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

  The door closed, and Grange sat tensely in his cubby, then heard the woman’s footsteps return to the closet.

  “Why don’t you stay up there a little while, just to be safe?” she suggested. “I had no idea it’s the palace itself looking for you.”

  “Thank you,” Grange answered.

  “What’s your name?” he asked.

  “Merched,” she replied.

  “Thank you Merched,” he told her. “You saved my life.”

  “What did you do to make the palace so mad? You don’t look like such a bad sort,” she answered. “No, never mind – I’m better off not knowing.

  “I’m going to go downstairs for a bit, then I’ll be back. Can I bring you anything?” she asked.

  “No, I’m fine,” Grange answered, although he wasn’t. As the shock of nearly being found by the palace guards wore off, the aches and pains throughout his body were reasserting themselves in his consciousness.

  “Are you sure?” Merched asked, as if she sensed some hesitance in his voice.

  “Could you bring some willow bark tea?” Grange asked.

  “Oh, you’re a funny one!” she snorted. “You’re staying across the alley from a tavern, and you ask for tea.

  “I’ll bring you something, don’t worry,” she assured him.

  There was the further sound of steps, and then the sound of a door closing. Grange was alone once again, his wounded legs curled up near his badly bruised chest, left to wonder about his fate.

  He was breathing slowly and easily when he was started into wakefulness by the sound of steps on the staircase, and then the sound of voices murmuring nearby. The guards were back, he feared, and he gave an involuntary shiver. He had no weapons, with which to protect himself if the guards came into Merched’s room and searched well enough to find him.

  The voices droned softly, before there was a knock at the door. Grange took a deep breath, ready to react in some fashion, then held his silence, and waited.

  After several seconds without a noise, the voices spoke, then the sounds of boots descending the stairs eased Grange’s mind, and he gave a sigh of relief.

  “Enough is enough,” he told himself. He stretched his legs down to rest them on the trick shelf that turned into a ladder, then put weight on his feet, and felt the shelf shift slightly, then resist further movement. He edged further out of the hidden cubby, his head crouched low.

  The shelf suddenly gave a cracking sound, and his feet fell away with the shelf top, sending Grange plummeting to the floor of the closet. His forehead struck the door frame, and he landed in a heap on the floor, knocking the closet door open, as his torso spilled out into the bedroom.

  Grange was stunned and dazed. He lay still and let his body detect the extent of new damages, then eventually concluded that there were no new injuries that were any worse than the ones he had already suffered. His feet and ankles were too sore to walk upon, he decided, and so he crawled out of the closet doorway, and for lack of any better destination, he crawled to the bed, and climbed up onto it.

  He laid out upon his back, atop the bed, and closed his eyes. It was relaxing, almost worth the pain of the fall he decided, perhaps even worth getting caught by the guards, just for the chance to lay upon the soft surface of the mattress.

  The door to the room opened, unexpectedly, and his eyes flew open as he heard the noise. He hadn’t heard the footsteps approaching on the stairs – he was completely caught off-guard.

  In the doorway, he spied Merched standing, looking at him with a quizzical expression.

  “I couldn’t stand to stay up there,” he confessed simply.

  The woman closed the door, then walked over and put her canvas sack on a table, and pulled out a ceramic jar. It was warm, Grange could tell, for Merched kept shifting her fingers’ positions on the jar until she could quickly place it on the table.

  “This is your willow tea,” she explained, as she bent down and pulled a mug of a low shelf below the table. She used the corner of the bed cover as an impromptu holder to shield her fingers as she opened the jar, then poured the steaming contents into the mug.

  “Let it cool,” she advised as she placed it on the table on Grange’s side of the bed.

  “Thank you,” he told her gratefully. Seeing the willow bark tea was a reminder of some of the aches he had failed to notice, but it was much more a promise that some of those aches would be sent away soon after he drank the steaming beverage. He closed his eyes and tried to relax while the tea cooled, and Merched pulled various items out of her shopping bag and put the items away in various places.

