Three winters later, Kyprosa turned seventeen, and Ochidna trotted along behind her older sister, while the bird still pretended to sleep.
When the early snowfall froze solid, the road leading up to Fir Tree Castle became twice as treacherous. Even so, those who came despite that were usually unwelcome guests. That day as well, a procession of dozens of horses arrived before the castle gate, both people and horses steaming as heat poured off them. The true purpose of the Northern Maer envoys, who claimed they had come to see the legendary snow bird, was known not only to Rosia but to everyone in the castle.
Standing before the rusted cage where the snow bird kept its eyes tightly shut, the envoy said the problem was Rockwell, who had become the new lord of Visconia two years earlier. Rosia listened in silence. Acting as though Rockwell had never been a problem before, the envoy went on at length about how Rockwell was arrogant and cruel, how he had seized control of the border forest at will, slaughtered Northern Maer hunters on sight, and was so shameless that he did not even bother to pay a courtesy visit as a newly appointed lord. It was a story too trivial to make the snow bird open its eyes, not even worth a falcon fluttering its feathers once. Northern Maer and Visconia had never been on good terms. Once every few decades, they would clash by pushing forward their subordinate lords. If anything was notable this time, it was only that the last war had ended just nine years ago.
In the battle nine years earlier, Rosia had lost her second son, Siardric. If Siardric were still alive, Rosia would likely be idling in the back garden now, basking in the sun and scattering feed for the chickens. She would not need to clutch a spear shaft with hair gone white, waiting for young Jaeim to grow up. Until the envoy finished his long-winded speech, carried away by his own fervor, Rosia kept her eyes closed like the snow bird. On the collar of her mourning clothes, which had become her everyday wear, were pinned two mourning badges. One was for her husband, the other for her son.
“Those impudent wretches would run all the way to the tip of Hook Cape just at the sight of the spearpoints of the Daeier spearmen under your command glittering.”
Such things had happened time and again. In the battle where her husband died, in the battle where her son died, and in the battles where Rosia herself survived. Though she was only one of seven minor lords sworn to Northern Maer, the few thousand Daeier spearmen had served as Northern Maer’s sharpest weapon. A weapon that cuts well invites frequent use. In that process, a few broken spear blades might be of little consequence to the king of Northern Maer. What Rosia had paid over decades to reforge those broken blades was not only the lives of the dead. Rosia opened her eyes and looked at the snow bird. The bird shifted its neck and opened its eyes to a narrow slit, but the envoy, who had never cared about the bird to begin with, failed to notice.
“Rest well for three days. I will decide during that time and let you know.”
The envoy nodded in satisfaction and took his leave. The Northern Maer delegation would spend three days feasting and drinking lavishly on Fir Tree Castle’s stored winter provisions. Already, to heat the banquet hall so thoroughly that southerners would not shiver, they were burning nearly half the firewood normally consumed at a rate of one stack every ten days. In the stable, ten fat sheep were being slaughtered.
That evening at the banquet, Rosia introduced eighteen-year-old Jaeim as her heir. The envoy cast a sidelong glance at him, praised him by saying the boy was born with strong bones and had a mild temperament well suited to leading the spearmen, and then continued.
“If the young heir joins the Visconia campaign next spring, I will see to it that he is properly guided and earns great merit. I hear that for a Daeier lord, one must become the true leader of the Daeier spearmen, the King of Fir Trees. If you bring back Rockwell’s head impaled on the tip of a Daeier spear, even the veteran spearmen will acknowledge young Jaeim Daeier and swear loyalty to him. Then you too can finally rest easy, my lady.”
Jaeim merely dipped his head without a word. A boy who had lost his father in the last war with Visconia was unlikely to be stirred by such words, but the envoy was simply the sort of man who assumed others would find convincing whatever seemed plausible to himself. Jaeim even had a scholarly air about him, making it hard to imagine him leading the Daeier spearmen, who were known to refuse commanders lacking proven ability. Yet Rosia herself had once been the most beautiful girl in Fir Tree Castle. At times, circumstances shaped a person’s nature. The people of the castle did not doubt that Jaeim would one day become lord and lead the spearmen. No, he had to become so. Rosia was already past sixty. While all three of her sons had failed her expectations and departed, she had endured for far too long.
Rosia said nothing, but inwardly she was dissatisfied with Jaeim’s response. The envoy’s words, spoken without regard for Siardric’s death, were careless and arrogant. Had Jaeim flown into a rage, Rosia could have played the part of calming him while pointing out the envoy’s rudeness. Alternatively, it would have been better if he had boldly declared that he himself would take Rockwell’s head, at least giving an impression of spirit. Instead, Jaeim was not foolish enough to be provoked by such talk, yet neither was he bold enough to give vent to anger. As a result, he swallowed his displeasure and closed his mouth. That was not befitting the heir of Daeier. The surrounding great powers acknowledged Daeier only when it was a fierce spear. Calmness or humility were useless virtues for the King of Fir Trees.
