The Power Within: The Chronicles of Hollyglade Wayrender

by Steve Barker

  The venerable Lord, shot a look of chagrin to his companions, but quickly regained his composure as he reminded himself that though he was still a boy, this was the King.

  “I can’t say that I have done so in many years, your Grace,” he replied with a slight bow. “I’m afraid I rarely have time for activities of relaxation. Perhaps when my sons have taken over our family’s trade from me, I shall be able to enjoy retirement and open some of the books which gather dust on my shelves.”

  The young King, realizing that he had just shown the extent of his youth and inexperience, blushed, pursed his lips and tried to sound more mature.

  “And tell me, Lord Runde, how has the summer season been for your fleet? Were your catches plentiful?”

  “Well, Your Grace, I must say that we have had better years all in all, but this summer was not a total loss for cod, salmon, and mackerel. We begin the crabbing season shortly, and hope that it will provide a bountiful catch.”

  “Well, My Lord, then that is also my hope for your house.” Seeing his personal page indicate that he had a message for the him, the King nodded and excused himself “It appears I must attend to matters elsewhere. Good day, My Lord.” He stepped to an empty corner of the hall to receive the message.

  “Your Grace,” the page began, “Lord Wendal calls the Vestry to assemble, saying it is of utmost and immediate importance.”

  “Thank you, Tedd. I shall attend. Please have the Vestry hall prepared properly.”

  The page nodded and left to execute the King’s instructions.

  The King felt a sense of nervousness. There was something odd about the urgency with which the assembly had been called. Vestry meetings had always been scheduled, and so this was a new experience for the young ruler. Not knowing what to expect, he left the main hall and headed to the Vestry hall to see what Lord Wendal had to tell them.

  Entering the Vestry hall, King Harford knew he would be arriving first, yet he did not know where else to wait. Once inside, he was greeted by the Sorcerer Ni’Morstrom.

  “Your Grace, I am glad to have found you here before the rest of our assembly arrives. I have heard some of what makes this meeting most urgent. I’m told that a Demerian force has crossed our border and attacked the contingent stationed at the fork of the Capital road and the Coast to Coast road. They tell me that our forces were wiped out, but for a handful of riders who managed to escape and bring word of the attack here. This is war, my King.”

  “Why have they attacked us? Is it because we executed their Lord? That should have made us even, right?” The young King’s reply was filled with insecurity and anxiety.

  “Your Grace, we can not know for sure what drives them to invasion, but I can assure you that I shall have a sufficient response. To explain the details would take more time than we have at the moment, but you must trust me when I tell you that soon I shall have power sufficient to repel this invasion with my own hand.”

  “What do you mean? You can fight a whole army by yourself? Is there some spell for that?”

  “In a way, Your Grace, yes. But I have not completed my work as of yet. In order for me to wield the power necessary for such a feat, there are still some preparations I must make, and rites I must perform in private. But, Your Grace, I am certain that once my work is completed I shall be able to win this war for you, and bring this Kingdom the glory it deserves.”

  “How long will it take you to be ready?”

  “I shall be ready at sundown on the day after tomorrow, Your Grace. I have been waiting for the one last element which is on its way to me now. Once it is here, I shall be able complete my work, and I shall have the power necessary to repel any incursion made against you. However, my King, I must ask you not to share any of this with anyone else. My work depends on having privacy, and the questions that the other lords would pose to me would serve only as a distraction, and a delay.” As the sorcerer assured the young King of his capabilities, the other members of the Vestry began to arrive. The King looked at the sorcerer and nodded his consent.

  The King’s Secretary, Mr. Bevin Sant, called the meeting to order.

  “Your Grace, Lords, Advisors, I call to order this emergency meeting of the King’s Vestry. In the presence of His Grace King Harford the first, Incumbent of Whiterock, Master of the Realm, High Lord of Loria; I am Bevin Sant, Secretary to the King and His Vestry.

