Norge?

"Reflect" on Stephen Donaldson's other epic fantasy

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Post by Cord Hurn »

Norge is the most unreal character in all of Mordant's Need. So much chaos around him after Lebbick's death, and yet he stays unruffled and acts as if nothing surprises him. He just isn't credible; I've never known anybody like him.
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Post by shadowbinding shoe »

I don't feel there was a real need to introduce Norge beforehand. Other than Lebbick, Artagel and Argus & Ribuld we don't get intimate with Mordant's army/police. Norge was just one of Lebbick's higher-ups that got picked for keeping his head at a moment of crisis. We meet him the same time the rest of the characters notice him, when he gets picked for the job.

His phlegmatic demeanor was a bit over the top, as Cord Hurn says but then again most of the characters in this duology were almost Ideas of character traits. They were bigger than life. Maybe Donaldson was thinking about Plato's cave when he came up with a world of reflections.

Norge demeanor is somehwat explained as a reaction to Lebbick's smoldering temper or maybe even to the madness of the earlier mirror-wars. I'mg guessing he's old enough to have been a part of them.
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Post by Avatar »

Y'know, when I saw the thread title I was like "who?" but as soon as CH mentioned Lebbick's death I remembered.

Still, not an auspicious omen for the character... ;)

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Post by Linna Heartbooger »

shadowbinding shoe wrote:His phlegmatic demeanor was a bit over the top, as Cord Hurn says but then again most of the characters in this duology were almost Ideas of character traits. They were bigger than life. Maybe Donaldson was thinking about Plato's cave when he came up with a world of reflections.
I hadn't caught on to that.. (I found many of them disturbingly believable maybe.)

I'm ignorant about "Plato's cave." Thought experiment, or...?
"People without hope not only don't write novels, but what is more to the point, they don't read them.
They don't take long looks at anything, because they lack the courage.
The way to despair is to refuse to have any kind of experience, and the novel, of course, is a way to have experience."
-Flannery O'Connor

"In spite of much that militates against quietness there are people who still read books. They are the people who keep me going."
-Elisabeth Elliot, Preface, "A Chance to Die: The Life and Legacy of Amy Carmichael"
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Post by Cord Hurn »

Plato's Allegory of the Cave:

en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Allegory_of_the_Cave









[Typo edit]
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Post by Cord Hurn »

shadowbinding shoe wrote:but then again most of the characters in this duology were almost Ideas of character traits. They were bigger than life.
Some of them could be said to be archtypes, this is true, shoe! (One example is the swashbuckling Artagel). But all the rich characterization in Mordant's Need is helped by so many of the characters having personality traits that I recognize, that makes them seem believable and real, though of course their setting is unreal. Norge is the exception, for I've never known anybody that could stay unruffled in the midst of the bodies of people he'd known and worked with so long. You'd think he'd be shouting at somebody. Instead, his nerves are barely shaken. Seiously, I've never known anybody like this. Norge just feels more fictional than the rest of the MN characters.
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Post by shadowbinding shoe »

I thought he was a comical note in the midst of a cast of overwrought emotiona wrecks and in the end we don't know what he's really thinking. Behind his blissful facade he might be praying for all he was worth "Keep it together! Keep it together! Ignore the mad bats and unstoppable swordman and just KEEP IT TOGETHER! You can do this, Norge, look at Lebbick. He's still swinging his sword with, OH MY GOD! He just jumped off the blacony and he's still walking. No! Don't lose it. Just keep it together, damnit."
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Hahaha, good one. :D

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shadowbinding shoe wrote:I don't feel there was a real need to introduce Norge beforehand.
I agree with you, shadowbinding shoe, that Norge did not need an introduction in the story long before he assumed command. When Prince Kragen demands an audience with King Joyse a second time is when we first meet Norge (I think), and that's soon enough to make his part in the story work.
In AMRT chapter 39 was wrote:Prince Kragen surveyed the hall; he scanned the balconies. The corner of his moustache lifted as if he were sneering. When he had completed his study of the king's defenses, he said clearly, "Remarkable. Is this the best audience King Joyse can produce? If an ambassador came to the Alend Monarch, at least a hundred nobles would commemorate the occasion, regardless of the hour--ar the urgency." A moment later, however, he remarked politely, "Most impressive, Castellan. For the first time, I truly believe that you do not intend to harm us. You would not need so many men--and so many witnesses--to procure our deaths.
"What do you intend? Where is King Joyse?"

