“Did I miss anything?” Nadali asked.
“First business of the day. Tanathiel is liberated and under the Ki’ronyx. We have yet to discuss the implications,” Daecrynn answered.
“That’s great news,” Nadali chirped, beaming. “Festival’s going to be legendary tonight.”
“It’s going to be a sober one for me,” Daecrynn stated.
“Milord?” Kalrys asked.
“I promised Andron Medaccae a meeting after the festival,” Daecrynn said. “And after that, I’m going to let him go.”
“Madness!” Alrain gasped.
“He is more valuable to us in Cardalia than as a bargaining chip, but I have yet to discuss the details with him,” Daecrynn explained.
“Politics!” Alrain scoffed. “We should interrogate him, and let him rot in our dungeons until the Emperor releases all of our lands. Or execute him.”
“If blood be shed needlessly, than the bloodshed is on our hands,” Daecrynn rebuked.
“Before we break out in a play of fisticuffs, I think we should finish speaking about our first order of business for the day,” Kalrys suggested.
“Good idea. With Tanathiel’s support, the entirety of the Mitheldia Road from Mindule to the Destriel Pass is secured, or will be shortly,” Tiardan speculated. “There are at least fifty woodland routes that Tuitari’s armies can access onto for a counteroffensive of a scale comparable to Meldehan’s Kith campaign. With the Mitheldia Road secured, we can even utilize Mindule’s siege engines should the need for them arise. We are ready to mobilize Tarligean, milord.”
“Wouldn’t it be more prudent to secure Andriel and Destriel before any campaign of that magnitude?” Kalrys asked.
“Certainly. Expressing our capabilities is not the same as making suggestions, Lord Kalrys,” Tiardan added. “In fact, that is my very suggestion as having our two largest port cities fully functional gives us access to whatever remnant of our Navy that may exist.”
“I have heard many horrific tales about the creatures that haunt the city of Andriel. Terrible beasts summoned from the foulest sorcerers’ cauldrons in Kith,” Daecrynn said. “We should approach Andriel with caution.”
“Our scouts report nothing but an empty city,” Alrain rebutted. “Those tales are naught but legends and tales weaved by the traveling bards of Tuitari. However, caution is never a foolish suggestion, no matter the reasons.”
“For tomorrow’s meeting, we will draft plans for campaigns to liberate Andriel and Destriel,” Daecrynn stated. “As for Andron, I am acting on the authority of the Kestiel. I will speak to him tonight, and I alone will decide his fate.”
“You don’t play that card too often,” Nadali noted.
“Hmm?” Daecrynn asked.
“You’re pulling rank. That vision you had must have been pretty sharp,” Nadali observed.
Alrain stopped in sober recognition, “Oh yes. That vision. I remember. Were you visited, or did you see what will be?”
“Visited,” Daecrynn replied. “A certain Lady Rayelle of the hidden towers of Li’istrani came to me.”
“I know of her. She’s very powerful, I hear. Legend says she taught Queen Cerena of Mindule everything she knows of magic,” Alrain recalled.
“So you see why I must heed this vision,” Daecrynn elucidated.
“It would be foolish not to, milord,” agreed Alrain.
* * *
The grand central chamber of the palace was opened up and decorated for the festivities of Thei’Odynei. Musicians had gathered together, tuning their darndi’ir, lute, and harp, and practicing on their drum and flute. Minstrels practiced song, singing in a freestyle round-robin style. Huge ivory white pillars held the archways, and the domed ceiling was an indigo-violet color. The floor was of black marble that brilliantly reflected the crystalline lighting that hung from the ceiling and pillars.
Daecrynn was adorned in the crimson, violet, and gold colors of his station; his suit tailored and pressed to perfection. He wore a specially crafted scabbard, colored blue and indigo with Fen’yi pictograms from hilt to point; a replica of Asutel Thetali’s scabbard for the same sword in another age. A distance in his eyes betrayed that his thoughts were away from the festivities. Nadali gently took him by the arm, with her long, silky black hair tied back in a bun, dressed in a pearl silver dress, wearing the crystalline inverted teardrop necklace with the seal of her House.
Daecrynn snapped out of it as he gazed into Nadali’s gentle, ice-blue eyes. Her gaze locked onto his, as unspoken words were communicated between them. Kalrys approached, and bowed before them, but failed to gain their attention.
“Milord!” he cried. “Come sample some of the new ales from the West that arrived today.”
“Sure,” Nadali replied, without breaking eye contact with Daecrynn. “A good ale is always welcome. Shall we, d’nani?”
“Certainly,” Daecrynn replied, his hypnotized distraction melting away into a large smile.
Kalrys leading, Daecrynn and Nadali strode, hand in hand toward the bar, which was still under construction toward the far northern end of the chamber. The bar was made of dark mahogany, polished along the far end, unpolished toward the middle, and capped at the north with a crew of three Taergeni with hammer and saw, working against time to finish the bar before festivities began with songs of the dreams of Spring.
“The bar is almost ready,” Daecrynn said to Kalrys. “Good work.”
“It’s already stocked for the festival, milord. It would be a shame to subject you to the rush to come after the first dance,” Kalrys grinned. “You must have the first cheer.”
