The Sorceress of Belmair

3

“MY SON IS WHERE?” Lara, Domina of Terah, said.

It was afternoon in the desert palace of Shunnar. The private garden of the prince was hot, and the heady fragrance of damask roses hung heavy in the air. Along a wall decorated by a stand of tall hollyhocks in reds, pinks, yellows, peach and lavender, several small green birds hovered over the blossoms, their tiny wings beating furiously as their long beaks sipped nectar from the flowers. The garden’s fountain tinkled soothingly, the sunlight giving the arc of spray from it a rainbow appearance.

“Dillon is now the king of Belmair,” Kaliq said quietly.

“Why is my son king of a nebulous world of which I know less than nothing?” Lara demanded of him. “I recall my mother mentioning it briefly many years ago. She said the magic kingdoms call the great sky the Cosmos, and that there were other worlds within it, and the star we call Belmair was one. I could hardly conceive it then. And now you tell me my son is no longer in our world? That he is there?”

“Dillon was needed, and it was his fate to be there,” Kaliq said. “The dragon needed him, Lara, my love.”

“The dragon?” Her voice had risen at least a full octave. “What dragon?”

“The Great Dragon of Belmair, Nidhug,” Kaliq replied. “You must calm yourself, my love, for all is well. Dillon is exactly where he should be at this time.”

“You had no right to steal my son and send him to some other world in this Cosmos of yours!” Lara cried. “Why, at least, did you not tell me first? I have always trusted you, Kaliq. Why did you feel it was necessary to do this without speaking to me beforehand? You know how much I love Dillon.” Her beautiful green eyes were filling with tears. “Will I ever see him again?” Her voice had begun to quaver just slightly.

Kaliq put his arms about her. She was, he thought sadly to himself, as beautiful, as vulnerable, as compelling as she had ever been despite the fact that her oldest children were grown, and her younger children half-grown. “Of course you will see Dillon again. I will take you to Belmair anytime you want to go, Lara, my love.”

For a brief moment she was content to be in his arms, but then she shook him off angrily, stepping back, looking up into his handsome face. “My son! He is my son! You have overstepped your bounds, Kaliq. How dare you make a decision like this for Dillon without even consulting me first. He is my son!” she repeated.

Kaliq drew a long breath, and then letting it out he said, “And he is my son, too, Lara. I cannot fathom that in your faerie arrogance you have believed all these years that his incredible talents and his wondrous powers came just from you. The child of a faerie woman and a mere mortal man could not have gained the wisdom and skills that Dillon showed from his earliest childhood.”

She had been standing, and now she sat down heavily upon a marble bench near the fountain. “I was the child of a faerie woman and a mortal man,” she said.

“Your father had faerie blood in him, too, Lara. You know that even if he did not,” Kaliq reminded her.

“You said you could not give me a child,” Lara reminded him weakly.

“I lied,” Kaliq told her bluntly. “We Shadow Princes can reproduce whenever we choose to, although we do not do so often anymore. There is no real need for it given our longevity. Now and again one of us will spawn a child. We give our lovers female children as a rule. But I wanted a son.”

“Why did you not tell me?” Lara said.

“Because you were very young then, and while I realized that you were in love with me, I could not keep you. Remember, I know much of your destiny, Lara, my love. You were not meant to remain your life long here in Shunnar. Think of what you have accomplished since you left here all those years ago. You have lifted a curse from Terah, set the powers of darkness against itself, begun a peaceful revolution in Hetar. You have rescued a people from certain extinction and fought successfully in two wars. You have birthed five children. None of it would have been possible had you remained in Shunnar. Think of me as selfish if you will, but I wanted my son born of your loins.”

“How was it possible?” Lara asked. “I was with Vartan for months before I loved him enough to give him a child. Tell me what magic you worked upon me?”

“You were in love with me,” Kaliq began. “I was able therefore to plant my seed within you. The magic involved was that my seed would only bloom when you were ready to give another your love and a child. Vartan, like me, had dark hair and blue eyes. It was a simple thing to have people believe Dillon resembled Vartan because of that. But have you not noticed that recently his eyes became the bright blue of the Shadows?”

