Conan of Venarium

Melcer did not know who had owned the horse he acquired before it came to him. It was an Aquilonian animal, bigger and smoother-coated than the Cimmerian ponies he had occasionally seen in these parts. He put Tarnus on the horse's back, and sometimes Evlea and the baby as well. That let him head south faster than he could have with his whole family afoot.

And speed was of the essence. As long as he and his loved ones stayed ahead of the wave of Cimmerian invaders, they kept some chance of escaping the land that had risen against the settlers. If that wave washed over them, if too many barbarians were ahead of them on the road to Gunderland, they were doomed.

Conan and his father could have killed them all. Melcer knew as much. That the young barbarian had chosen to spare them instead still amazed the farmer. He had not thought any Cimmerian knew the meaning of mercy.

When he said that aloud, his wife shook his head. "Mercy had nothing to do with it," maintained Evlea.

"What name would you use, then?" asked Melcer.

"Friendship," she said.

He thought it over. "You may be right," he said at last, "although whenever I asked Conan if we were friends, he always told me no."

"He did not want to admit it," said Evlea. "Like as not, he did not want to admit it even to himself. But when the time came, he found he did not have it in him to slay a woman and children if he knew and liked their man."

That last phrase, no doubt, held the key. Melcer wondered what had happened back at Sciliax's farmhouse after his family and he used the escape tunnel. The memory of that terrifying journey through pitch blackness would stay with him until the end of his days. Clumps of dirt had fallen down on the back of his neck and his shoulders between the support beams. He had banged the top of his head on more than one of those beams, too, once or twice almost knocking himself cold. Every step of the way, he had gone in fear that the tunnel would collapse, burying him and his family forever. And screams of hatred and despair and agony had echoed from behind, driving him on like strokes of the lash. Better not to know, perhaps, what had chanced after he got out.

The horse stumbled. He yanked at the lead rope. "Keep going, you cursed thing," he growled. "If you don't keep going, we're ruined."

"Will we travel all night?" asked his wife.

"Unless that animal falls down dead under you, we will," answered Melcer. Then he shook his head. "No, not so: even if it dies, we go on, except then we go on afoot." He muttered under his breath. "These past two years, I've welcomed the long days and short nights of this northern summer. Now, though, now I would thank Mitra for less light and for more darkness to cloak us."

"Mitra does as he pleases, not as we please," said Evlea.

"Don't I know it!" Melcer looked around. Columns and puffs of black smoke rose all along the northern horizon, pyre after pyre marking the memory of Aquilonian hopes. Even as he looked, a fresh plume of smoke went up west and a little north of him. But the Cimmerians had not yet begun burning forts and steadings to the south. Therein lay his hope.

As the day wore on, he saw ever more settlers placidly working in their fields, men who did not yet realize peace here lay forever shattered. He shouted out warnings to them. Some cursed. Others laughed and called him a liar, thinking he was playing a joke on them. He wished he were.

The sun set in blood. Melcer kept going. He intended to keep going as long as breath was in him, for he was sure the Cimmerians would do the same. The moon rose two hours after the sun set. He rejoiced and cursed at the same time: it would light his way, but it would also let marauding barbarians spy him. Where were the mists, where were the fogs, of Cimmeria? If they were not here, all he could do was go on, and go on he did.

He came to Venarium as the sun was rising again after too brief a night. His wife and children nodded and half dozed on the back of the horse, which tramped along as if worn unto death. He wished he could have treated the luckless animal better, but that would have endangered his family and him. The horse had to pay the price.

"What are you doing?" asked Evlea when he took the horse off the road that led to Venarium. He made for the river upstream from the town.

"They must know there that the blow has fallen," answered Melcer. "If they see me, they'll dragoon me into the army to try to hold Venarium. I swore an oath to the Cimmerian to leave his land —and I don't think we'll hold the place. So I'll skirt it if I can."