Curse of the Mistwraith - Chapter Seven - Pass of Orlan

[kalinara]

So last time, Arithon snuck out, met a girl whose level of impulse control and wise decision making are about on level with his own, got clonked on the head by said girl, and accidently got his mental block broken. It was a moderately busy evening!



We rejoin our merry band of idiots the morning after Arithon's escapade. They're leaving, much to Dakar's dismay, as the original plan had been for them to stay an extra two days. But whatever Asandir says to him (we don't get to hear it) shuts him up cold.

Lysaer's a bit disappointed to have missed the nightly excursion. Sadly, he hasn't had the chance to make any "tactful inquiry" (because of course, Lysaer would never do anything without tact), so he's still a bit out of the loop. Asandir is brisk, and we're told that, were Dakar inclined to talking rather than being seriously hungover, he'd have warned the brothers that this kind of silence means trouble.

Amusingly, Arithon is the one character who's actually somewhat cheerful about all of this:

With the mystery behind his mind-block resolved, the cutting edge eased from his reserve. Left less wary than watchful now that he understood the stakes involved a kingship, he trusted time and circumstance would show him an opening to overset Asandir’s prerogatives. Until then, he rode at his half-brother’s side and not even his restive mare diverted him from rapid-fire conversation. Lysaer welcomed the entertainment. Since too much quiet let him brood over the undermining losses of his banishment, he fielded Arithon’s quips in a spirited enthusiasm that outlasted interruptions by fast-riding couriers and packed farm-drays, and once, a dusty band of cattle whose herd-boys yipped and goaded their charges to market.

I'm very amused by all of this. And really, Asandir has only himself to blame. Maybe if he bothered to talk HONESTLY to the brothers, he'd get a reasonable level of cooperation. Instead, Arithon is quite happily plotting against him, and he deserves it.

They travel through forests, noting the flat and dull coats of the deer. The does are thin. Apparently this is, in part, because of the evil mist.

The party settles down at a tavern for the night, and I'm realizing that Felirin hasn't been mentioned. Did he stay behind in Erdane? If so, I wish there'd been a clearer farewell! I liked Felirin!

The tavern has an interesting history though, in better times it had been a hospice tended by "Ath's initiates". Apparently the order is almost gone, because the connection that the initiates had to "the mysteries" was broken by the Mistwraith. This makes Asandir visibly sad, though it's not clear to me that Arithon or Lysaer even know what the initiates are. But maybe they do, since I remember people swearing "By Ath" in Dascan Elur as well.

The place is pretty empty. The food is bland and greasy. Lysaer barely touches his plate. Arithon's had worse aboard ship. There's no opportunity for nightly excursions by Dakar or Arithon, as Asandir sits all night in the hallway, with his back against the door.

...that seems a bit much, dude.

Lysaer and Arithon are getting along very well, exchanging some banter about how if Dakar weren't a sorcerer's apprentice, he'd make a decent fool. Or not, since the king would be annoyed and any princess would have a pinched bottom.

The conversation turns to Dascan Elur, and interestingly, Arithon's actually willing to talk about something. Romantic history, in fact.

One corner of Arithon’s mouth twitched. After a moment, the expression resolved to a smile. ‘If it takes sharing confidences to prove that you’re wrong, there was one young maid. I was never betrothed, as you were. Sithaer, I barely so much as kissed her. I think she was as frightened of my shadows as I was of telling her my feelings.’

I wonder why this is coming up now. (cough) They talk a bit more about whether Asandir might let them go home after the mist stuff is done. Arithon's pretty firm "No" without explanation upsets Lysaer, who realizes he's out of the loop about something and understandably resents it.

Anyway, the party travels a few more days before reaching a new landmark: Standing Gate, which is "a rock formation that spanned the road in a lopsided natural arch. Centaurs in past ages had carved the flanking columns into likenesses of the twins who founded their royal dynasty. Since before the memory of man the granite had resisted erosion: the Kings Halmein and Adon reared yet over the highway, their massive, majestic forelegs upraised in the mist and their beards and maned backs stained the verdigris of old bronze with blooms of lichen.

