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i_read_whatSo last time, Tynstar made a dramatic appearance and gave an appropriately villainous monologue. It didn't make a lot of sense, mind you, but points for style.
So we rejoin Donal, who's on the ground, mind fogged and "mouth tasting of dirt and flame" (which is admittedly a very nice line). Sef is frantically helping him up. Donal suddenly remembers how he ended up that way and draws his knife. But Tynstar is gone, leaving only a charred patch on the ground and his sword.
The sword. Still it stood upright, though tilted, sheathed in the earth from which it drew power. The moon, clean and unobscured once more, flooded the hilltop with silvered light. The rune-kissed blade shone with an eerie luminance. The ruby, cradled in its golden prongs, was a crimson beacon in the night.
Swanky.
Donal doesn't approach the sword, and instead looks for the others. Lorn's okay, Taj is spiraling in the air, Evan's spitting out dirt and mumbling about Lodhi and sorcerers. Finn is standing because he's badass. And Rowan shows up just in time to help Carillon up.
...wait. I could swear Rowan had already been in this scene last chapter. Sef wasn't. But honestly, I'm not going to go back and look. I'll take Roberson's word for it. There's an interesting bit of parallel between Finn and Rowan:
Watching them both as Carillon sat up and brushed his clothing, Donal was struck by their eerie resemblance. In the moonlight the differences in their faces were set aside. All Cheysuli resembled one another, but some more than others.
They are alike in more than appearance, Donal thought. Both of them serve the Mujhar. Finn may have given up his rank as liege man to Carillon, but the loyalty is still there.
He saw the momentary flash of possessiveness in Rowan’s eyes. No, he had not taken Finn’s place when the oath had been broken; no man could. But he had made a new place at Carillon’s side, and Donal knew he was indispensable. Facing Finn, it would be difficult for Rowan to give way.
This is funny to me only because there's a part of the next book that gives us a much clearer idea of Rowan's perspective, and Donal's like way off.
Anyway, Carillon demands they get him up, and Finn remains very still for a moment and then steps away. If my kayak still floated, I'd mock that, but well, Carillon can fuck himself.
Anyway, Carillon is visibly in pain and Donal decides to ask a stupid question:
And yet he bears it… Donal moved to him at once. “My lord—Carillon…how do you fare?”
Briefly, Rowan’s teeth were bared in a feral, possessive snarl. “How does he fare? Look at him, Donal! How do you fare after what Tynstar did?”
I really do love Rowan a lot.
Anyway, Carillon quiets them both and says that they should go down to their pavilions, as tomorrow, they'll be tested by the Solindish.
You know. The Solindish. The people of a country that has been a vassal state to Homana for the last seventeen years, ruled by a viceroy that as far as we know at least, hasn't been removed from power, and did NOT send that assassin to kill Donal.
It would have been very easy for Ms. Roberson to write a scenario that justified this war. But she didn't.
Donal's got a pretty good point when he says that Tynstar tried to kill them. He might do it again.
Carillon’s eyes were couched in brackets of strain. “That was not an attempt to slay us. That was his manner of leave-taking. No doubt he might have tried to slay us, but the sword prevented that.” A fleeting grimace crossed his face as he glanced back at the shining sword. “Hale’s blade begins to serve its master.”
"He wasn't trying to kill us. Even though he might have tried to kill us before the sword stopped him."
So...how does this negate Donal's point? Anyway, Donal flinches back from the thought of claiming the sword. Even though this whole encounter pretty much proved why it's necessary. Hey, I hate your Mary Sue ass, dude, but just take the fucking sword. Your sword angst isn't nearly as hilarious as Arithon's.
Sef disrupts the moment by asking if THAT is the magic sword. He'd heard stories that it had magic and that it will be Donal's. And Donal...decides to bully a thirteen year old?
“Enough!” Donal cut him off with the sharp Cheysuli gesture. “There are better things to do with your time than listen to stories. Go on, Sef—go back to camp. Is there nothing for you to do?”
Color moved through the boy’s face. For a moment his vitality dimmed, then came rushing back. He flicked a glance at the Mujhar with his odd, uncanny eyes, then looked directly at Donal. “But they say the sword was made for you.”
Donal’s bones tingled. His head ached. He glared at Sef through eyes that burned from smoke and flame. He pointed at the sword. “Then go and fetch it, Sef, and see what nonsense you mouth.”
Sef shrank back. “No! I can’t touch it!”
“Do not be foolish, Sef.” Donal, still somewhat disoriented, felt his patience slipping. “What is to keep you from touching the sword?”
