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Broken
Chapter 41: Escalation
Violence, bloodshed and death were familiar aspects of living on Berk. The power of his body and the strength of his will let him experience these things so closely they left their scents in his clothes and stains on his skin. He had learned to deal with them the same way he dealt with fear: he stepped in immediately and grappled with them until they were defeated or driven off.
As Stoick watched two groups of dragons face each other within the crumbling breach of the Red Death's nest, he felt frustrated and powerless. As much as he resisted the idea, there was also an undeniable note of fear mixed in with those sensations. What they were witnessing was well beyond what they knew and understood as the behavior of raiding dragons. The ferocity they displayed against each other forced Stoick and the rest to wonder, if only for a few moments, why they'd never faced such frenzied attacks when food was at stake.
A bull Timberjack had arrived and taken exception to their presence. Whatever their Zippleback said to it was ignored. Its long, serpentine body visibly tensed as it prepared to leap forward. Thorithr, apparently sensing an immanent attack, screeched and thrust herself up and onto its back, safely behind those deadly wings. Or so Stoick thought.
The power and flexibility of the Jack's body was on full display as it curled its neck and wings around to strike at the Nadder. Luckily for Thorithr the wickedly sharp-edged wings reached the limit of their forward movement and left her with only a nasty score along her neck and breast. Two hard strokes of her wings brought her up and off the Timberjack's body.
As the enraged dragon snapped its head around to follow her it was met with a second attack from Gobber's Gronckle. Dragons were mostly immune to fire, even from other dragons. The heavy wad of molten rock that slammed into its narrow head knocked the Jack off balance. It was an effective strike even if the heat couldn't really hurt it. It had been pushed over onto its left wing. Instantly it lashed out with its right, trying to recover. While it was distracted the Gronckle used that species' favorite attack and rammed him.
She didn't fly to do it, though; she ran at him awkwardly, her injured leg slowing her somewhat. She slipped beneath the awkward sweep of his wing and crashed into the Jack's chest, bowling it over and onto its back. It unfolded both wings, trying to gain leverage against her weight. The other dragons scattered to avoid being sliced open by its desperate actions. The Gronckle was too heavy and its primary weapon couldn't fold or swing enough to reach where she stood on its chest. The Timberjack coiled and flailed but the Gronckle's weight and position rendered the attempts at escape ineffective. For the moment, at least.
Thunderguts moved up into the other Gronckle's empty spot and growled at the remaining dragons. They seemed disturbed but not immediately interested in pressing the attack.
That didn't last long. Several more dragons came kiting in from above, apparently looking to get into the nest from their defended spot. As more of them assembled outside, the Timberjack seemed to get angrier. It struggled harder, whipping its tail as a weapon. It managed to hit the heavy dragon on its chest a few times but failed to dislodge it. Each time it raised its long neck to try and bite at her, she opened her larger mouth and threatened to engulf his entire head in her jaws. Finally it resorted to fire, deep red flames heavily shrouded in greasy black smoke that wrapped themselves around the Gronckle's round body. When it abated, they saw her entire front half was as dark as Toothless' natural color.
The contest of wills between Gronckle and Timberjack arrested the nest's dragons for the time being. Thorithr used the opportunity to come away from the entrance, dripping blood down her neck. Stoick could tell it wasn't a fatal wound any more than her bitten leg was. It wasn't likely to hinder her if she needed to defend herself or her companions. She turned her closest eye toward him, meeting his gaze with a pupil that was somewhere between a relaxed circle and an angry slit. His relief at her condition was obvious. When her head twitched to follow some new development outside, he turned in time to catch it.
The Timberjack had wrapped the long, writhing end of its tail around the Gronckle's wounded leg and was pulling her off its chest that way. The moment her weight wasn't centered on him, the Jack was able to roll enough to bring its wing up and around. The move was horribly fast and the stocky dragon wasn't able to dodge. It laid one damaging score across her side as she tried to take flight to get away. The larger dragon released its grip and took off after her. The effect was sudden and startling. Several other dragons leapt into the air with him, chasing the Gronckle.
Perhaps knowing she was outmatched in the air, the hefty dragon quickly turned back toward the ground, heading for their blockade and the relative safety of her friends. What she apparently didn't understand was that she drew half a dozen angry dragons into that fragile barrier with her.
As large, scaled bodies abruptly filled the entrance, the Vikings present could only hang back and watch as they fought like wild boars over a potential mate. The energy and fury of it once again amazed Stoick. It was like they'd never known the creatures at all during the hundreds of years they'd fought them.
One Nadder, slightly bloodied, emerged from the escalating violence. For an instant he mistakenly thought it might be Thorithr, who had plunged back into the conflict moments before. It shook its head and gazed at the handful of warriors barring the way. Without a moment's hesitation Stoick advanced, shield on arm and hammer in hand. Gobber was only half a step behind him. Fishlegs and the twins watched, awestruck, as their chief slammed his padded war hammer into the soft flesh of the dragon's heavy jowls before it could even open its mouth. The 'thump' sounded painful but there was no 'crack' of shattering bones to go with it. The Nadder's head jerked up, giving Gobber a clear shot at its neck where it joined the head. Another serious 'thump' had the dragon reeling. It staggered sideways a bit, allowing the blacksmith to spin around on his good leg and land another strike at the joint where its wing met its body.
