“Bah!” growled the Mauk irritably, shaking his head and looking at me with a foul mood. “That witch so vexes me, Bretan! She is playing with us, using us in ways we cannot hope to resist! We are nothing other than pawns—playthings—for her to move around in some grand game only she knows how to play. I do not trust her, monk. I do not trust her!”
“Witch?” Jolin Malawei echoed worriedly, turning to stare at the older Mauk. “Who is this witch you speak of uncle?”
“Tell him,” I said, eyeing my old friend and remaining silent.
“Bah! Even uttering her name leaves a foul taste in my mouth, monk!” the green-and-yellow Anktooth warrior growled, blazing at me with an angry glance before turning to face the Malawian warrior. “The witch’s name is Morisha, boy. The Abbess of Hahnoor. She came to you
