Indomitus Est (The Fovean Chronicles)

by Brady, Robert

  “They will be here at about dusk,” one Dwarf reported to Hvarl. “They have three Uman scouts we had to avoid. The scouts will be here shortly. There is no place closer for an army that size to camp.”

  Better and better. We had chosen a bowl-shaped opening from where two large mountains arose. Centuries of runoff had carved three routes through the mountains. One trail lead south, where they came from, and two broke north. The path varied between one and two football fields in width, with an opening wider than two side by side.

  The Dwarves had turned out to be expert engineers, as expected. They had rigged two mountainsides each to fall with one hammer-blow. I had wondered at this – it seemed a really big coincidence that the Dwarves of Earth legends should match those of Fovea so precisely.

  The Dwarves themselves looked pretty much like Kvitch. They ranged from four to four-and-one-half feet tall, weighing about one hundred fifty pounds of hard bone and thick muscle. They had thick, bunched foreheads that gave them a constant, frowning appearance. They seemed to prefer armor of linked chain or thick plates; some of these were “fluted” or corrugated to give them more strength. They wore steel caps that covered the bridges of their noses and carried maces, twenty-pound hammers and the occasional spear or pike. Some also had crossbows.

  Their hair ran brown, black, gray or red. Their skin colored dusky brown, with pointy ears flat against their heads and big, flat noses. They didn’t sing or make much noise and they each worked like two men under Hvarl’s instruction. Whether this reflected their nature or Hvarl’s remained to be seen, of course. I had seen Kvitch fight a little and a few more of them spar the night before, and they were pretty good but not that impressive. I would have to hope that their strength relied on stamina over prowess.

  We hid in the natural clefts and fissures of the mountain. Hiding the stallion proved easy once we found a cave. I insisted on exploring it and found nothing to suggest a surprise for him. We waited there together, about five hundred feet above the floor of the bowl. The mountain formed a forty-five-degree slope for about fifty feet before me, then rose about three feet in a natural barricade before it dropped at about seventy-five degrees to the bowl’s floor. I stroked the stallion’s neck, combing out his long, white mane with my fingers, keeping him quiet. We waited for the opportunity to spring our trap.

  The Uman scouts came into the valley as expected, just ahead of the army. They made practically no effort to ensure the safety of the valley – we left an obvious trail leading out through both northern passages. Plainly, the band had split up to give one or the other a better chance of escaping. Had they been cautious, they would be afraid that one band had doubled back, but even then, this made a good place to stop. The mountainsides were steep, the end of the day approaching and they could see half a mile down any one trail, the most they could expect in the mountains.

  The scouts left without finding us. I heaved a sigh of relief. I knew that having to kill more scouts would put the army on its guard. We waited longer. I finished the stallion’s mane and worked on his tail. I considered braiding both to keep them from flying loose in battle but didn’t know how he would like that and decided against the idea. I wouldn’t be riding him except to escape.

  I had that route picked out and Kvitch knew it. I would fight for these people, as they were the only ones I knew, but not die for their Dwarven Nation. If things got bad, I knew an easy pass on the other side of this mountain, and a difficult trail to it. That would take me south to a country called Sental, where I could try to blend in. Then I could go west to Volkhydro, where I wouldn’t have to worry about being discovered.

  The day dragged on until the army approached. Again, we heard them singing, arguing, and laughing before they got there. The Dwarves below me at their barricade, Hvarl and Kvitch not among them, commented on the poor quality of Man soldiers. I said nothing. If my new God had His way, I had a feeling that would change, and thought for a moment that this might all be part of His design.

  Back in the cell, the Egyptian had talked to me about faith and god’s will. I had spoken to my god and I knew his will. What I had faith in consisted mostly of fear of what he could do to me – other than that, ‘be successful’ covered a lot of ground that I didn’t need to hash over.

  These Dorkans piled more than filed into the valley. I heard some shouting from a central group of Men, some of whom walked and others who were borne on litters. What I assumed were officers were giving general orders that were haphazardly followed if at all.

