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i_read_whatSo last time, our intrepid heroes made it to their destination. And promptly started actually fighting their great enemy off page, which is a slightly odd narrative choice.
But given that this chapter is called "Desh-thiere", which is the proper name for the Mistwraith, I suspect the book will be making up for that.
And indeed, we rejoin the idiot brothers, their asshole wizard "friend" and Dakar who at this point is probably the most relatable guy in the cast (Asandir could drive even my teetotaling ass to drink) atop the battlements of the tower Kieling/Compassion.
This is apparently right after Lirenda's interruption last chapter, as Lysaer is quizzical and irked, while Arithon and Dakar are rolling in hysterics. Asandir, of course, is a killjoy.
‘I heard,’ he addressed without preamble. ‘Sethvir informed me from Althain that you two have upset the Koriani Prime and her First Senior. Tell me what prank you pulled, and quickly, since we may now anticipate a round of angry repercussions.’
Oh, you're mad about not being informed of things, Asandir? Also, you are talking to grown men. I realize that's a difficult concept to grasp. But they aren't actually accountable to you for their behavior. Well, Dakar might be actually. But Arithon and Lysaer are not.
Dakar explains that the Koriani were spying on them. And we get an explanation of what Arithon had actually done last chapter, which was to redirect some of the energy gathered against the Mistwraith back through their matrix. Seems fair to me. Spy and get burned.
Lysaer is "mortified" by this reckless behavior. But Arithon is unbothered. The ladies had wards up and the only thing that got hurt were a few singed curtains.
Asandir demands, from Dakar, to know how the Koriani got enough of a foothold to get through the wards of the tower. That Dakar redirects to a suddenly stiff Arithon (not like that. Maybe like that.):
Arithon’s exuberance vanished, his mien abruptly blank and implacable as a wall. The strained relations between himself and Asandir returned suddenly and in force, and knowing any query the Fellowship might pose would get rebuffed, the sorcerer abandoned further questions.
His mage-sight offered means to find clear answers. Not even the murk of Desh-thiere could dim the abrupt unshielding of his will as he scrutinized the Master’s taut stance. The effect was as merciless to the victim as a field surgery performed with cut glass. Out of stubborn, irate pride, Arithon neither flinched nor hid his face. This despite the shame that even to an uninvolved witness, the feelings bared to view were revealingly personal. Watching avidly, Dakar sweated outright; Lysaer found himself discomforted to the point where honour compelled him to avert his eyes rather than witness a violation of his half-brother’s privacy.
"As a field surgery performed with cut glass". One day I'm just going to make a document with the best examples of melodramatic language I can find in this book.
Anyway, Asandir casually thinks outloud and this is actually pretty interesting:
‘Compassion,’ the sorcerer mused at length, his tone as apparently casual as a man counting facts on his fingers. ‘The Riathan Paravians set their wards in perfect surety. They never mistake false evidence, for theirs is the perception of Ath Creator. Kieling Tower may admit no force except unconditional love -’ Asandir broke off, his face abruptly drained colourless. ‘The lady enchantress in the hayloft at the Ravens,’ he surmised, a spike to his tone that caused Lysaer to shiver where he stood.
Arithon defends Elaira immediately, saying that the Prime "used her" and Elaira was not present and had "neither knowledge or consent". I'm not 100% sure how he knows that, but it's probably an ill-defined mage thing. (You've probably noticed I'm willing to cut Arithon slack on things that I'd have bitched about with Drizzt. You're correct. I like Arithon better than Drizzt, so I am a bit hypocritical on this score.)
Anyway, Arithon challenges Asandir to "Now say to me, and mean it, that her thieving pair of seniors didn’t deserve the come-uppance they got."
Lysaer, who is our viewpoint character here, is confused. He'd only met Elaira briefly in passing and had no idea of bar fight or hayloft parts of the night. Asandir is actually sympathetic, but emphasizes that Arithon must NEVER "allow Elaira to indulge in her feelings where [Arithon is] concerned." And says, hilariously hypocritically, that the Koriani creed is unnaturally opposed to human nature.
...as an asexual person, I always bristle at this sort of thing. But with the Koriani, I think the issue is less about the oath of celibacy itself and more that a) Elaira was forced to swear it at age SIX and b) there's no way out of it for someone who has genuinely changed her mind. In the real world, Vestal Virgins suffered horrible consequences for breaking their vows, but they could retire and marry after their service. Nuns in a convent generally could leave the service as well. Koriani vows are for life.
I am however a bit offended at the idea that Arithon is or should be responsible for Elaira's own choices. She is a grown woman after all. But I suppose it's good to see that Asandir's inability to recognize that someone is an adult is universal.
Arithon's own response is suitably angsty:
‘And yours is not?’ Arithon spun on his heel and braced his hands on Kieling’s embrasure. The mist that streamed past strung droplets in his hair, but the rigidity of his shoulders had nothing to do with its chill. ‘If I’m to be made a crowned puppet to drag this wasteland out of darkness, I’d hardly entangle a lady along with me.’
‘See you don’t,’ Asandir snapped back. ‘Where Elaira is concerned, I shall hold you to your word of honour, Prince of Rathain.’
Arithon drew a slow breath, then spun back with the brightest of smiles. ‘You’ll hold me to nothing against my will, sorcerer. Elaira is secure from my attentions, most certainly, since I’d die before I’d give your Fellowship even one chance of getting an heir.’
Asandir laughs at this, pointing out that five centuries is a long time for abstinence. Fuck you, dude. He also says that Arithon will have to try harder if he wants Asandir to think he doesn't care about Elaira.
