We seem to have fallen behind on the re-read of TDTCB. I guess the first book suffers more than the others from being a set-up book. Those who have finished the Prince of Nothing trilogy might be tempted to skip certain parts, even though there are still important nuggets in here. Though it must be said, most have only a narrative bearing on the rest of the series, instead of a philosophical one.

Anyway, here goes.

=====

Kings never lie. They demand the world be mistaken.
—CONRIYAN PROVERB

 When we truly apprehend the Gods, the Nilnameshi sages say, we recognize  them not as kings but as thieves. This is among the wisest of blasphemies, for we always see the king who cheats us, never the thief.
—OLEKAROS, AVOWALS


Autumn, 4110 Year-of-the-Tusk, the Northern Jiüniati Steppe

Yursalka of the Utemot is woken up by a patting against the hide of his yaksh. Going outside, he realizes someone has been throwing parts of a child’s fingers against it.

Quote

“Murderer,” Yursalka said numbly. “Murderer!”
He heard steps slosh through the mud.
“I found your son wandering the Steppe,” the hated voice said. “So I’ve returned him to you.”
Something, a cabbage, hit him [Yursalka] in the chest.
…
“Who am I?” the blackness [Cnaiür] asked.
“Nnn-Cnaiür,” he gasped. “Man-killer … M-most v-violent of all men…”
A slap, open-handed as though he were a slave.
“No. I am your end. Before your eyes I will put your seed to the knife. I will quarter your carcass and feed it to the dogs. Your bones I will grind to dust and cast to the winds. I will strike down those who speak your name or the name of your fathers, until ‘Yursalka’ becomes as meaningless as infant babble. I will blot you out, hunt down your every trace! The track of your life has come to me, and it goes no further. I am your end, your utter obliteration!”

Cnaiür is not amused at being left for dead, even if it is for the honor of the Utemot. He exacts a terrible revenge on Yursalka and his family, and resumes his role as the chieftain of the Utemot.


Late Autumn, 4111 Year-of-the-Tusk, Momemn

This part of the chapter eight opens with the immediate effects of the Holy War on the Three Seas. All over people are getting worked up in fervor, and some take advantage of these circumstances to enrich themselves. Others go overboard in zealotry and eagerness to reach Shimeh. The biggest upheaval, however, is caused by the men of the Vulgar Holy War, who have decided to march against Maithanet’s orders. Maithanet not amused, but can’t do anything more than order Calmemumis, Tharshilka and Kumrezzer to return. They decide to ignore the Shriah, and cross into Fanim lands.

Back in Momemn Xerius is expecting a delegation from High Ainon. The Ainoni were a Ketyai people, old and mercantile (three for three like the Nansur), and civilized, despite their archaic devotion to their beards. Xerius hopes for better luck with the Ainoni than he had with the Thunyeri (under Prince Skayelt) and Tydonni (under Gothyelk “the bellicose Earl of Agansanor” – both these names will feature in further volumes), who reacted quite vehemently to Xerius  request they sign his Indenture. Old Gothyelk even kicked it down and called Xerius a “gelded heathen” or “depraved faggot”. This is a reflection by Conphas, who is summoned for the meeting by Skeaös.
Skeaös walks with Conphas. Since they have to walk a lot of stairs, Conphas amuses himself by trying to get the old man to have a heart-attack by increasing the tempo on the stairs. When it doesn’t seem to affect Skeaös, Conphas gets bored with the game.
While refusing to get winded, Skeaös informs Conphas about Eleäzaras, the Grandmaster of the Scarlet Spires (the de facto rulers of Hign Ainon): “Our agents in Carythusal say his formidable reputation scarcely does him justice. He was little more than a Subdidact when his teacher, Sasheoka, died of unknown causes some ten years ago. Within two years, he was Grandmaster of the greatest School in the Three Seas. That speaks of daunting intelligence and ability. You must—”
“And hunger,” Conphas interrupted. “No man achieves so much in so little time without hunger.”

Conphas and Skeaös banter a bit, until Conphas gets Skeaös to reveal that he is afraid for his soul because of the Ikurei’s tampering with the Holy War. Conphas is dumbstruck, but sees it as a plot between Skeaös and Istriya: he thinks that by setting Xerius and Conphas at odds, Istriya tries to save the Holy War from Xerius.

A few moments later, Eleäzaras and his lapdog (Chepheramunni, King-Regent and titular head of High Ainon) are brought before the emperor, Conphas, Cememketri (the head of the Imperial Saik, the School indentured to the emperor of Nansur) and Skeaös. Eleäzaras is disdainful of Cememketri, and focuses on Conphas, but Xerius wastes no time in getting back on top of things and asks Eleäzaras why they have joined the Holy War. The simple answer is that the Scarlet Spires were “purchased”, but Eleäzaras is unwilling to reveal more. He does, however, want something from Xerius. Xerius seems at a loss, but Eleäzaras and Conphas agree that power is at stake. Eleäzaras realizes that Xerius set the Vulgar Holy War up for failure, as a means of getting control of the real Holy War. Conphas realizes Xerius is unaware that Eleäzaras is playing him for a fool. Yet he has a warning for Xerius as well:
“As of yet,” he said coldly, “we don’t know the specifics of the game you play, Emperor. But let me assure you of this: if it involves the betrayal of the Holy War, it involves the betrayal of the Scarlet Spires. Do you know what this means? What it entails? If you betray us, Ikurei, then no one”—he glanced darkly at Cememketri—“not even your Imperial Saik, will be able to preserve you from our wrath. We are the Scarlet Spires, Emperor… Think on that.”

Yet Conphas is not fooled. He realizes that the Scarlet Spires have joined the Holy War in order to use it, the same as the Ikurei have. They have an older enmity with the Cishaurim, and mean to use the Holy War as a means of getting revenge on them. Yet he can’t help but wonder how much of this Maithanet realizes, and what game he might be playing.

In the end, a courier from Skauras arrives, bearing word of the utter destruction of the Vulgar Holy War at the Plains of Mengedda. Skauras mentions that the carcasses of their idolatrous kin are too many to be counted. He revels in the sacrifice of so many men to their political goals, a sacrifice only Gods would dare.

Just in case I don't manage to post about my reading today, thought I'd make the topic.

The Emperor...

Sorry all for the missed "week." I fly home wednesday and my life will return to some sort of normalcy, at least concerning my routine. In the future, considering the loose trend of posting as the re-read goes on, I encourage anyone to start the thread for new chapters at appropriate times, if something like my absence happens again.

Cheers.

I had some free time and I thought I would throw up a quick summary to keep the discussion going.

