Azzie was standing before him, splendid in a blood red cloak and soft leather boots.
"Your Excellency!" Kornglow cried. "I'm so glad to see you!"
"Are you, indeed? I'm afraid I must tell you, you have compromised your adventure before it even got properly started. How on Earth did you misplace the magic horse?"
Kornglow fell back on the excuse that all men used in that day and age. "I was tempted by a sorceress, most noble one! I am a mere man! What could I do?"
He then described his adventure with the fair Leonore. Azzie detected a familiar hand in this.
"The horse was there at the beginning of your adventure?" Azzie asked.
"Indeed it was, Your Excellency! But when I looked again, it was gone, and there was only a donkey.
Could you bring me another, sir, that I might try again?"
"Magic horses aren't so easily procured," Azzie said. "If you'd known how we had to search for that one, you would have taken better care of it."
"But surely there's some other magical object we could use instead," Kornglow said. "Must it be a horse?"
"I suppose we might come up with something."
"I'll do it right this time, Your Excellency! Oh, but there is one other thing."
"What is it?" Azzie said.
"I'd like to change my wish."
Azzie stared at him. "What are you talking about?"
"I had asked for the hand of the fair Cressilda in marriage, but I've since reconsidered. She's apt to hold it against me because I'm not gently bred. But fair Leonore suits me to a T. I'd like her as my prize."
"Don't be silly," Azzie said. "We already have you down in tide books as getting Cressilda."
"But she's already married!"
"You knew that beforehand. And what difference does it make?"
"Quite a lot, sir. I would still have to live in the same world as her husband. You couldn't spend all your time protecting me, could you?"
"You do have a point," Azzie said. "But you have already made your choice. Cressilda it will have to be."
"There was nothing in the agreement," Kornglow said, "that said I couldn't change my mind.
Light-mindedness is one of my most salient characteristics, my lord, and it isn't fair to ask me to change my changeability."
"I'll look into it," Azzie said. "I'll let you know my decision soon."
With that he vanished, and Kornglow settled down for a nap, since there seemed nothing else to do.
But he was rudely awakened yet again; Azzie had arrived with a new white horse that anyone could tell had to be magical, so beautiful was it.
An interview with Leonore had confirmed what Azzie had suspected all along: she was not a woman of Earth at all, but rather a large elf disguising herself as a human being.
"Elves are mean-spirited," she told Azzie. "Since I am taller than most of them, they laugh at me for being a giantess, and none will marry me. As a human woman I am considered petite, and I am much beloved.
If I marry a human, it is certain I will greatly outlive my husband. But I'll show him a good time while he's on Earth."
Just then, Kornglow rode up on the magic horse.
The elf-girl was suddenly shy. And who would not be when the powers of Evil had suddenly intervened to ensure one's happiness?
"My lord," Leonore said to Azzie, "I know our happiness was not your intention or concern, but I thank you for it anyhow. What do you require of my man?"
"Simply that he take you and get promptly to Venice," Azzie said. "I have a great deal for you to do once you're there, and I don't know if I'll have time to devise any adventures for you along the way."
"We will go directly, as you wish," Leonore said. "I will get Kornglow to stick to business."
And so the lovers departed, both mounted on the magic horse, on the high road toward Venice.
Azzie shook his head as he watched them go. Things weren't working out at all as he had expected.
None of the actors seemed to be doing what they were supposed to. It's what came, he supposed, of not having their lines written out for them.
Lady Cressilda sat in her carved rosewood chair in the deep bay window of her second-floor sitting room, a needlepoint tapestry on her lap. She was pricking out the Judgment of Paris in rose and lavender, but her mind was elsewhere. Presently she put down her work and sighed and looked out the open window. Her ash-blond hair was pulled straight back and framed her face like a dove's wing. Her small features were pensive.
It was early in the morning, but it felt already as if it would be another hot day. Below, in the courtyard, a couple of chickens were scratching at a corncob; Cressilda could also hear singing from the shed to the left where the women were doing the month's washing. The distant neighing of a horse came to her ears, and she thought she might go hunting a little later. She thought it without much enthusiasm, though, for the larger game animals, the boars and stags, had been hunted out of the surrounding woods by the generations of Sforzas who had owned this property since time out of mind. She herself was a skilled huntress; a veritable Diana, the court poets called her. But she was not interested in their silliness, any more than in Rodrigo's forced pleasantries when they met at the breakfast table from time to time.
Something white moved in the courtyard below, and Cressilda looked to see what it was. A white stallion was picking its way slowly across the hard-packed earth. It moved alertly, its proud head held high, nostrils flared. For a moment it seemed as if the shimmering outline of a winged man moved at its head, leading it. She stared at it, perplexed. She could remember no such horse in the Sforza stables, and she knew every one of them, from the newborn colts to the old warhorses put out to pasture. She also knew most of the better horses in the area, and this steed was none of them.
There was no sign of a rider about. Where could this steed have come from, with its glowing white mane and its uncanny eye? This horse was magic…
She ran to the stairs, hurrying down them, through the big dusty receiving rooms, and out into the courtyard. The white horse had come up to the door. It seemed to recognize her and nodded its noble head as she approached. Cressilda stroked its velvety nose; the stallion whinnied and nodded its head.
