Author's Tired Note: Okay, next chapter is definitely going to be shorter.
Here's where we stand (and if you're reading this after, say, September 2011, feel free to skip ahead):
We are in the home stretch with three, possibly four chapters left in the story. However, I am now rubbing up against my chapter-a-week self-imposed deadline. I just barely got this one done in time. I write, I edit, I re-edit, I release, and then I move onto the next chapter. To keep things flowing, I haven't been doing what I normally do with my writing, which is let it sit a bit, edit, have someone else read it, then re-edit it and release. I've cut out the middle man (and hopefully it doesn't show too much). Again, it's not how I normally approach writing, but this story's been in my head so much that it's practically writing itself.
But due to fatigue (it takes a lot of time to write this out and check it twice) and life's little events, plus the fact that I've been making the chapters bigger (tying up plot and character points without rushing things), the head start I gave myself had evaporated. The other factor I have to consider is that I've had a fairly light summer in terms of work, but hopefully that will change in the next two weeks with the public schools back in session. If I'm lucky, I'll actually get a job that I've been after, but that'll mean less time to write. This story... this book won't be done before that happens... if it happens.
So next chapter should show up at its regular time (Fridays at 8am, California time). I should know more about my work situation by then, so I'll inform all you loyal readers about how I'm handling the finale. Don't worry, it will come to pass. But I'm not going to rush it, and if need be I will delay it. You'll know more next week.
Onwards.
Chapter Fifteen: A Young Brat On A Damaged Dragon
The snow dome was a haven for curves in a land of sharp edges, unnaturally smooth and uniform. It was more solid underfoot that the rest of the island, with precious little give to its icy contours. It was the heart of the island, off-limits to all save Cervantes. Not that he feared idle minds discovering its hidden qualities, but he did fear their potential for getting in the way.
The necromancer stood on the top of the dome, watching several distant specks on the ocean slowly make their way towards the island, his pale, stretched skin barely registering the frost beneath his feet or the bite of the air. Despite his plan's success, he felt little pleasure in it. Recovering the Monolith was a far more complicated and odious affair than he had anticipated. Of course, he was nowhere near finished. Even after taking control of the Monolith, he still had a long way to go. There were examples to be made, civilizations to quell, and a world to preserve. Work, work, work - the thought made his sore back throb. The long campaign had drained him of too much time and energy. He didn't have much left of himself now, so much of him wasted against Archibald. Thank the Void for the Gunnarr. Bringing them into the fray had been his smartest move yet. He even planned on honoring their agreement and using Berk as a proving ground for the Monolith's power. There was no point in betraying Stonefist... not yet, anyway.
Archibald needed to be dealt with, though. Cervantes had resisted offing the irksome dragon until he had the desired artifacts in his cold little hands. It would have been a moronic move to kill an accessible source of information. But his skull servant had seen the objects in person, was watching over them right now. There was no need to delay things further, but he could do a little gloating first. Being practical all the time was no fun whatsoever, and Archibald had earned the right to be tormented after all those years of relentless pursuit.
One of the ice formations resting against the snow dome held a secret residing within a hole wide enough to shove a human hand into. Cervantes did just that, retrieving the precious object within and stuffing it under his belt, between a skeletal monkey's paw and his favorite corrupted femur. Its omnipresent glow would be distracting to all those who saw it, but that was okay. The object's allure had long since worn off for Cervantes; distraction served to undermine all others.
Yes, Archibald would take one look at the item in his possession and despair. At that moment, he'd realize he never had a chance at all.
"Salo krebit, I thought Berk was nippy," complained Nestor, his arms wrapped around his chest as he shivered, ineffectually trying to keep himself warm while his breath misted in front of him. "We really should've brought some warmer clothes."
"I didn't expect to be doing battle on an iceberg, okay?" replied Hiccup, hugging himself as well. His choice of clothes for his previous plan had proven a bad choice for this newest one. Not only did they do nothing for the chill, but they stood out on the ice like a rotting tooth in a pearly-white mouth.
Astrid shivered, her cloaked wrapped tightly around her body. Toothless shivered, even though he periodically blew out a tiny fireball under his belly to warm the air around him. The Seer… didn't shiver, kneeling behind a mound of ice without so much as a tremor. Exactly how she could stand the chill when she clearly didn't have an ounce of fat on her baffled Hiccup, but bafflement and the Seer went together like barmaids and beverages.
The weather was staying kind, the storm clouds way off to the west and the wind blocked by the snow ridges further north. The Seer had led them behind some waist-high walls of snow overlooking a field of smiling crevices and shiny patches of treacherous ice. Toothless hunkered down as best he could, but he still stuck out over the top of the wall. The launcher he carried on his belly prevented him from kneeling down all the way. Thankfully, the Gunnarr positions were still miles away, the figures moving about like bed bugs on a wool blanket. Most were camped out in large clusters of makeshift tents or patrolling aimlessly. Their cylindrical war machines, which Hiccup recognized as larger versions of his bola launcher, were lined up in twin columns of four that faced opposite directions, their crews ambling about nearby.
They had managed to squeeze everyone onto Toothless to get to the island, but the cramped ride had made for sore bottoms and sorer moods. And now here they were, shivering, sleep deprived, some dried mutton that Hiccup had thought to bring along the only food in their stomachs, and, oh yes, hopelessly outnumbered on a frozen rock. It was enough to make Hiccup start yearning for the good ol' days when all he had to worry about was public ridicule.
"I think I've found Arc," said Astrid, motioning at a spot not far from the weapon emplacements. Difficult to see from a distance, Nestor and the others eventually saw the cage-like structure that housed a dragonoid creature, several figures surrounding it.
"Arc," Nestor repeated, concern dripping from his voice. "He must be alive if they have him caged. I need to…"
"You need to wait," ordered the Seer. "They'll have sentries armed with signal horns hidden in the crevices." She referred to the cavernous openings scattered among the jutting hills and smooth clearings. "There is a boat landing not far from here. That is where Stonefist will arrive. I can get us past the sentries on foot, though your dragon is too large to sneak by. He'll have to stay here."
"Leave him here?" said Hiccup.
"My people are prepared for a dragon assault, Dragon Rider," said the Seer. "Your Night Fury serves us best by staying clear of this."
"Are you kidding?" replied Hiccup. "Unless you plan on taking on a hundred Vikings all by yourself, I'm pretty sure we're going to need him. We're not leaving him behind." The dragon growled affirmatively, seconding the motion.
"We won't," agreed Astrid, heading off the Seer's rebuttal and any arguments that they didn't need to have, "but she's right about one thing. He can't just fly in there."
"Well, the only thing that could touch him are those bola launchers," said Hiccup. "If we could disable those things…"
"Or distract them," suggested Nestor.
"You got something in mind?" said Hiccup.
