The Legacy of Tirlannon: The Freedom Fighter

by Daniel Gelinske

  “Osordo?” Daecrynn wondered in his mind.

  “You wish,” Rayelle’s voice echoed within. “Now hurry!”

  Daecrynn tapped his horse in the side with the spur of his boot to prompt it to run. Through his visor, it was clearly the ancient Lady of Anda, with a staff of pure moonsilver and a luminescent blue-violet jewel at the end of it. As he approached her, he stopped his horse. Behind him, Tiardan signaled the armies to pause.

  “So you’re joining us?” Daecrynn asked.

  “I’m glad you made it. You’re late. The Cirethians are already here,” she reported.

  “You said you needed Oro’quiel,” Daecrynn reminded her.

  “But we found the other like it—we have Xendros!”

  Nadali pulled it from its scabbard and presented it to her.

  “You put that back! You should have left it where it was, and told me its location! That blasted thing will be the end of us all!” Rayelle cried, her eyes widening in horror. “Why didn’t you tell me in the dream that you had found it?”

  “You were rather quick to send us home,” Nadali replied.

  “It didn’t come up,” Daecrynn shrugged.

  “I see. Whatever you do, be careful with that thing. We will discuss its destiny after the battle. I wish to brief your men on a few points,” Rayelle requested, her eyes still locked on Nadali’s weapon.

  “Tiardan, listen to her if you will,” Daecrynn charged.

  Tiardan nodded in response.

  “Do you remember how to make the arrows glow green?” Rayelle queried.

  “Something about the blue powder mined in these mountains,” Daecrynn recalled.

  “Something about?” Rayelle sighed. “It’s been just a few months and you already need refresher courses! The invocation of Dayarta Danis, with the components being daerthacite and mistletoe.”

  “Right,” Daecrynn remembered.

  “If you are to be a successful Kestiel, you are going to have to take your magic a little more seriously,” she snapped.

  On Rayelle’s advisement, Tiardan ordered his captains to gather up all the arrows on all the soldiers to bring them together for the invocation. Finding the mistletoe was easy, as it grew naturally in the branches of the silver oak native to the region. Daecrynn had to run but a hundred yards before finding a tree with mistletoe suitable for the ritual. When he returned, one of the captains handed Rayelle a pouch full of the blue powder daerthacite.

  “Come on,” Rayelle prompted, smiling coldly. “I’m not going to let you be lazy here. You are going to cast the spell. The symbolic component is far stronger when cast by the High King.”

  Daecrynn sighed, turning inward to recall one of a countless number of invocations he learned in Rayelle’s learning trance at Li’istrani. He lit an oil lamp to create a small flame.

  “Tugarra talon di’diannan, tembuda telari do’seeliam,” he chanted slowly.

  A visible blue static grew around Daecrynn’s hands, as he emptied the pouch of daerthacite onto the piles of arrows, lances, and spears arrayed before him.

  “Daedari, desan tiavarro, dagharta daelsem tenti’is,” he continued.

  He lit the mistletoe with the lamp. The flame turned from a mundane orange flame to a pure, snow-white glow. A trail of luminescent smoke billowed from the burning mistletoe. He blew the smoke over the munitions. The arrowheads began to twinkle with silvery green flecks of light. He circled the munitions, repeating the chant. The arrowheads began to glow green. He continued the ritual until all the ammunition was enchanted.

  “In this spell is the power to make Cireth’s black armor explode with,” Daecrynn paused. “A spectacular effect!”

  “We will surround the city at nightfall, along the cliff sides beneath the forest canopy,” Tiardan commanded. “The canopy is nowhere near as high as the Everwoods, but will be sufficient for an aerial strike. The Cirethians use that black armor on just about everything, including their ornithopters.”

  XLVIII.

