Chapter 53: Blades Cut Both Ways
Trigger Warning: Medically sensitive subjects, discussion of abortion, abortion practices, pregnancy death risk
Starting from the 1040s AD, the economic effects of dragons upon human society can only be described as transformative, to the point where the time period between 1040 and 1400 is described as the Dragon Era, in line with the Stone, Agricultural, Bronze, Iron, Steam, Industrial, Fission, Information, Space, Genetic, Nanotech, and Fusion Eras. While most popular depictions of history focus more on the visually impressive aspects of aerial combat and the uses of dragons in warfare, such fixation overlooks the majority of the actual effects of dragons on human society. Dragons revolutionized transport and communications within a decade, and the adoption of a dragon-scale currency neatly toppled the feudal systems of Europa that had dominated the region for centuries within sixty years. Even in modern times, each class and breed of dragon is economically useful in some manner: Boulder-classes carve out both the terraurban spaces of modern cities and the subterranean arteries that tie the cities together, and smelt the steel that form the bones of the arcologies and skyscrapers. Stoker-classes produce hydrocarbons in a variety of useful forms. Many dragon venoms, especially those of Sharp-class breeds, can be processed into pharmaceuticals…
—The Dragon Millennium, Manna-hata University Press, Ltd.
March, AD 1042
The Vatican, Rome, Papal States, Italia
Viggo looked around the room as the various priests took their seats and the first witness was led into the small chamber for his questioning. As the witness passed in front of him, Viggo sniffed and gave a small sigh of relief; thankfully, the fellow had been allowed to bathe, as well as rest from his travels, before being brought in.
The witnesses—a party of eight men—had all arrived yesterday, having made good time in their winter travels, but had been understandably exhausted and road-worn. Viggo had argued to let them rest and recuperate before today's questioning; despite what some of the more inquisitional members of the priesthood might think, an exhausted and temperamentally stressed witness was not a good recipe for accurate testimony. Damning and self-incriminating testimony, yes, but finding out details? Not so much. He needed better information than what he had to be able to make a solid basis of analysis.
And it didn't help that the courier had known very little when Viggo had questioned him. He'd been eager and enthusiastic—Viggo had never had such a cooperative and honestly keen person to question before!—but he'd been dispatched within a few days of Harthacnut's return, and hadn't picked up much. Mostly rumor and hearsay, some of it very wild. For example, Viggo rather doubted that the riders had forced Harthacnut to sign a treaty in his own blood—if for no other reason, because that was the sort of lurid detail that would have definitely made it into the dispatches.
At least now he was involved in this set of questioning directly, rather than being dependent on the reports of others. Very directly, in fact. As part of his position as the official investigator into the whole matter, Cardinalis Giovanni had made a virtue out of a necessity and given Viggo the task of acting as the translator for the questioning, as he fluently spoke Latin, Norman, Norse, and Anglo-Saxon. Viggo had accepted the job with a will, and arranged to have one of his cousins from his Hunter team assigned to take notes.
Their first witness was the senior armsman from Harthacnut's retinue that had accompanied him—seniormost survivor, at least, as most of the Thingmen had been wiped out, with barely more than a tithe of their number having been captured. One of the Norsemen from the king's personal army, he was an imposing, well-built man who reminded Viggo of his own brother, scarred and hairless, although that looked to be due to burn scars on his scalp. That being said, the similarity was only skin-deep; the fellow was staring at the number of senior priests in the room, seemingly awestruck, which was a marked contrast from how Ryker would behave.
Viggo sighed and paid close attention to the man's body language as his cousin made notes and Cardinalis Franco walked over.
"State your name for the record," Franco said, which Viggo repeated in accented Anglo-Saxon.
"My name? Anton Einarsson. I am… was… am a member of the King Harthacnut's Thingmen, oathsworn to him, and his brother and father before him these fourteen years."
Viggo translated for the room, and hearing his own name in the midst of the Latin seemed to help Anton steady himself.
Franco continued. "Very good. What were your duties to the King in your service as one of the Thingmen?"
"We was his personal oathsworn guard and army. We protected the land against raiders, fought as our king ordered us… we were an army at his order."
"We are familiar with the Thingmen. What were your duties?"
Viggo sighed slightly to himself. Treating the witness with that sort of aggression was not an effective way to get quality information out of him. Still, he translated the question.
"I was a simple thane, milord priest." Viggo corrected it to the proper 'Your Eminence' as he made the translation. "I fought, I guarded, I executed my lord's instructions…" He shrugged, confused. "There's not much to tell beyond that."
"I see. Now, can you please describe the events that led up to your king's fleet being in the waters off of western Alba on the night of October the sixteenth, in the year of Our Lord ten-forty-one?"
Viggo translated, and made a quick addition of the proper honorific, which the fellow nodded at.
"Uh, yes, Eminence. We set sail from London on September—"
Franco made a chopping motion when the word September came out; he apparently had at least some knowledge of the English tongue to understand the context. Interesting. "No, before that. Why did your king assemble his forces in autumn to fight against these pagans?"
"Well, uh, Eminence, back in early spring, the pagans came down on dragonback and burned and looted Brycgstow, one of the burh on the west coast of England. About twenty or so, by what I heard. Took them an hour to raze the place, killed half of the garrison. A hundred men and horses, gone like that." He snapped his fingers. "So my lord king started buildin' up the Thingmen to be able to repulse them. The peasants didn't like it, and we had to raze Worcester when they killed two of his taxmen over it. Then the king heard that the oathbreaker, Magnus the Bastard, was allyin' with the dragon-riding heathens. I don't know how much you know about my king and Magnus—"
"Enlighten us, please."
"Well, um, Magnus is the son of old king Olaf of Norway. Bastard born on his concubine. Summer before last, milord and he met to discuss things; rather than go to war, they agreed whichever of them died first, the other got his crowns. But… well, milord king is not well, and he has no wife or sons, and Magnus is younger and healthier. And he went to ally with the dragon-riders. Married one, actually, from what I heard when I was a captive."
"Get to that in a moment. So, your king thought that Magnus of Norway would ally with the dragon riders and invade?"
"Aye. I mean, they already had! Brycgstow was one of our greatest burhs, and they cracked it in a mornin'! With time for an early luncheon! And Magnus's raiders were always a threat against the English shores. Danegeld only managed so much. The two of them together…" he shrugged helplessly, and Viggo considered. Yes, that would be the sort of threat worth mobilizing against.
"So your king believed that there was an imminent threat to the realm?"
"Aye, Eminence. And given what happened… I can't say that I disagree at all."
"And what did happen?"
"Well, we was on our way to the dragon riders' village to raze it. We had a fleet of seven score and six ships, and fifty or so men per hull."
Viggo, having already read as much from the dispatches, still felt his eyebrows rise at the confirmation—and the additional information of the number of men per ship. That was a substantial force. Others in the room were murmuring in shock as he translated.
"And your king had raised this force specifically to destroy the dragon rider village?"
"Aye, Eminence."
"Why?"
