The manuscripts arrived by midday.
Kael had sent the request to the residence through the ward line connection — not words, the ward lines didn't carry words, but intention moved through the structure clearly enough that Vael had understood what was needed and coordinated the physical transfer through Edran, who arrived at the valley entrance at noon with two saddlebags and the expression of someone who had been riding hard and had opinions about it.
The manuscripts were old.
Not fragile-old — Kael had been preserving them for a century with the specific attention of someone who understood that what he was preserving mattered more than the effort required. They were dense and annotated and written in at least four scripts, some of which I couldn't read and some of which I could with the
