Olven shrugged. He remembered something his mother used to tell him when he was railing against the world's injustices. "Bad things happen to a lot of people," he quoted now. "The choice between good and evil is still a personal decision."
"But can't we stop him, Olven?"
The dark-skinned scribe was well aware that Marya knew the answer to that question as well as he did, but he spoke anyway, partly to remind himself. "We can't influence history. We can only record it. We are scribes. We must remain neutral. Remember the oath, Marya."
"But someone has to stop him, Olven!"
"If the gods mean for Hederick to be stopped, someone will stop him."
Marya was silent for a few moments. "Someone tried for years-his sister. Yet Ancilla seems to be no more effective against Hederick than… than we are, Olven. By the gods, I wish I were there in Solace!"
Olven watched her steadily but said nothing. At last Marya sighed and rose from the chair. Without another word, she handed him the quill and left the Great Library.
Chapter 10
Tarscenian!
The wispy voice jolted Tarscenian out of a doze. He'd found himself a new hiding place among the ferns and trees, and was waiting for nightfall. "What is it, Ancilla?"
Hederick dropped the Diamond Dragon.
Tarscenian sat up. "You have it?"
I could not lift it!
The whisper was thick with disappointment. The voice, which had never been potent, faded even more.
lam constrained. I can call up a formidable Presence, but no corporeal body. With a simple panic spell, I was able to stop Hederick from immediately retrieving the Dragon himself and was also able to control him enough to help him make a fool of himself. But…
Tarscenian missed the next few words, so quiet had the voice become. Then it returned, slightly revived.
But then that high priest of his rushed up the stairs and straight through me-with the artifact! It broke my spell, Tarscenian. I am weaker than ever, by Paladine's laoe. I had the power of forty mages, and what good did it do me?
Tarscenian heard nothing but the sighing of wind for a long time, then another whisper.
What will I do, Tarscenian?
"Rest, my dear," Tarscenian whispered. "Leave Heder-ick alone. Gather your strength. Leave this to me for now." He rose and belted on his sword. "It is time for me to explore Solace. Rest, Ancilla."
I suppose I…
Then nothing.
"Ancilla?"
An agitated Tarscenian waited for nearly an hour, until the moon Solinari was rising in the sky, red Lunitari slightly behind. There was no further word from Ancilla, and Tarscenian's worry and impatience grew at last to unbearable bounds.
Finally he pulled up the hood of his cloak and set out for Solace.
Chapter 11
Most of the treetop pillage had settled into the stillness of night-time, but one section of Solace never slept. This was the part of Solace where the northern refugees congregated with talk and activity, day and night.
Solace's lodgings for travelers had long since filled. Nearly every resident had found sleeping space on the floor for one or two visitors-for a hefty price, of course. Refugees who had arrived more recently had been forced to set up camp on the damp forest floor, bereft of the protection that a vallenwood perch would afford.
Hood up, Tarscenian stalked unnoticed through arguing humans, dwarves, and elves. Even a few centaurs walked the paths, although none of the hoofed creatures ventured up onto the bridge-walkways, of course. The presence of the solitude-loving centaurs in a population center was a sure sign that something was gravely amiss onKrynn.
Tarscenian stepped carefully around puddles and mud and muck. The light of the moons did not penetrate through the vallenwood canopy to the forest floor; torchlight was the rule in the refugee section. The torch smoke burned his eyes, which were already strained from piercing the darkness. The smell was unbearable-the refugees dumped their wash water and garbage wherever they cared to.
The refugee area combined homes with marketplace. As always in the Seeker lands, there were the sellers of the holy offerings, those overpriced paper packets that pilgrims could purchase then deposit with Seeker priests to protect their immortal souls. Tarscenian gave these entrepreneurs a wide berth.
Despite the late hour, some refugees still sat on the ground behind cloths spread with items they hoped to sell or barter. Some swayed as they kept vigil, half asleep but with a sixth sense that brought them to full awareness whenever a potential buyer ventured by.
