FIRST HOUR OF the afternoon arrived much sooner than Ayrion had anticipated.

Shade, Ayrion’s spirited stallion, was saddled and waiting for him when he arrived at the High Guard stables. Holding the muscular warhorse’s reins was Loren, one of the royal hoslters. He was a little taller than Ayrion and lanky, with loose brown hair and a smooth face. He held out the thick straps of leather for Ayrion as he approached. “Here you are, sir.”

Ayrion took the reins and walked around to face the magnificent animal.

Shade gently nuzzled Ayrion’s palm as he reached out to rub his head. “Hello, old friend. I’ve missed you too.” He was indeed a magnificent animal. Bred in the wild on the Rymiran Plains, the horse was the epitome of strength, endurance, and intelligence. His midnight color was accented by a single strip of white that ran directly down the bridge of his face, from his forelock to the tip of his flaring nostrils.

Ayrion glanced over his shoulder. “Has he been fed?”

“Yes, sir. I’ve also taken the liberty to warm him for you. I’d hate to see a beautiful animal like Shade injured because of improper grooming, sir.”

Ayrion stepped into the left stirrup and mounted. “You’re a good hostler, Loren. Don’t let anyone tell you different. Your feel for the animals does you credit.”

“I thank you, Guardian. I only wish there were more like you who actually understood the bond between horse and rider.”

Ayrion smiled. He rode toward the front gates. His horse’s shoes echoed off the courtyard stone. Commander Tolin was saddled and chatting with Overcaptain Asa, as Ayrion made his way to the front of the two lancer

companies that were waiting directly behind the gatehouse walls.

Despite being labeled as a commoner, Overcaptain Asa had quickly risen through the ranks. He was short but well-built. The full ducktail beard hanging from his chin tapered into a sharp point, and the jagged scar that

ran from the top of his right eye down and across the side of his right cheek gave him the distinct appearance of a man you didn’t want to mess with.

The overcaptain had opted for not wearing his eye patch. He occasionally enjoyed touting his empty socket for no other purpose than to make those around him nervous. From the way Asa continued to glance over his shoulder at the ambassadors, this was clearly one of those times.

Ayrion reined in beside Tolin. “Everything in order?”

Asa twisted in his saddle. “Everything but those royal pains in my backside, the all high and mighty ambassadors.” He spat on the ground in front of him.

The commander smiled. “I can’t say that I disagree with the sentiment, Overcaptain, but we have a duty to perform, and we will perform it to the best of our ability no matter how distasteful we might feel it is.”

“Beggin’ your pardon, sir,” Asa said, twisting the reins around in his gloved hands, “I never meant to suggest we wouldn’t. I just don’t got to enjoy it, that’s all.”

Tolin chuckled then looked at Ayrion. “Everything’s in order. You?” “I left Captain Barthol in charge while we are gone, so I suspect

everything should be just fine.” “Good man, Barthol,” Tolin said.

“He is. Wish I had a hundred just like him.” Ayrion turned at the sound of approaching hooves. The High King, along with the ambassadors, made their way toward the front of the procession. Ayrion left the commander and overcaptain to make his way to the front in order to better protect the king.

The caravan was moving toward the outer palace gates when a solitary rider rounded the south bailey. Ayrion shifted in his saddle to see Dakaran trotting up to take his place behind his father. Ayrion couldn’t help but

notice the king’s smile.

Behind the ambassadors rode the High Guard, their black capes billowing out behind them, keeping close assurance to the king’s safety. Following the Guard was the royal gamekeeper, an older man bent with age. He was in charge of making sure to locate the best possible habitats for the grouse they would be hunting. After him were the crossbowmen and the veneur, carrying the spaniels used for the rustling of the grouse. And lastly, bringing up the rear, were the Elondrian lancers. The sun reflected off their helms as they rode two abreast.

Altogether, it was quite the impressive entourage that made its way under the arches of the central gates and across the high bridge. Below the mighty Shemoa River was met with the force of the bay’s tide.