Mortal riders could not pass beneath their shadow without experiencing a chill of profound awe. Here the footfalls of the horses seemed to resound with the echoes of another age, when the earth was fresh with splendour and Paravians nurtured the mysteries. Standing Gate marked the upward ascent to the high valley pass of Orlan, sole access through the Thaldein mountains to Atainia and lands to the east.

I'll get bored of description one day.

Anyway, when Arithon pauses to water his horse, he realizes that they're being watched. He uses "an enchanter's awareness" to find out the cause. There's a man, wearing wolfskin jerkin and leggings. His consciousness holds "a predator's leashed aggression paired with tempered steel."

Arithon doesn't say anything however, and rejoins the group. He informs Asandir that they're being watched. Asandir is not surprised. But for ONCE, he decides to share a little, explaining that this is where the clans that ruled Camris (the region where they're located in the country of Tysan) make their stand against the townfolk. Not being townfolk, however, Asandir thinks they've little to fear.

Arithon asks if the clans were subject to the high king of Tysan, and Asandir confirms that. He says that the descendants of the clans will not have forgotten. He rejoins the others, with "a glint of veiled speculation" in his eyes. There's some banter with Lysaer and Dakar, that leads to Dakar falling out of his horse.

Lysaer is concerned about prospective trouble and he decides to ask Asandir if he can sell his jewels and by a sword at the next town they visit. Um, you shouldn't need PERMISSION, dude. You're a grown man.

Asandir notes that they'll cross no more towns before they reach their destination. Lysaer, "more forthright than his half brother" then suggests he could find a tavern keeper with a spare blade that they could buy.

Asandir’s vagueness crystallized to piercing irritation. ‘When you have need of a weapon, you shall be given one.’

Dude. You deserve all the inconvenience.

So, they're basically riding through a snow storm at this point. Asandir's worried that the road might get too mired for travel, so he pushed them on through the night. It sounds completely hellish but for once I will show restraint and spare you the description. It's fucking cold.

They do make it into the titular "pass of Orlan", though at this point no one can see much of anything without mage-sight. Arithon and Asandir take charge in turns, because Lysaer isn't mage trained and Dakar is unreliable to the point where he falls asleep in his saddle and might end up falling off a precipice. Eventually, Arithon decides he can't resist temptation any longer.

He volunteers to lead and then pushes forward, gradually, until he's much farther ahead than the others. He coaxes his mare forward until she founders and he has to dismount and help her. Arithon himself is getting wet and cold because he'd draped his cloak over the poor tired mare. He walks a little farther, until a crisp voice tells him not to move.

I like imagining the barbarians with RP accents.

Anyway, things get a bit dicey and Arithon's mare flees. He manages to retrieve his cloak though and draws his too awesome sword. Meanwhile, poor Splash runs to the others. Lysaer keeps his seat, because of skilled horsemanship (of course), but still collides with Asandir. Dakar topples head first into a snow bank.

Arithon uses the moment of distraction to...get himself captured?! Um. Dude? WHAT?

He realizes however, he's going to have to revise his plan (WHAT PLAN) because of Lysaer. "Like the spirited dun, the prince had too much character to meet any threat with complacency"

That's a great fucking line.

So anyway, the barbarian and Arithon have a confrontation. Arithon gets the better of him, and has his sword poised at the barbarian's throat. (We're also informed that this guy is a head taller and "doubly muscled".) Arithon urges him not to be foolish and think about why Arithon might be doing this. Meanwhile, Arithon drops his sword point down in the snow.

The barbarian isn't alone, of course, but his band is having second thoughts about this. They can tell because of Arithon's speech that he's not a townsman. The leader, Grithen (HEY, we met him earlier!) is still inclined to fight, pointing out that accents can be faked and that Arithon isn't wearing clan identification. He orders Arithon bound.

