Maude shook her head. “Shoes,” she muttered.
That was when Liam began to panic. “My parents are in there!” he cried as a portion of the roof collapsed. He, Val, and Ella quickly disarmed the Darians they were battling and dashed to a door at the base of the palace’s easternmost tower. As Liam threw the portal open, gray bricks tumbled to the ground, the entire arched doorway about to cave in. But Val thrust herself in under the arch, bracing it with her strong arms and back. “Go quick!” she groaned. “I’ll hold it as long as I can.”
“Are you sure you—” Ella began to ask, but Val didn’t let her finish.
“Go!”
Ella and Liam squeezed past Val into the slowly crumbling palace. They raced upstairs toward the royal couple’s bedchamber as walls cracked all around them and clouds of white dust filled the air. They barely sidestepped a chandelier that crashed onto the steps between them. As they darted out of the stairwell on the third floor, they nearly crashed into Vero, who was racing in the opposite direction. The dapper swordsman skidded to a stop, flicked his long ponytail over his shoulder, and drew his rapier.
“Now this is an unexpected conundrum for me,” he said. “Here I was, fleeing for my life, when I find myself face-to-face again with the man I have been waiting so long to duel. Which do I choose? Personal safety? Or the chance to test my sword against that of the famous Prince Liam? It is, as we say in my country, a tough one, no? Hmm . . . I choose to fight.” He leapt into a fencing stance.
Liam immediately jumped into a counterstance, sword held high. “Find my parents,” he said to Ella.
“Why don’t you find your parents? I don’t know where they are,” Ella urgently suggested, while ducking a falling ceiling tile.
“Good point,” Liam said. “Sorry, Vero.” And he sped off.
Vero sighed. “Disappointed again,” he said, his blade still at the ready. “But not a total loss, yes? I still long to fight the legendary Prince Liam, but this is not so bad, eh? To settle for a duel with the second best?”
Ella glared at him with eyes like flaming meteorites. “Oh, you just said the wrong thing, mister.” She flew at him as if she had been shot from a cannon.
Liam, in the meantime, found King Gareth and Queen Gertrude chained to their four-poster bed. “Mother, Father,” he began, “I know you’re probably not happy to see me, but—”
“Of course we’re happy to see you, you fool,” the queen snapped. “The palace is collapsing. Get us out of here!”
Which he did. On their way back to the stairwell, dodging falling bricks and leaping over growing chasms in the floor, they saw no sign of either Ella or Vero. But they never slowed. Liam and his parents hurtled down the steps and ran for the exit.
“Hurry!” Val yelled when she saw them. “I can’t hold it much longer!” Liam, Gareth, and Gertrude squeezed out past her, right before Val herself tumbled into the shattered courtyard and the doorway completely caved in.
Liam turned back toward the smoking pile of rubble that had been his palace’s eastern wing. “Ella! Ella!”
“What?” Ella replied.
He spun to see her dragging a woozy Vero by his ponytail.
“Oh, yeah,” said Val. “She got down way before you did.”
The battered swordsman looked groggily up at the prince. “I still wish to duel you someday,” he wheezed. “But honestly, I do not see how you could be, as we say in my country, better than her.”
THE BATTLE OF YONDALE
Thirty-seven bounty hunters burst into the dining hall of Yondale Castle, taking the Darians by surprise and starting a massive food fight. Axes chopped into shields, and potpies were shoved into faces; war hammers were swung into helmeted heads, and chains of sausage links were wrapped around throats. And while all this went on, Lila, astride a giant mongoose, searched the dusty, gray corridors of the castle, looking for any sign of its missing resident.
“King Edwyn?” Lila shouted.
“Your Highness!” called Periwinkle Pete, who sat behind her with his bow drawn. “If you can hear us, make a noise!”
A muffled shout rose from somewhere along a cold, dim passage that sloped downward into the lower levels below the surface of the cliff. Erik the Mauve, sitting just behind the animal’s pointy ears, steered the mongoose in the direction of the sound. The great, furry creature sniffed, caught a scent, and began galloping. It slid to a halt before a cobweb-coated door, the entrance to the royal catacombs, the resting places of the kings of Yondale’s past.
Another moan sounded from behind it.
