"Both kings want a queen," Alcuina pointed out. "They want me. Soon they shall know that I have returned and will move all the more quickly. They will settle with one another after we have been dealt with."
"That is so," Leovigild concurred. "And I think I know how it will happen: Totila will propose to Odoac a temporary alliance. Between them the two armies will attack this place. Once that is accomplished, they will contest between themselves for Alcuina and her lands and people. My uncle, who is a fool as well as a madman, will probably agree.
"Totila did not build a kingdom from nothing by being a fool. Sometime during the fighting he will murder Odoac. The Thungians, without a king and with me exiled or dead, must turn to the only available war-leader Totila." There were nods and murmurs of admiration for this sagacious reasoning.
"You speak with great wisdom for so young a man," said Rerin. "Now we must make our plans. How may we avert this disaster?"
"Let's march out and meet Odoac," said Siggeir. "He and the Thungians will be easier to deal with than the Tormanna. We can defeat them, then march back to meet the Tormanna from behind our walls."
"Even should we defeat the Thungians," Alcuina said, "we would be severely weakened. In any case Totila might take the garth while the warriors were rway."
Conan smiled to himself. Nobody even proposed the solution that to a southern queen would be the most obvious: to agree to marry the weaker of her two ene-
mies, who could then be murdered at leisure, while he slept. In the North a queen would only do such a thing in order to accomplish an extraordinary vengeance. Since Alcuina had nothing personal against either king, she would never even think of it.
"I do not feel competent to advise in matters of tactics," Leovigild said, "as my experience of warfare has been limited. Also, although I am exiled, I cannot take arms against my kin, though I shall be more than happy to do battle with the Tormanna. However, one among us has not been heard from. Queen Alcuina's champion is not only a great warrior, he has served in many armies in far climes. I suspect that he can see possibilities that would not occur to us. Conan, will you give us your counsel?"
Conan wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. In the North a warrior of high standing was as valued for his wise counsel as for his sword arm. This was another matter in which the northern war-bands differed from southern armies. "In open battle we have a slight chance against either enemy, and none at all against both. This we all agree. I know of a way we may seriously weaken both armies before it comes to a battle or a siege. It will take skill and daring. First you must summon all your huntsmen."
"My huntsmen?" Alcuina said. "Why?"
"Because they know this land far better than any warrior. When Odoac and Totila come they will have great, straggling war-bands slogging through the snow. We shall have huntsmen stationed near all the forest roads to inform us of their movements. Instead of a single army we shall divide into many small bands, with every man mounted. Without warning we must strike them on the march, kill a few, then turn and run, to hit them at another point. The minute they band together to make a shield-wall, we return to our camp, to strike one enemy or the other on another day. Even if we only kill a few, they will be more than half defeated before they arrive here. The bravest of warriors lose their edge when they face unfamiliar tactics."
"Who ever heard of such fighting?" Siggeir said doubtfully.
"It is certain that Odoac and Totila never have," Leovigild said. "I think Conan has given us our only chance."
"We can use this tactic many times against Odoac," Conan cautioned, "but only once or perhaps twice against Totila."
"Why is that?" Alcuina asked.
"Because of those damned magpies!" Conan growled. "Totila will soon understand what is happening, and lilma will have the birds high overhead, searching for us. Who can hide from a flying enemy?"
"We could hide beneath the densest trees until it was time to attack," Leovigild suggested.
"They would see our tracks in the snow," Conan pointed out.
"I think I could help," Rerin said.
"Speak on," Alcuina urged him. "We need all the help we can find."
"I have never been able to fight lilma or his magpie-familiars," the old man admitted. "His wizardry is too powerful for me. However, I have mastered a spell by wbkh, in winter, I can cause a brief but dense snow-fill. Once we are in position in wait for the marching Tormanna, this snowfall will mask us from the birds."
Conan grinned and took a long swallow of his ale.