"Maybe," said Nestor. "I don't need the Seer's help to get to Arc, now that I can Shroud. At the same time, freeing Arc will cause a pretty big distraction that might divert troops away from the boat landing, as well as turn those launchers my way."
"And away from us," said Hiccup. "Then Toothless and I can take out the launchers from behind. I like your thinking."
Nestor cocked his head at the Seer. "Does that work for you?"
"Not a terrible idea, Outlander," she reluctantly admitted. "Fewer warriors will make my job easier."
"I'll should go with you," Astrid told her.
"Not necessary," replied the Seer, looking at Astrid skeptically.
"I think it is," insisted Astrid. "You'll need backup if you can't talk your chief into seeing things your way." She didn't add the part about not entirely trusting the Seer.
The Seer had to admit the possibility existed. "Very well, but you must do exactly as I say and let me do the talking. My people do not suffer outsiders well."
"We'll buy you the time you need," said Nestor. "Then we'll come get you two and head back to Berk. Whatever else happens, the powercore has to leave this island."
Shortly afterwards, Nestor Shrouded and took off down the icy hill, saying to watch for his signal as it would be "very obvious." The Seer and Astrid were making to run off as well when Hiccup pulled Astrid aside, leaving the Seer waiting impatiently nearby.
"Be careful," said Hiccup. "You know what the Gunnarr are like."
"Yes, but now they're going to know what I'm like," replied Astrid, smiling confidently. "Besides, you'll have more to worry about than me."
"As usual," he joked.
Astrid gave him a quick peck on the cheek before running off with the Seer across the frozen wastes. As confident as she acted, Hiccup couldn't help but fear for her, fear for them all. They were in over their heads, swimming in monster-filled waters, and unless they found the shore soon, somebody was going to drown… or get eaten.
One of the burlier specimens in the Gunnarr clan, the guard Nestor designated as Victim Number One packed on enough tonnage to equal twenty Hiccups. The five other men who sat around the sleeping dragon were much like him, sitting on holey fur blankets and worrying more about their fingers falling off than the security of their prisoner. Flecks of frost hung in their hair and beards and their eyes drooped as fatigue and boredom nibbled at them.
The guard didn't stir, didn't even register the furtive crunches on the snow behind him as the faint, man-shaped distortion snuck up on him and cold cocked him on the head. The guard briefly wondered why the stars were coming out so early before he fell over, Nestor catching him and gently, quietly, lowering him to the ice.
Nestor stifled a complaint as he rubbed his right hand, feeling the pain for attacking the Viking without more field protection. The downside to Shrouding was that he had to keep his field uniform across his body or else he became visible. Sucker punching the Gunnarr's head had been like sucker punching granite. But the takedown gave him satisfaction, and after seeing Arc's condition up close he was more than happy to do it again and again.
Arc breathed steadily – that was all Nestor could figure right now. The cage cruelly bound him to the ice, his scales glistening with hardened moisture. The dragon didn't move a muscle, his eyes shut tight and his ears and nose almost frosted over. Nestor could barely contain his rage at his mentor's treatment, filled with an overwhelming desire to go to him, to wake him up and free him, but he had to remove some more Gunnarr-shaped obstacles first. They had spread themselves out around the cage, which made individual takedowns easier.
Two more Gunnarr met the same fate as the first, and Nestor was moving onto the fourth, confidently expecting similar results, when something brittle broke under his feet. Nestor looked down and spotted discarded fowl bones half-buried in the snow. The guard's previous meal mostly likely, the cold had rendered them fragile. The noise snapped the half-asleep guard out of his stupor, jumping to his feet and whirling around before Nestor could take another step. His sword at the ready, the guard stood baffled by the weirdly transparent thing before him. Nestor socked him alongside the head and staggered him… but not before the guard cried out.
Sprinting past the collapsing guard, Nestor charged at the remaining two warriors, hoping to get them before they fully roused themselves. He had to credit the Gunnarr on their training, because they were up and armed before he could get halfway there. Nestor dropped the Shroud to increase his speed, barreling into the first guard and launching him skidding across the ice. But the second one had a curved signal horn in his hands, and it was already at his lips and producing a low warble to the nearby encampment. The bellow lasted only two seconds, the exact time it took Nestor to rip the horn away and toss it into a convenient crevice. The guard lasted five more seconds before his consciousness took a holiday on Nestor's behalf.
"Nestor?"
Arc's strained voice almost made Nestor weep. Dropping the last guard in the snow, he ran back to the front of the cage and found Arc awake, his eyes at half-mast but focused on Nestor. Disbelief swam in those reptilian eyes, as if he was staring at a delusion made manifest.
With precious little time remaining before more Gunnarr arrived, Nestor knelt down before Arc and gently rubbed away the clinging frost from Arc's face. The dragon slowly began to accept Nestor's presence as not imaginary, a flood of relief warming his body and making him flex his frozen joints.
"You really are here," said Arc.
"I'm here, old man," Nestor said tenderly, clearing the last of the ice off Arc's snout. "Brought help, too."
For a moment, Arc looked like he wanted to say something deep and personal, his gaze full of emotion. Just as quickly, the dragon switched to a teasing smirk and said, "Took you long enough."
Nestor laughed. Same ol' Arc – that was a good sign. "Had to stop and ask for directions." He tested the strength of one of the cage's bone-bars around Arc's neck and found it extremely solid. "Better model than last time. This might take a while."
Arc perked up at the chorus of war cries and swearing approaching from behind them. "From the sounds of it, we don't have a while. This cage must have a conduit holding it together. Look for an irregular bone."
"They're all irregular," replied Nestor, searching up and down the cage for a section that screamed out I'm important. Nothing did so. As the angry crowd of Vikings grew louder and closer, Nestor circled Arc's cage once, twice, three times in search of the elusive conduit bone. He punched one large bone-bar at full strength, cracking it in two but not jarring it loose. He might eventually crack the cage open with adequate pounding, but it would take minutes he didn't have.
"They're nearly here, Nestor," warned Arc, shoving his cramped body against the cage in a failing effort to dislodge it from the ice. "There are lots! Get clear."
"I didn't come all this way to go back without you, old man," declared Nestor, cracking another bone-bar around Arc's left wing. It crunched and spat splinters and a flurry of black sparks into the air. That's when he noticed a slight flash of ebony luminance from a chewed-up leg bone scrunching Arc's spine. It had reacted to the damage, a clear sign of a conduit at work.
To the east, dozens of Vikings in dark fur battle uniforms came charging up a narrow pathway between two steep crevices, every one of them armed and dangerous. Another smaller group was flanking from the west, encircling them and cutting off escape. Some of them produced bows and readied arrows while others ran ahead, daring to believe they might reach the dragon and kill him before the interloper freed him.
