The Sorceress of Belmair

by Bertrice Small

  “Tradition, Daughter. Tradition,” the old king murmured weakly.

  Their eyes met. Hers were angry. His were pleading, and for a moment her resistance dissolved. She had no way to defeat her mentor, and accepting exile would serve no purpose, for if Nidhug had chosen him then this Dillon would be king of Belmair. If she left, some other girl would be his queen, and that knowledge was not pleasing to Cinnia. “I will do my duty and marry this man,” she finally said.

  “You have chosen wisely as I knew you would,” the dragon replied. “The dukes have been sent for, and will be here on the morrow to learn of my decision.”

  “They will be no more pleased with it than I am,” Cinnia said sourly.

  “Certainly that is true,” the dragon agreed, “but they surely know there is no other choice. There are no suitable males to follow Fflergant.”

  Ping.

  The dragon turned at the sound. A single grain of purple sand had fallen from the top to the bottom of the life glass. Eleven grains remained. “You must be wed before the day is out, my child,” Nidhug said. “Even my magic cannot hold back what must be, and the new king must be in Belmair when the old king breathes his last.” She closed her eyes and silently called out to Kaliq, the great Shadow Prince, to come to her.

  “I am here, Nidhug,” the prince said as he materialized from the umbrages of the dim room. He went immediately to Fflergant. “Ah, yes, I see your problem. He is close. Greetings, King Fflergant of Belmair. I am Kaliq of the Shadows. I am going to stop time just briefly so I may go and fetch your successor.” With a gentle wave of his hand Kaliq did exactly that. Even the dragon was caught in his spell. He paused a moment to look closely at Cinnia. She was lovely, and his son deserved no less. Turning, he slipped back into the shadows of the chamber, emerging in his own palace.

  “Dillon,” he called out. “Come to me now.”

  “I am here, my lord prince,” Dillon said as he appeared in a puff of pale green smoke. “How may I serve you this day?”

  “Sit down,” the prince said. “We must talk, and there is not much time.” When the young man had settled himself, Kaliq said without preamble, “You are not the son of Vartan of the Fiacre. You are my son, although you mother is unaware of this.” To the prince’s surprise Dillon smiled.

  “Thank you,” Dillon said. “I have suspected as much for several years now, but I dared not speak until you did. As much as I love my mother and my grandmother, it was unlikely that the powers I possess came just from the faerie side of my heritage. They are far too strong, and grow stronger. But why do you tell me this now, my lord? Something has changed. What is it?”

  “The great star we call Belmair is another world, Dillon. And you are to be king of that world. Even now its old king lies dying. It is your fate to take his place and to wed his daughter. Belmair is protected by a Great Dragon. Her name is Nidhug, and she has trained the sorceress of Belmair in some of the same arts as I have tutored you. We will speak more on this later this evening, but for now you must come with me to catch the last breath of the old king, and then marry his daughter immediately. There is not much time left.”

  Dillon swallowed hard. “Does my mother know of this?” he asked.

  “No,” Kaliq said. “I lost track of time, my son, and did not realize Fflergant’s death was so close. Come!” The prince flung open his great white cape, and Dillon obediently stepped inside of it.

  As the cloak swirled around the two men, Dillon said, “You might have given me a bit more warning, my lord father. What if I don’t like the girl?”

  “She already hates you—” the prince chuckled “—for she would be queen of Belmair in her own right. Beware of her until you have won her over.” He tossed the garment open once again.

  Dillon found himself in a square chamber that was softly lit. On one wall was a throne in which a frail old man half sat, half reclined. A young girl, frozen in position, stood near him. On the other side of the throne was a very small dragon, equally still.

  “I have frozen time briefly,” the prince explained. “The girl is called Cinnia. The dragon Nidhug uses her magic to keep her size small while she is in the company of people. When you become friends she will allow you to see her in all her glory. She is quite magnificent, Dillon, and very wise. It was her decision that you be Belmair’s next king, for it is her duty to make the choice. Trust her. She will be your ally.” He waved his hand gently once again, and the chamber came to life.

  Ping.

  Cinnia gasped.

  Ping. Ping.

  “Cinnia, sorceress of Belmair, I bring you my son, Dillon, sorcerer of the Shadows. Will you have him as your husband?” Prince Kaliq asked.

  Cinnia nodded, glancing quickly at the handsome stranger.

  “Speak the words,” Nidhug said softly.

  “I, Cinnia, sorceress of Belmair, accept Dillon of the Shadows for my husband, and for my king,” the girl said aloud.

  “Fflergant, king of Belmair, will you accept Dillon of the Shadows as your successor and as the new king of Belmair?” Nidhug asked the old man.

  “I do!” he cried loudly with the last of his strength.

  Ping! Ping!

  Six grains of purple sand remained in the glass.

  “Dillon of the Shadows,” Nidhug said, “do you accept the crown of Belmair, and all it entails?”

  “I do,” Dillon answered.

  “Will you have Cinnia, the sorceress of Belmair, as your wife?”

  “I will,” Dillon replied. He had hardly even looked at the girl.

