The wounded lay in the dirt, most sobbing in pain, some unconscious from the loss of blood. A few staggered about, fighting to stay standing.

“Over a hundred,” Qurrah said as more and more came. “Not a single faithful.”

“Not true,” Velixar said. “You aren’t looking correctly.”

“Qurrah’s always been blind,” Tessanna said.

Velixar glanced at her, frowning. She had cut off her left ear and mutilated her face. Two slashes trailed along the sides of her chin, two more from her scalp, past the corners of her eyes down to her lips. One long gash ran from the center of her forehead to the bottom of her throat. Seeing such beauty tarnished panged his decayed heart.

“Perhaps,” Velixar said, gesturing to the tests. “But be silent. The first is ready to show his true faith.”

His bleeding stubs pressed against his chest, a gasping man approached the chopping blocks and knelt.

“Test me again,” he said.

“Your hands are cut. Your faith is false,” the dark paladin said to him.

“Test me again!” the man shouted. At this Velixar raised his hand, and obediently the paladin stepped back.

“What will you offer?” Velixar asked. In response, the man put his head upon the block.

“My faith is real,” he said. He was gasping for air, his lips quivering with fear. “Test me again.”

“Your head will be severed,” Velixar said.

To this the man laughed. “Then Karak can test me again and again for eternity.”

“Tell me your name,” Velixar said.

“Bertram Goodblood,” he said, his cheek still pressed against the wood.

“Stand, Bertram, and count yourself among the faithful.”

Priests rushed to his aid, bandaging his bleeding stumps and rushing him toward the temple. Velixar smiled at Qurrah, who only shook his head.