His rooms faced Crystalmir Lake, and at this time of day, the surroundings were quiet enough that the slightest sound carried. Somewhere, a horse-drawn wagon rattled over the cobblestones of the eastern courtyard. The scents of daytime began to assail Hederick; the smell of a roast shy;ing side of beef-a gift from a follower-brought saliva to the Theocrat's mouth. Two gnomes argued somewhere. Diverting creatures, Hederick conceded-much like otters. But unclean. They must be outside the gates; Hed shy;erick allowed only humans inside the temple.
"Impure," he muttered, "unblessed by the New Gods."
He felt a familiar wave of piety swell into prayer. "Oh, Motherlord, I will prove myself worthy. In the name of the New Gods, I will rid Krynn of the unclean. Of elves and half-elves and dwarves and gnomes. Of weavers of hereti shy;cal charms. Of witches-of anyone who dares gather the waning powers of the Old Gods to cast their spells! This again I vow!" He sat up and pounded one fist into an open hand.
When the New Gods eventually spoke and named him, Hederick, their chief emissary on Krynn, he would have his revenge-on Highseeker Elistan, on the Old Gods, on Ancilla if she still lived, on everyone. His advanced years would not matter; no doubt the New Gods would reward him with eternal life.
A burst of laughter floated up from the kitchens- coarse female laughter. Women from the poor sections of Solace were allowed inside portions of Erolydon late at night to empty chamber pots and perform the basest cleaning.
Hederick saw the disgusting scullery wenches in his mind's eye-tall, lustful women with knowing eyes, tawdry clothing barely covering breasts and buttocks, legs bare, sandaled feet permanently rimed with dirt. They would be joking as they worked, raising their voices in filthy insinuations as though they hoped to provoke Hed shy;erick, back in the sanctity of his rooms. He could hear them; he could always hear them, even when they were far away.
Sometimes, piqued by a particularly vile exchange, he ordered the entire lot whipped by Erolydon's guards. The guards knew their trade well, but the women would return, apparently undaunted, the next night to scrub the day's dirt from Erolydon and collect their meager wages. In these times, a paying job was not to be abandoned for a mere beating.
The darkness in Hederick's room gave way to gray, although the sun had not yet risen. He heard guards ush shy;ering the women out through the gates. Cursing beneath his breath, Hederick stood and rearranged his damp robe around his thick body. He padded barefoot across the tile floor to his prayer table and sat stiffly on the carved gran shy;ite block that served as a bench. Closing his eyes, grasping each wrist with the opposite hand, and folding his arms in his lap in the manner decreed by the Praxis, Hederick bowed his head and began his morning devotions.
"O New Gods who inhabit the skies above us, hear my prayer," he intoned. "The day begins, and the first thoughts of this faithful follower are of you."
He raised his voice, aware that priests and novitiates would pass his door, hear him, and know that the High Theocrat was communing with the gods. "You are the true gods, ascending at last to your rightful position over the false gods of the past, whose speciousness was re shy;vealed by the devastation of the Cataclysm more than three centuries ago.
"Cadithal, God of Wealth, may we receive your loving glance today. Zeshun, Goddess of Material Things, may you shower your benefits upon those of piety who deserve them. Ferae, Goddess of Beasts and Flying Things, may you make the land bountiful so that we may praise your munificence by our enjoyment of your gifts.
"Sauvay, Supreme God of Power and Vengeance and Fatherlord of All the Lesser Pantheon, may you accept the loving attentions of your Krynn-bound disciple, Heder shy;ick, and declare him as worthy as a son."
The High Theocrat halted. Had he implied that the blood of the New Gods flowed in his own mortal veins? Did he, Hederick, dare to believe that he was a god? Surely that was blasphemy of the deepest conceit. And certainly it would not sit well with the Motherlord.
He had departed from the ritual words. Hederick vowed to do an act of penance today. "Order is the great shy;est good," he reminded himself. "And self-control is the first step toward order."
Where had he left off in the prayers? And when had the incense gone out?
He exclaimed, pulled a perfumed stick from a porcelain container, and hurried to the fireplace, where he lit the scented twig upon an ember. Such was the discipline of the High Theocrat that even on the hottest days of sum shy;mer, the fire was not allowed to go out.
