I Read What?!

So last time, we got to appreciate Lysaer's remarkable effectiveness as a villain, the Fellowship decided to hide something from Arithon AGAIN, while Dakar was so annoying that his captors let him out early.

This time, it looks like we'll be hanging out with the Fellowship sorcerers. Ugh.



So we rejoin Sethvir. He's busy writing out the message that Maenalle is sending to Arithon. Interestingly, this also includes a twelve page inventory. Maenalle hadn't provided it by way of the courier, but instead, had been in her mind. That's creepy. Sethvir seems to think this is okay, because he's "willing servant to her intent".

But the real point of the chapter is the Convocation. It's the vernal equinox, when all of the Fellowship sorcerers gather.

We're told that "[w]ith Lysaer extending his influence into Tysan, the peace could scarcely last.". Considering that Lysaer's still trying to hunt down every clansman, the Fellowship has a funny definition of peace. But they feel that their time to "reclaim the cursed princes" from the curse is getting shorter.

So anyway, Sethvir goes to Meth Isle, in the bogs of Mirthlvain. He's greeted by Verrain, a "master spellbinder". He apparently gets to star in his own short story as "the Gallant", by the way. He seems to be of a similar rank as Dakar, but with considerably more independence. Verrain fills him in on some environmental matters. Also, there are cats!

Unfortunately, there's also Asandir, who fusses a bit over Sethvir, asking how long it's been since he remembered to eat. It occurs to me that in Mistwraith, Asandir had at least once called Sethvir by his mortal name. I wonder if they have something going on.

Traithe is here too, with his raven. We're reminded that of the sorcerers, Traithe is both physically and magically wounded, because of a past clash with the Mistwraith, in which he had closed the South Gate and cut the Mistwraith we know from the rest of itself.

They're meeting at Mirthlvain, because it's the nearest "active focus" to a place called Alestron. Apparently the duke there is involved with some sketchy products, using "black powder". Asandir will have to go check it out, before he heads north to Rockfell to check on the Mistwraith's confinement. I suppose I can't judge that too much, it IS good to keep an eye on evil powerful prisoners.

We're told that the disembodied sorcerer Kharadmon has somehow gone to the worlds past the South Gate. It's a risky journey:

Kharadmon’s journey had been launched at unmentionable risk. If he suffered mishap and failed to return, far more than the hope of the royal heirs’ reconciliation would be lost. The Fellowship itself might never be restored to its original circle of seven sorcerers.

Ah, the fucking Black Rose Prophecy again. You're going to have to do more than that to explain why I should care, book.

The other disembodied sorcerer Luhaine isn't coming. He's busy redirecting the Koraini sorceresses who are trying to hunt down Arithon. Verrain is aghast to hear that Arithon is in Jaelot. Asandir explains why he's there:

Asandir sighed, the broad line of his shoulders looking tired. ‘The affair involves an exploit of Dakar’s that’s too idiotic to mention. But to redeem the Mad Prophet’s foolishness, Halliron is confined there till solstice. His apprentice naturally won’t leave him.’ The sorcerer hooked his chin on steepled fingers, not needing to add that a stay of such length left Arithon’s identity as Medlir vulnerable, and not just to auguries done on the balance point of equinox. Since the secret of the Shadow Master’s alias was the fragile linchpin that frustrated the directive of Desh-thiere’s curse, Luhaine was bound to be misleading enchantresses for some while yet to come.

...you know, dude. This is your fault. You know how Dakar is. You basically drive him to drink. You decided Arithon should babysit him. Fuck you.

Traithe wins my affection:

‘Well,’ murmured Traithe in dry conclusion. ‘This isn’t so much a convocation as a gossip list of our weaknesses.’.

We do finally learn a bit more about what the Fellowship sorcerers are supposed to be about:

They concluded their survey of far-reaching responsibilities, for they alone had been left as guardians of Athera’s ancient mysteries since the old races’ inexplicable disappearance. Wards of protection that confined creatures dangerous in malice had been checked over world gates and preserves. As always, defences had weakened; four months of difficult travels lay ahead for Traithe and Asandir. The demands on them both were relentless, with their discorporate colleagues committed elsewhere. Of two other sorcerers outside tonight’s active circle, none spoke: the shade of Davien the Betrayer remained banished in seclusion since the hour of the high kings’ fall; Ciladis the Lost, still gone beyond reach, on his failed quest to find the Paravians.

Okay, those do seem like good things to do.

So now it's time for a vision quest. Sethvir brings out the Tienelle (the same drug Arithon got high on last book.) Verrain is reluctant, but is told they're not trying to scry the future. They're actually lookin for knowledge about how to fix the curse.