  Ping. Ping. Ping!

  “Then take the last breath of Fflergant as he breathes it,” the dragon replied. “As he, and all the kings of Belmair have taken the last breath of those who preceded them.”

  Dillon stepped up on the dais containing the throne. The old man’s eyes were closed now. Dillon bent down, and opening his mouth took the old king’s last breaths into his body as Fflergant breathed them.

  Ping! Ping! PING!

  As the sound echoed throughout the room the old king suddenly faded away, leaving the chair empty. The sand in the glass next to the throne turned silver, and then it, too, disappeared. And then suddenly the top of the life glass was filled so full with a new supply of purple sand that no grains were able to begin dropping right away.

  Cinnia began to cry. Dillon went to her and attempted to comfort her, but she pushed him away angrily. “Leave me be. My father is dead, and I am wed to a stranger.”

  “You are a stranger to me, too,” Dillon reminded her.

  “But your father is not dead!” Cinnia sobbed.

  “Nay, but until today I thought he was,” Dillon said.

  Startled Cinnia stopped weeping, and looked at him. “What do you mean?” she asked him.

  Dillon smiled. “It is a tale for another day, lady. Now we must mourn the good man who was your father. Tell me of your traditions so we may follow them.”

  “We have none where death is concerned for at death our bodies simply evaporate here on Belmair. Even the life glass of the king has refilled itself with the death of my father. If we go into the Hall of the Kings now we will find a marble bust of Fflergant in the place designated for it. There will be a new empty alcove waiting for you when your reign comes to an end,” Cinnia explained. She wiped her eyes. “We do not celebrate death here in Belmair. We celebrate life. My father was a good king. He will be remembered as such, but he is gone. No further mention will be made o
f him.”

  Dillon nodded. “Thank you for explaining that to me,” he said quietly.

  “Nidhug and I will leave you two to become acquainted,” Kaliq said. “I will rejoin you for the meal later.” Then, taking the arm of the dragon, the Shadow Prince walked from the small throne room.

  “I am twenty-two,” Dillon said when they were alone.

  “I am seventeen,” Cinnia responded.

  With a wave of his hand he conjured a perfect white rose, and offered it to her.

  Cinnia glared at the rose, and it withered and disappeared in a puff of smoke.

  “Surely you do not mean to make a puerile attempt to woo me?” she said scornfully.

  “Considering that we do not know one another yet are wed, aye, I was attempting to make a small effort on your behalf,” Dillon responded. And he held out his hand to her. From his fingers hung a beautiful necklace of green stones that matched her eyes.

  Cinnia sniffed, pointed a finger and the necklace shattered into dust.

  A kitten appeared in his outstretched palm.

  She hissed, and it turned into a writhing viper.

  Dillon flung the viper into the air, and they were showered with a burst of pink snowflakes.

  Cinnia laughed aloud and he grinned back at her. Then she grew solemn. “It isn’t you, my lord. I am simply angry at this turn of events.”

  “You wished to be queen of Belmair in your own right,” Dillon said quietly.

  “Yes!”

  “But tradition dictates Belmair be ruled only by a king,” he continued.

  Cinnia nodded. “It isn’t fair! I am the sorceress of Belmair, and I would be a good queen to my people. There were no males available from the ducal families, and then Nidhug said I must marry a Hetarian and he would be the new king. Hetarians are an anathema on Belmair.”

  “Why?” Dillon asked her, and he drew her down onto the dais’s steps where they might sit comfortably while they spoke.

  “Aeons ago, those we now call Hetarians were citizens of Belmair,” Cinnia began.

  “But certain of them grew overly proud. They began to question our traditions and the authority of the king. They wanted to make changes that went against our ways. The king then, his name was Flann, gathered up the troublemakers one spring night. They were placed in an enormous bubble and sent to your world, which is the star we call Hetar. This history is taught to every child born here. Bad children are threatened by their mothers who tell them that they will end up on Hetar if they do not behave.”

  Dillon laughed. “You cannot know how terrible a threat that is,” he told her.

  “You are not of Hetarian blood?” Cinnia asked.

  “I have some of their blood through my mother’s father, but then he also had faerie blood,” Dillon answered her. “I was raised in the Outlands and in Terah until I was twelve. Then I was sent to Kaliq for my training. I did not know until a little while ago that he was my father. I was raised to believe that Vartan, lord of the Fiacre, was my father. Even my own mother does not know the truth. I barely remember Vartan, but I have had a good stepfather in the Dominus of Terah, Magnus Hauk. And my mother is an incredible woman. She has great powers.”

  “What will she think when your father tells her where you are, what you are to be and that you have a wife who is a sorceress?” Cinnia wanted to know.

  “At first she will be angry that Kaliq planned this without consulting her. But she will be far angrier when she learns the truth of my paternity,” Dillon said with a smile. “My mother has been cursed, or blessed if you will, with a destiny that is not yet fulfilled. It has taken her many places. She has had great adventures, and done marvelous things. But she does not like being at the mercy of a greater power. Did you?”

