Hederick The Theocrat (9 page)

A pall fell over the crowd. No one met her gaze. Too late, Crealora recalled the exchange
with the Domroys. A moment of frightened vengefulness on her part, and look at them now.
Of course they feared herthey'd “seen” her put the evil eye on an unborn baby! By the time
the child was born, strong and healthy, she would be dead, and it would no longer matter
what they believed or thought they'd seen. Tears in her eyes, she turned back toward
Hederick, her chin high.

“It has been proved to this court's satisfaction that you, Crealora Senternal, killed the
Bayards with magic lightning. The penalty is death.” Hederick smirked as he leaned over
the railing and motioned to the guards. At his signal, one of the men tied a gag over her
mouth. Hederick triumphantly went on declaiming, but Crealora barely heard him. “Bind her
to the vallenwood stump ... the courtyard .. . until dead.” She was hustled roughly from
the room to the sun-splashed courtyard, the eager crowd pushing and shoving behind her.

Four guards clambered up onto a small platform in front of the vallenwood stump. They
bound the woman's feet to two pegs jutting out four feet above the ground and her hands to
iron rings placed in the stump almost seven feet above that. She was so short that her
feet barely reached the pegs. Crealora looked for tinder, for dry sticks, at her feet, but
there was none. How did Hederick propose to burn her without tinder?

Only a handful of spectators remained in the central courtyard. The rest had been shoved
back behind a stone wall nearly as tall as the stump, with risers behind it so people
could watch the show. When the temple guards finished guiding the onlookers to their
places, five men remained in the courtyard with Crealora. They were the five who had
tittered when she'd ridiculed the High Theocrat. Metal creaked. Crealora and the men
turned their eyes toward the temple. Hederick, on a viewing stand behind the barricade,
gave directions to some novitiates. The priests-in-training pulled the chains that opened
a portal near the side of the temple doors. Something large slid into the courtyard, and
the gate banged shut behind it. “By the Greater Pantheon! What is it?” cried one of the
trapped men. Crealora could have told them. She'd heard Kleven describe materbills; he'd
thought he spied one only a week before his death. Two or three times the size of a lion,
he'd said. Retractable claws the length of her arm. A leonine mane in the colors of
flameorange and gold and red and black. And when the materbill roared, real flames burst
from its mouth. Reason denied that there could be two such rare creatures suddenly near
Solace. This beast, Crealora knew suddenly, was the one that had slain Kleven; it would
now likewise slay her. She tried to scream, but the gag almost choked her. The five men
who shouted and ran to the wall, imploring friends on the other side to rescue them. The
monster paused just inside the courtyard gate. It stopped and, catlike, gazed around in a
bored manner. It licked one huge front paw, then the other. Then it licked its chops. The
trapped men doubled their entreaties. Hederick, brown-and-gold robe fluttering in the
afternoon breeze, stood confidently on the viewing stand high above the crowd. The rest of
the viewers shrank back from the inner wall. Several people tried to force their way
through the main gates to the outside path, but armed guards and goblins prevented them
from leaving. “People of Solace!” Hederick cried, his voice rebounding off the stone
walls. He slowed the tempo

of his words, adjusting to the echoes. “A lesson.” The High Theocrat pointed at the
monster. “This is a materbill.” Several people cried out in surprise. “Yes, a creature of
legend, delivered out of myth by the New Gods, the Seeker gods, to help us find the way to
truth.” He waited for the commotion to subside and continued. “Sauvay, god of power and
vengeance, has presented me with this gift, this proof of his approval of my mission in
Solace. I will weed out all who waver in their allegiance to the Seekers. I will keep the
community safe for those who are pure of heart and true to the New Gods!”

His hand went to his chest, and he patted something under the front of his robe. Not a
whisper rose from the crowd. Even the five men at the opposite end of the courtyard seemed
mesmerized. Crealora felt her willpower drain from her as though the beastor more likely
Hed-erick himself had deftly absorbed it.