Quote

I have explained how Maithanet yoked the vast resources of the Thousand Temples to ensure the viability of the Holy War.  I have described, in outline, the first steps taken by the Emperor to bind the Holy War to his imperial ambitions.  I have attempted to reconstruct the initial reaction of the Cishaurim in Shimeh from their correspondence with the Padirajah in Nenciphon.  And I have even mentioned the hated Consult, of whom I can at long last speak without fear of ridicule.  I have spoken, in other words, almost exclusively of powerful factions and their impersonal ends.  What of vengeance?  What of hope?  Against the frame of competing nations and warring faiths, how did these small passions come to rule the Holy War?
Drusas Achamian, Compendium of the First Holy War

Quote

... though he consorts with man, woman, and child, though he lays with beasts and makes a mockery of his seed, never shall he be as licentious as the philospher, who lays with all things imaginable.
Inri Sejenus, Scholars, 36, 21, The Tractate

Early Spring, 4111 Year-of-the-Tusk, the Northern Jiünati Steppe

Cnaiür takes a journey to the burial ground of his fathers.  He finds a few dead men and a mountain of dead Sranc surrounding Kellhus who sits atop a barrow.  Cnaiür sees the resemblance to Moënghus, but Kellhus loses consciousness before he can be questioned.  Cnaiür realizes that they are atop his father's barrow.

Cnaiür's wives nurse Kellhus back to health.  His arrival has given Cnaiür the hope that he could lead him to Moënghus to gain revenge.  He has a flashback to Moënghus' arrival at the Utemont camp as a slave captured from the Sranc.  He recalls his slow seduction by Moënghus and how Moënghus opened his mind beyond the narrow ways of the Scylvendi.  Moënghus helps him become chieftain by killing his father, but when his mother gives birth to Moënghus' son and is killed by the other women in the tribe, Cnaiür realizes how much he had been used by the Dûnyain.  Though he is chieftain, he has earned the derision of his people, and he knows how poisoned the gift was.  He has longed for revenge since, and now it seems fate has delivered the means to achieve it.

Cnaiür cautiously approaches Kellhus to determine his mission.  He is astonished by the ease with which Kellhus analyzes his current situation.  Cnaiür says, "Perhaps I should think like a Sranc" and has him tortured.  That night, Cnaiür returns to him and Kellhus tells him his mission is to kill his father.

Kellhus and Cnaiür set out together.  Cnaiür remains as silent as possible, trying to protect himself.  Kellhus tells him why he must kill Moënghus, but Cnaiür does not believe him.  Kellhus realizes that Cnaiür is highly resistant to his power due to his knowledge of the Dûnyain.  He decides "Nothing deceived so well as the truth" and tells Cnaiür much about the Dûnyain and their power over non-Conditioned men.  Even this fails, and Kellhus realizes that Cnaiür cannot be controlled as other men and that he also is insane.

Even the hard-hearted avoid the heat of desperate men. For the bonfires of the weak crack the most stone.
- CONRIYAN PROVERB

So who were the heroes and the cravens of the Holy War? There are already songs enough to answer that question. Needless to say, the Holy War provided further violent proof of Ajencis’s old proverb, “Though all men be equally frail before the world, the differences between them are terrifying.”
- DRUSAS ACHAMIAN, COMPENDIUM OF THE FIRST HOLY WAR

Spring, 4111 Year-of-the-Tusk, the Central Jiünati Steppe

§13.1 - The Trial

“Never before had Cnaüir endured such a trial” (p395)

Cnaiur and Kellhus continue their journey across the Jiunati Steppe. They encounter few Scylvendi in traditional tribal lands.

“At first Cnaüir had dreaded the sight of galloping horsemen … In desperate times, Cnaüir knew, men rationed nothing so jealously as tolerance. They were more strict in their interpretation of custom and less forgiving of uncommon things … Soon Cnaüir found himself yearning for these encounters — for the escape they offered” (p396).

Cnaiur clearly is having issues travelling alone with Kellhus.

“On the ninth day of their journey, they awoke to woolen skies. It began to rain.”

Then Kellhus chooses to begin another notable conversation with Cnaiur. Mostly, it’s an infodump about religion and Empire.

“Tell me … about Shimeh” (p397).

“’It’s holy to the Inrithi … but possessed by the Fanim.’ He did not bother to raise his voice over the dreary roar: he knew the man would hear him.”

“He’d resolved to ration what he would and would not say about the Three Seas to the Dünyain. Who knew what weapons the man might fashion?”

Again, Cnaiur’s penetrating intelligence, though, of course, Kellhus must take his silence as omission, even if he can’t see his face.

“The Fanim … have made it their mission to destroy the Tusk in Sumna. They’ve warred for many years against the Empire. Shimeh is but one of many prizes.”

Cnaiur quickly recounts leading the Utemot at Zirkirta.

“The Dünyain nodded. ‘Your wives told me you were unconquered on the field of battle’ … He no longer responded to anything remotely intimate. Kellhus returned to his earlier tack. ‘You said the Fanim seek to destroy the Tusk. What is the Tusk?’”

“‘The first scripture of Men … There was a time, before the birth of Lokung, when even the People were bound by the Tusk.’

‘Your God was born?’

‘Yes. A long time ago. It was our God who laid waste to the northern lands and gave them to the Sranc’ … He could feel the Dünyain watching, scrutinizing his profile. What do you see?” (p398)

(click to show/hide)

Seeding of No-God descriptions and references again.

“’What of the Fanim?’ Kellhus asked.

…

Either intentionally or inadvertently, Kellhus had struck upon an issue that had troubled him ever since he’d resolved to undertake this quest. That day — so long ago, it now seemed — hiding among the dead at Kiyuth, Cnaüir had heard Ikurei Conphas speak of an Inrithi Holy War. But a Holy War against whom? The Schools or the Fanim?”

The need this knowledge drives Cnaiur’s path across the trackless steppe.

“The Fanim were rumored to be surprisingly tolerant of pilgrims. But if the Inrithi were in fact mounting a Holy War against Kian, this route would have proven disastrous. For Kellhus especially, with his fair hair and pale skin...

No. He needed, somehow, to learn more about this Holy War before striking true south, and the nearer they traveled to the Empire, the greater the probability of happening across that intelligence became” (p398-99).

“The more he avoided looking at the man, the more dreadful he seemed to become. The more godlike. What do you see?”

Two days pass on the steppe after the rains.

“They’d been discussing sorcery, far and away the most frequent theme of their rare discussions. The Dünyain continually returned to the subject, even telling Cnaüir of a defeat he’d suffered at the hands of a Nonman warrior-magi far to the north. At first Cnaüir assumed this preoccupation stemmed from some fear on the man’s part, as though sorcery were the one thing his dogma could not digest. But then it occurred to him that Kellhus knew he thought talk of sorcery harmless and so used it to broach the silence in the hope of steering him toward more useful topics. Even the story of the Nonman, Cnaüir realized, was likely another lie — a false confession meant to draw him into an exchange of confessions.”

So close Cnaiur, he shouldn’t have doubted himself so early or overestimated the Dunyain. Kellhus is ignorant. A true “confession meant to draw him into an exchange of confessions.”

“Regardless, the following night he slipped from his blankets and crept across the cold turf with his broadsword. He paused next to the embers of their fire, staring at the man’s inert form. Even breaths. His face as calm at night as it was impassive by day. Was he awake?

