The Greater Challenge Beyond (The Southern Continent Series Book 3)

by Jeffrey Quyle

  “I choose Jenniline,” he repeated with greater volume, as the closest members of the crowd buzzed, “to be my counselor, to advise me on how to best work with the court of King Magnus, and how to best help Southgar. She shall be the advisor I trust in all topics. I do not choose her to be my bride at this time.”

  Her eyes widened, and she shut her mouth before shouting further imprecations upon him, a puzzled look upon her face as she tried to decipher the meaning and effect of his pronouncement. And Hope’s face, he saw, also changed expression for a pair of unguarded, surprised moments, no longer hurt, only puzzled by the prospect of the announcement.

  “Shall we walk back to the palace?” he asked Jenniline, “so that I may see the people of Southgar?”

  She was still for a moment, then strode up the steps towards him.

  “What game is afoot?” she asked softly, her mouth next to his ear.

  “I don’t know; I’m in greater shock than you are,” he answered.

  She backed away to look at him for a moment, then closed upon his ear again. “If you are a wizard, do something first – here – to demonstrate your power, so that they respect you,” she suggested.

  He looked at her. It was a sound idea – he only needed to decide what to do.

  And then he knew.

  “Ariana,” he called softly. The enchanted sword was no longer possessed with the power of the elemental being, the girl he had known; but it still held the energy that the goddess Miriam had put within it, the power to destroy demons. And it was by the deity’s power alone that Grange knew the sword would respond to his call.

  He held his hand up above his head, feeling a sensation of arrival. The sword and all his belongings had been confiscated by Earl Goala and sent to the palace at Southgar in the wagon he had been shipped in. His belongings – the sword, the knife, the wand – all had to be in the palace, he told himself.

  He felt the approach of the sword, and then it smacked soundly against his upraised hand, and momentarily flared with a bright blue light, drawing a cheer from the crowd.

  “Very impressive,” Jenniline said. “Now we walk to the palace. Follow me.” She began to walk down the steps towards the square.

  “I’ll see you back at the palace, your majesty,” Grange said to the stunned Magnus. He turned slightly, and winked at Hope, then swiveled around to Elred.

  “Thank you, my friend. I’ll be back here soon to talk to you,” he placed his hand on the priest’s shoulder as he stepped past him on the way down the stairs. He hurried to catch up to Jenniline, as the crowd automatically opened up a narrow corridor for him to walk through, while hands reached out to pat him on the arm or back, and voices hailed him and called him a hero.

  He nodded in acknowledgement of the support, and smiled from time to time, until he caught up with Jenniline, and hooked his arm through hers so that they could walk together.

  “You don’t have any idea of what you’re in for,” she said into his ear.

  “That’s why I picked you to teach me,” he answered.

  “This is a dangerous, impossible game,” Jenniline told him.

  “Whatever it might be, it’s not a game,” Grange answered. “Burr and Anthel, their attack was caused because they were possessed by demons. Trensen died because of demons,” Grange told her, making the expression on her face harden.

  “You know the palace, and you know Southgar,” he told her. “Elred knows the temple. I don’t know anything, but God Acton has instructed me to do these impossible things. I need a lot of help.”

  “You’ve always needed a lot of help; I’ve known that since I met you,” Jenniline snapped. “I just didn’t know there were going to be such terrible consequences if you failed.”

  She paused, then spoke again. “If it gains my vengeance on the demons who killed my guards, then I’ll help you all I can, on one condition.”

  “What condition?” Grange asked, pleased at the woman’s acquiescence.

  “You can’t pick me to be your bride,” she told him.

  Grange started laughing.

  “What’s so funny about that?” Jenniline hissed. She stopped walking, and their linked arms pulled Grange to a stop too, as the crowd of followers around them slowed and formed a circle to watch the conversation.

  “I’m not going to pick you to be my bride,” he assured her.

  “Well, it’s not like it should be so completely out of the question,” Jenniline said in a huff.

  “Well, no, of course not,” Grange realized he had callously trampled on the princess’s feeling, and it shouldn’t have been so completely out of the question. She was a beautiful and bright woman with a strong personality.

  “It’s just,” he wanted to try to explain to her, “it’s just that I don’t know that I want to marry anyone from Southgar.” He thought of Shaylee, and Grace, and even Ariana. There were women he felt attached to, though whether they would ever feel reciprocal affection was hard to predict, and when or if he was ever going to return to the north alive was debatable.

  “You have to marry someone from Southgar,” Jenniline’s fist clenched the collar of Grange’s shirt. “You heard the god – he commanded it. And I never thought of it before, but he’s right – we do need to end this division between my father’s court and the Bloomingians. We should all be one people.

  “You need to do that for us,” she told him as she released his shirt.

  The crowd around them murmured.

  “It’s nothing, don’t worry,” Jenniline told the crowd. “The Champion is fine.”

  She grabbed his arm and started walking.

  They were silent for several steps.

  “Do you think your father will allow me to have a private conversation with Sweyn?” Grange asked, referring to the man who had conducted the long, excruciating torture Grange had endured.

  Jenniline burst out in laughter. “Sweyn would stain his pants, if he hasn’t already,” she said.

