"Drualt cleared his throat and began the traditional stanzas from Drualt. They hadn't been said at weddings in his day, naturally, but they'd been said in Bamarre for centuries now. "Drualt took Freya's warm hand, Her strong hand, Her sword hand, And pressed it to his lips, Pressed it . . ." Drualt's voice wavered. He pulled a handkerchief from the pouch at his waist and blew his nose. Then he began again."