Maour yawned cavernously, but his mind was already far more alert than his body felt. Being woken to hear that Myrkurheili had returned with urgent news would do that. He had been gone for weeks, on account of being sent to scout out the Berserkers and ideally to find where they were gathering.

By extension, Myrkurheili had been sent to find Astrid and Dagur. Thinking of them was more than enough to wake Maour up; cold dread was not a restful feeling.

'Don't close your eyes, I want to see him,' Toothless said urgently. 'Does he look tired to you?'

"Yes, but everyone looks tired," Maour countered. Myrkurheili did look exhausted, standing up on the pillar in the middle of the vertical cavern, but he looked better than Von or Shadow, who were both drowsing even though they were standing right beside him. Cloey was probably the most rested of the family at the moment and was watching Myrkurheili intently.

'Is everyone here?' Myrkurheili called out. 'I want to say it once and then go to sleep while the rest of you freak out.'

"Is it that bad?" Fishlegs asked worriedly.

'Not really,' Myrkurheili admitted. 'The summary is that there's a lot of ships, about forty, gathered at an island with a dangerous mountain, and that more are arriving by the day. That's all I have for you. They're gathering.'

'What do you mean, a dangerous mountain?' Boom called out curiously.

'The kind that spits molten rock on occasion. You can ask me more tomorrow night,' Myrkurheili grumbled, leaping off the pillar and gliding down to the passage that led to the Myrkur side of the cavern system.

'I cannot believe he had the gall to call us all together in the middle of the day for that,' Cloey complained. 'He could have waited. We all could have waited. We did not even need to gather to hear it.'

"I guess he wanted to feel like it was worth the effort," Maour proposed, not really feeling the need to defend Myrkurheili. Cloey was right, there had been no point in gathering. The news was not that urgent. Myrkurheili had found them, they had not yet brought in all of their forces in the area, and they were on an island with an active volcano. That was it. It wasn't urgent at all.

"Best, island, ever," Dagur panted, slamming the door to the roomy cabin open. His face was ashy and covered with congealed beads of sweat, a disgusting mix of ash, salt, and water. There was a burn on his tunic, and his red hair was so caked in ash it appeared grey.

Astrid looked up from the parchment Savage had just brought her and gestured for him to come over and read it. She didn't need him to, she had enough authority now to begin preparations, but she would need him to know what she was preparing for.

"Reading? Really?" He tossed a burnt stick to the floor, careless of the smoldering tip. "Come on, the volcano is erupting! How often does that happen?"

"Since we got here, twice a day at least." She didn't care about the constantly rumbling mountain except when it impinged upon the logistics of assembling and preparing a fleet for war. She didn't care for the logistics either, but they were necessary for the hunt, so she oversaw as much as she could. "This is important."

"Tell you what, we can take it up to this great spot I found," Dagur suggested, coming up behind her to lay an ashy hand on her shoulder. "It's surrounded by these hot lava flows, and it's nice and flat. I figured we could try and make an heir up there. It would be the greatest possible place to start the next Berserker Chief."

She picked up the parchment and all but shoved it in his face. "Read it. You'll be interested." If necessary, she'd promise to go up to his stupid spot and do what he wanted, but only after he signed off on her plan.

"Scout report, blah blah blah…" She could hear the moment he took notice of what he was reading, signified by the parchment crumpling in his fist. "What do they mean, everyone else got caught? I paid good money for those dishonorable slackers to get me information, not sit in a cell and maybe get interrogated!"

"Read the rest." She wasn't happy about the failure rate either, but that was irrelevant. Those other spies could burn for all she cared.

"Ah… I see." He reverently placed the parchment down and flattened the crumpled creases he had just put into it, restoring it as much as possible and staring at in a downright creepy way. "They're right there."

"They are not prepared for us to attack," she explained, making sure he understood that much. He was smart, most of the time, but this could not be left to chance. "They won't be ready. But they will be in a few weeks."

"So, we should go and annihilate them now," he concluded, tossing the parchment aside. "Ready the fleet!"

"Already on it." She felt a flush of satisfaction. It was times like this that she knew she made the right choice in marrying him and dropping Berk like the backwater island it was. Nobody else would just decide to go and plan on the way, if there would be a plan at all, not like that. There would be talking and arguing and careful consideration, and then maybe, if she was lucky, a portion of their total strength would be sent out. This was so much better.

