Dragon Rider by Cornelia Funke
The she-dragon frowned. “The stories say they let us down when we most needed their help.”
“What?” cried Burr-Burr-Chan indignantly. “We never —”
Firedrake looked at him and shook his head. “Don’t upset yourself,” he said. “There’ll be time for explanations later.”
“Where are the others?” asked Ben, stepping out of Firedrake’s shadow.
The she-dragon retreated in surprise. “The dragon rider,” she whispered. “The dragon rider is back!”
Ben bowed his head shyly.
“You ask where the others are?” The she-dragon bent over him until the tip of her muzzle almost touched his nose. “They’re here. Look around you.”
Baffled, Ben looked past her. “Where?”
“There,” replied the she-dragon, nodding toward the cave behind him.
Sorrel whistled. “Yes,” she whispered. “She’s right. There they are.” She climbed up on one of the mounds of rock that looked like crested dragon backs and patted the scaly stone. For once, she was speechless. Firedrake and the others looked up at her incredulously.
Ben put out his hand and touched the gray rock tails and bowed necks of the dragons. The she-dragon came up behind him.
“There were twenty-three of us,” she said, “but I am the only one left. Maia the Reckless, they always called me. Moonstruck Maia.” She shook her head sadly.
Firedrake turned to her. “What happened?”
“They didn’t go out anymore,” replied Maia in a low voice. “They stopped flying in the moonlight. And very slowly, they changed. I warned them. I said forgetting the moon is more dangerous than the golden dragon. But they wouldn’t listen to me. They became tired, sluggish, bad-tempered. They laughed at me when I went out in the moonlight or flew over the lake on nights when the moon was full. They were forever repeating the old tale of the golden dragon who would destroy us all if we didn’t hide from him. ‘Careful,’ they used to say when I wanted to go out, ‘he’s out there. He’s lying in wait for us.’ But he never was. I told them so. ‘Remember,’ I said, ‘remember there’s another story, the tale of the dragon rider who will come back on the day when silver is worth more than gold, and with his aid we’ll defeat the golden dragon.’ But they only shook their heads and said the dragon rider was dead and gone and would never return.” She looked at Ben. “I was right, though. The dragon rider has come back.”
“Perhaps,” said Firedrake, looking at the dragons now turned to stone. “But someone else is back, too. Nettlebrand is here as well. Nettlebrand the golden dragon.”
“He followed us,” added Sorrel. “He’s down there in the lake.”
Horrified, Maia looked at them. “The golden dragon?” she asked blankly. “So he really exists? And he’s here?”
“He’s been here often enough,” said Burr-Burr-Chan. “But he never found the way into this cave, and he won’t find it now, either.”
Firedrake nodded. “Nonetheless, we brought him here. I’m sorry.” He bowed his head. “I was so anxious to find this place that, without meaning to, I have led Nettlebrand to your door. But I won’t hide from him any longer. I will —”
“You’ll do what?” asked Maia. A shudder ran over her scales.
“I will fight him,” replied Firedrake. “I’ll chase him away from here. I will hunt him. I’ll rid you of him forever, for I am tired of hiding.”
Ben and the two brownies looked at one another in alarm.
“Fight him?” Maia looked at Firedrake. “I’ve wanted to do that a hundred times — a thousand times — when the others told me how he hunted them. The dragon-eater, protected by his golden skin, armed with a thousand ravenous teeth. Is he as terrible as they said?”
“They weren’t exactly exaggerating,” growled Sorrel.
Firedrake nodded. “Yes, he is terrible indeed, but I will fight him.”
“Yes,” murmured Maia. She fell silent again, looking around at the cave that was suddenly so bright once more. “I’ll help you,” she said. “Together, perhaps we can do it. That’s what I always told the others: United we’re stronger than he is. But they were too frightened to try.” Sadly she shook her head. “See what fear does to you.” She pointed with her head to the petrified dragons. “See how they cower there, motionless and lifeless. I don’t want to end up like that. You know what I think?” She came close to Firedrake. “I think you were meant to bring him here. It was bound to be so, and the two of us will overcome him. Just as the old stories say: When the dragon rider returns, silver will be worth more than gold.”
