Free Indomitus Est (The Fovean Chronicles) by Robert Brady Page A

sighed, watching him – the only thing I could do.  On Earth I had never been so cold blooded.  I had been in my share of fights, but never intentionally killed anyone.
         I didn’t look forward to remembering this simple man’s eyes.  Probably a farmer pulled off his field to fight a battle for a richer, greedier man.  Earth history had been written around those like him, their tale never told, the woes of their families not remembered.  In ancient lands with no welfare, and people hard put to look out for themselves, widows and orphans had an unenviable life.
         Here, I had killed four men in one day, two of them defenseless.  I knew if I had to, I would do it again.  My insides felt like ashes over it, cold and dark.  I pulled the body into the bush and covered it with as much dirt as I could quickly scrape up.  If no one were specifically looking, he wouldn’t be found. 
         The jog back to the stallion didn’t take long because he met me three fourths of the way.  He looked at me with big, brown eyes not too unlike those of the man I had just killed.  I rubbed his neck and he battered me with his head, making me laugh.
         “You and I, then, big friend,” I told him.  “I have no idea what you see in me, but if we can be each others’ best friends, then that’s all right with me.
         Camp that night consisted of a soft patch of grass by a boulder.  I wanted to set a guard or some sort of trap, but I didn’t know how.  I hoped that the horse would make a fuss if anyone came down the river, and if they came through the mountains, then they would awaken me.
         Another consequence of my first day riding was that I was stiff in muscles that I didn’t even know I had.  Not just my fingers and my thighs, but my back as well from keeping it straight from riding, and my abdomen from holding my body centered on his back.
         I knew that as bad as I might feel now, I’d feel even worse in the morning.  I thought back to the ride, pounding across the plains, the wind in my hair, his smell in my nose as I ran.
         I smiled.  So very worth it.
         I slept another dreamless sleep.  Dreaming is a funny luxury that I missed having, however this might be so bizarre that dreaming became either unnecessary or too mundane to remember.

Chapter Four
     

Of Dwarves and Men
     
     
     
     
     
     
          I went back to the place where I had met the Dwarf, and buried the bodies of our enemies.  I could have been blind as a bat and still found them; they were bloated and stank and the birds had been at them.  Through a swarm of stinging flies I found that one of the dead men had hidden a purse full of shiny gold coins, each bearing the head of a man with a beard, and stamped in a language I didn’t understand.  I took the purse and slid my belt through a fold built into it.  I noted that when I walked it didn’t jingle.
         Next came the waiting.  Kvitch had said three days, so I reconciled myself to six.  The army could be here in a day on horseback, which meant three at the worst by foot.  A marching army might take four, unless they were very good.  The scouts would be a bigger worry and I knew that they were out.  By now the dead men were missed and there would be a reconnaissance.  I anticipated trouble by tomorrow at the worst.
         So the Uman hadn’t lied about being three days ahead of the army.  That made no sense – what kind of tactician did that?  Kvitch should be running to the mountains with the Dorkan army on his heels.  Instead, the Dwarves would be ready.
         The stallion and I felt bored and restless before noon.  We rode in the open space for a while; I got used to him easily.  By the end of the day, both of us exhausted, he had started to realize that if I pressed him with my left knee I wanted to go right and vice versa.  I felt more comfortable with bareback riding and he seemed more accustomed