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i_read_whatAh, I did miss these idiot brothers. When we left off, Arithon had some unexplained plan that got them kidnapped (intentionally) by barbarian clansmen who have now recognized Lysaer as their long lost king. Elaira, not being as lucky as two idiot princes who can only fail upward, is currently on scary sorceress probation.
We step into Lysaer's view for this part, titled The Clans of Camris, as he wakes up to what sound like some pretty swanky digs:
Lysaer awoke at dusk to strangely carved walls, a warm fire and blankets of softest angora that wrapped his sweating limbs in clinging, suffocating heat. He tossed away the coverlets, rose naked from the feather mattress and paced across fine carpet to a casement paned with glass. Outside, clustered around a snow-trampled compound spread the tents, stone huts and rough, log-timbered buildings that comprised the permanent mountain outpost maintained by the clans of Camris.
He's been given the "King's Chamber", which is nice, but these folk aren't exactly the aristocracy that he's used to. This place looks like a war camp, and the men and women are armed and rough mannered. (One thing that stands out is how a woman is taking part in rough banter "that coarsely disallowed even token respect for her gender.")
Lysaer really wants to talk with Asandir, but the latter's off conferring with clan chiefs. Something Lysaer sounds just a little bitter about, noting that he "as acknowledged royal heir" has been "spirited off for food and rest". I mean, you probably could insist on attending meetings? Arithon has wandered off, of course, and Dakar's probably drunk somewhere.
But he's not completely alone. A page-boy comes to the door. He identifies himself as the grandson of the steward Maenelle. He's eleven and adorable. He's come with swankiness:
The boy stepped toward a stool and chest where an array of courtly clothing had been laid out. The sword in its sapphire scabbard was gilded steel, adorned by blue silk tassels, and in its way as venerable as Alithiel.
Maien (the boy) calls it Daeltiri, and tells Lysaer that when the capitol city, Avenor, was "desecrated", each of the clan lords kept one part of the royal regalia for the lost king.
Lysaer has a good beat here:
Lysaer slipped into the silken hose, lawn shirt and finely-embroidered tabard with a relief that bordered on shame. He had not appreciated the comforts of rich clothing until he had been made to do without. Humbled by the honest recognition that he desired the throne these clansmen offered at least as desperately as their disunited realm needed sound rule, he laced gold-tipped points and fastened mother-of-pearl buttons and tried to dismiss his suspicion such luxuries might have been dishonestly procured. As Maien buckled the sword Daeltiri at his side and handed him the matching chased dagger, Lysaer, Prince of Tysan, felt whole for the first time since exile through Worldsend.
I like that Lysaer can admit to himself that he really does want the throne and the trappings and perks of princedom. There's nothing wrong with that, and it's understandable to regret its loss. This is however going to be a very different throne, and Lysaer isn't the same person he was in chapter one either. "In a rakingly perverse turn of conscience, he wondered which promised the sounder reign: the cosseted and idealistic royal heir he had been before banishment, or the more self-sufficient man who needed a crown to feel complete"
We can see that Lysaer's adjustment is going to be tricky though, when he sees a scouting party leaves and realizes they're likely going to rob caravans. (Maien's matter of fact agreement doesn't help.)
So anyway, they get to somewhere that sounds really fucking cool:
Maien turned down a much-trampled path that led through a final stand of cabins, threaded into a steep-sided defile, and deadended before the shadowed double arch of a gateway cut into the mountain. The doors were armoured. Stonework barbicans built against the rocks on either side lent the impregnability of a fortress. If the place had ever seen battle, any scars had been painstakingly repaired; four fur-clad sentries stood duty, the leather-wound grips of their javelins worn shiny from hard use. They dressed weapons in smart salute at the approach of their liege.
Maien spoke a password at a niche. Lysaer heard the clank of a windlass and a dismal rattle of chain; then the great portals ground on their hinges and cracked open.
Asandir greets them. And is an asshole as usual:
Above the din as the defenceworks were laboriously cranked closed, Lysaer said, ‘You might have given me warning.’
‘I might have done the same for Grithen’s clansmen,’ Asandir returned. ‘I chose not to.’
That said, he also says something that Lysaer probably needs to hear:
Stonewalled, and for no apparent cause, Lysaer reined back annoyance. ‘Is this a kingdom that encourages lawlessness?’
Asandir regarded the prince with eyes like unmarked slate. ‘This is a land afflicted by mismanagement, greed and vicious misunderstanding. The clans rob caravans to ease a harsh existence, and the mayors pay headhunters to exterminate as a means to ease their terror. Your task is not to judge but to set right. Your royal Grace, justice must be tempered by sympathy if the unity of the realm is to be restored. So I did not explain, because words cannot substitute for experience.’
...I feel like that last bit is a cop out though. You didn't explain because you didn't want Arithon to run away screaming from his own mess. But anyway, Asandir urges Lysaer to listen to his people's woes and understand their sacrifices. Lysaer is going to try.
There's more great description here:
The drab rock walls beyond the threshold were covered over by tapestries, masterful weaving and bright dyes depicting a kingly procession that celebrated the first greening of spring. Lysaer stared in delight. For an instant, he seemed to view through a window into a prior age, when Paravian habitation had graced hills unsullied by Deshthiere’s mists. Here in shining glory lay the centaurs’ fire-maned majesty, spritely dancers wreathed in flowers who were the fair-formed sunchildren, and mystical as moonlight on water, the snowy grace of unicorns. Entranced, caught into thrall by emotion, Lysaer blinked; and the spell snapped. The weaving on the wall became just a fabric of ordinary thread, worked with extraordinary artistry. Dazed by split-second bewilderment, Lysaer shook off gooseflesh and continued after Asandir and Maien, over patterned carpets imported from far-off Narms. Torches were replaced by tiers of wax candles, and glittering in their smokeless light were the clanborn of the west outpost, descendants of Camris’s aristocracy.
They looked the part, Lysaer thought in astonishment. Divested of furs and weapons, reclothed in velvets, dyed suedes and jewelled brocades, one could almost forget that most of the women carried sword scars, or that the wrists of young and old alike were lean as braided sinew from the hunt.
You shouldn't forget that last bit though, that's kind of the point, Lysaer.
Maenalle is waiting. She's wearing black, and explains that the Steward of the Realm never wears colors in the royal presence as a matter of tradition. Their dress is intended to reflect their role as "caithdein" or "shadow behind the throne". Maenalle is very proud to take that role again.
So we get a swanky banquet here, and some really fascinating cultural worldbuilding:
Lysaer and company are seated according to the old traditions. Lysaer at the center of a long table, with his friends at each side. The clan chiefs and hosts sit opposite, between the guests and the entrance, to protect them as needed. We're told the townsfolk have forgotten this tradition and now seat their guests at the head of the table.
‘Insult as well as folly,’ Maenalle admitted sadly. ‘A guest seated there is isolated, a target for foul play should a turncoat defile the lord’s house. What respect can a host claim, who would expose another in place of himself?’