“Just the two of you? Oh, wonderful!” Insulted, Sorrel wrinkled her nose. “Don’t you think you could use a bit of help with all this fighting?”
“Er … they didn’t count me in, either,” said Ben.
“Don’t be silly — we can do with all the help we can get,” said Firedrake, nuzzling Sorrel in her furry stomach.
“Right, that makes five of us. Or no,” said Sorrel, perching on the tail of a stone dragon, “no, seven! Twigleg and the rat, too.”
“Twigleg and Lola!” cried Firedrake “They’re still out there somewhere!”
“Oh, moldy matsutake!” Burr-Burr-Chan jumped up. “They’ll be waiting for us where we first landed. There’s a mushroom cultivation tunnel that leads there. Come on, Sorrel, let’s find them.”
“Just a moment, I have to get out of these human clothes!” Sorrel quickly stripped off the clothing the monks had given her for the flight, and then the two brownies raced off together.
Ben stayed in the cave with the two dragons.
“A rat and a — er — a twigleg?” asked Maia curiously.
Firedrake nodded. “Neither of them is much bigger than one of your ears, but they are very brave.”
For a few moments, they stood in silence, looking at the dragons who had turned to stone.
“Could they be revived?” asked Ben.
Maia shook her head. “How could you bring the moon down here?”
“Perhaps moon-dew would help?” Ben looked inquiringly at Firedrake.
“Moon-dew?” asked Maia.
“Yes. You know what we mean,” replied Firedrake. “The dew that on any moonlit night gathers on the blue flowers growing down by the lake. If you lick it off the petals and leaves, you can fly by day as well as by night. Didn’t you know?”
Maia shook her head.
“Forget it,” said Ben. “How are we going to collect dew from the flowers with Nettlebrand lurking down there in the lake?”
“I have a few drops left,” said Firedrake, “but they would hardly be enough. And who knows, we may yet need them ourselves.”
“You’re right,” murmured Ben, disappointed, and he patted the scaly backs of the stone dragons.
47. No, No, and No Again
“No, I’m not coming out, so there!” said Gravelbeard.
He was in the great cavern of his master’s belly, sitting on the golden casket that held Nettlebrand’s heart and staring crossly down at the fermenting brew of the golden dragon’s digestive juices. Acrid vapors wafted up from them, stinging his nose.
“Come on out, armor-cleaner!” bellowed the voice from above.
“No, no, and no again!” Gravelbeard shouted up the huge throat. “Not unless you promise never to swallow me again! I’m sick and tired of being swallowed. Suppose I go down the wrong pipe? Suppose I land in all the muck down there next time?” Shuddering, he stared at the bubbling, hissing, filthy liquid below him.
“Don’t talk nonsense!” came Nettlebrand’s furious voice from above. “I swallowed that treacherous Twigleg a thousand times, and he never went down the wrong pipe.”
“Oh, yes,” muttered Gravelbeard, straightening his hat. “All very well for you to talk! And I’m all shaken up from splashing around in the water, too!” he shouted up. “Did you catch that tinny hornet thing? I don’t see it swimming around down here.”
“It got away!” growled Nettlebrand. Gravelbeard felt th
“Oh, yes?” In a thoroughly bad temper, Gravelbeard scratched his chin. “And where’s he now? Did he show you where the other dragons are hiding?”
“No!” Nettlebrand spat. “He’s disappeared. Come up out of there this minute! I want you to climb up to where the tin hornet landed. You saw who was in it, didn’t you? That spider-legged traitor! Aaarrgh! I’m going to crush him like a wood-louse, but he must lead us to his new master first.”
“Oh, yes?” Gravelbeard was still sulking. “And what do I get if I find him? Him and the tin hornet?” Putting his hand under his shirt, he felt Barnabas Greenbloom’s wedding ring.
“You dare ask that?” bellowed Nettlebrand. “Come on up, or I’ll shake myself so hard you really will fall into my guts.”
“Oh, all right.” Gravelbeard rose to his feet and climbed up his master’s throat, muttering crossly into his beard.
“I can understand why that Twigleg took off,” he grumbled. “Oh, yes, I can understand it very well indeed.”
