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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/77604-h/77604-h.htm b/77604-h/77604-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..aa3974f --- /dev/null +++ b/77604-h/77604-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,1572 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html> +<html lang="en"> +<head> + <meta charset="UTF-8"> + <title> + Kings of the Night | Project Gutenberg + </title> + + <style> + +body { + margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; +} + + h1,h2 { + text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ + clear: both; +} + +p { + margin-top: .51em; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .49em; +} + +hr { + width: 33%; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + margin-left: 33.5%; + margin-right: 33.5%; + clear: both; +} + +hr.tb {width: 45%; margin-left: 27.5%; margin-right: 27.5%;} +hr.chap {width: 65%; margin-left: 17.5%; margin-right: 17.5%;} +@media print { hr.chap {display: none; visibility: hidden;} } +hr.full {width: 95%; margin-left: 2.5%; margin-right: 2.5%;} +div.chapter {page-break-before: always;} + +x-ebookmaker-drop {display: none;} + +.center {text-align: center;} + +.right {text-align: right;} + +/* Images */ +.figcenter { + margin: auto; + text-align: center; + page-break-inside: avoid; + max-width: 100%; +} + +.caption p +{ + text-align: center; + text-indent: 0; + margin: 0.25em 0; + font-weight: bold; +} + +div.titlepage { + text-align: center; + page-break-before: always; + page-break-after: always; +} + +div.titlepage p { + text-align: center; + text-indent: 0em; + font-weight: bold; + line-height: 1.5; + margin-top: 3em; +} + +.ph1 { text-align: center; text-indent: 0em; } +.ph1 { font-size: x-large; margin: .83em auto; } + +.ph2 { text-align: center; text-indent: 0em; } +.ph2 { font-size: medium; margin: .83em auto; } + +/* Poetry */ +.poetry-container {display: flex; justify-content: center;} +.poetry-container {text-align: center;} +.poetry {text-align: left; margin-left: 5%; margin-right: 5%;} +.poetry .stanza {margin: 1em auto;} +.poetry .verse {text-indent: -3em; padding-left: 3em;} + +.poetry .indent0 {text-indent: -3em;} +.poetry .indent12 {text-indent: 3em;} +.poetry .indent2 {text-indent: -2em;} +.poetry .indent20 {text-indent: 7em;} +.poetry .indent28 {text-indent: 11em;} +.poetry .indent4 {text-indent: -1em;} + + </style> +</head> +<body> +<div style='text-align:center'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 77604 ***</div> + +<div class="titlepage"> + +<h1>Kings of the Night</h1> + +<p class="ph1">BY ROBERT E. HOWARD</p> + +<p>[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from<br> +Weird Tales November 1930.]</p> + +</div> + +<hr class="chap"> + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">The Cæsar lolled on his ivory throne—</div> + <div class="verse indent4">His iron legions came</div> + <div class="verse indent0">To break a king in a land unknown,</div> + <div class="verse indent4">And a race without a name.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent12">—<i>The Song of Bran</i></div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + + +<p>The dagger flashed downward. A sharp cry broke in a gasp. The form on +the rough altar twitched convulsively and lay still. The jagged flint +edge sawed at the crimsoned breast, and thin bony fingers, ghastly +dyed, tore out the still twitching heart. Under matted white brows, +sharp eyes gleamed with a ferocious intensity.</p> + +<p>Besides the slayer, four men stood about the crude pile of stones that +formed the altar of the God of Shadows. One was of medium height, +lithely built, scantily clad, whose black hair was confined by a narrow +iron band in the center of which gleamed a single red jewel. Of the +others, two were dark like the first. But where he was lithe, they were +stocky and misshapen, with knotted limbs, and tangled hair falling +over sloping brows. His face denoted intelligence and implacable will; +theirs merely a beast-like ferocity. The fourth man had little in +common with the rest. Nearly a head taller, though his hair was black +as theirs, his skin was comparatively light and he was gray-eyed. He +eyed the proceedings with little favor.</p> + +<p>And, in truth, Cormac of Connacht was little at ease. The Druids of +his own isle of Erin had strange dark rites of worship, but nothing +like this. Dark trees shut in this grim scene, lit by a single torch. +Through the branches moaned an eery night-wind. Cormac was alone +among men of a strange race and he had just seen the heart of a man +ripped from his still pulsing body. Now the ancient priest, who looked +scarcely human, was glaring at the throbbing thing. Cormac shuddered, +glancing at him who wore the jewel. Did Bran Mak Morn, king of the +Picts, believe that this white-bearded old butcher could foretell +events by scanning a bleeding human heart? The dark eyes of the king +were inscrutable. There were strange depths to the man that Cormac +could not fathom, nor any other man.</p> + +<p>"The portents are good!" exclaimed the priest wildly, speaking more +to the two chieftains than to Bran. "Here from the pulsing heart of a +captive Roman I read—defeat for the arms of Rome! Triumph for the sons +of the heather!"</p> + +<p>The two savages murmured beneath their breath, their fierce eyes +smoldering.</p> + +<p>"Go and prepare your clans for battle," said the king, and they +lumbered away with the ape-like gait assumed by such stunted giants. +Paying no more heed to the priest who was examining the ghastly +ruin on the altar, Bran beckoned to Cormac. The Gael followed him +with alacrity. Once out of that grim grove, under the starlight, he +breathed more freely. They stood on an eminence, looking out over long +swelling undulations of gently waving heather. Near at hand a few +fires twinkled, their fewness giving scant evidence of the hordes of +tribesmen who lay close by. Beyond these were more fires and beyond +these still more, which last marked the camp of Cormac's own men, +hard-riding, hard-fighting Gaels, who were of that band which was just +beginning to get a foothold on the western coast of Caledonia—the +nucleus of what was later to become the kingdom of Dalriadia. To the +left of these, other fires gleamed.</p> + +<p>And far away to the south were more fires—mere pinpoints of light. But +even at that distance the Pictish king and his Celtic ally could see +that these fires were laid out in regular order.</p> + +<p>"The fires of the legions," muttered Bran. "The fires that have lit a +path around the world. The men who light those fires have trampled the +races under their iron heels. And now—we of the heather have our backs +at the wall. What will fall on the morrow?"</p> + +<p>"Victory for us, says the priest," answered Cormac.</p> + +<p>Bran made an impatient gesture. "Moonlight on the ocean. Wind in the +fir tops. Do you think that I put faith in such mummery? Or that I +enjoyed the butchery of a captive legionary? I must hearten my people; +it was for Gron and Bocah that I let old Gonar read the portents. The +warriors will fight better."</p> + +<p>"And Gonar?"</p> + +<p>Bran laughed. "Gonar is too old to believe—anything. He was high +priest of the Shadows a score of years before I was born. He claims +direct descent from that Gonar who was a wizard in the days of Brule, +the Spear-slayer who was the first of my line. No man knows how old he +is—sometimes I think he is the original Gonar himself!"</p> + +<p>"At least," said a mocking voice, and Cormac started as a dim shape +appeared at his side, "at least I have learned that in order to keep +the faith and trust of the people, a wise man must appear to be a fool. +I know secrets that would blast even your brain, Bran, should I speak +them. But in order that the people may believe in me, I must descend to +such things as they think proper magic—and prance and yell and rattle +snakeskins, and dabble about in human blood and chicken livers."</p> + +<p>Cormac looked at the ancient with new interest. The semi-madness of +his appearance had vanished. He was no longer the charlatan, the +spell-mumbling shaman. The starlight lent him a dignity which seemed +to increase his very height, so that he stood like a white-bearded +patriarch.</p> + +<p>"Bran, your doubt lies there." The lean arm pointed to the fourth ring +of fires.</p> + +<p>"Aye," the king nodded gloomily. "Cormac—you know as well as I. +Tomorrow's battle hinges upon that circle of fires. With the chariots +of the Britons and your own Western horsemen, our success would be +certain, but—surely the devil himself is in the heart of every +Northman! You know how I trapped that band—how they swore to fight for +me against Rome! And now that their chief, Rognar, is dead, they swear +that they will be led only by a king of their own race! Else they will +break their vow and go over to the Romans. Without them we are doomed, +for we can not change our former plan."</p> + +<p>"Take heart, Bran," said Gonar. "Touch the jewel in your iron crown. +Mayhap it will bring you aid."</p> + +<p>Bran laughed bitterly. "Now you talk as the people think. I am no fool +to twist with empty words. What of the gem? It is a strange one, truth, +and has brought me luck ere now. But I need now, no jewels, but the +allegiance of three hundred fickle Northmen who are the only warriors +among us who may stand the charge of the legions on foot."</p> + +<p>"But the jewel, Bran, the jewel!" persisted Gonar.</p> + +<p>"Well, the jewel!" cried Bran impatiently. "It is older than this +world. It was old when Atlantis and Lemuria sank into the sea. It was +given to Brule, the Spear-slayer, first of my line, by the Atlantean +Kull, king of Valusia, in the days when the world was young. But shall +that profit us now?"</p> + +<p>"Who knows?" asked the wizard obliquely. "Time and space exist not. +There was no past, and there shall be no future. NOW is all. All +things that ever were, are, or ever will be, transpire <i>now</i>. Man is +forever at the center of what we call time and space. I have gone into +yesterday and tomorrow and both were as real as today—which is like +the dreams of ghosts! But let me sleep and talk with Gonar. Mayhap he +shall aid us."</p> + +<p>"What means he?" asked Cormac, with a slight twitching of his +shoulders, as the priest strode away in the shadows.</p> + +<p>"He has ever said that the first Gonar comes to him in his dreams and +talks with him," answered Bran. "I have seen him perform deeds that +seemed beyond human ken. I know not. I am but an unknown king with an +iron crown, trying to lift a race of savages out of the slime into +which they have sunk. Let us look to the camps."</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>As they walked Cormac wondered. By what strange freak of fate had such +a man risen among this race of savages, survivors of a darker, grimmer +age? Surely he was an atavism, an original type of the days when the +Picts ruled all Europe, before their primitive empire fell before the +bronze swords of the Gauls. Cormac knew how Bran, rising by his own +efforts from the negligent position of the son of a Wolf clan chief, +had to an extent united the tribes of the heather and now claimed +kingship over all Caledon. But his rule was loose and much remained +before the Pictish clans would forget their feuds and present a solid +front to foreign foes. On the battle of the morrow, the first pitched +battle between the Picts under their king and the Romans, hinged the +future of the rising Pictish kingdom.</p> + +<p>Bran and his ally walked through the Pictish camp where the swart +warriors lay sprawled about their small fires, sleeping or gnawing +half-cooked food. Cormac was impressed by their silence. A thousand +men camped here, yet the only sounds were occasional low guttural +intonations. The silence of the Stone Age rested in the souls of these +men.</p> + +<p>They were all short—most of them crooked of limb. Giant dwarfs; Bran +Mak Morn was a tall man among them. Only the older men were bearded +and they scantily, but their black hair fell about their eyes so that +they peered fiercely from under the tangle. They were barefoot and clad +scantily in wolf-skins. Their arms consisted in short barbed swords of +iron, heavy black bows, arrows tipped with flint, iron and copper, and +stone-headed mallets. Defensive armor they had none, save for a crude +shield of hide-covered wood; many had worked bits of metal into their +tangled manes as a slight protection against sword-cuts. Some few, sons +of long lines of chiefs, were smooth-limbed and lithe like Bran, but in +the eyes of all gleamed the unquenchable savagery of the primeval.</p> + +<p>These men are fully savages, thought Cormac, worse than the Gauls, +Britons and Germans. Can the old legends be true—that they reigned in +a day when strange cities rose where now the sea rolls? And that they +survived the flood that washed those gleaming empires under, sinking +again into that savagery from which they once had risen?</p> + +<p>Close to the encampment of the tribesmen were the fires of a group of +Britons—members of fierce tribes who lived south of the Roman Wall but +who dwelt in the hills and forests to the west and defied the power of +Rome. Powerfully built men they were, with blazing blue eyes and shocks +of tousled yellow hair, such men as had thronged the Ceanntish beaches +when Cæsar brought the Eagles into the Isles. These men, like the +Picts, wore no armor, and were clad scantily in coarse-worked cloth and +deerskin sandals. They bore small round bucklers of hard wood, braced +with bronze, to be worn on the left arm, and long heavy bronze swords +with blunt points. Some had bows, though the Britons were indifferent +archers. Their bows were shorter than the Picts' and effective only at +close range. But ranged close by their fires were the weapons that had +made the name Briton a word of terror to Pict, Roman and Norse raider +alike. Within the circle of firelight stood fifty bronze chariots with +long cruel blades curving out from the sides. One of these blades +could dismember half a dozen men at once. Tethered close by under the +vigilant eyes of their guards grazed the chariot horses—big, rangy +steeds, swift and powerful.</p> + +<p>"Would that we had more of them!" mused Bran. "With a thousand chariots +and my bowmen I could drive the legions into the sea."</p> + +<p>"The free British tribes must eventually fall before Rome," said +Cormac. "It would seem they would rush to join you in your war."</p> + +<p>Bran made a helpless gesture. "The fickleness of the Celt. They can +not forget old feuds. Our ancient men have told us how they would not +even unite against Cæsar when the Romans first came. They will not make +head against a common foe together. These men came to me because of +some dispute with their chief, but I can not depend on them when they +are not actually fighting."</p> + +<p>Cormac nodded. "I know; Cæsar conquered Gaul by playing one tribe +against another. My own people shift and change with the waxing +and waning of the tides. But of all Celts, the Cymry are the most +changeable, the least stable. Not many centuries ago my own Gaelic +ancestors wrested Erin from the Cymric Danaans, because though they +outnumbered us, they opposed us as separate tribes, rather than as a +nation."</p> + +<p>"And so these Cymric Britons face Rome," said Bran. "These will aid us +on the morrow. Further I can not say. But how shall I expect loyalty +from alien tribes, who am not sure of my own people? Thousands lurk in +the hills, holding aloof. I am king in name only. Let me win tomorrow +and they will flock to my standard; if I lose, they will scatter like +birds before a cold wind."</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>A chorus of rough welcome greeted the two leaders as they entered the +camp of Cormac's Gaels. Five hundred in number they were, tall rangy +men, black-haired and gray-eyed mainly, with the bearing of men who +lived by war alone. While there was nothing like close discipline +among them, there was an air of more system and practical order than +existed in the lines of the Picts and Britons. These men were of the +last Celtic race to invade the Isles and their barbaric civilization +was of much higher order than that of their Cymric kin. The ancestors +of the Gaels had learned the arts of war on the vast plains of Scythia +and at the courts of the Pharaohs where they had fought as mercenaries +of Egypt, and much of what they learned they brought into Ireland with +them. Excelling in metal work, they were armed, not with clumsy bronze +swords, but with high-grade weapons of iron.</p> + +<p>They were clad in well-woven kilts and leathern sandals. Each wore a +light shirt of chain mail and a vizorless helmet, but this was all +of their defensive armor. Celts, Gaelic or Brythonic, were prone to +judge a man's valor by the amount of armor he wore. The Britons who +faced Cæsar deemed the Romans cowards because they cased themselves in +metal, and many centuries later the Irish clans thought the same of the +mail-clad Norman knights of Strongbow.</p> + +<p>Cormac's warriors were horsemen. They neither knew nor esteemed +the use of the bow. They bore the inevitable round, metal-braced +buckler, dirks, long straight swords and light single-handed axes. +Their tethered horses grazed not far away—big-boned animals, not so +ponderous as those raised by the Britons, but swifter.</p> + +<p>Bran's eyes lighted as the two strode through the camp. "These men are +keen-beaked birds of war! See how they whet their axes and jest of the +morrow! Would that the raiders in yon camp were as staunch as your men, +Cormac! Then would I greet the legions with a laugh when they come up +from the south tomorrow."</p> + +<p>They were entering the circle of the Northmen fires. Three hundred men +sat about gambling, whetting their weapons and drinking deep of the +heather ale furnished them by their Pictish allies. These gazed upon +Bran and Cormac with no great friendliness. It was striking to note +the difference between them and the Picts and Celts—the difference +in their cold eyes, their strong moody faces, their very bearing. +Here was ferocity, and savagery, but not of the wild, upbursting fury +of the Celt. Here was fierceness backed by grim determination and +stolid stubbornness. The charge of the British clans was terrible, +overwhelming. But they had no patience; let them be balked of immediate +victory and they were likely to lose heart and scatter or fall to +bickering among themselves. There was the patience of the cold blue +North in these seafarers—a lasting determination that would keep them +stedfast to the bitter end, once their face was set toward a definite +goal.</p> + +<p>As to personal stature, they were giants; massive yet rangy. That they +did not share the ideas of the Celts regarding armor was shown by the +fact that they were clad in heavy scale-mail shirts that reached below +mid-thigh, heavy horned helmets and hardened hide leggings, reinforced, +as were their shoes, with plates of iron. Their shields were huge +oval affairs of hard wood, hide and brass. As to weapons, they had +long iron-headed spears, heavy iron axes, and daggers. Some had long +wide-bladed swords.