression? Here he was, the Head of the Conclave, facing the most powerful archmage alive- probably who had ever lived in the entire history of Krynn- and all he could do was break down and sob like an infant.

And such a beautiful archmage, a nasty voice added in the back of his mind, inhuman and wonderful, delicate as a figurine as spun glass, terrible as a drawn blade held to a bared throat.

Well, that was completely irrelevant. Dalamar slumped back on the bed, driving the heels of his palms into his eyes. If Majere had ever thought him attractive, the shameful display he’d put on in his study would have put pay to that. Any creature as stunning and Majere must have no shortage of lovers- no doubt he had a harem of beauties stashed in the Tower somewhere- and would have higher standards than Dalamar.

He allowed himself only a few minutes lying on the bed, wallowing in self pity, before he forced himself upright again. He got up, and looked around the room, taking it in for the first time. It was a lovely room, warm and comfortable and lined in bookshelves and tapestries. He wondered vaguely where Majere had gotten them. Had he been wandering the world for years, saving it from unknown disasters, and picking up decorations for his Tower along the way?

There was an archway in the far wall, through which Dalamar could see a small but well appointed bathing room. A tub sat steaming, scented with roses and geranium oil. A soft robe in black silk hung beside the arch. Dalamar bit back a groan and removed his own stained and grubby robes, hurrying into the bathing room.

He had washed and was dressed into the new robes, starting to feel a little more like himself, when there was a knock on the door.

Oh Abyss, please no- “Come in.”

And thank Nuitari, but it was Jenna. She saw the look on his face, and smiled. “You don’t need to look so relieved.”

“Believe me, I do.” Dalamar sighed, “I made a complete fool of myself.”

“Oh, I doubt you could do worse than your predecessors.” She pulled up and chair and sat down. “I’ve been talking to Palin. Lunitari, I’m surprised Majere didn’t blast us out of the sky. Par-Salian had him tortured during his Test, fed him to mad lich, had him murder his own brother and apparently father dearest was happy to stand back and let it happen. What a mess.”

Dalamar swallowed, sitting on the bed. “I see. Did you hear what he did with the Greygem?”

Jenna frowned. “No? I heard from one of Majere’s followers that they had some issues last year, but-“

Dalamar told her.

Jenna when white. “He- what?” She whispered. “The Father of All and Nothing? He defeated Chaos?”

“The impression I received was more that they fought to a stalemate, and Chaos grew bored and left.”

“Who cares!” Jenna got up, pacing. “Gods, dear Lunitari- If he could do that, what can’t he do? If he wanted to- he could destroy the Dark Armies!” Her eyes shone. “He could burn them all to ash, every knight, every dragon!”

“From what you told me, he may not be inclined to help us.” Dalamar pointed out.

“Oh hang that, he let us in- and he does seem to like you.” She looked Dalamar up and down, evaluating.

Dalamar swallowed. Nuitari. “I have hardly made a good first impression. I rather made a fool of myself, in fact.”

“I’ll allow that you weren’t at your best.” Jenna agreed, “But you’re already looking better. We’ll do your hair, give you a bit of polish, and Majere won’t be able to resist.”

“Are you suggesting I seduce him?” Dalamar managed not to gape.

“Oh, come now, as if you haven’t had your share of lovers.” Jenna turned away, digging through her pouches. She swore. “Damn kender stole my ribbons.”

Dalamar struggled to say something because- no. Not like this. Because Majere was- was-

Was incredible. Was more than he could have imagined. Beautiful and delicate and so powerful it brought tears to his eyes. Not like this. The thought of- of- prostituting himself felt like- spitting on that beauty. Defiling it.

Jenna looked up as he was struggle for words, and sighed. “Oh no. Really?”

Dalamar swallowed. “I have no idea what you mean.”

“Oh, don’t even dare.” She sat on the bed. “Look at you. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you like this.”

Dalamar buried his head in his hands, and groaned.

Raistlin had finished cleaning out his laboratory, preparing it for this next work. He looked around the pristine space, ready and waiting for him. He was about to sit and begin-

There was a knock on the door.

It must be one of the newcomers. Everyone else no longer bothered, “Enter.” He called out.

The door opened, and it was the boy.

Raistlin’s mouth went dry. It was like looking back in time and seeing himself- or rather, seeing himself as he should have been. Enough food that he’d grown tall. Enough care that he’d become strong. If it wasn’t for Tika’s green eyes staring back at him from that so-familiar face- Raistlin swallowed. “Palin.”

