Summa Elvetica: Chapter Five
Mar. 2nd, 2026 06:29 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
masterghandalfThis is a repost from Das_Sporking2; previous installments of this sporking may be found here.
Warning: This chapter contains discussion of a battle, including violence and deaths, as well as reference to slavery.
I recently posted an update over on my journal about my current progress in some of my own fiction writing. If you’re interested, check it out here. Thank you!
MG: Well, everyone, it’s time to continue our journey through Vox Day’s Summa Elvetica! Last time, the company set out from Amorr on its way to visit the elves, Marcus ruminated pompously, we got a lot of exposition on the Michaelines dropped on us, and we were introduced to a racist genocidal maniac named Serranus, who delivered a lot more exposition. Yaaay. Today, we continue on our journey and, because we’re still a way off from actually making it to the elven lands, we get yet more exposition. Joining us today will be Errezha and Calassara!
IA Q. VII A. I ARG. IV
Errezha: And of course, we start off with yet another “Latin” epigraph, because those have been so exciting so far…
Praeterea, homo in Die Sexto creatus sunt. In ordine naturae qui in narratione Creationis descriptus, perfectius praestat. Ergo homo est perfectior quam aelvi. Tum, perfectissima res animae estseparatio ab corpore, quod in illa re similior Dei angelorumque, et purior, quod separatur ab ulla aliena substantia. Quandoquidem non aeque perfecti atque homines, aelvi ulterius quam homines ab perfectissima re animae. Ergo aelvi habent animae naturaliter sibi unita.
Errezha: …supposedly all of this is going to make sense eventually. Like Calassara, I have my doubts. We open with Marcus, grousing that the rest was short but at least he’s eaten and drank now; we’re told the stream they’ve stopped at flows down from some hills they hope to reach by nightfall, home to a monastery they intend to stop at – and beyond the hills lie the elven lands. Zephanus, who is apparently already dripping, tells Marcus and Marcipor to douse their heads in the stream before they go on; they do as the stentorian roar of the Michaeline captain orders everyone to mount back up; Marcipor wonders if it will keep insects off, and Marcus thinks it will until you dry off and start to sweat again, to which Marcipor responds he just won’t do that then, ha ha.
Calassara: Being able to consciously control one’s own sweat does sound like a useful skill, no? At least a point of conversation at parties! Well, Marcus admits he’s been getting along with Zephanus, and Marcipor tells him about who he’s been talking with, Ecclesiastus and Habbakus who are of Tedes descent like him (I thought Marcipor was Savondese? Are Tedes and Savondese synonymous, then?) though Ecclesiastus is an Amorran citizen on his father’s side. This surprises Marcus because he doesn’t look Amorran (what he does look like isn’t specified), though Macripor corrects him that his father is a citizen, not actually of the city… he was from Elkos, I think.
MG: Hmmm. On the one hand, a rare point in Beale’s corner for acknowledging that a person can be an Amorran citizen without being ethnically Amorran or “looking” Amorran, as was absolutely true in historical Rome. On the other hand, I have to side-eye that he presents there as being such a thing as an “Amorran look” at all. The actual Rome seems to have always been a melting pot, founded at the intersection of several of ancient Italy’s ethnic and political groups – there was never a distinctively “Roman” ethnicity, much less a distinctively “Roman” look (based on artwork, Romans seem to have had a variety of appearances, skin tones, etc. – and really, asking “what color were the Romans/Greeks/Egyptians etc.” is a wrongheaded and anachronistic way of looking at things, because there was a lot of trade, resettlement and intermarriage around the ancient Mediterranean and most of these peoples seem to have had a fair bit of variety), though I do, sadly, think it’s very telling of Beale that he’d assume there was. See here for a much more detailed discussion. Again, if Amorr was an entirely fictional culture I wouldn’t be bothered by this, but Beale makes it such a blatant expy of Rome that he’s the one who invites the comparison.
Errezha: Marcipor in turn asks about Lodi (calling him an old billy-goat – and on the one hand, goats are short, bearded and stubborn, so it’s not an inappropriate comparison, but considering Lodi is a slave, comparing him to an animal at all is rather uncomfortable, even if Marcipor is also a slave) and after Marcus confirms he’s holding up as well as to be expected the two banter a bit. They’re interrupted as Zephanus and, Prince of Laws preserve us all, Serranus come riding back over. Zephanus approving notes they followed his advice and dunked their heads, while Serranus says that “The Order of Saint Michael wishes to express its gratitude to House Valerius for its meritorious service on behalf of this humble priest.” Which is an extremely pompous way of thanking Marcus for sharing his wine. Serranus has filled the wineskin back up with water from the stream, comments again on the wine’s quality and admits that he hogged it all and didn’t share any with Zephanus. And so now that he’s rested and… lubricated… Serranus is read to explain more about elves and how they fight. Joy. He does tell Marcipor, who stifles a yawn, that he doesn’t have to listen if he doesn’t want to. My sympathies at this point lie wholly with Marcipor.
