Prophecy

Chapter 3

Haddad slipped in and out of consciousness. The rocking movement of the land barge became hypnotic in its lulling power. The guards had distributed food and water only minutes after the prisoners boarded. Most were still in shock after the riot and had to be forced to eat and drink. Haddad tried to have as little as possible, not trusting such kindness after so many died. However, the barge slaves were old hands in a game Haddad was just learning, and they forced food down his throat. The provisions must have contained some sort of sedative, for

Haddad sat and dozed dumbly. By the time he was more aware, the main Keldon camp was appearing on the horizon. The convoy had traveled through the night and swung toward the coast. Haddad looked down to the sea and saw a large town, not a temporary camp. There were docks and piers stretching out into a bay. There were large ships waiting in the sheltered waters for a chance to unload. Small boats and rafts were also moored there, and sacks of cargo were being unloaded.

The heavy beat of a pile driver dragged his eyes to the construction of a new pier and warehouses. The Keldons were here to stay, the construction said. The town was much more incomplete. There were houses and what appeared to be workshops, but tents and small campsites spread in all directions. Systems of pens and feed yards put out an odor that fought with the smell of a working port. The convoy turned and headed into town. As they advanced, land barges peeled off to stop at campsites. Haddad could hear shouts from the front as a path was cleared. The slaves working outside spared only quick glances at the prisoners as they continued their tasks. Each slave slumped a little more as the convoy advanced at a walk.

"A full load of slaves for construction and mining!" bellowed a Keldon crewmember to the warriors outside. "Their army fell, and we raid their villages at our leisure! We're back because we could carry no more!"

Envy and jealousy colored the angry muttering outside, and Haddad memorized the rude gestures directed at the boastful warrior. The barge captain walked down to talk to Latulla in a forward compartment. He grunted at the shouting crewman to shut him up. The cuff as he passed was firm but not injurious, just a reminder there was work to be done and discipline to be enforced. Latulla left her compartment before the captain could reach it. Her clothes were visibly finer in quality. She was clad in leathers and fabrics of dark red and purple with fur trimming. Haddad smothered a laugh. Her color scheme reminded him of his favorite clown from childhood, but as she watched the slaves and hammered the deck with her cane, Haddad no longer found her humorous.

"Ready the slaves for processing, Captain." Behind her, servants were carrying out her possessions. "Save this one for me."

Haddad cried out in pain. Latulla's cane hit him before he even noticed her arm move. His face seemed to shatter as the flesh screamed in pain.

"I've marked him for you. Bring him to my house when you're finished here." Haddad could barely see, but her colors stood out against the bleak background, and he watched her exit the craft.

Haddad lay on his side, his face burning. Even the Keldons seemed to pity him, though it may have been a pain-inspired delusion. The crew sorted through equipment and supplies for unloading. Haddad recognized most of the supplies as having been produced by the Kipamu League. Arms and armor were inspected and thrown aside with disdain. There was more interest in the food and blankets. The barge slaves picked at the discard pile, not even looking at the weapons as they snatched pieces of gear.

The barge lurched forward several times then stopped. Keldon crew began throwing equipment to the warriors and slaves outside with instructions of where to take it. The captain observed it all but only stopped the appropriation of a few items. Haddad grabbed a skin of water from a human passing by. The skin was almost completely empty, but each drop that fell on his face stung and then numbed the pain. Haddad wondered what he looked like. Where water touched, he could feel unbroken skin, but pain swallowed every other sensation when he touched dry skin.

The sides of the barge dropped, forming ramps. Kicks and punches from the crew drove the League prisoners down and through a gate. At the captain's direction, two slaves dragged Haddad out to stand off to the side. The barge rested before a walled compound. A crowd of men milled within. Prisoners, slaves, and warriors were organizing themselves into groups. In the background were barracks, but only a few people moved toward the buildings. Most prisoners were being questioned only briefly and marched out through other gates.

A man with a bucket of water walked past to the Keldons standing guard around the gate. The sun was high in the sky, and it beat down on Haddad and the slaves holding him. Haddad reached vainly for the ladle in the bucket as the man stepped around him.

