The Hero's Guide to Being an Outlaw (30 page)

With a fizzle, the magic bolts stopped flying. Frederic stood, panting, unsure of whether Zaubera was still in control. All was quiet except for the faint pop and crackle of the fuse that was a mere inch from unleashing massive destruction.

“Go for the fuse,” Ella whispered to Liam. “Now.”

Liam darted for the cannon. But Rundark leapt out from behind the great gun. He stood there under its massive, up-tilted barrel, blocking Liam’s way. “The end of your world begins now,” the Warlord said.

Then Frederic raised his hand and loosed an energy bolt that slammed into the base of the cannon. The crank spun wildly, and thirty feet of iron cannon barrel came down on Rundark’s head. The Warlord’s skull helmet cracked in half as the man fell. But he wasn’t down for long. Dizzied, and angrier than ever, he crawled out from under the giant weapon—which was only seconds away from firing.

Zaubera’s spectral form whooshed out of Frederic’s body.

“What are you doing?” Frederic blurted. “He’s still coming!”

“Do you think those people out there are going to give
me
credit if they see skinny Prince Charming shooting down the big bad guy?” the witch said. “No, I’ll finish this myself.”

Blinded by rage, Rundark roared and ran at the ghost. Zaubera, glowing bright and fierce, flew straight back at him. And instead of passing through him, she knocked him backward. Rundark staggered in confusion. And the phantom witch pounded into him again. He stumbled up against the open mouth of the cannon, his eyes wide with shock. One final jolt from Zaubera, and the Warlord tumbled into the cannon barrel. Then the hand crank started spinning and the barrel began rising, and with an ear-shattering boom, the cannon fired. The otherworldly bomb—with Warlord of Dar draped over it—hurtled into the sky. With a gleeful grin on her phantom face, Zaubera zoomed up at tremendous speeds to follow it. And when her ghostly form reached the bomb, it exploded. The blast could be seen from every one of the Thirteen Kingdoms—not just through the vision orbs, but up in the sky among distant clouds.

Frederic, feeling comfortably un-strong again, walked over to the vision orb on the platform. “Ladies and gentlemen,” he said. “That . . . spirit you saw was that of a . . . magic-user named Zaubera. She just stopped a madman from destroying the world. Remember her name: Zaubera. Because she just saved your kingdom.”

With a soft crackle, the orb—and all the other orbs around the world—went black.

“Are you okay?” Ella asked Frederic.

“Yes,” he replied. “What about you guys?”

“I’ve never felt better,” said Duncan. “Except for most other times in my life.”

“What do you think happened to Zaubera?” Liam said. “Can a magical blast like that
kill
a ghost?”

“No, I’m still here,” the witch said, startling everyone. “And I just want you to know that this doesn’t mean I like you guys now or anything. In fact, I— Huh? Where are my ghostly fingers going? And my whole body? Ooh, does this mean I get to stop—” They never heard the end of her question, because she vanished completely, faded away into nothingness.

The friends stared at one another in silence for a moment. “You know, she’d said something before about not having done enough good deeds to get into the afterlife,” Frederic said. “I didn’t know whether she meant it literally, but maybe . . .”

They all heard a high-pitched tinkling sound.

Duncan’s face lit up. “You know what they say about bells, right?” he asked. “Whenever a bell rings . . .”

“Shut up, Pipsqueak,” said Gustav. “It’s just the sprites.”

Blink and Deedle appeared over the edge of the platform. As soon as they saw the princes, the tiny blue fliers zipped over to them.

“Zel knew you be here!” Blink said cheerily.

“Holdety tight,” Deedle said. “We found big crankety wheel in castle. Strongety man going to turn it and bring you down.”

The platform jolted and then slowly began descending.

“Oh, and war is over,” Blink said. “We winnety!”

The exhausted heroes cheered, but their celebration was cut short as soon as the platform reached the bottom and they learned the identity of the “strongety man” who had cranked them down.

“Looks like the rat has finally caught its prey,” said Greenfang.

