Chapter 21: Preparations
The dragon hydrocarbon organ system is the defining feature of the draconic clade; even in flightless, obligate aquatic, or the occasional limbless breed, if they possess the hydrocarbon organ system, they are defined as dragons.
The organ system is estimated to have originally evolved during the Neogene Period between 18 and 24 MYA, based on genetic evidence from the draconic genome, although some estimates put its origin much earlier, during the Paleogene's Eocene Epoch, between 48 and 34 MYA. Originally an offshoot of an additional liver lobe among tunnel-dwelling reptiles, its original purpose appears to have been in protecting the proto-dragons from heavy-metal poisoning accumulated from the stones of their native environment. Later evolutionary adaptations shifted the liver lobe into a distinct organ of its own, capable of chemical synthesis of basic hydrocarbons in conjunction with symbiotic bacteria, hypothesized as a form of energy storage. Later mutations created the secondary organs in the hydrocarbon system that distill oxygen, and transport, store, mix and ignite the hydrocarbons for firebreathing. True flight in the draconic species only appeared after the evolution of the pressurized oxygen bladders adjacent to the respiratory and hydrocarbon systems; at rest, the dragon uptakes oxygen from the atmosphere and stores it under pressure in the bladder. This oxygen is then either used for fueling flight muscles or for igniting hydrocarbons for firebreathing.
—An Introduction To Dragon Biology, 17th Edition, Oxford University Press, 1793
The next day, after the hangovers had worn off, Hiccup and Fishlegs went to supervise the construction of housing for their royal guest.
Stoick picked an open spot on the hillside below the chieftain's hut for construction, and shortly afterwards, freshly cut logs from the Timberjacks were carried in by Gronckles and Hotburples working in teams. Prepared carved sections, left over from the days when they had had to replace a house every few weeks or months, were slotted into place with even greater speed than they had in the old days. Floorboards were efficiently hammered down, and some furniture from the village stores were carried in. All told, they went from empty lot to a fully furnished and completed house, comparable to the chieftain's home in size and furnishings, in less than eight hours. Admittedly, there had been some advance work done, and Berk was practiced at this sort of construction, but, still…
Magnus watched the speed and efficacy of dragon-aided building in awe.
Taking Hiccup aside as they watched the roof being assembled and carried over in a single whole piece, he said, "I'm not sure what I want more now—war dragons or construction dragons. Yngvarr mentioned it from when he was here, but I had no idea…" He watched as the corner beams were lowered into place by a team of Gronckles hovering above, one of Berk's senior carpenters guiding it down into the holes in the sod that a Whispering Death had chewed out an hour or so before.
Hiccup just grinned and said, deadpan, "Berk is not responsible, my friend, if you take a Timberjack with you to sea and they accidentally slice your ship's mast in half."
"Very funny, Hiccup," Magnus said, still staring, and then watching as another group of Gronckles came flying in, carrying the floorboards in a stack. He was either praying or swearing, Hiccup wasn't sure which.
He turned to Hiccup, eyes wide. "Before, I was just focused on the martial applications of them. I will admit it. Flying above the battlefield? Raining down hot death on enemy armies? It would give me an advantage over any other out there. But this…" he looked around in awe. "This is true power. Not just the ability to destroy God's work… but to aid Him in building it."
"Well, that's how things go," Hiccup said philosophically. "It's always easier to destroy than to create. I'm just glad that I figured out ways to make creation easier too."
"As am I, my friend. As am I." Magnus watched as another group of Gronckles flew by carrying a bedframe fit for a king and placed it gently inside the roofless house.
Hiccup smiled at his friend, who flushed slightly, and then said, "You gave us two beds. I figure that I can give you at least one."
"That is going to be one of those jokes between old friends that they use to confuse their children, isn't it?" Magnus asked in a bemused tone.
"Yep."
"Excellent. I look forward to it."
They paused as Hiccup had to go manage a few details, although really, he was completely superfluous here. The foreman knew what he was doing, having been rebuilding Berk's housing since before Hiccup was born. Hiccup was technically here to manage the dragons, as they had needed in the early days this past winter, but now, after a year of practice, he was about as useful as hens' teeth. And not Fishlegs' dad, either, as he was the foreman, and was the one who made that joke.
Returning, he indicated to Magnus, "We'll be building housing for the rest of your court over there," he pointed to an area off the side of the crowded village. "They're assembling the pieces now and will be ready in the morning. Figure by tomorrow night we'll have something decent up for them. Just bedding, though. Not really much else."
"Well, your father offered me hospitality already. I think we'll manage to find something to eat," Magnus said dryly. He paused. "By the way, what was this I heard about dragon-powered dish cleaning?"
Hiccup laughed. "Do you want me to give you the tour, because that'll have to wait until tomorrow, or should I have Fishlegs do it?"
"Oh, I can wait. I was just wondering."
Hiccup explained some of what they had been doing in the village with using dragons for various specialized labor, and Magnus's eyes practically glowed as he thought about how much labor he could save his own subjects—and let them redirect it elsewhere.
"Hiccup, my friend," he said, bouncing on the balls of his feet slightly. "I don't know what dragon I will pick. I honestly don't. As you describe it, it will practically choose me instead. But please, promise me one thing."
"Yes?"
"That you will not hoard these blessings for yourself, but share them! Invest them in other people! Take these talents and invest them, not bury them."
Hiccup grinned, and clapped Magnus on the shoulder, which made the other man grin. "My friend, nothing would please me more than that. It's keeping them away from people that will misuse them that's my biggest concern."
"Like Snotlout."
"Like Snotlout," Hiccup said with a grimace and a nod. "Tell you a secret?"
"Yes?"
"I'm more worried about poor Hookfang. Snotlout… he's my blood. Father's sister's son. But, right now… when I think about them, heading down into that rats' nest of politics that Yngvarr described… I'm more worried about someone hurting Hookfang."
Magnus grimaced and nodded. "Aye. Not the best of thoughts, but, knowing the man, I understand it."
"I mean, I wouldn't wish him harm, and he's still my kin, and I hope he comes home all right. Hopefully in rags on the back of an irritated dragon, after what he said to Astrid. But I hope he comes home, alive and breathing, and maybe a little wiser."
"The prodigal son returns," Magnus said, with an air of a quotation.
"If you say so," Hiccup said. "Meanwhile, let's build something for him to come home to, shall we?"
###
While the boys built, Astrid was giving Wulfhild the tour of the island. On dragonback, of course.
As Stormfly flew through the air with an attitude of homecoming, giving warm trills at familiar sights and favorite spots, Astrid pointed out all of the features of their home to Wulfhild.
"What kind of dragon would you recommend for me, Astrid?" she asked, grinning, from her seat behind the other girl. The two of them had to speak loudly to hear each other over the rushing wind. Given the enthusiasm of the moment, it wasn't hard.
"I'd say Deadly Nadder!" Astrid offered energetically.
"And then I'd say you're a bit biased!" Wulfhild said, leaning forward and watching the waves below crash against the rocks, entranced.
"Loyal! The word you're looking for is loyal!"
They darted through the sea-stack maze at high speed, whooping and cheering, and then went back for another pass before flying for altitude.
"Seriously, though, what do you think?"
"Terrible Terrors?" Astrid suggested with a smirk.
"I prefer my lap-pets to not come with a risk of singed dresses!" Wulfhild said primly, and they laughed.
"Night Fury?" Wulfhild suggested innocently a moment later.
"You'd have to arm-wrestle me first before you got to Hiccup," Astrid said sweetly.
"Pass, thank you. Pity though. Toothless is just so… adorable."
"You've never seen him in a nasty mood, though," Astrid said as they went in slow circles around Berk's central peak to take in the view.
"I wish we knew what happened to the other Night Furies," Wulfhild said reflectively after another moment; the loudest noise was the slow flapping of Stormfly's wings at their current slow pace. "Because Toothless isn't that old. They've been around for hundreds of years. How can he be the last one?"
Astrid sighed. "I don't know." They dove for speed, whooping again, and did a high-speed run through the sea stack maze, coming out through the other side cheering.