Arithon is in fine form:

Jerked to his feet, Arithon watched with a sailor’s appreciation as the scouts cut their rawhide laces and expertly tied up his wrists. Then he averted his gaze, spat blood from a cut lip and endured an ignominious interval while more cords were looped tight around his ankles. ‘The heart of the dilemma,’ he conceded to Grithen in a final, acid afterthought. ‘Did I act out of purpose or folly? You’d better figure out which, and quickly.’

...I love that Arithon has Opinions on how he's tied up. Of course he does.

Anyway, Arithon explains himself, and...okay. This is pretty funny:

Suppose I had a companion too prideful to submit to a threat.’ Arithon looked keenly at his captor, who was frowning and flicking blood from his leathers. ‘Say my friend had no fear of danger and he forced you to harm him to make your capture. That might be a pity. His skin is pricelessly valuable.’

Grithen whistled and shot a triumphant glance at his henchmen, one of whom was indeed a scarred and grim-faced woman. Then his leonine beard parted in a grin of forthright appreciation. ‘Which one is he? I assure you, we’ll handle him as delicately as a flower.’

Arithon raised his brows. ‘Flower he isn’t, but don’t worry. If he doesn’t co-operate and surrender, my life will surely be forfeit.’

So basically, Arithon wants them to use him as a hostage so Lysaer doesn't get himself killed in righteous fury and indignation.

Of course he does.

Grithen accuses Arithon basically of being gay ("a boy-lover") and trying to protect his beloved. Arithon isn't particularly bothered by that, noting that Grithen will wish that it's true.

We rejoin the others. Lysaer is having a moment:

‘Whoa,’ Lysaer soothed gently. Astride his disgruntled chestnut and leading his half-brother’s mount by the bridle, he slacked rein as the mare jibbed backward. ‘Whoa now.’ The patience in his voice overlaid a worry that burned his thoughts to white rage. Obstinate the Master of Shadow might be, and most times maddeningly reticent; yet as Lysaer combed through wind-whipped snow for a man perhaps fallen and injured, he did not dwell on past crimes or piracy. However cross-grained, no matter how secretive or odd a childhood among mages had made him, Arithon’s motives before exile had likely not been founded in malice.

He was kin, and the only other in this mist-cursed world who recalled that Lysaer had been born a prince.

Aw. Anyway, as they ride, Lysaer catches sight of one of Grithen's arrows. He turns to Asandir and demands to know why Arithon suspected trouble. Before Asandir can answer, the archers appear. Grithen demands they dismount and throw down their weapons. Lysaer demands to know what they did with his half-brother.

(He actually uses the words "half-brother" aloud, and I feel like that's some kind of emotional progress?)

He rapped orders to someone in position over his head. There followed a flurry of activity and a bundle appeared, suspended over the cliff face by a swinging length of rope. As the wind lulled and the snow settled to clear the view, Lysaer recognized Arithon, bound hand and foot and suspended face-first over a drop that vanished straight down into mist. The brutes had gagged his mouth.

Lysaer forgot he no longer held royal authority. Very pale, but with unassailable dignity, he accosted the raiders on the ridge. ‘Lend me a blade. For the sake of the life you threaten, I’ll set honour above cowardly extortion and offer trial by single combat as settlement.’

...amazing. You're both fucking idiots.

Anyway, Grithen holds up Alithiel (the super-cool sword) and rejects the offer, wondering who will hit the ground first: Lysaer or Arithon (who is dangling "without struggle over the abyss"). Asandir steps in:

‘Dismount as they wish, and quickly.’ The sorcerer did so himself, while more barbarians armed with javelins closed in a ring from the cliffside.

Stiff with wounded pride, and galled enough to murder for the brutality which had befallen his half-brother, Lysaer watched in seething compliance as Asandir threw the reins of his black to his apprentice and confronted the cordon of weapon-points.

