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Following a somewhat threatening message from Kim to Hest’s father, “Final Chances” begins with the Chalcedeans pursuing Tintaglia continue their search for her. Hest looks on as the search continues, considering his increasing precarity and the likely prospects of Selden and Alise. The Chalcedeans espy a group of dragons come in search of Tintaglia and make ready to attack, and Hest assesses the likely outcome grimly.

The progress of the dragons and Rapskal along their search for Tintaglia is detailed. Sintara regards Rapskal with some annoyance and suspicion and considers the relationship between human and dragon. The attack begins.

Hest reels as the Chalcedean vessels come under assault. The order to abandon the ships is given, and Hest happily heeds it, fleeing into the trees. He notes the effect of the dragons briefly as he does.

Sintara and the other dragons continue their assault, delighting in it. Sintara continues to regard Rapskal with suspicion as he steps forth to call the Chalcedeans to judgment.

Hest heeds the command and, after being questioned briefly, is taken into custody and servitude, to be transported to Kelsingra. Dargen refuses to be taken captive, attacking; he is summarily eaten for his troubles. Hest and most of the others do not repeat the error.

Elsewhere, Mercor finds a flagging Tintaglia and reports that she has been avenged upon her attackers. In her mind, Tintaglia reaches for Selden and thinks she perceives his response from afar.

In Kelsingra, the keepers note the absence of their dragons, and they confer about the events and about the changes overtaking Rapskal. Work to clear the well begins anew, proceeding decently.

Leftrin takes a turn at the work, noting the progress and the increasing efforts necessary to maintain it. When he takes a break from the work, he notes the status of Malta, Reyn, and Phron. Alise’s arrival disrupts his reverie, and she reports her failure to find aid for the Khupruses. Leftrin issues orders for Alise’s care and returns to the work.

At length, the assembled keepers and crew are able to raise a bucket of Silver. The behavior of the material is described as the assembled witness it. And with that success, Leftrin sends the group off to rest.

Tintaglia continues to fade, considering her looming death. One of the dragons, Kalo, presents her with food before returning to the hunt for himself. She eats, strengthening and in pain, and resumes her progress towards Kelsingra. Kalo’s odd behavior strikes her, but she accepts it.

There is a bit of interest for me in a comment made by the Chalcedeans early in the chapter: “Dragons! A flock of dragons!” (225). One of the more entertaining quirks of modern Englishes is the hold-over from centuries past–and, indeed, earlier Englishes–of collective nouns, such as “a murder of crows,” “a pride of lions,” or “a murmuration of starlings.” It’s a small bit of delight in what is, for many, a tedious study, and one that has provoked no few jokes, some of which Melissa Gronlund points out here. Dragons, though, don’t necessarily have a stable collective noun; they’re not real, after all, and many of those found in English-language literature prior to Tolkien are solitary things. Even in Tolkien, most dragons are presented in isolation from one another; Glaurung doesn’t have much company, nor yet does Smaug, and Scatha the Worm is not presented, to my recollection, as being part of a group. (The assault of Ancalagon the Black and the other winged dragons in the War of Wrath is a marked event, to be sure, but it is marked.)

Admittedly, there have been some authors who have addressed the issue. McCaffrey, as memory serves (it’s been a while since I read Pern), tends towards “weyr.” Yarros, recently popular as of this writing, tends toward “riot.” Paolini is pointed about calling his dragon-group a “thunder.” I am certain there are others; there are limits to what I have read, and I wonder what D&D uses at this point (I’ve yet to play in Fifth Edition). What the “appropriate” collective for dragons “should” be, then, is not entirely clear. I do think, however, that the term used is indicative; the Chalcedeans regarding it as a “flock,” linking dragons with birds, says something about them. I can easily imagine the people of the Six Duchies calling a group of dragons a garden, and the Elderlings that are emerging will likely stumble into other, more ornate, terms if and as they develop a new culture in and around Kelsingra.

