The Endora Trilogy (The Complete Series)

by Thomas J. Prestopnik

  “Made our school pep rallies seem as tame as a Sunday picnic,” Molly said.

  “Those monsters really had this place rocking,” Christopher recalled. “Though I won’t miss seeing their ugly mugs again.”

  A check of their old hiding place on the east side of the castle near the moat was next on the list. But after much wandering and reminiscing, the children realized that their hour was nearly up and rushed back to meet Princess Rosalind and the others for dinner.

  “We’re guests this time, Christopher, so we better not be late,” Molly gently warned him. “Remember last time we were here? We didn’t even get a meal.”

  “Except for bread scraps and a few apples Mr. Smithers found for us before we escaped. Though I guess that hardly counts as a proper meal.”

  “Not even close,” Molly said. “But I’m sure Prince Jeremiah will more than make up for it tonight.” She glanced at her brother with a puzzled expression. “My, but is he in a prickly mood lately or what? How can the princess stand being around him?”

  “She’s a patient lady, that’s for sure,” he said as they approached the dining room. “But remember, Molly, their business is none of our business. So no matter how many spats they might have, let’s keep our noses out of it. Try to be pleasant around Prince Jeremiah despite how he acts.” He put a finger to his lips. “And don’t say anything about his conduct to Princess Rosalind unless she mentions it first.”

  “I know! I know! I’m not eight anymore, Chris. I do know how to behave.”

  “Just making sure.” He lowered his voice as they approached the dining room, the murmur of conversation audible from within. “Maybe now that Prince Jeremiah is home, he’ll lighten up a bit and treat the princess with a little more respect.”

  “I hope so.”

  They entered the room and Princess Rosalind greeted them with a smile, showing both to their places at a large oval table. Four of King Rupert’s aides, two men and two women, were already seated. As a few kitchen workers hurried about bringing food to the table and pouring drinks, Christopher noticed that Prince Jeremiah was nowhere in sight. He glanced at Molly who noticed too and shrugged. She put a finger to her lips.

  “Everything looks delicious,” Christopher said, eyeing plates of roasted pork and bowls of sweet potatoes. “By the way, where’s Prince Jeremiah tonight? Isn’t he hungry?” Molly nudged Christopher with an elbow and scowled.

  “He stopped in a few moments ago and announced he had some pressing business this evening. I can’t say that I’m surprised, what with everything going on at once. We probably won’t see him until tomorrow morning. Maybe for breakfast if we’re lucky.” Princess Rosalind tried to make light of the situation, but Christopher and Molly could see how disappointed she looked.

  “I’m sorry he couldn’t be here,” Molly said. “A hot meal would do him some good. Where’s he off to tonight?”

  “No doubt locked in one of the castle chambers discussing state business with his advisors,” she guessed. “He’ll probably be stuck in dreary meetings late into the evening when a breath of fresh night air would be much better for him.” Rosalind sighed as she picked at the food on her plate. “I suppose I’d better get used to eating some meals alone once we’re married and Jeremiah is King. He’ll be busy quite often, I’m sure. After all, I’ll have to share him with an entire kingdom. I hope he’s ready for what lies ahead.”

  Only moments after he had given his regrets to Rosalind about missing dinner, Prince Jeremiah stood in the front courtyard near the drawbridge securing a saddle on his horse. A hooded traveling cloak was fastened about his neck. Two of the King’s guardsmen silently stood watch at the main entrance as Mr. Tupper walked in agitated circles around the prince.

  “This is highly unusual, sir. What would your father say if he knew you were heading out at night unaccompanied? Let me summon two men to follow you if you think you must leave at this hour,” he pleaded, his wide brown eyes filled with worry. He carried a small torch. “It will be no trouble.”

  “Fear not, Mr. Tupper. I am merely going for a ride to clear my head,” Jeremiah said. “I know the surrounding roads and villages like the very chambers in this castle. I will be fine.”

  “But–”

  “Listen, Mr. Tupper!” Jeremiah snapped. “I do appreciate your concern for my well being, and because of your many years of service I’ll allow some leeway regarding unasked for advice. But take note–I am not my father. And when I am King, things around here will be a little less structured, shall we say? While my father’s style of rule entails order and regiment, I prefer to do things on the spur of the moment from time to time to keep monotony and boredom at bay. Do you understand, or need I explain it further?”