When would her grandson grow up enough to understand that. Would this aged body endure until then. Such thoughts brought a crushing wave of exhaustion. Rosia excused herself to the envoy and left early.
Having gone to bed, Rosia awoke at dawn the next day with searing pain in her left leg. The area around her knee, which had been pierced by a sword more than twenty years earlier, had ached from time to time, but never as severely as this day. For the first time in her life, she could not sit up on her own. The first words the maid who rushed in upon hearing her groan heard were, “Do not let this be known.” The eyes and ears of the Northern Maer delegation were everywhere. If outsiders learned that the Daeier lord was not well, it would be disastrous.
The physician summoned in secret said that poison circulating in her body had pooled in her knee due to the old wound, and that if she wished to walk again, she must not move at all for at least a month. Rosia asked for opium.
That day, the delegation did not notice that Rosia was ill. They merely thought she seemed in a good mood and easier to please. After night fell and strong, well-aged liquor flowed freely until the envoys collapsed into sleep, Rosia summoned Jaeim. Not to the room she usually used within the castle, but to the spearmen’s training grounds. It was late enough that only a few sentries remained. At Rosia’s side stood Jouel, who had retired from the position of captain the previous year.
“Take up a spear and attack Jouel.”
Jouel was the same age as Rosia, yet he still possessed the skill to handle several young spearmen with ease. Jaeim knew he was no match for Jouel, but he attacked earnestly. When Jaeim was defeated, Rosia took the spear from him and attacked Jouel herself. After a far fiercer exchange than with Jaeim, she withdrew the spear before a victor was decided. As Jaeim stared in stunned silence, Rosia spoke.
“You have not yet reached your father, nor your grandfather. You do not even reach me. Yet you must become the commander of the Daeier spearmen. One does not become a commander merely by wielding a spear well. But your spirit and bearing must overwhelm them. Just now, did you give it your all?”
“Yes, Grandmother.”
“Do you know the difference between you and me?”
When Jaeim could not answer, Rosia let out a low sigh.
“My time is nearly over. No, it should have ended long ago. I am a lacking person, and since Nebe and Nebla placed me in this seat, there has not been a single day of true rest. When your grandfather passed away, I was not prepared. Because of that, there were countless mistakes. I wished my sons would hurry and take this burden from me, but all three fled with different excuses. Only I, only this old woman, still cannot leave, fluttering like a banner tied to a spear shaft.”
Jaeim listened with eyes wide. It was the first time his grandmother had ever spoken of being old, and it was not something Jaeim himself had ever truly felt. His grandmother had always seemed like an iron spear or an oak shield, as though she would never break or shatter. Hearing such weakness from her left him unsure of what to do.
“I wanted you to take hold of this heavy spear once you were prepared. Yet you are still so soft. It is no wonder. You are still a child. Only eighteen.”
When Rosia fell silent, Jouel spoke.
“If you were merely one of the spearmen, it would have been fine to wait for you to grow at your own pace. I too began as an ignorant young soldier and came to where I am now. Along the way, I witnessed firsthand how Lord Jaeim and Lord Siardric changed. They too were once like you. But when the time came, they showed what a Daeier spear truly was. I believe that you, who inherit their blood, will do the same. Do not forget. You are meant to become a Daeier lord like a tiger or a wolf.”
Could that really be so. Jouel was not a man given to empty praise, and these were words he offered only rarely, yet Jaeim could not readily nod. It was not that he distrusted Jouel, but that he could not trust himself. In the end, the reason he was trusted at all was simply because he was the son and grandson of Daeier lords. Jaeim himself had never proven his worth.
Above all, he did not know why it had to be so. Siardric, who had fallen in battle when Jaeim was nine, had been a gentle father. And Jaeim was a young man whose eyes shone more brightly when facing books than when gripping a spear. Until now, no matter how heavy his grandmother’s commands felt, he had only tried to follow them, never once voicing doubt. Yet today, for some reason, he felt he might be allowed to ask a question he had long held.
“Grandmother. Is there no such thing as a commander who is respected for kindness?”
Jouel glanced at Rosia’s face. Rosia closed her eyes for a moment. Jaeim shrank back, wondering if he had asked something he should not have. Though he had grown taller than his grandmother, as she had said, he was still soft and young. After a while, Rosia opened her eyes and said,
“There is no such thing.”
Jouel read complexity in Rosia’s eyes, but Jaeim did not. He merely nodded and lowered his gaze. Rosia gestured for Jaeim to leave. The answer she had not given lingered on Rosia’s lips as she watched her grandson’s back.
Why would such a commander not exist. In fertile, abundant lands, why would people not want such a lord. But you cannot be that. Do you know why people call us, mere minor lords of the frozen wastes, the King of Fir Trees. They wish only to borrow the strength we have cultivated to endure this harsh land. A spear is a weapon that pierces enemies. It cannot plow fields.
“It seems Jaeim still needs time,” Jouel said.
Rosia nodded. Her reply to the delegation had been decided. It was time to return to her room before the effects of the medicine wore off.
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