I note, too, the many divisions of the present chapter, most of which are quite brief. (Each paragraph in the summary reflects such a division, a practice common to this rereading series.) I am aware that the commonplace for such chapter-divisions is that they are roughly contemporaneous unless otherwise specified; that is, the short sections shifting focus between two groups or among more are to be read as happening more or less at the same time, with successive sections focusing on one group proceeding in chronological order. (Again, unless otherwise specified; I’ve read enough to know that authors sometimes like to screw with in-milieu time as they present events, and that doesn’t even factor explicit time-travel into things.) It seems a strange thing to my eye that Hobb accelerates action in the present chapter in such a way; yes, there’s a lot going on, but the interleaving at work is somewhat marked. I’m not at all sure why.

Maybe I’ll figure it out as I continue to reread on.

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Following a reply from Jani to Keffria (the earlier message being here), “Dragon Warrior” begins with Hest continuing to languish as the Chalcedeans pursue Tintaglia, whom they assailed. Hest’s own condition and that of Tintaglia are detailed as pursuit continues.

For her own part, Tintaglia presses ahead, fuming at her pursuit and avowing that she will not be butchered as if livestock. She determines to assail her pursuers in the night, meaning to wreck them and flee with the eggs growing inside her.

Dargen has Hest escort him to the ship’s railing that he might relieve himself. As he does so, Hest spies Tintaglia, who attacks.

In Kelsingra, Rapskal and Thymara continue their explorations, joined by the rest of the expedition. Work to restore the well of Silver is in progress, that work detailed. Updates to the statuses of various keepers and crew of the Tarman are made. Spit gets a small taste of Silver while the work goes on, and the keepers note the change that comes upon him as he does, wondering what a greater, steady supply will do for the dragons. At length, enough of the well is cleared that the keepers can drop lights to check the level of Silver in the well, but the results are not promising. The dragons grow angry at the report, and Thymara, calling on embedded memories, explains more of the dragons’ need for the substance and Kelsingra’s rise to prominence among the Elderlings. Given the importance of the Silver, Reyn vows to find it for Phron.

In the wake of her assault on her Chalcedean pursuers, Tintaglia languishes. Further injuries beset her, and she calls out in what she believes will be her final battle.

In Kelsingra, Carson notes that the Silver may yet be accessible, and the keepers prepare to retire for the evening. As they do, however, Tintaglia’s call reaches them, and Malta calls for aid from the dragons and keepers about her. Rapskal begins to be overtaken by the memories of an ancient warrior, Tellator, and Thymara works to return him to himself as he makes ready to rush to Tintaglia’s aid.

The present chapter takes an interesting tack, I think, in presenting Hest’s increasing accommodation to his fallen status. And it is not that being a servant, as such, is demeaning; there is nobility in work of all sorts. The fall, rather, is that Hest is effectively enslaved, although he is not yet tattooed in accord with Chalcedean and Jamaillian practice, and he is adjusting to that status, even as he recognizes with some horror the changes occurring in him as he does so. Given the resonances between the Traders and the early United States, I find it hard not to see some proposed parallels at work, though I acknowledge I am not the person who ought to explicate them in any great detail.

I note, too, a return to descriptions echoing addiction in the attitudes the dragons, particularly Spit, voice towards the Silver. As a commonplace in the Realm of the Elderlings novels, addiction is something I’ve noted repeatedly throughout the rereading; I have to think it is among the most prevalent themes in the novels, and it seems the kind of thing that those more inclined to biographical criticism would want to pursue. (For my part, I know better than to look. HIPAA is in place for damned good reasons.) And, as I reread, I find myself in mind of the spice mélange from Arrakis in Dune and the following novels–itself addictive and enhancing; I am not at all up on literary scholarship treating Frank Herbert, so I cannot speak with any certainty to its own references, but I have to think that those at work in it are also at work with the Silver in Kelsingra, if at some remove.

