19 - Clash
Stoick closed his eyes and took a deep breath.
The kids do it all the time. How difficult could it be for one of the greatest dragon slayers in the entire Archipelago?
It had seemed so easy, from a distance. Now, though, Stoick wasn't too sure of himself. Maybe he was never meant to do this. Maybe, just as his son was never meant to be a big, ax-and-hammer Viking who could split a rock with his forehead, the gods declared there were certain things the father would never do. Maybe, at least, it's simply not for those who have seen too much blood and fire and death.
"C'mon, Stoick," Gobber jeered from behind. "Knees feelin' weak? I could give ya a hand. Only one, though."
Stoick growled and, even with his eyes closed, he could sense Gobber backing off.
For almost two years, his son has ridden a Night Fury almost every day. The damn beast even slept upstairs in his home! During the dragon war, Stoick was the very image of confidence. Nothing frightened him. He was never without a plan and encouragement. Now that they're at peace, every time he gets near a dragon, he feels like a clumsy child.
Sixteen years ago, his beloved wife was carried away by a dragon. Yet, now, the thought of what he was about to do by placing so much trust and yielding so much control to a beast…
Stoick let out his breath and tightened his fingers around the horn.
Knowing one's son is in mortal danger on a ship at sea can make a man do crazy things. He had decided to join the rescue effort, leaving Spitelout in charge of the island's defense. Stoick would not be stuck on his island while hoping the riders could rescue his son. Even the discomfort of being around dragons would not keep him out of a saddle... which would actually be quite impossible if he never moved his legs from where they anchored him to the wonderfully solid ground.
Stoick sucked in another deep breath.
Are you a coward, Stoick the Vast? Will you be out-done by these kids?
Mercifully, the dragon was absolutely motionless. He could have been made of stone save for the deep pulls of air felt under his hand, reverberating through the dragon's snout.
"Oh, hey, look," the chief could hear Gobber saying, "The Berserkers landed already. Why hello there, Dagur. Just hold on a moment while Stoick grows some chest hair. We'll kick yer punk ass once our chief gets 'is ass on a dragon's back. Take a seat. I'll go make some tea."
Stoick ignored his old friend's ribbing as he opened his eyes and let out his breath. "I suppose I won't get up there by standing here, will I?"
Skullcrusher gently bobbed his head up and down before resuming his stance, once again, as still as the rock beneath his feet. His eyes looked into Stoick's. He was alive and sentient. He was judging Stoick. He could understand what was being said through means the chief didn't quite understand. If he could talk, he'd probably be saying, "Just get on my damn back already!"
Through that hand-to-scale contact, Stoick could feel that closeness Hiccup's always blabbing on about, a foggy glimpse into the dragon's soul, the hint of impressions his mind was apparently not trained enough to fully receive. Stoick knew Skullcrusher could likewise peer into his "emotional palette" as Skuf always wrote in his slate. The dragon could feel the fire and trepidation and responded by gently pushing a soothing confidence onto the chief. At least, that's what Stoick imagined would explain what he thought he was feeling.
Just do it and it's done. Do it for Hiccup!
Stoick took a step forward along the dragon's flank, dragging his hand along the hard carapace plates. The dragon craned his head around to look at the chief, who looked up at the saddle. He saw Skuf reach an arm down from his perch on Skullcrusher's back. He saw the scaly beast slowly bob his head up and down, encouraging him.
He tried not to think about how flying must feel, the sensation of constantly falling through thin air. He tried not to think about the complications that would arise if he fell out of the saddle or the dragon landed upside-down. He looked at the wings and tried not to wonder, "Those little things can really keep us up? And a gust of wind wouldn't snap those wing arms like dry twigs?" He tried not to think about the notion of a Red Death suddenly flying in to order Skullcrusher into the titan's open maw.
Apparently, his mind didn't hear the announcement that such thoughts were not on the agenda.
Stoick closed his eyes and took a deep breath.
"There's nothing wrong with staying on the ground, sir."
