You don’t have to read the Hiccup books in order.

But if you want to, this is the right order:

ABOUT HICCUP

Hiccup Horrendous Haddock the Third was

an awesome swordfighter, a dragon-whisperer,

and the greatest Viking Hero that ever lived.

But Hiccup’s memoirs look back to when

he was a very ordinary boy, and finding

it hard to be a Hero.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the

author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons,

living or dead, is coincidental.

Text and illustrations copyright © 2012 by Cressida Cowell

Cover art © 2013 by Red Hansen

Cover design by Kristina Iulo

Cover © 2013 Hachette Book Group, Inc.

All rights reserved. In accordance with the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, the scanning, uploading, and

electronic sharing of any part of this book without the permission of the publisher is unlawful piracy

and theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like to use material from the book (other

than for review purposes), prior written permission must be obtained by contacting the publisher at

permissions@hbgusa.com. Thank you for your support of the author’s rights.

Little, Brown and Company

Hachette Book Group

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Little, Brown and Company is a division of Hachette Book Group, Inc.

The Little, Brown name and logo are trademarks of Hachette Book Group, Inc.

The publisher is not responsible for websites (or their content) that are not owned by the publisher.

First ebook edition: September 2014

ISBN 978-0-316-29952-7

E3

~ CONTENTS ~

1. The Warrior...........................................................................19

2. A Few Little Communication Problems...............................46

3. Hiccup Must Die....................................................................66

4. One of Hiccup’s Less Brilliant Plans....................................72

5. The Wrong Side of the Door................................................85

6. The Witch Excellinor is a Little Annoyed............................106

7. A Truly Scary Bedtime Story..............................................116

8. Hunting for the Amber in the Amber Slavelands..............138

9. The Evil Reaches...................................................................154

10. The Deadly Shadow............................................................172

11. A Genuine Surprise.............................................................175

12. Bear-Mama..........................................................................191

13. The Past has a Way of Catching Up with You..................197

14. The Luck Turns Alvin’s Way..............................................200

15. Hiccup Sets Off to Find the Jewel.....................................217

16. The Triple-Header Deadly Shadow...................................227

17. Did I Already Mention that the Past Has a Way

of Catching Up with the Present?......................................238

18. Searching for Fishlegs........................................................246

19. The Monster and the Slave-Boy.........................................249

20. Oh Dear................................................................................256

21. A Story from the Past........................................................259

22. What Happened Next.........................................................275

23. Some Dragons Really Are Monsters.................................280

24. The Wink of a Red Herring................................................296

25. I Don’t Think I’m Dead.........................................................304

26. A Ghost from the Past........................................................312

27. The Story Ends as It Began...............................................324

28. Facing the Music… and Alvin and the Witch....................328

29. An Unexpected Development............................................354

30. The Battle of Prison Darkheart.........................................366

31. The Secret Hideout............................................................392

PROLOGUE BY HICCUP

HORRENDOUS HADDOCK III

Courage.

You, dear reader, will need courage to read on.

This is NOT the last of my memoirs. But the

story has become darker now, so dark that I need all

my courage just to write it.

I am looking back to that time when I was

fourteen years old and an Outcast.

The Red-Rage had taken over all the dragons in

the land and the Dragon Rebellion had begun. The

Great War between humans and dragons had started.

The Vikings were being led by that dreadful

villain, Alvin the Treacherous, guided by his even-

more-dreadful mother, the Witch Excellinor.

The Dragon Furious was in charge of the

dragon forces, and his aim was nothing less than the

extinction of the entire Viking race.

And the Dragon Furious was winning.

The Vikings’ only hope was for a new King to

be crowned King of the Wilderwest. A King who,

according to ancient prophecy, would have all ten of

the King’s Lost Things.

13

Nine of the

Lost Things had been found. Only the Dragon

Jewel, the most important, remained Lost.

The Dragon Jewel had the power to destroy

dragons for ever… it was the only thing the Dragon

Furious was afraid of.

Alvin the Treacherous had eight of the Lost

Things.

I, Hiccup the Outcast, had only one: my little

hunting-dragon called Toothless. But I also had

Grimbeard the Ghastly’s map that showed the way to

where the Jewel was hidden.

And so I, ‘Enemy Traitor Number One’, was

being hunted through the Archipelago, by both

humans and dragons alike. A proclamation calling for

my death hung on hundreds of burnt-out tree trunks.

My fourteen-year-old self was all alone apart

from three dragon companions.

My Tribe had been driven out of their home on

Berk by the Dragon Rebellion.

My father Stoick and my friend Fishlegs had

been turned into slaves and sent to the Amber

Slavelands. (Originally, they were in the Uglithing

Slavelands, but when the witch figured out where

14

the Jewel was, she moved

everyone.)

You see why I call these

my darkest times?

I had to have hope

that things would turn out

well in the end, that

the small things and the

happiness of peacetime would return.

I had to remember this through the teeth and fire

and talons.

I had to have Courage.

15

THE PROPHECY OF

THE KING’S LOST THINGS

The Dragontime is coming

And only a King can save you now.

The King shall be the

Champion of Champions.

You shall know the King

By the King’s Lost Things.

A fang-free dragon, my second-best sword,

My Roman shield,

An arrow-from-the-land-that-does-not-exist,

The heart’s stone, the key-that-opens-all-locks,

The ticking-thing, the Throne, the Crown.

And last and best of all the ten,

The Dragon Jewel shall save all men.

1. THE WARRIOR

One cold moonlit winter night in the Forgotten Forest,

a gigantic Warrior sat high and still in a treetop, like an

Angel of Death.

The Warrior was out hunting. It had been on the

trail of the Outcast for many days. It was intending to

kill this Outcast, this enemy of the Wilderwest.

Its metal visor was down. Its sword was ready in

its hand, looking for the kill. It was still as a statue, only

its bright blue eyes looking down on the path winding

through the woods far below it.

In those times, the humans and the dragons were

at war, so it was strictly forbidden for humans to ride

dragons any more.

But surprisingly, this Warrior was seated on the

back of a dragon, lying lazy but alert along the length of

the tree branch. The dragon was an Air Dragon of the

purest silver; very, very rare and very, very dangerous.

It too looked down at the snowy path below, only

its pointed tail moving, slowly and rhythmically, like the

tail of a cat.

All was quiet. After a little time, a noise was

heard. The Warrior had closed its eyes, but now, buried

in the black visor, they snapped open.

19

Way in the distance, a human was

moving along the path through the woods.

The human was ‘The Outcast’, the Enemy,

exactly the person that the Warrior was waiting

to kill.

20

The Warrior gave a grunt of satisfaction, and sat

up a little straighter.

When you looked at this Outcast close-up (which

the Warrior couldn’t, not from that distance) he was

not at all what you might imagine an Outcast to be.

He was very different from the clever confident figure

he cut when he was releasing dragons from right under

the Visithugs’ noses two hours ago.

He was a young boy called Hiccup Horrendous

Haddock the Third, about fourteen years old, very

skinny and ordinary-looking, with the dark purple

mark that the humans called the ‘Slavemark’ – a

tattoo in the shape of a dragon –

burning blue-black on one

side of his forehead.

Hiccup had been

sleeping rough for

six months now, in

treetops, or in caves,

and all he’d had to eat

in that time was berries

and nuts and food stolen

fearfully from sleeping

Viking villages.

Risking his life day after day undoing the dragon-

traps the Vikings had been setting for the dragons,

and constantly running away from the humans and the

terrifying hunting-dragons of the Dragon Rebellion had

really taken it out of him.

So there in the moonlight, Hiccup looked like

what he was.

Afraid, alone.

He was dressed from head to toe in a

dragonskin fire-suit, ripped and tattered by brambles

and branches. He was muddy and dirty, the strain

and fear of being hunted showing in the stiffness of

his body, and the anxious tic in his eyes.

He had a black eye, and he was limping, as was

the riding-dragon trotting along beside him. The

Windwalker was exhausted, which was why Hiccup

wasn’t riding him, and puffing out great wafts of tired

steam.

Around Hiccup’s head fluttered two tiny

hunting-dragons. One very old one, the Wodensfang,

with wings all tattered and torn. One very young

one, Toothless, a bright grass-green – the naughtiest,

most fidgety dragon in the whole of the Archipelago.

They were talking together in soft whispers

in Dragonese.

24

‘I’m telling you, Hiccup,’ the

Wodensfang was saying in a light

quavery voice, ‘your Quest is very simple.

‘You have to find the Dragon Jewel, go

to Tomorrow, get yourself crowned King of the

Wilderwest, and then the Tomorrow Men will tell

you the secret of the Dragon Jewel and you can stop

this stupid war, and save the dragons and the

humans from extinction.’

‘Did you s-s-see me?’ squeaked Toothless. ‘Did

you see me dive-bombing that Visithug? Wasn’t I

clever? Wasn’t I brilliant? Wasn’t I m-marvellous?’

25

‘Yes, you were marvellous,

Toothless,’ replied Hiccup, ‘but

can you keep it down a bit. The

forest dragons are hibernating at the

moment, and we don’t want to wake

them up.’

He rubbed the back of his neck, and

sighed, because he was missing everybody so much.

Being an Outcast was very, very lonely.

‘The thing is, Wodensfang, nothing is ever that

simple. People actually have to want me, a slave, an

Outcast, to be King. You have to have actual human

followers, not just you three. And I have to have

all of the Lost Things, and Alvin the Treacherous

already has eight of them.’

‘You’ve got m-m-me!’ squeaked Toothless,

landing on Hiccup’s arm. ‘I’m one of the Lost Things,

and I’m the best one!’

‘Manners,’ reminded the Windwalker gently.

‘Don’t forget, Toothless, no boasting…’

‘OK,’ said Toothless, his brow furrowing.

‘Toothless is the best one… p-p-please?’

‘The map says that the Jewel is in the Amber

Slavelands,’ said the Wodensfang. ‘Why aren’t

we there?’

26

‘Because instinctively I don’t think the

Jewel is there,’ replied Hiccup.

‘That is because your heart is not yet in

your Quest,’ replied the Wodensfang, solemnly.

‘At the moment, you are on a different Quest,

the Quest to find your friend Fishlegs and your

father. Admit it, that’s why we’re here.’

It was why they were there. The Hooligans were

supposed to have hidden out in this country after

Berk was burnt out by the Dragon Furious.

‘OK,’ admitted Hiccup. ‘I am worried about

Fishlegs, he’s always sort of relied on me.’

Fishlegs was a ‘runt’ who had been washed up

on the beaches of Berk fourteen years ago. He had no

parents, so it was Hiccup who looked after him and

stopped the other Hooligans from bullying him.

‘And this is getting in the way of your true

Quest,’ interrupted the Wodensfang, ‘which is to

find the Dragon Jewel.’

‘Not entirely,’ said Hiccup, ‘because I still

don’t think the Jewel is in the Amber Slavelands,

whatever the map says.’

They had walked such a long way now, that they

stopped right underneath the tree the Warrior was

sitting in. Hiccup got out the map.

27

The map was quite complicated. It showed a nice

distinct picture of the Amber Slavelands, and there was

a maze of mirrors and Prison Darkheart, and there, in

the heart of it, was the Dragon Jewel, helpfully pointed

out with a large arrow and capital letters.

The three dragons peered at it over Hiccup’s

shoulder. So too did the Warrior and the dragon

perched high, invisible and menacing in the treetops

above Hiccup.

‘Look,’ said Hiccup, pointing to a large fish at

the top of the map – a fish so long that it took up the

entire space from left to

right. ‘What is that?’

Trust sea-faring

creatures like dragons and

Vikings to know their fish

species.

‘It’s a member of

the herring family,’

said the Wodensfang.

‘And what colour is it?’

‘R-r-red!’ said Toothless

proudly. ‘Ask me another one! I

know all the colours,’ he confided

confidentially to the Windwalker.

30

‘You see,’ said Hiccup, ‘in the human world a

“red herring” is another way of saying a false start,

or a wrong direction. My knowledge of Grimbeard

the Ghastly is that he was a tricky man, and this

is his way of saying that the Jewel isn’t in the

Slavelands at all. What do you think, Wodensfang?’

The Wodensfang was the only one of the four

of them old enough to have actually met Grimbeard

the Ghastly, more than one hundred years before. So

now he looked back through time to remember that

dreadful man, and what that look told him was that

Grimbeard was the trickiest trickster since the great

trickster god Loki put his Particularly Tricky Hat on.

‘Hmm…’ said the Wodensfang. It did seem

exactly the sort of thing that Grimbeard would do. And

suddenly a maze of mirrors seemed an unlikely thing

to be finding in Prison Darkheart, which was probably

furnished on the basic side.

Then the Wodensfang raised a cunning eyebrow.

‘But it could be a double-bluff…’

‘So,’ said the soft gentle voice of the raggedy

Windwalker, ‘if the Dragon Jewel isn’t in the Amber

Slavelands, where then exactly is it?’

‘That’s why it’s not so simple,’ said Hiccup,

waving wide his arms. ‘It could be anywhere!’

31

At that moment, there

was a definite rustle from above,

as the hidden Warrior and the

hidden dragon craned forward with

interest to see what was written on

Hiccup’s map.

The effect on the four

companions below was

immediate.

The Wodensfang shot up a

foot in the air, its tattered ears

turning electrically rigid and

purply red and pointing first

west, then south, then east,

then north.‘

‘Danger!’

squeaked the

Wodensfang in

the loudest whisper he

could whisper. ‘Danger!

Quick! Hiccup, get your helmet

on!’

‘Oh… no, guys, really…

it’s far too big… I find it

easier to fight without it…’

But the dragons

ganged up on him, three

to one.

‘You need

it!’ whispered

the Wodensfang.

‘Remember back on Danger-

Brute Island when you

nearly lost your ear? And

that poison dart that just

missed you when you were

undoing the Visithug

dragon-traps?’

‘And what about the Head-lopping incident with

the Head-loppers over in Nowhere?’ The Windwalker

padded anxiously back and forward.

‘A helmet wouldn’t save you from having your

head lopped off,’ argued Hiccup.

‘The Wodensfang is r-r-right!’ agreed Toothless,

who was agreeing with the Wodensfang more and more

these days. Squeaking, the Wodensfang and Toothless

lifted the detested helmet from the back of Hiccup’s

rucksack and with the help of the Windwalker they

tenderly jammed it on Hiccup’s head.

It was an old Visithug one that they had burgled a

couple of weeks ago, and it was a very bad fit.

‘It’s really uncomfortable,’ grumbled Hiccup.

‘Plus the big feather thing-y makes me very

memorable. I’m supposed to be undercover you know.

An Outcast has to melt into the background…’

‘Sssh…’ The Wodensfang put his wing to his lips.

‘I told you,’ said the Wodensfang, ‘I’ve had this

really bad feeling that the Dragon Furious has sent

some new dragon to assassinate you… Something

really terrifying…’

‘Yes, Wodensfang,’ said Hiccup. ‘You’re always

getting these feelings, but listen, it’s all gone quiet.’

‘That’s the thing about this new dragon,

though,’ whispered the Wodensfang. ‘It’s almost

undetectable. It’s one of those tracker dragons.’

The four companions stretched their ears

out into the white muffled world of

trees-and-snow.

Nothing.

‘Maybe it was a

false alarm,’ whispered

Toothless.

Up in the treetops the

Warrior and the dragon sat still

as stones. Not a leaf moved,

the forest seemed to hold its

breath…

And then…

With a scream as loud as a charging baboon, the

Warrior hidden in the tree-canopy above exploded into

action, erupting from the foliage and descending from

above in a shower of leaves and broken branches like

some swooping noble nightmare of revenge.

Sssssppppppppppooooooooow! Zzzzziiiiiiiinggggg!

If Hiccup and the Windwalker hadn’t been living

on their nerves for the past six months, they might

not have dodged backward so fast, and Hiccup would

have been deader than a dodo.

For the Zzzzing! that zinged past Hiccup’s nose

was the zing of an arrow that missed him by inches

and buried itself in a tree trunk a couple of feet

behind him.

CLANG! The dodging backwards brought his

visor clanging down, where it jammed tight shut.

Uh-oh, thought Hiccup, who was an intelligent

boy. This person wants to kill me.

BONG! BONG! BONG! Three more arrows came

40

raining harmlessly off the detestable helmet.

Thanks, guys. The helmet was a good call, thought

Hiccup as he jumped onboard the Windwalker, who

shot off through the trees.

And then he couldn’t believe his eyes when he

looked over his shoulder and saw the dragon that was

following them.

Oh for Thor’s sake.

You couldn’t mistake that particular dragon.

It was the Silver Phantom.

Even though it was the dead of night, every silver

scale was lit up and shone brighter than was strictly

possible in real life. The Silver Phantom seemed to

give off its own light, like the moon. Its scream was so

high and so loud that it felt as if it was setting fire to

your ears.

And as it screamed it poured out a jet of bright

blue flame that blasted the trees in front of it, burning

their leaves as bright as green stars before dropping to

the ground in powdery black smithereens.

The Silver Phantom was absolutely unmistakable.

It was unique.

It also just so happened to be the riding-dragon

that belonged to Hiccup’s mother.

41

Which meant that the Warrior currently

re-loading her Northbow and taking careful aim at

Hiccup while guiding the screaming Phantom by the

strength of her Warrior knees alone – that particular

Warrior, was in fact…

42

... Hiccup’s own mother

Valhallarama.

~ STATISTICS ~

FEAR FACTOR: ..................... 10

ATTACK: .............................. 10

SPEED: ................................ 10

SIZE: .................................... 10

DISOBEDIENCE:................... 10

Some of the Air Dragons fly at such high alti-

tudes that humans have never even seen

them. A Silver Phantom is one such dragon:

glimpsed very rarely at

astonishingly high distances, these sorts of

dragons are sometimes known as ‘ghosts’ and

some people doubt they exist at all.

2. A FEW LITTLE

COMMUNICATION PROBLEMS

‘STOP! MOTHER! IT’S ME, HICCUP!’ shouted

Hiccup.

But of course the visor on the beastly helmet was

down, and so it came out more like: ‘Mff! Mff! Mff!’

Hiccup grabbed at the visor and tried to yank it

up, but it was jammed absolutely tight shut. It would

not budge.

Oh for Thor’s sake.

This was not a good situation. Apart from

anything else, Valhallarama was a truly magnificent

Hero, one of the very, very best, so they were in big

trouble if he couldn’t tell her who he was.

The thing was, Valhallarama was away questing a

lot.

Hiccup was never quite sure what she was

questing for exactly, but his father, Stoick the Vast,

always assured him it was very important.

As a result Hiccup hadn’t seen her in a very long

while, perhaps for as long as two years now. So she

very well might not be aware that her only son was

the one who was now known as the Outcast and the

Enemy of the Wilderwest. Let alone that Stoick was

46

now a slave, and Hiccup had the Slavemark himself,

and a whole load of other things Hiccup was hoping to

explain to her gently in a quiet moment.

He had hoped that if he ever did get a chance

to explain the whole thing to her, about how what he

was really trying to do was save all the dragons from

extinction, she might be one of the few people who

would actually be on his side. (Hiccup had a hopeful

nature.)

Because Valhallarama loved dragons.

Hiccup knew she loved dragons.

At least, he thought he knew she loved dragons.

It suddenly occurred to Hiccup, in that moment

as they were screaming through the forest at breakneck

speed in the dead of night with his mother shooting

arrows at him almost continuously, that perhaps he did

not really know his mother all that well.

She had been away questing a lot.

The Wodensfang and Toothless were both

exceptionally speedy so they were flying not at their top

speed but on either side of Hiccup’s head, like twin

dragonly guardian angels.

‘You have to admit he is a marvellous Warrior,’

quavered the Wodensfang admiringly.

47

‘How big do you think he is? Six foot three?

Six foot four? I don’t think I’ve seen a better

Warrior since Squidshanks the Frightening… It was a

bit before your time, maybe six hundred years ago...’

‘She’s a she! Not a he!’ Hiccup shouted back.

But through the helmet it just sounded like ‘Mff!

Mff! Mff!’

We’ve all been in this situation. Well, maybe not

precisely in this situation. But we all know what it’s

like to have something important to say to a

loved one, but something seems to be

getting in the way.

The truth is, it is often difficult

to explain things to a parent. And most

definitely it is particularly difficult when

your mother is hunting you at top speed

through a dark forest under the impression

that you are the Enemy of the Wilderwest.

The Windwalker had grown into an

exceptionally fast dragon, and it was smaller

than the Phantom, so its more manoeuvrable

size meant it could just about keep ahead,

flicking through the maze of trees.

But still the Phantom was gaining.

‘He’s going to catch us if we stay

down here,’ said Toothless. ‘Why d-d-

don’t we go up?’

Over the past

six months they had often

eluded dragon pursuers by

climbing up into the higher air, too

high for other dragons to follow. Most

dragons prefer shallow air, the air nearest the ground.

Very few can operate in the higher atmosphere.

Apart from the

Silver Phantom.

Hiccup wanted to tell

them that this would be pointless.

The Phantom was an Air Dragon.

They were among the best flyers

in the dragon world, and they flew

the fastest and the highest.

Valhallarama had trained herself not to pass out.

But of course he couldn’t tell them that because of the

jammed helmet.

The Windwalker slightly mistimed a slalom,

swayed crazily, and the pursuing Phantom caught him

by the leg, but didn’t quite get a good hold, so the

Windwalker wriggled desperately out of the grip and

shot upwards in a blind panic.

‘Oh no…’ breathed Hiccup, desperately trying to

get him to fly downwards again, but the Windwalker

was crazed with fear and panicking madly, so he just

climbed up and up and up.

51

Hiccup looked down. The forest was already a

dark smudge beneath them.

And out of that smudge burst the Silver

Phantom, shooting upwards in a glorious silver arc.

Up, up, it soared with two mighty swoops

of its silver wings. It was way too fast for the poor

Windwalker, and leapt o-o-o-over their heads in an

athletic silver leap, and as it leapt, Valhallarama leant

over and plucked Hiccup from the Windwalker’s back

with her left arm.

Down swooped the Phantom, with Hiccup

swinging from his mother’s arm, back through the

canopy of trees, landing on the forest floor.

Still holding Hiccup by the scruff of his

waistcoat, she bounded from the Phantom’s back,

leant Hiccup against a fallen tree trunk, removed the

map from within Hiccup’s waistcoat and threw it to

the Silver Phantom.

Oh for Thor’s sake, thought Hiccup. I really

should have hidden that map a bit better. What was I

thinking? Some undercover Outcast I am…

In a pouring silver motion, the Silver Phantom

caught the map in mid-air, and then shot up, up, out

of the trees and away.

While Valhallarama was momentarily distracted,

52

Hiccup wriggled out of his waistcoat and ran out

of reach. Valhallarama drew her sword, the mighty

Nevermiss, with a great swaggering swish.

Hiccup drew his own sword.

He was beginning to feel a little hurt that she

still hadn’t recognised him. He was her son, after all.

You’d have thought some kind of mother instinct

might have kicked in by now.

But then Valhallarama really hadn’t been

around that much, thought Hiccup bitterly, trying

to ignore the rising lump in his throat as he

remembered how many times he’d written to her as

a child asking for her to come back home for some

reason or another, and how many times she’d written

back to say how important her Quest was.

More important than me, thought Hiccup. No

wonder she doesn’t recognise me. I haven’t seen her in two

years.

Valhallarama lunged at him.

Hiccup met the lunge directly and replied with

one of his own, rather more courteous and less deadly,

but a joy of sword-work nonetheless.

He could see the surprise in Valhallarama’s

bright blue eyes above him, which was a source of

satisfaction, however difficult the circumstances.

53

It is always gratifying when your mother realises you

are a worthy opponent.

Because swordfighting was the one thing he was

really gifted at. And over the past six months he had

had pretty much twice-daily practice against people

and dragons who weren’t just fooling around, they

really and truly hated him and wanted him dead.

So it was a hymn to the gods of war to watch

him now, like listening to a singer with the voice of

an angel.

54

Plus he was left-handed, and a good leftie always

has an advantage over a good rightie.

However his faithful dragon companions

weren’t leaving anything to chance.

They had now arrived on the scene, and

the Wodensfang, his eyes lit up with surprising

excitement at the battle, considering his great age,

shouted, ‘Number 4, guys! Number 4!’

Number 4 was one of the many manoeuvres

they had worked out during an exciting six months of

fighting in forests, among other places, and it was one

of the more successful ones.

‘Mfff, mfffff, mfff, mfff, mmmmmmmmmfffff!’

shouted Hiccup desperately. (Which meant: ‘Guys!

Please, no, guys! We don’t want to kill her! This is a

big misunderstanding! She’s my mother!’)

But his dragons had absolutely no idea what he

was saying, so they put Number 4 into action.

The Windwalker bounded around the two

fighters, barking excitedly, to confuse them.

And then Toothless dive-bombed

Valhallarama’s head, biting into her metal arm (giving

himself a gum-ache), while the Wodensfang set fire

to the bottom of a tree just behind her.

Even Hiccup’s incredible swordfighting skills

56

were challenged by this, because he was having to

defend himself from Valhallarama while trying to

manoeuvre her into a position out of the way of that

tree when it fell down on top of her.

Oh for Thor’s sake, this was impossible! That

six-foot-three female metal mountain would just not

budge.

He parried her lunges with a Grimbeard’s

Grapple, Flashburn Fancy and two Points of Order

before realising she was never going to move, and

for such a very small dragon the Wodensfang was

making good progress with that tree trunk – it was

already beginning to wobble, and visible flames were

lighting up the grass at the bottom.

Desperately, Hiccup defended himself from the

Nevermiss’s most brilliant fencing-work with his left

hand, while trying to yank off that horrible jammed-

tight tin-can of a helmet with the other.

‘TIM-BERRRRRR!’ sang the Wodensfang and

Toothless in joyful chorus together. The burnt-through

tree was swaying madly.

Hiccup gave one last beyond-hope pull and the

helmet finally shot off his head with a violence that

made his ears tingle.

He shouted at the top of his voice, ‘Mother!

57

Don’t attack! It’s only me, your son, Hiccup! And get

out of the way of that tree, which is about to fall on

your head!’

But most unfortunately, totally unconsciously, he

shouted those words in the tongue he had been used to

speaking in for the last six months (he hadn’t had any

human companions you see). Not in Norse, but in

Dragonese: ‘Mi mamma! Na bitey! Issa lonely

me, ta dissappointa Hiccup! Plus outadaway

da leafdangle which yappen lowdown ta

brain-boxer!’

So much for letting her know

gently in a quiet moment.

Life is sometimes

much more messy

than that.

Valhallarama’s blue eyes practically fell out of her

visor, popping with amazement. She went absolutely

rigid with shock, in the slightly ridiculous and

undignified pose of Mid-Looping-Loot-Bubbles, one

of Flashburn’s more showy-off moves which should

really only be attempted by someone about ten years

younger and half the girth of Valhallarama, formidable

action-woman though she was.

No wonder she was surprised.

For in one gob-smacked, sword-arm freezing

second, she had learnt:

1. That she had just been attempting to kill her only

son by accident.

2. That said son was in fact the Outcast and Enemy

of the Wilderwest, whom everybody (not just the

witch) said was the one who set free the Dragon

Furious and started this war between dragons and

humans.

3. That the same son appeared to have

the Slavemark on his forehead.

4. That the same son appeared to be

fluent in Dragonese, a language that

had been banned. Not that anyone

but Hiccup could speak it anyway.

59

This was a very great

deal to take in, in just one

moonlit moment.

The one piece of

information that she wasn’t able

to take in, because it was spoken in

Dragonese, was the one that would have been most

immediately useful to her.

The information that a tree was about to fall on

her head.

CRAAASSSHHHHH!

The tree snapped off at the trunk and…

BOOOOOIIING!!!!

… It landed plum on Valhallarama’s metal head.

And then bounced off it on to the ground.

Valhallarama stood absolutely stock still for one

second.

She re-arranged herself into a more dignified

position.

And then she swayed gently on the spot…

And…

CRAAAASSHHHHH!!!

She went down like the tree trunk itself.

‘NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!’

Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear!

Hiccup hopped anxiously from foot to foot.

‘B-B-BINGO!’ shouted Toothless. ‘GOOD

SH-SH-SHOT WODENSFANG!’

And then he flapped down and shouted insults

down her visor.

‘YOU B-B-BIG HUMAN BULLY!’

Hiccup tried to wave him out the way, and

Toothless thought he was reminding him about

manners.

‘SORRY, YOU GREAT METAL

M-M-MOLLUSC! PARDON ME, YOU

LUMPING L-L-LARDBOTTOM LEADBELLY!

EXCUSE US, YOU TERRIFYING TIN

OF T-T-TESTOSTERONE!’

‘Manners,’ said

Toothless smugly to Wodensfang.

‘Yes, well done, Toothless,’ congratulated the

Wodensfang brightly. ‘Lovely apologising.’

Hiccup pushed Toothless off and snapped open

his mother’s visor.

Oh thank Thor, she’s breathing…

She was breathing but she was out for the count,

and there was a big fat lump on the front of her

forehead. Unfortunately the Windwalker, seeing that

the terrifying Warrior was still breathing and whipped

up into a state of hysterical panic

by the fighting, tried to get

Hiccup to ride him out

of danger.

And when Hiccup wouldn’t listen, he lost it

entirely, and picked Hiccup up in his claws, despite

him desperately struggling and shouting, ‘Nooo!!! It’s

my mother!!! It’s my mother!!!’

Wodensfang and Toothless flew on either side of

his head making soothing noises, thinking that he was

the one who had taken a funny turn on account of all

the fighting.

It took him ten minutes to get through to them

what had happened even without the helmet to shout

through.

After catching their breath, Hiccup insisted that

they went back to where he thought the fight had

taken place, but there was no sign of any unconscious

mother, just a deep indentation in the snow where she

had fallen beside the still smouldering tree-trunk.

Where had she gone? Had the Razorwings got

her? Or had the Silver Phantom returned and carried

her to safety?

They searched the forest for the rest of that night,

but they never found her.

Eventually in the early hours of the next

morning, Hiccup pushed aside some brambles and

crawled into a cave he had been using as a hide-out

for some sleep. The warm wet shaggy body* of the

Windwalker beside him, and his two friends Toothless

and Wodensfang snuggled on his chest were always a

source of comfort.

He might be an Outcast, but at least he had his

dragons with him. Not like Fishlegs, who was entirely

alone.

Just as he was falling asleep, Hiccup remembered

something.

He no longer had the map.

* The Windwalker is looking a little less shaggy because he has grown a

little older.

3. HICCUP MUST DIE

The Wodensfang had in fact been right about the

Dragon Furious sending a dragon to kill Hiccup.

A few weeks earlier, in the endless night of winter

on the little isle of Berk, where the air was so cold it

stung the skin like bees, the Dragon Furious lay in

the smoking ashy remains of what had once been a

Hooligan village.

The Dragon Furious was a Seadragonus

Giganticus Maximus, and he was in command of the

Dragon Rebellion. His aim was nothing less than the

extinction of the entire human race.

The Hooligans had escaped from the last terrible

dragon attack, fleeing to the islands of the south which

were still holding out against the relentless progress of

the dragon invaders, but leaving the island of Berk to a

triumphant Dragon Furious.

The island of Berk was a new and important

conquest for Furious. And yet…

And yet there was one Hooligan who had not

been among the Hooligans who escaped from the

island on this day. One Hooligan whom the Dragon

Furious and the entire Dragon Rebellion had been

hunting without success, over seas and forests and

mountains, through ice caves and volcanoes…

Hiccup Horrendous Haddock the Third.

So many times had the little Hooligan slipped

through Furious’s talons at the very last minute,

double-backing, sneaking past, and streaking away on

the back of his Windwalker, with the whole howling

pack of dragons after him, like a tricksy little fox fleeing

the hunt.

Kneeling in front of the Dragon Furious was

a rare Triple-header Deadly Shadow dragon. You

could not see him, for a Deadly Shadow was one of

those chameleon dragons whose skin can mirror any

background or passing object, so at that moment he

appeared to be invisible.

‘Hiccup must die,’ said the Dragon Furious to the

Deadly Shadow. ‘We have to catch him, or our cause

is lost. Can you do it? Can you find and kill Hiccup

where all others have failed?’

Slowly the camouflaged skin of the Deadly

Shadow turned back to its natural colour, and it was as

if the terrifying creature was suddenly materializing out

of thin air. You could see him in all his splendour now:

gleaming, muscled, panther-like strength, frighteningly

efficient-looking claws and jaws that could shoot forth

both lightning bolts and flame.

67

The three heads of the Shadow smiled. The

poison-ducts in his six cheeks pulsed yellow for

a second. Out of their secret hiding-places crept a

bright, slitting talon or two that shone for a second

and then slid back.

‘My lord Furious,’ said the middle head of the

Deadly Shadow dragon. ‘Once, my brothers and I

loved a human. And this human died of grief because

of the actions of her human family. Now we hate the

human with a hatred strong as acid. If you ask us to

kill him, the boy is as good as dead already.’

‘Ah,’ said the Dragon Furious with satisfaction.

‘I knew I was right to choose you, for you are so

like myself. I needed one who hates like I do, and

who will not weaken, for the Hiccup boy, with his

antics releasing all the dragon-traps, has even been

gaining sympathy among the weaker members of my

Rebellion. Follow him, and kill him. Hiccup must

die!’

‘And Hiccup shall die!’ hissed the three heads of

the Deadly Shadow.

He folded back his wings like a bat, and leapt

into the air, turning white as the blizzard as soon as he

hit the sky. The Dragon Furious watched him go, the

quiet snow falling.

68

~ STATISTICS ~

FEAR FACTOR: ..................... 10

ATTACK: .............................. 10

SPEED: ................................ 10

SIZE: .................................... 10

DISOBEDIENCE:.................... 10

The largest of the dragon species;

Seadragonus Giganticus Maximus

live in the open ocean.

Learning to Speak Dragonese

Moo-lady, yow snoddly sniffer is giganticus plus

warticus, plus, warra eye-pleezee, fur-sprouty hug-

dangles!

Madam, you have a very large and

lovely spotty nose, and what

beautiful hairy arms!

Toothless issa griefspotty me

misschance f-f-flicka-flame ta

gob-sprout. Twassa bigtime

hiccup.

I am so sorry that I

accidentally set fire to

your beard, it was a total

mistake.

Toothless mak ta me m-m-most speshally

griefspotties. Toothless’s runners pop in a

cack-cack di Goredragon, plus me pressit

muchwide ondi floorsheet.

I make you my most heartfelt apologies. I seem to have

stepped in Goredragon poo and trodden it all over your

carpet.

T-t-toothless goggla ta struggla wi munch-munch

di saltsicks lonelywise. Teggly me adda.

I can see you are having trouble

eating all those oysters on your own.

Let me help you.

Ne-ah, Toothless na s-s-sporta da sprouty-warm. Ta maka

me inta un girly-goo, plus me preffa ma flame-shootys

coldover and me flip-flaps lendinta forkfreezies.

Thankee par ta warmwishes.

No, I will NOT wear that furry coat. It makes me look like

a sissy and I would rather my fire-holes froze up and my

wings turned into ice-lollies. Thank you for your concern.

4. ONE OF HICCUP’S LESS

BRILLIANT PLANS

A few weeks after losing the map, Hiccup Horrendous

Haddock the Third was lying crouched in the reeds

on the edges of a tiny little island right in the middle

of the bay that stood in front of Prison Darkheart –

the bay called The Dragons’ Graveyard.

