The Power Within: The Chronicles of Hollyglade Wayrender

by Steve Barker

  Both men now stood close to the glowing embers of what remained of the fire trying to rub some warmth back into their chilled bones. dGerrie returned to his tree and leant back against the trunk, crossing his arms over his chest.

  “She took our blankets too” Tom continued “and asked us a bunch of questions about what reason we was lookin’ for ’er. She wanted to know who you was and why you was chasin’ ’er. She threatened to cut off me gentlemen’s bits! She probably would ’ave used it in some dark ritual of ’ers!”

  As dGerrie listened to the obviously exaggerated recounting of the night, he started to picture this girl in his mind. Red hair. Half Elvish. Taller than me, which is taller than the average Elvish woman. Quick, resourceful, doesn’t let the cold stop her. It reminded him a little of someone he had known in Magnaville. Could that be her? She wasn’t nearly that tall when I last saw her. But that was several years ago, and she should still have had some growing to do from then to now. But what in the gods’ names could she possibly have done to deserve a bounty? She was always kind and gentle. It can’t be her. Must just be a coincidence. His attention moved back to the clearing as the bounty hunter now stood and approached the other two.

  “And what reply gave you, when she inquired as to your contracts?”

  “Nothing more than that we was given a description of ’er, me Lord”

  “I’m not a Lord.” His smile did not waver.

  “I’m sorry sir...”

  “I did not become a knight between standing up from the stump and standing here with you.”

  Both men were now visibly disturbed by the bounty hunter’s demeanor. Each took a step back as he rested his wrist on his sword and rubbed his chin.

  “Gentlemen, I’m sure you are aware that everything in life has a cause and effect. For every action there is a consequence, good or bad, which we must accept and learn from, ideally.”

  The two men looked at each other sheepishly and then back at Var Toran.

  “As you are aware, this contract, as with all my contracts, is one to be taken seriously. One’s professional reputation must remain intact throughout one’s career if one desires to remain employable. In order for me to continue to acquire contracts such as this, I must ensure that those who consider making offers, make them to me. Were the name Trenon Var Toran to be associated with failure, with delay, or with humiliation…” He paused and dropped his smile as he uttered that last word, before restoring his grin and continuing. “I would not be able continue to find such gainful employment, and in turn not be able to pass on the benefit of such gainful employment to those such as yourselves.” He lowered his head and stepped around the fire pit, over the pot and fire irons, and in dGerrie’s direction.

  “Now, you see my friends, I must acknowledge that you have suffered some small consequences for your carelessness in the night, and that for the average bounty hunter, these consequences would be a sufficient lesson unto themselves. There would be a good laugh, some jovial ribbing, and then everyone would move on and continue with the job at hand.

  “However, I am not the average bounty hunter, and such consequences as you have have suffered will not be sufficient to serve as the lesson I wish to teach.” He paused for a moment, and began to pace left and right as he once again continued to draw out his parlance.

  “Now, the subject of our search seems to have shown us some of her skill, cunning, and most assuredly her lack of willingness to come along quietly. But in doing so, she has also supplied me with a valuable test of the capabilities, or lack thereof, in my men. So you see gentlemen, I am left with a conundrum, one I must address somehow. I am a fair man, so I have decided to give you each a chance to redeem yourselves.” He turned and faced the two now extremely nervous men.

  dGerrie held his place at the edge of the small clearing, having learned previously that any interruption of one of the bounty hunter’s monologues resulted in a swift backlash.

  “Mr. Theurbeault, may I please borrow one of your swords?”

  dGerrie drew both of his swords, held them by the blades and offered them to Var Toran. He wondered how well either man would fare in what was sure to come next. dGerrie had seen many men fight, had crossed swords with a few skilled fencers himself. He had seen The Dancer make a few quick cuts with his various blades, which indicated a deeper skill level. Though dGerrie had a code of sorts that he stuck to regarding who he would and would not draw a sword upon, these two men fell into a category he felt should fend for themselves. If dGerrie was honest with himself, which he always was, he had no real issue with Var Toran’s obvious next move in this situation. These men were fighters, would be armed, and had every chance to defend themselves.