  Starfall

  They had left their horses behind at the pass, as they were not needed in Destriel. A circular valley with high forests lied below, down the Tielsumai Road, which cut beneath the canopy. The cliffs surrounded the city of Destriel, alive with the artificial light of Cirethian glow orbs and light-rods. Great obsidian black ships were docked in the harbor, and more were coming and leaving.

  Quickly, the armies of Tarligean scurried down the mountainsides into the forest to hide below the canopy surrounding the cliffs of Destriel. Daecrynn and Nadali split, in the hopes that their swords would be more effective on two flanks than one. Under the thick forest, they scraped their way using their swords as machetes to pass quickly where no trails existed.

  Above, a whoosh filled the air, followed by a hiss as an ornithopter passed. Looking up, Daecrynn observed the flashing green light on its belly. At his side were two captains, and behind them the fighters of the Tuitari Second Rangers. Daecrynn relayed Tiardan’s plan to them.

  “Okay, from here you will scatter your men to each side. When you reach the edge, every soldier is to climb the highest tree available and prepare their bow for our strike. We will attack on the signal of the lone arrow. It should be visible to everyone. Show no mercy to the Cirethians, and drive them back out to sea. Iach jalli, ilinde tch’leann,” Daecrynn commanded.

  The captains nodded in affirmation, and dropped back to the troops behind Daecrynn. He moved to find a tree suitable for the vantage point. Within minutes, he reached the point where the tree roots protruded from the edges of the cliff, which dropped straight down into the flat area of the valley below. He observed an encampment of armored troops, and four grounded gwyulni. He readied his bow, and scaled the tree to the highest branch that could support his weight.

  At the top of the tree, he could see deep into the city. In the corner of his vision, he glimpsed a white light in the sky. He looked up and beheld a white ring in the sky, pulsating wildly. It was distant, in the heavens themselves.

  ‘The gate of Ra,’ Daecrynn pondered within. ‘I’ve read of that.’

  The ring broke apart in the sky, as Daecrynn wondered, falling to the earth as debris.

  ‘For Cireth, an ill omen,’ he thought. ‘For us—the declaration of the stars themselves.’

  He watched along the cliff’s edge, awaiting Tiardan’s signal. He eyed the grounded ornithopters in range of his longbow, and prepared a volley of arrows.

  A single green-tipped arrow flew from Tiardan’s position some two hundred yards to his left. It coasted through the air for a long time before landing in the hull of an armored tank, which erupted in a brilliant white flame that blasted it to pieces. Daecrynn stood atop his perch, sending four arrows into the grounded gwyulni in rapid succession, destroying them completely as the magic arrows reacted violently with their armor. The men scurried for cover in vain as Daecrynn’s arrows struck them in their armor.

  Twin aircraft were launched from deep inside the city, with more far ahead in reserve on the carrier ships in the harbor. One flew in Daecrynn’s direction. He waited for it to reach a certain point ahead of him, and launched an arrow. It flew over the top of the ornithopter, missing it. The gwyulni swooped upwards, dropping a firebomb on Daecrynn’s position. He dove for an adjacent tree, fell for a distance, and caught a branch. The tree from which he fled was ablaze. Daecrynn rappelled to the ground quickly, rolled down a slope, and hoisted himself up into another tree, climbing swiftly with his bow tucked under his arm.

  When Daecrynn reached the top, most of the west side of Destriel was burning, and a swarm of six fighter craft were bombing the Taergeni attackers. A sea of green lights drifted into the city, as the relentless assault continued. A squadron of light infantry armed with short bow and sword marched into the city down the Tielsumai Road, advancing the position of the Ishaellar.

  Oro’quiel erupted into song, wailing in a high tone. The scabbard itself seemed to glow. Another low-flying aircraft was approaching fast. Daecr
ynn’s heart palpitated, and sweat dripped down his cheeks. He strung his bow and launched a single arrow, striking its underside. It fell below the top of the tree he stood in, cutting into the branch. Daecrynn dropped to his knees, gripping tightly as his bow dropped from his hands to the forest floor below. He leaped on top of the ornithopter as it freed itself from the thickets of the forest canopy.