48. The Captive Dwarf
“They’ve forgotten us!” wailed Twigleg, pacing restlessly up and down. “Talk about ingratitude!”
“Oh, come off it!” said the rat, stirring the pan on her tiny camping stove.
As the sun climbed slowly in the cloudy sky, a thick mist was clinging to the mountain slopes. Its white vapor hid everything: the flowers, the lake — and Nettlebrand, if he was still around. Lola tasted the concoction bubbling in her pan, licked her whiskers, and went on stirring. “Oh, do sit down, humpelcuss!” she said. “This is about the hundredth time I’ve told you, they’ll come back when it gets dark, if not before. I really don’t know why you’re making all this fuss. We have all we need — something to eat and a nice hot drink. I even have sleeping bags. Two, luckily.”
“But I’m so worried,” wailed Twigleg. “Who knows what those other dragons are like? Maybe they’re the sort of dragons you read about in fairy tales. Maybe they’re particularly fond of eating human boys!”
The rat chuckled. “Oh, honestly! Believe you me, that boy can look after himself. And if he doesn’t, well, Firedrake’s there. Not to mention those furry-faced brownies.”
Twigleg sighed and looked down into the mist.
“Are all hompulkisses like you?” asked Lola.
“What do you mean?” murmured Twigleg.
“Well, so pessimistic.” Lola took a spoonful of soup from the pan and tasted it. “Oh, yuck!” she muttered. “I’ve put in too much salt again.”
Suddenly she raised her pointed nose and sniffed. Her ears twitched.
Twigleg looked at her in alarm.
“Would you like some soup?” Lola asked in a strangely loud voice. As she spoke, she discreetly pointed one paw to the place behind her where the plane was parked, wedged in place with a couple of large stones. Something was moving behind its wheels.
Twigleg held his breath. “Soup?” he faltered. “Er, yes, yes, I’d love some.” He took a quiet step toward the plane.
“Right, I’ll get the soup bowls,” announced the rat, standing up.
Then, with a sudden leap, she dived between the wheels and tugged at a stout leg. Twigleg came to her aid. Together, they dragged a struggling dwarf out from under the plane.
“Gravelbeard!” cried the startled Twigleg. “It’s that mountain dwarf again!”
Gravelbeard ignored him. He bit, kicked, and hit, almost pushing Lola down the mountainside. Dwarves are strong, much stronger than a rat or a pale little homunculus. But just as Gravelbeard broke free of Lola’s clutches, Twigleg knocked the hat off his head.
Immediately the dwarf stopped struggling. He narrowed his eyes, staggered back from the edge of the abyss, and sat down abruptly, groaning. Twigleg snatched the hat just before it started rolling downhill and put it on his own head. It slipped almost down to his nose, but he didn’t feel bad wearing it. Quite the contrary. He went to stand on the very edge of the precipice, the toes of his shoes projecting into empty space, and he didn’t feel the least bit dizzy.
“Astonishing,” he murmured, turning and lifting the hat far enough back for him to see out from under its brim. The mountains suddenly looked quite different, glittering and shimmering in a thousand hues. Amazed, Twigleg stared around him.
“Hey, hummelcuss, give me a hand, will you?” Lola took a length of string out of her flying suit. “We must tie up this dwarf, unless you want him running back to his master. Good thing you remembered that trick with the hat. I’d forgotten it completely.”
“Hello there, Gravelbeard,” said Twigleg, sitting on the dwarf’s stomach while Lola tied up her prisoner. “What a busy little spy you are. Much busier than I ever was in all the three hundred years I served Nettlebrand.”
“Traitor!” growled the dwarf, spitting at Twigleg. “Give me back my hat!”
Twigleg merely shrugged his shoulders. “No, why should I?” He bent over the dwarf. “I know exactly why you’re so keen to serve my old master. It’s because you’re blinded by greed for his golden scales. Only how are you going to get at them without being eaten? Thinking of pulling some off while he’s asleep, are you? I really wouldn’t advise it. You know how he treasures every single one of them. Have you forgotten he was going to eat the professor just for having a single one of his precious scales? What do you think?” He put his head a little closer to the dwarf’s. “Is he afraid someone will discover what his armor’s made of? Or is he even more afraid of anyone finding out what’s inside that casket he calls his heart?”
