"I don't know why I need to head south," Greel groused. "I am happy here. There will be no children for me to play with. Surely Latulla needs no watcher over her."
Erissa punched him sharply, her rings tearing flesh. No blood seeped forth, and Haddad watched the gashes begin to close, hoping that it was a trick of the candlelightbut knowing it wasn't-as the flesh healed.
"Latulla's plan for reviving the witch kings will fail, but she will command in the south. Even with all the aid and spells I've provided her, I still don't trust our grip. If she were tied to the altar, I would treat it as an ambush," she hissed. Erissa took a deep breath and looked at Greel. "It's time to put your childhood behind you. You will find new playmates among the League and our less fervent supporters. Now I have a treat for you." Erissa opened her cloak and revealed a sleeping babe in a sling. She unstrapped the child and laid it down.
What in the nine hells is she doing? Haddad wondered. He knew something was dreadfully wrong, and as he watched, Greel struck.
The boy-or whatever it was-leaped up and balanced on the side of a crate. It inhaled and then crouched down, its mouth open wide as it began to exhale. Wider and wider the jaws opened, like a snake swallowing an egg.
Haddad tried to move but couldn't. Greel was a nexus of despair and death, and he drained every bit of Haddad's energy. The candle seemed to dim and flicker as if going out. Erissa seemed unaffected, and she moved, blocking Haddad's view of what was going on. The workshop seemed colder and colder, Haddad's armband bit into his flesh as it began to frost. Would his body be discovered in the morning? Haddad wondered. Then, the cold began to abate, and the room returned to normal.
The creature seemed a boy once more, panting as if a race had just ended. He was larger now, and his features were more mature, more rugged. Greel stretched, and his mouth gaped wide as he breathed. The babe was still, and Haddad knew it wasn't sleeping.
"I will need more sustenance, Erissa," Greel said as he wiped his brow. His voice was deeper now. "We need to find an eating place within the cradle house. I will be a warrior's size soon."
"The curse of the final days is upon us," Erissa laughed. "A few more dead children will surprise no one." She moved to the window and blew out the candles.
Haddad heard the curtains being opened and then the creak of the door. Who could he tell? A slave's word against a cradle mistress's? Any hint of what he had seen would mean his death. He knelt on the floor a long time before he replaced the cutout and found his way to his room.
Chapter 13
Haddad's work on the steel ant continued. Each day found him carefully repairing parts, recreating linkages, and reconnecting cables, but he no longer imagined that he would miraculously escape once he completed it. A single ant wouldn't carry him from Keld, and he couldn't have it following him around like a pet.
He found it harder to concentrate. The murder committed in the shop below him preyed on his mind. He saw Erissa and her entourage several times through the window as they went back and forth from the cradle house to visit Latulla's house. The cradle mistress was accompanied by a number of young boys, each bigger than the last. Greel was growing fast. Haddad also watched several funeral processions slowly wind from the gates of the cradle house toward the mountains. Haddad knew that the small shrouded forms were the result of the monster's appetite. How could Erissa and her creature kill within the compound and not be discovered? In any League town, one often saw children's funerals, but to have so many in just a few days? Haddad also remembered the cold comments of the cradle women. The death of children was common in the cradle house but had increased of late. Just what dark sorcery did Erissa practice?
Haddad resolved to learn more. He requisitioned some pure alcohol to clean parts of the ant's mechanism and ordered several times what he needed, using the extra to spike a sack of wine.
"Come join me," Haddad called to a stockman the next day. The League technician sat inside a stable with two cups and his wine. Latulla had several separate enclosures for beasts, and one was nearly abandoned as many of the mounts were with Latulla's party. A lone servant was cleaning and repairing tack for the missing animals. The slave was returning from the main house with a chunk of bread from the kitchen. Haddad knew that the man often ate separate from the other servants.
"Some wine will wash your meal down better than water from the trough," Haddad offered as he filled a cup. The liquor was far stronger with the addition of the cleaning alcohol, but the slave gulped it down without a word of appreciation. The stockman only held out his empty cup for more.
"I am Haddad from the southern continent. I know very little about the other servants or about Keld," Haddad explained as he filled the man's cup once again. "Perhaps you might instruct me."
The stableman's response was to drain his cup again, this time in slow swallows. The man was big, but smaller than the Keldon warriors. His clothes stank of dung and sweat. His brown hair was long and greasy, and his face was nearly hidden by a snarled beard. A series of tattoos swirled around his eyes, and a broad expanse of scalp hinted at his previous hairline.
"I do not gossip like an old woman. Talk to others if you would know more." The stableman threw the dregs of his cup against the wall, leaving a stain. Haddad spoke quickly before the slave could leave.
"I would speak to the old women, but there are none to be found. I know women have been stolen from my own country, but I haven't seen any female slaves except from the cradle house. Where do they all go?" Haddad asked hurriedly. The stableman paused.
"As you said. All women go into the cradle house. They bear Keldon children or help care for them. Perhaps other places in Keld allow human females to be outside the cradle house walls but not here," he said slowly.
"But if only slaves bear Keldon children, where do the Keldon women give birth?" Haddad was trying to get a firm grip on the facts.
"They don't," was the reply. "Here all warriors spring from slave mothers." The slave continued, "The Keldon females can bear children, but almost all choose not to."
"Why?" Haddad asked. A race that replenished itself by stealing women to bear its warriors? A race with little or no pregnancy by accident? The Keldons seemed beyond understanding.
"Males and females do not have sex except to bear children. The mother would bear most of the burden alone after the male left. It is much easier to have slaves do the hard work of bearing children while the Keldon women concentrate on other things," he finished. "Now I must work." He staggered as he got up but set a course for the tack room and walked fairly straight.
Haddad looked at the deflated sack of wine and considered the information he had just received. The Keldons raided for tufa, but a race that depended on slaves to replenish itself had an endless appetite for subject peoples. Haddad wondered if the League could beat off an invasion by such a race.
The following morning Iola called upon him in the workshop. "I am checking to see what progress you have made in completing the ant," she said as she swept through the door. Haddad had continued working, but the machine was still primarily parts scattered over the table. Iola turned to him with a severe expression.
"Latulla will be arriving in several days for the Festival of Passage. I suggest you have the device completed by then, or your screams will sound throughout the night when the mistress arrives," she warned.
Haddad knew that no excuses would be acceptable, and Iola left before he could get a more precise timetable. The next days were spent entirely in the workshop. Haddad soon realized that testing would consume more of his time than he had planned. Without a powerstone to show if the parts were working, Haddad had to go through laborious exercises and makeshifts to see. Finally he realized that until he had a powerstone, he would never know if his repairs worked. He locked the workshop a final time and went for his room. The sheaf of notes he had written on his experiences in Keld he left in the rafters of the first floor, but he took with him a wire garrote sewn into his clothing and a small knife hidden in his wallet. They were small prizes compared to the wealth of tools he left behind, but perhaps it was better to travel light when one has a long way to go.