Conan of Venarium

His father shook his head in what could only be admiration. "That damned Aquilonian must have dug himself an escape tunnel. What a sneaky wretch he has to be. He thought of everything—except he didn't run it quite far enough from the house."

The Cimmerians pounded after their prey. The fighting in amongst the trees was more confused than the battle before the farmhouse — more confused, but no less savage. Here and there, two or three Gundermen would turn at bay and sell their lives dear, allowing their comrades and their wives and children to escape the catastrophe that had befallen the colony.

Along with his father, Conan helped smash down one of those rear-guard efforts. More Aquilonians blundered along ahead of them. Now the invaders had a taste of defeat, a taste of terror. Conan wanted them to drink that cup to the very dregs.

He and Mordec swiftly gained on the running family ahead. The woman had a baby on her hip and held a boy by the hand. "Go on, Evlea!" said the man. "I'll hold them off. Go on, I tell you." Pike in hand, Melcer turned and set himself. "Come on, barbarians!'" he snarled. But then he recognized Conan. "You!"

"Go right, lad. I'll go left," said Mordec. "We'll take him down."

But Conan found himself with no great hunger for the blood of a man he did not hate. "Wait," he told his father. Mordec eyed him in astonishment, but did not charge ahead, as he had been on the point of doing. Conan spoke to Melcer in Aquilonian: "You leave this land? You leave our land?"

"Aye, curse you," growled the farmer.

"You leave and never come back?" persisted Conan. "You swear you leave and never come here again?"

"By Mitra, Cimmerian, this land will never see me again if I get out of it," said Melcer, adding, "Damn you! Damn you all!"

Conan shrugged off the curse and nodded at the oath. "Then go," he said. He spoke with authority a grown man — indeed, a clan chief—might have envied. The farmer from Gunderland and his family hurried off to the south.

They had not gone far before more Cimmerians hard on the heels of Conan and Mordec came trotting up. The newcomers, by the weave of their breeks, were men from the far north. They pointed indignantly at Melcer and his wife and children. "Are you daft? They're getting away!" cried one.

"Let them go," said Conan. "They have sworn an oath by their god to leave this land and never return. The farmer is a good man. What he has promised, he will do. It is enough, I say."

"And who do you think you are?" howled the Cimmerian from the north. "The King of Aquilonia?" He brandished his sword, as if to go after Melcer and Evlea and the children regardless of the oath the Gunderman had given.

"I am Conan son of Mordec," answered Conan proudly, "of the village of Duthil." That gave the other Cimmerians pause; they knew what had happened in Duthil, what had happened to Duthil, Conan added, "And anyone who would slay those Aquilonians will have to slay me first."

"And me." Mordec ranged himself alongside his son. They stood there, alert and watchful, waiting to see whether their own countrymen would charge them.

"Madness!" said the Cimmerian with the sword. The angry black-haired men shouted at one another and nearly began to fight among themselves, some wanting to slay Conan and Mordec, others respecting their courage even when that courage came for the sake of a foe. At last, that second group prevailed without any blows being struck. "Madness!" repeated the swordsman, but he lowered his blade.

"Let us go on," sad Mordec. "Plenty of other invaders loose in the woods, even if we give this handful their lives." In a low voice, he asked Conan, "Would you really have fought your own folk for the sake of a few Aquilonians?"

"Of course," answered Conan in surprise. "The farmer gave his oath, and I my word. Would you make me out a liar?"

"Did I not stand with you?" said his father. "But that northern man may have had the right of it even so when he spoke of madness." He clapped his son on the back. "If so, it's a brave madness. When Stercus' soldiers came in, I did not think you were a warrior. By Crom, my son, a warrior you are now."

"As I have need to be," said Conan. "My mother still wants vengeance." He cursed. "I could murder every accursed Aquilonian from here to Tarantia, and it would not be vengeance enough."

"You slew Stercus," said Mordec. "Everyone who had to live under him will envy you for that. And Verina died with blood on her blade. I think she was gladder to fall so than to let her sickness kill her a thumb's breadth at a time."

"It could be," said Conan reluctantly, after considerable thought. "But even if it is, the Aquilonians deserve killing." His father did not quarrel with him.