“Does that make us the cheese?” Duncan asked wearily.

The bounty hunter drew his scimitar and flashed his crooked yellow teeth. The Leaguers braced themselves, but as worn-out as they were, none was ready for a fight. And they’d all lost their weapons.

“What do you want?” Liam asked.

“I told you months ago,” Greenfang replied. “I never give up.”

“But there’s no more bounty for us,” Frederic said. He wanted to collapse.

“I don’t care.” Greenfang flared his nostrils. “I. Never. Give. Up.” He raised his sword and stomped up toward them. Ella hunkered down. Gustav balled his fists. Duncan stood on one leg.

But Liam just raised his hands in the air. “Fine, you never give up. We get it,” he said with fatigue in his voice. “So
we
give up.”

Greenfang stopped in his tracks. “What?”

“We surrender,” Liam said. “You win. You’ve caught us.”

Greenfang paused, pressing his lips together in thought. “Um, okay then,” he said. “Mission accomplished. Since there’s nowhere to take you, um, I guess . . . have a nice day.” He sheathed his sword, and walked away.

A
nd so the Thirteen Kingdoms were liberated from Darian rule. Well, all except Eïsborg, which people always tend to forget about. It’s very far north. And barely anybody lives there, anyway. We even forget to put it on the map in the first book. The fifteen Darians stationed there would end up sitting around for two and half years wondering why their vision orb never turned on anymore.

None of the vision orbs ever turned on again, actually. They’d been powered by Zaubera’s magic, and when the witch died her second death, the orbs all went kaput. Despite people’s best efforts at kicking them and attempting to attach antennas to them, they remained dull and opaque forever. The thrilling prospect of moving-picture entertainment would have to wait.

Zaubera’s mystical bombs fizzled out as well and became nothing more than oversize bowling balls. On a sadder note, the lovely lawns and flowering gardens that surrounded the castle all shriveled and turned to dust again, returning the valley to its former dry, gray ugliness. Not that Deeb Rauber cared. He was never much into posies and petunias anyway.

As soon as the last of the Avondellian soldiers had filed out with the last of the Darian prisoners and the enormous castle was empty once again, the Bandit King scurried out of the hollow boulder he’d been hiding in and ducked back inside his former home. The place was a wreck—the candy rooms had been trashed, all the naughty fingerpaintings had been torn down, and he was going to have to build himself a new bandit army from scratch. But the kingdom was all his again. He strode directly into his old throne room.

“I have returned!” he shouted to the empty chamber. “Deeb Rauber, the Bandit King, the one true ruler of Rauberia! Once again, I have the power!” Feeling quite proud of himself, he strutted up to his throne and sat down.

“Eeeeeeyowww!” he screamed, jumping up and holding his stinging backside, having completely forgotten about the tack he’d placed there.

T
hree months later
. . .

The small fishing boat was sinking fast. Its frantic three-man crew huddled on the disappearing bow as rough waves crashed into them and the dorsal fins of hungry sharks circled mere feet away. But despite the dangers in front and below, the men couldn’t help but stare up at the awe-inspiring bulk of the
Dreadwind
—and the man on the rope hanging from its bow. “Grab on, Rub-a-Dub-Dubbers,” Gustav said as he scooped all three into his arms. After being hoisted back up onto the deck of the great ship, he set down the fishermen.

“You saved us,” one said, quivering with gratitude (or perhaps hypothermia). “Thank you!”

“You’re welcome,” said Jerica. She handed the drenched fisherman a piece of paper. “And here’s your bill.”

The man looked at the invoice in his hand and said, “Um, thanks again?”

While Mr. Flint trotted out some fresh clothes for the refugees, Jerica tossed Gustav a towel, and the two walked down the deck together. “I’ve got to admit it, Gustav. You were right,” she said. “With so many idiots trying to sail ships these days, we’re making even more money as a rescue ship than we used to rake in with piracy.”

“I told ya,” Gustav replied, yawning. “I just wish I wasn’t so darn tired.”

