Jack sat cross-legged, draped in his tattered cloak, and cursed softly under his breath. He’d tracked the old mouse in the robes down finally, to ask him about the soul release, and maybe the healing Osmando had mentioned. As much damage as he was taking, that one seemed like it would be pretty useful.

He had, of course, run headfirst into yet another problem. The old guy seemed to speak Tandrian exclusively. Jack couldn’t understand a syllable, even in the painfully echoey way he understood Osmando.

Meynardo was still off with his friend sorting their kills, which meant that he couldn’t help. So there he sat, frustration eating at him along with the cold, the wet, and the ever increasing urge to be moving before his enemies moved.

The mouse mage tried a few more times, speaking more slowly, but to no avail. One or two words got through once he’d slowed to a crawl, but not nearly enough to matter. Finally, the old mouse turned toward where the others were going through the rubble and raised his voice.

A tiny little bit of a mouse broke away from the group and scampered over, bringing up before the old one and looking up. He was about seventy percent house mouse, with a quivering nose and button eyes. But he held himself upright and listened intently to what the old mouse was telling him.

After a few moments, the youngster nodded, turned to Jack, and squeaked. No recognizable words, only the sound of a common mouse. But as he did, Jack heard the words come into his head, something like the way Rosaluna’s did, and a bit like Meynardo’s, but not quite like either’s.

I am Amiandro, Jack heard. Son of Orimondro, called crook-tail. Grandson of Montenardo, called Longfoot. I speak as the voice of Grandfather Luciandro, called Bright Hand. He of the first generation, son of the master himself. Wisest of the mice of Castle Scarpwatch. The Tiniest Wizard.

Grandfather Luciandro, he went on, thanks the human person for his aid in our hour of need, and wonders what Grandfather can do for the human person. He turned to look over his shoulder as if to verify his message. The old mouse nodded.

Jack was somewhat taken aback. The obviously high ranking magic user was unable to manage the telepathic spell, but the little kid could do it? And Meynardo as well, obviously. Even Osmando to some extent. Jack had gotten it into his head somehow that telepathy was a high ranking spell and that Rosaluna kind of had a lock on it. Even the rings seemed to be high order items that only she could craft.

But if he’d been wrong and it was more widespread, why could the kid do it but not the elder?

“Tell him he’s very welcome,” he told Amiandro. “And tell him I was wondering if he could help me learn a few things. Concerning the use of magic.”

Amiandro nodded and turned back to the old... wizard, who took it all in, free hand stroking what Jack suddenly realized was a long white beard depending from his muzzle.

After a bit, he addressed the youngster. Amiandro turned to Jack and shook his head sadly. Grandfather regrets that he is unable, at this time, to do this thing.

“Might I ask why?” Jack frowned.

Amiandro turned again, again exchanging dialog with the old wizard. Turning back, he addressed Jack. It is not that he is unwilling, he explained. Grandfather begs the human person to understand. It is the words. To properly instruct, the words must be the same. Too slow to go through a youngling. Mistakes make bad things happen too quickly, and there is much danger for all involved.

That made sense. Another roadblock.

The mouse wizard was speaking again, and the youngster was looking apprehensive, glancing back over his shoulder at Jack once or twice, an uncertain look on his face.

There is a way, the sending sounded hesitant. If the human person is willing.

“You don’t sound happy about it,” Jack pointed out.

I am not, Amiandro answered, nose twitching. It is not something I have ever done before, and it frightens me a little.

“You?”

Amiandro straightened to his full height. I will be Grandfather’s apprentice in a few years, he announced proudly. Even now, I sometimes help. But... but not like this.

“It’s dangerous, then?”

Grandfather says not, Amiandro told him. But possibly painful. Possibly very painful.

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“Then don’t—”

There is a debt, the young mouse insisted. You were injured saving us. Should I be afraid of—?

“You don’t owe me a thing, kid,” Jack frowned. “I didn’t do it because of you. I did it because of me.”

The youngster clearly didn’t understand. He turned to the older mouse and they went back and forth again. For a good while this time. When he turned back to Jack, his face was resolute. I will help Grandfather, then, he met Jack’s eyes squarely, because of me, and not because of you.

Jack sighed resignedly. That’s what pride did to you. Made you stupid. “Okay, Amiandro,” he shrugged. “What is this way you speak of?”

I will share your words with Grandfather Luciandro, he said simply.

“Aren’t you already doing that?” Jack was confused.

No, the youngster shook his head. Show words.

“You’re going to teach me Tandrian, then?”

I cannot do that, the youngster admitted. I will show your words to Grandfather and he will learn them through me.

