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A brief excerpt from Bee’s dream journals precedes “Trader Akriel.” The chapter opens with Bee dickering with a merchant aboard the ship where she has been captive. Bee offers to indenture herself to the merchant, her situation rehearsed, and the merchant lays out some of her own situation before agreeing to take her on.

The agreement made, Bee assesses her situation again, and she is taken by the merchant, the Trader Akriel, to her own quarters. There, Bee is given instructions and follows them, although not entirely to Akriel’s liking, and the pair begin to settle into a routine. Bee takes the opportunity to learn about her putative owner, and Akriel tests certain of Bee’s skills in order to market her better.

At length, Akriel takes Bee ashore in the port of Sewelsby. There, as Bee notes her surroundings, she takes lodgings and goes about her business, leaving Bee to see to her comfort. Bee accomplishes this, and she makes to greet Akriel upon her return, only to find her ensorcelled by Vindeliar and preceding him, Kerf, and Dwalia. A brief fracas ensues, leaving Akriel dead and Bee recaptured.

Bee wakes to find herself chained and dragged by Dwalia and Vindeliar, who have left Kerf behind as they continue to flee. She begins to offer resistance but is dissuaded therefrom decisively, and she reluctantly accompanies Dwalia as they depart.

The present chapter recalls to me my assertions regarding Bingtown mirroring the early United States; this piece fairly encapsulates them. Akriel calls to mind figures I recall being discussed without irony, “kindly” slavers who were “nice” to the humans they held as chattel and were “dispossessed” in the wake of the Emancipation Proclamation and the 13th Amendment. From that perspective, it is a challenge to read her sympathetically, to feel even as much pity for her death as Bee reports. And for those who might contend that Bee made to indenture herself, for one, she is yet a child, and for another, she is in such exigent circumstances as do not admit of truly free choice–and I have to think there is a parallel there to the also-unironically-discussed indentured servitude of Irish populations in early US history, as well. But I’d have to do some more reading to be as certain of that as I’d like to be to discuss it at any greater length.

So much said, it remains the case that Dwalia is far worse an evil than Akriel represents, with the clear and continued implication that those she serves are yet more evil for accepting and encouraging that service in the manner of its delivery. Akriel is foul, certainly, for trading in human lives without regret, but the rapaciousness with which Dwalia proceeds, coupled with what is attested by the Fool and others about the conduct of the Servants…I suppose I also need to look further into ponerology, which though continues to provide morbid amusement for me even after Halloween has happened. And I think that the Realm of the Elderlings novels could well sustain an extended inquiry in that line; there is enough treatment of evil in a variety of forms and degrees that there would be much to say, I think, although, again, I’d need more background to address it well. Despite the regard in which I’ve been told I’m held more than once, I’m not so good at evil as to have that work ready to hand.

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After a somewhat extended commentary from the Servant Symphe regarding the Fool, “Paragon‘s Bargain” begins with Fitz trying to fill his days aboard the liveship with useful tasks, only to find himself wracked with regrets regarding Bee. Fitz does learn some details about the Rain Wild river and how the liveship operates upon it, and the patterns of his days aboard and of his company’s are related.

An evening comes that interrupts the regular pattern, with Brashen and Althea requiring Fitz to dine with them. They explain their concerns about the Paragon‘s behavior on the trip to him, relating some of the ship’s history and expressing unease at the increasing association between the liveship and Amber. Their talk together is interrupted by upset from the liveship, the visage of which has transformed to something more draconic. The Fool as Amber had administered Silver to the liveship, which surges with power and unrealized desires. Fitz realizes the truth of the ship’s words about its draconic nature, and he and others begin to be overwhelmed by the latent power in the dragons that make up Paragon.

A brief fracas ensues, after which conference is undertaken about events. The Fool as Amber explains the reasoning behind the events; the Paragon has been to Clerres and can return there, willingly in exchange for the opportunity to drink enough Silver to become the dragons that should have been. Brashen and Althea recognize that they will be professionally undone by such an event, contracts they had made broken by the preemption of their vessel and work, and the Fool asserts that Bee yet lives, so that the haste for Clerres becomes important. Fitz is obliged to reveal more of himself and his daughter than he would have done, to his cold anger, and he finds himself confronting the liveship again, if briefly.

