Frog the Barbarian Page 3

  “Bragon!”

  At the captain’s cry, Frog looked up. From atop the mountain emerged the shape of the bragon. The beast plummeted from the sky, opening its huge wings wide and swooping over the royal army, spooking horses and causing the less courageous soldiers to duck.

  Finally, the bragon dived towards the ground, stopping in mid-air and landing no more than ten paces from the King and Queen.

  “Yoiks…” whispered Frog. The barrel-chested bragon was even taller than the rarewolf. Its scaly hide was a rich, reddish colour, and its wings were striped in an array of bright blues, greens and yellows. Atop its head was an impressive plume of purple hair, which it flicked proudly as it landed.

  “Behold the enemy of Kingdomland,” hissed the Queen to Frog. “Captain!”

  “Bragon! Villain! Foul, lie-mouthed spewn!” snarled Camperlash, turning redder than roseberries. “Kneel before the King and Queen of Every—”

  “Face the Champion of Kingdomland!” interrupted Frog. He hopped on to Sheriff Explosion and gave him a sharp nudge in the haunches. The sheep was so startled it actually started running, bolting past Captain Camperlash.

  “Stink-pus gobbin! Get back ’ere!” the captain hissed.

  “It appears our new champion hungers for battle,” noted the Queen as Frog raced towards the bragon on his trusty steed.

  “Why is that gobbin riding a cloud?” asked the King.

  The Duke

  “Onward, Sheriff Explosion!” cried Frog, delighted that his steed was actually being trusty for once.

  It did not last. At the sight of the bragon, Sheriff Explosion skidded to a halt, sending Frog flying over his head and into the snow.

  “Baa,” said the sheep, sheepishly.

  Frog quickly scrambled to his feet and drew his sword.

  “Bragon, face me! I am Frog, the mightiest champion of Kingdomland ever!”

  The bragon raised an eyebrow.

  “Welcome, Frog, to you and yours!” he boomed. He flicked his purple quiff and pointed to himself with his thumb claws. “You probably already know … the Duke.”

  “Duke? Duke Shmook!” Frog replied. “All I need to know is, you’re bad … and beating badness is my specialist subject. Prepare to chew the gum of defeat!”

  “Of course you know the Duke! Everyone knows the Duke!” cried the bragon, his voice resounding through the valley. “For the Duke’s legend is known from Terra Further to the Forgotten Sands! The Duke is so much bragon that one name cannot contain him! You stand before The Wondrous Thundersnort, Oval the Uncornerable, That Unpausing Comma, Tantamountian Truthpumper, Falderal O’Blarney … you stand before Duke Bombastion the Many-Named!”

  “Who?” asked Frog.

  “You only have to look at the Duke to know how tall-headed and strong-winged and flower-smelling he is,” continued the bragon, visibly swelling with pride. “But there’s more! The Duke is so strong that he could throw his mum over the moon! The Duke has more mightiness in his sneeze than you could ever dream about, even in those really good dreams where you’ve got all your clothes on and no one’s chasing you.”

  “Pfff… Says you,” tutted Frog. “I’m mightier by a million – you should have seen all the—”

  “The Duke is so mighty that if you looked up ‘mightiness’ in the dictionary, the Duke would appear behind you and pull your pants over your head,” interrupted the bragon loudly. He was expanding like a balloon.

  “I’ve got mightiness coming out of my ears!” said Frog, waving Basil Rathbone. “You don’t even have a sword or—”

  “The Duke is so mighty that if he farted, it would change the smell of the world,” boomed the bragon.

  “Now you’re just being—” Frog began.

  “The Duke is so mighty that he could drink a volcano!”

  “That’s bonkers. No one can—”

  “The Duke is so mighty that the next mightiest thing after the Duke is still the Duke!”

  “Stop boasting! You’re not even—”

  “The Duke is so mighty that he could rule the whole of Kingdomland if he wanted!” said the bragon, by now so swollen that he looked as if he might pop. “And the Duke would be a better ruler than the King and Queen of Everything!”

  A gasp rang out from the royal army and echoed into the valley.

  “Canker-mouthed article! Y’ dare set yerself above the Majesties?” roared Camperlash, his face exploding with redness. “Seize him!”

