The Endora Trilogy (The Complete Series)

by Thomas J. Prestopnik

  “Open this door right now, you little mouse!” the guard cried. He slammed his body against it a second time. Molly saw the door shake and open a tiny bit, but the wood slats still held. The pigeons nervously fluttered and cooed.

  Molly’s hand shook as she continued writing.

  Chris escaped and is following Morgus Vandar, one of Belthasar’s helpers. Mr. Tupper and Darius are imprisoned. Many new advisors and soldiers are B’s spies.

  The guard threw his whole weight against the door a third time, pushing it open wide enough so he could fit his arm through the crack.

  “If I get my hands on you…!” he shouted, sticking his scowling face right up to the opening. He saw the note Molly was writing and his eyes bugged out in horror. “Put that quill down now! You hear me?”

  Molly glanced at the guard with a gasp before finishing her message.

  Send help NOW! Molly Jordan

  Molly rolled up the note, tied a small piece of string around it and reached for one of the pigeons. A trim gray bird with dark piercing eyes gingerly stepped onto Molly’s fingers and she carefully lowered him to the table.

  “Easy does it,” she whispered to the bird, trying to ignore the scraping of wood against the floor as the guard pushed the door open inch by inch. “However you figure it out, birdie, you must get this message to one of the outposts so the men there can contact King Rupert. I know you can do it!” she said confidently as she gently tied the note to its leg. “Now stay here,” she added as she scurried to the window and pulled back the shutters. She unlatched the window and threw it open.

  At the same instant, the door burst open and the guard rushed in, his arms flailing in the air as he rocketed toward the pigeon Molly had fitted with the note.

  “If you think you’re getting word out…!”

  Molly watched with dread as his large hands appeared to lunge at the pigeon in slow motion. Before he could reach it, she scrambled on top of the table and scared the bird away. Then she started to jump up and down, shouting and waving her hands until all the birds in the aviary flew off their perches in a frenzy. They weaved and buzzed about the room in mass confusion, so that both Molly and the guard had to duck on the floor to keep from being scratched by a stray claw or beak. As the birds inside the cages erupted in flapping spasms, one by one the free pigeons zoomed out the open window into the cool morning grayness, including the one with Molly’s note. Somewhere in the high spring breeze it instinctively sped its way to the nearest outpost as Molly had hoped.

  A moment later the guard seized Molly by the upper arm and hoisted her onto her feet, glaring at her with fiery eyes. “You’re in a heap of trouble now, you little bug! A heap!”

  “Well, you’re in a mountain of trouble!” Molly shot back, her eyes burning with equal disdain. “So let’s see who’s standing in the end, you big oaf!”

  “Yeah, we’ll see…” he muttered, hauling her out of the room.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Smoke Signals

  Christopher dashed across the field in pursuit of Morgus Vandar, taking refuge along the edge of the nearby woods. Stars glistened above like diamonds, and the fragrance of fresh pine awoke his senses as he walked just inside the tree line so as not to stray too far from the road. After wandering for ten minutes, he believed he had lost track of Morgus, preparing to give up and return to the castle. He might be of more use there, he thought, when he noticed a tiny flicker of light less than a quarter mile down the road. The light moved slowly away, gently rising and falling or at times vanishing completely, only to reappear a moment later.

  “That’s no star on the horizon,” he whispered, certain he had located Morgus Vandar.

  Christopher bolted out of the woods toward the dirt road, the light clearly visible in the south. He reasoned that Morgus was carrying a torch while riding horseback and all he needed to do was follow at a safe distance. To where, and how far, remained to be seen, but Christopher knew he’d have no problem keeping up with the man at this moderate pace. He draped the hood of his sweatshirt jacket over his head and slowly jogged along the road, not exactly sure what he could do to stop the enemy’s plan.

  About a mile away from Windmere, Morgus turned off the main road into a field. Christopher saw the glowing light from the torch shift right and he quickened his pace to get closer. The horse’s footfalls were muffled along a worn grassy path. A few gauzy clouds drifted in from the west on a cool breeze. Christopher tied his hood to keep warm. He wondered how long this middle-of-the-night journey would take when he spotted a lighted farmhouse in the distance. Morgus headed directly for it.