“Uncle.” Palin smiled. “I- wanted to see you.”

“Why?” It slipped out before he was really aware of it. He sat down heavily on his chair, and waved for Palin to take one. “Your father and I hardly parted on the best terms.”

“Really?” Palin sat, leaning forward eagerly. “Father said he didn’t really understand at the time, but now he thinks you did the right thing. Going your own way and making him do the same.”

Thank the magic. “I’m glad he finally grasped the concept.” He said dryly.

Palin chuckled. “Yes, it took a while, apparently. Mother says he had a bad few years, got horribly a drunk a lot-“

“I assume she blamed me.”

“A bit.” Palin winced. “To begin with. But Father says he wouldn’t have gotten it otherwise. He needed to- hit bottom, as he said it, so he could start climbing out. Anyway, one evening he fell in the lake, and nearly drowned. And Mother told him it was her or the drink.”

“And he chose her?”

“Oh no, he chose the drink. I was just a baby then, but we went to stay with aunt Goldmoon for a few weeks, and uncle Riverwind went and- dealt with Father.”

“And he stopped drinking?”

“Well- it took a while.” Palin sighed. “I think Mother realised it wasn’t really about you by then, it was- a lot of things.”

Everything they had lived through, as children. The hunger, the loneliness. Their parents’ deaths. “Yes.”

“He did get better. It’s been seven years and he doesn’t even drink ale. He’s glad that you made him face all of that now; it let him become his own person.”

Raistlin closed his eyes, feeling a weight slide off his shoulders. In the past few years, after the frustrated rage against his brother had banked, and time had softened the memories, he was tempted-

“I do kinda wish you had written to us though. I- it wasn't easy. Me having the magic, mother wasn't happy and I wish-” He looked away, bit his lip.

“I did consider it.” Raistlin said at last. “But I did not think it would be welcome.” Besides, he’d assumed that once Caramon had enough distance from him to see him clearly, he would want to have as little to do with him as everyone else.

“Why? I’d have loved to hear from you. Even mother came around a bit by the end, and father- he really missed you, even now.”

“And now?”

Palin looked away, then took a deep breath. “They’re Heroes of the Lance. They’re going to be okay.”

Raistlin could have said just how far the fabled heroes would have gotten without him, but didn’t. Caramon. Caramon hurt, perhaps dead. No.

No.

“Nightson told me what has been happening.” He covered Palin's hand with his. His own bony and stained that monstrous gold, against the young man’s tanned and freckled skin, soft under his. “I will not let it continue.”

Chapter Text

The moons had risen, bathing the study in their light. Raistlin rolled his shoulders and checked everything was in place for the calling. He had changed into his best robes, woven of red, white and black. He covered a smile at how the mages started at the sight of him, Nightson staring in shock, Justarius’ daughter covering her mouth. Not sure if this was blasphemy.

“I honour the Three for the magic, and no more.” He answered their unspoken question. “I am not bound by their laws, and I have followed all three in my life.”

“It hardly means much, now.” Nightson shook his head.

“We are still alive.” The White Robe nudged him, “The Conclave lives in us.”

Raistlin could have said something about that, but the moons were in position. Raistlin lifted his hand, concentrating, and the Tower shifted, the great shard of stone slowly rotating in their air, until each moon was shining through its own window, casting stark light across the mosaic floor. The mages stumbled, holding on to each other at the sudden motion.

Raistlin nodded, and stepped up to the circle. Within, the tiles marking out the three moons shone and glimmered as they were touched by the moons’ light.

And in a moment, between one blink and the next, They were there.

The mages fell to their knees. Raistlin didn’t move, meeting their gazes without flinching. Their eyes brilliant with light, as if Their faces were just masks, through which the light of Their moons blazed through. “Welcome.” Raistlin gave them a curt nod, as if they were guests he was forced to entertain, and not the Gods of Magic themselves.

Nuitari scowled at this lack of respect, and Solinari’s mouth twitched distastefully, but Lunitari was smiling. “Majere.” She said softly. “And our most faithful.”

Nightson choked as Nuitari turned the hollow pits of his eyes to him, reaching out a hand. “Come, child.”

The elf stumbled forward, buried his face in his patron’s robes. “Hush.” He said softly. “You have done all I could have wished of you. You have nothing to be ashamed of, and I will not forget how you honoured us. Unlike some.” He glanced at Raistlin.