  “I quite understand, sir,” Mr. Tupper said with his head bent.

  “Very good then,” he replied as he climbed on his horse. “In that case I shall be back when–when I get back!” Prince Jeremiah draped the hood over his head. “And remember, Princess Rosalind and the others are under the impression that I am hard at work inside the castle.” He leaned down from his horse and glared directly at Mr. Tupper. “Let’s make sure they keep that impression, all right?” he whispered sharply, grabbing the torch.

  “As you wish,” replied Mr. Tupper with a knot in his stomach, wondering what had happened to the good natured Jeremiah he had known for so many years.

  Jeremiah circled his horse about and trotted over to the main castle gate. The guardsmen unlocked and opened two enormous wooden doors, letting in a cool breeze. Without a moment’s hesitation, Prince Jeremiah galloped across the drawbridge and down the winding road. The sound of the horse’s footfalls and the speck of torchlight quickly disappeared into the deepening shadows as the castle doors were again closed and locked to keep out the night.

  Prince Jeremiah passed through Windmere a few hours before midnight and made his way to a group of small farms on the outskirts of the village. Thousands of stars speckled the sky and the tangy smell of freshly tilled earth drenched the nighttime air. A huge oak tree at the end of one dirt road caught his eye, so Jeremiah directed his horse to a rundown farmhouse standing directly across from it. He dismounted and tied his steed to a fencepost and approached the darkened house while dodging a few mud puddles left behind by the last rainfall.

  “This had better be the right place,” he muttered.

  Jeremiah held the torch aloft and pounded his fist against the front door. The dull thuds upon the thick wood were swallowed up in the darkness. He repeated this action moments later when getting no reply and slowly fumed, thinking he had ridden all this way for nothing. Prince Jeremiah stepped back onto the dirt road and kicked a stone, sailing it into a nearby puddle with a terrific splash. The aggravation of waiting for someone in the dead of night gnawed at him like a tiny splinter.

  He marched to the door once more, prepared to knock it down if he had to, when it suddenly swung open. The torchlight revealed the unshaven face of a man still half asleep, his long black hair a tangle of knots. The dirt-and-mud-caked clothes he had fallen asleep in were wrinkled like prunes. He yawned, holding up a candle that illuminated his face like a jack-o-lantern.

  “Who’s pounding on my door at this awful hour?” he said, groping his fingers through his hair. He noticed Prince Jeremiah standing a few feet away and squinted, trying to bring his face into focus. “Who are you?”

  “I might ask the same question,” Jeremiah said as he approached, studying the man’s face in the eerie light. “But I now see that you’re the very individual I seek. And you look as rumpled and weather-stained as ever, Morgus Vandar.”

  The man scratched behind his ear, still half asleep. “Say, how do you know my name? And what’s yours, mister?”

  Jeremiah smiled slyly. “You might not believe me even if I told you, Morgus. In fact, I’m sure you wouldn’t. I think a demonstration will be in order before I can convince you who I really am.”

  “What are you talking about?” he repl
ied with a hint of irritation. “Look, I’ve had a busy day. Go bother someone else with your nonsense, or stop by when the sun is shining. I’m going back to sleep.”

  Morgus stepped back and started to close the door, but Jeremiah leaped forward and wedged his boot inside. Morgus’ eyes widened in rage and he tried to push Jeremiah out of his home. But the prince was too strong and held his ground.

  “Get out of my house or I’ll grab a pitchfork and teach you a lesson you won’t soon forget!”

  “Your hollow threats don’t frighten me,” Jeremiah said, staring icily into the man’s bloodshot eyes. “And if you do not let me inside this instant, I will bring down my wrath upon you and your crumbling house like a stampede of horses. Don’t test my patience.”

  Something familiar in the man’s voice chilled him to his very core. Morgus Vandar trembled in fear, believing that this man could destroy him with as little effort as it took to blow out the candle in front of him. That was a chance he didn’t want to take and thought it best to hear him out. Morgus opened the front door again and signaled for Jeremiah to step inside, wishing the night was over.

