Chapter 32: The Key Difference
Gunnar couldn't believe it. After years of planning and preparation, after everything he did leading up to this battle, Dreadlac pulled the same maneuver that had crushed him so long ago. And Gunnar never saw it coming. The EXACT same underhanded, devious, simple trick, and Gunnar fell for it.
He turned around, his eyes burning in rage. Dreadlac grinned maliciously. "Yes, yes, that's it. Attack me! Vent your puny anger on me! Break yourself on my ax!"
Gunnar started shaking. The fire deep in his eyes burned with such ferocity that he could see the Huscarls running to support their commander recoiling in fear. He gripped his sword's handle and detached his chest rig- his bow and quiver fell away into the mud. The weight of his failure- his warriors where going to experience the same thing that had almost killed him all those years ago. His men's families were probably burning as they stood there.
The only thing that he could do now, was to make sure he was never able to pull that again- on anybody. And the only way to do that was by killing him. Painfully. He could feel his muscles bulging as a familiar and feared character seemed to take complete control of his brain. Then the man suddenly hurling himself at Dreadlac wasn't Gunnar Steadyfoot, or the Archer, or even the Irishman. It was the Outlaw. Just the Outlaw that was yelling curses in Irish and attacking Dreadlac in a blood-rage that had never before been seen in the Archipelago.
/
The wild dragons had been key to Gunnar's plan, and every chief knew it. So, when they saw Toothless rocketing off with essentially their entire swarm, the chiefs didn't know what to do. And to further compound their problems, it was directly after the exodus that Hackett launched the Huscarl's counterattack. Even though there were still enough dragon riders to keep them from employing their feared Phalanx formations, the three of four thousand Huscarls, supported by all of the remaining Raiders and conscripts, presented an immense issue to the scattered and disorganized Vikings.
It was when the lines met again that things really turned bloody. The Huscarls were possibly the most dangerous troops on the field- and the Vikings were quite winded from their earlier push. The Vikings quickly formed up as best they could, and met the Huscarls' charge with ax and mace. For many areas of the battlefield, it turned into a clash of titans- massive Viking warriors determinedly (and stubbornly) facing down twice their number of monstrous Huscarls, both sides determined to fight to the death.
Astrid though, was in her element. She and Aker swooped through the air, seemingly everywhere at once. Patching holes here, directing other dragon riders there, snatching Queen Lilja out of the air when her Razorwhip was shot down. Her and her son's solid command presence and confidence helped many a Viking Chief or commander keep their troops in the fight, even if the Vikings were being pushed back across the board. But when she stopped for a moment to assess the overall situation, she didn't like what she saw.
Both sides had pushed each other to utmost of their capabilities, and the outcome of the battle lay on the edge of a knife. Even the smallest new advantage or successful push would tip the scales irrevocably in favor of the attackers. Unfortunately, everything the Vikings had was either on the field fighting or flying over the ocean somewhere, and Dreadlac's forces where the more likely to have something extra hidden in their sizable (albeit battered) fleet.
The only thing the Vikings could do to tip the scales in their favor was to kill Dreadlac. It was settled. She would find Dreadlac and help Gunner kill him if he wasn't already dead. Aker would take over command of the remaining Berkian riders while she handled this. She signaled Freya and dove like a beautiful, righteous Valkyrie toward the beachhead, her sharp eyes searching the beach and her hand gripping her mother's study ax.
/
The series of lightning-fast attacks that were being poured on Dreadlac were too fast for the normal eye to see. The Outlaw alternated in between knife and sword, left and right, up and down, showering the monster in front of him with a bewildering array of combos, testing every weak spot he could find. It took only a few short seconds to realize that the only place he might be able to penetrate was the one place with no armor- Dreadlac's ugly mug itself.
The Outlaw stepped back, took a split second to plan his assault, then launched it. Dreadlac's response was to little, to late. The armored terror quickly dunked underneath the ax thrown at him, slid to right in front of Dreadlac, leapt over the second ax curving toward his midsection, and used his sword to curve around the ax's blade, flinging it away from it's now dis-armed owner. Another quick leap brought his knife flashing down into Dreadlac's eyeball.
But something happened. Gunnar couldn't process what he was seeing. It didn't make any sense. He saw, with his own eyes, the razor-sharp knife hit his enemies' open eyeball, then spring back with a shower of sparks, the end flying off toward the ground. Gunnar landed from his jump and looked at the remains of his knife in shock. A dark, humorless, voice drifted down from right above him.
"I knew you, and only you, would have the guts to try to kill me yourself someday. So I had a spell cast on me that made me invulnerable to you. You can do whatever you want, but you can't harm me." Gunnar looked up at Dreadlac's wicked grin, his brain racing to find some solution or explanation as to how that could be possible, but coming up empty. "And now, it is my turn to play."
