2,330Lightning and Death Itself
Finis Ludum Chapter 9
When the riders of the victorious dragons brought back word of the sea battle, the plan was for the Vikings to realize how serious their situation was. They would realize that they were locked in the crosshairs of the Roman Empire, with only a small flock of dragons standing between them and annihilation. Then they would be more willing to be transformed into dragons and escape before Rome rebuilt its fleet and returned for Round Two. At least, that was the plan. Instead, it had the exact opposite effect.
"If the dragons can protect us as well as this, then what's the problem?" they asked during the next town meeting. "They wiped out the whole Roman fleet, and they took only a handful of casualties in exchange. If the Romans come back for more, then our dragons can wipe them out again. Why are you trying to make us panic into something irrevocable when we're doing just fine here?"
"There's one simple reason," Hiccup said via his translator. "The Romans aren't stupid. They will learn from their mistakes. They won't be so easy to wipe out next time. Their tactics will be better, they may bring some new weapons, they'll definitely bring some of their conquered Viking tribes along with them, and our losses will be much heavier. Even if we win again, we'll be so weakened that we won't be able to withstand a third attack." Hiccup paused. "I'm trying to look out for all of you and keep you from dying needlessly. That's my job. But I'm also concerned about my dragon friends. I don't want to see them die, either."
"Why can't we settle this the Viking way?" Phlegma the Fierce demanded. "Single combat, winner take all. I'd be willing to face one of their soldiers in a formal holmgang duel, if none of you men are willing."
Angry male voices rose all over the Mead Hall, proclaiming their willingness to fight in her place. Rangi loudly called for order, then waited for Hiccup to speak.
"We tried that already," Hiccup reminded them, and Rangi translated. "The problem with that idea is that we can't trust the Romans to fight fair. Their general has already shown that he'll gladly break his own rules for the sake of winning. Even their initial terms – eight of them against one of me – weren't exactly fair. I could have won that fight anyway, but they started cheating almost immediately. Remember? I told you all about this, right after it happened. We have every reason to think that, if we give them another chance, they'll cheat again."
"Where is this general of theirs?" Edda Hofferson demanded. "Is he still stranded on Butterbar Island?"
"As far as we know, yes," Rangi nodded.
"Then why can't one of your dragons bring him here?" she went on. "Then we'll put him in the holmgang ring and see what he can do. He can't demand eight against one if there aren't any Romans here except him. We'll force him to fight fair!" Multiple Vikings voiced their agreement. The idea quickly gained traction in the crowd.
Hiccup quietly said to Rangi, "I not see anything good coming from this idea."
"Me neither," Rangi nodded. "I've seen that general in action and I can't trust a word he says. If he wins, he'll demand our unconditional surrender."
"And if he lose, he make excuse, say it not count for anything," the Night Fury added. He glanced around the Mead Hall, reading the room. Various men and women were shouting out ribald suggestions for making the duel more interesting. "Vikings almost out of control. I think we have to do it anyway. People demand it."
"It might be for the best," Rangi said slowly. "Once the people see how dishonorable the Romans are, maybe they won't be so eager to try conclusions with them."
"They all want go to Valhalla," Hiccup agreed, "but not want get stabbed in back." He outlined his plans. Rangi stepped onto a table and waved his arms until the room was quiet.
"Chief Night Fury says you've got your wish," he began, but had to stop when the room erupted in cheers. Once he could be heard again, he went on. "The sun has already gone down tonight, and it's too hard to tell one Roman from another in the dark. First thing tomorrow morning, a team of Night Furies will fly to Butterbar Island. They will find the general, they will find his interpreter, and they will bring both of them back to Berk. There, they will find two holmgang rings already set up, with shields prepared and referees waiting. First, the useless fop of an interpreter will fight Phlegma the Fierce because it was her idea, and it will be fun to watch. Then the Roman general will fight Chief Night Fury for the sake of his reputation." The Vikings cheered again. "This won't resolve anything in terms of their war against us. The Romans won't accept anything less than our unconditional surrender, or our annihilation, whichever comes first. These duels will just be for our own Viking honor, nothing more."
"Question," Gunnarr Hofferson called out. "Why do we need the Roman interpreter at all? Can't our ex-Roman centurion do the translating? I'd trust him more than I'd trust a Roman flunky."
Grunt-snarl-grunt. "We don't want to put Felix Natalis in that position. He'd have to choose between us and his old Army buddies. That's a cruel thing to do to a man."
"From what you've told us, he's already made that choice," Gunnarr reminded him.
