The Power Within: The Chronicles of Hollyglade Wayrender

by Steve Barker

  “Don’t sit up. You’ve had a fall. This one here carried you in from the barn. Says you and she gave each other a scare, and you fell from the loft.”

  “My apologies” Hollyglade stepped forward slightly and lowered her head “I meant to give no mischief to you. I regret the disturbance my intrusion has caused, and the injury that resulted. I sought only to escape the cold of the night, and had hoped to be on my way without your knowledge and having taken no more than the refuge I sought. It appears my fatigue was so great that I did not wake with the rooster’s call nor the light of morning.” She looked up at the man and his wife “Good people, I beg your forgiveness and ask your leave to depart in peace.”

  The farmer and his wife looked at each other as he finally sat up and felt the back of his head. He swung his legs to the floor and stood up, wobbly at first, holding the bed post until he gained his balance. The farmer looked Hollyglade up and down, taking in the dishevelled appearance of her hair which contained a considerable amount of hay, her lack of footwear and the wrappings she had fashioned in their place. He grinned slightly as he observed the odd conjunction of her makeshift clothing and the weapons and saddlebags she had loosely hanging about her. He gave a wry half smile and chuckled to himself as he took in her pitiful demeanor and vestment. His gaze finally came to settle on Hollyglade’s bleeding leg.

  “You’re bleeding. What happened? And why are you dressed in sleeping blankets? Did you leave a pile of clothes in my barn?”

  Hollyglade opened her mouth to begin to offer a reply, and paused before she could let any words out. She did not want to start trying to explain the details, or even the generalities of what had happened to her over the last days. Doing so could place this family at the same risk as the old woman whose cottage she had fled from the previous evening. Hollyglade could not imagine leading her pursuers to this humble family’s home and causing them to suffer the same gruesome fate. She avoided the question.

  “It is nothing sir, I’ll wrap it and make do.” She offered as she rubbed the area around the wound.

  “Nonsense. That’s a fresh wound and I won’t have you leaving here dripping blood, much less leaving a mess for my wife to scrub from the floor. Caught in the cold last night you say? Then you’ll stay for breakfast.”

  Hollyglade felt her stomach growl at the mention of food, and she realized that this was the third day since she had last eaten.

  “We may be humble farmers, but we care for strangers in need, when such need presents itself. What’s your name?”

  “Hollyglade, sir.”

  “An interesting name. Well this is my wife Lera, our son Peter, and I’m called Eric. Come, let’s patch you up, and you can answer some things for me over a meal.”

  Hollyglade wasn’t sure how to respond, as she expected anger from someone she had caused injury to, yet they seemed genuine and charitable people. She had thought the same of the old woman whose cottage she had stopped at the previous afternoon. The thought that there were people in the kingdom who still valued hospitality toward strangers, even after the King’s latest decree, encouraged her.

  There was still the matter of the men who she knew were hunting her. That old woman’s fate weighed heavily on Hollyglade’s conscience, and made her hesitant to take the offer of hospitality. Yet she was still tired, very hungry, and the warmth that now touched her skin still had a fair way to go to bring the restoration of some vitality to her bones. She convinced herself that there must be at least a small amount of time she could risk staying here before moving on. She nodded and followed the family, ducking out through the door of the bedroom, and stepping back out into the main room.

  Hollyglade sat down on one of the chairs and took a look at her leg. The wound was not very deep, and the blood flow had reduced to a slow trickle. The man tore a strip from a fresh cloth his wife had given him, and handed it to Hollyglade, along with a bowl of water containing a washcloth. She nodded in thanks, washed the wound, and wrapped the clean cloth around her leg snugly, tying the ends securely. She accepted a mug of warm milk from the woman, and drank it all in a single series of long draughts. As she set the mug down on the table and wiped the milk from her lip, the man looked at her with a raised eyebrow which then transitioned into a smile and a chuckle as he took the mug from in front of her and refilled it.

  “Slowly this time friend” he said with a hearty laugh “there’s a meal to come still.”

