They’d been at it for awhile, and all three were growing frustrated. What’s more, as his agitation grew, the youngster’s translations became more hesitant, less reliable. Jack was forced to admit that, if he were to gain anything positive from the wizard, he’d have to do so directly. And what had been getting through had convinced him that he’d be better off learning what he could than going in alone against what was looking like a far more dangerous group than he’d been anticipating.

Grandfather says that this would go more smoothly if you used a focus, Amiandro suggested, his sending tinged with equal parts relief and trepidation.

“I don’t have one,” he shrugged.

The little one turned to consult his elder before turning back. You have amber, Grandfather says, he sent. He can sense it, Grandfather says.

Jack rocked his head back a bit. He hadn’t known that was possible. “It’s not exactly mine to use,”

Another consultation. Grandfather asks if he may see it, Amiandro relayed. It feels strange, Grandfather says.

Jack gave it some thought. Then he shrugged. What harm could it do? The mouse wizard was almost certainly better equipped to figure the thing out than he was anyway. He dug through his pouch and retrieved the shard, passing it to the youngster, who passed it to the older mouse.

Luciandro’s eyes widened as he examined the gem. He rattled off something to the youngling without looking up.

Grandfather asks where you acquired this thing? Amiandro queried.

“It’s a life stone.”

Now Amiandro’s eyes widened. What sort of creature dropped such a stone? He asked without consulting his elder.

Jack took a deep breath before answering. He wasn’t sure they’d believe him, given what Tiarraluna had told him. “An ungifted farmer who’d been killed by these bandits I’m hunting,” he said, voice level.

Amiandro took a moment to digest that before relaying the information. It was clear he wasn’t sure was he being lied to or told the truth.

After a further moment, Luciandro’s eyes rose to meet Jack’s, a hard glint to them. He nodded. He, at least, believed. He went on at some length to his apprentice before the youngster turned back to Jack.

Grandfather wonders, did you avenge this man? He queried, obviously leaving some things out.

Jack gave it some thought. Had he? Or had he simply...? “I killed the man who killed him,” he admitted at last. “Whether it was avengement or something else, I can’t really say. It might just have been.... No, let’s just leave it at that.”

Amiandro stared up at him for a few heartbeats, his little face screwed up in a peculiar expression. Then he turned and conveyed what Jack hoped was his message to the wizard. The way the kid seemed able to look into his head, it might have been something completely removed.

Grandfather says that he will wait until he may speak to you directly before requesting the rest of the story, Amiandro broke into his introspection, holding out the amber shard. But for now, you should be able to use this life stone without harm to either of you. He will show you how.

Jack shook himself and looked to the wizard.

Luciandro was casting about in the mud, looking for something. Eventually, he picked up what was either a small pebble or a large grain of sand. Looking up to be sure Jack was watching, he made a show of holding the fingers of his right hand rigidly straight, forefinger and ring finger slightly beneath the middle finger. Sort of a triangle. He waited for Jack to mimic the action. Which he belatedly did.

Now Luciandro took the pebble and placed it between the three fingers, at the first knuckle. It took some squinting before Jack could see what had been done and copy this action.

More consulting before Amiandro came in close to examine Jack’s grip. He nodded, turning back and assuring his elder that the gem was being held correctly.

You are supposed to place the tips of your fingers against the top of my head, Grandfather says, the little guy was shaking. And to try and empty your mind, if you can. Or to concentrate on something that you know, that will free your mind from wandering... Grandfather says.

Jack had to squint to understand what was being sent now. He thought he understood. He hoped he did. He reached down to gently place the tips of the fingers holding the amber shard against the tiny grey head.

As for emptying his mind, he’d never been able to wrap his brain around meditation, but he thought he understood what Amiandro had meant about concentrating on something he knew. His initial thought was to go through staff forms, but he quickly discarded that notion. He didn’t trust FoeSmite to stay out of things, and he sure didn’t want it involved.