"We'll crush them," Dagur said confidently. "Now, since that's decided-"

"Your spot." She wasn't worried about starting something that would hinder her hunts now; it would all be over in a few weeks, and past that it would be a work of years that would be best spent having already taken care of this particular duty to the tribe. "Take me there."

Gobber winced at the thunder under his foot and peg; he would never be used to that sound and feeling. It wasn't smart, being anywhere near an active lump of fiery rock spewing burning liquid and clouds of smoke everywhere, and his gut was tingling in the way he knew usually meant danger.

Nobody sane would stay here; that was the reason the island was lifeless and desolate. So, of course, this was where the insane couple had chosen to assemble their fleet. Typical.

He stumped across the flat slab of volcanic rock, wishing he had thought to bring his metal peg. Who could have known, getting onto the ship to head to the meeting of Chieftains, that he would finally find a use for it? He hadn't found a use for his hand-carved wooden hook prosthetic yet, or his parchment prosthetic. It would have been one nice thing about being press-ganged into changing tribes and following a madwoman.

"The Chief says get ready to go," he yelled as he passed a group of burly Berserkers. "Move it!" That was his job right now. Telling everyone to get ready for a spur-of-the-moment attack on the people he'd rather be fighting for.

But he was here for a reason, and that same reason kept him around. Well, two reasons really, but they both pushed him to do the same things. Either would be enough to keep him where he was, walking across a Thor-forsaken chunk of hot rock in the middle of nowhere, yelling orders at people he'd happily gut if it were up to him.

"Oy," Savage yelled, coming around a large, ominously situated cluster of rocks that looked like they had fallen from the sky and lodged where they were now. "Got a moment?"

"If a burnin' rock don't take it from me," Gobber called back, deciding he didn't need to act drunk at the moment. It wasn't even noon, and anyone with the slightest bit of sense would avoid impairing their judgment around here.

"Good. You can talk to Astrid without risking losing another limb, right?" Savage asked urgently. "This attack is a bad idea."

"How so?" He didn't think very highly of Savage, but the man had helped Dagur not implode his tribe, so he had to have some talent at correcting insanity. "Looks good to me. Unsuspecting target, equal or better forces, backup if it all goes South." This was better than them waiting a few weeks and then attacking with their full might in that it would be less horrible odds, but he had to hope Maour and his allies would be ready.

"They have dragons," Savage spat, slapping his hand against the rock. He pulled it back quickly, probably because all of the rocks on the island were uncomfortably hot to the touch. The air even shimmered sometimes for how hot it was. "We should be waiting and crushing them with our full might. Your side of the leadership is risking things for no reason. Set her straight."

Gobber smirked at that; he was pretty sure Savage wouldn't live a day past Astrid hearing how he spoke of her at times like this. For a petty, cowardly man, Savage had a very specific idea of what his place in the tribe was, and thus what Gobber's was as well, as they were counterparts, the sane advisors of the insane couple.

"Nah," he drawled, enjoying the look of helpless rage on the other man's face. "I think it's fine, and she'd not listen anyway. Gotta know the one ya advise." He definitely didn't want them to wait, but his response also had the added authenticity of being the truth; she wouldn't listen, not when she had spent weeks waiting here. She was itching to kill something, and there was nothing here to kill here except her own people.

"We are supposed to make sure their reckless lack of thought doesn't doom us all," Savage complained, sounding all too aware how little he could really do. "I never thought I could say this, but that woman is crazier than Dagur!"

"So you try," Gobber said dismissively, turning on his peg leg and wincing at the powdery lack of resistance under it. That would be the ash, making it hard to walk. He really should have brought his metal peg leg.

He also, come to think of it, should have brought some smart way of sending messages to Maour. Maour could have come up with one if he'd thought to. Maybe a trained Terror or something. As it was, Gobber felt almost as helpless about that as Savage was about stopping the attack they were preparing for.

But he wasn't helpless, and at some point during this upcoming war, maybe even during this battle, he'd do what he was here for, aside from helping Maour's forces however possible. He could do both; they weren't mutually incompatible.

Gobber wandered off to find a place to sit and dust off his peg leg, the volcano rumbling ominously behind him. He'd be glad to put his back to this place, in any case.

Dagur walked along his favorite warship, inspecting the heavily armed Berserkers lining its deck. It was the middle of the night, but he was restless from talking so long about the attack plan, so he figured he might as well line up everyone just for the fun of it.

