“Do you know how many marriages have been celebrated in Beltran this year?” Dillon pursued the issue further.
“Again, Majesty, I should have to consult with the Keeper of Marriage Records,” the duke said. “But there have surely been few as our young women keep disappearing.”
“King Napier IX of Belmair banished the Yafir because they dared to ask for one hundred marriageable maidens each new year. The Yafir are a small group, and they had few women. Their women were dying off or past their childbearing years. If they were to survive they needed brides for their men. But King Napier IX refused them, and told them they must leave Belmair. For him, and for the citizens of Belmair, that was the end of it,” Dillon explained to his host.
“King Napier IX was right to refuse to give our women to a faerie race,” Dreng said, completely forgetting the new king’s bloodline.
Dillon smiled sardonically. To remind this duke of just who his king was would only embarrass him, and possibly even make an enemy of him. He was trying to bring peace to Belmair, not open hostilities on another front. Pushing his own anger at the duke’s stupidity aside, he said, “Perhaps the Yafir should have applied to other faerie races for wives, but they did not. Nor did they depart Belmair. They took the women they needed for wives from among the Belmairans, and are here among us to this day,” Dillon informed Dreng. “It is the Yafir who have been stealing Belmair’s maidens.”
Dreng’s square jaw dropped open at this revelation. “They did not leave? But they were commanded to leave by a Belmairan king. Are you certain, Majesty? Forgive me, for I do not mean to question your word, but how can you know this is so?”
“My uncle made a summoning spell and brought their leader, Ahura Mazda, to my castle where we spoke. He admits to stealing Belmair’s women over the centuries that have past. He has said he intends to keep on doing it. When I asked why it was necessary to continue kidnapping our women, he explained that while excellent breeders, Belmairan women produce more sons than daughters. And so a constant new supply of women is necessary at all times,” Dillon said. “When I explained to Ahura Mazda that this practice had practically decimated our own female population, that we didn’t have enough women for Belmairan men to wed, that fewer children were being born and our own population was being decimated, this Yafir laughed. He said in that case, Belmair would one day belong to the Yafir.”
“The fellow is too bold by far,” Dreng huffed. “You must tell him to take his people and leave Belmair. The women he has stolen may go with them for they have been contaminated by their Yafir husbands and lovers. They can never again be a part of our world, or our society.”
“It is not that simple, my lord,” Dillon said. Nidhug was right. Dreng wasn’t particularly intelligent. He swallowed the urge to turn the duke into a bug and stomp upon him. “Their numbers could in this age be equal to ours, or even surpass ours. They have lived with us, whether you were aware of them or not, for centuries too many to number. Other than stealing Belmair’s women they have been good neighbors. We must find a way to solve this problem peacefully, and to protect the women we have left while we are doing it. My uncle is now working upon a protection spell to keep our females safe from the Yafir. As soon as it is perfected we will use it. It may require gathering all the women in each of the duchies together in one place in each province.
“I came to you today, and will go on to Beldane and Belia, to inform you and your fellow dukes of this situation, and so that you be prepared to act when you are required to do so. There is still much we do not know. We do not know how the Yafir lure the women away. We do not know where they make their own homes. And the danger is greater now than ever before, for the Yafir know that we are aware of them and what they have been doing. You need magic to fight magic, Dreng. The Yafir are magic, but then so am I, and my fair queen has been taught certain magic, too, by the dragon,” Dillon said. “We will solve this problem to everyone’s satisfaction, I promise you.”
Duke Dreng shook his head. He resembled a confused bear at this moment.
“What will you do, Majesty, to save Belmair?” he asked.
“I am not entirely certain yet,” Dillon answered him candidly. “But know this, I will not allow Belmair to fall into the hands of the Yafir.”
Dreng nodded. “What are we to do in the meantime, Majesty?”
“You must advise every household in Beltran to watch their young women closely,” Dillon told him. “Never let them be alone.”
There was a soft rap upon the library door.
“Enter!” the duke said, and the door opened to reveal the lady Amata.
“Will you come into the hall, Majesty, and take the midday meal with us?” she invited him with a sweet smile.
She was, Dillon ascertained, a second wife, for she was much younger than the duke. “Thank you, my lady,” he replied. “I will admit to hunger having left Belmair at sunrise. I did not think to eat beforehand.” Nay, his last meal had been with Cinnia the previous night when they had made such incredible love. He missed her already, and thought he could still smell the elusive and seductive fragrance she wore deep within his nostrils. He almost sighed aloud.
“Will you stay the night?” Dreng asked his guest when they were seated at the duke’s high board and being offered bowls, platters and plates of food.
“Thank you, but nay. Nidhug and I must reach Belia today. I will spend the night there, and then tomorrow visit Beldane before returning home. I do not like leaving Cinnia, and have never since our marriage been away from her.”
“Have you come to love her then?” the lady Amata asked softly, ignoring her husband’s fierce look.
Dillon smiled warmly at the young woman, who obviously loved her big, bluff lord. “Aye,” he admitted. “I love my queen. I have known enough women in my lifetime to realize what a treasure I have in her.”
