Rowyn Bluethorn dumped another crate of artifacts and antique rubbish on top of the worktable. Billowing dust made her sneeze hard. Her eyes burned, her head and her back ached from long hours spent in the poorly lit chamber. A single mage-light—all that Tor Dekar would spare—cast a circle of dim light. The rest of the windowless room remained in shadow. She hated it. She hated Master Dekar and his thin, cold smile. She hated the endless trunks, crates, sacks, and chests filled with useless oddments made in obscure places for unknown reasons. She hated being forced to work below […]