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had noodles and vegetables for his dinner.
    "Another great ship in the harbor, Uncle?" said Rozerto.
    "Aye, nephew, it is
Oat
, and a lovely sight she is. I served on her myself, when she was very new."
    Uncle Iapetor had been a sailor all his working life and had retired after six years as captain of the white ship
Hoptree
, a vessel of one thousand tons with a crew of one hundred and fifty.
    There was considerable speculation at the table about the mission of
Barley
and
Oat
. The most popular notion was that the ships were to sail for Kadein via the cities of Bea, Pennar, and Ryotwa, and that they would pick up men and dragons in each and deliver a large force, perhaps two legions, at Kadein. This force would then proceed to Axoxo and form the core of a massive assault planned for the summer that would end the long siege.
    Relkin noticed that Hollein Kesepton did not contribute to this conversation with much more than a smile and a nod. He found himself thinking about tropical kit. Following the expedition to Ourdh a few years back, the legion commissary had evolved a lightweight suit of clothing to replace the wools normally worn in Kenor. Relkin had had a set of this kit, including a special lightweight cape for the dragon made of a wonderful linen from the Isles of Cunfshon. Somewhere along the line, however, most of it had disappeared. A lot had been lost during the year of the invasion and the battle at Sprian's Ridge. Dragon Leader Turrent had never inspected the tropical kit, and it had not been replaced.
    The ptarmigans were followed by the first of the major courses, a great, steaming calf pie, four inches thick and four feet across.
    Young Rozerto had grown bolder by degrees as he drank his second cup of wine and water. He began to ply Relkin with questions about the Dragon Corps. He was most interested in warfare, it appeared, which he identified as the most exciting and honorable pursuit for a man. What was it like to fight in battle alongside the wyverns, he wanted to know.
    Relkin replied that dragonboys fought from just behind their dragons and that often one's main concern was to keep one's head down when the dragonsword was flying. The usual death for a dragonboy was, in fact, being crushed by the dragon or decapitated by the dragonsword.
    The boy was awed. He kept glancing furtively at the three rows of ribbons on Relkin's jacket.
    "How did you win so many honors?" he said at last, unable to restrain himself.
    Relkin looked up, his mouth full of the calf pie.
    Rozerto's question, while somewhat impolite, had drawn the interest of Uncle Iapetor, even while Tommaso frowned at his youngest for asking such a question of an honored guest.
    Relkin swallowed the calf pie, took a sip of the fine Spriani wine. Iapetor and his neighbors on his left were looking at him expectantly. Some sort of response was called for.
    "I've served in the legion for four years. It just so happened that there was a lot of work for us to do."
    "Work? You mean campaigns," said Rozerto. "All those silver ribbons are for campaigns. I know that much. And the red ones are for battles." Rozerto turned to his father, "Papa, it is too exciting. I want to join the legions and go to war."
    Relkin saw the glow in the boy's eyes. The naivete of it sent a chill through him. He spoke sharply in a cold voice.
    "You might not enjoy the excitement, though. War isn't about glory. It's about killing and being killed. It's not something you ever enjoy."
    He sounded more severe perhaps than he meant to be. It was just that he had lost so many young friends in battles both large and small. Youths not much older than Rozerto.
    Rozerto's face had fallen.
    "But school is so boring. I want to run away to sea or else become a dragonboy."
    Relkin actually had wistful feelings when he thought of the concept of "school." He'd only had a couple of years in the village school of Quosh, and he'd always regretted his lack of education.
    Everyone else was laughing,