The Power Within: The Chronicles of Hollyglade Wayrender

by Steve Barker

  “We shall not flee,” he asserted “I do not have faith that we shall get beyond the Demarian line. It seems clear to me that you have underestimated them at almost every turn, and I can not assume that this plan of yours shall suddenly be the exception to that trend.” He stood and addressed Lord Wendal, and the other commanders assembled there. “You say that the Demarians are within our walls. Well, is this not our city? Do we not have the advantage here? You told me of secret passages. Can we not use these, or some other aspect of our city’s construction to confound the enemy? Lord Wendal, you must press that advantage and hold them off, keep them out of Whiterock as long as possible. You must have faith that another opportunity will present itself.”

  Lord Wendal was taken aback by the King’s sudden change in demeanor, and had to take a moment to return his lower jaw back to where it had fallen from. Then, looking to his commanders he issued his orders.

  “Men, we must show faith in ourselves and our King. This city has never fallen to an invader, never been broken under siege, and today shall not be the day that changes. Pass the order out to the men fighting everywhere, that they are to use the city's infrastructure to their advantage. Keep the Demarians boxed in at every opportunity and rain arrows on them from above for as long as there are arrows to fire. This is Loria, and we must defend her to the last!”

  The assembled men responded with salutes of fist to chest, and looks of renewed determination. Each bowed and hurried off to push their forces to strengthen their resolve to continue the fight. Upon their exit, Lord Wendal turned to the King.

  “Your Grace, we must still make some kind of arrangement to ensure that you are protected. Will you not allow me to escort you away in secrecy?”

  The young King looked at the Master of The Royal Forces and shook his head.

  “No my Lord. I will not run. I still believe there is hope for our victory. Go now, and put your knowledge to some use in organising the fight.”

  “Yes, Your Grace”. Lord Wendal bowed and exited the hall, leaving the King alone.

  “Tedd, where are you?” the King fretted to himself under his breath. When will that Sorcerer make good on his promises?

  ◆ ◆ ◆ ◆

  “Birk! Get those men and fall to me!” shouted Dermond Riaghlad over the din of clashing swords and the buzz of arrows whipping by and slamming into armour and earth. Lord Birk shot the King a look of acknowledgement, and shouted for the two dozen mounted soldiers still fighting together with him to follow. Of the one hundred men who had entered the city with the King, there now remained less than half, and both the King and Lord Birk were determined not to give an inch in their quest to gain access to the castle at the centre of the city.

  “Your Grace, this is a stalemate. We are at the advantage on the ground, yet their archers pick us off almost at will. We must not remain here,” panted Lord Birk upon reaching the King’s side.

  “You’re right Birk, we must press the advance. We can not play in the streets any longer. Let us make a hard push for the castle gates. How many men have we who still carry axes and warhammers?”

  Lord Birk took a quick survey of the men as they continued to fight while keeping himself and the King encircled within their ranks. The Demarian soldiers around them were fighting doggedly, but with a clearly superior skill set. As Lord Birk surveyed the battle taking place around them in the small intersection of two streets within the city walls, not a single Demarian soldier was outmatched on the ground. Surrounded by Lorian army and garrison fighters, the Demarians held their own. The only casualties during the few moments it took for the King and Lord Birk to confer, were a pair of men who were hit by arrows from above.

  Though there were a considerable number of archers on the rooftops, they were unable to fire completely at will, as the fighting was in such close quarters, that the risk of hitting their own men was incredibly great. So great, in fact, that a significant number of Lorian casualties came from arrows gone astray.

  Lord Birk finished his count and turned to report to the King.

  “It appears we have three with warhammers, and two with axes, Your Grace.”

  “Good. Then now is the time to use these horses for what we’ve trained them for. We charge for the gate!” Without waiting for acknowledgement, the King raised his sword and shouted to the men surrounding him, “Men! With me! For Glory!”