"Before they could give the dragons to Magnus's raiders! We heard that he and his army would be given dragons in exchange for alliance."
"Heard from who? This source of your king's seems to be quite well informed."
"I don't know, Eminence," the Thingman shrugged helplessly. "Not my place to ask such questions."
"Well, that's true enough. Continue. Why did your king assemble such a force? Such a large force seems to be perhaps excessive for dealing with a simple village of raiders."
"Well, Eminence, given what happened, I'd say it wasn't big enough." The Thingman shrugged apologetically. "Sorry, but it be the truth. We was hoping that enough of us would get through to be able to raze their village and keep the scourge from spreading unchecked. We knew we'd be taking losses against the dragons, but the King said that it was a risk worth taking, and we all agreed with him—especially when we stopped in Brycgstow to see the damage on the way."
"I see. And what did Brycgstow look like?"
"As if the pits of Hell Itself had opened on the earth," the Thingman said, and Viggo could envision the scene well enough as the man described stone walls burned and melted, holes bored through the ground, and the grass blasted to ashes. He translated it all, keeping as close to word for word as he could manage.
The room was silent in the aftermath of the description, except for the scratching of his cousin's quill, and Franco coughed and continued.
"Noted. Now, what happened when the dragons attacked the fleet?"
"Well, we was spotted by two of theirs in late afternoon. One dragon got in close to attack us and we shot it down. The other ran for it and brought back a horde. Call it a hundred dragons? They tried to attack, but we fought them off. Killed a dozen or so."
"How did you do that?"
Viggo, already knowing the answer, leaned in, curious to study the man's body language.
"We had every man but the oarsmen armed with bows and crossbows. Even if they were poor shots, they were to just shoot in the general direction of the dragons and try to fill the air with arrows. It's the best tactic for takin' down regular dragons, and it worked!… at first."
"What happened next?"
"Well, they ran off and the sun went down, and we kept sailin' through the night to attack at dawn… and then, just past the middle watches, all Hell broke loose upon us." He looked up helplessly at the room full of priests and said, "We heard the screams of the damned across the waters, and our ships kept explodin' and they were droppin' rocks on us from a thousand feet in the air and they were settin' our ships on fire and I burned when my ship got hit by one of those hellblasts and had to jump into the sea… and then one of them, the big black one, the one ridden by the chief devil-worshiper himself, the tribe's heir, came and plucked me from the water for my ransom."
Viggo raised an eyebrow. Well well. That part hadn't made it into the dispatches…
"I got dropped off on their island and tossed into a cell with the king. Well, I wouldn't call it a cell. They had dragon tunnels that they boarded up and made into dungeons. But we were fed and given wash-water and parchments for letters and the like. I met some of the riders when they was guarding the cells. They seemed to be decent folk, aside from the devil worshipin', but they was still vikings, and they was still in league with the beasts." He shook his head. "Like the priest said, evil that looks evil is easy to spot. Harder to see the ones that look normal."
Franco nodded. "Indeed. Now, earlier you mentioned that you heard things when you were a prisoner of the dragon riders. What did you hear?"
"Uh… a bunch of things."
"Such as? You were referring to Magnus before."
"Oh. Right. Uh, he married one of the dragon riders and was given one of the hell-beasts in exchange. Calls it Brand. Big yellow dragon, likes to set itself on fire."
"There are women dragon-riders?"
"Yeah. Uh…" he thought for a moment. "Magnus's wife is a girl from the village, sixteen I think, blond, a little plain and thin for my tastes. I did see her. Hair was pretty, and long. Not much in the way of meat on her bones, though, but the king seemed pleased enough. Rides a two-headed dragon with her twin brother, one on each head. Name…" he cocked his head. "Ruff? Buff? Oh, wait, Ruffnut. Apparently she caught on their weddin' night or somethin'. Or maybe earlier." He smirked and Viggo resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "Milord king was not happy to hear it, in the cells. He was even less happy with what the dragon rider hero did with his ransom."
"What did this…" Franco consulted his notes, for show, Viggo was certain, "Hiccup Horrendous Haddock the Third do with the ransom? One hundred thousand pounds silver, yes?"
The Thingman gave the cardinalis a sardonic look that was quite out of place given the circumstances, in Viggo's opinion. Such an expression was more suited for telling tales around a table in a bar.
"He gave it all as a bride price for his wife."
Viggo choked—as did Franco.
Cardinalis Giovanni asked, his tone curious, "What did he say?"
Viggo got control of himself and translated.
The room went silent again, a reaction with which he sympathized. The man couldn't be serious.
"Repeat that? I do not believe we took your meaning. He used part of it to pay for his bride price?"
"Nay, milord. He gave her parents the whole thing."
"You swore an oath, Thingman, to tell the truth."
"And I am! They was all abuzz about it! Like somethin' out of one of the old sagas! He gave her parents the whole ransom as a bride price, and the Eire city they conquered too!"
"Which city?"
"Vedrarfjord! They conquered it while they was waitin' on milord Edward's reply! Took them a whole afternoon! And the Hero and his daddy gave it to his girl's parents! I was there in the room when he proposed! A hundred thousand pounds silver and a city! All for the girl that he loved! The two of them went off to bed that night singing!"
Viggo had to bite down on a laugh as he translated that last bit. Oh dear. Oh dear indeed. The boy was a romantic sentimentalist. Oh, he was going to be such fun to play with. Oh yes. Grand gestures of love… that was exactly the sort of mushy-headed nonsense that Viggo expected at this point. Most excellent.
He pondered for a moment while Cardinalis Franco did his best to restore order in the room.
"Who is this woman that is worth such a price? A queen with an army at her beck and call?"
The witness shook his head. "Nay, milord. His woman from the village."
They all looked at him as if he was insane. "His woman from the village. And he just… not a couple of cows or something more typical, but a king's ransom?"
Viggo translated, but before Anton could say anything, he made a noise in thought.
Franco looked at him with a degree of irritation. "Do you have something to add, Brother Grimborn?"
"Yes, Your Eminence, I do," Viggo said in Latin. "I think that thinking of this Hiccup as just another pagan warlord is a mistake. He isn't. Don't look at this as the actions of a battle-hardened raider or bandit king with an eye for loot and power." He grinned humorlessly. "Picture it instead from the perspective of a romantic-minded young boy who suddenly inherits a kingdom. Grand gestures, romantic and otherwise, all over the place in the place of pragmatic sense. That's what we're seeing here." He shrugged as the room murmured, mostly in tones of agreement. "He wanted to show the world how much the girl is worth to him. Likely as soon as the blush of adoration wears off, he'll realize his own insanity, but look at what we already know—this is someone with a taste for the dramatic, writing his saga as he goes. Which do you think would have the greater impact? Purchasing his beloved with a 'traditional' brace of cattle? Or the sort of grand gesture that will literally send tongues to wag all the way to Rome?"
Franco's expression was flat, but after a moment he nodded. "Your point is taken and accepted, Brother Grimborn. But please hold such comments until after we're done with the questioning of the witness and we do not need your services as translator."
"Of course, Your Eminence."