What manner of man are you?” (p400)

Cnaiur has some issues, hopes to murder Kellhus in his sleep even as he decides not to. He travels alone with a Dunyain. I can imagine no greater challenge.

Two weeks more bring them to the Hethantas.

“As always when sighting the mountains, Cnaüir could feel the Empire on the far side, a labyrinth of luxuriant gardens, sprawling fields, and ancient, hoary cities. In the past, the Nansurium had been the destination of his tribe’s seasonal pilgrimages, a place of shouting men, burning villas, and shrieking women. A place of retribution and worship. But this time, Cnaüir realized, the Empire would be an obstacle — perhaps an insurmountable one. They had encountered no one who knew of the Holy War, and it looked as though they would be forced to cross the Hethantas and enter the Empire” (p401).

Cnaiur sights a yaksh and places them mentally within Akkunihor lands. Kellhus is first to notice something wrong.

“’This camp,’ he said tonelessly, ‘is dead.’”

“Ikurei Conphas … The Emperor’s nephew did this” (p402)

“’How can you be sure?’ Kellhus asked. ‘Perhaps the inhabitants no longer needed this place.’

Cnaüir shrugged, knowing this was not the case. Though places on the Steppe could be discarded, things could not be — not by the People, at least. Everything was needed.”

“’We must cross the Hethantas,’ he declared, pretending to survey the desolate yaksh.

‘They look formidable,’ Kellhus replied.

‘They are... But I know the shortest way.”

An inversion of Dunyain leading humans, Cnaiur leading Kellhus.

§13.2 - Killing Sleep

That night Cnaiur does not sleep and instead obsesses on his wager.

“He had struck a bargain with the Dünyain: freedom and safe passage across the Steppe in return for his father’s life. Now, with the Steppe almost behind them, it seemed he had always known the bargain was a sham. How could he not? Was not Kellhus the son of Moenghus?

…

Use the son. Use a Dünyain...”

“He could feel him listening from somewhere out there. He could feel him knowing.

What did he see?

It did not matter. The fire burned and it had to be fed.

On lies if need be.

Because the fire burned true. The fire alone” (p403).

(click to show/hide)

More seeding of No-God metaphor and possible cultural reference to the Inverse Fire.

§13.3 - Fighting Foot Hethantas

“In the hills, anything or anyone might be concealed. In the hills, one must find summits to see.

Dünyain country, he thought.”

Kellhus and Cnaiur sight a tribe returning from worship and Kellhus asked which tribe, a question unnerving Cnaiur for its cultural connotations.

“He realized quite quickly that they were men rather than boys, but none of them wore Kianene battlecaps, which meant they were too young to have fought the Fanim at Zirkirta. Then he saw the white paint streaking their hair. They were Munuati” (p404).

“Of course the Dünyain saw as much and more. ‘The one in the lead,’ he warned, ‘sees us as an opportunity to prove himself.’

‘I know. Say nothing.”

Another testament to Cnaiur’s intelligence and observation.

“Cnaüir noticed the several fresh-cut swazond on their arms.”

There is some honourary dick-waving between the leader of the Munuati and Cnaiur. Accusations of dissension among the tribesmen, which we know Conphas fostered himself.

“’I too was at Kiyuth! What I saw could be explained only by treachery!’

There was no mistaking the tone: the willful affront-taking of someone who wanted to spill blood. Cnaüir’s limbs began to tingle. He glanced at Kellhus, knowing the Dünyain would take everything he needed from his expression” (p405)

One of my favorite passages, during Cnaiur and Kellhus’ initial arc, this purposeful communication through Cnaiur’s face.

“A mad instant, then scrambling violence.

An intense couple pages of epic fighting for which I appreciate Bakker’s prose immensely.

Kellhus does some wicked Dunyain moves. Cnaiur is all martial prowess.

“’I’m stronger,’ Cnaüir grated, butting the man’s face again.

…

With sheer might he wrenched the horse off-stride then shrieking to the ground. The astounded Munuati rolled clear. Cnaüir kicked through the grasses methodically, at last finding his sword in a pocket of weeds. He scooped it up, arrested the Munuati’s initial strike with a ringing clang.

The man’s sword flashed shining arcs across the sky. The assault was furious, but within heartbeats, Cnaüir was hammering him back, throwing him off balance with pure ferocity. The man stumbled.

And it was over. The Munuati stared at Cnaüir stupidly, bent over to pick up his arm.

And lost his head as well.

I am stronger” (p408-09)

§13.4 - Not of the Land

“Striding through the carnage, Cnaüir silenced the wounded.

Eventually he came to Panteruth

…

‘See, Munuati?’ he cried. ‘See how easily the People of War are undone? Spies!’ he spat. ‘A woman’s excuse!’” (p409-10)

“A shameful death. A fitting death. Panteruth urs Mutkius would not return to the land.”

§13.5 - Mad Cnaiur & the Prize of Woman

“From a distance, Kellhus watched Cnaüir retrieve his sword. The plainsman walked toward him, picking his way with strange care among the bodies. His eyes were wild, bright beneath an overcast sky.

He’s mad.

‘There are others,’ Kellhus said. ‘Chained together on the path below. Women.’

‘Our prize,’ Cnaüir said, avoiding the monk’s scrutiny. He walked past Kellhus toward the sound of wailing.”

§13.6 - Serwe, the Prize

And we’re introduced to Serwe. Enigma.

Even when the others have realized Cnaiur’s brutal aspect:

“’Pleeaase!’ Serwe cried again as the great towering figure approached, drenched in the blood of his kinsmen. ‘You must save us!’

But then she glimpsed the man’s merciless eyes.

The Scylvendi slapped her to the ground” (p411)

§13.7 - Outrage & His Father's House

Cnauir has picked his prize. Kellhus asks what he’ll do with her.

 “’Keep her … We’ve done bloody work … Now she’s my prize.’

There’s more. He fears... Fears to travel alone with me.”

Instantly, we have Serwe’s identification as necessary to maintain sanity for Cnaiur.

“She reminds him of someone. One of his wives...
Anissi, the only one he dares love.”

Here is the instance of Cnaiur raping Serwe.

“Kellhus watched while the Scylvendi took her again. With her whimpers, her suffocated cries, it seemed the ground beneath slowly spun, as though stars had stopped their cycle and the earth had begun to wheel instead. There was something... something here, he could sense. Something outraged.

From what darkness had this come?

Something is happening to me, Father.”

Is this simply Kellhus vestigial emotions?

(click to show/hide)

Is this a third party, the God or the world?

“Kellhus looked through her expression and into her soul.

She had suffered much, he realized, so much that she’d long ago learned to hide hatred and resolution beneath abject terror. Her eyes found his, momentarily, then flashed to the darkness around him. She wants to be certain we are only two” (p412).

“Does she have the courage?”

What is Kellhus hinting at?

“The Scylvendi left her and returned to his place before the fire — next to Kellhus. He’d stopped sitting across from him some time ago: to prevent him, Kellhus knew, from reading his face."

“’No. She bears different chains now.’ After a moment he added, ‘Women are easy to break.’

He does not believe this.”

