The Sorceress of Belmair

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?”