With him were the Windwalker, the

Wodensfang and Toothless.

They were crouching down beside

Hiccup, wings shivering, cats’ eyes peering

fearfully over the ferns at the horror of the

landscape all around them.

‘You are n-n-not going in there…’

squeaked Toothless, pointing a horrified

wing at Prison Darkheart.

‘P-p-please tell Toothless you are not going in

there...’

‘I don’t see that we have any choice,’ said

Hiccup bitterly, ‘now that my mother has betrayed us.

I must say, I know she’s always been a bit absent, but

I never thought she’d actually fight against me.’

Hiccup swallowed. The whole world was burnt

to ashes, and here he was, feeling like crying over a

wayward mother.

But there was no other explanation. Valhallarama

must have got her Phantom to carry Grimbeard the

Ghastly’s map to the witch because the witch was now

in Darkheart, hunting for the Dragon Jewel. And so too

were the Meathead, Murderous, Visithug and Hooligan

Tribes.

Hiccup had seen all the ships sail in over the past

two weeks.

Which meant that Hiccup’s friend Fishlegs was

in there, and Hiccup’s father, Stoick the Vast. And

Hiccup was determined to get them out, now he knew

where they were.

It’s my fault they’re in there, so I’m going to get them

out…

‘Oh shiver my t-t-talons!’ wept poor Toothless,

so terrified he fell off Hiccup’s shoulder and into

73

the sea Hiccup was crouching in. ‘Look!’ He

pointed a wing at all the dragon corpses

lying in the sea around them. ‘The

Dragon F-f-furious has been trying

to get in every night! How are

you going to get in if even

he hasn’t managed it!’

At one end of the bay was the gigantic

prison that formed the only entrance to the great

walled hunting-grounds of the Amber Slavelands.

The walls that encircled the Amber Slavelands were

not, perhaps, as long as the Great Wall of China,

but they were certainly much higher, and a similarly

miraculous construction of the Ancient World.

In front of the prison, the tide was slowly sinking

and gradually revealing the grotesque and pathetic

shapes of thousands of dead dragons. Ancient dragon

skeletons jutted from the waters of the bay like airy

melancholy cathedrals, with seagulls shrieking through

the long-dead ribcages.

And there were fresh dragon corpses

too, smelling to high heaven, and leaking green

blood into the water, because every night now,

the prison was attacked by some of the most

ferocious forces of the Dragon Rebellion.

75

‘This is a terrible plan! The witch and Alvin

will catch you!’ squeaked Toothless, in an agony of

fear.

‘Nobody’s going to catch us,’ said Hiccup

soothingly. ‘We’ll just sneak in, see if we can find

my father and Fishlegs and the Jewel, and sneak

out again. Us Outcasts are good at sneaking. And if

anybody spots us, I’ve got the Slavemark, so they’ll

just think I’m another slave.

‘And also,’ he raised an eyebrow, ‘I’m going to

be wearing my cunning disguise.’

Hiccup had changed quite a bit after six months

of living as an Outcast. He was thinner, taller, and his

voice had deepened, and was unsteadily sliding all

the time between a gruff and a squeak, so that was a

disguise in itself.

Now he took off his helmet, and

brought out a rag from his rucksack

and wound it round his left eye like

an eye patch. He fixed a piece of

pink-ish candle wax right on the tip

of his nose, and it made a rather

convincing wart. And he smeared

himself with some Stinkdragon stink,

that he had been keeping in a little

pot, after carefully extracting it from a hibernating

Stinkdragon in the Flaming Forest a couple of days

earlier.

The smell would stop people coming too close.

‘How do I look?’

Toothless made his yuckiest ‘yucky’ face. ‘T-t-

toothless not want to come near you. Is very, very

yucky.’

‘Yes, well you don’t have to come, Toothless,

if you don’t want to. It may be better if you didn’t,

because it’s very dangerous for dragons in there,’

said Hiccup. ‘And I want you to be safe. You can

stay here with the Windwalker.’

The Windwalker protested, ‘What do you mean,

stay here? I’m coming too.’

But Hiccup shook his head. ‘I’m afraid

you can’t come, Windwalker. The

Wodensfang and Toothless can hide

down my waistcoat. But you’re

far too big to hide and they’ll

kill you if they spot you.’

The Windwalker

shut his eyes and put his

tail between his legs. All

of his spines drooped.

77

Hiccup hugged him affectionately,

holding on to that warm shaggy familiar neck, smelling

his lovely smell as if it might be for the last time.

78

The Windwalker smelled

of drinking chocolate.

79

‘Now, Windwalker, you must stay here and

guard my helmet and the hide-out in the Forgotten

Forest so that nobody finds it. We’ll be back before

you know it.’

Hiccup had been dreading this moment for a

long time, because he knew that he might be about

to see his father again. For Hiccup had inadvertently

caused Stoick to be made an Outcast from his own

Tribe, and turned from a Chief respected by all, with a

comfortable life shouting out orders and eating a lot,

to a life as a slave in the Amber Slavelands.

Hiccup loved and respected his father, and it

was almost unbearable to think of Stoick the Vast

in this position, particularly when it was all Hiccup’s

fault. Had the experience of slavery changed Stoick?

What must he be thinking of Hiccup? And what about

Fishlegs? Was he all right?

Thoughts like these were a kind of torment.

But sometimes the bravest thing a Hero has to

do is not fighting monsters and cheating death and

witches. It is facing the consequences of his own

actions.

Hiccup had to do this.

‘Toothless, are you coming, or staying?’

‘Toothless will come,’ said Toothless grandly,

80

pointing his wing at Hiccup, ‘because you need my

h-help and what would you do without me? C-c-can

Toothless wear an eye patch too?’

‘You don’t need to wear an eye patch, Toothless.

Nobody’s going to see you.’

‘Is quite c-c-cool

though…’

‘Toothless!’

Toothless

dived down

Hiccup’s waistcoat

with a squeal.

A slave-ship was

making its way through

the reeds, delivering fresh

slaves to the ravenous

maw of the Slavelands.

It was hurrying, for the tide was

sinking fast, and as soon as it was in,

the Dragon Rebellion would attack, and if the

ship was still there, they would all be dead men.

Hiccup took a deep breath, sank beneath the

water, and swam after the ship. It was picking its way

like a slalom through the dragon corpses.

Hiccup swam after it, the Wodensfang puffing

81

into his mouth to give him oxygen every now and then.

Hiccup surfaced at the back of the ship and hitched a

lift by driving two daggers into the wooden sides.

He could hear the snap of the whips of the slave-

drivers above, the moans of the poor tired slaves as

they groaned with the weariness of the long journey,

and the splash of their oars.

The ship stopped and someone shouted up to the

tiny figures way way up on the battlements.

CRREEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAK!!!!

With a protesting shriek of wheels and pulleys,

the terrible door of Traitor’s Gate opened slowly.

Above the door, these ominous words were

carved into the stone, each letter the height of a man:

FORGET ALL THOSE WHO ENTER HERE.

The slave-driver snapped the whip again and

screamed the command to row.

Exhausted, the slaves rowed themselves through

the door, and into their own oblivion.

Slowly, and with dreadful finality, the iron door

slammed…

… shut.

The Windwalker, crouched in the reeds, let

out a whine of anxiety as he saw it. He stayed there,

shivering and alone, until a sentry on Prison Darkheart

82

must have spotted him because there was a mighty

blaze from the battlements, and something huge and

heavy rocketed past the poor Windwalker’s head and

exploded into the reeds beside him.

What was that? What were these terrifying new

weapons the humans were using against the dragons?

The Windwalker did not stay to find out. With

a terrified squeal, he launched out of the rushes and

flapped for his life on sad raggedy wings, flying north

to the Forgotten Forest. He looked mournfully over his

shoulders at the horror of Prison Darkheart.

But in the fear of the moment he left the stupid

helmet with the feather on it behind in the reeds.

Many hours later, something came winding

through the melancholy cathedrals of long-dead

dragons’ bones and landed next to the helmet and

drank in the smell of it.

You couldn’t see them, but the three heads of the

camouflaged dragon smiled, and its talons sprang out

like flick-knives.

‘Hiccup…’ hissed the middle head of the dragon

with satisfaction. ‘Hiccup, Hiccup, Hiccup. He mussst

be in there.’

All three heads turned towards the Prison

Darkheart. ‘And now,’ hissed the third head, ‘now

83

we have him trapped.’

‘He seems,’ said the third head, sniffing the

helmet again and wrinkling his nose in disgust, ‘to

have had an encounter with a Stinkdragon that is

going to make him laughably easy to track.’

The dragon took off in the direction of the

prison, slowly flapping its wings and circling it like

some greedy disguised vulture.

And we know who that dragon is, don’t we?

Because there aren’t all that many three-headed

invisibly-camouflaged dragons in the Archipelago.

It was the Deadly Shadow.

5. THE WRONG SIDE OF

THE DOOR

Hiccup’s not-so-brilliant plan went wrong right from

the beginning.

The slaves on the ship on which he had hitched

a lift were disembarking and slipping from under the

gang-plank of the boat. Hiccup intended to melt into

the shadows and explore the prison on his own. As an

Outcast, he was now an expert at this kind of sneaky

behaviour.

But as he tiptoed away, the Wodensfang sneezed

from his waistcoat. It was quite a quiet sneeze, but

unfortunately Toothless called out ‘Bliss ta!’ – which is

Dragonese for ‘Bless you!’ – very, very loudly.

And then ‘Bliss ta! Bliss ta! B-b-blissta!’ as

Wodensfang sneezed three more times.

The prison guard on the gang-plank heard the

noise and looked under the gang-plank.

‘WHERE D’YA THINK YOU’RE GOING?’

yelled the guard, assuming he was an escaping slave.

The guard gave him a crack of a whip sharper than the

bite of a Squirrel-serpent, and invited him to join the

long line of slaves sinking ankle deep into the sand as

they disembarked from the ship.

85

‘Toothless,’ whispered Hiccup furiously, holding

on to his stinging shoulder as he shuffled down a

maze of corridors into the dark belly of the prison’s

central courtyard. ‘Please be quiet. Remember, we’re

Outcasts… spies…’

‘T-t-toothless was being polite!’ protested

Toothless.

‘Yes, I know, politeness is good. Politeness is

very good. I’m really impressed by your politeness,

it’s just if you could keep your politeness quite quiet

at the moment, I’d be very grateful…’

Chaos reigned in the prison courtyard.

Hiccup looked around with his mouth open. It

was as if he had stepped through the door into another,

grimmer world.

Long lines of tables with people sitting eating

at them seemed to suggest that this was some sort of

open-air dining room. The people were of all ages from

six or seven upward, and had the S of the Slavemark

on their foreheads.

But around these people eating was the manic

din of war, and the sheer mad noise of it caused ears

to ring as if an orchestra in Valhalla had turned up the

volume to ‘extra loud’.

Screaming warriors ran hither and thither,

86

hammering swords and spears out of molten red-

ended metal. Above Hiccup’s head, continuous rocket

explosions sent out huge clouds of yellow smoke

that stung his eyelids and crept inside his nose like

sulphurous slugs, gagging his throat with the smell of

rotten eggs.

Lying around the place were enormous evil-

looking dragon-traps, weird crazy inventions such as

catapults that launched thirty-five spears at once, and

Northbows that did the same with arrows. It was all

so noisy you couldn’t hear yourself think.

The guard shoved them all in there, before

hurrying off, bellowing at them over his shoulder to

‘Eat well for the Seeking begins soon!’ – whatever

that might mean. To Hiccup’s horror, the courtyard

was absolutely packed to the brim with people he

knew, from Tribes all over the Archipelago, and as he

was the most Wanted person in the Wilderwest right

now, he thought it would be wise to slide away into a

side corridor.

But things really weren’t going Hiccup’s way

this morning.

‘HOY! YOU OVER THERE! SMELLY BOY!

COME AND JOIN US AT OUR TABLE!’ shouted

a large fat man from a table nearby.

87

Hiccup jumped guiltily.

And then he realised, in total amazement, that

the large fat man shouting at him was in fact his own

father, Stoick the Vast.

It was the moment Hiccup had been dreading.

The wart and the eye-patch and the smell were

doing their job though, because Stoick clearly hadn’t

the faintest idea who he was.

‘HOY! SMELLY BOY!’ yelled Stoick again.

‘GET OVER HERE QUICK OR ALL THE FOOD

WILL BE GONE!’

Slowly, Hiccup walked up to the table where

Stoick was sitting.

As he sat down, all the others at the table

moved gently away from him like a sea parting, their

noses wrinkling.

This must be what it’s like to have a highly

infectious disease, thought Hiccup.

Stoick grunted and pushed a large chunk of

bread and a big handful of mussels at Hiccup, trying

not to breathe in Hiccup’s particularly ripe and

luscious stink. ‘Eat up, boy, before I change my mind.’

At least his father was looking well.

He looked a little sad around the eyes perhaps,

with a few streaks of grey in his magnificent moustache

88

and he’d lost a bit of weight, but he could still be

described as ‘a hugely fat man with a beard as red and

out of control as a forest fire’.

And to Hiccup’s passionate relief, Stoick seemed

to be in some sort of position of importance and

respect among the slaves, or at least in the group

seated at this particular table.

Once a Chief, always a Chief.

‘New boy, eh?’ said Stoick, as Hiccup helped

himself. ‘What’s your name, kid?’

Hiccup forced himself to look his father right in

the eye.

This was awful.

He was in two minds about this, because he

was undercover of course, and it would be deadly

dangerous if people started recognising him, but

surely, surely, Stoick must know who he was?

Valhallarama was away questing a lot, so she

had some sort of excuse. But Stoick and Hiccup had

sat together every single day at the breakfast table

for thirteen years!

How unmemorable exactly was he? For Thor’s

sake, he knew he’d grown up a little but it wasn’t as

if he was wearing a large curly false moustache or

anything.

But no, Stoick clearly hadn’t a clue, not even

the merest smidgeon of an idea that the boy he was

sharing his supper with was his own only son.

‘My name is… Warty McSmelly,’ said Hiccup.

‘Good name,’ said Stoick approvingly. ‘What

Tribe were you, before the Slavemark?’

‘The Lost Tribe,’ said Hiccup, thinking fast.

90

‘Welcome to the Company of Amber-Hunters,

Warty McStinky,’ bellowed Stoick, giving him a hearty

slap on the back.

‘McSmelly,’ Hiccup corrected him, choking

slightly on his mussel.

‘You have to belong to a group here, McSmelky.’

‘Smelly…’ Oh for Thor’s sake, his father couldn’t

even remember his fake name! He was going to forget

it himself at this rate.

‘Otherwise you won’t last a day out there on

the Sands,’ bellowed Stoick importantly. ‘We are the

Amber-Hunters. Listen up, Amber-Hunters! We have a

new boy here! This is Portly McSpelly, late of the Lost

Tribe.’

Hiccup looked at the Amber-Hunters and then

around him at the courtyard, and his heart sank right

down into his sandals.

Everything was back to front and upside down.

All the wrong people were in charge. Up at the High

Table were the Warriors of the Wilderwest, swaggering

around in their purple and yellow sashes, and amongst

them Hiccup recognised some of the more unpleasant

Hooligans from his own Tribe, the new chief, Snotface

Snotlout, and his cronies Dogsbreath the Duhbrain

and Clueless.

91

And down here in the Slave-Pit were many, many

noble, respected men and women, who six months

earlier were proud Warriors of their Tribes, and were

now wearing the Slavemark.

Many were Peaceables, Grim-bods, Quiet-Lifes.

But here on Stoick’s own table, in his Company of

Amber-Hunters, among the Silents and the Bashem-

Oiks, were one or two Hooligans that Hiccup knew

well. The Vicious Twins. Hodgepodge the Loony.

And Gobber the Belch, Hiccup’s old teacher.

Gobber the Belch was a most respected Warrior

who had fought bravely for his Tribe on numerous

occasions and was, once upon a lifetime away, in

charge of the Pirate Training Programme on Berk.

Hiccup had a great lump in his throat as Gobber

looked up and wished him a kindly hello, and he saw

the horrible ‘S’ on his teacher’s forehead.

Who had done this to him? How dare they!

And to make matters worse, even Gobber didn’t

recognise him. Had he really changed that much?

Lonelier even than he had felt as an Outcast,

Hiccup looked around the table, and around the

whole courtyard.

He was looking for Fishlegs, and Fishlegs didn’t

seem to be there.

92

‘Um… Stoick the Vast, sir,’ said Hiccup politely.

‘Is there a boy called Fishlegs in the Company of the

Amber-Hunters?’

Stoick looked uncomfortable and sad.

‘Fishlegs?’ he said. ‘No, I’ve never heard of a boy

called Fishlegs, have you, Gobber?’

Gobber the Belch shook his head. ‘No, I’ve never

heard that name before, either.’

Never heard of Fishlegs?

What were they talking about?

Fishlegs had been memorably bottom of

absolutely everything in Gobber’s Pirate Training

Programme for about five years – Bashyball, Badd

Speling, the lot.

Gobber used to say that he was going to get

Fishlegs up to Warrior status or die in the attempt.

Hiccup’s father had spent most of Hiccup’s life a

little annoyed that Hiccup had such a little weirdo as

a friend. How could they possibly say they’d never

even heard of him?

There was something very odd going on round

here.

Hiccup was about to ask another question when

Snotface Snotlout, the new Chief of the Hooligan

Tribe, came strolling up to the table.

93

Snotlout was

looking in excellent

shape.

If he hadn’t been

such an unpleasant

character, it would

have been a pleasure

to see him come into

his own like this.

Snotlout had always

wanted to be a Chief and now

that Fate had given him his dearest

wish he was loving every second of it.

In the sunshine of everyone’s admiration, he

seemed to have grown about a foot. He swaggered

around, joking with his friends,

glowing with a new relaxed

consequence.

‘Nice fighting against the

dragons yesterday, Snotty!’

called out one of Snotlout’s

mates, Vandal the Visithug.

‘How many did you kill,

was it nine?’

‘I think it was eleven,’

beamed Snotlout carelessly. ‘But everyone did well.’

So when Snotlout strolled over to the Amber-

Hunters’ table, his words were not, at the start at least,

deliberately intended to offend, because Snotlout was

in a very good mood.

It was just that Snotlout was not accustomed

to thinking about the feelings of anyone other than a

certain Snotface Snotlout.

‘Eat up there, guys,’ was all Snotlout said,

smiling, off-hand.

But Stoick and Gobber and Baggybum did take

offence. They flinched at the casual command given

by one who was so much their junior; one who was

Baggybum’s son, Stoick’s nephew and Gobber’s pupil,

and who should be showing them considerably more

respect, particularly since the reversal of fortune on

both sides.

Hiccup could not

really look at the hurt

expression on their

faces and the

sad sinking

of their

shoulders.

This was the world turned upside-down indeed.

‘Snotlout,’ asked Hiccup, hurriedly changing

the subject, ‘have you seen a boy called Fishlegs

anywhere here?’

‘It’s Chief Snotlout to you, slave,’ Snotlout

corrected, instantly guarding his dignity, his good

mood fading. He didn’t recognise Hiccup either,

flicking his eyes over him dismissively, wrinkling his

gigantic nose at the smell. ‘Yes, Fishlegs is one of

the Lost – he disappeared in the Seeking a couple

of weeks ago. Not before time, he was a total weed.

Nothing worth bothering about. A bit of a weakling

like you, but without the powerful pong.’

Nothing worth bothering about…

Baggybum the Beerbelly carefully put down

his spoon. He looked at his son and quietly said the

words that Hiccup most dreaded his own father

would say to him.

‘Snotlout,’ said Baggybum the Beerbelly, ‘I am

ashamed to be your father.’

Snotlout turned white, shocked. For just one

instant, he shrank in front of their eyes and became

the small boy he once was, standing in front of his

father, his uncle, his teacher – the three men whose

approval he most desperately sought.

96

And then Snotlout composed himself, put on

his arrogance once again, and narrowed his eyes for

the fight.

‘You have no reason to say that. I may have

made that runt Fishlegs a slave, but I did not make

you slaves. You did that to yourselves, by not

showing our King Alvin enough respect.’

‘We acted out of loyalty to Stoick. But you did

not try to intervene with our so-called King Alvin

on our behalf, did you, Snotlout?’ said Gobber

thoughtfully.

‘Why should I when you act like fools?’ snorted

Snotlout.

‘Ashamed of me? I should be ashamed of you,

and you should be proud that I am a Chief. You were

never a Chief, Baggy, were you?’ sneered Snotlout.

‘You were not really Chief material.’

He patted his father on the shoulder and

sauntered off.

OK, so this wasn’t all right. This wasn’t all right

at all.

Hiccup’s hand was shaking as he picked up his

mussel and continued eating.

Lost in the Seeking? What did that mean?

Where on earth was Fishlegs?

97

A little girl was sitting beside him,

with huge doom-y eyes, a bear-suit with all the

buttons done up in the wrong button-holes and very

dark straggly hair that stuck straight out of her head at

odd angles. She seemed to read his mind.

‘Shh,’ said the little girl. A lot of her teeth had

recently fallen out and she was very serious for such

a small person. ‘We’re not allowed to talk about the

Lost. It’s not good for morale.’

Lost????? What do you mean, Lost?????

But now the little girl said in an interested

fashion, ‘Warty McSmelly, your waistcoat is on fire.’

Aaagh!

98

Hiccup looked

down, and there, indeed, was

grey smoke drifting out of the top of his waistcoat.

Toothless, who had been scratching away at Hiccup’s

tummy in an I-need-food sort of way for the past five

minutes, had given up waiting, and was now resorting

to the desperate tactic of sending up smoke signals.

Hiccup clamped his waistcoat to his chest to stop

more smoke coming up. What possible excuse could

he have for his waistcoat being on fire?

Eventually he spluttered, ‘Must have got caught

by a spark from one of those explosions out in the

courtyard… don’t worry! I’ve put it out now!’

And then in one desperate swoop Hiccup

picked up the last of the bread, cheese and mussels

99

and pretended, slightly theatrically, to drop one of the

mussels on the floor (‘Whoops!’) and dived under the

table…

… where he took Toothless and the Wodensfang

out of his waistcoat, scolding Toothless in a furious

gritted-teeth whisper. ‘Toothless, you must not set fire

to my waistcoat! If anybody found out I had dragons

on me, you would be dead.’

‘Was an accident,’ lied Toothless. ‘Hunger

makes Toothless’s fireholes leak…’

‘Now, Toothless,’ whispered Hiccup, showing

him the mussels and bread that he held in his clenched

fist. ‘There’s not much to go round so before I give

these to you remember your manners… Be polite…

Share… Leave some for Wodensfang too.’

In the darkness of Prison Darkheart, it is even

more important than usual to keep up your standards.

Toothless nodded his head, repeating, ‘Oh yessee,

yessee, me coglet, Toothless will share… Toothless

very p-p-polite…’

Hiccup opened his hand.

Toothless opened his mouth so wide and moved

so quick that he misjudged his lunge, and wrapped his

little gums not just around the mussels, cheese and

bread, but around Hiccup’s entire hand.

100

Which was of course too big for him to swallow.

Hiccup looked down at him in disbelief.

Goodness gracious, you wouldn’t have thought

that a dragon so small would be able to open his

mouth that wide.

Slowly, with his tail stuck between his legs and

his huge eyes apologetic, Toothless backed off the

hand, leaving the food there.

‘W-w-wodensfang first,’ said Toothless

piously, pretending that had not just happened. And

he let the Wodensfang have a couple of dainty little

picks before charging in to gobble up the lot.

‘S-s-sorry, mussels,’ said Toothless, with his

mouth full. ‘S-s-sorry, bread… Sorry cheese…’

‘Yes, lovely apologising, Toothless,’ whispered

Hiccup, ‘but you don’t really have to apologise to

your food… Although it’s a nice idea, Toothless,

don’t get me wrong.’

Suddenly there was absolute dead silence in the

great hall.

All the chattering ceased in a moment, like when

small delicious furry animals freeze into quietness

when wolves enter the wood.

And then, as he was crouched under the table,

with the Wodensfang and Toothless eating mussels on

101

the ground beside him, there came a sound that made

Hiccup’s neck crawl with fear as if beetles had crept

underneath his collar, and every single individual hair

on his head spike upwards as though they were the

quills of a porcupine…

Step TAP, step TAP, step TAP, step TAP…

… along the floor of the suddenly silent

courtyard.

And with a cold trickle of dread, Hiccup saw

from underneath the table, the legs of a man come

striding into view and stop right in front of him, so

close that he could have reached out and touched

them.

To be more precise, one leg was made out of

flesh.

The other was made out of ivory.

Sadly Hiccup could not see the rest of

him, for Alvin the Treacherous, King-in-

Waiting of the Wilderwest, was a handsome

sight indeed, a villain in the very flower and

blossom of his villainy, blooming with warts

like a tree in fruit, skeleton and snake

tattoos writhing gloriously over his gigantic

muscles and all the remaining parts of him that

were still human.

Which was not as many parts as the rest of

us have, for Alvin was currently missing an arm, a

leg, a nose and an eye, all replaced with splendid

attachments made of the very best ivory, gold and iron

that a King-in-Waiting could lay his hook on in the

middle of a war.

Behind the tapping and the ticking of Alvin’s

progress across the courtyard, was a horrible rustling

sound, like rats scuttling, and there

was something running across

the floor like a big white

bony dog.

It wasn’t a dog.

It was a witch as

white as bone.

A witch that walked on all fours

like an animal.

The witch Excellinor, Alvin the Treacherous’s

mother.

Her poisoned iron fingernails scraping on the

flagging, made that rat-scratch of a sound.

She stopped dead in front of Hiccup.

And then slowly, like an automaton, she turned

her head.

And stared… right into Hiccup’s eyes.

105

6. THE WITCH

EXCELLINOR IS A

LITTLE ANNOYED

OH FOR THOR’S SAKE.

Hiccup’s heart melted within his chest

as the witch’s hollow eyes looked straight at

him. She was like a living skeleton, a shock

of hair streaming out behind her, all human

kindness dead within her. Twenty years of living

in the darkness of a tree trunk had bleached all

the light out of her, and she was whiter than a

slug, and meaner than a snake, and bowled into a

hoop by the prison of the trunk.

They were caught red-handed.

She had been tearing up the

Wilderwest in her hunt for this very

same boy for the past six months.

And there Hiccup was,

under the table not two feet

away from her quivering white

nose, frozen in the act of feeding

two banned dragons, both of them

hovering, petrified, in mid-air.

The witch sniffed once, twice.

‘Dragons…’ she hissed in horror.

‘Dragons…’

She looked straight at him, and barked

like a dog.

But the witch was so blind she could

barely see a foot in front of her nose.

She did not see them.

At that distance she could only sense

movement.

Don’t move, Toothless, thought Hiccup,

teeth gritted in terror. Don’t move…

The witch carried on looking at them

for what seemed like a lifetime.

And then her long pointed nose,

sharp as a knife, sniffed in disgust.

‘That’s weird,’ said the witch

dismissively. ‘I thought I smelt

dragons but it’s just Slaves. They smell disgusting.’

And scuttle, scuttle, off she bounded, followed by

the step TAP, step TAP of Alvin.

Thank Thor for the Stinkdragon stink.

Shaking with relief, Hiccup stuffed the

Wodensfang back into his waistcoat.

The wart on the end of his nose fell off and he

only just got to it in time because Toothless was about

to eat it. Thoroughly rattled, he fastened it back on, put

Toothless in his waistcoat with the Wodensfang, and

popped back up to the top of the table.

The girl with the black hair and the big eyes was

now sitting where he had been sitting.

Oh dear, those big doom-y eyes were rather

alarming, they gave him quite a shock.

‘You’ve been under there for a really long time,’

said the girl solemnly.

‘Yes, well, I was resting,’ said Hiccup, feeling a

little desperate.

‘My name’s Eggingarde,’ said the little girl.

‘Pleased to meet you, Eggingarde,’ said Hiccup,

108

shaking her hand in a slightly frazzled way.

‘Eggingarde, what is this Seeking thing, and

how do you get Lost?’

‘Us slaves of the Amber Slavelands go out on

the Seeking every day,’ said Eggingarde. She spoke

in a very grown-up way for such a very little girl. ‘At

the first hint of low tide the bugle sounds and out we

go on to the red sands, to seek the amber Jewel that

the witch and her son Alvin are looking for, the one

that is not there. For I have been out on the sands

every day since I can remember, and I can tell you the

Jewel is not there.’

Oh, great.

‘Then the second bugle sounds,’ said

Eggingarde, in a scared deep whisper, ‘and we return

to Prison Darkheart. Unless…’

‘Unless?’

‘We are taken by the tide or…’ Eggingarde

stopped and opened her eyes even wider, ‘…

something else.’

Something about Eggingarde’s doom-y eyes

reminded Hiccup of someone, but he didn’t know

who.

‘Eggingarde?’ asked Hiccup. ‘How long have you

been in this prison?’

109

‘For as long as I can remember,’ replied

Eggingarde.

Poor Eggingarde.

For as long as she could remember.

That was a long time.

‘It’s OK,’ said Eggingarde. ‘I’m not scared,

because I am a Wanderer, and Wanderers are wild.’

Eggingarde pulled up the hat of her bearsuit,

held up her ten fingers and made them into claws,

making a hissing sound.

Hiccup pretended to be frightened and

Eggingarde looked pleased.

She carefully pulled down

the hood of her bearsuit

and whispered confidingly,

‘Sometimes I even scare myself…’

‘I bet you do,’ said Hiccup admiringly. ‘You

didn’t, by any chance, have a very scary grandmother,

did you?’

‘All Wanderer grandmothers are scary,’ replied

Eggingarde.

The witch leapt on to the Top Table, and when

she straightened and opened her mouth to speak, it

was as surprising as if a dog had suddenly got on its

hind-quarters, and spoken like a human being.

‘FOOLS!’ screeched the witch.

‘IGNORAMUSES! COWARDS! LAZYBONES!

WHERE IS MY JEWEL, YOU NUMBSKULLS?’

‘As you can see,’ purred Alvin, polishing his

hook, ‘my mother is a little annoyed.’

‘Slaves of the Amber Slavelands,’ said the witch,

calming down with bewildering swiftness, to the

relief of her electrified audience.

Now she put on her sweetest, most reasonable

voice. ‘I have brought you Grimbeard’s map.’ She

pointed at the map, which Hiccup could now see

had been hung very carefully in the centre of the

courtyard. ‘See how clearly it is marked, how the

Dragon Jewel is hidden somewhere in between

the Maze of Mirrors, and the prison of Darkheart?

All I ask, and it is for the good of the Wilderwest,

112

is for you to find me the Jewel.

‘But I see you may need a little more motivation.

Listen up slaves!’ yelled the witch. ‘Anybody who finds

me the Dragon Jewel, or indeed that little Outcast…’

Hiccup gave a guilty jump in his seat to hear himself

personally mentioned, but luckily everyone was

concentrating so firmly on the witch that they did not

notice. ‘Whoever is the Jewel-finder gets the most

precious prize of all…

‘The prize,’ crooned the witch, ‘is FREEDOM.’

The crowds leaned forward eagerly, as if her words

were water and they could drink them in. ‘Freedom…’

they crooned after her longingly. ‘Freedom…’

‘Just close your eyes,’ smiled that infernal witch,

‘and imagine what freedom means to you…’

Close your eyes and imagine what freedom means

to you.

Such simple words.

The tattered scarecrow slaves closed their eyes

and to each one it meant something different, but

somehow the same. A clear blue sky. Flying on the

back of a dragon. Out in a ship on the restless wave.

A small house in a quiet village on a small island, with

the smoke rising lazily from the chimney. Home.

Somewhere far away from these chains, these

113

desperate sands, these dark prison walls.

‘What about the Slavemark?’ cried out a slave,

forgetting his place.

‘It can be burnt off,’ said the witch craftily. ‘It’s

a slightly painful operation, but a small price to pay for

FREEDOM.’

‘You’re lying aren’t you, Mother?’ whispered

Alvin the Treacherous.

‘Of course I’m lying,’ the witch whispered back

sweetly. ‘The Slavemark can never be removed. Once

a slave, always a slave.’

She turned back to the crowds of slaves.

‘At the Seeking tomorrow, you shall bring me the

Jewel, I know you shall!’

And she bounded off the table and out of the

room.

Oh, that witch.

She and her son were not nice people.

Not nice people at all.

7. A TRULY SCARY BEDTIME

STORY – DO NOT READ THIS

IF YOU ARE ABOUT TO GO

TO BED

The little dark-haired girl called Eggingarde showed

Hiccup where to sleep, in a corner of one of the

dungeons of Prison Darkheart, which served as the

slaves’ dormitory.

‘It looks like someone’s already sleeping

there,’ said Hiccup doubtfully.

‘No,’ the little girl shook her

head firmly and mournfully. ‘It

used to be Loserkid’s bed. But he

doesn’t sleep there any more.’

Hiccup settled the

Wodensfang and Toothless in

the bed underneath a tattered

blanket he had brought with him

in his rucksack. He then had a whispered argument

with Toothless under the blanket. ‘What have I said,

Toothless, about not eating inedible objects? Look,

you’ve eaten a large hole out of my shirt…’

Toothless widened his greengage eyes, and

116

innocently batted those preposterously long eyelashes.

‘Wasn’t T-t-toothless…’ he mumbled in

between a large mouthful of shirt, and he pointed a

hopeful wing at the Wodensfang. ‘Must have been the

W-w-wodensfang…’

‘I can see you’re eating it right now!’ whispered

Hiccup in exasperation. ‘You might as

well own up!’

Toothless protested.

‘No,

n-n-no, no...’

But as he

did so…

… he accidentally spat out one of the buttons.

Both Hiccup and Toothless looked at the button.

Even Toothless had the grace to look

slightly guilty.

117

‘S-s-sorry, shirt,’ said

Toothless. ‘Look, T-t-toothless

owned up!’

Toothless swallowed the remains

of the mouthful of shirt. ‘Sorry, b-b-

belt. Sorry, top-of-trousers. Sorry, w-w-

waistcoat pocket… Ooh, Toothless is g-g-

good at this owning-up business…’

Hiccup sighed.

At this rate he was going to have nothing left that

didn’t have bite marks in it.

Hiccup popped up from underneath the blanket

to ask Eggingarde a question.

‘Where does Loserkid sleep now then?’ asked

Hiccup.

Eggingarde frowned.

She didn’t answer the question, she just counted

on her fingers the previous occupants of the bed

Hiccup was about to sleep in.

‘And before Loserkid, it was Goggle-eyed

Gertie’s, and before that it was the funny looking kid

with the big ears, and then there was Bobblehands –

that’s his candle you’re holding on to there.’

Hiccup took his hands off the candle as if it

was poisoned.

118

‘And Littlearms the Brave and—’

‘What happened to all these people?’ asked

Hiccup in horror.

Eggingarde did not answer.

‘Are you quite sure that there was never a boy

called Fishlegs sleeping in this bed?’ asked Hiccup.

Eggingarde looked startled.

‘Was Fishlegs a tall skinny boy with curly hair,

smashed glasses and a face like a haddock who wanted

to be a bard, just like me?’

‘Yes,’ said Hiccup eagerly. ‘That’s Fishlegs!’

‘No,’ said Eggingarde. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever

seen anybody like that around here. But if I had,’ she

added wistfully, ‘I think I would have liked him.’

