Let’s get out of here, I told Damas. There’s nothing more we can do tonight.
But you acquired something. Damas caught up with me and nosed the platter. Is it the key to solving this problem?
I eyed the salvaged—or stolen—signs welded together dubiously, but the platter did radiate magic, and this was the kind of detritus goblins liked to use to make artifacts. From what I’d heard, there wasn’t a word for junk in the goblin language. Everything had value.
I certainly hope so, I thought.
Do you have a means to heal your injury? Damas had noticed my limp.
Pliers.
The preferred tool of surgeons.
Will that be sufficient? He sounded skeptical.
As long as the thorns hadn’t fully sunken into my calf…
I certainly hope so, I repeated.
I sat on a bench looking out over the lake, examining m
