The Conqueror from a Dying Kingdom, page 9
“Her Ladyship has forbidden Sir Rakunu from attending due to his refusal to assist in the kingeagle strike.”
“What?” Rook furrowed his brow even harder. “He can’t have been stripped of his knighthood for refusing to join a kingeagle strike. If he’s still alive, then...”
“In Her Ladyship’s opinion, a coward who abandons his lord is no knight.”
This ladyship person was probably Gok’s wife—Sham’s mother. She must have had some sort of authority here.
“But if not Sir Rakunu, then who...?”
It sounded like Rook had been expecting this Rakunu person to be the next head of the family. At the very least, he must’ve thought he was a strong contender.
Even I’d heard of a relative named Rakunu. He was the head of a powerful branch family by the name of Ek. If this were Edo-period Japan, the Ek family would’ve been equivalent to a line of chief retainers who served successive daimyo over multiple generations. In other words, Ek was a powerful name listed among the Ho family’s most senior vassals. I’d been taught that they’d adopted a bride from the Ho family during my grandfather’s generation, making them our distant relatives. Even I understood how odd it was for the head of such an important household to be excluded from our family council.
“The situation is what it is. Her Ladyship has said that if there is no one better suited than Sir Rakunu, then she will resort to adopting an heir.”
“She’d do that?” Rook sounded a little shocked. The idea of someone being adopted into the family mustn’t have occurred to him until now.
The suggestion worried me personally because Gok had already asked me to become their adopted son by marrying Sham. But a successor needed to be chosen immediately, and it seemed unlikely that a seven-year-old—one who wasn’t even Gok’s trueborn son, no less—would be abruptly adopted into the household and appointed head of family. The idea was absurd.
But it stood to reason that the household’s little girl might be forced to marry a young man—or perhaps even an old man—who was many times her age. I didn’t like the idea one bit.
“I see how it is,” Rook said. “Thank you.”
“Indeed. Now you must excuse me,” Shun replied before leaving the room.
With Shun gone, Rook remained slumped in his chair.
“Well, I don’t have any say in the matter. I’m just here to listen.” He sounded apprehensive, and it was unclear whether he was talking to me, or to himself.
“Are you sure about that? As Lord Gok’s brother, aren’t you a prime candidate?” I asked.
“No. Every head of the Ho family must hold a knighthood. That’s the rule.”
Oh... That makes a lot of sense.
Rook counted as one of the Ho family’s vassals, but he didn’t have a knighthood.
Knighthood was roughly equivalent to a qualification earned when graduating from a military academy—anyone who hadn’t done so would never be considered fit to command an army. It was possible to earn the qualification by graduating from the Knight Academy in the royal capital, but Rook hadn’t done so because he’d come to hate the idea and dropped out. This meant that Rook wasn’t eligible to be head of family.
But there was something else I was more eager to learn about—something that I hadn’t found a chance to ask until now. “What’s a kingeagle strike?”
“Oh... I didn’t explain it to you, did I?”
“No. Please tell me.”
“Well...I suppose it’s time you knew.”
He’s talking like it’s a heavy topic. What is it?
“A kingeagle strike is an attack made while riding a kingeagle.”
Like a dogfight?
“Do you mean when someone fights an enemy’s kingeagle in midair?”
“No.”
Okay, so not that. I suppose it’s hard to imagine them fighting without guns.
There were some scenes of aerial combat in stories, but anyone trying it in real life would soon learn that it wasn’t so easy to wield a spear effectively on the back of an eagle. If a rider charged someone with a spear, they’d end up slamming into the opponent with the whole eagle.
“Obviously, it’s enemies on the ground that they attack.”
“Enemies on the ground?”
Sky knights weren’t cavalry. Fighting while on the back of an eagle was impossible. Likewise, an eagle couldn’t just lift a person up, like a fish caught from a river, and then drop them from a height. Not that they couldn’t be trained to do it—the problem was that the troops on the ground could easily defend themselves by thrusting upward with a sword or spear, resulting in major injuries to the eagle, or even a crash landing. Such an approach would be far from cost effective.
“Do you mean they throw spears at the ground from above?” I asked.
“No. They charge into the center of the enemy camp and kill their general.”
I was speechless.
They do what? That’s a suicide attack.
“I’ve never mentioned it until now because I hate kingeagle strikes.”
“Does a plan like that ever work?”
No sooner than I’d asked, I remembered that Gok had succeeded. There was no way to know whether Gok had actually killed their general, but Shun had said that the enemy forces had retreated. They wouldn’t just pull back for no reason. Whatever had happened, it had been a success. Unfortunately, he’d died in the process. Now I understood why there was no body.
“It doesn’t have a high rate of success. Most attempts fail.”
“I thought so.”
“They fly out in large numbers at dawn and mount a surprise attack on the leader’s tent. Of course, there’s always a chance the general isn’t there; it’s also not unusual for there to be a body double dressed like a general. That makes things even harder. And then when the eagle aims for the tent, an ordinary landing isn’t possible—it has to crash down with enough force to crush the enemies on the ground. Ideally, it’ll crush the enemy general right there and then, but the sky knights will usually have to dismount and fight their way to him.”