“I am not drinking tonight,” Daecrynn said, his thoughts returning to the Prince of Madrocea held in the prison tower.
“But you must. ‘Tradition!” enunciated Kalrys, as he raised an empty ale mug in the air.
Nadali gently stroked his cheek, and pulled Daecrynn into a kiss. As their lips touched tenderly, Daecrynn’s thoughts shifted. They gently broke the kiss and returned to the unspoken dialogue between their eyes.
“Right. Tradition. I cannot say no to that, I suppose,” Daecrynn ceded, as Nadali touched his chest.
Kalrys slammed the mug down with exuberance.
“Aye! Your men provided some choice wood for this bar,” Kalrys grinned. “What will it be, milord?”
“A white wine perhaps,” Daecrynn suggested. “I wish to include Nadali in this cheer.”
Kalrys slammed the mug down on the table again. “This will not do!”
Daecrynn turned to Kalrys, with a baffled stare.
“You cannot serve wine in a stein!” Kalrys declared.
“You don’t have any wine glasses back there?” Daecrynn asked.
“The chalice set that Lady Fea’dani had sent hasn’t been unpacked yet,” Kalrys explained. “See, you said earlier that you wouldn’t be drinking tonight, so I put off unpacking them for another hour.”
“Order an ale, love,” Nadali whispered in Daecrynn’s ear.
“I shall have an Andule Red, then,” Daecrynn resigned.
Nadali beamed, and ordered, “And I shall have an Andule Stout.”
Kalrys grinned, and poured tow ales. “Excellent choice, milord. The Ice Crow brews arrived today, and I must say that they are top notch.”
“Thirty-two silverleaves, milord,” Kalrys stated, his face shifting into a plain shopkeeper’s expression.
Daecrynn turned back to the General-cum-bartender. “Silverleaves?”
“The royal mint began to coin them again today,” Kalrys said with a grin. “With you being the High Prince and all, I would be foolish not to pass up a chance to make a few coin.”
“Nice try,” Daecrynn chuckled. “We haven’t even collected a tax, yet. I’m still living on Governor Mogran’s reserves.”
“I believe the current exchange rate is four hundred voidans to every Silverleaf. Market confidence in Imperial money has dropped and all, but I am prepared to accept Madrocean gold if I have
to.”
“He’s jesting,” Nadali whispered in Daecrynn’s ear.
“Lady Murana, you should know better than to share my secrets with any old stranger from the Everwood,” Kalrys barked in mocked indignation.
“Are you a general or a court jester?” Daecrynn quipped. He reached for his ale, and Nadali followed his lead. “Let me take this off your hands.”
After a short cheer, Nadali lead Daecrynn to a secluded alcove in a hallway adjacent to the central chamber. In the alcove, beneath a bronze statue of Temerre Linean, a legendary admiral of Asutel Thetali's fleet sat a bench. Nadali sat down, and patted the bench to her left side, commanding Daecrynn in their silent dialogue of the eyes. Daecrynn obeyed without protest, letting his arm slip behind her back, and returning their gaze.
"D'nani, I have a small suggestion to make," Nadali said.
"Anything you wish, Nadali," Daecrynn replied.
"We forget the war tonight until tonight’s appointment," Nadali said. "It's just you and me. No Madroceans, no politics. I won't let you forget your appointment, but we deserve this."
"Sounds like a reasonable suggestion," Daecrynn ceded with a wry grin, as he raised his ale mug. "I'll just have to practice a modicum of temperance. Shall I declare this blessing?"
"By all means, d'nani," Nadali said as she lifted her mug.
"To us. That the bond we share tonight never goes broken, but remains a constant strand of beauty and joy anchored at the end of time," Daecrynn said, returning to the dialogue of the eyes.
Their mugs clinked together, and they swiftly gulped down their first taste of ale for the night, and placed the mugs at their sides, before their lips came together again for a tender kiss.
In a sudden burst of sound, all of the instruments in the adjacent central chamber chimed in a perfect chord, which swiftly erupted into a fey song of springtime. A small chorus of six women broke into the Song of Nar Tafyddon, a song-story of the warrior Nar Tafyddon's epic struggles against the Ice King of ancient Taergeni legend. Nadali and Daecrynn in reluctance stood up and joined hands to rejoin the festivities.
XX.
The Scrying Sphere
The smell of incense added a gentle fragrance to the otherwise stale air beneath the central tower of Li’istrani. The room was circular, with no visible exits in any direction. In the center of the room, a large globe of glass permeated with violet-blue static electrical energy from within. In ivory robes, Rayelle Anda’raén stood in observation of the energy patterns inside the sphere.
Patterns of electrical energy slowly coalesced into images of distant places and people. Near the top of the globe, the image of a massive army marching under the cloak of night over green rolling grasslands materialized. Below and left, an extravagant ball took place in a palatial chamber, with Taergeni nobles dancing in formal wear, and at the center of the floor, the High Prince of Tarligean danced closely with his beloved Nadali.
“Disaster,” Rayelle gasped. “Syphoryx Nas, show me the expected results of the existing events.”
