The wotmania Files: My "review" of Robert Jordan's Crossroads of Twilight, Part I

This was me having fun in 2006 after being challenged to read the 10th volume of WoT. I had previously stopped reading the series in 2000, so needless to say, I wrote long summaries of my stream of consciousness-like thoughts on it in several posts. Here's one for the Prologue and the first section. I'll post the others in the next day or so, if others are interested.In for a penny, in for a pound. The book is mine. The day is mine. Fear me, for I have no mouth and must scream. Or something. Anyways, time to begin reading....now:

Edit: Forgot the epigraph:

And it shall come to pass, in the days when the Dark Hunt rides, when the right hand falters and the left hand strays, that mankind shall come to the Crossroads of Twilight and all this is, all that was, and all that will be [Bret "the Hitman" Hart, anyone?] shall balance on the point of a sword, while the winds of the Shadow grow.

Need I say more than what I've highlighted above?

***


One of the first things that strikes me about this Prologue is that in the beginning there was Rodel Ituralde. Is it pronounced "RO-dell," or could a case be made for "ROY-duhl"? I wonder if his friends called him Rodeo and what the is deep inner meaning of "Ituralde"? Hrmm... But at least the prologue is off to a nice enough start. He is not merely cold, his mustache is not merely neatly trimmed and rimmed with frost, but that his white gelding horse felt as though it were made of frozen milk. This certainly is not staid metaphors being tossed about here. I just pray that Rodel doesn't feel his "thing" rising to the point of kicking an 8 year-old Seanchan girl in the jaw.

But there is a good descriptive bit here of the weather changes, to remind those of us who may have forgotten that the Bowel...err, Bowl of the Winds was used and that winter's heart is colder than the *ahem* of a nun. Check. I'll drop that theory that WH was originally Narg's nickname now.

Ah, I was wrong! It's Wolf, not Rodeo for a nick! But Little? Hrmm...like Little John, or is this a nick that started with the women? Anyways, this Ituralde dude is shaping up to be interesting...I wonder if he'll be the main character of this book?

Apparently the Domani king with the porn star name of Alsalam has gone insane in the membrane, insane in the brain. Weird-ass orders, coming from all directions. Something tells me that either ganja was involved or that like Folgers, someone has secretly replaced the house blend with the specialized crystal...umm...yeah.

Now some dude named Donjel has appeared. He seems almost as badass as Randyll Tarly. Dark leather eyepath, only a single sword, hang marks around his neck - I bet this dude used to eat Trollocs for breakfast and then crap them out to kick the shit around a bit more. Hopefully he'll get to lay the smackdown on some roody-poo candyass later in the story. That so would make this book worth reading.

More snow, more waiting, more desolation. I bet Moridin is set to arrive by the next train, right? Waiting for Moridin...yeah, that'd be a new way of approaching WoT. Maybe a fan-fic on this for the future?

By the light, I come under the White Ribbon....oooh, kinky! Is that like the Order of the Garter Belt?

More Lords, more titles, it's like a bargain sale. Servants not included. But these are not any ordinary lords...these appear to be Dragonsworn, which by the description seem to live in an anarcho-syndicalist commune, where they each in turn act as a sort of executive, but that the orders of the executive must be approved by a simple majority in the case of ordinary affairs but by a 2/3 majority in the....oh, look Dennis, here's some lovely filth!

Anyways...Rode...err, Little Wolf is meeting with Dragonsworn. Gets a bit pissed, tugs on ruby earring. Can't decide if he's about to get all Emo or go medieval on their asses. But I don't think he'll be launching into a 20 page speech about how the Dragonsworn should rise up and live their lives, mostly because no description of Rode- Little Wolf gives me the impression that he wields the Sacred Yeard.

Read a description of the Taraboners and promptly start saying to myself, "I am the Walrus!" But then there's a dude named Wakeda. Wakeda. Must be an anagram or else it's the Japanese for "I have the facial hair strength of many men!" Or something...

Aiel on the plain, Aiel over there, Aiel way over yonder - bad guys showing a brain, I see. And best of all, Randy Boy gets the credit for this. Sweet. Villians gotta love when a plan comes together, right? Nasty do-gooders!

But now a truce has been forged. Domani, Dragonsworn, together again, like chocolate and peanut butter. Ready to kick ass, take names, and chew bubblegum, but alas, they are all out of bubblegum. Anyways, Hannibal...err..Rode...err...Little Wolf has a devious smile and a secret plan that shall be revealed....later.