I see. We’re talking about crash-landing into the middle of a camp filled with enemy soldiers in an attempt to wipe out their commanding officers. Pure madness.
“It sounds easy enough, but it’s rare that anyone pulls it off,” Rook continued.
“I can imagine.”
Of course it’s difficult. And it’s a waste of life, at that.
Kingeagles couldn’t be factory farmed like broilers. A long period of careful rearing and training was essential for each and every kingeagle. The same was true of the rider. And it wasn’t like they just needed to ride the birds either—they also needed to fight, which meant that every rider needed both flight training and combat training up to the level of a first-class knight. Throwing kingeagles at the enemy en masse like leftover vegetables could easily result in them all dying before any harm came to the enemy general. In fact, they could even be attacking the wrong place, which would be a pointless waste of human and eagle lives. All in all, it was a nasty business.
On the other hand, it couldn’t be denied that it created a chance to turn the tide of battle. Even if the odds were one in a hundred, it could be worth attempting when the only alternative was being caught between a rock and a hard place that would eventually result in everyone’s death.
“But my brother did it. That’s how incredible he was,” Rook spoke, sadness in his eyes.
“You’re right.”
The achievement made Gok a first-rate warrior.
“Do all sky knights have to join in kingeagle strikes?” I asked.
Sky knights were the knights who rode on kingeagles. Needless to say, merely riding on a kingeagle didn’t make someone like Rook a sky knight.
“No, but...the ones who carry out kingeagle strikes are held in the highest regard.”
“What does that mean for someone like Rakunu?”
“Sky knights attempt kingeagle strikes of their own free will; no leader can force them into it, no matter how high-ranking. So when they attack as a group, it’s up to individuals to decide whether they want to join or not.”
“I see...”
It didn’t sound like a standard military operation. If they had no right to refuse, they’d be forced to go along with whatever orders a stupid commander might give, no matter how ridiculous the timing. If they were going to give up their lives, then it was human nature to demand that their sacrifice be meaningful and carried out under the orders of a competent and respected leader.
But this country was run by an aristocracy, and that wasn’t a good system for ensuring that capable commanders rose to the top. The right to refuse had most likely become ingrained in our culture out of necessity. In Gok’s case, the situation must have been dire enough to call for such drastic measures. When Rakunu had refused, it might have been acceptable in theory, but it wouldn’t be ignored in practice.
Before long we heard a knock at the door, and a female attendant entered. “The council attendees are gathering now. If you’ll allow me, I’ll guide you there.”
“Good luck.” I waved off Rook with a smile... Or at least, I tried to.
“What are you saying? Get up.”
“Huh? I need to attend?”
That can’t be right. What’s the point in a little kid like me attending the council?
“Of course you do. Why do you think I brought you?”
“Um... Because it would look bad if you had no one attending to you?”
“No—because they summoned both of us. Your name’s written right here.”
Rook lifted up the list of names that he’d been given a moment ago and waved it in front of me.
✧✧✧
“I don’t understand why I’m going.”
It was odd. I was just a boy.
“Because Sham was his only direct descendant,” Rook said. “It’s just how it is.”
“Will they call for Sham too?”
“She hasn’t been called for yet, but she will be if she’s needed. In your case... Well, it would be rude if you were summoned here and left outside, wouldn’t it?”
“Okay...”
I wouldn’t think it was rude at all. They should forget about me.
“This is the room. The council will take place here,” the female attendant announced as she opened a pair of double doors made from two huge wooden slabs.
The interior was as elegant and spacious as the doors had suggested. A large table—created by combining three smaller rectangular tables and decorated with an elaborately embroidered cloth—lay in the dead center of the room, but there was still plenty of empty space around it. It was a fine room for holding a council.
Chairs were arranged around the table. Most of them were already occupied by attendees, both young and old. Though when I looked around, I noted that old men made up the majority. Given the longevity of the Shanti, some of them could have been over a hundred years old.
Ho family customs dictated that the head of the family couldn’t retain their role into advanced old age—they would generally relinquish their position to the younger generation as soon as they began to weaken. As the leader of the Ho family, they needed to be ready for war whenever it might occur. And since they needed to maintain command of the family’s forces, train soldiers, and lead them into battle, no one wanted a situation where an elderly figure had to hand over command to their son in the event of war. It was therefore desirable for the head to step down as soon as their age might have made it difficult to head out into battle.
That all seemed reasonable, but it was odd just how many old men were here attending the council. I guessed that some of these elders had previously stepped down from their positions to allow an heir to take their place, but they’d returned to service after the head of the family had died in battle. The fact that so many of them had been made to gather here suggested that the Ho family was short of hands now that the family’s forces had suffered such heavy losses.
We’re in real bad shape.
The attendant showed us into the room and led us toward our seats, taking us deeper and deeper into the room. We were taken to the top of the table beside a sullen, ill-looking woman. On the wall behind her was a great tapestry with the Ho family crest sewn onto it. The attendant gave us a brief bow and then left us there, as if to say this was where we should sit.
