Niles knelt and examined the anvil. He licked a finger and touched the cut end of its horn. It hissed, still hot. "You have such weapons for us, I understand," he said, and arose to his feet.
"They are not yet finished," Damond told him.
"He is Damond of Brand," said Palindor, to the question in Nile's mien. "In matters pertaining to the armoury, I defer to his will."
"And you are Palindor of Imlandon," said Niles. "I remember you well."
There was obvious tension between the two, and Damond sensed some old enmity. Feeling as though he were heading off some unpleasantness, he said, "We shall equip your men in two days' time, Master Niles. Why don't you return to the armoury at that time?"
Niles tore his stony gaze from Palindor. "There are many finished weapons about now," he said, and now Damond felt the full effect of the man. He was no ordinary soldier. He was a killer, cold and ruthless.
"They are spoken for," Damond told him, putting cold steel in his voice. Niles, in his turn, fixed him with eyes that were at once penetrating and dangerous. "As you wish. Two days, then." He spun on his heel and left.
"You know him," Damond said, feeling acutely the manner in which the man's unsettling presence left the armoury feeling suddenly a much emptier place. Thankfully so.