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lifetime of dragon lore to impart to a dragonboy who could sit still and listen.
    But it remained the fact that in the old life Relkin had been outside society's walls, wild, hardly schooled, viewed with suspicion as a potential criminal. Now things were changed. It took a bit of getting used to. They were eager to know him now, where once he'd gained no more than curt little nods from such as Farmer Pigget or Farmer Haleham. Now they were beaming at him. Now he was the hero of the hour.
    He gave an internal shrug. And so he was, he acknowledged to himself. Enough of bitterness, he and Bazil had earned their night of adulation. They'd fought their way across the world and back and accounted for themselves pretty well. Relkin decided that he could take this sudden elevation in his social status as his due. After all, he and Baz were known to a few kings, queens, and elf lords, and after such lofty connections, what were a few prosperous country yeomen?
    "I thank you, kind sirs. Bazil and me have seen a few knocks in our time, but you know a lot of those stories. We had the luck, or the misfortune, to be in at the cutting edge of the war on more than one occasion."
    "Aye, lad, and you two were at Sprian's Ridge."
    "Sprian's Ridge!" They all raised their cups in memory of the battle that had saved the Argonath.
    "Well, we made it through all that, and we're glad to be back home tonight."
    "We're happy to welcome you home."
    "And is it true you have to return tomorrow?" said Farmer Pigget.
    "No, sir, we have tomorrow in the village, and we must be back the evening of the day after."
    "Splendid!" said Demck Castilion of the Bridge House Inn. "Then, will you honor the Bridge House Inn by attending a luncheon tomorrow, beginning at the First Hour."
    Relkin hesitated.
    "Does that include the dragon?"
    There were smiles. Trader Joffi giggled when he imagined a dragon devouring the fine viands that came from the kitchen of the Bridge House Tavern.
    Dernck swallowed. "The dragon is invited too, of course."
    "That's wonderful. Nothing he'd like better. And I would be honored, of course, Master Castilion."
    "Good, that's settled, then." Castilion glanced around the group. "And may I extend this invitation to everyone present. We will fill the ballroom for luncheon tomorrow."
    There were happy shouts of acceptance. Even Pigget nodded when pressed.
    "Field's too damned wet to work anyway."
    "I'll be there. The kitchen at the Bridge House Inn is justly famous," said Farmer Haleham.
    "Excellent." Castilion looked back to Relkin. "I must go and start the preparations. There's much to do as you might expect." He left them, and the conversation resumed.
    "Well, that was a bit of a surprise," murmured Farmer Pigget.
    "I'll say," said Tomas Birch. "Don't see the Bridge House Inn thrown open like that very often."
    "Dernck Castilion still has the first penny he was ever given."
    "Oh, will you stop that!" snapped Avil Bernarbo.
    "It's true," protested Joffi. "I've seen it. He keeps it nailed above the bar in the saloon at the inn."
    Bernarbo blew air noisily through his teeth. "Bah."
    "I had heard that rumor too," said Pigget.
    "Well, 'tis true the prices are high, but the kitchen is excellent. Castilion has won the prize in Brennans three years running."
    "Castilion should be running a restaurant in Marneri. Down in Blue Stone we don't pay those kind of prices."
    "Ha!" snorted Joffi. "Castilion should go to Kadein. they would pay his prices there."
    "Ah, prices—why do we spend our lives thinking about prices?" said Pigget.
    "Aye, 'tis a rotten shame," agreed Birch. "What with the price of wool this year, we'll be lucky to put anything away."
    Pigget sighed. "But wheat prices are high because of the Aubinans. That will help. We've got the makings of a grand wheat crop this year."
    At this they all nodded. The Aubinans would help to keep the price of grain sky-high in Marneri this year.
    "And yet that makes me feel guilty," said Birch. "We all owe