‘Eggingarde, you just described him!’ said Hiccup

in exasperation. ‘You must have met him! Please,

you have to tell me. He’s my very great friend – what

happened to him, where is he?’

Anxiously, Eggingarde shook her head. ‘Sshh,

I can’t tell you. I’m not allowed to tell you about the

Lost, it’s bad for morale.’

She looked over her shoulder at the dungeon

filled with whispering that was dying away as people

settled down for the night.

Eggingarde put up the hood of her bearsuit, and

119

peered out from underneath.

‘But I can tell you a story,’ said Eggingarde

determinedly, drawing down her thick dark eyebrows

into a straight line and sucking in the air through the

gap in her teeth. ‘A very scary story.

‘This story isn’t about your friend Fishlegs.’

Eggingarde shook her head violently. ‘No, no, no, no,

no. It’s about… somebody else. The story is called:

The Slave-Boy, the Slave-Girl and the Monster of the

Amber Slavelands.’

POUF! Someone blew out the last candle in

the dungeon, and in a doomy alarmed and alarming

whisper, the little girl insisted on telling the story.

You have to imagine this story being told in the

huge, echoing dungeon with the whispering voices in it

sounding like spirits of the dead. You have to imagine

Eggingarde, lying back in her bearsuit, conjuring

up the story with wild wavings of her arms, and the

moonlight making shadows of those arms on the

dungeon walls.

‘Once upon a time, a poor slave-boy and a slave-girl

were paddling their sand-yachts in the most Evil of

the Evil Reaches, deep in the heart of the Amber

Slavelands,’ began Eggingarde.

‘Oh d-d-on’t let her tell this story…’ moaned

Toothless from under the bedclothes. ‘Toothless is

worried that this might be a scary story and this is

really quite a scary dungeon already…’

But Eggingarde was not to be stopped. She told

the story as if she could not help herself from telling

it, as if it was something that she could not keep to

herself.

And Hiccup wanted to hear it, because he was

worried that Eggingarde might be lying, and that this

was a story about Fishlegs after all.

For someone so little, Eggingarde told an

excellent story, as if she were a grown-up. Maybe it was

the amount of time she spent with adults, or maybe it

was just that Wanderers are wonderful storytellers.

‘So low was the tide,’ whispered Eggingarde,

‘that the dreaded red sands stretched as far as the

eye could see to the north, west, south and east –

nothing but sand.

‘Sand everywhere.

‘Sand and a sinister silence.

‘No birds called over those

dreadful red sands. No seagulls screeched.

For something terrible lurked beneath,

something truly awful, and the birds knew to

stay away.

‘The slave-boy and the slave-girl paddled

their sand-yachts out on the Eastern Sands, looking

around with wild eyes, paddling as if witches were

after them, though not a human soul could be seen

in any direction. They kept looking left and right,

and every now and then they stopped, reached down

with their curious long nets, and bent to pick up a

piece of amber lying on the beach.

‘These pieces of

amber, revealed by the low

tide, were amber jewels

of astonishing richness

and variety, some the

colour of honey and the

lightness of air,

others milky drops of

yellow-green, others red

as coral, warm to the

touch and flecked with

insects’ wings.

‘The Amber Slavelands are the best amber

hunting-grounds in the whole of the Viking world,

and many a slave has died there in the Quest to find

the amber Jewel that would be fit for a warrior Viking

princess, or the sword-hilt of a king. Low tide was best

for finding amber, and lowest tide the best of all… But

it was also the most dangerous.

‘On, on, they paddled wildly. On and on and

further out – the willow baskets on their backs

nearly full now. The red sand made a sludgy

swishing sound as the rims of the yachts

splashed

through

it, on, on,

on, for

there was no

turning back –

and suddenly they

stopped, both at

exactly the same time,

as sharply as if they

had been hit

by arrows.

‘In front of them in the soft, wet, red sands

were deep scarlet indentations appearing out

of nowhere, and stretching out for miles, the sea

puddling in the imprints, shining in the early evening

sunset as if it were blood.

‘The footprints were so large that the slave-

girl’s yacht came to a dull squelching stop right in the

middle of one, and it was as large as the

yacht itself.

‘They were the footsteps…

‘… of a GIGANTIC…

‘… dragon.’

Toothless let out an unhappy whine.

‘The slave-boy and the slave-girl felt their

hearts almost die within them.

‘Oh their luck had really vanished now.

‘They knew that they were doomed.

‘They looked at each other, and then

they both hid their heads in their hands,

curled up in the yachts, and the slave-boy

pretended he was back home, in his

village, and the slave-girl would have

pretended she was back home if she

had known where “home” was.

‘But then the slave-boy remembered that he had

been a Viking-in-Training, once upon a time, before he

had been a slave. And the slave-girl remembered she

was actually extremely brave.

‘And the slave-girl and the slave-boy made fists

out of their hands and shook them at the footprints to

show defiance.’

Eggingarde made a fist out of her own hand, and

shook it furiously in the air, and her shadow-fist shook,

larger still, on the dungeon wall.

‘Toothless not liking this story,’ whispered

Toothless.

‘Yes, I don’t think I like this story, either,’ said

Hiccup out loud, forgetting that Toothless wasn’t

supposed to be there.

‘I don’t have to tell you the end of the story if

you don’t want me to,’ said Eggingarde, dropping her

arms.

Oh dear, Hiccup had to hear the end of the story

now, although he did not really want to hear it. ‘No,

carry on,’ said Hiccup.

‘The slave-girl and the slave-boy knelt to

examine the footprint,’ said Eggingarde. ‘And

very, very quietly, as they knelt, something

moved in the sand behind them.

‘It made no sound,

just a little light spurt of sand, like

a tiny, bubbling upwards waterfall. Up it rose

a little more. What was it? Something very curious…

‘It was an eye, lying on the sand, blinking there

quietly for a moment, like it had been discarded by a

giant. Slowly, up it rose, and there were four more eyes

burrowing out of the sand like periscopes, curiously

attached to the end of long dragon fingers. And the five

together made a gigantic dragon claw.

‘The claw held still. The eyes, horrifyingly

attached to the fingers, focused in on the boy without

blinking.

‘And

kneeling in the

sand, they sensed a

presence

behind them,

the hairs on

the back of

their necks tingled

and prickled with

alarm, slowly they

peered behind

them—’

‘You’re freaking me out, Eggingarde,’

said Hiccup.

‘She’s freaking me out too,’ said the

Wodensfang, peering out from under the covers.

‘And T-t-toothless,’ said Toothless, whose wings

were over his ears. ‘Can’t you make her stop? B-b-

bite her or something?’

‘Manners,’ said the Wodensfang.

‘Just a l-l-little bite?’ pleaded Toothless.

‘A sweet one? To make her stop!’

But nothing was going to make Eggingarde

stop now.

‘“Aaaaargghhhhhhhhh!”

they screamed,’ said

Eggingarde, and she sat up

and screamed ‘Aarraghhhh!’

herself so loud, that Hiccup was

astonished that none of the other

slaves woke up, but they had

obviously had a hard day out on the

sands, for they snored on.

‘And the slave-girl and the

slave-boy got on their yachts,

and propelled them

forward with the

oars as fast as they could.

‘Wildly they oared the careering

yachts, crying and splashing across the

scarlet sand. They could not stop to blow their

whistles, they could not stop for the dragon was

after them, and if they stopped it would already be

too late for someone to save them.

‘The dragon-claw-eye-periscope had

disappeared, but over their terrified shoulders

they could see five little humps of sand following

them, keeping pace with them, unhurried.’

Eggingarde’s hands got more and more

excitable as she conjured up this nightmare, as

if she were conducting a savage piece of music,

faster and faster.

‘The slave-boy and the slave-girl

oared on, and the five little humps of sand

followed, always keeping pace, patiently

waiting for them to tire.

‘The slave-boy and the slave-girl oared

their yachts for what seemed like hours. There

was nowhere to go, no trees to climb, no one

to hear. The sands went on for ever.

‘And then!’

And then???? Hiccup and Toothless and

Wodensfang leant forward, in horror…

Eggingarde swallowed, her arms momentarily

frozen, before carrying on, her voice even deeper.

‘Out in the most eastern part of the Evil

Reaches, right by the rock that looked like a witch’s

finger pointing upwards at the sky, the boy’s yacht

caught on the metal edge of a dragon-trap,

lying half covered in sand, waiting to catch

dragons.

‘The dragon-trap snapped shut, and

caught the rim of the yacht, and held it fast.

‘The boy’s yacht tipped over, and

smashed into the sand.

‘And the boy gave up, he lay down

on the sand and curled up into a little

ball.

‘The sands around him were

quiet.

‘Slowly, carefully, rose the

dragon claw with the dreadful eyes

on the end, burrowing out of the

sand by the boy’s foot.

‘The boy did not move.

‘And then the claw closed

around his ankle and gently pulled

him down below the sand.’

There was a long, long silence as Eggingarde’s arms

slowly dropped down to her sides.

‘What happened to the slave-girl?’ asked Hiccup,

horrified.

‘She carried on, back to the prison,’ sighed

Eggingarde.

Eggingarde pulled down the hood of her

bearsuit.

Underneath the bedclothes, Toothless and

the Wodensfang gave soft, unhappy whines. They

obviously hadn’t enjoyed the story either.

‘That’s a very, very sad story,’ said Hiccup.

‘Doesn’t the boy get away? Couldn’t you make the

boy get away, and give the story a happy ending?’

‘If I was living in a happier place,’ said

Eggingarde, ‘I might tell stories with happier endings.’

Hiccup was getting a very, very bad feeling about

this story.

‘It wasn’t a true story, was it, Eggingarde?’ asked

Hiccup.

Please don’t let it be a true story…

Eggingarde said nothing.

‘It wasn’t about Fishlegs? The slave-boy and the

slave-girl, they weren’t you and Fishlegs, were they,

Eggingarde?’

133

The dark was filled with silence.

‘I can’t tell you that,’ said Eggingarde. ‘It’s bad

for morale.’

Hiccup begged her and begged her, but she

would not say another word.

It was dark. It was quiet. Everybody else was

sleeping now.

A few moments later, snores came from the bed

beside Hiccup. It was all very well for Eggingarde. She

had got her story off her chest.

But Hiccup and his two little dragons lay awake

in that darkness, listening to the sound of the Dragon

Rebellion attacking the prison.

‘You don’t think that story was t-t-true, do

you, Master?’ whispered Toothless, his two eye-beams

shining like torches in the darkness.

Oh, how Hiccup hoped not. ‘I’ve never heard

of a monster like that one,’ Hiccup whispered back.

‘Although there are said to be some weird things

under the sands of the Amber Slavelands, things

that have been cut off from the rest of the world for

so long that they’ve developed in their own peculiar

way, like Brainless Leg-Removers, Shooters and

Slitherfangs. But I’ve never heard of a dragon with

eyes on the ends of its claws…’

134

‘So maybe it’s not true…’ said the Wodensfang,

to Toothless’s relief.

But although the little dragons eventually went

to sleep, the Wodensfang’s arms clasped rather sweetly

around Toothless, protecting him, Hiccup could

not sleep.

What if

Eggingarde’s

story is true?

thought Hiccup.

And what if it

happened to

Fishlegs?

Please don’t

let it be true…

Then Hiccup spoke sternly to himself. Fishlegs

is somewhere out there, and he is relying on me to stay

hopeful.

Hiccup was young and optimistic, and eventually

he persuaded himself that Eggingarde’s story was just

a story, but a very good one, and he too fell asleep.

135

~ STATISTICS ~

FEAR FACTOR: ..................... 5

ATTACK: .............................. 4

SPEED: ................................ 2

SIZE: ................................... 1

DISOBEDIENCE:................... 7

Brainless Leg-Removers are primitive

creatures that lurk beneath the sands of the

Amber Slavelands. Any sign of movement

on the sands above causes them to launch

upwards and snap shut their powerful

clam-like jaws, and then descend back

down into the depths of

the sands again.

8. HUNTING FOR THE AMBER

IN THE AMBER SLAVELANDS

Very early the next morning, the slaves gathered in the

prison courtyard for the Seeking.

Toothless was very tired and very scared, peering

out of Hiccup’s waistcoat. ‘Toothless not want to go

on this Seeking.’

Nor did Hiccup.

‘OPEN THE DOORS TO THE AMBER

SLAVELANDS!’ cried Alvin the Treacherous.

C-CCREAK!

The great doors opened on the east side of the

courtyard of Prison Darkheart and Hiccup got his first

view of the sands of the Amber Slavelands.

It was the volcanic rock that had turned them

that extraordinary bright scarlet red, like blood, and

with the sinking of the tide they stretched out for miles,

encircled by the arms of the Slaveland walls, as far as

the eye could see and beyond.

‘DIG FOR YOUR LIVES! HUNT TILL

YOUR EYES DROP OUT! BUT TAKE CARE

OF YOURSELVES FOR THOR’S SAKE… We’ve

been losing a lot of slaves recently,’ cried Alvin the

Treacherous, and the cold clear note of the bugle rang

138

out. ‘THE SEEKING BEGINS!!!’

All around the edges of the courtyard, tucked

away behind the crazy jumble of weaponry and

dragon-traps, were rows and rows of sand-yachts.

The crowds of slaves rushed and jostled for them

now, for the witch’s prize of freedom was far more

precious than her punishment of death.

‘Calmly, Amber-Hunters!’ said Stoick the Vast,

holding up his great hand. ‘Calmly! There is plenty of

time.’

So the Amber-Hunters got to the sand-yachts

after the first undignified rush.

Eggingarde showed Hiccup his sand-yacht. ‘This

one hasn’t got an owner,’ said Eggingarde.

Hiccup swallowed.

‘What happened to the last owner?’ asked

Hiccup, although he already knew the answer.

‘I really can’t say,’ said Eggingarde, but her eyes

seemed to say ‘Lo-o-o-o-st…’

‘Don’t tell me, it’s bad for morale,’ Hiccup

finished for her.

The sand-yacht was a wobbly, skew-whiff thing,

with a basket balanced on one end to put the amber

in, and a long pole, again slightly skew-whiff, to pole

along the sand with.

139

In his mind Hiccup called this little yacht The

Hopeful Puffin 2, because it reminded him so much

of The Hopeful Puffin, the little boat he used to have

on Berk, long ago. Before the war…

To give himself courage, and to remind him

of that happy time he hoped would come again, he

took out a piece of chalk from his rucksack, and drew

a picture of The Hopeful Puffin on the side of the

sand-yacht.

‘You have to take care of your sand-yacht,’

explained Eggingarde, ‘because if your sand-yacht

breaks a mast or something, there’s no way you can

get back to Prison Darkheart without the tide

catching you.’

Every team had a prison guard. Alvin had put

Snotlout in charge of the Amber-Hunters.

‘But I’m a Chief and a dragon-fighter!’

complained Snotlout furiously. ‘I’m not a slave or a

guard! I should be out there, beyond the prison walls,

killing dragons for you, King. I’m way too important to

this war effort for you to lose me on the sands.’

‘Silence!’ yelled Alvin. ‘Are you

disrespecting my orders, Chief Snotlout?’

Snotlout was silent. He was not

a fool. He knew what happened

140

to people who disrespected Alvin’s orders.

‘Thank you,’ purred Alvin. ‘We’ve lost a lot

of prison guards recently and we have to find that

Jewel soon, my mother has seen it in her dreams, and

Mother’s dreams must be obeyed.’

So it was Snotlout who addressed the Amber-

Hunters’ party before they left. ‘RIGHT, you ’orrible

lot! You heard what Alvin said: hunt until your eyes

drop out! And Stoick, Baggy and Gobber, please keep

up. I don’t want you old guys holding up the whole

team,’ he sneered.

So they followed the great army of yachts on to

the sands.

Every now and then one little team ahead

of them broke off to begin working on one of the

pointless holes, or hunting for the amber, so as they

travelled farther and farther east across the sand, the

army of yachts grew smaller and smaller.

Until it was just the Amber-Hunters.

For hours and hours they sailed.

They had long left the islands and the land

behind.

The tide made a strange kind of sucking noise

as it sank, and it seemed as if it was bubbling,

bursting, and maybe it was Hiccup’s imagination

playing tricks on him, but it seemed as if there really

might be something DOWN there, something that

was incubating, that the sands were about to give

birth to something dreadful…

There could be Brainless Leg-Removers down

there… There could be Rocket-Rages… There could

be something even worse than these…

The scary thing was that all the other slaves

seemed to think the same thing. They were very, very

jumpy, looking over their shoulders all the time.

Toothless and the Wodensfang peered anxiously

out of Hiccup’s waistcoat.

‘Do you think Eggingarde is right and there

142

is that Monster down there?’ asked Toothless,

querulously.

‘Now, Toothless,’ said the Wodensfang. ‘If there

is a Monster, we shall just have to try and reason

with it. Us dragons are just as capable of evolving

into more civilised beings as humans are…’

Yes, that was all very well, thought Hiccup, but

I would put a bet on that dragon not being very

reasonable.

Chief Snotlout found it hard to keep up with the

Amber-Hunters.

The prison guards had wider, bigger sand-yachts

and Snotlout hadn’t yet mastered the rhythm of his.

Even Hiccup was faster than Snotlout, despite

the fact the falling-apart The Hopeful Puffin 2 was

impossible to steer in a straight line, and wobbled its

way forward in desperate zig-zags. (And in this it was

very like The Hopeful Puffin 1, a valiant little boat, but

it tended to go round in circles.)

‘Stop! Slow down! Wait for me!’ shouted

Snotlout, waving his whip.

But nobody bothered waiting for Snotlout.

He fell further and further behind.

So when they finally reached the most evil of the

Evil Reaches, way, way to the east, it was Stoick who

143

addressed the Team with the customary Team Leader

address.

‘Ahem.’ Stoick cleared his throat. ‘Company of

Amber-Hunters! We may be slaves, but we can still be

the best slaves that we can be!’

Even the droopiest little Wanderer straightened

his back at this.

‘Present your kit for inspection!’ ordered Stoick.

There was something heroic about the pathetic

little line of yachts that arranged itself in a line out

there on the desolate horror of the red sands, and the

raggedy human backs ramrod-straight, presenting

themselves proudly for inspection.

Stoick walked calmly up the line as if he were

inspecting a war party back on Berk.

Snotlout came panting up.

‘How dare you… puff puff…’ He flapped his

whip in an exhausted way. ‘This is an outrage. I’m in

charge here, not you, Stoick!

‘We want to get as much amber as possible, you

lazy slaves, so let’s get you working as widely as we

can,’ puffed Snotlout, re-asserting his command.

‘I’ll stay here, where it’s a bit safer, with a few

of you as bodyguards, but the rest of you guys spread

out as far as possible – your lives don’t matter. Stoick,

144

when we get back to the prison I shall put you on

report.’

Snotlout pointed a shaking whip at Stoick.

And then something unexpected happened.

Gobber the Belch stepped forward and calmly

wrestled Snotlout’s whip from him, broke it in half,

and gave it back to him.

‘We are not in prison now, Snotlout,’ said

Gobber the Belch.

‘Out here,’ said Gobber the Belch, ‘Stoick is in

charge.’

Crossing his arms,

Gobber looked sternly

down into Snotlout’s

eyes, as Snotlout

swallowed, realising

that these words

might have a sinister

significance.

It was true,

they could not

even see the prison

out here, just the

red sands that

stretched out for

ever in all directions and the little group on their

sand-yachts standing silently in the wilderness, many

of them past their prime, but still old Warriors whose

fighting ability Snotlout knew well.

And there were fifteen of them and only one of

Snotlout.

‘We have to go back sometime,’ hissed Snotlout,

shaking his broken whip. ‘We cannot stay out here

for ever. And when we do, I’ll have you killed as a

revolutionary…’

Gobber gave a dismissive snort, as if a fly

was speaking, and turned to Stoick and gave the

Hooligan salute.

‘What are your orders, Chief Stoick the Vast?’

‘Thank you, Warrior Gobber,’ said Stoick the

Vast, very dignified, straight-backed, every inch a

Chief, the warrior he had been before he got the

Slavemark. He saluted Gobber back.

Hiccup grinned in delight as the Amber-Hunters

broke into applause, and Stoick bowed solemnly

to them all. It was so lovely to see his father back in

command, even if it was only temporary.

Stoick the Vast, O Hear His Name and Tremble

once again, considered the situation.

It was much safer for all of them to stick together

146

in case You-Know-What attacked. (Stoick would not

allow his mind to dwell on You-Know-What, whatever

that was.)

But then perhaps it was worth taking a few risks

because if they found the Jewel, they would win the

ultimate prize. They would be free…

Stoick thought longingly of the idea of freedom.

Freedom. Dignity. Maybe perhaps he could

be a Chief again? And then he’d never have to tell

Valhallarama about this whole unfortunate episode.

She didn’t come home much after all. He could just

hide the Slavemark under his helmet, like Hiccup used

to do, and she’d never know anything about it…

Stoick closed his eyes and enjoyed this happy,

unrealistic little fantasy, for one blissful moment. And

then he opened his eyes again, and he was still there,

on those blasted red sands, with the wind trying to

blow him out of existence.

He looked up at the sun. ‘It’s a lovely bright

day… Good visibility! OK, perhaps we should split

into smaller groups. We’ll cover twice as much territory

that way. I’ll be hunting with Eggingarde and… er…

McBelly here,’ announced Stoick, to Hiccup’s surprise.

‘Let’s see if we can beat that streak of bad luck you’ve

been having, eh, Eggingarde?’

147

Stoick gave Eggingarde a tired, encouraging

smile.

Eggingarde pulled the hood of her bearsuit down

so low she was a bit muffled. ‘I’m not scared,’ growled

Eggingarde. ‘That old Monster better be scared of me

though, because us Wanderers are scary.

‘Roarrr!’ roared Eggingarde, making her fingers

into claws.

Everybody pretended to be scared. ‘Woah!’

said Gobber, feigning falling over. ‘Careful there

Eggingarde, you nearly gave me a heart attack.’

What you could see of Eggingarde under the

bearhood looked pleased.

‘Has everybody got their whistles?’

Everybody nodded their heads. Around each neck

was a whistle made out of an elk horn. ‘You blow that

as soon as you are in any kind of danger, and we’ll all

come and help you. Keep your eyes out for You-Know-

What at all times and I’d say, we have, ooh,’ Stoick

squinted up at the sun, ‘four hours before the tide

comes in.

‘Now, remember, if anyone finds the Jewel, other

members of the team must stay together to protect the

winner. And keep working closely in pairs so that if

anything happens to your partner you can call for help.

148

If we find the Jewel, our prize will be the greatest prize

of all, freedom itself!’

‘Freedom!’ cried the Company of Amber-

Hunters lifting their nets on their long poles. ‘We hunt

for freedom!’

‘Hang on a second,’ spluttered Snotlout, as they

all made ready their yachts. ‘Aren’t you even going

to leave somebody with me? We all know there’s

something out here.’ Snotlout’s eyes flicked nervously

over those endless scarlet sands. ‘Something that

takes the slaves… and MY life is too important to the

Wilderwest to lose.’

‘Oh you don’t need somebody with you, Chief

Snotlout,’ grinned Gobber. ‘You’re far too tough.

Nothing is going to want to eat YOU. You’re too

chewy.’

‘I order you to stay here!’ roared Snotlout, red in

the face. ‘I order you! Or I’ll… I’ll…’

‘Or you’ll what?’ Gobber raised an eyebrow.

In answer, Snotlout turned his yacht around and

sailed back as fast as he could in the direction of the

prison. ‘Or I’ll report you for mutiny and treason!’

The older Warriors on the sands threw

back their heads and laughed. Gobber let

Snotlout get a little ahead. And then in

a few leisurely strokes of his yacht he

caught up with the furious, enraged

Chief Snotlout of the Hooligan

Tribe, sledging for all his worth

out there in the middle of

nowhere.

Gobber reached

out a bear-like paw

and flipped the

yacht over, like he

was flipping over a

sea turtle.

150

DOWN tumbled Snotlout, somersaulting

over and over. His yacht smashed, and he

somersaulted over the top of it and

got a mouth full of red sand.

‘How dare

you! You’ve broken my

yacht!’ spluttered Snotlout, spitting

out sludgy red sand, and bits of little eels.

YUCKY.

‘I have broken your yacht,’ said Gobber calmly. ‘And

now I’m going to break it some more.’ With one big

galumphing soldier step, he put his foot right through

the bottom of it. SMASH.

Swoosh! Swoosh! Swoosh! All the other yachts

came swooshing up and halted in a grinning ring

around Snotlout, deliberately showering him in arcs

of sand.

151

‘Father!’ said Snotlout desperately. ‘Are you

going to let them do this to me?’

‘Am I your father?’ said Baggybum grimly.

Snotlout winced. ‘I thought I was just Baggy, an old

slave… Not really Chief material, I think you said…’

‘I,’ said Gobber the Belch, standing over the

fallen Snotlout, with his hands on his hips, ‘was once

your teacher. And you, difficult as I find it now to

believe, were once my star pupil.’ Snotlout flinched.

‘Talking of mutiny and treason, you yourself have

betrayed most of the people standing here now on this

sand. People who relied on you as their protector and

leader. And so I am now about to become your teacher

again. I hope you are not too old to teach. For I am

going to teach you a lesson about being a Chief.’

Snotlout swallowed. He didn’t think he was

going to like this lesson.

‘We are out here in the middle of nowhere,’ said

Gobber. ‘Your yacht is broken. It is too far to walk

back on foot. (That is why they gave us yachts in the

first place.) You will be overtaken by the tide before

you reach the prison.

‘Your only hope,’ said Gobber, ‘is that one of

us will save you by giving you a lift back on one of

our yachts.’

The dreadful nature of his present

situation began to dawn on Snotlout.

‘We are about to leave you here alone,’

said Gobber calmly. ‘So you will have plenty of

time to think. And what you should think about

is this: what have I done as a Chief that will make

someone here want to come back and save me?’

Silence. Absolute silence.

Snotlout looked up at a ring of cold,

hard faces.

‘Because,’ said Gobber conversationally, ‘it

will have to be something good. That person will

really have to want to save you. Your extra weight

will slow down their yacht.

‘Goodbye, Snotlout,’ said Gobber. ‘Think

about it.’

All the yachts shot away.

Leaving Snotlout alone,

with his sword drawn,

lying in the sand in

the wreck of his

broken yacht.

Thinking.

9. THE EVIL REACHES

So Hiccup and Stoick and Eggingarde set off to the

east, and within a surprisingly short time they were

on their own, the other members of the Amber-

Hunters Team merely specks on the distant horizon.

Oooh dear…

Already this was really spooky.

No birds called over those sands. Not one. Why

was that?

It must be because they sensed the danger that

was below.

It was a horrible feeling, racing over those

sands, because any minute Hiccup felt that

something might reach out of them unexpectedly,

and grab him by the ankle, like in Eggingarde’s story.

Eggingarde didn’t help his nerves either,

because every time there was a perfectly harmless

sucking noise, which was probably the draining of

the tide or the ‘glopping’ of a scallop, she would roar

at it, ‘ROAR!’, with a loudness and a suddenness that

made you practically fall off your sand-yacht.

(It probably rather alarmed the scallop too.)

The hood of her bearsuit was so low down over

her face that she couldn’t see where she was going.

154

Hiccup would be sledging along and he’d suddenly

realise Eggingarde had sailed off in the other

direction so he’d have to go and collect her and put

her back on course.

Eventually Stoick slowed down and started

looking for amber.

Hiccup leaned out and scooped up something

glinting in the sand, and then brought the net up to

examine what it was. No, not amber at all, just a big

old bit of crab shell. He threw it over his shoulder.

He sighed, looked warily around him at those

bubbling sands to check there was nothing horrible

rising out of them and moved forward. Half an hour

passed, and he had found only three pieces of amber,

all quite small, and none of them the Dragon Jewel.

He was suddenly bowed down by the hopeless

ambition of what he was supposed to be doing. ‘How

am I, in this whole vast wilderness of sand, supposed

to find one single Jewel?’ whispered Hiccup.

‘Your heart must be in your Quest,’ said the

Wodensfang, which was all very wise and supportive,

but was actually also, to be honest, a little vague and

not particularly helpful.

Hiccup sighed and carried on hunting.

It was quite an odd situation, to be out there on

155

the endless wilderness of the red sands with a father

who doesn’t realise you are his son.

‘Go on, Hiccup,’ whispered the Wodensfang

encouragingly from inside Hiccup’s waistcoat. ‘Talk

to your father. Tell him who you are, and why

you are here. Tell him about your Quest…’

‘It isn’t so easy,’ Hiccup whispered back.

He tried to push out of his mind the memory of

Baggybum saying to Snotlout, ‘I am ashamed to be

your father.’

Stoick wouldn’t say that would he?

156

Perhaps he would, thought Hiccup. He felt

slightly sick.

First I’ll just try and get a sense of what he’s

thinking, Hiccup decided. I’ll just check that he’s not

too angry with me…

Eggingarde was off at a little distance, roaring at

scallops and picking up the amber with a pole nearly

twice as long as she was. But Stoick was examining

some amber a couple of feet away. Hiccup walked

up behindhim and said, as casually as he could, as

if he were just interested in an off-hand sort of way,

‘So, Chief Stoick, are you really the father of Hiccup

Horrendous Haddock the Third, the boy the witch is

searching the Wilderwest for? ’

Stoick threw a piece of amber over his shoulder.

He sailed on, checked the sands all around him to see

that there was nothing alarming rising out of them,

and Hiccup followed him.

‘Why do you young people ask all these

questions?’ grumbled Stoick the Vast, putting out

his net and scooping up amber, examining it, and

throwing it over his shoulder again.

‘OK!’ gulped Hiccup, his voice sliding up from a

gruff to a squeak, because it had been behaving in that

uncontrolled manner quite a lot recently. ‘I’ve changed

157

my mind! You don’t

need to answer

my question!’

But Stoick

seemed to need to

get something off his

chest.

‘When I was young

I never asked questions,’

boomed Stoick. ‘I just did

what I was told, I followed

the traditions, I stuck to the

Barbaric Code. I walked in the

path of my own father, and my

father’s father, and my father’s

father’s father.’

For five minutes he worked

in silence, seeking the amber,

grimly.

‘I tried to bring up my son by the

same Code,’ said Stoick. ‘Even though

he was so different, and he always asked

so many questions.’ Stoick sighed and

shook his head. ‘But it is not always easy

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being a parent. You do your best, of course…’

I know what he means, thought Hiccup, thinking

of how hard it was training Toothless.

‘So when my son asked the question, “Father,

if you were King, would you free the dragons?” I told

him the right answer. The only answer. The answer

a King should give. Free the dragons? Nonsense! It

strikes at our very livelihood, the world that we grew

up in!’

Stoick shook his head, incredulously.

‘But what does my son Hiccup do? He rejects

my answer, beats his father in a swordfight! And

goes over his father’s head and asks for

freedom for the dragons on his own!’

Stoick was waving his arms around furiously,

walking so fast, that Hiccup found it hard to keep up.

‘And see what happens! The Archipelago is in

flames around us! My honour, my reputation is gone,

the ships I sailed in turned to ashes, my Chiefdom

lost. All our villages burnt, the Dragon Furious

rampant, the old order broken, the world at war.

‘And all, all,’ said Stoick firmly, coming to a stop,

and looking deeply into Hiccup’s eyes. ‘All… because

of my son Hiccup and his questions.’

Silence.

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‘Can you blame me for being angry with my son?’

Hiccup did not say anything. He just walked

forward miserably.

‘Is it going well?’ whispered the Wodensfang

hopefully, because he couldn’t quite hear through the

wind and the waistcoat.

No. It wasn’t going well.

His father blamed him for everything… His

father would never forgive him… He was ashamed that

Hiccup was his son…

‘And yet…’ said Stoick, looking into the distance.

And yet.

The pause that followed was very, very long.

‘If you were to ask me now, the question,

if I were King, would I free the dragons, I might

answer you quite differently,’ said Stoick at last.

‘The experience of being a slave myself has strangely

changed my mind.’

Stoick began to walk on, slowly. ‘And now I ask

myself… Was my son Hiccup actually brave to ask this

question? Was he right to ask this question? Was it,

even, a question worth losing a world for?

‘So the answer to your question, McJelly, is yes,

I am the father of Hiccup Horrendous Haddock the

Third. I am hoping against hope that somewhere out

there he is safe and well. And I am proud to be his

father,’ said Stoick the Vast. ‘Even though I do not

always agree with his questions, and I do not yet know

whether they were worth the loss of the world I loved.’

It was the longest speech Stoick had ever made

to Hiccup, and he did not even know that he was

speaking to his son.

For the first time in six months, Hiccup’s heart

was lifting with a tiny glimmer of hope.

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Is my father saying he might be able to forgive me? Is he

even saying that he thought maybe I did the right thing?

How typical somehow, that Hiccup happened

to be wearing an eye patch, an aromatic smell, and a

large fake wart on the end of his nose for this most

emotional moment.

Hiccup was about to say something… about

to take off the eye patch, and the wart… about to

say who he was… when two things happened that

interrupted him from doing it.

PPPAAAARRPPPPPPP! came the very distant

sound of a bugle.

‘ROAR!’ roared Eggingarde in surprise.

Up beyond the horizon where the Prison

Darkheart was, one of those exploding Things rocketed

into the air to tell them it was time to return before the

tide came in.

At the same time, the sand crumbled below

Hiccup’s stationary sand-yacht, and the yacht tipped

into an indentation in the sand.

Hiccup looked down, saw what it was, gave a

start of horror, and said, ‘Fa— I mean, Stoick the

Vast! I think we should be making our way back to

Darkheart, don’t you?’

And he hurriedly picked up his yacht, and turned

it around, and started sledging as fast as he could in the

direction of the prison.

Thank Thor Toothless and Eggingarde hadn’t seen

that…

Stoick shielded his eyes, and looked out to where

you could just see the shining glimmer of the tide on

the horizon. ‘We need to move fast now,’ said Stoick.

They had plenty of amber, but no Dragon Jewel.

But they had to return to the prison, before

164

the tide came in.

Sailing as fast as they could, they met up with

the other returning Amber-Hunters. All of them poled

swiftly now, reaching astonishing speeds on those wet,

sliding sands, afraid that they might yet be caught by

that incoming tide.

They stopped only to pick up Snotface Snotlout,

little though he deserved it.

We left Snotface Snotlout all alone on the

Eastern Sands, do you remember? Thinking?

Well, he thought a great deal over the next two

hours, and what he thought made him convinced that

nobody was going to come back to save him.

He had been running back through that sludgy

sand, though he knew that it was hopeless, and even

running as fast as he could, he would never be able to

out-run the incoming tide. Only a yacht could do that.

He was also attacked on the way by three

Brainless Leg-Removers, and two smallish Rocket-

Rages, which he had to fight off all on his own. So, all

in all, when he finally saw the yachts returning to collect

him he wept with relief.

Hiccup had never seen Snotlout cry: he wouldn’t

have believed it possible.

Baggybum and Gobber stopped on either side of

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the weeping, exhausted boy.

‘The lesson today,’ said Gobber, ‘was that you

have done nothing to deserve us coming back to save

you, Snotlout. Nothing at all. But we are going to save

you nonetheless, because perhaps – just perhaps – you

might do something in the future.’

Snotlout said nothing.

The two Warriors balanced Snotlout in between

their two yachts, so that they could still go reasonably

fast, and paddled back to the prison.

