“To some place shaded and dim?” Dreng said scornfully. “It is hardly a clue that will lead to any success, I fear.”
“I must differ with you, my lord duke,” Lara said. “It eliminates the interior of the hills. The caves will be searched more carefully, especially those with access to light.”
“How goes the search on Beltran?” Dillon asked the duke.
“We’ve finished searching. There is nothing to be found,” the duke said brusquely. “We had fields to plant and deer herds to cull. We have done what we could. Why do you persist in seeking Fflergant’s daughter, Majesty? She is gone. The Yafir have, thanks to you and your allies, been stopped in their tracks. They can steal no more of our women. Our women are protected.”
“Only those who were in the halls that day,” Dillon told them. “Those born after that day are not protected. The danger is far from over.”
“Oh, gracious!” the lady Amata said.
Duke Dreng shot his wife a ferocious look.
“What is it?” Lara asked the woman.
“Be silent!” the duke ordered Amata.
“Nay, lady, you will tell me what it is that has distressed you, and you, my lord, will be the one remaining silent,” Dillon said.
Amata shook her head in distress, looking from her husband to the king. But then she sighed deeply and said, “Several female infants born this winter on Beltran have disappeared from their cradles in the night over the last few weeks. And my brother has written to me that the same thing has happened on Belia.”
“They are stealing the unprotected infants,” Lara said softly, “to raise within their own world. This is a clever and ruthless enemy.”
“I don’t want to destroy the Yafir,” Dillon said.
“You may have to destroy Ahura Mazda,” Lara replied. “He has spent centuries simmering his hate for Belmair and its people. It is unlikely you will be able to save him from himself. I cannot believe that all Yafir think as he does. There have to be others who are more reasonable, and with whom you can deal.”
“They have to be wiped out!” Duke Dreng said. “They are a dangerous race, and have taken every opportunity to do us wrong. Why do you persist in believing they can be saved, Majesty? They are ravening beasts! Destroy them! Destroy all that is theirs! Belmair is ours. Our world is for Belmairans, not strangers.”
Lara was amazed by her son’s response to this tirade.
“If it takes me a century, Dreng, I will teach you that nothing remains stagnant in any world. Belmair is not a perfect world despite the efforts your past kings have made to excise all that did not conform to their thinking. Hetar is not perfect, either. Nor my mother’s domain of Terah. Life is vibrant, my lord, and constantly changing, evolving. Sometimes those changes come slowly, so slowly that we barely notice them, if we notice them at all. And other times changes comes so swiftly that we cannot keep up with them, and it frightens us. The only magic native to Belmair is that which the dragon possesses. But once when the Yafir lived peaceably among you there was magic both good and bad in Belmair, for there must always be balance in life. You have forgotten that, Dreng, if indeed you ever knew it. But I am going to educate you in spite of yourself,” Dillon, king of Belmair said. “Perhaps my mother is right, and the Yafir lord cannot be saved. If that is the truth then so be it. But the Yafir people may not be filled with such hate as is their ruler, and we can welcome them back into our world to live in peace together. The Belmairans want it, and I am certain the Yafir want it, too. With all the women they have stolen over the years your bloodlines are now well mixed.”
“My family’s blood is untainted,” Dreng said stubbornly.
“What of the granddaughter who was stolen?” Dillon reminded him.
“My sister,” Lina said softly.
“She is dead to us now,” the duke replied. He sent a fierce look at the young girl. “We do not speak her name now. She is no longer one of us.”
“This debate, while fascinating, goes nowhere,” Lara said quietly. “I see the servants are bringing in the evening meal. Shall we go to the high board?” She stepped up upon the dais, pulling the queen’s chair forward so no one might sit in it. “Will you sit on my son’s left, my lord duke?” she invited him. Then she directed Dreng’s two granddaughters next to him, seating herself and the lady Amata on the other side of the empty chair where they might speak with some small measure of privacy.
“Your granddaughters are lovely,” Lara told the duke’s wife.
“They are mine by marriage only,” Amata explained, “for they are the children of Dreng’s first wife’s children. I asked him not to do this,” she said softly.
Lara smiled. “My son says you are a sensible woman. He takes no offense.”
“Dreng is a man who follows tradition scrupulously,” Amata explained. “He will not tolerate change, and everything around us is changing, isn’t it?”
Lara nodded. “Yes,” she said, “Belmair is in flux right now, but so is every world. In Hetar during the last ten years the women have slowly been gaining political power. Soon they will be stronger than the men. The Lord High Ruler of Hetar is not pleased with this, but so many men were killed in Hetar’s wars that there are more women now than men, and they are seizing power.”
Amata’s eyes were wide with amazement at this revelation. “But women,” she said, “should be in their homes, seeing to the needs of their men, caring for their children. But then Hetar and its people descend from those we exiled so long ago for the very sins of being much too independent. There must be an order to life or all becomes chaos.”
