The Sorceress of Belmair (21 page)

“Can you tell me about Dreng?” Dillon asked Nidhug.

“A good man, not overly intelligent, but ambitious. As you know he was disappointed when you were chosen to be Belmair’s king. It put an end to his ambitions in that direction. But he is a loyal man,” the dragon said as she flew.

“And the others?” Dillon inquired.

“Tullio of Beldane is an intellectual. He is apt to examine an issue a bit too closely and a bit too long, but he always comes to the right decision. Alban of Belia is a good fellow. Intelligent, and with a fine sense of humor. You will probably like him the best of the three on closer acquaintance,” Nidhug informed Dillon. “Now settle yourself down, my lord. We have a ways to go.”

Dillon took the dragon’s advice. He closed his eyes and contemplated how he would approach Belmair’s dukes. Each would require a different approach if he was to gain their trust and cooperation quickly. Now that the Yafir knew that the king of Belmair was aware of their existence, who knew what mischief they would create. He wanted to make peace with them. He wanted to trust them. But had too many centuries passed for the breach between them to be healed? Only time would tell him the answer. He knew that he could destroy the Yafir if he had to, but the destruction of an entire faerie race would weigh heavily upon his conscience. He smiled to himself. Another tiny bit of his mortal blood showing, Dillon thought. Faeries did not have such troublesome traits as a conscience. He was not certain it was an integral part of his Shadow blood, either. He hoped there was a way to pacify the Yafir, but he also knew that sometimes no matter how hard one tried, peace could not be gained by any other method than force. He wondered if a time would ever come when that rule no longer held.

He was surprised when he heard Nidhug announce, “There is Beltran on the horizon now, Majesty.”

Looking in the direction in which they traveled he watched as the faint smudged line ahead of them grew larger and more distinct as they moved steadily toward it. Eventually he could see that the land rolled gently, and was heavily forested. And on the highest hill in the exact center of Beltran was a large building in the shape of a quadrangle, which, as Nidhug was making directly for it, Dillon assumed was the home of Duke Dreng, lord of Beltran. As they grew closer and began their descent he could see what appeared to be tiny figures, who grew larger with each passing minute, running about the courtyard of the building, pointing up.

As they landed Nidhug called out, “Fetch a ladder, for King Dillon is with me!”

Hearing this there was a great rush for the requested ladder, but Dillon noted that one servant separated himself from the others, and dashed madly into the building. The young king smiled, amused. He wondered if Dreng could reach the courtyard before he had climbed down from Nidhug’s back. The ladder was brought, and Dillon pushed himself from the small passenger pouch on the dragon’s back and climbed slowly down its rungs. Reaching the bottom, he turned to find a red-faced Duke Dreng awaiting him.

“Welcome to Beltran, Your Majesty!” the duke greeted Dillon, holding out his big, rough hand. “We were not expecting you. No messenger was received in advance of your arrival.” Dreng sounded slightly out of breath as if he had been running. He was a stocky man with a balding head on top although the rest of his hair was shoulder length.

“The matter that brings me to Beltran, and will also take me to Beldane and Belia, is of such importance, my lord, that I wasted no time in coming. This is not an official or a state visit. Belmair is in grave danger, and I will want the aid of my dukes in solving the problems that lie ahead of us,” Dillon said gravely as he shook the duke’s hand.

Dreng’s look was immediately concerned. “Come in, come in then, Your Majesty!” he said. “Whatever help I may render is yours.” The duke led Dillon into his home. A pretty woman came forward, and Dreng introduced her. “This is Amata, my wife. My dear, the king.”

Amata curtseyed deeply. “You are most welcome to Beltran, Your Majesty,” she said, smiling. “Your presence honors us.”

Raising Amata up Dillon kissed her on both of her cheeks. “Your hospitality honors me,” he replied in return.

“I have ordered that the Great Dragon be fed and offered a place to rest after your long journey,” Amata said.

“Thank you,” Dillon replied with a smile.

“My dear, the king and I have important business to discuss,” Dreng said. “We will be in my library, and should not be disturbed.” Without a further word he led Dillon down a wide hall with windows on one side, and into a comfortable library. “Sit down, Your Majesty. Let me get us some wine.” He quickly poured two goblets, and then joined the king by the hearth.

