Hederick The Theocrat (22 page)

Mynx! For a short time after Kifflewit deposited her and the Diamond Dragon in his pocket,
Mynx continued to fume and drum her fists against her knees. Eventually, though, she
realized the startling fact that someone was calling her name. Mynx! She sat up. She could
see nothing but the inside of Kif-flewit's pocket, lit by the dragon's purple glow. Mynx!
Outside, then. Someone outside the pocket was speaking to her. Rejuvenated, the woman
jumped up and rocked the artifact from side to side until Kifflewit Burrthistle's hand
returned to retrieve it. “My, this thing is lively tonight,” she heard the kender say. He
held up the Diamond Dragon and peered at it. Mynx glared back. Couldn't he see her?
Couldn't he remember that the Diamond Dragon had enveloped her? Perhaps the magical
artifact ensorceled him. Mynx looked around. The kender was seated upon the centaur. Night
had fallen. The vallenwoods had thinned out until there were vast distances between them.
One of the huge trees towered over them. Mynx did a double take. This tree glowed at the
bottom. The voice that called came from that glow, she realized, although she could not
have said how she knew. Either the tree was alive, or someone inside the tree was calling
to her. Perhaps the Diamond Dragon made it possible for her to hear. Mynx shook her head.
She was beyond understanding things by now. “Thou had best put that thing away, little
one, lest thou drop it,” Phytos warned. “We shall enter my home glade soon. I do not want
to be delayed pawing about in the brush.” “Oh, I'd never drop it, Phytos. I'm really
careful with important things...” Mynx! Come here! That voice again, from the tree.
Suddenly Mynx knew that she had to stop them, by whatever means possible, from leaving the
vallenwoods. She flung herself from side to side, ignoring the bumps and bruises as she
tossed and fell. The artifact quivered in Kifflewit's hand as he chattered on. “Phytos,
I'm really trustworthy when it comes to things like ...” As Mynx rocked the artifact
again, Phytos cried out in alarm. Then Mynx and the Diamond Dragon were falling. It was a
long way down from the centaur's back. Mynx made herself go limp, hoping that the landing
would not break any of her bones. Mynxl The Diamond Dragon crashed into the earth and
skittered to one side. Mynx heard the kender call out in dismay, then she blacked out
briefly. She awakened as she barreled, end over end, limbs flying, inside the rolling
artifact. Then she caught her balance as the Diamond Dragon came to rest against a stonean
arm's length from the glowing tree. Couldn't the centaur and kender see the glow in the
vallenwood? She hurled herself against one side of her prison and then the other, until
her head rang with the effort. She had just worked the Diamond Dragon free of the rock
when Kifflewit picked up the artifact again. “No!” Mynx bellowed. Frantically, she resumed
her gyrations. She was bruised from shoulders to knees now, but she was determined to
succeed. The kender dropped the artifact again.

Mynx's prison bounced and rolled. It came to rest against the vallenwood's rough bark.
“Help!” she shouted, drumming on the side nearest the tree. “Help me!” She spied Kifflewit
bounding toward her again, mouth open and hand outstretched. Phytos leaped behind him,
annoyance apparent in his face.

As soon as the Diamond Dragon touched the tree, the humming that had annoyed Mynx for so
long grew louder and louder, until she dropped to her knees. She covered her ears and
closed her eyes. Miravel firtas, overli ghacom. Whatever was inside the tree was chanting.
The noise increased. “Stop it!” she screamed. The buzzing drowned out all other
soundPhytos's shouts, the kender's excited squeals, her own entreaties. She smelled smoke
and dared to open her eyes a slit. The air around her was ominously cloudy.

Miravelfirtas, overli ghacom. Ytanderal limkir od y'd requis-tandilus. Then Mynx burst
free of the thing. She felt her body soaring through the air, expanding and growing until
she thought she must be the size of a vallenwood. She turned over and over, like a stone
rolling down a hill. And landed, soft as a feather. Her hands clutched, not the sides of
her head, but pine needles and other litter on the forest floor. She opened her eyes. The
tree, Kifflewit, and Phytos swam around her. She closed them again, then tried once more.
Mynx was back to normal size. The artifact lay at her side on some leaves. Phytos skidded
to a halt, his violet eyes almost starting from their sockets. Kifflewit Burrthistle
scooped up the Diamond Dragon and bounced up and down like a cork in a stream. “There she
is, Phytos!” the kender chattered. “I knew she'd find us! See, centaur! I told you all
about Mynx. She was here all along, waiting for us. Aren't you proud of me, Phytos?” Mynx
resisted the urge to clobber the kender. “How ...” The centaur's voice failed, and he
coughed. “How didst thou get here?” She pointed weakly to the Diamond Dragon. “I was in
there.” Doubt creased the centaur's face, followed by sympathy. “Poor thing,” he murmured.
“She hast gone daft. She must have been wandering in the forest for days. Who dost thou
suppose she is, Kifflewit?” The kender was still hopping up and down. “It's Mynx, I told
you, Phytos! She's my friend. She wanted the Diamond Dragon, but I wouldn't give it to
her. She probably followed us, huh?” “That thing swallowed me, Kifflewit!” Mynx shouted at
the kender. “I've been bouncing around in there like dice in a tavern, while you two have
been breathing fresh air, drinking wine, and eating bread and cheese!” Soon she and the
kender were nose to nose. “It's mine,” the kender shrieked. “Your tricks can't fool me!”
“Didn't you remember I was in there, you addlepated, dunderheaded kender?” “Well, maybe
so, but if you hadn't tried to steal it from me in the first place...” “We need this thing
to help Tarscenian, you little idiot!” “You could have asked. Not even a 'please'!”
“Tarscenian needs it!” “Thief!” Finally Phytos cleared his throat. “I fear there are
explanations I am not privy to. But perhaps thou couldst tell me, Mynx.” When the thief
appealed to the centaur, words poured out of her. Phytos's expression grew increasingly
grave. “... So you see,” she finished, “Tarscenian is heading into danger, and the Diamond
Dragon isn't even where he thinks it is, to help him. Gaveley sold him out, Phytos!
They'll kill him. We have to go back and help him.” She tugged at his arm. “Hurry. Can you
carry us both?” Phytos grasped her frantic hand and held it. "Calm thyself, woman. I will
do what I can. Get thee on