***

Man, I'm so hyped. I hope there's more snow travelling here! YES! Eamon, who has a kickass Irish name (although I'm partial to Eochaidh for familial reasons) is holding...his cloak. And it is cold. Not ball-breaking cold, but cold and steady, like a ninja stalking his target. But then the wind/cold has to get all Emo and sigh. Damn. But then again, it's deceptively quiet, just like a granny can be in the calm before the storm. SBD. Oh, and for those that want to read way too much into it, "men huddled together unless driven to move." I'll leave this passage up to Robert Waite to psychoanalyze from a historical perspective. Surely he has time after all those years speculating about Hitler's ball sac/emo condition.

But then again, I do learn that Valda (Valdarama? Kickass 'do, ya know) lacks a Gag Reflex around maggots....Umm-kay. And he's a scowler, not a sniffer. Very key difference here. Character development, FTW!

How lovely, horse hung is being buried, instead of being used for fuel for the fire. Idiots! Don't they know the warming power of a few clumps of dried horse shit? But alas, the maggoty smell has faded suddenly - I wondered if it was just the Dark One (BBNC?) who let one rip behind the Pattern and it just oozed in and out like a faint miasma of decay... But I most quote here:

The wind did not change; the stink just vanished...The stench had come from somewhere. But there are no beginnings or ends to the stench in the wind. But it was a beginning... Page 27, hardcover, bitches. Look it up, yo Okay, I added a bit, deal.

"Scudding gray clouds..." - scudding....ha! Only Sexy Saddam knows how to 'scud' properly. He's like a pimp, ya know.

And alas poor Ailron, I knew him well! Stupid git, Valda thinks and I have to concur. Sadly.

Is it bad of me to think of the blind guy on Kung Fu when I see the name...Asunawa? Seems like a spoiled bitch, though. Tis a pity. Would have been better if he had studied with Goodkind and learned the torturous arts of the Mord Sith, such as how to stick a rod up a crack and...

Andorans in Murandy. Whitecloaks in Altara. Valda no longer in Morgase, who might be dead...or alive. Galadedrid being naughty, thus being called by his full name. Apparently no truth to the rumors that his middle name is Galadriel. Sigh.

Burn the witches! But first, build a bridge out of them and then see if they float as well as a duck...or a church.

And now, some Council of the Anointed to end this section. My guess is that they don't use balm.

***

Whadda know? Gabrielle is enjoying...what? What else but a ride through the snow! Yippee! I really hope she'll stop and make a snow angel. That's the best part about snow. That and snow cream and snowmen and snowfights and pissing in the snow and shoving your siblings' faces into it....not that I've ever done that, but...anyways, now where were we? Snow? Right...

Hrmm...I can hear it now in Gabrielle's thoughts on Toveine. Tiffany's cover version of "I Think We're Alone Now." After all, there doesn't seem to be anyone around...except for Logain of course. But he is so masculine that he doesn't need Rogaine. He has more than Fabio hair - he wills the hair into place, eschewing Saidin.

Oh wait, never mind. They aren't friends, not really. No pillow-friendly talk...le sigh. And somewhere in the world, a pimply-faced 14 year-old (or urza) is weeping.

But she does have a nice consolation gift of a green-gloved hand and a fox-lined cloak which just so happens to be shut with the her other green-gloved hand (a matching pair, she's special). But Gabrielle is obviously into kinky masochistic BDSM - she lets herself feel the cold, for the "refreshing vigor." Yep, definitely kinky.

Birds, birds, plants, snow, more plants, and ooh, some minerals! But alas, just only a bird in the sky and not that's not worth one in the bush, or however the hell that saying goes. But she is in a wooded area...just like all the other snowy wooded areas so far in this story. The geography is amazingly varied here. I wonder if we'll get to see a snowy plain next! OMG, I'm about to wet myself in anticipation!

Black Tower, White Tower...chess, anyone? Anyways, apparently it isn't a great tourist attraction yet. Maybe in the future, once that great big black wall gets built. It would have been ironic if it had been white. Then it could have had that Ying-Yang effect. But is it Yinging or Yanging? I can't recall.

But we do learn that the essence of Logain Albar is in her, kinda like how Mojo Nixon sang that we all have a bit of Elvis in us, except for Michael J. Fox, of course. He's like the anti-Elvis.

