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i_read_whatSo Curse of the Mistwraith hit a kind of sweet spot for me. It's something I really enjoyed reading, but at the same time, it's so ridiculous and over the top that I had no trouble finding ways to make fun of it. Even now, when I'm feeling down I can remind myself of how I am not scarred by severe conscience. And I feel, if not better, than at least distracted by the case of the giggles. Close enough.
So we embark on the sequel, Ships of Merior. Now, an interesting note about Ships of Merior is that it, and ITS direct sequel "Warhost of Vastmark" were originally meant to be one book. But it was too long for paperback. I'll remind you that Mistwraith was more than 800 pages in paperback form. So. Yeah.
Because of this, the pacing may be a little off. And the ending may feel a little less resolved than Mistwraith's did. I'm only guessing that, because the last time I read this, I binged like eight books in a row and thus while I remember some of the major plot events, I can't exactly pinpoint when they happen.
If you recall, Mistwraith started with a prologue. Something about sages in the seventh age doing some mystic thing to find out the truth of the events. We have no such prologue here. Instead, we jump straight in.
But first, let's make fun of the old cover a little bit, shall we?
Let's see: angsty, musical instrument, wonky eyebrows...that's our Arithon!
(If you go to Janny Wurts's website, you can see the full painting that made up this cover and it's pretty stunning.)
The hardcover version of Ships of Merior has a slightly manlier cover, Arithon with a bow and arrow and a kind of hilarious expression, but that ended up the cover of Warhost of Vastmark instead. You'll see it eventually.
But now let's dive in to one of these massive chapters. This one is "Miscreant".
We start with a verse, of course, from a child's game in the Fourth Age 1220:
Two princes, dark and fair
Cursed by the Mistwraith, Desh-thiere
Hate bound them
Blood crowned them
'Til cold death, war must hound them:
Vie for the shadows and the light
Die blind in shadows, burned in light
Cry, 'Down the shadows, hail the light!'
On the scale of Lachlan to Menolly, this one's actually not too bad. Though I can't quite imagine why KIDS would be singing it. But then again, I suppose some of our kids' songs are morbid.
We start off with Asandir. Ugh. Oh well. I suppose I might even have missed you. He's described as "the Fellowship sorcerer who had crowned the King at Ostermere" which is a considerably more flattering description than anything I've given him. Actually, it refers to King Eldir of Havish. He'd been mentioned in Mistwraith as a twelve year old heir being raised among common-folk. It's now five years after the Mistwraith's defeat. And things have been precariously peaceful.
We get some nice description of Havish here:
The moment seemed unlikely for happenstance to intrude and shape a spiralling succession of events to upend loyalties and kingdoms. Havish's coastal landscape with its jagged, shady valleys wore the mottled greens of late spring. Dew still spangled the leaf-tips, touched brilliant by early sunlight. Asandir rode in his shirtsleeves, the dark, silver-banded mantle lately worn for the royal coronation folded inside his saddle pack. Hair of the same fine silver blew uncovered in the gusts that whipped off the sea; that tossed the clumped bracken on the hill crests and fanned gorse against lichened outcrops of quartz rock. The black stud who bore him strode hock-deep in grass, alone beneath cloudless sky. Wildflowers thrashed by its passage sweetened the air with perfume and the jagging flight of disturbed bees.
Anyway, we're told that for the first time in CENTURIES OF SERVICE (probably true, but fuck you), Asandir is "solitary, and on an errand of no pressing urgency"
The VERY NEXT PARAGRAPH SAYS THIS:
The ruthless war, the upsets to rule and to trade that had savaged the north in the wake of the Mistwraith's imprisonment had settled, if not into the well-governed order secured for Havish, then at least into patterns that confined latent hatreds to the avenues of statecraft and politics.
Yeah, the genocidal assholes are in power and the tribesfolk they massacred are in hiding. But yeah, go on with your "no pressing urgency", you asshole.
His memories were bitter and hurtful, of the great curse cast by the Mistwraith to set both its captors at odds; the land's restoration to clear sky bought at a cost of two mortal destinies and the land's lasting peace.
Oh, fuck you. "Bitter and hurtful" my fucking ass. Do you actually regret manipulating and sacrificing those young men? Hmph.
God, I'm already having trouble not excerpting this whole damn section.:
Unless the Fellowship sorcerers could find means to break Desh-thiere's geas of hatred against the royal halfbrothers whose gifts brought its bane, the freed sunlight that warmed the growing earth could yet be paid for in blood. With the restored throne of Havish firmly under its crowned heir, Asandir at last rode to join his colleagues in their effort to unbind the Mistwraith's two victims from the vicious throes of its vengeance.
But no rush, right? (The next paragraph even tells us how he's relaxed in rare contentment. Yeah, how content is Jieret? Or Caolle? Or Arithon himself? Or the clansfolk being persecuted?)
Edited to add:
Copperfyre made me these beautiful memes!
Anyway, anyway, Asandir's peace is disturbed by a courier, who is galloping up from the south. He's in royal colors (scarlet with a gold hawk) and seems pretty frantic.
Asandir figures this is about Dakar and pretty much washes his hands of any trouble he's caused, saying 'there's no possible difficulty that might stem from an apprentice's misdeeds that your High King's justice cannot handle.'
OR you could do your job and keep YOUR apprentice in line. Because while Dakar IS a grown man, he's still in your employ. And if he's causing trouble, it's with the training YOU gave him.
But actually, it is pretty alarming: the courier tells him that Dakar has gotten drunk (which is, ahem, not terribly surprising) and in a fight (which admittedly is). And he's been knifed. The healers say he'll bleed to death. Oh NO. I liked Dakar!
