There was no ceremony or fanfare to Angarr officially becoming Chief. Most of the village woke from a troubled sleep, if they had slept at all, to find Stoick and his family gone, replaced by ash and madness.
There was no cheering as he forced the elder to daub the blood-soaked paste on his forehead, a symbol of the Chief's battle prowess, and his follower's adoration. Even those he considered friends stared on with hard looks as he fumbled with the buckle, trying to tighten the ceremonial belt around his waist, eyes scratched and raw from lack of sleep.
Stoick had not been found. He had fled out to sea with Gobber and that wretched boy, Stoick's prized vessel noticeably missing from its proud mooring at the head of the harbour. Even worse, the Night Fury was nowhere to be seen. The tracks were scattered, confusing, like the creature had dragged itself to a watery inlet, only to disappear. Anything else had either been washed away or obliterated by the dragon's tail. Dried blood on the sand was the only other clue they had.
The fire had finally died out by the afternoon, but not before it had eaten its way through two neighbouring houses and a store shed, packed with winter supplies. Charred wooden skeletons stood out against the first, light dusting of snow that had fallen, weeks earlier than predicted. Angarr stood atop the village, watching the homeless families, soot stained and desperate, picking through what was left of their lives.
A young, strong looking boy with a mop of black hair was picking at the rubble, frantically searching for something. Angarr's heart jolted when he saw the boy's face, and for a second, it almost seemed as if Spitelout was still alive and kicking. Even from a distance, he could see the boy's tears. A biting wind tugged at his hair and stung his exposed neck. He could have sworn that he heard a dragon roaring, far out to sea. Perhaps not roaring, laughing, maybe.
"Chief"
It took him a few seconds to tear his eyes away from the misery in front of him. When he finally turned, a cluster of nervous warriors stood, huddled and shivering, idle and lost. Maybe it was exhaustion, or shock, but Angarr couldn't remember a single one of their names.
"Sir, what should we do?"
Angarr sighed and rubbed his eyes, leaving the question hanging longer than he had any right to.
"We will do what we've always done. We're Vikings after all!"
The man, who had unintentionally become the leader of the little group, stared up at the chief with despair.
"Where should we start? There are families without homes, and we barely have enough wood to rebuild them."
"Then they can share with others, as we have done in the past."
"There aren't enough beds, or furs for that matter, how will we stay warm?"
"Burn the wreckage, I don't see the problem here. Besides, a dragon attack will warm them up a little."
"Dragon attack? Don't you think we should be worrying about defences at all? Stoick would never have…"
"DO NOT speak his name here! I am in charge of this village now, and you will do as I command."
"But sir, the problems! The food, the housing, winter, the dragons! If they attack now we are all…"
"I know DAMN WELL what the problems are, and they are not going to solve themselves if we just STAND HERE LIKE IDIOTS!"
The men recoiled at the outburst. With Stoick gone, they were lost. Even those who had helped depose him now wandered aimlessly about the hardened ground. Angarr sighed again, turning back to watch the plight of the homeless. It seemed that Vikings needed to be told what to do and when to do it. Their stiff obedience often hid their astonishing lack of initiative, at least for the common folk. That's why they liked, nay, loved Stoick. A staunch traditionalist, until he went insane. Angarr liked to think outside the box, but even for him taming a dragon, a Night Fury no less, was just unthinkable. Berk was better off without him, even if the rabble did not see it.
The men stood like sheep, shuffling nervously. They had all seen what had happened to Spitelout. Angarr did not turn to speak to them. These men needed orders, the village depended on it.
"The caves. What do we have in the caves?"
"The caves. What do you mean?"
"Just answer the damn question or I swear to Odin I'll have your head"
"The cold stores sir, most of the fresh meat and fish. They're not full but there –
"I want every man, women and child who can hold a pickaxe to report to the entrance. Get the fishermen out and working or we're all going to starve. Salvage what you can from the wreckage and bring all the spare timber. This will NOT be the end of Berk as long as I'm breathing."
War drums beat a marching tune inside Astrid's head. Light streamed in through the thin open windows, blinding her as she tried to force an eyelid open. She groaned loudly rolling to one side, and was rewarded with a sharp crack as a small table buckled under the weight. That was funny, she didn't remember her room having a table. Her throat was painfully dry, and her tongue felt numb. Covering her eyes with her wings, she tried to get back to sleep to escape the waking nightmare.
"Ohhh Astriiid…"
A soft voice sang her name nearby, but she didn't react. Something began to repeatedly poke her side, a regular prodding that matched the drums in her head.
