The Hero's Guide to Saving Your Kingdom by Christopher Healy
Fig. 15 Sylvarian DWARF
“Excuse me, sirs. Could you tell me if there’s an inn nearby?”
“Are you talking to us?” the first dwarf asked, barely glancing up at Liam from under his jaunty, ear-flapped cap.
“Yes,” said Liam. “I’m unfamiliar with the area, and I need to find a place to rest.”
“Oh, and I suppose you mistook us for a bunch of maps with legs,” said the first dwarf.
“Can’t you see we’re busy here?” barked the second.
“Yes,” said Liam. “I was just hoping you could tell me if there was an inn nearby.”
“There must be an echo around here,” said one of the dwarfs, and the three continued their woodwork.
“I repeated the question because I didn’t get an answer,” Liam snipped. He’d been in a rather foul mood to begin with, and dealing with these grouches only frustrated him further.
“You’ve got goop on your head,” the second dwarf said.
“It’s cantaloupe,” Liam replied.
“Thought so,” said the third dwarf. “I hate melon.”
“I’m not a fan myself,” Liam said. “Now, about that inn…”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” the first dwarf sneered sarcastically, as he and the others stopped chopping. “I forgot that we’re all supposed to drop what we’re doing whenever a smug stranger comes up to us with a question. Who are you supposed to be, anyway?”
“For your information, I happen to be Prince—” Liam stopped himself. His anger with the dwarfs had peaked, and he was about to give them a royal shouting-down when he remembered his sister’s advice about keeping a low profile. If Briar Rose’s lies about him had spread into Sylvaria, the worst thing Liam could do was to tell these dwarfs his real name.
“Charming,” he said through clenched teeth. “I’m Prince Charming.” It pained him to say those words.
The dwarfs looked at one another, then back to Liam. “No, you’re not,” they said in unison.
“Honestly, I am. Maybe you’ve heard the story....”
“Oh, we know the story,” said the first dwarf. “And you’re not the guy from the story.”
“Really, I am,” Liam said. “I kissed a cursed princess and woke her from a sleeping spell.”
“Yeah, like I said, we know the story. Prince Charming did that, all right,” said the first dwarf. “But that’s not you.”
“Why are you so insistent that I’m not Prince Charming?”
“Because we’ve met Prince Charming, and you’re not him,” the first dwarf replied. “Now get out of here and stop pretending to be someone you’re not.” He and his companions raised their axes in a threatening manner.
That clinches it, Liam thought. Briar Rose has definitely gotten to these guys. She hadn’t, though. Not this time. Like I said, the dwarfs are just really cranky. But Liam left anyway.
A mile or so down the road, he found a nice quiet spot and stopped. He dismounted his horse and sat under a big oak tree to think. He used the bottom of his cape to wipe the cantaloupe mush from his hair. How have I managed to sink this low, this fast? he wondered. Despondent and exhausted, he fell asleep.
He was awakened some time later by a tentative voice. “Excuse me, sir?”
Still half-asleep, he squinted through his drowsy haze at two figures standing before him. One was wearing an ornate but ragged white suit that made him look like the leader of a zombie marching band. The second was twice the size of the first and appeared to be half Viking, half bear. “Hey, you!” barked the bigger of the two. “Wake up!”
Liam’s eyes popped open, and he leapt to his feet, his hand going directly to the hilt of his sword. “Stay back!” he warned.
The big, armored man was unimpressed. “Do we really need this guy?” he said to his companion. “Look at him. He’s wearing a cape.”
The smaller man spoke up. “Sorry to startle you. We mean no harm. Are you Prince Charming, by any chance?”
“What?” The question took Liam by surprise. He kept his hand on his sword, ready to unsheathe it.
“Sleeping Beauty’s Prince Charming: Is it you?”
Liam was unsure of how to answer. “Why do you ask?”
“Because we’ve been looking all over for you. We’ve come to ask for your help.”
“My help?” Liam asked.
“Yes,” the dirty-suited man said, while his companion glared menacingly. “We need your assistance rescuing a young maiden from a witch. You’ve, um, you’ve done that kind of thing before, right?”