  She blushed slightly as she picked up the refilled mug and made an effort to sip politely. Sitting down, taking his own mug in his hand and sipping, the man looked Hollyglade in the eye and leant back in his chair.

  “Now, you must tell me how you ended up concealed in a pile of hay in my barn dressed such as you are, without proper clothes or boots. I’d welcome a good story over breakfast.”

  ◆ ◆ ◆ ◆

  Dawn had not yet broken when dGerrie awoke. The night had been a difficult one, and he had managed very little sleep. dGerrie felt restless still, as he ate a rudimentary meal he had prepared over what remained of the coals still glowing in the hearth of the inn. They had ridden to another town after leaving the cottage, which had been occupied by the now deceased woman. There they had come close to apprehending the girl whom Var Toran had been contracted to capture. The events of the previous evening had not sat well with dGerrie. He had been made to stand by as two innocent women had been executed within an hour of each other by the man dGerrie had been contracted to.

  Violence had its place in dGerrie’s personal moral code. That place was reserved for times of necessity such as war and self defence. The violence which came so easily to Var Toran was not sitting well with dGerrie. There was a scale upon which dGerrie ranked one type of violence, and another. Murder of the innocent was on a level he would never willing reach.

  He felt conflicted over the fulfillment of his contract. On one hand dGerrie took the fact that it was a contract very seriously, and this meant that he felt obligated to see this job to its end. This would mean capturing a young girl who obviously did not want to be caught, and was somewhat capable of escape and evasion, which hinted at other skills and abilities that may pose a danger. Skills and abilities, the use of which may provoke a strong response from someone like The Dancer. Though dGerrie could assure himself that he would not resort to the kind of violence that The Dancer seemed to prefer, he was utterly convinced that this girl would not be spared completely, that there would be some sort of cruelty or torture The Dancer had reserved for her.

  On the other hand, dGerrie was not without compassion. Having been one of many people he knew to have survived growing up an orphan on the streets of a large city, dGerrie understood that people sometimes acted desperately, doing things that were outside the law in order to survive. As far as he knew, this girl’s only crime was being half Elvish, something that as far as dGerrie could recall should only require being ushered out of Magnaville, and maybe being told to go as far as the southern end of the Western Mountains, the traditional territory of the Elvish Septs. The default attitude that he had been instructed by the city garrison to treat Elder folk with, was one of firmness balanced with respect and dignity. dGerrie was having an increasingly difficult time rectifying the intensity of The Dancer’s tactics with what he knew of the King’s actual decree.

  As he sat by the hearth eating his crude breakfast and waiting for his contractor to awaken and outlay the intended strategy for the day’s search, dGerrie’s feeling of anxiety and discomfort deepened. Part of him hoped that he would somehow find this girl on his own and be able to guide her flight to safety, leaving no trail to be followed, with the hope that The Dancer would eventually give up. His misgivings only deepened as he concluded that Trenon Var Toran was not the kind of man, not the kind of bounty hunter, to give up on a contract.

  dGerrie had the distinct impression that there were only two possible outcomes to this hunt. Either Var Toran captured his prey, or met some kind of untimely death in the attempt. Having
seen some small indication of the skill with weapons possessed by the bounty hunter, dGerrie did not expect there to be many people in this world capable of delivering him that untimely end, least of all a fifteen year old girl.

  His thoughts were interrupted by the subject of his disquieted reflection, as Var Toran entered the main room of the Inn, fully dressed for the road.

  “Mr. Theurbeault, I trust you slept comfortably in this lovely little auberge. Isn’t it just wonderful to be able to take advantage of the marvelous variety of accommodations available across this pristine land? I do enjoy the road, with its beautiful scenery, colourful people, and delicious cuisine. I find the people in these small villages so quaint and interesting. How much effort their lives must take. How creative they must have to be just to combat the boredom that comes with a life spent toiling to put food on the table.

  “Did you hear the music that came from the barn at the edge of this village last night? Such wonderful melodies! And the whole of this community seemed to have been gathered there.”

