A few hours later, Ralph was interrupted from his work by Birin.
‘How goes it,’ the Elf-captain asked him.
Ralph shrugged, and mopped his brow with a rag he kept tucked in the back of his pants. ‘I’ve made about thirty so far. I’ve tried to show the others here how it’s done, but they just shake their heads, and say things like “I am a smithy, not a sorcerer.” It looks like I’m on my own.’
‘Let’s leave the others to their work, shall we? I have something to discuss with you.’
Ralph washed up a bit using cold water from a barrel, gave his cache of arrowheads to a fellow worker for safekeeping, and followed Birin outside to the nearest section of a continuous courtyard which wove its way between the buildings of Mirrindale. It was cleverly convoluted, full of private nooks and crannies, many of these being furnished with tables and benches sheltered by slate-shingled roofs supported at each corner by stone pillars or thick wooden posts. About the stone walkways were raised terraces with patches of grass bordered by flowers and flowering shrubs. They seated themselves at a stone bench which was sheltered beneath an enormous magnolia tree in full bloom; nearby was an ornate fountain shaped like the heads of dolphins, which gurgled and sparkled cheerfully in the bright sunlight.