Chapter 18

"ROW, men of Berk! No rests, no retreat, no mercy!"

Stacks upon stacks of armoured Vikings lined the edge of each ship, teams of burly men and women heaved at mighty oars to the beat of the war drum. A strong wind hurled rain and stinging seawater into their eyes as they pulled. It filled the sails to the breaking point as they skimmed across the rolling waves.

The new chief stared, wild eyed at the mass of ships before them, arrayed in a clumsy but dense battle formation. Sick anxiety rose in his stomach, but he angrily ignored it. He was going out of his way looking as hardened and stoic as he could in front of his men.

Pressing on the edge of his subconscious were a myriad of fears and doubts, flashing through his head at lightning speed. His family, his honour, his men. The very real possibility that he might be leading the entire tribe to its doom. His daughter, who he had yet to fully grieve over. The treasonous accusations of Stoick and his son. The mysterious Night Fury. The oncoming night and abysmal weather. At no point did he even consider his own life.

'No', he thought to himself. He couldn't afford to start thinking now, that route lead only to miserable insanity. Like Vara had said, this was time for action. He crushed his fears and doubts beneath a wave of fresh hatred for Stoick and his son, and once again vowed to end their lives before the first light of morning.

He calmed his beating heart, screwed up his eyes and forced himself to focus on strategy while he still had the time. Berk's commander was no admiral, but there were universal laws of combat that applied to fighting against ships just as much as they did against dragons. Speed, strength, discipline; these were just as important as numbers, and the men of Berk had all three. Still, he was at a distinct disadvantage, and he would need a good plan and the favour of the Gods to defeat the armada before them.

The short man had been fighting larger enemies his entire life, and there was one rule he had never forgotten. Size doesn't matter if you don't have a head. He smiled inwardly, almost laughing at the simplicity of his objective. They would charge the enemy flagship, the enormous galley, and cut down the foolish Jarl Raynir as soon as possible. That single blow could cause enough panic amidst the Marauders to send them swimming back to Sweden, and all without losing a ship.

He gripped the rudder hard, adjusting his course towards his target, signalling the rest of his fleet to follow. As much as he wanted revenge against the Haddock's, Stoick was only one man, and he was no longer a chief. Attacking him first made no sense; with so few men, acting on impulse would lose them everything. He had to keep things straightforward. They would cut their way onto the galley, and remove the enemy's leader, and their most powerful vessel at the same time. Besides, a ship of that size would be a fitting reward for the Hofferson household, come the victory.

With their target chosen, the ships of Berk formed up together, as close as it was possible to get without colliding. They would rely on speed, weight and brute force, smashing through to the Jarl before the enemy had a chance to react. The strongest, fastest, and least damaged ships surged to the front. They would act as an iron fist, whilst the women and children followed reluctantly behind, desperately trying to avoid taking on water. Angarr's flagship formed the tip of the spear as they closed on the Marauders. It was armed with a brutal metal prow that could splinter hulls and shatter decks with a single ram. Even the strongest vessel would be mortally wounded by such a blow.

Angarr watched as the smaller Marauder longships fought against the wind, struggling to protect their leader's ship as the Jarl reacted to his move. He was running out of time.

"Faster, FASTER you worthless yaks"

Seizing the nearest rower by the scruff, Angarr hauled him to his feet and threw him to the deck, before taking the oar himself. He roared out orders for double time as he personally joined the rowing crew. With each stroke, his flagship surged ahead of the others.

As the drums took up a faster pace, he began war chant. A series of steady hoots, slowly getting faster. Men echoed him across the water, on the deck of every ship. There were no words as such. It was enough for the men to shout in time together. The men roared in anticipation, their booming voices almost drowning out the drums.

The chant was not complicated, but it was designed to be simple and memorable enough for even the most harmonically challenged Viking. To their enemies it was little more than an animal growl, building up to a roar. In a word, terrifying. The beating rhythm gathered pace, as Angarr rowed even harder. Those without oars were banging on their shields, a cacophony of drums, voices and the clang of metal crashing out across the water.

