The Witch's Cursed Daughter

97. Ride To Battle

As the two fell towards the ground, the wind racing past, Davore's hair intruding in Romile's eyes, the tower exploded, sending an array of brick, metal, glass, and fire down after them. Meeting the ground was much less comfortable than Romile had expected. While the grass was particularly lush around the base of the tower, probably done to enamour the princess, the additional blanket of rainwater did not provide any further cushioning. Having rotated so that Davore would land on top of his frame, Romile winced, his teeth baring towards the grey sky as he watched the wreckage plummet towards them.

His eyes squeezed shut in anticipation only to be thankful as Davore activated her magic in time, shielding their location from an inevitable crushing. While the final pieces fell to the miserable garden, Romile and Davore assisted each other to their feet, the cries of battle resonating in unison, notifying them that their mission had been a success. Romile looked over to Davore who was removed her outwear which had been almost completely destroyed by fire and tearing, she had become much more womanly than he remembered. Granted, years had passed since the last time their paths had crossed, but he could see the strength in her lean arms, the confidence in her stance. Turning her head, Davore caught Romile's gaze, and her lips twitched as a soft grin overcame her face.

"Let's go," she said, wading ankle-deep in the direction they had arrived from.

Reaching out swiftly, Romile latched onto her wrist. As he did, Davore's face contorted and her arm grotesquely bent, shying away from his grip.

"Are you hurt?" Romile asked, slacking the pressure pushing through his fingers. The Mage did not reply; however, Romile understood her silence was as much of admittance as he would receive. Looking at the rubble that surrounded them, he caught sight of a small, flat piece of wood; snatching it off the surface of the water where it was floating, Romile laid it gently against Davore's wrist. Understanding that it was futile to pull away, the Mage waited silently for Romile to finish applying first aid. He ripped a section from his shirt to tie the wood in place, then stepped back to admire the result. Pride welled in his chest as he compared this small good deed to the destruction he had created just minutes before. Shaking his head clear, Romile spun around and ran in the opposite direction.

Davore stared at him as the distance between them grew. Confused and astonished, she staggered after him, hurdling over obstacles to catch up to him. "What are you doing? We need to get back to His Imperial Highness," the Mage screamed.

"We'll make it," Romile called back without turning.

"Where?"

No reply answered Davore's question; instead, she chased the Guard out past the palace, towards the great surrounding Wall. A long building constructed against the giant brickwork was positioned not far from the edge of the palace gardens and the training grounds. Arriving at the entrance, Romile ducked indoors, unsurprised to find that the workers had left their posts, abandoning the lives inside. Looking down the centre aisle of the stables, Romile paced back and forth as three lines of stalls extended as far as the eye could see.

Pulling a thin silver whistle from his pocket, Romile brought it to his lips and blasted two short cries. After a moment, a loud banging could be heard from somewhere in the left-hand row. Shooting his head in Davore's direction as she entered behind, finally escaping the rain, he ordered, "Tack up Saryne, but no saddle," as he began running down towards the noise. Davore's eyes followed Romile speed away once again, frustration fizzing behind her gaze as she searched for a nameplate starting with 'S.' As Saryne's stall came into view, Davore felt a semblance of relief greet her.

Swinging open the door, the Mage could see that the horse was already wearing its bridle; rushing out of the stall, she searched left and right to see if another person was in their company. Even as she cast out her energy, it was clear that she and Romile were the only people present. The putrid smell of manure prevented her from being distracted from her goal - returning to Wen's side as quickly as possible. Davore pulled herself onto Saryne's back, gripping the reins tightly as she settled into her seat. The horse stepped side to side gladly; as she rode him out into the aisle, Davore heard a sound similar to a stampede over-writing the rain and battles taking part outside.

Sending her sights to her right, Davore watched with bulging eyes as Romile rode on the back of a large Peryton, accompanied by a selection of freed horses, caused by the Guard releasing latches on the stalls as he passed them by. As if poked with a hot stick, Saryne shot from the stables as if she were being pursued by the charging mammals, whinnying in protest as she did.

Halting outside, Davore waited on Romile, who stopped beside her watching the escaped horses pour toward the vast open pastures behind the palace that were blocked from commoner use. "Ride to His Imperial Highness. I'll meet you there in a while," Romile instructed as the final horse galloped from the building.

"Where are you going?"

"To my prince," Romile smiled, his brown eyes flashing with purpose as he guided Cielo to open his wings.

Just as Romile readied to take off, an excruciating rumble shook the ground causing the beasts to neigh frantically. Horror painted their expressions as a pair of wings crested over Warrick Palace unlike anything either had ever seen.

Davore nodded to Romile, encouraging him to take off immediately, her heart racing in fear. The Mage watched the Peryton soar into the sky, dodging through the raindrops towards the rebellion. When he disappeared out of sight, Davore twisted the reins and raced towards Wen. Tracing the route they had followed, Davore was glad of Saryne's speed as she shortened the vast expanse before the destination with every stride. With heavy, hot breaths, the horse arrived at the ruin-coated staircase in just over a minute. Anticipation jeering her on, Davore directed Saryne up the stairs. Accompanied by the roar of something terrible, the disappearance of rain, the hooves echoed loudly against the shattered walls as she carried the Mage along the walkway.

Catching sight of Wen, Davore slowed her horse, barely giving time for Saryne to drop to a trot before throwing herself onto the marble floor. Rushing over to her prince's side, Davore felt a pang of jealousy as Wen's embrace shrouded Evianna from the destruction happening just past the wall. Softly Wen welcomed Davore back asking her to drain Evianna's power; as the Mage did, she felt strange. It would have taken her no more than five breaths to pull out the manic magical energy running rampant inside the frail girl in previous circumstances. However, it was as if the magic was limitless. Examining Evianna's face, Davore could see that her violet eyes were open and looking towards the battlefield. Following her line of sight, the Mage could feel her blood run stagnant as the Allacient came into view for the first time.

Having been desperate to return to Wen, the monster was not a priority, but its sheer size and terrible power stole the breath from her lungs. As Davore's eyes lowered, trying to catch a glimpse of whatever the Dragon was approaching, her sight fell on Prince Julian.

A flush of scalding power seeped into Davore's fingertips as Evianna's power surged uncontrollably, forcibly sucking at the Mage's magic, Davore cried out as she felt her power acting in reverse – flowing into Evianna.

"Your Imperial Highness," Davore grunted as weak as a newborn.

Paying attention to Julian as the Allancient lined up his head with its target, Wen inattentively responded, "What is it?"

"I can't...." Davore tried to explain as her magic slipped away, all the while Evianna's eyes burned brighter, the violet beginning to coat the white beyond her irises, "She's draining me."

"What do you...," Wen began to shift his concentration across to his Mage; however, barely a second had passed before whiteness cleared everything from view. The chill of the cloudless night, the stench of burning, bleeding, and the beast, the silence over-wrote the cries of battle, and Wen waited for his consciousness to be returned.