Chapter 22: Utha

For the next few days, they trekked through a landscape that was as unchanging as their routine and its steady rotation of sleeping, eating, walking, and training. The most exciting thing that happened during that stretch was that for an entire half a day they hitched a ride on a wagon that was heading in the same direction as them.

On the fourth day, Miro sighted something as they travelled on a high road, if any road could have really been called that in those parts, since it merely followed a line of low hills that provided for somewhat better visibility across the plains. There was a shimmering on the horizon, a conglomeration of white structures that reflected the light more starkly than the land around it. Nydra caught Miro straining his eyes in that direction and fell into step beside him.

“That is Utha,” she said, “One of the largest cities in the Kingdom. During the last rebellion, it marked the southern-most point of the incursion, with the rebels laying siege to Utha for three months before we broke it.”

“You must’ve got quite the heroes’ welcome,” Miro suggested.

“We gave credit where the credit was due – our King who had assembled our team and sent us to liberate the city. We were only there to represent his strength, but people I suppose tend to see only what’s in front of them, so yes, I guess you could say we were well-received.”

“Was there a feast?” Miro asked, “Because I could really go for liberating a nice farming community right about now, preferably with a couple of pig sties, and a cow.”

“No, no feast,” a coldness entered Nydra’s voice, “This was a city that had been under siege, with limited supplies and on the brink of its citizens dying from hunger in the streets.” Miro never thought he could feel guilt over his own hunger, but these were weird times for him. “They were, for the same reason, eternally grateful, and that was for all of us the strangest feeling in the world. This was where our journey really started. From here, as far as the northlands, we were able to bring joy and hope to so many people.” She let out a low dissatisfied groan as she stared at the empty dusty road ahead of them. “It’s really too bad you won’t get to experience that in the same way your father did.”

Miro hadn’t considered this before, being so close to the same ground his father tread on. Looking down across the plains to Utha, he imagined the encampment of the northern rebel army not far from the city gates, and the six warriors breaking their lines, his father among them, raining fire and lightning and who knows what else on his enemies. Of course, in Miro’s case, the only thing likely to rain down on anyone was his own body parts.

“I think for me, I’d consider ourselves lucky that the new rebel king isn’t as aggressive as his predecessor,” Miro said.

Stolen story; please report.

“I wouldn’t be so sure.”

“Huh?”

“I understood the old usurper, his goals and his methods. We were both people of the sword. This one though I’m not so sure about. The way he hides in his false kingdom and bides his time, preferring theft to combat.” She looked directly towards the north, where still hundreds of miles away lay the restless northlands. “There’s times I think that us coming to him is not only what he expects, but what he wants.” She paused a while, squinting, and then the upbeat tones returned to her voice again, “Ah well. This is why soldiers are meant to follow orders, not question them. You know what I’m saying?”

Miro decidedly did not know what she was saying, but he grunted an “uh-huh” anyway. At home, the closest thing he came to orders was what Bondook told him to do. And even these were interpreted by Miro more as directives to find inventive ways to not actually do something and only do it if no alternative presented itself and he didn’t feel like chopping wood the rest of the day as punishment.

The whole time that Utha was within view, he watched its blurred cityscape against the horizon and wondered where his father fell on that scale as he liberated the city and the lands beyond – a soldier dutifully following the words of his King, or someone who just didn’t want to end up at the end of the day as a razorback’s supper.

About a week after they’d disembarked from the Faithful Shoal and left the Lake Country, they camped for their afternoon break atop a steep embankment overlooking the bend of a shallow murky river, one of a rare few they’d encountered in this land and the first sign that the terrain might soon be changing. Miro was at 17 mana, just 1 shy of his maximum, so Hima thought it would be a good time to get a proper training session in.

“Again, let the flame sit on your hand for a bit,” she instructed as he first summoned his fireball. She had built him several targets out of ice and spaced them a few feet away. “Your instinct always seems to be to eject it as quickly as possible. But magic is a finer tool than that, not to be sprayed about uncontrollably.”

Whether it was Hima’s experiment with his additional Dexterity point, or practice in general, but Miro actually thought he’d been improving since their foray into the razorbacks’ nest. The targets fell more frequently, and the constant sighing from Hima whenever he did something was slowly turning into mere silence.

“Spend at least some time with each spell,” she continued. “Especially now, since you can only ever do six fireballs and there’s no reason for you to be impatient.”

Miro tried just that, letting the flame sit over his hand, warming him slightly and giving him a tingling sensation but, as she’d promised the first night they met, never hurting him. He sent it flying towards one of the targets and only caught its edge, which could have been considered a complete failure if not for the fact that he missed almost every shot he took when they first started this exercise.

Encouraged, Miro let himself slip into old habits and loosed the next fireball too quickly, grazing the edge of the target and prompting a stifled “Ay” from Hima beside him. It was, however, good enough for something, as a new message popped up before him, informing Miro that his Lesser Fireball spell reached Level 2. The now-familiar sense of exhilaration at seeing a completed progress bar surged through him and he played with the new fireball spell on his hand for a minute before hurtling it into a target. It hit similar to the first one, catching mostly the edge, but the more powerful blast shattered part of the target and melted it almost a quarter way to its centre.

Miro turned his head to Hima and she stood beside him as the very definition of whatever the opposite of impressed was.