Sword forms, then. He closed his eyes and wondered which set, growing more accustomed to how easily he could bring forth each and every one he’d ever studied. Sabers first, he decided. He started picturing himself going through the nine guards. Then the nine cuts, and then the thrusts. And on and on. Once he’d gone through the lot, he moved to rapier. Then rapier and dagger. Small sword, Long sword, sword and shield, Then....

It is done, Amiandro broke his concentration, his sending feeling exhausted.

“Huh?” he shook his head and drew back. “Already? I thought—”

A new voice caught at his ears. “It’s been nearly three hours, Jackson Grenell,” the old wizard said aloud in American English, complete with Midwestern accent. “You’ve got quite a vocabulary.”

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The voice sounded like him if he’d inhaled some helium. “Uhm....”

“Side effect of the spell,” the wizard shrugged. “It’ll go away before long, as the words and syntax sort themselves out in my head.”

“Right.” Jack closed his eyes for a moment and rubbed at the lids. He had a colossal headache. Opening them, he looked to the sky. The rain had stopped, but it was still pretty overcast, and he didn’t see much of the moon beyond a bit of a glow above the clouds. “We’re looking at, what, around midnight, d’you think?” he asked.

“Roughly,” Luciandro replied. “Now, you wanted to learn the soul release?”

“No time,” Jack told him. “I’m up against some pretty substantial opposition, and I’ve already given them way too much time to get set.”

“Not sure you really understand your position, then,” the mouse said.

“Right,” Jack acknowledged. “The mage. How big a problem is he gonna be, and what do I do about him without any useable magic of my own?”

The old mouse gave him the eye and shrugged again. “Alone? Get killed. Even if you had magic, given what Meynardo has told me, at your rank you wouldn’t stand a chance against him.”

Jack’s shoulders slumped and he lowered his head. There it was. Some hero.

“With my help, on the other hand,” Luciandro continued, bringing Jack’s head up. “If we get a little bit lucky and our timing works out, I suggest putting an arrow into his forehead.” He poked a stiffened finger just above the bridge of his own muzzle. “Right here.” He lowered the hand the finger was attached to and smiled. “I’ve found that that generally sorts just about anyone out, wizard, mage, dire hare, or ogre.”

“Just that easy?” Jack asked, not really believing it would be anything of the sort.

The mouse chuckled without humor. “If we can get close enough without being spotted. If he’s somewhere where we can get a line of sight on him. And if you can make the shot quickly and on the first try,” he paused just an instant for effect. “Then yes.”

“I’m smelling a whole lotta if coming off this process,” Jack grumbled.

Another shrug. “You have to understand, Jackson Grenell,” the wizard said. “I’ve been fighting nonstop for three days, using mana at an unsustainable rate. Now, after pulling your language from your head, I’ve even less remaining.

“What’s more, in order to get your large carcass close enough to make the shot, I’ll be burning through what remains to me much more quickly than I’ll be recovering it. Unless you’ve got some spare potions you aren’t using.”

At Jack’s negative, he went on. “I’m afraid I won’t be able to deal with even a rank fourteen on my own unless you’re willing to wait a few days for me to regain my full measure. Which I know you aren’t.

“So,” and he spread his arms wide. “I will attempt to get us close enough to the camp without your being seen by the scrying spells he’s no doubt pouring over at this very moment, if they’re as worried about you as you say. Beyond that, I’m afraid, I’ll be of little more use.

“I won’t be able to fully stop him from casting any sorts of attack magic, for instance,” he went on. “And it goes without saying that you won’t be invisible to the naked eye. Only to the scrying spell.”

“So where does that leave me?” Jack wondered half to himself. “Fried, froze, or blasted?”

Another shrug. "One thing I should be able to do even then is to weaken his wards. For a moment only.”

“Which means?” Jack perked up.

“You will have one chance. If, once I drop the spell concealing you from his magic, you can loose an arrow quicker than he can complete an attack spell or warn his compatriots, he’ll be trying to cast or call with an arrow buried,” and the finger went back to his forehead, “right here. I should think that would make casting quite a bit more difficult. I know I wouldn’t want to try it.”

