I like this chapter primarily because of the fighting scene. ^_~ Tell me what you think! This is another crucial chapter, one that sets the tone for everything afterwards, so PLEASE -- critique, critique, critique! If I'm a loser and I screwed up my whole novel, be HONEST. My deep love for this chapter means nothing if it's actually crap.
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“Taejon,” Ianna said, her sword’s point held level with Taejon’s navel. “Get into position.”
“Yes, Your Majesty,” Taejon said obediently, and raised his sword in response. They began to circle, eyes locked, but it was painfully clear who was the teacher, and who was the student. Ianna moved smoothly and without hesitation, while Taejon considered his movements as he made them and constantly rechecked himself.
“I have been teaching you swordplay for months now, Taejon,” Ianna said, smacking her sword lightly against his. She looked pleased when his sword did not waver. “Show me that you have learned something.”
“Your Majesty?”
“If you can best Daeun,” Ianna elaborated, “then you will have earned the title of mage.”
Taejon looked, pale-faced, towards Daeun, who was leaning against a nearby tree, basking in the sunlight. He nodded, and walked hesitantly over to where Daeun stood, lips pressed nervously together. He had come to know this Talon—if not well, then enough to know that he was a master at swordplay, whatever he pretended. “M’lord,” Taejon said respectfully, “I request a duel.”
Daeun opened an eye, the clear blue of the iris exponentially brighter in the daylight. “Then a duel you will have, Tae. Go easy on me, now; I haven’t used a sword in weeks.” He pushed lightly away from the tree, and dragged his sword forth as if he’d never touched the thing in his life. Taejon felt sweat begin to prickle on his brow, and wet the back of his neck.
His fear of Daeun’s skill made him waver, and strike first; Daeun flung his sword away easily, though he appeared, for all the world, to have done it on accident. Taejon struck again—and once more Daeun cast him aside. He raised his sword to strike from above, only to find Daeun gone, a faint whisper of cloth giving him enough warning to leap aside as Daeun’s sword came whipping around from behind.
Their sword clashed again and again, and Taejon flinched each time, knowing that Daeun was holding back, resisting a true fight. “Fight me!” Taejon gasped out, and Daeun paused mid-flourish, looking mildly surprised.
“All right, then,” Daeun said lightly, and then he was a blur, blows landing at every angle with hardly any warning, driving him relentlessly backward. It was all Taejon could do to keep up; he was no longer attacking, but defending, reacting more than he was thinking, for Daeun moved too quickly for him to do anything else.
His feet struck water, and he felt a flash of humiliation and anger that Daeun had forced him so quickly to the lake’s edge, and that Daeun had played with him for so long—and fire roared down his blade, exploding against Daeun’s and forcing him back. Ianna had never taught him this; he did not understand; but he used it, a sort of pleased rage consuming him until the fire was everywhere, doubles and triples of his blade striking at Daeun. He heard a laugh, and realized it was Daeun; he sent his opponent a returning grin and struck again, harder.
Daeun had no magic; nothing should have happened this last time Taejon struck him. He should have sank beneath the force of the blow, should have suffered burns from the heat of the fire. Instead blue-white light flared from his hands, sending Taejon flying backwards into the lake. He had to swim to reach air, Daeun had flung him so far; and his fire, once so powerful, was extinguished.
Daeun lay crumpled on the ground, eyes staring blankly at the sky, his sword lying some feet away, blackened by Taejon’s fires. Ianna reached him before Taejon, and kneeled at his head, brows coming together in a fierce frown. “Daeun?” Ianna asked plaintively. “Daeun?”
From the shadow of the tree line a thicker, larger shadow emerged, hooves striking the stone beach with a solemn tip-tip. Tsuunai seemed larger than ever, his black eyes gleaming faintly blue, and when he reached Daeun, it was to blow gently at his master’s face.
“I don’t understand,” Ianna whispered. “You have no magic.”
Tsuunai’s ears pricked at this, and he stared at her, amused. Ianna looked baffled. “You can’t suggest he does,” Ianna protested. “I can sense magics—he has none!”
“We could not feel Oiden, and look how powerful he is,” Taejon said, standing wet and dejected to their right.
Tsuunai looked at Taejon, and bobbed his head. Tail flicking lazily, he turned back to his master, and, ever so gently, nudged him in the stomach.
