Hederick The Theocrat (18 page)

gods' work. We could save Krynn!“ Olven gazed up at Marya. As she watched the younger
apprentice's face, the middle-aged woman saw his indecision give way to resolve and then
soften again to uncertainty almost immediately. ”Olven, we have to hurry,“ she insisted.
”You know that Eban wouldn't even consider doing something like thisand who knows what
could happen in Solace while Eban is recording events? He won't step in to help; you know
that!“ The scribe met Marya's stare with sudden calm. ”Eban isn't due for some time yet.
Be quiet, and let me think." Fora moment, Marya seemed disposed to argue further. Then she
nodded and climbed up on a nearby stool. When Olven resumed writing, she leaned over in
sudden excitement. He was merely recording more ofHederick's history in the making,
however. She returned to the stool and waited, watching intently.

Tarscenian fumed as he and Mynx stomped along the walkways toward Gaveley's den. “The
kender had the Diamond Dragon, and he gave it back. By the Old Gods, Mynx, he gave it
back!” “It was stolen once, it can be stolen again,” Mynx countered stoically. “Limp a bit
more. You're not a very convincing beggar when you stride along like a king returning to
the palace, old man.”

“And that's another thing,” Tarscenian snapped. He did slow his pace and hunch forward,
however, earning him an odd stare from a woman selling silk scarves at the junction of two
walkways. “Did you have to fasten the hair to my head in tufts? By the gods, I look like
I'm in the throes of some noxious disease!”

“How many beggars do you think are in perfect health?” That silenced Tarscenian for a
time, but after a while, he began to mutter again. “I almost had it. By Paladine's helm, I
almost had it! Now Hederick's going to be more careful than ever. That's twice he almost
lost it.” The vallenwoods were beginning to change color. It looked to be an early autumn,
Mynx thought. They stepped past the deserted home of Solace's former mayor, Mendis Vakon.
“You've got to admit that disguise is convincing. No one has recognized you yet,” Mynx
said, “not even in that crowd at the temple.” Tarscenian grunted grudgingly. “I'll be glad
when we get to Gav's den,” Mynx went on. “I'm guessing the goblins we've passed aren't out
in the sunshine for their health. Goblins hate daylight. There must be quite a price on
your head, old man.” “Hederick hates me.” “No kidding. Want to tell me why?” Tarscenian
glared at her. “I abandoned his religion, eloped with his mage sister, and have spent the
past five decades with her trying to steal his most prized possession.” Mynx raised her
eyebrows as she edged around two goblins, squinting and chattering on the walkway. “That'd
do it, I guess.” They went on in silence. Tarscenian limped, pausing periodically to wave
his begging bowl halfheartedly at a passer-by. Mynx walked confidently in her armor and
helm, periodically halting to allow Tarscenian to catch up. She rather enjoyed the
deference people gave to warriors. They didn't step aside quite so easily for thieves. “If
there's such a huge price on my head, why haven't you turned me in?” Tarscenian asked
after the sixth person had given him and his begging bowl as wide a berth as possible on a
four-foot suspended bridge fifty feet above the ground. “Gaveley'd have my head,” Mynx
said matter-of-factly. “I'd be undercutting him. I'm not in a mood to start my own ring of
thievesor find legitimate work. I stay in line.” “What if Gaveley ordered you to turn me
over?” Mynx glowered at another pair of goblins. They

