The Legacy of Tirlannon: The Freedom Fighter

by Daniel Gelinske

  Looking up, Nadali argued. “Perhaps the one who harvested this tree was a former soldier, but the army in Namakiera has been Madrocean for the last seven years.”

  “But they’re all cut like this,” Kalrys rebutted. “Gentle, clean cut waves across the grain of the wood with a very sharp blade. Every last branch harvested since we passed that large green rock back there has been cut exactly like this.”

  “I see,” Nadali conceded. “But where are you going with this?”

  “It looks to me to be the building of a resistance movement, milady.”

  “That’s quite a supposition,” Nadali said. “But they are probably no friends of the Empire, whatever their purpose. Let’s go find them!”

  “Milady, hold!” Kalrys shouted, running after Nadali. “We do not want to make too much noise!”

  Turning around, Nadali countered, “Cellan told me at the Spring Gathering last year that he wanted to help with the resistance in Namakiera. I thought he was crazy, and I told him as such, but his mind was set. Maybe he’s with them now!”

  “Yes, but with all due respect milady—if Cellan is with them right now, then the resistance is very small. Perhaps you should hope that he isn’t there, but elsewhere working with many others ready to topple Governor Mogran.”

  “Good point,” Nadali acknowledged, taking a deep breath to damper her exuberance. Slowing down, she pushed through some brush in an overgrown part of the trail. “Damn you and your good points!”

  They spirited down the canyon trail, and as the dark night turned to black, and the flames of their camp began to die, an elf in a black cloak greeted Nadali with a long dagger at the throat.

  “I have two very important questions for you, Lady of the Taergeni. What are the colors of the Standard of Namakiera, and what are the colors of the banner of the realm that rules over Namakiera?”

  “Red and white are the colors of Namakiera’s ensign, Green, white, gold and jade are the colors of the Standard of the High Kingdom,” Nadali responded lowly.

  The scout sheathed his dagger, and looked to Nadali. “Merry Jackals are meeting tomorrow beneath the Silver Willow. I hope to see you there.” He turned and started walking down the trail. “You are welcome to join us in the harvester’s camp tonight. We are of the Bowyers’ Guild, and we arm the new Tarligean.”

  “I am a refugee of the city of Fidralinia,” Nadali divulged, as Kalrys approached from behind. “This is Kalrys, a masterful kae’ym player and a friend of mine. My name is Eliana.”

  “I am Threstan.”

  “Well met,” Kalrys greeted the scout. He leaned over behind Nadali and said in her ear, “See—a resistance!”

  Nadali elbowed him sharply in the rib. “That’s great, now stop gloating!”

  As they passed through the trees, the dying embers of the campfire became clear. Between the large growths of small, slender birch trees, was a clearing about ten meters wide. Five tents stood in the clearing, and a group of three elves sat around the embers, rubbing their hands.

  “When I get back to the bar, remind me to replace the barrels of Naledune with the Timaedi Vintage we got in the basement,” a darker haired elf of a larger build said to Threstan. “And who are these strangers?”

  “Eliana and Kalrys of Fidralinia,” Threstan introduced them.

  “Kalrys,” the dark haired one said, thoughtfully. “I’m glad you made it out of there alive.”

  “Excuse me?” Kalrys asked.

  “General Kalrys Kretali, military advisor to the mighty King Threis of Andule, are you not?”

  “How would you—“ he paused, “come to such a conclusion about me?”

  Smiling, the dark elf explained. “I am Calwain. I know anyone who comes in and out of the Resistance. The nobles and generals from all over Tarligean have been joining our little group in large numbers of late. I think the war is about to begin.”

  “The war?” Nadali asked.

  “The Independence War to re-establish the High Kingdom of Tarligean,” Calwain revealed. “In fact, I am wishing that the rumored heir of Meldehan the Brave would show up to do to the occupation what they say he did to fifty bounty hunters who ambushed the rogue house he was hiding with.”