Tarscenian stepped over a pool of black water and stooped before one such seller. The woman, whose wares were displayed on a greasy blanket, hefted a double-bladed dagger for him to examine.
He spoke softly to the woman as she watched him with glittering eyes. "A fine piece of work," he said. "It looks like the product of Garnet dwarves."
" 'Tis," she rejoined. "I'll sell it for steel or trade it for provisions as will get me farther south."
"Where did you obtain such a fine dagger?"
She grabbed the weapon away from him, scratching his hand with her jagged nails in the process. "You're implyin' I stole it, is that it? You're a spy for Hederick, aren't you?"
Tarscenian hurriedly shook his head and backed off, but the woman ranted on. "You can tell your master as I am the most devout Seeker here. I buy my offerings, same as everyone here, and gives 'em to the church, even as it means taking food from my own self-an' it frequently has."
She brandished the dagger about wildly. "The knife, Seeker spy, was my husband's, him that died on the road when we fled Throtl. I be sellin' my belongings now to get the necessary food to keep from dyin', and to buy a donkey to carry this body as far from the North as I can. And I be doin' it legal, scum, so just you leave me be!" She waved the dagger at him again.
"I never…" Tarscenian protested, then broke off arguing. Other refugees stared at the hooded traveler with open hostility. Several temple guards and an equal number of goblins began to circle around Tarscenian.
"Tense times, indeed," he whispered to himself.
He pulled his cloak farther over his face and, one eye on the guards, unfastened the band that held his sword in its scabbard, swathed under the long cloak. At the same time, he loosened one of the spellcasting pouches at his belt and, from the depths of his hood, studied the guards and leather-clad goblins. He didn't see the goblin he'd heard called Yellow Eyes; these beasts seemed to be lower both in rank and intelligence.
A scuffle suddenly resounded nearby, interrupting his thoughts and distracting the guards.
"Be off, kender! I am not a carnival pony, here for thy amusement! If thou wishes to steal a ride, find thyself someone other than a centaur. Be off, embezzler!"
This was followed by the muffled sound of hooves striking something soft. The refugees' laughter nearly drowned out the outraged protests, high-pitched and copious, that came from a small figure.
"I wasn't stealing anything!" an offended kender screeched. The short-legged creature managed to cling to the centaur despite the man-horse's kicks and gyrations.
Mud daubed the centaur's silver-white haunches, evidence of its attempts to dislodge the kender.
The kender's brown topknot was bouncing up and down, and his words came out in bunches. "I just wanted to"-kick-"check your back"-scrape against a vallen-wood trunk-"for ticks," the kender gasped. "They've been plentiful"-another kick-"hereabouts"-sidestep- "this summer"-buck-"and I thought to do you"-succession of kicks-"a favor!"
The centaur bucked once more, then reached back and tried to pummel the kender, but by this time the kender's hands were fastened around the creature's human torso. "I meant to be your friend, horse," the kender wailed.
More laughter erupted from the refugees. This time the guards joined in; even the goblins poked one another and grinned.
The centaur fumed. Its head, torso, and arms resembled those of a male human between twenty and thirty years old. "I am no hors
e, and certainly no friend of a kender, thou half-pint larcenist! Now get thee off my back before I roll myself over and squash thee flatter than a Haven bedbug!"
Glad of the distraction, Tarscenian picked that moment to sidestep up a stairway that curled around the massive trunk of a nearby vallenwood. The wooden steps would take him to the upper walkways in the vallenwood branches, and out of the guards' view.
Only someone was blocking his way.
The young woman's back was toward Tarscenian. She gazed downward, intent on the altercation between kender and centaur. Much as she studied the goings-on below, Tarscenian in turn studied her-or as much of her as he could see from his dubious vantage point behind her.
The woman's garb was in disarray, and in a manner that suggested grooming was customarily low in her priorities.
Her ankle-length skirt, of some dark material, was ripped in several places, and the loose blouse she'd tucked into it had gone too long without a wash. Her dark brown hair had been sawed off at shoulder length, and Tarscenian suspected she'd done the job herself with a short sword or axe-which was very likely, since she also boasted the mus-culature and sturdy stance of one whose livelihood depended on strength and quickness.
