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i_read_whatSo last time, the brothers managed to get themselves cornered by the Mistwraith outside of the tower's protection. It was kind of a mess of idiocy all around, but I still blame Asandir. We also saw a peek ahead that SEEMED to indicate that our boys are going to win this battle.
I hope we get to see them do it.
We rejoin our heroes at Ithamon. The season has just changed. It's spring now and the buffeting winds are tainted by the smell of mold and rot. Asandir is our viewpoint character at the moment, and he's doing some cryptic weather observation, the gist of it being: Mistwraith bad.
I appreciate your insight, dude.
Anyway, this is a big day. They're going to beat the Mistwraith!
The disembodied sorcerer Kharadmon shows up to banter with Asandir a little. He and the other disembodied sorcerer, Luhaine, are going to be doing some kind of magicky thing. Kharadmon offers to wake up Dakar, but Asandir doesn't really want to deal with Dakar's temper after one of Kharadmon's pranks. Kharadmon offers to wake up Arithon instead:
Asandir broke his pose of quietude and strode up the vine-tangled avenue that led to the inner citadel. Ahead of his step, leaves rustled in a burst of agitation as an iyat skulked out of his path. ‘Right now, the Shadow Master’s tuning his lyranthe with an intensity better suited to a man whetting steel for bloody vengeance. You’re welcome to provoke that one by yourself.’
I'd like to see it actually. Arithon is the sort of guy who would benefit from a few pranks. The sorcerers discuss his lyranthe, which is apparently a "formidable weapon", but not in Arithon's hands yet. The sorcerers do more talking, and Luhaine shows up, and it's interesting to read but not really to recap. Magicky stuff.
There's some concern about the plan and whether or not Desh-Thiere will be able to scatter and hide after the boys carve it up. But they don't really have better options. They're going to have to take the risk.
Meanwhile, Lysaer, Dakar and Arithon are below. Dakar is bitching about Etarra, and for all that he's drunken comic relief mostly bitching about the lack of brandy. (Apparently if you mention spirits distilled from fruit, you can be in danger of being "staked through the arse".) But there's useful information too, namely that the Etarrans are secularly superstitious. They hate hearing legends and are even more antagonistic toward sorcerers.
Admittedly, I'm not sure I blame them for the last bit. But supposedly if you admit you saw a sorcerer, they'd burn you alive without a hearing. That does seem like a bit of an overreaction, no matter how annoying Asandir and company can be.
Lysaer and Dakar banter a bit more, while Arithon is first to notice the disembodied guests. Lysaer, proper as always, prompts an introduction.
Kharadmon raised tapered fingers and flipped back his hood. Streaked piebald locks tumbled over his caped cloak as he swept through a courtier’s bow. ‘My prince, we are colleagues of the Fellowship, members in spirit since the day that flesh suffered mishap.’ And he arose, confronting Lysaer with cat-pale eyes that studied in sardonic provocation.
Luhaine tucked his thumbs into a belt stout enough to halter a yearling bull. As flesh, he had always been careful to regale his portliness with restraint; as spirit, he forwent adornment as a frivolous waste of conjury. Against an appearance unrelentingly prim, his words seemed weighed like insult as he said, ‘The buffoon who speaks is Kharadmon, your Grace of Tysan.’
There's some bickering between the two, of course. And Luhaine spares a moment to admire Lysaer's strength of character:
His eyes joylessly reticent, Luhaine measured the blond prince whose dignity made light of unpleasantness. Given Lysaer’s staunchness of character, it seemed unnatural that the strands should unremittingly forecast war. Aggrieved that such beautifully trained poise might come to be channelled toward deceit, Luhaine turned sharp. ‘You think we should get on with defeating Desh-thiere?’ He flicked a thick finger in reproach. ‘I say it’s a fool who would rush to meet danger.’
I still feel like maybe you should TELL the boys about these stupid prophecies. Lysaer and Arithon have grown very close over the course of this book. It seems unlikely that they'd willingly go to war. Which leaves a few options: they're tricked into it, for example. Or, it's some kind of influence of their enemy. (Which seems likely given the title of the book.)
Maybe there isn't any way to fight it, but I feel like if you warned them, they might be on the look out for uncharacteristic behavior. Maybe they can fight it for long enough that you can get one or both to safety?
It'd at least be more productive than sighing over the impending tragedy. Anyway, Lysaer is embarrassed by Luhaine's rebuke, and Asandir apologizes for him and Kharadmon. They've had a long night.
Eventually, Luhaine explains what they're doing:
‘Permit me. What spirits the Mistwraith embodies cannot pass the tower safe-wards. Should your efforts with shadow and light drive its vapours to final extinction inside Paravian protections, the self-aware essence would become sundered from the bounds of the fog that enshrouds it. In brief, its wraiths would be winnowed separate, even as kernel from chaff.’ Warmed to his topic, Luhaine raised spread palms. ‘After that, our Fellowship cannot be sure whether natural death would banish such spirits. Should the entities have ways to evade Ath’s law and continue existence as free wraiths, they might go on to possess our world’s creatures with dire and damaging results.’
...eventually.
Basically, they're going to be using the wards at Ithamon to trap the spirit(s). So they get to work. Lysaer shoots light at it. Arithon rips it apart with shadow. They tear a hole, which Desh-thiere surges to close. The battle continues.
Lysaer's gotten pretty damn good at forming his light into a deadly weapon, by the way.
So they keep fighting, morning into afternoon. Light, shadow, the brothers covering each other as the mists attack them. Eventually, Arithon notices something bad, which Lysaer can't see. He starts gathering light into his hands, but gets cut off from the others. His light suddenly fails to dissipate. The Mistwraith seems to be feeding on that energy. Fortunately, Asandir yanks him out of whatever it is.
We learn that the Mistwraith does have the ability to skew perception, as Asandir has to stop Lysaer from lashing out uncontrollably.
We're told that the Mistwraith is now consolidating around Kieling Tower only. There's some concern about whether or not the sorcerers should go outside to fight it and leave the princes vulnerable. Or something. I admit, I'm not completely following this part. My attention span doesn't lend itself well to this kind of thing. They have another option though, which horrifies Dakar: to use the tower itself.
Dakar is upset by the idea, because the wards of compassion on the tower are the work of ages, and this would "sully" them. Asandir thinks it's necessary. These are the only wards that could possibly hold it in. And that's the plan now: to drive the Mistwraith inside and trap it there.
