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The fourteenth chapter of Forest Mage, “Journey to Gettys,” starts with Nevare magically blessing the vegetable garden he had found for Amzil and her children, finding himself reduced in size from the exertion. After he, ravening, eats from it, Nevare says his goodbyes to Amzil and retrieves Hitch so that the pair of them can get underway for Gettys. Hitch is noticeably diminished, suffering from his injuries.
This seems apropos. Photo by Valentin Ilas on Pexels.com
The pair proceed, perhaps more slowly than either might otherwise go, and Nevare finds himself in mind of Amzil as they do. Passers-by are noted but do not offer much opportunity for interaction, and as the pair go along, Hitch asks Nevare about his background and experience. Nevare gives some details, acknowledging his disownment, and Hitch offers to comment him to the commander at Gettys, Colonel Haren.
Travel continues, Hitch’s condition deteriorating, and the two continue to trade stories. Hitch lets his entanglements with the Specks be known, and they discuss Nevare’s lingering connection to his father briefly. Hitch also lets it be known that he, like Nevare, is a captive of Speck magic, reporting a bargain made much like that which entraps Nevare, and Nevare puzzles over the magic and his tense relationship therewith.
Thus informed, Nevare divulges more of his history, bringing up Dewara and Tree Woman, as well as the Dust Dance. The demands of the magics upon both of them are noted, and Hitch again comes to the notion of Nevare’s relationship with his father. Hitch also warns Nevare to expect some repercussions from his magic in Amzil’s garden.
To address the chapter-length issue: the present chapter, in the edition of the novel I’m rereading, runs 20 pages in length, approximately 2.74% of the novel. While certainly not the shortest chapter in the text, it is among the shorter ones in it, and the juxtaposition of following immediately after the longest chapter in the book helps it stand out, reinforcing the notion of the title that the present chapter serves primarily to get characters to the locations they need to occupy. The text, as given, also bears as much out; it is a union of form and function, announcing itself and what it does as it does it.
Also, for indexing purposes, the following: Amzil, Cavalla, Clove, Colonel “Rabbit” Haren, Dewara, Dr. Jakib Amicas, Drawroot, Dust Dance, Epiny Kester, Eron, Gernia, Gettys, Great Man, Keft Burvelle, King’s Cavalla Academy, Nevare Burvelle, Old Thares, Renegade, Scout Lieutenant Buel Hitch, Sergeant Ereb Duril, Speck plague, Specks, Tree Woman, Willow bark tea. Some of the items are not named, as such, but are clearly referenced in the text; they are included as indexable items due to the clarity of those references.
I note with some interest the physical effects of Nevare’s magical exertions. It’s a familiar enough thing from Hobb’s work, admittedly; the Skill in the Realm of the Elderlings novels asks much of those who use it, and those healed by it often find their bodies drained by the experience of it. It’s also not uncommon in broader fantasy literatures and their related media, nor yet is it unfamiliar that mental work would cause physical tiredness for those who do spend a lot of time doing things like totting up columns of numbers or writing to figure out what’s going on in texts being read with more than commonly recreational care and attention. Nevare’s case is more dramatic than most, admittedly; I’ve rarely mathed so hard my pants fit better afterward, for example. It is, of course, foregrounded earlier in the text, such as in the present novel’s “Judgment,” and I believe I’ve commented on it elsewhere, but it shows up here again, overtly.
That Hitch notes Nevare’s continued attachment to his father (319) also attracts attention. Back when I was writing lesson plans more or less consistently (and I’ll note that I’m still well able to do so, o teachers!), one of the commonly occurring topics was that of parental engagement and involvement. That is, for works that made much of anything about the relationships between parental figures and the children assigned to their care, I would put together a series of activities that asked students to reflect on their own guardianship experiences, consider one passage in the work being studied that focused on such relationships, and then move to a broader section or the whole work to see what the whole made of the subject. The present novel (and Shaman’s Crossing, to be sure) presents itself as one that would take such a series of activities well; if I ever do draft a sample lesson plan using this novel, I will certainly include it. I do think it deserves investigation.
The notion that Hitch is, himself, a soldier son or of otherwise noble birth is one hinted at, and strongly, in the present chapter (324-25). I am put in mind of Captain Maw’s repeated offers, both to Nevare (see Shaman’s Crossing‘s “Letters from Home” and “Crossing”) and to Tiber (see Shaman’s Crossing‘s “Tiber”); it is clear from the earlier text that Maw had been in the habit of offering scouting assignments to soldier sons, and it does not pass belief that Hitch might have been an early recipient of such an offer. So much is only an implication, however, so far as I am aware at this point; it has been a while since I last read the novel, after all, and I write these commentaries as I go through the rereading. But it is a tantalizing idea, that Nevare is not the first attempt by the Dappled People to resist the incursion of colonizing forces by suborning those sent ahead of them, and it is one that resists the kinds of narratives advanced by such works as Dances with Wolves and Cameron’s Avatar, something I think is useful.
On that topic, and likely somewhat belatedly, I do appreciate the inversion of the US colonizing narrative at work in the resistance of the Dappled People to Gernian incursion. In the history of the United States from which Gernia borrows, much of what made the colonialist project successful was the fact of pandemics introduced, sometimes deliberately, into populations with no prior knowledge of or resistance to the same.* In the present case, although the Dappled People regard disease differently than Gernia, they do use it as a weapon against those invading their lands, and they do so as a matter of course, the Kidona having also been subjected to such measures.** As before, it is to be expected that a borrowing will not be a flat repetition; the motion away from antecedents while still making use of them does, however, help the novel read as verisimilitudinous, for which Hobb has some regard, and thus eases readerly entry into its narrative world.
