Page 54 of Somewhere down the Ley Line
His adversary blocked the move, twisting his weapon to get out of Felix’s grip. Felix spun around to dodge the counter, hacking at the man’s torso to the satisfying crunch of metal on flesh. He kicked the falling body away to free his axe.
Where was she?
There, off to the side, backing away from a tall, hulking figure. Alwin.
With a roar, Felix charged. He intercepted Alwin just as he swung his blade, their weapons clashing together.
“Hello again, Felix,” Alwin hissed. “This time, you die.”
Alwin lunged, but Felix sidestepped, his axe sweeping up. Steel clanged against steel as the mercenary parried. Felix tried a quick stab toward the ribs with his dagger, but Alwin twisted, the edge slicing the air an inch from his side.
“Still slow,” Alwin scoffed, driving his boot into Felix’s shin.
The kick sent a shockwave of pain through his leg, and Felix grunted, stumbling back. Alwin followed up, his blade darting in a flurry of thrusts. Felix deflected one with the haft of his weapon, but a second strike opened a thin gash of red across his forearm.
Snarling, Felix hurled the dagger at Alwin’s face. The mercenary ducked, but the distraction cost him. Felix’s axe narrowly missed his head, grazing his arm instead. Alwin rolled away before leaping back to his feet.
“Who’s slow now?” Felix taunted, lunging for his dagger. Alwin blocked his path, sword held in both hands, and rushed at him. Felix sidestepped, catching the blade with the hilt of his axe, using his momentum to force it down. Another mercenary joined their fight, tilting it decidedly in their favour. Felix swung at him, struggling to keep himself positioned between the mercenaries and Isolde, but the second man dodged and retaliated, slicing Felix’s ribs open.
Felix roared in pain, bringing up one boot to kick the sword away from him. The hope that his armour had taken most of the impact was dashed by the sting and wetness on his side. He held his axe out wide, eyes flicking between the two men now circling him, then braced as they lunged at him at the same time.
“Felix!” Isolde’s voice cut through the chaos, high-pitched with terror.
His head turned instinctively. Alwin, seeing his opening, surged forward, his blade slicing through the air toward Felix’s exposed neck. He twisted away enough for the sharp edge to only graze his collarbone. Felix swung his axe in a wide, desperate arc. He overbalanced, falling backwards, and Alwin stood over him, a smirk on his face as he brought his sword down.
That’s it. You’re dead.
He scrambled, clawing at the dirt, but it was no use.
But then Alwin was gone, knocked off his feet by a human-sized boulder that landed on top of him some distance away with a sickening crunch.
“Stay down!” Isolde’s voice came again. He complied without thinking, and another rock flew past, smashing into the second mercenary. Felix turned toward Isolde, and his breath caught.
Light wreathed her, her markings and eyes glowing so bright blue it was almost white. A vortex of sand and pebbles swirled around her. But her face – her face did not even look like hers anymore. She was radiant, terrible, utterly inhuman, and her expression was one of cold fury. It was simultaneously the most terrifying and the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.
She spun, graceful as a dancer, flinging another boulder at the man who made the mistake of trying to rush at her.
The last archer nocked an arrow, aiming at her. Isolde extended her hand, and the surrounding vortex condensed into a wave of stone. She thrust it forward; theforce knocking the archer back with a shriek and a spray of blood. The remaining mercenaries fled, their shouts of retreat echoing into the night. But Isolde didn’t stop. Her glowing eyes locked on the fleeing figures, and sent another surge of debris to batter them into the dirt. She swept the battlefield, her breathing ragged. Finally, they landed on Felix. They stared at each other, until slowly, the glow dimmed. She staggered, and Felix rushed to her side. He caught her by the shoulders, but she didn’t fall. She merely stood there, staring at the surrounding carnage, her expression entirely unreadable.
For a long time, no one spoke. The night was silent, save for the occasional crackle of the dying fire and the rustle of Luella and Garren checking bodies, their movements shadowy blurs in the periphery. Felix still gripped Isolde’s shoulders, his knuckles white. He was unsure if he could let go at all.
She finally turned her face toward him, moving slow and sluggishly. Her eyes met his – no longer glowing, no longer terrifying. Midnight blue. Human. She gave him a faint, tired smile.
“Hey,” he said quietly. “Welcome back.”
Her brow furrowed as her gaze swept over him, her expression shifting to alarm.
“You’re hurt!” Her hands flew to his injuries; the stinging cut on his neck, the graze on his ribs.
He caught them in his own. “It’s nothing. Don’t even think about it.”
“At least let me look!” she insisted stubbornly, trying to pull away.
He sighed and released her. She fussed over him, her touch gentle but determined, her brow creased in concentration. Her eyes lingered on the gash along his ribs, and her lips pressed into a thin line. She opened her mouth and looked ready to argue when Luella’s voice sounded from the direction of the campfire.
“Felix. This one is still alive.”
Luella stood near the first boulder Isolde had thrown, her expression unreadable. Alwin lay there, pinned under the massive stone. His body was crushed from the chest down, ribs jutting out at grotesque angles. Blood pooled beneath him, soaking into the dirt, and his breathing came in shallow, ragged gasps.
