That was sufficient to bring Anest fully awake. Sitting up, pulling on his breeches, he echoed, "A prisoner from the Burning Lands? What manner of creature is it said to be?" He stopped himself, frowning. "A meeting . . . but . . . what of the meeting planned for mid-day?"
"The prisoner is said to be a witch," Dorain told him, not yet addressing his latter question, and added, "An elf witch, belonging to a people unknown to we elves of Normandon."
Anest stared his scepticism. "An elven witch? I have not heard of such a thing."
"The servants of the enemy come in many guises," Dorain told him cryptically. "If the rumours regarding its nature are true, then it is we elves who will rightfully slay this creature if she poses a threat, not the men of Brand who hold it prisoner. Elves are dealt with only by elves."
"Is it not a bit early to speak of slaying?" Anest queried, sensing that some enmity now lay between the elves of Normandon and their hosts, the men of Brand.
"The prisoner should rightfully have been turned over to us the moment we entered Lund," Dorain told him, giving voice to his concern. "The occupants of Lund have failed in this, and would have kept the creature secreted from us entirely, had not the careless tongue of a guard enlightened one of Brogan's men. We are now uncertain that they ever intended to exhibit this creature with our knowledge.