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“I thought we were in a hurry,” replied the raven without slowing down. “You’re not half as heavy as that dwarf, even though you’re not much smaller. What are you made of, air?”
“Good guess.” Twigleg was shifting uncomfortably back and forth. “Air and a few other choice ingredients. But the recipe’s lost.” He peered ahead. “There! There’s something shining in the grass!” he exclaimed suddenly. “Oh, sacred salamanders!” His eyes opened very wide. “That stupid dwarf was right. It is a dragon.”
The raven circled over Firedrake where he lay coiled up among the rocks. A few meters away from him Ben and Sorrel were bending over the map, with three mountain dwarves standing beside them.
“Let’s land on that rocky ledge,” Twigleg whispered to the raven. “Just above their heads, where we can eavesdrop on them.”
When the raven landed on the ledge Sorrel looked up suspiciously.
“Fly away now,” Twigleg whispered to the bird. “Hide in that fir tree until I give you a signal. The brownie won’t notice me, but you seem to worry her.”
The raven rose in the air again and disappeared among the dark fir branches. Twigleg cautiously moved right out on the ledge.
“Okay, I’ll admit it,” the brownie was saying. “So we did lose our way a bit, but it doesn’t really matter. We’ll reach the sea tonight all the same.”
“The only question is which sea, Sorrel,” said the human. He was only a small human, still a boy.
“You know something, cleverclogs?” hissed the brownie girl. “You can do the steering tonight. Then at least I won’t have to put up with your sniping if we go the wrong way again.”
“Where are you going, anyway?” asked one of the dwarves.
Twigleg pricked up his ears.
“We’re looking for the Rim of Heaven,” said Ben.
Sorrel gave him such a hefty nudge in the ribs that he almost fell over. “Who said you could tell any old chance-met dwarf that, eh?”
The boy became very quiet.
Twigleg moved a little farther forward. The Rim of Heaven … what on earth could that be?
“He’s waking up!” one of the dwarves announced suddenly. “Look, he’s waking up.”
Twigleg turned his head — and there he stood. The silver dragon.
He was much smaller than Nettlebrand, and his eyes were not red but golden. The dragon stretched his beautiful limbs, yawned, and then looked in surprise at the three little creatures hiding behind the human boy.
“Ah, dwarves!” he said, in a voice with a faint rasp that sounded like the lick of a cat’s tongue. “Mountain dwarves.”
The boy laughed. “Yes, they absolutely had to meet you,” he said, urging the dwarves to venture out from behind him. “This is Stonebeard. This is Graniteface. This is Leadengleam. And this —” Ben looked around in surprise. “Where’s the fourth of you? I don’t know his name.”
“Gravelbeard,” said Stonebeard, looking up at the dragon in awe. “I’ve no idea where he is. Gravelbeard’s a bit peculiar.”
Up on the ledge, Twigleg could hardly keep from chuckling. “Gravelbeard’s an idiot,” he whispered, “and right now he’s hard at work cleaning Nettlebrand’s armor.” A pebble came loose as the manikin moved even closer to the rocky edge. The wretched stone fell right on the brownie’s head. She looked up suspiciously, but Twigleg had hastily withdrawn his long nose.
“These dwarves think you can pick up the scent of treasure, Firedrake,” said the boy. “They want you to try doing it on their mountain.”
“Treasure?” The dragon shook his head. “What kind of treasure? Do you mean gold and silver?”
The dwarves nodded. They looked hopefully at the dragon. Firedrake went over to the mountainside and put his nose against the rocks, drawing in the scent of them. The dwarves crowded excitedly around his legs.
“It smells good,” said the dragon. “Different from the mountains I come from, but good. Yes, it really does. But with the best will in the world I can’t tell you exactly what it smells of.”
The dwarves looked at one another, disappointed.
“Are there more dragons where you come from?” asked Graniteface curiously.
“I’d like to know that, too,” whispered Twigleg, up in his lookout post.
