“Brogan would do well to stay far and gone from that man. They have said enough to one another. For all the good it’s done.” Deglan finished the grinding and hopped off the stool. He walked over to his satchel and pulled forth a sizable clay jar sealed with a thin piece of linen tied around the mouth. This he set on the pallet next to Faabar’s leg. “Now hold still.” Deglan scooped a portion of the ground petals out of the bowl and began massaging them into Faabar’s wound. The fomori’s powerful hand gripped at the bedclothes, but he did not make a sound of protest. Deglan repeated the application until the bowl was empty, paying particular attention to the exposed bone. Faabar let out a shuddering breath when Deglan removed his fingers for the final time.

“Tell me about this sword,” he said lightly as he reached for the clay jar.

“You have no care for that,” Faabar said.

“If I am to ask the dwarf about it, I should know of what I speak.” Deglan untied the linen from around the mouth of the jar. “Go on now. Tell me of it.”

“I requested it to be fashioned in the old style. A great two-hander. ‘Twil be almost three times the height of you, Deglan Loamtoes!”

“Fearsome,” Deglan said and peered carefully into the clay jar. “You traded dearly for it, I know. Will it be ornate?” He reached slowly into the jar.

“Nay!” Faabar snorted. “It will be made for war. Simple and well balanced. With a grip of tough leather.”

Deglan pulled a large, blue-black beetle from the jar. Holding it gently by its bloated body, the insect filled Deglan’s palm. It kicked at the air, its long pincers biting at nothing. Slowly, Deglan lowered the beetle onto Faabar’s leg so that it straddled the open wound. “Anything else?”

“It will be steel,” Faabar said reverently. “Dwarf-forged, it will hold an edge like no bronze blade can.”

Deglan forced the beetles head down and it bit deep into Faabar’s flesh on either side of the gash, causing a hiss to escape from between Faabar’s clenched teeth. The powerful pincers came together, pulling the skin closed. With a quick jerk, Deglan twisted the beetle’s body from its head, leaving the pincers embedded in the flesh, closed tightly in death. Deglan quickly reached into the jar and produced another beetle. “And what shall you do with this grand weapon?”

Faabar snarled. “Damn you, you leeching gnome! Enough of this prattle. Do it and have done!”

Deglan nodded and proceeded. The heads of six beetles lay embedded in Faabar’s flesh before the wound was sufficiently closed. “I’m sorry, friend,” he said when he was done at last.

“Will it work?” Faabar asked between breaths.