Of more importance for the Realm of the Elderlings corpus is Mercor’s report of the powers associated with Silver for Elderlings–the strange features of Kelsingra, as well as the Skill-roads and the stone garden with which so much of the Farseer novels are concerned, and the Skill-pillars that feature prominently in the Tawny Man novels. Mercor’s remark on the peril of contact with Silver by humans is somewhat telling; Verity fairly bathes in it, and while he does meet his end, it is because of his quest rather than the direct effect of the Silver, itself. In effect, Hobb confirms in the present chapter that the Skill is itself a legacy of the Elderlings, something that puts me in mind of Tolkien (the “blood of Westernesse” notable in Denethor and Faramir but not in Boromir presents itself), although being put in such mind while reading Hobb is not a surprise.

(Another thought occurs, as well. The Silver, in its unadulterated form, offers power and mastery. Water that flows through it, however, becomes…problematic. The Earthblood that wells up under Melenkurion Skyweir in Donaldson’s Chronicles of Thomas Covenant novels seems antecedent. The source-studies implications of the present chapter are somewhat dizzying; I find myself once again longing for the time and resources to undertake such traceries. Perhaps another can work on such projects?)

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This chapter presents and discusses sexual assault.

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A brief formal commendation for Erek precedes “Silver,” which begins with Sedric and Carson conferring about a place to settle and how they should prepare for the coming times. Carson finds himself somewhat confused at Sedric’s desires for material comfort and appreciative of his lover’s appearance. As they walk Kelsingra together, Carson opens himself cautiously to the memories embedded in the stones, and he and Sedric recognize themselves as having entered an older part of the city. Exploring further, the pair find an open plaza that attracts the attentions of the dragons with which they are bonded, and they stumble upon the well of Silver that the dragons covet. The two arrive at some understanding of the importance of the site, and the dragons begin to join them.

Elsewhere in the city, Thymara starts awake from sleeping next to Tats. The two confer, touching on the need to fill the years of their expectedly lengthening lives and the issue of Rapskal, whose reliance on others’ memories is cited as becoming a problem. Tats reports the conversation in some detail, and considerations of the changes to social structures that extended lifetimes would necessitate are mentioned. The two grow increasingly comfortable together until they are summoned by their dragons to the well of Silver.

In Chalced, Selden wakes to hear Chassim‘s protests. He moves to investigate and finds her under assault by Eilik. Selden attempts unsuccessfully to intercede, and Eilik leaves him unconscious.

Later, Chassim shakes Selden awake, reporting her sexual assault and noting it as a recurring event for her. Selden reports his own experience of sexual assault, and Chassim offers only cold comfort. She turns their conversation to the changes Tintaglia has effected upon Selden, staying only briefly upon it before departing.

I‘ve noted before (here, for example) my impression that Hobb is borrowing from or working with the same tropes as Asimov at points in the Elderlings corpus. I think something similar is at work in the present chapter in the discussion between Thymara and Tats. When I was really introduced to Asimov’s writings more than thirty years ago–I remember being ten at the time, though I have dim recollections of my mother having a boxed set of the Foundation novels released just after the publication of Foundation’s Edge–it was by way of his Robot novels. Said novels make much of the Spacers, a subset of humanity that has achieved greatly extended lifespans due to medical and other technological advances and freedom from the prevalence of diseases on Earth. While Asimov does not necessarily delve deeply into the sociological implications of centuries-long lives, he does point out some changes among the Spacer worlds from how the more “normal” Earthpeople live, most notably in terms of sexual politics. (Yes, I am aware that it’s problematic. I’m also aware that I’m not up on the relevant scholarship–and I never really was; my focus was otherwise, for all my nerdiness.) The discussion between Thymara and Tats that comprises the second section of the chapter seems very much in that line; I don’t know that it’s enough to suggest explicit borrowing, but, given other factors at work in Hobb’s writing, I have to entertain the possibility–though I have to acknowledge, also, that it might simply be a matter of having been influenced by earlier reading or even a reasonable thinking-through of implications of the reality in which Hobb’s characters exist.