  The Demarian charge was dynamically forceful. As the King lead his thirty men toward the castle gate, more followed on foot. The fighting had been rather stationary up until that point, with soldiers on both sides doing battle in the streets along lines drawn within the first few avenues inside the city walls. When King Dermond broke through the Lorian line at nearly a gallop, it sent men crashing into each other, and a ripple effect went though the Lorian lines, sending them staggering backward just enough to change the momentum of the battle.

  Seeing the shift in momentum, the Demarians pressed forward and put the Lorians on their heels. Instead of the Lorian troops holding fast in the narrow streets and alleyways, they were now being pushed back down them by the sheer weight of the advancing Demarian troops. As the front line of the battle spread out and away from the main city gate, more Demarian troops began to pour in through the opening. As the invaders began to flood into the city, ladders were erected on the inside of the city walls and Demarian troops began to fight their way up stairways and onto the elevated positions where the Lorian archers had been raining death down upon the battle below. The shift in momentum was as sudden as it was dramatic.

  Swinging his sword from side to side with a force and accuracy unmatched by anyone within the battle, King Dermond broke a pathway toward the castle gate. In the two hundred yards from the intersection to the gate, Dermond Riaghlad slew more than a dozen enemy soldiers from the saddle. Upon reaching the gate, he turned and fought left and right to allow his cohort to form up around the heavy doors.

  “Bring the axes and warhammers!” he cried as he struck down another Lorian soldier.

  “To the door!” Lord Birk shouted. In response, the four men who made it to the gate moved their way through the fighting and began to attack the heavy steel reinforced doors to the courtyard which surrounded the tower of Whiterock. The fighting grew fierce around the gate as the Lorians tried to rally to defend the entrance to Whiterock. Forces from both sides poured into the square and the sounds of the clash of metal on metal became cacophonous.

  King Dermond’s horse became pressed against the wall to the left of the door, as the crushing mob began to run out of room to fight.

  “Birk! Get that door open!” he cried as he switched his longsword to his left hand to fight off a spearman who had managed to get past several Demarian fighters. Hacking through the shaft of the spear, Dermond was forced off his horse as his right leg was nearly crushed against the wall. Once on the ground, he pulled his shield from the horn of his saddle as he whirled a slash at the Lorian soldier coming to the attack, and switched his sword back to his right.

  With sword and shield at the ready, he set his back toward the gate and unleashed a frenzied attack on several Lorian soldiers who had managed to squeeze through the line. Taking down one with a simple shield block and counter strike, the King was unable to stop all three, and a single soldier managed to stab through the back of one of the Demarian soldiers hammering away at the castle gate. Seeing the man fall, Lord Birk leapt from his horse to join his King on the ground, and cut the Lorian soldier from shoulder to crotch in a massively powerful strike.

  Standing side by side with King Dermond, Lord Birk yelled over his shoulder to the soldiers trying to hold a circle around the gate.

  “You there, come pick up that hammer and move to the gate!” In response, one of the soldiers stepped back from the line, parried a stab from the Lorian he was engaged with, and stuck a fatal counter blow to the neck. Turning and picking up the fallen soldier’s warhammer, he then began to join the others beating on the gate.

  “Just the
way I like it!” exclaimed the King as he cut down another Lorian soldier. “Bloody and desperate!”

  “Glorious, indeed!” replied Lord Birk as he blocked a slash, leaned back to deliver a kick to the gut, and then brought his sword down on the back of the neck of the tall and well built Lorian trooper.

  As the slain soldier hit the stone of the street concourse outside the gate, Lord Birk heard a sudden and powerful crack. Turning to look at the gate, he could now see that it was bent inward, and nearly open.

  “Men, to the gate! Push with all your might!” he bellowed.

  In response, the Demarian soldiers who were close by turned and thrust for the gate, pressing all their collective weight against it. Hearing the cry, the Demarians who had been slowly fighting their way toward the castle from the city gate, moved with renewed vigor and formed a wedge behind their King and Lord Birk. After a few short moments, the gate gave way, and the Demarians burst through the gate and into the castle’s tower courtyard to be greeted by a shower of arrows and crossbow bolts. With shields held overhead, the Demarian force pushed toward the doors to the main castle keep, fighting for every yard of ground they covered.