"So, what else?" Wulfhild asked as they flew over the crashing surf below. They both had to shout again to be heard over the sound of the waves hitting the sea stacks.
"Gronckle?" Astrid asked as they dipped low over the water, and she bent down and passed her hand through the crest of a breaking wave.
"They're cute, but in a way that's so ugly that they came around and crept in through the back door!"
"Zippleback?"
"I'll just thump Tuffnut on the back of the head when I want to ride with my sister-in-law!"
"Use something heavy! There's a lot of skull there and not much brain!"
Wulfhild snorted and then laughed with Astrid as they pulled up and flew back over the main part of the island.
"Timberjack?" Astrid asked as they darted through some trees—some of which bore the signs of attentions from the Sharp-class dragons.
"They look all sleek, and they're apparently amazingly useful. Put on the maybe list."
"All right!" Astrid said and then mused, "How about a nice Monstrous Nightmare? There's one that has that nice blue coloration that would match your eyes."
Wulfhild snorted and called back primly, "See previous statement regarding burned dresses!"
They both laughed again, and Stormfly flew back out over the waves, dipping so low that they felt the chill of the salty spray on their faces.
"Thunderdrum?"
"Lots of teeth, but, you have to admit, Stoick looks pretty impressive on the back of his! Maybe list!"
"Razorwhip?"
Wulfhild ran through her memories of the last day and then shook her head. "Haven't seen that one yet!"
"We've only got two, unless more came in while we were in Norway. They're not very sociable, either. I think that they mostly hang around for the food."
"What do they look like?"
"Like someone put a Nadder in old Roman armor," Astrid said enthusiastically.
Wulfhild tried to visualize that. "That sounds amazing."
They were skimming low over the water, and a group of Scauldrons burbled to the surface to say hello, breaking through the waves to fly alongside. The two girls waved, and the Tidal dragons flew in formation with Stormfly for a few hundred feet before they dropped below the surface again.
"Scauldron?"
"They're pretty amazing, and amazingly pretty! But I don't think we have room for a fish pond that big!"
"What about the fjord?"
"Well, yeah, but I'd say that half the fun of having a pet dragon is having it live with you!" Wulfhild said.
"Can't disagree there. Stormfly has her own little nook in my room. Well, maybe not so little." Stormfly huffed. She'd gone into her rock-lined spot and proceeded to rub herself against the walls like an oversized cat for at least an hour when they'd gotten home, and it had taken Astrid an hour to coax her out again the next morning. "What about the Skrill?"
"What's that one?"
"We've only got the one—and even then, not most days! He—at least we think it's a he—is even more sneaky than Toothless."
"That's pretty sneaky!"
"Yep, and he likes to play with lightning, so he usually shows up around thunderstorms. Snags some food from the urns and—pfft—vanishes!"
"What does it look like?"
"Person-sized, I'd say. Purple, with spines in a frill around the neck."
"So a smaller version of a Nadder?"
"More or less," Astrid said, and they banked back to the island, coming in towards one of the more open stretches of shoreline.
"Huh. Maybe," Wulfhild said after a long moment of musing.
"Whispering Death?"
"Nope! All the ugly of Gronckles, no cute sneaking in through the back door," Wulfhild said with a shudder. "I don't care how useful they are, pass!"
"Changewing?"
"What do they look like?"
"No one knows!" Astrid said with an audible smirk.
Wulfhild poked her.
"Sorry, that was a joke." She shrugged. "They can change the look of their scales so they can hide or make pretty displays. Person-sized, and playful. Also smart!" She gave a wry grin, remembering how clever the small dragons were—and their questionable sense of humor. "Very smart."
"Oooh. Maybe list!"
"Hobblegrunt?"
"That's the one that changes color based on its moods, right?"
"Yep! We only have a few that have shown up, but they're pretty sociable; they've been very helpful in keeping the Rookery peaceful."
"That sounds pretty handy. How do they do that?"
"Hiccup's theory is that they're very good at sensing the moods of the other dragons and intervene when things start getting heated up, so it never boils over," Astrid said, and then she shrugged. "Well, unless more showed up while we were visiting you, that's all I can think of that we have on hand."
"Sounds good to me," Wulfhild said with a smile. "I'll think it over."
"Well, you've got time," Astrid said. "We're marrying your brother off first."
Wulfhild snorted. "I still can't believe it. Oh, I can, but at the same time… she's not what I expected. You… Hiccup really upset the whole applecart. I mean, no offense, but she's not a royal or noble… but she is a dragon-rider, and that's enough, apparently."
Astrid snorted in agreement and they flew on in silence for another minute. She pondered Wulfhild's comment about Ruffnut not being a noble. And, yeah, she was right. Of course, by that same logic, neither was she. But the visitors didn't seem to care; Stoick was being addressed as Jarl, Hiccup as 'Sir' or 'Lord', and herself as Lady.
Stormfly turned her head back and chittered as the silence extended.
"What did she say?" Wulfhild asked.
"I think she wanted to ask if we're doing all right," Astrid said.
Stormfly nodded and then turned back to watch where she was flying; they were over the treetops, but there were still high pine boles to watch out for.
"Well, I am," Wulfhild said. "Thank you, Stormfly!"
Stormfly gave a little laugh and banked down to follow the course of one of the island's small streams. If Astrid recalled correctly, the water below would eventually be used to power her parents' grain mill.
"Slow down a bit!" Wulfhild called. "I want to see!"
Stormfly obliged, and Wulfhild gave a happy sigh.
A minute or so later, as they cleared the waterfall above the mill and hovered, Astrid asked, "Glad to be here, Wulf?"
Wulfhild took in a deep breath and let it out as a long sigh of contentment. "Oh yes. I'm here, on this beautiful island, with friends…" She nodded her head vigorously, the ends of her braids that emerged below her kransen circlet hitting Astrid in the back. "Friends that care, friends that want to spend time with me, friends that like me…"
With a grimace, Astrid asked, "Isn't that what friends are?"
"Only if you're not a noble," Wulfhild said bluntly. "Or very very lucky. There were people that I thought were my friends in my uncle's court when I was there. Just a few, though, and when Magnus was seated on the throne and it was decided that I would join him…" She waved an arm in an airy fashion. "Poof. They vanished. I wasn't useful to them anymore." Her face soured. "Well, maybe I'm being unfair. Some people were friendly to me. But for others…" She bit her lip. "You and Hiccup are the first people in a long time who want to spend time with me for my sake, and not because I'm a channel to my brother's ear."
Putting on a smile, Astrid turned back and waggled her eyebrows. "Well, my friend, when it comes to spending time with you, would you like to join me for weapon practice?"
Wulfhild laughed. "Astrid, if you haven't noticed, I'm short. I'll stick with my bow, thank you!"
"All right! Archery practice tomorrow! Loser offers up a forfeit to the winner!"
Wulfhild snorted. "And what would you have me do, after I give up a forfeit?"
"Who said anything about you being the one to offer it?" Astrid smirked. "I'm going to get Hiccup, the twins, and your brother to join in! Would you like me to have Hiccup to make you another lyra?"
Wulfhild threw her head back and laughed. "Now that's just cruel!"
Astrid shrugged. "He needs to practice with the bow. Or at least something. I worry."
Wulfhild sobered. "You do love him, don't you?"
Astrid fell silent and then nodded. "More than I can say. I…" she paused and then scoffed. "I don't have your brother's tongue for poetry… but…" she shrugged a bit helplessly. "It's become a fact of my life. Rain falls from clouds. The sun rises in the east and sets in the west. The grass is green. Fire burns. And we love each other."
Wulfhild quieted for a moment and then said softly, "I think that that was poetic enough."
Astrid scoffed and cast about for something to change the subject. "Here, want to see why I worry? We had this race through the sea stacks last spring thaw, and he pulled the most stupid stunts…" She directed Stormfly out to Heimdall's Spire and the double archway, pointing out the sights along the way. Wulfhild was suitably impressed and appalled, and from there the tour continued.
As they flew along, Astrid asked, "So… how are you feeling about Eindride being here?"