Astrid's voice registered behind him. She and Fishlegs were hastily massaging Toothless' flank, helping him recover and get ready for the next flight. The poor dragon had been flying as fast as he could for an extended period of time. It was an impressive feat, but he was now suffering the consequences. By the time he returned with the last of the dragon aid from the surrounding islands, he was gasping for air and cramping up terribly from the extended exertion. His landing wasn't the usual pounce and trot, but a very awkward belly flop.
Astrid had the presence of mind to haul Fishlegs over - literally - and start massaging the cramped dragon by digging her forearm or elbow in and dragging it along the muscle fibers. She had also asked some fellow warriors to grab fish to feed him and buckets of water for drinking and splashing on him. The dragon howled and groaned through this hasty recovery, which Fishlegs assured everyone was a good response, not a bad one.
Astrid continued from her place by the Night Fury's side, a few paces away. "Really. Skuf's coordinating the dragons already and I can coordinate the riders. We'll bring your son back to you. But if I may be so bold, sir, we really should be moving. We don't know what they're doing to Hiccup right now."
Stoick's eyes snapped open and he suddenly leaped, grabbing the lip of the saddle to haul himself up. Skullcrusher rocked from the sudden weight, but a wingtip to the ground steadied him. Sitting on a wooden bench or a stone throne was one thing, but his perch on the dragon's back felt so unsettling. The creature was rock-steady, but there was still that unsettling element of resting on a living creature.
Stoick shoved his discomfort aside, looked down at Astrid, and said, "Don't be silly, my dear. Getting on a dragon is child's play. Like, literally, 'cause I have absolutely no clue how you kids just jump in the saddle so willingly."
Some of the riders and warriors nearby chuckled as Skuff helped him get strapped in, using hand gestures to show how to adjust and remove the straps securing his flight harness to the saddle.
After he was secured, the chief thumped one of Skullcrusher's carapace plates to get his attention and shouted to him over the din of the other dragons and riders, "If you try any trick flying like the Night Fury does, I will punch you in the face!"
Both the chief and dragon snorted at such a mental picture.
"Remember," the Stoick said before Skuf hopped, "You have command over the dragons from the surrounding islands, but I have command over the riders and their dragons."
Skuf nodded and the chief continued, "We're here to save Hiccup. Let the bastards land on my island for all I care. You do your engagement plan we discussed earlier and I'll lead the rescue efforts on the deck."
The Dragon Whisper made eye contact with the chief and gave a sharp nod, then turned to slide down the side of Skullcrusher's neck.
Stoick closed his eyes and took a deep breath.
He took comfort in knowing that he hasn't fallen out of the saddle yet, nor have the dragon's wings snapped. So far, he hasn't found himself between the heavy dragon and the ground. No Red Death has come along to take control of Skullcrusher. All in all, Stoick was quite proud of himself.
Hang in there, son. I'm coming for you!
Skuf looked over the head of the Night Fury on which he was seated, out past the cliffs, to the fleet advancing toward Berk. At this distance, some of the tribal crests were visible on the sails. At least eight tribes were represented in this fleet.
Hiccup was on one of those ships. He will live to see tomorrow.
Dagur the Devil was out there, too. He will die today.
Skuf would give his life to make this happen, but it troubled him that he couldn't convince himself of which priority was more important.
A stinging slap from the Night Fury's sensor lobe jerked him back to the here and now. The dragon gave an impatient grumble as he snapped his head around to see if his rider was secured. After some fish, water, and a quick rubdown to soothe the knotted muscles, he was as ready to go. Well, as ready as he can get. Already, the dragon would be looking at a very sore body tonight and tomorrow.
Toothless leaped off the edge of the cliff and shot into the air with powerful beats of his wings. Out of the corner of his eye, Skuf could see the chief leaning down and forward with a small pair of leggings in his hand, no doubt Hiccup's, to give Skullcrusher a scent as a reference to track the captive. It was unnecessary as dragons have a perfect memory, but the large Viking made the mistake of leaning forward as the dragon pawed at the edge of the cliff, looking down... and down... and down. His face and knuckles turned white.
