The Hero’s Guide to Saving Your Kingdom

“Ow!” The troll dropped Gustav in the dirt and rubbed the sore spot on its skull. “Shovel Lady said Shovel Lady would not hit Troll.”

“That was before you started beating up on that poor man,” Rosilda snapped. “Now get out of here.”

“But Angry Man hit Troll first.”

“I don’t care. You get out.” She raised the shovel again.

“No more, no more. Troll go.” And the huge creature shuffled off toward the forest. The children burst into cheers and danced around the garden.

Rosilda held her hand out to Gustav, who still lay on the ground. He angrily waved the woman’s hand away and stood up by himself. “I had it under control,” he scolded. “You shouldn’t have put yourself in harm’s way.”

“You know, the troll was about to leave when you jumped on him,” Rosilda said. “Everything was fine. And now look—you’ve wrecked our garden.”

Gustav surveyed the yard. There were broken fences, smashed barrels, squashed beets, and row after row of flattened plants. “You care about a few vegetables? The monster ate your children!” he shouted.

“It did no such thing,” the woman scoffed.

“It had blood on its mouth.”

“Beet juice.”

“Are you sure?” Gustav asked, looking around at the giddy, dancing children. “It must have eaten at least one kid. Have you counted them?”

“Now look here, my knight in shining armor,” Rosilda said as she handed Gustav the beet-stained ax he’d lost. “I know how many wee ones I’ve got, and none of them are in the belly of a troll. Perhaps if you’d taken a second to stop and think before you—”

Rosilda paused and stepped closer to Gustav. “Wait a minute,” she said with a grin. “I know who you are. You’re the prince from that Rapunzel story.”

At that point, the children swarmed around Gustav, oohing and ahhing. He said nothing.

“Yeah, I’m sure it’s you,” Rosilda said. “Prince Charming himself.”

“My name is Gustav.”

“I’ve been to the royal castle, you know,” she said. “I’ve seen you there.”

Gustav looked stern. “No, you’re thinking of my brother. He’s Charming. I’m Prince Gustav. Gustav the Mighty.”

At that, a small boy and a small girl each started climbing up one of Gustav’s arms.

“Okay, Your Highness,” Rosilda said. “Why don’t you open up your royal wallet and pay us for the damage you’ve done to our farm?”

“I carry no gold with me,” Gustav said, with a child sitting on each shoulder pulling at his hair. “But I’ll tell the royal treasurer to send you some money.”

He tried to walk away before the woman pried any further into his least favorite topic, but was slowed down by two more children, one sitting on each of his feet, hugging his heavy, fur-lined boots.

“Tell me one thing, Your Highness,” Rosilda called to him. “Why didn’t you get a ladder?”

That question again? It was more than Gustav could bear. He shook off the children, who all dropped, giggling, into the dirt. “Pah!” was all he offered in response.

“When you get back to your castle, why don’t you tell that Lyrical Leif that he needs to write some new material?” Rosilda said with a smirk. “It’s been months now, and I’m gettin’ tired of hearing about how that sweet girl saved your life.”

“For your information, that weaselly song-spitter hasn’t shown his face around Castle Sturmhagen in weeks,” Gustav snarled. “And I say, good riddance!”

He abruptly turned his back on Rosilda and hopped onto his dark brown warhorse. He planned to speed off and kick up a cloud of dust at this annoying woman, but before he could spur the horse on, a newcomer approached the farm. This fellow was also on horseback, riding a light tan mare. He was hunched awkwardly in the saddle and moving very slowly. The rider stopped and looked up when he reached the farmyard gate. Gustav, Rosilda, and the children all stared at the stranger’s very odd attire: a dusty white suit, decked with gold trim and tassels.

“Hello,” the man said with a weary smile. “This might sound a bit strange, but are any of you familiar with the tale of Rapunzel? She’s a girl with really long hair, and—”

The delighted children bounced around and pointed at Gustav. “Oh,” said the stranger. “You know the story?”

Rosilda chuckled. “He is the story. That’s Prince Charming, right there.”