Wulfhild shrugged and said morosely, "I'm sure that he's going to tell his father every little lapse of mine when we get home, and try to control me in the meantime, once he finishes gawking. But I can excuse anything by claiming it as being a good guest to our hosts, so I don't care too much."
Astrid grimaced. "Do you think that'll work?"
"If there's one thing that Einar holds sacred, it's hospitality—or at least the appearance of it. With the way that he plays the Great Game, it's too risky to him to be known as a hospitality breaker—which is what would happen if he treats me poorly and I tell, say… you about it."
"What do you mean?"
"I…um… hmm… Okay. So would Roald be any good at hustling hnefatafl if everyone didn't agree on the rules for it?"
Astrid thought on that for a moment. "You mean if he just started making up rules or saying that it doesn't count? No, I guess not."
"Exactly. For Einar, hospitality and guest rights and all of those traditions are important, not just because they're tradition, but because they're the rules of the game."
"Oohhh," Astrid said, comprehension dawning. "I understand. Take away hospitality and it would be like throwing the game board across the room."
"Exactly. Sure, he didn't like Magnus's oath because it was too one-sided, or any of the other actions that Magnus took, but notice that he didn't try to weasel out of it. That would be the sort of thing that would damage his reputation. And here, I'm your guest. There, I was his. Yeah, I think that'll work."
"I'll be sure to give you lots and lots of excuses, then."
Wulfhild gave a happy sigh. "Thanks." She slumped a little. "I really don't want to think about it, though. I'm sure Einar is going to try to take away or at least get control over my dragon when I get home."
"If he does that," Astrid said tartly, "Hiccup will have something to say about it."
"I… thanks."
She fell silent for a long moment, seeming to drink in the view, while Astrid chewed on what her friend had said. They hovered there until Stormfly grumbled about the effort and they flew on.
"So… Wulfhild. I… uh… I noticed that you've been pretty open about all of this."
"All of what?"
"Einar, for example. I half-expected to have to pry it out of you like I did with Hiccup."
Wulfhild sighed and then gave a very small smile. "Astrid. What, you would prefer me to remain silent and leave you in doubt?"
"No… but I am surprised that you spoke up so quickly," Astrid said back.
With the smile ticking up a bit at the edges, Wulfhild said, "Well, they didn't manage to hammer all of the stubborn Norsewoman out of their princess-chattel. I kept my mouth shut because nobody seemed to care. I was frustrated, not cowed." She patted Astrid on the shoulder.
"If you say so…" Astrid said uncertainly. She didn't quite buy Wulfhild's comment about being frustrated instead of cowed—she had looked extremely beaten down those nights after the attack—but if that was what her friend told herself, then she'd accept it. But she could believe the Norsewoman part; strong-spoken, having her own attitudes, and a sense of honor and humor… yeah, that sounded about right.
"I do say so. And I'm a princess, so you'd better believe me," she said with a haughty sniff that became a wide smile.
Astrid snorted. "That doesn't fit you, sorry."
"No? Oh well. I will say this, though—since our talks back in Nidaros, I've been thinking on this, all of it."
"All of what?"
"You, Hiccup, this place… I had plenty of time to think on the voyage here."
"In between lyra practice sessions," Astrid deadpanned.
"I think we found a workable balance!" Wulfhild humorously protested. Both to protect the instrument from damage from seawater and to save everyone's hearing, she'd only practiced playing when they'd gone ashore. She sobered and said, "But as for that thinking… I realized something." Eyebrows knitted together, she said intently, "Hiccup has completely upset the game board for Einar and the others, and they're still playing by the old rules."
"Uhhh… explain that?"
Wulfhild nodded. "Dynasties… vassals… armies… patrons… courts… titles… lands… these are the pieces in the game of who rules and who is ruled. Myself, I'm a playing piece. I exist solely for my value in tying together an alliance with another dynasty."
Astrid made a noise of protest and Wulfhild gave her a sad half-smile. "Don't tell me that you haven't had similar moments. Sure, you're a shieldmaid, but you're also from a powerful clan here. I know that Hiccup's aunt is Snotlout's mother, which gives him a claim on the chiefdom."
"Yes, but—"
"That's different? How? It's only the size of the title—kingdom or chiefdom—that makes a difference there," Wulfhild said intently. "But now…" She spread her arms out to encompass Berk. "Now things have changed. Now, a tiny chiefdom has power, of the sort that make armies and titles and lands irrelevant. And, most importantly…" she said slowly, a glorious smirk crossing her face, "the young man who truly rules that power is kind, and honest, and decent."
Astrid smiled warmly as Wulfhild continued. "And the corrupt or cruel old men—like Einar, or my uncle—who know the old rules, who only knew the old rules, are now going to have to deal with your beloved." She raised her eyebrows, still smirking. "There's a new seat at the table, and Hiccup is sitting in it—but rather than him having to learn the rules and play catch-up with everyone else, it's the other way around."
Astrid sucked in a breath. "I… I hadn't thought of it that way."
"I have." Wulfhild crossed her arms. "Einar is acting so cautiously because he's realized that he might have made a poor move in his play. He assumed that Hiccup would be just another warlord or petty chief, with the same appetites, and that dragons would be like another army, and so all he had to do was deal with another player like himself." She crossed her arms and leaned back in the saddle, looking deeply self-satisfied. "And he was wrong. Unless I've completely misunderstood you and Hiccup, I'm now essentially your vassal and not because you want me for power… but because I'm your friend."
"Um… what? But you haven't sworn any oaths to us?" Astrid asked weakly. Unless she had missed something at some point, which she didn't think was likely…
Wulfhild looked at her with a questioning expression, her head tilted slightly and her eyebrows drawn together, and then they sprang apart in understanding. "Oh. Um… one moment…"
They flew on in silence as Wulfhild's comment bounced around Astrid's brain. Their vassal? Huh?
"All right," Wulfhild said after a few moments of flight. "So… umm… How do I put this? So… Stoick rules here, right? And he gave you the job of Master of the Dragon, right?"
Astrid nodded slowly. "Yes…"
"Which makes him your master, and you the vassal, right?" Astrid nodded. "He gave you your job, and he's the center of things on Berk. Oh, sure, if he abused his power, I'm sure your people would bring it up at a Thing, but this is how courts work. You have the high lord at the center, and then his inner circle. Then those people have their own vassals, and on down."
"Okay…"
"So now… just by making me your friend… what you've done with me—and my brother, now that I think about it—is that you and Hiccup have taken the two of us into your circles. We might not be formal vassals, but we're friends, and that means that we have access to your power, just in the form of favors for your friends. And that's a source of power that wasn't doled out by Einar and that he doesn't have control over."
Astrid blinked slowly, thinking it over. Wulfhild was right. Not only was she right, that had essentially been hers and Hiccup's plan when they'd suggested bringing her and giving her a dragon. Sure, they hadn't thought of it in those terms, but… that was essentially it.
"So now what?" Astrid asked.
"Now? Now I pray to God that you and Hiccup and Stoick don't get seduced and corrupted into playing their game. Keep forcing them to play Hiccup's." She took a deep steeling breath and hissed it out through her teeth. "In the meantime, I'm grateful for this friendship, because you are my friends."
Astrid scoffed and smiled. "Well, yeah. We like you, Wulf."
"And I like you and Hiccup. But to give you an idea of what it's like to live like this… I'm also grateful for how you have given me access, even through your friendship and support, to that power that you now have."
With a grimace, Astrid said, "Well, that's blunt."
"Before you were commenting that you were surprised that I wasn't holding back, and now you're complaining that I'm saying too much? Make up your mind, Astrid," Wulfhild said with a chuckle. She then exhaled sharply. "I understand if you don't want to hear it… but I'm just trying to be helpful."
"No, no, it's good to hear. I'm… I'm just surprised, that's all."
Wulfhild shrugged. "For me, being in your circle is nice, but at the end of the day, I doubt that my fate has changed."
"But… but… all of that on how things have just changed…!" Astrid looked at her, appalled.
