Once he and his assistants finished that introductory segment which covered far more material than the main point, a task made harder by the need to hop over the occasional pair of fairies who rolled under them while wrestling over a notable historical figure, the criterion for victory somewhat unclear, Aptezor asked the queen if she was satisfied as to the background. She reflected and gave her judgment. “Egille is very impressive, but we will accept nothing less than Hacanthu. Now continue.”
That set off more contests for that famous name among fairies who had waited in the event Ydridd wanted it, but nothing that impaired a primer on the structure of the confederacy and the widespread employment of condottieri to wage wars between member states or smaller legal entities, whether a bank, an association of jewelers, or an especially rich man with a grudge.
“That is what we require,” Ydridd affirmed. “A condottiero.”
From there, the route was clear for Aptezor to explain the Coarse Hasp War and the comments the involved commanders had made about warfare. He genuinely believed that. What he forgot was that fairies practiced primitive forms of information transmission such as gossip and waiting for a bard to pass by. The modern system of reporters and thinkers who filled publications issued at regular schedules (if the manager liked his job) which printers produced and transportation networks distributed over hundreds of miles was as alien to fairies as loyalty was to subjects of Yean Defiafi who changed their class in response to comments from their aunts suggestive of imminent penury.
The Amlizen Crier's correspondent in Iflarent's Hideout fortuitously happened to have made a study of the history of his profession, deeming such knowledge essential to the proper execution of his duties. Even the second-most conscientious reporter in the GE might have laughed to hear that, if a bit anxiously, as if reconsidering his own dedication. Aptezor's thorough account left the fairies entirely certain that they no longer cared. He was a paid gossiper, a highly respectable occupation, and that satisfied them. It was time for a war, preferably a messy one, described by someone who knew something about it, and Aptezor qualified.
He related the causes both patent and suspected in brief, since fairies and the Crier's readers aligned in their desire for context: They wanted to have it, but not to dwell on it. The personalities he gave more detail. Aptezor belonged to the school which tied the maneuvers and decisions of the armies to the varying characters of their condottieri in the preferred style of most broadsheets and fairies.
Mr. Zidenk belonged to the Distorter class. Its enigmatic abilities defied comprehension on the part of its practitioners as much as by everyone else, and Zidenk did not dispute the opinion of the typical condottiero-follower that his tactics possessed the same unpredictable tendency. Far from that, he exaggerated his own eccentricity by letting his hair, now gray, grow long and wavy and by wearing unconventional clothing such as fur coats and pants dyed to present one continuous color, yellow for instance. The more analytical type saw through that and told everyone amenable to such lectures that in every matter of logistics, strategy, and tactics he took an unfailingly orthodox approach. Zidenk's interviews, while ornamented with improbable anecdotes such as the occasion he directed a battle from inside a well, revealed a practical outlook not much given to extravagance in conception.
The Blue Tiger's nickname indicated her class. While many Tiger Knights existed, few of their tiger partners had the blue tinge to their fur which hers displayed, a point of pride both to her and the tiger itself, which suffered skeptics to examine it thoroughly for signs of artificial coloration never yet found. By that nickname alone was she known, the proper one her parents chose lost in her mysterious past.
“Public records state unambiguously that she is Marag Saobensir, the wife of Baron Estagol Ikpikleskir, but when both the subject and the reading public prefer for us to call her something else, we accommodate them,” Aptezor explained.
“We understand that and approve fully.” Ydridd, who at last needed no explanation on a point of modern culture, said that while she bore the expression of a conqueror about to grant clemency to the defeated ruler, knowing how sharply the insult of considering him no threat to her rule will prick him.
Tiger Knights, in the common condottieri-following wisdom, comprehended the importance of outnumbering the opposition but often failed to ensure they actually did, deceived by the constant presence of their tigers into doubling the numbers of all their troops subconsciously. “The common wisdom is correct,” Blue Tiger admitted to the reporter, “but I have never so far failed to complete the terms of a contract on account of it.” She went on to emphasize the importance of negotiating contracts so that they rewarded performance unrelated to the outcome of the conflict at hand. As much as every condottiera desired to collect famous victories as others did coins, experience taught her that the attainment of such often was frustrated by external factors, most saliently the employing entity itself. The event proved the justice of her observation, since her city decided to yield to Zidenk's without his winning a pitched contest or so much as, in her opinion, achieving a meaningful advantage in position.
This book is hosted on another platform. Read the official version and support the author's work.
Condottieri wars occurred frequently, and among them, the Coarse Hasp War stood out in no way whatever. The most Dirant was confident in saying was that he recalled some friends telling him what a risk was taken in hiring the erratic Zidenk Geshtilk. Taomenk for his part had missed it entirely. Even for Aptezor, a man professionally involved with the incident, the result of chief significance was a note the Blue Tiger sent to him afterward thanking him for describing her in his articles as comely, “a term gratifying to have applied to oneself but not something susceptible to condemnation on grounds of exaggeration to the point of dishonesty.” She professed that Baron Estagol had begun using the compliment, so apposite did he find it.
