The Sorceress of Belmair

“The book says it hurts the first time,” she told him, her eyes now showing a small bit of fear.

“Only for a moment, my queen,” he said as he positioned himself. He had initiated virgins before. Some were eager, but others like Cinnia were hesitant. With virgins like Cinnia there was only one way to handle the matter once she was ready. Pinioning her arms above her head he filled her, tearing through her maiden’s shield with a single hard thrust, as she cried out with shock. “There, my queen,” he said, brushing away the surprised tears that had appeared upon her cheeks, “the deed is done, and the worst is over.” Then releasing her arms he began to ride her with slow, deep thrusts at first that became deeper and quicker as she began to respond to him.

It had hurt, but the pain was as quickly gone as it had come. She concentrated upon the sensation of the manhood now plundering her. He was big. Of that she was certain despite her inexperience. He filled her full with his great length. Cinnia was filled with fierce emotions. Her hands clutched at his shoulders, her fingers digging into his muscled flesh. Then unable to help herself she began to claw at his back, whimpering as she sought for something she couldn’t even understand.

Dillon laughed aloud as he felt her nails raking at him. She was feeling passion! He had aroused her to passion! A virgin, well, no more a virgin. He drove harder into her, sensing her desperate need for satisfaction. Hers and his own. Her legs, with some primitive instinct, wrapped about his torso, giving him deeper access. She was tight, and she was so wet and sweet for him.

“I want!” Cinnia cried out. “I want it!” she sobbed. She could put no name to what it was she wanted, but she suspected that he would know.

“And you shall have it, my queen,” he promised her. His length flashed faster and faster within her. And then he felt her crisis building, building, coming, coming.

Cinnia screamed as pleasure such as she had never known rose up to enfold her. She was drowning in it. She could scarcely draw a breath for it consumed her, raising her up, up, up, and then flinging her down. She vaguely heard the sound of her cries that were mingled with another sound. His cries.

The room was suddenly filled with a golden light. The air crackled loudly with their passion. There was even a thunderclap. Kaliq and Nidhug, revealed by the brightness, looked at each other, startled. And then the dimness came once more, and the sounds of the couple’s heavy breathing as they returned to reality. Dillon and Cinnia lay sprawled next to one another. She seemed to be caught in the throes of a half-conscious state, her breathing rapid, but calming slowly.

Father! What has just happened? Dillon asked Kaliq in their silent language. Never before have I had such a reaction to and with a woman.

She is magic as you are, my son, the prince told him. All the women you have known before were mortal, and while she is mortal technically, she is also a sorceress.

Will it be like this all the time with her? Dillon wanted to know.

I do not know, the prince responded honestly. But now it is time for sleep. Kaliq waved his hand over the bed, and it disappeared with its occupants. Then he and the dragon exited the chamber, and it folded in upon itself.

“I put them in her bedchamber,” Kaliq told Nidhug.

“Let us go and have some wine,” the dragon replied. “And perhaps we can decide what happened to cause such a reaction between them. Come, I have a small privy chamber here in the royal castle.” She led him to it, and conjuring up two goblets of wine the prince and the dragon sat companionably. “I have seen many joinings between the king and his bride in my lifetime, but never have I seen happen what happened tonight,” Nidhug said. “Your experience in the amatory arts is, of course, greater than mine, Kaliq. Have you ever seen such a mating as took place between your son and Cinnia?”

“Nay, I have not,” the prince admitted. “It is obvious to me, however, that if they use their powers together they can accomplish much good for Belmair.”

The dragon nodded. “I hope,” she said, “that they will fall in love.”

Kaliq chuckled. “I did not know you were such a romantic, Nidhug,” he remarked. “Have you ever been in love?”

“Alas, male dragons are few and far between. Have you any on Hetar?” she answered him. “In my youth, some twelve hundred years ago, I did mate with a handsome specimen, but then he flew off when he learned that I was the Great Dragon of Belmair. I stored the egg from that encounter in a cave on Belia. One day when I feel my time is coming to an end, I will hatch it. It is, sadly, the way of the Great Dragons of Belmair. And then I will live just long enough to raise my offspring, and pass on to it all the knowledge it will need to be the next Great Dragon.”