I’ve noted, too, the presentation of sexual assault in Hobb’s work. It’s to be expected, admittedly, given the prevalence of such acts in the readers’ world and in other works of fantasy literature. (Some revel in the presentation, as is readily seen.) Chassim’s frank discussion of it strikes me somewhat strangely, although I recognize that as being partly an artifact of my privilege. Selden’s confession of the same also strikes me, though differently, and I have to wonder what kind of internalized double standards remain at work in me that I perceive such a difference. I do note, though, that Hobb appears to give more space to Selden’s discussion than Chassim’s. There is doubtlessly something to find in that disparity, but, as I have noted, I am not up on the research I would need to be able to pull out any such thing.

I sometimes miss having ready access to reports of research. I more often miss having the time to spend familiarizing myself with those reports. Sometimes, though, I wonder if I am not better off now for not giving so much of myself to taking in those discussions as I used to do; there is no comfort in reading what others write about the many horrors of the world that have happened and that continue to happen, especially when the reader can do little or nothing to affect them.

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Following a relayed letter to Reyn and Malta from Wintrow, in which the unsuccessful search for Selden is reported, “Tintaglia’s Touch” opens with Malta unsuccessfully pleading with Mercor for aid for Phron. Mercor notes that kinship with Tintaglia would be required for him to be able to assist the boy, and he is not of her kin. Alise intercedes to pursue more information from Mercor, which her flattery is able to secure from the dragon. Some of the relationship between dragons and Elderlings is explicated, and some of Malta’s own background is related. Mercor reiterates a call for Silver, citing its necessity for the Elderling magic in Kelsingra to work, and Malta and Reyn retire to be with their son as his death approaches.

Elsewhere, Hest is brusquely woken by his Chalcedean assailant. The ship on which they both travel has spotted a sleeping blue dragon, and Hest is asked for how to kill it. He responds only haltingly and unhelpfully, and his captors plot how they will approach and attack the dragon. Hest is returned to confinement, and he considers his situation and possibilities.

Tintaglia wakes to find herself assailed. She defends herself with difficulty, her injuries and fatigue telling on her, and she retreats in anger, vowing vengeance upon the lot and calling for help from Kelsingra in little hope.

The present chapter notes the name of Hest’s long-time assailant, Lord Dargen; if memory serves, it is the first place to do so. I’ve remarked before, most recently here, on Hobb’s tendency to employ emblematic names; accordingly, I took a look at meanings associated with Dargen. Among others, it’s a town in Germany near its border with Poland and the Baltic. It’s also a reported surname, linked by various sources to heritages in the British Isles, and it shows up to a casual internet search as a treatment for anemia.

None of those seem particularly apt, though the same casual internet search suggests “d’argent” and “dragon” as likely “intended” searches (the “Did you mean X?” sort of thing that search engines return). The former seems an odd fit, although trade in silver certainly happens in the Elderlings milieu. The association with dragons is more appropriate, I think; certainly, Dargen’s conduct bespeaks the draconian (I do not ask for pardon for the pun) nature of his homeland and the evil traditionally associated with dragons in the dominant threads of English-language literature. If there is an emblem at work here, and there well may be, it is likely in that association; Dargen is like a dragon, although he is certainly not one.

I note something of a pattern of the futility of threat in the chapter, as well. Several characters find themselves desiring action against others and unable to accomplish it, and it seems spread across the peoples present–human, Elderling, and dragon. What is to be made of it, if anything, escapes me at the moment; it may well be a throwaway thing, although I tend to resist such an interpretation. Each word on each page is placed deliberately and agreed upon by author, editor, and publisher (among others), after all, so it’s more likely to be something, even a small thing, than nothing. Else, why spend the paper and ink?

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Following an extended report from Reyall to Detozi about the changing situation surrounding the bird-keepers and tightening security measures, “Passing Ships” begins with Hest considering his changed and deteriorated situation, put to hard use by his assailant. The assailant’s methods convince Hest that he has been only a dilettante, and he finds himself placed unhelpfully amid an ongoing Chalcedean conspiracy that takes him and a number of others upriver aboard one of the new “impervious” ships, but not the one pursuing the Tarman towards Kelsingra. Hest’s complicity is discovered, and other prisoners begin to rise against him, and he finds himself conscripted into servitude by the Chalcedeans aboard ship, realizing he is alone and abandoned.

