The Andy Smithson Series: Books 1, 2, and 3 (Young Adult Epic Fantasy Bundle) (Andy Smithson Series Boxset): Dragons, Serpents, Unicorns, Pegasus, Pixies, Trolls, Dwarfs, Knights and More!

by L. EE

  Dad looked up as he finished, and Andy detected tears in his eyes. He quickly covered, explaining, “King Hercalon shared some of his story and thanked me for our diligence in raising you as we have. It’s a very moving letter.”

  Dad caught Mom’s eyes and the corners of their mouths turned up a tad.

  “What’s that?” Madison interrupted the moment, pointing at a gold object peeking out from under the couch.

  Andy glanced down. “That would be my sword,” he explained, pulling it out from where it had rolled on impact.

  All eyes zeroed in on the object, and Andy clarified, “Well, it’s the hilt.”

  Mom and Dad’s eyes grew large.

  “It’s okay, really. I know how to use it. The blade only extends in Oomaldee.”

  “May I see it?” Mom requested.

  Andy held it out for Mom and Dad to inspect. Mom gasped the instant she saw the detailed carvings.

  “What’s wrong?” Dad questioned.

  “It’s Methuselah!” was all Mom could get out, pulling a hand up to cover her mouth.

  “You recognize it?” Andy marveled.

  Mom nodded slowly.

  “How?” she asked, her eyes locked with Andy’s as he handed her the hilt. The instant she gripped it, the blade extended and, startled, she dropped it.

  Andy reflexively jumped to avoid being cut.

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  The Andy Smithson series continues with more adventures to retrieve secret ingredients needed to break the long-standing curse plaguing the land of Oomaldee in the second box set which includes books four, five, and six of the series. Get yours today!

  A Sample of Book Four:

  Resurrection of the Phoenix’s Grace

  CHAPTER ONE

  Let the Games Begin

  Hungry flames danced on tippy toes, their prize just beyond the reach of their tongues. Andy twisted his marshmallow a quarter turn, watching it complete its transformation to the perfect poufy shade of tan. Memories of toasting the sweet treats with Alden around a campfire while searching for the dragon lair brought a smile to his face.

  “You’re quiet tonight,” Mom observed.

  Andy rotated his marshmallow another quarter turn. The balmy heat of the day had given way to a cooler Friday evening, and Dad had insisted they grill outside tonight. Burgers and corn on the cob had coaxed Madison from her book boyfriend, but with dinner complete, her complaints of mosquitoes allowed her to fall back into the arms of her imaginary love. The discordant sounds of Dad vigorously scrubbing the grill on the deck blended with the choir of crickets and bullfrogs.

  “Are you excited to be going to Grandpa Smithson’s tomorrow?”

  Another quarter turn.

  “Looks like your masterpiece is ready.”

  Andy took two graham crackers and four squares of a chocolate bar and coaxed the oozing glob of roasted perfection off the skewer, then bit into his gooey creation. Despite the tastiness of the treat, he sighed.

  “What’s wrong, honey?”

  “I’d hoped to hear something by now.”

  “Give them time. It’s only been two weeks since you got back. If they send any messages while you’re gone, we’ll let you know.”

  Andy forced a smile as he felt his stomach clench.

  The night Andy left Oomaldee, Abaddon had been more furious than ever before. His booming threat to kill the one who wielded Methuselah had reverberated off the walls of the dungeon tunnel, forcing Andy to cover his ears. It was true. Thanks to his blade, Andy had thrice thwarted the dragon’s ambition of gaining eternal life.

  “I’m worried Abaddon will hurt Father and the others.” Andy’s shoulders slumped as he exhaled. The nightmare scenarios that had filled his dreams taunted his calm.

  Mom reached over and patted his arm. “I know this sounds trite, but things will work themselves out. They always do.”

  Andy stared into the dying flames for several minutes before breaking the silence. “Mom, can I ask you something?”