/
Freya was feeling nervous, but confident at the same time. She wasn't a dummy when it came to war- her mother made sure of that. Freya could tell the deciding moment of the battle was approaching, but she wasn't sure when, or what, it would be. And whether or not she would have to play a part in it. She had been following her mother's dragon, zipping to and fro across the battlefield, when she saw Astrid stop and hover. As she watched her mother survey the battlefield, she could see the Berkian Chieftess come to a decision and signal Freya to follow her. And as they dove, Freya's sharp mind quickly figured out what her mother's new target was- Dreadlac.
Suddenly she saw Astrid gasp and urge Stormfly into a shallow rocket dive. Freya followed suit. Then she saw the issue. Dreadlac was batting Gunnar around like Bucket would a dead fish. Her husband was desperately trying to defend himself but didn't seem to be able to…strike was the wrong word… hurt the monster assaulting him. She couldn't understand why Dreadlac was still alive, but then she saw why. In a move born of instinct, she saw Gunnar weave to avoid a blow, then backhand his sword right into his rival's face.
Freya was sure that Dragonfang had made contact with flesh, but saw the weapon bounce right off with no effect. She could see the dismay in her husband's eyes as he back peddled away from the triumphant laughter that followed him. Suddenly she could see Gunnar stumble, a Raider arrow in the back of his leg, and Dreadlac was on top of him.
Without even thinking, she lept off of Flash, sent the dragon roaring at the offending Raider, and landed a couple dozen feet behind Dreadlac's hulking back. In front of her she could see her husbands' beloved bow and a quiver of his finest arrows, just laying in the mud. She glanced up and saw that Dreadlac was straddling the helpless warrior, doing something that was making Gunnar's legs spasm and struggle.
Without thinking, she snatched up his bow, nocked and arrow, and took aim, just as Gunnar had taught her all of those years ago. Pull the sting back smoothly… good, tilt your head a little more to the right… left forefinger out, pointing at the target… rest the arrowhead on that, sight down the shaft…
…And let fly.
/
Another blow sent Gunnar reeling, his broken dagger flying out of his hand. Dreadlac was playing with him, and there was nothing Gunnar could do to harm the big man. He growled and jerked his body to the right, bringing Dragonfang slashing across with all of his strength onto Dreadlac's face, but getting nothing in response. He back peddled furiously, trying to find a way to escape.
Suddenly he could feel the bite of an arrow sting into the back of his left leg, causing him to momentarily fall to his knees with a stifled cry of pain. But before he could even move, Dreadlac knocked him onto his back, and shoved his meaty hands around Gunnar's neck.
All the Irishman could see was Dreadlac's evil face as he desperately tried to wrench the hands away from his throat. But the merciless grip tightened, cutting off the life-giving flow of air to his lungs. As his vision began to blur out, and the final black curtains closed from the corner of his eyes, he struck at Dreadlac in one final act of defiance, throwing up his fists at the ugly face leering over him. To his utter astonishment, Dreadlac's head arced up, and a cry of pain echoed from the monster's mouth. The hands of death removed themselves from his throat, and Gunnar could feel his oxygen-starved lungs begin to swallow huge gulps of air as he blacked out.
Dreadlac's back felt as if a tree and smashed into it. He stood up and turned around, searching for the offender. And there in front of him stood a tall, brown haired Viking woman, his enemies' bow in her hands. She was armored very similarly to the coughing man lying behind him, but her eyes blazed with a different kind of fury behind the visor.
He reached behind him and snapped the arrow shaft from his back. "Let me guess who you are. You are the Viking that the Butcher cares about so much." He picked up his ax and grinned wickedly. "Thank you for showing up. Now I really can kill you before I kill him."
Freya threw down the bow and drew her own ax. "My name is Freya McHartson, shieldmaiden of the Haddock clan. And by my ax you will die." She snapped into the stance that her mother had taught her.
The big guy just laughed. "Oh really? Well, I haven't heard anything about you. Let's see how good you are." Roaring, he rushed at the young woman, raising his ax to split her in half. There was flash blue, a grunt, and Dreadlac had disappeared. Freya looked around confusingly, and saw him hauling himself up, looking just as confused as she did. Then she heard it- a familiar squawk, a whoosh, and she felt Astrid land next to her.
The seasoned Viking general twirled her ax in a circle and grinned confidently. "So, you're the disgusting mouse that has been causing all of this ruckus." Dreadlac got up and stared at the two of them. Astrid just studied him in mild interest. "You've yet to fight a real Viking, haven't you?" Her ax spun in mid air and was back in its owner's hand in a flash. "It's about time we show you how Vikings deal with problems like you."
Astrid's grin disappeared and was replaced with a snarl fierce enough to make a Skrill shake in terror. "My name is Astrid Haddock, warrior of the Hofferson clan and Chieftess of Berk. And by the power vested in me, you have been sentenced to death." Uncertainty flashed over Dreadlac's face for an instant, before he snatched his weapons up and charged the two of them with the force of a Catastrophic Quaken.
