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Maia was staying very close to Firedrake’s side. Her ears twitched nervously as she looked timidly down at the thronging humans. Burr-Burr-Chan patted her scales soothingly.
At last, Ben saw the professor and his family, together with the lama, hurrying toward the dragons. Guinevere was waving wildly. Ben waved back shyly.
“Welcome!” cried Barnabas Greenbloom. “My word, are we glad to see you!”
He was so excited that he almost fell over a couple of young monks who were standing in front of Firedrake, beaming up at him. When the lama whispered something to them they nodded and busily set about clearing a path for the dragon up the steps to the Dhu-Khang. First Barnabas Greenbloom flung his arms around Firedrake’s neck, then he shook Sorrel’s furry paw, and finally he grinned broadly up at Ben.
“Well, dragon rider?” he shouted above the hubbub of voices. “Shall I make a guess? Between you all you did it, am I right? You defeated Nettlebrand, the Golden One!”
Ben nodded. What with all this excitement, he couldn’t get any words out. The little monks — the youngest was perhaps just half Ben’s age — had made a way through the crowd for the dragons, and the lama himself led them up the wide flight of steps to the prayer hall. Maia was glad to disappear into the cool darkness. The lama said a few more words to the monks who suddenly stood quite still down in the moonlight. Then he closed the heavy door behind the dragons and turned to them with a smile.
“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?”