Castellan Lebbick remained sitting. In a voice which resembled his laugh, he barked, "Norge!"

Slowly, almost casually, one of the captains stood and came to attention. He saluted the Castellan calmly. In fact, everything about him seemed calm. He sounded like he was talking in his sleep.
"My lord Castellan?"

"Norge, where is King Joyse?" demanded Lebbick.

Norge shrugged comfortably. "I spoke to him myself, my lord Castellan. I told him what you said. I even told him what the Prince said. He said, 'Then you'd better get the audience hall ready.'"
Apparently, the captain didn't think any other comment was necessary. He sat down.
Avatar wrote:Still, not an auspicious omen for the character..
Indeed not, Avatar! That he didn't get much introduction before assuming such an important role as the Castellan implies that SRD considered Norge more disposable! 8O
Linna Heartlistener wrote:I found many of them disturbingly believable maybe.
I do, too, Linnah. Most of the Mordant's Need characters seem very believable, and it's a tribute to SRD being on the top of his game with character creation in this series. Norge just appears to be an exception to this.
shadowbinding shoe wrote:I thought he was a comical note in the midst of a cast of overwrought emotiona wrecks and in the end we don't know what he's really thinking. Behind his blissful facade he might be praying for all he was worth "Keep it together! Keep it together! Ignore the mad bats and unstoppable swordman and just KEEP IT TOGETHER! You can do this, Norge, look at Lebbick. He's still swinging his sword with, OH MY GOD! He just jumped off the blacony and he's still walking. No! Don't lose it. Just keep it together, damnit."
That's funny, shadowbinding shoe! If there's anybody like Norge in your speculative example, I SURE wouldn't want to play poker against such a person! He'd fool me completely!!! :crazy: I mean, when I first read the following passage, I couldn't predict what kind of decision Norge was going to make on supporting the Tor--right up until he did it.
In AMRT chapter 40 was wrote:Pain pushed against the back of the Tor's throat, and his stomach knotted; but he clung to the cold stone with his hands and knees, kept his balance. When that captain, what was his name? Norge, when Norge came to him and tried to help him erect, he managed somehow to knot his fat fist in the captain's mail and pull him down, so that Norge had to meet him face-to-face.

"The King--" he gasped. His voice was a sick whisper, lost in the hurt clench of his abdomen.

"Gone, my lord Tor. I've sent men to look for him, but I don't expect any results."

"Why not?"

Norge shrugged. "Men who vanish like that usually don't want to be found."

His immunity to distress was remarkable. Peering into the captain's face, the Tor began remember him better. It was possible that Castellan Lebbick had promoted Norge simply because Norge was the only man under him who never flinched.
A man like that was hard to talk to. What did he care about? What were his convictions, his commitments?

"Help me up." The Tor made no effort to move. The pain squeezed his voice to a husk. "I will take his place."

The Tor wasn't trying to stand, and Norge didn't try to lift him. Instead, the captain asked calmly, "You, my lord?"

"Me." For all the strength the Tor could muster, he might as well have been whispering deliberately. Maybe Gart really had ruptured something vital. "Who else? I am the King's oldest friend. Apart from Adept Havelock--and you will not offer him the rule of Orison and Mordant."

No question about it: the hurt in his bowels was going to be stupendous. Already it seemed to cut off his supply of air. Sweat or tears ran from him as if he were a sodden towel being twisted. There were too many candles glaring in his eyes. Yet he kept his grip on the captain.