Raistlin met his gaze scornfully. “What in the Abyss are you playing at?” He snapped. “Takhisis taking over the world? Wayreth gone? I rid you of Chaos less than a year ago and then this happens?”

“Peace.” Lunitari looked weary. “This was not our doing.”

“Then who-“

“Perhaps we could explain more easily without interruptions.” Nuitari sneered.

Nightson sat up, his face damp with tears, he looked at Raistlin. “Fine.” Raistlin snapped gracelessly. “What has happened that leaves even you helpless?”

Nuitari bristled, but Solinari stepped forwards. “We had no idea.” He said softly. “When Chaos was loosed, there was a gathering of all the Gods, to try and discuss what to do.”

Raistlin snorted.

“Quite.” Lunitari sighed. “Nothing was decided, every God trying to blame the others. In the end We withdrew, and decided the best option would be to approach you. We knew you had the power to deal with Chaos, at least then, when He had yet to grow to full power. We acted quickly, but-“

“We were not the only ones.” Nuitari’s hands clenched into fists, the black shards of his power sparking along his knuckles. “My mother met with Gilean and Paladine, and offered a deal. Her forces were already gaining ascendancy over Kryn;, all that the other gods would need to do would be to step back, and- allow Her to win. Then Chaos would face a united Krynn, and the power of the Dark Queen.”

“They hoped it would be enough.” Solinari said miserably. “They sold us to Her. Father knew She had her own mages now, he didn’t care.”

“Oh, as if that is new.” Nuitari’s face contorted. “We are our parents’ clipped coppers, to be gotten rid of at the first opportunity-“

“But Chaos is gone.” Raistlin gritted his teeth. “Did it escape them that I-“

He broke off. Oh.

“Yes.” Lunitari whispered.

Dalamar closed his eyes, pressing his cheek against his Patron’s robes, breathing in the scent of pure, living magic-

And then he was gone. He swayed, catching his balance as the Three disappeared, and he was left alone, kneeling in the middle of the circle. The moons shifting out of alignment, sliding away from the windows.

Raistlin was staring where they had been, pale. “Abyss.” He breathed. He turned to Dalamar, closed his eyes and sighed. “I am sorry.” He stepped over, holding out a hand to help him up.

Dalamar took it, shivering at the burning touch of that slender, delicate hand. He stumbled to his feet. “They wanted us dead before this whole mess with Chaos.” He sighed. “I doubt you made much of a difference.”

They were- very close. Close enough that he could feel the heat emanating from that slender body, through the fabric of his robes. He should step back, but he didn’t seem to be able to move. There was something hypnotic about the archmage, something that drew Dalamar irresistibly, and, once he was close, made it impossible for him to step away. He fought the urge to close the last of the distance, reach out to take the man into his arms, and-

“I gave Her the excuse She needed, it seems.” Raistlin’s voice snapped him back to himself, he was scowling at where the Gods had been. “I should have-“ He broke off, closed his eyes.

Dalamar waited, but no answer seemed to be forthcoming. “It is as Nuitari said. We have ever been the first to be sold in trades between the Gods. None of them care for the magic, else they hope to claim it, and force it to serve them.” His gorge rose at the words, he shuddered.

“Quite.” Raistlin closed his eyes in thought. Then, slowly, a smile crossed his face. First a tiny twitch at the corner of his mouth, then pulling back, spreading, golden lips turning pink, the flash of white teeth. Bright and brilliant and terrifying as a blade caught in fire. “No more.” He breathed. “Let this be the last.”

His eyes opened, those inhuman gold hourglasses pinning Dalamar in place, stealing his breath. And in that moment, Dalamar was terrifyingly aware that no matter what this mad said, he would do it. Those words would be scarred into his very soul, and he would want nothing more than to obey, for now until the rest of his life.

Dear Nuitari, who is this man?

“We will be free at last.” Raistlin continued, eyes boring into Dalamar’s soul, a blazing promise. “We will make it so none of these creatures who call themselves Gods will ever meddle with our lives again.”

“No of course not the Gods of Magic.” Raistlin rolled his eyes. “I hardly care overmuch about them, but They at least know their place. Let Them stay and care for the magic, and leave mortals to their own business, and they may come with us.”

“You know,” Dunbar said thoughtfully, “I must say I’m coming around to the idea. We did very well without the other gods from more than three hundred years-“

“If you can call the centuries of plagues and famines ‘doing fine’.” Iolanthe grumbled. “Some of us can remember those days.”