Returning to his cabin, Fitz finds that the Silver he had been given remains intact, and he returns to Brashen, Althea, and Amber. More difficult discussion follows, and Fitz is convinced, at last, that his daughter yet lives.

The present chapter makes use of the deus ex machina trope, and pointedly. It’s not the first time the Realm of the Elderlings novels have engaged in it–examples present themselves here, here, and here, among others–and it’s not necessarily a bad thing that it happens, as I’ve noted elsewhere. I am somewhat struck by it in the present chapter, however, because it appears to contradict earlier in-milieu assertions, and without enough cause to excuse it. That the Silver the Fool-as-Amber administers would have powerful effects upon the Paragon is to be expected; the substance is repeatedly asserted to be singularly potent, and the wizardwood of which the liveship is made is itself more than moderately magically active. That it would have transformative effects is not beyond expectation, either; it is noted earlier in the Realm of the Elderlings works that the dragons were themselves enhanced by access to it, that enhancement doing much to explain their possessiveness regarding it.

The notion that it could restore to life creatures long dead from their reshaped and incomplete cocoons–because that is what wizardwood is, and it surpasses expectation that every scrap of both cocoons made into the Paragon is present within the vessel–is, to my reading, too much, however. I find myself wondering if the bargain that has been struck is an authorial oversight or a lie on the part of the Fool-as-Amber. In the former case, it would be an unfortunate lapse, one that diminishes the quality of otherwise excellent work. In the latter case, it would seem to be a substantial deviation of character behavior, and while that might be explicable as a result of urgency, it is still strange to consider against more than a dozen novels that don’t exactly lack for urgency in their events; it still comes off as a weak point in the writing, which is always sad to see.

I’ve spent a lot of time reading Hobb’s writing. I’ve spent a lot of money to get to do so. I point both of these out as support for the idea that I am fond of Hobb’s work; I return to it again and again for reason. I do not make comments against it because I dislike it; I make the comments that I do because, despite my overall enjoyment of and appreciation for the work, there are places where it does not do as well as others, and it would be dishonest of me to ignore them.

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This is another chapter that discusses sexual assault and torture.

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After an excerpt from Bee’s dream journals, “Full Sails” begins with a return to Bee as she remains Dwalia’s captive. She assesses her situation aboard ship and her confinement, noting overheard conversations and plotting to escape Dwalia and her company. Part of the plot involves accommodating Vindeliar, who reveals more of Clerres’s organization and beliefs. Bee almost exposes herself to his magics in a moment of inattentive compassion, but she masters herself and learns more of the limitations of his abilities.

As Bee considers further what she has learned and overhears yet more, some news of the Pirate Isles and what faces merchants traveling through them, Vindeliar makes to join her. Bee presses the man for more information, and he reluctantly admits that the Unexpected Son is a potential threat to Clerres. Vindeliar comes to believe Bee is using the information to change things unacceptably, however, and soon has Kerf restrain her, taking her below. In confinement, she challenges Dwalia again, only for Dwalia to relate what she did do the Fool and what awaits Bee in Clerres.

The ship on which Bee travels as Dwalia’s captive, beset by weather, pitches, knocking Vindeliar unconscious. Bee attempts to suborn Kerf and attacks Dwalia. Vindeliar regains consciousness, however, and resumes control of Kerf, who removes Bee from Dwalia. In the ensuing fracas, Bee escapes into the bowels of the ship.

The present chapter is helpful in laying out more of the structure of Clerres. The detail that the Servant in the north tower passes down a name is of interest–although it must be noted that the character providing the information, Vindeliar, is not wholly reliable as a narrator. The novels in which he appears make clear that his perceptions and understandings are sharply limited and curated, so it is not necessarily the case that what he says can be taken entirely at face value, even aside from Vindeliar being Bee’s direct captor, whose words should not be trusted for that reason alone.