“You are not selfish,” Lara said angrily. “You are arrogant, Kaliq!”

“No more so than you are, my love,” he told her, a small smile touching the corners of his sensuous mouth. “We belonging to the magic kingdoms have a tendency to be so.” Reaching out, he took her hand in his, holding it just tightly enough so she could not snatch it back as she immediately attempted to do. “Do not be angry with me, Lara.”

“Tell me why I shouldn’t be angry at you, Kaliq?” Lara said furiously. “Why did you not tell me this years ago? After Vartan died at least? You are no better than Kol, the Twilight Lord, secreting your seed within me.”

“I did not tell you because I wanted you to continue to believe that Dillon was Vartan’s son. Dillon needed to believe it, too, because he needed the normalcy that being the son of a mortal man gave him. He needed to know in those early years that he was Fiacre, that he belonged where he was, especially when you were away so often. And as Vartan’s son he held the responsibility for his sister Anoush when you were not with them. Oh, Noss and Liam had physical custody of the children, but Dillon felt Anoush was his charge despite that because she was his blood. As it was Dillon showed his talents from an early age, and the Fiacre were uncomfortable with those talents as they were with you and your magic. They tolerated Dillon because he was their martyred leader’s son. Would they have done so had they known he was in truth my son?”

Lara sighed. “No,” she admitted, “they would not have.”

“You have protected Dillon in your way over the years. I have protected him in my way. And do not dare to compare me with Kol! My love for you has always been a pure love. His was not. He would have kept you a prisoner in the Dark Lands had he had the power to do so. I allowed you to go free to live out your destiny.”

“I have wounded you,” Lara said softly. “I did not think such a thing was possible, Kaliq. You still love me.” She freed her hand from his.

“I have never stopped loving you, Lara,” the prince admitted.

“Does it please your cold faerie heart to know that, my love?” he taunted her.

The green eyes met his. “Aye, it does,” she said cruelly.

The prince laughed aloud. “Faerie witch,” he said in a fond tone.

“Does Dillon know the truth of his parentage?” Lara asked.

“I told him before I took him to Belmair,” the prince said. “Do you know he told me that he has suspected it these last few years?” Kaliq shook his head. “He is an amazing young man, my love.”

Lara nodded. “He is,” she agreed.

“Do not be angry with me that you must share him,” Kaliq said.

Now it was Lara who laughed. “You are the most devious man I know,” she told him. “Charming, but devious, and I think, utterly ruthless. Why did our son have to go to this Belmair? As I recall, my mother said it was a peaceful and prosperous place.”

“Peaceful, aye. But they have a mystery that unless solved will destroy them,” Kaliq said. And then he began to tell Lara the story of Belmair, and its connection with Hetar. How aeons before the divisive among the Belmairans had been exiled to Hetar so that Belmair could retain its peaceful ways. How Hetar had lost that knowledge of its history over the ensuing centuries. “They are much like the Hetarians, except they are peaceful and have no great passion for acquisition. They live according to ages-old traditions and laws. Their kings have always been chosen by the Great Dragon, who is Belmair’s protector. They are not always hereditary.”

“But why did this dragon choose Dillon?” Lara wanted to know. “Why a young sorcerer from Hetar?”

“Because the daughter of the old king is a sorceress of much skill. She has not Dillon’s talents for magic, but she is strong enough to work with him.”

“And why would she?” Then suddenly Lara shrieked, and jumped up. “You have mated them, haven’t you? Not only have you taken my son from me, you have given him to another woman! Tell me why I should not kill you, Kaliq?” Lara demanded.

“Well,” he replied, struggling not to laugh at her, for he knew she would never forgive him for it, “you cannot kill me. And yes, they are married. It is the tradition on Belmair that if an old king has an unmarried daughter, the new king must take her as his wife. They must be joined physically for the succession to be official. And the dragon and I stood witness to the event. Dillon is king of Belmair now, and Cinnia is his queen.”

Lara sat back down. “There should be something I can do to punish you,” she muttered darkly. Then, “Will he be happy with her? Please tell me he will be happy.”

