Free Hederick The Theocrat by Ellen Dodge Severson

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 trying to stop the fanatic Hederick from realizing his ambition
     to lead the Seeker religionand, 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
     himself 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,” Tarscenian 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 supporting 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,”
     Tarscenian 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 goblins in turn had enlisted
     other evil