Lightning streaked across the darkening sky as the storm fully enveloped the warband. The immediate crash of thunder went almost unnoticed among the chanting. Angarr looked back over his burning shoulder, surprised at how close they were to the enemy.

He grunted in annoyance. A pair of longships blocked their path, strewn out in front of the galley for protection, and bristling with warriors. There was no time to change direction. There would be a hard fight after all.

He threw down his oar and rose slowly. Donning a thick iron helmet, he slung a patterned wooden shield over his left arm. Bright red paint, with an intricate picture of a Night Fury leaping out towards the attacker. Despite the growing darkness, the shield would make him easy to identify for his men on the battlefield. It had been Stoick's after all. He continued chanting as he made his way to the sharpened steel prow.

He hid away his short sword and dagger in tight sheaths about his waist. He held out his hand, and one of his men handed him a crude, heavy, blunt mace. There was hardly a better weapon for smashing through a shield wall.

Following his example, many on the rowing benches leapt up, grabbing shields or stringing bows. Long grappling hooks and wicked barbed spears were passed around. The ballistae and stone throwers were loaded, the sinew pulled tight, ready to unleash their sharpened projectiles at the pull of a lever.

He stood at the bow as the ship flew towards the Marauders at terrifying speed. Men stacked up behind him and weapons were readied. Final prayers and promises were whispered to the Gods, and equipment was checked. Angarr looked back at his men, nodding at their determined faces. If there was one thing that Vikings were good at, it was hiding their fear, even though most were terrified to their core. Angarr's father had taught him that only truly wild men fought without fear. The rest had to rely on bravery instead. Even so, knuckles turned white as the men gripped their weapons hard.

Ahead of them the great galley loomed, its masts stretching high into the sky, swaying violently as the ship tossed back and forth. Angarr watched as archers scrambled to their positions aboard the great wooden castle, trying to keep their footing. They drew their bows as one, straining with the effort, waiting on the orders of their Jarl. He could see Raynir too, several paces behind his men. He was only slightly fatter than Angarr remembered, but just as loud as he shouted orders to his men. From this distance, he could see the whites of their terrified eyes. His men began their taunting

"DEATH to the traitors!"

"Let's send them to Valhalla!"

"Glory to Berk!"

The chanting reached a furious pitch. They had driven themselves into a kind of mad insanity, smashing on their shields and helmets and frothing at the mouth. They readied themselves for an orgy of violence, preparing to kill without hesitation. They would not be disappointed. The warriors of Berk all screamed the last words together as the arrows flew and the ships collided.

"Victory!"

"What is this Stoick? You told me they had no idea we were coming!" Raynir had once again turned a deep shade of crimson, but for once it wasn't from drinking. Leaning over the side of his galley, he hurled abuse at the deposed chief of Berk, despite the crashing of the ocean.

Stoick had steered his ship close enough to hear, but Gobber was straining at the rudder. Every angry wave threatened to throw the ships together.

"I don't understand. They don't… They Can't!"

"Surprise, Stoick! You said we'd take them by SURPRISE! You said they would be overrun! A nice SAFE LANDING!"

Stoick didn't answer, instead turning to take his place at the prow. He stared across the water, watching as the final ship rounded Raven's Point. He had fretted over his return to Berk for days, but he could never have predicted a move so bold, and without Angarr even knowing. It just didn't make sense. His eyes narrowed and his brows furrowed. Slowly, his amazement turned to suspicion.

"Gobber…"

"Aye Stoick, I think I know what you're about to say."

"How many ships did we have in the harbour at last count?"

"I'd say about fifteen, but only 5 of those were warships…"

"Aye, and tell me Gobber. Have you ever known the people of Berk to leave harbour in a damaged ship?"

"No, and I've never heard of fishing ships being used in battle, or sitting that low in the water."

"We need to stop Raynir, something's going on here, and I won't see my people suffer because of it."

The Jarl was busy organising his force, his orders creating a frenzy of activity as sails was stowed and weapons prepared. He was busy chastising a boy caught halfway up the rigging when Stoick interrupted him, shouting across the watery chasm.

"Raynir, something's wrong, we need to-"

"You're damn right something's wrong! This was never part of the deal. You better not have set me up to this you traitorous… AH, somebody clear these cages off the deck before someone runs into them. This is a disaster!"

