The Legacy of Tirlannon: The Freedom Fighter

by Daniel Gelinske

  At Daecrynn's side, Tiardan smiled heartily. "Let that be a message to all elves, that today we are truly free. Let that be a message to all who wish to enslave or murder us that their wishes are in vain," he declared.

  In the distance, the sounds of metal battering metal, and the screams of men filled the air. The sky was orange, the sun a copper red, with the columns of smoke rising up from the buildings set ablaze. Ahead, a gathering of men stood, with bloodied swords.

  "The King of the Elves! Kill him!" one of them shouted.

  They charged. On reflex, Oro'quiel seemingly jumped into Daecrynn's hand. Tiardan raised his crossbow, and downed three of the men before they could reach him.

  Nadali caught another group of five behind her. She raised her sword and prepared to take them, when Xendros fell from her satchel. She swiftly spun around, snatching Xendros with her hand, dual wielding the cyvnar of her father and the once-lost Kri'isen blade.

  When the six men approached Tiardan and Daecrynn, their blades were drawn.

  "Take the elvish prince hostage, he is of value to us," one of the Madroceans commanded. "The wrath of the forest is upon us already!"

  "Indeed," Daecrynn remarked under his breath.

  His foot flailed back, kicking two of the men back, as his right arm stabbed backwards, impaling the soldier who ordered his death. Tiardan was caught in a fray between the other three. Daecrynn sheathed Oro'quiel and strung his bow. With a carefully placed arrow in the solar plexus, he removed the largest soldier from his immediate vicinity. He turned to the side, spying Nadali charging with Xendros wielded in a two-handed style. In the corner of his eye, he saw a blue light flicker around Oro'quiel. He looked towards Nadali, seeing the same blue light flickering around her blade before she struck the man at Tiardan's left. The last remaining Madrocean dropped his sword and fled towards the hills outside the gate.

  A cavalry captain trotted through the ruined gate, approaching Daecrynn. "Milord, General, Milady—heralds of the Imperial Banner, one in a snow-white robe approach from the south with haste," he reported.

  "What now?" Daecrynn muttered, glaring forward in annoyance.

  "We don't know, milord," the captain replied.

  "It isn't a whole army,” Tiardan queried. “Perhaps they’ve sent someone to negotiate their surrender.”

  Nadali nodded in agreement.

  "Well, it should be clear to them that the victory here is ours,” Daecrynn replied. “We will accept the messengers.”

  * * *

  The High Prince, Queen of Andule, and General of Tuitari walked through the rubble of the western gate, to where the road curved northwards towards Andriel. Daecrynn gazed upon the fields. The armies of Tarligean were caught up in the spirit of victory as the few remaining Madrocean soldiers were surrendering or fleeing south. A few of the Tanathiel Light Infantry had volunteered themselves as guardsmen for this meeting. Coming over the hills in the south, three horsemen galloped swiftly towards Namakiera. One was adorned in white, and two in armor, bearing the red, white, and gold of the Madrocean Imperial banner. Daecrynn paused, noting that these messengers had come from the Emperor himself, and they had come alone. Behind, more columns of smoke rose as the battle's dead were heaped together in great pyres.

  "Xendros?" Tiardan asked curiously, taking note of Nadali’s newfound sword.

  Nadali furrowed her brow as she sheathed it, "Finding it was unplanned, I assure you."

  "Interesting," Tiardan wondered.

  A horseman in the field moonsilver plate mail armor, bearing the shield of Tanathiel came through the ruined gateway by way of Mitheldia walk. "Milord, the Palace Quarter is liberated," he declared.

  Daecrynn nodded tiredly towards him, removing his helm, revealing his long hair, tied back in a ponytail, with two braids alongside his face, to prevent his hair from falling in his face.

  The sun hung low in the west, shining in a deep red color. The orange sky was to darken soon.

  "Gather up patrol units. Namakiera is large enough to hide many enemies. Patrol the city as well, if any stragglers find them, they may wish to use them the same way we did when we took this city the first time," Daecrynn ordered.

