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i_read_whatUgh. This one. Yeah, okay. Last time we learned that Carillon is probably dying. And there was a time that I might have cared about that, but well, this fucking book managed to piss away the last speck of goodwill that I had for the guy.
So we rejoin Donal as he's fighting in battle against a Solindish soldier. You know. In a war that came about because of an assassin that the Solindish DIDN'T ACTUALLY SEND. And we have no idea if Donal ever actually told Carillon about that.
Because this book is dreadful.
So anyway, fighting. At some point, Evan saves Donal from an attack from behind with a well-timed warning. Donal returns the favor, or rather Taj does, by helping Evan fend off an attacker. Evan thanks Donal, who pushes credit onto Taj.
Unfortunately for Donal, a dying Solindishman manages a last ditch effort and stabs through Donal's left boot and cutting down to the bone. Lorn urges Donal to seek help, but Donal stands his ground.
Then, he smells "the stink of sorcery".
We're told, unnecessarily, that there'd been no sign of the Ihlini until now. But then things get pretty interesting:
Fog. Fingers of it, violet, drifting along the ground. And then, almost instantly, the fog thickened. Stretched. Swallowed up the field.
He could see nothing. His eyes were filled with haze. The smell of it, sickly sweet and cloying, coated his tongue, and he bent to spit it out. Damp, malodorous arms seemed to twine around his neck, putting fingers into his ears. He was cold, wet, nauseatingly sickened by the smell.
“Donal! Lodhi—there are demons—”
Evan’s voice, raised in honest horror. Donal turned, staggering on one leg, and tried to locate his friend. But the vapor was like clay, sealing up his eyes. They burned. They teared. He cursed.
It's Ihlini magic, so the lir are pretty fucking useless. Except, to be fair, they are able to guide Donal to where Evan is sprawled on the ground. The poor guy is freaked out and almost attacks Donal, but fortunately recognizes him inside.
Donal asks about the demon, and to be fair, this sounds pretty awful:
The knife shook a little. “There was one. There was. It came at me out of the fog…Lodhi!—but what a vile, horrid stinking thing it was! It had no mouth—no eyes…it was a slimy, foul, wretched tentacled thing—” Evan shuddered. “It wrapped itself around my head and nearly smothered me—” He turned his head and spat upon the ground. “Lodhi—I can still taste the horrid thing!”
Donal hadn't seen anything and thinks it likely the demons were illusion called up by the Ihlini for those of the enemy who were not Cheysuli.
God, fuck off, Donal.
Evan recovers quickly, because he's not the main character and notices that Donal is hurt. He immediately starts peeling away the leather of Donal's boot to examine the cut. He offers to take him to the chirurgeon's tent.
There's a really annoying exchange here:
Donal glanced around as he fought to regain his balance. “The battle seems to be ended. I see both sides withdrawing.”
“But no victory, I will wager.” Evan steadied Donal’s progress. “How much longer will this Solindish folly continue?”
“In two months, we have got nowhere,” Donal said. “Neither side has won. Who is to say how much longer this will go on?”
“Aye,” Evan agreed grimly as Lorn trailed Donal. “We have the Cheysuli, but the Solindish have Tynstar and his minions. The advantages are cancelled.”
Donal sighed, wincing as movement jarred his aching leg. “We will win, Evan…the gods are on our side.”
The Ellasian snorted. “Aye. And no doubt the Solindish claim the same thing—just that their gods are different.”
This is annoying because, again, the war didn't actually appear to be necessary. They pay lip service to Tynstar, but if he'd wanted to, Tynstar could have led an invasion at any time. Electra doesn't seem to be ruling in fact. And one wonders if they'd have as many followers if the Homanans weren't invading their kingdom.
I like how Evan points out the different gods thing. Donal, like a lot of the Cheysuli leads, seems to have a bit of tunnel vision regarding this issue, but there ARE other gods, and those gods clearly have powers of their own (see: Lachlan).
Anyway, Donal would prefer to cease discussing war. Evan's on board, ("Why speak of war when there are women in the world?).
Eventually, Carillon comes in to check on Donal. Donal is too busy focusing on his pain to really pay much attention, but the chirurgeon can answer questions. (Donal'll be fine. Shock.) There's no HIPAA in this world.
Donal almost brings up what he knows about Carillon's condition but chickens out. And just then a messenger comes with a message for Carillon and Donal.
