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

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How to Train Your Dragon: How to Seize a Dragon's Jewel Page 18

by Cressida Cowell


  Nobody except for… Valhallarama.

  Nobody can see one, so beautifully

  camouflaged are they… But Valhallarama, that

  indomitable breath-holding action woman, flew so

  high, to such airy pinnacles of thinning cloud, that

  she was looking down at them, not up, and she saw,

  not the Deadly Shadow, but the three little humans

  clinging to the back of nothing.

  The three friends did not see her coming.

  The Deadly Shadow’s senses were dulled

  slightly, perhaps by the exhilaration of the moment,

  and the fact that it was not expecting danger. Deadly

  Shadows do not expect to be attacked, because

  something so scary very rarely is.

  Perhaps Arrogance caught a shining silver

  streak of movement, screaming just above his eye-

  level that caused him to stiffen and look up.

  But it was too late.

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  Valhallarama and the Silver Phantom, hiding high

  in a cloud-bank, swooped down in a rocketing silver

  howl, like a bright avenging Fury, the unstoppable,

  relentless, screaming hand of Fate. Valhallarama’s

  metal arm reached out and she plucked her son from

  the back of the camouflaged Deadly Shadow with

  the casual ease that she had plucked him, two weeks

  before, from the back of the Windwalker.

  The Silver Phantom rocketed on towards

  Darkheart, unstoppable, uncatchable, for in open

  skies the Silver Phantom was the fastest riding-dragon

  in the entire world.

  Guiding the Phantom with her knees alone, she

  held Hiccup with one hand, and with the other she

  took the Dragon Jewel on its necklace from around

  Hiccup’s neck, and placed it around her own.

  Hiccup, swinging from his mother’s stern

  unyielding arm, was as shocked as if he had been

  dunked suddenly in a tub of ice-cold water.

  And once he had got over that, he was angry.

  Oh, by Loki’s little lunatic leg-warmers, he was

  angry.

  ‘What are you DOING?’ Hiccup roared up at that

  unforgiving metal mask looming over him, looking

  sternly, unwaveringly down at her target of Darkheart.

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  ‘I am not a child any more, how dare you

  treat me like this?

  ‘I mean I don’t expect you to be HELPFUL

  or anything, why would I expect that? You’ve never

  BEEN THERE! Years and years of leaving my father

  and me on our own, YEARS AND YEARS AND

  YEARS! Not always answering my letters… Going

  away even when I beg you not to… Not listening when

  I speak…’

  Purple in the face, kicking out with his legs,

  Hiccup yelled, ‘I’ve got used to that over the years!

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  I’ve had to get used to it! But the one thing I don’t

  expect,’ bellowed Hiccup, ‘the one thing I don’t

  expect, is for you to actually BETRAY me… Is that

  really too much to ask?’

  And there was a great deal more where that came

  from, for when fourteen years of frustrated fury comes

  out, it tends to come out in a rush.

  But Valhallarama did not answer. She carried on,

  regardless, grim, unyielding. They blasted through the

  sky in a blinding silver rush of Hiccup’s boiling anger

  and Valhallarama’s righteous determination.

  Nothing was going to stop her.

  She was taking Hiccup back, back, back to face

  the music in the Prison of Darkheart.

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  28. FACING THE MUSIC…

  AND ALVIN AND THE WITCH

  Night had fallen in the Amber Slavelands.

  Outside the prison walls, the air was screaming

  with dragons. The sentries along the walls were

  barely holding them back.

  The courtyard of Prison Darkheart was brilliantly

  lit with flares. In the centre of the courtyard sat Alvin

  the Treacherous and his mother, seated on twin

  thrones.

  Hundreds and hundreds of Warriors of the

  Wilderwest and slaves stood carrying flaming torches

  in their hands. The atmosphere was grim. Every soul

  in that prison was listening tensely to the dragon

  apocalypse outside.

  Alvin had called this Grand Meeting of soldiers,

  slaves, warriors and everybody, in order to conduct a

  few executions to work off some of his anger at the

  loss of Hiccup earlier in the day.

  But they were interrupted in this amiable

  diversion by an unexpected visitor. Over those

  battlements flew the Silver Phantom, and on the

  Phantom’s back was Valhallarama the Hero, and

  swinging from just one of his mother’s metal arms,

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  was the infuriated Hiccup.

  ‘Don’t shoot! Hold your fire!’ cried Alvin the

  Treacherous, for he with his quick one eye had already

  spotted the Dragon Jewel burning bright around

  Valhallarama’s neck.

  King Alvin’s face lit up with sudden joy. ‘Mother!’

  he gasped. ‘She’s got the Jewel!’

  The white witch stood up a little higher, her hair

  trailing behind her in a blaze of glory. ‘I knew it!’ she

  spat triumphantly. ‘I knew all my calculations could

  not be wrong!’

  The Silver Phantom circled round the courtyard

  once, twice, glowing bright as the moon.