The weaknesses that Berk had long known to use for killing dragons proved vital to discouraging them without doing any lasting damage. Unfortunately, the power the Red Death had over them to raid for food wasn't as strong a motivator as what was driving them now to protect it.
The Nadder should have given up. Stoick felt certain that had this been a raid, it would have dropped whatever it had and fled, squawking indignantly. Here and now, with the scent of its leader in its nose, it fought on. Even with a limp wing and difficulty focusing its eyes, it took several more blows to drive it off. Finally it pressed into the mass of dragons swarming and roaring and fighting at the entrance, trying to get out. It came snout to snout with the Timberjack.
The Jack had worked its way into the opening, shrieking and attacking dragons around it. The escaping Nadder flinched when it tried to push past but it was now far more determined to escape the nest. Already enraged, the Timberjack swept one wing in a vicious upward arc that took the wing Gobber had merely bruised. Blood shot clear to the ceiling. The mortally wounded Nadder screamed before it turned every bit of its anger and pain into a lightning fast strike of its jaws, latching onto the much smaller head of its killer. Large teeth penetrated the Jack's snout, pinning its muzzle shut with a sickening crunch. The battle turned into a tug-of-war, the Jack trying to back out of the melee and the Nadder attempting to rip the Timberjack's head off. Blood rolled out the front of the Jack's mouth, into the Nadder's and down its narrow chest to the uneven stones beneath their scrabbling claws.
The five Vikings trapped behind the whirling mass of battling dragons watched in horror as the Timberjack's large, deadly wings became its greatest liability. As it tried to back out of the opening, the dragons behind it became obstacles to its progress. Its movements grew frantic as it realized it was trapped between the dying Nadder and the thrashing bodies behind it. The increasingly distressed sounds coming from the Jack's pinned muzzle made Stoick wonder if the dragons behind it were attacking its unprotected flanks. As he watched, the Nadder fell over sideways, its lifeblood pouring out on the ground. Yet it refused to release its hold. More pooling red crept away from the Timberjack's pinned body. The clamor of fighting dragons diminished in his mind as he watched the large serpent's struggles slow and finally cease.
Once it was obviously dead, it started to move backwards in sporadic jerks as other dragons behind it began pulling on the carcass. The fading Nadder was dragged with it, unwilling or unable to let go.
There was no doubt in Stoick's mind that this was worse than the most damaging raid they'd ever seen. The sense of peril was heightened by the stone walls that surrounded them. It limited the possible attacks to one direction but also made a workable retreat unlikely, especially when one considered there was a young Red Death somewhere else in the nest behind them.
In that single free moment, Stoick looked around and was heartened to see Ruffnut, Tuffnut and Fishlegs still standing with him. Gobber was watching the fighting with a worried expression that must have mirrored his own. Fishlegs, catching his eye, spoke up over the continual roars and snarls that filled the space.
"Um, chief? I think we may be in over our heads here!"
Gobber glanced at Stoick. "He may be right. Never seen 'em fight like this, never mind against each other."
Fishlegs was apparently thinking along those same lines. "It might be because we're so close to the Red Death. Maybe being this close to the smell Hiccup mentioned makes them far more dangerous like this."
There was no time to consider the reasons behind the change in the dragon's behavior. Gobber grimaced and waved his hammer at the dragons in question. "If that's the case, we might need our real weapons sooner than we hoped."
Stoick found himself looking for Thorithr in the ongoing conflict outside and fretting that he couldn't see her. It was entirely possible he couldn't recognize her with several of her kind violently engaged in the small space but that was no comfort. As he searched among the clashing bodies he saw that the fighting seemed to be cooling off a bit. Then, without any reason he could see, it stopped. The scaled bodies clawing at each other broke loose and pulled back.
They were all relieved to see that their four dragons were still standing and still blocking the entrance. They had paid for their success, though. Thorithr had new gouges in her already bitten leg and a few noticeable slices in the trailing edge of her right wing. Gobber's Gronckle had lost half of one ear and broken at least two teeth. Bjarki and Bjalki were bleeding from their necks, victims of numerous bites. Only Thunderguts appeared unhurt, at least until she moved and displayed a full dozen Deadly Nadder tail spines lodged in her thick hide. At least they didn't look to be bothering her much, despite the blood that leaked from each one.
The dragons outside paced and snarled. Their Zippleback resumed chattering to them, still trying to reason with them, Stoick assumed. And it still had no effect he could see.
A call from further away distracted the dragons. Many of them looked up, spreading their wings in an aggressive display. Bodies shifted, darted and some few collided as yet more dragons landed outside their meager shelter. Heads lunged, jaws snapped and hissing snarls echoed among the painted stones. With the slight parting of the opposing forces, the corpses of the Timberjack and Nadder could be seen, still locked in their mortal embrace. The Jack's lower half was nearly separated by numerous gouges, bites and slashes.
Gradually the newly arrived dragons settled down. The hair on Stoick's arms rose in alarm as, one by one, the eyes of every dragon outside turned to them.