“Yours.” Carillon passed one over.
Donal, frowning, broke the crimson seal. He read the two brief lines and the signature, and felt the cot shift beneath his weight.
He became aware, suddenly, that Carillon was demanding to know what was wrong. His face must show what he felt. When he could, Donal looked up and met the anticipatory eyes. “Aislinn, my lord. She has miscarried of a son.”
Oh, poor Aislinn. Looks like raping your wife accomplished nothing, dude. Go sit on a cactus.
Carillon has the fucking nerve to be upset by this:
For a long moment Carillon stood unmoving in the sunlight as it slanted inside the tent. But then he reached out and caught the parchment from Donal’s hand, nearly tearing it in half. He read it, and then he shut his eyes.
Slowly, so slowly, one hand crumpled the message. The parchment crackled in the silence. Donal saw how the fingers spasmed, shutting, and how the callused, grimy hands took on the aspect of a corpse’s.
The Mujhar expelled a breath that hissed upon the air. His eyes, when he opened them again, were filled with a quiet desperation. “I am sorry,” he said at last. “The loss of an unborn son…” He did not finish the sentence.
Donal felt the kindling of distant grief into something very real. A son unborn… It had happened once before, when Sorcha had miscarried his first child. Ian and Isolde had come into the world safely, and he had grown complacent. He had thought Aislinn would bear him a healthy child; he had not considered a loss. He had not thought of what it meant to lose an heir.
I love how at no point does AISLINN's wellbeing enter into either of these two men's mind. Though eventually Donal does tell us that she says she does well enough. Carillon looks at the second message, wondering if it's from Aislinn as well.
Fuck. You.
But actually, it's a message: Osric of Atvia is invading through the port of Hondarth.
Gosh, it's ALMOST like starting one war when expecting another was a bad fucking idea. Rowan tells us that Osric means to march on Mujhara while Carillon is busy here. His advice is to go now. They're a month's march out. Osric's a week from the city.
“And lose Solinde entirely.” Carillon grimly crumpled the message. “That may be Tynstar’s plan. Can you not see him, Rowan? He suggests to Osric the time is now—the Atvian sails to Hondarth while we wrestle here with Tynstar. Faced with no army to gainsay him, Osric takes Hondarth and marches toward Mujhara. Once he overcomes what few domestic troops there are, he has trapped us between Tynstar and himself: a grub between two stones.” He turned to Donal. “Do you understand what we must do?”
And of course Donal does. They have to split the army in half.
Carillon thinks that's the best chance. He wants the Cheysuli here to fight with the Ihlini while the rest go to Osric. Rowan and Donal will come with Carillon to Mujhara, but Donal will only remain for a week or two before returning to command the army.
Rowan is horrified by this:
“Carillon—no—” That from Rowan, even as Donal thought to echo the identical words. “He is unschooled in warfare and the leading of men. Leave me here instead.”
“You I take with me.” The tone was inflexible.
“Rowan has the right of it.” Donal pushed himself up from the cot and rose, suppressing a grimace of pain. “What do I know of leading men into battle?”
“These are veterans.” Carillon’s voice was harsh. “These men do not require you to hold their hands. They will teach you what there is to know—it is time you learned how to conduct yourself as a soldier must in order to survive—and to keep others alive as well.”
I mean...okay, I guess. But it seems like giving him a smaller command first might make more sense. And also, why the hell are you bringing Donal back to Mujhara then? That's a month's trip one way!
...
“Then why send me to Mujhara?” Donal demanded. “Why not leave me here?”
“Because Aislinn is in Mujhara.” Carillon’s face was completely expressionless. “It is difficult to conceive a child when man and wife are so many leagues apart.”
I fucking hate you so much. And to give credit where it's due, Donal HATES this idea, pointing out that Aislinn's only just recovered.
“There is no time for such things as decency in war,” Carillon said baldly. “I have an heir; you do not. It is necessary for you to make one.” He turned back to Rowan again. “Make certain my half of the army is prepared to leave in the morning.”
So much. I hate you so fucking much.
Donal thinks Carillon is bad. Rowan thinks Donal should be ready to ride in the morning.