  And then he landed on his back legs, placing

  Hiccup carefully on the ground before the witch, and

  Valhallarama leapt lightly from the Phantom’s back

  and stood there beside him.

  Hiccup threw himself away from her, shook her

  arm off him as if it were poisonous, still too angry with

  her to be frightened.

  The Phantom was limping slightly from an arrow

  wound in his foreleg.

  The crowd was silent until they spotted the

  Dragon Jewel around Valhallarama’s neck.

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  ‘The Jewel! She has the Jewel! We’re saved!’

  All around the courtyard the crowd began to

  cheer: ‘VAL-HALL-ARA-MA! VAL-HALL-ARA-MA!

  She has the Jewel!’

  Valhallarama was the most popular Hero in the

  Archipelago, even more famous than Humungously

  Hotshot or Flashburn. And she had found them the

  Jewel! Even the slaves were rattling their chains in

  appreciation.

  Valhallarama reached for her iron helmet and

  took it off, throwing it into the crowd, so that all could

  see her face.

  A proud white face, cut as if it were made of

  granite. Daunting to look upon, like a particularly stern

  cliff.

  And then she stood with her arms crossed in

  silence.

  ‘Leave it to me, Alvin,’ hissed the witch, trying

  to see through that suit of armour, that granite face,

  to what might be Valhallarama’s weaknesses. ‘Leave it

  to Mother… This is a slightly sensitive situation, and it

  calls for a witch’s tongue…’

  It was a slightly sensitive situation – a mother

  delivering not only the Jewel but her son to his

  likely death.

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&nb
sp; ‘Congratulations, Valhallarama!’ said the witch,

  holding up one bony white arm in salutation.

  ‘I have to confess, Valhallarama,’ continued

  the witch, ‘I underestimated you. I did not tell you

  that the Traitor of the Wilderwest was your own

  son, in case you let family feeling get in the way of

  your duty. I should have known that a great Hero

  like yourself would put your Kingdom above mere

  personal whims. Three cheers for Valhallarama!’

  The courtyard rocked with applause.

  Valhallarama said nothing.

  ‘Give Alvin the Jewel that will save us all,

  Valhallarama,’ said the witch, trying to sound casual

  and as if it were not an order.

  But Valhallarama did not give Alvin the Jewel.

  Instead, she withdrew a single arrow from her

  quiver. An arrow with black raven feathers on it.

  She twirled it round and round on one finger,

  thoughtfully.

  Valhallarama said nothing, her Hero’s face

  impassive as she twirled that arrow round and round.

  There is a power in silence, especially when you

  have as charismatic a presence as Valhallarama.

  The power of silence is that it forces others

  to speak.

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  The witch moistened her lips, her half-blind eyes

  taking in the movement of the arrow.

  ‘I see you have the arrow that an unknown soldier

  may have accidentally shot your Silver Phantom with,

  after the Phantom so very kindly delivered us the

  map…’ said the witch smoothly. ‘We are so glad that it

  did not hurt him badly, aren’t we, Alvin?’

  Alvin showed his teeth in a charming smile. ‘My

  relief is beyond words.’

  ‘It was an accident. We were furious with the

  soldier in question. Indeed, he lost his life. I need not

  tell you, Valhallarama, that our promise that we gave

  you still holds,’ purred the witch. ‘Alvin promises that if

  you give him the Dragon Jewel, he will use it merely as

  a threat, not to destroy the dragons for ever. Is that not

  so, Alvin?’

  ‘Word of a Treacherous,’ smiled Alvin.

  ‘Unless of course,’ the witch continued, sweet

  and smooth as butter, ‘the Dragon Furious gives us no

  choice…’ She shrugged her shoulders, indicating the

  roar of the Rebellion outside. ‘Alvin is realistic, and he

  would have the strength to act decisively if he is forced.

  Look around you at the Archipelago. Our perfect

  world, burnt to a crisp by dragon fire. The dragons

  would kill us all!’

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  Hiccup could keep quiet no longer. He turned

  on the witch.

  ‘It is YOU who have inflamed that situation!’

  yelled Hiccup passionately. ‘I have seen your dragon-

  traps! Destroying dragon eggs, killing them in their

  thousands with your explosive weapons! No wonder

  so many dragons have joined the Rebellion!’

  Hiccup’s words rang out in the courtyard.

  ‘And I ask you, what is this perfect world that

  you are talking about? Is it perfect to have humans

  and dragons dying in chains?’

  Hiccup pointed at the Silver Phantom.

  ‘Are creatures as beautiful as this to be made

  extinct for all time?’ cried Hiccup.

  ‘Are dragons never to sail through the skies

  again, on jewel-coloured airy wings, or light up the

  world once more with the glory of their fiery breath?

  ‘Are we to say goodbye for ever to the magic,

  and the dreaming and the flying of our childhoods?