Wulfhild looked at her, resigned. "Astrid. The rules of the game may have changed. But the fact is that the game itself hasn't—at least not yet. The mere fact that my brother is marrying Ruffnut for a dynastic alliance says as much." She forced a more lighthearted tone to her voice that was false enough that Astrid could easily tell. "The only way that the game has changed there is that now we know that having a dragon makes you effectively a noble in rank. But since there aren't any dragon-riders outside of Berk, my potential pool of future husbands hasn't exactly enlarged." She shrugged. "On the other hand, as Bergljot kept telling me, as a princess, having as many marriage options available to say no to was my sole power." Astrid continued to stare at her, appalled; she thought that the discussion on treating diplomacy and war as a game was horrifying, but this was just… wrong.
Wulfhild shrugged, a long-suffering look in her eyes. "I'd say that having a dragon for myself and you as a friend will mean that I'll have my pick, when all is said and done. And that will have to be good enough."
Astrid grimaced. "That's a terrible way to look at it."
"It's what I've got," Wulfhild said. "Who knows? Maybe I'll find someone who will make me as happy as Hiccup makes you. I can hope." She gave an eloquent shrug of supreme indifference, which didn't seem to be completely honest to Astrid, but she didn't want to say anything. "In the meantime, though, I don't want to think on that. I'm here, this place lifts my spirits, and I plan on enjoying every day of my reprieve!" Wulfhild suddenly grinned. "Could we get out to the old Nest and back before dinner?"
"Oh, I think that we could manage that," Astrid said, grateful for the distraction. This chat had been much more intense than she'd expected, and she wanted to think it over—with Hiccup, if possible. "Stormfly, let's go!"
###
Snotlout stared at the cup Vidkunn was holding out with bleary eyes. They had strong drink here, and while the worst of the hangover had passed, he felt like a pair of dwarves had mistakenly tunneled into his head and were taking a different way out, with pickaxes.
Taking the cup from the amused trader, he downed half of it in a single pull and coughed. Then he blinked as the taste asserted itself, a cool and slightly bitter flavor that washed away the foulness in his mouth.
"So, lads, did you all have a good night at the Grand Prince's?" the trader asked. "A high honor, to be sure."
There were groans, and the others held their clay cups of whatever-this-drink-was close to their chests or to the sides of their heads. They had staggered back to the docks and the small barn that Vidkunn had rented for them late into the night, and collapsed into individual heaps as soon as they'd cleared the threshold.
Balli moaned piteously, and fixed his father with a beady-eyed stare. "Not so loud, pa."
"Any loud noise and surely our heads will explode in a manner like that of a melon under a warhammer," Gunnar said tersely, and then moaned, clutching at his head.
Vidkunn grinned and looked around at the other young Norsemen who hadn't gone along to dinner the previous night. Cupping his hands, he said in a loud whisper that made Snotlout flinch, "Did you hear that?! Stay quiet!"
Kormak grinned evilly and said back loudly, "Say again!? I didn't hear you!"
Gudmund groaned and threw something at the other young man, but missed widely, hitting his brother instead.
Ondott yelped and called out, "Hey! Watch it!"
"Tell your brother to hush unless he wants to be covered in bits of our brains," Gudmund said irritably.
Fridgeir shook his head, smiling widely, and said, "No, no brains. Just bits of bone."
By all rights, the glares he got should have reduced him to a greasy smear on the rush-covered floor. Instead, Fridgeir laughed lightly.
Before the ribbing could continue, there was a polite pounding on the door, which made Snotlout clutch at his head as the dwarves redoubled their efforts to escape via his eye sockets.
Karl, who was standing near the rear of the group, answered the door. "Aye?" he asked, opening it a crack.
"I'm here on the Grand Prince's business. Open up, please."
Snotlout froze. He vaguely recalled most of last night, and while he was fairly sure that he hadn't embarrassed himself, he did distinctly recall the marshal's threat to try to keep him here.
Karl opened the door the rest of the way, and a smaller man, dressed in a fancy shirt and trousers, with a pair of leather gloves on his hands and a small fur hat on his head, entered the room. Looking around the barn, as the sunlight streaming in behind him gave the dwarves something to tunnel towards, he then said to Vidkunn, "You are Vidkunn Guthhersson, yes?"
Vidkunn nodded. "Aye. I am traveling down to Constantinople with trade goods—amber, furs, pitch, honey, wax, axes and the like—with these men as escort. I plan on selling what I have there while they take up service with the Varangian Guard, and hiring Varangians who have mustered out for the trip back."
"Splendid. Now, the Grand Prince Yaroslav was deeply impressed with the quality of the young men that were his visitors last night. As such, he wishes to extend an offer of employment in his personal guard to any here."
Snotlout blinked and heaved himself to a sitting position. Did he want to take them up on it?
Vidkunn said mildly, "I hired you all for the trip to Constantinople. We're not there yet. If you take this offer, you'll be in breach of contract."
"I'm sure you could recruit additional members for your guardsmen locally, my good trader," the messenger said. "And we'd be willing to pay a portion towards their contracts."
Vidkunn crossed his arms and harrumphed, but didn't say anything more.
As Snotlout thought, the others murmured excitedly among themselves. Some were obviously going to take the offer, while others were more hesitant.
The messenger said after a moment, "He intends for you to be specifically for the guard for his wife and children. Princess-Consort Irene-Anna is a Norsewoman, and has said that she misses hearing her native tongue, and the Grand Prince wishes to indulge her, as well as make certain that his children will be able to understand the language of their cousins."
Without hesitation, Karl turned to the man and went to one knee. "I'll take service with the Grand Prince, sir."
A few of the others in the crowd followed suit as Snotlout watched.
Then the messenger turned towards Snotlout and said, "In particular, his Highness is interested in you, young dragon rider. Would you be interested in taking service with us?"
All eyes turned to him, and Snotlout blinked in a vain effort to try to get the dwarves to calm down.
With a grunt, he shook his head. "Sorry, but I'm going to stay with Vidkunn and get to the Romans."
"Ah well. Had to check. As for the rest of you, I'll take down your names and we'll see about bringing you aboard, and deal with those pesky contracts." He turned to Vidkunn. "I don't think there will be a problem. Will there be, trader?"
Vidkunn shook his head, seemingly resigned. "No."
"Splendid. Until later, then." And he took out a flat piece of wax and a stylus and started to get the names of those who planned on staying in Kyiv.
###
With Magnus and Wulfhild settled into the new hut, the next day Hiccup and Fishlegs gave them and Magnus's court a walking tour of the village, which also worked to let Hiccup see everything that Fishlegs had finished over the last two months.
Magnus was wide-eyed at the Timberjack mill on the main island, where Hiccup and Gobber had made what they called plane-gloves for the Sharp-class dragons to cut planks with speed and precision.
The dragons loved it; there were large benches there for them to cuddle into, and they just had to wear the metal-reinforced wing-guards that would let their riders help them shape the wood. The building was appropriately vast for the large, nearly legless dragons, and smelled of pitch, sawdust, and resin. Trees were carried in by dragon relays and then de-branched by other Sharp-class dragons, including one adorable adolescent Timberjack named Hatchet, who apparently took great pride in slicing the branches off as close to the trunk as it could, and was preening for attention and praise as it showed off for Hiccup and the King, who was charmed. Yngvarr, who had already met the dragon and made friends on his previous trip, took a moment to give the young Hatchet a backscratch while the rest of the party continued on.
The Scauldron cove, with its lacquered wood racks for holding dishes, was viewed with amusement by most of Magnus's people. Eindride, in particular, was derisive, but when Fishlegs recited the figures on how many man-hours of labor were being saved here by the simple expedience of giving the dragons a game, that raised an eyebrow or six among Magnus's court. Steward Mark, in particular, had an absent look of focus on his face as they walked back up the pathway.
The Broodery was less enjoyable to the visitors; it was dark, dank, and stuffy, the rocks themselves still warm from the heat that they'd absorbed. The hatchlings had been moved out only two weeks before to the Rookery, and now they were vigorously cleaning the place at Fishlegs' direction. At least a few of the workers were commenting that they enjoyed it down here, with winter coming. Yngvarr dryly commented that he imagined that the place felt like a sauna when it was in use, which made Hiccup snort in agreement.
