"And… ?" Eban shot back. "What's happening?"
"Nothing's happening," Olven mourned. He rested his fore shy;head on the parchment and tore a piece of white fluff from the quill pen. "Astinus said to sit here. The history would come to us, Astinus said. But it hasn't. I thought it was magic. Now I don't think so. It's just a test, and I've failed."
Eban shot a blue-eyed glance toward Marya. "How about you?"
Marya shook her head. "Same as him. Nothing. Something's not working."
"Maybe the desk is broken," Olven theorized despondently. "Or the chair."
"And you concentrated on Hederick, both of you?" Eban demanded. "The whole time?"
"Yes, on Hederick, and only Hederick," Olven and Marya said together.
Eban looked down at the parchment and then at the long crane's feather drooping from Olven's sweating hand. Most of the feathery portions had been stripped away from the quill in Olven's agitation. "Maybe that's it," Eban said. He patted Olven's shoulder, as though the red-haired youth were the elder of the two. "Let me try."
Marya snorted. "He and I have years of experience beyond yours. You're practically still a child. What could you possibly try that we haven't thought of?"
Olven groaned. "Give it up, Eban. Your willingness to help is laudable, but we're doomed." He rubbed his eyes and continued his lament. "I'm going to end up back home, selling hot potatoes and sausage from a pushcart. I just know it."
"And I'll have to go back and marry the butcher," Marya added. "He has six kids." She went white and closed her eyes for a moment. "By the gods, I'll never have time to read a book again!" She slid down the end of the bookshelf until she was seated despondently on the stone floor.
Eban ignored them both. He pulled at Olven's arm until the elder man heaved himself out of the chair and made way for the youth. One pair of black eyes and one pair of brown watched hopelessly as the youth settled against the chair's cushions, took a deep breath, let his head fall back, and appeared to go into an open-eyed trance. Eban's voice startled them then, for there was nothing dreamy about it. "Perhaps you were concentrating too narrowly," he said, "in thinking only of Hederick. History- even the story of just one person-consists of more than events that happen directly to one man. Maybe we should widen our thoughts."
As the other two watched pessimistically, the youngest member of the trio reached forward and grasped a new quill. Eban dipped the tip into a ceramic pot of black ink, placed it just above the paper, and waited. He made no sound. Olven and Marya held their breath. Soon the pen began scratching on the parchment.
Chapter 3
Two score men and women stood motionless in tbe fog, tbeir white robes clinging in the dampness. The setting could have been day or night, north or south, pinnacle or plain. The mist muted everything to colorlessness.
At the center of the circle stood the only figure wear shy;ing other than the robe of a mage. He was also the only one carrying a sword. Homespun shirt, dark shift, patched leggings, and dusty boots covered his tall frame. The man appeared to be in his seventies. Unbent and powerful despite his age, he held in his arms a woman so slender and weak that a casual observer might wonder whether she still breathed.
She was at least eighty. Yet even in her sleeping frailty, it was apparent that once she had been a great beauty. The woman, too, wore the white robes of a mage of Good.
Tarscenian held Ancilla and quietly surveyed the circle of mages around him. When he finally spoke, the fog muffled his voice.
"Ancilla argued for three days before the Conclave of Wizards," Tarscenian said, "and when they still refused to help her, she collapsed. She is weak." He paused, unwilling to say the words that would put voice to his worst fear. "She is dying."
The other mages knew Ancilla had spent decades try shy;ing to stop the fanatic Hederick from realizing his ambi shy;tion to lead the Seeker religion-and, ultimately, all of Krynn. He had installed himself as High Theocrat of Solace. Now Hederick was hoping to so impress his gods that they would admit him into their pantheon as a deity. He called himself The Chosen One and considered him shy;self the special favorite of the Seeker god Sauvay.
"Hederick has the Diamond Dragon of the White Robes," Tarscenian said.
The men and women inclined their heads. Ancilla had received the Diamond Dragon when she passed the Test that made her a white-robed mage. Hederick had taken it from her. It was a sad irony that the artifact of the White Robes now protected one such as Hederick from their magic.
"Doubtless you have tried stealing the artifact back," the elven mage Calcidon said.
Tarscenian nodded assent. "To no avail. That if hy Ancilla wanted to enlist the help of the Conclave oi .. iz-ards, including all Neutral and Evil mages."
"And the Conclave of Wizards refused her," Calcidon mused. "Even those mages allied with good."
"The White Robes were somewhat willing," Tarscen shy;ian said. "The neutral Red Robes were unsure, and the Black Robes of evil were absolutely set against any action."
Strands of mist coalesced and whirled around Tarscen-ian and the others as though the fog expressed some of their agitation.
"What interest could the Black Robes have in sup shy;porting a man who would gladly see them all burned?" Calcidon asked. "They are mages, after all. Like us, they favor the Old Gods."
The mage Benthis spoke next. "Refugees have been arriving from the far north with tales of strange armies, mercenaries, and nefarious creatures," he said. "Mino-taurs. Hobgoblins, goblins, and worse. There's no logic to the rumors, unless a source of unheard-of evil is behind such a military undertaking." Benthis looked Calcidon straight in the eyes. "An evil on the scale of a deity."
The elf frowned. "You are suggesting …"
"Takhisis herself."
"The Dark Queen!" Calcidon laughed. "Oh, surely one of the Old Gods would not intercede on Krynn . .." The elf halted, taken aback by the intent looks of the other mages. The last time the Old Gods had interceded on Krynn, the resulting debacle practically destroyed the world. Three centuries earlier, the Cataclysm had drained seas, created oceans and deserts where none had been before, and killed hundreds of thousands of humans, elves, dwarves, kender, and other beings. All because a human, the kingpriest of a faraway city, had aspired to godhood.
Calcidon, wearing a mask of elven calm, turned to Tarscenian. "The Conclave has refused to help you, but two score white-robed mages hear your tale now. What do you seek of us?"
"Hederick is slaughtering scores of mages," Tarscen shy;ian replied. "All of you have lost someone dear to Hed-erick's Inquisition."
Indeed, it was true, the mages agreed, nodding to each other. In the past three months, Hederick had leveled dozens of vallenwoods. The Solace trees were sacred to the followers of the Old Gods but merely another source of firewood to the Seekers. Hederick was employing goblins and hobgoblins as spies and assassins. The gob shy;lins in turn had enlisted other evil creatures to assist them.
On the land cleared of vallenwoods, just north of Solace on the shores of Crystalmir Lake, Hederick had built an opulent temple. The High Theocrat called the temple Erolydon, which meant "scourge of heresy" in Old Abanasinian. There Hederick had set up the head shy;quarters of his Inquisition. Anyone caught using magic was deemed a heretic, according to the Seeker faith, and thus was subject to execution, which came both swiftly and mercilessly.