my back.“ He directed his violet gaze at the kender. ”Perhaps we should leave Kifflewit
Burrthistle here,“ the centaur intoned, ”inasmuch as he has made this task that much more
difficult.“ ”Me?“ the kender squeaked. ”What did I do?“ Mynx climbed up on Phytos's back.
Kifflewit, protesting all the way, bounded up to join her just as the centaur launched
into his trot. ”Wait!“ Mynx cried. ”Phytos, you're going the wrong way.“ ”No,“ the centaur
rejoined. ”Hand me the horn from my pack. If, that is, the kender did not dent it beyond
use when he hid in there."

Mynx rummaged in the pack, passing the horn up to the centaur's waiting hands. “We should
be near enough,” the man-horse said to himself. The creature raised the horn to his lips
and blew a long blast, then two short ones, then another long. He handed the instrument
back to Mynx. In a short time, they were surrounded by several dozen centaurs carrying
bows, arrows, and clubs. Phytos rapidly apprised them of recent events in Solace, of the
deaths of Feelding and Salomar and their two compatriots, and of the dire predicament of
the lone man who might be able to act against Hederick without bringing about a full-scale
war. “Wilt thou go back with me?” Phytos shouted. “Wilt thou join thy strength with him
and this woman?” The centaurs raised a hurrah. Within moments, Mynx sat upon a well-rested
centaur, with Kifflewit perched happily on another. Phytos, riderless, moved into the
fore. They turned their heads toward Solace and moved at a gallop.

A short time later, Tarscenian had up the kitchen steps and darted into another corridor.
It was long past midnight. Hederick was old. He would be in his rooms at this hour,
resting, if not asleep. If only Tarscenian could find the High Theocrat's quarters. He
cursed silently. Helda had scooted back to the kitchen before he could think to ask for
directions, and he'd lose even more time if he went back now to ask ... assuming the
scullery maids would even know.

Footsteps soundedfurtive ones. Tarscenian stepped back into a doorway, reassuring himself
that his dagger was still concealed in the sleeve of his robe. A yellow-robed novitiate
came around the corner, up the stairs from the direction of the kitchen, a chunk of
sausage in one hand and half a loaf of brown bread in the other. He was busily chewing.
Clearly, the novitiate expected to meet no one at this hour. Tarscenian tried to remember
what he could of Seeker etiquette.

He stepped out from the doorway and hailed the novitiate. “Little brother, stop a moment!”
The young man stopped, horror dawning on his face. At first he tried to secret the food
behind him, then gave up the attempt. “Oh, sir, I was hungry. The fast has been so long. I
am sorry. I know thievery is a sin. Please don't tell the high priest...” “Yes, yes.”
Tarscenian waved away the young man's apologies. “Never mind that. Don't worry. I need
your assistance. I was taking an important message to Hederick and lost my balance and
fell on this hard corridor. I hit my head, and now, for the life of me, I cannot remember
where Hederick's quarters are. Could you direct me?” The youth, still staring, pointed off
to his right. “Cross the main entryway and take the corridor immediately in front of you.
The High Theocrat's door will be the third one on your left.” The young man resumed
chewing. “You're not going to punish me?” he asked hopefully. Tarscenian was already
heading toward the doors to the stairwell. “Why would I punish you, lad?” he said over his
shoulder. “You look famished. No one can study well on an empty stomach. Eat up. But
hurry, get back to your room, and tell no one.” Tarscenian raised a hand to the young man,
who