The materbill broke the spell. It bounded across the courtyard in three leaps, pouncing on
the men. Two escaped, screaming. The other three lay pinned under the beast's massive
front paws. One of the three appeared to have died instantly, but the remaining two
writhed in pain and fear. Then the materbill slowly extended its front claws. They were as
long as a man's arm and came to wicked points, as Kleven had said. The creature pierced
the men's bodies, and their blood flowed freely onto the ground. Crealora heard a wail
from between the inner and outer wallsa new widow, no doubt.

The materbill picked up one man's body and shook it in its teeth. Another carcass the
creature nuzzled almost lovingly, licking it from breastbone to head. The third corpse it
ignored. Then the materbill looked around again, focusing on Crealora this time. Her mouth
went dry; sweat drenched her skin and clothes. She almost fainted from the pounding in her
heart and the fear in her mind. But she met the materbill's unblinking gaze steadily as
she intoned a silent prayer: Dear Paladine, I am willing to die for you and the Old Gods,
but I beg that if you have any power left on Krynn, any mercy remaining for your few
devout followers, you will make my passing as swift and painless as possible. Don't let me
show my fear to the heretic and humiliate myself and the others who still pray to you.
Abandoning the three dead bodies and ignoring the pair of survivors cowering behind the
stump, the materbill padded purposefully across the bricks and cobblestones toward
Crealora. Its eyes were sea green, the huge vertical pupils obsidian black. The creature
halted, long tail twitching, bloodied tips of its foreclaws etching lines in the stones of
the courtyard. It stank of blood and death. Crealora closed her eyes, then reopened them.
This would be her last glimpse of life in this world. Frightened people were crammed
between inner and outer walls, but only a few curious heads could be seen, their
expressions alternately horrified and fascinated. All except one man and a woman. The
couple stood in plain sight near the main gate. The woman was nearly as tall as the man
and, like him, wore the plain cloak of a traveler. Refugees, perhaps. Both were apparently
of great age. The woman, whose curly gray hair extended unbound past her waist, held a
fringed silver scarf, which concealed her hands and part of her body. Her eyes were
closed, her lips moving. Under the plain cloak flowed a long white garment. The man's gaze
caught Crealora's eyes. He was ordinary-looking, with a salt-and-pepper beard and nearly
bald head. He carried an unexceptional wooden staff. The man wore a plain traveling shift
of rough green cotton over patched leggings, and his boots were scuffed. He and his
elderly companion must have arrived just as the gates were barricaded; Crealora had not
seen them in the Great Chamber. The man's arms were folded across his chest, his stance
sturdy, although Crealora could tell even from this distance that he was not youngand
perhaps was even older than Hederick. Do not fear, the old man's eyes seemed to say. You
are not alone. “Crealora Senternal, you stand condemned of witchcraft and heresy,” intoned
Hederick. Crealora started at the sound, so riveting had been the other man's stare. Even
now she felt herself unwilling to look away from the two people at the gate. Hederick
droned on. "Let the death of this evil woman, O goddess Omalthea, show you that our