Interesting. What does Cnaiur believe about woman then? Especially, as Scylvendi woman are some of the most empowered we’ve encountered through the series.

More infodump:

“’Sheyic. The language of the Empire. She was a Nansur concubine until the Munuati took her’
…
‘What did you ask her?’
…
 ‘I asked her about the Nansurium,” he said finally. “There’s a great movement in the Empire — in the whole Three Seas. A new Shriah rules the Thousand Temples. There’s to be a Holy War.’

She did not tell him this; she confirmed it. He knew this before.

‘A Holy War... Waged against whom?’

…

Then something strange came across Cnaüir’s expression. A realization of some sort, followed by a look of supernatural dread, the sources of which eluded Kellhus.

‘The Inrithi gather to punish the Fanim,’ Cnaüir said. ‘To retake their lost holy lands.’ Faint disgust colored his tone. As though a place could be holy. ‘To retake Shimeh.’

Shimeh... My father’s house.

Another groove. Another correspondence of cause. The implications for the mission bloomed through his intellect. Is this why you’ve summoned me, Father? For holy war?” (p413)

§13.8 - Killing Sleep, Part le Deux

Serwe is getting prepped to gut Cnaiur in his sleep.

“And his voice! Grating, elemental words: ‘If you leave, I will hunt you, girl. As sure as the earth, I will find you... Hurt you as you have never been hurt’” (p414).

“There was a pinch, and the knife fell from her senseless fingers, was caught before it fell upon the Scylvendi. She felt herself lifted, pulled back to the far side of the smoldering fire-pit.”

Dunyain skills.

“In the light, she could discern his features. Sad, tender even. He shook his head once again, his dark eyes brimming with concern... even vulnerability. He lifted his hand from her lips slowly, then brought it to his chest.

‘Kellhus,’ he whispered, then nodded.

She gathered her hands, stared at him wordlessly. ‘Serwe,’ she replied at last, in a tone as hushed as his own. Burning tears streamed down her cheeks.

‘Serwe,’ he repeated — gently. He reached out a hand to touch her but hesitated, drew it back to his lap. For a moment he fumbled in the dark behind him, eventually producing a blanket of wool still warm from the fire.

Dumbstruck, she took it from him, held by the faint glitter of the moon in his eyes. He turned away and stretched back out across his mat.

In the midst of quiet, anguished sobs, she fell asleep” (p415).

And the seduction of Serwe and by proxy, Cnaiur, begins anew…

§13.9 - This Doesn't Really Happen

“Dread.”

“Punishment for her breathing, for her blood, for her beauty, for nothing.

Punishment for punishment.

She was helpless. Utterly alone. Even the Gods had forsaken her.

Dread.”

Serwe watches as Cnaiur frees the other woman taken from the Gaunum household.

“She could hear them weeping, pleading, not for mercy — they had crossed the mountains, and they knew they were far beyond mercy’s reach — but for sanity. What sane man destroys useful tools? This one could cook, that one could couple, and this one could fetch a thousand slaves in ransom, if he would just let her live...”  (p416)

Not Cnaiur. Not on this journey.

“She couldn’t remember when she’d ceased feeling her tears. Now, for some reason, she had to taste them before realizing she wept.”

She’s already been so brutalized by her history.

“Bewildered, Serwe glanced at the Norsirai — what was his name? Kellhus? He regarded her for a grave yet somehow heartening moment, then looked away.”

“The Norsirai asked him something unintelligible. The Scylvendi shrugged and looked at Serwe.

‘Others will find them, use them,’ he said casually. He had said this to her, Serwe knew, because the one called Kellhus did not speak Sheyic. He leapt onto his horse and studied the eight remaining women. ‘Follow,’ he shouted in a matter-of-fact tone, ‘and I will put out your eyes with arrows.’

Then, madly, they began wailing again, begging him not to leave. Barastas’s wife even sobbed for her chains. But the Scylvendi seemed not to hear them. He bid Serwe to mount her horse.

And she was glad. Glad of heart! And the others were envious” (p417)

Serwe is being redefined before our eyes.

“She saw Barastas’s wife marching toward their train of horses, her hands sweeping in deranged gestures. The Scylvendi yanked his mount about, pulled his bow from its case. He nocked and loosed an arrow in one effortless motion.

The shaft caught the noblewoman in the mouth, shattering teeth and embedding itself in the moist hollows of her throat. She fell forward like a doll, thrashed amid grasses and goldenrods. The Scylvendi grunted with approval, then continued leading them into the mountains.

Serwe tasted tears.

None of this is happening, she thought. No one suffered like this. Not really.

She feared she might vomit for dread” (p418).

§13.10 - Serwe, who is Nothing

We follow Serwe’s perspective further into the Hethantas.

“Kellhus followed Serwe. She found herself talking to him, compelled by something in his demeanor. It was as if the man’s mere presence betokened intimacy, trust. His eyes encompassed her, as though his look somehow mended the broken ground beneath her feet” (p418).

She tells him about her life – sold to House Gaunum as a child, how the other woman tortured Serwe with thoughts of blue babies.

“This, Serwe explained to Kellhus, became the morbid joke shared by all the members of the household, especially among those concubines or slaves proper fortunate enough to be visited by their masters. We bear them blue babies... Blue like the priests of Jukan.”

“But she soon discovered that he did understand. After three days, he began asking her questions in Sheyic — a difficult language, one that she had mastered only after years of captivity in Nansur. The questions thrilled her somehow, filled her with a longing to do them proper service. And his voice! Deep, wine-dark like the sea. And the way he spoke her name. As though jealous of its sound. Serwe — like an incantation. In mere days, her wary affection became awe” (p419)

Kellhus' manipulations continue.

Serwe wonders at the relationship between Kellhus and Cnaiur. Cnaiur “acted like someone trying to preserve himself from ritual pollution.

At first this insight thrilled her. You fear! she would silently howl at the Scylvendi’s back. You’re no different from me! No more than I am!

But then it began to trouble her — deeply. Feared by a Scylvendi? What kind of man is feared by a Scylvendi?

She dared ask the man himself.

‘Because I’ve come,’ Kellhus had replied, ‘to do dreadful work.’

She believed him. How could she not believe such a man? But there were other, more painful questions. Questions she dare not speak, though she asked him with her eyes each night.

Why don’t you take me? Make me your prize? He fears you!

But she knew the answer. She was Serwe. She was nothing.”

This theme that Serwe is nothing.

(click to show/hide)

When we know, somehow, she is inextricably linked the heart of this narrative and the World. That Serwe means something.

“The fact of her nothingness was a lesson hard learned.

…

Happy in the immeasurable way of children who have no real suffering to throw upon the balance.

She had heard many tales of suffering, to be sure, but then the hardships related had always been ennobling, encased in morals, and containing lessons she had already learned. Besides, even if fate did betray her, and she was certain it would not, she would be steadfast and heroic, a beacon of strength for the flagging souls about her.

Then her father sold her to the Patridomos of House Gaunum” (p420).