"And I am the only lord here. King Joyse suffered me to remain when the others rode away. I have acted as his chancellor and advisor. Something must be done about the panic. Power must be assumed by someone who will believed. Who else would you have?
"Who else is there?"

Norge blinked at this question as if he didn't think it was worth answering.

"I have no hereditary claim, no official standing." The Tor wanted to wail or weep, but he couldn't get that much voice past the pain. "But if you support me in this, Castellan Lebbick's second, a man with the King's guard behind him--" A gasp came up from his kneecaps, nearly blinding him. "If you support me, I will be accepted."

"My lord Tor," the captain remarked dispassionately, "even if I support you, you'll scarcely be able to stand." After a moment, he added, "If I can say so without offense, my lord, you aren't the king I would have chosen."

"A fat old man sodden with wine and unable to stand." It was embarrassing to be in tears at a time like this, but the Tor's hurt had to have some outlet. "I understand. Do you?"

"My lord"--Norge's calm was maddening, really--"you need a physician. Let people in better condition worry about Orison."

"Fool," the lord moaned. "You do not understand." Pulling on Norge's mail, heaving against the pain, he got one leg under him; that enabled him to shift his other hand from the floor to Norge's shoulder. He felt like he had Eremis' fruitbat gnawing on his guts. Nevertheless he panted through his tears and sweat, "Someone must take command. Orison must be led. And I am here. Prince Kragen is here. For the first time, we know our enemies. We must not miss this opportunity."

"Opportunity?" Norge asked noncommittally.

Oh, for the strength to scream! The Tor's stomach and throat seemed to be filling up with blood. "An alliance with Alend," he croaked out. "Against Cadwal. A chance to end this siege and fight."

The captain said nothing; his reaction was unreadable.

"Norge." Peering through a blur of pain, the lord leaned closer to whisper straight into the captain's face. "If I can make an alliance with Prince Kragen, will you support me?"

Norge spent an astonishing amount of time lost in thought. He took forever to arrive at a decision. Or maybe he just seemed to take forever.
Then he said, "All right, my lord Tor," as if he had never hesitated in his life.

(With acknowledgement made to MsMary for already quoting part of that passage on this thread.)


[Edited for typos]
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Post by shadowbinding shoe »

Linna - I wanted to add that of course I agree that the characters Donaldson created for these books are quite believable. I love these characters. But in many senses they are archetypal. Donaldson knows how to take characters to extremes and beyond and still keep them realistic and sympathetic. It's part of his talent.
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Post by Linna Heartbooger »

Thanks, sshoe. I don't spot these things...

when I was reading MN, all I wanted to know was, "what's going to happen next? Will good come to Terisa? What will happen to Mordant?" and "Who is this?" (Whenever a new character is introduced)

And cord hurn, I enjoyed reading what you'd reposted from what MsMary quoted... I'd pretty much forgot it.
"People without hope not only don't write novels, but what is more to the point, they don't read them.
They don't take long looks at anything, because they lack the courage.
The way to despair is to refuse to have any kind of experience, and the novel, of course, is a way to have experience."
-Flannery O'Connor

"In spite of much that militates against quietness there are people who still read books. They are the people who keep me going."
-Elisabeth Elliot, Preface, "A Chance to Die: The Life and Legacy of Amy Carmichael"
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Post by Cord Hurn »

Thank you for expressing your appreciation of the Norge quotes, Linna! That makes typing them up all worthwhile, to read that!
I hope to put a few more quotes about Norge up here later this week, before moving on to another topic. :cross:
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Post by Linna Heartbooger »

Neat... there is sometimes a tendency for people to read things, enjoy them, but then not comment because, well, it's not always the most substantive post to make...

