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A huge bird was diving down on him, claws outstretched. It plucked him off the rocks as easily as if he were a beetle.
“Young master!” screamed Twigleg. “Oh, young master!”
Ben tried to bite the giant bird’s claws. He twisted and turned like a worm, but it was no good. Uttering a hoarse screech, the bird rose into the air with its prey.
“Twigleg!” Ben shouted. “Twigleg, get Firedrake! Get Firedrake!” And then the giant bird carried him away.
It was flying toward the dragon mountains.
Twigleg stood rooted to the spot for a moment or so, breathless with horror as he watched the giant bird soar into the sky. A sob rose from his chest. Then he pulled himself together and scrambled up the rocks as nimbly as a spider.
“Faster, Twigleg, faster!” he told himself, panting. He was so scared of the abyss behind him that he felt sick. He kept slipping, losing his grip, sliding back down the slope. His thin fingers were soon grazed, his bony knees scratched. His heart was thudding faster and faster, but he hardly noticed. He could think of nothing but that enormous bird carrying Ben farther and farther away with every beat of its wings. When Twigleg finally saw the tip of Firedrake’s tail among the rocks before him, he uttered a sob of relief.
“Help!” he cried with what little breath he had left. “Quick, help!”
His little hands tugged at the sleeping dragon’s tail, and he pulled at Sorrel’s furry coat until he had a tuft of her hairs in his fingers. Firedrake opened his eyes sleepily. Sorrel jumped as if a snake had bitten her.
“Are you crazy?” she spat at the homunculus. “What the —?” But she got no further.
“It’s the young master!” cried Twigleg shrilly. “Please, come quick! Quick! A bird — a giant bird has carried him off.”
Firedrake was on his feet at once. “Where to?” he asked.
“It flew toward the dragon mountains,” said Twigleg. “You must follow it!”
“But we can’t,” groaned Sorrel, pointing to the sky. “Firedrake can’t fly now. The moon set ages ago.”
“Find that little flask!” said Firedrake. “And hurry.”
Her paws trembling, Sorrel found the flask of moon-dew in Ben’s backpack and put three drops of it on Firedrake’s tongue. Holding their breath, she and Twigleg stared at the dragon. He closed his eyes, opened them again, and went to the edge of the precipice.
“Quick, climb aboard,” he called as the wind blew beneath his wings, raising them in the air. “We must try it.”
Sorrel grabbed Twigleg and the backpacks and climbed up on Firedrake’s back. The dragon spread his wings, took off— and flew.
“It works!” cried Twigleg, clutching Sorrel’s furry arm. “Thank goodness!”
Firedrake felt as strong as if the full moon were in the sky. He shot past the rocks, rising higher and higher, his shadow passing over the mountains in the full light of day. They soon reached the mountain range that looked like a dragon’s back. Five peaks rose into the blue sky, casting their shadows on the valleys and ravines below. Firedrake looked around, searching for some sign.
“Oh, beastly blewits!” groaned Sorrel. “Even a giant bird will be harder to spot here than a truffle in the forest.”
“But we must find him!” wailed Twigleg, wringing his little hands. “Oh, please!”
Firedrake flew into the first ravine.
“Ben!” shouted Sorrel. “Ben, can you hear us?”
“Answer us, young master!” cried Twigleg.
Firedrake put his head back and uttered a roar such as Sorrel had never heard from him before. The dragon’s cry resounded from the rocks, echoed through the ravines, and died away only in the far distance. But not even Sorrel’s keen ears could hear any answer.
“I’ve read about that bird!” moaned Twigleg. “In the professor’s book. It’s the giant roc. We’ve attracted it the way we attracted the basilisk and the sea serpent! Oh, what terrible luck!”
“You talk too much, little titch!” Sorrel snapped at him. “Knowing the bird’s name isn’t going to help us. We must find it, so shut your mouth and keep your eyes open.”
“Yes, yes!” wailed Twigleg. “But suppose it’s already eaten the young master?”
No one answered that question.