The glass globe defaulted to random static momentarily, and then several images came into view. A fiery mushroom cloud, followed by another flashed. A stone city covered in ivy fell down the cliff it was built upon in a landslide, and into the ocean.
“Andriel will fall into the sea,” she whispered in horror.
The Royal Navy of Tarligean was adrift at sea under blackened skies. In distant barbarian lands, the survivors died out in war, famine, and bizarre circumstances. A bearded human in a silver crown wielded Oro’quiel, drawn from an anvil.
“Stop!” she commanded.
The images returned to random patterns of static energy.
“Syphoryx Nas, where in Verduhn is Isendriel?” Rayelle demanded.
Nothing appeared in the globe, save for a dull red flashing glow.
“Bloody literal machine!” Rayelle snapped. “Where is Isendriel?”
The energy coalesced into the image of Isendriel wandering in the gardens outside of the palace in Namakiera, staring southward with worry.
“At least he’s watching over them,” she sighed.
She raised her fist upward, and opened her hand. The southern end of the room opened, revealing a staircase. With haste, she rushed up several floors into her study. She sat at her polished redwood desk, and touched a glowing pink crystal sitting upon it.
“Servant,” she addressed the crystal. “Send a message to Isendriel that the High Prince is to be sent to me when Namakiera falls again.”
XXI.
Festivities’ End
Daecrynn and Nadali returned from the dance to the private corner of the Festival chamber, holding hands and exchanging glances. As Nadali opened her lips to speak, a royal servant interrupted them.
"A refill for yours and your lady's wine, Sire?" he asked.
Nadali glared at the servant, and paused to regain her composure. She gave Daecrynn a glance of disagreement with the idea.
"I have some important business to attend after the festival. You may retire and join the festivities if you wish," Daecrynn said.
"As you wish, milord," the servant said.
The servant walked away, swiftly shifting his posture from formal to informal as he strode gleefully to the bar. Nadali returned her gaze to Daecrynn.
"We should retire as well," Nadali mused. "I would like to spend some time with you before you have your talk with the Madrocean."
"I think yours is the fitter mind between us," Daecrynn said with a mischievous grin. "To the gardens?"
Nadali's eyes widened. "The gardens? Do you know what happens in the gardens at this time of night?"
Daecrynn said, "Probably nothing. Everyone in Tarligean is at a festival tonight, unless they are..."
Nadali interrupted, "Off in the gardens with their lovers!"
"I see your point," Daecrynn ceded. "All the more reason to go there!"
"I believe that you failed to maintain your oath of sobriety, Lord Tuvitor," Nadali chided.
Daecrynn playfully pinned her against the wall, and kissed her. "Such insolence!" Daecrynn exclaimed playfully. "To the gardens?"
"I will choose the walkway this time," Nadali replied, glaring playfully at Daecrynn.
Hand in hand, they walked the length of the southeastern hallway from the central chamber, and then down a set of stairs leading under elevated walkway covered in ivy. Surrounding them were shrubs in stone planters, with dark green leaves, and dark red flowers. Tyn'utaen were a thorny bush, much like a rose, that bloomed three times a year in three different colors. In winter, they would bloom dark red, in spring they would bloom yellow, and in late summer they would bloom white. The floral scent was understated, as recent rains had recently poured through here and into the garden aqueducts that ran alongside the walkways. At a circular promenade at a bend in the walkway, a bench was placed next to blooming Tyn'utaen.
"I want to remain your beloved forever," Nadali said. "I want to give myself to you as your wife. Will you give yourself to me?"
Daecrynn's eyes lit up in wonder, "But aren't you betrothed to the Prince of Tuitari?"
"He knows I cannot give myself to him," Nadali said. "A High Prince is generally betrothed also, am I mistaken?"
Daecrynn paused thoughtfully before answering. "Dae'nys of the House Tartali is my betrothed. I believe she is still in Tuitari with my adopted family. She's always been as a sister to me however, and—"
"Cellan and I," Nadali said reflectively. “Well he is like a brother to me as well, in a way.”
Daecrynn stopped himself, and gazed into her eyes. He gently ran the tips of his fingers alongside her cheek, and nodded slowly as his fingers trailed along her lips. "I promise myself to you then, Lady Nadali. By Rhia'li's touch we shall be blessed," he said. "You will be my High Queen."
Almost at the very moment they leaned in to kiss, Nadali and Daecrynn paused, as they detected the distant roaring sound of stampeding cavalry, followed by the sound of someone c
loser, running frantically.
"Lord Daecrynn, we are in the path of an invading army from Madrocea! The greater bulk of the Emperor's legions and all five of their cavalries are on their way right here, now!" Isendriel shouted, as soon as he was in range to see the High Prince and his newly engaged beloved.
Daecrynn turned swiftly, and stood up, spinning around to face Isendriel. As his hand instinctively touched Oro'quiel's hilt, it began to emit a high pitched tone.
"I shall call off the celebration at once!" Daecrynn cried. His eyes met with Nadali's. Nadali nodded softly in unspoken reply.
The Legacy of Tirlannon: The Freedom Fighter Page 14