"Astriiid…"
"No, just leave me… just, five more… hours"
She drew into herself, wrapping her wings tighter around her head and retreating into a ball shape. She hoped that her father would get the message. She didn't want to do training today, she was too ill.
"Come on Astrid, it's time to get up now…"
Astrid didn't move an inch. She was committed to ignoring the voice and the prodding, no matter how long it went on for. She would stand her ground. She felt the tiny hands pushing and shoving against her with all their strength. She smiled at the pitiful efforts of her baby brother, he could be so annoying sometimes. If she had the energy she would pour a jug of yak's milk all over his head. She snorted and began to drift back towards unconsciousness.
"Oh move yourself you overgrown lizard!"
"What?"
Her eyes snapped open, and she went almost cross-eyed focusing on a blurry Hiccup, who had a ridiculous smile plastered across his face.
"Who, what… what are you doing in my… AAHHH!"
Astrid flapped violently, pawing the air in panic. Adrenaline caused her eyes to slit and he vision to darken, she screamed for help but could only hear a dragon.
"Astrid, ASTRID, it's me!"
"Oh, oh no no. I'm fine. This is real. I remember now." She dragged herself up, the drums intensifying in her head, as she slowly got her breath back.
"I just… I don't know."
"Do you just kind of lose it, for a second?" She nodded, and then slumped back to the ground, immediately regretting her decision. She buried her head under her paws one more time. Hiccup slid up beside her, and wrapped his arms around one of hers.
"I'm sorry if I scared you. I forget how hard it is sometimes, you know?"
Astrid groaned in understanding, lifting her head once again. She managed a weak smile, and gave him a small lick.
"You smell like my dad does most nights. Sometimes I find it hard to believe that drinking is good for you. It just doesn't seem worth it."
"Really, and what gave you that idea?"
Hiccup smiled blankly and cocked his head deep in thought. Astrid frowned, he looked more like an idiot than he usually did. She gently tapped his nose and he sprung out of the trance.
"Right" he said springing to his feet, "There's somebody you should meet."
The Great Hall was filled with bodies, but they all seemed to be breathing. Most were in as compromising a position as the night before, some were sprawled out across a table, others under it. A few had found a chair and one was upside-down in an empty barrel. The first prize, however, went to a small, ginger Viking that found himself hanging from one of the great chandeliers, fast asleep and drooling onto his friends below. Stoick and Gobber were nowhere to be seen, but Jarl Raynir was slumped unconscious on his throne, a jug on his head and a thin ornate silver helmet in his hand.
The only movement came from a tall, blond women moving amount the men picking up cups and muttering something about "bloody Vikings…" lifting the edges of her apron, she carefully stepped over a lake of mead and slid up next to Raynir, swapping the crown and the jug.
She smiled when she noticed the visitors and came back across the hall to meet them.
"Ah, the guest of honour, I'd wondered where you'd gone." She spoke softly, addressing the dragon.
"Astrid, this is Lydia, she's the queen, uh …chiefess, jarletta?"
"Just call me Lydia, Raynir is my husband, so I guess that means I'm in charge of Marauder's Bay" she chuckled to herself. Astrid glanced at Hiccup, smiling. Lydia didn't tower over Hiccup, but she was just taller than her husband and her hair brushed against the top of Hiccup's head. She knelt down so that they could be at the same level, and Astrid could detect a hint of some mysterious flower or plant on her person. It felt oddly familiar, but she was certain that she had never smelled it before. It wasn't unpleasant, but it was strange.
She stared into Astrid's eyes for a few moments, apparently unafraid. Her eyes were an unusual shade of dark brown that stood out amongst the piercing blue of most Vikings. Certainly, Astrid had never seen eyes quite like hers. The women slowly tilted her head and narrowed her eyes, searching for something. Astrid began to shy away, uncomfortable with this stranger who was almost peering into her soul. Noticing her discomfort, Lydia smiled and broke eye contact before frowning for a second and glancing at Hiccup. "Are you certain that it can understand what we're saying?"
"She - and yes, Astrid can hear every word."
"Well, if you say so. I've never seen a dragon that can communicate with humans before." Astrid flared her nostrils.
"Well, I'm not really a dragon am I?"
Hiccup lay a calming hand on her head. "You say that like your familiar with dragons…"
She stood up and laughed. "Oh I've had an encounter or two, never with a Night Fury though. I always thought they were just made up. I used to live on an island myself Mr Haddock, before I came here." She gestured to the shambolic hall and her husband behind her. She stared off into space, lost in some happy memory as a smile spread across her face. "I can tell the difference between a Common Brown and a Boulder-Wing."
"Common Brown?"
