How to Train Your Dragon: How to Seize a Dragon's Jewel

Home > Humorous > How to Train Your Dragon: How to Seize a Dragon's Jewel > Page 19
How to Train Your Dragon: How to Seize a Dragon's Jewel Page 19

by Cressida Cowell


  entirely honest, and since this is a moment for telling

  the truth, it was also because there is a wandering spirit

  in me, and I was too much a Viking, to stay too much

  at home.

  ‘My husband Stoick understood the importance

  of my Quest to me even though I never told him why I

  was Questing or what I was Questing for.

  ‘I would call that real True Love,’ said

  Valhallarama, ‘which is beyond the comprehension of

  both maidens and of witches.

  ‘Nonetheless, I cannot begin to tell you how

  much I have sacrificed in the pursuit of my Quest,’ said

  Valhallarama. ‘Do not think that just because I have

  the soul of a soldier, and cannot speak soft words, that

  it was not hard for me, or that because I left, I did not

  love.

  ‘Year after year away from home, away from my

  loved ones, my husband, my son. The monsters I have

  fought, the Warriors I have battled, flying so far to the

  north, south, west, and east, it felt like I must have

  341

  crossed the whole world, sleeping in trees, in caves, in

  ice-houses, wandering for so long on my own I nearly

  forgot my own language.’

  Slowly, Hiccup’s fists unclenched, just a tiny, tiny

  bit, for this was reminding him of the loneliness of his

  own Quest over the last six months.

  ‘But when the Quest is for the future of the

  Archipelago itself,’ said Valhallarama, ‘terrible

  sacrifices sometimes have to be made.

  ‘And in this case the sacrifice was bitter

  indeed, for however hard I searched, whatever lead I

  followed, I did not find one single Thing. Not one.

  ‘So when the witch told me that her son Alvin

  had eight of the King’s Lost Things, why this news

  took my breath away.

  ‘I was stunned. What a very great Hero this Alvin

  must be to have succeeded where all my strength

  and intelligence had failed! Reluctantly I stood back

  for the King that fortune foretold, and agreed to

  acquire the map for the King so that he could search

  for the Dragon Jewel.’

  ‘Yes, well, you were quite right,’ said the witch

  hurriedly. ‘My Alvin is something special.’

  ‘But what you forgot to tell me, witch, and I

  am sure it was an unintentional oversight,’ drawled

  342

  Valhallarama sarcastically, ‘was that it was my son

  HICCUP who found the Things first. I was so busy

  peering for the Things at the farthest corners of the

  earth, that I did not notice what was happening right

  under my nose at home. While I was searching for

  those Things with the utmost of my power and strength

  and brilliance, the Things were making their way to

  Hiccup, quietly, effortlessly, and without him even

  realising.’

  ‘Hiccup may find the Things,’ hissed the witch,

  ‘but it is my son ALVIN who ends up with them in the

  end, notice!’

  Valhallarama ignored the witch. ‘I began to

  ask myself some questions when I had got over the

  headache caused by my son very understandably

  dropping a tree trunk on my head.’

  ‘Did Hiccup drop a tree trunk on your head?’

  interrupted Alvin, cheering up for a second. ‘Can I just

  say that that is typical? Absolutely typical.’

  ‘The tree trunk rearranged my thoughts,’ said

  Valhallarama, ‘along with the surprise caused by my

  Phantom returning with a black arrow in his foreleg.

  ‘I found myself thinking:

  ‘Why did the Things find their way to Hiccup

  rather than to me? Was it because in my endless Quest

  343

  to save the Archipelago, I had forgotten to ask the

  questions that make a King a King?

  ‘And is it, in fact, the Questions that are more

  important than the Quest?

  ‘Perhaps,’ (here again Valhallarama sighed) ‘I

  had to face the cold facts, dropping on me like a tree

  trunk from above. Destiny had not chosen me for

  King because for all my intelligence, I did not have

  the sympathetic mind that could ask such questions

  in the first place…

  ‘You see, the Hooligan Tribe has never had

  slaves. But we have stood by and let other Tribes

  take slaves. We have closed our eyes to the misery

  of places such as this, the great Prison Darkheart. We

  have pretended that they do not really exist.

  ‘But my son Hiccup did not pretend that they

  did not exist. Is that what a King is?

  ‘And then, you see, there is the Question of

  the dragons. My son put that rather neatly, don’t you

  think, witch?’ said Valhallarama proudly. ‘Are we to

  say goodbye for ever, to the magic and the dreaming

  and the flying of our childhoods?’

  ‘A childish Question, perhaps, that could only

  be put by a child. For it is too late, already,’ hissed the

  witch, her smile a death-grin. ‘The war has, regretfully,

  344

  gone too far to save the dragons from extinction. It is,

  you see, a Question of Them or Us…’

  ‘It may, indeed, be too late,’ admitted

  Valhallarama grimly, her voice smooth and cold as

  steel, her eyes like bullets. ‘But at least my son would

  try to save the glory of the dragons that I love.