We get a nice touch of cultural dissonance here. Amroth, Lysaer's home kingdom, doesn't have this kind of elaborate custom, and so Lysaer keeps his mouth shut.
But there is one custom that they do share: "the guest-oath". Lysaer has no trouble with the words, and everyone is very happy. Lots of cheering.
That said, things are a little unnerving for Lysaer. The barbarians have flawlessly refined manners, but the table conversation is alien to him. And fascinating to me. The eldest chief starts talking about how he'd confiscated a wagon, which contained among the goods "paper documents dividing land into portions and allotting coin value to each."
The clansfolk find this both amusing and offensive, as an "affront against Ath's creation to number a mountain among one's possessions." The clan chief has plans for the mayor who caused this if he ever crosses Orlan pass.
Asandir points out that this is a matter for "king's justice" and the clan chief accepts the rebuke and begs Lysaer's pardon. Lysaer, for his part, is very unsettled. On Dascen Elur, land ownership is definitely a normal thing. Here on Athera, this is a "bloodletting violation". He's unnerved by the thought that he might have to punish a man for claiming the land he tills, and thinks that if the townsmen were denied "the security of home and hearth-rights", then it's not surprising they were inciting to revolt.
This is interesting, because we not only have the obvious cultural bias, but we also see class bias as well. Lysaer is looking at it from the point of view of a landlord. Not a tenant. It's possible, of course, that there's no such thing as serfs or tenant farmers in Amroth, but I have my doubts.
(Edited to add: The real problem, after reflecting on it, is that Lysaer (and we) don't understand what system the Atherans DO have. He's making a lot of assumptions based on his own experience, but we don't KNOW that the Atherans lack "home and hearth-rights" and Lysaer isn't asking.)
Lysaer quickly changes the subject to the tapestries, but that ends up a loaded subject as well. The tapestries had a complicated history, purchased by clan chiefs and made by the old races before the uprising. The records of ownership were lost, and when the townsfolk sent them to Erdane as tribute, the clan chiefs saw fit to lighten the wagons and bring them here for safe keeping.
Lysaer measured the cavernous grotto surrounding him with new eyes: ruffians who lived by the sword would have small use for grand celebrations. The chamber where these barbarians feasted had not originated as a guest hall; more likely it had been fashioned as a storehouse, a vault carved into mountain rock to safeguard generations of plunder.
Maenalle’s eldest son, and Maien’s father, went on to describe the particulars of that historical first raid. Tashan’s comment concerning bloodstains had been no understatement. Trapped in public scrutiny, Lysaer hid disgust like a diplomat. Nobly born or not, these folk endorsed outright robbery. Filled by dismay, the prince who must one day rule them understood that the fine cloth, the jewels, even the plates and cutlery that graced the table were no less than the spoils of generations of ambush and murder. Upright trade did not exist among these clansmen; only knowledge of arms and tracking and a predatory penchant for raiding. Alarmed to find his hands shaking, Lysaer set down his fork. His adroit attempt to change the subject was foiled by his half-brother, whose forthright laughter encouraged further tales of thievery from their hosts.
So this is definitely worth unpacking a little.
a) There are a LOT of loaded terms here. "Ruffians" and "Plunder". "Robbery." "Predatory"
Lysaer's biases are coming through hard.
b) Remember what Asandir said about tempering Justice with Sympathy? I'm not seeing a lot of sympathy here. You saw how you were treated in that first town when they heard you speak. You saw how Felirin was treated for playing clan songs.
Actually though, the real shame is that Lysaer wasn't present for Arithon's adventure in Erdane. Maybe if he saw how quickly the town tried to murder his brother, then he'd appreciate this a little better.
But still, you could at least try to appreciate that these people aren't living in the wilderness by choice.
Speaking of Arithon...
Unpleasantly reminded of the past, Lysaer lost interest in the food. Arithon had sailed with Karthish pirates; naturally it followed that he had no sensibilities to offend. That he showed no rancour for the rough handling inflicted upon his person in the pass seemed a perverse and unlikely reaction for a man whose intense preference for privacy seemed the cornerstone for an unforgiving character.
The musician who had played Felirin’s lyranthe by the fireside possessed the skills of a consummate actor; for such depths of sensitivity could surely not sanction tonight’s callous enjoyment of violence. Left heartsick and isolated by the temper of Tysan’s clansmen, Lysaer strove without success to rally his equanimity; he had seen the hardworking merchants in Amroth suffer the butt of s’Ffalenn effrontery too many times for complaisance. The blight on s’Ilessid justice remained, and the bitter taste of outrage transferred to any brigand who presumed to rob for gain.
So now THIS is FASCINATING.
a) Look at how the brotherly relationship has changed. Look at the distinction Lysaer has given us. Arithon "sailed with Karthish pirates". Arithon's "sensitivity" means he can't possibly condone this violence.
Arithon was the Prince of Karthan, Lysaer. He served as first officer on his father's ship. He used magic to defend it and destroyed a shit ton of Amroth vessels. Arithon is a pirate. And he makes no apologies for that.
But this is how Lysaer processes the fact that the brother that had been his enemy is now his closest friend. Arithon has been honest and true to him, so Arithon is different.
I think if Lysaer asked Arithon about this though, he'd get a very different opinion.
b) And it gets into Lysaer's biggest flaw of course. Because he's decided that Arithon is not "one of them", he doesn't have to reconcile how a man like Arithon could be sensitive, honest, and true, and still be a pirate, and find common ground with these robbers.
Lysaer doesn't know why the Karthans were pirates. We do, thanks to Arithon, but he doesn't. And it says something interesting that for all that they've become comrades-at-arms, co-conspirators and brothers in fact as well as name in the last five chapters, Lysaer has never asked.
Lysaer then goes to Asandir and demands to know how he can rule these people and while I really don't want to excerpt every part of this chapter, I feel like this is important too:
‘How can I rule these clansmen?’ he demanded. ‘The townsfolk are no less Tysan’s subjects than they. In all fairness, is it right to set brigands and thieves as overlords above the very same craftsmen they have victimized?’
Asandir broke off contemplation of something in the chamber’s far corner and weighed the prince’s distress with silver, imperious eyes. ‘Have tolerance, your Grace, at least until you’ve sat at a mayor’s table and listened to the boasts of his headhunters. For where a townsman has lost riches, the clans have paid with the blood of kinsmen and heirs. These whom the townborn name barbarians have seen their children slaughtered like game deer, their wives, sisters, and daughters mercilessly raped and murdered. They inhabit the wastes and the wilds, because everywhere else they are persecuted.’
Hands clenched hard in his lap, Lysaer drew breath to temporize. The sorcerer cut him off. ‘Do not presume that I justify the lifestyles of clansman or townborn. I only point out the dissent that has plagued this land through the centuries since Davien’s rebellion. When sunlight is restored, we must all strive for peace. You’ll have time to study the problems before then, and no end of encouragement and counsel at the time you finally assume your crown.’