Franco turned back to Anton, and asked, "What is the woman's name?"
"Astrid, I believe. She's another one of the riders. I met her, but only a little bit, and it was mostly her holding an ax to me throat to make sure I behaved. I saw her at the proposal, but I wasn't exactly able to do much."
"Describe her."
"Tall for a woman." He motioned to above his eyes. "Blond, very Norse in look. Slim."
Viggo made a mental note to not make assumptions about anyone's identities when he arrived in the Norsemen's territory. With descriptions like these…
"And this Hiccup? Can you describe him as well?"
The Thingman looked surly for a moment and then sighed. "I honestly feel embarrassed. He's a thin weed of a boy. Tall, yeah, taller than me, but I could break him in two like a bundle of twigs. Uh, red-brown hair, needs a haircut, beardless," Viggo could hear the disdain dripping in that description and had to hold back a chuckle, "green eyes, and he's missin' his left foot."
"So that is confirmed? He's a cripple?"
"Yes… and no, milord. He supposedly made himself his own peg, and can walk on it with the same ease as a normal man would on his own flesh and blood. It's all steel and wood and springs, and there was none of that," he waved side to side drunkenly, "like you would from a normal man who had lost his limb. And their steward was such a man, too. I'd say it was demonic pact, but what he traded for, I don't know. But it was unsettlin' to watch a man with half a leg walk as well as a normal man. It's not right."
"And how did you meet him?"
"Well, he came down to the king to talk with him every so often, and he brought medicines and salves for those of us with burns. I didn't dare attack him for his heathen ways, because his demon and his woman was there as his guards. Would've accomplished nothin'."
The priest nodded. "Yes. Anything else? Perhaps about this chieftain father?"
"Only met him in passin', and saw him at the betrothal. Proper Viking. Giant of a man. I didn't even come up to his shoulders. If I broke his son in two, he'd break me into three, I felt. Uh, red hair, big proper beard, wore a helmet with dragon horns. Aside from the hair colour, couldn't see any resemblance between him and his son."
More scratching from the stenographer, and the priest nodded. "Thank you. You are dismissed. If we have further questions, we will call you back in."
"Thank you, milord. Glad I could be of service."
As the Thingman left, Viggo thought to himself. Interesting. Oh so very interesting.
So the boy liked to make big dramatic gestures, hmm? Well, Viggo could use that. And, he was certain, looking at the worried priests, that they'd let him. Sooner or later, they would let him.
And Viggo was looking forward to it. This would be the greatest challenge he'd ever faced, and it would be glorious.
###
Saint-Brieuc, Duchy of Brittany, Francia
Inga, tired, cold and hungry, tapped Dogsbreath on the shoulder and pointed. "There," she said, indicating a small town on the coast. Behind them lay the vast expanse of the sea between the Isles and Francia.
The time since they'd fled had been miserable. Cold, wet, rainy and foggy, always hungry; their initial provisions had only lasted a few days—not helped by the fact that Redsnout needed a lot of fish to eat. They'd stolen food at first, but then, realizing that they'd be leaving a trail of angry fishing villages behind them that would alert Berk, they'd resorted to paying out of Rolf's coffer.
And today they'd risked flying across the narrow sea between the Isles and Francia. Two small islands lay behind them, but when they'd approached a short while ago, shouting villagers armed with bows had aimed at them and they'd veered off.
Hopefully this place would have someone willing to talk and trade…
They were noticed as they flew in, and people started to scurry about. Inga fancied she could hear them shouting from way up here.
They landed on the outskirts, near the shore, tensed and ready to take flight again in an instant. They watched cautiously as a dozen men carrying bows, axes and spears approached warily.
Dogsbreath was nearly panting with fear, and Inga wasn't doing much better, as the villagers stopped a few dozen paces away and stared them down, their weapons brandished intimidatingly. They continued to stare, for how long, Inga didn't know, until one man with an ax stepped forward and bellowed in heavily accented Norse, "Go away! We have no booty for you to loot!"
Inga, trying desperately to calm herself with deep breaths, cupped her hands and said, "We're not here for booty! We need supplies and directions and we won't cause you any more trouble than that!"
The man looked unconvinced, his eyes narrowed, and turned and spoke in whatever the local tongue was to his companions. Even if the roar of the surf hadn't drowned him out, Inga was sure that she wouldn't have been able to understand a single word, especially at this distance.
Finally, the man bellowed back, "And do you expect those supplies as tribute!?"
She shook her head. "We have coin! We can pay! Please… we mean you no harm!"
The man scowled. "Show us the coin, and swear on your gods that you mean us no harm!"
Moving cautiously, her heart pounding so hard she could feel her pulse in her throat, Inga took the small purse from her belt and shook out a few coins into her hand. Holding them up, she called out, "I swear, by Frigga, Freyja and Sif, we mean you no harm!"
The men looked at the coins and, with one of them keeping an eye on her, Dogsbreath and Redsnout, they conferred. She couldn't hear the particulars, but there was no question that the argument was intense, just from the intensity of their gestures and the raised voices carried on the wind, broken by the waves.
Finally, the man with the ax said, "You can come with us. We offer you hospitality in exchange for your coin."
Inga nodded and carefully slid down out of the saddle, followed cautiously by Dogsbreath. A short while later, they were being escorted into the village. The ax-wielder—named Christophe—was standing close by them, his ax slung over his shoulder as the people watched them warily.
Suddenly, he asked, "Are you from the Dragon Rider tribe?"
Dogsbreath answered, "She isn't, I am."
"I see. And what are you doing so far from home?"
Inga shared a glance with Dogsbreath, but he answered, "We're going to the Roman Empire to see my cousin, who has gone there."
Inga relaxed a bit as he didn't mention the actual reason that they'd left.
"The Roman Empire?" Christophe glanced at Redsnout, and seemed to consider. "Well. I suppose that you could. I've heard that it is very far off, though. I had a cousin make pilgrimage to Jerusalem once, and it took him months of walking."
Dogsbreath nodded as if he understood whatever it was Christophe meant. "But we can fly. Do you know the way?"
"I do not. Come, let us get you settled in."
He took their coin, and an hour later, they were in a small barn; it stank a bit, but it was reasonably warm and dry, and that was good enough for Inga. With warm food in their bellies, they spread their furs on the hay and collapsed into sleep.
###
Saint Olaf's Hospital, Nidaros, Norway
Ruffnut was working in the apothecary, crushing herbs for medicines, when Svanhildr burst in. The senior midwife looked focused on something, yet also terrified. She started searching through the shelves of jars, muttering urgently to herself without even a word to Ruffnut. That was weird. Svanhildr was unfailingly polite and courteous to her.
So she asked, "What's wrong?"
Svanhildr turned towards her, and said flatly, "Do we have any pennyroyal prepared? Am I just not seeing it on the shelves?"
Ruffnut felt the blood drain from her face. There was only one reason why the senior midwife would be asking for that.
And she shook her head. "We don't."
"Damn it to Hell!" Svanhildr growled, and slammed her fist against the side of the shelves, making the jars inside rattle.
