If he remembered those battles he would again hear the
fading echoes of enemy minds dying within his, and he had had enough of
that. This was the goal, and it was his; perhaps there need be no more
such killing.
He opened his mouth and spoke the words which he had learned so many
years before, during his apprenticeship in the Region of Mines. The
rituals of the Temple were always conducted in the ancient spoken
language; Kor demanded it, and only the priest-caste knew these words,
for they were so old that their form had changed almost completely even
by the time his people had developed telepathy and discarded speech;
they were not communicated to the rest of the people.
"I am Tebron Marl, king priest leader of all Hirlaj. I await your orders
guidance."
He knelt, according to ritual, and gazed up at the altar. The Eye of Kor
blinked there, a small circle of light in the dark room. The altar was
simple but massive; its heavy columns, built upon the traditional lines,
supported the weight of the Eye. He watched its slow waxing and waning,
and waited; within him, Rynason's mind stirred.
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