"It could," Tom agreed, "but that would take a very, very long time. And unless they had something of you, it would be virtually impossible. Is there anyone who—" He stopped in mid-sentence. He’d been about to ask Shakala whether someone might have a piece of him—hair, blood, something that he had once owned and that was precious to him—that could be used for ritual magic. But that was like asking someone to reveal their greatest weakness, the means by which they could best be disabled, attacked, killed. It wouldn’t be the smartest thing to ask this elf, so he stopped himself from blurting it out. But the elf knew anyway.