In response, a great cry of anticipation rises in the air, as the nobility and servants mill and scurry to assemble. In accordance with the rules of the hunt, each may hunt in single or in-groups to secure whatever game he may wish be it by falcon, spear, bow or hound. The obvious trophy, of course, is the white hart.

A mounted bodyguard and a page attend Random, swaying slightly in his saddle. With him, on a brilliant roan, is Bleys.

Caine has parted with Tallyrand to meet Julian at Arden's edge, where the bone-white monstrous bulk of Morgenstern can be barely gleaned from the dark shadows of the leafy covering of Arden. The thing must stand ten feet at the whithers! The two hail each other, but their words are lost at such a distance.

Isadora, Cat, Martin and Martel have banded together, their various steeds and henchmen further down the meadow at a low rise.

Arathorn and Vincent, along with Marcus are pulled to the opposite side of the gathering, tucking their map away as the horns blow.

Scattered nobles and servants clump together, the baying of hounds becoming nearly intolerable at points. Florimel has gathered her dress and now stands near a gathering of highborn ladies, waving at Joshua momentarily. Kalaran has yet to choose a grouping, and remains in his saddle, a servant at his side.

The horns blow again, and Random gives a nod, lifting his arm as a signal. All hushes, even the hounds, as the sun gleams momentarily on the monarch's face, transformed in that instant to something more than mere flesh...something golden and legendary.

Then, as he drops his arm, a cloud obscures the heavenly radiance, and darkness covers the field, casting Random in its dark embrace. He seems diminished, small, and pale...his features wasted in excess and fatigued. His arm drops. The signal has come. The hunt has begun.

In a surge of frenzied hounds, snorting horses, jangling armor, tresses, harnesses and tramping hooves, the finest of Amber's nobility and their royal rulers crash over the meadow in a great wave, the fiery forest ahead beckoning in wind-blown anticipation...

*****

[Private Conversations: The hunt continues for several hours until the following is heard by nearly everyone]

*****

It is the horn of Gerard, powered by the wind of his great lungs.

One long blast, two short ones, then a long blast.

His signal for trouble.

*****

Gerard's huge figure can be seen at the center, and he is seemingly quite angry, even from this distance. With great hands, he is pushing wide a circle among the crowd, who all peer downward toward the center,

at something hidden from view.

Vincent pushed through the crowd on his mount, to within 20 feet of the circle, and leapt down to stride through the remaining onlookers. His mind raced... someone had been hurt... a noble surely... who rode with Gerard? Wassel? His son Galen? He reached the inner circle's opening, and stopped just inside the ring of people. He glanced at Gerard briefly before scanning the ground...

Martel rides his dapple through the crowd between him and Gerard, and finding the press to great, dismounts at a jump. He looks over his shoulder at Martin, and grasps his brother's shoulder, looking grim, and the two of them walk quickly to Gerard, nobles and onlookers parting when they realize who is shoving them from behind.

Martel breaks open and steps within the circle created by the great figure of his Uncle, hand resting tightly on the hilt of his claymore, eyes burning darkly.

Isadora pulls up and takes in the crowd and the expressions. She doesn't get in the way of Martel and Martin, but does get off her mount and gives the reins to a passing servant. She seems to hesitate to move forward. She is both drawn towards and ready to take flight at the same time. Her hand goes to a dagger at her side. She watches the crowd looking for any of the elders or her cousins and trying to hear/see what has happened by Gerard.

As Arathorn, Marcus, Vincent, Martel, Martin, Isadora and Cat draw near to the crowd thronging Gerard, they can see his gray shirt is stained with blood, though it does not appear to be his own. Rowan, Joshua and Galen, the Eorl of Wassel's son are shoving folks back, their weapons bared, and the crowd recedes like a wave.

From off to one side, Palace guards, and men dressed in the brown and greens of Julian's rangers are coming to blows, though some of the guard have the sense to come to Gerard's side and help back the crowd away from the supine form of Random.

Eyes closed, fluttering fitfully, his doublet is thrown open wide as he lies sprawled on Gerard's great fur-lined cloak, his white blouse stained a deep, red crimson. The broken shaft of an arrow lies impaled through is ribs, having punctured a lung.