Melodrama runs in the family.

So Asandir and Grithen have a pissing contest that ends with Asandir urging Lysaer forward, telling him to remove his hood.

The barbarian gave way to blind outrage. ‘The next man who speaks or moves will wind up butchered on my signal!’

‘Not so easily,’ rebutted the one who stepped forth, a figure muffled in ordinary wool, whose fingers bore neither ring nor ornament as he slipped off his gloves and raised his hands; but a man so unconsciously sure of his position that every clansman present paused to stare.

Dark cloth slipped back to reveal honey-gold hair, blue eyes still glacial with fury and features that reflected a bloodline not seen in Camris for centuries, but recognizable to every clan along the Valendale.

Thank god for fantasy genetics. Imagine if Lysaer had been a redhead like his father.

So of course, everyone is shocked. Then a female bandit recognizes Asandir as "the Kingmaker himself". Asandir introduces Lysaer as "Prince Lysaer, Teir's'Ilessid, scion of the high kings of Tysan, and by unbroken line of descent [their] liege lord."

Grithen drops to his knees. (Asandir recognizes him, somehow, as "Grithen son of Tane".) And the other clansmen prostrate themselves as well. Lysaer is pretty stunned by all this, but recovers enough to order them to release his half-brother.

Lysaer gets to be dramatic about all this:

A pair of scouts scrambled to their feet, sped by the mention that the captive they had manhandled was royal also. Lysaer showed their consternation little mercy, but swept up Arithon’s sword. ‘You,’ he said coldly. He touched the naked blade against the nape of Grithen’s neck. ‘Mayors might rule in Erdane, but honour shall not be forgotten. Remain on your knees until my half-brother is returned safely to my side. Then, since anger might bias my fair opinion, I leave your fate in the hands of Asandir.’

Asandir states that the Fellowship of Seven "pass no judgment upon men", however someone named Maenalle, who is "Steward of Tysan" will do it. She's apparently been in charge of things, such as they are, for two decades.

Grithen gets time to curse his bad decisions, as Maenalle will be pissed at him. He remembers how the clan elder, Lord Tashan, had opposed this attack. He might even end up disbarred from his inheritance. Aw.

The next section is called: An Arrival.

We stick with the party as they head into the clanfolk's valley, met by Maenalle herself. Asandir, finally informative, gives us the run down of this lady:

‘The woman who wears the circlet and the tabard with your colours is Maenalle,’ Asandir said quickly. ‘She is Steward of the Realm, last heir to a very ancient title. She and her forbears have safeguarded Tysan’s heritage in the absence of the king through the years since the rebellion. Let me speak to her first. Then you shall greet her with due respect, for all that she rules she has held in your name.’

We also get a description:

The travel-worn arrivals drew rein before the ranks of clan outriders. This company wore no furs, but livery of royal blue velvet and swordbelts beaded with gold. The bridles of their matched bay coursers were gilt also and polished to smart perfection. The woman at the fore was boyishly slim, mounted side-saddle and fidgeting with impatience. Her habit was sable, her fur-trimmed shoulders and slender waist engulfed by a tabard bearing the gold star blazon of Tysan. In her hand she carried a sprig of briar, and her greying, short-cropped hair was tucked back under a silver fillet. She rode to meet Asandir, drew rein as he dismounted, then laughed a merry welcome as he raised his hands and swung her down.

Asandir and Maenalle clearly know each other well. As part of some kind of ritual, she gives the sprig to him and he does some nifty magic to make it sprout into a "flawless summer rose." He presents Lysaer to her.

Lysaer, understandably, is a bit uneasy about all of this. Especially since, for all intents and purposes, he's here to take this woman's job. But she's overjoyed instead. He does have a moment of surprise when he feels the sword callouses in her palm though, and has to "master[] surprise at the steward's mannish incongruities". Fortunately, Lysaer knows how to be courteous.

