“Everyone blamed the dragons,” Alrain shuddered. “Where Ariandi and his armies marched, all that was left behind was a field of glass, and a sickness in the air.”
“How is it that the Cirethians can command such power?” Kaelena Theras, a frosty haired, yet vibrant and youthful elven woman with icy violet eyes asked.
“Lady Theras of the Starlight Circle, there is far more at play than simple magic. The base of Cireth’s knowledge of all the black sciences has expanded tremendously since Kadaam Nashanti was crowned Thoth,” Tiardan explained.
“But black magic, even the Corruption can be sensed within,” Kaelena wondered.
“Perhaps Cerena Charelle, queen of Mindule would understand what we are up against,” Kalrys suggested.
“Mindule turned her back on Tarligean long ago,” Alrain snapped.
“It is well known that she raised the Ki’ronyx when Meldehan took the throne of Tarligean,” Anthian stated.
“Nevertheless, she has turned her back on us before, why should we expect any difference in her actions now? She’s cares nothing for our people, only the witches in her precious order,” Alrain scoffed. “We might as well invite the Iacala while we’re at it!”
Theras stood in her chair, glaring at the General of Namakiera. In the distance as Alrain ranted, the clicking of a cane against marble repeated, growing louder.
“Enough!” Daecrynn banged his gauntlet on the table. “We will accept whatever aid we can gather from the elves of the west, be it from Mindule, or even Iacala.”
Daecrynn’s eyes fixated momentarily on a map of Tirlannon. There was a tap of a wooden cane against the door.
“Ahem,” a rough voice echoed from the other side. The muffled voices of door guards expressed some sort of denial. The voice grew louder, “Well if my counsel isn’t welcome here, I have other ways to reach—”
“Isendriel,” Daecrynn shouted. “Let him in.”
The doors swung open. Lady Theras and two other white-robed women bowed their heads in reverence.
“You will find an ally in Cerena Charelle, true in heart and valiant in matters of war and magic. Be wary though, she is to be tested in a way for which she is unprepared. In seventy years, three moons, and six days, seek her counsel no more,” Isendriel stated.
In the distance down the halls, drums began pounding. Bells chimed in alarm. The sound of steel and moonsilver against marble clanged as guards marched into the War Room to make an announcement.
“Sire, four Madroceans have been sighted on horseback, riding to the Mitheldia West gate with speed,” a knight said, addressing Daecrynn.
“Nekhe, I knew I forgot to mention something,” Isendriel muttered.
The meeting was adjourned as the generals and officers took to positions of command to prepare for the arrival of the Madroceans. Soldiers in full regalia, moonsilver and steel, chain and plate mail lined up on the outside of the palace, alert and ready. All along the city walls as the signal banners were raised from the palace, guards prepared their bows for defense of the city.
Daecrynn, with an armed escort rode to the West Gate to meet with the messengers from the Madrocean Empire. The snow began to fall, with flakes sticking to Daecrynn’s golden hair. His eyes were wide open, occasionally squinting as a snowflake came too close to his eyelids. Oro’quiel was sheathed on his belt, ready to be drawn.
The Madroceans arrived at the gate to be greeted by bows drawn in their direction. A heavyset red bearded man in silvery steel plate with gold trim was at the head of the group, and behind him a slender man with deep blue eyes and silver-white hair. Behind them, two soldiers were armored in black banded armor, with helmets that concealed their faces.
The Taergeni guardsman addressed the Madroceans sharply.
“What is your business in Tarligean, gah’raen?”
“We demand an audience with your so-called Kestiel! You will take us to him at once, or you shall make a mistake that all of your kind will forever regret,” the red-haired man said.
“And who are you to demand this of us?” the gate guard queried from his tower.
“General Kaivos Kanadi, and his Imperial majesty, Prince Andron Medaccae,” the red haired man answered.
“The High Prince has no desire to speak with gah’raen scum, he’d sooner we filled your every pore with an arrow,” the gate guard spat.
“Then he is as adept at diplomacy as he is at war,” Kanadi growled.
“Let me speak to these people, General. At ease,” Andron said in a calm voice, as he dismounted and approached the gate.
“I am Andron son of Sacchaeus, Prince of Cardalia and heir to the Madrocean Empire. I will send my armies away from the city twelve leagues to the south. Just past the Border Tree of Alvanea on our side. I will do this as a token of trust, and remain here alone, subject to your whims. I only ask for an audience with the Kestiel,” Andron requested.
“That is very dangerous, your highness!” Kanadi protested.
“Perhaps, but that is my right. If the Taergeni agree to my request, you will return to Fort Lyrem until you receive new orders. Am I clear?” Andron commanded, standing in front of the gate, his back to the tower.
“It’s very risky, your highness. But if it is your command, then it is my injustice to question it,” Kanadi conceded.
The gate guard looked to Daecrynn upon his steed Errofan, bewildered. At his side, Calwain in full moonsilver plate glared narrowly at the Madrocean prince from behind his faceplate. Daecrynn signaled to the gate guard to go ahead and open the gate.
