The Legacy of Tirlannon: The Freedom Fighter

by Daniel Gelinske

  In a hushed tone, the Emperor asked, “Well then sorcerer, why are you here?”

  “As you were informed by Lord General Kanadi, your son is being held in a penal tower in the occupied province of Namakiera. Tarligean is a much larger threat than you even dare to imagine, as I have warned you before. Their potential exceeds that of even Cireth, as the Cirethians deny the metaphysical. Historically speaking, Madrocea has not, and in not ignoring the metaphysical or the physical we achieved a balance in our civilization resulting in the Golden Age of Midas.”

  “Assassins, be gone!” Sacchaeus shouted.

  In perfect synchronicity, the four assassins hiding behind tapestry and sculpture in the throne room revealed themselves. Stepping from the shadows, they bowed to the Emperor and ran down the chamber’s exit.

  As the door closed behind the last assassin, Sacchaeus said in a hushed tone, “I was confided in by Asan Thoth that you were kin to Da’at Set, the master of the Asat Takran and creator of the Chimaera Order.

  “Yes, he is my brother, and the darkness to my light,” Osordo replied. “I have not spoken to him since the day before the Chimaera Order was born. I cannot speak of this again, because of an oath, Your Highness.”

  “Intriguing. Now of the Taergeni?” Sacchaeus queried.

  “There are devices that exist, machines made…” Osordo paused, “In Heaven by the Gods themselves. In the very Forges of Mount Olympus, two of these devices were placed in swords. I warned you of Oro’quiel before, and now this sword is in the hands of a blood heir to Meldehan Tuvitor, a brother to the late Kestiel Ariandi.”

  “But didn’t he have one of those swords?” Sacchaeus asked.

  “Ariandi Tuvitor had its counterpart, Xendros. Let it be known that if it weren’t for the very hammer of the Gods themselves, the Octogram would be flying over Cardalia, and our ways would be forgotten,” Osordo explained.

  “So this weapon of the gods is now in the younger brother’s hand, as your note had said before. I understand,” Sacchaeus murmured. “These weapons must either be destroyed or harnessed by our greatest soldiers. These must be used to bolster our might!”

  “I do not believe they can be destroyed, so the latter would be preferable,” Osordo commented. “Just know that these swords—these devices have a will of their own. However, there was an idea by one ancient Taergeni occultist of some note that two of these swords set against one another could theoretically destroy both.”

  “Perfect! We shall find Xendros, and one of our soldiers can turn it against the Son of Meldehan,” Sacchaeus proposed. “These Taergeni blasphemies against our material world must be destroyed!”

  “Milord, they are tools that we can use,” Osordo protested.

  “No. You said it yourself—these artifacts have a will of their own. The Taergeni are savages that have been mastered by their own sorceries. They have played with such weapons that only the Gods themselves should have the power to wield. Perhaps if Ares himself were to personally ask me to keep them, I would—but otherwise they must be destroyed,” Sacchaeus resolved. “This throne is mine, and this is my will. Seek out Xendros and bring it to me. It will be given to my greatest knight to destroy Daecrynn and his blade. And we will rescue my son.”

  “As you wish, your Highness,” Osordo surrendered, bowing to the Emperor.

  “You are dismissed, Elder Sage.”

  XVIII.

  The Blooded Blade

  “I will blood the virgin dagger.”

  —Jea Daldani Oath of Entrance

  A cold wind rushed at a terrifying speed, whistling around the guard towers of the ancient Taergeni stronghold of Tanathiel, now a fort of the Madrocean occupation. The wind carried a sting, a chill close to freezing with sporadic droplets of rain that struck the flesh sharply. The sky was black and gray, and the wind rapidly shook the banners that climbed into the sky, almost pulling the Madrocean colors off the poles.

  Beneath the streets of Tanathiel, under Rhyawa Walk, the center street in the city, twelve captains of war, in the moonsilver armor of Tarligean’s Field Knights waited a Taergeni with the forbidden title of Kestelan, the King of Tanathiel. They stood around a circular table of red wood, etched with an intricate ornamental design, dominated by the symmetrical octogram star design, the Ki’ronyx of old, encircled by a complete book of the ancient Elvish Cilaera, carved finely in tiny Fen’yi script. Above them, a glow orb cast a light onto the polished moonsilver of Tanathiel’s Field Knights, captains of one of Tarligean’s proudest infantry units.

  Down a hall leading into the chamber, footsteps approached the archway entrance of the chamber. The knights stood at attention, with their swords drawn, held upwards.

  The Kestelan strode into the room with a gleeful expression on his freckled face.

  “Daecrynn Tuvitor has deposed the butcher Ayus Mogran in one swift campaign. The Ki’ronyx flies high over Namakiera today!”

  “Swift campaign, eh? Sounds like his brother,” Nedlane, a captain said with a smirk under his helmet.

  “Not quite a Cassadina, the Jea Daldani reports that other rebels have been putting the pieces into place for a good long time. The arrival of Meldehan’s son was just well timed,” another captain added.

  The King smiled broadly, and said, “I heard he slew Mogran with his bare hands! I am told it was like watching his father step into a terrible battle against insurmountable odds with the attitude of triumph—carrying it with him to victory.”