“It—it might stop me.” He shrugged. “Somehow. It might. You don’t know it wouldn’t.” Furtively he looked at the sword. “It’s a magic sword, my lord. It isn’t meant for a boy like me.”
Donal, stop tormenting your obviously freaked out servant. No wonder you don't have friends. Carillon tells him to fetch the sword himself, and heads down the hill. Finn and Evan, having nothing better to do during this nonsense, are silhouetted against the horizon, and Taj and Lorn are waiting too. No sign of Storr, because he's not relevant to Donal, I guess.
So Donal picks up the sword and has a moment.
Donal turned from Sef to fetch the sword. The blade was half-buried in charred earth. He reached down, clasped the hilt and tugged.
At once he felt again the thrumming of life in bones and muscles; the promise of power and strength. Gods…is this what has kept Carillon strong all these years as his body decayed? A sword—?
Sef gets his turn to be dramatic:
In the silvered darkness, Sef’s pale face was almost translucent. “Hale’s sword,” he said, “is not meant for such as me.”
“This sword,” Donal said deliberately, “is meant for any man who can wield it.”
“Oh?” Finn’s voice held a familiar undertone of irony. “Is that why it warded us against Tynstar?”
Evan shook his head. “In Ellas, magic is limited to such things as simple tricks and potions, or to the harpers of Lodhi. You have seen Lachlan’s power. But—I have never seen anything like this.”
Donal looked down at the sword. In his hand, the grip was warm. The ruby blazed bright red. “Nor have I.” He could deny the sword no longer. And so he turned and left the hill.
a) Oh good, Finn and Evan have lines to reinforce how awesome Donal is.
b) Evan, Lachlan replayed a dude's memories while he death-harpered him to death. That was considerably more impressive than a cranky sword.
c) It's interesting that Sef knows who Hale was. Maybe he learned at the Keep? Or in the castle?
d) The only saving grace is really the unspoken subtext of "you idiot" in Finn's words.
So we skip ahead to Donal's pavilion:
The pavilion held two cots, two stools, one chair, a tiny three-legged table. Tripod braziers stood in two of the corners. The fabric was pale saffron. The candlelight, thrown against the sides, painted the interior burnt gold, pale cream and ivory. It reminded Donal of the Womb with all its marble lir.
It sounds pretty nice, so of course he has to bitch about it.
So Donal gives us a speech about the sword, that, if we think about it, doesn't make a lick of sense:
“In the clans, it is held a Cheysuli-made sword has a life of its own when matched with the proper master. I have heard of others made for foreign kings and princes because of all the legends…but this one—this one Hale made for Shaine. I know the story. It was Shaine who gave it to Carillon when he became Prince of Homana…it has been his weapon for years and years. It is a part of the tales they tell about him. And now he thrusts it upon me, says it is mine—”
The Cheysuli don't use swords. And really, if the sword was made for Shaine, then why wasn't he able to use it?
I feel like this whole bit would work better if the sword were much much older and had the weight of history. Also, y'know, why the fuck do they have folklore about a weapon they don't use?
This does actually come up:
Evan, sprawled inelegantly across the cot, shrugged. He held a cup of wine in his hand. “Perhaps it is. Does it matter so much?”
“Aye. Cheysuli do not use swords.”
Evan snorted. “Then what is the use of making them?”
“We do not, now. When the qu’mahlin was declared, no longer did we make weapons with which to arm the Homanans.” Faintly, he frowned. “If—if it is true Hale made that sword for me—why? I am Cheysuli.”
“And Homanan, are you not?”
Donal shifted in his chair, disturbing the falcon. Taj reprimanded him gently. “Aye,” he said grimly. “But none of me wants that sword.”
THANK YOU, Evan. What IS the point of making swords, and having such complicated mythology surrounding them, if you don't use them? And it's not like there's some sort of mythic significance about a sword that was MADE for Shaine. It's not a "Cheysuli sword". It's a sword made by the Cheysuli for a Homanan. So it's a HOMANAN SWORD.
(Wouldn't it have been easier to establish that once upon a time the Cheysuli had used swords, but they gave them up when they relinquished the land to the Homanans. Then this could literally be a Cheysuli sword. Maybe an heirloom that Hale gave to Shaine as a sign of loyalty and respect. I feel like it'd have more impact that way and it would make more sense.)
I also enjoy how unimpressed Evan is with this drama.
So Donal dramatically declares that he won't use the sword, EVER. He has knife, bow and lir shape. Why would he want a sword?
...because it's become symbolic with the Homanan throne? Because it's an easy way to re-enforce your status as Carillon's heir? Because you're already dealing with a realm that kind of hates you, so this sort of thing actually does matter?
