Shadow Kingdoms Fallen



  Shadow Kingdoms Fallen

  Roberta E. Howard

  Copyright 2010 Roberta E. Howard

  1. A Queen Comes Riding

  The blare of the trumpets grew louder, like a deep golden tide surge, like the soft booming of the evening tides against the silver beaches of Valusia. The throng shouted, men flung roses from the roofs as the rhythmic chiming of silver hosts came clearer and 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, slender golden trumpets; next the bowwomen, tall women from the mountains; and behind these the heavily armed footwomen, their broad shields clashing in unison, their long spears swaying in perfect rhythm to their stride. Behind them came the mightiest soldiery in all the world, the Red Slayers, horsewomen, splendidly mounted, armed in red from helmet to spur. Proudly they sat their steeds, looking neither to right nor to left, but aware of the shouting for all that. Like bronze statues they were, and there was never a waver in the forest of spears that reared above them.

  Behind those proud and terrible ranks came the motley files of the mercenaries, fierce, wild-looking warriors, women of Mu and of Kaa-u and of the hills of the east and the isles of the west. They bore spears and heavy swords, and a compact group that marched somewhat apart were the bowwomen of Lemuria. Then came the light foot of the nation, and more trumpeters brought up the rear.

  A brave sight, and a sight which aroused a fierce thrill in the soul of Kell, queen of Valasia. Not on the Topaz Throne at the front of the regal Tower of Splendor sat Kell, but in the saddle, mounted on a great mare, a true warrior queen. Her mighty arm swung up in reply to the salutes as the hosts passed. Her fierce eyes passed the gorgeous trumpeters with a casual glance, rested longer on the following soldiery; they blazed with a ferocious light as the Red Slayers halted in front of her with a clang of arms and a rearing of steeds, and tendered her the crown salute. They narrowed slightly as the mercenaries strode by. They saluted no one, the mercenaries. They walked with shoulders flung back, eyeing Kell boldly and straightly, albeit with a certain appreciation; fierce eyes, unblinking; savage eyes, staring from beneath shaggy manes and heavy brows.

  And Kell gave back a like stare. She granted much to brave women, and there were no braver in all the world, not even among the wild tribeswomen who now disowned her. But Kell was too much the savage to have any great love for these. There were too many feuds. Many were age-old enemies of Kell's nation, and though the name of Kell was now a word accursed among the mountains and valleys of her people, and though Kell had put them from her mind, yet the old hates, the ancient passions still lingered. For Kell was no Valusian but an Atlantean.

  The armies swung out of sight around the gemblazing shoulders of the Tower of Splendor and Kell reined her mare about and started toward the palace at an easy gait, discussing the review with the commanders that rode with her, using not many words, but saying much.

  'The army is like a sword,' said Kell, 'and must not be allowed to rust.' So down the street they rode, and Kell gave no heed to any of the whispers that reached her hearing from the throngs that still swarmed the streets.

  'That is Kell, see! Valka! But what a queen! And what a woman! Look at her arms! Her shoulders!'

  And an undertone of more sinister whispering:

  'Kell! Ha, accursed usurper from the pagan isles.' 'Aye, shame to Valusia that a barbarian sits on the Throne of Kings.'

  Little did Kell heed. Heavy-handed had she seized the decaying throne of ancient Valusia and with a heavier hand did she hold it, a woman against a nation.

  After the council chamber, the social palace where Kell 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 Kell leaned back upon the ermine throne and contemplated matters of state until an attendant requested permission from the great queen to speak, and announced an emissary from the Pictish embassy.

  Kell brought her mind back from the dim mazes of Valusian statecraft where it had been wandering, and gazed upon the Pict with little favor. The woman gave back the gaze of the queen without flinching. She was a lean-hipped, massive-bosomed warrior of middle height, dark, like all her 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 queen of Pictdom, sends greetings and says:' 'There is a throne at the feast of the rising moon for Kell, queen of queens, lord of lords, emperor of Valusia.'

  'Good,' answered Kell. 'Say to Ka-nu the Ancient, ambassador of the western isles, that the queen of Valusia will quaff wine with her when the moon floats over the hills of Zalgara.'

  Still the Pict lingered. 'I have a word for the queen, not'-with a contemptuous flirt of her hand--'for these slaves.'

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

  The woman stepped nearer, and lowered her voice:

  'Come alone to feast tonight, lord queen. Such was the word of my chief.'

  The queen'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. Kell might be the queen of Valusia and the Pict might be an emissary to his courts, but there in the throne hall of queens, two tribeswomen glowered at each other, fierce and wary, while ghosts of wild wars and world-ancient feuds whispered to each.

  To the queen was the advantage and she enjoyed it to its fullest extent. Jaw resting on hand, she eyed the Pict, who stood like an image of bronze, head flung back, eyes unflinching.

  Across Kell's lips stole a smile that was more a sneer.

  'And so I am to come-alone?' Civilization had taught her to speak by innuendo and the Pict's dark eyes glittered, though she 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 Kell, fully aware that the Picts never lied, but using this means to enrage the woman.

  'I see your plan, queen,' 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 queen or woman?'

  Kell's eyes glinted with the grudging admiration a warrior must needs give a bold foeman, but she did not fail to use the chance of further annoying her antagonist.

  'A queen does not accept the challenge of a nameless savage,' she 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. She fairly shook in the grasp of the primitive blood-lust; then, turning her back squarely upon the queen of Valusia, she strode across the Hall of Society and vanished through the great door.

  Again Kell leaned back upon the ermine throne and meditated.

  So the chief of the Council of Picts wished her to come alone? But for what reason? Treachery? Grimly Kell touched the hilt of her great sword. But scarcely. The Picts valued too greatly the alliance with Valusia to break it for any feudal reason. Kell might be a warrior of Atlantis and hereditary enemy of all Picts, but too, she was queen of Valusia, the most potent ally of the Women of the West.

  Kell reflected long upon the strange
state of affairs that made her ally of ancient foes and foe of ancient friends. She rose and paced restlessly across the hall, with the quick, noiseless tread of a lion. Chains of friendship, tribe and tradition had she broken to satisfy her ambition. And, by Valka, god of the sea and the land, she had realized that ambition! She was queen 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 tribeswomen named it, and sometimes it seemed to Kell that she moved in a dream. Strange to her were the intrigues of court and palace, army and people. All was like a masquerade, where women and men 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 women had wearied unto death, short, crafty plotting with ambitious statesmen out of favor at court--and Kell, wandering adventurer, Atlantean exile, had swept up to the dizzy heights of her dreams: she was lord of Valusia, queen of queens. Yet now it seemed that the seizing was far easier than the keeping. The sight of the Pict had brought back youthful associations to her mind, the free, wild savagery of her boyhood. And now a strange feeling of dim unrest, of unreality, stole over her as of late it had been doing. Who was she, a straightforward woman