Hederick The Theocrat (19 page)

he'd been through, he forced himself to breathe slowly and deeply. He stood there,
pretending he was no more winded than a young man would be, and shrugged casually. “It's
over now,” Tarscenian said. “I want Gaveley's answer. ”Will you and your ring help me
steal the Diamond Dragon from Hederick?"

The half-elf looked at Tarscenian across the crystal rim of a wine goblet. Gaveley was
dressed with his usual flair, this time in scarlet leather breeches and black silk shirt,
a white silk scarf knotted at his slender throat. He was smiling, but his tilted hazel
eyes hinted danger. “I've reviewed your request, old man,” he whispered. “I believe we
will pass it by.”

There was a short pause before Mynx exploded in protest. “Why, Gav? Stealing the thing
would be a great way to get Hederick's goat! You hate him; we all do. He's killing our
business. With taxes so high, no one has anything worthwhile to steal. Why not go along
with Tarscenian? I'd help him steal it, and you all know I'm the best thief here. This
dragon thing's worth a fortune!” She looked at each of the three thieves in turn. “We all
could practically retire,” she finished, trying to make a

joke. Gaveley snarled. “It's my decision, Mynx. Accept it or leave.” Xam and Snoop nodded
in tandem. Tarscenian frowned, his gray gaze flicking from Gaveley to Mynx. Mynx looked
startled. “Leave? But I grew up in this ring, Gav.” “And I taught you from the start that
in Gaveley's ring...” “.. . Gaveley's word is law,” she finished. She pulled her helm from
her head, and pushed her hand back through her newly blond hair. She looked at Tarscenian.
“I'm sorry,” she said simply. “I won't go against the group. I don't dare.” Tarscenian's
expression didn't change. “Like the slaves,” he whispered. “What did you call them, Mynx
sheep?” “That's not fair,” she flared. “It's not the same thing at all!” “Isn't it?”
Wordless, Tarscenian bowed slightly to Gaveley, then moved the statue of the harpist as
he'd seen the others do, and left. He managed to look dignified despite his angry feelings
and beggarly disguise. “Go out the back,” Gaveley rasped at Snoop. “Keep him in sight but
don't let him see you. If the temple guards accost him within Erolydon, make as if you're
delivering him to Hederick. Then at least we'll get the bounty, if not the Diamond Dragon.
We can always steal that later.” “And if he gets the Diamond Dragon?” “Steal it from him,”
Gaveley whispered. “Then kill him. Present the old man's head to Hederick. Then we'll
still get the bounty.” Mynx leaped up. “Gaveley!” She tore at his arm. “What happened to
honor? You were always so proud that you were more honorable than the rich people.
Remember, Gav?” He shoved her away. “I'm a thief, Mynx. And I'm not human. What use to me
is a human idea like honor?” “But... but elves have honor, too,” she stammered. “Neither
elves nor humans recognize my noble lineage,” he spat. “Better to throw in my lot with
someone who at least will give me some money, if not respect.” She stared at him, then at
Xam, who was watching the exchange from the back doorway. Her gaze, now disgusted, went
back to the half-elf. “You've gone in with Hederick, Gav? Is that it? After we decided not
to?” “You decided not to, Mynx,” Gaveley whispered. “The rest of us...” Mynx turned to
Xam. The bounty-hunter shrugged. “It's a job,” he said. “Hederick's no worse than anyone
else we've worked for, Mynx.” The big man's eyes took on a pleading look, like a dog's.
“Honest, Mynx. It's better to go in with us on this.” “But Hederick is crazy,” she
whispered. “Tarscenian is ... is good.” “Since when do thieves care about good?” Gaveley
whispered. He motioned to Xam, who lumbered across the room toward Mynx.

“I'm sorry, Mynx,” the large man said. “There's a reward for you, too. A small one, but
every bit counts these days.” “A reward?” Her voice cracked. She took a step backward and
found herself pinioned by the half- elf.

