The man was the Marshal of the Hunt; he led his bay horse to the front of the assembled ranks and in a loud voice began reciting the rules of conduct. When he was finished, Quentin looked over the crowd and shouted, “Do you one and all pledge your oath to abide the laws of the King’s Hunt?”

“We so pledge!” the riders shouted as one.

“Well said!” cried Quentin. “Let the hunt begin!”

A great hurrah went up from the hunters, and all the spectators gathered around the field. The marshal raised the horn to his lips, but before he could sound the note someone called out, “We would have our King lead us!”

“The King!” someone else shouted. “Yes! The King!” the rest joined in. “We want King Quentin. The King must lead the hunt!”

Quentin smiled and glanced at his Queen. “Oh, you must go, Father! You must!” cried Princess Brianna and Princess Elena.

“Yes,” agreed Bria. “Lead them, my lord.”

“Very well,” said Quentin. “I will ride!” He made to leave the pavilion and mount Blazer. Another hurrah went up from the throng.

“The King will ride!” they shouted. Actually Quentin rode every year, but it was always custom that the contestants ask him to ride and offer him the lead. Usually he rode only for a short while and then returned to officiate over the other games.

“Are you coming, Durwin?” Quentin asked as he descended from the pavilion.

“I am getting too old for breaking my neck on horseback. Leave it to the younger men. I shall wait here for your return.”

“Durwin!” the crowd called. “Let Durwin ride with us! Durwin! Durwin!” The call became a chant.

“You see, they want you, Durwin. You would disappoint them?”

“Very well, I will ride. Lead on.” He followed Quentin down to the field.

As they were mounted and making ready to gallop off, Quentin looked to his side and saw his son beaming at him, his young face shining with anticipation. “What is this?”