* See, for example, PJ Bianchine and TA Russo’s 1992 “The Role of Epidemic Infectious Diseases in the Discovery of America” in Allergy Proceedings: The Official Journal of Regional and State Allergy Societies (DOI:10.2500/108854192778817040), Jeremy Hugh Baron’s 2003 “British Biological Warfare” in BMJ : British Medical Journal (https://pmc.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/articles/PMC1126655/), and Bruno Romero González et al.‘s 2026 “The Genomic Identity of Early Smallpox in South America” in Science (DOI: 10.1126/science.aee6957).
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The thirteenth chapter of Forest Mage, “Buel Hitch,” opens on Nevare remaining long with Amzil despite his intention of moving onward, distracted by the pleasure of feeling himself of use to her and her children. His efforts on their behalf are described in some detail, ranging from teaching rabbit-snaring to making exchanges of supplies and labor with others in Dead Town, and improvements in Amzil’s life are measurable.
There’s some as like this kind of thing… Photo by pedro furtado on Pexels.com
Nevare marks the few travelers that pass by while he remains with Amzil, and he begins more and more to be part of her life and her children’s. One night, Nevare dreams of Tree Woman again, surprised that she yet lives and warned by her that he cannot remain where he is, lest worse things befall than yet have. The morning after, Amzil muses bitterly to him on her feelings of abandonment, explaining her thoughts to a doubtful Nevare, who attempts without success to argue against the position.
Nevare finds himself in mind of Spink as he frets about Amzil and her children, and he briefly considers setting aside the demands of his birth, to which he holds despite his father’s words. He chances upon a ragged garden amid his musings, and although there is some tension as Nevare learns more about Dead Town’s inhabitants, he considers sending for Yaril to have her settle in Dead Town, although he soon rejects the idea.
Further reverie is interrupted by Nevare’s discovery of the injured scout lieutenant, Buel Hitch. Nevare makes to tend the man, and he comes into conflict with Amzil as he does so, she being unwilling to have a stranger in her house. Hitch expresses surprise at Nevare and his circumstances, and he fairly commands Nevare’s assistance in helping him reach Gettys. Nevare begins to make preparations to depart, he and Amzil conferring again, and he remains resolved despite some misgivings about leaving her and the children behind.
Nevare goes out hunting to try to leave something for Amzil, and he is able to take a deer despite poor equipment. This, he delivers back to Amzil with instructions about how to handle it, and he goes to bathe afterwards, being disgusted with the state of his body as he finds it, somehow even fatter despite leaner eating. Later, Amzil provides a meal to Nevare and Hitch, liver and onions, in which Nevare revels. After Nevare returns the dishes to Amzil, Hitch chivvies him about her and notes her earlier propensity towards prostitution, leaving Nevare in some doubt of himself but resolved to press ahead toward Gettys with the next morning.
To address the chapter-length issue: the present chapter, in the edition of the novel I’m rereading, runs 31 pages in length, approximately 4.24% of the novel. It is the single longest chapter in the novel, as well, and if it is the case that a new narrative arc in the novel began in “Flight,” and that it and the next two chapters serve primarily as exposition for that arc, then the present chapter offers what might well be termed an inciting incident or, following Freytag, the rising action of said arc.
Also, for indexing purposes, the following: Amzil, Buck, Carsina Grenalter, Clove, Coffee, Dead Town, Gettys, Kara, Liver, Merkus, Nevare Burr, Nevare Burvelle, Old Thares, Rabbits, Reeves, Rig, Roya, Scout Lieutenant Buel Hitch, Sem, Soldier’s Boy, Specks, Spinrek “Spink” Kester, Teme, Tree Woman, Widevale, Yaril Burvelle. It is a surprisingly brief list for so long a chapter, but since the present chapter is largely not explication, as such, it does not need to have as many indexable items as that.
Of note is Amzil’s comment that the king “took all the poor folk who broke the laws to live, and sent us out here to die” (285). It does seem a cruel thing to do, of course, not only to exclude people from society but also to do so after promising them a new beginning and a chance at rehabilitation and reintegration. That Amzil expounds upon the situation of those in Dead Town, criminals given no real instruction in how to live otherwise than by predation upon each other and left thrown together without any oversight or means of adjusting their lives, does support her position that Dead Town–and, by extension, the other places like it along the Gernian colonialist project–serves as a means of “cleansing” the imperial core, and doing so in a way that reinforces existing social hierarchies, since the perhaps-planned failures of such places and their inhabitants “proves” that those exiled to them deserve the condemnation that has been heaped upon them. And while it is true that, left in such conditions, people do what they must so that they and their children can survive, it is also true that they are not offered an honest opportunity to change their situations, which is what the expansionist project promises those who accept its bargain.
Another item of note: Nevare seems quite versed in garden agriculture for someone in his position. While it might be expected that, having been raised to help steward his family’s lands after a military career, Nevare would have some training in such things, so much is not really expressed; the stewardship that had been previously suggested was of the overseeing-the-actual-workers variety. How much of the seeming domesticity serves to contrast Nevare from Fitz (see the above) is unclear, although worth consideration; the fact of it seeming not to fit with what memory indicates is his personality and skill-set is of more importance.
