15 Things Go Surprisingly Well in the Swordfighting Competition

15. THINGS GO SUPRISINGLY WELL IN THE SWORDFIGHTING COMPETITION Outside in the Battle Arena, the competition could wait no longer. The Eldest Elder had already read out the competitors for the first heats, and the rules. The winner of each swordfight would go on to fight another winner, and so on, until eventually there were only two competitors left. The aim of the swordfight was to disarm rather than maim or kill the opponent (although accidents do, of course, happen). The Tribes were getting restless, and beginning to sit down cross-legged and sing, 'Why are we wa-a- a-a-iting…' The Eldest Elder was getting jumpy. They were already three minutes late, and although that witch seemed to have disappeared, thank Thor, she might pop out at any moment like a malevolent jack-in-a-box and start complaining. 'I'm afraid,' said the Eldest Elder at last, 'we

can wait no longer, we shall have to start the competition. It is a sad day for all of us, and I am sorry for the Hooligans, for they shall have neither their Chief, nor their Stand-in-Chief to fight for them, but rules are rules I'm afraid, and promises are promises… OHEARYE,HEARYE,HEARYE!THESWORDFIGHTING COMPETITION TO FIND THE NEXT KING OF THE WILDERWESTISABOUTTOBEGIN!BUGLER!SOUND THE BUGLE!' The bugler was ju-u-u-ust putting the bugle to his lips to signal the start of the competition, when… BANG! The door of the fortune-telling hut flew open, and out ran a grimy, sticky, Flashburn, running at full tilt through the door. BANG! Closely followed by UG the Uglithug, though at not quite the pace of the Hero-with-a-Healthy-Sense- of-Self-Respect, because he had a belly as big as a battleship, and a considerable cigar habit, but still at an impressive lick for one of his circumference. 'Why bless my soul! Could that be… Flashburn! And UG!' cried the Eldest Elder, in astonishment.

'What were you doing in there and where have you—' But neither the Hero nor the Uglithug Chieftain slowed their pace for one second, they just ran straight past the Eldest Elder, across the Battle Arena, past the eyes of a wondering eighteen Tribes and right towards the Great Entrance to the Castle. 'OPEN THE D-D-D-D-O-O-O-O-ORRRR!!!!!' yelled Flashburn the Hero, and the astonished sentries hurriedly opened the Great Doors, and out the Hero ran, without stopping, followed by the Mainland Chieftain. The Tribesmen watched them go, open-mouthed, running down the Easy Way of Angry Mountain as fast as they could run. (And somersault, actually, because you can't run far down the Easy Way without it turning into a somersault.) So that was the end of those two villains' ambitions, all their dreams, roly-polying their way out of the competition, and out of the story entirely. The Tribes had only just got over this surprise, when from out the very same hut, as if it were a magician's hat, hurried Stoick the Vast, Hiccup the Third, Camicazi of the Bog-Burglars, and that weird little boy with the face-that-looked-like-a-haddock,

who still had a dragon attached to his head. The Windwalker pranced into the air, and flew joyous circles around them, so relieved and delighted was he. Even gloomy old One Eye managed a couple of happy bounces. 'MY BABY!' roared Big-Boobied Bertha, throwing wide her arms. 'Yes, Mother, another time,' said Camicazi, impatiently turning to the Eldest Elder. 'What are we waiting for? We have to start this competition RIGHT NOW.' 'Well, we've been waiting for you,' said the Eldest Elder, a little flustered. 'What happened to you… and Stoick… and Flashburn… and what was UG doing in there?' Camacazi could be very commanding for one so small, and she could have delivered an entire lecture series on the subject of 'cheek'. 'We'll explain later. Now, we're in a hurry. Rules are rules, promises are promises, after all. This competition was supposed to start at twelve o'clock sharp on the first day of the New Year.' She picked up Hiccup's smashed ticking-thing, hanging from his pocket, and checked it, tutting. 'You're… ooh… eight

minutes late, naughty you. SOUND THE BUGLE!' PA-A-A-A-A-A-A-A-A-A-A-A-AARPPP! The bugle finally sounded for the start of the swordfighting competititon to find the next King of the Wilderwest. 'Good to see you, Stoick!' bellowed Baggybum the Beerbelly, bashing his brother on the back in a relieved fashion and he really meant it, for he loved his brother, despite all the arguing. But immediately after that touching moment he turned to the Eldest Elder, and said, 'But they're too late for the competition, aren't they, Eldest Elder?' Younger brothers have not changed much, even since the Dark Ages. Luckily the Eldest Elder was a good sport, and he had had a soft spot for Hiccup and Camicazi and Fishlegs ever since he was Chief Judge in the Swimming Race a year or so ago.* *How to Ride a Dragon's Storm– you must read these memoirs, otherwise you're missing out. 'Good to see you, Stoick, we were worried about you there. You four are just in time for the competition. Hiccup, you can fight Masher here. Fish-boy, you're against Doolally. And Cami-whatsit can take Helly Thickarm. As for you, Stoick, well, I'm giving you a toughie for your first match. It's the

Goggler Twins for you I'm afraid.' (Identical twins in the Barbaric Archipelago only counted as one person, so they had a massive advantage in swordfighting competitions.) It says a lot for Stoick that he hadn't let his own encounter with the witch depress him too much. I suppose he had only been trapped for a day or so, whereas UG the Uglithug and Flashburn had had much longer imprisonments. All Stoick had was a slight cramp in his swordfighting arm, which he gave a hopeful stretch with right now, and a slight hole in his belly from when he'd missed a meal or two. And there was nothing Stoick loved more than a good FIGHT. Stoick turned to his son, and laid an arm on his shoulder. 'Son,' he said proudly, 'Thank you.' And then… 'Ah,' breathed Stoick the Vast, his chest puffed out, slapping his great hands together, 'BRING ON THOSE GIRLY GOGGLER TWINS AND WATCH ME TEAR THEIR HORNS OFF! BULLHEART!' Stoick gave a whistle through his usefully-broken