So they ride. We find out that Solinde kind of sucks (flat land and low scrubby trees). We get an annoying fashion description of Carillon himself:
The Mujhar rode in silence. Donal, watching him with subtle, sidelong glances, saw how the morning sun glinted off the silver of his hair. He wore few ornaments to mark his rank: his ring and a collar brooch of gold and emerald. His clothing was exceedingly simple: ringmail over a boiled leather hauberk. Black breeches. Thighboots. Bracers banded with slender ribs of steel.
Gods, what a man he is—what a warrior still…would that I could have known him before Tynstar stole his youth—
Ugh. Anyway, Donal angsts about not measuring up to Carillon. Meanwhile Carillon thanks Donal for coming along. He notes that Donal might have refused, an idea that shocks Donal. Carillon reassures Donal that he can refuse, and iterates that he hasn't stripped him entirely of freedom.
Yeah, I mean, you have a whole second family.
Anyway, Carillon brought him to this place to beg forgiveness. For convincing him to rape your daughter?
“Aye,” Carillon said gently. “Duncan left me a chunk of naked metal and I did my best to shape it into a sword—even to tempering it to my liking, knowing what weight and balance I desired. But I am no arms-master, and I may have unwittingly set blemishes in the steel.” His mouth hooked down in a brief ironic twist. “Now I seek to blood the blade after keeping it sheathed for nearly sixteen years.”
“My lord—”
“I am sorry, Donal. I could offer you countless reasons and excuses for what I have become—and what I have done to you—but I am finished with that. I am finished with—much.” His brows twisted briefly; Donal heard the undertone of despair in the steady voice. “I am sorry. I am sorry. For you…for Aislinn…for the child that must come of this.” He looked at his ruined hands as they clasped the saddlebow. “Last night I said there was no time for decency in war. Perhaps I meant it then, but it is not true. War may be obscene, but it is also necessary. So is decency, if you are to retain a measure of humanity.” His faded blue eyes met and held Donal’s. “My wars are nearly over. It is you who will fight them for me, and eventually for yourself. I pray you do it with the decency I denied…and the humanity you will need.”
...well, I suppose I should be glad that you're apologizing to Aislinn too?
Anyway, of course, these idiots went and had a private meeting for this. And of course, they're interrupted by a "sinuous voice"
It's Tynstar! AND Electra! How fucking convenient.
Yet again, we get the lir wanting to help but not being able to. Donal asks if that's because the Ihlini are bloodkin? But neither animal answers.
So it's a pretty dramatic confrontation. And...I hate to say it, but Tynstar actually does seem like a better partner than our two leads:
Tynstar smiled sweetly. “If you want him, Electra, I will give him to you when I am done with Carillon.”
Anyway, he knocks Donal down with a flick of his finger. Carillon is still standing and asks if Tynstar had sent Osric to Hondarth. Of course. He wants to win.
“I take Homana how I can,” the sorcerer agreed. “Would you not do the same? You have learned what it is to be ruthless in order to get what you desire.”
A fitting question.
So the fight here is pretty good. Tynstar vs. Carillon. At one point Carillon is knocked off his horse. But he keeps going:
Another gesture brought a bolt of lightning lancing out of the sky. It blasted the ground around Carillon’s sprawling body, splattering him with dirt.
“Slowly,” Electra said. “Let him know he dies.”
“Old man,” Tynstar said, “shall I release you from your pain?”
Slowly, Carillon pushed himself to his knees. Donal saw how his body trembled, how the chest heaved in complete exhaustion. Dust filmed his face; part of his beard was burned away.
He slumped. Slumping, his hands went to the ground. Fingers splayed. Elbows stiffened. He braced himself with every ounce of his waning strength.
Gods— Donal begged, do not let it end like this!
Failing, Carillon’s body curled forward, slumping—
—but did not fall. Instead, he jerked the knife from his belt and hurled it through the air.
“No—!” Electra screamed.
The knife went home high in Tynstar’s chest.
Carillon laughed. “Whose death today, Ihlini? Mine—or is it yours?”
Tynstar attempts to summon his god, Asar Suti. But Carillon beheads him. Nice.
Farewell, Tynstar. You were an ineffectual villain who did nothing in Shapechangers, though you did have a few good moments in Song. Sleep well, knowing your kids are going to totally fuck up your plans through rape and murder, leading to the creation of the distaff side of the prophecy.
Electra doesn't react to this well.
The Mujhar spun around. But Electra made no move to attack. Instead, she walked unsteadily toward the decapitated body and knelt beside it.