  The bounty hunter took the shorter of the two swords, which made sense to dGerrie as the longer one would really only be fit for a man of his height, and handed it to Tom.

  “Mr. Brooker.” His smile lessened, and an eyebrow rose up slightly, “I offer you the chance to strike first, for if you manage to cut me, you will have earned some respect and admiration. I encourage you to take seriously the opportunity I present you here. A chance to hunt a bounty as a member of my company comes neither easily nor without great reward.

  “Mr. Webb, if you would be so kind as to stand aside to allow Mr. Brooker and me a little space with which to engage in our activities?” Hern looked at Tom, then to dGerrie, and stepped to the edge of the clearing. Both Tom and Hern seemed extremely wary of what was taking place, and as Hern made the edge of the clearing he began to look in every direction.

  dGerrie took note of Hern’s shifting eyes. He had seen the look of a man preparing to run, and was seeing it again now. dGerrie casually removed the bow from his back, placed one end of it on the ground and his elbow on the other, pretending to rest on it. He then turned his attention back to the bounty hunter and to Tom.

  “Mr. Dancer, sir….”

  “I’m not a knight” interjected Var Toran “Why do people keep assuming I’m a knight?” he said, looking at dGerrie. He drew his sword, and the grin returned to its shudder-inducing apex as he took a step forward, throwing a feint to provoke Tom into raising his sword.

  “That’s better Mr. Brooker. One should assume a proper stance if one is about to engage in swordplay. Now, are you the sort of man who likes to strike first? Or do you prefer to counter?” He waited a moment. Tom pulled his sword back, cocking it for a stabbing maneuver. dGerrie cringed at the sloppiness with which he signalled his intent. Tom lunged toward the bounty hunter in an attempt to impale his abdomen.

  The Dancer’s response was as delicate as it was instantaneous. With a half pirouette, he stepped away from the strike and slapped Tom’s sword aside. With another half pirouette, he came around with his blade and slapped the side of it against the stumbling mercenary’s buttocks.

  “Tisk, tisk, Mr. Brooker.” The bounty hunter turned and faced Tom and allowed the mercenary to turn and face back toward him, waiting for his sword to rise again. “One ought not to allow an opponent to see what one plans to do before one does it.” The Dancer lunged forward with his sword aimed to his left, appearing to stab for Tom’s right shoulder, feinted, pulled his sword back in an upward arc over his own head and brought it back down, slashing along the length of Tom’s left arm.

  The move was quick and effective. When Tom moved to parry the feinted stab, he exposed his entire left side. dGerrie was sure that if The Dancer had wished, that he could have ended the fight with that single move had he chosen to target Tom’s head or neck. The Dancer was quick, and his footwork was perfect. dGerrie was certain that he was watching an experienced fencer, likely trained by a highly skilled instructor. The bounty hunter was obviously toying with the mercenary.

  Tom looked at his arm, which was now bleeding heavily from the cut that ran from his shoulder to wrist, and became visibly unstable on his feet. He looked back at the bounty hunter, raised his blade over his shoulder, stepped forward and swung the sword with all his remaining streng
th at Var Toran. The bounty hunter stepped back with his right foot while raising his sword straight over his head, turned in a quick pirouette as the clumsy slash flew past his back, and brought his sword down in a backhand cut as he completed the spin. The tip of his sword landed cleanly across the back of the mercenary’s neck, a blow perfectly aimed to slice rather than hack. The sword did not stick, and Var Toran’s follow through was frighteningly precise, as he made another half turn and brought his blade up in front of his own face.

  Tom hit the ground in a crumpled heap as blood poured out of the two cuts. He made no sound, and did not move. Var Toran stepped over to the dead man, and retrieved dGerrie’s sword. “Pity” he declared “I would have enjoyed some exercise. Perhaps your friend will offer a chance for some exertion.”

