The Power Within: The Chronicles of Hollyglade Wayrender

by Steve Barker

  “Try your hand. Test yourself again, if you dare. This time, I shall not release you from the contest with breath in your lungs.” He raised his hands once more, and thrust them toward Hollyglade as he began to recite his incantations with resonant vehemence.

  This time Hollyglade was ready. This time she invited his attack. This time, she did not hold herself back. With all her will, she focused on her enemy, bored into him with her mind and targeted the core of his being. She let out a yell as she poured out her power at him, blocking out all the periphery about her, and narrowing the scope of her vision and concentration on the Sorcerer. She could feel the immense unleashing of power burst forth from within her, and force its way through the space between her and the Sorcerer. She could sense, with an almost tactile surety, the flow of her power drive back the magic of her enemy and plunge into him. As it did, he surprised her by ceasing his attack.

  The Sorcerer stood fully upright and opened his arms wide to push his chest into the stream of Hollyglade’s power. He threw his head back, dropping the hood of his robe, and revealing his scarred and wrinkled visage. Laughing maniacally, he brought his red and yellowed eyes down to glare menacingly at her.

  “Your eagerness to wage battle with me is your undoing, girl! I welcome your foolish volley! You try to destroy me, yet you fill my vast reservoir! Ha! Do not be shy. I shall take it all!”

  She slowed slightly as doubt began to creep into her conscious mind. This was what her father had warned her about, telling her not to use her power to fight, but only to heal. This was more power than she had ever allowed herself to release, and this was more than a release, this was a thrust. She wavered as she began to question her own resolve. Could she see this through? Was this really the strategy? Was there really a limit to how much power this sorcerer could absorb? Then, a voice broke through the sounds of the whirling air, and vibration of her power. It was Jeron’s.

  “More, Hollyglade! Don’t stop! More!”

  “Yes! More!” howled the Sorcerer with a perverse enthusiasm.

  Hollyglade made up her mind, and drove the doubt away with the force of her power. With a step forward, she leaned toward the target of her thrust, the focus of her onslaught, and unleashed the full force of her power in a stream of anger. With all her emotion, she drove her strength at him, forced her power into him with righteous fury. Anger for the loss of her friend dGerrie, for the loss of those whom The Dancer had slain in his pursuit of her, for the loss of the troops dGerrie had been forced to kill or injure in his upright defense of her, for the countless people who had died when those bounty hunters had tried to kidnap her ten years ago, provoking her to an explosion of grief. For her parents, who had died trying to protect her from those same bounty hunters.

  As she continued to drive her power at him, the bars of the cell that were in the path of her strike began to melt, and in a matter of seconds dropped to the floor in pools of molten iron. Seeing the path was now clear, she began to step forward toward the Sorcerer. As she did so, his face slowly started to change from an expression of sinister pleasure, to one of uncertain apprehension. The change was not lost on Hollyglade, and she stayed her course, forcing her power into him. As her attack continued, the Sorcerer’s face took on a look of panic, and Hollyglade reached out to him with her mental perception, not knowing if she would be able to read anything. To her surprise, she read him, read that he was starting to break, that he was transitioning from a state of the fullness of power, to one about to burst at the seams. She could almost see it, as he tried to close himself off to the influx of her stream of power, and failed.

  She stepped through the opening in the cage created by the battle raging between her and the Sorcerer. As she cleared the pools of liquid metal, which began to catch the wooden floor alight, she could feel some resistance to the flow of her power. Looking the Sorcerer in his sickly and bloodshot eyes, she saw his expression harden again as he once more took up his attack upon her.

  The struggle between them became visible, as bolts of blue and azure lightning shot from where the force of each of their wills met and contested to gain the momentum in this battle for supremacy.

  “You shall not prevail, girl!” shouted the Sorcerer as he leaned toward her and began to unleash the full breadth of his might. The point at which each of their streams of dynamism met began to move toward Hollyglade, and the bolts of lightning that shot from the centre of their conflict began to curl toward her.

