“Your Greatness? You are off to a good start, my handsome Blue,” she replied, feeling a flutter in her chest. They never usually call me such worthy things so quickly.
“It is how I have been taught to refer to goddesses,” said Blue Owin.
“Goddess?” She smiled. “You do know how to greet a woman, don’t you?” A tingling sensation swept through her body as she listened to this obedient, polite, blue-eyed male. Perhaps I have finally managed to access my power, she hoped, unaware of doing anything differently.
“But how do I know if you are a false goddess or one sent by the Mother?” This question from the blue-eyed male’s cute mouth confused her.
“Who is this mother you speak of? I am the mother of many, as you can see.” She raised one of her mighty arms, indicating towards the many beautiful women in the throne room, then rubbed her stomach that had the unborn growing inside. “There are many who want you to plant your seed inside them but none more than I.”
“If you know nothing of the Mother, then you must be a false goddess and I will not do anything you speak of.” He looked away from her.
Bastard! Rotten scrote! It was too good to be true to have such a willing Blue. “You are a funny creature, aren’t you? Whatever you think of me, you will be like the others and eventually want to be inside me. Let the hunt begin!”
As she shouted, the throne room erupted in cheering. Grietum snapped a chubby finger and thumb together and said, “Gosha, my sweet, could you perhaps get this hunt started?”
Her daughter of twenty years, stepped out of the shadows and stood behind the kneeling Blue. Gosha’s silky black hair flowed over her naked shoulders and pert tits. Her face was pale like the shattered moon but speckled with blue flecks across her cheeks, like all of Grietum’s daughters.
A click of Grietum’s fingers signaled another of her clutch to begin playing the hornpipe. It had a haunting, tantalizing sound that Grietum was sure helped the charming process in her hunts. Blue Owin’s eyes darted around the room, looking for the place where the charmer’s music came from. Gosha slid a silky hand onto the kneeling Blue’s shoulder and began to dance. Her naked body swirled round in front of Blue Owin. He breathed in sharply. His eyes, straight away, locked onto her tits. This may be the first time he has laid eyes on such a beauty, she thought excitedly as her hunt was clearly off to a good start.
Gosha began to sing. It was a song Grietum had taught her after her coming of age and one always performed at the start of a hunt. Gosha’s pouting blue lips sang, “Blue brought death, but blue we seek, forever in this land. Blue that blinks, brings life to soil, that once was only sand.” Gosha’s soft tones were clearly enthralling the kneeling boy as she stroked his chin and snaked her hips at his eye level. Gosha continued singing as she ran a finger slowly down the male’s bare chest.
This Blue Owin is practically drooling, Grietum thought. Her eyes moved down his body to his stiffening manhood.
The performance continued and the silky words flowed from Gosha’s mouth as the hornpipe’s tones filled the hall. Grietum saw her daughter’s hand move lower and the blue-eyed male was trying to stand to move his cock closer. Gosha placed a finger on the top of his head and with the easiest of pushes, drove him back to a kneeling position. Blue Owin’s legs shook to fight her strength but buckled under the force of Gosha’s slender but powerful arm.
“Stop!” Grietum shouted.
The music ended. Gosha scampered back into the shadows around the edge of the throne room.
“My Blue Owin, nobody will be touching that, not even you. There is only one place you will get your release.”
Grietum had sat on her throne for over two-hundred years. She had awoken in a chamber with no memory of events from before. For days, she lay with lines of liquid entering her skin, unable to move. She twitched her legs and arms and after what felt like an age, she managed to sit up straight. With great pain, her hands grabbed and pulled at the tubes that entered her body. Fluid ran out for a second and then ceased. Whom she was, she did not know. There were markings all around the room; on the walls and glowing panels. Grietum was the only marking she understood. The word was painted on the wall just above where she had slept. That must be what they call me: Grietum.
A time later, she grew the strength to stand; a pale, blue, bloated leg plodded onto the cold metal floor, followed by another. I should clothe myself, she thought with sudden shame.