  “Secure that area!”

  “Set up the Grand Pavilion”

  “Explore those mountain sides!”

  “Sergeant, post a watch!”

  Their army transformed into a jumble with Men milling around trying to look busy. I stood and strung my long bow. In about twenty minutes the lot of them had entered the valley, and some were looking to the crags in the mountainside. I drew an arrow, sighted down its length, and picked a target, a fat man on a well-padded litter with a lot of soldiers carrying it. The soldiers near him were huge; he had to be one of the more important Wizards.

  The man straightened all of a sudden, and I felt my skin prickle and the hairs on my arm stand up. I didn’t hesitate to let loose, even though I had barely sighted him. The arrow flew true and took the man in the shoulder – my first shot, and a lucky one. He howled in pain and I reloaded.

  This signaled the Dwarves to start their offensive. Hastily gathered spears rained down on the encampment from the mountains. The Dorkans blew a whistle and I let loose again, killing a man next to one of the other Wizards. My third shot took another Wizard, a fat one like the first, in his pudgy leg. Rather than falling he exploded in a ball of fire. I stood back at that, stunned for a second, and a nearby Dwarf hissed at me to keep firing.

  I did. Volley after volley, even after the spears had been expended and the Dwarves began throwing rocks. The army milled in confusion and, as expected, drew in around the remaining Wizards. A huge Dwarf below and to the right of me, three-fourths the distance to the barricade where the other Dwarves were hidden, crouched with his head down, ready with a hammer. On the opposite side of the bowl another Dwarf waited for him to strike a blow. When that happened it would be blood, dust and screaming. I dreaded it.

  My tenth arrow took another of the Wizards through the throat. My fifteenth found one woman’s stomach. I didn’t recognize her as a woman until she bent over and revealed her cleavage. Another surprise. The thought didn’t bother me at the time only because I stayed too busy sighting the next target and really only noticed it as I passed her over for my next victim. The Dorkans were constructing a shield-wall defense for their leaders now, my arrows becoming less effective as a line of infantry offered their bodies to protect their Wizard overlords.

  Had I known about spell casting, I would have known that the chaos of battle made it very difficult for even the best-trained mind to cast a spell. The impending dread of being exposed to enemy arrow fire would impede or even misdirect the caster’s efforts. An enemy on the run, or pinned down, or helpless somehow, gave casters a true advantage, when they didn’t feel like targets. From behind a shield wall, desperate for their lives, they might also produce their greatest efforts. I assume that spell casting is a very emotional thing.

  This I didn’t know. Moving around so that they wouldn’t know where I hid also didn’t occur to me, this being my first pitched battle. That is how, as I let loose my seventeenth arrow at another chubby man in a black robe running toward the shield wall, I was undone.

  The woman stood with her arms raised before her. She had obviously been waiting for the arrow to fly, to know that she would have a few seconds. She spoke one word and, from between her hands, a ball of fire the size of a basketball appeared. I felt that skin-prickly sensation all over again as the thing headed for me.

  I knew that my shot had missed, not that it mattered. I dropped the bow and drew my sword. I had no idea what to do with it. The basketball-th
ing flew like a meteor, complete with tail. Just like a missile it hugged the ground and homed in on me directly. My hand felt wet with sweat as I gripped the pommel of my sword - at least I might die with a weapon in my hands.

  When the arrow fire stopped the huge Dwarf below me had been told to hit a giant spike in the ground with his hammer and release a portion of the cliff face onto the Dorkan army. Until then, he needed to stay out of sight, and I had seen him crouching with his face to the ground. He might have been wiser to keep an eye on the battle, because when I dropped the bow he took his cue to stand. The meteor flew about three feet from him when he stood up right in its path. It blew his head from his shoulders before he ever realized what had happened. Its energy expended, the meteor ground down into the unlucky Dwarf and charred him into nothing. The hammer clattered useless to the ground, the Dwarves around him broke and ran, obviously believing themselves discovered. I sheathed the sword and picked up the bow, but the woman had disappeared, probably in hiding again with the other Wizards, protected behind the shield wall.