Evan instead gives some kind of bardic platitude about how just because Donal doesn't want it doesn't mean it wasn't meant for him. And this gets almost interesting:
Donal’s smile was wryly crooked. “You sound almost like a warrior discussing his tahlmorra.”
Evan drank for a moment, then shifted his posture to sit more upright. “Well, every man has a fate. Some men make theirs. I may not be Cheysuli, but I am a son of Lodhi—for all I may not seem so.”
“The All-Father,” Donal said wryly. “Is it true you Ellasians believe he sired all of you?”
“Well, He did not precisely lie with my lady mother, if that is what you mean.” Evan grinned and drank again. “But aye, in a way, He did. You see, Lodhi lay with a single mortal woman, and from that union sprang Ellas.”
...makes as much sense as any other bit of religion in this series. And it didn't involve creating a sibling race of people that are apparently inclined to try to kill them, while they can't effectively fight back. So really, Lodhi seems to one-up the Cheysuli gods. At least for the moment.
Donal, losing interest, looked again at the sword. He rubbed absently at his chin. “This sword is Carillon’s—” Abruptly, he rose. He snatched up the sword and went out of the pavilion, ignoring Sef’s startled question as the boy rose up from his mat outside the doorflap. Donal ignored everyone as he strode through the encampment; he was intent upon his mission.
"Losing interest" my ass. Sorry, not everything's about you, you dick. God forbid Evan share any of his own culture.
So what is Donal's mission?
He's marching off to Carillon's provision. Which is crimson and stands apart from the others. Because that seems strategically logical. Anyway, Donal's surprised to see no guards around. He also hears a cry of pain!
Donal ran. He felt the grip settle more comfortably into his palm. His fingers found ridges meant to cradle his bones; the remaining space beckoned his other hand. The metal was warm, alive; he could feel the power rising. It bled into his body and spread to fill the very marrow of his bones. He almost wanted to fight.
His free hand ripped aside the crimson doorflap. Automatically it dropped the fabric and went unerringly to the hilt, closing around the gold. He felt the blade rising, rising, incredibly light in his hands and yet substantially weighted as well. The balance was perfect. The sword was a part of his body, an extension of his hands, his arms, his mind—
—“No!” he shouted as he saw the man bending over Carillon’s body in the cot.
Candlelight flashed off the blade. The reflection struck full across the man’s face as he turned; Donal saw a haze of gold and black and bronze. And eyes. Yellow eyes, staring back at Donal.
This bit is actually really well done, I have to admit. And of course, it's Finn. In Carillon's tent. Bending over him while Carillon cried out.
Seriously, Finn, you could do better.
Actually though, Carillon is unconscious. And when Donal asks if he's dead, Finn says "No, not yet."
Yet, being the operative word. Which Donal picks up on:
“Yet?” Donal stopped beside the cot, but he did not look at Carillon. He stared instead at Finn. “You do not mean—”
“—I mean he has little time,” Finn said flatly. “Are you blind, Donal, to say you do not know it?”
“But—but he is so strong—” Donal gestured with his empty left hand. “He rules—”
“—stolen time,” Finn said, and his voice had roughened a little. “Tynstar took it from him—I have stolen it back. A little. Not enough. But—as with all things, it carries a price.” He looked down at Carillon. “Donal—are you prepared to be Mujhar?”
Donal, every single scene Carillon is in talks about his age and frailty in some way. But of course, Donal is not ready to be Mujhar.
We get some legitimately nice description here:
At last, Donal looked down at the man who ruled Homana. He saw how the flames overlay the face and emphasized the slackness of the flesh, the banishment of the strength inherent in Carillon’s bones. The beard had silvered, thinning, so that the line of the jaw was visible. The hair, fallen back from his face, no longer hid the fragility of his temples; Donal saw clearly the hollows of age, the upstanding threading of veins, the prominent bones of the nose.
But it was not the face that shocked Donal. It was the leather that had been wrapped around Carillon’s naked torso. Stiff leather, laced together; it held his spine perfectly straight, almost too straight. Straps ran over both broad shoulders. The leather bracers, which Donal had always believed were mere cuffs providing some measure of support, were reinforced with metal.
I mean, I'd care more if I didn't remember Carillon telling Donal to rape his daughter. We'd seen the bracers before, but the other part is news. Finn tells Donal, and us, that Carillon had the thing made when his disease started to twist his spine and shoulders.
“It allows him to resemble a man instead of a blighted tree. It allows him to hold the sword you have just returned.”