"Aye, small, but with sharp teeth and claws. They always stole my socks, but only the left ones…"
Hiccup grinned, "I think we would call that a terror. A 'Boulder-Wing', would be short and tough right? With tiny wings and a big appetite?"
"Precisely."
"Gronkle, although 'Boulder-Wing' makes more sense now that I think about it…"
Lydia leaned down in front of Astrid. "I've never seen anything as beautiful as you, though. Will she mind if I…"
"Why don't you ask her yourself?" Hiccup folded his arms, looking smug.
"Okay then. Astrid, do you mind?"
"Lay your hand on me and you lose it." Astrid growled, shrinking low to the ground, grinning.
Lydia stepped backwards nervously, glancing over at Hiccup, silently urging him to call his dragon back, or at least calm it down. He didn't and the Night Fury crept closer, teeth fully bared. Astrid could already detect the smell of fear. She stopped suddenly.
Hiccup and Astrid looked at each other, and burst out laughing. Lydia was not impressed.
"Well, at least you have a sense of humour, Astrid."
"Go on, she won't bite… much,"
Astrid lay on her side in front of the Jarl's wife, tongue hanging out, with a huge smile on her face. In truth, she was loving the attention, and purred as Lydia's cool hands began to stroke underneath her chin, utterly engrossed in the texture of the scales. They ran down her sides, feeling each scale individually, pressing gently against the thick black coat. Astrid closed her eyes in bliss and rolled fully over, exposing her belly. For once her instincts didn't scream out that she was in danger, as she had felt with everyone that wasn't Hiccup since she had turned. She was beginning to feel secure, safe in a way that she hadn't felt in a very long time.
"Aww, Hiccup can we keep her? Please…"
"I think she likes you Lydia. I bet you would get eaten last if it came to it."
Lydia laughed, mostly out of amazement. "She really is beautiful. Almost as beautiful as she is deadly. Look at these wings, and that tail! She must be quicker than lightning, strong too. Elastic as steel, I'll bet. I don't understand, how you managed to tame such an elusive creature."
Hiccup gestured to the leather tailfin, hanging limply from where it had come unravelled the night before. "The truth is ma'am, I didn't tame her at all. She was always dangerous, deadly even, and still is. I just had a feeling that beneath the armour and in between the claws, she was as desperate as I was."
Astrid, stared at Hiccup, and when he glanced over he could not draw his eyes away from hers.
"I had tried to catch her before. I drew up some crazy plans and made ridiculous promises to myself. I sat up at night building tools and machines, but in the end none of it mattered. I will never forget how lucky I was that you didn't just kill me, and I will never forget how lucky I am that you still put up with me. Unbelievable as it sounds, I didn't 'befriend' her; she befriended me."
They sat there, looking deep into each other. Astrid blinked back tears, overwhelmed. There was nothing she could say or do to express her gratitude to Hiccup, her saviour, her friend. All this time she was so amazed by what he had done for her that she had never wondered what she had meant to him. Alone, with few friends, bullied most of his life with no real family, not when Stoick had a village to run. She had always ignored him, despite what was clearly just an attempt to escape his solitary misery.
He had spent the time and effort looking after her, saving her from certain death, not because she wanted to live, but because he was terrified that he would lose what might be his only friend. It felt as if a weight had been lifted off her shoulders, with the realisation that Hiccup would never leave her, no matter what she was. For the first time in her life, she felt needed, not just thankful, not just desired or pursued. They needed each other, and that was priceless.
"Ahem…"
Lydia was stood awkwardly where they had left her.
"Yeah, sorry about that…"
"No, it's okay. I have heard about people like you. Dragon riders that have some kind of sacred bond with their companion. Again, I just thought it was a story, but then you turned up on a Night Fury and started flying all over the town and I suppose my-"
"Wait, WHAT? Dragon riders! What do you mean? How is that possible?"
"I thought you could tell me. You're the one they're calling the 'Dragon Master of Berk', or something like that."
Hiccup laughed, "Really, well I am from Berk and I do hang out with a Dragon, I suppose it works. But seriously, who else could possibly ride a Dragon, especially when everybody north of here is obsessed with making trophies out of their skulls."
Lydia, sighed heavily, and turned back towards the comatose Vikings. "All we ever get here is stories, Hiccup. Most are fuelled by my husband's obsession with the creatures, which was part of the reason we got married. He could have chosen any one of the King's daughters, but when I came running into the grove like the stupid child I was, shouting about a nest of Torch-Wings, he saw fit to marry me instead. Maybe he thought I could teach him something…"
Hiccup and Astrid shared a similar, worried expression as the women continued to lament.