  A barrage of those meteors would scatter the Dwarven army. Even worse, they might light off the trap themselves, or disable it. I knew the Dwarves would engage the enemy as soon as they believed that they had no alternative. The other half of the plan, the second spike and hammer, were waiting for the first to be released. I could imagine the Dwarves being down in the bowl when an avalanche began.

  I charged out of the cave and down the mountainside, thinking only that if another meteor came then no Dwarf would take the hit for me. Through the overpowering smell of burned flesh, thoughts popped into my head like fireflies:

  I didn’t know if I would be strong enough to hit the spike in the ground.

  Could I even lift that enormous iron hammer?

  There is no way these 199 Dwarves were going to be a match for that army.

  The Dorkans were already getting organized to fight back.

  Progress down the side of the mountain had been deceptively easy. My long legs stretched to cover too much ground.

  At twenty feet from the spike, I saw it, the hammer, and the remains of the dead Dwarf.

  At fifteen feet the woman behind the shield wall stood up again with several of her compatriots.

  At ten feet I started to slow my progress

  At five, I realized I had been running too fast. I wouldn’t be able to stop before I ran right past the spike.

  This time a flight of meteors rose majestically from behind the shield wall. A few laser-like bolts of energy, something like lightening moving sideways, flew from behind the shield wall. It all homed in on me. I heard the lightening crackle in the air and felt my hair stand on end as I went into a skid and slid the remaining five feet, grabbing the spike with both hands to stop my descent.

  The skin in my palms ripped painfully. I looked for a place to hide and saw none, just the hammer and the spike. I knew I would die then – no matter what I did, those things were going to fry me, just as they had the Dwarf. I grabbed up the heavy hammer as quickly as I could, rolled onto my feet, and lifted it. I groaned under the weight - it must have been fifty pounds - the leather-wrapped handle soaking in my blood. One moment for a look, the first of the meteors closed in from about ten yards from me, the rest not far behind. I swung the hammer down with all of the strength I could bring to bear. I felt it start to slip in my bloody hands, but the head came down true on the spike and buried it into the mountainside.

  I felt the ground shift and I fell. The first of the meteors blasted the place where I had just been. I threw the heavy hammer and reached for my sword. The electrical bolts homed in on that huge piece of iron, making it dance on the ground like a marionette until the energy from the lightening incinerated it. Even as I tried to scramble to my knees the ground slid under me again and I had to roll instead, becoming a part of the avalanche meant to bury the opposing army. I heard a distant rumble that told me that the other Dwarf had taken his signal. At least, I thought to myself, I wouldn’t die in vain.

  I continued to slide, the meteors landing all around me. Red-hot shrapnel from one scored my left arm and chest, burning my shirt. I tried to roll over onto the flame and succeeded in falling faster after the avalanche. I dug the toes of my boots into the dirt and pried at my sword with bloody hands, hoping I could withdraw it and dig it into the ground. Unfortunately, moving faster and faster, I couldn’t find a way to bend my body and get leverage on the sword over my shoulder. There was no way to pull the thing out of its sheath.

  A hand as hard as steel pushed through the choking dust and clamped onto my injured shoulder, pulling me to one side. Another found my ankle. I must have been passing by the barricade – the Dwarves that had scattered before must have come back for me! I felt incredible pain as they dragged me across the falling earth, unable to help and barely to see through the growing dust storm as the mountain came apart. This went on for several seconds, then an explosion shook us all and both hands vanished. I rolled to my left against the avalanche, sensing its momentum building, and pried the sword loose from its scabbard. Stabbing it into the ground beneath me, feeling my hands slip on the hilt, I hung on and shut my eyes against the flying grit, waiting to see if I would live or die.

