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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 wearing 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 trying to stop the fanatic Hederick from realizing
his ambition 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 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
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