“She was nothing, they [the Gaunum men] told her. Nothing. Just another worthless Norsirai peach. She almost believed them.

Soon she began praying for this or that son of the Patridomos to come visit her — even those who were cruel. She flirted with them. Seduced them. She was the delight of their guests. Other than pride in their ardor, pleasure in their gratification, what else did she have?

In the great villa of House Gaunum, there had been a shrine filled with small idols to the ancestors of the House. She had knelt and prayed in that shrine more times than she could count, and every time she had begged for mercy. She could feel the dead Gaunum in every corner of that place, whispering hateful things, moving her with dreadful premonitions. And she had begged and begged for mercy”

What does this mean?

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Especially in light of the Gods

“And she continued praying to the idols, even though their squat little faces now seemed to laugh at her. She, Serwe, had to mean something, hadn’t she? All she wanted was some sign, something, anything... She groveled before them” (p421)

More and more I believe this passage to be a cypher.

Serwe is visited by one of the Padridomo’s sons. She steals his seed to spite his wife.

“Though troubled by the glee this occasioned, Serwe had rushed to the shrine to thank the Gaunum ancestors. And shortly after, when she realized she carried Peristus’s child, she stole one of the hostler’s pigeons and sacrificed it to them” (p422).

When Serwe gives birth, her baby is blue, strangled in the kitchens.

“Even still, Serwe continued to pray — this time for vengeance. She prayed to the Gaunum for the destruction of the Gaunum.

A year later, the Patridomos rode from the villa with all his men. The gathering Holy War had grown unruly, and the Emperor had need of his generals. Then the Scylvendi arrived. Panteruth and his Munuati.

The barbarians found her in the shrine, shrieking, smashing stone idols against the floor.”

“Nightmarish misery. Brutality. Unlike anything she had hitherto suffered. Each of them was bound to the saddle of a Munuati warrior who made them run and run, all the way to the Hethantas. At night they huddled and wept and screamed when the Munuati came for them, their phalluses greased with animal fat. And Serwe thought of a word, a Sheyic word that did not exist in her native Nymbricani... A word of outrage.

Justice.

Despite all her vanities and all her peevish sins, she meant something. She was something. She was Serwe, daughter of Ingaera, and she deserved far more than what had been given. She would have dignity, or she would die hating” (p423).

Serwe is convinced of justice for her, one day. What instills these thoughts, I wonder, while praying especially?

“And watching the Munuati die at the hands of these two men, she had dared rejoice, had dared believe she would be delivered. At last, justice!

'Please!' she had cried at Cnaüir’s approaching figure. 'You must save us!'

Worthless, the Gaunum had told her. Just another worthless Norsirai peach. She had believed them, but she had continued praying. Begging. Show them! Please! Show them I mean something...

And then, begging mercy from an insane Scylvendi. Demanding justice.

…

Justice was but another treacherous Gaunum idol”

“Why were they so mean to her? Why did everyone hate her? Punish her? Hurt her? Why?

Because she was Serwe, and she was nothing. She would always be nothing.

That was why Kellhus abandoned her every evening.”

§13.11 - The Most Violent of All Men

At last, Kellhus looks upon a living civilization.

“I draw near, Father” (p424).

Cnauir calls to Kellhus and they begin their inevitable dance, now that Cnaiur thinks Kellhus will betray their pact.

 “’No,’ the Scylvendi said sullenly. ‘We cannot travel through the Empire... I brought you here to kill you.’
‘Or,’ Kellhus replied, still speaking to the vista before him, ‘to be killed by me’” (p425).

“Kellhus cupped the barbarian within his scrutiny the way a child might imprison a bird within tingling palms — alive to every tremor, to the pulse of a pea-sized heart, to the small heat of panicked respiration.

…

So much torment.

Hatred, tidal in its scope and strength, enough to murder endless thousands, enough to murder self or even truth. A most potent tool” (p426).

Kellhus has decided that he needs Cnaiur, even if Cnaiur doesn’t believe.

“I have use for him still.

If the pilgrim routes to Shimeh were closed, Kellhus had no alternative but to join the gathering Holy War. Yet the prospect of war presented a near insuperable dilemma. He’d spent hours in the probability trance, trying to draft models of war, but he lacked the principles he needed. The variables were too many and too fickle. War... Could any circumstance be more capricious? More perilous?

Is this the path you’ve chosen for me, Father? Is this your test?

‘And what is my mission, Scylvendi?’

‘Assassination. Patricide.’

‘And after thirty years among world-born men, what kind of power do you think my father, a Dünyain possessing all the gifts I possess, wields?’

The Scylvendi looked stunned. ‘I had not thought —‘

‘I have. You think that I have no need of you? That I have no need of Cnaüir urs Skiotha the many-blooded? The breaker-of-horses-and-men? A man who can strike down three in the space of as many heartbeats? A man who is immune to my methods, and therefore to those of my father as well? Whoever my father is, Scylvendi, he will be powerful. Far too powerful for any one man to kill.’

…

Again the wall of his distrust, blunt and stubborn. He must be shown.”

Again epic fight! There’s again the theme of intimacy and violence between men.

“Heaving him up, Kellhus thrust the barbarian out over the precipice and, with one arm, held him dangling over the distant Empire. The wind swept his jet hair across the abyss.

‘Do it.’ Cnaüir gasped through snot and spittle. His feet swayed over nothingness.

So much hatred.

‘But I spoke true, Cnaüir. I do need you.’

The Scylvendi’s eyes rounded in horror. Let go, his expression said. For that way lies peace” (p429)
Cnaiur’s life is a descending into madness…

 “’Do you believe me?’ he demanded of the Scylvendi.

…

 ‘Do you believe me?’ Kellhus asked again. Serwe whimpered, struggled to swallow her sobs. So much sorrow.

‘I believe you’

…

Yet when the Scylvendi at last looked at him, the old fury animated his eyes, burning with almost carnal intensity. If Kellhus had assumed as much earlier, he now knew with utter certainty: the Scylvendi was insane.

‘I believe you think you need me, Dünyain. For now’” (p430).

They trade comments back and forth about Cnaiur’s frustration at the end being made difficult by travel through the Empire. The Scylvendi are hated…

“No. Everything depended on the domination of circumstance. He would not join the Holy War, he would seize it, wield it as his instrument. But as with any new weapon, he needed instruction, training. And the chances of finding another with as much experience and insight as Cnaüir urs Skiotha were negligible. They call him the most violent of all men.

If the man knew too much, Kellhus did not know enough — at least not yet. Whatever the dangers of crossing the Empire, it was worth the attempt. If the difficulties proved insurmountable, then he would reassess.

‘When they ask,’ Kellhus replied, ‘the disaster at Kiyuth will be your explanation. Those few Utemot who survived Ikurei Conphas were overcome by their neighbors. You’ll be the last of your tribe. A dispossessed man, driven from his country by woe and misfortune.’

‘And who will you be, Dünyain?’

Kellhus had spent many hours wrestling with this question.