  The ground shook and I heard a horrendous screaming. The blade whined a protest in my hand, digging deeper into the shifting debris. I turned the blade sideways, endangering the point, half-sure that the thing would bend or break in half from the strain, digging it into the ground to slow my descent. Finally it struck something that wouldn’t give and I stopped moving. I was helpless, waiting for the last of the meteors to find me. I kept my eyes shut, the seconds passing like hours, dust choking my and fighting for air, until the roar began.

  I opened them and was immediately sorry. The dust and grit had me blinking and my eyes watering. I rubbed my face on my shirt, knowing that would make it worse, not better. Dirt and blood covered me. I coughed once, gasped, breathed in more dirt and then started coughing again. Finally I just surrendered to the pain and, blinking furiously, coughing and spitting out dirt and debris, tried to look around.

  When my vision cleared I saw the Dwarves engaging possibly half their number in armed and unarmed Dorkan soldiers to one side of the valley. The Men were having the worst of it, unable to coordinate a defense while the Dwarves, coming in as a phalanx and roaring their battle cries, were systematically trapping and killing them. The valley itself was awash with rocks, dirt and bodies. Some still moved, though weakly. The Dorkans still fighting must have either been smart enough to get out of harm’s way or not quite bright enough to get into the original battle formation. I could believe either.

  Every muscle ached and the dust rising from what once had been a bowl choked me. I stood with difficulty and had a look around. I still held onto my sword, though loosely. I could see the stallion up the mountainside, obviously trying to pick a path down. Above and to my right I could see the bodies of four Dwarves, probably those whose hands I had felt when they tried to save me from the avalanche. Apparently the missiles meant for me had found them instead. Fire and lightening had scorched and rutted the ground around me, the new mountainside revealed from beneath the old looking much worse for its wear. I had lived somehow, through the efforts of valiant Dwarves who had given their lives, knowingly or otherwise, to try to save me.

  All I had were guilty feelings of relief that someone else had died instead of me. I kept reminding myself that I had helped the Dwarves in their battle, but survivor’s remorse still haunted me.

  As the battle raged below me, I started the slow climb up the mountainside to keep my horse from breaking a leg trying to reach me.

  Chapter Five

  In the Dwarven Nation

  The ax came in low and to the inside. I stepped back and parried down, against the handle rather than the blade, absorbing its power and damaging the weapon. My opponent switched his grip and swung the heavy blade around his back and high for an overhead smash.

>   I stepped back and struck the side of the ax with my sword, upsetting his balance. I moved too quickly for him to recover before my sword pressed his throat.

  “Gaak!” he choked, dropping the wooden weapon. I dropped mine as well.

  “Pull your hits, you clumsy Man,” Hrrech complained, rubbing his throat. He was right. I would have killed him had we been using real weapons instead of these wooden ones.

  Of course, that was the idea. Hrrech had been introduced to me as the Dwarven Master at Arms. It surprised me when I had heard the term; in the Navy, the MAA served as the “ship’s cop,” the same as here. Hrrech had supposedly mastered every weapon in the armory, which he maintained with about ten Dwarves.

  After about a week he couldn’t match me. I marveled at how bad these Dwarven warriors fought. Still, they had only lost about eight men against the Dorkans, and half of them defending me, so they had to be doing something right. Fighting Hrrech with my Sword of War or without it, my reach extended longer, my touch lighter, my body moved faster and I prevailed time and again.

  I had learned a lot, though. I didn’t doubt that, in a fight with another Man, or Uman, I would have a chance of staying alive. I had also started learning how to use my bow better, how to use a crossbow, a little about mining and metallurgy and a lot about geography.

  “Sorry,” I told Hrrech. He took my forearm in his hand, and I took his. This is what passed for a handshake here. I looked into his deep, brown eyes. The Simple People remained as hard inside as the stone they dug their tunnels through. Hrrech especially so.

  “Nah,” he said, “I had it coming.” Together, we put the weapons away and swept up the room.