Song of Homana - Part Two - Chapter Four

[kalinara]

So last time, Carillon lost his liegeman, sister, mother, and good friend. Can this get any worse?



So there's a bit of a timeskip here, as, when we rejoin Carillon, he's in an infirmary tent watching a chirurgeon sear a wound on Rowan's arm. Egad. Maybe I spoke too soon. Though Rowan's not too bad off, he'd gotten a sword cut that missed muscle and bone. He's keeping his arm. Though he might be regretting that right at this moment.

He let out his breath slowly. It hissed between his teeth. He put out his right hand and groped for the cup of sour wine Waite had set out on the table. Fingers closed on the cup, gripping so hard the knuckles shone white, and then he lifted it to his mouth. I smiled. Waite had put a powder in it that would ease the pain a bit. Rowan had originally refused any such aid, but he had not seen the powder. And now he drank, unknowing, and the pain would be eased somewhat.

I'm not sure that I'm on board with you secretly drugging the one friend you have left.

Rowan starts to disrobe and has a bit of trouble. I did not move to help because I knew he would not allow it, me being his Mujhar, and because it would hurt his pride. Like all the Cheysuli, he had his pride; a prickly, arrogant pride that some took for condescension. It was not, usually. It was merely a certainty of their place within the boardgame of the gods. And Rowan, though he was less Cheysuli in his habits than Homanan, reflected much of that traditional pride without even knowing it.

Sigh. It's so hard when your ship sinks, isn't it?

We learn a bit more about how Rowan had been injured: it was protecting Carillon, who'd been briefly disoriented after getting struck in the face by the head of his horse...I'm not entirely sure how that happened, but I'm enjoying the mental picture.

He asks if Rowan's hungry, and he is. Apparently everyone has been worn thin. It's more obvious on Rowan than Carillon, because Carillon has a beard. Carillon appreciates that, he doesn't like too much concern. He still gets asked about his health a lot, which he attributes to the cost of being king.

There's a cute bit where Rowan tries to play stoic, and the chirurgeon Waite makes fun of that. Carillon gets Rowan some food, and Rowan apologizes for his injury. He can't help but compare himself to Finn. Rowan feels like he lacks the skill to keep Carillon safe.

I stopped at the cookfire and nodded at the soldier who tended the roasting boar. He began to cut with a greasy knife. “You are not Finn, nor ever can be,” I said clearly to Rowan. “But I want you by my side.”

“My lord—”

I cut him off with a gesture of my hand. “When I sent Finn from my service six months ago, I knew what I was risking. Still, it had to be done, for the good of us all. I do not dismiss the importance his presence held. The bond between Cheysuli liege man and his Mujhar is a sacred thing, but—once broken—there is no going back.” I grasped his uninjured arm, knowing there was no lir-band underneath the furs and leathers. “I do not seek another Finn. I value you. Do not disappoint me by undervaluing yourself.” The soldier dropped a slice of meat onto a slab of tough bread and put it into my hands. In turn, I put it into Rowan’s. “Now, eat. You must restore your strength so we can fight again.”

The mist put beads of water into his hair. Damp, it tangled against his shoulders. His face was bleak, pale, stretched taut over prominent bones, but I thought the pain came from something other than his arm.

I feel like Rowan also feels our shipper angst. We're kindred spirits, kid.

Soon though, they're interrupted by a courier. An Ellasian! Sent from High Prince Cuinn! Carillon is delighted and so am I! A hope spot!

Lachlan's a better letter writer than he is a lyricist, thank the gods.

Upon returning home to Rheghed, I was met with warm welcome from the king my father. So warm, indeed that he showered me with gifts. One of these gifts was a command of my own, did I ever need to use it. I doubt Rhodri ever intended me to be so generous as to loan the gift to you, but the thing is already done. My men are yours for as long as you need them. And does it please you to offer a gift in return, I ask only that you treat kindly with Ellas when we seek to make an alliance.

By the hand of the High Prince,
Cuinn Lachlan Llewellyn

It pays to have friends in high places!

And it's a hell of a gift too: Five THOUSAND members of the Royal Ellasian Guard. The courier, whose name is Gryffth, (supporting my Ellas = Wales theory) confides that the men all knew what Lachlan intended by sending them, and they're all willing to help fight. Yay!

Later, Carillon is at a map, pointing out Thorne's likely route and destination to the Ellasian captain, Meredyth. He wants Lachlan's men to know exactly what they're doing. Thorne had let slip that he was splitting his army, intending that Carillon would divide his as well. Carillon's spies figured out the ruse in time.

Meredyth, we're told, is older than Carillon by twenty years, which made Carillon a bit hesitant at first, but Lachlan chose a good guy, who listens and thinks before judging.

We have more news. Electra is pregnant again, due in three months. Carillon thinks this is why the Solindish haven't aided the Atvians. If Electra has a boy, they're one child closer to freedom or autonomy.

