Read the previous entry in the series here.
Read the next entry in the series here.

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A missive from Kerig to Erek “unofficially” noting the latter’s impending elevation to Master status precedes “Chalced,” which opens with Reyn borne aloft by Tintaglia again and considering the differences between the earlier experience and the present one. The dragons’ progress in anger towards Chalced is described, and the changes that have continued to overtake Rapskal are noted. The relative dispositions of the keepers and the dragons are attested, as well, with tensions emerging. Reyn also notes the differences between the mores that have grown up among the keepers and those with which he still holds, considering how they will affect him and his family. Talk of the coming battle is held, as well, as is talk of Thymara.

In Chalced, Chassim wakes Selden, bidding him rise and eat. The two talk together fatalistically, planning their mutual exits. Their discussion is interrupted by the sound of horns in the city.

The dragons approach Chalced in haste, preparing their attack. Plans that had been made are related, along with the discussions that surrounded them. Messengers go out, noticed but unchased, and the attack commences.

Sedric, riding Relpda, urges the dragon to caution, only to be mocked for it. The dragons project fear onto their oncoming victims as they approach.

Selden and Chassim continue to eat and confer, and Chassim begins to notice the tumult in the city below. They watch the oncoming attack, and Selden recognizes the approach of death. Chassim joins the recognition, and the two, believing themselves condemned, kiss among the spreading ruin. Seeing the dragons’ intent, Selden calls out to Tintaglia again.

Reyn watches sickly as the attack continues and flesh melts against dragon venom. He marvels at the dragons’ precision for a time until Tintaglia turns beneath him and races to an unknown target.

Selden sings Tintaglia’s praises as she comes for him, and both he and Chassim are lifted away from the ruin of Chalced. Reyn rejoices in the recovery of his brother-in-law, and Chassim introduces herself to him.

As befits a chapter focused on an instance of combat–slaughter, really–the present chapter is fragmented and disjointed, shifting with increasing speed among its focal points as the dragons fall upon and lay waste to the fortress of Chalced. While it does make the narrative harder to follow–at least for me as I reread the chapter at this point, probably more tired than I ought to be to do such a thing–it also works toward the ultimate unutterability of a fight. Others, unfortunately more learned than I in the matter, might well be able to say more, but from the experience I have had in fights, I can attest to the ways in which conscious memory fails to fully encompass any physical contest, and words do not suffice to the task of making real what happens to those who are not there for it. Given the fiction that dragons are, readers must look for parallels in their own world, of which there are far too many and far too readily applied to populations that do not deserve it. And perhaps that is the greatest fiction at work in the present chapter, that the onrushing forces work so diligently to contain the damage they do, even if only out of self-interest, as the dragons themselves comment in their approach to Chalced.

The exchanges between Selden and Chassim in the present chapter sit strangely with me as I reread the chapter. It is not the fatalism both display, to be sure; both of them have reason, as the chapter begins and continues, to expect that they do not have much time left living, and Chassim certainly has reason to expect that, if life continues, it will not be a good thing for her. Rather, it is the sudden motion towards what seems to be romance between them as the dragons make their attack. I know that the imminence of death does strange things to people; so much is amply attested. And it is not necessarily the case that a kiss is romantic, although it is overwhelmingly coded as such in the dominant social paradigms in which Hobb writes and, presumably, the majority of her audience reads. (Indeed, I believe I’ve remarked upon Hobb’s more or less explicit use of such coding, and not only in the Rain Wilds novels. Others have, as well.) Still, the specific reaction seems a bit odd to me; I can’t necessarily pin down why, but then, this is not a formal paper that requires I do so. Nor is it necessarily a bad thing; even for things for which I am very much part of the expected primary audience (and after having written and published on Hobb’s work even before the novel hit print, I think I solidly established myself as part of that audience), it is too much to ask that all parts of such things cater to my specific interests.

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