Kaliq took Lara’s hand again, and then he told her of what had happened when the joining of Dillon and Cinnia had reached its culmination. “They will love one another eventually,” he said. “But first they will need to reach an understanding, for Cinnia is proud of her abilities and has no real idea of how much more powerful Dillon is. When she learns it, her pride will be hurt, and it will take her a while to accept the knowledge.”

“Is she a fool then not to realize a Shadow Prince’s son is stronger that the piddling magic her dragon taught her?” Lara queried him.

“Cinnia, like all Belmairans, has lived an insular life,” Kaliq explained. “She knows little of other worlds. She has no idea that Nidhug’s own powers are limited. Cinnia is known as the sorceress of Belmair, Lara. She is considered powerful among her own people. There is little magic in Belmair but for Nidhug and Cinnia’s.”

“What of its faerie population?” Lara asked.

“The Belmairans do not speak of faeries,” Kaliq replied slowly.

“I do not think that there are any in Belmair.”

“Every world has faeries,” Lara said. “They are a part of its creation.”

“If they exist there, then they are secret creatures,” Kaliq responded, “for I have never heard of any. Perhaps faeries existed in Belmair at one time, but they no longer do. It is not a large world, Lara, and it only consists of four islands in a great sea. There is more water than land mass to Belmair.”

“When can I see my…our son? You said you would take me there, Kaliq.”

“Let him have a little time to acclimate himself,” the prince suggested. Then, changing the subject, he asked her, “Will you tell Magnus the truth of Dillon’s blood?”

“Certainly not!” Lara exclaimed, and she laughed. “My poor husband is jealous enough of you as it is. I have finally after all these years managed to allay his fears. I did not even tell him I was coming here when you called to me. I left him sleeping in our bed, and I had best get back soon else he awakens and finds me gone.”

“Changes are coming,” Kaliq said to her as she arose and prepared to return to her own home.

“I know,” Lara told him. “I sense it, but not yet, Kaliq. I have time.” Then with a twist of her wrist and hand she left him in a puff of pale mauve smoke.

The Shadow Prince remained seated within his garden. He wondered how Dillon was doing. He had left him almost two days ago now. He almost withstood the urge to use his magic to check on his son. Dillon was a man grown, and he had to find his own way. Still Kaliq could not resist taking a small peek. Reaching into his white robe he drew forth a small crystal globe. “Show me my son,” he commanded it. The globe darkened, and then as it lightened Kaliq saw Dillon in a library with Cinnia. They were obviously engaged in a heated exchange. He wished he might hear them, but it was enough to see Dillon. “Cease,” he told the crystal, and it instantly cleared.

CINNIA SHIVERED suddenly, and shook off the sensation.

“What is it?” Dillon asked her, seeing her body shake momentarily.

“Nothing. Just briefly I felt as if someone was watching us,” Cinnia said. “And then it was gone. My father’s death, our marriage. It has all made me very nervous.”

“If you sensed someone watching, then someone was,” Dillon told her.

At once she was fascinated. “Teach me that kind of magic,” she said to him. “Nidhug never has. I just know potions, shape-shifting, simple spells, but nothing like being able to watch others. That is a valuable tool to have.”

“We would need a crystal sphere or a reflecting bowl,” Dillon said, “and I have neither. My father saw my wardrobe and the like was transferred from my rooms at Shunnar, but I shall have to ask for the rest when I see him again,” he told her.

“Oh.” Cinnia was disappointed.

He had lied, but he was in no mood to get into another argument with her. She was the most argumentative female he had ever encountered. She questioned his every move, and while Cinnia was a passable sorceress, and there were no other in Belmair according to Nidhug, she was not mature enough in his opinion to be given access to greater knowledge at this time.

“What are you contemplating, my lord?” she asked him. “Your brow has quite furrowed. That is something I have now learned about you so that I know when you think seriously,” Cinnia told him.

“I am considering how best to approach the problem of the missing females,” he told her. “Magic is obviously involved here, Cinnia. Now the question is just what kind of magic? And why are these females being stolen away and some returned when they are ancient? And why can they not remember where they have been, and are most distressed to find themselves old?”

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.