  ◆ ◆ ◆ ◆

  Hollyglade stood facing the Sorcerer as his chanting reached full volume. She could feel the power surge forth from him as he countered her initial offering. This was new to her, and the sensations were overwhelming. She had felt what it is like to be punched, kicked, shoved, stepped on, and thrown to the ground, but this kind of attack was wholly different. She felt physical pain like burning, crawling across her skin, yet also the pain of something she could not describe penetrating her to the core. She imagined this must be what being struck by lightning would feel like. As the Sorcerer cackled his delight at the sight of her wincing in pain, she felt like she might pass out from the torment.

  “Hollyglade!” Jeron shouted to her. “fight back!”

  Her eyes darted toward Jeron for a split second to see him holding the bars of his cage to keep himself from falling to the ground, and then back to the Sorcerer. She knew that if she was to avoid being consumed and destroyed by this struggle, she would have to fight back, would have to win. She gritted her teeth, lowered her head, and narrowed her eyes as she focused her concentration inward, fighting through the pain of the attack surging upon her. With a determination of her will, she forced her power upward from within her, and directed it against the flow of magic that cascaded over her.

  Slowly, she began to feel the pain within her recede as her own power forced back the incursion of the Sorcerer’s barrage. Feeling the success of the effort, Hollyglade intensified the force of her power, drawing strength from it, calling it up from deep within her, and thrusting it outward in all directions to push away the offensive intrusion. She stared down the Sorcerer as she clenched her fists, flexing her arms and shoulders as she pressed back against him with the power she called forth. She could feel the tide turn in her favour as the last of the effects of his attack were forced out of her by the exudation of her inwardly formed defense.

  Seeing the change in the her, the Sorcerer howled in anger and began to shout his incantations at her, stepping forward and leaning into his efforts to overcome her strength. As he did so, Hollyglade responded with greater focus and force, and the air in the room began to swirl about them. The curtains that had been covering the windows began to flap erratically, like flags flying in a thunderstorm. The shutters began to open and close with the push and pull of the vibrating torrent of wind and power that thrashed about the laboratory. Several of them tore from their hinges and flew out to the courtyard below. The air warped around the Sorcerer in concentric circles of thaumaturgical rippling, creating vibrations in the floor and walls, knocking over vials, jars, bowls, plates, candle holders, and almost everything else that was set upon the tables and shelves in the room.

  Hollyglade felt the increase in his attack once more, and responded with a re-intensification of her own production and wielding of power. The result forced the Sorcerer backward from her as the pressure of sustaining his magical onslaught created a repulsive wave between them.

  As the battle raged between them, Jeron watched in fear and amazement at the astonishing and brutal unleashing of power from each of them. He did his best to dodge the flying debris that made its way between the bars of his cage, but now the waves of power themselves were beginning to reach him as they expanded outward from between the two combatants. He moved to the far edge of his cage and pressed against the bars to try to separate himself from the battle raging between Hollyglade and the Sorcerer.

  Their contest intensified as he looked on, and he could now smell the air becoming hot, and could see the distortion waves emanating from each of them. Hollyglade appeared to be holding her own, but Jeron could not tell if she was able to affect the Sorcerer, or if she was simply keeping him from invading her. As he watched, he began to feel heat and pain pressing against him, forcing him up against the bars of the cage. He did his best not to cry out, for fear of distracting Hollyglade. He was determined to allow her to battle this evil manipulator unabated, but was now suffering from the radiating waves of energetic force that bombarded his body. He could not hold back the cry, as he was driven to the ground, and yelped in pain.

  Hollyglade’s attention wavered as she heard a howl from beside her coming from Jeron’s cage. She quickly glanced away from the Sorcerer to see Jeron lying on the floor in a ball holding himself and shaking in pain. Her heart jumped into her throat in response and she stopped the flow of her power as she saw what the battle she waged had done.