Finally, I see that Gabrielle is Down with the Brown. Sweet! And wrong-way bondage isn't a good thing, I suppose....but how would she know if it were so, if she hadn't had it done 'right' to her? But poor, poor Gabrielle - she's caught trying to read a guy's mind and to understand him. When will women ever learn?

Hrmm...devious mind, thinking of how to get around simple obedience. Sigh...they never learn, do they? I hope there'll be lots and lots of spanking going on...isn't that what RJ is renowned for in this series?

Logain appears. Mack Daddy of course, unless he's Daddy Mack. Your choice. Well-fitted coat dark as pitch, but no signs of silk slashed with cream. I'm SO sober right now! Then Logain does his manly man pose, and the other AS, Toveine, just fawns all over him. Sigh, I miss HS suddenly and my days as a football player

Toveine is a Red and she supposedly hates men, but Logain is just the shit, so of course she just <3s>must hate him for his claims about the Red Ajah setting him up as a False Dragon. Hrmm....so will the real Dragon really "ride"?

More thoughts and speculation about Logain and his aims/apparent laxness toward the AS prisoners. And then the confession - she tried to seduce him, only to learn that he really was like a Dragon in the bed. Scudding, baby. I guess they might have named the Black Tower after him? Hrmm...

But then again, Gabrielle just goes back to thinking of Engla...err, Tar Valon. Tree, boulders, and smooth, white snow. That snow pwns.

And another Asha'man appears. Mishraile. Sounds kinda dark, no? Oh, he's with M'Hael, and not the one living in LA right now. Apparently there's a tension of deathly calm in the air. Still no silk washing. I'm disappointed.

Mishraile trying to talk Logain to leave for 'recruiting.' Hmm...he reminds me of a poacher. I'll have to RAFO, I suppose.

Ah, interesting...no bonded women in the M'Hael section of the AM. Bet they're gay...or evil. Your choice. Choose wisely.

Looking for signs of insanity, but Logain is as cool as the other side of the pillow. He dismisses Mishraile, keeps his honeys and is just chillin'. Old school. Relaxed. Kickin' it.

Logain gets in touch with his feminine side and feels worry toward the women, which they then debate about for a while as to its meaning. Sheesh, women! Not that he probably isn't talking about this with Narishma about how Toveine seems to be a bit coy but that Gabrielle is wild in the sack but won't admit to liking it bareback.

***

Yuriko - I found it!

Oh, wait, her name is Yukiri. Damn. My bad.

But as we pick up her scent...err, not in that sense, she alas is not walking in a snowy woods at night á la a Robert Frost poem, but instead is descending...one of the wide hallways? Hrmm...I guess ADA nabbed the White Tower years ago, huh? Anyways, she is feeling as prickly as a starved cat, so I guess I shouldn't be noticing her attire yet, right? But it is morning time, time for the Tar Valon people to rise and shine and for the Novices to wake to a new round of switchings. This is so meta Catholic Nun School, ya know.

She is lost in thought about how cold the winter is compared to up north. But alas, she isn't walking barefoot uphill in TV carrying the firewood five miles to Elaida...yet. I bet that comes later, though. Right?

News is churning like newly-made butter inside her mind. As usual, rumors about things we've read about for books now and which some of us wish we could have forgotten. Everyone is everywhere, into everything and every and anyone. It's like an orgy of confusion, but will the chaotic money shot be worth it? Hrmm...

More thinking. Lots more thinking. But now it's time to stop the ever-present waiting and...greet another waiter. Meidani. Tall, slender, kinda girl mom would like to meet. Oh wait, never mind. That bosom apparently is standard-issued 36DD on a 5'8, 125 frame. Lara Croft meets WoT and is assimilated into the Bor...err, AS. Yep, that's it. Accompanied of course by Another Typical Warder. ATW from now on.

Rebels in da house! Whoot! There it is! *sighs, hoping for some groupies to shake it for me...female groupies, not Homsar, just to be on the safe side* Hating going on. When will they ever learn that it's love, man? LOVE.

But this is a fine example of Jordanian detail here: There is a talk about fishing rights in Arafel on rivers as opposed to lakes. It is so obvious that RJ is a GOB, Southern boy. I'm waiting for the discourse how how to frog jig. I bet it'll be amazing whenever it occurs.

ATW with these RAS. No, that's not Salvatore. You'll have to post about him your own self over at OF. Sowwy. And more hostility! Are these women all raggin' at the same time in this series? Or is it that RJ has had traumatic experiences and he's reliving them through this section? You make the call.