White-blond hair spilled down her breasts and trailed into the blood. Slowly, the blackness benighted the shining strands. It stained the pale lilac of her gown.
“Electra.” Carillon walked slowly toward his wife. “Electra—he is dead.”
She leaned forward. She moaned. She put her hands on the bloodied shoulders of the body. She slid them down across the torso in a morbid caress.
She jerked the knife from the chest—
—and came up, spinning, aiming for Carillon’s belly—
—in time to spit herself to the hilt of Carillon’s waiting sword.
“Such beauty…” he whispered in a ragged, helpless voice.
The knife dropped from her hand. Knees buckled. She fell, and Carillon caught her.
Alas, Electra. You weren't a good person, but I don't blame you for hating the guy who forced you into marriage.
An interesting note: both Electra and Tynstar bleed black. (Also thick and viscid).
Donal, to his credit, actually thinks about Aislinn: wondering if she's free. But Carillon decides to change his tactics. Donal's going back to the encampment, rather than to Aislinn. He tells him to win back Solinde.
Ugh.
He leaves Carillon standing over the bodies of his wife and Ihlini as though he mourns them both.
Well, the chapter's done. The villains are dead. Surely the book must be done too, you may ask.
Well...no. There's one more chapter in part one. And ten in part two. This fucking book isn't over yet. So let's see how bad it gets.
So we rejoin Donal as he's fighting in battle against a Solindish soldier. You know. In a war that came about because of an assassin that the Solindish DIDN'T ACTUALLY SEND. And we have no idea if Donal ever actually told Carillon about that.
Because this book is dreadful.
So anyway, fighting. At some point, Evan saves Donal from an attack from behind with a well-timed warning. Donal returns the favor, or rather Taj does, by helping Evan fend off an attacker. Evan thanks Donal, who pushes credit onto Taj.
Unfortunately for Donal, a dying Solindishman manages a last ditch effort and stabs through Donal's left boot and cutting down to the bone. Lorn urges Donal to seek help, but Donal stands his ground.
Then, he smells "the stink of sorcery".
We're told, unnecessarily, that there'd been no sign of the Ihlini until now. But then things get pretty interesting:
Fog. Fingers of it, violet, drifting along the ground. And then, almost instantly, the fog thickened. Stretched. Swallowed up the field.
He could see nothing. His eyes were filled with haze. The smell of it, sickly sweet and cloying, coated his tongue, and he bent to spit it out. Damp, malodorous arms seemed to twine around his neck, putting fingers into his ears. He was cold, wet, nauseatingly sickened by the smell.
“Donal! Lodhi—there are demons—”
Evan’s voice, raised in honest horror. Donal turned, staggering on one leg, and tried to locate his friend. But the vapor was like clay, sealing up his eyes. They burned. They teared. He cursed.
It's Ihlini magic, so the lir are pretty fucking useless. Except, to be fair, they are able to guide Donal to where Evan is sprawled on the ground. The poor guy is freaked out and almost attacks Donal, but fortunately recognizes him inside.
Donal asks about the demon, and to be fair, this sounds pretty awful:
The knife shook a little. “There was one. There was. It came at me out of the fog…Lodhi!—but what a vile, horrid stinking thing it was! It had no mouth—no eyes…it was a slimy, foul, wretched tentacled thing—” Evan shuddered. “It wrapped itself around my head and nearly smothered me—” He turned his head and spat upon the ground. “Lodhi—I can still taste the horrid thing!”
Donal hadn't seen anything and thinks it likely the demons were illusion called up by the Ihlini for those of the enemy who were not Cheysuli.
God, fuck off, Donal.
Evan recovers quickly, because he's not the main character and notices that Donal is hurt. He immediately starts peeling away the leather of Donal's boot to examine the cut. He offers to take him to the chirurgeon's tent.
There's a really annoying exchange here:
Donal glanced around as he fought to regain his balance. “The battle seems to be ended. I see both sides withdrawing.”
“But no victory, I will wager.” Evan steadied Donal’s progress. “How much longer will this Solindish folly continue?”
“In two months, we have got nowhere,” Donal said. “Neither side has won. Who is to say how much longer this will go on?”
“Aye,” Evan agreed grimly as Lorn trailed Donal. “We have the Cheysuli, but the Solindish have Tynstar and his minions. The advantages are cancelled.”
