When he reaches the requisite distance, he falls to his knees and bows his head. “I have come, great one,” he says in reverence to the figure before him.
“Arise,” he hears Ozgirath’s command, though it isn’t so much a voice, as a thought.
Coming to his feet, he stands there in humility, waiting.
“The Star shines again,” the voice says.
Gasping, Abula-Mazki lifts his head and looks directly at Ozgirath and says, “The Star of Morcyth?”
“Say not that name here,” the voice commands.
“I plead forgiveness master,” he says, again bowing his head.
“But, yes,” the voice replies, “it again moves across the land.”
“I had thought all were destroyed during the great purging,” he says.
“No,” Ozgirath replies, “they were not. Some escaped and have never been found.”
Fear of being chastised for the destruction in his dominion begins to leave him. If he was here for that reason, they would hardly be having this conversation. “What would you have me do, master?” he asks.
“Hunt for the one wearing the Star,” he replies.
Abula-Mazki raises his head and stares into the glowing eyes as Ozgirath says, “And bring him to me.”