</p> + +<p>Cormac scarcely felt at ease with the cold magnetic eyes of these +flaxen-haired men fixed upon him. He and they were hereditary foes, +even though they did chance to be fighting on the same side at +present—but were they?</p> + +<p>A man came forward, a tall gaunt warrior on whose scarred, wolfish face +the flickering firelight reflected deep shadows. With his wolfskin +mantle flung carelessly about his wide shoulders, and the great horns +on his helmet adding to his height, he stood there in the swaying +shadows, like some half-human thing, a brooding shape of the dark +barbarism that was soon to engulf the world.</p> + +<p>"Well, Wulfhere," said the Pictish king, "you have drunk the mead of +council and have spoken about the fires—what is your decision?"</p> + +<p>The Northman's eyes flashed in the gloom. "Give us a king of our own +race to follow if you wish us to fight for you."</p> + +<p>Bran flung out his hands. "Ask me to drag down the stars to gem your +helmets! Will not your comrades follow you?"</p> + +<p>"Not against the legions," answered Wulfhere sullenly. "A king led us +on the viking path—a king must lead us against the Romans. And Rognar +is dead."</p> + +<p>"I am a king," said Bran. "Will you fight for me if I stand at the tip +of your fight wedge?"</p> + +<p>"A king of our own race," said Wulfhere doggedly. "We are all picked +men of the North. We fight for none but a king, and a king must lead +us—against the legions."</p> + +<p>Cormac sensed a subtle threat in this repeated phrase.</p> + +<p>"Here is a prince of Erin," said Bran. "Will you fight for the +Westerner?"</p> + +<p>"We fight under no Celt, West or East," growled the viking, and a low +rumble of approval rose from the onlookers. "It is enough to fight by +their side."</p> + +<p>The hot Gaelic blood rose in Cormac's brain and he pushed past Bran, +his hand on his sword. "How mean you that, pirate?"</p> + +<p>Before Wulfhere could reply Bran interposed: "Have done! Will you fools +throw away the battle before it is fought, by your madness? What of +your oath, Wulfhere?"</p> + +<p>"We swore it under Rognar; when he died from a Roman arrow we were +absolved of it. We will follow only a king—against the legions."</p> + +<p>"But your comrades will follow you—against the heather people!" +snapped Bran.</p> + +<p>"Aye," the Northman's eyes met his brazenly. "Send us a king or we join +the Romans tomorrow."</p> + +<p>Bran snarled. In his rage he dominated the scene, dwarfing the huge men +who towered over him.</p> + +<p>"Traitors! Liars! I hold your lives in my hand! Aye, draw your swords +if you will—Cormac, keep your blade in its sheath. These wolves will +not bite a king! Wulfhere—I spared your lives when I could have taken +them.</p> + +<p>"You came to raid the countries of the South, sweeping down from the +northern sea in your galleys. You ravaged the coasts and the smoke +of burning villages hung like a cloud over the shores of Caledon. I +trapped you all when you were pillaging and burning—with the blood of +my people on your hands. I burned your long ships and ambushed you when +you followed. With thrice your number of bowmen who burned for your +lives hidden in the heathered hills about you, I spared you when we +could have shot you down like trapped wolves. Because I spared you, you +swore to come and fight for me."</p> + +<p>"And shall we die because the Picts fight Rome?" rumbled a bearded +raider.</p> + +<p>"Your lives are forfeit to me; you came to ravage the South. I did not +promise to send you all back to your homes in the North unharmed and +loaded with loot. Your vow was to fight one battle against Rome under +my standard. Then I will aid your survivors to build ships and you may +go where you will, with a goodly share of the plunder we take from +the legions. Rognar had kept his oath. But Rognar died in a skirmish +with Roman scouts and now you, Wulfhere the Dissension-breeder, you +stir up your comrades to dishonor themselves by that which a Northman +hates—the breaking of the sworn word."</p> + +<p>"We break no oath," snarled the viking, and the king sensed the basic +Germanic stubbornness, far harder to combat than the fickleness of the +fiery Celts. "Give us a king, neither Pict, Gael nor Briton, and we +will die for you. If not—then we will fight tomorrow for the greatest +of all kings—the emperor of Rome!"</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>For a moment Cormac thought that the Pictish king, in his black rage, +would draw and strike the Northman dead. The concentrated fury that +blazed in Bran's dark eyes caused Wulfhere to recoil and drop a hand to +his belt.</p> + +<p>"Fool!" said Mak Morn in a low voice that vibrated with passion. "I +could sweep you from the earth before the Romans are near enough to +hear your death howls. Choose—fight for me on the morrow—or die +tonight under a black cloud of arrows, a red storm of swords, a dark +wave of chariots!"</p> + +<p>At the mention of the chariots, the only arm of war that had ever +broken the Norse shield-wall, Wulfhere changed expression, but he held +his ground.</p> + +<p>"War be it," he said doggedly. "Or a king to lead us!"</p> + +<p>The Northmen responded with a short deep roar and a clash of swords +on shields. Bran, eyes blazing, was about to speak again when a white +shape glided silently into the ring of firelight.</p> + +<p>"Soft words, soft words," said old Gonar tranquilly. "King, say no +more. Wulfhere, you and your fellows will fight for us if you have a +king to lead you?"</p> + +<p>"We have sworn."</p> + +<p>"Then be at ease," quoth the wizard; "for ere battle joins on the +morrow I will send you such a king as no man on earth has followed for +a hundred thousand years! A king neither Pict, Gael nor Briton, but +one to whom the emperor of Rome is as but a village headman!"</p> + +<p>While they stood undecided, Gonar took the arms of Cormac and Bran. +"Come. And you, Northmen, remember your vow, and my promise which I +have never broken. Sleep now, nor think to steal away in the darkness +to the Roman camp, for if you escaped our shafts you would not escape +either my curse or the suspicions of the legionaries."</p> + +<p>So the three walked away and Cormac, looking back, saw Wulfhere +standing by the fire, fingering his golden beard, with a look of +puzzled anger on his lean evil face.</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>The three walked silently through the waving heather under the far-away +stars while the weird night-wind whispered ghostly secrets about them.</p> + +<p>"Ages ago," said the wizard suddenly, "in the days when the world was +young, great lands rose where now the ocean roars. On these lands +thronged mighty nations and kingdoms. Greatest of all these was +Valusia—Land of Enchantment. Rome is as a village compared to the +splendor of the cities of Valusia. And the greatest king was Kull, who +came from the land of Atlantis to wrest the crown of Valusia from a +degenerate dynasty. The Picts who dwelt in the isles which now form the +mountain peaks of a strange land upon the Western Ocean, were allies of +Valusia, and the greatest of all the Pictish war-chiefs was Brule the +Spear-slayer, first of the line men call Mak Morn.</p> + +<p>"Kull gave to Brule the jewel which you now wear in your iron crown, +oh king, after a strange battle in a dim land, and down the long ages +it has come to us, ever a sign of the Mak Morn, a symbol of former +greatness. When at last the sea rose and swallowed Valusia, Atlantis +and Lemuria, only the Picts survived and they were scattered and few. +Yet they began again the slow climb upward, and though many of the arts +of civilization were lost in the great flood, yet they progressed. +The art of metal-working was lost, so they excelled in the working of +flint. And they ruled all the new lands flung up by the sea and now +called Europe, until down from the north came younger tribes who had +scarce risen from the ape when Valusia reigned in her glory, and who, +dwelling in the icy lands about the Pole, knew naught of the lost +splendor of the Seven Empires and little of the flood that had swept +away half a world.</p> + +<p>"And still they have come—Aryans, Celts, Germans, swarming down from +the great cradle of their race which lies near the Pole. So again was +the growth of the Pictish nation checked and the race hurled into +savagery. Erased from the earth, on the fringe of the world with our +backs to the wall we fight. Here in Caledon is the last stand of a once +mighty race. And we change. Our people have mixed with the savages of +an elder age which we drove into the North when we came into the Isles, +and now, save for their chieftains, such as thou, Bran, a Pict is +strange and abhorrent to look upon."</p> + +<p>"True, true," said the king impatiently, "but what has that to do——"</p> + +<p>"Kull, king of Valusia," said the wizard imperturbably, "was a +barbarian in his age as thou art in thine, though he ruled a mighty +empire by the weight of his sword. Gonar, friend of Brule, your first +ancestor, has been dead a hundred thousand years as we reckon time. Yet +I talked with him a scant hour agone."</p> + +<p>"You talked with his ghost——"</p> + +<p>"Or he with mine? Did I go back a hundred thousand years, or did he +come forward? If he came to me out of the past, it is not I who talked +with a dead man, but he who talked with a man unborn. Past, present +and future are one to a wise man. I talked to Gonar while he was alive; +likewise was I alive. In a timeless, spaceless land we met and he told +me many things."</p> + +<p>The land was growing light with the birth of dawn. The heather waved +and bent in long rows before the dawn wind as bowing in worship of the +rising sun.</p> + +<p>"The jewel in your crown is a magnet that draws down the eons," said +Gonar. "The sun is rising—and who comes out of the sunrise?"</p> + +<p>Cormac and the king started. The sun was just lifting a red orb above +the eastern hills. And full in the glow, etched boldly against the +golden rim, a man suddenly appeared. They had not seen him come. +Against the golden birth of day he loomed colossal; a gigantic god from +the dawn of creation. Now as he strode toward them the waking hosts saw +him and sent up a sudden shout of wonder.</p> + +<p>"Who—or what is it?" exclaimed Bran.</p> + +<p>"Let us go to meet him, Bran," answered the wizard. "He is the king +Gonar has sent to save the people of Brule."</p> + +<hr class="chap"> + +<p class="ph2">2</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">"I have reached these lands but newly</div> + <div class="verse indent0">From an ultimate dim Thule;</div> + <div class="verse indent2">From a wild weird clime that lieth sublime</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Out of Space—out of Time."</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent28">—Poe.</div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + + +<p>The army fell silent as Bran, Cormac and Gonar went toward the stranger +who approached in long swinging strides. As they neared him the +illusion of monstrous size vanished, but they saw he was a man of great +stature. At first Cormac thought him to be a Northman but a second +glance told him that nowhere before had he seen such a man. He was +built such like the vikings, at once massive and lithe—tigerish. But +his features were not as theirs, and his square-cut, lion-like mane of +hair was as black as Bran's own. Under heavy brows glittered eyes gray +as steel and cold as ice. His bronzed face, strong and inscrutable, was +clean-shaven, and the broad forehead betokened a high intelligence, +just as the firm jaw and thin lips showed willpower and courage. +But more than all, the bearing of him, the unconscious lion-like +stateliness, marked him as a natural king, a ruler of men.</p> + +<p>Sandals of curious make were on his feet and he wore a pliant coat of +strangely meshed mail which came almost to his knees. A broad belt with +a great golden buckle encircled his waist, supporting a long straight +sword in a heavy leather scabbard. His hair was confined by a wide, +heavy golden band about his head.</p> + +<p>Such was the man who paused before the silent group. He seemed slightly +puzzled, slightly amused. Recognition flickered in his eyes. He spoke +in a strange archaic Pictish which Cormac scarcely understood. His +voice was deep and resonant.</p> + +<p>"Ha, Brule, Gonar did not tell me I would dream of you!"</p> + +<p>For the first time in his life Cormac saw the Pictish king completely +thrown off his balance. He gaped, speechless. The stranger continued:</p> + +<p>"And wearing the gem I gave you, in a circlet on your head! Last night +you wore it in a ring on your finger."</p> + +<p>"Last night?" gasped Bran.</p> + +<p>"Last night or a hundred thousand years ago—all one!" murmured Gonar +in evident enjoyment of the situation.</p> + +<p>"I am not Brule," said Bran. "Are you mad to thus speak of a man dead a +hundred thousand years? He was first of my line."</p> + +<p>The stranger laughed unexpectedly. "Well, now I know I am dreaming! +This will be a tale to tell Brule when I waken on the morrow! That I +went into the future and saw men claiming descent from the Spear-slayer +who is, as yet, not even married. No, you are not Brule, I see now, +though you have his eyes and his bearing. But he is taller and broader +in the shoulders. Yet you have his jewel—oh, well—anything can happen +in a dream, so I will not quarrel with you. For a time I thought I had +been transported to some other land in my sleep, and was in reality +awake in a strange country, for this is the clearest dream I ever +dreamed. Who are you?"</p> + +<p>"I am Bran Mak Morn, king of the Caledonian Picts. And this ancient is +Gonar, a wizard, of the line of Gonar. And this warrior is Cormac na +Connacht, a prince of the isle of Erin."</p> + +<p>The stranger slowly shook his lion-like head. "These words sound +strangely to me, save Gonar—and that one is not Gonar, though he too +is old. What land is this?"</p> + +<p>"Caledon, or Alba, as the Gaels call it."</p> + +<p>"And who are those squat ape-like warriors who watch us yonder, all +agape?"</p> + +<p>"They are the Picts who own my rule."</p> + +<p>"How strangely distorted folk are in dreams!" muttered the stranger. +"And who are those shock-headed men about the chariots?"</p> + +<p>"They are Britons—Cymry from south of the Wall."</p> + +<p>"What Wall?"</p> + +<p>"The Wall built by Rome to keep the people of the heather out of +Britain."</p> + +<p>"Britain?" the tone was curious. "I never heard of that land—and what +is Rome?"</p> + +<p>"What!" cried Bran. "You never heard of Rome, the empire that rules the +world?"</p> + +<p>"No empire rules the world," answered the other haughtily. "The +mightiest kingdom on earth is that wherein I reign."</p> + +<p>"And who are you?"</p> + +<p>"Kull of Atlantis, king of Valusia!"</p> + +<p>Cormac felt a coldness trickle down his spine. The cold gray eyes were +unswerving—but this was incredible—monstrous—unnatural.</p> + +<p>"Valusia!" cried Bran. "Why, man, the sea waves have rolled above the +spires of Valusia for untold centuries!"</p> + +<p>Kull laughed outright. "What a mad nightmare this is! When Gonar put on +me the spell of deep sleep last night—or this night!—in the secret +room of the inner palace, he told me I would dream strange things, but +this is more fantastic than I reckoned. And the strangest thing is, I +know I am dreaming!"</p> + +<p>Gonar interposed as Bran would have spoken. "Question not the acts of +the gods," muttered the wizard. "You are king because in the past you +have seen and seized opportunities. The gods or the first Gonar have +sent you this man. Let me deal with him."</p> + +<p>Bran nodded, and while the silent army gaped in speechless wonder, just +within ear-shot, Gonar spoke: "Oh great king, you dream, but is not all +life a dream? How reckon you but that your former life is but a dream +from which you have just awakened? Now we dream-folk have our wars and +our peace, and just now a great host comes up from the south to destroy +the people of Brule. Will you aid us?"</p> + +<p>Kull grinned with pure zest. "Aye! I have fought battles in dreams +ere now, have slain and been slain and was amazed when I woke from my +visions. And at times, as now, dreaming I have known I dreamed. See, I +pinch myself and feel it, but I know I dream for I have felt the pain +of fierce wounds, in dreams. Yes, people of my dream, I will fight for +you against the other dream-folk. Where are they?"</p> + +<p>"And that you enjoy the dream more," said the wizard subtly, "forget +that it is a dream and pretend that by the magic of the first Gonar, +and the quality of the jewel you gave Brule, that now gleams on the +crown of the Morni, you have in truth been transported forward into +another, wilder age where the people of Brule fight for their life +against a stronger foe."</p> + +<p>For a moment the man who called himself king of Valusia seemed +startled; a strange look of doubt, almost of fear, clouded his eyes. +Then he laughed.</p> + +<p>"Good! Lead on, wizard."</p> + +<p>But now Bran took charge. He had recovered himself and was at ease. +Whether he thought, like Cormac, that this was all a gigantic hoax +arranged by Gonar, he showed no sign.</p> + +<p>"King Kull, see you those men yonder who lean on their long-shafted +axes as they gaze upon you?"</p> + +<p>"The tall men with the golden hair and beards?"</p> + +<p>"Aye—our success in the coming battle hinges on them. They swear to go +over to the enemy if we give them not a king to lead them—their own +having been slain. Will you lead them to battle?"</p> + +<p>Kull's eyes glowed with appreciation. "They are men such as my own Red +Slayers, my picked regiment. I will lead them."</p> + +<p>"Come then."</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>The small group made their way down the slope, through throngs of +warriors who pushed forward eagerly to get a better view of the +stranger, then pressed back as he approached. An undercurrent of tense +whispering ran through the horde.</p> + +<p>The Northmen stood apart in a compact group. Their cold eyes took in +Kull and he gave back their stares, taking in every detail of their +appearance.</p> + +<p>"Wulfhere," said Bran, "we have brought you a king. I hold you to your +oath."</p> + +<p>"Let him speak to us," said the viking harshly.</p> + +<p>"He can not speak your tongue," answered Bran, knowing that the +Northmen knew nothing of the legends of his race. "He is a great king +of the South——"</p> + +<p>"He comes out of the past," broke in the wizard calmly. "He was the +greatest of all kings, long ago."</p> + +<p>"A dead man!" The vikings moved uneasily and the rest of the horde +pressed forward, drinking in every word. But Wulfhere scowled: "Shall a +ghost lead living men? You bring us a man you say is dead. We will not +follow a corpse."</p> + +<p>"Wulfhere," said Bran in still passion, "you are a liar and a traitor. +You set us this task, thinking it impossible. You yearn to fight under +the Eagles of Rome. We have brought you a king neither Pict, Gael nor +Briton and you deny your vow!"</p> + +<p>"Let him fight me, then!" howled Wulfhere in uncontrollable wrath, +swinging his ax about his head in a glittering arc. "If your dead man +overcomes me—then my people will follow you. If I overcome him, you +shall let us depart in peace to the camp of the legions!"