How to Train Your Dragon: How to Fight a Dragon's Fury Page 15

  an interesting twist in the tale. Grimbeard the Ghastly

  certainly knows how to test a King! Now the boy has

  to go out and face the might of the Dragon Furious in

  single combat without a Jewel, and I rather think that

  the result of that battle is a foregone conclusion…’

  She made a very unpleasant sound, like

  frog-bones rattling in a tin, which was the sound she

  made when she laughed, which was not something she

  did often.

  ‘See how the web turns and twists,’ she grinned.

  ‘NOW I understand why Destiny might have wanted

  the Hiccup to be King. So that Hiccup could go out

  and take Alvin’s place, just as Snotlout took Hiccup’s

  place yesterday. Hiccup is going to die instead of Alvin!

  Heh heh heh… Isn’t Fate artistic?’

  Stoick and Valhallarama were white with horror.

  Their hands crept instinctively towards one another.

  ‘But does this mean… Does this mean that

  Hiccup still has to go out there and face the might of

  the Dragon Furious in single combat all on his own?’

  Stoick stuttered. ‘Without a Jewel to protect him? But

  that will mean… that will mean…’

  ‘Certain death,’ said the Witch with relish.

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  15. PREPARING FOR THE

  FUNERAL – SORRY, SINGLE

  COMBAT

  ‘No!’ Stoick roared.

  ‘Never!’ Valhallarama bellowed.

  ‘Now, now, Stoick and Valhallarama,’ tutted

  the Witch. ‘Don’t you think you’re being a little

  over-protective? The boy has to grow up some time.

  After all, he IS a King now…’

  ‘And you heard the vow that he just made,’

  taunted the Witch. ‘What was it? It was so sweet… “I

  promise that I will lay down my life for the sake of my

  people.” Surely you would not have him break such

  a solemn promise so early in his Kingship? After all, a

  promise is a promise, if it is made in blood.’

  Ah, Grimbeard the Ghastly, this was to be stern

  Test indeed for the newly crowned King.

  All the gaiety of the triumphant humans had gone

  now. And preparing Hiccup for the single combat took

  on more of the aspect of dressing someone for their

  own funeral.

  How could they prepare a reed of a lad like

  Hiccup, who was wounded on top of everything else, to

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  fight a dragon the size of a mountain in single combat?

  It was quite touching to see the great, muscled,

  hairy Warriors fussing around the boy like anxious

  walruses, as if they could do something, anything, to

  help him with this fight. They offered the boy their

  advice, their favourite weapons, their superstitious

  objects… as if by all this kerfuffle, they could cover up

  the fact that this was completely hopeless, and the boy

  was doomed.

  ‘King Hiccup,’ said Humungously Hotshot the

  Hero. ‘Every dragon has its weakness, and I would

  advise you to aim at the skin above the Dragon

  Furious’s heart, where he has a scar already.’

  Gobber the Belch bustled forward. ‘Remember

  your spear-throwing lessons, my boy? You just take

  this spear of mine, and aim it at that weak spot and…

  bingo! One dead dragon-the-size-of-a-mountain!’

  Gobber enthusiastically thrust his spear into

  Hiccup’s hand, but unfortunately it was so heavy that

  Hiccup could barely lift it, let alone throw it.

  ‘I’ll lend you my cat, if you like?’ suggested

  Barbara the Barbarian. ‘It seems the least I can do.’

  ‘You will need my fire-suit, Hiccup,’ said Stoick,

  swallowing hard to contain his emotion. ‘Your own is

  far too ragged to give you any protection in case… in

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  case…’ He did not finish the sentence, and instead

  helped his son into his own fire-suit as if he were a

  five-year-old, for Hiccup’s arm was too swollen to dress

  himself. The sleeves and legs were far too long, but

  Stoick rolled them up.

  And then other Warriors pressed forward,

  offering helmets and breastplates and visors, until the

  new King was so wrapped around with armour that he

  could barely move, and he insisted on taking some of it

  off again.

  ‘I have to be able to breathe, guys,’ said Hiccup

  gently. ‘I know you want to be helpful, but I can’t carry

  ALL of your armour, because Windwalker would fall

  out of the sky.’

  ‘I would give everything in the world to go out

  there instead of you, Hiccup,’ said Stoick, choking over

  his words.

  It is a father’s worst nightmare to watch his son

  go out and face the death that he would gladly have

  taken instead of him. But Stoick knew his son must go

  without him, and he also knew in his heart of hearts

  that the end had come. However, at the very least, he

  would know his son went out into battle with his love,

  and the best armour he could give him.

  Valhallarama offered Hiccup her own advice. It

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  was stern advice indeed – but Valhallarama was made

  of stern stuff.

  ‘Do you remember the letter I once sent to you,

  Hiccup?’

  Hiccup frowned, thinking back in time.

