A Robin Hobb Rereading Series, Entry 486: Assassin’s Fate, Chapter 27

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


Following a letter regarding the Kendry and the challenges recently besetting the ship’s crew, “Feather to Blade” begins with Bee, imprisoned, regarding the passage of time in her cell and considering her situation. After lamps are lit, Prilkop speaks to her of dreams, particularly prophetic ones, and relates ominous portents. Wolf-Father rebukes her self-pity as her mind turns towards Fitz, and Bee suddenly realizes Symphe stands outside her cell door.

Such a thing to harden…
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Bee regards Symphe as the latter undoes the locks holding her captive. Symphe offers candy as if Bee is a foolish child, and Bee, urged by Wolf-Father, follows her amid Prilkop’s jeering. Bee is taken to a chamber Wolf-Father recognizes as smelling of blood, in which Dwalia and Vindeliar await. Symphe confers with them about what will be done with and to Bee, and Bee acts in her own defense. A brief melee ensues, with Symphe being burned, her throat slashed, and Bee coming into contact with a vial of serpent spit that Symphe had purloined. Its power adds to her inborn Skill, and she revels in it, accepting the proclamation that she is the feared and foretold Destroyer and killing Dwalia with a word.

Bee returns to her cell to await a better chance for escape. Prilkop recognizes what has happened, and Bee weeps for what she has had to become.

The present chapter is not the first mention of the Destroyer, although I would appear to have failed to mark mention of the figure previously. Said figure is mentioned as an imminent threat to Clerres and the society that centers on it, the coming of which is foretold in an increasing number of recent prophetic dreams. Its approach is certain, especially given the Servants’ hubristic belief in their own correctness; the irony, recognized in the present chapter, that the Servants have brought their Destroyer into their stronghold themselves is delicious in no small part because it does proceed directly from that hubris. Bee points out (540-41), rightly, that she had a life from which she had been torn that would have kept her from Clerres save for the Servants’ need to control every possible bloodline of White Prophet and every possible outcome that could be foretold. Had the Servants been content to leave well enough alone, they would not have invited their own unmaking–but they could not, being as they were and are.

That is, of course, the point of all of it. The Servants, by relying so heavily on prophetic foreknowledge to guide themselves, inevitably place themselves into the position of making their prophecies come true. By not only accepting foretelling, but actively working to enact and guide it, they subject themselves to it, and by exerting the kind of ruthless control over it that they seem to have for generations if not far longer, they have made themselves unable to conceive of their own actions as being potentially in error. They are trapped by the very thing that they have used to accumulate power.

There are political comments to be found therein, I’m sure.

To pivot: the idea of the Destroyer as a figure of imminent menace is hardly new to Hobb, of course. I grew up and again live in the Texas Hill Country, where there were and are an awful lot of people who claim to be convinced that the End Times are a-comin’, and soon; it’s the kind of thing that lends towards apocalyptic figures. It’s not the only one, either; it’s an archetype for a reason. While Hobb does have a tendency to play with tropes and archetypes, this one seems to be pretty straightforward. At least at this point…

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Yet Another Rumination on Martin Luther King, Jr., Day

As might be expected after more than a decade of writing in this webspace, I’ve commented a few times before on today’s observance in the US. (I probably ought to have done so more times than I did, to be honest.) Still a federal holiday dedicated to the legacy of Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., the observance still implies that the United States is still working towards the realization of the ideals he espoused. It is still the case that I am not the person best-positioned to comment about any of it, even though I do feel some obligation to mark the observance. And it is still the case that I–and many others, but I have no say over their actions, only mine–have not done enough to make things better.

Yep.
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That there is still much to do should be clear. Whether or not there is an “enough” is less so; I tend to think there is not, since it will be “enough” only when all is right, and I doubt I will live to see such a thing, if it ever comes to pass. (I’ve known a few people who would make the case that my living to see it necessarily means it hasn’t come. I’ve mellowed out in my old age, but I’ve not always been the mild and pleasant person I now am; there’ve been people as have professed their hatred of me to me, in voice and in writing. I really ought to have kept some of the latter.) But that’s my viewpoint, not all of which emerges from reason; others’ results may well vary.

What there is to do, for me and for others, is relatively clear, even if present circumstances make its achievement difficult. I know that, given what I have to do on the small scale at which I operate, doing more would be a challenge; I would have to let go of things I want to hold to open my hands such that I could do the work that needs doing (and the verse suggests itself to me: I would have to / Let go of things / I want to hold to / Open my hands / Such that I could / Do the work that needs doing; I don’t know why it does, now.) Doing so would doubtlessly lessen my already-little effectiveness at doing what needs doing on larger scales; how much, I probably overestimate.