The lady Amata smiled back at her king. “I am so glad,” she said. “A life without someone to love is a great tragedy.”
“Woman, you talk too much,” Dreng scolded her.
“Nay, she is right,” Dillon replied. “You are fortunate in your own wife, my lord duke. Forbid not her words. They are wise.”
Dreng looked exceedingly pleased at the young king’s pronouncement.
The meal was simple, but well cooked and seasoned. The wine was rich and flavorful. When it was concluded Dillon arose, saying to his host and hostess, “I must leave you now, my lord duke. My lady Amata. I thank you for your hospitality. Share what I have told you, Dreng, with you wife and your counselors. I will send you word as we progress. Nidhug will bring it herself.”
“Thank you, Majesty, for coming to Beltran with this news yourself. I see now that the dragon was sagacious when she chose you to follow Fflergant as our king.” Duke Dreng bowed low as his wife curtseyed to Dillon.
He took up the lady’s hand and kissed it, smiling at her blush. Then escorted by the duke he returned to the courtyard. The ladder was brought, set against Nidhug and Dillon quickly climbed up, settling into the small pouch that had been provided for him. “Farewell, my lord duke,” he said, bidding Dreng goodbye as Nidhug, unfurling her lacy golden wings, rose up, up, up, into the afternoon sunshine.
Within minutes the dragon was out over the blue sea again. “Well,” she said, “I hope the meal you were fed was better than mine. First those fools offered me hay and oats. When I told them I did not eat such fodder, for I was not a horse or cow, they brought me live creatures, all squawk
ing and howling.” She shook her head. “I told them to take the poor creatures away, and bring me food from their kitchens. You should see the slops I was served. It was fit only for the pigs. I can only hope that Alban keeps a better table,” she grumbled.
“Reduce your size then when we arrive, and come into his hall with me,” Dillon suggested. “You will sit at the high board, and eat what I eat.”
“How did Dreng take your news?” Nidhug wanted to know.
“Surprised, of course, but very Belmairan. He thought the Yafir were only legend, for he hadn’t been taught of them when he was a boy,” Dillon said. “He is, of course, astounded that the Yafir might easily take Belmair from us. But understanding, he stands ready to cooperate when we know what we can do to protect the women. His wife is a pretty girl. Not his first, I am assuming.”
“Nay, his first wife, the lady Lygia, died several years ago. I had heard he had remarried,” Nidhug said.
“Sweet and soft-spoken,” Dillon said with a small chuckle, “but I suspect she gets her way with him easily. A man should have a loving woman like that to care for him.”
“You are a romantic fellow, my king,” the dragon noted. “But given your heritage I should not be surprised.” She grew silent as they flew on toward Belia.
In his place Dillon found himself dozing. The meal and the wine were taking their toll on him. He was therefore surprised when Nidhug’s voice pierced his slumber.
“There is Belia below, Majesty,” she told him.
“So soon?” he answered her. “Where is Alban’s home?”
“Because his duchy is so mountainous, the duke’s home is set on a promontory that sticks out into the sea itself. There! Straight ahead of us.”
Looking where the dragon had indicated, Dillon saw two tall stone towers that were connected by some kind of structure he couldn’t quite make out. The men-at-arms on the top of the towers began shouting as Nidhug made her approach. As the towers’ heights were not big enough for her, the dragon landed on the lawn before the building.
Immediately servants came running from one of the towers. “Step into my paw,” Nidhug said, and when Dillon had she lowered him carefully to the ground. “Behold, King Dillon of Belmair!” she announced loudly to the servants. “Where is Duke Alban?”
An obviously senior servant stepped forward and bowed low to Dillon. “Majesty, we were not expecting you. My master is hunting in the hills. He should be home soon. Come in! Come into the house. The fire is warm, and our wine is sweet.”
“The dragon comes, too,” Dillon told them, and watched delightedly as Nidhug reduced herself to a more manageable size. Together they followed the servant into Duke Alban’s hall. A tall, stately woman came forward to greet them. “Your Majesty,” she said. “I am the lady Ragnild, Duke Alban’s wife. You are most welcome to Belia. My husband will be back by nightfall. If you had but sent ahead he would have been here to greet you himself.” She curtseyed deeply.
Dillon kissed her on both cheeks as he raised her up. “There was no time to send ahead. I have tidings of great importance for your husband. The evening is time enough. I must beg hospitality for myself and the dragon for the night.”
“Of course!” the lady Ragnild replied, surprised. She eyed Nidhug nervously.
“Do not fear me,” Nidhug said in her most dulcet tones. “Like you, I am female.”
“Oh,” Ragnild replied surprised. “What will you eat for your supper, dragon?”
“My name is Nidhug,” the dragon replied. “And I can only hope you keep a good table, for I do enjoy my food. Especially sweets. My cook has been with me for centuries, and is particularly skilled at cream cakes soaked in wine.”
“I see,” Ragnild replied nervously.