  “Sure. What is it?”

  “What happened with Methuselah? Why did its blade extend for you when it won’t for me, at least not here?”

  Mom considered the question for a moment. At last she speculated, “I think it might have been a message to remind me that even though I’ve been in this world for nearly five hundred years, I’m still queen of Oomaldee. Perhaps my work is not yet done.”

  Queen? Oh yeah, I guess she is.

  “What do you mean, your work’s not done?”

  Mom did not elaborate, so Andy redirected, “If I break the curse…”

  Mom held up her hand and shook her head. “Not if, Andy, when.”

  “But you’ll die!”

  Mom glanced quickly at Dad who continued his quest to restore the grill to pristine condition. She reached over and pulled Andy’s face toward her, and in little more than a whisper said, “Andy, I’ve lived over five hundred years. I’ve experienced more than the average person. I treasure the time I’ve had. But it is enough.”

  “That’s what the King said too.”

  Dad approached. “What did the King say?”

  Mom cautioned with a look and Andy mumbled, “Oh, nothing.”

  Dad raised his eyebrows but chose to let it go. “Well then, what say we head inside before the mosquitoes tell their friends there’s an all-you-can-eat buffet.”

  *****

  Seven weeks later…

  Since Grandpa had retrieved Andy and Madison from the Phoenix airport, the old man had kept them busy at his ranch—inspecting fences on horseback with his three ranch hands, allowing Andy to drive the tractors by himself, corralling cattle, and helping fill the water troughs out in the pastures. While Andy had participated in similar activities on previous visits, the stench of nearly two hundred cattle still proved overwhelming.

  I should bottle this and take it back to Oomaldee, he laughed to himself.

  For her part, Madison-the-House-Pet made a beeline inside every chance she got. But at least she made herself useful in the kitchen. Grandma Smithson had been an amazing baker and had passed on her skills to her granddaughter. The elder woman had passed away four years ago, and Grandpa kept exclaiming at the tantalizing smells his granddaughter masterfully coaxed throughout the house.

  Two weeks earlier, as a special treat, Grandpa had taken them to a shooting range to teach them how to handle a rifle. Andy managed to hit the outer ring of the paper target several times, celebrating with a dance that Grandpa and his sister agreed resembled the flopping of a boneless chicken. Madison, on the other hand, completely missed the targets and came away complaining of a sore shoulder from the gun’s kickback. She had sulked back to Grandpa’s pickup after two rounds to resume an adventure with another of her book boyfriends.

  Despite his tiredness, Andy lay in bed staring at the ceiling. Growing worry over hearing nothing from Oomaldee gusted through his mind yet again, stirring up another tornado of undesirable possibilities. Exhaustion must have finally won, however, for Andy found himself in the lobby of a large office building, a destination he recognized from previous nighttime excursions. As before, it was eerily quiet despite the number of silvery, translucent beings
coming and going. An older gentleman dressed in a military-style uniform with translucent sword floated by and stopped at the imposing front desk. A gaunt man wearing a lustrous grayish-white attendant’s uniform greeted him. “H-how can I help you, sir?” the spirit stuttered, eyes wide.

  “I’m Viceroy Nabulion. I have an appointment with the Committee on Afterlife Affairs. Felius Dudge should be expecting me.”

  “V-very w-well, sir. P-please have a s-seat over th-there while I c-contact his office.” The attendant motioned toward a bench not far off.

  In no time, a slight woman in a silvery tailored dress approached, introduced herself, and escorted the general to an elevator. Andy followed unseen.

  “Hold on to the railing, please,” the uniformed operator bid in a sing-song tone as Andy stepped on.

  The elevator rattled to the second floor and stopped to admit another silvery being. After the occupants had rearranged themselves, the doors closed and the car rose one more floor. A jolt and protesting doors announced they had reached their destination. The woman stepped forward and instructed, “Follow me, Viceroy.”

