Dragon Rider

Dragon Rider Page 85

“Two dragons at once,” the professor translated. “Which means great good luck for our monastery and the valley! Did it all turn out as the prophecy foretold? Has the return of the dragon rider brought us the return of the dragons?”

Ben climbed off Firedrake’s back and went over to the professor, a shy smile on his face. “Yes, I think the dragons will come back,” he said. “Nettlebrand’s gone forever.”

Barnabas Greenbloom took the boy’s hand and shook it vigorously. Guinevere smiled at him. Ben couldn’t remember ever having felt happier in his life — or more embarrassed.

“But — but it was all of us working together,” he stammered.

“With brownie spit and dragon-fire!” Sorrel slipped off Firedrake’s back. “With homunculus cunning, human reason, an aviator-ace rat, and even the help of a dwarf, although that wasn’t exactly what the dwarf intended.”

“It sounds as if you have a great deal to tell us,” said Vita Greenbloom.

Ben nodded. “A very great deal.”

“Good.” Rubbing his hands, Barnabas Greenbloom exchanged a few words with the lama. Then he turned back to the dragons. “The people here love a good story,” he said. “Do you think there’ll be time to tell them yours before Firedrake sets off on the journey home? They would be very glad to hear it.”

The dragons exchanged glances before they both nodded.

“Would you like to rest a little first?” asked Barnabas Greenbloom solicitously. “Would anyone like something to eat and drink?”

“Sounds like a good idea!” cried Sorrel and Burr-Burr-Chan in unison.

So the two brownies had mushrooms to eat, while Ben polished off a whole mountain of rice and two chocolate bars that Guinevere had given him. Now that all the excitement was over, his appetite had returned.

The dragons lay down on the wooden floor at the far end of the hall, with Firedrake resting his head on Maia’s back. In the light of the many little lamps illuminating the hall, they looked as if they had just climbed out of one of the pictures on the wall. Then the lama opened the door again and the monks streamed in. The sight of the dragons rooted them to the spot among the columns.

Only when Firedrake raised his head and the professor beckoned them forward did the monks approach, slowly and with hesitant steps. They squatted on the floor at a respectful distance from the dragons. The oldest monks pushed the youngest ones to the front, where they could kneel close to the creatures’ silver claws.

The Greenblooms joined the monks, but Ben and the brownies, Twigleg and Lola, sat on the crests of Firedrake’s and Maia’s tails.

When all was still in the hall, and the only sound was the rustling of the monks’ robes, Firedrake cleared his throat and began to tell the story — in the language of fabulous animals, the language that everyone can understand.

As the moon set outside and the sun began its daily journey across the sky, he told the tale of his quest from the very beginning. His words filled the hall with pictures. He spoke of a clever white rat, enchanted ravens and mountain dwarves, sand-elves and Dubidai. As he went on with his story, the basilisk fell to dust once more, and the blue djinn opened his thousand eyes. The sea serpent swam through the waves, and the great roc bird snatched Ben away. Finally, as the sun outside was sinking in the sky, Nettlebrand climbed the dragons’ mountain. His armor melted in blue dragon-fire, and a toad hopped out of his mouth.

At last, Firedrake fell silent, stretched, and looked around him.

“The story ends here,” he said. “The story of Sorrel and Ben the dragon rider, of Firedrake and Nettlebrand, the Golden One, whose servants were his doom. Tomorrow night a new story begins. I don’t yet know how it will end, and I will not tell it to you until I do.”

Then the lama rose, bowed to Firedrake, and said, “We thank you. We will write down all we have heard, and we wish you luck on the journey that still lies ahead of you. Now we will go and leave you to gather strength for the journey home.”

As if at a signal, the monks rose quietly to leave the hall. At the door they all turned to look once more at the dragons sitting between the columns, for they were not sure whether they would ever again in their lives be fortunate enough to see a dragon.

“Ben,” said Barnabas Greenbloom, when the hall was empty and only the lama was still with them, “we’ll have to leave tomorrow, too. Guinevere’s school term is about to begin. I was wondering,” he continued awkwardly, running his hand through his gray hair, “if the dragon rider decided what to do yet?”

Ben looked at Firedrake and Sorrel and Twigleg, who was sitting on the floor next to Lola. “Yes, please. I’d like to come, too,” he said. “With you, I mean.”

“Wonderful!” cried Barnabas Greenbloom, shaking Ben’s hand so hard it almost hurt. “Hear that, Vita? Hear that, Guinevere?”

Vita Greenbloom and her daughter smiled.

“Yes, Barnabas, we did,” said Vita, “but however pleased you may be you mustn’t crush my future son’s fingers.”

Guinevere leaned over to Ben and whispered, “You know, I’ve always wished I had a brother. It can sometimes be a real pain being an only child.”

“Yes, I can imagine,” Ben whispered back, although at the moment, he could imagine nothing but the most wonderful things in the world when he thought of his new family.

“See them whispering together?” said Barnabas Greenbloom to his wife. “They have secrets from us already. This could be interesting!”

Then they suddenly heard a sob.

Twigleg was sitting on the floor with his face buried in his hands. Tiny tears trickled through his fingers and dripped on his bony knees.

“Twigleg!” Ben knelt down beside the homunculus, concerned. “But you knew I wanted to stay with the Greenblooms.”

“Yes, yes,” the homunculus sobbed even louder, “but what’s to become of me? Where am I to go now, young master?”

Ben quickly picked him up and put him on his arm. “Why, you’ll stay with me, of course!” He glanced inquiringly at his new mother. “That’ll be all right, won’t it?”

“Of course,” replied Vita. “We could really use your talents as an interpreter, Twigleg.”

“Indeed we could!” cried the professor. “How many languages do you speak?”

“Ninety-three,” murmured the homunculus, and he stopped sobbing.

“I tell you what!” Guinevere tapped his knee. “You can live in my doll’s house.”

“Doll’s house?” The homunculus removed his hands from his face and looked at the girl indignantly. “I am not a doll! No, a nice cool corner of the cellar, surrounded by a few books, that’s what I’d really like.”

“Well, that shouldn’t be any problem,” said Barnabas Greenbloom, smiling. “We have a big old house with a large cellar. But we’ll be away a good deal on our travels, as you know. I hope you can live with that, too.”

“Oh, yes!” Twigleg took a handkerchief out of his sleeve and blew his nose. “I’ve actually enjoyed getting to know the world.”

“Good, then that’s settled,” said the professor happily. “Let’s start packing.” He turned to Firedrake. “Is there anything else we can do for you? When do you plan to set off?”