The Power Within: The Chronicles of Hollyglade Wayrender

by Steve Barker

  The woman had instructed her to leave her clothes outside the door to be washed. Apparently scrubbing clean her skin was only half the job the old woman required of her. Hollyglade placed her smock and trousers outside the door, closed it again, and sank into the bath. She was nowhere near the right size for the bath, but she made it work. It was a rare treat to have warm water and soap to bathe with.

  As she cleaned every inch of her bare skin, washing away the dust she had gathered as she had travelled this last week, she smiled as her naturally pale colour was revealed once again. She undid her braid and began to wash her long, red hair. The deep red colour had come from her giantish mother, though Hollyglade’s hair was straight and fine like that of her elvish father. She was often glad not to have to deal with the tight, course curls many giants were born with.

  Once she had finished getting the week’s dirt, sweat, and dust from her locks, she reclined and closed her eyes. She hadn’t had a warm bath in as long as she could remember, and she was surely not stepping out of it while there was any heat left to be enjoyed.

  ◆ ◆ ◆ ◆

  Hollyglade woke to the sound of several voices. Immediately, she felt herself shiver. She had stayed in the bath too long. She shook her head, sat up, and pulled herself out of the bath, reaching for the sheet to dry off with. Her hair, which had been hanging out the back of the bath, was still damp. She was accustomed to being cold after a scrub this time of year, as most of them came in some creek, lake, or river. Clean and cold is better than dirty and cold. The anticipation of a hot meal by the warm fire quickly made her smile as she stretched out. She could smell the delicious aroma of the simmering stew through the door. She had just begun to dry herself, when her ears caught some of the conversation coming from outside the door.

  “... very tall girl, looks like she’s Elvish, rather thin, dressed like a man…”

  Hollyglade tensed and scanned the room for her clothing. It was nowhere to be seen. Dammit old woman! Why did I give you my clothes! She pressed her ear to the door to see if she could make out more of what was being said. She could hear the old woman saying “..someone has been around but I’m old and blind and I’ve been asleep in my chair all afternoon. You’ll know all about it if you're cursed enough to reach my age...”

  Hollyglade was not in the mood for another run-in with some local garrison. She gritted her teeth. As she looked at the window to see if she could pry it open, she wrapped the sheet around herself. I hope to gods that woman has left my clothes on the line. Hollyglade figured she would employ a tactic she had used many times before in the side streets and alleyways of Magnaville. She would slip out the window and hide in the trees, wait for this group to move on, and then return to the cottage to collect her things before hitting the road once more. Next time though, she thought to herself, I would not trust the advice of some tavern wench.

  As the window slid open, Hollyglade could hear the man’s voice grow impatient.

  “... then we shall have a look inside, and see who might, or might not be about.”

  Hollyglade did not wait. She squeezed awkwardly through the small opening head first, since there was no hope of stepping through a window this size. As she pulled her hips through, and attempted to brace herself on the ground with one hand, she slipped and tumbled head over heels into the vegetable patch. The sheet she had been wrapped in caught on some part of the window frame, and did not come with her. Great, she thought as she hit the dirt. So much for the bath.

  As she scanned the edge of the yard for the clothesline, she heard someone rounding the far corner of the cottage. She quickly stepped backward toward the near corner of the ivy clad house. She moved quickly, but not quickly enough.

  “Oi! Stop there!” someone shouted “Lads she’s ’ere”. The husky man, dressed in leather, and hard boots, drew a sword.

  Drawn sword. Not Good! Hollyglade gave one brief glance at the sheet hanging from the window frame, winced, and bolted in the opposite direction. She was not interested in staying to attempt to talk her way out of whatever this was.

  Recently, local garrisons had given her nothing more than a ’move along, move along’, but so far they had yet to threaten violence or arrest. In her experience, when men drew their swords, they soon drew blood. Even if no sword had been drawn, she was not interested in enduring the kind of treatment women and young girls received from garrisons while under arrest.