Calassara: Well, let’s see what new “wisdom” Serranus has to drop for us now, shall we? First off, Serranus would like to tell us about himself. At tedious length.
“Well then, as you correctly surmised, in my youth I did not march with the legions. I marched under the banner of the King of Savonderum. In the summer of my fifteenth year, my father died and my elder brother inherited our little farm. He wished to marry, and I wished both to see the world and avoid living under my brother’s patriarchy, so it seemed a propitious time to depart.
“I quickly learned that I had no skills that commanded more than a pittance, since the only work available was the sort of work I’d thought to leave behind at the farm. But I was a big lad, and on the third day after I’d left the ancestral village I met a man in a pub who was recruiting for a company of wardogs.
“He said the Red Prince was planning a campaign to teach the cursed elves a lesson. It was something to do with the Collegium Occludum, if I recall correctly, but I wasn’t listening closely since my only interest was in the notion of a monthly wage. Plus, I’d wanted to see the world, and marching through it with a sword in my hand accompanied by a band of armed men seemed to be a reasonable way to do it.
“So, I made my X on what the recruiter told me was a contract that ran only through the harvest, and thought myself rather clever for it when he generously agreed to pay for the next two rounds.” He grinned at Marcus. “Not the wisest move I’ve ever made.”
Calassara: And indeed, even Marcus agrees that an illiterate farmer’s son signing a contract he can’t read isn’t the sort of thing that usually ends well! And, in fact, the contract was an indenture where Serranus sold his body (that phrasing has… other implication, in my experience…) to Captain Hilderus of the Bloody Crows and was given a spear that was apparently barely more than a pointed stick in return.
“The Savonders make war in the strangest fashion. Their king doesn’t want the expense of a standing army, but he doesn’t want to become too dependent upon the great lords, either. So while he provides the engineers, the mages, and perhaps a third of the heavy cavalry, the nobles provide the other two thirds.
“The infantry is a haphazard collection of royal levies taken from wherever the king chooses, land levies taken from the estates of the great and lesser lords, and the ‘auxiliaries,’ which are simply whatever mercenary companies happen to hear that the king wants men. So,there’s a fair number of captains who make a living turning foolish young farm boys into corpses every summer.
“Only two weeks later I found myself marching with the rest of the Crows under the banner of a baron from the other side of Savondum. The baron—his name was Gourgaud, if I recall correctly—was charged with capturing a group of elven raiders that had been burning farms near Voyence.
MG: I’m compelled to note that in IRL Europe, the sort of feudal political and military system that Serranus is describing here rose out of the disintegration first of the Western Roman Empire and then was codified after the collapse of the Carolingian Empire several centuries later. Which just makes having Savondir (an expy of medieval France) and Amorr (an expy of the Roman Republic) next to each other all the more jarring (and yes, we see Savondir directly in the series proper and it’s very clearly medieval France, not a pre-Roman Gaulish polity). Again, wouldn’t be as much of an issue if Beale wasn’t making his inspirations so damned obvious…
Errezha: I’ll take your word for it. In any case, Serranus gives a blow-by-blow of the battle that I won’t weary you with, but to make a long story short, the elves lured the Baron’s forces, including the Bloody Crows, into an ambush and pelted them with arrows from a distance. Serranus gives us a lovely description of the sound of arrows impacting flesh, and describes how since most of the company were so poorly armored they went down quite easily while he felt like a powerless spectator. Then the elves retreated, the baron ordered his men to charge after them, and of course it was a trap. The elves lured the humans into a cleft and pinned them there, loosing arrows on them from above, killing hundreds of soldiers, including two-thirds of the Crows. Serranus only survived because he hid under a fallen tree and hated himself for doing so, vowing to God that if he came out of this alive he’d go home and be a better man. Marcus, understandably, thinks that must be how Serranus became a priest, but apparently not – Serranus claims that is a story for another time. I would also say that him becoming a better man is not much in evidence, all things considered.
Calassara: Quite. And hmm, so far it seems that this supposed “expert” doesn’t have a very successful record fighting elves, does he? Except he claims that after that disaster the Baron did go on to beat that very same group of long-eared devils – I beg your pardon! – asks if Marcus can figure out how. Marcus isn’t sure; he assumes they must have trapped the elves in turn, but he’s not sure how, especially if the elves had a battlemage who was likely better than any sorcerer the baron would’ve had, and a well-trained elven force could move faster in the forest than Savonder (Savondese?) cavalry could. Serranus agrees that all elves are well-trained due to how much experience they can build up, and the average elf is more than a match for the average human one-on-one. *preens* However, he also claims that this leads elves to have a very particular weakness – hubris. *beat* Much as it pains me, I can’t really argue with that one.