Ooo. This is good though:
For an instant Arithon looked murderous. Then his green eyes went wide, and he spoke with a candour meant only for the sorcerer. ‘What caused you to abandon the resolve you made to me after Maenalle’s banquet in Camris?’
And Asandir's response is, of course, more truthful manipulation:
Already pale, Asandir turned death-white. For the first time Dakar could recall, the sorcerer looked as if he wanted to retreat. He answered instead, though he suffered for it. ‘You shared for yourself the echo of the mystery that gentles the vales at Caith-al-Caen. Could you bear to see what originated that resonance fade forever from this world? If prescience revealed such a thing might happen, could you stand aside and take no action in prevention?’
So now Arithon realizes exactly how trapped he is. And we see the point of all the melodramatic statements of conscience and compassion here. Because as much of an asshole as he can be, as much as he likes to disrupt Asandir's plans. He isn't going to doom a race to extinction just because he's bitterly unhappy.
Arithon of course storms away angstfully, while Lysaer calls the other two out:
Dakar shuffled his feet through the poisoned, abrasive stillness that remained. ‘I’m surprised you held him to that,’ he challenged, brash enough to fly in the face of the sorcerer’s brittle mood.
But it was Lysaer this time who provoked. ‘Less than the truth would not bind him, is that it?’
Yes, Lysaer. Please call him out more. You haven't even heard how YOU'RE getting screwed over yet. (I mean on general principle, I don't like the concept of inherited monarchy and I feel like it'd be better for everyone if the sorcerers waited a generation and chose the new kings from people who actually lived in the countries they'd be ruling. But that doesn't mean that Lysaer deserves to get fucked over in the process. At least tell him WHY.)
Asandir gives some platitudes about truth and so on, but even he acknowledges that "the trap first closed in Caith-al-Caen". We do get an interesting glimpse at Asandir's power and perspective of the universe here though:
No comfort could be gained, that Arithon was physically absent throughout the struggle as his personal desires warred and lost to the burden of guilt-induced duty. Asandir sensed to the second when the Shadow Master’s aspect became set. Brooding stillness claimed the sorcerer as his mage-sight stung him with awareness: for he saw the thread of probability that held all of a gifted man’s contentment fray away into nothing. The moment passed, and the chance died, that Arithon could become the bard the strands had forepromised at Althain, a musician cherished across the continent for his generosity and warmth of perception. The legacy of a beloved master singer, whose equal had not been seen since Elshian, for need had been cancelled out. In his place walked a prince whose competence would come to be feared, and whose gifts would be whetted by adversity to a cruelly focused edge.
Arithon would not now refuse the crown that waited at Etarra.
I suppose I'd probably be manipulative too if I could see probabilities. I still think Arithon and Lysaer should get to take turns punching Asandir in the dick though.
It does strike me as weird that we're having this interlude right now. But after some careful reading, I think that right now the characters are operating under the assumption that the mistwraith is this non-sentient thing that they're just chipping away at. It's implied somewhere that they've been doing this for days, maybe even weeks at this point. So taking a break to argue and angst is maybe not as weird as it sounds.
I still blame Asandir, anyway.
Anyway, we shift scene to a broody Arithon. He's got his lyranthe, but he can't manage to play anything. Ithamon is apparently very distracting:
Ancestors winnowed past his innermind, calling his name and imploring. Those whose ends had come untimely in the upheaval of the rebellion troubled him less than others born of an earlier era, when Paravians had inhabited the surrounding hills, and diversion of the Severnir’s waters had not rendered all the land barren. Spirits whose passage through time had left no regrets to sigh in descant between the winter winds; these had touched rock and soil and the weathered remains of fine carving with resounding vibrations of content. Their fragile, lost chord of celebration hurt an uncrowned prince the most, for in the absence of heritage and inhabitants, their song cried out for restoration of the city that lay splintered in ruin.
Okay, I can see why Arithon is cranky. Especially since this is "misfortune that he alone was empowered to redress". (...I THINK the logic being that as king, he would restore/rebuild this place?). Anyway, he's musing on Asandir's gift/warning. Now that he's had a glimpse of Paravian beauty, this place is even more painful.
Eventually, Lysaer joins him. Arithon has apparently been brooding long enough for night to fall, which I find hilarious. Lysaer tells him to move over so he can sit down too. Aw. Also:
Unsettled by the mournful ring of harmonics and by the close-bound air of desolation, Lysaer crowded in and attempted without success to settle comfortably. ‘You pick the most miserable sites for your brooding. Is it perversity, or a masochistic effort to drive away unwanted company?
Hee. I love when other characters call Arithon out for his melodrama. (For his part, Arithon smiles faintly and says "Probably both".)
Lysaer makes some conversation, asking if Arithon has noticed the place was haunted. That makes Arithon laugh a bit incredulously, which hurts Lysaer's feelings a bit. But...:
Lysaer stayed his impulse to draw away. He might not share his half-brother’s inclinations, to set music before the needs of kingdom and people, but he had sworn to try to understand. Since Asandir had done little by way of kindness to compensate for unwanted burdens, Arithon’s pique was forgivable, if not entirely just.
Aw. Lysaer is trying. I love that. The brotherly relationship is by far the best part of the book for me.
Anyway, Lysaer does point out that he's not a mage and lacks their sensitivity. He doesn't understand the Paravian thing. But he thinks about his home, and it doesn't comfort him. He thinks that if he were to find his way back, Amroth might disappoint him.