At a silent instruction from the Night Fury, over two hundred larger dragons and a hundred Terrible Terrors from the surrounding islands sprang into the air. Most of them stampeded off the edge of the cliff in a torrential rush, spreading their wings as they plunged over the edge to soar up into the sky. The Gronckles simply fluttered their little wings and ascended straight up to join the group, a mist of wings and scales rising from the ground.
Skuf worked the tail fin as he and Toothless led the dragons out towards the enemy fleet, high enough to be safe from arrows. Toothless took a moment to focus on finding Hiccup. His sensor lobes wiggled around to find the optimal position and instantly froze when he found his target. He could identify the unique signature of his rider, but there was something different about his hum, like he wasn't entirely "there". Still, there was no doubt and Toothless could tell which ship held the captive, so he shared all this with Skuf and the dragons so they would all know which ship to avoid damaging.
The dragon whisperer grinned with satisfaction. Things were working out even better than he planned. Not only were they able to find Hiccup before engaging the enemy, but Dagur, whose mental signature Toothless could recall from that night he stalked the forests of Berk, was on the same ship. Skuf had a personal score to settle with that devil. He also had quite a bit of firepower to work with. The dragons agreed to coordinate with Toothless and Skuf, but made it clear that they were here only to save Hiccup because he saved them from the Red Death. They did not want to fight the Viking's war.
Using Toothless to relay his instructions, Skuf had the dragons cluster in a ring around the flagship that held Hiccup. With the exception of the Zipplebacks and Terrible Terrors, who shoot burning gas out of their mouth instead of some projectile or liquid fuel, Skuf told the dragons to fire some blasts straight down.
Hundreds of molten boulders, shards of burning magnesium, and globs of burning liquid fuel fell like hail. The sky below lit up to contest the brightness of the sun. Even with Toothless acting as a body-shield from anything below, the heat was almost unbearable. The fleet surrounding the flagship caught fire, spewing out billows of smoke. Any fireballs that hit the water hissed into a slowly rising mist. Even though the sun was high in the sky, the dragons now had a protective shroud to fight in, giving them a very significant advantage against the ranged attacks of arrows, bolas, ballistae, and catapults.
The curtain of smoke and fog helped, but it was only the start. Stoick was already diving in on Skullcrusher with the other riders and their dragons following behind. Skuf used Toothless to give instructions to all the dragons.
Skuf needed to form a perimeter around the flagship so that Stoick could secure it and free Hiccup without interference from the rest of the fleet. His plan was to focus all firepower on the ships surrounding it and maintain the veil of smoke and mist. Hopefully, the other ships will be forced to back off and maybe even return straight to home. The ring of surrounding ships around their target would certainly prevent all the enemy ships from converging, at least.
The Zipplebacks teamed up in pairs... well, two dragons, so four heads. Even after spending so many days following Barf and Belch, hearing them talk to each other - and themselves, and to the sun, the moon, and random trees and rocks - Skuf still wasn't sure how the math worked out in their minds. Regardless, the Zipplebacks were instructed to dive into the water, swim up to a ship, tear a hole in the hull, then spray their explosive gas inside and light it up. If they could not breach the hull, then they could simply swim a lap around the ship while spraying a ring of gas to detonate. They would then dive for cover and swim to the next ship.
With their bulbous bodies, strong legs, and smaller wings that can fold in tight, they were the most water worthy dragons in the group. The water would prevent the sparking head from lighting up the gas, but they could coordinate with any nearby dragon to ignite the gas for them.
The Gronckles were instructed to act as a distraction to the enemy Vikings. Taking advantage of their heavy scales, thick hide, and impressive maneuverability, they could flit around the ships above the decks, drawing the enemy's attention to themselves and taking out catapults and ballistae with the molten lava they spew out. As long as they keep on the swivel, they should be able to see ranged attacks coming and dodge out of the way.