Moving carefully, Ruffnut rose from her seat. "What… who?" She knew what. And that was the problem…
"Alfhildr Knutrsdoittor. It's her third babe. It placed wrong in the womb. And she's dying because of it." She looked Ruffnut dead in the eye. "Her only hope is pennyroyal."
Ruffnut inhaled as sharply as she could with her own baby inside of herself moving about and pressing on her lungs as two thoughts warred inside of her. Her own solemn oath… or the life of someone else.
But she'd sworn not to speak of it to anyone who 'is not a healer without the approval of the elder healers.' Svanhildr was a healer… and Ruffnut was arguably the eldermost Hooligan healer in the city. She was also the only one, but that was splitting hairs.
At the same time… while this was hardly the first sudden life-or-death decision that she'd been faced with since starting her hospital—such things tended to come with the territory, after all—it was the first one that ran up against her own oaths.
The thoughts warred inside her head, and she swallowed hard against a lump of anxiety in her throat.
She was here to heal… and to save lives. It was one thing to slit Rasmus' throat when he was trying to kill her brother. She'd done that without a qualm in order to save Tuff's life—and probably her own, given how he'd been berserking. It was another to withhold medicine that would save a life simply because.
Biting her lip, she seized on the rationale that she was the Hooligan healer on the spot, and if Nanna, Gothi and the others were upset with her later, then that was their fault for not realizing that this might happen and giving her instructions or guidance.
This was her job.
So she shook her head. "No… it isn't. But—"
"What do you mean, it isn't?!" Svanhildr marched up to her and grasped her arms, almost like she was going to start shaking Ruffnut. "What do you know about herb-lore that I don't!?"
There was a pause as Ruffnut swallowed, directed a mental apology to her teachers, and braced herself.
"Because it isn't an herb…" Ruffnut finally breathed out quietly. "It's a secret." A secret that had been ferreted out by the healers and herbalists of Berk during the Dragon War, when they had noticed the pattern behind the tribe's lowered birth rate, and held in close confidence among themselves ever since. Ruffnut had been told only two years ago, despite having been training since the age of ten.
Svanhildr stared Ruffnut dead in the eye from a hand's-length away. "If you don't share that secret, Alfhildr's death is on your hands. Or…" a horrified look grew on the midwife's face. "Oh gods, you don't have it here, do you? It's back on Berk, isn't it?"
Ruffnut shook her head. "No… it's here. I, um…" She pulled Svanhildr's hands from her arms. "I will go and get it."
"You will? Just like that?"
Ruffnut took a deep steeling breath and nodded.
"I'll come with you then." Svanhildr glanced at Ruffnut's swelling belly. "I can't ask that you risk your own babe from whatever it is." She scowled. "God knows I wouldn't ask you to prepare pennyroyal right now either."
Ruffnut shook her head. "No, unless you're willing to be sworn to secrecy—"
"Lass, I've been holding sworn secrets of herb-lore since before your mother was born. I swear that I'll hold whatever the dire secret is to myself until they lower me into the ground. But I need to know, in order to save a life."
Ruffnut nodded, a rueful smile on her face. It would have to do. But, oh, the healers back on Berk were going to be furious with her, and once the thaw arrived, Ruffnut was going to have to get Svanhildr over there as soon as possible for a long talk with the other healers. "Follow me." She grabbed a pair of heavy leather gloves from one of the benches; normally, she used them to protect her hands when holding toxic plants, especially ones with spines.
They left the hospital and made their way to the fort—and to the stables where the dragons stayed. Barf and Belch were ecstatic to see her, and she took a moment to pat her dragon on the heads as Svanhildr looked on in awe at the dragons.
Nearby, the dragon she had come to see was here and not out working somewhere. Swift, her brother's hot-tempered dragon, was snoozing in the corner of the stables on a bed of warmed rocks. She swallowed nervously; the Nadder wasn't exactly a morning person. But she had no choice. First, though, she went and got some fish from the nearby smoker as a bribe.
Then, moving cautiously and gently, she patted Swift on the nose.
Swift's eyes popped open with a startling suddenness and he growled in irritation. She immediately and wordlessly offered him the fish, which disappeared down his gullet nearly instantly, and he calmed a bit.
Then she leaned in and whispered, "I'm sorry I woke you… but I need one tail quill. One with venom. Please don't throw it."
Swift considered that for a moment, and twitched his tail; a single quill the length of Ruffnut's hand stood up.
She handed Svanhildr the gloves, and nodded towards the spike.
Svanhildr, staring at the dragon, gingerly walked over while putting on the gloves. Almost convulsively, she snatched the quill off of the tail and then held it like it was a red-hot coal.
"Thanks, Swift," Ruffnut said. "Go back to your nap now."
Swift grumbled, stepped around in a circle and curled back up to sleep.
She and Svanhildr left, Svanhildr holding the quill as if she was afraid that it might bite her. "This…? This is…" She glanced around to see if there was anyone in earshot. "This is an abortifacient?"
"The venom is," Ruffnut said quietly. "And I only know that it works. I don't know what the dose is or anything else. I was just warned when I started my women's courses during the war that Nadder quills could make me miscarry if I was wounded by them."
"How…?"
"A scratch, enough to get the venom in," Ruffnut said tonelessly, watching the quill as if it were a snake ready to strike. "Not all of them have venom… I think. And it's still venom—enough will make you sick or kill you if you get too much of it. But…"
"I understand." Svanhildr sighed.
They walked perhaps another ten or twenty strides before Svanhildr asked another question. "Do the men of your tribe know?"
"No… and we keep it that way. Most of the women don't even know."
Svanhildr nodded. "I see. Thank you. Wait. Doesn't… doesn't the Hero's wife ride a Nadder?"
Ruffnut nodded, her face in a pained half-grin with no humor in it. "Yeah. She does. And she doesn't know." Or if she did, Ruffnut hadn't been told that Astrid knew. But it wasn't as if Stormfly would hurt Astrid with a quill. Since Hiccup had killed the Green Death, nobody in the tribe had gotten so much as scratched—which was the rationale that the elder healers used when they'd insisted on keeping the secret.
They returned the rest of the way to the hospital in silence. Ruffnut followed Svanhildr to the ward where Alfhildr lay dying from her pregnancy; she was feverish and barely conscious. Her husband was there, looking distraught, wetting a cloth to put on her forehead from a soapstone pitcher. He looked up as they entered.
"Oh, thank God you're back! You were gone for so long—"
"There's a hope, don't worry," Svanhildr said.
"Oh, God, thank you! Will she be okay? I know that you said there was no chance for the babe, but can you save my wife?"
Svanhildr nodded. "But you have to leave now, just for the moment."
"Why?"
"Please, trust us," she said to the distraught man. It took more convincing, but he eventually left and returned to the main room.
Svanhildr held the quill up to her eye, examining the sharp tip. With a gentle sigh, she looked up, breathed a prayer, and scratched Alfhildr's arm, right at the big vein in the crook of the elbow. Blood welled up, and the venom sacs in the quill shrank. Quickly, Svanhildr pulled it back, and set it aside. "We'll see if that did it or not. Do you know how quickly it works?" she asked as she bandaged the wound.