  After a pause, she spoke again. “If you were to talk to Sweyn several times, privately, without visibly hurting him, father would wonder whether the weasel had switched allegiances to you.

  “And Sweyn would know that’s what it would look like; he’d be expecting to receive retribution. They wouldn’t trust one another at all,” she mused.

  “Those,” Grange told her, turning to look at her, “are devious thoughts.”

  “They are the result of living in a court where I was an outcast,” she told him. “I watched a lot and learned a lot.”

  “Have I harmed you by choosing you as an ally?” Grange asked cautiously.

  “That depends,” she answered slowly. She glanced at him, their eyes met, then she looked straight ahead.

  “In the immediate term, you’ve made me very powerful, I think. But in the long run, it depends on your survival and actions and choices. I could be an outcast the day after you die or leave,” she said slowly.

  “Let’s hope the results are much better than that,” Grange told her, as the palace gates came into sight. Although I don’t really want to be the king here, someday, he thought to himself.

  The crowd that had followed him from the temple was smaller now, having lost members over the course of his walk. As he approached, the palace gates swung fully open, and Magnus stood waiting with members of his court.

  Grange stopped just outside the gates and turned to the small crowd. He wished he had Grace with him, he thought to himself, so that together they could perform their music and offer healing and good health to the residents of the city.

  And he wished that Ariana was with him.

  “Thank you for your support,” Grange said to the followers. “Go tell the people of Southgar that I will fight for them.” He waved to the people, then turned and stepped through the gate.

  “Welcome, my lord,” Magnus told him.

  “Do you have rooms prepared for my arrival?” Grange asked directly.

  “We are preparing them right now,” t
he king said evenly.

  Grange let his eyes wander momentarily across the crowd. He didn’t see Sweyn. Nor did he see Hope.

  “Is there a parlor I may wait in?” Grange asked. “And I’d like to have some simple food delivered there.

  “Jenniline and I would like to meet with Sweyn, in that parlor, while we’re waiting for my suite to be completed,” Grange announced.

  “You’re not here to start harming my people,” Magnus warned. “I did not hear the god Acton mention such activities.”

  “No, I have no intent to do him any physical harm,” Grange said reassuringly.

  Magnus turned and spoke to a page, then returned to attending to Grange.

  “You were a Bloomingian all along, just as I suspected,” he accused.

  You may have thought so, but I didn’t, and the Bloomingians didn’t,” Grange replied. “I don’t foresee a simple time convincing them I’m their champion.”

  “What parlor do you wish us to wait in, your majesty?” Jenniline spoke to her father for the first time.

  “So you’ve chosen her, have you? An interesting choice,” Magnus addressed Grange.

  “She has good advice to offer; that’s what I’ve chosen her for,” Grange answered. “What is your answer to her question?”

  “You’ll be shown to the Peacock Room,” the king said.

  “I look forward to sitting down with you to discuss many things,” Grange gave a slight bow.

  “I’m sure you do,” Magnus answered in a neutral tone. He returned the slight bow, and Jenniline led Grange towards the palace.

  Chapter 13

  They sat down on chairs in the Peacock Room, and Grange looked at the large painting of a peacock that had its feathers on display. A servant arrived with a wheeled cart that carried food and beverages, then left.

  Grange was at the cart choosing jam to put on a slice of bread, when the door opened, and an ashen-faced Sweyn entered the room.

  “Have a seat over there, Sweyn,” Jenniline pointed to the furthest corner of the room, and the man obediently complied.

  “Remember to take your time,” Jenniline quietly advised Grange as he stood eating his bread and looking at the man.

  After he finished the bread, Grange spoke across the room. “Sweyn, would you open that window, please?”

  The man instantly complied.

  For the first time since he had left the tin mine on the rugged mountains, Grange considered using his powers, his ability to control the mystical energy that was spread throughout the world. As he considered the words to use to pronounce his command to the energy, he was suddenly struck by the fact that the Southgar language was virtually the same language that was needed to speak to the energy.

  It was why he had adapted to the language so quickly when his memories had patchily returned. There were differences, and a slight accent, but he would no longer be speaking in a foreign tongue, so to speak, when he called upon the energy.

  “Os gwelwch yn dda hedfan fy cyllell i mi,” he called upon the energy, focusing his thoughts as he had learned to do in Brieed’s quarters. Please fly my knife to me.

  Grange walked over to the window and waited for the knife to arrive.

  “Do you know where my belongings were being held?” he asked his former torturer as he waited for the arrival of the knife. He heard the distant sound of glass breaking somewhere.

  “They were in a room in the tower, my lord,” Sweyn answered nervously.

  The knife arrived through the window and snuggled smartly into Grange’s grip.

  “You may want to go have the glass in the window in that room fixed,” Grange advised the man. “You’re free to go.”

  “Please also fly my wand to me,” he next asked the energy to deliver one of his coveted belongings, as he looked down at the darkened jewel that was affixed to the knife handle, all that remained of Brielle, following the demonic attack upon the jewels. Was there a way possible to reverse the effects of that attack, he wondered.