  ‘I say NO!’ cried Hiccup, red in the face, shaking

  his fist.

  ‘Dragons

  should be free,

  just as every

  single human

  being in this

  building should

  be free!’

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  All around, the crowd was murmuring to each

  other like an unhappy sea.

  Valhallarama twirled that black arrow in her

  hand, faster and faster, listening intently, with her

  head on one side.

  ‘So speaks your son, Valhallarama, Hiccup the

  slave!’ sneered the witch, even whiter than ever.

  ‘Like father, like son, for I know you will be

  shocked when I tell you, Valhallarama, your husband,

  Stoick the Vast, has also become a slave.’

  The witch pointed out poor Stoick, who was

  looking at the ground.

  But still Valhallarama said nothing.

  Why won’t she speak? thought the witch, feeling

  increasingly desperate.

  She sent out her words like

  poisoned arrows, still

  trying to find that

  fatal weakness in

  Valhallarama’s

  armour.

  ‘I feel saddened

  for you,

  Valhallarama,

  such a Great Hero

  as you are,’ sorrowed

  the witch pityingly, ‘that

  your family has let you

  down so badly, and brought

  disgrace upon their Tribe and

  the Kingdom.’

  And now the witch looked

  very crafty.

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  ‘But then, I read your destiny when you were a

  little girl, and you were never meant to marry Stoick,

  were you, Valhallarama? Stoick the Vast was never

  worthy of you…’ cooed the witch in her sweetest voice.

  Valhallarama’s face did not change. You could

  not tell for one second what she was thinking. Round

  and round the arrow whirled, faster and faster, as if it

  were a spinner in a game, and no one knew where it

  would stop in the end.

  ‘If circumstances had not intervened with destiny,

  you would have married Humungously Hotshot the

  Hero, a man of your own calibre, and if you had done

  so, none of this would have happened: the second-best

  husband, the unfortunate runt son, the disaster that has

  hit the Archipelago,’ sighed the witch.

  ‘It’s tragic, really. I cannot bear to think of

  your girlish disappointment, waiting and waiting for

  a Hero who never came.’ The witch shook her head

  sorrowfully. ‘A maiden’s tears are so particularly

  touching. It positively melts my witch’s heart to think

  of it.’

  Excellinor paused. ‘But then, time moves on,

  does it not? I hear Humungous has married at last, a

  lady twenty years your junior.’

  Valhallarama did not react.

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  The witch gave a cruel smile. ‘What a shame

  destiny has taken such a crooked course. But now you

  have a chance to move on yourself and put things right,

  Valhallarama. Look, see how Fate has marked my son

  Alvin out as our saviour, by giving him eight of the

  Things already!’

  The witch finished her speech with a final ringing

  flourish. ‘You are a woman of sense and principle. You

  brought us the map because you knew that this was

  right, and you could help us stop this war that has torn

  our perfect world apart. We want to put that world

  back together ag
ain, make it good as new. And who

  knows? Perhaps without certain things it might be even

  more perfect. Complete your Quest, Valhallarama.

  Fulfil your destiny and give Alvin the Jewel!’

  For Thor’s sake, surely the great metal she-mountain

  has to speak NOW? thought the witch. Has she gone

  dumb? The suspense is killing me.

  Valhallarama put up her mighty hand. At last, she

  stepped forward. She spoke.

  And herein again, lies the power of silence. When

  a person who has been quiet speaks, people tend to

  listen.

  The crowd leant forward to make sure they

  caught every single word of what she was saying.

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  ‘The witch has said her piece, and now I shall say

  mine,’ said Valhallarama.

  ‘I have been absent from the Archipelago’s history

  for some considerable time. What I am about to offer

  you is an explanation for my absence, and I am not

  explaining this to you, witch, or you, Alvin, or even to

  you, the assembled Tribes of the Archipelago.’

  She bowed to the silent watching crowds, and

  those crowds include us, the readers, the listeners, the

  invisible watchers of this story.

  ‘I am explaining this to my son Hiccup,’ said

  Valhallarama.

  She turned to her son Hiccup, who was still

  standing with his fists clenched, bursting with anger,

  and she looked straight at him.

  ‘I have spent most of my life Questing,’ said

  Valhallarama.

  ‘When I was a child my father, the soothsayer Old

  Wrinkly, foretold to me in secret that the Archipelago

  would face a dreadful peril and the only one who could

  avert it would be a new King of the Wilderwest. He

  told me the Prophecy of the King’s Lost Things, kept a

  secret only among the wise, so that the Things should

  not be found by one who is unworthy.

  ‘I was brave, I was intelligent, I knew that I was

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  worthy. My father had brought me up as a Hero, and

  a potential King, and though my father’s dreams went

  awry as many parents’ dreams do, secretly, I dedicated

  the rest of my life to Questing for those Things.

  ‘And perhaps,’ sighed Valhallarama, ‘if I am

 

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