The Hero's Guide to Saving Your Kingdom by Christopher Healy
“It really is Gwendolyn,” Frederic said in a stunned whisper.
“Seventeen!” Gustav beamed as he spotted his own horse. He caught himself grinning giddily, and quickly spat on the ground before anybody noticed.
“All of our horses are there,” Liam said.
“Well, except mine,” Duncan added, with some disappointment. If the others’ horses had returned, he expected his magical luck to deliver Papa Scoots as well.
The princes’ three horses (plus several dozen others) were tied to a row of trees in a makeshift corral.
“That’s a lot of horses. What are they all doing out here?” Frederic asked. “Do you think the Bandit King sold our horses to a trader or something?”
“No, I think Rauber and his men are using our horses themselves,” Liam said. “Look over there. And be absolutely quiet.”
He ushered the men farther off the trail and pointed out a drab canvas tent beyond the trees.
“You think some of the bandits are over there?” Duncan asked. The four men crouched low to the ground and slunk closer. As they approached, they could see that this wasn’t the only tent that had been pitched in the nearby field. An entire city of tents lay before them; too many to count. At the heart of the crowded camp flew a flag that depicted an old, bearded king being kicked by a giant boot: the flag of the Bandit King.
“I think all the bandits are over there,” Liam said.
They watched as brutish-looking men—several of whom they recognized from their time in the Bandit King’s castle—emerged from their tents and milled about, chatting and occasionally punching one another. As the sun started to set, a few of the bandits started campfires and warmed up blackened pots of gruel.
“They’re busy making dinner,” Gustav said. “Let’s steal our horses back before they notice.”
“No,” Liam said. “Leave the horses for now. This is our chance to find out what the bandits are up to. In these black thieves’ outfits, we’re perfectly dressed for stealth work. Let’s see if we can eavesdrop.”
“Look!” Frederic gasped. “It’s Horace and Neville!”
“Who?”
“The two guys who captured us back at that house in Sylvaria,” Frederic said. “The big one who threw the giant sword at Duncan and the little guy with the ratty mustache.”
“Oh, yeah,” Duncan said. “There they are.” Horace and Neville were deep in conversation, walking along the outskirts of the camp only a few yards away.
“Huh. I figured Rauber would have knocked them off by now,” Gustav said.
“Come on,” Liam whispered. He squatted and crept off until he was only a few feet behind Horace and Neville. The others followed, holding their breath.
“Whuddaya suppose he wants to do to us now?” Neville wheezed in his pinched nasal voice.
“Give us our old jobs back, I hope,” Horace said. “I’m more’n ready to be done cleanin’ up after the horses.”
“That’s unlikely, though, don’t ya think?” Neville asked. “He’s been torturing us for days. I’m still sore from all the noogies. Frankly, I’m happy to be alive. I’ll gladly scoop some you-know-what if it means my head stays attached.”
“You know, I never seen the kid kill anyone,” Horace said. “You do realize we’re workin’ for a child, right?”
Neville came to an abrupt stop. Liam did as well, causing the other princes to smack into one another and pile up behind him. The four men wobbled but grabbed one another’s shoulders and managed to stay up.
“Don’t mention that!” Neville barked in a harsh whisper. “You got a death wish or somethin’? We’re right near his tent. What if he heard you sayin’ how he’s a … a … you know.”
“A little kid,” Horace said.
“Aagh! Shut up, shut up, shut up!” Neville took off his black felt cap and started beating Horace with it. Horace snickered. He enjoyed watching Neville get scared.
“Let’s go see what the tyke wants,” Horace said, and he started singing, “Snips and snails and puppy dogs’ tails, that’s what little boys are made of.” Neville smacked his hands to his head in despair.
The two bandits turned and entered a large tent. The princes sidled over and placed their ears against the drab, dirt-colored canvas to listen.
“You wanted to see us, sir,” they heard Horace say. As much as Horace liked to joke about the Bandit King for Neville’s benefit, he always showed total respect in the presence of the diabolical tween. He did not want to end up on the wrong side of one of Deeb Rauber’s tantrums. He knew a guard who’d once made the mistake of nicking a cookie from Rauber, and was subjected to a solid week of spitball torture.