OTOH, there is a "fastest poster this month" contest going in "Gen Disc" right now, so.. that might help things.
Also, as of right now, you are officially invited: kevinswatch.ihugny.com/phpBB2/viewtopic.php?t=24791&postdays=0&postorder=asc&start=0
"People without hope not only don't write novels, but what is more to the point, they don't read them.
They don't take long looks at anything, because they lack the courage.
The way to despair is to refuse to have any kind of experience, and the novel, of course, is a way to have experience."
-Flannery O'Connor

"In spite of much that militates against quietness there are people who still read books. They are the people who keep me going."
-Elisabeth Elliot, Preface, "A Chance to Die: The Life and Legacy of Amy Carmichael"
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Post by Avatar »

Terisa just annoys me. :D

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Post by Cord Hurn »

Thank you, Avatar, for giving me opportunity to finally use this emoticon:


:offtopic:


:mrgreen: (Mr. Green is still my favorite emoticon, though. He's just too cool!) ;) ;) ;)
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The Tor's choice of Norge to give hope to an alliance pays dividends from the moment the Prince comes to consciousness. Kragen would never feel he could trust anybody in Orison if his only means of defense was kicked away from him.
Prince Kragen was rousing, no question about it. Artagel still sprawled on the floor as if Master Gilbur had broken his neck; but the Prince was crawling stupidly toward his sword.

A guard who didn't know any better and probably hated Alends stepped forward to kick the sword out of Kragen's reach.

"Stop," coughed the Tor.

Norge ordered the guard to stop.

Still barely conscious, Prince Kragen got a hand on his sword and at once began climbing to his feet.

A lot is going on in the following passage, but for purpose of this thread's subject I would like to point out that it is Norge who quickly thinks of the most important questions to draw from the sudden re-appearance of Terisa, who was last seen being abducted by Eremis, Gilbur, and Gart. (He may seem unreal, but the guy can really think on his feet, I have to give him that.)
"Who is in command?" Master Barsonage demanded of the guards. "Where is King Joyse?"

The answer was, Pissed if I know. Or the equivalent.

"Where did you get your orders?" asked Geraden.

That was easier. Norge. Castellan Lebbick's second.

For the moment, the fact that Norge was actually only one of the Castellan's seconds-in-command seemed unimportant. The point was that power still existed in Orison. It was being held together by someone from whom the guards were willing to take orders. Someone with enough credibility to be obeyed during an emergency.

Norge himself? What gave him precedence over other captains? Who gave him precedence?

A Master of the Congery? Impossible. Never in the mediator's absence.

One of King Joyse's counselors? One of Orison's lords? Unlikely.

Prince Kragen himself? Inconceivable.

Artagel?

Was the situation so bad that no one could be found to take charge except Geraden's independent-minded and slightly crippled brother?

Terisa wanted to run. She would have if Geraden hadn't held her back. As she and her companions left the castle's lower levels, however, Orison's mood improved. Here the halls were under better control; less frightened by the possibility of an attack by Imagery. Soon a guard appeared who saluted the mediator. "Master Barsonage," he panted. Apparently, he had come running from the Imager's quarters. "Geraden. The lady Terisa?" He knew enough about the day's events to be surprised. "You're wanted in the King's rooms."

The King's rooms? Terisa and Geraden and Master Barsonage stopped in their tracks.

"The audience hall is no longer safe," explained the guard.

"Who wants us?" demanded Barsonage instantly.

Breathing hard, the guard replied, "My lord Tor. He says he's taken command. In the King's absence. He and Norge. Norge is the new Castellan."

The Tor. Terisa felt a surge of energy. Bless that old man!

"What about Prince Kragen?" she asked.

The guard hesitated as if he were unsure of how much he should say. After a moment, however, he answered, "It's just a rumor. I was told my lord Tor offered him an alliance."

Geraden let out a fierce cheer.
Together, he and Terisa started into a run.

Master Barsonage took time to pursue the question. "What was the Prince's reply?"

The guard said, "I don't know."
Barsonage did his best to catch up with Terisa and Geraden.

In the King's tower, more guards joined them, escorted them upward. Guards swept the king's doors open; Terisa, Geraden, and the mediator went in. For the sake of dignity--not to mention caution--they slowed their pace as they entered.