Donal sighed, wincing as movement jarred his aching leg. “We will win, Evan…the gods are on our side.”
The Ellasian snorted. “Aye. And no doubt the Solindish claim the same thing—just that their gods are different.”
This is annoying because, again, the war didn't actually appear to be necessary. They pay lip service to Tynstar, but if he'd wanted to, Tynstar could have led an invasion at any time. Electra doesn't seem to be ruling in fact. And one wonders if they'd have as many followers if the Homanans weren't invading their kingdom.
I like how Evan points out the different gods thing. Donal, like a lot of the Cheysuli leads, seems to have a bit of tunnel vision regarding this issue, but there ARE other gods, and those gods clearly have powers of their own (see: Lachlan).
Anyway, Donal would prefer to cease discussing war. Evan's on board, ("Why speak of war when there are women in the world?).
Eventually, Carillon comes in to check on Donal. Donal is too busy focusing on his pain to really pay much attention, but the chirurgeon can answer questions. (Donal'll be fine. Shock.) There's no HIPAA in this world.
Donal almost brings up what he knows about Carillon's condition but chickens out. And just then a messenger comes with a message for Carillon and Donal.
“Yours.” Carillon passed one over.
Donal, frowning, broke the crimson seal. He read the two brief lines and the signature, and felt the cot shift beneath his weight.
He became aware, suddenly, that Carillon was demanding to know what was wrong. His face must show what he felt. When he could, Donal looked up and met the anticipatory eyes. “Aislinn, my lord. She has miscarried of a son.”
Oh, poor Aislinn. Looks like raping your wife accomplished nothing, dude. Go sit on a cactus.
Carillon has the fucking nerve to be upset by this:
For a long moment Carillon stood unmoving in the sunlight as it slanted inside the tent. But then he reached out and caught the parchment from Donal’s hand, nearly tearing it in half. He read it, and then he shut his eyes.
Slowly, so slowly, one hand crumpled the message. The parchment crackled in the silence. Donal saw how the fingers spasmed, shutting, and how the callused, grimy hands took on the aspect of a corpse’s.
The Mujhar expelled a breath that hissed upon the air. His eyes, when he opened them again, were filled with a quiet desperation. “I am sorry,” he said at last. “The loss of an unborn son…” He did not finish the sentence.
Donal felt the kindling of distant grief into something very real. A son unborn… It had happened once before, when Sorcha had miscarried his first child. Ian and Isolde had come into the world safely, and he had grown complacent. He had thought Aislinn would bear him a healthy child; he had not considered a loss. He had not thought of what it meant to lose an heir.
I love how at no point does AISLINN's wellbeing enter into either of these two men's mind. Though eventually Donal does tell us that she says she does well enough. Carillon looks at the second message, wondering if it's from Aislinn as well.
Fuck. You.
But actually, it's a message: Osric of Atvia is invading through the port of Hondarth.
Gosh, it's ALMOST like starting one war when expecting another was a bad fucking idea. Rowan tells us that Osric means to march on Mujhara while Carillon is busy here. His advice is to go now. They're a month's march out. Osric's a week from the city.
“And lose Solinde entirely.” Carillon grimly crumpled the message. “That may be Tynstar’s plan. Can you not see him, Rowan? He suggests to Osric the time is now—the Atvian sails to Hondarth while we wrestle here with Tynstar. Faced with no army to gainsay him, Osric takes Hondarth and marches toward Mujhara. Once he overcomes what few domestic troops there are, he has trapped us between Tynstar and himself: a grub between two stones.” He turned to Donal. “Do you understand what we must do?”
And of course Donal does. They have to split the army in half.
Carillon thinks that's the best chance. He wants the Cheysuli here to fight with the Ihlini while the rest go to Osric. Rowan and Donal will come with Carillon to Mujhara, but Donal will only remain for a week or two before returning to command the army.
Rowan is horrified by this:
“Carillon—no—” That from Rowan, even as Donal thought to echo the identical words. “He is unschooled in warfare and the leading of men. Leave me here instead.”
“You I take with me.” The tone was inflexible.
“Rowan has the right of it.” Donal pushed himself up from the cot and rose, suppressing a grimace of pain. “What do I know of leading men into battle?”
