The Sorceress of Belmair. Bertrice Small

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СКАЧАТЬ am seeking the history of magic in Belmair,” Dillon said. “Do you have someone well versed in the subject?”

      Byrd thought. And he thought. Finally he said, “That would be Prentice. He concerns himself only with the obsolete in our history. He isn’t particularly well thought of that he would waste his time on the outmoded. Are you sure I couldn’t offer you another scholar? One who is more up-to-date in his thinking and his knowledge, Your Majesty.”

      “Nay, I will need to see Prentice,” Dillon replied.

      “Very well, I shall send for him,” Byrd said.

      “Nay, I will go to him,” Dillon answered. “Where is he?”

      Byrd reached into his black robes and drew forth a miniature life glass attached to a golden chain. He peered closely at it, and finally said, “At this time of day, Your Majesty, in fact at any time of day or night, Prentice can be found in his chambers, which are situated in the lower level of the building. He has no need for light or air it seems. Page!” he called, and a young boy came from the corner bowing before the two men.

      “Take His Majesty to Prentice,” Byrd told the page.

      “Thank you,” Dillon said.

      “It has been a pleasure to serve Your Majesty. It is rare for the king to take an interest in us and what we do. I am honored, and I will tell the scholars of your visit,” Byrd replied, bowing again before returning to his place behind the desk.

      Dillon followed the young page from the chamber, and down one, two, and finally a third flight of stairs. The first flight had been marble. The second was stone. The last wood. Down a dimly lit corridor they walked, and finally the page stopped before a wood door with a rounded top. He rapped upon the door several times before it was flung open by a tall, gaunt man with a shock of graying red hair. The page jumped back, frightened, and with a small cry turned and dashed back down the corridor to the stairs.

      “Well?” the man in the door demanded. “What do you want?”

      “Information,” Dillon said, amused. “You are Prentice, I assume.”

      “If it has to do with our ancient past, come in. If it doesn’t then go back from wherever you came,” Prentice said bluntly.

      Dillon bent to step through the doorway and into the scholar’s chambers. He heard the door close behind him. “I want the history of magic in Belmair,” he said, turning back around to face the scholar.

      “Who are you?” Prentice demanded to know.

      “Your king. My name is Dillon, and before you ask, nay, I am not of Belmair. I was born on Hetar. My father is Kaliq of the Shadows, and my mother, Lara, a faerie woman, Domina of Terah. And now, Master Prentice, I should like some answers.”

      “So old Fflergant is dead,” the scholar said. “He was a good king, but dull as mud. You’ve married the daughter, Cinnia? She’s a sorceress, you know.”

      “I have wed Cinnia. I’m a sorcerer,” Dillon replied. “Nidhug believes that by combining our powers we may be able to learn why the women are disappearing from your world before none are left and Belmair ceases to exist.”

      Prentice nodded. “Of course you are right, Your Majesty. Magic will be involved somehow. Sit down! Sit down! I would make you some tea, but I seem to have broken all my cups.” He shrugged. “No matter.” He sat down opposite Dillon.

      “Tea, appear. Here.” Dillon said, and at once a tray with two steaming mugs of tea and a plate of biscuits appeared upon the table between them.

      Prentice chuckled. “Thank you,” he said. “I don’t suppose you could conjure up any wood for my hearth. They are supposed to bring it to me, but seldom remember.”

      Dillon made a small gesture with his hand, and the wood basket was filled to overflowing. Then he pointed a single finger at the little hearth, and a fire sprang up.

      “Now that’s a fine, practical magic to have,” Prentice said as he picked up the mug of tea and reached for a sugar-frosted biscuit.

      “Your wood basket will never empty no matter how much wood you use,” Dillon told him. “Nor will your fire go out. Consider that a small payment in return for your knowledge.”

      “I don’t suppose you could include the tea trick, too,” Prentice said hopefully.

      Dillon chuckled. “From now on when you wish tea just tell the mug to fill itself, and it will,” he said to the scholar. “Now, tell me of magic here in Belmair.”

      “It’s been centuries since anyone except the dragon has practiced magic,” Prentice said. “Once that wasn’t so, but somewhere along the line the magic was lost to us.”

      “Were there any magic folk here in Belmair?” Dillon asked.

      “Faeries? Pixies? Gnomes? Every world has magic folk of its own.”

      “I seem to recall hearing of magic folk somewhere in our distant past, but it is not at my fingertips. Still I have the best ancient histories here in my rooms. I could seek out the knowledge that you need, Majesty. It might take a while,” he said, a languid hand waving at the shelves of books all about the room. “But I will find what it is you need to know.”

      “Then do so, my friend,” Dillon told the scholar. “The rulers of Belmair have waited for over a hundred years. I can wait a little bit longer to learn what I need to know. Can you tell me about the Hetarian exiles?”

      “Ah, now there I am quite conversant,” Prentice said eagerly.

      “Speak, but condense it for me,” Dillon told the scholar.

      “The official history taught to all the children is that those cast out of Belmair were dissidents who fought tradition and wished to make changes. Well, that is true, but there is much more to it. The old king was in his last hours. He had twin sons. Each wished to rule in their father’s place. But the dragon, in an effort to prevent these brothers from killing each other over the kingship, chose a young man from another of our aristocratic families. One of the twins accepted the dragon’s decision and swore his allegiance to the new king. But the other brother would not. Instead he attempted to change the structure of our government. When he could not he attacked the castle with his adherents. There was no other option but to banish them. We do not fight each other here in Belmair. We follow the traditions and customs of our ancestors for they are good customs and traditions. We do not want change.”

      “And yet you have gotten change,” Dillon said. “I am not Belmairan born.”

      “But the dragon is our tradition, and it is the dragon’s decision who will be king,” the scholar said. “The dragon chose you. And even I comprehend why someone from another of the worlds in the Cosmos was chosen. There was no one here in Belmair. It was that simple. And you could end up being Belmair’s last king if the problem of our lack of children isn’t solved soon, and quickly.”

      “I agree,” Dillon said. Finishing the last of the tea in his mug he stood up. “I will leave you to your work, scholar Prentice. I will come now and again without warning. Do not be frightened if I suddenly appear as I am now leaving you.” Then Dillon moved into the shadows of the chamber, and was gone.

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