Part 8: Captives
Eight: Captives
"Nowhere?" Alvin roared, his fist crashing into the table and smashing a delicate porcelain teacup. His wife, Bente, tutted and picked up the pieces, then bustled out. Alvin snorted and kicked Snotlout. "Feet off the table, boy!" he growled.
"I don't see why..." the boy complained but Alvin swatted the back of his head with a heavy hand.
"Because my beloved wife believes a businessman should appear to be affluent and mannered!" he shouted...then dropped his voice. "And she'll kill me if I let you put muddy bootprints on her French lace tablecloth! I was lectured for an hour last time..." His face was twisted in a grimace and Snotlout suppressed the smile that rose every time he was reminded that the fearsome Outcast leader was terrified of his small but incredibly stern wife. Alvin had married Bente as a very canny business move-she was the only heir to an affluent and very well-heeled family that would provide him with valuable resources to expand his business-but he had found himself fond of her. They had never managed to produce an heir of their own but Bente more than made up for it in supporting her husband, running an efficient house that terrified his men...and their leader. She lent him respectability and bent his ear on a regular basis.
"So the boy hasn't been seen for four days?" Snotlout repeated.
"Not since Gunnar, Hans and Pal all missed him at the Bakery," Alvin growled.
"Al-you really gotta hire some better men," Snotlout grinned, grabbing a scone and shoving it into his mouth, spraying crumbs onto the Persian Rug.
"Hmm...Dagur pays more...and his men are as yak-brained as mine," the Outcast leader grumbled, grabbing the porcelain teapot and sloshing a fresh cupful of tea out. He attempted to hold the cup delicately and spilled half the tea over his huge beard. He rolled his eyes. "So who's likely to have the boy. The Sheriff?"
"My Uncle is unlikely to shield him, to be honest," Snotlout admitted lazily, grabbing another scone. "He never got over losing his wife and son...and then, when I decided that you were a better bet, I think that was the final straw!"
"Yer a good lad, Snotlout," Alvin said approvingly. "Yer've really taken ter the Outcast way of life! And yer'll be a great arms dealer when I finally decides ter hang up me gun and hand on the business ter yer!"
"And all we need to do first is dispose of the damned Berserker scum and get my Princess!" Snotlout decided and sat forward. "So if it's not Stoick, then who? Most of the villagers are just busy keeping their heads down..."
"GOBBER!" both men said at the same time. They shared a knowing glance.
"That fat two-limbed lunatic!" Alvin exclaimed.
"Interfering bastard!" Snotlout commented. "I can just see him shielding the brat in that health hazard he calls a hostel!" He rose. "I think I may just take a walk to see if I can find any sign of him..." He tipped his black hat and walked out, slamming the door. Alvin winced, imagining what his wife would say and drained his cup with a sigh. He could see the problem that Snotlout couldn't...because though the younger man was vicious and self-interested, he wasn't the sharpest weapon in the armoury...
"Yer know, just grabbin' the boy ain't gonna get the girl," he murmured. "We gotta really get something that Dagur really wants..."
oOo
Ryder kept a close watch on Dagur and reckoned the man was planning something. Viggo had flown in two days after they lost the Night Fury, staying for a few hours and clearly conducting some business...and his brother and the men had flown in with a haul of dragons, mainly Boulder class...though the young Monstrous Nightmare they brought in shot a pang of pain through Ryder's chest. He had threaded the handful of scales from Red on a simple leather cord and they now hung around his neck, tucked under his shirt.
Astrid blanked him as a matter of course, giving no sign of the brief flash of vulnerability she had revealed when treating his wound. She looked unhappy and Ryder watched her anger and bitterness grow-especially whenever Dagur took to pawing her in public. The fact she was commanded to sleep in his room suggested he pawed her in private as well...and that thought curiously made Ryder more angry than he understood. He knew it was none of his business and that every drop of sanity was telling him that getting involved with Astrid was very dangerous...but seeing her so beaten down and abused made his blood boil.
He had continued tending the dragons because the wranglers didn't mind and would take any help if it meant they had less work to do and more time to spend downing mead and playing poker. It meant he could get close to whichever dragons he wanted...Hookfang, the pretty blue and gold Nadder who was called Stormfly...and Dagur's Skrill. The Skrill was extremely unfriendly, snapping at anyone who came near and growling at Ryder as a matter of course. The dragon had to be kept in a cage with a foot of saltwater in the base because the dragon shot lightning, not fire and even Dagur wasn't stupid enough to want his dragon electrocuting all his men. Almost...
But he had a major problem-5500 of them in fact. The debt he owed to Dagur, most of which was totally unfair. It crystallised his resolve to kill the man when it finally became necessary...but first he had a few scores to settle...and they started with the men who had attacked them, five years earlier. One man was a smear at the bottom of Raven Pass but he had three more men to locate...and one was somewhere in the Berserker compound.