  He barely got a fire going in the cold hearth and nervously lit a few more candles to cast away the gloomy night. He offered his guest a seat at a rickety wooden table in the center of the tiny room, but Prince Jeremiah declined.

  “I’ll stand, thank you.” He looked around at the bleak surroundings. “You’ve done well for yourself these last few years, Morgus. Quite the place you have here,” he said with a sarcastic smirk.

  “Trying my hand at farming, and well… Not an easy life, you know.”

  “Gave up on being a smithy then?”

  “I was let go a while back. Business at the forge was slow. Business all around this village hasn’t been good for quite some time,” he admitted, looking askance at Prince Jeremiah. “Say, now how did you know I worked as a smithy? You know my name and what I did for a living. What’s going on?”

  “I made a brief visit to the blacksmith shop earlier this evening looking for you, but I was told you lived out in these parts now. I’ve traveled all this way to offer you a business proposition. Interested?”

  Morgus Vandar’s eyes lit up as he sat at the table. He leaned back in the creaking chair, folding his arms and gazing hard at Jeremiah’s mystifying expression. “Of course I’m interested. I can’t say that life has been easy lately. I’ve had better years.” He stroked the whiskers on his gaunt face and grunted. “Just what kind of proposition are you talking about? Is this some joke? I don’t even know you.”

  “Oh, but you do, though you don’t know it yet.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You even worked for me once,” Jeremiah said, standing there like a vulture. His eyes were narrow slits and he nodded with deliberate slowness as if trying to help Morgus extract the memories from his recent past.

  “I don’t understand. Who are you?”

  He sat at the table across from Morgus, the light of a candle between them casting a sickly yellowish glow upon his face. “The more astute people in the kingdom would recognize me as Prince Jeremiah, son of King Alexander.” Morgus covered his mouth, trying to suppress a laugh. “I see that you don’t believe me.”

  “I find it hard to believe that Prince Jeremiah of Solárin would go through all the trouble to visit me here in the middle of the night,” he said with a grunt. “And claim that I once worked for him besides?” He erupted in laughter.

  “I know for a fact that you once saw the prince.”

  Morgus stopped laughing. “How would you know that?”

  “Is it true?”

  Morgus felt the man’s searing gaze and looked down at the table for an instant. “I may have. Once. But that was a few years ago.”

  “Do you recall what the prince looked like?” Jeremiah asked.

  “Vaguely,” he replied.

  “Think back.”

  Morgus Vandar tried to remember. He had only seen the man briefly before he was sent into exile with King Alexander and many of his advisors. He moved the candle on the table closer to Prince Jeremiah and stared at him for a few moments, intently studying his features. Slowly a hint of recognition spread across his face. His eyes widened in uneasy wonder.

  “Ah, you do remember! That is good. I am indeed Prince Jeremiah, and I can tell by the frozen look on your face that this fact disturbs you.”

  Morgus Vandar jumped out of his seat, quivering. He backed himself into a corner of the room, certain that he had met his doom.

  “Please don’t hurt me, Prince Jeremiah! Please don’t send the King’s men to arrest me. I– I didn’t want to help Malaban and Belthasar when they took over your father’s kingdom. They made me do it. That’s right! They made me do it.”

  “Then they didn’t pay you handsomely for your services? They didn’t pay you to recruit trolls and goblins from the mountains to help overthrow the King and his castle?”

  Morgus scratched his head. “Well, uh, they might’ve done that,” he muttered. “Still, I felt I had to cooperate or who knows what else they would have done to me. That Malaban fellow was a sorcerer after all. He could have turned me into a chicken or a rock. Or–or something even worse!”

  Prince Jeremiah started to laugh and signaled for Morgus to take his seat again, assuring him he had nothing to fear. “That’s one of the reasons I hired you in the first place. You’ll say anything–or do anything–for a price.”

  “You hired me? What are you talking about?”

  Jeremiah folded his hands and looked directly at Morgus. “My old friend, I am Belthasar. And I’ve returned to take back what is mine.”