Bleys is standing to one side, seemingly ruffled and agitated, his hand on the foil of his saber, though he takes no notice of the throng around him.

Tensed, Gerard yells again.

"Get thee away from the King! There will be no cover for further skullduggery!"

Vincent gazed upon the scene through a stern visage, pausing only a moment before storming to Gerard's side. The smell of blood seemed like a new sensation, as he thought of its source.

"Uncle! Why has the king been left here? We must get him to the castle, to his surgeons!"

Gerard ignores Vincent, merely cursing as the crowd is driven off and dispersed, nobles riding away in suspicious clumps, servants going back to the tents and spits, all thoughts of a feast abandoned...

"The king won't make it several miles 'round Kolvir's ridge to the Castle." Bleys' words come dry and matter-of-fact, though a tinge of annoyance bleeds through.

When the crowd has appeared to have given Gerard enough room, Joshua moves back to stand between Gerard and Bleys. Joshua watches as Florimel arrives, and Vincent and Gerard tend to the Kings wounds.

Seeing Bleys' agitation Joshua puts his hand out onto Bleys arm.

"This is a black day indeed uncle." Taking the younger man by the shoulder, he guided him away from the

scene of the operation, speaking a bit lower. "How did you come upon him?"

A cold wind blew suddenly through the treetops, setting the forest of Arden to whispering in primordial fashion as their branches rubbed and clashed, leaves fluttering. In the distance, a dark bank of clouds encroaches from the west.

"We were just beginning our hunt, and split into two groups. Rowan and myself were nearly trampled by the Kings frightened steed. Gerard arrived moments later from another path, and following from where the

horse had come from, we found Random slumped against a tree, felled by an arrow."

Joshua turns his head slightly, to take a look at the King and where Vincent and Gerard are tending to him. He then turns back to Bleys, and in very hushed tones says "Do you think he'll live? I know we are resilient, but the arrow looked poisoned."

"The arrow was poisoned...and his lungs fill with blood," he continues his explanation, fingers gesticulating. "Such things are difficult to say..." Bleys muses. "If he lives by the morning, I shall give him good odds."

He pauses, then punctuates the stillness with an upheld finger.

"The wretched idiot rode ahead of me, did you know that?! I lost sight of the little man for a span of many minutes trying to chase him down..."

The sudden anger on Bleys' face paints a harsh picture across his aristocratic features and he storms about the grass, angrily looking down at the ground, hand on his sword hilt.

Gerard has knelt near the king's side, whose face is a waxy white-blue color. Ripping off the man's shirt, he exposes the puckered wound around the wooden shaft, already puss-ridden and vile with coagulated blood.

"Where is that damn woman!" he shouts.

"Here!" Florimel has come forth from past some guards, holding a woman's gaily decorated sewing box, a servant behind her bearing water in a bucket, some bottles and other things.

Gerard looked up. "You," he gruffly said to Vincent, "can help me with the surgery."

Vincent nodded. "Aye, sir." He moved around, to kneel on the other side of the fallen king. He pulled forth his dagger, Titus, and offered it to Gerard. "It's a fine blade, Uncle. If you need it." His mind raced, and he recalled the time he spent patching up his fellow soldiers in

Martel steps forward, just behind Vincent. He speaks quietly,

"Do your best, Vincent."

Martel kneels next to Random, appraising the king's state, looking to see if he is aware of his surroundings and capable of coherent thought. It was obvious that Random was not capable of rational thought, or even that he was aware of his injury.

The breeze danced over Vincent's face as he worked with his uncle, but the sweat continued to bead. Gerard needed only to grunt before Vincent handed him what he needed, his attention was unwavering. His appreciation for his Uncle Gerard grew immensely as he admired the skill with which he worked. How many times had he operated over the centuries? Vincent made a mental note to pursue these skills with more vigor in the future.

Vincent glanced up to notice the approaching clouds, and cursed to himself. As the work progressed, and the barb drew forth, he made a point of keeping it near him, in constant sight. After the wound was cleaned as well as it could be, and the stitching began, he finally addressed Gerard directly. "Uncle, did you keep the other half of this arrow? It may prove to be valuable evidence..."

Gerard nods. "Yes, Vincent, I retain it. Please hand me the bard, too."

