Otranto didn't hesitate. On some level, he realized, he had been anticipating this moment, or one like it, for a very long time. "The punishment for failure should be death by my own hand."
Alquen waited there, sitting in the lee of a tall elm, for three hours, barely aware of time passing. He wore his finest clothes: a blue silk shirt with only two threadbare places, black tunic and breeches covered with a burgundy cloak. He felt ridiculous and handsome at the same time.