The Legacy of Tirlannon: The Freedom Fighter

by Daniel Gelinske

  “That will do,” Daecrynn agreed. “What if we get lost along the Hidden Road?”

  “Wander about. I’m sure Rayelle’s watchers will find you, but I imagine that will annoy her far more than asking questions for which you’ve already been given the answers. I am off. May Starwind grant you good fortune.”

  As Ranteyu and Dillan continued along the road beyond the hidden tower, Daecrynn gazed uncertainly into Nadali’s eyes. “I suppose I just go thump on the door now?”

  “Either you do, or I do,” Nadali replied.

  “Right.”

  Daecrynn walked up to the front door of the tower, a large wooden door with writing in an elder form of Fen’yi pictograms; a dialect that Daecrynn was unfamiliar with. A design of ornate geometrical patterns and lattices framed the strange glyphs. A handle of silver glistened in the reflected light of Li’istrani’s strange sky. Ambivalence hindered his stride, as he tripped over a tuft of grass that separated the red stone walkway from the grass of the valley. He caught his balance and approached the door and tapped gently.

  Thump thump.

  Nadali stood behind him, standing on a knoll elevated over the walkway. Daecrynn looked back to her, and she gestured to him.

  “Come on,” Nadali urged. “I didn’t walk all this way for you to watch you stand there and gape at the doorway. Knock harder.”

  Thump. Thump. Thump.

  The door swung open. Nobody was there to greet them but a room filled with mammoth bookshelves, illuminated by chandeliers holding crystals that glowed in a soft white light.

  “So I just go in?” Daecrynn wondered.

  Nadali marched in, bumping into Daecrynn’s shoulder impatiently.

  Daecrynn followed, inhibited by fear and wonder. The library was immense, yet well kept. Not a speck of dust or stray cobweb could be seen. He eyed the book titles. Many were written in languages he had no recollection of, and the titles he could recognize were obscured, or highly sought-after volumes. Daecrynn looked up to the ceiling. An ornate chandelier of pale blue, violet, and white crystals scintillated in a brilliant display of color.

  Daecrynn froze in astonishment. “This is fantastic. I’ve never even heard tales of this library. I mean, it is known that this archive exists, but—”

  A mercurial, feminine voice responded from nearby, but out of view. “That is because nobody enters my library without being invited. The Son of Meldehan was invited. The daughter of Threis is an acceptable consort to him. Consider yourselves having been bestowed a high honor.”

  Daecrynn stepped backward in fear, stopped by Nadali who stood behind him.

  “Oro’quiel isn’t singing is it?” the voice asked.

  “Um,” Daecrynn bit his lip. “No, actually it is not.”

  A gentle, melodic laugh filled the air from all directions. Daecrynn grasped Nadali’s hand unconsciously.

  “You are in no danger, silly child,” the voice asserted.

  Daecrynn’s fear gave way to his princely pride. “Child? You have the gall to call the scion of Asutel Thetali’s line a child?” he cried indignantly. “Show yourself, witch!”

  A frail, yet ethereally beautiful woman, with long white wisps of silvery hair and pale blue eyes stepped from behind a scroll cabinet. She was the same woman Daecrynn had seen in his dreams before.

  “He’s as cheeky as his father,” Rayelle said to herself, flashing a wry smile.

  “Cheeky—“ Daecrynn stopped himself, wordless at the sight of a woman he had only seen in dreams standing before him, with a knowing gaze.

  “I have much to show you, ai-Tu’fayator,” she revealed, her voice lilting in a melodic accent. “And you have much to learn. Come, lad.”

  Rayelle spun around and strode between two large bookcases. Daecrynn and Nadali followed. Rayelle led them up a tall spiral staircase to the second floor. The carpeting was blue, and thick. The walls were stone, with mounted glow crystals at regular intervals casting light into the shadows. On the second floor, there were many bookcases, filled tightly with books and stacked scroll cases arranged and ordered methodically. At the center of the level was a circular table made of reddish tan wood, etched with inlaid patterns. At the center of the table was a lamp, illuminating the table from its crystal’s white glow.

  “Take a seat,” Rayelle requested. “Do you know how to read Imperial Fen’yi?”

  “Very little. I can follow its phonetic form and figure it out from there,” Daecrynn replied.

  “That won’t do,” she noted. “There isn’t much room for guesswork when it comes to learning spellcraft. And other things.”

  “Forgive me Lady Rayelle, but I need to return to Tuitari in less than a month,” Daecrynn informed.

  “I have ways to speed up learning,” Rayelle mentioned. “I can anchor what you learn so that retention is not a problem. It would be far preferable the other way, but I agree that you have little time now.”

  “So what of the sword’s powers?” Daecrynn asked.

  “It is not the sword in which the power lies, it is in what is housed in the sword,” Rayelle revealed. “It was Asutel’s clever folly to place a Kri’isen within a sword and keep it there.”

  Daecrynn tried to think of words to articulate the questions half-formed in his mind, but was confused far too thoroughly to respond with anything more than an open mouth, and a bewildered stare.”

  “A tale for another day, lad, Firstly, I must clarify a few things regarding your mistake with your nephew,” Rayelle confided.