  Morgus Vandar stared at Jeremiah, his eyes swirled with confusion and disbelief. He shook his head and shrugged at the same time, uncertain what the man across from him desired to hear. All Morgus really wanted was to go back to sleep. “I truly don’t understand what you’re talking about, sir.”

  “You will.” Jeremiah stood and removed a small length of rope that had been fastened around his waist and tossed it on the table in front of Morgus. “As I said earlier, a demonstration might be in order.”

  Morgus picked up the rope, still as puzzled as ever. “What’s this for?”

  “Follow me.” Jeremiah walked over to a wooden support post in one section of the room and stood facing it, placing his arms around the post. “Tie my hands together tightly so I cannot escape.”

  “What?”

  “If you want me to prove who I am, then do it!”

  “All right. All right. I just don’t understand…”

  “Soon you will be enlightened, Morgus, and all will make sense in the world.”

  Morgus fumbled with the rope as he nervously tied Jeremiah’s hands together in front of the wooden post, unable to fathom what the prince could have in mind. “Is this okay?” he asked.

  “Make sure it’s tied tight enough so I can’t escape.” When Morgus had finished, Jeremiah gave several tugs at the rope. “Good. The knots are quite secure. The prince will be unable to get free.”

  Morgus rolled his eyes. “If this is supposed to clear matters up for me, it’s not.”

  “Then perhaps this will,” Jeremiah said, reaching forward and grabbing Morgus’ hand.

  Morgus jumped and tried to pull back, his eyes wide in surprise. But an instant later he stood still as stone as Jeremiah released the grip on his hand. Morgus stepped backward and watched as the prince slumped forward, his forehead resting on the post. Jeremiah took a few deep and labored breaths and then looked up, uncertain where in the kingdom he was. He tried to move when realizing his hands were securely bound around the post. Then he noticed Morgus Vandar.

  “Who are you?”

  Morgus smiled wickedly, his eyes no longer bloodshot. He stood straight as an arrow, appearing calm and calculating, as if all the possibilities in the world were before him to pick and choose as he desired.

  “The name of this body I temporarily inhabit is Morgus
Vandar. You do not know the man nor is the matter significant. But who I really am, well, now that is of the utmost importance, Prince Jeremiah.”

  Jeremiah struggled to free himself, his sky blue eyes glaring at Morgus with contempt. “Release me at once whoever you are!” he demanded.

  “Oh, I cannot do that,” Morgus said with a sneer. “You are too valuable to me. But I can tell you my identity. You and your father were once well acquainted with me, though I must sadly admit, not too fond of my deeds.”

  “I ask again–who are you? I do not recall your face, scoundrel.”

  “Perhaps not,” Morgus said as he walked around the post, noting the defiance in Prince Jeremiah’s expression. He had hoped his prisoner would show more fear and less courage in his precarious situation. “But you should recall my name.”

  “Which is?”

  Morgus stopped and stared at the prince, a snake-like smile plastered upon his face. “Which is–and which will always be–BELTHASAR!”

  Jeremiah turned as white as snow, his mind a torrent of ghastly thoughts. “Then I wasn’t dreaming,” he softly said. “My mind was on fire, and yet as cold as a sheet of ice. I could hear another voice, but I–” Prince Jeremiah gazed at Morgus Vandar in disbelief. “The voice of Belthasar was inside me, angry and vindictive, and I tried to fight it with all my strength. I tried…”

  “But you could not,” Morgus said with a death-like finality. “He was too powerful, now more than ever.”

  Jeremiah snapped to his senses and stood tall. “This is nonsense. Utter nonsense! I learned at the party how Belthasar was killed in that timedoor device years ago.”

  “And so he was–at least in part,” Morgus admitted. “I was not fast enough as I pursued those insufferable children back to their world!” he sputtered. “When the timedoor slammed shut I was destroyed in a fury of pain and darkness you could not fathom. I felt my final doom descend upon me in an instant, my body crushed like rocks against an unending torrent of waves. I knew my end had arrived amid the nothingness of stars and space. Yet as time passed, I was still aware of the emptiness. Still conscious of the void and loneliness around me. For what seemed like an eternity, I remained there, conscious with no form, with boredom and rage my only companions. That was worse than death! And so I existed as nothingness.”