Passing over the causeway, they made their way through the streets of Aramoor. With welcoming smiles, the citizenry waved at the High King as he passed. Rhydan smiled politely and nodded as they traveled along the chief thoroughfare leading out to the city’s Eastern Gate. Rhydan was the first king in anyone’s memory that cared more about them than he did himself.

Ayrion had spent countless hours attending the open-door sessions the king held in the throne room where he encouraged the citizens of Aramoor to come and make their petitions. Mostly, the king and queen enjoyed spending time with their people, getting to know their needs. Obviously, with a city the size of Aramoor, it would have been impossible to personally tend to everyone, but the gesture didn’t go unnoticed.

Ayrion could remember a time when the king had personally ordered his own coffers used to help a struggling home for unruly boys. Having been

one of those boys years ago, Ayrion appreciated the sentiment.

It took nearly an hour for the rather large party to wind their way through Aramoor and pass outside the city’s fortifications. The Elondrian capital

was surrounded by a massive wall that spanned the entire perimeter. It was a marvel of engineering. The wall was thick enough to stand three men at

the top, fully abreast. Ayrion could only guess at the scope of manpower and magic that must have been used in its shaping. Those living within

were all but guaranteed a peaceful existence. For since its construction after the Wizard Wars, the wall had never been breached.

Turning north, the hunting party followed the Tansian River as they made their way toward the foothills of the Sandrethin Mountains and the lower woodlands.

It was the perfect day for a hunt. The sun was shining and the cool

breeze blowing in off the upper snowcaps kept away most of the insects populating the upper lowlands. The ash, silver maple, and slippery elm

became more infrequent the higher they climbed, making way for the sugar pine, fir, spruce, and mountain hemlock.

Ayrion watched as the old gamekeeper left the assembly and rode on ahead to scout possible locations for their hunt.

Periodically, Ayrion would turn in the saddle to make sure he had set a reasonable pace. The king was busy working to keep a steady conversation flowing with his son while the ambassadors were more than content to talk amongst themselves, pointing out the landscape or the occasional animal which happened to pass within sight. Only one of the ambassadors maintained a steady eye on Ayrion. He could feel the Cylmaran’s hatred stabbing at his back like a hot iron poker. Ayrion wondered what was driving such overwhelming hatred.

About an hour into their journey, Ayrion caught sight of the royal gamekeeper standing beside his mount off to the side of the main road. He signaled the hunting party to a halt.

Ayrion shifted in his saddle. “I believe the gamekeeper has found our quarry, Your Majesty. We should go on foot from here.”

Ambassador Gyin, who was barely managing to stay on his horse as his weight bounced around at every dip and turn, was the first to speak. “On

foot? I can’t see why we shouldn’t be able to shoot these birds from a horse just as easily as from the ground.”

“If you’ll permit me, Ambassador,” Ayrion said. “The noise produced from a contingent of horses such as these would undoubtedly frighten off any creature long before we were within a respectable shooting distance.”

“Well, just how long of a walk are we talking about here?”

“As long as it needs to be, sir, but I would hope not that far.”

The king gracefully swung down from his horse. “Come now, Gyin, I’ll be more than happy to entertain those at dinner this evening with the heroic tale of our hunt, not leaving out, of course, the fearless ambassador who stayed behind to watch the horses.”

Gyin grumbled under his breath as he awkwardly dismounted.

The lancers held the horses as Ayrion motioned for the crossbowmen and the dog-handlers to approach. He addressed the veneur first as they lowered the spaniels. “Follow the gamekeeper up the trailhead and see if the dogs can find a scent. The bowmen will ready the weapons as you do.” Without question, the dog-handlers headed up the path the old gamekeeper had just taken.

Each of the bowmen loaded a broad-head quarrel into the groove of their crossbows after first using the stirrup to pull back on the string and lock the hemp in place.

As soon as the bows were ready, the small party made their way up the gentle sloping track, winding further into the lower foothills of the mountain’s base. Ten lancers selected by Overcaptain Asa were left in charge of the horses while those remaining followed the party up the trail, keeping to a safe distance in the rear so as not to startle the hunter’s game.