Lysaer's attempt to get rapport through a personal revelation works. Arithon is now listening "with no trace of his earlier, corrosive sarcasm."
Aw. Brothers. <3.
Arithon is a dick still though, so poor Lysaer is stuck carrying the conversation. Basically, he's been noticing this feeling growing stronger and more suffocating the longer they fight the Mistwraith, especially when outside the protection of the tower. He wonders if it's connected.
He's asked Asandir of course, and to his credit, Asandir discussed it with Sethvir, but they couldn't detect anything wrong. Dakar is too busy butchering dinner to weigh in. But Arithon seems to be taking Lysaer seriously, which makes Lysaer happier. Arithon wonders if something might be fucking with the tower wards.
Brothers. <3
And aw:
Unsettled by the moist cling of Desh-thiere, Lysaer stopped worrying at the old carving. ‘You feel it, too,’ he accused.
Arithon shook his head, emphatic. ‘Just now, I feel nothing. By choice, you understand. If I were to open myself, allow even a chink through my defences, I’d be helpless and probably crying.’ He sighed, slapped his hands into his lap, and tilted his crown back into the stone that braced up his spine. ‘Did you by chance bring a handkerchief?’
‘My valet always carried mine for me,’ Lysaer apologized. He shrugged in wry humour. ‘Will my shoulder do for a substitute?’
All the brotherliness this chapter!
Lysaer tries to demur even, saying that Arithon need not act on his word alone. Arithon cuts him off saying that given Lysaer's nature, "only a fool would ignore your worry".
Aw.
Then things get a little...ominous? The wind has suddenly dropped. Their perch seems precarious. And Arithon grabs Lysaer and starts running off through the ruins. Something is following them!
Arithon realizes that he's fucked up good. His brooding location is apparently a little too far from the protected part of the tower, which means that this may not have been the best place for that conversation. And the mist seems to have noticed. Arithon is starting to think that the Mistwraith isn't just an obstacle: it's intelligent. And hostile.
So the brothers have to fight. Arithon forms a barrier while pulling Lysaer with him. Lysaer tries to fight off the spirit-whatever that's attacking them, but gets overcome. Arithon lashes out with shadow, but it's a losing fight. He definitely gets proof that the Mistwraith is intelligent though.
Fortunately, before it's over completely, Asandir and Dakar come to the rescue. They flee back to Kieling.
So back at the Tower, Arithon starts to recover and has a new appreciation of the power Asandir has. They share a moment:
‘My prince, I’m sorry.’ This admission played no part in the conflict that, only hours before, had sealed a prince to an unwanted destiny.
Disarmed, even shamed by the affection in Asandir’s concern, Arithon evaded the personal. ‘How did you know Lysaer and I needed rescue?’
Driven off by banality, the poignancy of the moment fled. Asandir said, ‘I was given warning. The wards in your sword, Alithiel, came active and all but set fire to your clothes chest.’ The sorcerer helped Arithon to a chair by the hearth, tossed him a blanket, then moved briskly to assist Dakar with Lysaer, who was unconscious still, and pale as a carving in wax.
Please angst about how cool your sword is again, Arithon. That makes me laugh and we could use the mood lightener.
Arithon's suddenly got a new appreciation for the tower and its protection, and now that he's steadier, he's able to fill Asandir in on what he's learned. (Asandir was too busy saving their lives to detect much.)
The Mistwraith is sentient. Not only that, though, it encompasses more than one physical being. Arithon thinks there are thousands, too many to count, "and all of them bound captive in hatred" He and Lysaer have been systematically reducing the mist that confines them, but not the creature/s themselves.
They discuss more, and I'm gratified to see Dakar contributing to the discussion. It's easy to dismiss him as comic relief, but he IS an apprentice to one of the most powerful sorcerous entities in the world and has been for centuries. Asandir does some mystical perspective thingy that sounds flowery and incomprehensible and makes Arithon cry. Arithon also realizes "how shallow was his own knowledge and how inadequate" and realizes what he abandoned when he left Rauven. Because he didn't have enough to angst about. Thanks Asandir.
Anyway, Asandir isn't able to detect Desh-thiere itself. Just its effects. He and Arithon share a moment, which Dakar notices and is vaguely creeped out by.
And because we haven't had enough flowery aggrandizement:
Calm to a depth that transcended pity, Asandir waited for the prince he had betrayed to sort his feelings. Although the offering of serene rest might have been rebuffed by a thought, Arithon capitulated with a gratitude that gave the sorcerer startled pause. Despite the new depths of yearning unveiled through tonight’s shared scrying, no grudge remained in this prince who had been shackled in guilt to a fate he had not wanted. The very s’Ffalenn compassion that sealed the trap in the end prevailed to bring absolution. The wounding begun in Caith-al-Caen, that no effort at indifference might heal, would be carried into kingship in selfless silence.
Humbled by a forgiveness he had never expected to receive, Asandir stood stunned and still. Then he smiled as if touched by light, reached out with hands that could wring raw force from bedrock, and in a visible effort not to fumble, rearranged the blankets around the Master of Shadow. He tucked the musician’s fingers with their contradictory scars and callouses into the warmth of dry wool and set a binding of peace upon his handiwork.
Of course.
Now that Arithon's out too, Asandir and Dakar have to talk about Lysaer. Lysaer, unfortunately, doesn't have any mage protections and so there's a much greater risk of injury. Happily, the discorporate sorcerer Luhaine will be joining them to help. Kharadmon has gone to help Sethvir at Althain, and there's some hope that the recent encounter between the princes and the Mistwraith might enable them to better understand how Traithe was wounded.
