“Has all nobility been lost from elven blood beyond this forest?” Torryn set Syn’s fears to rest with a furious scowl as he brought his bow up to target the haughty elf lord’s obviously weak and corrupted heart. She had wanted to deal with this on her own, but to even suggest that he would betray her was an insult to his honor that he could not allow to go unanswered. “What about you?” Haryk turned demandingly to the gruff human tracker he’d hired to guide them. “I paid you to hunt her… so fall her like the any other prey… and you can live like a king for the rest of your days!” “You paid me to track your stolen bride,” the aging ranger growled. “But it looks to me like you’re the one trying to steal her… and I’ll have none of it!” It was true that he sold his skills for gold, and maybe his honor wasn’t as untarnished as it had been in his idealistic youth, but this was beyond the depths to which he had sunk. Giving a nod of respect toward Torryn and Syn he sneered over his shoulder at the pompous nobleman as he vanished into the untracked woodlands; “Good luck finding your own way home… that’s if she doesn’t gut you and leave you for the wolves… or worse!” Haryk stood in stunned silence. What was it about this forest that gold held so little appeal to those who dwell here, and how did the simple chore of convincing his wayward bride to give up her folly and obey her house elders, as elven law required, turn into such a daunting task? His warrior maidens, whom he’d trusted to defend him in this awful place, had proven unequal to her skill, and it wasn’t just her he had to contend with; the moonblade itself had proven to be an implacable foe. While the sun elf nobleman contemplated this unexpected reversal of fortunes, Syn and his surrogate fighters continued their duel. None of them sought to land killing blows, but fought to subdue their opponent, hampering their own efforts. Finally, the pair of sun elf warriors both drew back out of melee range and exchanged knowing looks. Then one addressed their master in a resolved tone; “We cannot defeat this woman… and, from the ferocity with which she fights, should you ever get her into that wedding bed, it would likely be your death bed!” “This is intolerable!” Haryk growled in impotent anger. “The elders of our houses have spoken and by elven law you must obey… or forfeit your standing, titles and name… including your right to bare that sword of scion! You’ve been given the honor of joining our houses… rescuing yours from ruin… and gaining the name Ealoeth, one of the richest and most respected in all elfdom. All you have to do is bare me an heir to inherit the sword upon your passing and you’ll live like a queen. You won’t even have to share my bed once we’ve produced a child. You can take whatever lovers you want… so long as you’re discrete about it.” “Who wields this sword isn’t the elder’s decision to make,” Syn snapped back, brandishing the moonblade threateningly. “The sword chooses who it serves… and only another worthy Mistrivvin can claim it. It chose me upon my father’s passing. No one else even had the courage to try and claim it, knowing that if they did and failed, it might end their lives… proving that none of them were worthy it! As for your name… it’s not respected by anyone… it stands for greed, envy and dishonesty!”