Dragon Rider by Cornelia Funke
Sorrel nodded and put a mushroom in her mouth. “You’re right, this is nothing special,” she muttered, but she handed the rest of the mushrooms to the others.
Burr-Burr-Chan rested all four paws on Firedrake’s warm scales. “I’d quite forgotten how wonderful it is to ride a dragon,” he whispered.
Firedrake turned to him. “Ready?” he asked.
Burr-Burr-Chan nodded.
“We fixed another strap on for you,” called Ben from behind the Dubidai. “Strap yourself in.” And so Burr-Burr-Chan buckled the strap around his furry stomach.
“Oh, and by the way,” said Sorrel, tapping him on the shoulder, “it seems we may not have seen the last of that golden dragon after all. His mountain dwarf was eavesdropping on us yesterday just as you gave such a wonderfully detailed description of the way to the Rim of Heaven. You realize what that means?”
Burr-Burr-Chan scratched his stomach thoughtfully. “Yes, we have to get there ahead of him, right?” He leaned forward over Firedrake’s neck. “What are you going to do,” he asked the dragon, “what are you going to do if the Golden One turns up at the Rim of Heaven? Are you planning to hide along with the others?”
Firedrake turned his head to him. “No, I shall never hide again,” he said.
“But of course you will!” cried Sorrel in alarm. “Of course you must hide! Until he’s gone away again, I mean. What else can you do?”
Firedrake did not reply. “Ready?” he called to the riders on his back.
“Ready!” cried Burr-Burr-Chan, moving a little farther forward. “Let’s wake the dragons from their slumber!”
The monks holding torches stepped back, and Firedrake spread his wings. The moon was waning, so he had drunk a little moon-dew to be on the safe side. His wings felt as light as the feathers of a bird.
“Good luck!” cried Barnabas Greenbloom.
“Come back soon!” called Vita, and Guinevere threw Ben a chocolate bar.
He managed to catch it just before it fell into Sorrel’s lap. Lola Graytail started the engine of her plane, and Firedrake rose into the sky above the monastery. He flew up and over the mountainside to which its buildings clung, and headed for the white peaks rimming the sky to the east.
43. The Pursuers
Gravelbeard had hidden among the rocks less than a foot below the wall, in a crevice so narrow that he’d had to duck his head between his shoulders to force himself into it. There he had crouched as they looked for him, trembling, holding his breath, and pressing his back to the cold stone. He had felt the dragon’s warm breath on his nose, and he ground his teeth with fury when the treacherous homunculus suggested climbing down the rocks. If that spindly creature had tried it he’d have pushed him down the mountain to where Nettlebrand was waiting in the mud. But Twigleg didn’t come. The skinny little coward wouldn’t dare.
By the time Gravelbeard could finally hear no more sounds from above, it was pitch-dark. The mountain still whispered in his ear, telling him its wonderful stories, but the dwarf tore himself away, crawled out of the crevice that had saved him, and climbed down into the valley. It was more difficult in the dark than by daylight, but Gravelbeard found his way.
Once down at the foot of the mountain, he ran past the huts. Would it be worth stopping to look for rings, gold chains, coins, beautiful precious stones? But these huts didn’t smell like rich places, so Gravelbeard hurried on, past sheds full of sheep and goats, over the fields to the river where Nettlebrand was lurking in the brown water.
On the bank, the dwarf looked around again. All was still. The people were asleep, weary after their hard day’s work in the fields. Their animals were safe from cold in the stables, and the wild beasts roaming around had nothing but prey in mind. Gravelbeard picked a twig from the nearest bush and struck the water with it.
“Your Goldness!” he called softly. “Your Goldness, I’m back.”
Snorting, Nettlebrand rose from the river.
“Well, what did you find out?” he growled, shaking the mud off his scales.
“Everything!” replied Gravelbeard proudly. “The dragons have been hiding, Your Goldness! That’s why you couldn’t find them all these years! They hid away in a cave inside a mountain. You ought to have taken a mountain dwarf along when you went looking for them before. We can find any cave anywhere!”
“So where is this cave, then?” Nettlebrand asked impatiently.