Shocked, shaking, visibly afraid to hold his ground, nonetheless; Dakar stayed stubbornly rooted.
I do like when Ms. Wurts lets Dakar do more than be comic relief. I don't completely understand what's so important about Kieling Tower, but I believe Dakar believes its important. And maybe that's enough.
Luhaine points out that Desh-thiere has tricked them before. This could be a trick too. But Lysaer steps forward:
‘The risk must be taken.’ Lysaer came forward. ‘Of us all, I’m the least fit to weigh risks. Yet I cannot set my life above the need to confine this monster. Kieling’s protections will not fail the land. Though we all were to die here, sunlight for Athera would be secured.’ His hair like drowned gold in the gloom, he deferred to Asandir. ‘I prefer to trust you can protect us from the wraiths, as you did on the night my half-brother and I were attacked.’
The man does give a good speech. He tells Asandir that what resources he has are freely Asandir's. Asandir is moved to sincere respect.
Luhaine suggests they have Dakar leave the tower, that way, if the worst happens, there's someone who can guard until Sethvir can fully seal it off. Dakar is on board with that.
I do find the interaction between the sorcerers and the apprentices like Dakar and Verrain very interesting. Dakar is, possibly, about four hundred years old. We don't know how old Verrain is. But compared to the sorcerers themselves, they might well be like children. Poor Dakar has a lot of obnoxious uncles.
More preparations, and this bit makes me laugh:
Kharadmon appointed himself the task of safeguarding Lysaer. Luhaine’s image dissolved also, but wearing an acerbic expression that cautioned Arithon to restraint. Whether moved by precocious knowledge or by edgy s’Ffalenn temperament, any attempt to broach Fellowship guardianship would be handled with flat intolerance.
Everyone knows Arithon is a rebellious asshole.
Anyway, Lysaer is the point of view character for the protections, and it's not pleasant sounding:
Lysaer felt every hair on his body stab erect. For a horrible, drawn out moment, his mind and flesh lay outside self-command, frozen in subjugation to another will. The unpleasant feeling soon faded. Mage-light no longer etched his body to incandescence. Lysaer stretched in reaction. He flexed his hands, then his toes, relieved to find them not locked in paralysis. Then he tried a breath, and felt, like a spike hammered through the grain of growing wood, the ward’s immutable presence.
He retained bodily control, but only as Kharadmon’s protections allowed.
Moved to consternation by the scope of the strictures imposed by his open consent, Lysaer had no chance to wonder how Arithon reconciled such a pact.
I feel like we can probably feel a little sorry for Luhaine here.
So basically, Asandir's going to be merging his awareness with the Tower. He won't be able to respond to the boys. They're going to have to depend on their ghostly friends to help. There'll be a signal, and the the boys fight the mistwraith, driving it into the tower. Then Asandir seals it and they fight what's left. Seems simple enough!
So now, fighting! Lots of purple prose. Mostly from Lysaer's point of view. I particularly like this bit: Charge after charge of pure light raked from him, until his flesh felt mauled and reamed through, a bare conduit to channel his gift. The light torn out of his centre slashed from him, a brilliance of chiselled force that the one mote of consciousness undrowned by the torrent recognized for the work of a stranger.
Poor Lysaer is definitely not happy with basically being Kharadmon's magic puppet. But he clings to his "willing consent to the Fellowship, and the honor that bound his given oath" to keep himself from freaking out. At some point, it gets too much and he "lost grip on dignity and wept"
Eventually, a very hoarse Asandir urges him to get up. And:
Lysaer gained his knees. ‘The wards,’ he gasped. ‘Did you open them?’ As dizziness slowly released him, he glanced about. ‘My half-brother. Is he all right?’
Aww. Brothers. <3
Arithon's resting nearby. Lysaer can't tell if he's as drained as Lysaer is. Asandir compliments them though. They've managed to contain the monster in the tower. Lysaer puts on a brave face, but Asandir warns that the most difficult part is ahead. They've still got more to do to trap it for good.
Arithon offered no comment. Given his trained grasp of his gift, his quiet gave rise to trepidation. Lysaer hugged his arms across his chest. If he thought, if he hesitated, he could not in cold sanity continue. Dread sapped the dregs of his nerve. Raised to inflexible duty, he had learned at his father’s knee that a king must always act selflessly. The needs of land and people must come first. If at heart he was human, and terrified, the justice that ruled the s’Ilessid royal line now imprisoned his conscience like shackles. Lysaer raised hands that he wished were not trembling. From the core of him that was prince, and steadfast, he let go control and self-preservation and surrendered himself wholly to his gift.
Arithon's angst gets a lot of purple prose, but Lysaer gets his fair share too. It's generally less amusing than "oh god, my sword is just too awesome" though.
Ooo.
Touched to quick anger that yet another personal frailty jeopardized this dire expedient, Lysaer forced speech. ‘Brother, are you ready?’
I think this might be the first time Lysaer has called Arithon brother, without the "half" being attached to it.
So they attack together. It sounds very unpleasant. Lots of words of discomfort, pain and exhaustion. ("The lessons of survival imposed by the Red Desert became as a mere inconvenience before the suffering required to fuel his gift.").
But they're winning. Between Lysaer's light blasts and Arithon's shadow barriers, they're winning. But it looks really bad for a moment as the wraiths manage to push their way through the barriers containing it. They swarm Lysaer:
Light answered, a hedging dazzle of wards thrown up by Kharadmon. Trailing half a beat behind, the sorcerer’s protections failed to guard. Lysaer suffered jumbled impressions that overwhelmed the hurt to his hands. The tumult within him screeled to a whirlwind, scattering memories like debris. Through a ripped up jumble of impressions, he sensed Fellowship spellcraft flash lines of fire through past and future, hounding the Mistwraith’s assault.
...this could be a problem.
And indeed, Lysaer ends up remembering his betrothed's lips on his (annoyingly, the poor girl is still only called "the Lady of the South Isle". Does she not have a name, Lysaer?), a childhood memory naming stars...and...
Dissociated wholly from the present, cut off from joined conflict with the Mistwraith, Lysaer tumbled face-down once again in the scorching sand of the Red Desert. Arithon s’Ffalenn stood over him, blood-streaked features contorted with unforgotten antagonism.
