The Witch's Cursed Daughter

98. The Myrde

Julian felt air brush at his nose as the white-washed sheen fell away from the world. Propelling himself from the water where he had lost consciousness on impact, he searched wildly for Cielo, who was also rousing from his watery sleep. Relief allowing his aching muscles to scream at him freely, Julian inspected the world around him. Not far from where he stood, a gigantic foot, as dark and rough as if it had been sculpted from clay, lay motionless. Casting his gaze up, climbing the body parts, Julian's head thumped with his heartbeat as he recognised the dragon which knocked him out of the sky.

Oddly, the Allancient was not looking at him. It was not attacking or even moving; the beast seemed caught in a trance. Julian, careful not to make any additional noise, turned about using his eyes to explore the state of the battlefield. He caught sight of Romile and Voster first. He could see mixed expressions on their faces; to their left, Julian spotted Illea, who had not even noticed that he was standing. His body rushed with fire and ice as he followed the direction her head was indicating.

Returning his gaze to the Dragon, Julian's senses were beginning to restore fully; the smell of the beast and its breath was odorous, and the corpses littered all around were foul. Rotating his head toward the palace, Julian needed to wade through the water to catch a glimpse of whatever had frightened Illea so much. Once out of the Allancient's shadow, a bright light delicately tickled his skin. His mouth opened as the image before him appeared as if out of a painting; Julian struggled to remain on his feet as his knees buckled. Using his Void as a crutch to support him, Julian sent his eyes away from the creature illuminating the previously dark sky.

A large bird, almost the size of the Dragon, hovered in the air, eyes closed, radiating brightly. Its feathers looked as if they were created from starlight and were not tangible to touch. The purest light resonated against every surface it met, engulfing the lives of the men still alive and softening their hearts.

While watching this magical entity sit in the sky as if it were from another world, Julian heard coughing, which didn't match the ambience created by the taintless creature. Unable to resist the coughing of someone in need, Julian followed the sound of mixed spluttering breaths and hacking until he arrived at the palace, Cielo meekly trotting behind him. The wreckage was worse than he had expected. Walls had fallen, penning people in make-shift prisons while the battle raged on. Finding himself before a mass of debris, Julian heard his destination coming from within; with ease, he drew his sword, manipulating his Void, and sliced an opening for oxygen to reach the victim inside. As the heavy breaths of confirmation came from the dark cave of palace parts, Julian was shocked to witness Wen clamber out uneasily.

"It's you," the green-eyed prince panted as he inhaled deeply.

"How did you end up in there?" the black-haired prince replied.

"Evianna."

At the mention of Evianna's name, Julian's eyes narrowed harshly, "What do you mean?"

"When she transformed, I was sent flying," Wen explained, reaching around to his back, bringing his hand forward to reveal it covered in red liquid, "Have you seen my Mage?"

"No," Julian answered, stepping around to see the damage on the older prince's back; Julian struggled to keep his voice calm at the sight of Wen's blood-soaked clothes. "Why would Evianna transform?" he asked while moving material out of the way to get a better view of the laceration; the resulting injuries reminded Julian of his experience at the hands of the Jailor, Abner Faris.

"She's a Witch," Wen forced through gritted teeth as Julian accidentally made contact with the open wound.

The news that Evianna was a Witch cut through Julian's thoughts like a knife. A Witch.

Voster had tested her when she had arrived in Kenellor and had been positive that she had no magic. Then memories of stories about Witch's and Myrde's passed before his eyes, swallowing the growing spike in his throat; Julian asked, "Is that her?"

Wen could no longer talk as he choked down whimpers, but he nodded in response.

"Your Imperial Highnesses," came a soft call from behind them. The brothers found themselves in the company of Duke Fassie, whose blue inform had become purple as blood had soaked into it during the battle. "Thank the Myrde; you are alright."

"That's rather ironic," Wen replied, "since she's the one that injured me."

"Pardon?"

Julian spied curtains in a reasonable state, still attached to a fallen window; collecting the fabric, he removed his belt and Wens to cinch the make-shift bandage in place as he spoke. "Now is not the time, Duke Fassie. How many people can you get to safety? I'm not sure what will happen moving forward. With the Allancient and the Myrde towering over us, I believe it would be best to leave it to them." As he finished talking, Julian signalled to Duke Fassie to help him assist Wen walking as the wounds were so deep that movement could cause irreparable harm. The pair considered placing the first prince on the Peryton's back, however there was too much uncertainty in the journey out from the ruins.

Lifting Wen's arm around his neck, the Duke questioned, "Will they fight one another, Your Imperial Highness?"

"We can only hope. We don't stand a chance against that beast," Julian's honesty surprised the Duke. In the years they had been acquainted with each other, this was the first time Julian had seemed so desperate and uncertain.

"Your Imperial Highness, in answer to your question, I have some troops remaining, and so does the Grandmaster. While we were moving, we witnessed the steward, Kallin Ro Beras, leading the survivors from within Warrick Palace through the courtyard towards the town."

"Excellent," Julian puffed as he felt Wen's weight as they scrambled through the maze of the courtyard battleground towards where the Grandmaster, his soldier's, and Mage's were waiting. Julian sighed with relief as he saw Mage's healing the wounded; his grip on Wen tightened as he quickened their pace.

"Also in his company was the Counsellor, Fenston Dal Geart," Duke Fassie added in disgust.

"I see; we'll deal with that later. Let us prepare the soldiers that remain to fall back. I don't want any more deaths at the hands of creatures we cannot defeat."