Asandir indeed comes along.
So we get to the city, and it's got some nice description too!
The city known as the jewel of the southwest coast flung an ungainly sprawl of battlements across the crown of a cove. Built over warrens of limestone caves once used as a smuggler's haven, the architecture reflected twelve centuries of changing tastes, battered as much by storms as by war, and bearing like layers in sediment the mismatched masonry of refortifications and repairs. Sea trade provided the marrow of Ostermere's wealth. Walls of tawny brick abutted bulwarks of native limestone, scabrous with moss and smothered in lee-facing crannies by salt-stunted runners of wild ivy. The whole overlooked a series of weathered ledges that commanded a west-facing inlet, each tier crusted with half-timber shops and slate-roofed mansions still gay with bunting and gold streamers from celebration of the king's accession. If the merchant galleys docked along the seaside gates no longer flew banners at their mastheads, if the guards by the harbourmaster's office had shed ceremonial accoutrements for boiled leather hauberks and plain steel, a charge of excitement yet lingered.
Apparently the city is only temporarily the royal seat, as the original capitol, Telmandir, is in ruins. Once it's restored, the King will be there instead. The city seems quite proud to host its King though, which is nice! Havish seems like a much more comfortable place than Tysan or Rathain.
Asandir gets an update of the captain of Ostermere's garrison, a fellow who is described as having fat legs and an unbelted surcoat. This is only notable because apparently he relays facts "with a directness at odds with his untidy turnout."
Dude, you hang around with Sethvir, who goes to a coronation in a bathrobe. Lay off. But I like this captain dude.
So basically, it was an accident. Dakar was very very drunk, to the point of being barely able to stand. He apparently was going to have an "assignation" with a maid, but kissed the wrong girl by mistake and her husband took offense.
Asandir rather absently points out that the gate guards are missing their gold buttons. The captain (who has an "unlikely swordsman's agility") is annoyed and explains that they got fleeced by dice. By Dakar, of course.
I do like how Ms. Wurts gives us enough detail about her one-off characters that they feel like people, rather than cardboard cutouts. We'll never know this dude's name, but we know that he's competent and professional, even though he might be fat and a little unkempt. Anyway, he's told to 'ask' the king to come attend Asandir in Dakar's chamber. I love this exchange:
Dismissed with one foot raised to mount an empty landing, the city captain spun about. 'Ask my liege, indeed! I know a command when I hear one. And I'd beg on my knees for Dharkaron Avenger's own judgement before I'd shift places with Dakar.'
From far above, Asandir's voice cracked back in crisp reverberation. 'For the Mad Prophet's transgressions this time, Dharkaron's judgement would be too merciful.'
That said. What did Dakar do that was THAT bad? He gambled and got drunk, and kissed the wrong girl. You'd think he'd tried to alter someone's mind or sacrificed someone else to get possessed, then stood by while a genocide was committed.
I'm just saying.
Anyway, Eldir shows up and we get a description of him too!
High-browed, intelligent, and shrewdly even-tempered for a lad of eighteen years, King Eldir arrived in a state of disarray as striking as his ranking captain's. Swiping back tousled brown hair, sweat-damp from a running ascent of several flights of tower stairs, he heaved off cloak, sash and tabard, and shed a gold-trimmed load of state velvets without apology onto a bench in a lover's nook. In just dread of Asandir's inquiry, he jerked down the tails of an undertunic threadbare enough to have belonged to an apprentice labourer and mouthed exasperated excuses to himself. 'I'm sorry. But the drawers the tailors' guild sent had enough ties and eyelets to corset a whore, and too much lace makes me itch.'
Hee, I like him. Also, considering that Asandir's apprentice is the one who apparently caused the trouble, Eldir really shouldn't have to apologize for anything. But god knows how they've been fucking this kid up for five years.
Anyway, Asandir is standing still, outside the door, which makes Eldir worry that they're too late and Dakar's dead. Nope! He's just getting laid, from the sound of it. Or close enough to it, as they can hear muffled voices. One labored, one "bewailing misfortune in lisping sympathy."
We're told that Eldir's "interest quickened". Well, he is eighteen. And possibly with voyeuristic tendencies? He asks if Asandir has healed him already.
No, actually. Asandir barges into the bedchamber, where Dakar (Swathed like a sausage in eiderdown, a chubby man lay with a face wan as bread dough and a beard like the curled fringe on a waterspaniel.) is just about to receive a kiss from the girl whose husband knifed him. Damn. Dakar works quick!
At Asandir's entrance, Dakar (whose hand quickly retracts from under "a froth of lace petticoats", heh) pretends to faint. Actually, he's fine. Asandir demonstrates this by pulling off an admittedly gory bandage to show healed flesh beneath.
Asandir explains: Dakar is five hundred and eighty-seven years old. He's had what's called "longevity training", which apparently means he can heal himself from most wounds and injuries.
Ah, well, that explains why Asandir was so mad. And Eldir's pretty enraged too. Apparently, he'd sent out "the realm's champion" with orders to run his fastest mare to death to fetch Asandir. I'd like to know more about this champion and the king! Apparently, he's so mad that he doesn't need a crown to "lend him majesty".
Anyway, Eldir basically says that if Dakar were his subject he'd have his life. Which does seem a bit of an over reaction. But then he clarifies, since Dakar isn't his subject, he can't offer that kindness. He is about to step out to give them privacy, but Asandir acts quicker: basically bespelling Dakar with nightmares which will occupy him until sundown.
Wow. So, you torture the guy when mad at him? I can't imagine why he drinks and rebels. Anyway, Asandir admits that he'll emerge hungry and "not in the least bit chastened". So...why do it?