Errezha: Marcus is confused, since he thought it was good for soldiers to take pride in their service and by the Prince, boy, I know you’re not as smart as Beale wants us to think you are, but I didn’t think you were that much of a fool! Serranus agrees with me – urgh – that there is a difference between pride in one’s service that can lead one to stand one’s ground, which is good, and pride that leads one to despise and underestimate the enemy, which is a dangerous flaw. Zephanus asks how the elven commander despised the baron and how that helped the baron beat him, which just feels like incredibly awkward set-up for Serranus to continue blathering at us. And Serranus rebukes him, since he only wants Marcus’s opinion. *rolls her eyes* Ah, yes, Zephanus, don’t forget that there is a main character here, and it is not you! Marcus concludes that the elf assumed the baron was beaten and he could keep attacking him with impunity. He admits in the baron’s place he probably would have fallen back to more defensible territory where he could hold the elves off, but he guesses the baron didn’t do that.
Calassara: Serranus asks what Marcus would do if he had to keep the elves from withdrawing – beg pardon, but from the depiction of this battle so far, it doesn’t sound like the elves were withdrawing! They pretended to once, but it was a feint! Marcus wants to know where they were withdrawing to, and Serranus says they were from Merethain and the baron knew it, since the High King doesn’t risk his fighters on petty raids, and I suppose if I knew more about the situation in Selenoth that might make sense to me. Fortunately, Marcus decides this is time for an extended reflection on a map he’s familiar with:
Marcus tried to remember his geography. He could almost picture the scroll upon which a detailed map of Savonderum had been painstakingly inked. He remembered it had a red border that ran the length of the scroll and the ornate compass on the bottom left had two animal heads facing east and west. A wolf and a unicorn?
He forced his mind’s memory to travel north from the compass, up past the very road from Amorr they were currently riding, but east of the mountains that within days would appear in the distance to block their path. The eastern half of Savonderum consisted of flat, rich-soiled plans that produced the kingdom’s wealth. But the west was covered by the hills and forests that led to the Elflands and the savage wilds.
There were no large cities in the west, for the land would not support it. Only small towns and villages scattered haphazardly over the hillsides. In the south, the border was relatively open and was marked by a large lake that devolved into the marshes inhabited by the swamp goblins and a few degenerate orc tribes.
In the north, however, the hills swelled into proper mountains, through which only a small number of high country passes might offer transit for a force the size Serranus had described. It was through one of these that the withdrawing elven raiders could have been relied upon to use as they returned to Merithaim and safety.
Calassara: I wonder at the phrase “his mind’s memory” and am curious what other kind of memory Marcus may have… But Marcus guesses that the baron retreated back to his home territory and then sent his cavalry to intercept the elves as they tried to return home through the passes, where they dismounted and fought as heavy infantry protected from arrows by their armor. Which is apparently something like what happened, though Serranus points out the baron only had a hundred knights and asks how he knew which pass the elves would take; Marcus wonders if he guessed and got lucky, but Serranus says that wasn’t it. Lodi then chimes in, pointing out that Serranus was there and he wasn’t a knight. Marcus realizes he got it backwards – the baron force-marched his infantry to the passes and divided them and used his cavalry to harry the elves into the infantry’s spears. And so Serranus confirms that is indeed what happened, going once again into far too much detail about the forced march, and how deadly the elves were even outnumbered when they were driven into the waiting infantry. Finally, the elves fell back and the infantry waited for the cavalry to catch up to force battle.
Errezha: In any case the cavalry were slow to approach, as heavily armored as they were, and the elves’ mage managed to signal their warhawks, a term which is apparently extremely literal.
“It had wings more than four perticae wide and a beak that could crush a man’s head like a seed. But the real danger was its rider. I later learned that only sorcerers are permitted to be sky riders, so I didn’t know to take cover when the bird dove down at us. I can still remember he was wearing some sort of leathers covered with fur—I suppose it must get cold so high in the sky—and he threw a ball of fire at us just as he swept past.
“It was fire from hell, it must have been, because it wasn’t like a normal fire that burns away a man’s clothes before his flesh. This magefire no sooner touched a man than it burned right through him. I was lucky: it barely singed my left arm. But four others died screaming within seconds.”
Errezha: And indeed, Serranus feels the need to show off the burn scar on his arm, to Marcus’s horror. His eyes shot to the two elves riding ahead of them. What madness it seemed to court the ire of these inhuman devils. And yet, was it not equally unthinkable to suffer them to live proudly in their high mountains, scorning both God and the kingdoms of man with their dark, demonic magics? *narrows her eyes* One might think that a youth from so belligerent an empire, son and nephew of great generals, might be more aware of just how terrible and destructive war can be. Or is it that the elves use magic in battle that offends you so, instead of meeting you on the field like real men? *rolls her eyes in disgust* Spare me. Apparently, it’s indeed the latter, as Marcus then stops to consider whether, as a Church philosopher named Brutus Giordunus once wrote, magic is merely a morally neutral tool like a sword, its morality determined by the use to which it is put. He wonders if elven magic merely appears as terrible to the Amorrans as the strength of Amorr’s own walls appears to barbarians who see them for the first time – but then considers that Giordunus never saw elven battle magic (do you know that for sure?) while Serranus did, and who would know the truth of the matter better than the warriors of Saint Michael? Perhaps the mage hunters aren’t the most objective on the subject of mages, have you considered that?