More and more talking about rumors about which Ajah did this, how so-and-so got naughty and got spanked, but alas no 15 page description of torture or about how the rebels' ears should be cut off, a la G--dk-nd (BBNC). Some things are a mercy, I suppose. But yet this is a scene full of chillness that has little to do with the nipply air...err, nippy air. But maybe nipply air is more appropriate?

More walking, more chattering about points of law (maybe hunting/poaching laws this time?). Whites jumping, Grays smiling, and five geese a'laying. Where's that damn partridge...oh yeah...before I forget...

BONADUCE!!!

There, I feel better. Now back to the show, as I am nearing page 44 of the hardcover (US) edition. As you can tell, a lot has been happening in CoT so far. Pity those fools that overlooked all this! It's actually not all that bad...so far.

More talk of Mistress Silviana and her birchings...hrmm...WoT BDSM? Moving on...

Even so, she could barely keep her eyes from lingering on one pair of Yellow who glided along a crossing corridor like queens in their own palace. - Dirty minds among us, interpret, now!

ATW appearance. More AS. Names out the wazoo. Pritalle? Does that rhyme with 'retail'? Anyways, back to more walking, after the spotting of a Black Ajah gal. I wonder if they secretly dress like Goths... But here, they sound like the Boogeyman! Out to get ya! Booyah! And it drags on for a couple of pages...moving right along to this lovely scene...

...of the corridor being empty! OMG! WTF! BBQ Trolloc! More talking, more scheming, more AS being name-dropped. Later to be dropped on their heads? One can hope, right? Or is that fear? Hrmm...

Elaida apparently 'favored' Siuan more than just hating on her. Secret lustful feelings emanating from the goat-like yearnings (not that goats aren't noble creatures, of course)? Anyways, just some futile attempts to sed..err, get 'friendly' with Elaida and Alviarin are being discussed. Are they a couple? Who is sending out the XOXO's? And who here will write out my name and make a <3?

But alas, all this speculation/waiting is broken by the arrival of Seaine, a White with ATW in tow. Acting quite illogical for a White/Vulcan, and she promptly gets bitch-slapped for it. Sadly, no birchings yet.

Ooh...a second mystery! Get the Mystery Machine running, Shaggy! Oh wait, this is merely about the pattern of youngish Sitters. Why they couldn't be Walkers or Runners is beyond me, but they are Sitters and perhaps secretly even Squatters. And so it goes...more guessing, theorizing...and waiting...for the Rebels this time and not for Moridin to respond to this post

***

Back to the loverly snow! YAY! Food conditions are so bad that Sir Robin's minstrels were consumed for food. YAY! And we learn that Gawyn doesn't sleep commando like a real manly man would have. Ask Randyll Tarly, Chuck Norris, or Donjel - they're real men

Anyways, Gawyn is deep into emoland here, worrying about Egwene, apologizing to her, crushing on her, worrying about Elayne, the Rebels, a fire, home for the holidays in Caemlyn, downing eggnog shots...yep, he's definitely a pussy.

Now an army has appeared out of nowhere. Rebels, of course. But without that kickass Hyperspace scene from the original SW movie. That rocked. Gateways are just so dull, ya know? It's like opening a door. Big whoop.

Horses in a barn, in a village renowned for....cheese Vive le fromage! Surrender Frenchies! Oops...getting carried away with myself

Awww...how sweet, Gawyn has himself some honeys...oh wait, they're Red/Black AS. Probably lousy lays as well. I guess the Red/Bed bit only works if it's on the Head and not in the dress, slashed as they might be with creamed silk.

Ah, the two try to lay the smack down on Gawyn, but he ain't having any of dat shit, so he's like all, so what? Tell me, huh? And they're like, no way, you're like a guy and have cooties, and he's all, so what, and then they get all secretive about why they want across the river to the side the Rebs are on and he's all emoing about this like the pussy that he is. Yeah.

So he like tucks up his peanuts and asks about Elayne, only to get slapped down with a vague "she's okay, just with some Rebs, but it ain't her fault. Stop worrying, whinyass mo'fo". This is some mighty fine character development here, along the lines of Anakin in the SW prequels. This so is begging for the Lucas treatment. Eat me, Raimi, RJ is saying, I'll get Lucas to film this shit!

And the scene ends with Gawyn...emoing. Consistent characterization. Sweet.

