The Shadow Kingdom | Page 2

middle height, dark, like all his
race, and strongly built. From strong, immobile features gazed
dauntless and inscrutable eyes.
"The chief of the Councilors, Ka-nu of the tribe right hand of the king
of Pictdom, sends greetings and says:" "There is a throne at the feast of
the rising moon for Kull, king of kings, lord of lords, emperor of
Valusia."
"Good," answered Kull. "Say to Ka-nu the An cient, ambassador of the
western isles, that the king of Valusia will quaff wine with him when
the moon floats over the hills of Zalgara."
Still the Pict lingered. "I have a word for the king, not"-with a
contemptuous flirt of his 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 feast tonight, lord king. Such was the word of my
chief."
The king's eyes narrowed, gleaming like gray sword steel, coldly.
"Alone?"
"Aye."
They eyed each other silently, their mutual tribal enmity seething
beneath their cloak of formality. Their mouths spoke the cultured
speech, the conventional court phrases 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 and wary, while ghosts of wild
wars and world-ancient feuds whispered to each.
To the king was the advantage and he enjoyed it to its fullest extent.
Jaw resting on hand, he eyed the Pict, who stood like an image of
bronze, head flung back, eyes unflinching.
Across Kull's lips stole a smile that was more a sneer.
"And so I am to come-alone?" Civilization had taught him to speak by
innuendo and the Pict's dark eyes glittered, though he made no reply.
"How am I to know that you come from Ka-nu?"
"I have spoken," was the sullen response.
"And when did a Pict speak truth?" sneered Kull, fully aware that the
Picts never lied, but using this means to enrage the man.
"I see your plan, king," the Pict answered imperturbably. "You wish to
anger me. By Valka, you need go no further! I am angry 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 with the grudging admiration a warrior must needs

give a bold foeman, but he did not fail to use the chance of further
annoying his antagonist.
"A king does not accept the challenge of a nameless savage," 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 Pict's eyes flashed murderously. He fairly shook in the grasp of the
primitive blood-lust; then, turning his back squarely upon the king of
Valusia, he strode across the Hall of Society and vanished through the
great door.
Again Kull leaned back upon the ermine throne and meditated.
So the chief of the Council of Picts wished him to come alone? But 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 hereditary enemy of all Picts, but too, he was king of
Valusia, the most potent ally of the Men of the West.
Kull reflected long upon the strange state of affairs that made him ally
of ancient foes and foe of ancient friends. He rose and paced restlessly
across the hall, with the quick, noiseless tread of a lion. Chains of
friendship, tribe and tradition had he broken to satisfy his ambition.
And, by Valka, god of the sea and the land, he had realized that
ambition! He was king of Valusia-a fading, degenerate Valusia, a
Valusia living mostly in dreams of bygone glory, but still a mighty land
and the greatest of the Seven Empires. Valusia-Land of Dreams, the
tribesmen named it, and sometimes it seemed to Kull that he moved in
a dream. Strange to him were the intrigues of court and palace, army
and people. All was like a masquerade, where men and women hid
their real thoughts with a smooth mask. Yet the seizing of the throne
had been easy-a bold snatching of opportunity, the swift whirl of
swords, the slaying of a tyrant of whom men had wearied unto death,
short, crafty plotting with ambitious statesmen out of favor at court-
and Kull, wandering adventurer, Atlantean exile, had swept up to the
dizzy heights of his dreams: he was lord of Valusia,