“Hederick doesn't like it when people refuse his offers,” Gaveley snapped in her ear.
“Xam, we have work to do. Take care of her.” Her mind screamed for her to struggle, to
run, but her body refused to obey. She merely watched, stunned, as Xam raised a meaty
hand. He was a bounty-hunter, skilled at subduing his quarry. The blow struck the side of
her neck. Her knees buckled, and she fell unconscious to the floor.

A short time later, Kifflewit crept through the back entrance of the thieves' den, busy
hands replacing his lockpicking tools in one of his pouches. “Certainly dark in here,” he
whispered to himself. “Maybe Mynx is sleeping.” He'd seen Gaveley, then Xam and Snoop, and
finally Mynx and Tarscenian enter the den. All but Mynx had emerged. Kifflewit wanted one
last look at the splendors of Gaveley's den before he left Solace. The temple guards,
still failing to show any sign of humor, had been dogging his steps. He'd managed to keep
away from them, but even a kender grows tired of some games.

Mynx had been adamant about keeping him out of the thieves' den, the kender remembered.
But if she were sleeping . . . Kifflewit brightened. Perhaps he could sneak a peek without
waking her up. “Surely one small light won't disturb her sleep,” he reassured himself.
Still standing in the doorway, he felt in his pockets for steel and flint, and scraped
some lint from the bottom of a pocket. The first time he struck stone and steel together,
he heard an immediate groan in the darkness before him and jumped. The steel went
clattering away into the darkness. Another groan. Had he awakened Mynx? Kifflewit felt in
his pockets, one by one, for more steel. His slender fingers found nothing helpful until
he reached into one particular pocket. Light streamed from the pocketsparkly, swirling
light. “How pretty!” he breathed. His restless fingers drew out the Diamond Dragon. It was
just the size of his hand. He'd never seen it in the dark before, and the artifact was all
aglow. He could barely see the outline of the dragon, the diamonds glittered so brightly.

“It must be magical!” he said softly. Another groan resounded through the den. Kifflewit
raised the Diamond Dragon above his head and stepped carefully inside. The artifact's glow
bathed him in light. “Perhaps it's not Mynx,” he whispered. “Perhaps it's a really
interesting monster.” He'd heard about plenty of beasts that lived underground. Some cave
crawlers were even poisonous. He wondered what it would feel like to be eaten alive. If
the thing ate the Diamond Dragon along with him, would he be able to see the crawler's
insides? That would be something! Mmmmmmnnfjf? “You! Are you a cave crawler?” he shouted.
Mmmmmmnnjff?

*****

“Mynx?” Mmmmmmnnfff. If one muffled Mmmmmmnnfff! could convey rage, frustration, and fear,
this one did. It was sounding less and less like a cave crawler, Kifflewit Burrthistle
thought. He shuffled forward in the darkness, holding the Diamond Dragon higher in order
to cast the largest possible circle of light. Then a tousled head of blond hair, angry
brown eyes, and a gagged mouth came into view. “Mynx? Why do you look like that? Why's
your hair yellow? I liked it dark. And why are you wearing armor? Aren't you a thief
anymore? Are you a mercenary now?” Mmmmmmnnfff1. He held the Diamond Dragon close to her
furious face. “See? I found this in the temple. Isn't it pretty?” Mynx stared daggers at
him. The kender's eyes were wide and innocent. “What's the matter?” he asked. MMMunnnpie
mmmmmmeeee, mooooo mbiddllle pfoool! came through the gag.

“You're awfully hard to understand with that rag ...” Kifflewit set to work loosening the
restraint, while Mynx continued to gnash at the cloth with her teeth. The kender chattered
merrily on. “The High Theocrat mustn't care much for this dragon thing or he wouldn't have
let it lie around. I think I'm doing him a favor by taking care of it, don't you?”

The gag was gone. “You idiot!” Mynx cried. “That's the Diamond Dragon!” The kender
blinked. “Well, sure.” “Tarscenian thinks Hederick still has it!” “Oh. Well, there's
nothing to worry about. It's safe with me.”