I am reminded as I reread the chapter of the idea of the butterfly effect. It’s a common enough concept that I don’t think I need to elucidate it here, but, as I have looked back over the bits of this rereading, I find that I have not noted it earlier, and I really ought to have done so. The Fool, as memory serves, remarks at many points throughout the Realm of the Elderlings novels that small changes end up making big differences; a metaphor used at one point (where, exactly, escapes me at the moment; there are many conversations between Fitz and the Fool) is a small rock put in the path of a wheel that forces the wheel’s path to shift (with admitted unpleasantness for the rock). That is, the Fool makes much of small changes exerting ongoing effects–the butterfly effect, in brief.

There’s enough related imagery in the novels to further the reading, of course. There is, for one example, Bee’s whispered verse to Fitz in “My Own Voice” in Fool’s Assassin, and there’s Nettle’s handling of Tintaglia at the end of Golden Fool; both associate Fitz’s daughters with butterflies, their wings making storms happen far away and later on. The life-cycles of the dragons are strangely mimetic of butterflies (and, admittedly, other insects), and I recall that the Fool seems to employ such imagery from time to time. I’ll admit that I wasn’t reading for such details and that I probably ought to have been…but I doubt this is the last time I’ll work through the Realm of the Elderlings novels, so I may well return to it again.

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Following some commentary by a Bingtown Trader about the origins of the liveships, “The Liveship Paragon” begins with Fitz considering his own image on the figurehead of the eponymous vessel. The Fool as Amber claims to be able to explain, something about which Fitz expresses doubt before returning to his contemplation of Trehaug as he approaches it aboard Tarman. The liveship barge docks alongside what had been the Ludlucks’ ship, and Amber, the Paragon, and the ship’s crew exchange greetings.

As the Paragon makes to take Fitz and his company aboard, Fitz examines the figurehead closely, his magics taking in the liveship and his thoughts returning to his journey to the Out Islands with Thick. Perseverance finds himself rapidly integrated into the ship’s company as Fitz and his other companions are taken into conference with Brashen and Althea, with whom introductions are made. After a brief talk, in which Spark is easily accommodated, Althea is called away by ship’s business, leaving Brashen to give something of a tour of the vessel to his passengers. Fitz learns some of the crew’s background and histories, including some of the tensions ensnaring the Vestrit family, and he finds himself uncomfortably the focus of the ship’s attention.

Afterward, Fitz returns to conference with Althea and Brashen, and more of the liveship’s history is rehearsed to him. He accepts rebuke for his carelessness, and he confides in the Fool his increasing propensity towards error. The Fool offers some comfort, but Fitz continues to berate himself for his perceived follies. The Fool, however, accepts the finality of their quest together.

There is more to say about chronology in the present chapter. The Paragon asks Amber “Where have you been for the last twenty-odd years?” (214), a reasonable question that offers a useful but inexact report of the time that passed between the end of the Liveship novels and the present chapter. The question of Fitz’s age emerges again, as well (229), giving some explicitly inexact indication of how many years have passed (note this and this). There is some use in having a general sense of time, of course; there is also some use to the author in keeping things general. Fandom can be…difficult…as I’ve noted in passing. (I’m minded of Jeffrey Ford’s “The Fantasy Writer’s Assistant,” as well; it’s a good read, worth the time.) Pegging down exact dates for events in the main narrative invites readers to look for places where they do not line up, and even if verisimilitude would suggest that keeping track of specific dates is not always doable, such misalignments are hooks upon which complaints can be hung easily. Avoiding them reduces some negative commentary by denying the opportunity for it to arise.

The actions of the liveship Paragon in the present chapter also bring to mind some of the earlier work I’ve done, looking (in perhaps less detail than deserves to be done, but there’s only so much that fits into a conference paper) at sites of memory in the Elderlings corpus. I make the argument, among others, that the liveships themselves function as ongoing memorials, but in a particularly fraught fashion. The Paragon, given the circumstances of the ship’s construction and the treatment of the last Ludluck crew aboard (for information about which, see the Liveship Traders novels, my rereading of which begins here), is even more fraught than the rest of the liveships, and the fact that decades do not seem to have eased the ship’s being may have uncomfortable implications. (I had the sudden thought of comparing the liveships, generally, and the Paragon in particular, to the creature in Frankenstein. If someone’s beaten me to it, please let me know.)

