I told you it'd be a while. =_= I'm so swamped right now. I had a spare five minutes and hurried to post this before I get seriously behind.
I went over this very quickly, so there's probably a load of mistakes. Oh -- and her eyes are white because that is the opposite of black. Black -> brown -> yellow -> white. Just in case. :)
~*~
The king’s army arrived at nightfall. The defenses were barely erected when the clanking of a thousand troops echoed through the streets, and every head turned to stare down at a black mass marching inexorably forward. The shout rang out for the women and children to gather at the castle, and only minutes after the army had been spotted, the city was devoid of laughter once more.
Among the men stood many, many women, bearing knives and bows, hair tied back and faces fierce. At the forefront of the city stood Ianna and Daeun, dressed in their usual plain clothes, clothes which no one had realized they wore simply because they were easier to fight in. Ranged behind them were Ianna’s men, robes gone, revealing the simple clothes beneath.
“I’ve trained you to fight, Taejon,” Ianna said, watching the army advance. The night was cool, the wind blowing ever into their faces, and above them the sky clouded, as if shielding the heavens from the imminent bloodshed. “This is you first lesson in what it means to be a mage. In one hand you hold magic; and in the other is your sword. Use them simultaneously.”
Taejon nodded. “Yes, Your Majesty.”
“Caelun, watch him,” Ianna continued, taking in a long breath and expelling it. “It is essential that he survives.”
“No, majesty,” Caelun said softly. “It is essential that you survive.”
“Watch him,” Ianna said, with a little more steel in her voice, “or he will go with the women and children, and you with him. You will be their guard instead of mine.”
Caelun did not move except to stick his chin out a little farther. “I swore to guard you for all eternity, majesty, not to do your bidding. The ancestors will speak for me.”
Ianna’s breath hissed out from between her teeth, but she did not argue further. Perhaps she did not feel the need; perhaps she was saving her strength; but a more likely explanation was that she knew he was right, and saw no reason to fight the ancestors as well as Caelun.
“Come away,” Ianna said finally, as the army came to rest at the wall. “They will break through at daylight. For now, we sleep.”
The army at their wall simply made camp, and waited. At daybreak, the wall did not break, as Ianna had promised. Daeun’s men waited, prepared to fight, but the wall did not break. The king’s army looked at Daeun’s soldiers, and laughed, but did not move to break down the wall.
The day grew older, then died, and at night the armies slept again. At daybreak, the king’s army left, leaving a perplexed and worried Genor behind. For it was now clear that the only reason the army had been sent was to keep Genor boxed in, to keep it from moving against the king.
“I like this even less than I liked Mhaea’s visit,” Ianna said, pacing in Daeun’s rooms. “Who did he wish to keep caged in? Me? You?”
She looked up, meeting Daeun’s eyes, and was a split second later before his mirror, brows tight together. She blew on it, till ice formed over its surface, and spoke into it, “Show me High King Aedaan.”
Obediently an image formed, but the man she saw was not on a throne, nor surrounded by his court. He was in a dungeon, a dark bruise across his jaw, and another over his eye; rats moved around his feet, and the only light to be had was a shaft of pale, watery light, no larger that his fist. Ianna’s choking gasp alerted Daeun to the bad news before he had a chance to look at the frozen mirror.
By the time he had risen, the image was gone, and the mirror remained untouched, empty of frozen breaths and stolen kings. He turned to face Ianna, and nearly took a step backward—nearly—for her eyes were nearly white, her face pale with rage, her body shaking with the force of her emotion.
He acted before he realized what he was doing, for no doubt there was no sanity in touching a woman so dangerously tipped towards lashing out at anything with a heartbeat, but he reached out all the same, and gathered her shaking form into his arms. “We will find him, dinsatas,” he said fiercely into her hair. “We will find him, and we will kill the fool who dared to take him.”
She hung onto him, body suddenly limp, and to his surprise tears wet his shirt, and with them came a small, pleading voice, like that of a child. “He is all I have left,” Ianna said brokenly.
“No, dinsatas,” Daeun said, pulling her free enough to look down into her face. Her eyes were yet a pale cream-colored white, but shining thickly with tears, an expression of pain so horrible that for a moment he lost his will to speak. “You have me.”
He held her for a long time, until her tears had dried and beyond, and slept beside her, too, her hands entangled in his as if fearful that he would leave. He was shocked, for though he had known for a while that there was a woman beneath the steely exterior, he had never once seen her moved to tears.
When she awoke the next morning, her eyes a bright yellow, he took her by the hand, and took her to see Fenn. He shoved his friend roughly awake, and as soon as Fenn’s eyes opened, said harshly, “Spread the word—the High King of J’engar has been taken. Scour every dungeon, no matter the cost, and send word back.” When Fenn stared at him, mouth sagging open, Daeun barked at him, “Now!”
Fenn scrambled for the door as if hot pokers had been laid on his backside, arms and legs floundering in a style so ungainly and contradictory to his normal grace that under normal circumstances they would have laughed. Ianna looked at him, standing silently in Fenn’s modest room, and said hoarsely, “Thank you.”
“You don’t have to thank me, dinsatas,” Daeun replied, smiling faintly. “This is what friends are for.”
She looked at him, eyes wide, looking so very young that Daeun was tempted to take her into his arms again—but the door was open, and in it stood little Anae, round eyes pulled wide and mouth a little O. “Mistress?” Anae asked, in a tone almost respectful, and Ianna turned her face away. Anae flinched, but the look on Daeun’s face was kind, and she knew it to be an urge to come closer.
Carefully, silently, she did as her lord’s eyes bid, and took Ianna’s hand in her own. When she was met with no resistance, she put her little arms around Ianna’s waist, and said into her stomach, “I felt you cry, mistress. It made me sad.”
Daeun smiled at Ianna, who looked at him over Anae’s head as if completely lost. “She’s an empath, dinsatas,” Daeun explained. “There’s a few of them, here in Genor. We’ve no magic to speak of—but in this, we are strong. Aren’t we, Anae?”
“I don’t like it,” Anae said darkly. “When one person is sad, so is everyone else.” She hesitated, then said tentatively, “Mistress, why are you sad?”
“There is a man,” Ianna said, her arms around Anae, “who has been my greatest friend and confidante since my parents’ death. He is the only true family I ever had—and your king has taken him. I must get to him before he is killed.”
Anae’s sharp intake of breath was loud in their ears, and when she looked up, her little face was fierce. “He is not my king,” she snapped. “He sent Mhaea, didn’t he, and let Genor die. If we didn’t have m’lord, I’d be dead too. I don’t see how he’s any king, if he can’t even save us.”
For the briefest of moments, a smile touched Ianna’s face. “See? I told you.”
“Breakfast,” Daeun said with conviction. “We need breakfast.”
.
.