"I remember how the fishing ships would track huge shoals of cod for days on end, right into the furthest north and the ice floes. After a few drinks, the sailors would tell stories of swarms of dragons, like seagulls but with teeth, diving and catching the fish as they flew out of the water."
As she turned back to face them, the tears in her eyes were unmistakeable, but she quickly wiped them away. She continued, the waver in her voice almost unnoticeable. Almost.
"According to one young fisherman, there was a man or at least something that looked like a man with huge black eyes and blue spines on his back, riding atop an enormous red dragon, and he could control them, and make them do what he wanted."
She closed her eyes and took another deep breath.
"Nobody believed poor Rolf of course, except me. I knew that he would always tell me the truth, we always told each other everything…"
"Maybe we should give her some space. Let her calm down or something."
"Lydia, Lydia are you alright? That was uh… a nice story. Can I get you something to drink?"
She covered her face with her slim hands, and shuddered, coughed and then composed herself. She threw her head and hair backwards, chuckling and went back down on her knees, blinking rapidly. "No, I don't touch the stuff. It's just too barbaric." She stretched out her arms and gently took Astrid's head in her hands, once again looking for some hint of unspoken intelligence in the dragon's gaze, even as she spoke.
"Hiccup, you can stay here if you want, I'll make sure my husband will allow it, and I can personally guarantee your safety. I can't imagine that it's easy for you, what with the way you northerners treat small folk, and well, dragons. Just promise me one thing. Don't forget about your home, and where you come from. It is a part of you as much as you are a part of it. You have a right to be there, as much as you have a duty to defend it."
"I won't. I've spent my whole life on Berk. I don't know how I could possibly bring myself to hate it."
"Well that's good. Just remember. Home fades away quickly when you're a world away. Stay away long enough, and when you finally go back, it will seem so different, and you don't even realised you've changed. It is a terrible feeling to finally return and not get recognised by the ones you love."
"I guess you're right" he replied, looking down at Astrid, positively glowing, "but I've brought along everyone that is dear to me. Home isn't just a place, it's the people who live there, and I'm lucky enough to live with some amazing people."
"Quickly, finish up the exits, a storm is coming!"
Dark clouds were quickly swallowing up the idyllic red sky as the sun disappeared beneath the horizon. The roar of distant thunder echoed across the water and shook the ground beneath them. Angarr counted the seconds between the flash and the boom. It was getting closer.
For days they had hammered and dug away at the mountain, digging deep, snaking tunnels into the solid rock. Everyone in the village had worked day and night to make them deep enough for everybody to shelter in, and yet it was barely enough. If the entire population was to cram inside, they would be packed into a tight mass, shivering together in the cold darkness. Most of the cattle and what was left of the supplies had been moved into the caves, and stacked carefully in separate storerooms. The animals suffered obliviously, not understanding why they had been denied their usual light, heat and food. They wandered around aimlessly, looking in vain for a place to graze. Their hooves clapped against the rocky floor as they searched for grass, whilst their owners supressed panic at the thought of the storm.
The biggest entrance was high up, near the elder's house, and from the broad stone platform Angarr could see the entire town from on high. The men around him were busy piling up wood and rocks on a crude frame in an attempt to block up the last passage into the mountain, ahead of the destructive weather. It was fairly amateurish, with a basic doorway taking shape where before there had been a jagged opening. With a solid piece of timber pulled across the entrance, it would stop most of the rain and wind. Considering that Vikings were not natural diggers, and this was their first attempt, it wasn't too bad.
The people of Berk were dotted about the village, collecting clothes, food and weapons to store in the rocky fortress. Like ants, they converged at the foot of the mountain, and formed a continuous flow of goods and materials, as they carried and dragged it up the steep steps that had been cut into the rock, before stumbling in and depositing it into their new nest. They were exhausted, but dragged on with their task, uncomplaining.
Bolts of light cut across the twisting black clouds, lighting the world for an instant and causing some of the workers to flinch. Few had ever seen such violent lightning but from the safety of their own homes, and those that had had always been in the empowering presence of Stoick. The thought of their homes and possessions being left alone and unattended made them sick to the core, but they carried on with typical, grim determination. They might have a new leader, but they were still Vikings.
The preparations were almost complete. Soon, they would have an impregnable shelter against all dragon attacks, and a safe place to store their food over the winter. In Angarr's mind it didn't matter that the fire had destroyed several families' houses, or that they were short on furs and medicine. With small, compulsory donations from each member of the community, they had quickly rebuilt the stores, and the homeless could live in the caves themselves. With the barn in cinders the mountain was the safest place for the animals during the cold nights, provided they were fed during the day. Sure, it meant that the old and the weak might die, but Angarr couldn't remember a winter where somebody didn't pass away. Berk would recover, and grow stronger. They just had to survive.