"True," Rangi nodded, "but we still think it will be better if we don't keep testing his loyalties. He's learning to live like one of us, he's learning our language, he just got a Roman death sentence on his head, and he's got a brand-new dragon friend. He's got enough on his plate already." A few of the Vikings nodded.
"That's all we're likely to accomplish tonight," Hiccup told his translator. "We'll dismiss the meeting, get a good night's sleep, and prepare for some entertainment tomorrow."
"A good night's sleep?" Rangi repeated. "Aren't you nervous about entering the ring against a battle-tested Roman general?"
"I stepped into the ring against Spitelout," Hiccup reminded him, "and that fight ended when Spitelout went flying out of the ring. This Roman general may know how to fight people, but I'm sure he has never faced off against a dragon before. I can handle him."
Rangi shrugged. "You're the chief, not me." He announced that the meeting was over. The Vikings left the Mead Hall by two's and three's, animately discussing tomorrow's formal duels and making bets on the outcome. Hiccup couldn't help overhearing that the odds-makers had more confidence in Phlegma's victory than in his own.
Astrid was mildly displeased, but not furious, when she heard about her mate's plans for next morning. "You know he's going to cheat, right?" she asked.
"I'm pretty sure about that," he nodded. "But there isn't much I can do about it, except to be ready for anything."
She looked sly. "If you're that certain, then maybe we should counter-cheat to even the score," she purred.
"Cheating goes against everything I've ever lived for," he answered quickly. "I can't get into the holmgang ring on false pretenses. I just can't do that, no matter what's at stake."
"Seeing how our very lives are at stake," Full-of-surprises cut in, "you ought to at least listen to what she has in mind."
Hiccup looked hurt. "I raised you better than that! How can you suggest breaking the rules? That's not what Night Furies do." He turned back to Mother-of-twins. "Out of curiosity, what did you have in mind for this counter-cheating?"
"I was thinking that you won't have to enter the ring on false pretenses because you won't enter the ring at all," she said matter-of-factly. "The Romans can't tell one Night Fury from another. When that general takes up his sword and shield tomorrow morning, he won't be facing you. He'll be facing me."
"And why is that better than me facing him?" Hiccup wondered.
"Two reasons," his mate replied. "One, I've always wanted to put my fighting skills to the test in hand-to-hand combat. Shooting firebolts from long range is fun, but there's still something inside of me that's part Viking, and sometimes I want a good excuse to bash somebody. This general needs a good bashing! The other reason is that if, gods forbid, he draws first blood on me, it won't mean anything because he didn't defeat the chief."
"And thus the dragons stay safe," Full-of-surprises nodded, "especially your own family."
"Exactly," she agreed.
"Winning or losing this fight isn't going to change anything," Hiccup reminded them. "The Romans are already at war with us. Do you think they're going to back off and leave us alone if we force their general into single combat and then defeat him?"
"That's all the more reason for me to handle this fight," Astrid replied. "We're doing this to keep the people from getting rebellious. The only thing that's actually at stake is your life. If you were risking yourself for some actual benefit, then you could make a case for doing it yourself. But if there's nothing to be gained, then we should fix it so there's nothing to be lost, either."
"Mom is making sense, Dad," Bang interjected. "This is a senseless battle, so it's senseless for us to risk anything. Dad, one thing you haven't said is that you're worried about that Roman hurting Mom."
"To be frank, I'm not worried about your mother," Hiccup answered. "I know how she can fight. She can cope with cheating as well as I can, she can apply some strategically-placed brutality as well as I can, and she's as much of an awesome fighting dragon as I am. Anything I can do in the dueling ring, she can do just as well, maybe better."
"So it's agreed?" Astrid asked. "I'll take your place tomorrow?"
Hiccup thought hard. "This goes against everything I've ever believed in. I can't argue against your logic, but part of me cares more about principles than it cares about logic."
"Then listen to the logical part of you," Full-of-surprises suggested.
Astrid's ear flaps pricked up. "I can hear Rangi and Anya's new baby crying," she said. "We'll let the baby decide. As soon as she stops crying, we'll visit their house. If they're changing her diaper, then we'll do it my way. If Anya is feeding her, then we'll do it your way."
Hiccup considered the likely odds for a moment, then nodded. "Deal." He and Astrid padded over to their translators' house and waited for the baby's crying to subside. Then Hiccup rapped as softly as he could on the door. After a few seconds, Anya opened the door.
"Oh, hello, Chief Night Fury. Hi, Mother-of-twins. Do you need something?"
