L' Istoria si può veramente definire una guerra illustre contro il Tempo, perchè, sottraendo gli anni che rimasero prigionieri, anzi, cadaveri; li fa sorgere dalla loro tomba; li raduna; e gli schiera in battaglia.
Gl' istorici, come gli illustri campioni dei tempi che furono, dal campo di battaglia colgono solo le spoglie che son più preziose; e come i campioni, non cercano le spoglie ignobili, quelle dei contadini strappati al loro campicello, o quelle del vasaio che, per amor di Patria, s' è armato di lama. E così agl' istorici non interessano le istorie della gente di umile estrazione.
Ambi, insomma, cercan la gloria.
Ma se i guerrieri antichi cercavan la gloria per la loro persona, e tentano d' ingigantirla, affinchè i cantori cantassero soltanto le loro gesta distorte; gl' istorici la cercano per coloro che giungono dopo, quelli che non videro, né vedranno mai tali atti, e tentano il più possibile di mantenere la realtà dei fatti.
Io, come s' addice ad ogni equino cercatore di verità, in quest' opera creata con eroica fatica, non mi limito a riportare i soli atti di gloria della mia patria; né limitai me stesso alla raccolta di gloria delle altre nazioni, per quanto fossero ignobili o piccole. Raccolsi anche i fatti accaduti a gente di piccolo affare, da ogni nazione, da quasi ogni luogo di Diomedea.
Nel grandissimo spazio del continente, ci furon molti avvenimenti: cavalli mandati a sopprimere il suono delle trombe da guerra, o al contrario, amplificarlo fino a rendelo fortissimo tuono.. Saranno raccontati atti di codardia e di valor; di crudeltà e pietà equina; di regione e di scienza; ogni atto realmente avvenuto o, quantomeno, ricostruito.
Ma non date prestigio e ringraziamenti solo a me, o miei lettori: di mio, c' è solo quello che è accaduto et è tradizione nella mia nazione. Per il resto, scartabellai, corressi e tradussi.
Se questa grandissima unione di verità, scienza istorica et cultura esiste, è anche grazie agli sforzi di altri istorici miei simili i cui nomi, ahimè, sono stati inghiottiti dall' oblio: ma anche se i loro nomi sono stati perduti, quello che hanno eseguito nella loro vita non è stato vano.
Ed ora, o miei lettori, procedete pure a leggere l' istoria conosciuta di Diomedea; dei quattro fratelli un tempo definiti divinità; della popolare arguzia che mai s' azzittì nella sua ingenuità ed ignoranza; dell' ingratitudine e oscurantismo dell' alicorno bianco; fino ai giorni nostri o, ancor meglio, i giorni in cui vissi al tempo della stesura di quest' opera. E vorrei dar ringraziamenti alle stamperie, ch' senza la lor pressa quest' opera non sarebbe mai venuta alla luce...
This was the preface by Aletippo Vitelloni, an influential historian and Ippopologian from beyond the Ocean.
The original copy of this book was given to me by one Soft Leash, the chairman of the nation of the Eire, as a gift. He said that this book was going to, “Open the eyes of me and my people.”
At first, the phrase appeared to be meaningless, insulting even.
And yet, as soon as I start to read it, I realized that there was something... special, in this tome. This book was not simply about history or geography. It contained wonders and horrors that most could only dream off, battles and romances, wars won and peace lost, valiant last stands and heartbreaking last words. This book contained, within it’s pages, a world the likes of which I could scarcely imagine, one completely alien to me.
A world where the technology dominates magic. A place where peace is a rarity, and war is a constant, and where your enemy is wrong as much you are. A place founded on the individual... a brave new world.
It was a beautiful experience, and I hope that, in my translating, I am able to convey to you, not only the aristocrats and bourgeois, but even low-class literates, the same sense of wonder that I felt while reading this.
As final note, I hope that, by the end of the tome, you feel the same as I did after reading this book, and that you spread the word beyond the few ears I have managed to reach.