Dakar has a pretty piercing question though: if the Mistwraith is "alive", they can't follow through and kill it, can they?
Asandir agrees. If it is alive, then by letting the princes "kill" the mist, they'd be actually setting it free.
--
The next section of the chapter is called Backsearch:
We join Sethvir and Kharadmon now at Althain Tower. Kharadmon updates Sethvir on Lysaer's condition. Fortunately, neither Asandir or Luhaine has found anything wrong with him. Barring self growth and maturation of character, Lysaer was, spirit and flesh, the same young man who had entered Athera through West Gate.
That's a relief, but Sethvir is frustrated. He cryptically tells Kharadmon that he's "analysing the nature of the universe, based on one view through a keyhole". That's a great burn. The keyhole here is present time, and he compares the situation to Traithe's.
If you recall, Traithe is the sorcerer with the raven. He lacks the scary abilities of the other Fellowship sorcerers because some time ago, he fought the Mistwraith at the South Gate. He succeeded in closing the gate, and cutting the Mistwraith off from larger being on the other side. But in the process, his abilities were crippled.
We get some pretty neat flashbacks from that time.
The porphyry pillars of South Gate reared white-edged in the static flash of stressed energies. Weather-forces skewed out of balance and a storm-charged sky raked the earth with lightning. Thunder slammed and rain sheeted like a fall of silver needles through the hellish play of light. Even after five centuries the view could still inspire dread, as Desh-thiere erupted through the portal between worlds. It came on, gale-driven masses of fog like the boiled over brew from a witch’s cauldron. Toward the streaming influx at the gate, a lone figure ploughed its way forward: Traithe, fighting a cyclone of disturbed air that twisted his robes, and harried his progress to a standstill…
One example. Anyway. Sethvir is thinking that maybe Traithe wasn't maimed by the backlash of the spell use like they originally thought. Sethvir thinks instead that Traithe may have been mentally attacked by Desh-thiere, and had tried to burn it out of his own head.
Whoa, okay, that's kind of awesome. Traithe can stay.
He thinks that Desh-thiere's wraiths are maybe a step out of time, something that sounds cool and ominous, but means very little to me. But Sethvir thinks that's how they passed through the tower. He also thinks that Lysaer may not show the effect of any damage right now, but that it might manifest at a set time later.
Kharadmon has a theory as to when: Arithon's coronation in Etarra. That's where all the strands will converge.
...so maybe you can talk to the brothers NOW? Warn them?
(Also, I feel like this is fundamentally your guys's fault. You've been manipulating the brothers all along. Arithon gets upset. Storms off. Lysaer follows. And now he got zapped. You guys refuse to admit they're adults, so I'm going to blame you for the lack of supervision. Fuck you guys.)
Anyway, they're off to summon Traithe to help.
-
The next section is Dispatch.
Here we rejoin Elaira. Hi, Elaira! She's been summoned by Morriel, so she's heading to report in. The Prime Circle apparently chooses its location seasonally, and now they're in their winter quarters near Mainmere. It's much more secure, due to boglands, but also a bitch and a half for travelers. Elaira's horse has lost a shoe in the mud.
The travel sounds miserable, and even moreso when she stumbles across some kids. She tells them she's unarmed, and they tell her to show them. (An interesting character beat: Elaira still wears some lucky talisman buttons made from copper coins that she'd kept from her days as a child street thief.)
The kids bring her back to their village so she can have a place to sleep and purchase some supplies. They greet her warmly once assured she's unarmed. But then, they're interrupted when a hut matron starts to scream in panic:
The shadows lay everywhere, crisp as knives and too blue. The diamond whiteness of the drifts hurt the eyes. Against them, reeds and winter-stripped thickets seemed to leap out, starkly honed as sword-edges. Maples, swamp-oaks and willows showed their details in unnatural sharpness, their top branches delineated like entangled skeins or blown ink. Elaira gulped a quickened breath. The mist had gone. Vanished. Around her, the night was fogless and bright. The spell crystal slipped forgotten from her fingers as she tipped her head, wondering, to view the sky.
For the first time in her life, Elaira sees stars in the sky. She's exhilerated!
The village people are, understandably, terrified, and Elaira admits that if she hadn't spoken to Asandir or had access to the Koriani archives, she'd be scared too. She tries to coax the villagers out, with dubious success. That's okay though. When she goes to sleep, she's excited to think about how the sunlight will look.
Elaira's segment of the chapter ends with something less comforting: a message with new orders. Now that the Mistwraith is defeated, she's being sent to Etarra for the high king's coronation. They want her insights into both princes' characters.
...okay, so it's kind of hilarious that the fight against the Mistwraith both begins and is concluded off page.
--
The final section of course is our sneak peek: Guard, Ward and Bard
1. Luhaine is at Ithamon, creating wards to trap Desh-thiere that cut across time as well as space. Better late than never.
2. Traithe is in Havish, taking leave of the craftsman who is raising the heir of that country. Apparently the poor kid will assume his own inheritance after the Rathain coronation in Etarra. In the meantime, his studies at the dyevat are to continue.
3. In some town called Ward, where the sky is still grey, an elderly bard disappointedly pulls down a sign that he'd hung before. It offers auditions for an apprenticeship and tells the prospective candidates to apply to Halliron.