Her shouted welcome basically sends everyone into celebration mode. The clanmen sweep Lysaer out of his saddle and envelop him in good cheer. They've been waiting five hundred years for this!

Lysaer has a lot to get used to, given that he's generally a more formal sort even with family and friends. He also has no idea what the appropriate precedents are, so the poor guy's at a loss.

They end up taken to the outpost, where Maenalle brings Asandir aside for a private talk. She wants to know what he wouldn't say in public.

Asandir demurs a bit, discussing the meth snake issue far away, but when she pushes him, he answers the question that she's really asking. He notes that Lysaer hasn't been formally sanctioned for accession to the throne, but not because he's unworthy. There'll be a coronation after they defeat the Mistwraith.

Then things get interesting when Maenalle about a certain event in the past. Apparently one of Asandir's colleagues (we'll get his name later as Traithe) had tried to stop the Mistwraith's first attempt at an invasion and had been "left broken and lame" by the act.

Asandir confirms that this is true, and that while Dakar's prophecy is clear, there's no guarantee that either Lysaer or Arithon will survive the battle unscathed.

Maenalle, who is awesome, asks a very difficult question: what happens if the s'Ilessid heir is maimed or dead? And the answer is interesting:

Now reluctant to meet her brave scrutiny, Asandir faced the fireside. ‘If Lysaer is impaired, he will have heirs. If he is killed, we know for certain there are other s’Ilessid kinsmen alive beyond the Gates in Dascen Elur.’ To show to what extent he shared her worry, he added, ‘The kingdom of Rathain is not so lucky. Since the Teir’s’Ffalenn now with us is the last of his line, rest assured, Lady Maenalle. The Seven will guard the safety of both princes to the limit of our power and diligence.’

Why IS it so important that Rathain have a king? Because Asandir says this as though it should reassure Maenalle that they'll keep both heirs safe. But why?

--
We don't know, because the third section, "A Return", takes us to Elaira, who is heading home from Erdane. She's in a bit of a hurry, paying for replacement horses rather than lodgings when she can. She's hoping that if she arrives late at night, she might be able to squeeze in a hot bath and rest before she faces consequences for her bad behavior.

Unfortunately, the weather makes that impossible, and when she gets in, it's well past daybreak. Elaira is ordered to report to the main hall. She starts to unbuckle things from her horse, but is urged by the novice who greets her to have someone else do it. The Prime Enchantress, Morriel, is displeased and waiting. (The novice is rather catty about it.)

That is an 'oh crap' moment. Unfortunately, unlike Arithon, who has no shame and no real requirement to follow a sorcerer around if he really doesn't want to, Elaira has superiors and real constraints on her behavior.

Elaira's also dismayed to hear that her misadventures are already gossip. Interestingly, we get a hint of backstory for her, when we're told: Had she not been the daughter of a street thief before the Koriani claimed her for training, shame might have hampered the wits that allowed her to rally. ‘I’d best not wait for a page, then. If their evaluation has been put off, the boys will have time on their hands. You’ll only need a minute to find one to see my mount cooled and stabled.’

So the poor novice gets to miss dinner. Oops. Well. That's what you get for being snotty. Anyway, Elaira decides to be additionally petty by using a secret entrance to get to her destination. It's a bit physically arduous, so now she smells like sweat as well as wet horse. Militant despite Asandir’s counsel of temperance, Elaira hastened through a chain of mouldering bedchambers; if the Prime Enchantress saw fit to demand audience after an all night ride with no bath, she deserved to endure the result.

You and Arithon really do get each other, don't you.

The tower descriptions are all pretty great. Too much to put here, but the over all sense is something that was once grand, but now neglected and in some disrepair. She heads into the Great Hall (and unfortunately trips over her cloak hem as she does) where she awaits the consequences of her actions.