Before he could make much more of a move, he watched a convoy ride into town, dragons flanking a sturdy cage with a single black muzzled inhabitant. The Colonel raised his arm and the entire twenty man troop pulled to a precise halt, their blue-shaded Nadders all in line, tails all raised at precisely the exact same angle. Their buttons gleamed in the sun and dark blue uniforms were lightly dusted with orange grit as they rode through the town, heading towards the Berserker Compound. Ryder slid out the main door and stationed himself to one side as the Colonel rapped on the gates. Though he was watching the army trappers, his emerald gaze flicked to the hostel and saw the bulky shape of Gobber limp out onto the verandah...accompanied by a scruffy jet-haired shape: Gustav.
His mind flashed back to a pair of azure eyes and a pair of lips tilted in a small, genuine smile. Then he blinked: he needed to pay attention as the brothers walked out, Dagur in the centre. The cold pale green eyes almost popped out of his head as he saw the muzzled Night Fury, baleful green eyes glaring at him and everyone else who was staring in shock at the captured beast.
"My Night Fury!" he exclaimed and almost ran forward until his brothers wrestled him back-with some difficulty.
"Sir, this beast if the property of the Government!" the Colonel snapped. "It is a valuable natural resource that should prove invaluable when trained and mated to produce Fury hybrids...since there appear to be no females left of this species..."
"But it's mine..." Dagur whined and Savage got Vorg and Bucket to drag his crazed brother back.
"How can we tend assistance, Colonel?" he asked politely, raising his voice to drown out a stream of curses from his brother. The Colonel cocked an eyebrow at the oldest brother and sighed.
"This creature is very valuable and we need to restrain it in a facility where my men can get some adequate rest-and your Merchants' premises should be capable of keeping it safe until we can roll out in the morning," he said. Savage gave a forced smile-more like a slimy grimace-and gestured into the compound.
"It would our total honour to help our noble military in keeping the valuable resource safe...for the benefit of our beloved country!" he said greasily. "Please...come through to the secure section. I am certain we have a cage available for your prize..."
"MY NIGHT FURY!" Dagur bellowed.
"...and we would be delighted to host your men in our compound as well..."
"I will, of course, have two men standing guard over the dragon," the Colonel said firmly, his intelligent hazel eyes inspecting the three brothers. Dagur's raging had him worried-but he had little choice. His men were exhausted and they needed a rest before they pushed on across the badlands, heading east to the nearest city of Meathead, where they could organise a train for the Capitol. Inspecting the rag-tag band of ruffians facing him, he resolved to sleep with one eye open as he sighed and beckoned his men to enter into the compound. The Night Fury gave a furious growl as it was wheeled in and Ryder narrowed his eyes, briefly meeting the furious glare of the trapped dragon. With a lazy movement, he stood up from his very lazy lean against the wall and trailed into the compound, a final look back noting Snotlout sitting on the corral fencing...and staring straight at Gustav. He frowned, then vanished after the rest of the Berserkers.
Snotlout's cold blue gaze fixed on the scruffy shape of the boy, leaning close to Gobber. The bulky blacksmith leaned close to the boy, whose wistful grey gaze trailed longingly in the direction of the Berserker compound, where his sister was being held. A reassuring arm around the skinny shape, Gobber led him back into the hostel, still talking quietly to him. Jumping from the fence, Snotlout walked thoughtfully back into the Outcast compound: he knew where he could find the boy now. All he had to do was pick his time...and then his Princess would be his.
oOo
The soldiers were on alert as they stayed in the Berserker compound...well, the officers were. Ryder noted the privates were far more relaxed and willingly shared their rations with standard Berserker beans and yak jerky (yes, they served it back home as well) and in return, the Berserker gang had shared their mead generously with the men. Soon, there were the sounds of raucous laughing and singing a number of very bawdy songs. Men were gaming, dancing and chatting happily while Ryder sat quietly at the back, sipping a small shot glass of mead, his forest green gaze calculating. Finally, he grabbed a bottle and a couple of glasses, then slid through the gates towards the men guarding the Night Fury.
The sharp snap of bolts pulling back had him adopting a smile, his hands raised and bottle and glasses obvious. "Hey, guys-hardly likely ta shoot you with a bottle of mead!" he grinned. "Just thought you'd appreciate a nip on a cold night like this..." The men lowered their rifles, though the older man shook his head.
"On duty," he said gruffly. With a sigh, Ryder gave a shrug-something his lanky shape was well suited for.
"Pity...because this bottle has your names on it...oh well-I'll just take it to your friends back out there..." He paused to deliberately allow the sounds of singing to echo through the secure section of the compound. "Sure they can enjoy it..."
"C'mon, Ove! A small mead won't go amiss!" the other man argued.