Anyway, Asandir offers up compensation for Dakar's antics, which apparently were chaotic enough that he almost ended up in chains even before the knife fight. Asandir praises him for his "hard lesson in diplomacy" and reveals that he's decided exactly what to do with Dakar (Eldir wins my affection for being like: aren't the horrible nightmares enough?!):
He's giving him a new assignment: to keep Prince Arithon of Rathain from getting murdered.
We get a bit of a background thing about the war. And the fact that basically every merchant city in Rathain is now united with the intent to skewer Arithon. Eldir, who is "emphatically neutral" on the matter asks if that won't just get Arithon killed. Seeing as how Dakar's a trouble magnet.
Asandir's response is both in character and infuriating:
'So one might think,' Asandir mused, not in the least bit concerned. 'Except Arithon s'Ffalenn needs none of Dakar's help just now. On the contrary, he's perhaps the one man alive who may be capable of holding the Mad Prophet to heel. The match should prove engagingly fascinating. Each man holds the other in the utmost of scorn and contempt.'
a) Hi, it's not Arithon's job to discipline your wayward apprentice.
b) Did you ask the guy about this first?
c) We're just told that pretty much the ENTIRE COUNTRY OF RATHAIN wants the guy dead. Maybe he's a little too BUSY to deal with Dakar.
d) Especially since they HATE each other.
e) God damnit, I hate Asandir so much.
Eldir's cool though.
--
The 2nd subchapter is Petition.
Ooo! We're in Tysan! With Maenalle! Who's receiving visitors from Rathain's clan survivors! Yay! All people I care about infinitely more than Asandir!
Maenalle, by the way, is in the middle of gutting and dressing a deer when she hears about the visitors. It's an uncommon group too: fifteen men, led by a tall man named Red-beard, and a captain, Caolle.
Yay! Caolle!
And even better news! This tall man named Red-beard, is JIERET RED-BEARD. The chieftain of Deshir! Earl of the North! JIERET! YAY!
Maenalle is, if you recall, the regent of Tysan. She was supposed to be "caithdein", like Jieret (kind of a combination right hand man/military leader/castellan, from what I can tell), but well. Lysaer ended up cursed and is now a genocidal maniac, so that's not really going to work. The Fellowship refuses to sanction and crown him, and for once, I'm not going to bitch about that.
They totally caused this problem though. You'd think they could do more to alleviate it than just refuse to crown the guy.
And hey, Jieret gets to make an entrance:
The rangy, tangle-haired red-head who stepped out to present his courtesies was no exception. Near to her grandson's age he might be, yet when he arose from his bow and towered over her, Maenalle revised her assessment. The eyes that met hers were chilly and wide, the mouth amid a gingery bristle of beard, fixed and straight. This was no green youth, but a man of seventeen years who had seen his sisters and parents die in the service of his liege. Grief and premature responsibilities left their mark: a boy of twelve had grown up with the burden of safeguarding the north against the wave of vengeancebent aggression that had dogged his people ever since the year the Mistwraith's malice had overset Rathain's peace.
Oh poor, tragic Jieret.
We're told he has a "frightening sense of presence". Aw.
Anyway, Jieret's here for a reason. NOT, thankfully, to ask them to support Arithon's cause. They're already in a really tight position, and Maenalle can't exactly give that support. A gruff comment to that effect from Lord Tashan (a dude we met briefly in Curse) causes Caolle to retort:
'Don't flatter yourselves for restraint.' Caolle loosed a clipped laugh. 'His Grace of Rathain's quite vicious enough on points of pride without anybody's outside help. He'd spurn even gold that fell at his feet, did it come to him struck with his name on it.'
...yeah, that's sounds about right. I really am amused whenever someone calls Arithon out on his Arithon-ness.
Anyway, Caolle's far more vicious about Lysaer, calling him a phrase that an offended child onlooker translates to "a gelded pleasure boy" before Maenalle cuts the kid off, with a scolding.
I'm not fond of the implicit homophobia here. But I'll forgive it for now, as Caolle isn't exactly supposed to be an enlightened sort, and he has plenty of legitimate reasons to hate Lysaer. Please don't make a habit of it though.
Anyway, Jieret IS here for a reason. He brings Maenalle a missive that's marked with Tysan's royal seal. It's a state copy stolen from a guild courier, and the original has probably already reached it's destination.
It's from Lysaer, of course. He's petitioning the mayors to let him rebuild Tysan's capitol at Avenor. And he'll probably get the permission too. The merchant guilds are notoriously anti-royal, but Lysaer has already shown himself to be very pro-townsfolk. A rebuilt city would mean the restoration of old land routes, and an end to a haunted site. He's already got the money from Rathain's very grateful trade guilds.
This means even bigger danger for the clansfolk of BOTH kingdoms. Apparently, Lysaer's been very busy getting the support of the cities of Rathain, who've been pooling resources, and every year, MORE headhunters have been going out to slaughter clan fugitives.
Hey, remember how Asandir was relaxed, with no pressing duties to attend to?
I hate the fucking Fellowship.
Maenalle thinks with regret about her one meeting with Lysaer. Apparently, he'd impressed the clan enough that even the most reticient scouts are more sad than angry that he's allied himself with the enemies. She asks if Arithon knows about this.
Jieret has no idea. (And indeed, exchanges an exasperated look with Caolle. Hah.) They haven't heard from Arithon since the end of Mistwraith. Arithon was probably right that his presence would make things even worse, but poor Jieret's been shouldering all of this alone.
Maenalle's sympathetic, and awed, that Jieret doesn't resent Arithon for leaving. Jieret admires Arithon, though. And he tells us something else: his line of Sight has warned both of them that the family would die in royal service.
