Kull: Exile of Atlantis Page 8

  “Then, she is a countess, and it is a Valusian tradition that noble women marry foreigners only with the consent of the Valusian state–here consent was never given nor even asked. Valusia will become the scorn of all nations if we allow men from other lands to take our women with impunity.”

  “Name of Valka,” grumbled Kull. “Here is a great to-do–custom and tradition! I have heard little else since I first pressed the throne of Valusia–in my land women mate with whom they will and with whom they choose.”

  “Aye, Kull.” Thus Tu, soothingly. “But this is Valusia–not Atlantis. There all men, aye, and all women are free and unhindered but civilization is a network and a maze of precedences and custom. And another thing in regard to the young countess–she has a strain of royal blood.”

  “This man rode with Ka-yanna’s horsemen in pursuit of the girl,” said Tu.

  “Aye,” the young man spoke. “And I have for you a word from Felgar, lord king.”

  “A word for me? I never saw Felgar.”

  “Nay, but this he said to a border guard of Zarfhaana, to be repeated to they who pursued: ‘Tell the barbarian swine who defiles an ancient throne, that I name him scoundrel. Tell him that some day I shall return and clothe his cowardly carcase in the clothing of women, to attend my chariot horses.’”

  Kull’s vast bulk heaved erect, his chair of state crashing to the floor. A moment he stood, speechless, then he found voice in a roar that sent Tu and the noble backward.

  “Valka, Honen, Holgar and Hotath!” he roared, mingling deities with heathen gods in a manner that made Tu’s hair rise at the blasphemy; Kull’s huge arms were brandished aloft and his mighty fist descended on the table top with a force that buckled the heavy legs like paper. Tu, pale, swept off his feet by this tide of barbarian fury, backed against the wall, followed by the young noble who had dared much in giving Felgar’s word. However, Kull was too much the savage to connect the insult with the bearer; it must remain for civilized rulers to wreak vengeance on courtiers.

  “Horses!” roared Kull. “Have the Red Slayers mount! Send Brule to me!”

  He tore off his kingly robe and hurled it across the room, snatched a costly vase from the broken table and dashed it to the floor.

  “Hurry!” gasped Tu shoving the young nobleman toward the door. “Get Brule, the Pictish Spear-slayer–haste, before he slays us all!”

  Tu judged the king’s actions by those of preceding kings; however Kull had not progressed far enough in civilized custom to wreak his royal rage on innocent subjects.

  His first red fury had been succeeded by a cold steel rage by the time Brule arrived. The Pict stalked in unconcernedly, a grim smile touching his lips as he marked the destruction caused by the king’s wrath.

  Kull was garbing himself in riding garments and he looked up as Brule entered, his scintillant grey eyes gleaming coldly.

  “Kull, we ride?” asked the Pict.

  “Aye, we ride hard and far, by Valka! We ride to Zarfhaana first and perhaps beyond–to the lands of the snow or the desert sands or to Hell! Have three hundred of the Red Slayers in readiness.”

  Brule grinned in pure enjoyment. He was a powerfully built man of medium height, dark, with glittering eyes set in immobile features. He looked much like a bronze statue. Without a word he turned and left the chamber.

  “Lord king, what do you do?” ventured Tu, still shaking from fright.

  “I ride on Felgar’s trail,” answered the king ferociously. “The kingdom is in your hands, Tu. I return when I have crossed swords with this Farsunian or I return not at all.”

  “Nay, nay!” exclaimed Tu. “This is most unwise, king! Heed not what that nameless adventurer said! The emperor of Zarfhaana will never allow you to bring such a force as you named into his realm.”

  “Then I will ride over the ruins of Zarfhaana’s cities,” was Kull’s grim reply. “Men avenge their own insults in Atlantis–and though Atlantis has disowned me and I am king of Valusia–still I am a man, by Valka!”

  He buckled on his great sword and strode to the door, Tu staring after him.

  There before the palace sat four hundred men in their saddles. Three hundred of these were men of the Red Slayers, Kull’s cavalry, and the most terrible soldiery of the earth. They were composed mostly of Valusian hillmen, the strongest and most vigorous of a degenerating race. The remaining hundred were Picts, lean, powerful savages, men of Brule’s tribe, who sat their horses like centaurs and fought like demons when occasion arose.