"What are you trying to tell me?" Cressilda asked. She opened the saddlebag closest to her, hoping to find a clue to the animal's ownership. Within she found a tall candlestick that to all appearances was made of purest red gold. A note was inside, written on parchment and rolled into a screw. She straightened it out, and read, "Follow me, and wish for what you will. It will be granted."
Her wish! It had been many years since she had even thought of it. Could this noble steed be the means of accomplishing that dream? Had it been sent by Heaven itself? Or was it perchance a gift from Hell?
She cared not. She vaulted into the saddle. The stallion shivered, laid back its ears, then calmed to her touch.
"Take me to whoever sent you," Cressilda said. "I would get to the bottom of this, no matter where it takes me."
The horse broke into a smart trot.
Chapter 8
A warhorse? You say my lady departed on a warhorse?" Lord Sforza was said to be a little slow on the uptake, but he understood horses — and he understood people riding away on them, especially his wife.
"You saw all this yourself?"
"With my very own eyes, lord."
"Do you think it was a magic horse?"
"I do not know," the thaumaturge said. "But I can find out."
The interview was taking place in his alchemist's studio in the high tower. The thaumaturge lost no time stoking up the fire under his alembic; when it was roaring he poured in various powders, and the fire flared up green and then purple. He watched carefully as variously colored smokes arose. Then he turned to Sforza.
"My spirit familiars signal me that it was indeed a magic horse. We have probably seen the last of our Lady Cressilda, for ladies who ride away on magic horses rarely return, and if they do, to be fra
nk, sir, there's no living with them."
"Damnation!" Sforza said.
"You can lodge a complaint through my familiars, sir. There may still be a chance of getting her back."
"I don't want her back," Sforza said. "I'm more than happy to be rid of her. She's no fun anymore. I'm glad Cressilda is gone. What annoys me is that she got the magic horse. They don't come around very often, do they?"
"Very seldom," he admitted.
"And she had to grab it. Maybe this horse was meant for me. How dare she take the only magic horse that's been seen in these parts since time immemorial?"
The thaumaturge spoke soft words, but Sforza would not be consoled. He stamped out of the tower and down to the manor house. He was a scholar, in his own view anyhow, and it galled him that a matter as interesting as this had come and gone before he'd had a chance even to see it. What irked him most, though, was that magic horses usually carry with them the fulfillment of a wish, and he had missed that, too. It was a chance that would never come again.
Believing so, he was utterly flabbergasted when, an hour later, he went down to his stables to loiter, he saw there was another white horse there, one he had never seen before.
It was a stallion, and it was white. Though not quite as imposing as he thought a magic horse ought to be, it looked enough like a magic horse for him. Without another thought, he swung into the saddle.
"Now we'll see!" he cried. "Take me to wherever you take people under these circumstances!"
The horse broke into a trot, then into a canter, and then a full gallop. Now we're in for it, Lord Sforza thought, hard-pressed just to hang on.
Chapter 9
It was early morning. The remaining pilgrims were in the inn, getting ready to eat their morning porridge and wholewheat bread while their servants were getting the horses ready for the day.
Azzie was brooding up in his room, Aretino with him. The turnout of volunteers for the play had been rather disappointing.
"Why are the others holding back?" Azzie wondered aloud.
"Maybe they're frightened," Aretino suggested. "Do we really need a full seven?"
"I suppose not," Azzie said. "We'll use what we get. Maybe we should stop here."
Just then there was a knocking at the door.
"Aha!" Azzie said. "I knew we were going to get more participants. Answer the door, my dear Pietro, and we'll see who has come to us."
Aretino arose somewhat wearily, crossed the room, and opened the door. In walked a beautiful young woman, blond, with a pale complexion and grave, finely shaped lips. She wore a sky blue gown, ribbons of gold in her hair.
"Madam," Pietro said, "is there something we can do for you?"
"I think there is," the woman replied. "Are you the ones who sent the magic horse?"
"I think you want to speak with my friend here, Antonio," Pietro said.
After he had found a seat for her, Azzie admitted that yes, he had had something to do with magic horses, and yes, fulfillment of a wish did go along with each horse—and that acting in his play was the only condition for these gifts. He explained further that he was a fiend, but not a fearsome one. Quite a nice fiend, he had been told. Since this didn't seem to put Cressilda off, he asked her how she had acquired the magic horse.
"It just walked out of my stable and into my courtyard," Cressilda said. "I mounted and gave it its head. It brought me here."
"But I didn't send him to you," Azzie pointed out. "This horse was intended for someone else. Are you sure you didn't steal him, my dear?"
Cressilda drew herself up indignantly. "Dare you accuse me of horse theft?"
"No, of course not," Azzie said. "You're not the type, is she, Pietro? It must have been our friend Michael, having his little joke. Well, Cressilda, this horse does indeed introduce its owner to a world in which his or her dearest wish can come true. I happen to be short one or two players, so if you'd like to volunteer — seeing as how you have the horse already—"
"Yes!" Cressilda said. "Indeed!"