‘Get up!’ the command a lash across a mind pinned by a vice-grip of sorcery. Pain followed, lacerating the last bastion of conscious will.
‘Get up!’
Then himself, a prince born royal, broken and screaming as personal dignity was trampled down and violated by the bastard half-brother who was ever and always Amroth’s enemy.
Lysaer shuddered, racked once again by annihilating hatred for the s’Ffalenn born to mastery of shadows. Only now, in forced reliving, righteous s’Ilessid fury was shared and fanned hotter by a ravening horde of demon spirits.
And here's where Arithon's special talent of always choosing the option that will screw him over in the near or far future rears its ugly head. Maybe mind-controlling your brother in an attempt to keep him alive (and piss him off enough to motivate him to stay alive) was a bad idea.
Oops.
The moment passes though. In the end, the heroes win. The Mistwraith is imprisoned. And the sky shows "a terrifying tapestry of stars."
They were hard-white, blue, and stinging violet, too bright by half to be mistaken for the heavens of Dascen Elur that Lysaer had known throughout childhood. None of the constellations matched any taught him by the chancellor.
Lysaer keels over, and Asandir shows "an expression of unalloyed sorrow" before ordering Arithon to help get Lysaer inside.
-
The next chapter segment is Legacy:
We're still with the brothers. Asandir has apparently ridden south with his colleagues to better secure the Mistwraith, so Lysaer and Arithon are hanging out in a stone embrasure that once had been favored as a trysting place by generations of s'Ffalenn princesses."
Lysaer's hands are bandaged, but he seems mostly okay. He offers a toast to their victory and hands the flask to Arithon, who gets his first real line of dialogue this chapter (well, aside from the occasional "NOW!" type shout in battle.)
Arithon paused, a dark silhouette against a million points of light. ‘No,’ he said softly. ‘I’d drink instead to the crown that awaits you in Tysan. You’ve fully earned your right to royal privilege.’
Aw. Brothers.
Arithon doesn't actually sound bitter, which confuses Lysaer. He brings up Etarra, and suggests that there's more on Arithon's mind.
Arithon demurs: he doesn't feel bad, only tired. Lysaer's got thoughts though:
‘Still, what?’ The liquor was subtle: it undid barriers as a rake would seduce a prim virgin. When Arithon forbore to respond, Lysaer frowned in mildly euphoric irritation. ‘You’d think, after Desh-thiere’s defeat, the almighty Fellowship of Seven could reward you by finding a replacement hero to shoulder Rathain’s throne in your place.’
Oh, you poor boys. Also that seducing a virgin metaphor makes me laugh. I'm starting to think Lysaer really needs to get laid.
Arithon's got a pretty clear read on the situation. At least from his limited store of knowledge. He figures that the sorcerers aren't willing to replace him because they can't. His guess is that someone fucked around with both his and Lysaer's family histories.
Dakar confirms that, asserting that "consent was given" on the day that Rathain's charter was drawn up (by Ciladis of the Fellowship.)
I've seen your guys's idea of consent, Dakar. So I'm a little skeptical about that.
Arithon is willing to accept that. He accepts another swig of brandy ("that s'Ilessid diplomacy offered out of instinct to console." Aww.) and then heads inside to rest.
Dakar emerges at that point, which gives Lysaer a chance to ask what Arithon had meant by tampering, and what consent his ancestor had given.
Dakar is reluctant to talk, but Lysaer knows how to hit him where it hurts. He won't share the brandy unless Dakar speaks. I think Dakar probably would have told him anyway though.
So, the bloodlines are important. In fact, irreplaceable. Dakar explains:
‘The Fellowship chose three men and two women to found Athera’s royal lines. They were selected, each one, for a dominant trait that would resist corruption and other pressures that power brings to bear on human nature. It is a grave thing to alter or to influence unborn life. Yet that is what the sorcerers did, to ensure fair rule through generations of dynastic succession. They set a geas ward that would fix those chosen virtues in direct line of inheritance. Your ancestor gave them consent, for all the good that does you.’ Here, Dakar’s own bitterness showed, for an apprenticeship that more times than not seemed the result of manipulation.
Lysaer asks what that means for Arithon.
Answer: Arithon can't escape his nature. More backstory. I'm probably excerpting too much here, but I'm enraptured by the novelty of someone actually EXPLAINING things!
Also, the backstory is pretty interesting:
In time, Dakar took another pull from the flask. He peered mournfully into the dregs. ‘Torbrand s’Ffalenn was a man of natural empathy, a master statesman, because he could sense what motivated his enemies. He ruled as duke in Daon Ramon, and the compassion of the Riathan Paravians formed the guiding light of his policies. Which means, my friend, that Arithon will forgive the knife that kills him. He cannot do otherwise. To understand and to sympathize with the needs of every living thing is his inborn nature, the forced gift of the s’Ffalenn line as bequeathed by the Fellowship of Seven.’
Lysaer thinks that this explains a lot. I am still amused at the idea that Arithon is an asshole as a defense mechanism for empathizing with people TOO MUCH. Of course it is.
But I'll grant that it IS a pretty consistent character trait. Arithon's an asshole, but he doesn't hold grudges, even when he really fucking should. (Asandir deserves so many punches in the dick.)
Lysaer asks about his own gift:
Morose, Dakar said, ‘You will always seek justice, even where none can be found.’
...and yeah, I think that might be consistent too. And it's the crux of the problem that Lysaer is having with the clansfolk in Tysan. Lysaer's idea of justice can't incorporate the idea of robbery and violence. It can't. He comes from a land who has suffered from those acts. He knows the pain and sorrow they cause. But at the same time, there's no justice in the clansfolk persecution either. Like the Karthans, a lot of their thefts and violence are because of necessity. The rest, retaliation for violence inflicted against them.
There's no clean line of right or wrong here. There's no real answer.
I think Arithon's got it easier in a way. His gift is more painful on a personal level. But all it requires from him is understanding. Lysaer, on the other hand, is being driven by a compulsion toward an ideal that doesn't and can't exist. At least not in present circumstances.
Lysaer's no longer feeling the post-battle euphoria. Instead, he decides Arithon had the right idea and heads to bed. Dakar remains outside, in his own torment.
