Chapter 4: Mystholm
The seas were calm, the waves gently crashing against the hull as a large ship cut through the water. More ships soon followed, a great fleet of dragon hunter vessels, identifiable by their double hulls and various weaponry and equipment. Many of the armoured ships sported various coats of arms on their sails, typical dragon hunter symbols: swords, speared dragons, some even bearing the insignia of the recently defeated Drago Bludvist. The ships from Drago's fleet had scattered after their leader vanished into the sea in front of the Isle of Berk, the captains leaderless and squabbling amongst themselves. But in leaving the Barbaric Archipelago they soon found a new master, one that explained their current presence in a fleet 1,000 ships strong; instead of Drago, these captains now followed the gold promised to them by the great trading city of Velesheim. This trading center was far to the southwest of Berk, outside the borders of the Barbaric Archipelago, but this powerful city was the benefactor of many trading ships from the south and west. Their wealth came from the abundant transfer of fine furs, gold, weapons, but most importantly slaves. Not only human slaves, but many dragon hunters who tried their luck in the islands to the north would find an eager buyer for their prizes in Velesheim.
At least until several months ago, where in the midst of the autumn trade increases before winter, the great city was attacked in the night. Large groups of dragons were virtually unheard of down south, attacks by dragons even less so, and yet in the darkness of evening the city had suddenly lit up in bursts of blue and white flame. The slavers district of the city was virtually destroyed, every cage opened, every ship damaged; strangely enough, no slave—human or dragon—was harmed. The great armories of Velesheim also took significant damage, a strangely precise target for a dragon attack. Many of the guards and soldiers that attempted to protect their city recalled the strange experience of being attacked by dragons unlike anything they had ever seen, or could barely see: fast, agile creatures who could barely be noticed in the darkness, whose singular shots of flame could burst a hole through barriers more accurately than the most efficient human weapon. The city was aflame and in shambles, captured dragons taking to the skies and slaves using the chaos to steal ships and sail away.
And yet for all the wanton destruction, whatever motivations or reasonings that guided the unknown assailants had left them to ignore one small detail, one tiny mistake that gave the people of Velesheim a chance at revenge. The dark dragons blotted out the stars, and with an island city surrounded by no other land masses, the dragons—having united into a large black abyss that omitted the starlight—could be tracked from the highest tower, heading due east after setting the city aflame. And although much of the eastern sea was empty and vast, a few spots of land remained that could house dragons. And so the lords of Velesheim, who possessed gold—and therefore men—in abundance, called out to any dragon hunter roaming the seas to join in one grand fleet, to embark on a mission of both exploration and revenge. They were to hunt down this mysterious nest of dragons, whatever race they may be, and take any heads or islands they could find for Velesheim.
While many of the captains who pledged their ships did so for the gold, their hatred of dragons, or the chance at new land, one man did so for duty alone. Ragnar Ivarson, one of Velesheims most established lords, had no desire to leave his city when the effects of the attack were still so fresh. But having commanded the city's defenses for many years, along with many successful voyages previously as a dragon hunter, he had come to be well respected for both his strength and strategy. So when the other lords of the city unanimously demanded that he take charge of the grand fleet, he did so without protest. His own wife and daughter had suffered injuries in the attack, and although he imagined this expedition to be a huge waste of needed resources, he would do so for their sake.
The middle-aged Viking stood at the helm of his new flagship, Endeavour, as it cut its way through the frigid seas. Thankfully, command of this vessel served as some restitution; the largest dragon hunter ship yet, Endeavour boasted enough weaponry and dragon-catching equipment that the flagship would hold its own far above the older and more flimsy vessels. Moreover, the entire vessel was covered in a thin layer of dragon-proof steel. Laborers had been working on it for months to make the ship buoyant, and they had finally found a metal composition to make the ship both impervious to fire and lightweight. A true marvel of engineering—one that could change dragon hunting and Viking dominion over the seas forever—as long as one possessed the uncounted numbers of gold chests needed to build just one.
"Sir!" a lookout shouted from the middlemast, having climbed up there to keep watch. "We just crossed into the Barbaric Archipelago!"
