The Hero's Guide to Being an Outlaw

by Christopher Healy

  “Look, Gustav, I’m here,” Jerica said, sidekicking a Darian who tried to sneak up on her. “I came straight to Sturmhagen looking for you. I didn’t know I would walk in on a revolution. But now that I’m here, just accept my help.”

  “Let me ask you one thing,” Gustav said soberly. “Did you keep the money?”

  “Of course I kept the money,” Jerica half laughed. “It was a lot of money.”

  Gustav shrugged. “Yeah, I woulda kept it, too,” he said. “Welcome to the team—nice to have you on board. Or off board, I guess. Look out!”

  The castle’s heavy oaken doors burst open, and a seemingly endless stream of Darians poured out—howling thugs who were armed to the teeth (that is, they held daggers not just in their hands but also between their teeth). The pirates rallied to defend themselves, but were quickly overwhelmed.

  “There are too many of them!” Jerica cried, parrying two sword thrusts at once.

  “I know where we can get reinforcements,” Gustav said. “Follow me!” He grabbed Jerica’s arm and tried to pull her away from the fray.

  She yanked her arm back. “I can’t leave my crew!”

  Gustav glared at her. She glared right back.

  “Starf it all,” he grumbled, and ran off without her.

  He dashed around the corner of the castle, where he wrapped his fingers around a rusty iron grate and ripped it from the stone wall. He raced down a dark, muck-filled tunnel, through another dented grate, and along a series of chilly, gray-walled passages, until he reached a long, very crowded cellblock. Behind nearly every barred door in the prison was one of Gustav’s greatest enemies—his brothers. All sixteen were there: Henrik, Björn, Alvar, Ulrik, Osvald, Torvald, Sigfrid, Harald, Hans, Frans, Jorgen, Lars, Knute, Gunnar, Sven, and Viktor. They leapt to their feet.

  “Little brother,” said Henrik, the eldest. “Thank goodness!”

  “Quick! Let us out!” said Jorgen. “We can hear the battle out there.”

  “Hurry!” shouted Torvald.

  “We’ve been in here for months,” pled Viktor. “Please, open the cells!”

  “Free us, Gustav!” cried Sigfrid. He pointed to a hook on a nearby wall, where a ring of keys hung mockingly just out of reach.

  Gustav grabbed the key ring and stared it at. He wanted so badly to milk this moment, to use it as the perfect way to get his brothers back for every name they’d ever called him, every prank they’d ever played on him, every bit of credit they’d ever stolen from him. He wanted to force an apology out of them. Or make them promise to do his laundry for a year. Or tell them he wouldn’t release them unless they admitted to the world that it was really he who had saved the bards from Zaubera.

  But Jerica was in trouble. So, with his jaw set and his eyes narrowed, he simply unlocked each cell door.

  His brothers emptied out into the cellblock, stretching their stiff muscles and cracking their knuckles. Then they shoved him out of the way and ran off to join the battle, hooting, “Out of the way, loser!”

  Gustav lay on his face in cobwebs and grime as his siblings’ footsteps vanished down the corridor. He closed his eyes. “I really am an idiot.” But then he heard more footsteps, a solitary pair or boots, heading his way.

  “Let me assist you.” A hand wrapped around his and pulled him to his feet. And then off his feet. Gustav looked up and flinched. Wrathgar—shoulders heaving and mustache swaying—was holding him up by the wrist, dangling him in the air.

  “I may have just lost sixteen princes,” the enormous masked Darian rumbled. “But I got back the only one I really wanted. You and I have unfinished business.”

  “Oh, yeah?” said Gustav. “Well, finish this!” He thrust his free fist into Wrathgar’s chest. And then he bit his lip, trying not to yelp in pain.

  “I have to admit, I’d been hoping for a rebellion just so I would have the chance to quash it,” the former dungeon master intoned, casually strolling toward the exit. “All the sweeter that, in doing so, I finally get to finish what I started last summer. By which I mean killing you.”

  Wrathgar held Gustav out at a full arm’s length so that the prince’s flailing legs couldn’t reach him. He stepped outside onto Castle Sturmhagen’s grand white stone steps and surveyed the epic battle going on all around them. Escaped princes were pummeling his Darian guards, farmers were clobbering his soldiers with shovels, pirates were hacking the bows of his archers, trolls were slamming his spearmen through picnic tables. “This won’t do at all,” he mumbled.