appeared not to notice the ferocity of her stare. “He won't,” she said. “Gaveley allowed
you to remain in his den last night. That means he's honor-bound to treat you as a friend.
Gaveley places a high value on honor; he says it comes from his noble blood.” She snorted.
“Anyway, Gav hates Hederick. He hates everyone with money, but especially religious
fanatics with money.” She grunted. “Not that I blame him.” Having reached the southeastern
edge of Solace, they made their way to the ground by one of the stairways that circled the
vallenwood. A disquieting noise now disturbed the whispering of the vallenwood leaves and
pine needles. The sounds of grief and fear halted their steps halfway down the staircase,
but they could see nothing untoward. “Good gods,” Mynx whispered. “What is that?” This was
more than a lone soul facing heartache more, even, than a dozen souls. Mynx and Tarscenian
exchanged uneasy looks. Her dagger was already in her hand. Her palms were sweaty.
Tarscenian's hand had gone to the hilt of his sword under the filthy cloak. “We should
investigate,” Tarscenian whispered. “It's none of our concern, old man,” Mynx snapped. The
vehemence of her remark was surprising. “Someone needs help,” Tarscenian insisted. Mynx
shook her head. She could barely speak, her teeth were chattering so hard. “No one's ever
helped me, old man. And I don't help anyone. Unless they pay me.” “You helped me.”
“Gaveley told me to,” she snapped. “Don't give me credit for that.” Then Tarscenian was
gone, bounding down the stairs. He raced across a clearing, through an opening in the
underbrush, and down a wide, packed-earth pathway lined by pines. Mynx stood irresolutely.
Then a crow squawked overhead, and she rushed after Tarscenian. She caught up with
Tarscenian at the edge of a clearing, bounded in slender logs like a corral. But inside
milled, not horses, but fifty or so people. Mynx recognized some of themincluding the
mayor's wife and her four children. It was from this crowd of captives that the chorus of
muffled sobs, entreaties, and shouts arose. A dozen hobgoblins stood guard outside the
fence, and another dozen goblins patrolled the inside of the corral, helping to keep the
people packed in a tight circle. Mynx and Tarscenian hid in the underbrush of honeysuckle
vines and maple saplings, observing the scene. Unlike their goblin cousins, who rarely
exceeded four feet in height, hobgoblins reached six feet and higher. These beasts were
dark gray, with red faces and yellow eyes and teeth. They carried swords, spears, whips,
and shields. Mismatched metal armor protected their shoulders, arms, and shins. Leather
armor covered their torsos. Most of the hobgoblins called to each other in gibberish.
However, two spoke to each other and to their captives in a rough form of Abanasinian.
Both carried bows. “Sergeant,” one said. “We ready move.” “We go when I say,” the leader
snapped back. “Not enough yet. Wait for more.” “But gets late,” the first protested.
“Won't get far 'fore sun downs, set camp.” The leader responded without a word by pulling
a dagger and pointing it at the other. The reluctant one slunk away, mumbling, around to
the other side of the corral. One of the captives, a young man, broke loose from the knot
of humans and goblins and tried to vault over the log fence. The sergeant calmly lifted
his bow and shot the youth in the chest. “Shoulda paid taxes, fool,” the sergeant
remarked. “Wouldn' be here then.” He gestured to the goblins, who swarmed over the body.
Mynx hid her face in her hands, and Tarscenian put a gentle arm around her shoulder. “We
must help them, Mynx/' he whispered. She lifted her head. ”The two of us against two dozen
goblins and hobgoblins? Are you crazy?“ ”All these people did was refuse to pay Hederick's
taxes,“ Tarscenian replied, voice low. ”What do I care? Thieves don't pay taxes.“ ”Don't
you see what's happening? They're being sold into slavery, Mynx!"

“Not one would lift a finger for me. We're outnumbered, old man.” “There are fifty people
in that ring, at least thirty of them strong men and women. Plus we're armed. That's not
being outnumbered.” “And you think those two-legged sheep will stand with you against
hobgoblins?” Mynx laughed out loud. The nearest monster looked over its shoulder into the
greenery, frowning, pointed ears atwitch. “There's only one way to find out.” Tarscenian
rushed out of the underbrush, sword at the ready. Without warning, the old man slipped the
blade under the hobgoblin's arm and sank it into its rib cage. The creature bellowed and
went down, arms and legs churning. “Hejami, Tycom, Gret!” the sergeant called to three of
his men. “Attack!” The rest of the force remained around the slaves. In a moment,
Tarscenian was surrounded by three spear-wielding hobgoblins. Mynx watched from the
underbrush, barely breathing. She'd stay right here; she didn't owe the stupid old man
anything. The blue-nosed one called Hejami closed first with Tarscenian. The others held
back, poking each other and smiling. They didn't seem to think it would be much of a
battlea full-grown hobgoblin against a tuft-haired beggaralthough the beggar did wield
that sword with some assurance. The hobgoblin Hejami jabbed at the man with his spear.
Tarscenian dodged, feinting, and the hobgoblin leaped after him. Tarscenian doubled back
and struck. Hejami fell, lifeless, to the ground, blood from his nearly severed neck
soaking the ground. The other two launched themselves at Tarscenian at the same instant.
Tarscenian parried and whirled. As he held off the hobgoblins, he called out to the
captives. “Join with me! We can outfight them.” None of the prisoners moved. If anything,
they huddled even closer together. “They might hurt us!” one of the women called. “Don't
listen to him,” a man counseled his fellow slaves. “He's a beggar. We're worth more to the
hobgoblins if we're healthy. They won't hurt us as long as we cooperate with them.”
Another woman called, “It's easy for you to order us to help, old man, but we have
children to think about!” Although Tarscenian brandished the sword as though the weapon
were part of him, horror grew on his face. “You old fool,” Mynx whispered from the
honeysuckle vines. “I told y” Then she was dangling in the air, grabbed around the middle
by the largest hobgoblin she'd ever seen. Its laughing grimace exposed yellow teeth and a
slimy red tongue. The monster jabbered something, then hoisted her over one shoulder, all
the while howling with glee. “You big overgrown...” She kicked wildly, hoping to catch the
beast in the face. Hanging head-downward over his back, she had an excellent view of the
dagger she'd dropped, but not much room to maneuver. The creature swaggered over to the
other hobgoblins. “New slave!” the creature crowed. The arms around Mynx's waist tightened
suddenly, and she heard a screech from her captor. Then she was falling. In her years as a
thief, Mynx had dived out of many windowsmost often with enraged homeowners close behind
herand knew how to land on her feet. She caught herself lightly with her hands, then threw
herself over into a somersault and rolled away from the dying, gabbling hobgoblin.
Tarscenian pulled his sword from the creature's middle. He grabbed Mynx by the arm, hauled
her to her feet. Then they were off and running, dodging around the other hobgoblin
corpses and leaving the slave market behind. A pair of hobgoblins and three goblins
pursued them along the path. As Mynx and Tarscenian swept around a curve, Tarscenian
shouldered her to one side and began to chant. “What are you doing?” Mynx cried, trying to
break free. “Be still!” Tarscenian snapped. “Yessupot siagod idae.” His hands fluttered.
He sketched an outline around Mynx from foot to head and back down again to the forest
floor. Then he pushed the thief

