‘Pran, my friend, what is your pleasure?’
‘Barodan,’ Pran replied, bowing fractionally. ‘I would like to know,’ he said, removing something from his pocket, ‘if you have ever seen the like of these.’ It was Ralph’s arrowhead, and the knife he had made for Theuli, wrapped in soft leather.
Removing his leather forging-cap and gloves, and scratching his balding head, the Dwarf took the knife and arrowhead and studied them closely. ‘What metal is this? In weight it feels somewhat like iron, but there’s a luster . . . and a darkness to the metal. What is it? How has it been polished to such a sheen?’
Taking the point from him, Pran took out an arrow shaft and fitted the head onto it. Then, glancing around to make sure there were no witnesses, taking his bow and drawing it, he said, ‘Watch.’
He aimed at an oak block to which a great anvil was affixed. What Pran didn’t know was that there were great metal pins inside, which secured the anvil to the block. A trail of sparks followed the arrow out the other side, and the arrow lodged itself in a pile of metal debris. Unnoticed, the hooded stranger, there a moment ago, had disappeared.