Disclaimer: Air raids with dragons? Cool, but sadly still not mine.

Chapter 3

Orléans, France

1429

The city of Orléans stood under siege. It wasn't a siege such as history described those of earlier centuries, or those in the South or the East, with long trenches of heavy siege-works dug in close around its walls. The Viking garrisons were stationed farther back, clustered around the main roads to stop supplies getting to the city, housed behind hastily-built stone walls that would resist cannon fire from the French. They didn't need to be close because fast-flying dragons would intercept anyone who tried to break the blockade. And instead of siege-works, the area just outside the walls was a burnt and blackened wasteland covered with craters where precious little grew.

The city itself was mostly stone, bricks, and, where all else failed, tents and makeshift shelters. This was nothing new, although the trend had accelerated during the siege. Mostly, though, it was a result of a hundred years of facing an enemy that could rain fire down from the heavens.

While the city lay in a restless sleep, lookouts watched the sky with spyglasses, one of the technologies the French did manage to copy from the Vikings, searching for the slightest hint of a silhouette of a wing or the glint of a spear. At unpredictable intervals, a lighthouse beam focused through an enormous lens like a reverse spyglass would sweep the horizon, hoping to catch incoming attackers by surprise. Of course, however stealthily the Vikings moved, the sound of flapping wings would be clear when they drew near enough, but they often drew quite close before they were noticed.

It was with one of these sweeps that the light illuminated a distant formation, approaching with the wind from the northwest. The lookouts spotted it at once and sounded the alarm.

"AIR RAID!"

A distinctive high, piercing sound broke across the city: a long wail that slowly rose and fell in pitch in a way that was unmistakable. It was a slide trumpet—an instrument otherwise used only in church services, and not in the same way. Other trumpeters repeated the sound when they heard it, rousing the whole city. Soldiers ran to their posts; gunners swung the cannons around to face the enemy; and arbalestiers took their positions with their crossbows. There were hand cannons and wheellock muskets, too, which had better range, but an arbalest was as fast and more reliable in all weather conditions. And there were also ballistae launching weighted nets and harpoons that gave yet another advantage against the flesh-and-blood fliers.

The besieged townsfolk rushed to underground shelters. These, too, were dug over many years, but many of them dug or expanded quite recently. They moved hurriedly, but not panicked. This was an all too regular occurrence for them. They were lucky this time. The raid was spotted far from the city.

The Vikings came in range of the cannons first. The gunners fired grapeshot and canisters of darts that could rip through dragons' wings and tails at long distances. But the riders saw the muzzle flashes and climbed higher, dodging the worst of it. High enough, and the force of the cannon-fire would be reduced greatly, and what was more, the elite air raid squadrons armored their dragons with the scales of a Screaming Death—strong enough to deflect most of the French weapons and light enough to armor even the wings.

The Vikings climbed higher and higher on their dragons and then dove from directly above the city. It was the usual type of air raid. In front was a squadron of a dozen Deadly Nadders, the fastest dragons in the Vikings' arsenal aside from the Royal Family's Snow Furies. Lightly armored and highly maneuverable, they would dive in close in and around the defenders, destroying their weapons with their spine shots and white-hot magnesium flames. Behind them were the beasts responsible for the half-destroyed city and the scorched earth around it. Twelve massive Typhoomerangs descended through the clouds and unleashed hellfire on the city of Orléans, leaving their characteristic spiral scorch marks a dozen times over and burning everything in their path. Their riders fed them eels as snacks so that they could keep burning all night.

The French soldiers fled as their garrisons were destroyed. The tents and makeshift shelters burned like kindling. The stone and brick buildings stood firm, but they wouldn't save the people inside from being cooked alive or suffocating on the spent air under a sustained assault. With constant booms and screams, the French fought back with cannon-fire and arrows, some tipped with Dragon Root tranquilizers, working to bring the dragons down, but the Vikings were too fast, and their fire burned too hot.

