"I leave for Arnor House to do what I know is right, Drima; if it is with your blessing, I welcome that more than you can imagine. However, if I have to do this alone, without your support, then so be it. Perhaps I will lose; maybe I will die; but I will risk that in order to expose Thorn's treachery.

"I am leaving, Drima, and I ask you to forgive me for what I have done, and for what I must do."

Drima laughed, but there was no humour in the harsh sound. “Of course I forgive you, Loras,” she said, with a catch in her voice. “I don't agree, and if I thought I had the slightest chance of changing your stubborn, mule-like mind, I'd fight to the end of the world to dissuade you. Still, I know how hard it is to persuade you when your mind's made up, so all I can do is to go along with this insane plan."

Her eyes filled with tears once more as she whispered, “I love you, you pig-headed idiot."

Loras faced his wife, and Kargan saw the traces of moisture on the Questor's face, too. “I love you, too, Drima; I love you as much as life itself."

"Go, then!” the old lady cried. “Just promise me that you won't be seduced by the damned House or the Guild while you're away. If I-"

Loras stopped Drima's mouth with his own, and Kargan stared at the ceiling, wishing he were somewhere else. After many moments, he lowered his gaze, as he felt a firm tap on his right shoulder.

"We are leaving, Magemaster,” Loras said, his expression calm, almost beatific. “I fancy I can take us to the House faster than a pair of horses.

"Woman; wife; beloved: believe me when I tell you that no power on Earth can persuade me to stay away as long as I have you waiting for me."

"Go, Loras,” Drima whispered. “Take care of yourself."

"Always, my love. Be sure of it.” Loras took a firm grip on his staff and turned to Kargan.