The Endora Trilogy (The Complete Series)

by Thomas J. Prestopnik

  “We added a third troll to the mix, Molly, when we apprehended the guard who had left his post in front of your cave,” Ardon said. “That was just before I left to look for you and Artemas.”

  “Zrugga. What a pleasant fellow he was!” Molly said with a grimace.

  “Why did he leave his post?” Christopher asked. “Where was he going?”

  “Well, I cleverly nudged him away, Chris, since he was a couple hundred pounds more than I could handle,” Molly admitted. She explained how she had tricked Zrugga into leaving the cave in search of a nonexistent meal of roasted squirrel and apples.

  Christopher playfully exaggerated a gasp. “Deformed stalactites? Cave acoustics? Why, your plan sounds delightfully scientific! Are you sure you’re the real Molly Jordan?”

  “Put a sock in it,” she muttered, trying not to giggle.

  “Yep. It’s you all right.”

  “I’m glad you two are no worse for the wear after all the trials you’ve been through,” Ulric said.

  “I could use a bit of food,” Molly responded, rubbing her stomach. “I’m a few calories deficient.”

  “We’ll be at the encampment shortly. You’ll get plenty to eat when we arrive,” he said. “We have already run into one of the scouting parties King Rupert has scattered around the perimeter of Three Frogs. The King is worried about your safety and will be happy to see you again.”

  “And we’ll be happy to see him. I–”

  Suddenly a bloodcurdling scream echoed off the rock and mountains, ripping through the darkness like a sharp crack of thunder. The group of eleven stopped dead in their tracks and gazed west toward Mount Maricel. The Three Frogs rock formation loomed in the near distance.

  “What was that?” Christopher said.

  “I believe Belthasar has just discovered his prisoners have escaped,” Ulric replied with a smile of satisfaction. “Now he will be having second thoughts about his next step.” He continued on through the grass. “It’s not much farther to the encampment. Then we can launch our attack and end this trouble that has been festering in the kingdom for far too long.”

  “Attack? At this time of night?” Artemas asked with a hint of skepticism. “Shouldn’t we wait until morning so we can see what’s going on?”

  “We want to catch Belthasar unaware,” Ulric replied. “What better time than now?”

  Artemas shook his head as he trudged through the grass, suddenly lost in thought.

  Molly casually pulled Christopher aside as they marched on. She whispered to him out of earshot of everyone else. “I can’t explain it, Chris, but Artemas has been acting strangely ever since I found him sleeping in the cave. He didn’t even want to escape. Kept making excuses that we should stay put.”

  “And now he doesn’t seem eager to launch an attack on Belthasar,” her brother replied, wondering what it might indicate.

  “For a brief moment I thought Belthasar’s spirit might still be inside him,” Molly said in an even lower voice. “Think it’s possible?”

  She and Christopher glanced up at the magician as he walked ahead of them, the torchlight casting a gentle glow upon his cloak as it swept through the grass. They tried to ignore the pangs of doubt that pestered them like the buzz of an annoying mosquito. Everyone remained silent on the final leg of the journey.

  King Rupert bowed his head in relief when he saw Christopher, Molly and Artemas walking among the campfires with Ulric and his men. He marched up to them, clasping his hands in victory, though waves of concern continued to wash over him.

  “I am so glad to see you safe and sound!” he exclaimed as the glow of the fires reflected off his smiling face. “Perhaps I should have accompanied you to the inn with fifty soldiers in tow, but your excursion has turned out well after all.”

  “Ulric had the situation under control,” Christopher said. “It was only a matter of letting things play out.”

  “Of course. Of course. Now we need to discuss the final play of this maddening game,” the King replied. “Ulric, I must meet with you and your closest advisors in my tent momentarily to discuss strategy. We have Belthasar and his trolls trapped against the mountain range and I mean to capture him one way or another. The sooner, the better!”

  “He’s still as slippery as a fish,” Artemas warned. “I recommend that you not rush into a battle in the dead of night for fear that he might escape in the darkness.”