  Hern looked at Tom, then to dGerrie, and then Var Toran. dGerrie read the look. Hern was going to run. In a split second, several thoughts flew through dGerrie’s mind. I’m in this now. I can’t just walk away. Either I show loyalty, or I test myself in crossing swords with him. He made a quick decision. Without time to consider other alternatives beyond the two that came so quickly to mind, dGerrie flipped his bow up to his left hand and simultaneously pulled and arrow from his quiver with his right. Notching the arrow at the end of the single motion he took to draw it, he pulled back the bowstring and fired without bothering to take the time or to set his feet and sight his target.

  The missile found its mark, and Hern tumbled into the underbrush. dGerrie knew where it had pierced him, and let the bow drop back to the ground, catching the top end with his hand. He leant back against the tree and turned his gaze to the bounty hunter.

  Var Toran glanced to where the man had fallen, gave a look of impressed approval, and turned back to dGerrie. “Well Mr. Theurbeault, it appears you and I shall have to be sufficient company for each other for a while.” The bounty hunter’s grin remained as he adeptly tossed the sword back to dGerrie, who caught the weapon and resheathed it.

  “Let's not waste any more time with fun and games.” He looked dGerrie in the eye and winked as he added with a laugh “We have a witch to catch!”

  ◆ ◆ ◆ ◆

  The meal was simple but more than enough, and having not eaten for several days, Hollyglade found herself surprised by how good a hard boiled egg could taste. As they ate, she gave only a partial account of what had led her to the barn the previous night. She told the good natured farmer that she had been chased out of the last village by the King’s garrison, and out of a fear of the overzealous soldiers, she had fled with only the blankets since her clothes were being washed. She did not mention The Dancer, nor the men she had left tied up in the woods, nor watching the old woman lose her life as a result of her hospitality. She ate her fill and thanked the woman for the meal, apologizing several more times for the scare that led to the farmer’s fall.

  “So, what led you to that town in the first place? And what is a girl of your age doing with a pair of swords about her?” the man inquired.

  “Well sir, I’ve been travelling much in the last few years, and generally look for work training various beasts of labour. I have considerable experience with horses, oxen, mules, and the like. I prefer not to stay very long in any one place, so I was embarking on my next journey, wherever that may have been. With the King’s new decree regarding Elder Folk, I have had trouble finding such work this close to the capital, and have also begun to experience decreasing levels of welcome within towns and villages. Though I must say, these last couple of days have revealed a considerable escalation in the vehemence of the garrison’s eviction tactics.” She avoided his question about the swords, as she had not thought of any explanation that he might accept, nor one she could tell confidently.

  The farmer chuckled as she mentioned the garrison, and Hollyglade paused, giving him a puzzled look.

  “Young lady,” he grinned as he spoke “I’ve not heard such high language from someone so young as yourself, especially someone so obviously not high born.”

  She blushed, thankful that he had not pressed about the weaponry. “I beg your pardon sir. I sometimes let my vocabulary get away from me. I meant only to show respect.”

  He laughed aloud “Just don’t send me flying from my hay loft again and you’ll be alright.”

  Her face reddened further as she bashfully dropped her gaze.

  “Don’t tease the poor girl, Eric!” his wife interjected “She’s been through enough. Listen dear, I must find you something to replace that pitiful excuse for clothing. You’re likely to freeze to death if you’re out in that over the next week. Come with me. Over the past few years we have had some larger folk work the field with my husband. Last fall one of them left a bundle of clothes here when the season was done. They might not fit your waist in a way that flatters a young lady, but that’s nothing a few minutes with a needle and thread can’t fix.”

  She took Hollyglade by the hand and lead her from the main room into a storage pantry. “Up there my dear. Can you reach that bundle for me?” she pointed to a sack on the top shelf. Hollyglade retrieved it and handed it to the woman. She took the bag and untied the string which closed the top end, reaching in to pull out a long-sleeved shirt which she handed to Hollyglade. “Now dear, don’t be shy. Take off that sad blanket and try this on for me so I can see what we have to do with it.”

