[Celuien]

In spite of himself, Ulfast was amused by the scene playing around him. The girl's frightened, nervous loyalty and the smith's clear irritation at her interference intrigued Ulfast. There was, perhaps, more between them than the matter of the knife. Whether or not it was true, that was a tale Ulfast could use if needed to keep the smith under his control.

"Blame, girl? I am certain there is none. Master Dag is a man wise in his craft, and I think that he would do nothing foolish, even at the behest of so charming a maid." A smile danced faintly on Ulfast's face as he spoke, eyes darting from the girl to Dag in search of any hint of embarrassment from either.

"As to the sword, you speak truly. I should have no need of your blade in battle tonight. Come then, as you say, and present it in ceremony this evening, to be taken back to the forge when the feast has ended."

The smith's forehead seemed to lose a few of its creases. "Yes, my lord," he answered.

From inside, Ulfast heard the faint tones of a melody. The voice was low, but clear and sweet. "Who sings within?" he asked.

A frown passed quickly over Dag's brow. "It is my wife's sister, my lord."

"A fine voice."

Dag remained silent.

"Ah! How foolish of me. Of course. It is said that a truly fair-voiced maid, both in song and in story, lives within the village. I had forgotten that she was kin to you. Her name is Mem, is it not?"

"Yes. Mem is my wife's sister."

Ulfast grinned. "Then, my good man, will you not bring her with you when you present the sword tonight? Her voice would grace our halls well." Dropping his voice as if in confidence, Ulfast added, "I say this not in command, but ask it rather in friendship. What say you?"

The smile remained on Ulfast's lips. Here was a chance for a test of the smith's loyalties.