Hederick The Theocrat (23 page)

One moment, Mynx and her centaur were speeding along over the forest floor with the rest
of Phytos's force. The next moment, they had barged pell-mell into a sea of shouting
humans, goblins, and hobgoblins. “What is it?” the kender shouted from his own mount as
the centaurs scrambled to assess what had happened. Mynx recognized several figures. “It's
the slave train. They must have stopped for the night.” “What are they doing north of
Solace?” Kifflewit demanded, being suddenly of a decidedly practical turn of mind.
“There's nothing up this way! See, I have the maps to prove it...” He rummaged in his
pockets. “I don't know,” Mynx yelled back. “Maybe they're heading for the Straits of
Schallsea.” Or maybe the rumors of armies to the north were true, and the relocation of
the slaves was tied in with the military movements, she thought. She would not be
surprised if Hederick was cooperating with

vermin armies whose rampages had sent all those refugees pouring into Solace. She had no
time to develop her thoughts, however. The centaurs had pitched into battle with the
goblin and hobgoblin captors of the human slaves. And before she knew it, Mynx was
fighting for her life from the centaur's back. She wielded that creature's short sword.
The centaur, meanwhile, swung a club with deadly accuracy, dashing in the skulls of more
than one goblin. The hobgoblins were well armed with maces, spears, and long swords, and
although the centaurs outnumbered them, the horse-creatures were limited to using clubs in
close quarter fighting. It proved too crowded for bows and arrows. The slaves, as before,
huddled together and begged for mercy. Finally, one of them shook herself free of the
crowd. Ceci Vakon was not dressed the part of a warrior. The mayor's widow still wore the
frilly nightrobe she'd had on when Dahos and the temple guards had forced her and her
family from their home. Her curly brown hair lay tangled on her shoulders, a yellow ribbon
askew in the mass of hair. But there was no mistaking the purpose in her flashing eyes.
“People,” Ceci shouted, “we lost one opportunity for freedom because of fear. Are we going
to throw away another?” The fifty humans only bunched closer together. No one replied
until Ceci's own daughter spoke up. “Mama, what if we get hurt?” the teen-ager asked
softly. “I'll fight!” cried Ceci's ten-year-old son, jumping up. “Give me a sword!” Soon
Ceci's other two sons were clamoring for weapons as well. Then, as the battle raged around
them, the other children in the pack called for weapons. The hobgoblins were too busy
evading centaur clubs to notice the insurrection growing in their midst. A man
shamefacedly stepped forward. “I can't have it said that my children'll fight for their
freedom and I won't,” he said. Another man stepped up, too, and a young woman. They joined
Ceci Vakon in exhorting Hed-erick's slaves. “We're with the mayor's wife!” “Who else is
with me?” Ceci cried. This time all the people roared to their feet, sweeping up whatever
they could find in the way of weapons. From a five-year-old lad hurling rocks to a
seventy-year-old woman wielding a knitting needle, they tore into their surprised captors.
The hobgoblins and goblins, used to passiveness from the slaves, were thrown utterly off
balance. Ceci herself knocked the hobgoblin sergeant down, and Mynx finished him with her
borrowed sword. Soon the centaurs and the slaves had slain every hobgoblin and goblin, at
least two dozen of the creatures. A half-dozen humans and several centaurs also lay dead.
Phytos spoke to the freed slaves. “We are on our way to Erolydon to challenge Hederick.
Thou art free now to go where thou wilt.” “I'm with you, centaur!” Ceci Vakon called out
stoutly. “I'm a widow because of Hederick's greed. I have a score to settle with the High
Theocrat!” Her daughter seconded her. The rest of the slaves, buoyed by victory, shouted
their support as well. Soon most of the slaves were mounted on centaurs. Other slaves
ranged on foot, vowing to follow the attacking force as quickly as they could. Phytos
called the charge, and they pounded down the forest trails.

Tarscenian's cell was next to the materbill's. Even if he had wanted to sleep, the noise
of the pacing, growling creature would have prevented it. The old man's cell, at least,
had a small windowabout the width of his hand and the length of his forearm. Even though
the window faced west, he could tell that it would soon be dawn.

“And so, Great Paladine, it ends this way,” he whispered, “with my love dying within the
trunk of a vallen-wood tree, and the mages who swore to help us similarly doomed. The
Seekers, and those of Gaveley's foul sort, have won. I pray that there may come valiant
heroes who can vanquish those who embrace evil.”

He paused. “The coming years frighten me, my god. I don't know what they will bring, only
that it will be fearsome indeed, and I will not live to see the outcome. My heart bleeds
for the sorrowing world. ”To you, Paladine, my allegiance remains. From you, all blessings
flow."