  All these men gave Kull the crown salute as he strode down the palace steps and his eyes lighted with a fierce gleam. He was almost grateful to Felgar for having given him the pretext he needed to quit the monotonous life of the court for awhile and plunge into fierce action–but his thoughts toward the Farsunian were no more kindly for this reason.

  At the front of this fierce array sat Brule, chieftain of Valusia’s most formidable allies, and Kelkor, second commander of the Red Slayers.

  Kull acknowledged the salute by a brusk gesture and swung into the saddle.

  Brule and the commander reined in on either side of him.

  “At attention!” came Kelkor’s curt command. “Spurs! Forward!”

  The cavalcade moved forward at an easy trot. The people of Valusia gazed curiously from their windows and doorways and the throngs on the streets turned as the clatter of silver hoofs resounded through the babble and chatter of trading and commerce. The steeds flung their caparisoned manes; the bronze armor of the warriors glinted in the sun, the pennons on the long lances streamed backward. A moment the small people of the market place stopped their gabble as the proud array swept by, blinking in stupid wonder or childish admiration; then the horsemen dwindled down the great white street, the clang of silver on cobble stone died away in the distance and the people of the city turned back to their common-place tasks. As the people always do, no matter what kings ride.

  Along the broad white streets of Valusia swept the king and his horsemen, out through the suburbs with their spacious estates and lordly palaces; on and on until the golden spires and sapphire towers of Valusia were but a silver shimmer in the distance and the green hills of Zalgara loomed majestically before them.

  Night found them encamped high on the slopes of the mountains. The hill people, kin to the Red Slayers, many of them, flocked to the camp with gifts of food and wine, and the warriors, the proud restraint they felt among the cities of the world loosened, talked with them and sang old songs, and exchanged old tales. But Kull walked apart, beyond the glow of the campfires to gaze out across the mystic vistas of crag and valley. The slopes were softened by verdure and foliage, the vales deepening into shadowy realms of magic, the hills standing out bold and clear in the silver of the moon. The hills of Zalgara had always held a fascination for Kull. They brought to his mind the mountains of Atlantis whose snowy heights he had scaled as a youth, ere he fared forth into the great world to write his name across the stars and make an ancient throne his seat.

  Yet there was a difference. The crags of Atlantis rose stark and gaunt; her cliffs were barren and rugged. The mountains of Atlantis were brutal and terrible with youth, even as Kull. Age had not softened their might. The hills of Zalgara rose up like ancient gods but green groves and waving verdure laughed upon their shoulders and cliffs and their outline was soft and flowing. Age–age–thought Kull; many drifting centuries had worn away their craggy splendor; they were mellow and beautiful with antiquity. Ancient mountains dreaming of bygone kings whose careless feet had trod their sward.

  Like a red wave the thought of Felgar’s insult swept away these broodings. Hands clenched in fury, Kull flung back his shoulders to gaze full into the calm eye of the moon.

  “Helfara and Hotath doom my soul to everlasting Hell if I wreak not my vengeance on Felgar!” he snarled.

  The night breeze whispered among the trees as if in answer to the heathen vow.

  Ere scarlet dawn had burst like a red rose over the hill
s of Zalgara Kull’s cavalcade was in the saddle. The first glints of morning shone on the lance points, the helmets and the shields as the band wound its way through green waving vales and up over long undulating slopes.

  “We ride into the sunrise,” remarked Kelkor.

  “Aye,” was Brule’s grim response. “And some of us ride beyond the sunrise.”

  Kelkor shrugged his shoulders. “So be it. That is the destiny of a warrior.”

  Kull glanced at the commander. Straight as a spear sat Kelkor in his saddle, inflexible, unbending as a statue of steel. The commander had always reminded the king of a fine sword of polished steel. A man of terrific power, and mighty forces, the most powerful thing about him was his absolute control of himself. An icy calmness had always characterized his words and deeds. In the heat and vituperation of council, in the wild wrack of battle, Kelkor was always cool, never confused. He had few friends, nor did he strive to make friends. His qualities alone had raised him from an unknown warrior in the ranks of the mercenaries, to the second highest rankin Valusian armies–and only the fact of his birth debarred him from the highest. For custom decreed that the lord commander of troops must be a Valusian and Kelkor was a Lemurian. Yet he looked more a Valusian than a Lemurian as he sat his horse, for he was built differently from most of his race, being tall and leanly but strongly built. His strange eyes alone betrayed his race.