And it occurs to me that this is really interesting in light of what has already been and will be established about the Cheysuli view of disability and permanent injury.
Donal wants to know if there's anything Finn can do. Aside from "stealing a bit of Carillon's youth back," Donal? Do you really think Finn wouldn't be doing everything?
Finn just says, with a minutely unsteady tone, that he has done it: he gave him tetsu root.
Donal recognizes the root and is horrified. It's deadly.
“So is growing old.” Finn looked down at Carillon’s unconscious body. “It was his choice, Donal. I did not force him. I did not hide it in his wine. I simply told him about tetsu and what it could do for him. He said he would take the risk.”
“Risk? There is no risk! Tetsu always kills.” Donal gestured emptily again. “Have you known a man to set it aside once he has begun drinking it regularly? I have not. Every warrior who desires it has taken it once, then twice, and soon enough there is no stopping it, not until the root slays. By the gods, su’fali, you have given him over to death!”
“I have lessened some of his pain,” Finn declared. “For him, I could do no less.”
Donal stared at the Mujhar. All the grief welled up and made him feel helpless. Carillon was dying more quickly than was natural. Tynstar had seen to that. But Finn, in a final obscene service performed by a loyal liege man, had made it more immediate.
Goddamnit, Roberson. Why must you do this to me? Look at these great story elements!
A terminally ill king takes extreme steps, shortening his own already limited life and enduring agony so as to hold his realm together long enough for the mixed race heir to finally be able to ascend and unify his people.
A clan-leader, survivor of genocide, son of the man who betrayed and was betrayed by a king, brings both comfort and impending death to the person he loves most, risking retaliation from the Homanans who won't understand.
A young man who's already seen the hatred of half of his country, who'll have to take the throne and find some way to make a true and lasting peace.
It would take so little to make Legacy of the Sword a good book. Lose the rape. Lose the love triangle (which does pain me because Ian is great, but still). Just focus on the real meat here.
But no. Of course not. Why would we be interested in that when we can have a whining, self-absorbed prince who apparently never even bothers to tell anyone that this war isn't necessary, in between raping his wife at his father-in-law's request, while not-so-secretly running off to his real family whenever he damn well wants.
Sorry, I should save my bitterness. This is a good fucking scene.
Anyway, Donal asks how long Carillon has. A month, maybe two. Tynstar's actions have apparently "destroyed many of Carillon's defenses". I'm not sure what that means but time is running out.
Donal asks if Carillon knows. Yes. Of course he does. Donal refuses to cry in front of his uncle ("who would have no tolerance of such things." I love Finn.) He asks Finn not to tell Carillon that he knows. Claim that a servant brought the sword.
...I feel like Carillon would be more upset that a servant might have seen him. But I suppose the implication is that Finn would have prevented a servant from entering. Fair enough.
Finn relieved him of the weapon. “Ja’hai,” he said. “Ja’hai, cheysu, Mujhar.”
“Not yet,” Donal said. “Oh, no…not yet. Not while Carillon breathes.”
“He will breathe a little longer,” Finn said, “but one day he will stop. And you will hold the throne.”
“‘Su’fali—do not.”
“Do not what? Speak the truth?” Finn did not smile. “You will have to accept it, Donal. It is for this you were born.”
Donal looked at Carillon. And then he turned away.
It occurs to me that there is something very powerful about Finn using the old tongue to acknowledge Donal as Mujhar.
It isn't just that Finn, despite the divorce, still very obviously loves Carillon. Symbolically, it's more than that.
All along, and even in this chapter, we've seen that Donal explicitly equates rulership of Homana with his Homanan ancestry. The sword is a Homanan weapon, but it's the royal weapon. He has to live in a Homanan palace with his Homanan wife. He has to live by Homanan customs. He keeps rejecting all of these things by reiterating his identity as a Cheysuli.
But Finn's the Cheysuli clan-leader, using the Cheysuli tongue, to name Donal Mujhar.
And then, then we think about it. The sword is a Homanan weapon, but made by Cheysuli hands. The Palace is a Homanan structure, built by Cheysuli builders. The kingdom of Homana was first and foremost a Cheysuli kingdom.
The word Mujhar is a Cheysuli word.
Donal can be Cheysuli AND the Mujhar. He doesn't have to give up his identity. He just has to reclaim what's already there.
Finn has no patience for Donal's nonsense because it is and always has been a done deal for him. It was a done deal as soon as he pledged himself to Carillon and suddenly became a tolerable person at the end of Shapechangers. He knew Carillon would win Homana back and he knows Donal will sit on the Lion Throne. Donal just has to get his act together and do it.