“You have a purpose in life, which is more than many have,” Kaliq said. “To have a purpose is important, Nidhug. And in answer to your question, nay, we have no dragons on Hetar.”

“How long do you mean to remain here?” the dragon inquired.

“A day or two more to be certain Dillon and Cinnia can manage together. After that I must leave them in your capable hands, old friend. And I shall then have to seek out Dillon’s mother, and tell her of what has transpired. Her life has been most circumspect these past few years. This is but the first of the changes that is to come into her life. Lara is not fond of change.” Kaliq chuckled.

“Why did you never tell her that you were Dillon’s sire?” the dragon asked him.

“Because she was very young, and just coming into her powers when I brought her to Shunnar. Because I knew she could fall in love with me, and it was not at that time her destiny to do so. Lara was born to accomplish several things, certain of which she has already done. But other things lie ahead for her. She yet has enemies, some of whom she is aware. Others of whom she has yet to meet. She was meant to be with Vartan, and to become a part of the Outlands, which she did. And she loved Vartan enough to want to give him a child, for as you know faerie women only give children to those they love. I don’t know why, but in a moment of weakness I implanted my seed within her. And when she was ready for a child my seed grew, and she believed it was Vartan’s son. It was better that way, Nidhug. If it had been known at the time that Kaliq of the Shadows had given a child to a faerie woman, who knows what Dillon’s life would have been like. And Lara would have remained with me and accomplished none of what she needed to do. She would not have left her child to my brothers and me.”

“Yet from all you have shared with me previously she did leave her children to follow her destiny,” the dragon said.

“Aye, she did. But the children were with the Fiacre, and always safe, living as normal mortal children live. But of course early on Dillon began sensing that he was different, and his fascination with magic was unquenchable. Lara thought his talents came from her, and decided that I must be the one to teach him. He has been with me since he was twelve, and it has been a joy,” Kaliq said, his face alight. “I will miss our daily contact, but our magic allows us to be together quickly.”

“And you believe that together he and Cinnia can solve the mystery of why our young women have been disappearing over these last hundred years?” Nidhug asked.

“Look what their simple joining created tonight,” Kaliq reminded the dragon.

Nidhug nodded. “Do you think it will happen every time they join?” she wondered.

“I frankly admit to not having an answer to that question,” Kaliq said.

“Can you give them love?” the dragon asked sentimentally. “A marriage is so much better when there is love.”

“I could give them love,” Kaliq said quietly, “but it is better if they find that love for themselves. It is there, Nidhug. My son knows how to please a woman, but he has never loved one. And your young mistress is innocent where men are concerned. Tonight they have begun their adventure. In time the love that is buried within each of them will claim them. We have but to wait and be patient.”

“My lord Kaliq,” the dragon ventured slowly, “do you know the answer to the mystery of Belmair’s missing women? I know you know far more than you are ever willing to admit. But that is the nature of your kind.”

“I do not know,” Kaliq told her. “But I believe by combining their powers my son and his bride can overcome whatever the difficulty is.”

“Is it evil?” Nidhug asked him.

“I cannot tell. It cannot, however, be good, but sometimes there are those who cause unintentional wickedness. Dillon and Cinnia will learn the truth,” the prince promised the dragon. “Belmair is theirs, and they will not allow it to be destroyed.”

The dragon nodded. “I will show you to your bedchamber now,” she said. “Then I will return to my own castle. Tomorrow will be a long one, and the dukes will need all the reassurances I can give them that what has transpired is the right thing.” She arose and led Kaliq from her privy chamber to another room where a silent servant awaited to help the prince prepare for sleep. “I bid you good-night, my lord,” the dragon said, and then she was gone.

Kaliq allowed the servant to bring him water to wash. He ordered a tub for the morning, and requested that he be awakened at sunrise. The servant bowed himself from the chamber, and Kaliq was alone. The last few hours had been amazing. He wondered if he might gain entry to the Dream Plain from Belmair. If he could find Lara, then perhaps they might speak and he could tell her what he had done. But then he decided against it. He owed Lara the courtesy of telling her face-to-face. The prince slept.