I mean, to be fair, Arithon's cursed to live for five hundred years, so "die in royal service" COULD mean in bed at age 80. Leave me my denial.
Everyone's well aware that Arithon isn't going to be able to hide in obscurity forever. Not with Lysaer's public presence and charisma pushing to hunt him down.
--
The last subchapter is "Grant"
Here, we join Lady Talith. She's the sister of Diegan, Etarra's Lord Commander of the Guard. She's also Lysaer's love interest. She gives us an update of how Etarra's changed over the last five years:
Spurred to fears of attack by shadows and sorcery, and through promise to aid armed resource with the powers over light that alone could protect and counterward, the brilliant statesmanship of one man had annealed strained politics into alliance. Due to Lysaer s'Ilessid's dedication, the disparate city governments inside Rathain's borders now stood united in common cause. The miracle of their accord brought unprecedented co-operation. Against the barbarian clans who had harboured the fugitive Master of Shadow, every garrison in the north levied troops to support Etarra's campaign.
Arithon hasn't appeared in five years, but Etarra is still traumatized. Arithon had managed to kill about seven thousand soldiers, after all, and that's a bit hard to deal with. The garrison continues to try to hunt down the barbarians.
They've been having poor luck of late though: they haven't found any barbarian camps, and except for one isolated incident, they haven't been able to capture or kill clan scouts either. Meanwhile, the clans are raiding and waylaying couriers left and right.
Wooo. Go Jieret and Caolle!
Oh, and here we go, the entrance of Lysaer himself:
The man most sought after and admired in all the rich halls of Etarra, Lysaer s'Ilessid, called Prince of the West and saviour of the city, perched with poised grace at her elbow. A pause developed as he examined her; a man would be dead, not to suck a rushed breath for her beauty.
He's had word of something. And this is an interesting character beat:
Talith raked her teeth over her lower lip to redden and brighten her pout. 'You've located your bane? The Master of Shadow has been found?'
His stark and stubborn silence informed her that he had not.
From behind, glass chinked as the arthritic old servant fumbled to unlatch the postern lamp's cover. Lysaer pushed off the crenellation, gave a casual flick of his hand. A spark jumped from his finger across empty air and snapped the wick into flame behind the smudged panes. The lampsman gave a violent start and spun around. Made aware of just who stood with the lady, he gulped in pale awe and knelt. 'Your royal Grace.'
'Ath bless, you need not bow.' Lysaer gave the man a grin and a silent, conspirator's gesture to hurry along on his rounds. Never one to flaunt his gifted powers, this night, the prince was jealous of his privacy.
...never one to flaunt his gifted powers?
Let's see. Lysaer has news that he's happy about. Talith makes the mistake of assuming it's better than it is and reminds Lysaer of his powerless and his frustration. Then, suddenly, he feels the impulsive need to light a lamp with his magic powers, even though someone was about to light it anyway.
I think, dear narrator, you may be what we call 'unreliable'.
He does however still have the power of purple prose:
He touched her arm and gently turned her. Even after five years, the beauty of him stole her breath. The flare of new lantern light fired his gold hair, gilded perfect cheekbones and sculpted chin and a bearing instinctively royal. As earnestly as the city gallants strove to emulate such carriage, inherent majesty eluded them. Then, forthright as no man born Etarran would ever be, the prince cupped her face and kissed her.
So what IS Lysaer's news?
Basically that he's been granted his claim to Avenor. Which means they can now formalize their engagement. If of course, Talith can find heart to marry a prince who has title, but no subjects, and fields gone to briar and wilderness.
Talith says it like it is: 'Everywhere you go you have subjects,' she said. 'Not least that decrepit old lampblack. He'll brag to his grandchildren until he dies, for your tricks. Never say it was I who insisted on meaningless propriety.'
Talith is a very interesting character, I think. She's not likable, but she's honest and has a unique perception. Like Dakar, she's someone who's going to have a bigger role in this next set of books. (Though more in Warhost than Merior.)
Anyway, Lysaer tells her that he couldn't accept a gift of an estate from Diegan. Then he has a nice sexy villain moment:
As her lips parted to receive him, he held back for one last rejoinder. 'I shall plunder this city, nonetheless. The jewel of Avenor's restoration shall be your hand. My word as prince, your beauty and your children will become the crown treasures of Tysan, and the ones most munificently cherished.'
Anyway, the watch down the battlement clap and cheer when Lysaer kisses Talith. Talith loves him but knows she'll never have his full heart until Arithon dies.
I feel like, if they ever made a Game of Thrones type show out of this series, Lysaer/Arithon could easily become the next Wincest or Thorki. It would also probably have to run for like a hundred seasons though.
--
Finally, our snippet section! Evasions:
1. The Koriani! Lirenda is telling Morriel that they've looked basically everywhere in the goddamn world. No trace of Arithon.
2. In a city on Eltair Bay, some official in black and gold robes (and a "lion of mayoral authority") is terrorizing some poor craftsman into remaking something for the mayor's wife.
3. Dakar is hitchhiking to another town, cheerfully ignoring his assignment "for the pleasures of beer and loose women."
Hah, yes. Fuck Asandir.
So we embark on the sequel, Ships of Merior. Now, an interesting note about Ships of Merior is that it, and ITS direct sequel "Warhost of Vastmark" were originally meant to be one book. But it was too long for paperback. I'll remind you that Mistwraith was more than 800 pages in paperback form. So. Yeah.