Tarscenian sat quietly for a time after ending his prayer. He was exhausted beyond
imagining. He knew, too, that he was ready to die. Dawn had arrived.

*****

“I am very pleased, indeed, to be summoned to your presence, High Theocrat. It is an
honor.” Gaveley bowed deeply as his hoarse voice rasped out the words. His face glowed
with pleasure. He glanced around Hederick's receiving room with appreciation. His quick
eyes noted and evaluated the frescoes on the walls, the inlaid pattern in the floor tile,
and the steel and silver statues of the Seeker gods that graced the corners of the room.
“I am very, very pleased,” he repeated. His hand stroked the arm of a marble nymph that
might have been the goddess Ferae. Gaveley wasn't exactly sure who was whom among the
Seeker gods; there were so many of them. “Certainly, certainly, my friend Gaveley,”
Hederick murmured, inwardly vowing to have the statue scrubbed later. By the New Gods, how
the infidel dressedindecently tight blue leggings and matching boots, orange tunic, and a
white hat with a green feather. It was enough to give a godly man like the High Theocrat a
headache. Hederick sipped from his early morning goblet of mead. “You warned me about
Tarscenian, and you helped deliver him into my hands. For that I am grateful.” “As am I,”
Gaveley returned. “I know the Seekers are not prone to admitting those of elven blood to
their temples.” Gaveley inclined his head, but he couldn't quite keep the bitternessor the
sweet triumph.out of his voice. Hederick only smiled. Better that Gaveley not know the
humans-only rule was Erolydon's alone. Anyway, the temple would soon be reconsecrated. The
stain of Gave-ley's presence would then be wiped away. “We will make tremendous partners,
you and I,” Gaveley continued with zest. “With my spies and thieves and your wealth,
Hederick .. .” He whistled. “You've already got the network set up. You just need someone
like me to manage things. Someone with a bent for this kind of business.” The High
Theocrat murmured something indistinct, and the half-elf seemed to realize that he'd
stumbled across some boundary of etiquette. “My pardon, please, Your Worship,” the thief
whispered smoothly. “The veneration I hold for you, and the excitement of being summoned
to your presence, addles my wits a bit, I fear.” He bestowed upon Hederick the shining
smile that had never failed to disarm Mynx. Hederick let his lips curve in return. “It's
understandable,” he said. “You have business for me, then?” the half-elf asked. “Your
messenger led me to believe...” “Ah, yes,” the High Theocrat murmured. “Business. But
first we must drink a toast to ourwhat did you call it, my friend?our 'partnership.' ”
Hederick indicated a carafe on a table at Gaveley's elbow. “Please join me.” His bulging
blue eyes glistened as the half-elf thief poured himself a generous portion of the
beverage. Some of the mead slopped over the edge of the glass and stained the table, but
still Hederick maintained his pleasant smile. “A toast,” the High Theocrat proclaimed,
raising his own full goblet. “To a new association.” Then, as Gaveley raised the goblet to
his lips, Hederick cried, “Wait! No, we must raise this tribute to the beginning day. It
is the Seeker way.” He ushered the half-elf to the window and flung open the

shutters. “In the name of Sauvay, god of power and vengeance, I bless this mingling of
minds.” He sipped his mead, then placed the goblet aside as Gaveley quaffed the liquid
he'd poured from the carafe. The half-elf died quicklyquicker than he deserved, Hederick
decided.

The High Theocrat caught the thief under the arms and tipped him forward through the
window. It was but a short distance to the ground. Yellow Eyes and one of his confederates
scurried forward to carry the body away. Hederick downed his own meadwhich, of course, was
not poisonedand watched until the blue and orange of Gaveley's outfit disappeared over the
marble wall to the north. “You were too ambitious for my liking, Gaveley, my former
friend,” he whispered. “Much too ambitious. And no one treats High Theocrat Hederick with
that kind of familiarity.”

He regarded Gaveley's spilled mead with satisfaction. “Macaba root,” he purred. “It has
never failed me.”

*****

The centaurs slowed, then halted once more. Mynx's centaur was forced back among the
crowd, and she couldn't see ahead. “Kifflewit!” she shouted. “What is delaying us?” The
kender's mount was near the front of the massed pack of centaurs. “Someone is hurt!” “One
of the centaurs? From the battle? I thought we'd treated all the wounded.”