“The Hetar in which I spent my early years was indeed an orderly place,” Lara said. “But the truth, my dear Amata, is that while the men of Hetar took the higher place in that society it was their women who actually did most of the work. And with so many of the men gone it was time for the women to control their own lives. Ten years ago all the Pleasure Houses were owned by men who did naught but collect their profits. It was the house’s Pleasure Mistress who managed it all, selected the women, paid the merchants who supplied the foods, wines, garments for the women, and the furnishings. The men who owned the houses did nothing. Several years ago a law was passed that set a price upon each house, and permitted the Pleasure Mistress of each house to purchase it for herself. Over half of the houses were bought up by the women running them. And while many women continued managing their merchant husband’s shops and stalls after their death, under the law this had been forbidden for centuries. Three years ago it was made legal for them to inherit and own their own shops.”
“But were there not men who could take over for them?” Amata asked.
“Many of these women were indeed forced to relinquish their shops and stalls. The High Council mandated a price be set upon each shop or stall by the Merchant’s Guild, which was in the pocket of the emperor, and later the Lord High Ruler. Pay a bribe, and gain a profitable shop for a pittance. And the widow and her children were then put out onto the streets with little to show. It was a small group of men who sought these businesses so they might control prices. Women seeing other women homeless with their children, women taking in sisters and their families began to take note, and heed the call of a small movement seeking change. Hetar is in flux, too.”
“What of your lands, my lady Domina?” Amata asked shrewdly.
“Things are changing in Terah, too, but our ways were never as rigid as those in Hetar. Our people are artisans, and those beyond the Emerald
mountains, the Outlands clan families, are farmers and herders. Our way of life has always been less structured. But women have always held positions of power among the clan families, and even among the artisans. Terah now has its own governing council which advises my husband, and several of its members are female. Women are important to the development of any society. Even here in Belmair the guardian of your world is a female.”
“I never thought of that,” Amata said. “You are right!”
Lara smiled at her. “Then I have enlightened you,” she noted.
“You have encouraged me to think again,” Amata told Lara.
After the meal had been concluded, the minstrel who lived in the castle came with his lute to entertain them. Encouraged by their grandfather, Lina and Panya danced gracefully together to the music as the minstrel played.
“Are they not charming?” Dreng murmured to the king. “Each a perfect example of Belmairan girlhood. They know how to manage a large house, can converse on subjects conducive to the female mind, and are certain to be very fertile. Both have mothers who have delivered between them fifteen grandchildren for our family.”
“Virgins, of course,” Dillon said drily.
“Of course!” Dreng replied, not noticing the king’s tone. “I should never offer Your Majesty used goods. Lina is the more submissive. Panya has a bit more spirit, but is obedient, and needs only the slightest touch of the whip now and again.”
“That is good to know,” Dillon replied wondering when this foolish duke would cease attempting to peddle his granddaughters to him.
“I will allow you time alone with each of them, Majesty, so you may kiss and fondle them to see which one would please you the most,” Dreng continued. “Lina has larger breasts, but Panya’s are particularly well rounded if you will note them. But both have good plump bottoms for smacking. I’ve always liked a woman with a plump bottom,” he said, grinning. “It was the first thing that attracted me to Amata.”
“Duke, let me tell you once again. I have a wife. I neither need nor want another,” Dillon said coldly. He arose from the chair in which he had been sitting. “I will bid you all good-night now,” he told his mother and his guests.
“What did you say to him?” Amata, suddenly bold, demanded to know of her husband. “I recognize a man running away.”
“I was merely pointing out our granddaughters assets and liabilities to His Majesty,” Dreng said, sounding slightly irritated.
“Which caused him to leave the hall,” Amata said with a sigh. “When will you learn, Dreng? At this moment the king does not seek another bride. He wants the one he has back. I know that cannot be, but until he knows it you have no chance of making a match. And you will but damage the girls chances with the king if you annoy him again.”
“At least we got here before Tullio and his candidate. As we passed by Beldane I saw his sailing ship being readied. Where else would he be coming but here?”
The Great Creator help us, Lara thought as she overheard. But before she went to her own apartment for the night she spoke with Britto. “We may have more visitors tomorrow. Duke Tullio, and I don’t know who else.”
“Duke Tullio is a widower, my lady Domina. He will probably travel with his widowed sister, Margisia, and her only daughter. I will see everything is in readiness.”
Lara nodded. “Thank you,” she said, and went to her son’s apartments to warn him of the new visitors who would arrive on the morrow.
Dillon shook his head. “I want my wife back,” he said.
Lara sat down upon a small stool by her son’s chair. “But what,” she said, “if you cannot regain Cinnia?” she asked him. “Or what if you cannot make Belmair accept as their queen a woman who has been held captive by the Yafir?”
“Then I will leave Belmair,” Dillon answered.
“You cannot,” Lara told him quietly. “This is not why Nidhug chose you. This is not why Kaliq brought you here. As my final destiny lies in Hetar, so your destiny lies here in Belmair. You were meant to be its king, and meant to bring the changes that need to be brought here. You can, you will, overcome the Yafir, Dillon. I know this in my heart. You are discouraged tonight, and I am not surprised. One day you might have to take another wife. You cannot blame either Dreng or Tullio for putting forth their candidates, my son.” She giggled mischievously. “It is really quite amusing.”