Calassara: Well, in any case we abandon that topic as Serranus returns to the battle. The baron saw the sky rider land, communicate with the elves on the ground, and fly west looking for reinforcements. He had his cavalry dismount, strip off their armor, and march as quickly as possible with only their shields as protection from arrows. They lost a number of men marching up the pass, while Serranus’s infantry took some of the pressure off by throwing rocks at the elves from above. Finally, they were able to hit the elves from both sides, and though the battle was vicious, in the end we killed every long-lived devil on that mountain. *taken aback* Is… is Beale aware that most battles don’t end in the complete annihilation of every living thing on the enemy’s side? Most armies will break long before they take such casualties – what exactly was motivating this level of bloodlust, seemingly on both sides, as both forces kept fighting after having taken massive casualties? But, having finished his story, Serranus draws his sword.
It was a longsword, but it was not the Amorran cavalryman’s blade Marcus was expecting. It was a thin, delicately engraved sword with the famous blued edge that indicated its elven heritage.
Marcus heard himself gasp in chorus with Marcipor. Even Lodi grunted with surprise. Few had ever laid eyes on an elvensword except in battle. The few captured blades that weren’t claimed by kings and great lords on the battlefield were usually purchased by their agents within weeks of their whereabouts being discovered. Moreover, the length of these blades precluded them being used by any Amorran soldier who fought with the legions on foot.
Errezha: Serranus admits he took if off a prettily-togged devil who killed the captain and several others before Serranus stuck his spear in his mouth (how… pleasant); a sergeant then finished him off and took the armor, but Serranus got to keep the sword, and he’s had it ever since. He claims it’s not magical, but it’s a fine weapon nonetheless. And then he runs his finger lovingly down the edge, because there’s nothing at all suggestive about a man lovingly stroking his sword *Calassara giggles loudly; Errezha ignores her*. However, while everyone is busy admiring the sword – oh dear – they don’t notice one of the elven riders approaching, clearly furious. Serranus instinctively raises the blade when he sees him, and Marcus gets out of the way, but the elf is just here to talk. He demands to know how Serranus dares bear that weapon, and if this wasn’t a formal embassy I would flay the flesh from your bones this very day, cursed human! My, my. Is Beale determined to make everyone unbearably racist? I get quite enough of that at home!
Calassara: Considering what manner of things this author apparently believes in real life – do you have to ask? Serranus and the elf glare at each other, and Serranus finally says he bears it by right of having helped kill its previous wielder and asks who the elf is and why he’s so offended. The elf in turn glares silently for a long time, until his ears twitch angrily and he finally speaks in a cold voice. “My name is Fáelán u Flann. I am cousin to King Mael. That sword was forged as a name-day gift for my sister’s son, the High Lord Cathan u Treasach. Rest assured, Blessed Sir, I shall contest your claim to it, and soon. Thank your dead god that I do not do so this day.” Fáelán then turns and rides off, leaving Serranus to stare after him as he goes and Zephanus to bury his face in his hands. *thoughtful* Yes, this does seem like a diplomatic incident in the making – I wonder who vetted Serranus for this mission? Marcus is left wondering if, caught between Serranus and Fáelán, he’ll even survive a week into this mission (considering you’re the main character of this book and, I believe, a major character in the actual series… I think you’ll be fine, actually) and then quite symbolically the sun starts to go down and the shadows lengthen as the chapter comes to an end.
MG: The biggest problem with this chapter is that a lot of it honestly feels like a repeat of last chapter, with more traveling and more exposition. Yaaay. The good news is that we spend a lot less time dwelling on Amorran imperialism and hypocrisy this time around. The bad news is that most of the chapter is taken up with Serranus telling war stories, and while ostensibly this is relevant because it’s more on the theme of “what are elves like and how do they fight?” the truth is that it’s mostly a blow-by-blow account of what is, in the grand scheme of things, seemingly a pretty minor skirmish mostly irrelevant to the overall plot in which Serranus himself was, except at the very end, mostly unimportant, and IMO it doesn’t really do that good a job of conveying its thesis that the elves’ greatest weakness is their hubris. Honestly, neither party in this battle impressed me overly much with their tactical decision-making skills, and the battle itself didn’t feel like it made all that much sense. And really, it just reiterates that, despite Summa Elvetica being so short it only barely qualifies as a novel, so much of it consists of people standing around talking about things that are only loosely connected to the actual story of Marcus’s mission and the “do elves have souls?” question. And frankly, so far, I don’t much care for Selenoth’s elves – even Fáelán’s justified hostility towards Serranus is framed as racism so we all know we shouldn’t really be rooting for him - but they also haven’t convinced me they’re measurably worse than the Amorrans. So, I’m left feeling that there’s barely even anyone here worth rooting for at all. Anyway, that’s all for today. Next time, it’s Lodi’s turn to tell war stories, because apparently, we’ve got to fill time on our journey to Elebrion somehow. Sigh. We’ll see you then!