“Everybody off,” said Erik. “The mongoose won’t fit through there.” They dismounted, and Erik tugged open the ancient door. “Funny,” he said. “The cobwebs only cover one half of the—”
Madu kicked the door open from the inside and slammed a heavy club over Erik’s head. “Boo!” the tattooed Darian cackled as Erik slumped to the stony floor. “Ha! Weren’t you easy to lure in here?”
“You!” Lila sneered, drawing her quarterstaff.
Pete stepped in front of her protectively and raised his bow. “I’ve got this,” he said. THWIP! THWIP! THWIP! THWIP! With arrows through his vest and kilt, Madu was pinned to the wall. Pete strode into the catacombs to face him. “Now, tell us where the king is.”
“Um, Pete,” Lila said, running in after the elf and tugging at his sleeve. “He’s not as trapped as you think. He—”
But Madu had already changed. He was now a thirty-foot-long, writhing sand snake that had no problem at all wriggling out of some clothing stuck to a wall. Pete shot off another volley of arrows, all of which hit the snake, but none of which seemed to slow it down. The thing lashed its sinewy tail at the elven archer and sent him hurtling into the dusty grave of a long-forgotten king.
Lila stared down the snake. “Come and get me,” she said, and ran back out into the corridor. The snake followed her through the doorway and stopped when it saw her standing there, scratching behind the ears of a very large mammal. The snake’s face contorted into something like a grin.
“Sssssso, you brought a big weasssssssel,” Madu hissed. “I eat weasssssselsssss for breakfasssssst.”
“One problem,” Lila said. “This isn’t a weasel. It’s a mongoose. And you know what a mongoose’s favorite prey is?”
The sand snake’s tear-shaped eyes went suddenly round with horror. Madu tried to slither away but never had a chance. In a flash, the mongoose lunged at the snake, pinned it down, and sank its long, sharp teeth into its scaly, reptilian neck.
Lila didn’t stick around to see what happened next. She darted back into the catacombs. A quick look at Erik and Pete revealed that they were both still breathing. She called out for the king again, and this time she was met with a weak voice in response. Following the sound, Lila stumbled into a musty chamber that was lined with the bones of ages-old Yondale royalty. King Edwyn was there, too. For once he was the youngest in the room. But he was sound asleep, curled adorably around a small cameo portrait of Snow White.
She heard the faint voice again, from behind her, in another chamber across the way. She ran. Squinting into the darkness, Lila saw a figure huddled on the floor.
“Ruffian,” she breathed.
“Lila, is it really you?” the old bounty hunter asked weakly. He pulled back his hood to get a better look at her.
“You’re alive,” she said, trying not to cry.
“Yes, somehow,” Ruffian said. “My resistance to snake venoms must be even stronger than I realized. Normally, it’s enough to keep me going for several days after a bite. A few weeks at most. But months have passed, haven’t they? I kept expecting to die, but I didn’t. I thought I’d never see you again, but here you are.”
“Thank you, genie,” Lila whispered.
From out in the hall they heard the loud, satisfied belch of a mongoose.
THE BATTLE OF SYLVARIA
While Frank and the dwarfs were busy carving their way through the Darian opposition outside the
salmon-pink walls of Castlevaria, Duncan was busy doing something he’d never done before: leading his people. He might only have been leading them in a series of rousing chants—“We are Sylvaria! We will take care o’ ya!” “Duncan, Duncan, he’ll do somethin’!” “Let’s go dwarfs! You’ll win, of courfs!”—but everybody was cheering along with him. In fact, most of his subjects seemed to be enjoying themselves. Most had not quite absorbed the idea that they were in a war zone—unarmed (since Duncan had forgotten to bring any weapons).
Eventually, Snow tapped Duncan’s shoulder. “Frank and the boys have almost beaten all the bad guys,” she said. “Shouldn’t we go check on your family?”
He gave a vigorous nod, the feathers on his cap waggling like an excited sea anemone, and turned to the crowd. “You people have done a great job with the chanting. But it is now time to storm the castle. And seeing as none of us is armed—well, except Snow; she has hazelnuts—I couldn’t possibly ask you to go in with me. Don’t be offended! I’m not saying you’d all definitely be defeated in there, but . . . I wouldn’t want to leave it to chants.”
