Hederick The Theocrat (17 page)

the opulent entryway past the tapestries, crashing out through the main entrance into the
sunshine. Kifflewit, hiding behind the broken door, saw the centaur bound to the top of
the inner wall, teeter for a moment on top, then vault over the outer wall to freedom. A
snarl brought the kender's attention back to his own precarious circumstances. The
materbill, gorging on centaur, lifted its head and gazed up the hallway. As it chewed, it
surveyed the kender and the route to freedom. It took a step toward the door.

Then a phalanx of temple guards, armed with spears and shields, entered the hallway. The
materbill seemed to gauge this new enemy. The guards edged down the hallway, holding up
huge shields. The materbill retreated to the opposite side, behind the carcasses of the
centaurs. The guards came closer. The leonine creature crouched. Then the first row of
guards, shields before them, reached with their spears, nudging the dead centaurs toward
the materbill. The materbill backed up slowly until it had moved back beyond the doorway.
Then the guards slammed the doors to the materbill's quarters and barricaded them.

Kifflewit Burrthistle dove out of sight behind the wreckage of the doors just as the High
Theocrat appeared at the top of the hallway, flanked by Dahos. A dozen lesser priests
crowded behind them. “What is this?” Hed-erick bellowed. “Unholy creatures in my Erolydon?
By my own high priest's orders? Dahos, have you lost your mind?”

“I thought to rid us of the centaurs, Your Worship,” Dahos replied. “I know that you...”
“By committing sacrilege?” Hederick screeched. “We'll have to reconsecrate the entire
building! By the New Gods, Dahos, I should...” Dahos waited, his face ashen. “But I used
incense----” he ventured, then swallowed hard. The guards grew silent and watchful.
Hederick drew in a shuddering breath. “No,” he whispered. “I have need of you, High
Priest. You are valuable to meat the present, at least.” He chewed his lower lip and
raised his voice. “We will see if you can atone.” “I will try, Your Worship,” Dahos
murmured. “You will oversee the reconsecration. Get to work immediately.” Dahos bowed and,
at a trot, left the High Theocrat. Hederick surveyed his priests. Kifflewit peeked,
unnoticed, from the pile of boards. “The temple is defiled,” the High Theocrat announced.
“We will not return to the Great Chamber. We will reconvene on the shores of the lake
immediately. Priests, move the spectators onto the back grounds. Guards, bring the
prisoner to me there.” The guards marched past. The priests' robes swirled busily as the
priests hurried to do Hederick's bidding. In the confusion of robes and uniforms, one
small kender went unnoticed. Soon Kifflewit Burrthistle was standing in the sunshine
outside on the grass. Marble walls extended westward from the building to the lake, Beyond
the walls to the north and south, vallenwoods and pines stood like sentinels. The gentle
wind buffeted leaves and needles, creating a sound like a thousand people whispering.
Hundreds of people milled around Kifflewit. Although some spied him and clapped their
hands over their coin pouches, no one cried out at the presence of a kender. They were
outside the temple proper, after all, and Seeker rules forbidding kender and other unclean
creatures applied only to the building itself. Kifflewit Burrthistle slipped through a
crowd to get a better view. Along the way, he picked up three coins, a copper bracelet,
and a hand-mirrorputting them in his pockets for safekeeping. In the process, he realized
he also carried several of the stones that Phytos had secreted in his pouch. “They can't
have been very important, for him to have gone off and left them like that,” he said to
himself. “Good thing I found them. If I ever run into him again ...” Hederick mounted a
small stile. He had changed into a new ceremonial robe; the brown one had been sullied by
the presence of the centaurs. He now wore deep blue velvet, with carmine and silver edging
at the neck. “What a pretty robe,” Kifflewit whispered. “But it seems a bit hot for
summer.” Other topics were of greater consequence. For example, where was the Diamond
Dragon? Tarscenian had said Hederick wore it around his neck, but no pendant swung against
the blue velvet. “Must be inside,” Kifflewit

mumbled, leaning forward near a portly man in black. Yes, the kender decided, there might
just be the faintest V of a thong beneath the material, with a swelling at the point of
the V. “Blessed Seekers,” Hederick intoned, “I encourage you to enjoy the goddess Ferae's
sunshine while I make several announcements and pass judgment on an unrepentant sinner.”