He shivered in delight at that thought. They had come up with some fun ways to use the surprise he had down in the cells, though only time would tell how that would turn out. It was always great to punch the enemy where they least expected it-

He lashed out with a clenched fist without even thinking about it, and almost kept walking before he realized the man he had struck at had caught his punch. He turned to face the Berserker in question, his mood leaping about like crazy.

His mood settled, and he nodded approvingly. "Good reflexes." Then he continued onward, entirely aware that had his mood settled in another direction, that man would be dead or worse. It was that man's lucky night, nothing more. Besides, he would regret killing one of his finest Berserkers later, so it was better that he hadn't now.

"Dismissed!" he yelled once he reached the end of the line. None of them had been even slightly out of order, which was a shame. A good, hearty yelling would have been fun.

But there were other things just as fun. He turned to walk back to his cabin and wake Astrid-

And then turned right back around again, thinking it over. A lack of sleep made him grouchy and less able to control his moods, and she was less experienced at controlling herself at all. It wouldn't be good to keep her up all night; they had already been up late. She needed her sleep.

He giggled to himself at that, and ran over to the very front of the ship, which had a name he couldn't remember and didn't care about. He stood on the very edge, leaning out over the railing and looking at the horizon.

Soon, they would be in glorious battle. There would be killing and death and maybe some torture if the situation allowed it. Then there would be Night Fury hats, and a glorious return to Berserker island, and eventually an heir that would be as mad as him and Astrid combined, a true terror they could raise to lead the Berserker tribe to further glory once they inevitably died in the course of their glorious conquests.

The future was glorious and bloody, just the way he liked it. He was glad he had found Astrid; having a wife as insane as him was so entertaining! So endearing! So freeing!

Dagur remained there, leaning out to look at the horizon, for the rest of the night, his mind running in disjointed, nonsensical loops and sudden turns. He was far too wound up to sleep. The blood and glory he so craved was almost there, or rather, he and his fleet had almost reached it.

Einfari flipped to the side, throwing her body through a small, puffy cloud with no warning. She felt a telltale shift in the weight on her back, little though it was, and huffed in disappointment.

"I didn't feel it that time," Heather admitted, well aware that she hadn't done as she should. "Try it again soon."

'No promises.' She didn't think it would work to train immediate reactions to unexpected maneuvers if Heather was ready for them. Such training was necessary, too; there wouldn't always be time to plan out flight courses, or to bark warnings before dodging something midair. It was safer if Heather accustomed herself to leaning with every small movement. Toothless and Maour had assured them that it could be done so long as Heather learned to interpret Einfari's sense of feeling.

Of course, they hadn't mentioned that it was a difficult task. She didn't know if they were even aware that it should be. Maour had been doing it for years, ever since his first real flight with Toothless.

"You know, if it wasn't dangerous, I'd suggest we try and do what Maour and Toothless did," Heather volunteered, unknowingly thinking along the very same lines. "Maybe it's easier when our lives are on the line."

'For obvious reasons, we can't find out,' Einfari said dryly. She wasn't worried Heather would try; there was no way for that to happen. Heather didn't have a false tailfin to give her any control over the flight's course.

On the other paw, she was worried about what would happen if they didn't get this down, so she flew higher, intending to throw herself into a few more gut-wrenching twists and dives. Hopefully, if she made it scary enough, Heather would catch on like Maour had.

"Hey…" Heather leaned forward in the saddle just as they reached the top of the steep climb Einfari had begun. "That looks bad."

Einfari checked Heather's vision just long enough to see that she was staring at something on the horizon, something that to her eyes was a long, brown line. Then she returned to her own sight and focused her far more powerful eyes on the same distant scene.

'Yes… Very bad.' She knew the enemy fleet when she saw it. There were dozens of warships approaching Mahelmetan.

Or maybe not Mahelmetan. She frantically turned midair, not even noticing that Heather managed to anticipate that particular move, and looked up at the sun, trying to fix positions the way her mother had taught her. The fleet was heading in their general direction, but they had flown out to the far side of Mahelmetan-

So they were not heading anywhere near the Isle of Night, as Maour had named it. They were circling around to approach Mahelmetan from the far side, probably angling to come up at the uninhabited coastline for as long as possible so as to avoid detection.