  “Present also, are Lord Quentin Wendal, Master of The Royal Forces; Lord Shand Ventrent, Master of Trade; Lord Erndale Marnon, Master of information; The Sorcerer Ni’Morstrom, Advisor to the King.

  “I call this meeting to order. Lord Wendal, you have requested this assemblage. Yours is the floor.” The secretary sat down at a table along the side of the hall, and picked up his quill to begin recording minutes.

  “Thank you, Secretary. Your Grace, My Lords. The Demarian army has crossed the border, attacked and defeated the small cohort stationed at the Capital Coast fork. Only a few men escaped the onslaught with their lives and rode to carry their report here.

  “They report that King Dermond rides with a force of twenty thousand. Upon receipt of this news, I dispatched messages by air to recall our forces to the city to form a defense here. Due to the service of the mission to expel the Elder Folk, our forces are spread thinly across the area around the Capitol, and some cohorts and legions may not make it back to the city before the Demarians reach our gates.

  “I have sent word to the Fifth and Second Legions, who were assembled three leagues west of the Capital for training exercises, to fall back and prepare to engage the Demarians here. But, I must inform this Vestry that unless the other cohorts return from the south and east in time, which seems unlikely, we shall be outnumbered at least two to one on the battlefield. Therefore, I recommend that we prepare the city for siege immediately.”

  Lord Wendal bowed as he finished his report, and then took his seat. The young King did not respond immediately, looking first at Bevin Sant, and then at the sorcerer.

  “What do the rest of you say?” he asked with a hint of trepidation.

  Lord Erndale Marnon, Master of information replied first.

  “Your Grace, Lord Wendal and I had a few moments to share our knowledge of the Demarian advancement, and one important detail of the troop movements came with the return of the soldiers who managed to escape the battle at the fork. That is, that they did not see any siege engines amongst the Demarian forces. No catapults, towers, ladders, or the like. While it may be that such armaments shall come along after the initial force arrives, it seems that their plan is not to attack the city immediately.

  “This may give us time to prepare for a battle outside the walls while the Demarians await their siege weapons. We are sure that even with such weapons at our gates, that months may pass while the invaders attempt to gain entrance to the city. We are well supplied here, and winter arrives as we speak. I believe that patience is our best strategy, as I agree with Lord Wendal that a prolonged battle upon the field is likely unmanageable now.” Taking his seat, Lord Marnon looked confident in his assessment.

  “Lord Ventrent, what say you?” asked King Harford.

  “Your Grace,” he replied, rising from his chair, “I am Lord of Trade, and know little of the matters of war. But, as a learned man who served both your father and grandfather, I can say that I have seen war. It does seem that we have little choice in the matter. A siege seems imminent. Just how imminent it is, is the only question.”

  The King opened his mouth to speak, but halted as the sorcerer leaned over to whisper something to him. After hearing the sorcerer’s secretive counsel, he offered his thoughts.

  “My Lords, I agree that we must eventually withdraw our troops to within the city walls. Prepare what must be prepared to withstand a long siege. I am confident that we will not see a long siege, nor a battle on the field. My Lords, I leave the war plans in your hands, and ask only that you keep me informed.”

  “As you wish, Your Grace.” replied Lord Wend
al. “With your leave, I shall begin at once.” He stood and waited for the King’s acknowledgement. Upon receiving a nod, he departed.

  With a look to the King, the sorcerer also excused himself.

  “Shall we adjourn, Your Grace?” asked the Secretary.

  “I suppose. Yes,” replied the King.

  With that, the remaining lords, along with Bevin Sant, bowed and exited the chambers.

  The young King looked around at the empty chamber, and felt distinctly isolated. He turned to head back out to the main hall and stopped after a couple of steps. He was not sure if he wanted to be with the members of the court who were milling about. They all seemed so much more grand to him than he did to himself. He enjoyed the company of others, but these people seemed completely uninteresting, boring, and allergic to fun.

