The Sorceress of Belmair

by Bertrice Small

  The guard on the other side of the drawbridge greeted him. “Good morrow, scholar. What business have you here?”

  “I am Master Prentice, and I must see the king. I was told to come whenever I had found anything of note in the studies I have been commissioned to undertake at His Majesty’s request.”

  “You’re an early bird, aren’t you?” The guard chortled. “Eager to make an impression on the young king, are you? Well, go along into the Great Hall. The castle steward will arrange for your audience. His name is Britto, and he’s a good enough fellow if not perhaps just a little filled with self-importance. Do you know where it is?”

  “Thank you,” Prentice said to the guard, “aye, I think I can find it. I was in the castle about ten years ago. Nothing has changed, has it?”

  “Nay, ’tis as it ever was,” the guard said as he waved the scholar past him.

  Prentice hurried along, reaching the Great Hall shortly thereafter. “I am seeking Master Britto,” he called out, and immediately a short, plump man in dark maroon robes stepped forward, looking the scholar over as if deciding if the tall, gaunt fellow with the shock of graying red hair was worthy of his time.

  “I am Britto,” the castle steward said.

  “I am Master Prentice, the king’s personal scholar. I should like to speak with His Majesty, please, for I have news of great import for him,” the scholar said.

  “I will bear whatever news you carry to His Majesty,” Britto answered loftily.

  “I would not offend you, sir,” Prentice began, “but I have been personally commissioned by the king to look into a certain matter. I was told when I had anything of interest to report that I was to come to His Majesty directly. I know that being a man of great significance here within the castle hierarchy you will understand my position. I must bring my news first to the king himself,” Prentice said politely.

  The scholar’s tone, his manners and his obvious respect for the castle steward softened Britto’s attitude. “You’re in luck,” he said. “His Majesty rises early. He will be in the little hall having his breakfast now. I’ll take you to him.”

  “Thank you,” Prentice replied, and then hurried after the plump man, who was surprisingly quick for a fellow with such short legs. It wasn’t far, and the scholar directly found himself being ushered into another chamber where the young king sat alone at his breakfast, one servant only standing behind him.

  “My lord, the scholar Prentice,” Britto announced their visitor.

  Dillon looked up, and beckoning Prentice forward, said, “Have you eaten yet? Britto, have a plate of food brought for our guest. Sit, Prentice,” he ordered, gesturing to the chair to his left. “It must be news of some import that brings you out of your lair and into the early-morning sunshine,” the young king teased.

  For the second time that morning Prentice smiled. “Indeed, Your Majesty,” he said, climbing up onto the dais and seating himself in the appointed chair, “it is. Although of what use it will be to us I do not know.” His rheumy gray eyes lit up at the sight of the food being set before him. Eggs! He couldn’t remember the last time he had seen, let alone eaten an egg. And they were surrounded by a creamy sauce. And a generous rasher of crisp, fatty bacon. The scholar’s mouth watered as a separate plate of sweet smelling scones, warm from the oven, along with a little tub of butter and a dish of lingonberry jam was set before him. His hand trembled as he reached for the fork, but then he drew his hand away, and looked to the king. “You will want to know my news immediately, Your Majesty,” he said dutifully.

  But Dillon had seen the look in the scholar’s eyes when the food had been brought. “No, no,” he said to Prentice. “Eat your fill first, man. Food is always better hot. Belmair has waited a long time to learn what you have found out so far, and whatever else there is, it can wait a bit longer. Do they not feed you in the Academy?”

  “I am not considered among the important at the Academy,” Prentice said as he popped a forkful of eggs into his mouth. “They do remember to bring me food at least once daily. Bread. Cheese. Cold meat. A bit of beer.” The look in his eyes was blissful as he munched upon the bacon and continued to eat his eggs.

  “I’ve enchanted your tea mugs,” Dillon said with a smile. “I shall have to put a wee spell on your dinner plate. Then all you need do is ask it politely to fill itself with whatever you desire to eat when you are hungry. My mother has always believed a man’s stomach must be full and content if he is to do his best work.”

  “It would be a great kindness, Your Majesty,” the scholar said. He quickly finished his eggs and bacon and a scone and a half, washing it down with the fresh sweet cider that filled his cup. Then with a sigh he pushed the plate away. “I was awakened in the middle of the night by the knowledge that someone was in my chambers,” Prentice began.

  “Wait,” Dillon said. “I think my father and my uncle should hear this.” He called to them in their silent magical language.

  Almost immediately Kaliq appeared before the high board causing the scholar to jump in his chair. “Good morning,” Kaliq said calmly, and joined them at the high board. Immediately a servant placed a plate of food before him. The Shadow Prince nodded his thanks and began to eat.

  “I’ve called Cirillo,” Dillon said irritably. “Where in the name of the Great Creator is he? Grandmother will kill me, or make a good attempt at it, if any harm should come to him.” He lowered his voice. “He isn’t still with her, is he?”

