Learning to use the ring, certainly compared to merely holding the shard, was simplicity itself. Jack found that he could simply point and recite the spell without much force or mana flow at all. Within seconds, the aura would form and the dire hare fade.

They weren’t dropping much in the way of gifts, though. Not like the haul he’d seen Osmando raking in.

“Take into consideration the size disparity between Osmando and the hare, Jackson Grenell,” Luciandro pointed out when Jack asked about it. “One on one, you could probably throttle a dire hare with your bare hands, could you not?

“Just one?” Jack allowed. “Sure, probably.”

“Now imagine Osmando trying it.”

“So....” Jack paused while he sent the next hare on its way. “...The quantity of the gift is a reflection of the disparity of power between winner and loser?”

“Quantity, quality, and the experience earned for freeing the soul,” Luciandro explained. “Although, in the case of the experience differential, the variation is dwarfed by the earned experience variance of the battle itself. You earn far more experience defeating a foe larger or of a higher rank than yourself than for an equal contest or battling a lesser foe.

“For Osmando, for instance, defeating a creature many orders of magnitude larger than himself gained him far more experience than you gained from defeating one a fraction of your own. And a concurrent increase in gifts”

Which explained the jaeger drop sword, although he’d pretty much figured that out already.

The ward spell proved a different matter. It wasn’t so much that the spell was particularly difficult, as it was that it was a third rank spell, while Jack’s mana manipulation skill remained solidly at rank one. It didn’t help that ward manipulation was somewhat finicky.

It took him a number of tries, and taught him the valuable lesson of what a failed casting’s backlash felt like while it was still low ranked enough not to kill him or melt his hand off the end of his wrist. Or, indeed, any of the myriad of other lurid fates Luciandro regaled him with as he danced around in pain, blowing on his scorched fingers.

“Worry not, young Jackson,” the tiny wizard called as Jack cursed his way through the aftermath of another screwup. “Self healing is up next, and now you’ll have a target that will easily show you how well you’ve learned it.”

Jack gave him the evilest of evil eyes he could muster. “I already have plenty of holes in me we can use as test subjects,” he rasped. “Anyway,” he lamented. “Wouldn’t it be easier for me to just flat out remove the ward and for you to put a fresh one in its place? I mean, you’re the one who put up the wards that kept this place safe, right?”

“I’m husbanding my mana,” the mouse told him. “So that I’ll be able to help you with the bandit mage. As it is, it will be a tricky thing with what little I have remaining, and what little will naturally refresh on our way there.

“Now,” the mouse ordered, “if you’re quite finished flailing about...? Again.”

By comparison, Self Healing (Lesser), the spell most adventurers commonly shortened to Lesser Healing ---although it was technically its own spell, and completely different--- was a breeze. There wasn’t even a spoken component.

Concentrate on the injury, aim the mana, and hum a short, easy to remember tune. Even the focus wasn’t particularly necessary, as none of what it focused was leaving his body. He was essentially swapping MP for HP, at the rate of three to one.

Higher ranks would grant more favorable exchange rates as well as allow him to heal more serious injuries. Eventually, should his abilities not peak beforehand, he’d be able to cast a version that would initiate autoheal and leave it running in the background while he fought.

Luciandro couldn’t tell him whether he’d ever reach that level of power, though. “Every creature,” he explained, “has a peak, beyond which it cannot climb. For the vast majority, human, beastkin, and beast alike, that peak is rank zero.”

“Not much of a peak,” Jack grunted.

“But a peak, nonetheless,” the mouse assured.

"I will tell you a secret now, Jackson Grenell,” the old wizard confided conspiratorially. “That I know because of who and what I am, and who my master was.”

Jack tilted his head to better hear the soft whisper, since the mouse was once more riding on his shoulder.

“There is no such thing as an ungifted,” Luciandro told him.

Jack straightened his head abruptly and turned to look the tiny wizard in the eye.

“No,” Luciandro assured him. “It is true.