"Wait!" said one of the slaves holding Haddad. The bucket carrier turned around.

The slave holding Haddad's left arm waved the man back. Haddad's escort had been just a blur off to his side, but now he recognized the rough clothes that had been a League uniform. There were patches and repairs where insignia were torn off. His face was…

"Face forward, prisoner," said the man in the tattered uniform, and he pushed Haddad's head around with his free hand.

"Give him some water, boy, and throw some on that bruise," said the other slave holding Haddad up on the right.

The water carrier took a good look at Haddad and gasped. "Is he alive? The whole side of his head is blueblack! Was he trampled by a barge?" The man's tone showed interest in the grisly details of Haddad's injury, but he made no move to provide water. "You know only the new master is to provide the first water or food. Do you want me to get into trouble?"

Now the slave on Haddad's right took a step forward and gripped the water carrier's arm. Haddad was held up by the first barge crewman, and his head hung down.

"He's already been marked for an artificer." The words were low and gravelly, with rage evident in every tone. "He needs the water now, and you will do as my friend says." There were the sounds of a scuffle and a gasp of pain from the water carrier as two sets of feet came into Haddad's field of view. The dipper cast water into his face, and the numbing splash was as shocking as a blow. He staggered and crouched even lower. He could see the ladle dipping into the bucket as each of his companions drank in turn. He was jerked upright, and the water carrier was holding the dipper for him. His whole world was that small pool of water. Haddad tried for a moment to see his own face in a reflection, but a sound of impatience from his right prompted a long swallow. It was life and surcease that poured down his throat, and he felt human.

"Next time a barge man calls, you come," ground out the right man. The bucket carrier turned and walked toward the Keldon guards, shaking his arm and shoulder as if they had fallen asleep.

"Now don't look at us and don't talk." It was the man on his right, and Haddad could hear the tension in his words.

Haddad stood on his two feet and was careful to face forward. He brushed his face with his hand in a silent attempt to elicit more information.

"Your face was marked by an artificer, boy." Haddad dubbed the man Gravel as he considered the man's words. "One side of your face is a bruise with her sigil-purple and red in a field of black. It will heal very quickly, but there is no denying who your new master is until it clears."

"What's happening?" Haddad dropped his head and tried to whisper without moving his lips.

"No talking." Gravel's tones were light, but his grip was creating another bruise. The other man, Army now in Haddad's mind, spoke.

"I'm talking to my friend here and not a new slave." Army squeezed his arm in emphasis. "Everyone knows a new slave cannot receive aid, comfort, or information from us until he is inducted into a house or crew." Haddad still kept his head low but dropped his hand from his mouth and looked into the yard. The slaves were slowly dragging him back to the side of the barge so he had a better view and they were sure of their backs.

"Look at the poor bastards," Gravel drawled. "Most of them working in construction and mining crews till they drop dead of exhaustion."

"Not like this boy here," Army answered. "Inducted into an important household. With any luck he could be stuck in the back rooms and only have to deal with other slaves instead of a Keldon overseer. If he had any skills, he might even receive special status." There was a pause as if Gravel and Army were considering his situation.

"Of course, he could never become a barge crewman," Army continued.

"Absolutely. Why, only a trusted slave can get barge duty with its freedom of movement, the chance for escape or sabotage on long patrol," replied Gravel. "A barge man could possibly even murder a Keldon warrior, if he was fast enough."

"Only a 'good' record would give a slave such a chance," Army answered. "Plotting any act of rebellion is so difficult. What with the loyalty of the slaves from Keld and the chance that a slave born on this continent would trade in his countrymen for a little luxury."

"How could any slave conspire to escape or do injury?" Gravel questioned sarcastically.

"Well, he would have to try talking to virgin meat captured recently and be careful never to say anything too inflammatory," Army reflected.

"Keep his identity and face secret?" Gravel wondered.

"Yes, friend," Army paused for a moment. "Of course, one might wonder why anyone would be so foolish to contemplate resistance at all. Especially when anyone can betray you."

"To do nothing is to betray yourself," Gravel hissed.