WE WERE CURIOUS.
WE HEARD THE BABY CRYING
AND WE WONDERED WHAT
MIGHT BE WRONG
"Nothing's wrong," Anya reassured them. "I dropped my boots on the floor, and the sound woke her up. Rangi is walking her to settle her down. Then one of us will change her, and then I'll see if she's hungry."
Astrid whirled to face Hiccup. "Diaper change first! I win! I beat up general tomorrow!"
Anya's face went blank. "Diaper change? Beating up generals? Did I miss something here?"
To conceal his disappointment, Hiccup turned back to Anya.
HOW DO YOU DECIDE WHO
CHANGES THE BABY?
"Usually," she answered, "whoever changed her last will say, 'It's your turn.' If we can't remember who changed her last, then we listen for dragon calls. If the first call we hear is coming from the left or behind us, then it's Rangi's turn. If it comes from the right or in front of us, that means it's my turn." She yawned. "We forget that kind of stuff a lot. The baby wakes us up several times a night, we aren't getting enough sleep, and our brains aren't working at peak efficiency anymore. I hope one of us doesn't slip up and say something wrong in the middle of delicate negotiations, and mess things up for you."
WE ARE AT WAR, SO THERE
WON'T BE ANY DELICATE
NEGOTIATIONS FOR A WHILE.
THANK YOU
They walked back to the Nest. Hiccup reminded Astrid of his battle against Spitelout in the holmgang ring and offered some suggestions on how a Night Fury could fight effectively in such a small arena. She listened politely, but it was clear that she had her own ideas about how she would fight this duel.
The next day, Hiccup, Bang, and Thing One glided easily over to Butterbar Island. "I'll point out the general and the interpreter," Hiccup told them. "Catch them in your forepaws and bring them straight back to Berk. Set them down in the holmgang rings that are being prepared in the lower sheep pasture."
"What if we hurt them with our claws?" Thing One asked.
"You probably won't," their father answered. "These Romans wear metal armor all the time. If you grab them by their upper torso, you'll do them no harm at all."
They approached the little island where General Caveat Emptor and his guarding force were stranded. Hiccup looked toward the makeshift encampment that the Romans had built from debris and materials salvaged from their sunken ship. "There are two men with red plumes on their helmets. Those are the general and the translator. Grab those two and bring them to Berk. It doesn't matter who brings which one."
They glided in from low altitude, both to hide their approach and to keep from building up too much speed – if they grabbed their victims while moving too quickly, they could easily snap their victims' necks. Bang caught the general, and succeeded in pinning the man's arms to his sides so he was helpless. Thing One got the interpreter, and that man's arms were raised when the dragon grabbed him, so he had some freedom of action. He tried to draw his sword, but the dragon's paws were too big; they covered the hilt of the sword so he couldn't grab it. He tried hammering on one of those paws with his fist, and succeeded in hurting his hand, so he gave up. Both soldiers were very windblown, but otherwise unharmed, when the Night Furies set them down, one in each of two twelve-foot squares carved into the dirt of Berk village.
"What is the meaning of this?" Caveat Emptor demanded. His nephew translated; they couldn't see each other because both holmgang rings were surrounded by a thick crowd of Vikings, but they could hear each other well enough.
"Welcome back to Berk," Rangi explained. "You agreed to a fight when the numbers heavily favored your side. Now we're going to do a rematch, and this time it will be one on one."
"Fighting a Viking according to Viking rules is not a fair fight!" the Roman interpreter protested.
"We think it's fair," Gobber answered. "We do it all th' time, an' today, we're makin' th' rules."
"In any case, there's nothing for you to worry about, because you aren't fighting to the death," Rangi told them. "This is a holmgang, a ritual Viking duel that ends at first blood."
"The rules are simple," Gunnarr Hofferson went on. "You each get three simple shields. You take turns striking blows at each other, starting with the fighter who was challenged – that would be you Romans. You can block a blow with a shield, or you can parry with your weapon, but dodging a blow is bad form. The duel ends when one fighter draws first blood, or when a fighter steps out of the ring."
"I refuse to take part in this travesty," the Roman general said haughtily, and his nephew translated for him.
"Then your adversary will win with one easy blow, and you'll be paraded through the village as a wimpy wuss who isn't a warrior and isn't a man," Rangi grinned. The general stiffened, and Rangi knew he'd found the general's weak spot – his pride.
"What's the point of this?" Habeas Corpus demanded. "Do you think you can somehow persuade us to call off our war against you if we lose?"
