The Legacy of Tirlannon: The Freedom Fighter

by Daniel Gelinske

  The wind blew, making the curtains between his bed and the balcony flutter lightly. He welcomed the scent of the vernal air; even knowing he would never again see the spring sun. Climbing from his bed, his body shuddered in agony. With every last spark of his strength, he forced his legs forward to reach the balcony.

  His mind was full of clouded memories; talk of an insurrection in Cireth, the mention that the Pharaoh Chancellor Osiris had been assassinated, and the rampage of a deranged assassin. He couldn’t shake the thought of the needless war with Tarligean, the war he tried to prevent when he rode with Lord General Kanadi to Namakiera.

  He welcomed the gentle warm spring wind as he stood over the balcony of the tower. He heard the door open in his room behind him.

  “Your Magnificence,” an aide addressed him. “Your father is dead. His heart finally failed him.”

  The warm spring wind was replaced with a cold chill.

  “You are to be crowned Emperor immediately, now that you are fit to walk,” the aide reported. “Gather all of your strength, your Imperial Highness, as you will need it.”

  The door closed. Andron hung his head low, and sighed woefully.

  * * *

  The ceremony was short, and there were no festivities afterwards, as the demands of the day were on Andron's ability to take in everything he could as quickly as possible, and make decisions based on it. Mentally, he was ready. Physically, he had yet to recover from the brutal hanging at the willow tree. Guided by an Imperial aide, he entered the Chamber of Command, to discuss the future with his father's advisors.

  He sat at an elongated table, at the head seat, the Throne of Command. He only heard the voices of his aides, but they sounded as disheveled as they looked.

  An elder man, new to the Imperial Council of Advisors of his father, but had served under his grandfather Sartanos, spoke first. "I am Osordo. I had not expected Sacchaeus’ heart to fail so soon, and the timing is suspect. I recommend an investigation be launched as soon as possible," Osordo reported.

  "Tell his Imperial Majesty of the 'gift'," the Lord General requested.

  Thandan Meig was the Lord of Inquisition, the master of all of Madrocean intelligence. He revealed, "The right hand of Osiris was the gift, cut from the body. In his letter, Da'at Set, the puppet master of the events of the East explained in great detail that the Prime Minister's body was cut into fourteen pieces, each a symbol of the allied nation or colony of Cireth that he had delivered the pieces to."

  "I wish to see this letter," Andron demanded.

  Meig nodded, and motioned to the door guard. The door guard nodded, and turned outside the door, where he relayed the message.

  "Now, while I wait the delivery of this message, we shall discuss the Taergeni situation," Andron declared.

  Acrodon, Andron's younger brother, and the Duke of Kanaid, a western province responded, "Well of course, your Highness. You demand revenge, for what they had done to you at that tree, and rightly so!"

  Coolly, Andron replied, "You should know me well enough by now to know that I am not a vindictive soul. I know full well that my emotional outrage at the actions of two acting outside of orders should have no bearing on the responsibility of my command."

  Acrodon, a man of youth with a black beard and long hair, tied back tightly in a braid seemed smitten by his older brother's response.

  "Now, Lord General, what is the status of the war," Andron requested.

  "A campaign, based in the high plains of Cassadina is being prepared, to rend the forest of Sylshee in two, and take the prize of Tanathiel. There are skirmishes within Namakiera and without, but it is quite clear that we are in control of the city. There is intelligence that the elves have reclaimed the ancient fortress of Andriel. Tactically, it has no significance, but traditionally it is the hub and center of Taergeni affairs," Kaivos reported.

  "No, no, no. That will not do," Andron uttered somberly.

  "Will not do?! Then I shall conscript as many able-bodied men as possible. I shall even conscript the Alvaneans if need be. We will raze the forests to the ground if you—“ Kaivos rambled.

  "SILENCE!" Andron shouted, raising his voice for the first time.

  Osordo stood back, carefully watching the interchange.

  "Your Imperial Majesty, the letter," a messenger said as he rushed into the room.

  "Osordo, please read this to myself and the council," Andron said, his tone returning to normal.

  "As you wish, milord," Osordo said, taking the letter in hand.

  "My beloved Emperor,

  "Do not put your faith in the Thoth. Do not put your faith in humanity. The sun has set on your people. Cireth is mine. Anger me, and I shall take you next. Leave me be, and it may be past your lifetime when the Chimaera comes to devour you.

  Signed,

  Your friend, the Emperor of Emperors, the Prime Minister, and the Sole Judge of Cireth,

  Da'at Set."

  In a level tone, Andron replied, "As you fools can see, we have a greater enemy than some tattered bands of elves in the north. We have a greater foe than the arcane wisdom of strange elven witches in far away towers. There is a greater evil before us, than even the hordes of trolls amassing in the valley of Ar-Khazai. And then there is the question of the enemy within—your misguided prejudice against a valued ally. For eons, the elves had held their own against the technology of Cireth with success, and have resisted our every attempt to incorporate them into our own empire. There is strength here, and this strength can be harnessed for our benefit."

  "Beyond Alvanea, we have never been to draw them into our Empire without a brutal fight," General Kanadi noted.