Haddad realized the chance the two men were taking. He was marked for special consideration, and they stood in considerable danger. But since he had survived the first weeding out on the plains, he was probably more subtle in rebellion than the soldiers devoured by birds.

"Greetings, warrior," Army said loudly. "We are to take this slave to the Artificer Latulla's household. We are waiting for escort."

"A few minutes more, slave." The Keldon warrior loomed before Haddad. His helmet and armor were black in the sun, and Haddad could smell leather as sweat and water ran down the warrior's uniform. A canteen swung on the warrior's belt, wet from being refilled in the water-carrier's bucket.

"Malk!" the warrior bellowed. Another Keldon, yards away, turned from an unloading barge. At the shouter's gesture, Malk came striding over, the butt of his spear leading the way as he shoved slaves aside. His exit left a gap in the line that slowly closed as warriors shuffled into new positions. This reorganization opened another hole in the guard line, and a woman threw herself through the gap.

She was fair and blonde and might have been pretty without the fear distorting her features. The line of women that Haddad could now see was screened from sight as additional warriors moved into position. The Keldon who let the woman through turned to follow, rage at being outwitted plain on his features. The angry warrior would not have caught her except the woman bounced off slaves and then tripped, sprawling to the ground. The slaves, such a formidable barrier to the woman, parted instantaneously before the angry Keldon following her. The warrior stooped to haul the woman to her feet, but she flailed with such energy that he could not get a grip. The woman scooted away, kicking at the Keldon's face, cloth tearing as the warrior snatched at her limbs and clothing. Haddad wondered how someone so rash had escaped becoming meat for the parea.

"She will bring fierce warriors into the world, Malk," the sweating warrior said as Malk arrived and turned to see the struggle. The street was a stadium with the audience watching a farcical battle. The slaves on the street showed nothing, but Haddad could feel their cheers for the futile defiance the woman showed. The Keldons found the battle amusing as well because the slave was so overmatched but still battling a warrior to a stalemate.

"Perhaps there are still heroes born here," Malk said facetiously as he watched the exasperated warrior, bent over and pursuing the woman. Haddad was reminded of a housewife chasing down a chicken, though the final fate of the chicken was a grim counterpoint to the scene in front of him.

The warrior hovering over the woman still couldn't get a good grip. Long tattered strands of cloth whipped into his face, and the woman's garments tore in his metal gauntlets. Laughing warriors surrounded the pair. Haddad could see a tight cluster of spear points moving through the crowd and approaching the struggle. The Keldon warriors moved aside for greater authority as the slaves had parted for the warrior trying to capture the fleeing woman. Then the guard hit the woman with a closed fist.

Everything seemed to pause. The woman lay on the ground, her body limp as blood poured from a gash the gauntlet inflicted. Her face was washed away as blood covered her features and pooled on the ground. The laughter on the lips of the guards watching the fight disappeared in a disbelieving gasp, and then every Keldonexcept the guard kneeling with horror over the injured woman-drew and raised weapons.

"Stop!" The voice was high, and Haddad wondered what slave dared speak. The cluster of spear carriers forced its way to the woman, and the guard line opened. A Keldon woman stood revealed. Smaller than any of the warriors around her, she nevertheless dominated the Keldons and slaves as surely as a giant. "Care for the girl, now."

A stretcher team, composed of slaves, was there in seconds, and the guards stayed still, tense with expectation. Haddad was shocked to see a slave place his hand over the kneeling warrior's face and shove him away like a bothersome sheep. The slaves applied compresses to the woman's head and rushed her away. The warrior who injured her hurried to his knees and knelt before the woman of his race.

"Who commands this trash?" the female Keldon demanded, gesturing at the kneeling warrior. "I want him before me." The attentive guards rushed off to do her bidding as the slave woman's blood soaked into the offender's clothes. The warrior had knelt directly on the site of the struggle, as if trying to erase the evidence. Haddad was mystified. With all the casual and deliberate brutality he had seen, why should this woman's injury matter?

"I thank the gods I am not in that squad," Malk said quietly as he watched the Keldon warriors searching for the commander of the man who incurred such wrath from the crowd. The warrior guarding Haddad shook his head in agreement.