Protecting the dragons mattered. Ridding the nest and its captives of the Red Death mattered. But Stoick was not about to sacrifice their lives without a fight. Seeing the next battle about to form up, he knew the time for half measures was gone. He dropped his padded hammer and pulled the heavy double bladed axe from its sling on his back. Remembering who was at his back was an old reflex. Understanding that those with him in the imminent battle were not hardened veterans of decades of raids, he quickly turned to assess their state.
It could have been worse. Their faces said everything their voices couldn't. Rallying warriors against bad odds was also an old reflex. But those standing with him now needed far more than he had time to give them. He took a second to consider and offered them what he could.
"All of you, stay together. Keep as close to your dragons as you can. Death is on us now and it's up to you to decide who it takes: us or them. Do not hesitate!"
A chorus of rippling shrieks from outside ended his speech. His heart sank as he realized the dragons were looking up again. More reinforcements. Perhaps this was their final battle after all. He hefted his axe, comforted by its weight. He took a step closer to Thorithr, wanting to protect her as much as possible.
The second influx of winged bodies was at least as large as the first, but the effect was completely opposite. The approaching dragons literally rained down on those assembled, slamming into them with extended talons and open mouths seeking vulnerable spots. The ground actually shook slightly with the collective impact of flesh and bone.
The conflict that had torn across the rocky ground only minutes before paled in comparison to the savage chaos that they now witnessed.
Snotlout was greatly confused by what happened. He saw the monster dragon breathe fire at them and had an instant to expect unbearable pain and death. Then Asgeirr disappeared from beneath him and he was wrapped in something that felt baffling yet familiar. Blind and restrained, he could do nothing as a jarring impact rattled his brains. A sound like the most powerful windstorm imaginable filled his ears and then everything went quiet. He wanted to fight back but there were too many thoughts and sensations vying for his attention for him to act.
Much of the confusion went away when two large wings separated and spilled him back into the world. He rolled onto his hands and knees, groaning and trying to find his head so he could fasten it back onto his neck. The dull clunk of his horned helmet hitting the ground sounded ridiculously loud after all that. Grabbing it by one horn, he looked up and around. He caught sight of Asgeirr's broad chest an instant before the wings connected to it drove it up and away. About to complain at being abandoned, he could only give an explosive 'Urk!' as he was snatched up by those long talons his dragon possessed. The floor of the cave dropped, shifted and rose again within the span of a few heartbeats. He was getting disoriented and that did nothing good for his mood.
Finding himself within arm's reach of Astrid wasn't quite as confusing, but it didn't help. He wanted to yell, to accuse; most of all he wanted to retaliate. He set aside all the strange things that had just happened and focused on her face instead. He was surprised to see she looked about as bad off as he felt. Not only did she look like the world had inexplicably turned inside out for a moment, but she was smoking. Literally.
"Got a bit of fire on you," he muttered as he tried to stand. He wobbled, his head still not quite ready for action.
"What... was..."
"All I know is we should be dead. And we're not." Snotlout gave himself another minute for his head to settle and carefully looked around again. To one side was the opening of the cave at the top of the mountain. He saw his father and Mord standing ready for action, staring out at a bunch of dragons moving restlessly outside. To his other side was the considerable bulk of Asgeirr, shielding him from the Red Death that had just tried to cook them in mid-air. Folkvardr stood next to them, close enough that his wings overlapped with Asgeirr's a bit, with Astrid trying to collect herself just below.
The dragons saved them. He didn't know how they'd managed it, exactly. Somehow they'd twisted around on themselves and wrapped their fire proof wings around their fragile riders to protect them. Folkvardr's wings weren't as large as Asgeirr's so he hadn't been able to completely isolate Astrid from the hungry flames. Luckily her clothes and armor had taken the worst of the abuse. Her left pauldron was still smoldering and the skin of her arm just below was an angry red. She didn't seem to have noticed yet.
Considering what had just happened, things seemed too quiet. Laying his hands on his Nightmare's neck, he leaned over to take a peek at the back of the cave. Knowing where to look was the only way he was able to spot their target, smothered in shadows as it was.
Snotlout took a few deep breaths, feeling his body settle and his mind catch up. They had just cheated death and were still capable of fighting. Things weren't as bad as he'd figured. Well, perhaps not for him.
When he glanced back around at Astrid she was gripping her upper arm and grimacing at the metal armor that had given her shoulder the protection her arm had needed. She suddenly turned her attention to the opening of the cave and the mounting tension between all the dragons accumulating there.
She turned back to him and scanned him up and down. "Are you hurt?"
"Nah. Takes more than a little fire."
She blinked. For an instant he thought perhaps he'd impressed her with his bravado. Then her expression hardened into a baleful glare. Unwilling to take back the words, he looked down at the hand of her burned arm. "Good, you still have the bow." Astrid also looked down, as though unaware she was still clutching both Ivarr and a metal arrow. He leaned over slightly and peered into her quiver. "You've got five shots left. We have to get back up there and take him."
Astrid didn't look happy about the prospect. He wondered if her arm was more seriously injured than it looked. "Can you still shoot?" She switched her grip around and pulled experimentally on the string. A small frown was her only reaction.
"Stings a bit, but I can manage." Again she looked up and toward the back of the cave. Something was bothering her. When she turned once more toward the entrance he almost missed her question. "Where's Hiccup?"
That subject worried him more than he wanted to admit. "I don't know but we can't keep waiting for him. Maybe you haven't noticed but I prefer fighting to watching."
