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. Remem shy;ber 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 pro shy;tection that a vallenwood perch would afford.

Hood up, Tarscenian stalked unnoticed through argu shy;ing 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; torch shy;light was the rule in the refugee section. The torch smoke burned his eyes, which were already strained from pierc shy;ing 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 pil shy;grims could purchase then deposit with Seeker priests to protect their immortal souls. Tarscenian gave these entre shy;preneurs 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 don shy;key 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 argu shy;ing. Other refugees stared at the hooded traveler with open hostility. Several temple guards and an equal num shy;ber 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, evi shy;dence 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"-suc shy;cession of kicks-"a favor!"