The Endora Trilogy (The Complete Series)

by Thomas J. Prestopnik

  “Who gave you the note?” Molly whispered, brimming with curiosity.

  Henry scanned the faces of his attentive listeners. “There was a pounding on my door in the dead of night, so I rushed downstairs thinking a tired traveler needed a place to sleep. Being the kind host that I am, I ignored my need for some shuteye, grabbed a candle and answered the door.” Henry leaned in even closer, a puzzled look upon his face. “An old man stood before me, wrapped in a hooded cloak with a beard trailing down to his waist. He said his name was Artemas. But before I could utter a word, he shoved a note in my hand and told me to deliver it to King Rupert’s chief guard, Ulric, when he arrives.” Henry shrugged. “I couldn’t respond because the gentleman immediately climbed on his horse and rode off west toward the mountains.”

  “A second note! What did you do with it?” Christopher asked, pouring a ladleful of mushroom gravy over another helping of eggs.

  “Second note?” Henry asked, folding his arms and stroking his chin. “That must mean there was a first note. What did it say?”

  Ulric cleared his throat and took a sip of tea, uncomfortably noticing a few of the other guests throwing inquisitive glances their way. “Perhaps we can finish this conversation in a more private location,” he suggested to Henry.

  “Certainly,” his friend replied, quickly standing. “Meet me in the common room after you finish your meal. Through that doorway at the far end of the room. People don’t start congregating in there until later in the morning. I’ll bring the note with me.” Ulric nodded as Henry departed and disappeared behind the kitchen door.

  “More notes,” Molly said, biting into a dried pear ring while mulling over a handful of explanations in her mind. “What is Artemas up to?”

  “Or Belthasar,” Christopher reminded her.

  “The sooner we finish our meal, the sooner we find out,” Ulric said, scraping up the eggs on his plate. He glanced at Garrin and Collus, the concern evident on his weary face. “At this point, I don’t know what to think, so keep an extra sharp eye out in the wild.”

  Henry Droon handed a small piece of parchment to Ulric when they gathered in the common room. The note was folded in thirds and sealed with candle wax. Ulric stood next to a window, bathed in the dim gray dawn. Christopher and Molly sat on a wooden bench near a fireplace with Garrin. Collus stood guard near the doorway.

  “I must admit that the contents of this letter have had me intrigued ever since I received it,” Henry said as Ulric carefully ripped open the wax seal with his index finger. He quickly scanned the handwriting.

  “What does it say?” Molly asked.

  Ulric ambled over to the bench and handed her the note. “See for yourself.”

  Molly held the piece of parchment close to the red-orange glow of the crackling fire as Christopher and Garrin peered over her shoulder.

  Travel west along the Gray River toward the mountains. Rest at Willow Lake.

  “Doesn’t answer many questions, does it,” Christopher said with a sigh of disappointment after rereading the words aloud for all to hear.

  “I’m afraid it only raises new ones,” Garrin said.

  “I think we’re being sent on a wild goose chase,” Molly added with an assertive nod to Ulric. “Now I’m beginning to feel that Belthasar is penning these notes instead of Artemas.” She scratched the back of her neck. “Then again, I could be wrong.”

  “Gee, what brilliant analysis,” Christopher muttered.

  “Belthasar!” Henry plopped down on a wooden chair opposite the bench and combed a hand through his hair. “I thought that menace had been driven from these lands for good. Why do you bring up his name?”

  “I don’t have time to tell you the entire story, Henry, but Belthasar is still in our midst,” Ulric said, leaning against the mantel. A chunk of burning pinewood exploded in a mini burst of sparks. “Rumors you may have heard of his demise after King Jeremiah’s coronation are sadly false.”

  “So what does that Artemas fellow have to do with this?” he asked. “Bad enough waking me up in the dead of night, but now I learn that Belthasar is still on the loose.” He looked up with sad and tired eyes. “What is this kingdom coming to?”

  “Ulric, is the Gray River the same river where we stopped that horseman from sending the smoke signal?” Christopher asked.