Yet another item of note: much is made in the present chapter of Nevare killing a young buck. I am again put in mind of comparisons to FitzChivalry Farseer, such as I’ve noted in Shaman’s Crossing‘s “Magic and Iron,”“Journey,”“Crossing the Bridge,”“Sword and Pen,”“Carnival,” and “Plague.” The scene in the present chapter seems something of a refutation of those comparisons, or else a reaffirmation that the Soldier Son is not the Farseer or the Tawny Man, that Gernia is not the Six Duchies, for all the ways in which they do share some features and tendencies of narrative construction. But then it is also the case that Fitz, himself, does a lot of buck-killing, variously interpreted…there is some nuance, I find as I think on it more, and I wonder if it might not be another scholarly someday dawning that such a thing might be explored.
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Continuing from last week, as I met again with the participants in my local library’s Dungeons & Dragons program, I presented the group with an opportunity for the aspiring Girl Scout to take command of the in-game party as they faced a challenge I’ve had prepared for them for some months, now. (I had had it set on something of a randomizing countdown, a mechanic to make it certain to occur but that allowed for it to happen earlier than might be expected; it is a device I might use in other games, although probably at the table, proper, rather than in a play-by-post game…but who knows?) It was her first time doing so, so there were some snags, but nothing major and fewer than expected, so I consider the exercise a success. I’ll be working with the aspiring Girl Scout on the next phase of her project, developing a one-shot to run with the group, which I look forward to doing, both because it will help her and because it will help me refine some of what I need to do to help others in the program come up to being able to run their own games–part of the point of the library program, as it happens.
I think it is a good pattern to follow in training up potential game-runners, the one we’re following at my local library: work the candidate through a series of games before gauging interest before having the candidate take on in-game leadership for an encounter or event. The expected next step, and the one I have more or less assigned to other participants at the local library who have expressed interest in running games, is to solicit narrative ideas; I take the approach that mechanics should flow from story, rather than the other way around, and I’ve had a fair amount of success in that with multiple groups across some years, now, so I think I’ll stick with the approach. (“If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it” comes to mind as a useful principle, and changing for the sake of changing annoys me immensely in both my personal and professional capacities.) I’ll review those narrative ideas with the candidates, and then we can work out what mechanics need to emerge from them, helping the candidate compose a brief and coherent narrative arc that they can then try out with the existing group.
Such is the path on which the aspiring Girl Scout currently walks, anyway; I am still testing and refining things, which she accepts as part of the process of development in which we are all engaged. And I do mean all; despite my decades of experience on both sides of the GM screen, I have things to learn as a player and as someone who runs games. A play-by-post I’m currently in is helping me with the former at the moment; the middle schoolers continue to help me with the latter. I am grateful for both, as the better I get at both, the more I enjoy them, and it is nice to have something to enjoy in this world we occupy.
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The twelfth chapter of Forest Mage, “The King’s Road,” begins with Nevare considering something he was told by an inhabitant of Dead Town, the situation of which is described. Nevare pivots from consideration of Dead Town to musing on the King’s Road project which gave rise to it, noting that his progress along it is destroying his favorable impression of the project, and he rehearses the continuing changes to his situation as he continues eastward along its path.
Yeah, this seems to fit. Photo by Phil Evenden on Pexels.com
As Nevare continues onward, he comes across the remnants of military units that had succumbed to the recent outbreak of Speck plague that had taken members of Nevare’s family, near which he finds a hidden cache of food and supplies that wrenches his attention and efforts. He exhausts himself in futile efforts before resigning against them, doing little enough to replenish stores from which he draws.
Nevare continues further eastward, marking the increasingly poor conditions of the King’s Road along which he travels, reporting on the same at a courier post he encounters. He attempts to purchase supplies there and is rebuffed, even when Nevare attempts to ply him with magic. His magic surges against the post leader who rebukes him, although Nevare does not know what effect the exercise of his magic will have upon its target as he departs.
More travel brings Nevare to another courier station, one that treats him less poorly but still not well, and when Nevare departs thence, he finds himself considering multiple possible destinations. He settles on moving toward Gettys, closer to the Dappled People than his other possible destinations, and he continues among degrading conditions and lessening signs of Gernian habitation.
The town Nevare does encounter is run down and full of suspicious people in straitened circumstances. He eventually finds a household within it, that of Amzil and her children, willing to take him in for the night, and he offers his labor in exchange for his lodging. Offering some of his own diminishing provisions to the family, he learns their story and situation; Amzil is the widow of a penal worker who had been lured by the promise of a better life and left with an injury that led to his death. Once the work-gangs moved on, she and the rest were left to their own devices, given scarce provisions and no training in how to use them, abandoned by Gernia.
Moved by Amzil’s story, Nevare offers to stay longer and work to improve her conditions. Amzil asks what he will want in return, and although she is in doubt of the simplicity of his request, she accedes. Nevare spends the next days working to shore up Amzil’s small home and teaching her and her children some ways to feed themselves from the nearby terrain. He also muses on his own diminishing prospects, determining to depart the next day.
To address the chapter-length issue: the present chapter, in the edition of the novel I’m rereading, runs 28 pages in length, approximately 3.83% of the novel. It continues exposition in what seems to be a new narrative arc, as well as doing a fair bit to enrich and expand the worldbuilding at work in the Soldier Son series and offering opportunities for reflection on a number of points, so the relatively greater length makes sense.
