Kazmir's recovery was fairly satisfactory.
Grot's spell had healed most of his ribs by the next day. At the very least, walking and breathing normally no longer caused that wrenching pain.
But more than his injuries, something else was making him anxious—
"My lute."
He had no choice but to face a cruel reality—Dart, a town full of muscle-bound lugs, had no professional instrument craftsmen.
At the Broken Antler Deer owner's recommendation, he found a place in a deep alley in the eastern part of town that repaired wooden items.
It was a small workshop that smelled of wood shavings, with a wooden sign above the doorframe that was nearly falling off—"Claus Carpentry."
Apparently, the old carpenter's main work was repairing broken crossbow stocks and smashed door panels for the militia. The owner said he had once seen him patch up a passing herdsman's hand drum.
Claus sat behind his workbench, the thick lenses perched on his nose seemingly coated in years of grease.
He looked up and stared through that grime at the two broken halves in Kazmir's hands. "Can fix it."
"I haven't even told you what needs fixing, and you can fix it?" Kazmir was doubtful.
"I can fix anything."
"This is a lute. Can you fix it?"
"Can."
Kazmir carefully placed his beloved instrument, broken in two, on the sawdust-covered table before him. "How much?"
"Two Silver Scales."
"Huh? Are you sure, old man?"
Kazmir's eyes widened.
It was not that it was too expensive. It was far too cheap.
Cheap enough that he felt there had to be something wrong with it.
"This is a high-grade custom lute with a spruce top and an ebony fingerboard. Its sound transmission—"
"Kid." The old carpenter unhurriedly cut off his lengthy spiel. "I don't understand all that fancy