  Another dawn found them riding down from the foothills that debouched out into the Camoonian desert, a vast wasteland, uninhabited, a dreary waste of yellow sands. No trees grew there, nor even bushes, nor were there any streams of water. All day they rode, stopping only a short time at midday to eat and rest the horses, though the heat was almost intolerable. The men, enured as they were, wilted beneath the heat. Silence reigned save for the clank of stirrups and armor, the creak of sweating saddles, and the monotonous scruff of hoof through the deep sands. Even Brule hung his corselet on his saddle bow. But Kelkor sat upright and unmoved, under the weight of full armor, seemingly untouched by the heat and discomfort that harried the rest.

  “Steel, all steel,” thought Kull in admiration, secretly wondering if he could ever attain the perfect mastery over himself that this man, also a barbarian, had attained.

  Two days’ journey brought them out of the desert and into the low hills that marked the confines of Zarfhaana. At the border line they were stopped by two Zarfhaana’an riders.

  “I am Kull, of Valusia,” the king answered abruptly. “I ride on the trail of Felgar. Seek not to hinder my passing. I will be responsible to your emperor.”

  The two horsemen reined aside to let the cavalcade pass and as the clashing hoofs faded in the distance, one spoke to the other:

  “I win our wager. The king of Valusia rides himself.”

  “Aye,” the other replied. “These barbarians avenge their own wrongs. Had the king been a Valusian, by Valka, you had lost.”

  The vales of Zarfhaana echoed to the tramp of Kull’s riders. The peaceful country people flocked out of their villages to watch the fierce war-men sweep by and word went to the north and the south, the west and the east, that Kull of Valusia rode eastward.

  Just beyond the frontier, Kull, having sent an envoy to the Zarfhaana’an emperor to assure him of their peaceful intention, held council with Brule, Ka-yanna and Kelkor.

  “They have the start of us by many days,” said Kull, “and we must lose no time in searching for their trail. These country people will lie to us; we must scent out our own trail, as wolves scent out the spoor of a deer.”

  “Let me question these fellows,” said Ka-yanna, with a vicious curl of his thick, sensual lips. “I will guarantee to make them speak truthfully.”

  Kull glanced at him inquiringly.

  “There are ways,” purred the Valusian.

  “Torture?” grunted Kull, his lips writhing in unveiled contempt. “Zarfhaana is a friendly nation.”

  “What cares the emperor for a few wretched villagers?” blandly asked Ka-yanna.

  “Enough.” Kull swept aside the suggestion with true Atlantean abhorrence, but Brule raised his hand for attention.

  “Kull,” said he, “I like this fellow’s plan no more than you but at times even a swine speaks truth–” Ka-yanna’s lips writhed in rage but the Pict gave him no heed. “Let me take a few of my men among the villages and question them. I will only frighten a few, harming no one; otherwise we may spend weeks in futile search.”

  “There spake the barbarian,” said Kull with the friendly maliciousness that existed between the two.

  “In what city of the Seven Empires were you born, lord king?” asked the Pict with sarcastic deference.

  Kelkor dismissed this by-play with an impatient wave of his hand.

  “Here is our position,” said he, scrawling a map in the ashes of the camp-fire with his scabbard end. “North, Felgar is not likely to go–assuming as we do that he does not intend remaining in Zarfhaana–because beyond Zarfhaana is the sea, swarming with pirates and sea-rovers. South he will not go because there lies Thurania, foe of his nation. Now it is my guess that he will strike straight east as he was travelling, cross Zarfhaana’s eastern border somewhere near the frontier city of Talunia, and go into the wastelands of Grondar; thence I believe he will turn south seeking to gain Farsun–which lies west of Valusia–through the small principalities south of Thurania.”