It soon became clear that this was going to be one of the bad nights as one ballista after another was burned, cannon crews were blasted off the wall, and arbalestiers and musketeers were impaled with spines. The city had been worn down for months and it seemed like tonight, everything that was left to stand against the Vikings would be burned to the ground.

The dragon-riders cheered their imminent victory with berserker war cries, and the garrisons on the roads answered back in the distance. But then, just when all hope seemed lost for the French, they heard a new sound coming from high above—a rising whistling sound that struck fear into the hearts of the strongest men who knew the old stories, despite not having been heard in over two hundred years.

Like a bolt from heaven, a blinding globe of violet light lanced down like struck one of the Typhoomerangs square in the back, exploding at the base of its neck. The great beast tumbled in the air and fell to the ground dead in an enormous fireball. The other dragons scattered in all directions as a living shadow pursued them, downing the Typhoomerangs one after the other without slowing and without mercy.

"Night Fury!"

The shadow moved like lightning, faster than any dragon ever seen—even faster than the Snow Furies. The Nadders were fast enough to flee when they split up, but the half the Typhoomerangs died before they reached the ring of garrisons. And the garrisons themselves were in chaos.

"Night Fury! Get down!"

BOOM!

A bolt of violet plasma exploded in the middle of the first garrison, and the shadow kept moving at top speed, hitting the next one and the next before they could react. The Night Fury was invisible against the moonless sky until it was too late, its distinctive whistling the only warning that death was coming from above. It swooped in at top speed, blasted the center of the camp, and raced past them before they could bring their weapons to bear. As it circled the city, the Viking fliers took off with their dragons, but they were unprepared for an enemy of this speed, power, and stealth. In fact, they were unprepared for an enemy that could fly at all. The Night Fury dodged them easily and just as easily sniped the Vikings out of the sky. By the time it finished its great circle, they were wholly routed, their strength broken and many of their dragons fleeing riderless in fear.

The Night Fury sped back towards Orléans. When the fighting on the Viking lines stopped, the French began swinging the lighthouse beam around. Even in the direct beam, though, the Night Fury was nearly invisible except for the reflection of its blue eyes and the glint of armor of its rider. The French braced themselves for its approach, but just as it reached the city, it turned and flew along the outer wall. When the light beam followed it, the rider unfurled a banner—a white banner with the fleur-de-lis painted in gold—the symbol of the king of France.

The city erupted in cheers.

We circled the city walls three times so that everyone could get a good look at us. The prophecy said the Maiden would ride to France's aid on a dragon and put the Vikings to rout, which was exactly what we had done, so I wasn't surprised that they "recognized" me, in a sense. Indeed, by the third circuit, I could hear shouts of triumph and thanks to God coming from the ramparts. The men called out to me, all of them wanting to meet their savior, even as some of them flinched when we drew close.

Once everyone had seen us, I came in for a landing. Orléans had six gates. I steered us to the only one that was on the River Loire, where the drawbridge was. It was more proper to ask for permission to enter the city, even though they would probably let us land on the castle keep.

"Alright, Iradei," I said, patting my new dragon's back. "It's time to introduce you to the world."

Sabre had been a good friend to me, but I'd had to let him go. One Nadder wasn't going to make a difference against the Viking Army. The saints had told me that God had prepared another dragon to ride into battle, and the very next day, Iradei came to me. I'd come to understand and love dragons in my time in the south, but Iradei was like nothing else. When she came to me, she was sick, injured in the leg, and weary from what must have been a very long journey Yet she was still the most beautiful creature I'd ever seen, and I was certain that she was sent to me by God. I nursed her back to health, and by the time she was well, she was as good a friend as Sabre ever had been, ready to face any foe with me and carry me to the gates of Hell and back.