That earned him another glare. "No, he was behind me, on Toothless." She stared outward, as if trying to summon him from her memory. "He yelled something, I'm not sure but I think he said something about talking."
Snotlout grunted at the thoroughly Hiccup notion of talking during a battle. He leaned closer and pointed in the general direction of the skulking Red Death. "Do you really think that thing wants to talk? Now that we've already shot at it? I don't know if Hiccup wanted to talk to it but we're past that now." He pointed to the bow. "You have what we need to kill it, I can give you enough light to do it. Asgeirr has plenty of fire left. Let's do the job we came to do!"
"After we almost died trying that?" Her skepticism could have sounded like fear, but only to someone who didn't know Astrid Hofferson.
"What do you want, Astrid? This is battle!"
She matched his temper with her own. "I want it out of this cave so we can have some room to maneuver! We got lucky this time, if you want to call this lucky!" She hitched the shoulder still bearing the lightly smoking pauldron. She realized only then she could smell burnt hair and scorched leather. She may have been far luckier than she realized.
"Alright, look, Asgeirr and I will try and draw its attention toward the back of the cave. There wasn't much room there but maybe we can get it to turn its head for a clear shot. When it does, we'll light him up and you take the shot." He stabbed a finger in the Death's direction for emphasis. "Through its eye, in its brain, down it goes, yeah? If I have to I'll jump on its head and-"
Suddenly Snotlout looked at his hands, glanced around. "I lost my practice sword." He clenched his fists a moment before pulling his sharpened sword from the scabbard at his hip. "You ready?"
Astrid didn't answer immediately, except to voice an oath he felt sure she would never use within earshot of her parents. She nodded sharply. Looking up she touched Folkvardr on the neck. "We're going to try again," she told her dragon. "Again." In Snotlout's ears her tone changed the words to 'We're probably going to die.'
It was possible she was right.
Toothless fled. There was nothing else to call it. He scooped up his groggy flight mate and got them both away from Smoketail as quickly as possible.
As soon as he escaped the dangerous confines of Smoketail's cave, he rose and headed for a safe place away from the Gatherer's spire. For the second time he was bringing his friend away from this place dangling from his mouth. This time he greatly feared the young preytooth had been injured. He smelled of stress and fear. When Featherstone stopped moving he felt his liver shrivel to a hard lump of ice. Upon landing he gently lowered his flight mate to the ground and sniffed deeply at his flushed face. The slightest movement of air from that tiny nose reached his, smelling of life and tasting of warmth. His fire rekindled instantly but there was still a great fear in him. How had he failed to protect his preytooth?
More scents reached him and he investigated. There was a long mark on one side; burned coverings and the distressing taint of fire-wounded skin were left where his wings had not come together well enough. Further down, the place where Featherstone's dead leg met living skin smelled of blood and damaged flesh. He growled angrily. It had happened again! Two Hearts' attempt to keep Featherstone safe from a Gatherer had injured his small friend, and in the same place. He didn't understand how it could happen but it stoked his fire immensely. He flicked his wings in agitation and felt sudden pain in one of them.
Distracted momentarily, he extended his wing to examine it. There was a sharp sting in the thin skin between the wing bones. He lifted the wing a bit and saw light shine through a small hole. There were a few missing scales and a bit of blood but no other damage. He must have landed on something sharp when he wrapped his wings around Featherstone and let them plummet to the hard ground. Perhaps that was what had caused his preytooth's new injury.
He turned his wide head toward the spire and growled intensely. His fire grew hotter by the moment and he wanted to return to deal with the Gatherer. Two Hearts was grounded, though. His eyes came back to the familiar face of his flight mate. There was no way he could leave him here. He searched the area around him briefly and found what he expected: no other preytooths to help, no Kin to aid them.
The spire drew his gaze once more. Kin from his new nest were in there, right now. Their new preytooth partners would be at their side, helping any way they could. They were trying to find a way to ground Smoketail. Doubtless they could use his help.
But he needed help just as much. He'd gotten Featherstone away from the danger, brought him to a quiet place where he was safe. Without others to help, though, he couldn't leave. He looked up, hoping to find his answer in the sky. His liver flared when he spotted Kin riding the winds above him. He called to them, the wordless cry for help that all Kin knew.
If they heard him they didn't answer. Strangely they split into two groups and separated, one diving off toward the waters below and the other heading toward the spire. He watched, stricken. So many Kin, headed toward his nest mates. They would surely need his help now. As terrible as it felt, he considered the possibility he would have to leave Featherstone after all. The idea tasted horrible and he doubted he could do it. Perhaps he would have to bring the little preytooth back with him, or take him down to his sire. That one was probably nose-deep in breeding Kin as it was.
"Two Hearts!"
He flinched at hearing his flight name from so close. A firescale had managed to get near him without his noticing. But this one, he realized, had come from below. It was flying low over the rocks toward him. It was also small and familiar.
"Crush Claw!"
Iceblood's bond partner was not happy to see him. There was no aggression in his voice or scent, or in his posture. It was still obvious the firescale would rather not have met him. He landed awkwardly, favoring one leg.
"Why are you-" The distressed calls of Kin barely reached them. Fire Nest was greatly disturbed. This, in turn, disturbed all Kin. "What is happening? Are you here to speak to Smoketail?" It was a strange question, made stranger by the bright spike of fear that came from Crush Claw as he asked.