The Rookery was the second-to-last stop, or stops, technically, as the tunnels now extended back into the island and through the neighboring peaks. In a few weeks, the new dragon riders were going to be picking their dragons from here when the training began, so they were introducing the dragons to the king and his court. Today was not for picking, though; it was just a tour.
As they walked in through the human-accessible tunnel, near the old training arena, Hiccup deeply enjoyed the amazement on his friends' faces as they saw dozens upon dozens of dragons lounging around, playing with one of Astrid's giant dragon toys, grooming, racing, or just being… well, dragons.
Hiccup noted idly that the ceiling-mounted batting toy stuffed with dragon-nip was due for replacement again, which, according to Fishlegs, was roughly a weekly occurrence since Astrid had designed the thing and Hiccup had built the first one back at the beginning of the summer. A trio of Gronckles were bouncing it off of their horns in mid-air, clearly amused with themselves as it rattled on its chain.
Elsewhere in the complex, a few of the hatchlings were visible; they'd grown, but were still pretty small compared to the adults. They were still curious as anything though, and swarmed around the visitors, making inquisitive meeps and nosing at them.
Wulfhild giggled as one rambunctious little Nadder leaned up against her and purred, while a baby Gronckle managed to take a brief flight, landed on Yngvarr's shoulders and began licking at his ear.
Leaving the hatchlings behind—which took some doing—they moved on to the newly redone former arena, now the dragon-rider training pit, coming in through the new connection to the Rookery. Hiccup looked around, beaming, and said to Fishlegs, "You finished!"
"Well, yeah. It wasn't that hard." Fishlegs grinned.
The rock walls had been covered with cured dragonskin from what had been shed six months previously, or leather with dragon-scales stitched onto it, over a layer of packed straw. The former dragon cages had been tunneled back into the mountainside to connect the training pit with the Rookery, and featured benches for humans and the sorts of smooth rock surfaces that the dragons liked to curl up on. The old chain net on top was still there, although it had been padded as well, and sand and soft dirt had been brought in to cover the floor.
Magnus looked around curiously. "Why… Oh. Right. Flying practice."
Hiccup nodded. "Yep. We're going to be using this space for the initial 'get to know you' part of the training." He shrugged and shifted it into a wide expansive gesture, arms spread, with a smile as Toothless sniffed at the wall paddings and started rubbing up against them. "I wouldn't have been able to bond with Toothless if he hadn't been essentially confined to the cove, and having to have people chase down their intended mount…" he trailed off and made a wide-armed chasing motion, with one hand spread wide and the other hand with two fingers extending, waggling back and forth as if chasing after the other hand from a trailing distance as he turned his shoulders.
Wulfhild and Magnus laughed at the image.
As Hiccup went to examine the padding with Fishlegs, Wulfhild walked over to Toothless and started to give him a rubdown. Toothless promptly flopped on his back and made happy noises as she worked him over. Magnus joined her, as Eindride walked into the cages-turned-tunnels, running his hands over the surfaces with an expression of awe.
The padding looked fairly well done, and in-line with the specifications that he'd given Fishlegs. Hiccup was starting to toss himself at the wall to gauge how well the padding worked as Yngvarr approached, a sleepy Gronckle hatchling nestled on his shoulders.
"So, Hiccup, Fishlegs, I don't mean to be forward…"
"Yes, Yngvarr?" Hiccup asked, just as he lightly rammed his shoulder against the padding, and then grimaced. It worked as padding, but it was hardly a feather-stuffed pillow.
"It seems to me that you'd lost some hatchlings since I was last here," he said. "Unless we simply didn't see them all…?" he trailed off hopefully.
Fishlegs shook his head. "We've lost about ten percent since they hatched. Accidents, mostly, but one exploded when—"
"Exploded!?" Yngvarr said, shocked.
Hiccup and Fishlegs shared a look, and then Fishlegs sighed, nodded, and said, "Yep. Exploded. From what I can figure, the poor Gronckle ate something sharp and it punctured one of the bladders inside it where they store their fire-making materials."
Hiccup crossed his arms and said quietly, "That was one of the reasons we used nets and bolas back during the war, actually—to keep them from exploding when… when we fought them."
Yngvarr grimaced.
Fishlegs said soberly, "Plus Johann and the other merchants would pay a lot for the intact bladders and the other organs."
"But having a dragon explode because you stabbed it in the wrong place didn't really help anyone," Hiccup said. "And despite some people arguing for the tactic, it really never became popular—or easy. It was mostly incredibly lucky hits—those bladders tend to be under bone or other protections."
Fishlegs nodded in agreement. "And that meant that against heavily armored or fast dragons, nets and bolas were the best option for taking them down for capture and…" he swallowed hard, "later butchering."
Yngvarr looked appalled. "I see…" he said in a strangled tone, and then, coughing, he continued, "But that only happened to one hatchling?"
Fishlegs nodded. "Yeah. The other dozen or so that we've lost were because they went exploring or wandered off and got into trouble. It could be that some of them are just missing, not dead…" and his tone was pretty clear that he was hoping for the former, "but you were right—we're down about eighteen hatchlings from the hundred and sixty-two that hatched."
"Oh." Yngvarr looked saddened, and quietly patted the sleeping Gronckle on his shoulder. "I thank you for, for telling me that." He gave a nod, and walked off to join the group that was spoiling Toothless. Hiccup and Fishlegs kept examining the training pit, their mood somber.
Then it was time for lunch; Magnhild, aware of the fact that she had a visiting monarch to feed, was whipping herself (and her staff) into a frenzy of culinary excess. So instead of a simple luncheon, a miniature feast was laid out. Roast chicken stuffed with bread. Creamy vegetable soup with a layer of melted cheese on top. Baked apples drizzled with honey. Bread loaves in the shapes of fantastical creatures. Pan-fried mushrooms, stuffed with fried onions. Salads of cabbage, lettuce, peas and radishes, with a sauce of soured cream.
Looking at the array laid out on the table, Magnhild and her staff standing at attention proudly behind it, Hiccup felt slightly intimidated; they had over a week for her to build up to Magnus and Ruffnut's wedding feast. What would that look like?
Well, he'd find out. Next week.
Shrugging at the thought, he turned to Magnus. "So… I hope you're hungry."
Magnus snorted and looked to Magnhild. "Thank you. It all looks delicious. And I appreciate the efforts, but you don't have to be so… so…"
"Elaborate?" Ruffnut suggested from her spot under his arm.
"Thank you!" Magnus twisted and beamed at Ruffnut, a sappy smile on his face. "It was on the tip of my tongue." He turned back to Magnhild. "You don't have to be so elaborate on my account. I'll be fine with something simple—soup, meat, bread…"
Magnhild gave him a dubious look, but nodded.
Magnus, shaking his head slightly, loaded up a plate and a bowl and then handed them to Ruffnut with a smile and a kiss to her forehead, making a few people around the room give romantic sighs.
The happy betrothed walked off together, and then it was Hiccup's turn; he took a bit of everything he could fit on his plate, and followed his friends.
As they sat and ate, Magnus, his eyes bright with fervor, started talking about all of the improvements he was imagining could be made for Nidaros and the other cities of his realm. Or at least he did, until Ruffnut, her arm slung possessively over his shoulder, had to remind him to eat, and that his food was getting cold.
As Hiccup smirked, Astrid leaned in and whispered a reminder of when he had done exactly the same thing, and they laughed together.
Wulfhild leaned across the table to the two of them. "That was amazing. It's a tiny village, but… dear God, you've done so much with it."
Hiccup beamed at her, and Astrid gave her a conspiratorial grin. "You should see his notebooks. His brain is like a spring of ideas."
He leaned against his girlfriend and said, "And you've been the one helping me channel those ideas into something useful, instead of going off in random splashings."
Astrid gave a knowing smirk and ran her hand through his hair. "Yep. I'm your whetstone, your hammer and anvil, sharpening you into shape."
"Please, no tossing me into trees."