Because Dakar knows something that the boys don't. In that last conflict, the sorcerers selected a sacrifice: the one who would have to block the Mistwraith's assault bare-handed. They chose Lysaer, feeling that his lack of training made him the lesser risk if the Mistwraith somehow had access to his mind.
Dakar is furious and distraught, and it's a relief, because someone SHOULD be. Yet again, the sorcerers have unilaterally decided to fuck over one of the brothers. The worst part is that Lysaer probably would have agreed and accepted the risk if they'd actually asked him. (Arithon would NOT have accepted the risk to his brother, admittedly, which may be why they didn't.)
But there'll consequences, as the last paragraph of the chapter tells us:
For the seeds of evil had been sown, well and deeply. All the telir brandy in Athera could never soften the chaos still to be reaped at the ill-omened coronation in Etarra.
--
The third segment of the chapter is "Insurrection". And here, we get our first glimpse of the city of Etarra.
There's sunlight in Etarra now, and people are freaking the fuck out:
Trade stalled, from the moment the lampblacks raced yelling to the watchkeeps with word that the east sky dawned red like running blood. Sentries reported the same from forsaken posts of duty on the walls. Terrorstricken citizens huddled indoors waiting to die of Ath-knew-what sort of sickness, as day brightened to a fearful white dazzle. The phenomenon had to be sorcery: the sky was blue and the light burned harshly enough to make the eyes ache. Rumours ran rampant and legends from the time before the uprising were whispered behind shuttered windows stuffed with blankets. By night the city apothecaries opened their shops and fattened their purses on profits wrung from unguents to ward off blindness. When by the next day the herders holed up in their crofts failed to drive livestock to the butcher, city-folk went hungry. Flour ran short. The rich resorted to bribes until the enterprising poor began to rifle guild warehouses.
Fortunately, no one died of sun exposure, and even the street beggars managed to not go blind. But there's a lot of unrest right now.
The lord Supreme Governor of the city, a dude named Morfett, is trying to get everything back under control:
He dug out from under a massive heap of quilts, shed the clinging arms of his wife and forced his trembling, weeping house-steward to press his collar of state. When a morning spent sweating under the naked sun failed to inspire warring factions to resume commerce, he called Lord Commander Diegan to muster the city guard. At lance-point the most recalcitrant citizen would be forced to accept the risk of roasting under the Sithaer-sent scourge of harsh sunlight.
Between that and the bribes though, the Governor does manage to get control of the city.
Which is when Sethvir appears.
No one had admitted him. He simply materialized, robed in maroon velvet, his eyes mild as pondwater over a beard like frizzled fleece. The last thing he resembled was a power remanifested out of legend. The duty-guard mistook him for somebody’s misdirected grandfather until a kindly effort to offer an escort home earned him a list of outrageous amendments to be appended to the city’s ruling charter.
I have to admit, as annoying as the Fellowship is, I'm put off by the general skeevy ambiance of this city (and the genocidal practices that have already been established), so I rather enjoy seeing Sethvir politely trample over the governor's protests.
The governor is not having a good day: his crofters have fled back inside (without returning the bribes), the poor in the streets are threatening riots (good for them!) and he's just been told that the cooks are preparing for a royal feast.
Kharadmon and Luhaine have shown up to be annoying as well, which causes the Governor to faint away. Sethvir does warn them that Governor Morfett has a fast and crafty knack for hiring assassins. Which is good enough reason to keep him flustered. Kharadmon wonders if this guy will be a match for Arithon.
...I feel like this might have been another thing to talk to the boys about? Arithon is the one who has to inherit this kingship after all. Maybe he would have had some ideas about how to go about this without pissing everyone off?
...wait. No. Never mind. We ARE talking about Arithon. But Lysaer might have had an idea or two.
When Morfett wakes up, he's told that he'll be swearing to a king, and that Etarra will now be governed in accordance with Rathain's original charter. Morfett is, understandably, a bit reluctant. But when his "over my dead body" is met with a "if need be", he decides to go the subtle route.
Unfortunately for him, his bribes are failing. The farmers have decided that this means the guild no longer owns land rights and are threatening to strike. (Morfett's attempt to assassinate their spokesman runs afoul of a soft-spoken man in a black hat. Hi, Traithe!)
I'm reminded of Lysaer's mild horror that no one owned land in Athera, and how the farmers being unable to own land would have been unthinkable in Amroth. He might have understood the problem better if he knew that the farmers still don't own land now: the guilds do instead. I'm glad someone explained that to him...oh wait...
The chapter ends with Morfett, Defender of Trade, Protector of Justice and Lord Governor Supreme of teh Northern Reaches (swanky title) reluctantly initiating the re-establishment of a monarchy.
If it helps, dude, I think Arithon's probably as unhappy about it as you are.
--
Finally, in our sneak peek section: Overviews.
Lirenda is reporting to Morriel that the Mistwraith is now sealed "in the caves at Skelsing's Gate". This is a temporary location until after the coronation. The sorceresses are looking to learn why the Mistwraith is still alive.
In Strakewood, in the North of Rathain, a clan is having a fortnight celebration of sunlight, while two young boys pretend to raid Etarran merchants.
Finally, Elaira getting some traveling advice: namely, to bring a lot of food, as the markets are scarce. The farmers are refusing to sell to townsfolk, and the trade guilds are in an uproar.
So. The Mistwraith is defeated! And we have a whole third of the book left to go! See you soon!
I hope we get to see them do it.
We rejoin our heroes at Ithamon. The season has just changed. It's spring now and the buffeting winds are tainted by the smell of mold and rot. Asandir is our viewpoint character at the moment, and he's doing some cryptic weather observation, the gist of it being: Mistwraith bad.
I appreciate your insight, dude.
Anyway, this is a big day. They're going to beat the Mistwraith!
The disembodied sorcerer Kharadmon shows up to banter with Asandir a little. He and the other disembodied sorcerer, Luhaine, are going to be doing some kind of magicky thing. Kharadmon offers to wake up Dakar, but Asandir doesn't really want to deal with Dakar's temper after one of Kharadmon's pranks. Kharadmon offers to wake up Arithon instead:
Asandir broke his pose of quietude and strode up the vine-tangled avenue that led to the inner citadel. Ahead of his step, leaves rustled in a burst of agitation as an iyat skulked out of his path. ‘Right now, the Shadow Master’s tuning his lyranthe with an intensity better suited to a man whetting steel for bloody vengeance. You’re welcome to provoke that one by yourself.’