  “Duly noted,” King Rupert said, though he had no intention of postponing the attack. At that moment one of his scouts rushed up to the King’s side, slightly out of breath. “What have you to report?” King Rupert anxiously asked. “Speak quickly!”

  “They are still nowhere to be found, sir. We have scoured the campgrounds and beyond another two times. We’ll look again if you so command.”

  “Do so. And report at once if you find them,” he ordered. “At once!”

  “Yes, sir,” the scout replied before hurrying off.

  “What was that all about?” Molly asked. “Who or what is missing?”

  “Nothing to worry about! Nothing! Nothing!” King Rupert gazed uneasily at Christopher, Molly and Artemas, preparing to say something then suddenly changing his mind. “Now not meaning to be rude, but I must return to my quarters and prepare for the meeting. Christopher and Molly, a tent has been raised for you just over there, and Artemas, yours is next to it. I suggest that you all have something to eat and then get some richly deserved rest. You have done enough today. Ulric’s soldiers can handle things from this point on. The attack should be swift, so when you wake up, our nightmare will finally be over. I hope.”

  The King bubbled with eager anticipation to defeat his enemy, yet a subdued anxiety gnawed at him. King Rupert instructed Ulric and his men to grab a brief meal and meet him in his tent within the half hour. Then he bounded off in the darkness through a maze of busy soldiers, grazing horses and crackling bonfires.

  Christopher tilted his head slightly as he watched King Rupert depart, a queasy feeling forming in the pit of his stomach. “Suddenly he reminds me of the King Rupert we found in Mrs. Halloway’s barn five years ago.”

  Molly agreed. “He’s just a bundle of nerves.”

  Christopher glanced at his sister with a raised eyebrow. “He’s hiding something.”

  “But what?”

  Ulric cleared his throat to get their attention. “Enough idle speculation. King Rupert is merely under a lot of pressure. I respectfully suggest that you two retire to your tent for some soup and some sleep as the King instructed. You too, Artemas.”

  “But we’re not tired,” Molly complained.

  “Then you can lie on your cot and think,” Ulric said with a smile. “I, in the meantime, will grab a meal if I can find one and then meet with King Rupert to discuss our mission. We must strike fast before our best chance for success withers away.” Ulric said goodnight to Christopher, Molly and Artemas, dismissed his soldiers and departed.

  Christopher glumly exhaled as he scratched his neck. “So I guess we’re not needed at this point.”

  “Apparently not,” Artemas softly said, gazing into the darkness. He turned to his two companions. “I’m going to retire to my tent.”

  “Still sleepy?” Molly asked.

  “No, but I need to–think. Goodnight now.”

  Christopher and Molly waved goodnight as Artemas trudged away, then decided to scrape up a meal before heading to their own tent. Many of the soldiers were boiling small kettles of soup over open fires or roasting strips of beef and venison on a skewer. The mouthwatering aromas wafted through the campsite.

  “I am hungry,” Molly said. “Maybe a meal will help us decide what to do next.”

  “If there is anything we can do,” Christopher replied as they shuffled through the encampment, occasionally bumping into a soldier who was sharpening a sword or pounding a tent stake into the ground. Both felt of little use at the moment.

  “I wish we could accompany Ulric to King Rupert’s meeting. Maybe
we should crash it,” Molly suggested.

  “I don’t think that would be a good idea,” Christopher warned, pointing to a campfire up ahead. “We’re not inside King Rupert’s castle where they might take that kind of stunt in good humor. We’re on the edge of a battle. Let’s do as Ulric said. Let’s get some soup.”

  Ulric, in the meantime, met with a few of his advisors and informed them of the meeting. Then after rounding up a bite to eat, he sat in the shadows by himself to think, munching on a biscuit and sipping from a mug of hot tea. A gentle breeze swept across the plains as the clouds above drifted eastward. The stars bloomed in bunches.

  “Psst!”

  Ulric spun around when hearing the sound emanating from the darkness behind him. He jumped up and unsheathed his sword, staring into the murky shadows.

  “Who approaches?” he asked.

  “Someone who needs to speak to you at once,” the voice whispered. “In secret!”