The Monstrous Nightmares and Deadly Nadders were instructed to fly circles above the ships, laying down fire wherever the curtain of smoke and fog started to thin out. Monstrous Nightmares had large wings and impressive strength to pump them to help any downed dragons get back out of the water. Also, their wide swaths of fire would be perfect for burning ships and generating a lot of smoke. The Nadders, being agile and quick to react, could provide covering fire for any dragon under attack. Well, covering quill shots, at least. Also, their magnesium fire burns so hot that a shot into the water would produce a lot of steam and fog without putting the fire out, so they could also help keep up the veil.
The Terrible Terrors, being motivated by greed and competition, were divided into two teams to compete against each other: Team Terrible and Team Terror. They were instructed to set Vikings on fire for one point, grab their weapons and toss them into the sea for two points, or force a Viking overboard for three points. Making it a competition should motivate them to cooperate and encouraging them to disarm or force the enemy overboard instead of killing them should help lessen the political fireball that will surely ensue from this. Granted, some Vikings will drown and die from exposure to the cold, but many will survive and board a ship. They would be forced to shed their armor and weapons if they don't want to drown and would only distract their fellow warriors who would need to focus on hauling unarmed, shivering, soaking Vikings onto their ships.
Before the dragons even broke off to work on their attack plans, the enemy was already in a state of widespread panic and disarray as they were clearly unprepared for such a massive - and coordinated - dragon assault. Many ships were abruptly changing course to escape, but they were all packed in a tight formation. People shouted, ships collided and groaned, wood splintered, ropes snapped, masts fell. They practically defeated themselves with such a lack of coordination.
Skuf couldn't help but dwell on how this demonstrated what a wise, old swordsman once told him: "Victory does not favor the powerful, but the calm".
Svein, save me a seat in Valhalla.
With so much chaos in the enemy fleet, the dragons were hardly anything more than a symbol, a statement declaring, "Warning, this property is guarded by fire-breathing dragons. Invade at your own risk."
Once they were satisfied that the attack was going well, Skuf and Toothless descended to the deck of the flagship, where the fighting had already broken out. An enemy Viking sailed through the air in front of them and into the sea from a swipe of Skullcrusher's tail. Stoick pulled his crimson-stained sword out of a Murderous tribe warrior's abdomen. The twins moved their way across the deck with spears in hand and their Zippleback hissed and snapped at any enemies nearby. One Mystic tribe warrior was pinned up against the main mast, impaled by Stormfly's quills.
The moment they landed, Skuf quickly unhooked his riding harness and the Night Fury practically shook him off. He told Toothless to avoid direct contact with enemy Vikings unless he was able to blindside them. The Night Fury was deadly, especially with how angry he was with his rider and best friend held captive somewhere on this ship, but had very few options when it came to blocking and parrying.
Skuf, on the other hand, was quite content to handle direct attacks. He ducked under a powerful horizontal swing of a large ax from an Outcast warrior, jabbed his sword into the fool's abdomen, and jumped to the side as his opponent tried a desperate kick. The opponent fell with a heavy thud. With a foot on the ax handle, Skuf plunged his sword into his neck to grant him a quick death.
A cacophony of squawks and roars sounded out from a nearby ship.
KABOOM!
The ship exploded in a blooming ball of fire. The heat wave felt like it was sizzling the side of his face. Wooden debris fell down in a rain of fire and smoke, bouncing off the deck.
Out of the corner of his eye, Skuf could see Fishlegs performing quite admirably with his staff against a swordsman from the Lava Lout tribe. Like Berk, the Louts have had to contend with dragons so much they forgot what it's like to fight people and had no clue why someone would use a blunt stick as a weapon, nor why it was so effective. The burly rider, who was normally shy and timid, was showing an entirely different personality as he fought for the only Viking who truly respected him and actually appreciated his pedantic ways.
