Chapter 32: The Dance

That night when they made camp, Miro gladly returned to what he came to realize was his new routine. Hima talked him through his fireballs, and tried, but mostly failed, to be patient when they invariably went off course and crashed into the rocky outcrop that served as part of their shelter, setting fire to the lichen that grew on it. After his mana had been exhausted, Miro was surrendered to Nydra and the wooden sword to be slapped around for close to an hour until he was on his knees and dripping sweat. He wondered if his debuff extended to his ability to use non-magical attacks. If not, then perhaps he could at least master the sword and then use his magic to light it on fire and that would be his schtick, but unless he was facing shambling hordes of the frozen undead, he wasn’t sure how far that could actually take him.

“The good news is, your stance seems to be improving,” Nydra said, helping Miro up after knocking him flat on his behind for the last time that evening.

“My stance? Not sure if a stance has ever killed anyone, but good to know.”

Nydra burst out laughing. “Oh, Miro, you wouldn’t believe how easy it is for your stance to kill someone.”

“Oh yeah?” Miro said, his voice uncertain.

“Yes, and the person it’s most likely to kill is you.”

“What?”

Nydra exchanged a quick look with Hima, who was sitting down by the fire. That’s all Miro needed, his two teachers conspiring with each other without even bothering to hide it.

“Let me explain,” Nydra continued, her light hair perfectly dry, and not a strand of it in her face, while his was matted with sweat by the end of their lesson. “If you’re not very good with a sword, you obviously won’t be able to strike down your opponent. But with a masterful stance, neither would your opponent be able to strike you down. A faulty step costs more lives than a weak swing, and though you should always strive for victory, it’s by avoiding defeat that you get to fight another day.”

Only then the thought had struck him that one of the collateral benefits of tracking down those rebel soldiers was that he may see Nydra in action again, and not with a practice sword, and not with him on the receiving end.

“Let me demonstrate,” Nydra said and sheathed her sword, passing Miro back his wooden one. “Here, I’ll keep my hands behind my back, and you do whatever you can to hit me.” He looked dubiously at the sword and then at Nydra, who raised her eyebrows in an additional invitation. He swung at her with all he had.

It’s not that he had expected it to be easy, but that he couldn’t have imagined that it would be this hard. His first three swings were wide and wild, and she stepped out of the way with little effort. For his next attempt, he adjusted himself, making for the same kind of two-handed swing and this time expecting where she would go and making a quick jab in that direction. She was gone though, stepping with one foot and turning her body, letting him strike at empty air. She didn’t even look at his sword. Instead her amber eyes were so focused on his own that he felt as though her were that proverbial ant trapped in tree sap – sluggish as her gaze enveloped him.

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There was nothing he tried that even got remotely close to her. Low swings, high swings, jabs or strikes – he felt like a windmill tumbling down a hill and unable to hit anything but his own shadow. Even when she’d linger a moment, give him hope that if he suddenly changed the flow of his swings he’d be able to touch her, she was no longer there by the time his sword travelled the short distance.

It was a dance, where even though he’d made every first move, she had led him the whole time.

In only a couple of minutes, he was completely exhausted and feeling the slightest bit humiliated. Even though one part of his brain knew there was no shame in being beaten by a career swordfighter, another was stinging at being so handily brushed aside. Other things beside his pride that were stinging were his eyes from the sweat and his sore arms.

He knew he was moments from collapsing in a heap in the middle of their campground, possibly rolling himself towards the edge of the rocky outcrop in order to pass out for the night. That is, unless there was something other than his sword that he could’ve used. In his flailing attacks he could just about make out his mana bar, having grown since his earlier practice with Hima to have enough for one fireball.

There was no time to truly think. No time to consider what would happen if he actually hit her, the past few minutes having convinced him that this was impossible. Instead, he made one deep forward jab with his sword, and the moment Nydra stepped back with her right foot and turned her side to Miro, he released a fireball with his other hand, aiming square at her torso, where he thought her armour would protect her.

He didn’t get to confirm his assumption. Her face for the first time momentarily lost its air of amusement, but despite seeming to be off balance, in an instant she shifted her weight backwards and let the fireball sail past her, crashing into the side of the rocks in a small explosion of sparks. It wasn’t only himself that Miro startled with his move. Peteri put a hand on his bow while Hima’s hands momentarily crackled with a blue glow which faded when she asked, “Miro have you lost your damn mind?”

For her part, Nydra just laughed, which took some of the edge of Peteri’s and Hima’s faces. “It’s alright, it’s fine. Good soldiers follow orders, and I did say to try to get me any way he could.”

“Sorry, I wasn’t sure if that also meant my mage powers.”

“No apologies necessary.” Nydra was smiling broadly, and Miro dared believe it was almost proudly. “I actually had to make some effort on that one. No offence to all your other attempts.”

“Yeah, you did make me look pretty bad out there.”

“The point was not to make you look bad, lad,” Nydra’s tone became more serious as she stepped towards him and placed her hand on his shoulder. “I wanted to show you why your stance could save your life one day, even if you end up fighting purely as a mage.” She gave him a push with her hand and he wobbled. “It makes you sturdy, quick, and balanced. Everything with the sword? That’s just icing on the cake. Now, I don’t know about any of you, but I now regret the mention of cake.”

“Sorry,” Peteri whispered from his spot by the fire, prodding a cooking pot, “No cake on the menu today.”

“That’s alright, Peteri,” Hima said, “Your cooking is probably the only silver lining for me on this trip.”