A knock at the door sent him slowly to his feet.

“Enter,” he said.

The door opened, and Daniel escorted two men inside. One was older, with thin gray hair that hung down to his bony shoulders. He stood straight, though, and walked without a limp. He offered a wrinkled hand, and when Robert shook it, he squeezed with impressive strength.

“Greetings, knight,” said the priest. His voice was deep, well-aged. “My name is Luther, priest of our glorious god, Karak. With me is my pupil, Cyric.”

The other man stepped forward. Unlike Luther, he looked young, barely into his twenties. He bowed low, in a manner more respectful than Luther had shown. His hair was a deep brown and cut short, so that his forehead seemed much larger than it was. Combined with his blue eyes and slender nose, it gave him an awkward, youthful look. When he spoke, though, his voice echoed with an authority and a certainty that immediately revealed why he’d been chosen as Luther’s pupil.

“I am honored to meet the man who devised the banishment of the heathen elves from our lands,” said Cyric. “You did Mordan a great service.”

“You’d have been at your mother’s breast when that happened, if not still in her belly,” Robert said. “How could you know much of that?”

“He’s a voracious reader,” said Luther. “I doubt there is a book in our library he has not read. But come, we have not traveled all this way to discuss forgotten battles. Word of your bounty on one of the Stronghold’s paladins reached us quickly, Sir Godley.”

Robert exchanged a look with Daniel, who shifted his stance so his hand rested on the hilt of his sword.