“It is those who offer their lives despite their failures that Karak seeks,” Velixar said. “No one is truly tested until they first doubt their strength.”

“Then you amass an army of failures,” Qurrah said.

Velixar laughed. “I prefer those who have tried, failed, and admitted that failure over those who pretend to have never known its sting. Ashhur’s followers have fallen into that trap, surrounding themselves with illusions of perfection and obedience while denying this single truth: all are failures. All are all made of chaos and darkness. If Ashhur will not tap that strength, then I will.”

With a wave of his hand, ten more came forward. Swords with black fire waited, ready to mutilate, sever, and bring forth the faith that Karak so desperately desired.

T he moon shone bright by the time Ulamn and his demons returned to Veldaren. While Velixar had been testing the faithful, the demon general had taken flight with much of his army in pursuit of the city’s fleeing refugees. Velixar beckoned Qurrah to follow as they met the winged soldiers.

“Amusing,” Velixar said as he watched the army descend from the sky. “How many did they lose? Two hundred? Three?”

“My brother and his friends are not to be underestimated,” Qurrah said. “If they can stand against Tessanna and I, what are a few hundred soldiers of sword and armor?”

“Yes, they have that elven girl, don’t they?” Velixar said, remembering his confrontation with Aurelia years ago in Woodhaven. Their magical battle had been wonderfully violent.

He walked through their ranks, shaking his head in disappointment.

“Where is Ulamn?” he shouted.

“I am here,” the demon said, landing with a loud crack of stone. He wore crimson armor and a golden helmet, his ponytail pulled through its back. “What is it you want, voice of the imprisoned god?”