“His words are poison,” Preston said. Sweat poured down his face. “We have listened to him long enough.”
“Listen to him again,” Tessanna said, flicking a finger at Velixar. A spark of lightning shot to his throat, charring skin. His body shuddered, his mouth opened, and then he spoke, the magic holding him silent finally banished.
“Her words are true, Preston,” Velixar said. He let his burning red eyes fall upon all who surrounded him, prepared to take what life he had. “You are a coward and a liar. Karak would never entrust his final victory to your hands. I have faced the very might of Ashhur himself! Legions have professed my name. Yet all you control are a rabble of tested and a small congregation of priests.”
“Karak’s words are strong in my heart,” Preston said.
“You hear nothing of our god,” Velixar said. “And I will prove it.”
Qurrah lashed at the bonds holding his teacher to the stake, the fire of his whip leaping hungrily at the dry cords. Velixar stumbled free, holding the stake to keep his balance. As Preston watched in horror, Velixar reached down his own throat and pulled out a blackened and burnt pendant. He tossed it to the ground in disgust.
“Such vile contraptions to control my power,” he said. “I should destroy you here and now.”
“No,” Krieger shouted, drawing their attention to him and his paladins. “I want to see this proof you offer.”
“Are my words not enough?” Velixar asked.
“They are words, just as his,” Krieger said. “You offered proof. Show us. Let us see you still hear the voice of Karak, and your will is his.”
Velixar laughed, deep and vile. He had not done such a display since the early years of Dezrel, when worship in Karak had temporarily descended into a barbaric competition of fanaticism. The gods had just been defeated and imprisoned, and many sought out new gods to worship. He had shown them their error, and he would show the servants gathered about him in the same way.
“Qurrah, give me your whip,” he asked. Qurrah did as he was told. Velixar lashed the dirt three times. He shouted the words of a spell as he did, and at the third lashing a giant fire sprang from the earth. Velixar handed back the whip, then stood before the flame. It was up to his chest, and it burned a mixture of black and purple.
“Krieger, come to my side,” Velixar said. “Place your hand into the fire.”
“What sorcery is this?” Krieger asked.
“If you are faithful to Karak, the fire will not burn,” said the prophet. “Just as it will not burn in the Abyss, unlike what Ashhur so vainly claims.”
The dark paladin took off his gauntlet and stepped forward. He glanced side to side, feeling all eyes upon him. He would not falter, not in front of so many. He plunged his hand into the fire. He never even winced. The fire did not burn. It wasn’t even warm.
“Keep your hand there,” Velixar said. “And keep your faith strong. As long as your hand is within, all will see I use no trickery.”
Without another word he plunged his own arm into the fire. It washed over him like liquid, and did not burn.
“Prove your own faith,” Qurrah said to Preston. “You claim the name Melorak, great servant and leader of Karak. Prove you belong at their side.”
“So be it,” Preston said, wiping the sweat from his brow. “I will show you I hear his voice.”
Qurrah crossed his arms as Tessanna wrapped her own around his waist. He felt the hairs on his skin raise as the lightning that swirled around her sparkled on his robes. They watched as Preston pulled the sleeve of his robe up to his elbow, seeming weak and small before the demonic glow.
“Show them, oh mighty god,” the priest prayed, loud enough so all could hear. “Humble me, but may they see your truth.”
He thrust his hand into the fire.
It burned.
He screamed and held his arm to his chest. His skin was already peeling.
“Now you see,” Velixar said. “Karak has deemed you unworthy.”
The fire grew larger, burning higher and higher. Krieger pulled back, even he unable to withstand the flame. Velixar, though, stepped inside, and was bathed within.
“I am the prophet!” he shouted. “I am the Word! It is I who leads, and shall forever lead! You have doubted my truth, but doubt no longer.”
“Kill him,” Preston shouted. He reached for Krieger with his good arm, but the paladin brushed him away.
“Your time is over,” Krieger said to him.
Velixar stepped from the flame, purple fire still surrounding his body. He grabbed Preston’s shoulder and spun him about. Preston nearly fainted at what he saw. He saw a face with features forever shifting, deep within fire that would not consume the flesh it burned. He saw two red eyes within, their rage hotter than any fire and deeper than any ocean. He screamed, but heard no sound. He only felt pain, horrific, spreading pain. His vision faded. His senses failed. Like a man of straw he burned away in Velixar’s arms, nothing but bone and ash remaining of his failed faith.
In the sudden silence, Tessanna giggled.
“That was pretty,” she said. She pointed a finger, and the lightning surrounding her struck the ash, scattering Preston’s remains so violently not a trace remained. As the purple flame continued to surround Velixar, the priests and dark paladins knelt in his presence, many professing shame or asking for forgiveness.
Velixar approached Krieger and reached out his hand.
“Stand,” he said. “You need not bow.”
Krieger took Velixar’s hand, wincing at the pain. His flesh did not burn, however, and he accepted it as punishment for ever doubting the prophet of Karak. He stood, his head still bowed. Velixar turned to Qurrah and gestured for him to near. Qurrah wrapped his whip around his arm, pulled his hood low over his face, and left. Tessanna joined him, but only after blowing Velixar a kiss.
“Their faith is nil,” Krieger said as he watched them go.
“For the girl perhaps,” Velixar said. “But Qurrah still has hope. Give him time.”
The fire withered away, and the priests rose from their knees in the sudden dark.
“Krieger has withstood Karak’s judgment,” Velixar said to them. “He will be in charge of your priestly order, just as he controls Karak’s faithful paladins. Now return to your tents. Mordeina is within our grasp, and we must be ready!”
More bowing, more begging for forgiveness. Velixar dismissed it with a wave. As they left, he bent down and picked up the pendant Preston had shoved down his throat.
“How did he know about this?” he wondered aloud as he flipped it side to side, staring at the brutal carvings nearly hidden by the blackened marks made from a multitude of fires. He handed it to Krieger, who examined it closely.
“What is this?” the dark paladin asked.
“Something you must keep close to you at all times,” Velixar said. “Keep it safe, and keep it hidden. Speak not of it again.”
T essanna huddled under blankets, but Qurrah did not join her. He sat hunched over, his arms pulled inside his robes for warmth. The girl peered at him from the sheets.
“You’re waiting for him, aren’t you?” she asked. Qurrah looked away, and that was answer enough.
“He isn’t mad,” she said. “He can’t be. What is it that worries you?”
“Not now,” said Qurrah.
They waited. The half-orc created a fire with a few words of magic, the deep red flame providing little warmth. A few minutes later, Velixar approached, his red eyes peering at Qurrah with hidden curiosity.
“You would not take my hand,” Velixar said. “Is your faith in Karak that weak, or are you just afraid to show it to others?”
“I hold no faith in Karak,” Qurrah said, not meeting his gaze. “You have never demanded that of me.”
“After all you have done?” Velixar asked. “And all he has done for you, you still have no faith? What will it