  “Nephew?” Daecrynn asked.

  “Hmm, you don’t know about that yet. Perhaps I shouldn’t spoil the surprise,” Rayelle quipped.

  “No, tell me!” Daecrynn cried.

  “Andron. His father is your brother Ariandi. Ariandi and Empress Leya were lovers, unbeknownst to the Emperor,” Rayelle disclosed coyly.

  Nadali rolled her eyes and shook her head. “Chenylde mentioned their affair once. It didn’t please her one bit. She never mentioned anything about Andron being his son, though.”

  “It would be unwise to allow rumors of a Taergeni heir to Madrocea’s throne to grow, even among the Court of Andriel. Sacchaeus would have had the child killed, and the brutal Duke of Kanaid would be the next in line. Things would get bloody afterwards. No, let Sacchaeus continue to believe that Andron is his son. Say nothing of this outside this room,” Rayelle requested.

  “By right, Andron is a Tuvitor then,” Daecrynn realized. “A Duke of Andriel!”

  “There is more, though,” Rayelle imparted. “He came to Namakiera to establish a pre-emptive truce that would have benefited Tarligean and Madrocea alike. He had the Emperor’s permission, but the Emperor’s motives were dubious. It is no matter, Sacchaeus has only a short season left to live. It is too late to stop this war now until it has run its course.”

  “There was something familiar about him,” Daecrynn recounted. “I couldn’t place it.”

  “There is much you need to learn. I expect you to be teachable. I was many centuries old before the foundation stones of Andriel were even set in place,” Rayelle revealed. “You cannot count the years, as I have passed through several worlds now. Just remember to listen carefully, and consider my counsel with a serious mind.”

  XXV.

  The Heights of Mindule

  A cool blue morning sky illuminated the forests below, dusted with the white frost of the winter’s chill. A stone patio overlooking a city in the trees; a large assortment of dwellings carved in the high redwoods, intertwined with broadleaved evergreen Icania. The forest floor was far below the city high in the trees. At the center of this city, a massive palace of stone stood. Its foundation was notched into four behemoth ancient redwoods that supported it. The dark gray stone intermeshed with the foliage, ancient, having become one with the flora.

  A roadway hung over tree, supported by a massive network of branches, chains, cables and nets, though sturdy as the halls of a mighty citadel.

  Two elvish knights adorned
in silvery etched plate mail strode with care down the hanging roadway, arrayed in the crested polished moonsilver helms of Tanathiel’s elite knights. They carried shields with the green and white crest of Tanathiel, with an eagle perched atop the Star of Andriel. As they approached the entrance, two elves attired in fur cloaks with steel chainmail beneath them greeted them, brandishing tall spears.

  “Hail sirs,” they greeted. “What tidings do you bring from Tanathiel?”

  “We wish an audience with the Queen of Mindule,” the taller of the two knights of Tanathiel replied.

  “And who are you?” the guardsman requested.

  “I am Field Captain Andele Raethan, in service to his majesty Kalnari Nenthripos, the Kestelan of Tanathiel.”

  “Very well, I shall take you inside,” the guardsman concurred.

  Inside, the hall of Mindule Keep was dark, with a few sparse torches mounted to give one enough light to keep from tripping over the cobblestones in the floor. The air was warm and rich with the aroma of baking bread, a sharp contrast to the chill outdoors in the height of the Mindule forests. The knights of Tanathiel followed the guardsman down a lengthy corridor, adorned with green and silver tapestries, embroidered with ornate designs.

  “This place is amazing. I never knew that a stone keep could be built this high up in the trees,” the other knight boggled.

  “You can’t anymore,” the guardsman stated. “Nearly everyone who understood this sort of engineering have died, or passed over shortly after the Lord Thetali.”

  * * *

  Wearing a flowing gossamer silk dress, Cerena Charelle kept watch on the patio overlooking the city in the trees. Gazing with cool green eyes, she watched as the knights from Tanathiel were given entrance into her palace. She spun around, and walked into her chamber. Through the archway beyond the open doors, she walked with a haughty grace that only a Queen of the Taergeni could carry. At the platform of the stairway from the entrance, she stood as her guardsmen escorted the knights of Tanathiel until her audience.

  “Milady,” the guardsman addressed. “Two knights from Tanathiel request your audience.”

  “Very well, let them speak,” she gently commanded.

  “Your Sovereign Majesty, Queen of Mindule,” Andele entreated, dropping to a knee. “We have been sent by King Kalnari of Tanathiel. Our need is urgent, but our heart is steadfast.”

  “What banner flies over Tanathiel Keep on this day,” Cerena inquired.

  “The banner of the unified Tarligean. The Ki’ronyx,” Andele answered.

  “I know of this, but I wished to test your morale. A king is judged by the spirit of his soldiers and the spirit of his people, not by the fear they instill,” Cerena sang thoughtfully. “So Kalnari is a king and not a mere rabble-rouser. Taergeni kings are so rare these days—unfortunately they are far rarer than the Taergeni rabble-rousers who proclaim themselves king.”

  “He may not be king for long. Namakiera has fallen again, and the Empire is pushing west,” Andele reported.

