Hederick The Theocrat

Dragonlance - Villains 4 - Hederick The Theocrat Severson, Ellen Dodge

This book is lovingly dedicated to the memory of William Olm and Max Earl Porath

Astinus, leader of the Order of Aesthetics, surveyed the three apprentice scribes before
him. The historian's face, as usual, wore the expression of a man taken unwillingly from
his beloved work for something annoyingly trivial. The three scribes, a middle-aged woman
and two younger men, shifted from foot to foot beneath his gaze and darted cautious
glances at each other. Each was sure the other two possessed extraordinary training and
expertise. Each was sure that it was his or her mere presence in the Great Library
ofPalanthas that had brought the dissatisfied gleam to Astinus's eyes. They all were
convinced that their own appointments as apprentices to the premier historian on Krynn
would soon be found to be a mistake. All that work, all those years of preparation and
study, would be found inadequate. They were unworthy. Each steeled for disappointment,
afraid of being sent home in humiliation to become a store clerk or street vendor.

In truth, Astinus was not annoyed with the apprentices but merely anxious to be back at
work, writing down the history of Krynn as it occurred. Even as he stood here assessing
the guarded expressions of these three, details of fact were going unrecorded in the
scrolls of the Great Library. It was difficult to catch up once one was behind, as Astinus
knew only too well; it was almost better to skip what one had missed in one's absence and
go on to pen whatever was happening at the moment. Unlike the other scribes, who worked in
shifts, Astinus had never been known to sleep or to step away from his work for more than
a few minutes. There were some among his helpers who whispered that Astinus was no mortal,
for hadn't his name been found upon scrolls dating back thousands of years? Unless, they
speculated, every chief historian's name, since the beginning of time, had been Astinus.

Actually, Astinus was well-pleased with this crop of apprentices. These three, however
they quailed before him now, had come on the highest recommendations of Astinus's
far-flung advisers. They needed only seasoning, he'd been told, before they could take
their places among Astinus's dozens of assistants in the Order of Aesthetics.

What was needed was a task that would test their ability to cooperate as well as to
chronicle history, Astinus thought as the three suffered silently before him. It must be
something, of course, that the historian could check for accuracy against his own
knowledge of events as they unfolded. He narrowed his eyes and nodded as he surveyed the
trio. “Hederick,” he murmured. “That's it.” The scribes exchanged more glances, each
wondering which of the others was named Hederick.

“Sir?” the middle-aged woman finally ventured. She had the pale ashen complexion common
among those who spent their lives prowling through the dimly lit corridors of libraries.
She was of medium height and average build and wore her brown hair gathered with a simple
length of blue yarn at the nape of her neck. She wore the same type of sleeveless,
togalike outfit that the other two woreindeed, that Astinus himself wore. “Sir,” she said
again hesitantly, “is there something we...?” The remaining two apprentices lost no time
interrupting the woman's query. In this competition for a coveted position in the Great
Library ofPalanthas, none wanted to be left at the starting line. “You have a task for us,
master?” broke in the younger of the two men, a tall, red-haired youth with creamy skin,
copious freckles, and blue eyes. “We stand waiting to serve you,” interjected the other
man. He had eyes as black as his curly hair and skin the color of cinnamon, marking a
sharp contrast to the youth beside him. Suddenly, all three apprentices were speaking at
once. A new frown descended over Astinus's already stern features, and the three
apprentices faltered in their chatter. “You are delaying me,” Astinus declared in
irritation. “Give me your names, quickly, that I may sort you out and assign you tasks.
And be brisk about it.”