Ruffnut gave a small, pained shake of her head. "Hours? A day at most?"
Svanhildr took a deep sigh and nodded. "Then we wait. I suppose, then, this is the perfect time to instruct you on what can go wrong in a pregnancy…"
Ruffnut gulped, but nodded, and bowed her head as Svanhildr began to discuss symptoms and treatments—what the problems could be, and what treatments to use.
Hours later, they walked into the main room, where Alfhildr's husband—Ruffnut still didn't know his name—sat waiting anxiously.
He saw them and ran over.
Svanhildr nodded and smiled. "She'll live. She'll be weak, and needs to stay under our care… but she'll live."
The man began to weep and, uncaring of rank or protocol, embraced them both before Svanhildr gave him leave to go to his wife.
As he left to find her, Svanhildr turned to Ruffnut. Speaking quietly, she asked, "Are there any other dragon-derived medicines that I should be aware of?"
Ruffnut nodded. "Yes, there are… but I've given oaths for those as well."
Svanhildr scowled. "All right. But I'm expecting to be told someday."
Ruffnut winced and nodded again, anticipating the storm of shouting and yelling that had suddenly appeared on her horizon. "When the thaw arrives, I'll send a letter to Berk first thing." And there were quite a few dragons whose venoms were medically useful, ranging from the Scauldron's, which, when diluted properly, was an essential treatment for people whose hearts beat irregularly, to the three different varieties of Triple Stryke stingers, each with their own uses, to the numbing and pain-relieving effects of the Snaptrapper's.
Gothi had a separate Book of Dragons, listing the medical uses of the various dragons, and, as far as Ruffnut knew, Hiccup and Fishlegs had no idea of its existence…
###
The Vatican, Rome, Papal States, Italia
Viggo looked over his notes from the witnesses and frowned slightly. It looked to him as if there were only a few major pagans of consequence in this whole affair. However, that conclusion was based entirely on inference and supposition, and Viggo knew better than to rely on that, as did the Church. Which was why he was being sent out to gather further information in the first place.
However, being able to collate and organize what he could point at with some degree of firmness was still a significant advantage. He would have to be careful to avoid filling in holes with less firmly supported extensions of his existing extrapolations, however. That way led to the rejection of evidence in favor of conviction, and he'd just as soon leave that to the priests.
Instead, he was formulating those holes as specific questions that he would seek out answers for, denying himself the closure of having an easy but incorrect answer.
It was taking some doing, especially solo, but he simply did not trust the priests to be able to maintain any degree of dispassion in this so as to be able to operate as a sufficiently detached sounding board—and, even more to the point, he simply did not trust them to avoid the temptation of trying to spy on him.
Ah, well, skill demanded certain sacrifices.
As he dipped his quill in the inkwell once more, he pondered his current line of inquiry. He was fairly certain, admittedly completely based on inference and deduction, that the weapon used to set at least twenty ships aflame was not actually dragon-fire. Or, at least, not technically.
The Romans used Greek Fire in sealed pots as siege weapons and as man-portable throwing weapons, and Viggo had, on one occasion, 'enjoyed' the experience of being in a fortress under siege by such weapons. It seemed likely that Hiccup or the others in his tribe had hit upon the same concept and had simply filled earthenware vessels with one of the varieties of liquid dragon-fire, sealed them, and dropped them from above. It was, admittedly, a guess, and one that he had still not shared with the priests, but it held up well under analysis. All it would take was a small amount of a flammable liquid hitting a candle or lantern aboard ship and the entire vessel would shortly be in flame, turpentine and wood being the fuel that they were. Of course, that didn't quite match the reports, so one of his questions was to determine how they were igniting on impact. He expected the answer to be a simple point of "dragonfire that ignites upon touching air," but refused to commit that to parchment.
Humming to himself, he kept collating his notes as the afternoon passed and cold rain tapped against the roof.
###
Mead Hall, Isle of Berk, Alban Hebrides
Wulfhild tried to keep her scowl to herself as Spitelout argued intently with Hiccup over dinner.
"Look, I can see why you're wanting to just give every person under our domain a dragon," the marshal said. "You're seeing so much untapped potential there and you're the kind of person who can't resist that!"
"Uncle Spite," Hiccup said tightly, "It's not just that. We need the additional riders!"
"I agree! But we need to be more careful about who we give them to! And not just for our sake, but for the sake of the dragons!" Spitelout said intently.
Hiccup quirked an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"
Spitelout reached out and clasped Hiccup on the shoulder. "Hiccup. Lad. You're a trusting, welcoming fellow. And it's changed our lives for the better." He nodded towards where his dragon, a Nadder named Kingstail, was snoozing in a pile with several other dragons by the hearthfire like so many oversized cats. "And while your instincts have generally been good, you've made a few mistakes!" His eyes flicked towards where Fishlegs and Heather were sitting nearby.
Wulfhild caught it and protested, "Heather isn't a traitor! You said so yourself!"
"Aye, but only by sheer dumb luck and youthful love!" Spitelout replied agreeably. "And while I don't hold it against her… what about her friend, the other freed spy? Can we trust her? We know little about where she came from, who her family is, and where her loyalties there. And we know even less about anyone else coming in from outside."
Hiccup grunted and bowed his head over his plate, clearly trying to ignore his uncle.
Wulfhild surreptitiously walked her hand over to him and squeezed his thigh supportively. Since the official proposal for the new laws had been announced, everybody who supported Bladewit's proposal was trying to convince Hiccup to side with them. Meanwhile, it was pretty obvious to her that a large number of the people against the very exclusionary law were against it because Hiccup was against it.
Spitelout, undeterred, leaned in. "Hiccup. This isn't just for us, it's also for the good of the dragons."
Hiccup twisted his head and gave his uncle an irritated look. "How so?"
"Well, which would you prefer? Getting to know someone before they can have a dragon… or… giving them a dragon, having the dragon get abused, and then having to help the poor thing after you take it away from them?" Spitelout said reasonably.
Hiccup seemed to freeze, and Wulfhild recalled that had actually happened last spring, with the perpetrators being a few of Steinn and Mildew's dragon-hating cronies.
His hand squeezed her thigh in response, seemingly grateful, and he replied to Spitelout, "So then we'll be a bit more careful. Maybe we make the class six months long, and write into the law that anyone who abuses their dragon will have it taken away, or that people who are learning how to train a dragon have to prove to me and the rest of Clan Haddock that they'll treat their dragons with respect. There are a lot of ways to handle that risk without just…" He waved his hands in exasperation, "…just saying, 'If you weren't born here or married in, no dragon for you!'"
Spitelout shrugged. "And what do you do if they pull a disappearing act like Dogsbreath and Inga did? I trust Dogsbreath to treat Redsnout properly… but Inga? I don't know her. Why should I trust her with one of Kingstail's kin?"
