The sky-fire shone down from a cloudless sky, its light warm with the onset of the hot-season. The salty wind blew across the boundless sea, and the sound of Dreamer's paws striking the deck of the ship echoed dully as he led a hunter on a merry chase around it.

This was slightly out of their territory, but with three reinforced masts it wasn't going down to his fire alone. So he'd gone back and brought the riders, and once it was discovered there were dragons on board, they'd set about freeing them in the process of finding some other way to cripple the ship.

Most of the hunters were incapacitated or floundering in the water. Five were grouped up defensively and trying to advance on Astrid and Fishlegs, but Stormfly and Meatlug were doing well at dissuading them. Wanderer watched from the upper deck, where he'd taken out a pair of archers, and the last hunter was chasing Dreamer with such clumsy fervour it was amusing to watch.

"Ge' back 'ere ya little-!"

Dreamer chuckled as the hunter again stooped low to swing his axe, falling well short of his target. Vikings were accustomed to fighting each other, or big dragons fighting them back, and Dreamer's tail was clearly a much lower target than this hunter was even remotely accustomed to. There was also that he didn't seem to notice he had no backup, that most of the rest of his crew were missing, unconscious, or preoccupied with leg wounds.

A shout from below deck pricked Dreamer's ears. It sounded harried, not panicked, but dragons should have been emerging by now…

He spun at the next clumsy swing, whipping his precious tail away from the blade, then swatted the hilt of the axe. His claws found a bit of flesh, but more importantly, the axe hit the ground and bounced away. The hunter watched it for the moment it took to slide to a halt, then looked wide-eyed at Dreamer.

His eyes followed Dreamer up as he rose onto his hindlegs, flaring his wings a little and baring his teeth. The smart move now was to jump overboard… but this hunter was not smart. He dove for his axe.

Dreamer dropped onto his shoulders so hard he felt Astrid and Fishlegs wince at the short, strained sound the hunter made. The Long-Paw writhed on the deck, still trying to get to his axe but clearly in a lot of pain, and the scent of fresh blood blossomed in the air. He groaned and stopped struggling when Dreamer tossed his axe overboard.

"Two Night Furies, a Nadder, a Gronckle, and two Vikings," Astrid listed, "versus five hunters. You really wanna take those odds?"

They looked tempted – nobody could ever credit Vikings for taking the smart way out – but they weren't given the choice. They spotted the green gas collecting at their feet before they could make a decision, but were not fast enough to avoid the ensuing explosion. Three of them tumbled away, appearing unconscious, and the other two were thrown to the ground, dazed and probably not going to be in a hurry to get back up.

Not that it had been an easy fight. Astrid was wasting no time in wrapping a bandage around her arm – the fact that she had apparently started carrying some on her person was concerning – and Fishlegs was already checking over Meatlug where she had blocked a few strikes and an arrow with nothing but her thick hide. Dreamer would have to mention it when they got back to the Nest.

"Is it just me, or are these hunters getting better at holding us off?" Tuffnut asked as Barf and Belch slithered over the rail and onto the deck.

"Just you, I think," Ruffnut replied. "Although, that might be an illusion due to that we are getting better at dealing with them, so while they are getting better, there is little to no observable difference. That, dear brother, is called relativity."

"Ah, good hypothesis, sister. This demands further testing…"

Dreamer huffed to himself and trotted to the hatch, then deftly dropped down into the hold where he found Snotlout and Hookfang just standing there helplessly. "What took you so long?" Snotlout asked impetuously.

"What taking you?" Dreamer asked by way of reply; it made no sense whatsoever in Dragonese, but Snotlout would get his meaning in this specific context.

"You wanna try opening one of these cages then?"

Dreamer glanced at the nearest cage, holding a Spine-Tail who was watching him curiously, and immediately saw the problem. They weren't latched, they were locked.

"And made out of that stupid Gronckle metal," Snotlout added, kicking one of the cages. The Fire-Scale inside hissed a warning back at him.