Because of this, the pacing may be a little off. And the ending may feel a little less resolved than Mistwraith's did. I'm only guessing that, because the last time I read this, I binged like eight books in a row and thus while I remember some of the major plot events, I can't exactly pinpoint when they happen.
If you recall, Mistwraith started with a prologue. Something about sages in the seventh age doing some mystic thing to find out the truth of the events. We have no such prologue here. Instead, we jump straight in.
But first, let's make fun of the old cover a little bit, shall we?
Let's see: angsty, musical instrument, wonky eyebrows...that's our Arithon!
(If you go to Janny Wurts's website, you can see the full painting that made up this cover and it's pretty stunning.)
The hardcover version of Ships of Merior has a slightly manlier cover, Arithon with a bow and arrow and a kind of hilarious expression, but that ended up the cover of Warhost of Vastmark instead. You'll see it eventually.
But now let's dive in to one of these massive chapters. This one is "Miscreant".
We start with a verse, of course, from a child's game in the Fourth Age 1220:
Two princes, dark and fair
Cursed by the Mistwraith, Desh-thiere
Hate bound them
Blood crowned them
'Til cold death, war must hound them:
Vie for the shadows and the light
Die blind in shadows, burned in light
Cry, 'Down the shadows, hail the light!'
On the scale of Lachlan to Menolly, this one's actually not too bad. Though I can't quite imagine why KIDS would be singing it. But then again, I suppose some of our kids' songs are morbid.
We start off with Asandir. Ugh. Oh well. I suppose I might even have missed you. He's described as "the Fellowship sorcerer who had crowned the King at Ostermere" which is a considerably more flattering description than anything I've given him. Actually, it refers to King Eldir of Havish. He'd been mentioned in Mistwraith as a twelve year old heir being raised among common-folk. It's now five years after the Mistwraith's defeat. And things have been precariously peaceful.
We get some nice description of Havish here:
The moment seemed unlikely for happenstance to intrude and shape a spiralling succession of events to upend loyalties and kingdoms. Havish's coastal landscape with its jagged, shady valleys wore the mottled greens of late spring. Dew still spangled the leaf-tips, touched brilliant by early sunlight. Asandir rode in his shirtsleeves, the dark, silver-banded mantle lately worn for the royal coronation folded inside his saddle pack. Hair of the same fine silver blew uncovered in the gusts that whipped off the sea; that tossed the clumped bracken on the hill crests and fanned gorse against lichened outcrops of quartz rock. The black stud who bore him strode hock-deep in grass, alone beneath cloudless sky. Wildflowers thrashed by its passage sweetened the air with perfume and the jagging flight of disturbed bees.
Anyway, we're told that for the first time in CENTURIES OF SERVICE (probably true, but fuck you), Asandir is "solitary, and on an errand of no pressing urgency"
The VERY NEXT PARAGRAPH SAYS THIS:
The ruthless war, the upsets to rule and to trade that had savaged the north in the wake of the Mistwraith's imprisonment had settled, if not into the well-governed order secured for Havish, then at least into patterns that confined latent hatreds to the avenues of statecraft and politics.
Yeah, the genocidal assholes are in power and the tribesfolk they massacred are in hiding. But yeah, go on with your "no pressing urgency", you asshole.
His memories were bitter and hurtful, of the great curse cast by the Mistwraith to set both its captors at odds; the land's restoration to clear sky bought at a cost of two mortal destinies and the land's lasting peace.
Oh, fuck you. "Bitter and hurtful" my fucking ass. Do you actually regret manipulating and sacrificing those young men? Hmph.
God, I'm already having trouble not excerpting this whole damn section.:
Unless the Fellowship sorcerers could find means to break Desh-thiere's geas of hatred against the royal halfbrothers whose gifts brought its bane, the freed sunlight that warmed the growing earth could yet be paid for in blood. With the restored throne of Havish firmly under its crowned heir, Asandir at last rode to join his colleagues in their effort to unbind the Mistwraith's two victims from the vicious throes of its vengeance.
But no rush, right? (The next paragraph even tells us how he's relaxed in rare contentment. Yeah, how content is Jieret? Or Caolle? Or Arithon himself? Or the clansfolk being persecuted?)
Edited to add:
Copperfyre made me these beautiful memes!
Anyway, anyway, Asandir's peace is disturbed by a courier, who is galloping up from the south. He's in royal colors (scarlet with a gold hawk) and seems pretty frantic.
Asandir figures this is about Dakar and pretty much washes his hands of any trouble he's caused, saying 'there's no possible difficulty that might stem from an apprentice's misdeeds that your High King's justice cannot handle.'
OR you could do your job and keep YOUR apprentice in line. Because while Dakar IS a grown man, he's still in your employ. And if he's causing trouble, it's with the training YOU gave him.
But actually, it is pretty alarming: the courier tells him that Dakar has gotten drunk (which is, ahem, not terribly surprising) and in a fight (which admittedly is). And he's been knifed. The healers say he'll bleed to death. Oh NO. I liked Dakar!
Asandir indeed comes along.
So we get to the city, and it's got some nice description too!
The city known as the jewel of the southwest coast flung an ungainly sprawl of battlements across the crown of a cove. Built over warrens of limestone caves once used as a smuggler's haven, the architecture reflected twelve centuries of changing tastes, battered as much by storms as by war, and bearing like layers in sediment the mismatched masonry of refortifications and repairs. Sea trade provided the marrow of Ostermere's wealth. Walls of tawny brick abutted bulwarks of native limestone, scabrous with moss and smothered in lee-facing crannies by salt-stunted runners of wild ivy. The whole overlooked a series of weathered ledges that commanded a west-facing inlet, each tier crusted with half-timber shops and slate-roofed mansions still gay with bunting and gold streamers from celebration of the king's accession. If the merchant galleys docked along the seaside gates no longer flew banners at their mastheads, if the guards by the harbourmaster's office had shed ceremonial accoutrements for boiled leather hauberks and plain steel, a charge of excitement yet lingered.