  Daecrynn unsheathed Oro’quiel, which shimmered in an almost blindingly bright white light. The ornithopter flew into the city, attempting a crash landing as Daecrynn gripped the edge of its left wing tightly. He plunged his sword through the armor of the aircraft to keep from falling. As he gripped his weapon tightly, his left hand slipped, catching an air vent in the body of the wing. Looking ahead, Daecrynn glimpsed the stone buildings of Destriel approaching swiftly.

  “Pull,” a voice said.

  Daecrynn pulled the sword, still gripping the edges of the air vent with his left hand.

  “Now stand,” the voice commanded.

  As he stood, the ornithopter crashed into the top of the building. Daecrynn was thrown onto its roof, rolling swiftly with the sword pointed away to his side. He landed on his feet. His eyes opened wide. He looked to his left, and beheld Nadali standing in a position mirroring his, Xendros in hand. They exchanged astonished glances.

  “Run and jump,” the voice prompted.

  Daecrynn turned forward and sprinted to the ledge of the roof, leaping. Behind him, the building he stood upon moments before crumbled into rubble as a distant ornithopter fired a highly focused beam of green light at it. Daecrynn slid down the heap of rubble, and turned onto his stomach. As the building’s collapse subsided, he found himself on his feet again, facing upwards. His arm swiftly jerked upwards on its own, dispersing a beam of green energy. The ornithopter swooped over the building across the rubble-filled street. Nadali rappelled from a rooftop of an adjacent building still standing. She motioned to Daecrynn to follow.

  He checked his quiver. It was about halfway full, with twenty arrows tucked away. Nadali charged toward Destriel’s palace quarter, and Daecrynn followed. The boarded-up stone buildings along the narrow street were covered in overgrown thickets of kudzu ivy. The street was barely wide enough for one wagon to pass through. Above, ornithopters and arrows streaked over the narrow sky between the buildings. They charged up the sloped street, sprinting as fast as they could over the muddy cobblestones.

  The palace quarter was well guarded, as it had become a command center for the Cirethians in control of the city. Guards in black armor stood at the front gate. Daecrynn noted that the guardsmen wielded the same style of weapon Oro’quiel’s winged guardian at Witches Peak had used—a lightning staff that fired bolts of green light-energy. The soldiers walked along the archer’s walk atop the palace quarter walls. Over most of the city, the gwyulni had been routed. Another formation of three were launched from the carriers at the harbor, moving toward the fray. Nadali and Daecrynn were alone, as most of the forces were nearly half a mile to the west, focusing their fire on the strongest concentrations of Cirethian forces.

  * * *

  Mozan Thade had been governor of Destriel for less than two days, and the elves of Tarligean had already done massive damage in their onslaught. Outside his chamber, he could hear the wails and battle cries, the buildings collapsing, and the Basilisk tanks exploding. He arranged three glass spheres on the floor and stood between them. He spoke toward a polished white wall.

  “This is Governor Mozan Thade to Kith. We are under attack. The force of this attack was far higher than anticipated. I require an immediate audience with the Thoth,” Mozan addressed the wall.

  The screen illuminated with a dull blue glow and flickered. An image formed of Da’at Set sitting in the throne of the Thoth.

  “I am afraid that our dear Thoth is unavailable, and I don’t expect that to change anytime…ever,” Da’at Set replied coldly.

  “What do you mean unavailable?” Thade demanded, suddenly paralyzed with a feeling of dread.

  “I mean that he’s dead. I don’t expect him to be alive again anytime soon, Governor,” Da’at Set specified.

  “If you are in charge then, I beg of you, please send us reinforcements at once, or at least another fleet that we may retreat safely,” Thade pleaded in desperation.

  “The only option you have is Eternity. Do you understand?” Da’at Set uttered, folding his arms.

