"I certainly hope you're right," Per'dra told Akeirra, with her foot still smarting. So far, she didn't think that the trap that had ensnared it had been poisoned. If so, she would have experienced immediate symptoms. If not...how much longer did she have? The Bard dared not call out to the Dark Elven archers and tell them that she was injured. As far as she could tell, they still considered her band of brave adventurers to be invaders of their territory. Thus, she remained silent.
Two long woven nets, made of rhubarb-colored vines, were lowered down from the heights of Tener'ixal in order to transport Akeirra and Tegan. Once they had been caught and hoisted up into the hazy branches of the treetops, the Lord of the Hunt sheathed his broadsword and squared his shoulders at the two women.
"I consider both of you informants," Un'adrubin told them sternly, "and temporary guests within our city. Conduct yourselves accordingly." Social graces and common courtesies that most Humans took for granted, such as saying please and thank you, were utterly foreign to Dark Elves. It was not that they were intending to be rude, but those of their race preferred to get straight to the point. Etiquette was for diplomats, sycophants, inferiors and foreign visitors--such as these two. Even Tegan was under suspicion in Un'adrubin's mind, because she had chosen to ally herself with common rabble. Not only that, but she'd left Tener'ixal.
Once the three of them were inside the High Palace, Un'adrubin explained:
"Our Clerics of Moonshadow, who read the skies by night and see the future revealed within, have seen the face of the moon bathed in blood! It is not even autumn in Sazhen', and yet this occurs..." He trailed off, musing. "It is likely a sign that the 'Purge' of which you speak is coming to slaughter us, but when? How far have they spread? Tell me everything." He waited in tense silence for the two to speak.