  "Yes milord," he replied, nodding before turning his horse around to trot down Mitheldia Walk to execute his orders.

  More armies approached from the west and south as the evening drew in, the Sylshee Rangers, and the remnant armies of Andule, built from the countryside that the city of Fidralinia presided over. It was clear that the Independence War was won.

  What wasn't clear was the fact that the war was won three days before this bloody battle, and that a greater enemy in the East had its eye on Tarligean.

  XL.

  New Dawn

  “Greetings, sovereign Lord of Tarligean,” Osordo hailed, as he arrived at the ruins of the west gate. “I am Osordo, the Elder Sage of the Madrocean Empire and appointed representative of His Supreme Majesty, Emperor Andron the Second.”

  “Emperor Andron II?” Tiardan wondered.

  “His Valiant Majesty, Emperor Sacchaeus the Fifth died of natural causes four nights ago,” Osordo revealed. “I have come to deliver a message to you, and to whatever Madrocean forces remain in the city.”

  “Those messages would be?” Daecrynn inquired with uncertainty.

  “The Emperor of Madrocea recognizes the sovereignty of all Tarligean to the boundaries that were in place at the start of the reign of your predecessor, the Kestiel Ariandi Tuvitor. He wishes to personally negotiate an accord of mutual and everlasting friendship,” Osordo proclaimed. “I was sent three days ago from Cardalia to deliver this message on his orders; a part of the very first decree of his reign. My orders for all of Madrocea’s forces in Namakiera are to withdraw from Tarligean and await new orders at Fort Lyrem in accordance with His Imperial Majesty’s immediate cease-fire decree.”

  “Three days ago,” Tiardan reiterated. “Then this whole final campaign was unnecessary.”

  “I am afraid so, valiant soldier,” Osordo confirmed. “Such is forgivable your lack of knowledge on the matter. If Emperor Sacchaeus were still alive, we would be negotiating our surrender today.”

  Daecrynn noted the medallion of Hermes, the Madrocean god of knowledge around Osordo’s neck. ‘A wizard and a diplomat,’ he observed inwardly.

  “Without your permission, he shall not pass the border that he had decreed. A meeting has been proposed at the Great Border Tree at the edge of the Province of Alvanea,” Osordo imparted. “There we will discuss the future of Madrocea and the future of Tarligean as more than two sovereign nations—the Emperor wants an alliance.”

  A cold feeling washed over Daecrynn as he considered the hundreds that had died on the battlefield—many by his own blade. He considered the hundreds who would have lived if the plan to reclaim Namakiera had been stalled by one more day. He looked back to the fields and peered over the piles of bodies burning in pyres, and the jovial Taergeni unaware of the vanity in this victory, celebrating over ale and mead.

  * * *

  A page led Daecrynn, Nadali, Tiardan, Osordo and his entourage into a secondary War Room that had been cleared of all battle debris within the Namakiera Palace. At a round table, they took their seats; the Taergeni on one side, Osordo and his company on the other. As the dusk sank into twilight, the glow orbs hanging from the ceiling illuminated the room dimly.

  “Much blood was spilled today—much blood that would have never been spilled had we known of the regime change, and the intentions of the new Emperor,” Daecrynn apologized, opening the negotiations.

  “The Emperor’s wisdom is impeccable. As I have always been, I have followed the will of the Emperors’ with little question. When my counsel was asked for, I gave it freely. When an Emperor declared you his enemy, you were mine as well. I have and always shall stand by the decrees of the scepter of Cardalia. Andron’s wisdom stands out even amongst them. He knows the heart of our people, the heart of yours, and the heart of our common enemy,
” Osordo divulged.

  “Our common enemy?” Daecrynn prompted.

  “The Grand Imperium of Cireth,” Osordo stated plainly.

  “We have been at odds with them for centuries,” Daecrynn affirmed. “Ever since they gave up their call to knowledge and wisdom to follow the brutal philosophies of a charismatic madman.”

  “As a student of the world, past and present, I am well informed on the matters of Tarligean’s history with Cireth,” Osordo articulated. “Are your people as well versed in our history with them as we are with yours?”

