I charge thee, get thee far hence ere nyt falleth. Fayle not in this.

He gazed at the English words, and the two emeralds in his palm. One was small, no bigger than the lens of a dragonfly. The other was of a size to buy full armor and mount, and pay a squire for a year. A size to adorn a falcon's arrogant crest.

He held the emeralds, watched them wink and catch the light.

He knew what he ought to do. A good man, a virtuous man, would stand up and stride to the palace and throw them in her face. A godly man would not let himself be bound to such a one as she.

He'd given up his wife to God.

And his horse, and his armor, and his money.

Ruck closed his hand on the jewels she sent and swore himself to the Arch-Fiend's daughter.

* * *


A year turns full turn and yields never like;