The Power Within: The Chronicles of Hollyglade Wayrender

by Steve Barker

  Ni’Morstrom stepped closer to the mournful King. “Your Majesty, my sources have returned to me with word that your brother was taken by agents of the kingdom of Demaria. They tell me that word of your brother’s plan to escort your father to his final resting place reached the court there, and that a small force was dispatched to take your brother. They tell me that the order given was to kidnap the Prince for ransom, but that your brother gave resistance valiantly and was slain defending himself in the melee that ensued. It was not clear whether the orders came directly from their king, or from someone within his court. Nevertheless, the men were identified by their sigil, a river delta on a sandy shore, for house Casterin of Downwater. A King is responsible for the actions of his Lords. You must give response to this crime against your kingdom.”

  The King was overwhelmed with the depth and weight of the implications that came with what the Sorcerer had relayed to him. He sat head in hands, drifting between the numbness of grief over the loss of his beloved brother, the righteous anger at the audacity of the kidnapping, and the fear of having to decide how to respond to it all. His mind started to go blank as his hands trembled and the tears rolled down his cheeks. The King wiped his eyes and looked up at the Sorcerer “Where is my brother’s body?”

  “It seems, Your Majesty, that his body was sent out to sea from the mouth of the river in Downwater. A final insult to your kingdom and family. For that, the Lord Casterin must answer, lest you appear weak.”

  With a sudden turn to anger, the King stood and raised a fist. “I’ll send the army. I’ll teach those blasted Demarians what it means to throw away my Father’s peace and love. Call my commanders at once!”

  Ni’Morstrom remained motionless as the King turned from grief to rage, lifting only a hand as he offered his counsel. “My King, may I suggest a different approach? It may be wise to delay a larger action that would be seen as an act to war, by choosing a more subtle response. I may have the means to bring Lord Casterin to you, so that he may answer for his crimes against you, and you may dispense a King’s justice. I propose that you allow me to send an agent with a small and stealthy force to capture the Lord of Downwater. If they are successful, you may be able to render a just verdict and avoid war. An eye for an eye, as it were, my King.”

  The young King paused in a moment of indecision. He knew that he must issue a response for the murder of his brother, but he was afraid of the magnitude of war. Having read some of the history of his Father’s reign, he knew that a measured response was often the choice the late King prefered when reproach or insult were directed at the kingdom. “What did you have in mind, Lord Ni’Morstrom?”

  “Has Your Majesty heard of the bounty hunter Trenon Var Toran, called by some, The Dancer?”

  ◆ ◆ ◆ ◆

  Hollyglade was exhausted. She had not slept in a day, and it would soon be dawn. Through the night, she had moved at a steady jog, despite the pain in her injured feet and knees, in order to put as great a distance as she could between herself and the men she had left tied between two trees several leagues behind her. Fatigue was beginning to take its toll once more, and though she now wore a crude assembly of blankets she had fashioned into some small protection from the elements, she was still cold.

  Had she taken more time to warm herself by the fire built by her would-be captors, she may have felt revived enough to continue for another day. She had gone without sleep for days at a time on many occasions while living in the Red Lanes, before she was able to lay claim her own corner of one of the disused and crumbling buildings in the old quarter. She had also been chased before, by men she had pickpocketed and by vendors from whom she had taken a morsel of food. But she had never had to deal with both the lack of sleep and a determined pursuit simultaneously. Never had she been hunted.

  Nerves were beginning to fray, as anxiety and fear compounded by a growing fatigue-induced delirium started to take its toll. Her feet, though they were now bound with the cloth she had torn from the blankets, were still aching. She could feel them again, but what she felt was throbbing pain from several punctures, and an overall bruising sustained from running along the rough ground just as the sun had set at the beginning of this trialsome night. She needed shelter, a place to hide and to rest. She had hoped that a byproduct of the running would be warmth, yet she was still shivering.