Yes, it had that stiff, brittle feeling to his claws, a subtle difference that told of the hardness of the metal. They were going to need the-

"There's a key," Astrid announced, dropping down into the hold herself, "but it apparently only locks them." She walked right up to the nearest cage, shoved something into the lock, then groaned loudly as she failed to budge it.

There had to be a way… Dreamer looked sadly around at the variety of dragons in the cages, all looking dejected and hopeless. They weren't getting left behind. He dug a claw into the lock and fumbled around, but it felt very different to the ones he was used to. He growled and hit the lock, and the curious Spine-Tail inside startled back.

Unfortunately, the tools he had to work with were very limited, and none of them were of any use for getting these locks open. The hinges looked to be a simple pin system, but the roof of the cage prevented the door from lifting off them while it was closed. His fire was of no use against Gronckle Iron…

But maybe there was something in the lock, such as a spring, that would be susceptible? He pressed his snout to it, directing a dribble of plasma with his tongue, then stepped back. The keyhole was now glowing, but nothing was happening. Should something happen? "Can lift thing with claw?" he asked Astrid, pawing at the small gap between the door and the bar next to it, and she drew her dagger to try lifting the bar. It rattled against the inner mechanism, refusing to budge.

He growled in frustration and hit the lock again-

Both he and Astrid jumped back as a loud crack echoed within the hull of the boat, the keyhole flashing and then going dark. Astrid glanced at him, then tried lifting the bar again… and successfully opened the cage. The Spine-Tail inside immediately became defensive, crouching and flaring its wings, but Dreamer and Astrid cleared a path for it and it soon bolted down the corridor to the big cargo hatch and scrambled outside.

"Hah, who needs a key?" Snotlout asked haughtily as Dreamer repeated the process on the next cage, and the next was open soon after that.

"How many can you do?" Astrid asked quietly.

"Not enough," he growled. Some rushed experimentation later and he had a rough idea of how much he needed to use to open a door, but it was still too much. There were some forty dragons here, he only had enough to free eight. Additionally, while air-fire wouldn't have been an issue, plasma took over a whole day to completely replenish, so it would take them three days. And the third day was the raid with the Defenders.

He might not be able to rescue some of these dragons…

"Wanderer!" he barked, walking through the cages and eyeing the dragons inside, ignoring a sick feeling rising from his stomach. He already knew he couldn't save every dragon, had already accepted it, but as always, facing the truth like this was painful. There was nothing for it but to hit Viggo as hard as he could in the process.

His friend thumped down into the hold shortly after and trotted over, looking around warily, and Snotlout muttered something about Fishlegs and disappeared outside.

"We not can open these cages," Dreamer explained as he walked, making note of what else the cages contained. "Can use our fire, but not can open all…"

"Not can save all," Wanderer said sadly.

"No," Dreamer growled as he looked over a small Nightmare, noting its strikingly colourful hide and adding it to his estimate.

"It not your fault."

"I know," he said shortly, which he did, though he felt increasingly nauseous. "I just need… think which…"

He stopped and let his head droop, panting and wrestling with his churning gut. He didn't feel good about this.

He looked back up at the Fire-Scale. He was young, and looked back at him defiantly, but his eyes spoke fear, despair, hope. The talons on his long wings picked absently at the base of his cage while he waited for something to happen, his tail held nervously to his side while he worried for that same thing to come.

People. These were people in these cages, intelligent minds with hopes and dreams, however simple, and he was trying to value them!? No wonder he felt so horrible about it.

"Youngest," he blurted out. "Free youngest first." That would be what anyone would want, put in that situation.

Wanderer watched him worriedly as he demonstrated how to open the cage, using about half as much plasma as for the tiniest shot, then Astrid jiggled the bar loose with her knife and the Fire-Scale crept out. "Fly," Dreamer said to him, feeling weary but much better than a few moments ago.