I'd like to see it actually. Arithon is the sort of guy who would benefit from a few pranks. The sorcerers discuss his lyranthe, which is apparently a "formidable weapon", but not in Arithon's hands yet. The sorcerers do more talking, and Luhaine shows up, and it's interesting to read but not really to recap. Magicky stuff.
There's some concern about the plan and whether or not Desh-Thiere will be able to scatter and hide after the boys carve it up. But they don't really have better options. They're going to have to take the risk.
Meanwhile, Lysaer, Dakar and Arithon are below. Dakar is bitching about Etarra, and for all that he's drunken comic relief mostly bitching about the lack of brandy. (Apparently if you mention spirits distilled from fruit, you can be in danger of being "staked through the arse".) But there's useful information too, namely that the Etarrans are secularly superstitious. They hate hearing legends and are even more antagonistic toward sorcerers.
Admittedly, I'm not sure I blame them for the last bit. But supposedly if you admit you saw a sorcerer, they'd burn you alive without a hearing. That does seem like a bit of an overreaction, no matter how annoying Asandir and company can be.
Lysaer and Dakar banter a bit more, while Arithon is first to notice the disembodied guests. Lysaer, proper as always, prompts an introduction.
Kharadmon raised tapered fingers and flipped back his hood. Streaked piebald locks tumbled over his caped cloak as he swept through a courtier’s bow. ‘My prince, we are colleagues of the Fellowship, members in spirit since the day that flesh suffered mishap.’ And he arose, confronting Lysaer with cat-pale eyes that studied in sardonic provocation.
Luhaine tucked his thumbs into a belt stout enough to halter a yearling bull. As flesh, he had always been careful to regale his portliness with restraint; as spirit, he forwent adornment as a frivolous waste of conjury. Against an appearance unrelentingly prim, his words seemed weighed like insult as he said, ‘The buffoon who speaks is Kharadmon, your Grace of Tysan.’
There's some bickering between the two, of course. And Luhaine spares a moment to admire Lysaer's strength of character:
His eyes joylessly reticent, Luhaine measured the blond prince whose dignity made light of unpleasantness. Given Lysaer’s staunchness of character, it seemed unnatural that the strands should unremittingly forecast war. Aggrieved that such beautifully trained poise might come to be channelled toward deceit, Luhaine turned sharp. ‘You think we should get on with defeating Desh-thiere?’ He flicked a thick finger in reproach. ‘I say it’s a fool who would rush to meet danger.’
I still feel like maybe you should TELL the boys about these stupid prophecies. Lysaer and Arithon have grown very close over the course of this book. It seems unlikely that they'd willingly go to war. Which leaves a few options: they're tricked into it, for example. Or, it's some kind of influence of their enemy. (Which seems likely given the title of the book.)
Maybe there isn't any way to fight it, but I feel like if you warned them, they might be on the look out for uncharacteristic behavior. Maybe they can fight it for long enough that you can get one or both to safety?
It'd at least be more productive than sighing over the impending tragedy. Anyway, Lysaer is embarrassed by Luhaine's rebuke, and Asandir apologizes for him and Kharadmon. They've had a long night.
Eventually, Luhaine explains what they're doing:
‘Permit me. What spirits the Mistwraith embodies cannot pass the tower safe-wards. Should your efforts with shadow and light drive its vapours to final extinction inside Paravian protections, the self-aware essence would become sundered from the bounds of the fog that enshrouds it. In brief, its wraiths would be winnowed separate, even as kernel from chaff.’ Warmed to his topic, Luhaine raised spread palms. ‘After that, our Fellowship cannot be sure whether natural death would banish such spirits. Should the entities have ways to evade Ath’s law and continue existence as free wraiths, they might go on to possess our world’s creatures with dire and damaging results.’
...eventually.
Basically, they're going to be using the wards at Ithamon to trap the spirit(s). So they get to work. Lysaer shoots light at it. Arithon rips it apart with shadow. They tear a hole, which Desh-thiere surges to close. The battle continues.
Lysaer's gotten pretty damn good at forming his light into a deadly weapon, by the way.
So they keep fighting, morning into afternoon. Light, shadow, the brothers covering each other as the mists attack them. Eventually, Arithon notices something bad, which Lysaer can't see. He starts gathering light into his hands, but gets cut off from the others. His light suddenly fails to dissipate. The Mistwraith seems to be feeding on that energy. Fortunately, Asandir yanks him out of whatever it is.
We learn that the Mistwraith does have the ability to skew perception, as Asandir has to stop Lysaer from lashing out uncontrollably.
We're told that the Mistwraith is now consolidating around Kieling Tower only. There's some concern about whether or not the sorcerers should go outside to fight it and leave the princes vulnerable. Or something. I admit, I'm not completely following this part. My attention span doesn't lend itself well to this kind of thing. They have another option though, which horrifies Dakar: to use the tower itself.
Dakar is upset by the idea, because the wards of compassion on the tower are the work of ages, and this would "sully" them. Asandir thinks it's necessary. These are the only wards that could possibly hold it in. And that's the plan now: to drive the Mistwraith inside and trap it there.
Shocked, shaking, visibly afraid to hold his ground, nonetheless; Dakar stayed stubbornly rooted.
I do like when Ms. Wurts lets Dakar do more than be comic relief. I don't completely understand what's so important about Kieling Tower, but I believe Dakar believes its important. And maybe that's enough.
Luhaine points out that Desh-thiere has tricked them before. This could be a trick too. But Lysaer steps forward:
‘The risk must be taken.’ Lysaer came forward. ‘Of us all, I’m the least fit to weigh risks. Yet I cannot set my life above the need to confine this monster. Kieling’s protections will not fail the land. Though we all were to die here, sunlight for Athera would be secured.’ His hair like drowned gold in the gloom, he deferred to Asandir. ‘I prefer to trust you can protect us from the wraiths, as you did on the night my half-brother and I were attacked.’
The man does give a good speech. He tells Asandir that what resources he has are freely Asandir's. Asandir is moved to sincere respect.
Luhaine suggests they have Dakar leave the tower, that way, if the worst happens, there's someone who can guard until Sethvir can fully seal it off. Dakar is on board with that.
