Dragon Rider Read online

  Dragon

  Rider

  CORNELIA

  FUNKE

  Translated by Anthea Bell

  For Uwe Weitendorf

  Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  1. Bad News

  2. A Meeting in the Rain

  3. Advice and Warnings

  4. A Big City and a Small Human Being

  5. Gilbert the Ship’s Rat

  6. Dragon-Fire

  7. Waiting for Dark

  8. Flying Off Course

  9. Nettlebrand, the Golden One

  10. The Spy

  11. The Storm

  12. Captured

  13. The Basilisk

  14. Professor Greenbloom Explains

  15. Twigleg’s Second Report

  16. Flying South

  17. The Raven

  18. A Visitor for the Professor

  19. The Signpost

  20. The Djinn’s Ravine

  21. Twigleg’s Decision

  22. The Vanishing Moon

  23. The Stone

  24. The Anger of Nettlebrand

  25. The Indus Delta

  26. An Unexpected Reunion

  27. The Dragon

  28. The Tomb of the Dragon Rider

  29. Twigleg the Traitor

  30. All Is Revealed to Nettlebrand

  31. Return of the Dragon Rider

  32. All Lies

  33. Face-to-Face

  34. Snatched Away

  35. The Nest of the Giant Roc

  36. Losing the Trail

  37. An Old Campfire

  38. The Monastery

  39. The Rat’s Report

  40. Work for Gravelbeard

  41. Burr-Burr-Chan

  42. A Farewell and a Departure

  43. The Pursuers

  44. The Rim of Heaven

  45. The Eye of the Moon

  46. The Dragons’ Cave

  47. No, No, and No Again

  48. The Captive Dwarf

  49. Making Plans

  50. Deceiving the Spy

  51. Polishing Nettlebrand for the Hunt

  52. Nettlebrand’s End

  53. The Dwarf’s Request

  54. A Dragon Wakes

  55. What Now?

  56. The Way Back

  57. Good News

  Also by Cornelia Funke

  Praise for Dragon Rider

  Letter from the Author

  Who’s Who in Dragon Rider

  Dragon Tales

  Sorrel’s Story

  About the Author

  Copyright

  1. Bad News

  All was still in the valley of the dragons. Mist had drifted in from the sea nearby and was clinging to the mountains. Birds twittered uncertainly in the foggy damp, and clouds hid the sun.

  A rat came scuttling down the slope, fell head over heels, tumbled down the moss-covered rocks, and picked herself up again.

  “Didn’t I say so?” she muttered crossly to herself. “Didn’t I tell them?”

  Snuffling, she raised her pointy nose, listened, and headed toward a group of crooked fir trees at the foot of the highest mountain.

  “I knew before winter,” murmured the rat. “Oh, yes, I knew before winter, I could smell it coming, but they wouldn’t believe me, no, not them! They feel safe here. Safe! Huh! Really!”

  It was so dark under the fir trees that you could scarcely see the gaping crevice in the mountainside that swallowed up the mist.

  “They don’t know anything,” the rat continued peevishly, “that’s their problem. They know absolutely nothing about the world. Not the least little thing.”

  She glanced warily around again, and then disappeared into the crevice in the rock. There was a large cave behind it. The rat scurried in, but she didn’t get far. Someone grabbed her tail and lifted her up in the air.

  “Hi, Rat! What are you doing here?”

  The rat snapped at the furry fingers that were holding her tight, but all she caught was a mouthful of brownie hairs, which she furiously spat out.

  “Sorrel!” she hissed. “Let go of me this instant, you brainless mushroom-muncher! I don’t have time for your silly brownie tricks.”

  “You don’t have time?” Sorrel placed Rat on the flat of her furry paw. She was still a young brownie, no bigger than a human child, with a spotted sulfur-yellow coat and bright catlike eyes. “How come, Rat? What’s the big hurry? Need a dragon to protect you from hungry cats, or what?”

  “This has nothing to do with cats!” hissed Rat angrily. She didn’t care for brownies herself, although all the dragons loved them and their furry faces. When the dragons couldn’t sleep they would listen to the strange little songs the brownies sang, and when they felt sad no one could cheer them up as well as those sharp-tongued brownie layabouts.