  “What of Iacala’s plans for a new Andriel?” one captain asked.

  “Just keep running away from the humans. That’s a plan?” Nedlane scoffed.

  The King stopped for a second, rolled his eyes and shook his head before shouting, “Order! I know your cynical minds are going to have a little trouble grasping this, but the Kestelan of Tanathiel recognizes the Kestiel in Namakiera. I understand that the Jea Daldani only serves the crowned Kestiel, but as Knights of Tanathiel you still follow my orders.”

  “To be honest, my first impression of Daecrynn was rather remarkable. He has all the ways of a Taergeni of the deep wood, but he has all the grace of Meldehan as I knew him,” Versinde said, removing his helmet and placing it on a table as he took a seat. He was the spectacled elf from the Silver Willow who delivered the news of Fidralinia to Daecrynn.

  “He will be a noble Kestiel of the people, and we very well should place him on the throne of his heritage.”

  “He’s the best hope we have had for a High King since Ariandi taunted an army of dragons,” Nedlane sneered, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Perhaps we should call on our exiled navy and place a Linean back on the throne. We may have a potential Meldehan in the Younger, but he is not ready to be placed on the throne quite yet. He’s barely passed into adulthood, and our Kestiel should have centuries of experience.”

  “The decision is already made, my Knights. You have yet to understand the context of this meeting. This is not a meeting of the Jea Daldani, this is a meeting of the Knights of Tanathiel, and I am speaking from the scepter, not from the dagger,” the King said.

  “So what is your plan, your Highness?” Versinde asked.

  “Remember the third plan of seizure we devised two years ago?” the King replied.

  “You think two lightning coups will work in succession?” Versinde queried.

  “I am more than certain,” the King responded. “We have reinforcements we can call in Mindule and Sylshee. All the routes are blocked for the Empire, other than the Cursed Highway which they fear for the same reasons we do.”

  “Cassadina,” Versinde said lowly.

  “And even if they called reinforcements down that way, Mindule and Sylshee would flank them,” the King added.

  “I see you’ve thought this out,” Nedlane resigned. “As reluctant as I may be to accepting another ai-Tu’fayator Kestiel, perhaps it is time to take our lands back.”

  * * *

  The night came quickly in the great Taergeni city of stone and ivy, set in a
large plain, surrounded on all sides with distant wooded mountains. Stone towers and cobblestone streets, stone houses and stone shops all stood, covered in thick green ivy. The wind blew sharply, with cold raindrops being carried through the air in sheets. The city was dark, as no torch’s flame could with withstand the icy rain and howling wind. All was dark, except for the barely visible candlelit interiors of the homes on the street, obscured by curtain and cloth.

  Shadows seemed to move through the city at times, but it was difficult to discern their shapes. Guards standing in the towers shrugged off the last group of shadows visible against the walls of an adjacent street. From their perspective, it could have been anything from a staggering drunk to a field mouse. On the guard towers, the soldiers stared out into the black, as the flying raindrops riddled the shields on their helmets, moving almost horizontally with the wind. The wind’s voice was like a screeching wraith, flying overhead intent on stealing their souls. The sky was black as void itself, expanding in all directions.

  “Damned storm!” yelled a corporal among the Madrocean guard to his companion. “Hey Thandikos, do you have any idea as to when this will let up?”

  “Probably by morning, Tiogan,” his companion guessed. “Next one will be worse though. You do realize that it snows in these parts, right?”

  “I would give my left foot to be stationed in Ikeme again,” Tiogan groused. “This weather is horrific.”

  Something in the northern section of the city caught Thandikos’ eye. “Look at that! Fire. Odd in this weather, but it won’t last. I’m not going out to look at it.”

  “Dear gods, please don’t be suggesting that I go out in this weather,” grumbled Tiogan.

  “No, it’s probably just another Taergeni vandal. We’ll have a look at it at the end of our shift after the sun rises,” Thandikos replied.

  A sudden stinging sensation erupted in the backs of their necks, shortly before a lapse of consciousness welcomed them into the afterlife. Poison-tipped crossbow bolts insured that no message would reach the other Madrocean soldiers in the city.

  * * *

  The sunlight broke through the clouds as they broke up just after dawn. Tanathiel’s silvery towers greeted the sun with its reflection, as green and white banners emblazoned with the octogram star were raised above the towers. Large lines of soldiers marching through the center street, accompanied with drummers and flutists made it clear that the Madrocean problem in Tanathiel had been dealt with.

  XIX.

  Solstice Night

  From his palatial tower in the Palace of Namakiera, Daecrynn could see out the crystalline window, naught but for the silver cast of the winter skies over the city of Namakiera.

  On the bed, Nadali laid quiet, sleeping silently with the covers up to just below her shoulders. Daecrynn climbed out of bed, and put his trousers on, seeking a robe to stay warm. In the distance, a gentle repeating ‘knock-clink’ sound betrayed the ropes that carried the banner to the tower’s top. There was to be no snowfall today, just cold and cloudy throughout the day.

