Hederick The Theocrat (10 page)

The temple guards had no chance against Tarscenian's advantage of surprise, and his magic
gave him even better odds of eluding them. The leather-clad goblins and the
blue-and-yellow-arrayed guards raced after the sound of running feet that seemed to be
pounding toward Solace. Thanks to an effective illusion on Tarscenian's part, the guards
followed only sounds. His pursuers were certain they would catch up with their elusive
quarry around each bend in the Solace road, only to find when they rounded a corner that
he was still beyond their line of sight.

Meanwhile, Tarscenian lay in an outcropping of ferns near the temple. Ancilla was dead.
After five decades fighting Seekerism together, they had ultimately failed. Hederick was
High Theocrat, and was fully convinced of his own divine destiny. He was stronger and more
powerful than ever, seemingly invincible. Forty white-robed mages were doomed to slow
deaths within the bark of as many vallenwoods. Worse, the people of Krynn now stood
helpless against the evil of Hederick and his Seekers.

“Farewell, my dear Ancilla,” Tarscenian whispered. “I will never forget” I am here, my
love. Tarscenian leaped to his feet, drew his sword, and dropped into ready position. Then
the realization came over him that he recognized the faint voice. He forced himself to
take a deep breath. After more than fifty years with the female mage, one would think
nothing could surprise him anymore. Tarscenian peered through the trees. “I feared the
worst, Ancilla,” he murmured. “I feared you were ” He stopped talking, surveyed the scene
again curiously. There was no sign of anyone. And especially no sign of an
eighty-year-old, white-robed wizard. The voice whispered again, and Tarscenian realized he
heard it inside his head. Even with the powers of two score mages, I could not defeat him.
The Diamond Dragon is stronger than I'd ever thought possible, Tarscenian. By Paladine! I
thought forty mages would be enough. Now “Ancilla,” Tarscenian snapped impatiently,
interrupting her. “Where in the reaches of the endless Abyss are you, woman?” I tried to
place a binding spell on Hederick. I had the power of forty mages, after all. Have you
heard of a binding spell, Tarscenian? Of course he had, although casting such a spell was
far beyond his carnival-level powers. A binding spell could pluck something or someone out
of one reality to be dropped at the whim of the spellcaster into another one. So now I'm
right where I'd hoped to put Hederick. And the spell has left me too weak to reverse it
myself. Not without the Diamond Dragon. I... “Where are you?” Tarscenian repeated. “I can
barely hear you, Ancilla.” Within the vallenwood trunk, back in the courtyard of the
temple. lam trapped'. The old man sat back down in the ferns and contemplated this news.
“Be calm, my love,” he said at last. “At least you are alive. Thank Paladine for that.” I
will do what I can to help you from here, Tarscenian, but the battle, I fear, belongs to
you now. “Must we use only magic?” What other means do you suggest we use? The Seeker
“gods” have corrupted my brother's mind and confuse his thoughts; you know he will not
listen Tarscenian interrupted angrily. “Couldn't we simply wait until Hederick leaves the
temple and waylay him? Let me do it, Ancilla. I am old but still strong. I assure you I
would enjoy the task.” We have argued about this before, Tarscenian. “Please. I can easily
kill him if the opportunity presents itself. One quick thrust... I promise you he will not
suffer.” Stop! I will not have Hederick harmed. I made an oath/ swore never to physically
hurt him. If I cannot halt him here and now, his own greed and ambition will eventually
take care of himbut I must stop him from doing irreparable harm to the world. Tarscenian,
lam afraid. “He's dangerous. Let me...” He is dangerous because he is weak but believes
himself strong. It is not his fault, Tarscenian; his wrongheadedness is born of pain. It
could play powerfully into the wrong hands. “Ancilla...” I fear the evil goddess will make
much use of Hederick. Nonetheless, Tarscenian, I swore an oath to my brother. “Hederick
despises you, Ancilla. I could dispatch him with a quick thrust of steel. He'd not
hesitate to do the same to you, you know that. For your sake, I'd make sure it was
instantaneous, which is more than he'd grant you.” No, Tarscenian. I cannot renege on such
an oath. “Let me follow him, at least, and divine where he keeps the Diamond Dragon. I
will try to steal it back for you.” We have tried that. You are a crafty illusionist, my
love, but you have no skills as a thief. And Hederick knows what you look like now.

