Haddad tried to think of a reason that he would have been left in storage. He had assumed that waking off the ship was a normal experience. Now it was unusual, and the former League soldier didn't like the vulnerability that he felt.
"The first thing I remember is waking up in a bed, fully dressed, in a private room in Latulla's house. The housekeeper came in while I was up and put me straight to work building Latulla's ant." It did sound strange now that he related it aloud.
"From what I experienced and from what others have told me, waking up out of stasis is not something you forget. You gasp for air as the smoke fills your lungs. And as for dressing you in new clothes, a man in stasis is as solidly unbending as rock. None of this makes sense," Fumash said emphatically.
Haddad leaned a little closer and spoke in a whisper, not caring how suspicious it looked to whoever might be watching. He tapped the metal circling his arm.
"The band inflicts pain, my friend. When Latulla wishes, I writhe and wish for death." Haddad paused. "Perhaps I was kept in stasis until she could attach this leash." He struck the armband hard and then shook his hand to ease the pain in his fingers.
"It is possible," Fumash conceded. "The other possibility is that you were awake earlier but have somehow forgotten everything that occurred." Fumash glanced over his shoulder and stepped away. "My mistress approaches."
Yacuta rode forward on a colos to see who the strange slave was. When she saw the armband with Latulla's mark, she rode no closer but stared at Fumash and Haddad with lidded eyes. Realizing that an extended conversation would lead to an equally extended interrogation for Fumash, Haddad cut their talk short and walked quickly back to the wagon containing his gear.
How could he find out what happened? No matter what, one thing was sure. If he was awakened earlier than he thought, then Latulla and Iola had conspired to keep him ignorant.
The convoy made good mileage that day. Latulla arranged accommodations by taking the wagons to the largest house in the area and expelling the owners and their chattel. The country was rocky, and each great house stood alone or far from its neighbors. Haddad was seeing a land without the cities and towns or even villages that he had expected.
Every day brought another brooding, massive peaked house into view as Latulla settled in for the night. She took the lord's rooms and sent servants scuttling out of the way. In the hinterlands, no one dared refuse her, so a series of houses were abandoned to her use. Soon they drew near the Necropolis, and the land and people began to change. Now the houses were closer together, and Haddad began to see signs of trade on the road. Latulla now picked the smaller houses, instead of the largest ones, to occupy. Warlords watched and drilled their soldiers as Latulla passed their dwellings. Latulla's reputation as a sudden guest made her few allies, but no one openly opposed the column's passage.
As the march continued, Haddad was able to speak to Fumash several more times. The two friends wandered far to the left of the column and paralleled the main party. Fumash seemed particularly despondent, and Haddad asked him to explain the march, hoping the role of instructor might improve his friend's mood.
"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.