'How long until they reach the fleet?' Einfari asked, calming down. The whole reason they were on Mahelmetan was to keep attention away from their home, and that ploy was still working. There was no real reason to fear it wasn't but Einfari could never feel entirely assured.

"Not long at all," Heather said worriedly. "We should have been running patrol ships out around the island. They're only a day away."

'When you say day, do you mean they will be in fighting range by nightfall?' Einfari asked, hoping to get a clarification.

"I mean that, yes," Heather confirmed. "That's way too little time."

'Too little to even get reinforcements from home,' Einfari growled, seeing that all too clearly. Eldurfjall had been replaced by Berg, who had an open line with Fishlegs, so the Isle could get the news quickly enough, but the trip took a night, so even if they scrambled and could go immediately, they'd not arrive until the fight had long since started, if not ended.

"Not soon enough, but they could be in time to help us if we hurry back and find Berg," Heather countered. "But we should know what we're up against. How many are there?"

'I can fly over them, but if I do, they'll know we've spotted them.' She didn't think a fleet that large meant to hide anyway, but it might be worth keeping the element of surprise.

"They'll know they've been spotted soon anyway, they're almost within sight of the island already," Heather said. "We should get a count."

"Aye, we saw 'em," Rotison grunted, gesturing to the chaos around the group of chieftains. "Got anythin' useful?"

"Yes," Heather replied shortly, not liking his confrontational attitude but knowing this wasn't the time to comment on it. "Einfari and I counted the ships, and it's not the full might we expected. He only brought thirty-six warships." That made a difficult fight far more doable, and they had hastily checked two days sailing out in every direction, so she knew the other half wasn't coming.

"Good," Mogadon said eagerly. "Our ships'll be ready. Wha' about yer dragons? Got any close enough to rain Hel like ye've been promising?"

"I've promised nothing, personally," Heather clarified, "and we didn't get much warning. The two already on-island will be helping, but the earliest any others can be here is midnight." The attacking fleet would probably strike at dusk so as to mix with the enemy before Night Furies could fly and strike under the cover of true dark, so aside from Einfari and Berg, they were on their own until then.

"There'll still be plenty to do then," Bertha reassured her. "How many are we getting?"

"At least three." Berg hadn't relayed who was coming, either, because Fishlegs hadn't known who was capable of going anywhere, between patrols and hatchlings that needed tending. It really wasn't important yet; they'd make do with whoever showed up.

"Well, it'll be close," Sigvard said hurriedly, looking back at the docks. "What do you and your two dragons plan on doing when the fighting starts?"

"Whatever we can. I'll know more when things kick off." She looked at each of the Chieftains in turn, from Rotison to Sigvard, taking in stony, determined faces that she suspected hid more tension than she could see. "Good luck, everyone."

"Aye, you as well, lass," Mogadon grunted, hefting his large sword and placing the flat of the blade against his shoulder. "To victory or Valhalla!"

Heather couldn't help but shudder at the all too familiar fleet now nearly within reach of the allies defending Mahelmetan. Seeing it like this, approaching a place she knew well enough, bent on destruction and death, was all too potent a reminder of the home she had lost long ago.

'Fishlegs says the back ships are up to something,' Berg roared, flying near her and Einfari, high above the conflict about to begin. 'See how they're not sailing as quickly? He thinks they are going to turn.'

"I see it," Heather agreed, forcing herself to forget her past for the moment. She hadn't even seen the destruction of her home. Just the all too informative aftermath. She could put it aside for now.

'Remember where the spies put in?' Einfari volunteered, looking back at Heather, her grey eyes narrow and focused. 'They might go there, and try to attack from behind.'

'That's what Fishlegs thinks,' Berg agreed. 'He says we should do our best to help out here for a while, and then go to the other side to interfere with that.'

"That's great, and you can thank Fishlegs for me," Heather called out, "but we're here and he's not. I don't think it's smart to take orders from him." She didn't resent Fishlegs for offering advice, and Berg was welcome to follow it, but she and Einfari were going to do what they thought most useful and worth the risk. There wouldn't be time to obey orders from second-hand sources in the midst of battle once things kicked off.

'Got it!' Berg barked, angling himself downward. 'It's starting!' Far below them, the first ships of the front of the attacking fleet were beginning to exchange catapult fire with the front of the defending ships, rocks slamming into both sides. They were too far up to hear any of it, but the rocking of ships and bodies falling into the water was enough to imagine the rest.

