Gol’fanin chuckled a bit more. “Scimitars? A drow carrying scimitars and traveling near the surface with iblith.”
Tiago held up his hands, completely lost by the leading statement.
“What more can you tell me about this curious rogue?” the blacksmith asked.
Tiago snorted.
“What color were his eyes?” Gol’fanin asked.
Tiago started to answer “lavender,” but choked on the word. His eyes widened in shock and he gaped at Gol’fanin and breathed, “No.”
“Is it possible that a noble drow of House Baenre, surely soon to ascend to the rank of weapons master of the First House of Menzoberranzan, came face to face with Drizzt Do’Urden and didn’t even realize it?” Gol’fanin asked.
Tiago glanced all around, as if to ensure that no others had heard that statement. His thoughts were whirling as he tried to recall all that he knew of the history of that traitorous rogue named Drizzt, among the most coveted outlaws ever known in Menzoberranzan. Drizzt Do’Urden, guardian of another dwarven complex, Mithral Hall, where Matron Baenre herself had been killed! Drizzt Do’Urden, who had slain Dantrag Baenre, Tiago’s grandfather.
Gol’fanin held up the unfinished sword and tapped it on the shield. “These prizes will make you a weapons master,” he said. “But the head of Drizzt Do’Urden? That prize will make you a legend.”