"Listen, Raynir-"

"It's Jarl Raynir to you, I'm in charge here. Now you listen to me Stoick, if that even is you real name. I am not fighting your bloody fleet, at night, in the middle of a damned storm so close to that craggy island. We'll be smashed onto the rocks within the hour, and I for one am not-"

As if on cue, the ship struck a particularly large wave, throwing a jet of salt water right into Raynir's face as he leant over the side. He fell back, roaring in blind fury, cursing everyone and everything.

"They can't be here for a fight Gobber, they had no idea we were coming."

"Perhaps they were coming after you Stoick. You're still the rightful chief of Berk, and whoever's taken charge will want you gone."

"No, they don't know where I went. Besides, Angarr would never risk so many ships just to find one man."

"Angarr?"

"It has to be. He led the opposition in the great hall, and he's far better at politics than Spitelout ever was. I'll wager he's seized power for himself, and locked up my thick-skulled brother in a cell somewhere."

Stoick shouted back at the Jarl, who had barely recovered.

"Turn the fleet around, we should not engage until we understand what's going on. They can't be here for a fight, it makes no sense."

"Makes no sense?" The Jarl coughed back. "Of course it makes no sense, but that's exactly what they want. See for yourself you stubborn fool."

"Oh, for the love of…" The Jarl was right. The Berk fleet had moved into battle formation, surging forward at attack speed, following what could only have been their flagship. Stoick listened carefully, and could hear the sound of the drums, carried on the wind. They showed no signs of slowing.

"There's no time to turn the ships around Stoick. Looks like we'll be getting that battle after all. I swear Stoick, if you've betrayed me; if this is some clever trap, I will tear off your head and swing it round by your beard. If you're honourable, and true to your word, get that dragon of yours up and fighting. We could use the firepower. Now fall back in line, I've got a battle to win."

Stoick steered clear of the Raynir's galley as the Jarl got back to organising his troops, mainly through a string of furious orders and obscene insults. Stoick looked back to his son and the Night Fury. Hiccup was trying desperately to comfort the shivering ball of scales. He was making little progress.

Helgi had been sat at his bucket for the past few hours, seemingly oblivious to worsening weather and growing crisis. He suddenly stood up, sniffing the air and tilting his head. Stoick raised an eyebrow.

"Hang on a minute, do you smell burning?"

"Burning?" his companion answered. "Like that time we tried cooking? When the oil leaked into the stove and the entire ship nearly-"

"No Clamm, it's more like… a bonfire… or a burning house… a burning…"

"Village." Stoick finished his sentence. Even from such a great distance, the smell of destruction was unmistakable to a man who had known it all his life. He could see it billowing above Berk on the other side of the island, over the village. Long trails of black smoke snaked their way upwards, mingling with the dark and dirty sky.

Stoick knew exactly what was happening, and he knew he had to stop it.

"Astrid, Astrid please. You have to tell me what's wrong. I don't know how to help you otherwise."

Astrid had moved little since she had collapsed on the deck earlier in the day. Now, with Berk finally coming in to view, he redoubled his efforts. The dragon, however, was being as stubborn as his father. Refusing food or water, all Hiccup could do was lay his hand on Astrid's head, and try to coax a response.

Her mind was in turmoil. Flashes of her past; her human life, her transformation, her dreams, her pain. All of it rolled together and thrown from one side of her head to the other, until she could barely distinguish between nightmare and reality. She kept hearing the voice of the male Night Fury, as if he was whispering in her ear, laughing at her pain, crushing her will to live.

But then there was Hiccup.

Throughout her ordeal he had stayed with her, reassuring her with that familiar, soothing voice. He was an anchor, pulling her back to the real world even as her own thoughts threatened to drag her away and drown her in despair. She was so grateful, and yet so guilty. She had tried to kill him, and yet here he was. Hiccup was giving her his all, and what was she giving in return? Nothing but misery. It must have been exhausting.

She wished she could explain the voice in her head, the primal urges, the fight to control a body that was not her own. She yearned to speak to him, to offload the emotions that were consuming her with every passing hour.