They did risk their lives for Snotlout, for he

weighed down their yacht, and the rest of the slaves

were already back at the prison, looking anxiously out

at the incoming tide, worrying when they realised the

Amber-Hunters were not back yet.

And then they spotted the Amber-Hunters on the

horizon, racing against the tide, and cheered them, as

one by one they reached the prison, moving so fast that

they had difficulty stopping.

Gobber, Baggybum and Snotlout were the last in,

so late that the tide caught under the yacht. The wave

rolled in with the upended sled and carried them right

up to the castle battlements, splashing against them

with a wild swoosh…

And now, where there had been red sand as far as

the eye could see, there was water instead.

Has Snotlout learnt his lesson yet?

We shall have to wait and see…

Snotlout did not speak to Alvin and the witch

about the mutiny and treason as he had threatened to,

and perhaps that was wise, because that unpleasant

pair were not in the kind of mood to listen to

complaints.

The witch and Alvin strolled up and down

the bay with whips in their hands, examining each

yacht returning from the Seeking, and shrieking with

disappointment as each one did not contain the

Dragon Jewel.

‘Whereisitwhereisitwhereisit?’ hissed the witch,

bounding up to each and every yacht with greedy

fury, and tumbling the contents out upon the sand

when she found that they did not contain the Jewel.

‘I do not understand it, Alvin. I saw it in my

dream… The dice told me… I would be holding the

Jewel in my hands within the next few days.

‘YOU WILL GO TO THE EVIL REACHES

AGAIN TOMORROW!’ shrieked the witch. ‘AND IF

YOU DO NOT BRING ME THE JEWEL, DO NOT

BOTHER COMING BACK!’

As Hiccup followed the slaves to the dungeon

bedroom, he thought sadly of the ruins of his

original plan. What was he going to do? Sneak in,

rescue Fishlegs and his father, find the Jewel,

168

and sneak out again.

This is going to be so much more difficult than I

thought it was going to be.

He was trapped in the Amber Slavelands, and

he had this terrible sinking feeling that he was never

going to find the Jewel, or poor Fishlegs.

But all he could do was keep on looking, even

though he was more scared than he had ever been

before, now he knew what terrible dangers were

lurking out here on the Amber Sands…

Because Hiccup did not tell Eggingarde and

Stoick the Vast one small important detail. He didn’t

even tell the Wodensfang.

Back there, when the bugle rang out, and

Eggingarde roared, his sand-yacht had tipped

over. And he looked down and realised that the

indentation in the sand was in fact… the footprint of

a gigantic dragon.

And then when he looked up, he thought he just

caught a glimpse of something out of the corner of his

eye. Something so unlikely, that it seemed that it could

not possibly exist.

The gigantic hand of a dragon sticking out of the

sand, and on the end of each taloned finger, an evil

dragon eye…

169

Watching… Waiting…

Hiccup had never seen anything quite like this

dragon hand. It was absolutely horrible, like something

out of a nightmare.

Hiccup did not tell Eggingarde because he

thought it might be bad for morale.

10. THE DEADLY SHADOW

Hiccup was so tired he fell asleep immediately.

All around the castle battlements, the nightly

shrieking and the screaming of the Dragon Rebellion

had begun, the exploding weapons, the whine of the

arrows being launched at the dragon attackers.

But while the sentries were on duty up there on

the battlements, the rest of the prison was sleeping:

witch, King, warriors, slaves and all.

And that night, through the quiet corridors

of the sleeping prison, something moved like an

invisible mist. You could not see the shining mirage

of the Deadly Shadow as he crept through the rooms

like a silent doom. But he was there nonetheless, like

Death himself.

He knew exactly where he was heading.

Outside the dungeon entrance he paused, and

his three heads sniffed with satisfaction, drinking in

the smell of Hiccup.

If you could have seen the Shadow, you

would have seen a gorgeous, shining invisible tail

disappearing down the stairs going to the dungeon,

like the tail of a beautiful imaginary cat entering a

mouse hole.

172

But you couldn’t see him.

Meanwhile, Hiccup woke up from a nightmare

about the Monster of the Slavelands breaking into

Prison Darkheart itself…

And then when he sat up, sweating, he found

nothing there but the slaves all around him, sleeping

the sleep of those who had spent an exhausting day

sailing their way across the sands.

But what was that?

He thought he heard a noise, a noise that was

nearer than the constant distant din of the Dragon

Rebellion outside.

There it was again. He strained to hear the noise

once more. Nothing.

Toothless and the Wodensfang were still snoring

on the straw. They were sleeping so soundly. Surely

that must mean it was nothing? Surely they would wake

if there were any real danger?

But still Hiccup’s heart beat as quick as a mouse.

What was that noise? Was that the noise of nothing?

He was just thinking that the entire thing had

been all in his imagination, when out of nowhere

something jumped on him, wrapping itself tightly

around his mouth so he could not scream, and he and

the Wodensfang and Toothless were wrapped around

173

like a parcel and picked up off the bed.

The Wodensfang’s ears were as purple as

blueberries and jumping about pointing to north, south,

east and west so violently they threatened to rattle

themselves right off the poor Wodensfang’s head.

‘Danger!’ the Wodensfang was trying to squeak.

‘Danger! Danger! Danger!’

But Hiccup had already realised he was in a

dangerous situation.

Hiccup tried to struggle but his arms and legs

were clamped by his sides, as if by tentacles, or some

strange invisible force so strong that he could barely

move as he was inexorably carried off.

He was so scared he could hardly think. How

could he be attacked from inside the castle? What

could this be? His mind jostled with Rocket-Rages,

with Piranha Hermit dragons, with Something Worse

than all of these, something that could not possibly

exist, a thing with a claw that had an eye atop every

single talon.

But how could any of these things, in real life,

sneak past the sentries that were currently blasting their

way at anything that tried to get near the castle walls?

‘Mff!’ cried Hiccup, trying to kick out. ‘Mff!

Mff! Mff!’

174

11. A GENUINE SURPRISE

Hiccup could feel himself being carried up the

dungeon stairs, could hear the sound of soft footsteps

and whispers all around him, and then, as he struggled,

he began to realise the voices he was hearing were not

dragon voices, but human voices.

He had a feeling of being dragged into a smaller

area, where the voices became more echoey and even

colder than the dungeon. And then, more surprising

still, he recognised the voice of someone he knew well,

but just hadn’t heard for a very long time…

‘Don’t panic,’ said the voice. ‘We’re friends.

We’re here to help you escape from Prison

Darkheart… We had to cover your mouth in case you

screamed, because you weren’t expecting us.’

And then the hands unwound him from the sheet

he was wrapped in, and took the gag and blindfold

from his head, and he was in what felt like some sort of

drainage tunnel.

And he was surrounded by faces, the nearest of

which he did, indeed, know very well.

‘Camicazi!’ whispered Hiccup in joyful surprise.

Camicazi was a small, chatty and recklessly brave

Bog-Burglar, with a lot of wild blonde hair that looked

175

like squirrels had been break-dancing vigorously in the

back of it.

She also just so happened to be one of Hiccup’s

best friends.

Camicazi looked at him for a moment in

puzzlement, and then she pulled up his eye patch, took

off his wart, and exclaimed in gob-smacked happy

astonishment, ‘Hiccup!’

Bog-Burglars aren’t supposed to show when

they’re really pleased to see someone, so Camicazi now

turned bright red with the effort of not knowing what

to do. She scowled furiously, and pummelled Hiccup

three times on the shoulder, and then she hugged him,

and then she hit him again – a little harder this time –

whispering ferociously (and if it hadn’t been Camicazi,

you might have said slightly tearfully), in between each

punch.

‘Where… have… you… been? I haven’t been

worried about you…’ she added hastily. ‘No, no, I

haven’t been worried, because us Bog-Burglars never

worry, we’re too cool, but where… have… you…

been?’

‘Ow!’ grinned Hiccup, holding his slightly bruised

shoulder. ‘You’re the first person who’s actually

recognised me. Not that I actually want people to

recognise me in this place, but still, it’s nice to know

that I haven’t changed completely in just six months.’

Camicazi was still bright red and scowling more

furiously than ever. ‘Why didn’t you come and find

me?’ She hid her face in her elbow. ‘Was it because I

Turned My Back with everybody else when the witch

got us to at the school? Because I’m sorry about that,

Hiccup, and I’ve been wishing and wishing that I had

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stood up for you, like

Fishlegs did, ever

since… It was just a

bit of a shock about

the Slavemark and

everything…’

‘No, no,’

Hiccup assured

her. ‘It wasn’t that,

I knew all along that

you didn’t really mean to

Turn Your Back.’

‘You’re sure?’ said

Camicazi, still a little muffled.

‘Absolutely sure,’ lied Hiccup awkwardly.

‘Besides, I was watching you the whole time and it

wasn’t really a full turn, it was just a sort of twist… A

kind of sideways-on, Half-Turn if you like, and only for

a moment…’

‘A Half-Turn?’ sniffed Camicazi hopefully.

‘The only reason I didn’t come and find you was

that everybody’s after me at the moment, and I didn’t

want to put you in danger as well,’ explained Hiccup.

‘Well that wasn’t very kind of you, was it?’

grinned Camicazi, who had cheered up no end.

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‘You know I love danger!’ She rubbed her hands

together excitedly. ‘Danger is my favourite thing!’

‘Yes, well,’ said Hiccup, changing the subject.

‘Speaking of danger, what on earth are you doing here,

Camicazi?’

‘We’re the Escape Artists,’ explained Camicazi,

beaming. ‘This is my Team: Sporta… Typhoon…

Harriettahorse… Beefburger…’ She introduced the

four Bog-Burglars who were sitting beside her in the

drainage tunnel.

They had been the ones who had wrapped

Hiccup in the sheet, and they must have carried him

together along the corridor.

They were all considerably larger than Camicazi,

but dressed similarly in black burglary suits, with a

lot of burglary equipment and weaponry dangling off

them.

To Hiccup’s surprise, the other Bog-Burglars

blushed and looked extremely self-conscious as they

shook his hand. ‘This isn’t…

the Outcast, is it?’

blurted Typhoon.

‘That’s right,’ said Camicazi carelessly, but

bursting with pride. ‘This is my friend, the Outcast,

Hiccup Horrendous Haddock the Third.’

It was very nice to have somebody being so

proud to present him to others as their friend.

‘Wow,’ said Typhoon, pumping his hand. ‘This

is an honour. Camicazi’s been telling us about your

work, hasn’t she, guys? Releasing the dragon-traps…

standing up against those fiends Alvin and the witch…

Respect.’

‘Thank you,’ said Hiccup, in surprise.

Meanwhile, Toothless was delighted too.

Slinking behind Camicazi in the tunnel was Stormfly,

Camicazi’s gorgeous golden Mood-Dragon, who

changed colour according to her mood, and Toothless

was in love with Stormfly.

‘H-h-hello, Stormfly,’ stammered Toothless

carelessly.

‘Why hello there, Toothless,’

said Stormfly.

‘We’re O-o-outcasts… You should see Toothless in an

eye patch…’

‘I bet you look marvellous…’ simpered that

mischievous Mood-Dragon, turning a little purple.

‘And this is Toothless’s side-kick… Er… W-w-

wodensfang the Desperado. Don’t cross him… He’s

one tough dragon…’

The Wodensfang was a little surprised to

be introduced as Toothless’s sidekick, but obligingly,

he tried to make himself look tough, which was tricky

for a dragon who was thousands of years old, no larger

than a biscuit tin, and a little wobbly on his wings.

182

‘There are p-p-posters up in the forest

about us and everything,’ boasted Toothless.

‘Us Escape Artists are running an escape service,

you see,’ explained Camicazi. ‘As soon as I heard that

they’d taken Fishlegs to Darkheart, I put the team

together. I thought, I’ve escaped from so many places

myself over the years, why not go the whole hog and

offer a truly professional escape service?

‘Don’t tell my mother, by the way…’ added

Camicazi, looking a bit guilty.

‘You’re a bit pongy, Hiccup,’ she said

conversationally. (Camicazi was always one to get

straight to the point.)

‘Stinkdragon,’ explained Hiccup. ‘It’s part of my

disguise.’

‘Nice one!’ admired Camicazi. ‘Check out some

of mine.’

She rifled in her rucksack, and brought out the

Wilderwest Prison Guard costume, the dragon outfit

(‘In case we get cornered by a Dragon Rebellion

attack’), the Peaceable Farmer get-up…

‘They’re fantastic, Camicazi,’ said Hiccup. ‘I

think the moustache may go too far though…’

‘No?’ said Camicazi disappointed, and trying it

on. ‘It’s one of my favourites.’

183

‘I’m just astonished that you’ve found a way

out of this prison,’ marvelled Hiccup. ‘People have

been trying to escape from here for centuries, not to

mention the Dragon Furious has been trying to get

in… it’s amazing.’

184

Camicazi had a few faults, like most of us, one of

which was that she was not very modest.

‘That’s because I’m brilliant,’ said Camicazi,

smugly. ‘You have to look for a building’s weaknesses,

you see. Drainage tunnels, that sort of thing. Look

at my collapsible ladder, made entirely out of broken

oars!’

Oh dear, that ladder did look perhaps a little

too collapsible.

‘You can’t beat a Bog-Burglar in a break-out

situation, I’m telling you,’ beamed

Camicazi.

‘And Fishlegs? Did you rescue

Fishlegs?’ Hiccup asked eagerly, his heart

lifting with hope.

Camicazi shook her head sadly.

‘No, we got here about a week ago and

we were too late for Fishlegs.’

Oh no…

No, no, no, no, no…

‘What do you think happened to him?’

asked Hiccup.

Camicazi sighed. ‘Well, when we arrived,

we rescued this boy called Bobblehands,’ she

explained.

185

‘Bug-eyed Bobblehands?’ asked Hiccup.

Camicazi nodded. ‘He showed us Fishlegs’s bed,

which is the one that you were sleeping in. He said

that Fishlegs had gone missing the day before.’

Hiccup could not believe it.

Camicazi sighed. She knew what Hiccup was

thinking. ‘I know,’ she said. ‘I didn’t want to believe

it either. Since then, even though we couldn’t rescue

Fishlegs, we’ve been trying to rescue a person every

few days. Any more and we reckon the witch will

start realising that something is up.’

Well, that explained why the people in the bed

Hiccup had been sleeping in kept on mysteriously

disappearing. Hiccup felt relieved on Eggingarde’s

behalf, because she must have been terrified when

every morning she woke up and another one had

gone. No wonder she thought that the Monster had

taken them…

But what had happened to Fishlegs?

Hiccup touched the lobster necklace that

Fishlegs had given him, for comfort.

As Camicazi had said, Fishlegs was the only one

who had not Turned His Back at the Flashburn School

of Swordfighting. Fishlegs had always been there,

believing in Hiccup.

186

‘I’m so glad we set up the escape service though!’

said Camicazi. ‘Now we can help you to escape!’

‘I don’t want to escape,’ said Hiccup. ‘I have to

find Fishlegs.’

Camicazi looked very serious suddenly. ‘Hiccup,

you are the only chance we’ve got. The whole of the

Archipelago is relying on you.’

‘We are,’ said Typhoon.

‘You betcha,’ said Harriettahorse.

‘You have to face it, Hiccup,’ said Camicazi,

sadly. ‘Fishlegs is gone. You should be out there finding

the Jewel, and I don’t think the Jewel is here.’

‘Yes, we’ve all been thinking that, too,’ said the

Wodensfang. ‘It’s one of Grimbeard’s red herrings…’

‘What did the funny little brown dragon say?’

asked Camicazi.

‘Never mind,’ said Hiccup stubbornly and

defiantly. ‘I’m not escaping… I’m still looking for

Fishlegs, whatever you might say.’

Camicazi sighed. ‘OK then, in which case I am

staying here with you. You are only a boy, after all,’ she

reminded him condescendingly. ‘You really need a girl

to help protect you on this Quest.’

‘You are not staying here,’ argued Hiccup. ‘What

would your mother say?’

187

‘Oh, she wouldn’t mind,’ lied Camicazi vaguely.

‘She’s got her hands full with the Dragon Rebellion.

They’re attacking the Bog-Burglar Islands every single

night now, a bit like here…’

‘No way are you staying here, Camicazi,’

repeated Hiccup. ‘You haven’t got a Slavemark,

it’s way too dangerous. Besides,’ he said hastily,

remembering how much she loved danger and so this

would just be an encouragement, ‘you have to lead

your escape service. There’s this kid called Eggingarde

who sleeps opposite me, and I think she really needs

to escape, the whole Darkheart experience is getting

her down.’

‘All right, then!’ said Camicazi,

thoughtful for a second, and then allowing

herself to be distracted. ‘Bog-Burglars,’

she addressed the Escape Artists in a loud

conspiratorial whisper, ‘lets put into action

Operation Eggingarde!’

‘Operation Eggingarde!’ repeated

Typhoon, Sporta, Harriettahorse and Beefburger,

giving each other the Bog-Burglar high-five.

189

12. BEAR-MAMA

Meanwhile the Deadly Shadow slunk through the

door of the dungeon that Camicazi had left open.

You couldn’t see it of course. But the Sniff! Sniff!

Sniff!-ing noise went snuffling across the floor like the

sludgy trail of an invisible snail, and a light wind blew

through the centre of the dungeon.

The Deadly Shadow’s talons were already out.

Its broken heart was pure steel. The Red-Rage had

so clouded its invisible eyes that they had almost

become visible with hatred. The snuffling stopped at

Hiccup’s bed. The bed was empty. The Shadow gave

a surprised snort and its talons raked through the

remains of straw and bedding. Nothing there either.

The boy must be somewhere else!

The Deadly Shadow was so steaming mad that

for one moment he turned visible and you could see

the actual smoke that was drifting out of all six of his

ears.

The Shadow silently exploded what remained of

the bed, and it stalked out the door again on furious

silent tiptoes. And woe betide Hiccup if the creature

ever found him…

Two minutes later, Hiccup and the Bog-Burglar

191

Escape Artists arrived back at the door of the

dungeon.

‘What has happened here?’ whispered Hiccup,

looking at his bed, which seemed, quite literally, to

have exploded, sending a rain of straw all round it in

every direction.

‘Wow,’ said Camicazi. ‘You’re a restless sleeper.’

Hiccup started trying to tidy it up. ‘You’d better

get a move on, guys, if you want to escape with

Eggingarde before morning.’

So Camicazi and the Bog-Burglars were about

to do their normal routine of bundling up Eggingarde

in her blanket while she was still asleep, but Hiccup

wouldn’t let them. ‘You might worry her,’ said Hiccup.

So Hiccup woke her up gently.

‘Ssh,’ said Hiccup, ‘these are some

friends of mine, Eggingarde, and they’re

going to help you to escape back to your

Tribe and your mother.’

Eggingarde looked at him with her

big solemn eyes, and then she gave a

huge, gap-toothed smile.

‘Do you think I

have a mother?’ smiled

Eggingarde.

‘I’m sure you do,’ said Hiccup, ‘and I bet she’s

been really missing you.’ And he re-did the buttons

on her bearsuit so they were in the right buttonholes,

so she’d look her best for her mother.

‘Camicazi?’ whispered Hiccup. ‘I think maybe

you should deliver Eggingarde back to her Tribe,

the Northern Wanderers. You’ll find them up north

somewhere, wandering about. Now that,’ he added

craftily, ‘now that is going be a really dangerous

mission, because you have to go through Dragon

Rebellion Territory to get up there…’

‘OK,’ Camicazi whispered back.

Hiccup looked at her suspiciously.

It was unlike Camicazi to be quite so obedient.

‘Bye then, Camicazi.’

‘Bye,’ said Camicazi, widening her big blue eyes

innocently.

‘Goodbye, Eggingarde,’ whispered Hiccup.

‘Goodbye, Hiccup,’ Eggingarde whispered back.

‘Goodbye, Stormfly,’ said Toothless, doing

three elaborate somersaults in the air to show off,

nearly knocking himself out when he bumped

into a pillar in the process, and then struggling to

re-arrange himself in the air to look glamorous.

‘Goodbye, Toothless the Outcast,’ cooed the

193

Mood-Dragon, batting her eyelashes coquettishly at

the slightly dazed Toothless as she followed Camicazi

and the Bog-Burglar Escape Artists and Eggingarde

tiptoeing out the room.

And that was how Eggingarde made her escape

from the Amber Slavelands, and from this story, back

to the safe warm arms of her mother, Bear-mama,

(who had indeed been missing her), back to the

magical stories of her scary Wanderer grandmother,

and back to the admiration of her little brother

Bearcub, whom she had never met.

OK, so at least Camicazi is going to be all right

and out of danger for a while, thought Hiccup dozily.

It’ll take the Bog-Burglar Escape Artists quite a long

time to locate the Northern Wanderer Tribe.

‘I wonder who did this?’ whispered the

Wodensfang, looking at the rags and straw strewn

all over the place, his ears doing that going-purple-

and-indicating-danger thing.

‘Wodensfang, you’re paranoid,’ said Hiccup,

yawning.

‘It’s only paranoia,’ whispered the

Wodensfang, ‘if things aren’t out to get you…’

But Hiccup and Toothless were already asleep.

194

A Happy Ending

for Eggingarde

13. THE PAST HAS A WAY OF

CATCHING UP WITH YOU

Very, very early the next morning, the first drizzle

of sun rose over the Dragon’s Graveyard. The Red-

Rage attack subsided with the first appearance of

the sun, and the Exploding Things fell silent on the

battlements.

But who was this, picking his way in a little boat

through the lingering smoke of the explosions, those

grim cathedrals of dragons’ bones where the seagulls

are now shrieking?

It was the Hairy Scary Librarian, an old enemy

of Hiccup’s. He was a tall bent sinister figure, with a

beard so long it was dribbling after him in the water

like he was taking it for a swim, and two amber-nets

on long poles that he called his ‘Heart-Slicers’. The S

on the Librarian’s forehead proclaimed that he was

a slave, but he was what was known as a ‘trusty’

slave, which meant that the prison guards trusted

him to go out of the prison for short tasks and

expeditions such as this one. He was collecting up

the spears and ammunition so the Wilderwest

Warriors could use them when the Rebellion

attacked again tomorrow night.

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The Hairy Scary Librarian poled his way past

the dismal fresh corpse of a gigantic Rhinoback. He

spotted something by a little island, hidden in the

reeds. He stretched out his right-hand Heart-Slicer,

and picked up the something in the net, and hauled

it dripping wet into his boat.

It was a helmet.

The Hairy Scary Librarian tipped the helmet

over, pouring out the water. ‘Tick-tock’ went the

wheels in his brain, as he remembered the Visithug

Warriors returning to the prison several weeks ago,

saying how they had nearly caught Hiccup the

Outcast, undoing dragon-traps again.

They had described Hiccup as wearing a very

particular helmet. One, just like this one, with that

rather stupid broken plume on the top.

‘So-ho,’ whispered the Hairy Scary Librarian,

smiling a horrid smile. ‘This is Hiccup’s helmet, is

it? Which meanssss,’ smiled the Librarian, laughing

wheezily to himself, ‘that Hiccup is somewhere in the

prison, and I can tell the witch, and get my own back

on that horrible little Hiccup who is the reason I am

here in the first place… and get my freedom into

the bargain!’

The Librarian turned, and poled his way back

to Prison Darkheart, slaloming crazily through the

corpses, with all the eagerness of one who has waited

long to settle an old score.

Everything we do, you see, has its

consequences and repercussions, every kind

act, and every bad, every friend we

make, and every enemy.

Everything is connected.

14. THE LUCK TURNS

ALVIN’S WAY

Horribly early the next morning, even earlier than

normal, the prison guards woke everybody up by

banging their swords on their shields and yelling:

‘EVERYBODY UP AND IN THE COURTYARD!

The witch Excellinor has called a crisis meeting!’

Blearily and half-asleep, Hiccup staggered up

the dungeon stairs to the courtyard with all the other

slaves.

And then suddenly, he felt very awake indeed,

nerve-tinglingly, eye-openingly, brilliantly awake, as

he tried to peer between the enormous guy in front

of him to see the witch and Alvin the Treacherous

sitting at the table. The witch was tapping her iron

fingernails…

… and in front of the witch was yet another

someone who Hiccup knew from the past.

They say that the past has a way of catching up

with you, and the distant and not-so-distant past was

certainly catching up with Hiccup big-time, in the

two days in which he had been trapped in the great

Prison Darkheart.

The Hairy Scary Librarian was holding, in his

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hands, Hiccup’s helmet.

The one that Windwalker had accidentally left in

the bay because he was so upset.

Aaargh.

It was too late for Hiccup to get away now. He

was so wedged in by the crowd he couldn’t even move.

Alvin the Treacherous stood up, his warts swelling

with revolting gloating triumph like he’d just won the

Barbaric Games.

‘MISERABLE SLAVES OF THE AMBER

SLAVELANDS!’ called out Alvin. ‘WE HAVE A

TRAITOR IN OUR MIDST!’

Murmurs of astonishment among the slaves.

‘This morning,’ continued Alvin, ‘one of our

“trusty” slaves, Hairy here, was out in the bay of the

Dragons’ Graveyard cleaning up after the Dragon

Rebellion attack, when he discovered this helmet.

‘My Warriors tell me that this was the very helmet

that was worn by that traitor Hiccup Horrendous

Haddock the Third when they last found him undoing

our dragon-traps.’

Oh for Thor’s sake, thought Hiccup bitterly. I

knew I never liked that helmet.

‘And we have also recently discovered a secret

door that opens on to a drainage tunnel that leads

201

directly into the prison from outside…’

Hang on, thought Hiccup. That wasn’t me, it was

the Bog-Burglar Escape Artists! They must have left the

door open…

‘Which means,’ said the witch silkily, ‘that

somehow that tricksy little Traitor of the Wilderwest

has sneaked into this prison – the impostor – and he

will be somewhere here among you slaves.’

Sensation in the courtyard, with everyone looking

at one another, and wondering who the Traitor was.

‘Of course,’ purred the witch, ‘we could get

everyone to try on the helmet, and see who it fits…’

In which case I’ll be fine, thought Hiccup, slightly

hysterically, because quite apart from being horribly itchy,

that helmet never fitted.

‘But I,’ smiled Alvin, ‘have thought of a far neater

plan. You see,’ said Alvin, ‘the reason that this Traitor-

boy Hiccup can never be a King like me, is that to be a

King you have to be strong and make tough decisions.

Hiccup is weak,’ sneered Alvin. ‘He is too soft to be a

King.

‘HICCUP HORRENDOUS HADDOCK

THE THIRD!’ cried Alvin the Treacherous. ‘GIVE

YOURSELF UP, OR I SHALL KILL…

THIS BOY.’

202

Alvin the Treacherous

reached out with one arm

and grabbed the nearest

member of the Hooligan

Tribe that he could see,

and held his wicked hook

to that boy’s throat.

Now, the boy he

grabbed happened to be Snotlout.

Alvin, you see, had forgotten

that Hiccup and Snotlout were sworn enemies. He just

knew that Hiccup was a member of the Hooligan Tribe

and therefore would be sentimental about Hooligans

and therefore grabbed the closest Hooligan he could

find.

‘Here I say,’ objected Snotlout in astonishment,

‘I’m not a slave, I’m a Warrior! And I’m your loyal

subject, King Alvin. I was the one who told your

mother about Hiccup having the Slavemark…’

Snotlout had already had a very difficult twenty-

four hours. His ego had taken quite a bashing out there

on the sands yesterday.

But you see, Alvin the Treacherous did not have a

grateful nature.

Alvin ignored this, and if anything, held the hook

203

a little closer, so that blood dropped down from

Snotlout’s throat.

‘YOU BETTER BE QUICK!’ screamed Alvin.

‘THIS HOOK IS HUNGRY!’

Now, this is what you might call a ‘moral

dilemma’.

Snotlout had been mean to Hiccup all his life.

He was a bully and a thoroughly bad lot. He

was indeed the one who had thrown the stone that

revealed Hiccup as having the Slavemark, when

Hiccup had been about to be crowned Champion

of Champions and King of the Wilderwest in the

Flashburn School of Swordfighting.

But how could Hiccup, in cold blood, let Alvin

the Treacherous kill Snotlout?

Snotlout was his cousin and a fellow human

being.

And maybe, just maybe, very, very deep down

indeed, there was some good in Snotlout after

all. And possibly there was some way out of this

completely packed courtyard, so he could escape

even after he’d given himself up?

Hiccup sighed. Maybe Alvin is right, maybe I am

too weak to be a king… I can’t believe I’m doing this

for Snotlout of all people…

204

And then he put up his hand and shouted:

‘OK, I give myself up. I am Hiccup Horrendous

Haddock the Third. I am the Outcast.’ After six

months on the run, it felt pretty scary to be finally

revealing himself.

‘Aha!’ said Alvin in satisfaction, and he dropped

a highly relieved Snotlout and looked out eagerly at

the crowd of slaves. ‘I knew it!’ crowed Alvin.

Three rows back into the crowd, Stoick the Vast

gasped in amazement, and tried to peer round to see

where his son might be. ‘Whiffy McSmelly! Surely…

surely you cannot be Hiccup!’

‘Yes,’ Hiccup shouted up through the large

people who were boxing him in. ‘It is me!’

‘But this is wonderful!’ cried Stoick joyfully,

jumping up and down, trying to look over people’s

heads. ‘Hiccup! You’re alive! I can’t tell you how

relieved I am, my boy… I… I… I’m so sorry I didn’t

recognise you… I can’t believe I didn’t recognise

you…’

‘Well, I was wearing my disguise,’ Hiccup

shouted back, to make him feel better. He took off his

Really-Not-Very-Cunning-Disguise of the eye patch,

and wiped off the remains of the dirt with the end of

his sleeve. He couldn’t remove the smell of course.

205

‘And I changed a bit because I got a little older… I

came to see if I could help…’

‘Less talking!’ yelled Alvin. ‘Don’t let the little

rat talk, he’s always talking his way out of trouble. Pass

him up to the front, there!’

The crowd around Hiccup picked him up and,

hand to hand, passed him over everyone’s heads, up to

the front where the witch and Alvin were standing.

‘Ah yes, Hiccup,’ said Stoick, trying not to

breathe in as he passed over his head. ‘You’re looking

well, but adolescence has hit you hard, my poor boy.

The body odour can be bad in the teenage years…’

‘Stinkdragon,’ Hiccup explained, shaking his

father’s happy hand as he went by. ‘So you wouldn’t

look at me too carefully.’

‘Oh, that’s a relief,’ rattled Stoick, so off his

balance that he did not know what he

was saying, ‘otherwise you’d

have terrible trouble

getting a girlfriend.

But why are you here, Hiccup?’

The Visithug at the front of the crowd put

Hiccup down gently in front of Alvin and the witch.

‘I came to see if I could help,’ said Hiccup. ‘I

came to see if I could rescue you.’

‘Well done, Hiccup!’ boomed Gobber, giving a

supportive thumbs-up from the crowd. ‘Very brave,

coming here to rescue us!’

‘Yes,’ cried Stoick. ‘Well done, son! I’m

proud of you!’

‘SHUDDUP!’ screamed the witch.

‘Rescue you? How could a little rat this

small rescue you? Search him!’ she

screeched.

‘Uh-oh,’ Toothless

whispered to the Wodensfang, as the two little dragons

crouched at the crack of Hiccup’s waistcoat. ‘We gotta

go, W-w-wodensfang the Desperado… We’re

c-c-cornered…’

‘Fly!’ whispered Hiccup in Dragonese, and the

Wodensfang and Toothless burst out of Hiccup’s

waistcoat like twin humming-birds, Toothless giving

out little bursts of fire, pe-ow pe-ow pe-ow, like he was

trying to shoot his way out.

But the Hairy Scary Librarian was standing just

next to Hiccup, and he was just as fast with his left

hand as he was with his right. He drew those amber-

nets from his belt quick as lightning, just as

he used to draw his Heart-Slicer swords. (He used to

208

use swords, but nets were his new thing.)

Flick flick, went the Hairy Scary Librarian’s

amber-nets, and he caught the Wodensfang with his

left net and Toothless with his right, tied the ends of

the nets up nice and tight and presented them to Alvin

with a low cringing bow.

Toothless and the Wodensfang howled in horror,

for dragons are wild creatures, and nothing upsets

them more than being trapped.

And then the Librarian turned to Hiccup and

narrowed his eyes. ‘Never cross a Librarian,’ spat

the Hairy Scary Librarian with venom, his voice like

broken glass. ‘For Librarians are patient, and they can

wait for their revenge…’

‘Dragons!’ screeched the witch triumphantly,

pointing a dramatic finger at the Wodensfang and

Toothless, all tangled

and desperately

struggling in

the Librarian’s

amber-nets.

‘I smell

dragons, see!

We are at war

with the entire

209

dragon race, they have reduced our villages to black

dust, and yet the Traitor carries dragons on him!’

The Warriors of the Wilderwest did not like that,

under attack as they were every night by dragons, and

they roared in fury.

‘Don’t worry, Mother!’ said Alvin in delight. ‘I’ll

just squash them with my foot!’ He flung Toothless on

the ground and lifted his metal foot.

‘Noooooooo!’ shrieked the witch. ‘The toothless

dragon is a Lost Thing, remember? We need him so

you can be crowned King of the Wilderwest!’

‘Curses!’ swore Alvin the Treacherous. ‘But I can

still kill the other one!’

He flung the Wodensfang on the

ground, all tangled still in the net.

‘Noooooo!’ shrieked Hiccup,

thinking very speedily. ‘I don’t know

which one is the Lost Thing, for they

both have no teeth!’

(Quick as a wink, the

Wodensfang sucked in his teeth.)

‘Double curses!’ swore Alvin

the Treacherous, looking down at the

supposedly-toothless Wodensfang in a

baffled sort of way.

210

‘But I can kill something, surely? I can kill

Hiccup,’ said Alvin, cheering up. ‘Please, let me kill

Hiccup, Mother. He’s not a Lost Thing.’

‘He’s the finder of the King’s Lost Things,

though,’ said the witch. ‘Of course you can kill

Hiccup, Alvin, my darling, and you’ll do a lovely

creative job

of it, I know. But you’ll just have to postpone that

pleasure until he’s found us the last Lost Thing,

the Jewel…

‘The little rat draws the Lost Things to him like

he’s a little Lost-Thing magnet, rot him… We just have

to motivate him properly, and luckily I am very good at

motivating children.’

Ooh dear, shivered Hiccup, now completely

petrified. This doesn’t sound too great…

The Hairy Scary Librarian interrupted with an

apologetic cough, cringing before the witch, and wiping

his mouth with the end of his beard.

‘Talking of motivation, I believe you offered

freedom to any slave who brought you the little

thieving magpie who is the Traitor of the Wilderwest.

My Library is waiting for me, I’ve have been gone

from it too long. Freedom, witch, freedom. I claim my

freedom.’ Freedom.

Again, it was pathetic to see how the crowds

of slaves leaned forward eagerly. ‘Freedom…’ they

crooned after the Librarian longingly. ‘Freedom…’

Freedom to the Librarian meant being back in

his Library, lurking through the passages, guarding his

precious books, and in his mind he was already there,

wandering the labyrinth, happy in that darkness.

But…

If there was anyone on this good green earth

who was even less grateful than Alvin himself, it was

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Alvin’s mother Excellinor.

Now she had Hiccup to find her the Jewel, she

no longer needed to motivate either the slaves or this

Librarian.

‘Freedom?’ laughed the witch in surprise. ‘What

is this nonsense about freedom? Slaves can never

be freed! The Slavemark is a Mark that can never be

removed.’