Apparently the city is only temporarily the royal seat, as the original capitol, Telmandir, is in ruins. Once it's restored, the King will be there instead. The city seems quite proud to host its King though, which is nice! Havish seems like a much more comfortable place than Tysan or Rathain.
Asandir gets an update of the captain of Ostermere's garrison, a fellow who is described as having fat legs and an unbelted surcoat. This is only notable because apparently he relays facts "with a directness at odds with his untidy turnout."
Dude, you hang around with Sethvir, who goes to a coronation in a bathrobe. Lay off. But I like this captain dude.
So basically, it was an accident. Dakar was very very drunk, to the point of being barely able to stand. He apparently was going to have an "assignation" with a maid, but kissed the wrong girl by mistake and her husband took offense.
Asandir rather absently points out that the gate guards are missing their gold buttons. The captain (who has an "unlikely swordsman's agility") is annoyed and explains that they got fleeced by dice. By Dakar, of course.
I do like how Ms. Wurts gives us enough detail about her one-off characters that they feel like people, rather than cardboard cutouts. We'll never know this dude's name, but we know that he's competent and professional, even though he might be fat and a little unkempt. Anyway, he's told to 'ask' the king to come attend Asandir in Dakar's chamber. I love this exchange:
Dismissed with one foot raised to mount an empty landing, the city captain spun about. 'Ask my liege, indeed! I know a command when I hear one. And I'd beg on my knees for Dharkaron Avenger's own judgement before I'd shift places with Dakar.'
From far above, Asandir's voice cracked back in crisp reverberation. 'For the Mad Prophet's transgressions this time, Dharkaron's judgement would be too merciful.'
That said. What did Dakar do that was THAT bad? He gambled and got drunk, and kissed the wrong girl. You'd think he'd tried to alter someone's mind or sacrificed someone else to get possessed, then stood by while a genocide was committed.
I'm just saying.
Anyway, Eldir shows up and we get a description of him too!
High-browed, intelligent, and shrewdly even-tempered for a lad of eighteen years, King Eldir arrived in a state of disarray as striking as his ranking captain's. Swiping back tousled brown hair, sweat-damp from a running ascent of several flights of tower stairs, he heaved off cloak, sash and tabard, and shed a gold-trimmed load of state velvets without apology onto a bench in a lover's nook. In just dread of Asandir's inquiry, he jerked down the tails of an undertunic threadbare enough to have belonged to an apprentice labourer and mouthed exasperated excuses to himself. 'I'm sorry. But the drawers the tailors' guild sent had enough ties and eyelets to corset a whore, and too much lace makes me itch.'
Hee, I like him. Also, considering that Asandir's apprentice is the one who apparently caused the trouble, Eldir really shouldn't have to apologize for anything. But god knows how they've been fucking this kid up for five years.
Anyway, Asandir is standing still, outside the door, which makes Eldir worry that they're too late and Dakar's dead. Nope! He's just getting laid, from the sound of it. Or close enough to it, as they can hear muffled voices. One labored, one "bewailing misfortune in lisping sympathy."
We're told that Eldir's "interest quickened". Well, he is eighteen. And possibly with voyeuristic tendencies? He asks if Asandir has healed him already.
No, actually. Asandir barges into the bedchamber, where Dakar (Swathed like a sausage in eiderdown, a chubby man lay with a face wan as bread dough and a beard like the curled fringe on a waterspaniel.) is just about to receive a kiss from the girl whose husband knifed him. Damn. Dakar works quick!
At Asandir's entrance, Dakar (whose hand quickly retracts from under "a froth of lace petticoats", heh) pretends to faint. Actually, he's fine. Asandir demonstrates this by pulling off an admittedly gory bandage to show healed flesh beneath.
Asandir explains: Dakar is five hundred and eighty-seven years old. He's had what's called "longevity training", which apparently means he can heal himself from most wounds and injuries.
Ah, well, that explains why Asandir was so mad. And Eldir's pretty enraged too. Apparently, he'd sent out "the realm's champion" with orders to run his fastest mare to death to fetch Asandir. I'd like to know more about this champion and the king! Apparently, he's so mad that he doesn't need a crown to "lend him majesty".
Anyway, Eldir basically says that if Dakar were his subject he'd have his life. Which does seem a bit of an over reaction. But then he clarifies, since Dakar isn't his subject, he can't offer that kindness. He is about to step out to give them privacy, but Asandir acts quicker: basically bespelling Dakar with nightmares which will occupy him until sundown.
Wow. So, you torture the guy when mad at him? I can't imagine why he drinks and rebels. Anyway, Asandir admits that he'll emerge hungry and "not in the least bit chastened". So...why do it?
Anyway, Asandir offers up compensation for Dakar's antics, which apparently were chaotic enough that he almost ended up in chains even before the knife fight. Asandir praises him for his "hard lesson in diplomacy" and reveals that he's decided exactly what to do with Dakar (Eldir wins my affection for being like: aren't the horrible nightmares enough?!):
He's giving him a new assignment: to keep Prince Arithon of Rathain from getting murdered.
We get a bit of a background thing about the war. And the fact that basically every merchant city in Rathain is now united with the intent to skewer Arithon. Eldir, who is "emphatically neutral" on the matter asks if that won't just get Arithon killed. Seeing as how Dakar's a trouble magnet.