Hang on. Isn’t this the head of the table?
There was no mistaking it—this was indeed the top of the table, where the most important figures sat. I’d been expecting us to sit at the very bottom. The whole thing gave me a bad feeling.
Rook took a step forward and greeted the woman in an unusual way. “My apologies for not writing more often, Lady Satsuki. It is a great honor to—”
“Enough of that,” she dismissed Rook with an awkward smile. Her tone was devoid of energy. “You needn’t call me lady.”
I guessed that this was Gok’s wife, Satsuki Ho. It was hard to compare her to others, given that the stress she currently faced had left her face so withered and pale, but she looked close to Suzuya’s age. Actually, I’d say she had to be at least ten years older than Suzuya. The effects of aging set in slowly for the Shanti, making it difficult to discern a difference of ten years sometimes.
Satsuki had the air of a refined lady from a noble family. My mom was a lively and animated person in my mind because I often saw her busy with housework, but my aunt here appeared much more subdued.
“Please don’t make me blush. Call me Satsuki as you did in the past,” she continued.
“Very well, Satsuki.”
“This must be your son.” Satsuki looked at me with kindness in her eyes.
“That’s right. Go on and introduce yourself,” Rook told me.
“Nice to meet you, Aunt Satsuki. I’m Yuri.” I bowed my head to her.
I hope “Aunt Satsuki” is polite enough.
“Hello,” she replied. “My, how you’ve grown. Last time I saw you, you were just a baby.”
Apparently, this wasn’t our first meeting, but we hadn’t seen each other at all since I was a baby. I hadn’t had a chance to meet her during the recent expedition ceremony.
“He’s my amazing son,” Rook added.
Now you’re embarrassing me.
“Isn’t he?” Satsuki replied. “Even Sham is in love with him.”
Her words left Rook looking stunned. He’d probably never spoken to Sham, although I couldn’t imagine what the two of them would even talk about.
“I heard that you and her had a lot in common,” Satsuki continued.
“Yes...but she’s a lot smarter than me,” I replied.
“Oh, you don’t mean that.”
I honestly do.
When I was Sham’s age, my only concern was finding a way to get hold of new batteries for my Game Boy—they’d always run out so fast. And that was despite getting an education at a good elementary school. Meanwhile, Sham had educated herself to the point where she was thinking about prime numbers. The gap between us was immeasurable. It made me want to support her efforts to educate herself.
“You can’t just stand there the whole time. Why not sit? Rook, your place is there,” Satsuki instructed, pointing to a chair near to her.
That must mean I’ll be sandwiched between Satsuki and Rook. Why can’t I just be left alone?
“I was feeling blue. Having a youngster beside me is cheering me up. Thank you for that,” she said.
“We’re honored to be of service,” Rook told her.
Don’t I get a say? I complained internally as I looked at my seat. But what’s with this? Seriously, what’s the deal here?
“What’s wrong, Yuri? Sit down.” Rook had already taken his seat, and he encouraged me to do the same when he saw me simply standing there.
If I could sit on this thing, I would.
“I could attempt to jump up onto it, but I’m worried that might make it topple over and cause a scene.”
An extra thick cushion had been placed on the chair to turn it into a makeshift high chair just for me, but that only made it harder to climb up. If the chair had legs that were joined together by some horizontal support beams, they would’ve made a good ladder, but unfortunately that wasn’t the case.
“Well if you can’t get up, why didn’t you say so?” Rook grabbed me with both hands, lifted me up, and sat me down like a doll.
It was really embarrassing to be treated like that in front of a bunch of strangers.
II
The council hadn’t begun yet, so hushed murmurs of small talk filled the room. I also quietly chatted while I drank concentrated barley tea, taking great care not to spill it on the ornate tablecloth.
Then, after a little time had passed, the council commenced. The room fell silent as Satsuki prepared to speak.
“I’d like to thank you all for gathering here today. As I’m sure you are all aware, my husband, Gok Ho, lost his life several days ago as a result of his valiant actions in battle while serving as the Kilhina expedition force’s leader. He passed into the next world together with the eagle that had been his companion in both life and death, and I’m sure he’s looking down on us from somewhere above the clouds right now. I’d like us to begin with a brief moment of silence to pay respect to the spirits of all those who fell on the distant battlefield.”
Satsuki clapped her hands once.
“Please join me in silent prayer,” she said ceremoniously.
Everyone quietly began to pray.
After about thirty seconds had passed, Satsuki broke the silence. “Thank you. As those of us still living, it is our responsibility to consider the future of the Ho family. We are fortunate that my husband considered what might become of us and left behind a will. I consider this a blessing upon us—we needn’t debate, nor speculate, over what my husband would or wouldn’t have wanted. His dying wishes are concealed right here.”
Satsuki produced a single dirty, bloodied envelope from her pocket as she spoke. It was sealed with bright red wax, hastily applied and dripping down in strange trails. From my position beside her, I could see “To my wife, Satsuki, from Gok Ho” written on its surface in a messy scrawl. This was surely his will, and—judging by its grim appearance—had been rescued from the battlefield.