Hiccup stepped up, grunting and growling. "The point of this," Rangi translated, "is to convince our people that they are in danger. Because our dragons defeated your fleet so easily, the Vikings don't think of you as an existential threat. If they can see you fighting, up close and personal, maybe that will change their minds."
"I don't see how that benefits us," the Roman translator said.
"It doesn't benefit you at all," Rangi replied. "Just for once, this isn't all about you. I know that's hard for you to endure, seeing how you think the sun and the moon revolve around Rome, but we have a different set of priorities here than you do. Now, do you have any questions before we begin?"
"You did say this is a one-on-one fight?" Caveat Emptor asked warily.
"One on one is the basic rule of the holmgang," Hofferson replied. "Unlike you, we aren't going to change the rules once the fight begins. Everyone here knows the rules, a lot of money is riding on the outcomes, and the Vikings will howl if the rules get broken, no matter who breaks them. Right, let's get started. All you Vikings who are standing between the two fighting rings, step aside. Let the Romans see each other. Let them enjoy the humiliation of watching their friend go down to defeat." The Vikings moved aside, clearing the space between the rings.
"I've done this kind of thing before," the general called to his nephew in Latin, "but you haven't. Just do your best and don't get hurt. I'll uphold our honor for the both of us."
"Sure thing, Uncle," the younger man replied. "Who am I going to fight?"
He got his answer when a sturdy-looking Viking woman stepped into the ring, wielding a single-bladed axe. "Say 'hello' to Phlegma the Fierce," Rangi said conversationally. "She's an experienced warrior and a former dragon-fighter. She's been looking forward to this for a long time."
"A woman?" Caveat Emptor couldn't believe his eyes. "I'm not going to fight a woman! Women are meant for keeping the home and raising children!" Phlegma glared at him and spat on the ground.
"Combatants, take your shields," Rangi shouted. Phlegma strapped her shield on her arm with a well-practiced move. The Roman folded his arms and didn't move.
"Nephew, take a shield," his uncle warned him. "These barbarians aren't playing games." The younger Roman still didn't move.
Rangi pointed ceremonially at Caveat Emptor. "Because we instigated this duel, we are the challengers and you are the challenged, so you may strike the first blow. If you refuse, then you forfeit your turn and it will be Phlegma's turn." When Emptor didn't budge, Rangi counted, "One, two, three, four, five! The Roman forfeits his turn. Phlegma, you may strike."
The Viking woman nodded grimly, raised her axe over her head, and brought it down hard. Habeas Corpus's eyes went wide and he dodged most of the blow, but the axe blade scraped down the side of his shoulder armor. The crowd boo'ed him loudly for dodging the blow.
"Nephew, I am giving you a direct order," the general bellowed. "I don't care if you're fighting a woman, or a child, or a polka-dotted musk ox! I don't want to be the one who has to tell your mother that you died because you were stupid. Now take up that shield and defend yourself!" The younger man sullenly took up a shield and examined it briefly.
"They call this a shield?" he asked incredulously. "This flimsy thing wouldn't stop a sling ball at twenty paces!"
"That's what you're both using," Caveat Emptor called back. "I can plainly see that your adversary has an identical shield. So, if her shield is as fragile as yours, then shatter it!"
"I will," he said grimly. He strapped on the shield, drew his short sword, raised it over his head, and brought it down hard in a diagonal cut. Phlegma blocked his blow, but her shield was split nearly in two. She pulled it off her forearm and strapped on her second shield in its place.
Rangi quickly examined her shield arm. "No blood was drawn. The holmgang continues. It is Phlegma's turn to strike." She had already raised her axe; now she brought it straight down. The Roman block her blow, but the axe blade cleaved right through the edge of his shield and split it into two halves.
"Roman, take your second shield," Rangi called. "It is your turn."
"Now I see how this works," Habeas Corpus exclaimed. "Once all the shields are gone, whoever strikes next is the winner. And if we keep trading shields, that Viking wench will run out before I will. I'll make you proud, uncle!"
"Just be careful," the general muttered.
"No worries! I can do this." The younger Roman repeated his sword-strike, with similar results. Rangi examined the Roman for blood, then motioned for Phlegma to strike. She raised her axe again, but this time, she brought it down in a sweeping curve that caught Habeas Corpus by surprise. The blade sliced through his shield and nicked his forearm.
"First blood goes to Phlegma! The duel is over!" Rangi shouted, and the crowd went wild.