Nestor blanched at the sight of all those warriors. His field hadn't recharged much since his fight with the Seer and he sure as krebit couldn't handle them all. With only seconds to spare, he channeled power to his legs and jumped upon Arc's back, the dragon shaking as he tried to free himself. Nestor then focused all his power into his right arm, gripped the chewed-up leg bone, and pulled with everything he had. The bone fought him, clung to its connected brethren like it was nailed on, but second by second the connections snapped and sparked and tore away, ending in a shower of flying debris and black fire as the bone shattered from the strain in Nestor's hands.
There was a second, far-greater shower of debris as Arc exploded out of the cage an instant later, peppering the approaching Vikings with fragments of frosted bone and halting their charge. Nestor ungracefully dropped to the ice as Arc stood up to his full height, unkinking his sore limbs and spreading his wings out like a great leathery sail, making him look almost twice his normal size. He cleared the remains of the cage and took a few aggressive steps toward the Viking horde, glaring murderously and showing off his wicked teeth.
Nestor was at his back immediately, facing down the other half of the Gunnarr army. Despite Arc's intimidation tactics, the Vikings held their position and their weapons steady. Their faces weren't as enraged, more akin now to people staring down an oncoming tidal wave, but they weren't going to retreat. Defeat and Death, the Seer had told him.
Stupid Gunnarr.
"Quick reminder that we're not supposed to hurt them too badly," mentioned Nestor.
"Really?" said Arc. "Why?"
"Just don't. It's a favor to an ally."
Arc grunt his displeasure, which also counted as agreement. "How many Vikings do you think there are?"
Nestor shrugged. "Five, maybe six dozen."
Arc's mouth formed a deadly grin, which somehow managed to look more terrible than his previous expression. "Not enough."
The fleet arriving from Berk had landed minutes ago, a column of tired men walking toward the main base camp in the middle of the island. A smaller base camp served as a waypoint and guard post, with over four-dozen warriors in residence. Only a few were actively on watch, standing on raised snow embankments at the corners of the camp.
Astrid and The Seer hid inside a crevice not far away, the Seer peeking over the top with one eye while Astrid sat on her knees and pulled her cloak a little tighter. She was used to the general lack of warmth in her life, but this was a bit much. The heat of her body movements was the one thing keeping her from icing over. Standing still was like standing in a frozen grave.
The Seer wanted the ranks of the guards to thin before going in, but they didn't have much time before Stonefist's column arrived. Astrid had to trust that Nestor and Hiccup could cause a big enough ruckus to attract attention, because otherwise they were either about to take on lots of guards… or lots and lots of guards.
"Your people like this place?" she asked, mostly to distract herself from both the marrow-freezing chill.
"It is sacred," said the Seer, her eye never wavering from its sentry duty, "but like is too strong a word."
"Toughens you up, right?"
"Yes. Our spirits should be as cold as the ice we walk upon. That is our ancient mantra. We use it to form barriers against pain and loss. I stayed here once for three months, my cloak my one source of heat, my only nourishment what I could catch from the ocean. I was the first woman in my clan to undertake the ordeal… and survive it."
"Sounds… terrible, actually."
The Seer broke off her surveillance and looked at Astrid as if she'd just been insulted. "Terrible? I learned who I was here. My first vision came to me as I lay in the snow, consumed by dreams of heat and shelter. I saw an image of two shapely daggers buried in a snow bank, beckoning me to free them. That is how I found these." She patted the twin daggers on her belt. "That is how I knew I was truly the Seer, not a pretender within the bloodline. My ordeal taught me to bury my weaknesses, my desires. It taught me to be a true warrior."
"Not long ago, I might have wanted that myself," said Astrid. "I tried to do the same thing, to shut off my feelings so I could be a great dragon-killing warrior. Now I look back and think how empty my life was. I think about all the things I missed out on, the people I could've spent more time with."
The Seer chuffed at her and went back to her surveillance. "An invitation for disaster."
"Why?" shot back Astrid, shifting her legs to keep them from going numb.
"I believe the term your people use is occupational hazard."
"So no friends, no anything, because they might die?"
"It sounds like a good reason to me."
"Still sounds terrible."
The Seer looked at her again, but this time she didn't seem insulted. "My people put stock in sacrifice, in giving yourself up for something more important. We give up much for the sake of our people… I've given up much… but it's what keeps us strong… though…"
"What?" asked Astrid.
"I've seen your people up close now, watching the joy on their faces as they ride across the sky. I've witnessed you risk your life for a boy who wouldn't have survived five winters in our clan. I was spared by a man who would lose everything if he did not kill me, yet he still chose not to. It would seem that strength and happiness are not mutually exclusive, that strength comes in many forms, and that I still have much to learn about it."
More cracks in the Seer's hard persona. An improvement. Astrid wasn't ready to give the Seer a pass on her previous record of obfuscations, but it was a positive sign nonetheless.
Her thoughts trailed off as the sound of echoing thunder reached their ears, accompanied by distant battle cries and screams. The Seer looked out once more and nodded her head approvingly. Astrid chanced a peek and saw the Gunnarr warriors meeting and conversing at the center of the camp, their voices growing more urgent as the din of battle continued. A minute later, over half the warriors formed a column and raced off to reinforce their comrades, leaving the rest scattered around the camp.
"The numbers should be manageable now," said the Seer, drawing her daggers and tensing her legs. "Follow my lead. If things should come to blows, disarm and incapacitate only."
Astrid nodded, grabbing her axe and mentally preparing herself with two quick prayers to Odin, one for a quick victory or a quick death… and the other to give the Seer the strength she needed to prevent a fight altogether.
While his men at the weapon emplacements were hurriedly shoving their bola launchers around to face the escaping green dragon, the wizened Gunnarr field commander watched the ensuing battle, transfixed on the spectacle. He couldn't fire the massive bolas without hitting his own men, but he did have the best view available for spectating.
Thor himself couldn't have unleashed as much heavenly lightning as the dragon discharged at the rushing throng of Gunnarr. Men leapt into the air or jiggled in place as bolt after bolt found a warm body to strike. Warrior after warrior fell to the ground as their legs buckled and gave out. The dragon kept the voltage low to prevent fatalities, though it didn't stop it from hurting.
A group of seven warriors rushed him all at once. All seven flew backward as an electrical charge rocketed between them and shocked their systems. A pack of archers lobbed a volley of arrows right at him, only to have their arrows break apart in midair as a web of lightning erupted from the dragon's left claw-hand and smote them. They also received a jumping blast of lightning, knocking them down. Yet another group used their interlocking shields to form a shield wall and advanced as a line, thinking to block the dragon's lightning as they would any other dragon's fire attack. The conductive metal in their shields proved this idea faulty, and they dropped like dominoes.
The Vikings attacking the dragon's flank and rear fared no better. The young man with the shining glow repelled every attack, sending Vikings sailing through the air as he grabbed a limb and tossed them or smacked them a powerful blow. Many times he deliberately stepped in front of an arrow or throwing axe meant for the dragon, and every time the projectile bounced off him or broke against his magic. Hammer, club, and sword came down on him, but the only one to get hurt was the weapon's wielder.