1) So let's talk about fairness as a concept. I'm reminded of that graphic about equality and equity: those kids behind a fence with the boxes. Equality, like "fairness", would require each kid get a box to stand on, even though the tallest kid doesn't need it, and it's still not enough for the smallest kid to see.
Is it "fair" to favor the clansfolk over townsmen? No. But the clansfolk are the ones suffering. The townsfolk, barring a few raids, appear to be living comfortably. The clansfolk are not. The clansfolk have had everything stolen from them long ago, and they're still being hunted and persecuted.
2) That said, and I'm going to get into this rant a bit more in a bit if I recall correctly, Asandir could have SHOWED Lysaer this. The trip involved towns! Towns where clansfolk are mistreated! But Asandir was too busy hiding Lysaer and Arithon away. Lysaer only got the little exposure that he had because Arithon decided to play hooky. And he missed the far more effective lesson, because Arithon decided to go off alone instead.
3) I also think Asandir mishandles this by offering Lysaer an out. By playing at neutrality, by "not justifying" either lifestyle, he gives Lysaer an excuse to retreat behind his own biases.
And Asandir's been in both brothers' heads so he has no reason not to realize these biases exist. Lysaer lost a sister, possibly two, to Karthan's raids. (Admittedly before he was born). He's seen the aftermath in Amroth's villages. And hell, he's been brainwashed by his dad so thoroughly that he beat his unarmed half-brother to death in a rage.
Lysaer is a good guy, for the most part, but he's going to need to be pushed to see things differently.
4) Maybe Lysaer should have asked ARITHON for advice about these guys rather than Asandir.
At this point, the real discussion gets curtailed by entertainment. There's knife throwers, sword dancers, and acrobats. Lysaer appreciates these a lot, noting that while Amroth has similar gymnastics, they don't involve female dancers, and the steps here are much more demanding and at scary speeds.
...I'm suddenly very interested in how women are treated in Amroth, Karthan and Rauven.
We get more interesting world-building here as Maenalle apologizes for their "lack of the gentler arts". They have bards in the clan, but they stay in the foothills with the clan families. (So that our children learn grace before hardship.)
Maenalle also explains a bit about clan customs, specifically the roles of women. Basically the women serve with the scouts until marriage. Some continue on by choice afterward, and many don't. This is important though, because even the women who don't continue on need combat experience in case of attack. And that says a lot about what the clansmen have to deal with right there. Hopefully Lysaer is listening.
Anyway, Lysaer promptly volunteers Arithon to play. Arithon immediately protests that he hasn't an instrument, but that's something that Maenalle can provide. (We're also told that Having somehow evaded the ceremony due the half-brother of a prince, he wore his plain tunic and much-worn scabbard still. Hah, of course, you dick.)
Ah, here we go. I feel like we see a variation of this scene in every story with a bardic main character. The character is presented with a choice of instrument, and they invariably choose something plain and simple that turns out to be awesome.
And indeed that happens here. Arithon comes back with a very battered lyranthe, having refused a bunch of jeweled ones. Maenalle is offended, thinking he means to mock them. Arithon though is bemused. He chose the best, and proves it by doing some weird whistling thing over the wood. It resonates in "absolute, dusky purity". Whatever THAT means.
Asandir hears it too though, and he examines it. And OF COURSE it has a tiny paravian rune hidden on the back. And a pedigree. Apparently there was a very famous Paravian craftsman named Elshian who created a legendary lyranthe that is "held in trust" by the Masterbard Halliron himself. But there was apparently a rumor of a second one and here it is.
(Hilariously, "Maenalle laughed in flushed triumph at Arithon's evident dismay." I would like to see these two characters interact more.)
But this next bit is very cool:
But Asandir raised a hand in restraint. ‘Wait, lady. Brass strings will break on that instrument.’ He considered a moment, then added, ‘If you provide a few ounces of silver, I can refit her as the maker intended.’
Without hesitation, Maenalle removed her left bracelet.
‘Any bent spoon would do as well,’ Asandir said gently.
Maenalle’s eyes flashed. ‘Mine the honour, Kingmaker.’
The sorcerer inclined his head, accepted the heavy, interlaced band and cupped it between his palms. The clansmen crowded closer to watch as, unmindful of his audience, Asandir bowed his head. No other move did he make, but a power sang upon the air. The bracelet in his hands shimmered, then flashed incandescently white. The watchers nearest to Arithon felt a sear of heat on their faces. Yet the sorcerer’s flesh did not burn. His hands moved, and the light grew blinding, and the ones who dared the dazzle saw the metal in his grip glow red. As if he handled nothing in the least beyond the ordinary, the sorcerer twisted the ore between his fingers and drew out a glowing filament.
Asandir also decides to make the lyranthe look spiffy too. Now it's not a chapter of Mistwraith if Arithon doesn't angst about something, so:
‘Lady Maenalle,’ he said, in his voice a jar like heartbreak. ‘This lyranthe is too fine for me. Let me play this one night and return her for your masterbards in the lowlands.’
But the Steward of Tysan dismissed his conscience with an imperious lift of her chin. ‘I don’t begrudge you my bracelet,’ she called across the quiet. ‘And our bards, every one of them, passed over that instrument for another of prettier appearance. Since they chose by their eyes and not their ears, I call their claim forfeit.’
Arithon’s hand remained frozen against glittering bands of new strings.
‘If the word of a prince carries weight, I stand by Maenalle’s judgement.’ Lysaer chose a seat and by example all in the chamber followed suit. ‘Brother,’ he said on a strange edge of exasperation, ‘will you have done with moping and play?’
I think maybe the key part of why I'm so much more tolerant of Arithon's ridiculous angst than I am for similar characters like Jaxom or Drizzt is because of how often the other characters are just as exasperated with him as I am.
So Arithon plays some Dascen Elur pirate ballads. The clansmen are delighted. However, it reminds Lysaer of his misgivings. He takes his leave early and doesn't sleep soundly.
--
The next segment is Confrontation, and we stick with the boys. This time though, we're going with Arithon's point of view as he's finally ending his performance. He's exhilarated, but also pretty tired. And after a bit of banter, the clansfolk let him slip away.
It's an interesting contrast that Arithon is the most comfortable we've ever seen him here, bantering with the clansfolk, cheerfully begging off from an offer of a drink (and implicitly a bit more.) Arithon notes how the clansfolk entertain lavisly, they're not drunk on the floor. Each one is alert enough that they could go for their weapons at short notice.
So he heads over to Dakar and Asandir. Dakar is gleeful at the thought of Arithon getting an "ungodly dressing down". But really? Arithon is a grown man who has been manipulated, lied to and MENTALLY TAMPERED with. He might be reckless, he's definitely ignorant (and whose fault is that), and he's a total asshole sure, but he's not a fucking child.
Asandir and Arithon go off to talk. Arithon starts with angst, of course, stating that Elshian's lyranthe should stay here. Asandir knows as well as Arithon how little it'll be played.
Asandir points out that a lot can change in five centuries, but Arithon turns it around to point out that a lot HASN'T changed in five centuries. Which leads to the real conversation.