“You have to cross that mountain,” replied Gravelbeard portentously. “The one with the monastery built on its side. Then you turn east, and then,” he said, grinning triumphantly, “then you come to the mountain range they call the Rim of Heaven. The entrance to the cave is in the valley beyond it.”
Nettlebrand reared up, hardly able to believe it, and water dripped from his huge body. “In that valley, you say?” he roared. “But I know the place. I’ve searched and searched there until my claws were worn right down. Huh!” He licked his lips and chortled. “The fools — they couldn’t have chosen a better place!”
“What do you mean, Your Goldness?” asked Gravelbeard curiously.
“You’ll soon see!” Nettlebrand snorted happily. “Has the silver dragon set off yet?”
Gravelbeard shrugged his shoulders and looked at Nettlebrand’s muddy scales, frowning. “Probably. He was planning to take off as soon as darkness fell. But you’ll soon find him. Just let me clean your scales first, Your Goldness. I can hardly see their beautiful golden glow.”
“Forget the golden glow!” Nettlebrand snapped. “Come here and get into my mouth.” He laid his terrible muzzle on the bank and opened his jaws wide.
“Oh, no!” Gravelbeard retreated defiantly. “You want to swallow me again.”
“Of course I do!” growled Nettlebrand. “I have to dive deep, a long, long way down, so get a move on, will you?”
“But I don’t like it in there!” whimpered Gravelbeard as he approached Nettlebrand’s mighty teeth, his knees shaking.
“Why not? I thought you mountain dwarves liked caves, and what’s my stomach but a large cave?” replied Nettlebrand nastily. “Come on, jump!”
“Don’t want to!” repeated Gravelbeard.
But then he held tight to his hat and jumped in, between those terrible teeth and onto that gigantic tongue. And Nettlebrand swallowed him.
44. The Rim of Heaven
Firedrake flew on. The nine white peaks forming the Rim of Heaven shimmered in the distance as if starlight clung to them. The rat flew her plane on the leeward side of the dragon, where she was out of the wind.
Firedrake felt strong, as if moonlight were flowing through his veins. And he felt light, as if he were made of the same elements as the night itself. At last he was approaching his journey’s end. His heart was beating fast in anticipation, driving him across the sky faster than he had ever flown before, so fast that soon the rat couldn’t keep up and landed her plane on his tail.
“Whee!” cried Burr-Burr-Chan. “Whoo! I’d forgotten how great it feels to ride a dragon!”
He clung to the straps with two of his paws and used the other two to rummage in his sack and bring out a mushroom. It was so wonderfully fragrant that Sorrel forgot all her anxiety about what lay ahead of them and leaned over Burr-Burr-Chan’s shoulder, sniffing. “By chanterelles and truffles!” she said, licking her lips. “What kind of a mushroom is that? It smells of leeks and —”
“It’s a shiitake,” replied Burr-Burr-Chan, smacking his own lips. “A genuine Japanese shiitake. Want to try one?” Putting a paw into his sack, he brought out another and dropped it over his shoulder into Sorrel’s lap.
“Quite useful, those four arms of yours,” she murmured, sniffing the strange mushroom before taking a cautious bite.
“Very useful,” agreed Burr-Burr-Chan. He looked ahead to where the Rim of Heaven was rising higher and higher into the night sky. “Well done, we’re almost there. My word, your dragon is a strong flyer.”
“He’s had plenty of practice these last
“Good heavens, no!” Burr-Burr-Chan laughed so heartily that Firedrake turned in surprise to look at him.
“Your brownie girl here is a real comic,” gasped Burr-Burr-Chan. “Very amusing indeed!”
“So amusing she’s liable to bite off a couple of your twenty fingers!” snapped Sorrel.
Burr-Burr-Chan turned to look at her, grinning broadly. “No mushroom can grow on stone,” he said. “This species grows on wood. We cultivate it in our caves. Don’t you cultivate mushrooms yourself?”
“No,” growled Sorrel. “So what if I don’t?” she added crossly, thumping the other brownie’s back.
“Stop squabbling, Sorrel!” Firedrake called back to her. “I have to think.”