Words tumbled through her head that she knew had importance but, like a dream that slips away after waking, she did not know what they meant. Maintain the cage, she heard a man’s voice in her mind. Sadness and fear came to her when she remembered these words; like an impossible task had just been set.
The small metal chamber she stood in was lit with a red light. Markings glowed on a square panel on the wall at the foot of the cold bed. These markings, she could not decipher.
To this day, almost two-hundred years from when she opened her eyes, she remembers no more and still cannot read those strange markings spread throughout, what has become, her hive.
One of her door rats came running into the throne room and whispered in her ear. She grabbed his arse as he spoke, saying, “Excellence, there is a skip come from the desert, bringing information he feels will be most welcome to your ears.”
“Send him through.” She slapped the thrall’s rear as he left to fetch the skip. Turning back to the kneeling boy, she spoke. “My Blue Owin. You will be placed in a cell until such time you wish to give me your seed. And so we are clear: those who try to escape end up like my rats. Snip, snip.” She made a snipping motion with two fingers. “Rancon, settle him in and have two of my clutch continue the hunt.”
“Right away, Excellence.” The rat named Rancon bowed then unchained the blue-eyed male and removed him from the throne room. Two of her prime daughters, Lindi and Cana, quickly followed behind.
He will beg for me soon enough!
Her door rat returned to the throne room escorting a man dressed in black slim-fitting trousers and a tight fitted black coat that hung down to his knees, covering a crisp white shirt cut tight to his neck. She saw red flashes of material on the inside of the jacket as the tall, mature, bantam of a skip strode into her throne room in his shining black boots. He scanned every part of the place with sharp dark eyes.
Skips always asked a price for their information. After all, that is what they did. They were a strange guild hailing from the Still City of Mor and had eyes, as they called them, in all parts of the Ten Kingdoms, Still Cities, outlying islands and even in some parts of Arland and Dorland. Eyes were simply their informants. Information was a skip’s trade; moving words of interest across the land. Some words were sent for a price and others were stolen and sold. The many skips spread throughout the world, and their network of eyes, meant they knew a great deal about a great deal.
“What do you bring me…” She paused to hear his name.
“Ah yes.” The skip came to a sudden stop, swinging his leg round, his body swaying. He smiled, displaying sharp, high cheekbones, eyes wrinkling at the corners. “I bring you information that I believe you will greatly desire,” he spouted at Grietum, using fanciful waves of his arms.
“And what is your price for this information you believe I so greatly desire?”
“For the information, I ask only to have a tour of your…hive as you call it, yes?” He smiled and stomped a foot on the cold metal floor, as if testing its strength.
Grietum leaned forward, intrigued. “And how do you know I desire this information?”
“Why, of course. You will want it because I will give you part of the information first. If you believe it is of interest, we can then agree on how to proceed! But you will be interested.” His mouth slanted to a thin line.
“Will I indeed? You are very sure of—”
The cocky skip butted in: “King Romarus of Last Kingdom, blue of sight, wanders alone, searching for something he wants dearly. Many of the kingdoms hav
e fallen into disarray and are vulnerable. His mission could save one of the kingdoms and is very important to him.”
Grietum raised her head, pursing her lips with interest. She knew of the young king and had desired a king’s seed ever since she awoke centuries ago. She knew the bloodline of Last Kingdom’s rulers was one of the most pure blue-sighted in the Ten Kingdoms…perhaps even the entire world. It was said that its line was one of only a few remaining unbroken lines from their so called ‘gods’. “You do indeed have my attention. I assume you know his location and what he searches for?”
“Yes and yes.”
This is worth a simple tour of my hive. “You will have your tour. Continue,” Grietum urged.
“Good, good, good.” She was taken aback when the skip approached her throne and sat at the foot of the dais, looking up at her and around the room. “You know I do love the rustic, dingy dungeon look you’ve got going on here. It really gives the place a—”
“Please remain focused, my dear skip.” You are pushing it now.
She patted him on the head, as if he were a child, trying not to show her annoyance.
