Kull intended to fare forth that night upon the streets, even to the extent of committing some marauding if necessary, and failing in this to reveal his identity to the lord of the city the next morning demanding that the culprits by handed over to him. Yet Kull’s ferocious pride rebelled at such an act. This seemed the most logical course, and was one which Kull would have followed had the matter been merely a diplomatic or political one. But Kull’s fierce pride was roused and he was loath to ask aid from anyone in the consummating of his vengeance.
Night was falling as the comrades stepped into the streets, still thronged with voluble people and lighted by torches set along the streets. They were passing a shadowy side-street when a cautious voice halted them. From the dimness between the great buildings a claw-like hand beckoned. With a swift glance at each other, they stepped forward, warily loosening their daggers in their sheaths as they did so.
An aged crone, ragged, stooped with age, stole from the shadows.
“Aye, king Kull, what seek ye in Talunia?” her voice was a shrill whisper.
Kull’s fingers closed about his dagger hilt more firmly as he replied guardedly.
“How know you my name?”
“The market-places speak and hear,” she answered with a low cackle of unhallowed mirth. “A man saw and recognized you today in the tavern and the word has gone from mouth to mouth.”
Kull cursed softly.
“Hark ye!” hissed the woman. “I can lead ye to those ye seek–if ye be willing to pay the price.”
“I will fill your apron with gold,” Kull answered swiftly.
“Good. Listen now. Felgar and the countess are apprized of your arrival. Even now they are preparing their escape. They have hidden in a certain house since early evening when they learned that you had come, and soon they leave their hiding place–”
“How can they leave the city?” interrupted Kull. “The gates are shut at sunset.”
“Horses await them at a postern gate in the eastern wall. The guard there has been bribed. Felgar has many friends in Talunia.”
“Where hide they now?”
The crone stretched forth a shrivelled hand. “A token of good faith, lord king,” she wheedled.
Kull put a coin in her hand and she smirked and made a grotesque curtesy.
“Follow me, lord king,” and she hobbled away swiftly into the shadows.
The king and his companion followed her uncertainly, through narrow, winding streets until she halted before an unlit huge building in a squalid part of the city.
“They hide in a room at the head of the stairs leading from the lower chamber opening into the street, lord king.”
“How do you know that they do?” asked Kull suspiciously. “Why should they pick such a wretched place in which to hide?”
The woman laughed silently, rocking to and fro in her uncanny mirth.
“As soon as I made sure you were in Talunia, lord king, I hurried to the mansion where they had their abode and told them, offering to lead them to a place of concealment! Ho ho ho! They paid me good gold coins!”
Kull stared at her silently.
“Now by Valka,” said he, “I knew not civilization could produce a thing like this woman. Here, female, guide Brule to the gate where await the horses–Brule, go with her there and await my coming–perchance Felgar might give me the slip here–”
“But Kull,” protested Brule, “you go not into yon dark house alone–bethink you this might all be an ambush!”
“This woman dare not betray me!” and the crone shuddered at the grim response. “Haste ye!”
As the two forms melted into the darkness, Kull entered the house. Groping with his hands until his feline-gifted eyes became accustomed to the total darkness he found the stair and ascended it, dagger in hand, walking stealthily and on the look out for creaking steps. For all his size, the king moved as easily and silently as a leopard and had the watcher at the head of the stairs been awake it is doubtful he would have heard his coming.
As it was, he awakened when Kull’s hand was clapped over his mouth, only to fall back temporarily unconscious as Kull’s fist found his jaw.
The king crouched a moment above his victim, straining his faculties for any sound that might betoken that he had been heard. Utter silence reigned. He stole to the door. Ah, his keen senses detected a low confused mumble as of people whispering–a guarded movement–with one leap Kull hurled the door open and hurled himself into the room. He halted not to weigh chances–there might have been a roomful of assassins waiting for him for all he thought of the thing.
Everything then happened in an instant. Kull saw a barren room, lighted by moonlight that streamed in at the window, he caught a glimpse of two forms clambering through this window, one apparently carrying the other, a fleeting glance of a pair of dark, daring eyes in a face of piquant beauty, another laughing, reckless handsome face–all this he saw confusedly as he cleared the whole room with a tigerish bound, a roar of pure bestial ferocity breaking from his lips at the sight of his foe escaping. The window was empty even as he hurled across the sill, and raging and furious, he caught another glimpse, two forms darting into the shadows of a near by maze of buildings–a silvery mocking laugh floated back to him, another stronger, more mocking. Kull flung a leg over the sill and dropped the sheer thirty feet to the earth, disdaining the rope ladder that still swung from the window. He could not hope to follow them through that maze of streets, which they doubtless knew much better than he.
Sure of their destination, however, he raced toward the gate in the eastern wall, which from the crone’s description was not far distant. However some time elapsed before he arrived and when he did it was only to find Brule and the hag there.
“Nay,” said Brule, “the horses are here but none has come for them.”
Kull cursed savagely. Felgar had tricked him after all and the woman also. Suspecting treachery, the horses at that gate had only served as a blind. Felgar was doubtless escaping through some other gate, then.
