Dragon Rider (Dragon Rider 1)

Down on the beach, Firedrake was moving. He turned his back to the sea, which gleamed silver in the moonlight, and looked north. The crowd around him stepped back, leaving only four of them standing there: a tall thin man; two women, one short and the other tall; and a child. The dragon leaned down to them.

“It’s that professor,” growled Nettlebrand. “The one who has my scale. How the devil did he get here?”

“No idea, Your Goldness,” said Gravelbeard, nervously putting a hand under his shirt to touch Barnabas Greenbloom’s wedding ring, which hung on a ribbon around his neck.

“I’ll deal with him later,” grunted Nettlebrand. “I can’t stop now. Yes, I’ll save some of the fun for later.”

“Look, Your Goldness,” whispered Gravelbeard, “the dragon is taking off.”

Firedrake was spreading his wings. They shone like spun moonlight.

“At last!” whispered Nettlebrand. “Off you go to the Rim of Heaven, my little silver sleuthhound, to find the other dragons for me.”

At that moment the boy glanced up at the hills.

Nettlebrand’s scales flashed in the moonlight so brightly that Ben narrowed his eyes. Next moment the glint of gold was gone. A large rain cloud had drifted in front of the moon, casting a dark shadow over the hilltops. Puzzled, the boy stared into the night.

Nettlebrand laughed hoarsely. “You see, dwarf?” he growled. “Even the clouds are on our side.”

The silver dragon beat his wings and rose into the night sky, light as a bird. He circled a couple of times over the huts, while the people down on the beach waved to him, and then flew off into the night.

Nettlebrand watched him for a moment. Then, grunting, he slid back down the hill and into the river. He swam soundlessly through the dark water, startling pelicans and flamingos out of their sleep and snapping at everything that flew past his muzzle.

“Your Goldness!” whispered Gravelbeard. “I can’t swim.”

“You won’t have to.” Sniffing loudly, Nettlebrand raised his nose from the water. “Ah, he’s above us,” he growled. “He’s going quite slowly. The wind’s against him, blowing from the mountains. Good.”

“Your Goldness!” Gravelbeard clung to Nettlebrand’s horn.

“Now what is it?”

“Do you know this river? Have you ever swum up it before?”

“Yes,” growled Nettlebrand, “when I lost the dragons because of those wretched sea serpents. I swam up and down this river, wearing out my claws on the mountains from which it flows. Not a trace of them. Nothing. Not the tip of a dragon’s tail, not a single scale. They might have vanished into thin air. But now,” he said, his tail lashing the water so violently that waves slapped against the far bank, “this dragon will lead me to them. And if he can’t find them, either, then I’ll have him, anyway. That’ll be better than nothing.”

Gravelbeard was only half listening to what his master said. All was quiet on the mighty river except for the sound of the water as it splashed and slurped, slapped and lapped against Nettlebrand’s scales. “Do you know what it’s like inside the mountains where the river comes from?” asked the dwarf. “Is there gold there? Gold and precious stones?”

“I’ve no idea,” snarled Nettlebrand, snapping at a fat fish that had been foolish enough to jump out of the water in front of him. “Only humans and dwarves are interested in that kind of thing.”

They spent the rest of the night swimming upstream in silence. Firedrake was already some way ahead, but that didn’t bother Nettlebrand. The moon would soon fade in the light of dawn, and the silver dragon would have to find a hiding place for the day. Meanwhile, Nettlebrand would plunge down into the waters of the river, leaving his horns sticking out just far enough for the dwarf to get a breath of air, and then he would wait until the dragon’s scent came to his nostrils again.

No, Firedrake could not escape him now.

34. Snatched Away

“There they are!” cried Ben. “I saw them in Asif’s eye! I’m sure I did. Do you see them, Firedrake?” He pointed excitedly to the east, where the red light of the rising sun fell on a strangely shaped mountain range. They had been flying for the last two nights above hot, flat land, lakes dotted with birds and ancient fortresses set among green mountains, places that looked as if time had stood still there. Some of them looked familiar to Ben, who thought he had seen them in the eyes of the djinn. And he remembered these mountains very clearly, for they resembled the spiny crest of a sleeping dragon.

“Careful, you’ll break the straps the way you’re bouncing about!” said Sorrel crossly as Firedrake slowly flew lower.

“I’m sure of it, Sorrel!” cried Ben. “The monastery must lie beyond those mountains!”

“They’re still a long way off,” said Firedrake. “But we can make it to the foothills.”

Beating his wings a couple of times, he crossed the river where it made its way between rocky banks, foaming fast. The moon was already turning pale, but Firedrake flew on until the foothills of the dragon mountains lay beneath him like rocky paws. He circled above the slopes looking for a landing place and came down on a rocky outcrop.

The river rushed along in the depths behind them. Ahead, the mountains rose first gently and then more steeply to the sky. Peak after peak soared up like the spines of a giant dragon. The mountain range beyond was higher still, its snow-covered slopes glittering in the morning sunlight.

Firedrake came down among the rocks, yawned, stretched his weary limbs, and let Ben and Sorrel clamber down from his back.