Chapter 71 Westley
“WESTLEY!”
Her voice tore at his soul. The sheer terror, not to mention the fact that she used his name, made him look up to see her sprinting as fast as she could towards him, grimacing.
The pain in his side dissipated as he shifted, bringing his sword up to meet the mortal’s weapon. He barely managed to block the fatal blow. The man grunted with the effort of his strike, but Westley didn’t release him.
He swiftly pushed the mortal, making the man falter. Breathing heavily as the poison from the arrow threatened to drag him under, Westley slammed his foot into the man’s face before he could right himself.
Two other mortals attacked from both sides and he had to spin onto his knees, throwing a dagger to his left before stabbing the snivelly mortal to his right.
Both his weapons struck true. Neither were death blows, though—the mortals only stumbled before coming at him again.
The surge of adrenaline was fading quickly, the pain in his side growing steadily.
Westley doubled over. Try as he might, he was unable to bring his arm up to block the next swing.
Steel clashed against steel as Solveig stood over him, intercepting the mortal’s sword. Like he had seen her do thousands of times now, she ducked and dodged, a blur of motion that kept the mortals at bay.
She leveraged the two mortals against each other, and before long, she popped up behind the one who’d been about to kill him, dagger to the mortal’s throat.
“It’s quite embarrassing that you thick-headed mortals were able to steal our magic.” She slid the dagger to the thin cord at the mortal’s neck, slicing through it.
Solveig reached around with her other hand and yanked the stone out of the man’s shirt.
Awe filled her eyes as she took in the nearly black hue of the rough-cut gem.
“Blood Stones don’t have to be on your person to protect you—that’s why they’re so powerful.
Everyone would need to wear one if that was the case.
“I’m sure you also know that the more blood a stone absorbs, the more powerful it becomes. But the price for this magic is steep.”
The mortals traded glances, confusion replacing some of the malice on their faces.
Solveig continued, buying Westley time to try and recover.
“Magical objects used by non-magical beings always require a price—a heavy one. I’m guessing whoever gave this to you didn’t explain the finer details.
” The mortals’ faces drained of colour, their confusion turning to dread.
“Blood Stone magic is no different, and because of its great power, the price is uniquely cruel.
“You see, once I destroy the stone, anyone who offered their blood to it is not only no longer protected, but magic can never be wielded on their behalf again. It’s a one-time deal. Breaking the Blood Stone breaks all other magic gifted.”
“Even if that’s true, you can’t destroy it. Only magic can,” one of the mortals said warily.
Solveig’s eyes glinted with mischief and secrets. “Who said I don’t have magic?”
The mortals’ dread morphed into fear, and they tried to stop her. But she was too quick for them. Westley watched from his crumpled spot on the ground as Solveig held the stone in her palm.
Her lids closed and her chest rose and fell with three deep breaths.
When she opened her eyes, they sparked with a flash of magic.
Her palm grew shaky, but her intense focus held the stone.
The current in the air changed and slowed as he took her in, her dark copper hair lifting with the static charge.
It was only moments, but the mortals began to laugh when nothing happened.
“You don’t have magi—”
A sudden flash of light escaped Solveig’s palm, blasting the two mortals backwards as the gem shattered into pieces, more blood pouring out than Westley would have thought possible.
The current of her magic washed over him, but it didn’t harm him as it had the mortals. His magic stirred, more potent as it flowed through his veins, and his pain began to subside. He tried to wield his magic, but there was still a barrier holding it captive beneath his skin.
His brief disappointment receded when Solveig stumbled. He tried to make his way to her, but the wound in his side was too great.
Solveig tried to catch her breath, blood still pouring like tears of crimson from the remnants of the stone.
The foolish mortals had not learned their lesson—they never did—and they regrouped and charged at Solveig.
But with their protection gone, they were no match for her, even in her exhausted state. She sliced through their stomachs with two expert swings of her sword, no mercy in her hard eyes.
One of the mortals stood behind her, ready to pounce, but she swung around so quickly his head found itself severed and rolling away from its body. The last mortal screamed and tried for another clumsy attack. His head joined that of his companion, his body crashing to the blood-soaked ground.
Screams echoed in the distance and Solveig rushed to Westley’s side, kneeling to examine the arrow.
“What, no jokes?” she asked as she inspected the wound.
“You’re fucking incredible,” he said, not bothering to keep the awe out of his voice.