Wulfhild cocked her head, confused, and he shrugged. "Private joke; Astrid once described getting my ideas into shape as like sharpening an ax—right after throwing her's into a tree to make a point."
She grinned at the two of them, and then they watched Ruffnut and Magnus feeding each other the choice morsels off of their respective plates to general laughter. Hiccup tried to do the same, but Astrid smartly turned the spoon around and shoved it into his mouth. "You're too skinny as it is."
Wulfhild laughed as he chewed, a mock scowl on his face.
###
The smithing hammer rang out a steady beat as Gobber worked. Fishlegs sat on the safe bench near Gobber, with Spitelout leaning up against one of the support posts.
Eyeing the metal critically, Gobber paused hammering and stuck the metal back into the forge.
As Fishlegs walked over and started to work the bellows, Spitelout mildly said, "We only have a little while while your new aide is off somewhere. Can you take a break?"
Gobber snorted. "Got to strike while the iron is hot, 'lout. I'm sorry that my work keeps me busy."
Fishlegs rolled his eyes. "Can we get on with this?" The last few days since Hiccup had gotten back—with a king in tow!—had been nine kinds of chaotic, with the preparations for Ruffnut's wedding the following week, the construction of housing for the king's court, and, of course, managing the king himself. And on top of that, the preparations for the upcoming winter and dragon-riding training hadn't evaporated either. This talk was the first time he and the others on Stoick's council had had a chance to talk about the spy situation in several days.
"Aye, sorry lad," Gobber said, and took the handle of the bellows from him. "What do you have?"
"Well, I'm growing more and more convinced that Brogan is the spy," Fishlegs said with a huff.
"And what makes you say that?" Spitelout said. "Oh, and who is going to tell Stoick?"
"I'll tell 'im," Gobber said. "And maybe he'll get here once that envoy is done talking with 'im."
Spitelout snorted. "Fat chance of that." He rolled his eyes and shifted a bit against the pillar. "Man's mouth makes Hiccup's watermills look lazy."
"What's he here for?" Fishlegs asked curiously before he could help himself.
"Another betrothal proposal for Stoick or Hiccup, I think. He's from Flanders, from Count Baldwin," Gobber said with a grunt, working the bellows.
Spitelout whistled. "How many does that make now?"
"Hey! Let's focus!" Fishlegs said irritably, annoyed at himself for the distraction. "So, Brogan. I keep running into him in suspicious places, like the Broodery doors, and he and Maghnus are the only two that have said that they'll be sitting out dragon-riding training." He huffed. "And then there's his attitude."
Gobber nodded. "Aye, he's a right soggy raincloud on a sunny day, that's for sure."
"And when I bumped into him talking with some of the traders the other day, and asked him why he didn't buy passage off of Berk to someplace that he'd be happier, he sneered and brushed me off," Fishlegs said. "Said something like, 'I'll go where I want and when I want it,' but he obviously doesn't want to be here so…" he trailed off significantly.
Gobber and Spitelout shared a look. "Makes sense to me," Gobber said. "The gods know that he doesn't ring true to me either."
"Thing is, his attitude is so sour that just about nobody likes him, outside of Mildew and his cronies. So if he's a spy listening in on people, about the only group that's going to spend time with him are a bunch of dragon-hating elders," Spitelout pointed out.
"But most of that group… oh, nevermind," Gobber said sourly. "They know lots about how to hunt and hurt dragons. I'm sure that they're filling Brogan's ears with old stories and advice on the best ways to maim a dragon."
Spitelout scowled. "Aye, that sounds about right." He turned and looked to Fishlegs. "Good catch, lad. I'll keep an eye on him."
A sudden knock sounded at the door to the smithy, and Heather's muffled voice came through. "Fishlegs, are you in there?"
Both Gobber and Spitelout turned and looked at Fishlegs. There was a slow and wide smile sprouting on Spitelout's face, and Fishlegs felt his face flush in response.
Desperate to escape before Spitelout said anything, he called out, "I'll be right there!" and darted for the door.
Opening the door just wide enough to get through, he closed it after him and leaned against it. Through the wood, he heard the older men chortling.
Heather was standing there, her arms crossed and a sanguine expression on her face. "Gobber teasing you?"
He mutely nodded.
She extended a friendly hand. "Come on. You can tell me about your steward training over lunch. Magnhild let me try making a new dish for Hiccup and the King, and I set some aside for you."
Taking her hand, Fishlegs walked with her over to the mead hall, still blushing. As they walked, he spotted Stoick heading up the hill and waved. Stoick caught the gesture and waved back, and motioned that he was heading for the smithy.
Fishlegs nodded and continued up to the mead hall, feeling happier. Yeah. He was pretty sure that they'd figured out who the spy was, and it wasn't the girl that… that he was falling for.
Yeah, it was time to admit it to himself.
He was falling in love with Heather.
He glanced off to the side at the shorter woman walking with him. She liked his poetry… his learning… and didn't just see him as a pile of muscles, or as weird for being interested in learning all he could.
Now he just had to pursue… no, cultivate this in a way that wouldn't result in him offending her. He wanted… he wanted what Hiccup and Astrid had. And… with everything that she'd been through, even with only the dire hints that she'd given to go by, Fishlegs didn't want to hurt her any more than she'd already been hurt. He wanted her… but he also wanted her to be happy.
As he and Heather entered the mead hall, he pondered on ways to court her, to make her happy.
He swallowed a little at the task he'd just set for himself; Heather always seemed morose, although his poetry and writing seemed to cheer her up. So did cooking, but asking her to cook something for him didn't seem like the best way to go about it. If her melancholy was from dealing with the shades of her time as a thrall, that would be guaranteed to be a way to make her unhappy.
Maybe…
###
Having performed her inspection as quickly as she could, while breathing as shallowly as humanly possible, Astrid stepped back out through the door and gratefully sucked in a lungful of air. Then she coughed and gagged as the smells of the tannery behind her flooded in, having failed to put enough distance between her and the vats of soaking hide. Turning green, she darted up the hill, seeking something less noxious to breathe.
Panting, she sat under a tree and forced the bile back down her throat. She completely understood why the tannery was elsewhere on the island, oh gods yes. But as Master of the Dragon, the dragon-leather stock was her responsibility. Along with organizing the patrols around the island, and dealing with arguments between the riders, and all of those issues that Hiccup had listed back when Yngvarr had come. At least now she had the authority to go with it.
But it still meant that she had to personally visit the tannery as they worked at curing more leather for saddles.
Remembering what Wulfhild had said about circles of authority, she pondered if she could pick someone to do that job for her…
Probably, but picking someone would be tricky; everyone was busy already. Well, she'd find someone.
At least her workload was much less than Hiccup's, with the preparations for the wedding and the dragon-training. Of course, that was good and bad. Good, because she could tease him about how frazzled he looked. Bad, because the sum total extent of their private time together since they'd gotten back had amounted to a single five- or ten-minute period that they'd managed to carve out yesterday on Washday, which had resulted in a frantic session of kissing and half-dressed lovemaking before they'd both had to leave to deal with their responsibilities.
Maybe… maybe it was for the best that they were both too busy. They had chaperons again, and while it was hard for her to walk out in front of her clanmates wearing her circlet falsely, she wasn't going to give her aunt, to name one example, the satisfaction of being able to confront Hiccup. And once this wedding for Ruffnut was over, they'd have time for themselves again.
And maybe a wedding for her, too.
Yeah…
That would be nice…
Stormfly came up to her and nuzzled at her. She laughed and said, "I'm all right, promise. Whew! It stinks in there!"
Stormfly snorted and made a noise of agreement. She hadn't been willing to come within a hundred paces of the tannery, three hundred on the downwind side.
In the distance, Astrid heard the village horn blow three times.
With a sigh, she heaved herself into the saddle. Time to go see who the visitors were.
###
Heather sighed to herself as she chopped vegetables in the kitchens, going over her plans and knowledge, such as they were.
As a new member of Berk, she was eligible to participate in the dragon training, a fact that she still disbelieved on an emotional level, despite Fishlegs' repeated reassurances.