  Sweyn left the room, just as the slender wooden rod of Grange’s wand came flying in through the window.

  “That was a nice performance,” Jenniline told Grange, from where she still stood near the food cart.

  “What do we do now?” he asked. He didn’t look up at the princess, but he studied his wand speculatively.

  “Shouldn’t you begin to interview the princesses?” Jenniline suggested.

  Grange looked up at her.

  “What for?” he asked, stunned by the question.

  “You – whatever your personal feelings are – need to obey the God. You need to select a princess to become your bride,” Jenniline pointed out.

  “Well, I’ll just pick Hope, obviously,” Grange answered.

  “Do you want to get this over with quickly, so that you can get to the wedding faster, is that your intent? Or would you like to stretch things out over a few days or weeks? And who knows, you might find that one of the other girls suits you better?” Jenniline told him. “Or maybe Hope will reject you; she may not want to marry you.”

  Grange paused. “Do you think she would reject me?” he asked.

  “Oh, this is ridiculous!” Grange cried a moment later. “I’m not planning to marry or live in Southgar. For all I know, I may not even live through the next battle with demons.”

  Jenniline strode rapidly across the room, then stunned Grange by slapping his face.

  “Don’t you dare talk like that!” she said through clenched teeth. “From what I understand, you and Acton are going to fight to defend all of us – everyone in Southgar and everywhere else. Don’t you dare talk like you’ve got the option of losing that battle for all the people out there!”

  Grange stood with his mouth hanging open and his hand pressed against the warmth of his cheek.

  “Now, if a god told you to take the hand of one of King Magnus’s daughters in marriage, then you will do what the god instructed. Or do you presume to be able to ignore the direct commandments of Acton?” she asked.

  “So, are you still glad you chose me to be your counselor?” she asked a moment later, flashing a smile that looked to Grange to be more dangerous than her angry expression just moments earlier.

  “Do I have to answer that right now?” he asked with an answering smile.

  “Maybe there is some – a very little – wisdom yet in that head of yours,” Jenniline pronounced, signaling the end of the intensity she had inflicted on Grange. He was rattled by the outburst though; it had brought home to him the seriousness of the challenge that was ahead of him. Among the vast number of topics and memories and revelations that had descended upon him while on the temple stairs, the fact that he was going to be locked in mortal combat with demons, on behalf of every person on the continent, had to rise to the top, he was reminded.

  “I think I’d like to see our suite of rooms,” he told Jenniline. “I want to see what type of space we have, and where I can work on some things.”

  “Our suite of rooms?” Jenniline asked skeptically. “Don’t you mean your suite?”

  “I suppose so. I just want to know that you’ll be close by to help me when I need you,” he answered.

  “What kind of a job is this? I didn’t sign up for this, you know?” she answered.

  “Neither did I,” he said in a quieter voice. “Neither did I.”

  Jenniline paused. “I suppose that’s true.

  “Let’s go,” she turned the page of the conversation. “Let’s go see how well or how poorly they’ve decided to treat you – we’ll see where they’re going to give you space in the palace.”

  She led the way out of the door, then stopped.

  “Can you do anything to impress people?” she asked Grange, as she spotted a pair of servants down the hall.

  Grange looked at her quizzically.

  “You know, something that will make people know you have this great power, like when you made that sword fly through the air into your hand,” Jenniline said with a hint
of exasperation.

  “How about,” Grange considered for a second, then muttered a command to the power, “How about this?” he motioned towards the air overhead, as a circle of balls of light suddenly appeared above them, and revolved slowly in an orbit around their location.

  “That’s something they haven’t seen before,” she said in bemusement, as she looked up. “It’ll do for now.”

  “What’s the point of doing this?” Grange asked.

  “Because most of them know by now that just ten days ago you were a bound, helpless captive being tortured in the dungeon cells by Sweyn. They think of you as vulnerable and weak, in a sense,” Jenniline explained with what passed for patience.

  “You’ve got to completely overcome and wipe that impression out,” Jenniline said.

  “I think I will,” Grange said, as he considered some of the things he hoped to accomplish. He was going to experiment with charging his wand again, if, he told himself, if he could manage to receive some instruction. He would charge amulets, and otherwise practice his use of the powers, to prepare for the cataclysm that was fated to come.

  They walked down the hall with their bright lights orbiting overhead, Grange momentarily recollecting the tin mine in the wilderness, where he had cast lights down into the darkness of the doomed mine. It was a depressing memory, and he shook his head, then looked around for some distraction.

  “There’s the chamberlain,” Jenniline pointed at a man backing out of a room, unaware of the approach of the palace’s newest resident. “Go make him take us to your quarters. He’ll get to the bottom of things.”

  “Traibble,” she called, causing the man to turn around, then jerk upright in fear at the sight of Grange and his circling lights.

  “Traibble, take us to the new rooms that have been cleared out for the Champion,” Jenniline said authoritatively.

  “I’m not sure where they are,” the man gave a fearful apology, as Grange came to stand directly in front of him, making the chamberlain flinch every time one of the light balls passed near his spot.

  “Then take us on a trip to find them,” Jenniline would brook no excuse.