The one named Barodan retrieved the arrow and studied the head in wonder. Speaking confidingly, intently, the Dwarf said, ‘Pran, my friend, I must ask how you came by this.’
Ralph began to answer, but Pran cut him off. ‘I know someone who makes these. He asked me about selling them here . . . but there is the problem of who is able to buy them. He is from far away, and does not seem to realize that there is no smithy, at least none that I know of within the Elf Kingdom, who is so mighty in craft.’
The Dwarf drew them off to a corner of the shop and spoke in a low voice. ‘You were very wise to tell me this. If the King’s own or Prince Cir’s began purchasing weapons such as these, there could be serious trouble, for all of us.’
Pran obviously expected this, but said, ‘Barodan, is there no one who possesses such craft? More importantly, if I were to introduce you to the craftsman who made these, would you, could you, aid him in turning them out in great number?’
Ralph, who stood by expectantly, was surprised and disappointed to see the Blacksmith’s shoulders sag fractionally.
‘This,’ he said, holding up the arrowhead between them like a talisman, ‘is more than mere craft, my friend. I am a smithy, not a magician.’