  “I’ve got bad news, if you want to know. Extremely bad news,” grumbled Rat. “But I’m not telling anyone except Firedrake. Certainly not you!”

  “Bad news? Oh, festering fungus! What sort of bad news?” Sorrel scratched her stomach.

  “Put — me — down!” snarled Rat.

  “If you say so.” Sorrel sighed and let Rat hop down to the stony floor of the cave. “But he’s still asleep.”

  “Then I’m waking him up!” spat the rat, making her way farther into the cave, where a fire burned blue, keeping the darkness and damp away from the heart of the mountain. Beside its flames the dragon lay asleep, curled up with his head on his paws. His long tail with its spiny crest was coiled around the warmth of the fire. The flames brought a glow to his scales and cast his shadow on the cave wall. Rat scurried up to the dragon, climbed on his paw, and tugged his ear.

  “Firedrake!” she shouted. “Firedrake, wake up. They’re coming!”

  Sleepily the dragon raised his head and opened his eyes.

  “Oh, it’s you, is it, Rat?” he murmured in a rather hoarse voice. “Has the sun set already, then?”

  “No, but you must get up all the same! You have to wake the others!” Rat jumped off Firedrake’s paw and scuttled up and down in front of him. “I warned you, I really did — I warned the whole bunch of you, but you wouldn’t listen, oh, no!”

  “What’s she talking about?” The dragon cast an inquiring glance at Sorrel, who was now sitting by the fire, nibbling a root.

  “No idea,” said Sorrel, munching. “She just keeps jabbering on. Well, there’s not much room for sense in a little head like hers.”

  “Oh, really!” Rat gasped indignantly. “Honestly, I ask You, I —”

  “Take no notice, Rat!” Firedrake rose, stretched his long neck, and shook himself. “She’s in a bad temper because the mist makes her fur damp.”

  “Pull the other one!” Rat threw Sorrel a venomous glance. “Brownies are always bad-tempered. I’ve been up since sunrise, running my paws off to warn you. And what thanks do I get?” Her gray coat was bristling with anger. “I have to listen to her silly fur-brained fancies!”

  “Warn us of what?” Sorrel threw the nibbled remnants of her root at the wall of the cave. “Oh, putrid puffballs! Stop winding us all up like this or I’ll tie a knot in your tail!”

  “Quiet, Sorrel!” Firedrake brought his claw down angrily on the fire. Blue sparks flew into the brownie girl’s fur, where they went out like tiny shooting stars.

  “All right, all right!” she muttered. “But the way that rat carries on is enough to drive anyone crazy.”

  “Oh, really? Then just you listen to me!” Rat drew herself up to her full height, planted her paws on her hips, and bared her teeth. “Humans are coming!” she squeaked, so shrilly that her voice echoed all around the cave. “Human beings are coming! You know what that means, you leaf-burrowing, mushroom-munching, shagg
y-haired brownie? Humans are coming — coming here!”

  Suddenly all was deathly quiet.

  Sorrel and Firedrake looked at each other as if they had been turned to stone. But Rat was still trembling with rage. Her whiskers were all aquiver, and her tail twitched back and forth on the cave floor.

  Firedrake was the first to move.

  “Humans?” he asked, bending his neck and holding out his paw to Rat. Looking offended, she scrambled onto it. Firedrake raised her to his eye level. “Are you sure?” he asked.

  “Perfectly sure,” replied the rat.

  Firedrake bowed his head. “It was bound to happen someday,” he said quietly. “They’re all over the place these days. I think there are more and more of them all the time.”

  Sorrel was still looking stunned. Suddenly she jumped up and spat into the fire. “But that’s impossible!” she cried. “There’s nothing here they’d want, nothing at all!”

  “That’s what you think!” The rat bent over so far that she almost fell off Firedrake’s paw. “Don’t talk such nonsense. You’ve mingled with humans, right? There’s nothing they don’t fancy, nothing they don’t want. Forgotten that already, have you?”