In the morning after he had bathed and eaten, he asked the servant assigned to him to take him to the young king. He found his son busy studying a map of Belmair in a light-filled library. “Good morning,” he called to Dillon.

“Good morning, my lord,” Dillon replied. “I am looking over this new world you have given me to see if there is something wrong somewhere that will give me a starting point to solving the mystery, but it all seems ordinary.”

“Where is Cinnia?” Kaliq asked.

“Preparing herself to meet the dukes later,” Dillon said.

“Should you not be doing the same?” Kaliq said. “You must honor these men, my son, for you can be certain they were not expecting the king they have been given. You will need to exercise a great deal of diplomacy with them. The people we know as Hetarians were exiled because they wanted to make changes in tradition here, but they were also sent away because they were willing to fight over it. The Belmairans think themselves above that kind of thing.”

“Their need to hold to their traditions and not change is similar of the people of Hetar,” Dillon noted. “Everything changes, my lord. Nothing remains the same.”

“Nay, it doesn’t,” Kaliq agreed, “and that is precisely where the problem lies here. For over a hundred years the Belmairans have had a problem, but because the problem did not jibe with their traditions, they ignored it. Now it could be too late.”

“You cannot know if it is too late until we learn what is causing this problem,” Dillon said in logical tones.

Kaliq chuckled. “Precisely, my son,” he replied. “Now go and dress yourself properly so you may greet your guests with honor.”

“I have no clothing but what I was wearing yesterday when we came,” Dillon said.

“You will find your possessions in the king’s bedchamber. Come, and I will show you,” Kaliq said. “Do you know how to return to the royal apartments?”

Dillon grinned. “I do,” he said, and then he proceeded to lead his father to them.

There he found the carved and painted wooden wardrobe filled with beautiful garments. The robes and tunics were decorated with embroidery, bejeweled and ornamented with gold and silver. There were trousers and capes. The fabrics were rich. Silks, soft wools, cottons. Many of the garments were white, for that was the color the princes wore most, and Dillon was considered one of them because of his father. In a painted chest with drawers the young king found accessories of all kinds, and a large box filled with magnificent jewelry. The wardrobe also contained shoes and boots of fine leather in several colors.

Dillon examined it all, and then turning to his father, said with a wry smile, “You have provided me with a fine dower portion, my lord Kaliq.”

The prince chuckled. “You are a king now, Dillon. It is fitting you present yourself like one.” He clapped his hands, and a servant hurried in to bow before them. “Help His Majesty to prepare himself for his guests,” Kaliq told the man. Then he turned to his son again. “I will await you in your day chamber,” he said.

When Dillon appeared almost an hour later, he was garbed in flowing white trousers and a long white tunic that was bejeweled and decorated with pure gold threads upon the wide cuffs of his sleeves and six-inch-wide border at the tunic’s bottom. The tunic’s neckline was a round one. There was a heavy gold chain about his neck, and on eight of his fingers he wore a ring, each with a different colored stone. Diamond. Ruby. Sapphire. Emerald. Amethyst. Topaz. Peridot. And a great black pearl on the middle finger of his left hand. On his feet were red leather slippers decorated with gold.

“Will I honor the dukes, my lord?” he asked Kaliq.

“You will,” the prince said, nodding, satisfied, and for the first time realizing what a truly handsome man Dillon had become. Tall and slender with a body well toned by his physical activities. Slightly tanned from the desert sun that Dillon loved so well. His dark hair was cropped short and styled simply. The blue eyes that had once appeared to all as Vartan’s were now the bright blue of a Shadow Prince. “You have the natural presence of a king,” Kaliq noted. “Your mother would be proud of you.”

“Will I ever see her again?” Dillon asked, and for the first time since they had arrived in Belmair yesterday his voice sounded vulnerable. Dillon had always been very close to Lara, who loved him with a love all mothers kept only for their firstborn.

“Of course you will see her. As soon as I tell her what has happened she will want to come, and she will not be satisfied until I have brought her, nor will she be happy until I have given her the magic for reaching Belmair,” Kaliq assured the young man.