Hiccup scowled. "That sort of vanishing trick will be harder to pull off when we get the Dragon Mail up and running."
"Harder… but not impossible," Spitelout said reasonably. "And on the topic of the Mail…"
Hiccup groaned. "Uncle, can you just let me eat in peace?!"
Spitelout shrugged. "All right. I'll leave you with this thought then." He patted Hiccup on the shoulder, stood up from the bench, and said, "How can you trust your mail-riders from just flying off? To be trusted by people to carry their mail… we have to be trustworthy."
Hiccup scowled at him, and Spitelout sighed. "I'm not trying to be cruel, boy-o. Just cautious, for all our sakes."
He left, and Hiccup continued to scowl at his retreating back. Wulfhild put her arm around his back supportively, and he turned to her. "I hate this. I hate this so much!"
She hugged him and patted his shoulder. "It's okay. We'll make it work."
He hugged her back, his arms wrapped tightly around her. "Everyone keeps looking at me," he said softly into her ear. "Those people back in Vedrarfjord… here…"
She squeezed her arms around him tighter for a moment and then released. "Will you be okay?"
"I… yeah. I just want to help people and build things. Why is this so complicated?"
She pulled back and smiled warmly at him. "Because they want the same things, but they don't agree on how to do it."
Hiccup sighed, gave her a peck on the cheek and turned back to his plate, but he only poked at his meal.
Not that Wulfhild could blame him; she'd been feeling off for days, and Astrid hadn't been much better, to the point that she'd skipped breakfast this morning. Wulfhild eyed the vegetable stew in her own bowl as her stomach roiled. She'd wondered if they'd caught something from the locals while they'd been visiting Erie. Determinedly picking up her spoon, she made herself eat.
"You okay?" she asked him.
"Yeah. Leg hurts a bit, though."
She nodded, and got back to working through her own food.
She'd made it through half of the bowl when Astrid sat down on Hiccup's other side, another bowl of vegetable stew in hand.
"Well, that was fun," she said sarcastically.
"What happened?" Hiccup asked.
"I was on my way back from the Rookery with Cami when we got ambushed by Rolf. He's still furious about the whole thing with Dogsbreath and Inga, and wanted to know why we weren't doing more to 'hunt them down'." She let out her breath in a long exhalation. "At least it wasn't another 'Please convince Hiccup to change his mind on the law'."
Wulfhild snorted. "No, we got that one. Spitelout paid us a visit," she said as Hiccup sighed, his elbow on the table and his cheek leaning into his palm as he dejectedly swirled his spoon in his own bowl.
They ate, feeling down, and eventually Wulfhild stood, took her empty bowl, collected Hiccup's and Astrid's, and said, "You two head home. I'm going to take these to the kitchens."
They nodded, and Wulfhild took their dishes over to be cleaned. Lopsides smiled hesitantly at her as she took the bowls and put them in the lacquered racks for the trip down to the Scauldron cove, but didn't say anything. Shortly afterwards, she walked into the chief's house, only to hear Hiccup laughing upstairs.
"What is it?" she called.
"Come on up, you have to see this!" Astrid replied, chortling.
Wulfhild mounted the stairs, curious, and paused at the door to their room—while technically she still had her own separate room, for the last month she'd spent most of her nights in here with Hiccup and Astrid.
It looked as if the dragons had taken every single bit of soft bedding in the house and piled them in the shape of a bowl on top of Toothless' old stone sleeping slab. And, just to make it even stranger, all three of their dragons were standing by, clearly watching the three people.
Wulfhild stepped over to the bed—which had been stripped down to the straw-filled mattress—and sat down next to Astrid as Hiccup examined the pile of furs and pillows. After a moment, he looked over at Toothless. "Bud, is your slab not good enough any more?"
Toothless chuffed in the negative.
"So then why did you three do this?" he asked, waving with his hands to indicate the bowl-like pile of soft things, and the trio of watching dragons.
Toothless murbled and pushed him in with a prod of his snout.
"I think it's for us?" Astrid said, amused.
Hiccup hauled himself to a sitting position in the shallow part of the bowl and looked at her, looking baffled, and Wulfhild suppressed a snicker. Then Mistletoe nudged her, and she turned and looked into her dragon's green eyes. "I guess so!"
She got up and hopped into the bowl, landing next to Hiccup—and then seated herself on his lap.
He rolled his eyes as she chuckled and kissed his cheek. Astrid giggled. "You should see you two—hey!"
Stormfly was poking her with the tip of her tail, and nudging towards the nest. "What gives?"
"I'm not sure, but do you want to come in here and join us? It's cozy, and I saved you a seat," Hiccup quipped, shifting himself under Wulfhild so that his other leg was free.
Astrid smirked and hopped off the bed. Cuddling in a moment later, she sighed. "This is nice." The three of them wriggled to make themselves more comfortable as the dragons left the room, clearly pleased with themselves as they chittered to one another.
Astrid pulled off her shoulder spaulders in short order, followed by her pteruges… and then, after a moment's additional consideration and an epic smirk, her shirt.
Hiccup grinned at her. "Is it a bit warm in here?"
"Nah, more chilly. See?" Astrid said, grinning. "But you can help with that, can't you, babe?"
"I guess I could. First, let me get this off," he motioned to his leg, "and I'm all yours—you know, what's left."
Wulfhild snorted. It had taken her some time to get used to just how casual Hiccup was about his false foot.
He reached down and started to unstrap the buckles, and hissed. "Uh oh."
"What's wrong?"
"Usually it's a relief to take the buckle off…" Hiccup said, looking at his leg with concern, and then he bit his lip. "And I've been down working in the Broodery all day."
"Let me help," Astrid said, and she bent down without another word.
Wulfhild watched anxiously, holding Hiccup's hand in her own, which he clenched tightly as Astrid carefully unstrapped the false foot. The skin around his eyes was tight and white, and she gave him a supportive kiss as Astrid undid the last buckle.
But as Astrid peeled back the lambskin stocking that Hiccup wore over his stump, she hissed—and Hiccup bit back a scream.
"What's wrong?!" Wulfhild asked, her worry shifting to near-panic.
Astrid looked up at her, wide-eyed and worried. "Go get Nanna! Now! It's infected!"
Wulfhild hopped to her feet without another word, stumbling a bit on the edge of the furry nest, and ran for the stairs. "Mistletoe!" she bellowed. "I need you!"
Her dragon came bounding up, and Wulfhild took a moment to thank God that she hadn't started to undress, as memories of her mother's death from an infection ran loose behind her eyes. She grabbed her cloak and slung it on around her shoulders as she and her dragon ran out the door. They were at Nanna's hut in a matter of moments.
Dismounting with a panic-fueled fluidity, Wulfhild pounded on the door, praying that Nanna was home.
A moment later, the door opened, to reveal Sorcha, Nanna's wife. "Princess Wulfhild? What is it?"
"Is Nanna home?"
"No, she's out at Badgerwit's place—"
Wulfhild blurted, "Thank you!" and without further ceremony jumped onto Mistletoe's back again. A quick hop—not even what she'd call a flight—and they were at Badgerwit's house. The sound of children playing inside reached Wulfhild's ears, and she pounded on the door.