Waving in acknowledgement, Lord Ragnar handed off the steering to a waiting sailor, then descended belowdecks to his private quarters. Few creature comforts were present in the room, apart from his bed, one large table, and an ornate carved chair. A bright red flag adorned the back wall, emblazoned with the symbol of Velesheim: a golden chalice decorated with the hammer of Thor, overflowing with red liquid. Wine or blood, it mattered little, as both flowed through Velesheim in equal abundance. What was present in the room on numerous shelves were large collections of books, scrolls and maps. The lord never travelled without as much knowledge as he could carry, for one never knew when it would be useful. Taking a seat, Ragnar's eyes gazed over the set of materials he had left earlier. Covering most of the table was a large map of the known world, with Velesheim in the center; to the south and west were the world's continents, where great nations of men dominated the land and dragons were little more than stories. To the north sat the Barbaric Archipelago, the territory of Vikings, so-called savage peoples, and all manner of draconic races. To the west was mostly open sea with the solitary exception of a large mass of clouds, which the cartographers used to denote the unknown and unexplored. Mystholm, the land of mystery.
Picking up a small model of a ship, Ragnar placed it at the southwesternmost border of the Barbaric Archipelago to signal their current location. Reaching across the table, he picked up a dusty old volume and began to rifle through its pages, The Book of Dragons etched into the cover. Every seasoned dragon hunter attempted to record their best practices and tips regarding the dragons they hunted, but this book had ended up in his library by way of a trading ship that frequently journeyed north, bartering with the Viking tribes. Ragnar had purchased this particular book because it seemed to contain the most pages about dragons, and seemed to be written relatively recently. Flipping to the desired page, the warlord began to read:
Night Fury; Strike Class, medium size dragon. Large black wings, slender build, four legs, tail with two fins. Abilities: unknown (concealment, nocturnal camouflage). Extremely dangerous, do not engage. Rarity: Extreme. Only one catalogued sighting to date. Location: Isle of Berk.
Ragnar set the open book on the table, stroking his greying beard as he studied the map. Even during his younger days hunting dragons, he had never put much stock into tales of Night Furies; they were typically written off as either folk tales or a once in a blue moon occurrence. In fact, stories about a supposed Night Fury living among the Vikings of Berk, which was becoming more known for domesticating dragons, were the only confirmed sightings of one in many years. However, the lord of Velesheim had scoured numerous texts relating to dragons and other mythical creatures. The Night Fury, for all its rarity, was the only dragon whose description came close to the cloud of night-concealed shadows that had attacked the city.
And the fact that the mysterious creatures had fled west, where islands were few and far between, only complicated the matter. Unless the dragons changed course, they would not encounter sizable islands capable of housing a nest until Mystholm. Picking up a stack of paper, Ragnar pinned them to the cloud marking on the map with a small dagger from his belt. There wasn't much information in those pages, a few sparse mentions of the mystic isles from various travelers whose ships had blown off course. No captain had dared to stay long, nor had a ship braved the waters of Mystholm in centuries; mentions of a volcano, islands wrapped in constant mist, sea serpents, and ghosts littered the crumbling paper. But unknown or not, it was the only place the dragons could fly to, and they would not have flown west unless they intended to nest somewhere.
Ragnar cursed, reaching for a bottle of hard spirits that sat at the table's edge and taking a long drink. None of this was much to go on, after all. There was no guarantee that dragons inhabited Mystholm, let alone that their midnight assailants had kept flying that way. But the other lords of Velesheim cared little for the cost of sending a giant fleet sailing around the open ocean on the onset of winter's approach. They cared for gold and glory, and had much of the former to spare. But an expedition to Mystholm couldn't hurt that badly, and he supposed it wasn't his money being wasted. The unknown islands could turn out to be very rich in both land and minerals—even if no dragons were present. And Lord Ragnar put no stock into tales of the undead, enchanted seas, or mystery dragons. If you could not see it, then why fear it?
A hard pounding on the door grabbed the old hunter's attention. "Enter!" he shouted gruffly, taking another swig from the bottle in hand. In walked his first mate and second in command of the fleet, a young captain of Velesheim's city watch by the name of Halfdan. Though a talented fighter and well-respected in the city, Halfdan had only come at his lord's request, the pale complexion of his face indicating that he was not an enjoyer of sea voyages.
"What's the matter, my friend? A bit seasick, are we?" Ragnar joked.
"What gave it away?"Halfdan responded, after leaning on the table to steady himself. "I wanted to speak to you in private. I have… concerns about our plan."
Ragnar frowned, placing the bottle on the table. "Well, let's hear it! You think we should've just sailed straight for Mystholm, like the lords of the city demanded?"