  He flipped Gustav upside down and grabbed him by the ankles, then marched down the steps, swinging the prince like a big human flyswatter. Friend or foe, Wrathgar didn’t seem to care who he attacked. Gustav’s increasingly sore body was smacked into one fighter after another—and bodies went flying. Sigfrid was sent stumbling head-on into a tree, Osvald hurtling into a well. A Darian bodyguard was plowed into a trio of stunned trolls. Mr. Flint was launched up onto a roof. Gunnar was batted into Harald, who stumbled into Tauro, and the three bowled over a squad of Darian archers.

  Cutting a swath through the mob, Wrathgar soon reached the open cobblestone plaza at the rear of Castle Sturmhagen, the area known as Celebration Courtyard, where, a year and a half earlier, the League of Princes had mounted a stone stage to be honored with their very first victory statue. The platform still stood at the center of the plaza, but the only thing on it now was a wide pinewood pedestal bearing one of Zaubera’s elephant-size Mega-orbs.

  “Hey, Rope Face!” Jerica shouted, chasing after the Darian behemoth. Wrathgar spun to face her. She grabbed a battered helmet off the ground and threw it at him. It missed by several yards.

  “Your aim is laughable,” Wrathgar said (with no hint of laughter).

  “Oh, yeah?” she taunted. “Let’s see yours.”

  Nostrils flaring, Wrathgar brought his arm back and hurled Gustav at the pirate captain. He flew through the air like a burly, blond javelin and slammed hard into Jerica. The two of them crashed backward through a wooden bench.

  “Oh, no. You okay, Pirate Lady?” Gustav slurred groggily. Jerica lay groaning amid splintered planks of wood, cradling her left knee.

  “I got you away from him, didn’t I?” she said, wincing. “Can you walk?”

  “Of course,” he said, standing up. Then he immediately fell over.

  “Try again,” she said, pulling herself to her feet. Gustav stood up. He wobbled but managed to stay upright. “Good,” Jerica continued. “Now let’s go stop that . . . that . . . What is he, half hippo?”

  Gustav looked over his shoulder at Wrathgar. Having lost Gustav as his “weapon,” the gigantic Darian was now beating people with Mr. Troll.

  “Okay,” Gustav said woozily. He lowered his head and got ready to charge. “Stuuuurm—”

  Jerica grabbed him. “Not like that,” she said. “We need to distract him.”

  “With what?” Gustav asked, cringing at a sound that might have been crunching bone. “The only thing I’ve seen him stop for is his boss.”

  “Then let’s get his boss,” Jerica said. She pointed to the Mega-orb up on the stage. “I know how to use those things, remember?”

  While Wrathgar continued to decimate his opponents—roaring with delight the entire time—Gustav and Jerica limped up onto the stage and stood behind the colossal crystal ball. Jerica put her hands on the orb and waved them in a series of jerky gestures while she muttered words in a language Gustav didn’t understand. The Mega-orb began to glow. The otherworldly mists inside the globe swirled, and Lord Rundark’s scowling face appeared.

  “Wrathgar! What is going on over there?” the Warlord barked. The former dungeon keeper froze at the sound of that dark baritone voice. He dropped Mr. Troll into the pile of unconscious bodies around him and ran to the lip of the stage.

  “A revolt, Lord Rundark,” Wrathgar said, looking up into the enormous crystal. “But as you can see, I put an end to it.”

  “Are you the only one left?” the Warlor
d asked sharply.

  “I don’t see how that makes a difference,” Wrathgar said. “The rebellion has been quashed.”

  Behind the orb, Jerica whispered to Gustav. “Now.” With a grunt, they leaned their shoulders hard into the tremendous glass globe. It tipped forward off of its pedestal.

  “Wrathgar, I’m going to send some people over there to investigate the situation,” Rundark said.

  “No!” Wrathgar barked back. “I have everything under con— Why is your face moving down like that?”

  And the Mega-orb flattened him.

  Gustav and Jerica plopped themselves on the edge of the platform, as haggard princes, pirates, farmers, and trolls began dusting themselves off and tying up dazed Darians.

  “Parts of me hurt that I didn’t even know I had,” Gustav said. “But, hey, I just saved my kingdom.”

  “Actually,” said Jerica. “I think I saved your kingdom.”

  Gustav bristled. “You never would have been able to push that—”

  “Shut up, Goldilocks,” Jerica said. And she kissed him.

  39

  AN OUTLAW CATCHES UP WITH OLD FRIENDS

  Smimf had a very busy day. The young messenger crisscrossed kingdoms at supersonic speeds, delivering messages between the Princes Charming and their allies. As villagers and nobles alike worked to pull injured rebels from the rubble of the Erinthian palace, Liam and Ella read through their stack of letters. Val, holding herself up on crutches, stood by to listen.

  Dear Friends,

  Harmonia has been liberated! And astonishingly, I had something to do with it. But here is the REAL miracle: My father sent the entire Harmonian guard across the border to assist the people of Jangleheim! He said he couldn’t sit idly by while other nations suffered under the yoke of Darian oppression. MY FATHER did that; I had to check to make sure he was not still mesmerized. But I guess this experience has made him look at the world a bit differently. I hope you are all faring well.

  Sincerely,

  Frederic

  Hey guys,

  RUFFIAN IS ALIVE! Oh, and did you know that Yondale has a totally wicked navy? It’s just that nobody’s been using these guys for years, so they’ve just been fishing and giving tours and stuff. What a waste, right? I told sweet old King Edwyn to send a few ships over to Hithershire and a bunch more up to Svenlandia. And I’m going with them! I figured if I kicked the Darians out of Yondale with only a handful of bounty hunters, overthrowing them again with a few ships full of tough navy guys should be a piece of cake.

  Later!

  Lila

  HERE’S THE DEAL. STURMHAGEN IS FREE. JERICA IS A GOOD GUY. WRATHGAR IS UNDER A GIANT MARBLE. AND MY BROTHERS ARE STILL JERKS. BUT HALF OF THEM TOOK AN ARMY UP NORTH TO FIGHT IN FROSTHEIM. AND THE OTHER HALF ARE DOING THE SAME DOWN IN CARPAGIA. SO I GUESS THAT’S OKAY.

  —GUSTAV

  Fellow Heroes,

  You have to see this funny caterpillar I found! It looks like it has whiskers!

  Yours truly,

  Duncan

  “Amazing,” Liam said, looking up from the paper.

  “You think so?” Val said skeptically. “I’ve seen the kind of caterpillar he’s talking about. They’re pretty common.”

  “No, I feel like we’ve entered a new age,” Liam said. “People helping people . . . from other kingdoms. I still can’t believe I convinced my parents to send Erinthia’s troops down to Valerium.”

  “Excuse me, sir, Your Highness, sir,” Smimf said, reaching into his messenger’s bag. “I’ve got one more letter here. It’s not technically addressed to you, but I think you should read it. You see, on the way here, I passed a . . . well, a creature of some sort. He was fuzzy, with big pointy ears, sort of like my grandmother after she got bitten by that werewolf. Anyway, at first I thought this creature was dead—he was lying on the side of the road under a tree. But it turned out he was just sleeping. When I woke him, he said his name was . . . Hardrot, I believe. He said he was supposed to deliver a letter, but that he was just too tired to go on. Seeing that I was a messenger, he asked me if I could take it the rest of the way for him. But before I could ask him where it was going, he’d passed out again—just like my grandmother after she lost that poker game with the slumber fairies.”

  “Let me see the note, Smimf,” Liam said. The boy handed it to him, and Liam scanned it. “It’s from Gabberman,” he said. “And it is not good news. Smimf, I need you to take a message back to all the other League members. Tell them to meet at the tunnel entrance at the foot of Mount Batwing as soon as possible. Rundark is about to make his biggest move yet, and if we don’t stop him, all our victories thus far will be meaningless.”

  Even around Mount Batwing, winter was shuffling off, making room for spring. It was green grass now, rather than snow, that filled the cracks in the rocky rises at the foot of the mountain. Birds twittered among the branches of the pines as Liam and Ella rode up to the small clearing and dismounted to greet their friends. They were surprised to see only Frederic, Gustav, and Duncan waiting for them.

  Rapunzel, it turned out, had remained in Harmonia to administer medical aid to all the wounded fancy people. Jerica had quite a few injuries among her crew as well, and—with regrets—told Gustav that she had to see them taken care of before she could head off on another adventure. Lila was busy with the siege of Svenlandia’s royal castle. And Snow remained in Sylvaria, trying to coax King King down from a flagpole (he claimed to have a fear of charades now and had climbed the pole in terror after seeing someone make a hand gesture). Val was perhaps the sorriest to stay behind, but her broken leg hampered travel quite a bit.