  “Okay, okay!” muttered Sorrel. “You’re right. They’re greedy. They want everything for themselves.”

  “They do indeed.” The rat nodded. “And I tell you, they’re coming here.”

  The dragon-fire flared up, and then the flames burned low until the darkness, like some black animal, swallowed them. Only one thing could extinguish Firedrake’s fiery breath so fast and that was sorrow. But the dragon blew gently on the rocky ground, and flames flickered up once more.

  “This is bad news indeed, Rat,” said Firedrake. He let Rat jump up onto his shoulder, and then went slowly toward the mouth of the cave. “Come on, Sorrel,” he said. “We must wake the others.”

  “And won’t they just be pleased!” growled Sorrel, smoothing down her ruffled fur and following Firedrake out into the mist.

  2. A Meeting in the Rain

  Slatebeard, the oldest dragon in the valley, had seen more than his memory could hold. His scales no longer glowed, but he could still breathe fire, and whenever the younger dragons were at a loss they would come to ask his advice. Once all the other dragons had assembled outside Slatebeard’s cave, Firedrake woke him. The sun had set. A black and starless sky lay over the valley, and it was still raining.

  When the old dragon emerged from his cave he looked gloomily up at the sky. His bones ached from the damp, and the cold weather made his joints stiff. The others respectfully made way for him. Slatebeard looked around. None of the dragons were missing, but Sorrel was the only brownie present. The old dragon moved through the wet grass, with heavy steps and dragging tail, toward a rock that rose in the valley like a giant’s head covered with moss. Breathing hard, he climbed up on it and looked around. The other dragons gazed up at him like frightened children. Some of them were still very young and knew nothing but this valley; others had come with Slatebeard himself from far, far away and remembered that the world had not always belonged to humankind. They all smelled misfortune, and they hoped he would deal with it. But Slatebeard was old and tired now.

  “Come up here, Rat,” he said in a hoarse voice. “Tell us what you saw and heard.”

  The rat scampered nimbly up the rock, climbed Slatebeard’s tail, and crouched on his back. It was so quiet under the dark sky that only the sound of the rain falling and the rustle of foxes out hunting by night could be heard. Rat cleared her throat. “Humans are coming!” she cried. “They’ve woken their machines and fed them and sent them on their way. They’re already eating a path through the mountains only two days’ journey from here. The fairies will hold them at bay for a while, but they’ll get here some time or other — because it’s this valley of yours they’re heading toward.”

  A groan ran through the ranks of the dragons. They raised their heads and pressed closer around the rock where Slatebeard stood.

  Firedrake was a little way away from the others, with Sorrel perched on his back, nibbling a dried mushroom. “Oh, terrific, Rat,” she muttered. “Couldn’t you have put it a little more tactfully?”

  “What does that mean?” one of the dragons called out. “Why would they want to come here? Surely they have all they want where they are.”

  “Humans never have all they want,” replied Rat.

  “Let’s hide until they go away again!” suggested another dragon. “The way we’ve always done when one of them loses his way and turns up here. They’re so blind they only see what they expect to see. They’ll think we’re odd-looking rocks, same as usual. Or dead trees.”

  But the rat shook her head.

  “Look here!” she shrilled. “If I’ve told you once I’ve told you a hundred times, those humans are making plans. But big animals don’t listen to little animals, right?” She looked around her crossly. “You hide from human beings, but you aren’t interested in what they’re up to. Rats aren’t so stupid: We go into their houses; we eavesdrop on them. We know what they’re planning for your valley.” Rat cleared her throat again and stroked her gray whiskers.

  “Here she goes again, winding up the suspense,” Sorrel whispered into Firedrake’s ear, but the dragon ignored her.

  “What are they planning, then, Rat?” asked Slatebeard wearily. “Come on, tell us.”

  Rat fiddled nervously with a whisker. It was no fun bringing bad news. “They — they’re going to flood the valley,” she replied, her voice faltering. “Soon there’ll be nothing here but water. Your caves will be flooded, and none of the tall trees over there,” she said, pointing one paw at the darkness, “none of them will be left. Not even the treetops will show above the water.”

