Dragon Rider (Dragon Rider 1)

Ben shifted uncomfortably on the fence. “If he does turn up in the water,” he said, “do you think he’ll be able to see me here?”

Twigleg shook his head. Weak at the knees, he went to the rim of the basin. His reflection was paler than the moon, but the fragrance of the flowers filled the night and calmed the frantic beating of his heart.

“Stay as you are, please!” whispered the homunculus. “Stay dark, water!”

Then he threw the stone. Splash! Shimmering circles rippled over the surface of the water. Twigleg held his breath. An image appeared in the dark pool, but it was not the image of Nettlebrand.

“Gravelbeard!” Twigleg stepped back in surprise.

“Oh, Twigleg, there you are at last!” The mountain dwarf pushed his big hat back on his head. Large tears were trickling down his nose. “His Goldness, our master,” he gulped, raising his short little arms and then letting them sink again, “he’s … he’s …”

“He’s what?” stammered Twigleg.

Ben leaned over from the fence to hear better.

“He’s buried in the sand!” moaned Gravelbeard. “Gone, just like that! Oh!” He rolled his eyes and went on hoarsely. “It was terrible, Twigleg. The crunching. The squealing. And then suddenly” — the dwarf doubled over until it looked as if his nose would come up through the water — “suddenly everything was still. Perfectly still.” He stood up again, shrugging his shoulders. “What was I to do? I couldn’t dig him out. I’m much too small!”

Twigleg scrutinized the sobbing dwarf thoughtfully. He didn’t believe Gravelbeard’s story. Was it really possible that the source of all their troubles lay buried in the sand of a distant desert?

“Where are you now, Gravelbeard?” Twigleg asked the sniveling dwarf.

“Me?” Gravelbeard wiped his nose on the sleeve of his jacket. “I was lucky. A camel caravan happened to pass by soon after His Goldness” — here, he started sobbing again — “soon after His Goldness sank into the sand. I managed to cling to a camel’s leg and ride with them. And so I came to a city, a human city full of gold and diamonds. A wonderful place, I can tell you, an absolutely wonderful place.”

Twigleg nodded. Deep in thought, he stared into the water.

“What about you?” asked the dwarf. “Where are you now?”

Twigleg opened his mouth, but at the last minute he bit back what he had been about to say. “We only got out of the desert ourselves yesterday,” he said instead. “We didn’t find dragons any more than you did. That wretched djinn lied to us.”

“Yes, by tin and iron ore, what a villain!” Gravelbeard looked at Twigleg, but the homunculus could scarcely make out the dwarf’s eyes under the huge brim of his hat. “So what are you going to do now?” asked Gravelbeard. “Where will the silver dragon look next?”

Twigleg shrugged his shoulders and looked as indifferent as he could. “No idea. He seems very depressed. Have you seen the raven lately?”

Gravelbeard shook his head. “No, why?” He looked around. “I must go now,” he whispered. “Good luck, Twigleg. Maybe we’ll meet again.”

“Maybe,” murmured Twigleg as the image of Gravelbeard blurred in the dark water.

“Hooray!” Ben jumped off the fence, swung Twigleg up onto his head, and danced around the dragon-flowers with him.

“We’re rid of him!” he chanted. “Good-bye, Nettlebrand! He sank into the sand in a desert land. Not so clever, he’s gone forever! Oh, wow!” He leaned on the fence, laughing. “Hear that? I’m a poet, I am!”

He took Twigleg off his head and held him in front of his face. “Why don’t you say something? You’re not looking too happy, either. You weren’t actually fond of that dragon-eater, were you?”

“No!” Twigleg shook his head indignantly. “It’s just,” he said, rubbing his pointed nose, “that it sounds too good to be true, see? I’ve had such a terrible time with him for so long, I’ve been afraid of him for so many hundreds of years, and now” — he concluded, looking at the boy — “now do you think he’s really sunk into the sand, just like that? Not him!” He shook his head. “No, I don’t believe it.”

“Oh, come on!” Ben poked Twigleg’s narrow chest with one finger. “That dwarf sounded as if he was telling the truth. There’s no end of quicksand in the desert. I saw something about them once on TV. Quicksand can swallow up a whole camel as if it were no bigger than a sand flea, honest.”

Twigleg nodded. “Yes, yes, I’ve heard that, too. All the same —”

“Never mind all the same!” said Ben, putting the homunculus on his shoulder. “You’ve saved us. After all, it was you who sent him off into the desert. Imagine Sorrel’s face when we tell her! I can’t wait.”

And he ran back down to the beach to tell everyone the good news.

33. Face-to-Face

“Good!” growled Nettlebrand. “You did really well there, dwarf. That pathetic stick-insect creature really believed you.”

He raised his muzzle from the water and hauled his gigantic body up onto the bank, panting and snorting. A flock of birds fluttered into the night sky, screeching in loud voices. Gravelbeard clung to one of Nettlebrand’s horns and looked down anxiously at the great river, which was black as ink as it lapped around his master’s scales.