"To strike a cradle woman in the presence of a midwife. To call down the curse of all women upon him and his fellows." Haddad's guard knew some of the warriors effected, and it showed in his tone. "All crafts and worked goods are turned from them. No luck on the battlefield, no chance to sire future warriors until the curse is repealed. No provocation is worth that." The Keldon spat on the ground in contempt.

A large Keldon warrior pushed his way through the crowd, his finer armor showing high rank. The leader bowed his head without word or salutation and stood ready to accept whatever the midwife might say.

"You have failed Keld. One under your command struck a future mother because she showed the spirit your subordinate so sorely lacks. You will excuse yourself from the ranks of warriors and report to the ship bound for Keld when you have finished your current business."

"Yes, Midwife," the commander replied. "I will attend you tomorrow."

The woman spat on the Keldon kneeling in the blood while his commanding officer looked on. Rage made the commander's face into a demon's mask. The midwife and her retainers withdrew, the circle of spears working its way back through the crowd.

The now disgraced leader pointed to the kneeling warrior rocking back and forth in silent distress.

"Hold him and still his tongue." Five warriors attached themselves in an instant-one for each limb and one gagging the prisoner with leather laces.

"I strike twice as is my right," the leader halfscreamed, and blows from an armored boot crippled the prisoner, crushing the knees and tearing the flesh. Haddad could hear a muffled scream of pain as the commander gestured for the rest of his unit to approach.

"In striking a cradle wife this scum struck at Keld, at my honor, and at the honor of all his comrades. Return the blows that he has inflicted on us all." The surrounding warriors converged and began a slow, measured barrage of kicks to the body on the ground. Haddad could hear individual blows breaking bones as the slaves and the two Keldon guards led him away.

"I almost joined his attack group," the unnamed guard said as they walked away.

"You were lucky to escape that stain," Malk replied, jabbing the butt of his spear into the ground as a sign of agitation.

"Still," the other replied, "the commander could have tried to keep some honor for his warriors if not himself."

"You know the saying about midwives," Malk chided. "In all but battle they speak loudest. Better to plead and bargain tomorrow when her words do not echo. Perhaps some of the warriors will be able to serve worthy commanders. Anyway, some words are better spoken in privacy." Malk tried to surreptitiously wave at Haddad's face and the purple and red mark imprinted there. Malk's nervousness taught Haddad that he might have some power, even as a slave.

The dwelling of Latulla showed Haddad that he was to serve an important power. It was another walled compound with a large house and outbuildings. The main structure was multilevel, and in the entire town only a few buildings were equivalently high. The foundation and first story were rough-cut stone. There were two more levels of windows and balconies facing the gate and the sides of the compound. The roof was massive, a huge, steep tent about to settle over the entire house. A steep roof was necessary where large amounts of snow fell, but Haddad was astounded at the waste of materials and labor in building such a roof in these warm lowlands. In fact, the entire complex was too substantial for the few years that the Keldons had been here. Most of the materials did not look local except for the stone. How much shipping had been dedicated to this construction, Haddad wondered.

Keldons and slaves stopped at the gatehouse. A richly dressed human servant stood between two guards. Over the gate hung a round black shield with a single complex character of red and purple, an emblem Haddad realized must be replicated in the complex bruise on his face.

"We have brought a slave at the artificer's orders," said the Keldon escort, and Gravel and Army threw him down before the servant. Barge slaves and warriors left, and Haddad was at his new home.

"I am Briach, chief among Latulla's slaves," he intoned. "And while your genuflection is flattering, I require only simple courtesy." Haddad drew himself to his feet and stood before the gate.

Briach was tall and pale, dressed in a simple short robe of medium quality. His hair was red and freckles covered his face, a coloring common to many slaves from Keld as Haddad would find out. On his right arm was a bronze armband, richly worked with a scattering of stones. Threaded through his belt was a short, heavy club. While Haddad had seen knives and other possible weapons in the hands of slaves, they had all been tools. The club was a weapon, and it showed this slave had unusual trust and authority in the town.