I do find the interaction between the sorcerers and the apprentices like Dakar and Verrain very interesting. Dakar is, possibly, about four hundred years old. We don't know how old Verrain is. But compared to the sorcerers themselves, they might well be like children. Poor Dakar has a lot of obnoxious uncles.
More preparations, and this bit makes me laugh:
Kharadmon appointed himself the task of safeguarding Lysaer. Luhaine’s image dissolved also, but wearing an acerbic expression that cautioned Arithon to restraint. Whether moved by precocious knowledge or by edgy s’Ffalenn temperament, any attempt to broach Fellowship guardianship would be handled with flat intolerance.
Everyone knows Arithon is a rebellious asshole.
Anyway, Lysaer is the point of view character for the protections, and it's not pleasant sounding:
Lysaer felt every hair on his body stab erect. For a horrible, drawn out moment, his mind and flesh lay outside self-command, frozen in subjugation to another will. The unpleasant feeling soon faded. Mage-light no longer etched his body to incandescence. Lysaer stretched in reaction. He flexed his hands, then his toes, relieved to find them not locked in paralysis. Then he tried a breath, and felt, like a spike hammered through the grain of growing wood, the ward’s immutable presence.
He retained bodily control, but only as Kharadmon’s protections allowed.
Moved to consternation by the scope of the strictures imposed by his open consent, Lysaer had no chance to wonder how Arithon reconciled such a pact.
I feel like we can probably feel a little sorry for Luhaine here.
So basically, Asandir's going to be merging his awareness with the Tower. He won't be able to respond to the boys. They're going to have to depend on their ghostly friends to help. There'll be a signal, and the the boys fight the mistwraith, driving it into the tower. Then Asandir seals it and they fight what's left. Seems simple enough!
So now, fighting! Lots of purple prose. Mostly from Lysaer's point of view. I particularly like this bit: Charge after charge of pure light raked from him, until his flesh felt mauled and reamed through, a bare conduit to channel his gift. The light torn out of his centre slashed from him, a brilliance of chiselled force that the one mote of consciousness undrowned by the torrent recognized for the work of a stranger.
Poor Lysaer is definitely not happy with basically being Kharadmon's magic puppet. But he clings to his "willing consent to the Fellowship, and the honor that bound his given oath" to keep himself from freaking out. At some point, it gets too much and he "lost grip on dignity and wept"
Eventually, a very hoarse Asandir urges him to get up. And:
Lysaer gained his knees. ‘The wards,’ he gasped. ‘Did you open them?’ As dizziness slowly released him, he glanced about. ‘My half-brother. Is he all right?’
Aww. Brothers. <3
Arithon's resting nearby. Lysaer can't tell if he's as drained as Lysaer is. Asandir compliments them though. They've managed to contain the monster in the tower. Lysaer puts on a brave face, but Asandir warns that the most difficult part is ahead. They've still got more to do to trap it for good.
Arithon offered no comment. Given his trained grasp of his gift, his quiet gave rise to trepidation. Lysaer hugged his arms across his chest. If he thought, if he hesitated, he could not in cold sanity continue. Dread sapped the dregs of his nerve. Raised to inflexible duty, he had learned at his father’s knee that a king must always act selflessly. The needs of land and people must come first. If at heart he was human, and terrified, the justice that ruled the s’Ilessid royal line now imprisoned his conscience like shackles. Lysaer raised hands that he wished were not trembling. From the core of him that was prince, and steadfast, he let go control and self-preservation and surrendered himself wholly to his gift.
Arithon's angst gets a lot of purple prose, but Lysaer gets his fair share too. It's generally less amusing than "oh god, my sword is just too awesome" though.
Ooo.
Touched to quick anger that yet another personal frailty jeopardized this dire expedient, Lysaer forced speech. ‘Brother, are you ready?’
I think this might be the first time Lysaer has called Arithon brother, without the "half" being attached to it.
So they attack together. It sounds very unpleasant. Lots of words of discomfort, pain and exhaustion. ("The lessons of survival imposed by the Red Desert became as a mere inconvenience before the suffering required to fuel his gift.").
But they're winning. Between Lysaer's light blasts and Arithon's shadow barriers, they're winning. But it looks really bad for a moment as the wraiths manage to push their way through the barriers containing it. They swarm Lysaer:
Light answered, a hedging dazzle of wards thrown up by Kharadmon. Trailing half a beat behind, the sorcerer’s protections failed to guard. Lysaer suffered jumbled impressions that overwhelmed the hurt to his hands. The tumult within him screeled to a whirlwind, scattering memories like debris. Through a ripped up jumble of impressions, he sensed Fellowship spellcraft flash lines of fire through past and future, hounding the Mistwraith’s assault.
...this could be a problem.
And indeed, Lysaer ends up remembering his betrothed's lips on his (annoyingly, the poor girl is still only called "the Lady of the South Isle". Does she not have a name, Lysaer?), a childhood memory naming stars...and...
Dissociated wholly from the present, cut off from joined conflict with the Mistwraith, Lysaer tumbled face-down once again in the scorching sand of the Red Desert. Arithon s’Ffalenn stood over him, blood-streaked features contorted with unforgotten antagonism.
‘Get up!’ the command a lash across a mind pinned by a vice-grip of sorcery. Pain followed, lacerating the last bastion of conscious will.
‘Get up!’
Then himself, a prince born royal, broken and screaming as personal dignity was trampled down and violated by the bastard half-brother who was ever and always Amroth’s enemy.
Lysaer shuddered, racked once again by annihilating hatred for the s’Ffalenn born to mastery of shadows. Only now, in forced reliving, righteous s’Ilessid fury was shared and fanned hotter by a ravening horde of demon spirits.
And here's where Arithon's special talent of always choosing the option that will screw him over in the near or far future rears its ugly head. Maybe mind-controlling your brother in an attempt to keep him alive (and piss him off enough to motivate him to stay alive) was a bad idea.
Oops.
The moment passes though. In the end, the heroes win. The Mistwraith is imprisoned. And the sky shows "a terrifying tapestry of stars."
They were hard-white, blue, and stinging violet, too bright by half to be mistaken for the heavens of Dascen Elur that Lysaer had known throughout childhood. None of the constellations matched any taught him by the chancellor.
Lysaer keels over, and Asandir shows "an expression of unalloyed sorrow" before ordering Arithon to help get Lysaer inside.