“In the vast majority of Jehsha’s creatures,” he clarified. “The gift is vanishingly small. But it is there. Life, itself is the gift, and the gift is life. If you wish, we may discuss this further, and at length, for I feel it something you will eventually need to know, given who you’ve found yourself to be involved with. But not now, for it is a long tale, and we’ve not the time.

“For now, it is enough to know that, for most, the gift is so vanishingly faint that they may do nothing with it, useful or otherwise. So faint, that their crystals are, essentially, invisible to all but the most potent of appraisal skills. Their talents so small that they cannot even see the crystals of others.

“For those we call ‘gifted’,” he raised a finger for emphasis. “The gift burns brighter, its effects are more pronounced. But even for these, there is a peak. No one knows where this peak lies for any of them... for any of us. We only realize when we notice that we are no longer advancing, regardless of how hard we strive.”

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

“So a baked in, hard limit,” Jack decided as he examined his freshly healed hand.

“Weelllll,” the mouse shrugged. “Hardish. There are ways to enhance the gift. If one knows the secret. My master knew this, and the secret. It was instrumental in the creation of my people. You see, Jackson,” he held a hand to the side of his mouth as though imparting a deep secret. “I, myself, was once an ordinary mouse.”

Jack narrowed his eyes. “Ordinary? Sorry, I’m having trouble picturing that.”

Luciandro smiled, just a bit. “Would you believe an extraordinary, but common mouse?”

Jack shrugged, nearly dislodging the tiny wizard. “We’ll go with that,” he grinned.

The horse didn’t seem to know quite what to make of the situation. It kept turning its head to examine the gaggle of mice clinging to its back. Jack was forced to smack its nose a few times as it reached around to bite before it got the idea that it probably shouldn’t do that anymore. Once underway, there’d be no problem, as the beast’s head would be held forward by the lead rope tied off to Jack’s chestnut

He’d pulled his own blanket roll from the back of the chestnut’s saddle and draped and folded it over the saddle of the bay the bandit with the massless mace had ridden. He’d folded and tied the ends to make a couple of troughs in the cloth for the mice to nestle into.

There hadn’t been any sort of camping gear on any of the saddles he’d found thus far, which was why the fifty-odd of mice were nestled in his bedroll. He wasn’t all that happy about it. They were still mice. But he wasn’t about to say anything, and he sure wasn’t going to begrudge them the aid after all that had passed.

Around half of them had to satisfy themselves with just hanging on to the rough weave out in the open. Jack noticed that, even after his having modified the ward, they were still staying well clear of the rough gemstone at the leading edge of the saddle.

“So,” Jack heaved a great breath. “We done here yet?”

Luciandro, perched on his left shoulder, nodded. “There is nothing left for us here. Such of our dead as we could find have been laid to rest in the old sanctuary, and such belongings as could be salvaged are on the last horse.”

“And we aren’t leaving anybody behind?” Although he already knew. His detect life skill was showing no signs of life within more than a mile.

“No one alive,” Meynardo sighed from his right shoulder. “We searched far out into the grass for more bodies, but found none.”

“So we’re off then,” Jack nodded and clucked the chestnut forward.

“More towards the east,” Luciandro warned. “I cannot hide you and the horses, so we dare not close within around, say, two miles of the camp before we hide them somewhere.”

Jack gave him a glance, but swung the reins, bringing the chestnut’s head a bit farther to the east.

* * *

Tiarraluna winced as she hobbled back and forth beside the Runstable’s, trying to relieve some of the pain from her legs without being forced into the use of magic. She was loathe to use the least drop of mana, not knowing what she might expect to encounter at their destination.

The northern road was far rougher than the eastern, and the speedwagon had thrown them about a bit, although Cable hadn’t allowed their pace to slow overmuch. He was currently out in the bushes on the far side of the road throwing up.

Three quarters of an hour, Uncle had told them. The minimum length of the second rest period for the horses. After this next run, they’d have to lead them out of their carriage and allow them a couple of hours to rest without the bindings before they’d be of use again. By then, of course, they would have reached their destination.