“These are veterans.” Carillon’s voice was harsh. “These men do not require you to hold their hands. They will teach you what there is to know—it is time you learned how to conduct yourself as a soldier must in order to survive—and to keep others alive as well.”
I mean...okay, I guess. But it seems like giving him a smaller command first might make more sense. And also, why the hell are you bringing Donal back to Mujhara then? That's a month's trip one way!
...
“Then why send me to Mujhara?” Donal demanded. “Why not leave me here?”
“Because Aislinn is in Mujhara.” Carillon’s face was completely expressionless. “It is difficult to conceive a child when man and wife are so many leagues apart.”
I fucking hate you so much. And to give credit where it's due, Donal HATES this idea, pointing out that Aislinn's only just recovered.
“There is no time for such things as decency in war,” Carillon said baldly. “I have an heir; you do not. It is necessary for you to make one.” He turned back to Rowan again. “Make certain my half of the army is prepared to leave in the morning.”
So much. I hate you so fucking much.
Donal thinks Carillon is bad. Rowan thinks Donal should be ready to ride in the morning.
So they ride. We find out that Solinde kind of sucks (flat land and low scrubby trees). We get an annoying fashion description of Carillon himself:
The Mujhar rode in silence. Donal, watching him with subtle, sidelong glances, saw how the morning sun glinted off the silver of his hair. He wore few ornaments to mark his rank: his ring and a collar brooch of gold and emerald. His clothing was exceedingly simple: ringmail over a boiled leather hauberk. Black breeches. Thighboots. Bracers banded with slender ribs of steel.
Gods, what a man he is—what a warrior still…would that I could have known him before Tynstar stole his youth—
Ugh. Anyway, Donal angsts about not measuring up to Carillon. Meanwhile Carillon thanks Donal for coming along. He notes that Donal might have refused, an idea that shocks Donal. Carillon reassures Donal that he can refuse, and iterates that he hasn't stripped him entirely of freedom.
Yeah, I mean, you have a whole second family.
Anyway, Carillon brought him to this place to beg forgiveness. For convincing him to rape your daughter?
“Aye,” Carillon said gently. “Duncan left me a chunk of naked metal and I did my best to shape it into a sword—even to tempering it to my liking, knowing what weight and balance I desired. But I am no arms-master, and I may have unwittingly set blemishes in the steel.” His mouth hooked down in a brief ironic twist. “Now I seek to blood the blade after keeping it sheathed for nearly sixteen years.”
“My lord—”
“I am sorry, Donal. I could offer you countless reasons and excuses for what I have become—and what I have done to you—but I am finished with that. I am finished with—much.” His brows twisted briefly; Donal heard the undertone of despair in the steady voice. “I am sorry. I am sorry. For you…for Aislinn…for the child that must come of this.” He looked at his ruined hands as they clasped the saddlebow. “Last night I said there was no time for decency in war. Perhaps I meant it then, but it is not true. War may be obscene, but it is also necessary. So is decency, if you are to retain a measure of humanity.” His faded blue eyes met and held Donal’s. “My wars are nearly over. It is you who will fight them for me, and eventually for yourself. I pray you do it with the decency I denied…and the humanity you will need.”
...well, I suppose I should be glad that you're apologizing to Aislinn too?
Anyway, of course, these idiots went and had a private meeting for this. And of course, they're interrupted by a "sinuous voice"
It's Tynstar! AND Electra! How fucking convenient.
Yet again, we get the lir wanting to help but not being able to. Donal asks if that's because the Ihlini are bloodkin? But neither animal answers.
So it's a pretty dramatic confrontation. And...I hate to say it, but Tynstar actually does seem like a better partner than our two leads:
Tynstar smiled sweetly. “If you want him, Electra, I will give him to you when I am done with Carillon.”
Anyway, he knocks Donal down with a flick of his finger. Carillon is still standing and asks if Tynstar had sent Osric to Hondarth. Of course. He wants to win.
“I take Homana how I can,” the sorcerer agreed. “Would you not do the same? You have learned what it is to be ruthless in order to get what you desire.”
A fitting question.
So the fight here is pretty good. Tynstar vs. Carillon. At one point Carillon is knocked off his horse. But he keeps going:
Another gesture brought a bolt of lightning lancing out of the sky. It blasted the ground around Carillon’s sprawling body, splattering him with dirt.
“Slowly,” Electra said. “Let him know he dies.”