“I could hire a thief.” We have tried that, too. Many times. But perhaps Solace thieves
are more adept than those we have engaged in the past. Do thathire one. It is something,
anyway. Tarscenian's thoughts shifted. “We were not able to save the woman Crealora.” We
eased her passage to the next world. She felt little pain. “But she died!” The woman is
with Paladine, my friend. She is away from the pain of this world. It is not our place to
wish her back. Tarscenian did not reply. This time it was Ancilla's turn to offer comfort.
Don't despair, my love. Lie low until the guards stop looking for you, and then find us a
ring of thieves. I will do what I can from here. I still have a few ways to annoy my
brother, never fear. Perhaps I cannot stop him permanently, but surely I can make his life
miserable.. .as he has made mine.

The high Theocrat changed into a fresh robe after the execution and turned his sullied
garment over to a novitiate for burning. Then Hederick headed straight for the Great
Chamber. He sent Dahos and the others away, then closeted himself to prepare for the
evening revelations. He may have defeated one of the greatest mages ever, but routine was
sacred. Seeker gods did not tolerate slop-piness.

Everything in the Great Chamber was out of place today, of course. It always was this way,
despite repeated punishment of his terrified aides. The incense holders, the ceremonial
crystals, the holy parchmentsall were only a hairsbreadth awry, but wrong nonetheless. Had
no one else read the Praxis?

Hederick resolved to speak once more with his high priest. Perhaps he would have to make
an example of one of the novitiates before the rest applied themselves more dutifully. But
now he busied himself setting things to rights in the pulpit. It wouldn't do to have the
Greater and Lesser Pantheons gaze down on untidiness when he summoned them before hundreds
of devout Seekers. Setting out the ritual implements according to intricate, century-old
patterns was an exacting task, but Hederick had a passion for detail. He routinely caught
lapses in Seeker protocol that far younger men missed. I may be well past sixty, but I
have sharper faculties than most priests, he told himself. That's why I'm High Theocrat.
The New Gods have blessed me. After all, they helped me defeat Ancilla. He stood a little
straighter despite the cramp that had creased his back since the tussle with Mendis Vakon.
Hederick frowned and moved the goblet of holy mead an inch to the right. Then he froze.
Cold fire gripped the pit of his stomach. Sweat drenched him. He swept the room with a
stare. Undeniably, Hederick was alone. But not alone. The High Theocrat stood quietly for
a moment. Then he reached into the front of his robe and pulled out the Diamond Dragon. He
removed the leather covering and shook the artifact onto his palm. The Diamond Dragon, as
always, was warm to the touch and all aglitter. Hederick squinted and stared directly at
it, even though that always made his head ache. If he concentrated enough, he could see
the artifact's outline: jagged scales, wicked tail, and toothy maw of a tiny dragon. A
lance grew from its midsection like some misplaced egg tooth. Crafted in precious steel,
with ruby eyes and encrusted with diamonds all down its back, the thing

was worth a fortune. Early in his Seeker career, when he had been poor enough to fear
starvation, he was tempted to pawn it. But Sauvay, his god, had invested it with his
blessing. The Diamond Dragon had protected Hederick more than once. The High Theocrat
stroked the figurine, replaced it in the bag, and dropped the pendant inside his robe once
more. The knot in his stomach eased.

Then the fear hit full-force. He was being observed, and the observer was malevolent.
Hederick maintained his emotionless mien and, as though it were an afternoon like any
other, poured sanctified mead from a silver vase into a stemmed goblet of crystal, its
tiny bowl barely larger than a thimble.

Hederick had performed this rite many times in his decades as a Seeker. So practiced were
his actions that even now, with his pulse hammering, none of the sweet fluid dripped onto
the altar cloth. The High Theocrat felt the hair prickle at the back of his neck. He
carefully replaced the vase on the altar, then raised the chalice and quaffed the
honey-colored beverage.