Also, for indexing purposes, the following: Amzil, Barrier Mountains, Cayton’s Horse, Charily, Clove, Croaker birds, Dead Town, Dia, Doril’s Foot, Eighth Regiment, Epiny Kester, Far Sea, Franner’s Bend, Gernia, Gettys, Gord Lading, Hectors, Holy Writ, Hoskin’s Horse, Jirry, Kara, King Troven, King’s Road, Kingsbridge, Lakegard, Laston, Mendes River, Mendy, Nevare Burvelle, Old Thares, Plainsfolk, Rats’ Nests, Rig, Scouts, Selethe Burvelle, Sem, Sergeant Duril, Seventh Regiment, Sirlofty, Speck Plague, Spond wood, Tefa River, Third Regiment, Trade Post, Trist Wissom, Widevale, Yaril Burvelle. The relatively long chapter admits of many indexable items, and Nevare admittedly spends some time considering destinations, offering more such than might otherwise be expected.
An item of interest in the present chapter is its opening one-sentence paragraph: “The good god never intended for people to live here” (249). As an opening line, it is gripping in itself, and being a decided pivot from the conclusion of the previous chapter, it attracts even more emphatic attention than that; the stark statement sits heavily, a thud on the floor that draws eyes to what caused it. Additionally, it sets the tone for what follows, moving into and through some bleak ruminations and presentations that are worth considering.
One such series of ruminations, for which reference to Helen Young’s 2014 “Critiques of Colonialism in Robin Hobb’s Soldier Son Trilogy” might be in order, is on the development of the Gernian colonial project. Nevare is, of course, a beneficiary of that project, the status he enjoyed until recently (relative to the present chapter) deriving entirely from his father’s advancement of Gernia’s colonialist aims; the tension between that background and the rights and needs of indigenous peoples being displaced underlies much of the narrative of the Soldier Son novels thus far. That the earlier, longer developed parts of the colonialist project might offer more comfort to those who dwell amid them is a sensible enough thing, and it is presented as such in the current chapter, although the difficulties inhering in driving the project by the use of convict labor are also sensible and very much evident in the chapter, the more so as it continues longer.
I note, too, that Nevare’s interactions with food in the present chapter ring of descriptions of addiction, which is something that Hobb’s works have treated at length; Fitz’s and others’ use of the Skill and Brashen’s use of cindin in the Realm of the Elderlings come to mind as ready examples, although they are not the only ones to find therein. In Nevare’s case, his food-cravings move beyond “normal” bodily needs, driven by the outside force of the magic that has been thrust upon him (253). Food addictions and eating disorders certainly exist in the readerly world, and the presentation of their symptoms as an artifact of magic can be taken as some kind of allegory for them; again, recourse to Anna Metsäpelto’s 2013 thesis might be in order, and I have to wonder if there is yet another of my own scholarly somedays to find in consideration of that allegory.*
Another point of interest that emerges for me is the differentiation of military units on display in the present chapter. To my recollection, in the Soldier Son novels previously, military units had been referred to by name, such as the present chapter’s Cayton’s Horse and Doril’s Foot. In the present chapter, there are also references to numbered units, specifically infantry units (as opposed to cavalry or artillery). While there may be some indication of class distinction at work, it is also possible that the numbered units simply have not done something to merit a proper name rather than a number; it is also possible that the numbered units are newer and proceed from more organized and rigorous military systems than earlier-formed units. In the juxtaposition, however, Hobb presents a bit more of the worldbuilding that makes Gernia so accessible a milieu as it is, and that is a good thing; the readerly world is inconsistent, so having such differences helps prompt verisimilitude.
Particularly prominent in the present chapter is the extension of the feminist discourse that has been at work in the Soldier Son novels.** Like similar motions in the Realm of the Elderlings novels, the discourse in the Soldier Son series does much to point out the conditions of women in the milieu, and while it is the case that Gernia is fictional, it also remains the case that it borrows much from the all too real (and still all too current, given ways in which putatively traditional roles for men and women are being presented not only as desirable, but increasingly mandatory). For how many of Hobb’s presumed primary readers do Amzil’s situation and that of her children parallel their own or those near to them? For how many do Selethe’s situation, which Nevare acknowledges suffered, as Epiny had intimated to him? It is not a new scholarly someday to note that the matter merits consideration, if another has not already done the work.
* Hobb’s relationship with allegory is somewhat contested, as I think I’ve gestured towards with ideas about the Wit as allegory for homosexuality in the Farseer novels and the overt presentation of same-sex relationships in the succeeding Tawny Man trilogy. That the issue is complicated is not a bad thing, however; it offers more opportunity for reflection and thus for increased understanding than might otherwise be the case.
The federal holiday marked today is one on which I’ve commented a few times before, here, here, here, and here. It is not a holiday for me this time, although I do typically take federal holidays off from my day job, nor yet is it a holiday for my wife, and although our daughter is not at school, it is because her teachers need a day to complete administrative tasks resulting from the end of a grading period; it is not a full holiday for my family even aside from the awkwardness we continue to perceive in it.
Image unrelated. Photo by Zhengyang TIAN on Pexels.com
I’m not aware of any substantial civic celebrations going on in the area where I live, although I do know that local governmental offices are closed (and for much the same reasons I typically am). There aren’t any parades going on, no salutes or fireworks, and I have the sense of nothing so much as fatigue at work at the moment, although I will readily admit to projecting on that score. There seems little enough to celebrate of the day, today, at least in regards to what is putatively the point of it, at least in this part of the world.