</p> + +<p>"Good!" said the wizard. "Do you agree, wolves of the North?"</p> + +<p>A fierce yell and a brandishing of swords was the answer. Bran turned +to Kull, who had stood silent, understanding nothing of what was said. +But the Atlantean's eyes gleamed. Cormac felt that those cold eyes had +looked on too many such scenes not to understand something of what had +passed.</p> + +<p>"This warrior says you must fight him for the leadership," said Bran, +and Kull, eyes glittering with growing battle-joy, nodded: "I guessed +as much. Give us space."</p> + +<p>"A shield and a helmet!" shouted Bran, but Kull shook his head.</p> + +<p>"I need none," he growled. "Back and give us room to swing our steel!"</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>Men pressed back on each side, forming a solid ring about the two men, +who now approached each other warily. Kull had drawn his sword and the +great blade shimmered like a live thing in his hand. Wulfhere, scarred +by a hundred savage fights, flung aside his wolfskin mantle and came in +cautiously, fierce eyes peering over the top of his out-thrust shield, +ax half lifted in his right hand.</p> + +<p>Suddenly when the warriors were still many feet apart Kull sprang. +His attack brought a gasp from men used to deeds of prowess; for like +a leaping tiger he shot through the air and his sword crashed on the +quickly lifted shield. Sparks flew and Wulfhere's ax hacked in, but +Kull was under its sweep and as it swished viciously above his head he +thrust upward and sprang out again, cat-like. His motions had been too +quick for the eye to follow. The upper edge of Wulfhere's shield showed +a deep cut, and there was a long rent in his mail shirt where Kull's +sword had barely missed the flesh beneath.</p> + +<p>Cormac, trembling with the terrible thrill of the fight, wondered at +this sword that could thus slice through scale-mail. And the blow that +gashed the shield should have shattered the blade. Yet not a notch +showed in the Valusian steel! Surely this blade was forged by another +people in another age!</p> + +<p>Now the two giants leaped again to the attack and like double strokes +of lightning their weapons crashed. Wulfhere's shield fell from his arm +in two pieces as the Atlantean's sword sheared clear through it, and +Kull staggered as the Northman's ax, driven with all the force of his +great body, descended on the golden circlet about his head. That blow +should have sheared through the gold like butter to split the skull +beneath, but the ax rebounded, showing a great notch in the edge. The +next instant the Northman was overwhelmed by a whirlwind of steel—a +storm of strokes delivered with such swiftness and power that he was +borne back as on the crest of a wave, unable to launch an attack of +his own. With all his tried skill he sought to parry the singing steel +with his ax. But he could only avert his doom for a few seconds; could +only for an instant turn the whistling blade that hewed off bits of his +mail, so close fell the blows. One of the horns flew from his helmet; +then the ax-head itself fell away, and the same blow that severed +the handle, bit through the viking's helmet into the scalp beneath. +Wulfhere was dashed to his knees, a trickle of blood starting down his +face.</p> + +<p>Kull checked his second stroke, and tossing his sword to Cormac, faced +the dazed Northman weaponless. The Atlantean's eyes were blazing with +ferocious joy and he roared something in a strange tongue. Wulfhere +gathered his legs under him and bounded up, snarling like a wolf, a +dagger flashing into his hand. The watching horde gave tongue in a yell +that ripped the skies as the two bodies clashed. Kull's clutching hand +missed the Northman's wrist but the desperately lunging dagger snapped +on the Atlantean's mail, and dropping the useless hilt, Wulfhere locked +his arms about his foe in a bear-like grip that would have crushed the +ribs of a lesser man. Kull grinned tigerishly and returned the grapple, +and for a moment the two swayed on their feet. Slowly the black-haired +warrior bent his foe backward until it seemed his spine would snap. +With a howl that had nothing of the human in it, Wulfhere clawed +frantically at Kull's face, trying to tear out his eyes, then turned +his head and snapped his fang-like teeth into the Atlantean's arm. A +yell went up as a trickle of blood started: "He bleeds! He bleeds! He +is no ghost, after all, but a mortal man!"</p> + +<p>Angered, Kull shifted his grip, shoving the frothing Wulfhere away from +him, and smote him terrifically under the ear with his right hand. The +viking landed on his back a dozen feet away. Then, howling like a wild +man, he leaped up with a stone in his hand and flung it. Only Kull's +incredible quickness saved his face; as it was, the rough edge of the +missile tore his cheek and inflamed him to madness. With a lion-like +roar he bounded upon his foe, enveloped him in an irresistible blast +of sheer fury, whirled him high above his head as if he were a child +and cast him a dozen feet away. Wulfhere pitched on his head and lay +still—broken and dead.</p> + +<p>Dazed silence reigned for an instant; then from the Gaels went up a +thundering roar, and the Britons and Picts took it up, howling like +wolves, until the echoes of the shouts and the clangor of sword on +shield reached the ears of the marching legionaries, miles to the south.</p> + +<p>"Men of the gray North," shouted Bran, "will you hold by your oath +<i>now</i>?"</p> + +<p>The fierce souls of the Northmen were in their eyes as their spokesman +answered. Primitive, superstitious, steeped in tribal lore of fighting +gods and mythical heroes, they did not doubt that the black-haired +fighting man was some supernatural being sent by the fierce gods of +battle.</p> + +<p>"Aye! Such a man as this we have never seen! Dead man, ghost or devil, +we will follow him, whether the trail lead to Rome or Valhalla!"</p> + +<p>Kull understood the meaning, if not the words. Taking his sword from +Cormac with a word of thanks, he turned to the waiting Northmen and +silently held the blade toward them high above his head, in both +hands, before he returned it to its scabbard. Without understanding, +they appreciated the action. Blood-stained and disheveled, he was an +impressive picture of stately, magnificent barbarism.</p> + +<p>"Come," said Bran, touching the Atlantean's arm; "a host is marching on +us and we have much to do. There is scant time to arrange our forces +before they will be upon us. Come to the top of yonder slope."</p> + +<p>There the Pict pointed. They were looking down into a valley which ran +north and south, widening from a narrow gorge in the north until it +debouched upon a plain to the south. The whole valley was less than a +mile in length.</p> + +<p>"Up this valley will our foes come," said the Pict, "because they have +wagons loaded with supplies and on all sides of this vale the ground is +too rough for such travel. Here we plan an ambush."</p> + +<p>"I would have thought you would have had your men lying in wait long +before now," said Kull. "What of the scouts the enemy is sure to send +out?"</p> + +<p>"The savages I lead would never have waited in ambush so long," said +Bran with a couch of bitterness. "I could not post them until I +was sure of the Northmen. Even so I had not dared to post them ere +now—even yet they may take panic from the drifting of a cloud or the +blowing of a leaf, and scatter like birds before a cold wind. King +Kull—the fate of the Pictish nation is at stake. I am called king of +the Picts, but my rule as yet is but a hollow mockery. The hills are +full of wild clans who refuse to fight for me. Of the thousand bowmen +now at my command, more than half are of my own clan.</p> + +<p>"Some eighteen hundred Romans are marching against us. It is not a real +invasion, but much hinges upon it. It is the beginning of an attempt to +extend their boundaries. They plan to build a fortress a day's march +to the north of this valley. If they do, they will build other forts, +drawing bands of steel about the heart of the free people. If I win +this battle and wipe out this army, I will win a double victory. Then +the tribes will flock to me and the next invasion will meet a solid +wall of resistance. If I lose, the clans will scatter, fleeing into the +north until they can no longer flee, fighting as separate clans rather +than as one strong nation.</p> + +<p>"I have a thousand archers, five hundred horsemen, fifty chariots with +their drivers and swordsmen—one hundred fifty men in all—and, thanks +to you, three hundred heavily armed Northern pirates. How would you +arrange your battle lines?"</p> + +<p>"Well," said Kull, "I would have barricaded the north end of the +valley—no! That would suggest a trap. But I would block it with a +band of desperate men, like those you have given me to lead. Three +hundred could hold the gorge for a time against any number. Then, when +the enemy was engaged with these men to the narrow part of the valley, +I would have my archers shoot down into them until their ranks are +broken, from both sides of the vale. Then, having my horsemen concealed +behind one ridge and my chariots behind the other, I would charge with +both simultaneously and sweep the foe into a red ruin."</p> + +<p>Bran's eyes glowed. "Exactly, king of Valusia. Such was my exact +plan——"</p> + +<p>"But what of the scouts?"</p> + +<p>"My warriors are like panthers; they hide under the noses of the +Romans. Those who ride into the valley will see only what we wish them +to see. Those who ride over the ridge will not come back to report. An +arrow is swift and silent.</p> + +<p>"You see that the pivot of the whole thing depends on the men that +hold the gorge. They must be men who can fight on foot and resist the +charges of the heavy legionaries long enough for the trap to close. +Outside these Northmen I had no such force of men. My naked warriors +with their short swords could never stand such a charge for an instant. +Nor is the armor of the Celts made for such work; moreover, they are +not foot-fighters, and I need them elsewhere.</p> + +<p>"So you see why I had such desperate need of the Northmen. Now will +you stand in the gorge with them and hold back the Romans until I can +spring the trap? Remember, most of you will die."</p> + +<p>Kull smiled. "I have taken chances all my life, though Tu, chief +councillor, would say my life belongs to Valusia and I have no right to +so risk it——" His voice trailed off and a strange look flitted across +his face. "By Valka," said he, laughing uncertainly, "sometimes I +forget this is a dream! All seems so real. But it is—of course it is! +Well, then, if I die I will but awaken as I have done in times past. +Lead on, king of Caledon!"</p> + +<p>Cormac, going to his warriors, wondered. Surely it was all a hoax; +yet—he heard the arguments of the warriors all about him as they +armed themselves and prepared to take their posts. The black-haired +king was Neid himself, the Celtic war-god; he was an antediluvian king +brought out of the past by Gonar; he was a mythical fighting man out of +Valhalla. He was no man at all but a ghost! No, he was mortal, for he +had bled. But the gods themselves bled, though they did not die. So the +controversies raged. At least, thought Cormac, if it was all a hoax +to inspire the warriors with the feeling of supernatural aid, it had +succeeded. The belief that Kull was more than a mortal man had fired +Celt, Pict and viking alike into a sort of inspired madness. And Cormac +asked himself—what did he himself believe? This man was surely one +from some far land—yet in his every look and action there was a vague +hint of a greater difference than mere distance of space—a hint of +alien Time, of misty abysses and gigantic gulfs of eons lying between +the black-haired stranger and the men with whom he walked and talked. +Clouds of bewilderment mazed Cormac's brain and he laughed in whimsical +self-mockery.</p> + +<hr class="chap"> + +<p class="ph2">3</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">"And the two wild peoples of the north</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Stood fronting in the gloam,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And heard and knew each in his mind</div> + <div class="verse indent0">A third great sound upon the wind,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">The living walls that hedge mankind,</div> + <div class="verse indent2">The walking walls of Rome."</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent20">—Chesterton.</div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + + +<p>The sun slanted westward. Silence lay like an invisible mist over the +valley. Cormac gathered the reins in his hand and glanced up at the +ridges on both sides. The waving heather which grew rank on those steep +slopes gave no evidence of the hundreds of savage warriors who lurked +there. Here in the narrow gorge which widened gradually southward was +the only sign of life. Between the steep walls three hundred Northmen +were massed solidly in their wedge-shaped shield-wall, blocking the +pass. At the tip, like the point of a spear, stood the man who called +himself Kull, king of Valusia. He wore no helmet, only the great, +strangely worked head-band of hard gold, but he bore on his left arm +the great shield borne by the dead Rognar; and in his right hand he +held the heavy iron mace wielded by the sea-king. The vikings eyed +him in wonder and savage admiration. They could not understand his +language, or he theirs. But no further orders were necessary. At Bran's +directions they had bunched themselves in the gorge, and their only +order was—hold the pass!</p> + +<p>Bran Mak Morn stood just in front of Kull. So they faced each other, he +whose kingdom was yet unborn, and he whose kingdom had been lost in the +mists of Time for unguessed ages. Kings of darkness, thought Cormac, +nameless kings of the night, whose realms are gulfs and shadows.</p> + +<p>The hand of the Pictish king went out. "King Kull, you are more than +king—you are a man. Both of us may fall within the next hour—but if +we both live, ask what you will of me."</p> + +<p>Kull smiled, returning the firm grip. "You too are a man after my own +heart, king of the shadows. Surely you are more than a figment of my +sleeping imagination. Mayhap we will meet in waking life some day."</p> + +<p>Bran shook his head in puzzlement, swung into the saddle and rode +away, climbing the eastern slope and vanishing over the ridge. Cormac +hesitated: "Strange man, are you in truth of flesh and blood, or are +you a ghost?"</p> + +<p>"When we dream, we are all flesh and blood—so long as we are +dreaming," Kull answered. "This is the strangest nightmare I have ever +known—but you, who will soon fade into sheer nothingness as I awaken, +seem as real to me <i>now</i>, as Brule, or Kananu, or Tu, or Kelkor."</p> + +<p>Cormac shook his head as Bran had done, and with a last salute, which +Kull returned with barbaric stateliness, he turned and trotted away. +At the top of the western ridge he paused. Away to the south a light +cloud of dust rose and the head of the marching column was in sight. +Already he believed he could feel the earth vibrate slightly to the +measured tread of a thousand mailed feet beating in perfect unison. +He dismounted, and one of his chieftains, Domnail, took his steed and +led it down the slope away from the valley, where trees grew thickly. +Only an occasional vague movement among them gave evidence of the five +hundred men who stood there, each at his horse's head with a ready hand +to check a chance nicker.</p> + +<p>Oh, thought Cormac, the gods themselves made this valley for Bran's +ambush! The floor of the valley was treeless and the inner slopes were +bare save for the waist-high heather. But at the foot of each ridge on +the side facing away from the vale, where the soil long washed from +the rocky slopes had accumulated, there grew enough trees to hide five +hundred horsemen or fifty chariots.</p> + +<p>At the northern end of the valley stood Kull and his three hundred +vikings, in open view, flanked on each side by fifty Pictish bowmen. +Hidden on the western side of the western ridge were the Gaels. Along +the top of the slopes, concealed in the tall heather, lay a hundred +Picts with their shafts on string. The rest of the Picts were hidden on +the eastern slopes beyond which lay the Britons with their chariots in +full readiness. Neither they nor the Gaels to the west could see what +went on in the vale, but signals had been arranged.</p> + +<p>Now the long column was entering the wide mouth of the valley and their +scouts, light-armed men on swift horses, were spreading out between the +slopes. They galloped almost within bowshot of the silent host that +blocked the pass, then halted. Some whirled and raced back to the main +force, while the others deployed and cantered up the slopes, seeking to +see what lay beyond. This was the crucial moment. If they got any hint +of the ambush, all was lost. Cormac, shrinking down into the heather, +marveled at the ability of the Picts to efface themselves from view so +completely. He saw a horseman pass within three feet of where he knew a +bowman lay, yet the Roman saw nothing.</p> + +<p>The scouts topped the ridges, gazed about; then most of them turned and +trotted back down the slopes. Cormac wondered at their desultory manner +of scouting. He had never fought Romans before, knew nothing of their +arrogant self-confidence, of their incredible shrewdness in some ways, +their incredible stupidity in others. These men were overconfident; a +feeling radiating from their officers. It had been years since a force +of Caledonians had stood before the legions. And most of these men were +but newly come to Britain; part of a legion which had been quartered in +Egypt. They despised their foes and suspected nothing.</p> + +<p>But stay—three riders on the opposite ridge had turned and vanished +on the other side. And now one, sitting his steed at the crest of the +western ridge, not a hundred yards from where Cormac lay, looked long +and narrowly down into the mass of trees at the foot of the slope. +Cormac saw suspicion grow on his brown, hawk-like face. He half turned +as though to call to his comrades, then instead reined his steed down +the slope, leaning forward in his saddle. Cormac's heart pounded. Each +moment he expected to see the man wheel and gallop back to raise the +alarm. He resisted a mad impulse to leap up and charge the Roman on +foot. Surely the man could feel the tenseness in the air—the hundreds +of fierce eyes upon him. Now he was half-way down the slope, out of +sight of the men in the valley. And now the twang of an unseen bow +broke the painful stillness. With a strangled gasp the Roman flung his +hands high, and as the steed reared, he pitched headlong, transfixed +by a long black arrow that had flashed from the heather. A stocky dwarf +sprang out of nowhere, seemingly, and seized the bridle, quieting the +snorting horse, and leading it down the slope. At the fall of the +Roman, short crooked men rose like a sudden flight of birds from the +grass and Cormac saw the flash of a knife. Then with unreal suddenness +all had subsided. Slayers and slain were unseen and only the still +waving heather marked the grim deed.