Asandir starts it out: ‘Did you believe me unaware of what happened in the loft of the Ravens’ stableyard? Or that, the other day in the pass of Orlan, you baited Grithen and his scouts with intent to force my hand and expose your half-brother’s inheritance?’
Arithon confirms that that was indeed the endgame of his bizarre plan last chapter. Lysaer now has "what he longs for: a crown and the cause of truth and justice".
You know, Arithon, you could just say that you love your brother. You don't have to turn yourself into a hostage as part of an insane machination to get him a kingdom.
They discuss the mindblock, and Asandir explains that it was never intended to bend Arithon's will, rather: ‘Would you warm a man just tortured by fire before an open hearth? The memories of your failures in Karthan were all too hurtfully recent.’
Dude, we were there. I mean, yes, pity was a thing. I remember the flowery language. But mostly you were worried this little bastard would squirm out of your trap. Also, I love the subtle guilt trip here about Arithon's "failures" in Karthan. This reinforces Arithon's own perspective of events of course, but the poor guy ends up joining his dad in a losing war. There is no indication that there was ever anything Arithon could have done to change that.
And he adds to the guilt trip:
Arithon flinched. The sorcerer pressed on, remorseless, though he never once sharpened his voice. ‘Maenalle was to receive the Prince of Tysan today. The Fellowship had already decided. She would have been informed of his lineage in private, that Lysaer not learn of his heritage until he had experienced the atrocity of the mayors firsthand. Except that your meddling with events caused your half-brother an unpardonable shock, and Grithen has been sent in shame to the camps in the low country. He may be denied his inheritance.’
Now Arithon went still as fire-hardened stone.
Asandir resumed, quietly precise as the tap a gemcutter might use to shear diamond. ‘Grithen is the last living heir to the late Earl of Erdane. Since his two siblings died on a headhunter’s spears, yesterday’s affray in the pass could disrupt a succession that has endured since the years before the uprising.’
Okay, dude, this is bullshit.
a) How the hell was Maenelle going to "receive the Prince of Tysan" without Lysaer at some point pulling down his fucking hood? That was all it took to recognize him!
b) As I mentioned above, you had PLENTY of opportunity to show Lysaer the atrocity of the mayors. I looked at the fucking map. You went to Worlds' End, where you told the boys to stay outside. You went to Erdane, where you kept them hidden what was essentially a safehouse. You said to Lysaer earlier that there are no more towns between here and your destination.
You could have given Lysaer the needed exposure at any time, but you didn't, likely because you wanted to keep Arithon under control. This tendency to prioritize Arithon over Lysaer might well backfire at some point. As it kind of did here.
c) Arithon isn't psychic. How the fuck is he supposed to know ANY of this? And while I'll grant that at least some of your motives for the mental block had to do with pity rather than control, how the hell is Arithon supposed to appreciate that?
Maybe, you should have just clued the boys in at the very start and you'd have had a better shot of making sure they knew what they needed to know.
d) Also, it is NOT Arithon's fault that Grithen is a fucking idiot. Grithen is a grown man who can make his own fucking decisions.
But see, see how manipulative this is? Arithon's key trait, like Lysaer's is Justice, is COMPASSION. And Asandir knows from his trip spelunking into Arithon's head that this basically amounts to a constant guilt complex. Remember all that "scarred by conscience, hurt past healing" flowery bullshit. That was from YOUR fucking monologue, dude.
So you're a dick trying to punish this guy for not letting you drag him and his brother about as ignorant pawns in your schemes.
Arithon asks if Asandir is saying that this might all have been prevented. Asandir says yes, "if the Fellowship were to use power to compromise a man's destiny." Like a mind block?
Arithon asks if Asandir would just let him go, then. Since his fate isn't apparently absolute or proscribed. Asandir says yes, but asks if Arithon would let himself.
You manipulative asshole.
‘Who will speak for the clansfolk of Rathain?’ Asandir said, a dark and terrible weight of sorrow behind his words. ‘For them, what mercy will there be when the sun returns, and the townsmen order killings caused by fear of a king who is not there?’
I really wish Arithon would just punch you in the balls right now.
‘I asked only that you travel with me to Althain Tower,’ Asandir said. ‘Wherever else will you find the guidance to reconcile your powers as a mage with the responsibilities of your birthright?’ The compassion in his tone was a terrible thing, a whip and a scourge upon a mind already mauled by the quandaries of duty. Arithon spun away, weeping regardless, and cursing the light hand of his tormentor. One threat, one compulsion, one word spoken with intent to bind would have given him opening to escape.
But Asandir closed the net with a pity that shattered and crucified. ‘If you finish the journey, your case will be brought before the Fellowship. I can make no promise. But if a compromise can be found to release you from kingship, I will plead in your favour.’
‘The last nail in the coffin,’ Arithon managed. ‘Of course, under protest, I accept.’ The air ached his lungs and his head hurt. His back to the sorcerer, his eyes on the shifting shadows of the horses, he clung to the fence, mostly to keep his hands from violence.
Okay, I am a person of conflicted impulses. I really really want to make fun of the overblown angst and flowery language here. But I actually feel a little too bad for this poor guy to do it justice. But "A mind already mauled by the quandaries of duty" is a phrase that I'm going to have drifting about in my brain for a long time.
There is an interesting bit where Asandir asks, if their roles were reversed, what Ariton would do. Arithon would find the Paravians. Apparently the Fellowship tried: one of their number (Ciladis) didn't return.
--
The third segment is called Traithe
Mercifully, we leave our conflicted and tormented idiot brothers alone for a bit to head to Althain Tower. Here, Sethvir, the other Fellowship Sorcerer that we met before opens his shutters to welcome a raven.
This raven, who Sethvir calls "little brother", is here to announce the arrival of Traithe, another Fellowship sorcerer.
Sethvir needs to help Traithe through the defenses of the Tower (lots of great descriptions here, but this is an excerpt heavy review as it is), which saddens him. Basically Traithe ended up losing most of his powers in battle against the Mistwraith. Apparently, the version that is here on Athera, that's blotted out the sky and sun, is only a fragment of an even bigger whole. Traithe managed to seal off the south Worldsend Gate (our idiot brothers came in the west Gate, if you're keeping track) and prevent the rest from getting here to choke all life off of the planet.
Traithe grumbles about his voyage: it's hard to get sailors to sail the coastline now, but is thrilled to learn that the Prophecy of the West Gate is at hand. Sethvir fills them in: TWO princes, not just one, and both coming with Asandir. Traithe is the last to know, because his limited powers mean that he couldn't get the message immediately like the others could.
They discuss the meth-snake issue, which never will not make me laugh, but the key part for us is that Traithe lights sconces throughout the entire tower. Sethvir always forgets, and Asandir and the other sorcerers won't care, but the princes are "bound not to welcome a mage's disregard of the dark."
--
Our snippet/sneak peek section this time is "Summons"
1. A sorcerer's essence is whirling south. (Presumably Luhaine or Kharadmon, who are mentioned in Sethvir's section.)
2) Another sorcerer, once called the Defender, is heading to Althain. (Presumably whichever one the first guy isn't.)
