The Hero's Guide to Saving Your Kingdom (31 page)

23

P
RINCE
C
HARMING
T
AKES
THE
W
RONG
S
EAT

T
he sun had fully set by the time Gustav slowed his retreat and put Frederic back down on his own two feet. They were miles away from the bandit camp, surrounded by thick, gnarly underbrush.

“Footsies all better?” Gustav asked.

“Yes. Thanks for the lift,” Frederic replied. “Do you think they’re still following us?”

“No.” Gustav shook his head. “We can catch our breath.”

“Oh, Gustav, before I forget…,” Frederic said. “I’ve been thinking: You lost your sword, and I still have mine. That feels just plain wrong to me. I want you to have my sword. We’d both be better off.”

He reached to his belt to grab the dwarven blade but realized, with a gasp, that it was not there. “Oh, no. It’s—”

“Don’t panic. I already have it,” Gustav said. “I thought the same thing you did, so I snagged the sword from you hours ago.”

“You stole my sword?”

“You just said you wanted me to have it!”

“I wanted to
give
it to you. I didn’t want you to swipe it.”

“What difference does it make? I have the sword, we’re fine.”

Frederic sighed. He felt his way through the near blackness, until he found a big tree to lean against.

“It is really, really dark,” he said. “I wish we had Duncan with us right now. He’d probably pull a lit torch out of his pocket or something.”

“Yeah, and a bed, and a pillow, and an all-flute orchestra to play him a lullaby,” Gustav snickered. “But seriously, you need to stop encouraging the little guy.
You
don’t honestly think he’s magic, do you?”

“I don’t know. I’m less skeptical about such things ever since I saw a coach turn into a pumpkin,” Frederic said earnestly. “Do you think Duncan and Liam got away, too?”

Gustav shrugged. “We can’t go looking for them now. We should try to rest until dawn and start searching then.”

“That makes sense.” Frederic looked around. Little moonlight could make its way through the thick forest canopy overhead. All he saw were the outlines of trees. He slid down to the ground but popped back up, squealing. “Nettles! Pointy nettles all over the ground,” he moaned.

Gustav swiped his feet back and forth. “Just kick them out of the way.”

“Can’t we see if there’s a better place to lie down?” Frederic peered into the shadows and spotted a soft-looking patch of green. “Gustav,” he called. “There’s a nice bed of moss over here.”

Gustav glanced over just in time to see Frederic snuggling into the tangled green fur of a sleeping troll. “No!” he yelled.

But it was too late.

“What sit on Troll?” the monster bellowed, and jumped to its feet. Frederic was sent flying to the ground—and got a backside full of nettles when he landed. “Ouch-ouch-ouch-ouch-ouch-ouch-ouch-ouch-
ouch
!” he moaned, as he rolled back and forth. The troll scooped the prince up into its arms.

“Drop him, troll,” Gustav growled, drawing his sword.

“Ha-ha! Round-Head Man have toy baby sword!” The troll’s laugh was guttural, as if it were trying to cough up a hairball.

“This is no plaything, troll,” Gustav said. “It’s dwarven steel. And I will ram it right through you if you don’t put that man down.”

“But Ouching Man sit on Troll,” the monster said. “Ouching Man is Troll’s prisoner now.”

The troll cupped one furry, clawed hand by its mouth and gave a loud shout that reverberated through the trees: “Troll has prisoner!”

Trees moved and quivered all around Gustav. Within seconds, half a dozen more trolls appeared.

“Troll has
two
prisoners!” one of them noted pleasantly.

Gustav flexed his fingers around the hilt of his sword. Despite being greatly outnumbered and barely being able to see his enemies in the darkness, he was, as usual, prepared to leap into battle.

“Don’t do it, Gustav,” Frederic pleaded from within the tight troll bear hug. “Don’t make a mistake we’ll regret.”

For once, Gustav held back. He slipped the sword under his belt and raised his empty hands up in the air. The trolls swooped in, lifted him high over their heads, and marched off into the blackness with a chant of “PRIS-O-NERS! PRIS-O-NERS!”

Gustav shot a wary look at Frederic, who was slung over the shoulder of the first troll. “Bed of moss—humph!”

Fig. 39 TROLL “HOUSE”

When dawn broke the next morning, Frederic and Gustav awoke to find themselves in a wooden cage in the center of a troll village. At least they
assumed
it to be a troll village. What trolls refer to as a “village,” most humans would refer to as a “big mess of sticks.”

Trolls are not great builders. Most of their “houses” don’t resemble buildings at all; they consist of three to five logs haphazardly leaned up against one another. A fancier troll home might have a “door,” which would actually just be one more log resting against the others—except you were supposed to move it out of the way when you entered.

The cage that the princes were in was constructed just as poorly. The “bars” were long, thin sticks that even Frederic could have easily snapped in half. Not that he would have needed to, because the sticks were spaced far enough apart to easily step between. And there was nothing holding the sticks together. No ties, no paste—nothing. Frederic figured the entire structure would probably collapse if he breathed on it too hard.

“Do they really think we can’t get out of here?” Frederic asked.

Big, swampy-green trolls strolled about casually, acting as if the two princes were securely locked away.

“The heck with this,” said Gustav. “Let’s go.” He strolled out, between the bars, into the village square, and Frederic scurried after him. They’d taken only a few steps away from the cage when the big troll who had captured them the night before ran over.

