The Steward and the Sorcerer by James Peart (small books to read .TXT) 📗

He shook his head slowly in self-admonition.  The Faerie Archives.  Of course.  It stood to reason if it were a thing from another age, perhaps it went as far back as the age of Faerie.  If not, the Archives might yet have some mention of its kind, their lineage, the power they possessed...

He walked quickly to the South End of the keep, past the Rooms of Reflection and the private study chambers on the ground floor, where once individuals had read giant tomes on magic and had conducted investigations into sorcery in a time when there had been many Druids.  The last of their kind had passed on more than a hundred years ago and until now had taken knowledge of the Dark Arts with them into the netherworld.

He stopped at the bottom of the South Tower and inspected the floor’s stone-flagged surface.  There was a metal ring at the edge of one square flag, about the size of Daaynan’s hand, hooped through a section of the stone.  He got down and gripped it, dragging it upwards and the flag with it.  Beneath was a set of narrow steps that led down into darkness.  He cupped one hand slowly and in the centre of his palm a gentle flame sprang to life, illuminating the stairs and a section of a narrow passageway that lay at the foot of them.  Walking forward with one raised hand, he negotiated the steps and passageway until he came to a fork.  After deliberating a moment, he chose the right-hand corridor and followed down it to its conclusion at a thick door made of oak and hinged with metal.  There was a combination of metal studs embedded in the wood at the level of his head.  Instead of inserting a key and turning a handle, you needed to press the studs in the correct sequence to gain access to the room beyond.  He remembered the code from his druidic teachings.  This was the vault that contained books comprising the Archives of the Netherworld and tomes from the age of Faerie.  If he were looking for an answer to his current problem, he told himself, he would find it here.  He pressed the buttons in order and the door swung inward on its hinges, making barely a sound as it did despite the number of years it had been in existence.  There was magic at work here, he knew, preserving what was kept in this room and beyond.

Facing him were rows and rows of shelves containing books, some of them fitted beneath arches that led into other rooms that stretched in different directions, lending the place the appearance of a honeycombed catacomb. There were no signs over any of the arched entrances indicating where what was filed, yet Daaynan ignored this oversight, walking through a series of entryways until he stood in a chamber that was somewhat larger than those around it with rows of shelves constructed in a circle around him on at least ten different levels.

This was where the Faerie Archives were stored.  His eyes cast around the room for a long moment and he took several books from their perches, examining each one, sometimes lending the pages they contained a cursory skim, reading others in more detail.  There was mention of the world of Faerie, of the location now known as Fein Mor before it had become a Druid keep, and of other locations, some of them indistinct, others recognizable in the writings as what they were today. He spent a long time in the chamber, hours running into days, pouring over chapters of various books, unmindful of the passing of day into night and day again, until finally he had what he was looking for.  He closed the book he was balancing in one hand, the other hand that provided the light he needed beginning to weaken, the flame thinning and flickering.

Could this be true, he wondered?  He marvelled at such a thing, at his thinking which had been so wrong.  He wondered at the approach he must now make, and yet at the same time he knew it was the right move.  He would need to make the right preparations yet he was confident this was possible.

Despite his certainty it was not until late the next day when he left the castle.

He emerged outside the keep from one of the central passageways near to the main entrance where the creature stood, his real self this time and not some projected illusion.  The creature seemed to sense this and upon seeing him lowered its hood.  He saw in its features his own face projected back at him yet as he looked the being’s face changed, becoming something of what it really was.  So, it knew, he thought.  Its true face was finely wrought, small boned, almost delicate.  Its facial skin was like a fine, gossamer fabric that clung to its bones, its grey hair spilling back from its forehead in thin spools that spun halfway down its back.  It smiled at him, its bloodless lips parting in a yawing split, an eerie sight that might cause some to draw back despite themselves but Daaynan did not flinch.  Instead he continued his approach, his hands by his sides, not signalling any form of attack, just watching the creature as it seemed to measure every step he took, taking everything in.

He made no attempt at communicating with it.  This was practically impossible at any rate, requiring months of study he did not have.  Better for him that he approached things this way.

When he came within yards of the Faerie it lifted its arms, releasing a blood-curling shriek, and yellow fire came lancing from the tips of its fingers toward the Druid, searing in the heat of the evening air as it travelled.  Daaynan made no move either to deflect or intercept the attack yet kept walking toward it.  The Faerie crouched to a gnomish squat, the