The stranger’s eyes widened, and he sat upright. “Really? You’re joking. No? Oh, that’s wonderful. You don’t know how terrible this last week has been. I came all the way from Harmonia. I’ve been riding all over, not getting nearly enough sleep, stopping at every village and farm I could find. I’m practically starving—you wouldn’t believe the things that pass for scones in some of these places. I have had to sleep at inns where they obviously don’t change sheets between guests; I have washed my face in the same water that fish do things in. I’m sorry; I’m rambling. The point is: I’ve gone through all of this in hopes of finding someone who could point me in Rapunzel’s direction. And now I’ve run into you. You, of all people. And it’s even more amazing than you think, because I’m Prince Charming, too!”

Gustav narrowed his eyes. “You’re a crazy man.”

“No, I’m sorry, I’m just a little excited. You see, my name is Frederic. But I’m also a Prince Charming. I’m from the Cinderella story.” He flashed a broad smile and offered his hand to Gustav. Gustav didn’t take it; he had no idea what this lunatic was talking about, and he certainly didn’t trust him. The children, on the other hand, applauded wildly at the mention of Cinderella’s name. Frederic gave them a quick salute.

“Okay, let me start over,” Frederic said to Gustav. “I’m looking for my fiancée, Ella—that’s her real name. She left Harmonia about a week ago. All I know is that she was going to Sturmhagen to find Rapunzel. So, if you could be so kind as to lead me to Rapunzel . . .”

“Follow me,” Gustav said, and started his horse off into the field.

“Oh, fantastic. So how far away is she?”

“I’m not taking you to Rapunzel,” Gustav said. “I want to speak to you out of earshot of this rabble.” And with that, he was off.

“Oh,” said Frederic. “Um, good-bye, children!” He waved to the farmer and her family, and then accidentally walked his horse in a circle three times before getting the animal to follow Gustav down the road.

“Humph,” Rosilda grumbled. “And these are the guys everybody wants to marry? I don’t get it.”

The two men trotted along the meadow-lined dirt road in silence for a while, until Frederic finally spoke. “Soooo . . . You mentioned something back there about not taking me to Rapunzel.”

“That’s right,” said Gustav. “I’m not taking you to Rapunzel.”

“And why is that?”

Feeling they were far enough from the farm, Gustav brought his horse to a stop. “Look,” he said seriously, “are you really the prince from that other story?”

“Yes,” said Frederic as he struggled to line his horse up beside Gustav’s. “Are you really Rapunzel’s prince?”

Gustav huffed. “I’m not her prince, but yes, I am the one from that dumb song. I can’t take you to Rapunzel, because she ran off somewhere.”

“Oh.” Frederic looked crestfallen. “So we have something else in common.”

“I didn’t want that farmer woman and her little imps to hear that Rapunzel was gone,” Gustav said. He glared at Frederic. “And if you tell anyone, Fancy Man, you’ll regret it.”

“I won’t,” Frederic replied. “But if it’s such a big secret, I’m curious as to why you decided to tell me at all.”

Gustav honestly wasn’t sure why he’d chosen to confide in this ridiculous stranger. Maybe he figured that if there was anyone in the world who could possibly understand him, it would be another of the poor fools cursed to be Prince Charming. But could this guy really even be a prince? He looked like a deranged doorman. My brothers would eat this guy for lunch, Gustav thought. But then again, if my brothers would hate him, maybe he’s not so bad.

“What happened to your woman?” Gustav asked.

“Ella left because she thought I was boring,” Frederic said. “But you don’t look boring at all. So I’m guessing that wasn’t your problem.”

“Boring? Ha! No, it’s far worse than that. Rapunzel is off helping people,” Gustav spat. (He simply could not entertain the possibility that his behavior had something to do with Rapunzel’s departure.)

“I don’t understand,” Frederic said. “Helping people is bad?”

“You know the story, right?”

Frederic nodded.

“So you know about the bit with the briar patch?”

“Was it really her tears that restored your sight?” Frederic asked.

“Who knows?” Gustav mumbled. “But she’s convinced she saved me. And once that song started going around, it got worse. She was the brave heroine with magical tears. And what was I? I was the jerk who got beaten by an old lady and rescued by a girl. Anyway, she believes she can heal people, so she went off to spread goodness around the world or some nonsense like that. And I’m left here with a reputation to fix. . . .”

“I’m really sorry to hear—”

“Hold your words,” Gustav cut him off. It suddenly hit him that this bizarre man in the silly suit might be offering exactly what he needed—the opportunity for a heroic deed. “This Cinderella person you’re looking for—she’s in some kind of danger? She needs help?”

“Well, not that I know of,” Frederic replied.

