Shadows Return

him?”
    “Oh yes.”
    “And the other one?”
    “You don’t use his name, I notice. I haven’t heard you speak of him directly once.”
    “He has no name. He is an outcast, and no concern of mine. I trust he will be dealt with appropriately?”
    “I can assure you, he will never see Aurënen again, my friend.”
    “Yes, but will he suffer?”
    “I have no doubt that he will, with his new master. And now, for my part.” He took a leather folder of documents from inside his coat and laid it before Ulan. “Emancipation papers for forty-two Virésse and Golinil clan members. They will be on your ship by dawn.”
    Ulan paused, hand poised over the folder. “You promised me forty-four.”
    “Two have since died. Their remains have been prepared. You can still return them to their families. I do apologize, but it happened before I could purchase them.”
    “Ransom,” Ulan corrected. “They are ransomed. We ’faie do not involve ourselves in the buying and selling of flesh.”
    “Of course. I misspoke. Those whom I ransomed, as my part of our bargain, then.”
    “Thank you. And as to the other part of our bargain?”
    “As soon as a rhekaro is perfected—if indeed it is possible—and properly assessed, one will be sent to you.”
    Ulan raised an eyebrow at that. “If? This is the first time you’ve shown any doubt.”
    “I hadn’t seen him, much less tested him when we struck our bargain,” Yhakobin reminded him. “I had only your word that he was of that bloodline at all. And the boy is half human, after all, and that’s strong in him. I can only do so much.” He paused and sipped his wine. “Tell me, Khirnari, are there truly none in Aurënen who know of this blood property? That seems so odd, given the length of ’faie memory.”
    “I knew nothing of it until you contacted me about all this. And if I knew nothing, then it is highly unlikely that anyone else does, with the possible exception of the rhui’auros at Sarikali.”
    “Ah, yes. Your mysterious, mystic priests. Are they the keepers of your people’s secrets?”
    The khirnari answered that with an enigmatic smile. “There are many stories about why Hâzadriël gathered her followers and fled north, though no one knows the truth, or so the rhui’auros would tell you. But some say that she was gifted with a vision by the
bash’wai
spirits who inhabit Sarikali.”
    “Mystics and ghosts! My, but you are a colorful people.” Ulan’s smile disappeared. He did not move, but the air around Yhakobin suddenly felt cold and dense. “I meant that as a compliment, of course.”
    “Of course.” Ulan kept him pinned with his sharp-eyed gaze a moment longer, then looked down at his wine.
    Yhakobin relaxed slightly as the atmosphere returned to normal. “So, I will endeavor to make the
rhekaro
with what I have to work with, and then we shall see.”
    “I should like to see your texts, which speak of this magic.”
    Yhakobin nearly refused; no alchemist shared his precious store of knowledge, and most certainly not with an outsider. And he did already have the young Hâzadriëlfaie in hand. All the same, Ulan í Sathil was too powerful a man to trifle with. “Very well. Please wait here while I retrieve it.”
    As he unlocked his workshop door, he glanced back suspiciously, but Ulan still sat at the wine table, gazing at the fountain or statuary now. After that little demonstration of displeasure, however, Yhakobin wondered if the man was somehow coercing him into revealing his precious texts. Safely inside, he went to one of the tables and placed a bit of sulfur in a crucible and poured a few drops of several tinctures over it, then drew the requisite symbols on the table. He lit the sulfur with a coal from the forge and watched the flame, which flared up yellow, then turned a deep green; Ulan was exercising no magic on him, or at least none he could identify.
    Satisfied, he went to the small pavilion at the far end of the room and crawled inside to open the large casket hidden there. The lock opened at his touch, and he took out the lesser tome and carried it back to Ulan. He doubted the man, for all his apparent wisdom, knew how to read the Arcana.
    “Here, Khirnari,” he said, opening the book to a chapter marked with a black ribbon. Ulan took the tome and slowly followed the tiny characters with a finger, nodding slowly. “According to this, the longevity properties are not predictable.”
    “Most likely because of the