“No,” the kender supplied, “a child.” He looked around. “It sure is foggy all of a
sudden.” A child, alone in the forest in the middle of the night? Mynx wondered. And what
about this fog? She checked to see whether the Diamond Dragon was still safe on its new
thong around her neck. It was. Then she flung herself off her centaur and pushed her way
through the mass of bodies until she saw what had stopped everyone. A young boy lay before
them. He was unconscious, his head flung back, his small red mouth open. A beautiful
peasant woman who must have been the child's mother cradled him on her lap. She wept
bitterly. Nearby, a wrinkled crone sat upon a fallen tree and moaned, wringing her hands.
The old one appeared not to be in her right mind. She mumbled nonstop to herself and
occasionally beseeched the night sky, the vallenwoods, and various boulders for
assistance. Swirls of thickening mist glided between Mynx and the trio, and the thief had
to squint to see them. Without thinking, she clasped the Diamond Dragon. The fog suddenly
cleared. “Young woman,” Phytos said gently to the mother. “What is wrong?” The child's
mother turned huge brown eyes toward the centaur. Her face was stunning in its pale
delicacy. “Oh, pray, sir, don't hurt us!” she implored. “Don't send us back there! My
sweet boy is dying.” Phytos blinked several times. “Send thee back where, woman? Thou hast
escaped from somewhere? Hast thou been a slave?” He looked at Ceci Vakon and the others,
but they shook their heads. No, the trio had not been part of the slave train. “We escaped
from Hederick, sir.” The woman's gaze returned to her child's bloodless face. She stroked
the lad's cheek before she continued. Sudden wrenching sobs made it difficult to
understand her. “We could not pay our taxes. The High Theocrat sought to sell my
husbandthis old woman's son into slavery and take me, my child, and my mother-in-law into
custody. See the poor old lady, sir. She's not been lucid since they dragged my dear
husband away.” “So I see.” Phytos still appeared nonplussed, however. “Young woman, we are
on our way to Solace. I suppose we can carry three more as well, but we must move
swiftly...” The woman sobbed even harder, shaking her head. “Oh, no, kind centaur! My
child is far too weak to stand a ride on the back of a horse. See how much blood he has
lost!” She drew back slightly from the child, and the centaurs and slaves gasped in
unison. Only a darkened stump remained of the boy's right arm. The centaurs burst into
protests. "By the

gods!“ ”Didst thou see that?“ ”What monster would do that, and to a child?“ Phytos had to
shout to make himself heard. ”How did that happen, woman?“ ”The boysuch a courageous lad,
my Bunirushed forward to defend his father when the goblins came to take him to the slave
yard. One of Hederick's hobgoblins cut him badly. My husband fought them, giving us time
to escape with Buni here, but I fear my husband is dead.“ The woman burst into fresh
tears, cradling the child close to her breast, which had the unfortunate effect of making
the wound bleed anew. ”Oh, my poor, brave, fatherless boy!“ Her tears broke off abruptly.
The young woman felt in her pocket and drew out a small gem muddy yellow and nearly
valuelesswhich she handed over to Phytos. ”It's all we have. I will give you this gem in
return for safe passage. Please, kind centaur, help us!“ Phytos assured her that the
centaurs had no intention of abandoning the bereaved family. But Mynx was frowning.
Something about the woman's story didn't ring true. One manable to fight off a troop of
Hederick's trained minions long enough for his wife to escape with a fatally wounded child
and a doddering old woman? She gazed at the trio. Mist swirled around the centaurs, but
wherever Mynx focused, there was no mist. She found herself stroking the Diamond Dragon
again. Her thoughts were remarkably lucid, she noted. As clear as the diamonds that
decorated the artifact's back. The centaurs were undoubtedly moved by the family's plight,
but centaurs were markedly susceptible in some areas. Being so strikingly handsome
themselves, they tended to trust that which was physically perfect. And the mournful young
mother was pretty indeed. The slaves, so recently freed from bondage themselves, also were
full of sympathy for a trio who appeared to have suffered at Hederick's hands. Mynx
smelled magic. ”Young woman,“ Mynx said, stepping around a centaur with black skin and
green eyes. ”Where did you live in Solace?“ The young mother looked up. Something flashed
in her eyes as she surveyed Mynx and the Diamond Dragon; then it was gone. Her voice
remained sweet and low, though throbbing with sorrow. ”We found a room in the center of
town, kind lady. Near the town square.“ ”That would have placed you next to the Inn of the
Last Home.“ The woman hesitated, then nodded. ”You are refugees? You would have enjoyed
Otik's hospitality at the Inn, then. Otik has a soft spot for the helpless.“ The fog
deepened. Mynx stroked the Diamond Dragon again, and the cloud was dispelled. The woman
glanced at the crone, who nodded almost imperceptibly. ”Yes,“ the younger woman said. ”He
does. Otik is a kind man.“ ”Do you remember his specialty?“ Myry< went on. She spoke
loudly, her words carrying to the centaurs and human slaves. ”Otik is noted for his spiced
pepper sausage, fried to a crisp and eaten as hot as you can stand it. I remember it well.
Did he share some with your family, woman? He usually does with refugees. As I said, he is
a generous man.“ ”I...“ The woman's eyes brimmed over with tears, and she glanced down at
her child. The fog thickened worse than before, except where Mynx stood. ”What is this?“
burst out a centaur just behind Mynx. The centaur's head appeared hazily through the
deepening mist. ”The woman interrogates these poor lost souls when what anyone can see
they really need is rest and food and some attention to that child's arm. Thou should be
ashamed of thyself, Mynx!“ Mynx turned slightly, making sure to keep the crone, young
woman, and child well in sight. ”These three are not what they claim to be,“ she shouted
to the centaurs. ”They seek to delay us! Look!“ She pointed to the north, where the
straggling group of riderless slaves were just coming into view. ”Already we have lost
precious time, if those with no centaurs to carry them have been able to catch up!“ Mynx
peered into the frowning faces of the centaurs. ”I don't know who has sent these three to