And with that, he and Snow ran past the battling dwarfs and into the castle, where they discovered Duncan’s entire family tied together and dangling by a rope over a large, bubbling cauldron.
“Oh, Duncan!” King King called down when he saw his son. “You’re just in time. Our captors are making soup!”
“I think you’re the soup, Dad,” Duncan said.
“Is that how you kids are complimenting one another these days?” Queen Apricotta asked. “Well, we think you’re ‘the soup,’ too, honey!”
“Thanks,” Duncan replied. “We should try to get you down.”
Just then a door opened, and Falco rushed in, looking panicked. (He’d been in the bathroom when the battle started—every villain’s worst nightmare.) He dashed in front of the boiling cauldron, unsheathed a wavy-bladed dagger, and gnashed his sharpened teeth at Duncan and Snow.
“I remember you!” Snow said. “You chased me and Lila in my wagon that one time. You were quite rude.”
Duncan eyed the pasty-skinned, baldheaded Darian strangely. “Are you like a werewolf?” Duncan asked. “Only instead of a wolf, you turn into a naked mole rat?”
Falco growled.
“Ooh, yes, ask him more questions,” King King said from up above. “He likes to play charades, this one.”
Sneering, Falco pointed up at the suspended family. Then, slowly and with malice, he drew his finger across his throat.
“You met a bird who gave you a necktie?” Duncan asked.
Falco snarled and repeated the same gestures.
“Moon-men can see down your throat?” Snow guessed.
“There’s a cough drop stuck on the ceiling?” Duncan tried.
The fanged Darian threw back his head and howled in fury.
“I must be right,” Duncan whispered to Snow. “See how mad he is?”
“Maybe now’s a good time to strike,” Snow suggested.
“Oh, yes,” said Duncan. “Please do.”
As Falco reached for a dagger, Snow whipped a handful of hazelnuts at his head. The tiny missiles stung his face. He staggered backward, dropping his knife, spilling over the huge cauldron, and setting his pants on fire.
“He must be a liar,” Mavis said.
“I never believed a word that came out of his mouth,” added Marvella.
While Falco writhed on the floor trying to pat out his flaming legs, Duncan threw a heavy tapestry over the fire to smother it, and Snow threw the dropped dagger up at the dangling rope, slicing loose the royal family.
“Hooray for Duncan and Snow!” The queen beamed. “Our heroes again!”
“The important thing is that it’s all over,” said the king. “Our kingdom is safe once again. Which reminds me, Duncan, I’ve made a decision—”
With a hiss and a snarl—and very blackened pants—Falco reappeared. He snatched Duncan from behind, crawled out the window, and, beastlike, began scaling the wall of the castle.
“Where are they going?” Queen Apricotta asked.
They scrambled out to the front walk, where the dwarfs had finished off the last of the Darians.
“Frank! Frank!” Snow called. “The toothy man stole Duncan! He’s climbing the big tower! You’ve got to go up there and rescue him!”
The dwarfs glanced upward to see the hunched figure of Falco scuttling to the tip-top of Castlevaria’s tallest tower with Duncan flopping over his shoulder. “Aw, jeez, Snow,” Frank said. “I, um . . . We can’t . . .” He sighed.
“What do you mean, you can’t?” Snow barked. “Go get him!”
Frank hung his head, and in a voice barely above a whisper, he muttered, “Dwarves are not expert climbers.”
Snow looked to the crowd of Sylvarian bystanders. “Well, somebody’s got to help Duncan! Somebody do something!”
The crowd began chanting: “That’s Prince Charming! Please don’t harm ’im!”
It did not help. Duncan was completely at the mercy of the rabid Falco. “I think I can see my old house from here,” he said to his captor.
Standing balanced on the conical roof of the tower, Falco lifted Duncan over his head. But when he did, a long, dangling feather from Duncan’s cap jutted down into the Darian’s eyes. Falco blinked and shifted his head, but that only made more of the feathers get in his way. They poked his eyes and tickled his nose. Falco squinched up his face, trying to hold back the sneeze he felt coming. But it was a sneeze that would not be denied. And as Falco let loose with that massive, head-whipping nose-blast, his feet slipped. He dropped Duncan and tried to catch himself. But the Darian’s clawed hands couldn’t find a grip. He plummeted two hundred feet to the rocky ground below.
