Everyone says it was better in the Good Old Days. Before the Dark Lord subjugated us. Before he gave all the good land to his ogres, orcs and trolls, reducing the civilized races to serfdom and the dirty work: pig farming, sewer cleaning, veterinary medicine.

But even before that happened, things weren't that much different for the veterinarians. Everyone cheered the heroes who rode their unicorn chargers into combat against the Dark Lord's dragons, but no one ever remembered who treated the unicorns’ phosphine burns afterward. The only real difference is that now I'm treating the dragons. Today I have to save one's life. Know what fewmets are? No? Then make a sacrifice of thanks right now to whatever gods you worship, because I have only a few hours to figure a way to get them flowing back out of the Dark Lord’s favorite dragon. Yeah, from the other end. And that’s just my most illustrious client.

I’ve got orcs and trolls who might eat me and dark elf barons who might sue

me if their bloodhawks and chimeras don’t pull through. And that doesn’t even consider the

possibility that the old hag with the basilisk might show up.

The only thing that’s gone right this evening is finding Harriet to be my veterinary assistant.

She’s almost a witch, which just might save us both. If we don’t kill each other first.