  “Consider him— Hey!” began Frog. The bragon had begun to float up into the air. “Get back here! I have to bop your chops!”

  “Can’t be helped,” said the bragon, with a flick of his hair and a flash of sharp teeth. “The Duke must fly!”

  “Stop! I haven’t defeated you yet!” cried Frog, springing upwards on his mighty legs. He grabbed the bragon by a claw as it launched itself ever higher.

  “Grabby gobbin, the Duke is too handsome to be manhandled,” laughed the bragon. “Let’s go for a ride!”

  “Wai— AAH!” cried Frog, his stomach churning as they corkscrewed in the air, the bragon’s booming laughter filling the valley. Frog had no idea what was up or down. He caught sight of the royal army and accidentally kicked a few soldiers in the head as the bragon soared above them.

  “Sorry! ’Scuse me! Champion coming through!” he cried.

  “Archers, bring down the beast!” hollered Camperlash.

  Frog heard the Queen yell, “Hold fire! Let’s see what our champion can do!” and breathed a short-lived sigh of relief.

  A moment later, the bragon swept upwards and towards the mountain. “The Duke can do this all day!” it cried.

  “So can I!” replied Frog, trying not to be sick. “This is noth— AAAAH!”

  He saw the jagged mountainside rush towards him. The bragon pulled up at the last moment and Frog was buffeted against the rock face with a THUD (“Ow!”) THUD (“Ow!”) THUD (“Ow!”) THUD!

  A dazed Frog felt one of his hands slip as the bragon looped the loop. In a moment he would fall to his doom. He grabbed his sunder-gun from his holster and – his head spinning – opened fire.

  “YooooOOOOoooW!” the bragon cried, as a green beam of energy seared through his wing. He immediately spiralled out of control. Frog saw mountain … sky … mountain … sky … ground. The bragon landed hard, bouncing and careering along the sun-dried earth until he skidded to a halt at the feet of the King and Queen.

  “The sky is falling!” howled the King. “Every monarch for themselves!”

  “Frog!” cried the Queen.

  “All … in a day’s … championing,” groaned Frog, crawling out from underneath the bragon. He struggled to his feet as Sheriff Explosion nuzzled his leg in relief.

  “Ha! They will sing songs about you, Frog,” laughed the Queen. “We brought a whole army to defeat the bragon and you managed it single-handed! The final honour must be yours and yours alone.”

  “Final honour?” repeated Frog, rubbing his head.

  “The honour of imposing peace, of course,” said the Queen with a smile. “Be a champion … and slay the bragon.”

  The Slaying

  “Slay?” blurted Frog, holding the Queen’s sword in both hands. “As in, slay slay?”

  “Of course,” replied the Queen. “Draw your sword and cut off the bragon’s head.”

  “Chop chop,” added the King with a sigh.

  “Yeah, but, I mean … the bragon’s bad, right?” said Frog, his hand hovering over his scabbard. “I mean, really bad – burning villages and eating old ladies and shouting at kittens…?”

  “Lily-gut! Y’ heard the bragon – he said he was better than the King and Queen,” snarled Camperlash, his moustache hair standing on end. “Head-chopping’s the least he deserves!”

  “Wait, that’s it?” said Frog. “You want to slay him for what he said? That’s bumdrops! You said he was an enemy of Kingdomland. I can’t slay his whole business just ’cause of talking.”

  “Baa,” sa
id Sheriff Explosion, possibly in agreement.

  “Why not?” asked the Queen. “If anyone could claim to be the greatest, how would we know who actually was the greatest? How would we decide who should be King or Queen? It is only by agreement that we can have peace in Kingdomland.”

  “But everyone knows who you are – you have the shined-up crowns and the loyal subjects,” exclaimed Frog.

  “Do y’ duty, slack-wit!” yelled Camperlash. “Slay the beast before it stirs!”

  “You can’t go around slaying folk just for saying stuff,” Frog said. “It isn’t good.”

  “Frog,” said the Queen, firmly. “Do as I command. Slay the bragon.”

  “No!” Frog said.

  A gasp rang out from the royal army.

  “‘No’?” said the King, trying it out. “I’m not sure I know this word. What does it mean?”