"What is your wish?" Azzie asked, expecting to hear the usual gushy nonsense about a fine young prince and a long lifetime of married bliss.
"I want to be a warrior," she said. "I know it's unusual for a woman, but we do have the example of Joan of Arc, and Boadicea before her. I want to lead men into battle."
Azzie thought about it, turning it over this way and that in his mind. It was not in his original plan, nor did Aretino seem too eager about it. But Azzie knew he had to get his play moving, and he had already accepted the premise that he'd take more or less anyone who came along.
"I think we can do something for you," Azzie said. "I'll just need a little time to set it up."
"That will be fine," Cressilda said. "If you should see my husband, Rodrigo Sforza, by the way, you don't necessarily have to mention that I'm here."
"I am the soul of discretion," Azzie said.
When the lady had departed, Azzie sat down with Aretino to plot out a sequence. Before he could even begin, though, there was a darkening shape at the window and an insistent tapping at the pane.
"Aretino, get it, will you, there's a good fellow," Azzie said.
Aretino walked over and raised the window. In flew a small, long-tailed sprite, one of the imp family used by the Powers of Dark to carry communications back and forth. It fluttered inside when Aretino opened the window.
"You're Azzie Elbub?" the imp said. "I don't want to make any mistakes here."
"That's who I am," Azzie said. "What message have you brought me?"
"It concerns Mother Joanna," the sprite said. "And I'd better pick it up from the beginning."
Chapter 10
Mother Joanna had been riding along the high road toward Venice. She had taken a shortcut through the forest, planning to rendezvous with Sir Oliver and then proceed in his company. She was in good spirits, it being a fine day, and all the woods alive with birdsong. A soft Italian sky hung overhead, and little brooks sparkled and invited leaping over. Mother Joanna did not permit herself any such nonsense, however. She guided her magic horse at a sober pace and went on, deeper and deeper into the forest.
She had just come to the darkest and gloomiest part of it when she heard an owl hoot. Mother Joanna had a sudden presentiment of danger.
"Who is there?" she cried, for the woods ahead of her suddenly seemed filled with menace.
"Stop where you are," a gruff male voice said, "or I'll put a crossbow bolt through you."
Joanna looked around wildly, but there seemed no place she could retreat to; the woods were so dense here that she couldn't even get her horse up to a decent canter. Deciding on discretion, she reined up and said, "I am a mother superior and you risk damnation if you so much as touch me."
"Glad to meet you," the gruff voice said. "I am Hugh Dancy, and I am known as the Bandit of Forest Perilous."
The branches parted, and a man stepped forward. He was a strongly built fellow in the prime of life, black haired, wearing a leather jerkin and knee boots. Other men also came out of the tangled underbrush, about a dozen of them. From the leering expressions on their faces, Joanna could tell that they had not seen a woman in a long while.
"Get down off that horse," Hugh ordered. "You're coming back to the camp with me."
"I shall do no such thing," said Mother Joanna, and she flicked the reins. Her magic horse took two slow ambling steps forward, then stopped when Hugh seized it by the bridle.
"Get down," Hugh repeated, "or I'll pull you down."
"What do you intend?"
"To make an honest woman out of you," Hugh said. "We hold not with your churchly celibacy. We'll have you married by the end of the day to one of us."
Joanna dismounted. "Over my dead body," she said quietly.
"It matters not how," Hugh said, just as a loud crashing sound emanated from the brush.
The men blanched, casting frightened glances in all directions. The sounds grew louder as something seemed to draw nearer. "Ah! We're
done for!" one of them cried. " 'Tis the great wild boar!" shouted another. "Doomed," said a third.
Mother Joanna leaped from her saddle to the ground. It was not only with hawks that she had hunted.
Snatching a spear from one of the bandits, she faced herself in the direction of the crashing sounds.
Moments later, an enormous black boar burst from the brush into the clearing. She positioned herself before it, ramming the butt of the spear deep into the earth.
"Come on, you stupid pig!" she called. "We dine on pork chops tonight!"
It rushed toward her and she leaned heavily upon the spear. It impaled itself and lay flowing blood amid snuffles, twitches, and grunts. After a time, it grunted its last grunt and expired.
Placing her foot upon the carcass, she wrenched the spear free and turned toward Hugh.
"We were talking of dead bodies," she said.
He drew back, as did the others.
"We were thinking of such a delightful pastime as this," he said. "We do hope you will join us for dinner shortly."
"Aye!" cried the men as they set to butchering the boar.
"Perhaps I shall," she said.
"Thou art a veritable Diana," Hugh said, "and thou shalt be treated as such."
Chapter 11
Azzie was annoyed at the news. He was just about to ride off to rescue Mother Joanna when there was another sound at the inn door and in came Rodrigo Sforza.
"Are you the one who sends out magic horses?" Sforza asked boldly.
"What if I am?" Azzie asked.
"I've got one. I want a wish granted."
"It's not quite as easy as that," Azzie said. "There's some work you have to do first."
"I am quite prepared for that. But tell me, can you, will you, grant me my dearest wish?"
"Yes," Azzie said. "I can. What is it?"
A Farce To Be Reckoned With Page 14