  “You know of their innovations over the centuries after the Siege of Kith,” Daecrynn noted.

  “Indeed. You will have to speak directly to His Magnificence before this alliance can be forged. Today the war is over, but perhaps tomorrow the friendship will begin,” Osordo proposed.

  * * *

  The fires died out over the night, smoldering slowly into ash. Frost dusted the grass, broken arrowheads, armor, spears and swords that were strewn about the landscape surrounding Namakiera. Daecrynn wrapped himself in a thick warm zangi cloak, his hood shrouding his face.

  The cavalry of Tanathiel provided Daecrynn and his entourage with their best steeds. Osordo led them south, beyond the edges of the battlefield and into the hills that defined the borderlands between Namakiera and Alvanea.

  When they reached the highlands, the morning sun’s light shone over the rough, brown Tarngor Mountains that had emerged over the western landscape; replacing the plains of Tanathiel and Andule. As the day broke, and the morning frost melted away, Daecrynn slipped off his fur cloak, stuffing it into his saddlebags.

  Daecrynn and his entourage were dressed in ceremonial colors, though looked worse for wear as the scratches and bruises of yesterday’s battle were still apparent.

  By mid-morning, a single Icania tree was visible. It seemed to climb perhaps a quarter of a mile into the sky. Peering farther south, he could see the black tower of Fort Lyrem in the hills that marked the horizon.

  The winds picked up, causing their capes to flutter. Ahead, Osordo charged on to the Border Tree. A small cadre of elite Madrocean guard in ceremonial mail approached the tree, escorting a lone carriage driven by twin silver-haired horses. Just short of the tree’s root, the chariot stopped.

  The sun had almost reached zenith when Daecrynn’s entourage arrived at the Border Tree. Daecrynn and Nadali dismounted on Osordo’s lead, and Tiardan dismounted shortly after. Osordo walked toward the Imperial chariot, opened the door, and bowed lowly. The elves released their horses to pasture.

  Andron required Osordo’s assistance to leave the chariot. He clutched onto a cane of ivory to help him walk. Daecrynn reeled in shock, observing Andron’s empty eye sockets. The eyes that had marked him kindred to Daecrynn were gone, and Andron was blind. Osordo guided him to the meeting place, while the soldiers stood back in the distance.

  Andron opened the negotiations.

  “I have longed to see this day since Fidralinia fell,” Andron confessed. “And it is sad that I never will.”

  “Who did this to you?” Daecrynn cried. “I will have them exiled at once!”

  Andron coughed, and replied in a raspy voice. “It is not necessary. It was a mistake to walk into an elvish city unguarded in a time of war.”

  “It was a valiant gesture, that I was too ignorant to recognize,” Daecrynn lamented, dropping to a knee. “Whatever I can do to atone—“

  “Don’t do that!” Andron snapped, visibly annoyed. “It was a time of war, and I was the emissary of the enemy. In imprisonment, I was treated well, by your explicit command. I cannot hold this against you or your people!”

  As Daecrynn stood, Tiardan whispered in his ear. “Milord, I will personally see to their exile at once.”

  Daecrynn nodded affirmative in Tiardan’s direction.

  “Let us discuss business,” Andron suggested.

  “As you wish,” Daecrynn agreed.

  “Out of fear, three centuries ago Emperor Sartanos the Third wagered the destiny of my nation upon vassalage to the Cirethian Imperium, rather than face the tides of war that the Kestiel Meldehan valiantly stood up to. We were only spared war with Cireth in exchange for our dignity and pride. Instead of our men dying in a righteous struggle against Cireth, they have been dying in wars and at the whims of the Thoth. This ends today,” Andron proclaimed.

  “Well spoken, Emperor,” Daecrynn replied thoughtfully. “After much thought, I have decided not to press the sensitive issue of the Alvanea Secession, but rather respect their right to leave the Ki’ronyx. This may be four centuries too late, but I see no choice but to leave the boundaries exactly as you decreed. I wish the territories under the Province of Alvanea the brightest of futures.”

