At one point I considered the horrible possibility that he had taken Massha riding and that it might be days before they were located. After a little additional thought, I discarded the idea. There wasn’t a steed in the Kingdom, including Gleep, who could carry Massha more than a few steps before collapsing.
I was still contemplating the image of Massha, sitting indignant on the ground with horse’s legs protruding grotesquely from beneath her rump, when the herald sprang into action.
“Now comes General Badaxe … and a friend.”
With that, the man stood aside. Actually, he took several sideways steps to stand aside.
I’ve already described Massha’s bulk. Well, Hugh Badaxe wasn’t far behind her. What he lacked in girth, he made up for in muscle. My initial impression of the General remained unchanged; that he had won his rank by taking on the rest of the army . . . and winning. Of course, he was wearing his formal bearskin, the clean one, which made him appear all the larger. While I had been there when they met, I had never actually seen Badaxe and Massha standing side by side before. The overall effect was awe-inspiring. Together, they might have been a pageant of a barbarian invasion gone decadent … if it weren’t for the General’s axe. His namesake, a huge, double-bitted hand axe, rode comfortably in its customary place on the General’s right hip, and the glitter from it wasn’t all decorative. Here, at least, was one barbarian who hadn’t let decadence go to his sword arm.
“Your Majesty.”