Gustav assessed the situation. He could take three bandits, he thought. Especially with Mr. Troll. Wait a minute—where was Mr. Troll? The big, hairy thing must have wandered off at some point. And then it hit him that Duncan was missing, too. “Great,” he muttered.
“The castle is this way,” said Vero. “So if you would be so kind as to follow us.”
Briar stuck her head out again, ready to lash into the bandits with one of her patented “Do you realize who you’re talking to” speeches, but quickly thought the better of it and ducked back inside. If I’m seen here, the entire plan is kaput, she thought.
The bandit scouts—one bald with pasty white skin, the other hairy and covered in metal facial piercings—tried to peer in past the stack of baskets that Briar had quickly piled in front of herself.
“Who is your passenger?” Vero asked. “An individual of great wealth, no doubt. Her taste in hairstyles is mwah!” He made a kissing sound and nodded approvingly.
“Dunky?” Snow called as she looked around anxiously. “Where are you, Dunky?”
“I am sorry, miss, but your donkey will have to wait,” Vero said. “Please reverse the direction of your vehicle. We will be starting back to the castle immediately.”
“Maybe some other time,” Lila said.
Vero raised a finger disapprovingly. “I do not think you understand me, young lady.”
“I’ll give you something you don’t understand!” Gustav shouted. Without warning, he rammed Seventeen into Vero’s horse, knocking the swordsman from his saddle.
“Flee, girl!” Gustav cried.
Lila didn’t need to be told twice. She cracked the reins and sped off with the wagon.
Gustav leapt to the ground, drew his battleax, and faced Vero.
“I will take care of this one,” Vero told the other scouts. “You two follow the wagon.” The bandits on horseback sped off after Lila, Snow, and Briar.
“Now, my long-haired friend,” said Vero. “We shall fight, no?”
The wagon barreled along the mountainside, churning up a trail of billowing dirt and dust behind it. Every few feet another sharp, jutting rock would jar everyone on board. Lila tried desperately to hold on to the reins, while next to her, Snow dug her fingernails into the wooden driver’s bench to keep from flying off. Inside, Briar’s voluminous mound of hair became flatter and flatter each time her head hit the roof, and random knickknacks and tchotchkes spilled from Snow’s baskets.
The bald bandit rode up next to Lila and smiled at her. She flinched when she realized the man’s teeth had been filed into pointy fangs. He reached out and tried to grab on to the speeding wagon, but Lila kicked his hand away, grateful for once that her mother made her wear such pointy shoes.
As the first bandit lost ground, the second was quickly catching up to them on the opposite side, his eyebrow, nose, and lip rings jangling as his steed bounded along. He sneered at Snow White.
“Throw something at him,” Lila shouted.
Snow puzzled over her options for a second. Then, with a high-pitched little “Ooh” (which was, frankly, too adorable for the circumstances), she bent down and pulled off her shoes. She tossed one shoe and then the other at the pursuing bandit. Each hit him square in the face, causing him to growl in fury but not really slowing him down.
Snow slid open a small window to the wagon’s interior. “I need more stuff,” she called.
Briar put aside her indignation at being told what to do by a “lesser princess” and reached into the nearest of Snow’s baskets. She grabbed the first object her fingers touched: a feather duster. She passed the duster out to Snow, who tossed it, handle first, at the bandit. It flew like a dart and lodged itself through the loop of the man’s big nose ring. His horse swerved as he tried to see past the feathers that were now sticking up in front of his eyes.
“More stuff!” Snow yelled.
Briar handed one item after another up to Snow—a ball of yarn, wooden spoon, a HOME SWEET HOME pillow, a bottle of ink, a pouch of potpourri. Snow whipped each of them at the bandit, and each item gave the man an annoying slap in the face. Finally Snow reached down and found a lopsided ceramic mug placed in her hand. She paused, staring wistfully at the mug, which she’d crafted herself as a gift for Duncan (she’d painted a picture of a flute on it, although Duncan assumed the image was supposed to be an alligator named Fluke). But this was no time for sentimentality.
She hurled the alligator/flute mug and watched it crash between the eyes of the pursuing bandit. The man toppled backward off his horse.
