20 The Triumph of the Treacherous

20. THE TRIUMPH OF THE TREACHEROUS 'Dear, oh dear, oh dear,' whispered the Wodensfang, talking to himself. 'Well, that didn't take long, did it? The Crown has fallen into the wrong hands even quicker than last time…' The Wodensfang didn't seem as downcast as he should have been. 'But Hiccup IS the Heir, I know that now, there is no doubt about it…' The sky was very dark now, deep with thunderclouds so close above their heads it felt like you could reach out and touch them. Everyone felt in a bewildered way that the world had turned upside-down. They had just banished Stoick the Vast, who most people agreed was a thoroughly nice chap, an old burglar of course, but generally thought to be a good Viking and one of them. And now the Chief of the Outcasts was about to be made their King. What was going on? They had been tricked but they couldn't quite

put their hairy fingers on HOW it had happened. The dragons were tense, their cats' eyes gleaming in the darkness, down on their haunches, muscles poised for flight. Only minutes ago they were in touching distance of freedom. But a minute can be a long time. A new lord for the Vikings meant a new lord for themselves, too. What would it mean? Who was this Treacherous human, and what did he stand for? Alvin threw back his cloak and strode to the centre of the Battle Arena, swelling with triumph. He had been a handsome man once, and you could still see that in the ruins of his face, scarred like a fallen angel. You could still see that in the grace and elegance of the ironic bow he made to Hiccup. 'I am only sorry,' he smiled, as charming as if he were at an evening feast, 'that we did not meet in battle one last time, Hiccup Horrendous Haddock the Third. But I am sure you are not a poor loser.' His voice turned to iron. 'Hand over the Stormblade, and the King's Things.' One by one Hiccup handed them over. The Stormblade. The Roman shield. The ticking-thing. The key-that-opens-all-locks. The

arrow-from-the-land-that-does-not-exist. The bracelet with the ruby heart's stone. The Crown. And last of all… 'The sword, Hiccup. Hand over the sword.' The Dragon Jewel was hers, she knew it, for the sword would point the way. 'Oh yes, it is the triumph of the Treacherous at last, for you, Alvin, you are King,' and with that the witch went down upon her knees and knelt before her son, the new King. Graciously, Alvin allowed her to kiss his hand. You see how sometimes it is not clear what story we are telling from the outset? For the story we have been a part of, it turns out, has not just been about the making of a Hero, but also the making of a villain. The Alvin that we first met, many books and years ago, was not the same terrible man who was now about to be crowned upon the castle that once was Flashburn's. When first we met him, he was a charming, sneaking, elegant sort of fellow, barely able to hold his own in a swordfight. Since then, dreadful things have happened to Alvin, all his own fault of course, but he has suffered

nonetheless. Suffering can, of course, make a man a better person– but with Alvin it went the other way, and it had made him far, far worse. With every ghastly experience he lost a little more of his humanity along with his hair, his leg, his nose, his eye… And now he stands, muscled, hardened, brutal and merciless, a truly awful man indeed to wield the power he would hold from now on. Alvin took the Crown, put it on his head and turned to face the still-silent crowd. The witch gave a sigh of the purest satisfaction. 'And now,' Alvin said silkily, and almost casually gesturing to Hiccup, 'put this slave-boy and his father into chains, and throw them to the Uglithug Slavelands, never to return. Put the Mark upon the father too, as a sign of how he betrayed his own people. 'Friends, Barbarians and Vikings!' he yelled. He thrust the Endeavour in the air.

'Let me tell you what kind of King I am going to be… I have not come to set your dragons FREE,' sneered Alvin the Treacherous. 'Are we to just sit back and let them destroy our world? I say no, and again no! From now on I declare WAR of the most dreadful and bloody kind on all wild dragons.

All wild dragons must be killed on sight, with our Northbows and our axes, and the most fanciful instruments of human ingenuity. We shall seek out their nests, set fire to their habitats, destroy their eggs and their hibernating young…' Alvin was drunk on power now. 'And as for the domestic dragons,' he purred gloatingly (Alvin had never liked dragons of any kind, and here was his chance for revenge), 'dangerous times call for drastic measures. All domestic dragons shall be CHAINED at all times, unless they are doing a job for a human. They shall spend their nights in cages. Any hint of rebellion, and they will be killed on the spot.' There was a silence as these words sank in. This was too much even for the meaner Tribes, the Murderous and the Visithugs. One person clapped. The witch. 'HE cannot rule over us!' cried Camicazi. 'Oh, I'm sorry,' purred the witch. 'Don't you remember? A promise is a promise if it is made in blood…' 'No!' shouted Hiccup. 'No! You mustn't do this! You'll anger our dragons into joining the Rebellion…