“Untie me, you little fool,” she snapped. “You don't have to be rude. After all. ..” He
reached over Mynx to her hip, plucked Tarscenian's dagger from her sheath, and, still
talking animatedly, severed the cord that bound her wrists and ankles. Mynx's mind raced.
Tarscenian had no clue that the thieves were after him. And of course he had no idea that
the kender possessed the Diamond Dragon. Kifflewit Burrthistle prattled on, dangling the
Diamond Dragon in front of Mynx's face as though it were some mere bauble. The glow caught
her attention. For a moment Mynx forgot everything but the radiance that came from within
the precious stones. Suddenly everything made sense. Tarscenian wasn't after this thing in
order to sell it, she realized. He was going to use its magical powers against Hederick.
She had to take the artifact to him before he tried to get inside the temple. Only then
would he have a chance against the High Theocraf s forces and Gav's thieves. “Give me
that, kender!” she shouted, lunging for the artifact. Kifflewit squealed, “It's mine! I
found it!” Kender and human hands fought for possession of the Diamond Dragon. “Tarscenian
needs it!” “But I found it!” the kender howled. “He could defeat Hederick!” “No fair! It's
mine!” They tussled on the carpet. The Diamond Dragon seesawed back and forth. The
artifact spat tiny bolts of lightning around the den, burning holes in the tapestries. It
began to hum. Neither woman nor kender realized what was happening; the object they were
fighting over had become a glowing ball of steel-cold fire. “Tarscenian needs it!” “I
found it!” “It could stop the Seekers!” “It's mine!” Szzzzezmetoffffalgolorum! The loud,
strange sound came from the Diamond Dragon itself. The kender let go and fell back, brown
eyes agog. Mynx crowed triumphantly, cradling the trophy to her breast. She stroked it,
exulting in its possession. She would find Tarscenian... Szzzzezmetoffff algolorum! The
second burst of sound and light penetrated Mynx's triumph. Magicfrom the thing itself?
Sudden terror drenched her. She tried to throw the Diamond Dragon away from her. It
refused to let go. The Diamond Dragon clung to her hands, humming louder. There was no
painonly a coldness that extended from her hands up through her elbows. And then she
realized that her hands were inside the artifact. Even as she watched, the Diamond Dragon
absorbed more of her. She could see her hands, then her wrists and forearms, moving
frantically inside the thing. She still could control her movements, but her hands were
shrinking. She placed one booted foot and then the other against the thing, to brace
herself and wrench her arms free. Then her feet were sucked in, too. “Kifflewit!” Mynx
shouted. “Help me!” But the kender could only gape at her, wide-eyed. The coldness shot
like a catapult up her arms and legs. It froze her

torso and reached her head. And then she was inside the Diamond Dragon. Smooth crystal
curved around her, impervious to her pounding and kicking. Mynx raged within the dragon as
the kender stared at the thing from without. She was miniature enough now, within the
artifact, to stand in Kifflewit's hand. Clearly he could see her tiny figure dancing
inside the Diamond Dragon. Couldn't he? She could hear the kender. Could he hear her? Mynx
cried out, but Kifflewit merely gazed at the Diamond Dragon from every angle. He picked it
up, shook itthrowing Mynx to her knees and put it down again. “I wonder where she went?”
the kender said softly. “What a terrific trick!” He glanced around, as though he might
find Mynx peering out from under a table or settee. Inevitably, the kender's attention
wandered, and he abandoned the artifact on the carpet as he poked through the den.
Gaveley's den had numerous gems and objects of special interest to a glitter-loving
kender. AH went into his pouches and pockets.