I dismounted from Iradei and guided her gently towards the drawbridge, my banner still held over my head. I could see guards up on the wall above—arbalestiers with Dragon Root-tipped arrows that would knock out most dragons instantly. I could understand their prudence. A friendly dragon rider is not something you see every day. We waited while people were discussing my arrival behind the wall, until the drawbridge came down, and the gate came up. A troop of guards came out of the city and lined the drawbridge with long pikes. After them came a man in expensive-looking robes.

"Many thanks, good knight, for stopping the Viking raiders," he said. "And even more for destroying the siege works. The city of Orléans is in your debt. Allow me to welcome you, sir. I am Jean, regent for my brother, the Duke. Anything you need—any assistance we can give, and you will have it…Now please, might we know the name of our savior?"

I was a little surprised the Regent had come out in person. I had thought he might stay back for safety's sake. I had heard of Jean, and his brother, the Duke of Orléans, was one of the few men who were still in a Viking prison since the Battle of Agincourt. The man before me looked thin and tired, as no doubt all the residents of the besieged city had, but his eyes were bright with gratitude.

In answer to his question, I removed my helmet and let what hair I had kept fall nearly to my shoulders. The Regent's eyes widened in surprise as I called out in a loud voice, "My name is Jehanne, daughter of Jacques Darc of Domrémy, and this is Iradei." I patted her head again. "And we have come to liberate France."

I heard gasps from the wall when the soldiers saw me for what I was, despite the legends. My longed-for arrival was a source of hope for every man, woman, and child in the city, but probably, many did not believe it until now. But seeing a young maiden riding a dragon under the banner of France would convince most of them.

"Then the rumors are true, then?" Jean asked. "You are the Maid of Lorraine?"

"I come from a village at the borders of Lorraine, Regent," I said, "and I have seen many trustworthy signs and visions that God has called me to lead my people in taming the wild dragons and expelling the Vikings from our lands. The Dauphin has entrusted me with this mission of breaking the siege here at Orléans…If I am the prophesied Maiden, sir, then I pray that God will use me for the good of France according to that station."

The Regent looked surprised again. "You are very well-spoken, Mademoiselle," he said, "and the…dragon is very convincing, but do you have any proof of your other claims? Have you met with the Dauphin?"

"Of course." I pulled an enveloped from Iradei's saddlebags and handed it to him. "A personal letter of endorsement from His Highness theDauphin at his court in Chinon, marked with his seal."

Jean inspected the letter carefully, opened it, and read it. "You have visited Chinon, then?" he asked.

"I have. I assure you he was thorough in inspecting my claims."

"Very well. It appears to be genuine. Welcome to Orléans."

It wasn't long before the decree went throughout the city: Let it be known that Jehanne of the household of Darc is a guest of the city on a personal mission from His Highness the Dauphin, and that she and her steed, Iradei, shall be given every courtesy while they stay within our walls—by the authority of His Grace, the Duke.

"So how is it that you came to ride a dragon, Mademoiselle Jehanne?" Jean asked at the most opulent evening meal they could manage under the circumstances. "No one but a Viking has ever done it in over three hundred years."

"There will be time later to tell the full story, Regent," I said, "but I tell you now what I already told the Dauphin. Some years ago, St. Michael the Archangel came to me in a vision along with St. Catherine and St. Margaret, instructing me to learn to ride dragons so that I could teach my people and save France from the Vikings. They have spoken to me daily ever since. When my father sought to stop me from my quest, I left home, riding on the back of a Deadly Nadder, flying south until I reached Savoy, where I could continue my work unmolested. I've spent the past two years staying at an abbey learning to tame wild dragons, and to read and write besides so I could make a written record of my work. Then, when the saints told me I was ready, God sent me a new dragon—one with whom I could bring His wrath against the Vikings besieging your city—and so I named her Iradei."

Ira Dei is Latin for "wrath of God".

