The crystals arrived at dawn.
A man rode into Northhaven with a pack train of six mules, their backs bowed under the weight of reinforced chests, their breath steaming in the cold air. His face was pale beneath the grime, his lips cracked from wind and cold, but his eyes were steady sharp, aware, the eyes of a man who had seen too much to be surprised by anything anymore. When he dismounted from his horse, he walked without stumbling, though his legs must have been screaming from three days of hard riding through a blizzard.
"The crystals," he said, handing Kaelen a leather pouch. The leather was cold, stiff, the ties frozen. "The ones you marked. The purest from the mine. I brought everything you asked for and some extras besides. There's more in the chests smaller stones, less pure, but they'll hold a charge if you need them."
He was one of Markus's trusted men. Lamien.