As the voyage upstream continues, Hest continues to ruminate on his situation, his thoughts souring on Sedric. His reverie is broken by the approach of the ship that had pursued the Tarman, asking for aid in the wake of having been beset by the dragons outside Kelsingra. Hest is sent belowdecks to ponder what has befallen.

Elsewhere, Tintaglia flies again, her path away from Trehaug traced. She muses angrily on Chalced as she flies, though she is buoyed up by the realization that the dragons have reached Kelsingra. Amid her pain, she feeds, and she lapses unto an uneasy sleep.

Reading the chapter this time, I find myself of mixed feeling toward Hest. He remains largely unsympathetic, musing on what he had wrongly thought himself to be and raging at Sedric and Alise for what are, ultimately, his own actions. At the same time, as he is confronted with substantial physical violence, Hest’s compliance with the demands of his Chalcedean assailant is eminently understandable. Even so, though, he works toward the peril of his fellow Traders, something for which he is rightly rebuked…it’s hard to say that he didn’t have much of most of what happens to him coming, but it’s also hard to say that anyone, fictional or otherwise, deserves the kind of treatment he receives–and which all too many people in all too many parts of the world have endured and still endure, as must be recognized.

The problem I continue to have is with the ways in which Hest reinforces long-standing stereotypes about homosexual men. I can see an argument made that his mistreatment and the ongoing disfavorable presentation (for example, here) serve to comment upon the problems of the stereotype, that the way Hest is treated serves as a rebuke of the tropes he embodies, although I would note that Sedric is similarly presented early on (reference here, for example), and he finds at-least partial redemption. Such might mean that Hest serves as a counter-example to Sedric, and it is the case that Sedric is not alone among the homosexual men in the series in finding narrative valuation. So perhaps the message is that adherence to the tropes of dandyism is the problem, although that message presents its own difficulties, and I am not sufficiently skilled anymore to untangle them, if ever I was.

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A fairly lengthy message from Hest’s mother, Sealia, to him prefaces “City of Elderlings.” The chapter opens with Alise being disturbed from her investigations and recalling earlier interruptions with some annoyance. Alise recognizes her present disturber as Sylvie, who reports the return of the Tarman. Alise is briefed on recent events, and she takes some care with her appearance before deciding it does not matter. Alise also muses over changes among the keepers and dragons in the wake of the relocation to Kelsingra proper and the dragons’ ability to fly. Broader social changes and acceptance are also attested, and Alise finds herself happily racing to the approaching liveship.

Aboard the Tarman, Leftrin considers the dragons’ interest in his pursuit and regards the struggles his ship faces in coming in to the new dockfront, which is described. The liveship comes into the docks, greeted by keepers, anchored, and tied up. Leftrin gives orders for the ship’s unloading, and he confers with the vessel as those orders are carried out. The ship notes that Phron remains in peril, something that unsettles Leftrin, but he lets it be.

Alise assists Malta in finding quarters for herself and her family and in getting them settled in. The Elderling city swiftly begins to have an effect on Phron, upsetting Malta, and the women confer about changes and developments. Malta continues to settle in, and Alise explains both what is known about the city and her frustrations with how the keepers themselves are despoiling it. Malta also becomes aware of the presence of others’ memories around her, and Alise advises Malta that she and Reyn are already figures of veneration in Kelsingra.

Alise leaves Malta to rest, considering Phron as she goes, and she manages to extricate Reyn from where the keepers ply him with questions. She considers changes to herself as she heads towards the docks, observing the work going on there, and her mind turns for a time to the logistics of refounding the city. But she is greeted warmly by Leftrin when she reaches the Tarman, and Leftrin dismisses his crew so that he and Alise can confer and reconnect.

