Thirteen: Chasing Ryder

Most of the town of Berk was out to watch the exchange of hostages, mostly secretly relieved that neither gang had gained any sort of decisive advantage over the other. Ryder sneaked out of the Berserker compound and settled himself on the verandah of the hostel where Gobber had settled himself down on a seat, a mug of his horrible mead in his hand with Gustav standing by him, eating piece of burnt toast. The brothers were at the door of the compound and Dagur was mounted on his Skrill, his black hat on as the stocky shape of Snotlout was brought out by Eret, flanked on the other side by the powerful and mute shape of Bucket.

At the other side of the plaza, Alvin was lined up with his men and his wife at his side. Bente was neat in a black dress with white lace collar and black lace shawl, her face serious as she stared across at her adopted son. Beside her, Vorg was standing, looking vaguely embarrassed. Bente had made sure he had been fed a healthy breakfast of porridge and the man had been so unnerved by the ferocious small woman what he had obediently eaten the entire bowl: he was now regretting it like mad and feeling rather queasy. Alvin stared across the Dagur and the Berserker gave a small nod.

"Off yer go-yer brother's callin'," Alvin wheezed and the third Berserker brother ran his hand through his short dark hair and adjusted his hat, then started forward. Snotlout looked up at Eret and then began to make his own way across the plaza. Opposite him, Stoick emerged from the Sheriff's office, his huge black-clad shape straight as he watched the exchange. Gobber waved his mug of mead and the twins hung over the gate to their yard, watching hopefully: there was still a chance it could all go horribly wrong and end in massive violence and death-at least that's what the twins were hoping for...

They two prisoners had almost crossed when Dagur raised a hand.

"Erm...am I the only one thinking this is just a waste of time when we should be shooting both these losers?" he shouted to Alvin. The Outcast leader scowled and roared a furious "NO!" Dagur just gave a small shrug. "Just putting it out there..." he said calmly. "I mean, I was willing to give up my stupidest brother..."

"He's my SON!" Alvin shouted-and it was only because he was looking for it that Ryder noted the brief flinch of pain across Stoick's face. Snotlout actually rolled his eyes at the declaration by the Outcast but didn't spare his Uncle-his only blood kin, by all accounts-a single glance. Watching the men walk steadily back to their respectively families, Ryder leaned closer to Gobber.

"What's the story with Snotface?" he murmured. "I mean I can tell he's a total ass and utterly self-absorbed...but he isn't the Sheriff's son. So where's his Dad?" Gobber peered up at the thoughtful face and sighed.

"Alvin shot him," he admitted heavily, sloshing more of the horrible mead into his mud. "In the plaza when he tried to get his son back from Alvin. Stoick went with him...but Alvin's men held him back and Spitelout was gunned down without mercy. They left Stoick go after Alvin had gone, laughing at him because he was helpless."

"Spitelout?" Ryder muttered. "Boy, you people really need help in the naming department! I don't even know what that is?" Gobber cast him an angry look.

"Spitelout was Stoick's brother," he muttered. "And then Alvin also took Valka's brother..."

"What?" Ryder's voice was low, intense, as his emerald gaze bored into the blacksmith.

"Forget I said anything!" Gobber said urgently. Ryder leaned towards the older man, his face grim.

"What?" he growled. Belligerently, the old blacksmith stuck his jaw out and his furious blue eyes met the grim green gaze.

"Forget. I. Said. Anything!" he growled back. Ryder stole a glance over at the Sheriff then looked back at Gobber.

"You want me to ask him?" he asked coldly. There was a silence as the blacksmith rose to his feet and glared at the lean gunfighter.

"I'll kill you if you do," he said very evenly.

"Then tell me what's going on here!" Ryder retorted. "Because I can tell you now, old man, that what I've realised is that people from this hellhole have fucked my life over more than I could have dreamed. If there is some other bloody disaster going on here, I have a right to know...because, Odin knows, it will probably end up screwing up my life as well!" Gobber stared at him in shock.

"Laddie?" he asked, suddenly shocked. Ryder was breathing hard, his emerald eyes flashing with rage.

"Look, Gobber-I think it's painfully obvious-or maybe not to you idiots here-that I am determined to make what I can out of these murderers and then end them," he growled. "Those assholes who hastened Red's end paid with their lives, Dagur's atrocity has been uncovered-at least by us, those men are buried and Gustav has been rescued." He took a deep breath. "But Dagur and his gang work with the Trappers who killed my wife...and earlier, who murdered my father and rustled our herd. They stole everything from me twice and now I intend to take everything from them." He leaned to within an inch of Gobber's big face. "So tell me, old man-what the hell happened?"

