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

by Cressida Cowell

  Far, far in the distance, Humungously Hotshot

  the Hero, and the Ten Fiancés, and Tantrum the Hero,

  and Valhallarama and many, many more of the Vikings,

  were on their knees, eyes closed, singing one of the old

  Viking songs, and you could just about hear it, very,

  very faintly, through the rain and the smoke and the

  fire:

  ‘Once I loved Truly, Thor, and my heart paid

  the price,

  Let me love Truly, Thor, let me love TWICE!’

  The Wodensfang, trembling opened his eyes. He, too,

  had been waiting for the terrible pain of the Dragon’s

  lightning bolts, the final scorching flames.

  But they never came.

  ‘My one True Love vanished, and my heart broke

  that day,’ sang those beautiful Viking voices, very very

  softly in the distance. ‘But once you’ve loved Truly, Thor,

  then you know the way!’

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  20. … IT CERTAINLY SCARES

  THE LIVING DAYLIGHTS OUT

  OF ME

  Sweat was pouring down Hiccup’s face. He was

  trembling, back braced, expecting to feel the fiery

  flames of the Dragon…

  … but they never came.

  Hiccup opened his eyes.

  The Dragon was staring down at him with those

  tortured eyes, an extraordinary expression on his face,

  smoke snorting from his nostrils, shaking his steaming

  head from side to side as he struggled with conflicting

  emotions.

  Hiccup’s heart beat fast… Oh my goodness…

  His gamble might just work… Toothless’s brave action

  had made the Dragon pause, and Hiccup had a chance

  now, a chance to talk, and to change the Dragon’s

  mind.

  ‘You have to give this new world a chance,

  Furious,’ cried Hiccup urgently, holding out his arms

  to the Dragon in supplication, a trembling, shivering

  Toothless still shielding his Master’s heart. ‘Look!’ said

  Hiccup, pointing at his forehead. ‘This Dragonmark

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  is a symbol of the brotherhood between humans and

  dragons. I will swear by this Mark, that no dragon in

  this Wilderwest, where I am now the King, will ever

  be a slave again.’

  The Dragon Furious trembled as he looked upon

  that Mark.

  For now all the memories that he had been

  struggling to suppress for so many many years came

  thundering back in a rush that nearly overwhelmed

  him. He remembered another time, another boy.

  Hiccup Horrendous Haddock the Second, who had

  once been the Dragon Furious’s blood-brother.

  He remembered playing in the Grimler Dragon

  cave, when the little wild Hiccup the Second was still

  a baby and they could only speak to one another in

  Dragonese.

  He remembered the days with Hiccup the

  Second upon his back, when the world seemed young

  and new and full of possibilities, flying high in the air

  together in such perfect harmony that you could hardly

  tell where the boy ended and the dragon began.

  Throwing away that Jewel was just the sort of

  incredibly stupid thing that Hiccup the Second would

  have done.

  The Dragon Furious remembered when the

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  defiant teenage Hiccup the Second had put the Mark

  on his own forehead, to show his love for the Dragon

  Furious, and how his father Grimbeard the Ghastly had

  raged at him in a fury, for the Mark was banned and

  had become the Mark of a slave.

  How his father had stormed! How Grimbeard

  had tried to wash it off, swearing to Thor as he rubbed

  away at it with his sleeve… But nothing would rub that

  Mark off, for the Dragonmark can never be removed.

  The Dragon Furious had thought that not one

  speck of love remained. Not a jot. Not a whisper. One

  hundred years in captivity had cured him of that love

  and turned his heart into a dark and hungry forest…

  But it appeared that he had not been completely

  cured after all.

  Human hearts can break and heal and beat again,

  and it appears that dragon hearts are the same.

  Hiccup the Second was gone forever, separated

  from the Dragon by an ocean of sky and time, and he

  could not come back to visit.

  But still, somehow, a tiny part of him was here,

  in the raggedy, awkward shape of Hiccup Horrendous

  Haddock the Third.

  And the Dragon Furious loved him.

  The Dragon swayed back and forth, snorting

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  and bellowing in pain and confusion. He had been

  stoking his anger for so long, feeding it, nourishing it.

  So this unexpected damming of his anger, this sudden

  uncertainty, was difficult for him to bear.

  ‘We will miss our chance,’ said the Dragon

  Furious. ‘This is the dragons’ last chance…’

  ‘No, no, that is not true!’ cried Hiccup. ‘Dragons

  and humans can live together! I am the King now,

  and I will make this Wilderwest a better world, a

  world in which there is no slavery, but the two of us

  live freely, a world of equality and freedom…’

  ‘It is too late,’ said the Dragon, and now he

  seemed distressed and angry at himself, raking his own

  body with his long talons in his indecision. ‘Or it is too

  early. Whatever it is, it is the wrong time… Why can

  I not do this? I am failing as a King to my dragons if

  I do not kill you, boy…’

  ‘Perhaps not,’ said Hiccup eagerly, for he could

  sense the great restless creature was open to persuasion

  now. ‘Perhaps being the best King you can be means

  giving this a chance again…’

  ‘Ah, but we dragons are older than you are. We

  have seen all this before,’ said the Dragon Furious,

  with a strange kind of longing in his voice. The

  Seadragon brought up his gigantic, broken head.