Hederick closed his eyes. "Sauvay, Supreme God of Power and Vengeance and Fatherlord of the Lesser Pan shy;theon, may you accept the sadly inadequate attentions of your High Theocrat, Hederick, and declare his pitiful gifts worthy of you, Great One."
Was that better? The Theocrat clutched his silk robe to his chest and plunged on. "… Father of the Lesser Pan shy;theon, may you accept…"
Had he repeated himself?
Where was Dahos, by the New Gods? Certainly some shy;one must have told him by now that Hederick was awake.
Where was he in the devotion?
Hederick's palms were slick, and a trickle of perspira shy;tion caused his robe to cling more tightly around him. He'd gone unbathed for nearly a day. Nausea tightened its grip. There'd be no swallowing his breakfast until he was sure he'd scrubbed every pore. And if Erolydon's occupants-those not already fasting in the wake of the witch Norah's death-had to wait until midmorning to break their fast today, such was the price of a disciplined religious life.
No one, priest or novitiate, broke their fast until the High Theocrat did. Hunger brought holy thoughts.
Yet the thought of food made his stomach rumble. Per shy;haps it would not be necessary to offer praise to the entire host of Seeker gods this morning, he thought.
He couldn't remember having opened his eyes- another departure from routine-but his gaze was fixed now on the items that lined his prayer table: his incense pallet, a flat piece of blue-glazed tile the size and shape of a maple leaf, with a hole that held the twig steady; a shal shy;low bowl in which he laid the most precious of conse shy;crated gifts before consigning them to the treasury; and a sky-blue velvet cloth.
"Blessed be the New Gods," he murmured.
He'd lost track of the litany again. Hederick closed his eyes. "… Father of the Lesser Pantheon, may you accept. . ." No-he'd finished with Sauvay. The High Theocrat gratefully moved into the traditional closing. "In the name of the mightiest of gods, whose ascendancy is surely close at hand, and who will restore order to this chaotic world and ensure salvation in the next, I, your lowest of servants …"
Omalthea. The Motherlord, the unbending one who could not, according to lore, be placated by anything less than a soul. He'd forgotten her!
In Hederick's darkest terrors, he'd imagined that the creatures who'd tracked him through numberless night shy;mares bore, not Ancilla's likeness, but the visage of Omalthea. '
"Your servant has transgressed deeply and humbly begs your patience." Sweat poured down Hederick's face. The heat in the room seemed to triple with the rising sun.
His robe stuck to him like mucilage. His fingers clenched the incense stick. Hederick closed his eyes tightly and inhaled a whiff of lily of the valley. In his agitation, the words of the prayer ran into each other. "Omalthea Supreme Motherlord of the Pantheons praise be always to you and know that I your abject servant will always hold you in the highest reverence joyfully offering even my pitiful life and paltry position in the afterlife to you if they please you."
He waited. Would she strike him dead? His thoughts fluttered like the wings of a moth, darted to his beloved Erolydon. He'd designed every engraved stone, every val-lenwood-paneled hall, every drainage canal and secret passageway.
Hederick bowed his head lower until his forehead touched the blue cloth on the prayer table. "Omalthea's will be done," he whispered. "I am hers to destroy."
Hederick's muscles twitched with tension. Eventually he lifted his head from the velvet and the cool stone. He still lived. The ceiling was intact. No claws had torn into his flesh.
He opened his eyes. Several novitiates began a Seeker hymn as they worked on the lawn outside his quarters. The sun was barely visible.
"We greet the day
In praise of the New Gods.
We labor in their honor.
We praise the new day.
All praise, all praise
The glory of the New Gods."
Ancilla had sung a version of that tune as she cleared the dishes from the table in the morning, back in Garlund. How old had he been-barely two? Hederick closed his eyes. The past, like always, threatened to sweep over him like a wave washing him out to sea.
Then, with an oath, he started. The past was behind him.
Dawn services, he thought. Discipline.
Dahos would be lost without him.
Hederick hurried from the chamber.
Chapter 14
The sound of the rock scraping back from the entrance started Tarscenian into wakefulness. He was alert and standing by the time the half-elf Gaveley entered the den. Mynx sat at the table, her expression unreadable.
Gaveley was dressed in the fashion of a pampered noble-snowy white silk shirt, tight green leather leg shy;gings, and fawn-colored kidskin boots. He stopped dead in his tracks when he spotted Tarscenian. His almond-shaped, hazel eyes flicked to Mynx, then back to the tall traveler.