Christopher Healy - The Hero’s Guide to Saving Your Kingdom

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.