The Shadow Kingdom
(Draft)

The flare of the trumpets grew louder, like a deep golden thunder, and silver hoofs chimed rhythmically. The throng shouted, women flung roses from the roofs, as the first of the mighty array swung into view in the broad white street that curved round the golden spired Tower of Splendor.

First came the trumpeters, slim youths, clad in scarlet, riding with a flourish of long, golden trumpets; next the bowmen, tall men from the mountains; behind them the heavily armed footmen, their broad shields clashing in unison, their long spears swaying in perfect rythm to their stride. Behind them came the mightiest soldiery in all the world, The Red Slayers, horsemen, splendidly mounted, armed in red from helmet to spur. Proudly they sat their steeds, looking niether to right nor to left, but exultantly aware of the shouting for all that. They seemed like bronze statues, men of metal, and there was not a waver in the forest of spears that reared above them.

Behind these, came the motley ranks of the mercenaries, fierce, wild looking warriors, men of Mu and of Kaa-u and of the hills of the east and the isles of the west. They bore spears and swords and a compact group that marched somewhat apart from the rest, were the bowmen of Lemuria. Then came the nations light foot soldiery, and more trumpeters brought up the rear.

A brave sight, and a sight which aroused a fierce thrill in the soul of Kull, king of Valusia. Not on the Topaz Throne at the front of the regal Tower of Splendor sat Kull, but in the saddle, mounted on a great stallion, a true warrior king. His mighty arm swung up in reply to the salutes as the hosts passed. His fierce eyes passed the gorgeous trumpeters with a casual glance, rested longer on the following soldiery; they lit with a ferocious light as the Red Slayers halted in front of him with a clang of arms and a rearing of steeds, and tendered him the Crown Salute; they narrowed slightly as the mercenaries strode by.

They saluted no one, the mercenaries. They walked with shoulders flung back eyeing Kull boldly and straightly, albeit with a certain appreciation due a fighting man, fierce eyes, unblinking, staring from beneath shaggy manes.

And Kull returned a like stare. He granted much to brave men, and there were no braver in all the world, not even among the wild tribesmen who now disowned him. But Kull was too much the savage to have any great love for those. There were too many feuds. Many were age old enemies of Kull’s tribe and though the name of Kull was now a word accursed among the mountains and valleys of his people, and though Kull had put them from his mind, et still the old hates, the ancient passions lingered. For Kull was no Valusian but an Atlantean.

The armies swung out of sight down the broad white street that led to the barracks and Kull reined his stallion about and started toward the palace at an easy gait, discussing the review with the commanders that rode with him, using not many words, but saying much.

“That is a mighty army.” said he, “But an army is like a sword and must not be allowed to rust.”

So down the street they rode, and Kull gave no heed to any of the whispers that reached his hearing from the throngs that still swarmed the streets.

“That is Kull, see! Valka! But what a king! And what a man! Look at his shoulders! His arms!”

And an undertone of more sinister whispers; “Kull! Ha, accursed usurper from the pagan isles–”

“Aye, shame to Valusia that a barbarian sits in the Throne of Kings–”

Little did Kull heed. Heavy handed had he seized the decaying throne of ancient Valusia and with a heavier hand did he hold it, a man against a nation.

After the council chamber, the social palace, where Kull curtesously replied to the formal and laudatory phrases of the lords and ladies, with carefully hidden, grim amusement at such frivolities.

Then the lords and ladies took their formal departure, and Kull leaned back on the ermine throne and contemplated matters of state until an attendant requested permission from the great king to speak, and announced an emissary from the Pictish embassy.

Kull brought his mind back from the dim mazes of Valusian state craft where it had been wandering, and gazed upon the Pict with little favor.

The man returned the gaze of the king without flinching. He was a strongly built warrior of medium height, dark, like all his race and possesing strong immobile features, from which gazed dauntless inscrutable eyes.

“The chief of Councillors, Ka-nu of the tribes, sends greetings and says: There is a throne at the feast of the rising moon for Kull, king of Valusia.”

“Good.” answered Kull, “Say to Ka-nu the Ancient, ambassador of the western isles that the king of Valusia will quaff wine with him when the moon floats over the hills of Zalgara.”

“I have a word for the king; not,” with a contemptuous flirt of hand “for these slaves.”

Kull dismissed the attendants with a word, watching the Pict warily.