As unimpressive as the war seemed to the Adaban, the fairies had no defense against its allure, much like the visitor to an archaeological site who out of inexperience marvels at the remaining fragments of a mosaic, each of them smaller than his thumb, even as the university backing the expedition calls in the organizer to explain why funding ought to continue in the face of such meager results. Challengers vying for one venerable name or another ceased their contests and immediately resumed them on a different basis, that being who got to be the blue tiger (the tiger itself; the existence of a blue one struck fairies as odd to the same degree as it did humans) while eager participants in the long-running Hacanthu conflicts looked back on their mighty battles and saw them as pitiful things which shamed the participants.
“We have decided. Aptezor is my general. You no longer need your last name. You and you will serve as his captains. Gelfid may do as she wishes, with our gratitude.” Ydridd would have returned to her throne to signal the finality of her decision except that the earlier problems persisted.
“Miss Gelfid and I are the same class.” General Aptezor meant that as justification. His captains had been unable to persuade him none was necessary. They understood.
The plan they had devised gave them the best chance of resolving the situation in the most favorable manner for the participants they wanted to succeed. They still thought that. Their opinions as to the likelihood of carrying it out, however, shifted toward the pessimistic at every step. Fairies were still fairies, after all, and the enthusiasm inspired in them by the retelling of the tempestuous Coarse Hasp War which conferred a willingness to act slightly soldier-like was already fading. Aptezor did manage to get his fairies to stand in a line because of a firmer hand and, if not confidence in his martial acumen, less obvious aversion to the affairs of the spear. He had not yet learned what a momentous achievement that was.
The officers had quickly dismissed as infeasible the plan which appealed to them the most, that of cultivating the army's loyalty as the first step toward overthrowing Ydridd and installing a government more responsive to the citizenry and constituted from its members provided they met the qualifications of having attained a minimum rank of captain. Aside from the immediate benefits, Takki, when she was found, might have appreciated the homage to her homeland's history.
The second proposal combined practicality with an estimation of the fairy character as revealed through personal interaction. “Suppose the war comes to a successful conclusion in a deliberate manner bereft of flair,” Dirant posited. He and his colleagues were making use of the cabin the queen had bestowed on them for use as a headquarters. The window which looked across the lake at the castle was best avoided, they discovered, on the grounds that it reduced them to stares of awe. “If a condottiero must be your model, make him Kelnsolt Aradetnaf. By this method we may avoid the probable outcome of an exciting campaign wherein the queen immediately sets us some other task to forestall boredom. Instead she will I hope send us on our way while at the same time permitting us to hire her fairies for your tunnel, Mr. Taomenk.”
“That's foresight, Mr. Dirant,” the engineer approved. “Winning it, though. That's the wall.”
“I see no especial reason for confidence,” Aptezor said. “I'm not converted into a real general because a fairy insists I have to be one, and there are no military texts here for me to study.”
“Your skepticism, or rather the high intellect which is its source, adds to my confidence we will accomplish an escape from our predicament. Now I must impose upon you gentlemen to entertain the reasons for optimism I wish to put forward.” They indicated a willingness to do so by anticipatory looks.
“Among them there is the matter of the combat experience we have which, while smaller than the pearl produced by a very inferior oyster, is nevertheless worth more than the pebble Miss Gelfid offers, and that is not an insult to her.” There was an impeccably honest yet deceptive quality to that “we,” encompassing as it did both Aptezor and Dirant without requiring him to divulge the story of his own conquest, which he had no desire to do. “The other generals are likely to be of a similar type, since so far as we know, the fairies are simply grabbing people who arrive here via the distortion near Ividottlof, a region not renowned for military accomplishment. There is of course one exception, if the fairies are able to perceive it.”
“On that point, Mr. Dirant, would you be opposed to informing the public what emotions you expect to feel should we encounter your friend Mr. Medant in the field?”
Dirant smiled, whereupon Taomenk said, “Ah, I perceive it now. Admittedly, I am slow in these matters. A proclamation converts a reporter into a general no more than it makes strangers enemies.”
“It is so. The fairies are the obstacle far more than the generals, whom we must win over to our side or join ourselves according to the specifics. As for the troops, we may hope ours are enough for theirs, and there is one circumstance which may be of assistance. I came across during my education a collection of rituals which purport to affect fairies.”
That conversation had sufficed to let Aptezor see about his army with some degree of assurance. A day later he was making excuses based on his Functionary class and requesting that his Ritualist captain do his job already, though not of course so peremptorily as that. Dirant's personal sense of responsibility was not as delicate, and obeying its insistent commands, he prepared a corner of the training ground using tools and components requisitioned from the queen's treasury.