  “They are both inexhaustible,” Kaliq murmured. “You should see the female form he has given her. Breasts like melons, and a sheath that stays as tight as a virgin’s and grips you like a vise. Ah, it was quite delightful!”

  His words had barely died when Cirillo appeared as Kaliq had, in a small puff of smoke. “Good morning!” he said cheerfully. He had the look of a large cat that had just devoured a plump capon, and a dish of stewed mice in cream.

  “Join us,” Dillon said. “The scholar has had an interesting night. Possibly in its own way as interesting as yours.” He chuckled.

  Cirillo laughed, and came up to sit down at the high board.

  Dillon turned to the scholar, who had been busying himself polishing off the rest of the scones and jam. “Continue on, Master Prentice. Begin at the beginning.”

  “I was awakened in the middle of the night by the certainty that someone was in my chambers,” the scholar said. “I demanded the intruder show himself to me but instead it cried out to me, ‘Where are my books?’ I continued to insist that my unwelcome visitor reveal himself to me, but he eluded me, and continued to demand I give him his books. I said that any books in the Academy belonged to the Academy and as a scholar I was entitled to have and read them. But the voice continued in an agitated manner to demand the books.”

  “Further proof, if further proof was needed, that there is magic at work here,” Kaliq said. “Continue on with your tale, scholar, for surely there is more to this.”

  “Indeed, my lord, there is,” Prentice answered. “I had finally located from where the voice was coming. It was under the table itself, and so I fetched my broom. When the voice threatened me with bodily harm I swiped my broom back and forth beneath the table several times. There was a shriek! I caught a glimpse of…of…I can’t believe I really saw what I saw, Your Majesty, my lords,” the scholar said helplessly.

  “What do you think you saw?” Kaliq asked him.

  “It was an eye, my lord. A black pupil in a gold iris. And it
had yellow legs with red boots that came to its knees. Am I mad that I saw such a thing?” Prentice asked them.

  “It was the guardian eye from the forbidden chamber!” Cirillo said excitedly.

  “It had to have reported what happened to its masters, and they sent it to find the volumes you took from that little room,” Dillon said.

  “But who are they?” Prentice said.

  “I may know.”

  They turned to find Cinnia had entered the little hall. She joined them at the high board, seating herself next to Dillon. “In my own readings,” she began, “I came across several references to the Yafir. From what I can gather they are a clan of magical beings who can bring great blessings upon those they favor, or great destruction upon those who displease them. My lord Kaliq, do you know of such beings?”

  He nodded. “I do,” he said. “First, scholar, tell me what happened to the guardian eye?”

  “It ran across my chamber as fast as it could, and then disappeared in a puff of smoke,” Prentice said. “It was a sight such as I have never seen, nor hope to again.”

  “Who are these Yafir?” Cinnia wanted to know. “Are they indeed magic?”

  “They are indeed magical,” Kaliq spoke. “And they are a race of faeries. We—the magical community—believed them extinct centuries ago. They are a very volatile species. They could be the kindest of the kind, bringing prosperity and blessings upon those they loved. Set a bowl of fresh milk, fresh bread and berries out for them in the evening, and if they accepted your offering good fortune would smile upon you. But gain their enmity, and they would visit all manner of bad luck upon you.”

  “From what I have found in my readings,” Cinnia said, “they lived here in Belmair at one time. Could they be those referred to in later writings as the wicked ones? And what happened to them?”

  “I recall reading about them in mother’s library,” Cirillo said. “At one time they inhabited many worlds, but for one reason or another they left those worlds.”

  “They left,” Kaliq said quietly, “either because they were driven out, or because they became dissatisfied with the worlds in which they lived. It’s been centuries since they have been heard of in any world. Belmair would appeal to them because it is a small, orderly world whose people are peaceful, and who wish no strong contact or ties with other worlds. The history that mentions the wicked ones being asked to leave says nothing further. Is it possible that the Yafir did not go, but rather secreted themselves from the eyes of the Belmairans, causing them to believe that they did depart?”

  “But how are we to find out?” Dillon wanted to know.

  “Have you not been taught finding spells?” Kaliq said.

  “I think we must first learn why Belmair wanted these Yafir to leave our world,” Cinnia said quietly. “The answer has to be somewhere within the books Prentice has.”

  “But if it isn’t?” Dillon asked.

  “It has to be,” Cinnia insisted. “It is a part of our history. Perhaps we are looking in the wrong place for these answers.”

  “Explain,” the Shadow Prince said sharply.

  “We are seeking answers to why the Yafir and the Belmairans disagreed in the magic books. What if those answers are not in the magic books, but rather in our ancient histories? The situation is, after all, history, not necessarily magic. And how can you find answers if you don’t know the questions? Until today, we didn’t,” Cinnia said.

  Kaliq suddenly looked at the girl with new respect. “You are right!” he said.

  And Dillon laughed. “We have looked at this situation through the eyes of magic and complicated it. Cinnia’s commonsense approach has simplified it for us.”