"It was him, wasn't it?"

She cracked open an eye, unfurling only slightly.

"You lost control, like on the night you were transformed. That other Night Fury, he must have done something to you."

She sighed in relief, of course Hiccup knew, he always knew. For a moment she had forgotten what a wonderful, intelligent boy he was. It almost made not having a voice bearable.

"He got inside your head and took over, which means…"

He twisted around suddenly, staring wildly into the clouds.

"He's here!"

Astrid chuckled weakly and shook her head as distant thunder rumbled. She tapped the side of her head.

"Oh… I see, it was just in your head. Like a feeling. No, a voice?"

She nodded, slumping down again in self-pity. She let out a low moan and stared at the swaying deck beneath her.

"There is still hope, Astrid Hofferson. We'll find a way to fix you, and we can all go back home."

Home.

She could smell burning.

She sat up and peered at the island with her superior eyes. There was no mistaking the ships of Berk as they rounded what was left of Raven's point. She narrowed her eyelids as the low sun caused many of their weapons to glint painfully in her eye.

Weapons.

Creeping dread infected her body. As the men around her began to panic, she looked closer still, praying that her worst fears would not be realised. Then she saw him, and there was nothing Hiccup could do.

She retreated back under her wings as the shouting began. Stoick's booming voice competed with Raynir's to be heard above the growing howl of wind. The thunder and drums caused the wooden planks beneath her to vibrate. The clank of metal and bashing of shields pierced her ears as she shrank even smaller. She started rocking, wishing that she was somewhere, anywhere else.

She could barely feel Hiccup's hand, and his words were carried away by the storm. Thick rain began to fall, the ship began to rock, and she shut herself away from the outside world. She wouldn't get up, she couldn't face her father. It would be far better if he simply killed her without her ever knowing. The noises grew louder, until her ears were assaulted by a cacophony. Individual voices blurred together.

"Astrid please!"
"Raynir, listen to me…"

"The ships, move the ships…"

"No prisoners!"

"Watch out!"

"Victory!"

She heard a sickening crunch, and a loud bang as the first ships collided, shards of wood whistling over her head. The roar of men and the clashing of metal overpowered everything. Still, she could not bring herself to look as she heard the screams of the dead and the dying. She wished she could join them, she wished for the mercy of the gods that her ordeal would finally-

"ASTRID!"

Suddenly, Hiccup's voice was the only thing that mattered. His voice was hoarse from shouting. For how long she could only guess. He looked scared, but mostly angry. It unsettled her, Hiccup was never angry.

"Astrid, your people are dying, your family is in danger. I know it's hard but I don't care! You are the only one who can stop this. You can't keep hiding Astrid. You need to get over yourself before you get us all killed. You have to fight. NOW!"

She gradually revealed her head, looking with horror at the chaos around her.

"I'm am NOT going to stand here and watch my people die for nothing. This can't go on Astrid. They need us, we need you, right now!"

She stood up. Her teeth slid out and her pupils slit. Muscles tensed across her body as claws subconsciously dug into the deck. Hiccup was right, she needed to get over herself, and finally do something good with the body she had been given. She ignored the pain in her ears, and silenced the voices in her head with a viscous snarl. She had been wallowing in self-pity for far too long. Now was the time for action.

"That's right. Now let's do this."

Hiccup leapt onto her back as she shot off into the sky. Her claws tore the wood and the entire ship bucked with the force. They gained some altitude as Astrid fought against the storm winds. Droplets of rain felt like arrows as they hammered both dragon and rider. Swooping round in a fast loop, they took stock of the battle.

The Berk ships had slammed straight into the centre of Raynir's formation, aiming for the Galley. The steel prow of the flagship had torn a gaping hole in one of the Jarl's ships. Even as it slipped beneath the waves, warriors hacked at each other on what was left of the deck. Across both fleets, rope and grappling hooks tied ships together in a great, heaving platform. From there, the fighting almost resembled a bizarre land battle, with the added threat of drowning and nowhere to hide.