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A lengthy passage relating one of Bee’s dreams precedes “Passage,” which begins with Bee delighting in Dwalia’s seasickness after her recapture from incarceration. Bee notes her own earlier problems, as well as her explorations of the ship on which they travel. Bee also observes closely and notes her own shifting goals.

How Dwalia’s company, more generally, fares is noted amid Bee’s gloss of shipboard life, and she notes that Vindeliar takes particular care to keep Kerf docile. Bee reaches out with her magics to see the extent of Vindeliar’s work and gently plies him for information. He surprises her with evidence of his own machinations, but he also relates information to her about his own prophetic dreaming–and others’, which notes the fulcrum for the world that is the Unexpected Son.

Vindeliar composes himself for sleep, and Bee ruminates on what she has learned. Considering it, however, leads her to a dark conclusion from which she realizes only she can extricate herself.

As I reread the present chapter, I am put strongly in mind of Magnifico Giganticus–and not the one from the television series (I don’t have that particular streaming service, thanks). I’ve made explicit reference to Asimov’s psychohistory once or twice in the course of rereading Hobb, and I continue to think that the Realm of the Elderlings novels do make some use of what might be termed psychohistorical concepts–although, as with the Tolkienian tradition, Hobb moves somewhat aside from the Asimovian while retaining enough of its features to be considered conversant with it. (I’d be interested in seeing if others have already done explicatory work in this regard; please let me know in the comments below if there’s something I need to put into the Fedwren Project about it.)

Here, the dreams of the White Prophets are…vague, probabilities only. They may or may not come to pass, coming down to inflection points that Asimov refers to as Seldon Crises and that the Prophets term…less concretely. Here, one of the perceived inflection points–the Unexpected Son–can disrupt or maintain the whole structure of future prophecy. This, to me, (partially) echoes the Mule, whose gangling and surprisingly athletic frame (a description that applies to the Fool and, to a lesser extent, Bee) conceals a powerful mind that can directly manipulate the emotions of others (which seems something that the Skill and similar powers such as Vindeliar’s can do, and Bee is Skilled).

It’s not an exact parallel, I’ll allow. The Mule is something of an anomaly; Bee and the other Whites are rare outside eugenicist programs, but they are not anomalous. They are also not sterile as the Mule purports to be. And the inflection point that Bee represents is anticipated, while the Mule is distinctly not; the Mule is an object lesson in the need to verify assumptions, while Bee is, to my reading, more. But even with the variances, there is a case to be made that Hobb does borrow from Asimov in this (as in a few other things; I’ve long commented on at least one).

(And, yes, there may be some Herbert in there, too. I’ve mentioned it before. It seems I have more and more that I can do…)

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Following a brief note on torturous punishment from one of the Four at Clerres, “Bee’s Book” begins with Fitz adapting to the Tarman and the liveship’s strange resonance with his magics. Despite concerns, he determines to Skill to the Six Duchies and reviews preparations for doing so with the Fool, whose condition he considers. When he reaches out into the magic, he finds Chade waiting for him, seemingly striving to immerse himself within the Skill, and Fitz thrusts the old man into the waiting presences of Nettle and Dutiful. Leaving only a message that he will send word by mundane means, he returns to himself, rattled, and his condition startles the Fool. The two confer uneasily for a time, and the Fool, adopting the persona of Amber, departs.

After, Fitz and the Fool quarrel over Bee’s journals, Fitz wanting to keep something of his daughter to himself, as well as his shame at not being more present for her early on. But he relents and discloses Bee’s dreams to the Fool, and the pair bemoan her loss.

Fitz notes difficulty sleeping aboard the Tarman, contrasting the experience to sleeping alongside Nighteyes years before as he marks the continued passage down the Rain Wild River. One morning, Spark confers with Fitz about her part in his quarrel with the Fool. Fitz finds his anger at her dying away, and the conversation ends in an awkward quiet.

Later, the Tarman reaches a settlement on the Rain Wild, the setting described. Rain Wild architecture is explained to Fitz. Some of the social tensions at work along the Rain Wild River are noted, as are entanglements surrounding Althea, Brashen, and the Paragon. Fitz finds himself again desiring and unable to send his companions away.