  Once, when he was a very young boy, he had

  got himself in some terrible scrape or another, and he

  remembered crying in front of his father, because he

  wanted Valhallarama to help him, and yet again she was

  not there.

  ‘She’s an amazing woman, your mother,’ Stoick

  had said, and he shook his head solemnly, with great

  pride. ‘She’s doing great things out there, Hiccup, you

  should be very proud of her.’

  ‘But why isn’t she here, with us?’ asked the little

  Hiccup, only five years old. ‘She’s doing important

  Hero-work,’ explained Stoick patiently. ‘Some Heroes

  have to work alone. She’s a very great woman, your

  mother.’ Stoick beamed with pride and shook his

  head. ‘Quite extraordinary she married me – the most

  beautiful woman in the Archipelago, married me!’

  Then much later, when he was about ten years old

  and trapped in the dungeons of the Danger-Brutes, in

  desperation, Hiccup had written to the Hero Mother

  that he longed for, missed so much, cried for, for so

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  many nights. ‘Save me, Mother!’ the letter had said. He

  had given the letter to a passing mail dragon. The reply

  came one week later, when the mail dragon returned,

  burnt and ragged. A starving, despairing Hiccup had

  opened it up eagerly.

  This is what the letter said:

  Stop expecting other people to save you.

  YOU are the Hero.

  Save yourself.

  (If you want another answer, try another woman.)

  Your loving mother,

  Valhallarama

  At the time, Hiccup had not appreciated that letter. He

  had been so upset he had torn it up into little pieces

  and thrown the pieces out
of the bars of the windows,

  and watched them fall down, down into the sea.

  But Hiccup had escaped from the dungeons of

  the Danger-Brutes without his mother’s help.

  And now, perhaps, he understood a little better.

  Valhallarama put her hands on her son’s

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  shoulders. Her stern, bright blue Warrior eyes looked

  straight into Hiccup’s.

  ‘I cannot change the Warrior-soul in me,’ said

  Valhallarama. ‘My armoured arms cannot give you the

  soft hugs I see other mothers give their sons. But this

  is, nonetheless, good advice, Hiccup, if you care to take

  it. YOU are the Hero. Save yourself.’

  ‘Where is the King’s riding-dragon?’ called the

  Druid Guardian.

  The Windwalker flew down and knelt before

  Hiccup, his raggedy wings trembling.

  ‘You do not have to come with me, Windwalker,

  if you are afraid,’ said Hiccup.

  ‘Of course I must come with you, Master,’

  whispered the Windwalker. ‘You cannot ride into

  battle without your riding-dragon.’

  ‘You’re definitely not coming with me,

  Toothless,’ said Hiccup firmly. ‘You stay here, where

  it’s safe.’

  ‘Toothless j-j-jolly well IS coming with you!’

  said Toothless indignantly. ‘T-t-try and stop me!’

  Hiccup sighed. Toothless had never been the

  most obedient of dragons at the best of times and he

  could see that there was absolutely nothing he could do

  to stop Toothless from following him.

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  ‘And actually…’ said Toothless carelessly, ‘you

  might need another GINORMOUS s-s-seadragon

  with you to protect you, just in case things get a

  l-l-little dangerous you know…’

  He could see himself now, Toothless, the Terror

  of the Archipelago, the Horror of the Oceans, storming

  through the seas in all his splendid toothless glory, while

  smaller more insignificant dragons fled in front of him,

  squealing: ‘No, Toothless, no… please, have mercy,

  mighty Toothless…’

  ‘What about us?’ said Camicazi. ‘Fishlegs and

  I are allowed to come with you, aren’t we, as the

  Companions of the Dragonmark?’

  ‘I’m afraid not,’ said the Druid Guardian.

  ‘The King can take his hunting-dragon and his

  riding-dragon, but the King must go alone, because

  otherwise we are breaking the law of single combat.’

  ‘Remember,’ wheezed Old Wrinkly, ‘little

  grandson, remember…’ As he embraced Hiccup,

  the old man tapped a bony finger on Hiccup’s heart.

  ‘What is within is always more important than what is

  without.’

  Hiccup put a hand on Camicazi and Fishlegs’s

  shoulders, and said goodbye to them last.

  ‘Thank you,’ he said simply. ‘You have both been

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  the truest and the best friends that a person could ever

  have, and I would never have got here without you.’

  Stoick helped his lopsided son climb up on the

  back of Windwalker.

  Hiccup settled himself steadily, and turned to face

  his subjects, on their feet now, all with drawn swords

  and solemn faces, for quietly, while the King was being

  made ready for the single combat, they too had been

  making ready for the Final Battle. They knew that after

  Hiccup faced his Doom, they would face their own.

  But there was a sort of relief, in a way, for even

  though they might lose that battle, there is a joy in

  knowing that you are fighting on the right side.

  Hiccup swallowed, so petrified he could barely

  move or speak.