‘But,’ sputtered the Librarian, ‘you said it could

be burnt off… You promised it could be burnt off…’

‘I may have said a little white lie, but only

because I care so much about winning this war for all

of us,’ lied the witch. ‘Throw this Librarian back into

the crowd!’

The Hairy Scary Librarian learnt the hard way,

just exactly how empty is the promise of a witch.

‘Now,’ said the witch, bounding forward and

crouching down to Hiccup’s level. ‘I am going to

give you a very clear goal, Mister Clever-Clogs Lost-

Thing Finder. I want you to find us the Dragon Jewel

in… Oh…’ The witch searched her mind for a good

number and settled on three. ‘In exactly three hours

or I won’t just kill the boy with the unfeasibly large

nostrils, I’ll kill everybody. I’ll set the ticking-thing…’

Tick-tock, tick-tock.

213

‘Three hours?’ said Alvin in bewilderment,

looking out through the open door at the end of the

courtyard at the vast expanse of red sands, stretching

out as far as the eye could see. ‘You want him to

find the Dragon Jewel in three hours? Um, Mother,

these sands have been scoured by the amber-nets of

thousands and thousands of slaves. If they haven’t

found the Jewel, how is Hiccup going to find it in

just three hours? And Mother… there are those that

think that maybe the Jewel is not here. Grimbeard

had a terrible sense of humour, you know…’ Alvin

gestured to his hook. ‘Look at my hand and the

coffin-lid…’

‘Hiccup is the Jewel-Finder!’ shrieked the witch.

‘He found the Crown of the Wilderwest in just three

hours didn’t he? When Flashburn had been looking

for it for twenty years!

‘Trust me, he’s the kind of boy who needs a

deadline.’

Oh for Thor’s sake, she’d gone bananas.

‘I wish you’d let me deal with him right now,

instead,’ grumbled Alvin. ‘He’s slipped through my

hook so many times. Look what happened in the

Flashburn School of Swordfighting, and in the forest

of Berserk.’

214

‘We won’t make that mistake again,’ said the

witch. ‘I’ve learnt my lesson. Last time I let him go

down into the tunnels and the Fire Pit on his own.

This time, we will not let the little rat out of our sight,

for even one single second…

‘Give the little horror the map!’ screamed the

witch. ‘Get the little worm his sand-yacht! Get his

nets! Get his poles! Put on his helmet—’

‘I don’t need the helmet,’ Hiccup interrupted

hastily, but the witch ignored him.

‘Give the little nightmare all the equipment he

needs!’

So the Warriors rushed around finding Hiccup

his equipment, and kitting him out for the Seeking,

and five minutes later Hiccup found himself standing

on the slightly wobbly platform of The Hopeful

Puffin 2, holding his amber-net in one shaking hand

and Grimbeard the Ghastly’s map of the Amber

Slavelands in the other, and the horrible itchy helmet

back, still not fitting, on his head.

Poor old Toothless and the Wodensfang, still

in the Librarian’s Heart-Slicer amber-nets, were now

hanging from the end of the royal sand-boat, and

they peered sadly through the nets at Hiccup.

And huddled around Hiccup in a circle was a

215

crowd of Warriors and slaves of the Wilderwest,

hundreds and hundreds deep, all on their sand-yachts,

all heavily armed with knives and swords and daggers,

and axes and long-bows and clubs, and all of these

weapons were pointed directly at Hiccup.

The witch wasn’t taking any chances.

One big guy was even aiming one of those

massive rocket launcher Thingummies at Hiccup.

Not to mention a whole row of soldiers with their

machines that threw five spears at once, and bows

that launched twenty arrows simultaneously. Alvin

alone could have overtaken Hiccup in three strokes of

a heartbeat on his massive royal sand-yacht with the

cutting edges, poled by Gumboil and at least three

others, and he had screwed the Stormblade into his

arm-attachment, just in case.

‘Now…’ hissed the witch. ‘No sudden

movements, you little reptile, or we’ll blast you to

Valhalla and back again… Show him, Gormless!’

Gormless let fly the spear-throwing machine, and

Ching! Ching! Ching! Ching! Ching! Ching! Six spears

buried themselves in a tight circle around The Hopeful

Puffin 2. Hiccup gulped. ‘One spear would kill me,

witch,’ said Hiccup. ‘You don’t need a hundred…’

‘Find us the Jewel!’ screamed Alvin the

Treacherous.

216

15. HICCUP SETS OFF TO

FIND THE JEWEL

Everyone was looking at Hiccup expectantly.

OK, now this really was a tricky situation.

He looked down at the map, hoping it would

help, but he had looked at that map so many times

in the last six months, and it had never been helpful.

The red herring Grimbeard had painted on the top

somehow looked like it was laughing at him.

His visor fell down with a clang that sounded

horribly like a death knell.

He edged The Hopeful Puffin 2 out very slightly

on to the endless red sands.

Hundreds of Warriors on their sand-yachts

followed.

An outsider watching this would have seen it

as ridiculous. Hiccup on his sand-yacht, The Hopeful

Puffin 2, making its erratic way forward, followed by

all these soldiers of the Wilderwest on their sand-

yachts, all with their arrows pointing at Hiccup.

‘Find it!’ shrieked the witch. ‘Now!’

Hiccup moved the yacht forward a little.

And stopped.

Two hundred yachts followed a little.

217

And stopped.

‘You’re going to have to

give me a little room,’ Hiccup called

out. ‘To give my Jewel-finding-senses

some space to develop.’

‘Give the nasty toad a little room!’ yelled

the witch. ‘But not too much room! Just a tiny bit

of room! A little bit more! No, not that much!’

As if things weren’t complicated enough,

the basket on Hiccup’s yacht was very,

very heavy.

So heavy that it might have been filled

with rocks and amber already.

218

And Hiccup suspected he knew why.

Those innocent blue eyes…

When Hiccup was a tiny bit ahead so no one

would hear, he pulled up his visor (not without

difficulty, the beastly thing still had a tendency to jam),

and whispered softly out of the corner of his mouth,

‘What are you doing in there, Camicazi? I told you

to escape! And how did you know this was my sand-

yacht?’

‘You wrote The Hopeful Puffin 2 on the back of

it,’ explained the basket, adding hastily, ‘and I don’t

know what you’re talking about. I’ve never heard of

this Cami-whatsit.’

‘Camicazi, I know perfectly well it’s you in there,’

hissed Hiccup. ‘Why didn’t you escape with the rest of

your escape team?’

‘I’ve trained the team well,’ Camicazi whispered

back. ‘They can take the Eggingarde kid to the

Wanderers without me. If you think I’m going to Half-

Turn My Back on you again, Hiccup Horrendous

Haddock the Third, you’ve got another think coming.

From now on, I’m never letting you out of my sight.

What’s going on? It was very shrieky out there.’

‘It’s a long story,’ said Hiccup. ‘I have to find the

Jewel in three hours, or the witch will kill everybody.’

‘But I’m not sure the Jewel is out here,’ said

Camicazi, in the basket.

‘Try telling the witch that,’ said Hiccup.

‘So, do we attack?’ said the basket after a while.

‘I’ve got two drawn swords in here and a dagger

between my teeth.’

‘That may not be enough,’ admitted Hiccup,

looking at the hundreds of following sand-yachts,

the thicket of swords, the rocket-launchers, the

Warriors with their killer eyes all trained on him, the

Northbows stretched to breaking-point.

‘What’s the plan, then?’ asked Camicazi.

Hiccup sighed.

The truth was, at that particular moment he was

all out of Plans.

The enormous wilderness of the sands-with-

no- Jewel-in-them stretching in front of him, and the

army of heavily armed people bristling with the worst

in weaponry that the human mind could dream up,

all edging threateningly up behind him, were slightly

sapping his creativity.

He had that feeling of dread, again, sitting in his

stomach like cold porridge.

‘I’m not sure,’ muttered Hiccup. ‘Knowing that

220

dreadful trickster of a Grimbeard there is probably

no Jewel for at least six miles in any direction. It’s

probably at the other end of the beastly Archipelago.’

‘So you admit it!’ said Camicazi delightedly.

‘Steady… don’t let the tricksy little rat out of

your sight,’ whispered the witch Excellinor from behind

Hiccup and the sand-yacht. ‘Keep your arrows steady

now.

‘Have you found it yet, you disgusting little

shrimp?’

And then something truly extraordinary

happened.

You have to see it through the witch’s eyes, and

the eyes of the hundreds and hundreds of slaves and

Warriors of the Wilderwest gathered there on the

sands.

To them, it must have seemed like some sort of

miracle.

Some kind of supernatural magic.

There they were in their thousands, bristling with

armour and with all their swords pointing at Hiccup,

the guards with their sand-yachts with super-huge sails

that could easily outrun Hiccup’s battered old sand-

yacht (particularly because he was weighed down by

Camicazi, but of course, they didn’t know that).

221

There was no way that Hiccup could possibly slip

through their fingers…

Absolutely no possible way.

But then one second he was in front of them,

oaring his sand-yacht on its raggedy, slightly erratic

progress, wobbling heavily to the left.

And the next, there was a rush of wind above

their heads, a sort of blurring of the air as if a sudden

very specific mist had come down…

And then there was a short, sharp cry and the

next moment it was as if Hiccup, sand-yacht, basket

and all, were swallowed up in one gulping swoop by the

very air above them…

It was unbelievable.

One minute he was there, the next he was gone.

The crowd with their weapons and their axes and

their swords looked at the spot where he was last seen

with goggling eyes and jaws agape, and huge gasps of

wondering, disbelieving, gob-smacked amazement.

‘He’s gone,’ said Gumboil slowly. ‘He’s

completely vanished…’

‘NOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!’ shrieked the witch. ‘No! No!

No! No! No!’ as Gumboil hastily oared the witch’s

sand-yacht to the absolute spot where last he was. ‘It’s

not possible! It’s just not possible!’

222

King Alvin’s royal sand-yacht came to a gloomy

swishing stop beside her. ‘I did tell you, Mother. I

have a long history with this brat, and we should have

hooked him to death while we had a chance. I’ve been

keeping my hook especially sharp on purpose.’

There is a kind of satisfaction that comes with

being right, even when it is to your disadvantage. ‘And

now he even has the map…’ said Alvin with a kind of

grim, gloomy smugness.

‘It’s not possible!’ screamed the witch. ‘He must

be here somewhere! DIG! DIG, you fools, DIG!’

The witch sprang animal-like from her sand-yacht,

and began to dig herself, with her iron fingernails,

raking up the sand in great handfuls like some

desperate exasperated dog. As if, in some extraordinary

way, Hiccup could have spirited himself below the

sand, sand-yacht and all.

The Warriors and the slaves rushed to help

her with their spades, digging yet another hopeless,

pointless hole, like so many of the other hopeless

pointless holes that they had dug in this bay.

Suddenly the witch paused in her hopeless

digging, hands full of sand, and sniffed the air.

And she began to jump on all fours, and down to

all fours again, like a cat leaping, and at the top of

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each leap she clawed the very air with her bony

hands, as if she could scratch the boy out of the sky

itself with her long, iron fingernails, and bring him

down with her puny arms. ‘He’s up here! I know it!

I know it! I can see it! With my true blind eyes I see

him!’ she screeched.

Quite an impressive effort for an elderly woman.

And the crowds of Warriors and curious slaves

watching this on their sand-yachts began to whisper to

each other: ‘Ooh, she’s lost it now. She was always on

the edge, but now she’s gone completely bananas…’

And then, because the Vikings are a superstitious

lot, and impressed by anything that looks magic: ‘Did

you see the boy, though? Completely disappeared, into

thin air…’

‘I’ve heard he did the same thing a couple of

years ago in the Fortress of Sinister. He flew, flew in

the air, with no dragon, no anything…’

‘No!’

‘Absolutely, on my best blue helmet he did. Do

you think he really could be the—’

‘SILENCE!’ roared Alvin the Treacherous,

sensing the whispering. ‘SILENCE. The next traitor

that talks, they shall be talking to Hooky here, who is

itching for blood as it is!’

Silence on the red sands.

‘Half of you get down on your knees and dig!’

howled Alvin the Treacherous, ‘and the other half jump

in the air for the boy in case he’s still up there!’

Slowly the peoples of the Archipelago began

to obey.

225

And if the great god Thor had been looking

down at that moment perhaps he might have reflected

with an ironic smile at the state that the proud

independent peoples of the Archipelago had got

themselves into.

Hundreds upon hundreds of them, digging a

pointless hole in the middle of the sands, or jumping

fruitlessly in the air.

While the winds blew all around them and the

sands stretched away for ever.

226

16. THE TRIPLE-HEADER

DEADLY SHADOW

It was a very satisfactory moment to see the effect of

Hiccup’s magical disappearance on the witch and the

crowds of the Wilderwest.

However, unfortunately, as you will have

guessed, Hiccup’s magical disappearance wasn’t so

very magical after all.

He had, in fact, been abducted by the Triple-

Header Deadly Shadow dragon who was

working as an assassin for the Dragon

Furious.

The Wodensfang and Toothless

guessed this of course, cowering and

peering gloomily out of the nets

swinging from the back of Alvin’s

royal sand-yacht.

‘You see, I told him,’

whispered the Wodensfang.

‘I warned him about that

dragon. It’s only paranoia if

things aren’t out to get you…

At least he’s wearing

his helmet…’

227

‘Yes,’ said Toothless sadly. ‘But what is he

going to do without T-t-toothless to look after

him? Hiccup needs Toothless… I’m one of the

Lost Things… And I’m the best one…’

‘Ooooooh!’ squealed Camicazi from the basket.

‘You have thought of a plan, I can feel it, I knew you

would!’

Actually, Hiccup was just trying to work out

what just happened.

They were in the claws of something that

appeared to be invisible when Hiccup looked

upwards, but Hiccup knew it must just be excellent

camouflage. It could be a Stealth Dragon. Hiccup had

come across those before.

And then with a very sick feeling, Hiccup

remembered how the Wodensfang had been

warning him for ages that they were being followed

by something that the Dragon Furious had sent to

kill him… How the bed last night had looked as if

something had attacked it…

‘This isn’t a plan,’ said Hiccup, in a petrified way,

‘at least it may be a plan, but it isn’t my plan, it’s the

Dragon Furious’s plan.

‘We’ve been abducted by some kind of

camouflaged Stealth Dragon Thingummy that the

228

Dragon Furious must have sent to kill me.’

‘Oh great!’ sang Camicazi, popping up from the

basket enthusiastically, like a wild blonde jack-in-the-

box. ‘I love Stealth Dragons!’

‘So do I,’ said Stormfly, emerging from the

basket after Camicazi, and turning a beautiful

flirtatious pale pink.

‘I don’t think

you’re going to love this Stealth

Dragon,’ Hiccup assured her

through chattering teeth.

230

Camicazi put up her finger.

‘I’ll get my emergency battle-axe then,’ she said

popping down into the basket. ‘I brought it along just

in case. And I’ve got a spare sword for you.’ (Camicazi

always came well-armed.) ‘And then you can take one

head, and I’ll take both the others, because I’m the girl.

You see, you did need me, I knew you would. Oh, this

is exciting, it’s just like old times!’

Hiccup didn’t like to rain on Camicazi’s parade,

but there wasn’t much chance of the two of them

fighting it on their own.

He felt a little sick as he looked down over the

invisible fist clutching the crushed sand-yacht, down,

down at the red sands far below. Being abducted by a

dragon, rather than flying it himself, always made his

ears pop. He didn’t know why, they weren’t flying

particularly high, but it was just one of those weird

things. He took the sword that Camicazi was handing

him in a shaking clammy hand.

Here we go, he thought.

The Deadly Shadow landed and held Hiccup and

Camicazi and the crushed sand-yacht in one transparent

claw. Above them the mighty beast towered.

‘Let us go, you great see-through COWARD!’

yelled Camicazi. ‘Let us go so we can fight like

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VIKINGS, you window-featured, triple-headed

LIZARD-BRAIN!’

When it landed, the Deadly Shadow saw no

need for disguise any more. The camouflage faded

from its chameleon skin, and for the first time, Hiccup

saw what species it was.

Uh-oh, they were in real trouble.

He’d never seen one of these before, but he

knew this was a disaster.

It was a Deadly Shadow, and a Triple-Header

at that, and Deadly Shadows shot lightning bolts as

well as flame. It was a breathtaking sea-green when

it wasn’t camouflaged, and at least three metres tall

and nine metres long. Way up in the six cheeks of its

three heads you could see the faint bright yellow that

told you that they contained poisonous ducts.

Like a creature this powerful really needs poison

as well, thought Hiccup, slightly hysterically. That’s

just overkill.

‘Wow,’ breathed Stormfly, batting her naughty

eyelashes at the Deadly Shadow. ‘You ARE a

magnificent creature, aren’t you?’

Hiccup was trying to think of everything he

knew about Deadly Shadows, but all he could think

at that particular moment was:

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Ooh dear, he looks cross.

WHOOF!

The Deadly Shadow leapt, and suddenly he was

pinned to the ground, the breath being squeezed out

of him. Hiccup and Camicazi gasped for air.

The creature opened its great jaws, and from

all three of its heads there came a scream at so deep

a pitch, and so loud, and coming from so many

directions at once that the noise seemed to blow

poor Hiccup’s hair back and entered his entire being,

and his whole skull rang with the noise as if it were

being used as the clapper of a bell.

Hiccup and Camicazi may have passed out for a

moment.

When Hiccup came to, the dragon’s three jaws

were stretched wide in front of him and Hiccup could

see down in the depths of the throat of the one

nearest to him, the muscles working, and he knew

that this time the heads were going to shoot fire out

of the fire-holes and this was going to be the end.

He would almost be relieved if it was, because

at least it would be quick, and he wasn’t sure if he

could stand another blast of that roaring.

And just as he had closed his eyes and tensed

for the final moment, one of the heads must have

234

shouted ‘STOP!’

Everything stopped.

Cautiously, Hiccup opened his eyes.

His head was still ringing.

Six green eyes looked down at him in a sort of

stupefied amazement.

The dragon itself seemed to have gone rigid

with shock.

And then the pink forked-tongue flicked out of

the mouth of the nearest head.

Hiccup flinched, but it prickled downward, and

sensitively, gently, it lifted the lobster-necklace that

was hanging around Hiccup’s neck, and the six eyes

peered closer, closer, as if they could not believe

what they were seeing.

The Red-Rage vanished from those six eyes, like

the mist disappearing into nothing.

A great calmness and stillness came over the

dragon standing over Hiccup, as he looked into

Hiccup’s eyes, as if the great three-headed animal

was looking back through time.

One of the heads spoke, in a thrilling echo, so

deep that it seemed to reverberate in Hiccup’s heart.

It was the unbearable longing with which it spoke that

was so moving.

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‘He is wearing the lobster necklace…’ said the

middle head of the Deadly Shadow.

‘He is…’ hissed the others in reply, and all

around Hiccup’s head, they hissed like a nest

of joyful serpents. ‘He iss… He iss… He

issssssssssss…’

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17. DID I ALREADY MENTION

THAT THE PAST HAS A WAY

OF CATCHING UP WITH THE

PRESENT?

‘It was a gift,’ said Hiccup.

All three heads of the Deadly Shadow started

in surprise, for it is unusual for a human to speak

Dragonese.

And then the three heads spoke eagerly, again

with that unbearable note in their voices, as if they

had been longing for something for a very long time,

and were thinking that the something they had long

past hoped for was about to be snatched from them.

‘So you are not the owner of this necklace?

Who gave it to you? Where are they? Are they

alive?’

The questions came from three directions at

once, and delivered in those strange confusing voices

it made Hiccup’s head reel, as if the heads were

speaking in some echoing confusing cave.

‘He was my friend… He is alive… I hope he

is alive… I am looking for him…’ pleaded Hiccup.

‘That is why I am here.’

238

Now the voices were stern, with an edge of

menace.

‘But you did not steal it? You are telling the

truth? The boy who owned this necklace is alive?’

Hiccup swallowed.

‘I really, really hope he is, because he is my best

friend,’ said Hiccup.

At that moment, Hiccup could see Fishlegs so

clearly in his head, skinny Fishlegs with his sarcastic

sense of humour and his glasses askew. For a moment

it was as if he really was standing right there beside

them, about to make some remark about the general

all-round terrifying-ness of the Deadly Shadow himself.

‘Look at us!’ hissed the heads of the Deadly

Shadow. ‘Look at us! Look at us! Look at us!’ The

hissing was all around him. The three heads were

whirring round him, confusing him, sliding back and

forth and in and out of visibility… They were like a

maze of mirrors… Where had he heard that phrase

before?

Hiccup had trained himself to hold a dragon’s

gaze – no easy feat, for a dragon’s gaze is hypnotic.

If you hold it too long you find your will bending to

theirs, or you are sick or pass out.

Certain dragons have a gaze that is almost like

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a truth drug, it seems to drag the truth out of you,

whether you want it to or not. And of course, triple the

eyes, triple the strength.

Hiccup forced himself to look into the dragon’s

six great glistening eyes, which were now flecked

with the reflection of the sky and it was like they

were boring right into his head, into his very mind,

and wandering around in the mazy passages in there.

And then there was a sucking sensation, as if

they were dragging the thoughts out of him.

Not surprisingly, within seconds Hiccup felt

dizzy, then sick – as you would if you had somebody

wandering around inside your own brain – until he

had to close his eyes before he passed out.

The dragon unclosed its fist of sky from around

Hiccup’s limp body, and from that of Camicazi. And

the hand that was only minutes before squeezing the

life out of them, and preparing to kill them, laid them

gently, protectively on the sandy grass.

‘What in the name of Thor and Woden and

Freya’s ickle pretty plaits is going on?’ wondered

Camicazi, trying to get her breath, holding her head

and gazing at the Deadly Shadow in awe.

‘I have abso-lutely no idea,’ gasped Hiccup. ‘But

it’s something to do with Fishlegs and this lobster

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necklace he gave me.

‘But we’re not safe yet…’ he whispered. Hiccup

knew this instinctively. ‘The Deadly Shadow has not

yet decided what to do with us.’

The Deadly Shadow strode around them,

circling like an invisible tiger. Deep in its throats

was a noise that in a less magnificent, noble, wild

creature, might have been purring.

But that was not a happy purring, it was

a purring that Hiccup knew well. That was a

‘considering’ purring. Toothless did exactly the same

thing when he was trying to decide whether or not to

do something.

Hiccup and Camicazi sat absolutely still in the

sandy grass. Even Camicazi knew not to speak, and

that their lives were in the balance. Round and round

them the creature paced, the three heads arguing

with one another. You couldn’t see it, but you could

hear it, feel it – the moving air, the great dragon

footsteps all around them in the grass.

There were fifteen circles of great dragon

footprints around them before the Deadly Shadow

stopped circling and brought its three heads very

close to Hiccup, the heads now visible and waving

like snakes in front of a snake-charmer.

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The middle head spoke.

‘We have been at war with ourselves,’ said the

middle head in that doomy-echoey miasma of a voice.

Hiccup nodded his head respectfully.

‘For there are two reasons why you are here.

Two Quests. The first is as you say, you are looking

for your friend, who you really believe is alive.’ The

first head gave what might have been a snarl, or a

snort of appreciation, and sent a bolt of flame down

into the sandy grass that made Hiccup and Camicazi

jump.

‘You spoke the truth,’ said the middle head.

‘But the Dragon Furious spoke the truth too.

There is a second Quest...’ said the middle head. ‘You

seek the Dragon Jewel. This is a dangerous Quest,

and one that could have dreadful implications for the

entire dragon race…

‘For the Dragon Jewel is no ordinary Jewel. If

it is found, it has a secret. And if a human knew that

secret, he could use the power of the Jewel to kill not

just one dragon, but all dragons. He could make us

extinct, obliterate us for ever.

‘But you seek it nonetheless…’

This time, the third head gave what was

definitely a snarl – more than a snarl, a roar – and the

242

bolt of flame that it sent out missed Hiccup by inches,

and only because the middle head anticipated it and

gave it a knock to the left.

‘We have a dilemma ourselves,’ said the middle

head. ‘For we have made two promises. One to the

Dragon Furious, which was to kill you. The other to

someone else, a long time ago. Innocence here, on my

left,’ (the left head bowed) ‘would help you find this

friend of yours, who means a great deal to us.

‘On the other hand, Arrogance here’ (the right

head bowed and snarled) ‘would kill you.

‘I have the casting vote,’ said the middle head.

It paused, and then continued slowly.

‘Because the first promise that we made has a

prior claim, we will help you.’

Hiccup gave a sigh of relief. The result really did

seem to have been in the balance.

‘Thank you,’ said Hiccup, bowing his head. ‘All

I would say, is that there are others who seek the

Jewel, and they would use it to destroy.’

‘Ah,’ said the middle head sadly, ‘but they would

never find it without your help.’

The Deadly Shadow knelt down beside them,

inviting them to climb on its back.

‘Come,’ said the middle head compellingly. ‘Take

243

me to this friend of yours.’

Hiccup’s stomach turned to jelly. Was it possible?

Here was a bewildering turn of events.

The dragon that was just trying to kill them, was

now trying to help them.

For one second Hiccup wondered if it could

be a trap, that the Deadly Shadow could be about to

take them to the Dragon Furious. But it could do that

anyway, without asking their permission, or saying

pretty please.

‘What are you doing?’ asked Camicazi, open-

mouthed, as Hiccup climbed aboard the shining

impossibility of the Deadly Shadow’s back. ‘That

dragon just tried to kill us!’

‘It seems to have changed its minds,’ said Hiccup.

‘Are you coming?’

Nobody changed her mind quicker than

Camicazi.

‘You betcha!’ said Camicazi, thrusting both of her

swords and her emergency battle-axe in her belt. She

scrambled up after Hiccup and settled down behind

him, beaming all over her little monkey face. She gave

a sniff of satisfaction, and stroked the shining back. ‘I

told you. I love Stealth Dragons.’

‘Ooh so do I!’ squealed Stormfly, turning a

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passionate pink, and flying in and out of the three

heads in a flirtatious fashion.

‘It’s not a Stealth Dragon. It’s a Deadly Shadow.

By the way,’ said Hiccup, addressing the middle

head of the Deadly Shadow, ‘if your brothers are

called Innocence and Arrogance, what is your

name?’

‘Patience,’ said the middle head. ‘Because

that’s what I have to have.’

And the Deadly Shadow took off.

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18. SEARCHING FOR FISHLEGS

At that moment, Hiccup didn’t know why, but

Eggingarde’s story came into his head.

‘Fly east,’ Hiccup said, ‘to the Evil Reaches…

We are looking for a rock shaped like a witch’s

finger.’

The Deadly Shadow flew east. Hiccup did not

want to find the rock shaped like a witch’s finger, but

he had to look.

One of those treacherous sea mists was

246

blowing in from the east, so the dragon had to swoop

low over the red sands. For a long time he flew. Surely

it was too long for anyone to yacht that far?

Looking down over the Deadly Shadow’s shining

shoulder, Hiccup saw what he dreaded to see.

A crooked jagged rock shaped like a witch’s

finger, pointing upwards to the sky… and a little way

away was the speck of a yacht on the sand.

‘Down, Shadow! Down!’ cried Hiccup in terror.

Down they flew, and as they grew closer,

Hiccup could see, with a plummeting of his stomach,

that the yacht was not upright. It was turned over, on

its side.

Desperately, he looked to the horizon to the

left, to the right, his eyes already blinking with tears.

No sign of an untidy daddy-long-legs Fishlegs-figure

anywhere.

Of course there could not be. Because suddenly

the truth broke upon Hiccup, the truth that maybe he

had known somewhere, all along.

The story that Eggingarde had told him, two

nights before. That story about the Monster and the

slave-boy? That story was not a story. It was true.

And the reason that Eggingarde would have

known it to be true, was that she was there…

She was there. She was with Fishlegs when the

Monster struck, and when that dreadful creature

pulled Fishlegs beneath the sand.

It explained why she was so fearful, so scared of

the Monster but not of anything else. Why she had

told him the story as if she had to tell it, to get it off

her chest.

It explained everything.

248

19. THE MONSTER AND THE

SLAVE-BOY

The Deadly Shadow landed lightly on the sand.

Hiccup scrambled from his back and ran to the

confused mess of belongings.

Maybe it wasn’t Fishlegs…

Perhaps it was some other poor soul. It could

have been ANYBODY, after all, they lost people to

the Evil Reaches every day.

But when he reached the sand-yacht, Hiccup

spotted something half-buried.

With a shaking hand, Hiccup drew it out.

The crushed, mangled remains of something.

The ‘something’ was Fishlegs’s precious rucksack.

He had made that rucksack out of the lobster pot

that he had been found in when he was a baby, and

it contained the few belongings that he had owned in

the world. Just to be absolutely certain, when Hiccup

picked it up, a smashed bottle of Old Wrinkly’s asthma

potion fell out, and the potion leaked like blood

staining into the sand.

Hiccup tried to re-shape the crushed, mangled

remains of the lobster-pot-cum-rucksack back into its

original shape.

249

This was it then. This meant that Fishlegs really

was dead.

There was no hiding from it any more.

The Story of the Monster of the Amber

Slavelands had been true after all.

It had been true and it had happened to Fishlegs.

Behind Hiccup crept the giant shining heads of

the Deadly Shadow.

The poor animal seemed crushed. He had hoped

against hope, and now those hopes had been crushed

again.

The three heads sniffed the lobster pot.

‘What was his name?’ asked Patience.

‘Fishlegs,’ said Hiccup, crying.

‘Fissssshlegssss,’ they hissed, waving like they

were being snake-charmed again. ‘Fissshlegsssss…

Fisssshlegssss… Fissshlegssss…’ they chanted

performing a sad dance around the lobster-pot.

They seemed to recognise the lobster-pot,

strangely, and they drank in the smell of it like it was

the smell of the past. (There is nothing more evocative,

nothing that brings back memories like smell.)

Hiccup held it up to the heads, unable

to stop crying.

‘I shouldn’t have let

him give me the lucky

necklace,’ sobbed

Hiccup.

‘I shouldn’t have let him give away what little luck

he had.’

‘He may not be dead,’ said the left head,

Innocence, hopefully looking around. ‘There are many

islands around here. Maybe he got away. Perhaps he

found one of the islands. Maybe he’s still there…’

‘Oh,’ snorted Arrogance, ‘you’re deluded! Always

looking on the bright side. He’s clearly dead.’

At that, Hiccup felt overwhelmed. He sank down,

crying, on the sand.

The Deadly Shadow cried too.

Even Camicazi and the Stormfly cried, and they

never cried.

Hiccup could feel the wet sand below him, the

red of the asthma potion that he had broken seeping

into the front of his dragonskin fire-suit.

He cried until he was a little empty cried-out rag

lying on the sand, the front of him now stained red.

A light rain was falling on him now. He could feel

the sand below him getting a little wetter, as if the tide

was going to rise.

GO BACK.

Something inside was speaking to him.

Go back and find the Jewel.

Become the King.

Do it for Fishlegs and everyone like him.

Defiantly, Hiccup dried his eyes with the edge of

his sleeve.

He put the broken remains of Fishlegs’ lobster-

pot on his back, and staggered blindly towards the

Deadly Shadow dragon.

Without a word, Camicazi was doing the same.

But then they stopped dead, for the Deadly

Shadow was having an argument with itself again.

‘If this Fissshlegssss is dead,’ hissed Arrogance,

‘then we no longer need keep our promise about the

lobster-necklace.’

‘But Fisshlegsss may not be dead!’ said

Innocence. (Neither Arrogance nor Patience looked

very convinced by this argument.) ‘And this boy is a

friend of this Fisshlegsssss,’ argued Innocence.

Patience was still undecided.

‘The boy seeks the Jewel,’ hissed Arrogance.

‘And the Jewel must never fall into human hands…

‘If we kill him, at least we keep our promise to

the Dragon Furious, and the Jewel will be safe. For

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look, the human race is not capable of using such

power wisely. In the end it can only destroy…’

Now Arrogance knew he had won the day.

The three heads narrowed their eyes and turned

towards Hiccup.

‘Uh-oh,’ said Hiccup.

The three heads were lowered, dangerous.

Uh-oh, uh-oh, uh-oh.

The Deadly Shadow crept forward.

And fell to the ground with a shriek.

20. OH DEAR

Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear, oh dear.

And that doesn’t really cover it.

Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear, oh dear, oh DEAR.

You would have thought that you had heard the

worst of it, wouldn’t you, that Hiccup had had all that

he could take. But, OH DEAR.

It’s the little details we should not forget, the little

things that catch us up, and trip us. The Warriors of

the Wilderwest always set the dragon-traps in twos. so

that if some other poor dragon landed beside to help

another, then it would get caught too.

SNAP! The second trap snapped shut, catching

the Deadly Shadow in its cruel jaws.

The Deadly Shadow put back its heads and

howled the truly dreadful howl that a dragon howls

when it is caught in a trap. It is an awful sound, for a

dragon is a wild creature of the air, and so its horror of

being trapped is such a ghastly wail of ultimate despair

it is almost unbearable.

These howls were multiplied three times, and

the dragon sent out great bolts of lightning all around

it – north, south, east and west – with such randomness

that Hiccup and Camicazi had to duck behind the

256

sand-yacht. (Not that this would have been much good

to them if the Deadly Shadow had scored a direct

hit with a lightning bolt, but it’s a sort of automatic

reaction thing.)

The dragon howled and thrashed but it could not

work its foot free.

Hiccup put his head above the edge of the sand-

yacht and shouted, ‘I can free your foot from the

dragon-trap if you let me come near!’

And then ducked as a lightning bolt came singing

over the top of his head, and there was a smell of burnt

hair.

There was silence for a second, apart from the

sound of the dragon heads arguing among themselves.

At last Patience called out, ‘Come closse then…’

Hiccup stepped gingerly forward. The Deadly

Shadow was lying on its side. It was trembling. Hiccup

swallowed as he saw the trap.

It was immense and one of the most complicated

he had ever seen, a fiendish contraption of clockwork

complexity. It was far more complicated than it even

needed to be to do its dreadful work, almost as if its

maker had been showing off when he designed it.

Hiccup stroked the dragon’s shining

side soothingly.

257

‘I can do this…’ he said. ‘I can do this…’

Thank Thor he had spent the last six

months learning how to undo dragon-

traps. Hiccup took off his waistcoat

and knelt by the trap.

Camicazi drew both

swords, and started pacing

around the Deadly

Shadow, just as he had

paced around Hiccup

and Camicazi, earlier

in the day.

21. A STORY FROM THE PAST

The Deadly Shadow was lying very still.

The first head looked up, though, and spoke to

Hiccup, who was working on that dragon-trap quicker

than he had ever worked before.

‘While we are waiting,’ said Innocence, ‘let me

tell you the story of the necklace you wear around

your neck. And then perhaps you can tell it to

Fisshlegs if you find him again.’

‘He cannot find him again,’ said Arrogance flatly.

‘The Fishlegs boy is dead.’

‘Let him tell the story,’ said Patience longingly.

‘Tell it… Tell it, Innocence. Tell it one last time… I

want to remember.’

So Innocence began to speak.

Never had a story been told in stranger

circumstances, the beautiful three-headed dragon

caught in the trap, the red sands and the sense of

danger all around. Hiccup working, working, to free

the dragon.

But in fact the story had a kind of calming

influence on Hiccup. It steadied his shivering hands –

his hands that needed to be steady to unlock this trap.