“She’s in danger,” Gustav stated matter-of-factly. He saw Frederic flinch at the word “danger”; it should be easy enough to convince him that his girlfriend needed rescuing.

“Sturmhagen is no place for amateur adventurers,” he went on. “There are monsters at every turn.”

“Tigers?” Frederic asked in a barely audible whisper.

“Sure, why not? We’ve got everything else,” Gustav answered. “You know, I saved that farm family from a troll right before you showed up.”

“Are you serious?” Frederic asked, biting his thumbnail.

“Deadly serious,” Gustav said. “Was the girl armed?”

Frederic shook his head.

Gustav tried to stifle his excitement.

“I never step foot outside without my ax,” he said, motioning to the huge weapon that was now strapped to his back. Frederic got a glimpse of the big blade—still dripping with red—and nearly fell off his horse.

“No one’s safe in these woods without a weapon,” Gustav said. “What was she wearing?”

“A blue dress, I think.”

“A dress?” Gustav scoffed. “Look at me. This is how you prepare for Sturmhagen.” Gleaming armor plates covered his shoulders. Strapped to his upper arms, wrists, and legs were more metal guards, all lined with heavy fur trim. His torso was draped with a fur-lined tunic. Underneath that, more armor. And his tall iron boots looked strong enough to kick their way through a solid wall.

“I don’t even think I could walk in all that,” Frederic said.

“If that girl’s been out here by herself for a week already, we’d better move fast. Her life is probably being threatened as we speak.”

“Oh, my,” Frederic said. “Well, um, will you, um, will you—”

“Yes, I will save your woman,” Gustav declared. “Come! We’re off!”

And with that, Gustav galloped down the road toward the dark, dense forest.

“Please don’t go so fast!” Frederic called as he followed in a sloppy zigzag. “This saddle really chafes!”

Over the years, Frederic had met his fair share of other princes. None of them were anything like this prince of Sturmhagen. Gustav was so gruff. He had no patience, no manners, and ridiculously poor communication skills. Frederic could only presume the man’s flamenco dancing was just as awkward. He wasn’t at all surprised that Gustav hadn’t been able to hold on to his relationship with Rapunzel. But considering his own fiancée had run off, who was he to judge?

As the two princes rode across the countryside in search of Ella, Frederic began to grow frustrated with Gustav. For one thing, the big man always insisted they camp outside. Anytime Frederic suggested they look for an inn, Gustav would respond with, “Bah!” Or sometimes, “Pah!” Or even, “Pffft!”

Every night, Gustav would contentedly sprawl out on bare grass, and then mock Frederic for attempting to curl up on a trio of spread-out handkerchiefs.

“Cleanliness, Gustav,” Frederic would say defensively. “I’m doing what I can in the name of cleanliness.” Dirt, of course, ranked fourth on King Wilberforce’s list of “Enemies of the Nobleman,” just below nose hair, but above hiccups.

As the days rolled by, Frederic also began to doubt Gustav’s skills as a tracker. He watched Gustav sniff the air, cup his hand to his ear to “listen to the wind,” and occasionally dismount from his horse to nibble the edge of a leaf. He couldn’t imagine how any of that would help them locate Ella.

And in reality, none of it would. Gustav had no idea what he was doing.

Eventually, Gustav took them off-road, into the thickest stretches of Sturmhagen’s pine forests, where the trees were so tall they blocked almost all sunlight. Every flutter of a bird or skitter of a mouse made Frederic flinch and drop his reins. The path was nearly nonexistent, and he and Gustav had to squeeze their horses between trees to get by. More than once, Gustav pushed aside a large branch and let it snap back into Frederic’s face.

Hours later, they finally spotted shafts of daylight ahead. “Aha,” Gustav said. He stopped his horse and hopped down. “Now I know where we are.”

“Now?” Frederic asked. “You mean we’ve been lost all this time?”

“Look there,” Gustav said, pointing out into a small clearing beyond the trees, where they could see a solitary stone structure. “Zaubera’s tower.”

“Zaubera? Is that the witch?”

“No, she’s some other old lady who has a tower in the woods,” Gustav quipped sarcastically as he rolled his eyes.

“This is where you led me?” Frederic asked in disbelief. “To one of the most dangerous places in Sturmhagen? And the one place Ella is guaranteed not to be? This is the tower Rapunzel escaped from. Why in the world would Ella come here to look for her?”