  “No, I did not,” Cinnia admitted.

  “I find your tale of how Hetarians came to be rather interesting, for that is not at all the story told on Hetar,” Dillon said.

  “We know they have forgotten this world. It was meant that they forget. We did not want them returning to cause havoc once again,” Cinnia said. “But tell me what they say of their beginnings.” She shifted against him, stretching herself briefly.

  “It is said Hetar was once a world of clouds and fog. That the Shadow Princes came from those mists, and for generations mated with the faerie races they found there. When the day came that the clouds evaporated and Hetar was visible to all, it was discovered there were other races living there created by the tree, earth and sea spirits. The Shadow Princes took the desert for their own, and so Hetar was born. The City was built, and civilization ensued. It is a bit more complicated than that but that is the basis of the history of Hetar as it is told,” Dillon finished.

  “Some of it is probably true,” Cinnia remarked, “but if you ask him your father will tell you the truth of Hetar. We were told our people were deliberately settled on one side of that world in order to keep them from those on the rest of Hetar. I believe you call them Terahns. And then there were smaller regions called the Outlands and the Dark Lands. But Prince Kaliq knows more of it than I do. We but sought to rid ourselves of those who caused trouble in our lands.”

  “Tell me of Belmair,” Dillon said. “I am very much at a disadvantage as you can appreciate, Cinnia.”

  “I did not give you permission to speak my name,” she said sharply.

  “You are my wife, and therefore your name is mine to speak,” Dillon said.

  “I will not be some meek creature who sits by her loom in the hall, my lord Dillon,” Cinnia told him. “I am a great sorceress!”

  “And what do you do with your sorcery, Cinnia? Other than play with mine?” he asked her wickedly. “Do you use it for good?” He turned so he might see her face.

  “Play? I do not play!” the girl said outraged.

  He laughed softly. “Aye, you do. Your dragon has taught you all manner of magic, but you don’t really know what to do with it. But I will teach you.”

  “You? Teach me? A Hetarian?” Cinnia said scornfully. “I think not!”

  He took her hand in his, and running a finger up her bare arm and back down again, said, “I am not Hetarian, Cinnia. I am of the Shadows and I am faerie.” Then, raising her hand to his lips, he kissed each of her fingers before turning the hand over and placing a kiss upon her palm. “There is a great deal I can teach you, Cinnia.” Dillon’s blue eyes met her green ones, and he smiled slowly into those startled eyes.

  She heard her heart thumping in her ears. Her lips parted softly in surprise at her reaction to him. “Are you attempting to seduce me?” she asked him.

  “You can only be seduced if you want to be seduced, Cinnia,” Dillon told her. “Do you want to be seduced?”

  “No!” She snatched her hand back.

  “I think you do, however we will not argue the point,” Dillon told her. “But I believe I asked you to tell me of Belmair as I am to rule it.”

  “Does our world seem very blue to you on Hetar?” she asked him.

  “It does,” he said.

  “That is because most of our world is water,” she told him. “Belmair consists of four islands, each a different size, floating within a single great sea. Our island is the largest and is called Belmair. The others are Beldane, Belia and Beltran. Each of the other three islands is a duchy ruled by a ducal family. Those families answer to the king on Belmair. Our kings do not necessarily follow a direct line of descent. It is the dragon who decides who will rule
us. In this manner no one family has ever gotten too much power to wield over the others. My father’s family came from Beltran. My mother was the youngest daughter of the previous king, who came from Beldane originally. She was very beautiful and very frail. That is why there were no more children after my birth. She died shortly after I was born. I had my father, and I had Nidhug,” Cinnia told him.

  “Tell me who now rules the three duchies?” he asked.

  “Let Nidhug tell you,” Cinnia said. “We must feast to celebrate our union, and then you must mate with me before the morrow when the dukes arrive to learn who their new king is. Unless we are well and truly mated, your legitimacy can be questioned, and that will not please either Nidhug or your father, will it? I go now to prepare.” In a small flash of light Cinnia was gone from the throne room.

  Dillon arose from the step where he had been sitting. “My lord father, I know you are there. Please come to me.”

  The Shadow Prince stepped from a dusky corner of the room. “Nidhug and I are going to take you to see your kingdom now,” he told Dillon. “She awaits us on the battlements of the castle. Do not be frightened by her size when you see her true self.”

  “When are you going to tell mother?” Dillon asked Prince Kaliq.

  “When I return to Hetar,” came the answer.

  “And when will that be?” Dillon inquired, his tone amused.

  “In a few days. Tonight we feast, and then you mate with Cinnia. On the morrow the others will arrive. They will be astounded that an outsider had been chosen to rule over them, my son, but they will accept the dragon’s judgment. And, too, my presence will give even greater legitimacy to Nidhug’s decision. That you come from Hetar will disturb them, aye. But the fact that you are my son will calm any fears they may have. When that has been accomplished I will return to Hetar to seek out your mother and tell her of what has transpired.”

  “There are some things back at the palace that I will want,” Dillon said. “My staff, Verica, for one.”