Then Mynx and the artifact that imprisoned her were snatched up and tucked back in a
bulging kender pocket, too. She could sense movement; Kifflewit was scampering off
somewhere. Mynx sat down on the curved crystal floor of the Diamond Dragon to avoid
falling again. She rested her head on her arms. “Oh, Tarscenian,” she whispered. “You're
heading into danger for nothing.” Here she was, trapped within the only object that could
help him, and she couldn't do a thing. She rode for some time in Kifflewit's pocket,
hearing only the muffled sounds of the market and occasional yelps from angry guards.
Twice the kender began to run and continued until the shouting died away. Then a new voice
spoke, quite near. “Ah, 'tis thee, small one. What dost thou want of me? I am in haste. I
have no time to stop and natter with thee, yet thou saved my life back at the temple. What
dost thou want, kender?” It was the centaur she'd seen in the refugee section, Mynx
realized. “The guards are after me,” came Kifflewit's stifled reply. “I need to hitch a
ride out of Solace.” “Small one, that I can grant thee, in gratitude for thy service. I am
bound for my home glade, to apprise my people of the coming danger.” Mynx braced herself
against the insides of the Diamond Dragon as Kifflewit Burrthistle clambered up onto the
centaur's back. The man-horse settled into the rocking gait that could cover many leagues,
seemingly without great effort. The centaur and Kifflewit soon left Solace far behind.

As Tarscenian worked his tray back through Solace, he regularly stooped and held out his
bowl to passers-by. “Alms?” he would quaver from the depths of his hood, detesting the
pitiable tone he had to adopt. The slow pace galled him, too. He wanted nothing more than
to throw off his beggar's cloak, yank the tufts of hair from their glued moorings, and
race into Erolydon with sword drawn to challenge Hederick directly. “Directly and
honestly,” he muttered.

Solace's residents sidestepped the surly beggar with neither word nor offer of aid.
Tarscenian's disguise was holding up well. Hederick's goblins and guards didn't give him a
second look. He slunk past a few more sword-carrying hobgoblins and caught enough of their
garbled words to realize that the slave caravan had left Solace without further incident.
Tarscenian forced himself to focus on the task at hand to find Hederick, who rarely left
Erolydon, and steal the Diamond Dragon or die in the effort. But how to enter the temple?
Twice Tarscenian felt suddenly uneasy, as though he were being observed. Each time, he
paused to fumble in his cloak, mumbling and weaving as though he were daft or physically
ill. The gray eyes

hidden in the shadowed cloak missed little, but Tarscenian saw no evidence that guards,
goblins, or anyone else scrutinized him. There were only the usual late-afternoon refugees
and excited pilgrims, brown-robed priests and the sellers of temple offerings, and dozens
of common people. Down below he saw farmers unloading barrels from wagons, and a
half-dozen fishermen and women hawking Crys-talmir bass and perch from tub-laden carts
with huge wooden wheels.

He paused to catch his breath. He was showing signs of increasing fatigue. Sometimes it
seemed as though his mind were whirling in circles. He'd had no time to study the little
magic he knew, and the spells he'd used in the previous days were long gone from his
memory. Then Tarscenian raised his eyebrows and forced his brain to clear. He had no
difficulty making himself sag into an even more beggarly stance.

There was one stairway within sight. And at the bottom of the steps that twined around the
nearest vallen-wood, Dahos, Hederick's high priest, stood behind the fishmongers. The high
priest surveyed the scene with an air of proprietorship. It wasn't only the tall priest
who caught Tarscenian's eye, but the ring on his right hand. Tarscenian squinted, leaning
over the railing of the walkway.

