Second big cliffhanger in this chapter, so be warned.

Stratoc- Thanks and yes, it was funny to have Stoick swoop in after seeing Hiccup do a dangerous stunt.

"Hiccup, what were you thinking?" Dad asked as we dropped onto the stained beach. Spitelout was waving at us.

"I was thinking of sinking the Outcasts, using any means possible," I replied curtly. Fishlegs looked up with alarm and even the twins showed surprise.

"Hiccup, are you sure being the hammer didn't get to your head?" Ruffnut asked. "When I get dizzy I get those grumps."

"I don't have grumps. I'm angry."

"Aren't those the same thing?"

Meatlug crashed onto the sand. I hopped off before Dad could stop me. "Spitelout!" I called. "You said we weren't killing anyone!"

Squishy obstacle tripped up my metal leg. Hands flew forward, but they landed on sticky flesh. I gasped as my knees collapsed against a limp limb. It was still warm, covered in salt and sweat. Red stained my tunic. A horrible sound slithered from my throat.

A strong hand; Dad pulled me up and forward, through the beach. Thornado flew above us, while Fishlegs and the Twins went ahead. Fishlegs didn't have the stomach, but the Twins' Zippleback perhaps realized what had happened and remained discreet.

My father had the grip of twenty Night Furies; if it weren't for the pile of corpses lying on the beach, glistening under the torchlight, I would have thought he were dragging me for interrogation. But he looked concerned, seeing how neither leg would move through roadblocks of human hands and fallen heads.

"I'm sorry, son."

"We had to do it," Spitelout said when we reached him. He sported a bandage on one arm. "When a man comes charging at you with an axe, you strike first. We thought you were still on land, and when you were in the air they stopped invading. Anyway, there are still hundreds that we have spared, thanks to your dragons."

Dad let me find my feet. I touched the red stains on my tunic. "Did you offer them the chance to surrender?"

"Aye. They said 'no, thank you.'"

As if they could hear the conversation, the Outcasts tied in the net started to shout again. One reached a skinny hand through a twine hole and threw.

"Look out!" Dad shoved me out of the way and caught a sharpened blade. It nicked his palm. "Who threw that?"

"I did," a pert voice answered from within the net. A young face was pushed forward. "It's your son's fault that we're out here trying to catch him."

"That is a circular argument," I said. Dad managed a sour smile. "How is the invasion my fault?"

Blond boy, dirty eyebrows, and hints of a beard at the corners of his mouth. The net framed his bitter expression. "You've tamed dragons only for Berk, but not for the rest of us. The dragons burn down our food. Alvin the Treacherous took the rest, only giving it back if we hand you over."

"What? Alvin's been taking your food?"

"Don't listen to him, Hiccup," Spitelout said. "He's playing to your sympathies; they all do that."

"I'm trying to feed my village," the boy went on; he was actually my age, and I could see the flesh pressed into his cheeks and divided sparingly along the hairline.

"Spitelout, can I borrow your torch?"

He handed it to me. I doubled back along the beach, where the dead bodies were. I crouched and shined the torch over their faces. Horror settled in like ague.

"You're just kids," I said in a whisper. "You're my age. What did Alvin say to you?"

"They could be lying, Hiccup." Dad placed a hand on my shoulder. "They may be young, but they've injured ten of our own."

The glassy eyes of one teenager reflected the torchlight with swirls of orange. I winced and traced my left arm around the thin rib-cage. Then I felt for another's raking bones.

"He's not lying, Dad. They were all starving."

He yanked me up by the shoulder and led me away, before I started examining every body. The first boy's glassy eyes kept staring.

The prisoners had to be cut out of the net, and then we got a proper look at them. Although they bore the Outcast flag, none of them had the bulkier build that Alvin's men displayed. In addition, most of them had their ribs showing, and stale bread lumps fell from their pockets. Spitelout looked more uncomfortable as I asked if they could be fed.

"I don't think they deserve it," he told me in an undertone, "considering they were trying to knock you out of the sky."

"We don't have to give them the best cheese and ale," I replied. "Just feed them a decent meal before we have to send them back."

Astrid and Gobber stripped the hundred prisoners of weapons, feeling down the sides of their clothes for concealed weapons. When she got to the boy who had thrown a knife at me, she grabbed him by his dirty shirt collar.

"Threaten my boyfriend again, and you won't be able to walk for weeks."

Stormfly hissed in agreement. He looked shocked as she pushed him away. Perhaps he was wondering how a scrawny runt like me had ended up with the best female warrior in the village. Sometimes I wondered myself, what with Astrid's punches and axe-swinging.

They sat on the nets littering the ground, quietly accepting the bread and smoked fish offered to them. With Dad watching, I sat with them, eating nothing, listening to their troubles.

"Alvin said you were a selfish egomaniac who only cared about dragons," the boy with the knife said while stuffing his face. His face turned red from the effort.

"His name's Alvin the Treacherous," I said without any trace of humor. Humor would destroy him. "He always lies."

The fight seemed to go out of the teenagers. The blond boy looked even sheepish as he took a second helping of cod. A few adults sat sullenly, but none were Alvin's men. I checked their faces to make sure, and Dad talked with the oldest. He found a Chief quickly, talked to see if the boys were lying about the food shortages. He looked as troubled as I had when he found they weren't.

Dad flew me back to the village, away from the morose festivities involved with locking up prisoners. They hadn't looked willing to attempt a second strike anyway, but we couldn't take chance.

"It's the Dragon's Nest again," I said as we landed outside the smithy. "Alvin's run out of recruits, so he's extorting the poorer villages to work for them. They don't have a choice, not if they want to feed their families."

"The Thing won't be enough then." Dad looked troubled. "We should visit these villages and see if Alvin is hiding there. Maybe we can stop him recruiting more Vikings, cutting off the serpent's head before it can bite."

"What a wonderful idea, Dad." The smithy door was open; I strode in. "Absolutely original considering I told you the same thing yesterday. Bud, how are you doing?"

Darkness. Withered silence. The pot over the fire had disappeared, and the fire had died down.

"Toothless?" I walked over to the bed of dragon nip and felt around. What had been left was crushed into the floor, or it had been burned to dried ashes. "Toothless, are you hiding? Bud?"

My metal leg slipped over a slip of paper. I pulled it from under the scraped prosthetic. With no light, whatever was written didn't make sense, so I had to take it outside.

"Where's Toothless?" Dad asked when I came out, eyes squinted at the vellum.

"Probably at our house," I said automatically. The moon shone like a relentless spotlight. "He's probably expecting extra helpings of haddock and wanting to regurgitate it on my lap. . ."

"Hiccup?"

The moon shone mercilessly on the paper. Outcast Skull, emblazoned in red at the top. When unfolded, the paper bore a crude message. Dad bent forward to read the thick runes. Thornado saw the skull, and his eyes flashed.

A DOWNED DRAGON IS A DEAD DRAGON. COME QUIETLY AND HE MAY LIVE. ALVIN.

"No," I whispered, then pushed away from Dad, calling for my dragon at the top of my lungs. The vacuous evening echoed with my sprinting footsteps.