“I will not waste your time,” Dillon began. “Do you recall a legend about a faerie race called the Yafir, and their banishment from Belmair aeons ago?”

“Hmm,” Dreng said. “A faerie race? It was not taught in our history of Belmair when I was a lad. And they were banished from Belmair? For what reason? Is it of import to us, Majesty? Why?”

“How many young women have been stolen from Beltran this year?”

The duke considered a long moment, and then he said, “I should have to consult with the Committee for Missing Maidens, Majesty, but I can tell you that one of my granddaughters, Namia, is among them. She was only fourteen, and as fair a maid as you could imagine. Why do you ask?”

“Do you know how many marriages have been celebrated in Beltran this year?” Dillon pursued the issue further.

“Again, Majesty, I should have to consult with the Keeper of Marriage Records,” the duke said. “But there have surely been few as our young women keep disappearing.”

“King Napier IX of Belmair banished the Yafir because they dared to ask for one hundred marriageable maidens each new year. The Yafir are a small group, and they had few women. Their women were dying off or past their childbearing years. If they were to survive they needed brides for their men. But King Napier IX refused them, and told them they must leave Belmair. For him, and for the citizens of Belmair, that was the end of it,” Dillon explained to his host.

“King Napier IX was right to refuse to give our women to a faerie race,” Dreng said, completely forgetting the new king’s bloodline.

Dillon smiled sardonically. To remind this duke of just who his king was would only embarrass him, and possibly even make an enemy of him. He was trying to bring peace to Belmair, not open hostilities on another front. Pushing his own anger at the duke’s stupidity aside, he said, “Perhaps the Yafir should have applied to other faerie races for wives, but they did not. Nor did they depart Belmair. They took the women they needed for wives from among the Belmairans, and are here among us to this day,” Dillon informed Dreng. “It is the Yafir who have been stealing Belmair’s maidens.”

Dreng’s square jaw dropped open at this revelation. “
They did not leave?
But they were commanded to leave by a Belmairan king. Are you certain, Majesty? Forgive me, for I do not mean to question your word, but how can you know this is so?”

“My uncle made a summoning spell and brought their leader, Ahura Mazda, to my castle where we spoke. He admits to stealing Belmair’s women over the centuries that have past. He has said he intends to keep on doing it. When I asked why it was necessary to continue kidnapping our women, he explained that while excellent breeders, Belmairan women produce more sons than daughters. And so a constant new supply of women is necessary at all times,” Dillon said. “When I explained to Ahura Mazda that this practice had practically decimated our own female population, that we didn’t have enough women for Belmairan men to wed, that fewer children were being born and our own population was being decimated, this Yafir laughed. He said in that case, Belmair would one day belong to the Yafir.”

“The fellow is too bold by far,” Dreng huffed. “You must tell him to take his people and leave Belmair. The women he has stolen may go with them for they have been contaminated by their Yafir husbands and lovers. They can never again be a part of our world, or our society.”

“It is not that simple, my lord,” Dillon said. Nidhug was right. Dreng wasn’t particularly intelligent. He swallowed the urge to turn the duke into a bug and stomp upon him. “Their numbers could in this age be equal to ours, or even surpass ours. They have lived with us, whether you were aware of them or not, for centuries too many to number. Other than stealing Belmair’s women they have been good neighbors. We must find a way to solve this problem peacefully, and to protect the women we have left while we are doing it. My uncle is now working upon a protection spell to keep our females safe from the Yafir. As soon as it is perfected we will use it. It may require gathering all the women in each of the duchies together in one place in each province.

“I came to you today, and will go on to Beldane and Belia, to inform you and your fellow dukes of this situation, and so that you be prepared to act when you are required to do so. There is still much we do not know. We do not know how the Yafir lure the women away. We do not know where they make their own homes. And the danger is greater now than ever before, for the Yafir know that we are aware of them and what they have been doing. You need magic to fight magic, Dreng. The Yafir are magic, but then so am I, and my fair queen has been taught certain magic, too, by the dragon,” Dillon said. “We will solve this problem to everyone’s satisfaction, I promise you.”

Duke Dreng shook his head. He resembled a confused bear at this moment.

