Eddie heard them coming before Mason ever did, and by the time he was alerted of their presence, it was too late.
They had them surrounded on all sides.
"You should have let me go," Karel said as Mason untied his wrists.
"It's too late for that now," he muttered. "If you'd cooperated more, we wouldn't be in this mess."
"Oh, so it's my fault I'm about to die?"
Mason looked into Karel's eyes, noticing for the first time they were a golden-green.
"You're not going to die," he whispered, drawing himself to his full length to meet the first man that stepped out of the shadows of the trees around them.
"Step away from him now and we won't have reason to execute you, too," the man told him, his hands resting on the handles of the daggers at his hips.
"Yeah, see, that's not going to happen," Mason said, folding his arms over his chest. "How about we make a different deal?"
The man smiled, tipping his head. "Really now?"
"How about. . ." Mason stepped closer. "You fuck off with your little posse and I'll let you live. You all stay. . .and you all die."
"You are rather cocky for a man who just got caught." The man snorted a laugh. "You're outnumbered."
Mason smiled at him, sighing. "I don't think you quite understand what you've gotten yourself into," he said, "so I'll word it differently. Fuck off, or I'll rip your face off."
The man's smile slipped, irritation flashing in his eyes. "I don't think you understand—"
"I understand that there's only an ounce of intelligence among your entire group, and that's being rather generous," Mason interrupted.
"He has a dog, Reynold," a familiar voice called out. "Where's the dog?"
Mason motioned for Karel to stay behind him. "I sent him away, Jericho," he said stiffly. "I wouldn't want him to get caught in the crossfire."
"There doesn't have to be any crossfire," Reynold said, his eyes glittering. "You can just hand him over and we'll forget about you."
"The biggest problem is I don't like being forgotten." Mason watched as the rest of Reynold's group stepped out from the trees, all of them poised and ready.
He did a careful count; there were ten in total. Just like there had been in Kor when he went back to fetch the horses.
Reynold pinched the bridge of his nose. "So, it looks like we'll be doing this the hard way."
"Wait! No!"
Karel's cry made Mason spin around in time to see two people clasp an iron collar around the sorcerer's neck.
He turned back to Reynold, his lips parting.
Reynold gave him a mock grimace. "Oops," he said. "You see, I don't make the true number of my group known. If there is only an ounce of intelligence amongst us all, it's safe to say I'm in possession of it."
Mason growled, stalking forward.
"Someone restrain him before he does something stupid," Reynold ordered, turning his back to him.
A girl approached him with an iron collar, one of her friends pointing a sword at his chest to prevent him from walking further.
"I'm not a fucking dog," he snarled, pushing the sword aside. "Reynold, if you want me restrained, you'd better do it yourself."
"Kill him if he puts up too much of a fuss. We don't need him."
From behind him, he heard the distinct sound of a slap and Karel's muffled cry.
"Oh, fuck this." Mason wrenched the sword out of the man's hand and shoved it through his chest.
Turning to the girl, who was backing away in horror as her companion fell, Mason swung the sword in a wide arch.
A pretty, red gash opened across her throat as she slowly fell to the ground, her eyes wide.
"Back away from him," Mason warned the two people standing over Karel. "I will kill every single one of you if you don't back the fuck away right now."
"He's outnumbered!" Reynold barked. "Surround and kill him!"
His voice was shaky and the blood had drained from his face. The man was psychotic by nature, but even he wasn't unmoved by the deaths.
Karel was staring at the two corpses on the ground, a look of horror painted on his face.
The cold-blooded murders had stopped most of Reynold's men in their tracks. Even though they had dedicated their lives to killing, magickers didn't count as people in their eyes and so they had been unfazed.
Is that what it meant to be human? To be hypocritical and so unaware?
The rest of Reynold's group rushed him then, swords being pulled out of sheaths and knives flashing in the air.
Fuck. He should have run when he had the chance, left Karel to fend for himself.
Mason gritted his teeth and faced the onslaught, dancing out of the way of daggers and raising his sword to block fatal blows.