Gobber backed away, shocked at the younger man's intensity. "Er...alright, laddie," he mumbled. He grabbed the bottle and took a long pull of the mead-then he offered the bottle to the younger man. "Tek it," he urged Ryder and the man reluctantly sipped the horrible mead.

"You're trying to kill me before you have to answer me," he grumbled, grimacing as he took a seat by Gobber in the saloon. The older man scratched his chin with his hook and wouldn't meet Ryder's emerald gaze.

"Leo was Valka's twin and they were ne'er apart," he revealed. "When she met and married Stoick, he moved here tae Berk. He was a hardworking and inventive young man-we worked together in the forge...until his sister was murdered by the drifters who stole her son. Leo was convinced that Alvin paid them tae take the woman and boy-tae control Stoick. Mebbe they would ha' survived if all had gone tae plan. But Valka resisted and was killed and the boy was ne'er seen again. Leo was captured by Alvin's men...I was wi' him. He wouldnae stand down-stubborn as a mule, that lad-so they tortured him horribly, broke his legs and left him in a mine tae die. I heard the Whispering Deaths...and a scream..." Then Gobber closed his blue eyes. "He was a brave and decent man who stood up fer what he believed and wanted tae find out the truth of what happened tae his twin sister. And when he was gone, all Stoick had left were his memories..."

Ryder grabbed the bottle and despondently chugged a huge mouthful down. The tale was somehow profoundly depressing. "And no one in this damned town will stand up for anything now?" he asked, coughing slightly. Gobber ashamedly shook his head. Shaking his head slowly, Ryder rose. "I think I need to speak to your Sheriff," he said and abruptly walked out. Gustav and the twins watched him go from the doorway.

"Ye heard?" Gobber asked.

"Er...wow," Gustav commented. "Um...he's had it bad, hasn't he?" Gobber squinted at him. "We...um...may have been listening at the door...um..."

"And we heard him tell you what had happened to him..." Ruff added thoughtfully. "So the Trappers killed his father and his wife? Gods, how old is he to have all that happened to him?"

"He's nae older than ye, lass," Gobber said seriously. "But don't get soft on him. He's a hard and dangerous man and ye saw he was willing tae use the corpses of those murdered soldiers to mek a profit and by all accounts, happy for any for any deaths in pursuit o' that profit. I'd be very wary o'anything he says tae ye!"

"Except he saved me from Snotlout!" Gustav protested. Gobber narrowed his eyes suspiciously.

"Don't trust that man," he advised the young boy. "I've seen his sort before. He's damaged but ruthless and he won't hesitate tae abandon ye if it's in his own interest!"

oOo

Sheriff Stoick Haddock had retreated to his office by the time the two gangs had gathered their returned members and retreated to their own compounds. Ryder walked confidently across the dusty plaza, little swirls of dusty blowing past his grubby boots. He glanced up to the Berserker compound and glimpsed a tall, powerful shape in sheepskin at the door: Eret. Forest green eyes glittering, Ryder looked back at the office and shifted the saddle bag over his shoulder, then rapped on the door and let himself in.

Stoick looked up from his desk, his huge and powerful shape tensing slightly at the lean gunslinger. The man had thick flaming red hair, trimmed very neatly but he had a huge beard that seemed amazingly anachronous. His grey-green eyes peered sharply at the stranger before him, then he laid down his pen and rested his big hands flat on the desk. His white shirt was crisp and his brocade waistcoat and pants were jet black. Ryder stared into the unfriendly face and tipped his hat.

"I need to speak to you," he said without preamble.

"Evidently," the Sheriff growled, his voice cold. Ryder inclined his head and slung his saddle-bag onto the desk. He drew out the ledger and flipped it open to the page, then handed it to Stoick. The Sheriff arched a thick eyebrow.

"I know you have signally failed to bring the Outcasts and Berserkers to justice for their very evident and huge litany of crimes," Ryder said calmly. "In fact, have you actually arrested them for anything? Littering? Double-parking a horse? Spitting?" Stoick's arctic gaze bored into his slightly-mocking expression. "So I'm bringing you another option: receiving stolen goods." Stoick peered at the ledger and shook his head.

"There's no way that can be proven..." he growled.

"Actually, there is," Ryder told him sternly, his finger hovering over a specific entry. "These dragons were stolen. Five days earlier, these specific dragons were stolen from the 'Freya's Edge' Ranch near Nutjob. They were registered via the Central Dragon Stock Registry to Espen Randall, two years earlier. They were stolen when the farm was rustled and he was murdered. The witness-his son-escaped and lodged the report including the report of the stolen dragons-which I believe is a hanging offence in this territory still. It is still live and filed in the Nutjob Sheriff's Office. You can always telegraph them to confirm what I have said."