“It was a fairy,” Liam griped. “Ugh, the world would be better off without those stupid bards and their poor fact-checking.”
“Aha!” the man said with a smile. “So you are Prince Charming.”
Liam relaxed a bit. “Yes. But I hate that name.”
“So do we,” the stranger rushed to say. The big man grunted in agreement.
“What do you mean?” Liam asked.
“I’m a Prince Charming, too,” the smaller stranger said. He pointed to his companion. “So is he. Although perhaps not so charming right now. If you’ll allow us to explain…”
And Frederic and Gustav filled Liam in on everything that had happened to them thus far. Liam was stunned and intrigued by their tale.
“But how in the world did you find me here?” Liam asked.
“Well, we started asking around to see if anyone knew where ‘Sleeping Beauty’ was supposed to have taken place,” Frederic explained. “One old man said Frostheim, which turned out to be completely wrong, so we wasted a lot of time going there. But eventually we ran into a traveling candelabra salesman who told us he was positive there was a Prince Charming in Sylvaria, so we headed here. We worked our way across pretty much the entire kingdom with no luck until we ran into a group of exceptionally rude dwarfs. When we asked them if they knew where Prince Charming was, one of them said, ‘I’ll tell you where he’s not. He’s definitely not down the road over there, because the guy who just went down the road over there is definitely not Prince Charming.’
“It struck us as an odd response, so we decided to look for the person they were talking about. And lo, it was you.”
“Yeah, I don’t know what’s up with those dwarfs,” Liam said. He was beginning to feel his old energy coming back. The knowledge that his heroics were being praised in far-off kingdoms invigorated him. “So where you two come from, the song about me is pretty popular?”
“About you?” Gustav smirked. “It’s all about the girl.”
“True,” Liam admitted. “How does that manage to happen anyway? I vanquish the villain, I save everybody, and somehow it becomes her story.”
“We all got the same treatment,” Frederic said. “What can I say, the people love princesses. Something about the fancy dresses, I think.”
“I know,” Liam said. “But ‘The Tale of the Sleeping Beauty’? That doesn’t even sound exciting.” He widened his eyes and wiggled his fingers in mock excitement. “What’s that? A girl falls asleep in this story? Ooh, tell me more! Tell me more!”
The other men laughed, and Liam smiled. He’d never thought he’d meet other people who might understand what it was like to be a Prince Charming.
“So will you come back to Sturmhagen with us and help us rescue Ella from the witch?” Frederic asked.
Liam pretended to think about it for a few seconds, but really, there was never any doubt in his mind. A few minutes earlier, he had considered calling it quits, retiring to the mountains and trying to make a living as a goatherd. Or maybe by selling little acorn-head figurines by the side of the road. But neither of those options was very appealing. And then, as if by fate, along came two fellow princes, heroes like him (even if they seemed a tad unusual). And they offered him an epic quest, a mission to rescue a kidnapped maiden—that was something he could sink his teeth into. Plus, it would go a long way toward restoring his reputation as a good guy. “You came to the right prince,” he said.
All thre
“All I can tell you is that he said there was a Prince Charming in Sylvaria,” said Frederic. “And he was right.”
“It’s a bit mysterious,” Liam said. “Gustav, do you have any thoughts?”
“You smell like melon,” said Gustav.
“Thank you,” said Liam. “That was very constructive.”
6
PRINCE CHARMING HAS NO SENSE OF DIRECTION
As the three princes made their way through the lively forests of Sylvaria, Liam treated the others to a thorough account of exactly how he defeated the evil fairy (“She swung to the left, I dodged to the right. She swiped high, I ducked low”). Frederic listened intently, awed by every detail. Liam was quickly becoming Frederic’s new idol—and Gustav didn’t like it.
“Killing fairies is no great feat,” Gustav said. “I probably step on four or five of them every time I hop off my horse. But I suppose that’s the biggest threat you get in a tea-and-crumpets land like Erinthia. Just wait until we get to Sturmhagen. Then you’ll know what real danger is like. Giants, ogres, dog-men. The beavers in Sturmhagen can smack you unconscious.”
