"Latulla and her supporters believe that the death of the Witch King Kreig marked the end of the Second Cycle of Blood and the beginning of a new cycle," Fumash said, looking toward the column and then back to Haddad. "The first cycle was the mixing of ancient warrior races in the time of the Heroes. Tribes and nations congealed to form the early Keldons. Then the second cycle marked the forging of the witch kings. The final years of the cycle birthed the greatest of the witch kings through training and breeding. Kreig was the result of generations, and many Keldons believe that the enemies of the Second Cycle attacked Keld to stop Kreig and the emergence of a perfect people."
Haddad laughed. Perfect was not a word that he would apply to such bloodthirsty barbarians.
"Remember," Fumash said, "this is what Latulla and her faction professes. They believe that Kreig was the ultimate warrior, and when he fell, the Second Cycle ended. The Third Cycle is the creation of an army to conquer the world. Now every man is a warrior, and the females have the responsibility of running the nation. The cradle houses arose to allow the expansion of Keld through careful breeding with captured women of spirit and ability. It allowed the Keldon women to run the rest of the society while Keldons were pulled from the wombs of captured women. Now more and more warriors swell the Keldon ranks every year, and many believe Keld should march and conquer the globe. Every cycle to date has ended in a sea of blood, and Latulla and her allies are desperate for a war. They believe that an enemy will pull Keld down once more, and generations might pass before the nation will rise again. They want the war now while they are strong."
"But why this march to the Necropolis?" Haddad asked. "They are already fighting throughout the world. This call for battle seems superfluous."
"In recent months there have been outbreaks of disease among the cradle women and poor harvests in some of the holdings. Latulla has seized on this as a sign that the final battle is approaching, and she acts to take advantage. But the closer we get to the Necropolis, the fewer supporters she has. Yacuta right now rides to houses to find supporters for Latulla in Druik's name. She finds very few, and her temper grows more foul by the day." Even as Fumash spoke, Haddad could see Yacuta returning. His companion immediately turned and walked toward the column. Haddad followed behind, wondering at this sudden turn.
"It is best not to be noticed in bad times," Fumash said as he rejoined the outriders of Druik's party. "Remember Haddad, we are nearing the heart of the enemy, and nothing is more dangerous than drawing attention."
It was growing dark under a cloudy sky. For the first time, Latulla's party had not received use of a house. Scouts had returned to the column with news that no housing would be made available to the artificer. Haddad believed that only the proximity of the Necropolis and the need not to alienate possible supporters prevented Latulla from falling upon a house and slaughtering the inhabitants for shelter. Warriors circled fires as slaves hunted for ground to sleep on. Blankets and extra clothing were pulled from the wagons as many prepared for the night. Latulla's slaves were fairly close to a circle of young warriors. The League technician's eyes locked on one of the figures seated around the fire.
Haddad watched Greel. The familiar had grown more. He towered over many of the slaves and was as tall as many of the warriors. He was slender and his face was narrow. A predatory smile showed on his face as he looked from warrior to warrior. As Haddad passed, Greel winked at the League officer and laid his hand on the warrior next to him. The warrior started coughing, and Haddad could see Greel squeezing the warrior's arm in apparent concern. To Haddad, Greel was checking the quality of the meat. As the coughing increased, Greel showed a small expression of disgust, as if the meat was slightly off. Haddad crowded into the group of sleeping slaves rather than staying apart as his custom. He pulled his hidden knife from his wallet and tried to sleep. He could see Greel's smile behind his closed eyelids, and he didn't get any rest.
How long Haddad lay with his eyes open he could not say, but he was wide-awake when sudden motion caught the edge of his vision. Two men stood not ten yards away. A wave of ice seemed to sweep over him as he recognized a face.
Greel held his hand over his companion's mouth. The Keldon warrior was taller and heavier than the familiar but looked as helpless as a rabbit. The fighter tossed his head and tried to scream, but no sound issued. An absolute stillness covered the camp, and Haddad could barely grip his knife as he watched the Keldon's legs churning the ground. He could hear nothing, and the rest of the slaves slept on, oblivious. Haddad was frozen with more than fear. He could not even blink or avert his eyes. Like a dream, the attack continued, and no one could see it except Haddad. Greel pulled the warrior closer and began to sink down. The warrior's back arched, and the sudden stillness of his legs signaled the breaking of his back. In silence, the victim's arms flailed. The struggles grew more frenetic as Greel gripped the man's shoulders and squeezed. The warrior's mouth was open in scream, but still nothing could be heard. Then Greel crouched over the still body, and Haddad blinked. The sounds of the camp returned like a sudden clap of thunder. Haddad could hear the horses and colos at the edge of the camp. A few of the sleeping slaves around him groaned and turned over. Greel stood, shaking out his cloak and then hauling the cooling corpse up and draping a shattered arm over his shoulder. His eyes lifted from his victim and stared at Haddad. For a long moment Greel looked at the technician and then smiled. He backed away, the corpse dragging at his side.
The morning saw many of the slaves complaining of aching joints and tiredness. Greel was nowhere to be seen. There was no outcry over the missing warrior, and Haddad wondered if Latulla was covering for the monster. Several of the livestock had died as well during the night, and Haddad thought it amusing that the death of the animals was marked with swearing and questions while the disappearance of a man was ignored. Haddad wondered if Greel was connected with the animal deaths as well.
For several days they had been drawing closer to a cluster of hills surrounding a mountain. As they came closer, Haddad noticed that the mountain was surprisingly regular. Finally, he realized that the mountain was the Keldon Necropolis, city of the witch kings.
Latulla was marching on the center of religious, political, and military power of the Keldon nation. Each great building that they passed was merely a gatehouse to galleries under the earth. They passed an empty sealed barrack that waited for the witch king's armies. It reminded Haddad of the badlands. It lacked life, and the column's presence seemed an intrusion. The landscape dwarfed mortal men, and Latulla's supporters grew fewer the closer they came to the Warlords' Council. At last the entrance to the Council Hall appeared. A mighty fortress with walls thirty feet high, great towers supported the corners of the wall, and the gatehouse sat at the bottom of a steep ramp leading to the central keep. The heart of the fortress jutted directly out of the mountain rock, as if the mountain had half swallowed the building. Latulla stopped. No one was visible, and the gates were closed. She advanced, looking for someone to announce her.
"I seek an audience with the council!" she yelled, and her voice echoed, the sound mocking.
Slowly, a sally port opened and out stepped a woman. She wore a gray cloak with the hood thrown back, her dress a faded red. At her breast was the sign of a cradle mistress that Haddad could see as she moved forward. An iron-shod staff was in her hands, its haft covered in runes. Her face appeared unlined, and only her voice hinted at her age as she spoke.