So will he? Maybe we'll find out eventually, but the chapter ends here.
So we rejoin Donal, who's on the ground, mind fogged and "mouth tasting of dirt and flame" (which is admittedly a very nice line). Sef is frantically helping him up. Donal suddenly remembers how he ended up that way and draws his knife. But Tynstar is gone, leaving only a charred patch on the ground and his sword.
The sword. Still it stood upright, though tilted, sheathed in the earth from which it drew power. The moon, clean and unobscured once more, flooded the hilltop with silvered light. The rune-kissed blade shone with an eerie luminance. The ruby, cradled in its golden prongs, was a crimson beacon in the night.
Swanky.
Donal doesn't approach the sword, and instead looks for the others. Lorn's okay, Taj is spiraling in the air, Evan's spitting out dirt and mumbling about Lodhi and sorcerers. Finn is standing because he's badass. And Rowan shows up just in time to help Carillon up.
...wait. I could swear Rowan had already been in this scene last chapter. Sef wasn't. But honestly, I'm not going to go back and look. I'll take Roberson's word for it. There's an interesting bit of parallel between Finn and Rowan:
Watching them both as Carillon sat up and brushed his clothing, Donal was struck by their eerie resemblance. In the moonlight the differences in their faces were set aside. All Cheysuli resembled one another, but some more than others.
They are alike in more than appearance, Donal thought. Both of them serve the Mujhar. Finn may have given up his rank as liege man to Carillon, but the loyalty is still there.
He saw the momentary flash of possessiveness in Rowan’s eyes. No, he had not taken Finn’s place when the oath had been broken; no man could. But he had made a new place at Carillon’s side, and Donal knew he was indispensable. Facing Finn, it would be difficult for Rowan to give way.
This is funny to me only because there's a part of the next book that gives us a much clearer idea of Rowan's perspective, and Donal's like way off.
Anyway, Carillon demands they get him up, and Finn remains very still for a moment and then steps away. If my kayak still floated, I'd mock that, but well, Carillon can fuck himself.
Anyway, Carillon is visibly in pain and Donal decides to ask a stupid question:
And yet he bears it… Donal moved to him at once. “My lord—Carillon…how do you fare?”
Briefly, Rowan’s teeth were bared in a feral, possessive snarl. “How does he fare? Look at him, Donal! How do you fare after what Tynstar did?”
I really do love Rowan a lot.
Anyway, Carillon quiets them both and says that they should go down to their pavilions, as tomorrow, they'll be tested by the Solindish.
You know. The Solindish. The people of a country that has been a vassal state to Homana for the last seventeen years, ruled by a viceroy that as far as we know at least, hasn't been removed from power, and did NOT send that assassin to kill Donal.
It would have been very easy for Ms. Roberson to write a scenario that justified this war. But she didn't.
Donal's got a pretty good point when he says that Tynstar tried to kill them. He might do it again.
Carillon’s eyes were couched in brackets of strain. “That was not an attempt to slay us. That was his manner of leave-taking. No doubt he might have tried to slay us, but the sword prevented that.” A fleeting grimace crossed his face as he glanced back at the shining sword. “Hale’s blade begins to serve its master.”
"He wasn't trying to kill us. Even though he might have tried to kill us before the sword stopped him."
So...how does this negate Donal's point? Anyway, Donal flinches back from the thought of claiming the sword. Even though this whole encounter pretty much proved why it's necessary. Hey, I hate your Mary Sue ass, dude, but just take the fucking sword. Your sword angst isn't nearly as hilarious as Arithon's.
Sef disrupts the moment by asking if THAT is the magic sword. He'd heard stories that it had magic and that it will be Donal's. And Donal...decides to bully a thirteen year old?
“Enough!” Donal cut him off with the sharp Cheysuli gesture. “There are better things to do with your time than listen to stories. Go on, Sef—go back to camp. Is there nothing for you to do?”
Color moved through the boy’s face. For a moment his vitality dimmed, then came rushing back. He flicked a glance at the Mujhar with his odd, uncanny eyes, then looked directly at Donal. “But they say the sword was made for you.”
Donal’s bones tingled. His head ached. He glared at Sef through eyes that burned from smoke and flame. He pointed at the sword. “Then go and fetch it, Sef, and see what nonsense you mouth.”
Sef shrank back. “No! I can’t touch it!”
“Do not be foolish, Sef.” Donal, still somewhat disoriented, felt his patience slipping. “What is to keep you from touching the sword?”
“It—it might stop me.” He shrugged. “Somehow. It might. You don’t know it wouldn’t.” Furtively he looked at the sword. “It’s a magic sword, my lord. It isn’t meant for a boy like me.”