***

Clear blue skies, the sun a 'pale golden ball' of sunshininess! My oh my, what a wonderful day! Zippee-a-doo-dah, zippe-de-eh! My oh, my what a wonderful day! Plenty of blue skies, coming my way...oops, remembering an old song there

Davram Bashere is on the prowl and Mr. Bluebird is not on his shoulder. He's thinking about how a true winter back home in Saldaea would have burst trees and caused Saldean nips and balls to ache a bit...but only a bit, as the blood runs hot and furious in their veins. Viva la Raza! Andále! Arriba, arriba!

Sadly, the dude has a lame-assed named bay horse called Quick. Now I'm thinking of Quick Ben and how he would have opened a Warren and let loose...err, wrong story. Sorry about that, sometimes my mind wonders away from WoT and CoT, but rarely to SoT, unless it is to vomit Now back to the story.

A league north of C-Town, he's got a fancy spyglass made by that inventor Tovere that Randy Boy gifted him with some time ago. He's checking out all the men, because he's comfortable with his sexuality, ya know: fighting men, fletchers, farriers (say those three times fast!), armorers, laudresses (I hear they like a good 'tickle' once in a while ), wagon drivers and 'other camp followers' (translation: hoors! Lots and lots of hoors!). But these are for the likes of him, as they are a noble faction besieging cap-town, trying to keep the lovely Lady Elayne from her daily bathing in ass's milk, which I hear was the Third Age equivalent to Oil of O'lay (sp.?).

But apparently wolves and wolfhounds are mixing in the besieging camps, which puzzles Bashere, who can't seem to understand that some animals are 'born that way' and that 'there's nothing wrong with it.' He's such a bigot, isn't he?

But so far, this is all about the flags. Which I can understand. I taught students from all parts of Latin America. They too were all about the Flag, and not just the Grand Ol' Flag, the High-flyin' flag! Oh no, they were representin', ya know. Keeping it real. Just like these nobles are, WoT style. Yo.

Bael, deadly Aiel chieftain, veiled and ready for action. He was born in a crossfire hurricane, the product of Chuck Norris's semen mixing with the ovaries of Inanna. Go look it up. He's one bad mo'fo. He wants to haterize on the besiegers and to kick their asses.

But alas, politics gets in the way. Game of Houses, Game of Thrones, Game of Gin Rummy. It's all the rage and it's what shall decide the fate of nations, as no doubt a few here see that and think of a Robert Plant solo album from 1993.

Refugees flowing in, wood is valuable, apparently. A straggling group is surrounded by the besiegers, until C-Town regulars save the day! And there was much rejoicing and posturing and beating of chests like Tarzan. Then some went out and raped a few Tinkers. So it goes.OK, so that didn't happen. But it could have, right? Just laugh, dammit!

Bael departs and the manly men Aiel trot off, as if waving their private parts at the snow as if they were haughty Frenchmen holding the sacred Castle Arrggghhh! Or something.

Now Bashere has to comfort/counsel another Saldaen, Tumad, about the silly, poncy Andorans. But no "comforting" or frottage takes place here. Feel free to vomit after you look up that word

Rumors of Tenobia coming down from the North with the other Borderlanders. Bashere bitchslaps Tumad verbally by noting that there's bigger fish to fry and more things to emo about. This book so obviously should have inspired a few emo artists, right?

Broken Crown mention. My guess it's not a dental matter anymore. Thinking about a razor, but not to shave his mustache. But it's not a walrus mustache. He's Saldaen and he's okay! He sleeps all night and he works all day!

Another phrase (from p. 68 taken out of context: Every man could be mounted.... Debate that for a while.

But then this PoV closes with Bashere meeting up with wife, who calmly shows him her boobies while getting a 'flesh wound' treated. All in a day's work in Saldaea, killing two would-be assasins and then making laconic small talk with the midget husband. Ho-hum. Search is on for the assasins, but they were found dead by sword thrust from a narrow blade (must be special, that). He sends for a 'special someone' as his PoV fades to black...

***

C*ds**n* - Talk dirty to me?

[Before beginning, I've noticed some 'hate clubs' for C*ds**n*, *gw*n*, and F**l*, so I might just asterik their names just to avoid the wrath of those...or maybe it'll just be C, E, and F. No D though. Sorry.]

More snow, this time of the light feathery type. Perfect for snowballs and snow angels after a while, or for backdrop to Yuletide carols or my dream of makin' whoopie (not Whoopie Goldberg) in a driving snowstorm on top of Old Smoky...

Anyways...I'll wait a moment while you stop vomiting/retching profusely.

