“Well, what have we got here?” the first one said in a nasally voice, his blond hair sticking up all over the place, streaks of black soot smeared on his face.
“Looks like we got ourselves a couple of chickens in this hen house,” the second one replied.
John lifted his head at the voice and a bloody smile bloomed over his face. “Nice of you rednecks to show up.”
“We wouldn’t miss it for the world, Johnny boy.”
“It’s a shame we have to end the party,” the second one said with a sigh.
“Hurry up, we don’t got all day,” the third one whisper-yelled from the doorway. “Kill ’em and let’s go.”
John turned to Solveig. “I’m sorry there, Solveig. I wish it were different.”
“I wish it were different too, brother,” the blond one said as he plunged a knife deep into John’s chest. The force was so strong as the magical weapon expanded that his body slammed into Solveig’s, knocking them both against the wall and onto the floor.
The shock of seeing the blade actually pierce John’s skin stunned Solveig. There was a weakness to their magic, clearly. She tried to sit John up as much as she could while the prince stood in front of them, blocking them from the three mortals.
John gasped in pain, betrayal and confusion written all over his features.
“Why?” he rasped.
“I’m truly sorry, Johnny. You’ve been here too long—we can’t risk it,” the mortal who stabbed him said, remorse evident in his tone even as he readied another weapon to finish them off.
“Tell me who you’re working for,” the prince called roughly from the shadows. Solveig’s eyes closed, breathing through her body’s reaction to his voice.
The mortals laughed.
“Hate to break it to you, pal, but we got y’all surrounded. No making it out alive, I’m afraid,” the second mortal drawled.
John’s blood spilled from his body, pooling around them on the floor as he tried to catch his breath. Solveig held him tightly.
“Last chance,” the prince growled at them. Solveig’s heart raced at the sound.
The three men attacked with such speed, the prince had to retreat a step before launching himself into the fight. He twisted and whirled around the mortals, his weapons never finding purchase while they laughed, taunting him.
“They . . . have . . . magic,” John wheezed through laboured breaths.
“We know, they have some sort of shield spell.”
“Different . . . magic. Not the shielding . . . kind.”
“What kind of magic?” Solveig asked him, desperate for as much information as she could get.
John’s eyes rolled to the back of his head. Solveig panicked, shaking him lightly, the pain of the wound jostling him awake. “What kind of magic do they have, John?”
“Stone . . .” he said quietly.
“Stay with me, John. What stone?”
He mumbled something, but she couldn’t understand him.
“Check for Shield Stones!” she yelled to the prince, but he couldn’t hear her through the laughs and jeers of the mortals. He hadn’t been able to hit them yet but had done a fair job of evading their advances. A Shield Stone would explain the village’s protection but not their current predicament.
“We’ve got a fighter, boys!” the second mortal snarled.
Another blast hit the building and rubble rained from the ceiling. The third mortal stuck his head out the back door and yelled to his companions. Five more mortals entered the small room, but the prince held his ground.
“Not ... Shield Stones,” John corrected her. “Blood Stone.”
