Surprised, the monster flung up his head, spitting and baring his terrible fangs. His foul breath almost made the dragons falter. Lola turned her plane and landed neatly on the head of one of the stone dragons. She had done her work for the moment. Now it was Firedrake and Maia’s turn.

The two dragons circled above their enemy’s head.

“Aaaargh!” growled Nettlebrand, salivating as he followed them with his red eyes. “So here are two of you.”

His voice shook the stone columns. It was deep and hollow, as if it were booming down an iron pipe. “And with your brownies on board, too. Not bad! Brownies always make a nice pudding!”

“Pudding?” Sorrel leaned so far down from Firedrake’s back that Nettlebrand’s hot breath singed her whiskers. “You’re the one on the menu today, you great golden meatball!”

Nettlebrand didn’t so much as look at her. He cast Firedrake and Maia a brief glance, licked his lips, and reared up menacingly.

“Where are the others?” he snarled, looking around impatiently. His whole body was quivering with greed as his claws scraped fitfully over the stony ground. “Come out!” he bellowed, horns thrusting at the empty air. “Come on out! I want to hunt you all together. I want to see you scatter like a flock of frightened ducks when I bring one of you down.”

Bellowing, he raised one claw and smashed a stalactite as if it were made of glass. Splinters of stone shot around the cavern. But the two dragons, flying as steadily as ever, kept on circling above his head.

“There are no others!” called Firedrake, diving so low that his wings almost brushed Nettlebrand’s nose.

Ben and Sorrel both felt their hearts miss a beat as they came so close to the monster. Clutching their straps, they cowered down behind Firedrake’s spines.

“We’re the only dragons here,” cried Maia, skimming over Nettlebrand’s back, “but we will overcome you, wait and see. He and I will defeat you with our dragon riders.”

Furiously Nettlebrand whipped around.

“Dragon riders — huh!” He twisted his muzzle, taunting them. “Trying to scare me with those old stories, are you? Where — are — the — others?”

Ben didn’t notice Twigleg slipping out of his strap. Inconspicuous as a tiny mouse, the homunculus clambered up the boy’s jacket and stood on his shoulder.

“Twigleg!” cried Ben, horrified.

But the homunculus wasn’t looking at him. Cupping his hands around his mouth, he shouted in a shrill voice, “Hey, yoohoo, look who’s here, master!”

Nettlebrand’s head shot up in surprise.

“Here I am, master!” shouted Twigleg. “On the dragon rider’s shoulder. There aren’t any other dragons. Get it? I lied to the dwarf! I lied to you, too! You’re going to melt, and I’m going to stand by and watch!”

“Twigleg!” cried Ben. “Get down.”

He tried to pluck the homunculus off his shoulder, but Twigleg clung to his hair, shaking his tiny fist.

“This is my revenge!” he screeched. “This is my revenge, master!”

Nettlebrand’s mouth creased into an ugly grin. “Well, look at that!” he growled. “Our spidery friend riding the silver dragon. My old armor-cleaner. Look at the fool up there, Gravelbeard, and let what I’m about to do to him be a lesson to you.”

“Gravelbeard?” Twigleg yelled, almost toppling off Ben’s shoulder. “Haven’t you noticed? Gravelbeard isn’t with you anymore. He’s abandoned you, just like me. You don’t have an armor-cleaner anymore, and pretty soon you won’t be needing one, either.”

“Quiet, Twigleg!” Firedrake called back to him.

Nettlebrand suddenly reared up on his hind legs, snarling. His claw struck out with terrible force at the circling dragon. Firedrake only just avoided it. But Twigleg uttered a shrill scream, tried desperately to find something to hang on to — and fell headfirst into the depths below.

“Twigleg!” shouted Ben, leaning forward. But his outstretched hand caught only empty air.

The homunculus came straight down on Nettlebrand’s armored brow, slid along the monster’s thick neck, and was caught, struggling, between two spines.

Nettlebrand lowered himself back on all four paws with a grunt. “Got you now, spider-legs!” he growled, snapping at the place where his treacherous servant was clinging on for dear life, his thin legs flailing in the air.

“Firedrake!” cried Ben. “Firedrake, we must help Twigleg!”

But both dragons were already swooping down on Nettlebrand, one from each side. They were just opening their mouths to breathe fire at him when Twigleg uttered a shrill cry.

“No!” he pleaded. “No, not dragon-fire! It’ll disenchant me! No, oh, please, no!”

The dragons braked in their flight.

“Are you crazy, Twigleg?” cried Sorrel. “He’s going to eat you!”

Nettlebrand turned with a grunt and snapped at the manikin’s legs again. Once more Firedrake and Maia set out to distract him, striking at his armor with their claws, but Nettlebrand shook them off like troublesome flies. Ben’s heart almost stopped in despair. For a moment, he simply shut his eyes. And then suddenly he heard a buzzing sound.

The rat was coming.

Her plane raced toward Nettlebrand’s back. The roof of the cockpit opened, and Lola leaned out.

“Come on, humplecuss, jump in!” she shouted.

With a maneuver of breakneck daring, she flew alongside the struggling Twigleg.

“Jump, Twigleg!” shouted Firedrake. “Jump!” And he dug his claws into Nettlebrand’s armored neck to divert his attention from the manikin for a few precious seconds. As the golden dragon snapped and spat at Firedrake, the homunculus let go of Nettlebrand’s spine and dropped onto the backseat of Lola’s plane. The rat stepped on the gas at once, and the plane shot up to the roof of the cave with its cockpit still open and the trembling Twigleg safe inside it.

Nettlebrand bellowed so loudly that the brownies had to put their paws over their sensitive ears. Hissing, the Golden One reared up again and struck out at both dragons. His claws only just missed Maia’s wings. But instead of turning to escape, the she-dragon flew at him like a furious cat. She opened her mouth — and spat blue fire.

Firedrake attacked him from the other side. A mighty flame shot from his jaws and came down on Nettlebrand’s head. Then Maia’s dragon-fire engulfed Nettlebrand’s golden back, making its way along his tail and licking down his legs.

The golden dragon bared his teeth and laughed. He laughed so loud that stones fell clattering down from the roof of the cave.

Dragon-fire! Huh!

How often it had licked around him before! It would evaporate the moment it touched his armor. The chill he gave off would devour the blue flames. And then, when the two dragons were exhausted and discouraged, he, Nettlebrand, could pluck them from the air like helpless bats. He smacked his lips and grunted in anticipation.

Then, suddenly he felt something running down his forehead and dripping into his eyes. Instinctively, he raised a paw to wipe it away — and froze rigid.

His claws were distorting, losing their shape. His scales looked like withering leaves. Nettlebrand blinked. The stuff running down his forehead and blinding him was liquid gold.