  She felt the jolts of vibrating light brush against her, causing heat and pain, as she tried to resist the pressure of his revived attack. It seemed like it was becoming more than she could handle as she fell to one knee and cried out when the injured joint touched down on the floor. Yet she did not yield, did not give in, did not waver in her determination to overcome him. She kept on fighting as her skin began to register the searing heat created by the bolts of dark blue, white, and azure. She fought on as her teeth began to vibrate and the taste of acid filled her mouth, as the tiny hairs on her arms became singed and filled her nostrils with the stench of their burning. She did not give in as he took a step toward her and grinned a sinister and sickly smirk at the sight of her wincing in pain.

  The tide had turned, and she needed to turn it back, she needed to stand up and intensify her attack on him, take it to a level that no one could withstand. As she leaned forward to try to stand up, something caught a small part of her attention from the corner of her eye. The door to the laboratory had been blown off its hinges in the fury of the storm created by this contest of power, and now she saw a tall man step through it. She could not make him out clearly through the blinding light of the explosive expression of power converging between her and the Sorcerer.

  She could not afford to turn her attention away from the Sorcerer now, and so she chose not to react when she saw the man make a motion to take something out from behind his back. She decided to take the calculated risk that the storm of energy raging between her and the Sorcerer would prevent interference. Ignoring the man, she turned her full attention back to the Sorcerer.

  With a yell, she stood up and leaned forward, stretching her arms toward him as she pushed out power with the full concentration of her mind. As she intensified her attack upon the Sorcerer, trying to swing the tide back in her favour, she saw him shift his gaze to the door, to the man who had come through it.

  ◆ ◆ ◆ ◆

  dGerrie moved across the open space between the soldiers mess and the doors at the bottom of the Tower of Whiterock, yet not without leaving a trail of blood droplets across the courtyard. While he traversed the courtyard, he watched as all the men within it had run to the gate at the edge which led to the streets outside the castle walls. He could hear the pounding of warhammers on the outside of the gate, and the raucous clashing of heavy fighting taking place beyond it. Upon reaching the base of the tower, he looked back at the gates to see men trying desperately to find things to reinforce the steel framed wooden doors. He did not expect them to hold out long.

  dGerrie limped along the wall at the base of the tower, leaning on it and leaving bloody handprints on the stone as tried to keep his balance. Once he reached the entrance to the tower, he found it locked, as was to be expected. Reaching into his tunic, he pulled out a small knife, one that might serve as a sharp dining implement in the hand of the average citizen, and fed it into the keyhole. With a few delicate movements, he found the tooth he searched for within the keyhole, and rotated the knife carefully until he felt the click of the lock releasing. Holding the knife steady, he lifted the door latch and opened the door no more than a crack and slipped inside, closing it behind him.

  Before moving away, he made sure to secure the lock from the inside. Once he was sure that the door was locked again, he looked about the interior of the tower base, and found the stairs leading upward. Limping toward them, he drew his short sword and took a lit torch from its sconce on the wall. He began to climb the stairs slowly, fighting the pain each time he
was forced to lift his injured right leg.

  As he ascended, he began to hear sounds coming from above. Sounds of glass and pottery breaking, things falling over, and the sound of wind. dGerrie was filled with confusion and apprehension, as it had not been windy outside the tower, and he wondered what sort of magical dangers he might be getting himself into as he made for the apartment of the Sorcerer. He pushed the fear to the back of his mind, as he focused on the fact that any dangers he would face, he must confront in order to get his friend out of them.

  Climbing the stairs as quickly as his hobbled frame would let him, dGerrie gained elevation at a slow, but steady pace. At about the halfway point, he reached the guard’s lookout to find it empty. This must have been due to the emergent situation at the gate below. He took a moment to look out from the tower’s loopholes to see the gate burst open, and a swarm of Demarian troops pour through the smashed courtyard doors. Fighters from both sides shouted, as the Demarians cheered their advance, and the Lorians screamed to each other to regroup. dGerrie knew that this meant his time was running out, and he did his best to increase his pace as he turned from the loophole and resumed his arduous progress upward.

