To Quentin, who had followed in the King’s wake, the scene seemed to take on the quality of one of his dreams. There was the King and Queen riding into the cheering throng of their most loyal subjects. She, sitting before him on his saddle, appeared more radiant and beautiful than any woman he had ever seen. And though her auburn tresses tumbled awry and her features were grimy with soot and tears, he thought she looked the more lovely for it all. And the King, armor shining in the golden light of a glorious afternoon sun suddenly burning through the gloom, held his great sword high overhead and proclaimed the victory in a clear, triumphant voice.

Then Quentin was in the arms of his friends. Toli was pulling him from his horse and crushing him in a fierce hug. Theido, one arm newly bandaged, was nevertheless pounding him on the back with the other, while Durwin gripped his face with both big hands and fairly danced for joy. Ronsard, Trenn, and King Selric shook his hands and laughed until tears ran from their eyes and their sides ached.

Quentin, too overcome to speak-his voice seemed to have dried up-just beamed at them all, peering through bleary eyes that sparkled with happy tears. Never had he felt so wonderful, so complete.

The King raised his voice to speak; the glad companions turned to hear him. His voice echoed over the plain saying, “Today will be a day of mourning for our fallen comrades. Tonight their funeral pyres will light their brave souls’ homeward way. The armies of Heoth have this day claimed many fine soldiers-we will honor them as is befitting men of high valor.”

“But tomorrow,” the Dragon King continued. All eyes were upon him in rapt wonder; many could still not believe that he had indeed returned. “Tomorrow will be a day of celebration throughout the realm of Mensandor! The victory has been won!”

At this the Plain of Askelon leaped to a shout, and songs of victory poured forth from all assembled there. Far into the night the songs continued, muted only during the lighting of the funeral pyres of the fallen countrymen.

When at last the pyres had dwindled to glowing embers, Quentin and the others started back to Askelon. Quentin watched as over the darkened field the funeral fires twinkled and winked out one by one as if they were stars extinguishing themselves forever.

The next day was a day Quentin treasured forever. He awakened to fine bright sunlight streaming in through an open window on a breeze perfumed by the fresh scent of wildflowers. He rubbed his eyes and remembered he had spent the night in Askelon Castle.

Jumping up he found that his clothes had been removed and in their place were the rich garments of a young prince: a tunic of white samite with silver buttons and royal blue trousers, and a richly embroidered cloak woven with threads of gold so that it sparkled in the sunlight as he turned it over in his hands. There was a golden brooch in the shape of a stag’s head and a golden chain to fasten the cloak. He had never seen clothes this wonderful. And shoes!-fine leather boots that fit him perfectly.

A servant brought rose-scented water and waited on him while he washed. Quentin’s hands trembled as he dressed himself and dashed out of his apartment fastening his cloak with the golden brooch as he ran, quite forgetting the aching stiffness in his leg. Theido and Durwin, both looking more noble than he had ever seen them, were just emerging from their chambers, directly across from his own.

“Ho there, young sir!” cried Theido with a grin. “Who is this bold knight I see before me? Do you know him, Durwin?”

“Unless my eyes deceive me,” said Durwin, “this must be the King’s champion off on some new adventure!”

“It is wonderful! All this-” Words failed him.

“Yes, yes. Wonderful indeed,” laughed Durwin. “But you have seen nothing at all until you have seen the hall of the Dragon King in high celebration!”

“Let us go there now!” cried Quentin. “I do want to see it!”

“Not so fast,” said Theido. “Breakfast first-though I would hold back somewhat, for there are sure to be delicacies abounding throughout the day. We will join the others first.”

“Then can we go?” asked Quentin anxiously.

“In due time,” laughed Durwin. “You are impetuosity itself. I should have known when I saw you riding off into the wood after good Theido here that you would bring back the King. I should have seen it!”

“You must allow the King’s stewards to prepare the hall properly. It will not be ready just yet. A celebration like this… well, you will not be disappointed,” Theido explained. “But come. We will breakfast lightly and then take our places at court. For today the Dragon King dispenses justice for the treasons raised against him.”

At breakfast the three joined Toli, Ronsard, and Trenn, all bedecked in appropriate finery. Toli looked the part of a royal squire, and insisted upon serving Quentin by his own hand. He would have attended Quentin in his chamber had he not been prevented by servants of his own-Toli, too, was a most honored guest.

Quentin blushed, faintly embarrassed by Toli’s enthusiastic ministrations; for, although the Jher did not say a word, Quentin could see the light of a glowing pride kindled in Toli’s wide, dark eyes. To Toli, Quentin appeared at last to have taken his rightful place as a prince of the realm.

In the massive chamber of court, King Eskevar sat upon his high throne looking grave and righteous as he heard the evidence of the misdeeds practiced against him and his people during his long absence.

Lord Larcott and Lord Weldon were released from prison and restored to full favor with their monarch. In their places went Sir Grenett and Sir Bran, until they should have a change of heart and be willing to swear allegiance and fidelity anew to their Monarch.

Jaspin appeared next before the throne. So feeble with remorse had he become that he had to be dragged forth by guards and propped up on a stool to hear his sentence.

“For your part, Jaspin,” said Eskevar, not without compassion, “I will be lenient, though you will no doubt perceive your punishment as more harsh than you can bear. Be that as it may, I have decided.”

“You shall be banished from this realm to wander the world and make a home wherever you may find men to receive you. You will never trouble Mensandor again.”

Jaspin wailed as if he had been stuck with a hot poker. He cried to his brother for mercy. “Allow me to confine myself to my own castle. In time you shall forget this unpleasantness.”

But Eskevar was firm in his resolve. “You may take with you one companion: Ontescue.” He nodded and the wily Ontescue was brought forth, muttering darkly.

“Ontescue,” the King pronounced, “You, who would be the king’s companion, shall accompany your ‘monarch’ wherever he goes to guide him in exile as you sought to guide him on this throne.”

Ontescue blanched, but he bowed low and said nothing, grateful at least to have saved his head.

A whole host of nobles and knights, prisoners taken on the battlefield, were ushered in. They were each made to pledge their oaths of loyalty once more to the Dragon King and each then promised a ransom for themselves and a heavy fine for their lands. But they were released at once.

“I have served my enemies as the law and mercy allow. Now let my friends receive justice as well,” announced the King.

King Selric was called first and came to stand before Eskevar who, out of deference to his friend, stood as well. “I cannot reward your courage and valor upon the field nor repay the service you and your soldiers have rendered this crown. For this I shall call you brother, for you have shown yourself more true than any tie blood itself could purchase.”

“But as a mere token of my gratitude let me offer you the worthy ransom with which these nobles have redeemed themselves. Take it and divide it among your men and the families of the brave soldiers who died in this duty. Please accept it-it is but little recompense.”