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  ‘Maybe this is possible… Maybe… The boy

  did find the Jewel, after all, and maybe that it is

  indeed a message from Fate…’

  Maybe…

  Maybe…

  Maybe…

  Hiccup waited, throat dry, heart beating. Had he

  said enough? Had he used the right words?

  The Dragon swayed from side to side, wracked

  with indecision.

  And then something dreadful happened.

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  21. THE WITCH INTERVENES

  WITH FATE

  Just when it seemed like things might be moving in the

  right direction, just when it seemed as if Hiccup might

  be able to persuade the Dragon Furious to call off his

  Rebellion… something dreadful happened.

  It was, I suppose, an illustration of everything the

  Dragon Furious was most worried about: that despite

  all that the good humans do, there are always the evil

  ones, hiding in the shadows.

  The evil one in question, was, of course, the

  Witch.

  She had seen Hiccup throw the Jewel. She had

  seen the Dragon Furious hesitate. She had known that
/>
  the horrible little rat would be talking, Thor rot him.

  She had watched it all, and she had the sense that

  everything she had lived for, everything she had worked

  for, everything she had killed for, was slipping through

  her bony fingers, and she could no longer bear it.

  Twenty years trapped in a tree trunk, slowly

  growing white as a slug, quietly going mad in that

  darkness, gnawing on rats’ bones, licking the bark

  for moisture, as she laid her plans like spiders’ webs

  and looked back into the past searching for signs and

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  planning destinies and willing, willing, willing her son

  Alvin to be the King.

  Now at the last minute, was it all to be snatched

  away from her by one little rat-runt of a boy?

  She realised that she needed to make her own

  intervention with Fate.

  She bounded on all fours up to Madguts the

  Murderous, who had always been one of the most

  staunch of the Alvinsmen, trying not to wrinkle up her

  nose, for the repulsive diet* of Madguts the Murderous

  made him really rather smelly. ‘The little rat is giving us

  away! He’s thrown away the Jewel!’ hissed the Witch.

  ‘What are you talking about?’ asked Gumboil,

  Madgut’s henchman.

  ‘The boy’s actions prove he is not the real King,’

  sneered the Witch. ‘Giving away the Dragon Jewel

  when he has it in his hand! Dangerous foolishness.

  Trust me, I can look into the future. The Dragon

  Furious has the Jewel, see, clasped in his ugly paw!’

  ‘Oh…’ Gumboil and Madguts could see the

  Witch’s point.

  ‘You must lend Alvin your Stealth Dragon, and

  Alvin will kill the Dragon Furious and retrieve the

  Jewel before it is too late,’ said the Witch. ‘The Dragon

  Furious will not have mercy. He is not capable of it,

  *The Murderous Tribe lived on a diet of month-old rotten haddock

  stuffed with pickled onions and bad eggs, all washed down with

  enormous quantities of beer.

  and the boy is a fool to risk all on the heart of a reptile.

  Dragons are monsters. They are not capable of the

  higher feelings like us human beings. Mercy is what

  distinguishes us from the beasts…’

  Madguts the Murderous grunted in agreement,

  rubbing his filthy hands together, prettily decorated

  as they were with tattoos of human skulls (an artistic

  demonstration of the higher feelings of human beings,

  of course).

  ‘But surely Alvin cannot intervene…’ said

  Gumboil. ‘That would be breaking the rules… The

  world will end—’

  ‘Pshaw!’ spat the Witch. ‘There is no time for

  scruples when the future of humanity is on the line! I

  repeat, the boy’s actions make him a traitor, and Alvin,

  who is the real King, should be out there negotiating

  for us instead.

  ‘Besides,’ the Witch pointed out craftily, ‘if Alvin

  is riding the Stealth Dragon, the Dragon Furious will

  not realise he is there until it is too late…’

  ‘But that’s cheating!’ protested Gumboil. Even

  the Murderous Tribe still had a twisted sense of

  honour.

  ‘The future of humanity is worth a little cheating,’

  said the Witch. ‘Besides, it is not really cheating, is it,

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  when Alvin is the true King?’

  Madguts the Murderous never lent anyone his

  Stealth Dragon, ever since an unfortunate incident a

  couple of years earlier when Bertha of the Bog-Burglars

  had stolen it for a bet.* But it did seem that this was a

  rather special occasion.

  So he reluctantly grunted his approval.

  Gumboil scurried towards the Stealth Dragon

  and ordered him to follow Alvin on this one special

  occasion.