The man stepped nearer and lowered his voice: “Come alone to the feast tonight, lord king. Such was the word of my chief.”

The kings eyes narrowed. “Alone?”

“Aye.” They eyed each other silently, their mutual tribal enmity seething under their cloak of formality. Their mouths spoke the cultured words of a highly polished race, a race not their own, but from their eyes gleamed the primal traditions of the elemental savage. Kull might be the king of Valusia and the Pict might be an emissary to her courts, but there in the throne hall of Kings, two tribesmen glowered at each other, fierce, wary, while ghosts of wild wars and world-ancient feuds whispered to each.

To Kull was the advantage and he enjoyed it to it fullest extent.

Jaw resting on hand, Kull eyed the Pict, who stood like an image of bronze, head thrown back, eyes unflinching.

Across Kull’s lips crept a smile that was more a sneer.

“And so.” said he, “I am to come alone?” Civilization had taught him to speak by inuendo and the Pict’s eyes glittered. But he made no reply.

“How do I know you come from Ka-nu?”

“I have spoken.” the man answered sullenly.

“And when did a Pict speak truth?” sneered Kull, being fully aware that the Picts did not lie, but using this means to anger the man.

“I see your plan, king.” the Pict answered imperturbably, “You wish to enrage me. Very good. You need go no further. I am enraged enough. And I challenge you to meet me in single battle, spear, sword or dagger, mounted or afoot. Are you king or man?”

Kull’s eyes glinted in grudging admiration, the kind that a fighting man must needs give another, but he did not fail to take the chance of further annoying his antagonist.

“A king does not accept the challenge of a nameless barbarian.” he sneered, “Nor does the emperor of Valusia break the Truce of Ambassadors. You have leave to go. Say to Ka-nu I will come–alone.”

The Picts eyes flashed murderously. He fairly shook in the grasp of the primal blood-lust; then turning his back squarely upon the king of Valusia, he strode across the Hall of Society and vanished through the great doorway.

Again Kull leaned back on the ermine throne and mused. So the chief of the Picts of Council wished him to come alone? For what reason? Treachery? Grimly Kull touched the hilt of his great sword. But scarcely. The Picts valued too greatly the alliance with Valusia to break it for any feudal reason. Kull might be a warrior of Atlantis and the hereditary enemy of Picts, but he was king of Valusia and their most potent ally. Kull reflected on the strange state of affairs that made him ally of ancient foes and foe of ancient friends. Then he rose and paced restlessly across the hall. Chains of friendship, tribe and tradition he had broken to satisfy his ambition.

         

[…]

         

Kull sank back, yet gazed about him warily.

“There speaks the savage.” said Ka-nu, “Think you if I planned treachery I would enact it here where suspicion would be sure to fall upon me? Tut. You young tribesmen have much to learn. There were my chiefs who were not at ease because you were born among the hills of Atlantis; and you despise me in your mind because I am a Pict. Tut. I see you as Kull, king of Valusia, not as Kull, the reckless Atlantean who single handed defeated the raiders of Skan. So should you see in me, not a Pict but an international man, a figure of the world. Now to that figure, hark! If you were slain tomorrow who would be king?”

“Kanuub, baron of Blal.”

“Even so. I object to Kanuub for many reasons. Yet this most of all; Kanuub is but a figure-head.”

“A figure head! How so? He was my greatest opposer, but I knew not that he championed any cause but his own. How a figure-head.”

Ka-nu’s eyes still twinkled, but there was a calculating light in them, and he quoted a saying of his people to the effect that laughter wastes words.

“But I will not laugh at you.”

“The wind can hear.” answered Ka-nu obliquely, “There are cycles within cycles. But you may trust me and you may trust Brul, the Spear-slayer. Look,” he drew from among his robes a bracelet, of gold, representing a winged dragon coiled thrice, with three horns of ruby on the head. “Examine it closely Kull. Brul will wear it on his arm when he comes to you tomorrow night so that ye may know him. Listen, trust Brul as you trust yourself and do that which he tells you. And in proof of trust, look ye!”

With the quickness of a striking hawk, the ancient snatched something from his robes, something that flung a weird green light over them, then as hastily replaced.

“The stolen gem!” explained Kull, recoiling, “The green gem from the Temple of the Serpent! Valka! You! And why do you show it to me?”