MYTH-Told Tales by Robert Lynn Asprin & Jody Lynn Nye

Author:Robert Lynn Asprin & Jody Lynn Nye [Asprin, Robert Lynn & Nye, Jody Lynn]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fantasy
ISBN: 9780441014866
Publisher: New York : ACE Books., 2007.
Published: 2007-02-27T05:00:00+00:00

"Stirrup cup, good sir?" asked a strapping Brakespearan appearing next to my mount. He presented

me with a brimming silver goblet shaped like a skull.

"Heady liquor, is it?" I asked.

"Sire?"

"Never mind." I took the cup and drained it. "Tally ho and yoicks." I tossed the empty back to him.

He with-drew, bowing. I took a good look around.

The misty morning air was full of the smell of brim-stone and rotting meat as the Master of Hounds,

as he was still called, organized five dozen assorted dragons by size with the help of a dozen handlers.

Gleep, one of the small-est, was at the front with a couple of wyverns and a half-grown wurm. Nunzio,

holding up a meaty bone, made him sit up and beg. Even though Gleep had been a royal pain in the

posterior since the day Skeeve, er, acquired him, he was kind of cute. At a distance.

Fireball started at something invisible, dancing under me. I tightened my knees, and my muscles

reminded me that they'd had a hard time the day before.

"How are you doing, Aahz?" Massha floated over to me from the royal reviewing stand. She was

dressed in brown and green, the royal colors of Brakespear, to match Gloriannamarjolie.

"I'm remembering why I don't do this for fun," I gritted.

"Attention, all of you!" We turned to face the stand. King Henryarthurjon smiled down on us. He

was a big, muscular Brakespearan with fox-red hair going white at the temples and green eyes like his

daughter's. He held out his hands for silence, spreading out all four thumbs in a gesture of welcome. "We

are gratified to see so many puis-sant hunters assembled here to participate in our daugh-ter's Royal

Hunt!" Rousing cheers interrupted him, and he smiled paternally at Glory. Glory held her hands up over

her head in a gesture of victory. Her outfit was classic cam-ouflage: A long-sleeved dress of

light-absorbing brown and green mottled fabric covered her from shoulders to knees; no velcro or

zippers. Tall, soft boots that would absorb the sound of stepped-on leaves or twigs were cross-gartered

on her long legs, and slung across from one shoulder to the opposite hip was a sptit-leather bag that

appeared to be driving the dragons into a greater frenzy than they'd usually be in. I assumed it contained

the bait she would use to draw her trail. A pair of gloves were tucked into her belt. "She will give you a

good run, my friends. The rules are three in number: the hunt shall com-mence at my signal. It will

continue until sunset or until a hunter captures the princess—alive, naturally. Points will be given for style,

courtesy, riding, coursing, handling of one's hound, and, of course, success. The hunter who bags the

princess wins the grand prize, the finest treasure in the kingdom." He snapped his fingers, and two pages

in army-surplus tabards staggered up onto the dais carrying a solid gold box. "This is a most remarkable

treasure chest, my friends and guests. Once an item has been entrusted to its depths, it will always be

safe, even when it is taken out again. If a treasure is stolen, one can always retrieve it by reaching into the

chest.

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