“Did you see that?” Snow asked, turning to Lila. But Lila was too busy trying to fight off the pointy-toothed bandit, who had leapt from his horse onto the speeding wagon.
“Get off, Freakface,” Lila grunted as she tried to push the man away. The bandit’s foot slipped and he tumbled downward, but not before grabbing hold of Lila’s arm. Snow yelped as Lila disappeared over the side.
“That is a very big ax you have,” Vero said. He faced Gustav in a dueling stance, his sword held out in front of him. “Impressive to look at. But not so graceful as my rapier, I would think.”
Gustav roared and let loose with a swing of his ax that could have cut down three full-grown trees. Vero ducked it easily and swiped upward with his sword, slicing through one of the leather straps that held Gustav’s armor in place.
Gustav raised the battleax high overhead in preparation for another strike. Vero danced around him and—thwick, thwick—two more straps popped loose.
“Surely you can do better than this, no?” Vero asked. “You are, as my people say, not so tough. Yes?”
Gustav huffed and slammed his ax down hard. Vero casually sidestepped it, and the ax planted itself firmly in the rocky ground.
“This duel—it is not nearly as much fun as I had hoped,” said the swordsman. “Perhaps you would like to start over?”
As Gustav struggled to pull his ax free, Vero swung at him, severing yet another strap. Gustav’s armor clanged to the ground, leaving his upper half clad only in a light undershirt.
“Starf it all.”
“I am sensing you are not much for conversation,” Vero said with disappointment.
Gustav charged the swordsman. Vero tripped him and then pointed his blade at the chest of his fallen opponent.
“This is so often the mistake of the rich,” Vero said. “They hire for their bodyguards such large and muscular brutes—no offense. But strength alone will not protect these wealthy people. Wits and skill will always win over pure muscle.”
“Hey, look what we found! This rock totally looks like Frank!” Duncan appeared from behind a large boulder, holding up an oddly shaped stone. Mr. Troll was by his side.
Vero’s attention snapped to the newcomers. “Troll!” he shouted, a dire look on his face. “Troll! Troll!” He reached for a horn on his belt to call for reinforcements.
Before Vero could sound the alarm, however, Gustav kicked upward as hard as he could, slamming his steel boot into a very sensitive area of the bandit’s body. The swordsman crumpled to the ground, and Gustav scrambled to his feet.
“Nice to see you, Hairy Scary,” Gustav said to Mr. Troll. “Where were you when I needed you?”
“Rock really is very funny,” Mr. Troll offered by way of an explanation.
“Seventeen!” Gustav called, and quickly hopped into his saddle. “This way, everyone! Hurry!”
Duncan, who was beginning to grasp the situation, climbed up onto Papa Scoots Jr. and followed, with Mr. Troll sprinting right behind.
About a half mile away, Snow’s driverless wagon was careening out of control.
“Take the reins!” Briar shouted through the small window.
Snow hesitated. “Frank usually drives our wagon! I don’t know how!”
“Learn fast,” Briar yelled. “You’re the only one up there!”
Snow reached for the reins and gave them a hard yank. The well-trained horses slowed in an instant. “Ha!” Snow said
with a smile. “That wasn’t so hard.”
“Great,” Briar said. “Now steer us west. Take the first pass you find back through the mountains toward Avondell.”
“But we have to go back for Lila,” Snow said.
“Argh,” Briar growled. “That girl wasn’t even supposed to be part of the plan. Fine! Turn around!”
Snow experimented with the reins, and by pulling them hard in one direction, she discovered the miracle of the U-turn. A few minutes later, Snow and Briar could see the pointy-toothed bandit walking along the wastes, pushing Lila in front of him as he went. Briar rifled through Snow’s baskets and came across one of Duncan’s old trophies: a bronze statuette of a prancing man covered in birds, on the base of which was etched MIDWINTER REGIONAL BIRD-FEEDING CHAMPION.
“Go slowly and get as close to him as you can,” Briar said.
The bandit heard the wagon coming up behind him and whirled around angrily, his hand on the hilt of his sword. But he paused when he realized the vehicle wasn’t trying to run him down; it was rolling right past him. Very slowly. He never imagined Briar would suddenly lean out from the back and swing a bird-feeding trophy at his head like a club. But she did. The bandit dropped to the dirt with a thud.
