The Legacy of Mount Drood

Chapter 3

Jep's mother lit the third candle, watching the smoke curl up to the log ceiling and vanish through the seams. She cleaned away the melted stubs of the previous two and brought her husband and son a fresh mug of hot, acorn tea. Jep gaped in awe at his father; the tale had held him almost breathless for hours, and now with the explanation of what was expected of him, he felt as though he might not catch his breath again.

All through the history of his family, there had been incidents of strangers probing for information about the mysterious key and the magical stones with the eerie blue light. The Pennistyles knew that somewhere along the line, someone had broken the old king's edict and told the outside world and whoever they were, proved to be as relentless in pursuing the legend as the Pennistyles were in guarding the key.

Now, with their suspicions of what the palace guard might have seen that afternoon, Jep's parents felt it was necessary to enlist their son, taxing him with the burden of guarding the key and pursuing the quest for the families noted in the journal.

Late that evening, in his own bed, Jep looked through the ancient journal, reading of his ancestor's travels and discoveries. What he discovered, and what his father had failed to mention, was that each of his grandfathers, in guarding the key, lived lives fraught with danger.

There were harrowing stories of flight and fighting, of hiding for years from those who would kill for the treasure the key protected, and of the pursuit of the two families known to have kept some of the stones. A part of the legend of the stones and the key, and one yet unexplained, referred to a special provision Balfour the Mighty had included in its construction; a purported defense against misuse. As no explanation was available, that morsel of information was paid little heed. One bit of information did interest Jep however; it was about the Bogendancer clan.

Zamtar Bogendancer, Aaron Pennistyle's peer, passed his legacy down through his family in the same manner until the last generation, which had failed to produce sons. Instead, they had spawned two daughters, Gwendolise and Hella. Jep knew that Hella Bogendancer was King Graf's wife, an arrangement made generations ago in hopes of attaining the Balfour secret, and his father had impressed upon him that she must never gain access to the key.

What he did learn was that if the stones passed down through the Bogendancer clan and Hella didn't have them, then her sister Gwendolise must— and that meant that Hella didn't know where her sister was.

The family came to the conclusion that Jep must take the key and leave the kingdom of Graf before Queen Hella or her evil consort, the Count, confirmed their suspicions. Jep's parents knew that the guard would report what he thought he saw and very soon Consiflore's men would be around to search their home.

His task now, was to find the other families and ensure that the stones were returned to the safety of Mount Drood. At that time, they would try to devise a safe and agreeable plan for their use. He closed the journal and fell into a restless sleep. Tomorrow, he knew he would leave his home and family, maybe forever, and set off on a quest for the honour of his ancestors.

*****

Count Bragen de Consiflore sat alone in his chamber, sifting through the information his men had uncovered about the Pennistyle family. Excitement stirred his soul as he considered the ramifications of what the guard might have seen. A small rat scurried across the damp stone floor, disappearing beneath the hem of the heavy drapes over the window opening.

Consiflore took up his quill and penned a brief letter to Queen Hella, folding and sealing the stiff paper with his wax seal. He rang a large bell on the edge of his desk and a guard appeared immediately, snapping to attention. Consiflore gave him the letter and dismissed him with a curt instruction. If this was indeed, what he hoped it might be, Count Bragen de Consiflore fancied himself in a new position of power and esteem with his royal mistress.

******

Jep paused and looked back over the land he'd traveled. The Troppus Mountain was barely visible through the wisps of silver clouds embracing its peak. Two days had passed since he'd said a tearful goodbye to his parents; their calm assurance and good wishes betrayed by the trembling arms that hugged him for the last time.

He tore off a chunk of the bread his mother had packed among his things and chewed thoughtfully. The single clue in the journal that pointed to the whereabouts of the maiden, Gwendolise Bogendancer— a remark overheard in a marketplace in a village named Dyst— was the basis for the direction Jep was taking. He checked his course against the position of Mount Troppus once more and set off down the grassy slope toward a small river that meandered along the edge of a thick forest.

The sun shone hotly on the grassy hillside, and Jep let his momentum carry him quickly down toward the cool river. He began digging in his heels as he reached the bottom, slowing his progress to keep from charging straight into the water. Setting his pack and staff aside, he knelt down and scooped a handful of the cool liquid into his mouth.

Birds sang and chattered in the trees flanking the river and colourful flowers turned their blooms to the sun's rays. Jep squatted on his haunches, taking in the tranquility of the scene, struggling to focus his thoughts as the forest sounds created a restful symphony. A new sound suddenly jarred his reverie; it grated ominously against his ears and he stood quickly, casting about for the source.

From the edge of the trees across the small river, a hunched figure dressed in tattered clothes appeared, pulling an equally forlorn looking mule hitched to a rickety wagon. The mule brayed again, its plaintive noise screeching through the still air. Jep watched as the figure scolded and tugged on the rope fastened to the animal, urging it down to the water. He called across a greeting, waving his hand and displaying a broad smile.

"Good day, sir. I see your animal has a mind of its own." Jep moved to the water's edge, watching carefully as the figure turned in response. It was not what Jep expected; it was a younger man with a massive black beard and a head of black ringlets, packed down by a dome shaped helmet.

"This foul beast has nothing of its own— particularly a mind of any value." He gave a final tug then dropped the rope in disgust. "You are a stranger in these parts, are you lost?"

"Not yet," Jep chuckled, "I seek a village called Dyst. You know it?"

The figure straightened. "Aye. Dyst is just beyond this forest, but 'tis an abysmal place to visit. Why are you wanting to go there?"

"I have reason for my journey, sir, but tell me, is there a good place to ford this river?"

"None better than where you are. It will chill your sensitive parts, but haste can minimize that." Jep look skeptically at the river, poking along the shoreline with his staff.

"Is there wood for a fire over there, I have no change of clothes."

The bearded face thrust forward with an astonished look. "In case you didn't notice, sir, this is a forest!" He waved his arm back toward the dense stand of trees.

Smarting from the stranger's sarcasm, Jep gathered up his pack, stepped tentatively into the river and began wading slowly across. The water grew colder as it rose higher and he moved as quickly as the depth would allow, finally reaching the opposite bank and stumbling up to a grassy patch near the edge of the trees.

"Well done, sir. I should know the name of anyone silly enough to wade across the river when but a short distance down there is a small bridge." Jep looked up in dismay at the twinkling eyes smiling from within the raggedy bearded face.

"I'll trade names when I learn that of the scoundrel who played such a vile trick."

The man rocked back with laughter and extended his stubby hand. "Derrick Kriss, sir. At your service." Jep cautiously took his hand and the two men shook.

"I am Jep..."

"Just Jep? No second name?"

Heeding his parent's warning about concealing his identity from strangers, Jep pretended a cough and sputtered out the first thing he could think of. "Waterford."

Derrick tilted his head and scratched at his scruffy beard. "Waterford. Very well then, Master Jep Waterford, strip out of those pants and I'll light a fire and make some tea."