Dragon Rider (Dragon Rider 1)

“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.”

“Oh, very clever, aren’t you?” Sorrel put the struggling Leadengleam back on the grass and leaned over the others. “So tell me how you knew we were here? Have we been stupid enough to land right on your doorstep?”

The four of them looked anxiously up at her. Stonebeard nudged the smallest of them. “Go on, Graniteface,” he growled. “Your turn now.”

Graniteface stepped forward hesitantly, fingered the brim of his hat, and looked uneasily up at the two giant figures facing him. “No,” he said at last, his voice trembling, “we live a good way farther up the mountain. But our scalps were prickling this morning. Usually they only do that when we’re near the castle.”

“And what does that mean?” asked Sorrel impatiently.

“Our scalps prickle when there are other fabulous beings somewhere near,” replied Graniteface. “Humans and animals don’t have the same effect.”

“Which is lucky,” sighed Leadengleam.

Sorrel looked suspiciously at the four of them.

“You said something about a castle just now.” Ben knelt down in front of Graniteface and looked inquiringly at him. “Do you mean the castle up there?” he asked.

“We don’t know anything!” called the fattest dwarf from behind his rock. “Not a thing!”

“Shut up, Gravelbeard!” said Stonebeard.

Graniteface looked at Ben like a frightened rabbit and hastily retreated to join the others. But Stonebeard took a step toward the human boy.

“Yes, that’s the castle we mean,” he grunted. “It makes our scalps prickle so hard it’s unbearable. That’s why we haven’t been there for years, even though the mountain where it stands has such a strong smell of gold it’s enough to lift the hat off your head.”

Ben and Sorrel looked up at the castle.

“Who lives there, then?” asked Ben, not liking the sound of this.