That meant that, if she passed—something else that she wasn't certain of—she'd have a dragon. But Adalwin wanted as many dragons as she could steal for him. Meanwhile, the Broodery and Rookery were actually some of the few restricted areas on the island, as Stoick was no fool and knew where his homeland's future fortune was. She could probably manipulate Fishlegs into letting her in there, even if the thought made her a bit sick.
She paused, and started chopping at the onions with more vigor. It was time to be honest with herself. She was falling for him.
Hard.
She liked the big guy. More than liked. He was smart, and cute, and made her laugh when she was feeling depressed—a daily occurrence these days. If not for the hold Adalwin was holding over her, she'd stay here in a heartbeat and drag Fishlegs off to bed like Karolina kept joking that she should.
But betraying him instead… that seemed to be her best option to rescue her parents, or at least keep them alive.
And when it came down to it… as much as Fishlegs was becoming the sole solitary light in her existence at the moment… she wouldn't—couldn't—sacrifice her parents.
Her liking for him wasn't as strong as her love for her parents. It was as simple as that.
So now, her plan seemed equally simple. Get a dragon, twist Fishlegs into giving her access to the Rookery, and fly off with a cargo net filled with as many dragon eggs or hatchlings as she could manage, and…
…and never come back.
Yeah.
Her tears were from the onions. Of course. It was the onions' fault that she was crying.
Stupid onions.
Fishlegs came in just then, looking for her, and beamed as he saw her.
Swallowing hard, she forced herself to have some more composure and smiled back at him. The rest of the kitchen staff was smiling at the two of them, or at the very least giving them a degree of notional acceptance, although Magnhild was probably going to throw him out if he didn't leave shortly; given that they were cooking for a real live king these days, she had become somewhat more short-tempered.
He was practically hopping up and down with excitement as he walked up, but paused and took a closer, concerned look at her.
"Heather, is everything all right?"
"Yes, I'm fine. Why?"
"You're crying."
She held up the cutting board. "Onions."
"Um, all right. If you're really okay…"
She nodded, taking the opportunity to wipe away the tears, both vegetable-induced and real, from her eyes with her sleeve.
Magnhild spoke up crossly. "Fishlegs, either take her out of here or let her work, but you're in the way."
"Oh, sorry, sorry!" He looked at Heather. "I have something to show you. Can you come with me?"
Karolina gave a low laugh behind her and Heather reddened slightly. Of course, it being Fishlegs, that request was almost completely certainly both innocent and dragon-related.
And she wasn't sure if she wanted it to be.
So, instead, she just grinned at him and said, "Sure! Give me a minute to finish and I'll be right out."
Nodding, he ducked back out of the kitchens and into the main hall. She followed a few minutes later, after depositing her pile of diced onions and carrots into the appropriate bowls by the main cauldrons.
Wiping her hands down on her trousers, she walked out into the main hall to see Fishlegs sitting at one of the trestle tables, a big book in front of him.
Of course.
As she walked over with a smile, he grinned and patted the bench next to him.
"Heather, Heather, look, look! It's done!"
"Is this what you've been working on?" she asked, sitting down next to him, and her smile faded as she saw the dragon embossed on the cover, with the title of The Book of Dragons. Second Edition.
Oh no.
Forcing the smile back onto her face, she looked at him. "What is it?"
"We've been working on it all year," Fishlegs said enthusiastically. "The old book was about how to fight dragons, kill them, weaknesses, strengths, and stuff like that. This," he patted the cover and opened it, "this is our new book. I did the scribing, Hiccup did the illustrations. It's everything we've learned about every dragon we've found. How to raise them, how to tame them, what foods they like, jaw strength, armor rating, venom rating…" He pointed to an odd bit by the spine that looked like a latch or keyhole. "Hiccup even designed a new system for binding the pages together that'll let us add new pages and remove old ones as we need!"
"Wow," Heather said honestly.
Fishlegs beamed at her as he flipped open the book to show her the page on Gronckles. That was hardly a surprise. The playful Gronckle image was cute, though. It went along with the schematic drawings, identifying the various spots on the dragon from the top, bottom and sides, showing saddle placement, weak spots, blind spots, and various organs, done in Hiccup's signature lifelike style with bold lines and high realism. Taken as a whole, the artistry with which it had been done was impressive, to say the least.
Turning to the next pages revealed discussion of Gronckle feeding habits, training habits, flight abilities, strengths and weaknesses for specific jobs and duties, trivial notes and oddities, other such details, all done in Fishlegs' signature tidy script.
He had clearly spent hundreds of hours on it.
And the mounting realization that she would have to steal it from him made the bottom of her stomach drop to somewhere below her shoes.
Tell him! Tell him! He'll believe you! They'll help you! And you can't give someone like Adalwin that kind of power!
Smiling at him, she chatted with him as they perused the book, him proudly pointing out sections that he'd worked on and her reading them over. His penmanship was beautiful, and she found to her surprise that she was jealous of his skill there. Then there was the learning; more and more on dragons, facts that she hadn't known, such as the growing rate of Nadder spikes, odd observations, such as Toothless's screech sounding different depending on where one stood, and other such details. She found that all dragons had a pressure point under the jaw, just behind their eyes, that would make them slump to the ground, purring and happy.
She reflected that she was disgustingly fortunate; Fishlegs didn't seem to have realized that her literacy was unusual, even as she read along with him. She'd been taught the basics by her parents, and then Adalwin had seized that foundation and built upon it; she could read, write and speak the better part of a dozen languages and dialects now, all in the name of making her a better spy for him. She'd made at least a dozen mistakes with her literacy so far—she'd had nightmares about being found out for two weeks after Fishlegs had found her in the storage tunnels that time—but her luck had held, and he hadn't understood that a literate woman was a rare being out there in the wider world.
But Fishlegs failing to realize that she was trained wasn't that surprising, as being able to read and write here wasn't unusual. It had taken her over two weeks to realize that the entirety of the village was literate, taught from the time that they could walk.
So they read his book together, and she learned about the different breeds of dragons that lived here, information that he had painstakingly written down, and talked quietly and exclaimed with interest at the various tidbits until she had to get back to work.
At least the onions gave her reason to sniffle and weep without anyone questioning her, and she chopped at them viciously, imagining her owner's smarmy face on each one.
###
Vidkunn spoke animatedly with one of the villagers in a language that Snotlout didn't understand. After a moment, the trader turned back to Snotlout and said, "He says that the cloth and thread was made by his mother, and that he'd be happy to sell them to you for several coppers, or a silver."
Snotlout grimaced. His purse was running low on coin, and while he needed the cloth for some patching and maybe a new tunic, part of him rebelled against failing to haggle. But what did he have to haggle with?
Hookfang snorted behind him, and Snotlout reached back and gave his friend a scratch under the chin.
The villager, a young man maybe three or four years older than him, glanced at Hookfang and quivered a little before settling himself and crossing his arms.
Snotlout said to Vidkunn, "Offer him three coppers, please."
Vidkunn sighed and said something in the other language. They went back and forth a few times as Snotlout continued to scratch at Hookfang's chin. There were a couple of scales that were loose and bothering his buddy; typically, Snotlout removed them and added them to his patch bag when he could work them free. It was like wiggling a tooth, really.
One came loose, and then another, as the trader and the villager spoke back and forth. Snotlout pulled his hand free, ready to put the scales into his purse, when he suddenly looked down at his hand… and the fresh scales sitting there like coins.
A smile spread across his face, and he turned and rummaged through his saddlebags.
A minute later, as Vidkunn continued to speak with the villager, Snotlout cleared his throat.
Vidkunn turned and looked at him, a scowl on his face. "He was insulted by… oh my."
Snotlout held up the double-handful of dragon-scales—worn, small, cracked or otherwise unusable for him to patch his armor with, but still dragon-scales—and said cheerily, "See if he'll accept this."
The villager stared at the handful, eyes glittering with greed, and when Vidkunn translated the offer, he nodded and snatched the dragon-scales as if he were afraid that Snotlout would take back his offer once his common sense returned.