The fallen Gunnarr rose to their feet as best they could, determined to win the day through persistence and sacrifice. But back at the weapon emplacements, the field commander could see the direction the battle was going. If he didn't act, there soon wouldn't be any buffer between him and the terrifying dual threat. He ordered his men to open fire on the dragon, heedless of the collateral damage. His men obeyed and manned their launchers, loading the ammo and taking aim.
Then one of the launchers spontaneously exploded… and another one… and another…
The black dragon, the one whose species still struck fear into the hearts and minds of most non-Berkian Vikings, soared above the emplacements like a bird of prey. It spat blue death as it went, the launchers cracking and spraying flaming wood and superheated steel as the fireballs contacted them. The crews screamed and fled for their lives as their weapons quickly disintegrated, melting the snow below them and forming puddles that froze within seconds, trapping the debris in its icy embrace.
The commander stood and watched, dumbfounded, as his artillery section was annihilated in seconds, his men running from the battle like frightened sheep. But the commander stood his ground and yelled out a defiant curse to the black dragon. Death and Defeat was the same thing – the Gunnarr way. He would not dishonor his people with cowardice. The dragon would have to…
The dragon made a second pass and fired an exploding projectile right in front of him, urging him on his way. The heat pierced his skin and drove an instinctive urge through his honor-bound brain: to flee from a fire. So he did, joining his men as they ran for their ships. It didn't matter that he would have to explain to Stonefist how he abandoned his post. The fool who came up with Death and Defeat had never been on the receiving end of a Night Fury's flames.
"Next time, steal someone else's plans!" yelled out Hiccup to the fleeing Gunnarr, though it was unlikely that they heard him. Too busy running for their lives and everything.
Toothless swept over the launchers one last time and plinked another bolt of blue flame into the last intact launcher, blasting it apart. There was no need for it, the crews having fled in terror, but Hiccup sensed that his bud really didn't like those weapons. He'd been all too eager to destroy them, Hiccup having to restrain him until the launchers had repositioned themselves toward Arc and Nestor.
Zero casualties. Good. Another fine example of Toothless's pinpoint accuracy. He thought about aiding Nestor and Arc, but they were handing the Gunnarr their rears and didn't really need his help. He then thought about aiding Astrid and the Seer, but Toothless's presence might make things harder for the Seer if she actually succeeded in talking down Stonefist.
Then the Gods gave him something to do, in the form of an old man improperly dressed for the Artic Circle. Some distance away, near the beginning of a carved trail cut through a wall of stone-dense snow, was Cervantes, rooted to the spot as he watched Arc unleash a hurricane on his allies. Cervantes, in the flesh… assuming he actually had any left on that body of his.
The necromancer then fled back up the trail and toward the dome at the heart of the island, remaining unaware of the shadow that tailed him from above.
Stonefist led the column of fifty-plus warriors over several rugged ridgelines and up to the guard post, his son stubbornly limping two steps behind him and carrying the wicker basket with the deviltry items. Despite his injuries, Cragfist wished to be present for the final part of their deal. Cragfist's desire to see Berk wiped off the face of the planet was public knowledge, his simmering rage practically a permanent feature now.
Stonefist shared his son's fear, but not his animosity. He honestly regretted this course of action, but Berk was too grave a threat to let be. The Berkians refused to act like true Norse, and that endangered all Vikings everywhere, not just the Gunnarr. But his people were not dragon slayers, despite their incorporation of the pilfered anti-dragon weapon design into their army, and a war against Berk would ruin them, if not destroy them. If deviltry prevented his people's destruction, then deviltry it would be.
As the column neared the guard post, Stonefist began to hear thunder ringing across the island. Not a cloud above them, though. He halted in his tracks and ordered his men to do the same, straining to hear more. The unmistakable shrieks and clangs of combat filled the gaps between the thunder strikes. His men heard the same, their good cheer evaporating quicker than boiling water.
"The dragon," muttered Cragfist to his side. "We should have killed him."
"That was up to Cervantes," said Stonefist, "but yes, we should have."
The guard post was just over one final ridge, and they marched double-time to reach it. Stonefist intended to pick up the warriors stationed at the post and continue marching, to put an end to the troublesome reptile once and for all. If Cervantes complained about it, he could go straight to Hel… though he'd probably like it there. Lots of guys like him to talk shop with.
His plans encountered their first wrinkle as soon as he cleared the ridge and saw the guard post. The only warriors on their feet were a pair of females, both of which Stonefist recognized right away. The rest, close to twenty reliable and sturdy men, were sitting cross-legged on the snow with their hands on their laps, their weapons thrown together into a pile, and humiliation on their faces. On further inspection, Stonefist noticed that the piled-up weapons were mangled and broken, as if a giant had snapped them in two.
The girl that had beaten his son stood on guard, watching them with her powerful axe at the ready. But the real shock was The Seer's presence as she stood before him, her daggers drawn from their sheaths and crossed before her chest. She had been waiting for his arrival, her mouth a grim line and her feet in a defensive stance.
"What is this?" demanded Stonefist, his son and his men forming a line behind him. None could believe their eyes. None dared express the blatantly obvious for fear of losing their head to Stonefist's temper.
"You must stop, my Chief," declared the Seer, the authority in her voice making it sound like an edict from the Gods.
"You were on your way to our village. How can you be here?" Stonefist was having some difficulty wrapping his head around this.
"You cannot go through with this," she replied, ignoring his confusion. "Return to your ship and go home. Order our people to do the same. Today, the madness must end."
"You… you've turned," said Cragfist, the only other Gunnarr with the courage to speak. "You've turned against your people."
"I am saving our people from your mistakes." The Seer continued to address Stonefist only, her gaze drilling into him. "Consider the man you have allied us with, my Chief. You know in your heart that he does not intend to show our people favor. He will sweep us away as he will sweep away all others."
"You will defy me, then?" Stonefist's face slowly twisted, the agony of betrayal finally sinking in. "You will fight your own people?"
"Fight you?" The Seer surprised everyone by suddenly snapping her weapons back into their sheaths and taking her hands off them. She lowered her arms and softened her gaze, the shift in body language making it seem like an entirely different person had just taken her place. It caught Stonefist off guard as well, his growing anger blunted for the moment.
Astrid readied herself to do something, though she didn't know what that something was. Save the Seer from fifty angry blades? This wasn't looking good, but there wasn't anything to do except watch and wait, two things she hated doing.
"When have I ever fought you?" the Seer said. "When have I ever defied you? All my life, I have fulfilled the role I was expected to play. I have served our people without complaint, with hesitation. I have aided you and advised you. I have shown you paths to victory and given you alternatives when you saw nothing but failure. Even when I knew better than to stay silent and let you join forces with the Necromancer, I supported you. I have been your most loyal servant, even though you resent me for my position amongst our people, a position that surpasses your son's."