“I’m not exactly looking forward to going back there,” Frederic said. He motioned toward the pleasant scenery that surrounded them. “This, on the other hand, is the kind of forest I could get used to.”
“You don’t like Sturmhagen because a fancy-man like you can’t handle a little action now and then,” Gustav said.
“No argument there,” Frederic agreed. “But honestly, wouldn’t you rather live someplace where you could have a picnic without worrying that a troll is going to steal your petits fours?”
“You’re joking, right?” Gustav replied.
“Look around, Gustav,” Frederic continued. “Wouldn’t you prefer these fuzzy little squirrels to ogres and goblins? I mean, I’m terrified of the very idea of ogres. The squirrels only make me mildly nervous.”
Gustav shook his head. “Stop talking.”
“Don’t be fooled by the beauty of this place,” said Liam. “This forest may hold more dangers than you might think. The woods of Erinthia can look just as serene, but one time, a few years back, I was ambushed there by bloodthirsty bandits. There were seven of them, and by all rights, I never should have made it out alive. But I noticed that the leader of these thugs had a strange twitch in his right eye—”
“Stop talking,” Gustav said.
“But I haven’t gotten to the best part,” Liam said.
“Stop talking, Cape-Man!” Gustav barked. “There’s someone in the bushes!”
At that moment, a man burst out from behind some nearby shrubbery. The three princes were all startled, as was the newcomer, who yelped and did a dancey little jump when he saw them. But as soon as he realized that the three men on horseback didn’t seem to be criminals or monsters, he calmed down and flashed them a smile. The stranger was a slight, shortish man. He wore a velvety blue tunic with puffed cap sleeves and a frilly white ruff around his neck. The tunic was belted at the waist, so that the bottom of the garment flared out like a skirt. He had a short, green half cape on his shoulders, and a feathered green cap partly covered his wavy black hair. On his legs, he wore striped tights. Vertically striped tights. Green and blue vertically striped tights.
“Oh, hello,” the man said. “I’m so happy to run into you fellows. You see, I was out for a nice walk in the woods and—heh-heh—I must have taken a wrong turn somewhere, because I got a little lost.”
“How do we know you’re not a bandit?” Frederic asked.
Gustav snorted. “No bandit would be caught dead dressed like that.”
“Oh, you don’t recognize me? You’re obviously not from around here, then,” the man said. “I’m Duncan, prince of this kingdom. At least I think it’s this kingdom. Are we still in Sylvaria? Anyway, it’s nice to meet you all.”
Fig. 16 Prince DUNCAN
Now, I know what you’re thinking: Really? Snow White’s prince just happened to wander through an enormous, miles-deep forest and bump right into the other three princes? That sounds unlikely.
But you see, unlikely things had been happening to Duncan for his entire life. When he was five, he went sledding down a large hill, veered off course, and just happened to land in a giant chest of gold coins that had been lost hundreds of years earlier. When he was eleven, he got up in the middle of the night for a glass of water, accidentally tripped down a flight of steps, and just happened to bowl over a thief who was in the process of stealing the crown jewels. And then one day, while out on his daily stroll, he just happened to stumble upon a beautiful princess who’d been put under a sleeping spell. A lifetime of astonishing coincidences like these had led Duncan to believe that he possessed some sort of mystical “good luck power.” He didn’t, of course. Coincidences can happen to anyone, and luck is a completely random phenomenon. But Duncan truly believed his luck was magical.
The other thing you need to understand about Duncan—and you might have already guessed this—is that he was odd. All the princes had their issues—Frederic was easily intimidated, Liam’s ego could stand to be reined in a bit, and Gustav could use some impulse control—but Duncan was flat-out strange. We all know somebody who’s a bit eccentric—the girl who talks to herself, maybe, or the boy who eats the erasers off his pencils like they’re gumdrops. They could be wonderful people, but thanks to their quirky behavior, they don’t have the easiest time making friends. This was true of Duncan as well.
