Myth-Told Tales

"Lord Aahz, sir!" Immediately he straightened up and held his halberd higher. I threw him a salute as I went by, sighing over the inadequacy of sharp pointy sticks as deterrents to invasion. I had never been able to convince Hugh Badaxe to go more high-tech in the castle armament. He claimed that they could get it if they wanted it, but in the meantime it just meant more accidents. Couldn't argue there. For what Queen Hemlock paid her soldiers, she was lucky to get men who could hold the weapons the right way up, let alone ones who were as dedicated to her defense as the guys who served her and Rodrick.

I ran into the current Minister of Agriculture on the stairs leading to Skeeve's—I mean, the quarters of the Court Magician. Even after a few months I was still not used to the status quo. "Hey, Beadle, Massha upstairs?"

"Oh, hello, Lord Aahz," the square-built Klahd said, peering up from his scrolls of paperwork. The guy really needed a good secretary. "No, I believe the Lady Magician is in the Residence. The cottage. Out in the gardens." He waved a vague hand.

"I know the way."

Since she'd married General Hugh Badaxe and taken over Skeeve's job as Court Magician, Massha had really blossomed. She'd gained confidence, starting to rely upon her own magikal skills as much as the wealth of gizmos that hung jingling about her more than generous figure.

When I got to the cottage, a wedding present from Don Bruce, Massha was hanging in the air like an orange balloon in the cathedral-ceilinged living room, supervising a couple of guys on a ladder who were replacing the chandelier.

"Careful, you cuties! There are sixty crystal drops on this one, and I want sixty to get the floor all at the same time. Get it?"

"Yes, Lady Massha," they chorused as if they'd heard it before. But one of them accidentally knocked a hanging prism loose, and it fell.

"There, what did I tell you?" she exclaimed, tilting into a nosedive to save the crystal, but I got to it before she did.

"Did you lose something?" I asked, holding it up to her.

"Aahz, sweetie!" she cried, throwing her arms around me. Between her strength and her levitation bracelet, she lifted me right off the ground. "You came! Thank you."

"So," I said, when I got my breath back, "what's the problem?"

"Come this way," Massha said, leading me through the archway into the kitchen-dining area. "We can get some privacy in here. I love this house to pieces, but it's cozy— read 'small' in real estate terms." She gestured to a large carved wooden chair with a cushion on the seat and a few small pillows to stuff in between sore lumbar muscles and the tall curved back. "That's Hugh's favorite chair. It's low slung so he can stick his legs out in front of him. He hates footstools."

"Too easy to knock out from under you in a confrontation," I agreed. Badaxe and I had been on opposite sides at one time, but never on the subject of strategy. "Glad to hear he's not going soft even though he went in for wedded bliss."

"It's great," Massha said, firmly. "When you find the right person, it's heaven. You should try it, Aahz."

"Been there, done that, bought the T-shirt," I said, settling into the chair with pleasure. It really was comfortable.

She drew me a mug of beer from a cask in a cradle on the counter. All the comforts of home. "So, what's so urgent? You've evaded the question twice. I know there's a favor involved, but we're old friends. The answer's yes on almost anything, exceptions being on things like getting married again."

Massha let her antigravs bring her down to earth, and she perched on the front of a handsome upholstered chair made to her measure. I could have curled up in it side-ways.

"I just feel awkward knowing I have to call in a favor," Massha said with a sigh. "Do you do much formal hunting?"

"No. If I'm hungry I know a thousand restaurants a D-hop away. If I'm really stuck out in the boonies I'll kill and eat whatever looks edible, no ceremony involved. The formal stuffs like the guy said, 'the unspeakable in pursuit of the uneatable.'" I glanced at her. She was plucking at the edge of her orange harem pants with uneasy fingers. "Why don't you take riding lessons from Hugh?"

Massha dropped the filmy cloth and gave me an exasperated expression. "Aahz, honey, look at me. You've known me for years. Can you see me on a horse?"

"Well, no," I admitted. Massha had no illusions about her figure, and I cared enough about her as a friend not to pretend I didn't understand. "But you don't expect me to do the riding, do you? I scare the hell out of horses."

"Not these," she assured me hastily. "They'll handle a Pervect. They're trained to hunt beside dragons."

Some memory stirred. "Massha," I asked warily. "How'd you get involved with the Wylde Hunt?"