  “Well, then I guess it’s just the five of us.” Liam said.

  “What’s the emergency?” Frederic asked. And so Liam pulled out Gabberman’s letter.

  “‘To Any o’ Ye Princes,’” he read aloud. “‘’Tis a sorry thing to be the bearer o’ bad news, but I’ve gleaned some information that ye princes need be hearing. Dire tidings it is, quite urgent. Arrrrr!’”

  “Did he actually write ‘Arrrrr’?” Frederic asked.

  “Yes,” said Liam. He continued reading: “‘We been ported off the coast o’ Yondale for a spell, and tonight we seen a suspicious vessel come into the harbor. So we snooped around a bit, and we seen that her crew was Dar folk. They was unloading some o’ the strangest cargo this old pirate’s ever set eyes on. Cannonballs, they looked like—’bout the size o’ witches’ cauldrons. And glowin’ with a fierce light, like somethin’ inside of ’em was fixin’ to explode. We heard ’em talkin’ ’bout these doohickeys like they was bombs. “Just one of these puppies’ll take down an entire castle,” says one. “With his mega-cannon, the Warlord can launch ’em from New Dar all the way to Frostheim,” says another. “I hates it when a dragonfly lands in me grog,” says a third (though I don’t think that was relevant). Anyways, there’s thirteen o’ them glowin’ bomb thingies on a wagon headed for New Dar as we speak. Or as we write, rather. Or as I write and you read. Aye, that’s it. Good luck stoppin’ the bombs! Yers Saltily, Cap’n Horatio Gabberman.’”

  “I can’t believe it,” Frederic said.

  “I know,” said Duncan, equally wide-eyed. “Horatio? That’s a ridiculous name!”

  Gustav raised an eyebrow. “What am I missing here?” he said.

  “Don’t you see?” Frederic said. “Those glowing cannonballs Gabberman saw? They’re the magical bombs that Zaubera had planned to destroy our island with. The Darians must have dug them up and are bringing them back to Rundark.”

  “Who apparently has a cannon capable of launching those bombs anywhere he wants,” Ella added. “If he can’t control our kingdoms, he’s going to destroy them.”

  “We need to stop that shipment of bombs before it gets to Rundark,” Liam said. “Ella and I rode through the night, using Ruffian’s mountain shortcut, which only took two days. Since the Darians are carting a big, heavy wagon, we can assume they’ll need to take the main shipping road
down from Yondale, which requires at least four days’ travel. So the bomb wagon should most likely arrive here the day after tomorrow. We should have plenty of time to head along the mountains to the north of Rauberia and set up an ambush.”

  “I have a question,” Duncan said, raising his hand. “If it takes four days to get here from Yondale, why are the Darians not arriving until the day after tomorrow? Do you think they’ll stop at Woolly Wally’s Alpaca Farm? I know I would.”

  “What are you talking about, Duncan?” Liam asked.

  “The alpaca farm in southern Yondale. They let you feed the alpacas. And pet them. You’re technically not supposed to ride them, but I kind of did once, which is why I’m not allowed back.”

  “No, Duncan—why are you questioning the time frame?” Liam said brusquely.

  “Oh. Because of the date on here.” He handed the letter back over to Liam, pointing to some numbers scrawled on the reverse side.

  “It’s dated four days ago,” Liam breathed urgently.

  “Let’s move!” Ella barked. She was already on her horse. “Those bombs are arriving today!”

  They mounted up and galloped out along the edge of the vast meadow that surrounded Rundark’s castle. Keeping close to the eaves of the forest, they moved westward, trying to stay out of view of the guards who patrolled the ramparts of the eighty-foot-tall Wall of Secrecy. In five minutes, there it was—the huge iron gate of the fortress. And the heroes were able to catch the briefest glimpse of a bomb-filled wagon rolling inside. And the gate slammed shut.

  “Quick, everyone!” Liam ordered. “Back to the secret tunnel!” He turned his horse around, but Frederic held up his hands to stop him.

  “No tunnel—we already checked,” Frederic said. “It’s completely sealed up, packed full with rocks and dirt. Rundark must have discovered it after our last encounter.”

  Liam flopped forward, burying his face in Thunderbreaker’s mane and muttering, “Why, Gabberman? Why did you send the narcoleptic half-ogre to deliver your urgent message?”