“And you’ve lost a lot of blood.”
“Were you hit too?” He winced as she gripped the shaft of the arrow.
“No, why?”
“I heard your gasp of pain and you clutched your side, right here.” He weakly brought his hand up to touch the soft side of her torso. She shook her head.
“This is going to hurt.”
“What else is new—fuuuuck,” he hissed as she broke the arrow’s shaft and pulled out the two ends.
“Sorry.”
“No, you’re not,” he said breathily.
“Ah, there he is.” She lifted his shirt to get a better view of his injury. Her fingers prodded his wound and he flinched.
“Ow!”
“This looks the same as mine did. Lucky for you, Laeknir gave me a salve in case it happened again.” She opened a small compartment in her scabbard and pulled out a thin tin.
“That’s handy.”
She didn’t answer him as she opened the lid and scooped out a glob of translucent cream. She rubbed it on the front and back of the wound as he winced. He thought she was at least trying to be gentle, but a small smile tugged at the corners of her lips.
“Does my pain amuse you?” he asked.
“A little.” She finished applying the salve and ripped the bottom of his shirt, tying it around his stomach to cover the injury. “That’ll have to do for now.”
“I would’ve preferred you ripped your shirt,” he said, smirking at her.
“Yes, covering a wound with a cloth full of the sacrificial blood of mortals, how sanitary,” she said dryly.
“Worth it.”
“Alright, asshole, let’s get you up.” She slung his arm around her shoulders and helped him to his feet.
They headed in the direction of the still-burning camp. Sounds of battle were dying down, and only the occasional clash of steel could be heard. The Vanir were likely having much more success now that the Blood Stone was destroyed. Solveig steered him left, away from the stables.
“Where are we going?” he asked.
“To drop your heavy ass on Laeknir,” she said like it should have been obvious.
“The stables!”
“You’re useless to me right now. Laeknir needs to take a look at you.”
“I’m already feeling better.” He tried to stand without her support, but his head was dizzy and his body betrayed him.
“Oh yes, you’re in tip-top shape.”
“I don’t appreciate your sarcasm,” he grumbled.
“Then don’t say stupid things.”
“Wanting to check after Njord is not stupid.”
Solveig dumped him on the ground unexpectedly.
“If the roles were reversed, would you want me to run off injured into a fiery death trap with who knows what waiting to attack? I’m worried for Helle, but I’m taking your ass to Laeknir first. So you can shut the Hel up and let me help you, or I will leave you here and you can make it on your own.
” She stood over him with her hands braced on her weapons. He only paused for a moment.
“Fine. Help me up.” Once they got moving again, he muttered under his breath, “I like it better when you’re the one injured.”
“Gee, thanks.”
BOOM.
The ground shook under them, causing them to stumble.
“What the fuck is happening now?” Solveig cursed under her breath.
More smoke wafted from the direction of the stables. Solveig’s indecision showed clearly on her face. He tried not to take that personally.
“I swear, if you leave me here for a horse . . .” Westley took a steady step on his own, feeling a little better this time. He wanted to check after Njord just as badly. Solveig’s eyes swept over his body and she sighed.
“I’m not slowing down to help you, and if you get in my way, I’ll make it so that arrow wound is a distant, fond memory,” she said, sticking a finger in his face. He grabbed her wrist and pulled her close to him.
“You’d better follow through on these threats you keep making. Otherwise I’m going to think you’re going soft on me.” He let his eyes flick to her mouth.
“You’re the soft one here,” she said breathlessly.
He smirked. “General, there’s nothing soft about me.”
He dropped her wrist and took off towards the stables before he could do something stupid like kiss her. He hated to admit it, but they had more important concerns at the moment.
Westley’s side still throbbed as he raced through camp. Solveig quickly caught up and sped past him, a taunting smile on that tempting mouth. He urged his body forward to try to catch up to her, cold sweat dripping down his back.
“There’s a shortcut this way,” Solveig called from up ahead, leading him to a narrow, overgrown path through the forest. They ran through trees and over roots, Westley’s side still sending shooting pains throughout his body, but he pushed through.
He lost sight of Solveig for a moment as she rounded a bend, and almost ran into her when he caught up. She had stopped, and Westley pulled up short behind her, instinctively grabbing hold of her so he didn’t knock her over. It was a good thing he did.
In front of them was a giant fissure in the very foundation of the world.