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."
"Aren't you going to stop them?"
Moran looked surprised. "Why would I? I spend all day
drilling them to death, then chew them up and spit them
out. They're frustrated all the time. They take it out on each
other at night."
He pointed the butter knife at Rakiel. "Then, one night,
one of them will start to think about the Measure. Really
think about it. He'll be afraid, but he'll stand up to the
others and say, 'This is wrong. We shouldn't do this.' The
next day they'll all be living the Oath."
Rakiel's expression was dubious.
"It happens every year," Moran assured him.
"And in the meantime," Rakiel retorted, "you let them
torment each other, even when they pick on your own - "
"My own what?" The butter knife was still a butter
knife, but suddenly the blade glittered in the light from the
window.
"Nothing," Rakiel said with a nervous smile. "I can't
imagine what I was thinking."
*****
As with all unceremonious business of the knights, the
classes were taught in the language known as High
Common. Only the beginning part was in the old tongue.
Moran took a place in the first row of novices as they said,
"EST SULARUS OTH MITHAS" and sat
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