“Drop your sword, and any weapons at the gate and we shall let you in alone. Our guardsman will search you before you will be given audience with the Kestiel. Any attempts on his life will result in your death. Do you agree to these terms, gah’raen?” the gate guard demanded.
“It is fair, I accept,” Andron agreed.
The snow fluttered through the air, dizzily spiraling to the ground as carried by currents of cold air. A cold slush was building up on the cobblestones of Mitheldia Walk. A crowd of Taergeni citizens lined upon the streets, curious about the new arrival to the city, and wary of attack. The gates opened, and Andron walked through alone. He was roughly searched by two Taergeni soldiers, and let go. Daecrynn approached on his horse, while the soldiers held their spears close to Andron’s face.
“Would I, eldest of the sons of Sacchaeus, heir to the Madrocean Imperial throne come in here alone if I had an assassination plot in mind?” Andron asked.
Daecrynn rubbed the hilt of Oro’quiel, but heard no voice of warning from the sword.
Calwain growled, “I have no idea what you Madrocean scum are capable of. You murdered my d’nani, my father, and my mother. For all we know this is some sort of trick, and you are naught but an impostor and an assassin!”
“In other words, we must be cautious,” Daecrynn said solemnly.
“It is good to see you, Daecrynn,” Andron said. “You have your brother’s eyes.”
“I cannot say I share your pleasure, Madrocean,” Daecrynn said coldly.
“Let me be candid,” Andron started. “My father is foolish. For baubles and weapons considered decades obsolete by the Cirethians, he has let himself become a puppet to the Thoth. I intend to change that. Unlike him, I see many good things about your people, and even allowing some independence for your people.”
“Some independence? Your choice of words is flawed. Freedom is something you either have or don’t. Partial freedom today is complete tyranny tomorrow. I am afraid I decline whatever offer you have for me now, for your words betray your intentions. You are however most unlike your kind. There may be hope for you yet,” Daecrynn addressed Calwain. “Bind him, and take him to the North Tower. Send a message to his army that he will not be released until every last Madrocean soldier has been moved at least nine leagues south of the city of Alvanea. Madrocea deserves a country, and we will not do to them what they did to us.”
Calwain and a gate guard quickly bound Andr
on’s hands, and escorted him to the North Tower. Andron looked back to Daecrynn in disappointment.
“Welcome to Tarligean!” Daecrynn shouted in Andron’s direction.
“It was nice while it lasted,” Andron said lowly as he was being carried away.
XVI.
Rayelle's Study
Though most of Tirlannon was in the clutches of a cold winter, a secluded tower seemed to exist in a climate of perpetual spring. A small valley that seemed to bend the laws of physics as a river ran around it and above it sheltered a lone stone tower. Above the tower, the centerpiece of the community of Li’istrani, the sky was a deep, yet gentle blue.
At the top of the tower was a humble study, consisting of an oaken desk, and mahogany bookshelves whose volumes were written in a myriad of different languages, including many not of this world or time. A crystal tetrahedron sat on the desk, with a dull violet glow.
Rayelle Anda’raén sat behind the desk. Her hair was frost white, and her eyes an even colder shade of blue. Her face was round and symmetrical, and her build elegant and graceful. She was entranced; carefully copying a text that had begun to decay and fall apart into a fresh book, letter for letter.
The crystal’s colors changed from violet to blue.
She snorted in annoyance. She touched the crystal’s side gently, and an image blurred over the crystal.
“The High Prince is obstinate and arrogant, and is going to need your special touch,” a ghost of Isendriel said from the crystal.
“Forget it,” Rayelle replied. “I swore I would stop meddling in Tarligean’s affairs. Perhaps you could ask Lady Charelle?”
“You know how I feel about her,” Isendriel rebutted. “You know why I feel as I do.”
“She doesn’t know her father, but she doesn’t need to either,” Rayelle argued. “You are a schismatic and a heretic, and I put myself in danger every time I assist you. It would be better for the both of us if you simply cut contact with me and walked away.”
“Daecrynn’s made a small error of judgment. Because of this, there is going to be a horrible war. Daecrynn is going to need to know how to harness the power of the Kri’isen for his own protection if Tarligean is to survive. I know it is in our common interests that Tarligean survives,” Isendriel implored.
“It is in your interest, not mine. I have returned to the Realms of Light, yet you remain behind, as do the rest of the Taergeni,” Rayelle rebuked. “Every thing you touch falls to ruin, yet you continue to try Rhia’li’s grace with your sorceries!”
“Spare me your elitist parroting of the Edict of Arthan Tiestil,” Isendriel countered. “You know full well that I know how to seal the rift and restore the Heart of Terei! You know full well that Pangaia is here!”
“Yet you fail to find any evidence of its existence. The Taergeni are lost. They’ve fallen into the barbarism of the regressive human race of that world, and wage wars amongst themselves. They’ll lose the Radiance within a few more generations, if they even last that long. The Silver Council of D’antarra has all but disowned them,” Rayelle argued.
“What of the Son of Andriel?” Isendriel asked.