"We are here to ground him. He has already hurt Featherstone."
The young firescale looked down at the still form. He groaned in commiseration. They had gotten along well when they first met. He leaned forward, taking in the state of Featherstone's condition by sight and smell.
"Crush Claw, will you help us?"
His nest mate dropped his neck to the ground and backed up an awkward step. "He will ground me! He will bite my wings off!"
"Crush Claw!"
"Braintwist, he-"
"Your bond partner is not part of this! I need you to stay here and protect my flight mate. I must help the others against the Gatherer."
A glimmer of his liver's fire shone in his eyes. "Y-yes. I will gladly keep him safe."
Two Hearts held his gaze a moment longer, a low rumble coming from his chest. He lowered his head and touched noses with the firescale. "Kin and kin to me." He looked down at the peaceful face of his little friend. His liver fluttered. Leaning close he gave a soft lick to the side of Featherstone's neck and breathed into his little ear, "Much love Featherstone."
He stepped back, turned and pushed everything but the Gatherer from his mind. A breath later he was aloft, his hind paws working his sticks as if he'd done it all his life.
Without the weight of Featherstone's safety pulling him down, he felt as if he could fly faster then ever. Indeed, it seemed to take no time at all to reach the high cave he'd just left. But it was a very different place to which he returned. The Kin that had just arrived before him were on the ground, just outside the cave's opening. But they weren't joining the breeders who had previously collected there.
They were fighting them.
For a moment he simply couldn't understand what he was seeing. Who were the other Kin who were battling the breeders of Fire Nest? From what other nest had they come? And why were they involving themselves in their struggle against the Gatherer?
Seconds later, Two Hearts decided it didn't matter. His purpose lay inside the cave; that was where he had to go. Once again he bore down on the Kin below, clearing a path with a weak shot to force others aside. The fighting was intense enough that several either didn't understand the warning or had no time to move. He literally brushed wingtips with a yellow firescale grappling with a stonebelly. Once inside, he came to an abrupt halt.
It was as if everything inside was repeating itself. There was the firescale trying to distract Smoketail away from Flicktail. Flick's rider was readying her weapon. Two Hearts was grateful to see the Kin and their partners were not overly injured from their previous attack. With luck, the Gatherer would soon be grounded and he could return to Featherstone. He stayed behind and to one side of Flicktail, ready to help in whatever way he could. He relaxed his throat, ready to use his fire if needed. Further back in the cave, another spray of sticky liquid fire lit much of the large space to reveal Smoketail's hunched form.
One of those many eyes locked on Two Hearts. The Gatherer ignored the flames around him, some of which actually landed on his shoulder. Smoketail glared at Two Hearts. The large Kin's anger was obvious as it thrust a huge forepaw at him, trying to smash him. The firescale close to him tried to draw him back, deliberately spraying the side of the Gatherer's head so that part of his face was burning. Smoketail briefly turned his anger toward the firescale and swatted at him, too. As the smaller Kin fled toward the cave opening, the Gatherer surged forward with it. All three backed up, trying to stay out of range of that deadly paw.
Smoketail crouched with his wings raised until they pressed against the ceiling of the cave. He gave voice to his rage in the loudest possible way. The echoing sound disrupted the smaller Kin's thoughts and forced them to back up even more. Two Hearts was almost tempted to answer the Gatherer's challenge with fire. The female preytooth needed his support, though. Spurring the Kin into angry motion would not help.
His presence was obviously enough to stoke the fires in Smoketail's liver. That one rushed forward again, swinging once more at the three of them. This time he bellowed, "Ghostwing! Leave my nest!" Two Hearts wasn't certain how, or even if, he should answer such a challenge. Something about the words caught his attention.
The female preytooth rose up on Flicktail's back and aimed her weapon. Before she could do anything, however, Smoketail began working his wings within the cramped cave. For a moment he was bewildered by such behavior. Besides preventing the young preytooth from using her weapon, what was gained by such action?
There was a reaction from outside the cave. Working his wings to hover slightly closer to the entrance, he glanced at the Kin brutally fighting each other. Several of them had broken off their attack and were staring in at him. How-
Of course! The very scent that enthralled the breeders was being used to call the Gatherer's supporters to him. Only their small group stood in the way.
Turning back toward Smoketail's dark form, he saw the remnants of the firescale's flames going out. The turbulent wind kicked up by the Gatherer's powerful wings was snuffing them. Darkness was closing in. For the moment, nothing else was happening.
The scents driven on those winds were many and fleeting. He could scent his nest mates and their partners, the remains of many dead things and the Gatherer himself. But there was one element of Smoketail's scent that shocked him. He inhaled greedily, trying to grasp what he'd discovered. It was faint, but it was there. Two Hearts stared as the flickering flames dwindled to nothing and wondered what to make of it.
Smoketail was afraid.
Their unity lasted until they reached Fire Nest and found the little group of Kin and preytooths guarding the new entrance at the bottom of the mountain. There were breeders collecting there, thoroughly enthralled and looking eager to reach their Gatherer. They'd been given a purpose, however; a task to perform. They needed to speak to Two Hearts. They couldn't see or scent the ghostwing, which made it impossible for them to complete their task.