I try not to overestimate myself. Though I do well the things I do well, I know that there are others who do more things better than I (and others who are seen to do so, whether rightly or not). To think that I, alone, might accomplish something substantial in such line as King sought is…excessive. Even he did not, being one among many who did such labor. I am not so much a one as he, as I note; what I can do, I do, knowing it is little and not enough.

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Something that Struck Me This Morning

I wrapped my hands around it
Broke the seal
And saw the ascending pile
Flattened where the lid had pushed it down
Slumping flaccidly into the jar
And was excited for a moment
Seeing something I had not before

Close enough.
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It was only a moment
A short burst of joy spurting out
Before the sudden disgust
That that is all it takes to excite me so

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Maybe This Will Help

I‘m sure I’ve not made a secret of having a daughter. I’m sure I’ve not made a secret of her involvement in a number of community organizations, of which one is the Girl Scouts. For her troop, today marks the beginning of cookie sales; she’s sold one case already (because I like the Peanut Butter Patties more than is good for me), but she could stand to sell more of them.

You know you want them.
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In lieu of my normal stuff, I’ll urge folks in areas that have Girl Scouts to find their local or area troops and buy some cookies (or just make donations; that’ll work, too). For those who don’t, be on the lookout for online advertisements; online ordering is available, and delivery can easily be arranged.

(I’ll note, too, that Girl Scout Troops in the United States count as charitable organizations, possibly as listed under Councils. There are tax implications for donations; consult a tax advisor for details.)

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Hymn against the Stupid God 242

Too long still I and others stood; no word
We might have uttered, yelled, or screamed was heard–
And not alone by those who are inured
To violent force, by its commission kept
From joining those who have too often wept
And who still weep. Events have overleapt
Their telling. Who can see to speak or write
Such words as lessen Stupid God’s delight
Before new evil jumps into its sight
And all’s who live where it holds growing sway?
The hues of vapor’d sodium each day
Shine brighter; colors faster fade away
Into a sickened monochrome facade
That limns the shambling dance of Stupid God.

It’s probably more apt than most will want to admit.
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Whether in metered rhyme, able alliteration, or some other form, the poem you need is one I can write; get yours going today!

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A Robin Hobb Rereading Series, Entry 485: Assassin’s Fate, Chapter 26

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

There is discussion of cannibalism in the present chapter.


After a brief excerpt from Tom Badgerlock’s journals, “Silver Secrets” begins with Fitz joining the others from the Six Duchies aboard the Paragon in mourning the death of Chade Fallstar. There is some disagreement about the amount of hair that should be shorn from Fitz’s head, and he muses on his not having done so at Burrich’s death, as well as on the length of his association with the old man. Report arrives that the Paragon has reached the vicinity of Clerres, and Fitz considers the tasks awaiting him and the dangers to Bee that can be found among them. Plans for how to proceed are voiced, and Fitz confers with Brashen and Althea.

Something perhaps like this?
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In the wake of the conference, Amber proposes a plan for infiltrating Clerres. Having none better, Fitz reluctantly accedes to it. Argument briefly emerges about Fitz’s retention of the Silver given him by Rapskal, but it soon fades against continued exposition of plans to retrieve Bee and enact revenge against Clerres. Fitz excuses himself from the planning for a time and finds himself conferring with the liveship about his death.

Afterward, Fitz observes as the liveship relates experiences in Clerres, and he makes his preparations as the ship approaches within sight of the city. He and the Fool confer, the Fool relating some regrets and some of the circumstances of his imprisonment in Clerres with Prilkop. They range to extreme depredation on the part of the Four and the Fool’s unwitting participation in the same. Fitz offers such comfort as he can and urges him to preserve Bee at all costs.

Discussion is interrupted by Spark arriving with water for tea. The Fool contributes herbs to brew, and Fitz is eased by them and the memories they spur, leaving Spark and Fool as they fall into sleep.

To deal with the big issue: the presentation of evil in the present chapter, the discussion of the Fool being induced towards cannibalism while imprisoned in Clerres, seems to me to be another instantiation of the almost cartoonish we-need-the-capital-letter-Evil at work in some of the later Realm of the Elderlings works. I discuss it previously here and as linked, and I find I’m not sure of the effect of the particular ponerology at present. Given the other descriptions of Clerres and its inhabitants in the novels, the motion towards cannibalism is, if unexpected on an initial reading, not out of place even in one. After all, Clerres is filled with Bad People, and cannibalism is, at least for the presumed primary readership of the Realm of the Elderlings corpus, a Bad Thing; Bad People tend to do Bad Things–and to try to get others to do them, too.