"The sarge will go mental if learns we've been drinking on duty, Trond!" the older man said stubbornly. Ryder laid the two glasses on the low wall by the two soldiers and sloshed the amber liquor in generously.
"I won't tell him," he purred seductively, "and he's being entertained by the brothers in any case. He'll be busy for hours!" With a nod, the men rested their rifles down and eagerly grasped the mead, both glugging the liquor down rapidly and not resisting when he refilled the glasses with a lazy smile.
"You're a decent fellow," Ove admitted, taking a long pull from the over-large bourbon glasses Ryder had filled with mead.
"Anything for our boys in blue," he smiled, refilling the glass. "Good work on capturing a Night Fury, by the way!"
"Who...told you that?" Trond asked suspiciously, accepting a refill. Ryder pointed to the black dragon, muzzled in the cage behind them.
"Um...I'm looking at it right now...unless you've dressed up a Terrible Terror to disguise it..." he pointed out. Ove stared back at the glaring dragon and burst out laughing.
"Terrible Terror?" he giggled and necked his mead again, then waved the glass drunkenly at the auburn-haired wrangler. "G'is a refill, mate! 'm gettin' parched here..."
"Oh, sorry-my mistake..." Ryder said with a grin and refilled him again, carefully topping up Trond's glass which he waved urgently until the amber liquor sloshed in.
"Yesh...it wash a very tricky hunt..." Trond slurred happily. "It wash very very VERY VERY tricky...and then there wash them damned trappers trying to shteal our dragon..."
"But we-we showed them shcum..." Ove slurred and wave his glass around, then downed the lot.
"Boy-you guys can sure take your liquor..." Ryder commented, refilling them and wondering if he should've brought a second bottle: this one was almost empty.
"Yesh...we shouldiers are really really tough..." Trond announced proudly. "And we can hold our drinksh better'n any of you guysh..." He hiccuped. Ove swatted at him and fell over.
"I shpilled my drink!" he whined and burst out laughing. Helpfully, Ryder poured the last of the mead into his glass and he swiftly drank it before it could escape. Trond slid down beside him and the two men began laughing helplessly as Ryder rested the bottle down.
"I'll just feed the dragon for you, okay?" he offered. Ove frowned slightly.
"We-we're not shposed ta feed the drag-drag-drag...thingy..." he slurred.
"Why?" Ryder asked, crouching down before him and looking thoughtful. Ove frowned and looked over to Trond, who had already passed out and was snoring loudly.
"Y'know...I'm...not...shure..." he murmured and passed out as well. Ryder sighed, tipped his hat back and looked up at the Night Fury, which was giving him a that won't work on me, you know look. He smiled back at the dragon, locking his green gaze on the dragon's.
"It's okay, buddy," he murmured quietly. "I can't let you out because that may cost me my life...but I can get this muzzle off you and let you have something to eat and drink...but you gotta promise not to bite my hand off. I need 'em both..." The dragon gave a low growl as he quietly got up and fetch a couple of large fish from the bins, then walked cautiously to the cage. "Sorry-this thing is dragon-proof, bud. I can get your muzzle off but I know you can't blast your way out."
The Dragon growled at him and he hesitantly paused, then unfastened his gun belt and pushed it away, then removed his hat, showing his face to the dragon before reaching through and quietly unbuckling the leather muzzle, releasing the dragon. A low growl grew louder but the gunslinger lowered his head and looked away, leaving his hand extended, palm forward, exposed to the dragon.
And he flinched as he felt pressure on his wrist, felt the smooth sharp edge of teeth press into the skin of his wrist and he gritted his teeth.
"Well, this was the stupidest thing I've ever done," he muttered in a defeated voice. "Way to go, Hiccup! You lose your hand trying to train a supposedly extinct dragon that Dagur is never gonna let go!"
The pressure increased and he felt the sharp cut of teeth digging into his skin.
"Dammit-I'll try to get you out if I can...but I don't have the key!" he said abruptly, lifting his green gaze and staring into the dragon's narrowed pupils. "Look, you ungrateful lizard-take the damned fish, okay? I'm doing everything I can!" The dragon growled and the sharp pain in his wrist worsened...and finally his shoulders slumped. "Oh, go ahead..." Ryder sighed, defeatedly. "I know you're alone and you're fed up at being chased and you've probably given up but I am not trying to hurt you. I didn't trap you and I'm risking my ass to give you some food and water. Hel...I'm alone as well. My last friend just died and I have no one in the world as well. So bite my hand off, you ungrateful lizard. You won't get away and they'll still turn you into a slave or spare parts, I don't care which anymore."
And he dropped his head and gritted his teeth, awaiting the sudden horrible pain as it took his hand and regretting his gun was out of reach.