"Hmm," Stoick said, his face still stony.

"I have brought you the proofs-and news that the man who led the raid-one Eret Eretson, one of the Grimborn Trappers' men-is here in Berk," Ryder growled. "Aren't you even vaguely interested in having some way to inconvenience those Berserkers? Even slightly?"

Stoick remained impassive.

"I don't suppose there's another Sheriff I can take this to?" Ryder asked after a silent moment. There was an edge of exasperation to his voice. "Or should I go to the State Marshals and ask if they're interested in justice?"

Stoick snorted. "Now you're interested in justice?" he scoffed gruffly. "You shot four men down in cold blood and laughed at my authority-and suddenly you want my help?" Ryder stiffened, his eyes growing cold.

"So your pride is hurt, eh, Sheriff?" Ryder taunted him. "Big baby boo! Believe it or not, I am trying to help you, Sheriff. The men I killed were all criminals who should have been arrested years ago-but weren't. I'm no angel, Sheriff, but I never woke up one morning and decided on this life. This was all I had left after they had taken everything else. Because had you people-had YOU-stopped those trappers when they killed my father and stole our herd..." And his hand slammed down on the ledger, his eyes suddenly blazing. "Had you stopped them, my wife would still be alive! Our farm wouldn't have been raided by them and she...wouldn't have been murdered!"

He straightened up, the look of anger and contempt ugly on his face. He was breathing hard as he stared at the bulk of the Sheriff. Then he grabbed his bag and turned to the door.

"And remember this, Sheriff. I have tried to do this using the law. This is the only thing I could come up with. And if you won't help me, then everything that happens from now on is on your head." He lifted his chin, his shoulders tightening visibly. "I'm not letting this go...not now I've finally found them..."

The slam of the door was loud as he strode out, leaving the Sheriff staring at the ledger. Slowly, almost unconsciously, he ran a thick finger along the entry...and noticed a piece of paper sticking out of the book. Frowning, he silently pulled it free-and saw a neatly penned statement, outlining the raid on the farm, the murder of Espen Randall and a very accurate description of the livestock stolen-sixteen Gronckles with a description of each and the breeding stock of Boneknappers-a rare dragon species that would be very easy to track through markets and Dragon Stock Breeders. His eyes lingered on the date-yesterday-and the left-slanting signature with the name printed underneath. A name that did not read 'Ryder' but rather...

'Hiccup Randall'.

Stoick blinked and his eyes flicked to the treasured silver-framed sepia photograph of a younger Stoick with his beloved Valka seated before him in her finest gown, their yearling son in her lap. It had been taken at Hiccup's birthday, just over a week before the family was wrenched apart by the 'drifters' that neither Stoick nor Leo had believed were drifters but rather men hired by Alvin to remove a troublesome and incorruptible Sheriff. He closed his eyes. Leo had been driven, chasing down every lead as Stoick had focussed on trying to find his missing son-and grieving his murdered wife. His thumb rubbed tenderly over the image of Valka and his baby son Hiccup...

...a very unusual name...

He frowned and leaned to his right, unlocking the bottom drawer of his desk, pulling out a sheath of papers he hadn't looked at for years...Leo's notes which he had made and left with Stoick before he and Gobber went to arrest Alvin as Stoick's sworn-in deputies...

...the catastrophic mission that cost Leo his life and Gobber his hand...the mission that had proven Stoick had no authority, no support from the town...and no hope of ever getting justice...

His eyes flicked over the neat script. Leo was a ferociously intelligent, kind and determined man, brilliantly inventive and utterly devoted to his sister. His determination to bring to justice those who had murdered his sister and consumed the last months of his life and he had been tireless in pursuing the men while Stoick had surrendered to his grief. He lifted the page and looked at the names of the men Leo had traced as being responsible-Gods alone knew how he had gotten the information-and the Sheriff froze as he read one name...

...Espen Randall.

Fumbling, he snatched the statement given by the lean and lanky gunslinger, a man with piercing forest green eyes that seemed very familiar and messy auburn hair that exactly echoed the long silky auburn locks he had run his fingers through as he courted his wife...

He blinked. Impossible! It was just tiredness and a hang-over.

The date of the attack had been nine years earlier and the witness-Hiccup Randall-had stated he was twelve years of age, making him currently...twenty-one...

...the same age as his own son would have been now...