3) Asandir listens on the wind, then "whirls at a run" to prepare for "immediate departure".
It's good to be back.
We step into Lysaer's view for this part, titled The Clans of Camris, as he wakes up to what sound like some pretty swanky digs:
Lysaer awoke at dusk to strangely carved walls, a warm fire and blankets of softest angora that wrapped his sweating limbs in clinging, suffocating heat. He tossed away the coverlets, rose naked from the feather mattress and paced across fine carpet to a casement paned with glass. Outside, clustered around a snow-trampled compound spread the tents, stone huts and rough, log-timbered buildings that comprised the permanent mountain outpost maintained by the clans of Camris.
He's been given the "King's Chamber", which is nice, but these folk aren't exactly the aristocracy that he's used to. This place looks like a war camp, and the men and women are armed and rough mannered. (One thing that stands out is how a woman is taking part in rough banter "that coarsely disallowed even token respect for her gender.")
Lysaer really wants to talk with Asandir, but the latter's off conferring with clan chiefs. Something Lysaer sounds just a little bitter about, noting that he "as acknowledged royal heir" has been "spirited off for food and rest". I mean, you probably could insist on attending meetings? Arithon has wandered off, of course, and Dakar's probably drunk somewhere.
But he's not completely alone. A page-boy comes to the door. He identifies himself as the grandson of the steward Maenelle. He's eleven and adorable. He's come with swankiness:
The boy stepped toward a stool and chest where an array of courtly clothing had been laid out. The sword in its sapphire scabbard was gilded steel, adorned by blue silk tassels, and in its way as venerable as Alithiel.
Maien (the boy) calls it Daeltiri, and tells Lysaer that when the capitol city, Avenor, was "desecrated", each of the clan lords kept one part of the royal regalia for the lost king.
Lysaer has a good beat here:
Lysaer slipped into the silken hose, lawn shirt and finely-embroidered tabard with a relief that bordered on shame. He had not appreciated the comforts of rich clothing until he had been made to do without. Humbled by the honest recognition that he desired the throne these clansmen offered at least as desperately as their disunited realm needed sound rule, he laced gold-tipped points and fastened mother-of-pearl buttons and tried to dismiss his suspicion such luxuries might have been dishonestly procured. As Maien buckled the sword Daeltiri at his side and handed him the matching chased dagger, Lysaer, Prince of Tysan, felt whole for the first time since exile through Worldsend.
I like that Lysaer can admit to himself that he really does want the throne and the trappings and perks of princedom. There's nothing wrong with that, and it's understandable to regret its loss. This is however going to be a very different throne, and Lysaer isn't the same person he was in chapter one either. "In a rakingly perverse turn of conscience, he wondered which promised the sounder reign: the cosseted and idealistic royal heir he had been before banishment, or the more self-sufficient man who needed a crown to feel complete"
We can see that Lysaer's adjustment is going to be tricky though, when he sees a scouting party leaves and realizes they're likely going to rob caravans. (Maien's matter of fact agreement doesn't help.)
So anyway, they get to somewhere that sounds really fucking cool:
Maien turned down a much-trampled path that led through a final stand of cabins, threaded into a steep-sided defile, and deadended before the shadowed double arch of a gateway cut into the mountain. The doors were armoured. Stonework barbicans built against the rocks on either side lent the impregnability of a fortress. If the place had ever seen battle, any scars had been painstakingly repaired; four fur-clad sentries stood duty, the leather-wound grips of their javelins worn shiny from hard use. They dressed weapons in smart salute at the approach of their liege.
Maien spoke a password at a niche. Lysaer heard the clank of a windlass and a dismal rattle of chain; then the great portals ground on their hinges and cracked open.
Asandir greets them. And is an asshole as usual:
Above the din as the defenceworks were laboriously cranked closed, Lysaer said, ‘You might have given me warning.’
‘I might have done the same for Grithen’s clansmen,’ Asandir returned. ‘I chose not to.’
That said, he also says something that Lysaer probably needs to hear:
Stonewalled, and for no apparent cause, Lysaer reined back annoyance. ‘Is this a kingdom that encourages lawlessness?’
Asandir regarded the prince with eyes like unmarked slate. ‘This is a land afflicted by mismanagement, greed and vicious misunderstanding. The clans rob caravans to ease a harsh existence, and the mayors pay headhunters to exterminate as a means to ease their terror. Your task is not to judge but to set right. Your royal Grace, justice must be tempered by sympathy if the unity of the realm is to be restored. So I did not explain, because words cannot substitute for experience.’
...I feel like that last bit is a cop out though. You didn't explain because you didn't want Arithon to run away screaming from his own mess. But anyway, Asandir urges Lysaer to listen to his people's woes and understand their sacrifices. Lysaer is going to try.
There's more great description here:
The drab rock walls beyond the threshold were covered over by tapestries, masterful weaving and bright dyes depicting a kingly procession that celebrated the first greening of spring. Lysaer stared in delight. For an instant, he seemed to view through a window into a prior age, when Paravian habitation had graced hills unsullied by Deshthiere’s mists. Here in shining glory lay the centaurs’ fire-maned majesty, spritely dancers wreathed in flowers who were the fair-formed sunchildren, and mystical as moonlight on water, the snowy grace of unicorns. Entranced, caught into thrall by emotion, Lysaer blinked; and the spell snapped. The weaving on the wall became just a fabric of ordinary thread, worked with extraordinary artistry. Dazed by split-second bewilderment, Lysaer shook off gooseflesh and continued after Asandir and Maien, over patterned carpets imported from far-off Narms. Torches were replaced by tiers of wax candles, and glittering in their smokeless light were the clanborn of the west outpost, descendants of Camris’s aristocracy.
They looked the part, Lysaer thought in astonishment. Divested of furs and weapons, reclothed in velvets, dyed suedes and jewelled brocades, one could almost forget that most of the women carried sword scars, or that the wrists of young and old alike were lean as braided sinew from the hunt.
You shouldn't forget that last bit though, that's kind of the point, Lysaer.
Maenalle is waiting. She's wearing black, and explains that the Steward of the Realm never wears colors in the royal presence as a matter of tradition. Their dress is intended to reflect their role as "caithdein" or "shadow behind the throne". Maenalle is very proud to take that role again.
So we get a swanky banquet here, and some really fascinating cultural worldbuilding:
Lysaer and company are seated according to the old traditions. Lysaer at the center of a long table, with his friends at each side. The clan chiefs and hosts sit opposite, between the guests and the entrance, to protect them as needed. We're told the townsfolk have forgotten this tradition and now seat their guests at the head of the table.
‘Insult as well as folly,’ Maenalle admitted sadly. ‘A guest seated there is isolated, a target for foul play should a turncoat defile the lord’s house. What respect can a host claim, who would expose another in place of himself?’
We get a nice touch of cultural dissonance here. Amroth, Lysaer's home kingdom, doesn't have this kind of elaborate custom, and so Lysaer keeps his mouth shut.