Another flash of lightning, lit up the sky, followed by another deep rumble, Angarr turned back to see the progress of his men. He froze suddenly, as second distant roar echoed off the cliff face.
He turned around, slowly, a chill running down his spine. His followers stopped, staring at the chief, and then out to sea. One of them had the courage to speak.
"That's some strange thunder…" Others murmured in agreement.
A burst of intense flashes, the biggest so far, lit up the entire town as the sun disappeared for good below the sea. As his men hid their eyes, Angarr forced himself to keep watching, and there was no mistaking the feeling of dread that clawed its way into his gut.
He wished that he was wrong, that he was just paranoid or starting to go insane. His legs buckled with a sudden weakness at the thought of what was coming. Eyes closed and hands on his head, he found himself - not for the first time - missing Stoick, who would have stood like a rock for others to lean on. Angarr frowned angrily, fist closing around the axe slung at his waist. He was not stoick, he was Angarr Chief of the Hairy Hooligans, and he would not let his people be wiped off the face of the Earth. Even if he paid for it with his life, he would get them all to safety. They would not die tonight. Filled with a new determination, he looked out to sea.
Another flash confirmed what he had just seen, as the sky was filled with hundreds of winged silhouettes… more than any Viking had ever seen. His worst fears had come true. This was no natural storm.
"DRAGONS!"
Somebody nearby sounded a horn that echoed across the village and back down the tunnel. Angarr shouted down to the people below, still clearing their homes of supplies and dragging them up the stone steps.
"GET INSIDE THE CAVES. DRAGON ATTACK!"
Angarr's words caused a ripple in the crowd as their mood immediately switched. Suddenly, possessions no longer mattered, as survival became the primary and universal goal.
Many of the warriors ran to the armouries and blacksmith, looking for weapons and armour. Most found them empty, and those that were lucky enough to find something were quick to drop their swords and run. With the steady flashes of lightning lighting the sky, the people of Berk were becoming aware of just how many dragons they were faced with. It was obvious to the most bloodthirsty warrior that a counter attack would be suicide.
The horn sounded again, ringing out into the now pitch darkness. The flow of people up the steps became a rush as everyone piled through the entrance a great crush of humanity. Like filling a jug of water, they filled every nook and cranny as they struggled to fit the entire populace into the cramped interior. There was barely time to light a torch to keep them from total blackness.
The wind began to pick up, blasting the exposed mountain with the first droplets of stinging hail. Those around him redoubled their efforts, frantically piling on rocks and wood to help fortify the entrance against something much stronger than then the weather. Their fear of the dragons was overcome by the thought of their families within.
The lightning was only a few miles out to sea now, and they could hear the individual dragon screams over the thunder. The few who were still in or had gone back to the village had dropped everything and were running for the stone steps. Some slipped as the hail became thicker, soaking everything and everyone. They scrambled to get over each other as the wind started to hurl loose planks and rocks against the mountainside. They shattered and skirted off the rock face, showering the men with fragments.
"HURRY! THEY ARE ALMOST UPON US!" Angarr shouted orders to everyone and no-one at the same time. The last of the civilians had crushed into the mountain and the entrance had almost been sealed up and the workers beside him began to slip back inside. The first of the warriors from the village arrived, blowing heavily, at the top of the stairs.
The dragon's roars had become unbearable; the wind could barely be heard over their hellish shrieks. They had to be over the village by now, Angarr was sure of it. The crash of thunder merged with the screams to form a satanic cacophony that shook the Viking warriors to their bones. The lightning never struck the ground, arching instead between the clouds, revealing a maelstrom of wheeling, dark silhouettes. Sheer, unbridled terror could be seen on the face of every fleeing man. Nothing would survive out here, this was not of their world.
Together, with a sinister synchronisation and not a moment's hesitation, they began their attack dives, falling towards earth with horrifying screams.
The flimsy wooden housing was as nothing to the demon's assault. With practiced ease, the armada of beasts set about tearing Berk apart. Home after home burst into flames as a squadron of Nightmares carved a path through the village with their jets of flame. Clouds of green gas snaked between the buildings, blowing them apart with a single stray spark. Teams of dragons tore down every tower in sight, before igniting the rubble.
Smoke blackened the sky even more, and the hail did nothing to dampen the fires, which had now taken a firm hold on every building in sight. The last few men were scrambling up the steps and through the entrance behind him. All the workers had retreated inside. On the platform Angarr was left alone, staring out as Berk was ripped to splinters by hundreds of dragons.