"It's only a flesh wound," Habeas Corpus reassured his uncle as he removed the now-useless shield. "I'll be fine."
"I keep telling you to practice your military skills," the general growled. "I can't always be there to protect you. Now watch and see how it's done!" He strapped on a shield, drew his sword, and waited to see who his adversary would be.
He dropped the sword when a black dragon stepped into the ring.
"Is this some kind of barbarian joke?" he demanded.
"On Butterbar Island, you declared a victory over a Night Fury without actually beating him," Rangi said, and Habeas Corpus translated. "Now the Night Furies want a rematch, and they want a fair fight, without you adding more soldiers to the battle when you think no one is looking. This time, it's just you and the dragon. Are you still the courageous conqueror of these islands, or are you the kind of coward who wets himself at the thought of a fair fight?" His words were provocative, and they had the desired result. The Roman general picked up his sword again, made sure the blade was clean, and struck a defensive pose.
"I've seen you fight, so-called chief," he snapped, "but you've never seen me fight. Do you suppose I got promoted to general by pushing papers in a headquarters? You'll be the first dragon to die here, but I promise you, you won't be the last."
The dragon snarled viciously and lashed its tail. It took up nearly half of the holmgang square. To the Roman, that made it a big target. "The Roman strikes first," Rangi announced.
"The dragon doesn't use a shield," Caveat Emptor said to Rangi. "Is it allowed to dodge?"
"Dragons have their own ways of fighting," Rangi answered airily. The general drew back his blade and lunged forward, aiming a straight thrust at the dragon's shoulder. The dragon spun around and knocked his feet out from under him with its tail. He fell awkwardly; his thrust went into the ground instead of into his enemy. He picked himself up, cleaned his blade, and drew back.
"No blood was drawn," Rangi said for the benefit of those Vikings who didn't have a front-row view. "It's the dragon's turn."
"That was cheating, according to your own rules!" the general protested. "The dragon dodged my blow."
"You never actually struck a blow," the Viking interpreter answered, "and the dragon parried you instead of your weapon. There was no foul. It is the dragon's turn."
The Roman general raised his shield, ready to turn it at any angle to avoid suffering the same fate as his nephew. The dragon just reached straight out with a muscular black arm, grabbed the shield in its claws, and squeezed until the shield cracked and splintered into multiple pieces. The soldier didn't wait for Rangi to say anything, but immediately swung his sword at the black dragon's arm. At this range, he couldn't miss. But the dragon pulled back quickly enough that the blade hit a claw instead of the scaly portion of the arm. Rangi checked Roman's shield arm, then the dragon's nicked claw, and announced, "No blood was drawn by either strike. After the dragon strikes, the Roman will wait for the referee to check for blood before striking. It's the dragon's turn." Caveat Emptor strapped on his second shield and waited.
This time, the dragon swept its tail around at his head. The general held up the shield as he ducked; the shield pushed the tail upward enough that it passed right over his head. But, faster than he believed possible, the tail whipped back, much lower this time, and caught him hard under his raised shield arm. He doubled over and nearly went to his knees, struggling to breathe, but he managed to remain standing. His armor had saved him from a broken rib, but the sheer force of the blow had slammed that armor into his rib cage. His abdomen hurt all over, and he probably had some massive bruises.
"Foul!" he gasped. "That was two separate blows, one after the other!"
"We will disregard the first of those two blows," Rangi said soberly, "just as we will disregard the fact that you dodged the first blow by ducking under it. The two transgressions cancel each other out. The dragon did not draw blood. It's your turn."
"You're allowing your chief to cheat," the Roman muttered.
"You know a lot more than we do about cheating," Rangi nodded, "so we will take your complaint seriously. If you don't survive, then the dragon may have to pay your family a weregild. In the meantime, it is still your turn."
The general took stock of his situation. He still harbored doubts about this dragon's intelligence, but there could be no question that it was a skilled fighter. It had effortlessly crushed one of his shields, and had then hit him with a double tail-swipe that rendered him unfit for battle. What would it do next? It hadn't even tried to use its fire yet, and he suspected that his flimsy shield would be useless against dragon fire. He had to end this before the huge creature maimed him for life.
He drew back his sword and threw it at the dragon.
Roman short swords were not balanced for throwing, but it could be done if you practiced at it, and General Silvanus Caveat Emptor had had decades of practice. The blade flew straight at the dragon's grinning face. They were far too close to each other for the creature to dodge, even if it tried.