Gravelbeard bit his lips furiously and glared into the fire.
“What are we going to do with him?” asked Lola. “Any bright ideas, homompulos?”
“Take him with us, what else?” said a voice behind them.
Lola and Twigleg spun around in alarm, but it was only Sorrel. She had suddenly appeared in front of the rocks, and Burr-Burr-Chan was grinning at them over her shoulder.
“How did you get here?” asked Twigleg in surprise. “Did you find the dragons’ cave?”
“We did,” replied Sorrel. “And I see you’ve caught the little spy. Not bad. And guess what,” she added, biting the shriveled mushroom she had in her paw. “On the way back to you we found some old mushroom beds from when the Dubidai still lived here. The mountain’s full of the passages they made.” Licking her lips, she cocked an eyebrow at Twigleg. “Got a new hat, little titch?”
The homunculus felt its brim. “It’s a very special hat,” he said.
“The way you two fooled Nettlebrand was something special, too,” said Burr-Burr-Chan. “Shiitake and matsutake, not bad at all. And now you’ve caught his spy, too!”
Flattered, Lola smoothed her ears. “Oh, it was nothing,” she said.
“Nothing or not, I’ll carry him back. The rest of you can bring the other things,” said Burr-Burr-Chan, looking down into the valley. The mist was slowly lifting. Black birds were circling among the white wisps of vapor — countless black birds. Whole flocks of them emerged from the mist and then disappeared into it again. “That’s odd,” muttered Burr-Burr-Chan. “I never saw black birds like those before. Where did they spring from?”
Sorrel and Twigleg were beside him in a twinkling.
“The ravens!” growled Sorrel. “I knew they’d turn up again.”
“He’s summoned them all!” groaned Twigleg, taking shelter behind her. “Oh, no! Now we’re done for. They’ll see us! They’ll pick us off the rocks, one by one.”
“What are you carrying on about?” The rat joined him and suddenly gave such a shrill whistle that it made Twigleg jump. “Goodness, you’re right! Ravens, any number of them. My uncle told me about some rather nasty specimens of his acquaintance. Are those down there the same kind?”
Twigleg nodded. “Enchanted ravens. And this time there are too many for Sorrel to drive them off with a few well-aimed stones.”
“Nettlebrand the Golden One will gobble up the whole blasted bunch of you!” croaked Gravelbeard, trying to bite Burr-Burr-Chan’s furry foot. But the Dubidai brownie only chuckled.
“He’ll have to drag his heavy armor all the way up here first,” he said, throwing the dwarf over his shoulder like a sack.
“And your clever master doesn’t know where the secret entrance is, either,” added Sorrel.
“He’ll find out!” bellowed the mountain dwarf, kicking and struggling. “He’ll squash you like cockroaches. He’ll —”
Burr-Burr-Chan gagged the dwarf by stuffing his beard into his mouth. Then, carrying their prisoner, he disappeared down the passage along which he had just come.
“Come on, titch!” said Sorrel, picking up Twigleg. “Or the ravens really will get you.”
Lola put out the fire, handed the tiny pan of soup to Sorrel, and packed the rest of her things into the plane. “You can fly with me, hommelcuss!” she said, climbing into the cockpit and starting the engine.
“No thanks,” said Twigleg, clutching Sorrel’s arm tightly. “One flight with you will do me for the rest of my life.”
“Just as you like!” The rat closed the cockpit and flew the whirring little aircraft over their heads and into the passage.
Sorrel cast a final anxious glance at the circling ravens. Then she, too, stepped into the passage, pushed the stone slab across the entrance, and now there was nothing of the Dubidai tunnel to be seen from the outside.
49. Making Plans
Burr-Burr-Chan took Gravelbeard, still well and truly trussed up, to a small cave so far from the dragons’ huge cavern that even a dwarf wouldn’t be able to overhear the plans they were hatching to outwit his master. When he was dumped alone there, Gravelbeard soon spat his beard out of his mouth and shouted loud insults after the retreating brownie, but Burr-Burr-Chan only chuckled.