Oh, ready? Here we go! (to be said in a faux Mario 64 voice)

Samitsu, whose sister gave her name to Jujitsu, is looking out at all the falling snow drom a tall narrow window in the Sun Palace in Cairhien, Cairhien, home of the Game of Houses and the place where Asha'men Gone Wild! was recently filmed. The Tower of the Rising Sun (not to be confused with the whorehouse in N'awlin's known as the House of the Rising Sun, as popularized by Lead Belly and The Animals) is gone due to the carelessly roughhousing of the Asha'men.

Samu, as I'll nick her now (she should be grateful that it's not Shamu the Whale or my old Japanese roomie, Osamu, who had the same nick), is worrying (favorite sport of WoTlanders next to sniffing, braidtugging, scowling, and waiting) about the orders that C left her a week or so before she went away, away. Keep those pesky meddling kids...err, Cairhienin out of trouble and C's hair. And of course, she's fretting over Randy Boy's decisions as to who gets to pretend to rule which country, although she admits to herself that Dobraine (rhymes with 'no brain'?) isn't too shabby.

There's another page or so of worries. Damn, these people worry more than my mom does when she used to be on the ra...err, nevermind. Anyways, worryage broken up by Sashalle. What I'd give for an AS to be named Shaneyney here. It'd so make my day/night. Descriptions of Shaney...err, Sashalle made her sound like Sir Mix-a-Lot's anaconda might want some...ahem.

And now for the unintentional AS blush moment of the PoV: Not for the first time, she found it difficult to meet the other sister's gaze. (interpretation: She wants to knock boots...titties? with her, right?)

More blabbage, as the covert sexual tension is heating up, as they are leaning forward a bit, getting a bit...closer to one another. Oh yeah, baby (to be said in a Barry White voice). This goes on for most of three pages before Corgaide Marendevin interrupts in a comedy of manners segment which showcases RJ's "borrowing" from Jane Austen, especially Pride and Prejudice. Apparently there is an Ogier in the Kitchen, but surely God is still in his Heaven, right?

More talk of AS and stilling and faces and aging and aging creams, but alas, no mention of Boudreaux's Butt Paste that some AS were rumored to be using to make their rears as smooth as their fronts. Sigh...

More walking...damn these women must be in a lot of shape.. All they do is walk, talk, and worry...and sniff and braidtug on occasion. Now if she had only hiked up her leg and...well, that would have broken more than the wind whistling through the meadows, right?

And not just AS, but Nobles are strolling, looking like multi-hued peacocks, if they just aren't postin' up flashing the 4-1 or the 3 in a circle or the V-L. Noble gangs...yep, another feature that I'll look forward to seeing RJ explore in the future, perhaps later in this book?

Someone's in the kitchen with Dinah, someone's in the kitchen I know-oh-oh! Someone's in the kitchen with Dinah, strumming on that ol' banjo! Oh wait, it's just an Ogier named Ledar. Anagram is Radel, one letter away from being the romantic whirlwind/badass junior named Rodeo...err, Rodel.

Anyways, stupid talk about Dragons, Asha'men, and craziness, oh my! But it does serve to bring into focus events from the earlier books, which is a good and useful thing to do. It's amazing how much I remember of this despite not having read any WoT per se in almost 6 years.

Oh wait, Ledar is simply Loial trying to play Bond, James Bond. Sigh...where's Xenia Onatopp and Pussy Galore when you need them?

Some conflict/staredown (Dude! You can't win! Only good stare a woman can give ya is a bedroom eyes stare and she don't want your scrawny Asha'man ass! She's thinking "Ledar" all the way, because once she's tried Ogier, it's ovah!) with Karldin, who might be the long-lost Asha'man brother to Jimmy Dean. Hrmm....sausage?....hrmm...maybe Samu does want him...

More walking, even an 'arduous climb' from the kitchens to Dobraine's pad. Apparently everyone thinks he's croaked and the bloody sheets seem to indicate that, not to mention those dead, pesky bodies that hit the floor, Drowning Pool style. But then Samu goes all Bret Hart and thinks that she's the best there is and she patches him up to where he's still alive, but hangin' by a thread. And somewhere, Survivor is writing a theme song for this moment.

And this Prologue closes with Logain and his Ho's somehow riding into the city, at some point in the past/present/future to what took place earlier. And now for the main course to begin...tomorrow.

[Actually, this Prologue wasn't as bad as I remembered it being from 2002 when I read the free legal E-book from M$ Reader. So maybe this bodes well for the future?]