  “I had feared otherwise, so I am pleased with your decision. As friends, we must present a unified stand in the name of our freedom against the brutality of Cireth. We will share what we know of their current technologies, research, and innovation, which is extensive. All I ask is your unity in spirit. Since Kadaam’s ascension to power, your people have stood firm in your resolve against Cireth. It has paid off in true freedom and independence. With this treaty comes a decree of the absolute sovereignty of Tarligean and Madrocea as nations. Furthermore, we will establish a pact to protect each others’ independence,” Andron decreed.

  Having examined the documents at the table, Daecrynn proclaimed, “I am in full agreement with the terms as stated.”

  Osordo carefully recorded the minutes, and stamped them with the Madrocean Imperial Seal.

  “I require the signature of the Emperor of the Madrocean Empire and the sovereign Lord of the High Kingdom of Tarligean,” Osordo requested.

  Andron took a quill pen, and scribbled a signature on it. He passed the parchment and quill to Daecrynn, who signed it in the Taergeni Atriune, with the sigil of Andriel placed over the Ki’ronyx Star in a stamp beneath it.

  “This Treaty of Alvanea has been signed and ratified at noon-tide on this third day of the Goddess Aphrodite, in the seven hundred and twenty second year of the Sun,” Osordo proclaimed.

  XLI.

  The Caerthe Kethel

  Daende stared southward into the night horizon. At times, under the right conditions he could observe the lights of the city Andriel far to the south. Was this some sort of illusion—the onset of the madness of his exile to the seas for so long? Had Andriel been liberated? Daytime would come soon, and he would sail closer. Then he could use his spectacles to get a closer look. If he could see the Ki’ronyx flying high and proud over the Kestiel’s Palace, then perhaps he could take his crippled vessel into Tola’nei port for the first time in almost eight years. With the forward sail irreparably damaged, a journey back to Lepitua would be dubious at best.

  His eyes caught something definitive. Fireworks! Green streakers climbed into the air over Andriel. His men began to mutter amongst themselves. White streakers soared into the night sky, followed by gold and teal shortly afterward. His eyes widened.

  “Hark!” Daende cried jubilantly. “Andriel is free! We can go home!”

  The crew cheered loudly. Elves in the barracks cabins beneath the deck came up the stairs groggily, their sleep interrupted. They were greeted by the night crew with the news; pointing to the distant fireworks in the far south. Crewmen hung over the deck and shouted cheers, raising their rapiers high in jubilation. Daende ran up to the bridge, and turned the wheel to set a southwards course to Andriel’s port at Tola’nei.

  At the aft, an Ensign peered eastward through a spyglass, as the celebration grew in levels of jubilation on the forward deck. He placed the spyglass into his coat and turned to the front. Carefully he pushed his way through the crowd on deck. The captain raised his wine flask high, toasting the apparent victory in Tarligean.

  “Forgive me for interrupting, Captain,” the Ensign whispered in Daende’s ear. “The celebration in Andriel may be premature.”

  “Always an obstacle,” Daende muttere
d as he handed his wine flask to a crewman. “Show me the way, Elefri.”

  The ensign was a duty-minded officer, and his demeanor and dress showed it, even after almost a decade of isolation. With strong posture, he dashed to the aft section as the captain followed. He pointed to the east, toward what looked like endless miles of vacant, empty sea.

  “Let your eyes adjust, Captain,” Elefri directed. “Then gaze through your wizards’ spectacles. Keep watching and you shall see that it is not distant lightning from a far-off storm, or the reflection of the fireworks in Andriel.”

  Daende held the spyglass to his eyes, staring into the darkness. As his eyes became accustomed to the tenebrous distance, he observed a very distant flash of light. The light flashed again. After five flashes, he realized they were timed perfectly. They continued at even intervals.

  “A strobe signal,” Daende sighed. “A Cirethian fleet signal. I know that we need to have that forward sail repaired as soon as possible, but this is of greater urgency. We need to find out where they are, and where they are going.”