At length, the Tarman pulls into Trehaug, and the liveship’s crew begins to bid farewell to Fitz and his companions. The city is described as Fitz encounters it, and he sights the waiting liveship Paragon. Seeing his own face upon it, he starts, and the Fool as Amber notes that all can be explained.

The present chapter, glossing travel that in earlier volumes takes many chapters to enact, serves principally to relocate Fitz and his companions to a more “useful” location. The travel is not the important thing in itself; what the travel allows is. One thing it allows is a suggestion not only of the passage of time among the various components of the Realm of the Elderlings series, but also of the progress and development of various areas within it. While the seemingly swifter passage from Kelsingra to Cassarick and thence to Trehaug is doubtlessly partly a result of going downstream rather than up, more of it is likely to be greater familiarity with the waterways involved, which is something that can only come about with repeated round trips between the settlements over time. Too, the noted population density suggests that Rain Wild society is growing and prospering, and even the noted tensions between Cassarick and other settlements along the river are suggestive; the people on the river have the luxury of being at odds with one another. All of this suggests, at least to my reading, that the Rain Wilds are doing better than they previously had, and as I reflect on it, I wonder if I can tie so much back to the parallels to the early United States I’ve identified as being at work in the Liveship Traders and Rain Wilds novels. I suppose it adds another to my sprawling collection of scholarly somedays.

On the topic of tensions surrounding Cassarick: I appreciate seeing that they are, in fact, in place. It is too much to expect that so loose a polity as the Traders seem to have would be united in the absence of an overt outside threat (perhaps another parallel to the early United States under the Articles of Confederation applies); it is entirely fitting that the various city-states, even if having commonalities of culture, would find themselves at odds with one another from time to time. From its early introduction, Cassarick is not exactly the nicest of places, and some of its leadership does present itself as unacceptably predatory and aligned with adverse interests, so it makes sense, too, that it would find itself under some opprobrium. There’s not a nice, neat “and they all lived happily ever after” here; we see the after, and it’s not entirely happy, although there is happiness to be found in it. It’s a good bit of verisimilitude in a series that, despite being clearly fantasy, makes much of such things.

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Following commentary from Chade regarding the degradation of Skill knowledge in the Six Duchies, “The Tarman” opens with Fitz and his companions watching the titular liveship arrive. Fitz contrasts the arrival of the vessel with his experience of the docks at Buckkeep as the situation is described, and the Fool as Amber lays out some of the liveship’s nature and history.

The Tarman ties off, and Fitz and his companions are greeted by Leftrin and Alise. Introductions are made, and Fitz finds the liveship registering to his magics, and Fitz finds himself the subject of the ship’s own inquiry. Leftrin notes the oddity of the event and guides Fitz to commune with the ship. The Tarman, in turn, recognizes Fitz as claimed by a dragon, Verity. Fitz accepts the claim, and the liveship agrees to bear him downstream. So much noted, Leftrin shows Fitz about the ship and lays out the schedule that must be followed for the plans that have been made to be enacted.

The next day sees preparations made for departure and gifts given to Fitz and his companions. Fitz learns something of the liveships and compares them to his experience of stone dragons, and he sits amiably with several of his companions, Leftrin, and Alise as they begin downstream. Soon enough, as the trip downriver commences, Fitz’s companions find themselves engaged with the crew, and Fitz takes comfort in the relative boredom of the trip. He also learns from the Fool more of Clerres and his youth there, including the efforts to convince him that he was not the White Prophet of the age and his introduction to Ilistore.

The effort of recall pushes the Fool to panic, and Fitz offers such comfort as he can, relating his own experience of desiring death and not desiring it. Given the possibilities they face, Fitz does agree to prepare something the Fool can use to die rather than suffer in Clerres again.

The downriver journey continues, the scenery described and contrasted with the terrain of the Six Duchies. Fitz begins to think of his home, and he and the Fool confer privately and ominously while the crew overnights ashore along the way.