hearts and our souls are only with you. Let the death of this sorry soul, Omalthea, steel
the resolve of those wavering against sin. Let the death of this unrepentant heathen, O
Motherlord, serve as a warning to all who risk the ire of the New Gods by disregarding the
Praxis. “The Old Gods are gone, and you, Omalthea, have come with your blessings in their
stead,” Hederick finished. “So be it.” Crealora glanced back toward the couple by the
gate. The old woman had doffed the worn cloak and dropped the scarf. Her white robe drew
all eyes. “A mage!” one of the novitiates shouted. The woman stretched her arms above her.
Wind swirled around her slender figure. She displayed the strength of a much younger
persona woman a third her age. “Hederick!” the old woman shouted. “Cease this charade!”
The High Theocraf s head shot around. Hederick gazed at the woman. His lips moved, but no
sound issued forth. The Seeker priest caught the edge of the lectern, his blue eyes
staring from his face like the orbs of a heathen stone idol. “Ancilla,” he said softly.
“Ancilla. In the flesh, at last.” “Cease this sin, Hederick.” “I should have known you'd
not give up, Ancilla,” Hederick whispered. “All these years you've hounded me, ever since
I defeated you at Garlund. You've sent countless magical creatures to harry me, but never
have you appeared yourself.” The High Theocrat actually bowed, a mocking smile on his
lips. “I always knew it was you behind the harassment, Ancilla. I suppose I should be
honored that you come in person to pay court to me at last, witch.” His tone was thick
with derision. “I will stop you this time, Hederick,” Ancilla said. “I have the power
now.” Hederick laughed, then he struck a commanding pose and pointed at the old woman.
“Fellow Seekers!” he cried, his voice thundering across the intervening space as though he
could strike the old woman down with words alone, “you see before you another witch! Let
her die here with the witch of Zaygoth. Sauvay demands her death. Guards!” At Hederick's
words, Ancilla turned slightly toward Tarscenian. The High Theocrat seemed to realize for
the first time that Ancilla was not alone. He gazed for a moment in puzzlement at the
tall, bearded man. “Tarscenian?” he said wonderingly. Then his voice rose above the noise
of the crowd once again. “False priest! Guards! Arrest them!” The materbill growled.
Tarscenian looked away from the woman whom Hederick had called Ancilla. His gaze locked
into Crealora's eyes, far across the courtyard. The materbill roared rage and fire, and
Crealora smelled her own hair burning. Flames flickered at the fringe of her shawl; the
hem of her skirt caught fire. Crealora sensed all this as though it were happening to
someone else, at a great distance. She pointed her face skyward, where a curl of smoke
rose into the sky. Soon her essence would rise within that spiral toward the plane of the
Old Gods. The materbill roared again. The fire doubled, but Crealora felt little pain. She
peered through the smoke with watering eyes and spied Tarscenian and Ancilla. The old
woman was chanting and gesticulating. Lightning had erupted from her fingers and was
roaring around the courtyard. A ring of temple guards had circled the spellcasting pair
but appeared frozen in the act of trying to capture them. What was going on? The materbill
snarled. Dimly, Crealora heard screams from the two men still seeking to secret themselves
behind the allenwood trunk. Then the man called Tarscenian caught Crealora's gaze again,
and continued to hold it. He was chanting, too. He hurled a handful of powder to the
ground. New calm spread through Crealora. This was the end, then. The materbill roared
once more. The witch of Zaygoth closed her eyes and died.

“Your Worship!” Dahos called. “The woman has turned the guards to stone!” “I see that, you
idiot!” Hederick raged. A dozen novitiates huddled underneath the platform, but Hederick
refused to show any panic. “Send more guards against her, fool!” The high priest didn't
move right away. Instead he stared in awe at the elderly mage. “What power!” he murmured.
Then Dahos raised his voice to a level that could be heard by Hederick. “Your Worship, the
woman has stopped two dozen guards. She hurls bolts of lightning around the courtyard like
so many twigs. Yet she has harmed no one. Why should this be?” “She wants only me,”
Hederick shouted. “She would kill me if she could, but I am too strong for her! Double the
forces, high priest!” Dahos looked from the bolt-hurling enchantress to the High Theocrat.
Then he gestured curtly to the captain of Erolydon's guards. The chief guard put a horn to
his lips and blew. The front entrance of the temple building crashed open, and six
goblins, clad in leather armor and wielding maces and spears, hurtled through. Blinking
against the painful light, they shoved the panic-stricken people aside, injuring more than
one person in the process. Yellow Eyes dashed toward Ancilla and Tarscenian, his five
comrades at his heels. “Endit the lady witch!” Yellow Eyes thundered. “Kill 'em!” The
goblins did no better than the guards. Twenty paces from Ancilla and Tarscenian, they
crashed into an invisible wall of magical origin and slid, senseless, to the cobblestones.
“By Sauvay!” Hederick swore. The witch had never challenged him so directly before. He
shoved his hand into the front of his robe and drew forth an object. Then Hederick thrust
his hand toward Ancilla. Suddenly he and Dahos were bathed in glittery light. The device
shone too brightly for any but Hederick to discern its subtle details. To most, it was a
glowing ball, no more. “Leave off, witch!” Hederick bellowed. “My gods protect me, here as
everywhere.” “You must stop this evil, Hederick.” Ancilla spoke in a normal tone, but her
voice seemed to echo from the marble walls, the stones of the courtyard, and the iron of
the gates. Lightning continued to ricochet around the area. The materbill, smeared with
ashes and blood, snarled and dashed back to the door through which it had emerged.
Responding to Hederick's command, a frightened novitiate frantically hauled on the rope,
and the leonine creature disappeared safely into Erolydon's lower reaches. “Norvir
tonwek.” Ancilla's gravelly voice insinuated itself around Hederick like a noose. “You
can't stop me, Ancilla,” Hederick said. “Centinbil chuffhing, adon.” “I'm well aware of
your pathetic attempts to impede me,” Hederick shouted. “You cannot harm me not while I
have the Diamond Dragon of my lord Sauvay.” He held it aloft, exulting in the control it
gave him. Let the masses see the power that their High Theocrat wielded! “Gatefil antogys
adon.” “What will it be this time, Ancilla? Will you again use magic to try to usurp my
followers, my closest aides? They will not forsake me, witch. They cannot harm me, either,
despite your wishes. My lord Sauvay made the Diamond Dragon too strong for simple
subterfuge.” Hederick taunted her, suddenly conscious of the stares of hundreds of
awestruck Seeker converts. He could imagine their thoughts: The High Theocrat was
single-handedly taking on a mage of the highest orderand clearly winningwithout magic!
“Surrender now, Ancilla,” he coaxed. “I will make sure you and Tarscenian die quickly. I
will not draw out the time of your deaths, even though you do not deserve my mercy. A mage
and a false Seeker priest! Sauvay and Omalthea will rejoice at your deaths. They will rain
their benefactions upon me and my followers.” He turned to face the crowd, once again
holding forth the Diamond Dragon, and cried, “Hear me, people of Solace!” Ancilla's hands
could barely be seen, so quickly did they whirl in the air. Her eyes gleamed. “Gatefil
antogys adon. Shiral.” Magical powders gyrated around her, joining and separating to
create rainbows of color. The High Theocrat had never seen such a display of magical
power. But there was nothing here that the Diamond Dragon of Sauvay could not stop,
Hederick was sure

