The Witch's Cursed Daughter

100. New Forces

As the Dragon began its attack against the Myrde, Julian rose from Wen's side as a Mage concluded closing the first prince's wound. Illea's frame could be seen sending out shards of ice as she hunted for something among the rubble. Casting his mind back, Julian was reminded that he had seen Romile and Voster beside her as he had made his way to Wen. All of a sudden, a glow as bright as the rising sun beamed from the two magic creatures; the Allancient had fired a beam of magical energy, which the Myrde reflected with a shield created of the same substance. Watching in awe, Julian found himself returning to his senses as he was sprinting towards the magical battle.

"You forgot your sword," Julian turned his head to see Wen at his side, his arm outstretched with Julian's blade already drawn from its sheath.

The moment he took hold of the hilt, Julian's Void painted the surface of the metal. Grinning at the reliable strength of his aura, he turned to thank Wen yet found himself wordless in surprise. Wen was running blade at the ready, his white aura encasing him like smoke. Behind, streams of their residual attack force followed, Duke's Darron and Fassie called out orders assembling their soldiers to attack the princess's knights who were ready to defend. As they drew near, Julian spotted Romile and Voster as they launched themselves over a collapsed pillar at Illea.

While the princess engaged in a swift battle of up-close magic and blade attacks, defending from Romile and Voster, who worked together as if they could communicate telekinetically, Julian and Wen met her forces head-on. As if the nightmare of the night's beginning had restarted, men fell left and right, the clanging of swords and armour echoed in the final hours of the darkness, and the smell of fresh blood re-wrote the old.

The Dragon had resorted to clawing at the Myrde, unable to best it at magical attacks. While it continued to send flame-like power towards the bird of light, the Myrde held off the beast's advances as it flicked its wings effortlessly. Noticing her Dragon's floundering victory, Illea's panic and fury spit out spikes of diamond-like ice, which trapped her assailants against the body layered ground, soaking them in the blood of their comrades. Turning her attention to the Myrde, Illea raised her hands above her head, channelling the racing power in her veins and releasing it in the Myrde's direction with a hysterical screech.

As the magic produced by both the Allancient and Illea began to pierce the Myrde's barrier, its lilac eyes closed as it spread its feathers as if inhaling through the bright plumage which decorated its chest. As it did, the glow sitting within the Dragon's neck died as if strangled.

"What's happening?!" the princess shrieked as she noticed her own magic beginning to dwindle along with the Allancient's.

Detecting their master's distress, the knights still loyal to the princess fought to form a barricade to protect her from the army of rebels led by the princes. As the opposing sides collided, inching closer towards Illea, a few of the empire's metal-covered soldiers scavenged bows and arrows once belonging to the archers who passed away at the beginning of the battle. With arrows flying, the Mage's left standing, who had all sided with the rebels, created large shields of repelling magic which targeted the knights who used the flying weapons.

As the cries of war grew more desperate as the exhausted forces fought to keep their wits, Wen found himself in the vicinity of Romile and Voster. They were struggling to free themselves from the pointed ice which had pinned them to the corpses happily supplied by the battlefield. After beheading a knight whose attack was louder than most, as dread had shaken him once he recognised his opponent was the first prince, Wen concentrated his aura into his sword. In an unperceivable movement, the prince's blade shattered the spear-like icicles, liberating Romile and Voster from their death-reeking position.

Clambering to his feet, Romile stared at Wen, glad to see him, "Thank you, Your Imperial Highness."

"You're welcome," Wen replied, nodding his head as he released his aura to surround his body once again; a terrifying sight to the opponents. The beautiful misty façade left a sinking realisation of dread as the knights were electrocuted at the touch of his blade. "Have you seen Davore?" he asked after slaying his unworthy attackers.

"No, I sent her to you after retrieving Julian's Peryton and my warhorse," Romile shook his head, concerned by the first prince's asking.

Wen sighed, his grip clamping down on the blood-soaked hilt of his sword, "She did come to me, but after Evianna transformed, she disappeared."

"Perhaps she's trapped in the palace," Romile suggested. Wen sent his eyes towards the almost ruined palace; the magical creatures engaged in battle caused more debris and damage to the building as they competed for a champion. Romile felt a tight squeeze around his stomach as he watched Wen's expression; chewing the inside of his cheek, he declared, "Your Imperial Highness, I'll go get her."

Wen did not reply with words, it was evident that he wanted Davore to be safe, and he trusted Romile to save her from danger. Romile understood why there was no further exchange between them; instead, Wen resumed his killing, emptying his mind of the topic until he received news of Davore's situation from Romile or saw her person. Romile felt heavy as he watched Wen swing his sword emotionlessly as he walked away. Picking up his blade, which was still resting on the pile of bodies, he shrugged as he let his aura waken after its short disturbance. With the metal humming at the touch of his firey aura, Romile looked to the palace, stepping in its direction.

"Be safe," Voster called from behind; Romile waved his hand, a little apologetic that he forgot the Mage's presence as he conversed with Wen.

As he began dodging through the maze that led toward the crumbling building, a rising cheer exploded from the giant gate at the entrance to the courtyard. All the fighting slowed as they watched, waiting to see what was happening. Romile stood on top of a broken balcony lying crookedly on the staircase to get a clear view of the barrage of noise. As he squinted through the darkness, which was a little less black as the night headed for morning, a flood of armed men accompanied by flags mounted on posts declared that the imperial troops stationed outside of the town had returned to help defeat the rebels and their leader.