  He turned back from the direction of the main hall and began to head for his personal chambers, thinking that he would call his page and have him bring some books about war and the histories of the sieges of Magnaville. Once again he stopped after a couple of steps, realizing that he did not want to be alone in his chambers with dusty old books.

  He turned from the direction of his personal chambers and began to head for the stables. He thought he would go and see if the stable master’s son, Lyowen was there. He was the same age as the young King, and the two had often played together over the last few years.

  Then, the King stopped once more. He lowered his head, pouted, and bit his lower lip. He remembered that Lyowen was no longer in Whiterock, nor in Magnaville. He remembered that Lyowen’s Father was human, but that his mother was Dwarvish.

  The young King stepped back to his seat at the head of the Vestry hall, sank into the ornate throne, into his loneliness, and began to cry softly.

  ◆ ◆ ◆ ◆

  The pressure on her stomach was intense, and combined with the nausea, dizziness and ringing in her ears, Hollyglade felt a strong urge to vomit. As she slowly opened her eyes, she saw the underside of a horse’s belly cinched with a saddle girth, a set of stirrups with boots in them, and her own legs hanging from the far side of the horse. She realised that she was draped over the horse as it walked slowly.

  With some effort, she tried to slide off the horse’s back, and onto the ground, but when she did so she found that her wrists were bound. In response to her movements, she felt a hand on her back.

  “Not so fast girl. You must not try to run or escape me. That would be terribly bothersome, and completely off-putting. And we are just about to get you your own mount, once we have a quick bite to break the fast.” The man brought the horse to a stop, and grabbed her arm below the shoulder. “Now my dear, slide off slowly and sit on the ground.”

  As she slid off the back of the mount, she began to see stars whirling about her. She tried to take a few steps to gain her balance, but found that her feet would not move apart from one another. She fell to the ground only barely able to block the road from meeting her face by bringing her bound hands up in front of her, landing hard on her elbows. The pain of the fall was too much, the fatigue was too great, and the nausea was unrelenting. Hollyglade was barely able to roll to one side as her stomach emptied what little it contained in several vomitous heaves.

  “Oh dear, sweet girl. We must get you settled before we ride further. This just won’t do.”

  She looked up at the man as he dismounted, and her face twisted into a grimace as she realized with disgust who it was that had carried her here. Seeing the malevolent bounty hunter standing above her, she once again tried to get to her feet, fighting the searing acidity in her throat and mouth. Anger rose within her, and began to compete with the feelings of illness she suffered, for foremost place in her conscious mind.

  She pulled at her restraints as hard as she could, but found that the effort only caused the rope to cut into her wrist. Feeling around her body in the hope that he had missed taking one of the several sharp objects she had been carrying, she found only dissapointment. Her frustration mounted and she began to seethe internally, wanting desperately to free herself and take some sort of vengeance on this man. Her mind swirled.

  Was it her fault that dGerrie had died, her fault the old white haired woman had died, her fault that the family in the farm had died, her fault that all the soldiers had been injured or killed? Maybe it was her fault in some way. There’s always another choice, she thought. She had killed no one by her own hand, and it had been this bounty hunter’s choice to use the methods he had. It was his fault, and she swore to herself that she would make him pay somehow, if only she could fight the nausea and dizziness long enough to bring things into focus.

  He responded to her attempt to stand by pushing her down into a sitting position with a disapproving wag of his finger.

  “Now, now. If you wish to ride, rather than walk all the way to our destination, you will sit and be patient as I procure another animal.”

  “Water. Please.” she managed to rasp. If she was going to do something about her situation, she needed strength.

  “I suppose I must bring you to my contractor in good condition,” he acquiesced, as he handed her the water skin. “Stay seated while I chat with this fine purveyor of transport.” The bounty hunter stepped away to speak with a rather rotund man.