  Christopher ran up and hid behind a large oak tree as Morgus knocked on the front door of the one-story stone house with a thatch roof. A single candle burned in the front window. A man peered suspiciously from behind a curtain and opened the door a moment later, greeting Morgus with a stony expression.

  “What took you so long? I didn’t expect to wait up half the night!” he muttered, sweeping back the few strands of gray hair upon his head. He grabbed a tattered cloak and flung it over his shoulders before stepping outside and leading his late arrival to a tiny brick building a stone’s throw away.

  “I do have other obligations,” Morgus said with contempt. “Since you are being well paid, consider this delay part of your service.”

  “Humph!” the man grunted as he trudged through the wet grass. Wisps of fog swirled upon the ground as the cloud cover thickened. He produced a key, unlocked the door and pushed it open, signaling for Morgus to follow him inside. “I’ll show you what I’ve created. You’ll be pleased with the results.”

  “I had better be, Mr. Grimes, for what you are charging us.”

  The room was dimly illuminated by a candle that had been left lit upon one of several workbenches where Grimes busied himself with his inventions, carpentry and metal work. He lit more candles to dispel the darkness, revealing a workshop cluttered with hammers, axes and awls, wood and metal scraps, as well as an anvil and a small forge. He retrieved a wooden box with a hinged lid and set it upon the largest workbench as Morgus looked on. Grimes slowly raised the lid and revealed thirteen filled cloth bags, each no bigger than an apple, and all securely tied with a piece of twine. Morgus curiously shifted his gaze between Grimes and his invention as did Christopher who spied from the outdoors through a side window.

  “A small demonstration will erase that baffled expression off your face,” Grimes said with a chuckle. “Trust me. You are getting your money’s worth.”

  “Proceed,” Morgus said.

  Several hot embers glowed in the forge, so Grimes took a pair of metal tongs and removed a few, depositing them in a metal pail. Next he untied one of the cloth bags and showed Morgus the contents, a fine black crystalline powder. He pinched some between his thumb and forefinger and sprinkled it back into the bag.

  “As fine as sand,” Grimes said. “I’ll only use a tiny amount to show you the effect, but when the actual moment arrives, pour the entire contents upon a roaring fire. The result will be spectacular!”

  “Continue,” Morgus said impatiently. “I have another stop to make.”

  Grimes sprinkled a dusting of the granules upon the hot embers. Instantly a tiny puff of thick black smoke rose from the metal pail and lingered for a few moments before dissipating. His lips formed a crooked smile when he saw that Morgus was pleased with the result.

  “Now imagine how lovely a plume will ascend to the sky when all of this substance is used?” Grimes said with delight. “It will be seen for miles.”

  “I must admit I’m quite impressed, Mr. Grimes.” Morgus took the bag from him and stirred a finger through the tiny crystals. “You did a fine job. This should work better than I had imagined.”

  “Glad to hear it,” he replied, holding out a hand.

  Morgus sighed as he reached inside a coat pocket and retrieved a small bag of coins which he tossed to Grimes. “Here’s the balance of your fee. But you needn’t count it. It�
��s all there.”

  “I’ll count it anyway,” he said, pocketing the money. He placed the thirteen bags into a small sack and handed it to Morgus. “If I can ever be of service again…”

  “You’re on the top of my list,” Morgus replied as he headed for the door.

  Christopher pulled back from the side window and peered around the corner of the workshop as Morgus and Grimes exited the building. As he watched Grimes retreat inside his home and Morgus depart upon his horse, Christopher could only wonder about the intriguing demonstration he had just witnessed. His head spun with a half dozen theories about Belthasar’s plans, but not one of them made sense. He quickly took to the grass path again and followed Morgus at a safe distance, wondering where the next leg of this journey would take him.