of that. He held the artifact higher, shifting it so that it threw off multitudinous
sparkles in the midday sun. As always, the people appeared mesmerizedall but Ancilla and
her unholy mate. Hederick's sister appeared to have thrown some sort of protective spell
around Tarscenian, sheltering him from the effect of Sauvay's Diamond Dragon.

Ancilla spoke. “If you will not cease this activity, Hederick, I will remove you from your
beloved Erolydon.” Hederick smiled disdainfully, confident that with the support of Sauvay
he would prevail. The High Theocrat had nothing to fear.

Ancilla's seamed face was implacable as she continued her warning. “Oh, I'll not send you
too far away, Hederick,” she said. “I would not deprive you of your temple. But you will
be someplace where you can no longer harm the innocent.” He laughed malevolently and once
again displayed the Diamond Dragon.

“Ghezhit.” Hederick saw a purple cloud speed toward him. The front of the magical creation
opened like a dragon's maw. The nimbus expanded, the vapor reforming until a purple lizard
seemed to tower over him, nearly as large as the courtyard. Claws reached hungrily for the
High Theocrat. Ancilla continued to chant, triumph apparent in her stance and in every
syllable she uttered. Where had she accumulated such power? Hederick wondered. “Centinbil
chuffhing, adon. Ghezhit. Gatefil antogys adon. Ghezhit.” The lizard's nebulous mouth
opened farther. The magical creature lunged. And Hederick turned the Diamond Dragon to
face the magical wyrm it so closely resembled. A flash, and roiling smoke. Then the lizard
recoiled in the sky above Erolydon, tail churning the air, front legs pawing at a slash in
its vaporous belly. It wheeled about in midair. And charged back toward Ancilla and
Tarscenian. “Sederai donitan!” Ancilla chanted. She shoved Tarscen-ian aside and stood
alone against the monster's charge. The cloud creature swallowed her whole. Where
Hed-erick's sister had stood only moments ago, now there was... nothing. Chaos prevailed
for a few moments before the temple guards and Hederick's goblins regained their senses.
By the time the High Theocraf s minions recovered and could begin forcing their way
through the panicked people, Tarscenian was out the gate and racing toward the
vallen-woods.