Gustav ignored his protests. “Let’s check it out,” he said, and stepped out into the clearing.

Frederic grabbed the bigger man’s arm and yanked him back into the trees. “What if the witch is there?” Frederic asked.

“Witch, are you there?” Gustav called out. He paused for a second, listening for a response. “She’s not there. Let’s go.” He stepped into the clearing, and Frederic pulled him back once more.

“Wait,” Frederic said. “This witch—Zaubera—she’s pretty powerful, right?”

“She’s an old lady,” Gustav tossed off. “I’m not afraid of old ladies. Are you?”

“Ones who can pick me up and throw me, yes.”

“Look,” Gustav said. “Here’s all you need to know about Zaubera.”

Zaubera was possibly the most powerful witch in the world. She hadn’t always been, though. There was a time when she wasn’t even evil. Zaubera was just a farmer woman living by herself in the small town of Jorgsborg. She was a dabbler in the magical arts, just as every member of her family had been for generations. But she never used her talents to do anything more than grow the tastiest turnips the world had ever seen. Still, the magic freaked out her neighbors. Despite her many attempts to befriend her fellow Jorgsborgians, Zaubera was always ignored—or worse, mocked. One particular group of local children used to stand at the edge of her property and call her names like “worm lips” and “hedgehog hair.” Discouraged, Zaubera gave up and retreated to her cottage to live the life of a hermit.

Then came the fateful day when one of the local hunters managed to capture one of Sturmhagen’s giant, fire-breathing beavers. The man brought the creature back to town to show off his catch—big mistake. The beaver broke loose and went on a rampage, setting nearly every home in Jorgsborg ablaze. As the fire raged out of control around her, Zaubera projected a magical force field around her farm, keeping herself and her home safe from the flames. But she noticed a trio of children trapped by the flames, the same children who insulted her daily. Zaubera dropped the shield around her home and protected the children instead. She lost everything she’d worked for, but, she thought, at least the townspeople would finally appreciate her.

Suddenly, a hero arrived. The armored Sir Lindgren galloped into town on his white stallion and quickly slew the beaver. He then rode up to Zaubera and told her to release the children. Confused, she dropped her shield. Sir Lindgren scooped up the kids and rode away.

As the town began to rebuild and people returned to their homes, the townsfolk didn’t thank Zaubera. In fact, they shunned her more than ever. And then she caught wind of a new bard song, “The Ballad of the Knight and the Beaver,” in which the hero knight not only slays the beast but rescues three children from the clutches of a wicked witch. It was at that point that something in Zaubera snapped.

Fine, she thought. If they want a villain, that’s what I’ll give them. She got her gnarled hands on some ancient spell books and taught herself some dark magic. Then she wreaked havoc on the town. She used fireballs to blast down every cottage that had been rebuilt. She tore up gardens with sorcerous winds. She shot bolts of mystical lightning at the very children whose lives she’d saved earlier, sending them running, screaming and crying. Everyone fled. And no one ever returned to Jorgsborg.

Zaubera had gotten a taste of what it felt like to be truly feared. And she wanted more. The whole world should be trembling in fear of her, she thought. She’d heard about other witches that had become notorious for deeds that weren’t even remotely impressive. Putting someone to sleep? So unoriginal. Trying to cook a couple of kids? That didn’t even require magic! No, Zaubera deserved to be more infamous than all of them. She needed word of her wickedness to spread across the kingdoms. And for that, she couldn’t rely on a few sizzled kids. She’d need to go big. She’d need to get the notice of the bards.

On the day she caught a wandering peasant swiping some turnips from her newly replanted garden, she came up with the perfect plan. Instead of simply frying the man where he stood, Zaubera offered to let him go in exchange for his young daughter. The peasant was surprisingly quick to agree to this (he was not a very good dad), and that was how Zaubera ended up with Rapunzel. The witch locked the girl away in an impenetrable tower and then waited gleefully for some heroes to try to rescue the fair maiden. She knew they would come. Heroes just can’t stay away when they hear about a person in danger; heroes crave the glory that gets heaped upon them when they pull off a rescue. Oh, how Zaubera hated heroes. And when some stupid heroes showed up to storm her tower, she planned to blast them into nothingness; the levels of pain and destruction she would cause would simply be too great for the bards to overlook.