Formations of men with heavy shields confronted each other in brutal shoving matches. The side with strength and discipline would press forward until the other side broke, and the killing would begin again in earnest. Catapults flung rocks which punched holes through the thin wooden hulls, and more than a few men were impaled at once with a single lucky shot from a ballista. The decks were turning dark and slippery with blood. Screams were silenced as the unfortunate ones were swallowed by the churning ocean. Trapped between the ships and weighed down by armour, those who went under were seldom seen again.

It was utter chaos.

The fighting was thickest on the great galley, where the islanders had forced their way up the steep sides and onto the lower deck. A bitter struggle played out, with Raynir's archers peppering the enemy from the high wooden castle at the rear of the vessel.

She glimpsed her father's face, ignoring the pain, fear and relief that washed over her. Her people were dying, and she needed to act.

She swooped down over the galley, flapping steadily to maintain her height. Most of the warriors hadn't noticed her, so thick was the fighting. She breathed in deeply, inhaling as much air as she could hold, and aimed herself directly at her father.

She screamed the loudest roar she had ever heard. She held the note for what felt like eternity as Hiccup covered his ears. The echo lasted even longer, booming across the water and bouncing off the rocky island.

There was silence.

The sounds of battle simply vanished, with only the peaceful patter of rain and the swell of the swollen waves to be heard. Stoick, Raynir and Angarr all gawped with open mouthed amazement. The Marauders had little experience with dragons, but the Hooligans had never seen an angry Night Fury before, let alone one with a rider.

Astrid grinned, feeling the power flowing through her veins. She could end them all, with ease. She looked down at her father. She could kill him without batting an eyelid, and the thought filled her with sick pleasure.

It felt like the silence could have gone on forever, but it was not to be. She batted an ear, flinching slightly. A thin wail cut through the black clouds, rising in pitch and volume. The Jarl's men looked around in panic as the warriors of Berk cowered beneath their shields. There was no mistaking that sound.

"Night Fury!"

A flash of lightning lit up the sky as black streak tore past Hiccup's shoulder, almost knocking him off with a rush of air. A blinding blue flame cut through the clouds and smashed into the Jarl's galley.

Marauders and Hooligans alike were thrown into the air as the base of the main mast vaporised in a flash of light. It groaned and snapped as it fell to one side, crashing into the deck of a nearby longship.

"Dragon attack!"

Hundreds of dragons burst out of the black clouds and hurled fire at the ships below. Nadders, Gronckles and Zipplebacks threw themselves at the Vikings, landing on the decks and lashing out at whatever came into range.

Men who had been at each other's throats minutes earlier turned to face the common threat together. Arrows, rocks and spears were directed upwards, forcing the attackers through a hail of projectiles. Many dragons plunged straight into the water, riddled with arrows or stunned by a rock.

On the ships, the warriors of Berk and Marauder's Bay locked their shields together to defend against the onslaught. Their petty feud was quickly forgotten as they fought for survival against the hellish beasts. The wounded from both sides were dragged behind the shield wall, narrowly avoiding the scratching claws of Terrors as they scuttled around on the floor.

Some ships were divided between man and dragon, but the Vikings fought desperately to reclaim them. Amidst the seething ocean, there was nowhere else to go, and the sturdy men excelled at close quarters combat. Any dragon that found itself trapped on a tight deck was quickly slaughtered. Hammers and axes crushed bones and sliced through scales when swung with enough force, and the men could easily cover their comrades with row upon row of shields.

Astrid had been sent reeling by the Night Fury attack. Hiccup had barely held on, and now they were caught in a storm of horror and death. Hovering above the chaos, it was all they could do was gasp at the scale of destruction as this new battle raged on around them. Astrid's eyes shot open wide as she realised something. She could hear the screams of the dragons as clearly as the humans. It was deeply unnerving. The other dragons didn't speak with words, not like the Night Fury did. They spoke in warnings and feelings, short, simple blasts of information. It was as fascinating as it was horrifying.

"Danger"

"Help"

"Fear"

"Kill"

"Pain"

Almost too late, she spotted a blur out of the corner of her eye. She twisted violently in the air as a spear sailed by, embedding itself in the gut of some poor Nadder. She heard it cry out for friends that never came, until it smacked into the water, screaming noiselessly as it sank.