The door to the day chamber suddenly burst open, and Cinnia appeared. “The dukes are just landing now,” she told them. “We need to be in the throne room to greet them.” She looked at Dillon, surprised. “You look nice,” she said. But she never questioned where his garments had come from for it was obvious to her that magic was involved in his wardrobe. “They will be pleased after the shock has worn off. Perhaps I could look a bit more elegant.”

“Allow me,” Kaliq said, and with a wave of his hand turned her red gown into a flowing white silk one, whose bejeweled and gold decoration matched Dillon’s garments. On her small feet were identical red leather slippers. About her neck a delicate gold chain. From her ears hung ear bobs with all the same jewels found in Dillon’s rings. On her left hand was an elegant but simple red-gold betrothal ring. The prince looked at her a moment, and then with another wave of his hand Cinnia’s hair was drawn back into a mass of curls and waves dusted with gold. “That should do it,” he said.

Dillon, with foresight, conjured a full-length mirror so Cinnia might see herself.

Surprised she nodded her thanks to him, and then studied first her image, and then the image in the glass of them together. A small satisfied smile touched her lips. “We are quite magnificent,” she noted.

“Indeed, my queen, we are,” Dillon agreed. “Now come, and let us greet our guests. If we do not hurry, they will be there before we are.”

Accompanied by the great Shadow Prince the young king and queen walked quickly through the castle corridors to the small throne room. The smell of death was now gone from the chamber to be replaced by the fresh scent of honeysuckle and woodbine set into several tall-footed vases set about the little room. Dim and bleak the previous day in the presence of death, the area now glowed with bright golden light that poured through windows that yesterday had been darkened and almost invisible.

Dillon took two steps up onto the dais to stand before his throne. To his right the dragon stood silently, and to his left Kaliq of the Shadows took his place. Cinnia stepped one step up to stand before her smaller throne. From the little balcony that served as an awning above the two thrones, a flourish of trumpets sounded. The double doors to the room were flung open, and the three dukes strode into the room. Seeing the young couple in all their regal garb the trio stopped. Surprise was very evident upon their faces.

Nidhug stepped forward. “Greet your king, Dillon of the Shadows, Tullio of Beldane, Alban of Belia, and Dreng of Beltran!”

The three men bowed almost automatically, but then Dreng burst out.

“A Hetarian, Nidhug? You have chosen a Hetarian for our king? What kind of a jest is this that you tease us with, dragon?”

“There is no jest, Duke Dreng,” the dragon answered. “Tradition will not allow Belmair to be ruled by a queen in her own right. There was no man of sufficient birth here for her in Belmair. And what simple man would take the sorceress of Belmair for a wife? But tradition demanded she be wife to the next king.”

“Fflergant is dead?” Alban of Belia asked, although he knew the answer to his own question even as he asked it. Still, he had to ask.

“Aye, the old king is dead,” the dragon confirmed. “But before he died he accepted Dillon of the Shadows as Belmair’s new king, and he accepted him as husband for Cinnia. He saw them take their vows before me. Then the young king had Fflergant’s last breath as tradition demanded.”

“And the joining?” Tullio of Beldane demanded to know.

“The joining took place last night, and was witnessed by me, and by the king’s father, Prince Kaliq of the Shadows,” the dragon told the three dukes. “Now give your loyalty to King Dillon, my lords. All that has taken place in the last day is my will. The will of the Great Dragon of Belmair. Will you deny me?”

The three dukes fell to their knees together before Dillon and spoke with one voice. “We pledge our loyalty to our new king, Dillon of the Shadows. May your life be long and your reign a happy one, Your Majesty.”

“Rise up, my lord dukes, and welcome to our home,” Dillon replied. Reaching out, he drew Cinnia up to stand next to him. “Tradition dictates that only kings can rule Belmair, but Cinnia will be your queen, not simply my consort. While my word will be final, her words will be listened to and considered well, my lord dukes. This is my first act as your king. My second will be to learn what wickedness works itself in Belmair that has stolen your young women away and puts us in danger of extinction. Together my wife and I will combine our magic to correct this problem. We will work together with you, my lord dukes, and soon all will be as it should be.”