Jack rocked back. That sounded like a horrible idea! “So you’re going to look around inside my head and gather up all the words,” he wondered incredulously. “And what? Send them to your... to Luciandro? Kid, you do not want to go rummaging around in my memories. There’s things in there you do NOT want to see, I promise you. I wouldn’t put you through that.”

Amiandro seemed confused. No, he insisted. Not memories. Words. Words not... he had his hands up now, framing his head. Not stored? Kept? Stored. In same place. Only look at words.

His sendings had been pretty smooth and coherent at the beginning of this conversation, Jack thought. But they were getting more choppy as the conversation went along. The kid must be pretty nervous.

“And Luciandro can’t do this himself why, exactly?” he wondered.

Amiandro tilted his head in puzzlement.

“I mean, if you can do this spell, why can’t he?”

Spell? The sending bore the wash of confusion. No spell. I mean, yes, there is a spell to learn, but talking... me talking to you... this is not a spell, it is only the way we are.

Jack’s own confusion was growing. “I don’t follow.”

The youngster was growing frustrated, it was clear. Only the young mindspeak, he said as though everyone should know that. Mouths not able to make human words, so mindspeak. Once mouth... grows? He squinted his eyes as though he were trying to see something far away. Evolves? Once mouth can make words, we make words, and mindspeak goes away.

Jack had his eyes closed as he took this in. Okay. Part of who —no, what— they were. Monsters, he remembered Osmando saying. Tiny little monsters who wore clothes, worked magic, and raised families. And this master of theirs.... He had a pretty good notion that the master wasn’t a mouse. Not even close.

“Are...” he asked hesitantly. “Are you guys constructs?”

The little mouse screwed his face up, struggling. Maybe? The word doesn’t match very well, but I don’t know what to look for. Grandfather would know, but he can’t see until he learns.

“Wait a minute,” Jack held up a hand. “Until he learns? You mean he’s going to learn English?”

Yes, Amiandro said, puzzled. Isn’t that what I said?

Oh. Yeah, it was, wasn’t it? Jack put his hand over his face. Why couldn’t I have just bit the bullet and watched the damned subs? He asked himself for the thousandth time. Or listened to all the weebs on the boards who insisted the noble path was to invest in lessons and watch in the true anime tongue.“And how long is this going to take?” he wondered aloud. “I’ve got things I’m supposed to be doing that I can’t just ignore.”

The youngster turned. Not long this time. Two hours, Grandfather says, the answer came with a distraught squeak. Maybe more if there are lots of words.

Too long. “I don’t have that much time to waste,” Jack told the young mouse. “I suppose we’ll have to put it off until there’s time.”

More palaver with the old mouse, and there was real fear in the mouseling’s sending when he once more turned to Jack. Grandfather says that you will have to make time if you expect to live past the coming day.

Jack rocked his head back at that. The hell?

You are hunting the dark humans from the camp to the south, Grandfather says, the youngster went on. He says that among them is a dark mage of some rank, and that you will need Grandfather’s aid if you hope to defeat him, or even survive his attention.

Jack lowered his head and closed his eyes, remembering the bandit on the road where they’d found the butchered farmers, and his ragged claims regarding his comrades. Eleven, he’d sobbed. Including a rank fourteen dark mage. Then he remembered what Tiarraluna had done to that selfsame bandit, frying him with lightning until his hair had started smouldering in spite of his wearing of warded armor. Tiarraluna who was only rank ten.

“What can he tell me about this mage?” he asked Amiandro quietly. “Is there no defense against him?”

The mouseling wasn’t too happy with that question. He wasn’t used to hearing anyone question Luciandro’s wisdom. Nonetheless, he turned and conveyed the question. And thus began a torturous back and forth as the human person attempted to worm his way out of doing what he must already know was the right thing.

* * *

Along the road between Rosaluna’s cottage and Mokkelton, five shambling figures paused as one, noses raising to the sky. Acute senses led them to the scorched patches of grass where their brethren had fallen. Given the darkness and intermittent rain, that was the extent of their discovery.

The original flit had shown the pair of killers proceeding to the west, and so they followed, keeping well clear of the roadway. None had any idea how they’d find their quarry, insofar as their kind had ideas at all. For the most part, they followed orders, fed, and slept.

The champion, however, possessed a slightly higher level intellect than its troops. It understood its mission. Clear the spawn zone, search, remain undetected by the locals, kill. It also possessed a reader which it had been shown how to use. There would be some sort of mass habitation ahead somewhere. Humans held to them whenever possible. Once within sight of one, they would go to ground and release the twenty flits they’d brought with them. If the quarry remained within, the flits would find them.