Frog the Barbarian

by Guy Bass

  “Yes, save us! Save us again!” shrieked the old man.

  “You’re too late, Captain Camperlash,” said the woman. “This determined little gobbin did your job for you.”

  “He did? He did!” concurred the King, happily.

  “I am not a gobbin,” Frog began. “I’m a—Wait, did he say, ‘King and Queen’?”

  “Mud-suckin’ gobbin spewn! Shut yer hole an’ avert yer ogle!” growled Captain Camperlash, his face redder than bloodberries. He brandished his sword in Frog’s direction. “None may look upon the Majesties without prior appointment!”

  “Unclench, Captain,” said the woman. “This creature clearly does not know that he is in the presence of the sovereign monarchs of Kingdomland.”

  “The wuh?” blurted Frog.

  “Hello gobbin,” she said, holding out her hand. “We are the King and Queen of Everything.”

  The Champion of Kingdomland

  “You’re the King and Queen?” Frog asked, inappropriately high-fiving the Queen.

  “Are we?” blurted the King.

  Frog peered at them through wide eyes, suddenly remembering a grand painting he’d seen two days ago in the royal palace – a portrait of the King and Queen of Everything. The noble, trim-bearded, shiny-crowned king in that picture looked nothing like this fat, crumb-faced old potato … but the resemblance of the woman to the copper-haired Queen suddenly struck him like a shyclops’ club to the head.

  It was them – Princess Rainbow’s parents – the rulers of Kingdomland.

  “Then you’ve heard of us, at least,” the Queen snorted. “I was beginning to suspect that you’d spent your whole life under a rock.”

  “Actually, it was a farty little island,” Frog replied. “I’m trying to get back there. Do you know the way to the waterfall in the sky?” He pointed to the waterfall behind them. “Like that, but much, much, much, much, much, much, much, much bigger.”

  “You know, we could use a quick-thinking young warrior like you,” said the Queen. “A great battle awaits the Royal Army of Everything. A just crusade against our sworn enemy. What say you? Would you pledge your sword to the one true cause? Could you be a champion of Kingdomland?”

  “Champion?” blurted Captain Camperlash.

  “Champion?” repeated Frog. He’d never considered it.

  Things You Can Do If You Don’t Want to Be a Prince Anymoor

  Expllorer

  Arm Ressler

  Dog trayner

  “I left our current champion in the palace, guarding the princess,” the Queen continued. “But Man Lor has taken one too many blows to the head to be of any use on our crusades. So, what do you say, Frog? Do you think you’ve got what it takes?”

  Frog rubbed his chin. Since he’d spent most of his life thinking he was a royal prince, becoming a royal champion would, technically, be a demotion. But Buttercup had always said he should be good – and what could be more good than battling enemies and being mighty on a day-to-day basis?

  The big question, thought Frog. This could be the answer!

  “But Majesty! A muck-eyed gobbin in the royal army?” growled Camperlash, shocking Frog out of his reverie. “They’re soil-sacks, the lot of ’em! Did we not just spend the last month crushin’ a gobbin rebellion in the Upside-Downtains?”

  “For the last— I am not a gobbin! My name is Frog … and my nostrils are mightier than you,” began Frog. “I just defeated a whole shyclops while you were still tying up your bootlaces! Plus you should have seen all the mightiness I did at the royal palace! Just ask Princess Rainbow – I was—”

  “What d’you know of Her Tremendously Royal Princess Rainbow, y’ newt-suckin’ unwash?” interrupted Camperlash. “An’ what was you doin’ at the royal palace?”

  “I – I…” Frog bit his lip. It had been two days since he had saved Princess Rainbow and defeated the Kroakan invaders. But he had also accidentally brought about the destruction of the royal palace. Since he had just been offered the role of Kingdomland’s champion, he thought it might be better not to tell the King and the Queen the whole truth. So, Frog did something he’d never done before.

  He lied.

  “I just … popped in for polished sandwiches, that’s all,” he said, awkwardly. “It was actually pretty uneventful…”

  The Queen peered at Frog. The captain peered at Frog. Then:

  “He’s green like peas,” the King interjected. “I like peas.”