“Marya,” replied the woman. “Olven,” the dark-haired man said proudly. “Eban,” the
redheaded youth answered last. “Fine,” Astinus said, noting their names for inclusion in
his history of the Great Library. “Your task, then, is this: to chronicle the doings of a
man named Hederick, recently named High Theocrat of Solace. I believe the scheming of this
man will someday have great import in Krynn.” His penetrating stare raked the three
aspiring historians. “First you will research Hederick's past and set it out. You, Eban,
will take charge of that.” The youth stood up straighter and cast a triumphant look toward
the other two. Astinus went on, “All of you are students enough to grasp that without
knowing a man or woman's past, it is impossible to understand that person's present.” “Oh,
yes,” said Eban. “Certainly,” Marya chimed. “Without a doubt,” Olven added. “You
two”Astinus thrust his chin at Marya and Olven “will concentrate on recording the present
exploits of High Theocrat Hederick.” He pointed to a wooden desk in the corner of the
library. “One of youand you, too, Eban, when you complete your researchwill be seated at
that desk at all times, day or night. This spot must never be empty.” Three pairs of eyes
widened, but the historian continued speaking regardless of their surprise. “History
occurs in times of darkness as well as at noon, as you all know. Even now, events are
sweeping on unrecorded as you dally here.” Eban gasped and swept up a scrap of parchment
and a quill pen from a counter. He scurried between two stacks of books and was gone.
Astinus marked the red-haired youth's industry. Surely the background material would be
ready soon at that pace, he thought with satisfaction. Astinus made his way to the door of
the Great Library. “I leave it to you to decide how you will divide the day,” he said over
his shoulder to Marya and Olven. “Whoever is not recording currently transpiring events
should help Eban with his research, for that must go first in your written account, of
course. Now I must return to my tasks.” “Ah... sir?” Olven said quickly. “A question?
Quickly?” Astinus halted, his hand on the doorjamb. Olven cleared his throat and looked
embarrassed. “How will we know what's happening now, so that we may record it?” the man
asked. “After all, it hasn't been written down anywhere yet,” Marya added helpfully. “And
it appears that you want us to stay here. In the library, I mean.” Astinus,
expressionless, gazed at the two for a long, silent moment, then the briefest of smiles
crossed the historian's face. “Sit at the desk,” the historian said. “You will see, soon
enough. If you are meant to work here.” Then he was gone. Marya looked at Olven, who gazed
back at her. They both swiveled about to thoughtfully survey the padded chair drawn up
before the desk. “It looks ordinary enough,” Marya said in a small voice. Just a chair.
Olven nodded. “Magic, do you think?” he whispered “Has Astinus ensorceled us without our
knowledge?” Marya shrugged, but swallowed twice before going on Maybe. You go first."
Olven bit his lips, took a deep breath, and slid into the chair.

The scream invaded Hederick's very bones and blood, coming from nowhere and everywhere.
The sound reverberated again. Hederick raced across the prairie toward a grove of trees,
where his sister Ancilla had hidden ten years earlier. He was still quite a distance
awaytoo far, by the god Tiolanthe! Feet pounded behind him, and with them, thunderclap
after thunderclap from the approaching storm. Time after time, Hederick stamped on jagged
rocks and stumbled over upthrust roots. Bloodstained footprints marked his passage. Then
trees loomed. Hederick dove into Ancilla's Copse as though it were a church and Hederick a
penitentas though whatever tracked him dared not enter such a holy place. His lungs
burned. His ribs ached. The boy landed facedown in soft dampness and tensed for the cry
that would tell him the creature was upon him. But there was silence; only an intermittent
popping sound broke the hush of the glade. Hederick sat up warily and peered around in the
flickering light. Large trees with rough bark towered over him, interspersed with saplings
that thrust upward through the ferns. The rich smell of hickory mingled with the odors of
fragrant moss and moist soil. Surrounded by dark shapes that seemed to dance in the wind
of the approaching storm, the boy fearfully scanned one shadow after another. The yellow
eyes of a gigantic lynx glared at him. The dappled brown beast was easily ten feet from
nose to bobbed tail. The great cat crouched fifteen feet above him, wedged in the crotch
of a tree. Its eyes were enormous, forelegs heavy, padded feet huge. Thunder shattered.
The lynx and Hederick screamed at the same instant. “Begone!” A sword appeared above the
boy, interposed between his crouching body and the giant predator. Red light played on the
weapon's edge. A gauntleted hand grasped the hilt; an arm corded with muscular sinew held
the blade steady. Hederick sat, powerless with fear. The lynx screamed again, and the hand
tightened on the hilt. “Leave us, cat!” came that same booming voice. The lynx tensed to
spring, and the man swore fervently, invoking gods Hederick had never heard of. Just as
the giant feline leaped, the man's other hand swept up, raising a flaming torch. Light
exploded. Red and yellow sparks burned pinpricks into the ferns. The lynx twisted away in
midleap and crashed through a maple sapling and onto the ground off to one side. The man
dropped the torch and whirled to meet the cat, sword ready, his body between the boy and
the lynx. Then Hederick was up. His left hand caught up the sputtering torch from the wet
moss, and he ran to the man's side, bellowing a battle cry. Hederick threw anything and
everything his right hand could grasp. Rocks, branches, leaves, mud, mossall were hurtled
toward the snarling lynx. His tall rescuer remained poised with his sword. “By the New
Gods, the boy's feisty!” the man said. The only thing left was the torch; Hederick
prepared to throw that as well. The man swore again, fumbled at his belt, and tossed
something at the cat just as the boy released the fiery brand. Another explosion of
scarlet and topaz flashed through the trees. Bigger and louder than the last, it knocked
Hederick flat on his back. When the smoke cleared, there was no sign of the lynx. “Did we
kill it?” Hederick could barely get the words out. His tongue seemed stuck to the roof of
his mouth. The man sheathed his sword and laughed uproariously, then shook his head. “By
the New Gods, that pussycat must be halfway to the Garnet Mountains by now! If her feet
touch the ground every six furlongs, if 11 be a miracle.” Hederick shook uncontrollably.
Blood streamed into his eyes from a cut on his forehead. "It's still