“Victory!” Briar sang out.
Snow brought the wagon to a stop.
“Thanks, Briar,” Lila said breathlessly.
Briar snorted. “I couldn’t have you ruining the mission, could I? Now hurry up and get back on the wagon. We need to be out of Rauberia this instant.” She slunk back inside.
Lila was uneasy but climbed up onto the driver’s bench next to Snow.
Briar peered up at her through the little window. “Oh, and west is that way,” she said, pointing.
“Yeah, I know,” Lila muttered, and slid the window shut. She took the reins back from Snow and was about to crack them when she saw Gustav, Duncan, and Mr. Troll heading toward them in the distance. Lila flashed Gustav a thumbs-up to let him know they were all right. He responded by nodding and pointing westward. Then he took Duncan and Mr. Troll and turned back the way they’d come.
“They want us to go back without them,” Lila whispered to Snow.
“But where will they go?” Snow asked.
“They’re going to try to find Ruffian on their own,” Lila said, and felt an unpleasant gurgling in her belly. But Briar knew exactly where they were now; Lila had no choice but to take her home. She cracked the reins and headed west. “Gustav, Duncan, and a troll. That’s not going to turn out well.” She didn’t know the half of it.
“Great,” Gustav said. “The girls are okay, and we’ve finally ditched Miss Prissy-Britches. Now we just need to hustle on to Flargstagg so we can ambush that bounty hunter before he ambushes our buddies.”
“Ah.” Mr. Troll smiled. “Troll finally get to try out techniques Angry Man taught in ambush class.”
“You got it, Awful Clawful,” Gustav said, spurring his horse. “Let’s move before Rauber’s anti-troll brigade comes gunning for us.”
As they went, Duncan rode up alongside him.
“Seriously, Gustav, you’ve got to see this rock,” he said, holding the odd stone out to his friend. “Doesn’t it look just like Frank?”
Gustav glanced over at the stone and couldn’t help chuckling. “Yeah, it does.”
13
THE VILLAIN FEEDS THE FISH
A successful warlord demands loyalty from his followers but gives his loyalty to no one. This may mean that the birthday cards you receive from your henchmen are not written out of genuine emotion, but that is a small price to pay for supreme power.
—THE WARLORD’S PATH TO POWER: AN ANCIENT TOME OF DARIAN WISDOM
“What do you mean, ‘There were trespassers’?” Deeb Rauber stood on his throne so he could literally get in Vero’s face. He flipped up his unnecessary eye patch in order to give his swordsman a full, unabridged stink-eye. “That can’t possibly be true,” the boy continued, “because if there really were trespassers, you would have captured them and brought them to me.”
Vero didn’t flinch. Nor did the two scouts, both transplants from Dar, who stood behind him. “This is, of course, what we attempted to make happen, Your Highness,” Vero said casually. “However, apprehending these particular intruders—it was, as they say in my country, not to be. Still, I thought you should know.”
“I’m disappointed, Vero,” Rauber said. “You blew it big-time. You’re supposed to be my right-hand man. I can’t have you embarrassing me in front of the Warlord.”
“Too late for that,” Lord Rundark intoned. The dark-eyed warrior strode in, his beard-braids bouncing on his wide chest as he walked. “Where I come from, such a misstep is unacceptable. Your highest-ranking officer has failed you. You are right to be embarrassed.”
Fig. 21
VERO
Rauber bit his lip. This sounded like scolding. He didn’t like scolding. Scolding was what got his parents locked up in a cupboard.
“However, in Dar we say that a leader can be forgiven the mistakes of his followers,” Rundark continued. “Provided the underlings are properly punished.” He folded his arms, watched, and waited.
Rauber stroked his preteen chin as if it were covered with the beard he was still years away from growing. He had to think about this carefully. He liked Vero; he didn’t want to do anything too harsh to the guy. But if he wanted to keep Rundark and his men around, he knew he’d have to impress the Warlord.
“Who were these people that you and your two buddies here couldn’t manage to capture, Vero?” Rauber asked.
“We did not get their names,” Vero said. His eyes darted over to Rundark, and the sheer intensity of the Warlord’s stare made him recoil just a bit. “It was a rich lady in a wagon driven by two girls,” Vero admitted. “They had a bodyguard with them.”