  Hollyglade moved swiftly, and as she approached the short stone wall, she did not slow down. She leapt over it with ease, continuing at a full sprint. The edge of the outer yard and the surrounding forest were close by, and she made the tree line in seconds. As she passed by the first few trees and into a thicket of berry bushes, she glanced back to see the man sprawled on the ground below the short stone wall, trying to collect himself up from the dirt. She paused momentarily to look for his companions, to see how many men she might have to outrun and hide from.

  The sun was low in the sky, and she was looking directly below it. She could not make out how many men were responding to the shouts of the first, but she did not want to take the time to find out. She turned and began a brisk jog through the trees. Several indiscernible shouts came from the cottage, accompanied by the sound of shod hooves. They’re mounted? Who do they think they’re chasing for gods’ sakes?

  Hollyglade decided it was too risky to try and hide anywhere near the cottage. It was likely this group of men had come with more in mind than move along, and she expected that they would thoroughly search the woods near the cottage. Nimbly, she moved through the trees in a direction roughly parallel to the road, heading further out of the town. When she had approached the cottage earlier that morning, she had noticed a fork in the road a short distance from the edge of the old woman’s field. If I can cross that road, and move beyond the far side of the fork, I should be alright. They’re not likely to look for me that far from where they last saw me.

  The riders were taking their horses along the edge of the woods. The underbrush was too thick for a horse to move through any faster than a walk. Hollyglade was adept at moving rapidly, and silently, through dense foliage, part of her elvish half she was thankful for. She paused and crouched low behind a clump of bushes as the riders came to within about a score of yards. She was sure that she was too far into the forest to be seen, but remained crouched. She did not like the idea of her red hair dangling at the eye level of a man on horseback where the sunlight would easily catch it.

  The riders passed by, and after a few moments, Hollyglade began to move again. She assumed, if her sense of direction and gauge of the distance were correct, that she was just under a few hundred yards from where the road forked. As she approached, she heard the riders returning along the road, and stopped behind a large oak. She hazarded a glance, since they sounded further away now, and caught sight of them just before the fork, riding along the tree line on the far side of the road, in the direction of the cottage.

  She stood up, hunched over slightly, and resumed her approach to the road. She decided that the best place to cross was at the fork itself, so that she would only cross one width of road, and only risk the exposure of a single crossing before she would have to circle back. She stopped and took one more look along the road. She flinched at what she saw at the fork, cursing under her breath. A man stood in the road scanning the trees. He was not one of the men from the cottage, and appeared to be a farmer, most likely conscripted by those men to stand watch. Hollyglade turned west again and continued through the trees.

  The sun was now only a sliver on the horizon, and she knew that she would not make as much progress through the trees in the dark, even though her giantish vision would make it easier for her than for a human. She shuddered as she felt the air getting colder. Several minutes later, about a hundred yards west of the fork in the road, she moved to the edge of the tree line and peered through the failing light back to where she had seen the man standing watch.

  The sun was now completel
y set, and she could make out only a silhouette. Thankfully, he appeared not to be looking her way. Silently, she stepped out into the road and headed for the far side, hoping to cross this road, the thin strip of trees, and then the next road. When it seemed safe, she would find a way to circle back to the cottage and collect her things after the men had given up and moved on. She kept an eye on the silhouette while stepping gingerly over the rough ground. Something further down the road, back at the cottage, caught her attention.

  Several lanterns emerged from the cottage, and as Hollyglade’s giantish vision adjusted to the light, she could make out two men dragging the old woman by the arms. They brought her to the centre of the yard as the riders who had been scanning the treeline rode up to the cottage’s stone wall. The two men, both of average build, one slightly taller than the other, wore various shades of brown. Another shorter man was dressed in creamy white riding clothes. The last was head and shoulders above the others, and stood a couple of steps away from the man in white, who now took hold of the woman for himself.