Donal, stop tormenting your obviously freaked out servant. No wonder you don't have friends. Carillon tells him to fetch the sword himself, and heads down the hill. Finn and Evan, having nothing better to do during this nonsense, are silhouetted against the horizon, and Taj and Lorn are waiting too. No sign of Storr, because he's not relevant to Donal, I guess.
So Donal picks up the sword and has a moment.
Donal turned from Sef to fetch the sword. The blade was half-buried in charred earth. He reached down, clasped the hilt and tugged.
At once he felt again the thrumming of life in bones and muscles; the promise of power and strength. Gods…is this what has kept Carillon strong all these years as his body decayed? A sword—?
Sef gets his turn to be dramatic:
In the silvered darkness, Sef’s pale face was almost translucent. “Hale’s sword,” he said, “is not meant for such as me.”
“This sword,” Donal said deliberately, “is meant for any man who can wield it.”
“Oh?” Finn’s voice held a familiar undertone of irony. “Is that why it warded us against Tynstar?”
Evan shook his head. “In Ellas, magic is limited to such things as simple tricks and potions, or to the harpers of Lodhi. You have seen Lachlan’s power. But—I have never seen anything like this.”
Donal looked down at the sword. In his hand, the grip was warm. The ruby blazed bright red. “Nor have I.” He could deny the sword no longer. And so he turned and left the hill.
a) Oh good, Finn and Evan have lines to reinforce how awesome Donal is.
b) Evan, Lachlan replayed a dude's memories while he death-harpered him to death. That was considerably more impressive than a cranky sword.
c) It's interesting that Sef knows who Hale was. Maybe he learned at the Keep? Or in the castle?
d) The only saving grace is really the unspoken subtext of "you idiot" in Finn's words.
So we skip ahead to Donal's pavilion:
The pavilion held two cots, two stools, one chair, a tiny three-legged table. Tripod braziers stood in two of the corners. The fabric was pale saffron. The candlelight, thrown against the sides, painted the interior burnt gold, pale cream and ivory. It reminded Donal of the Womb with all its marble lir.
It sounds pretty nice, so of course he has to bitch about it.
So Donal gives us a speech about the sword, that, if we think about it, doesn't make a lick of sense:
“In the clans, it is held a Cheysuli-made sword has a life of its own when matched with the proper master. I have heard of others made for foreign kings and princes because of all the legends…but this one—this one Hale made for Shaine. I know the story. It was Shaine who gave it to Carillon when he became Prince of Homana…it has been his weapon for years and years. It is a part of the tales they tell about him. And now he thrusts it upon me, says it is mine—”
The Cheysuli don't use swords. And really, if the sword was made for Shaine, then why wasn't he able to use it?
I feel like this whole bit would work better if the sword were much much older and had the weight of history. Also, y'know, why the fuck do they have folklore about a weapon they don't use?
This does actually come up:
Evan, sprawled inelegantly across the cot, shrugged. He held a cup of wine in his hand. “Perhaps it is. Does it matter so much?”
“Aye. Cheysuli do not use swords.”
Evan snorted. “Then what is the use of making them?”
“We do not, now. When the qu’mahlin was declared, no longer did we make weapons with which to arm the Homanans.” Faintly, he frowned. “If—if it is true Hale made that sword for me—why? I am Cheysuli.”
“And Homanan, are you not?”
Donal shifted in his chair, disturbing the falcon. Taj reprimanded him gently. “Aye,” he said grimly. “But none of me wants that sword.”
THANK YOU, Evan. What IS the point of making swords, and having such complicated mythology surrounding them, if you don't use them? And it's not like there's some sort of mythic significance about a sword that was MADE for Shaine. It's not a "Cheysuli sword". It's a sword made by the Cheysuli for a Homanan. So it's a HOMANAN SWORD.
(Wouldn't it have been easier to establish that once upon a time the Cheysuli had used swords, but they gave them up when they relinquished the land to the Homanans. Then this could literally be a Cheysuli sword. Maybe an heirloom that Hale gave to Shaine as a sign of loyalty and respect. I feel like it'd have more impact that way and it would make more sense.)
I also enjoy how unimpressed Evan is with this drama.
So Donal dramatically declares that he won't use the sword, EVER. He has knife, bow and lir shape. Why would he want a sword?
...because it's become symbolic with the Homanan throne? Because it's an easy way to re-enforce your status as Carillon's heir? Because you're already dealing with a realm that kind of hates you, so this sort of thing actually does matter?