  The dragons stared at her, speechless.

  “But that’s impossible!” one of them exclaimed at last. “No one can do a thing like that. Not even us, and we’re bigger and stronger than they are.”

  “Impossible?” Rat laughed sarcastically. “Bigger? Stronger? You don’t get it at all. You tell them, Sorrel. Tell them what human beings are like. Maybe they’ll believe you.” With an injured expression, she wrinkled her sharp nose.

  The dragons turned to Firedrake and Sorrel.

  “Rat’s right,” said the brownie “You’ve no idea.” She spat on the ground and picked at a piece of moss stuck between her teeth. “Human beings don’t go around in suits of armor these days, like they used to when they hunted you dragons, but they’re still dangerous. More dangerous than anything else in the world.”

  “Oh, nonsense!” said a large, stout dragon scornfully and turned his back on Sorrel. “Let the two-legs come! Rats and brownies may be right to fear them, but we are dragons! What can they do to us?”

  “What can they do to you?” Sorrel threw her nibbled mushroom away and sat up very straight. She was angry now, and an angry brownie is not to be trifled with. “You’ve never set foot outside this valley, dimwit!” she said. “I expect you think human beings sleep on leaves like you. I expect you think they do no more harm than a fly because they don’t live much longer than one. I expect you think they’ve got nothing in their heads but thoughts of eating and sleeping. But they aren’t like that. Oh, no, not these days!” Sorrel was practically gasping for air. “Those things that sometimes fly across the sky — being so stupid, you call them noisy-birds — those things are machines built by humans for traveling through the air. And human beings can talk to one another when they aren’t even in the same country. They can conjure up moving, talking pictures, and they have cups made of ice that never melts, and their houses shine at night as if they’d trapped the sunlight, and, and …” Sorrel shook her head. “And they can do wonderful things — terrible things, too. If they want to flood this valley with water then they will. You’ll have to leave whether you like it or not.”

  The dragons stared at her. Even the one who had just turned his back. Some of them looked up at the mountains as if they
expected machines to come crawling over the black peaks at any moment.

  “Oh, drat it!” muttered Sorrel. “Now he’s gone and made me so cross I threw my delicious mushroom away. It was an oyster mushroom, too! You don’t find those around here so often.” In a thoroughly bad mood, she scrambled down off Firedrake’s back and started searching the wet grass for her tidbit.

  “You heard, all of you!” said Slatebeard. “We have to leave.”

  Uncertainly, their legs heavy with fear, the dragons turned to him again.

  “For some of you,” the old dragon continued, “it will be the first time, but many of us have had to flee from human beings before. Although now it will be extremely difficult to find a place that doesn’t belong to them.” Slatebeard shook his head sadly. “It seems to me there are more and more humans with every new moon.”

  “Yes, they’re all over the place,” said the dragon who had been mocking Sorrel a moment ago. “It’s only when I fly over the sea that I don’t see their lights beneath me.”

  “Then we must just try living in harmony with them,” suggested another dragon.

  But Slatebeard shook his head. “No,” he said. “No one can live in harmony with human beings.”

  “Oh, yes, they can.” Rat stroked her wet coat. “Dogs and cats do, and mice and birds, even us rats. But you,” she said, letting her gaze roam over the dragons, “you’re too big, too clever, and,” she added, shrugging her shoulders, “too different! You’d frighten them. And when something frightens human beings they —”

  “They destroy it,” the old dragon said wearily. “They almost wiped us out once before, many, many hundred years ago.” He raised his heavy head and looked at the younger dragons one by one. “I’d hoped they would at least leave us this valley. It was a foolish hope.”

  “But where are we to go?” cried one of the dragons in despair. “This is our home.”

  Slatebeard did not reply. He looked up at the night sky, where the stars were still hidden behind clouds, and sighed. Then he said huskily, “Go back to the Rim of Heaven. We have to stop running away sometime. I’m too old. I shall crawl into my cave and hide, but you younger ones can make it.”