The Sorceress of Belmair (8 page)

Cinnia shrugged. “If the answers to those questions were known I should not need a powerful sorcerer for a husband,” she said.

“Who possesses magic in Belmair besides Nidhug and you?” he questioned her.

“Magic has never been an attraction for Belmairans,” Cinnia answered him. “Those who count themselves among the scholars are more interested in the history of our land. In the Academy, which is near the castle, they argue the points of our history day and night. The rest of our citizens are farmers, fishermen, artisans and merchants,” she told him. “I am useless to you, I fear.”

“Nay, you have been a great help to me. At some time, somewhere, here in Belmair, there was magic, Cinnia. I will go and speak to the members of the Academy to learn more about the history of this world in which we live. I shall be back in time for dinner, and tonight I shall expect you to share your bed with me.”

“I was quite worn after the joining,” she replied. “I am still tired, my lord.”

“What is it, Cinnia?” he asked in a gentle voice. “You may speak freely. You are my wife. Did you not enjoy the joining?”

“I did not feel in control of myself,” she told him candidly.

“Lovers are never in control of themselves, Cinnia,” Dillon said, reaching out across the rectangular table where they were sitting to take her hand in his. Turning the hand up, he kissed the palm, and then the sensitive inside of her wrist.

Cinnia colored.
“There!”
she exclaimed. “It is happening again. You touch me, kiss me and I am not myself. I am confused by it.”

“It is the same for me, as well,” he told her. “I feel the softness of your skin beneath my lips, breathe the scent of moonflowers that surrounds you, and I am lost, Cinnia. Each of us, the individual, the I becomes
we,
a single unit.”

“But I have never felt like this before!” she wailed at him. “I am…” She hesitated, but then she burst out, “Afraid! I don’t want to lose myself to you, to any man.”

“We do not lose our singleness just because we make love,” he told her. “We blend and combine our passions, Cinnia.” Then raising her hand up again, he kissed the back of it and pressed it briefly to his cheek. “I must go now,” he said, and standing up, he hurried from the library. Finding a servant he asked the way to the Academy.

“I will take you there myself, Your Majesty,” the servant said, and he led Dillon outside, over the drawbridge and down a short gravel path to a porticoed building. “There is the Academy,” the servant told him, pointing. Then he returned the way he had come, leaving Dillon standing before the building.

After a moment Dillon walked forward, and opening the door to the building he stepped inside. He was in a large foyer, and before him was a desk with an elderly man seated behind it. He stepped forward, and the man seeing him arose and bowed.

“Your Majesty,” he said. “Welcome! I am Byrd, the head librarian. How may I serve you?”

“I 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.

“Most convenient,” Prentice said to himself, and he set to work seeking out the books he would need for his research. Let the others among his kind mock his fascination with the past. With luck, his knowledge, coupled with the sorcerer’s skills, would save them all, the scholar thought almost smugly.

* * *

D
ILLON
HAD
REAPPEARED
within his own rooms. He sat down in a chair by his fireplace and began to consider other alternatives available. What if all the young women left in Belmair were gathered into a single place upon each of the world’s islands? It would certainly be easy to protect them if they were in one place. But it would also make them vulnerable to capture. Until he knew exactly what he was dealing with, or who, Dillon realized they could do nothing. Why were these women being taken? And why were only some of them being returned rather than all of them? King of Belmair, he thought wryly. His father had certainly not set him to an easy task. But then he had been becoming a little too complacent in his life, and a bit smug in his talents of late, Dillon admitted to himself. Being given this problem to solve would be a test of all he had learned over his years at Shunnar. Was he really as good a sorcerer as he believed himself to be? Well, he decided, he was certainly more powerful than his wife.

Cinnia. She was both a problem and a delight to him. She was intelligent. Of that Dillon had no doubt. But she was also prideful and stubborn. She was known as the sorceress of Belmair, but then Belmairans were not a complex people. Their descendants on Hetar were far more sophisticated. Still, they sprang from the same root stock.

Cinnia, however, was not like the women he had known. She did not seem to be in the least interested in taking pleasures with him. She had accepted the joining, but after that she held him at bay. His mother was a woman of great passion, and his sisters would follow her lead. The oldest of his sisters, Anoush, had already had at least two lovers, but she was not yet quite ready to wed. Cinnia had exhibited great passion in the joining, but since then she had been cold and distant toward him. He didn’t understand.

He was handsome. Skilled. Patient. Lustful. What more did a woman want in a lover?

He had been given a serving man, one Ferrex by name. Ferrex was neither old, nor young. He was almost as tall as Dillon; quite dignified with a totally bald pate and dark gray eyes. Now he came silently into the room, waiting patiently for his master to notice him. As Dillon seemed quite deep in thought Ferrex finally murmured, “My lord.”

The younger man looked up. “Ah, Ferrex, I have strayed from my schedule, haven’t I? Have I missed anything that I should not have?”

“Not to my knowledge, Your Majesty, but I did not hear you come in,” Ferrex said.

“More often than not I travel by magic,” Dillon explained. “It is more direct. You will not hear me come in unless I call for you. I was at the Academy speaking with Prentice, the scholar on ancient Belmair. I need to know more of your world before I can even begin to solve the problem of the missing women.”

“My niece was taken several years ago,” Ferrex said. “My sister sent her to pick berries and watercress for the meal. She never returned, and no trace of her was ever found. She was just fifteen.”

“Here on Belmair isle?” Dillon asked his servant.

“Nay, on Beldane,” Ferrex answered him.

“This is happening on all the four islands?” Dillon queried the man.

“Aye, Your Majesty. None have been spared,” Ferrex replied.

“Did you want something?” Dillon said.

“The young queen was wondering if you planned to join her for the evening meal,” Ferrex said quietly.

Dillon turned his head, and saw the sun was low on the horizon. “I did not realize how late it was,” he admitted. “Aye, go and tell Her Majesty I will join her shortly.”

“I will send your page, Your Majesty,” Ferrex said. “Then I will return to see you properly garbed for the evening.” He bowed himself from the room.

Dillon smiled to himself. With Ferrex in his employ, the king of Belmair would never appear not at his best. And when he had finally bathed and dressed, Dillon had to admit that he looked the part he suddenly found himself playing. He descended to the Great Hall in a fine ruby-colored silk robe with a keyhole neckline and wide sleeves, the turned-back cuffs of which were embroidered in red crystals and tiny black beads.