"Come with me," Briach commanded, and Haddad moved at a half-run to catch up.

"You have been very fortunate…" Briach paused, and Haddad almost ran into him. "What is your name and profession?"

"I am Haddad, and I am a League soldier," Haddad replied, trying to sound proud. "I maintained the war machines and fought with honor."

"Your old life is dead, Haddad," Briach said as he continued walking. "Your life is now service to Keld and to Artificer Latulla." Briach stopped before the steps of the house and gestured widely. "This is your home, and here is your loyalty." Briach grasped Haddad's shoulder and lightly touched the massive bruise already starting to fade. "You are marked, and service is written on your soul. You have no family, no nation, no purpose apart from Latulla." Briach started walking around the building, out of sight of the gates and the guards standing watch at the small gatehouse.

Benches were placed outside the rear of the house, and the cackling of chickens sounded from a coop against the rear enclosure wall. Haddad and Briach sat down, and Haddad said nothing, instead looking at the grounds as a prospective battlefield for his freedom.

"Is it true that in the League, city has fought city?" Briach asked.

"Yes, the cities have battled, though they fought in the field rather than on city streets," Haddad replied. In the presence of an invasion it was an embarrassing historical note.

"And is it true your fighters may move from army to army?" Briach continued. Haddad decided to play along rather than educate Briach in the complexities and shifting loyalties that in the recent past governed military employment.

"Yes, allegiances change all the time." Of course, intercity fighting disappeared with the current Keldon incursion.

"Then you are lucky you have this chance to serve Keld." Briach stood and stared north. "The strength of Keld will sweep down upon your cities and crush your armies. You have been given a precious opportunity to see the completion of a great destiny. You are honored to serve one of a special class. Artificers create new weapons, new engines of destruction. Fired by the 'Heroes' Blood' and the will of our warriors, Keld will sweep over the world!" Briach's eyes were shining, and Haddad felt his gorge rise at the sight of a slave in love with his masters. In the League, a military defeat only meant a small loss of status or position. Briach was talking about the total destruction of Haddad's city, nation, and culture. Haddad hoped he died before he wished for such a foulness to grow.

"What do you mean, 'Heroes' Blood'? " Haddad wanted Briach to keep talking but couldn't bring himself to agree with the chief slave's mad vision.

"Long ago when the land was newly born, gods and heroes stalked the land. Each stood taller and mightier than any who walk today." Briach swung and gestured westward. "But an evil came into the land and corrupted the gods, turning them weak and twisted in hate for all living things. They swept over the land, and death flew with them in slaughter and disease. The people writhed under the feet of their murderers. The gods' betrayal festered and poisoned mortal men until they joined the forces of darkness."

Haddad was impressed with Briach's storytelling skills but had no idea what the loon was talking about.

"The Heroes fought against false and treacherous gods. The swords of right spilled waves of blood, but each victory or stalemate only delayed evil's triumph. The Heroes saw all turned against them and sent their people fleeing north, telling them millennia must pass before they could return home. Those remaining battled without any thought of restraint. Every battlefield drank Heroes' Blood and the tears of fallen gods. Now evil was besieged at every point as men threw themselves against their betrayers, smothering and caging fallen gods under piles of bodies and then bloody bones. The final battle vanquished evil but at the cost of every warrior's life. Only the corpses were left in a poisoned land." Briach sat down and spoke more quietly.

"The land was empty for centuries. Time covered every victory and defeat, changing the remains of slaughter and sacrifice into power waiting to be picked up by the children of heroes." Briach's tone turned sour. "But escaped slaves came to the empty land and found the blood of heroes. They used it to fertilize fields, to power wagons and ships to carry cabbages. The scum fed off the land left behind by the fathers of Keld. And so the Keldons have returned to reclaim their heritage.

"Each victory, each barrel of tufa, each war manikin fed by Heroes' Blood brings all of Keld closer to a holy war. Each slave who completes his task brings that day closer," Briach exclaimed.

"The Keldons want to sweep over the world," Haddad repeated. "But if what you say is true, then they are centuries late in arriving here. Why are they here now?"

