Life with the Night Furies Chapter 4

The Law-Speaker's longship docked at the outermost of Berk's docks, even though those docks were considered less prestigious, because the innermost docks were all full of fishing boats and Berk's own war vessels. Four massive warriors in shiny metal battle gear stepped onto the docks and formed two rows of two. The largest one cupped his hands to his mouth and bellowed, "Give honor to the Lord of Legalities, the Regent of Regulations, the Baron of By-Laws, the head man himself... Warhamster the Wise!" A tall, thin, elderly man wearing a gray cloak and a helmet with two black feathers instead of horns stepped off the ship and looked down the docks toward Berk's small welcoming committee.

Those Berk Vikings strode toward him now. Their apparent leader was a husky young man in civilian clothing, accompanied by a middle-aged double amputee and another young man in full battle dress. They strode up to him and stopped about ten feet away. The leader said, in a somewhat nervous voice, "You honor us with your presence, Law-Speaker."

The Law-Speaker looked down on him with awesome dignity. "I have come a great distance to speak to Chief Stoick the Vast of Berk."

"That is impossible, Law-Speaker. Stoick has been dead for more than two months. His son Hiccup now rules in his place."

"Stoick, the mighty warrior? Dead?" Warhamster was shocked, but tried to hide it. "Was he felled by sickness? Did an accident befall him?"

"No, Law-Speaker. He fell in battle against a hated enemy, who also did not survive. His funeral ship has sailed for Valhalla in flaming glory."

"That much is good news," the Law-Speaker decided. "But his place has been taken... by Hiccup Stoickson? The human weed? Such a boy cannot possibly rule a tribe of restless Vikings. This island must be close to anarchy!"

The young man bowed slightly. "Actually, our tribe is thriving, Law-Speaker."

The old man considered this for a few seconds, then shook his head. "No matter. I have come to speak to the chief of Berk, even if that chief is not the man I expected to meet. You are...?"

"Varinn Hofferson, at your service. I am the chief's acting representative."

"Acting representative?" The Law-Speaker was puzzled. "I am not familiar with that office. What does an acting representative do?"

Varinn tried to look the taller man in the eye. "Sir, Chief Hiccup has fallen ill with a strange disease. It has affected his tongue and his throat, and left him unable to speak clearly. Because I have known him for a long time, I am able to understand the sounds he makes, and I can translate them for you."

The Law-Speaker pondered. "Stoick dead... his son gravely ill... it would seem that this tribe is under the curse of the gods. I had hoped to sample Berk's hospitality after my long journey; Stoick always served a good ale. But in light of these developments, I fear that I must make this visit a short one. I have no wish to be caught up in the foul destiny that has befallen this place."

Varinn bowed again. "As you wish, Law-Speaker."

The old man looked back at his ship for a moment, then returned his gaze to the chief's acting representative. "Is there any risk that I might catch Chief Hiccup's illness?"

"We are unsure about that, Law-Speaker. We wish to take no chances with your life. I will take you to the hut where he is recovering, and you and I will speak to him through an open window. You will not see him or have any direct contact with him; you will only hear his voice, such as it is."

"That would be a wise precaution," the Law-Speaker nodded. "I appreciate your concern for my welfare. Please lead the way." Like most people of his day, he dreaded the thought of an unfamiliar illness. He did not ask that Varinn's companions be introduced. Gobber thought nothing of this, while Snotlout was very put out. But Snotlout was under firm orders to say nothing unless spoken to, with the promise of a silver-chased drinking horn if he just looked impressive and didn't mess anything up, so he was more motivated to keep his mouth shut than he was to speak and demand recognition.

Varinn led his companions, the Law-Speaker, and his four guards across town to what looked like a small fish-drying shed. A signboard had been nailed across the doorway, stating in large runes, "SICKNESS - DO NOT ENTER." Varinn approached the one window and called in, "Chief Hiccup? The Law-Speaker, Warhamster the Wise, is here. He wishes to talk to you."

After a moment, they heard... a sound. It was a string of growls, grunts, and yowls that didn't sound like Norse, or any other language the Law-Speaker had ever heard. It didn't even sound human. He and his guards took a step away from the window, unwilling to risk catching a sickness that could do such things to a human throat. Any thoughts of looking in the window were swiftly forgotten.