Einfari followed Berg down, diving shallowly as she lined herself up. 'It is good Berg has advice on his side. I do not think he was ready for this to happen on his shift.'

"Well, he came out here," Heather muttered, squinting against the wind. "He's going to help."

By unspoken accord, Einfari pulled out in front of Berg as they came closer, taking the lead and choosing a target. The ships weren't firing their catapults anymore, too close to risk it, and were instead lowering boarding planks and engaging face to face. Vikings didn't do ranged combat, even in naval battles. Not only was it less honorable, it tended to destroy valuable and hard to replace warships, which would cripple opportunities for more honorable death and glory in the future.

Heather felt a grim smile cross her face as Einfari began the trademark Night Fury screech. Dragons had no such stupidity to hamper them.

Two powerful blasts of blue fire shot out in unison and slammed into one of the Berserker warships, crippling the sail and tearing a jagged hole in the deck, the concussive force of their detonations doing more damage than the actual heat of the fire; flames flickered and died out on the deck as buckets of water were quickly emptied-

But, Heather saw as they pulled out of their dive, twisting in the saddle to watch, the mast Einfari had struck was not within reach. The flames caught and grew there even as it toppled over, broken halfway up its length. The ship they had targeted hadn't yet engaged but was about to, and the falling mast gave the Meatheads who were closest a large window of opportunity, if they were smart enough to take it-

And then Einfari was jerking around, and Heather had to hold on and face front. "Good?"

'Good,' Einfari said, flipping her tail up and forcing her body to angle back up. 'Shots fired?'

"Few if any," Heather reported. "They weren't paying attention." They both knew that this first strike would involve relatively little danger; there were only two dragons, and dozens of enemy targets. Every individual ship would have considered themselves in far more immediate danger from the Viking aspect of the defense and paid less attention than they should.

Now, after one dual strike had badly crippled a warship, they couldn't count on that dismissal anymore. But Einfari had seven shots left, as did Berg, and they were going to use at least four here.

Even as Heather got around to thinking that, she noticed that they were turning, losing their momentum in the air, almost falling sideways, and she knew that they were diving again already. She clung to the saddle and tried to keep her eyes open, acutely aware that her role in this was relegated to what she could observe and think, no more. Her bow, quiver, and ax were all useless here; firing off of a moving dragon was far beyond her skill level, if it was even possible.

Another building shriek, the setting sun in front of them partially blinding Heather for a moment, and then a second set of shots at another similarly vulnerable ship. They pulled out lower, Einfari mistiming her maneuver-

Heather jerked back as a blur of motion sprang up right in front of both of them just as they leveled out, coming up in front of Einfari's left wing and continuing up, missing by the barest of margins. Einfari jerked to the side in a belated evasive maneuver, Heather almost fell out of the saddle in shock, and then they were over friendly ships.

The shock wore off and Heather let loose a torrent of curses she had picked up over the years, lacking any other more productive outlet for the burst of fear-driven energy that was flooding her.

'I'm fine!' Einfari interrupted her. 'That was the only one that came close. Just a lucky shot. Calm down. I will pull out sooner next time.'

"Too close," Heather managed, clamping down on the urge to keep cursing. She was already feeling embarrassed by the outburst, so she wanted to just move on as if nothing had happened. "Definitely pull out sooner. And pick more varied targets, ships that aren't just like those two. Where's Berg?"

'Right here,' Berg called out from above. 'I didn't really understand what you said before.'

'Neither did I,' Einfari agreed, 'but I got the idea. We need to be more careful next time.'

Astrid stared at the distant attack going on in front of the docks, wishing she were there. It had been her idea to lead the second prong of the assault, the one that circled around, came through the miserable excuse for a forest, and stormed the village, but that was before she had known the Night Furies wouldn't fly straight for the untouched part of the armada, instead choosing to strike in the midst of the carnage unfolding in front of the docks.

If she were there, she would have tried to get at the dragons even now circling around for their third strike. But they would come to her, soon, once people started dying. Even at this distance, she could see the silhouette on one of those dragons, which meant it had to be Hiccup, or Maour. He would never stand by while she slaughtered the women and children cowering in their village.

"How long?" she gritted, looking back at Gobber.

