“Krynn, forest wanderer, tell me what happened before he fell unconscious,” said Bubs.
“Why do you demand to learn this?”
“To learn what affected him. To treat him.”
There was hesitation.
“It is not my truth to tell.”
“He was not attacked. He is not poisoned. Yet he suffers from something more than frostbite or exhaustion. I am now treating him to strength, and to lighten any pain. I can do more, if I know what befell him. So will you tell me?”
“It is a secret that is not mine.”
Bubs was clearly frustrated. From the sound of his arguments, he was trying to wear down the krynn’s resolve, to make him abandon his principles. Yu, however, sensed something deeper. Sometimes, hearing from a distance allowed him to grasp things more clearly. What he understood now was that the krynn’s reluctance was not mere stubbornness, even though his words suggested as much. Yu did not hear honour in his voice, nor the steadfast conviction to guard what had been revealed to him in confidence. No, there was something else.
Fear.
Yu recognised it, because it was the same fear of sharing secrets that lived in him. And beneath that, he heard something darker still. He heard the same quiet revulsion that he himself felt toward the shaman.
The difference was, the krynn was trapped in the room with her. His distress leaked out in every word. Yu, at least, was at a distance. However stupid it was, he could at least pretend that a wall and a few metres of stone between them made a difference.
“I know he is a hire, and I know of the pacts. The borman does. Do you?”
“I know little.”
“I am certain he relied on a pact. Tell me what you can, so I can do more for him.”
“I cannot say more.”
“I may,” said the shaman. Her voice was calm, with so much more compassion that Yu could ever put into his. “If I read his sigils.”
The water in the barrel overflowed. It spilled down his chest and pants, splattering across the floor.
Yu pushed himself back from the barrel.
Shit!
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