Now, with no further delay, I leave you the first true pages of this tome.
Author's Note
"Ubi sunt, qui contra nos in hoc mundo fuere? Venies ad tumolos, si eos vis videre. Cineres et vermes sunt, carnes computruere"
Negoziati a Viena- Part 1
Fra le tante istorie che potrei narrar, o che, oinoi, si dovrebbero narrar ma son perdute, ho deciso che questa è la miglior et più interessante da narrare a voi, o miei lettori. Grazie alle lettere d' un soldato grifone, et la corrispondenza diplomatica, et i giornali, et le testimonianze, vi posso raccontare la vicenda.
E' il 1862, ed è piena età delle rivoluzioni. Diomedea intera è in sommossa et sconvolta: i poppoli, risvegliati dai patri urli, decidon di scacciare lo straniero, o morire provandoci. La giovan nazione del Regno di Litalia, nato da conquiste nella fine arte della politica et diplomazia, e dalla non meno nobile arte della battaglia, decide di aggiunger i suoi fratelli villanoviani et istirani alla loro prosperità. Ma ' Impero Brigliaio-Ugarico, forte della sua posizione di stato antico et rispettato, rifiuta di lasciare la determinazione dei popoli prevalere.
Questa è la storia di come uno stato creduto non vincibile venne dimostrato debole.
Decimus hopped from the boat as the craft bumped against the side of the dock. As soon as his talons touched down, he stretched his wings out wide, working too many days of little to no use from them. After a few long moments, he folded them back down and grabbed his duffel from of the boat, slinging it . Nodding to the captain of the vessel, the Donau, he set off into the city of Viena and promptly realised he had no idea where to go. The starched collar of his dress uniform pressed into his neck worse than any bayonet blade he’d felt. He hooked a talon under and pulled, it would decide not to press against his throat again. No such luck.
Looking around, he saw a unicorn dressed in rags, watching the dockworkers go about their business. He made his way over to the pony, calling out as he did.
“Hey! Do you know the way to the Litalian embassy?”
The pony looked at him and nodded. “I do indeed.” He glanced skyward, apparently thinking. “I have some free time now, so I can even lead you there.” He had a Prench accent, and what Decimus could see of his coat was light brown flecked with white, his mane a dark grey. The pony started walking, leading them away from the river.
“Names Decimus Aquino,” the griffon said.
“Fuyard Profane,” the unicorn replied. They walked in silence for a few moments.
“You’re pretty far from home,” Decimus said. “What brings you here from Prance?”
“This and that,” he replied, voice distracted. “This and that. What brings you to Viena?”
“Some useless diplomat got one of his guards injured, needed a replacement. So I got pulled from my unit and sent here.” Decimus looked at the pony.
So, you’re in the Litalian army?”
“83rd Dragoon Wing,” Decimus replied, standing a little taller.
“I’ve heard of those,” Fuyard said. “Not all of it good.”
Decimus grimaced. “We’ve had our share of bad commanders and worse soldiers, yeah. But they’re good folk, for the most part. And thats the best you can say about any group, really.” There was a lapse in conversation, and Decimus used it to take a look around. As far as he could tell, the place was a maze. Useful, if you’re defending, but only if you know the place better than the enemy. And even then, only if you have better flyers than they do. The buildings were tall, most of them three storeys or more, but they were too close together, and the streets to winding, to be good places to station riflers. The buildings were painted bright colours, every colour Decimus had a name for, many he didn’t, and several he was pretty sure weren’t actually possible.
All in all, Decimus found the place a bright, gaudy deathtrap. He could only hope the embassy would be different.
“How’d you hear about the 83rd?” Decimus asked as Fuyard led them down a side street between two buildings that seemed to be competing to see who could buy the brightest colours.
“I was in the Prench army for a bit. You hear these sort of things.” The pair dodged around a heavily laden cart pulled by a pair of minotaur, narrowly avoiding the wheels by hugging the walls of a shop.
