It was an all-consuming desire which coursed through him even as his heart's blood; for with the years had come an added reason for the keeping of his youthful vow.

Only in that way could Vesta's destiny be linked with his.
When the great day came at last for the Sword to be put into his hands, with a blare of trumpets the castle gates flew open, and a long procession of nobles filed through.

To the sound of cheers and ringing of bells, Aldebaran fared forth on his quest.

The old king, his father, stepped down in the morning sun, and with bared head Aldebaran knelt to receive his blessing.

With his hand on the Sword he swore that he would not come home again, until he had made a braver conquest than had ever been made with it before, and by the bloodstone on his finger the old king knew that Aldebaran would fail not in the keeping of that oath.
With the godspeed of the villagers ringing in his ears, he rode away.
Only once he paused to look back, when a white hand fluttered at a casement, and Vesta's sorrowful face shone down on him like a star.