The King's formal apartment was just the way she remembered it--richly appointed, paneled blonde, carpeted in blue and red. She hardly noticed the furnishings, however. Although there were only eight or ten men--most of them captains--in the room, it seemed crowded; too full of anxiety and passion, conflict.

Before the door closed, she heard Prince Kragen's voice blare like a trumpet, "I will not do it!"

Her chest tightened. She found suddenly that she was breathing harder than she realized. The Prince's shout seemed to throb around her, and the hope she had for an alliance began to curdle.

On one side of Prince Kragen stood Artagel, close enough to react to what the Prince did, far enough away to dissociate himself from the Alend Contender. On the other side was a captain Terisa didn't know. Norge?

All three of them had their backs to the doors. Each in his separate way, they confronted the chair where King Joyse used to sit when he played hop-board.

There sat the Tor, slumping over his great belly as if he were barely able to keep himself from oozing out of the position he had assumed.

"The alternatives you propose," the old lord was saying as if he were in a kind of pain which had nothing to do with Prince Kragen, "are intolerable." He had a hand over his face. "I will not permit you to occupy Orison, making us little more than a hostage population. I do not call that an alliance."

"And I do not call it an alliance to wait outside in danger while you sit here in safety," retorted the Prince hotly. "If--no, when High King Festten marches against us--we will be helpless while you remain secure, watching the outcome. We must be allowed to enter Orison. I will not remain where I am, waiting for King Joyse to return--if he ever does return--and tell me his pleasure--if his pleasure involves anything more productive than a game of hop-board."

The Tor didn't look strong enough to raise his head. "I understand your dilemma, my lord Prince. Of course I do. But you cannot believe Orison's people--or Orison's defenders--will sit quietly on their hams while Alend takes power over them. I have already said I will open the gates to you if you--"

"No!" Prince Kragen barked. "Do you take me for a fool? I have no intention of making Orison's people hostage. I will grant them precisely as much freedom and respect as the necessary crowding of so many bodies permits. But I will not submit my forces to your authority."

Orison's captains muttered restively. Some of them were viscerally incensed at the idea of an alliance with Alend. And some of them had noticed Geraden and Master Barsonage--had noticed Terisa--

"My lords!" Geraden cut in sharply. His voice carried potential authority across the room; and a thrill prickled suddenly down Terisa's back. "There's no need to argue about waiting. We're done waiting. It's time to march!"

The Tor snatched his hand down from his face, peered bleary pain and desire at Terisa and Geraden. Artagel wheeled with joy catching fire across his features. Norge turned more cautiously; but Prince Kragen spun like Artagel, his swarthy face congested with conflicting needs.

"Terisa! My lady!" Artagel crowed. "Geraden!" By the stars, you did it!" As if he had never been injured in his life, he caught Geraden in an exuberant bearhug, lifted him off his feet, then dropped him to snatch up Terisa's hand and kiss it hugely. "Everytime I see you, you're even more wonderful!"

She wanted to hug him, but she was distracted; there were too many other things going on. The captains were shouting encouragement to each other, or demanding silence. And the Tor had risen to his feet. Unsteadily, almost inaudibly, he murmured her name, Geraden's. "You are indeed wondrous." He spoke huskily, as if he were dragging his voice along the bottom of a cave. "There must be hope for us after all, if such blows can be struck against our enemies."

Prince Kragen was right behind Artagel; he grabbed Geraden by the shoulders when Artagel dropped him. "How did you do it?" the Prince demanded. "How did you rescue her? What has changed? Where is King Joyse? Did you say march?"

Somehow, Norge made himself heard through the hubbub. His laconic tone sounded so incongruous that it had to be heeded.
"You got away, my lady. What did you learn from him?"
"What did you do to him?"

In the stark silence which followed, a moment passed before she understood the point of his question.

With her chin jutting unconsciously, she met the hot and eager and worried stares of the men around her. "I didn't do anything to him." I didn't kill him. I didn't even hurt him. "But I learned enough."