The pressure vanished, to be replaced by the warm huff of breath and then...the sudden pressure of a blunt, scaly muzzle against his palm. Warily, he lifted his head...to see the large green eyes with widely-dilated oblong pupils looking more calmly at him. There was a ring of red cuts around his bony wrist and he could see how close he had come to losing the hand.
"H-hey, bud..." he murmured, breathing hard and feeling lightheaded. The hand pressed against the muzzle was trembling and he lifted the other shaking hand to stroke the warm, scaly muzzle. "You...you had me worried there...I thought you were really gonna do it..." The dragon lifted his head and gave a gummy smile, abruptly looking like a bouncy puppy rather than a ferocious reptile. Still feeling dizzy, his brow furrowed as he peered at the dragon. "Toothless?" he murmured, his glance trailing over the red marks round his wrist. "I could've sworn you had..." And then teeth snapped down and he snatched his hands back. "...teeth!" he squeaked, grabbing the fish and cautiously feeding them to the dragon.
The dragon was really hungry and polished each large fish off in two huge bites. Breathing hard and still feeling his heart bounding in his chest, he rose and stumbled to the bins, grabbing three more large fish. Carefully, he fed them to the hungry dragon, then poured water into the shallow bowl and watched the Night Fury drink thirstily. Finally, when it had licked up all the water, the dragon gave a grateful purr, rubbing his head against Ryder's outstretched hand as the man slid down by the cage and sat on his heels.
"Better?" he murmured and the dragon nodded its head, crooning what could have been an apology and gently licking the little ring of cuts round his right wrist. The saliva was sticky and unpleasant but it was also soothing on the painful weals and he rested his head against the bars, feeling the vibrations through the bars. "Yeah, we all get grumpy...though I doubt most people nearly bite a friend's hand off if they just have a bad day..."
The dragon gave a sad croon.
"Okay, a really bad day," the man said apologetically. "Look, if I could let you go, I really would. Dagur has charged me for losing you so I may as well earn that debt...but I guess the key to your cage is with your Colonel and he ain't gonna hand it over. And I've got no reason to crash the meal..."
The dragon gave a sad warble.
"Look-I'll try to think of something, bud..." Ryder sighed. "But until then, try not to get yourself killed, okay?" The dragon crooned as the man levered his lanky shape to his feet and picked up his hat and gun. "Yeah, I'm glad to know you too..." he said then stiffened as he heard steps close. He grimaced and ducked behind the bins as the Colonel burst into he yard with Dagur and Vorg, seeing the guards unconscious with an empty bottle of mead by them.
"Maybe my men should watch over your dragon since your own are...unreliable..." Dagur suggested lightly. He seemed to have regained his composure. The Colonel grabbed the door of the cage and checked: it was still locked, though the muzzle had been removed from the Night Fury and the dragon had clearly been fed and watered and seemed relaxed. However, as soon as it saw the Colonel, its pupils narrowed and it gave a fearsome growl.
"Oooh! I see someone hasn't made a friend!" Dagur taunted him.
"Your men clearly supplied them with mead," the Colonel growled, kicking the hapless soldiers. They just mumbled and snored louder. Casting around for someone to blame, the Colonel clapped his eyes on the corporal and the sergeant. "You two-you're guarding the dragon tonight!" he snapped. Both men looked as if they were about to protest but the Colonel glared at them so fiercely both shut up. From his vantage point, Ryder saw both snap to attention and salute as they first dragged their men away-Ryder reckoned without regret that both would be on punishment duty come morning-and then take station by the Night Fury's cage. He sneaked round behind Hookfang's cage, granting the young Monstrous Nightmare a pat, then watching as Dagur grabbed a small Terrible Terror from a cage at the back of the house and tied a message to its leg. He murmured a few words in its ear then threw it into the air. Squawking, it circled then flapped into the dark.
"Do you think he'll come?" Vorg asked his older brother. Dagur gave a nasty smile.
"He'll come," Dagur said and returned to the house, his brother in tow. Breathing a sigh of relief, Ryder checked the coast was clear, then headed silently back to his sleeping place...not seeing the blue eyes follow him from an upper window...
oOo
Gustav was finishing off chopping more wood for the fire in the hostel-a job he had volunteered to do after cooking the dinner for himself, Gobber and the twins. At twelve, he was still a better cook than any of them and he was scared to trust the twins to cook because he had no idea what they would put in the pot. Admittedly, he was bored out of his mind being confined to the hostel and yard but he was more scared of Alvin's men. They were mean and dangerous and he didn't fancy being used as a pawn in the game for his sister. He knew that their Dad hadn't been a gambler and wished he could use a gun as well as Ryder, who seemed to be very cool and impressive. Then he sighed. At least he had been until he had started working for the Berserkers.
The gate creaked but Gustav was reaching down to pick up the logs, so he didn't see the man approach, only felt the hand clap over his mouth and an arm pin him against a sturdy body.
"I've been looking for you," said Snotlout.
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