"Old man," he said, "you may have won the war for us."
The queen's huntsmen were short, sturdy men for the most part, clad in leather and rough homespun. Most of them were darker than the warrior class, and Conan judged that their people had been native to these parts long before the fair-haired folk had wandered hither. They had charge of the game in the forests and were expected to guide the aristocratic hunters to the best sport. As such, they enjoyed privileges far greater than most commoners and could be expected to be loyal to their queen.
"Some of you," Conan began, "will be detailed to lead the raiding bands to secure camping places. Others will keep track of the two armies heading this way." His breath steamed on the chill air. "Still others will be guiding the thralls who will be bringing fodder for the horses. When you move, keep out of sight, but keep to .the ridgelines and other high ground. That way the armies will not see your tracks. They will stick to the low roads where the going is easiest. You'll operate in small bands, with some always keeping watch on the enemy while others come back to report. If they chase you, run. Do not try to fight; that is the task of the warriors. Now go to the warrior Siggeir. He will assign each of you to your tasks."
The huntsmen left, and Conan turned to a far more difficult task: He had no more than a day, or at the most two, to teach these men the rudiments of fighting from horseback. He was grateful that they needed only to learn how to hit and run. He would need months to teach them anything more complicated. Their swords were too short to be wielded effectively from horseback, so he was teaching them to use their spears from the saddle. Armorers were cutting down their shields to make them more wieldy from horseback.
Straw dummies had been set up on posts outside the garth, and the men were riding down on them, stabbing wildly with their spears. They all laughed uproariously every time one of them misjudged his thrust and toppled from his horse.
"This is not sport!" Conan yelled in exasperation. "This is war! Stop thrusting so hard! All that does is unbalance you. You don't need to pin a man to the ground; just thrust a few inches of steel into him. Thrust too deep, and you lose your spear. Sit easy in the saddle, and brace yourself only as you thrust. These are not trained warhorses, and you don't want to confuse them." Another man fell off and there was a gusty roar of laughter. Conan sighed disgustedly.
That evening as the men and the horses trudged exhaustedly back into the garth Alcuina took Conan aside. "Do they have a chance?" she asked bluntly.
"They are improving," he answered judiciously, "and the enemy, have never dealt with horseback raiders of any kind. That is a great advantage. We mean to weaken them, not defeat them."
"I suppose that is the most I can hope for, then. Perhaps with you and Rerin and Leovigild we may come through this."
"Will the boy be of that much value?" said Conan, nettled at her obvious attraction to the youth.
She looked back at him coolly. "Of course. When Odoac dies, the Thungians may give their allegiance to him without dishonor. We may then form an alliance with them against the Tormanna."
"And a royal marriage," Conan said, "followed by a merging of the peoples?"
"Of course," she said. "That is how it is done among royal families. If we slay Totila, the Tormanna may elect to ally themselves with us as well. He has no heir."
"So be it then!" Conan barked. He whirled on his heel and stalked away.
"Conan!" she called.
He turned, his anger dr
aining away. Against the hulking stone wall she stood, small but regal. He prepared to endure another royal dressing-down, but when she spoke, her voice was gentle.
"When a queen plans for her future, it must not be as a woman following the desires of her heart, but as a ruler who must do what is best for her people. I would that it were not so." Saying no more, she turned and started back for the hall. Conan stared after.
That night in the hall they feasted well, but Alcuina was careful to ration the ale. They would be riding out before first light to try their first foray against the enemy. Conan hoped to have the morrow for further training in their first encampment before splitting up into raiding parties, but there might not be time. He was glad that he had battle to look forward to. It took his mind away from Alcuina.
The younger men talked nervously of the adventure to come. Win or lose, this fight would be remembered, if only because it would be so unorthodox. The older men were less voluble. Many of them were extremely doubtful of such outlandish tactics. How could men fight properly if they could not feel the ground beneath their feet? At least none of them seemed to be downcast or gloomy. It was nearly impossible for northerners to be cheerless when battle was in the offing.
