Frog the Barbarian Read online

  To Mum and Dad

  Guy Bass

  To my weird and wonderful studio-family

  at Dynamo, for the best support

  and inspiration EVER

  Oda

  CONTENTS

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Once Upon the End of the World…

  The Big Question

  The Picnic

  The Shyclops

  The Champion of Kingdomland

  The Royal Army

  The UnSlumber

  The Valley of the Bragon

  The Duke

  The Slaying

  The Escape

  The House in the Clouds

  The Door to Nowhere

  The Rescue

  The Wake Up Call

  The Second Wave

  The Cave

  The Difference Between “Aaah” and “Baa”

  The Mouse-Louse

  The Return to the Palace

  The Clothes Make the Frog

  The Last Resort

  The Last of the Rarewolves

  The Excellent Magicals and the Champion Business

  The Battle in the Sky

  The Major

  The Barbarian

  The Prisoners

  The Second Part of the Prophecy

  Nigel’s Guide to Bragging

  About the Author

  Copyright

  Once Upon the End of the World…

  The Astownding Legend of Prince Frog

  The Next Chapter of the Rest of the Advenchur Continues

  One upon a tyme there was a prince called FROG. Ackshully he was called ROYUL MAJESTY, LORD OF ALL KINGDUMS, RITEFUL ROOLER OF THE WURLD, PRINCE FROG! but that takes ages to rite down.

  So, Prince Frog came out of a goldun egg in a royal lake. He was mighty and green and had jumping legs for jumping and the most skills by a milliun.

  And Frog was supposed to rool over all of Kingdomland just like the KING AND QUEEN OF EVERYTHING. It was his density destiny. But the Wurld had Ended so Frog had to live on a farty little Island with his best frend BUTTERCUP. And then Frog desided to go and see what the End of the Wurld looked like and he fownd out the wurld was not ackshully ended and there was stuff and things everywhere! He was really pleased because it ment that his hole life was going to be shined-up crowns and polished sandwitches. And then Frog went to the royal palase but there was alreddy a prinsess on the throne. She was called Prinsess Rainbow but Frog called her Prinsess BrainSlow. Hahahahahaha!

  And then she locked me Frog in a cage. And then Prinsess BrainSlow (hahaha) said Frog you’re Not Eaven Ackshully a Reel Prince at All! Frog had had enough of Prinsess BrainSlow (haha) so he escaped from his cage using his magic ninja skills. Then he fownd the royal lake where he came from and he went for a swim. And then he accidentelly woke up some owter space alien invaiders. They were called KROAKANS and they looked qwite a lot like Frog. Their Leeder was called JENERAL KURG and he told Frog that he was supposed to rule the hole wurld because Frog was akshully an owter-space alien prince and was the son of KING KROAK. So Frog was really pleased again. In your face Prinsess!

  And then Frog found owt he was supposed to skortch the earth and blackun the skyes and DISTROY THE WHOLE WURLD. The Kroakans prooved it by Ka-sploding up the royal palase to bits.

  Frog said STOP I DON’T WANT TO DISTROY THE WHOLE WORLD, PRINCES ARE MENT TO BE GOOD so he defeeted Jeneral Kurg and the Kroakans by being mighty and saved the prinsess and probubly the whole wurld. It was a big day.

  After that Frog said goodbye to the prinsess and the little bit of palase that was left. He desided he didn’t ever want to rool anything any more. He didn’t ever want to sit on a throne in the palase and he didn’t ever want to distroy the wurld like an alien space invaider.

  He was not going to do any of those things, ever again.

  So what was he going to do?

  The Big Question

  Frog closed his book and chewed on the piece of chalk in his hand.

  “That’s the big question, isn’t it?” he said. “What am I going to do now?”

  He sat up and looked around. It was a cool, breezy afternoon and the sun and three moons hung in the sky. To the east was a dense forest of blue-leaved trees; to the west, crimson-red hills gave way to a range of jagged mountains, jutting into a fog of cloud. Frog watched a family of giant oak-folk make their way across the distant horizon, as ancient as the trees they carried on their backs. Nearby, yapping bark larks dived for whistle fish in a trickling river. Frog glanced over at the sheep grazing lazily on the riverbank.