He felt everything and nothing, even as the soul piercing scream of the Night Fury fell upon him. He closed his eyes, and lifted his arms up to the sky. He felt every hailstone as they stung his face, each individual hair, tugged painfully by the wind, the smell of burning flesh. The damp cold of his sodden jerkin, and the blazing heat of the thousand fires below him, Angarr's senses were alive, and yet the only emotion he had was that of acceptance, like this was some kind of twisted penance. He was going to die, and there was nothing he could do.
The scream reached its peak and bolt of searing energy shot towards him, as fast as the lightning itself. It flew just over his shoulder, singing the side of his head, before impacting on the wall behind him.
Those who were still climbing the steps were obliterated, disappearing in a blue flash that blew chunks of rock across the burning village. The shockwave could be felt from deep within the mountain and the intense light burned the eyes of anyone foolish enough to be looking. All the air was forced out of his lungs as the force hit him like an axe blow. As he was thrown, face first to the floor, Angarr returned to his senses. With the sudden blast, his self-preservation returned, overwhelming him with a wave of panic.
Half blinded and with bleeding ears he staggered back to the entrance of the cave, diving through seconds before the makeshift entrance groaned and collapsed under the strain. A falling pile of rocks and rubble blocked the opening, and shut out the chaos as their island was annihilated. Nobody cared that they had just been trapped inside. They were safe from the dragons.
He lay there in the darkness, dazed. The sounds of the apocalypse were muffed by the solid, rock wall of the caves. Whispers and moans drifted up from the depths of the tunnels as the people of Berk waited in fear. He could faintly hear the sound of somebody banging on the outside. It was quickly cut off by a strangled cry, but he could not tell whether it was human or not.
He waited, eyes screwed up for several minutes until the screams died away. The dragons stopped calling too, and only the hail kept up its merciless assault. An eerie silence gripped them, and all Angarr could hear was his own steady breathing, and that of his men nearby. He staggered to his feet by himself, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the darkness. He called out into the caves, and somebody was quick to respond, closer and louder than he expected
"They can't get in chief. I think we'll be safe in here."
"Thank the Gods we got everybody inside before they came. How are the people doing?"
"They're fine. Scared but alive. It looks like they'll be safe inside the mountain, so long as they -"
He was cut off by a loud boom that shook the walls around them. Small stones and fell down from the low roof, and rock dust coated their wet hair. As he was, Angarr, had to fight to keep his balance. The blow echoed down the tunnels, and once again he could hear crying from the deep as people began to panic. A faint glow from deeper in the cave had found its way to the entrance, and Angarr could just make out the face of the man he was talking to.
"What in Hel's name was that?"
"Was it the storm or the Dragons?" cried another.
"Both" Angarr whispered. "That is the sound of Lightning and Death itself."
There was a round of gasps and mutters, and more than one moan of despair.
"They want to get inside, and if they do, there's nowhere left to run. Arm yourselves, and stand with me. We won't go down without a fight."
A handful of men picked themselves up from the floor, and gathered near the entrance. Others slunk back down the tunnel, looking for more weapons or volunteers. Angarr still had his ornate dagger, only recently cleaned from Spitelout's blood. It slid smoothly out of its small leather sheath, which he had fortuitously found lying around the abandoned blacksmith. Sharp as it was, he doubted whether it would truly be useful against a scale-armoured dragon. Still, it was better than nothing, and he stood by his people, waiting for the inevitable.
The floor shook again as another blow hammered against the walls, but the men stood firm. They knew what was at risk. Everybody in the entire village had sought refuge in the caves, and if they fell, everyone would be butchered. They prepared themselves to fight and die, not out of bravery, but of desperation.
A third explosive strike, strongest of all, caused the wall and roof above them to crack, showering them in more dust and small, sharp stones. The warriors stared round, wide eyed in fear; they didn't know where the dragons would break in, and it was a very real possibility that they would get buried alive.
The hammering stopped, and there was a sickening silence as they waited. Angarr's hand gripped the dagger so hard that his knuckles began to feel numb. He would not let it slip from his hand, no matter how much hail, sweat or blood had soaked it. There they stood, in almost complete darkness, waiting to see if their rocky stronghold would stand up to the most powerful attack that Berk had ever witnessed, or if they had wasted their last few days digging their own graves.
The hastily built rubble entrance suddenly exploded with a bright blue flash, sending shards and splinters ripping through the men, hurling them backwards with blinded sight and ringing ears. For the weary and injured warriors, it was almost all they could take. A sudden rush of freezing air blew through the tunnel, extinguishing the lights far behind them, leaving them gasping in the darkness. Two blood red eyes forced their way through the pitiful barricade, with a savage accompanying growl that could be felt as much as it was heard.