"I'll check," he volunteered, for once completely sober. He turned to the soldiers crowded up on the deck, waiting impatiently. "'Ow long?" he bellowed.

"We'll get there jus' after sundown," someone replied respectfully, hidden in the crowd but still wary of her wrath. As he should be; she had taken care to ensure none of the Berserkers under her control so much as questioned her decisions. Gobber was the only one allowed to do that, and him only because she needed a check to ensure her insanity didn't trip her up. It was easy to remember that; Gobber's presence was an essential part of making sure her hunts did not fail.

"Good," she said, tapping the stake she had long since sharpened to a perfect point on the deck, taking care not to blunt it. The stake had already tasted dragon rider blood once, and she was going to make sure it did again. Her ax was meant for killing, but her stake would be coming along, just in case she got a chance to drive it into either kind of enemy.

And she would get that chance; she and her detachment of elite Berserkers were going to wreak havoc and death until someone came to try and stop them. Just as soon as they reached the village…

Astrid's portion of the fleet sailed on, not yet under any sort of attack, approaching the back end of the island. The sun was dipping below the horizon, colored a fitting red and casting long, ominous shadows out over the water and island.

'Do not try and go any faster, son,' Cloey admonished, looking over at Toothless as they flew. 'We must pace ourselves. It will do no good to arrive too worn out to do anything but watch.'

'I know, sorry,' Toothless roared back, using a bit more volume than was necessary out of frustration. He knew this route, and had flown it many times. The trackless ocean was boring and made time go slowly at the best of times; now, it was torturous.

"She's right," Maour sighed. "I don't like it either, but still. We're not going to get there first, anyway."

'Yes, yes, I know, the Myrkurs left before we did,' Toothless grumbled. He was feeling a little inadequate, if only because the Svarturs were probably the last family to send their contribution to the fight. He didn't know what the Nótts had done, or how fast they had reacted, but the painfully long discussion over who to send in the Svartur caverns had certainly given them a head start.

'Only because they did not have a hatchling to worry about,' Cloey reminded him.

'The Eldurs left before us too,' Toothless objected. 'They have theirs.'

'Two hatchlings, then,' Cloey growled. 'Stop complaining. I know you're worried and anxious. I am too. Do not take it out on me.'

"She's right," Maour agreed reproachfully, echoing himself.

'Sorry,' Toothless whined. He didn't really know what was wrong with himself; he'd flown to battle or at least dangerous situations before and handled it just fine. The only difference this time was that it was a fight they had anticipated for months… And they were still late.

"This stinks," Fishlegs complained, leaning back against the cavern wall. "Why do I have to stay behind?"

'You are a connection to the battle. We must have information as quickly as we can,' Skarpur admonished, not even looking over at him. She was sharpening her claws against the base of the pillar in the vertical central cavern, drawing them across the unyielding stone over and over again in slightly different directions.

"I know, but-"

'I had to stay behind with Joy,' Skarpur interrupted. 'Myrkurheili will return from his patrol tonight to find he missed it all by mere chance. Eldurfjall has to stay with his hatchling and wait for news, and so do Skuggi and Von. Be grateful you at least can see what is happening and do not have to wait for an irritatingly whiny Viking to relay information like the rest of us.'

"Point taken," Fishlegs gulped, eyeing her increasingly sharp claws and severe expression. "Where is Nótthljóður, anyway?" he asked, hoping to change the subject.

'Contemplating pouncing on you and gnawing until you stop whining,' Skarpur said tonelessly, her eyes flicking up to something above Fishlegs. 'But she will not if she wants to be allowed to be here and listen to you tell of the battle.'

A distinctly disappointed whine echoed out from a ledge above Fishlegs' head, and he only barely stopped himself from looking, somehow knowing that looking up and cringing would only tempt the young dragon to disobey her mother anyway. After living with Night Furies for five years, he had a good idea of what would tempt her. Acting like frightened prey definitely made the list.

'And speaking of the battle…' Skarpur prompted.

"Right, right." Fishlegs closed his eyes and let his senses drift over to Berg, accessing hearing and sight. He knew his friend was taking a breather, perched atop one of the tallest buildings in the village, which gave a good overview of the battle.

