XXIX.

"You knew about this devil before the attack?"

The red-bearded chief started to throw his hands in the air, thought better of it, and found himself pacing frustratedly instead. Drago, standing stoically across from him, watched the exasperated Berkian chief with darkened eyes and a stone-hard scarred face.

The two leaders rendezvoused on the ground, a distance away from the thick of the battle, but close enough to keep an eye on the Bewilderbeast's steady, destructive path, and both of them turned now to watch it shoot a large stream of ice from its mouth at a number of men rushing the mountain below it. Unless they implented some counteractive measure immediately, everyone would have to flee to the remaining ships to survive. The ice of the Bewilderbeast, not the fire of Berk's dragons, dominated the landscape.

Drago chose not to respond directly to Stoick's incredulous question. Instead, attacking the heart of the problem, he remarked, "We are prepared to take that dragon down."

"How?"

"Your assistance would be appreciated."

"How?" Stoick demanded, this second instance more forceful.

"Pull it to the ground. Secure it down. Force it to fight for us."

Stoick leaned in, eyebrows furrowed. "Is that possible?"

Drago shrugged and responded, "Well, we have to take some course of action." The tiniest and crudest of smiles touched the corner of his lips.

"Fair enough," Stoick said. "Now, to bring the beast down…"

Terrible Terrors shot out with messages, carting off Stoick's instructions across the battlefield in hope to reach those warriors whose dragons still flew free from the Bewilderbeast's control. In time, a few dragons began descending and skimming along the ground toward where Stoick and Drago waited. Grockles placidly plopped alongside green and purple Deadly Nadders, while a few irritated Monstrous Nightmares, still flaring up and catching themselves on fire, settled a little distance away from the rest. Vikings alighted from their backs, hurrying in toward their chief while glancing apprehensively up at the dragon-stormed skies.

"Get your men in position," Stoick murmured in a low grumble to Drago.

A pitiful number of Vikings arrived – far fewer even than Stoick had hoped – but they arrived nonetheless, and with more than enough vigor to try to bring the great beast down.

"Magnus, Hork, I want you two to lead a team straight at the Bewilderbeast's front. Blind it, distract it, disorient it – loud sounds, firepower to the eyes, anything to keep it diverted and confused. Brenda, you take your dragons and circle around the back. Approach the dragon rider on the four-winged dragon and…" "Secure positions on the ground two hundred meters from the dragon and, focusing on its calves and knees, launch…" "All Zipplebacks in the team that swoops down from…" "Critical that you watch the flank with the catapults when you…" "Aim for the…" "Secure the tusks…" "Drop back when…" "On my signal…" "Open fire…"

The dragons, prepared, launched back into the sky.