I, of course, do have things to celebrate, but those are in my personal life more than in such a civic life as I have. My wife and daughter are well, and that is certainly something I appreciate. I am able still to write such things as appear in this webspace, as well as what I write for the games I administer and play, and I value those experiences. My health is reasonably good, for which I am grateful. There are things that could be better, of course, but there’s an awful lot that could be an awful lot and isn’t, and I’m not unmindful thereof.
Perhaps the thing for me to do today is to reflect on those gratitudes, even if I don’t need a particular day to do so. That, and to get back to work; there’s more than enough for me to do, and not nearly enough of me to get it all done.
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Continuing from last week, as I met again with the participants in my local library’s Dungeons & Dragons program, I followed up with them about moving towards running their own games. One of the participants, I know, is working on a leadership program (the Program Aide Award) with the local Girl Scout troop, and it made sense to me that the library gaming group would offer a laboratory through which to accomplish the tasks required for that award. I asked the group if they would be amenable to helping one of their own with that task; the response was favorable, so I will be working with said aspiring Girl Scout to see about how to address the required tasks.
Yes, those Girl Scouts, although it’s not the right season for this yet. Photo by ROMAN ODINTSOV on Pexels.com
This is not the first time I’ve had thoughts about other ways than as a good game to play that the TTRPG is useful. The genre informs some scholarship I’ve done (see this for a recently released example), and it serves as an impetus to the generation of more art than itself (see this for comments to that end, as well as what might pass for an example of art, broadly defined). It also suggested itself to me as a useful teaching tool, back when I had students; it has helped me to generate assessment items such as this, and it seemed to me to be a good fit for particular classes, as witness this and this. I’m sure there’s other utility to it, just as I’m sure that utility is not the only or even the primary measure of a thing’s value to me or to the world I inhabit.
For the Program Aide Award, the library game suggested itself as an available means of accomplishment due first to the fact that the aspiring Girl Scout already knows the group with which she would work. She also is in position to confer with the group’s leader and to assist with a meeting; I know few DMs or GMs who couldn’t use a hand keeping track of some of the paperwork involved in administering a game. Further, the aspiring Girl Scout could easily lead a single group activity; TTRPGs, being collaborative, do invite some rotating leadership, and any given player’s character can easily take point on any particular activity. (Indeed, administering games well necessitates presenting a variety of scenarios so that every player character can have a chance to be at the front of things.) And there would be opportunities to reflect upon and build upon that single-activity leadership to so something that serves as a useful step on the path towards running lasting games: running a one-shot game, which would be a full meeting (at least) of the local library game group. That one-shot would complete the award’s requirements, which I recognized and which the aspiring Girl Scout recognized, hence the request to the group for their assistance with it.
After the request was made, play proceeded. The party was able to enjoy a little bit of down-time, a layover that coincided with a local festival, which the players enjoyed. It is something of a breather for them, honestly; the harder part of the adventure is yet to come for them, with political entanglements that will need addressing and that will set things up for future games–because I do anticipate that the game will continue, at least for a time, and as the players develop, their challenges will also need to.
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The eleventh chapter of Forest Mage, “Franner’s Bend,” starts as Nevare proceeds away from his childhood home, ruminating on his changed circumstances and the implications thereof. He also considers seasonal changes at work in the area, as well as the civilizational changes that have crept upon the land. The encroaching of Gernian settlement shocks him somewhat as he considers it.
Picture related. Photo by Stepan Vrany on Pexels.com
Arriving at Franner’s Bend, Nevare finds himself something of a curiosity as he looks for lodging for the evening. Sirlofty makes a show of not wanting to bear him as he proceeds, and Nevare considers the options available to him. Harangued by a local child, Nevare is able to find lodgings for the evening and, after learning some information about local situations, is referred to a horse-trader.
Nevare visits the horse trader, producing a draft animal and a saddle, although at the cost of both attracting significant attention and of working magic upon him. Returning to his lodgings, he compares the new animal, Clove, to Sirlofty and finds the new mount lacking but the old one unsuitable. Thus determined, he takes his supplies from Sirlofty, leaving the saddle, and takes the mount to the garrison, asking that Sirlofty be examined and returned to Widevale.
On the way back to his lodgings, Nevare engages the services of a prostitute, finding the exchange an unsatisfying reminder of his changed situation.
To address the chapter-length issue: the present chapter, in the edition of the novel I’m rereading, runs 17 pages in length, approximately 2.33% of the novel. It does serve a useful expository purpose for all its brevity, however, and helps to display how Nevare manages to break from his earlier life in favor of starting a new one that yet remains within the confines of what is familiar to him.
Also, for indexing purposes, the following: Birdbrush, Clove, Cotton, Dewara, Farvi, Franner’s Bend, Gernians, Guff, Hector, Jirry, Keft Burvelle, King’s Road, Last Bale, Midlands, Nevare Burvelle, Old Thares, Pewter, Plainsfolk, Rivergate, Sassy, Sirlofty, Talley, Widevale, Yaril Burvelle. As befits a brief chapter, the list of indexables is not a long one.
