The Witch's Cursed Daughter

86. The Rebellion Begins

The single firework danced through the sky, painting the darkening canvas with brilliant yellows and reds, sent shivers through the group. The dinner which filled Julian's stomach began to rise through his organs as he anticipated the following events.

"Romile!" Wen hollered as he launched himself from the marble steps, landing on the well-maintained grass.

"Voster!" Julian bellowed as he ran back up the staircase.

The Mage was on his heels. The two raced back the way Julian had come along the veranda; however, rather than travelling through the palace, they jumped over the ledge of the low balcony which marked the end of the path. Dropping down into a sheltered area, naturally formed by ornamental trees and bushes, the two waited for a squadron of knights to rush past. The chinking of the metal moving in time sounded innocent compared to increasing screams coming from the courtyard. All clear, the pair emerged, Julian with his sword in hand, Voster with his hands aglow, glass ring once again decorating his finger.

Quickly they moved to the courtyard, which had been completely transformed. No longer was it the welcoming reception for war heroes; it had morphed into a soiled battleground filled with bodies so close together it was difficult to tell who was friend or foe.

Julian caught sight of Everett Vol Fassie in his flashing blue uniform leading his troops, all marked with the insignia of the Order of Anzu, against the Royal Knights. Charging towards the Duke, Julian sliced away at people who threw themselves at him, expelling worries of killing an ally by mistake from his mind. As he charged forward, Julian came under fire from above. A glowing shield blocked the arrowheads from meeting their target as Voster emitted a barrier of pale light overhead.

As Julian fought to move forward, Voster cast his gaze at the positions of their above-ground attackers. He found that archers dotted the walls and balconies of the palace. Voster thrust his head wildly, searching for assistance; his sight landed on a group of familiar-looking Mages donning the Anzu crest over their imperial robes. Sending a beam of magical energy in their direction, Voster signalled above, broadening his shield of light.

As night-time crawled over the piles of lifeless corpses in the increasing darkness, the battle grew ever more challenging. Julian reached the Duke's side as reserves of knights pooled out of the palace, "Protect the Emperor!" "Defeat the treasonous Second Prince!" "Kill the Mages!" The calls from the knights grew manic as they were pushed back.

As the first sign of retreat struck the metal-coated men, a new wave of reserves arrived; however, this time, it was a sea of Imperial Mages led from the palace by the Grandmaster.

"Voster! Mages!" Julian called across the battlefield. Voster caught sight of the hooded figures pouring out from the palace like insects. Quickly he reorganised his own Mages, who had finished dealing with the upper-assailants, turning all their attention to offensive strategies.

"Your Imperial Highness, I suggest you cease this rebellion immediately and resign yourself to whatever punishment the Emperor deems fit for your sentence."

Colt Di Darron stood with his giant sword already drawn and waiting at his side. Julian stared at Duke Darron, a frightening and formidable figure. His silver hair shone similarly to Julian's eyes in the orange flames which had been lit hurriedly around the blood-splattered courtyard. At the arrival of such a menacing figure, the shouts and clanging weapons halted, waiting for Julian's response.

"I thank you for extending an offer which leads to less bloodshed," Julian replied politely, his hand over his chest. "However, if my resolve were so weak, I never would have prepared this 'rebellion,' as you so put it."

Duke Darron raised his eyebrow, inspecting the young prince who had yet to reveal his aura, "Is that your final answer?"

"Not quite, I shall offer you a suggestion also: join me," the black-haired prince grinned widely, "The eventuality of the battle has already been determined, and I am the victor."

The arena fell silent in disbelief at Julian's unexpected words. Duke Fassie watched Julian with a measured expression; under the eyes of two of the most prominent men in the empire, Julian fought to steady his nerves as a droplet of sweat trickled revealingly from his forehead to his chin. Suddenly the Grandmaster burst out laughing, "I admire your confidence, My Prince, though my oath remains; 'For the King, for the Myrde,' no matter if that king becomes an emperor, a madman or a child."

Unfazed by his rejection, Julian drew his sword. Taking a deep breath, his black aura trickled from his frame, licking at the surroundings like an eager and hungry hunter. Holding his blade out in front of him, Julian's silver eyes flashed with excitement as his Void provoked the Grandmaster to hold out his own.

A lopsided smirk appearing on his lips, Julian declared, "I look forward to your service."