  “Eternity. Into the Light of Eternity I shall take this city. By the fires of the atom shall this tainted land be purged,” he replied, as his eyes glazed over.

  “Excellent,” Da’at Set sang smugly as the communication ended.

  * * *

  “In through the gate, and be swift,” the voice prompted Daecrynn.

  “It’s guarded by,” Daecrynn rebutted.

  “Swift,” it asserted, interrupting his speech.

  Nadali pushed ahead to melee with one of the guardsmen. Quickly, Daecrynn lunged into the fray. The Cirethian soldier brandished his phaseblade and swiped at Daecrynn. He blocked the charge with the broad side of Oro’quiel. A brilliant shower of sparks erupted from the contact point of the two blades.

  In broken Taergeni, the guardsman cried, “This cuts through titanium like butter! What in the underworld is your sword made of?”

  “Magic,” Daecrynn boasted.

  He kicked the guard in the chest, slamming him into the gate. He pulled an arrow from his quiver, and impaled the chest of the guard. Around the puncture, the armor burst into flames. Daecrynn struck at the gate’s lock with Oro’quiel, cutting through its chain in a shower of orange sparks. Nadali kicked the gate open, and they charged up the long stone staircase leading into the palace. Daecrynn’s arm jerked to the side, as Oro’quiel deflected sniper fire from the roof top. Behind him, loud explosions filled the air with a thunderous cacophony. The armies of Tarligean were approaching the palace quarter.

  * * *

  Just yesterday, Mozan Thade questioned the wisdom of the order to bring this horrible device of annihilation into a land so rich with resources, so lush with life. Now he questioned nothing. He raced down the stairwell from the Chamber of War where his office was situated into the armory where the dreaded Light of Eternity was stored. Nobody knew this weapon had been used in the far away land of Xathos, where a city was vaporized. Never had he known it was used before then. He approached the guards.

  “I require the Light of Eternity,” Mozan commanded in a low monotone.

  “Surely it hasn’t come to this,” the guardsman protested.

  “Silence! This order comes straight from the highest tower in Kith,” Thade cried out, his face twitching rapidly.

  One of the guardsmen quickly turned to the vault that stored the small silvery globe. A sigil was inscribed into the top of the device. The guardsman handed the device to Thade, as a green-tipped arrow struck him. The other guard raised his rifle at Nadali. She countered, lunging at him and taking him to the ground, swiftly disarming him.

  “Into the light of Eternity I shall take this place; by the fires of the atom shall this land be purged,” Thade chanted as his face twitched and his body shuddered.

  As Daecrynn entered the room, Oro’quiel flashed rhythmically with a blue and white light, followed by a red and white light. The governor squinted sharply, covering his eyes. The light of Oro’quiel grew brighter; the tempo of its color shifts rising in frequency. Thade dropped to his knees, and tears flooded his eyes. He cried in horror. He dropped the terrible device on the floor, which rolled into the wall with a gentle thud.

  “I…surrender,” the governor stammered.

  XLIX.

  The Captain

  The last of the ebon vessels had disembarked, leaving whatever stragglers unable to retreat with the bulk of the forces stationed in Destriel to surrender or die. Many chose surrender, and many chose death. The fleet began their retreat, believing the easiest path would be Point Bast at the southern tip of the Cirethian subcontinent. The ships rushed
to escape, routed from the south by a mighty vessel with an ivory white hull, and a vast array of nine sails and masts that climbed into the sky. The great white ship fired a volley of cannon fire at the Cirethian ships. At the top of the white warship’s highest mast, the red, white and gold colors of the Madrocean Empire fluttered vigorously in the wind.

  On the deck of the Cirethian battle cruiser Vorkuta, the crewmen scrambled as their Madrocean allies fired upon them with their own technology. Rapid-fire cannons chiseled away at their hull, and light-beam weapons took pot shots at the armaments of their ship.