The comforting, reverberating echo of

Innocence’s voice had a relaxing effect, like that

of some sort of soothing drug. It was almost as if

Innocence was telling the story somewhere safe,

by some Viking fireside, and not in a moment of

desperate peril, out on the red sands, deep in the

territory of the Monster of the Amber Slavelands.

‘Not so long ago we had a human that belonged to

us,’ began Innocence.

‘A human of our very own. Our mistress

was a happy young girl,’ continued Innocence. ‘Half-

Murderous, half–Berserk.’

‘But you never would have guessed the Berserk

bit,’ Arrogance interrupted, getting suddenly into the

mood of the story. ‘She was so kind and gentle.’

‘Her name was Termagant,’ said Innocence.

‘But it didn’t suit her. She wasn’t what you might

call a natural Murderous, and she found the life of

a Chieftain’s daughter and her fiercely ambitious

father, Chief Moody the Murderous, a bit difficult

to handle, so she often used to escape from her

father’s village on my back, and we would come out

here to explore the islands.

‘This was our secret place.

‘We were already a fully-grown riding-dragon

when we met her, but with her we felt young again.

Even Arrogance. She wasn’t like all the other

Murderous who beat their riding-dragons and kept

them prisoner. Termagant was different. It seemed

like she and us were the very same being, as if our

wings were her wings, as if her heart were our heart.

‘All was happy when she was growing up –

but at that time we did not yet know of the human

failing of falling in LOVE.

‘Termagant fell in love with a poor wandering

fisherman, very handsome, but not the Chieftain’s

Heir her father would have had her marry. Moody

wanted sons of Chiefs with golden axes, not a poor

fisherman, however handsome and loveable he was.

Worse still, she married her fisherman, despite her

father’s anger. And worser still than all of that, the

sea had its way, and one day her husband’s fishing-

boat went out in the middle of a storm and sank to

the bottom of the ocean.’

‘What is it with you humans and love?’ growled

Arrogance. ‘It’s a serious design flaw.’

‘My mistress was so very very unhappy. Better

to have never loved at all, than to shed the tears she

shed. The only thing that kept her going was that

she was carrying her husband’s baby. She would lie,

curled up on the windowsill of her father’s house,

with her head upon my flank, telling me what this

dream baby would be like…

‘He would be tall and handsome like her

husband. He would be a poet like herself. He would

be a Hero (of course), but not a boor like her father

– he would be brave and fearless and yet kind to

animals. Oh such dreams she had for that baby!

‘But dreams and reality can be different, and

most unfortunately when the baby was born, it

turned out to be what the humans call a “runt”.

‘There’s a saying that you humans have, what

is it?’

‘Only the strong can belong?’ said Hiccup

through white lips, fiddling with the locks on the

dragon-trap. ‘Throw out the freak or the Tribe will

be weak? It kind of varies from Tribe to Tribe…’

‘That’s it,’ said Innocence. ‘I never will

understand you humans.

‘Well, Moody the Murderous was most hopping

mad. He said it was a sign that Fate disapproved of

her marriage.

‘He told her he would have to put the baby

in a lobster pot and set it out to sea, according to

tradition, and the gods would see whether it lived or

died.Mostly it died of course. It was very, very rare

for a runt to survive to adulthood.

‘Now, if Termagant had been stronger, she

would have fought her father outright. But grief and

the birth of the baby had made her weak. She made

as if to obey him. But secretly she asked me to follow

the lobster pot, once it had sailed out of sight of the

beach and her father’s stern eyes, and pick up the

baby, and take it here to Hero’s End.

‘ “I will come out and find you when I am strong

enough. Will you make me a promise, Shadow?” said

my mistress. “Promise that you will keep my baby safe

until I can come and join him?”

‘We could not make the human words.

‘But we bowed our heads and bent down low in

front of her to make the promise.

‘ “By our bright-green blood and shining

claws, we will keep your baby safe,” we whispered

in Dragonese, as solemn a promise as a dragon can

make.

‘Termagant was weak, but she smiled, and

stroked our heads. “I trust you absolutely,” she said.

‘Later that afternoon, she stood on the shore of

the beach, poor Termagant, supported by her stern

father, because she was so weak she could barely

stand upright. All around her were the silent and

solemn members of the Murderous Tribe.

‘From around her own neck she took a necklace

made out of a simple lobster claw.

‘Around the baby’s neck she placed the lobster-

claw necklace, just like the one you have around

your own neck. It was the very same lobster claw

that the baby’s father had given her as a love-gift

on their marriage, for he could not afford gold or

amber.

‘The baby looked up at his mother with adoring

eyes and smiled a shy smile.

‘He tried to put his little hand up to his mouth

with fragile, jerky movements, but he had to make a

few attempts before he got it in the right place, and

when he did he sucked thoughtfully on his knuckle.

‘She stroked his cheek and kissed him again,

drinking him in with her eyes as if she might be

seeing him for the very last time.

‘ “Remember,” she whispered.

‘We listened hard, for what mothers say to

their babies when they are about to be parted – well,

that is worth listening to.

‘ “Hold on to this necklace and remember how

much I love you, and that we will meet again one

day, though destiny made us part. This is only a little

absence, a temporary parting. I will come and find you,

on the sweet island of Hero’s End, and then we will be

together for ever.”

‘She closed the baby’s other little fist around

the lobster necklace.

‘And then with shaking hands, she wrapped the

baby tight, and laid him in the lobster pot, tucking

the blanket around him carefully so he wouldn’t be

cold, and she pushed the lobster pot out to sea.

‘The Murderous lit their flares to honour the

moment because it was sort of a funeral, although

the baby was still living. And as was traditional,

they fired burning arrows that landed harmlessly

on either side of the baby’s little craft as it drifted

gently out to sea, and the baby took his knuckle out

of his mouth and made a gurgle of delight, reaching

out his arms as if he thought he could touch the

beautiful flaming arrows as they rained down all

around him.

‘He did not know this was supposed to be his

funeral, but looked about him expectantly – at the

beautiful blue sky above, at the bright and

interesting world that awaited him, the slow arcs of

seagulls flying way, way up high overhead, until the

very, very gentle rocking of the pillows of the waves

below him, made his eyes… slowly… close, and lulled

him into sleep.

‘The Murderous Tribe were proud, sad and

solemn on the beach. Termagant was crying hard,

and as the little lobster pot crept further and further

out to sea on the back of each gentle wave, she

staggered up the beach back to the Murderous

village, supported by the arm of her proud unbending

father. The Murderous Tribe followed.

‘We had been sitting there all this time, a great

camouflaged statue, noticed by none, lying at the

back of the beach.

‘Now was our moment. We leapt into the air,

over the heads of the departing crowd, invisible to

their eyes, although a few may have looked up as the

breeze from our wings caught the hairs on the back

of their necks.

‘Termagant looked up. We saw her look up,

and she smiled through her tears, and she stood

straight up – though it was hard for her, she was so

weak – and made the Viking salute, and cried out,

“Remember! We’ll meet again!”

‘Moody looked up too, surprised, but all HE

saw was the clouds and the winds and the screaming

seagulls. Over their heads we flew, off towards the

little speck of the baby, far out to sea now and only

a tiny speck on the horizon.

‘We can still see the sea, now,’ said Innocence.

‘I can see it,’ said Patience, looking back into

the past. ‘I remember it like it was yesterday.’

‘Me too,’ said Arrogance.

‘Flat as glass it was,’ said Innocence, ‘and

the baby was quietly sleeping in his little lobster-

boat, drifting eastwards. Nearer, nearer we got

with our quiet, ghost wings, flying high over the

bay. Our dragon eyes are as acute as our dragon

ears. Nobody’s senses are more acute than a Deadly

Shadow’s. We were still far away but we could see,

way down below us, that there was not even a lap of

water coming over the edge to wet the blanket that

wrapped him. He was sleeping so peacefully, with his

little fist still clutched trustingly around the lobster

necklace.

‘It was a summer’s day. But even summer’s

days in the Archipelago can be changeable, and as

we came out of the shelter of the bay, out of nowhere

it seemed, the treacherous Archipelago wind blew in

a southern storm and a thick smoky sea-mist so dense

it was like a white blindfold. In a couple of flaps of

our wings, we had lost sight of the baby…

‘We lost sight of everything...

‘Even OUR dragon eyes cannot see through

mist. They cannot hear a sleeping baby.’

Both Patience and Arrogance groaned at

the memory.

‘We panicked – the baby! The baby! We

screeched in alarm, trying to wake the baby up so at

least we could hear him crying. But the baby did not

wake up. We flew desperately from left to right, but

it was no use, we did not know west from east or east

from west. For an hour we flapped, so disorientated,

so panicked and terrified, that we plunged from time

to time into the ice cold sea… And when the mist

rose, when the mist rose…

‘… the baby was gone.’

There was an awful silence.

‘We looked for the baby for the next two

weeks,’ whispered Innocence. ‘We searched every

cove, every possible beach where the wind might

have carried him to safety. And then, one dreadful

day, we found the blue and white blanket floating in

a bay far, far to the east. We took it as a sign that

poor Termagant’s baby had gone to the bottom of the

sea, like his father before him.’

‘What happened to the mother?’ asked Hiccup.

The three heads sighed a sigh of infinite sadness.

‘We crept back to see her. We did not want to go.

Just one sight of us, and she would have known the

terrible news. But she had not made it through her

illness. She had already died. But at least she died

believing that her baby was safe with us on Hero’s

End, and that would have made her happy.’

‘Termagant died?’

‘Our grief was so terrible,’ said Arrogance.

‘It was as if the sun had gone away.’

‘So what happened to you after that?’ asked

Hiccup.

‘We could not go back to Hero’s End,’

said Patience. ‘We felt so guilty. She trusted us

absolutely, and we had broken our promise. We flew

up into the Murderous Mountains where we had

spent our childhood, and we tried to forget her. We

tried to forget everything and live our life as a wild

dragon again. Fourteen years is a long time… We

began to forget, and then we heard the call of the

Red-Rage and joined the Dragon Rebellion. THAT

helped the forgetting all right. It was only when we

saw the lobster necklace again, around your neck,

that we remembered…’

22. WHAT HAPPENED NEXT

There was a pause on the red sands as the dragons

finished telling their tale.

‘Well, I will tell you,’ said Hiccup, ‘what

happened to the baby after you lost sight of him. He

was washed up on Long Beach, and the Tribe built

a hut for him to live in. A Long-Eared Caretaker

Dragon looked after him, and he turned out to be my

best friend, Fishlegs.’

‘You see?’ said Innocence. ‘I always said how he

must have survived, and you two never believed me.’

The three heads sighed.

‘I have to say,’ admitted Arrogance, ‘I never

dreamed that there could have been a happy end to

that story.’

‘There’s always hope,’ said Innocence.

The Deadly Shadow’s three heads were lying on

the sand, looking back into the past.

And then, quite suddenly, Hiccup thought that

the sand below his knees was feeling just a little wetter

than it had before. He looked at the horizon. The tide

was coming in…

Patience put down his head and nudged

Hiccup’s head upwards so that he looked at him. He

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put one paw on one side of Hiccup’s head and looked

straight into Hiccup’s eyes. They were so close, that

you could just see the vague outline of the irises, the

black of the pupils. Kind eyes.

‘I think perhaps, you should leave us now,’

Patience said casually. ‘The Monster is coming, and

the tide will come in, and so this is your last chance

to go back on the sand-yacht. The Monster will not

eat dragon-flesh. We are too tough for it.’

How strange dragons are, thought Hiccup. This one

can move from cruelty to selfless kindness in a heartbeat.

‘Leave us,’ said Patience.

‘Leave usss,’ repeated Innocence and Arrogance.

‘We won’t drown,’ Patience assured him. ‘We

have gills.’

Hiccup dropped his head from the mesmerising,

hypnotising gaze and carried on working at the

dragon-trap. ‘You lie. You’re not a Sea Dragon,’

said Hiccup shortly. Trust Hiccup to know his dragon

species. ‘You’re an Air Dragon. Those gills only work

up to a certain point.’

But after a minute he called out to Camicazi,

who was patrolling around them with her fiercest

Bog-Burglar expression, two swords drawn.

‘Camicazi,’ he said as casually as he could,

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‘maybe you ought to go back on that sand-yacht and

fetch help.’

‘What kind of an idiot do you take me for?’

Camicazi yelled back, extremely affronted. ‘I’m not a

five-year-old! And I’m not leaving until you’re leaving.’

Hiccup worked on, shivering now, in the cold

wind, fingers numb, his dragon-suit pathetically stained

with red.

On, on, Hiccup worked.

Ten minutes had passed. The sand was definitely

wetter now, the sea on the horizon was gleamingly

near.

Fifteen minutes gone…

But he was so close now, he could feel it, so

close…

And oh joy!

The pieces of the locks fell apart in his hands, and

the trap sprang open.

It is such a wonderful moment when that

happens.

‘Just in time,’ Hiccup gasped.

The Deadly Shadow let out three roars of

triumph, beat his mighty wings and launched into the

air and hovered there.

He reached out to pick up Hiccup off the sand.

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Hiccup reached out his own hands towards the

now airborne dragon, and he felt a horrible clammy

something grab him with dreadful force around the

ankle…

‘Hiccup!!!!!’ screamed Camicazi…

… as a gigantic dragon claw, with huge eyes

on the end of it, dragged Hiccup down,

down, down, below the sand.

23. SOME DRAGONS REALLY

ARE MONSTERS

If you or I had felt a claw creep around our ankles in

such a situation, we would have screamed.

But Hiccup had been in so many terrifying and

dangerous adventures in his short life that he did not

scream, for he knew he did not have time. He took a

great breath of air instead, and held his nose, as the

unknown creature dragged him downwards through

the sand.

DOWN, DOWN, DOWN!

Just as Hiccup thought he was going to pass

out, the creature pulling him below seemed to break

through some sort of wall, and Hiccup landed with a

bone-crunching jolt on something hard and his hand

flew off his nose and he took a great involuntary

breath…

… not of sand, but of air – rancid, stuffy dank

air that caught in the throat like slug breath. And he

coughed and gasped, sand pouring out of his ears

and from his hair.

As he tried to open his eyes, gritty with grains of

sand, he could see blurrily through streaming tears,

sand still pouring down from a hole.

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But the Monster with the eye-claws was shooting

flames upward in continuous bursts of hot, then

freezing, flame. This turned the sand pouring through

into something that looked like glass, sealing the hole.

They seemed to be in some sort of cavern,

and the Monster moved its head this way and that,

reinforcing the glass walls of the tunnel.

The flames stopped.

Hiccup could hear the Wodensfang’s little

quavery voice in his head, ‘Now, now, Hiccup, dragons

are not Monsters you know…’

But the thing is, just as some humans can be evil,

some dragons really are Monsters.

You should never judge a book by its cover,

but on this occasion, Hiccup felt he was on fairly

safe ground. This Monster’s primitive and ghastly

appearance told him there would be no point reasoning

with it (however optimistic the Wodensfang might be

about the possibility of dragons evolving consciences

and complicated things like that).

This Monster couldn’t evolve a conscience in

the next thirty seconds, and it was unlikely to be a

sympathetic audience.

There is such a huge variety of dragon species,

you see.

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Some dragons, Sea Dragons like the Wodensfang,

have copied humans to such a large extent that they

can use language fluently. They are able to reason, to

think.

Others that Hiccup had come across like

Darkbreathers, and Monstrous Strangulators, are

not capable of complicated thinking processes.

These are dragons that have spent most of their lives

underground or in the depths of the ocean. All that

time alone in the dark does not help the development

of an appreciation for the finer things in life.

Six months of living on his wits had sharpened

Hiccup’s ability to weigh up deadly situations like this

in an instant.

He couldn’t reason with this dragon. So he would

have to fight it. He thought fast – very fast – as he

scanned his enemy.

Fifteen feet of well-armed muscled dragon.

Ten eyes. Huge claws. An interesting snakey aspect

that suggested it might be related to a Slitherfang,

which also lived under the sand.

Quickly glancing the other way, he assessed his

chances of escape.

The cavern was bare with only one immediate

escape route.

And judging from the bulging leg muscles, the

Monster would reach it first.

This was a tricky situation.

His only chance was to hope that this creature

really was a primitive relation of a Slitherfang, and to

use his knowledge of Slitherfangs to fight it.

Racking his brain, Hiccup tried to remember

everything he could about Slitherfangs. What did he

know?

What had he written about them in his notebooks?

The Monster had a small weak spot right in the

middle of its forehead. There was only one way he

could reach that small vulnerable spot, given that

the Monster was so heavily armed with talons and

teeth.

If he could get the creature to believe that he was

dead, it would want to swallow him immediately.

He would then have to allow the creature to

swallow him whole and look for the opportunity to

attack the creature’s only vulnerable spot.

He’d have to be patient. He’d have to let the

Monster swallow him at least up to the knees, so that

it would be harder for it to react when Hiccup reached

down and plunged his sword into the weak spot.

Thank Thor he had a sword on him, or rather,

thank Camicazi. If she hadn’t stowed away in his sand-

yacht and given him her spare sword, he wouldn’t even

be able to carry out this totally desperate and ridiculous

plan.

The success of Hiccup’s plan depended on one

crucial point. The creature would have to swallow him

from the right end, that is, starting with his feet. There

wasn’t a lot he could do if it started swallowing his

head.

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This was a fifty-fifty chance, which isn’t normally

a good proposition when your life depends on it, but

sometimes you just have to give yourself up to the

fickle hand of Fate, the toss of a coin.

It wasn’t very hard for Hiccup to pretend to be

dead, frankly, for he very nearly WAS dead.

He made himself go limp, even though every

nerve in his body was screaming at him to run away.

He forced his body to go limper and limper, and his

head to loll backwards.

He kept his eyes open, just the tiniest, smidgiest

of cracks so that he could see what was going on.

He forced himself to lie still as he felt something

yucky slide up over his body. It took all of his powers

of concentration to stop himself from moving, from

jumping up, from shaking off the sand that was gritting

all over his body and that disgusting dragon hand that

he could see through the cracks of his eyelids.

He had to stop himself from crying out in horror

at the sight of the two monstrous claws – five fingers,

each with an evil dragon eye perched on the end just

above the talons. The dragon’s face was blind, with

two ghostly hollows where its eyes should have been.

But the ten dragon eyes were blinking down at him

from the end of the creature’s claws.

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BLINK BLINK.

They were shark’s eyes, dead.

The creature felt its way along Hiccup’s body.

Its long tail had wrapped its way round Hiccup’s torso

and was squeezing the life out of him.

Maybe I AM dead, after all, he thought semi-

dreamily, and it was almost as if his spirit left his body

for a moment to look down on his own unconscious

body as it lay strangled by the horrible Monster in the

glass maze, squeezing, squeezing.

All twenty eyes stopped at Hiccup’s chest area.

You have to remember, that when Hiccup

had prostrated himself on the sand earlier on, he

had soaked himself in the broken bottle of Old

Wrinkly’s Asthma Potion, and that

potion was a deep

crimson red colour, exactly the colour of human blood.

So he really looked a very limp and gory sight

indeed, covered from top to toe, but particularly on his

front, in lashings and lashings of bright red blood. The

Monster gently wiped the sand off him, and even the

Monster knew that humans could not lose this much

blood and live.

‘He’s dead…’ mused the Monster to itself,

very disappointed. ‘He won’t squeak for me,

however hard I squeeze. And dead men start to

smell…’

Like many underground creatures, Slitherfangs

like to keep a tidy burrow, and dead things do indeed

smell, a smell that is magnified if one is buried

suffocatingly some way underground.

‘I’ll have to EAT it right now and here,’ the

Monster decided.

So the first part of Hiccup’s plan was a success,

at least.

Although it might seem to be a strange sort of

success.

The Monster thought he was dead, and had

decided to eat him.

The Monster, who was a picky eater, blasted

Hiccup with sea-water to get off all the sand (‘Too

gritty’), rolling him over and over. And then the

Monster began to coat him with some revolting

greasy substance to make him go down the easier.

Aha, thought Hiccup, with infinite relief. I was

right, it is like a Slitherfang. It wants to swallow me

whole. That was a weight off his mind, because it

would mean there would be no teeth involved in the

process, no chewing.

And then the Monster picked up Hiccup by one

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leg, and blasted the ground underneath him with fire

and sea-water to make a nice clean glass surface to eat

off, because like Slitherfangs, it seemed to be very

pernickety about such things, and laid him down

carefully, arranging his arms by his sides.

Then there was a pause, during which Hiccup

was absolutely dying to open his eyes, and a horrible,

horrible moment when he could feel the Monster

sniffing, sniffing at his ears…

It’s going to start at the wrong end! thought

Hiccup, desperately trying to think of a plan on the

spur of the moment that would work on killing a

dragon that was swallowing your head.

But just as he was about to do something

stupid like try and jump to his feet, he felt a sort of

snuffling on his right big toe.

The Monster had changed its mind, what there

was of a mind of course.

Now why did the Monster change its mind?

I’ll tell you why.

Because Hiccup was wearing his helmet.

It didn’t want to start at the end with the long

broken tickly thing on it.

Well, the Wodensfang and Toothless will be pleased

about that, thought Hiccup, slightly hysterically. They’re

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always telling me not to forget the helmet…

There was a click, click clicking noise.

Hiccup could not resist opening his left eyelid

the smidgiest of a smidgeon.

He had seen many a strange and terrifying

sight in his life, but this was one of the

strangest and most terrifying.

Squinting down his own body,

lubricated in a strange luminous material

like a liquid shroud, he could see

his own feet, and beyond them

the Monster’s head, opening its

mouth and dislocating its jaws

so it could take in Hiccup

whole.

It began to

swallow.

It is difficult to

describe the

sensation

of being

swallowed by a

dragon. There really is

nothing quite like it.

Apart from anything else,

291

it makes the most disgusting sound, like a very rude

liquidy slurping noise, and the feel of the suction

pulling on your skin, as the mouth closes round

your feet, and makes its way up your calves is both

revoltingly wet, and also slightly painful.

It was really very difficult for Hiccup to stop

himself from trembling, and keep his arms rammed to

his sides.

UP the mouth moved, and Hiccup’s feet began

to burn like he was on fire, as the dragon’s digestive

juices began to work on him. Very, very slowly, the

creature’s mouth moved around his calves, inching its

mouth over his limbs painfully, bit by bit.

Oh, Hiccup couldn’t wait much longer, but he

knew he would have to; the dragon had to reach his

knees at least.

He sneaked a peek downwards. The animal had

its arms stretched wide to steady itself, so its eyes

couldn’t see him if he suddenly sat up, but he had to

wait until j-u-u-u-s-t the right moment…

It was agony by the time the mouth reached his

knees.

Hiccup had the horrible feeling that his toes

might be dissolving. He had lost the feeling in his

right foot. But he had to strike at exactly the right

292

moment…

As the disgusting monster’s mouth crept over

Hiccup’s knees, Hiccup slow-ly, care-fully wriggled his

left hand around the handle of Camicazi’s spare sword.

The monster tensed, perhaps sensing the

infinitesimally small movement of his prey…

It lifted up its arms. All ten eyes were focused

on Hiccup. Was it Hiccup’s imagination, or did they

see something there? Did they see something that

made the Monster start, and the eyes open wide with

amazement? And then as their talons poised to strike,

the eyes on the talons opened wide with fury, and

turned green and then black, as they suffused with

blood…

Hiccup only had one second, one chance.

He sat up in one quick cat-like movement,

reached out, and plunged his sword right in the middle

of the creature’s forehead.

For one awful moment Hiccup thought he might

not have hit the right spot. Both the creature’s arms

sprang up and out. Hiccup hauled desperately on the

sword to try and get it out again so he could strike once

more but…

SQUERCH!!!

There was a small popping noise as the weak spot

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burst and…

WHHHOOOOOOOSHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!

Out of the mouth Hiccup shot, because as the

Monster died it let out a great shooting burst of sand

and seawater and Hiccup raced on his back across the

slippery glass floor, landing upside down at the end of

the cavern in a swooshing tide of brine.

Even upside down, Hiccup could see that the

creature was dead, although it was still quivering and

jerking all over, but Hiccup didn’t even stop to check,

he was so desperate to get the creature’s digestive

juices off him. He rolled and rolled in the seawater,

rubbing and rubbing at his feet in particular, which

were still burning like they were on fire…

Eventually the burning died down until it became

almost bearable. The creature was lying quite still now.

Hiccup’s poor feet were in a very bad state though,

he could see even in the dim Glow-worm light, and

the little toe on his left foot would never be the same

again. It had shrivelled into nothingness like a scraggly

little pink worm with the stuffing taken out of it, and

he couldn’t move or feel it.

But at least it wasn’t Hiccup’s head that was a

scraggly little pink worm. That would have been a

disaster.

294

However, as he looked round the underground

cavern, Hiccup realised he was still in a serious fix.

He was in a glass cavern, underneath the sand,

and presumably up there on the surface the tide had

come in and so he was underneath the sea as well.

How was he going to get out of here?

But even as he was looking around at the

extraordinary glass cavern, and the tunnels that ran

off it, he had a tingling at the back of his head as a

thought fell into place.

He reached into his fire-suit, and took out the

raggedy remains of the map. It was looking a little

worse for wear, that map, because like Hiccup himself,

it had had rather a hard time of it. It was burnt, torn

by poisoned fingernails, and covered in seawater and

dragon digestive juices.

MAZE OF MIRRORS.

Oh for Thor’s sake.

The red herring at the top of Grimbeard’s map

now seemed to be winking as well as laughing at him.

The Jewel was here.

Of course it was.

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24. THE WINK OF A RED

HERRING

You know how it is.

You search high and low in the Archipelago

for something, and it’s only when you’re looking for

something else that you accidentally find it.

Squinting very hard at the map, Hiccup thought

the lines and scribbles might indicate a way through the

maze. Limping and slithering on the wet glass, Hiccup

went through the exit of the cavern, and made his way

through a warren of tunnels, following until the lair of

the Monster opened out into a great glass chamber,

and Hiccup let out a cry of wonder.

There it was, the Maze of Mirrors, the creature’s

secret chamber of treasures. How could such a

primitive creature create something so very, very

beautiful? Maybe the Wodensfang was right. There

must be poetry, even in Monsters. For the glass in that

chamber was woven with such artistry, and polished

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so fine that it had turned into mirrors. The ceiling was

woven with glass like a spider’s web, and then in the

centre of the chamber was column after column of

mirrored glass, as beautiful as columns on a Roman

temple.

When you got closer still you could see, encased

in the glass, the Monster’s treasures that must have

been stolen from generation after generation of poor

Viking amber-collectors.

The Monster must have attacked Romans too,

for there were gorgeous Roman silver cups floating

in the columns like flies in amber. And speaking of

amber, there was quantities and quantities of the

stuff studded in the glass columns, the colour of

honey, the colour of gold, the colour of fire, some

with little creatures stuck in the golden liquid.

But Hiccup ran through that maze without

even stopping, guided all the way by the squiggles

on Grimbeard’s map and his own gut. It was very

confusing, just as confusing as looking into the eyes

of a Triple-Header Deadly Shadow, for some of the

columns were glass and some were mirror, and it was

very difficult to tell what was see-through and what

was a reflection.

On he slipped and slid through that sliding

297

mirror maze, searching, searching, for he knew what he

was looking for now. And heart lifting with hope…

… he found it.

Wonder of wonders.

Water into stone.

A single glass column, shining, pure as a drop of

water.

And right in the centre, suspended there as if it

were floating, a little higher than Hiccup’s eye level,

was the dark red heart, the dark red Jewel… the

Dragon’s Jewel.

The Jewel that spelt the destruction of the

dragons, and the humans’ only hope.

The Jewel was hanging on a necklace, encased

in the glass in such a way that it was as if the necklace

was hanging on the neck of an invisible ghost. And as

Hiccup circled round the column, nose pressed to the

glass, his imagination filled in the torso of a gigantic

bearded man: Grimbeard the Ghastly.

As Hiccup circled the column, he could just

make out, on the golden backing of the necklace, the

scratched initials: G.G.

Hiccup felt in his waistband for Camicazi’s

sword.

He took it out and took a good aim at the

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column of glass about a foot or so below where the

Jewel was suspended, swinging at it with all his might,

as if he were swinging at a tree in the Hooligan forest.

The first swing took a big glass chunk out of the

column.

The second, a larger bite.

And on the third swing of the sword Hiccup

ducked as the entire column of glass came down

with an almighty musical crash, tinkling little pieces

raining down on him, and the echoes ringing out

in that gigantic underground mirrored cavern like a

pealing of bells.

Before Hiccup reached out to take it, he

hesitated.

What if he were to take the Jewel, and it were

then to fall into the wrong hands?

But what if he did not take the Jewel, and there

was nothing then to stop the anger of the Dragon

Furious?

He put his head in his hands.

How I wish that I were not the one who finds

the Lost Things! thought Hiccup passionately. Why

does it have to be me who makes these choices?

Most of us are lucky not to be Kings and Heroes,

because we do not have to make the choices that

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Kings and Heroes have to make.

Hiccup chose to take the Jewel.

Hiccup tore a piece off his shirt and wrapped

his hand in it so he could draw the Jewel out of the

mound of shards of glass.

He held it up, so that the light shone brilliantly

off the golden amber depths, and carefully swept off

the powdered glass with one finger before putting

the amber Jewel around his neck and dropping it

down his fire-suit so it wasn’t visible.

And then he said:

‘Thank you, Grimbeard the Ghastly.’

I don’t know why he said it, for there was no

one there of course.

But there was a beat of about two seconds.

And the hairs on the back of Hiccup’s head

stood up.

‘Hic-cup…’ said a faint, spooky, echoing voice.

‘Hic-cup…’

Oh for Thor’s sake.

What was that?

It couldn’t be the voice of the Dragon Furious,

could it? Hiccup’s mind went back to the Dragon

chasing him through the cave warren of the Flashburn

School of Swordfighting.

301

No, it couldn’t be…

But so spooky, so echoey was the voice that for

one mad minute Hiccup thought it might be the ghost

of Grimbeard the Ghastly, come back to haunt him for

taking his Jewel.

‘Hic-cup… Hic-cup… Answer me… Hic-cup…’

And then, Hiccup stopped dead and started to

run back through the cavern, checking column after

column.

‘Hic-cup… Hic-cup…’

The voice was weak, despairing.

There, in one cloudy glass column was the

outline of a human boy.

A boy like himself.

Was it just a trick of the echoing

mirror maze?

Hiccup pressed his palm against

the glass.

And as if the boy were a

mirror image of himself, a hand

on the other side of the glass

pressed back, hand-to-hand.

Gently Hiccup pushed his

forehead with the Slavemark on

it on the glass. And as the boy

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inside the column dropped

his head forward too, the

two Slavemarks touched, on

either side the glass.

The boy was Fishlegs.

25. I DON’T THINK I’M DEAD...

Fishlegs’s weary face was looking back at him

through the smoky glass of the column.

‘Oh, Fishlegs!’ cried Hiccup. ‘I thought that you

were dead!’

‘No,’ said Fishlegs. ‘I’m not dead. At least… I

don’t think I’m dead…’

His voice was very, very weak.

‘Though I have to admit, I’m not feeling at my

most lively. What with one thing and another I’ve had

better weeks in the Archipelago.’

Hiccup laughed, shakily. ‘No, you’re not dead,

Fishlegs. You’re in the lair of the Monster of the

Amber Slavelands. The Monster likes eating fresh

meat so it must have been keeping you alive.’

‘Ah,’ said Fishlegs. ‘I knew I had a feeling I

wasn’t in a great situation…’

‘Lean against the other side of the column,

Fishlegs,’ Hiccup ordered, and he began to swing

his axe, gingerly cutting through one side of the glass

column, being very, very careful, for he did not want

to hurt Fishlegs when it broke.

Thor’s birthday, it was cold down there. Hiccup

shivered as he swung his axe, the damp

304

seeping through his sandals, the cold of the

underground glass tunnels penetrating right into his

heart.

‘Put your hands over your head, Fishlegs,’

whispered Hiccup. (He didn’t know why he was

whispering – the Monster was dead but it was

SPOOKY down there, in the dark, in the cold.)

Chunk! Chunk! Two more swings of the axe and

the glass column encasing Fishlegs fell away. His friend

was standing there, curled over in a slight ball, his

hands over his head. Slowly he brought down his arms.

It was as if Hiccup was bringing a frozen statue

into life. A bedraggled, weary figure he was. Tear-

stained, rags flapping around him like the tatters of a

scarecrow ripped to shreds, nearly

blue with cold, his smashed

glasses falling

off his nose.

Hiccup was the very mirror-image of him.

Neither of them were Vikings now. Lost Tribes,

lost dragons, lost everything. Hungry, thin as brooms,

the Slavemarks proclaiming their slavedom, both runts,

the two boys stood looking at each other, swaying on

their feet.

Fishlegs was cold as ice, and Hiccup rubbed his

purple arms, trying to get his circulation going.

‘What are you doing here?’ asked Fishlegs

through chattering teeth.

‘Looking for you…’

‘But I’m not important,’ said Fishlegs weakly

and drearily. ‘You ought to be on your Quest… Your

destiny. What about the Dragon Jewel?’

‘You are important!’ said

Hiccup, urgently trying to

bring him back to life, by

rubbing his arms, his chest,

anything to try and warm

him up. ‘Your lobster-claw

necklace saved my life.’

‘Really?’ said Fishlegs.

He opened his eyes in

disbelief. ‘My necklace saved

YOUR life?’

306

So Hiccup told Fishlegs the story of his mother,

Termagant, and the Stealth Dragon, and the lobster

pot lost in the mist fourteen years before.

Who says stories cannot bring things to life?

That story brought Fishlegs to life, all right.

He turned from grey to a pale pink, and his

heartbeat, so faint, flickered back into a steady rhythm.

‘So my mother, she did love me after all!’ said

Fishlegs, in surprise. ‘She wanted the best for me. She

wanted to meet me again, on Hero’s End!’

‘And she would have done,’ said Hiccup, ‘if she

had lived. And the Deadly Shadow dragon who has

sworn to look after you, is now your Deadly Shadow.’

Fishlegs had spent his whole life having the worst

of everything.

He had the embarrassingly vegetarian hunting-

dragon, the riding-dragon that was the size of a

Shetland pony. He had been bottom of the class in

absolutely everything, plus he had eczema, asthma,

knock-knees and short-sight. So it was a pretty amazing

moment to discover that somewhere out there is a

triple-headed, armed-to-the-teeth, ridiculously cool

Deadly Shadow dragon that had sworn to look after

you, and lay down its life for you.

For the final boost, Hiccup drew out of his

307

waistcoat… the Dragon Jewel.

It shone like a warm golden star in the darkness

of that glass cavern.

‘Oh…’ breathed Fishlegs. He put out a hand and

touched it. ‘The Dragon Jewel,’ whispered Fishlegs.

He looked up at Hiccup…

… and smiled, with excitement, for the first time

in a long time.

‘Hiccup, this really has got to mean that you are

the King.’

Hiccup smiled back awkwardly. ‘Well, it means

I’m pretty good at finding the King’s Lost Things,

anyway. But don’t forget, you were here first.’

Fishlegs stroked the Dragon Jewel for a few

moments.

And then slowly, he got to his feet.

‘Right,’ said Fishlegs.

