ahead of them could hear their conversation, they weren’t letting on.
“Aye, it most certainly does. Didn’t your tutors ever force you to think, young Valerius, or did they merely set you to memorizing Psalms, catechisms, and philosopher’s speeches? Here, let me give you a hint: who has the most heavy infantry?”
“The orcs,” Zephanus answered immediately.
“The orc tribes,” Marcus echoed just a moment later.
“Quick on the draw, brother,” Serranus said approvingly to Zephanus. “There are scores of famous orc heavy foot regiments: the Black Orcs, the Red Hand Slayers, the Ghinghis Mountain Bhoys. Now, why do they spend that infantry with such profligacy? Their tactics, such as they are, are essentially minor variants on the straightforward charge.”
“Because they’re orcs,” Zephanus said. “They’re stupid.”
“No,” Marcus objected. “Well, I mean it’s true that they’re not very intelligent, in comparison with man, dwarf, or elf. But mainly they’re wasteful of their infantry because they can afford to be. Orclings breed and grow to maturity so quickly that no chieftain of the tribes cares much if he loses half his warriors—so long as enough survive to bring him victory that day. In fact, he probably hopes they’ll kill themselves off by fighting external enemies before they get caught up in internecine strife. That’s why the tribes are always at war, either raiding human lands or fighting amongst themselves. Just too many orcs running around.”
“And that’s why they’re always invading dwarven territory,” Zephanus said slyly, but Lodi failed to rise to the bait and continued to ignore the conversation.
“Now,” Serranus said, “with that in mind, what can you conclude about the elven lack of infantry, Marcus Valerius?”
“The opposite. They value their lives too dearly to dare risking them in melee combat.”
“Precisely! That’s why they fear to meet the legions at close quarters: they can’t match our numbers and our discipline. That’s why they will always run before the heavy horses of Savonderum, and why even the spears of the peasant levy present them with a problem.
“The orcs’ heavy infantry haven’t discipline and their armor is shoddy, but their speed, strength, and numbers make up for that and make them dangerous in close combat. As for the dwarves, well, there isn’t an infantry in the world that is their equal, one for one, except the mountain trolls. So, it is fear of losing their precious long lives that dictates the elves’ approach to warfare. This not only reveals a tactical weakness that can be exploited, but is also a cultural sign that speaks volumes about the state of their race.”
“I bet they aren’t afraid of goblin infantry,” Zephanus commented.
“No one is afraid of goblin infantry,” Serranus said with a snort. “Nor should anyone be, unless they happen to outnumber you fifty to one. Fortunately, that doesn’t happen very often since the little rats take every chance they get to desert whatever orc chieftain has rounded them up to serve as front line fodder. So, Marcus Valerius, what does this tell you about Elebrion?”
“I’m not sure. They fear death, they will only fight from afar, they have only three kingdoms where there were once seven…” The realization struck him suddenly. “Oh! I should think their society is probably highly decadent then, that they’ve likely become amoral pleasure seekers like the men and women of whom Flavius Mundus wrote in the tales of the plague days. Do you think they are in decline?”
“No, it’s more than that,” Serranus said. “I believe they are waiting to die. Fear has a specific object—not unlike hope, usually. But the object of hope is a future good. A difficult one, perhaps, but always something that is possible to obtain. The object of fear, on the other hand, is a future evil, an evil that irresistible only because it is desired.”
Even in the heat of
“Aye, it most certainly does. Didn’t your tutors ever force you to think, young Valerius, or did they merely set you to memorizing Psalms, catechisms, and philosopher’s speeches? Here, let me give you a hint: who has the most heavy infantry?”
“The orcs,” Zephanus answered immediately.
“The orc tribes,” Marcus echoed just a moment later.
“Quick on the draw, brother,” Serranus said approvingly to Zephanus. “There are scores of famous orc heavy foot regiments: the Black Orcs, the Red Hand Slayers, the Ghinghis Mountain Bhoys. Now, why do they spend that infantry with such profligacy? Their tactics, such as they are, are essentially minor variants on the straightforward charge.”
“Because they’re orcs,” Zephanus said. “They’re stupid.”
“No,” Marcus objected. “Well, I mean it’s true that they’re not very intelligent, in comparison with man, dwarf, or elf. But mainly they’re wasteful of their infantry because they can afford to be. Orclings breed and grow to maturity so quickly that no chieftain of the tribes cares much if he loses half his warriors—so long as enough survive to bring him victory that day. In fact, he probably hopes they’ll kill themselves off by fighting external enemies before they get caught up in internecine strife. That’s why the tribes are always at war, either raiding human lands or fighting amongst themselves. Just too many orcs running around.”
“And that’s why they’re always invading dwarven territory,” Zephanus said slyly, but Lodi failed to rise to the bait and continued to ignore the conversation.
“Now,” Serranus said, “with that in mind, what can you conclude about the elven lack of infantry, Marcus Valerius?”
“The opposite. They value their lives too dearly to dare risking them in melee combat.”
“Precisely! That’s why they fear to meet the legions at close quarters: they can’t match our numbers and our discipline. That’s why they will always run before the heavy horses of Savonderum, and why even the spears of the peasant levy present them with a problem.
“The orcs’ heavy infantry haven’t discipline and their armor is shoddy, but their speed, strength, and numbers make up for that and make them dangerous in close combat. As for the dwarves, well, there isn’t an infantry in the world that is their equal, one for one, except the mountain trolls. So, it is fear of losing their precious long lives that dictates the elves’ approach to warfare. This not only reveals a tactical weakness that can be exploited, but is also a cultural sign that speaks volumes about the state of their race.”
“I bet they aren’t afraid of goblin infantry,” Zephanus commented.
“No one is afraid of goblin infantry,” Serranus said with a snort. “Nor should anyone be, unless they happen to outnumber you fifty to one. Fortunately, that doesn’t happen very often since the little rats take every chance they get to desert whatever orc chieftain has rounded them up to serve as front line fodder. So, Marcus Valerius, what does this tell you about Elebrion?”
“I’m not sure. They fear death, they will only fight from afar, they have only three kingdoms where there were once seven…” The realization struck him suddenly. “Oh! I should think their society is probably highly decadent then, that they’ve likely become amoral pleasure seekers like the men and women of whom Flavius Mundus wrote in the tales of the plague days. Do you think they are in decline?”
“No, it’s more than that,” Serranus said. “I believe they are waiting to die. Fear has a specific object—not unlike hope, usually. But the object of hope is a future good. A difficult one, perhaps, but always something that is possible to obtain. The object of fear, on the other hand, is a future evil, an evil that irresistible only because it is desired.”
Even in the heat of
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