Fishlegs used his staff to knock the sword so hard his opponent stumbled and Skuf couldn't help but smile at the swift disarm that followed. Taking advantage of the opportunity, Fishlegs slammed his forehead into his opponent's nose and delivered a blow to the back of his helmet, stunning him from the impact. He then beat his shaken opponent in his ribs, back, and legs, shouting between blows, "THIS... IS... FOR... HICCUP!
With his opponent down, he said, "Wow, that was… that felt… so… RAAAAAA!"
Skuf grinned impishly. It's amazing what proper motivation can do for someone. "I don't think I could do this in a real fight" my foot!
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a nearby ship that was wreathed in a cloud of green gas. Another cacophony of squawks and roars sounded out as dragons cleared the area. The gas erupted into flame, setting the entire ship on fire all at once and thickening the veil.
Both Thorston twins shouted in unison, "BERK NEEDS MORE ZIPPLEBACKS!"
Stoick faced down an opponent from the Berserker tribe. His sword was sheathed in blood and the crimson spattering along the rim of his shield showed proof of just how deadly the large man could be even with a blunt instrument. His opponent seemed to be scared as he almost tripped over the bloody corpse of one of his tribe. He cast a quick glance over his shoulder to the edge of the boat.
As if reading his thoughts, the chief shouted over to him, "You into the water or my sword into you!"
The Berserker warrior slowly backed up, but kept his sword and shield up in a defensive position. His face suddenly twisted into a smirk and Skuf noticed another Berserker sneaking up behind the chief. His sword was held horizontally against his side, tightly gripped in both hands with his offhand braced against the crossguard.
He was about to impale the chief!
Before Skuf could take a single step to stop him or even find something to throw, a blur of black streaked across the ship, sending the would-be backstabber sprawling to the deck with his sword skittering out of his grasp. His frantic screams for mercy fell on deaf ears as sharp teeth and claws mercilessly tore him to ribbons. The black dragon donned a red mask.
Skuf flinched at the sight. He had never seen this side of Toothless before, but such was the fate of those who stand between him and his rider. The gratuitous violence was so primal and ruthless that the record in the dragon manual, "Never engage this dragon. Your only chance: hide and pray it does not find you," just didn't seem to cut it.
At the first sign of danger from behind, Stoick jumped to the side to assess the situation, bringing his shield close to his shoulder with his sword arm held back. The opponent he was staring down dropped his weapon and shield and jumped overboard.
After dispatching the would-be assassin, Toothless stood there, panting, staring at the body and the bloody smear it left on the wood planks. Blood dribbled down his maw and he left red footprints with every step. Scanning the deck, he made eye contact with the chief and just stared at him.
"First time... since Hiccup freed you from the Red Death?" Stoick asked.
Toothless made no response, but just stood there, taking deep breaths, shifting his gaze between the chief and the corpse.
Stoick took a step towards the dragon to get his attention and said, "He got what he deserved. I owe you my life, Toothless. Again. Thank you."
The dragon gave a subtle nod as he held the chief's stare. Skuf could feel the conflicting emotions boiling off the dragon. The experience of the kill was so intense, so satisfying, so... familiar. It was a reminder of his time before Hiccup shot him down and freed him from the Red Death's mind snare. There was a little bit of guilt in there, too, most likely because his rider has always been working on getting his dragon to restrain his aggression and respond to everything with compassion.
Stoick seemed to pick up some sense of that from the dragon's behavior and said, "There's no guilt or shame in it, Toothless. He did not deserve a death so quick. Would you prefer to see me die, instead?"
Quod erat demonstrandum, Skuf thought to himself. It has been demonstrated.
Toothless huffed as he looked around for anything else he could do to help. The deck was clear of enemy warriors, except for one. The dragon, chief, and dragon whisperer all noticed the Berserker at the same time. He was standing off to the side of the battle, near the bow of the ship, calmly observing. The enemy raised his shield and sword into a defensive guard when he saw that his presence was noticed.
Skuf recognized this man and held a hand up to the chief, walked over, and squared against him.
