CHAPTER 1

Aenarion patted his horse on the neck as he peered up ahead at the trail. The tracks he'd been following had doubled-backed on themselves four different times and still he was able to follow the trail.

Aenarion was starting to get bored playing this game of cat and mouse with eight Goblins. "My skills are being wasted on these preening Bretonnians," he thought. "The only Bretonnian house I have any respect for is getting more deeply involved in petty disagreements with its neighbors and war is looming for the City of Parravon in the Barony of Le Blazonny, headed by Sir Renaud. Soon I will lose all respect for them as well." Aenarion didn't like to see the Barony especially Sir Renaud follow the route taken by many other Bretonnian houses.

He saw a movement a short distance ahead and grabbed his bolas, with a mighty arc he hurled the bolas and took out two Goblins at once. The other six started to run as he pulled his bow and with rapid succession fired his arrows until he'd taken out the rest of the Goblins. "They won't be warning anyone now of the Bretonnia troop movements in the area," he thought with satisfaction.

He got off his horse and checked to make sure the enemy was dead. They were, of course. He started to go through their bags and clothing and found assorted coins and treasure.

He got out his knife and carefully carved a symbol in a tree to warn other woodsmen of the potential for marauding Goblins.

He mounted his horse after putting in his saddle bags the treasure he had found. He turned his horse quickly back the way he had come, so he could give warning of Goblin movement in the area to Sir Renaud.

"My talents are being wasted," he thought again. "My only joy in life is following Goblins who think they can outwit me. Me of all people!!"

Aenarion thought back to a time when he was much younger. He was once carefree. He'd actually had a human for a friend at one time. He was a roving young bard named Binabon.

Aenarion smiled at the memory. "The times we'd had. We would dance, sing, tell stories and play musical instruments for the entertainment of the crowds. Also for the money that was collected in a hat at each session, of course."

"Alas, I'm much older and wiser now," he sighed, "the Bretonnians are getting on my nerves fighting their petty fights."

"Maybe my life needs to take a new direction," he thought as he rode back to give his report to Sir Renaud.