The dragon didn't try. Instead, it opened its maw and, with perfect timing, slammed its teeth shut on the end of the blade. For a few seconds, it leered at him, with his weapon sticking out of its mouth like a bizarre toothpick. Then it turned and tossed its head; the sword landed on the ground between the dueling rings, far out of his reach. Now he was disarmed. The dragon grinned an evil grin and pawed the ground. This fight was almost over.
Some of the Vikings were shouting in protest. "Throwing your weapon is cheating," Rangi told the Roman. "Only blows from hand-held weapons count. If you throw it again, you will forfeit the match."
"How can I throw it again if it's twelve feet away?" Caveat Emptor protested. "Can I go retrieve my sword, seeing how it's my only weapon?"
"If you leave the ring, that ends the duel," Rangi reminded him. The Roman was just about out of options.
"Can I surrender?" he asked Rangi.
"You tell me," the Viking replied. "You wouldn't let us surrender to you, so why should we let you surrender to us? Are you changing your mind about the war you declared on us?"
For just a moment, he wondered if it would be worth it to change his mind. Were the barbarians offering to surrender their island if he yielded in this duel? Rome would still have this island, the casualty count wouldn't go any higher than it had already gone, and he would still be credited with a victory. But he would spend the rest of his days knowing that the barbarians had gotten the best of him. He would live, knowing that he had granted them surrender terms just to save his own life, to forestall a personal defeat. He couldn't deal with that. Death would be preferable.
"No surrender, then." He pulled himself as erect as he could, held out his shield, and waited. He was taking quick, shallow breaths to minimize the pain in his ribs. Whatever the dragon intended to do, he hoped it would be done quickly.
"Wait a moment," Rangi called. "I need to see if that thrown sword drew blood." He turned to the dragon. "Open your mouth, please." The dragon made an irritated face, then opened wide. The young man looked inside, satisfied his curiosity, and drew back. "No blood. The Night Fury caught the blade with teeth only. Continue the holmgang." The Roman general felt a pang of regret that these Vikings had to be wiped out; a man who was brave enough to stick his head in a dragon's mouth could be a great asset to the Empire. But his first priority was to somehow survive this duel. They said it would end at first blood, but he was their mortal enemy and they had nothing to lose by finishing him off.
The black creature eyed him up and down. It reared up and flapped its wings twice, then settled to the ground again. When it swung its tail straight back behind it, Rangi warned, "Pull your tail back into the ring, or it will count as you leaving the ring." The dragon grunted and shook its head, but curled up its tail around its hind legs.
The inside of its mouth began glowing blue. It opened its mouth wide. "Go ahead! Breathe your accursed fire!" the general rasped. "Burn me up because you can't beat me in a fair fight! Take your hollow victory and –" He was cut off when the bright-blue firebolt shot out of the dragon's mouth. It struck the ground just to the left of his feet and blew him upward and sideways. While he was still in the air, the dragon spun around and hit him in the back with its tail, just like a Viking might hit a ball with a mace in a game of Bashyball, and sent him flying forty feet through the air into the crowd. His impact was cushioned by landing on two Vikings at once, but when he fell to the ground, he stayed there. The pain in his midsection was agonizing.
He slowly pulled himself up to his hands and knees, dimly aware of the fact that he had survived the dragon's attack. When he looked up, the dragon hadn't moved, except for its facial expression, which glowed with triumph. He realized that the black beast had never meant to kill him, only to beat him into the ground.
"The Roman has left the ring. Berk's fighter wins!" Rangi announced, and the Vikings shouted and cheered. Some of them were paying off bets to each other. Silvanus Caveat Emptor, general of Rome, realized that he had fought a life-or-death battle that had been nothing more than entertainment to the barbarians. Had they reduced him to the level of a common gladiator, fighting beasts for the amusement of the crowd?
Unable to stand, he rose to his knees and glared at the dragon. "Enjoy your hollow triumph, so-called chief," he gasped. "It changes nothing. Rome will still defeat you, and if I can't hang your head on my wall, then my successor will."
"Oh, there's one little thing we didn't tell you," Rangi smiled. "You weren't fighting the chief. You were fighting his mate, Night-fury-mother-of-twins. It's not our fault that you can't tell our dragons apart." He turned to the other Vikings. "We'll let Gothi examine him; he looks hurt. Then we'll lock him up in a cell in the Dragon Training Ring. Lock the other one in another cell there. We'll send them some food when it's lunch time."
The general sank to the ground, utterly defeated. Just like his nephew, he had been beaten by a female. His shame could never be blotted out.