Cragfist snarled at that last comment, but Stonefist warned him against speaking with a quick glare. "Is that what this is about? You think I resent you?"
"I know you do. Your feelings are easy to read. You are a true Gunnarr, after all. You cannot feel pride at the exploits of a female, so you must feel disdain instead. I've known this for some time, but I have never let my feelings interfere, even now. It is your feelings that will destroy us, because you have let fear pull the wool over your eyes. It will be your actions that will lead to our ruin."
Stonefist's mouth curled again as her accusation bit into him. "You dare? I am saving our people!"
"From what, an imaginary threat? I have watched the Berkians closely. They have no desire to fight us. They have felt peace, and it agrees with them."
"Even if I believed that, will it stay that way? What if they grow stronger? What if they grow ambitious?"
"I cannot see that far. No one can. But I can see what's in front of us, and that is all that matters. You once trusted my words without question. I ask you… I beg you, to trust them now. As your Seer… as your daughter… for our people, you must STOP!"
The world came to a standstill as the Seer and Stonefist faced off, a cavalcade of emotion running across their faces. Anger, fear, hurt, longing – it was far more than just a power struggle, more than just a test of wills. All eyes watched them, waiting for some signal to act or a conclusion that would allow a measure of guidance back into their lives. For the first time in untold years, the Gunnarr were plagued by indecision. The Chief and the Seer, the heart and brains of their culture, were at conflict with one another.
Astrid knew she needed to keep an eye on the prisoners, yet she couldn't turn away from the drama. Two Nightmares fighting over a veal cutlet produced less tension that the standoff before her. This was either going to end with hugs and kisses or with daggers and warhammers.
Soon enough, the standoff came to an end… just not in the way anyone expected.
His joints creaking with every step, his feeble heart complaining, Cervantes pushed his decrepit body harder than he had in decades. Too much time using magic or getting carted around by his abominations, too much age accumulating in his bones. He wished he could discard his flawed form and inhabit a fresher body, but that was one trick he had yet to learn. Maybe next century, when he had more time on his hands.
The trail through the snow wall gave way to the sloping dome, Cervantes hoping to reach the top before his heart gave up the ghost. It would be embarrassing in the extreme to die from a heart attack right now. He didn't think he could, not with Hyperion essence flowing through his veins, but his heart sure felt ready to go.
Then a black form dropped down in front of him, blocking the way to the top, and a heart attack became the least of his problems.
Toothless growled out his displeasure at the death mage. Cervantes regarded the dragon cautiously and noted the odd device strapped to his belly, a curiosity he brushed off as unimportant. He didn't bother trying to flee, knowing he couldn't outrun the dragon.
"No minions or illusions to hide behind this time, Cervantes," Hiccup commented. Hiccup wanted to see the smug necromancer grovel or freak out, but Cervantes seemed more concerned than frightened, as if Toothless's appearance was unexpected but nothing more. Then he noticed an object tucked into Cervantes's belt, something that resembled a piece of quartz that shifted color at random intervals. Something that mesmerized him and drew his attention. Something Hiccup forced himself to look away from, a new burst of fear spreading throughout his body and numbing his already unfeeling extremities.
"The powercore," he stated, his tone frail. "How did you get it?"
"A powercore," corrected Cervantes. "Did you think there was only one at large in the world?"
Hiccup honestly had, but he didn't say so. "So why aren't you using it?"
"Yes, why don't I divulge my plans like an idiot?" said Cervantes, quite annoyed by the question. "It was the Seer, wasn't it? I trusted Stonefist when he said he could keep her under control." He shook his head, disappointed. "So what now? How will you slay me? I hope it's not with stupid questions."
"I'm going to let Toothless decide how to do that," threatened Hiccup, the dragon adding emphasis by firing a tiny fireball right at Cervantes's feet, creating a sizzling puddle in the ice and forcing the death mage back another step.
It didn't have the desired effect, the mage smiling dismissively at Hiccup. "Please. I watched you for some time, enough to know that you're not capable of cold-blooded execution. Against a flying reptilian mountain of death, you're a danger, but not like this."
"Funny you should mention Red Death," said Hiccup grimly. "You're the one who turned Latimar into Red Death, which makes you responsible for the Dragon War. That means hundreds of lives, thousands of dragons… all on you. Sounds less like an execution and more like justice."
"Perhaps it would be," said Cervantes, showing no remorse. "Latimar is certainly not my only crime, either. But you will let me live and let me go, for I remain the only one who can save this world."
"Save the world? From what, guys like you?"
"Something far worse. You'll need me to fight it. I am the only one capable of doing what needs to be done."
"Hmm, let's see. A – I don't believe you, and B – if I did, I'd still want to try things our way first before letting you take charge," chided Hiccup.
"Your way? It's been done before, and it failed. Your little social experiment is very quaint, but dragons and humans simply can't co-exist. The desire to kill one another is in your bones."
"Yeah? I've heard it all before, and it was wrong then as well," Hiccup rebutted. "But I'll make you this one-time deal, Cervantes. If you give up the powercore and promise to never come anywhere near the Atlantic Ocean again… I'll let you go."
Cervantes snickered at Hiccup's notion of mercy. "Archibald would never agree to that."
"I'll give you a head start," said Hiccup. "If you end this, I'll get you off the island." Toothless gave Hiccup a look that suggested the dragon wasn't about to go along with such a plan, but Hiccup figured he could sweet talk him into it eventually.
Cervantes chuckled again and shook his head. "I only have two words for you, child – smoke bomb."
On command, one of the finger bones hanging from Cervantes's belt expelled a mighty cloud of gas darker than the thickest thunderhead. It enveloped the mage almost instantly, Toothless recoiling in surprise and then testily firing a fireball into it, the cloud lighting up briefly before darkening again. Toothless growled irately and fired off two more blasts, netting the same result.
"Okay, that's just cheating," said Hiccup, glancing about for any suspicious shapes in the gas. But within seconds, the gas dissipated into nothing and revealed an empty landscape marked by a few new craters in the ice. Cervantes was gone, but in his place flitted a faint shadow that married a man's humanoid form with the sticklike wings of a giant gull.
Hiccup and Toothless looked up and spotted Cervantes in the air, a pair of skeletal wings having grown out his back somehow. He had to be fifty feet in the air already, a feat of aeronautical speed that only Toothless could match. The necromancer laughed as he grabbed the powercore from his belt with one hand and unfastened the belt itself with the other. The leather strap hung loose from his hand, his collection of empowered remains dangling like grotesque wind chimes.
"I was hoping to try this on Archibald," yelled down Cervantes, "but you'll do instead."