“Of course.” He rose, gliding back to the center of the throne room, swinging a slender, shiny, booted-foot around and faced her again. “It is said he searches for a boy. A boy I believe you have in your custody as we speak. Not the one you just tried to seduce with one of your daughters, which by the way, I have to say was very strange to witness and you should perhaps see some kind of mind healer or meditate on…or are you one who has gods to pray to? No, you’re not of the Ten Kingdoms you’re—”
I swear I will have his tongue! “This is my hive and I decide what is the norm. Now you will tell me of this boy or you will be silent and leave!” I do not want to have to banish this piece of filth as he may hold the key to a king. “Who is this boy that King Romarus searches for?”
“A lost prince of the Wetlands. His name is Prince Baskerville. One of my eyes saw you acquire him, along with his companion, near Narscape. We have tracked him for years ever since he left his homeland as we knew one day the knowledge of his whereabouts might be of use to us.” The skip’s lips curled and his eyes wrinkled.
“The world is a large place. You track King Romarus, I assume? You skips have your networks…you will serve as messenger to bring King Romarus to me?” she asked.
“I do have eyes on him, yes. And I can of course serve as messenger. It is what we do.” He bowed. “Wallace Ryder, at your service. But before I take my leave, what may I tell the king you require from him if he is to receive this boy from you? His kingdom is half desert, and they have little that you value to trade.”
You know exactly what I want from him, you coy creature, she thought, wishing she did not have to admit her desperation and that it was not so obvious and well known in the first place. “You will tell him that if he gives himself to me for three nights he will have his lost prince.”
“Of course.” He smiled as if to say, you desperate blue bitch. “I will prepare my conditions and have them to you within the hour. Always best to get things in writing I always say.” As he backed out of the throne room, he took a last scan around, then commented, “You know, on second thoughts, dingy is nice but you could perhaps hang a few paintings or I hear that mirrors can lighten and open a space nicely too. Oh, and congratulations.” He smiled, pointing to her blue stretch-marked belly.
She gave him no answer except a smile. I will hang you up as a painting.
As the skip left the throne room to busy himself with his contract, Grietum spat, then commanded the other blue-eyed male, the lost prince, to be brought before her. Her rats prepared the chains and pole, which stood before Grietum’s throne, as others ran to get the boy from his cell. “No! We will not restrain this one. And he must remain unsoiled,” she shouted to the rats, who immediately stopped, bowed and returned to their positions. “Did you hear that, my daughters? This prince will not be planting seed inside any of you! Do you understand?” There was a resounding yes from all in the room.
The steel-eyed prince was walked in, hands bound with black leather. She felt no desire to start a hunt with the prince who stood before her. For one, he was promised to King Romarus (which was far too big a prize to risk) and he seemed too young and boy-like and this did not appeal to her. “What do they call you, young sir?” she asked, knowing the correct answer.
“Hannbell, is my name.” His blue eyes blinked and his face twitched.
“Why do you lie to me, Prince Baskerville?” She could not help but smile as she revealed what she knew.
His steely look remained, except for a slight twitch. His hands fumbled, still bound at the wrist.
His silence frustrated her. She wished for a reaction after her wondrous display of wit and knowledge. “Do they not teach you to speak properly in the Wetlands?”
“I’ve not been in the Wetlands for some time,” he said, straight faced but with a shake to his voice.
“So you are Prince Baskerville then? Why do you look so scared, my prince?”
“Yes, and I’m not scared of who I am. I’m scared of what you wish of me. I heard some of what you said to my friend and what you want from him,” the lost prince said through misty eyes, his chin quivering.
“I do not wish these things from you,” she said, then clicked her fat fingers. “Unbind his hands and chain him to my throne. I do not want to let this gift out of my sight.” Her rats standing next to her rushed to Prince Baskerville and cut his hands free.
