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 passion 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