Free The Hero's Guide to Being an Outlaw by Christopher Healy, Todd Harris

again. “I mean, yes, we have to help our friends, but we’re not doing this again.” He held out his hands to indicate the soiled, tattered state they were in. “Every time one of us gets captured, the others all run off half-cocked on some barely planned rescue mission. And we always manage to foul things up worse than they were when we started. Look at what happened at my wedding. Look at what happened with those bounty hunters!”
    “To be fair,” Frederic said, “Duncan and Snow were doing pretty well until—”
    “That’s not the point!” Liam said. “We’re going to get Ella, Rapunzel, and Snow free. But we’re going to do it right this time.”
    “And how’s that exactly?” Gustav asked.
    “We’re going to prove our innocence,” Liam said.
    In an unnecessarily dark chamber at the heart of the fortress formerly known as Castle von Deeb, Lord Rundark crossed his arms against his burly chest and watched his army of bandits at work. Scores of grunting, sweaty henchmen tramped past him, lugging taffy machines, Ping-Pong tables, and tubs of raw cookie dough. Once outside, these offending items would be tossed into the moat along with every other reminder of the young Deeb Rauber’s reign as Bandit King.
    Rauberia was no more. This was New Dar now—a land in which there was no time or place for trivial things like entertainment or recreation. Lord Rundark made sure of that.
    As four bandits worked together to haul out a chocolate-smeared trampoline, one of them made the mistake of whistling. The other three stopped in their tracks, closed their eyes, and braced themselves for what they knew was to come. A second later, the Warlord was looming over the absentminded whistler, snorting like an angry bull. With his bare hands, Rundark folded the trampoline around the man, trapping him like beans in a burrito. “Carry on,” the Warlord said.

    Fig. 7
NEW TENANT
    He stepped back and watched the remaining three carry out the twisted trampoline with its pitiful passenger. Back during Rauber’s rule, one of them might have freed their friend once they were outside, but Rundark had no worries about such a thing happening now. His brutal, iron-fisted ways had earned him the utter loyalty of these men.
    A black-clad messenger jogged into the room, an emissary from the League of Evil Couriers. The man’s hands trembled, and his breath was short. “Lord Rundark, I bring news from Avondell,” he announced in a quivery voice.
    Rundark stared at him, waiting.
    “Three of the ladies have arrived there as prisoners,” the courier said. He swallowed hard. “But I regret to inform you that the young princess from Erinthia and all four of the princes have thus far eluded capture. Bounty hunters are still in pursuit, though, so it’s just a matter of time. I’m sure.”
    The Warlord stroked the long braids of his wild, black beard before he suddenly stepped off into a shadowy corner of the obsidian chamber and began mumbling softly. He’s talking to himself, the messenger thought. He’s completely insane. And I’m dead . But then he heard a second voice. Rundark wasn’t alone. He was talking to someone hidden in the darkness. No, not just talking— arguing . The courier strained to listen, praying that his own doom was not the topic of conversation. “. . . best not to take chances,” he thought he heard one of them say. He was just about to attempt a quiet exit when Rundark grabbed something shiny and turned back into the dim lamplight. The Warlord stood before the messenger, holding a large glass-like orb on his palm.
    “Take this to our friends by the sea,” Rundark said. “They will know what to do with it.”
    “At once,” the courier said, taking the big crystal ball and nearly collapsing with relief. He turned to leave.
    “Oh,” said Rundark. “And after you’ve made your delivery, come back here and jump into the moat with the bladejaw eels.”
    “Yes, sir.” The messenger sighed and took