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
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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
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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
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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,
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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...
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‘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
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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.
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‘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.’
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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
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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.
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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!’
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But Thuggory strode forward nonetheless.
The crowd stood back to let him pass.
How to Train Your Dragon: How to Seize a Dragon's Jewel Page 19