  The smile that spread across his face seemed to go from ear to ear as the bounty hunter sat down at the far side of the hearth. dGerrie would have been moved by the observance, were he able to take the smile and the musings out from the context of the rest of this man. Instead dGerrie felt a sinking revolt within his stomach.

  “I see you have eaten. Are you ready to return to our search?”

  dGerrie silently nodded his reply.

  “Good, good. We should expect the return of Mr. Webb and Mr. Brooker by mid-morning.”

  dGerrie found it odd that this bounty hunter never referred to those in his employ by their given names. Perhaps it was his way of separating himself from those around him, or distinguishing himself from other bounty hunters as being in a class above.

  Looking over his shoulder, Var Toran called for the innkeeper to bring him a meal, then returned his attention to dGerrie. “Mr. Theurbeault, please make ready our horses. I shall be only a few minutes with breakfast. I never eat a heavy meal in the morning if I mean to ride shortly after. I find it makes the journey more comfortable not to have the extra weight in one’s stomach. We shall return to the fork in the road where we last parted with our companions, and if they have not returned there we shall set out along the path they took. Hopefully they shall have an answer to what it was our farmer friend thinks he saw in the road at sundown. ”

  dGerrie nodded again and collected his effects, turning and heading out the front door to the inn. He thought about the girl they were hunting, and hoped that the person the farmer had spotted was not her, and was instead one of the many townsfolk who fled to the woods as the word of Var Toran’s slaying of the innkeeper had spread. He could not help but feel for this girl. The conflict within him continued to grow.

  The horses had been boarded in stalls behind the building, and dGerrie set about saddling them. Once he had them both ready, he returned to the main entrance to the inn and hitched them to the rail, waiting there for Var Toran to join him.

  Mid-day had arrived and there was no sign of the two men whom The Dancer had sent along the eastern fork in the road, which led out of the village where they had first found the trail of the girl they sought. dGerrie had been sent back to that village to be sure the two men had not returned there to rejoin with The Dancer and himself, rather than waiting at the fork as they had been instructed. Having not found any sign of either man in the village, dGerrie arrived back at the fork where he had left Var Toran.

  “There was no sign they’d gone back to the village. I was not received gladly there. It turns out the old woman you dispatched was well liked, and her …. passing…. was not taken kindly.” dGerrie chose his words as carefully as he could. He hoped that his own personal discomfort with the bounty hunter’s methods would be masked by the impression that it was the cold reception he had received which truly bothered him.

  “Well then, Mr. Theurbeault, it appears we must broaden our search to include our comrades. Let us hope they are simply delayed. Shall we?” He motioned along the eastern fork, and turned his horse up the road. With a nod, dGerrie followed.

  Less than a league along the road, dGerrie spotted something odd. “There,” he pointed to something in the bush about twenty yards in front of them along the side of the road, “a horse without a rider. Could belong to one of them.” dGerrie nudged his mount to a trot and came alongside the stray horse. It wore a bridle, yet was without a saddle.

  As dGerrie dismounted, and Var Toran arrived beside him, he notice a strand of rope tied to the bridle, the end of which appeared to have been snapped. He placed his hand on the horse’s neck and reached for the rope. The animal did not seem to mind and continued to feed on the grass at the edge of the road as dGerrie looked closely at the broken tether. “Something frightened him” he said as he looked off into the bush.

  “Indeed Mr. Theurbeault, and that is one of my mounts. Let us have a look here and there and see it we might discover what befell the man to whom I lent it. I believe we may be in for the telling of an interesting story. Oh, I do like stories!”

  dGerrie shuddered at the sickeningly gleeful tone with which the bounty hunter spoke. He could not help but recall meeting Tom and Hern back in Magnaville, and hearing that neither of them had been long in The Dancer’s employ, and that short terms of employment seemed the norm for those he hired. dGerrie began to suspect that failure was treated by The Dancer in the same way as a lack of cooperation by those he questioned had been. The line he walked in service of this contract felt thinner and thinner by the day.