Dahos wore the death's-head ring. I stole it. Mynx gave Dahos's ring to Gaveley last
night, he thought. And now Dahos has it back. That meant one thing: the half-elf had done
more than turn down Tarscenian's proposal. Gaveley had sold him out to Hederick's forces.
Tarscenian glanced behind him, starting to edge backward as Dahos, with a jerk of his
head, summoned a blue-uniformed captain. The high priest bent down to speak quietly to the
man. The captain nodded, saluting crisply. The captain hustled over to a pair of goblins.
Tarscenian paused. Then he sank to his knees and pretended to look for something on the
walkway. His hands plunged into his cloak to search through his pouches. “Hurry, hurry,”
he whispered to himself. Soon he was using blood-red sand to outline a fish on the boards
of the walkway. Another fish, the size of his hand, joined the first, and then another.
“Pesqi d'armotage, oberit getere,” he murmured. A shout rang out below. Tarscenian hurried
to finish. “Getilin ornest gadillio dehist.” “There he is! Up there!” a man's voice
shouted from below. “Pesqi d'armotage, oberit getere. Getilin ornest gadillio dehist!”
Tarscenian finished the chant, then used both hands to whirl the sand figures into
oblivion. The guards' shouts below turned into oaths as Tarscenian's spell overturned six
carts full of slippery fish and water between the guards and their prey. Most of Dahos's
men lost their footing amid the flopping fish and cursed loudly. A few goblins, unhampered
by hard footwear, made it to the steps. But Tarscenian was already on his feet and racing
away to the north. After several months of Seeker reign, Solace residents were used to
fugitives fleeing along the wooden walks in front of their treetop homes. They stayed
invisible behind their doors, assisting no one. This walkway connected with another.
Tarscenian chose the path that would take him northwest toward the lake. This area
contained only homes, no shops or open markets. It was deserted now. Ropes were laced from
branch to branch, many of them draped with drying clothes. Tarscenian glanced back. A
hobgoblin was thirty paces behind him, two goblins following. Three temple guards stood
fifty paces ahead, pikes set on the wooden boards of the walkway, smiles broad under their
helms. His pursuers had him cornered, fifty feet above the ground. Tarscenian could see
the lowering sun glittering on Crystalmir Lake behind the guards. The lake was but a short
distance away, yet it might as well have been leagues distant for all the good it did him
now. To add annoyance, some Solace housewife had stretched her laundry across the walkway.
Tarscenian was forced to slap aside dripping shirts, socks, and bedding as he watched the
guards and goblins edge forward. The sheets flapped like huge wings. “Wings!” Tarscenian
said suddenly. Did he know a flying spell? He drew his sword to worry the approaching
foes. “A flying spell,” he hissed. "Think, Tarscenian! By the Old Gods, if only Ancilla

were here!“ He focused intensely on the memory of the white-robed mage. Had she been a
goddess, his call would have been a prayer. ”Ancilla!“ An answering murmur rose within
Tarscenian's mind, teased him, and died. ”Ancilla!“ If she could hear him, could she
dispatch a spell? Again the teasing sensation, as though a hibernating animal stirred
within his mind. ”Ancilla!“ My... My love? ”Ancilla, I'm trapped. They will capture me
unless...“ The guards and goblins were short paces away. The hobgoblin pounded one of the
goblins on the head with a mailed fist as though they shared an obvious joke. ”See! Old
man crazyfool,“ the hobgoblin chortled. ”Talk-talk self. Stuck now. Bounty bounty.“ The
goblin, rearranging its helmet, continued its approach, crouching behind its bigger
cousin. ”Ancilla ...“ Tarscenian ... I... The voice died away, then returned as though
communicating drained almost every iota of the mage's energy. I have.. .no .. .1 cannot...
The hobgoblin leaped. Tarscenian sliced through the air with his sword. The weapon
severed, not the hobgoblin's neck, but the laundry rope between them. Tarscenian lunged
for the rope, caught it with his left hand, and swung over the railing. ”Pray Paladine
it's well tied at the other end,“ the man gasped on the way down. Tarscenian arced through
the open space that separated Solace's border from a few scrub pines at the edge of the
lake. Sheets, pillowcovers, and knit socks cascaded through the air. The captain of the
guard was waiting for him on the ground, flanked by six men. Each flourished swords and
spears. ”For the Old Gods!“ Tarscenian bellowed, swinging his sword wildly. The guards
threw themselves to the dirt as Tarscenian hurtled directly toward them, but they were not
quick enough. Tarscenian managed to sever the arm of one and the hand of another. A third
guard fell unconscious when he was clouted in the head by Tarscenian's boots. Then
Tarscenian was heading up again, higher and higher, until it seemed he could almost touch
the lake. He remembered, as a child, leaping off a swing at the highest point of its
curve, soaring through the air like the panther he'd been pretending to be. He remembered,
too, the broken ankle that had kept him in bed for weeks after that escapade. ”Paladine,“
he prayed, ”let this work." He was coming back down again. The hobgoblin stood on the
ground now, urging the others toward the sword-wielding human pendulum. Tarscenian hit one
of the goblins, a reddish-orange creature with bright lemon-yellow eyes. The goblin
staggered into another one. They both careened into the hobgoblin, who tossed them aside
like rags. Then up ... and up. Tarscenian hastily stuffed his sword in its scabbardno easy
task while curled around a rope. His right hand, now free, unclasped the cloak, loosely
holding the garment in place. The hobgoblin swept the other guards aside, and waited alone
in Tarscenian's path. The butt of its spear rested on the ground, the point glinting
toward the human. Tarscenian could see victory and consternation mingled in the creature's
tiny red eyes. He could almost hear the beast's thoughts: Why did this daft human sheathe
his sword? Then, just as Tarscenian was about to collide with the hobgoblin, the man
whipped off his cloak and snagged the spear. The force of Tarscenian's charge whipped the
weapon into the neck of the monster that had held it. A bellow rocked the clearing behind
the old man as he swung toward the lake. And then he jumped free of the rope, soaring over
two pines toward the water. Tarscenian curled himself into a ball. The landing would
either save or kill him. Water, deep blue and icy even in summer, closed around him. His
sword dragged him down, but he dared not jettison it. He kicked his way to the surface,
then he made himself relax, lie back, and breathe regularly. He kicked forcefully, away
from shore. The captain of the guard ordered the goblins and hobgoblins into the lake
after their quarry.