  ‘Mother, you have to stop interfering!’ whispered

  Alvin furiously as the Witch pushed him towards the

  Stealth Dragon, headbutting his reluctant ankles,

  dragging on his trousers with her teeth. ‘I don’t

  want to go! It’s like a furnace out there! We can

  bide our time… wait for our moment to strike in the

  darkness—’

  ‘You have run out of time for biding!’ spat the

  Witch. ‘Where is your sense of ambition? This is the

  moment for striking, Alvin. For seizing your destiny!’

  They were alone now, beside the shadowy outline

  of the obedient Stealth Dragon, patiently awaiting

  orders.

  ‘This isn’t my way of doing things, Mother!’

  howled Alvin. ‘You have to let me do things my way…

  *Please see Book 6: A Hero’s Guide to Deadly Dragons

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  I’m more of a skulker, a lurker, a poisoner in the

  shadows. I don’t like to put myself in personal danger

  unless I know I can win.’

  ‘Cowardice!’ hissed the Witch. ‘Whining! I’m not

  interested in that wishy-washy personal stuff, just get

  on that dragon’s back before I bite you! Don’t worry, I

  will do your killing for you, but I need you there. Give

  me your second fire-suit and the Stormblade.’

  Sulkily, Alvin handed them over. Sulkily, he

  climbed on to the back of the Stealth

  Dragon.

  You have to hand it to

  the Witch, for an elderly

  woman, she certainly had courage.

  She wrapped herself in the fire-suit, seized the

  Stormblade, vaulted on to the back of the Stealth

  Dragon, kicked her bony heels at the dragon’s flanks,

  and with a whoop from the Witch, the Stealth Dragon

  took off. As he leapt upward, he turned from the

  browny hue of a brackish bog to the exact colour of the

  flames and blackened clouds of the sky above.

  22. THAT’S WHY THEY

  CALL HIM ALVIN THE

  TREACHEROUS (THE CLUE IS

  IN THE NAME REALLY)

  So while Hiccup and the Dragon Furious were talking,

  while the Dragon Furious was wondering if he should

  indeed call off the Rebellion, they could not see the

  Witch and Alvin coming towards them across the Bay.

  You cannot sense a Stealth Dragon approaching.

  That is what makes them such an effective military

  weapon. No sound. No sight. No smell.

  The Stealth Dragon, when it swoops, can even

  slow down its heart to such a muffled beat that the

  most hearing-sensitive of little dragons cannot hear it

  approaching. Nobody quite knows how it can do that

  without dying, or how the beating of its wings is so

  quiet that it is undetectable.

  Crouching down low on the Stealth Dragon’s

  back, the Witch and Alvin were invisible too, hidden by

  its camouflaged spine fins and its silent beating wings.

  They had seen the Dragon Furious take the Jewel

  in his hand, and it was the Witch’s amiable intention to

  attack that hand, so that Alvin could steal the Jewel. In

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  the meantime, she would kill Hiccup.

  ‘Are we all quite clear on the plan?’ snapped

  the Witch. ‘First we fly to the
Dragon’s hand, Stealth

  Dragon, so Alvin can steal the Jewel. And then I deal

  with the boy…’

  The Murderous Tribe knows how to train

  dragons, and the Stealth Dragon obeyed without

  question. Alvin was more mutinous, muttering darkly

  under his breath.

  The Dragon Furious and Hiccup were so busy

  concentrating on each other that it was almost as if the

  world around them had ceased to exist.

  The distant sounds of the chanting Rebellion

  dragons, the songs and battle cries of the humans had

  all faded into nothingness as their world narrowed into

  a conversation between a boy and a dragon.

  On, on, the Stealth Dragon flew towards the reef,

  with the boy and the mighty dragon unconscious of

  their approach.

  Despite himself, the shaking, wavering Dragon

  Furious was allowing himself to believe, to hope, in the

  future.

  But some instinct deep within him sensed

  approaching danger, and his ears pricked up, and he

  sniffed the air.

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  ‘What’s wrong?’

  whispered Hiccup as the Dragon

  Furious craned his neck upwards, and

  scanned the horizon like some gigantic cat.

  Hiccup drew his sword. A cold, cold

  feeling had come over him. He peered

  about him, shading his eyes as he tried to

  see through the drifting smoke. There was

  nothing to see but the fires that marked

  the boundary of the Combat Ring, and

  way, way in the distance, the restless

  dragons and the restless Vikings,

  hoping for peace, but ready for War.

  The Dragon Furious’s beautiful eyes

  were so acute that he could spot a fieldmouse

  hidden in a bog from a distance of ten miles. He could

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  see stars and comets moving that were invisible to the

  human eye. It was even said that he could see through

  walls, and into time itself, although I do not know if

  that is possible.

  But even a Dragon Furious cannot see something

  that is invisible, and although he sensed there was

  danger, he could not see where it was coming from.