It was Tuka, rushing in from outside, opening the door on a piercingly loud animal roar. The air rushing into the tavern felt like a hot summer day, and the sky they could see through the door had turned from morning's overcast to a bright yellow.

Sky… yellow?

"Wiglaf! Sasha! If you've got weapons, get out here now!"

They tore out of the tavern, and Wiglaf s confusion instantly dissipated. In this day full of unwanted sights, this was by far the worst. A mammoth red dragon was just pulling out of an aerial attack run into the town square, yellow flames pouring from its gigantic maw. Twenty or thirty villagers brandished weapons against the beast; some threw spears or loosed arrows, but those who knew how to fight were few, and the monster was large. One building was already on fire. Wiglaf was nearly bowled over by the heated backwash from the dragon's flight. It snorted as it climbed for another pass, and a tree caught fire like a matchstick. Silhouetted against the gray sky, the dragon flew up in a wide arc to launch another attack.

"Find someplace to hide! Take cover! Take cover!" Tuka screamed.

A woman ran to Wiglaf and clenched his robe, shrieking with terror. "Magic-user! Do something! Help us! I have children! DO SOMETHING!" Maybe she hadn't seen the demonstration this morning. Maybe she was so afraid that she was willing to believe anything. But she was trying to grasp at the only thing she could see: Wiglaf s magic. She really thought he could help.

"Wiglaf, let's go!" Sasha shouted. She pulled the woman off him. "Go now!" She tugged at his robe.

The dragon turned in the sky, straightened, and headed back.

"No!" Wiglaf pulled himself free. "Get away, Sasha. I have to try."

"With what? This is no dog! It'll kill you!"

"I have to try."

"You idiot!" Sasha pulled the still-screaming woman out of the square, leaving Wiglaf alone to face the monster, which was picking up speed and dropping altitude to find the perfect flamethrowing angle.

Wiglaf could trust only one spell: burning hands, the one he'd used against the dogs. The way it had roared out of his fingertips last night, the flame had almost matched a dragon's intensity. Maybe if he fought fire with fire, the beast would act like most animals and retreat.

He took a deep breath, planted his feet, spread his fingers, and joined his thumbs. The dragon noticed the lone unmoving figure as it continued to accelerate. It adjusted its approach angle. Now it was coming straight for' Wiglaf-and inhaling.

His knees felt like pudding as he watched the monster approach, and his voice was shaking as he began the incantation, but Wiglaf did not move. He stood his ground and faced the beast as it screamed forward. He managed to get the words out-and sighed with relief when magical force crackled toward his fingertips, and he stood with teeth clenched and eyes flashing as adrenalin pumped through him.

He aimed his burning hands at the dragon, and from them poured a spray of vegetables.

The first few bushels that struck the dragon actually did some physical damage before vanishing on impact, such was the speed of its attack run. They smacked painfully at its scaly hide and, as Wiglaf adjusted his aim before he could register what he was dispensing, worried its eyes and nose. The confusion was the important thing. The dragon spit flamelessly and blinked its eyes again and again. Still the veggies came, slowing its forward motion until it was almost hovering.

Wiglaf finally regained his senses enough to understand, but realized his outrageous spell was the only thing holding the creature at bay.

He held his arms firmly forward.

On and on, the dragon was pelted with representatives of every single member of a major food group, until it shook its head and finally took a breath to eradicate this problem once and for all.

Wiglaf knew he couldn't hold out for long now that the great creature had drawn a bead on him, but there was no other choice. He was a dead man, yes. But if he stopped casting, there would be nothing standing in the dragon's way. He would not run. At least he would give some people the chance to take cover, to save themselves. At least he would end his life in dignity and service. Wiglaf let a deep sigh escape him, then closed his eyes in determination and waited for the end to come.

He heard some mumbling behind him. An instant later, the stream of vegetables was joined by a stream of flame.

Now the dragon was faced with a gargantuan gout of fire aimed at its head, not to mention that the foodstuffs tasking its eyes and nose were now roasting hot-and, Wiglaf noticed, smelling delicious on the way up. There comes a time when every creature, no matter how large or small, meek or fierce, wise or wanton, has finally reached its limit of pain, tolerance, and plain exasperation. At the business end of a torrent of steaming, stinging vegetables, the miserable dragon finally gave up, and swiftly flew away.

A shaken Wiglaf dropped his hands and turned to meet his benefactor.

The belcher. The lockpicker.

Fenzig was a magic-user.

Fenzig balled his hands into fists, and the fire disappeared instantly and utterly. He extended his fingers again, blew on them as if to cool them off, and winked. Then he smacked his hands sharply together. Then again. And again.

Tuka and Sasha ran toward them, making the same hand motions, and before long everyone in the square was applauding as well.

"You!" Wiglaf recoiled in shock. This is your robe. You let me take it away."

"We've been expecting you," said the man the others had called Fenzig, drawing close to Wiglaf for privacy, "ever since your teacher told me you had resigned."

"M-My teach…"

"Magicians who form friendships are a close fraternity, boy. Your former instructor thinks you have great potential, despite your laziness, and one day you might convince me of that as well. He thought you needed a sterner taskmaster-but first I had to get your attention. I trust I have it now."

"You were wonderful, magic man," said Sasha as she arrived.

"So this was all an act? You three together?"

"Nobody told the dragon about it," panted Tuka. "I thought we were gone. I really did."

"You stopped it, Wiglaf," Sasha said. "Your magic. Your courage."

"I couldn't have done it without-" He looked up into a face that had grown infinitely wiser in the last few moments; a face that would impart great knowledge in the coming years, now that he was ready to receive it. "-my master?"

"I'll take my robe back now," said the mage. "And in exchange, I'll show you how to do that little stunt whenever you want. Invent a spell yourself. Well call it… cast vegetables."

Wiglaf s new life began when he slipped off… this robe.

"This very one?" asked the young apprentice. "You're telling me this is the robe that undid Wiglaf?"

"It's a robe of wild magic," the old man said. "As you could easily tell if you recognized this sigil. See? A warning. To anyone experienced in reading it, it says, 'wild magic, dum-dum. Makes spellcasting completely unpredictable. Only one of its kind. Tends to favor the caster if he really needs help, but that is Mystra's munificence, at least that's how the story goes. I have no idea who actually fashioned this thing, and I would never try to make one. This robe is completely useless except for one purpose: reminding younglings like you that there is no quick substitute for listening to ancient ones like me, and learning what we assign."

"That's a terrific story," said the lad.

"Be thankful that you learned this lesson by hearing a story, and not the way Wiglaf had to. But keep it learned, all the same. Now let's begin by working with components. A simple alteration. Fetch me some vegetables and chop them up, boy."