“What will you do, Majesty, to save Belmair?” he asked.

“I am not entirely certain yet,” Dillon answered him candidly. “But know this, I will not allow Belmair to fall into the hands of the Yafir.”

Dreng nodded. “What are we to do in the meantime, Majesty?”

“You must advise every household in Beltran to watch their young women closely,” Dillon told him. “Never let them be alone.”

There was a soft rap upon the library door.

“Enter!” the duke said, and the door opened to reveal the lady Amata.

“Will you come into the hall, Majesty, and take the midday meal with us?” she invited him with a sweet smile.

She was, Dillon ascertained, a second wife, for she was much younger than the duke. “Thank you, my lady,” he replied. “I will admit to hunger having left Belmair at sunrise. I did not think to eat beforehand.” Nay, his last meal had been with Cinnia the previous night when they had made such incredible love. He missed her already, and thought he could still smell the elusive and seductive fragrance she wore deep within his nostrils. He almost sighed aloud.

“Will you stay the night?” Dreng asked his guest when they were seated at the duke’s high board and being offered bowls, platters and plates of food.

“Thank you, but nay. Nidhug and I must reach Belia today. I will spend the night there, and then tomorrow visit Beldane before returning home. I do not like leaving Cinnia, and have never since our marriage been away from her.”

“Have you come to love her then?” the lady Amata asked softly, ignoring her husband’s fierce look.

Dillon smiled warmly at the young woman, who obviously loved her big, bluff lord. “Aye,” he admitted. “I love my queen. I have known enough women in my lifetime to realize what a treasure I have in her.”

The lady Amata smiled back at her king. “I am so glad,” she said. “A life without someone to love is a great tragedy.”

“Woman, you talk too much,” Dreng scolded her.

“Nay, she is right,” Dillon replied. “You are fortunate in your own wife, my lord duke. Forbid not her words. They are wise.”

Dreng looked exceedingly pleased at the young king’s pronouncement.

The meal was simple, but well cooked and seasoned. The wine was rich and flavorful. When it was concluded Dillon arose, saying to his host and hostess, “I must leave you now, my lord duke. My lady Amata. I thank you for your hospitality. Share what I have told you, Dreng, with you wife and your counselors. I will send you word as we progress. Nidhug will bring it herself.”

“Thank you, Majesty, for coming to Beltran with this news yourself. I see now that the dragon was sagacious when she chose you to follow Fflergant as our king.” Duke Dreng bowed low as his wife curtseyed to Dillon.

He took up the lady’s hand and kissed it, smiling at her blush. Then escorted by the duke he returned to the courtyard. The ladder was brought, set against Nidhug and Dillon quickly climbed up, settling into the small pouch that had been provided for him. “Farewell, my lord duke,” he said, bidding Dreng goodbye as Nidhug, unfurling her lacy golden wings, rose up, up, up, into the afternoon sunshine.

Within minutes the dragon was out over the blue sea again. “Well,” she said, “I hope the meal you were fed was better than mine. First those fools offered me hay and oats. When I told them I did not eat such fodder, for I was not a horse or cow, they brought me live creatures, all squawking and howling.” She shook her head. “I told them to take the poor creatures away, and bring me food from their kitchens. You should see the slops I was served. It was fit only for the pigs. I can only hope that Alban keeps a better table,” she grumbled.

“Reduce your size then when we arrive, and come into his hall with me,” Dillon suggested. “You will sit at the high board, and eat what I eat.”

“How did Dreng take your news?” Nidhug wanted to know.

“Surprised, of course, but very Belmairan. He thought the Yafir were only legend, for he hadn’t been taught of them when he was a boy,” Dillon said. “He is, of course, astounded that the Yafir might easily take Belmair from us. But understanding, he stands ready to cooperate when we know what we can do to protect the women. His wife is a pretty girl. Not his first, I am assuming.”

“Nay, his first wife, the lady Lygia, died several years ago. I had heard he had remarried,” Nidhug said.

“Sweet and soft-spoken,” Dillon said with a small chuckle, “but I suspect she gets her way with him easily. A man should have a loving woman like that to care for him.”

“You are a romantic fellow, my king,” the dragon noted. “But given your heritage I should not be surprised.” She grew silent as they flew on toward Belia.