The present chapter does, I note with some pleasure, speak directly to the promise of refounding for those who had previously been excluded or marginalized. The scandal Alise reflects on that would attend in Bingtown upon same-sex romances that are commonplace in and around Kelsingra and the easy acceptance if not outright privileging of those “marked” by the Rain Wilds attract my eye, and I cannot help but think that there is something of a utopian motion going on with it. Not fully, of course; it’s not in line with Hobb’s usual style for there to be no problems, and Rapskal’s burgeoning militancy is noted in the present chapter, as well. But it is still present, I think, and it is a fairly conventional move to make in a fantasy series.

The question of power is one that the present chapter raises, as well. It is noted in the chapter that Malta and Reyn are regarded as being leaders among the Elderlings–which is sensible, since for some years, they and the absent Selden were the only acknowledged to be of that people. That they come from previously prominent and already-wealthy families is something of a complicating factor; while it is made clear from the Liveship Traders novels that they did much to improve upon themselves and seize the opportunities available to them, it is also clear that many of those opportunities only presented themselves because Reyn and Malta started out in good positions. It becomes something of an open question, then, how much change they would be willing to permit, were they installed as rulers; even if they are “merely” firsts among equals, their influence could be considerable, and they would likely incline to replicating the structures that have empowered them. It has been demonstrated, after all, that the Elderlings are humans and all too human; it would not be out of line with such depictions.

I am aware that I am once again writing about a work of fiction and its characters as if it is real life and they are real people. I am aware, once again, of the strangeness of doing so, especially given all that is happening in the real world at this and at any given time. But I am also aware that stories are told and continue to be told, whatever else is happening in the world wherein they are told. And I am aware that looking at stories offers some possible insight into the world. What is not may yet in some ways be, and there is some hope to be found in that.

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After a letter from Keffria Vestrit to Jani Khuprus in which the former notes apprehensions about her younger children and reports news from Wintrow, “City Dwellers”,” opens with Thymara musing on the relocation into Kelsingra proper from the settlements across the river from it. Details of the relocation are provided, and findings in the city that are put to use are described. Thymara notes changes in Sintara since the latter gained flight, and the two confer about their association and the changes still ongoing in Thymara. Talk turns to Silver, about which Sintara muses longingly, noting its flows and power and raging at Thymara that she cannot recall them.

Thymara recalls conversations with Alise that might be informative, and her thoughts turn to considerations of reestablishing settlement in Kelsingra itself. Tasks assigned and difficulties with other keepers, notably Tats and Rapskal, receive attention, as do factional divisions growing among them. Thymara adds what she is able to recall from the embedded memories in the city to their store of knowledge, which helps with planning for the future, and she muses on the implications of the memories she has gained. She ends up discussing as much with Tats, who insists in bringing Alise into the discussion, and they confer about how to proceed as they watch the work to restore the city go on. But their continued discussion is interrupted by dragons beginning to fight and Carson’s summons to address the same.

Elsewhere, Chassim confronts Selden, the latter of whom regards the former with questions about her hostility. Selden assesses his situation and asks Chassim for more details about it, learning of her parentage and the Duke of Chalced’s intentions towards him. Chassim’s own situation is explicated in some detail, and prospects for the both of them are poor, though they begin to reach an accord together.

The character of Chassim Kent, daughter of the Duke of Chalced, Andronicus Kent, calls for attention, despite how little she appears in the chapter. Her description echoes that of hijabi, and, with that description in place alongside long-standing descriptions of Chalced, I find myself put in mind of markedly unhelpful stereotypes at play in prevailing US cultural discourses antecedent to and contemporary with the publication and presumed composition of the text. I am not an expert on anti-Muslim prejudice, but it does seem to me that the linking of Muslim-coded things to an overtly, almost comically evil nation-state does smack of that kind of bias…and I am disappointed to see it. While there does need to be conflict in such a novel as Blood of Dragons–fantasy literature almost demands that there be some sort of international shenanigans–and much genre fiction benefits from clear antagonists, neither needs to reinforce real-world hatreds that were more than problematic at the time of publication and which have only gotten worse in light of recent execrable events at play. It’s a point against the novel, and a substantial one.