  Kalrys and Nadali exchanged a knowing glance.

  “Fifty you say?” Nadali queried. “I doubt we will see him in Namakiera any time soon. If I were him, I’d be hiding somewhere very far from here, like the Deep West.”

  “You are probably right,” Calwain chuckled. “I can make wishes though, no?”

  “Indeed you can,” Nadali sang, as she sat down on a nearby log.

  VI.

  A Hostage Unbound

  “Amidst a sea of enemies can be wise refuge, upon occasion,”

  –Asutel Thetali

  The sky was black. In the distance, the thunder rolled lowly. Daecrynn carefully trod through a crossing over Keisadi Creek, a small brook in the deep Tuitari forest. In his mind, a melodic tune of merrymaking played along. He spied subtle markers denoting the recent movement of the Tartali camp. A pile of eight broad leaves were placed under a fir tree. A freshly uprooted long blade of grass was placed under a stone beneath brown fir needles, barely peeking out the bottom. He weaved between the trees and around overgrown clusters of bramble, over a hill, and down into a small vale. His pace picked up, until he stopped suddenly at the bottom of an icania tree. Daecrynn picked up two small stones and struck them together, creating a loud click. After a short pause, he heard a click in response. He struck the stones together again, three times in rapid succession. In the distance, the still silence was replaced with people talking at a regular tone level amongst each other.

  As he approached the camp, he could he could hear the word “Sai’ralla” in nearly every conversation. The rain began to fall, sprinkling for a very short moment, and swiftly escalating to a downpour. Two sergeants greeted him as he approached the edge of a tent marked with a diamond crisscrossed with a knot resembling two figure eights tied together in a crossing pattern. The sergeants momentarily wondered at the hilt of the sword in his sheath. They bowed their heads lowly.

  “At ease, soldiers,” Daecrynn hailed. “What is going on?”

  “We have some bad news, sir. But the baby and your mother are safe. They’ve been taken to Ciartha Tuitari to be placed under the protection of Duke Tiardan,” the taller sergeant reported. “Lady Chesreya is gone, milord.”

  “Chesei?” Daecrynn asked, looking out into the wood. “What happened?”

  “She’s been abducted. The bounty hunters took her somewhere. They came in the still of the night, got past our scouts and everything, sir. We failed,” the sergeant explained, distraught.

  “Gah’raen! Anhe Rhia’li!” Daecrynn cursed.

  His eyes glared before him, glazed in tears. He pulled a dagger from his cloak and threw it into a mounted leather shield at the other end of the tent. He hung his head in resignation, and turned to face the sergeants.

  “They were skillful in their stealth, milord. By the time the baby began to cry, long enough to be noticed, they were in and out of here with your sister,” he explicated.

  “That tells me nothing!” Daecrynn barked sharply at the soldiers. “Get out of here, and I will track them myself! I will find them, and I will personally bring her back to camp! Do you understand?”

  “Yes…milord,” he answered, saluting.

  Daecrynn entered the tent and gazed about, looking for any sign that might help him find the bounty hunters before they carried his sister too far. Daecrynn spied a telltale texture difference in a patch of the throw rug on the floor. Beneath the foot of the dinner table was a small lock of hair. It was coarse and greasy, obviously human in origin. He stormed out of the tent, to the outer edge of the camp, where he slipped between two vines that connected a growth of ivy that climbed three high trees. His eyes scoured the area, looking for broken twigs, footprints, or anything else that the bounty hunters may have left that would betray their path.

/>   He climbed up a hill from its steep side; digging into the wet ground with the tips of his toes, and reached its top. He found nothing. He climbed the tallest tree atop the hill to get a view of the greater area. The rain streaked down his face; his vision was beyond diminished. He could only see the dark sky, and the dark crest of the nearest trees. Mist streaked off the nearest branches.

