"You would be the wizard's familiar, then?" Jack said.

"I am," announced the mouse. "As such, I am very well acquainted with Iphegor's arcane repertoire, and I can assure you that disembodied voices are not to be found among the dozens of spells, enchantments, curses, and blights at his command, so therefore you are a thief!"

"It is, of course, widely known that a wizard's familiar can communicate mentally with its master," said Jack. "I cannot understand why you have deigned to address me instead of summoning Iphegor upon the instant to strike me dead with his terrible powers."

"Oh, I will in just a moment," the mouse said, "but first, I think I would like to see you plead for your life. If I am satisfied with your abject surrender, I may allow you to swear allegiance to me and then permit you to escape unharmed, so that you may serve me another day."

"I fail to see how that furthers your master's purposes." Jack silently glided forward, marking the exact position of the mouse.

"Iphegor represents a temporary arrangement at best," the mouse said, thrusting its whiskered chin into the air. "I have far greater designs than perpetual servitude to such as he. And so I am carefully building a network of daring, skillful, and suicidally loyal agents to aid me as I prepare my ultimate seizure of power. You may perform your obeisance now."

"Before I begin to grovel," Jack said, "I would like to ask a question. Could it be possible that Iphegor is at this moment so engaged in the spell he is crafting that your mental summons to him goes unanswered? In which case you would desperately gamble on the most arrogant bluff you can imagine in order to delay me until you can gain his attention?"

"That is two questions," the mouse declared, "and no, it is not remotely possible. Rule out any hope of escape, my lackey, and grovel before me in abject terror."

Jack reached into the bookshelf with the speed of a striking serpent and seized the mouse in his invisible hand. The mouse squeaked once in fright as Jack's spell faded, ruined by his sudden motion. The rogue held the whiskered rodent before his face and offered a wicked smile.

"I am not a particularly strong man," he said cheerfully, "but I am quite certain that I could crush every bone in your body by tightening my grasp. Do you agree?"

The mouse gulped. "I wish you wouldn't."

"If I recall correctly, a wizard's familiar not only shares a mental bond with its summoner, but it also shares a link of life energy or vitality. No familiar survives its master's death, I have heard, and a powerful wizard might be rendered virtually helpless by the sudden demise of his familiar, true?"

"Actually, no," the mouse squeaked. "It doesn't work like that at all."

"Oh. Well, then, I guess I have no further use for you. Good-bye, mouse." Jack began to tighten his grip.

"Wait!" the mouse cried. "Please! You were right! I was lying! Please don't kill me!"

Jack grinned. "Very well, I shall not, unless I am startled by the appearance of Iphegor himself, in which case I will kill you in an instant. I advise you to think twice before attempting to summon the wizard here through your mental link." He leered at the tiny creature until it scrunched its eyes closed in fright, and then laughed. "Now, I have business to attend. Perchance do you know where Iphegor keeps the Sarkonagael?"

"Please don't make me tell you that," the mouse whispered, a very small sound indeed.

"The longer we delay, the more likely it is that Iphegor and I meet, and I might be forced to squeeze you until your little bones snap and your little orifices trickle bright red blood and your little eyes pop out of your little head."

"Behind you. The second shelf!" the mouse wailed. "Please don't say things like that! I have a delicate constitution."

Jack searched the alcove the mouse indicated and found, on the second shelf, a large tome bound in black leather with massive silver clasps. With his free hand he fished it out of the bookshelf and examined the cover. It was an ominous-looking thing, with a silver skull embossed in the center and dire runes inscribed at each hasp. The title was stamped out in silver chasing: The Sarkonagael, or Secrets of the Shadewrights. He stuffed it into the pouch at his side and turned to go.

"You're going to let me go now?" the mouse asked hopefully.

"Soon," Jack said. "For now I deem it advisable to travel in your company."

He glanced around the summoning chamber one last time and then retreated down the winding staircase. Green wizard-lights threw strange, twisting shadows against the walls and gave everything a pale, unhealthy luminescence. The rogue quickly passed through the wizard's chambers and followed the staircase down to the ground floor.

No one was around. Jack trotted softly over to the tower's only door and paused a moment to whisper a spell that changed his shape, taking on another face and another appearance. He didn't want someone outside the tower to mark the departure of someone answering to his description. After a moment's thought, he molded his shape into a tall, strong swordsman in leather armor, with black hair, clear gray eyes, and the tattoo of a falcon showing on the back of his hand. Marcus would serve as well as any.

"Any traps or wardings on the door?" he asked the mouse.

"No, not from this side," the mouse answered dejectedly.

"Excellent. You and I shall take a short walk down the street, and when I am well clear of the tower, I will set you free-provided Iphegor does not interfere."

"I haven't told him a thing," the mouse said.

Jack let himself out and strode out into the street, blinking in the daylight. It was gray and overcast, but after the dim shadows of the wizard's tower, it seemed as bright as noon on a summer day. He set his clenched fist near the hilt of his sword, hoping that no one would notice the tiny gray head sticking out between his thumb and forefinger, and slipped into the crowd, walking away from the tower without a backward glance.

He was three blocks away when Iphegor finally caught up to him. There was a flash of light and a puff of sulfurous smoke directly in front of him. The wizard stood before him, livid with rage, nostrils flaring and eyes bright as burning coals.

"Hold right there," the wizard said in a hiss. "Your doom is upon you, defiler of my home!"

Jack thrust the mouse into his face and squeezed a little. "Careful, Iphegor. I have your familiar!"

The mouse squeaked. "Not… so… tight!"

Iphegor the Black, dread bane of mighty swordsmen, nightmare of rival sorcerers, doom of hulking monsters and plunderer of ancient lore, blanched in horror. He gaped openmouthed for a full five heartbeats before collecting his wits.

"Harm one hair of that mouse," he said in a deadly quiet voice, "and I shall order your bones to tear themselves free of your flesh and spend the rest of eternity marching endlessly across the face of the world. Now who are you?"

"They call me Marcus," Jack said with a shrug.

"Very well, then, Marcus. You will now put down my familiar, making no sudden moves. If you follow my directions explicitly, I may allow you to live. Any questions?"

Jack nodded sagely, absorbing the threat. He lowered his hand as if to set the mouse upon the ground.

"One question," he said. "Ever see a mouse fly?" Then he hurled the tiny creature as high into the air as he could throw it.

Iphegor looked up, agape in indignation. Jack chose that exact moment to punch the tall wizard in the knob of his throat as hard as he could and then turned to run.

Iphegor goggled in agony, choking for breath as he collapsed like a poleaxed ox. The wizard's eyes stared vacantly up at the airborne rodent, now at the very apogee of its arc. Jack dashed for the nearest corner, sprinting for his life. He didn't think he'd killed Iphegor, and that meant that sooner or later the necromancer would get around to being extraordinarily angry about the whole affair.