The crowd waited expectantly. “First,” Hederick said, “you may know that the ground you
are standing on will soon be the site of Erolydon's Ceremonial Pavilion, a splendid new
structure created for worshipping the New Gods outdoors.” The crowd murmured. Hederick
raised one hand and waited until the noise had diminished. “With that holy object in mind,
my followers, I know you will rejoice at the opportunity to help provide the steel coins
to raise the structure.” “What does that mean?” a woman whispered to her husband. “He's
raising our taxes again,” the man whispered back. Murmuring rose again from the crowd and
this time did not die out when Hederick raised his hands. “The wood for the blessed
pavilion will be the finest vallen-wood, of course.” “More of the sacred trees?” a man
exploded from the center of the crowd. Two guards immediately pinioned him and hustled him
back into the temple. Several marked his passage with haunted eyes. The High Theocrat
smiled. “I rejoice that you are now unanimous in your love for the New Gods. Surely the
pantheons will bless you doubly for your latest gifts.” “All the pantheons have blessed my
family with so far is great poverty,” came a woman's voice. This time, when the guards
pushed to the vicinity, they could not identify the detractor, and the unhelpful crowd
gave no hint. “Who spoke?” demanded the captain of the guards. He swept his glance over a
group of four huddled women. They glared at him from beneath gaily colored kerchiefs but
said nothing. “Who spoke?” the captain repeated. After a few moments had passed, Hederick
snapped, “That's enough, Captain. Take them all into custody.” “It was me!” cried an
exhausted-looking woman in an embroidered skirt and plain black blouse. “Leave the others
alone!” The captain and his guards looked irresolutely from the women to the High
Theocrat. “I said take them all,” Hederick ordered. “Now do it, unless you want to find
yourselves included with them.” The women were dragged, screaming, into Erolydon. Hederick
leveled an angry stare at the crowd. Kifflewit retreated behind the portly man. “Does
anyone else yearn to blaspheme the New Gods?” the High Theocrat demanded. Briefly the
people parted, and Kifflewit glimpsed two figures who looked strangely familiar. The blond
woman was clothed as a warrior. The man, a seeming beggar, was festooned with clumps of
hair atop his head, and his cheeks and chin were bright with new cuts. The crowd closed
again, and Kifflewit couldn't see what happened next. At that moment, a new disturbance
broke out from the direction of Erolydon. The guards hauled a man, gagged and bound,
through the crowd and threw him down at the base of Hederick's stile. “A mage of evil!”
the portly man above Kifflewit breathed. Entranced, the kender made his way past a few
people to get a better look. A black-robed mage! You didn't see too many avowed mages
these days, with feelings running high against them and all. And an evil mage was even
rarer. Hederick gazed serenely down at the black-robed mage. “Your hands are bound, your
mouth stopped, to prevent you from unleashing a heinous spell amid these believers. I
prefer to allow my prisoners last words before I pronounce a sentence of death, but I'm
sure you would agree that that would be a mistake in your case.” He chuckled. The man,
whose severe features and gimlet stare hinted at his alignment with Evil, managed to look
disdainful. “That's not fair, High Theocrat!” Kifflewit said. “He should get a chance to
talk, like everyone else.” In a twinkling, the kender had drawn out a knife and skipped
over to the captive mage. A moment later, and he had slit both gag and ropes. The mage sat
up, rubbing his wrists.

Hederick and his guards stood stunned for a moment. The crowd edged back as speedily as
possible. “Repent, mage,” the High Theocrat finally choked out. “Commend your soul to the
grace of the New Gods.”

The wizard laughed. Suddenly he was standing. Hederick's guards leaped toward the mage.
The black-robed wizard sprinkled powder retrieved from a packet hidden in his boot and
swept one hand around him in a huge circle. “Anelor armida na refinej!” The guards doubled
over as if they'd been poleaxed. The High Theocrat fumbled inside his robe and pulled out
a leather-wrapped bundle. The Diamond Dragon! It had to be! Kifflewit rejoiced.
“Hederick!” the mage shouted. “You call me evil, yet you cannot see the same in yourself!
Centriep ystendalet trewykyl. See, then, what you have brought upon yourself. Gantendestin
milsivantid!” Hederick untied the leather. The Diamond Dragon glittered on his palm.
“There it is! The Diamond Dragon! Let me get a closer look!” Kifflewit cried and bounded
up the stile. “Cariax povokiet zvrekanenet res,” the mage shouted at that precise moment.
The kender reached for the dragon and found it in his grasp. Suddenly, an explosion sent
him crashing to the earth. He heard screams, smelled burning grass and something worse,
and rolled sideways under the stile as people stampeded, seeking escape. The kender raised
his head. The back gate was locked. There were only two getaways: over the wall to the
lake, for those few who could swim, and back through the temple Erolydon. The crowd ebbed
and surged, unsure which way led to safety. There was no sign of the mage. Kifflewit
crawled out from under the stile, clutching the Diamond Dragon. “Wasn't that exciting?” he
said to no one in particular. “Where'd the mage go? Did he disappear? Turn into a bird?
Fly away? What” He turned and saw the body on the stile. The outflung hand still clasped
the thong and empty leather cover that had masked the Diamond Dragon. The puffy face had
relaxed. The blue robe was blackened and tattered. In the center of the High Theocraf s
chest was a scorched hole the size of a fist. Hederick's heart was gone. It was enough to
silence even a kender. Kifflewit crawled up on the stile. “Gee, I'm sorry,” he said to the
corpse. “You were really fond of this.” He held out the Diamond Dragon. “You probably
would have wanted to have it with you when you died.” The kender sighed. “Well, you can
have it back now, if you like.” He held his hand, the one with the Diamond Dragon in it,
above the High Theocrat's lifeless palm. “No, Kifflewit!” came a shout. That voice.
Tarscenian? The kender looked over his shoulder just as he dropped the artifact into
Hederick's hand. But this wasn't Tarscenian; this was that beggar. And what a mess he was!
At that moment, Hederick's hand grasped the kender's wrist. Kifflewit gave a squawk.
Hederick held his wrist firmly. The kender could only stare in fascination as color
returned to Hederick's flaccid cheeks. Then the pale blue eyes openedand the wound closed
in the High Theocrat's chest. “But you can't live without a heart!” Kifflewit protested as
he yanked his wrist away. Hederick sat up, his face devoid of expression. Kifflewit held
out the thong and rewrapped leather. “I think you lost these,” the kender said
apologetically. Wordless, Hederick accepted the gift. And then Kifflewit was off through
the crowd, scrambling over the rocks and up the wall, and diving into the lake. He swam
underwater until a change in the light told him he'd passed beyond Erolydon's walls. Then
he surfaced, turned south, and paddled in that direction until the Seeker temple had
vanished behind the trees. At last Kifflewit Burrthistle climbed up on a boulder. The sun
was warm, the sky cloudless. A warm

