The Legacy of Tirlannon: The Freedom Fighter

by Daniel Gelinske

  ‘He is still in Tuitari, but he now has the sword!’

  He turned from the crystal ball, leaving the chamber of scrying into his study. At his desk, he hastily scribbled out a note. He put the quill down, and walked to the third floor of the University library.

  “I need a messenger!” Osordo shouted into the hallway.

  Quickly, a young student courier ran to his aid.

  “Headmaster?”

  “Take this scroll to His Imperial Majesty, it is urgent!” Osordo demanded.

  “Of course,” the courier said as he bowed to the Elder Sage.

  Above the highest towers in Cardalia, the Imperial Spire reached its pinnacle—the highest tower in all of Madrocea. At the highest level, Emperor Sacchaeus Mezeus Atlas Medaccae stared idly at the ceiling as he slouched back into his throne. After exhaling loudly in boredom, he emptied a flask oftaseun, and exhaled again. A messenger carefully slid into the throne room, past an attendant, and dropped to one knee before the throne.

  “Your Exalted Highness,” the messenger began. “A message from the Elder Sage Osordo.”

  “Osordo,” the Emperor chuckled. “Always good for a laugh. What does that old bastard have to say?”

  An armored attendant tore the scroll from the messenger’s hand, and read to the Emperor. “The son of Meldehan has acquired Oro’quiel.”

  “Give me that!” the Emperor barked, lunging forward and tearing the scroll from the servant. “It doesn’t matter what he has, the entire Legion of Kanaid has been put to the task of destroying that last one. He’ll be dead in days, if he isn’t already. What is this Oro’quiel?”

  “A sword of elven Kings, predating even the founding of Tarligean. The legend says that the first High King wielded it, and it hasn’t been seen since,” the messenger explained.

  “Ancient swords are of no concern to me,” the Emperor spat.

  “We have greater weapons now. Osordo is a rambling old man of no consequence; whose head has been filled with thousands of years of rubbish superstitions. Don’t waste my time with another word of his. Call in my concubines!”

  IX.

  The Road to Namakiera

  “The fate of Anda’s children rests upon the younger son of the Bard. He will be named The Just, but his reign shall end in ruin”,

  –The Quatrains of Rayelle, 7th Cilaera

  In the early evening, Daecrynn left the Tartali camp. Before he could venture far, a girl from the camp caught up with him, running fast.

  “Daecrynn son of Meldehan, hail!” she teased with a giggle, offering Daecrynn a flower. “I come to say good bye and good luck. My heart follows you.”

  Daecrynn accepted the flower from her hand, and kissed her softly on the lips before taking her into a long embrace.

  “Take care of Daeluna and little Raivi, okay? And tell Caivi I will miss hurling with him,” Daecrynn said as a tear escaped his eye.

  “Sure do, flower sweet,” she said sadly, before kissing him again on the cheek.

  Daecrynn sniffled and rubbed his nose, before rubbing his eye a little to hide the tears. He longingly looked back to the camp fifty trees away and sighed as Dae’nys slipped between them to return home. He removed his linen cloak and replaced it with a warmer angora wool lined fur cape. He was going to travel far tonight, to beyond the southern edge of the Everwoods. He swore to himself he wouldn’t rest until he reached Namakiera. His thoughts were filled with the people he left behind him, in the camp, and in Fidralinia.

  Oro’quiel was wrapped in a simple cloth scabbard, the same the poorest of Taergeni might use to sheath their rusty, battered blades. He strapped it to his back beneath his quiver and satchel.

  He traveled southward, up the Nali River following the path of the canyon. A day came and went, as Daecrynn journeyed down the trails Calwain’s men had placed.

  Not long after dawn, Daecrynn was exhausted. His eyes grew dry and heavy. He sat on a rock, and exhaled deeply, looking to the ground. A sharp pain grew in his behind as something small and metal pierced his trousers. Reflexively, he sprung back to his feet. He looked down onto the stone on which he attempted to rest. A silver necklace with an inverted crystal tear pendant; the symbol of the House Murana glinted in the morning light. He snatched it and held it close to his chest.