Cloudbiter was torn, uncertain what to do next. The male wanted to stay and wait for Two Hearts, perhaps even play some part in keeping Fire Nest's breeders at bay. The female wanted to rise, to seek the ghostwing at the top of the spire. Conflicting desires flickered between them, threatening to disrupt their ability to fly or speak.
When more Kin arrived, including a large male cutwing, the male's desire to stay faded enough that the female was able to coax him away and toward the top of the nest. That turned out to be just as dangerous a place. The scent of the Gatherer was stronger here. Moments after they reached the breeders closing around the hole in the mountain, they could hear Smoketail bellowing inside. There was much fear and aggression in the winds that swirled around the Kin.
There was no ghostwing, though. They could barely scent his presence but could neither see nor hear him. The heavy odors whirling around them made it impossible to determine where he might be or may have gone. The lack of a clear path for them to take was bad enough. Soon they would feel the yearning stirred by the Gatherer's scent. Neither knew how long it would take before they succumbed to its enthralling presence.
"What now?" The female was distressed. She was at a loss as to how to protect the preytooths or their partners against so many breeders. The male, watching the Kin pressing close to the entrance, could only offer one idea.
"When the fighting starts, we must provide what help we can from here."
"Us, against so many?"
The male raised his eyes, looking for those Kin they knew were following them. He rumbled with great satisfaction as he spotted many small forms in the sky, working their way closer to Fire Nest.
"Not just us. Look."
The female felt hope when she saw the approaching breeders from the preytooth nest. They would not be alone in facing a nest of enthralled Kin. An idea sparked in her mind. She swiveled her head, gazing intently at the opening in the side of the spire. Fire Nest's breeders were facing it. The fledglings they were here to protect were nowhere in sight. It had been the same at the bottom.
In an instant, Cloudbiter's female head understood what was needed and acted. She seized control with a massive effort and took them aloft, aiming for the approaching Kin. Stunned and a little angry, the male knew it best to cooperate for the time being. Serious discord high above rocky ground could easily be fatal. When they were both working to get to the approaching clutch of Kin, the male asked, "Why are we going to them?"
"I know what we need to do!"
That was sufficient to win the male's assistance. They rose quickly enough to meet the breeders before any action was taken.
"Sunflame!" The female called to the eldest of the nest's brightscales. Although not yet named, he had been acting as a First Hunter for the little nest since the first eggs were laid. Staying on his wingtip was his mate, Eyeshine. "Speak with us, please!"
Sunflame croaked out the hunting call for 'hold' and those with him halted their flight. No hunting group had ever held so many Kin. It took a few moments for everyone to settle into a hover close enough to hear the conversation.
"Where is Two Hearts?" Sunflame looked down at the dull, nearly colorless terrain of Fire Nest. From their height it was easy to spot the bright bodies of Kin gathered in two specific places.
"He is somewhere at the top of the nest," answered the female. "We could not find him."
Sunflame was unhappy that Cloudbiter had not spoken to Two Hearts. He had hoped the ghostwing might pass on word of how they could assist the small group of fledglings. Having lived the longest of those in their new nest, he was familiar with fighting. But those conflicts had been while enthralled and collecting food or acting upon mating instincts. He had no clear idea how to help without some direction from those below.
"I know where the fledglings are!" Cloudbiter's female head craned down toward the nest. "They are inside, attacking the Gatherer directly and keeping Fire Nest's breeders outside! See how they are grouped at those two openings?"
Every eye considered the scene below. It was exactly as she said.
"They have gone inside? Right into the Gatherer's lair?" One firescale snorted in disbelief. "Do they wish to die as soon as possible?"
Cloudbiter's male head was alarmed at such talk. It could easily lead to arguing or stalling. "Preytooth ways are not our ways. Whatever they are doing, they do not need those breeders pressing on them from outside. They will surely fail without our help."
The splitneck's words brought understanding to Sunflame. It was like defending one's eggs from predators. The fledglings were inside, attack was coming from outside. That was where they had to go. Sunflame's liver grew hot with anticipation.
"Cloudbiter is right! We must protect the fledglings and their preytooths. Keep Fire Nest's breeders from harming them. If they have a way to ground the new Gatherer, we must give them a chance to do so." He studied the scene below. Two openings, two groups. He looked at those with him. The decision was simple. "Females, to the lower opening! Males, to the upper opening! Protect as best you can! Keep the breeders outside of Fire Nest!"
It was as if sky fire had bitten every tail. Wings folded and talons extended. They separated, each group heading for the Fire Nest breeders collecting outside. As Sunflame and the males around him closed in, he could tell there had already been fighting. One firescale the color of the sun had blood on his flanks and appeared most aggressive. It was trying to push its way toward the opening where he could now see a few other Kin were standing, facing outward. Cloudbiter had been right!
Dust suddenly danced at the cave's yawning mouth, moving away and out into the breeders. The effect was startling but not unexpected. Bodies tensed and shifted, as if the little wind were a storm pressing on their backs, pushing them toward the source of the call.
Now Sunflame knew where Smoketail was.