  “What would you do, Sheriff Explosion?” Frog asked, hopping over to his trusty steed. He tore a clump of lime-green grass from the bank and fed it to the sheep. “I mean, if you didn’t want to be a prince but you were still definitely the mightiest, most skilled-up outer space someone in Kingdomland and probably the whole, entire universe? Would you just let all that mightiness go to waste?”

  “Baa,” replied Sheriff Explosion.

  “Neither would I,” replied Frog. He peered into the river; his reflection stared expectantly back. His round, hairless head and bulbous, yellow eyes suddenly seemed strange and otherworldly … his bright green skin decidedly extraterrestrial.

  “Buttercup will know what I’m supposed to do – she always makes the right choice,” he concluded. “I’ve met princesses, wizards, barbarians, aliens … but Buttercup’s still my only real friend.”

  “Baa?” Sheriff Explosion bleated.

  “You’re a trusty steed – that’s different,” replied Frog.

  “Baa,” the sheep sighed.

  “Anyway, I still need to tell Buttercup the world hasn’t ended,” Frog added. “So, we follow the river until we reach the giant waterfall in the sky – then it’s a quick froggy-paddle to the— Wuh?”

  Frog had spotted something in the river – a small, oil-black orb. At first he thought it was submerged under the water but as he peered closer he realized it was a reflection. He spun around and looked up. The orb hovered in mid-air above him, rotating constantly on its axis, emitting a low, breathy hum and sparking with green light.

  “Baa?” said Sheriff Explosion.

  “What is that?” murmured Frog, as the spinning orb buzzed around him like a bumbleflea. It swooped under his legs and over his head – then stopped dead in the air, inches from his face. Frog reached out a hand to touch it.

  WHiiiiiiSHT–SHUNG!

  Frog felt something whistle past his head and the orb vanished before his eyes. He turned to see it pinned against a tree, a long arrow protruding from the trunk.

  “Yoiks…” squeaked Frog. He edged towards the tree as the orb fizzed its last. Cautiously, he reached out and stroked the arrow’s feathered tip. “That’s skilled-up aiming … unless that arrow was aimed at me. Hey! Was that arrow aimed at me?”

  Frog looked behind him – and then up and up, over the top of the blue forest, following the arrow’s trajectory. There, standing motionless on the edge of a high, crescent-shaped rock, was a great, grey wolf, as big as a horse.

  “The rarewolf!” Frog cried. He had met the rarewolf when he first arrived in Kingdomland, when the beast had droned on about some ancient prophecy of doom. Indeed he was so unpleasant that Frog thought he might have to defeat him then and there. But then the rarewolf helped Frog vanquish the Kroakan invaders. Frog wasn’t sure what to think. He peered closer.

  Squinting, he could make out a green-skinned figure in a long, hooded robe, perched upon the rarewolf’s back. He had seen the figure once before, sitting atop the rarewolf moments after Frog saved Princess Rainbow and probably the whole world. But this time he could see exactly what it was.

  A Kroakan.

  An ou
ter space alien invader.

  “Who the … who?”

  This wasn’t like any Kroakan he’d seen before – she was smaller and leaner, with two long antennae protruding from her forehead. She adjusted a longbow on her shoulder and gave Frog a nod. Then the rarewolf huffed and began to slope away.

  “Wait! Come back!” Frog cried. He turned to his sheep. “My big bucket of questions is bursting, Sheriff! Who is the mystery Kroakan? Why is she riding the rarewolf? What if she’s put some evil psychic space eye on him and turned him into her trusty slave? Badness! Grab your things, Sheriff Explosion!”

  Frog quickly collected all his worldly goods. They numbered:

  One journal, in which Prince Frog recorded his adventures in the third person.

  One sunder-gun, Prince Frog’s outer space alien invader ray gun.

  One invincible magic sword (formerly a stick) named Basil Rathbone.

  He holstered his sword and sunder-gun and shoved his journal into the back of his catastrophe pants – his supposedly End of the World-proof shorts.

  “Let’s go – the chase is on!” cried Frog, and disappeared into the forest.