  “That settles it then!” laughed the Queen. “Frog, by the powers vested in me – by me – I hereby enlist you to the Royal Army of Everything.”

  “Great!” said Frog. “But first, I need to get back to the island. I need to get back to—”

  “Frog,” interrupted the Queen, as if she owned his name. “The King and Queen of Everything are requesting your aid. Whatever else you have to do, can it not wait until you have secured your legend as champion – perhaps even the greatest champion Kingdomland has ever known?”

  Camperlash huffed loudly, but the Queen’s words had already filled Frog’s brain. Perhaps finding Buttercup could wait – just for a while. Perhaps she would be even more impressed that he was a mighty champion instead of a prince. A wide grin spread across Frog’s face.

  “That’s what I thought,” added the Queen. “Captain, give our young champion here a horse.”

  “You mean a steed? No need!” Frog cried. “Sheriff Explosion! Your master summons you!”

  Frog gestured to the treeline. After a pause Sheriff Explosion emerged, chewing lazily on a flower.

  “See?” said Frog, proudly.

  “Baa,” added the sheep.

  The Royal Army

  With his trusty steed in tow, Frog followed the King and Queen through the dusky-blue forest, a smile fixed to his face. Even the swarm of imp-O-lights that flitted around him, farting and burping in his ears, couldn’t dampen his mood.

  “I’m going to be the mightiest, most folk-saving champion ever,” he said. “I don’t know why I didn’t think of it before. I’ll do so much goodness I’ll peace-up the whole world. BU-DOOSH! FWA-POW! KA-PEACE!”

  “Baa,” bleated Sheriff Explosion.

  “Then straight after that,” Frog added, “I’ll go back to the island and get Butter—”

  “I’ve got my eyes on you, y’ crusted flem,” hissed a tomato-cheeked Camperlash, peering down on Frog from his horse as they trotted past. “Y’ think yer somethin’ special, but the Queen’s always doin’ this – she goes through new champions like tomorrow ain’t comin’. Why, even I was— Never mind.” He trotted closer and snarled, “The King and Queen’s my responsibility. Y’ even look at ’em funny with them fat gobbin eyes and I’ll gut you like a gulper, got it?”

  “Pfff – weren’t you paying attention? I’m the champion! Cham-pee-on,” replied Frog, striding ahead into a large, circular clearing. “When did you last do something hero—Uuh?”

  Even in the failing light of dusk, Frog could see dozens of armed and armoured royal warriors. They were gathered round campfires, feeding horses, sharpening swords and eating hearty portions of unfussy, unpolished sandwiches.

  They looked like they were getting ready for a fight.

  “Yoiks … you must have a million soldiers. Maybe even a hundred,” Frog noted, dragging his steed along as he caught up with the King and Queen.

  “Four hundred and two, at the last count,” said the Queen. They made their way through the camp, soldiers peering suspiciously at the green stranger in their midst. “It is not easy being the King and Queen of Everything, Frog. We wish for the realms to exist together in peace. If they do not, we must impose peace upon them.”

  “Peas!” the King added. “It’s easier if we all like peas…”

  “But there are those who wish to sow discord,” the Queen continued, guiding Frog and his sheep inside a large, tented area. “They are the enemies of Kingdomland – the enemies of peace.”

  Frog put his hands upon his hips.

>   “I’ll make them want peace, just you watch,” he said. “I’m skilled-up like you wouldn’t believe.”

  AN IMPORTUNT LIST OF WHAT MAKES FROG A CHAMPION

  Mighty legs for jumping

  Excellent strong mussuls

  Most non-stoppabul by a million

  Kroak Kloak for doing invisible

  magic ninja things

  Allways makes the rite choice

  Good

  Qwite handsum

  The Queen took the deepest, longest breath of air Frog had ever seen.

  “Tomorrow, we go to war,” she said. She made her way over to a small banquet table, which was piled high with polished sandwiches and rim-full cups of runnymead. She handed one cup to Frog and another to the King. “But tonight, we honour our new champion. Make us proud, Frog.”

