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The toad that had lent Nettlebrand its life sat on the bank, watching. And with every moonbeam that fell on the scales of the silver dragons, its dark memories faded.
55. What Now?
At noon the next day, Firedrake was perched on a rocky outcrop high above the valley, unable to sleep. Gravelbeard’s tapping and hammering had driven him out of the great cavern. The light and warmth of the sun usually made him sleepy, but it wasn’t working today. Firedrake kept raising his head from his paws, looking at the surrounding peaks, and sighing.
After a while, Ben joined him. He climbed the rocks, sat down beside the dragon, and looked at him anxiously. “What’s the matter?” he asked. “Why aren’t you resting?”
“I can’t seem to fall asleep,” said Firedrake. “What are the others doing?”
Ben shrugged his shoulders. “Oh, nothing special. Well, no one’s asleep. Sorrel is getting Burr-Burr-Chan to explain the Dubidai method of cultivating mushrooms. Maia is telling Shimmertail all about what happened while he was asleep. Gravelbeard is tapping away, and Twigleg’s flying on a sightseeing trip with Lola.”
“Really?” Firedrake nodded and then sighed again.
“What are you going to do now?” Ben looked inquiringly at the dragon. “I mean, are you going straight home to the north now that you’ve found this valley?”
lbeard had opened up a long crack, thin as a thread, in the dragon’s stony shell. When he raised his hammer again to widen it by just a fraction, the stone quivered beneath his feet, very faintly, barely perceptibly. Gravelbeard put his ear to the crack and listened. A rustling noise came from it, the sound of scales scraping against rough stone. More fine lines cracked open beneath the dwarf’s feet. He leaped clear and landed on the sleeping boy’s soft stomach.
“Ouch!” Ben sat up in alarm. “What’s up?”
Twigleg rubbed his eyes, dazed.
“Done it!” cried Gravelbeard, dancing around on Ben’s stomach in his stout boots.
Twigleg turned to the stone dragons.
“Listen, young master!” he whispered.
But Ben had already heard it for himself. Sounds of snorting and groaning were coming from the stone.
“Firedrake!” Ben grabbed Twigleg and Gravelbeard and leaped back. “Firedrake, wake up! He’s moving!”
The others all woke with a start.
“What’s up?” cried Lola, jumping out of her plane.
“He’s hatching out!” cried Ben. With two bounds, the rat was on his shoulder.
The gray stone into which Gravelbeard had driven his hammer cracked, crumbled, crunched open—and burst into a thousand pieces.
They all retreated in alarm.
Dusty and coughing, limbs stiff, a dragon crept out of the ruins. His eyes were still half-closed. He struggled out with faltering steps, shaking a few stones off his scales, and opened his eyes. Confused, he looked around him, like someone waking from a dream.
Maia took a step toward him. “Shimmertail,” she said. “Do you recognize me?”
For a few moments, the dragon just looked at her. Then, slowly, he stretched out his neck and sniffed.
“Maia,” he said. “What’s happened?”
He turned his head to Firedrake, who was standing behind Maia. “Who are you, and” — he added, staring at the brownies and Ben, who had Gravelbeard, Twigleg, and Lola all on his shoulders — “who are these?”
“One of them’s a Dubidai!” replied Burr-Burr-Chan, crossing his four arms. “Remember them, Shimmertail?”
Shimmertail nodded, still confused. Then his gaze fell on the molten remains of Nettlebrand’s armor, and he flinched back in alarm.
“He’s here!” he whispered. “The Golden One is here, too!”
“No, he was here!” said Sorrel, scratching her stomach. “But we melted him down.”