  “I know that Meldehan’s son had taken Namakiera, and I have also learned that he lost it again,” Cerena replied, the melody of her speech turning somber. “Has anyone seen the Kestiel Prince since Namakiera’s fall?”

  “The scion of Andriel escaped, but hasn’t been seen in weeks,” Andele confided. “He was last seen in Tanathiel seeking the aid of a foreign merchant.”

  “This adds to what the Centurions reported,” Cerena chirped, her melody turning cheerful. “Rayelle will take good care of him. Worry not of your future Kestiel, as he is on the right path!”

  “That’s—reassuring,” Andele noted hesitantly.

  “So I am assuming that you request martial aid against the Southern Empire?” Cerena asked, her high song-tones unwavering.

  “That is why we came,” Andele confirmed. “We will fight to our last man to secure Tanathiel if need bye, but we lack support from the eastern front. All of Tiardan’s armies are poised to regroup at Kynder’s Ledge to retake Andriel. We plead for your help in keeping Tanathiel free, until General Tiardan orders us to reclaim Namakiera.”

  “Then it is time for all the houses that will unite under the Ki’ronyx to do so,” Cerena declared. “Tell your Kestelan that I shall aid him. Our nations are one, under Andriel and our Kestiel.”

  XXVI.

  The Hanged Man

  Bound in chains, Andron Medaccae trudged behind Calwain and Threstan. The skies were dismally gray, muting the lush green color of the rolling grassland. A faint drizzle fell slowly, with little wind to carry it.

  “Lord Tuvitor himself ordered you to set me free,” Andron protested, his voice haggard and broken.

  “We will set you free on Madrocean soil. You are our prisoner until you are outside of Tarligean,” Calwain spat in anger. He unsheathed his j’haene and poked the prince in the back of his neck; not hard enough to draw blood, but just enough to convey the message of who exactly was in control here.

  Overhead, a crow soared southward, toward a distant copse of trees atop a hill that barely peeked over the horizon. It stared at them from a distance with artificial emerald green eyes. The two soldiers and the prince on the ground couldn’t notice, as it was beyond their sight and scope, but the crow observed them carefully.

  “You need not be abusive, Sir Calwain,” Andron avowed. “I will cooperate.”

  “Look Calwain, I know what he is, but the Kestiel gave you the order,” Threstan rebuked Calwain.

  “I will carry out his order,” Calwain growled, kicking Andron from behind. “We shall most certainly carry out his order.”

  “That’s not necessary,” Andron pleaded.

  “I have been given charge here, and I alone shall decide what is necessary, Madrocean pig-vomit!” Calwain snapped, spitting on Andron.

  The crow rested on a branch, gazing toward Andron, and watching the two elves that had ‘escorted’ the Madrocean prince to the border of the Sumai province. Its crystalline eyes were fixated on the three, as someone very distant monitored them through its eyes. The crow cawed, its natural instincts returning briefly as it flapped its wings, then calmed again as a distant signal pacified it, keeping it attentive to its mission.

  “Beyond this rock. The border is here. Everything beyond is Sumai country, Madrocea,” Threstan noted, as he pointed out an elongated stone protruding through the tall grass. Beyond the stone were a small copse of willow trees that overlooked the desolate swamps to the south.

  Calwain kicked him in the back, pushing him over the border. He continued, as Threstan watched from behind. He pushed him toward a large willow that stood out amongst the others, at the edge of the grove on the hillside.

  “Threstan come,” Calwain demanded.

  “We were ordered to set him loose,” Threstan pleaded.

  “And that is exactly what we are doing. Now come, gods curse you!” Calwain snapped.

  Threstan plodded up the hill past the border-stone, to stand beside Calwain.

  “Bind his feet,” Calwain sneered. “We’re hanging him. For Tai’issa!”

  XXVII.

  Order of the Divine Helix

  A single pallid green glow orb illuminated a cold dark room, with nondescript smooth stone walls and an elongated stairway leading to the surface. Its sickly light illuminated only the tops of the heads of six figures, only one of them human. They approached a long table in the midst of the darkened chamber.

  “The pieces are finally in place. The end of Osiris, the end of Thoth, the passing of the Asat Takran, and the Evolution to come,” the human declared.

  “You have been with us from the start Lord Set, and for that we are grateful. Your plans have proven infallible, and we are indebted to you,” a strange dog-headed creature said in a low growl.

  “Anubis, I am still only human. We intend to accelerate things. As Thoth and Osiris are supplanted by our own, so shall I have my successors. It is the reality of things, and reality is my only master,” Da’at Set replied.

/>   Anubis turned to the darkness and growled, “Inzerakh, come forth and report.”

  Stepping out of the shadow, the raven haired winged guardian of Oro’quiel came forth.

  “I have done all you have asked of me. I have allowed the Kestiel’s heir his trophy, and undermined the ambitions of Ayus Mogran, contributing to his fall,” Inzerakh revealed. “Calwain has served his purpose now, and he shall die as scheduled. Andron will be taken in by the Emperor, and the Emperor will fall.”

  “Thank you. You are dismissed,” Anubis growled.