“There was also a marked lack of massive wars.” Dunbar scowled at her. “Whereas nowadays, we can barely seem to go a decade without something coming along to end the world.”

“And those had their own famines and plagues.” Dalamar added, sickening memories of Silvanesti flashing behind his eyes. He tried not to think about what the Knights must be doing there even now. It would make the Nightmare look like an afternoon’s sunfilled dream.

“You’re agreeing with him?” Iolanthe looked appalled. “To- steal the world away, take it Gods know- no, not even Gods would know where we’d go, since that’s apparently the point?”

“Precisely.” Raistlin smiled coldly. “The Gods are among the stars, but there are places beyond even those. Those where stars are but burning fire, with no care for mortal beings. Let us take the world- and yes, the Moons with us- and find such a place. Let the Gods squabble and fight over a vanished world, and we can get along without them.”

Iolanthe shook her head. “If you’d told me when we’d met that you’d one day be suggesting this-“

“You’d have left me to be tortured to death in Neraka?” Raistlin raised an eyebrow.

Iolanthe paused, considering. “No,” she said at last, “But I might have knocked a few of your teeth out.”

“Jenna.” Dalamar broke in before Raistlin could respond. “You thoughts?” She had been silent this long while, lost in thought.

“I hate this.” She said at last. “But- I cannot see another way. The Gods are letting the Balance slide further and further out of true- and while it will not last, I do not believe Their method of righting it will be any kinder than before. They will condemn millions of darkness and suffering, and perhaps there will be peace for a while- but they will always come back.” She turned weary eyes to Raistlin. “So, very well. Let us try this scheme, that we may break the wheel we seem to be bound to.”

Chapter Text

“The Greygem is the key.” Raistlin laid out the shards of the jewel on the table. “It still carries the echoes of Chaos, and we should be able to follow His trail, sail the world in His wake.”

“Would that not end with us encountering Chaos again?” Jenna frowned.

“I do not plan to have us go so far.” Raistlin shrugged, “Besides, I sent him away once, I daresay I will again.” He gave a cold smile. “And, since his original goal was to punish His children for their hubris, I would be happy to point Him in the right direction, should He wish it.”

He looked around the table. They were swayed, he could see it. Dalamar was already won over; the elf had lost so much that he was desperate for someone to follow- even someone like Raistlin. When this was over, Raistlin would make it clear that no matter what happened; he could have a home here.

And it- would be pleasant to have a fellow mage here. Oh, Horkin and Lemuel were dear friends, but they didn’t understand that sheer joy of the magic, one of the few loves that never betrayed him. To have someone who knew that, so close and desperate, was beyond price.

And for it to come to him like this, delicate and beautiful-

Well.

The Red Robe, Jenna, was frowning. Of all of them, he thought she was the most likely to work it out. Dalamar wanted to believe him so badly he couldn’t see, and Raistlin doubted he’d care even if he did. Dunbar was too young, hadn’t yet found that deep, instinctive awareness of the magic that might warn him something wasn’t right. And Iolanthe-

He’d thought about finding her, those first few years in the Tower. Adding her to his little collection of happy outcasts. But she’d seemed happy when he’d scryed on her, with Ladonna and the Conclave and all that absurd idiocy- so he’d let her be. She was suspicious of him, but she was looking in the wrong place. She would suspect some selfish design, a way of gathering more power to himself.

Raistlin almost scoffed. More power to do what, exactly? When the very Gods themselves were desperately marshalling all their forces to destroy him, and he knew he would win.

As enjoyable as that would be, Raistlin had to admit he’d yet to find a way to destroy any of the Gods without also annihilating a substantial portion of the world. Hence, the current plan.

“Well, I know something about sailing.” Dunbar folded his massive hands together, smiling. “Although I cannot imagine what the sail will be.”

“The sail is the magic, which will be strung along the shards of the Greygem, which will serve as tackle. It will require great working, and I expect you all to join. We will need every hand and spell we have to hold this spell for long enough for it to work.”

“And when it does?” Nightson leaned in.

“We will catch the wake of Chaos’ escape. It has not yet been a year, and the power is still fresh. It will pull us along behind it, like wind in a sail of living magic, and carry us to new stars.”

Dalamar drew in a breath, nodded. “And then we rebuild.” For a moment, he looked as if he might buckle under the weight of that almighty task.