"The chief says he greets you, and thanks you for your courtesy in visiting our island," Varinn translated.

"Are you sure that's what he said?" one of the guards asked.

"Quite sure," Varinn replied. "I have been speaking for him ever since this illness befell him. I have the chief's full confidence."

Snotlout stepped forward and began to say, "So do I!" But a stern glance from Gobber silenced him, and he sullenly returned to his place.

Warhamster gathered himself. This visit had become a lot more complicated than he'd intended. "Chief Hiccup... I am sorry to hear that you are not well."

Again came that series of inhuman-sounding grunts and yowls; again, Varinn translated. "Chief Night – I mean Chief Hiccup thanks you for your concern. He says he is beginning to feel better, and believes he will eventually make a full recovery."

"That is good," the old man said. "I have come here on an official mission involving the tribes and the upcoming Thing. The Berserker tribe has begun to recover from their ill-starred war against you, and while they are not as belligerent under their new chief, Pugpoodle the Hirsute, as they were under Chief Dagur the Deranged, they still wield a great deal of power and influence among the other tribes. They have made a major issue out of the fact that you used a dragon army to fight them. Several other chiefs are growing alarmed at the thought that you might use dragons against them as well. They have officially demanded a promise from Berk to never again use your trained dragons in any war against other Vikings. I am delivering their request as a neutral Law-Speaker, and I await your decision."

After a few seconds, those horrible sounds began, and went on for quite a while. "The chief says that we used our dragons in self-defense against an enemy who attacked us without reason or provocation. The fact that the Berserkers still fear them is proof that they are our best weapon. Still, the Vikings of Berk are not looking for trouble. He will give his word that we will not use our dragons against other Vikings in raids or other offensive action, if they will give their word not to attack us. But if we are attacked again and have to defend ourselves, we will use whatever weapons we have, and that includes the dragons."

"That won't sit well with some of the other tribes," Warhamster said guardedly. "They are very nervous – I will not say frightened, but close – about your dragon army. At least one of them is making war noises if they do not get an absolute guarantee."

Roar, growl, snarl. "The chief says, 'Tell those warlike tribes to ask the Berserkers what it was like to fight our dragons. Find out if they're really anxious to get a second helping of that. We would rather live in peace, but if they attack us, we will strike back, and they won't like it.'"

The Law-Speaker shook his head, which made the feathers on his helmet bob. "Are you sure about this, Chief Hiccup? An issue like this could polarize the tribes; everyone would have to choose sides, and very few of them would take the side of a tribe that has made peace with the dragons. You could wind up at war with all the other Vikings in the Northland! Can your dragons save you from that kind of force? Think carefully before you answer."

There was a very long pause.

Snarl, grunt, roar. "The chief says maybe you are right; he needs to think carefully about this question, and thinking carefully is difficult when he is seriously ill. Can you come back in a week to hear our answer, when he is feeling better, hopefully?"

"I cannot," the old man said. "I have a schedule of voyages I must make in order to reach all the tribes with messages to prepare them for the Thing. If I broke that schedule to return to Berk, one or more tribes would not get their messages in time. They would file a grievance against me and I could be deposed from my position. I must hold to my journey's schedule."

Grunt, grunt, snap. "Then tell them we will give them our answer at the Thing. That is the appropriate place for such weighty decisions anyway."

"Some of the tribes will not be pleased with this delay. They may think you are stalling for time while you are preparing a preemptive attack against them."

Bellow, croon, grunt-grunt. "Look around you, Law-Speaker. Do you see any dragons in this village?" Gobber successfully hid a grin at that. "Do you see any signs of preparations for war? You can reassure them all that Berk wants peace; you have seen the evidence with your own two eyes. But if we are attacked, should we give up our best weapons, just to make our attackers happy? That would be madness, and it would also be suicide. Tell them Berk is a peaceful tribe, as far as Vikings go, and we will answer their specific concerns at the Thing, just like any other tribe."

"Sir," Gobber interjected, "ye said yerself that yer on a tight schedule fer visitin' all th' tribes. Even if we gave ye our answer today, a lot o' those tribes wouldn'a hear about it until th' Thing anyway, because ye already visited them and ye aren't goin' back between now an' Thing Day. What's th' hurry fer us to make our decision?"