‘I’ll be your reason for joining the Holy War. I’ll be a prince you encountered traveling south over your lost lands. A prince who’s dreamed of Shimeh from the far side of the world. The men of the Three Seas know little of Atrithau, save that it survived their mythic Apocalypse. We shall come to them out of the darkness, Scylvendi. We’ll be whoever we say we are.’

‘A prince...’ Cnaüir repeated dubiously. ‘From where?’

‘A prince of Atrithau, whom you found traveling the northern wastes.’

Though Cnaüir now understood, even appreciated, the path laid for him, Kellhus knew that the debate raged within him still. How much would the man bear to see his father’s death avenged?

The Utemot chieftain wiped a bare forearm across his mouth and nose. He spat blood. ‘A prince of nothing,’ he said” (p432).

He said it! He said the name of the trilogy!

§13.12 - Suffer Him

“In the morning light, Kellhus watched the Scylvendi ride up to the pole. Perched high on it was a skull, still leathered by skin and framed by a shock of dark, woolly hair. Scylvendi hair. Some distance away to either side rose further poles — further Scylvendi heads, planted the distance prescribed by Conphas’s mathematicians. So many miles, so many Scylvendi heads.”

Conphas’ road to Momemn.

Serwe keeps pushing the boundaries, trying to convince Kellhus to kill Cnaiur.

 “’You mustn’t betray us, Serwe,’
…
 ‘I would never betray you, Kellhus,’ she blurted. ‘You must know —‘

‘I know that you wonder what binds me to this Scylvendi, Serwe. This isn’t for you to understand. Know only that if you betray him, you betray me.’

‘Kellhus, I...’ The shock had transformed to hurt, to tears.

‘You must suffer him, Serwe.’

She turned away from his terrible eyes, began weeping. ‘For you?’ she spat bitterly.

‘I am only the promise.’

‘Promise?’ she cried. ‘Whose promise?’

Wow. Kellhus makes Serwe own her suffering… for lies?

“Hold tight this moment, woman … It will be your only measure of this man” (p433) Cnaiur says to her.

“This is the way to Momemn.”

Some say men continually war against circumstances, but I say they perpetually flee. What are the works of men if not a momentary respite, a hiding place soon to be discovered by catastrophe? Life is endless flight before the hunter we call the world.
— EKYANNUS VIII, APHORISMS

Spring, 4111 Year-of-the-Tusk, the Nansur Empire

§14. 1 - Running Back to Kellhus

Serwe awakes with Kellhus, reminiscing about trying to get into Kellhus’ bed, Kellhus’ protection from the Scylvendi.

Kellhus manipulation continues true to form.

“Never had she known such a man. A man who knew her, and yet still loved” (p434).

She spends some moments looking at the tree above them.

“She could feel the soul of the great tree, brooding, sorrowful, and infinitely wise, the rooted witness of innumerable suns” (p435)

I’m sorry what?

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This is exactly how Achamian reminisces about the “Witch,” the elemental folkloric version of trees, from WLW.

She watches the Scylvendi for some moments bathing in a pond.

“As though aware of her scrutiny, the forest grew hushed, its silence colored by the stern grandeur of trees. Even the solitary bird fell quiet, yielding to the slurp and trickle of Cnaüir’s bathing.”

Serwe sees a small boy watching Cnaiur through the bushes and trees.

“Do you have a mother? she thought, but when she realized he watched the Scylvendi, a sudden terror struck her.
Go away! Run!”

Kellhus, who obviously notices Serwe scrutiny warns Cnaiur. He attempts to slowly lure the boy closer…

 “’Run!’ Serwe cried.

The boy flickered into the wood, flashing between white sun and deep green shadow" (p436).

Kellhus and Cnaiur take off after the boy. For a moment, Serwe believes that Kellhus follows to stop Cnaiur but we know and she realizes this isn’t the case.

“But a sudden horror struck her breathless, an unaccountable certainty that Kellhus also meant the child harm.
You must suffer him, Serwe.”

Serwe runs through the water and up the far bank after the Kellhus and Cnaiur who she can here calling to each other from the woods.

“She caught herself on the trunk of a young ash. She looked around, heard the distant crash of someone barreling through underbrush, but saw nothing. For the first time in weeks, she was alone.

…

But she wasn’t a fugitive, she realized. The Empire was her land — or at least the land her father had sold her to...
I’m home. There’s no need to suffer him” (p437)

She walks on listless, thinking of only this fact for some moments.

“I’m home, she would think. But then thoughts of Kellhus would assail her, curiously smeared into images of the Scylvendi’s brutality. Kellhus’s eyes as she spoke, pinched by concerns or suppressed smiles. The thrill of his hand encompassing her own, as though this modest intimacy bespoke an impossible promise. And the things he said, words that had sounded her to the pith, had rendered her squalid life a portrait of heartbreaking beauty.

Kellhus loves me. He’s the first to love me.

Then, with a shaking hand, she felt her belly through her soaked shift.”

She reminisces on how her beauty makes her a commodity in the Empire and on blue babies.

“Her stomach was flat, but she could feel it. Feel the baby.

Images of the Scylvendi’s urgent fury assaulted her; still she thought: Kellhus’s child. Our baby.

She turned and began to retrace her steps” (p438).

§14.2 - Innocence

“After a short time, Serwe realized she was lost and was once again terrified.

…

Kellhus... Find me, please.”

The sound of cries in the woods, along with horsemen startle her.

“But when the two horsemen broke the crest, her skin pimpled with dread.

…

She recognized them immediately by their armor and insignia: common officers of the Kidruhil, the elite cavalry of the Imperial Army. Two of the Gaunum sons had belonged to the Kidruhil.

The younger, handsome one looked almost as frightened as she was; he sketched an old-wives’ ward against ghosts above his horse’s mane” (p439).

Serwe dropping some knowledge. Also, she’s something to be warded against .

“The Kidruhil here? Does that mean they’re dead? In her soul’s eye, she saw the little boy, peering from behind black branches. Did he live? Did he warn...? Is this my fault?

This thought, more than any fear of the men, paralyzed her. She hissed in terror, her chin lifting of its own volition, as though she were baring her throat to their sheathed weapons. Tears sketched her cheeks. Run! she frantically thought, but she couldn’t move.”

Wow.

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Bakker’s mentioned a theme of innocence with Serwe but this is awesome.

Her total concern is the possible blame and atoning for it.

The man gears the younger man up to rape Serwe. But he’s already watching, says they don’t have the time.

“Cowed by something incomprehensible, the younger one followed his harsh companion’s lead. He still stared at Serwe, his eyes somehow both shy and vicious”

And again, Serwe’s first and only concern is that she bears the blood guilt for Kellhus, Cnaiur, and the boy.

“They’re dead, she thought. I killed them.

…
You deserve this” (p440).

The old man cuts off clothing and exposes her.

 “’Leave me alone,’ she whispered, her voice pinched by burning eyes and trembling lips. The impotent demand of a child tormented by other children.

‘Shush,’ he said softly. He gently pressed her to her knees.

‘Don’t be mean to me,’ she murmured through tears.

‘Never,’ he said, his voice stricken, as though with reverence.