“You know I like you two, right?” Rauber asked in his reedy voice.
“Uh, yes, sure,” Neville said.
“We do what we can,” Horace added.
“Now, I still haven’t forgiven you for that fiasco on the roof the other day,” Rauber said. “But I need a couple of right-hand men, and in this army of losers, you guys are sadly the best I’ve got.”
“Happy to hear it, sir,” Neville said.
Horace bumped him and whispered, “That wasn’t a compliment.”
“And so, it is with much displeasure,” Rauber continued in an overly formal tone, “that I hereby name you two Sir Horace and Sir Neville, my first official knights.”
“An honor, sir,” Horace responded.
“As my knights,” Rauber said, “you will manage the daily business of our new castle. I’m sure it will be a much larger castle than our old one, so I imagine it’ll need a lot more cleaning. You’ll need to get the kitchen in running order; make sure everybody—but especially me—stays fed and happy.”
“If ya don’t mind me sayin’ so, sir,” Neville hedged, “if me and him are knights now, shouldn’t we be doin’ something a bit more, I dunno, excitin’?”
“Shall I ready the spitballs, Sir Neville?”
“No, sir.”
“Now, as I was saying,” Rauber went on. “You two will also deal with visitors. I’m sure all sorts of important people from faraway nations will be knocking on my door once I’ve got a kingdom of my own. So you will invite them in for a banquet and—I don’t know—diplomatic negotiations or something. Then we steal all their stuff.”
As Rauber laughed, the princes glanced at one another with disbelief.
“I gotta say, sir,” Horace added, “this is a pretty genius deal you worked out.”
“I know!” Rauber shouted with glee. “A couple hours of guard work and we get an entire kingdom in return. I tell you, being a king is going to be a lot more fun when I have innocent people to push around and not just you bozos.”
“The witch said ya could take whichever of the five ya wanted,” said Neville. “Have ya decided which one yer takin’?”
“Yes. I think this kingdom right here suits me well,” Rauber said. “I’m taking over Sturmhagen.”
“Okay, that’s enough,” Gustav hissed through clenched teeth. “We crush them right now.”
“Gustav, no,” Liam warned. He grabbed hold of Gustav’s arm and prevented him from standing. “There are four of us and, oh, I’d say about two hundred of them—far more than we saw back at the castle. This throws a huge snag into our plans. We need to change tactics. We’ll never even get the map if we have to make it through Rauber’s entire army. We need to leave and run to Castle Sturmhagen first to get reinforcements.”
“No, we should crush them now,” Gustav sneered.
“Gustav, listen to reason,” Liam said. “The four of us cannot take out an entire army. With your brothers, though, and your father’s guards—”
“We’re wasting time talking about it when we could just chop our way through this canvas and take care of the little brat right now,” Gustav growled.
Frederic and Duncan both made shushing noises.
“Rushing into things hasn’t helped much in the past, has it, Gustav?” Liam spat.
“So tell me a
Frederic and Duncan tried to shush them again.
“I just told you a better idea: We go to your family,” Liam insisted.
“That’s pointless!” Gustav argued. “We’ve got the opportunity to take Rauber out now. Without the little bully, his army will fall apart.”
“It’s too risky!” Liam snarled. “I don’t want any dead princes on my conscience!”
“Guys,” Frederic hissed. “You’re being a little loud.”
“STAY OUT OF IT!” Liam and Gustav shouted in unison.
“What was that?” they heard the Bandit King call out from inside the tent.
“Crud,” muttered Liam.
Rauber burst out of the tent with Horace and Neville at his side.
“Holy cow!” Rauber giggled. “I can’t believe you dolts were dumb enough to come back!” He started dancing around and hooting with wicked joy.
“Split up,” Liam said, as bandits began running toward them from all around. He grasped Duncan’s arm and pulled him in one direction; Gustav grabbed Frederic by the collar and ran off in the other.
“Boys!” Horace bellowed loudly, his voice echoing through the city of tents. “We’ve got some princes to catch!”