out there?“ he wailed. ”It's not dead?“ ”Not dead, lad, but she won't be coming back here
soon.“ The man extended a hand to help the boy up. Hed-erick's knees shook so that he
could barely stand. ”I can't imagine what the she-cat was doing so far from the Garnets,“
the man mused, ”but who knows how great a distance the creatures travel to hunt? Perhaps
she sought food for kits.“ ”But it was hunting me!“ Hederick shrieked. The man shrugged.
”You escaped.“ Wordless, Hederick studied his rescuer. The man couldn't have been much
more than twenty. His face was long, with a dark beard neatly trimmed to a point and gray
eyes that seemed both humorous and kind. A rough brown robe stretched to cover powerful
shoulders. The man submitted to Hederick's frank inspection without embarrassment. ”By
Ferae, you're a small one! How old are you? Eight? Nine?“ ”Twelve,“ Hederick muttered.
”Your name, son?“ ”Hederick.“ ”I'm Tarscenian,“ the man said. ”Let me invite you to
supper, young Hederick.“ Tarscenian placed a strong arm about the boy's still trembling
shoulders and guided him deeper into the grove, where a small campfire blazed cheerily.
The fire popped as they approached, the sound Hederick had heard as he entered the copse.
Tarscenian urged the boy to sit against a fallen log and handed him a wooden trencher.
Three pieces of meat swam in greasy juice. ”You can dine like a theocrat on fresh roast
rabbit,“ Tarscenian said, ”and then tell me how in the name of the Lesser Pantheon you
ended up alone in the middle of nowhere.“ Soon Hederick had all but licked the trencher
clean. The hare's picked bones blackened in the fire. Tarscenian lounged on a blanket
across from the boy, watching with amazement. ”Whatever you take on, lad, whether it's
lynxes or supper, you certainly do it wholeheartedly,“ he commented. Hederick bristled.
The man had offered him dinner. What was he supposed to doadmire it until it congealed?
The man laughed and held up his hand. ”Calm down, lad. I mean you no insult. You showed
more spirit in facing that she-lynx than many full-grown men would have.“ Mollified,
Hederick leaned back against the log, regarding his rescuer with awe. Tarscenian was a far
cry from the men of Hederick's isolated home village of Garlund. The young man's eyes
glittered with life, his gaze was direct, and his movements vigorous. If the god Tiolanthe
ever took human form, he would look like Tarscenian, Hederick decided. ”So, Hederick, what
were you doing alone on the prairie in the dark of night?“ the stranger asked. ”Assuming
that you weren't hunting lynxes, that is.“ Tarscenian listened with growing astonishment
to the boy's story. Hederick told him about his mother and father, Venessi and Con, who,
after walking for weeks due east from their home city of Caergoth, had founded the village
of Garlund just south of Ancilla's Copse. Their purpose was to provide a place where they
and their followers could worship Tiolanthe, the god that regularly appeared to Venessi
and Con, but only to them. Then Hederick had been born, the first baby delivered in the
new village. Two years later, when Con disagreed with Venessi over some matter of
Tiolanthean doctrine, Hederick's mother had ordered the people of the village to kill her
husband. Hederick's sister Ancilla, fifteen years his senior, had fled Garlund moments
after Con's death. ”She promised to return for me, but she never did,“ Hederick said
simply. Tarscenian interrupted only oncewhen the storm broke and the pair took shelter
under oiled canvas stretched from tree to tree. Each sat wrapped in a gray woolen blanket
that smelled of incense and horsehair. Hederick talked until he could barely put words
together, he was so sleepy. ”And now I've been banished,“ Hederick said, ”by Venessi.“
”Your mother sent a twelve-year-old into the prairie alone at night?“ Tarscenian demanded
with a frown. ”I must learn humility, she said,“ Hederick explained, his words slurring.
”And then the lynx came after me, and I ran to the only place I could think ofAncilla's
Copse. This is where Ancilla hid when she left Garlund, when I was two."