Looking offended, Sorrel bent her head and went on nibbling her mushroom. “Has to think, does he?” she muttered. “Too right. Like what’s he going to do if that monster comes after us? There won’t be much time to think then. Is he planning to fight him or what?” Uneasily she spat into the depths below.
“What do you mean fight?” Ben put his head over her shoulder.
“Oh, forget it,” growled Sorrel. “Only thinking out loud.” She stared gloomily at the mountains as they came closer and closer.
Ben pulled Twigleg’s little cap made from the glove thumb-piece down over the manikin’s ears and wrapped him a little more snugly in his lambskin. It was getting colder and colder the higher Firedrake climbed, and Ben was very grateful for the warm clothing the monks had given them. He wished he could feel glad they were so close to their journey’s end, but he kept thinking of Nettlebrand.
Suddenly Ben felt something touch his shoulder. Whipping around in alarm, he was just in time to catch Lola Graytail by her long tail. “Hey, what are you doing here, Lola?” he asked.
“Thinking of throwing me overboard, were you?” replied the rat, her teeth chattering. “It’s too cold in my plane. The heating only works when I’m flying. Any space for me in your backpack, by any chance?”
“Of course.” Ben tucked the shivering rat in among his things. “What about the plane, though?”
“It’s tied well into place on Firedrake’s tail,” replied Lola. With a sigh of relief, she snuggled down inside the backpack until only her ears and pointed nose were sticking out.
“Must I fly higher, Burr-Burr-Chan?” called Firedrake as the wind blew more strongly than ever around their heads.
“Yes,” Burr-Burr-Chan called back. “The pass we have to cross is a little farther up, and there’s no other way into the valley.”
Ben felt his heartbeat thudding in his ears as Firedrake rose yet higher. Night pressed its dark fists against his temples. Breathing was difficult, and Sorrel was curled up like a little cat. Only Burr-Burr-Chan sat upright and at ease. He was used to these high altitudes, for he had been born in the mountains known to humans as the Roof of the World.
The white summits were so close now that Ben felt as if he could put out his hand and touch the snow on their slopes. Firedrake was flying toward a narrow pass between the two most pointed mountain peaks. Dark rocks merged with the darkness of the night, and needles of stone rose menacingly in the air, barring the dragon’s way. When Firedrake was right between the two peaks, the wind fell on him like a hungry wolf. Howling, it roared beneath the dragon’s wings and sent him whirling like a leaf toward the rocks.
“Watch out!” shouted Burr-Burr-Chan, but Firedrake had already regained control. Bracing himself against the wind with all his might, he shook off its invisible clutches. Snow drove down on them, covering the dragon and the heads and shoulders of his riders. Ben’s teeth were chattering.
“We’re going to make it!” shouted Burr-Burr-Chan. “See that? There’s the highest ridge, ahead of us!”
Firedrake shot through the pass and over it, leaving the howling wind behind at last — and flew into the Valley of the Dragons.
A lake lay there amid the mountains, a lake as round as the moon.
Zubeida Ghalib’s blue flowers grew on its banks. They glowed in the darkness of the night, making the valley look as if the stars had fallen into it from the sky above.
“By St. George’s mushroom and Caesar’s cap, too!” breathed Sorrel.
“We call that lake the Eye of the Moon!” called Burr-Burr-Chan as Firedrake made for the shimmering water. “Fly over it! Fly to where —”
But Twigleg interrupted. “No! Don’t — don’t fly over the water!” he shouted shrilly.
He struggled out of the lambskin. “You great furry fool!” he shouted at Burr-Burr-Chan. “You didn’t say anything about a lake! You didn’t breathe a word!”
“Who are you calling a great furry fool?” Burr-Burr-Chan turned around crossly, but the homunculus ignored him.
“Fly higher, Firedrake!” he croaked, tugging at the straps. “This lake is a gateway — an open gateway!”
But Firedrake had realized what he meant. Beating his wings strongly, he rose and headed toward the opposite bank. He looked down anxiously, but nothing seemed to be moving. Only a few snowflakes melted into the black waters. With a sudden jolt, the dragon landed on a rocky ledge many hundreds of meters above the shimmering flowers. Trembling, he folded his silver wings.
“I don’t see anything, Firedrake,” said Sorrel, looking intently into the night. “I really don’t.”