  “Baa…” sighed Sheriff Explosion.

  The Picnic

  “This way!” cried Frog, racing through the forest. He had to find out the truth about the mystery Kroakan. He leaped and swung his way through the dense maze of branches. “We’re getting closer! I can almost smell the rarewolf’s stinky—”

  Frog thrust himself between two branches … and emerged in mid-air.

  “EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE—”

  Sposh.

  Water engulfed him, filling his nose and mouth. Frog curled into a ball, remembering how to breathe underwater. He looked around and found himself in the centre of a small, shallow lake. It struck him that the last time he’d gone swimming, he had discovered a spaceship and inadvertently awakened a murderous alien army that tried to bring about The End of the World.

  He decided it was probably best to swim for shore.

  Frog dodged a flurry of grasping hookweeds and swam towards the bank. He burst out of the water and stumbled on to dry land.

  “Calamity! The sky falls!” cried a voice. “It’s the End of the World!”

  Frog blew water out of his nostrils and earholes and looked back. He was in a clearing at the base of a small waterfall. A stout ball of a man with a once-splendid red coat, an unkempt grey beard and skin like an old potato was jumping up and down as if his feet were on fire. Below him, sitting upon a large blanket next to a lavish picnic, was a tall woman with cascading copper hair and brightly embroidered finery. She peered at Frog with a look of perplexed impatience.

  “The final day! The End is nigh!” the old man wailed.

  “Do hush, poppet,” said the woman, rising gracefully to her feet and smoothing down her dress. “The world is not ending – nor was it last time, or the time before that. And the only thing falling from the sky is that pond-gobbin over there.”

  The woman pointed at Frog, as he got to his feet.

  “A gobbin, you say?” murmured the round old man, halting his fearful jig in mid-air. “O joy! O glorious stay of execution!”

  “Sorry to disappoint,” Frog began, hoisting up his catastrophe pants, “but I’m not a gobbin. I am…”

  Frog realized he had never spoken his name without the inclusion of his various princely titles. He put his fists on his hips and took a deep breath:

  “I am Frog!”

  “If I say you are a gobbin, you are a gobbin,” the tall woman declared. “Now be gone, before my husband wreaks terrible, savage revenge upon you for interrupting our picnic.”

  “Who, him?” scoffed Frog.

  “Who, me?” blurted the old man.

  “Pfff – no offence, but you need to take a closer look at all the mightiness I’ve got going on,” added Frog. “I could defeat that old butterball with my toes. I’d move into a house of victory and use him as the welcome mat!”

  “Oh dear,” sighed the old man, as Frog felt the woman’s glare.

  “Husband, be a poppet and fetch my longsword,” she said, cracking her knuckles. “I’m going to chop off this gobbin’s head.”

  The Shyclops

  “Oh dear, oh dear,” the old man muttered, shuffling from foot to foot. “Chop chop…”

  “My sword, husband,” insisted the woman. “It’s in the picnic basket. Next to the porkberry pie.”

  “Wait, you’re really picking a fight with me?” asked Frog. “OK, then I promise not to use all of my mightiness on you – it wouldn’t be fair.” He reached down to his scabbard and wrapped his fingers around the handle of his sword. “Behold … Basil Rathbone!” Frog drew out the gleaming, magical blade with a flourish. “He’s the only sword with his own song!” he cried. “But you’re not allowed to sing along.”

  With that, Frog took a deep breath…

  The Basil Rathbone Song

  Basil Rathbone!

  Most Powerful Sord in Kingdumland

  Basil Rathbone!

  Everyone say Oooh and gather rownd!

  He can slice through iron or a blayde of grass

  You’re bownd to be immpressed by his sharp-i-ness

  Basil Rathbone!

  Most Powerful Sord in Kingdumland

  Basil Rathbone!

  He sometimes makes a swishing sownd

  Changed from a stick in seconds flat

  By a dying wizard with a verry tall hat

  Basil Rathbone!

  Most Powerful Sord in Kingdumland

  Basil Rathbone! The sord that I own!

  Basil Rathbone! He’s never on loan!

  Yeah yeah yeah yeah (fade out)

  The woman’s eyes grew wide. The round old man shrieked in horror. Frog grinned.

