A Saga Of Ice And Fire

Chapter Forty-Two - The Trial Of Hiccup Haddock

The skin numbingly frigid morning air brought with it the explosion of the watch tower horns battering down on the eardrums of those who were unlucky enough to be at the docks at the time,  alerting the village to the presence of the eight Viking longships that speckled the blurred line where the churning dark salt waters met the depressingly grey dark skies.  And by the time Stoick had gotten dressed,  iron head circlet and all, and had made his way along the entire length of the village from the rock castle down to the docks, the ships were still only halfway to port. But they were close enough so that those gathered at the docks could make out the flags that proudly dance on every ship; whilst the flags were still too far to make out the insignia on them through the first flecks of white powder of the season, the color that made up the cloth was unmistakably fiery red—the colors of the Berserker crest.

The drumsmen gathered on the docks behind the greeting party began to beat away enthusiastically at their drums. Those gathered a the docks could now get a better look at their visitors and vessels as the ships drew nearer—Every Berserker longship had a strake running down each side from which the shields, of which there seemed to be dozens,   hung, overlapping as though they were being held secure in a shield wall, offering the ships, not just protection but also an intimidating,  indestructible look to it.

The chieftain of the tribe was visible at the prow of their leading longship, his long, braided, fiery red beard billowing in the wind and his bald head gleaming despite the dull daylight and burgeoning snowfall; a prow that curved like a swan’s breast from the waterline, then jutted forward. Loud horns from each ship blasted through the air as they neared the docks. Stoick stood at the front of the greeting party with Gobber, Spitelout, and a few others behind him. His gaze did not budge from the dank greens of Chief Daggur Osvaldsson, the deranged, as he was called.

"Lord Keng!" Chief Daggur exclaimed at the top of his voice to be heard through the din of the beating drums, a toothy grin visible beneath the grizzly facial hair on which miniature ivory ornaments hung.  He offered an arm out to Stoick upon stepping out onto the wooden pier, a long, heavy, grey felwolf fur cloak draped around his shoulders. Stoick stood two heads taller than the man in his early thirties and all he could see was the tattoos littered over the crown of his shaven head, if the Berserker chief were not to tilt his head up like a child would his father.

"Chief Daggur. " Stoick nodded curtly, taking the arm, his palm nearly the entire length of Daggur's entire forearm.

Daggur returned the nod and stepped back, slamming an enclosed fist to the chest area on his leather armour. He turned to the dozen ships slowly making port behind them, the flag with the insignia of a skrill etched on their billowing flags. "The fleet of the Berserker es weth yeu, my King.  "

Stoick nodded as a woman in her mid-twenties strode up beside the Berserker chieftain; Her jet black hair was tied up into a tight braid that ran along the middle of her head to her back and her thin, angular face and her dank green eyes were similar to the chief of the Berserker tribe. "And so will it be the honour of our Shieldmaidens. "

She smacked her fist against the chainmail on her own chest, nodding curtly to Stoick.

"Lady Heathur." Stoick nodded,  recognizing the younger sister of the Berserker chief.

Daggur glanced around the party gathered, his eyes taking in every face looking at them.

"So . . . . we are the first teh make port, then ?" he asked.

"Aye. That yeu are. " Stoick replied as he turned and began to lead the Berserker chief back to the stone ramp way that led away from the waters. " We aren't expecting anyone else tell  tomorrow, tide be on their side.  "