  Stopping to catch her breath for a moment, Hollyglade attempted to calm her body and slow her breathing and heart rate. While doing so, she heard the distinct sound of a horse blowing. Looking around and crouching, Hollyglade began to feel panic rise. Had the riders somehow freed themselves of their restraints, found their mounts and caught up to her? Were these their companions? She heard another blow, and began to relax. In her deteriorated state, Hollyglade did not at first recognize the sound for what it was, a relaxed release of air horses often emit while greeting one another.

  After a moment, she finally saw the animal which had made the sound. Just a score of yards from where she had stopped and stood with her hands on her knees, was a fence line. At the fence stood a tall grey workhorse, the kind often used on the plow or to pull wagons or other farm equipment. Hollyglade smiled and approached it gently. As she did, she reached out to it with her mind, sending a calming greeting. It turned its ears toward her and stretched its muzzle forward as she lifted her hand to its nose. As they made contact, the great horse dropped its head slightly and allowed Hollyglade to rub her hands along its head and neck. The animal seemed to accept her as she stood caressing its coat with a gentle recipience.

  Hollyglade realized that she must have come to the edge of a farm, and this horse had been out to pasture for the night. Often at this time of year, farmers would bring their horses into the barns in the evening, but this animal was much larger, and would be quite comfortable in the night air until temperatures got considerably lower. Hollyglade closed her eyes, and as she made a mental connection with the horse, she projected the thought home.

  Almost instantly, the great beast turned its head and took a couple of steps away from the fence. Hollyglade sensed that it remained calm and relaxed as it did so. After it had taken a few more steps, the horse stopped and turned to look at her expectantly. Hollyglade understood that the horse was waiting for her to follow, so she placed one hand on the fence post and hopped to the far side, wincing in pain as she landed gingerly on her sore feet. She moved up to stand by the horse's shoulder, and placed a hand on its back. They began to walk together as the horse led her out of the trees.

  Once they had emerged from the wooded area, and into a fenced field, Hollyglade could just make out the shape of a building no more than a hundred yards from the trees. Though it was still night Hollyglade expected the sun would be up shortly, and so she wanted to reach what she hoped would be a barn as soon as possible. As if in response to the thought, the horse quickened its pace slightly, and Hollyglade limped along as best she could to match it. A few moments later, they came to the side of the building.

  Hollyglade left the animal there, and circled the building slowly and silently, to get a look at the entire area. This was indeed a barn, and there stood a small farmhouse a stone’s throw across another fenced off yard on the far side of the barn from where she had approached. There was no light coming from the house, so Hollyglade assumed that whoever occupied it was still asleep.

  Hollyglade returned to the spot she had left the horse, and approached it once more. Standing in front of it and gently taking its head with both of her hands, she reached out with her mind again and projected a general curiosity about the farmhouse. The horse made another blow from its nose, and responded with feelings of peaceful affection. Hollyglade was certain that whoever owned this farm and this horse was a good person, and treated his animals kindly.

  Animals always associated strong emotions with their masters, and Hollyglade was familiar with the expression of those emotions. Animals may have respect for a fair master, even one that drives his beasts with a whip. They wou
ld express fear, and even hatred, for an owner or master that mistreated them or worked them too hard. The impression that this horse gave her, about whoever lived in the house, was one of affection. This horse genuinely loved its owner and likely served him for the pleasure of his company.

  With that knowledge, Hollyglade made a choice to risk entering the barn. She believed that if the man in the house was gentle with the horse, he would also not be overly harsh to someone seeking warmth and refuge in his barn. Should she be discovered there, Hollyglade was optimistic that she could beg pardon and be on her way without any trouble. She made the decision to sneak into the barn with the hope of finding a hay pile to crawl into and steal a short sleep. With luck, she would be able to sneak back out undetected and move along after some rest.