A servant brought goblets of wine, and they sat comfortably by a large hearth while the lady Ragnild instructed her servants as to the additions to the supper menu. Just as the sun was setting over the sea outside the baying of dogs could be heard. Shortly afterward Duke Alban entered his hall, and seeing the king hurried to kneel before him.
“Rise, Alban of Belia,” Dillon said. “We have serious matters to discuss.”
Chapter 8
“I HAVE ALREADY visited Duke Dreng on Beltran,” Dillon began. “And tomorrow I will go to Duke Tullio of Beldane. The fate of Belmair as you know it hangs in the balance tonight, my lord. There is an enemy in our midst who seeks to take our world.”
“I do not understand, Majesty,” Duke Alban said. “What enemy?”
“The Yafir,” Dillon replied.
“Ahh. I thought them a fanciful legend! But then, were they not banished centuries ago from Belmair?” Alban responded. “The king then was Napier, the VIII or the IX. I can never remember.”
“So you’ve heard of the Yafir,” Dillon said. “Dreng was quite surprised to learn about them.”
“When brains were being passed around at the dawn of creation,” Alban answered the young king, “Dreng’s family was somehow forgotten. The dukes of Beltran have never been noted for their intellect, Majesty.”
Dillon had to chuckle at this observation. “His heart is good nonetheless.”
“I suppose I should not fault him as he is married to my youngest sister,” Alban replied. “Although what an intelligent girl like Amata sees in him I’ll never know.”
“Your sister is charming and wise,” Dillon told Duke Alban. “I very much enjoyed her hospitality, and it is obvious that she loves her husband.”
Alban nodded, agreeing with a small smile. “I have taken us from the reason for your unannounced visit, Majesty,” he said. “Forgive me. You spoke of the Yafir.”
“The Yafir felt they had no other place of refuge but Belmair. They did not leave this world. They remained. Hidden from Belmairan eyes,” Dillon explained. “Do you know the reason they were banished?” And when Alban shook his head Dillon continued. “Their women, few in number, were dying away. They needed wives. They asked Napier IX for one hundred marriageable women a year. He refused, and exiled them for their temerity. They have been stealing Belmairan woman for wives ever since.”
“How are we to stop this theft?” Duke Alban asked, immediately grasping the situation. “Can a mortal race war with a faerie race and win?”
“It is unlikely,” Dillon said candidly. “But I am Belmair’s king, and I am not mortal. I am both Shadow and faerie. With my sorcerer’s skills, with my allies, I believe I can bring the Yafir to an agreement, and thereby avoid a war. It will not be easy, but I believe it can be done. The faerie races prefer revenge to war, and the Yafir have certainly had their revenge upon Belmair over the years. They have almost brought us to the extinction that once threatened them. It will require serious negotiation, but in the meantime the young women must be protected, for the Yafir will delight in snatching them while we parlay simply to show us that they will not stop until it pleases them.”
Dillon then went on to explain to Duke Alban how his uncle, the faerie prince Cirillo, had returned to his own world in order to create a spell strong enough to keep Belmair’s women safe. When the spell was ready Cirillo would return to Belmair, and they would weave the spell about the women so the Yafir could not take them. “It is then,” Dillon told the duke, “that the Yafir will be ready to come to terms with us. In the meantime, though, the women must be protected.”
“Belia is the least populous of the three duchies,” Alban said. “Our landscape is not particularly hospitable
. While we have a few villages in the high hills, most of my people reside along our coastline. But I will send riders out tomorrow to every village to tell them the women must never be left alone. Hopefully we can protect them from harm until your uncle fashions a strong spell that will repel the Yafir.” He turned to Nidhug, who was savoring a large goblet of wine, and smiled. “You honor my house, my lady dragon. Have you visited your cave of late?”
“Some months back, my good duke,” Nidhug said. “My egg thrives, and was given a faerie blessing by the king’s uncle. But it is not yet time for me to hatch it.”
“I would have you know that we keep a watch on your den,” Alban said.
“And I thank you for your courtesy,” Nidhug replied. “The cave is well protected by certain enchantments so that the egg remains safe. But to know that you and your people watch over it for me, as well, pleases me.”
The lady Ragnild came to invite them to the high board. Dillon viewed Nidhug with amusement as she watched the servers coming into the hall. As they reached midhall the line split into two. One serving the king, and his hosts; the other devoting themselves to the dragon’s needs. There were several varieties of roasted meats. Two dozen chickens, six sheep, a whole boar, a side of beef. A huge, round loaf of bread was carried to the table by six serving men. A great tub of sweet butter, and two wheels of cheese, one soft and runny, the other hard and golden in color were offered, and the dragon’s goblet was never allowed to empty.
Dillon could see that Nidhug was pleased. She ate with great relish, and she ate everything that they brought her. And when after the remnants of her meal were cleared away and six cakes were placed before her, the dragon almost wept with her delight. Four of the cakes were sponge that had been soaked in sweet wine, filled with jam and covered with whipped cream. Another was covered in an orange-flavored icing, and the last was a large, plain cake filled with apples and cinnamon with a topping of sugared crumbs. Nidhug sighed, and proceeded to devour them all.
The Sorceress of Belmair Page 20