</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>The Gael looked back into the valley. The three who had ridden over +the eastern ridge had not come back and Cormac knew they never would. +Evidently the other scouts had borne word that only a small band of +warriors were ready to dispute the passage of the legionaries. Now the +head of the column was almost below him and he thrilled at the sight of +these men who were doomed, swinging along with their superb arrogance. +And the sight of their splendid armor, their hawk-like faces and +perfect discipline awed him as much as it is possible for a Gael to be +awed.</p> + +<p>Twelve hundred men in heavy armor who marched as one so that the ground +shook to their tread! Most of them were of middle height, with powerful +chests and shoulders and bronzed faces—hard-bitten veterans of a +hundred campaigns. Cormac noted their javelins, short keen swords and +heavy shields; their gleaming armor and crested helmets, the eagles on +the standards. These were the men beneath whose tread the world had +shaken and empires crumbled! Not all were Latins; there were Romanized +Britons among them and one century or hundred was composed of huge +yellow-haired men—Gauls and Germans, who fought for Rome as fiercely +as did the native-born, and hated their wilder kinsmen more savagely.</p> + +<p>On each side was a swarm of cavalry, outriders, and the column was +flanked by archers and slingers. A number of lumbering wagons carried +the supplies of the army. Cormac saw the commander riding in his +place—a tall man with a lean, imperious face, evident even at that +distance. Marcus Sulius—the Gael knew him by repute.</p> + +<p>A deep-throated roar rose from the legionaries as they approached their +foes. Evidently they intended to slice their way through and continue +without a pause, for the column moved implacably on. Whom the gods +destroy they first make mad—Cormac had never heard the phrase but it +came to him that the great Sulius was a fool. Roman arrogance! Marcus +was used to lashing the cringing peoples of a decadent East; little he +guessed of the iron in these western races.</p> + +<p>A group of cavalry detached itself and raced into the mouth of the +gorge, but it was only a gesture. With loud jeering shouts they wheeled +three spears length away and cast their javelins, which rattled +harmlessly on the overlapping shields of the silent Northmen. But +their leader dared too much; swinging in, he leaned from his saddle +and thrust at Kull's face. The great shield turned the lance and Kull +struck back as a snake strikes; the ponderous mace crushed helmet and +head like an eggshell, and the very steed went to its knees from the +shock of that terrible blow. From the Northmen went up a short fierce +roar, and the Picts beside them howled exultantly and loosed their +arrows among the retreating horsemen. First blood for the people of the +heather! The oncoming Romans shouted vengefully and quickened their +pace as the frightened horse raced by, a ghastly travesty of a man, +foot caught in the stirrup, trailing beneath the pounding hoofs.</p> + +<p>Now the first line of the legionaries, compressed because of +the narrowness of the gorge, crashed against the solid wall of +shields—crashed and recoiled upon itself. The shield-wall had not +shaken an inch. This was the first time the Roman legions had met with +that unbreakable formation—that oldest of all Aryan battle-lines—the +ancestor of the Spartan regiment—the Theban phalanx—the Macedonian +formation—the English square.</p> + +<p>Shield crashed on shield and the short Roman sword sought for an +opening in that iron wall. Viking spears bristling in solid ranks +above, thrust and reddened; heavy axes chopped down, shearing through +iron, flesh and bone. Cormac saw Kull, looming above the stocky +Romans in the forefront of the fray, dealing blows like thunderbolts. +A burly centurion rushed in, shield held high, stabbing upward. The +iron mace crashed terribly, shivering the sword, rending the shield +apart, shattering the helmet, crushing the skull down between the +shoulders—in a single blow.</p> + +<p>The front line of the Romans bent like a steel bar about the wedge, as +the legionaries sought to struggle through the gorge on each side and +surround their opposers. But the pass was too narrow; crouching close +against the steep walls the Picts drove their black arrows in a hail of +death. At this range the heavy shafts tore through shield and corselet, +transfixing the armored men. The front line of battle rolled back, red +and broken, and the Northmen trod their few dead under foot to close +the gaps their fall had made. Stretched the full width of their front +lay a thin line of shattered forms—the red spray of the tide which had +broken upon them in vain.</p> + +<p>Cormac had leaped to his feet, waving his arms. Domnail and his men +broke cover at the signal and came galloping up the slope, lining the +ridge. Cormac mounted the horse brought him and glanced impatiently +across the narrow vale. No sign of life appeared on the eastern ridge. +Where was Bran—and the Britons?</p> + +<p>Down in the valley, the legions, angered at the unexpected opposition +of the paltry force in front of them, but not suspicious, were forming +in more compact body. The wagons which had halted were lumbering on +again and the whole column was once more in motion as if it intended +to crash through by sheer weight. With the Gaulish century in the +forefront, the legionaries were advancing again in the attack. This +time, with the full force of twelve hundred men behind, the charge +would batter down the resistance of Kull's warriors like a heavy +ram; would stamp them down, sweep over their red ruins. Cormac's +men trembled in impatience. Suddenly Marcus Sulius turned and gazed +westward, where the line of horsemen was etched against the sky. Even +at that distance Cormac saw his face pale. The Roman at last realized +the metal of the men he faced, and that he had walked into a trap. +Surely in that moment there flashed a chaotic picture through his +brain—defeat—disgrace—red ruin!</p> + +<p>It was too late to retreat—too late to form into a defensive square +with the wagons for barricade. There was but one way possible out, and +Marcus, crafty general in spite of his recent blunder, took it. Cormac +heard his voice cut like a clarion through the din, and though he did +not understand the words, he knew that the Roman was shouting for his +men to smite that knot of Northmen like a blast—to hack their way +through and out of the trap before it could close!</p> + +<p>Now the legionaries, aware of their desperate plight, flung themselves +headlong and terribly on their foes. The shield-wall rocked, but it +gave not an inch. The wild faces of the Gauls and the hard brown +Italian faces glared over locked shields into the blazing eyes of the +North. Shields touching, they smote and slew and died in a red storm of +slaughter, where crimsoned axes rose and fell and dripping spears broke +on notched swords.</p> + +<p>Where in God's name was Bran with his chariots? A few minutes more +would spell the doom of every man who held that pass. Already they were +falling fast, though they locked their ranks closer and held like iron. +Those wild men of the North were dying in their tracks; and looming +among their golden heads the black lion-mane of Kull shone like a +symbol of slaughter, and his reddened mace showered a ghastly rain as +it splashed brains and blood like water.</p> + +<p>Something snapped in Cormac's brain.</p> + +<p>"These men will die while we wait for Bran's signal!" he shouted. "On! +Follow me into Hell, sons of Gael!"</p> + +<p>A wild roar answered him, and loosing rein he shot down the slope with +five hundred yelling riders plunging headlong after him. And even at +that moment a storm of arrows swept the valley from either side like +a dark cloud and the terrible clamor of the Picts split the skies. +And over the eastern ridge, like a sudden burst of rolling thunder +on Judgment Day, rushed the war-chariots. Headlong down the slope +they roared, foam flying from the horses' distended nostrils, frantic +feet scarcely seeming to touch the ground, making naught of the tall +heather. In the foremost chariot, with his dark eyes blazing, crouched +Bran Mak Morn, and in all of them the naked Britons were screaming and +lashing as if possessed by demons. Behind the flying chariots came the +Picts, howling like wolves and loosing their arrows as they ran. The +heather belched them forth from all sides in a dark wave.</p> + +<p>So much Cormac saw in chaotic glimpses during that wild ride down the +slopes. A wave of cavalry swept between him and the main line of the +column. Three long leaps ahead of his men, the Gaelic prince met the +spears of the Roman riders. The first lance turned on his buckler, +and rising in his stirrups he smote downward, cleaving his man from +shoulder to breast-bone. The next Roman flung a javelin that killed +Domnail, but at that instant Cormac's steed crashed into his, breast to +breast, and the lighter horse rolled headlong under the shock, flinging +his rider beneath the pounding hoofs.</p> + +<p>Then the whole blast of the Gaelic charge smote the Roman cavalry, +shattering it, crashing and rolling it down and under. Over its red +ruins Cormac's yelling demons struck the heavy Roman infantry, and +the whole line reeled at the shock. Swords and axes flashed up and +down and the force of their rush carried them deep into the massed +ranks. Here, checked, they swayed and strove. Javelins thrust, swords +flashed upward, bringing down horse and rider, and greatly outnumbered, +leaguered on every side, the Gaels had perished among their foes, but +at that instant, from the other side the crashing chariots smote the +Roman ranks. In one long line they struck almost simultaneously, and +at the moment of impact the charioteers wheeled their horses sidelong +and raced parallel down the ranks, shearing men down like the mowing +of wheat. Hundreds died on those curving blades in that moment, and +leaping from the chariots, screaming like blood-mad wildcats, the +British swordsmen flung themselves upon the spears of the legionaries, +hacking madly with their two-handed swords. Crouching, the Picts +drove their arrows pointblank and then sprang in to slash and thrust. +Maddened with the sight of victory, these wild peoples were like +wounded tigers, feeling no wounds, and dying on their feet with their +last gasp a snarl of fury.</p> + +<p>But the battle was not over yet. Dazed, shattered, their formation +broken and nearly half their number down already, the Romans fought +back with desperate fury. Hemmed in on all sides they slashed and +smote singly, or in small clumps, fought back to back, archers, +slingers, horsemen and heavy legionaries mingled into a chaotic mass. +The confusion was complete, but not the victory. Those bottled in the +gorge still hurled themselves upon the red axes that barred their way, +while the massed and serried battle thundered behind them. From one +side Cormac's Gaels raged and slashed; from the other chariots swept +back and forth, retiring and returning like iron whirlwinds. There was +no retreat, for the Picts had flung a cordon across the way they had +come, and having cut the throats of the camp followers and possessed +themselves of the wagon, they sent their shafts in a storm of death +into the rear of the shattered column. Those long black arrows pierced +armor and bone, nailing men together. Yet the slaughter was not all +on one side. Picts died beneath the lightning thrust of javelin and +shortsword, Gaels pinned beneath their falling horses were hewed to +pieces, and chariots, cut loose from their horses, were deluged with +the blood of the charioteers.</p> + +<p>And at the narrow head of the valley still the battle surged and +eddied. Great gods—thought Cormac, glancing between lightning-like +blows—do these men still hold the gorge? Aye! They held it! A tenth of +their original number, dying on their feet, they still held back the +frantic charges of the dwindling legionaries.</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>Over all the field went up the roar and the clash of arms, and birds of +prey, swift-flying out of the sunset, circled above. Cormac, striving +to reach Marcus Sulius through the press, saw the Roman's horse sink +under him, and the rider rise alone in a waste of foes. He saw the +Roman sword flash thrice, dealing a death at each blow; then from the +thickest of the fray bounded a terrible figure. It was Bran Mak Morn, +stained from head to foot. He cast away his broken sword as he ran, +drawing a dirk. The Roman struck, but the Pictish king was under the +thrust, and gripping the sword-wrist, he drove the dirk again and again +through the gleaming armor.</p> + +<p>A mighty roar went up as Marcus died, and Cormac, with a shout, rallied +the remnants of his force about him and, striking in the spurs, burst +through the shattered lines and rode full speed for the other end of +the valley.</p> + +<p>But as he approached he saw that he was too late. As they had lived, so +had they died, those fierce sea-wolves, with their faces to the foe and +their broken weapons red in their hands. In a grim and silent band they +lay, even in death preserving some of the shield-wall formation. Among +them, in front of them and all about them lay high-heaped the bodies of +those who had sought to break them, in vain. <i>They had not given back a +foot!</i> To the last man, they had died in their tracks. Nor were there +any left to stride over their torn shapes; those Romans who had escaped +the viking axes had been struck down by the shafts of the Picts and +swords of the Gaels from behind.</p> + +<p>Yet this part of the battle was not over. High up on the steep western +slope Cormac saw the ending of that drama. A group of Gauls in the +armor of Rome pressed upon a single man—a black-haired giant on whose +head gleamed a golden crown. There was iron in these men, as well as +in the man who had held them to their fate. They were doomed—their +comrades were being slaughtered behind them—but before their turn came +they would at least have the life of the black-haired chief who had led +the golden-haired men of the North.</p> + +<p>Pressing upon him from three sides they had forced him slowly back up +the steep gorge wall, and the crumpled bodies that stretched along his +retreat showed how fiercely every foot of the way had been contested. +Here on this steep it was task enough to keep one's footing alone; yet +these men at once climbed and fought. Kull's shield and the huge mace +were gone, and the great sword in his right hand was dyed crimson. +His mail, wrought with a forgotten art, now hung in shreds, and blood +streamed from a hundred wounds on limbs, head and body. But his eyes +still blazed with the battle-joy and his wearied arm still drove the +mighty blade in strokes of death.</p> + +<p>But Cormac saw that the end would come before they could reach him. +Now at the very crest of the steep, a hedge of points menaced the +strange king's life, and even his iron strength was ebbing. Now he +split the skull of a huge warrior and the back-stroke shore through the +neck-cords of another; reeling under a very rain of swords he struck +again and his victim dropped at his feet, cleft to the breast-bone. +Then, even as a dozen swords rose above the staggering Atlantean for +the death stroke, a strange thing happened. The sun was sinking into +the western sea; all the heather swam red like an ocean of blood. +Etched in the dying sun, as he had first appeared, Kull stood, and +then, like a mist lifting, a mighty vista opened behind the reeling +king. Cormac's astounded eyes caught a fleeting gigantic glimpse of +other climes and spheres—as if mirrored in summer clouds he saw, +instead of the heather hills stretching away to the sea, a dim and +mighty land of blue mountains and gleaming quiet lakes—the golden, +purple and sapphirean spires and towering walls of a mighty city such +as the earth has not known for many a drifting age.</p> + +<hr class="chap"> + +<div class="figcenter"> + <img src="images/illus.jpg" alt="Image of Kull"> + <div class="caption"> + <p>"<i>Etched in the dying sun stood Kull.</i>"</p> + </div> +</div> + +<hr class="chap"> + +<p>Then like the fading of a mirage it was gone, but the Gauls on the +high slope had dropped their weapons and stared like men dazed—<i>For +the man called Kull had vanished and there was no trace of his going!</i></p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>As in a daze Cormac turned his steed and rode back across the trampled +field. His horse's hoofs splashed in lakes of blood and clanged against +the helmets of dead men. Across the valley the shout of victory was +thundering. Yet all seemed shadowy and strange. A shape was striding +across the torn corpses and Cormac was dully aware that it was Bran. +The Gael swung from his horse and fronted the king. Bran was weaponless +and gory; blood trickled from gashes on brow, breast and limb; what +armor he had worn was clean hacked away and a cut had shorn half-way +through his iron crown. But the red jewel still gleamed unblemished +like a star of slaughter.</p> + +<p>"It is in my mind to slay you," said the Gael heavily and like a man +speaking in a daze, "for the blood of brave men is on your head. Had +you given the signal to charge sooner, some would have lived."</p> + +<p>Bran folded his arms; his eyes were haunted. "Strike if you will; I +am sick of slaughter. It is a cold mead, this kinging it. A king must +gamble with men's lives and naked swords. The lives of all my people +were at stake; I sacrificed the Northmen—yes; and my heart is sore +within me, for they were men! But had I given the order when you would +have desired, all might have gone awry. The Romans were not yet massed +in the narrow mouth of the gorge, and might have had time and space +to form their ranks again and beat us off. I waited until the last +moment—and the rovers died. A king belongs to his people, and can not +let either his own feelings or the lives of men influence him. Now my +people are saved; but my heart is cold in my breast."</p> + +<p>Cormac wearily dropped his sword-point to the ground.</p> + +<p>"You are a born king of men, Bran," said the Gaelic prince.</p> + +<p>Bran's eyes roved the field. A mist of blood hovered over all, where +the victorious barbarians were looting the dead, while those Romans who +had escaped slaughter by throwing down their swords and now stood under +guard, looked on with hot smoldering eyes.</p> + +<p>"My kingdom—my people—are saved," said Bran wearily. "They will come +from the heather by the thousands and when Rome moves against us again, +she will meet a solid nation. But I am weary. What of Kull?"</p> + +<p>"My eyes and brain were mazed with battle," answered Cormac. "I thought +to see him vanish like a ghost into the sunset. I will seek his body."</p> + +<p>"Seek not for him," said Bran. "Out of the sunrise he came—into the +sunset he has gone. Out of the mists of the ages he came to us, and +back into the mists of the eons has he returned—to his own kingdom."</p> + +<p>Cormac turned away; night was gathering. Gonar stood like a white +specter before him.</p> + +<p>"To his own kingdom," echoed the wizard. "Time and Space are naught. +Kull has returned to his own kingdom—his own crown—his own age."