“You served?” Decimus asked, taking another look at the stallion. “What regiment, maybe I’ve heard of them?”
Fuyard shook his head. “Not important enough to be well known. It was a pretty small one, new as well.”
The ‘was’ didn’t go unnoticed. “Ah. Say no more.” There was another moment of silence, though this was because they passed by a group of street performers, making so much noise it was doubtful they could actually hear themselves over each other.
When they had passed by, and could hear themselves think again, Decimus said, “Y’know, if you’re looking for a job I might be able to help, especially if you’ve served before. Might take me a while, but it might not.”
Fuyard smiled and shook his head. “I doubt it. Viena is... not a good place to be Prench.”
Decimus glanced at the pony. “Do I seem like I care?”
“You may not, but the diplomat you work for maybe another thing altogether.”
Decimus ruffled his wing-feathers. The damn dress uniform was starting to itch as well, the thick fabric rough from lack of use. “Well, we’ll just have to see. He isn’t Vienitian, so he probably won’t.”
“Ah, but he has to meet with Vienitian’s, who will.”
Decimus frowned. “Why would that matter?”
Fuyard looked at him. “You really don’t know politics, do you? He’s here to make the local nobles like him, so they’ll be less likely to go to war. That means no Prench, not on staff.”
Decimus sighed. “How much farther is it?”
“Not long. Perhaps ten minutes, maybe closer to twenty.”
Decimus sighed again. He just wanted this windless day to be over.
The two kept walking silently in the streets of the city, avoiding the occasional annoying beggar, and the omnibuses that, for reasons unknown by many, passed in a narrow street.
Finally, after twenty minutes of walking, the two arrived in a big square, with a simple fountain in the middle, and the other buildings, clearly older than the rest of the city seen so far, surrounding it.
“End of the road,” said Fuyard “the Embassy is just in front of you.”
Fuyard pointed with his right hoof at the aforementioned building, a palace made with gray and red stone, and with an architectural style that matched to the style of the surrounding buildings, with lots of domes and pillars, and fine details.
The griffon looked at Fuyard.
“So, thats the Embassy?” Well, it wasn’t as bright as the other buildings. Fuyard silently nodded.
Decimus turned to the unicorn. “I know you said he wouldn’t have you on staff, but is there somewhere I can find you, if I need directions again?”
“Not really. Today I rent with the little money I have a room in a nearby hostel, tomorrow I might squat in an apartment at the opposite end of the city, and the day after I might be sleeping in a barn in what little of countryside there is here in Rhein,” Fuyard said with a slightly presumptous tone of voice.
Decimus sighed. “If you’re sure. But at least let me get you a meal, as thanks for helping me. It’s the least I could do.”
The unicorn scoffed. “Pay me a meal as a thanks? Please. I’ve already managed to secure some food for myself. If you really want to thank me with something, give me some money.”
Decimus frowned at the unicorn. “I was going to give you money to buy a meal. No need to be so ungrateful.”
“Oh, well…” the unicorn crossed his front legs “I am used to people giving me straight out food. I don’t like charity. I’m perfectly capable of feeding myself.”
“I’ve been in your position, friend,” Decimus said, nodding. “When your pride is all you have, you grip it tightly.”
Decimus reached over his shoulder and pulled his bag around, placing it on the ground in front of him. Searching through it, he found the pouch of coins he had brought with him, swapped by a money lender at an rate that was basically theft. From the north, the bell of the cathedral rang. Decimus looked up and muttered a curse. “What bell was that?”
Four tolls followed.
“Fifth bell after noon, I believe,” Fuyard said, taking the money Decimus offered him. “I’d suggest you to move on.”
“Damn, you’re right. I’m going to be late. Good bye, Fuyard.” The griffon quickly closed his bag and slung it over his shoulder again, before hurrying towards the Embassy.
