“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.
“I remember being eleven,” Dillon noted. “I suspect the lad will be vastly relieved not to have to marry a sorceress this day.”
And his companions within the room laughed loudly, the dukes slapping each other on the back. Kaliq caught Nidhug’s eye, and the dragon nodded, well pleased by how the morning had gone. Despite Kaliq’s assurances, she had been concerned at how the three dukes would take the appointment of a foreigner to their throne. But it had gone well. Dillon had acquitted himself admirably before the trio of Belmair’s high aristocracy. He obviously had his father’s ability to charm. And Cinnia had behaved beautifully due in part, the dragon suspected, to her husband’s public behavior toward her. Dillon had not robbed her of her dignity.
“Thank you,” she said quietly to Kaliq.
The prince turned his beautiful bright blue eyes upon Nidhug. “You are wise beyond all others of your race that I have known,” he told her. “I will see that my son heeds your advice, my lady dragon.” He took her hand up, and kissed the blue-green scales. “Allow me a small indulgence,” he said to her, and then he murmured a small spell, and Nidhug’s elegant claws were suddenly sheathed in pure gold. “Ah, yes, much better,” Kaliq told her. “You have such lovely claws. They are beautifully shaped.”
“Oh, how wonderful!” the dragon cried holding out her hands to admire his handiwork. “Thank you, my dear Kaliq.” She looked into his eyes as she spoke, and suddenly in an in
stant Nidhug knew what it would be like to be made love to by this great lord of the Shadows. She drew in a sharp breath as heat suffused her body, which threatened to expand to her normal size. She swallowed back the flame in her throat and for a brief moment she glowed ruby-red. Fortunately no one saw what was happening, and the dragon was saved embarrassment. “Kaliq!” she scolded him, and the Shadow Prince shrugged apologetically.
Then together they entered the Great Hall of the castle where the banquet awaited.
Chapter 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.”
The Sorceress of Belmair Page 6