  “Why do they want you?” she asked suddenly.

  “They think I support the Bloomingians,” he answered.

  “Politics!” she snorted in disgust. “That’s the problem with the kingdom is all this preoccupation with politics. Why doesn’t anyone in the palace pay attention to making life better for people like us?”

  Grange had no answer, so he picked up his mug of willow bark tea and blew on it gently to help it cool, then sipped it down, batting his eyes and wrinkling his nose as he drank the biting beverage.

  “Here,” Merched pulled another ceramic jug, a larger one, out and poured its contents into his mug, then poured more into her own. “This is the ale from the tavern downstairs. It’ll take away the taste of that nasty stuff you just drank.”

  They silently clinked their mugs together in a toast, then drank.

  Grange felt sleepy from the long day and the drink of ale.

  Merched looked at him speculatively.

  “I tell you what,” she said after a pause. “I’ll let you sleep in my bed tonight – that’s all, of course; nothing more. Hopefully you’ll be better tomorrow. But after that, I’m going to have to turn you out. I have to get on with my life, you know,” she said.

  “I understand,” he acknowledged. The next day was far away; he felt groggy, and in less pain, and he was ready to sleep.

  “Thank you Merched. You saved my life,” he told her drowsily as he closed his eyes, and fell swiftly asleep, oblivious to Merched’s scrutiny of him. She looked at him, shook her head gently, then undressed and crawled onto the far side of the mattress.

  Grange was awoken in the middle of the night by a hard poke in his shoulder.

  “I wonder if I should have left you in the dungeon,” a woman’s voice said, “instead of setting you free to cavort with a harlot.”

  “I’ll thank you not to insult me in my own home,” Grange heard another voice say, as he tried to rise from the depth of sleep.

  “I suppose you’re right,” Grange recognized Jenniline’s voice, the tone just barely gracious.

  “He’s the one. And you’re not going to take him back to the palace?” Merched confirmed.

  “No, I’ve got a safe place secured for him. Just explain to me why I found you in his bed across the hall, and him in your bed in here?” Jenniline asked.

  “Look at him lying on his back,” Merched nearly snorted before she spoke. “He was snoring so loud I had to leave to sleep. And then you came in cooing sweet nothings in my ear. I’ll be glad to be rid of him just so I can spend the rest of the night sleeping in my own bed.”

  “Grange, can you walk?” Jenniline asked him.

  He opened his eyes and looked up. There was no illumination in the room, only the lighter shades of darkness where the two women stood over him.

  “Hello, princess,” he said.

  “Princess?” Merched asked sharply.

  “It’s just a term of affection,” Jenniline said quickly. “I am not taking him to the palace. You don’t really think a princess would be out in the middle of the night slumming around looking after this sorry piece of dung, do you?”

  Merched said nothing.

  “Let’s get you moving,” Jenniline placed her arms under Grange and raised him to an upright position, then pulling him up to his feet.

  “Very good, now let’s go,” she said.

  Grange
hobbled forward in response. Jenniline turned, and circled around the bed to head towards the door of the room, and to the staircase beyond.

  “Thank you Merched,” Grange stopped and faced the unlit form of the woman who had rescued him.

  “You were my good deed for this year,” she laughed gently. She leaned in and kissed him on the cheek. “Good luck to you; I hope you heal up and stay safe. Come back and visit me someday, if your princess will allow you to.”

  Grange moved on with Jenniline, and they quietly, slowly descended the stairs.

  “You most certainly will not,” Jenniline said when they reached the dark, empty tavern space below.

  “Will not what?” Grange asked.

  “You will not go back and visit that woman,” Jenniline hissed. “Here – take this and cover your head,” she handed him the hooded cape that she had worn.

  “Where are we going?” Grange asked.