The door to the Embassy was bronze, twice again as tall as Decimus and etched with scenes of battle and what it seemed prayer. Pillars lined the walls, far more than was probably necessary, carved with decorative patterns. It seemed a waste of money, to Decimus. Money that would have been better spent feeding the poor or funding the army.
He gave the guard at the door his name, which was checked against a large ledger, and then he was searched for weapons. Only then did they let him inside. Thankfully, the guard had given him directions to the diplomats study.
Several flights of stairs and long hallways later, Decimus knocked on the carved wooden door of the diplomats office.
A voice spoke from within. “Enter.” An order, not a request.
Swallowing, Decimus pushed open the door, taking care not to scratch it, and entered.
A muddy green unicorn with a yellow mane was sitting behind a desk at the far end of the room. He glanced up as Decimus entered, then towards a clock. “You’re late.” Decimus glanced towards the clock, wishing he knew how to use the thing. He had been told fifth bell after noon, so he couldn’t be very late, but nobles tended not to care how late you where, or why, just that you found something more important than them. They didn’t like that.
The diplomat looked down at his desk, a quill floating nearby. “You’re name is Decimus Aquino, of the 83rd Dragoons, formerly stationed on the Prench border?”
Decimus stood at attention, looking at a place slightly above and to the right of the diplomat. “Yessir.”
“Good. My name is Contratto Bruciato, but you will refer to me as sir or as ‘His Excellency’ if you must ever introduce me. Understood?”
“Yessir.”
“Good. Under your command will be a total of forty-six guards. At all times, at least twenty will be stationed around the embassy. The rest are yours to use as you wish. You’re predecessor had patrols routes mapped out, along with a rotation. You may wish to use it, you may not. Either way, I want a report of what you plan on doing on my desk within a week. Understood?”
“Yessir.”
“Good.” Decimus was getting sick of hearing that. Still, he could appreciate a no-nonsense attitude. It was better than the nobles that walked around with their nose in the air and their head full of fancies. Bruciato stood up and walked around the desk. “Now we have that out of the way, tell me, Sergeant, do you know why you are here?”
Decimus shook his head. "As a guard, sir."
“Not entirely.” Contratto walked towards one side of the room. A series of stone heads lined the wall. "Let me explain it to you, then. How many griffons did you see on your way here?”
Decimus started to reply, then stopped. How many had he seen? “Quite a few, sir.”
Contratto flashed a smile at Decimus. “That is correct. The population of the city is mostly griffons. However, you are, currently, the only Litalian griffon in the city.” The unicorn walked down the row of stone heads towards Decimus, pausing halfway down to admire one, a statue of a severed head of a pony on a bronze pike. He ran a hoof over it, as if inspecting it. A small smile, one that could be the grin of a lunatic, yet, perhaps, even of a father seeing letters coming from his son on the front. “Now, what about pegasi? Minotaurs? How many of them did you see?”
Decimus frowned, wondering what was with the strange questions.
“I don’t remember sir. Quite a lot, that’s for sure. Haven’t seen as many in the past three days, while going up the river and going by wing and rail.”
Contratto stopped caressing the statue, and returned to the desk, and, from a drawer, extracted a small silver-plated pouch with the initials “CB” on them. The diplomat opened the pouch, and took out a small oval leaf, and put it in his mouth, chewing on it.
“In the past three days, you say? So, until the day before you were in Villanova, right?” Contratto asked, with a tone that showed that the question was rhetorical.
“Yes, that’s right.”
“Well, those minotaurs you saw, those pegasi you have seen… most of them feel Litalian, they don’t feel part of the Rhein-Ugaric Empire. They want to join our nation. However, the Empire isn’t very eager to let them decide what rule they prefer, and they are trying to hold those lands at all costs. Yes, we could just ignore the pleas of those inhabitants. We could just let the Empire control those lands, because we don’t have the means to take them with the force. And that’s why I am here; to try to find a bloodless solution to this situation. You are here in case I cannot.” Then the diplomatic sat the desk.