“I will aid you.” Raistlin shrugged. “It seems my standing away from the world has helped precisely no one. You are welcome to hold your Conclave here, until you have been able to rebuild Wayreth.”

“As long as we don’t ask you to join.” Iolanthe said dryly.

“Quite. Besides, you seem to have an excellent Head of the Conclave; it would be hardly fair to replace him.”

Dalamar blinked, and gave a small smile. “I would not speak so quickly of that, if we do succeed, I think I may just step down, if only to sleep for a few months.”

“Hear hear.” Dunbar chuckled. “I think we’ll suspend all works for a few weeks at least, just so we can all rest.”

Yes, Raistlin felt his lip quirk sadly. A far better Conclave. He wondered what would have happened to him had he been Tested by these three. He wished- but no. He could not tell them, Takhisis’ grip was weaker here, but it was still present. If he spoke, She would know.

He rose, “It will take time to prepare. Once the moons rise, we will get to work. For now, make yourselves at home. Eat and rest; and we will gather at nightfall in the courtyard.”

They rose, and bowed to him. Raistlin inclined his head back, feeling a long lost flare of pride at the sight of these most powerful mages; bowing to him. They began filing out, and Raistlin noticed Nightson seemed to be heading for the front doors. “You are going out?”

Nightson gave a small smile. “I have spent the last few months being hunted from Palanthas to Icewall, and then locked away in Wayreth. I want to enjoy some time amongst your trees. As beautiful as your room is, I think a bower of these giants would be better for me.”

Ah elves, of course. “Would you welcome company? I know some of the more pleasant groves.”

Nightson blinked, then his smiled widened. “I would.” And offered Raistlin his arm.

Majere’s hand was warm on the crook of his elbow, he leaned on his staff as they walked, and Dalamar noted his carefully regular breathing. “You are not well?”

“An old injury.” Majere shrugged. “Better than it was, but never healed.”

Dalamar paused, tried to find the right words. “I heard from Jenna and Palin what my predecessors did to you,” He said carefully, “I do not know what good it does to apologise, but on behalf of the Conclave, I am sorry. We failed utterly in keeping you safe.”

He saw a glimpse of a smile on Majere’s lips, long white locks winding around his face. “Is this a charming attempt to woo me back to the fold?”

“Perhaps.” Dalamar smiled back, “But it should be done, it is the least we owe you.”

“Very charming, then.” Raistlin led the way through the trees, and Dalamar’s breath caught at the beauty of the trees. Such marvelous giants. Majere’s smile broadened. “You have never seen vallenwoods before?”

“No. I heard of them from Jenna, but I never had the chance to come to Solace and see them myself.” He stroked the bark. “I hope they still stand, when this is over.”

“Vallenwoods grow fast.” Raistlin walked over to a mossy knoll and sat down, setting his staff aside. “And I always keep a small stock of seeds, they are quite delicious when roasted and served with honey.”

“I would- like to try that.” Dalamar swallowed, trying not to look at Majere’s beautiful, delicate hands, or thinking about those hands in combination with honey- no. No.

“Come and sit.” Majere waved him down.

Dalamar sat down, leaning back against the great tangle of roots. He closed his eyes. The air was crisp and clear in his nose, and in the quiet, he wondered if he could hear the deep creak and groan of the trees, stretching further and further into the sky, as if to snatch at the stars.

Beside him, Majere’s breathing was rough, occasionally stifling a slight cough. “You believe we can win?” He said softly.

“I defeated one God, I can kill more.” Majere snorted. “They should be grateful I am choosing a more peaceful route.”

“I am surprised that was not your choice.” Dalamar opened his eyes. “Or at least for Takhisis.”

The thought of killing a God- it was almost too much to imagine. Yet Majere- no, Raistlin- had done just that. Those slender hands he so admired had wielded such power that the very world had trembled before. It sparked both fear and fire within Dalamar.

“I once planned to do just that.” Raistlin stretched. Dalamar stared. “Oh, it was long ago. Just after the first war. I was so sick of being a tool of those Gods, I was sure I could do better. And after Takhisis’ madness during the war, I didn’t think anyone would miss Her loss.”

“Certainly none of us would.”

Raistlin only nodded, staring into the distance. His smile faded, face still and thoughtful. He looked- strangely young. If Dalamar’s estimates were correct, Raistlin must be in his fifties, yet he looked to be barely thirty. No doubt some magic was to thank. “Raistlin?”