  ‘There are some dragons that are monsters,’

  admitted Valhallarama.

  ‘But then there are also some humans who are

  monsters.’ (And at this point she paused and looked

  significantly at Alvin the Treacherous and the witch.)

  ‘On the back of the Silver Phantom I have flown so

  high that his wing-tips seemed to touch the very

  moon itself...

  345

  ‘Are dragons like my Silver Phantom to be

  destroyed just because there are some dragons out

  there that are monsters? Are we to be for ever earth-

  bound because the dragons are no more?’

  Obligingly, the Silver Phantom slowly opened his

  bright wings to their utmost extent and the rising moon

  lit up all of his delicate silver scales so that they shone

  like stars.

  The crowd caught their breath longingly,

  remembering flying through the stormy skies of the

  Archipelago on the back of their own dragons.

  ‘And while I am on the subject of the Silver

  Phantom,’ said Valhallarama, conversationally, stern

  eyes narrowing, fingers spinning, spinning, spinning the

  arrow, ‘I thought I might bring up something which has

  been puzzling me.

  ‘This arrow that I have taken from my Phantom’s

  leg that the witch claims was from an unknown soldier,

  is flighted with raven feathers and dipped in the poison

  of the Venomous Vorpent.

  ‘I believe you keep ravens as pets, witch, and the

  poison of the Vorpent is your poison of choice?’

  Yes, I remember reading her destiny now, thought

  the witch with disagreeable surprise. And even at seven

  years old she was a wild, but also repellently clever, lit
tle

  346

  girl… That must be where the horrible little Hiccup brat

  gets his brains from, because it’s certainly not from his

  idiotic father…

  ‘A raven does make a lovely pet,’ admitted the

  witch. ‘But I am trying not to use Vorpent poison

  as much actually – it isn’t as effective as it used to

  be…’

  ‘You lied, witch, didn’t you?’ persisted

  Valhallarama. ‘This arrow belongs to your son Alvin,

  and it was he who shot my Phantom.’

  Silence.

  The witch’s tongue had run out of lies.

  Valhallarama turned back to the crowd.

  ‘You do have a choice of Kings here, peoples of

  the Archipelago,’ said Valhallarama. ‘Don’t let anybody

  tell you that you do not have a choice.

  ‘You can choose the lying witch’s son, Alvin, the

  man with the golden nose, the blood-soaked hook and

  the empty heart.’

  She pointed at Alvin, a splendid muscly,

  Emperor-like figure, it has to be admitted, and

  so bedecked with the Lost Things, it was almost

  ridiculous.

  ‘And you know in your heart of hearts what this

  man Alvin is offering you.

  347

  ‘Or you can choose my own son, Hiccup, who is

  not a runt, but something special, and who offers you

  the hope of a new and better world.’

  348

  She turned to Hiccup.

  Hiccup’s anger had now entirely gone, and he

  felt a great calmness, as if some great weight had left

  him.

  ‘I love you, Hiccup, although my stiff lips will

  not let me make the kind words I hear other mothers

  speaking,’ said Vallhallarama with difficulty.

  ‘I cannot change or regret the wandering Warrior

  I am. But by Thor’s thunder, I can fight for you, with

  all my Warrior heart, and this is one thing that I truly

  excel at.’

  The black arrow was now whirring so fast in

  Valhallarama’s fingers that it was just a blur.

  ‘The witch has spoken on behalf

  of Alvin, and I have spoken on

  behalf of Hiccup. And now we

  all have to make our choice,

  peoples of the Archipelago,’

  said Valhallarama.

  ‘And this is mine.’

  Valhallarama’s

  choice was pretty

  decisive.

  So quick you could hardly see it, for a

  true Hero’s fingers can move as fast as thought,

  Valhallarama loaded that spinning arrow with black

  feathers, and shot it straight at Alvin’s heart.

  She took the Dragon Jewel from around her own

  neck and placed it around the neck of her son, Hiccup

  Horrendous Haddock the Third.

  Uproar in the courtyard.

  The witch shrieked.

  Alvin staggered, but the arrow did not penetrate

  the three chunky metal breast plates he wore under his

  royal garments. (Alvin was intelligent enough to realise

  he had made a few enemies in his time.)

  ‘I’m fine, Mother,’ he

  assured her, yanking

  out the arrow from the

  breastplates with some

  difficulty. He was purple

  with temper. ‘But we

  need to stop talking now

  and kill everybody.’

  ‘I’m dealing with this,

  Alvin,’ spat the witch.

  ‘It’s a delicate situation.

  ‘THE KING IS FINE!’

  screeched Excellinor. She

  was rattled right off her perch

  now. ‘You’ll be relieved to

  hear that THE KING IS

  FINE! NOBODY MOVE!

  NOBODY PANIC! WE

  ARE COMPLETELY IN

  CHARGE HERE!’

  She put out her arms,

  like giant bat wings, trying to

  regain control of the situation.

  Her voice dripped with acid.