“Where going? Round-Head Man and Ouching Man are prisoners,” the troll said. “Back in cage.”

“Why should we?” Gustav said, with a steely-eyed squint.

“What my friend is asking,” Frederic offered, “is why we can’t just talk this out.”

“You’re not going to be able to negotiate with trolls, Señor Sweet-Talk,” Gustav said to him. “They’re not very bright.”

“Back in cage now!” the troll ordered.

“No!” Gustav yelled back in its face. “Now get out of our way, troll, or you’ll meet the business end of my blade.”

“Look, Mr. Troll,” Frederic said. “Why exactly do you want to keep us here?”

“Ouching Man sat on Troll,” the monster said, crossing its arms.

“And I am terribly sorry about that,” Frederic said. “It was an accident. It was very dark, and I couldn’t see you there. Surely you can forgive an honest mistake like that. I mean, it’s not like sitting on someone is against the law.”

“Is for trolls,” the troll said bluntly.

“Sitting on a troll is actually
illegal
under troll law?” Gustav asked.

“Yes.”

“What’s the punishment for it?” Frederic asked.

“Troll not sure,” the creature said, scratching its chin. “Trolls very careful not to sit on other trolls. No one done it before.”

“Well, then why don’t we just say that one night in jail was enough and we’ll be on our way?” Frederic suggested.

“No. It very important for trolls to follow rules of troll law,” the creature said thoughtfully. “Now back in cage, while Troll find out punishment for sit on troll.”

“You’re stupider than you look, troll,” Gustav barked, “if you think we’re going to wait around patiently until you decide to eat us.”

The troll threw its arms up in frustration. “Why humans never remember trolls is herbivore!” it cried. The monster lowered its shaggy, one-horned head and howled angrily into the princes’ faces. “Trolls is vegetarian! Last time Troll looked, Round-Head Man made of meat! Oh, Troll is
so tired
of closed-minded humans!”

Gustav and Frederic were too taken aback to respond. They simply stood there as the monster’s heavily scallion-scented breath dampened their faces.

“Argh, Troll get so frustrated!” the creature continued. “Round-Head Man is just like Angry Man that think Troll eat Shovel Lady’s children! Troll just wanted some beets!”

Gustav’s eyes widened. “Criminy,” he muttered, turning to Frederic. “I think this is the same troll I fought at that beet farm the day I met you.”

“What?” Frederic and the troll both said together.

“This is really the same troll from the beet farm?” Frederic asked.

“I’m pretty sure,” Gustav replied.

“Troll fight
Angry Man
at beet farm,” the troll said. “Not Round-Head Man.”

“Um, Mr. Troll,” Frederic tried. “I think Round-Head Man
is
Angry Man.”

“But Angry Man have long hair like dead grass.”

“He did,” Frederic explained. “But his long, dead hair went bye-bye. And now he has a round head.”

The troll examined Gustav’s face carefully. “Uh-oh,” it exclaimed. “Troll think Ouching Man right. Troll not recognize Angry Man with no grassy head. Humans all look alike to Troll.”

“Oh, and
now
who’s being closed-minded?” Gustav shouted with smug satisfaction.

“So Troll captured Angry Man, huh?” the troll retorted. “This change things. Troll
hate
Angry Man. Maybe Troll turn carnivore for just one day.”

“Now, wait,” Frederic said quickly. “Just because he beat you in a battle doesn’t mean you need to take revenge. We can always—”

The troll let out one of its retching laughs. “Ha-ha! Angry Man not beat Troll. Troll beat Angry Man.”

“No, no,” Gustav said, trying to save face in front of Frederic. “I definitely beat you.”

“Angry Man not beat Troll.
Shovel Lady
beat Troll.”

Gustav twirled his finger next to his head.
Loony
, he mouthed.

“You know, it doesn’t matter who beat who,” Frederic said. “Mr. Troll, you have to understand that my friend here was only fighting with you because you were stealing crops from that family.”

“Trolls
have
to steal food. How else trolls supposed to eat?” The troll’s gritty voice began to quiver slightly. “Like Troll say, trolls vegetarian. But trolls live in forest. Forest dirt not good for making veggies grow. Trolls starve unless trolls take veggies from humans.”

“So all you need is some workable farmland,” Frederic said, getting the picture. “Mr. Troll, why don’t you and your people move out of the forest?”

“Every time trolls try leave forest, humans fight trolls and send trolls back. Greedy humans want land for humans only.”

“Well, that’s just wrong,” Frederic said earnestly. He understood the trolls’ dilemma. The people of Sturmhagen thought of them as monsters—which technically they were, but that’s beside the point—so any attempt by the trolls to move out of the forest and onto decent farmland was viewed as an attack. This was Frederic’s chance to broker a peace treaty.

“Lucky for you, you’ve got someone right here who can help,” he continued. “Mr. Troll, do you know who Angry Man really is?”

“Angry Man is Angry Man,” the troll replied. “Says mean things ’bout trolls and stops Troll from getting food.”

Gustav frowned. He eyed Frederic cautiously.

“No,” Frederic said. “This man is the prince of Sturmhagen. His family rules this kingdom. He can arrange to have some farmland set aside for the trolls.”

Gustav tugged at Frederic’s elbow. “I don’t have the authority to—” Frederic gave Gustav a swift kick.

“Angry Man can really do that?” the troll asked, with a tinge of hopefulness in its voice.