</p> + +<p>"Then he was a ghost?"</p> + +<p>"Did you not feel the grip of his solid hand? Did you not hear his +voice—see him eat and drink, laugh and slay and bleed?"</p> + +<p>Still Cormac stood like one in a trance.</p> + +<p>"Then if it be possible for a man to pass from one age into one yet +unborn, or come forth from a century dead and forgotten, whichever you +will, with his flesh-and-blood body and his arms—then he is as mortal +as he was in his own day. Is Kull dead, then?"</p> + +<p>"He died a hundred thousand years ago, as men reckon time," answered +the wizard, "but in his own age. He died not from the swords of the +Gauls of this age. Have we not heard in legends how the king of Valusia +traveled into a strange, timeless land of the misty future ages, and +there fought in a great battle? Why, so he did! A hundred thousand +years ago, or today!</p> + +<p>"And a hundred thousand years ago—or a moment agone!—Kull, king of +Valusia, roused himself on the silken couch in his secret chamber and +laughing, spoke to the first Gonar, saying: 'Ha, wizard, I have in +truth dreamed strangely, for I went into a far clime and a far time +in my visions, and fought for the king of a strange shadow-people!' +And the great sorcerer smiled and pointed silently at the red, notched +sword, and the torn mail and the many wounds that the king carried. +And Kull, fully woken from his 'vision' and feeling the sting and the +weakness of these yet bleeding wounds, fell silent and mazed, and +all life and time and space seemed like a dream of ghosts to him, +and he wondered thereat all the rest of his life. For the wisdom of +the Eternities is denied even unto princes and Kull could no more +understand what Gonar told him than you can understand my words."</p> + +<p>"And then Kull lived despite his many wounds," said Cormac, "and has +returned to the mists of silence and the centuries. Well—he thought us +a dream; we thought him a ghost. And sure, life is but a web spun of +ghosts and dreams and illusion, and it is in my mind that the kingdom +which has this day been born of swords and slaughter in this howling +valley is a thing no more solid than the foam of the bright sea." +</p> +<div style='text-align:center'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 77604 ***</div> +</body> +</html> diff --git a/77604-h/images/cover.jpg b/77604-h/images/cover.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..fea85b7 --- /dev/null +++ b/77604-h/images/cover.jpg diff --git a/77604-h/images/illus.jpg b/77604-h/images/illus.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..b32206b --- /dev/null +++ b/77604-h/images/illus.jpg diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6c72794 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This book, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..5e6bbfb --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for eBook #77604 +(https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/77604) diff --git a/king_txt.txt b/king_txt.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..e6a93d2 --- /dev/null +++ b/king_txt.txt @@ -0,0 +1,1440 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 77604 *** + + + + + Kings of the Night + + BY ROBERT E. HOWARD + + [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from + Weird Tales November 1930.] + + + The Cæsar lolled on his ivory throne-- + His iron legions came + To break a king in a land unknown, + And a race without a name. + + --_The Song of Bran_ + + +The dagger flashed downward. A sharp cry broke in a gasp. The form on +the rough altar twitched convulsively and lay still. The jagged flint +edge sawed at the crimsoned breast, and thin bony fingers, ghastly +dyed, tore out the still twitching heart. Under matted white brows, +sharp eyes gleamed with a ferocious intensity. + +Besides the slayer, four men stood about the crude pile of stones that +formed the altar of the God of Shadows. One was of medium height, +lithely built, scantily clad, whose black hair was confined by a narrow +iron band in the center of which gleamed a single red jewel. Of the +others, two were dark like the first. But where he was lithe, they were +stocky and misshapen, with knotted limbs, and tangled hair falling +over sloping brows. His face denoted intelligence and implacable will; +theirs merely a beast-like ferocity. The fourth man had little in +common with the rest. Nearly a head taller, though his hair was black +as theirs, his skin was comparatively light and he was gray-eyed. He +eyed the proceedings with little favor. + +And, in truth, Cormac of Connacht was little at ease. The Druids of +his own isle of Erin had strange dark rites of worship, but nothing +like this. Dark trees shut in this grim scene, lit by a single torch. +Through the branches moaned an eery night-wind. Cormac was alone +among men of a strange race and he had just seen the heart of a man +ripped from his still pulsing body. Now the ancient priest, who looked +scarcely human, was glaring at the throbbing thing. Cormac shuddered, +glancing at him who wore the jewel. Did Bran Mak Morn, king of the +Picts, believe that this white-bearded old butcher could foretell +events by scanning a bleeding human heart? The dark eyes of the king +were inscrutable. There were strange depths to the man that Cormac +could not fathom, nor any other man. + +"The portents are good!" exclaimed the priest wildly, speaking more +to the two chieftains than to Bran. "Here from the pulsing heart of a +captive Roman I read--defeat for the arms of Rome! Triumph for the sons +of the heather!" + +The two savages murmured beneath their breath, their fierce eyes +smoldering. + +"Go and prepare your clans for battle," said the king, and they +lumbered away with the ape-like gait assumed by such stunted giants. +Paying no more heed to the priest who was examining the ghastly +ruin on the altar, Bran beckoned to Cormac. The Gael followed him +with alacrity. Once out of that grim grove, under the starlight, he +breathed more freely. They stood on an eminence, looking out over long +swelling undulations of gently waving heather. Near at hand a few +fires twinkled, their fewness giving scant evidence of the hordes of +tribesmen who lay close by. Beyond these were more fires and beyond +these still more, which last marked the camp of Cormac's own men, +hard-riding, hard-fighting Gaels, who were of that band which was just +beginning to get a foothold on the western coast of Caledonia--the +nucleus of what was later to become the kingdom of Dalriadia. To the +left of these, other fires gleamed. + +And far away to the south were more fires--mere pinpoints of light. But +even at that distance the Pictish king and his Celtic ally could see +that these fires were laid out in regular order. + +"The fires of the legions," muttered Bran. "The fires that have lit a +path around the world. The men who light those fires have trampled the +races under their iron heels. And now--we of the heather have our backs +at the wall. What will fall on the morrow?" + +"Victory for us, says the priest," answered Cormac. + +Bran made an impatient gesture. "Moonlight on the ocean. Wind in the +fir tops. Do you think that I put faith in such mummery? Or that I +enjoyed the butchery of a captive legionary? I must hearten my people; +it was for Gron and Bocah that I let old Gonar read the portents. The +warriors will fight better." + +"And Gonar?" + +Bran laughed. "Gonar is too old to believe--anything. He was high +priest of the Shadows a score of years before I was born. He claims +direct descent from that Gonar who was a wizard in the days of Brule, +the Spear-slayer who was the first of my line. No man knows how old he +is--sometimes I think he is the original Gonar himself!" + +"At least," said a mocking voice, and Cormac started as a dim shape +appeared at his side, "at least I have learned that in order to keep +the faith and trust of the people, a wise man must appear to be a fool. +I know secrets that would blast even your brain, Bran, should I speak +them. But in order that the people may believe in me, I must descend to +such things as they think proper magic--and prance and yell and rattle +snakeskins, and dabble about in human blood and chicken livers." + +Cormac looked at the ancient with new interest. The semi-madness of +his appearance had vanished. He was no longer the charlatan, the +spell-mumbling shaman. The starlight lent him a dignity which seemed +to increase his very height, so that he stood like a white-bearded +patriarch. + +"Bran, your doubt lies there." The lean arm pointed to the fourth ring +of fires. + +"Aye," the king nodded gloomily. "Cormac--you know as well as I. +Tomorrow's battle hinges upon that circle of fires. With the chariots +of the Britons and your own Western horsemen, our success would be +certain, but--surely the devil himself is in the heart of every +Northman! You know how I trapped that band--how they swore to fight for +me against Rome! And now that their chief, Rognar, is dead, they swear +that they will be led only by a king of their own race! Else they will +break their vow and go over to the Romans. Without them we are doomed, +for we can not change our former plan." + +"Take heart, Bran," said Gonar. "Touch the jewel in your iron crown. +Mayhap it will bring you aid." + +Bran laughed bitterly. "Now you talk as the people think. I am no fool +to twist with empty words. What of the gem? It is a strange one, truth, +and has brought me luck ere now. But I need now, no jewels, but the +allegiance of three hundred fickle Northmen who are the only warriors +among us who may stand the charge of the legions on foot." + +"But the jewel, Bran, the jewel!" persisted Gonar. + +"Well, the jewel!" cried Bran impatiently. "It is older than this +world. It was old when Atlantis and Lemuria sank into the sea. It was +given to Brule, the Spear-slayer, first of my line, by the Atlantean +Kull, king of Valusia, in the days when the world was young. But shall +that profit us now?" + +"Who knows?" asked the wizard obliquely. "Time and space exist not. +There was no past, and there shall be no future. NOW is all. All +things that ever were, are, or ever will be, transpire _now_. Man is +forever at the center of what we call time and space. I have gone into +yesterday and tomorrow and both were as real as today--which is like +the dreams of ghosts! But let me sleep and talk with Gonar. Mayhap he +shall aid us." + +"What means he?" asked Cormac, with a slight twitching of his +shoulders, as the priest strode away in the shadows. + +"He has ever said that the first Gonar comes to him in his dreams and +talks with him," answered Bran. "I have seen him perform deeds that +seemed beyond human ken. I know not. I am but an unknown king with an +iron crown, trying to lift a race of savages out of the slime into +which they have sunk. Let us look to the camps." + + * * * * * + +As they walked Cormac wondered. By what strange freak of fate had such +a man risen among this race of savages, survivors of a darker, grimmer +age? Surely he was an atavism, an original type of the days when the +Picts ruled all Europe, before their primitive empire fell before the +bronze swords of the Gauls. Cormac knew how Bran, rising by his own +efforts from the negligent position of the son of a Wolf clan chief, +had to an extent united the tribes of the heather and now claimed +kingship over all Caledon. But his rule was loose and much remained +before the Pictish clans would forget their feuds and present a solid +front to foreign foes. On the battle of the morrow, the first pitched +battle between the Picts under their king and the Romans, hinged the +future of the rising Pictish kingdom. + +Bran and his ally walked through the Pictish camp where the swart +warriors lay sprawled about their small fires, sleeping or gnawing +half-cooked food. Cormac was impressed by their silence. A thousand +men camped here, yet the only sounds were occasional low guttural +intonations. The silence of the Stone Age rested in the souls of these +men. + +They were all short--most of them crooked of limb. Giant dwarfs; Bran +Mak Morn was a tall man among them. Only the older men were bearded +and they scantily, but their black hair fell about their eyes so that +they peered fiercely from under the tangle. They were barefoot and clad +scantily in wolf-skins. Their arms consisted in short barbed swords of +iron, heavy black bows, arrows tipped with flint, iron and copper, and +stone-headed mallets. Defensive armor they had none, save for a crude +shield of hide-covered wood; many had worked bits of metal into their +tangled manes as a slight protection against sword-cuts. Some few, sons +of long lines of chiefs, were smooth-limbed and lithe like Bran, but in +the eyes of all gleamed the unquenchable savagery of the primeval. + +These men are fully savages, thought Cormac, worse than the Gauls, +Britons and Germans. Can the old legends be true--that they reigned in +a day when strange cities rose where now the sea rolls? And that they +survived the flood that washed those gleaming empires under, sinking +again into that savagery from which they once had risen? + +Close to the encampment of the tribesmen were the fires of a group of +Britons--members of fierce tribes who lived south of the Roman Wall but +who dwelt in the hills and forests to the west and defied the power of +Rome. Powerfully built men they were, with blazing blue eyes and shocks +of tousled yellow hair, such men as had thronged the Ceanntish beaches +when Cæsar brought the Eagles into the Isles. These men, like the +Picts, wore no armor, and were clad scantily in coarse-worked cloth and +deerskin sandals. They bore small round bucklers of hard wood, braced +with bronze, to be worn on the left arm, and long heavy bronze swords +with blunt points. Some had bows, though the Britons were indifferent +archers. Their bows were shorter than the Picts' and effective only at +close range. But ranged close by their fires were the weapons that had +made the name Briton a word of terror to Pict, Roman and Norse raider +alike. Within the circle of firelight stood fifty bronze chariots with +long cruel blades curving out from the sides. One of these blades +could dismember half a dozen men at once. Tethered close by under the +vigilant eyes of their guards grazed the chariot horses--big, rangy +steeds, swift and powerful. + +"Would that we had more of them!" mused Bran. "With a thousand chariots +and my bowmen I could drive the legions into the sea." + +"The free British tribes must eventually fall before Rome," said +Cormac. "It would seem they would rush to join you in your war." + +Bran made a helpless gesture. "The fickleness of the Celt. They can +not forget old feuds. Our ancient men have told us how they would not +even unite against Cæsar when the Romans first came. They will not make +head against a common foe together. These men came to me because of +some dispute with their chief, but I can not depend on them when they +are not actually fighting." + +Cormac nodded. "I know; Cæsar conquered Gaul by playing one tribe +against another. My own people shift and change with the waxing +and waning of the tides. But of all Celts, the Cymry are the most +changeable, the least stable. Not many centuries ago my own Gaelic +ancestors wrested Erin from the Cymric Danaans, because though they +outnumbered us, they opposed us as separate tribes, rather than as a +nation." + +"And so these Cymric Britons face Rome," said Bran. "These will aid us +on the morrow. Further I can not say. But how shall I expect loyalty +from alien tribes, who am not sure of my own people? Thousands lurk in +the hills, holding aloof. I am king in name only. Let me win tomorrow +and they will flock to my standard; if I lose, they will scatter like +birds before a cold wind." + + * * * * * + +A chorus of rough welcome greeted the two leaders as they entered the +camp of Cormac's Gaels. Five hundred in number they were, tall rangy +men, black-haired and gray-eyed mainly, with the bearing of men who +lived by war alone. While there was nothing like close discipline +among them, there was an air of more system and practical order than +existed in the lines of the Picts and Britons. These men were of the +last Celtic race to invade the Isles and their barbaric civilization +was of much higher order than that of their Cymric kin. The ancestors +of the Gaels had learned the arts of war on the vast plains of Scythia +and at the courts of the Pharaohs where they had fought as mercenaries +of Egypt, and much of what they learned they brought into Ireland with +them. Excelling in metal work, they were armed, not with clumsy bronze +swords, but with high-grade weapons of iron. + +They were clad in well-woven kilts and leathern sandals. Each wore a +light shirt of chain mail and a vizorless helmet, but this was all +of their defensive armor. Celts, Gaelic or Brythonic, were prone to +judge a man's valor by the amount of armor he wore. The Britons who +faced Cæsar deemed the Romans cowards because they cased themselves in +metal, and many centuries later the Irish clans thought the same of the +mail-clad Norman knights of Strongbow. + +Cormac's warriors were horsemen. They neither knew nor esteemed +the use of the bow. They bore the inevitable round, metal-braced +buckler, dirks, long straight swords and light single-handed axes. +Their tethered horses grazed not far away--big-boned animals, not so +ponderous as those raised by the Britons, but swifter. + +Bran's eyes lighted as the two strode through the camp. "These men are +keen-beaked birds of war! See how they whet their axes and jest of the +morrow! Would that the raiders in yon camp were as staunch as your men, +Cormac! Then would I greet the legions with a laugh when they come up +from the south tomorrow." + +They were entering the circle of the Northmen fires. Three hundred men +sat about gambling, whetting their weapons and drinking deep of the +heather ale furnished them by their Pictish allies. These gazed upon +Bran and Cormac with no great friendliness. It was striking to note +the difference between them and the Picts and Celts--the difference +in their cold eyes, their strong moody faces, their very bearing. +Here was ferocity, and savagery, but not of the wild, upbursting fury +of the Celt. Here was fierceness backed by grim determination and +stolid stubbornness. The charge of the British clans was terrible, +overwhelming. But they had no patience; let them be balked of immediate +victory and they were likely to lose heart and scatter or fall to +bickering among themselves. There was the patience of the cold blue +North in these seafarers--a lasting determination that would keep them +stedfast to the bitter end, once their face was set toward a definite +goal. + +As to personal stature, they were giants; massive yet rangy. That they +did not share the ideas of the Celts regarding armor was shown by the +fact that they were clad in heavy scale-mail shirts that reached below +mid-thigh, heavy horned helmets and hardened hide leggings, reinforced, +as were their shoes, with plates of iron. Their shields were huge +oval affairs of hard wood, hide and brass. As to weapons, they had +long iron-headed spears, heavy iron axes, and daggers. Some had long +wide-bladed swords. + +Cormac scarcely felt at ease with the cold magnetic eyes of these +flaxen-haired men fixed upon him. He and they were hereditary foes, +even though they did chance to be fighting on the same side at +present--but were they? + +A man came forward, a tall gaunt warrior on whose scarred, wolfish face +the flickering firelight reflected deep shadows. With his wolfskin +mantle flung carelessly about his wide shoulders, and the great horns +on his helmet adding to his height, he stood there in the swaying +shadows, like some half-human thing, a brooding shape of the dark +barbarism that was soon to engulf the world. + +"Well, Wulfhere," said the Pictish king, "you have drunk the mead of +council and have spoken about the fires--what is your decision?" + +The Northman's eyes flashed in the gloom. "Give us a king of our own +race to follow if you wish us to fight for you." + +Bran flung out his hands. "Ask me to drag down the stars to gem your +helmets! Will not your comrades follow you?" + +"Not against the legions," answered Wulfhere sullenly. "A king led us +on the viking path--a king must lead us against the Romans. And Rognar +is dead." + +"I am a king," said Bran. "Will you fight for me if I stand at the tip +of your fight wedge?" + +"A king of our own race," said Wulfhere doggedly. "We are all picked +men of the North. We fight for none but a king, and a king must lead +us--against the legions." + +Cormac sensed a subtle threat in this repeated phrase. + +"Here is a prince of Erin," said Bran. "Will you fight for the +Westerner?" + +"We fight under no Celt, West or East," growled the viking, and a low +rumble of approval rose from the onlookers. "It is enough to fight by +their side." + +The hot Gaelic blood rose in Cormac's brain and he pushed past Bran, +his hand on his sword. "How mean you that, pirate?" + +Before Wulfhere could reply Bran interposed: "Have done! Will you fools +throw away the battle before it is fought, by your madness? What of +your oath, Wulfhere?" + +"We swore it under Rognar; when he died from a Roman arrow we were +absolved of it. We will follow only a king--against the legions." + +"But your comrades will follow you--against the heather people!" +snapped Bran. + +"Aye," the Northman's eyes met his brazenly. "Send us a king or we join +the Romans tomorrow." + +Bran snarled. In his rage he dominated the scene, dwarfing the huge men +who towered over him. + +"Traitors! Liars! I hold your lives in my hand! Aye, draw your swords +if you will--Cormac, keep your blade in its sheath. These wolves will +not bite a king! Wulfhere--I spared your lives when I could have taken +them. + +"You came to raid the countries of the South, sweeping down from the +northern sea in your galleys. You ravaged the coasts and the smoke +of burning villages hung like a cloud over the shores of Caledon. I +trapped you all when you were pillaging and burning--with the blood of +my people on your hands. I burned your long ships and ambushed you when +you followed. With thrice your number of bowmen who burned for your +lives hidden in the heathered hills about you, I spared you when we +could have shot you down like trapped wolves. Because I spared you, you +swore to come and fight for me." + +"And shall we die because the Picts fight Rome?" rumbled a bearded +raider. + +"Your lives are forfeit to me; you came to ravage the South. I did not +promise to send you all back to your homes in the North unharmed and +loaded with loot. Your vow was to fight one battle against Rome under +my standard. Then I will aid your survivors to build ships and you may +go where you will, with a goodly share of the plunder we take from +the legions. Rognar had kept his oath. But Rognar died in a skirmish +with Roman scouts and now you, Wulfhere the Dissension-breeder, you +stir up your comrades to dishonor themselves by that which a Northman +hates--the breaking of the sworn word." + +"We break no oath," snarled the viking, and the king sensed the basic +Germanic stubbornness, far harder to combat than the fickleness of the +fiery Celts. "Give us a king, neither Pict, Gael nor Briton, and we +will die for you. If not--then we will fight tomorrow for the greatest +of all kings--the emperor of Rome!" + + * * * * * + +For a moment Cormac thought that the Pictish king, in his black rage, +would draw and strike the Northman dead. The concentrated fury that +blazed in Bran's dark eyes caused Wulfhere to recoil and drop a hand to +his belt. + +"Fool!" said Mak Morn in a low voice that vibrated with passion. "I +could sweep you from the earth before the Romans are near enough to +hear your death howls. Choose--fight for me on the morrow--or die +tonight under a black cloud of arrows, a red storm of swords, a dark +wave of chariots!" + +At the mention of the chariots, the only arm of war that had ever +broken the Norse shield-wall, Wulfhere changed expression, but he held +his ground. + +"War be it," he said doggedly. "Or a king to lead us!" + +The Northmen responded with a short deep roar and a clash of swords +on shields. Bran, eyes blazing, was about to speak again when a white +shape glided silently into the ring of firelight. + +"Soft words, soft words," said old Gonar tranquilly. "King, say no +more. Wulfhere, you and your fellows will fight for us if you have a +king to lead you?" + +"We have sworn." + +"Then be at ease," quoth the wizard; "for ere battle joins on the +morrow I will send you such a king as no man on earth has followed for +a hundred thousand years! A king neither Pict, Gael nor Briton, but +one to whom the emperor of Rome is as but a village headman!" + +While they stood undecided, Gonar took the arms of Cormac and Bran. +"Come. And you, Northmen, remember your vow, and my promise which I +have never broken. Sleep now, nor think to steal away in the darkness +to the Roman camp, for if you escaped our shafts you would not escape +either my curse or the suspicions of the legionaries." + +So the three walked away and Cormac, looking back, saw Wulfhere +standing by the fire, fingering his golden beard, with a look of +puzzled anger on his lean evil face. + + * * * * * + +The three walked silently through the waving heather under the far-away +stars while the weird night-wind whispered ghostly secrets about them. + +"Ages ago," said the wizard suddenly, "in the days when the world was +young, great lands rose where now the ocean roars. On these lands +thronged mighty nations and kingdoms. Greatest of all these was +Valusia--Land of Enchantment. Rome is as a village compared to the +splendor of the cities of Valusia. And the greatest king was Kull, who +came from the land of Atlantis to wrest the crown of Valusia from a +degenerate dynasty. The Picts who dwelt in the isles which now form the +mountain peaks of a strange land upon the Western Ocean, were allies of +Valusia, and the greatest of all the Pictish war-chiefs was Brule the +Spear-slayer, first of the line men call Mak Morn. + +"Kull gave to Brule the jewel which you now wear in your iron crown, +oh king, after a strange battle in a dim land, and down the long ages +it has come to us, ever a sign of the Mak Morn, a symbol of former +greatness. When at last the sea rose and swallowed Valusia, Atlantis +and Lemuria, only the Picts survived and they were scattered and few. +Yet they began again the slow climb upward, and though many of the arts +of civilization were lost in the great flood, yet they progressed. +The art of metal-working was lost, so they excelled in the working of +flint. And they ruled all the new lands flung up by the sea and now +called Europe, until down from the north came younger tribes who had +scarce risen from the ape when Valusia reigned in her glory, and who, +dwelling in the icy lands about the Pole, knew naught of the lost +splendor of the Seven Empires and little of the flood that had swept +away half a world. + +"And still they have come--Aryans, Celts, Germans, swarming down from +the great cradle of their race which lies near the Pole. So again was +the growth of the Pictish nation checked and the race hurled into +savagery. Erased from the earth, on the fringe of the world with our +backs to the wall we fight. Here in Caledon is the last stand of a once +mighty race. And we change. Our people have mixed with the savages of +an elder age which we drove into the North when we came into the Isles, +and now, save for their chieftains, such as thou, Bran, a Pict is +strange and abhorrent to look upon." + +"True, true," said the king impatiently, "but what has that to do----" + +"Kull, king of Valusia," said the wizard imperturbably, "was a +barbarian in his age as thou art in thine, though he ruled a mighty +empire by the weight of his sword. Gonar, friend of Brule, your first +ancestor, has been dead a hundred thousand years as we reckon time. Yet +I talked with him a scant hour agone." + +"You talked with his ghost----" + +"Or he with mine? Did I go back a hundred thousand years, or did he +come forward? If he came to me out of the past, it is not I who talked +with a dead man, but he who talked with a man unborn. Past, present +and future are one to a wise man. I talked to Gonar while he was alive; +likewise was I alive. In a timeless, spaceless land we met and he told +me many things." + +The land was growing light with the birth of dawn. The heather waved +and bent in long rows before the dawn wind as bowing in worship of the +rising sun. + +"The jewel in your crown is a magnet that draws down the eons," said +Gonar. "The sun is rising--and who comes out of the sunrise?" + +Cormac and the king started. The sun was just lifting a red orb above +the eastern hills. And full in the glow, etched boldly against the +golden rim, a man suddenly appeared. They had not seen him come. +Against the golden birth of day he loomed colossal; a gigantic god from +the dawn of creation. Now as he strode toward them the waking hosts saw +him and sent up a sudden shout of wonder. + +"Who--or what is it?" exclaimed Bran. + +"Let us go to meet him, Bran," answered the wizard. "He is the king +Gonar has sent to save the people of Brule." + + + + + 2 + + "I have reached these lands but newly + From an ultimate dim Thule; + From a wild weird clime that lieth sublime + Out of Space--out of Time." + + --Poe. + + +The army fell silent as Bran, Cormac and Gonar went toward the stranger +who approached in long swinging strides. As they neared him the +illusion of monstrous size vanished, but they saw he was a man of great +stature. At first Cormac thought him to be a Northman but a second +glance told him that nowhere before had he seen such a man. He was +built such like the vikings, at once massive and lithe--tigerish. But +his features were not as theirs, and his square-cut, lion-like mane of +hair was as black as Bran's own. Under heavy brows glittered eyes gray +as steel and cold as ice. His bronzed face, strong and inscrutable, was +clean-shaven, and the broad forehead betokened a high intelligence, +just as the firm jaw and thin lips showed willpower and courage. +But more than all, the bearing of him, the unconscious lion-like +stateliness, marked him as a natural king, a ruler of men. + +Sandals of curious make were on his feet and he wore a pliant coat of +strangely meshed mail which came almost to his knees. A broad belt with +a great golden buckle encircled his waist, supporting a long straight +sword in a heavy leather scabbard. His hair was confined by a wide, +heavy golden band about his head. + +Such was the man who paused before the silent group. He seemed slightly +puzzled, slightly amused. Recognition flickered in his eyes. He spoke +in a strange archaic Pictish which Cormac scarcely understood. His +voice was deep and resonant. + +"Ha, Brule, Gonar did not tell me I would dream of you!" + +For the first time in his life Cormac saw the Pictish king completely +thrown off his balance. He gaped, speechless. The stranger continued: + +"And wearing the gem I gave you, in a circlet on your head! Last night +you wore it in a ring on your finger." + +"Last night?" gasped Bran. + +"Last night or a hundred thousand years ago--all one!" murmured Gonar +in evident enjoyment of the situation. + +"I am not Brule," said Bran. "Are you mad to thus speak of a man dead a +hundred thousand years? He was first of my line." + +The stranger laughed unexpectedly. "Well, now I know I am dreaming! +This will be a tale to tell Brule when I waken on the morrow! That I +went into the future and saw men claiming descent from the Spear-slayer +who is, as yet, not even married. No, you are not Brule, I see now, +though you have his eyes and his bearing. But he is taller and broader +in the shoulders. Yet you have his jewel--oh, well--anything can happen +in a dream, so I will not quarrel with you. For a time I thought I had +been transported to some other land in my sleep, and was in reality +awake in a strange country, for this is the clearest dream I ever +dreamed. Who are you?" + +"I am Bran Mak Morn, king of the Caledonian Picts. And this ancient is +Gonar, a wizard, of the line of Gonar. And this warrior is Cormac na +Connacht, a prince of the isle of Erin." + +The stranger slowly shook his lion-like head. "These words sound +strangely to me, save Gonar--and that one is not Gonar, though he too +is old. What land is this?" + +"Caledon, or Alba, as the Gaels call it." + +"And who are those squat ape-like warriors who watch us yonder, all +agape?" + +"They are the Picts who own my rule." + +"How strangely distorted folk are in dreams!" muttered the stranger. +"And who are those shock-headed men about the chariots?" + +"They are Britons--Cymry from south of the Wall." + +"What Wall?" + +"The Wall built by Rome to keep the people of the heather out of +Britain." + +"Britain?" the tone was curious. "I never heard of that land--and what +is Rome?" + +"What!" cried Bran. "You never heard of Rome, the empire that rules the +world?" + +"No empire rules the world," answered the other haughtily. "The +mightiest kingdom on earth is that wherein I reign." + +"And who are you?" + +"Kull of Atlantis, king of Valusia!" + +Cormac felt a coldness trickle down his spine. The cold gray eyes were +unswerving--but this was incredible--monstrous--unnatural. + +"Valusia!" cried Bran. "Why, man, the sea waves have rolled above the +spires of Valusia for untold centuries!" + +Kull laughed outright. "What a mad nightmare this is! When Gonar put on +me the spell of deep sleep last night--or this night!--in the secret +room of the inner palace, he told me I would dream strange things, but +this is more fantastic than I reckoned. And the strangest thing is, I +know I am dreaming!" + +Gonar interposed as Bran would have spoken. "Question not the acts of +the gods," muttered the wizard. "You are king because in the past you +have seen and seized opportunities. The gods or the first Gonar have +sent you this man. Let me deal with him." + +Bran nodded, and while the silent army gaped in speechless wonder, just +within ear-shot, Gonar spoke: "Oh great king, you dream, but is not all +life a dream? How reckon you but that your former life is but a dream +from which you have just awakened? Now we dream-folk have our wars and +our peace, and just now a great host comes up from the south to destroy +the people of Brule. Will you aid us?" + +Kull grinned with pure zest. "Aye! I have fought battles in dreams +ere now, have slain and been slain and was amazed when I woke from my +visions. And at times, as now, dreaming I have known I dreamed. See, I +pinch myself and feel it, but I know I dream for I have felt the pain +of fierce wounds, in dreams. Yes, people of my dream, I will fight for +you against the other dream-folk. Where are they?" + +"And that you enjoy the dream more," said the wizard subtly, "forget +that it is a dream and pretend that by the magic of the first Gonar, +and the quality of the jewel you gave Brule, that now gleams on the +crown of the Morni, you have in truth been transported forward into +another, wilder age where the people of Brule fight for their life +against a stronger foe." + +For a moment the man who called himself king of Valusia seemed +startled; a strange look of doubt, almost of fear, clouded his eyes. +Then he laughed. + +"Good! Lead on, wizard." + +But now Bran took charge. He had recovered himself and was at ease. +Whether he thought, like Cormac, that this was all a gigantic hoax +arranged by Gonar, he showed no sign. + +"King Kull, see you those men yonder who lean on their long-shafted +axes as they gaze upon you?" + +"The tall men with the golden hair and beards?" + +"Aye--our success in the coming battle hinges on them. They swear to go +over to the enemy if we give them not a king to lead them--their own +having been slain. Will you lead them to battle?" + +Kull's eyes glowed with appreciation. "They are men such as my own Red +Slayers, my picked regiment. I will lead them." + +"Come then." + + * * * * * + +The small group made their way down the slope, through throngs of +warriors who pushed forward eagerly to get a better view of the +stranger, then pressed back as he approached. An undercurrent of tense +whispering ran through the horde. + +The Northmen stood apart in a compact group. Their cold eyes took in +Kull and he gave back their stares, taking in every detail of their +appearance. + +"Wulfhere," said Bran, "we have brought you a king. I hold you to your +oath." + +"Let him speak to us," said the viking harshly. + +"He can not speak your tongue," answered Bran, knowing that the +Northmen knew nothing of the legends of his race. "He is a great king +of the South----" + +"He comes out of the past," broke in the wizard calmly. "He was the +greatest of all kings, long ago." + +"A dead man!" The vikings moved uneasily and the rest of the horde +pressed forward, drinking in every word. But Wulfhere scowled: "Shall a +ghost lead living men? You bring us a man you say is dead. We will not +follow a corpse." + +"Wulfhere," said Bran in still passion, "you are a liar and a traitor. +You set us this task, thinking it impossible. You yearn to fight under +the Eagles of Rome. We have brought you a king neither Pict, Gael nor +Briton and you deny your vow!" + +"Let him fight me, then!" howled Wulfhere in uncontrollable wrath, +swinging his ax about his head in a glittering arc. "If your dead man +overcomes me--then my people will follow you. If I overcome him, you +shall let us depart in peace to the camp of the legions!" + +"Good!" said the wizard. "Do you agree, wolves of the North?" + +A fierce yell and a brandishing of swords was the answer. Bran turned +to Kull, who had stood silent, understanding nothing of what was said. +But the Atlantean's eyes gleamed. Cormac felt that those cold eyes had +looked on too many such scenes not to understand something of what had +passed. + +"This warrior says you must fight him for the leadership," said Bran, +and Kull, eyes glittering with growing battle-joy, nodded: "I guessed +as much. Give us space." + +"A shield and a helmet!" shouted Bran, but Kull shook his head. + +"I need none," he growled. "Back and give us room to swing our steel!" + + * * * * * + +Men pressed back on each side, forming a solid ring about the two men, +who now approached each other warily. Kull had drawn his sword and the +great blade shimmered like a live thing in his hand. Wulfhere, scarred +by a hundred savage fights, flung aside his wolfskin mantle and came in +cautiously, fierce eyes peering over the top of his