-
The next chapter segment is Legacy:
We're still with the brothers. Asandir has apparently ridden south with his colleagues to better secure the Mistwraith, so Lysaer and Arithon are hanging out in a stone embrasure that once had been favored as a trysting place by generations of s'Ffalenn princesses."
Lysaer's hands are bandaged, but he seems mostly okay. He offers a toast to their victory and hands the flask to Arithon, who gets his first real line of dialogue this chapter (well, aside from the occasional "NOW!" type shout in battle.)
Arithon paused, a dark silhouette against a million points of light. ‘No,’ he said softly. ‘I’d drink instead to the crown that awaits you in Tysan. You’ve fully earned your right to royal privilege.’
Aw. Brothers.
Arithon doesn't actually sound bitter, which confuses Lysaer. He brings up Etarra, and suggests that there's more on Arithon's mind.
Arithon demurs: he doesn't feel bad, only tired. Lysaer's got thoughts though:
‘Still, what?’ The liquor was subtle: it undid barriers as a rake would seduce a prim virgin. When Arithon forbore to respond, Lysaer frowned in mildly euphoric irritation. ‘You’d think, after Desh-thiere’s defeat, the almighty Fellowship of Seven could reward you by finding a replacement hero to shoulder Rathain’s throne in your place.’
Oh, you poor boys. Also that seducing a virgin metaphor makes me laugh. I'm starting to think Lysaer really needs to get laid.
Arithon's got a pretty clear read on the situation. At least from his limited store of knowledge. He figures that the sorcerers aren't willing to replace him because they can't. His guess is that someone fucked around with both his and Lysaer's family histories.
Dakar confirms that, asserting that "consent was given" on the day that Rathain's charter was drawn up (by Ciladis of the Fellowship.)
I've seen your guys's idea of consent, Dakar. So I'm a little skeptical about that.
Arithon is willing to accept that. He accepts another swig of brandy ("that s'Ilessid diplomacy offered out of instinct to console." Aww.) and then heads inside to rest.
Dakar emerges at that point, which gives Lysaer a chance to ask what Arithon had meant by tampering, and what consent his ancestor had given.
Dakar is reluctant to talk, but Lysaer knows how to hit him where it hurts. He won't share the brandy unless Dakar speaks. I think Dakar probably would have told him anyway though.
So, the bloodlines are important. In fact, irreplaceable. Dakar explains:
‘The Fellowship chose three men and two women to found Athera’s royal lines. They were selected, each one, for a dominant trait that would resist corruption and other pressures that power brings to bear on human nature. It is a grave thing to alter or to influence unborn life. Yet that is what the sorcerers did, to ensure fair rule through generations of dynastic succession. They set a geas ward that would fix those chosen virtues in direct line of inheritance. Your ancestor gave them consent, for all the good that does you.’ Here, Dakar’s own bitterness showed, for an apprenticeship that more times than not seemed the result of manipulation.
Lysaer asks what that means for Arithon.
Answer: Arithon can't escape his nature. More backstory. I'm probably excerpting too much here, but I'm enraptured by the novelty of someone actually EXPLAINING things!
Also, the backstory is pretty interesting:
In time, Dakar took another pull from the flask. He peered mournfully into the dregs. ‘Torbrand s’Ffalenn was a man of natural empathy, a master statesman, because he could sense what motivated his enemies. He ruled as duke in Daon Ramon, and the compassion of the Riathan Paravians formed the guiding light of his policies. Which means, my friend, that Arithon will forgive the knife that kills him. He cannot do otherwise. To understand and to sympathize with the needs of every living thing is his inborn nature, the forced gift of the s’Ffalenn line as bequeathed by the Fellowship of Seven.’
Lysaer thinks that this explains a lot. I am still amused at the idea that Arithon is an asshole as a defense mechanism for empathizing with people TOO MUCH. Of course it is.
But I'll grant that it IS a pretty consistent character trait. Arithon's an asshole, but he doesn't hold grudges, even when he really fucking should. (Asandir deserves so many punches in the dick.)
Lysaer asks about his own gift:
Morose, Dakar said, ‘You will always seek justice, even where none can be found.’
...and yeah, I think that might be consistent too. And it's the crux of the problem that Lysaer is having with the clansfolk in Tysan. Lysaer's idea of justice can't incorporate the idea of robbery and violence. It can't. He comes from a land who has suffered from those acts. He knows the pain and sorrow they cause. But at the same time, there's no justice in the clansfolk persecution either. Like the Karthans, a lot of their thefts and violence are because of necessity. The rest, retaliation for violence inflicted against them.
There's no clean line of right or wrong here. There's no real answer.
I think Arithon's got it easier in a way. His gift is more painful on a personal level. But all it requires from him is understanding. Lysaer, on the other hand, is being driven by a compulsion toward an ideal that doesn't and can't exist. At least not in present circumstances.
Lysaer's no longer feeling the post-battle euphoria. Instead, he decides Arithon had the right idea and heads to bed. Dakar remains outside, in his own torment.
Because Dakar knows something that the boys don't. In that last conflict, the sorcerers selected a sacrifice: the one who would have to block the Mistwraith's assault bare-handed. They chose Lysaer, feeling that his lack of training made him the lesser risk if the Mistwraith somehow had access to his mind.
Dakar is furious and distraught, and it's a relief, because someone SHOULD be. Yet again, the sorcerers have unilaterally decided to fuck over one of the brothers. The worst part is that Lysaer probably would have agreed and accepted the risk if they'd actually asked him. (Arithon would NOT have accepted the risk to his brother, admittedly, which may be why they didn't.)
But there'll consequences, as the last paragraph of the chapter tells us:
For the seeds of evil had been sown, well and deeply. All the telir brandy in Athera could never soften the chaos still to be reaped at the ill-omened coronation in Etarra.
--
The third segment of the chapter is "Insurrection". And here, we get our first glimpse of the city of Etarra.
There's sunlight in Etarra now, and people are freaking the fuck out:
Trade stalled, from the moment the lampblacks raced yelling to the watchkeeps with word that the east sky dawned red like running blood. Sentries reported the same from forsaken posts of duty on the walls. Terrorstricken citizens huddled indoors waiting to die of Ath-knew-what sort of sickness, as day brightened to a fearful white dazzle. The phenomenon had to be sorcery: the sky was blue and the light burned harshly enough to make the eyes ache. Rumours ran rampant and legends from the time before the uprising were whispered behind shuttered windows stuffed with blankets. By night the city apothecaries opened their shops and fattened their purses on profits wrung from unguents to ward off blindness. When by the next day the herders holed up in their crofts failed to drive livestock to the butcher, city-folk went hungry. Flour ran short. The rich resorted to bribes until the enterprising poor began to rifle guild warehouses.