“I’ve been telling you—you can’t spend this long at sea living on nothing but hardtack,” Jerica scolded. “We’ve got to get some protein into you.”

“Then catch me a cow,” Gustav said.

Jerica touched her finger to his chin and cooed, “I think you’re just afraid that all those ugly blotches are going to mar your gorgeous face.”

Gustav turned bright red. “That is not what I think!” he snapped.

Jerica laughed loudly. “Oh, you are such an easy mark,” she chuckled. She called up to the wheelhouse. “Mr. Key, take us into port. Gustav needs a steak.”

The
Dreadwind
pulled into Yondale Harbor the next day. As the boarding plank was lowered to the dock and the crew was about to disembark, there was a sudden rush of wind, and Smimf appeared on board. He rushed straight to Gustav.

“Sorry for the interruption, sir, Your Highness, sir,” the messenger said. “But I have an urgent message for you.” He handed a note to the prince and vanished just as quickly as he’d come.

“What is it?” Jerica asked, peering over Gustav’s shoulder at the letter.

Gustav’s expression became serious. “It says to go to the Boarhound . . . poz-thah-stee?”

“Posthaste,” Jerica said. “It means fast. So what are you going to do?”

“Apparently, I’m not going to eat a steak.”

Duncan sat on his throne in Castlevaria with Snow White in hers beside him. A long line of waiting citizens filled the polka-dot carpet before them, each person waiting for his or her chance for an audience with the royal couple. It was tiring business, but Duncan and Snow didn’t mind. They enjoyed chatting with their people. It was what they had done every day since becoming king and queen of Sylvaria.

King King and Queen Apricotta had decided that ruling a kingdom was far too dangerous of a career for them, so they retired and handed the reins of the kingdom over to their son and daughter-in-law. The former monarchs left the castle and moved to Duncan and Snow’s old estate in the country—which, as you can probably guess, did not make the dwarfs very happy.

“Hello, Sylvarian,” Duncan said to the woman at the head of the receiving line. “Or should I just call you Sylvie?”

“My name’s Agatha,” said the woman.

“I’m so sorry to hear that,” said Duncan. He thrust his chin high and loudly declared, “Your name is now Sylvie! Next!”

“But . . .” the woman began to say, but she was quickly ushered out by Mavis and Marvella, the “royal helpers.”

“Come this way, Sylvie,” said Mavis.

An old man approached the throne. “King Duncan,” he said. “I lost one of my shoes while fighting in the rebellion. I’ve had one bare foot for three months now. I was hoping you might find it in your heart to provide me with a replacement.”

Duncan thought about this for a moment. “Which side did you fight on?”

“Yours,” the man said, rolling his eyes.

“Well, okay then,” the new king said.

“I can crochet him a new shoe,” Snow offered.

“Ooh, you’re a lucky man,” Duncan said. “Snowy—I mean, Queen Snowy—is a wiz with the needles. She even knit our crowns. Have no fear, sir; your feet will be in good hands.”

The man was led away. But before the next person in line could speak, there was a burst of wind, and Smimf appeared. “Sorry to cut in line, sir, Your Highness, sir, but I have an urgent message for you.”

Duncan and Snow read the letter as Smimf took off.

“I suppose we should go to the Boarhound,” Snow said.

Duncan furrowed his brow. “But I’m a king now,” he said. “I’m needed here, aren’t I?”

“No!” shouted the people in line.

“Well, I guess it’s settled then,” Duncan said. He and Snow stood up and began to walk out. “Mavis and Marvella, you’re in charge while we’re gone!”

The twins clapped their hands and hopped into the thrones.

“Who’s next?” asked Marvella. “No, wait. Who’s fifteenth?”

“All requests must be made in song,” Mavis announced.

“They’ll do fine,” Duncan said, nodding, as he and Snow left the castle.