The woman turned her head, and Tarscenian saw unkempt bangs, dark eyes, a rounded chin and nose, and a lone silver-and-lapis earring that dangled from her right earlobe nearly to her soiled gauze collar. Her face bespoke youth and an innocence that was almost gaminlike, but Tarscenian suspected she was nearer forty than twenty.
"If you want to keep your entrails tucked into your belly, you'd best step into the light, stranger. I've no patience with spies."
It took Tarscenian a moment to realize that the woman was speaking to him. "I'd just as soon not put myself on display to the temple guards, friend," he answered. "I'll stay back here, near the trunk, if you don't mind. I'm no rabbit offering itself up for the fox's dinner."
"Some might say you already have."
Tarscenian saw that she held a dagger in her hand, and he knew that she could flick the weapon before he had a chance to draw his sword. She kept her face toward the commotion below, however, giving no outward sign to guards and goblins that she was anything but alone on the stairs. "They are distracted," she said suddenly. "Come around now."
Tarscenian obeyed her without question, his cloak snagging on the tree bark as he slipped behind the woman. She continued watching the centaur. The man-horse had dislodged the kender and now was accusing it of thievery. "What did the kender take?" Tarscenian asked.
"The centaur's silver neck-chain." The woman murmured without appearing to move her lips. "Short-stuff says he borrowed it, of course."
"Of course." Tarscenian decided it was time for introductions. "I am.. "
"… Tarscenian, of course," she finished. "I'm called Mynx. Hederick has all of Solace looking for you, stranger. You're a fool to have come here. With the description of you that Hederick's priests have posted all over the city, anyone with sense could identify you, even in that cloak." She laughed softly and ran her hand through her hair, increasing its disarray. "Fortunately for you, Tarscenian, I'm the only one here with any sense right now."
"I'm looking for some people."
"Their names?"
"No names. I want to find a thieves' ring."
Mynx gasped, then laughed outright. "I hope you don't plan a career in picking pockets, Tarscenian. It strikes me that your talent as a thief might be somewhat limited. Men over six feet tall are rare in Solace. It would be difficult for you to blend into a crowd, don't you think? How old are you, anyway?"
"My talents are greater than you think." Tarscenian murmured a magical chant and released a pinch of herbs from a pouch. Then he held out his hand. The double-bladed dagger owned by the Throtl woman gleamed in his palm. It was an illusion, not the real item, but as long as Mynx didn't touch it, she might not guess. Her eyes widened at the sight of the dagger, but she said nothing.
Tarscenian whispered another chant. At that moment, a screech sounded from below, and then the Throtl woman screamed, "The kender! He took my dagger! Guards! Did you see? It must've been him!"
The real dagger was still firmly in place on the woman's blanket-although Tarscenian's spell kept most people from realizing this.
Together, Mynx and Tarscenian watched the guards corral the kender and search the scrawny creature. The search of the kender's four pockets and seven pouches revealed three pieces of rose quartz, a silver ring, two money pouches, one crochet hook, three coins, six maps, a fragment of red leather, seven balls of twine, a chunk of yellow cheese, one child's leather sandal decorated with fake gems of colored glass, half a loaf of brown bread, some metal implements that Tarscenian recognized as lock-picking tools, and a quill pen. But no double-bladed dagger.
A dwarf and two humans, uttering terrible oaths, lunged forward to retrieve the ring and money pouches.
"Oh, are you the owners?" the kender asked, brown eyes wide under his bobbing topknot. "I'm so glad I found you! You should keep better watch on your valuables, you know. Solace is full of thieves. The next person who finds your belongings might not be as honest as I am."
Despite the protests of the humans and dwarf, the temple guards gave the kender only a shake and, laughing, turned him loose. "Not likely the High Theocrat would want a thieving kender anywhere in his temple- even in the dungeons!" one guard called to another. They guffawed loudly and moved away.
Mynx was smiling, too, but sadly.
"What's wrong?" Tarscenian asked.