Of note to me is Nevare’s return to Franner’s Bend. So far as I can tell, he has not been back there since the very beginnings of the Soldier Son novels (see “Magic and Iron” in Shaman’s Crossing), and he makes much of the changes that have taken place in the area since he last visited it. Many of his comments echo concerns of the closing frontier in the United States, about which Turrentine and Glenn have some useful comments here. Again, Gernia pulls from the United States of the late nineteenth century, so the notion that “the open wild lands were vanishing” (236) is one in accord with the preexisting materials of the Soldier Son novels, and if it is problematic in several ways, that is also hardly at odds with the history from which it borrows so extensively.
Also of note to me, and perhaps it comes to mind because of my recent experience running a game of Dungeons & Dragons in which such concerns present themselves insistently, is the breakdown of money as Nevare reports having “seven hectors, fifteen talleys, and six pewters” (237). Currency is discussed only a little previously; there is some mention of a gift of money in the eastern Burvelle home of a Dark Evening (see Shaman’s Crossing‘s “Sword and Pen”), and Nevare remarks on his supply of hectors as he returns home from the King’s Cavalla Academy (see Forest Mage‘s “Spindle Dance”). Having a more detailed description of currency in the present chapter both makes it more of a concern than had previously been the case–greater detail bespeaks more attention, implying greater importance–as well as adding to worldbuilding; different denominations flesh out Gernia a bit more. Suggested by the names is that the talley is the “basic” currency, given that a tally is a simple accounting record; hector, mentioned previously and listed first in the present chapter, is likely a higher-value denomination (and quite possibly although not certainly named after an earlier monarch), with pewters, presumably called for the material of which they are made, of lesser value. This is conjectural on my part, of course; I follow implications and common practices to find something that makes sense in the absence of overt statements. It’s all any of us can do.
Additionally of note are comments Guff* makes about the resettlement and rehabilitation program Gernia operates for its laborers on the King’s Road (239). While there may be some virtue in giving those who have, as it were, paid their debt to society some means of starting a new life–in this case, an allotment of land–there is much less so in failing to offer those who receive such gifts any information about how to use the land that is theirs. Recidivism is almost certain in such cases–or worse, as Guff points out has befallen many in and around Franner’s Bend. The late-nineteenth-century-United-States parallel seems to me to be the Homestead Act; the National Park Service remarks that “more than half [of the homesteaders] were successful,” seeming something of a damnation by faint praise, and the University of Nebraska at Lincoln holds a fair amount of relevant materials for those interested in learning more. Certainly, there is more to say on the matter than is reasonable for the present commentary; perhaps another scholarly someday will dawn to shed light upon that “more.”
* I feel I have to make a comment about the name. The word itself, per common knowledge as affirmed by Merriam-Webster, denotes untruth at some level, whether as a lie, as exaggeration, or as what Frankfurt and those who follow him refer to as bullshit. (I’ve commented about the last, as might be expected, in such places as this, this, this, and this.) The character so named in the present chapter seems to be offering the exact opposite, much as a towering hulk of a person might be called Tiny; the same kind of joke is at work, and even if it is the case that giving an explanation kills a joke, it’s one of the kinds of thing that inform my lingering literary study. (I’m not going to list examples here, but will encourage my kindly readers to reread what I have written in this webspace; it pops up often enough that finding examples should be no challenge.)
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Read the previous entry in the serieshere. Read the next entry in the serieshere.
The present chapter continues to depict abusive relationships.
The tenth chapter of Forest Mage, “Flight,” begins with Nevare glossing the process of his father’s recovery and that of his estate. The actions Nevare takes to keep the estate going are glossed, and news of outside events is rehearsed. Nevare takes some charge, acting in his father’s name to restore order and some sense of forward motion to the estate and the surrounding area that takes its direction therefrom, and he relates a number of difficulties in doing the same.
Yeah, this seems right. Photo by Alexey Demidov on Pexels.com
With some stability established, Nevare recalls Yaril from the Poronte estate, noting with some confusion that Cecile–whom he regards as duty-bound to return to her late husband’s home–is not coming. Yaril apologizes for her earlier disregard of her brother and returns to her childhood home. She soon proves adept at its management, and, with Nevare, does much to restore it to something resembling normal functioning, if with some changes made to suit her personal tastes.
As things progress back towards normalcy, Nevare takes the chance to relax one evening, going into town to drink a bit and surveying changes in the local situation. He does note that the drinking has less effect on him than he would have expected, but he makes little of it, and makes a habit of regular trips to town.
Correspondence resumes, and Nevare receives news of Spink and Epiny with some joy. Spink is being commissioned, Sefert purchasing the position, and Nevare fleetingly considers using his father’s funds to do the same, but sets the temptation aside. He also continues to try for rapprochement with his father, to no avail, and he learns from Yaril much of the state of Keft’s mind. Yaril also speaks of the social situation surrounding them, and she learns Nevare’s story of his enchantment.
Some days after, Keft returns to the dinner table, rebuking Nevare for his presumption and upbraiding Yaril for her part in it. Yaril flees the growing upset, and Keft disowns Nevare, casting him out. Calmly, Nevare goes to Yaril and confers with her before preparing to leave, promising to send for her when he can. He packs what he can and that he feels a right to, mounts Sirlofty, and bids Duril farewell as he departs.
To address the chapter-length issue: the present chapter, in the edition of the novel I’m rereading, runs 29 pages in length, approximately 3.97% of the novel. There is but one chapter longer, and one other of the same length; each other chapter or major division of the text is shorter than the present chapter. While it is the case that chapter length and narrative importance do not necessarily or even often correspond, the fact that the present chapter takes its time, relatively speaking, does invite readers to spend more time with the text in this portion of it. And a longer chapter does serve an expository purpose for what seems clearly to be a new narrative arc beginning in the present novel.