"Because you are stealing the Heroes' Blood!" Briach snarled. "The tufa your League pulls from the mines is composed of the blood and gore shed by the Heroes and their enemies. Each concentration marks the remains of battle and power run amok. What you call tufa is the matrix holding Heroes' Blood." Briach stood and turned to the west.

"The Kipamu League," he spat, "mines the greatness and legacy left to Keld by the ancestors! Heroes' Blood was laid down in battle, and your kind uses it to nurture crops! We have come to reclaim the inheritance and use it for war. Laid down in battle, the Blood will be expended in battle!" Briach walked to Haddad and gripped his shoulders tightly, as if to force his vision into Haddad's body.

"The Keldons are the chosen people!" Briach frothed. "They are a race of heroes drawn from every corner of the earth! Only in the last few years have they remembered the greatness of their forefathers here! Time and the blood of other lands have made the Keldons worthy to rule here and every other land! The final days are upon us and we are ready to take back the world!"

Haddad wondered when, exactly, Briach had lost his mind. The dead and brutalized League citizens in Haddad's memories were the victims of barbarians, not saviors. Haddad realized that Briach needed to serve heroes in his own mind. The steward was trying to convince himself as much as Haddad.

Briach came back to the present and prodded Haddad toward a workshop. "Remember you serve a great people. Now Latulla will see you and induct you into the house."

The workshop was the size of a large barn with a high peaked roof, massive logs and great stones forming the foundation and the walls. The workshop, even more than the house, squatted like an invader on the land. When he reached the open doors he found the interior well lit. Windows and skylights let the sun shine on the tables and benches inside. Haddad had assumed the building would be as dark as the magic and rituals he imagined within.

Instead, there were tables with carefully organized apparatus everywhere. Shelves of meticulously labeled bottles stood against the walls, and a large dispensary could be seen at the back of the shop. Pegs held stools and large pieces of gear up off the floor and out of the way.

The second story was an open loft without partitions. A rope-powered lift to raise and lower materials from the upper floor was to one side. A series of stalls with iron locks and cryptic symbols was on the other. Some of the stalls were barred with bedding inside. Why would Latulla keep prisoners here where they might disturb her work? Haddad realized that captives might be at the heart of Latulla's work and wondered how long they lasted. Haddad wondered if he would die here. His heart nearly stopped as he walked past a trough with a body in it. He stopped, looking down. It was not a body, he realized with relief, but a mechanical model that looked like a man. Haddad stared at the clumps of leather and flesh attached to the metal skeleton and wondered what purpose it served. Briach shoved him forward, stopping his inspection of the "body."

Latulla stood examining equipment Haddad recognized from his unit. She picked up a manual on maintaining war machines and turned the pages. The text she only glanced at, but the diagrams drew her interest as the two slaves stood before her. She closed the book and looked one final time at the army emblem on the front cover. The same emblem was worked into Haddad's shirt to show his military specialty.

"So you are an expert in the crude abominations of the enemy?" she asked.

Haddad nodded vaguely, unsure of her meaning and his expected response. Briach cuffed his head strongly when Latulla looked at him.

"Speak when spoken to. You are in service now." Briach sounded as if he wanted to curse in anger.

"I maintained war machines," Haddad ventured.

"I may make use of you then." Latulla lifted a plate at her side. On it were a crust of bread and a cup of wine. "Open your mouth and eat." Latulla stuffed part of the bread into his mouth and watch him gnaw off a piece of the stale loaf. After several painful chews she poured the sour wine into his mouth. He almost gagged.

"I take you into my house. I provide you nourishment. I give you purpose and meaning." Latulla threw the plate and cup down as if they were soiled. She turned her back to them and went back to examining her loot.

"Take the dishes away and teach him what I expect. He may be called to serve as my aide. Brief him on his responsibilities and the punishments for failure." She spoke without even contempt, as if Haddad were a dumb animal she would need trained.

You have enrolled a viper, not a beast of burden, Latulla, he whispered in the back of his mind as he picked up the two pieces of pewter. He and Briach left. Haddad talked and asked questions all the way back to the main building that night, gathering information to feed his treachery.