Warning: This chapter contains discussion of a battle, including violence and deaths, as well as reference to slavery.
I recently posted an update over on my journal about my current progress in some of my own fiction writing. If you’re interested, check it out here. Thank you!
MG: Well, everyone, it’s time to continue our journey through Vox Day’s Summa Elvetica! Last time, the company set out from Amorr on its way to visit the elves, Marcus ruminated pompously, we got a lot of exposition on the Michaelines dropped on us, and we were introduced to a racist genocidal maniac named Serranus, who delivered a lot more exposition. Yaaay. Today, we continue on our journey and, because we’re still a way off from actually making it to the elven lands, we get yet more exposition. Joining us today will be Errezha and Calassara!
IA Q. VII A. I ARG. IV
Errezha: And of course, we start off with yet another “Latin” epigraph, because those have been so exciting so far…
Praeterea, homo in Die Sexto creatus sunt. In ordine naturae qui in narratione Creationis descriptus, perfectius praestat. Ergo homo est perfectior quam aelvi. Tum, perfectissima res animae estseparatio ab corpore, quod in illa re similior Dei angelorumque, et purior, quod separatur ab ulla aliena substantia. Quandoquidem non aeque perfecti atque homines, aelvi ulterius quam homines ab perfectissima re animae. Ergo aelvi habent animae naturaliter sibi unita.
Errezha: …supposedly all of this is going to make sense eventually. Like Calassara, I have my doubts. We open with Marcus, grousing that the rest was short but at least he’s eaten and drank now; we’re told the stream they’ve stopped at flows down from some hills they hope to reach by nightfall, home to a monastery they intend to stop at – and beyond the hills lie the elven lands. Zephanus, who is apparently already dripping, tells Marcus and Marcipor to douse their heads in the stream before they go on; they do as the stentorian roar of the Michaeline captain orders everyone to mount back up; Marcipor wonders if it will keep insects off, and Marcus thinks it will until you dry off and start to sweat again, to which Marcipor responds he just won’t do that then, ha ha.
Calassara: Being able to consciously control one’s own sweat does sound like a useful skill, no? At least a point of conversation at parties! Well, Marcus admits he’s been getting along with Zephanus, and Marcipor tells him about who he’s been talking with, Ecclesiastus and Habbakus who are of Tedes descent like him (I thought Marcipor was Savondese? Are Tedes and Savondese synonymous, then?) though Ecclesiastus is an Amorran citizen on his father’s side. This surprises Marcus because he doesn’t look Amorran (what he does look like isn’t specified), though Macripor corrects him that his father is a citizen, not actually of the city… he was from Elkos, I think.
MG: Hmmm. On the one hand, a rare point in Beale’s corner for acknowledging that a person can be an Amorran citizen without being ethnically Amorran or “looking” Amorran, as was absolutely true in historical Rome. On the other hand, I have to side-eye that he presents there as being such a thing as an “Amorran look” at all. The actual Rome seems to have always been a melting pot, founded at the intersection of several of ancient Italy’s ethnic and political groups – there was never a distinctively “Roman” ethnicity, much less a distinctively “Roman” look (based on artwork, Romans seem to have had a variety of appearances, skin tones, etc. – and really, asking “what color were the Romans/Greeks/Egyptians etc.” is a wrongheaded and anachronistic way of looking at things, because there was a lot of trade, resettlement and intermarriage around the ancient Mediterranean and most of these peoples seem to have had a fair bit of variety), though I do, sadly, think it’s very telling of Beale that he’d assume there was. See here for a much more detailed discussion. Again, if Amorr was an entirely fictional culture I wouldn’t be bothered by this, but Beale makes it such a blatant expy of Rome that he’s the one who invites the comparison.
Errezha: Marcipor in turn asks about Lodi (calling him an old billy-goat – and on the one hand, goats are short, bearded and stubborn, so it’s not an inappropriate comparison, but considering Lodi is a slave, comparing him to an animal at all is rather uncomfortable, even if Marcipor is also a slave) and after Marcus confirms he’s holding up as well as to be expected the two banter a bit. They’re interrupted as Zephanus and, Prince of Laws preserve us all, Serranus come riding back over. Zephanus approving notes they followed his advice and dunked their heads, while Serranus says that “The Order of Saint Michael wishes to express its gratitude to House Valerius for its meritorious service on behalf of this humble priest.” Which is an extremely pompous way of thanking Marcus for sharing his wine. Serranus has filled the wineskin back up with water from the stream, comments again on the wine’s quality and admits that he hogged it all and didn’t share any with Zephanus. And so now that he’s rested and… lubricated… Serranus is read to explain more about elves and how they fight. Joy. He does tell Marcipor, who stifles a yawn, that he doesn’t have to listen if he doesn’t want to. My sympathies at this point lie wholly with Marcipor.
Calassara: Well, let’s see what new “wisdom” Serranus has to drop for us now, shall we? First off, Serranus would like to tell us about himself. At tedious length.