  A bolt of lightning streaked across the sky, branching out across the heights. Daecrynn noticed that an oak tree the next ridge over was missing. Closing his eyes, he analyzed the afterimage fading from his retina. The oak tree was definitely gone. Without opening his eyes, he dropped to the bottom of the tree, and almost lost his footing as he slipped slightly, awkwardly catching his balance. He sighed deeply, opening his eyes again. He ran down the hill through a cluster of fir trees. A bolt of lightning struck behind him, hitting the very tree that had held him just before. The instantaneous blast of lightning threw Daecrynn forward face-first into the dirt.

  “Yes, even the High Prince must bow down and eat mud from time to time,” Daecrynn thought as he pushed himself up.

  Swiftly, he ran down the ravine between the ridges, and climbed up the next hill. He stopped to study the freshly cut stump of the oak. He looked over to the next bluff, which separated this hill from the Nali River. He saw nothing but blackness as the rain came down. The braids along the sides of his face were unfastening themselves in the downpour. Lightning flickered behind the clouds, but nothing was revealed in the flashes. The afterimage faded away, and he could see nothing.

  ‘Greh,’ Daecrynn cursed.

  He ran down the side of the hill, and stopped as he spied the hint of a reflection in the rivulet of mud flowing under his feet. The sky flashed above him.

  A hair tie; a simple little pink ribbon that said so much was almost concealed by a rivulet of mud making a trail across the forest floor. He listened through the falling raindrops, trying to find patterns beneath the patterns. He turned his head up a hill, and swiftly climbed to the apex, digging his toes into the wet earth to prevent sliding. At the top of the hill, he climbed a tree, and looked into the Nali River valley. A dull orange glow reflected in the bright leaves of a nearby willow, betraying the location of a camp at the banks.

  Daecrynn slid between the trees quietly and gracefully, closing in on the encampment. In the shadows, he passed quietly through the trees that half-circled the camp.

  Chesreya was hung from a tree, bound by her wrists. She stared forward stoically, not betraying any discomfort from her position. He slid between two pines, and crept behind the oak from which she was suspended. Carefully, he pulled himself up onto a branch. He carefully observed a group of bounty hunters, speaking in a low dialect of Madrocean.

  “A Tuvitor heir, and she was that easy,” an older man bragged. “We are all very wealthy now.”

  “We are going to Matae, and we are going to live as kings,” a grungy man declared.

  “It is time to drink!” a bald Madrocean shouted between laughs.

  Daecrynn carefully scooted down the very branch where Chesreya hung. He leaned over, and gently touched her hand. She turned her head up, and looked Daecrynn in the eye, nodding subtly, as Daecrynn retreated into the foliage of the tree.

  “Guard! Yes, I’m talking to you, you swine violating piece of dragon dung!” she shouted in Taergeni. “I will tell you exactly what you want to know about the location of the other Tuvitor who slaughtered those bounty hunters. You can double your fortunes, you worthless dog eating vomit spew!”

  “Shut your savage mouth, tree-bugger!” the bald Madrocean spat.

  An arrow plunged into his throat, and through it, as he dropped to his knees. Freed, Chesei was holding the sides of the branch from which she was bound. As the other two bounty hunters stood and drew their swords, arrows pierced their hearts. Daecrynn threw a dagger into the heart of the soldier whose larynx had been violated, finishing him.

  Chesreya swung her body forward, and pulled herself to the top of the branch with the momentum. Finally on her feet, she greeted Daecrynn with a hug.

  Daecrynn and Chesreya traveled over-branch through a densely grown region of woodland. They climbed up a small mountain amidst the hilly parts of Tuitari to a building called a ‘listening post’ atop the mountain. It was a strange place, a very sturdy building known only to the Tartali clan. On top of it, it had an odd ornament; a tree made of iron or steel, extended about forty feet, with evenly spaced branches. It was especially enigmatic because on its own, the insides remained warm in the winter, and cool in the summer. Daecrynn opened the door, and Chesei followed him inside.

