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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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Following an announcement from the Bird Keepers’ Guild that Kim has been stripped of authority and dismissed, with others possibly to follow, “Dragon Decisions” opens with Thymara considering the work and accoutrements necessary to handle Silver. Progress on Kelsingra in the absence of the dragons is related, and she, accompanied, makes trial of the Silver, and rediscoveries of lost techniques begin, but only barely begin.

Later, Malta muses on the departed dragons and keepers, considering Phron as she tends idle gardens. She and a keeper, Alum, confer, their talk turning to Trader life and the possibility of the creation of other Elderlings. Some of the events of the Liveship Traders novels are glossed, and Malta thinks wistfully on her family. She offers such counsel as she can to the younger keeper, and, gifted with seeds, makes a new start to the gardens.

Thymara repairs to the map room, considering it and the work that has been done on it. Tats joins her there, and the two confer, largely about Rapskal and their own relationship. They walk through Kelsingra, considering it further, and Thymara leads them to the quarters her memory-self, Amarinda, had had. There, she puts the memories to rest.

Approaching Cassarick, Alise and Leftrin confer, their progress downriver noted. Tillamon joins them and notes her plans. An upset among the Chalcedean captives is also related, and the Tarman ties up and begins to disgorge cargo and passengers. The Chalcedeans opt to choose their own deaths in the caustic water of the Rain Wild rather than face what will come, and the attack by dragons on Chalced is reported.

The end of the book is approaching, and along with it, the end of the Rain Wilds Chronicles. It makes sense, then, that Hobb would work in the present chapter to address a number of plot threads and work to bring them towards conclusion. The resolution of the trouble among the Bird Keepers noted in the opening missive is one such thing; the various reflections on relationships among the Kelsingrans and Traders offer other examples. Not all of the plot threads are addressed, of course, but there are yet pages in the text to treat, and it isn’t the case in any event that all plot threads have to be tied off. Indeed, a more verisimilitudinous novel will deliberately leave matters unfinished, as it is rare in real life that matters are completed, let alone completed neatly–and even a less “realistic” one may well leave space from which sequels can emerge, especially when it is itself such a sequel.

I do appreciate the motion in the earlier sections of the chapter towards the idea of work to be done. It is often the case in fantasy fiction, not least in cases where old realms are restored, that the work of that restoration is glossed over, if it is mentioned at all. Consider Lord of the Rings, where the work of rebuilding the Shire is passed over in fits and starts (and the hobbits from whose work the book is “translated” would, as they are described in prefatory materials, likely be at least as concerned with the rebuilding as they would have been with the quest that preceded it), and the restoration of Gondor is relegated to appendices whose composer lamented them. Hobb admittedly has the leisure of more time in the Realm of the Elderlings than many authors; there are years between series that take place in the same areas of the milieu, but it is also clear that things are not hand-waved as restored to their full former status even in those years. In the present chapter, the slow work of manipulating Silver and the bare beginnings of gardens under Malta’s care both point to the efforts to be expended, and not all in one burst.

I have to note, too, the resignation of the Chalcedean prisoners at the end of the chapter. The parallels to historical events should be clear. The reminder that there is pain and misery at the foundation of things is one that needs making; there are certainly enough people who try to forget it again and again…

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Read the previous entry in the series here.
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A brief message from Erek and Detozi to Reyall notes upcoming action from the Bird Keepers’ Guild before “Icefyre” begins. As the chapter opens, the keepers in Kelsingra assess Icefyre, wary of him and noting his injuries. Debate about how to approach the elder dragon ensues, and Rapskal steps forward. Icefyre responds, reporting his situation; he calls upon the dragons of Kelsingra to aid him in exacting revenge. As many of the dragons move off to tend to Icefyre and hold counsel, Tintaglia notes acidly that Icefyre’s concern was absent when she was injured, and the keepers and Alise note that the revenge must be taken for the attacks. Chalced is identified as the likely culprit, and it is determined that the dragons will assail it. Preparations begin in haste.

The dragons’ conference is related, Sintara and Tintaglia assessing the males among the Kelsingra dragons. Methods and the lack of memory are noted, and concerns of unintended consequences are raised. The indignity of attack prevails, however, though talk of effects does not end.

Leftrin and Alise confer, Leftrin noting that the Tarman must sail for Cassarick to inform the Traders of the dragons’ intent and possible blowback from it. Alise assesses the rapid changes that have befallen, and memories of the attack of Chalced on Bingtown rise up around her. She determines to accompany Leftrin, and she voices her concern about Hest, only to learn that he is missing. The pair put the matter of Hest aside, and preparations for departure continue.

Thymara returns to her room to find Rapskal awaiting her, acting more out of his inherited memories than from himself. She refuses him, and the two part in anger.

The next morning, the dragons as Kelsingra mass to fly against Chalced. Thymara and Tats confer about proceedings, and the arrayed host is described as it makes ready. Not all are eager who will sally forth, and goodbyes are said as the dragons and their company begin to depart. Current statuses are noted, as well, and work on Kelsingra resumes.

The present chapter, near the end of the novel and of the tetralogy, has something of a rushed feeling to it, something I’ve noted about several of the Realm of the Elderlings novels in this rereading series, as well as about this novel in another place. I continue to be somewhat put off by it, although that may well be nothing more than a matter of my personal tastes at work; there is always a concern in offering critique about how much is merely individual preference and how much is broader assessment of literary craft. As it might well be argued that I have literary pretensions at best, I can understand that my own comments on such matters could well tolerate more than one of proverbial grain of salt. But then, there’re many folks who like a lot of salt in what they eat.

As I reread the chapter, particularly the passage in which the dragons and some of their keepers make ready to depart Kelsingra and do so, I found myself in mind of scenes from Peter Jackson’s Lord of the Rings movies, namely those in which the people of Rohan ready themselves at Helm’s Deep. The depiction of such of the keepers as Sylve seems to me reminiscent of that of the children of Rohan, plodding forward fearfully in armor too big for them–but it’s a common enough thing, not only in Tolkienian-tradition fantasy literature, that it might simply be dipping at the same well rather than filling a cup from a bucket already pulled up.

As I reread my review of the book, though, close to eleven years on, I note there’s been some consistency in my approach to the text across time. I’m not necessarily sure how to regard it; was I more or less right all that time ago, or have I stagnated in the more-than-a-decade since? I’m gratified that the gender- and queer-studies approaches I’d noted as being open have been followed up on–indeed, so far as I can tell, they’re among the dominant threads of scholarly work done on Hobb’s writing. (Translation studies has a lot to do with her work, as well.) It’s clear, then, that I got at least something right in my early assessment of the novel; I don’t know, though, and wouldn’t much hazard to guess if I was (or am) quite right in looking at antecedents / sourcing (among others, for reasons noted in the paragraph above). I think I was (and am), of course, or I’d not’ve written as I did (then or more recently), but I’d really like some outside confirmation…

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