He pushed his smashed glasses determinedly and

securely on to his nose. ‘Now we have to get out of

here. I just can’t miss everybody seeing

me on the back of a Triple-

Header Deadly Shadow

dragon, I’m sorry, it’s just

too good

a moment.’

Hiccup grinned, and took out the blasted, ragged,

burnt and soaked remains of the disintegrated map to

look for the way out.

The two boys walked through the tunnels until

they found the one that Grimbeard had helpfully

marked as the exit.

And as they walked, the tunnels seemed to be

leading higher and higher, and there was a strange

light that wasn’t the light of Electricsquirms or

Electricstickys or Glow-worms, which had lit the cavern

below, and suddenly the light felt as if it were all

around them. And on the other side of the glass there

were suddenly fern-shapes, moving and waving…

Seaweed.

The glass tunnel had emerged out of the sand and

they were under the sea at the bottom of the ocean.

Great drifts and shoals of fish drifted past, swimming

in and out of the seaweed. Gentle jellyfish softly floated

by, and as the tunnel moved up it left the seabed like

a great glass snake, and they could see crabs scuttling

below them.

‘Wow.’ Fishlegs pressed his nose up to the glass.

The tunnel went up sharply now, and they slid

so much they couldn’t get a grip. Hiccup had to carve

little nicks into the glass so they could get a foothold.

309

They were just in time, as it happens, for the

tunnel had one little loop that the sea had not yet

covered. Once the tide covered it and the tunnel was

entirely underwater, they would not have been able

to break the tunnel without the ocean rushing in and

drowning them.

But there it was, one lovely little loop that was

surrounded only by pure air.

Hiccup broke the tunnel with his axe, and

carefully they climbed over the broken shards and

into the surrounding ocean.

It was cold, that sea.

As they looked around them, they were just two

little heads bobbing beside the broken tunnel in the

middle of a vast expanse of ocean. Sea, sea, sea, as far

as the eye could see…

The tide had come in completely.

They had walked even further than Hiccup

thought – a mile, maybe more – into the open ocean.

To the west Hiccup could see a little smudgy grey

outline that must be land, the land of the island of

Swallow.

‘I’m never going to make it…’ gasped Fishlegs.

He was already turning blue again.

‘You will make it,’ said Hiccup between

310

chattering teeth. ‘Swim!’

And he began to swim himself, towards that

smudgy grey outline on the very distant horizon.

‘Swim! Swim! Swim! You must make it…’

But the vast echoing sea was so large, and they

were so small, and the distant land mass was so very,

very far away…

26. A GHOST FROM THE PAST

Sometimes our little human splashings are not enough.

However hard we try, however strong our heroic

human wills (and us humans have such a capacity, such

a heroic capacity for believing that the impossible might

be possible), sometimes our ridiculously puny human

arms are too weak. Sometimes the world is just too big

for us, the hurricane too wild, the sea so huge, that it

wears out even the bravest of hearts, the strongest of

wills.

So it would have been with Fishlegs and Hiccup,

I have to tell you – they would have drowned that

day in the seas around the Amber Slavelands, despite

everything, despite their miraculous escape from the

Maze of Mirrors and the lair of the Slitherfang. Hiccup

would have sunk to the ocean floor with the Dragon

Jewel around his neck, and this story would have had a

very different kind of ending.

If it hadn’t been for one thing.

That one thing was flying right now on invisible

wings, above the oceans of the Amber Slavelands,

searching, searching.

A ghost from the past.

A ghost that was hoping to make amends, a ghost

312

that was never going to give up because of the promise

he made to Fishlegs’s mother.

The Deadly Shadow would not give up.

‘There is always hope,’ whispered Innocence.

‘Remember the last time this happened we gave up,

and Fisshlegss was still alive? You have to learn from

stories. We will not give up this time…’

Even the boundless optimism of Camicazi, riding

on the back of the Deadly Shadow, was fading.

Of course it was, for had she not seen with her

very own eyes, Hiccup dragged down under the sands

by some terrifying eyes-on-claws monster?

With a howl of terror, the Deadly Shadow had

dug at the spot with his great claws, and she had dived

down and joined in with her own pathetic human

hands, digging, digging, digging at the spot they last

saw him.

But sometimes the world is too big even for

dragon claws. The Deadly Shadow was an Air Dragon,

not a Sea Dragon, not an Earth Dweller – he was

not built for burrowing. He could not follow Hiccup

underneath the sand, however hard he dug. But on, on,

he and Camicazi dug, until the great tide swept in, and

swallowed up their pathetic diggings, their pointless

hole and turned the world to water.

313

Hours and hours they searched the world-now-

turned-to-ocean.

I do not know what moral you can take from this

apart from one: they carried on, even though all hope

was lost, for it was impossible that Hiccup should have

survived being buried deep under sand and under

ocean.

‘But perhaps he wriggled out of the Monster’s

claws at the last moment,’ said Camicazi to the Deadly

Shadow. ‘Trust me, guys, I have seen Hiccup survive so

many other impossible situations…’

But yet again, this seemed like even more of an

impossible situation to survive than the last one.

Nonetheless, they carried on, and it was good

that they did, for as we know, despite all odds, Hiccup

had survived, and he and Fishlegs needed them now.

The Deadly Shadow had gone back in time.

He had forgotten that thirteen years had passed.

It was as if it were that very same day that he

promised his human, Termagant: ‘By our bright-green

blood and our shining claws, we will keep your baby

safe.’

Just such a day it had been, a day of blue, with

just a hint of clouds on the edge of the world.

‘We promise… We promise…’ Patience muttered

314

to the others in Dragonese. ‘We promise, Termagant,

we will keep your baby safe…’

‘We promisse… We promissse…’ Arrogance

and Innocence whispered back.

Swooping over the blue expanse of ocean, the

endless waves that stretched for ever, they searched

for a little lobster pot, bobbing on the waves. Their

six Deadly Shadow eyes, the sharpest eyes in the

world, the eyes that can see a nanodragon moving

from a distance of half a mile, clicking, clicking,

scanning the ocean. Their senses all alert.

Then, with panic rising, they could feel the

clouds moving in, suddenly, a mist beginning to

form… Surely history could not be about to repeat

itself? Surely this was a day of second chances?

They swooped down further, desperately

looking for the little lobster pot. And the Deadly

Shadow found it.

Way down below, a flicker of movement, a

smudge of pink, of human life, a tiny wriggle on the

endless stretch of blue.

Down the Deadly Shadow swooped, joy

leaping in his camouflaged breast, and as they soared

closer, Camicazi could see it too, and she let out a

joyful whoop.

315

A smashed and broken lobster pot, attached to

the back of a boy swimming, a boy with a lobster-claw

necklace around his neck. The boy was supporting

another boy with broken glasses, and even at the

height it was flying, the dragon could see in the face

of that boy, the smudged and vague outline, the wet

bedraggled memory of a human it had loved.

Termagant’s child!

316

‘We’ll meet again, Termagant! We’ll

meet again!’ snorted the three heads of the Deadly

Shadow triumphantly, shooting out bolts of lightning

as he swooped ever downwards.

317

‘We’re being attacked!’ whispered Fishlegs,

shielding his eyes and looking upwards, as the

Deadly Shadow made a rather clumsy crash-landing

beside them, due to over-excitement.

Hiccup and Fishlegs were nearly dead, and the

shock of a highly camouflaged dragon landing nearly

right on top of them out of the blue, practically

finished them off. But as they gasped and coughed

up water, the dragon plucked them out of the sea

and deposited them on his back, still gasping and

coughing up water… but alive.

‘I don’t believe it!’ crowed Camicazi, with

shining eyes. ‘I mean, I do believe it, because you’ve

done it so many times before, but this time I really…

do… not… believe… it…’

Hiccup smiled because he didn’t really believe

it himself either, what with one thing and another,

and panting, he drew the Dragon Jewel out of his

waistcoat.

Well of course, Camicazi couldn’t believe that

even more than anything else. She made him take

it out, and put it back again, and he let her hold it,

and she turned it over and over, saying: ‘I DO NOT

BELIEVE IT… I DO NOT BELIEVE IT… How do

you do it?

318

‘What are you going to do with it?’ asked

Camicazi.

Hiccup sighed. ‘I’m not quite sure,’ he admitted.

‘I have to think of some way to use it so that I can

stop this war.

‘Fishlegs,’ said Hiccup, as the dragon took off

into the sky, ‘this is your mother’s dragon, the Deadly

Shadow. The head on the left is Innocence, the head

on the right is Arrogance, and the one in the middle

is Patience, because that’s what he has to have.’

Fishlegs was sprawled on the Deadly Shadow’s

back, holding on for dear life, his clothes already

steaming as the dragon’s back was as warm as an

oven. He felt his whole body coming back to life.

‘How do you do?’ whispered Fishlegs. ‘Excuse

me if I don’t sit up… I’m a bit tired.’

Something about this dragon made him feel

secure, and even in his weakened state he struggled

to sit up, the wind blowing back his wet hair, the

Slavemark burning bright on his forehead. ‘So… you

are my mother’s dragon?’

‘I was!’ sang the Deadly Shadow. ‘But now I

am yours. Yours for ever. I promise I will never

leave you. I am at your service… I will serve you

faithfully, from now until death.’

319

Hiccup translated.

Wow…

Fishlegs’s back straightened. His eyes shone.

Things were looking up. He, Fishlegs, the ex-most-

despised-member-of-the-Hooligan-Tribe, the slave,

the orphan and runt, was now the proud owner of

literally the coolest dragon he had ever seen. ‘And my

mother… was a Chief’s daughter?’ asked Fishlegs.

‘The best and truest human that I ever

met,’ said Patience.

‘She was a poet, too,’ explained Hiccup. ‘And

half-Berserk, as we always thought.’

Even in his ragged, hungry, cold state, this put

so much heart into Fishlegs. His mother was a poet!

That must be where he got his bard-skills from. His

father was a Hero! Well, that was a bit of a mystery,

but…

… finally he knew who he was.

320

~ STATISTICS ~

FEAR FACTOR: ............................. 3

ATTACK: ...................................... 6

SPEED: ..........................................4

SIZE: ............................................ 5

DISOBEDIENCE: ............................1

These dragons

make excellent

guard-dogs and baby-

sitters. Fishlegs was

looked after by one of

these dragons when

he was a baby.

Relax for a Second...

If you want to end the story here, please feel free.

In a way it would be best.

For what could be a happier ending than this, the

three friends soaring up into the clouds, the Dragon

Jewel safe around Hiccup’s neck?

It has been a long, long day, and that really should

be the end of it.

But I have to confess…

… it isn’t.

So if you really do want to carry on to the bitter end,

I suggest, dear reader, that you take a little break

for a moment.

Drink a large glass of water. Have a nibble of

something sustaining, with slow release energy,

a snack perhaps with oats in it.

Relax for a second.

There.

Then here we go…

27. THE STORY ENDS AS

IT BEGAN...

This story, you see, began with Hiccup being

ambushed by his mother, Valhallarama.

And that is also how it ends.

Nobody can track a Deadly Shadow dragon.

Nobody except for… Valhallarama.

Nobody can see one, so beautifully

camouflaged are they… But Valhallarama, that

indomitable breath-holding action woman, flew so

high, to such airy pinnacles of thinning cloud, that

she was looking down at them, not up, and she saw,

not the Deadly Shadow, but the three little humans

clinging to the back of nothing.

The three friends did not see her coming.

The Deadly Shadow’s senses were dulled

slightly, perhaps by the exhilaration of the moment,

and the fact that it was not expecting danger. Deadly

Shadows do not expect to be attacked, because

something so scary very rarely is.

Perhaps Arrogance caught a shining silver

streak of movement, screaming just above his eye-

level that caused him to stiffen and look up.

But it was too late.

324

Valhallarama and the Silver Phantom, hiding high

in a cloud-bank, swooped down in a rocketing silver

howl, like a bright avenging Fury, the unstoppable,

relentless, screaming hand of Fate. Valhallarama’s

metal arm reached out and she plucked her son from

the back of the camouflaged Deadly Shadow with

the casual ease that she had plucked him, two weeks

before, from the back of the Windwalker.

The Silver Phantom rocketed on towards

Darkheart, unstoppable, uncatchable, for in open

skies the Silver Phantom was the fastest riding-dragon

in the entire world.

Guiding the Phantom with her knees alone, she

held Hiccup with one hand, and with the other she

took the Dragon Jewel on its necklace from around

Hiccup’s neck, and placed it around her own.

Hiccup, swinging from his mother’s stern

unyielding arm, was as shocked as if he had been

dunked suddenly in a tub of ice-cold water.

And once he had got over that, he was angry.

Oh, by Loki’s little lunatic leg-warmers, he was

angry.

‘What are you DOING?’ Hiccup roared up at that

unforgiving metal mask looming over him, looking

sternly, unwaveringly down at her target of Darkheart.

325

‘I am not a child any more, how dare you

treat me like this?

‘I mean I don’t expect you to be HELPFUL

or anything, why would I expect that? You’ve never

BEEN THERE! Years and years of leaving my father

and me on our own, YEARS AND YEARS AND

YEARS! Not always answering my letters… Going

away even when I beg you not to… Not listening when

I speak…’

Purple in the face, kicking out with his legs,

Hiccup yelled, ‘I’ve got used to that over the years!

326

I’ve had to get used to it! But the one thing I don’t

expect,’ bellowed Hiccup, ‘the one thing I don’t

expect, is for you to actually BETRAY me… Is that

really too much to ask?’

And there was a great deal more where that came

from, for when fourteen years of frustrated fury comes

out, it tends to come out in a rush.

But Valhallarama did not answer. She carried on,

regardless, grim, unyielding. They blasted through the

sky in a blinding silver rush of Hiccup’s boiling anger

and Valhallarama’s righteous determination.

Nothing was going to stop her.

She was taking Hiccup back, back, back to face

the music in the Prison of Darkheart.

327

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,

328

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.

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‘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.

332

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!’

333

Hiccup could keep quiet no longer. He turned

on the witch.

‘It is YOU who have inflamed that situation!’

yelled Hiccup passionately. ‘I have seen your dragon-

traps! Destroying dragon eggs, killing them in their

thousands with your explosive weapons! No wonder

so many dragons have joined the Rebellion!’

Hiccup’s words rang out in the courtyard.

‘And I ask you, what is this perfect world that

you are talking about? Is it perfect to have humans

and dragons dying in chains?’

Hiccup pointed at the Silver Phantom.

‘Are creatures as beautiful as this to be made

extinct for all time?’ cried Hiccup.

‘Are dragons never to sail through the skies

again, on jewel-coloured airy wings, or light up the

world once more with the glory of their fiery breath?

‘Are we to say goodbye for ever to the magic,

and the dreaming and the flying of our childhoods?

‘I say NO!’ cried Hiccup, red in the face, shaking

his fist.

‘Dragons

should be free,

just as every

single human

being in this

building should

be free!’

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All around, the crowd was murmuring to each

other like an unhappy sea.

Valhallarama twirled that black arrow in her

hand, faster and faster, listening intently, with her

head on one side.

‘So speaks your son, Valhallarama, Hiccup the

slave!’ sneered the witch, even whiter than ever.

‘Like father, like son, for I know you will be

shocked when I tell you, Valhallarama, your husband,

Stoick the Vast, has also become a slave.’

The witch pointed out poor Stoick, who was

looking at the ground.

But still Valhallarama said nothing.

Why won’t she speak? thought the witch, feeling

increasingly desperate.

She sent out her words like

poisoned arrows, still

trying to find that

fatal weakness in

Valhallarama’s

armour.

‘I feel saddened

for you,

Valhallarama,

such a Great Hero

as you are,’ sorrowed

the witch pityingly, ‘that

your family has let you

down so badly, and brought

disgrace upon their Tribe and

the Kingdom.’

And now the witch looked

very crafty.

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‘But then, I read your destiny when you were a

little girl, and you were never meant to marry Stoick,

were you, Valhallarama? Stoick the Vast was never

worthy of you…’ cooed the witch in her sweetest voice.

Valhallarama’s face did not change. You could

not tell for one second what she was thinking. Round

and round the arrow whirled, faster and faster, as if it

were a spinner in a game, and no one knew where it

would stop in the end.

‘If circumstances had not intervened with destiny,

you would have married Humungously Hotshot the

Hero, a man of your own calibre, and if you had done

so, none of this would have happened: the second-best

husband, the unfortunate runt son, the disaster that has

hit the Archipelago,’ sighed the witch.

‘It’s tragic, really. I cannot bear to think of

your girlish disappointment, waiting and waiting for

a Hero who never came.’ The witch shook her head

sorrowfully. ‘A maiden’s tears are so particularly

touching. It positively melts my witch’s heart to think

of it.’

Excellinor paused. ‘But then, time moves on,

does it not? I hear Humungous has married at last, a

lady twenty years your junior.’

Valhallarama did not react.

338

The witch gave a cruel smile. ‘What a shame

destiny has taken such a crooked course. But now you

have a chance to move on yourself and put things right,

Valhallarama. Look, see how Fate has marked my son

Alvin out as our saviour, by giving him eight of the

Things already!’

The witch finished her speech with a final ringing

flourish. ‘You are a woman of sense and principle. You

brought us the map because you knew that this was

right, and you could help us stop this war that has torn

our perfect world apart. We want to put that world

back together again, make it good as new. And who

knows? Perhaps without certain things it might be even

more perfect. Complete your Quest, Valhallarama.

Fulfil your destiny and give Alvin the Jewel!’

For Thor’s sake, surely the great metal she-mountain

has to speak NOW? thought the witch. Has she gone

dumb? The suspense is killing me.

Valhallarama put up her mighty hand. At last, she

stepped forward. She spoke.

And herein again, lies the power of silence. When

a person who has been quiet speaks, people tend to

listen.

The crowd leant forward to make sure they

caught every single word of what she was saying.

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‘The witch has said her piece, and now I shall say

mine,’ said Valhallarama.

‘I have been absent from the Archipelago’s history

for some considerable time. What I am about to offer

you is an explanation for my absence, and I am not

explaining this to you, witch, or you, Alvin, or even to

you, the assembled Tribes of the Archipelago.’

She bowed to the silent watching crowds, and

those crowds include us, the readers, the listeners, the

invisible watchers of this story.

‘I am explaining this to my son Hiccup,’ said

Valhallarama.

She turned to her son Hiccup, who was still

standing with his fists clenched, bursting with anger,

and she looked straight at him.

‘I have spent most of my life Questing,’ said

Valhallarama.

‘When I was a child my father, the soothsayer Old

Wrinkly, foretold to me in secret that the Archipelago

would face a dreadful peril and the only one who could

avert it would be a new King of the Wilderwest. He

told me the Prophecy of the King’s Lost Things, kept a

secret only among the wise, so that the Things should

not be found by one who is unworthy.

‘I was brave, I was intelligent, I knew that I was

340

worthy. My father had brought me up as a Hero, and

a potential King, and though my father’s dreams went

awry as many parents’ dreams do, secretly, I dedicated

the rest of my life to Questing for those Things.

‘And perhaps,’ sighed Valhallarama, ‘if I am

entirely honest, and since this is a moment for telling

the truth, it was also because there is a wandering spirit

in me, and I was too much a Viking, to stay too much

at home.

‘My husband Stoick understood the importance

of my Quest to me even though I never told him why I

was Questing or what I was Questing for.

‘I would call that real True Love,’ said

Valhallarama, ‘which is beyond the comprehension of

both maidens and of witches.

‘Nonetheless, I cannot begin to tell you how

much I have sacrificed in the pursuit of my Quest,’ said

Valhallarama. ‘Do not think that just because I have

the soul of a soldier, and cannot speak soft words, that

it was not hard for me, or that because I left, I did not

love.

‘Year after year away from home, away from my

loved ones, my husband, my son. The monsters I have

fought, the Warriors I have battled, flying so far to the

north, south, west, and east, it felt like I must have

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crossed the whole world, sleeping in trees, in caves, in

ice-houses, wandering for so long on my own I nearly

forgot my own language.’

Slowly, Hiccup’s fists unclenched, just a tiny, tiny

bit, for this was reminding him of the loneliness of his

own Quest over the last six months.

‘But when the Quest is for the future of the

Archipelago itself,’ said Valhallarama, ‘terrible

sacrifices sometimes have to be made.

‘And in this case the sacrifice was bitter

indeed, for however hard I searched, whatever lead I

followed, I did not find one single Thing. Not one.

‘So when the witch told me that her son Alvin

had eight of the King’s Lost Things, why this news

took my breath away.

‘I was stunned. What a very great Hero this Alvin

must be to have succeeded where all my strength

and intelligence had failed! Reluctantly I stood back

for the King that fortune foretold, and agreed to

acquire the map for the King so that he could search

for the Dragon Jewel.’

‘Yes, well, you were quite right,’ said the witch

hurriedly. ‘My Alvin is something special.’

‘But what you forgot to tell me, witch, and I

am sure it was an unintentional oversight,’ drawled

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Valhallarama sarcastically, ‘was that it was my son

HICCUP who found the Things first. I was so busy

peering for the Things at the farthest corners of the

earth, that I did not notice what was happening right

under my nose at home. While I was searching for

those Things with the utmost of my power and strength

and brilliance, the Things were making their way to

Hiccup, quietly, effortlessly, and without him even

realising.’

‘Hiccup may find the Things,’ hissed the witch,

‘but it is my son ALVIN who ends up with them in the

end, notice!’

Valhallarama ignored the witch. ‘I began to

ask myself some questions when I had got over the

headache caused by my son very understandably

dropping a tree trunk on my head.’

‘Did Hiccup drop a tree trunk on your head?’

interrupted Alvin, cheering up for a second. ‘Can I just

say that that is typical? Absolutely typical.’

‘The tree trunk rearranged my thoughts,’ said

Valhallarama, ‘along with the surprise caused by my

Phantom returning with a black arrow in his foreleg.

‘I found myself thinking:

‘Why did the Things find their way to Hiccup

rather than to me? Was it because in my endless Quest

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to save the Archipelago, I had forgotten to ask the

questions that make a King a King?

‘And is it, in fact, the Questions that are more

important than the Quest?

‘Perhaps,’ (here again Valhallarama sighed) ‘I

had to face the cold facts, dropping on me like a tree

trunk from above. Destiny had not chosen me for

King because for all my intelligence, I did not have

the sympathetic mind that could ask such questions

in the first place…

‘You see, the Hooligan Tribe has never had

slaves. But we have stood by and let other Tribes

take slaves. We have closed our eyes to the misery

of places such as this, the great Prison Darkheart. We

have pretended that they do not really exist.

‘But my son Hiccup did not pretend that they

did not exist. Is that what a King is?

‘And then, you see, there is the Question of

the dragons. My son put that rather neatly, don’t you

think, witch?’ said Valhallarama proudly. ‘Are we to

say goodbye for ever, to the magic and the dreaming

and the flying of our childhoods?’

‘A childish Question, perhaps, that could only

be put by a child. For it is too late, already,’ hissed the

witch, her smile a death-grin. ‘The war has, regretfully,

344

gone too far to save the dragons from extinction. It is,

you see, a Question of Them or Us…’

‘It may, indeed, be too late,’ admitted

Valhallarama grimly, her voice smooth and cold as

steel, her eyes like bullets. ‘But at least my son would

try to save the glory of the dragons that I love.

‘There are some dragons that are monsters,’

admitted Valhallarama.

‘But then there are also some humans who are

monsters.’ (And at this point she paused and looked

significantly at Alvin the Treacherous and the witch.)

‘On the back of the Silver Phantom I have flown so

high that his wing-tips seemed to touch the very

moon itself...

345

‘Are dragons like my Silver Phantom to be

destroyed just because there are some dragons out

there that are monsters? Are we to be for ever earth-

bound because the dragons are no more?’

Obligingly, the Silver Phantom slowly opened his

bright wings to their utmost extent and the rising moon

lit up all of his delicate silver scales so that they shone

like stars.

The crowd caught their breath longingly,

remembering flying through the stormy skies of the

Archipelago on the back of their own dragons.

‘And while I am on the subject of the Silver

Phantom,’ said Valhallarama, conversationally, stern

eyes narrowing, fingers spinning, spinning, spinning the

arrow, ‘I thought I might bring up something which has

been puzzling me.

‘This arrow that I have taken from my Phantom’s

leg that the witch claims was from an unknown soldier,

is flighted with raven feathers and dipped in the poison

of the Venomous Vorpent.

‘I believe you keep ravens as pets, witch, and the

poison of the Vorpent is your poison of choice?’

Yes, I remember reading her destiny now, thought

the witch with disagreeable surprise. And even at seven

years old she was a wild, but also repellently clever, little

346

girl… That must be where the horrible little Hiccup brat

gets his brains from, because it’s certainly not from his

idiotic father…

‘A raven does make a lovely pet,’ admitted the

witch. ‘But I am trying not to use Vorpent poison

as much actually – it isn’t as effective as it used to

be…’

‘You lied, witch, didn’t you?’ persisted

Valhallarama. ‘This arrow belongs to your son Alvin,

and it was he who shot my Phantom.’

Silence.

The witch’s tongue had run out of lies.

Valhallarama turned back to the crowd.

‘You do have a choice of Kings here, peoples of

the Archipelago,’ said Valhallarama. ‘Don’t let anybody

tell you that you do not have a choice.

‘You can choose the lying witch’s son, Alvin, the

man with the golden nose, the blood-soaked hook and

the empty heart.’

She pointed at Alvin, a splendid muscly,

Emperor-like figure, it has to be admitted, and

so bedecked with the Lost Things, it was almost

ridiculous.

‘And you know in your heart of hearts what this

man Alvin is offering you.

347

‘Or you can choose my own son, Hiccup, who is

not a runt, but something special, and who offers you

the hope of a new and better world.’

348

She turned to Hiccup.

Hiccup’s anger had now entirely gone, and he

felt a great calmness, as if some great weight had left

him.

‘I love you, Hiccup, although my stiff lips will

not let me make the kind words I hear other mothers

speaking,’ said Vallhallarama with difficulty.

‘I cannot change or regret the wandering Warrior

I am. But by Thor’s thunder, I can fight for you, with

all my Warrior heart, and this is one thing that I truly

excel at.’

The black arrow was now whirring so fast in

Valhallarama’s fingers that it was just a blur.

‘The witch has spoken on behalf

of Alvin, and I have spoken on

behalf of Hiccup. And now we

all have to make our choice,

peoples of the Archipelago,’

said Valhallarama.

‘And this is mine.’

Valhallarama’s

choice was pretty

decisive.

So quick you could hardly see it, for a

true Hero’s fingers can move as fast as thought,

Valhallarama loaded that spinning arrow with black

feathers, and shot it straight at Alvin’s heart.

She took the Dragon Jewel from around her own

neck and placed it around the neck of her son, Hiccup

Horrendous Haddock the Third.

Uproar in the courtyard.

The witch shrieked.

Alvin staggered, but the arrow did not penetrate

the three chunky metal breast plates he wore under his

royal garments. (Alvin was intelligent enough to realise

he had made a few enemies in his time.)

‘I’m fine, Mother,’ he

assured her, yanking

out the arrow from the

breastplates with some

difficulty. He was purple

with temper. ‘But we

need to stop talking now

and kill everybody.’

‘I’m dealing with this,

Alvin,’ spat the witch.

‘It’s a delicate situation.

‘THE KING IS FINE!’

screeched Excellinor. She

was rattled right off her perch

now. ‘You’ll be relieved to

hear that THE KING IS

FINE! NOBODY MOVE!

NOBODY PANIC! WE

ARE COMPLETELY IN

CHARGE HERE!’

She put out her arms,

like giant bat wings, trying to

regain control of the situation.

Her voice dripped with acid.

‘We will overlook your attempted murder of my

son, Valhallarama,’ spat the witch. ‘We are surprised,

but we forgive you, because that is the kind of big-

hearted tyrants we are!’

‘Speak for yourself, mother,’ said Alvin between

gritted teeth. ‘I’m going to kill her, and then I’m going

to run her over in my chariot, and then I’m going to

feed the little pieces of her to my favourite snake…’

‘I’M DEALING WITH THIS, ALVIN!’

screeched the witch. ‘But let me tell you, this

mutiny changes nothing, Valhallarama, nothing! Your

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son, Hiccup, a King?’

Excellinor let out a high derisive cackle.

‘How can you insult the dignity of this crowd by

even suggesting such a thing! Are we to be ruled by

slaves now? Your son Hiccup is a slave,’ ground out

the witch. ‘And there is nothing you can do to change

this, Valhallarama. Great Hero though you are, you

cannot make the moving hand of time tick backwards.

None of us can do that. The Slavemark is a Mark that

no one can remove!’

Again, Valhallarama did not speak.

She had backed away from the witch towards

Gumboil, who was holding a large basket full of

weaponry and equipment.

Valhallarama took something long and thin from

that basket.

Something long and thin that ended in a metal

‘Ssss’ glowing bright and dark. She held it up so that

all could see clearly what it was.

The Vikings watched open-mouthed as

Valhallarama the Hero took the brand in her hand,

and placed it on her own forehead.

The Great Hero did not even flinch. And there,

on her white forehead, bright and dark, was the

glowing Mark.

352

Unthinkable! Impossible!

Valhallarama had put the Mark upon her own

forehead!

She had turned the laws of the Archipelago

upside-down and put the Mark on her own forehead.

29. AN UNEXPECTED

DEVELOPMENT

Outside, the Dragon Rebellion roared, but inside, the

courtyard was spellbound with quietness.

The witch was, quite simply, flabbergasted.

She staggered back on her throne.

‘What are you doing?’ stammered the

witch, thoroughly confused. ‘You have turned

yourself into a slave! What does this mean?’

‘A Mark is just a symbol, witch,’ said

Valhallarama. ‘And symbols can change.

This is no longer the Slavemark, but the

Dragonmark. I take this Mark as a

sign of my love and my faith in my

husband and my son.

AND I CALL UPON ALL THOSE WHO WOULD

HAVE HICCUP AS THEIR KING TO TAKE THE

DRAGONMARK WITH ME!’

‘So you have the situation under control do you,

Mother?’ spat Alvin, savagely. ‘Is this your idea of

control?’

‘It’s preposterous…’ spluttered the witch.

‘Ridiculous… The Slavemark is the Slavemark. It’s

been like that for hundreds of years. What do you

mean, the Dragonmark? You can’t just change things

like that. THERE’S NO SUCH THING AS A

DRAGONMARK! Valhallarama just made it up!’

Hiccup could not quite believe what was

happening.

He looked around at the free Vikings’ faces.

Some of them were looking at the Silver Phantom.

Others were looking at the floor. It was impossible to

tell what they were thinking.

Valhallarama was taking a huge gamble.

It was asking way too much for someone to

voluntarily take on a Mark that had been considered

the ultimate in shame for as long as they could

remember, to put at risk his Viking honour, out of

mere concern for the fate of non-entities such as slaves

and dragons. Who would do such a thing, especially

for someone like Hiccup?

‘You see?’ sneered the witch, regaining her

composure, as she realised no one was

stepping forward.

‘Nobody wants your so-called Dragonmark, or your

runty little son as a leader, Valhallarama…’

Well,that’s a good reason why Valhallarama should

have hung on to the Dragon Jewel and nominated herself

as the true King, thought Hiccup. She’s the kind of person

that people will follow into battle, the kind of person

people will lay down their lives for.

But Hiccup had never been able to get anyone

to come on to his team for Bashyball, let alone been

the kind of person people risked their lives and honour

for…

‘I will take your Dragonmark!’ came a ringing cry

from the back.

Thuggory the Meathead strode forward, all six

foot three of him.

Thuggory was the Heir to Mogadon the

Meathead.

He was about sixteen years old, a huge hulking

adolescent, who was thoroughly admired across the

Archipelago as the very pattern of what a young Viking

Hero ought to be. Many a Viking Chieftain had wished

their own sons could be a little more like Thuggory.

Now his father Mogadon thundered out,

‘Thuggory! I am ordering you as your father and your

Chieftain! Do not dare take that Mark!’

357

But Thuggory strode forward nonetheless.

The crowd stood back to let him pass.

‘I am sorry, Father,’ cried Thuggory solemnly,

and he bowed formally to his father as a son should.

‘But Hiccup is right. If the dragons were free, they

would not make war on us. It is time for a new world,

a better one.’

Thuggory stopped in front of Valhallarama,

very brisk and soldier-like, and knelt and removed his

helmet as if he were becoming a Warrior.

Valhallarama put the Dragonmark on his

forehead.

‘Hiccup for King!’ yelled Thuggory, jumping to

his feet and punching the air.

‘Well, only one person!’ scoffed the witch.

‘You’re not going to get very far with only one foll—’

‘Hiccup for King!’ roared a whole cohort of

young Meatheads, clearly friends of Thuggory.

Suddenly all around the courtyard, the young

teenagers of the Tribes pressed forward to get the

Mark. Camicazi landed in the courtyard with Fishlegs

on the back of the Deadly Shadow, and had to

push her way to the front and threaten several

Danger-Brutes to get her Dragonmark first.

Because even the young of the conventionally

358

vicious Tribes such as the Danger-Brutes and the

Visithugs were clamouring for the Mark now.

How was this possible?

Well, a strange thing had happened during the six

months of Hiccup being an Outcast.

Hiccup had turned from the most unlikely,

scrawny, puny little Viking ever, into a romantic figure

of rebellion.

Many of the younger Vikings had been secretly

following his progress as Hiccup set free dragon-traps

and eluded the forces of the Wilderwest in yet another

brilliant and hair-raising escape.

They had been whispering in secret stories

of Hiccup’s adventures, and suddenly they were

whispering them not as evidence of what a weirdo he

was, how bizarre, how freakish, but of how clever, how

extraordinary, how bravely unusual he was…

‘Have you heard how he discovered the Land

That Does Not Exist?’ they had been whispering.

‘Have you heard how he defeated the Sea

Dragon? The Strangulator? How he tricked the

Romans at the Fortress of Sinister? How he stopped

the Exterminators at Lava-Lout island? How he slipped

through the witch’s fingers once again in the land of

Nowhere? How he found EVERY SINGLE ONE

359

of Grimbeard the Ghastly’s Lost Things, and Alvin only

stole them from him?’

When you put it like that, it seems extraordinary

that no one had noticed what a Hero they had in their

midst already. Short of going round with a big fat arrow

on his head saying ‘HERE IS THE

GREATEST HERO YOU’VE HAD IN THE

ARCHIPELAGO FOR CENTURIES’ there isn’t

much more that Hiccup could have done to make this

blindingly obvious.

But it can sometimes take a while for people to

change their minds about things.

Even Hiccup’s ridiculous birthday, the 29th of

February of a Leap Year, a source of shame to him for

his entire life, was suddenly in his favour.

‘And I’ve heard he’s only three years old,’ they

whispered, in hushed respect.

‘To have done all this when he is only THREE

YEARS OLD. Why it’s superhuman!’

This is the way that legends begin.

You remember what I said, way way way back at

the start of Hiccup’s adventures, how this would be the

story of becoming a Hero the Hard Way?

Now you can begin to see exactly how hard the

way has been.

360

Alone, Hiccup had stood up against Alvin the

Treacherous and the entire weight of the Tribes. Alone,

he had stood up for what he believed in, for what he

felt was right, even when everyone else thought he was

wrong.

That was something, in the end, that the Vikings

could respect.

And somehow, along the way, Hiccup with his

masked dragonskin fire-suit, his inventive equipment,

his raggedy Windwalker dragon, his championing of the

weak and friendless, his weird little toothless hunting-

dragon, his actually really-rather-cool tattoo…

(For when you come to think about it, a tattoo

in the shape of a dragon on your forehead, is kind of

cool.)