The present chapter is not the first to carry the name of the eponymous liveship; that, I believe, happens back in Dragon Haven, here. As is ever the case with chapters titled the same or substantively similarly (here, the earlier chapter lacks the article that the present chapter has), there is a temptation to read them against each other, to see how the one foreshadows the other or the other references the one. As is often the case with me, such things have to be left to some scholarly someday; I write what I can when I can, and that doesn’t often or always allow me as much time to do the writing or the kind of writing that I would like to do. But if it is the case that someone else does such work and beats me to it, I’d love to see it; I’ve got places to refer to it and other writing that I can do in response, and I’m always glad to have more to say about the Realm of the Elderlings novels.

The present chapter also offers a useful indication of the chronology at work in the Realm of the Elderlngs novels, Leftrin noting “we’ve had close to a score of years” to improve the Tarman‘s passenger quarters since the vents of the Rain Wilds novels. I’ve not done the work (yet?) to slot matters together more firmly, although I know Hobb makes enough mention of other events–Fitz’s estimated age, the time needed for Dutiful and Elliania to have children who grow to adulthood as defined in the milieu, and the the like–to allow for at least a rough reckoning. I know, too, that there’s not an exact calendar necessarily at work throughout the texts, no parallel to Appendices B and D of Lord of the Rings. It’s not so much a surprise, really; I’ve said once or twice before that Hobb moves away from the Tolkienian fantasy tradition, so one more way in which she does so is not to be wondered at.

I think also that the present chapter does somewhat to reaffirm the setting-divergence from which I make the argument about Hobb’s divergence from the Tolkienian fantasy tradition. If nothing else, there’s a lot of physical description of the Rain Wild River and its course that repeats what appears in earlier series, so it reinforces the claims I make about those earlier novels and their functions. I’d have to (re-)re-read the earlier works to be sure, admittedly, but I have some cause to do so. Not all of my scholarly efforts are consigned to unknown somedays; some of them actually have deadlines and set dates, and while I can’t necessarily discuss them at length beforehand, I do have a tendency to put here what I deliver first elsewhere. I’ll doubtlessly do so again.

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Following another excerpt from Bee’s dream journals, “Tintaglia” begins with Reyn calling on Fitz and the Fool in their chambers to note the arrival of the Tarman. Details of the liveship’s berthing are reported, and Reyn excuses himself. Afterwards, the Fool rebukes Fitz for having gotten him drunk and prepares to meet with Thymara as Amber.

Later, Fitz and Lant go out into Kelsingra, Fitz thinking to revisit the map-tower familiar to him, having lost the map Chade had given him in the bear attack. Their progress is interrupted by the reported arrival of Tintaglia, whom Fitz and Land discuss as they move to join the throng of those greeting her return. They see Reyn, Malta, and Phron greet the dragon, and they witness Tintaglia discover the changes that have been wrought in Phron, to her annoyance. Fitz answers her challenge, and he knows he faces death before the arrival of Heeby offers a distraction.

The dragons’ conference somewhat mollifies Tintaglia, who decides not to kill Fitz. Fitz presses for information, and it is revealed that Tintaglia also lacks knowledge of Clerres. She purposes to seek it after she is tended and issues directives to that effect, sending the Elderlings scrambling to fulfill them. Fitz, shaken, considers what he has learned and retires, Lant and the Fool tending him. They confer about events, and the Fool makes himself available to answer questions about Clerres that Fitz puts to him, laying out more of its structures and development. Prilkop’s experience in Clerres and the Fool’s are contrasted.

Over the next days, the Fool lays out more of his knowledge of Clerres to Fitz. Details of its physical layout emerge, as does more about its organization. The effort of recall exhausts the Fool, however.

Fitz sorts and considers what he learns from the Fool about their objective. He takes stock of his supplies and other resources, advised about the latter by Spark. Lant and Perseverance include themselves into Fitz’s planning, and the Fool seemingly cannot refuse a bitter joke.

The present chapter reads to me, at least partly, as an attempt to paper over some plot-holes introduced not long before. The antagonism between the Servants and the dragons does seem like something that other dragons than Heeby would remember, yet even Tintaglia, who did not suffer the over-long time as a serpent that affected so many dragons so badly, does not have memory of it. (Icefyre could be expected to, as seems to be the case in the chapter.) Comments about dragons’ memories in the present chapter seem calculated to account for the gaps in knowledge, offering what seems a reasonably neat explanation of why such a thing hadn’t come up before. This is in a Watsonian sense; the Doylist is, of course, that Hobb is making it up as she goes along. It’s a work of fiction, though, so so much is to be expected; there’s really no other way to go about doing it. But I appreciate that such an effort is made.