A peek ahead shows me that we're actually going to see the defeat of the Mistwraith next chapter. That's good. I want something appropriately climactic for that part. We'll see next week!
But given that this chapter is called "Desh-thiere", which is the proper name for the Mistwraith, I suspect the book will be making up for that.
And indeed, we rejoin the idiot brothers, their asshole wizard "friend" and Dakar who at this point is probably the most relatable guy in the cast (Asandir could drive even my teetotaling ass to drink) atop the battlements of the tower Kieling/Compassion.
This is apparently right after Lirenda's interruption last chapter, as Lysaer is quizzical and irked, while Arithon and Dakar are rolling in hysterics. Asandir, of course, is a killjoy.
‘I heard,’ he addressed without preamble. ‘Sethvir informed me from Althain that you two have upset the Koriani Prime and her First Senior. Tell me what prank you pulled, and quickly, since we may now anticipate a round of angry repercussions.’
Oh, you're mad about not being informed of things, Asandir? Also, you are talking to grown men. I realize that's a difficult concept to grasp. But they aren't actually accountable to you for their behavior. Well, Dakar might be actually. But Arithon and Lysaer are not.
Dakar explains that the Koriani were spying on them. And we get an explanation of what Arithon had actually done last chapter, which was to redirect some of the energy gathered against the Mistwraith back through their matrix. Seems fair to me. Spy and get burned.
Lysaer is "mortified" by this reckless behavior. But Arithon is unbothered. The ladies had wards up and the only thing that got hurt were a few singed curtains.
Asandir demands, from Dakar, to know how the Koriani got enough of a foothold to get through the wards of the tower. That Dakar redirects to a suddenly stiff Arithon (not like that. Maybe like that.):
Arithon’s exuberance vanished, his mien abruptly blank and implacable as a wall. The strained relations between himself and Asandir returned suddenly and in force, and knowing any query the Fellowship might pose would get rebuffed, the sorcerer abandoned further questions.
His mage-sight offered means to find clear answers. Not even the murk of Desh-thiere could dim the abrupt unshielding of his will as he scrutinized the Master’s taut stance. The effect was as merciless to the victim as a field surgery performed with cut glass. Out of stubborn, irate pride, Arithon neither flinched nor hid his face. This despite the shame that even to an uninvolved witness, the feelings bared to view were revealingly personal. Watching avidly, Dakar sweated outright; Lysaer found himself discomforted to the point where honour compelled him to avert his eyes rather than witness a violation of his half-brother’s privacy.
"As a field surgery performed with cut glass". One day I'm just going to make a document with the best examples of melodramatic language I can find in this book.
Anyway, Asandir casually thinks outloud and this is actually pretty interesting:
‘Compassion,’ the sorcerer mused at length, his tone as apparently casual as a man counting facts on his fingers. ‘The Riathan Paravians set their wards in perfect surety. They never mistake false evidence, for theirs is the perception of Ath Creator. Kieling Tower may admit no force except unconditional love -’ Asandir broke off, his face abruptly drained colourless. ‘The lady enchantress in the hayloft at the Ravens,’ he surmised, a spike to his tone that caused Lysaer to shiver where he stood.
Arithon defends Elaira immediately, saying that the Prime "used her" and Elaira was not present and had "neither knowledge or consent". I'm not 100% sure how he knows that, but it's probably an ill-defined mage thing. (You've probably noticed I'm willing to cut Arithon slack on things that I'd have bitched about with Drizzt. You're correct. I like Arithon better than Drizzt, so I am a bit hypocritical on this score.)
Anyway, Arithon challenges Asandir to "Now say to me, and mean it, that her thieving pair of seniors didn’t deserve the come-uppance they got."
Lysaer, who is our viewpoint character here, is confused. He'd only met Elaira briefly in passing and had no idea of bar fight or hayloft parts of the night. Asandir is actually sympathetic, but emphasizes that Arithon must NEVER "allow Elaira to indulge in her feelings where [Arithon is] concerned." And says, hilariously hypocritically, that the Koriani creed is unnaturally opposed to human nature.
...as an asexual person, I always bristle at this sort of thing. But with the Koriani, I think the issue is less about the oath of celibacy itself and more that a) Elaira was forced to swear it at age SIX and b) there's no way out of it for someone who has genuinely changed her mind. In the real world, Vestal Virgins suffered horrible consequences for breaking their vows, but they could retire and marry after their service. Nuns in a convent generally could leave the service as well. Koriani vows are for life.
I am however a bit offended at the idea that Arithon is or should be responsible for Elaira's own choices. She is a grown woman after all. But I suppose it's good to see that Asandir's inability to recognize that someone is an adult is universal.
Arithon's own response is suitably angsty:
‘And yours is not?’ Arithon spun on his heel and braced his hands on Kieling’s embrasure. The mist that streamed past strung droplets in his hair, but the rigidity of his shoulders had nothing to do with its chill. ‘If I’m to be made a crowned puppet to drag this wasteland out of darkness, I’d hardly entangle a lady along with me.’
‘See you don’t,’ Asandir snapped back. ‘Where Elaira is concerned, I shall hold you to your word of honour, Prince of Rathain.’
Arithon drew a slow breath, then spun back with the brightest of smiles. ‘You’ll hold me to nothing against my will, sorcerer. Elaira is secure from my attentions, most certainly, since I’d die before I’d give your Fellowship even one chance of getting an heir.’
Asandir laughs at this, pointing out that five centuries is a long time for abstinence. Fuck you, dude. He also says that Arithon will have to try harder if he wants Asandir to think he doesn't care about Elaira.