He shook his head, dispelling the disturbing and frankly insane thought. His son, his Hiccup was dead and the men who killed him and beloved Valka were long gone...

...but the stranger had handed him a way to at least start reclaiming his town and turn back into he man Valka married, the man she loved... So he grabbed his hat and coat and headed for the telegraph office, composing the message as he walked. Finally, he had a lead.

oOo

Dragonmaster Fishlegs had watched the exchange with interest, then headed to the town Archive. The fact he was also Town Archivist meant he had free access and he knew exactly what he needed to look at. So he headed to section where the records and artefacts of the founding families were kept...including the Haddocks. He sighed. The stranger, Ryder, was a curious problem. He was undoubtedly a very dangerous sharp-shooter, a man who had announced his arrival in town by gunning down four men but he had been genuinely concerned about his old and dying dragon, recklessly spending a huge amount of money on Fireworm Gel in a last desperate and futile attempt to save the beast. And it seemed he rescued Gustav from the Outcasts clutches as well.

Fishlegs frowned as he walked further back into the Archives and lifted his oil lamp, peering at the pictures on the wall, old paintings of the founding fathers, all staring grimly back at the observer. As the big man walked along, he stiffened and his blue eyes widened in shock. He was staring at an oil painting from over twenty years earlier of a younger Stoick, his beautiful and glowing wife, their newborn son clutched in her arms. But what made Fishlegs stared was the fourth person in the picture, the lean and lanky shape standing on the other side of Valka Haddock-her twin brother, Leo. The man was tall and skinny, his messy auburn mop tousled and bright forest-green eyes filled with pride at his new nephew.

He was the image of Ryder.

Fishlegs stared up into the exact green eyes of the stranger, captured by the artist and recalled that he had stared up at that image when he had been back here as a younger man, completing his Dragon Master assignments. The Archives were the only quiet place in town and he had spent countless hours staring up at the little family...as it had been before before it had been torn apart. And Fishlegs, who had been about five when it all happened, recalled Leo as a kind man who had always played with the curious little Fishlegs, never failing to encourage his enthusiasm in dragons and had spent the time to take him to play with his dragon, a rare Flightmare that had vanished with his death. He shook his head and stared into the dead man's eyes. In that unguarded moment in the saloon, Ryder had been his exact image.

And then Fishlegs turned back to the front of the Archives and grabbed the Dragonpedia he had been searching for, before walking very slowly back to his shop. His mind was whirling as he glanced at the powerful shape of the Sheriff walking from the telegraph office. It was impossible...wasn't it?

oOo

Snotlout was seething. Lately, his plans were being thwarted and it all seemed to be through the damned stranger, Ryder. His plan to get Astrid to move in with him had failed with Gustav's rescue, his favourite men had been shot down by the man when he arrived and worst of all, he had been captured and held hostage by the Berserkers on that wild goose chase the stranger had sent them on. Though it had afforded him the opportunity to observe the Berserkers and Ryder. He smiled. He had also seen Astrid and though she had completely ignored him, he could tell she would far rather be with him than that lunatic Dagur. All he needed to do now was undermine Ryder and get Astrid where she should be-at his side...

What was even worse was that the dragons were all upset. Someone had unbolted the Whispering Deaths and they had attacked and killed Svein, one of their more steady men. Alvin was furious and had banned his son from riding the agitated dragons, knowing they would be very dangerous now they had tasted human flesh but Snotlout had never been impressed with the blind dragons anyway. He wanted something with the power and prestige he felt he deserved. And to get hold of that, he needed to buy a dragon...from a Dragon Merchant. And the only ones in town...were the Berserkers...

Without any concern, he wandered through the house to Alvin's study and let himself in without knocking. "I need a dragon," he said without preamble. The Outcast leader sat up straighter, his face folding into a scowl.

"You got a dragon!" he growled.

"Yeah-one I can't ride because it may have gone feral from eating Svein and it can't cope in the sunlight anyway! C'mon, Al!" Snotlout wheedled. "Face facts. The Whispering Deaths are perfect for the project but face facts! They're useless for anything else!" Alvin's eyes narrowed.

"So yer wants that Night Fury?" he scorned. Snotlout shook his head.

"It was pretty small," he grumbled. "I really need something with more...presence..." Sitting back, Alvin's fists clenched.

"Like what?" he spat.

"I can always see what is in stock..." Snotlout smirked and Alvin stumbled to his feet.

"You're insane!" he spat. "I forbid it!" Snotlout turned away and headed for the door.

"Dad," he said, "this is business!"