With a creak of leather, he fell to one knee and buried his dagger in the forest floor. He was breathing heavily. “Sweet Sejenus,” he hissed. He looked terrified.”

Cnaiur busts in. Kills the younger soldier. Demands to know if Serwe’s been hurt.

“The officer moved away from Serwe, as though to disassociate himself from his crime. ‘C-come now, friend. Hmm? T-take the horses. All y-yours —'

To Serwe it seemed that she’d floated to her feet, that she’d flown at the scarred man, and that the knife had simply appeared in the side of his neck. Only his frantic backhand knocked her back to earth” (p441).

Aspects of the Gods?

The man dies at her feet. Serwe doesn’t seem concerned about his death.

“Cnaüir loomed above her. Broad shoulders and narrow hips. Long chiseled arms banded by scars and veins. Wolf-skin hanging between his sweaty thighs. For a moment her terror and hatred deserted her. He’d saved her from humiliation, perhaps even death.

But the memory of his brutalities could not be silenced. The feral splendor of his frame became something famished, preternaturally deranged.

And he would not let her forget” (p442)

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Is this shades of the Judging Eye?

“He glared at her with an intensity that made her sob. His eyes! White-blue in white, cold with the utter absence of mercy, bright with the ancient hatreds of his race... ‘P-please... Don’t kill me, pleeaase!’

‘That whelp you warned nearly cost us our lives, wench,’ he snarled. ‘Do anything like that again and I will kill you. Try to flee again and I promise, I’ll murder the world to find you!’ Never again! Never... I promise. I’ll suffer you! I will! He released her throat and seized her right arm, and for a moment, she cringed as she wept, expecting a blow. When it did not come, she wailed aloud, choking on her own shuddering breaths. The very forest, the spears of sunlight through forking limbs, the trees like temple pillars, thundered with his anger. I promise.”

Is Serwe somehow necessary beyond Cnaiur’s obsessive need to insulate himself from Kellhus?

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Which ultimately leads to his demise.

 “You have killed him … You know this?”

“’Y-yes,’ … God, what now!”

With the knife, he cut a lateral line across her forearm. The pain was sharp and quick, but she bit her lip rather than cry out. “Swazond,” he said in harsh Scylvendi tones. “The man you have killed is gone from the world, Serwe. He exists only here, a scar upon your arm. It is the mark of his absence, of all the ways his soul will not move, and of all the acts he will not commit. A mark of the weight you now bear.” He smeared the wound with his palm, then clutched her hand.

“I don’t understand,” Serwe whimpered, as bewildered as she was terrified. Why was he doing this? Was this his punishment? Why had he called her by name?

You must suffer him...

“You are my prize, Serwe. My tribe” (p443).

This little tribe already marked by the Gods, both living and dead?

§14.3 - Running with the Devil

They return to find Kellhus.

“And then she was in his arms, clutching him fiercely.

Strong fingers combed through her hair. The hammer of his heart murmured in her ears. He smelled of sun-dried leaves and sturdy earth. Through her tears she heard: ‘Shush, child. You’re safe now. Safe with me.’ So like her father’s voice!”
“Kellhus said, ‘Breng’ato gingis, kutmulta tos phuira.’ Though she knew nothing of Scylvendi, she was certain he had said, ‘She’s yours no longer, so leave her alone.’

Cnaüir simply laughed then replied in Sheyic: ‘We have no time for this. Kidruhil patrols usually number more than fifty. We have killed only a dozen’” (p444)

Kellhus tells Serwe they’ll have to run now.

“Serwe nodded, more tears flooding her eyes. ‘It’s all my fault, Kellhus!’ she hissed. ‘I’m so sorry... But he was just a child. I couldn’t let him die!’

Cnaüir snorted once again. ‘The whelp warned no one, girl. What mere boy could escape a Dünyain?’”

“No! In her soul’s eye, she glimpsed the child, small limbs askew somewhere deep in the forest, sightless eyes searching for sky. I did this... Another absence where a soul should have moved. What acts would the nameless boy have accomplished? What kind of hero might he have been?

Kellhus turned away from her, overcome by grief. As though finding solace in urgent action, he began rolling his sleeping mat beneath the grand willow. He paused and without looking at her said in a pained voice: ‘You must forget this, Serwe. We haven’t the time.’

Shame, as though her innards had become cold water.

I forced this crime upon him, she thought, staring at Kellhus as he bound their gear to his saddle. Once again her hand found her belly. My first sin against your father.

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This makes me wonder again about lockesnow’s theory about the metaphysics of adoption.

“’The Kidruhil horses,’ the Scylvendi said. ‘We shall ride them to death first.’”

If the Prince of Nothing didn’t take of for you with Kellhus and Cnaiur on the plains, then this must boot it for the rest of you.

§14.4 - Delusions of Pregnancy

“For the first two days, they eluded their pursuers with relative ease, relying on the primeval forests that blanketed the headwaters of the River Phayus and the Scylvendi’s martial acumen to preserve them” (p445)

They ride. And they ride hard.

“By the end of the second day, Cnaüir allowed them to make camp, suggesting that they had lost whatever pursuers they might have had. Two things, he said, were in their favor: the fact that they traveled east, when any Scylvendi raiding party would surely withdraw to the Hethantas after meeting the Kidruhil, and the fact that he and Kellhus had been able to kill so many after the colossal misfortune of encountering them in their hunt for the boy. Serwe was far too exhausted to mention the one she’d killed, so she rubbed the clotted blood on her forearm instead, surprised by the feeling of pride that flared through her.”

Kellhus is learning from Cnaiur already – Cnaiur has definitely got his Boy Scout survival badge.

“The Kidruhil are arrogant fools … Eleven dead will convince them that the raiding party must be large. This means that they will be cautious in their pursuit and send out for reinforcements. It also means that if they encounter our eastward trail, they will think it a ruse and follow it west toward the mountains, hoping to pick up the trail of the main party.

That night they ate raw fish he speared from a nearby stream, and despite her hate, Serwe found herself admiring the affinity between this man and the open wilds. For him it seemed a place of innumerable clues and small tasks. He could guess approaching terrain from the sight and song of certain birds, and he could ease the strain on their horses by feeding them cakes of fungus scratched from the humus. There was far more to him than abuse and murder, she realized” (p446).

They ride for the heart of the Empire.

“And not for the first time, Serwe wondered why these men would risk such a journey.”

“At midday, however, Kellhus urged his mount even to hers and said, ‘You’re hungry again, aren’t you, Serwe?’

‘How do you know these things?’ she asked. It never ceased to thrill her each time Kellhus guessed her thoughts, and the part of her that held him in reverent awe would find further confirmation.”

Indeed… Dunyain’d.

“How long has it been, Serwe?’

‘How long has what been?’ she asked, suddenly fearful.

‘Since you’ve been with child.’

But it’s your child, Kellhus! Yours!

‘But we’ve not yet coupled,’ he said gently.

Serwe suddenly felt bewildered, unsure as to what he meant, and more unsure still whether she had spoken aloud. But of course they had coupled. She was with child, wasn’t she? Who else could be his father?

