The Lords of Blood and Honey (The Kingdom of Honey)

by David Gardner-Martin

  ‘My Lord, Your Grace,’ he said bowing. ‘You are both most welcome.’

  Lady Rumball turned from the window, her face grey, and she bowed also.

  ‘But…what has happened here?’ asked Chillhide.

  ‘Lady Allessia has disappeared, Your Grace,’ Rumball replied, sitting once more. ‘We know not how, or where.’

  ‘She is gone!’ said Westnaine, aghast.

  ‘Do you think her harmed?’ pressed Chillhide. ‘Is there sign of force?’

  ‘None, My Lord,’ said Rumball, replacing his wig on his head. ‘All we found were these.’ He indicated a pile of cloth strips on the bed, cut ragged at the edges. ‘They belonged to one of her garments.’

  ‘A summer evening dress,’ added Lady Rumball, returning from the window and lifting a piece of cloth. ‘But the dress itself is gone. We must assume it is the garment she is wearing now, wherever she may be. Praise Them the sweathounds will find her. Several have been dispatched with guards after capturing her scent.’ She picked up a single piece of cloth and held it to her nose.

  ‘But she is not found yet,’ said Westnaine, his eyes boring into the top of the Earl of Rumball’s head, who remained downcast.

  Silence fell upon the room whilst all present grasped the enormity of what had happened.

  ‘Who else is aware of Allessia’s disappearance?’ Chillhide asked at length.

  ‘No one, Your Grace,’ answered Rumball.

  ‘And we must tell no one,’ said Chillhide. ‘Such news as this could sap the will of many, seeing in it some sign that goes opposite to our intentions.’ He turned to a guard standing at the door. ‘Bring me those who were first to raise the alarm. Maybe they can reveal some insight into what has happened here.’

  Mrs Pultroon was soon standing before him, her face as deathly white as her flour-covered hands and arms.

  ‘I knows nothin’, good sirs, ‘onest I don’t,’ she blurted. ‘She were meant to be here fer dawn bathin’, an’ scentin’ a’ course, but she were gone. Surely they must know!’ she cried, pointing a finger at Allessia’s bedroom drollups that had been ignored all this time in the corner of the room.

  ‘They know nothing,’ said Rumball with a sigh, after Mrs Pultroon had been told to be on her way.

  ‘Have they been squeezed?’ asked Westnaine.

  ‘No, Your Grace, for I can say…’

  ‘Squeeze them all for everything they have seen or heard,’ said Westnaine to the guards, and the drollups were herded from the room like a flock of whimpering sheep.

  ‘But who would have taken her?’ exclaimed Rumball, when they had gone to their grisly fate.

  ‘The Hivedom,’ said Westnaine. ‘His Oneness must have discovered our plans and has moved against us? He is like a wasp circling a honey pot; always in range, and always ready to strike the moment an opportunity presents itself. Who else but he would dare such an action?’

  ‘It can surely be none other than His Oneness,’ agreed Chillhide. ‘But how he came to learn of Allessia’s presence is beyond me, the very greatest of precautions having been taken to conceal her.’

  ‘But if she is lost,’ added Rumball, ‘how then can we succeed? Without Allessia, there is no way forward. Without her as our fountainhead, the fates will have us at their mercy.’

  ‘When the City is ours,’ said Chillhide, clearly determined to bolster the groups resolve, ‘then will we have the power to find all that would be found, and take all that would be taken. When the soil is turned, it matters not what was planted before,’ he added, quoting St. Butterbean.

  At this Rumball nodded in affirmation, though his anxiety was still plain to see.

  ‘We know Hardknot has taken a Femone named Lasivia to his Hivedom to prepare her as a Queen,’ Westnaine said, beginning to pace up and down to ease a cramp in an aged calf. ‘But if he stands before Allessia, there can be no doubt that he will see what can be seen. And with one so rare as Allessia under his power, who knows what a mind such as his might conceive?’

  There was a commotion at the door and two young nobles rushed into the room. ‘My Lords,’ one gasped, after they had both bowed hurriedly before the gathering. ‘Lord-Marshall Highgate has been arrested.’

  ‘Arrested!’ exclaimed Chillhide.

  ‘By Palace Guards,’ said the second noble, catching his breath. ‘He has been taken…to the Turret.’

