Author's Note: This is not my first fanfiction by any means, but it is the first one I am sharing on this site. It is an alternate universe story centered on the phenomenal Raistlin Majere, whom I absolutely dote on. ^^ I am completely in love with the DL series, and am so happy to have this opportunity to share this story with you, for it is one I've been wanting to tell for a long time. I hope you enjoy it! All reviews are welcome, though I would appreciate kindness as much as honesty in reviews. (This is my first fic, after all). And now, my dear readers, I give you, Shifting Sands . . . :D


~Prologue~
The Massacre of the Dragons

His eyes saw nothing but darkness. Which may have been a blessing, considering the normality of his sight consisted of aging faces, greying hair, and rapidly depleting health. It would have been a blessing; it would have, definitely. If, however, he was conscious of this fact. Or if he was conscious at all. He didn't remember much. The last thing he remembered was blistering pain in his head, after a muddle of shouts and curses. He remembered a fight . . .He remembered something grabbing his shoulders forcefully. He couldn't recall much besides that. The air around him was very cold. Re-actively, even in his sleep-like state, he pulled his red cloak more closely about him. He was waking up; he could hear more, now. There were whooshing sounds from the outside world, wind blew over him rapidly. His cheek rested on frigid metal. He detected harsh voices shouting commands. Once in a while, a woman's voice would plea for her child . . . Then, all of a sudden, the darkness disappeared, replaced by a field of grey.

The soft light served to momentarily blind him. Raistlin, forcefully closing his eyes again, put his hand in front of his face. He almost wished he could return to the blissful darkness, even for a moment. But that was not to be. Removing his hand from his face, he looked around as best he could. He appeared to be caged, along with three other people. The cage swung precipitously, and the other prisoners clung to the bars fitfully, crying out in anguish. Raistlin was fortunate. He didn't appear to be too badly hurt, as far as he could tell, though he was still too weak to sit up. He cursed his frail state, his thin hand feeling around for his staff. Mild panic engulfed him when he couldn't find it. Then he remembered the Staff of Magius was more than capable of looking after itself. Whether he would be able to look after himself, however, was a fair question. Groaning softly in a whisper, he finally managed to prop himself up on his arms, rubbing his bruised shoulders. And it was here he remembered.

Pax Tharkas. The raid. His friends. His brother . . .

Where was Caramon? He certainly wasn't here, or he would have cried out his brother's name in relief by now, helping him stand, allowing him to lean on his strong arms. Granting himself a bitter smile, Raistlin once again cursed his condition. That damn Test. It was their fault, all theirs! Before fear could well up within him, he turned his attention back to the others who were caged with him. There was a man and two women, all ragged and bleeding from hideous wounds. If Raistlin didn't already see them withering, he would have called himself lucky. He couldn't feel anything broken, and the only wound he seemed to have was a minor cut on his right arm. He then wondered why this cage was swinging, seeming to hang in midair. His strange eyes glanced above him and was surprised to see the scaled underbelly of a large, red dragon. Looking around, he saw, though the fog was dense, at least five more, all carrying these huge, flying cages. More prisoners, quieter than his cellmates, huddled within, clinging to each other. Raistlin thought he could recognize a few of the women. They were the female slaves imprisoned in the mines at Pax Tharkas. But they were now imprisoned in the sky!

That brought on thoughts of the others. They didn't know he'd been captured, or if they did, it was too late for them to rescue him now, unless they somehow got hold of a couple dragons. The guards had discovered him in the women's quarters not long after his companions, clothed in female garments, set out to rescue the children. He, along with a few of the women, were harshly dragged out by hand, and in the chaos, he had been knocked out. At least he still had his spells, he thought, feeling his robes. They hadn't taken his spell book, shockingly enough, nor his spell components. They were probably too wary of him to do so. He'd been talked of by the Dragon Highlord, he had no doubt.

At least some fear my magic, thought Raistlin. His companions, especially that idiot knight, probably wouldn't care if he lived or died in this strange new adventure. And why should they? They had done nothing but loath and mistrust him ever since their reunion at the Inn. He tried to tell himself he didn't care either, but the thought of Caramon's grief-stricken face at the news of his twin's death was enough to make Raistlin question his resolve. Harshly pushing away these emotions like a person's touch, he overheard commanders shouting to each other from the backs of their mounts. Something about an outpost near Kalaman. Perhaps that's where he would be taken? He entertained himself with listening to the rider of the dragon who carried him and the others, a little amused with his . . . well . . . colorful metaphors and descriptions.

Suddenly, the commander's voice cut off in a cry, and was heard no more. His dragon gave a startled growl, halting its flight. Raistlin started, alert. He heard the other officers calling to each other in tight voices, each telling the other to keep on his guard. The creak of the dragon's wings was what could mostly be heard. The prisoners yelled out again in fear; a harsh snap of a dragon rider silenced them. Instinctively, Raistlin clutched at the bars which bit painfully into his back, calling forth his spells to his mind. It was quiet now. Too quiet. Soon, a rider called for the dragons to move forward again.

And it was here the attack began.

Large, unknown shapes began to plummet from the sky, ramming into the red dragons, sending the cages rocking erratically. The people screamed above the roar of the creatures. Blasts of fire and ice exploded around Raistlin. His cellmates grasped the metal bars that were slick from their blood. Dragon blood descended upon them like terrible rain. Soon, a huge mass dove through the fog, colliding with the red that kept Raistlin's cage suspended. In rage, the red screamed and let go of them, sending the mage and his companions falling fast through the clouds. Raistlin had just enough time to make out what had attacked them. He could see the red dragons, fighting off what looked to be . . . more dragons? All of the sudden, he thought his cage was flying again! Something seemed to have caught hold of it. But the impact detached him from the bars to which he was holding onto tightly with his frail fingers. Then he, too, was flying. Screams, roars, booming sounds, sweltering heat, freezing cold . . . His skull collided with metal, and the mage knew no more.