Ooo. This is good though:
For an instant Arithon looked murderous. Then his green eyes went wide, and he spoke with a candour meant only for the sorcerer. ‘What caused you to abandon the resolve you made to me after Maenalle’s banquet in Camris?’
And Asandir's response is, of course, more truthful manipulation:
Already pale, Asandir turned death-white. For the first time Dakar could recall, the sorcerer looked as if he wanted to retreat. He answered instead, though he suffered for it. ‘You shared for yourself the echo of the mystery that gentles the vales at Caith-al-Caen. Could you bear to see what originated that resonance fade forever from this world? If prescience revealed such a thing might happen, could you stand aside and take no action in prevention?’
So now Arithon realizes exactly how trapped he is. And we see the point of all the melodramatic statements of conscience and compassion here. Because as much of an asshole as he can be, as much as he likes to disrupt Asandir's plans. He isn't going to doom a race to extinction just because he's bitterly unhappy.
Arithon of course storms away angstfully, while Lysaer calls the other two out:
Dakar shuffled his feet through the poisoned, abrasive stillness that remained. ‘I’m surprised you held him to that,’ he challenged, brash enough to fly in the face of the sorcerer’s brittle mood.
But it was Lysaer this time who provoked. ‘Less than the truth would not bind him, is that it?’
Yes, Lysaer. Please call him out more. You haven't even heard how YOU'RE getting screwed over yet. (I mean on general principle, I don't like the concept of inherited monarchy and I feel like it'd be better for everyone if the sorcerers waited a generation and chose the new kings from people who actually lived in the countries they'd be ruling. But that doesn't mean that Lysaer deserves to get fucked over in the process. At least tell him WHY.)
Asandir gives some platitudes about truth and so on, but even he acknowledges that "the trap first closed in Caith-al-Caen". We do get an interesting glimpse at Asandir's power and perspective of the universe here though:
No comfort could be gained, that Arithon was physically absent throughout the struggle as his personal desires warred and lost to the burden of guilt-induced duty. Asandir sensed to the second when the Shadow Master’s aspect became set. Brooding stillness claimed the sorcerer as his mage-sight stung him with awareness: for he saw the thread of probability that held all of a gifted man’s contentment fray away into nothing. The moment passed, and the chance died, that Arithon could become the bard the strands had forepromised at Althain, a musician cherished across the continent for his generosity and warmth of perception. The legacy of a beloved master singer, whose equal had not been seen since Elshian, for need had been cancelled out. In his place walked a prince whose competence would come to be feared, and whose gifts would be whetted by adversity to a cruelly focused edge.
Arithon would not now refuse the crown that waited at Etarra.
I suppose I'd probably be manipulative too if I could see probabilities. I still think Arithon and Lysaer should get to take turns punching Asandir in the dick though.
It does strike me as weird that we're having this interlude right now. But after some careful reading, I think that right now the characters are operating under the assumption that the mistwraith is this non-sentient thing that they're just chipping away at. It's implied somewhere that they've been doing this for days, maybe even weeks at this point. So taking a break to argue and angst is maybe not as weird as it sounds.
I still blame Asandir, anyway.
Anyway, we shift scene to a broody Arithon. He's got his lyranthe, but he can't manage to play anything. Ithamon is apparently very distracting:
Ancestors winnowed past his innermind, calling his name and imploring. Those whose ends had come untimely in the upheaval of the rebellion troubled him less than others born of an earlier era, when Paravians had inhabited the surrounding hills, and diversion of the Severnir’s waters had not rendered all the land barren. Spirits whose passage through time had left no regrets to sigh in descant between the winter winds; these had touched rock and soil and the weathered remains of fine carving with resounding vibrations of content. Their fragile, lost chord of celebration hurt an uncrowned prince the most, for in the absence of heritage and inhabitants, their song cried out for restoration of the city that lay splintered in ruin.
Okay, I can see why Arithon is cranky. Especially since this is "misfortune that he alone was empowered to redress". (...I THINK the logic being that as king, he would restore/rebuild this place?). Anyway, he's musing on Asandir's gift/warning. Now that he's had a glimpse of Paravian beauty, this place is even more painful.
Eventually, Lysaer joins him. Arithon has apparently been brooding long enough for night to fall, which I find hilarious. Lysaer tells him to move over so he can sit down too. Aw. Also:
Unsettled by the mournful ring of harmonics and by the close-bound air of desolation, Lysaer crowded in and attempted without success to settle comfortably. ‘You pick the most miserable sites for your brooding. Is it perversity, or a masochistic effort to drive away unwanted company?
Hee. I love when other characters call Arithon out for his melodrama. (For his part, Arithon smiles faintly and says "Probably both".)
Lysaer makes some conversation, asking if Arithon has noticed the place was haunted. That makes Arithon laugh a bit incredulously, which hurts Lysaer's feelings a bit. But...:
Lysaer stayed his impulse to draw away. He might not share his half-brother’s inclinations, to set music before the needs of kingdom and people, but he had sworn to try to understand. Since Asandir had done little by way of kindness to compensate for unwanted burdens, Arithon’s pique was forgivable, if not entirely just.
Aw. Lysaer is trying. I love that. The brotherly relationship is by far the best part of the book for me.
Anyway, Lysaer does point out that he's not a mage and lacks their sensitivity. He doesn't understand the Paravian thing. But he thinks about his home, and it doesn't comfort him. He thinks that if he were to find his way back, Amroth might disappoint him.