Also, for indexing purposes, the following: Bacon, Bitter Springs, Burvelle Landing, Car Stiet, Carsina Grenalter, Caulder Stiet, Cayton’s Horse, Cecile Burvelle, Coffee.Colonel Stiet, Croaker bird, Dancing Spindle, Dark Evening, Dewara, Doril’s Foot, Dr. Jakib Amicas, Dust Dance, Elisi Burvelle, Epiny Kester, Farleyton’s Horse, Franner’s Bend, Gettys, Kase Remwar, Keft Burvelle, King’s Road, Lady Poronte, Landing Inn, Lord Poronte, Mosquitoes, Nevare Burvelle, Nita, Plague, Rosse Burvelle, Sefert Burvelle, Selethe Burvelle, Sergeant Erib Duril, Sirlofty, Spinrek “Spink” Kester, Tree Woman, Vanze Burvelle, Widevale, Yaril Burvelle. As might be expected from a long chapter with much going on, there are many indexable items to be found.
Yet again, Hobb repeats chapter titles, this time from City of Dragons, Chapter 11, and Blood of Dragons, Chapter 2. In the present case, reading the chapters against one another is not apt to reveal much; the circumstances differ much more than usual. The earlier chapters, belonging to the Realm of the Elderlings novels and dealing with beings capable of aerial flight, do not address the same issues as the present chapter (although it may well be the case that the two earlier chapters, both in the Rain Wilds Chronicles, should be read against each other, despite my lack of comment to that effect earlier in my rereadings; some revision and update suggest themselves as worth doing at some later time when I have the time). Still, given how often the title-repetition happens and the propensity towards suggested cross-reading, I thought pointing out the present chapter’s repetition of title bore pointing out.
In a bit of affective reading, I note with some appreciation the comments about accounting made in the chapter. Nevare bemoans but accepts the necessity of bookkeeping as he attempts to stand in for his father during his recovery (206-07); I’ve written on more than one occasion* about my own involvement in that profession, and it’s always nice to see the work I do represented as a needed thing. I spent quite enough time dealing with the opposite, as might be imagined for someone who at one point wanted to profess literature; the experiences have stayed with me, prompting me to appreciate it when the work I do is valued even if noted as something challenging enough to want others to do.
In a similar bit of reading, I note with interest Nevare’s comment that “Boredom sounded so attractive to me now” (209). In my own experience, not least having to do with flooding in my hometown (not only in 2025 and 2026, but also in 2002), boredom is a good thing; it means that nothing is going wrong. Hobb’s character make some gestures towards sharing that notion, such as in Assassin’s Fate, Chapters 9 and 22. Nevare seems to be of the same opinion in the present chapter, and I’ll admit to some additional pleasure in seeing an author validate parts of my understanding and experience. It’s not the only reason to keep reading, of course, and I continue to know that reading affectively isn’t something I should do–but I still do it, and it does help me push ahead with texts I’ve studied across some time, now.
Less affectively, I find more feminist discourse in the present chapter. Yaril’s situation, as depicted in the present chapter, serves as a powerful commentary on patriarchal structures. It is clear that Yaril is an intelligent and capable young woman; her adept handling of the Burvelle household after her return from the Poronte estate is testimony to that. It is also clear that she has been constrained by her circumstances, as several of her comments to Nevare indicate; examples include Yaril’s expression of disdain for Cecile and her railing against Carsina (217-18), as well as her reactions to Keft’s emergence from his chambers (219-24) and what she says to Nevare as he makes ready to leave as an outcast (226-29). To his credit, Nevare recalls what Epiny told him of such constrainment (see Shaman’s Crossing‘s “Séance,” and “A Ride in the Park,” as well as Forest Mage‘s “Forest Dreams”) as Yaril bewails her imminent danger to him. That he does not take her with him as he departs is not a commendation, to be sure, but given his own uncertainties, it may well be the least-bad option available to them in the moment. Additionally, that it reinforces the problems of the kind of patriarchy that Gernia presents, and that of the United States that it reflects, is not to be disregarded.
Continuing from last week, as I met with the participants in my local library’s Dungeons & Dragons program, I asked them their thoughts about running games in the future. After all, the library’s program has as one of its explicit goals the cultivation of participants who can run games of their own, so querying the present participants for who would like to undertake that work seemed fitting. I expect that future sessions will work to articulate not only concerns of narrative–since such games as Dungeons & Dragons are storytelling, narrative concerns matter–but also of effective administration.
I didn’t choose the life; the life chose me… Photo by u041au0430u0442u0435u0440u0438u043du0430 u0416u043eu0441u0443u043b on Pexels.com
Following the more formal discussion, play resumed. Because I had an understrength group, I adjusted some of the cumulative-result roll thresholds downward, and things seemed to go generally well. Not all of the dice agreed with all of the players at the table, to be sure, but that’s only to be expected; dice lent from the library won’t answer as well as those that have been lovingly trained over time. And even with the dicing setbacks, the kids had fun facing the challeneges posed to them–including in some inventive ways I’d not considered when I posed them.