Conan tore at a joint of veal with his teeth. They were not a trained and drilled army, but he had little liking for armies in any case. He had led far worse men into battle. These were brave and loyal, however unso-phisticated their warfare might be. He felt a touch at his shoulder and looked up to see Leovigild standing beside him.
"Conan," the younger man began, "I mink you may have been the salvation of our people. Your services will not go unrewarded. When this is over, you could be a great earl, with wide lands, and peasants and thralls to work it. When I come into my inheritance, I shall not be known as an ungrateful king."
Conan grasped Leovigild's arm and hauled the young man down to sit on the bench beside him. He leaned close and spoke slowly and steadily. "Three things, boy . . ." He held up a single, greasy finger. "One, I serve Alcuina, not you. Any rewarding is for her to do, not you. Two"he placed a second finger beside the first"never congratulate a man for a victory that is yet unwon. The gods don't like it and have been known to punish such presumption. Three"the third finger went up beside the other two"I sail south with the springtime. Land is difficult to take on shipboard in any quantity, so I'll take my reward in gold, if Crom and Ymir grant us the victory."
To Conan's surprise Leovigild grinned broadly at his words. "Truly, the Cimmerians are as grim and gloomy as legend has it. I thank you for words of wisdom. We'll talk of reward later. For now, you are the greatest champion in the Northland, and I am a penniless out-
cast who rejoices to follow you into battle. Let the victory fall where the gods wish it."
Conan smiled thinly. Despite all his best efforts, he could not keep from liking the boy. "However it befalls," he said, "there will be blood on the snow soon."
Conan surveyed his little army. They had been granted an extra, precious day to train in their encampment. This had been invaluable, for it gave him a chance to drill them in the art of remaining hidden among the trees, then charging down upon the enemy at a signal. The men had been divided into six squadrons, three to each enemy army. It had taken Conan all day to get them coordinated enough that he could count on the squadrons to strike the head, center, and rear of each enemy army simultaneously. He was not so sure that they would break off engagement as reliably. However, he saw no choice. The best way for a smaller army to engage a larger was to catch the greater force in marching order.
As they dismounted at their campfires to prepare for the night, he felt that they were now as ready as he could make them. It was just as well, because he saw a party of huntsmen coming from the tree line. They ran up to him, and one of them, a tousle-headed youth who carried a boar-spear; reported.
"We've found the Tormanna, lord. When we left, they were eight hours march from here, as slowly as they were walking. They will be bedding down about now, perhaps six hours away."
"Have they an advance guard out?" Conan asked.
The youth shook his head. "No. All together, with a few mounted men at the head of the lot. We saw King Totila. Him we knew by his cloak of men's hair."
"Good," Conan said. "On the morrow, before first light, you shall lead one of our force to a good place on their route of march for an attack." Within the hour another little band of huntsmen came in to report that the Thungians had been spotted, coming by a more southerly route. If all went well both of Alcuina's forces should spring their first ambush about midday upon the morrow.
It had been agreed that Conan would lead the group to attack the Thungians. Leovigild would lead the at-tack against the Tormanna. This disturbed Conan because he was certain that Totila and his Tormanna were the more dangerous enemy, and he would have preferred to lead the attack himself. The warriors had insisted, though, that the band not led by the queen's champion must be led by a man of royal blood, and Leovigild would not fight his fellow Thungians. In spite of Conan's reputation those in Leovigild's party counted themselves lucky, for they would have a chance to show their prowess and loyalty before the man who was likely to be their next king.
They arose before the tardy .winter sun and readied themselves. Before parting, Conan took Siggeir to one side. The man was to ride beside Leovigild as his second in command, charged with giving the signal to attack. "Siggeir, do not let Leovigild try to fight Totila himself. From what I've heard of that man, it would be death for an untried lad to challenge him."
