“...and I serve the good of all, without bias or prejudice. I surrender my will freely, that others may speak through me. I make this Oath in the presence of Seven Races, by all the Races hold holy. May they judge me if I prove false.” Kathryn had never been religious, but that last phrase seemed to echo in her mind, underscoring the seriousness of her commitment—that and the lead-like blanket of solemnity pressing down on her mind from the Seven Witnesses surrounding her in the Guildhall.
Karak’s round, dead-black eyes peered at her through the heavy glass of his huge aquarium, his tentacles weaving a slow pattern. A Swampworlder pulsated dreamily in thicker, darker liquid in the tank next to him. Ten metres away, but still too close, a brown-furred S’sinn rested on a padded wooden rack.