Evan instead gives some kind of bardic platitude about how just because Donal doesn't want it doesn't mean it wasn't meant for him. And this gets almost interesting:
Donal’s smile was wryly crooked. “You sound almost like a warrior discussing his tahlmorra.”
Evan drank for a moment, then shifted his posture to sit more upright. “Well, every man has a fate. Some men make theirs. I may not be Cheysuli, but I am a son of Lodhi—for all I may not seem so.”
“The All-Father,” Donal said wryly. “Is it true you Ellasians believe he sired all of you?”
“Well, He did not precisely lie with my lady mother, if that is what you mean.” Evan grinned and drank again. “But aye, in a way, He did. You see, Lodhi lay with a single mortal woman, and from that union sprang Ellas.”
...makes as much sense as any other bit of religion in this series. And it didn't involve creating a sibling race of people that are apparently inclined to try to kill them, while they can't effectively fight back. So really, Lodhi seems to one-up the Cheysuli gods. At least for the moment.
Donal, losing interest, looked again at the sword. He rubbed absently at his chin. “This sword is Carillon’s—” Abruptly, he rose. He snatched up the sword and went out of the pavilion, ignoring Sef’s startled question as the boy rose up from his mat outside the doorflap. Donal ignored everyone as he strode through the encampment; he was intent upon his mission.
"Losing interest" my ass. Sorry, not everything's about you, you dick. God forbid Evan share any of his own culture.
So what is Donal's mission?
He's marching off to Carillon's provision. Which is crimson and stands apart from the others. Because that seems strategically logical. Anyway, Donal's surprised to see no guards around. He also hears a cry of pain!
Donal ran. He felt the grip settle more comfortably into his palm. His fingers found ridges meant to cradle his bones; the remaining space beckoned his other hand. The metal was warm, alive; he could feel the power rising. It bled into his body and spread to fill the very marrow of his bones. He almost wanted to fight.
His free hand ripped aside the crimson doorflap. Automatically it dropped the fabric and went unerringly to the hilt, closing around the gold. He felt the blade rising, rising, incredibly light in his hands and yet substantially weighted as well. The balance was perfect. The sword was a part of his body, an extension of his hands, his arms, his mind—
—“No!” he shouted as he saw the man bending over Carillon’s body in the cot.
Candlelight flashed off the blade. The reflection struck full across the man’s face as he turned; Donal saw a haze of gold and black and bronze. And eyes. Yellow eyes, staring back at Donal.
This bit is actually really well done, I have to admit. And of course, it's Finn. In Carillon's tent. Bending over him while Carillon cried out.
Seriously, Finn, you could do better.
Actually though, Carillon is unconscious. And when Donal asks if he's dead, Finn says "No, not yet."
Yet, being the operative word. Which Donal picks up on:
“Yet?” Donal stopped beside the cot, but he did not look at Carillon. He stared instead at Finn. “You do not mean—”
“—I mean he has little time,” Finn said flatly. “Are you blind, Donal, to say you do not know it?”
“But—but he is so strong—” Donal gestured with his empty left hand. “He rules—”
“—stolen time,” Finn said, and his voice had roughened a little. “Tynstar took it from him—I have stolen it back. A little. Not enough. But—as with all things, it carries a price.” He looked down at Carillon. “Donal—are you prepared to be Mujhar?”
Donal, every single scene Carillon is in talks about his age and frailty in some way. But of course, Donal is not ready to be Mujhar.
We get some legitimately nice description here:
At last, Donal looked down at the man who ruled Homana. He saw how the flames overlay the face and emphasized the slackness of the flesh, the banishment of the strength inherent in Carillon’s bones. The beard had silvered, thinning, so that the line of the jaw was visible. The hair, fallen back from his face, no longer hid the fragility of his temples; Donal saw clearly the hollows of age, the upstanding threading of veins, the prominent bones of the nose.
But it was not the face that shocked Donal. It was the leather that had been wrapped around Carillon’s naked torso. Stiff leather, laced together; it held his spine perfectly straight, almost too straight. Straps ran over both broad shoulders. The leather bracers, which Donal had always believed were mere cuffs providing some measure of support, were reinforced with metal.
I mean, I'd care more if I didn't remember Carillon telling Donal to rape his daughter. We'd seen the bracers before, but the other part is news. Finn tells Donal, and us, that Carillon had the thing made when his disease started to twist his spine and shoulders.
“It allows him to resemble a man instead of a blighted tree. It allows him to hold the sword you have just returned.”
And it occurs to me that this is really interesting in light of what has already been and will be established about the Cheysuli view of disability and permanent injury.