"No, my lord," said Halfdan. "I know hopping the southern islands of the Barbaric Archipelago is a wise strategy, even if it adds time to our journey. We must think about preserving our food and wood, and winter's ice will be fast approaching. The islands will provide protection… except now the Endeavour's directed further north, and I want to know why."
Lord Ragnar let out a low chuckle. "Despite your lack of sea-legs, my friend, you were always good at navigation. Tell me…" he pointed to the map, "... have you ever heard of the Isle of Berk?"
"Only vaguely. A Viking island, typical barbarians… except I've heard whispers from the dragon hunters that a nest of dragons dwells there."
"Oh, they don't just 'dwell' there." the lord spoke. "I've heard that the people ride them, train them, and keep them as pets. I've also heard that their new chief, a young man by the name of Hiccup, is some kind of dragon whisperer. The Dragon Master, they call him."
Halfdan crossed his arms. "Yes, I overheard some of the hunters from Drago's fleet cursing his name. But I fail to see the point of this."
"Because we're going to Berk first, then to Mystholm." Lord Ragnar confessed.
"You must be joking!" Halfdan exclaimed. "Whatever would possess you to do such a thing? That adds weeks to our journey, to say nothing of the trouble it would cause."
"What trouble do you expect, old friend?"
"Come now, my lord, you are no fool! Many of our ships fly the symbols of dragon hunters, many others were captained by men who only recently served under Drago Bludvist. If we sail to Berk, even under a flag of peace, they will see us as a foe. That says nothing of the captains themselves. This fleet is vast, with only the promise of great riches to bind us to common cause. If they hear you are thinking of breaking bread with dragon riders, they will betray us as sure as the dawn."
Halfdan walked around to stand by his lord's side, staring intently at the pages of the Book of Dragons. "I know why you want to go; you want to see if this dragon master can tell you about Night Furies, or otherwise explain the dragons that attacked Velesheim. But the other lords assembled this fleet to go to Mystholm, they are paying the dragon hunters to hunt dragons in Mystholm. Some will not follow you simply to gain information, however useful."
"But we have only scraps of proof that anything is even in Mystholm!" Ragnar huffed, waving at the map in frustration. "And every man must have the strength to fight when we eventually get there. I have no love for the mercenaries and hunters that sail with us only for coin. It is the soldiers of Velesheim that I am charged with, and they must remain alive and strong."
The lord of the fleet stared long and hard at the map. "Halfdan, how many of our ships are captained by true dragon hunters, including the disbanders from Drago's fleet? No Velesheim soldiers, no ambitious recruits, just year-round hunters that regularly trap in the Barbaric Archipelago."
"I would say around 400, maybe more." Halfdan admitted.
Lord Ragnar rose to his feet. "Then these are my orders. We will divide the fleet in two, between Velesheim ships and the career hunters, who will choose a leader amongst themselves. The hunters will turn east and follow my original plan, hugging the southern islands until they reach Mystholm. Our larger half will continue to Berk under my command, to see if this 'Dragon Master' can inform us on the foe we face. Then we will head south for Mystholm."
"The hunters who get there first will determine if there is any nest in the archipelago, and may hunt as they see fit. They are not likely to protest this plan, since Mystholm is the object of their pay after all. If there is nothing, then we will be able to head for home as soon as we rejoin them." Ragnar looked his old friend in the eye. "And if they do find dragons, it will be them who die first, and we will know the strength of the enemy."
Halfdan looked sober, then bowed low before his lord. "As you command, I will signal the fleet. But if I may; what if they do find a nest, and it is more powerful than we have the strength to fight? Will we still remain and attack?"
"I am not one to sacrifice men and ships needlessly. I will leave the glory and the hunting to the dragon-haters, for my days of hunting dragons for profit are far behind me. But rest assured, my friend." Lord Ragnar strode to the far wall, where a glaive rested on two hooks. The weapon was large and weathered, with chips and other signs of age across its surface; but the black blade was untouched, the metal shining with light, craftsmanship that could cut chain and shatter armour without losing its edge.
Lord Ragnar unhooked his prized weapon from the wall, standing it up on its handle. He stood at a considerable height, yet the tip of the blade passed well above his head.
"We will avenge our city, as is our duty."
Elsewhere…
"Look! I can see it!"