Too quickly for anyone to interrupt her, she added, "Before Gilbur killed him, I had a long talk with Master Quillon. He told me what King Joyse has been doing all this time. Why he's been acting like such a passive fool. What he wanted to accomplish. Geraden is right. It's time to march."
I find it kind of funny that Norge's lackluster voice grabs everybody's attention, when you would think it would be more easily drowned out by the louder emotional bursts in that room. But it isn't drowned out, rather it stands out! Who'd have thought it? 8O :)
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Cord Hurn wrote:Thank you, Avatar, for giving me opportunity to finally use this emoticon:


:offtopic:
:LOLS:

Guilty as charged. :D

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Maybe I'm being unfair. Maybe there's really multiple facets to Norge's personality that makes his character more rounded than the flat image I've always perceived. Perhaps a little further study of the text is called for.



Norge, the happy little warmonger.
In a dull rumble, the Tor asked, "What do you advise, my lord Prince?"

"Fight for Orison as long as you can," replied the Prince. "Then join me across the Pestil. Bring the Fayle and the Termigan--bring the Armigite, if you can bear him--and add your forces to mine. With the Alend Lieges behind us, we will make Eremis and Festten pay dearly for every foot of ground they take."

To himself, the Tor make a muttering noise, as if he were considering the idea. But before Terisa could panic--before Geraden could intervene--he heaved himself to his feet.

He tottered. Afraid he might fall, she reached out to support him. What was left of his hair straggled with sweat; his skin had a gray underhue, as if his heart pumped ashes rather than blood; his eyes were glazed, nearly opaque.

Nevertheless he spoke as if no one could doubt that he would be obeyed.

"Castellan Norge, do you hear me?"

"I hear you, my lord Tor." Norge sounded vaguely somnolent: detached; impervious to argument.

"Escort my lord Prince out of Orison. I want him returned safely to his father. Safely and politely. Do you hear me?"

"I hear you, my lord Tor."

"We march against Esmerel at dawn. Be ready. Confer with the Congery on the matter of supplies."

Master Barsonage nodded assent.

"Yes, my lord Tor." This time, there was a small bite in Norge's tone, a touch of grim happiness.

Prince Kragen threw up his hands.



Norge, the satisfied strategist.
The Tor held up his hand to forestall movement. "Castellan Norge will remain among his men--as will the mediator of the Congery. They will keep their strength ready to march at the earliest possible moment."

Norge nodded amiably. Master Barsonage started to object but subsided at once. The point of the Tor's decision was obvious: if the old lord was betrayed, most of Orison's fighting force would remain intact.

Prince Kragen permitted himself a bleak smile. "As you wish, my lord Tor." With a look toward Terisa and Geraden, he asked, "Will you mount and join us?"

Trying not to hurry--trying not to look like people who desperately wanted an alliance--Terisa and Geraden found their horses, swung themselves up, and rode to the Tor's side.

Without discernible anxiety, Castellan Norge withdrew his escort; he retreated a short distance down the road and immediately sorted hid men into a defensive shield around the Congery and its wagons.



Norge, the resigned pessimist.
On the far side of Orison, the Alends had started to roll back the perimeter of their siege. Mounted soldiers took to their horses; foot soldiers formed squads. Like King Joyse's guard the Alend troops were moving.

Men spat obscenities and curses into the cold wind. Trying to match his Castellan's calm, the Tor asked, "What do you suppose this means, Norge?"

Impenetrably phlegmatic, Norge shrugged. "The Prince doesn't want to keep Orison cut off. Not anymore. What's left?

"As soon as we're gone, he's going to hit the gates headlong and drive his whole strength inside as fast as he can."

The Tor nodded once, stiffly. His lips had a blue color in the chill; Terisa saw them trembling. To himself, he murmured, "So the Alend Monarch masters Orison at last. And we must let it happen. My King, forgive me."
So far, as characters go, he's still kind of flat. :?
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I must read these again. :D

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Post by Cord Hurn »

Norge, the wooden-seeming soldier who turns out to be a human being, after all.
His reaction to all that he saw inside Esmerel shows that some things CAN faze him, after all.
The riders continued to advance. Now Terisa could tell that the pillars of the portico were redwood; that the sides of the manor were built of waxed boards supported by stone ribs and columns. A beautiful design--but the place was still vacant. Esmerel's air of abandonment grew deeper as the riders moved farther into the gloom of the valley walls.