So, a snap shot, then. How far could he manage that sort of thing with that sort of precision? “I’m gonna need to be pretty close,” he murmured.

Luciandro frowned. “How close?”

“Unfamiliar bow,” Jack ticked off on his fingers. “Dark. Tired.” he quirked a lip. “Twenty-five, thirty yards, maybe.”

“So,” the old mouse mused. “Inside the camp.”

“Well inside,” Jack affirmed. “Given what I saw of the layout this afternoon. And I’m not sure how well I’m going to be able to pull that off with the bunch of them already on the alert.

“And we don’t even know where the guy is, so we won’t know where I’ll need to be, or even if I’ll be able to see him from anywhere I’m liable to be able to reach.”

He sighed heavily, almost a cough. “No matter, I guess,” he grumbled. “Not like I have a choice, is it?”

Luciandro ran the fingers of one hand through his wispy beard. It’s actually just like that, he thought to himself. There was no true reason the camp must be taken tonight. Only the drive within the breast of the sentinel. He foreswore to mention this, however. The man was already strung taught as a bowstring. Wait a moment!

“Meynardo!” he called with some volume. To Jack, he held up a forestalling finger, smiling.

Meynardo arrived a few moments later, panting, to bring up before the wizard. “You wished to see me?”

“I know you must be weary to the bone,” Luciandro addressed him. “But have you any energy left at all?”

Meynardo narrowed his eyes, cocking his head. He looked up at Jack, then back at the wizard. “What will you of me, Luciandro?” he asked evenly.

“We were wondering where their mage might be hiding himself,” Luciandro told him. “And I was thinking, wouldn’t it be fine if I had, say, a ranger somewhere about who could sneak into the bandit camp and locate him for us.”

Meynardo sighed, allowing his shoulders to slump. “And I suppose you’ll be waiting right here for news?”

Luciandro smiled benignly.

Meynardo spared Jack another look and a nod before bowing to the older mouse and turning away, shouting, “Osmando! How many arrows do you have left!”

In a matter of moments, quiver partially refilled, he was off into the taller grass to the south.

Luciandro nodded and regarded his new friend. “There,” he smiled. “Now we have some time. Young Meynardo is quite swift, but even he will be some time running all that way and back, not mentioning the time involved in searching the camp and avoiding their cats.”

Jack unclenched his teeth. Fine. “Alright,” he sighed. “Teach me to free souls.”

The mouse wizard shook his head. “I think, before we begin teaching you magic, I’d like to see your stats and skills, if you don’t mind.”

“Fine with me,” Jack shrugged. “Don’t see how, though. I understand you don’t have a window here, nor do I see one of those readers anywhere.”

Luciandro frowned and had another go at his beard. “I beg your pardon?” he said in wonderment. “Do you mean to say you’re out here with no token or idea of your abilities?”

“Token?” Jack repeated. “Oh,” and he fished his guild token from his pouch. “You mean this?”

“Ah,” the mouse nodded. “Then you are an adventurer after all. Wait. Are you trying to tell me that you can’t use the token? And you don’t know how to free souls. Minor healing?”

At Jack’s negative, he snorted. “What sort of guild do you belong to where they don’t teach the most basic of tasks?” he wondered. “What sort of dunderhead would sent a new adventurer out into the wilds without the least notion of how to survive?”

Jack had to think about that. What sort of dunderhead, indeed? “The guildmaster was kind of upset at my class assignment, I guess,” he offered.

“Assignment?” the mouse wizard’s voice rose. “Jackson Grenell,” he assured the man. “Classes are not ‘assigned’. Classes are recognized. They are as intrinsic to who you are as your very blood. If Jehsha’s Window recognized you as a sentinel, it was because you were already a sentinel. Your guildmaster should have known this.”

“He might have,” Jack admitted. “But it doesn’t seem to have mattered. He might also have expected my companion to explain things to me. She was a rank ten advanced novice mage.”

Another snort. “So he allowed a student to take on an apprentice, eh? What could have possibly gone wrong with such endeavor?”

Jack had to chuckle at that himself.