  ‘Nadali left this for me to find,’ Daecrynn observed.

  Given a second wind, Daecrynn searched the area for any farther signs of Nadali’s fate. At first he feared the worst—that she was captured and the pendant left behind as a message. He distinguished no signs of a struggle, only the many trees carefully pruned for their branches. He spied a circle of stones with old ashes caked into the ground. He noted the half burnt and long-extinguished embers. He found no other evidence of Nadali’s whereabouts, so he assumed that she left it behind for him to find.

  ‘Eliana wouldn’t wear this pendant,’ Daecrynn surmised.

  He rested beneath an oak in a densely grown part of the canyon, and napped for a few hours before continuing south. He reached the city’s northern culvert by the morning of the next day. Guards stood atop the south wall looking inward into the city. He followed the wall toward the western side of the city. The West Gate was the city’s main gate, moving eastward along Mitheldia Walk. He trudged through, bowing his head lowly, between merchants and farmers, wagons and donkeys. The guards ignored him as he passed into Namakiera. Through he heart of the city, he continued down the main street, amidst the traders. He stopped at the central square, where a large fountain was erected. Atop the fountain, a pair of stone feet; a remnant of a statue removed long ago. Benches surrounded the fountain, and in every direction shop tents were being erected. Men and elves, merchants from the south and west hawked their wares. Daecrynn stopped to rest on the bench.

  “Derefin?” he heard a familiar voice in the crowd. “Is that you?”

  His heart leaped in his chest as he stood up and looked around. Nadali stood to his left, adorned in a brightly colored patchwork dress. Within seconds, they were locked into an embrace.

  “Eliana, seems like an eternity since I last saw you!” Daecrynn cried. “How’ve you been?”

  “You know how it goes,” Nadali explained. “Working at the Silver Willow as a barmaid, paying the tax man. The usual sort of thing. And you?”

  “I need work. The farm is all dried up,” Daecrynn said, feigning regret.

  Nadali gave Daecrynn a knowing look. “Calwain will hire you. He needs a tender for his bar for when he’s making hunting bows.”

  “I’ll take that job, d’nani. I can use the silver to roof me here,” Daecrynn said casually. “Shall we go?”

  Nadali smiled broadly as the word d’nani—or beloved resonated within her. On some level, she knew this to be a truth—from another life perhaps? It did not matter, for his word confirmed something within her, and a piece of a much larger puzzle fell into place. She embraced Daecrynn, kissing him deeply. Goosebumps crawled up his arm as shivers ran up and down his spine. He wrapped his arms around Nadali, extending that kiss. The kiss settled into an embrace. They exchanged an intense gaze of affection and passion, and held hands.

  By the hand, Nadali led him down a narrow avenue toward the west of town, the Taergeni Quarter of Namakiera. The Quarter was the poorest section of town. The elves of the city were eventually moved into this section as the occupation’s foothold became their foundation in the heartland of the north. They entered the Silver Willow. Daecrynn chuckled inwardly at the name, knowing its significance.

  The Silver Oak and the Golden Willow stood where Andriel was built, the ancient capital of Tarligean, and the seat of its strength. Thoughts of the Madroceans razing the Silver Willow in the name of progress filled his head as he guessed the consequences of Madrocea’s officials learning the meaning.

  Calwain sat behind the bar, his brow furrowing as he glared at a window.

  Daecrynn sat at the bar, and unlatched his satchel and sword, resting them on the seat to his left. Nadali sat to h
is right.

  “Calwain, this is Derefin,” Nadali introduced him. “He’s the other from my village I told you about.”

  “Ah, let me get you something,” Calwain said, straightening up. “So I’m told you’re a fletcher. Would you like a sandwich?”

  “Ah, I remember food,” Daecrynn recalled wistfully. “I mean, yes. Please.”