  As dGerrie took the horse and tied the tether to his saddle, the bounty hunter began scanning the bush along the far side of the road. dGerrie walked both horses along his side looking for evidence of the two missing men. Less than a hundred paces further along the edge of the treeline, dGerrie spotted a narrow path, what he thought was likely a game trail, that led between some short bushes.

  Stopping to scan the area, he spotted several sets of tracks. A single set of footprints with some spots of blood, left by long and narrow bare feet, that led into the bush at a seemingly random spot. A few paces away were two sets of boot tracks leading down the narrow path. dGerrie tied both horses to a low tree branch, and set about tracing the tracks. They were not hard to follow.

  In recent years spent on both sides of the law, dGerrie had learned some tracking skill, both in hunting for food, and for fugitives. He had also learned, through taking a keen interest for various reasons, in how to mask his own tracks, a skill he had applied on several occasions in years past.

  These tracks were quite obvious, and seemed to have been left without a care. dGerrie looked up to locate the bounty hunter, and gave a short whistle, waving The Dancer to come to where the tracks began. dGerrie did not wait for him to arrive as he made his way down the path.

  A dozen yards or so down the trail, and around a slight right bend, dGerrie stepped into a clearing and stopped suddenly. His heart sank, knowing what would come as a result of that which he now laid his eyes upon.

  With hands tied above their heads to one tree, and legs stretched out and tied to another, Tom and Hern looked him in the eye and began to emit muffled pleas through the strips of cloth they had been gagged with. dGerrie shook his head, and rather than move to untie the two men, he rested his wrist on his sword and leant against a nearby tree to wait for the bounty hunter to arrive.

  Looking around the clearing, dGerrie took stock of the scene spread out before him. Small bits of firewood lay scattered about, a cooking pot and fire irons lay next to the small fire pit, and a pair of boots sat at the edge of the clearing as though they had been tossed there from afar. Looking back at the two pathetic captives, it struck dGerrie that neither man had their boots, their sleeves had been torn from their shirts. Tom was naked from the waist down and his feet had turned a slight shade of blue. As dGerrie started to imagine all the possible ways these two might have ended up in this position, the bounty hu
nter arrived beside him.

  “Oh my” The Dancer exclaimed with excitement “we will have a story Mr. Theurbeault. One I think we shall find most interesting. Please untie them so we may have the telling.” He walked across the small clearing and took a seat on the stump of a dead tree, crossed one leg over the other and laced his fingers together over his knee. He leant back slightly and widened his now baleful grin.

  dGerrie untied both men, starting with Tom who began frantically making excuses as he ran immediately to his trousers, put them on, and scooped up the boots.

  “She done bewitched us sir!”

  “I’m not a knight, but please…. Continue. I do love a story”

  “She must ’ave used some kind of bewitchment on us! Made us fall asleep under her spell and set upon us in the night.”

  “Yes. Oh, a witch Mr. Theurbeault! Do you hear that? How exciting!” his eyes never left Tom as he giggled his excitement.

  Tom bit his lip as he began to grasp the gravity of his situation.

  “Tom, she threw into the fire with some unnatural beastly strength.” interjected Hern as dGerrie finish removing his restraints. “She surprised me out of nowhere with a giant club of some kind. I never ’ad time to get my sword to ’er. She must be some kind of giant Elvish fire-haired naked devil! The Red Witch!”

  “Naked you say? This girl you scared out the window of the cottage remained unclothed, shivering in the cold of the night, and still desired to attack you! I must meet her.” The excitement in his voice took on a slight hint of sarcasm, yet somehow dGerrie believe he truly was fascinated with this girl.

  “Yes, Mr. Dancer.” Hern responded “She was a ’uge one, too. Taller than ’im by an ’ead,” he said as he nodded at dGerrie “and she moved like the wind. She must ’ave been under some sort of spell that made ’er immune to cold and gave ’er beastly speed and strength.”