  Hollyglade undid the scabbard holding the sword and dagger, wrapped it and set it down. She slid the blanket up over her head, and set it down on an empty section of shelving. She pulled the cream coloured shirt over her head and shoved her arms into the sleeves, letting the shirt fall to her waist. It was definitely very wide on her slender frame, but the sleeves were a good length, and the shirt fell far enough that she thought it might tuck into a skirt or trousers.

  “Well, I’ve seen a worse fit.” the woman offered with a smile. “Here, try the trousers.” She held out a pair of slacks for Hollyglade to take. Hollyglade took them, and looked at the woman bashfully.

  “Oh deary,” responded the woman with a grin as she turned to allow Hollyglade to change behind her. Hollyglade untied the cord holding the second blanket in place, and dropped it to the floor. She slipped on the trousers and pulled them to her waist.

  “They’re long enough Ma’am, but I’ll need the rope to hold them in place.”

  The woman turned around and examined the size of the pants. She took the waistband and pinched it together in each hand as she leant back to have a look at the fit. “My dear, that just won’t do. Hold there a moment.” She pulled a couple of needles from her apron and pinned the trousers where she had pinched them. “Alright dear, off with those so I can get them right for you.”

  “It’s really not necessary ma’am, I don’t want to waste your time.”

  “Nonsense girl! I’ll not have you wandering around with a waistband as sloppy as that!”

  Hollyglade smiled as she could hear the motherhood emanate from the woman’s reply. The woman reached further into the sack and pulled out a pair of shorts, handing them to Hollyglade.

  “Here, put these on while I take in the waist on those trouser. Oh look!” she reached into the bag once more. “Try these on. You might just be lucky after all!” She produced a very worn, yet rather large pair of boots.

  Hollyglade was speechless for a moment as she took the footwear. The boots were obviously made for a giant, but that was good news to Hollyglade, as her feet were not small. She tried them on and smiled, as they were only slightly loose on her feet.

  “I’ll be honest dear. Those have seen a few people’s feet. But I’m glad if they can keep yours off the bare ground. Now come have a seat while I fix these slacks.” Lera took the trousers and went out to the table, picking up a pair of shears along the way, and sat down to begin her alterations.

  As Hollyglade came back into the front room, she noticed that Eric had left the house to return to the barn to finish spreading the feed. It was midmorning now, and she sat by the hearth to furt
her regain some warmth. Sitting by the fire, brushing the hay out from her hair and braiding it once more, Hollyglade’s thoughts turned back to her pursuers.

  She could not linger here. As soon as possible, once the trousers were sewn, she thought to herself, she would leave. She guessed that a bounty hunter would not give up when there was money to be earned through her capture. She knew the name of the the bounty hunter, The Dancer. She had heard something of his reputation, one gained through fulfilling contracts, and doing so in a ruthless manner. She had seen the demonstration of his ruthless tactics played out upon that poor old woman the evening past. Hollyglade assumed that the same fate would befall this decent family if she stayed much longer. She knew that she had to leave, but it was difficult to pull herself away from the offer of warmth, food, and shelter.

  After a short time, Hollyglade decided to make ready to leave. She collected the saddlebags, weapons, and the blankets she had worn. Sitting back down at the table, she watched as Lera threaded the last stitches into the trousers.

  “Now dear, try these on again.”

  She offered the slacks to Hollyglade once more. Hollyglade took the adjusted trousers, and slipped them on. They were a near perfect fit, and Hollyglade tucked the shirt into the waist and placed the blanket with the hole she had cut, back over her head, securing it all in place with the scabbard which held the sword and dagger. As she finished adjusting the clothing, and slid her feet into the boots, Eric returned with their son, having finished feeding the animals in the barn.

  “You look much better prepared for the road, I must say. Do you mean to resume your trek?”

  “Yes. I mustn't linger here. I intend to get further south before winter hits in earnest.” Though it was not getting south that drove her, but getting as far as necessary from the clutches of her deadly pursuer. “But before I leave you, I must offer some compensation for your trouble, and your kindness.” She took the second sword, and scabbard, and offered it to the farmer.