  “No. That is the Alorian, a much longer river that flows north to south and empties into the Baridorn Sea,” he replied. “The Gray River originates in the western mountains and snakes along for a couple miles, empties into Willow Lake, then continues on again and feeds into the Alorian at a point several miles north of here. If we travel west across the plains, we will reach the banks of the Gray River. It will be a two hour journey from there to Willow Lake.”

  “Piece of cake!” Christopher said, hoping to dispel the slight sense of discouragement he felt creeping into their mission. Chasing after Artemas and Belthasar while trying to make sense of the notes felt as frustrating as grasping at feathers whirling wildly in the wind. He could see the restlessness in his sister’s eyes. “Don’t worry, Molly. We’ll reach Willow Lake and solve this puzzle in no time.”

  “I only wish I knew why we’re going there in the first place,” Molly said to her brother a few minutes later. They sat on a bench off to the side of the fireplace in the main dining room, waiting for Ulric to return. He and Garrin remained in the common room with Henry to discuss obtaining supplies for their journey west while Collus went outdoors to check on the horses. Christopher decided to enjoy another biscuit and some tea near the fire in the remaining time. Molly was too keyed up to eat and merely sat beside her brother, nervously tapping her foot.

  “Eat some more. That’ll calm your nerves.”

  “I’m not nervous, Chris. Just a little edgy.” Molly scanned the faces of the other diners. A pair of eyes in the crowd briefly returned her gaze. “See that?”

  “See what?” Christopher asked, leaning against the wall.

  “Those six scruffy-looking men at the far table. One just peeked over at us,” she whispered. “I don’t particularly like the looks of them.”

  “Maybe they don’t like the looks of you,” he replied, casually glancing at the men still eating their breakfast. He did admit that they weren’t the friendliest looking bunch. “I wouldn’t want to run into them in a dark alley, but I think we’ll be safe here.”

  “I suppose,” Molly said, tapping her foot more loudly.

  “Stop that!” Christopher said in a low voice, nudging her with an elbow. “You’ll annoy the other diners.”

  “Will not.”

  She stopped anyway when the lone man who had eaten breakfast near the far window sat in a wooden chair in front of the fireplace, his back to Christopher and Molly. He extended his legs to warm his feet near the flames. His brown boots were caked with dried mud and wearing out at the soles. The man removed a pipe and a pouch of tobacco from his shirt pocket and stuffed the pipe. Leaning forward, he ripped off a sliver of wood from a piece of kindling on the stone hearth, stuck it in the flames and then lit his pipe. Soon puffs of acrid smoke drifted above as he sat back and closed his eyes.

  Molly scowled when a whiff of smoke drifted her way, preparing to offer a sarcastic comment just as Collus walked back inside. “The horses are set,” he said on his way to the common room. “We’ll depart shortly.”

  “Join you in a minute,” Christopher said, gobbling up the last of his biscuit and gulping down his tea. “Ready, Molly?”

  “I guess,” she said, waving her hand disgustedly in front of her nose. “I’m sure the air is much fresher at Willow Lake,” she added in a louder voice, hoping to get a rise out of the man sitting near the fire. He apparently hadn’t heard and didn’t turn around.

  Christopher glared at Molly for trying to draw attention to herself. “The air may be cleaner there,” he softly said, “but Belthasar could be there as well, ready to ambush us. Remember that.”

  Molly rolled her eyes as she followed he
r brother to the common room.

  Moments later, the man at the fireplace glanced behind him, noting that Christopher, Molly and their three companions were nowhere in sight. He jumped out of his seat, slapped a few copper coins on the counter, grabbed a ragged cloak from one of the wooden wall pegs near the door and exited the building. He exhaled a puff of gray smoke that matched the clouds floating overhead as he leaned against the side of the building, lost in thought. The sleeve of his cloak had slipped down to his elbow, exposing a faded scar running around his right wrist. A similar scar also encircled his left wrist.

  “If this isn’t an opportunity falling square into my lap, then I don’t know what is!” Fennic said to himself with a mix of nervous excitement.