Donal wants to know if there's anything Finn can do. Aside from "stealing a bit of Carillon's youth back," Donal? Do you really think Finn wouldn't be doing everything?
Finn just says, with a minutely unsteady tone, that he has done it: he gave him tetsu root.
Donal recognizes the root and is horrified. It's deadly.
“So is growing old.” Finn looked down at Carillon’s unconscious body. “It was his choice, Donal. I did not force him. I did not hide it in his wine. I simply told him about tetsu and what it could do for him. He said he would take the risk.”
“Risk? There is no risk! Tetsu always kills.” Donal gestured emptily again. “Have you known a man to set it aside once he has begun drinking it regularly? I have not. Every warrior who desires it has taken it once, then twice, and soon enough there is no stopping it, not until the root slays. By the gods, su’fali, you have given him over to death!”
“I have lessened some of his pain,” Finn declared. “For him, I could do no less.”
Donal stared at the Mujhar. All the grief welled up and made him feel helpless. Carillon was dying more quickly than was natural. Tynstar had seen to that. But Finn, in a final obscene service performed by a loyal liege man, had made it more immediate.
Goddamnit, Roberson. Why must you do this to me? Look at these great story elements!
A terminally ill king takes extreme steps, shortening his own already limited life and enduring agony so as to hold his realm together long enough for the mixed race heir to finally be able to ascend and unify his people.
A clan-leader, survivor of genocide, son of the man who betrayed and was betrayed by a king, brings both comfort and impending death to the person he loves most, risking retaliation from the Homanans who won't understand.
A young man who's already seen the hatred of half of his country, who'll have to take the throne and find some way to make a true and lasting peace.
It would take so little to make Legacy of the Sword a good book. Lose the rape. Lose the love triangle (which does pain me because Ian is great, but still). Just focus on the real meat here.
But no. Of course not. Why would we be interested in that when we can have a whining, self-absorbed prince who apparently never even bothers to tell anyone that this war isn't necessary, in between raping his wife at his father-in-law's request, while not-so-secretly running off to his real family whenever he damn well wants.
Sorry, I should save my bitterness. This is a good fucking scene.
Anyway, Donal asks how long Carillon has. A month, maybe two. Tynstar's actions have apparently "destroyed many of Carillon's defenses". I'm not sure what that means but time is running out.
Donal asks if Carillon knows. Yes. Of course he does. Donal refuses to cry in front of his uncle ("who would have no tolerance of such things." I love Finn.) He asks Finn not to tell Carillon that he knows. Claim that a servant brought the sword.
...I feel like Carillon would be more upset that a servant might have seen him. But I suppose the implication is that Finn would have prevented a servant from entering. Fair enough.
Finn relieved him of the weapon. “Ja’hai,” he said. “Ja’hai, cheysu, Mujhar.”
“Not yet,” Donal said. “Oh, no…not yet. Not while Carillon breathes.”
“He will breathe a little longer,” Finn said, “but one day he will stop. And you will hold the throne.”
“‘Su’fali—do not.”
“Do not what? Speak the truth?” Finn did not smile. “You will have to accept it, Donal. It is for this you were born.”
Donal looked at Carillon. And then he turned away.
It occurs to me that there is something very powerful about Finn using the old tongue to acknowledge Donal as Mujhar.
It isn't just that Finn, despite the divorce, still very obviously loves Carillon. Symbolically, it's more than that.
All along, and even in this chapter, we've seen that Donal explicitly equates rulership of Homana with his Homanan ancestry. The sword is a Homanan weapon, but it's the royal weapon. He has to live in a Homanan palace with his Homanan wife. He has to live by Homanan customs. He keeps rejecting all of these things by reiterating his identity as a Cheysuli.
But Finn's the Cheysuli clan-leader, using the Cheysuli tongue, to name Donal Mujhar.
And then, then we think about it. The sword is a Homanan weapon, but made by Cheysuli hands. The Palace is a Homanan structure, built by Cheysuli builders. The kingdom of Homana was first and foremost a Cheysuli kingdom.
The word Mujhar is a Cheysuli word.
Donal can be Cheysuli AND the Mujhar. He doesn't have to give up his identity. He just has to reclaim what's already there.
Finn has no patience for Donal's nonsense because it is and always has been a done deal for him. It was a done deal as soon as he pledged himself to Carillon and suddenly became a tolerable person at the end of Shapechangers. He knew Carillon would win Homana back and he knows Donal will sit on the Lion Throne. Donal just has to get his act together and do it.
So will he? Maybe we'll find out eventually, but the chapter ends here.