So they have the vision quest. There's some nice language here as Verrain experiences everything in his trance, but to be honest, I am not really sure what's happening. It sounds cool though. It looks like they're investigating infestations of various types:

Revolted to spasms of dry nausea, the spellbinder clamped hands to his lips until the blood felt squeezed from his fingers. He compelled himself to abide as Sethvir broadened his study: and snakes, insects, otters and frogs all suffered possession in turn. The moment of change in each case was sliced free of time and dissected; line for line, contortion for mauled contortion, the maligned detail of the hate-wraiths’ workings wrung out in white pain from their victims. Life-force itself became impressed and internally warped until only the husk of the body remained, to spawn its altered, aberrant offspring. The warped things birthed from such breedings in turn became subservient to the whim of the host.

They're basically trying to figure out if the Mistwraith's curse will work the same way. Verrain finds himself pitying the swamp monsters that he normally has to kill. And he's horrified by the thought that the two boys might "suffer a similar disfigurement."

They end up revisiting the coronation:

Spring sun flooded over the royal banners, streamered in Rathain’s colours of silver and green. On a gallery overhanging the city’s wide square, above the surge of a multitude, one man’s gold hair and fine jewellery flared in caught light as he raised his arms in sudden violence. His words scribed no sound in the window of Asandir’s re-conjuring; the instant Desh-thiere’s fragmented wraith enacted its possession over Lysaer s’Ilessid, he raised his gift in a lightning-bolt attack against an enemy singled out…

Despite knowledge that the Mistwraith’s vengeance had exploited Lysaer; that its meddling distortion of the justice a benevolent past conjury had grafted into the s’Ilessid royal line had lent it the leverage to wreak ill, nothing could prepare for the naked, wasting passion launched against the Master of Shadow. Racked by a spasm of visceral revulsion, Verrain watched, riveted, as the moment continued to unfold.

So anyway, they see Arithon get infected too, when he tries to defend Traithe's raven. Traithe feels terrible about this, but honestly, he's like the one Fellowship sorcerer who really hasn't lied to or manipulated the boys THAT much.

Poor Verrain is learning so much that they never bothered to tell him, like that Lysaer and Arithon also have the dubious gift of foresight (bullshit) and that they each have magic longevity.

So anyway, they keep Zaprudering the whole thing. There's a point where they realize they'd fucked up by trying to defend the crowd instead of the brothers, since the curse was zeroing in on both of them. We learn a bit more about how the curse works, and that it's basically entangled around their whole beings. Disturbing it would trip a "flashfire backlash of dissolution", which apparently would annihilate flesh and spirt. Nice.

The one plus side is that it won't pass to subsequent generations.

Meanwhile, Sethvir hands a satchel to Asandir, with instructions to give it to Arithon when his apprenticeship ends. Interestingly, it doesn't appear to be Maenalle's message, but rather nautical charts and navigational instruments. Apparently, Arithon had asked for them in hopes of speeding the voyage to Halliron's family in Shand.

--

The next subchapter is Disclosure:

We're still with Sethvir. He's a bit unhappy because apparently he'd left a casement open and a squall has dumped rain inside. He's not alone for long: Luhaine's here.

Fortunately, the Koriani Sorceresses don't know much. Even with Dakar attracting every iyat in the neighborhood.

Arithon gets some shilling here:

For a second, Sethvir shared the tight and detailed vision of a wasted crone in violet veils bent over an ebon table. Around her like flesh-eating vultures in hoods the silky sheen of black grapes, a circle of women followed her interest as she said, ‘Ah, but his endowments are to be envied.’

The subject under discussion was a shimmering web of light captured by determined scrying: the life-print of Arithon s’Ffalenn as unveiled the past night over Meth Isle’s focus. As avidly as spiders might suck the juices from a trapped insect, the enchantresses analysed his attributes. They dissected the spiralled framework of his power, both latent and schooled: of a mage’s chained discipline and a shadow master’s wild talent linked through the blaze of a visionary mind. The cherished potential of his musician’s talents were picked out in all their ethereal shadings, a silver-lace braid wound through a will stamped in flesh like bright wire. Here, the beacon symmetry of s’Ahelas farvision tangled razor-point edges with the nettle and gossamer tendrils of undying s’Ffalenn compassion. There, the enchantresses read the sorrow and despair in the moment of Deshthiere’s conquest: Arithon’s self-awareness like the fixed sting of thorns, that hope and effort could buy him no better than failure.

Sethvir is less worried about this, figuring that Morriel really doesn't know that much more than she did before. Well, except one thing: NOW she knows that he's drunk from the magic fountain of doom.