The Fire-Scale glanced down the corridor of cages, then back at them. "Thank you," he purred, giving Wanderer a brief nuzzle, then glanced at Dreamer, and crawled up out of sight.

Dreamer watched him go, forcing down a whimper of… something. It was difficult to put to words how he felt, as complex and muddied as it was.

"Rock-Scales?" Wanderer asked, breaking him out of his daze. "Hunter alpha do them worse."

"Yes," Dreamer agreed, not because it would hurt Viggo more – that was just a bonus – but because they would indeed suffer more at the hands of the hunters. That was how he had to look at this, to not lose himself in the fight against Viggo.

"No more fire," Wanderer huffed far too quickly, just as Dreamer was running out himself. He also gave Dreamer a stern look, as if anticipating his temptation to use his reserve, that last resort. He was tempted, he could save another dragon or two… but it would cost him that safety that would have been so, so good to have in the past. As much as he hated to admit it, and as unlikely as he was to need it, the safety of his friend and himself came first; the time he'd used it all in a fit of rage had served to prove to him how defenceless he felt without it, and it would take that much longer to replenish anyway.

He looked around sadly at the remaining dragons, his heart breaking at the understanding in their eyes. They did not plead for help or scorn him, they simply accepted the situation as it was. Dragons did not often talk to each other, it was almost an intimate gesture… which was what made the Fire-Scale's thanks so impactful. Perhaps that was why he had immediately distrusted Heather when she'd spoken it to him as well.

"Dreamer," Wanderer said quietly, gesturing subtly to the hatch.

"Yes, we go," Dreamer growled, then ran to the exit, clawed his way outside, and flung himself into the sky.

Dragon's Nest looked exactly as it had the last time Heather had been here, a small scattered camp built high up on tall rock platforms in a wide bay. "Let 'em know we're here, girl," she requested of Windshear, and her dragon roared as they descended to the middle hut.

She spotted movement on the way down, Astrid working on the giant ballista on her hut, and it wasn't long before she made her way down. "Hey Heather," she greeted cheerfully after landing from the zip line, "got something for us?"

Straight to business; Heather liked that about her. "Yeah, Hiccup asked me to keep an eye out for Dagur."

Astrid's expression darkened. "Good. You found him?"

"Viggo put us together almost straight away, but we've been moving around a lot, and I haven't had a chance to get away. Now though, we're on a weird sloped island…" She glanced inside the communal hut, spotted the map, and walked over to it. "Here. It's a fair flight, but we're set up for a few days at least, probably longer."

"Viggo," Astrid growled. "We were going to attack it anyway. The tribe here," she pointed at the island immediately south of it, "is an allied tribe. Viggo's base there is giving their ships Hel."

"Think he knows you're coming?"

"I wouldn't put it past him… Can you give us any more information on what we're going into?"

Heather spread her hands over the map, staring at the island and visualising what she'd seen. "Not more than what you'd get from a flyover. The buildings are empty, in each one there's only a ladder leading down to an underground room for supplies and such, that's where they keep everything."

"Huh, that is one smart dragon…" Heather looked at her quizzically. "Oh, just Hiccup predicted something like that. Not that specifically, just that he figured blowing them up would be pointless."

A deep huff had them both look to the door. "I had feeling," the Night Fury said as he walked inside, watching Heather warily.

"Are you okay?" she asked him without thinking; his eyes were bloodshot, and he drooped with a lethargy he had not had last time she'd seen him.

Astrid sighed deeply. "We've had a rough few days. Viggo's locking his cages now, Hiccup figured a way through but we can only free a few at a time." She walked over and put her arm around the Fury's head. "Don't beat yourself up, nobody else could have gotten any of them out, let alone most of them."

Hiccup didn't look so convinced, though he purred quietly as Astrid scratched his neck.

"I found Dagur-"

"Where?" he immediately responded, his eyes narrowing and his whole body throwing off the fatigue as if it were an old blanket.

"Where we're going tomorrow," