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Broken
Chapter 39: Fire in the Mountain
Dragons were annoying, vexing creatures that made life difficult no matter what they did. Even when they did what you wanted, the results were seldom satisfactory. And when they didn't do what you wanted, or did the exact opposite, well...
There was something to be said for having a dragon as young and small as Grimjaws. Kettlecrack could always give it a clout on the head to get his point across. Not that he'd felt safe enough to actually smack his dragon like that. There was still too much uncertainty about what the animal might do if mistreated. One half-hearted puff of fire could send him from Midgard before he was ready.
The difficulties involved in managing a dragon the size of Alrekr were, simply put, directly in relation to the size of the beast.
He'd finally managed to climb onto the Red Death's head. It was a giddy moment for him, one that stretched on for some time. Somewhat comfortably seated on the dragon's heavy neck, he allowed himself to fantasize about the kind of damage Alrekr could do. He imagined commanding the dragon to swoop down on an enemy village or a fleet of ships. He grinned and chuckled, patting the mammoth beast on the rounded dome of its skull like a well trained hound.
His fantasies died a quick and undignified death as soon as he tried to get Alrekr to leave the cave.
It was broad daylight outside yet he had trouble seeing all of the Red Death's body. It was crouching as far as it could get from the entrance. It made Kettlecrack's perch atop the dragon's body far more precarious than he liked. The beast just wasn't made to carry a passenger in comfort. Several times he'd felt his boot slip on the scales of its neck and had to scramble back in whatever direction felt safest. The poor visibility could kill him just as easily as his mount.
So, in an attempt to get Alrekr to step outside the massive mountain top cave, he did the same thing he'd done with Grimjaws. He 'tapped' twice on the thick scales with a fist and shouted, "Alrekr! GO!"
Absolutely nothing happened. Not a grunt, not a twitch. Where were the ears on this thing? He looked around, able only to determine the general shape of the creature's skull. He could make out the eyes but only saw two. He figured the smaller ones toward the back must have been closed. The two forward eyes were the only ones weakly reflecting the sunlight from outside.
Kettlecrack stomped with his booted foot and practically screamed, "ALREKR!" He stomped again and for an instant was rewarded with motion. It was just a subtle shift, barely a shuddering of the muscles in the enormous neck and head. It was also timed exactly wrong. Kettle was just slightly off balance from having driven his foot down when the beast moved. His arms flailed as he tried to regain his footing and took a bad step. It wasn't much, but his foot came down a bit lower. It strongly reminded him of his brush with death at the back of the cave, sliding down toward a black, abyssal doom.
Panicked at the thought, he threw himself down, arms and legs splayed for all the traction he could manage. The scales upon which he landed were no more comfortable or forgiving than the stone floor beneath them. He hissed loudly as the cut to his thigh reacted to his desperate measure. A few thudding heartbeats later he understood the practical limitations of riding a dragon like Alrekr.
He cautiously drew himself up, looking around to determine the highest point of the Red Death's rounded head. He grumbled in annoyance when he realized he was, more or less, lying on it. He stood, momentarily catching the sole of his boot on the protruding edge of a scale and cursing quietly at it. Twisting his body, he looked around at his perch.
Every step he could possibly take would quickly go in one direction: fatally down. Unless he was willing to go directly forward and use the short forehorn as a support or directly backward until he met the upward slope of its bony neck frill, there was nowhere to move that was safe. The distance to the floor was undoubtedly too great to risk just sliding off.
He was stuck! Trapped in the one spot he'd believed he belonged after discovering Alrekr's existence! The dragon wouldn't move and he couldn't move. His hand clenched around the handle of his sword, then immediately let go. Even an idiot could see there was no use in drawing steel.
Kettlecrack slowly lowered himself to his knees, suddenly feeling a terrible weariness wash over him. Why was he denied at every turn? Why couldn't he just reach out and grab his goals like the heroes in the stories or the gods of legend? He tried his hardest, did what he believed was best. Yet it seemed that, more often than not, his efforts either caused him harm or they set him back from his goals.
"Stupid..." he muttered. "...worthless..." He raised a fist and couldn't even summon the energy to punch the animal's rock-hard scales. "Why? Odin's eye, why couldn't you just make it-"
Odin's eye. His breath stilled. For the first time in his life, a sense of scale filled his mind. He was tiny, child-like. Not in relation to the dragon, specifically. It was the stories, the images they had put into his head as a boy, sitting around the family hearth in the depths of winter. And when it wasn't the stories, he was conjuring his own ideas of the mighty deeds he would do as a man.
Odin sacrificed his eye at Mimir's spring in order to gain the Wisdom of Ages. He plucked it out himself without a sound or sign of pain and cast it into the well. A god had mutilated himself to obtain that which he desired, that which he needed.
Why wouldn't Alrekr obey him? Why was riding the most powerful dragon alive difficult and dangerous?
The better question, he realized: 'Where was the worth if it was easy, if anyone could do it?'
Hiccup rode a Night Fury, but he stupidly crippled it in the process. It couldn't even fly without him now. The most feared and dangerous dragon they'd known was brought down by a feeble excuse of a Viking. How could that compare to sitting astride... well, on top of a young, healthy Red Death? Of repeatedly feeding the monster, petting it and getting it to accept his presence as a rider?
What was any dragon compared to his? A meal, nothing more.
What price would he pay to - eventually - command Alrekr? What difficulties would be worth that reward?
All of them.
His mind calm once more, Kettlecrack lowered his hand to Alrekr's head. "Soon. I don't know how, but soon."
He looked back toward the neck frill. It occurred to him that, as long as the dragon didn't twist his great head to any extreme, it should be a relatively stable portion of his body. Slowly he worked his way down the back of Alrekr's skull until he was in that shallow valley of scale and bone that gave some small measure of security. He arranged himself as best he could, shifting his sword and his bad leg until neither gave him pain.
At rest, Kettlecrack realized he was actually quite tired. The climb up had been long and difficult. The darkness of the cavern was soothing, as was the warmth that rose from Alrekr's huge body. The relative silence was soon filled with the sound of his breath. It was disproportionately matched with the slight motion of the dragon's long, deep breaths, the slow gusts of air it pushed in and out. It reminded him of lying on the cliff top during a balmy summer night and listening to Midgard's lullaby rendered in surf and seagull.
Kettlecrack's body remained where he wanted it while his mind slipped free of the waking world.
It was definitely going to be one of the most memorable sights in his life. If he had grandchildren - no, when he had grandchildren he would tell them of the unimaginable things he'd seen. A dragon as big as a village and able to incinerate a fleet of ships with one fiery breath; an underdeveloped boy riding on the back of the most elusive and feared dragon known (with the beast's full cooperation); his village shrunk down to the size of his fist as a Deadly Nadder carried him among the clouds.
And now he'd seen a fighting force, mounted on dragon back and made of kids, seasoned warriors and old folks. And the dragons were considered as part of the warriors.
Stoick's thoughts were ranging all over the place. One moment he was nervous as he considered the great height at which they were all traveling, the next he worried about Hiccup's ability to conduct himself in the approaching battle. Then Thorithr would cock her head and trill to him and the warmth would bloom in his chest once again, coupled with the fragile conviction that they would emerge victorious.
Other, slightly less troublesome thoughts would pop up now and again. Freygerd and Ingifast seemed to be doing well but he didn't know if their strength would hold up for the entire episode. At least the flying part wouldn't be the death of them. The shipwright found that the top of a mast was the greatest height he could handle. He was firmly buckled onto his Zippleback's left neck and had his eyes closed. Until the two headed dragon was once again firmly on the ground, he swore he wouldn't open them.
His loss, Stoick thought.
Freygerd's experience was a bit different, in several ways. Her small stature and stiff joints prevented her from simply sitting atop a dragon that essentially resembled an enormous barrel with legs. So instead of getting a saddle, Kabbi had hastily created a harness for the dragon with a seated sling hanging below. Her Gronckle would lift and hover just over her head while she stepped into the sling and grabbed the support straps. It worked quite well. There'd been a lot of whooping and screaming as she got used to flying. Apparently the fear and exhilaration came in equal doses for her. She spent the first part of the journey grinning and wide-eyed.
As they got closer to their goal her expression became grim. Stoick's did as well. There were aspects of this raid he'd overlooked among all the difficult things he'd had to consider. The one that caused the most frowns was that he was going into battle with Hiccup for the first time. Their previous trip to this island didn't really count in his heart. That had been Stoick leading the village with the intent of wiping out the dragons and his son being forced to come and save both sides.
He'd imagined, during his son's infancy, that Hiccup would one day hoist a sword next to his father and they would carve the Haddock name into the memory of Berk with their heroics. Unfortunately, puberty had grabbed the boy's neck and ankles and stretched his frame but left his muscles untouched. Most of his son's 'fighting skills' resided in his sharp mind and clever hands.
Of course, Stoick no longer had any complaints about the nature of Hiccup's strengths. The young man had prevented most of Berk's warriors from being decimated that terrible day. But as he'd watched the confusing sight of his only offspring launch into the sky atop the offspring of Lightning and Death itself, Stoick had realized he would never get to fight along side his son. That legacy, so doubtful before, was utterly undone, made irrelevant by the power of a dragon.
Now they were headed back, fully aware of what they were facing. Stoick was, amazingly, the one who had changed. Hiccup would not be wielding a weapon; he would be riding one. And so would his father. Once there, though, Hiccup would be positioned at the top of the nest while Stoick would be stationed at the bottom.
He wanted to be close to his son, to fight with him, to help protect him. He also wanted to see him and his dragon fight. It would surely be a battle as amazing as the first one. If it wouldn't look unseemly to change his mind and switch places with Mord, he'd do it in a heartbeat. But he also knew he needed to show his trust in both Hiccup and Mord. He'd made his choice and he had to stick with it. And honestly, Stoick would have to admit that Mord had greater skills at fighting. That was an added measure of protection he was willing to give his son, even at the cost of being away from him.
Another thought would sneak in now and again to taunt him. Thorithr was opening his eyes to the kind of life Hiccup had with Toothless. He felt his heart changing more and more with the time he spent around her. He knew his son's statement that dragons were people was essentially true.
But would those people see their group as rescuers or invaders?
This mind-numbing compulsion that pushed the dragons into serving the Red Death... would it be strong enough to protect it from a handful of clever Vikings and their dedicated dragon friends? If they weren't able to fool the nesting dragons into ignoring their efforts to destroy their tormentor, would they be forced to kill them? Would they survive such a fight?
No physical contest was a sure thing. Anyone with a few brawls under their belt knew that. But this raid had the chance to become an absolute tragedy for Berk. They could lose their chief and his heir, the chief's second in command and his heir as well as their blacksmith, their healer and their best warrior.
Stoick looked around at the twelve dragons and their riders and wondered if he'd just committed a folly almost as great as his last attempt at victory on that island.
He'd considered trying to speak to Hiccup as they flew. The noise of the rushing wind and the needed distance between working wings made that practically impossible. Commands could be shouted, short sentences managed. But real conversation was out of the question.
As if to prove his point, he heard something off to his left. He looked to see Snotlout pointing ahead of them and shouting something. Stoick pushed himself up with his arms, squinting into the rushing wind. He drew a long breath as he realized the blurry spot ahead of them was not his eyes playing tricks. It was the perpetual smoky haze that obscured most of Red Death Island.
Once more he wanted to speak to Hiccup, reassure him and go over their sketchy plans. As he lowered himself back down, the brilliant blue, green, yellow and red scales that adorned the back of Thorithr's spiky frill filled his gaze. Just below that amazing sight was a thick leather collar. It connected the front of a large saddle to the neck of a Deadly Nadder. His large, powerful hands held tightly to the grips on that collar. Stoick the Vast was flying a dragon into battle.
Perhaps Hiccup wasn't the only one who might have wanted a bit of reassurance.
He found himself wishing for a slow approach to the island by boat. It would give them time to prepare, to ready their minds for the coming battle. Every warrior on Berk had their own way. Stoick's was to remember his first battles with his father. Rodmar and Stoick quickly became an effective team when dealing with raiding dragons. They'd done things together that defied belief at times. He remembered the first time they took on a Zippleback together, the way they'd gotten each head distracted until it was too late for it to avoid the trap...
Yet another frown pulled at Stoick's features. It seemed wrong, that the memories of his father were tainted by their new understanding of dragons. Wrong and confusing. It left him without his usual method of preparing himself. Other memories rose up: the Red Death's appearance, Hiccup's amazing aerial battle, the horrible explosion, the gut-wrenching loss and unexpected return.
Those memories were powerful. But they bore the scars of foolishness. They had survived that day in spite of what Stoick had intended. It wasn't the best thing upon which to reflect if he wanted to ready his mind for another battle with a gigantic beast.
Then there was no more time for reflection or regret. They swept over the mists that hung over most of the lower portions of the island. Brisk winds were blowing the steam and vapor clear in many spots, letting them see a good three quarters of the rocky land. They immediately set about their first task without comment or command. With all their dragons on the search, it took little time. Fishlegs and his Gronckle came to a hover over a spot on the beach, the hefty lad waving his arms and pointing down. Beneath him, Tonna was beached and anchored. She was empty of souls and kept company by Stonetoss who lay on the shore like a dead seal.
Not quite so dead, it turned out. When he heard the impact of heavy bodies on the pebbly shore he rose up to look. He moved slowly and only managed to get himself propped on his elbows. Stoick took immense satisfaction at seeing Stonetoss' eyes bulge at the sight of his chief climbing off a Deadly Nadder. As he moved closer the man tried to scramble up, only to collapse clutching his stomach.
Stoick knelt by the stricken man, laying a hand on his shoulder. Stonetoss looked up at him, wanting to know how things stood between them. The chief's stern expression told him and he cringed a bit. Stoick nodded at the reaction, wordlessly assuring him there would be consequences once things were properly settled.
"How long have you been here?"
It was a calm question but the tone in his voice warned against anything but a direct answer. Stonetoss wasn't foolish enough to ignore the warning.
"Less than a quarter of a day. Got here just after sunrise."
"Where have they gone?"
Stonetoss glanced around him, seeing a considerable number of dragons and all of them carrying riders. His eyes locked on Freygerd, perched on a heavy leather swing that dangled from a hovering Gronckle. Stoick pursed his lips in unwanted amusement at the man's befuddled reaction. He roughly nudged his shoulder.
When the seasick lout turned his eyes back to Stoick, he had to repeat himself to prevent being assaulted by other questions that would only distract him. "They... they went to look for Jaspin." He pointed up at the ragged cliffs and stony outcroppings. "Some went on the beach. I didn't see who."
"You were to stay with the boat?"
Stonetoss nodded. His eyes were once again drawn to Freygerd and he gawped anew.
Stoick felt his blood stirring. It was time. He looked around at the force they had assembled until he found Hiccup and Toothless. "This is where Freygerd, Ingifast and their dragons will remain. The dragons will stay for protection but we may have need of them. They must listen for our call. If they hear it, it will mean we are in serious trouble and they should come if they possibly can."
The Night Fury passed the reminder to the winged folk among them. Freygerd's Gronckle hovered lower to let her climb out of her sling while Spitelout helped a haggard looking Ingifast disengage from the Zippleback who'd carried him. Stonetoss, still staring at the elderly woman, watched as she pulled a pair of leather sacks from the back of her Gronckle. Assuming she had brought her healer's tools and medicines, he raised a hand in supplication. "Please, do you have anything to help me?"
She glanced at him, her expression sour. "And have you sleeping when we might need you? I think not." She considered him a moment longer. Looking down, she found two smooth pebbles the size of her thumb. With a grunt, she reached down to snatch them up. She moved to the shore, wading for a moment in the shallows. She found a few bits of kelp washed up among the rocks. Freygerd scooped up a small handful and wrapped the pebbles with them. She then closed her fists over them and ground them together. When she returned to his side, she held the dripping mass out to Stonetoss.
"Keep this in your mouth." His dubious look annoyed her. "You wanted help! Take it!" As soon as he held out his hand to accept her offering she dropped it and walked off muttering, "And try not to swallow the stones, you oaf."
Gobber, wobbling almost as much as Freygerd on the rough ground, came closer. "Is that a new remedy? I've never heard of that for sea stomach."
With a slight grin, she looked up at him. "No. It's to keep his mind off his guts for a bit. As good a cure as any for him."
Stoick, looking up at the crumbling grey heights, heaved a sigh. "No sign of them from here." He raised his voice again. "If you find any of this lot," and he hitched a thumb over his shoulder at Stonetoss, "pick them up and bring them down here. When our business here is done, we'll all look for Jaspin."
"At least the wind is blowing in a good direction," Hiccup said softly. Stoick grunted a query and was answered by his son's pointing finger. A good distance down the beach was the carcass of the last Red Death. Knowing what happened when a dragon's body was left to rot, Stoick expressed his complete agreement. He turned back to the group. "You all understand your part in this?"
The Thorston twins had remained on their Zippleback. It was Ruffnut that spoke, pointing up at the mountain. "What if they don't want to be picked up?"
Stoick considered this a moment. It was a good question. Having the extra hands in the fight would be welcome. Unfortunately he didn't know how motivated they would be toward following orders from some of the younger members of their group. It could make for some unnecessary conflict, perhaps even bloodshed. "In that case, leave them. But remember where they are so we can get to them afterwards."
He looked down the beach to the gaping hole in the bottom of the nest, a stern reminder of the consequences of their last visit. Then he looked up once more. "Alright. We'll all make a quick search of our area before we take our positions." His eyes sought those of his brother. "Spitelout, give us ten stanzas of 'The old lay of Biarki'. That should give us enough time to pick up anyone we find and get ready."
Spitelout looked up as well. "Might want to make it fifteen." He shrugged at Stoick's questioning look. "Not all of us are experienced at flying around like that, let alone picking up passengers."
Stoick nodded. "Good point. Fifteen it is." He seemed to hesitate, his eyes drifting to his son. "Hiccup..." He noticed the Hofferson girl perched on her dragon close by. His expression shifted slightly, as if he'd changed his mind about something on the instant. "Astrid." On Hiccup's other side was Spitelout's son. "Snotlout. All of you, do your best. Follow Spitelout's commands if he calls for withdrawal." He couldn't help glancing once more at Hiccup. "No deadly heroics, understand?"
Hiccup blinked. "Who, me?" His nervous chuckle let everyone feel a little more relaxed. "I'll be fine. Won't lose more than an ear this time. Maybe an eyebrow." Toothless curled his neck around and fixed his rider with a hard glare and a warning growl. "Kidding, bud! I'm just kidding!"
Stoick looked around one last time to make sure he hadn't forgotten anything. Mounting Thorithr once more, he shouted, "The gods are watching! Let's show them what we can do!"
They left the ground in a thrashing of wings and subdued grunts. Toothless lifted first. Then each of the remaining dragons launched, one at a time, each waiting for enough space to maneuver safely. With all aloft, the Fury signaled the group with a single loud roar. They spread out, every rider mentally reciting the chosen poem to keep track of the time.
Hiccup felt a bit overwhelmed. It wasn't easy to deal with his hammering heart and fluttering stomach. Softly muttering the words of one of their village's favorite poems while looking for a body moving among the rocks below took concentration. He was grateful to feel Toothless take control of his tail fin and work his way toward the summit of the island. Ruffnut's question had only added to his unease about the day's work. What if he found someone who didn't want him there, who wouldn't cooperate with his father's command to return to Tonna? Certainly he and Toothless could force the issue. No Viking could stand against them. But fighting a fellow Berkian was the last thing he wanted.
He'd completed the sixth stanza and started the seventh, where Skuld was trying to convince the Skioldung queen to betray both kin and king, when he spotted something below them that looked entirely out of place. It wasn't until that moment that he realized he'd hoped he wouldn't find anyone. He would rather have avoided the distraction. Before he could point out his finding to Toothless, the dragon altered his course, gliding in a tight spiral down to the figure among the rocks.
It was Hogknee.
Identifying him from above wasn't too hard. He was one of the few villagers with a build similar to Hiccup's. But it was the moment the fisherman looked up to see a dragon descending that allowed him to distinguish the man's features. His heart leapt when he saw the distress on that narrow face. In that moment all else was set aside. Hogknee obviously needed help and that became his first priority.
It was a very bad spot for a landing. Toothless was forced to awkwardly splay all four legs out among the broken terrain. His right forepaw was visibly thrust out to the side to grip a short spire of stone while his left was firmly planted below him on a small shelf of level ground. He flapped a few times, his rump rising and falling as he tried to get his hindquarters settled. Hiccup heard the sound of wooden pegs clattering against the rocks as Toothless released his controls to get his hind paws safely placed. Hiccup realized he'd have to work the tail for them to get airborne again. That thought vanished a moment later as he studied Jaspin's father.
Hogknee had gotten himself into a dead end among the rocks. Hiccup didn't understand why the man hadn't backtracked until he saw him shift his stance slightly. He was trying to keep his weight off one foot, wincing as he did so. He didn't speak Hiccup's name so much as gasp it.
Hiccup grimaced in sympathy. "Sprained or broken?"
Hogknee's good leg was wedged in a small space below him and offered no reasonable way to turn fully toward his rescuer. "AH! B-broken, I'm sure. I... I can't nnng!" The only support for his upper body was a cluster of shattered boulders that rose up behind him. He couldn't extract himself from the cleft beneath him without putting weight on the ankle that refused to bear it. Toothless solved Hogknee's dilemma by extending his closest wing, holding the joint steady and within easy reach.
The fisherman hesitated, just for an instant. Hiccup saw it clearly in his face. Hogknee knew he'd been offered help in good faith. But something held him back, just for a breath. He didn't have time to puzzle out what might have prevented immediate acceptance. There were many possible reasons. Whatever the cause, Hogknee pushed it aside and firmly gripped the pinion by its leading edge. Using the dragon's support, he pushed one hip against the rocks and quickly lifted his good leg. Toothless' body tipped slightly as he and Hogknee pulled together to get him standing.
Even then he wasn't safe. The uneven stones around him gave no secure place to stand, not with the jagged slopes falling away beneath them and the equally treacherous landscape rising before them. Still holding the offered wing, Hogknee had to precariously hop closer toward them until he could grasp the thick metal ring that encircled the Fury's nearest foreleg.
"Thanks lad," he groaned. "Thought I was stuck for good."
Hiccup nodded shortly. "I'll take you down to Freygerd. She can help get you splinted and off your feet."
A perplexed frown greeted the news. "Freygerd's here? How..."
"We're all here. We're gonna-" Hiccup paused, considering his words. "We're gonna deal with the Red Death." Then his eyes brightened and his voice lifted a bit. "Then we're going to find Jaspin. He's got to be here somewhere."
Hogknee did not rejoice. "No! No, please! Help me find him first. I've got to find my son." The anguish in his voice sent needles into Hiccup's heart. Even the pain of his injury couldn't mask the fear on his face. Hiccup took several deep breaths, weighing everything he knew and what was at risk. To his dismay the balance was too fine. He wavered, trying to sort out the highest priority.
Toothless craned his head around, catching his partner's eye. Silently, the Fury slid his gaze upward to the empty sky, giving his opinion in the simplest terms. Hiccup nodded, willing to go with the dragon's suggestion. Hogknee was unaware of the exchange; he breathed a sigh of relief as the wing to which he'd clung rose to allow him access to the saddle. Getting himself settled across the dragon's wide back was as difficult as anything else he'd done that morning. It was nothing compared to what came next.
"Which way," was all Hiccup asked of his dragon. The Fury responded by turning his wide head toward the open space below them. "Oh, man. Hogknee, you're gonna want to hold on to me, tightly. This won't be easy."
The man had a bit too much on his mind to understand Hiccup's warning right off. Being on the back of a dragon for the first time was currently at the top of his list of difficulties. "What? Why?"
Hiccup eyed the sharp rocks they would have to avoid on their way. Getting aloft wouldn't be considered 'deadly heroics' but there was real danger to be avoided. "Just put your arms around my waist!" He made certain he had control of the pedals, moving them slightly to test them. When he felt the wiry strength of Hogknee's arms encircle his middle, he added, "Now lean forward. And a little to the left." He did so, gratified to feel his passenger follow his lead. "Ready when you are, buddy."
Toothless shifted his legs without letting go, getting a feel for his difficult perch. Then he hunkered down as much as possible, grunted a short warning and threw himself sideways off the mountain. Hiccup had anticipated the jarring effect it would have and pressed hard on the right pedal to give both himself and Hogknee some support against the violent movement. The Fury's wings stayed folded a second or two, allowing two sharp spires to pass on either side of them before snapping them out in the safety of open air. The jolt threw his passenger against him, briefly pinning him between Hogknee's chest and the saddle. At least the man hadn't screamed. The brief and intense squeeze he felt around his guts coupled with the short, panicked breaths near his ear told him of his passenger's distress.
Once they were free and clear, Toothless circled upward to do a quick search for the missing boy. Hiccup noticed almost immediately that the dragon was straining a bit with the extra weight. He tried to focus his concentration on the jumbled stones of the mountainous island, looking for any place a boy Jaspin's size could take refuge. Not far from where they started he was surprised to see Thorithr and his father, landed among the rocks and obviously arguing with a sturdy looking woman he couldn't recognize at a distance. Before they passed out of sight he saw the Nadder lift off, leaving the woman behind. She did what Hogknee couldn't: she turned and began working her way back down to the beach.
Close to the top, he saw the first occupied nest. It led quickly to others. Once Hiccup realized they were close to the entrance of the enormous cave at the mountain's peak, he felt the first blush of real hope for Hogknee's son. The landscape there was far more accommodating to the human form than he remembered. Toothless started flying in a large arc around the peak, staying low enough for his passengers to see the ground clearly.
Their hopes faded as they spiraled further out. By the time they had completed a second pass Hiccup felt he needed to get Hogknee settled and return to the nest's upper entrance. "I'm sorry Hogknee. I have to get you down now."
"Wait! Can't you try the opposite shore? If he's not up here and he's not where we landed then he must be there!"
Again Hiccup felt the terrible pressure of deciding between what felt right and what he knew was necessary. The pain and desperation in Hogknee's voice pushed just enough. "Quickly, Toothless!"
The Fury's wings worked to let them drift briskly down the opposite side of the mountain. The ground below did nothing to encourage a lingering search. For the most part the weathered stone was far more vertical and treacherous looking. Hiccup quietly doubted they would find the boy anywhere on the slopes. Worse, there was no beach when they reached the bottom. The mountain's forbidding face plunged directly into the rough and furling sea.
He didn't know where the fisherman's son was but they'd missed him and he needed to get moving. He'd lost his place in the poem some time back. "Toothless, back to Tonna, fast as you can!"
To his relief, Hogknee didn't argue. He was distraught, though. "Where could he be? Could he be inside with the beasts? Did he find another one to ride home?" As they swept out around the rising bulk of the dragon's nest, Hiccup wondered where everyone else was. Was he too late? Would they have started without him? He didn't hear anything that sounded like battle over the rushing winds.
Toothless made good time getting back to their starting point. He saw Freygerd working over a small fire she'd managed to make from battle debris. A metal bowl was set over it, steaming slightly. She looked up at their approach, her expression raising goose bumps on his arms.
"What are you doing here? I finished the fifteenth stanza some time ago!"
"His ankle's broken," Hiccup replied shortly. "Can you help him down?"
Ingifast stepped up as Toothless crouched low and shifted his wings to help discharge the extra passenger. As soon as they were clear, the dragon hopped a few steps away. Before he could get into the air, Hogknee shouted to hold them a moment longer. "Watch Einarr!" Hiccup couldn't hide his confusion. "Just... just watch him," he insisted. Answering with only a grim nod, he leaned forward and the pair leapt up. Freygerd's cry of "Hurry!" rang in his ears, clear and completely unnecessary.
Swimmer wasn't frightened. She didn't tremble or groan as she stared into the gaping wound the Great Eel had carved into the side of Fire Nest. She did worry, though. She worried about the mouthful of preytooths around her. She worried about the few Kin who intended to protect them and the opening from agitated breeders. Mostly, though, she worried about what might happen to her if she stayed there too long. Already the scent was brushing against her awareness. It was trying to wake instincts that she'd hoped would only enforce a desire to nurture her young. The thought of losing control to that all-encompassing need quenched much of her liver's fire.
Yet even as she considered her possible undoing there was the slight pressure of a foreclaw against her neck, a touch that she was starting to desire. The preytooth's First Hunter, her bond partner, was also staring into the darkness before them. He was muttering in that low rumble that reminded her of a stonebelly hatchling. She turned her nearest eye to him and studied him once again. He was so soft; skin and hair and coverings that disguised a formidable opponent. She pressed her snout to his belly and let the scents fill her: oil and salt, bleater skins and sharp metal. There was wood and earth and smoke, too, as if he'd been hatched within the ground of his nest. His foreclaws carefully circled one nostril and stroked the curving rise of her forehorn. He muttered again, turning his tiny eyes toward the broken nest.
The fire in her liver grew. She'd gained something she wanted. Now she would have to defend it. Only when she finally saw her own hatchlings burst into the world would she feel a greater sense of protection, of sacrifice.
"Swimmer."
It was Yellowbreath, the stonebelly partnered to 'legs of fish.' She stepped back from her bond partner and gave her Kin her attention.
"We must begin. Are you prepared?"
Her fire fluttered. She shivered slightly but refused to give in to the ice. "I am prepared."
The other stonebelly, the one who'd carried the preytooth with two dead limbs, came up on her other side. She thought she caught a hint of fear from the younger Kin but couldn't be certain with so many other strong odors swirling around her. The splitneck, Truthseeker, stood next to her, ready to do what was necessary. Yellowbreath spoke again.
"Swimmer, are you still willing?"
She tipped her head slightly, catching sight of her bond partner. He was still standing close to her, almost as if he intended to protect her from what she had to do.
"I am willing."
Her liver shriveled and flared with each breath. This was wrong! To allow others to inflict injury without response went against reason, against instinct. But she knew it as truth. This was the heaviest of air; it would support her. It would protect them.
"I will not respond," she muttered softly. "I will not defend." She lifted her head, letting her eyes know only of the nearby stones. "I will not respond. I will not defend." Yellowbreath moved closer, near enough for her bond partner to touch if he'd wanted. "I will not respond. I will not defend." She heard the preytooth step back. On her other side, the stonebelly took up her words, changed them slightly.
"We will not respond! We will not defend!"
There was heat near her leg, a touch of fire to partially seal the wound about to be visited upon her.
"We will not respond! We will not defend!"
The command was silent. Two mouths opened wide and snapped closed with terrible force. Teeth shattered scales, sliced flesh, pierced bone.
Two agonized roars rolled out across the cold and uncaring stones.
Smoketail's patience was once again paying off. The fire in his liver was burning higher now and the uncertainty surrounding the ghostwing was fading like hunger after a large offering. Crush Claw had not yet returned but his little preytooth partner had. Without knowing why the lumpy, oily thing had come back, he decided he needed to keep - what was it the undersized firescale had named him? Something inappropriate. Blood something. He remembered the scent of its blood. There had been a very interesting tang to it, a promise of fatty meat and thick muscle. Blood... cold?
Iceblood! He coughed a low rumble of amusement. As if such a name could have any real meaning for a tiny, scuttling prey beast.
It meant something to Crush Claw, however. That made it useful to Smoketail. He had decided to keep it near him. But how to contain it without killing it? Using his heavy paws was not possible. It was too small to block with his tail, twisted and scarred as it was. It could have wriggled out underneath.
Then the most delicious idea came to him. Crush Claw carried Iceblood around on his back. A most demeaning practice but Smoketail could see how the preytooth benefited. And the preytooth had already ridden the Gatherer's forefoot, a situation he had tolerated for the amusement it provided. When he gave the creature the opportunity to move from his forefoot to his neck and head, it stupidly scrabbled up his scales. As soon as Smoketail stood, he had the preytooth trapped where he wanted it. Now he could ensure that the red and yellow runt would do as he was told.
If he ever returned. He was starting to have doubts on that point.
From somewhere outside, Kin spoke. He didn't catch any words but they sounded distressed. Perhaps there was a territorial dispute of some kind. It didn't happen often but he'd heard one or two since taking the nest.
It happened again, but from much closer. And different voices. There hadn't been any words, only a cry of pain and anger. It confused him. The time of mating battles was well past. The nest should be calmly anticipating the hatching of eggs. Smoketail drew in long, deep breaths, seeking an understanding of what was happening beyond his view. He could detect nothing unusual. He sniffed again, slow and careful.
There! He missed it because of Iceblood's closeness. It was the twinge he'd detected before, the one he was certain was related to the preytooth's long claws. There were other preytooths nearby!
"Crush Claw!" The little Kin had finally done as he was told. And if he'd brought more preytooths for him to see then he could also tell Smoketail what he'd learned of the ghostwing's intentions. "Come to me, Crush Claw! Speak to your Gatherer!"
Shadows moved beyond the edge of the cave. He took half a step forward, anticipating the firescale's appearance. Instead, a Kin landed to one side, stumbling badly and almost rolling upside down. It was a stonebelly and it was obviously injured. Smoketail narrowed his eyes, uncertain what to make of the Kin's situation. Was this the loser of the fight he'd just heard?
Another Kin landed and collapsed, just at the first had. This was a brightscale, its sleek hide an unusual purple color. While the stonebelly lay still the brightscale flapped its wings and thrashed a leg with a noticeable wound. He could smell the blood now. Why were these quarreling Kin coming to him? His dam had never spoken of lesser Kin seeking his words to settle conflicts. The brightscale squawked in pain and continued to flail about at the cave's opening.
Preytooths! Had the preytooths come here and attacked the nest again? Were these two victims of their sharp, unnatural claws? He sniffed again but could no longer scent the preytooths, only Kin blood and the too-familiar scent of distress that they were starting to emit.
More shadows moved, smaller than Kin and moving with caution. Two new preytooths came near the wounded Kin. Smoketail sucked in a massive breath and could taste them now. Their salt and oil and disturbing tang slithered along his tongue. Although he had wanted to see more of them, perhaps even take them into Fire Nest, he had not anticipated seeing them with wounded Kin. He consciously relaxed the muscles that controlled his fire. He would be ready for them if they were foolish enough to attack the Kin again.
To his surprise, the preytooths did not attack the wounded Kin. One stood by each Kin, as though protecting it. The stonebelly remained still, only twitching the wounded leg now and again. The brightscale calmed as the other preytooth laid its foreclaws on it. Smoketail could see spatters of blood around each Kin but none on the preytooths.
Now this was interesting. The preytooths looked to be in thrall to the Kin, just as Kin were to Smoketail. He hadn't considered the possibility that preytooths could be enthralled the same way Kin were. It made sense, however. That would explain why some Kin had taken them as bond partners, having found them useful. His liver flared at the thought. His idea of bringing them into the nest might have more lift than he'd hoped. Perhaps the preytooths would have no choice but to join the nest and serve all Kin, including him.
He leaned forward, taking in the scent of the hairy little creatures. Though they stood by their wounded partners, they watched him closely. He could scent the same raw emotions that Iceblood had exhibited around him: mostly fear touched with an insignificant amount of territorial aggression. Their willingness to fight coupled with their success at defending their own nest had to be the reason Kin had added 'tooth' to their name.
Pebbletongue suddenly came to mind. The stuttering speech she'd used to describe the death of the previous Gatherer; he'd forgotten her mentioning the preytooth's part. But what role had they played?
Was there more danger here than he realized?
Smoketail snorted in irritation. He was doing it again; attributing more power to the tiny preytooths than they deserved. They might be a real threat to Kin but they could never harm a being of his size and power. It was the ghostwing that had fought the old one, grounded her. That was the source of his concern, his apprehension. And while there were new preytooths and unfamiliar Kin wounding each other near his cave, he could detect no scent of the ghostwing.
But he could scent more preytooths! And these were definitely mixed with the scent of more Kin.
As he became aware of them, he heard one of the preytooths gibbering loudly. It had turned its attention outward, toward the open sky outside the cave. Moments later two more Kin flew into the gloomy mouth of his nest. One was a brightscale, the other a firescale. Both were male and both carried a preytooth upon his shoulders. Now with four new preytooths to compare, Smoketail could see they did vary greatly from one another. He briefly wondered if the differences were aspects of breed.
"Kin," he called. "You have brought me preytooths. This is good. But where is Crush Claw? I want his words."
The last two Kin to appear did not answer, nor did they land. They worked to hover near the entrance, giving each other just enough clearance. That was strange. Kin did not care to fly so close if they could help it. Striking wingtips might not ground them but it was something they preferred to avoid. Yet these two were not.
They also did not respond to his words. That wasn't surprising; any Kin of breeding age wouldn't respond when enthralled to him. However, their preytooths did answer. Just not to him. They yammered and squawked to each other briefly. Then they both addressed the Kin they rode and each moved forward and away from each other.
Something about this situation disturbed him. He'd had no lessons to deal with all the new things that had occurred since he took Fire Nest. These new Kin couldn't hurt him any more than the misshapen preytooths that latched onto them. Still, he felt a stroke of ice touch his liver. What was happening here?
"Why don't you answer? Where is Crush Claw?
Motion caught his eyes. The smaller preytooth riding the brightscale was doing something with an object. It didn't look like one of their prickly-scented long claws. He studied it a moment, cocking his head slightly to bring his fore-eye closer. As he did, there was a subdued movement from the preytooth.
At the same instant there was a perception of motion that he could barely detect. A tiny flicker of light had moved between the preytooth and his snout. Stranger still, there was the barest hint of touch on his scales, down on his thickly muscled neck. He grunted, confused. He leaned closer and inhaled deeply.
As the brightscale angled her wings to back away from him, there was a sound from the firescale's rider. It was looking across at the other pair. This was such strange behavior. Did the bonding cause this? Perhaps it dulled a Kin's mind to have such mindless beasts clinging to their hides. He wondered if Iceblood could affect him in such a way.
There was another flicker of movement, another streak of muted light. This time, though, he was certain something had touched him on the widest part of his lower jaw. It was so light he might have dismissed it as meaningless. The faint touch of ice in his liver prevented that.
Smoketail didn't know what was going on but he meant to find out. "Who are you? What are your flight names? Why are you here?"
The preytooths made more noise. The Kin didn't answer. He growled his displeasure and thrust his head forward, sniffing deeply once again. This time he caught a new scent, one that got past the strangeness of preytooths and the heavy aroma of Kin blood.
Aggression.
During the journey out, Astrid had been a bit anxious but mostly excited. The work they would do this day would allow her to consider herself a true guardian of Berk. She'd been entrusted with Ivarr, given the tremendous task of making a difficult shot and the opportunity to be the first Viking to ever take down a Red Death with Viking steel. Hiccup's battle had been truly heroic and undeniably chaotic. Hers would be methodical and ruthless yet just as dangerous. Her heart kept trying to rise into her throat. It took all her discipline to keep her focus on her flying.
Paying close attention to Folkvardr helped a great deal. He had just as much at stake as she, would contribute just as much to the killing shot. The closer they got to Red Death Island the stiffer his movements became. Considering how jumpy her guts were she figured he was in the same state. She leaned forward, her head close to his spiked frill and her arms reaching out to caress his neck and jowls. "Don't worry, Folk. We can handle this. We know what we're doing and we're not alone. We'll be fine."
She felt the rumble of his response beneath her fingers, a strong vibration as he replied to her encouragement. He seemed to loosen up a bit, relaxing his neck and back and taking longer, slower strokes of his wings. Perhaps he didn't know many Norse words, but her tone could still make her feelings plain.
When they found Tonna and Stonetoss confirmed their suspicions about Hogknee's group, Astrid still had trouble keeping her mind centered. After Stoick gave his final instructions and they all took off to begin their mission, she grew concerned. She needed to ignore anything that could distract her. She wasn't there to find people or deal with them. In truth she didn't do much searching for Jaspin or any of the others. Her eyes were locked on the top of the mountain and her ultimate goal.
She didn't have to recite the timing poem to know when to begin. When she saw Spitelout land his Gronckle on a relatively wide shelf of rock above the cave's upper entrance, she knew what was expected. Mord and his purple Nadder came in next. She and Folkvardr touched ground almost the same moment as Snotlout and Asgeirr. Knowing what came next was almost as stressful as facing their true target. All the riders dismounted and stepped as far back as the terrain would allow. They could only watch as the dragons dealt with their part of the plan.
Rumbles and growls were exchanged and the two chosen closed their eyes. As one, Folkvardr and Asgeirr struck, her Nadder biting deep into the Gronckle's hind leg and the Nightmare sweeping sharp wing claws down a purple flank. The attackers immediately launched away from their victims in case they retaliated without thought. The reaction was swift but contained. In fact, the two bleeding dragons eyed each other first, as though briefly considering their counterpart the aggressor.
Oddly, seeing Folkvardr attack Spitelout's partner left her feeling tightly wound once more. It reminded her that the dragon who allowed her to ride on his back was capable of inflicting deadly wounds, not just to humans but to other dragons. And yet, for all his strength and all her training, this was a perilous task. It was not practice or a spar. She understood the attack could go very badly for them.
Things settled quickly, at least for the moment. The injured partners dove the short distance to the cave's opening, leaving the rest to mount up and follow. All four searched the skies, not mentioning the obvious. Not until Spitelout had finished his recitation, anyway. He eyed the two dragons, laying in plain sight and bleeding on the stones. She heard him mutter, "Where is he?" Everyone's gaze, Viking and dragon alike, went from the distressed dragons below to the empty skies above.