Relatedly, I appreciate that the present chapter makes so many explicit references to earlier events. One of the things that I have tried to do throughout my rereading is point out where a text refers to its predecessors; it’s something of a habit from my days trying to be a scholar that I try to cite sources and trace ideas, even if it’s not something I necessarily do in a formal and rigorous way most of the time at this point in my life. (Witness this, for example.) Admittedly, the earlier parts of the Realm of the Elderlings novels cannot do as much of this as later parts; the simple fact of having more to refer to makes reference easier to carry out. But even later parts are not always good about such things. This is not itself bad; a new work does need to have new things to say and new ways to say them. Still, the idea of multiple novels and series working within a common milieu suggests that there ought, at times, to be acknowledgments of the common threads moving among them. That the present chapter makes such acknowledgments, and that it also attempts to address how the new ideas it contains can fit in with what has already been established and asserted, reads to me as a good thing.

It’s not the only thing that does, but it certainly does.

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Another brief excerpt from Bee’s dream journals precedes “Beggar.” The chapter begins with Bee considering her isolation in Chalced as she continues to hide from Dwalia and her company. Wolf-Father continues to advise her as she reconnoiters her surroundings and assesses her own condition, but the advice he can give is limited by geography.

As the area stirs to daily life, Bee reflects on what she knows of Chalcedean events, including the overthrow of the previous rulership. Bee plots to present herself as a mute beggar and sets about securing funds and food. There is some success at that task, and Bee finds some comfort briefly before recalling her encounter with the Fool and its ending.

Bee rests, waking late and retreating to where she had previously reconnoitered. She takes stock of her situation and moves to address it, sleeping again to wake in tears in the night. To Wolf-Father’s comments, Bee responds angrily, and the next day sees her venture out into Chalced for food once again. Danger presents itself to her, and Bee observes the work of other beggars and thieves in the local market. At Wolf-Father’s insistence, she rejects an offer of seeming kindness made to her, and she withdraws once again to where she had hidden before.

The following day, Bee ventures out again and is robbed of what few coins she has. Thus reduced, she seeks out a target for theft and makes an attempt at stealing bread to feed herself, securing a loaf but being apprehended for doing so. Bee is made to give some account for herself and is taken into custody awaiting sale as a slave to offset the damage her theft has caused. The captivity is not as bad as could be, as Bee is fed decently and not otherwise accosted, and she confers with Wolf-Father, who urges her to rest and heal as she can.

Bee wakes still in captivity and recovers somewhat. Another day passes with her imprisoned until Dwalia arrives to claim her. Bee realizes again the effect Vindeliar has on people and shuts herself against it, although at the cost of closing out Wolf-Father, as well.

There is some humor early in the chapter. The exchange between Bee and Wolf-Father–Bee’s “They have no forest” being met by Wolf-Father’s “This explains much about the Chalcedeans”–brought a chuckle to my lips as I read it again. There’s a long tradition of forests in fantasy literature, of course, and while the woods often offer danger, the danger they offer is of an easily understood sort; the lack of it is a separation from “the normal,” of regard for and connection to life and the natural world, which does speak to the caricature of evil that Chalced has been presented as being. That’s not the humor, though; the joke is in the flatness of the response, the assignment of so much wrong to such a simple thing. The juxtaposition jars, and the jarring prompts laughter, easing acceptance of the idea–which is one of the things humor is apt to do.

On the topic of Chalcedean evil, the present chapter does seem to indicate that some reforms are underway, although the country cannot be called “good” even in the wake of Chassim’s accession. Slavery still remains an accepted practice, and kidnapping seems still to be prevalent. But it is at least not the case that Bee faces assault while awaiting sale, as other volumes in the Realm of the Elderlings corpus make clear is a likelihood, or that she finds herself possibly the next meal for the rulers of the area. Chalced remains evil under Chassim, but it is less evil than it had been under Andronicus, and there is something that resembles hope for its further development even in the changes already clear from the text.