  The man dressed in white passed his lantern to the tallest one. Next, he gently took the old woman’s hand with his, bent slightly, and kissed the back of hers. Then, all in one lightning quick motion he straightened up, drew and swung his sword.

  As the woman’s white hair flew up with the force of the cut, Hollyglade abruptly sucked in a gasping breath of air. As if trying to put the noise back in, she clamped a hand over her mouth. The silhouetted man turned toward her.

  “Oi! Who's that then?”

  Hollyglade spun on the balls of her feet, and sprinted as fast as her legs would take her.

  II : Fear

  Hollyglade scanned around the clearing looking for anything that might serve as a crude weapon. There were still several branches, which had been collected for firewood, lying on the far side of the fire where one of the men had dropped them. Hollyglade looked for the men’s swords, but both had been smart enough to sleep with their weapons against them. Hollyglade moved to her left, and stepped around the edge of the clearing, slowly passing the snoring rider. She could not help but smell the foulness of his breath as he exhaled heavily. She grimaced and put a hand to her mouth and nose, observing the scarred and deeply pockmarked face of her would be captor.

  After few more awkward steps, Hollyglade reached the pile of branches. She paused a moment to measure the distance between her and each of the men. It appeared to her that she could make the distance from the wood pile to either man with one long stride. This would put her in striking distance, should one of the pieces of firewood suffice as a weapon. She bent down to pick up one of the longer, heavier branches, and suddenly felt dizzy. Maybe it was the cold, or the lack of food, lack of water, or having been squatting in the bushes for so long, but Hollyglade felt entirely diminished in that one moment, and stumbled into the pile of wood. Several branches snapped, and she could feel deep pressure in several points on each hand, though the numbness of her extremities delayed any feeling of pain. A knee landed directly on a piece of wood, and there she did feel pain as she lost several layers of skin and felt the end of a twig drive into her flesh. She let out a small groan through her teeth as feelings of panic set in instantly.

  The snoring turned into a single startled snorting gasp, as the man she had passed, and who was now to her right, threw an arm out of his blanket and pressed it on the ground to start to sit up. There was no stopping now. Hollyglade quickly glanced to her left, saw a blanket fly up, grabbed the branch she was touching, and stood up.

  She loaded up on her right foot, stepped toward the snorer, and with her right arm swung the branch with all the strength she had. The blow caught the man in the cheek as she used every inch of her length to close the distance. The branch broke as it made contact, and without any feeling in her hands, Hollyglade could not maintain her grip, causing the remainder of the branch to fly out of reach. The man let out a scream as he grabbed at his cheek to find blood pouring from where the tip of the branch had swept across his mottled face.

  As the branch flew into the surrounding bush, Hollyglade looked beneath her in search of another. From behind her, she could hear the taller rider getting to his feet. As her hand clamped around another branch, she felt a sharp pain break through the numbness, as it travelled up her arm to her elbow. Fear came with it. She had been so patient in the bushes, suffering cold and numbness in order to await the moment when these two men would be at their most exposed, and now she was fumbling clumsily in the night, with a broken tree branch for a weapon, and still slowed by cold. She gritted her teeth, whirled toward the taller rider, and swung blindly as she heard his sword being ripped from its sheath.

  She was very cold. Her feet were numb, and she was dizzy. The whirl and strike were full of fear and panic, and therefore wild. The strike missed, and she lost her balance, tumbling to the ground as the man’s sword whizzed over her head. She landed flat on her back, as the hard ground met her unforgivingly and she felt the air being smashed from her lungs. She gasped desperately as the taller man stepped over her, raising his sword to deliver a downward strike.

  She could feel power surging, magic building like anger within her. It threatened to burst forth in an uncontrolled release of rage, ready to tear and rend everything around her. She could not let it out, could not let it through the barriers she had built within her. Something so dangerous and devastating could not be allowed to be released without control. But she could not control it, did not know how, and so she held it in. She knew her only option was some other form of action.