Asandir's response is both in character and infuriating:
'So one might think,' Asandir mused, not in the least bit concerned. 'Except Arithon s'Ffalenn needs none of Dakar's help just now. On the contrary, he's perhaps the one man alive who may be capable of holding the Mad Prophet to heel. The match should prove engagingly fascinating. Each man holds the other in the utmost of scorn and contempt.'
a) Hi, it's not Arithon's job to discipline your wayward apprentice.
b) Did you ask the guy about this first?
c) We're just told that pretty much the ENTIRE COUNTRY OF RATHAIN wants the guy dead. Maybe he's a little too BUSY to deal with Dakar.
d) Especially since they HATE each other.
e) God damnit, I hate Asandir so much.
Eldir's cool though.
--
The 2nd subchapter is Petition.
Ooo! We're in Tysan! With Maenalle! Who's receiving visitors from Rathain's clan survivors! Yay! All people I care about infinitely more than Asandir!
Maenalle, by the way, is in the middle of gutting and dressing a deer when she hears about the visitors. It's an uncommon group too: fifteen men, led by a tall man named Red-beard, and a captain, Caolle.
Yay! Caolle!
And even better news! This tall man named Red-beard, is JIERET RED-BEARD. The chieftain of Deshir! Earl of the North! JIERET! YAY!
Maenalle is, if you recall, the regent of Tysan. She was supposed to be "caithdein", like Jieret (kind of a combination right hand man/military leader/castellan, from what I can tell), but well. Lysaer ended up cursed and is now a genocidal maniac, so that's not really going to work. The Fellowship refuses to sanction and crown him, and for once, I'm not going to bitch about that.
They totally caused this problem though. You'd think they could do more to alleviate it than just refuse to crown the guy.
And hey, Jieret gets to make an entrance:
The rangy, tangle-haired red-head who stepped out to present his courtesies was no exception. Near to her grandson's age he might be, yet when he arose from his bow and towered over her, Maenalle revised her assessment. The eyes that met hers were chilly and wide, the mouth amid a gingery bristle of beard, fixed and straight. This was no green youth, but a man of seventeen years who had seen his sisters and parents die in the service of his liege. Grief and premature responsibilities left their mark: a boy of twelve had grown up with the burden of safeguarding the north against the wave of vengeancebent aggression that had dogged his people ever since the year the Mistwraith's malice had overset Rathain's peace.
Oh poor, tragic Jieret.
We're told he has a "frightening sense of presence". Aw.
Anyway, Jieret's here for a reason. NOT, thankfully, to ask them to support Arithon's cause. They're already in a really tight position, and Maenalle can't exactly give that support. A gruff comment to that effect from Lord Tashan (a dude we met briefly in Curse) causes Caolle to retort:
'Don't flatter yourselves for restraint.' Caolle loosed a clipped laugh. 'His Grace of Rathain's quite vicious enough on points of pride without anybody's outside help. He'd spurn even gold that fell at his feet, did it come to him struck with his name on it.'
...yeah, that's sounds about right. I really am amused whenever someone calls Arithon out on his Arithon-ness.
Anyway, Caolle's far more vicious about Lysaer, calling him a phrase that an offended child onlooker translates to "a gelded pleasure boy" before Maenalle cuts the kid off, with a scolding.
I'm not fond of the implicit homophobia here. But I'll forgive it for now, as Caolle isn't exactly supposed to be an enlightened sort, and he has plenty of legitimate reasons to hate Lysaer. Please don't make a habit of it though.
Anyway, Jieret IS here for a reason. He brings Maenalle a missive that's marked with Tysan's royal seal. It's a state copy stolen from a guild courier, and the original has probably already reached it's destination.
It's from Lysaer, of course. He's petitioning the mayors to let him rebuild Tysan's capitol at Avenor. And he'll probably get the permission too. The merchant guilds are notoriously anti-royal, but Lysaer has already shown himself to be very pro-townsfolk. A rebuilt city would mean the restoration of old land routes, and an end to a haunted site. He's already got the money from Rathain's very grateful trade guilds.
This means even bigger danger for the clansfolk of BOTH kingdoms. Apparently, Lysaer's been very busy getting the support of the cities of Rathain, who've been pooling resources, and every year, MORE headhunters have been going out to slaughter clan fugitives.
Hey, remember how Asandir was relaxed, with no pressing duties to attend to?
I hate the fucking Fellowship.
Maenalle thinks with regret about her one meeting with Lysaer. Apparently, he'd impressed the clan enough that even the most reticient scouts are more sad than angry that he's allied himself with the enemies. She asks if Arithon knows about this.
Jieret has no idea. (And indeed, exchanges an exasperated look with Caolle. Hah.) They haven't heard from Arithon since the end of Mistwraith. Arithon was probably right that his presence would make things even worse, but poor Jieret's been shouldering all of this alone.
Maenalle's sympathetic, and awed, that Jieret doesn't resent Arithon for leaving. Jieret admires Arithon, though. And he tells us something else: his line of Sight has warned both of them that the family would die in royal service.
I mean, to be fair, Arithon's cursed to live for five hundred years, so "die in royal service" COULD mean in bed at age 80. Leave me my denial.
Everyone's well aware that Arithon isn't going to be able to hide in obscurity forever. Not with Lysaer's public presence and charisma pushing to hunt him down.
--
The last subchapter is "Grant"
Here, we join Lady Talith. She's the sister of Diegan, Etarra's Lord Commander of the Guard. She's also Lysaer's love interest. She gives us an update of how Etarra's changed over the last five years:
Spurred to fears of attack by shadows and sorcery, and through promise to aid armed resource with the powers over light that alone could protect and counterward, the brilliant statesmanship of one man had annealed strained politics into alliance. Due to Lysaer s'Ilessid's dedication, the disparate city governments inside Rathain's borders now stood united in common cause. The miracle of their accord brought unprecedented co-operation. Against the barbarian clans who had harboured the fugitive Master of Shadow, every garrison in the north levied troops to support Etarra's campaign.