Once again, between the present chapter and some other reading I’ve been doing (you don’t think the novel is the only thing I’m reading, do you?), I come to the anticipated criticisms that “It’s just a novel,” that “It’s just a story,” that “It’s just make-believe,” and that “If you don’t like it, stop reading.” As to the first three, I have often in similar cases noted that the promulgation of material influences prevailing understandings of the world and therefore the actions taken in the world. That is, what gets put out into the world sets people up to think and believe those things and to act on them. The stories we take in help to shape who we are, just as the stories we tell show much of who we are; they matter for those reasons if for no others. (I do think there are others, clearly.) And as to the last of the four–I didn’t say I don’t like the novel as a whole. But liking a thing does not, or should not, mean blindness to its deficiencies.

I have fallen in some ways from my prime, partly because of increasing age, partly because of increasing distance from the kind of life of the mind for which I had trained, the loss of which I yet mourn. But I am not so fallen as to be incapable of seeing blemishes upon what I appreciate and still appreciating it. I did my dissertation on Malory; there is a lot in his work (and more in his life, so far as we know it) with which to find fault. I read Chaucer eagerly; the same is true for him as for Malory. I read Shakespeare, Milton, Asimov, Tolkien (yes, I’m a nerd); the same is true for each of them, as well. I have no doubt I could find similar issues in the other readings I do (again, there are many such). That I do does not mean I endorse all or even any of what they say, and it is perhaps a position of privilege that allows me to do such reading and not be harmed by it…clearly, I have more thinking to do on the matter.

I doubt I am the only one.

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Following a markedly acerbic message from Ronica Vestrit to the Cassarick bird-keeper, “Dragon Blood” begins with Ellik presenting the captive Selden to the Duke of Chalced, who comments dimly on Selden’s appearance. The situation of those present is described in detail, and Selden is abused once again before he identifies himself and what had been his intended purpose. Selden also lays out the betrayal that led him to his current situation, and he notes that he might well be ransomed. The Duke refuses, however, citing his seemingly draconic nature as a reason to keep him. Selden notes his heritage and is again abused. The Duke considers his options and the effects that having eaten of Selden had had upon him, and he determines to have Chassim tend to him. The Duke contemplates further, finding himself reasonably pleased.

Elsewhere, Tintaglia approaches Trehaug, happily anticipating being served by Malta, Reyn, and Selden. Arriving, she summons the three, occasioning panic among the Rain Wilders present. At length, Jani Khuprus addresses the dragon, confirming that Malta and Reyn are gone and resisting Tintaglia’s attempts at ensorcelling her. Others react poorly to the presence of the dragon in their midst, and, after some upset, Tintaglia is sent on towards Kelsingra, the location of which is known to her.

Aboard the Tarman, Leftrin eagerly anticipates arriving at Kelsingra as he and his crew and passengers approach it. Reyn starts at the sight of the outskirts, and the pair of them marvel to see so many dragons aloft as they do. Others aboard join them in the joy of the sight, and Leftrin is put ill at ease by the sudden interest of Spit in the liveship. He does consider, however, the pursuit that yet follows, and he watches with equanimity as the pursuing ship presumes to fire upon Spit. The dragons begin to harass the vessel before falling into a game of their own, and Lefrtin and Hennessey confer about the changes to them.

I find myself taken by Ronica’s message. I know biographical criticism is always problematic. I know, too, that affective reading is at least as problematic. I cannot help but be put in mind of a number of more experienced women I’ve known, however, and I cannot help but think that something of the author’s own annoyance at some delivery person or another bleeds over into the text. (Given the publication date of the novel, 2013, I find myself wondering if something like this was at work for Hobb as it had been for me.) Certainly, it rings of authentic experience to me, the lived real, and that is a helpful grounding in a book that makes much of flying, acid-spitting metamorphic reptiles and those they usefully and decoratively mutate for their own ends.