“Swift!” shouted Kull. “Haste to the camp and have the men mount! I follow Felgar’s trail.”
And leaping upon one of the horses he was gone. Brule mounted the other and rode toward the camp. The crone watched them go, shaking with unholy mirth. After a while she heard the drum of many hoofs passing the city.
“Ho ho ho! They ride into the sunrise–and who rides back from beyond the sunrise?”
All night Kull rode, striving to cut down the lead the Farsunian and the girl had gained. He knew they dared not remain in Zarfhaana and as the sea lay to the north and Thurania, Farsun’s ancient enemy, to the south, then there lay but one course for them–the road to Grondar.
The stars were paling when the ramparts of the eastern hills rose starkly against the sky in front of the king, and dawn was stealing over the grasslands as Kull’s weary steed toiled up the pass and halted a moment at the summit. Here the fugitives must have passed for these cliffs stretched the whole length of the Zarfhaana’an border and the next nearest pass was many a mile to the north. The Zarfhaana’an in the small tower that reared up in the pass hailed the king, but Kull replied with a gesture and rode on.
At the crest of the pass he halted. There beyond lay Grondar. The cliffs rose as abruptly on the eastern side as they did upon the west and from their feet the grass lands stretched away endlessly. Mile upon countless mile of tall waving savannah land met his eyes, seemingly inhabited only by the herds of buffalo and deer that roamed those wild expanses. The east was fast reddening and as Kull sat his horse the sun flamed up over the savannahs like a wild blaze of fire, making it appear to the king as if all the grass lands were ablaze–limning the motionless horseman against its flame, so that man and horse seemed a single dark statue against the red morning, to the riders who were just entering the first defiles of the pass far behind. Then he vanished to their gaze as he spurred forward.
“He rides into the sunrise,” muttered the warriors.
&nb
sp; “Who rides back from the sunrise?”
The sun was high in the sky when the troop overtook Kull, the king having stopped to consult with his companions.
“Have your Picts spread out,” said Kull. “Felgar and the countess will try to turn south any time now, for no man dares to ride any further into Grondar than need be. They might even seek to get past us and win back into Zarfhaana.”
So they rode in open formation, Brule’s Picts ranging like lean wolves far afield to the north and the south.
But the fugitives’ trail led straight onward, Kull’s trained eyes easily following the course through the tall grass, marking where the grass had been trampled and beaten down by the horses’ hoofs. Evidently the countess and her lover rode alone.
And on into the wild country of Grondar they rode, pursuers and pursued.
How Felgar managed to keep that lead, Kull could not understand, but the soldiers were forced to spare their horses, while Felgar had extra steeds and could change from one to another, thus keeping each comparatively fresh.
Kull had sent no envoy to the king of Grondar. The Grondarians were a wild half civilized race, of whom little was known by the rest of the world, save that their raiding parties sometimes swept out of the grass lands to sweep the borders of Thurania and the lesser nations with torch and sword. Westward their borders were plainly marked, clearly defined and carefully guarded, that is by their neighbors, but how far easterly their kingdom extended no one knew. It was vaguely supposed that their country extended to and possibly included that vast expanse of untenable wilderness spoken of in myth and legend as The World’s End.
Several days of hard riding had passed with neither sight of the fugitives or any other human, when a Pictish rider sighted a band of horsemen approaching from the south.
Kull halted his force and waited. There rode up and halted at a distance a band of some four hundred Grondarian warriors, fierce, leanly built men, clad in leather garments and rude armor.
Their leader rode forth. “Stranger, what do ye in this land?”
Kull answered, “We pursue a disobedient subject and her lover and we ride in peace. We have no dispute with Grondar.”
The Grondarian sneered. “Men who ride in Grondar carry their lives in their right hands, stranger.”
“Then by Valka,” roared Kull, losing patience, “my right hand is stronger to defend than all Grondar is to assail! Stand aside ere we trample you!”
“Lances at rest!” came Kelkor’s curt voice; the forest of spears lowered as one, the warriors leaning forward.
The Grondarians gave back before that formidable array, unable, as they knew, to stand in the open the charge of fully armed horsemen. They reined aside, sitting their horses sullenly as the Valusians swept by them. The leader shouted after them.
“Ride on, fools! Who ride beyond the sunrise–return not!”
They rode, and though bands of horsemen circled their tracks, at a distance like hawks, and they kept a heavy guard at night, the riders came not nearer nor were the outriders molested in any way.
The grass lands continued with never a hill or forest to break their monotony. Sometimes they came upon the almost obliterated ruins of some ancient city, mute reminders of the bloody days when, ages and ages since, the ancestors of the Grondarians had appeared from nowhere in particular and had conquered the original inhabitants of the land. They sighted no inhabited cities, none of the rough habitations of the Grondarians, for their way led through an especially wild, unfrequented part of the land. It became evident that Felgar intended not to turn back; his trail led straight east and whether he hoped to find sanctuary somewhere in that nameless land or whether he was seeking merely to tire his pursuers out, could not be said.
Long days of riding and then they came to a great river meandering through the plain. At its banks the grass lands came to an abrupt halt and beyond, on the further side, a barren desert stretched to the horizon.