But that’s where the confusion is for me. What does Clerres gain from the Fool eating the flesh and blood of those who attempt to help him? He is already their captive, and he has demonstrated that, despite both cozening and torture, he will not turn to their ends; is it mere amusement for them in Clerres that they act so? Is it simply a demonstration of just how Evil (and, again the capital letter seems needed) they are?

As I think on it some more, the thought occurs that it might be a back-handed anti-Messianic image. That is, the Fool is constrained or impelled to drink the blood and eat the flesh of those who are sacrificed for their support of him, something of an inversion of Christian Communion and one deepened by the fact of their failure. That he is yet imprisoned when he partakes is an indication that their sacrifices have not availed. Clerres is highlighted as being yet more Evil to Hobb’s presumed primary readership–a high-selling author in the United States can be presumed to be writing to a predominantly United-States-based audience, and that country says an awful lot about its putative Christian underpinnings; if Clerres inverts what is perhaps the principal ritual of a religion, it is being figured as antithetical thereto, thus more emphatically Evil…and I think I may have to rework a paper once again.

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About Today

Today is not the first time I’ve posted on this calendar date–9 January–in this webspace; a couple of years ago, I posted something of a hopping piece at this time of year, after all. Nor yet is it the only time I’ll have marked what is, for me, the significance of the day; that, I’ve done at least thrice in this webspace. The last of those is probably the most relevant, being the one that most directly addresses what I would mention now: today marks sixteen years I’ve been a married man, and all of them to the same most excellent woman.

It was a very good cake. I don’t remember who took the photo, however.

It was a cold day in the Texas Hill Country, I remember, a reminder that winter touches even the limestone stage where Aestas enjoys long residence. But it was a good day, one of the best that I’ve had, and one that made all of the better days that followed possible. (I think I may be forgiven some sentimentality about the matter, especially since the statement is accurate; I have only gotten to where I am because I have had the support of my most excellent wife, and there have been times when the fact of our public solemnization of our relationship has maintained it.)

Someday, perhaps, I will write here a fuller account of the day. For now, it will be enough to say: Happy Anniversary, my beloved, and I hope for many more anniversaries with you!

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You Know, I Did Do Something Last Weekend

Although it is the case as I write this that tax season has started in the US, and my day-job has commensurately stepped up, that’s a relatively recent development. Prior to that, the holidays made their demands; I volunteer with a number of non-profit groups in the town where I live, including Lights Spectacular Hill Country Style (for which donations are most welcome), and working with those groups took up a lot of my time in late November and December. It was good to do it, and I will be pleased to do it again, but it was a lot of doing.

A fair bit of this kind of thing went on, yes.
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After the New Year, however, the non-profit work more or less wrapped up (for a bit; things are starting back up again soon enough). My attention shifted to something I’d not done in a while: performing publicly as a saxophonist. That I have done such things has not been a secret; I write a fair bit about having been a bandsman, having played as an alumnus of a high school band program, and my continued engagement with music programs, after all. Still, I’d not played in public in a bit, most of my work being just puttering around on an inherited bari in my office, maybe playing alongside my tubist daughter as she practiced up for one thing or another, and it’s a different thing to be on stage in front of people than it is to be in the background helping others along.

On 3 January 2026, I had the privilege of joining the Symphony of the Hills in my hometown of Kerrville, Texas, performing in a saxophone quartet supporting the group’s pops concert. How I got involved is something of a random event; I had posted news about some upcoming work, and an old friend of the family saw it and reached out. Said friend is someone I’ve known since I was around my daughter’s age, someone who’d been band-mates with my father and great uncle and who had tutored me (on flute, in the event) when I still entertained the idea that I would grow up to be a band director. I’d gotten along well with him through my teens and early twenties, but being away from the Hill Country during my mid-twenties and into my thirties, the connection that had been in place…attenuated.

It’s not uncommon, of course; people move, people lose touch, even in a time of easy social media connectivity. What is uncommon is that, decades later, a post about an entirely unrelated topic will prompt a job offer. What’s perhaps more uncommon is that the person accepting that offer will practice up for a few weeks–first on etudes, then for around a week on the actual performance materials–and break the proverbial rust from his fingers to be welcomed as a peer not only among the other saxophonists, but also among the ensemble, more generally. All of that happened, though, and, yes, everybody clapped. (It was an orchestra concert; it’s what happens. And it was reported upon.)

