Dragon Rider (30 page)

44. The Rim of Heaven

 

 

F
iredrake 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 few weeks,” said Sorrel, chewing noisily. She rolled her eyes appreciatively. “Do mushrooms like these really grow on rocks?”

“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 if he really is, then we must distract his attention so that you and Burr-Burr-Chan can reach the dragons’ cave unobserved.”

“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.”

“Oh, you don’t? Fancy flying down there yourself, fur-face?” inquired Lola. “Come on, let’s go, humblecuss!” She took Twigleg’s hand. “We’re going to make ourselves useful,” she said and turned to Firedrake. “Comes in handy having a couple of really small people along, right?”

Firedrake nodded. “Very handy,” he replied. “I’ll tell you something, Lola. I believe the world will belong to small people one of these days.”

“That’s okay by me,” said Lola.

Then, with Twigleg in tow, she climbed over Ben’s knees, scuttled along Firedrake’s back, and guided the homunculus down to where her plane was still safely tied to the dragon’s tail. They undid the thin chains, Lola opened the cockpit, and the two of them climbed in.

With a faint smile, Twigleg cast a last glance at Ben, and the boy waved to him. Then Lola Graytail started the engine. Its hum filled the night air like the chirping of crickets as the little plane took off with the two scouts on board, swooping down toward the Eye of the Moon.

45. The Eye of the Moon

 

 

“P
retty big, this lake!” shouted Lola through the noise of the engine. “Yes,” whispered Twigleg. “As big as a sea.” Looking out of the window, he could hear his teeth chattering. The sound of the engine rang in his ears, and his knees were knocking. Flying in a tinny little plane! What a horrible thought. Nothing but a bit of metal and a whirring contraption between him and empty air. He wished he was still on Firedrake’s strong back, on Ben’s warm lap, in the backpack, anywhere but in this infernal machine.

“Come on, let’s have your report. See anything suspicious, homuncupus?” asked the rat.

Twigleg swallowed. But you can’t get rid of fear by swallowing. “No,” he said in a trembling voice. “Nothing. Only the stars.”

They were reflected in the water like tiny fireflies.

“Fly closer to the bank,” Twigleg told the rat. “That’s the kind of place where he likes to hide, lurking in the mud.”

Lola immediately turned and flew toward the bank. Twigleg’s stomach was doing somersaults.

The lake lay below them like a mirror of black glass. Humming, the plane flew over the water. All was dark. Only the flowers on the bank glowed a mysterious blue.

Twigleg looked over his shoulder to where Firedrake had landed, but there was no sign of the silver dragon. He had probably hidden and was watching for their signal from a cranny in the rock. Twigleg turned again and glanced down at the water. Suddenly, as if coming out of nowhere, a strange trembling shook his chest.

“He’s here!” he cried in terror.

“Where?” Lola clutched her joystick and peered into the dark, but she could see nothing suspicious.

“I don’t know where,” cried Twigleg, “but I can feel it. Quite clearly.”

“Could be something in what you say.” Lola pressed her sharp nose to the cockpit window. “There’s kind of a suspicious ripple on the water there ahead. As if a large stone had just dropped into it.” She throttled back the engine. “I’ll turn off the lights,” she whispered. “We want to get a closer view of this.”

Twigleg’s knees were knocking again. The mere idea of seeing his old master once more froze his blood. Lola flew in
an arc toward the suspect spot. She didn’t need lights; like Twigleg, she had the eyes of a nocturnal creature, and starlight was enough for her.

Where the ripples were curling and little waves lapped the shore, the stems of the flowers were bent as if someone had been making his way through them. It must have been some small creature, no bigger than a dwarf.

“There!” Twigleg jumped up from his seat and hit his head on the roof of the aircraft. “It’s Gravelbeard — running along ahead of us!”

Lola steered her plane toward the bank. The startled dwarf stuck his head out of the glowing flowers and saw the buzzing aircraft heading straight for him. Gravelbeard didn’t stop to think twice. He ran back to the water like lightning.

Lola Graytail wrenched the plane around.

She caught up with the dwarf on the shoreline, where Gravelbeard was still running as fast as his short legs would carry him.

“Grab hold of him, humpusklumpus!” shouted Lola.

Opening the cockpit, she flew so low that the undercarriage of the plane brushed the flowers. Twigleg summoned up all his courage, leaned right out of the plane, and tried to seize Gravelbeard by the collar. But the waters of the lake suddenly erupted, foaming. A mighty muzzle emerged from the waves — and snapped at the fleeing dwarf.

One gulp and he was gone.

Lola turned the plane with a sudden jolt, and Twigleg dropped back into his seat.

“He ate him!” cried the rat incredulously. “He just ate him!”

“Get out of here!” moaned Twigleg. “Get out of here, quick!”

“Easier said than done,” cried Lola, struggling desperately to control the little aircraft with her joystick as it staggered and spun in the air. Surely it couldn’t escape Nettlebrand’s gnashing teeth as he snapped and snapped again. He was crawling farther and farther out of the water, driven by his fury at the whirring little nuisance.

With a hunted expression on his face, Twigleg looked out of the back window. What had happened to Firedrake? Was he flying away?