High above the cheering crowd, Duncan clung to the tower’s spire, his arms and legs wrapped around it. He took off his hat, kissed it gently, and said, “Your job here is done. Return now to your own kind.”
He released the hat into a gust of chill March wind and watched it soar high up into the clouds, where it was eventually adopted by a flock of passing geese.
THE BATTLE OF STURMHAGEN
Lord Rundark had underestimated the people of Harmonia, Erinthia, Yondale, and Sylvaria, assuming them too timid, too self-interested, or too dumb to revolt. But he never had any such illusions about Sturmhageners, who he knew to be stubborn, prideful, and easy to anger. Which is why Sturmhagen was teeming with hundreds upon hundreds of Darian warriors. (That and it was also really close to Dar, so they didn’t have to walk very far.)
When the rabid, vengeance-hungry farmers clashed with their Darian oppressors in the cobblestone alleys and courtyards outside Castle Sturmhagen, it was all-out war. The Darians might have had better weapons—massive swords, spiked maces, and double-bladed pikes as opposed to pitchforks, shovels, and big sticks—but the farmers had heart. They also had trolls, which helped even more.
As roaring trolls hurled soldiers through brick walls and rebels used picnic tables as battering rams, Gustav was glowing. I’m doing it, he thought as he ripped a lamppost from the ground and used it to bat down a trio of Darians. I rallied these people together. I’m their leader. And I’m going to win this. Nothing can stop me!
And then a voice. “There you are.”
She stood on the castle steps in her tall, brown boots and long, flashy coat. Her captain’s hat was tipped back, and her long black hair tumbled over her shoulders. A gleaming cutlass shone in her hand.
Gustav stomped his foot when he saw her. His nostrils flared. “Fine!” he shouted. “Come on, then! You and me! Right now! Final battle!”
“I didn’t come here to fight you, Goldilocks,” Jerica said. “I came to help.”
“I don’t believe you,” Gustav said quickly. The rebellion raged on all around them, swords and shovels clashing mere feet away. But the two stood staring each other down.
“I swear I didn’t know what Rundark had planned,” Jerica said.
&nbs
p; “Likely story,” Gustav snipped. But he made no move—either to fight Jerica or to walk away.
“It was a job,” she said with a shrug that was either apologetic or impatient—Gustav couldn’t tell. “Rundark paid good money for me to drop you guys on the island, so I did it. I didn’t ask questions. I never do. That’s the way it always is. But this time . . .”
“This time what?” Gustav asked. He felt his sword hand trembling and wasn’t sure why. “This time you found such a big sap that you decided it would be fun to hit him with a double whammy? This time you thought it would be hilarious to break some big goon’s heart before you marooned him on an island? This time—”
“I didn’t expect to fall for you, okay?” she barked back at him. “That doesn’t usually happen. And you know what else doesn’t usually happen? I don’t usually go back for the people I strand at sea.”
“Except that didn’t happen,” Gustav scoffed, lifting his elbow to smash the face of a Darian who charged him from behind.
“It did,” Jerica insisted, ducking a raving warrior who leapt at her. “When I returned to port and heard what Rundark had been doing on the mainland, I headed straight back out to sea to find you again.”
“It’s true!” It was Roderick Key, exchanging blows with a Darian guard a few yards away. “It’s because of you that the captain made us all skip shore leave! I missed sing-along night at the Salty Parrot! Not that I’m complaining.”
Gustav looked around. A few feet away, Tauro was clotheslining Darians with his tree-like arms. Just past him, Mr. Flint was slamming an anchor over the head of an unlucky thug—and Sadie Squawkins was pecking at the bandanna of another. Even Scotty the cabin boy was there, whipping around two flopping mackerels like a pair of nunchackus.
“Wow, is the whole crew here?” Gustav asked.
“Well, I left Gabberman and his buddies on the Dreadwind,” Jerica said (while forcing a struggling Darian into a headlock). “My ship is probably sinking as we speak.”
Gustav hunched his shoulders and furrowed his brow. “I still don’t know what to think,” he grumbled.