  “You do not have the answers yet,” Cinnia told them. “I have only posed a what-if to you.” She turned to the scholar. “If I show you the books in which I found my reference to the Yafir, do you think you can pinpoint the historical era? Only then can we begin to seek the answers we need.”

  “Show me the book in which you read about the Yafir,” Prentice said. “I will date it for you, and then find the volumes we are going to need.”

  “Come with me, then, back to the Academy,” Cinnia said.

  “Let me transport you. It’s quicker, and we do not want to attract interest among the other scholars, or anyone who might be watching,” Dillon said to his wife.

  “Aye, ’tis better. Stand next to me, Prentice, and take my hand,” Cinnia said, and no sooner than he had they found themselves standing again in the midst of the scholar’s cluttered chamber. Cinnia went immediately to where she remembered the stack of books being, and when she reached out her hand the pile appeared. She lifted a small volume from the top. “Here is the book where the Yafir are mentioned.” She opened it carefully, for the pages were thin and delicate, and handed it to Prentice.

  Drawing his spectacles from his robe he began to carefully look over the small book. Finally he nodded. “The book is written by the well-known Belmairan scholar, Calleo, who lived in the time of King Napier the IX, who reigned over Belmair nearly forty centuries ago.”

  “Then we must look into the history of Napier IX’s reign,” Cinnia said.

  “It was a long reign as I recall it,” Prentice said. “Over ten centuries, my lady. We will have to look through my library for books concerning that reign. I will have most of them here in my rooms, for such ancient history is not thought useful by those here today.”

  For the next several days Cinnia spent her time with the scholar poring through shelves and shelves of books, seeking the histories that concerned the reign of Napier IX. Prentice was not an orderly man. Their search would have been easier had he kept the books according to eras or reigns, but he did not. They were scattered here and there upon the shelves, floors and tables. Cinnia cleared one end of the great rectangular table in the scholar’s front chamber. And it was here that they began to pile the books covering the reign of Napier IX. When they had close to one hundred books Cinnia deemed she and the scholar should begin reading.

  For the next several weeks they devoted their waking hours to reading through the histories. Most nights in the dim chamber she would lose track of the time, and Dillon would grow tired of waiting for her to appear for the evening meal. He would then bring her home by the use of his magic, setting her down into her seat at the high board where for a moment of two she would look startled, before commencing to eat.

  One evening, as Cinnia adjusted to finding herself at her dinner table and not at the scholar’s table, she apologized to her husband. “I am so intrigued by this mystery, I must solve it,” she told him. They were alone, Kaliq and Cirillo having returned to Hetar until they would be needed again.

  “We will solve it, my queen,” Dillon promised her.

  “What do you do while I am with Prentice all day?” she asked him, curious.

  “I have the affairs of our world to administer, for unlike Hetar and Terah you have no counsel to advise your king. Perhaps in the future we will change that,” he said. “And I must build my stores of medicines, tinctures, potions and spells. When my father transported my possessions from Shunnar much of what I had was left behind in my little apothecary, for he forgot that room was mine,” Dillon told her. “Britto found me a fine apartment in one of the castle towers. It has two rooms—one with a small hearth and a window, and the other an interior space where I can dry the plants Ferrex and I have been gathering these fine summer days while you have been reading in
Prentice’s dusty rooms.” He smiled at her. “I have been able to duplicate some rather lovely lotions that are used to inspire lovers. They must age until winter, however.”

  “You have occupied your time well,” Cinnia said with a smile. “I have read and read and read about the reign of Napier IX, but so far it is just different versions of the same tale. And there is no mention at all of the Yafir. I am fast becoming discouraged. Have you seen Nidhug at all?”

  “It seems she enjoyed my uncle’s company more than she realized she had, and now she misses it,” Dillon responded. “It is usual for the women who become his lover to fall in love with him, but I think our dragon has, too.”

  “Poor Nidhug,” Cinnia said softly.

  “Don’t feel sorry for her,” Dillon told his young wife. “I think she is enjoying the pain of their separation. And he’ll be back. He admitted to me before he returned home that he grew quite fond of Nidhug. I do not think I have ever heard Cirillo admit to loving any creature, even his mother. He is quite typical of his race. Highly sexed and selfish. But charming. Now eat your supper, my queen. You look tired.”

  “I am,” Cinnia admitted. “And I am discouraged, but I know I am right. If we can learn what caused the breach between Belmair and the Yafir I am certain we can heal it. But then I wonder if the Yafir are the ones responsible for the disappearance of our women, and I wonder why they are taking them,” she said.

  Almost ten days later Cinnia found part of her answer, a first reference to the dispute between the Yafir and the Belmairans. It was referred to in the history she was reading as the Great Controversy. But there was no explanation of the quarrel other than by name, and that the wicked ones had been requested to leave Belmair. Knowing now what she was seeking, she found several more references to the Great Controversy, but before she could declare some small piece of the puzzle solved she needed to be able to ascertain that the Yafir were the wicked ones. Finally in a yellowed scroll she discovered what was probably one of the first references written about this imbroglio.