3 Grappling with the Problem

3. GRAPPLING WITH THE PROBLEM Now there you are, you see. That explains what Hiccup was doing three quarters of the way up Angry Mountain, and that some sort of danger awaited him up at the Flashburn School of Swordfighting. If, of course, they ever even made it to the Flashburn School of Swordfighting. Now, where were we? Oh, yes, the revolting Tonguetwister had slid its tongue around Hiccup's arm as he dangled from the hammock, completely vulnerable, and suspended over a three-thousand-foot drop. The dragon had paused, its disgusting mouth open with black saliva dripping from its fangs. All seven of its eyes were focused on Hiccup's sword, and his sword alone. The dragon shifted its grip a moment, preparing to twist off the whole arm with the sword…

And Toothless, who had given up trying to wake the Windwalker, realized that he would have to take drastic action himself. He leapt up and bit the dragon as hard as he could right on the tip of that disgusting tongue. The dragon gave an ear-splitting scream of pain, the tongue unwrapped itself in a flurry of splattering black saliva, and the Tonguetwister lost his grip on Hiccup's arm AND the rock and fell into freefall off the cliff. 'Thanks, Toothless,' breathed Hiccup, and he gave a final lurching desperate swing, and landed on the ledge just at the moment that the hammock finally gave way. In an instant, the now furious Tonguetwister pulled out of freefall and was flying back up towards them with bat-like flaps, murder in its seven eyes. Hiccup could see the entire swarm had come out of the Prey Dive and were following. What were they after?

Hiccup thought extremely fast. 'Look after your sword…' Old Wrinkly had said. 'For it is the sword that points the way…' Suddenly, Hiccup understood. The dragons hadn't been looking at him. What they wanted was his sword. 'HERE'S MY SWORD IF YOU WANT IT!' yelled Hiccup, leaning backwards, and with one swift sleight of hand, drawing Fishlegs's sword out of his backpack. He held it aloft for a moment to make sure the dragons had seen it and then he threw it as far as he could down into the Gorge. It made a beautiful arc as it fell. The multiple dragon eyes snapped like clockwork to the sword. The lead Tonguetwister leapt after the dropping sword, and the other dragons swarmed after it too, snapping and snarling and pushing one another out of the way, like dogs chasing a stick. That'll keep them busy for a minute or so before they realize it's the wrong one, thought Hiccup. 'I… can't… hold… on… much… longer…' panted Snotlout, nostrils flaring, eyes popping, teeth gritted. 'Save me, you useless twerp…'

He's far too heavy for me to pull him up, thought Hiccup. As he looked around desperately, he saw beside him on the ledge the ropes and grappling hooks he and Fishlegs had used on the climb. With frantic fingers, Hiccup tied one end to a splinter of rock protruding from the cliff and dangled the grappling hook over the edge of the ledge, as if he were trying to catch a crab at the pier. 'Aaaaaaaaaghghggh!' screamed Snotlout, as his fingers finally gave way. But just at the moment that they did, the grappling hook caught Snotlout's belt, firmly, and held… and he swung out, swinging from the rock by his waist.

OK. So, Snotlout was safe now… for the moment at least. But the situation could still be described as not good. Not good at all. Those dragons were coming back. Just as soon as they discovered that they were going after the wrong sword, they would be back. And the Warriors-to-Be were stuck there, unable to move. It would be like shooting fish in a barrel. 'Toothless!' Hiccup ordered. 'I want you to fly as quickly as possible up to the school, find my father, find Flashburn, find ANYONE and make it clear we need rescuing.' 'OK,' squeaked Toothless, unexpectedly obedient, and he zoomed off, deeply relieved to have an excuse to get out of there. All the young Warriors were awake now, and most had climbed out of their hammocks and taken up as firm a foothold as they could on the cliff, their bows loaded, their spears and swords drawn. The hunting-dragons too were wide awake, their necks swollen, ready for the next attack, peering down into the darkness of the Gorge.

There were yellow pinpricks in that darkness that grew into eyes. And a chanting that began softly and grew louder. 'MAKE RED your claws with HUMAN BLOOD. OBLITERATE the HUMAN FILTH. Torch the humans like a wood. The rebellion is coming.' 'Here they co-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-ome!' yelled a young Danger-Brute. 'Brace yourselves!' And a great wave of dragons came roaring up for another attack, pouring out fire before they even reached the cliff. This time the Vikings' hunting-dragons came flying out to meet them. Smaller though they were, they flew aggressively to meet the onrushing dragons, screaming defiance.