The sun was almost below the horizon, casting immensely long shadows and coloring everything with a red tint. The ships of their allies had formed a semicircle around the docks, and from here he could see that said circle was holding admirably, the portion of the attacking fleet that had engaged stuck on the outside, Vikings fighting aboard every ship. The combat seemed balanced for the moment, forces equally matched, though there were a few ships of reinforcements coming on their side of things, filled with a few reserve troops, and more than likely some Mahelmetans who couldn't stay away from the fray, regardless of their Chief only pledging to defend his own island.

"The fighting is going well," he reported to Skarpur. "The blockade is holding, and it doesn't look like we're losing."

'What of the other front you told me was going to come soon?' Skarpur asked.

Fishlegs could see said other front out of the corner of Berg's field of view, so he didn't have to ask his friend to turn and look. "Still on its way, it'll be there soon. But Heather told Rotison, and his people are ready. Berg and Einfari are going to go see what else they can do once the enemy makes landfall, because that's when they'll be most vulnerable and-"

'Spare me the logic, I know it,' Skarpur cut in. 'How does my daughter look? Tired?'

"Not very?" Fishlegs guessed. It was hard to tell, if only because Einfari was hunched over Heather, the two planning their next move on a nearby rooftop. All he could see of her was her back, and that betrayed little to nothing of her physical state. "She's not hurt."

'I wish I had a connection to her directly,' Skarpur murmured. 'But I must trust she will know her limits. This is not her first fight, though I almost wish it was, given how stupidly reckless her first few fights were.'

"Do you want me to have Berg tell her that?" Fishlegs offered, hoping she didn't take him up on it. Now didn't seem like the time for it, but he knew better than to ignore Skarpur and hope she was just idly talking. She was a Nótt, and everything they did had a purpose of some sort, even if said purpose never became clear.

'No, no distractions,' Skarpur replied. 'Joy, come down here.'

Though his other senses focused on his dragon, Fishlegs flinched as he distantly heard an impact nearby; he knew all too well that the fledgling in question had probably only barely missed landing on him.

'I want to go,' Nótthljóður complained to her mother.

'So do I, but we both get to stay this time,' Skarpur replied gently. 'Next time, you will get to stay with Togi, or maybe your brother.'

'Not Einfari or Heather?' Joy asked, sounding confused even to Fishlegs, who was only half listening, more interested in the battle unfolding in front of Berg's eyes.

'This is Heather's fight more than anyone's,' Skarpur sighed, 'and I would rather support Einfari in supporting her than oppose Einfari, when I know she would find her way to the fight anyway.'

'Huh?'

'Heather needs to fight, and Einfari needs to help her survive it,' Skarpur rephrased. 'I don't want to try and stop either of them. It would do no good. You understand?'

'Yes, now I do,' Joy agreed. 'I need to go fight too?'

'That only works with older daughters,' Skarpur rumbled. 'Younger daughters get to stay and be protected.'

Fishlegs started as Berg's perspective abruptly shifted, and focused on hearing what was occurring around him, not his own body.

'It is time,' Einfari was saying, turning and letting Heather back onto the saddle. 'Berg, are you with us?'

'Do I have a choice? I have six shots right now,' he offered. 'We could wait until I have all eight back-'

"There's no waiting, we need to strike and bloody them when they're getting off their ships," Heather interrupted. "So, now is the time."

'Okay, on it,' Berg conceded, leaping up into the air. 'Fishlegs?'

"Right here," Fishlegs replied. "Help is on the way, you know. Don't do too many risky things."

'This is practice,' Berg rumbled confidently, following Einfari over the island. 'Unless we destroy them so badly here none will ever come back for more.'

"Yeah, I don't think so, there's still half a fleet to worry about," Fishlegs recalled worriedly. He didn't like that almost as much as he didn't like not being able to help Berg out in person. Even if he wasn't a fighter, he could do something useful. Surely, there would have been something. Next time… If there was a next time.

Author's Note: Shorter chapter, but only because I didn't want to try and cram the entire battle into one this time around. Next one's going to be chaotic, to say the least, though I don't plan to jump perspectives quite so much as this chapter. This one was a lot of summing up and accounting for, so as to set the stage and not leave annoying and plot-unimportant questions such as 'well, who's flying to the rescue?' or 'where, exactly, are Dagur and Astrid?' hanging. Neither of those is meant to conceal a twist, so I didn't want to leave them vague.

Oh, wait, I lied, one of those two does conceal a twist despite what you got to see. Oh, well, I guess you can wait and see what it is!