Blood sprayed through the air, and the scent was making it hard for him to think clearly. He stumbled once, suffering a cut on his forearm.
He was so hungry.
If I survive this, I won't be hungry anymore for a long time. All I have to do is survive.
The thought cleared his mind and two more dropped to the ground, blood gushing out of their throats.
A blade slashed across his back, causing Mason to lose his balance. Another one sliced across his thigh, dropping him to his knees.
Maybe I don't have to survive. They can end this for me.
The second the thought crossed his mind, a sword was beneath his chin, tilting his head up.
"Drop it," Reynold said softly.
Behind him, Karel let out another stifled cry of pain.
"You only joined the fight when you realized I couldn't win," Mason said, his chest heaving. "How'd a coward like you get to be leader?"
"Drop your fucking sword."
Mason bared his teeth in a smile, letting it slip from his grip. "Do you feel safe now?"
"You would have been safe if you'd just handed him over," Reynold said. "What did he ever do to deserve such loyalty?"
"Nothing," Mason said, his eyes darted over to the sorcerer as he was brought into view. "It was a momentary lapse in judgement."
"I'm glad you and I both realize he's not worth dying over," Reynold said.
"No one's worth that."
Reynold slowly withdraw his sword. "I can't allow you to live. Sympathizers are just as bad as magickers."
"I was thinking more along the lines of I just killed about five of your Executioners, but I guess sympathizing is a terrible crime, too." Mason's lip curled back.
Skies above, he was even beginning to talk like the commoners. Sarcasm didn't suit anyone from his background.
Across from him, Karel was still on his knees. He was starting to breathe heavily, sweat rolling down his forehead. A rash had started to form on the skin below and above the collar, spreading up and down the skin of his neck.
"Jericho, how would you like to make your first kill?" Reynold asked. "Consider it a warm-up for the mag."
The words were barely out of his mouth when the rest of the Executioners fell to the ground, gaping holes appearing in their chests.
Mason jerked back, scrambling to his feet.
"What the fuck. . .?" Reynold's eyes darted around the forest and he spun around, his sword pointing at an invisible enemy.
Jericho was still hidden near the bushes, where he'd been when the fight had first begun.
The faintest scent drifted over to Mason, of cinnamon and apples.
"No." He reeled back. "No, no—"
Jericho shrank back when a tall lady emerged from behind a tree. She was tall and regal, red hair flowing down her shoulders like flames and turquoise eyes that were focused entirely on Reynold.
"You'll have to forgive me for taking out your entire team," she chirped, "but I just don't feel like it was a fair fight."
"Witch," Reynold breathed out, tightening his grip on his sword.
"Oh, do put that away," she scolded. "You'll hurt someone."
"Come any closer, and I'll kill him," Reynold warned. "I swear, I'll kill him."
She laughed, the sound echoing through the forest and making Jericho's blood run cold.
"Darling, I really don't need to be anywhere near you to kill you, as I just demonstrated."
Jericho wondered if he could get away without her noticing him.
He should have listened to Katrina.
"If you wanted me dead, you'd have already done it," Reynold said, holding the tip of the sword to Mason's chest. "He dies either way."
His face twisted in a scream as he dropped the sword, clutching his burning hand to his chest.
The sorceress stalked towards them. "Raise a hand towards him again, and I will burn it off next time," she said. "Do you understand?"
Reynold's chest heaved, his eyes darting around.
"Now, I want you to leave this place," the witch breathed out. "I want everyone to know what happens when they make a powerful sorceress very, very angry. I am not like the others. I am not peaceful. I am not forgiving."
Jericho watched, almost dumbfounded, as Reynold silently walked over to his horse without another word.
When he had ridden out of sight, the sorceress locked eyes with Mason.
"Fuck you," Mason said.
"You don't look well," she stated. "Perhaps you should eat. It would be a shame to let this all go to waste."
Jericho held his breath, watching as Mason knelt down next to the nearest body and lifted it up. He dipped his head, fastening his mouth to the neck before he tore out the jugular with his teeth.
Hidden in the bushes, unable to move without making a sound, Jericho watched in growing horror as Mason drank the blood of three corpses.