Somehow with all these things, Hiccup had

become…

… a Hero.

And not just any old Hero either.

The sort of person people will follow into battle

and risk their lives for.

A King.

It wasn’t just the young either.

Even Mogadon the Meathead found himself

looking anew at Hiccup, and changing his mind.

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How is it that things can change so quickly, as it

seems, in an instant?

The fact is that things had been changing anyway,

without the Vikings really realising. The existence of

Prison Darkheart had been an unspoken source of

shame that the non-slave-trading Tribes had tried very

hard to forget about.

Most of the Vikings were fond of the dragons

they had grown up with, and even with the war going

on, the thought of a world without dragons was

depressing and frightening.

Plus the witch and Alvin had already enslaved

many friends and relations, and a large number of

people in that courtyard had a vague anxiety that they

could be next.

So people had been changing their minds

without really realising, and when things build to a

tipping point, a revolution can happen in just five

minutes.

‘M-U-U-U-U-U-UTINYYYYYYYYY!!!!’

screamed Alvin the Treacherous. ‘LOYAL CITIZENS

OF THE WILDERWEST, ARREST THESE

TRAITORS, BURY THEM IN THE DEEPEST

DARKEST DUNGEON YOU CAN FIND, AND

THROW AWAY THE KEY!’

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Absolute chaos then ensued in that Prison

Darkheart, as in one life-changing second, everybody

tried to decide which side they were on and,

furthermore, work out which side everybody else

was on, which wasn’t so very easy on the spur of the

moment like that.

All the slaves were on Hiccup’s side of course,

and some of the guards began to set them free from

their chains immediately. Most Tribes like the Bog-

Burglars, Peaceables and Hooligans were already

thoroughly fed up with the whole Treacherous regime.

But the witch and Alvin still had plenty of

supporters among the Murderous and Uglithug Tribes,

the Danger-Brutes and the Berserks. I’m afraid there

were plenty of vicious and heartless humans in that lot.

And because there wasn’t time for everybody

who wanted it to get themselves clearly marked with

the Dragonmark so that everyone knew where they

were, the ensuing battle very quickly became extremely

confusing.

The night air rang with the bright sound of

sword on sword, and cries of ‘What are you doing? I’m

on your side!’ and ‘Oh, I’m so sorry, I just assumed

because you were a Murderous that you’d be for the

witch,’ and ‘Oh, you did, did you? Well, let me tell

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you, some of us Murderous are just as sensitive as the

next guy…’ And so on.

Firing arrows at a ridiculously systematic rate,

Valhallarama fought her way to Stoick’s side and

HIYYYAAHHH!!!! with one swing of her battle-axe she

chopped through the chains that bound him.

Hiccup was close enough to hear what his

mother said to Stoick.

‘You were not my first love, Stoick the Vast,’ said

Valhallarama. ‘But you are my last…’

Stoick’s tired eyes lit up. And then Valhallarama

grinned, just like she must have grinned, once, when

she was a wild little girl.

‘Welcome to the Company of the Dragonmark,

Chief.’ And she handed Stoick her second best sword.

Stoick’s chest swelled. The years fell off him. For

Thor’s sake, he was not an old man after all, a little

past his prime perhaps, but the best years of his life

were ahead of him and he could feel the dance of war

beginning to tingle in his feet…

‘Valhallarama, my darling,’ said Stoick, ‘that is a

lovely thing to say, and you were magnificent, as ever!’

Valhallarama had drawn the Nevermiss, and the

two of them rang their two swords together grandly,

affectionately, as if they were lifting glasses in a toast.

Roaring like a charging bull, Stoick launched

back into battle, swinging his sword at Alvin’s warriors,

creaking a tiny bit at the knees perhaps, but mostly like

he’d never really left.

‘GUARDS OF THE WILDERWEST! COME

FIGHT FOR YOUR KING!’ screamed Alvin.

‘NO!’ yelled the witch. ‘The Dragon Rebellion!

Don’t forget the Dragon Rebellion!’

But the guards on the battlements left their

positions on Alvin’s orders, and the attack of the

Dragon Rebels became louder and more furious, and

there was a danger that at any second now they would

break through and overwhelm the prison itself.

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30. THE BATTLE OF PRISON

DARKHEART

No wonder they called this bay the Dragons’

Graveyard. Indescribably sinister it was, this past and

present battlefield, and the wind wailing through

those dead dragon skeletons seemed to carry voices

of a millennium of ghosts.

Now the tide had risen again and the living

dragons were waking.

The red sand below the sea was giving birth to

live dragons, swarming in their thousands out of the

scarlet sand below and bursting out of the bay, and

none of them were Hiccup’s favourite species.

Serpent-tongues writhed and twisted around

the white dragon bones, shaking out their wet

wings. Sandrazors, Hellsteethers, Darkbreathers and

Tonguetwisters joining them from the Forgotten

Forest and the Open Ocean. The darkest types of

dragon species, the monsters, the ones that hated

the humans most.

They were chanting the beginning of the

Red-Rage and sharpening their talons on the bones of

their dead dragon brothers. They saw the little human

ants and their terrible weapons of exploding fire and

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spears departing from the battlements, and they

knew their time had come.

Crouching in the centre of the ghastly graveyard

of dragons’ hopes and dreams and lives, was the

Dragon Furious. It is difficult to describe the beauty of

Furious. Now that he was no longer a captive, his skin,

though scarred, had returned to its former glory. It was

a blue so blue that you have never seen that colour

before. Deeper than the blue sky, more royal than

cerise, brighter than sapphires.

‘The humans are fighting among themselves,’

whispered Furious, and his eyes blazed with triumph.

And I mean, quite literally, blazed. An

extraordinary feature of fully grown Sea Dragons is

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that their eyes

can catch fire and

smoke. Little bursts of

bright red flame, as sharp as lasers,

darted from the pupils.

‘ATTA-A-A-A-A-A-CCCKKKKKKK!!!!!!!’

roared the Dragon Furious to his second-in-command,

a great Sea Dragon called the Thunderer.

‘ATTACK!’

And so

began the Battle for

Prison Darkheart.

For the first time in a thousand

years, the dragons of the Dragon Rebellion

flew over the undefended battlements, and into the

prison itself.

The humans fighting each other were now in

disarray. They could not reach their Exploding Things.

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Their weapons of destruction were now being blown

up by the magnificent winged serpents invading from

above.

Valhallarama, under attack from warriors of the

Wilderwest and dragons simultaneously, killed four

Sandrazors that were launching themselves with sword

sharp wings pointed straight at her neck, and shouted,

‘COMPANIONS OF THE DRAGONMARK!

RETREAT FROM THE PRISON AND MAKE FOR

THE SHIPS! OUR STRONGHOLD SHALL BE

THE BOG-BURGLAR ISLANDS TO THE WEST!’

Alvin and his supporters were now fleeing to the

ships as well, and the witch was organising their own

retreat to the Uglithug territories in the east.

Everyone had to make their choice. West for

Hiccup and the Dragonmark, east for Alvin and the

witch.

The Wodensfang and Toothless couldn’t really

choose of course, they were going with Alvin whether

they liked it or not, for they were swinging in the

amber-nets over Alvin’s shoulder.

‘We’re going the wrong w-w-way!’ squealed

Toothless. ‘We need to go with H-H-Hiccup! This is a

disaster! Toothless is the most important Lost Thing,

Hiccup can’t possibly do without me!’

370

The Hairy Scary Librarian seemed to feel that

maybe he was quits with Hiccup, and he had a new

score to settle now that he had realised the emptiness

of a witch’s promise. So he headed west, to the Bog-

Burglar Islands.

In the middle of the battle, Gobber the Belch

passed Snotlout, deep in thought, looking to west

and east.

Snotlout couldn’t decide which way to go.

He knew what the witch and Alvin were now, and

he hated them almost as much as they scared him. But

taking Hiccup as his King? His despised little runt-boy

cousin? His pride revolted at the thought. Hiccup had

stepped in to save Snotlout, but even that was kind of

irritating.

‘Snotlout!’ called Gobber. ‘You can still fight

for the right side, Snotlout. You are one of the best

Warriors I have ever taught. You remember the

Black Star you won against Alvin at the Battle of the

Lucky Thirteen? You’d be a tremendous asset to the

Company of the Dragonmark. Come with us!’

Snotlout did not answer, and Gobber shrugged

his shoulders, and left him there.

Snotlout reached into his pocket and took out the

Black Star medal, one of the highest awards for bravery

the Archipelago can bestow. He turned it over and

over, trying to decide. West or east? West or east?

Which way would Snotlout go?

And that is where we will leave him, standing

undecided in the middle of the battlefield.

Thinking.

Valhallarama fought her way across to Hiccup.

‘DUCK!’ yelled Valhallarama.

‘What?’

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‘DUCK!’ she yelled again, pushing him

downwards, and firing an arrow over his head that

killed a swooping Sandrazor stone dead mid-swoop.

‘OK, Hiccup,’ said Valhallarama. ‘It is too

dangerous for you to stay with us. Take the Jewel

and hide from both dragon and Viking. Deadly

Shadow dragons know how to hide. Make your way

to Tomorrow for the Crowning day, and your father,

the Company of the Dragonmark and I will meet you

there. In the meantime, no one must know you are

alive.’

‘But I haven’t got any of the Things!’ protested

Hiccup. ‘Alvin has everything apart from the Jewel!’

‘The Jewel is the most important Thing of all,’

said Valhallarama. ‘Be careful of it.’

Just before the Great Warrior turned away, back

to the battle, Hiccup put his hand on his mother’s

metal arm. Even though he was particularly bedraggled

after his long and tiring day, streaked with Monster

juices and ocean, he was somehow less small and

unlikely than he had ever been before.

He looked… Oh dear, what did he look like?

It was all such a long time ago.

But I think he looked a little more…

… grown-up.

373

‘Thank you,’ said Hiccup to Valhallarama.

‘You have nothing to thank me for,’ said

Valhallarama. ‘I am your mother. Oh and

Hiccup…’

‘Yes, Mother?’

‘Don’t be too hard on yourself, Hiccup,’ said

Valhallarama, and perhaps her smile was slightly

sad now, ‘if things do not turn out well in the end.

I have learnt the hard way that Heroes can only

do their best…’

Hiccup climbed on to the Deadly Shadow

dragon. ‘Camicazi! Fishlegs! COME ON!’ he

shouted down.

‘Are we coming too?’ asked Camicazi.

‘Of course you’re coming,’ said Hiccup.

‘I can’t be an Outcast on my own again.

Besides, the Deadly Shadow isn’t mine, it

belongs to Fishlegs.’

There was one more thing to do.

Hiccup steered the Deadly Shadow above the

head of King Alvin, fleeing as fast as he could, step

TAP, step TAP, step TAP, through the battlefield

towards the fleet.

Over Alvin’s shoulder, bump bump bump, he

carried the long poles of the Librarian’s Heart-Slicers

holding the two little dragons, the Wodensfang and

Toothless, who were peering out, terrified, from the

nets.

The Deadly Shadow hovered, perfectly

camouflaged, above.

Hiccup

leant down

from the back

of the Deadly

Shadow and cut

the nets so that

the Wodensfang

and Toothless

flew free,

shooting

joyfully upwards,

Toothless

trumpeting

his rooster-crow of

triumph.

And in the very same moment,

Alvin looked up, clawed automatically

with his hook, and caught the chain of the

Jewel, swinging from Hiccup’s neck.

‘Shoot him!’ screamed Alvin to his

Warriors. The camouflaged Deadly Shadow rose

up in a rain of arrows, the chain on Hiccup’s

neck broke…

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Toothless and the Wodensfang and the Deadly

Shadow rose up to the battlements, arrows pouring

upward after them… and…

‘GOT IT!’ shrieked Alvin, catching the Jewel in

his other hand.

So after all that searching, all that drama, all the

gazillions of words of this Quest, let’s face it, the Jewel

ended up in Alvin’s horrible hooky hands after all.

Annoying, huh? Just one second, one false move

on the part of the Hero, one lapse of concentration,

that’s all it takes, for everything to fall apart.

‘NOOOOOO!!!’ shouted Hiccup.

It was a scary sight

to see the witch’s face,

as she saw the warm

golden splendour of the

Dragon Jewel dropping

into the hook of her

darling boy at last.

The witch Excellinor let out a high, exultant

cackle, and there, in the middle of the death and

destruction of that battle she spread wide her bat-wing

arms in jubilant conquest.

‘I knew my predictions could not be wrong!’

screamed the witch. ‘I knew I had to be this brilliant

for a reason! Thank you, O powers of death and

darkness in whom I put my trust! Thank you, O

fortunes most foul and most glorious! See!’ she

screeched, shaking her bony fist up at the heavens, ‘see

how we triumph!

‘Let me see it, Alvin, my darling, let me have it.’

It was piteous to

see the fragile amber

beauty of that Jewel,

glowing from within

as if it were fire,

cradled in the vile

crooked hands of

that fiend

the witch.

She kissed it with her dry lips… crooned over it

with a wicked whisper… and here is what she hissed as

she held it in her hands at last:

‘Watch out,’ whispered the witch. ‘Watch out,

small innocent things growing in the sunshine…

Watch out you splendid dragons with your giant

spreading wings… for we can bring you down now,

you who think you are so mighty… we can tear you

from the sky and watch you shrivel in the mud…’

She grinned and that grin was truly terrifying.

‘Watch out, dragons,’ whispered the witch

softly, ‘for the dragons’ days are numbered now…

Watch out… watch out… watch out…’

She handed the precious Jewel back to her

repulsive son, Alvin the Treacherous, and he put it

carefully away in his armoured breast pocket.

So Hiccup had found the Dragon Jewel all right,

but it had not stayed with him very long.

Alvin had the Jewel now and, step TAP, step TAP,

step TAP, step TAP, he hurried to the east, his mother

bounding after him on all fours, like a wolf-skeleton

come to life, and the ticking-thing swinging from

Alvin’s waist ticking out a new and twisted tune.

Ti-i-i-ick-to-ock… ti-i-i-ick… to-o-o-ick…

ti-i-i-i-i-ick… to-ii-ick…

380

Toothless was happy though, all unknowing as

he was, of the malevolent intent of the witch and her

horrible son.

The little dragon was just delighted to be

reunited with his master once again.

‘Cock-a-doodle-doo!’ crowed Toothless.

‘Don’t worry, H-h-hiccup! Don’t p-p-

panic, everybody, Toothless is here! The most

important Thing of all!’

Toothless, the Wodensfang and the Shadow

rose up to the battlements of Darkheart as the great

doors opened and the humans poured out to make

their escape below.

Above their heads, for the first time in a

thousand years, the dragons took Darkheart.

The Dragon Rebellion poured through the

corridors of the Prison. There were Tonguetwisters in

the courtyard setting fire to the long tables. They tore

down the towers, sending them tumbling and crashing

into the dungeons where their dragon ancestors had

been kept in chains for centuries.

In the bay of the Dragons’ Graveyard, the

Dragon Furious crouched amid the chaos, his

eyes scanning the skies above relentlessly in great

searchlight beams, ignoring the Viking ships with their

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burning sails slaloming through the dragon skeletons

all around him, sending out their Exploding Things as

they shot their way out in retreat.

‘The boy…’ hissed the Dragon Furious. ‘Where

is the boy called Hiccup?’

The Dragon Furious was right, of course; the boy

was there, soaring invisibly above the great dragon’s

head on the back of the Deadly Shadow.

For one second, the Dragon Furious saw him.

A burst of Exploding Thing Fire must have caught

the Shadow off-guard. For one moment he turned

visible with the shock, and there he was, with Hiccup

on his back, right in the Dragon Furious’s searchlight

eyebeams.

The Dragon Furious saw the Deadly Shadow…

he was sure he saw it… and gave a cry

of astonished rage.

The dragon that he had sent to kill Hiccup, the dragon

who claimed he hated humans as strong as acid, had

turned his allegiance and was now helping the boy!

How could this be? He had chosen this dragon

most particularly for his hatred of human beings…

He had chosen this dragon particularly because

he was so like the Dragon Furious himself…

But there was Hiccup, clearly outlined on the

back of the Shadow, Camicazi and Fishlegs beside

him, three little hunting-dragons hovering above like

flies, and the three heads of Innocence, Arrogance and

Patience sending out lightning bolts in three different

directions.

How did the boy do it?

What was it about him?

The Dragon Furious spread wide his great blue

wings, and made a final despairing leap.

One second the Hiccup-boy on the back of the

dragon was there. The next the dragon turned the

exact stormy grey of the sky.

Dragon, boy and companions simply

disappeared, as the now-invisible Deadly Shadow

streaked across the sky.

Dragon Furious’s great jaws closed on nothing.

His gigantic claws tore only on the air.

He crashed back down into the Dragons’

Graveyard, boy-less, and in despair.

The Dragon Furious howled, and plunged

through the bay, flinging great boulders around,

uprooting any living vegetation he could find, tearing

up the airy grasses on the islands that contained no

boy, his own Tonguetwisters and Rageblasts of the

Rebellion whimpering like terriers, and trying to stay

out of the way.

Finally, in one screaming blast of white-hot

fire, the Dragon Furious incinerated the whole

bay, annihilated it in the blaze of his defeated

and baffled fury.

And then crouched down, panting, in

the middle of the blaze like a great blue cat, lying in

the centre of the great night-time graveyard of his

fellow dragons’ bones. Fear was in the blazing eyes

now.

Gone…

The boy was gone.

As the Dragon Furious’s rage died down, he

seemed to shrink in front of your eyes.

That brilliant blue faded from his skin, and

became a more ordinary shade. He even curled up

into a defensive ball, like an ordinary fireside cat,

hiding his head in his dragon hands, as if he did

not want to use his own power of looking into the

Future.

A human with a heart might have felt sorry for

the great creature, leaning his poor scarred head on

the blazing fire of his own making like it were a

pillow.

‘One more chance gone,’ the dragon whispered,

hissing to himself. ‘Surely we cannot be facing

extinction?

‘Surely that cannot be the dragons’ fate at

last?’

A great Sea Dragon, a Thunderer, came joyfully

to tell the news to Furious.

‘The day is won, Furious! Darkheart is

fallen!’

It was a glorious moment for the dragons.

The Vikings had escaped – just.

The Vikings were lucky that any of them made

it through the white hot fury of the Dragon Rebellion

assault that day.

Only by valiant fighting, with the utmost skill

of sword and shield and spear did the Viking fleets

escape, shooting and blasting their way through

the numberless talons and teeth, the scorching

devastation of the dragons’ flames.

Even then, it was with bloodied burning boats,

sails on fire, and many of their numbers lost.

The Company of the Dragonmark made their

way to the Bog-Burglar Islands, and the witch and her

Warriors to the Uglithug lands in the east.

But the dragons had Darkheart at last.

So the Thunderer was surprised to find Furious

in such abject misery.

‘Furious… What is wrong? Surely this is our

finest hour?’

‘You do not understand,’ growled Furious.

‘The boy Hiccup has escaped.’

‘But one human boy,’ said the Thunderer in

surprise. ‘Surely one little human boy, so small,

so pink, no talons, no fire… Surely one little boy

cannot matter so very much?’

388

‘This is no ordinary boy,’ replied Furious.

And then, he uncurled himself and rose up,

slowly, dangerously, like a phoenix from the ashes.

His body began to burn bright again.

‘He must never grow up,’ vowed the Dragon

Furious. ‘He must never reach the island of

Tomorrow.

‘Never again shall I make the mistake of

entrusting his killing to someone else,’ panted

the Dragon Furious. ‘This time I will kill him

myself…

I shall seek him everywhere. I shall tear the

world apart looking for him. Nowhere shall be

safe for him: no cave, no cliff, no rock, no island.

I shall turn this whole world to ashes, looking for

him.

‘Hear the pledge of the Dragon Furious!’

screamed the dragon, his whole body screeching

with fury, so much so that even his eyeballs began to

smoke and pour out flame, and then he bent his head

backwards, sending fire upwards with the scream, like

an erupting volcano.

389

‘THE BOY SHALL NEVER

REACH TOMORROW!’

31. THE SECRET HIDEOUT

Somewhere not very far away (I don’t want to tell you

exactly where, because it is Hiccup’s secret hideout,

and it really, really needs to be kept a secret) the

Windwalker was lying in front of a cave surrounded

by brambles.

He had been lying there, protecting the

entrance, for nearly three days now, and he was

a bedraggled, wet sight, his ears drooping sadly,

his spines all limp and floppy with loneliness as he

listened to the sound of the Dragon Furious’s rage.

And then…

He sniffed the air, he peered upwards…

… his ears pricked up in sudden apprehension.

And so too would yours if a semi-visible cloud

392

descended down out of nowhere, and slowly turned

into a terrifying-looking, heavily armed, three-headed

Deadly Shadow dragon.

However Hiccup peered over the side of the

Deadly Shadow’s wings and shouted down: ‘Don’t

worry, Windwalker, it’s only us!’

The Windwalker sprang to greet the horror of

the Deadly Shadow descending towards him, flying

round and round and round it, in wild excited joy.

So late that night, the little cave whose

whereabouts shall remain a secret, was very full

indeed, for even when the Shadow camouflaged

himself so well he looked invisible, he didn’t get any

smaller. He was a very large dragon, and once he was

inside the cave, there was barely room for everyone

else.

The Windwalker had gone out

every single day and caught

plenty of fish, in the hope that

they would return. So that

was a joyful and triumphant

evening, with everyone back

together again recalling the

triumphs and successes of

the day.

>

‘Y-y-yes, Stormfly,’ sang Toothless happily.

‘Wodensfang the Desperado and I sh-sh-shot our way

out of those amber-nets. Peow! Peow! Peow! With

three bursts of our super-strong flame and…’

And so on.

Meanwhile, Stormfly flashed her wicked eyes at

him and ate half his mackerel.

‘Manners,’ sniffed the Wodensfang

disapprovingly.

The ten companions stuffed themselves full with

fish that night, ate until they could eat no more. What

with the food, and the emotion of the day, Hiccup and

the others were almost drunk with happiness, in fits of

laughter about the smallest things.

In times of war and deadly peril, these moments

of happiness are heightened: they become even more

pleasurable, even more precious.

Hiccup was one of the last to fall asleep.

But then he woke again, at the sound of the

Dragon Furious demolishing Prison Darkheart and

turning it to rubble. That woke him, and suddenly all

the warmth and the happiness of the evening seemed

to disappear, to be replaced by a cold dread and a

thumping of his heart.

The others were all so exhausted, they were

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still fast asleep.

But blink, blink, the twin eyes of the

Wodensfang opened on Hiccup’s chest, and the

eyebeams shone comfortably into Hiccup’s own eyes.

The Wodensfang seem to guess immediately

what Hiccup was thinking.

He started chatting, to cheer Hiccup up.

‘You see,’ said the Wodensfang. ‘I told you your

Quest was quite simple. See what can be achieved if

your heart is in your Quest? You have found your

friend… You have found the Jewel… um… Even

though it has fallen into Alvin’s hands for the

moment, I am sure that it will come back to you

again… ’

(The Wodensfang tried to sound more sure of

this than he was actually feeling.)

‘And you are no longer so alone. Look how full

this cave is! You have your human companions, now,’

he gestured with his wing to Fishlegs and Camicazi,

‘not to mention all the followers your splendid

mother has brought you with her Dragonmark. What

a magnificent warrior she is!’ said the Wodensfang

admiringly.

‘Anyway,’ said the Wodensfang, ‘as I was

saying, the rest of the Quest should be a piece of

396

fish-cake. Now all the Lost Things are found, all

you have to do is present yourself at the island of

Tomorrow, get yourself crowned King instead of

Alvin the Treacherous, learn the Secret of the Jewel,

and use it to persuade the Dragon Furious to call

off this war… See what I mean? Easy peasy, viking

squeezy!’

Hiccup was not to be so easily comforted.

‘You’ve forgotten a few important details,’

Hiccup reminded him.

‘I just heard the Dragon Furious and something

tells me he’s going to be impossible to persuade. And

Alvin the Treacherous has nine of the Lost Things,

which might make the Tomorrow Men think that

Alvin is the true King. I only have one. And Alvin

has the Dragon Jewel, and we know what kind of

man Alvin is. He would use the Jewel’s power to

destroy the dragons, without even blinking.’

‘Ah, but Alvin won’t do anything with the

Jewel… yet,’ said the Wodensfang. ‘Alvin needs that

Jewel to take to Tomorrow if he wants to become the

King himself. And only if he became the King would

he learn the Jewel’s secret. We are perfectly safe…

for the moment, admittedly.’

Hiccup sat up on his bed of grass, filled with

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sudden, desperate anxiety.

He looked straight into the Wodensfang’s brown

eyes earnestly. ‘Doesn’t it worry you, Wodensfang,

that I only had the Dragon Jewel for a few

minutes before it fell into the hands of Alvin the

Treacherous?’

The Wodensfang said nothing.

‘I’ve just been worrying and worrying about it.

Do you remember the last time you trusted a human

with the Dragon Jewel? Hiccup the First? And how

eventually it fell into the hands of Grimbeard the

Ghastly? What if this is history repeating itself? It

does seem that I collect all these Things, but they all

end up in the hands of Alvin the Treacherous…

‘Maybe you shouldn’t be trusting me,

Wodensfang,’ said Hiccup. ‘What if the Dragon

Furious is right? He told me that I would be the

one who sent the dragons into their final oblivion…

Maybe that’s because I’m going to collect all the

Lost Things, and then Alvin is going to use them to

destroy the dragons.’

Hiccup covered his face in horror.

‘I can’t bear to think of it – but that is what

the Deadly Shadow said, that Alvin could not get

hold of the Jewel without me finding it for him. If

398

that is true, then is it all going to be my fault?’

It was a truly dreadful thought. A world without

dragons. A world with no Windwalker. No more

flying on his back. No more soaring into the clouds

in slow beats of the Windwalker’s wings, up, up, up

and looking down on the islands of the Archipelago

sprinkled way, way down below.

A world without Toothless, perching on your

arm, giving you that naughty look, opening up his

greengage eyes so innocently as he tells you that he’s

going to do something you wanted him to do, he p-p-

promises, cross his claws and hope to die, and then flies

off and does precisely what he wants?

No, it was too horrible to think about. And all to

be Hiccup’s fault?

No, and again no. Never, never, never.

But then again, things can go awry, even if you

have the best of intentions…

‘Nonsense and fiddlesticks,’ replied the

Wodensfang. ‘You are young. Leave these worries to

us old creatures. I trust you, Hiccup. Besides, don’t

forget, Alvin the Treacherous doesn’t have ALL the

Lost Things… You still have one of them, one that

you have always been able to hang on to.’

He pointed with his wing at Toothless.

399

Toothless was fast asleep, curled up reassuringly

warm and solid and heavy and alive on Hiccup’s

tummy, and snoring great grey smoke rings. So he

made them both jump when he said loudly and clearly

in his sleep: ‘Yes, I’m a Lost Thing… and I’m the most

important one of all… Thank you… Manners…’

That made both Hiccup and the Wodensfang

laugh, and Hiccup fell asleep at last.

But it was the Wodensfang who could not sleep

now.

Eventually he flew to the entrance of the cave,

and curled into a little wrinkled ball, looking up at the

night sky.

‘I have to confess,’ said the Wodensfang to the

stars, ‘this is worrying me a trifle, too. What can I

do to prevent this from happening? Am I right in

trusting the boy?’

It didn’t seem possible that a world without

dragons could ever exist. Look at the world, filled with

dragons everywhere, dragons of all shapes and sizes.

The great ones, larger than the Big Blue Whale, half-

swimming, half-flying through the oceans. The tiny

little nanodragons hopping through the heather in their

numberless multitudes. The cliffs and their mazy rocks

beneath just teeming, bursting, over-flowing with the

400

abundance of dragon life.

Such was the generosity of nature, and the

multiplicity of dragon species, surely it could never

happen?

The stars looked down on the Wodensfang,

winking at him, just as they had done for thousands of

years.

And of course the stars made no answer.

So the Wodensfang answered his own question.

‘Perhaps I am a foolish, fond old dragon, who

never learns from his own mistakes. But I have to

believe that the humans and the dragons are capable

of living together. I have to hope that the impossible

can be possible. I have to trust in the boy, and hope

for the best…’

EPILOGUE BY HICCUP

HORRENDOUS HADDOCK III

Last night I did not sleep well. I am an old man, and

I dreamt I went back to the Amber Slavelands, flying

over those windy sands like I was the Deadly Shadow,

following a set of footprints across the desert

desolation.

At first I thought they were the footprints of the

Monster.

And then I realised they were the footprints of

my childhood self.

Eventually I caught up with him, a scarecrow

of a boy, struggling defiantly across those dreadful

sands. And in this dream a great wind had come up,

and all around him the blackened, burning remains

of Hiccup’s past went bowling past – the houses of

the Hooligan village where he grew up, the skeletons

from the Dragons’ Graveyard – all blown away by the

winds of the war that Hiccup had begun.

But the boy still walked onwards, towards

Tomorrow.

What was it my mother Valhallarama had said?

‘Don’t be too hard on yourself, Hiccup, if things do

not turn out well in the end…’

403

I know what awaits Hiccup on Tomorrow, so

in my dream I tried to shout to the boy-I-once-was,

‘Go back! Do not go to Tomorrow! Stay where

you are!’

But of course my boyhood self could not hear

me.

‘STOP!’ I shouted in my dream, but how could

he hear me above the roaring of the wind that was

blowing away the world all around him?

And even if he could, it is already too late for

him to go back. The winds of the Amber Slavelands

have already blown in the Rebellion. They have

torched the little Hooligan village where I grew up. No

one could live in those black smoky ruins.

And even if he could hear me, would I really

want him to do anything differently?

Would I really want the ticking-thing to stop, for

time to stand still, for Hiccup never to grow up, or to

be something other than the boy he is?

This is all his— sorry, my fault, but if Hiccup had

not acted as he did, there would still be slaves in the

Amber Slavelands, Eggingarde would never have made

it back to the arms of Bear-mama, the Dragon Furious

would still be in chains, the world would still be back

in the terrible barbaric times of slaves and tyrants and

404

witches, and monsters with no hearts.

You see, it was not only Hiccup who was growing

up, it was the entire world around him – and when

whole worlds grow up, that can be painful and

difficult.

Was it all worth the Archipelago in flames?

I do not know, you decide.

But Hiccup could not be anything other than

the boy he was, and so his footsteps do not stop; they

walk on. With every step he is a little older than he

was before, walking slowly towards me and into

Tomorrow.

The chapter in my life that Hiccup has just

walked through has been a story of three mothers:

Valhallarama, Bear-mama and Termagant.

Of how even when they are not there, when we

cannot see them, when they are parted from us by

quests, or by slavery, or even by death itself, they are

still watching over us, yearning for us, loving us, though

they lurk in the clouds as invisible to our eyes as the

Deadly Shadow.

Far away by cold campfires they are thinking of

us, dreaming of us, loving us long-distance.

Fishlegs’s mother could not come back to hold

him. She had gone behind that glass wall of death. But

405

still she held up her hand from behind the glass, and

pressed it up to Fishlegs’s hand and willed him to be

alive, to walk, to laugh, to love. As if she could breathe

life into him, as if she could be there with him, as if she

could pass through the glass with the sheer hopeless

longing of her love.

And perhaps she was still there to love him.

Termagant’s eyes had once shone into the six eyes

of the Deadly Shadow.

The reflection of those eyes now shone back into

the eyes of Fishlegs, so it was almost as if, sometimes,

she herself were looking back at him. When the

Shadow dragon pressed itself protectively against

Fishlegs, it was an echo of the embrace that Termagant

had given that same Shadow dragon once, long ago.

The past never really leaves us.

And now I am an old, old man, I hover over my

childhood self, as if I were a dead mother, and I am

anxious for Hiccup’s future, because I already know it,

and I want to protect the boy from pain.

But I am happy too, because I know the future is

a curious mixture of joy and sadness.

So suddenly I throw away my fear, and I no

longer shout ‘Stop!’

I am shouting something slightly different now.

406

Walk on, Hiccup!

Have courage!

Walk into Tomorrow…

And I will meet you there at Hero’s End…

THE

BOY SHALL

NEVER

REACH

TOMORROW...

Oh dear, now things are looking even worse than

they were at the end of the last book, and the Dragon

Furious has sworn to KILL Hiccup himself...

What path will Snotlout take, will he follow the witch,

or will he go with Hiccup?

How will the Ten Companions of the Dragonmark

stop Alvin, now that he has NINE of the

King’s Lost Things?

They must all make their way to Tomorrow for the

FINAL CONFRONTATION...

Can Hiccup save the dragons

from extinction???????

Watch out for the next volume

of Hiccup’s memoirs…

Don’t miss Hiccup’s next adventure!

1. YOUR MOTHER SAID NOT

TO LEAVE THE HIDEOUT

It was a chill and foggy night in the Murderous

Mountains.

A good night for treachery.

Humans should not have been out in the forests

of the Murderous Mountains in those times of war. If

the dragons of the Dragon Rebellion caught even one

hint that there were humans moving in the burnt trees

of those misty mountain passes, they would hunt them

down and kill them.

But somewhere deep in that forest, far away

from any aid, a terrified human voice was shrieking,

‘Help! Help! Help!’ and a little party of brave but

foolish humans and dragons had set out to offer their

assistance.

Hiccup Horrendous Haddock the Third was

sitting on the back of a Deadly Shadow dragon, flying

so low over the treetops that every now and then the

slow downward beats of the dragon’s wings brushed

the scorched topmost twigs of the trees.

Deadly Shadow dragons are chameleons, and so

this beautiful three-headed dragon was exactly the

colour of the midnight sky, complete with stars slowly

shifting across its shining sides.

Hiccup’s knees were trembling with the effort to

keep a grip on the saddle.

Hiccup was a very

ordinary looking boy,

for one so sought after

by so many people. A

ragged little string-bean

of a teenager, his fire-suit

torn to ribbons, his face

bruised and scratched,

with the wild hair and

scared eyes of one

who had been

hunted by too

www.cressidacowell.co.uk

This is Cressida, age 9, writing on the island.

www.HowToTrainYourDragonSeries.com

Table of Contents

Copyright

Title

Contents

1. The Warrior

2. A Few Little Communication Problems

3. Hiccup Must Die

4. One of Hiccup’s Less Brilliant Plans

5. The Wrong Side of the Door

6. The Witch Excellinor is a Little Annoyed

7. A Truly Scary Bedtime Story

8. Hunting for the Amber in the Amber Slavelands

9. The Evil Reaches

10. The Deadly Shadow

11. A Genuine Surprise

12. Bear-Mama

13. The Past has a Way of Catching Up with You

14. The Luck Turns Alvin’s Way

15. Hiccup Sets Off to Find the Jewel

16. The Triple-Header Deadly Shadow

17. Did I Already Mention that the Past Has a Way of Catching Up with the Present?

18. Searching for Fishlegs

19. The Monster and the Slave-Boy

20. Oh Dear

21. A Story from the Past

22. What Happened Next

23. Some Dragons Really Are Monsters

24. The Wink of a Red Herring

25. I Don’t Think I’m Dead

26. A Ghost from the Past

27. The Story Ends as It Began

28. Facing the Music… and Alvin and the Witch

29. An Unexpected Development

30. The Battle of Prison Darkheart

31. The Secret Hideout