An ancient man stood upon the bank and a large, flat boat floated on the sullen surface of the water. The man was aged but mightily built, as huge as Kull himself. He was clad only in ragged garments, seemingly as ancient as himself but there was something kingly and awe-inspiring about the man. His snowy hair fell to his shoulders and his huge white beard, wild and unkempt, came almost to his waist. From beneath white, lowering brows, great luminous eyes blazed, undimmed by age.
“Stranger, who have the bearing of a king,” said he to Kull, in a great deep resonant voice, “would ye cross the river?”
“Aye,” said Kull, “if they we seek crossed.”
“A man and a girl rode my ferry yesterday at dawn,” was the answer.
“Name of Valka!” swore Kull, “I could find it in me to admire the fool’s courage! What city lies beyond this river, ferryman?”
“No city lies beyond,” said the elder man. “This river marks the border of Grondar–and the world!”
“How!” ejaculated Kull. “Have we ridden so far? I had thought that the-desert-which-is-the-end-of-the-world was part of Grondar’s realm.”
“Nay. Grondar ends here. Here is the end of the world; beyond is magic and the unknown. Here is the boundary of the world; there begins the realm of horror and mysticism. This is the river Stagus and I am Karon the Ferryman.”
Kull looked at him in wonder, little knowing that he gazed upon one who should go down the dim centuries until myth and legend had changed the truth and Karon the ferryman had become the boatman of Hades.
“You are very aged,” said Kull curiously, while the Valusians looked on the man with wonder and the savage Picts in superstitious awe.
“Aye. I am a man of the Elder Race, who ruled the world before Valusia was, or Grondar or Zarfhaana, riders from the sunset. Ye would cross this river? Many a warrior, many a king have I ferried across. Remember, they who ride beyond the sun-rise, return not! For of all the thousands who have crossed the Stagus, not one has returned. Three hundred years have passed since first I saw the light, king of Valusia. I ferried the army of King Gaar the Conqueror when he rode into World’s End with all his mighty hosts. Seven days they were passing over yet no man of them came back. Aye, the sound of battle, the clash of swords clanged out over the waste lands for a long while from sun to sun, but when the moon shone all was silence. Mark this, Kull, no man has ever returned from beyond the Stagus. Nameless horrors lurk in yonder lands and terrible are the ghastly shapes of doom I glimpse beyond the river in the vagueness of dusk and the grey of early dawn. Mark ye, Kull.”
Kull turned in his saddle and eyed his men.
“Here my commands cease,” said he. “As for myself I ride on Felgar’s trail if it lead to Hell and beyond. Yet I bid no man follow beyond this river. Ye all have my permission to return to Valusia, nor shall any word of blame ever be spoken of you.”
Brule reined to Kull’s side.
“I ride with the king,” he said curtly and his Picts raised an acquiescing shout. Kelkor rode forward.
“They who would return, take a single pace forward,” said he.
The metal ranks sat motionless as statue.
“They ride, Kull,” grinned Brule.
A fierce pride rose in the king’s savage soul. He spoke a single sentence, a sentence which thrilled his warriors more than an accolade.
“Ye are men.”
Karon ferried them across, rowing over and returning until the entire force stood on the eastern bank. And though the boat was heavy and the ancient man rowed alone, yet his clumsy oars drove the unwieldy craft swiftly through the water and at the last journey he was no more weary than at the start.
Kull spake. “Since the desert throngs with wild things, how is it that none come into the lands of men?”
Karon pointed to the river and looking closely Kull saw that the river swarmed with serpents and small fresh water sharks.
“No man swims this river,” said the ferryman. “Neither man nor mammoth.”
“Forward,” said Kull. “Forwa
rd; we ride. The land is free before us.”
The Cat and the Skull
The Cat and the Skull
King Kull went with Tu, chief councillor of the throne, to see the talking cat of Delcardes, for though a cat may look at a king, it is not given every king to look at a cat like Delcardes’. So Kull forgot the death-threat of Thulsa Doom the necromancer and went to Delcardes.
Kull was skeptical and Tu was wary and suspicious without knowing why, but years of counter-plot and intrigue had soured him. He swore testily that a talking cat was a snare and a fraud, a swindle and a delusion and maintained that should such a thing exist, it was a direct insult to the gods, who ordained that only man should enjoy the power of speech.
But Kull knew that in the old times beasts had talked to men for he had heard the legends, handed down from his barbarian ancestors. So he was skeptical but open to conviction.
Delcardes helped the conviction. She lounged with supple ease upon her silk couch, herself like a great beautiful feline, and looked at Kull from under long drooping lashes, which lended unimaginable charm to her narrow, piquantly slanted eyes.
Her lips were full and red and usually, as at present, curved in a faint enigmatical smile and her silken garments and ornaments of gold and gems hid little of her glorious figure.
But Kull was not interested in women. He ruled Valusia but for all that he was an Atlantean and a ferocious savage in the eyes of his subjects. War and conquest held his attention, together with keeping his feet on the ever rocking throne of the ancient empire, and the task of learning the ways, customs and thoughts of the people he ruled–and the threats of Thulsa Doom.
Kull: Exile of Atlantis Page 9