"You make a point," the Law-Speaker nodded. "Very well; I will tell the tribes I have not yet visited that Berk wants peace, and you will give an answer about your dragons at the Thing. And now, before any of this island's bad luck rubs off on me, I shall return to my ship and press onward. I require no hospitality from you. Chief Hiccup, I sincerely hope that you make a full recovery. There will be many chiefs demanding action from you at the Thing; you will need your strength."

Croon, half-roar, grunt. "The chief wishes you fair winds and following seas wherever you go." The Law-Speaker took that as a sign that Hiccup had nothing else to say or ask. He and his guards quick-marched back to the docks and got their ship out of the harbor in record time. It wasn't until they had completely sailed over the horizon that Varinn, Gobber, and Snotlout finally relaxed.

Snotlout was the first to speak. "Did I earn my silver-chased drinking horn? Did I? Huh?"

"That's the chief's decision," Gobber answered, without taking his eyes off the horizon. "He made the promise to ye. He'll be the one to decide if ye did it right."

"Speaking of which," Varinn exclaimed, "how about we let him out of that shed he's stuck inside?" All three turned and ran back to the shed. As they approached it, they saw it shaking violently. Two crashing blows later, the signboard splintered and the door flew open. A long black dragon burst out, looking slightly wild-eyed.

"Did you forget about me?" he demanded.

"We just wanted to be really sure they were gone," Gobber said apologetically.

"Are you okay, sir?" Varinn asked.

"Did I earn my silver-chased drinking horn?" Snotlout demanded.

Chief Night Fury shook his head vigorously. "I was never afraid of closed spaces as human," he said with a glance back at the shed. "I think dragons not like to be prisoners. Must have been very, very bad for dragons kept in training ring."

Gobber missed about half of the dragon's words in Forge, so Varinn had to translate for him. The old smith looked uncomfortable. "Aye, well, we dinna know better back then."

The wild look had left the Night Fury's eyes. "Still, is good that we fooled him. You all did well. Thank you. Gobber, give my father's number-five cup to Snotlout."

When Varinn translated that for Snotlout, the big young man was indignant. "Only the number five cup? Hey, I'm Snotlout! Shouldn't I get the number four or the number three cup?"

"You earned reward for doing nothing. Be happy you did not get nothing in return. I save best rewards for men who serve me best."

Snotlout looked as though he might argue, but Gobber gave him a not-quite-gentle nudge. "Ye did yer part, and he's givin' ye what he promised. Be thankful! Follow me an' I'll give ye yer reward. I know exactly which drinkin' horn he means, an' it's a fine one." The two of them ambled off toward the house that had been Stoick's.

"Varinn, thank you," the dragon said. "You did well, acting and translating. If you want, I give you number-four cup."

"Uhh... thanks, but no thanks," the apprentice decided. "I've finally ended my issues with Tuffnut and Ruffnut; the last thing I want to do is start some issues with Snotlout, and if he knows I got a better reward than he did, that would start a war. I appreciate the offer, though. Did you need me for anything else?"

"Why? You in hurry?"

"Let's just say that, if I can get back to the forge before Gobber does, he'll know at a glance that I didn't get turned into a Night Fury this time, and he'll be in a much better mood when I ask him for some time off tomorrow. I promised Fluff I'd take her out for a picnic as soon as the weather was good, and it looks like tomorrow is going to be a beautiful day."

"I wish you well. Go fast!" As Varinn ran toward the forge, Hiccup said to himself, "Speaking of starting a war, I need to figure out a way to keep Berk from getting caught in the biggest war in our history." He walked toward the woods, grateful for the chance to use his legs after being cooped up in that shed for hours. When he got to the clearing where the rest of the Night Furies waited, he sent some of them out to Dragon Island, to tell the rest of Berk's dragons that it was safe to return home. He told the rest of the Night Furies to prepare for a council of war the next day.

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A/N
Sometime shortly after posting the previous chapter, this story passed the 700,000-hit mark. That amazes me when I stop to think about it. Next stop: three-quarters of a million hits! Thank you, readers, for all those hits.