If Duncan were to become your friend, he would bring a lot of positive energy to your day, he’d certainly make you laugh, and he’d prove himself to be perhaps the most loyal pal you would ever have. Nobody ever got close enough to Duncan to learn this, though. His questionable fashion choices and weird habits (such as trying to play his teeth like a piano) had a way of turning people off.
One time, when Duncan was eight years old, he entered an art contest with a scribbly drawing of two stick figures kissing potatoes. Before a winner could be chosen, a freak wind blew over a candle in the royal art studio. The ensuing fire burned up every contest entry except Duncan’s. And so his sketch, “Spud Love,” was awarded the top prize by default. Now, Duncan realized that the other contestants might have been upset about the way things turned out, and he thought he could make them all feel better by including them in a new art project. Not a terrible idea. But Duncan—overly excitable and endlessly enthusiastic Duncan—had a knack for saying things in exactly the wrong way. He marched out of the award ceremony, holding his potato sketch over his head, and singing, “Huzzah! I am King Crayon! Follow me for more fantastic flights of artistic fancy!” Nobody followed him. Nobody invited him to any birthday parties after that, either. And with him being a prince and all, that’s pretty bad.
It certainly didn’t help matters that Duncan’s family was just as “different” as he was. Duncan’s parents, the king and queen of Sylvaria, were one of the least popular couples in their own kingdom. Their tendency to serve nothing but asparagus and kidney beans ensured that no one accepted their dinner invitations. Their court jester even quit, because the king always interrupted his acts—like spinning plates or juggling eggs—with shouts of “Ooh! Let me try that!” (and the king’s attempts inevitably resulted in a throne room littered with broken dishes and splattered yolks). Duncan’s sisters, Mavis and Marvella, spent most of their time painting each other’s toes—not toenails, but toes. No exaggeration, they were a weird family.
By his early teen years, Duncan resigned himself to loneliness. Friends were something other people had, not him. He led a solitary existence for a very long time. Until the day he found Snow White in the woods. There she was, a beautiful woman lying in a glass coffin, surrounded by weeping dwarfs. Duncan startled the mourners when he appeared.
“Yikes! It’s a dead girl,” he blurted. “Did s
At first the dwarfs cursed at him for interrupting their grieving, but just as Duncan was about to go, one of them, struck with an idea, called out to him, “Wait, you’re a human. We could use you.”
“That’s right, I am a human,” Duncan responded with a cheery smile. “You guys are so smart.” He was trying to compliment the dwarfs, in hopes of befriending them, but his innocent comment ended up sounding sarcastic.
“Gee, thanks, jerkface,” the dwarf sneered. The dwarf was trying to be sarcastic, but Duncan didn’t pick up on that.
“You’re welcome,” he said. “But my name is Duncan.”
“Quit yapping, human,” the dwarf barked. “Are you going to help us or not?”
“Help how?” Duncan asked. “Do you need help lifting the coffin? Because I’m not very strong. If you need some funeral music, however, I do have my flute with me.”
“She’s not dead, dunderhead,” the dwarf said. “She’s under a witch’s spell.”
“Then why’d you put her in a coffin?” Duncan asked. “That’s pretty final, don’t you think?”
One of the dwarfs raised his fist, ready to give Duncan a solid punch, but a few of the others held him back.
“The spell can be broken,” said one of the more civil dwarfs.
“Okay,” said Duncan. “That sounds promising. So, how do we do it?”
“Kiss her,” commanded a dwarf. “We’ve heard about these slumber spells. They can be broken by a kiss.”
“So why haven’t any of you kissed her?” Duncan asked.
The dwarfs wrinkled their noses in disgust, spat, and made “yick!” noises. “No way,” said one. “She’s like our sister. It would be gross.”
“Anyway, it wouldn’t work,” said the dwarf who appeared to be the leader. “It’s common knowledge—not that you have any—that an evil spell can only be broken by true love’s kiss.”
“Well, I can’t be her true love; she and I have never even met,” Duncan said.