Dashru worked his way through a lesson on numbers. That was one more thing that drove Hamnet crazy. For one of something, the number and the thing it described were singular, and in the subjective case. For two, three, or four of something, the number and what it described were singular—why?—and in the possessive case. For five and above, they were plural and in the possessive case.

“This makes no sense,” Hamnet said.

“He is right,” Marcovefa said. That made Hamnet feel better; he’d wondered if he was missing something he should see.

Dashru only shrugged. “We talk like this. What do you want me to do? Tell you we talk some other way?”

Yes, Hamnet thought. He wouldn’t have been sorry to hear a lie just then, if it made the Rulers’ language easier to pick up. “But why do you do it this way?” he asked.

“Because we do,” the captive answered. “Why do you talk like you do? That is really stupid.”

He meant it. Count Hamnet could hear as much. The Raumsdalian turned to Marcovefa. “Can you cast a spell to make the language easier to learn?” he asked her. “Is there a spell for translating from one language to another?”

“Up on the Glacier, we all used the same tongue. We needed no spell like that,” she answered. She eyed Dashru. “Do your shamans use translating spells?”

“Yes, but I don’t know how they work,” he said. “I am herder, fighter. I know nothing of magic.”

Hamnet Thyssen believed him. The Bizogots hadn’t captured any of the Rulers’ wizards. Those wizards were stronger than any shaman except Marcovefa. They were also fierce warriors in their own right—and perhaps even more determined not to be taken alive than the ordinary fighting men of their folk.