All the horses became restive: prancing; stamping; sawing against their reins.

Prince Kragen's standard-bearer winded a call on his battle-horn, a fierce run of notes which nevertheless sounded forlorn and maybe doomed as it echoed back from the ramparts. Nothing shifted in Esmerel. None of the windows winked or opened. Under its portico, the door looked heavy enough to withstand anybody.

Abruptly, Geraden winced; Prince Kragen spat a curse; and all at once Terisa could smell what was disturbing the horses.

The sweet, rank, nauseating reek of blood and old rot, neglected death, flesh gone to carrion.

"What's in there?" one of the captains asked as if he had forgotten that everyone could hear him.

"Lucky you," Ribuld muttered in response. "Lucky us. We're going to find out."

As soon as she recognized the stench, however, Terisa lost her fear. She had been expecting something like this. A spiritual attack as much as physical. Adrenaline pumped through her; energy filled her muscles. This was Master Eremis' domain: he was in his element here. Everything that happened now would happen because he intended it.

First she said, "It wasn't like this four days ago. I couldn't smell any of this." Then she said, "This is where I saw Nyle. Inside."

His face twisting, Geraden surged toward the door.

"Geraden!"

The Tor's shout snapped like a whip, jerked Geraden back. Fierce and pale, he wheeled to face the old lord.

"Come on, he whispered. "We've got to find him."
The Tor didn't drop Geraden's gaze. "Castellan Norge," he coughed, "open that door. Secure the rooms inside. We will enter when you signal for us."

Norge saluted. At least three hundred guards rode away to form a protective perimeter around the manor and the vanguard. Some men dismounted to tend the horses. The rest followed Castellan Norge on foot.

In combat formation, swords ready, they approached the door

It wasn't bolted. When Norge lifted the latch, the door swung inward, opening on darkness.

He and his men entered the house.

Terisa scanned the harsh rims of the valley. For no clear reason, she expected to see men there: Cadwals clutching their weapons; an army moving to surround the forces of Orison and Alend.

Esmerel was a trap. But that didn't make any sense. She had been a prisoner here just a few days ago. Master Eremis had his own laborium here, his furnaces and glassworks. He had spoken to High King Festten here. It was inconceivable that he would surrender the seat of his power to his enemies. Sure. Of course. So where was he?

Where had she gone wrong?

Abruptly, the Castellan reappeared.

The gloom--and the fact that he was a few dozen yards away--confused Terisa's sight. She had the distinct impression that he had gone white. He held his arms stiffly at his sides; he moved as if he carried something breakable in his chest.

"My lord Tor--" His voice caught.

Peering at the portico and the door and Norge, the Tor asked, "Is it safe?"

Norge shook his head, nodded. His throat worked. "You need to see this. They're all here."

No, Terisa thought blindly, don't go in there, don't go, it's too dangerous. But Geraden was already running--

The Castellan stopped him, made him wait.

The Tor glanced wearily up at the sky. "The truth is, he rumbled, "that three days in the saddle have done little to heal my belly." The stubborn resolution which had brought him here appeared to be eroding. "I fear that once I dismount I will never get up onto my horse again."

Prince Kragen's gaze shone darkly. "I will go, my lord Tor."

The Tor passed a hand over his face. The skin of his cheeks seemed to pull away from the bones, giving him a skeletal aspet for a moment despite his fat.

"We will all go, my lord Prince," he sighed.


She had the distinct impression that he had gone white. He held his arms stiffly at his sides; he moved as if he carried something breakable in his chest.
And so we learn what can make even Norge blanch (takes a lot, it turns out).
I'm beginning to backpedal on my comments about him being flat and unreal. :faint:
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