Snotlout smugly strode over to the bolts of cloth and spindles of thread sitting on the stump and gathered them up with a smile. Nice. Very nice. Fine linen and wool, at least enough for him to make a tunic out of, maybe even two if he was careful with the cloth.
With a smile and a polite bow, he sauntered off, back to the encampment, with Vidkunn walking next to him.
"So, Sigurd, why didn't you lead with that offer?"
"Didn't think of it," he said brightly. "But I will in the future, trust me!"
"You grossly overpaid him," Vidkunn said observationally.
"Did I? Because I had no use for those scales," Snotlout said. "And look what I got for it!" He rubbed his cheek against the soft linen. "Mmmh. This'll feel nice to wear."
Vidkunn snorted. "I have to say, lad, when you came to me with a dragon in tow, I expected nothing but trouble. But aside from Yaroslav's poaching and having to pick up replacements, for which I blame you—"
"Hey!"
"—you've been a good hand to have on this trip."
"Why do I get the blame?"
"Because they were looking to recruit you, lad, and got a fifth of my guards as by-catch. Still, I was expecting to lose a few." He shrugged. "That being said, you and your dragon have been very helpful."
Snotlout gave an amused scoff. "Does that mean I can get a refund on my passage costs?"
Vidkunn gave a scoff of his own. "No… but I will forgo a translator fee and a middleman charge for this little errand, especially if you're willing to let us dip into that pouch of useless scales for supplies for the rest of the trip."
Snotlout gave him a sidelong look. "Only if you're willing to reimburse me for the scales."
"You just said yourself that they were worthless to you, lad. But I'll tell the others how generous you're being with your funds—and neglect to mention how little those scales are worth to you." He leaned over. "I've noticed your attempts to get their goodwill. Generosity is the mark of a good leader." He waggled his big dark eyebrows. "What do you say?"
Snotlout nodded slowly. "When you put it that way…"
###
The horse thundered along the dirt of the forest path at a near-gallop, and Mac Bethad gave an exuberant cheer as the dogs flushed the hart out into the open. It was a magnificent animal, with at least twenty points on its antlers.
The chase ensued, with the dogs barking and loping after the hart, and Mac Bethad's hunting party in pursuit through the underbrush of the forest. Finally, the exhausted hart turned and tried to defend itself with its antlers. The huntmaster blew his horn and the dogs were pulled back from ripping the hart to pieces.
The hart was breathing hard, and braced itself as Mac Bethad, atop his horse, closed in. A swipe of his sword finished the hart.
Mac Bethad wheeled his horse around, to see the assembled hunting party applauding.
"A solid blow, milord!"
"No yeoman hacking needed!"
"A noble creature for a noble lord!"
"Our lord wields the sword as a poet wields his quill!"
The dog handlers gave a polite salute, as their well trained charges sat on their haunches, their tails wagging, awaiting the curèe with anticipation.
More of the hunting party assembled in the forest clearing, as the huntmaster saw to the unmaking and curèe. His courtiers and vassals who had come with him on this autumn hunt gathered round the carcass to discuss the hart and its flight through the forest with enthusiasm.
"I spotted boar sign as we chased the hart," his vassal Conall Keith said, hefting his spear. "I say that we hunt boar on the morrow!"
Mac Bethad's step-son, Lulach, chimed in. "Oh, yes! Boar! The hart is a noble creature, like Christ in his suffering, yes, but boar! Boar is a manly hunt!"
The huntmaster smiled at Lulach's ardor, but before he could say anything, more hoofbeats sounded.
The assembled hunting party glanced around in confusion. Everyone was here—they were in the middle of a hunting expedition into the forest that had so far lasted several days, and would continue until at least the end of the week.
Then, emerging from the undergrowth, Taskill came riding in on a lathered horse, looking wild-eyed himself. "Milord! Urgent news!"
Mac Bethad glared at his spymaster, his happy glow from the hunt fading. "Can it wait?"
"No, sire!" Taskill said fervently.
Mac Bethad sighed. He trusted the man and his judgment. And this was vastly out of character for the normally reflexively cautious man. After a moment's further consideration, he said, "Dismount and give your horse over to the huntmaster and the grooms. You've abused him terribly. We shall go for a walk."
"Thank you, sire!"
Mac Bethad and Taskill walked a short ways away from the gathered hunters.
"What is it, Taskill? And why couldn't it wait until I returned from my hunting?"
"Milord… Alan, Gregor and Iain returned from Berk this morning. King Magnus is there. Right now."
The statement was so unexpected that it took a moment for Mac Bethad to fully understand what he'd been told. Then it hit.
"WHAT?"'
"Milord… Mac Bethad," Taskill said familiarly. He only grew so informal during the worst moments, when he himself needed the reassurance—such as when he had come with the news that Mac Bethad's own cousin was invading him. "It seems that Hiccup Haddock's skills at peacemongering extend beyond ending a three-hundred-year conflict with dragons. He went to Magnus to open relations… and instead returned home with the boy-king betrothed to one of his own boon companions—the girl, Ruffnut, the one that rides the two-headed dragon with her twin. And Magnus and members of his court will be gaining dragons of their own." He kicked at a stone in the soft forest loam, sending it rolling down the hillside. "This Di-haoine, he'll wed the lass."
Mac Bethad paled. This was nearly the worst case that they had imagined, and one of the only ways that they could make it worse would be to drag Harthacnut into their alliance. That would surround and engulf his kingdom.
As it was…
This could spell the end of his independence as a high lord.
Taking a deep breath, he tried to calm himself. Hasty thought would result in poor actions. "What other news did they bring?" At Taskill's incredulous look, he said, "You've made the right decision that I would want to know about this now, instead of at the end of my hunt. But we had other ongoing stratagems on Berk." He chewed on his lip in thought. "Actually, Alan and the others were not supposed to be back until next week. I take it that they left early?"
Taskill nodded. "Aye. And given the urgency of the news that they brought, I can't fault them for it. Also, they sold out all of their goods with the coming of Magnus's court and the sudden demand."
"That's good, at least. Their cover is not threatened. So… what of the old man, Mildew? Where do we stand with him? Or did he not make contact with them in the time that they were there?"
Taskill calmed himself, taking a deep breath and a preparatory nod. The news had rattled him terribly, but now that Mac Bethad was taking charge, his spymaster was regaining control of himself.
"Aye, milord, he made contact with them. According to Alan, he says that he will be able to smuggle out at least eight eggs or hatchlings for us in the next two months or so, one at a time through trader runs. He did say that obtaining them was his concern, and that our job was to ensure that they could be smuggled clear without risk of discovery. Once he's done, he will be coming along, and expects his payment of titles as soon as he arrives, but he also said that he is willing to raise and train the dragons for us." He took another deep breath. "He also explicitly warned Alan and Gregor that any attempt to dispose of him will result in messages being dispatched to Stoick giving our efforts in detail."
Mac Bethad scowled. "And what if a sudden fit or an apoplexy carries him off?"
"I imagine that he believes that to be both our problem and an incentive for us to keep him in mind in our prayers, milord," Taskill said dryly.
Mac Bethad grimaced. While he hadn't planned on betraying the old man as a traitor deserves, the fact that he was canny enough to include at least basic precautions was, perhaps, both a good and bad sign.
"That is acceptable," he said. "It may not be enough to stave off disaster, but, perhaps, we can prepare for the future."
"Aye, milord."
"Does Harthacnut know about Magnus's presence?"
"I can't say, milord."
"Well, then," he sat and steepled his fingers. "As good neighbors, I feel that it is our duty to let Harthacnut know that the tribe that burned one of his greatest forts to the ground is allying with his greatest rival. Given his issues with the tax men at Worcester and his betrayal of Earl Eadwulf, I imagine that he's none too rational right now." He smiled. "It shouldn't be that difficult to point him at Magnus and the dragons and let them batter each other to pieces. Aim one oathbreaker at one that he will see as oathbreaking, and let nature take its course."
Taskill grinned. "Aye, milord. I'll see to it."
"It's probably our only chance now. The Hooligans have completely destroyed the balance of power here. Now that they're taking sides with Magnus, they can only be our enemies." He scowled. "So let us point our other enemies at them."