  “Here is much supposition, Kelkor,” said Kull. “If Felgar wishes to win through to Farsun, why in Valka’s name did he strike in the exactly opposite direction?”

  “Because, as you know Kull, in these unsettled times all our borders except the eastern-most are closely guarded. He could never have gotten through without proper explanation, much less have carried the countess with him.”

  “I believe Kelkor is right, Kull,” said Brule, eyes dancing with impatience to be in the saddle. “His arguments sound logical, at any rate.”

  “As good a plan as any,” replied Kull. “We ride east.”

  And east they rode through the long lazy days, entertained and feasted at every halt by the kindly Zarfhaana’an people. A soft and lazy land, thought Kull, a dainty girl, waiting helpless for some ruthless conqueror–Kull dreamed his dreams as his riders’ hoofs beat out their tattoo through the dreamy valleys and the verdant woodlands. Yet he drove his men hard, giving them no rest, for ever behind his far-sweeping and imperial visions of blood-stained glory and wild conquest, there loomed the phantom of his hate, the relentless hatred of the savage, before which all else must give way.

  They swung wide of cities and large towns for Kull wished not to give his fierce warriors opportunity to become embroiled with some dispute with the inhabitants. The cavalcade was nearing the border city of Talunia, Zarfhaana’s last eastern outpost, when the envoy sent to the emperor in his city to the north rejoined them with the word that the emperor was quite willing that Kull should ride through his land, and requested the Valusian king to visit him on his return. Kull smiled grimly at the irony of the situation, considering the fact that even while the emperor was giving benevolent permission, Kull was already far into his country with his men.

  Kull’s warriors rode into Talunia at dawn, after an all night’s ride, for he had thought that perhaps Felgar and the countess, feeling temporarily safe, would tarry awhile in the border city and he wished to precede the word of his coming.

  Kull encamped his men some distance outside the city walls and entered the city alone save for Brule. The gates were readily opened to him when he had shown the regal signet of Valusia and the symbol sent him by the Zarfhaana’an emperor.

  “Hark ye,” said Kull to the commander of the gate-guards. “Are Felgar and Lala-ah in this city?”

  “That I cannot say,” the soldier answered. “They entered at this gate many days since but whether they are still in the city or not, I do not know.”

  “Listen, then,” said Kull, slipping a gemmed bracelet from his mighty arm. “I am merely a wandering Valusian
noble, accompanied by a Pictish companion. None need to know who I am, understand?”

  The soldier eyed the costly ornament covetously. “Very good, lord king, but what of your soldiers encamped in the forest?”

  “They are concealed from the eyes of the city. If any peasant enters your gate, question him and if he tells you of a force encamped, hold him prisoner for some trumped-up reason, until this time tomorrow. For by then I shall have secured the information I desire.”

  “Valka’s name, lord king, you would make me a traitor of sorts!” expostulated the soldier. “I think not that you plan treachery, yet–”

  Kull changed his tactics. “Have you not orders to obey your emperor’s command? Have I not shown you his symbol of command? Dare you disobey? Valka, it is you who would be the traitor!”

  After all, reflected the soldier, this was the truth–he would not be bribed, no! no! But since it was the order of a king who bore authority from his emperor–

  Kull handed over the bracelet with no more than a faint smile betraying his contempt of mankind’s way of lulling their conscience into the path of their desire; refusing to admit that they violated their own moral senses, even to themselves.

  The king and Brule walked through the streets, where the trades-people were just beginning to stir. Kull’s giant stature and Brule’s bronze skin drew many curious stares, but no more than would be expected to be accorded strangers. Kull began to wish he had brought Kelkor or a Valusian for Brule could not possibly disguise his race, and since Picts were seldom seen in these eastern cities, it might cause comment that would reach the hearing of those they sought.

  They sought a modest tavern where they secured a room, then took their seats in the drinking room, to see if they might hear aught of what they wished to hear. But the day wore on and nothing was said of the fugitive couple nor did carefully veiled questions elicit any knowledge. If Felgar and Lala-ah were still in Talunia they were certainly not advertising their presence. Kull would have thought that the presence of a dashing gallant and a beautiful young girl of royal blood in the city would have been the subject of at least some comment, but such seemed not to be the case.