But there is one custom that they do share: "the guest-oath". Lysaer has no trouble with the words, and everyone is very happy. Lots of cheering.
That said, things are a little unnerving for Lysaer. The barbarians have flawlessly refined manners, but the table conversation is alien to him. And fascinating to me. The eldest chief starts talking about how he'd confiscated a wagon, which contained among the goods "paper documents dividing land into portions and allotting coin value to each."
The clansfolk find this both amusing and offensive, as an "affront against Ath's creation to number a mountain among one's possessions." The clan chief has plans for the mayor who caused this if he ever crosses Orlan pass.
Asandir points out that this is a matter for "king's justice" and the clan chief accepts the rebuke and begs Lysaer's pardon. Lysaer, for his part, is very unsettled. On Dascen Elur, land ownership is definitely a normal thing. Here on Athera, this is a "bloodletting violation". He's unnerved by the thought that he might have to punish a man for claiming the land he tills, and thinks that if the townsmen were denied "the security of home and hearth-rights", then it's not surprising they were inciting to revolt.
This is interesting, because we not only have the obvious cultural bias, but we also see class bias as well. Lysaer is looking at it from the point of view of a landlord. Not a tenant. It's possible, of course, that there's no such thing as serfs or tenant farmers in Amroth, but I have my doubts.
(Edited to add: The real problem, after reflecting on it, is that Lysaer (and we) don't understand what system the Atherans DO have. He's making a lot of assumptions based on his own experience, but we don't KNOW that the Atherans lack "home and hearth-rights" and Lysaer isn't asking.)
Lysaer quickly changes the subject to the tapestries, but that ends up a loaded subject as well. The tapestries had a complicated history, purchased by clan chiefs and made by the old races before the uprising. The records of ownership were lost, and when the townsfolk sent them to Erdane as tribute, the clan chiefs saw fit to lighten the wagons and bring them here for safe keeping.
Lysaer measured the cavernous grotto surrounding him with new eyes: ruffians who lived by the sword would have small use for grand celebrations. The chamber where these barbarians feasted had not originated as a guest hall; more likely it had been fashioned as a storehouse, a vault carved into mountain rock to safeguard generations of plunder.
Maenalle’s eldest son, and Maien’s father, went on to describe the particulars of that historical first raid. Tashan’s comment concerning bloodstains had been no understatement. Trapped in public scrutiny, Lysaer hid disgust like a diplomat. Nobly born or not, these folk endorsed outright robbery. Filled by dismay, the prince who must one day rule them understood that the fine cloth, the jewels, even the plates and cutlery that graced the table were no less than the spoils of generations of ambush and murder. Upright trade did not exist among these clansmen; only knowledge of arms and tracking and a predatory penchant for raiding. Alarmed to find his hands shaking, Lysaer set down his fork. His adroit attempt to change the subject was foiled by his half-brother, whose forthright laughter encouraged further tales of thievery from their hosts.
So this is definitely worth unpacking a little.
a) There are a LOT of loaded terms here. "Ruffians" and "Plunder". "Robbery." "Predatory"
Lysaer's biases are coming through hard.
b) Remember what Asandir said about tempering Justice with Sympathy? I'm not seeing a lot of sympathy here. You saw how you were treated in that first town when they heard you speak. You saw how Felirin was treated for playing clan songs.
Actually though, the real shame is that Lysaer wasn't present for Arithon's adventure in Erdane. Maybe if he saw how quickly the town tried to murder his brother, then he'd appreciate this a little better.
But still, you could at least try to appreciate that these people aren't living in the wilderness by choice.
Speaking of Arithon...
Unpleasantly reminded of the past, Lysaer lost interest in the food. Arithon had sailed with Karthish pirates; naturally it followed that he had no sensibilities to offend. That he showed no rancour for the rough handling inflicted upon his person in the pass seemed a perverse and unlikely reaction for a man whose intense preference for privacy seemed the cornerstone for an unforgiving character.
The musician who had played Felirin’s lyranthe by the fireside possessed the skills of a consummate actor; for such depths of sensitivity could surely not sanction tonight’s callous enjoyment of violence. Left heartsick and isolated by the temper of Tysan’s clansmen, Lysaer strove without success to rally his equanimity; he had seen the hardworking merchants in Amroth suffer the butt of s’Ffalenn effrontery too many times for complaisance. The blight on s’Ilessid justice remained, and the bitter taste of outrage transferred to any brigand who presumed to rob for gain.
So now THIS is FASCINATING.
a) Look at how the brotherly relationship has changed. Look at the distinction Lysaer has given us. Arithon "sailed with Karthish pirates". Arithon's "sensitivity" means he can't possibly condone this violence.
Arithon was the Prince of Karthan, Lysaer. He served as first officer on his father's ship. He used magic to defend it and destroyed a shit ton of Amroth vessels. Arithon is a pirate. And he makes no apologies for that.
But this is how Lysaer processes the fact that the brother that had been his enemy is now his closest friend. Arithon has been honest and true to him, so Arithon is different.
I think if Lysaer asked Arithon about this though, he'd get a very different opinion.
b) And it gets into Lysaer's biggest flaw of course. Because he's decided that Arithon is not "one of them", he doesn't have to reconcile how a man like Arithon could be sensitive, honest, and true, and still be a pirate, and find common ground with these robbers.
Lysaer doesn't know why the Karthans were pirates. We do, thanks to Arithon, but he doesn't. And it says something interesting that for all that they've become comrades-at-arms, co-conspirators and brothers in fact as well as name in the last five chapters, Lysaer has never asked.
Lysaer then goes to Asandir and demands to know how he can rule these people and while I really don't want to excerpt every part of this chapter, I feel like this is important too:
‘How can I rule these clansmen?’ he demanded. ‘The townsfolk are no less Tysan’s subjects than they. In all fairness, is it right to set brigands and thieves as overlords above the very same craftsmen they have victimized?’
Asandir broke off contemplation of something in the chamber’s far corner and weighed the prince’s distress with silver, imperious eyes. ‘Have tolerance, your Grace, at least until you’ve sat at a mayor’s table and listened to the boasts of his headhunters. For where a townsman has lost riches, the clans have paid with the blood of kinsmen and heirs. These whom the townborn name barbarians have seen their children slaughtered like game deer, their wives, sisters, and daughters mercilessly raped and murdered. They inhabit the wastes and the wilds, because everywhere else they are persecuted.’
Hands clenched hard in his lap, Lysaer drew breath to temporize. The sorcerer cut him off. ‘Do not presume that I justify the lifestyles of clansman or townborn. I only point out the dissent that has plagued this land through the centuries since Davien’s rebellion. When sunlight is restored, we must all strive for peace. You’ll have time to study the problems before then, and no end of encouragement and counsel at the time you finally assume your crown.’
1) So let's talk about fairness as a concept. I'm reminded of that graphic about equality and equity: those kids behind a fence with the boxes. Equality, like "fairness", would require each kid get a box to stand on, even though the tallest kid doesn't need it, and it's still not enough for the smallest kid to see.