He stalked across the plaza briskly, his fists clenched and face locked in a scowl of anger: Snotlout's one and only care was for Snotlout and he never saw any reason why he should be denied anything-not even if it meant dealing with your most visceral enemy. And he almost totally lacked any self-consciousness so he had no issues walking brazenly to the door of the Berserker compound and announcing himself. The Berserker gang just stared at him in shock and called Savage. Snotlout folded his arms and scowled fiercely as the oldest Berserker brother walked up. Predictably, he started laughing as soon as he clapped eyes on the stocky, jet-haired young man.

"Couldn't stay away, Snotpants?" he sneered. Snotlout's black brows dipped further.

"Actually, this is meant as a business transaction!" he shot back irritably. He hated being laughed at and had an all-too-high opinion of himself. Savage tried to calm down. "You are dragon merchants, aren't you?"

"Indeed!" Dagur announced, arriving with a calculating look on his face, his pale green eyes inspecting the angry young man. "But our prices are rather steep-after all, we only serve the upper end of the market..." Snotlout walked up to him and grinned.

"Then I'm in the right place," he announced. "Show me what you've got!" For a moment, Dagur clasped his hands in front of his chest and bowed his head, as if thinking...and then he nodded.

"Follow me..." he said in a businesslike voice. "I presume you don't have a restriction on your price range..." Snotlout shook his head.

"While you don't buy munitions from us, you are the only Merchants for miles and we are all businessmen here," he said arrogantly. "Take me to your finest dragons..."

Ryder watched as the Outcast heir walked confidently into the yard and started to inspect the dragons. Snotlout knew what he wanted and he scorned a couple of very friendly Gronckles and the beautiful Nadder, Stormfly-which was a relief to Astrid, who was peering from the window. Ryder glanced up and shook his head, advising her to stay away: if Snotlout knew she meant anything to the girl, he had a sick feeling that Snotlout would buy it just to punish her for not accepting his suit. Quietly, he walked to Hookfang's cage and stroked the Monstrous Nightmare gently, watching Snotlout's arrogant behaviour. He knew the man would be a poor owner and rider but what could he do? He was just an employee and in a precarious position.

And then Snotlout caught sight of the lean gunslinger and noted the way the man gently stroked the dragon and leaned to murmur to him. His eyes narrowed as he saw the dragon crane its long neck to the lanky shape and purr affectionately.

"What about that one?" he said pointedly, indicating to Hookfang and walked forward. Dagur gestured brusquely to Ryder and, with a reluctant glance, he backed away, watching the young dragon. Snotlout pointedly inspected the sleek shape and then held his hand out, looking away. Hookfang glanced up at Ryder and the man felt his heart sink but nodded. There was a pause and the dragon reluctantly pushed his snout into Snotlout's hand. The young man looked up triumphantly, his blue eyes alighting on Ryder's shape. "I'll take him!" he announced.

"A fine choice," Dagur said cheerfully, gesturing towards the house. "He's young, recently broken and fully trained for riding. Now, let's just finish the paperwork and take payment." Snotlout grinned superiorly, giving the dragon a final rub before turning and walking past Ryder, casting him a smug look. The gunslinger watched them vanish into the house, knowing with a sick sensation that Snotlout had only chosen the dragon because he had seen Ryder with it. He stared after the men: there was a prickling unease in his stomach because Snotlout knew more about his dealings than he would want and all he could rely on was the animosity that existed between Outcasts and Berserkers to stop him spilling any secrets. He stared after the young Outcast heir: there was something about Snotlout that made his skin crawl as well.

In the office, Snotlout watched Savage complete the ledger and sell him the dragon and handed over the price in gold. Dagur was watching him and the younger man turned to face the Berserker.

"You know, I don't see why we should be enemies," Snotlout said thoughtfully. "Your beef is with Al, isn't it?" Dagur and Savage shared a glance: they had long since realised that Snotlout was the weakest link. But his next words had them shocked. "And if you guys are the winners, why should I stay on the losing side?" Both brothers gaped.

"Um...he's your father?" Savage managed to croak.

"Adopted," Snotlout told them carelessly. "I moved from the Sheriff's family when there was a better opportunity...and now...I think changing allegiances may be in my best interest..."

"I..er..." Savage stared at him in shock and then up at Dagur. The leader of the Berserkers gave a nonchalant shrug.

"Hey-I got two idiot brothers," he commented. "Why not one more?" Snotlout grinned.

"And as a gesture of good faith..." he said in a low voice, "let me tell you how the Outcasts knew about those soldiers..."

Uh-oh...

And yes, this is a very OOC and VERY BAD Snotlout!