If Chalced’s evil might be mitigated (although, again, not erased; it is still a bad place), that of Dwalia is assuredly not so. She continues to resort to outright domination, via Vindeliar (who cannot be said to be in full possession of his faculties despite his power, and I am put in mind of parallels to Thick; there might be something in reading the characters against one another), as well as selling off others in her company to secure her own convenience. To be certain, even the “good guys” in the Realm of the Elderlings will use their powers to relieve others of their free will; the Skilling Verity does against the Red-Ship raiders offers no few examples, and Fitz himself is not always or even necessarily kind with his powers. (What Nettle does can only be dimly guessed at, even if her king has a distaste for disreputable methods; what an interquel such things might present!) I find myself asking if Dwalia is more evil only in that she demands another do such work for her…but that I am obliged to ask such questions only deepens my engagement with the text and the corpus of which it is part, and that is something that speaks well of them to me.

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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 brief excerpt from Prilkop’s writings, “Revelations” begins with Fitz recuperating slowly from his exertions in the Skill. Residents of Kelsingra continue to ply him for healing that he dares not open himself to perform, and Amber joins Fitz in his chambers for brandy one evening, resuming the identity of the Fool when the pair are in private. They confer about Fitz’s unwillingness to resume Skilling while in Kelsingra, surrounded by the memory stone, and Fitz guides conversation toward the Fool’s experience of Clerres. Prilkop’s ancientry is noted along the way, as are tendencies of Kelsingrans and Rain Wilders to become lost in the memories that are stored in the stones of the Elderling cities. Parallels are drawn to August and Verity Farseer, and the pair discuss the Fool’s resumption of being marked by Skill.

With some guild, Fitz steers conversation back towards Clerres, and the Fool reminisces about his upbringing and his introduction to Clerres. Details of the island and its inhabitants are provided, and some information about the prophecies that led the Fool to Buckkeep emerges. More details of Clerres are evoked, although to the Fool’s pain, and Fitz learns the Pale Woman’s name, Ilistore. He also learns of how the Fool and Prilkop were treated and won over when they returned to Clerres at length, with the Fool remarking on how he had managed to conceal Fitz even amid his accounts to the Servants. Fitz’s fraught presence in prophecy receives more attention, and the Fool somewhat drunkenly opines on the strangeness of being cared for by Farseers. Still sodden, the Fool tucks up against a willing Fitz who watches as he falls asleep.

The present chapter is not the first in the Realm of the Elderlings novels to bear the title “Revelations.” Indeed, it’s one of the more common, if not the most common, chapter-title Hobb uses; it appears in Assassin’s Apprentice, Golden Fool, and Dragon Haven. Had I the time at the moment to read the four chapters against one another, I think it would prove of interest; I’m not sure there’s any presentation or independent publication potential in such a work, but that hardly stops me from doing much or any of what I do to dabble in literary criticism and interpretation anymore. Time constraints, however, do, so I will add this to the towering pile of scholarly somedays that has grown up as I have worked through my rereading. I really do have a lot to do, and far less time to do it in than I might prefer…but that’s true of all of us, I think.

As might be expected from a chapter titled “Revelations,” there is much exposition in the present chapter. Details of Clerres are welcome, even if they reinforce what seems to me still to be a simplistic ponerological stance as regards the place and its people. More nuanced, perhaps, is the treatment of Prilkop in the present chapter. I believe I’ve commented before about Hobb’s tendency to have characters who are pushed into positions of subservience and opprobrium be marked, to have color and tincture added to them; Jamaillian and Chalcedean enslavement practices come to mind as examples, and I’m sure that skimming my records would point out more. (Another scholarly someday is indexing all of this stuff, which will be a project on its own, to be sure.) Here, Prilkop is a counter-example, the eldest of his people and the most successful in his goals being denoted specifically by his darker skin. It is a neat inversion of the fantasy commonplace of whitening with greater achievement (eg Gandalf’s transformation from the Grey to the White), and I’m sure there’s some reading thereof that will annoy no few people with its putative wokeness. There’s yet another scholarly someday to plumb therein (and if someone’s already done it, I’d love to know).

I seem to collect more and more of them. Ah, to have time for them all!

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