Toothless squinted, trying to pinpoint what Ash had noticed on the horizon. A faint smudge could be seen in the distance, and what looked to be the first island they had seen in almost a day. As they flew closer, the blur began to take shape into a towering mountain; Toothless realized that the smudge was not land, but a steady stream of smoke that billowed from the flat top of the peak. Nightmare's Eyrie was unmistakable, rising unnaturally high above all the islands that surrounded it. Toothless could make out a few small islands that dotted the seas around it, as well as 4 larger ones that surrounded the Eyrie. So this is Mystholm, he thought. The large islands looked lush and green, including the base of the Eyrie; dark forests, the occasional open field, and…
"Is that what I think it is?"
"If you're talking about the giant mushrooms, yeah! Something in the ash makes them grow at the foot of the Eyrie." Ash exclaimed happily, reveling in finally being home. "They pop up occasionally on other islands too. Just wait! When night falls they'll glow in all kinds of colors, it's incredible."
She gestured east, where Toothless could make out a large collection of barren cliffs that rose high above the water, yet only likely coming to half the height of the volcano. "There's Seregon, we should steer clear of those skies for now. Let's head to Aylan first! It's only another hour, we just follow a circular path west around the Eyrie."
Toothless laughed at the female's suddenly energetic demeanor. "Fine. Race you to the next island!" The Night Fury put on a burst of speed, surging past the female as Ash gasped in surprise, then laughing as she tried to keep up. Toothless flew through the air like a dark bullet, reveling in the thrill of wind rushing over his scales. This place offered so many new discoveries, and he had to admit that despite the daunting purpose of their visit, he was now filled with excitement. Gliding across the surface of the water, he peered into the crystal-clear blue, seeing all manner of fish beneath the surface.
The aquatic life suddenly vanished, and the instant sound of breaking water triggered an instinctual drive within the Night Fury. Pulling up harshly, he did so just in time to avoid the hissing clamp of jaws beneath him, seeing several rows of blackened teeth. A long-headed, flat-nosed creature—with blank murky eyes and dark aqua scales—sank its head back into the water, having missed the large dragon overhead.
"Are you ok?!" Ash yelled, catching up to Toothless, as another head lunged out the water; this time, Toothless could see a long serpentine body with two small fins attached to the head. Beating her wings hard, Ash pulled up while simultaneously firing a plasma burst into the serpent's face. The shot caused no visible damage, but the beast gave up, slinking into the water.
"What the hell was that?" Toothless roared.
"Those are Ormr, sea serpents." Ash explained. "They can't see very well and are kind of slow. Don't breathe fire either. But I'd be careful hovering over open water, at least in this part of Mystholm. One bite and you won't move for hours, and you won't last long if you fall into a group of them."
"C'mon, we should keep going until we reach Aylan." said Ash, as they flew higher above the water.
Toothless couldn't help but ask; "How do you fish with those things in the water?"
"We fish in small groups. Like I said, they're not too smart, and they don't swim in too large of groups. You just have two or three Night Furies stun them with shots while others grab the fish. They're immune to fire, but a well-placed shot on the snout usually does the trick." Ash flew overhead, then twisted upside-down, hovering over Toothless's head in perfect sync with him.
"Hey, before we get there, I just wanted to say…"
"Something on your mind?" Toothless asked, looking up.
Ash smiled down at him. "I just wanted to thank you again, I know I'm asking a lot from you. Maybe too much, but it's nice to have someone I can trust."
"You don't need to thank me, coming here is something I never even dreamed of until you showed up." the Alpha replied.
"I know, it's just… I don't know how the others will react, they all thought it wasn't worth asking for help, let alone trying to make peace between the Night Furies. But you were willing, and that means more than you know."
Ash twisted back over, maneuvering herself to Toothless's side as they flew through the air. "We'll have to meet with the elders when we arrive, and you'll probably get swamped with questions. But… maybe tonight we can find somewhere quiet and relax? I'm sure you have more adventures to tell me about."
The young male was taken aback, a familiar warm feeling spreading through his chest.
"As you wish."
He might've imagined it, but as they continued to soar through the air towards Aylan, Toothless could've sworn he felt the tips of their wings touch.
Author's Note: Apologies for the hasty chapter, but I realized although the city of Velesheim wouldn't be a main location in this story, I still had to introduce it somewhere. Sorry if it feels rushed. But our main characters finally made it to Mystholm! More Night Furies to appear in upcoming chapters.
Nerdy Vocab:
Velesheim - 'home of wealth' derived from the noun vele, which represents the price or amount of money being asked for something.
Ormr - old Danish word for serpent