4 A Game of Hide-and-Seek

4. A GAME OF HIDE-AND-SEEK Just as the Rogue dragons disappeared, and the cliff- face rang out with the young Warriors' cheers, the Windwalker finally woke up. 'Oh, have I missed something?' he asked innocently. Snotlout was still dangling from the tree below Hiccup, and he had to be rescued by Very Vicious and Thuggory and a couple more of the bulkiest Meatheads and Visithugs who climbed down to help pull him up. For some reason they seemed to think that it was quite funny that Snotlout was suspended from the cliff by his underpants with an arrow sticking out of his calf. 'HA HA HA HA HA HA HA!' Very Vicious and Thuggory roared with laughter. 'You look just like a fishy on a hook!' 'You will regret this, cousin of mine,' Snotlout promised himself, removing the arrow from his leg. 'Just you wait. You will regret this, Hiccup, and my time will come.' But in his wounded state, he allowed himself to

be flown up to the top of the cliff on the back of the Windwalker nonetheless. It was only one o'clock in the morning, but nobody felt like hanging around in case those Rogue dragons came back, and besides, most of the hammocks had been burnt to ashes. So the young Warriors climbed the rest of the cliff in the darkness of the night-time, and it was quite tricky, for they had so few of the grappling hooks and ropes left. They reached the Flashburn School of Swordfighting by about six o'clock, according to Hiccup's ticking-thing, and by then the young Warriors were a pathetic, bedraggled sight. It was the largest castle that Hiccup had ever seen. It was also strangely silent. They cried up at the walls to be let in, for the drawbridge to be let down, but the great grey walls answered them not. Up on the battlements, flocks of Neverbirds nesting in the towers above and awoken by the commotion, called back with their own longing, melancholy cries, which sound remarkably like: 'Where are yo-o-o-o-ou??' The exhausted young Warriors threw up their grappling hooks, scaled the castle walls, and collapsed,

exhausted, on the battlements. 'I thought we'd really had it that time,' gasped Fishlegs. Fishlegs was sprawled beside Hiccup. He had lost his helmet, and his dragon Horrorcow had been so frightened when she heard the words of the Rogue dragons at the cliff-face that she had flown on top of Fishlegs's head and entwined her claws into his hair for safety, mooing in a terrified way. (Infant dragons often climb on to their mother's back or head and cling to it in times of peril.) Camicazi was so beside herself with over-excitement, she was chattering even quicker than normal.

'You were brilliant, Hiccup, brilliant! That whole grappling-hook thing was awesome!' Even in his ragged, singed, exhausted state, Hiccup felt triumphant. Now that they were safe, the young Warriors came over to thump Hiccup on the back and thank him for his idea about the grappling hooks. 'Um… good work, what's-your-name, Hiccup?' grunted Very Vicious the Visithug gruffly, slapping him on the back so hard he nearly fell over. 'Sorry about the misunderstanding earlier…' 'I told you,' grinned Thuggory the Meathead. 'He's surprisingly cool.' Hiccup wasn't used to getting this kind of attention from the tougher, older Vikings. Normally, at best, they ignored him, or at worst, laughed and jeered. This was what my father meant about getting the respect of my peer-group, thought Hiccup, red with embarrassment and pride. It felt good. But he still had a feeling of terrible unease at the edges of his mind. He had defeated those dragons… for now… but why were different species flying side by

side to attack the Warriors in the first place? Why did they want Hiccup's sword? And what was that horrible thing that they were chanting in Dragonese? And it wasn't long before the Warriors stopped congratulating each other, and started looking around at their surroundings questioningly. What was going on? Where was everybody? Camicazi's excited chattering died away. The silence was deathly. They had never been to the Flashburn School before, but they knew there ought to have been look-outs on the battlements, even at night-time. Where were they? There were spears neatly stacked, and shields balanced as if someone had just put them away tidily. But nobody was there. And Old Wrinkly had said that terrible danger awaited them at the Flashburn School of Swordfighting… thought Hiccup. A flap of wings, and Hiccup jumped… But it was only Toothless, coming to sit on Hiccup's helmet, looking very relaxed and pleased with himself, and eating what looked like an enormous mouthful of wild boar.

'Where have you been?' asked Hiccup, a little irritated. 'I asked you to get help, not get yourself some breakfast, we were in real trouble down there!' Toothless started guiltily. 'Oh yes, Toothless was looking. Toothless l-l-looked EVERYWHERE.' 'Why is your mouth full?' asked Hiccup sternly. 'Not eating,' explained Toothless, batting his eyelids innocently. 'Just ch-ch-chewing the air.' 'Well that air smells like wild boar,' said Hiccup.