breeze promised to dry his clothes in short order. A perfect day, really. Perfect for
examining the Diamond Dragon at leisure, he thought, pulling the artifact from his pocket.
Kifflewit hoped idly that Hederick didn't have the same goal in mind. If he did, the High
Theocrat would find nothing in his precious leather packet but one of Phy-tos's stones.

*****

Astinus, historian of the Great Library ofPalanthas, gazed at the words he had written.
The ink had not even dried yet. The sentence had come to him in the middle of a routine
history of the doings in the northern kingdom of Kern. The leader of that kingdom was
showing disturbing signs of following in the footsteps of his late uncle, whose campaign
to conquer the world had been narrowly stopped only a short time before.

And then Astinus's hand had written the words that stood out from the page now as though
etched inflame: “And at that moment, two apprentice scribes in the library at Palanthas
attempted to alter the course of history.” Although Astinus's expression of alert
concentration didn't change, an assistant gasped as he looked over the chief historian's
shoulder and saw the latest notation. Astinus gave no sign that he'd heard the aide.

The historian merely gazed at the sentence and waited patiently. *****

“This has to be illegal,” Olven hissed from his seat at the desk. “Or maybe it's even a
sin. No, I won't move from this chair and let you in. I know what you have in mind. Are
you crazy, Maryal” “So just leave,” the woman rejoined. “Say you left as I entered and
that you assumed I, not Eban, was replacing you. Say I lied to you, told you he was sick.
I don't care, Olven. Someone has to do something about Hederick.” Her face brightened as
she looked down at her fellow apprentice, “fust think!” she exclaimed in a near-whisper.
“What good could be done if someone were able and willing to battle evil from herefrom the
very core of history!” “But Astinus ...” Olven held up an arm and warded off Marya's
attempts to grab his quill away from him. “Listen,” she insisted, “if I write something
down here, it becomes history, doesn't it? And when somethittg actually happens as I wrote
it, who will know it wasn't meant to be that way? It's not really a lie, then, is it?”
Another thought occurred to her. “And what if you and I were actually meant to do this to
change this? What if we're part of the gods' plans? You believe in the gods, don't you,
Olven?” “Of course. I work here, don't I? Some say the Old Gods themselves created this
library. Some even say Astinus himself is...” Olven decided he was getting off the track.
“Anyway, I haven't decided to do anything yet, Marya,” he continued. The apprentice looked
uneasily around the library. No one had taken notice of their heated, although
circumspect, discussion. The other scribes were deep in their work, as usual. Eban wasn't
due to relieve Olven for at least an hour, the scribe thought. It could be done as Marya
said. “Olven, think!” Marya persisted, unaware of the battle raging within him. “All we
have to do is write one simple line: At that moment, Hederick died. No one will know. The
black-robed mage burned out the man's heart this afternoon, for the gods' sake! Who would
be surprised if the High Theocrat died? We can even make it a peaceful death, if you want.
Hederick can die in his sleep. It's better than he deserves, but if you're squeamish ...”
“But the Diamond Dragon cured him.” “We only know that the hole in his chest closed,”
Marya said quickly. "Perhaps Hederick is meant to die now, Olven. And perhaps we are the
ones who are meant to cause it to happen. We could do the