  He was terrified… but he was ready. He was

  prepared for this.

  He was setting out, on the back of the

  Windwalker, just like Snotlout had two days ago.

  Snotlout had shown the way a Hero should face

  certain death.

  Hiccup felt the Black Star to give himself

  courage.

  Tick tock tick tock tick tock tick tock tick tock went

  Grimbeard the Ghastly’s ticking thing at Hiccup’s

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  waistband, ticking down the minutes to Hiccup’s

  doom.

  He was a King now, even if only a King for a

  brief moment, and he knew that a King had to make a

  speech.

  ‘Thank you Peoples of the Archipelago,’ said

  Hiccup, ‘for the gifts that you have given me. When I

  carry them into battle, I will be carrying you with me

  too. I am honoured to lay down my life for you all, if

  that is what Fate decrees should happen. I promise you

  that I will fight this combat with all of my heart, and I

  ask you just one thing. Could you sing for me, as I ride

  into battle? If you all sing together, I will hear it while

  I am out there, facing the Dragon, and it will help to

  give me courage…

  ‘I will feel that you are fighting by my side…

  ‘I am proud to be a King of this Wilderwest,

  but I am prouder still to be a Hero. For

  long after Kings are forgotten,

  and their names have

  fallen into

  dust, the good deeds and the actions of the Heroes

  live on in glory. As the old song says: a Hero… IS…

  FOREVER…’

  Hiccup nudged Windwalker with his knees and,

  trembling and shaking, the brave black dragon leapt

  into the sky. As he leapt, the crowd began to sing.

  And although the peoples of the Archipelago

  spent a lot of their time fighting, burgling and

  ransacking, they were a surprisingly musical lot. It was

  a shock to hear the tattoed, muscly, burnt and ragged

  characters open their mouths, and the words come

  ringing out, every note pure and true, singing the words

  of Grimbeard’s Last Song, just as Snotlout had sung it,

  two days earlier.

  ‘I sailed so far to be a King, but the time was never

  right…

  I lost my way on a stormy past, got wrecked in

  starless night…

  But let my heart be wrecked by hurricanes and my

  ship by stormy weather

  I know I am a Hero and A HERO IS FOREVER!’

  And the Witch, whispering to herself with glowing eyes:

  ‘And a promise is a promise, if it is made in blood…’

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  16. SINGLE COMBAT

  Wrecker’s Bay was the scene of this final battle

  between dragon and human.

  The combat ring looked like the setting of a play

  in a great theatre, where the audience stood on the

  edges waiting to applaud, or to boo, and eventually,

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  if Fate decreed, to storm the stage, and put their own

  lives to the test.

  Hiccup and the Windwalker flew on, into the

  ring of fire to face the Dragon Furious, with Toothless

  and the Wodensfang flying on either side, so close that

  their wing-tips touched the Windwalker’s wings as if

  they were holding hands.

  Tick tock tock tick tock tick tock tick tock went the

  ticking thing.

  Once (oh, it seemed
a long time ago now), in

  the first of Hiccup’s adventures, he had faced another

  Seadragon that he thought had been called the Green

  Death, but in earlier times had been known as the

  Dragon Merciless. Hiccup had walked out to see that

  Dragon alone, and the Dragon had lit the grass around

  him so that he was standing in the middle of a ring of

  fire.

  This was another ring of fire entirely.

  This time, as if to mark the occasion, the Dragon

  Rebellion had, it seemed, set the whole world on fire.

  The cliffs of Wrecker’s Bay, all on fire. The islands of

  Silence, Villainy, Hysteria, Grimbeard’s Despair, all on

  fire. Hiccup was surprised that there was any vegetation

  left to burn, but it appeared there was. All on fire.

  To the west, the isle of Tomorrow, with the

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  humans, lined up like little ants, watching solemnly

  from the clifftop. To the east, the victorious dragons

  of the Dragon Rebellion, and beyond them the wasted

  islands, blackened or in flames. Above, the hovering

  Dragon Guardians, watchful, their eyes flicking like

  cats from one side to the other, as if trying to decide

  which side to go for.

  Down below, buzzing in the grasses, the little

  unobserved nanodragons making their own judgements

  on the play, ticking in their little tiny voices:

  ‘You do not see us, peoples of the Archipelago, but we see you…’

  They were all there; pretty much all the people

  and dragons that Hiccup had ever known over twelve

  long adventures, and they would all play their part,

  big and small, in this coming battle, for a Hero, even a

  King-Hero, does not fight alone.

  But until the single combat was over, stern Viking

  law said that only the Dragon Furious and the human

  King could enter the combat ring.

  The winner of that single combat would either

  decide to end the War entirely, or they could give the

  signal for the War to continue.

  The stakes were high.

  If Hiccup won, he would end the War.

  But if the Dragon won, he would declare the

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  Final Battle, and the waiting humans and dragons on