  “To the home of one of Hope’s suitors,” Jenniline answered. “The man is besotted with the girl, so she can get his servants to agree to anything she wants when she visits,” Jenniline laughed softly. “And Hope let the servants believe that he would get to see her frequently as a result of your residence at his home.”

  They exited from the tavern, and Jenniline took Grange to an alley, where a horse was tied. “Up you go,” she said, helping him climb into the saddle, before she untied the horse and climbed up in front of him.

  “Hold on, but watch where you put your hands,” she told him, then set the animal in motion.

  “There were palace guards that came up to that room, looking for me,” Grange said to Jenniline as they rode through the empty street. “Merched took me into her room and hid me there.”

  “How did they know where to find you?” Jenniline asked. “Elred wouldn’t have helped us get you out of the palace, then turn around and reveal you. Someone must have been following him.”

  Grange was silent, unable to offer any answer.

  “Hey!” Jenniline pulled on the reigns and stopped the horse. Grange felt her body grow rigid.

  “How is it that you now understand what we’re saying?” she asked. “You said out in the wilderness that you didn’t understand. Hope said you peddled the same story to her. But here we’ve been talking in the woman’s room and on the horse, just like normal people.

  “What are you up to?” she growled the words.

  “I seem to have remembered. I just realized it myself after you rescued me,” he said nervously.

  “You know you found me at Yellow Spring, and you’re the one who told me that it erased memories – but the memories would come back slowly. This is a memory that came back,” he explained.

  She sat, silent and tense, considering his story.

  “It could be, I suppose,” she muttered. She twitched the reins, and the horse began clip-clopping through the empty streets once again, though Grange felt her body remain stiff.

  Several minutes later they stopped in front of a large chalet in the city. Jenniline slid down out of the saddle, and led the horse to a gate on the side. She reached over the top of the gate, fumbled with the latch, and opened it. When they reached the stables a minute later she helped Grange down and placed the horse in a stall.

  “The back door is supposed to be unlocked,” she commented to Grange, then helped him walk with her to the kitchen door. She opened the latch and the two of them entered a small antechamber where a lantern offered slight illumination, revealing a boy sleeping on a makeshift pallet on the floor.

  “Wake up; we’re here,” Jenniline said loudly.

  The boy sat up with a start and rubbed his eyes. “You’re the one?” he asked.

  Jenniline pulled Grange’s hood back. “He’s the one,” she indicated. “Take us to our room,” she ordered the young servant.

  He picked up the lantern and increased the illumination, then led the way through the kitchen and up the servants’ staircase to the second floor, then up another staircase to a third floor, where he indicated a door just off the landing.

  “This is the room we’ve reserved for the gentleman,” he said.

  “I’ll stay with him until dawn,” Jenniline informed him. “You’re free to go now,” she said in a gentler voice, and they watched the boy hand over the lantern, bow, and depart.

  “Whose house is this?” Grange asked as the princess opened the door to their room.

  “The nobleman’s name is Wilder,” Jenniline replied. She motioned for Grange to enter ahead of her, then shut the door.

  “His title is Protector of the Throne. He was my father’s closest ally when he overthrew the old king,” she explained. “He was big and ferocious, a great warrior back then. Now he’s just a fat old man with a pretty daughter,” she smirked, as they looked at the single bed in the room.

  “Your father swore I looked like the old king,” Grange said. “Will Wilder see the same?” he asked.

  “Not if Hope tells him not to; he’s smitten with the girl – hopelessly,” she said. After a moment’s pause she added, “Pun intended.”

  “Oh, oh yes, I see,” Grange smiled wearily. The effects of the willow bark tea and the ale had worn off. He stepped over to the bed, and lay down. ”Besides,” she added, “he probably won’t see you – won’t even know you’re here!”

  “You’re spending the night?” he asked, as she pulled her boots off her feet.

  Under two conditions,” Jenniline said. “You’ll not act improperly, and you’ll not snore.”