Lysaer's attempt to get rapport through a personal revelation works. Arithon is now listening "with no trace of his earlier, corrosive sarcasm."
Aw. Brothers. <3.
Arithon is a dick still though, so poor Lysaer is stuck carrying the conversation. Basically, he's been noticing this feeling growing stronger and more suffocating the longer they fight the Mistwraith, especially when outside the protection of the tower. He wonders if it's connected.
He's asked Asandir of course, and to his credit, Asandir discussed it with Sethvir, but they couldn't detect anything wrong. Dakar is too busy butchering dinner to weigh in. But Arithon seems to be taking Lysaer seriously, which makes Lysaer happier. Arithon wonders if something might be fucking with the tower wards.
Brothers. <3
And aw:
Unsettled by the moist cling of Desh-thiere, Lysaer stopped worrying at the old carving. ‘You feel it, too,’ he accused.
Arithon shook his head, emphatic. ‘Just now, I feel nothing. By choice, you understand. If I were to open myself, allow even a chink through my defences, I’d be helpless and probably crying.’ He sighed, slapped his hands into his lap, and tilted his crown back into the stone that braced up his spine. ‘Did you by chance bring a handkerchief?’
‘My valet always carried mine for me,’ Lysaer apologized. He shrugged in wry humour. ‘Will my shoulder do for a substitute?’
All the brotherliness this chapter!
Lysaer tries to demur even, saying that Arithon need not act on his word alone. Arithon cuts him off saying that given Lysaer's nature, "only a fool would ignore your worry".
Aw.
Then things get a little...ominous? The wind has suddenly dropped. Their perch seems precarious. And Arithon grabs Lysaer and starts running off through the ruins. Something is following them!
Arithon realizes that he's fucked up good. His brooding location is apparently a little too far from the protected part of the tower, which means that this may not have been the best place for that conversation. And the mist seems to have noticed. Arithon is starting to think that the Mistwraith isn't just an obstacle: it's intelligent. And hostile.
So the brothers have to fight. Arithon forms a barrier while pulling Lysaer with him. Lysaer tries to fight off the spirit-whatever that's attacking them, but gets overcome. Arithon lashes out with shadow, but it's a losing fight. He definitely gets proof that the Mistwraith is intelligent though.
Fortunately, before it's over completely, Asandir and Dakar come to the rescue. They flee back to Kieling.
So back at the Tower, Arithon starts to recover and has a new appreciation of the power Asandir has. They share a moment:
‘My prince, I’m sorry.’ This admission played no part in the conflict that, only hours before, had sealed a prince to an unwanted destiny.
Disarmed, even shamed by the affection in Asandir’s concern, Arithon evaded the personal. ‘How did you know Lysaer and I needed rescue?’
Driven off by banality, the poignancy of the moment fled. Asandir said, ‘I was given warning. The wards in your sword, Alithiel, came active and all but set fire to your clothes chest.’ The sorcerer helped Arithon to a chair by the hearth, tossed him a blanket, then moved briskly to assist Dakar with Lysaer, who was unconscious still, and pale as a carving in wax.
Please angst about how cool your sword is again, Arithon. That makes me laugh and we could use the mood lightener.
Arithon's suddenly got a new appreciation for the tower and its protection, and now that he's steadier, he's able to fill Asandir in on what he's learned. (Asandir was too busy saving their lives to detect much.)
The Mistwraith is sentient. Not only that, though, it encompasses more than one physical being. Arithon thinks there are thousands, too many to count, "and all of them bound captive in hatred" He and Lysaer have been systematically reducing the mist that confines them, but not the creature/s themselves.
They discuss more, and I'm gratified to see Dakar contributing to the discussion. It's easy to dismiss him as comic relief, but he IS an apprentice to one of the most powerful sorcerous entities in the world and has been for centuries. Asandir does some mystical perspective thingy that sounds flowery and incomprehensible and makes Arithon cry. Arithon also realizes "how shallow was his own knowledge and how inadequate" and realizes what he abandoned when he left Rauven. Because he didn't have enough to angst about. Thanks Asandir.
Anyway, Asandir isn't able to detect Desh-thiere itself. Just its effects. He and Arithon share a moment, which Dakar notices and is vaguely creeped out by.
And because we haven't had enough flowery aggrandizement:
Calm to a depth that transcended pity, Asandir waited for the prince he had betrayed to sort his feelings. Although the offering of serene rest might have been rebuffed by a thought, Arithon capitulated with a gratitude that gave the sorcerer startled pause. Despite the new depths of yearning unveiled through tonight’s shared scrying, no grudge remained in this prince who had been shackled in guilt to a fate he had not wanted. The very s’Ffalenn compassion that sealed the trap in the end prevailed to bring absolution. The wounding begun in Caith-al-Caen, that no effort at indifference might heal, would be carried into kingship in selfless silence.
Humbled by a forgiveness he had never expected to receive, Asandir stood stunned and still. Then he smiled as if touched by light, reached out with hands that could wring raw force from bedrock, and in a visible effort not to fumble, rearranged the blankets around the Master of Shadow. He tucked the musician’s fingers with their contradictory scars and callouses into the warmth of dry wool and set a binding of peace upon his handiwork.
Of course.
Now that Arithon's out too, Asandir and Dakar have to talk about Lysaer. Lysaer, unfortunately, doesn't have any mage protections and so there's a much greater risk of injury. Happily, the discorporate sorcerer Luhaine will be joining them to help. Kharadmon has gone to help Sethvir at Althain, and there's some hope that the recent encounter between the princes and the Mistwraith might enable them to better understand how Traithe was wounded.