Siggeir was silent for a moment. "I shall do my best, and advise against it, but how may any man keep a spirited youth from snatching all the glory he can? He'll
be wanting to show Alcuina he's brave as well as wise."
Conan clapped him on the shoulder. "Just do what you can. In the end he must face the same dangers as the rest of us, I suppose." Conan turned to his following. "Mount up! We ride now!" He swung into the saddle of his little, northern stallion and faced Leovigild. He raised an arm. "Good hunting, prince!"
Leovigild returned the salute. "We'll meet again, warrior. In Alcuina's hall or Ymir's!"
There was a brief thunder of hooves, a flurry of chumed-up snow, and the two bands split up, one to the west, the other to the south.
Conan stood beside his horse, holding the cloth that covered its eyes. He and his men were well within the cover of the trees, but with a good view of the road below. The Thungians were coming, and they were already well past the first two squadrons. Conan's own force would strike the head of the column. His hand gripped the sword at his waist.
He had scoured Alcuina's armory to find one long enough to use from horseback. At length he found one, Aquilonian by the look of it. It had probably been a gift from one chief to another in years gone by. It might never have been used, since it was unsuited to the local style of combat.
Conan judged that the Thungians were close enough. "Mount," he said in a quiet voice.
The men stripped the covers from their horses' heads and hooves. They all wore wide grins of anticipation. They readied their spears, and Conan's sword rasped from its sheath. He nodded to Hagbard, who sat his horse beside Conan. The man raised a hunting-horn to his lips and winded a long, loud blast. With a shout they spurred their mounts down the long slope.
The men below looked up in amazement at the little band of horsemen who bore down upon them. Surely this could not be an attack. Why were the men mounted? Why did they not get off their horses if they wanted to fight? Where were the customary boasts and taunts that always preceded combat? Then they had no more leisure for speculation as the horsemen collided with them.
Conan leaned far out and swung his blade down over the edge of a shield. The man he faced was unused to such blows and failed to raise his shield high enough. The steel sword opened a gap in his bronze helm, and he fell with blood pouring from the rent metal. Conan glanced about and saw that his men were making a good account of themse
lves, thrusting their spears over the shields of the foe. A few had given in to the temptation to cast their spears, something he had specif-ically forbidden them to do, and now had nothing to fight with except their swords.
A man thrust at Conan with a spear, and he flicked the shaft aside before chopping into the man's shoulder. The man fell, cursing, and Conan noticed a tight knot of men who surrounded a fat, graybearded man in fine armor. This must be Odoac and his household warriors. Conan tried to force a way to him, but his horse was unused to the clamor of war and would go no farther.
"Hagbard!" Conan called. "Sound your horn!"
Hagbard broke away from his fight and raised the bom. At the signal, most of the men drew aw.ay from the battle and rode up to the trees. Conan waited for a moment to see how well they were obeying the signal. As he had feared, several were fighting on in a berserk fay. Quickly, those were overpowered and slain. He
even saw one leap from the back of his horse onto an enemy and grapple on the ground briefly before being cut to pieces.
Amid the trees the horsemen regrouped. Conan made a quick count and found that they had lost ten men. He had expected to lose more. Henceforth, their losses should be fewer because now the berserks and the fools were dead.
"Shall we try them again, Conan?" called a man who had blood running from beneath the rim of his helm.
"Not today," Conan answered. "It is too late for another sally, and the horses are too excited. We'll find a good camp and hit them early tomorrow, then once or twice more before nightfall."
That night the men sat around their campfires talking happily among themselves, as: if they had won a great victory instead of a trifling raid against their enemy, with no more than a score of the foe slain or wounded. Conan smiled grimly. They would not be so exuberant by the next night. By then they would have learned that this kind of fighting was long, hard, dangerous work with little glory in it.
"What do you think, Conan?" asked Hagbard. "Did we not do well today?"
The Conan Compendium Page 476