The cold conniving at work in Chalced also strikes me. Again, given the times involved in publication, I have to wonder if Hobb is responding in some ways to Martin and his swelling popularity, Game of Thrones being on screens and all. Admittedly, Hobb’s characters were prone to plotting ere ever Benioff and Weiss got going on the show (about which more here), with Shrewd, Chade, and Regal doing more than their shares of such in the Farseer novels, and none of it is particularly savory. Still, Shrewd and Chade at least presented themselves as acting in the interests of the realm rather than themselves, with Chade being somewhat belligerent on that score; reprehensible as no small part of what the elder Farseer half-brothers plotted was, it was not about them. And, reprehensible as no small part of what the elder Farseer half-brothers plotted was, it was not cannibalism.

Neither is the case with the Duke of Chalced. I believe I’ve commented on the almost cartoonish villainy in play with him, almost as if he joins Mumm-Ra in pleading directly with ancient spirits of evil. He is clearly The Bad Guy here, and he seems worse, somehow, than the Pale Woman of the Tawny Man novels; she, at least, had some vision to attempt to enact, and one not entirely unsympathetic, although the means used to attempt the ends are foul. The Duke, though, appears only to serve himself, and if a reader can feel pity for a person beset by age and illness, it is far harder to incline towards a slaver who will feast upon the flesh of the still-living.

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

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Following a charged clandestine message to Trader Finbok, “Taking the Leap” opens with Sedric and Carson urging their dragons along towards an old road. The dragons complain along the way, with Spit (the dragon Carson tends) taunting Relpda at some length. Carson is able to persuade Spit down, Sedric following more slowly, and to some merriment. Relpda, however, is incensed and startles all present by leaping into the air and flying unaided. Her performance inspires the other dragons, led by Spit, and the assembled keepers exult in seeing their dragons aloft as they ought always to have been. Sedric is initially afraid for Relpda as Spit pursues her, but Carson informs him that Spit but makes a mating attempt.

Elsewhere, Hest is surprised to find himself enjoying Cassarick. He is also able to ferret out a fair amount of gossip regarding the Tarman and Leftrin’s sudden departure. Satisfied that Redding has had enough time to accomplish his errands, Hest makes to return to his lodgings, only to find his assailant awaiting him. The assailant rebukes Hest for his deviation from orders and coldly informs him that Redding is dead, and he puts Hest to yet more grisly tasks as he lays out his own personal stakes in his errands.

I note with some interest the present chapter’s motion toward the urban / rural divide. Admittedly, in such societies as the Realm of the Elderlings novels present, there is less sharp a distinction between the two; the cities that are shown tend to be port cities of one sort or another and closely linked therefore to their agricultural and similar surroundings, rather than towering metropoles that can seemingly ignore the work of farmers and others in the surrounding lands. Jamaillia is perhaps the closest to a modern metropole yet shown, and even its overbuilt presence differs substantially from contemporary conceptions of what the city is or ought to be. Even so, in the early United States to which I see Bingtown and the Rain Wilds as most akin, there was a distinction between life in cities and that away from them, and not only in terms of access to information and materials (although certainly in them), and that distinction seems to be in place in the present chapter–if with something of a twist.

Like many, Hobb presents the rural as superior to the urban in the present chapter; Sedric’s city life is a hindrance to his understanding, here, while Carson’s rural expertise enables him to be more effective and insightful. So much is a commonplace. The twist comes in the variation on moralizing that often accompanies the presentation of the urban / rural divide and the privileging of the latter. In most cases, the rural is presented as morally purer than the urban, adhering more closely to “traditional” norms of civility and continence. (Yes, in real-life cases, this does tend to align with conservative ideologies in terms of “what ought to be,” and it is an ideal which many rural communities fail to attain, even if they do not openly discuss it outside themselves. It also tends to be racially coded, with non-dominant populations being ascribed “immoral” practices. That so much presents problems is hopefully obvious.) Yet here, it seems that the rural life Carson represents is more tolerant and accepting, if not outright celebratory, of relationships than is the urban life Sedric represents. In Bingtown, Sedric must conceal who he is; in the Rain Wilds, he is under no such obligation.

Does this mean Kelsingra is an incipient Utopia? Perhaps; I do not have More’s work in front of me to make the comparison. But it is a prospect, and I would love to see if someone else has done the reading to find out.

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