The three dukes had arisen to their feet as Dillon had spoken. His words had surprised them. They had not expected a foreigner to understand their ways, their centuries-old traditions. And they were not really convinced that he did. He was not, after all, one of them. Publicly elevating Cinnia’s opinions to importance was in and of itself suspicious. Dreng of Beltran, who was the boldest of them, finally spoke.

“Your Majesty, may we deal frankly with you without fear of reprisal?”

“You may always voice your opinions to me freely, my lords. I may not always agree with you, but I will certainly never punish any for speaking out. Are not the dukes of Belmair the king’s closest advisors? But whatever you do, do not tell me what you think I wish to hear, for none of you can even begin to imagine what I think,” Dillon responded. “Honesty does not displease me, but duplicity will.”

Dreng of Beltran looked uncomfortable. He struggled to find the right words. No matter what the king said, he did not believe Dillon could be that open-minded.

“You wish to ask me why the Great Dragon chose the son of a Shadow Prince from Hetar to be your king over your oldest grandson, Calleo, do you not?” Dillon asked.

Dreng of Beltran grew red in the face. “Majesty, I mean no disrespect,” he said.

“It is a fair question, my lord,” Dillon replied. “Calleo is a boy who has lived barely eleven years. He is not old enough to rule, and you, my lord, are not clever enough to rule for him. None of you are for that matter. The problems besetting Belmair require a fresh eye. And, too, your grandson is not old enough for a joining. By your own traditions, his kingship would not be legal without the joining. Such a choice could have caused strife among the Belmairans, and strife is the very thing Belmairans seek to avoid, is it not? I am told that you despise those you call Hetarians. But I am not a Hetarian.”

“But you come from the world of Hetar,” Duke Alban of Belia said quietly.

“I was born in the Outlands, a place reviled by Hetarians. The man I spent half my life believing was my father was the clan chief of a people known as the Fiacre. He was murdered in a plot conceived by Hetar’s rulers. He had displeased them by fighting back when they attempted to invade the Outlands. He had organized the seven tribes inhabiting the region into a single government. Under his leadership, and that of my mother, they had driven Hetar from their lands, and punished them, as well.

“My mother is a faerie woman with some small amount of mortal blood. Her name is Lara. Her parents are Ilona, queen of the Forest Faeries, and John Swiftsword, now deceased, a Hetarian mercenary who earned the rank of Crusader Knight. He was of mixed mortal and faerie blood. My grandfather died in a great battle against the forces of darkness. He was called the greatest swordsman in Hetar’s history. While my mother’s early years were spent in Hetar, she left it to follow her destiny, which is not yet entirely fulfilled,” Dillon explained.

“When I was twelve,” he continued, “I was sent to Prince Kaliq to be trained in the magic arts. I have, since an early age, exhibited a strong leaning toward these arts, and my mother believed that only this Shadow Prince could train me properly. The ability for magic is a great gift, my lords, a great responsibility, and an equally great burden for those who have it. I have lived in the world of the Shadow Princes since I was twelve, and only when my fate became clear did my father reveal the truth of my parentage to me. I am of the Shadows. I am faerie. But I am not Hetarian.”

“We call the world from which you come Hetar,” Duke Alban said.

“How did you know you might send your dissenters to that which appears to be no more than a star?” Dillon queried him.

“We told them,” Kaliq said quietly. “When we saw the trouble some were causing here in Belmair we offered to share a portion of our world with them where they might be isolated. The Shadows know all that occurs in the cosmos. It is our calling.”

“So you called your rebels Hetarians after the world to which they were sent,” Dillon mused aloud. “Did you ever consider there might be other races upon that star?”

Duke Alban shook his head. “The Shadows offered us a solution to our problem, Majesty, and we accepted it,” he said. “Whatever else was involved had nothing to do with Belmair.”

Dillon nodded as if in agreement with Duke Alban. You have given me a far greater task than I first realized, my lord father, he said silently to Kaliq. I am beginning to see where the Hetarian attitude was born. He heard Kaliq chuckle so softly that only his ears might hear it.

“My lords,” Cinnia spoke. “We have prepared a feast to celebrate your coming. Will you join us? And Duke Dreng, I would ask that you allow me to send a servant to fetch your grandson, Calleo, and permit him to join us.”

“I will right gladly,” Dreng said.