"I knew it," his opponent said. "You really can control the beasts. Everyone thought it was just a party trick and wouldn't listen to me, but I knew better."
Skuf shrugged and rolled his eyes. He pointed an index finger up in the air, wiggling it back and forth next to his head, then gestured with his sword to the middle of his left calf, sliding the tip through the air down to the deck.
The opponent furrowed his eyebrows as he slowly drawled out, "Where... leg... oh, Hiccup. I'll tell you, but first tell me, are you taking prisoners? I will cooperate if you will not harm me."
Stoick stormed up, sword drawn in an aggressive stance, shouting, "You know where Hiccup is?! Tell me NOW or I'll run you through!"
A loud crash from the far end of the ship commanded their attention for a moment. Skullcrusher reared up and smashed one of his forelegs through the hatch to the underside of the deck. Both he and Toothless gathered around the hole, staring down into the darkness below, snarling. Skuf started to sprint towards the dragons the moment he heard the noise.
The chief quickly snapped his attention back to the opponent. "Guess that answers my question. Into the water or my sword into you."
However, his opponent stood there, unflinching. "Chief Stoick, I am Throst, Dagur's second in command and am in line for chiefdom after his death, which is inevitable today. I think you will find my approach to this whole dragon situation to be much more diplomatic than any other Berserker who would take the chiefdom should anything happen to me. It would be in your best interest to allow me to take part in negotiating for the terms of surrender for this war, which I assure you I was against before we even set sail."
Stoick shrugged. "Fine. Disarm yourself and I swear you will not be harmed if you allow yourself to be held prisoner until we have taken control of this situation."
"Agreed."
Throst tossed his sword and shield to the side, unfastened his hand ax, and parted his gambeson to remove the two daggers strapped to his waist.
Stoick rolled his eyes. "All of it."
The Berserker grumbled as he bent down to remove the knife strapped to his calf, the bushcraft knife on his belt, the neck knife sheathed on a lanyard, and the six throwing knives along his ribs.
"There!" Throst spat out. "Happy?"
Stoick made no response. Throst sighed, fished brass knuckles from his pocket, and reached into his leggings to remove a shiv on the inside of his thigh.
"That it?" Stoick asked.
"Yes."
The chief held him with a hard stare. The Berserker rolled his eyes and removed a small pick and knife from his sleeve.
Satisfied, Stoick looked around for any allies nearby. Fishlegs was in the water, freeing a floundering Monstrous Nightmare entwined in bolas with his Gronckle, Meatlug, hovering around, scanning for threats. Astrid was midway down the length of the ship, towards the edge, helping Snotlout dress a wound he had on his arm. The deck beneath them did not show any signs of significant puddling, the wound must not be too substantial. The Thorston twins were near the middle of the ship with their two-headed Zippleback on their heels, eyes on the swivel for any threats, spears extending past their shields, ready to thrust anyone who would oppose them.
Stoick shouted over to them, "Ruff, Tuff, get over here!"
As the two riders and their dragon ran over, Stoick instructed them, "This is Throst of the Berserker tribe. We are taking him prisoner. Tie him up somewhere. If he makes any aggressive move or even gives you any lip, spike him, slash him, chop him, and roast him. And if you find any more blades on him, use them to castrate him."
Tuffnut grinned at Throst and said, "You were wise to surrender before the might of the world's most deadly-OW!"
The chief smacked the twin's helmet with the flat of his shield in annoyance and set off to take care of the rest of the mission, breaking into a jog towards the stern of the ship where Skuf had already descended. He knew Hiccup was down there if both Toothless and Skullcrusher had tunnel vision on breaching that hatch. All he had to do was get himself down there.
A/N:
Thanks for reading!
I couldn't resist a homage to one of my favorite scenes in the movie, Oscar, when Throst was disarming himself.
Also, thanks for the comments, NitroExpress and 10Blue10. Ya, definitely heating up ha ha ha. In the next chapter, when Toothless sees Hiccup all drugged up, he says, "Hey, I want some!" Yeah, totally kidding, there.