“You must not remember very much about this sister,” Tarscenian said sympathetically. “Oh,
no!” Hederick exclaimed, shaking himself awake. “I remember her well. She had eyes as
green as grass, and she was prettyoh, so pretty, Tarscenian. She knew all about plants and
herbs and things, and when Con beat me for sinning, she would give me things to take away
the pain. Ancilla was wonderful.” “But then she left.” Hederick's face fell, and he
nodded. “She was afraid the villagers would kill her as they had killed our father. So she
left. And then she forgot all about me. I... I guess I was too sinful to come back for.”
He remembered the night before Ancilla had left. For some minor infraction, Con had beaten
young Hederick mercilessly. Ancilla, achingly beautiful at seventeen, defended him and
treated his wounds. Hederick had begged her to stay with him. “You won't ever stop being
my sister, will you?” he'd cried. “Close your eyes, little brother,” Ancilla had answered,
rocking him by the fire. The little boy, safe in the comfort of his sister's arms,
resisted sleep. She murmured words Hederick had never heard before, tenderly stroking his
face and wispy reddish-brown hair. She fed him cold tea from a spoon, and when he tried to
speak again, covered his mouth with a gentle hand and hushed him. Once she rearranged the
blanket to cover Hederick's feet, then she spoke fiercely. “I promise you this, little
Hederick: I will always be your sister. / will never hurt you. I will protect you with
every power I have. I will do all I can, even from afar, to keep Con and Venessi from
turning you into ... into what they are. You need never fear me. That I vow.” That memory
was too holy to share with this stranger, however. And besides, Hederick was so tired; he
felt himself sinking into sleep. Then Tarscenian's voice roused him. “This village of
yours, is it large?” the stranger asked. “Large and wealthy?” Hederick shook himself
awake. “Sixty people, maybe.” “Prosperous?” the man asked. “Venessi has plenty of food
stored in the barns, but the people don't know that. They're restricted to two meals a
day. No one in the village is well-fed except my mother, but she's in Tiolanthe's graces.
Other than the food, there's nothing but a few candlesticks in the prayer house, and some
icons.” “Steel icons?” Tarscenian asked quickly. Since the Cataclysm, steel had been the
most precious metal on Krynn. Hederick nodded. Tarscenian didn't speak for a while, and
Hederick thought he'd fallen asleep. The boy had nearly followed suit when the man's deep
voice resounded again. “Lad,” he said, “I believe it's time for me to rest in my travels.
And it's time the people of Garlund learn about some new gods.” Hederick jerked upright,
bumping the oiled canvas and sending a splash of cold water down his left leg. “New gods?”
Tarscenian smiled impishly and extended his blanket to cover the boy's soaked leg. “You've
not asked me about myself, lad.” The man had rescued Hederick from a lynx and given him
dinner ... and listened to his long tales. Wasn't that enough to know about someone?
“You're a trader,” Hederick said. “Or a mercenary.” “I'm a Seeker priest.” A priest!
Hederick struggled to his knees. The blankets snared him around the ankles, and he tore at
them with clumsy fingers. He didn't know what a Seeker was, but no matter. The man was a
heathen and a priest! “I speak for the New Gods, son.” “No!” Hederick shouted angrily,
feeling betrayed by the man he'd begun to think of as a hero. “There is only one god. The
Old Gods deserted us in the Cataclysm, and every god since then is just pretend, except
for Tiolanthe. He speaks to my mother. And I'm not your son, you fraud.” Tears

