Dragon Rider (Dragon Rider 1)

“Yes, indeed he did,” replied Firedrake, nuzzling Ben.

Burr-Burr-Chan whistled through his teeth. “So you’re the dragon rider! It was you who broke the moonstone that summoned me?”

Ben nodded. The lama said something in a quiet voice.

“Yes, yes, I know.” Burr-Burr-Chan scratched his head. “That old story: Silver will be worth more than gold when the dragon rider returns.” The brownie narrowed his slanting eyes and looked Ben up and down. “Yes, the dragons are hiding in a cave,” he said slowly. “A wonderful cave deep within the mountain range known as the Rim of Heaven. We dug that cave for them — we, the Dubidai, the brownies of these mountains. But we never meant for them to bury themselves alive in it. When they hid there after the golden dragon had hunted them, we withdrew our friendship and came back here. As we left, we told them there was only one way to make up the quarrel: We would return to them on the day they summoned us with a moonstone to help them overcome the golden dragon.” He looked at Firedrake. “I will take you to them, but I will not stay, for they still haven’t summoned us.”

“The golden dragon is dead,” replied Firedrake. “Dead and buried in the sand of a distant desert. They needn’t hide anymore.”

“No, no, he isn’t dead!” cried Guinevere.

Everyone turned to look at her. Burr-Burr-Chan pricked up his furry ears.

“You have no proof of that, Guinevere!” said Barnabas Greenbloom.

“I tell you, I saw him!” Guinevere stuck out her chin obstinately. “With my own eyes. I didn’t imagine a single scale of him. And I don’t care what you all say, I didn’t dream up the dwarf perched on his head, either. The golden dragon is not buried in the sand. He followed us along the river. And I bet you my collection of fairy shoes he’s somewhere very close, waiting to see what we do next.”

“Interesting!” said Burr-Burr-Chan. With one bound, he jumped down from his hole in the rock and landed on the stone dragon’s head.

“Listen,” he said, raising all four paws, “I will take you to the Rim of Heaven. It’s closer than you may think. We have only to fly over this mountain,” he continued, tapping the rock, “and then ahead of you, just where the sun rises, you will see a chain of mountains as beautiful as white field mushrooms in the moon-dew. The dragons are hiding in the valley beyond those mountains. You wouldn’t spot the entrance to their cave even if your nose was right up against it. Only the dragons and the Dubidai know where it is, but I will show you. All of a sudden I have a very strange itch in my fur. The kind of itch I get only when some great deed lies ahead, something adventurous and exciting.” Burr-Burr-Chan licked his lips and looked at the sky. “Right, we’ll set off as soon as the sun sets.”

Then he leaped into the nearest hole in the rock — and was gone.

42. A Farewell and a Departure

“Dubidai! Huh!” muttered Sorrel as soon as Burr-Burr-Chan had disappeared. “Calls himself a brownie, does he? I’m not so sure about him. He might lead us straight into Nettlebrand’s jaws.”

“Oh, nonsense!” Ben pulled her pointy ears. “Cheer up and stop moaning! We’ve done it! He’s going to take us to the Rim of Heaven! And if Nettlebrand shows his ugly mug there we’ll chase him back to the sea!”

“Oh, yes?” Sorrel wrinkled her nose. “You know something, little human? You’re crazy.”

The lama whispered something to the Greenblooms.

“What did he say, Twigleg?” Ben asked.

“The small will defeat the great,” replied the homunculus, “and the gentle will defeat the cruel.”

“Well, let’s hope so,” muttered Sorrel. Suddenly she turned her head and sniffed. “Yuck, what a disgusting whiff of mountain dwarf. You can’t get away from it! Go to any mountain in the world and you’ll find dwarves in their silly hats hammering away.”

“What did you say?” asked Guinevere in alarm.

“I said the place smells of dwarf,” repeated Sorrel.

“Why?”

“Where?” asked Ben, grabbing her arm. “Where exactly did you pick up the scent?”

At that very moment, a small figure shot out of a rocky crevice and scurried away like lightning.

“Gravelbeard!” screeched Twigleg, almost falling headfirst off Ben’s shoulder. “It’s Gravelbeard! Nettlebrand’s new armor-cleaner! Catch him! Quick, catch him! He’ll give everything away!”

They all dashed off in hot pursuit, falling over one another and getting in each other’s way, but by the time they reached the courtyard outside the prayer hall, the dwarf had vanished.

Sorrel snuffled around in every nook and cranny, muttering crossly. A couple of monks coming back from gathering firewood looked at her in amazement. When the lama asked if they had seen a small creature running away they just pointed at Lola Graytail, who was still asleep on the wall, snoring beside her plane.

Ben and Guinevere ran to the wall, leaned over it side by side, and peered down into the depths below. But there was no suspicious movement on the steep mountainside.

“Oh, no!” groaned Ben. “He’s gotten away!”