Luhaine is worried. If the Koriani go after Arithon and the Fellowship ends up getting involved more overtly, there'll be a lot of trouble. They anticipate momentous things by Midsummer Solstice.

--

The last subchapter is Disruption;

Here, we join Elaira. HI ELAIRA. She's been working at a hospice, taking care of a shepherd whose leg was broken and mended badly after a rockslide.

We're given a reminder of who Elaira is:

No stranger to poverty, Elaira often shouldered illogical causes. Confirmed as a misfit, she was left by her peers to pursue her studies in a niche between the stills and the herb stores. There, in solitary, contented untidiness, she fed songbirds on crusts that were not mouldy, and concocted obscure remedies as she pleased. A loosened coil of auburn hair licked a cheek streaked yellow with powdered groundsel. Steadily swearing in gutter dialect, pale eyes level in concentration, Elaira strove to balance the conjury laid like ghostly embroidery across the heated air above her crucible.

Anyway, she's in a place called Vastmark, which will be more significant next book.

She'd sensed the scrying undertaken by her sisters, and hopes very hard that they haven't found Arithon.

But they might have. She's being summoned.

So Elaira ends up being naughty, convincing the page serving her that they should take a dirty, dingy shortcut. She also points out that the floorboards are infested with cockroaches, perfect for a prank. She does warn that if the insects take harm from the prank, she'll blister his tail with a spell.

We learn a little more about what the page does:

The page stifled a whoop and fell to, dirtying the knees of his hose as he scavenged beneath an old grape press. Elaira watched his deviltry in sad silence. The male children selected as Morriel’s pages led proscribed lives, chosen tools of Koriani higher purpose. But unlike her, whose vows constrained for life service, the boys regained freedom at puberty.

So anyway, Elaira's still carrying a bit of a torch for Arithon. Unsurprisingly.

She's reassured when she hears that they haven't found Arithon yet, but they do kow a lot more about him than anyone would like:

She gasped. In uncompromising lines, the man’s hidden self lay mapped out in a nuance that damned. As never before, she saw how vision and compassion, power and sensitivity, strength and pity lay paired beyond compatibility. Morriel’s fear was real, that the added burden of Desh-thiere’s curse might anneal the whole into a laceration of spirit with tragic potential to seed madness.

Since the order’s responsibility had never condoned power with any latent bent toward destruction, the Prime would act before threat became reality. Elaira’s rooted faith, that the Master of Shadow was resilient enough to retain his grip on self-command, became exposed as baseless conviction, too likely the blind offshoot of personal feelings held against the wisdom of her seniors.

Elaira also picks up on the longevity part and is pretty horrified that Arithon's massive angst will last for centuries.

That's also why Elaira is here. See, Morriel is really old. She has spells and shit that have been keeping her alive for a very long time. And she wants to bestow the same longevity onto Elaira, because Elaira is a good weapon against Arithon. Elaira thinks about the warning Traithe gave her in Mistwraith, telling her that she's the one person alive who knows Arithon best, and if either fails the other it could bring disaster. So she ends up agreeing.

Lirenda is not in favor of Elaira getting longevity, on account of the fact that Elaira is pretty into Arithon and has divided loyalties. Lirenda has a point, honestly.

Finally, Morriel ends up lamenting Arithon's general sexiness:

Alone with disgruntled thoughts, the Koriani Prime tightened pallid lips. She lacked the time to wait for a more qualified heir; if the current First Senior had flaws needing discipline, she possessed an extraordinary talent. In truth, Morriel conceded, the temptation in this case was not slight. Stamped bright in recall, she held every angle and line and counter-swept curve that configured the s’Ffalenn prince’s aura pattern.

The strength in the man was frightening.

Were she not old, and aching, and daily yearning the release of natural death, she might have wept as Elaira had.

Instead her frail fingers clenched over the spell crystal surrendered to her in forced trust. Her eyes gleamed baleful as arctic night as she muttered, ‘Curse you, son of s’Ffalenn.’

If by his mere existence Arithon of Rathain came to corrupt more than Elaira’s impulsive heart; if his character upset the discipline of the First Senior chosen to be groomed as prime successor, Morriel vowed by the cold fire in her joints that she would see him suffer in full measure for her misery.

Okay then.
--

The sneak peek section is "Farings"

We see Lysaer arriving in Erdane. We're told that his mercenaries, now weaponless, have gone weeks without pay but are still unshakingly loyal. Of course.

More Koriani are preparing for another scrying, this time on the solstice, to try to unmask Arithon.

Finally, Asandir is in Alestron, being given the runaround by a seneschel who claim that the duke and his brothers are out of the city. He's swept the place for black powder and found nothing. Interestingly though, Asandir seems to have missed the signs of an earth witch's concealment in the armory.