  ‘They are making more arrests,’ added the first. ‘Northwall and Oakbeam are two we know just taken. You are surely all…in the very greatest danger.’

  ‘But what of the King’s Army?’ asked Rumball.

  ‘General Forgewell, Commander of the Palace Guards, has already received their oath of loyalty.’

  ‘Forgewell!’ exclaimed Westnaine. ‘In this matter at least, we can clearly see the hand of His Oneness. He has played a hand swiftly, and time is surely no longer on our side.’

  ‘Indeed, Your Grace,’ said Chillhide, ‘that must be true. But I too, have not been idle. Seven days ago, the Vulfking Horde left the Far Mountains for the winter. Fearing the possibility of some treachery we had not foreseen, I took the precaution of summoning them to make camp on the Oak Tree Plain, close to the Castell Florret, there to await our command. With the King’s Army now lost to us, it is the time for them to repay the many debts they owe our Noble cause.’

  ‘Vulfkings…and their Vulfbear beasts?’ exclaimed Rumball.

  ‘They will not travel without them,’ interjected Westnaine, visibly concerned at this turn of events. ‘But can such a force be trusted, My Lord?’ he added. ‘They are powerful warriors, to be sure, but not easy to predict. Ancient tribal divisions run deep, and often make it to the surface.’

  ‘I have promised them an extension of their territory, as well as great riches, when we have secured the Crown. This will ensure their loyalty. We will join them soon at Florret to lay down our plans.’

  ‘Queen Camellia, freshly cast, has newly taken up residence at Florret,’ added Lady Rumball. ‘Is it possible she will know of Allessia’s presence and whereabouts? The Tincture of Ellyssia is needed three times a day to contain her presence, and yet here the bottle sits unused within my hand. Without this mask, her scent will ride far and wide upon the air.’

  The clatter of horses’ hooves and the cry of shouted orders through an open window, prevented any comment on this remark.

  ‘Palace Guards!’ cried Lady Rumball, still at the window.

  ‘We must leave the City at once for Castell Florret,’ cried Chillhide. ‘Is there a secret exit from the Seventy-Third Wing?’

  ‘Indeed, there is, My Lord!’ shouted Rumball, jumping to his feet. ‘Our ancestors had it installed during the Third Dereliction. It runs from a hidden panel in the Dining Hall to an abandoned storehouse. Follow me!’ he cried, making for the door, and everyone except for Lady Rumball, followed his lead to leave the room in haste.

  Chapter 19

  Dawn broke early and fast, as if an unseen hand was eager to witness what would happen next in the Kingdom. Lord Hardknot, up and about early too, found Morthern Yule working in the Fifth Sector, white smoke billowing in the green light as the beekeepers calmed one of the hives.

  ‘It still be spreadin’, maarstur,’ Yule said, worry clouding his features. ‘We ‘ave done all as ‘ow you instructed, smokin’ ‘ives an’ more, but still they be reformin’.’

  Hardknot’s eyes narrowed. ‘And how many hives now?’ he asked.

  ‘Eighteen, maarstur.’

  ‘And have you them all safely quarantined? Every hive within fifty paces as instructed?’

  ‘That we have, maarstur, but still it spreads. The bees knows why.’

  ‘Indeed they do,’ said Hardknot, and he peered into the hive and through the sweet smoke saw for himself the errant activity, the bees continuing to dance strange patterns even in their stupefied state and his mind unable to commune with their meaning.

  ‘Burn them,’ he said, standing.

  Morthern Yule’s
eyes almost shot out of their sockets. He stared at his master, open-mouthed.

  ‘Do I have to repeat myself?’ said Hardknot. ‘This cankerous evil must be stopped. It will not be endured.’

  ‘But, the royal ‘oneybees!’ cried Yule, his nearest companions staring with equal amazement at their master.

  ‘All hives that display signs of depravity,’ said Hardknot firmly. ‘Dare you question my will?’

  Morthern Yule bowed. ‘It shall be as the maarstur wishes,’ he said obediently, and then he turned away, his face filled with despair.