Tarscenian heard the goblin's shrill refusals, and the hobgoblin's deep shout, “Water.
Hobgoblin. No. Lake hobgoblin. Wait, see, masterguard.” Tarscenian's sword dragged him
down. At this rate, he would tire and drown long before he reached the western shore.
“Paladine, please,” he prayed, gasping for air. “Ancilla still lives. Let me save ... Let
us save ... We have to ...” Then he halted in wonderment. A spell, long-forgotten, floated
into his mind. Tarscen-ian gulped air and raised his arms. With his fingers, he pounded a
tattoo on the water surface until the muscles in his forearms threatened to cramp. All the
while, he repeated the chant that played through his mind. “Fotatol aerifon hexicadi
pfeatherlit. Fotatol aerifon hexicadi pfeatherlit. Fotatol aerifon hexicadi pfeatherlit.”
He paused to breathe and drew in a lungful of water. He coughed and sputtered, but chanted
on. “Fotatol aerifon hexicadi pfeatherlit.” He felt his wig disguise wash loose from his
scalp. A cramp began to hurt his side. He speeded up his chanting. Suddenly his muscles
eased. He was borne up in the water as though the giant hand of a god had scooped him up.
The heavy sword weighed nothing. His sodden garments ceased to hamper him. He glanced back
toward Solace. There was no sign of his pursuers. Suddenly, a craft floated before him. “A
canoe?” Tarscenian muttered. “I don't recall this part of the spell.” He paddled over to
it. The canoe appeared to be birch-bark. It glided easily on the water. A plain plank seat
spanned the widest section of the canoe. The other seat, at the stern, was marked with a
red star. Tarscenian treaded water while he unbuckled the belt that held his scabbard and
sword, and slung the weapon and holder into the craft. Then he grasped the side of the
canoe and hauled himself up. Suddenly the canoe went askew. Tarscenian hurriedly released
the craft, treading water again while it bobbed back into position. Clearly, this business
of climbing into a canoe from the water was no simple task. He was a landsman, mystified
by most things aquatic. Tarscenian took a deep breath, let himself sink below the surface,
and kicked as hard as he could. He shot up through the water and lunged enough above the
surface to clutch the plank seat itself. For an instant, the technique seemed to work.
Then Tarscenian, cursing, felt himself sliding back toward the water as the canoe tipped
slowly toward him. Once more he let himself slip back into the lake. Once again he tried.
This time he placed more and more of his weight upon the canoe until the waters of
Crys-talmir Lake lapped into the boat. The boat sank in the water. When the craft was
half-full, it floated low enough in the lake for Tarscenian to slip over the side. Soon he
was seated on the middle plank, shin-deep in cold water. He had nothing to bail with, and
his pursuers would soon be after him. He decided to try paddling despite the heavy load of
water, then reached toward the craft's floorand swore. “No paddles, by the Old Gods?”
Tarscenian dug deep into his pouches. Everything in his pockets was sodden. Marjoram,
thyme, pepper, and pinehe had them all still, despite his dunking. He spread the items on
the other seat, the plank with the star insignia, then passed his hands over them,
chanting. “Elvi nahana teta, i'a min bidyang. Bidyang d'a mina.” He turned his hands over
and raised them slowly. He'd not performed a levitation spell in a long time, but the boat
began to lift off the water. The boat rose, but only a few inches. The craft bulged at the
center. For a moment Tarscenian feared that the heavy burden of man and water would cause
the canoe to burst. He grabbed his sword from the bottom of the canoe and plunged the
weapon into the craft's side. The water gushed from the canoe back into the lake, and the
craft rose higher until it reached a foot above the surface. “Good,” he murmured. “Now if
I can manage to put the craft in motion ...” Tarscenian gazed north toward Erolydon. The
sun was almost down. He had a hunch how to get into the temple, but he'd need some light
to find his way. Every moment was important. “Ebal gi entoknoken ty xorent.” The boat did
not move. “Ebal gi entoknoken ty wrent.” Still the craft

