The man spoke.
“Seems a waste to go to all this trouble and achieve so little…”
He made to leave then. But before riding off he glanced over his shoulder and said airily,
“Kill the shortest.”
The soldier to Mason’s right swiftly pulled out a sword and sliced his captive’s throat. All four soldiers mounted their horses and galloped away. The horror-stricken riders were left in chaos.
Blood…confusion and panic…
Mason shook his head, trying to rid it of the memory. His wounded companion hadn’t died. The soldiers had been hasty and as such the wound wasn’t so severe. Their random act of violence had not been senseless he knew. It was a clear message of what to expect if anyone stood in the way of Lysander: swift and brutal vengeance. Mason had made certain his friend was in stable enough condition, then wasted no time in making his way to the castle. The king would be the only one to stop this impending disaster. If not he…
Stark fear surged through Mason’s body and he urged his horse on faster.