“One bodyguard!” Rauber shouted in exasperation. “Oh, Vero, that’s pathetic. I might have to send you down to Wrathgar.”
Vero went white. The two Darian scouts behind him swallowed hard.
“Surely, Your Highness, you do not need to do anything so drastic,” the swordsman said. “If I might remind you, there have been some men who have never recovered from the . . . adjustments Wrathgar made to their bodies.”
Rauber glanced over at Rundark. He couldn’t read anything in the Warlord’s cold, hard stare. “Sorry, Vero,” the Bandit King said. “You bumbled.”
“There was a troll,” Vero blurted. “There was a troll, Your Highness. This is why we could not apprehend the trespassers.”
“A troll?” Rauber began breathing in loud, heavy snorts.
The two scouts nodded, backing up Vero’s claim.
“Repelling trolls from Rauberia takes top priority: This you said yourself, sir,” Vero argued. “When the troll appeared, I focused my attention on the beast. It was only then that the intruders were able to flee.”
Rauber was still seething but managed to slow his breath and appear a bit calmer. “Well, this changes things,” he said. He looked to Rundark. “It’s true. My men have a standing order to drop everything if they see a stupid, stinking troll slopping its way onto my property. I hate those broccoli-headed, onion-reeking, marsh-faced, cruddy-eyed, lemon-knuckled—”
“Sir?” Vero interjected.
“Where was I?” Rauber asked. “Oh, yeah. Vero, you’re off the hook. For now.”
Vero breathed a sigh of relief.
“Your men may have to follow this rule about trolls,” Lord Rundark said as he strolled over to the quivering Darian scouts. “But mine have no such order. And a lesson still must be learned.”
The Warlord lifted the nose-ringed scout by his throat. He carried the man, flailing, to an open window, where he held him outside and dropped him into the moat three stories below. The man’s shrieks echoed across the wastes as the bladejaw eels went to work.
Rauber was agape, unable to decide whether Rundark’s act had been terrifying or awesome. “You gonna do the
guy with the pointy teeth, too?” he asked.
Lord Rundark shook his head. “No, Falco will be spared for the moment,” he said. “I doubt he will make such a mistake again.”
The bald scout stood at attention, blinking sweat from his eyes.
“Come, Falco,” Rundark said. “It’s time for barracks inspections.” The Warlord strode from Rauber’s throne room, with Falco scurrying at his heels.
Rauber, filled with unfocused energy, paced around snapping his fingers rapidly. His heart was pounding.
“Sir, if I may,” Vero ventured. “Having the Darians here—you still think this a good idea?”
“Good idea?” Rauber burst out. He leapt from his seat and grabbed Vero by the shirt. “It’s the best idea I’ve ever had! I’ve been playing this king thing all wrong. I thought I was tough—but I can’t begin to compare to Rundark. That man is the real deal. He’s heartless. He’ll stop at nothing. A guy like that could rule the whole world someday. And that’s no good. Because I wanna rule the world someday.”
“What is it you are saying, sir?”
“I’ve gotta take Rundark down. He thinks he’s so big and scary and impressive—”
“He is big, scary, and impressive,” Vero said.
“But he won’t be after I embarrass him in front of my entire army.” Rauber fell back into his throne and started cackling with glee. “Vero, the circus is coming in a few days. And I’m going to make sure the grand finale is the utter humiliation of Warlord Rundork! I’m talking cow pies in the face, bucket of slime over the head—maybe even a good ol’ pantsing! When I’m through with him, he’ll be too embarrassed to ever show his face around here again. And to think—he said I wasn’t a serious villain!”
14
A HERO STARTS NEW TRADITIONS
Know your enemy. If you don’t, who will you aim your sword at?
—THE HERO’S GUIDE TO BEING A HERO
Crouched behind the smoke-spewing chimney of the Stumpy Boarhound, Ruffian the Blue watched Liam, Ella, and Little Taylor ride away through the dark, ramshackle streets of Flargstagg. He crawled along the uneven roof, grabbed the rickety gutter, and flipped himself down into a slime-drenched alley, where he found Duncan and Gustav waiting for him.
The Hero's Guide to Storming the Castle (The League of Princes) Page 14