“Well then, as you correctly surmised, in my youth I did not march with the legions. I marched under the banner of the King of Savonderum. In the summer of my fifteenth year, my father died and my elder brother inherited our little farm. He wished to marry, and I wished both to see the world and avoid living under my brother’s patriarchy, so it seemed a propitious time to depart.
“I quickly learned that I had no skills that commanded more than a pittance, since the only work available was the sort of work I’d thought to leave behind at the farm. But I was a big lad, and on the third day after I’d left the ancestral village I met a man in a pub who was recruiting for a company of wardogs.
“He said the Red Prince was planning a campaign to teach the cursed elves a lesson. It was something to do with the Collegium Occludum, if I recall correctly, but I wasn’t listening closely since my only interest was in the notion of a monthly wage. Plus, I’d wanted to see the world, and marching through it with a sword in my hand accompanied by a band of armed men seemed to be a reasonable way to do it.
“So, I made my X on what the recruiter told me was a contract that ran only through the harvest, and thought myself rather clever for it when he generously agreed to pay for the next two rounds.” He grinned at Marcus. “Not the wisest move I’ve ever made.”
Calassara: And indeed, even Marcus agrees that an illiterate farmer’s son signing a contract he can’t read isn’t the sort of thing that usually ends well! And, in fact, the contract was an indenture where Serranus sold his body (that phrasing has… other implication, in my experience…) to Captain Hilderus of the Bloody Crows and was given a spear that was apparently barely more than a pointed stick in return.
“The Savonders make war in the strangest fashion. Their king doesn’t want the expense of a standing army, but he doesn’t want to become too dependent upon the great lords, either. So while he provides the engineers, the mages, and perhaps a third of the heavy cavalry, the nobles provide the other two thirds.
“The infantry is a haphazard collection of royal levies taken from wherever the king chooses, land levies taken from the estates of the great and lesser lords, and the ‘auxiliaries,’ which are simply whatever mercenary companies happen to hear that the king wants men. So,there’s a fair number of captains who make a living turning foolish young farm boys into corpses every summer.
“Only two weeks later I found myself marching with the rest of the Crows under the banner of a baron from the other side of Savondum. The baron—his name was Gourgaud, if I recall correctly—was charged with capturing a group of elven raiders that had been burning farms near Voyence.
MG: I’m compelled to note that in IRL Europe, the sort of feudal political and military system that Serranus is describing here rose out of the disintegration first of the Western Roman Empire and then was codified after the collapse of the Carolingian Empire several centuries later. Which just makes having Savondir (an expy of medieval France) and Amorr (an expy of the Roman Republic) next to each other all the more jarring (and yes, we see Savondir directly in the series proper and it’s very clearly medieval France, not a pre-Roman Gaulish polity). Again, wouldn’t be as much of an issue if Beale wasn’t making his inspirations so damned obvious…
Errezha: I’ll take your word for it. In any case, Serranus gives a blow-by-blow of the battle that I won’t weary you with, but to make a long story short, the elves lured the Baron’s forces, including the Bloody Crows, into an ambush and pelted them with arrows from a distance. Serranus gives us a lovely description of the sound of arrows impacting flesh, and describes how since most of the company were so poorly armored they went down quite easily while he felt like a powerless spectator. Then the elves retreated, the baron ordered his men to charge after them, and of course it was a trap. The elves lured the humans into a cleft and pinned them there, loosing arrows on them from above, killing hundreds of soldiers, including two-thirds of the Crows. Serranus only survived because he hid under a fallen tree and hated himself for doing so, vowing to God that if he came out of this alive he’d go home and be a better man. Marcus, understandably, thinks that must be how Serranus became a priest, but apparently not – Serranus claims that is a story for another time. I would also say that him becoming a better man is not much in evidence, all things considered.
Calassara: Quite. And hmm, so far it seems that this supposed “expert” doesn’t have a very successful record fighting elves, does he? Except he claims that after that disaster the Baron did go on to beat that very same group of long-eared devils – I beg your pardon! – asks if Marcus can figure out how. Marcus isn’t sure; he assumes they must have trapped the elves in turn, but he’s not sure how, especially if the elves had a battlemage who was likely better than any sorcerer the baron would’ve had, and a well-trained elven force could move faster in the forest than Savonder (Savondese?) cavalry could. Serranus agrees that all elves are well-trained due to how much experience they can build up, and the average elf is more than a match for the average human one-on-one. *preens* However, he also claims that this leads elves to have a very particular weakness – hubris. *beat* Much as it pains me, I can’t really argue with that one.
Errezha: Marcus is confused, since he thought it was good for soldiers to take pride in their service and by the Prince, boy, I know you’re not as smart as Beale wants us to think you are, but I didn’t think you were that much of a fool! Serranus agrees with me – urgh – that there is a difference between pride in one’s service that can lead one to stand one’s ground, which is good, and pride that leads one to despise and underestimate the enemy, which is a dangerous flaw. Zephanus asks how the elven commander despised the baron and how that helped the baron beat him, which just feels like incredibly awkward set-up for Serranus to continue blathering at us. And Serranus rebukes him, since he only wants Marcus’s opinion. *rolls her eyes* Ah, yes, Zephanus, don’t forget that there is a main character here, and it is not you! Marcus concludes that the elf assumed the baron was beaten and he could keep attacking him with impunity. He admits in the baron’s place he probably would have fallen back to more defensible territory where he could hold the elves off, but he guesses the baron didn’t do that.
Calassara: Serranus asks what Marcus would do if he had to keep the elves from withdrawing – beg pardon, but from the depiction of this battle so far, it doesn’t sound like the elves were withdrawing! They pretended to once, but it was a feint! Marcus wants to know where they were withdrawing to, and Serranus says they were from Merethain and the baron knew it, since the High King doesn’t risk his fighters on petty raids, and I suppose if I knew more about the situation in Selenoth that might make sense to me. Fortunately, Marcus decides this is time for an extended reflection on a map he’s familiar with:
Marcus tried to remember his geography. He could almost picture the scroll upon which a detailed map of Savonderum had been painstakingly inked. He remembered it had a red border that ran the length of the scroll and the ornate compass on the bottom left had two animal heads facing east and west. A wolf and a unicorn?
He forced his mind’s memory to travel north from the compass, up past the very road from Amorr they were currently riding, but east of the mountains that within days would appear in the distance to block their path. The eastern half of Savonderum consisted of flat, rich-soiled plans that produced the kingdom’s wealth. But the west was covered by the hills and forests that led to the Elflands and the savage wilds.
There were no large cities in the west, for the land would not support it. Only small towns and villages scattered haphazardly over the hillsides. In the south, the border was relatively open and was marked by a large lake that devolved into the marshes inhabited by the swamp goblins and a few degenerate orc tribes.
In the north, however, the hills swelled into proper mountains, through which only a small number of high country passes might offer transit for a force the size Serranus had described. It was through one of these that the withdrawing elven raiders could have been relied upon to use as they returned to Merithaim and safety.
Calassara: I wonder at the phrase “his mind’s memory” and am curious what other kind of memory Marcus may have… But Marcus guesses that the baron retreated back to his home territory and then sent his cavalry to intercept the elves as they tried to return home through the passes, where they dismounted and fought as heavy infantry protected from arrows by their armor. Which is apparently something like what happened, though Serranus points out the baron only had a hundred knights and asks how he knew which pass the elves would take; Marcus wonders if he guessed and got lucky, but Serranus says that wasn’t it. Lodi then chimes in, pointing out that Serranus was there and he wasn’t a knight. Marcus realizes he got it backwards – the baron force-marched his infantry to the passes and divided them and used his cavalry to harry the elves into the infantry’s spears. And so Serranus confirms that is indeed what happened, going once again into far too much detail about the forced march, and how deadly the elves were even outnumbered when they were driven into the waiting infantry. Finally, the elves fell back and the infantry waited for the cavalry to catch up to force battle.
Errezha: In any case the cavalry were slow to approach, as heavily armored as they were, and the elves’ mage managed to signal their warhawks, a term which is apparently extremely literal.
“It had wings more than four perticae wide and a beak that could crush a man’s head like a seed. But the real danger was its rider. I later learned that only sorcerers are permitted to be sky riders, so I didn’t know to take cover when the bird dove down at us. I can still remember he was wearing some sort of leathers covered with fur—I suppose it must get cold so high in the sky—and he threw a ball of fire at us just as he swept past.
“It was fire from hell, it must have been, because it wasn’t like a normal fire that burns away a man’s clothes before his flesh. This magefire no sooner touched a man than it burned right through him. I was lucky: it barely singed my left arm. But four others died screaming within seconds.”
Errezha: And indeed, Serranus feels the need to show off the burn scar on his arm, to Marcus’s horror. His eyes shot to the two elves riding ahead of them. What madness it seemed to court the ire of these inhuman devils. And yet, was it not equally unthinkable to suffer them to live proudly in their high mountains, scorning both God and the kingdoms of man with their dark, demonic magics? *narrows her eyes* One might think that a youth from so belligerent an empire, son and nephew of great generals, might be more aware of just how terrible and destructive war can be. Or is it that the elves use magic in battle that offends you so, instead of meeting you on the field like real men? *rolls her eyes in disgust* Spare me. Apparently, it’s indeed the latter, as Marcus then stops to consider whether, as a Church philosopher named Brutus Giordunus once wrote, magic is merely a morally neutral tool like a sword, its morality determined by the use to which it is put. He wonders if elven magic merely appears as terrible to the Amorrans as the strength of Amorr’s own walls appears to barbarians who see them for the first time – but then considers that Giordunus never saw elven battle magic (do you know that for sure?) while Serranus did, and who would know the truth of the matter better than the warriors of Saint Michael? Perhaps the mage hunters aren’t the most objective on the subject of mages, have you considered that?