Spitelout gave Hiccup and Toothless perhaps one extra stanza before he frowned unhappily. "Stoick's in place by now, or close to it." He faced Astrid. "We have to go now, without him." He glanced at the entrance. "Mord and I will go in first. Give us a few moments to see what's there. If we need to retreat, be ready to pick us up." He looked to his son, his eyes filling with pride. "Understand?"
Snotlout nodded, reaching down to pat Asgeirr's neck. He seemed to be fighting his nerves as much as Astrid.
The two men moved away, disappearing from sight briefly.
"Don't worry, Astrid." She looked to Snotlout, uncertain what he meant. Then she realized his voice had carried a familiar forced bravado. He did his best to grin reassuringly. She wondered for an instant if it was for her benefit or his. She couldn't return his grin. Her jaw felt frozen as it was, unable to do anything but grimace in light of where they were headed.
Snotlout's smile faded. He made as if to speak, but hesitated. When he could force the words out, they felt far more honest than his previous. "I'm sure Hiccup will be here soon."
She still felt locked, her body as conflicted as her mind. She managed to get out a hoarse, "Yeah."
As she watched, an amazing thing happened. Snotlout's eyes returned to where his father had just vanished. His expression hardened, his grip on his saddle tightened. He reached over his shoulder and drew out his blunted practice sword. "Just remember, we have a plan for this. You know what to do."
Snotlout Jorgenson's transformation finally broke her loose, but inside she still felt as tight as Ivarr's heart.
Cold fingers raced down her spine and she took a final, desperate look around. He was right. But now that the moment was upon her she found her courage noticeably diminished without the Night Fury and his rider at hand. They had been the key last time. She'd unknowingly placed a good deal of faith in their success on the presence of those two. Now she had to face this enemy at an even greater disadvantage. It was probably the closest she could ever come to feeling fear while she held a weapon.
Ivarr came to her hand and she drew the first metal arrow from her quiver. "Alright, Folk. Let's go."
With no more direction than that her companion jumped up and headed without delay into the dark confines of the cave. She had only a moment to consider how right Snotlout had been. They weren't alone and they had a plan, even to cover Hiccup's unexpected loss. Folkvardr was there with her, in sync with her. They were as close as any team could possibly be, with one carrying the other. The reassurance helped to relieve some of the tightness in her chest and the slight tremor in her limbs.
As the darkness swallowed them she had a moment of grave doubt. The upper cavern was huge, easily able to hold a Red Death back in its shadowy recesses. Unless her eyes could adjust to the dim light she might not be able to find her target's weak spot.
The rocks moved, thrusting themselves out of the black depths and sprouting teeth in the weak light. A massive eye glowed with a dim reflection. "Hhnngg!" Astrid grunted reflexively as a head as large as her house moved closer. She heard something behind her, a voice. It was Spitelout.
"Take the shot! You might not get another!"
Snotlout added something but she didn't hear it. The world vanished, leaving only her and Ivarr and the target she had yet to spot. The fear and uncertainty suddenly boiled away and furious words flew from her lips.
"Look at me you stupid lizard," she yelled. "LOOK AT ME!"
Her arms quivered, not in fear but in a keen desire to draw and loose. Without a target she didn't want to put unneeded strain on her muscles. She had to be smart about this, smarter than the behemoth now growling at her.
It moved closer, still making threatening sounds. The second eye became visible. She rose in her stirrups, legs and back locked and Ivarr's string hard against her bone hook.
"Come on! Show me what I want you miserable-"
The third dim reflection surfaced and without any conscious thought she drew. She felt her thumb against her ear, extended to replace the missing fletching in guiding her aim. Her arms locked and she took half a breath to judge distance.
Loose!
The long, shining edges of the arrow's blades twinkled like a falling star, disappearing long before it met its target. Astrid knew immediately she'd been far too low. The darkness and the lack of good references for distance at least told her enough to compensate. Somewhere in the back of her mind she heard Snotlout's shout of "Again, Astrid! Again!"
As if she needed to be prompted. There was already another shaft in her hand and a heartbeat later she had ripped another draw from Ivarr's limbs. She adjusted, tried to fine it down with guesswork and twisted her wrist. This arrow had a slight flaw that caused it to whistle faintly as it flew. She barely noticed that her bracing arm was too far in and got a hard slap against her leather shield as a result.
Astrid had no idea if her aim was close enough because the beast moved just as she fired, ensuring a spoiled shot. She was strangely gratified to notice all three eyes blink in unison at the impact, wherever it was.
The motion of Folkvardr's body was hard to brace against, standing in the stirrups. She considered briefly as she thumped onto the saddle. There had been seven arrows in her quiver when she entered the cave. Now she had five and she didn't want to risk losing more to bad light. They needed to draw the beast out into the daylight. But how?
Asking Folkvardr to breathe fire at it seemed too risky in an enclosed space. If it retaliated... she shuddered at the thought. What could they do to tempt it out into the open? Food was pretty much out of the question. What else could influence something so large?
Folk squawked something to Asgeirr and the Nightmare growled back.
"Wait a minute," Astrid muttered. She leaned forward. "Folkvardr, we need to get that thing out of the cave. Can you coax it into the light?"
The Nadder cocked an eye back at her, but only for a moment. The Red Death took a step forward, getting closer than either of the smaller dragons liked. Folkvardr and Asgeirr both worked their wings hard to back away from it. Astrid suddenly noticed the violent motion of Asgeirr's wings to her right. She heard a harsh crack and felt a slight impact vibrate through her dragon's body. Two brief shrieks echoed through the cave and they tried to back away from each other as well as their huge target.
"Folkvardr!" The Nadder, not really built for hovering, stumbled in his flight. The Nightmare bobbled as well. It was several thudding heartbeats later that they got themselves settled.
"Astrid, why aren't you shooting!?" Snotlout's voice was loud enough to distract her and she didn't want that.
"I can't see the eye," she snapped. "Folk, bring out!" The large head turned again, meeting her gaze as best he could. "Bring! Out!" She pointed at the Red Death, then the entrance of the cave.
Folkvardr's nearest eye, the one staring at her, changed. The normally wide iris contracted to a narrow slit. Astrid felt a shock of change in his body as he swung his head around and started moving closer to the Red Death. His body tensed, his wings beat harder, shorter strokes. Maneuvering strokes; she recognized them from their time practicing only days before.
Alarm raced through her veins as her dragon got far closer to their target than she wanted. And still he approached. She really didn't want to be that close. But she trusted him to do as she asked. If he had an idea on how to draw the monster out, she would just have to find the courage to use whatever opportunity Folkvardr gave her.
She nocked another arrow, readied herself to stand and shoot. When she could make out the rounded form of the third eye she stood. Just as she did, her Deadly Nadder opened his jaws and sprayed a blindingly bright flame at the Red Death's face. Instinct forced her backside to the saddle while she struggled to keep her grip on Ivarr, the arrow and the handholds. Folkvardr abruptly dove for the floor of the cave and toward the entrance. She had a fleeting glimpse of Snotlout, watching them head out and wearing an incredulous look.
Astrid could only grunt in dismay as the Red Death shrieked and slammed a massive forepaw to the ground as he tried to swat at them. Folk only retreated as far as the entrance, near Spitelout and Mord. She heard them yelling at her but she couldn't distinguish their message. They might have been urging her on or condemning her foolishness, she just couldn't tell.