But no one came. Rapunzel’s father never sent anyone to try to get his daughter back. He never even told anyone she was gone. Like I said, he was a very bad father. He just sat home and enjoyed his stolen turnips.

Years went by, during which Zaubera was stuck with a prisoner she never really wanted. But the witch used the time wisely, learning every terrible magic spell she could—a spell to bind her enemies, a spell to grant her superhuman strength, even a thesaurus spell to help her think up new and creative ways to insult people. Before long, she was a master of dark magic. Then, one day, out of the blue, she got the rescue attempt she was hoping for. Sort of.

One of the lunkhead princes of Sturmhagen tried to attack her, and she made quick work of him. But the fool had come alone; there was no one to share the story of how Zaubera had destroyed the prince. No one except Rapunzel, that is. Desperate for fame, Zaubera set Rapunzel free to tell her tale. She never considered the possibility that the longhaired lass would save that near-dead lunkhead and become the hero of her own story.

After “The Song of Rapunzel” became popular—the song in which the bards made the witch sound incompetent by implying that Rapunzel escaped on her own—Zaubera was more determined than ever to prove her wickedness to the world. She also now had a vendetta against heroes and bards.

The witch spent weeks concocting her Supreme Scheme for Infamy. Instead of kidnapping one prisoner this time, she was going to kidnap five. And she was going after captives that people would actually miss and want back, prisoners that the world’s heroes would be climbing over one another for the chance to rescue: She was going to snatch the bards themselves.

And that’s exactly what she had spent the past few weeks doing. She didn’t worry about anybody getting wise to her plan before she was ready—there was no communication between kingdoms. And without bards, who was going to tell the people that the bards were missing?

Sturmhagen, Harmonia, Erinthia, Avondell, and Sylvaria: When the heroes of these five kingdoms hear that I’ve got their beloved lute-pluckers, they’ll come running, the witch thought. And when they arrive, they’ll bear witness to the grandest display of evil power this world has ever seen. No one will ever ignore Zaubera again.

Of course, Gustav didn’t tell any of that to Frederic—Gustav didn’t know any of that. What Gustav said to Frederic was: “She’s an old lady. End of story.”

Gustav strolled cockily out into the clearing, with Frederic quivering behind him. As it turned out, someone had heard Gustav’s shout after all. A girl’s head popped out of the tower’s lone window, some sixty feet above the ground.

“Who’s out there?” Ella shouted, as she looked down. She was stunned to see her fiancé. “Frederic, is that you? What are you doing here?”

“Ella!” Frederic squealed with delight. “Oh, my goodness. It’s you! I, uh, I came to find you.”

“You did?” Ella said. “Wow. You did. You’re really here.”

Okay, this is it, Frederic thought. Time to show her what you’ve got. “It’s the all-new me, Ella. I’ve slept on dirt. I’m ready for adventure now.”

Frederic couldn’t see Gustav behind him, but he could feel his eyes rolling.

“How’d you get up there?” Frederic called.

“It’s a long story,” Ella said.

It’s not really a long story. Here it is:

Ella rode into Sturmhagen (it took her two days to cover the distance Frederic traveled in a week) and visited a village where she hoped to gather some information about Rapunzel.

“Do any of you happen to know Rapunzel?” she asked a group of townsfolk strolling down the street, and then tried (unnecessarily) to jog their memories by singing a few bars. “Listen, dear hearts, to the tale I must share; the tale of a girl with very long hair. . . .”

Zaubera, out on the prowl, slunk by just at that moment, pondering a cleverly theatrical way to spread news of the bards’ kidnappings. It might be a poetic touch, she thought, to snatch a passing minstrel and use him or her to sing about the crime.

And when Zaubera saw some loudmouth in a dress singing to a crowd on a street corner, she figured she’d found her minstrel. Only it was really Ella. As soon as the crowd dispersed, the witch sidled up to her.

“Get your facts straight, you chuckleheaded throat-warbler!” Zaubera spat. She then trapped Ella—who was utterly baffled—in a binding spell and took her back to the tower.

See, it wasn’t that long.

“I’m so glad you’re here,” Ella said. “Please, go get help before the witch comes back.”

“No, we’re not leaving without you!” Frederic yelled.

“Who’s that with you?” Ella asked.

“Oh, this is Rapunzel’s prince. He helped me find you. And he can get you down. He’s got experience with this.” He turned to Gustav and asked him quietly, “How do we get her down?”