  Hollyglade reacted as swiftly as she could, pulling her left knee up, and thrusting her foot toward the man’s groin. She connected squarely, and buckled him. He let go of his sword with one hand, pulling his knees together and covering his manhood. The tip of his weapon dropped down to the side, as he struggled to maintain his grip with the other hand.

  Hollyglade reached for the branch she had been holding, found it, and used her length to deliver a massive blow to the the head of the man standing over her. He tried to avoid the attack, but her kick had done its job, and as a result he was too slow. He crumpled, and fell forward, landing directly on top of Hollyglade. She tried to grab him by the jerkin, attempting to roll him off, as she looked to the smaller man she had bloodied, but her hands were numb and she could not control her grip. Her hand slipped from the unconscious man’s clothing, and his limp body continued to hold her down.

  The short man, his face now bleeding heavily, was on his feet, and with one hand covering his cheek, and his sword in the other, he moved toward her. “You beastly witch! I’ll do you for that!”

  Hollyglade reached for the sword dropped by the now unconscious man, found it by her left side, and brought it up as quickly as her numb hands would move it. The unconscious man still lay on top of her, making the move difficult, and even clumsier than her numbness had already caused it to be. As the bleeding man’s sword came down she managed to get the blade in front of it, and both weapons collided.

  She was cold, and numb. The blow knocked the sword from her hand, but with the momentum of her blocking motion, she managed to roll the unconscious body off and onto the ground. The bloody, pocked marked rider wobbled as he tried to control his follow through. Hollyglade sprang to her feet and lunged for him. As she did so, she lowered her shoulder and knocked him straight at the centre of the fire, and onto the stew pot and fire irons. He howled as he landed squarely in the center of the fire ring, sending sparks flying, losing his sword on impact.

  Hollyglade stumbled clumsily to her knees again and let out a sharp cry, feeling another intense shot of pain jump through her legs as the rough, frozen soil bit at her. She fumbled for another branch from the scattered pile of firewood, until her hand clasped around the middle of a large piece. She looked to her left and saw the man had moved to all fours and was feeling for his sword. He grunted and spat as he located the blade and tried to grip the handle. Hollyglade sprang to her feet once more,
gripped the branch in both hands, took one step forward, and with all her strength delivered a blow to the back of the man’s neck as she let out a scream. He went limp before hitting the ground.

  Hollyglade staggered, stumbled and reached for the sword she had dropped. She paused to gain her breath, and listen for any sounds, or a sign that someone might have heard the commotion. She could sense nothing, and so she stood catching her breath. She was naked, cold, numb, thirsty, hungry, bleeding, bruised, scraped, and dizzy with the aftermath of fear and panic. She began to cry softly.

  Pulling herself out of her momentary tearful malaise, she inspected both men, finding them thoroughly unconscious. She grabbed the nearest blanket and wrapped herself tightly. Finding a rope amongst the small pile of supplies, she took it and began to drag each man, one at a time, over to a nearby tree. She laid them both on their backs and stretched their arms around the tree, tying them by their wrists with the rope lashed about the base of the tree. Once she was confident in her knotwork, she took a knife from one of the mens’ belts and cut the sleeves from the smaller man’s shirt, gagging each of them.

  Hollyglade yanked off the larger man’s riding boots, and tried to pull one of them onto her own foot to no avail. Though she was half elvish, a race with famously dainty feet, she was also half giantish, and though she was yet but a fifteen year old girl, she had already grown to a size beyond which she had ever seen any human man reach. She cursed and threw the boots toward the bush. There were still a few branches of firewood left. She placed several on the fire, and then took stock of the supplies the men had carried. Unfortunately, these two had not carried much in the way of supplies. She had hoped to have the use of one of the horses, which would give her a way to put some distance between her and the others of this bounty hunter’s group, but in the commotion they had both pulled themselves from their tether lines and run off into the night. Hollyglade took a moment to close her eyes and feel for the horses with her mind. She could not sense the presence of either animal. Though she knew horses often returned to their riders once panic subsided, she did not have time to wait.