Extending his hand, the older man takes the barbed shaft-end. "Good job, there be nothing more to do with him but give him rest and the mending of his own body." Gerard stands, and the now emptied meadow bears the royal coach. Within moments, he has borne Random inside, and the coach begins to

start up.

Isadora did not rush forward with the men, but as the news went through the crowd, she stepped closer to Cat and squeezed her hand.

"This was not how this hunt should have ended." She says softly to Cat as she continues to watch the crowd noting who is there and who is not there

"No," Cat replied to the quiet voice of her cousin. "It wasn't." She returned Isadora's squeeze as she watched the unfolding surgery, unable to tear her gaze from the macabre scene unfolding before her. A brief moment passed before Cat released Isadora's hand, turned away to look at Martin, standing under close guard for his own protection. "Cousin..." she whispered, approaching him, to assess his state and to offer silent support.

"Where is Julian? If there is an assassin in the woods of Arden then surely Julian would be able to find him. Did you hear anything from him or my father or Tallyrand?" There is some concern in her voice

as she asks this.

Florimel has picked up her riding crop and gazes out into the darkening woods. The smell of moisture clings to the air, and she wrinkles her nose.

"He hasn't returned. Nor has Caine or Tallyrand. I shall have to fetch my trumps when we go back...would you care to accompany me to my chambers? You and Catriola?" Green eyes regard Isadora as cooly as the westward wind.

Isadora meets Flora's eyes with her own dark blue ones, but she shivers slightly as a breeze seems to blow.

"Yes, Aunt Flora, I would be happy to go with you and quickly. This weather seems about to change."

She gives a worried look back to where Gerard is, but then quickly mounts her own horse.

"Cat? Will you come? Your father might have news." She looks at her cousin gravely.Cat nods, and departs with the two women.

Martel takes a damp cloth and mops the brow of the

fevered Random. He wishes as if he could do more, but

looks on as Gerard begins the process of removing the

barb. Every once in a while he glances around at

those remaining in the meadow.

Florimel gathers those not near the surgery, and comments quietly.

Florimel gathers those not near the surgery, and comments quietly. "When the barb is removed, the king will leave under escort. This is a strong blow against the Realm this day, and our loyalties will be

tested. Mark this day knowing that Amber needs your strength. For the nonce, it is best if you all remain in Amber for the time being."

Martel waits until Random is ready to be moved, and

then accompanies his father's coach as it makes its

sad way on the long journey to Castle Amber.

Joshua will nod to Flora and move back towards where his horse is standing. Joshua turns to Rowan.

"Let us be about our horses and follow the King back to the castle

Rowan. We can do more here, Gerard has everything in hand."

Rowan, who has been quiet during this catastrophic change of events gives his head a quick nod.

"This is a grave day indeed. I feel that no more should be said at this time. We should retire to the castle."

He turns to Martel as if to say something but notices that the man has his full attention on Random, he turns back to his horse that a servant had just brought to him. Getting up on the beast he then turns waits till others join in the retreat to Amber.

wind along Kolvir's eastern flank, heading south to the ascending causeway to the castle.

Perspiring in his heavy wool mantle, more suitable for the damp shadows of the forest, Martel stuffs it in a

wad and thrusts it within his saddle bag. He lets Cinnoch's pace slow until the royal carriage passes

him to the left and the Rowan and Joshua draw near. Nudging the dapple closer, Martel leans foward to the

pair, speaking low to each man.

"We should meet tonight to discuss this grave turning of events. Can you do it, the nineteenth hour? We'll meet in the old study at Foresthall.

Rowan gives Martel a brief nod. " I shall also ask Vincent to join us at the appointed hour."

Joshua looks to Martel, smiles and nods.

"In the study then."

Martel nods his head

He drops back toward Cat and Isadora, further back in the crowd. He bows slightly to each as he draws near, again speaking quietly.

"Can you meet in the old study at Foresthall,

nineteenth hour? Much awaits discussion."

Isadora nods her head briefly. Her eye somewhat distant as she looks at the scene around them.

"Yes, Martel, I can meet you and the others then."

Martel squares his jaw, "'Till then, ladies"

Martel knees his mount, and the massive Cinnoch sprints forward, passing the royal coach and eventually taking his former place.