“Nobody listens to him anymore, as his cause is lost,” Rayelle asserted.
“Hmm. Expect a visitor soon. As for me, you won’t hear a word. Farewell, Lady Andaya,” Isendriel said, as the ghost image over the crystal vanished.
“Damn him!” Rayelle shouted, flush with anger.
XVII.
The Elder Sage
Rain fell over Cardalia’s busy streets, filled with horses, wagons, traders, sages, and soldiers of the Madrocean and Cirethian Empires. Overhead, a spider web of hot blue-white lightning crawled along the underside of the mammoth nimbus clouds that cast a shroud of darkness over the pristine white marble city.
From the northern end of Cardalia, twelve men on reddish brown horses, wearing black cloaks raged through the Imperial Highway, the main street in the capital of the Empire. The legion of horsemen turned at the city’s center, down the Emperor’s Walk, leading up to the Imperial Citadel.
At the front gate, the horsemen stopped abruptly, staring at two heavily armored soldiers in the guard tower.
The lead horseman removed his hood, revealing his fiery red hair and beard and intense ice blue eyes. The man cried out, “General Kaivos Kanadi, and I command you to let me through!”
The two soldiers quickly snapped to attention.
“You are free to pass, Lord General of Our Emperor’s Forces,” the sergeant in control of the guard tower declared. He turned to the guardsmen on ground level and shouted, “Pull the lever and open the gates! Show some respect you sluggards, the Lord General is here!”
The gates swung open, and the General pulled his hood and rode to the steps of the Imperial Citadel. He dismounted as the horse slowed to a stop, and landed on his feet, springing into a run. He climbed up the high stairs into the Palace with ferocity, speed and determination. He ripped his hood off as he halted in the Emperor’s guard chamber, standing tall and stern.
“I must speak to the Emperor at once!” Kaivos commanded. “I have urgent news from Namakiera!”
The Emperor’s guard nodded to the General, “Go, Lord General.”
Kaivos approached Sacchaeus, who attentively studied his General’s distress.
“I have never seen you like this, Kaivos,” the Emperor commented.
“I came under a black cloak and hood as I was being stalked by the Jea Daldani. They are alive and in force, just as I feared. I am in danger of assassination, my Emperor. They have kidnapped your son. Their leader is a savage, obstinate fool who knows nothing of his mistake,” Kaivos said, kneeling with his head bowed to the Emperor. “I have failed you, and I beg of you for mercy.”
“Perhaps our days of exploiting Tarligean are numbered. They will pay for taking Andron, though. He said he could go up to Namakiera and make peace. He begged for my blessing on that mission. I let him go because he had to learn once and for all what his foolish idealism leads to. As a prisoner to those savages, perhaps he will learn some wisdom. You were acting on his orders and doing your duty. You should be commended for escaping alive and bringing me this news so quickly, Lord General,” Sacchaeus declared. “At ease.”
“Should I consult the Cirethian consulate regarding the Jea Daldani tailing me since I passed Alvanea?” Kaivos asked.
“You made it this far, Lord General. The Jea Daldani have failed in their mission. Remain in the city until you are ordered to battle. Judging by recent events, that should be very soon,” the Emperor replied. “As for the Cirethians, if we do not maintain a level of separations in our dealings with them, they will swallow us whole. You are dismissed.”
“Yes your Majesty, and thank you,” Kaivos said, bowing his head before he left the throne room.
Sacchaeus stood up in front of his throne, and stroked his silvery white beard in deep thought. He shifted his eyes to a tapestry to the left, which seemed to flutter slightly. He shrugged to himself, and continued to contemplate the situation. His eyes darted to his left again, and he shook his head, and muttered to himself, “A draft, no more.”
The wizard Osordo stepped out from behind the tapestry.
Sacchaeus turned to face the aged wizard.
“Your Imperial Highness,” Osordo addressed, bowing deeply before the Emperor.
The Emperor’s eyes widened as he shouted, “How long exactly have you been hiding behind that tapestry?”
“Less time than you would probably guess,” Osordo replied.
“How did you get in here?” Sacchaeus demanded.
“I have been informed that you see no use in magic. I have come to inform you of your error,” Osordo said.
“Lies! You were let in by one of my guardsman and decided to sneak up on me!” the Emperor shouted.
“Actually, I was let in by one of your guardsman, though he will not remember doing so if asked,” Osordo said gently.
“What about the assassi
ns I had placed to watch over me? Why haven’t they struck you down?” Sacchaeus asked in a low voice.
“They have not failed in their task, for I am not here to kill you, your Excellency. I am here to serve and inform. They’re still here, albeit somewhat distracted within themselves,” Osordo explained.
Four golden white orbs of light appeared over Osordo’s head, and spun in circles, until they stopped and bathed four hidden, uniformed men in a beam of light.
“See? They’re fine, Your Highness,” Osordo assured. “I am a sorcerer. I use magic. This is how I got in here, and what you see now. I have nothing to hide, as all my secrets are written in scrolls in the University.”
The Legacy of Tirlannon: The Freedom Fighter Page 12