  After several more flights of stairs, he could hear voices above, but could not make out what was being said, though the tone was obviously furiously impassioned and sinister. As he climbed another flight of stairs, he heard something frightening, the sound of lightning cracking amidst wind, and the sounds fabric tearing, wood splintering, doors being ripped opened, and furniture being knocked over. He did not know what to make of the mixture of sounds. Was he heading into a tornado contained within the walls of the tower? He pressed on and tried to cover the last few flights of stairs as quickly as he could.

  Rounding the corner at the top of the last flight of stairs leading to the Sorcerer’s apartment, dGerrie felt the full force of the wind coming from the battered doorway. He stopped with his sword at the ready as he noticed a boot just beyond the curve of the wall leading to the doorway. It appeared as though there was someone sitting on the floor against the wall opposite the door to the apartment. He approached slowly, planning to take the guard by surprise. As he got closer, he could see that the boot belonged to someone lying on the floor in a pool of their own blood. dGerrie crept closer, and found the body of a young man dressed in a page’s uniform, with a large fragment of the wooden door lodged in his chest. dGerrie swallowed hard and took a deep breath, as the realization of the variety of perils that lay beyond that door hit him. He looked away from the page and turned his attention back to entering the apartment.

  There was no door left in the frame, and dGerrie could see into the room through the sliver of doorway visible around the corner from where he approached. Through it, he could make out some steel bars, and an assortment of debris from the wreckage being caused by the whirling wind. The crackling sounds continued, and flashes of light came from somewhere just out of his line of sight within the room. He could not delay any longer, he knew he must act now, and so he moved toward the door.

  As the interior of the room became visible to him, dGerrie could see the furious storm erupting within, and from where it emanated. There before him was Hollyglade, embroiled in some indescribable battle of power with a robed figure, whose head was scarred, eyes yellow and bloodshot. The Sorcerer he had heard about was attacking his friend with some sort of arcane incanted diabolism. He had to help her, had to intervene.

  In a split second, dGerrie analyzed his tactical options, and acted. Dropping his sword, he reached for two daggers tucked in the back of his scabbard, and pulled them out. As he did so, the Sorcerer turned toward him with a face twisted into an expression of frenzied rage.

  dGerrie did not hesitate. He did not delay to take aim. He did not hold back. With every ounce of strength and accuracy he possessed, dGerrie hurled both daggers at the Sorcerer.

  His aim was perfect, the rotation of the daggers was sublime, and the force with which he sent them to their target was ample.

  Both daggers buried themselves in the Sorcerer’s chest, and as they did, an explosion of power shot out from him, sending him flying away from Hollyglade and into the wall behind. The wall did not hold, as the force of Hollyglade’s continued attack tore a massive hole in the side of the tower and sent the Sorcerer flying out from the laboratory.

  The blast burst forth from between Hollyglade and the Sorcerer, sending a shockwave in all directions, blowing out the remaining shutters on the windows and flattening to the floor everything that still stood in the laboratory. dGerrie tried to cover his head as the blast erupted, but he was knocked back against the wall, slid to the ground, and everything turned black.

  ◆ ◆ ◆ ◆

  Once through the gate and into the courtyard, King Dermond’s cohort were met by a host of Lorian troops. The barrage of arrows from above was immediate, fighting toward the Keep with their shields held above their heads to protect themselves from the threat from above. As a result many Demarians fell to the swords of the Lorian soldiers on the ground in the initial charge through the gate. Once the second wave of Demarians flooded through into the courtyard and engaged the Lorians in close quarters, the arrows began to hit both sides equally, and ceased after several moments.