It was hard to concentrate on puny little Vikings yelling when she heard that horrible sound she'd heard once before, from nearly as close as she was now. There was a rushing gust of wind, drawn past rows of towering teeth and into massive lungs. The beast's head drew back, further into the shadows of the cave's upper reaches, extinguishing the reflections in its many eyes. There would soon be something much brighter to illuminate the cave. It would also incinerate the lot of them.
"Gods," she muttered. She shouted to all of them in the instant they had left. "DOWN!"
Astrid pushed forward on the saddle, giving Folkvardr the command to drop. He obeyed, but it was too late. The long, drawn out gasp of air had stopped and the glimmer of one eye reappeared as the head came back down to deliver its deadly blast.
Just as it did, a tiny spark of light leapt from the opposite side of the cave, right into the Death's open mouth.
Its minds were roiling, tearing at each other. Such distress was never good for them. Speech would be very hard. But the message was terribly important. They had to try.
Flying was natural yet still exhausting; the discord was racing back and forth, made of disagreements and slightly varied opinions. They nearly slipped past their destination, such was their turmoil. With awkward corrections they came down and settled as close to the nests as was permissible.
Numerous bright eyes considered their arrival. No words were spoken by the breeders. It was their place to speak first, before even touching the ground. That they hadn't properly announced themselves or their intentions would certainly gain the breeder's attention. Failing to assure good conduct and receive the same in return did nothing to warm the livers of all those present.
For a mouthful of heartbeats nothing happened. They struggled to gain the internal alignment of thought that would enable clear speech. They gurgled and coughed, their limbs twitching as their struggle escalated. One wing cracked outward, straining at the limits of bone and muscle. The opposing foreleg clawed helplessly at the ground, over and over.
The largest brightscale stood, his nest being the closest to where they had settled. He took two steps forward, flared his wings and lowered his great head while raising his spiked tail, spines bristling with potential threat. If the danger offered by the rustling sound of those deadly projectiles didn't have the desired effect, the equally sharp hiss of displeasure coming from his open jaws certainly did.
Both heads regarded the display, diverted from each other and finally focused on their objective. Their body settled as quickly as their minds, confronted in so stark a manner.
"We are Cloudbiter," they said with remarkable unison, considering their state moments ago. "We have seen."
The brightscale bobbed his head twice, accepting those scant words as amends for impolite behavior. "My flight name is Sunflame. What have you seen?"
Encouraged, the splitneck tried to frame their response properly. "This you know: the Kin of this nest have bonded to the preytooths."
"Not of this nest," Sunflame interrupted. "We may share an island with the preytooths but not their nest."
Flickers of distracting thought quivered through them, bringing tiny shivers to their wings. They struggled to unite their message once more. "The bonded Kin... and their preytooths... have dangerous thoughts."
"This I know. I heard it from the First Hunter."
Gradually their thoughts once more aligned. "They seek to ground the Gatherer. It is their strongest desire."
"This I know.
"They are gone!" Cloudbiter could hold back the revelation no longer. "This day, at sun flight. They left for Fire Nest!"
"So soon," Sunflame rumbled. "How many?"
"Barely a mouthful. Only those bonded with preytooths."
"Hatchlings!" The long tail, its spines once again flattened, thumped the ground in agitation. "They will be nothing more than inconvenient offerings!"
"Two Hearts and Featherstone are with them," said the female head. "They had some preytooth idea to ground the Gatherer," added the male.
"The First Hunter had little fire in his liver for the task, the last time I heard him speak of it." He glanced behind him, at the egg nest he and his mate had made in the clear air of this new nest. They had two eggs nearly ready to hatch. Eyeshine, his first and only mate, gave their clutch a very brief wash of low flame. So close to hatching they needed far less heat and far more protection. The Kin within those precious orbs had taken some of what they needed from their shells for their development, strengthening them and weakening their encasement. What allowed them to work their way free could also allow a predator to break in before they could defend themselves.
"We must help them," they yelped. "Every claw and every tooth is needed," the female insisted.
Sunflame shivered, the weight of such an idea cooling his liver. "Go to be grounded with them? Or to once again become thralls? I cannot see the end of your flight. It is... very dark."
"Where will our flight end if they fail without us," questioned Eyeshine. "Thralls will come here. We will not be of Fire Nest. We will be like the preytooths to them."
With his head turned just so, Sunflame could see both his mate and the splitneck that beckoned them to leave. His liver, never weak of fire, felt distinctly chilled. "I told Two Hearts we would support him as best we could. I was not word twisting. I want the Gatherer grounded but... now, with our clutch so close to emerging..."
Eyeshine slowly walked away from their egg nest, deliberate steps that brought her to him without either eye keeping their clutch in sight.
"In our time here, we have seen no predators, nor preytooths. Our hatchlings will not emerge before sun fall, I am certain."
The large brightscale gaped at his mate for a few heartbeats. "We cannot leave them unattended!"
"Select a pair to remain," she suggested. "Vigilant eyes and sharp teeth. They can move between the nests, give them the needed touch of flame." When he didn't respond, she added, "Their fight is our fight. We are only free because of Two Hearts and Featherstone."
Something about those flight names kindled new warmth in him. They represented the once unthinkable change. Together they had ripped open Fire Nest and drawn out its terrible sickness. They had left a healing nest behind, only for Smoketail to burrow into it and spoil the air.
It felt wrong, as sickening as the idea of leaving his clutch unattended. But Eyeshine was right. If their attack failed there would be no clean air left anywhere.
Smoketail was threatening his egg nest. He could not allow it. Sunflame snapped his jaws twice, wisps of smoke leaking from his large nostrils.
"Go sunward," he told his mate. "Tell all the breeders to rise with us. Choose a dam to remain. I will go nightward and choose a sire." He turned his closest eye to Cloudbiter. "Go to Fire Nest. Tell Two Hearts we are following. Tell him we are joining his hunt."
The splitneck left without another word. Its minds had unified as surely as Sunflame's thoughts. He hurried away, a single glance cast behind him at his suddenly undefended egg nest. With a shake of his head he went aloft. He needed to hurry. There were many and more nests on the nightward shore and they had little time.
(c)Wirewolf 2015
"How to train your dragon" and all attendant characters are copyright
Dreamworks Animation and used without permission
AN: So many cliffs!
Seriously, I'm no happier about breaking up so many scenes like this than readers are likely to be. It's the lessor of two evils, the way I see it. I can post several chapters containing many scenes broken up and grouped chronologically or I can hold off for another four or five months and post a chapter so large it would take several days to read. This is slightly less painful, I think.
I'll be starting on the next chapter almost immediately. Usually I take a week to relax and let ideas brew. I don't really need that time now. Enough is already lined up for the next two chapters that I can get started without delay.
I made the comment to a friend yesterday that I might - might - be able to finish this year. I would really like that. I'm sure others would agree. So that's going to be my goal. As long as I don't let my standards slip it should be attainable.
Thanks for reading, everyone. See you soon!