  Ulric wrinkled his brow and then suddenly recognized the voice, his eyes widening in surprise. He lowered his sword and approached the lone figure in the deepening blackness.

  Ulric raised the flap to King Rupert’s tent and entered several minutes later before the others had arrived. A small fire burned in a triangular metal container in the center of the enclosure, the smoke drifting upward and escaping through an opening cut into the ceiling. Shadows danced upon the walls of the large circular tent. A few low wooden seats had been set off to one side for the upcoming meeting.

  “Thank you for stopping by,” King Rupert said, inviting Ulric to sit down.

  “There is something I need to discuss with you in private.”

  “And I with you. But you speak first,” the King urged.

  Ulric sat down and stared at the ground for a moment, then glanced up at King Rupert, his face tight and careworn. “I think that maybe we should hold off on the attack until morning. I can’t go into details about why, but–”

  King Rupert raised a hand and nodded. “I agree with you on that point now, however you arrived at your conclusion.”

  A flash of surprise swept over Ulric’s face. “You do? Why?”

  “Something has happened, Ulric, that forces me to postpone any immediate battle plans.” King Rupert sighed and sat down in front of his chief guard, unable to speak for several moments. The firelight eerily reflected off the side of his crown. He looked up as if the weight of the world had settled upon his shoulders. “There is some deeply disturbing news I must tell you.”

  A hint of gray light slipped over the eastern hills. The first day of spring and the Endoran New Year dawned with a damp and chilly silence. The sky stretched dark and clear as the remaining stars began to fade one by one. The sun still lingered below the horizon, not yet ready to warm the brittle rock and the grassy plains. Except for the soldiers on guard duty and those scouts patrolling the perimeter around Three Frogs, everyone else still wrestled with bouts of uneasy sleep and fitful dreams. A cool breeze rustled the sea of tents that had sprouted upon the grasslands as if a gentle hand was attempting to rouse everybody from their long and restless slumber.

  Then a sharp and stinging voice crashed through the silence. Someone shouted from the top of Three Frogs. People rushed out of their tents, shaken fully awake by the chilly air and the grating noise. Word quickly spread that Belthasar wanted an audience with the King.

  “And I want a word with him!” King Rupert muttered as a group of twenty-five soldiers was quickly assembled to travel the quarter mile or so to Three Frogs. King Rupert led the contingent along with Artemas, Ulric and a few of his top advisors. Christopher and Molly insisted on going too, and each rode a horse alongside the King.

  They slowly approached Three Frogs which appeared to grow larger in the graying light of dawn. A figure stood on top of the imposing cold rock awaiting the opposition. Most figured it was Fennic under the mesmerizing influence of Belthasar, though his face was still shrouded in the lingering shadows.

  “Maybe he wants to surrender,” Molly whispered to her brother when they stopped in front of the rock formation. The soldiers formed a semicircle in front of Three Frogs.

  “That’ll be the day,” Christopher muttered, gripping the reins of his horse. “Belthasar isn’t the surrendering type. However, if he wants to demonstrate a graceful swan dive off his perch, well then, I’d be happy to cheer him on.”

  “Hush!” King Rupert whispered. “Let’s hear what he has to say.”

  “Yes, please do listen!” Fennic shouted from up above, stepping to the edge of the rock and looking down. “I’m so delighted to see that my former prisoners are in such good health. Especially you two,” he added, dripping with sarcasm as he pointed to Christopher and Molly.

  “You just can’t build a cage strong enough to hold me or a guard smart enough to watch me,” Molly said with a laugh. “When will you realize that, Belthasar?”

  Christopher grinned. “She’s right, you know. For someone with designs on a new kingdom, you really don’t know how to pick the right people for the job, Belthasar. Perhaps you should join our side?”

  Fennic twitched his lips and clenched his fists, then stood up straight, forcing himself to remain calm. “You two still can’t resist flinging the wisecracks my way.”

  “If they are well deserved, can you blame them?” Artemas asked.

  “And you are just as annoying as they are, magician! Though all three of you sit there smugly on your horses, don’t think you have gotten the best of me,” he said as the landscape lightened a bit more so they could see the bitterness etched upon his face.