  “Of course,” he replied as he sliced a loaf of bread. “I’m told you also have experience tending bar. My child is due very soon, and my wife can no longer tend bar while I harvest timber for hunting bows. I can only offer six silver coins a week right now, but that should be good enough for food and lodging—and possibly get you drunk on the weekends.”

  “Well I have no place to go, and I can’t return home,” Daecrynn agreed gratefully.

  “You can start now,” Calwain offered. “Make your sandwich and get to work. The bar’s all stocked and ready for service. I need to gather more materials.”

  X.

  The Initiation of Daecrynn Tuvitor

  “True liberty comes from within. Such cannot be compromised by tyranny,”

  –Tu’fayator.

  Calwain returned to the bar late that night as closing time approached. He tapped Daecrynn on the shoulder as he was removing empty kegs and placing them in the storeroom.

  “Merry Jackals meeting—are you in or out?” Calwain asked.

  He looked over Calwain’s shoulder to see Nadali mouthing the words, ‘in in’ silently.

  “In of course,” Daecrynn affirmed, following Nadali’s cue.

  “Good, chap. Good,” Calwain said as he turned to the back cellar door. Carefully examining Daecrynn’s expression, he directed him. “Come along.”

  They followed Calwain into the meeting room, which included a small crowd of elves gathered around a table.

  “Ale’s always free for the Merry Jackals,” Calwain said as they entered the room.

  At the end of the room, beneath a draped green, white, jade and gold banner with an eight-pointed star was a small pyramid of ale kegs. The table was covered in maps, with elves studying them over carefully.

  “So what is this,” Daecrynn asked.

  “We’re preparing to take this city back by force, and then from here take back the rest of Tarligean,” Calwain explained.

  “So you’re rebels,” established Daecrynn.

  “I prefer the term ishaellar. Freedom fighter. The Madroceans are an occupying army, forcing us to live in ghettos, and exiling us to the farthest reaches of the forest,” Calwain rambled disgustedly. “We’re mostly just regular elves like you, save for a few of the new recruits from Fidralinia and Tuitari.”

  “Interesting,” Daecrynn tilted his head, observing the others as they discussed their plans. “I can’t say I have much more to offer than my bowyer skills and swordsmanship.”

  “That’s plenty. Since this is your first night, you get to join in the exploitation team,” Calwain said with a knowing smirk.

  “Exploitation team?”

  “After our meeting, a small group of us will pull a prank of some sort on a prominent Imperial figure,” Calwain boasted. “This serves two purposes. The first one is to embarrass the Madrocean aristocracy before their own people. The second one is to probe their defenses and report back on their weaknesses.”

  “I will do whatever I can,” Daecrynn promised. His eyes fixated on the Ki’ronyx—the standard of the High Kingdom of Tarligean. He recalled his early youth in Andriel, and his flight from the city as it fell.

  “Those colors are forbidden by the Madroceans!” a gruff, enthusiastic voice bellowed from behind him. “All the more reason to raise them over Mitheldia Palace again, don’t you think?”

  “Ha! By all means,” Daecrynn agreed.

  “I am Alrain. You are coming with me tonight to strike at Colonel Nidros. That gah’raen swine violator is going to wake up with a nice surprise in the morning!

  Alrain introduced Daecrynn to the other rebels present for the night’s meeting. A few of them silently recognized Daecrynn; as he recognized them—former courtiers of Ariandi from his youth. The meeting was long, with many battle plans proposed and reviewed. Three new ‘capers’ were unveiled that would be executed within the coming month. One master map was rolled out near the meeting’s end; a complete blueprint of the city with every level drawn in a different color of ink—sewers and tunnels in blue, ground floor in brown, and key landmarks scribed in yellow ink. Cellan rolled out a clear sheet of membrane with bright red ink placed upon certain points, overlaying the main map.

