[Celuien]

Ulfast's calculating stare followed the smith as he moved behind the forge. A cold grin played at the corners of his mouth. Fortunately for Dag, it was not the mask Ulfast wore to hide his fury, the sly cover of pretended friendship that came just his wrath reached out with a deadly grasp. The man was bold. The rude trifle of a knife that had just been placed aside had no doubt been the task most recently in Dag's hand while the sword he now hefted had most likely lain neglected.

Ulfast thought he could sense fear coming from the craftsman, yet he had spoken calmly and deliberately, saying no more or less than needed. Such a man would be of good use if he could be reminded of his place in service to the son of Ulfang.

"Two days, you say? I had hoped it would be sooner. Tonight we hold a feast in honor of our allies of the Elven kingdom. Surely you have heard? Where better to display the work of a fine craftsman?" His voice rang with cool authority.

Ulfast's eyes drifted again to the knife, and for the briefest of moments, to the girl in the doorway.

"Or perhaps you have been attending to other tasks?"