dazedly waved back with the hand that held the sausage. The temple was deserted, except
for a few guards posted outside the main doors. In a moment, Tarscenian was at Hederick's
portal. The heavy door was locked, of course. Tarscenian knocked quietly. “Your Worship?”
he whispered. Hederick's voice was thick with sleep. “Who is it? Dahos? Is it you?” “It is
...” Tarscenian mumbled something that might pass as a name. “I have a message.” “Come in,
then.” Tarscenian heard the sound of soft footsteps, then the bolts clicked aside.
Tarscenian waited for the footsteps to recede, then he slipped through the doorway. He saw
Hederick silhouetted on the bed, lying down again, a fire burning in the hearth behind him
despite the summer heat. “What is your message, priest?” the High Theocrat asked sleepily.
“It is... it is a written message. It was left at the gate. I did not know if it was
urgent, so...” Tarscenian fumbled in his pockets as though he indeed carried a scroll with
a message for the High Theocrat. “Put it on my writing table, then. And leave me. Lock the
door on your way out.” “Yes, Your Worship.” Tarscenian pretended to lay something on the
table. Then he stepped to the door and quietly opened and closed it, remaining inside. He
stood in the flickering half-darkness, not moving at all. Light from Solinari streamed
through gaps in a shutter. Soon Hederick's breathing evened out. Tarscenian stepped to the
bed. The religious leader's face was slack with slumber. His round arms lay straight down
at his sides. And around his neck was the thong and its leather-wrapped treasure.
Tarscenian reached for the Diamond Dragon. A spear nudged his back. A lamp flared.
Hederick sat up, laughing, and Tarscenian saw himself surrounded by a half-dozen guards,
plus Dahos. In a moment, he was disarmed and held securely. Hederick chortled, rubbing his
hands together. “I have lived decades for this moment,” he crowed. “You sought to steal
Sauvay's gift, did you, Tarscenian? By the New Gods, I will use that selfsame gift to
destroy you!” The High Theocrat unwrapped the leather. Then he cried out in shock. He and
Tarscenian stared in dismay at the plain gray stone in Hederick's palm. It was Tarscenian
who first remembered the figure of a kender bent over Hederick's body in the western
courtyard. And here he thought the kender had given the artifact back. He began to
chuckle, then laugh out of control. “I will kill you for this, sinner,” Hederick snapped.
He rapped out orders. “Dahos, we will reconsecrate the temple tomorrow morning. At the
dawn service.” He continued speaking over Dahos's protests that there wasn't enough time.
“The highlight of the ceremony will be the execution of a false Seeker priest.”

*****

“By the gods, Tarscenian is doomed,” Olven whispered. “All right, Marya. I am with you.”
The woman scribe sprang down from the stool and rushed to his side, but the dark
apprentice held up one hand. “I will do it, Marya. Not you.” “Why take that upon
yourself?” she demanded. “It was my idea.” “You may have expressed it first, but it was in
my mind from the first atrocity I recorded. The man is evil.” '“But...” Marya's sentence
trailed off unfinished. What did it matter who changed Hederick's history, she thought, as
long as someone did? Olven took a deep breath and picked up his quill again. At that
moment, however, a rested, replenished Eban entered the Great Library and stepped smartly
up to their shared desk. Marya

frowned, but stifled a groan. “1 thought you'd want a rest,” the young apprentice said to
Olven. “I'm anxious to get back to this history to see what happens. Has Hederick been
vanquished yet?” Olven and Marya exchanged glances, their faces all the more tired-looking
next to Eban's youthful enthusiasm. “I have a bit more to write,” Olven said at last, “and
then you may take my place.” “What happened?” Eban asked, finally taking in their glum
expressions. “Tarscenian's been captured,” Marya said curtly. “Let Olven finish.” Olven
closed his eyes, as though he were going into a trance. Then he opened them, and only
Marya could tell that the reverie was a fraud. Eban edged between the other two to see the
words as they appeared beneath Olven's pen. “Suddenly, Hederick clasped his hand to his
chest, cried out, and collapsed,” Olven wrote. “By the time his aides reached him, the
High Theocrat was dead.” “By the gods!” Eban whispered. “Hederick has... ?” The three
stared at Olven's words. Abruptly, tears glittered in Marya's eyes, and she reached past
Eban to put a hand on Olven's suddenly shaking shoulder. “Olven,” she said. “I think we've
made a...” Olven cried out at that instant. The quill was scratching again on the
parchment, but, judging from the writer's agonized face, not by his own volition. Quickly,
the quill's tip went backward over the sentences. As it passed over them, the words
disappeared. The parchment appeared as it had before Olven's false trance. The long white
feather floated to the library floor, but none of the three paid it any attention. Marya
was the first to speak. “Are you hurt, Olven?” Tears were streaming down the apprentice's
face, but he shook his head. Gently, Marya coaxed him to his feet and, half-supporting
him, guided him out of the library. Eban stared, goggle-eyed. The red-haired apprentice
hesitated before he moved into Olven's place and took up a new quill.

*****

In his cell in the depths of the Great Library, Astinus nodded as he read the new passage
on the page of his own history. “And at that moment, two apprentice scribes in the Great
Library at Palanthas attempted to alter the course of history. However, they soon
learnedas had countless Great Library apprentices before themthat one can change history
only by living it, not by wishing it.”