Chapter 16: Max Mana

“No.” Miro shook his head at the suggestion that he could also be a magus like his father. “No, I have no such powers. And if I did, then after my parents’ death, why didn’t I just stay at the capital, in the Akademiya to study under their precious masters?” Miro knew he was shouting then, alternate worlds that could have been his flashing before his eyes.

“Miro, the Kingdom was in disarray after the assassination attempt on its King and the death of its Queen and its champion, among others.” Nydra spoke as if in apology. “No one thought it was safe for you to stay anywhere near Arkensk. The masters of the Akademiya accepted that it would be best for you to develop your powers quietly, away from prying eyes, and they would come get you when you’ve turned of age, to prepare for the next time Sirilia needs you.”

“Well they were wrong.” The stomach cramps from the oxhawk offal had completely gone away by then, yet somehow Miro only felt worse, and even more nauseous. “I haven’t developed anything.”

Nydra went quiet for a long enough time that Miro turned to see what she was doing, finding her looking out onto a little a hamlet of about a dozen houses situated on stilts and boardwalks against a deep cove, her expression having gone even darker.

“They were wrong, yes,” she finally said, “Though not about that. They thought you’d be safe, but the riders that picked you up two days ago would suggest otherwise.”

“Who were they?” Miro asked, remembering Aster and the male rider who remained nameless even in death, whom Miro could have regarded as having died for him, when in reality all he probably died for was himself.

“We’re not sure,” Nydra said. “We have a good guess though. I mean, we always knew Bondook was not the sharpest knife, I still can’t believe he’d give you over like that.”

“He probably knew that whoever they were, if he refused, they would have cut him down anyway.” There was a thought that gave Miro strange comfort. His parents were dead, Sierra was dead, the riders were dead, but Bondook went on living.

“Maybe you’re right. The important part is that you’re here now. And that you’ve got a teacher that can help you unlock your abilities.”

“You can’t be serious. That’s what Hima’s here for?”

As if summoned by incantation, Hima appeared at Nydra’s other side.

“What’s your mana level?” Hima asked.

“What?”

Even though it was now overcast, Hima still wore the hood of her cloak, casting a shadow over her face. Her eyebrows remained plenty visible though, silently judging him. Although he supposed that for a pair of eyebrows they were judging him quite loudly.

“How.Much.Mana.Do.You.Have?” Hima said, her hands clutching each other in front of her. “Or do I need to go even slower?”

“Umm, I’m at my max. I’m at twelve.”

“Seriously?” Her voice took on a creakier quality the more annoyed she got, like the faint growling of a wolf, and sent a similar shiver down his spine. “What a complete waste.”

Miro quickly glanced at Nydra but she just shrugged.

“What do you mean?” he asked.

“I really do have to spell out everything on my fingers, don’t I? If you’re at your mana cap, you’re not regenerating mana, which means you’re not maximizing the opportunities to practice your skills more. Do you want a better fireball or do you want to be eaten by a bear because you couldn’t even roast its tonsils?”

“Bear.”

“What?”

“Sorry, I answered too fast. Better fireball.”

“Well. What are you waiting for?” Finally, her even tone had turned sharp and he quickly launched two fireballs, one from each hand into the water of the lake. “Good. Now don’t ever let yourself hit that cap again. The faster we train you up the less likely it is that I’ll die trying to keep you from dying.”

Hima spun on the heel of her boot, her cloak billowing slightly, and walked back towards the cabin of the Faithful Shoal.

“If this is the best teacher the Akademiya could send,” Miro said, “Then I don’t feel like I’ve been missing out on much.

By evening, they had made it to the end of the long lake, the longest lake in Lake Country if the map hanging on the bridge of the ship was too be believed. The crew of the Faithful Shoal informed them that through a series of canals and smaller lakes, they could make it almost as far again the next day before they run out of water, and since the fishers were going in that direction anyway, they would be more than happy to take on the small band of adventurers for another day. In the meantime, all of them were to lodge overnight in the town that was built around the edge of the lake at the entrance of the canal. The town was not unlike the one they had left earlier that morning, but this time, Miro vowed, he wouldn’t be picking any fights with the local mages, lest he cause any unnecessary deaths through someone else’s hands.

Unsurprisingly, the house special at the small inn on the water’s edge was fish stew, an inferior version to the one that Renith prepared at the Deep End of the Bottle, and Miro marveled at how he already developed nostalgia for something that he’d eaten barely a day earlier. What he did not miss though was sleeping on the bare ground. Even though the pillow was lumpy and the straw mattress thin, it was a relief to be laying eyes on a real bed again. Nydra’s orders may have been to make sure they kept a lower profile, but King Ganryh II still offered a handsome stipend for their journey, so each of them had their own room.

Sleep though did not come easily to Miro.

Nydra’s story dumped a cartful of stones on him, and she left no instructions on how to dig himself out. He understood sheep. He understood firewood. He even understood creating a little spark to start a fire. He did not understand mages, or rebellions or even the fireballs that his hands could now spew. His mana was at eleven, just shy of his maximum, and he expected Hima to bust down his door at any moment with a gale-force blizzard and beat the fire right out of him.

He stepped out onto the balcony that overlooked the lake which simmered silver in the light of a half-moon. A lone seagull soared black against the moon and Miro fired off a volley of fireballs in its direction. Most of them went wide, except one that had originally been off course but the hapless bird had the misfortune of flying into. With a jilted squawk, the burning seagull fell towards the water. Miro’s experience bar grew, and he felt ill.

He couldn’t do this.

Over the last couple of days, Miro acquired more experience than he’d ever dare dream of. The costs, though, whether beast or man, had been too high. What did Miro not have that his father must have, that allowed him to train in a short time to be the champion of the entire Kingdom of Sirilia? Miro looked to the opposite end of the lake, where somewhere in that general direction Bondook was going to sleep in a house all by himself. There was too much of a gulf between who Miro was and what they needed him to be.

He sank onto his arms folded against the railing, squeezed his eyes shut and felt the tears spill onto his cheek. He let it all out then; over having to leave home, over his treatment by the riders, over their deaths, over the bandits that tried to kill him, over the mages that tried to kill him, over the bird that tried to kill him and deserved to die no more than he did. He didn’t care if anyone could hear him.

A loon on the lake seemed to, responding to him with its forlorn call. This somehow made it better. Now exhausted from release, Miro dried his eyes, and crawled into a bed that no longer felt quite as lumpy or thin, and slept until morning.