  “I am your Queen,” said the Queen through gritted teeth. “You will do as I command or – champion or no champion – I will cut off your head.”

  Frog looked back at the army … at Camperlash … at the King and Queen. Then he rolled his neck until it cracked, and drew his sword.

  “Actually, you’re not my Queen,” he said. “I’m an alien prince from outer space, so I don’t have to do what you say at all. Which means I’m not slaying this bragon – and no one else is slaying him either.”

  The Escape

  “I’m not sure I quite understand this new champion of ours,” noted the King of Everything, as Frog put himself between the wounded bragon and the royal army. “Isn’t he meant to do as he’s told?”

  “Y’ dare defy their Majesties? Y’ dare call yourself a prince?” barked Camperlash, his face redder than rubyfruit. “Crusted flem! Inconstant betrayal monkey!”

  Frog saw a flash of steel as Camperlash unsheathed his sword. He drew Basil Rathbone and waved it wildly.

  “Get back, all of you! I’m two seconds away from going full mighty!” he cried, Sheriff Explosion cowering behind him.

  “It appears the enemies of Kingdomland are everywhere – even in our own ranks,” began the Queen. “A shame – I had high hopes for you, Frog,”

  “Bumdrops! I am not an enemy of Kingdomland!” he insisted. “I’m an enemy of slaying!”

  “Enough,” added the Queen, coolly. “Throw down your weapons and surrender, or my archers will drop you where you stand.”

  Frog heard the creak of bowstrings and saw a dozen arrows aiming at his head.

  “Try it!” he bellowed. “You’ll all get a slice of the mightiness pie!”

  “Time t’ die, gobbin,” hissed Camperlash.

  WHiiiiiiSHT – SHUNK!

  Before he could flinch, Frog saw an arrow strike the ground inches from the Queen of Everything’s feet. The royal archers looked confused. Frog turned and looked up. Atop an outcropping of rock was the now-familiar sight of the rarewolf and the mystery Kroakan.

  “A rarewolf?” whimpered the King. “It’s the End of the World!”

  “It cannot be… We destroyed them all…” whispered the Queen.

  The rarewolf gave a long, loud howl and cried, “I live, O Queen! I live until you kill me!”

  “What the bumbles is he on about? The mystery Kroakan’s evil psychic space eye messed up his brain-juice something proper,” Frog whispered to Sheriff Explosion. He watched the rarewolf leap into the valley and away, the Kroakan holding tightly to its mane of fur.

  “A lifetime of polished sandwiches to whoever brings me that rarewolf!” bellowed the Queen, as she mounted her horse. “Captain, you and your squadron guard the prisoners! If they try to escape… Well, you know the rest.”

  “Chop chop,” added the King, helpfully.

  Frog watched the army move swiftly off, a sea of soldiers and horses pounding through the snow after their prey. He and Sheriff Explosion backed towards the bragon as Camperlash and half a dozen soldiers encircled them.

  “Uh … are you all right?” Frog asked the bragon.

  “You … punctured me!” he replied, flexing his damaged wing.

  “I’m sorry! I thought you were bad! I didn’t know they wanted to kill you just for talking bumdrops,” said an embarrassed Frog. “Anyway, I was just about to fight the whole, entire army to save you, so…”

  “Save me? As in, the opposite of kill me?” said the bragon, doubtfully.

  “Well, yep,” replied Frog. “I’m anti slaying – my champion business is strictly heroic.”

  “Baa,” added Sheriff Explosion, helpfully.

  “Well, in that case, one bad turn immediately followed by one good turn deserves another good turn,” the Duke said, getting to his feet.

  “Wuh?” replied Frog.

  “Shut yer vocal-holes, y’ false-tongued worms of untruth!” hissed Camperlash, brandishing his sword. “I’m goin’ to slay y’ both, here an’ now, and be done with it.”

  “Bring it on!” Frog began. “I’ll—”

  “The Duke could not be slain with all the slaying swords in Kingdomland!” interrupted the bragon – and then began to swell. “The Duke’s left buttock is as mighty as a hundred royal champions. A single feather on the Duke’s wings could beat sense into the whole kingdom! And the only reason the Duke said he was greater than the King and Queen … is because the Duke is greater!”