  Andy followed down a long dark hallway, stopping outside a tall wooden door. The escort rang a bell and led them into a large wood-paneled conference room where a dozen or more spirits sat around a hulking table that dominated the center of the space.

  Conversation ceased and a pudgy being at the head of the table turned. “Viceroy Nabulion, I presume? I’m Felius Dudge, Chairman.”

  The officer nodded, then glancing around added, “Thank you for seeing me.”

  “Please, have a seat,” Chairman Dudge offered, directing the newcomer to a row of chairs lining the front wall of the room. Andy took a seat next to the viceroy as Felius stood and floated to the podium. “I would like to call this meeting to order,” he began. “We are here to discuss the viceroy's request for a Stone of Athanasia. Such a request has been granted only once before as part of a beta test—,”

  Murmurs rose from those assembled and the chairman waved a hand, adding, “I know it’s a highly unusual request, but let’s at least hear him out.”

  “Sir,” the chairman invited.

  Viceroy Nabulion rose and floated to the podium. He slowly scanned the attendees and the room grew quiet. Several spirits shifted in their seats. “Thank you for this opportunity to come before you on behalf of my son, Naparte Nabulion.”

  “Excuse me, Viceroy, but why is your son not here representing himself?” one of the committee members interrupted.

  “He would have liked to, sir, but he has not yet joined the Afterlife.”

  Andy had been surveying the room, but the comment grabbed his attention. A chorus of murmurs filled the space.

  Who is this guy?

  The viceroy raised his hands for silence and continued, “My son has lived for over five hundred years but is not yet ready to join us. He has,” the officer cleared his throat, “several matters to attend to before then.”

  “Didn’t we all?” objected another committee member.

  More rumblings echoed before Dudge rose and boomed, “Silence! We told this man he could present his case.”

  “Fine…” someone grumbled. Several others murmured but finally yielded the floor back to their guest.

  “My son is the ruler of the kingdom of Hadession.”

  Abaddon?! He wants a stone of Athanasia? No!

  “I heard the ruler of Hadession is a shape shifter. How can he be your son?” another spirit heckled.

  “He is,” the man asserted. “How he became one is a long story.”

  “You’re asking for a stone of Athanasia. What’s he need it for? He should already have eternal life,” another spirit chimed in.

  Several more committee members lobbed accusations, and Andy could taste blood in the water as the sharks circled for the kill.

  But in little more than a whisper, Viceroy Nabulion defended, “It’s a matter of honor.”

  The room instantly quieted.

  “Excuse me, but did you say you’re making this request as a matter of your son’s honor?” Dudge questioned.

  Nabulion nodded as he locked eyes with the chairman.

  “Please explain.”

  “I was a citizen of Oomaldee and proudly served King Gerrard I. I advanced in rank to major, which entitled my son to attend the prestigious military school. But despite his exemplary grades, particularly in math and battle strategy, the boys whose fathers outranked me bullied him and treated him as something loathsome. I will not go into the details of their abuse, but you will understand when I say their behavior changed him.”

  Several spirits around the table nodded.

  Uh-oh, Andy thought.

  The officer continued, “His teachers, while aware of the brutality, did nothing to address the situation. Rather, they made it clear he needed to become tougher, saying battle did not differentiate except to root out the weak. My son’s hatred grew and revenge became his motivator.”

  Andy glanced around the table. Every committee member sat entranced under the man’s spell.

  “Thanks to the heir to Oomaldee’s throne, my son no longer has the ability to shift to a younger form. His plans for exacting retribution are not yet fulfilled, and he grows weak. As spirits of men and women who lived lives of honor, I ask you to grant my request so he can reclaim his dignity. Thank you.”

  Viceroy Nabulion turned, glided back to his chair, and sat down.

  Andy shot up to object. You don’t know what Abaddon will do to Oomaldee if you give him what he wants! You can’t! His challenge went unheard. Andy bolted to Dudge, but his hands met no resistance as he made to grab the chairman who now reclaimed the podium. Argh!