out-thrust shield, +ax half lifted in his right hand. + +Suddenly when the warriors were still many feet apart Kull sprang. +His attack brought a gasp from men used to deeds of prowess; for like +a leaping tiger he shot through the air and his sword crashed on the +quickly lifted shield. Sparks flew and Wulfhere's ax hacked in, but +Kull was under its sweep and as it swished viciously above his head he +thrust upward and sprang out again, cat-like. His motions had been too +quick for the eye to follow. The upper edge of Wulfhere's shield showed +a deep cut, and there was a long rent in his mail shirt where Kull's +sword had barely missed the flesh beneath. + +Cormac, trembling with the terrible thrill of the fight, wondered at +this sword that could thus slice through scale-mail. And the blow that +gashed the shield should have shattered the blade. Yet not a notch +showed in the Valusian steel! Surely this blade was forged by another +people in another age! + +Now the two giants leaped again to the attack and like double strokes +of lightning their weapons crashed. Wulfhere's shield fell from his arm +in two pieces as the Atlantean's sword sheared clear through it, and +Kull staggered as the Northman's ax, driven with all the force of his +great body, descended on the golden circlet about his head. That blow +should have sheared through the gold like butter to split the skull +beneath, but the ax rebounded, showing a great notch in the edge. The +next instant the Northman was overwhelmed by a whirlwind of steel--a +storm of strokes delivered with such swiftness and power that he was +borne back as on the crest of a wave, unable to launch an attack of +his own. With all his tried skill he sought to parry the singing steel +with his ax. But he could only avert his doom for a few seconds; could +only for an instant turn the whistling blade that hewed off bits of his +mail, so close fell the blows. One of the horns flew from his helmet; +then the ax-head itself fell away, and the same blow that severed +the handle, bit through the viking's helmet into the scalp beneath. +Wulfhere was dashed to his knees, a trickle of blood starting down his +face. + +Kull checked his second stroke, and tossing his sword to Cormac, faced +the dazed Northman weaponless. The Atlantean's eyes were blazing with +ferocious joy and he roared something in a strange tongue. Wulfhere +gathered his legs under him and bounded up, snarling like a wolf, a +dagger flashing into his hand. The watching horde gave tongue in a yell +that ripped the skies as the two bodies clashed. Kull's clutching hand +missed the Northman's wrist but the desperately lunging dagger snapped +on the Atlantean's mail, and dropping the useless hilt, Wulfhere locked +his arms about his foe in a bear-like grip that would have crushed the +ribs of a lesser man. Kull grinned tigerishly and returned the grapple, +and for a moment the two swayed on their feet. Slowly the black-haired +warrior bent his foe backward until it seemed his spine would snap. +With a howl that had nothing of the human in it, Wulfhere clawed +frantically at Kull's face, trying to tear out his eyes, then turned +his head and snapped his fang-like teeth into the Atlantean's arm. A +yell went up as a trickle of blood started: "He bleeds! He bleeds! He +is no ghost, after all, but a mortal man!" + +Angered, Kull shifted his grip, shoving the frothing Wulfhere away from +him, and smote him terrifically under the ear with his right hand. The +viking landed on his back a dozen feet away. Then, howling like a wild +man, he leaped up with a stone in his hand and flung it. Only Kull's +incredible quickness saved his face; as it was, the rough edge of the +missile tore his cheek and inflamed him to madness. With a lion-like +roar he bounded upon his foe, enveloped him in an irresistible blast +of sheer fury, whirled him high above his head as if he were a child +and cast him a dozen feet away. Wulfhere pitched on his head and lay +still--broken and dead. + +Dazed silence reigned for an instant; then from the Gaels went up a +thundering roar, and the Britons and Picts took it up, howling like +wolves, until the echoes of the shouts and the clangor of sword on +shield reached the ears of the marching legionaries, miles to the south. + +"Men of the gray North," shouted Bran, "will you hold by your oath +_now_?" + +The fierce souls of the Northmen were in their eyes as their spokesman +answered. Primitive, superstitious, steeped in tribal lore of fighting +gods and mythical heroes, they did not doubt that the black-haired +fighting man was some supernatural being sent by the fierce gods of +battle. + +"Aye! Such a man as this we have never seen! Dead man, ghost or devil, +we will follow him, whether the trail lead to Rome or Valhalla!" + +Kull understood the meaning, if not the words. Taking his sword from +Cormac with a word of thanks, he turned to the waiting Northmen and +silently held the blade toward them high above his head, in both +hands, before he returned it to its scabbard. Without understanding, +they appreciated the action. Blood-stained and disheveled, he was an +impressive picture of stately, magnificent barbarism. + +"Come," said Bran, touching the Atlantean's arm; "a host is marching on +us and we have much to do. There is scant time to arrange our forces +before they will be upon us. Come to the top of yonder slope." + +There the Pict pointed. They were looking down into a valley which ran +north and south, widening from a narrow gorge in the north until it +debouched upon a plain to the south. The whole valley was less than a +mile in length. + +"Up this valley will our foes come," said the Pict, "because they have +wagons loaded with supplies and on all sides of this vale the ground is +too rough for such travel. Here we plan an ambush." + +"I would have thought you would have had your men lying in wait long +before now," said Kull. "What of the scouts the enemy is sure to send +out?" + +"The savages I lead would never have waited in ambush so long," said +Bran with a couch of bitterness. "I could not post them until I +was sure of the Northmen. Even so I had not dared to post them ere +now--even yet they may take panic from the drifting of a cloud or the +blowing of a leaf, and scatter like birds before a cold wind. King +Kull--the fate of the Pictish nation is at stake. I am called king of +the Picts, but my rule as yet is but a hollow mockery. The hills are +full of wild clans who refuse to fight for me. Of the thousand bowmen +now at my command, more than half are of my own clan. + +"Some eighteen hundred Romans are marching against us. It is not a real +invasion, but much hinges upon it. It is the beginning of an attempt to +extend their boundaries. They plan to build a fortress a day's march +to the north of this valley. If they do, they will build other forts, +drawing bands of steel about the heart of the free people. If I win +this battle and wipe out this army, I will win a double victory. Then +the tribes will flock to me and the next invasion will meet a solid +wall of resistance. If I lose, the clans will scatter, fleeing into the +north until they can no longer flee, fighting as separate clans rather +than as one strong nation. + +"I have a thousand archers, five hundred horsemen, fifty chariots with +their drivers and swordsmen--one hundred fifty men in all--and, thanks +to you, three hundred heavily armed Northern pirates. How would you +arrange your battle lines?" + +"Well," said Kull, "I would have barricaded the north end of the +valley--no! That would suggest a trap. But I would block it with a +band of desperate men, like those you have given me to lead. Three +hundred could hold the gorge for a time against any number. Then, when +the enemy was engaged with these men to the narrow part of the valley, +I would have my archers shoot down into them until their ranks are +broken, from both sides of the vale. Then, having my horsemen concealed +behind one ridge and my chariots behind the other, I would charge with +both simultaneously and sweep the foe into a red ruin." + +Bran's eyes glowed. "Exactly, king of Valusia. Such was my exact +plan----" + +"But what of the scouts?" + +"My warriors are like panthers; they hide under the noses of the +Romans. Those who ride into the valley will see only what we wish them +to see. Those who ride over the ridge will not come back to report. An +arrow is swift and silent. + +"You see that the pivot of the whole thing depends on the men that +hold the gorge. They must be men who can fight on foot and resist the +charges of the heavy legionaries long enough for the trap to close. +Outside these Northmen I had no such force of men. My naked warriors +with their short swords could never stand such a charge for an instant. +Nor is the armor of the Celts made for such work; moreover, they are +not foot-fighters, and I need them elsewhere. + +"So you see why I had such desperate need of the Northmen. Now will +you stand in the gorge with them and hold back the Romans until I can +spring the trap? Remember, most of you will die." + +Kull smiled. "I have taken chances all my life, though Tu, chief +councillor, would say my life belongs to Valusia and I have no right to +so risk it----" His voice trailed off and a strange look flitted across +his face. "By Valka," said he, laughing uncertainly, "sometimes I +forget this is a dream! All seems so real. But it is--of course it is! +Well, then, if I die I will but awaken as I have done in times past. +Lead on, king of Caledon!" + +Cormac, going to his warriors, wondered. Surely it was all a hoax; +yet--he heard the arguments of the warriors all about him as they +armed themselves and prepared to take their posts. The black-haired +king was Neid himself, the Celtic war-god; he was an antediluvian king +brought out of the past by Gonar; he was a mythical fighting man out of +Valhalla. He was no man at all but a ghost! No, he was mortal, for he +had bled. But the gods themselves bled, though they did not die. So the +controversies raged. At least, thought Cormac, if it was all a hoax +to inspire the warriors with the feeling of supernatural aid, it had +succeeded. The belief that Kull was more than a mortal man had fired +Celt, Pict and viking alike into a sort of inspired madness. And Cormac +asked himself--what did he himself believe? This man was surely one +from some far land--yet in his every look and action there was a vague +hint of a greater difference than mere distance of space--a hint of +alien Time, of misty abysses and gigantic gulfs of eons lying between +the black-haired stranger and the men with whom he walked and talked. +Clouds of bewilderment mazed Cormac's brain and he laughed in whimsical +self-mockery. + + + + + 3 + + "And the two wild peoples of the north + Stood fronting in the gloam, + And heard and knew each in his mind + A third great sound upon the wind, + The living walls that hedge mankind, + The walking walls of Rome." + + --Chesterton. + + +The sun slanted westward. Silence lay like an invisible mist over the +valley. Cormac gathered the reins in his hand and glanced up at the +ridges on both sides. The waving heather which grew rank on those steep +slopes gave no evidence of the hundreds of savage warriors who lurked +there. Here in the narrow gorge which widened gradually southward was +the only sign of life. Between the steep walls three hundred Northmen +were massed solidly in their wedge-shaped shield-wall, blocking the +pass. At the tip, like the point of a spear, stood the man who called +himself Kull, king of Valusia. He wore no helmet, only the great, +strangely worked head-band of hard gold, but he bore on his left arm +the great shield borne by the dead Rognar; and in his right hand he +held the heavy iron mace wielded by the sea-king. The vikings eyed +him in wonder and savage admiration. They could not understand his +language, or he theirs. But no further orders were necessary. At Bran's +directions they had bunched themselves in the gorge, and their only +order was--hold the pass! + +Bran Mak Morn stood just in front of Kull. So they faced each other, he +whose kingdom was yet unborn, and he whose kingdom had been lost in the +mists of Time for unguessed ages. Kings of darkness, thought Cormac, +nameless kings of the night, whose realms are gulfs and shadows. + +The hand of the Pictish king went out. "King Kull, you are more than +king--you are a man. Both of us may fall within the next hour--but if +we both live, ask what you will of me." + +Kull smiled, returning the firm grip. "You too are a man after my own +heart, king of the shadows. Surely you are more than a figment of my +sleeping imagination. Mayhap we will meet in waking life some day." + +Bran shook his head in puzzlement, swung into the saddle and rode +away, climbing the eastern slope and vanishing over the ridge. Cormac +hesitated: "Strange man, are you in truth of flesh and blood, or are +you a ghost?" + +"When we dream, we are all flesh and blood--so long as we are +dreaming," Kull answered. "This is the strangest nightmare I have ever +known--but you, who will soon fade into sheer nothingness as I awaken, +seem as real to me _now_, as Brule, or Kananu, or Tu, or Kelkor." + +Cormac shook his head as Bran had done, and with a last salute, which +Kull returned with barbaric stateliness, he turned and trotted away. +At the top of the western ridge he paused. Away to the south a light +cloud of dust rose and the head of the marching column was in sight. +Already he believed he could feel the earth vibrate slightly to the +measured tread of a thousand mailed feet beating in perfect unison. +He dismounted, and one of his chieftains, Domnail, took his steed and +led it down the slope away from the valley, where trees grew thickly. +Only an occasional vague movement among them gave evidence of the five +hundred men who stood there, each at his horse's head with a ready hand +to check a chance nicker. + +Oh, thought Cormac, the gods themselves made this valley for Bran's +ambush! The floor of the valley was treeless and the inner slopes were +bare save for the waist-high heather. But at the foot of each ridge on +the side facing away from the vale, where the soil long washed from +the rocky slopes had accumulated, there grew enough trees to hide five +hundred horsemen or fifty chariots. + +At the northern end of the valley stood Kull and his three hundred +vikings, in open view, flanked on each side by fifty Pictish bowmen. +Hidden on the western side of the western ridge were the Gaels. Along +the top of the slopes, concealed in the tall heather, lay a hundred +Picts with their shafts on string. The rest of the Picts were hidden on +the eastern slopes beyond which lay the Britons with their chariots in +full readiness. Neither they nor the Gaels to the west could see what +went on in the vale, but signals had been arranged. + +Now the long column was entering the wide mouth of the valley and their +scouts, light-armed men on swift horses, were spreading out between the +slopes. They galloped almost within bowshot of the silent host that +blocked the pass, then halted. Some whirled and raced back to the main +force, while the others deployed and cantered up the slopes, seeking to +see what lay beyond. This was the crucial moment. If they got any hint +of the ambush, all was lost. Cormac, shrinking down into the heather, +marveled at the ability of the Picts to efface themselves from view so +completely. He saw a horseman pass within three feet of where he knew a +bowman lay, yet the Roman saw nothing. + +The scouts topped the ridges, gazed about; then most of them turned and +trotted back down the slopes. Cormac wondered at their desultory manner +of scouting. He had never fought Romans before, knew nothing of their +arrogant self-confidence, of their incredible shrewdness in some ways, +their incredible stupidity in others. These men were overconfident; a +feeling radiating from their officers. It had been years since a force +of Caledonians had stood before the legions. And most of these men were +but newly come to Britain; part of a legion which had been quartered in +Egypt. They despised their foes and suspected nothing. + +But stay--three riders on the opposite ridge had turned and vanished +on the other side. And now one, sitting his steed at the crest of the +western ridge, not a hundred yards from where Cormac lay, looked long +and narrowly down into the mass of trees at the foot of the slope. +Cormac saw suspicion grow on his brown, hawk-like face. He half turned +as though to call to his comrades, then instead reined his steed down +the slope, leaning forward in his saddle. Cormac's heart pounded. Each +moment he expected to see the man wheel and gallop back to raise the +alarm. He resisted a mad impulse to leap up and charge the Roman on +foot. Surely the man could feel the tenseness in the air--the hundreds +of fierce eyes upon him. Now he was half-way down the slope, out of +sight of the men in the valley. And now the twang of an unseen bow +broke the painful stillness. With a strangled gasp the Roman flung his +hands high, and as the steed reared, he pitched headlong, transfixed +by a long black arrow that had flashed from the heather. A stocky dwarf +sprang out of nowhere, seemingly, and seized the bridle, quieting the +snorting horse, and leading it down the slope. At the fall of the +Roman, short crooked men rose like a sudden flight of birds from the +grass and Cormac saw the flash of a knife. Then with unreal suddenness +all had subsided. Slayers and slain were unseen and only the still +waving heather marked the grim deed. + + * * * * * + +The Gael looked back into the valley. The three who had ridden over +the eastern ridge had not come back and Cormac knew they never would. +Evidently the other scouts had borne word that only a small band of +warriors were ready to dispute the passage of the legionaries. Now the +head of the column was almost below him and he thrilled at the sight of +these men who were doomed, swinging along with their superb arrogance. +And the sight of their splendid armor, their hawk-like faces and +perfect discipline awed him as much as it is possible for a Gael to be +awed. + +Twelve hundred men in heavy armor who marched as one so that the ground +shook to their tread! Most of them were of middle height, with powerful +chests and shoulders and bronzed faces--hard-bitten veterans of a +hundred campaigns. Cormac noted their javelins, short keen swords and +heavy shields; their gleaming armor and crested helmets, the eagles on +the standards. These were the men beneath whose tread the world had +shaken and empires crumbled! Not all were Latins; there were Romanized +Britons among them and one century or hundred was composed of huge +yellow-haired men--Gauls and Germans, who fought for Rome as fiercely +as did the native-born, and hated their wilder kinsmen more savagely. + +On each side was a swarm of cavalry, outriders, and the column was +flanked by archers and slingers. A number of lumbering wagons carried +the supplies of the army. Cormac saw the commander riding in his +place--a tall man with a lean, imperious face, evident even at that +distance. Marcus Sulius--the Gael knew him by repute. + +A deep-throated roar rose from the legionaries as they approached their +foes. Evidently they intended to slice their way through and continue +without a pause, for