streamed down his cheeks. Tarscenian carefully gauged the boy's heated denial. Some of the
friendliness left the gray eyes. “Who do you think saved us from the she-lynx, Hederick?
Who frightened her off ... me? You and your clods of moss? Some higher power? Or this
Tiolanthewhile we're speaking of frauds?” Hederick refused to look at him. “You did,” he
said sulkily. “You had the sword.” Tarscenian cocked his head. “My blade never touched the
lynx, son. And what about the explosions?” Hederick had no answer. Tarscenian's hand
locked around the boy's thin wrist, pulling him near. “The New Gods interceded, Hederick,”
the priest said gently. “Can your mother do that, by calling on her god? Can this
Tiolanthe himself, for that matter?” “N-no,” Hederick mumbled. “Well, then, perhaps the
New Gods have a plan for you, son.” Tarscenian's voice grew insinuating. “Perhaps I'm a
part of that plan. Who are we to question the will of the gods?” Hederick risked an upward
glance. Tarscenian's gray eyes were direct; the friendliness was back. And yet... “What do
you take me for, a fool?” Hederick exclaimed suddenly. “I'm no part of a plan___” He
crawled out from under the canvas. Tarscenian surprised him by letting him go-Rain lashed
at the boy, and in moments he was soaked. A few steps away, the campfire still flickered
under a scrap of suspended canvas, but Hederick was determined not to return to
Tarscenian's sanctuary. Lightning erupted. Thunder crashed through the trees. “Where will
you go, lad?” “Home!” Hederick said desperately. “My... my mother will be worrying about
me in this storm.” Tarscenian said nothing for a few moments. Hederick's words hung
between them. “From the sounds of it, lad, your mother worries about no one but herself,”
the Seeker priest finally said. “She'll not take you back if you return to Garlund so
soon, you know. She wants you to suffer. You're being made an example. She craves the
power, and you're a threat to her. None of the other villagers has the spunk to take her
on, is my guess.” “She's my mother,” Hederick whispered. “You've never met her. What would
you know?” The priest laughed. “I've met hundreds like your mother, Hederickmen as well as
women. I'm a priest. I run into all sorts of troubled souls who think they've reinvented
the gods.” He sighed, then failed to suppress a yawn. “I'll take you home in the morning,
Hederick. I believe I can make things right with your mother. Why not trust me, at least
for now? I'd hardly snatch you from a lynx's jaws to devour you myself, son.” Still
Hederick hesitated. “You'll take me back?” He imagined the villagers' faces when he strode
back into Garlund with this sword-wielding, towering heretic. “Tomorrow?” “If you wish.”
Hederick crouched to peer under the wide canopy. The rain streamed down his back. “Early?”
“At dawn, if you want.” A smile creased Tarscenian's face. “Lad, I'm bone-weary. I walked
many miles today. I did battle with a giant cat and, what's far more daunting, locked
horns with a stubborn twelve-year-old. The New Gods will watch over us tonight, Hederick.
I must sleep now, son, and I won't be able to if I must worry about you wandering off in
the rain. You'll be prey to every creature and lung ailment on the prairie.” He yawned
hugely. “Make your choice, lad. Truce?” “All right,” Hederick finally said. “But I'll
listen to nothing more about New Gods.” “For the night, anyway. Good enough.” Hederick
crawled back into the shelter, dribbling rainwater like a sodden kitten. Stripping off his
wet clothes, he accepted Tarscenian's spare shirt, so huge that the sleeves fell past his
fingertips. Dry again, Hederick curled up in his blanket. The priest, already snoring,
exuded heat like a hearth even though he'd relinquished both blankets. Hederick was asleep
in seconds.