Darnak placed a hand over Jig’s shoulder while someone else pulled the broken arrow through his back. Jig felt nauseous as he realized that he had a hole passing all the way through his body. And how much blood did he have left? That warm puddle all over the floor, that was him! He needed that stuff to stay inside his skin, not be spreading across the marble and soaking into his loincloth.

“What happened?” He had to ask three times before someone understood his pain-slurred speech.

“Darnak clubbed Ryslind on the head,” Riana said. “With all of those creatures falling, he got so angry that he stopped paying attention to the rest of us. He’s tied and gagged, so we should be safe when he wakes up.”

“Oh. That’s good.” Jig’s head felt tingly. Was this what happened when you lost too much blood? Darnak was praying and working on the wound, but Jig still hurt. Maybe that was a good thing. Maybe he shouldn’t worry until the shoulder stopped hurting.

“Have him drink this.” Darnak handed a waterskin to Riana, who put it to Jig’s lips. His mouth felt parched, and he sucked eagerly.

Only to spit and cough a moment later. That wasn’t water; Darnak had passed over his wineskin. In other circumstances, Jig would have been stunned by the gesture.

“Here now, don’t be wasting it. That’s good stuff, and I can’t get more until my cousin returns from down south.” Darnak grabbed the skin and took a swig for himself. “Care to take another shot at it?”

This time, Jig forced himself to swallow, even though it made his throat burn and his eyes water even harder. He felt vapor rise into his sinuses, making his head light. The pain in his shoulder was still there, but somehow it didn’t matter quite as much. He took another few swallows.

Darnak grinned. “Dwarven ale,” he said, a note of pride in his voice. “Made in the finest underground breweries in the land.”

“Tastes like klak beer,” Jig said.

“Watch your tongue,” Darnak snapped. “This is fine dwarven drink. No race in the world can match it, least of all goblins. You can’t even make this stuff without knowing where to find the best Blue-spotted Mushrooms, the oldest Nightblooms. . . .”

“And a lot of Ruffled Lichen root,” Jig added. He considered the taste. “This needs to age more, though.”

Darnak scowled at him and snatched his wineskin back. “You need to rest.”

Jig smiled as the dwarf worked on his shoulder. This was more like it. Riana was watching him with, well not exactly respect, but at least without her usual loathing. Darnak was healing him, just like he had done for Barius. And for the first time in Jig’s recollection, probably the first time since the world was born, a dwarf had shared a drink with a goblin.