  ‘We will overlook your attempted murder of my

  son, Valhallarama,’ spat the witch. ‘We are surprised,

  but we forgive you, because that is the kind of big-

  hearted tyrants we are!’

  ‘Speak for yourself, mother,’ said Alvin between

  gritted teeth. ‘I’m going to kill her, and then I’m going

  to run her over in my chariot, and then I’m going to

  feed the little pieces of her to my favourite snake…’

  ‘I’M DEALING WITH THIS, ALVIN!’

  screeched the witch. ‘But let me tell you, this

  mutiny changes nothing, Valhallarama, nothing! Your

  351

  son, Hiccup, a King?’

  Excellinor let out a high derisive cackle.

  ‘How can you insult the dignity of this crowd by

  even suggesting such a thing! Are we to be ruled by

  slaves now? Your son Hiccup is a slave,’ ground out

  the witch. ‘And there is nothing you can do to change

  this, Valhallarama. Great Hero though you are, you

  cannot make the moving hand of time tick backwards.

  None of us can do that. The Slavemark is a Mark that

  no one can remove!’

  Again, Valhallarama did not speak.

  She had backed away from the witch towards

  Gumboil, who was holding a large basket full of

  weaponry and equipment.

  Valhallarama took something long and thin from

  that basket.

  Something long and thin that ended in a metal

  ‘Ssss’ glowing bright and dark. She held it up so that

  all could see clearly what it was.

  The Vikings watched open-mouthed as

  Valhallarama the Hero took the brand in her hand,

  and placed it on her own forehead.

  The Great Hero did not even flinch. And there,

  on her white forehead, bright and dark, was the

  glowing Mark.

  352

  Unthinkable! Impossible!

  Valhallarama had put the Mark upon her own

  forehead!

  She had turned the laws of the Archipelago

  upside-down and put the Mark on her own forehead.

  29. AN UNEXPECTED

  DEVELOPMENT

  Outside, the Dragon Rebellion roared, but inside, the

  courtyard was spellbound with quietness.

  The witch was, quite simply, flabbergasted.

  She staggered back on her throne.

  ‘What are you doing?’ stammered the

  witch, thoroughly confused. ‘You have turned

  yourself into a slave! What does this mean?’

  ‘A Mark is just a symbol, witch,’ said

  Valhallarama. ‘And symbols can change.

  This is no longer the Slavemark, but the

  Dragonmark. I take this Mark as a

  sign of my love and my faith in my

  husband and my son.

  AND I CALL UPON ALL THOSE WHO WOULD

  HAVE HICCUP AS THEIR KING TO TAKE THE

  DRAGONMARK WITH ME!’

  ‘So you have the situation under control do you,

  Mother?’ spat Alvin, savagely. ‘Is this your idea of

  control?’

  ‘It’s preposterous…’ spluttered the witch.

  ‘Ridiculous… The Slavemark is the Slavemark. It’s

  been like that for hundreds of years. What do you

  mean, the Dragonmark? You can’t just change things

  like that. THERE’S NO SUCH THING AS A
/>
  DRAGONMARK! Valhallarama just made it up!’

  Hiccup could not quite believe what was

  happening.

  He looked around at the free Vikings’ faces.

  Some of them were looking at the Silver Phantom.

  Others were looking at the floor. It was impossible to

  tell what they were thinking.

  Valhallarama was taking a huge gamble.

  It was asking way too much for someone to

  voluntarily take on a Mark that had been considered

  the ultimate in shame for as long as they could

  remember, to put at risk his Viking honour, out of

  mere concern for the fate of non-entities such as slaves

  and dragons. Who would do such a thing, especially

  for someone like Hiccup?

  ‘You see?’ sneered the witch, regaining her

  composure, as she realised no one was

  stepping forward.

  ‘Nobody wants your so-called Dragonmark, or your

  runty little son as a leader, Valhallarama…’

  Well,that’s a good reason why Valhallarama should

  have hung on to the Dragon Jewel and nominated herself

  as the true King, thought Hiccup. She’s the kind of person

  that people will follow into battle, the kind of person

  people will lay down their lives for.

  But Hiccup had never been able to get anyone

  to come on to his team for Bashyball, let alone been

  the kind of person people risked their lives and honour

  for…

  ‘I will take your Dragonmark!’ came a ringing cry

  from the back.

  Thuggory the Meathead strode forward, all six

  foot three of him.

  Thuggory was the Heir to Mogadon the

  Meathead.

  He was about sixteen years old, a huge hulking

  adolescent, who was thoroughly admired across the

  Archipelago as the very pattern of what a young Viking

  Hero ought to be. Many a Viking Chieftain had wished

  their own sons could be a little more like Thuggory.

  Now his father Mogadon thundered out,

  ‘Thuggory! I am ordering you as your father and your

  Chieftain! Do not dare take that Mark!’

  357

  But Thuggory strode forward nonetheless.

  The crowd stood back to let him pass.

 

‹ Prev