the column moved implacably on. Whom the gods +destroy they first make mad--Cormac had never heard the phrase but it +came to him that the great Sulius was a fool. Roman arrogance! Marcus +was used to lashing the cringing peoples of a decadent East; little he +guessed of the iron in these western races. + +A group of cavalry detached itself and raced into the mouth of the +gorge, but it was only a gesture. With loud jeering shouts they wheeled +three spears length away and cast their javelins, which rattled +harmlessly on the overlapping shields of the silent Northmen. But +their leader dared too much; swinging in, he leaned from his saddle +and thrust at Kull's face. The great shield turned the lance and Kull +struck back as a snake strikes; the ponderous mace crushed helmet and +head like an eggshell, and the very steed went to its knees from the +shock of that terrible blow. From the Northmen went up a short fierce +roar, and the Picts beside them howled exultantly and loosed their +arrows among the retreating horsemen. First blood for the people of the +heather! The oncoming Romans shouted vengefully and quickened their +pace as the frightened horse raced by, a ghastly travesty of a man, +foot caught in the stirrup, trailing beneath the pounding hoofs. + +Now the first line of the legionaries, compressed because of +the narrowness of the gorge, crashed against the solid wall of +shields--crashed and recoiled upon itself. The shield-wall had not +shaken an inch. This was the first time the Roman legions had met with +that unbreakable formation--that oldest of all Aryan battle-lines--the +ancestor of the Spartan regiment--the Theban phalanx--the Macedonian +formation--the English square. + +Shield crashed on shield and the short Roman sword sought for an +opening in that iron wall. Viking spears bristling in solid ranks +above, thrust and reddened; heavy axes chopped down, shearing through +iron, flesh and bone. Cormac saw Kull, looming above the stocky +Romans in the forefront of the fray, dealing blows like thunderbolts. +A burly centurion rushed in, shield held high, stabbing upward. The +iron mace crashed terribly, shivering the sword, rending the shield +apart, shattering the helmet, crushing the skull down between the +shoulders--in a single blow. + +The front line of the Romans bent like a steel bar about the wedge, as +the legionaries sought to struggle through the gorge on each side and +surround their opposers. But the pass was too narrow; crouching close +against the steep walls the Picts drove their black arrows in a hail of +death. At this range the heavy shafts tore through shield and corselet, +transfixing the armored men. The front line of battle rolled back, red +and broken, and the Northmen trod their few dead under foot to close +the gaps their fall had made. Stretched the full width of their front +lay a thin line of shattered forms--the red spray of the tide which had +broken upon them in vain. + +Cormac had leaped to his feet, waving his arms. Domnail and his men +broke cover at the signal and came galloping up the slope, lining the +ridge. Cormac mounted the horse brought him and glanced impatiently +across the narrow vale. No sign of life appeared on the eastern ridge. +Where was Bran--and the Britons? + +Down in the valley, the legions, angered at the unexpected opposition +of the paltry force in front of them, but not suspicious, were forming +in more compact body. The wagons which had halted were lumbering on +again and the whole column was once more in motion as if it intended +to crash through by sheer weight. With the Gaulish century in the +forefront, the legionaries were advancing again in the attack. This +time, with the full force of twelve hundred men behind, the charge +would batter down the resistance of Kull's warriors like a heavy +ram; would stamp them down, sweep over their red ruins. Cormac's +men trembled in impatience. Suddenly Marcus Sulius turned and gazed +westward, where the line of horsemen was etched against the sky. Even +at that distance Cormac saw his face pale. The Roman at last realized +the metal of the men he faced, and that he had walked into a trap. +Surely in that moment there flashed a chaotic picture through his +brain--defeat--disgrace--red ruin! + +It was too late to retreat--too late to form into a defensive square +with the wagons for barricade. There was but one way possible out, and +Marcus, crafty general in spite of his recent blunder, took it. Cormac +heard his voice cut like a clarion through the din, and though he did +not understand the words, he knew that the Roman was shouting for his +men to smite that knot of Northmen like a blast--to hack their way +through and out of the trap before it could close! + +Now the legionaries, aware of their desperate plight, flung themselves +headlong and terribly on their foes. The shield-wall rocked, but it +gave not an inch. The wild faces of the Gauls and the hard brown +Italian faces glared over locked shields into the blazing eyes of the +North. Shields touching, they smote and slew and died in a red storm of +slaughter, where crimsoned axes rose and fell and dripping spears broke +on notched swords. + +Where in God's name was Bran with his chariots? A few minutes more +would spell the doom of every man who held that pass. Already they were +falling fast, though they locked their ranks closer and held like iron. +Those wild men of the North were dying in their tracks; and looming +among their golden heads the black lion-mane of Kull shone like a +symbol of slaughter, and his reddened mace showered a ghastly rain as +it splashed brains and blood like water. + +Something snapped in Cormac's brain. + +"These men will die while we wait for Bran's signal!" he shouted. "On! +Follow me into Hell, sons of Gael!" + +A wild roar answered him, and loosing rein he shot down the slope with +five hundred yelling riders plunging headlong after him. And even at +that moment a storm of arrows swept the valley from either side like +a dark cloud and the terrible clamor of the Picts split the skies. +And over the eastern ridge, like a sudden burst of rolling thunder +on Judgment Day, rushed the war-chariots. Headlong down the slope +they roared, foam flying from the horses' distended nostrils, frantic +feet scarcely seeming to touch the ground, making naught of the tall +heather. In the foremost chariot, with his dark eyes blazing, crouched +Bran Mak Morn, and in all of them the naked Britons were screaming and +lashing as if possessed by demons. Behind the flying chariots came the +Picts, howling like wolves and loosing their arrows as they ran. The +heather belched them forth from all sides in a dark wave. + +So much Cormac saw in chaotic glimpses during that wild ride down the +slopes. A wave of cavalry swept between him and the main line of the +column. Three long leaps ahead of his men, the Gaelic prince met the +spears of the Roman riders. The first lance turned on his buckler, +and rising in his stirrups he smote downward, cleaving his man from +shoulder to breast-bone. The next Roman flung a javelin that killed +Domnail, but at that instant Cormac's steed crashed into his, breast to +breast, and the lighter horse rolled headlong under the shock, flinging +his rider beneath the pounding hoofs. + +Then the whole blast of the Gaelic charge smote the Roman cavalry, +shattering it, crashing and rolling it down and under. Over its red +ruins Cormac's yelling demons struck the heavy Roman infantry, and +the whole line reeled at the shock. Swords and axes flashed up and +down and the force of their rush carried them deep into the massed +ranks. Here, checked, they swayed and strove. Javelins thrust, swords +flashed upward, bringing down horse and rider, and greatly outnumbered, +leaguered on every side, the Gaels had perished among their foes, but +at that instant, from the other side the crashing chariots smote the +Roman ranks. In one long line they struck almost simultaneously, and +at the moment of impact the charioteers wheeled their horses sidelong +and raced parallel down the ranks, shearing men down like the mowing +of wheat. Hundreds died on those curving blades in that moment, and +leaping from the chariots, screaming like blood-mad wildcats, the +British swordsmen flung themselves upon the spears of the legionaries, +hacking madly with their two-handed swords. Crouching, the Picts +drove their arrows pointblank and then sprang in to slash and thrust. +Maddened with the sight of victory, these wild peoples were like +wounded tigers, feeling no wounds, and dying on their feet with their +last gasp a snarl of fury. + +But the battle was not over yet. Dazed, shattered, their formation +broken and nearly half their number down already, the Romans fought +back with desperate fury. Hemmed in on all sides they slashed and +smote singly, or in small clumps, fought back to back, archers, +slingers, horsemen and heavy legionaries mingled into a chaotic mass. +The confusion was complete, but not the victory. Those bottled in the +gorge still hurled themselves upon the red axes that barred their way, +while the massed and serried battle thundered behind them. From one +side Cormac's Gaels raged and slashed; from the other chariots swept +back and forth, retiring and returning like iron whirlwinds. There was +no retreat, for the Picts had flung a cordon across the way they had +come, and having cut the throats of the camp followers and possessed +themselves of the wagon, they sent their shafts in a storm of death +into the rear of the shattered column. Those long black arrows pierced +armor and bone, nailing men together. Yet the slaughter was not all +on one side. Picts died beneath the lightning thrust of javelin and +shortsword, Gaels pinned beneath their falling horses were hewed to +pieces, and chariots, cut loose from their horses, were deluged with +the blood of the charioteers. + +And at the narrow head of the valley still the battle surged and +eddied. Great gods--thought Cormac, glancing between lightning-like +blows--do these men still hold the gorge? Aye! They held it! A tenth of +their original number, dying on their feet, they still held back the +frantic charges of the dwindling legionaries. + + * * * * * + +Over all the field went up the roar and the clash of arms, and birds of +prey, swift-flying out of the sunset, circled above. Cormac, striving +to reach Marcus Sulius through the press, saw the Roman's horse sink +under him, and the rider rise alone in a waste of foes. He saw the +Roman sword flash thrice, dealing a death at each blow; then from the +thickest of the fray bounded a terrible figure. It was Bran Mak Morn, +stained from head to foot. He cast away his broken sword as he ran, +drawing a dirk. The Roman struck, but the Pictish king was under the +thrust, and gripping the sword-wrist, he drove the dirk again and again +through the gleaming armor. + +A mighty roar went up as Marcus died, and Cormac, with a shout, rallied +the remnants of his force about him and, striking in the spurs, burst +through the shattered lines and rode full speed for the other end of +the valley. + +But as he approached he saw that he was too late. As they had lived, so +had they died, those fierce sea-wolves, with their faces to the foe and +their broken weapons red in their hands. In a grim and silent band they +lay, even in death preserving some of the shield-wall formation. Among +them, in front of them and all about them lay high-heaped the bodies of +those who had sought to break them, in vain. _They had not given back a +foot!_ To the last man, they had died in their tracks. Nor were there +any left to stride over their torn shapes; those Romans who had escaped +the viking axes had been struck down by the shafts of the Picts and +swords of the Gaels from behind. + +Yet this part of the battle was not over. High up on the steep western +slope Cormac saw the ending of that drama. A group of Gauls in the +armor of Rome pressed upon a single man--a black-haired giant on whose +head gleamed a golden crown. There was iron in these men, as well as +in the man who had held them to their fate. They were doomed--their +comrades were being slaughtered behind them--but before their turn came +they would at least have the life of the black-haired chief who had led +the golden-haired men of the North. + +Pressing upon him from three sides they had forced him slowly back up +the steep gorge wall, and the crumpled bodies that stretched along his +retreat showed how fiercely every foot of the way had been contested. +Here on this steep it was task enough to keep one's footing alone; yet +these men at once climbed and fought. Kull's shield and the huge mace +were gone, and the great sword in his right hand was dyed crimson. +His mail, wrought with a forgotten art, now hung in shreds, and blood +streamed from a hundred wounds on limbs, head and body. But his eyes +still blazed with the battle-joy and his wearied arm still drove the +mighty blade in strokes of death. + +But Cormac saw that the end would come before they could reach him. +Now at the very crest of the steep, a hedge of points menaced the +strange king's life, and even his iron strength was ebbing. Now he +split the skull of a huge warrior and the back-stroke shore through the +neck-cords of another; reeling under a very rain of swords he struck +again and his victim dropped at his feet, cleft to the breast-bone. +Then, even as a dozen swords rose above the staggering Atlantean for +the death stroke, a strange thing happened. The sun was sinking into +the western sea; all the heather swam red like an ocean of blood. +Etched in the dying sun, as he had first appeared, Kull stood, and +then, like a mist lifting, a mighty vista opened behind the reeling +king. Cormac's astounded eyes caught a fleeting gigantic glimpse of +other climes and spheres--as if mirrored in summer clouds he saw, +instead of the heather hills stretching away to the sea, a dim and +mighty land of blue mountains and gleaming quiet lakes--the golden, +purple and sapphirean spires and towering walls of a mighty city such +as the earth has not known for many a drifting age. + +[Illustration: "_Etched in the dying sun stood Kull._"] + +Then like the fading of a mirage it was gone, but the Gauls on the +high slope had dropped their weapons and stared like men dazed--_For +the man called Kull had vanished and there was no trace of his going!_ + + * * * * * + +As in a daze Cormac turned his steed and rode back across the trampled +field. His horse's hoofs splashed in lakes of blood and clanged against +the helmets of dead men. Across the valley the shout of victory was +thundering. Yet all seemed shadowy and strange. A shape was striding +across the torn corpses and Cormac was dully aware that it was Bran. +The Gael swung from his horse and fronted the king. Bran was weaponless +and gory; blood trickled from gashes on brow, breast and limb; what +armor he had worn was clean hacked away and a cut had shorn half-way +through his iron crown. But the red jewel still gleamed unblemished +like a star of slaughter. + +"It is in my mind to slay you," said the Gael heavily and like a man +speaking in a daze, "for the blood of brave men is on your head. Had +you given the signal to charge sooner, some would have lived." + +Bran folded his arms; his eyes were haunted. "Strike if you will; I +am sick of slaughter. It is a cold mead, this kinging it. A king must +gamble with men's lives and naked swords. The lives of all my people +were at stake; I sacrificed the Northmen--yes; and my heart is sore +within me, for they were men! But had I given the order when you would +have desired, all might have gone awry. The Romans were not yet massed +in the narrow mouth of the gorge, and might have had time and space +to form their ranks again and beat us off. I waited until the last +moment--and the rovers died. A king belongs to his people, and can not +let either his own feelings or the lives of men influence him. Now my +people are saved; but my heart is cold in my breast." + +Cormac wearily dropped his sword-point to the ground. + +"You are a born king of men, Bran," said the Gaelic prince. + +Bran's eyes roved the field. A mist of blood hovered over all, where +the victorious barbarians were looting the dead, while those Romans who +had escaped slaughter by throwing down their swords and now stood under +guard, looked on with hot smoldering eyes. + +"My kingdom--my people--are saved," said Bran wearily. "They will come +from the heather by the thousands and when Rome moves against us again, +she will meet a solid nation. But I am weary. What of Kull?" + +"My eyes and brain were mazed with battle," answered Cormac. "I thought +to see him vanish like a ghost into the sunset. I will seek his body." + +"Seek not for him," said Bran. "Out of the sunrise he came--into the +sunset he has gone. Out of the mists of the ages he came to us, and +back into the mists of the eons has he returned--to his own kingdom." + +Cormac turned away; night was gathering. Gonar stood like a white +specter before him. + +"To his own kingdom," echoed the wizard. "Time and Space are naught. +Kull has returned to his own kingdom--his own crown--his own age." + +"Then he was a ghost?" + +"Did you not feel the grip of his solid hand? Did you not hear his +voice--see him eat and drink, laugh and slay and bleed?" + +Still Cormac stood like one in a trance. + +"Then if it be possible for a man to pass from one age into one yet +unborn, or come forth from a century dead and forgotten, whichever you +will, with his flesh-and-blood body and his arms--then he is as mortal +as he was in his own day. Is Kull dead, then?" + +"He died a hundred thousand years ago, as men reckon time," answered +the wizard, "but in his own age. He died not from the swords of the +Gauls of this age. Have we not heard in legends how the king of Valusia +traveled into a strange, timeless land of the misty future ages, and +there fought in a great battle? Why, so he did! A hundred thousand +years ago, or today! + +"And a hundred thousand years ago--or a moment agone!--Kull, king of +Valusia, roused himself on the silken couch in his secret chamber and +laughing, spoke to the first Gonar, saying: 'Ha, wizard, I have in +truth dreamed strangely, for I went into a far clime and a far time +in my visions, and fought for the king of a strange shadow-people!' +And the great sorcerer smiled and pointed silently at the red, notched +sword, and the torn mail and the many wounds that the king carried. +And Kull, fully woken from his 'vision' and feeling the sting and the +weakness of these yet bleeding wounds, fell silent and mazed, and +all life and time and space seemed like a dream of ghosts to him, +and he wondered thereat all the rest of his life. For the wisdom of +the Eternities is denied even unto princes and Kull could no more +understand what Gonar told him than you can understand my words." + +"And then Kull lived despite his many wounds," said Cormac, "and has +returned to the mists of silence and the centuries. Well--he thought us +a dream; we thought him a ghost. And sure, life is but a web spun of +ghosts and dreams and illusion, and it is in my mind that the kingdom +which has this day been born of swords and slaughter in this howling +valley is a thing no more solid than the foam of the bright sea." + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 77604 *** |