I look forward, still, to continuing this expedition of herding a gaze of jimothies from a rural village to the trade center. I think that next week’s session will take the group to and through the regional capital. There, they’ll have the chance to seek new supplies and information, and they’ve learned that the information I make available is material they can use, moving forward. For me, it’s an easy enough thing to make happen; for them, it’s a new and exciting concept, or a lived-life iteration of something they’ve gotten to learn about in their English classes, and seeing them make the connection and have the realization is a large part my enjoyment of the game.
We’ll see if the same is true for them when they start to run things.
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Read the previous entry in the serieshere. Read the next entry in the serieshere.
The present chapter also depicts abusive relationships. It additionally details deaths and the physical results thereof.
The ninth chapter of Forest Mage, “Plague,” starts with Nevare waking with the dawn, rising and waiting to be put to work. He watches a messenger arrive from Burvelle’s Landing, and he sees his father and brother follow the messenger away. The scenes distract him from his attempts at study, and he resolves to bide his time, aligning with the alternative self that yet dwells within him, and sleeps again, settling into a tree-like quiescence.
Guess who’s back? Photo by Dmitry Demidov on Pexels.com
Nevare is woken in the dark by the delivery of his dinner, and he presses the servant making the delivery for details of the day, learning that a physician has called on the house. The servant seeks to disregard Nevare, but Nevare disabuses him of the idea, and after the servant leaves, Nevare sets to his meal: a small loaf of bread. Nevare delights in it, savoring the loaf slowly. After, he attempts his studies again, finding little success, and he retires, worried about events.
The next morning, Nevare finds a day much like the last. In the evening, he learns that sickness has beset Burvelle’s Landing. The following day sees no delivery of food, only the sounds of another servant uncertain of how to proceed. Two more days pass in which Nevare has neither food nor drink, and he calls out in vain. The next day, Nevare attempts to escape confinement, without success. More days pass, and Nevare finds himself sinking toward somthing like hibernation. At length, Duril rescues him.
As Nevare makes for the kitchen to eat and drink after his privations, he and Duril confer, the old sergeant reporting events. He had, himself, taken the Speck plague, which had ravaged the Burvelle home, taking Rosse, Selethe, and Elisi. Nevare moves to check on his father and is excoriated by the mourning Keft, who laments the deaths and having sent Yaril and Cecile to the Poronte estate. Nevare then begins to tend to the dead, finding the bodies of his kin and considering them, and searching out the other dead. He begins the work of gravedigging, laboring against the stony soil. And after, he eats.
Duril and another servant, Nita, come upon Nevare as he eats, and after some conference, Nevare goes off to wash. The next morning finds him at work as an undertaker again, burying his mother and brother and sister as best he can, acknowledging the ending that has come upon him.
To address the chapter-length issue: the present chapter, in the edition of the novel I’m rereading, runs 20 pages in length, approximately 2.74% of the novel. In that, it duplicates the previous chapter, and if it is the case that that chapter ends a narrative arc, then beginning a new one in much the same mode seems to work well, as repetition suggests patterns. Or perhaps it is the case that the repetition, coupled with the final line of the chapter–“And that was how my old life ended forever” (202)–indicates the close of a narrative arc, something like playing a single strain again before the stinger in a march. I do still need to do more with matters of chapter-length to see if there’s some there there, admittedly.
Also, for indexing purposes, the following: Bellock, Bread, Burvelle Landing, Cecile Burvelle, Croaker bird, Dewara, Dr. Reynolds, Elisi Burvelle, Franner’s Bend, Graves, Keft Burvelle, Nevare Burvelle, Nita, Orandula, Plague, Pomegranate, Poronte, Rosse Burvelle, Selethe Burvelle, Sergeant Erib Duril, Speck, Spond tree, Tulip, Varnian, Warfare, Widevale, Yaril Burvelle. It is a remarkably short list, but that seems fitting to the intensely personal-to-Nevare focus of the chapter and its events.
Once again, Hobb repeats chapters, this time from Shaman’s Crossing‘s 23rd chapter. As ever, one thing that suggests itself to a critical reading (and I do harbor some pretense that my rereadings are in at least some ways critical) is reading the chapters against one another. The present case offers a pronounced contrast to the previous; while Nevare is again surrounded by the plague and its effects, and several characters for whom he cares again die from it, and he suffers, he does not suffer the plague, itself. At one level, this mimics Nevare’s increasingly outsider status; he is separated out from his family by his family, and that separation works at least partly to his benefit, suggesting (if backhandedly) that he very much should leave his background behind.
Again,* however, rereading the chapter and its depictions of pandemic illness in the wake of COVID-19 lends…things to the rereading. Given the work I was doing at the time,** I was not subjected to the prolonged isolation that typified the experience of the pandemic for many, but I was in contact with many who were thus subjected and whose situations were not improved by such confinement. And I can easily, if again affectively, imagine that there were some who, requiring care and losing access to their caretakers, or otherwise dependent upon others no longer able to attend to them, suffered such privations as Nevare experiences in the chapter–and without the benefit of magic that allows subsistence if at the cost of sloth. I do not have to imagine the rapid onset of symptoms, however, or the suddenness of deaths, remembering reports and testimonies of the same, nor yet do I have to imagine the panic caused by them, having felt it, myself.
As a side-note, I know I have not been finding as much to say about recent chapters as about earlier ones in the series. The fault lies with me and not with the text. There is more to be unpacked than I seem at the moment to be able to do…but that is why I have so many scholarly somedays to address already; I can hope there will be time to come back around, and I have to leave something for future projects to do…