Annoyed, she turned to Twigleg, who was huddled in Ben’s lap, shivering. “That manikin will drive us crazy! How could his old master possibly get here so fast, may I ask?”
“Leave him alone,” said Ben brusquely. “Can’t you see he’s frozen?”
With stiff fingers that even the monks’ gloves could not keep warm, Ben reached for the thermos flask of tea and carefully gave Twigleg a sip. Then he had a sip himself. The peculiar taste almost turned his stomach, but a comfortable warmth spread through him.
Firedrake stood there, never taking his eyes off the surface of the lake.
“At any rate we have a head start on the monster,” whispered Sorrel. “He can’t fly.”
“We’d only have a head start if there wasn’t any water here, you stupid pointy-eared nitwit!” snapped Twigleg. He was not trembling quite so badly now that he had drunk a little hot tea. “Are you telling me that lake down there isn’t water? I warn you, he’s probably here already, watching us.”
For a moment they were all silenced by shock.
“Then we have a problem,” growled Burr-Burr-Chan. “I shouldn’t show you the way into the dragons’ cave if the Golden One is watching, right?”
“No.” Firedrake shook his head. “He’s learned too much from us already. We can approach the cave only when we know for certain that Nettlebrand isn’t around.” Anxiously he looked down at the lake. “Have we really led him here?” he murmured.
The valley was even more beautiful than he had imagined it in his dreams. Firedrake gazed at the Rim of Heaven, looking down at the sea of blue flowers covered with moon-dew and breathing in the fragrance that rose from them. Then he closed his eyes — and felt the presence of other dragons nearby. He sensed it clearly, as clearly as the scent of the flowers, as clearly as the cold night air.
Firedrake opened his eyes again, and they were dark with anger. A growl emerged from his throat. Alarmed, his friends looked at him.
“I will fly down,” said the dragon, “by myself. If Nettlebrand is there then he’ll come out.”
“Nonsense!” cried Sorrel, horrified. “What are you talking about? Even if he does come out, are you planning to tackle him on your own? He’d make a single mouthful of you, and we’ll be stuck here on this rock to the end of our days without any mushrooms. Is that what we flew halfway around the world for? No, if anyone’s going down it must be someone he won’t notice!”
“She’s right, Firedrake,” said Ben. “One of us must find out whether Nettlebrand’s lurking down there, and
“Ex-act-ly!” Lola Graytail jumped out of Ben’s backpack, hopped up on his knee and spread her short forelegs wide. “I volunteer! No problem, rat’s honor! This is the ideal job for me!”
“Huh!” Sorrel poked her scornfully in the chest. “So you can come back and tell us he isn’t there, same as last time?”
The rat gave her a nasty look. “Anyone can make a mistake, fur-face,” she hissed. “But this time, I’ll take the humpleklumpus with me. He must know his old master’s tricky ways better than anyone, right?”
Twigleg gulped. “Me?” he asked. “Me, go in that plane? But—”
“It’s a good idea, Twigleg,” said Ben. “The two of you are so small, I’m sure he won’t notice you.”
Twigleg shivered. “And suppose we see him?” he asked in a trembling voice. “Suppose he really is down there? Who’s going to distract his attention?”
“Don’t you worry, hummlecuss!” said Lola. Her eyes were positively shining. “If we spot him, I’ll give the signal by looping the loop. Then we’ll divert the monster and Firedrake will fly to the cave as fast as he can and disappear into it.”
“Divert him!” said Twigleg faintly. “How?”
“Wait and see!” Lola clapped him so hard on the shoulder that he almost fell headfirst off Firedrake’s back. “All you have to do is keep your eyes open. I’ll do the flying.”
“That’s a great comfort, I’m sure!” murmured Twigleg. “Okay, only one more question: What’s ‘looping the loop’?”
“Turning the plane upside down in the air,” replied Lola. “Gives you a lovely tingly feeling in your tummy. Absolutely indescribable.”
“Oh, really?” Twigleg nervously rubbed his nose.
“Not a bad plan,” muttered Burr-Burr-Chan. “It could just work.”
“I don’t know,” growled Sorrel. “I don’t like leaving everything to these two little titches.”