“The truth serves us, as it does Ashhur,” Velixar said. “We must find the faithful amid the cowardly.”

Krieger, young leader of the paladins of Karak, drew his sword and knelt before his god’s prophet.

“What would you have my men do?” he asked.

Velixar looked down at him, pleased by his eagerness.

“Test their faith.”

In the middle of the street the dark paladins placed ten thick stumps of wood. Around the corner, unable to see the preparations, waited the surrendered people of Veldaren. Krieger selected his ten most faithful to stand ready, their swords covered with black fire. Velixar walked before the crowd, magically heightening his voice so all would hear.

“These men’s swords possess the power of Karak,” he said. “Those with faith shall not be burned. Those without should pray, for Karak shall soon welcome your souls.”

War demons dragged the first ten around the corner to the chopping blocks. They placed their bound wrists upon the wood. As one, the dark paladins raised their blades and looked to their leader. Krieger lifted his hand, then deferred to the prophet.

“Let the tests begin,” Velixar said.

Down fell Krieger’s hand. Screams filled the air as all ten watched their hands cut from their wrists, the cruel black fire on the blades sizzling as blood spilled across them. The demons grabbed the writhing men and tossed them aside. Another ten, three of them women, knelt before the blocks with hands bound and ready.

“Have faith,” Velixar said. The swords fell. The screams increased. Ten by ten they came, their faith tested, hands severed, and maimed bodies dumped to die. The priests of Karak watched, relishing the sight. It had been ages since such a test of faith was given. Almost always it was to small towns, farming villages, never a city grand as Veldaren. The ten dark paladins reveled in their work, each stroke accompanied by heartfelt prayers.