He tossed the strap into the air above him, the remains flinging off the belt all at once, floating on their own and slowing rotating. They began to blacken, living darkness coating them and shooting out sparks and tendrils all around them. Each spark or tendril coalescenced into a new bone, some creating identical parts while others formed wildly different shapes and sizes. The new bones began to darken and give birth to other bones, the air around Cervantes rapidly filling up with hundreds of different specimens. Hiccup could see dragon skulls form from digits, spines give birth to collar bones. Teeth, vertebrate, completely unidentifiable bits popped into existence and surrounded the laughing death mage.
Then the bones began to swirl around him, becoming a whirling vortex of the dead. Growing more and more rapid, the vortex narrowed around the mage and threatened to lacerate him into oblivion. But then the parts started to link together, forming connections that nature never intended, massive limbs emerging out of the maelstrom. A torso formed around Cervantes, encasing him in a protective ribcage cocoon. The limbs joined to form shoulders and hips, knees and elbows, feet and hands.
When it was over, Hiccup realized that he probably should have done something to stop Cervantes during this whole transformation business, but it was hard not to get distracted by the process. Now he had a much bigger problem.
It was a headless humanoid abomination; five times the size of the withered old man, with a pair of wings at its back similar to Cervantes's original pair but three times as big. It had three angular reptile skulls on top of its torso, and instead of a hand its right arm housed another head that, while also reptilian, was more blunt and rounded and far bigger than the skull of any dragon species Hiccup was aware of. Every skull had that pervasive darkness inhabiting their eye sockets, though the giant right-arm skull had a writhing mass of it between its jaws. The monstrosity floated in the sky over Hiccup and Toothless, blotting out the sun and any witty rejoinders Hiccup might have come up with for the occasion.
"Always keep the best stuff in reserve," commented Cervantes, his voice perfectly clear even through the wall of bone encasing him, as he aimed the abomination's right arm in Hiccup's direction.
Nestor lost track of how many warriors he'd sent sprawling, how many weapons had broken against his field, how many ugly mugs he'd improved with an elbow to the nose. Keeping his vow to the Seer was proving to be a lot of work, as he pulled his punches and disarmed his opponents rather than breaking their bones. Most of the time, he could convince an unruly mob to back down after a minute of hurting, but these guys kept coming back for seconds, thirds, and fourths.
Arc was fairing better, having shocked half the attacking Vikings into piles of groaning bodies on the ice. The remaining troops were using cover and sniping at the dragon with bows, but the arrows couldn't get past his electrical defenses, much less his scale plating. Arc now traded shots with the snipers, a painstaking process that he was slowly winning. Those Gunnarr still able to stand were regrouping, a lull in the action allowing Nestor to look around and assess the scene.
That's when he spotted the horrendous skeletal abomination in the air, as well as the noble black dragon and his equally noble rider engaging it. Hiccup and Toothless, all by themselves against the full power of Cervantes. Nestor almost ran off to help them, but he shoved the urge away and kept his place at Arc's back. Arc needed him, and the Gunnarr still had plenty of fight in them.
He wanted to warn Arc, to get him to disengage and go help his friends, but the Gunnarr were already rushing back in for the next round, crying out to their gods for help against the green dragon and the foreign devil. The debate quickly became moot.
For now, Hiccup and Toothless were on their own.
A flood of black fire erupted from the right-arm dragonhead and saturated the ground where Toothless had stood a second ago, the agile dragon already leaping vertical. Ice and snow vanished into steam, a great plume of scorching water vapor following after Toothless. The dragon twisted in the air and rocketed past the abomination, heading for the sky and a more tactically advantageous position.
Cervantes wouldn't have it. The abomination followed his course, the trio of smaller skulls lobbing a volley of black fireballs after the dragon, the projectiles a nano-second too slow to catch Toothless. Quickly outdistanced, Cervantes rose higher into the sky, matching altitude with his enemy and awaiting Toothless's counterattack.
"Aim for the skulls," advised Hiccup as Toothless spun around and barreled straight at the abomination. "That seems to be the weak spot for these things."
Toothless let loose a trio of fireballs, his unerring accuracy certain to neutralize the abomination in short order. Just before impact, Hiccup spotted a flock of bone plates shoot out from the center of the monster, right in the fireballs' path. The plates met the fireballs and detonated them early, filling the air with pretty explosions but doing nothing else. Hiccup and Toothless both grimaced at this newest defense.
Toothless and Cervantes traded volleys and counter-volleys for several minutes, Toothless outmaneuvering Cervantes's fireballs and Cervantes intercepting his. What the necromancer lacked in speed he made up for in protection, and Toothless couldn't get in close enough to bypass the abomination's defensive option without getting hammered by black fire. Hiccup's mind raced to come up with some alternative, but he was coming up empty. Cervantes was empowered by magic, not physics, and none of the tactics he used on Red Death/Latimar would work here.
Hiccup observed that the abomination's main dragonhead wasn't firing. In fact, the dark fire insides its cavernous jaws seemed to be growing, expanding into the full confines of the skull's empty recesses. What was Cervantes up to?
Toothless came in for a sixth pass, this time attempting a feint by flying in high and then dropping low, targeting the abomination's legs. But before he could complete the maneuver, Cervantes raised his main dragonhead, the skull almost completely obscured by dark flames. Hiccup ordered Toothless to go evasive, the dragon obeying, as an orb of crackling black fire seven times as large as a normal projectile launched outward. Slow and badly aimed, Toothless didn't even have to dodge the thing as the super fireball sped by, though Hiccup could feel the intense heat pulsing off of it as it passed.
"That was a lot of buildup to nothing," commented Hiccup… right before the super fireball blew apart behind them.
The buffeting wave of superheated air tossed Toothless around like a dandelion puff in the wind, Hiccup grabbing hold of his saddle and crying out. He cried out again upon seeing the next wave approaching, a shower of mini-black fireballs racing away from the epicenter of the explosion, a good chunk of them in his direction.
"DIVE!" he screamed, Toothless growling out his dismay as the dragon went into a tailspin, the wind tearing at Hiccup's harness. The burst of speed saved their lives, the blossom of fire spreading out and thinning as it overtook Toothless. Hundreds of mini-fireballs swarmed around them, some petering out with a rude sizzle and others bursting in midair. One missed Hiccup's right shoulder by a hair's breadth, his shirt smoking from the graze. Another blew up in Toothless's path, the flames half-blinding him and almost causing him to fly straight into a low mountain of frost before pulling up and skimming the peak.
They weathered the storm of fire without further damage, Hiccup desperately scanning the heavens for the abomination. He found it… right behind them. Cervantes was on their tail and closing, his abomination's left arm aiming at them, the necromancer having used the explosion to mask his own movements. Hiccup ordered Toothless to go evasive yet again, fearing what new power Cervantes had at his disposal.
Sure enough, something flew off the outstretched hand. Several somethings. Lots of tiny somethings. They whizzed past Toothless at a startling speed, a few of them punching a small hole through his false tail rudder. Hiccup saw that the abomination's left hand was shirking or degrading as the barrage continued, and he deduced that those projectiles were bone fragments being propelled at amazing speeds, using the abomination's own bones as ammo.