Raistlin shook himself, “My apologies, I was just thinking- but it would not have worked. That was why I never did it- that and the idea of becoming a God myself sounded hideous. Having to listen to endless hymns and preaching from clerics would make me want to hurl down a dozen Cataclysms in order to get some peace, so I decided it would be better if I avoided that, for the good of all.” Dalamar bit back a laugh.

“Besides, killing one meant destabalising the pantheon. I could have killed more, one from each, but the level of power that would require-“ Raistlin sighed, shook his head.

“But there are more of us now.” Dalamar pointed out. “If it is a question of power-“

“It is not. I could have done it then, and I can certainly do it now, but the damage it would do would dwarf those dozen Cataclysms. No, I have thought it over, and this plan is the best we have. We will leave those fools behind, and find new stars to call home.”

“I just worry that They may follow.” Dalamar said softly. “To rebuild and start again, only for Them to return and destroy it all over again-“ His voice cracked, he swallowed.

“I assure you.” Raistlin put a hand on his. Dalamar froze. “They will not. I know what I am capable of, and They will never be able to find us, where we will go.”

Dalamar nodded absently, not really paying attention. Raistlin’s hand was burning, fingers soft and impossibly delicate, like the tender brush of butterfly wings. His thumb gently brushed over Dalamar’s knuckles.

Raistlin frowned, looked down at their hands, then back up at Dalamar’s face. Dalamar could not imagine what expression he was wearing in that moment, but Raistlin’s eyes shuttered, the frown deepening and a sardonic smile catching on the edge of his mouth. “A most charming attempt.” He said softly. “Is this a seduction?”

No. Yes. Dalamar was sure he used to be better at this, but his gaze was trapped by Raistlin’s burning, impossible eyes, and he didn’t think he could have spoken had he been about to die. He swallowed.

And Raistlin’s frown faded; the smile returning. “Ah. I see.”

Silence fell, broken only by the murmuring of leaves, their own breathing. Raistlin shifted closer, not removing his hand, but lifting the other to brush knuckles across Dalamar’s cheek. His stomach jumped at the contact, swallowed again. “It isn’t anything more than this.” He whispered. “I am not foolish enough to try that.”

“No.” Raistlin agreed, “I can see that.”

He leaned in, and Dalamar felt his eyes flutter closed as Raistlin came so close that he could feel the heat of his body, like he was being embraced by the sun. He smelled of rose petals and spell components and fresh grass, and a whine built in the back of his throat as Raistlin came closer still, and Dalamar felt the brush of his breath against his skin.

Then a terrible roar broke the silence, making them both jump, Dalamar almost falling off the knoll. A skyship rocketed across the sky, trailing pieces of broken wood and tattered sail. Then three more, one blundering down and almost crashing into a vallenwood. “What in the Abyss!” Raistlin snarled, snatching up his staff. “Who is this?”

“The other refugees.” Dalamar pushed himself up, “They must have-“ Oh no.

A second, even louder roar confirmed his suspicions, as the dragons tore out of the shreds of clouds, drawing with them the terrible, suffocating grip of Takhisis’ power.

Chapter Text

Raistlin shook off the clawing power of the Dark Queen like a horse shaking off flies. Pathetic, he sneered, Is this the best you can do, Lady? You’ve only grown more whining and absurd since we last met.

A chorus of roars of pain told him his jibe had been received, Takhisis furiously driving the dragons into the wall of trees, in Her determination to have him torn to pieces.

Damn them all! He should have known he could never have anything so pleasant. Every time he had thought he had a chance with a beautiful creature, it inevitably went wrong. When he was a child, it would be his brother or sister who’d take them first, with Lemuel it had been good but- never quite right, and they’d reluctantly agreed they were better off as friends. And now, when he had the most incredible young mage under his hands, speechless in awe of him and shivering at his every touch-

Well. He couldn’t kill Takhisis, but it didn’t mean he couldn’t make it hurt. He narrowed his eyes and lifted his hands, magic wreathing his fingers and coiling around his wrists, when the dragons made another flight towards the Tower- one flick of his hand and a vallenwood branch swung down, catching the dragon across the back and breaking it’s spine with a crack that made them all jump. The beast screamed in agony, crashing into the ground, its wings beating wildly and driving ruts into the ground.

The rider had been thrown free; he pushed himself to his feet, and stepped towards his dragon’s trembling head. Lifted his sword and drove it into the dragon’s throat.