waylay us, but it is someone whose interests ally with Hederick's. Can't you see they are
false?“ Phytos cantered to her side. ”Thou would have us abandon these poor folk here,
Mynx? They are destitute, as anyone with eyes can see.“ ”Abandon them? I would have you
kill them!"

The centaurs, and the slaves on their backs, burst out in fresh protests. The trio in the
path did not move, but the two women glared daggers at Mynx. “Let me ask them just one
question,” Mynx demanded. Phytos nodded. “One question, then.”

Mynx faced the trio again. “What spice is in Otik's specialty, the one the fried sausage
is known for? If you have truly eaten at the Inn of the Last Home, you will know. It is an
easy question. Hurry, now.” I...“ The women exchanged glances. The crone frowned at the
younger woman, who then turned back to Mynx and snapped, ”Pepper! The spice is hot pepper.
Now can we get some help from you, or will you make us talk all night while my son dies?"

“Well?” Phytos asked quietly. “Wrong!” Mynx sang out. “It's not pepper. In fact, it's not
even sausage. Otik is known throughout Solace for his spiced potatoes. Anyone who had ever
been near the city would know that. Moreover, the Inn is not next to the town square, as
this woman said. You've been ensorceled, centaurs!” For an instant, the centaurs milled
about uncertainly. Some drew their bows, while others fingered their war clubs, and still
others continued to counsel patience. The slaves, even Ceci Vakon, likewise seemed
confused. Then the fog melted away. At that instant, the three fugitives vanished. In
their places stood three haggard old women. Two, Mynx's height, had greenish skin, while
the third, at least half again as tall as the others, had a deep blue complexion. All bore
moles and warts, stringy hair, and withered faces. Their teeth were black. Their hands
ended, not in fingernails, but in long claws that looked to be as strong as iron. “Hags!”
shouted one of the centaurs. “An annis hag and greenhags! Fellow centaurs, Mynx is right.
We've been magicked! Attack!” The centaur, a slender male carrying a young man, dashed
forward. The largest hag calmly reached out, clasped the man-horse around the torso with
both hands, and crushed him. She flung the body away with a laugh, chased down the
centaur's rider, and did the same to him. “Next?” she taunted, her foul breath polluting
the air. Three centaurs let fly with arrows at the same instant. The hags leaped aside.
“By the gods,” Phytos cried. “The speed! The strength!” Another half-dozen centaurs,
wielding clubs, leaped toward the hags. The wizened crones deftly outran them, closing and
grappling when the opportunity arose. Soon two slaves and three more centaurs lay crushed
on the ground, victims of the annis hag. Mynx, caught without a mount in the melee, sought
to fight her way to the rear of the surging crowd. Finally Phytos grabbed her by the arm
and hauled her to one side. The other centaurs continued to do battle, but the hags were
too quick. They always managed to sidestep the centaurs' clubs. The hags finally drew
back. Another centaur let an arrow fly, but the greenhags merely disappeared. The annis
hag deflected the arrow with one hand. “They don't need to fight us,” Phytos said. “They
merely seek to delay us. Thou wast right, Mynx. Hederick must have sent them.” “But
Hederick hates magic!” Kifflewit cried. “Unless he has some necessary use for it,” Mynx
murmured. She probed her memory for information about hags. How to stop them? “Where are
the two greenhags?” she asked suddenly. A cry from the centaurs answered her question. One
of the centaurs to Mynx's left suddenly grasped his neck, where invisible hands had
crushed his windpipe. He went down, gagging and kicking. The woman who'd been astride him
leaped away. “Phytos!” Mynx shouted. “The gem!”