Jean nodded awkwardly. I was pretty sure my fellow Frenchmen didn't share my appreciation for Iradei's beauty. Dragons were an object of terror for us, and even among dragons, the Night Fury was a legendary story to frighten children—a horror met only in a nightmare. But he was eager to have a dragon rider fighting on the side of France, and that covered over any fear he had.

"A marvelous story, Jehanne," he said. "So what then will you do now? You have bought us a respite, but word that the Viking garrisons were destroyed will spread, and a single dragon even as powerful as Iradei cannot stand against an army."

"If it pleases you, Regent, tomorrow, I will fly to Blois with your report of the battle. It will take less than a morning on the wing. The Dauphin has told them to await word from Orléans. Give that word, and they will bring a convoy of troops and supplies here in two days to cut down the Viking foot-soldiers. And in the meantime, we will reinforce the garrison here against a counterattack."

"How?" said Jean. "We have been under siege for six months. We have no supplies and precious little surplus of men and weapons."

I smiled at him. "Isn't it obvious, Regent?" I asked. "With dragons."

Isle of Berk

1106

Berk awoke annoyingly early that fateful morning to screams of anger echoing across the island. Being the Chief, I had to be the one to check it out. Astrid was nice enough to get out of bed and go with me, but that didn't make me much happier.

A quick investigation revealed that the screams were coming from Ruffnut and Tuffnut, who had awakened to find themselves tied to their beds and surrounded by a gang of giggling children. This was only slightly weirder than usual.

"Oh, now I'm glad I came along," Astrid said. "I would've paid good money to see this."

"Oh, Hiccup!" Tuffnut yelled when he saw us. "Thank Thor you're here. These little monsters swarmed us! We couldn't get away. You have to get us out of here." The kids giggled some more.

I stared down at the Twins. "No, I think I'll leave you here," I said. "It's no less than you deserve after what you did yesterday."

What they did was crash the missionaries' Easter Feast. Easter was the most important feast on the Christian Calendar. There hadn't been too much conflict so far since their second most important feast, Christmas, actually wasn't too different from our Snoggletog, and Brother Harold and Brother Olaf hadn't had as many converts then. But by Easter, they had enough to hold their own feast, and when Ruff and Tuff got involved, it was a total disaster.

"Come on, Chief, it wasn't that bad," said Ruffnut.

"Yes, it kind of was," Astrid said.

"Yeah, it definitely was." I reminded them of what happened: "You replaced their boiled eggs with raw ones. You switched their salt and sugar pots when they baked their cakes. And you somehow sabotaged the minstrel's fiddle to produce the mating call of a Smothering Smokebreath, and I still don't know how that worked because mating season is in autumn!"

"Well, it's not our fault the Christians had their big feast on Loki Day," said Tuffnut.

"They calculate their Easter feast based on the phase of the Moon," I snapped. "They didn't choose to have it on the first of Ostar. How do you think the village would take it if you pulled stunts like that during Thawfest?"

"Um, isn't that what we do anyway?" Ruffnut pointed out.

I groaned: "Well…yes. But if Harold and Olaf did that to us, the village would have sent them off the island on a wild Monstrous Nightmare. You need to show our guests at least that much respect. They joined us for Thawfest, didn't they?" Honestly, I hadn't been sure they would, but the missionaries had enjoyed Thawfest, even if they didn't fully partake because of their fasting season.

"Ugh, fine, we're sorry," she said. "We won't screw up their feasts anymore, okay? Now get us out of here!"

"I don't know," I said, sending a grin to Astrid. "We might be better off leaving you until you learn your lesson." I turned to the kids. "Incidentally, why did you tie them up?" I asked. "Was it just to get them back for the feast."

"No, today's Hocktide Eve, Chief," a little boy said. "Brother Harold says it's traditional to tie men to their beds in the morning."

"Really? Wish I'd known that earlier," Astrid said, winking at me.

"Actually, Brother Harold says men are supposed to be tied up on Monday and women on Tuesday."

"Ah, that's good to know," I said, winking back. Astrid wasn't so enthusiastic about that.