In his cozy log cabin in the northern hills of Avondell, Ruffian the Blue was propped up in bed with a book. He was relaxed. So relaxed, in fact, that he had his hood down. And then Lila burst in, carrying a tray of food. She pulled the book from his hands—losing his place in the process, which made the old bounty hunter frown—and plopped the tray onto his lap.

“Here you go, Ruff,” she said. “Eat up! You’ve got to get your strength back.”

Ruffian squinted skeptically at the array before him. There were two blocks of cheese, a mug of well water, a roughly torn hunk of bread, four apples, a bowl of radishes, and a large onion.

“What?” said Lila. “I don’t cook.”

Ruffian put the tray aside. “Lila, I appreciate your desire to speed my recovery, but eating scads of raw radishes is not going to help,” he said. “Now, you may have provided a magical shot to my immune system, but I was probably no more than a few breaths from death by the time it kicked in. It is going to take a very long time for my body to overcome the effects of that venom. I may never get back to the shape I was in. In fact, my bounty hunting days may be over.”

“Impossible!” Lila snapped. “You’re the best bounty hunter in the land!”

“I was,” Ruffian said. “But now I think somebody else is.”

Lila shuddered. “Ugh. Don’t tell me it’s Wiley Whitehair,” she said with disgust. “He can’t even sneak up on people because his skin crinkles so loudly.”

“No, Lila,” Ruffian said in a monotone. “Not Whitehair.”

Lila cocked her head. “Orangebeard, then? Yellow Tom? Beige Barney? Marvin the Maroon?”

Ruffian gave her a deadpan stare. “Sometimes, young lady, I cannot even understand how you—”

Lila cracked up laughing. “I’m just joshing with you, Ruff,” she said. “It’s me, right? I’m the best?”

Ruffian let out a long, slow sigh. “Yes, Lila. It is you.”

“Yes!” Lila crowed. She ran to the door of the cabin, threw her bag over her shoulder, and grabbed her quarterstaff. “So this means I get to go on missions by myself, right?” she called in to her bedridden mentor.

“Yes, but—”

“Great! First thing I’m going to do is—”

“You are
not
going to try to find my daughter,” Ruffian said sternly.

Lila walked back to his side. “But, Ruff,” she said, “if I can find her for you, you’d have somebody to love and to be proud of, somebody who could love you back and take care of you.”

Ruffian said nothing in reply; he simply picked up the breakfast tray and placed it back on his lap.

There was as knock on the door, and Lila answered it.

“An urgent letter, Miss, Your Highness, Miss,” said Smimf.

Lila opened the letter and read it. “Hey, Ruff,” she said. “I think I have my first assignment.”

“Belly hurt,” Mr. Troll moaned. He lay on a long table under the shade of Rapunzel’s porch roof. He patted his long, green claws against his shaggy tummy.

“Go ahead, Frederic,” said Rapunzel, who was standing nearby. “The patient’s a friend of yours; you can take the lead on this one.”

“Um, well, yes, let’s see,” Frederic stammered as he strapped on an apron and pulled long gloves over his hands. “Have you eaten anything unusual today?”

“Only carrots,” said the troll.

“How many?” asked Deedle. He and Blink were hovering across the table from Frederic, waggling their antennae.

“’Bout six hundred,” said the troll.

“Well, I think we’ve gotten to the
root
of the problem,” Frederic said. He and Rapunzel chuckled. The sprites rolled their eyes.

“Well, Mr. Troll,” Frederic continued, “I think you’ve simply eaten too much. If you—”

Trumpets blared as ten armored soldiers approached on horseback, escorting a very ornate carriage. When the coach stopped, Frederic was surprised to see Reginald step out—but he was even more shocked to see who exited after the valet. “Father? You . . . you’ve left the palace?”

“This is something I could not leave to a mere messenger,” King Wilberforce said as he approached and placed his hands on Frederic’s shoulders. “I am proud of you, Son. And I want you to know that all is forgiven . . . at least from my end.” There was a sadness and humility in his downcast eyes that Frederic had never seen before. “I want our family to be back together again.”