  “Thank you, viceroy. If you would kindly adjourn to the anteroom, we will discuss your request.”

  Andy jiggled his legs as he listened to much heated debate between committee members. At length they called the viceroy back.

  Felius Dudge resumed the podium and pronounced, “While we fully support your son’s quest to regain his honor, we agree that granting a stone of Athanasia to a member of the Living would establish a precedent we are unprepared to defend going forward. Imagine all the requests…”

  “And the chaos…” chimed in another.

  Andy heard grumblings and mutterings from others around the table as his dream faded.

  The next morning, Andy sat on a hay bale looking out over Grandpa Smithson’s ranch through the open doors of the hayloft and wishing for a breeze. It was still early and the heat seemed content to keep his skin moist. It would wait until afternoon to extract rivers of sweat. He watched one of the herds that looked like chocolate-covered ants from this distance as he tried to make sense of the previous night’s dream. While he was thankful the committee had declined Abaddon’s request, he could not yet deduce the repercussions.

  Andy’s thoughts returned to Oomaldee and his frustration at the lack of communication grew. Not one word. Each time Andy probed the subject with Mom, she assured him no mail from Mermin or anyone else in Oomaldee had arrived. His stomach rolled.

  “Grandpa says you need to hurry up. We’re leaving in ten minutes!” Madison screeched from below. Her tone resonated like one of the crows that pestered the cattle.

  “Coming…”

  A half hour later Grandpa sent up dust clouds as he navigated his well-worn, white pickup across the washboard of a field. He pulled to a stop in an unmarked space between a battered farm truck and a shiny Toyota Corolla. Mushrooms of brilliant color exploded across the expanse—red and green, blue and yellow, orange, purple, and more. Crowds jammed the area behind the ropes to take in the sight. A chorus of pughh, pughh sang from burners attached to wicker baskets as pilots levitated their hot air balloons upright.

  “Ooh!” Madison squealed. “They’re so pretty!”

  Andy rolled his eyes. Amazing, cool, awesome…not pretty.

  Grandpa led them to a uniformed attendant and showed the man three tickets. “Pegasus? That b
alloon is nine rows up and over three. That way.” The attendant pointed and Grandpa nodded.

  They made their way between standard multicolored balloons as well as more unusual ones—an inflating saguaro cactus, a blue octopus with legs jutting out above the basket, a giant lightbulb, a flying penguin, and a pair of bumblebees—finally reaching a half-inflated purple Pegasus with wings exploding from the envelope. It reminded Andy of Optimistic.

  “This must be us,” Grandpa deduced.

  “Hello, I’m Thomas Bitmire,” announced a younger-looking man as he approached and extended a hand. “And this is my wife Julie. She’ll be driving the chase vehicle to pick us up if the wind doesn’t work in our favor.”

  “I’m James Smithson, and this is my granddaughter Madison and my grandson Andy.”

  “Glad to meet you. You can call me Mr. B.”

  The pilot checked the progress of the balloon’s inflation, remarking, “Great conditions this morning, no measurable ground winds. When it’s windy it’s easy for the burner to singe the envelope.”

  Once Pegasus was standing nearly upright, Mr. B. waved them toward the basket. “Let’s get you in to weigh her down before she’s completely inflated and decides to lift off without us.”

  Andy shared a grin with Madison and Grandpa as the man steadied their climb into the cramped basket. They wedged themselves between three propane tanks occupying the corners. Mr. B. joined them and jettisoned two of the four ropes holding them in place.

  “Just waiting for the signal from the officials,” their pilot explained. “They want us all to lift off at the same time. More spectacular that way.” He winked at Madison.

  A shot rang out in the distance and Mr. B. tossed his rope to the ground. “That’s our cue! Unhook that rope and throw it over the side, Andy.”