  Christopher Jordan was the last person he had ever expected to see again, recalling with contempt how the boy had escaped from him nearly a year ago, leaving Fennic flopping about in a mud puddle like a crazed fish. He rubbed his wrist, the searing pain of those rope burns fresh in his mind. The boy must have succeeded in stopping one of the dozen horsemen Morgus Vandar had hired because the planned smoke signals had never materialized. Fennic had also heard stories of a young girl present at the coronation last spring when it was thrown into chaos. He wondered if she was the same girl he just overheard talking to the boy in the inn.

  “Belthasar? Willow Lake? What’s going on?” he mumbled, furiously contemplating how to take advantage of the situation.

  Ever since Fennic learned of Morgus Vandar’s arrest at King Jeremiah’s coronation, he knew the riches he had envisioned would never come to pass. Belthasar had disappeared after his ingenious plan to take over the two kingdoms had been thwarted. Fennic once hoped to make a fortune under the false King Jeremiah’s reign since Morgus Vandar would have given him a steady supply of work. But now, with no desire to earn an honest living, Fennic couldn’t even afford a decent pair of boots. He survived by wandering between the two kingdoms, scraping up bits of cash however he could.

  Fennic drew a last puff on his pipe. If he could find Belthasar and apologize for his failure, maybe he could get into his good graces again and assist him in his current endeavor. He tapped his pipe against a stone to empty out the charred tobacco. He thought for a moment, glancing west toward the distant mountains, and then walked over to his horse tied up by the stream. Fennic was determined to arrive at Willow Lake before the others. He had no idea what he would find there, but convinced himself that the smell of good fortune was once again drifting through the damp morning air.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Three Frogs

  They left the Inn of the Twelve Horses in daylight, though the sun could not be seen through the thick layer of gray clouds drifting overhead. The horses were laden with extra provisions since none had expected this journey to take them beyond the inn when they had left King Rupert’s castle. They headed west across the grassy plains until they came upon the banks of the Gray River, now running high and fast with the recent melting snow. Ulric halted briefly to allow the horses to drink.

  “We’ll follow the river to Willow Lake,” he said. “I suspect it will be an uneventful two hour journey. I can’t imagine what awaits us once we arrive.”

  “I hope not another note!” Molly said. “If Belthasar is setting a trap, let him spring it and be done with it. Enough of the mystery.”

  “Patience, Molly. Sometimes in life you have to let a situation play out to its conclusion, like it or not,” Ulric replied while scanning the barren landscape.

  Christopher cupped some cold water in his hands and took a drink alongside his horse. The surging river reflected the gloomy skies above. He stood and leaned against the horse, gazing at the mountains looming in the west.

  “This is the first time we’re heading toward the mountains, Ulric. Every journey Molly and I have taken here, we’ve only traveled alongside them. Do they have a name?”

  “Those are the Katánin Mountains, stretching south to north and marking the western borders of Endora and Solárin. Much of the land is desolate near the mountains themselves,” he said. “The mountain chain veers slightly westward as you approach Solárin. The highest peak, Mount Maricel, is southwest of here.” Ulric pointed out the mountain to Christopher and Molly. “Though it would appear more majestic in full sunlight, it is nonetheless a grand sight.”

  “It is beautiful,” Christopher agreed, staring at it fixedly moments later as the horses gently carried their riders along the rushing waters of the Gray River.

  “Unfortunately, we deal with the occasional band of trolls or goblins that inhabit parts of those mountains,” Collus reminded them. “We patrol the western borders from time to time, but for the most part they are not a bother. There isn’t any village in Endora or Solárin close enough to the mountains for them to attack.”

  “Trolls only seem to be a pain in the neck when Belthasar recruits them for one of his grand schemes,” Molly said. “Hope we don’t run into them again any time soon.”

  “What a treat that would be,” Christopher said, recalling several close encounters they had experienced with the mountain creatures during Princess Rosalind’s rescue.

  Suddenly Molly remembered a very important item she needed to know more about. “With everything that’s happened, I never got a chance to ask anybody about Rosalind and Jeremiah’s wedding last summer. How good a time did I miss, Ulric?”