It opened, and a short little girl—Ase, if Wulfhild remembered the name rightly—looked up at her. "Hi! Who are you?"
"I'm Wulfhild. Is your cousin Nanna here?" Wulfhild asked, her heart pounding.
"Yep! She helping Mama with something," Ase said cheerfully.
"Can I come in?" Wulfhild asked, trying to keep her fear from spilling over onto the little girl.
Ase looked her over and gave her a beaming grin. "Sure!"
Wulfhild stepped over the threshold. "Where is your Mama and Nanna?"
"Mama! Nanna!" Ase called out. "Wilfhild is here!"
Badgerwit's voice called back from the back room. "Who?"
"It's me!" Wulfhild said, managing to barely keep herself from shouting. "Is Nanna here?"
"I'm here!" Nanna's voice confirmed.
Wulfhild went over to the door. "Come quick—"
Inside, Nanna was pressing probing fingers to Badgerwit's bare belly—which obviously contained a baby.
"Uh, sorry, sorry…" Wulfhild babbled, averting her eyes and feeling her cheeks burn.
"No worries," Badgerwit said cheerfully. "We were just getting ready to make the announcement anyway."
Nanna looked up to Wulfhild. "What is it?"
"Hiccup's stump is infected," Wulfhild blurted.
Nanna sighed. "I was wondering if that was going to happen. How bad is it?"
Wulfhild swallowed, and pushed away those horrid memories of her mother's end. "Uh… bad but not terrible? There were no red lines along the leg, and he could still walk on it…"
"All right. I'll be there shortly with what we'll need," Nanna said firmly.
Wulfhild nodded and gave a deep sigh of relief at the healer's confidence. Turning and leaving, she went back to her home, to find Astrid dressed again, with Hiccup seated in a chair downstairs, Astrid haranguing him for not letting his skin dry before putting the stocking on and him protesting that he had, and it must have been from the dampness in the Broodery.
Nanna arrived shortly, and what followed was disgusting. Wulfhild and Astrid both ended up throwing up when the infection was opened and drained, and Hiccup didn't look much better. And then both of them held one of his hands each as Nanna, looking apologetic but resolute, doused the stump in both vinegar and a salty brine. Hiccup screamed, the muscles of his neck standing out like cords under his skin, but eventually slumped back into the chair, panting.
Nanna continued to clean the stump as Wulfhild patted Hiccup's arm, and finally said, "All right. That should do it." She looked Hiccup dead in the eye. "We caught it early this time, but it'll happen again if you don't keep that stump clean and dry when you put on the foot."
"I was working!" Hiccup protested, still panting heavily, sweat dripping down his skin.
"Well, you need to stop letting the damp accumulate, or you're in for more pain like that," Nanna said without sympathy, getting to her feet. "For now, I want you to stay off it for at least a week, and I'll be by daily to clean it." She looked back and forth between Wulfhild and Astrid. "You two, you keep him off of it, okay?"
Wulfhild and Astrid shared a resolute look and nodded.
Hiccup shook his head. "But I've got so much to do—"
"Then have someone help you with it. But you don't go walking on that leg for at least a week, or I'll have these two tie you to your bed!" Nanna said bluntly.
Astrid smirked, clearly relieved. "Could be fun!"
Nanna chuckled. "What you three get up to is your own business. Just make sure he keeps off of it, all right?"
Hiccup sighed as Wulfhild and Astrid gave him a joint look. "I'll be good, promise."
Nanna snorted. "I'll believe it when I see it." She pointed her finger accusingly at him. "I still remember the old days of yelling at you to get inside, only to find you out in the middle of a raid."
Hiccup gave a sheepish smile and scratched at the back of his head. "Yeah…"
"Don't worry, Nanna, we'll keep him out of trouble."
A concerned murble from nearby made them all look at Toothless, who was standing near the stairs with Stormfly and Mistletoe. All three dragons looked worried, and Astrid said, "Hey, you three, Hiccup doesn't go anywhere until he's healed, got it?"
Toothless gave an affirmative chuff, and Hiccup sagged back into the chair. "Well. I guess that's that."
Nanna snorted and tostled his hair affectionately. "Ayep. But you'll live. Now rest and heal." And with those orders, she turned and left.
It took some doing, but they managed to get Hiccup back up into their bedroom. Then it took much less doing to convince him not to leave it.
Eventually, Wulfhild got out of the bed, dressed, and went to the mead hall to explain the situation. Twiglet was sympathetic, and said that she'd let Magnhild know so that Heather could bring by food for them.
Then Wulfhild's stomach rumbled.
"Didn't you just eat earlier?" Twiglet asked, cocking an eyebrow.
"Yeah, but I threw up when Nanna…" Wulfhild made a slicing and spewing motion, and Twiglet shuddered.
"Got it. I'll get you another bowl of soup then."
"And one for Astrid. She had the same problem."
Twiglet quirked an eyebrow. "Astrid threw up? Astrid never throws up. She has an iron stomach."
Wulfhild shrugged. "Right next to me, for the same reason."
"Huh. Well, two bowls of soup, coming right up," Twiglet said with a small smile.
###
Monte Vulture, Overlooking Melfi, Roman Catepanate of Italias, Roman Empire (Disputed)
From his spot atop the mountainside, Sigurd looked down at the town in the valley below, and the army encamped around it.
And swallowed in fear.
He must have made a noise, because the Roman officer who had been put in charge of their expedition, Protospatharios Katakalon Kekaumenos, turned towards him. "Is there a problem, Topoteretes Trondsson?"
Sigurd looked up the tree-swaddled mountaintop towards where their small camp had been hidden. And then looked back down the hill. "There are two thousand soldiers down there. We have twenty riders and dragons, and another fifty fighters." He waved his hands. "That's it."
Kekaumenos chuckled. "Ah, but you're forgetting that these are Lombards."
"Meaning?" Sigurd asked, trying to keep the sarcasm out of his voice. "I'm sorry, but I'm just a dumb barbarian here."
"True," Kekaumenos said with a nod, and Sigurd sputtered as he continued. "But we've fought Lombards for centuries, and we know how to deal with them."
Sigurd scowled. "So how did the Army already manage to lose against these guys a few months ago?"
Kekaumenos snorted. "Because Exagustus Boioannes and Dokeianos were glory-hungry fools who did the worst possible thing when fighting Lombards—they faced them in a single pitched battle. That is not how you defeat Lombards and Franks. Their cavalry is powerful, possibly the equal of the old Cataphract, and charge with devastating strength. But they fight with little discipline or battle order—they are much like you and your fellow Varangians in that regard. You are not so much directed as unleashed in the appropriate direction."
Sigurd gave Kekaumenos a flat look. "Thanks," he said dryly.
"Think nothing of it. I'd rather have you worrying about other issues. But I see that the Tactica was accurate. Look." He pointed down below. "They haven't fortified their camp for the night."