  "Lord General, do you not understand? Certainly you cannot be blinder than I am. I propose that we offer them friendship and peace, unconditionally, that we may stand as one against the new order in Cireth," Andron declared.

  "I shall go in your name, and ask for truce," Osordo proposed. "For years I have accepted our prejudices as my own, but I find no fault in your reasoning. I am loyal to the throne of Madrocea, and I shall carry out your will."

  "Then tell all the armies in Namakiera to report to Fort Lyrem east of Alvanea. From there they will receive new orders for new posts. And General? Your armies are to leave the Cassadina plain at once. Tanathiel will be left alone. Our occupation of Tarligean has come to an end," Andron proclaimed.

  XXXIX.

  Needless Bloodshed

  The armies marched deep underground. The tunnels seemed larger than life; dank and rich with an earthen scent, with stalagmites and stalactites that some would compare to mountains. The great hollows below the hills spanned for miles. The floors of these giant caverns were covered from end to end with the great Cavalry of Tuitari preparing for its strike on Namakiera, the battle hoped to be the last in the Independence War. The cavern ceilings glowed orange in the light of thousands of torches as the movement of forces flowed through the tunnels.

  "This was once a part of the Empire of Tarngor, before Emrishar moved in and conquered these depths. The dwarves had built mighty cities in these caverns," Daecrynn recalled as their horses galloped at the fore of the mighty procession.

  "Why did Emrishar break from Tarligean?" Nadali asked.

  "It had to do with Mithuriel. They believed that Asutel Thetali was a traitor, and was wrong to assist in man’s rebellion against the Zhil'dvani. It's pretty convoluted, really," Daecrynn explained. “The Emrishari were in league with the Dragon Lords, and used their clout on Mithuriel’s Silver Council to prevent their entering the war.”

  "I remember something, a story I was told," Nadali mentioned, pausing. "No matter how many men of Tarligean tried to bring them back into the light, they would push back deeper into the earth."

  "They believed that the light of the gods was under the earth, in the fires of Verduhn. They believed in slaughtering anything between Earth and Verduhn, as they were legions of the false light, and that... as I said, convoluted," Daecrynn continued.

>   Daecrynn's eyes halted, facing forward. In his mind's eye, he had seen a green glowing object dart into an adjacent tunnel. He stared forward as his horse galloped. "They say these caverns are haunted by their ghost spirits, living in the torment of the dwarves and elves they had slain," he said lowly.

  The slope of the passage began to move upwards.

  "We aren't far now. This tunnel leads to the sealed exit east of Namakiera. We shall see sunlight soon," Tiardan reported.

  * * *

  Great tree trunks mounted on wheels of redwood, the ends sharpened to a mammoth point rolled over the landscape. Surrounding them, Tanathiel's armies in full, polished moonsilver mail marched. Ahead of them, a cavalry of horsemen from all of the western plains of Tarligean rode in formation. Alongside the armies of Tanathiel marched the Ishaellar of Namakiera, brandishing pike and cyvnar. They moved east to meet with the armies of Tuitari at the battlefield surrounding Namakiera.

  In the city of Namakiera, the Madrocean forces were on high alert. They had no idea that the elves could organize on such a grand scale in this age. Horsemen and infantry to the northeast were within sight, and to the west, the combined forces of Mindule, Tanathiel, and the exiles of Namakiera were set to converge on the city.

  A carrier pigeon was launched from the west tower of Namakiera to the south, in hopes that it would call in much needed reinforcements from Fort Lyrem. They had not known that a group was already in motion under the command of the Emperor. They had not known he had brought orders to call a truce.

  Horses ran through the colonist sectors of the city, calling for every able-bodied male to pick up a sword and fight for the Imperial Crown.

  Some suggested fleeing to Alvanea, but they were chastised. The lords of Namakiera were intent on keeping the Madrocean banner flying over the palace.

  * * *

  The sunlight was a welcome companion as Daecrynn's party rode northward, then west to the city. Ahead, the stone walls and towers glinted, shimmering in the sunlight. The green grassland that surrounded Namakiera was brilliant emerald in the light of the sun. Behind, as far as the eyes could see, the legions of Ishaellar rode; grimly prepared for whatever awaited them at the walls of the city.

  With three waves of a signal banner, Tiardan ordered a momentary pause in the procession. He picked up his shield from the light satchel on his horse. The sun reflected off of it, towards a silvery but distant band in the west, accompanied by what seemed to be great Icania logs sharpened to a point with redwood wheels to move them forward. He flashed them with the light from his shield and waited. In moments, three flashes in rapid succession signaled the response of the western contingent.

  Tiardan drew his sword, thrust it in the air, and shouted, "Now we take back our homes! Charge!"

  Every last Taergeni, from Daecrynn to the lowliest horseman drew their swords, as the cavalry raced to the city.

  It sounded as if the sky was filled with thunder, as the great siege machines crafted in Mindule rolled over the plain. To the men guarding the western wall of Namakiera, lightning struck on a clear day, as the arrows of a thousand archers sailed through the air, striking their targets.