  It was no surprise to Hollyglade that the man door was unlocked. With great care not to make a sound, she slowly opened the door and slipped inside. There was no real light in the barn, but her eyes were well adjusted and her giantish low-light vision allowed her to see well enough to move carefully and confidently. Within the barn, she could hear a number of animals breathing and chewing the cud from the previous day's grazing.

  The smell of cattle and horses filled the air, and Hollyglade smiled to herself as she inhaled the familiar scents she had recently grown to take comfort in. Farm animals were docile and generally trusting of people. With her experience and special abilities, Hollyglade was always able to move among a herd without disturbing or alarming them. Though most animals were slightly more sensitive to strangers, especially within the enclosed space of a barn, Hollyglade gave out a calming and soothing projection which seemed to result in the beasts within this barn taking no notice of her.

  She eventually found a ladder to the hay loft, and ascended gingerly as the rungs created an uncomfortable pressure on the battered soles of her feet, even through the wrappings. Though she winced with each ladder rung she climbed, she made it to the floor of the loft without slipping, and peered about her surroundings. There were sheaves of wheat and barley next to rough bales of hay, and along one wall a pile of hay which was obviously a bale or two that had been pulled apart to be pitched to the animals below.

  Hollyglade stepped slowly over to the hay pile and knelt in front of it. Carefully, she removed the scabbard holding the sword and dagger from her waist, and set them along with the saddlebags on the floor of the loft. She placed the second sword and scabbard with the first, and began to carefully spread apart a small section of the hay pile in order to make a flat spot to lay down and hopefully find some sleep.

  Deliberately, Hollyglade lowered herself into the pile, lay on her side and curled herself up to retain as much body heat as she could. She placed the saddlebags under her head, and the swords in front of her before pulling enough hay about herself to become completely covered. After only a couple of minutes, she began to feel the insulating properties of the hay take effect, and fell asleep.

  ◆ ◆ ◆ ◆

  The sudden stabbing pain in her leg shocked Hollyglade into consciousness with a jolt. With a loud, startled yelp she sprang back from whatever it was that was attacking her. Scrambling desperately, she reached for one of the weapons that lay buried in the hay with her while flailing her good leg in the direction of the attacker hoping to drive them back.

  Her foot connected with someone. With a mad flurry of motion which flung hay in every direction, Hollyglade stood up out of the feed pile with a sword in her hand. As she became upright, she saw the shape of a man staggering backwards. The man let out a confused and frightened shout as he tripped over his own feet trying to retreat from the explosion of cattle feed. Hollyglade winced at the pain in her leg, and then in the next instant gasped in surprise and shock as the man, holding a pitchfork in his hands, missed his next step and fell down the opening in the floor where the ladder to the hay loft stood.

  Feeling a rush of guilt, Hollyglade limped as quickly as she could, to the edge of the opening as she heard the hard thud of the man hitting the muddy ground, followed by a deep groan. Arriving at the top of the ladder, Hollyglade looked down to see the man splayed out below her with his mouth hanging slack and eyes glazed. She paused for a moment and watched him.

  Relief rose within her as she saw his chest rise and fall. Panic began to creep up, and she limped back over to the hay pile, collecting her things. She chided herself for sleeping so long. Now her plan to leave without a trace was impossible to carry out. She hoped that now she could slip away and at least remain a mystery. Quickly and quietly, she made her way down the ladder, carefully stepping over the unconscious farmer and making her way to the man door.

  As she placed her hand on the door and pressed it open, she stopped abruptly. Her senses were suddenly overwhelmed by the outpouring of fear and concern emanating from the livestock within the barn. She flinched and gritted her teeth, turning around to look at the man who lay in the mud. She had once been a pickpocket, and thief, and even a swindler from time to time, but Hollyglade had never been comfortable with harm coming to an innocent person.

  As she stared at him, she realized that the man had had no idea that she was hiding in his pile of hay, and had simply thrust his pitchfork into the hay pile to throw down the morning’s feed to his animals. Limping across the barn, Hollyglade bent over and moved the pitchfork aside to check the man for injuries. She could not find any sign of broken bones, and so she took hold of both his arms and attempted to pull him into a sitting position. He remained limp as his body refused to return to wakefulness.

