“You just said Darius was no longer a paladin of the Stronghold.”

“Something you were unaware of when you offered that bounty.”

Robert tried to summon fury at having his station challenged, his authority mocked. Instead he could only stare into Luther’s eyes and feel the power of the entire priesthood prepared to move against him.

“I fail to see how you are any different from your pupil,” he said, putting aside his glass.

“Cyric would view your resistance as blasphemy, worthy of punishment and purging with cleansing fire. He would threaten you with the Abyss, and escalate this into a conflict of wills and pride. I only hope that we might see eye to eye. You do not have to agree with me, Robert, only acknowledge who wields the greater power, and act as the pragmatic man I know you are.”

Robert swallowed. There was no doubt about who wielded the greater power. It took months of begging just to get King Baedan to send a fraction of their needed resupplies, yet meanwhile, the priests of Karak whispered into his ear day and night.

“You want the bounty changed to capture only, correct?” he asked.

“I do,” Luther said. He smiled, as if sensing Robert’s breaking resolve.

“I want you to make me a promise,” Robert said, “and swear to it in writing on the same parchment upon which I alter the bounty.”

“And what do I promise?”

“That your order will execute Darius for his crimes. I don’t care how, and don’t care when. I just need to know he will suffer for what he did to Durham.”

“He has turned his back on our god,” Luther said, rising to his feet. “The stars may fall from the heavens, and our sun dwindle and die, yet his suffering will continue amid darkness and fire. Never ending. Never relenting. If you wish, you may write so on your parchment, and I will sign it with my blood. Will that suffice?”