One by one the hunters exited the trail. They were standing in a large meadow. The veneur kept a tight rein on the dogs, allowing the High King and ambassadors the time needed to catch up.

After a brief discussion with the dog-handlers and the gamekeeper, Ayrion walked back to the eagerly awaiting huntsmen. “Our gamekeeper seems to believe there is a decent size covey nesting in those low lying

shrubs on the far left side of the meadow. He believes if we keep our noise to a minimum, we should be able to approach within at least thirty paces

before he orders the veneur to release the dogs. Once the dogs are released, you’ll have only moments before they hit the tree line and the birds fly.

You’ll only get one shot, two at the most.”

Nierdon, the ambassador to Keldor, took a step forward. “What happens if we miss?”

“Then you will need to hand your crossbow back to the bowman and he’ll hand you a fresh bow and re-load the spent one for you.” Ayrion scanned the faces of the small group. “Don’t get too upset if your first shot is a miss. Many times, I’ve been told the grouse will fly only far enough to perch in a nearby tree, and if all else fails this is still only the first stop.”

“First stop?” Gyin’s head lifted. “I hope you don’t expect us to just go traipsing all over the mountainside like a pack of wild goats?”

“For pity sake, Gyin,” Lanmiere interrupted, “the fresh air might do you some good, not to mention the exercise.” The Sidaran Ambassador looked a bit put out by the Briston Ambassador’s whining.

A couple of the other ambassadors stifled a chuckle while Gyin huffed at the remark about his weight and tugged on his trousers.

“Ambassadors, if you would, please take your crossbows,” Ayrion said. “We will be walking in silence the rest of the way. I’ll raise my hand when

we get within shooting distance.” He demonstrated the hand motion. “When I lower it, the veneur will release the dogs and the rest will be up to you.”

The king took hold of his crossbow. “Thank you, Guardian, I believe they get the picture.” Ayrion hoped so. He was getting a bit tired of acting

like a mother hound trying to explain the use of its teats to a passel of ornery pups.

With nothing left to add after the High King’s declaration, the rest of the party retrieved their weapons and formed a simple line, ensuring that no overly eager hunter would accidentally—or intentionally—release a quarrel into another’s unsuspecting back.

Without a word, the small group moved forward, and with each step, Ayrion felt the tension mounting. Given the palpable energy radiating from the ambassadors, one might think they were marching into battle against a horde of rock trolls rather than a nest of harmless grouse.

Commander Tolin, Overcaptain Asa, and the main lancer company held their position at the edge of the large meadow, careful not to interrupt the nobles’ sport but remaining within sight in case their presence was required. The High Guard accompanying the king followed a few steps behind the small party, allowing them space to enjoy their hunt while staying close enough to reach the king at a moment’s notice.

Ayrion, a few steps ahead of the gentry, watched the old gamekeeper as he examined some tracks in the soft earth. The old man turned to signal something to Ayrion, but paused when the forest suddenly fell silent. Both the gamekeeper and Ayrion froze. Ayrion could feel it.

Something was wrong. They were being watched. Quickly, he raised his fist, signaling the hunters behind him to stop.

“What’s wrong?” Ambassador Gyin asked under his breath. “Where’s the birds?”

“Hush, you fat fool,” Belkor spat.

With eyes scanning the forest ahead, Ayrion cautiously backed his way toward the rest of the men as he drew one sword and then the other from the sheaths on his back.

The dogs were now baring their teeth and growling at something ahead.

The veneur quickly set the spaniels back on the ground. They studied the surrounding trees, trying to find the cause of the dog’s unexpected behavior.

Ayrion moved alongside the king, who was keeping a watchful eye on the trees as well. The king’s finger gently stroked the tip of his crossbow’s release clamp. “What’s going on?”

The ambassadors were all looking his way. “Something’s wrong. Do you hear it?”

“I don’t hear anything,” Ambassador Lanmiere said.

“Exactly.” Ayrion didn’t like what he was feeling. “We need to close rank.”