Forcing its way into the cave was the largest monstrous nightmare Angarr had ever seen. For a second, he stood stunned, gawping at the enormous creature. Its scales might once have carried an angry scarlet sheen, but the colour had dulled with age. Despite this, it had no problems displaying its power. Claws as long as swords clicked on the stone floor as it slid into the opening. Its breath filled the cave with the stench of rotting flesh. It looked around the chamber, swinging its great head with a guttural, menacing roar. It was clearly taunting them, the way it flaunted its weapons one last time before it killed them all. It fixed him with its eyes, its bottomless blood red eyes, and for the second time that night, Angarr saw his death.
It opened its mouth, a deep orange glow filled the chamber, illuminating the terrified and incapacitated Vikings sprawled across the floor. Its liquid fire would flow right down to the depths of the tunnel, and incinerate everything it touched. It was going to burn everyone alive, and the best part was, the dragons wouldn't even need to go come inside.
He looked around at his fallen comrades, some of whom were struggling to get up, and then back to the beast. He stared into its eyes once again, and he could have sworn that it was laughing.
There was a deep rumble, and a crack, as the roof gave way, pushed beyond its limit by the force of the attack. It collapsed, and several tonnes of solid rock crashed down onto the Nightmare and a few poor souls beside it, as the entrance fell in on itself. All that remained was its head, protruding at an unnatural angle from the pile of boulders, its neck snapped. Instead of a river of fire, it coughed up a pool of blood, and its head lay limp against the floor.
Angarr stared at the Nightmare as the light in its eyes faded away. As it died, they were still f]locked onto him. There was no malice, no hate. All that he could see in that great creature's scarlet eyes was sadness, a great sense of loss as it accepted its fate. Angarr watched as the spark died, before he fell backwards, exhausted, and embraced the darkness.
"GOOD MORNING, my bearded brethren!" Birds took flight as a booming voice echoed out of the hall and across the town.
"Oh, I wondered when he was going to wake up."
"Typical mainlanders. One drink and they'll be sleeping till next week…"
Stoick and Gobber were passing through the palisade gate and back onto the grassy hill upon which the hall was built. They each carried brand new shields and weapons, and an armful of expensive and exotic looking furs, all paid for by the Jarl's hospitality, of course. The shields in Marauder's Bay were made with stronger, more flexible wood than anything on Berk. The weapons too looked impressive as they flashed and caught the autumn sun. However the Berk blacksmith maintained that good materials did not make up for good handiwork, which he claimed to have more of in his stump than there was in the entire town.
Stoick had brought himself a new sword - a strange, slightly curved blade that was thin and flexible, but sharp as a Nightmare's teeth - instead of a hammer. In his opinion, hammers were too unwieldy when fighting against other Vikings, and he had gifted his favourite one to his brother a few months earlier. Gobber had no such inhibitions, and was busily trying to attach a chain link to his hook hand. Suspended on the other end of the chain was a brutal looking spiked mace that swung heavily with the motion of walking, as they strolled up the hill.
"It's quite a place, Marauders' Bay. To think Stoick, it's been more than ten years since we were last here! Everything is bigger and better, apart from the drink. That ale still tastes like burned yak hair." He chuckled, and then sighed. "Questing is a young man's game, I know… but ye have to admit this whole outing has been quite exciting."
Stoick gave the barest hint of a smile before it quickly dropped into a frown. "Aye, it is quite the trip, but I can't rest knowing that the people of Berk are leaderless, and so close to winter too. At least that means the dragon attacks are dying down."
"Aye, that's the one thing we have in common with the devils. Winter is the best time for a holiday, although last year they did attack the tree and burn all the presents. It's just not festive if you ask me."
A shadow flicked overhead, blocking the sun for the briefest of moments. High above the earth, a dark shape sat, wings stretched fully to catch the thermals.
"You know Gobber, I think we might have more in common with them than we think."
"Aye, it's quite a sight isn't it. You've got to remember though Stoick. If what you say it true, that is no dragon, not really"
"Yet still she flies, and my son too. Gods, I've been a fool. I've neglected my son to the point where he can relate with a dragon more than me. He told me how it happened, you know? He actually shot down and then set a Night Fury free. Astrid turning into a dragon might be the best thing that ever happened to him – he'd be dead otherwise."
"I've been meaning to ask you Stoick, how did that happen? I mean it's impossible for Vikings to just 'become' Night Furies. Hel, do we even know that it really is Astrid? Hiccup's been known for his crazy stories in the past –"
"My son is telling the truth. That dragon did not attack me, and it agreed to let Hiccup ride it. Hatched devils don't give lifts. Besides, I've seen her write, with her claws in the ground 'I AM ASTRID' clear as day."
