"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?"

"Princess Gloriannamarjolie is an old pal," Massha said. "I was her babysitter for a while on Brakespear. She was a real brat when she was six or seven. No one had ever said 'no' to her before I did. There were some pretty fierce tantrums before she learned her limits. She liked it when I did magik for her, and I thought there was a great girl inside all that spoiled nonsense. We achieved a mutual respect, and we've been corresponding off and on for years. Now she's old enough to lead the hunt, and she asked for my help."

"She's the quarry? It's a suicide mission!" Unlike the Klahds, who rode horses and followed a pack of dogs after fox-wolves over fields and through forests, a brutal enough sport, Brakespear had a pack of dragons that pursued a wily princess across the landscape. The hunt began at dawn. If the princess kept away from the hunters until sunset she was free. If the dragons caught up with her, well, there usually wasn't much left The mask or ears was awarded to the winning hunter. I was appalled that this was still going on.

Massha read the look on my face. "Those days are gone. It's only scent-hunting now. Glory's got to keep away from the hounds until sunset. The hunters are judged on style, fair play, riding, control of their dragons, and, if they're lucky, catching up with the princess. She's been training all her life for this. She's ready."

"But for this well need a dragon for the pack. We haven't got one."

"Yes, we have," Massha said, with a little coy smile that should have sent me racing out the door as soon as I saw it. "I borrowed one." She opened the back door of the cottage. A sinuous blue form twisted around in its own length at the noise, recognized me, and came streaking toward me. It knocked me over and started licking my face with a long pink tongue and breath that smelled like a volcano's dung heap.

"Gleep!" it carolled joyfully, in between slurps.

"Dammit, get off me!" I roared. Massha put a hand in Gleep's collar and hauled him back. I sat up, wiping the slime off with my sleeve. "You say you borrowed Gleep? Skeeve's not here?"

"No," Massha admitted.

"Then who's gonna handle this fool lizard?" I asked. Gleep rolled his large blue eyes at me, wanting to get loose and greet me again.

"I've agreed to undertake the task," said Nunzio, coming in the same door as the dragon, but at a easier pace. "We get along pretty well, don't we, boy?"

"Gleep!" Gleep agreed, trotting over to lave the Mob man with the Tongue of Doom.

"So why do you need me?" I asked Massha. Slurp. Gleep trotted back and soaked me again. I wiped the disgusting wetness off with the back of my hand. "... Me, the overgrown newt and Nunzio?" Gleep gave me a look of adoration mingled with reproach, or maybe I was reading too much into his expression. He was still a baby, for all that he was twice as big as any of us except Chumley.

"There's still a prize," Massha said. "For the hunter who bags the princess, or, if she's better than they are, earns the highest points, the finest treasure the king has to offer. And I've got to tell you, Aahz, Brakespear has some terrifically hot stuff in the treasury. As crown princess, Glory had the keys to the playground. We used to go down there and try things on. It was enough to give a girl dreams."

I liked the sound of the treasure, but I was too old a hand to believe in a free lunch for the guy who could stay on his horse the longest. "What's the catch?" I asked.

"Glory has been out looking over the course every day for the last three months. She's been seeing ... well, shadows or shapes. She's certain someone's following her over the landscape, getting a look at where she's planning to go. She's afraid that whoever it is is out to interfere with the hunt Every once in a while they get protesters who picket the hunt, calling it brutal and outdated. Glory's dad has guards posted around, and they know the signs of an incipient demonstration. Whoever's been out there is more subtle than that. And the king has recently acquired a few terrific goodies for the treasury, a couple of them genuinely magikal. The prize is likely to be one of those. Glory wants her hunt to be fair and square. It's dangerous, you know, hot stuff. People can still get killed, even though it's for fun. If anyone's messing with it, I want it stopped."