  The night grew chilly and damp and the cloud cover increased so that not a star flickered. The fog thickened in the fields and scrub brush on either side of the road, and Christopher wished he had worn something heavier than a sweatshirt jacket, hoping that Morgus would arrive soon at his next destination. He grew tired and uncomfortable, knowing that if he sat down against a tree to rest for a moment he’d probably fall asleep. Then he thought about Jeremiah’s plight and realized that other people were in a much worse predicament, so Christopher shoved his hands in his jacket pocket, picked up his pace and tried not to think about the miserable weather.

  He had much more to think about five minutes later when Morgus approached an arched stone bridge that crossed a narrow brook intersecting the road. Here the fog drifted and swirled in an eerie dance above the gurgling water. Christopher heard the steady clip clop of horse hooves suddenly cease and watched as the light from Morgus’ torch inched through the mist toward the brook. The light cast a warm glow in the fog and Christopher discerned the outline of a second man waiting on the bridge. Another one of Morgus Vandar’s paid helpers he believed as he cautiously approached along the side of the road in hopes of hearing snippets of their conversation. A thicket of wild berry bushes nearby provided him the perfect cover. He squatted down behind them and listened, believing the running water and mist would sufficiently hide him.

  “So everyone is in place in Endora?” Morgus asked the man on the bridge. Christopher could hear his voice quite clearly.

  “I placed six men in charge of the troops,” he replied. “They’re all camped out in the nearby hills waiting for the signal to attack. But it wasn’t easy rounding them up in the mountains and forests this time. The sting of defeat from four years ago was still fresh in their minds.”

  “I expected it would be, Mr. Fennic.”

  The man, dressed in a ragged hooded cloak that stretched to his knees, leaned against the side of the bridge and puffed on a long slender pipe. “They expect to be paid more after the invasion. Much more if you want to keep their loyalty. Dealing with trolls and goblins is not an easy task. I had a difficult time securing their cooperation, but I think they’ll be worth the effort if you provide them with more of the spoils later on.” Fennic laughed bitterly. “I’m just glad I didn’t have to stay in Endora and order them around. You couldn’t pay me enough to do that!”

  Morgus grunted. “When Belthasar is crowned King, everyone will receive fair compensation for his work, trolls and goblins included. No exceptions this time. No mistakes this time.”

  “That is a wise policy,” Fennic said, blowing an acrid puff of smoke into the air that turned somersaults in the fog.

  “We learned our lesson,” Morgus replied. “Now are my dozen riders ready? Some of them will have a longer journey and must start immediately.”

  “All are waiting nearby. There’s an abandoned barn just beyond that grove of trees,” he pointed out. “I do have one question before I take you there.”

  “And that is…?”

  “How are you going to signal the trolls and goblins in Endora to attack King Rupert’s castle when you are still here? I don’t understand.”

  Morgus smiled wickedly. “All part of the plan, Mr. Fennic. All part of the plan. Now take me to the riders and I’ll explain everything. You’ll be quite impressed.”

  “Follow me,” he said, taking one last draw on his pipe as his eyes attentively scanned the road in the direction from which Morgus had traveled. He listened to the night noises, then astutely listened beyond them before glancing at Morgus and raising an inquisitive eyebrow. Fennic crossed the bridge and turned off the road as Morgus followed, leading his horse by the reins.

  Moments later, Christopher jumped up from behind the wild berry bushes and hurried to the bridge, feeling more outnumbered than ever. He knew he had to find out what the two men were planning, and if he couldn’t stop it, return to the castle and warn somebody who could. Despite the longer days in this world, Christopher felt the precious minutes slipping away like a handful of beach sand through his fingers.

  They reached a crumbling weed-choked barn a few minutes later. Several horses tethered to the surrounding trees and shrubs grazed lazily upon the grass, taking little notice of the two men drifting through the fog and disappearing inside the building. Moments later the fog stirred again as Christopher tiptoed past some of the animals, making his way along the side of the barn. He heard a rumbling of voices from within and soon located several small cracks in the back wall through which he could see and listen to the goings-on inside.