“Ow! Both my feet fell asleep,” Frederic wailed as he hopped along awkwardly. “Ow-ow-ow-ow-ow!” Huffing, Gustav hoisted Frederic off the ground, slung him over his shoulder, and kept running. Bandits lunged toward him as he ran, but each time one got too close, Gustav would pivot and let Frederic’s booted feet swing around to kick the man in the face. “Ooh, this is waking my feet up,” Frederic said.
Neville darted ahead of Gustav. He planted himself in the big prince’s path and pulled out a sharp, glinting dagger.
“Please don’t run toward the man with the knife,” Frederic pleaded.
“Just hold on,” Gustav said as he barreled toward the sneering Neville. Gustav yanked one of Frederic’s boots off and pitched it at the wiry bandit. The heel of the boot smacked Neville right between the eyes and knocked him flat. Without ever slowing his pace, Gustav reached down with his free arm, plucked the boot up from where it lay next to the groaning bandit, and slapped it back onto Frederic’s foot. He also stepped on Neville’s hand for good measure. With Frederic still over his shoulder, Gustav continued his juggernaut run out of the camp and disappeared into the trees.
Meanwhile, Horace bounded after Liam and Duncan. “You fellas must have really missed us,” the big bandit called out. “I’m touched you came back to see us again.”
“You’ve completely misunderstood!” Duncan yelled back to Horace, as he and Liam hopped over a series of staked tent ropes. “We didn’t miss you at all! That’s not why we’re here!”
“Sarcasm, Duncan. Sarcasm,” Liam said as he dodged a diving bandit.
“You might as well slow down, you’ve got no place to go,” Horace said.
Liam stopped as he saw a wall of bandits closing in ahead of them. He glanced left and right to see an impenetrable tangle of tents, wagons, and supply crates. They were trapped. Horace began strolling lazily toward them, casually swinging a huge wooden club—a weapon that looked large and strong enough to flatten a human head into a crepe.
“Throw me at him,” Duncan said. “Let’s see what happens.”
“That’s insane,” Liam replied, but he considered the idea. Liam generally wrote off Duncan’s belief in his “magical luck” as just another of his quirks, but every so often, such as when they survived that fall from Rauber’s roof, he couldn’t help but wonder a little. Duncan looked to Liam expectantly. “Okay,” Liam shrugged.
He took hold of Duncan and heaved the small man straight at Horace. The bulky bandit caught Duncan neatly in his one free arm and held him tight.
“Heh,” Horace chuckled. “Well, thank you. I honestly didn’t expect it to be that easy.”
Liam simply shook his head in disappointment. He made no attempt to defend himself as ten large bandits pounced from behind. One ripped Liam’s sword away as the others held his limbs down. Fighting was pointless, especially when Duncan was completely at the enemy’s mercy.
Duncan hung limply in Horace’s grasp, his mind reeling. Nothing remotely good had happened. Horace hadn’t had a sudden heart attack. The ground hadn’t opened up and swallowed the bandits. No, Duncan just got caught by the bad guy. There’s no question about it anymore, he thought. My luck has run out.
23
PRINCE CHARMING TAKES THE WRONG SEAT
The sun had fully set by the time Gustav slowed his retreat and put Frederic back down on his own two feet. They were miles away from the bandit camp, surrounded by thick, gnarly underbrush.
“Footsies all better?” Gustav asked.
“Yes. Thanks for the lift,” Frederic replied. “Do you think they’re still following us?”
“No.” Gustav shook his head. “We can catch our breath.”
“Oh, Gustav, before I forget…,” Frederic said. “I’ve been thinking: You lost your sword, and I still have mine. That feels just plain wrong to me. I want you to have my sword. We’d both be better off.”
He reached to his belt to grab the dwarven blade but realized, with a gasp, that it was not there. “Oh, no. It’s—”
“Don’t panic. I already have it,” Gustav said. “I thought the same thing you did, so I snagged the sword from you hours ago.”
“You stole my sword?”
“You just said you wanted me to have it!”