"Hold on? Why am I tied up then?" Ruffnut demanded.

"Well…we couldn't really tell you apart," a little girl said.

Astrid and I both burst out laughing.

"Oh, real mature, Chief," Ruffnut growled.

"You asked for it, Ruffnut," Astrid said. "Hiccup's right; you need to learn your lesson. So how long do you keep them tied up like this?"

"Until they pay ransom," another boy said with a smile.

"Ransom?!" the Twins yelled.

"A donation to the Church," he explained.

"What? We can't do that," Tuffnut said. "We're devotees of Loki."

"Actually, I think you can," I said.

"Uh, no, we can't."

"Yes, I really think you can."

"Why?"

"Repayment for the damage you did yesterday," told them. "I think that's fair. That way, the monks don't have to pay the full cost, the kids get to have their fun, and most importantly, you all stay out of my hair. Come on Astrid, let's go back to bed."

We turned to go. Astrid whispered in my ear, "I'll get the rope."

Astrid and I had married on the first of Lenzin—March on the Christian calendar. That gave us enough time for us to fly off to Dragon's Edge to spend some time there on our own and still make it back in time for Thawfest. Mom thought it was sweet. She even called it our "honey month", even though it was only two weeks, and I really didn't need her getting that involved in our personal life.

I was back on the job before noon, of course. The Chief doesn't get a lot of free time. Ruffnut and Tuffnut got out of their predicament in an incident that apparently involved a basket of Easter eggs, seventeen bedsheets, three singing Terrible Terrors, and a yak. And that's where I stopped Fishlegs when he tried to explain it. There are some things man was just not meant to know.

I told the twins to help the Christians finish cleaning up after yesterday's mess, and then they'd be even. We were calling the whole group "the Christians" now, which was a little awkward since they were mostly people from Berk, and it felt like we were separating them from us, but they didn't seem to mind. The children were the biggest sticking point. It was even easier to make the charge that the missionaries were leading them astray now, even if, as I suspected, half of them were just having fun playing along rather than actually believing it. It was a good thing we'd sent the expedition to Norway when we did. Seeing Christians and keepers of Forn Sidhr living side by side there was even to convince even Mom. But this one was an easy call. It was a simple matter of hospitality.

"Sorry about them ruining your Easter feast, Brother Harold," I told the monk as they cleaned. "I wish I could say they've learned their lesson, but honestly, I've been flying with them for six years, and I still haven't been able to bring them in line."

"Thank you, Chief Hiccup," Harold answered. "Truthfully, it's not the worst Easter we've had, and the children had fun with it."

"Well, just tell me when the next feast is, and I'll make sure they're on patrol that day."

"That's very kind of you, Chief. And our next feast is the Feast of the Ascension on the fortieth day after Easter."

"Got it."

"Figures he'd do that," Ruffnut grumbled.

"No respect for Loki," said Tuffnut. "Huh…Say, is it getting dark all of a sudden?"

I looked up. Things did look a little off. The clouds were rolling in unusually thick and fast, and the wind was picking up.

"Hiccup?" I heard Fishlegs call. He was flying over fast on Meatlug. "You're gonna want to see this!"

I ran around to where I could see the ocean and stopped short. There was a storm rolling in, but it didn't look like any storm I'd ever seen before. It was small and compact, but very strong. The wind whipped the sea into a froth, and in the middle, a tall, white column of spray reached up from the surface and into the clouds.

"But that's impossible," I said. "Waterspouts only occur with winter storms."

"Unless it's not a storm," Fishlegs said.

"Is there a dragon that can do that?"

"I don't know. I can't think of any dragons that would. A Bewilderbeast probably could do it, but it's not normal behavior."

"Well, that storm definitely doesn't look natural. Look, it's still sunny just outside of it…I'm going in. Fishlegs, go find my mother. Cloudjumper might be the only dragon who can navigate that. I'll get Toothless and meet you at the edge of the storm."