Toothless banked tighter as the barrage continued, Cervantes staying on their tail and Toothless doing his best just to stay out of the line of fire. Hiccup hurriedly looked for an opportunity or a direction to go. In one direction, he could see Nestor and Arc still battling the Gunnarr. In another, he spotted someone, presumably the Seer, standing in front of another column of Gunnarr. No help from those directions.
One projectile glanced off of Toothless's back, the ricochet severing one of the straps holding the launcher to the saddle. Three more straps remained in place, so no fear of it falling off just yet. But the near miss did remind Hiccup of the other weapon at his disposal, one that Cervantes wouldn't be expecting.
"This isn't working, bud," he declared, and then he told Toothless his plan. The dragon waggled his head, desperate for a good idea and happy to get one.
Toothless dived in at the same mountainous peak that he nearly speared himself on earlier and twisted hard around it. Cervantes's abomination couldn't quite follow, one of his wings clipping the peak in a splash of ice and bone fragments and forcing the necromancer to break off for the moment. Toothless used the opportunity to ascend at a steep angle, Hiccup watching out for the abomination's return as the ground quickly shrunk away.
In short order, the abomination was back on their tail, climbing after them. No fireballs or bone barrage this time. Toothless's ascent slowed as his airspeed lagged and the dragon began to tire, but Cervantes had no physical limitations. Cervantes's intentions became evident as the bones on the monster's left hand shifted to become longer, sharper. He planned on a midair melee, or perhaps just a tussle designed to keep Toothless from dodging the black fire this time. At the speed it was traveling, the abomination would be upon them in seconds.
"Almost there," said Hiccup, hoping his sense of timing hadn't atrophied since last time.
The abomination was right behind, reaching for the dragon's tail with its left hand, its dragonhead encased in the blackest night Hiccup had ever seen.
"FLIP!"
Toothless looped backward, using the last of his momentum to propel his tail upward and his head down, facing the abomination. The monster overshot Toothless by mere feet, missing his tail and every other part of him. No blue flames came forth this time, though. Toothless aimed his torso straight at the rear midsection of the abomination, Hiccup stamping down on the saddle's right peddle and catapulting the grapple launcher into motion.
The net that had ensnared Nestor on the Gunnarr ship had been replaced in the interim between the fleet and the Isle of Frost. With what little free time he had during the summit, Hiccup had made a few adjustments to the launcher. One was to create another special attachment similar to a fisherman's spear, for spearing big fishes in the ocean. It came out looking more like a grappling hook due to the rush job Hiccup did on it. At the time, his reason for making it out of myssteel was that a myssteel hook wouldn't break easily after repeated uses… and he needed to do something with the rest of the excess metal.
The grappling hook punched right through the monster's midsection, the rope trailing after it. The abomination didn't seem to notice the rope sticking out of its body as it twisted to face its foe. Not wasting a second, Toothless folded his wings and dived straight down past the startled bone monster, the rope connecting the two flyers tightening within seconds and spooling through the hole in the thing's gut.
Then the hook caught on the abomination's ribs, and it was suddenly coming along for the ride.
Like a living meteorite from the sky, Toothless tore through the atmosphere with the abomination twisting and writhing behind him. The launcher creaked and groaned from the stress as Cervantes swore in an unfathomable language, unable to bring his weapons to bear while the drag forced him to face backward. Hiccup clasped his arms around the dragon as the wind screamed in his ears, the white nothingness of the island fast approaching. His teeth rattled as the stress on his equipment caused them to vibrate and buckle. His blood roaring through his ears, he wanted to close his eyes and wish it all over. But he still had one last thing to do and it required his full courage.
The ground loomed large in front of him, the ice eagerly waiting to embrace him and Toothless. In a few more seconds, it would get its wish.
"NOW!" he cried out, Toothless immediately spreading his wings to regain control. The wind shrieked, Toothless shrieked, and Hiccup was pretty sure he was shrieking too as the dragon inched their dive upward. Heartbeat after heartbeat, Toothless's nose slowly rose away from the ground and toward the horizon, the hilly terrain reaching out to grab the dragon out of the air.
Right before the point the dive angled off into a level flight, mere feet above the uncompromising ground, Hiccup pulled both release straps on the grapple launcher. With a jump and a lurch, the launcher fell away and continued its journey to the ground, whipping the abomination into the landscape. Hiccup breathed out a sigh of relief, grateful for having taken the time to make sure the emergency release system now only dropped the launcher and nothing else.
Cervantes's abomination was a weapon of magic, not bound to the laws of inertia and speed as most things in the world. But while it could bend some laws to its will, it could not break them all. Going too fast and too low to the ground to stop, it ploughed into the hard ice of the island, rolling and crashing through mounds and hills, sending up a shower of white that was part frozen water and part bone, arms and legs tangling, breaking, snapping. Bursts of black flame flickered as the dragon skulls burst inward or came undone from the central mass, melting the unfortunate ice around it.
At last, the abomination collided with a wall of ice it couldn't break through, the thump reaching Hiccup's ears as Toothless cruised above the wreckage. In its wake was a trail of broken debris, bones scrambled with the remains of Hiccup's launcher, thoroughly pulverized by the crash. The abomination remained still, a twisted heap of its former self.
"It was a good prototype," said Hiccup as they came in low over the wreckage, Hiccup feeling like the time he had to burn his favorite fur blanket because it had become infested with fleas. "The next one will be better, but it won't be the same." Toothless looked back at him unhappily, as if saying Next one?
They held position just above the abomination, hovering in place in case they needed to skedaddle right quick. It didn't look like they needed to worry, though. The abomination's left arm was gone, its heads crushed or missing, its wings snapped off, its legs mangled beyond use. The torso had broke open near the top, allowing Hiccup to see one bruised-up necromancer attempting to either climb out of his undead war machine or somehow get it up and running. Hiccup was amazed that Cervantes had survived the crash, much less in one piece.
They had landed not far from the guard post Astrid and the Seer had gone to, everyone gathered there staring his direction. He located Astrid guarding some Vikings and she waved in his direction. It looked like they had things under control on their end.
Cervantes finally glared up at Hiccup and Toothless, remarkably calm considering what had just happened. He coughed once and said, "You are quite the nuisance, child."
"Talk to my father sometime," replied Hiccup snidely. "Does he have stories to tell."
Grimacing, Cervantes brought up his right arm and aimed it at Hiccup. Simultaneously, the abomination quivered and shook as its right arm followed its master's example, bones grinding and cracking as the battered main dragonhead began charging up its black fire again.
"Give it up, Cervantes," ordered Hiccup. "You've lost."
"You only lose when you refuse to do what must be done," said Cervantes, the dragonhead's fire gathering intensity. But then he moaned and lowered his arm, his injuries catching up to him. The abomination's arm lowered as well, though the black fire continued to grow in strength inside the dragonhead.