Fortunately, no one died of sun exposure, and even the street beggars managed to not go blind. But there's a lot of unrest right now.
The lord Supreme Governor of the city, a dude named Morfett, is trying to get everything back under control:
He dug out from under a massive heap of quilts, shed the clinging arms of his wife and forced his trembling, weeping house-steward to press his collar of state. When a morning spent sweating under the naked sun failed to inspire warring factions to resume commerce, he called Lord Commander Diegan to muster the city guard. At lance-point the most recalcitrant citizen would be forced to accept the risk of roasting under the Sithaer-sent scourge of harsh sunlight.
Between that and the bribes though, the Governor does manage to get control of the city.
Which is when Sethvir appears.
No one had admitted him. He simply materialized, robed in maroon velvet, his eyes mild as pondwater over a beard like frizzled fleece. The last thing he resembled was a power remanifested out of legend. The duty-guard mistook him for somebody’s misdirected grandfather until a kindly effort to offer an escort home earned him a list of outrageous amendments to be appended to the city’s ruling charter.
I have to admit, as annoying as the Fellowship is, I'm put off by the general skeevy ambiance of this city (and the genocidal practices that have already been established), so I rather enjoy seeing Sethvir politely trample over the governor's protests.
The governor is not having a good day: his crofters have fled back inside (without returning the bribes), the poor in the streets are threatening riots (good for them!) and he's just been told that the cooks are preparing for a royal feast.
Kharadmon and Luhaine have shown up to be annoying as well, which causes the Governor to faint away. Sethvir does warn them that Governor Morfett has a fast and crafty knack for hiring assassins. Which is good enough reason to keep him flustered. Kharadmon wonders if this guy will be a match for Arithon.
...I feel like this might have been another thing to talk to the boys about? Arithon is the one who has to inherit this kingship after all. Maybe he would have had some ideas about how to go about this without pissing everyone off?
...wait. No. Never mind. We ARE talking about Arithon. But Lysaer might have had an idea or two.
When Morfett wakes up, he's told that he'll be swearing to a king, and that Etarra will now be governed in accordance with Rathain's original charter. Morfett is, understandably, a bit reluctant. But when his "over my dead body" is met with a "if need be", he decides to go the subtle route.
Unfortunately for him, his bribes are failing. The farmers have decided that this means the guild no longer owns land rights and are threatening to strike. (Morfett's attempt to assassinate their spokesman runs afoul of a soft-spoken man in a black hat. Hi, Traithe!)
I'm reminded of Lysaer's mild horror that no one owned land in Athera, and how the farmers being unable to own land would have been unthinkable in Amroth. He might have understood the problem better if he knew that the farmers still don't own land now: the guilds do instead. I'm glad someone explained that to him...oh wait...
The chapter ends with Morfett, Defender of Trade, Protector of Justice and Lord Governor Supreme of teh Northern Reaches (swanky title) reluctantly initiating the re-establishment of a monarchy.
If it helps, dude, I think Arithon's probably as unhappy about it as you are.
--
Finally, in our sneak peek section: Overviews.
Lirenda is reporting to Morriel that the Mistwraith is now sealed "in the caves at Skelsing's Gate". This is a temporary location until after the coronation. The sorceresses are looking to learn why the Mistwraith is still alive.
In Strakewood, in the North of Rathain, a clan is having a fortnight celebration of sunlight, while two young boys pretend to raid Etarran merchants.
Finally, Elaira getting some traveling advice: namely, to bring a lot of food, as the markets are scarce. The farmers are refusing to sell to townsfolk, and the trade guilds are in an uproar.
So. The Mistwraith is defeated! And we have a whole third of the book left to go! See you soon!
no subject
Date: 2021-02-21 12:51 pm (UTC)Arithon isn't so bright, but I find our heroes likable.
The Mistwraith put up a good fight, and did a number on Lysaer, but got what it deserved.
no subject
Date: 2021-02-22 01:11 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2021-04-19 01:39 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2021-04-19 05:21 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2025-08-01 02:00 pm (UTC)But back to the foreseen bad outcomes, I think it was a mistake to have the sorcerers see them. We the readers know from the prologue that the brothers will become bitter enemies, but after watching them grow so close, we should be in suspense as to how that happens, and dreading an outcome that nobody else knows is coming. But actually the brothers' minders do know it's likely to happen and aren't doing much to avert it, so it's less grand tragedy and more idiot plot.
no subject
Date: 2025-08-01 03:32 pm (UTC)I suppose to play devil's advocate, their lack of preparation here might make a bit more sense for a few reasons. First, the Mistwraith has only been a factor for 500 years, so things like stars and sunlight are still part of historical record. (The catch being that the social revolutions/overthrow of the kings may have impacted access to said records. But the clans still remember.) The Fellowship members themselves are immortal, so they may genuinely not realize the social implications.
They may also figure that the plans they have in mind for Rathain and Havish, at least, will help minimize the general shock and collapse. But...we'll see how that goes.
--
I suppose I still think of it as a tragedy rather than an idiot plot, because I see both brothers as being victims of the Fellowship's machinations. As to bad things happening to the Fellowship...well, I can't feel too bad about that...
no subject
Date: 2025-08-02 02:34 am (UTC)The brothers might be idiot heroes, but they're not so emotionally stupid that they wouldn't try to take precautions against a tragic falling out if they were warned that it was likely to happen. Stupid Fellowship sorcerers. I guess they just don't understand mortal human minds anymore. And don't trust anyone but themselves.
ETA: Another bone to pick with the Fellowship; they've been around and active since the Mistwraith manifested, right? What have they done in those 500 years? Have they just been waiting for the prophesied prince(s) to arrive? I mean, they only just now found out that it's sentient and dispelling the mist actually frees the hate-spirits it contains. Might've been nice to know that before they started the final assault on it.
no subject
Date: 2025-08-02 03:45 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2025-08-02 11:24 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2025-08-02 07:15 pm (UTC)