  King Dermond did not hesitate once through the gate, and engaged with the first Lorain soldier that met him. Parrying a backhanded slash with his sword, he thrust his shield into the attacker’s neck, and followed with a slash through the gut. Stepping over the fallen trooper, he was met by a soldier with an axe swinging for his head. The King was quick to react, and brought his shield up to meet the blow, which came with such tremendous force, that it buried the axe head in the shield and split it from top to bottom. Before the attacker could pull his weapon back out from where it had become stuck, the King pulled on the shield, and therefore the axe with it, and yanked the attacker off balance toward himself, thrusting his sword into the man’s side. The attacker dropped to the ground, and the King slipped his arm out of the shield’s grip, letting it fall while slashing the back of the attacker’s neck. Now, with both hands on his sword, he leapt over the downed axeman with a pirouette, and brought his blade down on the shoulder of the next trooper who had stepped toward him, knocking him to the ground and opening a deep crevice below his neck.

  “Birk! Greln!” he shouted as he brought his blade up to block an over hand cut. “To the steps!” With a half pirouette, he slammed his shoulder into the soldier whose sword had met his, knocking him backward and turning another half pirouette as he followed up with a swipe across the face of the soldier. Looking back to see both the Lord and War Marshall leading a group of fighters toward him, he heard a loud cracking sound from above. As he turned his attention toward the sound, he saw fragments of wooden window shutters falling from near the top of the Central Tower of Whiterock.

  Looking back around him, the Lorian troops had also been distracted by the sound, and the King took advantage, cutting down a spearman whose focus was not on his foe. The distraction did not last long, and the fighting continued at a frenzied pace, though the tide had turned in favour of the invaders. Now the King was joined by the full force of the reinforcements who had finally made it through both gates.

  “Your Grace, we have the advantage in numbers within the courtyard,” reported Lord Birk as he arrived at the King’s side after dropping an enemy with a trip and slash to the back.

  “Let us work to gain entry to the keep, My Lord. Our goal is most certainly to be reached somewhere within.”

  Lord Birk gave a shout to the Demarian soldiers fighting in the courtyard

  “To the Keep!” and nodded to the King, as they both turned and began to climb the steps of the entrance to the Keep. As they did so, the bulk of the Demarian forces were directed by the War Marshall to form a wall behind them. With shields raised to create a barrier from the arrows being fired once again by Lorian archers, they moved up the stairs slashing and cutting their way forward. Once halfwa
y up the stairs, the arrows seemed to stop coming, and a shout went up from the melee below. Lord Birk turned to see what had changed, and gave a triumphant yell as he informed the King

  “Your Grace, War Marshall, our troops engage the enemy on the battlements! We may advance at full pace!”

  Yerin Greln shouted instructions for the men to form a wedge behind the King and Lord Birk, and the cohort began to push forward up the stairs to the door as more Demarian troops continued to enter the courtyard. The fighting upon the stairs was fierce, but the momentum of the Demarian wedge was too much for the castle’s defenders. In a matter of a minute, the King was at the door to the keep.

  “Hammers!” called King Dermond as he knocked to the ground another valiant yet overmatched Lorian soldier. Two men made their way through the centre of the wedge as the fighting continued along its edge. When they reached the doors, they began the work of breaking them open. It would not take long, as these doors were not meant to be defensive.

  Just as the doors gave way, another booming explosive crash came from the tower, and The King looked up, raising his arms to shield himself, expecting some form of attack. To his amazement, he saw a flash of blue and white light accompanied by wood and stone debris erupting from near the top of the tower. Nearly the entirety of the combatants, on both sides looked up in shock and horror as the top of the tower shifted slightly and a began to crumble above the giant, gaping hole in the side of the tower facing the Keep. His attention was quickly called back to the Keep as the sound of the door bursting inward snapped him back to the task at hand. As the doors gave way, the Demarians poured through and into the foyer. The King, Lord Birk, and Yerin Greln were all among the first wave through the door.

  Upon entering the foyer, they were met with a handful of garrison troops, who initially made motions to engage the invading Demarians, but quickly dropped their weapons once it was clear they were impossibly outnumbered. King Dermond sheathed his sword, and stepped in front of his men who held the Lorian garrison at the tips of their swords.