“It is not!” he said, but he laughed. “Dreng told me that both girls had plump bottoms, good for smacking, Mother. He says he likes a woman with a plump bottom.”
“Then I am safe from him,” Lara remarked drolly as she stood up. “I must seek my own bed now if I am to be ready to greet your new guests tomorrow.”
“I shall go with Nidhug to Belia, and search the caves there again,” Dillon said.
“You most certainly will not,” Lara told him. “You may go the day after to escape your guests, but you must be here tomorrow to greet Duke Tullio and his family.”
From the roof of the castle the following morning, Lara looked the distance to the sea, and saw a great sailing ship coming into port. She smiled, amused. In midafternoon a small procession made its way up the road to the castle. Lara was waiting, and greeted Duke Tullio and his sister, Margisia. The young woman who traveled with them was modestly garbed in rich garments, her head covered by a beautiful shawl of red-and-gold silk. Eyes lowered, she bowed low to Lara.
Beware! Warn the king to beware of this maiden! The voice of Ethne, Lara’s spirit guardian, murmured to her mistress, and the crystal star about the Domina’s neck glowed briefly with Ethne’s urgency.
Why? Lara asked in the silent speech.
There is darkness in her, my child. Ethne advised.
“My lady Domina,” Duke Tullio said, “may I introduce to you my sister, the lady Margisia, and her daughter, my niece, Sapphira.”
The two women greeted each other, and then drawn forward, Sapphira raised her eyes to Lara, softly murmuring a greeting. They were green eyes. Green like emeralds. But Lara saw that the eyes held no emotion at all. Interesting, she thought to herself as she led the visitors into the hall.
“We have other guests,” she said as they walked.
“Aye, I saw Dreng’s vessel in the harbor,” Duke Tullio replied.
“Is he alone?” Lady Margisia asked none too tactfully.
“He travels with his wife and two of his granddaughters,” Lara said. “They are most charming girls, too. The hall was so merry last night when they danced for us.” She wished Kaliq were here for he would so enjoy this game that was being played. But the Shadow Prince had returned to his home weeks before, promising to return when he was needed. Dillon had his mother, and Kaliq knew that would lighten his mood until the spring came.
“Greetings, Dreng,” Duke Tullio called as they entered the Great Hall.
“Greetings, Tullio,” was his reply.
The women all greeted each other, but Sapphira remained modestly in the background until brought forward. She did not raise her eyes again.
“My son is searching in the hills today,” Lara said, “but he will be returning in time for the evening meal.”
“You didn’t go with him, Dreng?” Tullio asked.
“Why? It’s useless,” Duke Dreng replied.
As the spring sun was setting, Dillon returned to his castle in the company of Nidhug and Cirillo. He greeted his new guests, and almost immediately they adjourned to the high board for the evening meal. The king was
charming, but distant. Cirillo made the dragon jealous by flirting with Dreng’s granddaughters.
Nidhug eyed Sapphira suspiciously, finally saying bluntly, “Why is it, Duke Tullio, that your niece hides herself from us? Is she scarred that she keeps her shawl over her head and turns her face from us?”
“Nay, Great Dragon,” Duke Tullio replied. “But King Fflergant and I were related by blood. My niece and Queen Cinnia are distant cousins. I did not wish the king startled by Sapphira’s appearance, for she very much resembles our lost queen.” He turned to Dillon. “Majesty, with your permission my niece will reveal herself.”
Fascinated in spite of himself, Dillon nodded his approval. “Stand up, lady,” he said, “and let me see you.”
Sapphira rose from her place, and stepping from the dais stood directly before the young king. Slowly she dropped the shawl covering her head, revealing a swath of ebony-black hair. Then Sapphira raised her face up to look straight at the king.
Dillon grew pale. He clutched the wine goblet in his hand, and the silver crumpled in his hand. “Cinnia!” he whispered unable to take his eyes from the girl.
“Nay, my lord. I am Sapphira of Beldane, and I am the king’s to command.”
“Let my daughter dance for you, Majesty,” the lady Margisia said. “I have heard that Duke Dreng’s granddaughters danced for you last night.”
“Yes,” Dillon said, never taking his eyes from Sapphira. “Dance for me! Minstrel! Where is the minstrel?” he called.
The Great Creator help us, Lara thought. He is bewitched by this girl. She looked to the dragon, who also appeared somewhat shocked.
The king’s minstrel came forth, and bowing to Sapphira said, “What shall I play for you, lady?”
“Not your lute,” Sapphira replied. “Do you have a reed pipe?”
The minstrel nodded, drawing it forth from his garment. Putting it to his lips he began to play a sweet but temporal tune. As he did, Sapphira kicked off her dainty slippers and began to dance. She was light on her feet and very graceful. She moved easily, and then as she began to discard bits of her gown they saw that it was actually made up of many red silk scarves. Her body twisted sensuously and lithely. Her long arms were quickly bared, and shortly her long bare legs were revealed, flashing amid the thin strips of flying scarlet silk.
The Sorceress of Belmair Page 28