"Alaric Valebright," the first knight said crisply. "Dead Ones kill count, over a hundred. Human kill count, none, sir."
Truth.
Ezra nodded once and shifted his gaze to the next man.
"Cedric Haleward, sir. Dead Ones kill count… around forty to fifty. Human kill count, zero."
Again, honest. Ezra gave a short nod and moved on.
"Rowan Goldmere," the next knight said. "Over sixty Dead Ones. No human kills, sir."
'Well,' Ezra thought dryly, 'aren't you a model knight.'
Still, the man was truthful. Ezra acknowledged him and continued down the line.
By the time he reached the second-to-last row, something felt off.
The knight standing before him was sweating heavily, hands trembling at his sides. Ezra didn't need heightened senses to catch it.
Fear rolled off the man in waves, sharp and unmistakable.
And beneath it, something else.
Weakness.
It reminded him, unpleasantly, of Aurien years ago. Before Aurien found his footing.
Ezra crossed his arms slowly.
