Returning, I found the whole group gathered near the tavern. They were finishing packing their things and seemed to be waiting only for me. The squad captain was calmly discussing something with Granny Brin, while Scot was joking with Drodul and Beri:
“What do you call a man who sold his liver? Well-off! Ha-ha-ha. Come on, that’s funny, right? Hey, isn’t it funny? Wait…”
I didn’t listen further—Sem approached me and handed over a huge backpack bristling with metal instruments. It was mounted on a strange wooden frame, allowing one to carry far more weight than by ordinary means.
“This holds most of our gear, but nothing too valuable. We keep weapons and artifacts on ourselves, so your load will be lighter than usual for a porter. We won’t be moving quickly—the job isn’t urgent—but don’t expect us to accept complaints. Keep that in mind. Me or the twins will announce all breaks and rest stops in advance. You won’t take part in combat. If you have any questions, ask now,” Sem concluded his brief briefing and looked me over with sleepy eyes. His voice was calm, like a cold, murmuring stream in a grotto. I immediately pointed to my throat, trying to ask about the artifact.
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“Right, the artifact,” he said, pulling the medallion from a small pocket and handing it to me. “Try not to speak through it unless absolutely necessary. Frequent use will exhaust you much faster. You can collect today’s payment from Drodul—he handles our money.”
The big man broke off his chatter with Scot and nodded at me. I returned the gesture. Sometimes men can convey far more with a single motion than with words.
“Alright,” Sem’s voice grew louder, “we’re moving out, everyone. Heading toward Quiet Village. We’ll encounter rinks along the way—we leave them alone. Clear, Scot?”
The young man merely rolled his eyes at this, though smiles appeared on Beri’s and the twins’ faces. Apparently, they’d already landed in dangerous situations because of Scot—more than once.