With a raucous cry he cut a sharp arc down toward the one Kin who'd caught his attention. The sun-colored firescale didn't have time to react as the large brightscale snatched at the long horns on his head. In his exuberance Sunflame had intended to pick his target up and pull him away from the focus of his enthralled obsession. It was a foolish idea, he realized, as soon as he latched his claws onto the firescale's horns and tried to swoop back up.
Brightscales were not the strongest fliers. Their wings were not meant to carry a great deal more than their own bodies. As the considerable weight of the surprised firescale resisted his attempt to lift him, Sunflame saw they were too close to the rocky wall of the spire. He released his hold on the firescale, trying desperately to bring his legs forward to brace against the blow. They were perhaps only a tail length above the opening when they careened into the unforgiving rocks. Managing to raise his head just enough, Sunflame took most of the impact on his chest and legs. The thin skin along much of his wing bones stung harshly and he was unable to keep himself from falling back to the ground.
Sunflame landed partially on the equally stunned firescale. His thoughts floundered a bit and he had trouble collecting himself. Sudden movement beneath him jarred his mind, hindering his recovery. An instant later instinct took over as he felt a deep bite at the base of his throat. The will to survive brought one taloned foot up to rake at the firescale's softer underside. Around him he heard the furious shrieks of fighting as Kin engaged Kin. The firescale tried to twist his head, digging his teeth deeper into the muscle of his neck and chest.
Sunflame could pay no more attention to his surroundings. There was nothing left in his head but the need to survive.
Smoketail had only felt overwhelming fear once. When he'd been driven from his egg nest, he'd been briefly convinced his dam meant to destroy him. She'd injured his tail badly enough that he felt certain she could have burned away the thinner flesh along his wings and condemned him to death.
That had happened not long ago. His tail still pained him sometimes. It was why he'd given himself the name Smoketail; to take the injury into himself and let him make some claim on it rather than let it claim him. The fear, however, never truly left his liver. The actions of the young Kin and their preytooths weren't a serious threat that he could see. But the sudden appearance of the ghostwing at the same time meant he was possibly in the same danger as he had been with his enraged dam. The ghostwing had already grounded one Gatherer; Smoketail had already been wounded while being driven out of his egg nest. These two facts stole the confidence he should have had in any contest over who ought to be forced out of Fire Nest.
He saw too much potential in his new nest, even with the troublesome preytooths involved. He was certain that Fire Nest could support him. He believed his dam's lessons would allow him to properly strengthen it. He could succeed if the ghostwing would just stay away, keep to its own nest.
His biggest problem at the moment was that Fire Nest was not supporting him the way he needed. He could see Kin fighting outside and knew the breeders were trying to enter the nest, looking to protect him from the interlopers. Those few Kin keeping the breeders out were using the constriction of the cave's opening to their advantage. Swatting at them had not worked. Annoyingly, firing at them had also not worked.
When the ghostwing came back in, unhindered by the breeders at the cave's mouth, he spoke with all the anger he could muster. To his dismay, there was not enough heat in his words. His cry of 'Ghostwing! Leave my nest!' did not affect the night-colored Kin at all. Growling, he tried to call the nest once more by flapping his wings as best he could within the cave walls. The nearby firescale that had been approaching him again had to back off. The brightscale with him was also unable to come closer. The ghostwing held steady, though.
Looking outside, he could see fierce fighting between Kin. That was where his protection was. The breeders were outside, trying to get inside. The fledglings were blocking them. As much as he hated the thought, the cave wasn't safe; not with the ghostwing and the others in the way. He stopped fanning and used the space between him and his attackers to force himself forward. The nest would protect him, but he needed to reach them first. He roared his challenge at the retreating fledglings as he burst into the bright open air of Fire Nest.
Somehow he'd gone back to the worst days of his life. He'd lost a leg. It had been damaged beyond saving and the best job of healing Berk could do for him left him in horrible pain for weeks. It woke him from what little sleep he could get. It suppressed his appetite and often made him nauseous.
That time was many months behind him now. At least he thought it was. The pain was back now, almost as bad as he remembered it. He clawed his way back to consciousness, disoriented and hurting and trying to remember how long ago his leg had been taken from him. Beneath that, spurring him on, was a feeling of misplaced peril. There was something going on, nearby and dangerous. He was needed.
Hiccup rolled onto his side, clutching at the end of his shortened limb. He could feel the padded wooden cup that firmly cradled his stump and the leather bands that held his new leg in place. The irregular bumps of the clasps he'd made met his fingertips but not where he expected them.
He didn't open his eyes immediately. He was waiting for the burning knives to cool down and his stomach to decide it didn't need to empty itself. As thoroughly distracted as he was, he still heard a gentle huff of breath, felt it wash over his face. The warm, moist air was a caress that did much to ease the worry in his heart.
"T- Toothuhh!" The fiery knives twisted for good measure. It rattled him enough that he couldn't tell if the part of his leg he was holding was wet. Maybe he wasn't bleeding. That would be fortunate. There was another gust from a large set of lungs, mildly sulfurous and very close. Hiccup tried again to speak but could only gasp. He pulled one hand from his wound and raised it up just as a gentle lick from a hot tongue ran briefly up from his neck to his chin. He touched scales, warm and smooth. He raised his hand slightly and felt his fingers curl over a lip to a large, exposed fang.
Toothless had no protruding teeth.
