Harry Turtledove - Conan of Venarium

They could not answer him immediately. They both stood there panting, as if they had run a long, long way. At last, the younger one, a fellow with formidably wide shoulders and a face friendly despite its weariness, managed to gasp out, "The Cimmerians are over the border."

To Melcer, that was the worst news in the world. "Are you sure?" he said. "How many of them?"

The newcomers carried pikes, too, the pikes of foot soldiers. They held them out, not threateningly but so that Melcer could see the fresh bloodstains on the spearshafts. "We're sure, all right," said the older one. "How many?" He turned to his comrade. "How many do you suppose, Granth?"

"Oh, about a million," answered Granth, the broad-shouldered one. "Maybe more."

"They ran us out of Duthil," added the other Gunderman. "To hell with me if I know whether anybody else from the garrison is left alive. Stercus is dead, not that he's any great loss. And those barbarian devils have been baying at our heels ever since. If you're going to save yourself, you'd better do it now, or you're a dead man. You may be a dead man anyhow."

Melcer looked around his farm. He saw all the work of the past two years: stout cabin, barn, garden, fields. Then he looked to the north. He knew where he was likely to see smoke rising, and how much. More fires were burning than could be accounted for by the settlers' usual business, and some of the columns of smoke rising from the accustomed places were thicker and blacker than they should have been, as if rising from buildings rather than chimneys. Melcer was not afraid to make a stand if that stand had some hope of success. Dying to no purpose was something else again.

He nodded to the two pikemen. "My thanks. Go on and warn more folk." Even as the words left his mouth, a southbound horseman galloped past winding a horn and shouting out danger to all who would heed him. Melcer nodded again. Now he had confirmation, not that he truly needed it. "Aye, go on, both of you. I'll tend to my business here."

On the very edge of hearing came howls that might have burst from wolves' throats —that might have, but had not. Those were the war cries of barbarians, barbarians on the loose, such swarms of savages had no business running loose within the bounds of the province. They had no business running loose, but here they came.

"We're off, then," said the older pikeman. "We'll make for Fort Venarium, I expect. If we can throw back the Cimmerians anywhere, that will be the place. And what of you?"

"If things go ill, perhaps I'll see you there," said Melcer. Above the uproar of the barbarians, a bell began to ring, loudly and insistently. "That is the signal for the yeomen of the countryside to gather. You only garrisoned this land. We live on it, and we will not give it up."

"They'll smash you," said Granth. "You don't know their numbers."

Melcer answered with a shrug. "If they do, then they do. But if they take us down to hell, you had best believe we'll have a fine Cimmerian escort to lead the way."

The two pikemen began arguing. Melcer had no time for them. He ran back toward the farmhouse — and met his wife hurrying his way, with their baby daughter on one hip and Tarnus, their son, hurrying beside her. "The alarm bell!" exclaimed Evlea.

"Sure enough," said Melcer. "The Cimmerians are over the border—over the border in a great horde, all too likely. We can flee or we can fight. I aim to fight."

"What are the odds?" asked Evlea.

He shrugged again. "I know not. All I know is, this is my land. If I must die for it, then die I will, and be buried on it." He quickly kissed her. "Get out while you can, dear."

She shook her head. "If I can find someplace to leave the children, I'll fight beside you. This is not your land alone."

One of the pikemen came over to them. "Vulth thinks he has a better chance in Venarium," said Granth. "Me, I'd sooner make my stand as far north as I can. I'm with you, if you'll have me."

"Gladly," said Melcer. Evlea nodded. The bell tolled out its warning cry . Melcer went on, "We're to make for it when it rings, and do what needs doing once we're gathered there."

Melcer hoped he could find a place to leave his children — and his wife —in safety before they came to the bell. But he discovered none, none he would trust against an assault by more than a handful of barbarians. By all the signs, far more than a handful were loose in the land. The bell rang in front of the house of a farmer named Sciliax. Pointing to the cabin, a bigger, fancier, stronger building than Melcer's, Sciliax said, "Women and children in there. We'll defend it with all we have."

All they had, at the moment, consisted of about thirty farmers armed with the sort of weapons farmers carried, plus perhaps half a dozen real soldiers like Granth. More men were coming their way. Would they be enough? Melcer saw, recognized, and worried about the expression on Granth's face: the pikeman did not like the odds. Slowly, Melcer said, "Maybe we ought to serve out swords and spears and whatever else we've got to the women who will take them."

"Yes, by Mitra!" cried Evlea.

But Sciliax said, "What if they're taken?"

"What if we lose?" returned Melcer. "They'll surely be taken then, and they won't have us at their sides to save them."

Sciliax was older than most of the settlers who had come north out of Gunderland, and plainly set on old ways of doing things. But he glanced toward Granth, as if wondering what a real soldier thought of the question. Granth did not hesitate. "This fellow's right," he said, pointing Melcer's way. "Whatever you do—whatever we do, I should say—our chances are bad. The more fighters we have, the better we're likely to fare. I've seen Cimmerian women fight. Are ours weaker than theirs?"

Before Sciliax could answer, Evlea said, "I'll see to it, then." She rushed into the farmhouse. Women began spilling out of it, women tough enough to make a go of things beyond the frontier of Gunderland. They all clamored for weapons. Some were young, some not so young. Before long, most of them had spears and axes and swords. Some of the men who wore helms gave them to women. With a sort of bow, Granth presented his to Melcer's wife.

"Here they come!" Suddenly, the cry rose from a dozen throats. Melcer's gaze went to the woods north of Sciliax's farm. Black-haired Cimmerians loped out from among the trees. They saw the defenders mustered in front of the farmhouse, saw them and swarmed toward them. The barbarians advanced in no neat formation, but they were ready —more than ready—to fight.

"Form a line!" shouted Granth. "Everyone — help your neighbor. If you save him, he may save you next. No point in running. They'll just slay you from behind." No one had appointed him general of this little force. He simply took the job —and the embattled farmers and their wives obeyed him.

Here came a Cimmerian swinging a scythe. He was lean and dirty and looked weary, as if he had traveled a long way with nothing more in mind than murdering Melcer. He shouted something in his own language. Melcer could not understand it, but doubted it was a compliment. The Cimmerian swung back the scythe —and Melcer speared him in the belly.

The soft, heavy resistance of flesh tugged at the pike. For a moment, the barbarian simply looked very surprised. Then he opened his mouth wide and shrieked. Melcer felt like shrieking, too. He had never killed a man before. He had to kick out with his foot to clear the Cimmerian from his pike.

Another Cimmerian swung a two-handed sword, a stroke that would have taken off Melcer's head had it connected. But the weapon was as cumbersome as it was frightful, and he easily ducked under it. He had gone a lifetime without killing anyone, but claimed his second victim only moments after the first.