Arithon hasn't appeared in five years, but Etarra is still traumatized. Arithon had managed to kill about seven thousand soldiers, after all, and that's a bit hard to deal with. The garrison continues to try to hunt down the barbarians.
They've been having poor luck of late though: they haven't found any barbarian camps, and except for one isolated incident, they haven't been able to capture or kill clan scouts either. Meanwhile, the clans are raiding and waylaying couriers left and right.
Wooo. Go Jieret and Caolle!
Oh, and here we go, the entrance of Lysaer himself:
The man most sought after and admired in all the rich halls of Etarra, Lysaer s'Ilessid, called Prince of the West and saviour of the city, perched with poised grace at her elbow. A pause developed as he examined her; a man would be dead, not to suck a rushed breath for her beauty.
He's had word of something. And this is an interesting character beat:
Talith raked her teeth over her lower lip to redden and brighten her pout. 'You've located your bane? The Master of Shadow has been found?'
His stark and stubborn silence informed her that he had not.
From behind, glass chinked as the arthritic old servant fumbled to unlatch the postern lamp's cover. Lysaer pushed off the crenellation, gave a casual flick of his hand. A spark jumped from his finger across empty air and snapped the wick into flame behind the smudged panes. The lampsman gave a violent start and spun around. Made aware of just who stood with the lady, he gulped in pale awe and knelt. 'Your royal Grace.'
'Ath bless, you need not bow.' Lysaer gave the man a grin and a silent, conspirator's gesture to hurry along on his rounds. Never one to flaunt his gifted powers, this night, the prince was jealous of his privacy.
...never one to flaunt his gifted powers?
Let's see. Lysaer has news that he's happy about. Talith makes the mistake of assuming it's better than it is and reminds Lysaer of his powerless and his frustration. Then, suddenly, he feels the impulsive need to light a lamp with his magic powers, even though someone was about to light it anyway.
I think, dear narrator, you may be what we call 'unreliable'.
He does however still have the power of purple prose:
He touched her arm and gently turned her. Even after five years, the beauty of him stole her breath. The flare of new lantern light fired his gold hair, gilded perfect cheekbones and sculpted chin and a bearing instinctively royal. As earnestly as the city gallants strove to emulate such carriage, inherent majesty eluded them. Then, forthright as no man born Etarran would ever be, the prince cupped her face and kissed her.
So what IS Lysaer's news?
Basically that he's been granted his claim to Avenor. Which means they can now formalize their engagement. If of course, Talith can find heart to marry a prince who has title, but no subjects, and fields gone to briar and wilderness.
Talith says it like it is: 'Everywhere you go you have subjects,' she said. 'Not least that decrepit old lampblack. He'll brag to his grandchildren until he dies, for your tricks. Never say it was I who insisted on meaningless propriety.'
Talith is a very interesting character, I think. She's not likable, but she's honest and has a unique perception. Like Dakar, she's someone who's going to have a bigger role in this next set of books. (Though more in Warhost than Merior.)
Anyway, Lysaer tells her that he couldn't accept a gift of an estate from Diegan. Then he has a nice sexy villain moment:
As her lips parted to receive him, he held back for one last rejoinder. 'I shall plunder this city, nonetheless. The jewel of Avenor's restoration shall be your hand. My word as prince, your beauty and your children will become the crown treasures of Tysan, and the ones most munificently cherished.'
Anyway, the watch down the battlement clap and cheer when Lysaer kisses Talith. Talith loves him but knows she'll never have his full heart until Arithon dies.
I feel like, if they ever made a Game of Thrones type show out of this series, Lysaer/Arithon could easily become the next Wincest or Thorki. It would also probably have to run for like a hundred seasons though.
--
Finally, our snippet section! Evasions:
1. The Koriani! Lirenda is telling Morriel that they've looked basically everywhere in the goddamn world. No trace of Arithon.
2. In a city on Eltair Bay, some official in black and gold robes (and a "lion of mayoral authority") is terrorizing some poor craftsman into remaking something for the mayor's wife.
3. Dakar is hitchhiking to another town, cheerfully ignoring his assignment "for the pleasures of beer and loose women."
Hah, yes. Fuck Asandir.
no subject
Date: 2021-05-10 01:52 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2025-08-07 01:27 am (UTC)Though speaking of Arithon, I wonder why he doesn't try heading through a Gate while leaving a taunting message to Lysaer. Then they can have their little curse feud on some hopefully empty world, and without Lysaer uniting the townsfolk, they're much less of a threat to the clans. Things will hopefully return to the status quo from before the princes came to the world, which does suck, but not nearly as much. Does anyone ever suggest that as a possibility?
no subject
Date: 2025-08-07 01:47 am (UTC)The West Gate obviously leads to Mearth, and past that, Dascen Elur. Mearth is empty now, but it hadn't always been. Dascen Elur's probably suffered from this feud long enough.
The South Gate is a bad idea, because, well... Reasons. That actually come up in Ships of Merior.
The North Gate comes up much much later, but basically, that's where the dragons skipped of to. Probably a bad idea to get them involved for a lot of reasons.
And to be honest, neither I nor the Paravia wiki have any idea or recollection as to what's beyond the East Gate. I'd imagine that there's a reason that wouldn't be a good idea though.
no subject
Date: 2025-08-07 01:51 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2025-08-07 03:20 am (UTC)