“To you, Great Ones, I offer my fealty,” he murmured. “I greet another evening with hope
and passion, and I beseech you to punish this sacrilege of your holy chamber ... for
something threatens the peace of this place.” He quickly poured another glass of mead and
downed that one, too. As always with the potent beverage, Hederick's vision swirled, then
snapped into focus. But unlike the other times, on this occasion he suddenly felt exposed
and vulnerable, so high above the floor of the Great Chamber. Vertigo assailed him, then
faded away. Because of Hederick's lack of physical stature, he'd derived peculiar joy in
ordering the builders of the temple Erolydon to construct the holy altar and pulpit at the
top of four narrow flights of stairs. Each sunset, when Hederick passed on the revelations
of the New Gods, he spoke downdown, he rejoicedto the hushed worshipers that jammed the
tiers of wooden benches. Special windows and mirrors allowed the blushing sunsets over
Crystalmir Lake to pour into the room, bathing the priestly figure at the top of the
chamber in glorious purples, pinks, and scarlets. Then, as now, the pulpit gave him an
unobstructed view of everything within the Great Chamber. Hederick raised his head, gaze
shifting around the cavernous amphitheater. There was no sign of an intruder, but he had
the distinct feeling that somebody's eyes were upon him. Slowly the feeling grew, until he
felt seared by what was happening, as if his skin was blistered and peeling away in
charred strips. His free hand found its way back to his neck and again grasped the
leather-swaddled dragon figurine. Face me. The unheard words filled Hederick. The priest
felt his mind expand and contract dizzyingly. His body remained motionless, arrested in
the act of lowering the sacred chalice to the altar. But in his mind, Hederick saw himself
bleeding on the marble floor below, at the bottom of the vallenwood stairs. The broken
Hederick of his imagination lay naked to whatever torture the Presence that shared this
chamber chose to inflict. Face me. “Unholy thing!” the religious leader shrieked. Tremors
shook him. “Sorcery's bastard! Show yourself!” I am Ancilla. Face me, dear one. “You are
dead!” Alas, my little brother, you are mistaken. Hederick shook a tightly clenched fist
in the air and shouted again into the vast and seemingly empty chamber. “For decades I
walked the roads of northern Ansa-lon, witch, spreading the word of the deliverance to
come,” he shouted. “I amI wasthe Holy Wanderer of the Seekers. Entire villages joined the
Seekers upon my inspiration. I worked miracles in the name of the New Gods!” His voice
dropped to a piercing whisper. “Always you have followed me, dear sister. And never have
you defeated me. Nor will you. I proved that this afternoon. You had never been
strongerbut I was stronger still.” Hederick placed the crystal chalice on the altar and
shook his fist again. "This is my temple. You cannot hurt

me here!“ There was no answer. After a moment, Hederick's hands weakened and fell to his
sides. He damply fingered the folds of his robe. The ache grew behind his eyes, and sweat
trickled through his hair. His heart lurched. I'm getting old, he thought suddenly. How
many more years of this can I stand? Accept me. ”Never! You are a demon, Ancilla.“
Hederick found himself peering over the low railing that protected those at the altar from
the sixty- foot drop to the floor. He saw movement in the depths below. Smoke rose through
the solid marble floor of the Great Chamber. It clung to the stone, a purple-gray miasma
of evil. ”Begone!“ he boomed. Exultation grew in the High Theocrat. His was the voice that
had ensnared more Seeker souls than any other priest over the decades. His was the name
that countless followers breathed aloud reverently as they worshiped, believing him the
soul of the new church. He had dispelled the witch in the courtyard; he could dispel her
here. Hederick's forceful baritone voice shook with indignation. ”Erolydon is a holy
place! Leave it at once!“ The words echoed off the gleaming wooden walls. ”Erolydon ...
Erolydon... holy... at once ... once.“ The echoes stopped, swallowed by the smoke. You
must accept me as part of you, if you hope to achieve what you wish. The smoke thickened,
roiling over the floor. ”You do not frighten me,“ Hederick lied, eyeing the four tiers of
steps. Perhaps he could race down and leap through the smoke before Ancilla's Presence
grew stronger. But he grimaced at the vision of himself bounding down the stairs to escape
fog that he was quite sure no one else would be able to see. Dahos could enter at any
moment. It wouldn't do to have the priest witness the highest Seeker in Solace leaping and
running away from ... nothing. ”You cannot stop me,“ he said. ”You are the dying breath of
the Old Gods. You are magic ... and you fear me.“ He forced a laugh. ”You fear me! I will
end your gods' reign upon this world. I am Chosen. Few believe in the Ancient Ones. Now is
the time of the New Gods. We grow stronger with every passing moment.“ Spittle leaped from
Hederick's mouth as he spoke. Hederick, you are old, and I... in this form, I am ageless.
Welcome me. Turn away from these false gods. The fog now covered the first two tiers of
stairs. It deepened and grew more purple; streaks of black oozed through. Hederick
backpedaled to put the altar between him and the Presence. He once again drew out the
Diamond Dragon. The artifact is useless against me in this form, Hederick. Will you spend
your few remaining years with your eyes still closed to the truth? Your lauded Seeker gods
are only pathetic wishful thinking. Remember Venessi? Remember our mother's false god? ”I
will lead all the Seekers!“ the High Theocrat shouted. ”And not just those in Solace! We
will destroy all who follow the Ancient Ones. Only the fool Knights of Solamnia, a handful
of mages, and a few deluded losers still believe in the Old Gods. Move aside for the new
order. Admit your defeat!“ You cannot defeat such as I. You must accept me, love me as I
love you, little brother. I came once to bring you to the true gods and you turned me
away. Let me help you now. Stair after stair gave way before the rising fog. Hederick
detected flashes of lightning. He waved the Diamond Dragon at the smoke, but the artifact
seemed to have lost its power. Hederick's rich baritone was gone now, his mouth dry. He
rallied, though his voice cracked. ”Magic,“ he spat out. ”The magic of the Old Gods wanes
daily. Wizards have hidden themselves in covens and towers, they so fear the new Seeker
order.“ Hederick felt a surge of religious fervor. ”Magic is leaving Krynn! But call it by
its true names, Ancilla: Witchcraft! Sorcery! Sin!" You have but a short time left,
Hederick. In this form, I have forever. He heard a hiss, as though of fog dissolving. The
smell of rotting meat filled his nostrils. The High Theocrat swallowed a mouthful of bile
and closed his eyes. Hederick leaned back against the railing

