was this fog of hopelessness.

Tentatively, Rynason reached for the racial memories in that grey mind,
feeling Horng's own consciousness heavy beside him. He found them,
layers of thoughts of unknown aliens still alive here, the pictures and
sounds of thousands of years past. He probed among them, looking again
for the memories of Tebron ... and found what he was searching for.

He was Tebron, marching across that vast Flat which he had seen before,
the winds alive around him among the shuffling feet of his army. He felt
the muscles of his massive legs tight with weariness, and tasted the
dryness of the air as he drew in long gasps. He was still hours from the
City, but they would rest before dawn....

Rynason turned among those memories, moving forward in them, and was
aware of Horng watching him. There was still the wariness in his mind,
and a stir of anxiety, but it was blanketed by the tired hopelessness he
had seen. He reached further in the memories, and....

The temple-guard fell in the shadows, and one of his own warriors
stepped forward to retrieve his weapon. The remains of the guard's body
rolled down three, four, five of the steps of the Temple, and stopped.
His eyes lingered on that body for only a moment, and then he turned and
went up to the entrance.

There was a moaning of pain, or of fright, rising somewhere in his head;
he was only partly aware of it. He walked into the shadows of the
doorway and paused. But only for a moment: there was no movement inside,
and he stepped forward, down one step into the interior.