28 Facing the Music and Alvin and the Witch

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,

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.

'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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'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.

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!'