and held out the Diamond Dragon again. The altar cloth slipped unseen to his feet. His
voice still rang with bravado, but the fog deadened the words, stealing their edge. “I
will end magic, end witchcraft, and Krynn shall praise only the New Gods. I have slain
mages from Haven to Solace and beyond. My spies . . . The Old Gods have abandoned Krynn.
Only fools refuse to abandon them in turn!” Carried away by his own rhetoric, Hederick
opened his eyes. Purple and black smoke boiled around him, extending to the rafters.
Hederick smelled death. His spine convulsed. He pitched forward. Crouching unsteadily at
the base of the altar, Hederick screamed, “What are you? What evil do you hide?” He
scrabbled to the railing, grasped it with a pudgy hand, and hauled himself to his feet. “I
will fight you! I am the Seekers! Show yourself!” The fog wavered for a heartbeat.
Something like a sigh sounded. Then the smoke thinned. One hand on the rail and one on the
altar, Hederick stood, bracing himself, and looked downward where he could make out what
might have been the silhouette of a womanor an ogreor a lizard. It hung in the air,
standing on nothing, suspended over the open expanse of the Great Chamber. Clots of fog
and smoke obscured its true form. It took a step toward him and seemed to beckon. Ah,
Hederick. Face me, my brother. Hederick's nails carved half-moons in the wood. The scent
of magic was everywhere. He sank back into the dimness under the altar. “No!” he screamed.
“Go back!” Sobbing like a child, Hederick buried his face in the crumpled altar cloth. “I
don't want to look. Go away. Go away, please. I'll be good, I promise.” He waited,
shaking. “Please?” He waited a bit longer, then lifted his head. The foul odors were gone.
Gouges from his fingernails marred the red-gold vallenwood railing. The altar cloth was
tear-stained and ruined. But the fog had vanished. Hederick heard a voice, quite an
ordinary one. “Your Worship?” A slender woman, light hair braided into a coronet, stood in
shadow at the bottom of the steps. She held a basket topped by a pink cloth. Shakily,
Hederick rose and, gripping the railing, staggered down the steps toward her. Had the
woman witnessed his humiliation? From a distance, she had appeared young. But as Hederick
drew nearer, he could see that the hair was white, not blond. The face was wrinkled. “Did
you see anything?” he demanded. “Your Worship?” The old woman gazed up at him in awe. Her
words tripped over themselves. “I come now with a gift for the priests. I seen you tending
something under the altar, and I waited until I think you was done, on the off-chance you
was doin' something religious. Your Worship.” She nodded rapidly, twice. Hederick,
standing on the landing, inspected the hag. She was just like the multitude of other
peasant converts who had been drawn to the Seeker religion for comfort in the troubled
years since the Cataclysm. They came in droves but brought little money. “What is your
name, old woman?” he demanded. “How did you get in here?” He suddenly realized that the
sun was about to set. Soon the crowds would converge upon the Great Chamber for the
nightly revelations. “Norah, Your Worship.” She smiled tentatively at him and ventured
stiffly up the stairs, still holding out the basket. She favored one knee, and her
knuckles were swollen. “Your man, the high priest, said as it was all right for me to come
in here. He said you was probably near done with your religious duties. So I come in here
to wait.” “And you saw nothing?” Hederick pressed. “Heard nothing?” Norah looked around in
bewilderment. “Are you all right, Your Worship? Can I help you?” She came closer, hand
outstretched, until she stood two steps below him. Hederick hesitated. Sympathy glowed in
the old woman's bright blue eyes. For a fearful moment, he wanted nothing more than to lay
his head on her shoulder. Once again his hands shook, and he hid them in his robe.