All of this is to say that I enjoyed getting to play with the groups, both the sax quartet and the broader orchestra. I hope to be able to do so again, and to play in other performances. It was good for me to pick up my horn again and practice up, and I mean to maintain the discipline of doing so; I enjoy playing, and I know from experience and observation that winding a horn is a good way to keep the lungs healthy. (It also sets a good example for my daughter, who herself has a performance coming up as I write this.) Even if I don’t manage to get in front of other people again (although I think I might well), it’s good to engage in arts, to do more than simply passively consume what is shoveled out from the hind-ends of slop-makers, and there needs to be more good in the world.

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A Robin Hobb Rereading Series, Entry 484: Assassin’s Fate, Chapter 25

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


A proposal for exploiting prophetic foreknowledge precedes “Bribes,” which opens with Bee waking to breakfast in her imprisonment. Disoriented, she takes a moment to collect herself and asks for wash-water, only to be denied. Prilkop explains, and the Four enter, described once again as Capra takes Bee from her cell. Bee follows her past cells and into the stronghold of Clerres, coming to a room where Bee is instructed to bathe.

Strange things can be daunting…
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Bee does as bidden, assessing her physical state. As she dresses, she keeps with her a candle Molly had made, about which Capra asks her; at the questioning, Bee sees possibilities emerge, but she is soon obliged to follow Capra again through more of the stronghold. As they proceed, Capra explains what they pass by, noting a core library of texts and how they are used in Clerres to effect.

The pair continue on, and Bee begins to formulate a plan for how she will go on. Capra lays out possibilities for Bee to consider, and she takes her to dine privately. Bee puts forward her best possible presentation while concealing as much of her deeper self as she can, deflecting questions about deeper truths. Coached along by Wolf-Father, Bee has some success in it, partly by divulging information that belied Dwalia‘s earlier comments. The success is only partial, however, and she soon finds herself being recorded in detail.

Bee considers the scribe brought in to attend upon her, Nopet, and begins to make her report. In doing so, she gives more detail than she intends, and Wolf-Father continues to coach her. But it proves well for her that she does, because her accounts are confirmed by other sources, and as the Four begin to argue, Capra takes Bee back to her imprisonment next to Prilkop. Capra ubpraids the other three again, and Bee is left confined to consider what will happen next.

The present chapter, in Capra questioning Bee at the table about Fitz and the Fool, offers a reminder about the Six Duchies’ predilection towards emblematic names, something long asserted in the Realm of the Elderlings novels. (Indeed, the opening prefatory materials that begin the whole corpus make mention of it; readers learn the practice before they learn the narrator’s name in the text.) Originally an issue of royal and noble names, the practice seems to spread beyond those confines; one example is Perseverance, who does seem to keep going when he probably ought not to do so, and Spark/Ash presents another, paired, example of the same. (I am suddenly put in mind of something of a backhanded chain of jokes as regards Spark; her presence seems to kindle Lant[ern? I know it’s not, but it’s close enough for the evocation], much as he had been infatuated with Shine and fairly glowed in her company before the revelation of their close kinship. I motion towards the latter in earlier comments, but the former only now occurs to me, I think. It’s probably not a mark in my favor, although it is something that bespeaks the value of rereadings; more details emerge each time, deepening understanding and appreciation–at least for me.)

The present chapter also speaks to what I’ve noted is a recurring theme in Hobb’s work: the primacy of writing. As I’ve commented before, it’s not a surprise that a writer would espouse such themes; making money from writing requires that people believe in the value of writing, after all. I find, however, that in the present-of-this-writing, there is a connection between the accumulated knowledge of untold but implied-to-be vast time-spans of prophecies (and the subsequent reports that bear out their correctness) and the information economy that was certainly in place as the novel was composed and initially released. Again, the novel dates to 2017; social media, with its information-harvesting and predictive algorithms targeted at the acquisition of money, was already very much in place. The idea of reading Clerres as a fantasy take on science-fiction dystopiæ tantalizes, suggesting itself as yet another scholarly someday worth investigating.

I seem to continue to collect such things. I hope to be able to address at least some of them.

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After the Start of 2026

With the new year but just begun,
I find already I must run,
For work already makes demands
Of my poor heart and poorer hands,
And what I would, I may not do
Because I must yet carry through
Some deeds for dollars. Still, I yearn
For things to take their rightwise turn.

Not quite a portrait of the artist at work…
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