Calassara: Well, in any case we abandon that topic as Serranus returns to the battle. The baron saw the sky rider land, communicate with the elves on the ground, and fly west looking for reinforcements. He had his cavalry dismount, strip off their armor, and march as quickly as possible with only their shields as protection from arrows. They lost a number of men marching up the pass, while Serranus’s infantry took some of the pressure off by throwing rocks at the elves from above. Finally, they were able to hit the elves from both sides, and though the battle was vicious, in the end we killed every long-lived devil on that mountain. *taken aback* Is… is Beale aware that most battles don’t end in the complete annihilation of every living thing on the enemy’s side? Most armies will break long before they take such casualties – what exactly was motivating this level of bloodlust, seemingly on both sides, as both forces kept fighting after having taken massive casualties? But, having finished his story, Serranus draws his sword.
It was a longsword, but it was not the Amorran cavalryman’s blade Marcus was expecting. It was a thin, delicately engraved sword with the famous blued edge that indicated its elven heritage.
Marcus heard himself gasp in chorus with Marcipor. Even Lodi grunted with surprise. Few had ever laid eyes on an elvensword except in battle. The few captured blades that weren’t claimed by kings and great lords on the battlefield were usually purchased by their agents within weeks of their whereabouts being discovered. Moreover, the length of these blades precluded them being used by any Amorran soldier who fought with the legions on foot.
Errezha: Serranus admits he took if off a prettily-togged devil who killed the captain and several others before Serranus stuck his spear in his mouth (how… pleasant); a sergeant then finished him off and took the armor, but Serranus got to keep the sword, and he’s had it ever since. He claims it’s not magical, but it’s a fine weapon nonetheless. And then he runs his finger lovingly down the edge, because there’s nothing at all suggestive about a man lovingly stroking his sword *Calassara giggles loudly; Errezha ignores her*. However, while everyone is busy admiring the sword – oh dear – they don’t notice one of the elven riders approaching, clearly furious. Serranus instinctively raises the blade when he sees him, and Marcus gets out of the way, but the elf is just here to talk. He demands to know how Serranus dares bear that weapon, and if this wasn’t a formal embassy I would flay the flesh from your bones this very day, cursed human! My, my. Is Beale determined to make everyone unbearably racist? I get quite enough of that at home!
Calassara: Considering what manner of things this author apparently believes in real life – do you have to ask? Serranus and the elf glare at each other, and Serranus finally says he bears it by right of having helped kill its previous wielder and asks who the elf is and why he’s so offended. The elf in turn glares silently for a long time, until his ears twitch angrily and he finally speaks in a cold voice. “My name is Fáelán u Flann. I am cousin to King Mael. That sword was forged as a name-day gift for my sister’s son, the High Lord Cathan u Treasach. Rest assured, Blessed Sir, I shall contest your claim to it, and soon. Thank your dead god that I do not do so this day.” Fáelán then turns and rides off, leaving Serranus to stare after him as he goes and Zephanus to bury his face in his hands. *thoughtful* Yes, this does seem like a diplomatic incident in the making – I wonder who vetted Serranus for this mission? Marcus is left wondering if, caught between Serranus and Fáelán, he’ll even survive a week into this mission (considering you’re the main character of this book and, I believe, a major character in the actual series… I think you’ll be fine, actually) and then quite symbolically the sun starts to go down and the shadows lengthen as the chapter comes to an end.
MG: The biggest problem with this chapter is that a lot of it honestly feels like a repeat of last chapter, with more traveling and more exposition. Yaaay. The good news is that we spend a lot less time dwelling on Amorran imperialism and hypocrisy this time around. The bad news is that most of the chapter is taken up with Serranus telling war stories, and while ostensibly this is relevant because it’s more on the theme of “what are elves like and how do they fight?” the truth is that it’s mostly a blow-by-blow account of what is, in the grand scheme of things, seemingly a pretty minor skirmish mostly irrelevant to the overall plot in which Serranus himself was, except at the very end, mostly unimportant, and IMO it doesn’t really do that good a job of conveying its thesis that the elves’ greatest weakness is their hubris. Honestly, neither party in this battle impressed me overly much with their tactical decision-making skills, and the battle itself didn’t feel like it made all that much sense. And really, it just reiterates that, despite Summa Elvetica being so short it only barely qualifies as a novel, so much of it consists of people standing around talking about things that are only loosely connected to the actual story of Marcus’s mission and the “do elves have souls?” question. And frankly, so far, I don’t much care for Selenoth’s elves – even Fáelán’s justified hostility towards Serranus is framed as racism so we all know we shouldn’t really be rooting for him - but they also haven’t convinced me they’re measurably worse than the Amorrans. So, I’m left feeling that there’s barely even anyone here worth rooting for at all. Anyway, that’s all for today. Next time, it’s Lodi’s turn to tell war stories, because apparently, we’ve got to fill time on our journey to Elebrion somehow. Sigh. We’ll see you then!
