Dragon Rider (Dragon Rider 1)

“We don’t know!” whispered Graniteface.

“No, no idea,” muttered Gravelbeard, giving Ben and Sorrel a nasty look.

“And we don’t want to know, either,” growled Stonebeard. “Evil things happen up there. We don’t want to know, do we, brothers?”

The four all shook their heads again and drew closer together.

“Sounds as if we should fly on as soon as possible,” said Sorrel.

“I told you we ought to avoid yellow!” Ben looked with concern at Firedrake, but he was still sleeping peacefully and had merely turned his head over on the other side. “We didn’t fly far enough south. But you wouldn’t believe me.”

“Yes, all right, all right!” Sorrel pensively chewed her claws. “Nothing to be done about it now. We can’t leave this place before sunset, and Firedrake needs to sleep all day or he’ll be too tired to fly tonight. Right.” She clapped her paws. “This is a good chance to stock up with provisions. How about it, boys?” She leaned down to the mountain dwarves. “Know where to find any nice tasty roots or berries?”

The four little men whispered to one another. Finally Stonebeard stepped forward, looking important, cleared his throat, and said, “We’ll show you a place, brownie, but only if the dragon will pick up the scent of the rocks for us.”

ould hardly believe his eyes.

A small, fat man had emerged from behind a large mossy rock scarcely a pace away from him. This apparition, hardly bigger than a chicken, wore a huge hat on his head, which was as gray as the surrounding rocks. He was also holding a pickax.

“No, it’s not him,” said the little man, looking Ben up and down.

“How do you know, Stonebeard?” Three more stout little fellows came out from behind the rock. They were inspecting Ben as if he were some strange animal, which, to their astonishment, had landed on their mountain.

“Because our scalps wouldn’t be prickling if he was, that’s how I know,” replied Stonebeard. “This is a human being, can’t you see that? Only a small one, though.” The dwarf glanced in all directions, evidently worried. He even glanced up at the sky. Then, looking determined, he headed for Ben, who was still crouching on the ground, bewildered. Stonebeard stood right in front of him, clutching the pickax in his little hands as if it would help him to face a giant human. His three companions stayed near the rock, watching their fearless leader with bated breath.

“You, human!” whispered Stonebeard, tapping Ben on the knee. “Who else is here with you?”

“Wh-wh-what?” stammered Ben.

The fat little man turned to his friends and tapped his forehead. “A few teacups short of the full set!” he informed them. “But I’ll have another try.” He turned back to Ben. “Who — else — is — here — with — you?” he asked. “An elf? A fairy? A brownie? A will-o’-the-wisp, or what?”

Without meaning to, Ben glanced swiftly at the place where Firedrake and Sorrel were sleeping.

“Ahaaa!” Stonebeard stepped to one side, stood on tiptoe … and gasped for breath, awestruck. His eyes were as round as marbles. He took off his huge hat, scratched his bald head, and put the hat back on.

“Hey, Leadengleam, Gravelbeard, Graniteface!” he called. “Come out from behind that rock.” He added, in devoutly hushed tones, “You’re never going to believe this. It’s a dragon! A silver dragon!”

Slowly, still on tiptoe, he crept toward the sleeping Firedrake. His friends came hurrying after him in a state of high excitement.

“Here, wait a minute!” Ben had finally recovered his powers of speech. He jumped up and moved between Firedrake and the little men. They might not be much bigger than large lemonade bottles, but all the same they raised their hammers and pickaxes and stared grimly up at him.

“Make way there, human!” growled Stonebeard. “We only want a look at him.”

“Sorrel!” Ben called over his shoulder. “Sorrel, wake up! There’s a bunch of funny little men here.”

“Funny little men?” Stonebeard took a step toward Ben. “Do you by any chance mean us? Did you hear that, brothers?”

“What’s all this racket?” grumbled Sorrel, yawning as she crawled out from behind the sleeping dragon.

“A forest brownie!” cried Leadengleam in alarm.

“Mountain dwarves!” said Sorrel. “Well, fancy that. You’re never safe from them anywhere.” With one leap she had jumped in among the little men and picked up Leadengleam by the collar. The dwarf dropped his hammer in alarm and kicked his crooked little legs in the air. His friends instantly made for Sorrel, but the brownie girl effortlessly fended them off with her free paw.

“No need to get all worked up,” she said, relieving the dwarves of their hammers and pickaxes and chucking them over her shoulder. “Don’t you know you must never wake up a dragon? Suppose he’d eaten you for breakfast? You look really juicy. Nice and crunchy, too!”

“Huh! Silly brownie talk!” said Stonebeard, scowling at Sorrel, but even so he took two tiny steps backward to be on the safe side.

“Dragons don’t eat anything that breathes,” said the fattest dwarf, taking cover behind a rock. “They live on moonlight. All their strength comes from the moon. They can’t even fly when it isn’t shining.”