Haddad tried to appear content under the eyes of Iola, but he could not. So far his living conditions were comparatively pleasant when contrasted with his earlier captivity, but at least at the colony the illusion of escape or the more improbable rescue by Kipamu League forces kept his spirits up. Despite the run of the kitchen and the respect he received from the other servants as an arm-banded slave, Haddad felt impotent.
His mood did not improve as a round of guests appeared from the cradle house. Erissa was accompanied by a new set of female followers. They were well groomed, and the male servants took advantage of an opportunity they hardly ever had-the chance to talk to a woman of their own race. The cradle women were soon surrounded by as many admirers as any socialite beauty at a League ball. Haddad had no desire to speak with them. Each one collaborated in the enslavement and controlled breeding of humanity. Whole nations might flow under the hands of the cradle mistress and midwife, but only Keldons marched away as their slave mothers bore more Keldon children.
Erissa was talking quietly with Iola. Stooped and eating a small cake and tea, the cradle woman reminded him of an elderly maiden aunt. Then he saw the young warrior standing behind her. The youth was near his full growth and clad in fine clothes, a sword at his side. His stance and alertness unnerved the technical officer, but he had no idea why. Then the soldier turned, and he got a glimpse of the extra-wide mouth. It was Erissa's demonic servant grown large- either that or a close sibling. Haddad was unable to say which would be worse. He began moving as far away as possible. Then an announcement rang through the hall.
"All gather for Sirk, the storyteller." All present flowed to the side of the room and stopped a respectful distance from an old warrior. The man was scarred and infirm though not missing any limbs as many other older Keldons.
His clothing and weapons were of fine quality but jarring in the clash of color and styles. It wasn't until after Sirk walked to stand before the crowd and bumped into a table with a searching hand that Haddad realized the man was blind.
More warriors and women poured in from other parts of the house and the grounds. A large crowd began to push each other for better viewing positions. Haddad moved to the rear of the room and could catch only glimpses of the storyteller, but once the Keldon spoke, his voice filled the space.
"Not all great tales are finished. Listen to the prophecies of the final days," Sirk said, and he gestured grandly in a style of speaking that Haddad was unfamiliar with. "Keld was created from the blood of heroes, drifting from our ancient shores until we landed north. At first these children were timid, holding only enough land to live and selfishly thinking of themselves before the people. In time the blood ran thin, and the spirit of the people gasped for relief and for the taste of battle they had left behind. On that day the first Keldon Witch King was born." Sirk paused to wet his throat with wine.
"He towered over the north as giants loom over normal men. 'A great destiny awaits me,' were his words when soon out of the womb. 'I shall bring forth a nation to cleanse the world from all darkness.' The king lay down with the women of his enemies and brought forth sons and daughters to swell his army. At last he stood upon the mountain and called forth, 'I am ready for the darkness, let my enemy stand forth and the final battle begin.' But the servants of evil were cowards and hid from the witch king, plotting his death. Many times they tried to pull him down but always failed. Still they refused battle, denying the witch king his rightful victory. At last the king called to his people. 'I am growing old, and a new leader must follow and claim my victory.' With that, the king passed the crown and went to the Necropolis, falling into a sleeping death. Each king has followed him into his palace as the millennia have passed. Each waits for the enemy to reveal himself, for the final days to begin the final battle. And on that day, all the witch kings interred in the palace will arise from their slumber, and a great host shall march and crack the world." Sirk finished his recitation with a flourish.
"But the final days are upon us," rang out a warrior's voice. One of Latulla's guards climbed on a table and began speaking to the crowd. "Death is spreading throughout the land. Children die in the cradle houses as the enemy seeks to choke our numbers! We must awaken the witch kings and take the battle to the enemy!"
"And where shall we march?" argued a gate guard. "The enemy hides as he has always hidden. Until he reveals himself, we cannot raise the kings!"
"Blasphemy!" cried yet another warrior. "The kings shall rise when they are ready, and you imperil the final victory by your talk of disturbing them." A multitude of voices broke out as every Keldon forgot their usual deference to their superiors and tried to shout each other down. The respect and awe that all Keldons felt for those of greater strength fled as religious fever drove each to define what was right and true.
Swords were drawn, and cries of pain began to sound in the hall as steel punctuated arguments. The cradle women and the slaves were caught up as well, and Haddad wondered how many would die before the fight ended.
"Enough!" The shout was punctuated by the chandeliers and candles throughout the room flaring and then exploding in blasts of boiling wax. Arguments were forgotten as all present squinted their eyes and desperately wiped off the fiery debris. Latulla had returned home.
Iola ran through the crowd to explain to the artificer but was waved silent before she could reach the mistress of the house.
"Dogs baying in the night!" Latulla said intently. "Arguments that have been said a hundred times and solved nothing! I came to celebrate passage, but it appears that you are stuck in my way." She drew herself up and looked over the crowd. "The festival is over. A new passage has begun." She pointed off to the side. "We travel for the Necropolis tomorrow, and the witch kings will awaken, or we will drag them into the light of day."
Latulla stalked away, leaving a confused babble behind her.
Chapter 14
The next morning Haddad hurried out to the workshop to present his work to Latulla. She had looked less controlled than usual the night before, and he was determined to appear his best. Latulla's travels would be far more conducive to escape than his current imprisonment deep in the Keldon interior. Crawling a little would be worth it if it got him moving again.
The workshop was open on both levels when he arrived. The first floor was being emptied into cargo wagons. The draft horses were uneasy, shifting in their traces. He could hear Latulla giving orders and talking as he looked through the double doors blocked by the wagon.
Iola was taking notes while Erissa sat to the side. Haddad was relieved to see her free of her attendants, both mortal and magical. Latulla knelt by the steel ant that Haddad had reconstructed. In her hands was a powerstone. She placed the crystal in the machine and closed the hatch. The ant came alive, and Haddad knew that she must have already designated herself as its controller.
"Go forward. Go left. Go right. Back up." Each command was given in a clear voice, and the ant promptly complied. Latulla noticed him and looked over his shoulder. A large dog was crossing the yard, one that the stockmen used to herd cattle.
"The four-legged animal one hundred yards out." The ant seemed to nod as Latulla spoke. "Kill it!"
The ant brushed Haddad as it raced out the door. The impact spun him around, and his hand smashed into the side of the wagon he was standing next to. The cart-horses whinnied in fear as the machine went past them, accelerating to maximum speed in only a few seconds. The ant hit the dog at a run and nipped off two legs in passing. The machine skidded along the grass as it stopped, and then it turned to hit the howling dog. Soon there was nothing but a pile of canine parts.