Tears swelled in her eyes. Kellhus... Are you trying to hurt me?

‘No, no,’ he replied. ‘I’m sorry, sweet Serwe. We’ll stop to eat very soon.’”

This for me was always the definitive go-to about Serwe’s child being Cnaiur’s, not Kellhus – if there remains any debate.
Serwe reflects that she likes to watch Cnaiur’s little humiliations during the communications with Kellhus.

“But this time she felt compelled to watch Kellhus, to note the way the sun flashed through his blond hair, to study the sumptuous line of his lips and the glitter of his all-knowing eyes. And he seemed almost painfully beautiful, like something too bright for cold rivers, bare rock, and knotted trees. He seemed —

Serwe held her breath. Feared for a moment that she might swoon. I didn’t speak and yet still he knew.

’I am the promise,’ Kellhus had said above the long road of Scylvendi skulls.

Our promise, she whispered to the child within her. Our God.

But could it be? Serwe had heard innumerable stories of the Gods communing with Men as Men long ago in the days of the Tusk. This was scripture. This was true! What was impossible was that a God might walk now, that a God might fall in love with her, with Serwe, the daughter sold to House Gaunum. But perhaps this was the meaning of her beauty, the reason she had suffered the venal covetousness of man after man. She was also something too beautiful for the world, something awaiting the arrival of her betrothed. Anasurimbor Kellhus.

She smiled tears of rapturous joy. She could see him as he truly was now, radiant with otherworldly light, haloes like golden discs shining about his hands. She could see him!” (p447)

Now I’m inclined to believe that Serwe is simply super-susceptible to self-delusion.

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Yet it might be borne out that she, in fact, has privileged perspective.

Kellhus speaks to her in her father’s tongue again and she’s further deluded/confirmed.

“That afternoon they crossed a broad valley, and as they crested the summit of the far slopes, they caught their first glimpse of their pursuers” (p448).

They ride harder.

“You have nothing to fear, she would think. Your father rides with us” (p449).

They met a determined foe, more determined than the Kidruhil.

 “’I’ve already seen them,’ Cnaüir replied, heaving a saddle far out into the rushing water. ‘The advantage of the pursuer: torches at night.’ There was a difference in his tone, Serwe realized, an ease she’d never heard before. The ease of a workman in his element” (p450).

They ran.

“’The River Phayus,’ Cnaüir said. ‘Very soon, we will ride, Serwe.’

…

As dawn gathered on the eastern horizon, Cnaüir called them to a halt. Clutched in the roots of an upturned tree, a great disc of earth reared above him. ‘Now we ride,’ he said. ‘We ride hard’” (p451).

They ride.

Some info:

“They skirted small agrarian villages and the vast plantations that belonged to the Houses of the Congregate. As a concubine indentured to House Gaunum, Serwe had been sequestered in similar villas, and as she stared at the rambling compounds, the roofs tiled in red clay, and the rows of spear-like junipers, she was troubled that something once so familiar could become so threatening and strange.

The slaves lifted their heads from the fields and watched them gallop along the dusty byways. Teamsters cursed them as they thundered past. Women dropped their burdens and yanked astonished children out of harm’s way. What did these people think? Serwe wondered, her thoughts drunk with fatigue. What did they see?

Daring fugitives, she decided. A man whose harsh face reminded them of Scylvendi terror. Another man, whose blue eyes plumbed them in the haste of a single glance. And a beautiful woman, her long blonde hair askew — the prize these men would deny their unseen pursuers” (p452).

They ride harder.

“’How many?’ Cnaüir asked Kellhus.

‘The same as before... sixty-eight. Although they now ride different horses.’

‘Different horses,’ Cnaüir repeated dryly, as though as disgusted by what this meant as by Kellhus’s ability to draw such conclusions. ‘They must have seized them somewhere on the way.’

‘You failed to anticipate this?’

‘Sixty-eight,’ Cnaüir said, ignoring his question. ‘Too many?’ he asked, staring hard at Kellhus.

‘Too many.’

‘Even if we attack at night?’

Kellhus nodded, his eyes strangely unfocused. ‘Perhaps,’ he replied at length, ‘but only if all other alternatives have been exhausted.’

‘What alternatives?’ Cnaüir asked. ‘What... should we do?’ Serwe glimpsed a curious anguish in his expression. Why does it trouble him so? Can’t he see we’re meant to follow?” (p453)

They ride harder still.

Serwe’s horse falters.

“’Leave her!’ she heard the Scylvendi bark. ‘They want us, not her. She’s stolen property to them, a pretty bauble.’

‘I will not.’

‘This is not like you, Dünyain... Not like you at all.’

‘Perhaps,’ she heard Kellhus say, his voice now very close and very gentle. Hands cupped her cheeks. Kellhus... No blue babies.

No blue babies, Serwe. Our child will be pink and alive. ‘But she’ll be safer —‘

Darkness, and dreams of a great, shadowy race across heathen lands” (p454)

§14.5 - Honest Conversation

“Floating. Where’s the knife?”

Kellhus is riding, Serwe tied to his torso.

They get caught between two groups of horsemen.

Some martial struggle. More Dunyain Kung-Fu.

They fight their way to a crest. And throw themselves over its edge to slide down and escape the Kidruhil.

More riders follow.

 “’What does this mean?’ she cried, gasping at the flare of pain that punished her.

Kellhus knelt before her, his heavenly face blotting out the sun. Once again she could see his halo, the shimmering gold that marked him apart from all other men. He’ll save us! Don’t worry, my sweet, I know He will!

…

 ‘But you’re the promise,’ she said, sobbing” (p458).

“Then the first stallions, caparisoned in mail skirts, stamped from shade into sunlight, bearing riders in white-and-blue surcoats and heavy hauberks. As the horsemen closed in a ragged semicircle, Serwe realized they possessed silver faces, as passionless as those of the Gods. And she knew they had been sent — sent to protect him! To shelter the promise.”

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We know these are, in fact, Conriyan war masks.

“’I’m Krijates Iryssas,’ the young man said in heavily accented Sheyic. ‘These pious but dour fellows are Knights of Attrempus and Men of the Tusk... Have you seen any fugitive criminals about?’

Stunned silence. At last Cnaüir said, ‘Why do you ask?’

The knight looked askance at his comrades then leaned forward in his saddle. His eyes twinkled. ‘Because I’m dying for the lack of honest conversation.’

The Scylvendi smiled” (p459).

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This story, this chapter, changes dramatically under certain perspectives.

Hi everyone,

Make yourselves at home, restart old topics anew - and I will be working to transcribe the old Forumer posts to the threads that do and don't pop up spontaneously here.

Kick up the feet, grab a drink, light a cigar, perhaps a bowl. Hydrate .

If anyone has any suggestions about the forum, content, or even a Fansite: let me know.

My capabilities in terms of administration have become unparalleled .

Cheers.

EDIT: Apologies, if Forumer AdminCP spammed your e-mails with duplicates like it did mine.