  The horsemen of Tuitari rushed to the northern wall with a mighty roar, as hundreds, even thousands of horses galloped across the damp plain. Archers atop the wall fired volley after volley of arrows, taking some down, but more kept coming. Sections of wall, once created for a similar purpose by the elves that built Namakiera generations ago pushed outward, and slid to the side, as Madrocean infantry charged out into the foray.

  Daecrynn slid down the visor of his helm, and charged in their direction. Weaving between the other cavalry, he found his way to the front lines. A familiar man, with long red hair and a thick beard, greeted him. Overhead, a volley of arrows flew.

  "Derefin, the failed bartender. We meet again," he spat with a cold grin.

  "Oh yes, the failed troublemaker, full of threats and wasted breath," Daecrynn retorted.

  He swiped with his sword, a broad shortsword underhandedly towards Daecrynn's ribcage. With the side of Oro'quiel, he blocked his sword away. The man stepped back with one foot, attempting to stab Daecrynn in the gut. Daecrynn dodged, sidestepping the attack.

  A monstrous noise, a crashing sound of torn metal and smashed stone filled the air, followed by a deep rumble. In the corner of Daecrynn's eye, he spotted a cloud of dust rising up in the west. The siege engine had struck. To his left, elves were rushing into the city with swords drawn. Overhead, the volleys from the city walls ceased. Daecrynn's attention was pulled back into battle as his arm jerked, blocking the red haired man's swipe.

  "You have the option to surrender," Daecrynn declared. "I suggest you use it. This battle's ours."

  "No, I will die before I see you freachin take this city again," the red haired man decreed.

  He swung his sword towards Daecrynn, aiming for the neck. Daecrynn blocked with the blade's edge, sliding downwards towards the man. He dropped his sword to prevent the loss of his hand.

  "You have no defense now. You may surrender, and you will be taken to the borderland where you will be set free, but this is our land," Daecrynn stated.

  Behind, a horseman had begun to move towards the south wall.

  "I am Shal V'daan. I make no agreements with freachin," the red-haired troublemaker declared.

  "A Cirethian name," Daecrynn noted. "You're our prisoner now, as I believe you have much to tell us."

  "I have no words for your tainted ears, freachin," V'daan replied.

  He reached his belt, and pulled what appeared to be a dagger. Daecrynn stepped back into a defensive posture. V'daan smiled. The dagger was made of a yellow metal, very bright in color that surrounded itself with a bizarre orange glow. It left a trail that blurred behind it as it moved. He lunged forward with the blade. He was in an ecstatic state, his grin growing as his eyes widened, as his blade approached Daecrynn's.

  As V'daan's phaseblade struck Oro'quiel, a flash of blinding white light enveloped them for a fraction of a section, as the blade of the phaseblade exploded. He fell forward as Daecrynn sidestepped his attack, his dagger bladeless.

  "Im... impossible," he groaned in despair.

  "Your technology has failed you, Cirethian. In the name of Andriel, you are in my custody," Daecrynn declared.

  * * *

  They could see rising trails of smoke from well before the border tree. Namakiera was burning. The elves had beaten them there. Osordo, clad in the long white robes of the Master Wizard of the Order of Hermes gently nudged his horse to run.

  "With speed!" he cried.

  His escorts were both Colonels of the highest caliber from Madrocea's army. With his order, they nod. The great border tree, father of all the border trees—a single Icania tree amidst a treeless grassland stood high over their heads as they entered the land that had traditionally belonged to Tarligean. Ahead, a handful of soldiers on horseback were moving in their direction. At the head of the group, their leader held a Madrocean red and white banner, as they quickly retreated south.

  Osordo and his men moved to rendezvous. At the bottom of a long, shallow slope, Osordo and his men awaited the fleeing legion.

  "Metka Kinatos," Osordo addressed them, his hands on his reins.

  "Metka Kinatos," the banner wielder replied.

  "What news from Namakiera?" Osordo requested.

  "Against the orders of the governor, we are in retreat. We are willing to accept the consequences, because otherwise we would face death or imprisonment at the hands of the Taergeni," he reported, bowing his head in shame.

  "Good, because the Emperor's orders hold more weight than the governor's," Osordo stated.

  "The Emperor's?" the banner wielder asked.

  "Andron Medaccae was crowned yesterday. His order is that all of our armies vacate Tarligean immediately, and that our occupation has come to an end," Osordo answered.

  "Yes, milord," he said with shallow relief.

  "You are t
o report to Fort Lyrem and await orders for your next post. Now move on," Osordo commanded.

  "Yes sir!"

  With a quick tug of the reins, Osordo's mount quickly raced north, and his escorts followed.

  * * *

  Daecrynn wondered as he faced the destruction that the mammoth siege engine had inflicted upon the western wall. Both of the towers alongside the west gate had been smashed into rubble, and the west gate itself had been reduced into twisted iron wreckage. Stones from the wall were strewn about Mitheldia Walk, up to two hundred yards into the city. Other than the military buildings used by the Madroceans, no buildings of Taergeni architecture had been damaged, but many buildings built by the Madrocean occupation were burning, smoke streaming high into the sky.