“You didn’t loop the loop!” he wailed. “That was the signal.”

“They could hardly miss seeing the monster down here,” Lola shouted back. “They’ll have noticed him without our signal!”

The plane shuddered as the engine coughed and spluttered.

Twigleg was shaking all over. Once again he glanced through the back window and saw a gleam of silver on the black mountainside.

“Fly away!” cried Twigleg as if the dragon could hear him. “Fly away before he sees you!”

And Firedrake flew, spreading his wings wide — but instead of escaping he came diving down toward the lake.

“No!” shrieked the terrified Twigleg. “Lola, Lola — Firedrake is flying this way!”

“Oh, bother it all!” said the rat crossly as she narrowly avoided another swipe of Nettlebrand’s claw. “He thinks he has to help us! Hold on tight, Twigleg!”

Wrenching the nose of the plane upward, Lola looped the loop right above Nettlebrand’s open jaws. Then she rose higher and looped the loop again and yet again, until Twigleg felt his stomach was in his throat. The homunculus stared down at his old master flailing around in the water. Then he looked the other way — and saw Firedrake hovering motionless in the air.

“Fly, oh, please, please fly to the cave!” whispered Twigleg, although his heart was racing with his fear of Nettlebrand, and his eardrums ached with the monster’s roaring.

“What’s going on? Has he seen our signal? Is he turning away?” shouted Lola, flying in a spiral around Nettlebrand’s neck with death-defying daring.

Now Firedrake did turn in the air.

He shot off like an arrow, while the golden dragon had eyes for nothing but the little aircraft, the silly little thing that had the impertinence to pester him.

“Yes, he’s flying away,” cried Twigleg, his voice almost breaking with delight. “He’s flying back toward the mountains.”

“Excellent,” replied Lola, stepping on the gas and whizzing right between Nettlebrand’s legs. He struck out at the plane with both forepaws, but the weight of his armor made him drop back into the water, snorting.

Twigleg saw Firedrake rise higher and higher until he landed on a snowy slope — and then suddenly disappeared! As if he had simply been wiped off the face of the earth.

“Rat!” cried the homunculus. “We’ve done it. Firedrake’s gone. He must be in the cave.” He dropped back into his seat with a sigh. “You can fly away now!”

“Fly away?” cried Lola. “Just when we’re having such fun? Not likely! Here goes!” And she brought the plane around in a wide arc and made for Nettlebrand’s horns.

“What on earth are you doing?” cried the horrified Twigleg.

Disbelievingly, Nettlebrand raised his head, narrowed his eyes, and stared at the whirring widget coming back toward him like an angry hornet.

“Once more into the breach, dear friends, once more!” cried Lola. “Full throttle ahead!”

She whirred past Nettlebrand, so close to his armored brow that Twigleg slid down between the seats with his hands over his eyes.

“Yoohoo!”
shouted the rat as she flew around Nettlebrand’s horns. “This is better than surveying mountains! This is something else!
Yoohoo!”

Snorting, the golden dragon whipped around. He turned, he snapped, he snapped again and again and again — and never got anything but empty air between his teeth.

“Whoo!”
cried Lola, flying around Nettlebrand until he was twisting and turning in the water like a dancing bear.
“Whoo!
Your old master must be getting along in years a bit, humpleclups, right? Not as quick off the mark as he might be, anyway.” She waved through the windshield. “Bye-bye for now! Why not just lie back down in the mud and rust away, stupid?”

Then she pulled out of her circling maneuver and took the plane up steeply, until Twigleg didn’t know whether he was on his head or his feet.

“Tantantara, tantantara,
gone awaaay!” The rat tapped the instrument panel of her plane appreciatively. “Well done, my old Tin Lizzie! I’d call that something special.”

Behind them, Nettlebrand was bellowing so loudly that Twigleg put his hands over his ears. But the aircraft was already well out of the monster’s reach.

“Well, what about it, hompelclompus?” said Lola, drumming happily on the joystick. “Think we’ve earned our breakfast?”

“Oh, yes!” murmured Twigleg. He looked back at his old master. Nettlebrand’s bloodred eyes were following them, as if his fierce glare alone could blast them out of the sky. Had he recognized Twigleg when he tried to grab Gravelbeard?

The homunculus sat there all hunched up. “I never want to see him again,” he whispered, clenching his fists. “I never, ever want to see him again.”

Even if he flew around Nettlebrand’s nose a hundred times, even if he escaped those teeth two hundred times, even if he spat on his armored head three hundred times — Twigleg would always, always be afraid of him.

“I’m going to land where we came down before,” said Lola. “Okay by you?”

“Okay by me,” murmured Twigleg, heaving a deep sigh. “But then what? How will we find the others?”

“Oh,” said Lola, flying a couple of arcs and grinning, “they’ll come find us. But first, we’ll have breakfast. If you ask me,” she said, smoothing her ears with satisfaction, “we’ve worked enough for a whole week, don’t you think, hinclecompulsus?”

Twigleg nodded.

Down in the lake, however, Nettlebrand dropped back into the water, dived, and disappeared from sight as if he had been nothing but a nightmare.