remained motionless. “All right,” he muttered to himself. “Fine.” He clapped his hands.
“Quantenol sinafit.” The sun touched the horizon. Rays of pink and red immediately shot
into the sky. Tarscenian pondered. What could he be doing wrong? He gazed around. His
stare fell on the starred plank. A quizzical look came over his face, then he shrugged.
“It's worth a try,” he said. He moved to the other seat, the one marked with the star, and
sat squarely upon the decoration. Tarscenian closed his eyes and concentrated. “Ebal gi
entoknoken ty wrent. Ebal gi entoknoken ty wrent. Quantenol sinafit.” Again he clapped.
The boat raised itself slightly higher above the water. Tarscenian imagined the craft
speeding across the water, heading northward. He imagined the breeze across his bare head,
felt the spray wash over him when the craft struck an upflung wave. He imagined Erolydon
coming into view, and in his mind he saw the canoe, coming to a stop just outside the
walls that extended into the sea. He saw the grounds of Erolydon devoid of people, the
temple empty after the evening's revelations. Tarscenian opened his eyes to find the white
marble wall rising smoothly before him. All was as he'd imagined it. The sun was only a
fraction lower in the sky, but he had arrived at Erolydon. “The magic worked,” he
whispered, smiling. But where should he search? Tarscenian remembered the Praxis, and
recalled how Hederick had taken particular passages to heart. “Moral purity is impossible
without physical cleanliness,” the Praxis taught. There must be discharge tunnels, then,
to guide waste from the temple. And what was the most logical place to deposit the filth?
Tarscenian knew Hederick would want the refuse emptied as far away from his own quarters
as possible. Tarscenian considered the expanse of wall before him. He leaned over to lower
himself into the water and take a look. Suddenly something burst up out of the water
beneath the boat, which shattered, dumping Tarscenian in the water. As he swam to the
surface, he saw his sheathed sword disappear into the muck far below him. His
spell-casting components floated on the surface. A shadow warned him that he was no longer
alone, and he lurched backward. A lance, barbed like a harpoon, whisked past his face. At
first Tarscenian thought the hobgoblin from Solace had caught up with him, but this
creature circling him now had gills. Webbed fingers held the barbed lance and a small
shield. Tarscenian realized the creature's toes were webbed, too. He searched his memory.
Koalinth, that was it. An aquatic hobgoblin. Of course Hederick would have no compunctions
about employing the entire goblin race. The koalinth stabbed its lance efficiently through
the water. Tarscenian had given his dagger to Mynx and now he had no sword, either. He
would have to surface to breathe. Each gulp of air would leave him vulnerable to the
gill-breather. I didn't come this far to be stopped by an overgrown rish, Tarscenian
thought. Then the creature stopped circling and came at him.