More flew over. The skyships diving for cover under the vallenwoods, the dragons howling and blasting lightning across the sky. Their riders bayed and howled their foul cries, one raised their hands and cast. A blast of flame hit the trees, and though the vallenwood stood firm against the fire, the branches were blackened, the leaves withered from the heat.

Raistlin hesitated, tempted- but no. Dalamar was running forwards, his own hands sparking with magic, his face drawn in desperation. The elf had so little hope, Raistlin would not shatter those dreams, even for a little while. Besides, Takhisis might get suspicious if She thought She was winning too easily. Better to bait Her with a defeat.

Raistlin put a hand on Dalamar’s shoulder, and raised his hands. “Stay,” He whispered. “They are dead and do not know it yet.”

Dalamar stopped, looking surprised. Raistlin closed his eyes, and focused his power, drawing down the magic through his hands, grounding it down his spine and into his feet. Into the earth, down to the core of the shard of land and the roots of the Tower which held it all together. The magic fractalling out until the very blade of grass were sparkling with power, shimmering with raw magic as if shards of stars were caught in their leaves. “Raistlin.” Dalamar breathed.

“Tidurnir.” Raistlin breathed. “Berjalan.”

Wake. Walk.

The branches creaked around them, and the trees stood.

Dalamar choked, and fell backwards, landing hard on his backside. The trees rose taller, taller still, their leaves cresting the horizon. Their roots roiled like baskets of worms, pulling them, along. The tree that had been scorched lifted a cluster of branches, and brought them down hard on the dragon and rider that had blasted it.

There was a crack that set Raistlin’s teeth on edge as the dragon's head exploded, and the rider was crushed to a pulp. The tree shook the gore from its leaves, and snared another dragon in a web of branches, dragging it down to be dragged down by the tangle of roots, burying it in a swirling morass of mud and loose soil. The dragon gave a last despairing crying, struggling to free itself- but the roots grasped it and buried it forever.

The other dragons banked, stunned. Raistlin saw the riders turning to each other, panicked. He could catch something of what they were shouting at each other, but not details. He could guess though. Raistlin smiled.

The trees did not need any more prompting. They rolled across the ground, gully dwarves and mages racing back to the Tower for shelter as these terrible giants swept all aside in their path. The new refugees huddled in the skyships, crying out in terror- but the trees circled around them, not so much as disturbing a blade of grass where they were. Every dragon that dared to come within reach were cast down and crushed, and the others quickly flew out of reach circling above the Tower, clearing trying to ferment a plan.

Fools. He needed a few to survive to carry word, but not nearly so many. “Ayun Berlua.” Raistlin grinned.

His stomach lurched, and despite expecting it, he still stumbled as the ground rocked under his feet. Dalamar was still lying flat, and clutched at the grasses as the Tower shot higher.

Did you forget we are flying too?

The dragon shrieked in panic, shocked as they found themselves suddenly in reach of the trees again. A good dozen were too slow to flee, and were torn out of the sky and dashed to the rocks. Screams of agony, terror and rage. The survivors rose higher, seemed to realise at last this was incredibly stupid, and fled as fast as they could. Raistlin focused, reached out through the magic, and sent a blast of raw power into the clouds. The fleeing dragons howled in agony as their bodies were racked and twisted, their riders dead before they knew what was happening. They dropped like stones.

Only three dragons were left, they dropped out of sight, flying as fast as they could down and away. Raistlin smiled-

“Raistlin!”

He turned, startled- but the exhaustion of casting spells of such power had slowed him, and he stumbled, throwing his weight against his staff and almost falling to his knees. Sunlight gleamed on steel, blue armor-

And then gone. The dark warrior was thrown across the clearing with a deafening boom of lightning. Dalamar gave a hoarse cry, raising his hands to cast again.

“Wait.” Raistlin lifted a hand, straightened. “Not so quickly.”

“He almost killed you.” Dalamar was white to the lips, eyes wide.

“And he may be of use.” Raistlin nodded, and the trees obeyed. More roots rose up and lashed themselves around the struggling warrior, dragging down and binding him tight. “He may be worth questioning.”

“I know these creatures of Takhisis.” Dalamar looked at the warrior. There was so much hatred and terror in his eyes, it took Raistlin aback. He wondered if this is what mages had felt with the Divine Hammer, hundreds of years ago. “They will die rather than talk, and Takhisis can see through their eyes, hear through their ears. You would bring a spy here.”