The lost prince did not try to run or fight. They took the blue-eyed male by the arm, pushed him down to sit at the foot of Grietum’s throne and attached a large metal cuff to his left ankle. She watched as the boy picked up the chain and traced it back to its attachment under her seat. Grietum rubbed a fat squashy foot on his shoulder, saying, “There, you are my pet. I look after my pets. No harm will come to you and you are free to watch my daughters dance, day and night.”
An hour later, the skip returned with terms drawn up on a piece of parchment. He requested that Prince Baskerville be removed during their final discussions of the agreement. Her pet was unchained and escorted to a side-room while she read through the contract. The skip stood in the middle of the throne room, tapping his feet, whistling an irritating melody. The contract read:
Standard ‘find and deliver’ contract between Wallace Ryder, Skip of the Mor Guild and Grietum, of the hive…thing:
I, Wallace Ryder, hereby swear to find one, King Romarus of Last Kingdom, and return with said person into the custody of one, Grietum of the hive…thing. Exchange for one, Prince Baskerville of the Wetlands, will take place immediately on arrival. Said person will be released into the custody of Wallace Ryder. Three days following the acquirement of one, King Romarus of Last Kingdom, Grietum of the hive…thing, will gift said person his freedom. Both of said releases will only apply if King Romarus agrees to bow to the strange and disturbing demands of one, Grietum of the hive…thing.
Additional: upon receipt of one, King Romarus of Last Kingdom, Grietum of the hive…thing, will gift Wallace Ryder four-hundred-and-fifty soms in coin.
“Four-hundred-and-fifty soms?!” Grietum exclaimed. “You did not mention there was a price! I was under the impression King Romarus would be paying you for this service! After all, it is he who desires to find this lost prince. You simply wanted a tour of my hive. And do not think that I am blind to your snide remarks in this ridiculous contract of yours.”
“Okay. That was a lot to take in. Let’s see…Yes, four-hundred-and-fifty. Correct, this was the first time I mentioned my price. No, I haven’t even spoken to King Romarus as of yet but I feel the boy will be paying quite enough in the three days he spends here.” He cleared his throat as if something rotten was stuck in his pipes. “And yes, I do want a tour of your hive but, if you remember correctly, that was simply in exchange for the initial information I had—not the ‘find and deliver’ service. And yes, apologies for my snide digs.” He fl
ashed a toothy, mocking, yet uncomfortable, smile. His blabbering stopped and he tiptoed towards her throne. “Of course, I will tear up my disrespectful and unfair contract and leave you in peace—” His hand was on the parchment.
Grietum snatched it away from him. She huffed and agreed, making a mark at the bottom of the page. Casting a glare at the skip, her mind muttered, you will get your coin but King Romarus will be mine for much longer than three days. This little prince can leave but I will be keeping my Blue Romarus for as long as is needed and then he can be neatly disposed of in the usual way.
The skip held her stare while he separated the piece of parchment into two, then handed her a faded copy of the contract she had just signed. He tucked the other into his pocket and turned to leave without a word. He stopped in his tracks, swung around and glanced at the door to the room where her pet prince had been taken. “I will give you a piece of information with no cost attached.”
“Is this a first for a skip to have no charge?” she jested.
The skip named Wallace Ryder looked at her with no hint of a smile and approached her again. He leaned in towards her head. This time, two rats shuffled in to guard her.
She raised a hand. “Let him approach.” Her thralls stood down.
The skip whispered in her ear with soft tones, “I bring tidings that King Stewart, the father of the prince in the next room, is dead. It is said that he was murdered by an unknown attacker. The boy has a right to know his father’s fate and I ask you to break this news to him in a kindly way. We may be sellers of information but in such a delicate matter, morals overcome price.” This seemed very unlike the boastful performer who had scoffed at her hive earlier.
I shall keep this information for use at a later date, she schemed. “Of course, I will tell the boy at the appropriate time.” She smiled with forced politeness. “Now you must get to work to find me my Blue Romarus.”
“And my tour?” he enquired, standing and towering above her as she lay on her throne.
A Poisoned Land (Book 1: Faith, Lies and Blue Eyes) Page 26