Harry Turtledove - Conan of Venarium

"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."

His wife did not have to think long before nodding. Melcer let the horse drink and crop the grass when it got down to the riverbank. He looked for a ford. About a mile east of Venarium, he found one. The water came up to his midsection; it barely wet the horse's belly. After he led the horse up onto the south bank, he did not make for the road again. Instead, he went straight into the middle of a dense patch of woods. He tied the weary horse to a sapling, then lay down, careless of his wet clothes. "We can rest here," he said. "With Venarium behind us, now we can rest."

Conan scratched at the rag bound to his left arm. The cut itched, but no longer pained him much. The Aquilonian soldier who had given him the wound was dead; the palisaded camp the man defended had gone up in smoke. Along with the other Cimmerians on the southbound road, Conan topped a last hill and stared ahead. "That must be Venarium," he said.

"No doubt," agreed his father. Mordec yawned. For all his iron strength, the marching and righting had cruelly told on him.

Fresher because he was younger, Conan kept on looking at the town, and at the fortress at its heart. "How will we take this place?" he asked. That they would take it he had no doubt.

"This band alone won't do it," said Mordec. "We'll need to wait until more men come up. Then I suppose we storm it. What else can we do? We know nothing of siegecraft, and the Aquilonians might bring a new army against us while we sit in front of their fort."

Nectan the shepherd scowled at the houses and shops as much as he did at the fortress. "We'll burn all of it," he said, "and so we should. This was prime forest before the Aquilonians came."

"If we burn the houses and shops, the soldiers in the fortress won't be able to see what we're doing because of the smoke," said Conan.

His father eyed him. "Spoken like a true war leader," said Mordec. "Take that notion straight to Herth and put it in his ear. He needs to hear it. By Crom, my son, you may make a chieftain yourself one day."

Conan cared nothing about being a chieftain. He cared nothing about what might happen one day. Vengeance was the only thing that burned in him. The road to vengeance ran through Venarium. Knowing that, he went in search of Herth. The war leader was not hard to find. He had stayed at the forefront of the Cimmerian host ever since it burst upon the province the Aquilonians had stolen.

Herth heard Conan out, then nodded. "Here is a thought with some weight behind it," he said. "We already have plenty of reasons to burn Venarium. What need have we for such a place in our midst? It would only make us more like accursed King Numedides' men. And now you have told me precisely when and where the fires should be set. For this, I thank you."

Not all the Cimmerians were firmly under Herth's control. Such was the way of life among the warriors of the north. So many of them did as they pleased, not as any chieftain told them. More than a few did as they pleased in despite of what any chieftain told them. Having fought to the outskirts of the Aquilonian stronghold, they saw no reason why they should not fight their way straight into it.

The Aquilonians inside Venarium gave them such a reason. The defenders were not yet inclined to withdraw to the fortress. Archers lurked among the buildings at the outskirts of the town. As soon as Cimmerians drew within range, the archers began to shoot. They killed several men and wounded even more before the Cimmerians sullenly drew back.

"Here is what we will do," said Herth after fresh troop of black-haired barbarians came down from the north to augment his force. "We will all charge together at one signal. That way, the enemy cannot shoot many of us before we gain a lodgement in the town. Once we have done that, we can hunt down the bowmen —and any others who stand against us — because we have far more men than the Aquilonians. Wait for the signal, mind you, and then everyone forward together."

For once, no one quarreled, as often chanced when a war chief tried to impose his will on the men he more or less led. The bodies lying in front of Venarium spoke eloquently of the folly of every man's going forward for himself. The Cimmerians gathered themselves, looking to their weapons and looking for their friends and kinsmen. They had never been in the habit of marching or attacking in neat lines, but they all moved up to where they could hear the signal.

A bugle blared. The Cimmerians roared. They swarmed forward toward Venarium. A great excitement seized Conan, as if he had poured down too much ale. Here at last was the enemy's great stronghold. If Venarium fell, the Aquilonian hold on southern Cimmeria would be broken forever. He looked at the host of his countrymen dashing along to either side of him. How could the town, how could the fortress, keep from falling under such a weight of warriors?

Arrows arced out from the town toward the attackers. Here and there, a man fell, to lie thrashing or to lie still. But Herth had known what he was about. Too many men went forward for all, or even very many, of them to fall. On they came, roaring out their hatred of the foreigners who had tried to subject their land. And as soon as they got in among the homes and shops, the fight for the town of Venarium was as good as won.

Not that the Aquilonians in the town believed as much. Archers kept shooting from inside buildings. Pikemen would rush out of doorways, spear passing Cimmerians, and then try to get back to defend the entrances before other Cimmerians could cut them down. Sometimes they succeeded; sometimes they fell. But Venarium had plenty of defenders, and they were stubborn enough to make it a tough nut to crack.

Conan rapidly discovered that a sword did not make the ideal weapon with which to assail a pikeman. The soldiers who carried pikes had a longer reach than he did; he almost spitted himself on a pike, trying to get at the Gunderman who wielded it. But when another Cimmerian distracted the foe, Conan leaped close and drove the blade into his neck. He fell, blood spurting from the ghastly wound. Another Gunderman sprang forward to try to keep Conan's countrymen out of a shop. Someone from the street flung a rock at the Gunderman. He shrieked and staggered, his face a gory mask. He did not suffer long; Conan's thrust pierced his heart.

Before long, a cry went up in both Cimmerian and Aquilonian: "Fire!" Conan wondered whether Herth was using the ploy he had suggested, or whether some Cimmerian had simply concluded that burning out Venarium's defenders was the easiest and least costly way to flush them from the fine cover the buildings in the town afforded. He also wondered whether he would ever know, and doubted it very much.

"Ha!" shouted a Cimmerian, savage glee filling his voice. "Here's how we roast Numedides' swine!"

Smoke quickly thickened the air. Fighting fires was hard, even hopeless, work in the best of circumstances. Fighting fires in the middle of a desperate battle was impossible. As wooden buildings began to burn, the Aquilonian defenders came forth, either to fight in the streets or to flee back toward the fortress of Venarium.

Open space separated the fortress from the town. Count Stercus had not permitted taverns and saddleries to encroach on the palisade. Whatever else he had been, he had made a competent military engineer. Bossonian archers on a walkway inside the palisade shot at any Cimmerian who ventured into the cleared area.