  She had a straight face, but Grange saw the corner of her mouth twitch momentarily.

  “I make no promises,” he replied, as he stretched out on the bed. “But I’ll try.”

  She turned the lantern down, then lay down on the opposite side of the bed, and by the time she closed her eyes, Grange was asleep.

  Chapter 11

  When Grange awoke in the morning, Jenniline was gone, and a basket of freshly cut bread was next to a beaker of juice on the table by the door. He rose, drank the juice and slowly ate the bread, wondering what he should do next, when there was a knock on the door.

  The boy who had led them to the room entered when Grange answered.

  “Is there anything I can get for you, my lord?” he asked.

  “May I have some willow bark tea?” Grange asked.

  “Ah,” the boy drew a crafty expression. “Did my lord drink too much ale last night? Is that why you had the woman in your room with you?”

  “Just bring me the tea,” Grange cut off the speculation.

  “Yes, my lord,” the boy felt satisfied that he was correct. He left the room, and Grange lay back on the bed.

  The boy’s name was Masky, and over the course of the next few days, Grange came to find him amusing and reliable. He was also the only person from the chalet who ever visited Grange.

  “There’s a princess from the palace coming to see Lord Wilder today,” Masky gossiped to Grange as he brought a pot of tea to start one day. “”His lordship is very excited. He’s had the barber come to shave him especially well.”

  “Have you ever met a princess before?” Masky asked. “I never have, other than to see this one in the parlor,” he quickly answered for himself, not knowing that he had met a princess in Jenniline.

  “I’ll bet she’s going to be wearing jewels and a crown, and we’ll all have to kiss her feet; I won’t like that at all,” the boy went on.

  “What makes you think that?” Grange asked with a smile.

  “The cook told me. He’s been here for twenty years and he knows a lot about those kinds of things,” Masky said in a worldly tone.

  Grange kept his humor silent, then lay back in his bed and speculated about what the day would bring.

  An hour later, he found out.

  There was a knock on the door of his tucked away room, and when it opened, Hope popped through the only slightly-open door, which closed immediately behind her.

  “So you can speak our language?” she asked arch
ly, standing at the foot of the bed and looking at him with her eyebrows raised.

  “I can now,” he answered. The girl was beautiful, and he took his time to observe her flawless complexion and sparkling eyes.

  “What are you looking at?” Hope asked after three seconds of silence.

  “The servant who watches me says that the cook says that a princess would come today, wearing jewels and a crown, and we’d all have to kiss her feet,” Grange laughed. “I don’t see your crown, so I’m hoping that I don’t have to kiss your feet!”

  Hope burst out laughing.

  “Jenniline would tell you what to kiss!” she said as she blushed. “You won’t tell her I said that, will you, please?”

  “Your secret is safe,” Grange said. “Would you like to have a seat?” he asked, and moved his feet aside so that she could sit on the bed.

  “I can’t stay long. The others are keeping Wilder occupied while I slipped out to see you; they think I’m here to see a secret lover,” she smiled.

  “What others?” Grange asked.

  “Some of my sisters. Paile, Hilto, and Acco came with me,” she explained.

  “He’s an admirer, I hear. He even had the barber come in to shave him, just for your visit,” Grange grinned.

  “How charming!” Hope laughed.

  “I imagine there are many admirers,” Grange added. “Unless that foot-kissing test get applied regularly.”

  Hope laughed. “It’s good to see you in such good spirits. Jenniline said that,” she paused, “they treated you pretty badly in the dungeon.”

  “I’m getting better – much better,” he assured her.

  “I better get back to the Protector,” she said, and stood up. “Father’s Protector, not my own,” she smiled.

  “What happens next?” Grange asked her.

  “Jenniline wants to send you to Acton’s temple, but she’s worried that someone is following Elred,” Hope told him.

  “You stay here and heal,” she said. “I’ll visit again, soon.” She stepped forward and kissed him on the cheek, then slipped out of the room.