Raistlin hesitated, looked at him. He could not risk telling him but- Gods, the man had suffered enough. Perhaps living up here had turned him soft, because while part of Raistlin told him to stay his course, pull off a trick that none could see coming- there was a larger part that ached to see the pain and despair in the young elf’s face.

He could not tell him, no, but the man believed in him and Raistlin- did not want to lose that. Perhaps there could be another way.

“I know.” Raistlin said softly. Looked into his eyes. “You must trust me.”

Dalamar hesitated, looked at the warrior, then back at Raistlin. “You have a plan?” His lips barely moved.

Raistlin didn’t blink, gave the smallest nod.

A stuttered breath; and realisation in his eyes. “You are a fool!” Dalamar snarled, but it was forced, theatrical. “You will doom us all!”

Raistlin bit back a smile. “I am the Master here!” he shouted back, and saw the slight smile Dalamar was biting back. “And I will decide who lives or dies- yes, even you, Dark elf!”

That got a flinch, he’d pushed too far. Abyss. “Very well,” Dalamar spat. “Keep your prisoner; I will keep my own safe.”

He turned, Raistlin held up a hand. Gods, had he made a mummer’s show all too real- but Dalamar glanced back, just a moment, and flashed him a small, hidden smile. Good.

“Go then.” Raistlin walked over to where the warrior was still struggling against the roots.

The Knight was sitting in a cell in the bowels of the Tower, scowling at Raistlin. “I will not talk.” He said flatly.

“I have no doubt of it, Brightblade.” Raistlin’s lip curled.

The Knight was struck dumb, eyes wide. Dalamar looked at Raistlin in surprise. Was that the Knight’s name? How had he known that.

“Brightblade?” Young Palin stepped forwards, “You’re-“

“Stay back, Palin.” Jenna put a hand on the boy’s shoulder.

“You bear his sword.” Raistlin said softly, “And the Starjewel given to him by Alhana Starbreeze.”

Dalamar made a harsh noise in his throat. The highest gift any elf could given, worn by a man who, for all Dalamar knew, had already exterminated every one of his people. If Starbreeze still lived, he’d kill her himself.

“You knew my father.”

“And your mother, I think. I see her in your face, your eyes.” Raistlin waved Palin over, “Come here nephew. This a day for family, it seems. This is your cousin.”

“She was your sister.”

“Just so. What did happen to her, anyway?”

Dalamar swallowed. Swallowed again. Jenna shifted awkwardly. Raistlin glanced at them. “He killed her.” Brightblade looked at Dalamar with cold, lethal eyes. “And I am honour bound to slay him in her honour.”

“Honour?” Dalamar barked a laugh. “Your mother tried to kill me, my mistress, and everyone in Palanthas. She loosed Lord Soth and his forces and murdered half the city! Where exactly was that honour-“ he was getting too ngry. He would not give this bastard that satisfaction. He looked at Raistlin, his face was tight, and- sweet Nuitari. She’d been his sister- “Raistlin, I am sorry-“

“No.” Raistlin raised a hand, looking tired. “I expected no less from her. She would have chosen no other way to die.”

“What are we going to do now?” Iolanthe had joined them, she scowled at Brightblade. “They will be back. I suggest we wait until Nuitari rises, and cut his heart out on his altar.”

“No!” Palin’s shout made them all stop, the young man covered his mouth, flushing as red as his robes. “I mean, mistress, please no. My father told me of Steel Brightblade. He tried to save him for his father’s sake. He said there was still goodness in him.”

“I daresay there is, apparently the Kingpriest was supposed to be good too.” Dalamar scowled.

Raistlin shook his head. “We will carry on with the plan. Leave him alive, he will tell us what we need regardless. Once we have left Takhisis and her ilk behind, he will be the first to know once we are safely free of them.”

It made sense but- the way Raistlin said it, carefully pitching his voice so their prisoner could hear. He wanted the Knight to know, and thus, for Takhisis to know too.

What was he planning? There was something else, Dalamar wanted to ask, but-

Trust me.

Was Takhisis still watching? Had she been watching even before her people came? Was this just a- feint? Raistlin turned away from the Knight, led the way back up the stairs. As he passed Dalamar, Dalamar caught his eye. Steady and calm.

Trust me.

Sweet Nuitari, but Dalamar did.

He nodded, and got a small smile. “Come then, more of them will come soon enough. We must prepare. Iolanthe, Jenna, go to the new ships. I daresay we will need them too.”