Indomitus Est (The Fovean Chronicles) by Robert Brady

caught one of their men about a mile from the camp, but he didn’t tell me very much.  Then I killed him and hid the body.”
         Kvitch nodded.  “It isn’t every Man who will side against his own with Dwarves, you know.”
         “They aren’t my own,” I told him.  “Besides, I’m getting paid.”
         Kvitch smiled and clapped me on my shoulder, standing.  “That you are, my friend.  If two hundred Dwarves are a match for two thousand Dorkans and thirty spell-casters, that is.  They will be to the center of the army, of course, born on litters.  It is important to take them out first.  How good are you with a bow?”
         I had to mull over “spell-casters.”  “Awful,” I said, half-heartedly.  “I was just practicing.  Broke one arrow and missed with all of the others.”
         “Well, Dwarves aren’t archers.  We have a few crossbows among us, but those are more for close range.  If you can hit even one of the Wizards, then that is one less to worry about.  Once they are under attack they will draw their army around them and weave their spells.  That is when those of us with no protection from their magic will suffer.”
         That caught my attention.  “Are you sure of that?  Them drawing their army around the wizards?”
         Kvitch nodded.  “Standard tactic for any Wizard.  They will be perfectly happy to kill the men they hire to keep themselves alive.  They’ll do heavier damage in the beginning of the battle, then use their troops for clean up.”
         I looked back towards the rising mountains, beautiful in the noon sun.  I indicated them with my jaw.  “How well do you know those mountains?”
         Kvitch snorted.  “You need to ask?”
         I smiled.  “Not anymore.  Well, my friend, I think that it is time for your army to beat its swords into plowshares.”
         Kvitch just looked at me.
     
         We kept busy that day.  When Kvitch heard my idea he marveled at its simplicity.  He called his Dwarves out of the hills and explained it to them, then we marched back into the mountain until dusk and most of us had an early night’s sleep, while other Dwarves (those not standing guard) drew sketches in the sand and argued.
         That night I actually slept in a bedroll.  I resolved not to give it back.  The stallion, the tallest being there, stood near me and cropped scrub grass where he could find it.  I fed him a few of the nutritional bars that I had left and watered him.  I promised him that I would get him to a meadow sometime soon, though I didn’t know how.
         The next morning we were awake early and working.  I had nothing to do but practice with my arrows and watch.  The stallion wandered close by, obviously intent on seeing this through with me.
         The previous day we had worked hard to cover his tracks, while working harder to make as many Dwarf tracks as we could.  We wanted to be found, of course, but horse tracks would put the enemy on their guard.
         The dust from their column warned us about two hours past midday.  I found it hard not to have a watch to tell time with, but I adapted.  I doubted that “an hour” would mean anything to the people here.  With imprecise time measuring, they would be more likely to speak in days, weeks, and moons, half-days or some such.  I had yet to find a sign of coffee or anything resembling coffee, and that wasn’t funny, at least not to me.  While Dwarven scouts ran off to gage the approach of the enemy and the rest of them cleaned up and got ready, I debated whether it would be worth the effort to slap myself awake.
         “What is the matter with you,” Kvitch asked me.  I sat on a rock, looking bleary-eyed at the sunrise.  With no caffeine jolt to wake me I had to fight the urge to pretend I had a snooze alarm, and then to pretend that I had just hit it.
         “Groggy,” I said.  “I’m not a