  “Hey mister, wake up” She shook him gently and patted his cheek. Nothing. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for you to fall. You surprised me.” He gave no response. “Aah, for the love of gods. Why couldn’t you have just been a little late to your herd today?”

  The man was not large. He looked to Hollyglade to be middle-aged. His brown hair and beard showed no signs of greying. Hollyglade was young, but she had built considerable strength in the last few years working on farms such as this. Her leg hurt and was bleeding moderately, but she could not bring herself to leave this man as he was. She strapped the scabbard with the sword and long knife back to her waist, and put the saddle bags and the other scabbard over her shoulder. She took hold of one of the man’s arms, bent down to place one knee between his legs, and pulled him across her shoulders.

  With effort, she stood up holding the man across her back, and walked to the door. She shuffled, wincing in pain each time she put weight on her right leg, yet forced herself to go forward. Once she cleared the main door to the barn, which the farmer had left open upon entering earlier, she looked around to get her bearings. With an exhalation she began to head for the farmhouse.

  At about half the distance to the farmhouse, Hollyglade saw movement in one of the windows. She continued forward, hoping there would be someone in the house, the man’s wife perhaps, who would be able to help him. Suddenly the door to the farmhouse flew open, and a woman came rushing out followed by a boy holding a wood cutting axe. Hollyglade stopped in her tracks and raised one hand from the unconscious farmer’s leg as she signalled her yield to the pair as they came into the yard.

  “What have you done to him?” the woman exclaimed upon seeing her limp husband draped across the shoulders of a very tall stranger. The plain looking woman, her black hair reaching her shoulders, over her brown dress and grey apron, caught sight of the weapons about Hollyglade’s waist and motioned for the boy to stop.

  “Ma’am, I assure you that I mean neither this man, nor either of you any harm. I was lost in the cold of the night this past evening, and took refuge in your barn. This goodly man here, unbeknownst to him, surprised me from my slumber beneath the hay pile, and in my shocked awakening I in turn frightened him. In his alarm he fell from the loft to the floor of the barn. I could not leave an honest and innocent man lying hurt such as he was, so I chose to carry him to his house. Ma’am, I beg you to let me bring him in to you that you may tend to him.”

>   The woman paused for a moment as she appeared to be taking in what Hollyglade had told her.

  “You’re bleeding also.” She gave a look of skepticism as she motioned to the wound on Hollyglade’s right leg.

  “Yes Ma’am. He awoke me with his pitchfork not knowing I lay buried in the feed. Please, I wish to help him, it was my fault he fell though I had no desire for it, and I wish to see him aided.”

  “Come.” she nodded as she waved them toward the house “Peter, get the door for us.” She approached Hollyglade and gave what support she could as they made their way into the house.

  Once through the door, Hollyglade immediately felt the warmth of the fire burning in the hearth. She took a half second to peer about the inside of the stone building, finding a small table and chairs, cooking area, and a couple of doors leading to other parts of the house. The woman motioned to one of the doors “In here. On the bed. Peter get a bowl of water and a cloth and bring it to me.”

  As they came through to the back room where a bed stood against one wall, Hollyglade knelt down and lowered the man to the bed as gently as she was able. He let out a groan as his wife placed a pillow under his head and began to examine him. Hollyglade stepped aside to allow the boy to bring the water and cloth to his mother. She dipped the cloth in the water, folded it and placed it on his forehead.

  “He doesn’t seemed to have broken anything, but he does have a lump here” she noted as she moved the cloth to the back of his head. He winced and then opened his eyes.

  “Lera” he whispered “what am I doing here? I was feeding the cattle.” He tried to sit up and groggily moved his head about in an effort to gain his bearings. His eyes found Hollyglade leaning against the wall and a look of puzzled suspicion came over his visage.