Is it "fair" to favor the clansfolk over townsmen? No. But the clansfolk are the ones suffering. The townsfolk, barring a few raids, appear to be living comfortably. The clansfolk are not. The clansfolk have had everything stolen from them long ago, and they're still being hunted and persecuted.
2) That said, and I'm going to get into this rant a bit more in a bit if I recall correctly, Asandir could have SHOWED Lysaer this. The trip involved towns! Towns where clansfolk are mistreated! But Asandir was too busy hiding Lysaer and Arithon away. Lysaer only got the little exposure that he had because Arithon decided to play hooky. And he missed the far more effective lesson, because Arithon decided to go off alone instead.
3) I also think Asandir mishandles this by offering Lysaer an out. By playing at neutrality, by "not justifying" either lifestyle, he gives Lysaer an excuse to retreat behind his own biases.
And Asandir's been in both brothers' heads so he has no reason not to realize these biases exist. Lysaer lost a sister, possibly two, to Karthan's raids. (Admittedly before he was born). He's seen the aftermath in Amroth's villages. And hell, he's been brainwashed by his dad so thoroughly that he beat his unarmed half-brother to death in a rage.
Lysaer is a good guy, for the most part, but he's going to need to be pushed to see things differently.
4) Maybe Lysaer should have asked ARITHON for advice about these guys rather than Asandir.
At this point, the real discussion gets curtailed by entertainment. There's knife throwers, sword dancers, and acrobats. Lysaer appreciates these a lot, noting that while Amroth has similar gymnastics, they don't involve female dancers, and the steps here are much more demanding and at scary speeds.
...I'm suddenly very interested in how women are treated in Amroth, Karthan and Rauven.
We get more interesting world-building here as Maenalle apologizes for their "lack of the gentler arts". They have bards in the clan, but they stay in the foothills with the clan families. (So that our children learn grace before hardship.)
Maenalle also explains a bit about clan customs, specifically the roles of women. Basically the women serve with the scouts until marriage. Some continue on by choice afterward, and many don't. This is important though, because even the women who don't continue on need combat experience in case of attack. And that says a lot about what the clansmen have to deal with right there. Hopefully Lysaer is listening.
Anyway, Lysaer promptly volunteers Arithon to play. Arithon immediately protests that he hasn't an instrument, but that's something that Maenalle can provide. (We're also told that Having somehow evaded the ceremony due the half-brother of a prince, he wore his plain tunic and much-worn scabbard still. Hah, of course, you dick.)
Ah, here we go. I feel like we see a variation of this scene in every story with a bardic main character. The character is presented with a choice of instrument, and they invariably choose something plain and simple that turns out to be awesome.
And indeed that happens here. Arithon comes back with a very battered lyranthe, having refused a bunch of jeweled ones. Maenalle is offended, thinking he means to mock them. Arithon though is bemused. He chose the best, and proves it by doing some weird whistling thing over the wood. It resonates in "absolute, dusky purity". Whatever THAT means.
Asandir hears it too though, and he examines it. And OF COURSE it has a tiny paravian rune hidden on the back. And a pedigree. Apparently there was a very famous Paravian craftsman named Elshian who created a legendary lyranthe that is "held in trust" by the Masterbard Halliron himself. But there was apparently a rumor of a second one and here it is.
(Hilariously, "Maenalle laughed in flushed triumph at Arithon's evident dismay." I would like to see these two characters interact more.)
But this next bit is very cool:
But Asandir raised a hand in restraint. ‘Wait, lady. Brass strings will break on that instrument.’ He considered a moment, then added, ‘If you provide a few ounces of silver, I can refit her as the maker intended.’
Without hesitation, Maenalle removed her left bracelet.
‘Any bent spoon would do as well,’ Asandir said gently.
Maenalle’s eyes flashed. ‘Mine the honour, Kingmaker.’
The sorcerer inclined his head, accepted the heavy, interlaced band and cupped it between his palms. The clansmen crowded closer to watch as, unmindful of his audience, Asandir bowed his head. No other move did he make, but a power sang upon the air. The bracelet in his hands shimmered, then flashed incandescently white. The watchers nearest to Arithon felt a sear of heat on their faces. Yet the sorcerer’s flesh did not burn. His hands moved, and the light grew blinding, and the ones who dared the dazzle saw the metal in his grip glow red. As if he handled nothing in the least beyond the ordinary, the sorcerer twisted the ore between his fingers and drew out a glowing filament.
Asandir also decides to make the lyranthe look spiffy too. Now it's not a chapter of Mistwraith if Arithon doesn't angst about something, so:
‘Lady Maenalle,’ he said, in his voice a jar like heartbreak. ‘This lyranthe is too fine for me. Let me play this one night and return her for your masterbards in the lowlands.’
But the Steward of Tysan dismissed his conscience with an imperious lift of her chin. ‘I don’t begrudge you my bracelet,’ she called across the quiet. ‘And our bards, every one of them, passed over that instrument for another of prettier appearance. Since they chose by their eyes and not their ears, I call their claim forfeit.’
Arithon’s hand remained frozen against glittering bands of new strings.
‘If the word of a prince carries weight, I stand by Maenalle’s judgement.’ Lysaer chose a seat and by example all in the chamber followed suit. ‘Brother,’ he said on a strange edge of exasperation, ‘will you have done with moping and play?’
I think maybe the key part of why I'm so much more tolerant of Arithon's ridiculous angst than I am for similar characters like Jaxom or Drizzt is because of how often the other characters are just as exasperated with him as I am.
So Arithon plays some Dascen Elur pirate ballads. The clansmen are delighted. However, it reminds Lysaer of his misgivings. He takes his leave early and doesn't sleep soundly.
--
The next segment is Confrontation, and we stick with the boys. This time though, we're going with Arithon's point of view as he's finally ending his performance. He's exhilarated, but also pretty tired. And after a bit of banter, the clansfolk let him slip away.
It's an interesting contrast that Arithon is the most comfortable we've ever seen him here, bantering with the clansfolk, cheerfully begging off from an offer of a drink (and implicitly a bit more.) Arithon notes how the clansfolk entertain lavisly, they're not drunk on the floor. Each one is alert enough that they could go for their weapons at short notice.
So he heads over to Dakar and Asandir. Dakar is gleeful at the thought of Arithon getting an "ungodly dressing down". But really? Arithon is a grown man who has been manipulated, lied to and MENTALLY TAMPERED with. He might be reckless, he's definitely ignorant (and whose fault is that), and he's a total asshole sure, but he's not a fucking child.
Asandir and Arithon go off to talk. Arithon starts with angst, of course, stating that Elshian's lyranthe should stay here. Asandir knows as well as Arithon how little it'll be played.
Asandir points out that a lot can change in five centuries, but Arithon turns it around to point out that a lot HASN'T changed in five centuries. Which leads to the real conversation.
Asandir starts it out: ‘Did you believe me unaware of what happened in the loft of the Ravens’ stableyard? Or that, the other day in the pass of Orlan, you baited Grithen and his scouts with intent to force my hand and expose your half-brother’s inheritance?’