  Her mind shrank from her counterattack as she felt the guilt of all the collateral damage she had caused in her lifetime, and all the collateral damage that had been caused in the last weeks’ pursuit of her, come to a head in her mind.

  “Jeron! No!” She yelled as she jumped to the edge of her cage to grab the bars, trying to will herself through them to go to him. As she did so, she felt a blast of energy knock her from where she stood. She was instantly thrown back to the far end of her cage, where she slammed into the bars and slid to the floor.

  With a roaring and bloodcurdling laugh, the Sorcerer howled at her

  “You are no match for me, girl!” He dropped hands and stepped closer to her cage. “You have no skill. No discipline. You throw power about with no chance to see it land where you desire. You wish to oppose me, yet all you manage is to batter the precious Prince while giving me an entertaining yet paltry display of emotional conjury.” He took in a long breath, and looked to the window to see the sun hitting the horizon.

  Then, the Sorcerer turned back to Hollyglade.

  “You have but a few precious minutes left girl. Make your pleas to whatever gods you believe in, for I shall not spare you now.” He turned from her momentarily to examine the bottle which was still hanging next to him, feeding its contents through the tubes that disappeared into his robes.

  Hollyglade looked at Jeron and winced under the pain of guilt she felt over having caused him harm.

  “Jeron, I can’t fight him. It’ll kill you. I just can’t do it,” she sobbed apologetically.

  “Hollyglade, you can and you must. And if I die as a bystander in the battle, then I go to the grave as a proud man. I willingly lay down my life as a sacrifice to preserve the triumph of good over evil.” He grabbed the bars of his cage and pulled himself up, walking over to Hollyglade. He did not care to whisper now, as he knew that no matter what he said, no matter who heard him, that he must convince this girl, this half Elvish, half Giantish possessor of unlimited power, to use her gifts for the good of all kind. He knew that if this Sorcerer were to prevail against this innocent girl here, that he would destroy the innocent everywhere.

  “Hollyglade, I believe in you. I trust you. You must believe in and trust yourself. It is he who is no match for you. You are the possessor of unlimited power. You are the one called Wayrender, and Firebrand of the Western plains. You are the one who can save t
he people of this land. You must focus your power on him, and drive it into him until he is rent. Outside these walls, men are fighting and dying for what they believe in. I am ready to do the same. Had I a sword, I would slay this manipulator, tear him asunder for faking my death, manipulating my innocent brother, and setting two Kingdoms against each other and causing the deaths of thousands. Hollyglade,” he bored his stare into her eyes as he paused to grab her attention fully, “defeat him.”

  Tears rolled down her cheeks as she grabbed the bars of her cage and pulled herself up. Turning to face the Sorcerer once more, she clenched her fists and held them in front of her chest, looking at her knuckles as she began to gather the power within her.

  Sensing her change in demeanor, Ni’Morstrom turned from the glass jar that was now empty, and pulled the tubes out from within his robes, causing a trail of blood to run down his arm and drip from his fingertips.

  “You still think you have something to oppose me with, girl?” he snapped, seething with anger and violence. “You overestimate your chances with me, for you have none! I am no mere charmer, plying cheap tricks and prestidigitation. I am no simple enchanter performing silly spectacles for the amusement of the crowd. I am Ni’Morstrom! Hereafter I shall be known as the all powerful! I am no young wizard, and I am not merely from the line of Sorcerers, not simply one of the House of The Distorted, I am the last and greatest of their kind!

  “I am the triumphant one who slew all those who opposed me in the great fall of my order. I have defied the decline of age, I have defied the diminishing of my flesh, and I shall defy you, girl! You have no strength, no control, no finesse, and certainly not the stamina to measure yourself against me. I have stood the test of generations of men, and not been swayed from my goal. Now that it is within my grasp, I shall endure no contention from such as you.