“Old man,” Tynstar said, “shall I release you from your pain?”
Slowly, Carillon pushed himself to his knees. Donal saw how his body trembled, how the chest heaved in complete exhaustion. Dust filmed his face; part of his beard was burned away.
He slumped. Slumping, his hands went to the ground. Fingers splayed. Elbows stiffened. He braced himself with every ounce of his waning strength.
Gods— Donal begged, do not let it end like this!
Failing, Carillon’s body curled forward, slumping—
—but did not fall. Instead, he jerked the knife from his belt and hurled it through the air.
“No—!” Electra screamed.
The knife went home high in Tynstar’s chest.
Carillon laughed. “Whose death today, Ihlini? Mine—or is it yours?”
Tynstar attempts to summon his god, Asar Suti. But Carillon beheads him. Nice.
Farewell, Tynstar. You were an ineffectual villain who did nothing in Shapechangers, though you did have a few good moments in Song. Sleep well, knowing your kids are going to totally fuck up your plans through rape and murder, leading to the creation of the distaff side of the prophecy.
Electra doesn't react to this well.
The Mujhar spun around. But Electra made no move to attack. Instead, she walked unsteadily toward the decapitated body and knelt beside it.
White-blond hair spilled down her breasts and trailed into the blood. Slowly, the blackness benighted the shining strands. It stained the pale lilac of her gown.
“Electra.” Carillon walked slowly toward his wife. “Electra—he is dead.”
She leaned forward. She moaned. She put her hands on the bloodied shoulders of the body. She slid them down across the torso in a morbid caress.
She jerked the knife from the chest—
—and came up, spinning, aiming for Carillon’s belly—
—in time to spit herself to the hilt of Carillon’s waiting sword.
“Such beauty…” he whispered in a ragged, helpless voice.
The knife dropped from her hand. Knees buckled. She fell, and Carillon caught her.
Alas, Electra. You weren't a good person, but I don't blame you for hating the guy who forced you into marriage.
An interesting note: both Electra and Tynstar bleed black. (Also thick and viscid).
Donal, to his credit, actually thinks about Aislinn: wondering if she's free. But Carillon decides to change his tactics. Donal's going back to the encampment, rather than to Aislinn. He tells him to win back Solinde.
Ugh.
He leaves Carillon standing over the bodies of his wife and Ihlini as though he mourns them both.
Well, the chapter's done. The villains are dead. Surely the book must be done too, you may ask.
Well...no. There's one more chapter in part one. And ten in part two. This fucking book isn't over yet. So let's see how bad it gets.
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Date: 2021-08-26 12:00 pm (UTC)Pan: About time you figured their influence! One of them is even using Carillon as a puppet!
Ganondorf: *whistles* No, I didn't make him say that forcing someone to be crazy about you isn't rape.
The Mujhar expelled a breath that hissed upon the air. His eyes, when he opened them again, were filled with a quiet desperation. “I am sorry,” he said at last. “The loss of an unborn son…” He did not finish the sentence.
Donal felt the kindling of distant grief into something very real. A son unborn… It had happened once before, when Sorcha had miscarried his first child. Ian and Isolde had come into the world safely, and he had grown complacent. He had thought Aislinn would bear him a healthy child; he had not considered a loss. He had not thought of what it meant to lose an heir.
Pan: Poor kid. But what about poor Aislinn?
Ganondorf: Donal lost a heir. Someone to protect his legacy. The child is more useful to him.
Pan: Sicko.
“Slowly,” Electra said. “Let him know he dies.”
“Old man,” Tynstar said, “shall I release you from your pain?”
Slowly, Carillon pushed himself to his knees. Donal saw how his body trembled, how the chest heaved in complete exhaustion. Dust filmed his face; part of his beard was burned away.
He slumped. Slumping, his hands went to the ground. Fingers splayed. Elbows stiffened. He braced himself with every ounce of his waning strength.
Pan: Woah, that's graphic and would be horrifying. But Carillon deserves it.
*Sees Tynstar's and Electra's death* These guys deserved it, but to be honest, I did want Carillon to die too.
Btw, I also made a fight scene, starring Alix, in my new chapter!
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Date: 2021-08-28 04:45 pm (UTC)And the advantage of a generational saga is that you still may get your wish.
no subject
Date: 2021-08-28 04:48 pm (UTC)