I feel like they could just get freedom or autonomy by helping Thorne and double crossing him. It's not like Thorne has Ihlini after all. But Carillon is still adamant on painting his marriage to Electra as a good thing.

Meredyth thinks like I do and asks about the Ihlini. Happily, there's no word of Ihlini in the Atvian army.

So we get to the battle, two days later. Carillon specifically seeks him out in the battlefield:

I sought only Thorne in the crush of fighting. I wanted him at the end of my blade, fully aware of his own death and who dealt it. It was he who had taken my sword from me on the battlefield near Mujhara, nearly seven years before. It was he who had put the iron on me and ordered Rowan flogged. It was Thorne who might have slain Alix, given the chance, had not the Cheysuli come. And it was Thorne who offered me insult by thinking he could pull down my House and replace it with his own.

For once this is a reasonably accurate retelling from Shapechangers, though it ignores that Alix only conveniently forgot her powers when her arm was twisted, or that Duncan and Finn had had the ability to kill Keough and Thorne right then and there.

Anyway, Carillon manages to get himself shot with an arrow, numbing his arm, just in time to be attacked by an Atvian soldier. Their horses slam together, swords clash, and unlike Shapechangers, I actually feel like I have some idea of what's happening. Eventually the Atvian loses his sword, but he basically jumps off his horse to tackle Carillon to the ground.

I'm a bit reluctantly impressed. They wrestle, kind of, and then Carillon manages to stab his knife into the guy's groin from beneath. The guy is going to bleed to death, but in the process, he's crushing Carillon under his dead weight and Carillon passes out.

He wakes up in the tent. It hurts a lot. Rowan and Waite are there. The arrow wound is not too bad. Carillon asks if he can have the same stuff that Rowan was dosed with, which makes Rowan mutter that he knew he'd slept too well, and Waite promises he can have it once his injuries are bound.

Basically Carillon had spent a few hours under three hundred pounds of mailed Atvian. He's not feeling great, but seems mostly unbroken.

As it turns out Thorne is dead. Rowan admits that he hadn't heeded Carillon, he'd also looked for Thorne on the battlefield but couldn't find him. Carillon orders he be buried as befits his rank, but his body is not to be returned to the Atvian people. He remembers how he'd asked for his father to get a Homanan burial, but Thorne denied him.

I feel like this is the kind of thing that might back fire in a book or so when there's a new generation of Atvians to hold a grudge. Maybe you should check if Thorne had children. Or brothers.

Ah, the next bit of dialogue reveals that he does have two sons. And Carillon has decided that he'll be asking them for fealty. His sons will be received in Homana-Mujhar for their oaths. Are you sure you don't want to force one of them into marriage too?

Anyway, Carillon wants to leave in the morning. Waite says he won't be up to it, but Carillon is okay with a litter. Well, until they get a half league from Mujhara, then he'll ride a horse. He doesn't want Electra to worry. Yeah, because that seems likely dude.

Actually, as it turns out, he can't go in the morning. But he feels better on the third day. He speaks to Meredyth and the other Ellasians. Since Thorne is defeated, it's time to send them home. Carillon sends some money with them, and more importantly, a promise for a sound alliance with Ellas. Gryffth, the courier, has asked to stay in Homana and serve Ellis as envoy. Everyone agrees.

Carillon does ride the litter back, and thinks thinky thoughts about Atvia and Solinde:

Atvia was mine, did I wish to keep it, although there was a chance Thorne’s sons might wish to contest it. I thought they were too young, but could not set an age to them. Yet to try to govern Atvia myself was nearly impossible. The island was too distant. A regent in Solinde was bad enough, and yet I had no choice. I did not want even Solinde; Bellam had, more or less, bequeathed it to me with his death, and the marriage had sealed it. Although I was not averse to claiming two realms my own in place of the single one I wanted, I was not greedy. In the past, far-flung realms had drained the coffers of other kings; I would not fall into the trap. Atvia was Atvian. And did Electra give me an heir this time, I would be happy enough to see Solinde go to my second son.

...wasn't holding onto Solinde one of your excuses FOR marrying Electra, dude? Now you're claiming that you don't want it?

Why not let Electra go home then? Let HER rule it, and maybe she'll even be grateful enough not to hold a grudge.

But really. He's lucky Tourmaline didn't punch him when he tried to pretend he didn't choose his bride.

Anyway, he does indeed shift to a horse, though it's very tiring. He goes to seek Electra's chambers. But Electra is bathing and he's asked to wait:

No, I said, the bath could wait, but she giggled and said the Queen had prepared a special greeting, having received the news of my return. Too weary to think of waving such protestations aside—and wondering what Electra could be planning—I turned back and went away.

Hey! Actually respecting her wishes for once, how novel! Though I notice it's only because it benefits you.

