“Another dog of Karak, I assume?” he asked.

“My name is Krelln, worm. I’ve killed three just like you. Weak in faith. Afraid. Did you think you could flee to the Wedge and hide amidst the orcs and the ogres? You don’t much look like a goblin, failed paladin.”

Jerico turned and faced his mocker. A young man, even younger than he. Such a shame to see souls corrupted so early, Jerico thought. He wore heavy platemail akin to Jerico’s, except Krelln’s armor was black and charred as if it had come from the bowels of the abyss.

“Failed paladin?” Jerico asked, scanning the young man’s face. Scars lined every inch of it. “A bold claim considering you’ve never met me before. What did I fail?”

“Twice I have seen you grab your mace and not once has it glowed. Your faith in Ashhur is nothing.” He drew his blade and held it with both hands. It was enormous, with a serrated edge and a carved lion head as a hilt. Black flame rolled up and down the length of steel. “As you can see, my faith remains strong.”

Jerico laughed, shifting his left hand in the straps that held his shield tight across his back. One pull and it’d be at the ready.

“Do you plan on killing me, dark paladin?” he asked.

“Your head will be a grand gift to his majesty. Keep still your weapon and I will be merciful.”

“You don’t know what mercy is, boy. Mercy doesn’t exist in Karak’s twisted world.”

Krelln charged across the yellow grass. He swung his blade with all his strength. Jerico took two steps back, drew his mace in his right hand, and smoothly parried the curved tip of Krelln’s sword. A grin crossed his face.

“Should save your strength,” he told the younger man. The second swing came straight down, trying to cleave the paladin in half. Jerico took a single step to the side and let the attack smash a deep indent in the ground. The black flame charred the grass around it.