Daeun’s eyes flickered, then blinked, and slowly he raised a hand to cup it under Tsuunai’s muzzle. Tsuunai breathed solemnly into his hand long enough for Daeun to orientate himself, then raised his head and turned back for the forest, tail swishing at nonexistent flies. “My lord,” Ianna breathed, over Daeun’s head, and he looked up at her, brow furrowed.
“Dinsatas,” he breathed after a moment, brow clearing, and a smile spread itself across his face. “Did you see that, dinsatas? I’ve magic after all.”
“I saw it,” Ianna admitted, “but I did not feel it. I am not convinced that it was magic.”
“It was magic,” a voice said, assured. Aedaan moved slowly from the castle, holding his ribs lightly as he maneuvered over the rocks. “You would not recognize it, because our magic is handed down from a different god than his. This Talon’s man—Fenn—told me the tale of the Goddess, and that is when I understood.” Aedaan looked down at Daeun, a wry smile on his face. “The runes spoke of the Goddess’s gift to the royal family; they called it the Light. It manifested itself in many ways, but generally it was a weapon—rather like the magic you just used, if I’m not mistaken.
“Your familiar puzzled me for a great while, for people without magic do not usually possess familiars—or, rather, the ability to call them up. This has greatly cleared my vision, Talon. Your magic—your eyes—your familiar; they all speak very clearly of your heritage. You are the rightful king of Talon.”
Daeun simply looked at him, though admittedly he was upside down, making Aedaan’s face appear oddly contorted; somehow, he had expected this, though the thought had never really crossed his mind. He’d never considered who would take the throne once the rebellion was a success, for he hadn’t truly ever believed they could succeed.
But if he was the king …
Retake the throne—retake peace, Daeun.
“Oiden,” he said, a feeling of foreboding consuming him. “Oiden—I cannot sense his wards, but Ianna can—but he is not J’engar.”
“No,” Aedaan agreed. “On this subject, I am most well-versed. Oiden is a scavenger, a thief. Whoever he comes across with magic, he sucks it from them, and uses it for himself. It is a nasty process, and in the end the victim must die. In this way he has both J’engar and Talon magics—thus Ianna may not sense him, but may sense the result.”
“How—how can you be so sure, sire?” Ianna murmured.
“He explained it to me, in great detail,” Aedaan said amiably. “I expect he wanted me to fear what he had in store for me—if you hadn’t come when you did, I believe I would have been missing roughly half my magic by now.”
“That’s why Anull did not have you killed immediately,” Daeun realized, and rolled to his feet. “Oiden convinced him to keep you alive long enough for him to take away your magic.”
“That is an astute assumption, yes,” Aedaan agreed.
“This changes things,” Daeun said, hands balled up into fists. “I have grounds on which to force him off my throne.”
“We cannot march the whole country through this castle to prove your authenticity,” Aedaan argued.
“We won’t need to.” Daeun struggled with himself for a moment, and with an effort caused a flowering globe of white light to form in his palm. “There are legends—stories, really. The one I’m thinking of is a ditty, one I used to sing when I was little. There's dozens of them, all about the Blue King. They say he wanders the world looking for his blue throne.”
“And they would know this story well? Enough to believe you?”
“A fourth of the court already pays me allegiance.” Daeun paced, back and forth, before them. “Another fourth are confirmed sympathetic—they simply aren’t brave enough to put in with us.”
“And the other half?”
“Terrified of Anull. We might be able to squeeze a few more out of them, enough to pull a majority vote.”
“This is not a wise course of action,” Aedaan said flatly. “There is no assurance of victory.”
“My ancestors have been fighting for this with no assurance of victory for longer than you have been a country,” Daeun countered, and for once, he held the upper hand. “This is more than we’ve had in centuries. I’d be daft not to use it.”
“Then you need, in the very least, insurance against failure—if victory cannot be achieved, at least you can avoid that.” Aedaan looked over at Ianna. “We must go to J’engar, and gather the armies.”
“The discontentment—” Ianna protested, brow furrowed.
“I will deal with these fools,” Aedaan said harshly. “They will have no grounds for their coup if they see I am alive.”
“And if they don’t care?”
“Then I kill them. It is has been written by the gods—traitors are sentenced to the desert’s worst death.” Aedaan’s hand slashed through the air, quick, decisive. “You have spoken on my behalf; if they choose to ignore my words, then they are traitors.”
“You are not well enough to travel by—”
“Horseback will do. As soon as I may use my magic, then we will travel as we may.” His eyes flashed as they met Daeun’s. “Prepare.”
. Great job!