Carillon goes to see his daughter instead. Aislinn is eight months old. And this is pretty sweet, well sort of.

I smiled, bending down to set a hand against her cheek. So soft, so fair…I could not believe she was mine. My hand was so large and hard and callused, touching the fragile flesh. Her hair, springing from the pink scalp, was coppery-red, curling around her ears. And her eyes, when they were open, were gray and lashed with gold. She had all of her mother’s beauty and none of her father’s size.

“Princess of Homana,” I whispered to my daughter, “who will be your prince?”

Sigh.

Carillon decides to rest in his chambers. And that's when everything goes bad.

I came up out of the blackness to find I could not breathe. Something had leached the air from my lungs until I could not cry out; could not cry; could not speak. All I could do was gape like a fish taken from the water, flapping on the bank.

There was no pain. Merely helplessness and confusion; pain enough, to a man who knows himself trapped. And does not know why.

A cool hand came down and touched my brow. It floated out of the darkness, unattached to an arm, until I realized the arm was merely covered by a sleeve.

Oh Carillon. Do you remember how every single other character warned you that it was a bad idea to marry this woman? Do you remember how she repeatedly said she didn't want you? Remember how she manipulated someone, with magic, to try to kill you?

Do you remember those lessons that you ALMOST learn about being unable to force love?

“Carillon. Ah, my poor Carillon. So triumphant in your battles, and now so helpless in your bed.”

Electra’s voice; Electra’s hand. I could smell the scent upon her. A bath, the woman had said; a special greeting prepared.

The cool fingers traced the line of my nose; gently touched my eyelids. “Carillon…it ends. This travesty of our marriage. You will end, my lord.” The hand came down my cheek and caressed my open mouth. “It is time for me to go.”

...honestly, I can't even blame her for this. Go Electra.

A purple rune appears in the darkness and he can see her: wearing black. Carillon can see her pregnant belly. The child. The heir of Homana. Did she dare to take it from me?

Oh...Carillon. But Electra's response is kind of wonderful:

Electra smiled. A hood covered all her hair, leaving only her face in the light. One hand came up to cradle her belly. “Not yours,” she said gently. “Did you really think it was? Ah no, Carillon…it is another man’s. Think you I would keep myself to you when I can have my true lord’s love?” She turned slightly, and I saw the man beyond her.

I mouthed his name, and he smiled. The sweet, beguiling smile that I had seen before.

Hello Tynstar.

Tynstar compliments Carillon as a "good opponent" and notes that it's been interesting to watch him grow and learn to rule. Carillon's got more kingcraft than Tynstar had anticipated when he'd set him free, eight years ago now.

Tynstar has more to say and, well, it's kind of vindication:

“Blame yourself,” Tynstar told me gently. “What I do now was made possible by you, when you sent the Cheysuli from your side. Had you kept him by you—” He smiled. “But then you could not, could you, so long as he threatened the Queen. You had Electra to think of instead of yourself. Commendable, my lord Mujhar; it speaks well of your priorities. But it will also be your death.” The flame danced upon its wick and sculpted his bearded face into a death’s head of unparallelled beauty. “Finn knew the truth. He understood. It was Finn who saw me in Electra’s bed.” His teeth showed briefly as I spasmed against the sheets. One hand went to Electra’s belly.

And here's the part that Carillon couldn't hear. He'd already thought he'd known what was happening, so he didn't listen to what Finn was actually trying to say. Finn hadn't been talking about the trap-link. He'd literally seen Tynstar there. And he'd known what Electra was.

Carillon really should have asked for a replacement bodyguard from Duncan. Oh well.

Tynstar notes that he's done playing with Carillon and asks if he remembers what Bellam had looked like when they found his corpse:

I spasmed again and Tynstar laughed. Electra watched me as a hawk will watch a coney, delaying its stoop until the perfect moment.

“Cheysuli i’halla shansu,” Tynstar said. “Give my greetings to the gods.”
I felt the change within my body. Even as I fought them, my muscles tightened and drew up my limbs. Buttocks, feet and knees, cramping so that I nearly screamed, while my legs folded up to crush themselves against my chest. My hands curled into fists and a rictus set my mouth so that my teeth were bared in a feral snarl. I felt my flesh tightening on my bones, drying into hardness.

Carillon realizes that he's dying, and thinks about the odd farewell: "May there be Cheysuli peace upon you". Carillon thinks of the time in the oubliette and tries to feel that THING that had made him, very briefly, Cheysuli. He loses consciousness at the chapter's end.

So Carillon's chickens have come home to roost. All in a row. The woman he'd forced into marriage. The friend that he discarded. The sorcerer that he'd ignored as a non-entity, even while knowing he was still out there.

Tynstar and Electra are evil. If nothing else, they're part of a regime that willingly and happily continued to foster genocide. But at the same time, there's something rather satisfying about this.

There are still a few chapters left to go.