Following Meynardo’s directions, Jack made his way south, dozing in the saddle. It had been a long day atop another long day, with little of sleep between. And that not particularly restful.

Freed from the pressure of learning the new magic he’d been taught. Freed from the necessity to sit still when he needed to be moving, his mind was wandering. As it often did, it found the nightmares, ever-present in the corners and recesses of his mind. The things he hadn’t wanted young Amiandro to see.

Luciandro, riding his shoulders clung tightly as he groaned and twitched and lurched, but didn't move to wake him. Rest he needed, even poor rest. Meynardo was perched atop the chestnut’s head, between its ears, steering the horse by way of tugging with all his might on the headstall and whispering to the beast. He, at least seemed possessed of boundless energy. Or, possibly, that was his rank twelve toughness coming to the fore.

Luciandro wakened Jack with a small spark to the ear, and he jerked upright, scowling down at the robed mouse.

“I did try calling,” the mouse insisted. “But you were too far into your slumber to hear.”

Jack kept scowling as he looked up at a familiar tree. They were back where Meynardo had first found him. “How long was I out?”

“Not long. Less than half an hour. With you asleep, the horse found its own pace.”

First things first. He climbed down from the saddle and moved back to help the villagers down from their horse, giving his neck and shoulders a good shake on the way to clear his muzzy head.

He lifted the majority of them up into the lower branches of the tree, save only for the few warriors who remained whole. Those four who, along with Meynardo and Osmando had survived their decoy missions during the siege and who would be assisting in the attack. Osmando, given his arm, would remain here.

Then he draped the blanket roll over the branches above as a sort of tent. “You’re sure about this?” he asked Luciandro as he bound the edges to various suckers protruding from the branches.

“They’ll be safe up there,” Luciandro assured him. At least for the time being. Safer than we’ll be, certainly. The wards on the saddles will keep any itinerant predators away.”

“What happens if I get killed?” Jack asked, not for the first time. “What happens if you get killed? What do they do then?”

“I would suggest you don’t get killed, then, Jackson Grenell,” Luciandro told him without humor. “That is lesson.... where are we now...? Twelve? Yes, that is lesson twelve. Don’t get killed. I will endeavor to do the same.”

“Not funny.”

“Nor was it meant to be,” the mouse frowned. “We are in your hands, Jackson,” he reminded. “Make no mistake. If you die, in all likelihood, we all die. Keep that in mind going forward, please, and don’t spend your life foolishly.

“Now, I’ve been meaning to ask you,” he addressed the man once his fellows were safely stowed. “What are your plans once we’ve dealt with the mage?”

Jack plopped down to his former seat at the base of the tree. It was still wet, but the rain had lightened to no more than a heavy drizzle. “My original plan,” he said offhandedly, “was to draw them out one at a time until they wouldn’t come out anymore, and then go in after the rest.”

Both Meynardo and Luciandro stared openmouthed at him.

“That’s a terrible plan!” Meynardo accused. “What sort of sentinel are you to be so foolish?”

Jack shrugged. “It’s what I had,” he admitted. “All I knew of the place this— yesterday afternoon, I guess, now, was what I could see from outside the station. I didn’t know how many were in there, how they were armed, or what sorts of skills they might have.

"All I knew for sure was that any of them, picked at random, could probably kick my butt in a stand up fight. So I wasn’t planning on giving any of them one of those until it was absolutely necessary."

Luciandro had his hand over his eyes, shaking his head. “Perhaps I put too much faith in you,” he mumbled.

Jack shot him a look. “Maybe you did,” he said with a trace of fire. “I was doing okay until I got called awa—” Even as the words came out, he regretted them, his heart lurching in his chest.

“Disregard that,” he sighed. “I don’t regret an instant of what I did, and even if you hadn’t helped me as much as you have already, I’d do the whole thing over again. Every time.”

“Still,” the mouse’s face was stern. “You cannot simply hope your way to victory.”