She turned and took Tarscenian's measure. "The kender reminds me of someone I knew once," she finally said.
"Once?"
"Hederick killed him."
Tarscenian opened his mouth to speak, but Mynx frowned. "So you want to find a thieves' ring," she said.
He inclined his head.
"With half of Erolydon on your trail, a thieves' ring would be crazy to help you."
Tarscenian remained silent.
"Still, it's clear you're no man of Hederick's," Mynx continued. "That's something in your favor. Perhaps I can introduce you to someone who could help you-for a price. But first you must show me more of this vaunted thieving skill of yours."
Tarscenian could only hope his modest magic would see him through whatever it was she had in mind. "What would you like me to steal?"
Mynx's brown eyes swept the crowd below. Then she pointed. "There. Take his badge of office-the death's-head ring."
Tarscenian followed her gaze, groaning inwardly. The man she had pointed at was Hederick's high priest. "Dahos will recognize me immediately," Tarscenian said.
"All the more challenge. Take it, or leave me alone."
Tarscenian was already on his way down the steps when he felt Mynx's gaze on his back. Remembering her warning, he slouched within his dark cloak. He might pass unnoticed, at least in this dim light. His mind raced to concoct a plan.
He bent forward and affected a confused, trembling walk, mumbling as he made his way through the crowd. He found the kender first. "Sweet creature, can you assist me?" he quavered. "I am weak and need help walking. Would you lend me your staff?" He pointed stiffly at the weaponlike, forked stick that the kender held.
The small creature gazed up. "It's not a staff, it's my hoopak. It's a weapon. And I can't lend it, but you can make me an offer anyway. My, what a huge hood! I can't even see in there. Are you human? You're certainly tall. Twice as tall as me. More than that, even. What do you-"
The kender reached up in an attempt to pull back Tarscenian's hood. The small creature's voice trailed off in a squeak a moment later as Tarscenian grasped his wrist in an iron grip. "Ouch! You're hurting…"
Tarscenian leaned over. "My back pains me, small one," he said loudly. "I need to lean upon your shoulders." Tarscenian bent closer and whispered, "Would you like to see something marvelous, kender?"
Curious, the creature stopped struggling. "What?" His brown eyes attempted to probe the depths of T
arscenian's hood.
Tarscenian spoke so softly that the kender had to strain to catch his words. "The high priest's ring is enchanted. The being who holds it can see things that ordinary mortals cannot."
"See what things?" the kender whispered.
'Into people's dwellings. Through walls, if you desire. If you stole… rather, if you 'borrowed' the ring, you could watch people, unseen. For example, you could view them as they empty their pockets at night. Think of the treasures you could behold!"
The kender's face glowed. "How exciting!"
"What is your name?"
"Kifflewit Burrthistle."
"Come with me, Kifflewit. And be still." They made their way around the periphery of the torchlight, Tarscenian leaning heavily on the kender. As they sidestepped blankets of trade goods, Tarscenian kept a strong grip on Kifflewit's right wrist, but he couldn't be certain the small creature wasn't filling his pockets with his other hand. Nevertheless, Tarscenian moved on, behind a goblin, around a pair of arguing dwarves, over a rivulet of scummy water, until he reached the young white centaur.
"Sir?" the centaur said. "Thou needest something?" He was a Crystalmir centaur, Tarscenian could see-leaner than Abanasinian centaurs, with an angular face and tilted violet eyes that appeared otherworldly beneath his shock of silver-white hair. No great intelligence shone in those eyes, but they were gentle. His face and torso were deeply tanned and muscular.
Tarscenian kept the kender behind him and made his voice tremble as much as his walk. "Please, noble creature, have you alms for an old soul? I have had no food since yesterday. I am quite weak."
Tarscenian tilted his head. He peeked out from beneath the fabric of the voluminous hood. The centaur already had opened a pouch at its waist-the point at which the human torso became horse withers-and was holding out a coin.
"Here, old man," the centaur said. "Thou needest this more than I. I can sleep anywhere, and I am surely young and strong enough to forage for my meals."
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