She looked away, and her eyes were drawn to one battle in particular. Astrid watched captivated and filled with horror as her father stood alone on Berk's flagship, single-handedly beating back an enormous Nightmare. He kicked a full bucket hard at the monster's head, dousing its mouth in water. Instead of a gout of liquid flame, Angarr was met with a weak cough of smoke as he swung his hammer. The dragon reacted quickly, ducking low and smashing the hammer out of his hand and into the sea. Its jaw snapped forward, but the seasoned warrior was already drawing his sword. Astrid shut her eyes as her father plunged his blade up through the Nightmare's neck and jaw.

"Astrid, we've got to do something!"

Hiccup was right. The battle was swinging against humanity. Had they all been warriors of Berk, the Vikings might have had a chance, but most were Marauders who had never even seen a dragon until a few days earlier. Compared to trained dragon fighters, they were hardly a challenge to the flying beasts. The screams and flames were too much for many of them to handle, and they quickly fled back to their ships, cutting them loose of the grappling hooks that had held fleet together. Manning the oars, they retreated into the growing night as fast as they could row.

Even after the dragons had been beaten back off the ships, they kept up the attack. They circled round, burning everything in sight with jets of fire. The wood had been soaked by the spray and the rain, and clouds of steam drifted across the water, blocking the aim of the catapults and archers. In some places, small fires had already started, and a large number of warriors had to throw down their weapons and pick up buckets in order to keep the blazes under control.

On one of the outermost longships, the sail was engulfed in fire, and scraps of burning fabric fell onto the decks, spreading it further. The crew fought desperately to save their stricken vessel, but the mast was already lit up like a candle. As the flames leapt higher, they jumped into the water, preferring to risk drowning then burn to death. Astrid flinched as one man stumbled around the deck, wrapped in fire. He toppled over the side and into the water as the last of his clothes and hair burned off. The ocean was illuminated for miles around, even as the ship gently slipped beneath the waves.

Astrid knew that she had to do something. It wasn't enough to save her people once in a single day, she would have to do it again. She glanced around, whispered a prayer to whichever Gods were still listening, and allowed her inner dragon do the talking. She roared as loudly as she could, and in dragon's tongue.

"STOP! Stop fighting, go back to where you came from. Leave these people alone."

As quickly as it had begun, the dragon attack stopped. The survivors pulled out of the battle, and flew up to her level. She flew up higher, out of the range of Viking weapons, and they dutifully followed. She suddenly found herself at the centre of a vast flock of dragons, with all eyes on her and the human on her back.

"Didn't you hear what I said? I said GO!"

The nearest dragons flinched as she shouted. They all looked around at each other, panicked and unsure what to do. Astrid narrowed her eyes, trying to decipher their behaviour. Some of the dragons shouted back, but they sounded more confused and frightened then angry.

"Where?"

"How?"
"Fight!"

"Fear"

"Pain!"

She realised what was happening. They had understood the order to 'Stop' but they couldn't understand the rest. It looked like Night Furies were far more intelligent than the rest of their kin, and the natural leaders, given how the flock had followed her without question. It was a surreal experience, like being able to talk to sheep. She sighed inwardly, and made her orders as simple as possible.

"FOLLOW."

To her surprise, it worked. As she turned back towards the island, the entire host followed her, falling into formation behind each other to reduce drag. The wounded dragons drifted to the back, with their comrades supporting them as much as they could. They followed without question, and with complete trust in their Night Fury leader.

Hiccup worked the pedals, keeping Astrid in line, but he could hardly contain his amazement. He had never even been this close to so many dragons, let alone flown with them. A pair of Zippleback heads came alongside him and snapped playfully, but a viscous bark from Astrid sent them sulking to the back of the flock. It had all happened so quickly, but it looked like Astrid's plan had actually worked. Despite the rest of the dragons eyeing him with curiosity, Hiccup relaxed slightly, and leant back in the saddle. The nearest dragons jumped slightly as he let out a cry of relief and success. It was almost too easy.

"Astrid. I think you've done it. Astrid… You've saved Berk!"