Morriel gets a description:

The Prime herself held audience. Aged and thin as a whip, she sat her seat of power looking faded in official purple robes and skin as translucent as antique porcelain. Yet her shoulders were not bowed; her hand on her order was unyielding as northfacing granite, hard as the diamonds that netted her bone-white hair and flashed on her blue-veined wrists. Couched amid calculating wrinkles, her eyes gleamed black as a carrion crow’s.

The bird comparisons persist: hawk nose, bird-like rapacity.

First Enchantress Lirenda, who we met before, is there too. She gets feline comparisons, and is there as "Ceremonial Inquistor." That's an indicator of exactly how fucked Elaira is. She's not getting a standard inquiry. She's getting a formal, closed trial for enchantresses who break their vows of obedience.

Elaira goes over her mistakes in her head: speaking with Asandir - but not betraying secrets, gambling with a prophet, and an innocent talk with a prince. It doesn't seem like anything that should warrant this!

There's lots of nifty bits here about Koriani customs. Morriel doesn't acknowledge Elaira directly because as Prime, she addresses no "outsiders" and as an alleged oath-breaker, Elaira fits into that category.

So it starts off with some general shaming: Elaira had a job to do, and her assignment didn't include taverns, brothels or gambling. Elaira defends herself by saying that she "mistakenly" thought facts were more important than the methods used to get them.

Per Lirenda, Elaira is the first initiate to stoop to scouring brothels and taprooms for knowledge.

Morriel has enough of the back and forth and pages, who are male interestingly enough, bring forth the Skyron crystal.

Okay there's a lot of bits here, so I'll try to touch on the important stuff.

1. The Koriani are gender based. Only women can join. Young boys might serve, but they're denied training. They're freaked out by the crystal, and implicitly what they've seen it used for.

2. The Skyron crystal is very powerful. Elaira won't be able to resist it. It's however not nearly as powerful as the Koriani order's original crystal, "the Great Waystone" which was lost during the rebellion. (The Skyron crystal is aquamarine, the Waystone is amethyst, if you're curious.)

3. So Elaira is made to look into the crystal and surrender her will. She can't tell what they're asking her, but she sees Arithon's face in her memories, hears Dakar talking. She sees herself weaving magic against the headhunters in the tavern. Happily, there's nothing about her meeting with Asandir, but only because she was caught much later. They're VERY interested in her interaction with Arithon though.

Poor Elaira is pretty wrecked by this. "Lacerated in nerve and mind". Fortunately, she seems the sort to get strength in defiance. When Lirenda insists that she's hiding something, Elaira snaps at her, asking what another interrogation could possibly prove. Just punish her already for being stupid and curious!

Morriel, interestingly, does talk at Elaira here. Sort of.:

‘Tell her to be silent!’ Morriel’s immutable eyes fixed on the space above Elaira’s head. ‘The initiate has no cause for impertinence. Plainly she has inclinations toward a personal entanglement with the Teir’s’Ffalenn, but she is so emotionally disorganized she seems unaware of her lapse. Let me remind that as Koriani she is pledged to avoid involvement with any man, no matter how exalted his bloodline.’

Elaira remembers Asandir's warnings and bites her tongue. Lirenda is disappointed, and Morriel decides to withhold judgment. Lirenda warns Elaira to "dissociate" from Arithon, and says she's on probation and excused.

Poor Elaira has a LOT to think about.

--

The sneak peek section this time is "Portents".

The first one involves serpents with blood-dark eyes in a swamp.

The second is more interesting. In the north and west, a scar faced barbarian is having prescient dreams and has seen the face of his king, and his own death.

The third involves four tall towers above a ruined city. There was a fifth tower, but its foundations are shattered.

And here our chapter ends.

Hopefully next time we'll learn exactly what Arithon was trying to DO when he got himself dangled over a cliff. Then again, it might be funnier if we never understand it. It's Arithon! He's like that!

Comments

[copperfyre]

THESE ANNOYING IDIOTS

I love them.

[kalinara]

They're SO annoying! It's actually a little endearing.