Christopher Healy - The Hero’s Guide to Storming the Castle

“Come on, we need to hurry,” Ella said brusquely. She drew her sword and headed for the topiary bushes.

“Wait, who put you in charge?” Gustav asked.

“The bards did,” Ella said.

Gustav huffed but scrambled after her anyway.

“What’s the plan?” Frederic asked.

“See that tree in the far corner? That’s our new escape route,” Ella said in the gruff tone she imagined all military commanders used. “We bust Liam out of his chains, climb that tree, and head back out over the wall.”

“And if anybody gets in our way?” Frederic asked.

“We knock them down,” Ella answered.

Gustav grinned. “I think I like you, Boss Lady.”

The quartet crawled between the legs of a buffalo-shaped hedge. From beneath the “belly” of the bush, they looked out on the wedding. At least five hundred silver chairs had been set up in the enormous garden, and every one of them held a dignified, important, and very wealthy guest. Behind the audience, practically hidden by massive arrangements of roses, orchids, lilies, and snapdragons, stood dozens of musicians playing what was presumably a wedding march. (The song sounded more like a battle hymn than a bridal tune, but hey, that’s Briar Rose. . . . ) In grandstand bleachers behind the band there were at least a thousand more guests—ordinary citizens of both Erinthia and Avondell who had paid nearly a year’s wages to attend the grand event.

Fig. 7 Decorative TOPIARIES

Above the crowd, tightrope walkers—all of whom were costumed to look like Briar Rose, complete with giant wigs—sashayed along a pair of high wires that ran from the palace roof to the top of the wisteria-covered pergola behind the altar. Below them, along a long red carpet that ran down a wide center aisle, acrobats in formal wear cartwheeled in time to the orchestra music, while top-hatted clowns pretended to pluck large, lustrous rubies from the ears of audience members.

The red carpet ended at a raised altar, on which stood Liam, dressed in an exquisite royal-blue tunic and shimmering white cape trimmed with gold filigree. But his attire was the only elegant thing about him. His shoulders were slumped, his head drooped nearly to his chest, and his normally stylish hair hung limply over his face. His left leg was chained to the decoratively carved oak pulpit that rose up from the center of the altar.

“I love the cape,” Duncan said. “But the rest of him looks terrible.”

“He looks even more mopey than when we first met him,” Gustav added.

In truth, Liam was in worse shape than any of them even realized. In the four days since he’d spoken to Cremins and Knoblock, he hadn’t eaten so much as a crumb and had no sleep whatsoever. He was in such a stupor that a pair of attendants had to literally drag him down the aisle and prop him up at the altar.

Ella refused to dwell on Liam’s sad state. “Gustav, do you think you could rip that pulpit out of the ground?” she asked.

“Without breaking a sweat,” Gustav said.

“Then that’s how we free him,” Ella said.

“What about all those frowning men with long, pointy things?” Duncan asked. Soldiers armed with tall poleaxes were positioned throughout the garden, with several standing guard around Liam on the altar.

“There are too many. We can’t take on all of them,” Ella said.

“Aw, now I’m starting to like you less,” Gustav muttered.

“We need a distraction,” Ella said.

“My specialty!” Duncan beamed. He hiked up his pantaloons and crawled off toward the rear of the crowd.

“Wait!” Frederic said. “What if you get caught?”

“You guys are about to rescue Liam,” he said as if it were the most obvious thing on Earth. “Once he’s free, he’ll just rescue me.” He scuttled off on his hands and knees.

Just then a collective gasp rose from the crowd of wedding guests. A giant hot-air balloon had floated into view and was hovering over the altar. From the basket of that craft emerged the Archcleric of Avondell, the kingdom’s highest-ranking clergyman. The red-robed, white-haired cleric stepped to the edge of the craft’s basket, blew kisses down to the audience, and—to the sound of even louder gasps—stepped out into thin air. Or so it seemed. The holy man was wearing a harness, and two burly circus workers in the balloon were lowering him down by rope. The Archcleric descended to his spot behind the pulpit with his arms spread to the sides, like an eagle soaring down to roost on a tree branch. After landing, he adjusted his pointy, gold-flecked hat while another servant dashed up to disconnect his harness. Nearly everyone burst into applause, including Frederic.

“I know Briar Rose is the enemy here,” he said, nodding appreciatively. “But she knows how to put on a show.”

The Archcleric took a bow and gestured toward the far end of the aisle, where the bride was about to make her entrance. The guests turned to watch.

As the sound of thundering drums filled the courtyard, Briar Rose rode out of the palace on a unicorn. She wore a sparkling, diamond-studded bridal gown with a train so long that she was halfway down the aisle before the end of it finally emerged from the palace. An elaborate headdress—which included several live, tweeting tropical birds—was entwined around her swaying pillar of hair. Her fingers were covered with so many jeweled rings that it was impossible to bend a knuckle. The unicorn also wore a gown.

As Briar slowly made her way toward the altar, waving and blowing kisses to the audience, she allowed herself a moment to glare triumphantly at Liam. “I told you so,” she mouthed silently at him, and she smiled as she saw him slump halfway to the floor. But when Briar was about two-thirds of the way down the aisle, Duncan burst out from under the chair of a monocle-wearing baron, pointing and shouting, “Jenny von Hornhorse!”

The unicorn stopped and reared, its dress billowing. The orchestra froze mid-note. Everyone stared, dumbfounded, at the strangely dressed little man who now stood in the center of the aisle like a roadblock.

“Isn’t Jenny von Hornhorse the perfect name for her?” Duncan said, smiling.

“What are you doing, you idiot?” Briar hissed between her teeth. “Get back to your seat or I’ll have you thrown in the dungeon with a sack full of rats.”

Duncan didn’t move. Briar tried to steer her mount around him, but each time she got the animal to take a step left or right, Duncan countered by leaping in front of it again. “It’s like we’re dancing,” he said.

Several guards started to rush toward her, but Briar raised her hands to stop them. “Stay back!” she commanded. “No violence near the dress!”

She leaned down to snarl at Duncan. “Get. Out. Of. My. Way.”

“I love unicorns!” Duncan cried, throwing his arms around the creature’s neck.

While everyone’s eyes were glued to the spectacle in the center aisle, Ella, Frederic, and Gustav crept to the back of the altar platform.

“Psst!” Frederic whispered.

Liam looked down and wondered if he was hallucinating. Ella held a finger to her lips. The guards at Liam’s sides were still staring at Duncan—who was now running his fingers through the unicorn’s mane and singing to it—but they and the Archcleric were blocking Gustav’s path to the pulpit. The big prince had no idea how to get to it without causing a commotion.

Fig. 8 BRIAR, regal