into a bush, crushed a silver aspen leaf between the fingers of his left hand, and
shouted, “Nilad ur'sht, yjod wraren, sar ytakreryt.” He dived after the real Mynx. A
lifelike version of the thief raced down the path just as the pursuers hove into view.
“You take it the female!” one of the hobgoblins hollered, pointing to the magic-induced
Mynx vanishing down the trail. The other hobgoblin and one of the goblins raced after her.
That left one hobgoblin and two goblins beating the underbrush in the immediate vicinity.
Tarscenian shoved the hilt of his dagger into Mynx's hand. “This time,” he whispered, “try
not to drop it.” Then he was gone, attacking with an intensity that far belied his years.
He dispatched one of the goblins before the creature could raise a squeak, but the other
goblin managed a cry. “Go get it, more fool!” the hobgoblin yelled at the goblin. “Is
order, verminstink!” The last goblin hurtled at Tarscenian without pause. It found itself
facing two weapons Tarscenian's sword and Mynx's dagger. Yellow-orange eyes blinking
spasmodically, it glanced at Mynx, then at the corpse of its comrade and, frantically,
down the path where the other, magical Mynx had gone. Then it raced away, abandoning the
field to the hobgoblin chief. The monster clutched a sword in its right hand, a spear in
its left. Tarscenian saw immediately that he and Mynx faced a creature well versed in
combat. “How close are we to the ring's den?” he hissed to Mynx. Tarscenian slurred his
words, hoping the hobgoblin wouldn't understand him. He and Mynx circled the creature.
“Short run,” Mynx answered, mimicking his mumbling. “Want to make a dash for it?”
Tarscenian shook his head. “There'll be no outrunning this thing. Get your fellow thieves,
bring help back here. That Xam fellow is big enough to” “No luck, old man. They'll never
come.” Tarscenian growled. “What's a gods-blasted thieves' ring good for, then, if they
won't help you when you need it?” His face was pale with exertion. “Gav calls the moves,”
Mynx panted. “We're the players. And I don't think he'd risk the others for a new
mansomeone who isn't even one of us, yet.” “What about for you?” Mynx sidestepped a tree
root. “I can leave here at any time, Tarscenian. Can't you tell the beast's after you?”
Tarscenian looked the hobgoblin in its tiny yellow eyes. The creature waved its sword
tauntingly and leered. “Big money,” the hobgoblin said. “Bounty fat on ol' funny-looking
guy. Hederick plenty mad you, human.” It was still leering when Mynx landed on its back,
looped her arms around its neck, and butted its helmet forward, obstructing its sight. She
sliced at its shoulders and neck. The blinded creature howled but continued to slash at
Tarscenian with its sword hand, thrusting its spear at him with the other. The double
blades formed a whirlwind of steel. Tarscenian tried to sidle to one side, but the
creature's hearing must have been acute; even without sight, it followed whichever way
Tarscenian moved. Then Mynx and her dagger found a crucial artery in the beast's neck.
“For the Old Gods!” Tarscenian bellowed, and struck at the same time. In an instant, the
hobgoblin lay on the ground. Its lifeblood pumped out of twin gashes in its neck and side.
A short time later, Tarscenian and Mynx raced into the thieves' den. Mynx threw herself,
gasping, onto the green settee. “By the gods, Gav, Solace is crawling with hobgoblins!”
she croaked. The half-elf widened his eyes at their disguises, but merely rasped, “Yet you
came through all right, I see.” “Sure, but we had to kill... how many beasts, Tarscenian?
Half-dozen goblins and hobgoblins?” “About that,” Tarscenian said offhandedly. Even though
his knees were trembling from the strain