  “False-head!” roared Camperlash. He raised his sword as the bragon swelled even further…

  “The Duke’s greatness cannot be helped! The Duke could out-rule the King and Queen with one wing tied behind his back!” the bragon replied, swollen to bursting. “Now … the Duke must fly!”

  The bragon grabbed Frog by the cape (and Sheriff Explosion by his leg) and immediately began floating into the air.

  Camperlash swung his longsword at them, but the bragon was already too high.

  “Spit-outs! Get back ’ere!” roared Camperlash.

  “Wait!” cried Frog. “I’m still defeating them!”

  “He that boasts and runs away,” replied the bragon. “Lives to boast from a safe distance.”

  The House in the Clouds

  The bragon floated up and up, the soldiers and the snow-covered valley shrinking below them along with the sound of Camperlash’s insults. As Sheriff Explosion bleated with terror, Frog glanced up at the bragon, who was doing his best to steer them with only one good wing.

  “Put me down! I was just about to bake the doughnut of defeat and use them all as the filling!” protested Frog.

  “The Duke could have defeated them in the middle of an afternoon nap!” replied the bragon, as they became engulfed by low-lying clouds. “The Duke could have defeated them in a dream and then woken up to find he had defeated them in real life! The Duke could have— Oh, wait, we’re here.”

  “Here where?” asked Frog.

  A moment later, they emerged through the clouds. The light from the setting sun blinded Frog for a moment, but as his vision cleared, he spotted something in the sky. Before them, suspended in the air, was a house.

  “What the … what?” said Frog.

  As the bragon floated towards it, Frog could see that the house was constructed from fine, sky-blue stone, and looked as steady as if built upon foundations – even with nothing but nothingness beneath it.

  “Welcome to the Omnium Gatherum – my humble home,” said the bragon, his voice suddenly thin and unimposing. He dropped Frog and Sheriff Explosion carefully onto the porch before landing. He opened the front door and was about to step through when he looked down at his still-swollen body. “Silly me – hang on a tinkle…”

  BUU-U-RRRRRP!

  The bragon let out an almighty belch.

  Frog looked back to see that he’d returned to his pre-swollen state. “Begging your pardon. After you, gentlefolk,” he added in a reedy, nasal voice.

  Frog led Sheriff Explosion inside, who bleated with relief at having something solid beneath his hooves. The front room of the house was simply decorated in various blues. It was filled with an unfuss
y collection of blue furniture, including a blue table upon which sat a blue teapot and cups. In the centre of the room stood a free-standing blue door that led nowhere at all. The room was otherwise empty but for a collection of twenty or so blue boxes, stacked in neat piles against the far wall. The boxes rattled and hummed with enchantment, as if barely able to contain the objects inside.

  “This place is bonkers,” said Frog. “How does it stay up?”

  “Mostly magic, I think,” replied the bragon, retrieving a pair of spectacles from the table and putting them on. He pointed to a large wooden lever protruding from the floor at the base of the largest window. “But I know better than to meddle with the machinery of a magical house, by gosh. Truth be told, I won this place in a card game with an old wizard possessed of an unfeasibly long moustache and an impractically tall hat.”

  “Oldasdust?” asked Frog.

  “Well, he was certainly past his prime,” laughed the bragon. “Have you seen him of late? How is he?”

  “Sort of dead,” answered Frog sadly. “But that wizard kind of dead where they go plooooooof! And then they’re just not here any more.”

  “Oh, poo. He was a nice fellow – for a wizard,” said the bragon. “Still, having his collection of magical whatsits and thingamajingles has its uses.”

  “What do you mean?” asked Frog.

  “I’ll show you. Open that box next to you,” the bragon replied. “Find me a stone with a helping hand carved on the front.”

  Frog opened the box and peered inside. It was brimming with dozens of small stone talismans, each with a symbol carved upon it.

  “These are Oldasdust’s wizard things! For all his – EXPOOM! – magical business,” he said, rootling through the box. “Yoiks … there’s enough stuff in these boxes for a whizz-banging army of wizards.”

  Frog found a stone with a hand carved on it and tossed it to the bragon.