  Several minutes later bright yellow flames began to lick the first of the hives, the entrance sealed and the top weighed down with a heavy stone. Yule stood to one side, tears streaming down his face as those that he loved more than life itself were consumed in the fire. By the time the sixth hive was aflame Hardknot left the scene, warning the beekeepers on pain of death that no errant hive could be spared.

  ‘I shall return and expect to see the matter dealt with,’ he said walking away. ‘The wellbeing of the Hivedom demands this sacrifice.’

  Hardknot observed a troop of Hivecarls as they cleared the Hivedom; a bloodied figure lay carried on the back of a giant warrior. Hardknot allowed himself a rare smile at the sight of their mission safely completed.

  ‘Some fighting,’ Heldhard said to Hardknot, when he stood before him at last, his thick orange beard tinged with beads of sweat. ‘Many Holy Guards dead. No Hivecarls,’ added without expression.

  ‘That is good,’ said Hardknot, observing the bright red blood that still streaked Heldhard’s axe and those of his companions.

  ‘This now yours,’ added Heldhard, as Bartolamy’s body was dropped onto the ground with a thud.

  Hardknot recognised the young man’s features despite the many wounds that had been inflicted upon his face. He saw the cruel scars that crisscrossed his torso, arms and legs; the blood that had once flowed freely, now congealed, only partly concealing the angry yellow and purple lesions that lay beneath.

  ‘Important?’ asked Heldhard.

  ‘Yes,’ replied Hardknot. ‘Very important. You have done well. And High Commander Sideswipe?’

  ‘Escape with some guards into woods.’

  ‘Indeed,’ said Hardknot, unable to hide his dissatisfaction that the Commander of Oblong’s Holy Guards had avoided death. But at least he was now outside the City and with few men to command. ‘Have this man taken to the Infusion Chamber,’ he said. ‘Master Slate must be told to proceed with all haste.’

  Heldhard turned and barked an order and Bartolamy was lifted from the ground once more, propped between two Hivecarls, and dragged away, his head rolling from side to side in unison with his captors’ long strides. ‘

  ‘There is more for you to do,’ Hardknot said to Heldhard. ‘With their High Commander gone, Oblong’s remaining Holy Guards will be safely gathered behind the walls of the Imposium. Take a troop of fresh warriors and secure St Vacant’s Cathedral. Kill anyone that tries to resist.’

  Heldhard bowed to his master and led the remaining warriors away.

  Hardknot returned his gaze to the fields of the Hivedom, watching the flames as they spread to several more hives. There was clearly a profound scent abroad, he thought, but who was she, and how had she secured her hiding place for so long? She would be found, and swift would be her immolation, as would it be of all those who had nurtured her. But despite his certainty of containment, the mystery intrigued him beyond reason, for he had taken great care to ensure Lasivia’s Prime Integrity. She was ready to fulfil her destiny as a Queen. But the presence of a rogue scent in the Kingdom upset the order of things in a way he was totally unprepared for. Had he missed something? But if that were so, how could it be possible?

  The Jazpahs he had dispatched to scour the City for the source, one of whom had been badly wounded by a Holy Guard, had thus far been unsuccessful. If there was another, they would surely detect her presence; their sense of smell, dogged persistence, and utterly ruthless disposition, virtually guaranteeing such a discovery. It was just a matter of time.

  On more temporal matters, word had reached him that Lord-Marshall Highgate, Commander of the King’s Army, had been seized by General Forgewell and the Palace Guard and taken to the Turret. An oath of loyalty had already been sworn by the King’s Army Commanders to Forgewell, their new Lord Marshall, and they were now confined within the Heptangle and out of harm’s way. As for the noble conspirators, whilst several had also been taken to the Turret, there was no word yet of the capture of Lord Chillhide and the ringleaders. But that he was certain, was only a matter of time.

  He left the fields to enter the Grand Hive and made his way down into the Deep Hives.

  Lasivia was reclining on a large bed as Hardknot entered the room, the surface awash with the debris of a still ongoing meal. Several bowls of fruit honey cakes and a rich variety of sweet meats had already been picked at, and the remnants of a cream dessert covered her lips. Her drollups fussed endlessly around her, several of them bringing fresh titbits into the room and cooing with delight as their mistress picked at them, or threw a choice over her shoulder when its taste proved to be less than perfect. She laughed playfully when she saw Hardknot approach.