Sigurd looked, and saw a lack of moving torches. "All right. What's your point?"
"Well, the Tactica's advice in dealing with Lombards is simple. Ambushes. Night attacks. We can swoop down now, set their supplies ablaze and cause confusion and fear." He waved towards the encamped army. "They look fearsome when they're piled all together like that. But they won't be nearly as impressive when they're broken up into small foraging parties gathering whatever food they can from the countryside. Our seventy versus their two thousand? No, we would die. But our seventy versus thirty, laden with food? Yes… I think we can manage defeating them in detail, one small packet at a time."
Sigurd winced. "That sounds exhausting."
"It will be, but more for them than for us. And it is not as if we have to destroy that entire army. Our specific goal is to capture or kill the ringleaders of this rebellion, which should weaken them enough that the survivors can be bribed back to our side or dealt with later on." He rubbed his hands together almost gleefully. "In five days, Topoteretes, that army will be gone. Mark my words."
An hour later, a column of smoke lit by flames filled the night sky above Melfi. Sigurd watched as the rebels' food supplies and many of the buildings burned. It had been a one-sided slaughter in the darkness, and he had no idea how many of the Normans and Lombards lay dead on the slopes of the hill where they'd gone to get water from the valley stream for dousing the blazes. Dozens, at least. Probably hundreds.
Kekaumenos had ordered them to break off from the attack when the army below had realized it was under assault. Rather than tangle with archers in the night, they'd returned to their camp on the mountainside.
Sigurd sat, his legs tucked up under his chin, and watched as the townspeople and soldiers fought the blaze. The smell, of both woodsmoke and other… things, burning drifted up to him, conjuring up memories.
Kekaumenos had set watches, but he was confident that they were in little danger. They were hundreds of feet in the air, nearly four miles away—and the rebels were busy.
Gudmund came over and sat next to him.
"You okay?" he asked, concern clear in his voice.
Sigurd grunted in the affirmative.
"That… that was a hell of a thing. It… it felt almost dishonorable, just how easy it was," Gudmund said softly.
Sigurd, still looking down the mountainside, said softly, "I grew up like this."
"Like what?"
"Dragons coming in the night, stealing food, burning houses…" He inhaled deeply and then let it out in a long sigh. "And we knew what we were doing. We had torches, weapons for fighting them, training…" He pointed his chin down towards Melfi. "They've got none of that."
"You don't talk about your home much," Gudmund said quietly.
Snotlout stiffened and looked at Gudmund; his dark skin was nearly invisible in the night, but he could still make out an outline.
Finally, he sighed again and said, "No, I don't."
They sat in silence as the fires burned below. Snotlout watched, but he wasn't really seeing the fires. Instead, he was lost in memories…
Every single house on Berk had been rebuilt since he could walk. He remembered dropping a toy when his home's turn had come, and he'd screamed in his mother's arms for it… and his father had lectured him afterwards.
He'd been seven.
The burh had been different; there hadn't been children underfoot.
As the fires started to go out below, he wondered how many children had just lost their toys… their homes… their lives… because of what he'd just done.
He spoke, almost startling himself. "My home is a small island up in the Alban Hebrides, called Berk."
Gudmund made an encouraging noise. "Go on."
"We've been there for… three hundred years, almost? Something like that. And for that whole time, we'd been fighting off dragons stealing our food… because this was our home, and we weren't giving it up."
Gudmund snorted. "Typical."
Snotlout scoffed, and continued. "Then… last year… well, did you hear the saga?"
"I did. So did my brother. When we parted ways last summer, he said that he was planning on finding this blacksmith's apprentice who tamed a dragon," Gudmund said quietly.
Snotlout snorted and said, "He's my cousin. Mother's brother's son. We… we didn't get along w-well—"
His throat closed on the words. The memories of that last embrace back in Nidaros, and Hiccup watching from the rooftop as he and Hookfang left, both suddenly hit like a ton of cobbles, and he gasped and sobbed.
"Sigurd? Sigurd!? Are you all right?"
Gudmund was suddenly hugging him and rocking him back and forth, and the tears flowed for a moment in abject homesickness.
He missed his mother, his sister, his brother… his father. Hiccup and the rest of the gang.
He even missed Astrid.
He was so far from home and he hadn't seen them in so long and now he was burning homes…
But he was trapped by his oath of service… and trapped by the dragons that he'd endangered.
So Sigurd fought down the tears, and eventually managed to stop shaking. "I'm… I'm all right. Just… just homesick."
"Aye, I get that," Gudmund said. "Want to talk about it?"
"Yeah…" he said, and started telling his friend about his home… what he missed, and what was on his mind. About the beautiful sunsets, and going hunting in the forest. About the deep blue seas around it and the mountains above it. About the dragons that had been his enemies and were now his friends.
Finally, the words ran dry, and they sat in silence for a while, until Gunnar came over and more or less dragged them off to their bedrolls.
Tomorrow was going to be a busy day…
AN: Okay, first off, I know that the scene with Ruffnut is going to be controversial. Before anyone starts yelling at me for putting in "modern" politics into this fic, I just have to say this: The first recorded evidence of induced abortion is from ancient Egypt, in 1550 BCE, and we have Assyrian records from 1000 BCE, along with those from many other ancient cultures across the planet. Abortion has always been something that human society has done, with the only difference being the attitude towards it and the rhetoric against it. Hippocrates advised against it (along with surgery, due to the risks of both), but the Greek Stoics found no problem with it, as did Aristotle. The Romans had no problem with it, to the point that one plant-silphium-was such an effective abortifacient that it formed the basis of the economy of Cyrene, where it grew, and was eventually harvested into extinction. The Norse, likewise from what we can tell, had no problem with it, to the point where sickly or deformed infants were left out to die of exposure or dropped in a well.
But this is my in-story explanation on why Berk has such a skewed population pyramid. Six kids in one cohort in a community with an adult population in the hundreds? Iceland's population pyramid in this era had half the population under the age of adulthood just to keep the population growth stagnant, due to high mortality rates. With the hundreds of adults seen fighting the Green Death, that would mean an equal number of children. We don't see them, but Hiccup's class of dragon fighters should have been anywhere from 10 to 25, simply based on math (~400 children/16 years, or ~400 adults/40 years). This is why I set immigration of freedmen as being so fundamental to the society's structure (which ties into the laws proposed last chapter), as they're missing anywhere from half to three-quarters of their natural replacement population. I've been foreshadowing this since literally chapter 8, when Stoick yells about how skewed their population is ("More elders over 50 than children under 10!").
So I've said my piece on that, and I'll leave it be for the moment. Also note that, if you feel the need to leave me angry or hateful reviews, I will delete and report them as soon as I get them, and my betas and I have a betting pool on how many I'll get.
In other news, because multiple people have asked: Yes, I have seen the trailer for HTTYD 3. Yes, I have seen the Light Fury (a.k.a. Nubless). No, I have no plans at this time to include her or plot elements from HTTYD 3. I already have plans for Toothless's offspring, and I'm hoping to reach those chapters before the movie is released.