“I forgive you, too, Father,” Frederic said. “And believe me, there is a
huuuuuge
part of me that misses life at the palace. But . . . well, hold on.” He turned to Rapunzel. “I don’t suppose there’s any chance you’d come back to Harmonia with me.”

“Oh, Frederic,” she said, her voice heavy with regret. “But my calling . . .”

Frederic’s eyes lit up. “What if you could practice your healing arts in Harmonia? We have plenty of resources, you know. What if we promised to build you the biggest, most advanced clinic in the Thirteen Kingdoms? It could have all the latest medical technology: toadstool grinders, ointment spatulas, leeches—you name it. Really. I’m a prince—I might as well start taking advantage of it.”

Rapunzel was stunned by the possibilities. “Well, that would certainly change things,” she said. “I could care for so many more people. And so much more effectively! And you and I could still be together! Oh, thank you, Frederic!”

“Well, um, speaking of you and we— I mean
me
, we and me . . . No!
Us
,” Frederic stammered. Rapunzel raised an eyebrow. “Sorry, um, what I’m trying to say is . . . um, you make me happy. And happiness is good. So I was wondering if, maybe, it would be at all possible that, in addition to coming back to Harmonia with me and, you know, opening the clinic, if, well, maybe you’d like to marry me as well.”

Rapunzel couldn’t hold back her laughter. “Now I see why they call you Prince Charming,” she said, her face aglow. “But, yes. Yes, of course I will, Frederic.”

Frederic beamed. “I’m sorry I don’t have a ring,” he said. Mr. Troll grabbed Deedle and yanked off the sprite’s belt. He handed it to Frederic, who slipped it on Rapunzel’s finger.

“Wait one moment,” King Wilberforce said, stepping up to the couple with a jingling of unearned medals. “Frederic, might I remind you of your position? You are of noble blood. Any bride you choose must be of the proper ilk.”

“And . . . ?” Frederic said sternly, holding Rapunzel’s hand tightly as he stared directly into his father’s eyes.

“And . . . ,” said King Wilberforce. He swallowed loudly. “And that is why I want to say: Welcome to the family, Miss Rapunzel.”

Everyone present, including the soldiers, cheered. They hadn’t even noticed the sudden whipping wind as Smimf appeared.

“Congratulations on your impending nuptials, sir, Your Highness, sir! I have an urgent message for you. Good-bye!”

“What is it?” Rapunzel asked as Frederic read the letter that had been thrust into his hand.

“Any chance you’d like to honeymoon at the Stumpy Boarhound?”

The thief slowly crept out of the window of the village hall, the solid gold town seal tucked neatly under his arm. He was completely unaware that Ella, Mistress of the Sword, was watching him from the roof of the house next door. As the thief made his way down the alley between the two buildings, she pounced.

Unfortunately, Liam, who had been waiting in ambush just around the building’s corner, leapt out in his own attempt to intercept the thief. Ella’s boot connected with Liam’s jaw. He hit the wall, and she landed, ungracefully, on her back.

“What are you doing here?” she snapped at Liam as she sat up.

“What are
you
doing here?” Liam snapped back, holding his aching jaw.

They both laughed.

“How long are we going to keep doing this?” Ella asked, standing up.

“I don’t know. It is kind of silly, isn’t it?”

“Do you think it’s time . . .”

“Time we gave our partnership another try?”

They shook hands. And their hands stayed clasped together a bit longer than most people’s do when they’re just shaking hands.

“Oh, no,” Ella said with sudden urgency. “The thief!”

The man who’d stolen the town seal was almost two blocks away already. They took off after him. “He’s heading toward the old mill,” Liam said as they ran.

“Keep him moving in that direction,” Ella said. “I know a quick way around.” Liam nodded, and they split up.

Running at top speed, Liam gained ground on the crook and chased him along the side of a creaky old watermill. At the corner of the mill, Ella jumped out and surprised him. He was trapped. Ella bopped him on the head.

“That worked rather nicely,” she said.

“Indeed it did,” Liam replied. “Partner.”