  “I’ll champion like crazy! I’ll make you so proud that even if all your hair fell out you wouldn’t care,” Frog assured them. He swigged the runnymead and fed his sheep a sandwich. In that moment, he felt better than he had in ages.

  But a day later, Frog wished he’d never met the King and Queen of Everything.

  The UnSlumber

  That night, with his belly full of sandwiches and runnymead (and snuggled against the warm wool of his trusty steed) Frog slept more soundly than he had since leaving the island. Until:

  “Turnips!”

  Frog sat upright. The stale, burpish smell was unmistakable – Buttercup loved nothing more than boiling a freshly dug batch in the morning. Frog rubbed his eyes and looked around. The morning sun seeped in through threadbare curtains, picking out familiar shapes – the quill pen sitting in its pot … shelves of princely journals … the rock with a face drawn on it.

  He was back in his bedroom, on the Island at the Edge of the End of the World.

  He was home.

  “What the … what?” Frog muttered, leaping out of bed. Sheriff Explosion was nowhere to be seen, nor the Queen, King or royal army. Frog hurried out of his bedroom and into the kitchen. Sure enough, standing with her back to him, stirring a simmering pot of turnips, was the plump, curly-haired figure of—

  “Buttercup!” Frog cried. He ran over and gave her such a mighty hug that she gasped with laughter. “I missed you! And the World hasn’t Ended! And I’m from outer space! And … how am I here?”

  “Oh, my dear Frog, I missed you so much…” Buttercup said, holding his face. Frog looked up at her – and his eyes grew wide.

  “Uh, you have a moustache,” Frog replied.

  Buttercup reached up and felt the thick, dark hair on her top lip.

  “So I do,” she replied, stroking her moustache with a smile. “Fancy that.”

  “What’s … going on?” uttered Frog, suddenly suspicious.

  “You know, these things aren’t half bad,” said a bone-shaking rumble of a voice. Frog spun round to see the rarewolf, perched uncomfortably – impossibly – on a stool at the kitchen table. He was munching on a turnip. “Don’t get me wrong, I’d rather eat a rain-deer, but as vegetables go, they have a rustic charm.”

  “Rarewolf! How did you get away from the mystery Kroakan? Is she still messing with your brain-juice? How did—” Frog froze, peering at the rarewolf. “Wait a miniature… Is this a dream? This is a dream, isn’t it…”

  “Call it what you like,” huffed the rarewolf. “It’s nothing to do with me. I’m just a figment of your imagination. Like them.”

  Frog noticed the other chairs around the table were suddenly occupied. Princess Rainbow waved at him, and he saw that she had polished sandwiches instead of hands. Next to her sat the wizard, Oldasdust, who – despite being dead – crunched on a plateful of his own magical talismans.

  “Ignore them, Frog. Only I am real,” explained Buttercup. “Think of it as me visiting you in dreamland … a meeting of our conscious and subconscious minds. It is called the UnSlumber.”

  “Wuh?” replied Frog.

  Buttercup added, “Apparently in the back of your mind I have facial hair.”

  “What the bumbles? How are you doing dream visits?” asked Frog. “You never did that on the island.”

  “I never had to – you were always there in the next room!” laughed Buttercup. She paused. “Frog, I hope you know I’ve always wanted the best for you.”

  “Yep, I know – you tried to save me from the End of the World!” replied Frog. “Except … except I just told you the World hasn’t Ended … and you don’t even seem surprised.”

  Buttercup returned to stirring turnips. “One day, I hope you’ll forgive me,” she said, finally. “I hope you’ll understand that I was only trying to save you … from your destiny.”

  “Destiny? Destiny is bumdrops! Why is everyone so worried about it?” replied Frog. “Anyway, you’ve got it backwards – you don’t save me, I save you! You should have seen all the saving I did last week…”

  Buttercup bowed her head, as if her thoughts were heavy.

  “Frog, listen to me,” she began. “When you left the island … the future began. There are things happening now that are out of everyone’s control. You must be ready.”

  “Were you not listening?” replied Frog. “The End of the World alien space invasion is over! I stopped it.”