"On it, Chief."

I ran home to get Toothless and met up with Astrid and Stormfly there. Most of our best riders were already in the air by the time we joined Mom and Fishlegs at the shore. The storm looked even worse up close.

"It's heading straight for Berk," Astrid said. "It'll tear the villages apart with those winds. I've never seen a waterspout that strong before."

"Yeah…" I said. "Alright, something's not right here. This is an attack. Mom, do you have any ideas?"

"I don't recognize this, Hiccup," she called. "I thought I knew every species of dragon, but I don't know any that can do this."

"Okay, possible unknown enemy," I told everyone. "We need to find out what's causing that waterspout. Snotlout, take Hookfang and dive under it to see if it's a water-dwelling dragon. Mom, fly Cloudjumper up near the top, but don't get sucked in. Toothless and I will try to fly above the cloud and look with his echolocation."

We were about to move when Fishlegs called out, "Uh, guys? It's it just me, or is it speeding up?"

All the fliers froze for a moment as we saw the waterspout coming closer and closer. "It's coming right for us! Fly for it!" I yelled.

We scattered, but the waterspout sped up even more, moving faster than it should have been able to. And it was right behind me and Toothless.

"Hiccup, it's after you!" Astrid screamed.

"Yeah, I noticed! Fly faster, bud. Plasma blast!"

Toothless turned his head and shot plasma blasts into the waterspout from top to bottom, but they didn't do anything. We had no idea where the dragon was in it to actually hit it. We dodged, and I briefly saw Hookfang dive under and Cloudjumper fly over as fire, spines, and lava shot into the vortex, but nothing had any effect, not even telling us what the dragon was or where it was. Somehow, it kept up with our dodging and kept gaining on us. When it was practically on Toothless's tail, we dove, picking up speed and flying out in a dead sprint, trying to get out of the storm. But the waterspout moved even faster, impossibly catching up with the fastest dragon alive and over taking us.

"HICCUUuuup…!" I heard Astrid's scream fading like a distant echo.

"ASTRID!" I called, but I couldn't hear any answer.

We were inside the waterspout, and I threw my arms around Toothless's neck and held on like my life depended on it. His prosthetic tail was useless in this wind. It flapped in the gale like a banner in the breeze and nearly flew off. We spun at the mercy of the wind. The spout started to carry us higher and higher—higher than the storm had looked from the outside—so high the air started to grow thin. I could see from top to the bottom, and I still couldn't see any dragon causing it. I couldn't even see where we were anymore.

A chill went through me—like an icy gust of winter wind that chills you to the bone. From the way he shuddered, I could tell Toothless felt it too. Then, the storm began to clear, and Toothless and I dove again, but pretty soon, I figured out that it wasn't Toothless who was diving. Something was pulling us straight down. Toothless went into another uncontrolled spin, and we still couldn't get out. We hurtled towards the ground faster and faster. I thought I could dots of light racing up at us. And then, suddenly, we stopped.

There was a flash of light and a few moments' disorientation, but I was pretty sure I didn't black out, which was worrying because I was also pretty sure we weren't in Berk anymore. For one thing, we were lying on the ground in the middle of a circle of men in black robes and hoods who were chanting in a language I didn't recognize. For another, beyond them, as far as I could see, we seemed to be surrounded by a camp for an army that must have been equal to the forces of the entire Archipelago—an army equipped with dragons. And for another, my family was nowhere to be seen.

One of the black robed men pointed at us and shouted triumphantly in broken Norse, "It vorked! It is Night Fury! And vith rider! Ve are saved!"

Another man took up the shout. "Dat is not just any Night Fury," he said in the same thick accent. "Look at its tail. Dat is Toothless, and its rider is Hiccup Nightwing!"

Then, all of the men gasped in awe and, to my shock, knelt down to us. "All hail Hiccup Nightwing!" they shouted.

"What?!"