“I wanted to give it to you. I didn’t want you to swipe it.”
“What difference does it make? I have the sword, we’re fine.”
Frederic sighed. He felt his way through the near blackness, until he found a big tree to lean against.
“It is really, really dark,” he said. “I wish we had Duncan with us right now. He’d probably pull a lit torch out of his pocket or something.”
“Yeah, and a bed, and a pillow, and an all-flute orchestra to play him a lullaby,” Gustav snickered. “But seriously, you need to stop encouraging the little guy. You don’t honestly think he’s magic, do you?”
“I don’t know. I’m less skeptical about such things ever since I saw a coach turn into a pumpkin,” Frederic said earnestly. “Do you think Duncan and Liam got away, too?”
Gustav shrugged. “We can’t go looking for them now. We should try to rest until dawn and start searching then.”
“That makes sense.” Frederic looked around. Little moonlight could make its way through the thick forest canopy overhead. All he saw were the outlines of trees. He slid down to the ground but popped back up, squealing. “Nettles! Pointy nettles all over the ground,” he moaned.
Gustav swiped his feet back and forth. “Just kick them out of the way.”
“Can’t we see if there’s a better place to lie down?” Frederic peered into the shadows and spotted a soft-looking patch of green. “Gustav,” he called. “There’s a nice bed of moss over here.”
Gustav glanced over just in time to see Frederic snuggling into the tangled green fur of a sleeping troll. “No!” he yelled.
But it was too late.
“What sit on Troll?” the monster bellowed, and jumped to its feet. Frederic was sent flying to the ground—and got a backside full of nettles when he landed. “Ouch-ouch-ouch-ouch-ouch-ouch-ouch-ouch-ouch!” he moaned, as he rolled back and forth. The troll scooped the prince up into its arms.
“Drop him, troll,” Gustav growled, drawing his sword.
“Ha-ha! Round-Head Man have toy baby sword!” The troll’s laugh was guttural, as if it were trying to cough up a hairball.
“This is no plaything, troll,” Gustav said. “It’s dwarven steel. And I will ram it right through you if you don’t put that man down.”
“But Ouching Man sit on Troll,” the monster said. “Ouching Man is Troll’s prisoner now.”
The troll cupped one furry, clawed hand by its mouth and gave a loud shout that reverberate
Trees moved and quivered all around Gustav. Within seconds, half a dozen more trolls appeared.
“Troll has two prisoners!” one of them noted pleasantly.
Gustav flexed his fingers around the hilt of his sword. Despite being greatly outnumbered and barely being able to see his enemies in the darkness, he was, as usual, prepared to leap into battle.
“Don’t do it, Gustav,” Frederic pleaded from within the tight troll bear hug. “Don’t make a mistake we’ll regret.”
For once, Gustav held back. He slipped the sword under his belt and raised his empty hands up in the air. The trolls swooped in, lifted him high over their heads, and marched off into the blackness with a chant of “PRIS-O-NERS! PRIS-O-NERS!”
Gustav shot a wary look at Frederic, who was slung over the shoulder of the first troll. “Bed of moss—humph!”
Fig. 39 TROLL “HOUSE”
When dawn broke the next morning, Frederic and Gustav awoke to find themselves in a wooden cage in the center of a troll village. At least they assumed it to be a troll village. What trolls refer to as a “village,” most humans would refer to as a “big mess of sticks.”
Trolls are not great builders. Most of their “houses” don’t resemble buildings at all; they consist of three to five logs haphazardly leaned up against one another. A fancier troll home might have a “door,” which would actually just be one more log resting against the others—except you were supposed to move it out of the way when you entered.
The cage that the princes were in was constructed just as poorly. The “bars” were long, thin sticks that even Frederic could have easily snapped in half. Not that he would have needed to, because the sticks were spaced far enough apart to easily step between. And there was nothing holding the sticks together. No ties, no paste—nothing. Frederic figured the entire structure would probably collapse if he breathed on it too hard.
“Do they really think we can’t get out of here?” Frederic asked.
Big, swampy-green trolls strolled about casually, acting as if the two princes were securely locked away.