  Hollyglade took a moment to try to get her bearings. She recognised the area having passed through it, and the farm where they were now stopped, sometime in the last month. She had approached the farmer about work, but had been turned away, being told that he was not comfortable hiring Elder Folk given the state of affairs in the region.

  Her head was pounding, and she reached around to the back of it to feel where the pain was coming from. The cold had made her hands and feet numb again, yet she tried her best to assess her injuries. Her hand felt the roughness of crusted and dried blood which had matted itself into her hair at the base of her skull. It did not feel wet, but the lump felt significant. Looking to the sky in an attempt to gauge the position of the sun, she felt the dizziness intensify as the world began to spin around her. She slumped to one side, fighting with everything she had to stay conscious and upright. It was no use. She collapsed to the road and felt everything go dark.

  The sound of hoofbeats and creaking wood roused her from her insensate numbness. As she opened her eyes, the light seemed incredibly intense and painful. The brightness caused her head to swell with pain as she squeezed her eyes shut to fight the profound discomfort. In trying to bring a hand up to shade her head, she felt a tug at her wrists. She opened one eye a crack to see that her hands were now tied to the edge of a small wagon. She tried to sit up, but could not pull her legs under her, finding them bound to the opposite end of the cart. She let out a groan as the wheel struck a rock in the road.

  “Well, well. I see you have decided to join the land of the living once more. That’s a good thing, as having to procure this wagon, and get you into it, were both costly endeavours. I wish to recuperate that cost, which requires you to regain some haleness.”

  “Water. Please”

  A water skin landed in her lap, and Hollyglade reached it with her fingertips, pulling it into her hand. To drink, she shifted herself toward her feet in order to bring her mouth to the water skin in her hands. Taking several long drafts, she felt a small measure of the restoration of her senses. Peering upward through the small slit she opened between her eyelids, she determined the sun to be at its zenith. She had been unconscious for nearly a full day, and was feeling the effects. She turned her head to see the cream white clothing on the back of the man whom she had been running from for what seemed like an eon.

  Her thoughts returned to dGerrie, and to his body lying slain in the street back in Greenfield. Her eyes began to well with tears. She had felt so close to getting free of the relentless pursuit of her captor, and had felt nearly sure of it once dGerrie had found her. She had been so confident in the skill and dedication he had shown. Such friendship is rare and precious. Upon their discovery of each othe
r in the stable, Hollyglade had been sure that together, they would manage an escape. She was wrong, and it had cost him his life, and her her closest friend. Her bereavement turned to enmity, her sadness to anger, her hurt to furor.

  Yet again, she felt the swelling of power within her. Like the rise of waves before their crash upon a rocky shore, she felt the intense buildup loom over her, ready to crush her resolve on the stone of her loss. This resolve had grown in her mind as she had weighed the consequences of action and inaction, the value of release and restraint, against each other.

  Her thoughts moved to the day she had first met dGerrie, ten years ago outside a tavern in the Red Lanes of Magnaville. The man that had carted her from where she had been found, on the road through western plains just days after the great destruction, was trying to take his payment from her. Payment not previously mentioned while the man had still been sober. Payment of flesh.

  She remembered feeling then what she felt now, growing inside her, and the moment it dissipated when the young boy had clubbed the suddenly predatory farmer unconscious in the street. She remembered the relief she felt when the boy had taken her hand and led her away into the safety of obscurity. She remembered telling him that she wanted the farmer to die, and that the boy had told that five year old girl, “There is always another way.”

  Sitting up as much as she could while tied to the cart, Hollyglade slowly began to open her eyes to try to adjust to the light. It was a struggle, and the pain in her head was not lessening. However, she was determined to get her bearings and assess her current situation. After several minutes, she was finally able to see clearly.

  She was the only passenger in the wagon pulled by a two horse team moving at a quick pace, and driven by Trenon Var Toran, The Dancer, her captor and her friend’s murderer.