Yu had not believed a word of it. The way he saw it, they were either telling him what his shirka wanted him to hear or feeding him nonsense to keep him pliable for the journey. “Why do they need guards then, when there is no danger?” he had challenged Jerikall, the newly turned shaman of the party. He was born a brannok, who were flat-faced bottom-dwellers with thick limbs ending in spade-like claws for digging, and underwent his pathfinder walkabout alongside the escorting party.
Jerikall, with his frustrating air of natural slow and measured calm, had taken his time responding. Yu had placed his last shred of faith in the brannok, hoping that if anyone could be honest with him, it would be Jerikall.
“Yes,” the shaman had finally admitted, “danger does exist.”
Yu’s heart had clenched at the words, though he tried not to show it.
“Orks and witches sometimes dare to approach the guild,” Jerikall continued, his voice maddeningly even.
“I knew it!” Yu had pounced on the admission, his suspicion vindicated.
“Occasionally,” Jerikall added, unperturbed by Yu’s outburst. “Such occurrences are rare, but not unheard of. But rest assured. The guild is well-prepared for such threats. Guards are stationed permanently at the entrances. Their vigilance extends to the surrounding trail whenever the weather allows.”
This revelation did absolutely nothing to reassure Yu. Quite the opposite. “What guards?” he had snapped. If these guys were so great, then why by all means did they hire people like him, with no combat skill — with no anything skill whatsoever? Who in their right mind would want a bastard like him? He was not evem fit for manual labour, with his shit stumps for arms.
For a while, Jerikall had simply looked at him, putting up that maddening blank front which shamans so often adopted when their mask grew on them.
Yu had not needed an answer, though. He already knew the truth behind his shirka’s scheme. He was not hired because the guild needed him. He was hired because she did not.
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