  “They say the Cirethians abandoned this place when father ran them out of Tarligean back in the first war with them,” Daecrynn said. “I never knew him, but I’ve always wondered—they say he was stronger than a thousand elves. Somehow I doubt that.”

  “Many people like to exaggerate,” Chesei said. “And others propagate it because they believe. Tall tales aside, your father was a great man.”

  Daecrynn’s contemplated this, searching the post for any supplies that may have been left over the years.

  “The elders say we are returning to Andriel in a year,” Chesei said. “My father’s crazy. I doubt it is even there now.”

  “Did Kethral tell you of my rite of passage?” Daecrynn asked.

  “He said he believed you would find what you needed,” Chesei said.

  “He sent me to find Oro’quiel,” Daecrynn revealed as he drew the blade from its sheath.

  “Bright Mother! Is that it?” Chesreya asked as her eyes widened.

  “Cryptic promises of a grand responsibility,” Daecrynn trailed off, staring into an observation window. “Constant flight to keep me out of the hands of the Madroceans. It’s been seven years since Ariandi was lost—Tarligean is preparing for war, and I am the one they—“

  “You are your father’s son,” Chesreya interrupted him, placing her hand on his shoulder. “And you are the one with Asutel Thetali’s sword.”

  Daecrynn’s hand gripped the handle, as he closed his eyes. “I know. And my time has come.”

  “So what are you going to do?” Chesei asked.

  “I will hide in plain sight as a common beggar. The Madroceans will gaze upon me and see nothing. In seeing nothing, they will ignore me. I will stab their heart when they show themselves to be unready. Namakiera will return to power, and return to Tarligean. Then we will take Andriel, and our nation will be whole again.”

  “It’s a nice thought,” Chesei mumbled.

  “It is exactly what we have coming to us. Look at how long we have fled from the chains of oppression that the Empire presents to us as progress. Look at how long we have been moving, hiding, and afraid of the invisible enemy. How many times have we been woken in the middle of the night to the words ‘Lae Sai’ralla—only to run from nowhere to absolutely nowhere? This stops now!” He slammed the wall with his fist, and sighed. “Soon, anyways. Fidralinia was attacked as we fled—I imagine their people are scattering about, all because they were more loyal to us than they were to the Madrocean tax collectors and census keepers. They were practically ready to throw me up on their throne and crown me!”

  “When will you be back to us?” Chesei asked.

  “Everything is changed now,” Daecrynn sighed. “But if Kethral says you will be in Andriel in a year—then you will be in Andriel in a year, and so will I.”

  “I’ve always known you would leave camp one day to fight some bloody war,” Chesei said sadly. “You were born in a castle; I was raised in a tent.”

  “We have always been fighting this war. It’s no different, except in this—instead of fighting for our lives, we are fighting for our freedom. Instead of fighting to flee, we are fighting to win,” Daecrynn swore.

  Their discussion dwindled as they grew tired, and eventually they fell asleep on the floor. When morning came, they gathered up some supplies that were stored in a hidden compartment behind a panel in the wal
l. They slipped out of the listening post, and down a hill. They traveled between the trees, weaving around them carefully as to not leave a trail. By early afternoon, they reached the new location of the Tartali camp. People were pitching tents, and building a new kia’tendé or Circle of Discussion, a circle for the elders of the House Tartali. As Daecrynn strode through the camp, many recognized the hilt of Oro’quiel in Daecrynn’s sheath, and marveled.

  Daecrynn reached the tent of Kethral Tartali, and peeked inside. Rihania, the mother of Daecrynn was rocking the infant Treilan in her arms. Daecrynn entered, and Chesei followed. She smiled, and hugged Chesei, then glanced at Daecrynn.

  “You are too old for a mother’s embrace, my son. Your Rite of Passage is complete, and you are a man,” Kethral said with jubilation as he entered the tent. He knelt before the young High Prince. “Not just a man, but a King. I offer you my oath of service as Lord of the House Tartali.”