While she wasn’t exactly certain where they were just now, they couldn’t be much more than an hour from the old ferry station at the speed they’d been traveling. She wondered whether Cable would race right into the place, or stop short to come upon them ready for a fight. Given that she could clearly hear his tortured retching, she decided it would probably be the latter.

Within five or six minutes, Cable was done feeding the bugs and back inside the rear carriage, caring for the horses. This time, as they drank, he examined each leg in turn, running his hands along them, checking for injuries.

This whole being lashed into place and running on a moving platform was madness, and he had no notion of what sorts of injuries the animals risked engaging in it. So he made extra sure.

He figured they were about thirty lenn from the ferry station. Fifteen from their turn back to the east. Looking to the slowly clearing sky, he decided they’d probably strike it just before dawn. He yawned reflexively.

Shaking his head, he fished a bar of what looked like compressed grain from his jerkin pocket, gnawing off a large chunk. Even as the flavor washed through his mouth, an electric tingle spread along his jaw and down his neck. Alchemical restoratives weren’t a replacement for rest or sleep, but they were certainly an extra boost if neither of those other two were available..

Swallowing, he shook his head again and rolled his shoulders, feeling his strength returning, bit by bit, second by second. He took another bite and chewed while he watched the horses drink. Just this one bar wouldn’t bring him back to his full capacity, but it would bring him well along the way.

Glancing up and over, as though he could see through the solid wall of the carriage, he wondered when the last time the girl had slept might have been. He had a couple more of the bars in his gear aboard the dungeo— he winced, hunching his shoulders. “—wagon’s cabin. He’d give her one as soon as he’d finished seeing to the horses.

While Tiarraluna seemed quite unaffected, Cable’s stomach started to turn the moment he set foot upon the wagon’s step. Crawl, he decided. He’d crawl back before he drove this monstrosity an inch further than was absolutely necessary.

In a few more minutes, they were once again roaring up the road, bouncing like a babe on her mother’s knee over the rough cobbles. Or possibly like a barrel rolling down a rocky slope.

Hang on, kid, Cable thought as he clung for dear life to the aiming wheel. We’re comin’!

In the back, without the need to pilot the wagon, Tiarraluna continued pouring over the tome, fretting silently. Greater Heal was the spell she was studying at the moment. Completely different from Healing (Greater), or, indeed, anything she’d ever heard of. It would seem to stand alone, with neither tiers nor ranks to divide it. It was beyond anything she’d thought herself capable of. Yet Grandmother had assured her she would be able to learn it. That was good, since she feared that, when finally they'd come to the ending of this wild ride, she would need it.

* * *

In the old ferry station, Bear the Mauler gazed angrily up into the cloud bedecked sky, a vitality brew in his hand — his third of the night. It’d be coming on dawn in a couple of hours, he decided. Glancing over his shoulder, he grunted.

“Nothing yet, Boss,” Hurgus yawned.

Where the hells are they? Bear wondered. Do I need to send up a damned signal flare to draw them in? Growling, he stepped once more into the drizzle to make sure his men were still awake. And alive, in case their mysterious adversary had somehow snuck in despite Hurgus’ scrying.

* * *

From just within the treeline half a mile or so east of Mokkelton, the five invaders stared towards the city walls. There was where the trail led. The leader grunted a command and it and its subordinates each spread their arms wide. Another command, and, four from each of them, twenty nearly invisible shapes leapt from their backs and arms, taking to the sky.

The flits resembled stingrays in a broad sense, uniformly about half a meter across, and perhaps seven centimeters thick at their centerlines. Transluscent, nearly transparent, they swam up through the air with an undulating grace.

They’d already been programmed at a basic level. They’d section off the city into twenty grid squares, and each would circle over one such square until they either picked up one of the targets, or needed to be refreshed. At either point, they’d return here, and the champion would scan each with the reader.