He forced his eyes open to see a great deal of red and yellow. The blurry shape carefully nudged at his shoulder. Whoever it was, they were being considerate of his sorry state. That allowed him to stop worrying about a strange dragon licking him.
But where was he and why did he hurt so badly? Where was Toothless? Why would his friend leave him when he so obviously needed help?
More sounds reached him, forced him to pay attention. It sounded like another dragon. Actually it sounded like several dragons. He gazed blearily at a desolate, stony scene but couldn't see them.
Then it came to him: Red Death Island. In a blink it all rushed back into his head. The last thing he'd seen was- fire? A wall of fire had been rushing toward him before he lost his sight.
Now Hiccup knew where he was and remembered why he was there. But that still didn't explain where Toothless was, or why he was being watched by some random…
He fought to get his eyes to focus and managed to recognize the overly close face of a Monstrous Nightmare. With the pain in his leg making escape unlikely, he wanted to make certain that their circumstances were truly amicable. He cautiously raised his hand again toward the toothy muzzle, not making contact but doing his best to invite it. The Nightmare nudged it with the tip of its snout, thrumming softly.
"Pleased to meet you," he croaked.
Feeling better about his immediate safety, he looked down at his leg. His stomach dropped when he realized the extent of his problem. He didn't remember getting hit on his leg but that looked to be responsible for his pain. His false leg was askew and rotated nearly a quarter of the way around. The blood he hadn't felt on his fingers still stained them. More dark splotches could be seen on the fabric of his leggings, just above the cup. He gingerly worked the clasps to release the straps from his stump.
The instant the pressure was off a rapidly building lightening storm began to ravage the flesh and bone at the cut. His hiss of pain became rapid gasps until he gritted his teeth and held his breath, waiting for the familiar release. When it tapered off, it became an angry, hot throbbing laced with tiny pin pricks all along the skin around his stump. This pain was familiar; he'd experienced it many times after using his leg longer than he should have while he was still healing. Since the wound was essentially healed, it took less time for the pain to diminish once the pressure from the straps was released. The relief was profound.
Even Hiccup's worst day of walking hadn't left him this badly hindered. Even so, he believed if he took a few minutes to let his wound calm and his nerves to relax then he could put his iron leg back on and walk again. He would probably have a bad limp but he didn't want to be stuck in this place without the means to move under his own power.
While he waited for the shortened muscles to settle down he regarded his custodian. The Nightmare seemed quite attentive to his condition. It was watching him closely without exhibiting any sign of threat or aggression. As his leg demanded less attention, he began to realize there was more pain coming from his left side. Hiccup examined himself again and finally noticed the scorching of his clothes. He touched the blackened cloth and felt the raw anger of mild burns beneath. The skin of his hip and left arm felt hot and hurt enough to tell him he would need even more attention when he could manage it. Miserable, he glanced again at his companion. Still breathing heavily, he suddenly frowned.
Hiccup knew this Nightmare. But from where? He lifted his hand again toward the long snout and gently moved it aside, the dragon obliging his request. Without the head in the way he could see the rest of the body. It - he - was predominantly yellow and red and a bit on the small side. "I know you from somewhere. Who are you?"
He got no answer, not even an indication the question had been understood as such. He tried to sit up, causing the dragon to step back a bit. Looking around as much as he could did no good. He'd been placed in an area that formed a shallow depression, keeping much of the island hidden from view. Perhaps keeping him hidden had been the intention. Either way, he needed to know where he was and where Toothless had gone.
In spite of the prickly ache still infesting his stump, Hiccup reattached his false leg and stood. He grunted in alarm at the pain that shot straight up to his shoulders when he put pressure on it. A minute or so of soaking up the sharp reprimand let him release an easier breath. He stared out at the landscape, immediately catching sight of the mountain's peak. A different pain worked its way into his heart as he saw how far he was from where he needed to be. Toothless must have left him here with this small Nightmare and gone back to help.
The truth of his situation turned sour in his mouth. Hiccup could see the sense in getting him away from danger, especially after the close call they'd obviously had. It still felt like betrayal, though. He knew the others would need Toothless' help as soon as he could manage it. But now there was no chance to try talking to the young Red Death. If words could have prevented fighting and the deaths that would likely follow, they could only mourn the lost chance. His heart clenched at the idea.
Another Red Death. Another grim battle. Another missed opportunity.
He hadn't stood by and let that chance slip away forever, not the last time. Astrid had come to him and prodded him with questions. She'd freed him from the numb sense of defeat that left him motionless for so long. The place he'd wanted to be was no closer than the moon, until she pushed him to find a different way.
The spire in the distance was too far for walking. He needed another option. There weren't many.
In fact, he could think of only one.
Glancing once more at his protector, he gently rubbed the sensitive skin between the dragon's nostrils. "Hey, think you could do me a favor?"
(c)Wirewolf 2015 "How to train your dragon" and all attendant characters are copyright Dreamworks Animation and used without permission
AN: Very little for me to say at this point except I don't think I can quite make it to the end of the battle before the end of the year. As readers have noted, there's a lot going on and it will take a good bit of work to lay it all out without taking shortcuts. I have my yearly visit to my family coming up and a growing amount of work at my job for the end-of-year inventory, so writing time will be harder to come by. Still, the conclusion is drawing near. Hang on, folks. We'll get there!