"The second name," the monk continued, his voice trembling slightly, "is *Commander Torstein Blood-Axe*."
"Torstein?" Diarmuid whispered, his face draining of color. "The... the Danish commander? The one who burned the church down by the coast two years ago?"
"The text lists his credentials," Brother Donal read with immense difficulty. "*Former Vanguard Captain of the Heathen Coalition; presently Chief of Security and Highway Infrastructure for the Second District, on a guaranteed monthly stipend of fourteen silver sovereigns from the Treasury of Titan.*"
"He works for wages now?" Cormac asked, his jaw dropping. "The man who once swore by Odin that he would drink wine from our skulls... is an employee?!"
"It says here," Donal read, "*Candidate Torstein guarantees zero highway banditry, strict military curfew from dusk till dawn, and the summary hanging of any merchant who overcharges for salt.*"
The peasants exchanged conflicted looks.
