Free Indomitus Est (The Fovean Chronicles) by Robert Brady

like the Dwarves of Earth-legend, then there were likely rich mines or some such thing that they had in their nation.  That could be reason enough. Knowing this would make reconnaissance a little more meaningful.
         As I watched, a man from the camp started out toward me along the river.  He wore a leather shirt and skirt down to his knees, kind of Roman in appearance but without the extreme detail that Romans liked in Legionnaire armor.  I saw no one following him – my mind worked out clever ways for this to be a decoy to bring out someone like me, but nothing came.  As I watched, he came closer, and I moved to a spot where it would be a little easier to ambush him.
         As it turned out I might as well not have bothered.  His own thoughts occupied him and he walked right past where I hid behind a thin bush.  I leapt out from cover and he barely turned in time to see me smack the sword out of his hand with my own.
         “Call out and I kill you,” I told him.
         “Why would you want to do that?” he asked.
         The question surprised me.  I looked into his eyes, mud-brown and vacant.  He honestly didn’t seem to have figured out what could be happening to him.
         “To, um, keep you from calling out.”
         “Oh.”
         “How many are with the army down there?” I asked him, my sword out in front of me, my back to the north so that I could hit and run if he called out.
         “I dunno – a lot, I suppose.”
         “You don’t know how many men are in your own army?”
         “Uh, uh.”
         “And why is that?”
         “I can’t count.”
         Oh, great, I thought.  I got a stupid one.
         “Why is the army here?” I continued, undaunted.
         “To kill lots of Dwarves.”
         “Why kill Dwarves?”
         “Because they told us to.”
         “Because who told you to?”
         “The Masters,” he said, and looked heavenward.
         “What Masters?  Who?” I pressed him.
        “You don’t know the Masters?” he seemed incredulous.  “Wow, you are stupid.  Who is your Master?”
         I didn’t know if ‘Masters’ were common among Men, or Dorkans, or armies.  Maybe the Masters were officers in the armies, or these Wizards.  But this line of questioning got me nowhere.
         “Do you know when you are supposed to kill these Dwarves?” I asked.
         “I think pretty soon.  They made me and some others practice with our swords yesterday, and they said they would again everyday now.  The sergeant said I was pretty good.  Do you want to see?”
         He reached for the sword and I put my blade between him and it.  He got the idea and straightened back up.  Again, the same vacant expression, like he just couldn’t grasp the situation, and dealt with this chance encounter as best he could.
         “Where are your Masters?” I asked.
         That got him.  He looked around in fear for a moment and then calmed himself. “They are everywhere.  They are in your closet, under the bed, in the sky and right next to you if you do something bad.  They look out for us and we look out for them, because we need them to think, and they need our strong backs to work for them.”
         Now that made sense.  An upper class, more educated than the lower, and a system of education only for those who ruled.  England of the Middle Ages had been like this.  Keeping him stupid effectively kept the common man down.
         I’d learned what I could from this one, and our chances increased every moment that we would be caught.  I didn’t need him and he didn’t need to be telling anyone that I had been here.
         I made the blow as quick as I could, taking him under the chin.  I didn’t sever his head as I wanted, but I cut deeply enough into his neck where he didn’t last long.  He fell, clutching his throat, staring at me in shock.  I