He swung at Astrid but missed by a mile. She had backflipped, using her ax to increase the distance covered by the maneuver, and landed, laughing. Enraged, he hurled himself at her and swung again, this time a stroke designed to fell the toughest tree. To his amazement, he caught a flash of a blond disappearing over his head, then felt a kick to his back, right where Freya's arrow had embedded itself, sending the barbed shaft deep into his shoulder. As he fell forward onto his face, he had just enough time to deflect Freya's weapon as it arced upward toward his neck. Landing, he rolled to the side and studied his opponents. This was going to be much harder than he thought, but not impossible. He stood up and readied himself. He began another bull charge when he saw Astrid leap off of Freya's ax and swing at his head midair, screaming her famous war cry. He brought his ax up to block the blow, believing his monstrous 50ib weapon able to stop the strike of a mere woman.
What a mistake.
Astrid's old ax smashed into his own with a ring loud enough to be heard all across the embattled valley. His weapon shattered into a thousand shards, most of which went flying into his face. Astrid's ax, still on its deadly arc toward his head, glanced upward from the impact and ripped his helmet off. His head snapped back painfully, and he crashed into the ground like a downed rhino, skidding to where Freya was standing.
Astrid landed in a sharp crouch and glanced behind her. Dreadlac's massive body slowly writhed on the ground, hands clutching its head. Scoffing, she blew a wisp of hair out of her face. She glanced over at Freya, who despite the mask, was obviously staring at her with mouth wide open.
Astrid glanced down at her ax- a massive dent marked the impact point of the blades. Frozen ripples radiated from the cavity, effectively removing the integrity of that half of her ax. But no cracks marred the blade, she noted with approval. That meant Hiccup would be able to fix it quite easily. Ah, what a good old ax.
"And that, is how it's done. Took about ten seconds flat. Speaking of which, let's go see if Gunnar is alright."
As the two women moved away, a black shape silently heaved itself out of the ground.
/
Freya ran up to the unconscious warrior and worriedly removed his helmet. The poor man's face was badly bruised, and a small trickle of blood was coming out of the corner of his mouth. "Gunnar? Baby? Can you hear me?" She noted that his dented chest plate was rising and falling evenly just as Astrid walked up and said "He'll be alright, he just blacked out." Freya gently cradled his head, smiling slightly. "It's ok, I'm right here. Just like I said I would. Common Gunnar, wake up. We won. We killed him."
There was a whoosh, and to Freya's horror, a large rock slammed into the side of Astrid's head, ricocheting off toward space. Her mother's limp body slammed into the ground with the finality of a prison gate slamming shut, her eyes rolling into the back of her head as her ax fell to the ground. Freya ripped her head toward the source of the missile and saw something so hideous she would remember it for the rest of her life.
Dreadlac was standing before her, his wounded shoulder slouching downward unnaturally. What was left of his armor was coated in mud and blood, ripped and torn in places. But the scariest part of him was his face. He was quite hideous to begin with, but the effects of that ax clash turned him into a monster. Blood from a hundred cuts dripped down his face, including over a swollen left eye. Drool and foam bubbled from his mouth and puncture holes in his cheeks. His eyes where what made him truly look deranged, though. They were bloodshot, with the irises an unnatural blood-red color. They burned with a hatred and an insanity that could only be found in the depths of hell.
He approached her unsteadily with his only remaining ax in hand, staring at her in pure hate. She scrambled up in horror as he growled: "I. Have had. ENOUGH!" He swung wildly at the terrified girl in front him, causing her to stumble backward to avoid the blow. He smashed his ax into the ground, only narrowly missing her as she rolled to the side. "I'm going to kill you painfully," He smashed his ax into the ground again, once again dodged as Freya rolled left. "and let your screams wake that DAMN MAN UP!" He tried to stomp on her, but she managed to avoid the blow again. But after the maneuver she found that she had been backed up to the timbers of a destroyed catapult- she could go no farther.
He leaned down, wicked glee written all over his face. "Then, I'm going to show him your dead, mangled body, listen to his cries of despair, and slowly crush the life out of him as he looks at what is left of his puny resistance." Then, despite the fear covering her eyes, she spit in his face. "We're never going to give up. We're Vikings! And even if you kill us, our children will still fight you, with every fiber of their being." A tear rolled down her cheek as she thought of her babies, still too young to hold their heads up, sleeping in the safety of New Berk. "You will never conquer us." she whispered as Dreadlac slowly rose to his full height.
"So, somewhere out there, the Outlaw has children, hmm?" He smashed his boot into her chest, cracking may of her ribs and causing her to cry out in pain. "Thank you for that little piece of information. And now-" He stopped. Something had caught his attention- a strange sound was echoing from far away. He slowly turned his head around south. Before him another fleet showed itself, hurling toward the scattered Viking ships fighting in the bay.