Dakar has a pretty piercing question though: if the Mistwraith is "alive", they can't follow through and kill it, can they?
Asandir agrees. If it is alive, then by letting the princes "kill" the mist, they'd be actually setting it free.
--
The next section of the chapter is called Backsearch:
We join Sethvir and Kharadmon now at Althain Tower. Kharadmon updates Sethvir on Lysaer's condition. Fortunately, neither Asandir or Luhaine has found anything wrong with him. Barring self growth and maturation of character, Lysaer was, spirit and flesh, the same young man who had entered Athera through West Gate.
That's a relief, but Sethvir is frustrated. He cryptically tells Kharadmon that he's "analysing the nature of the universe, based on one view through a keyhole". That's a great burn. The keyhole here is present time, and he compares the situation to Traithe's.
If you recall, Traithe is the sorcerer with the raven. He lacks the scary abilities of the other Fellowship sorcerers because some time ago, he fought the Mistwraith at the South Gate. He succeeded in closing the gate, and cutting the Mistwraith off from larger being on the other side. But in the process, his abilities were crippled.
We get some pretty neat flashbacks from that time.
The porphyry pillars of South Gate reared white-edged in the static flash of stressed energies. Weather-forces skewed out of balance and a storm-charged sky raked the earth with lightning. Thunder slammed and rain sheeted like a fall of silver needles through the hellish play of light. Even after five centuries the view could still inspire dread, as Desh-thiere erupted through the portal between worlds. It came on, gale-driven masses of fog like the boiled over brew from a witch’s cauldron. Toward the streaming influx at the gate, a lone figure ploughed its way forward: Traithe, fighting a cyclone of disturbed air that twisted his robes, and harried his progress to a standstill…
One example. Anyway. Sethvir is thinking that maybe Traithe wasn't maimed by the backlash of the spell use like they originally thought. Sethvir thinks instead that Traithe may have been mentally attacked by Desh-thiere, and had tried to burn it out of his own head.
Whoa, okay, that's kind of awesome. Traithe can stay.
He thinks that Desh-thiere's wraiths are maybe a step out of time, something that sounds cool and ominous, but means very little to me. But Sethvir thinks that's how they passed through the tower. He also thinks that Lysaer may not show the effect of any damage right now, but that it might manifest at a set time later.
Kharadmon has a theory as to when: Arithon's coronation in Etarra. That's where all the strands will converge.
...so maybe you can talk to the brothers NOW? Warn them?
(Also, I feel like this is fundamentally your guys's fault. You've been manipulating the brothers all along. Arithon gets upset. Storms off. Lysaer follows. And now he got zapped. You guys refuse to admit they're adults, so I'm going to blame you for the lack of supervision. Fuck you guys.)
Anyway, they're off to summon Traithe to help.
-
The next section is Dispatch.
Here we rejoin Elaira. Hi, Elaira! She's been summoned by Morriel, so she's heading to report in. The Prime Circle apparently chooses its location seasonally, and now they're in their winter quarters near Mainmere. It's much more secure, due to boglands, but also a bitch and a half for travelers. Elaira's horse has lost a shoe in the mud.
The travel sounds miserable, and even moreso when she stumbles across some kids. She tells them she's unarmed, and they tell her to show them. (An interesting character beat: Elaira still wears some lucky talisman buttons made from copper coins that she'd kept from her days as a child street thief.)
The kids bring her back to their village so she can have a place to sleep and purchase some supplies. They greet her warmly once assured she's unarmed. But then, they're interrupted when a hut matron starts to scream in panic:
The shadows lay everywhere, crisp as knives and too blue. The diamond whiteness of the drifts hurt the eyes. Against them, reeds and winter-stripped thickets seemed to leap out, starkly honed as sword-edges. Maples, swamp-oaks and willows showed their details in unnatural sharpness, their top branches delineated like entangled skeins or blown ink. Elaira gulped a quickened breath. The mist had gone. Vanished. Around her, the night was fogless and bright. The spell crystal slipped forgotten from her fingers as she tipped her head, wondering, to view the sky.
For the first time in her life, Elaira sees stars in the sky. She's exhilerated!
The village people are, understandably, terrified, and Elaira admits that if she hadn't spoken to Asandir or had access to the Koriani archives, she'd be scared too. She tries to coax the villagers out, with dubious success. That's okay though. When she goes to sleep, she's excited to think about how the sunlight will look.
Elaira's segment of the chapter ends with something less comforting: a message with new orders. Now that the Mistwraith is defeated, she's being sent to Etarra for the high king's coronation. They want her insights into both princes' characters.
...okay, so it's kind of hilarious that the fight against the Mistwraith both begins and is concluded off page.
--
The final section of course is our sneak peek: Guard, Ward and Bard
1. Luhaine is at Ithamon, creating wards to trap Desh-thiere that cut across time as well as space. Better late than never.
2. Traithe is in Havish, taking leave of the craftsman who is raising the heir of that country. Apparently the poor kid will assume his own inheritance after the Rathain coronation in Etarra. In the meantime, his studies at the dyevat are to continue.
3. In some town called Ward, where the sky is still grey, an elderly bard disappointedly pulls down a sign that he'd hung before. It offers auditions for an apprenticeship and tells the prospective candidates to apply to Halliron.
A peek ahead shows me that we're actually going to see the defeat of the Mistwraith next chapter. That's good. I want something appropriately climactic for that part. We'll see next week!