  “Pretty intimidating, isn’t it?” he chuckled. “Basil Rathbone’s the most first-rate, magically unbreakable sword ever. I bet you’ve never … seen … anything—”

  A dark shadow fell over Frog, and he realized that the looks of horror on the man and woman’s faces may not have been in response to Basil Rathbone. Slowly, he turned back towards the lake.

  A monster had emerged from behind the waterfall, and now loomed over him. This fat, burly brute was as tall as a house, with tufts of hair dotted all over its body, four great arms (each carrying a tree-trunk club) and a single eye in the middle of its forehead.

  “DON’T LOOK AT ME!” it bellowed.

  Frog saw a club rush towards him and then found himself flying through the air. The impact was so hard he felt the breath leave his body. He slammed into a tree and crumpled to the ground, head spinning and ears ringing.

  “The Beast of the Apocalypse! The End is upon us!” shrieked the old man as the creature lumbered out of the water towards him.

  “No, it’s a shyclops!” cried the woman. “They cannot stand to be watched – do not look it in the eye!”

  “STOP JUDGING ME! DON’T LOOK AT ME!” the beast cried.

  Frog opened his eyes. He sat up and checked that he was still in one green piece.

  “Ow…” he said, rubbing his head. He looked up to see the old man frozen in terror as the shyclops loomed over him.

  The man just had time to mutter “It’s the End of the—” before the shyclops kicked him to the ground with its giant foot.

  “Husband!” cried the woman and raced, screaming, towards the shyclops. The stunned beast stumbled backwards, swinging its clubs wildly. The woman was swift and agile, dodging the first two swings, but the third struck her a glancing blow across the head. As she fell limply to the ground, the beast raised all four clubs above its head…

  Frog looked down to see his magical sword still gripped tightly in his hand.

  “Hey! Pick on someone your own mightiness!” he cried, bounding towards the shyclops in great hops.

  “TOO CLOSE…!” the shyclops boomed.

  Frog activated his kroak cloak. His mysterious camouflage ability rendered him all but i
nvisible. Only his catastrophe pants could be seen. It was more than enough to embarrass the shyclops even further.

  “AWAY! GET AWAY!” The mortified beast flailed its clubs wildly.

  The invisible Frog sprang upwards, grabbing a club as it sped past his head. It propelled him skywards. He spiralled in the air before landing squarely on the back of the shyclops’s neck.

  “NO! LEAVE … ME … ALONE!”

  “Stop doing an evil monster rampage and I will!” insisted Frog, reappearing as he clung on desperately to one of the creature’s hair tufts. The shyclops stomped and flailed in panic but couldn’t shake off its determined green passenger.

  “This is just a taste of my mightiness pie!” insisted Frog. “Don’t make me feed you the whole thing!”

  “ALONE! ALONE!” the beast roared – and swung all of its clubs towards its own head.

  THUD.

  With that, the shyclops fell to the ground, unconscious.

  “Whole pie … it is,” panted Frog, hopping down from the shyclops’ back.

  “W-we’re alive?” blurted the old man, getting to his feet. “It’s not the End?”

  “It appears not,” said the woman, inspecting the bump on her head as she strode towards Frog. “That was impressive work, pond-gobbin – a shyclops who feels judged is a fearsome opponent… We have lost many a warrior to their shamefaced rampages. Perhaps I will not chop off your head after all.”

  Frog tutted and sheathed his sword. “Yeah, well I wouldn’t feel proper fighting a lady and a flobbily old fossil anyway,” he said.

  The woman bristled.

  “Flobbily? Who’s he talking about?” asked the man, picking cake out of his beard.

  “By the six-and-a-half realms – I don’t think this creature knows who we are,” said the woman.

  “Majesties!” came a cry. A dozen guards emerged from the treeline, dressed in battle-worn armour and wielding swords and shields. The foremost guard – red-faced and sporting a strikingly bushy moustache – added, “We heard, ‘AAH!’ and ‘OOOH!’ and—” he gasped at the sight of the stunned monster. “Grool’s beard – it’s a shyclops! Protect the King and Queen!”