  ‘Today I am eighteen, My Lord. May I not join you now in the Grand Hive?’

  ‘You must remain here,’ he said. ‘There is danger still in the air.’

  A childlike sulkiness fell over Lasivia’s features. ‘I have heard that several high-ranking nobles have been taken to the Turret.’

  ‘Who has said this?’

  ‘One of the guards.’

  ‘Have their mouth stitched. It is not their business to speak of such things. You must make an example of them so that others will learn to stem such foolishness.’

  Lasivia looked at his face with surprise, then smiled an impish smile. ‘I will,’ she replied. ‘I shall…command it. But, is it true?’

  ‘A day is coming that will see our deliverance from the hearts and minds of a small people. This is all you need to know.’

  Lasivia lay back and stretched across the bed, her silk gown starting to slide from her body as she did so. She bit her lip teasingly and stroked a hand through her hair. Hardknot felt the beat of his heart rising within him as he observed her stolen beauty. He looked into her eyes and saw within them the depth of her selfishness, a quality more arousing to him than any of the more natural attractions. Even the famed skills of the Sisters of St. Salacious no longer held any interest for him; selfless duty was a poor substitute for such a beguiling concoction as innocence and appetite.

  But when finally he left Lasivia and saw the pillars of dense white smoke still spreading through the Hivedom’s fields, anger coursed through his veins. And in that moment of rage, his hawk-like eyes missed a single chance given to them to see a large honeybee flying over the Royal Clover. A large bee that was like no other, and one that was moving from hive to hive to dance before the Queen.

  Chapter 20

  ‘A King of Light and Dark shall be reborn,’ Relical Totamus whispered, lifting his head from a page of text.

  ‘Is that all you can tell me?’ snapped Cardinal Oblong.

  ‘There will be more, Your Mostfull,’ Totamus replied humbly. ‘But, it will take time.’

  Cardinal Oblong sat back from the books spread before him, the distant howl of a vulfbear bringing forth a strange mixture of emotions within him. He looked at the relicals gathered before him high in St. Butterbean’s Tower, and saw the fear on their faces at the dreadful sound.

  ‘Be not afraid,’ he said, his voice full of confidence, ‘for all is in order. You will see,’ he added beginning to chuckle, ‘as all will see. For my will shall be done.’

  He turned to the books once more, ignoring another lingering howl that yet again distracted his servants.

  ‘And is this the fourth intersection to the golden symbol?’ he asked at length, as he stared at a mass of lines and numbers that crease
d across the page.

  ‘We cannot be certain, Your Mostfull,’ replied Totamus, clearly relieved to return to the Mesharist puzzle in hand. ‘The mind of the Blessed Butterbean took many flights of intuition, the trail left behind often vague. The reference here to the ‘The White Pillars’, for example, typifies the ambiguity, for no sooner has he referenced their sighting as the ‘First Portent of the Sixth Age’, than he leaps to a lengthy discourse on the nature of honeybees as vessels for the soul. The pillars are forgotten and do not reappear again until…,’ Totamus walked to a huge volume lying on the far side of the long table, ‘…here, in Chapter One of the Fifty-Third Volume entitled ‘The Snake that Finds Her’.

  Oblong pulled himself out of his chair, pushing aside a hand anxious to assist, and then moved to the end of the table to read the text. Several phrases were familiar to him, but nothing provided the certainty he was looking for.

  ‘When I return, I expect to find the answer I seek,’ he said. ‘You know what you have to do; it is your Holy Purpose. The meaning trapped within the Golden Symbol must be found.’

  He turned and staggered down the narrow stairs with heavy steps, a further eerie howl accompanying his departure.

  When at last Oblong arrived back at the Imposium, only further bad news awaited his arrival.

  ‘Not returned!’ he shouted in anger.

  ‘When last seen,’ said the Holy Guard, ‘the High Commander was leading a troop carrying the Relical Bartolamy out of the City. He has not been seen since.’

  ‘Send out scouts!’ roared Oblong. ‘The High Commander is to be found. Both he and his men are ordered by me to return at once!’

  ‘It shall be done, Your Mostfull. But, there are further developments.’

  ‘What more can there be to torture me?’

  ‘Palace Guards have entered the City. They have arrested several powerful nobles and taken them to the Turret.’