Arithon confirms that that was indeed the endgame of his bizarre plan last chapter. Lysaer now has "what he longs for: a crown and the cause of truth and justice".
You know, Arithon, you could just say that you love your brother. You don't have to turn yourself into a hostage as part of an insane machination to get him a kingdom.
They discuss the mindblock, and Asandir explains that it was never intended to bend Arithon's will, rather: ‘Would you warm a man just tortured by fire before an open hearth? The memories of your failures in Karthan were all too hurtfully recent.’
Dude, we were there. I mean, yes, pity was a thing. I remember the flowery language. But mostly you were worried this little bastard would squirm out of your trap. Also, I love the subtle guilt trip here about Arithon's "failures" in Karthan. This reinforces Arithon's own perspective of events of course, but the poor guy ends up joining his dad in a losing war. There is no indication that there was ever anything Arithon could have done to change that.
And he adds to the guilt trip:
Arithon flinched. The sorcerer pressed on, remorseless, though he never once sharpened his voice. ‘Maenalle was to receive the Prince of Tysan today. The Fellowship had already decided. She would have been informed of his lineage in private, that Lysaer not learn of his heritage until he had experienced the atrocity of the mayors firsthand. Except that your meddling with events caused your half-brother an unpardonable shock, and Grithen has been sent in shame to the camps in the low country. He may be denied his inheritance.’
Now Arithon went still as fire-hardened stone.
Asandir resumed, quietly precise as the tap a gemcutter might use to shear diamond. ‘Grithen is the last living heir to the late Earl of Erdane. Since his two siblings died on a headhunter’s spears, yesterday’s affray in the pass could disrupt a succession that has endured since the years before the uprising.’
Okay, dude, this is bullshit.
a) How the hell was Maenelle going to "receive the Prince of Tysan" without Lysaer at some point pulling down his fucking hood? That was all it took to recognize him!
b) As I mentioned above, you had PLENTY of opportunity to show Lysaer the atrocity of the mayors. I looked at the fucking map. You went to Worlds' End, where you told the boys to stay outside. You went to Erdane, where you kept them hidden what was essentially a safehouse. You said to Lysaer earlier that there are no more towns between here and your destination.
You could have given Lysaer the needed exposure at any time, but you didn't, likely because you wanted to keep Arithon under control. This tendency to prioritize Arithon over Lysaer might well backfire at some point. As it kind of did here.
c) Arithon isn't psychic. How the fuck is he supposed to know ANY of this? And while I'll grant that at least some of your motives for the mental block had to do with pity rather than control, how the hell is Arithon supposed to appreciate that?
Maybe, you should have just clued the boys in at the very start and you'd have had a better shot of making sure they knew what they needed to know.
d) Also, it is NOT Arithon's fault that Grithen is a fucking idiot. Grithen is a grown man who can make his own fucking decisions.
But see, see how manipulative this is? Arithon's key trait, like Lysaer's is Justice, is COMPASSION. And Asandir knows from his trip spelunking into Arithon's head that this basically amounts to a constant guilt complex. Remember all that "scarred by conscience, hurt past healing" flowery bullshit. That was from YOUR fucking monologue, dude.
So you're a dick trying to punish this guy for not letting you drag him and his brother about as ignorant pawns in your schemes.
Arithon asks if Asandir is saying that this might all have been prevented. Asandir says yes, "if the Fellowship were to use power to compromise a man's destiny." Like a mind block?
Arithon asks if Asandir would just let him go, then. Since his fate isn't apparently absolute or proscribed. Asandir says yes, but asks if Arithon would let himself.
You manipulative asshole.
‘Who will speak for the clansfolk of Rathain?’ Asandir said, a dark and terrible weight of sorrow behind his words. ‘For them, what mercy will there be when the sun returns, and the townsmen order killings caused by fear of a king who is not there?’
I really wish Arithon would just punch you in the balls right now.
‘I asked only that you travel with me to Althain Tower,’ Asandir said. ‘Wherever else will you find the guidance to reconcile your powers as a mage with the responsibilities of your birthright?’ The compassion in his tone was a terrible thing, a whip and a scourge upon a mind already mauled by the quandaries of duty. Arithon spun away, weeping regardless, and cursing the light hand of his tormentor. One threat, one compulsion, one word spoken with intent to bind would have given him opening to escape.
But Asandir closed the net with a pity that shattered and crucified. ‘If you finish the journey, your case will be brought before the Fellowship. I can make no promise. But if a compromise can be found to release you from kingship, I will plead in your favour.’
‘The last nail in the coffin,’ Arithon managed. ‘Of course, under protest, I accept.’ The air ached his lungs and his head hurt. His back to the sorcerer, his eyes on the shifting shadows of the horses, he clung to the fence, mostly to keep his hands from violence.
Okay, I am a person of conflicted impulses. I really really want to make fun of the overblown angst and flowery language here. But I actually feel a little too bad for this poor guy to do it justice. But "A mind already mauled by the quandaries of duty" is a phrase that I'm going to have drifting about in my brain for a long time.
There is an interesting bit where Asandir asks, if their roles were reversed, what Ariton would do. Arithon would find the Paravians. Apparently the Fellowship tried: one of their number (Ciladis) didn't return.
--
The third segment is called Traithe
Mercifully, we leave our conflicted and tormented idiot brothers alone for a bit to head to Althain Tower. Here, Sethvir, the other Fellowship Sorcerer that we met before opens his shutters to welcome a raven.
This raven, who Sethvir calls "little brother", is here to announce the arrival of Traithe, another Fellowship sorcerer.
Sethvir needs to help Traithe through the defenses of the Tower (lots of great descriptions here, but this is an excerpt heavy review as it is), which saddens him. Basically Traithe ended up losing most of his powers in battle against the Mistwraith. Apparently, the version that is here on Athera, that's blotted out the sky and sun, is only a fragment of an even bigger whole. Traithe managed to seal off the south Worldsend Gate (our idiot brothers came in the west Gate, if you're keeping track) and prevent the rest from getting here to choke all life off of the planet.
Traithe grumbles about his voyage: it's hard to get sailors to sail the coastline now, but is thrilled to learn that the Prophecy of the West Gate is at hand. Sethvir fills them in: TWO princes, not just one, and both coming with Asandir. Traithe is the last to know, because his limited powers mean that he couldn't get the message immediately like the others could.
They discuss the meth-snake issue, which never will not make me laugh, but the key part for us is that Traithe lights sconces throughout the entire tower. Sethvir always forgets, and Asandir and the other sorcerers won't care, but the princes are "bound not to welcome a mage's disregard of the dark."
--
Our snippet/sneak peek section this time is "Summons"
1. A sorcerer's essence is whirling south. (Presumably Luhaine or Kharadmon, who are mentioned in Sethvir's section.)
2) Another sorcerer, once called the Defender, is heading to Althain. (Presumably whichever one the first guy isn't.)
3) Asandir listens on the wind, then "whirls at a run" to prepare for "immediate departure".
It's good to be back.