"Toothless, take out the arm," said Hiccup. "We'll save him for Arc to deal..."
Unexpectedly speedy for an injured old man, Cervantes moved his right arm once more and aimed it upward, closing his fist as if squishing an ant in his palm. The abomination's arm rose and unleashed another orb of black fire a moment before Toothless's fire breath severed the arm at the shoulder, the giant limb plopping lifelessly to the ground.
The orb missed Hiccup and Toothless as it did before, but largely because it hadn't been aimed at him. It arched like a catapult round over the field of ice separating them from the guard post. By the time Hiccup realized where it was going to land, it had already landed.
Right on top of the Gunnarr. Right on top of Astrid and the Seer.
He saw the thick explosion of ice and fire, saw the Gunnarr dive for cover and cry out to Tyr and Thor, saw the ground cave in and melt from the unnatural heat, saw the Seer slide into the crater that opened like a gaping mouth in the ground… and saw Astrid rush to save her, only to fall into the crater as well.
"ASTRID!" Hiccup cried.
He didn't even think about it, didn't even consider what consequences his actions might bring. He ordered Toothless to fly to Astrid and the dragon obeyed without question, leaving Cervantes alone in his ruined abomination.
The necromancer chuckled as he climbed out of the construct's torso section, nowhere near as sore as he let on. He held the powercore in his left hand, his prized femur in his right. The one bone not tied into his personal abomination – it never hurt to have one more contingency.
Astrid quietly cheered on Hiccup and Toothless as they battled one of Cervantes's bone monsters in the air and cheered out loudly when they sent it smashing into the ground. The Gunnarr, the Seer included, were struck dumbfounded and awestruck by the fracas above their heads. This kind of surreal sight was new to them, and Astrid almost laughed upon realizing how the surreal had become commonplace in her life.
The abomination down, the Gunnarr is disarray, Astrid dared to believe that it was all over. She thought that Stonefist would now turn to his… daughter… and declare that he was a fool for working with Cervantes and that he would honor his treaty with Berk and so on and happy endings for all. That's how things ended last time, so why couldn't it happen again? Why couldn't this work out for everyone?
Then the dark orb of fire descended on them. She saw it coming, they all saw it coming, but the inhibiting snow made escape difficult. The Seer tried to push her father out of the way, but the reverse happened. Stonefist ran to her and shoved her hard down the icy ridge, the Seer sprawling as she slid away. The act saved her life, for Stonefist, along with several other unlucky Vikings, was right under the fireball when it hit.
Astrid dove for cover, screaming, ducking her face as a spray of steam and water washed over her, her cloak absorbing most of it. She waited a few seconds for the explosion to clear, then cautiously picked herself up. Throwing off her cloak, she gaped in horror at the spreading crater before her, as deep as a house is tall and growing larger by the second. A lump of dark flame burned at its heart, eating away at the ice and drying up the water as it pooled. The lump of fire shrank as Astrid watched, losing power but still gradually expanding the crater.
Through the plumes of misty steam she could see Cragfist and most of the Gunnarr backing away from the crater, as were the Vikings she had guarded until recently. The Seer lay on the ground, dazed and weakly attempting to stand. The Gods had saved her from the blast, but not from the crater, and like a sneaky predator it came for her.
Astrid called out a warning and ran for her, but the Seer was too disoriented to react. The crater took the Seer's feet out from under her and she began to slide down its slick sides. The Seer recovered enough of her wits to dig her hands into the snow, but she found little purchase to arrest her slide.
Astrid dove for her hands just as they lost their grip, her left hand catching the Seer's right. Astrid chopped down her axe into the ice, burying it deep and using the handle as a handhold. She laid on the ice, a human link between the Seer and oblivion, her muscles tightening and flexing as she pulled the Seer toward her, sweat beading on her forehead from the strain and from the wafting heat that rolled over her.
She erred, she quickly realized. The heat forced the crater walls to expand, moving past the Seer and inching underneath Astrid, the angle of the walls deepening and turning gravity into an enemy. A one-horned helmet, ebony flames ringing its edges, slid past her into the dark heart of the crater, warping and folding under the deadly heat. The strain grew on her arms as she gritted her teeth, desperate to keep the Seer, and herself, from meeting the same fate.
Soon the crater would spread past her axe and melt the ice around it, dislodging it. Soon there would be no handhold. There was no one else to help her, no one stupid enough to try. Perhaps it was Hiccup who should have been watching out for her and not the other way around…
"Above you!"
The Seer cried out as a flapping shadow descended on them. Astrid almost teared up with relief when Toothless dropped down into the crater and grabbed hold of the Seer with his front paws, Hiccup yelling at Astrid to hold onto the Seer's hands. Like she needed to be reminded to do that.
Having recovered her wits, the Seer took Astrid's hand in her own and pulled her upward, both of them lifted airborne and away from the crawling crater. Astrid made sure to yank her axe out with her, not willing to lose such a great weapon. "What's this now, three times?" she yelled up at Toothless, who responded with a happy waggle of the head.
But what little mirth Astrid had died when she saw the Seer's face. She was looking down at the dying fire in the pit, watching her father's helmet dissolve into slag. Even for someone who had practiced the way of the warrior all her life, it was impossible for her to hide the pain in her eyes.
Battered but unbroken, Cervantes flew away to the dome while everyone else was indisposed, the path clear back to the Monolith. He tried not to fume over his near-defeat, how he had exhausted every weapon in his arsenal, every servant and minion at his disposal, yet a young brat on a damaged dragon still nearly took him down. Not good for the ego.
But even now, he could still win this. It wouldn't be a nice and neat victory, but true victories rarely ever were. He still needed the second powercore… but he didn't need it right now. If he didn't use the one he had, he wouldn't have a future at all.
He landed on the very top of the dome, his wings disappearing back into the space between worlds. He took up the powercore in both hands, closed his eyes, and recited a series of phrases that sounded more like a series of clicks and garbled whines than a language. He had memorized the phrase for this occasion, gleaned from the Shadow Hall he had taken the powercore from. Ancient Artisanie, a very dead language.
As he spoke, the powercore ceased its shifting and solidified its color scheme to a gold tinge, radiating soft light that attracted the gaze even more powerfully than before. A groove formed in the snow below him, encircling him. The circle slowly began to sink into the dome, taking Cervantes with it. Cervantes smiled and held the powercore close to his chest, savoring this unique and exquisite moment. He still didn't have everything he needed, but it was within arm's reach, and his arm was about to get very long indeed.
He heard his name screamed out from a distance. Sounded like Archibald, probably realizing what was happening. That almost made up for not sending him to the Void.
His head disappeared under the snowline and the snow fell in after him, swallowing him up and leaving only a collapsed hole as evidence of his descent. Even that would fade into irrelevance as those gathered on the Isle of Frost bore witness to the birth of the Monolith.