  “It was a wonderful celebration,” he replied. “Actually two.”

  “Two? What are you talking about?” Waves of disappointment registered on her face for the festivities long since gone. “If only Artemas could have gotten some better timing on that timedoor!”

  Ulric laughed before plunging into the details of the wedding. “Since the princess of Endora was getting married, the wedding was held in King Rupert’s castle as tradition dictates. It was a two day celebration with many guests and much food, music and dancing that is still talked about to this day.” While Ulric wasn’t much help in giving Molly specific details about Princess Rosalind’s wedding gown, hair style and flower choices, she did get enough information to recreate the amazing celebration in her mind as her horse contentedly trotted over the grassy landscape.

  “And what about the second celebration?” she quickly added.

  “Since many people from Solárin could not attend the wedding in the next kingdom, the royal couple thought it fitting that another lavish reception be held there a month later. King Jeremiah and Princess Rosalind–or rather I should say Queen Rosalind–were honored to recreate their vows for all to witness,” he said, glancing over to see Molly daydreaming upon her horse.

  Christopher noticed as well. “Keep an eye on the terrain, Molly. I’m sure Rosalind will tell you all about the wedding next time you see her.”

  “Queen Rosalind,” Molly whispered, a delighted smile spreading across her face. “Imagine that!”

  Christopher looked at Ulric and smirked. “Imagine what my family will have to go through when she gets married,” he whispered. “If you think she’s got her head in the clouds now…!”

  Just as Ulric had predicted, the journey to Willow Lake proved uneventful. A gentle wind had picked up and the snowcapped mountains crept closer like a slow lumbering giant. But the monotony of the endless mass of gray clouds and the stretch of plains ready to come alive with the fresh green of spring remained unchanged. It was a visual feast to finally see the gentle lapping of tiny waves upon the grassy shores of Willow Lake. A scattering of trees around the small body of water had produced buds, patiently waiting for an extended warm spell to bloom and flourish in the otherwise drab region. The horses happily took another drink while everyone else stretched their legs.

  Molly extended her arms and leisurely spun around in a circle, soaking in the surroundings. “Well, we’re here. So now what?”

  “I guess we take a seat in the grass and wait for a squirrel or rabbit to come along and present us with another note,” Christopher joked.

  “I woul
dn’t be a bit surprised,” Molly said with a shrug, gently petting her horse on the nose. “What do you think we should do?” she playfully asked the animal.

  “We’ll split up,” Ulric responded, filling the group in on his plan. “Christopher, Molly and I will scout along the lakeshore. Garrin, continue riding west along the lake and look for signs of recent visitors. Collus, head south and do the same. Make a quick survey and return. If we are meant to find something here, I assume we will not have to look far.”

  Moments later, Garrin and Collus departed in different directions. Christopher, Molly and Ulric hiked along the south side the lake, leaving their three horses behind to graze. Willow Lake stretched nearly a mile long from each mouth of the Gray River and extended almost a half mile wide. Christopher gazed across the water, looking for any sign of activity on the opposite shore, but saw nothing. He had an urge to shout out Artemas’ name over the glassy surface, but in the eerie stillness he thought it wise not to announce their presence. So for several minutes they walked in utter silence.

  Molly noticed it first a short while later, tugging on Ulric’s sleeve and pointing ahead. “Look. Is that a wisp of smoke farther up shore, or am I imagining things?”

  “Wouldn’t be the first time,” Christopher said, placing a hand above his eyes to reduce the bit of glare from the hiding sun. “But you may be right. There is something drifting in the air.”

  The trio ran less than a hundred yards before stumbling upon the remains of a small campfire near the edge of the lake. Thin curls of blue and gray smoke rose from the charred leftovers of a handful of sticks. Ulric closely examined their find.

  “Whoever was here–and I assume it was Artemas–didn’t stay long. Only a few small sticks were gathered for the fire, and some of them aren’t fully burned,” he said. “The fire was lit and then left untended, only to burn out.”