  Daecrynn was uneasy. He had a gut feeling to expect something or someone within a short interval. He threw a robe over his shoulders, and tied it together at the waist, and jaunted down the spiraling stairs to the King’s Chamber below.

  As he walked into the chamber, he saw elegantly dressed, frost-white haired elven woman in embroidered silken robes of blue and silver.

  “Hullo!” greeted Daecrynn in surprise.

  “I see you have awakened, Lord Tuvitor,” she addressed him, flashing a tight smile in his direction. “I am Rayelle Anda’raén, Lady of Li’istrani.”

  “What help can I be, Lady Rayelle,” Daecrynn asked, trying to place her name, which seemed familiar somehow.

  “I came to warn you. You have made a grave turn in your dealings with the Prince of Madrocea. His blood is not to judge. You know not an ally by the banner they were born under, but by the heart that drives them,” Rayelle counseled.

  Before Daecrynn could enunciate a response, he found himself waking in his bed in a cold sweat. The sky was a cold silver-gray, and just outside the window he could hear the ‘knock-clink’ of the banner’s ropes against the flagpole.

  Daecrynn leaped out of bed with a jolt, exposing Nadali’s back to the cold air.

  “What?” Nadali shrieked as she reached for her sword that was secured beneath the mattress.

  Daecrynn turned and glanced at Nadali with an expression of urgency. “I had a vision,” he blurted. “I have to speak with the captain of the North Tower at once!”

  “Oh,” Nadali said with a half-awoken and bewildered stare.

  Daecrynn swiftly suited up in his royal raiment for the day’s business. Nadali glared at the morning sunlight shining through the window, and surrendered to doing the same. Daecrynn marched down the stairs in double-time, as he fastened his scabbard to his belt. He broke into a run as he reached the end of the stairs, running down the northwestern hallway as fast as he could. Nadali followed shortly after into the King’s chamber to be greeted by a confused Alrain who had witnessed Daecrynn’s passing.

  “Do you know what’s going on?” Alrain asked.

  “He had a vision,” Nadali shrugged.

  Daecrynn broke the run at the base of the stairway that separated the hallway from the prison tower. He bolted up the stairs to the second floor, and walked around the stone partition that separated the second level form the staircase. He spied an angry guard brandishing a bow staff as he wrestled with his keys to open the cell.

  “Treat him well, he is a Prince!” Daecrynn commanded.

  “Forgive me milord, I didn’t know!” the guard begged as he dropped the bow staff.

  Daecrynn angrily pushed the guard back with his index finger. “Your ignorance nearly cost us this war!”

  Andron cautiously stepped to the outer wall of the cell, pressing his back against the wall as Daecrynn approached the cell’s bars.

  “Tonight, son of Sacchaeus, you and I are to have tea after the Festival. There will be no guards present, and you will be released after we discuss the matters at hand,” Daecrynn affirmed. “I believe you wanted to speak to me.”

  “Yes I do, Prince of Andriel,” Andron agreed. “We have much to discuss.”

  Daecrynn bowed in Andron’s direction, and scowled at the guard. “Treat him as you would an honored guest, but guard him. Protect him.”

  “Understood, my Kestiel,” the guard affirmed.

  * * *

  As the night’s festivities were prepared through morning, Daecrynn wandered thoughtfully down the halls through the palace. Guards were dressed in their Taergeni Knights’ dress uniforms of royal blue and violet. Barrels of ale were rolled in from the liberated countryside to the west and north of Namakiera, and the palace smelled sweet and rich, of pastries and meats for Thei’Odynei festival, the holiday celebrating a mythical character who heralded the end of winter’s darkness. Tonight would be an especially festive night, as the legend stated that spring would come sooner if the sun didn’t shine on the day of the herald. Taergeni of a traditional bent believed that spring was just around the corner.

  Walking down the main hallway between the northern chambers and the southern, he passed down some barren halls where statues had been taken down. To his left, a minstrel carried a darndi’ir; a stringed instrument of forty-eight strings and a neck with a curved end. He briskly walked past Daecrynn. Daecrynn grinned inwardly at the lack of recognition on the minstrel’s part. He smiled smugly, having been ignored by a commoner. He walked to the north, and strode into the morning’s war briefings. He walked past two guardsmen who opened the door for him. He approached the circular table to be greeted by generals and elders of the Council.

  “News from Tanathiel,” Tiardan said.

  “Please enlighten me,” Daecrynn requested.

  “A messenger rode in and asked that this message be delivered directly to you,” Tiardan replied as he handed the scroll to Daecrynn.

/>   The Heart of Tarligean has been liberated.

  Madrocean blood drips from the Black Dagger.

  The Jea Daldani and all of my armies are at your service, my liege.

  Signed,

  Kestelan Kalnari Nenthripos

  Order of the Jea Daldani, and Lord of Tanathiel

  “Well it’s good news,” Daecrynn commented as he placed the scroll on the table. “Tanathiel has been liberated, and are with us.”

  “Wise of the Kestelan to be sure you received the news first,” Tiardan noted. “Meldehan’s proverb. Better that your enemies not know what you know.”

  Daecrynn stared downwards thoughtfully, as Nadali entered the war chamber.