"Aye, but that still doesn't explain how all this happened."
"Another Night Fury, so I'm told. If that's true, then we've been underestimating them. When we get back to Berk we need to double our defences."
"One problem at a time Stoick. We still need to take it back. Speaking of which…"
"Hello there, noble guests of the great Hooligan clan!"
Jarl Raynir bounced down the slope towards his visitors, meeting them more than halfway as his retinue struggling to keep up with his enthusiasm. The crown was gone again, replaced with an old battered helmet that looked painfully out of place on his bloated physique.
"So then my lads, my pals, my good buddies ma' boys! How was your first night with the Marauders? Good I hope, perhaps even 'splendid'. I hope my people looked after you well. Helgi! Clamm! Come and take our guest's luggage, they can barely stand up under the weight of all that booty!"
"Ahh, good evening Raynir. Nice to see you so energetic at this time of day. I can tell you that we have had great time. The drink was fantastic, just what we needed, but we feel that it's time to talk business."
The two islanders casually dropped their equipment into the waiting arms of the servants below them. Clamm was just able to stagger off under the weight, but Helgi was immediately crushed and pinned to the ground. Raynir put his hand around Stoick's broad shoulder as Helgi was dragged off by several assistants.
"Yes, Business… It's about time we talked man to man. I understand that you are willing to give me something that I very much desire."
"That's right. Even if it seems too good to be true, we have a deal my old friend. Just don't forget, I'll need something in return, before I can give you any dragons."
Raynir frowned in slight annoyance. He was used to trading with other Jarls and minor kings, far to the South. He had a feeling that Stoick was not one to manipulate, or to mess around with. The people of Berk were much better at fighting than bargaining. The sooner he could secure the trade for himself the better.
"Very well. I'll lend you my ships. We Marauders are known for our seafaring skills. My fathers have been sailing these waters for generations, plundering cities, capturing treasure, pushing the boundaries of the known world to the very limits of human-"
"That's all well and good, but when we reach the island. I want to know your men can fight."
"I'd like to keep my men alive, thank ye very much Stoick. Some of them are quite useful, you know?" They were interrupted by Clamm, chasing after one of the shields that was rolling down the hill. Stoick rolled his eyes.
"It shouldn't take much fighting. Once I get ashore and kill that…" he looked around to make sure no Night Furies were nearby, "Kill that traitorous bastard Agnarr, the people of Berk will flock to us again."
"And I will get my dragons?"
Gobber, who had been walking alongside them, sensed that his expertise was needed and barged into the conversation.
"Aye, that's right. The arena is full of the beasties at this time of year. You can have 'em all, as well as a new shipment every other season, in case the others die, which they do from time to time. It's a terrible business really. It turns out that beating the creatures to a pulp for weeks on end to train the wee warriors is actually bad for the dragon's health."
"Thank you Gobber, we get the message. So Raynir, you give me Berk and I'll give you your dragons. Do we have a deal?"
"Yes, we have a deal" Raynir grinned with such boyish excitement that it seemed for a second as if he had never grown up.
The two men grasped each other's arms, and stared at each other, before bashing their helmets together and laughing.
"I still don't know why you want those demons. They're only good for burning and slaughter."
"What about your son? He seems to make quite good use of them. I would never have believed you could train a dragon if it wasn't for that little display yesterday."
"Aye, Hiccup. He's… He's what we might call 'special'".
"I can see that. Quite clearly as a matter of fact. So when are we leaving?"
"Tomorrow, if the weather is good. I want to be back on Berk as soon as I can. Every second I'm not there I can sense my people are in danger."
"Well that means there's still time for a celebration." He turned and called out to his servants. "Set the tables and light the stoves, who's ready for round two!"
Gobber quickly interjected.
"Perhaps we shouldn't have another feast so soon Raynir. I wouldn't want to finish of all of your famous ale. I was hoping that we could leave tomorrow morning, not as the sun disappears, if you understand me?"
As he spoke, the sun began to slip below the two jagged peaks of The Twins to the West, guarding the people of the Bay for hundreds of years against the turmoil of the sea. Astrid's dark, fleeting silhouette had drifted out over the water, watching the night roll in. Fires were lit around the town, countless pricks of light appearing as families lit their stoves fires for the evening. They would melt seamlessly into the starry night sky when the last of the red sunlight had disappeared below the horizon. The faint sound of thunder could be heard on the wind, far out across the ocean, inviting them to follow, or perhaps challenging them to fight.
Raynir turned to his guards, and issued his orders.
"Ready the ships! We leave at dawn."
The reason for my absence
My Cat died, Its very sad