  “So you don’t plan to surrender?” Ulric asked.

  “I would think long and hard about doing just that,” King Rupert added. “What you see before you is only a small portion of the soldiers I have waiting back at the encampment. My scouts have surrounded the area so no more troll reinforcements will be available to you.”

  Fennic chuckled. “Reinforcements? Who needs reinforcements when I have something even better,” he slyly replied. “I have a bargaining chip!”

  He signaled to some troll guards who had been standing near the back edge of Three Frogs out of the line of sight to those on the ground below. They quickly stepped forward, surrounding three individuals who had been under their constant guard. Christopher, Molly and Artemas gasped when they saw the bewildered faces of Sam and Sally Jordan and Mina Mayfield looking down upon them.

  Christopher gulped. “Mom? Dad?”

  Artemas clutched at his heart. “Mina!”

  Molly shook her head, her thoughts floundering in a sea of despair. “How did this happen?” she whispered.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  A Rescue Party

  On the day before Christopher, Molly and Artemas gazed up at Three Frogs in stunned horror, a lone figure sat in the museum lobby near the reception desk, buried behind a newspaper dated the third of January. Gray light filtered in through a series of square windows built into the ceiling above the carpeted area, warmly bathing a half dozen towering potted palm trees, an oval glass coffee table and several empty cushioned chairs. An enormous wall clock near the front doors was inching its way past four-thirty. A few people wandered through the museum, their whisperings and gentle footsteps echoing off the glassy tiled floors.

  A pair of curious eyes occasionally peered over the newspaper, stealthily observing the surroundings before pretending to read some more. Moments later the inquisitive figure looked up again and received a surprising eyeful. A bearded gentleman in a flowing gray cloak, his face hardened with an arrogant determination, hastily strode across the lobby floor to the front doors and bolted outside. The figure behind the newspaper sat up straight, somewhat taken aback, contemplating for a few minutes what to do.

  A short time later the frantic voices of two teenagers echoed through the main lobby. The figure in the chair quickly raised the newspaper aloft, all the while carefully listening and peeking around to one side. The young boy and girl, like th
e older gentleman before them, made a beeline for the main doors.

  “Hurry, Molly, before we lose him!” the boy said as he pushed one of the glass doors open and stormed out into the cold January afternoon.

  “I’m on him, Chris, like scales on a fish!” the girl replied, her voice cut off the instant she stepped outside.

  The figure in the waiting area lowered the paper, wondering what all the commotion could mean, debating whether to follow the trio to where they were going or from where they had just left. One, two and three more minutes passed by and the figure stood up, placing the newspaper on the glass coffee table. Then a woman entered the museum, smiling as she brushed a few snow flurries off her coat sleeves. She had chestnut brown hair and wore a delicate pair of glasses. As she walked toward the reception desk, the figure in the waiting area recognized her and sat down again, quickly picking up the newspaper to hide behind while listening carefully.

  “How nice to see you, Miss Mayfield. Happy New Year,” said the young woman attendant behind the desk.

  “Sam Jordan invited me for a private tour with some others, though I said I couldn’t attend,” Miss Mayfield explained. “But I managed to find a replacement and slip away from the library. I hope I’m not terribly late!”

  “He’s still in the basement,” the woman said. “I’ll show you where the staircase is located. Just give a holler when you’re down there. They’ll be sure to hear.”

  “Thank you very much,” Miss Mayfield replied. The two women hurried across the lobby floor as a pair of inquisitive eyes watched them disappear around a corner. The lone figure decided to remain at the museum for a while longer to watch what might unfold.

  “Dreadful dictionaries! What’s going on?” Mina Mayfield exclaimed when she saw Mr. and Mrs. Jordan and their son Vergil trapped in the museum lockup. Lucy Easton stood clutching the metal cage, somewhat dizzy and disoriented. Mr. Jordan was attempting to explain to Lucy what had happened and where to find a spare key. Mina took control of the situation at once, and after running back upstairs to get help, the Jordans were quickly released from their temporary prison.