Jack looked to Meynardo. “I no longer have to,” he chucked his chin at the younger mouse. “I now have access to a scouting report from a renowned and stealthy rank eight ranger.”

Meynardo twitched and measured himself. “A renowned, stealthy, and hard-assed rank eight ranger,” he corrected. At which point, he waved in the direction of the others and crouched down to begin drawing a map of the ferry station in the mud at the base of the tree, where it wasn’t quite so wet, and thus still somewhat firm.

“Corral is here,” he said. “Stable here. Behind are a number of wagons and carts in no particular order. There is room enough between them, however, to get through if you’re careful.”

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The other four fighters arrived, then, and Meynardo paused, straightening to address Jack. “Oh, of course. Jackson,” he waved in the direction of the newcomers. “You haven’t officially met my friends, have you?

“Allow me to introduce, Sharamandro,” and he indicated the mouse in question with an outstretched hand. This one was garbed similarly to Osmando, and bowed with a flourish of his wide hat.

“Elonardo,” a slightly younger mouse in a jacket similar to Meynardo’s and likewise without pants. Elonardo bowed and doffed his soft cap.

“Jupitorano,” a more gangly specimen garbed somewhere in between.

“And Fitupitro,” a stouter mouse with tall boots, dark pants, and a tabbard, who bowed and swept his slouch hat in a theatrical manner.

“Along with Osmando and myself,” Meynardo explained, "they’re what remain of our fighting force.

Jack nodded to each of them in turn. It was telling that Meynardo hadn’t included the whole lineage spiel he normally went through. He must be nervous, indeed. None of them were wearing armor. All had small knives, or maybe swords, and all carried bows.

“You should know, Jackson,” Meynardo cautioned, his head bowed. “We will aid you so far as we can, but....” he looked up and his face was guilty. “We have twenty-three arrows remaining between us, and only Jupitorano’s arms and bow are long enough to use the six he has left.”

“Hey,” Jack reached out to nudge the mouse’s head with a gentle fingertip. “I was going to go in there alone. I’ll be thankful for any help I can get.”

Meynardo smiled forlornly and fist bumped Jack’s finger before turning back to the map.

“Here,” he drew a square on the far side of the general oblong he’d used to encompass the station. “is the old stationmaster’s house.” he looked up at that. “Cabin, really. Little more than a shack itself. Two rooms, oiled leather over the windows, here and here. One door, here. And it’s an actual door, no just a hole in the wall with a blanket hung over it..

“Cats here, here, here, and here,” he stabbed the stick into the ground at various points to indicate the locations of the hated enemies of the mice. “Although they may have moved since then. You know cats.”

While the other mice nodded solemnly, Jack tried to hide his smirk. Nor did he care about cats. And he already knew there were no dogs.

“Two shacks,” Meynardo was still sketching. “Here, and here. Open fronts.

"When I was there earlier, the bandits were scattered out at the edges of the camp, hidden to various degrees," he indicated positions along the outskirts of the camp. "Presumably waiting for us to show ourselves. All had bows and a goodly number of arrows. all wore enchanted armor, none of it below rank ten.

"Their leader was ranging about the station, going from one to another of them in no particular order. No bow. He wore high ranked steel armor and carried an enchanted sword and shield.

“You others,” he nodded to his compatriots, “you know your parts, yes?”

The other mice nodded.

“Off you go, then. And be careful.”

And off they went. Jack took a moment to wonder how Meynardo had ended up in command given the obviously higher ranks a couple of the others bore. But it didn’t really matter, did it?

“They’ll infiltrate the camp ahead of us and attempt to set themselves up in hiding within bowshot of at least some of the bandits,” Meynardo told him. “Give them a ten minute or so head start,” he warned. “We want their hands steady when they draw their bows.

“When the fight starts, they’ll attempt to distract the enemy for so long as their arrows hold out. As will I once we arrive."