  “Okay. Now we know that they are blind to any activity in the southeastern tunnels that run parallel to the south-central channel. We are also aware that between the hours of seven and nine in the evening, the section of wall in the south Ollemy neighborhood is unguarded. Remember that as a possible escape route, considering the fact that they have begun patrolling Upper Town around the clock,” Cellan reported. “All our plans are in place. You have been briefed. This meeting of the Merry Jackals is adjourned.”

  The elves cheered; a battle cry with ales raised high. They gathered together in smaller groups, disappearing into the tunnels beneath the city. A group of four including Alrain beckoned the new recruit.

  “There’s something more to you, stranger,” Alrain said, betraying a smile. “I don’t feel you are a threat to us, but know I am watching you closely. If you’re not a threat, then you have nothing to worry about us.”

  “We are patriots all,” Daecrynn said, stepping back slowly. “I only wish to restore Tarligean so I can go home.”

  “You and the rest of us, friend,” Alrain agreed. “But I am still watching you—please take no offense.”

  “None taken,” Daecrynn ceded. “Circumstances given, there are no real reasons for any of us to trust anyone other than ourselves.”

  “Alright friends, this is the plan. Derefin and I will go up to the tunnel adjacent to the northeast sewer artery, and you will go straight up north. We will come up through the grate beneath the southeastern Palace Guard tower, and we will keep watch. Kaeryan and Markady will cover Damarien, who will slip into the tunnels that lead to the wine cellar beneath the Colonel’s home. He will then proceed to enter the Colonel’s walk-in closet, and empty a urine flask on the Colonel’s uniforms. He has an appointment with the Governor tomorrow, and he is obligated appear in uniform,” Alrain instructed. Acknowledging their assignment, the others moved into action, running down the tunnels.

  Alrain approached toward the tunnel swiftly; along the Nali River that flowed beneath the city. They crossed a catwalk over the river and into the tunnels on the other side. They approached a rusty chain ladder and climbed up as rain water from the grate above them poured onto their faces.

  “I know you, stranger,” Alrain said, pausing at the top of the ladder.

  “And I you,” Daecrynn countered. “There are bounty postings with your name and face from here to Sylshee.”

  “Mere baubles compared to your bounty, I’m sure,” Alrain laughed. “As it stands, there are a few of us who know you. Everybody knows of you at the least. I can’t say that bumbling into the middle of the rebellion was the best idea you’ve had… milord.”

  “So who else knows?”

  “Nobody you need to worry about,” Alrain pushed the grate open. “Those of us who recognize you would fight to the death to protect you.”

  “Thank you, Alrain,” Daecrynn said.

  “And thank you for giving us what might be enough hope to carry on with the battle ahead,” Alrain replied as he hoisted himself up to the surface.

  As Daecrynn pulled himself up into the alleyway, he gently slid the grate closed.

  At the top of a stone tower was a man in black banded leather armor staring into the market quarter of Namakiera. In the distance, dogs barked and bells rang in alarm. It appeared that a tower on the other side of the Palace Quarter was ablaze.

  Above them, the two guards spoke to each other. “You
see that?”

  “Bloody Jackals,” the second spat. “I’m going up the wall to the other tower to see what’s going on.”

  * * *

  In a clean manor on the other side of the palace quarter wall, Colonel Nidros awoke to the alarm bells from the nearby tower. Quickly, he donned a pair of trousers and a shirt. Grumbling, he pushed his feet into a pair of shiny boots. He stormed down the stairs and through the front door, out into the city street. The cobblestone road was wet, and it was hard for him to maintain his balance, but he reached the burning tower quickly.

  Damarien was a tall elf with dark brown hair, and a lanky build. He slipped into the Colonel’s house, coming up through an unknown secret door in the wine cellar, and up the stairs through a hall into a walk-in closet. He pulled two flasks from his cape, and sprayed the wardrobe thoroughly, until every last drop was exhausted. Swiftly he slid back down into the wine cellar and through the secret entrance, spiriting back into the tunnels.