Indomitus Est (The Fovean Chronicles) by Brady Robert

Author:Brady, Robert [Brady, Robert]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Robert W. Brady, Jr.
Published: 2007-02-06T23:00:00+00:00

Mare’s milk can be fermented into an alcoholic brew that men can get drunk on. The Mongols of my world drank it with blood before and after battles. Having tasted it, I had no doubt in my mind why the rest of the world feared them. Frankly, if I had to choose between drinking that and sucking the perspiration from my socks to stay alive, I would take a long, hard look at my socks.

I gagged on the first draught, as did Nantar, though less so. Thorn seemed to like the stuff, and the rest of the men laughed at me.

There were hundreds of warriors in the tribe, the Long Manes. We saw a whole army of kids as well. I counted five stallions kept apart from the herd of mares, and two bulls that each had an equal number of cows around them. Thorn managed to remark to me that this must be a very wealthy tribe.

They gave us their drink when we got there, leaving a sour milk taste in my mouth. Men and women both crowded around Nantar and Blizzard and me. The huge stallion reacted by stomping his metal-shod feet in warning, tossing his head and neighing until all but the least timid stepped back. One older man who claimed to be an expert horse-trainer got bit and another had his foot stepped on before they all decided to admire from a distance.

The kids swarmed Nantar like he was Santa. They tugged at his beard and squealed in delight as he lifted them by twos and threes with one hand. The dark warrior in red seemed in his element, that much seemed obvious.

I had to remind myself what this man could do with a sword.

Next came a trial at arms. I would have avoided it if I could have, but Thorn warned me both that anyone who could tame a horse like Blizzard must be an expert warrior, and then the men would expect to test themselves against him. Some of the longhaired bucks looking to prove themselves had already queued up at the stone circle as Kills lead me there.

We fought with swords first, and I kept on my armor. We fought to first blood – never mind that the Sword of War could cut a man in half. One fellow got a few scars that had to be stitched and another who kicked sand into my face received a scratch down his ribs, right through his leather breastplate, when he stepped in too soon after the maneuver. After that they all poked and prodded at the Dwarven armor but no one wanted to fight with swords anymore.

Then came fist fighting, my first love. I stripped off my armor with Nantar’s help as a huge buck with black hair down to his waist stepped into the circle with me, grimacing and flexing and smiling to the women. He stood almost as tall and almost as heavy as I, his brown eyes flashing and his nose almost hawk-like.

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