  Buttercup took Frog’s hand and guided him to the back door.

  “Did you?” she asked, opening the door.

  Frog expected to see the back garden, with its burpy vegetable patch and lonely tree – and beyond, the calm waters of the Inbetween. What he saw was a vast expanse of outer space, a universe of darkness and stars, stretching out endlessly in every direction.

  “Yoiks…” whispered Frog. He peered into the void. There, waiting, hovering in the ocean of space, were dozens of huge, oil-black, saucer-shaped objects – each as smooth as a pebble. A grating, blood-chilling hum filled the air.

  “What are they?” whispered Frog.

  “The future,” replied Buttercup. “Run and hide, Frog – there’s no shame in it. Run and hide.”

  “Run and hide?” repeated Frog. “I’ve never runned and hid in my— Yoiks!”

  Frog saw the ground evaporate under his feet. He tried to hang on but Buttercup was gone … along with the rarewolf … the princess … the house … everything.

  Frog fell into darkness, his scream swallowed by the vacuum of space.

  AAAAAAAAAAAAAaaaaaaaaaa…

  The Valley of the Bragon

  “Up! Up, y’ sluggan snails!”

  “AAAA— wuh?” groaned Frog, Captain Camperlash’s cries waking him with a start. He opened his eyes to find Sheriff Explosion staring blankly back at him.

  “Baa?” said his sheep. Frog’s eyes darted around. He was back in the tent, freezing air biting at his fingers and toes.

  “I just had the loop-de-doopiest dream – at least I think I did,” he said, rubbing his temples. “Buttercup knew that the World hadn’t Ended, and Princess Rainbow and the rarewolf were there, and all sorts. It was bonkers. Maybe I had too much runnymead last night…”

  Frog shook off the dream and leaped out of bed. He quickly pulled on his catastrophe pants and stepped outside.

  “What the … what?”

  It was as if the world had been transformed overnight. A thick blanket of snow covered every field, forest, hill and mountain as far as the eye could see.

  Almost as impressive was the sight of the great royal army decamping and saddling up. Captain Camperlash was already on horseback, his face turning cherry red as he rallied the troops.

  “Wits an’ swords about you, armpits! Today we teach that tainted bragon who rules this land!”

  “Bragon?” repeated Frog.

  “An enemy of peace,” said a voice. Frog spun round to see the Queen of Everything, clad head to toe in battle-worn golden armour. In her hands she held a pair of leather-bound boots lined with thick fur.

  “Here, I brought you a gift,” she said, handing them to Frog.

  “Thanks!” he replied. “It has bee
n a few days since I felt my toes.”

  “A champion cannot afford to get cold feet,” the Queen said with a smile. “So, are you ready to show that bragon who’s boss?”

  “I’m the teacher – and I only teach defeat!” Frog replied, putting his hands on his hips. “Also, what’s a bragon?”

  The Bragon

  The Queen says the bragon is a full-on enemmy of Kingdomland. He’s allways boasting on abowt how grate he is even though he’s definitely not. Akshully he is really bad. He has wings to way owt here and mad fangs and crazed awfull stink breth and he does so much badness that he neads to be stopped. The Queen says he’s dangeruss to peas pease peace in Kingdomland and that probubly only the most skilled-up champion ever can defeat him. Luckilee she knows one.

  Frog closed his book. He pulled his cape around him and stared at his new, deliciously warm boots. He had been marching through the snow for most of the day (his trusty steed following behind) and had all but forgotten his strange dream. Much mightier, he thought, to focus on something real, being a bragon-defeating champion.

  “Are we nearly there yet?” asked Frog for the eighty-third time. He looked up over the soldiers’ heads and saw the sun start to dip below the horizon. As they made their way into a wide valley, large crimson-red mountains loomed large on either side, glinting like quartz where the snow had not settled. At the base of the mountains, cavernous openings in the rock led into shadowy tunnels.

  The army was halfway through the valley when Frog saw Captain Camperlash stop his horse and raise a fist high into the air. The army ground to a halt. There was a long, tense silence, then: