An Epic Factory Publication
©2010, 2013 Daniel Gelinske
All rights are reserved under the International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. Published independently in the United States, and printed by Lulu.Com, Incorporated. Copying and distribution are restricted to the express written consent of the author. The Legacy of Tirlannon and all original creations therein are the sole property of Daniel Gelinske.
This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living and dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
For more information on the world of Tirlannon, visit www.tirlannon.net or mail the publisher at [email protected]
ISBN: 978-1-4116-5339-9
RID: #001-0004.2E
Fourth Edition, Second Printing (eBook Edition)
February 2013
Table of Contents
Cycle One: Terei's Wail
I. Rite of Passage
II. Flight Into Fidralinia
III. An End To Slumber
IV. Flight and Departure
V. The Canyon Trail
VI. A Hostage Unbound
VII. The Silver Willow
VIII. Cardalia
IX. The Road To Namakiera
X. The Initiation of Daecrynn Tuvitor
XI. Toil and Trouble
XII. A Revelation
XIII. Changing of the Guard
Cycle Two: The Hidden Road
XIV. The Ivory Tower
XV. The Imperial Prince
XVI. Rayelle's Study
XVII. The Elder Sage
XVIII. The Blooded Blade
XIX. Solstice Night
XX. The Scrying Sphere
XXI. Festivities’ End
XXII. The Dragon Tamer
XXIII. Terthian's Wheel
XXIV. Li'istrani
XXV. The Heights of Mindule
XXVI. The Hanged Man
XXVII. Order of the Divine Helix
XXVIII. The Trance
XXIX. The Laboratory
XXX. An End to Philosopher-Kings
XXXI. The Wilting Daffodil
Cycle Three: The Kestiel
XXXII. Spring's Dawn
XXXIII. Insurrection
XXXIV. The Call of Xendros
XXXV. The Page of Swords
XXXVI. The Emrishari Passage
XXXVII. The Messengers
XXXVIII. On Order of the Emperor
XXXIX. Needless Bloodshed
XL. New Dawn
XLI. The Caerthe Kethel
XLII. A Brief Respite
XLIII. Like Moths to a Flame
XLIV. Distant Thunder
XLV. The Voice of Li’istrani
XLVI. The Light of Eternity
XLVII. Sumai Pass
XLVIII. Starfall
XLIX. The Captain
L. The Question of Xendros
LI. A Union of Souls
LII. Summer's Dawn
Appendix One
Appendix Two
I.
Rite of Passage
‘My children, the rest of the world are your children. Do not trouble their minds with knowledge and reason. Let their mythologies be your explanation. Know their superstitions; and become them. Raise the scepters of their gods and they shall worship and obey rightly. This is the legacy I bequeath to thee, o glorious Cireth!’
–Kadaam Nashanti, the Barbarian World.
Swerving around the trunk of a small evergreen, the young elf paused, wincing slightly as the fir-needles brushed against his cheek. He listened carefully for the sounds of his pursuers, whose very presence had angered him beyond words. Enraged, he recalled the words of his elder brother echoing from a day as dark as this one—the last day he saw Ariandi alive.
‘This isn’t the end. A time will come when you will stop running, raise your blade and fight—and when it comes, you will not lay your sword down until what belongs to you is in your hand, and every last grain of Tarligean's soil is free of the gah'raen.'
The Madrocean invaders closed in on his position; rough men with hardened leather chestplates and stringy dark hair. In their hands they wielded sword and crossbow, poised for attack. The elf gritted his teeth, and pushed a golden braid out of his eye with his shoulder. In his mind, the voice of his stepfather countered his brother’s.
‘You are far more valuable to us alive. We cannot risk you being captured or murdered by bounty hunters. Do not fight back, just run as far as you can when they come,’ Kethral had warned him.
‘Not this time, father,’ he responded in his mind. He was through running from these invaders in a land he knew belonged to his people. He drew his twin shortswords, and lunged from behind the tree, directly in front of them.
“Gah’raen,” he addressed the Madrocean hunters with a snarl. In their language, he continued. “You have no place here.”
“Oh look,” the hunter mocked in Madrocean, emulating the young elf’s accent. “The fairy child thinks he can speak!” He raised his crossbow to the elf’s chest.
With a fluid motion, the elf swiped his blade, removing the taller Madrocean’s crossbow wielding hand. With a roundhouse kick, he removed the other bounty hunter’s crossbow, which loosed its bolt onto the fir trunk behind the elf.
In clear and precise Imperial Madrocean, the elf continued. “Foolish outlander thinks he can trample through the Everwood, doing whatever the Hades he pleases.” His tone shifted from disdainful to commanding. “You have no place in Tarligean. You have gone too far.”
The taller bounty hunter grasped the stump of his right arm, and cried, “Help!”
The shorter of the two drew his broadsword, and lunged toward the young elf. The elf blocked the broadsword’s chop with one of his blades. Attacking from the side, he stabbed the Madrocean’s torso with his other blade.
“Foolish boy,” his stepfather’s voice echoed from deeper in the wood, breaking up in stressed exasperation. “Run—idiot!”
The young elf bowed toward his incapacitated opponents with a mischievous smile, dove beneath a large bush, and sped down the deer trail behind it. Branches swiped and scourged his face as he ran down the path. Beyond a tall rock outcropping near a stream, he caught up with his camp. They ran together as a large group, encumbered by canvas bags full of their belongings. Behind him, a woman screamed in terrible pain. When the last of the camp passed the elf, he spied three Madroceans carrying off the body of Kidera, an elder in his clan. He drew his blades, and approached them swiftly from behind.
“And where do you think you are taking Lady Kidera,” he demanded.
The men shouted wildly in Madrocean. After a moment of mentally translating, he realized they were crying out bounty prices with much enthusiasm. Ten thousand Imperial Seals, or voidans on the head of every dead or captured member of the rogue Taergeni elven house Tartali; one hundred thousand on the head of any who answered to the name of Tuvitor.
The elf ran toward the encumbered one, and drop-kicked him in the stomach. Falling onto his back, the Madrocean dropped Kidera to his side. The elf’s arms moved side to side as he swiped at the other two foreigners. His body swayed back and forth as the men took turns at swiping back to him with their broadswords, but with a lucky stab followed by a lucky slash across the larynx, the young elf cut the throat one of the Madroceans, and pierced the heart of another. A crossbow from the third bounty hunter pressed against the young elf’s neck.
Capturing a glimpse of the necklace draped over the elf’s collarbone; a symb
ol comprised of a knot tied around a silver square, he paused in recognition.
“Interesting little pendant,” sneered the bounty hunter. “I suggest you drop your little blades and surrender.”
Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth as his body twitched in a final moment of surprised agony. Behind the bounty hunter, Kidera stood up, swaying dizzily. She was critically maimed, bleeding from her abdomen. Glossy eyed, she pushed the arrow she pulled from her own body into the mercenary’s heart.
Sheathing his blades with shaky hands, the elf spoke up. “You almost captured quite the bounty; for I am Daecrynn Tuvitor, and whatever you had gained in your adventures, you don’t get to carry it with you to Verduhn.”
Having left the Madroceans behind, he carried Kidera up the trail for what seemed a long distance; beneath the ever-present shadow of the high forest canopy. His legs burned, and his arms felt raw on the inside from fatigue, as he spied a differing shade of brown from the foliage in the distance—the color of the clan’s large canvas tents. Kidera breathed sporadically, coughing and gurgling up blood with baneful frequency. The bandages Daecrynn had wrapped around her were completely soaked through. Daecrynn sighed sadly, remembering the many times Kidera had taken care of him as he grew up. He held onto her tightly as he slid off the trail down a cliff-side into the camp along the shores of the river. Kethral’s tent was already erected, and the camp’s soldiers were already in a position of guard. He carried her into Kethral’s tent and laid her gently on the five elk-hides sewn together into a rug at the center of the tent.
Kethral walked into the main area of the tent from behind a woolen partition that separated his private quarters. He frowned in anguish as he glanced at Kidera. She stared upwards idly, her gaze growing pale and distant.
“She saved me,” Daecrynn whispered, the wells of his eyes on the brink of overflow.
Kethral dropped to a knee beside Kidera, and he looked into her eyes. Gently, he clasped her right hand before speaking. “Kidera, can you hear me?”
Kidera returned to the fringes of consciousness, her eyes locking onto Kethral's. “He is ready. His spirit glows; it's ready.”
Kethral nodded somberly as he placed her hand on her chest. He looked to Daecrynn and back to Kidera as her eyes closed. Her body relaxed as her spirit was released. He closed her eyes with his left hand, his right hand over his heart.
Daecrynn couldn't hold back the weight of his tears any longer. They streaked down his cheeks. He clenched his fists, and grimaced tightly. “Why? You didn't need to die to save me,” Daecrynn cried woefully.
“Don’t be a fool!” Kethral exclaimed. “She was already dying. I saw her when the humans captured her. Saving your life took the vanity from her death and allowed her to be buried with dignity. She will be at peace now.”
Kethral gazed upward, placing his hands over his heart. Daecrynn stared back down at his aunt, his tears unabated. Kethral uttered an ancient chant of passing.
“From stardust these vessels sculpted, from starlight our souls ignited; may this soul again illuminate, to reflect the light of Rhia'li. Life to life, may you be born anew.”
After a period of woeful silence, Kethral spoke again. “Gather your things. Prepare to travel alone. Tonight, we talk.”
Kethral wiped a tear from his cheek, and stood up. He pushed the tent-flap aside and walked out, as a younger girl with long braided hair and a somewhat chubby face pushed him aside to enter. The child spied Daecrynn standing over Kidera, and she gasped. Sealing her eyes in disbelief, she darted behind the woolen partition.
“Chesreya!” Daecrynn cried.
As he stepped over to the partition, she sobbed. “How can they keep doing this? Why don't they leave us alone?”
“Kidera outlived the hunters,” Daecrynn said gravely.
“They still killed her! She's still dead!” she shouted in anguish.
“They will pay. Those Madrocean pigs that put the bounty on us will pay. I swear it,” Daecrynn pledged bitterly.
“A—a bounty?” Chesreya asked between tears.
“Yes. A large one, Chesei,” Daecrynn revealed. “The highest one being on us three.”
An infant in a cradle cried.
“Chesreya stood up, and approached the cradle, lifting an infant out of it. She rocked him back and forth.”
“It's okay Treilan. Your big brother killed those bad men,” Chesreya cried softly.
“Not without Kidera's help,” Daecrynn corrected.
“Daecrynn and auntie Kidera killed those bad men,” Chesreya wept.
Daecrynn's mother entered. She had a lithe build, regal features, dark hair with a golden cast, and deep green eyes. She was clothed in a violet dress embroidered with starred patterns. From her ears dangled two long golden earrings.
Daecrynn turned to his mother, staring at her with a gaze of disbelief. She returned his gaze, expressing a reserved confirmation. Daecrynn turned away as he realized the time had come. He stood, glanced back at Chesreya in sorrow, and stepped behind the partition sectioning off his quarters from the rest of the tent. He paused as he realized that his belongings had been strewn about in a ramshackle series of piles by whatever elf was responsible for his possessions during the confused flight from the last campsite. After pausing momentarily to take a quick inventory of what was left, he filled his larger satchel with a few basic needs. He wanted to travel light and survive by his means. He fitted his scabbards with a pair of j'haene, a thin-bladed shortsword with a long handle. He picked out an olive green cape and hood that would blend well into either woodland or field, should he need camouflage. Daecrynn strapped a simple rune-etched shortbow to his back, which he had crafted of dark walnut the previous summer. He gathered some other miscellaneous survival gear, and carefully arranged it in his satchel. Finally, he hoisted it over his shoulder and stepped out of the tent.
By the time his boots touched earth, the sun had already dropped below the horizon across river from the encampment. He walked down a short trail to the southern end of the camp. Waiting at the base of the incline, Kethral gazed thoughtfully at the passing waters of the river.
“The mystic Isendriel once said that upon death, we Taergeni can see the spiritual world as if it were as solid and real as this one,” Kethral said, staring up to where the evening star's light began to pierce through the blue.
“What does that mean?” Daecrynn asked.
“I'm not exactly sure,” Kethral paused. “Your older brother was the last Kestiel, the last High King. He was the elder son of Meldehan, as you were the younger. You are the last survivor of the Kestiel's Line, Daecrynn. And you have made it clear that you can no longer run away, that your very being is poised to fight back. You are ready to represent your line.”
“Perhaps this is what the Madroceans are afraid of,” Daecrynn responded, pausing briefly. “The bounty on my head is up to one hundred thousand voidans.”
“If by chance you were to recover the sword of the first Kestiel,” Kethral pondered. “Oro'quiel. The Madroceans would have far more to fear, for sure.”
“What makes you think Thetali's sword still exists?” Daecrynn inquired.
“The only sword like it—Xendros—was lost to us when your brother was slain on the battlefield of Cassadina. If the Madroceans had taken it, then our only hope would lie in Oro'quiel,” Kethral explained.
“And where exactly would I look for Oro'quiel,” Daecrynn asked with incredulity.
“You could begin your search wherever it was that Asutel Thetali was last seen. The tales of his last battle all point to his disappearance in the area of Witches Peak, where he fought the six Ghost Dragons. They, like Thetali and his sword haven't been seen since,” Kethral replied.
“Over nine centuries ago.”
“A friend of the family confided in me two nights ago that Oro'quiel is out there somewhere, just waiting for the right person to find it.”
“What friend? The only strangers I've seen this last week were th
e gah'raen.”
“You haven't met her yet. I would be quite surprised if you never did however,” Kethral replied. “Your quest of passage is to retrieve Oro'quiel. Upon finding it, your destiny will unfold.”
“This is like some sort of sick joke,” Daecrynn protested with a scowl. “There is no way I am going to find that sword!”
“I would not jest tastelessly in light of Kidera's passing over,” Kethral replied quietly, shaking his head.
In resignation, Daecrynn bit his lip and sighed, “You are right. You would not.”
“My son, I believe in you. In my heart I know you will be a lord of Tarligean likened unto your true father,” Kethral said.
“I barely remember him,” Daecrynn lamented.
“And I am unable to forget him, especially after seeing you stand up to those bounty hunters today. He would be proud of you,” Kethral reflected.
“So I'm supposed to go find Oro'quiel. You wish me to push the mountains of Tarngor over Cardalia while I am at it?” Daecrynn muttered.
“Believe in yourself, Daecrynn. Believe in yourself as I do. I know in my spirit that you shall not only find Oro'quiel, but you will unite this land in ways unprecedented since Asutel the Great wielded that sword. Now go,” Kethral instructed.
The Legacy of Tirlannon: The Freedom Fighter Page 1