  Morgus and Fennic had barged through a side entrance, greeted by a dozen unshaven men dressed in mud-splotched traveling garb, some grumbling, others hungry, and most needing a good night’s sleep. Two small bonfires burned in the middle of the floor, driving away the outdoor chill.

  “Thanks for waiting,” Morgus said, planting his torch in the ground. “Mr. Fennic has given you some of the details of this operation. Now I will provide the rest.”

  “It’s about time,” grumbled a man who sat in a corner of the barn, plopped down on a brittle pile of hay. Another man, warming his hands over one of the bonfires, laughed and nodded in agreement.

  “Stop complaining,” Morgus said. “By the looks of you louts, this can’t be the worse situation you’ve ever been in. The payments you’ll receive will more than make up for a few hours of missed sleep or rugged conditions on the road. You won’t be disappointed.”

  “Then get on with it!” another man uttered. “What do we have to do?”

  Morgus held up the sack that Grimes had provided him as well as a leather saddlebag he had retrieved from his horse. “This contains everything you’ll need to accomplish your task,” he said, “and you must follow my instructions without fail.” Morgus dropped the saddlebag on the ground and then reached into the sack and pulled out the small tied bags that Grimes had made, tossing them one by one to each of the dozen men. Morgus kept the last one for himself.

  “What are these?” someone asked as the men looked curiously at the bags of crystalline powder. Christopher strained his eyes to catch a better look through the crack in the wall.

  “Don’t open them!” Morgus warned. “Not yet.”

  “What do we do with them?” the first man asked as he stood, brushing bits of hay off his clothes. He sniffed the object and made a sour face. “Don’t smell like anything good to eat.”

  Morgus rolled his eyes at Fennic and sighed. “I strongly suggest that you don’t eat the contents, my friend, unless you never want to eat another meal again.” He stepped up to one of the fires. “I’ll show you what to do. Watch closely.”

  Morgus opened the last bag and sprinkled a bit of the contents onto the fire. The resulting small plume of black smoke impressed the onlookers, making them more curious than ever about their orders.

  “What’s the point?” asked a gray haired man standing next to Morgus. He scratched his head several times and shrugged.

  “As you see, a tiny amount of this substance creates a cloud of black smoke,” Morgus replied. “Think what would happen if you dumped an entire bag of it into a fire.”

  Some of the men chuckled at the thought of doi
ng so. “There’d be a trail of smoke reaching high into the sky!” one of them said, almost eager to test his theory. “Bet you could see it for miles.”

  “That’s the plan,” Morgus said with a satisfied grin. “You will be able to see it for miles.”

  Fennic, who had been watching from off to one side, finally understood what Morgus had in mind for the dozen men. But the men themselves were still cloaked in uncertainty.

  “These maps will help,” Morgus added, bending down to retrieve a dozen cloth maps that had been stuffed in his saddlebag. He randomly passed them out to the men.

  “Why is there a circle in the middle of my map?” one of the horsemen asked as he pored over the crude ink drawings.

  “Let me explain.” Morgus snapped the map out of his hands and laid it on the floor, signaling for the others to gather around. “Every map shows the location of Solárin–here in the north–and Endora–right there in the south,” he said, pointing out the two kingdoms. “This long line is the river running through the Pinecrest Valley, and beyond that are the plains stretching all the way to Endora. Various other landmarks–smaller rivers, forests and the like–are also sketched in.”

  As the men craned their necks to get a better look at the map, Christopher stood on his tiptoes outside, an eye pressed against a crack in the barn wall. But it was hopeless to see any portion of the map. He knew he would have to listen carefully to glean any information about the plan. He pivoted on one foot and pressed an ear to the split in the board, but froze for a moment when a small twig cracked underneath his other foot. He held his breath, wondering if anybody inside had heard. But the voices still drifted in and out of the discussion and Christopher slowly exhaled, believing he had dodged a bullet. With his ear to the wall, he didn’t see Mr. Fennic standing in one corner of the barn smoking his pipe, looking past the riders as they studied the map and curiously scanning the barn walls and rafters instead.

  “I still don’t know what the circle means,” the horseman blurted out.