Jack nodded. “Leaving me free to engage the mage and, presumably, the leader before I have to worry about the rest.

“And, speaking of which,” he added, where is the mage? Did you find him?”

“Yes,” Meynardo said. “He’s in the stationmaster’s cabin,” he stabbed the stick down. “Square in the middle of the main room, hunkered down over his scrying circle.” He looked up, then. “Unless we can figure out how to get him out of there, I don’t think you’re going to get a good line of sight for a bow shot. Not unless you’re standing right outside the door on the porch.”

That was unwelcome news. “How close can I get to the building while staying in cover, at least?” he asked.

“Through these trees here,” Meynardo drew a line. “And up between the carts to the corral,” he said. “Across the corral to here. You'll be within about thirty yards of the cabin from there. I can lead you.” he looked up again. “How good are you on the trail?” he wondered. “We dare not make too much noise.”

“What kind of ground—? Never mind,” Jack answered. “I’m pretty sure I’ll be fine over wet leaves.”

“How long will it take to lead him there?” that was Luciandro. “I remind you that I have to shield him from the scrying spell until the mage is dealt with, and my mana reserves are still quite low.”

Meynardo gave the man another look before turning to the wizard. “We’re still around a lenn and a quarter out,” he said. “So, thirty minutes to the outer ring of the camp?” he ventured. “Being careful to avoid notice by the watchers. Another ten or fifteen minutes around through the trees to within bow range? Maybe a bit more, depending on what happens on the way.”

“Don’t worry about the more,” Jack told him. “Anything happens, I’m gonna want you guys to make yourselves scarce while I deal with it. At that point, the jig will be well and truly up already, and stealth won’t be an issue anymore.”

“I’ll try to see that such things don’t happen,” Meynardo assured him.

Luciandro nodded without speaking, and hobbled away towards the base of the tree

As the minutes ticked by, Jack had a thought. “Any way I might be able to get a shot in through the window?” he wondered of Meynardo.

“Through the oiled leather? Meynardo asked dubiously. “It’s not exactly transparent. I doubt you’d be able to see more than vague shapes through it.”

“How thick is it, though?” Jack asked. “Thick enough to foul the arrow?”

Meynardo had to think about that. It hadn’t been something he’d specifically examined. “I... don’t think so?” he didn’t sound too sure. “And you’d have to be careful of your line. You wouldn’t want to accidentally hit any of the captives.”

“The what?” Jack’s voice went flat, and his face drew into hard lines.

Luciandro had been huddled against the tree, while they waited to move, meditating. Gathering his strength. He was an old mouse, and still not recovered from the exhaustion of the past days. Even moreso than Jack, he was weary, and the coming contest would tax him to his limits. The tone of Jack’s voice brought him to full consciousness in an instant.

“The... the captives,” Meynardo rocked back. “The stolen girls. The ones you’re here to rescue, yes? Isn’t that why you’re here? To rescue them? They’re in the back room of the stationmaster’s cabin.”

“You ready to go, Luciandro?” Jack asked without turning his head.

“Jackson....”

“It’s too soon,” Meynardo insisted. “The others won’t be in place in time.”

“We’ll work it out,” Jack hissed through his clenched jaw.

Meynardo looked to Luciandro, but the old wizard shook his head silently.

Grim Resolve, Luciandro thought. He’d hoped to avoid its overt presence, but it looked as though that was not to be. Meynardo’s innocent slip had triggered it. He could feel the pall of it radiating out from the man, and fought for calm.

Ready or not, shielded or not, the man was about to make his move, and they would be carried along with him or left behind.

“Ready, Jackson,” he sighed. “pick me up, if you please. I’m far too weary to walk, and I'm far too old to run.”

Jack scooped him up and placed him on his shoulder, where the wizard took hold of his collar and began the spell that would shield them from the enemy mage, struggling to concentrate against the pall of the sentinel's curse.