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.
* * *
DILLON 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 passi
on 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.
“I thought you had gone,” Cinnia greeted him.
“Where would I go?” he asked her, accepting a goblet of rich red wine.
“Back to Hetar, perhaps?” she said.
“You are an odd creature,” he told her. “One moment you are pleasant, the next you are as sour as an old woman, and you refuse to take pleasures with me.”
“You Hetarians go on much about taking pleasures all the time,” Cinnia answered him. “Why is it so important to you? The night should be for sleeping and restoring one’s energies, my lord. Not for adding to your exhaustion.”
“Taking pleasures is very relaxing,” Dillon said to her, surprised. “And pleasures are not necessarily confined to the nighttime hours. They can be taken at any time and in anyplace. I have made love in a garden beneath the noonday sun, and in a desert oasis with only the stars for light, as well as in my bed.”
Cinnia wrinkled her nose. “Have I not said I do not wish to hear about your other women, my lord? It is not a subject that is of interest to me, nor are your exploits. But as I do not wish you to be discontent in Belmair for we need your magic, let us set a time each week for us to take pleasures together. If your lusts need to be released more frequently then you have my permission to take a concubine for your pleasures.”
“Nay, Cinnia, only you will serve my lusts, and you will do so when and where I desire it,” Dillon told her.
“How dare you order me about!” Cinnia cried out angrily.
“Dare?” He laughed briefly. “May I remind you, Cinnia, that I am the king of Belmair. And you are its queen only because I permit you to be. I think perhaps the time has come for me to teach you that lesson so you will not forget it again.” Reaching out he yanked her into his arms and kissed her hard. “Soften your lips,” he commanded her, and then he kissed her again. This time the kiss was slow and hot.
Her heart was beating wildly, but she wasn’t going to let this foreigner they had made her marry control her. Cinnia bit the lips kissing hers.
“Ouch!” Dillon yelped, surprised that she would fight back. But then taking her by her arm he dragged her across the hall, sat down upon a chair and yanked her down across his lap, pulling up her silk skirts as he did. His big hand descended to make contact with her bare flesh as he licked the blood from his lips.
Cinnia squealed furiously. “Stop that at once, you brute!” she commanded him.
Dillon began to spank her in earnest. “Did no one ever bother to teach you manners, you vicious little bitch?” he demanded. Eight. Nine. Ten.
“I hate you!” Cinnia yelled, and she struggled to escape his grasp.
“Your behavior and attitude haven’t exactly warmed my heart, either,” he growled at her. His hand continued to smack at her round bottom. Fourteen. Fifteen. Sixteen.
“I’ll never take pleasures with you again, you beast!” she threatened.
“Oh, yes, you will,” Dillon replied. Twenty! “I’m going to teach you how to be a woman, Cinnia.” He dumped her onto the hall floor, and stood up. “Anytime. Anyplace.” He quickly pulled her up. “Here. Now!”
Cinnia suddenly found herself being drawn down into his lap, and onto his manhood. She gasped with surprise to find herself very wet and ready for him. How could this be? He had been violent with her, and not at all a lover. She moaned low as her burning buttocks made contact with his bare thighs, and she felt him inside her fully sheathed. “The servants!” she cried softly.
“Will learn to be discreet,” he said as softly. “Now ride me, my queen, and ride me hard. If you do not give me pleasures, Cinnia, I will move us to the high board, and take you there until you do,” he threatened her. “I will lay your naked body upon that polished wood and make you scream for all in the castle to hear. Now, ride me!”
Cinnia began to cry. “I don’t know how!” she sobbed.
“Move yourself up and down upon my rod, my queen,” he told her, and when she began to comply he encouraged her, “That’s it, Cinnia. Now faster, and yet faster!”
She jogged up and down upon his manhood, her pace growing quicker with each passing moment. He held her gently about the waist, encouraging her onward. Her eyes closed and she grew languid as in spite of herself Cinnia began to enjoy the conjunction between them. His hardness felt so good. He probed her deeply and suddenly something within her responded. “Oh, yes!” she cried low. “Yes!”
Dillon smiled to himself. He had found her magic center. Every woman had one. It was just a matter of finding it. He helped her to help him work it, and very quickly Cinnia was whimpering as the pleasures began to flood her. “That’s it, my queen,” he murmured in her ear, and he kissed her mouth in a long and lingering kiss. This time she did not bite him. And then he felt the quivers within her beginning to rise up to overwhelm her. He allowed her the moment, and when she fell forward on his shoulder he gently lifted her off of his turgid manhood cradling her against his silk-covered chest. It would quiet itself shortly, and he was not at all ready to give up pleasures. The night was young. “Are you ready to eat now?” he asked
her casually.
“You are a horrible man,” Cinnia murmured, her eyes still closed.
“When we have finished our meal I will show you some other places a man and a woman may take pleasures together,” he purred in her ear.
She wanted to stand up, but she knew that right now she couldn’t. How was it possible that he could make her feel this way? But it felt so right nestling against him.
Finally Cinnia thought she might stand up. “I’m ready now,” she told him and arose from his lap, wobbling just slightly. She felt his hand beneath her elbow and while she wanted to tell him she was perfectly capable of walking by herself, Cinnia didn’t dare because she knew it wasn’t true, and worse, so did he.
He seated her at their high board and took his place next to her. And then as if by magic the servants began entering the hall with the steaming bowls and platters with their meal. If any of them had seen or heard what had just transpired between their master and their mistress, they showed no evidence of it. Dillon filled his plate with raw oysters, prawns, ham and meat pie. Cinnia took prawns, capon and an artichoke. There was bread, butter and cheese, which they shared.
“The hall is too big for just the two of us,” Dillon noted. “Is there a smaller chamber we might use?”
“My father always ate in the Great Hall,” Cinnia said.
“I am not your father,” Dillon responded. “The hall is a grand place for entertaining, but you and I need a more intimate place to dine when we are alone.”
“It is tradition…” she began.
“Some traditions need to be changed. It is ridiculous for two people to eat in a hall built for great feasts. And it makes extra work for the servants who have to trot the length of this hall simply to bring us a platter or bowl so we may take a bit of food.” Dillon looked out over the hall to where the servants stood attentively awaiting an order.
“Who is steward here?” he asked.
The Sorceress of Belmair Page 8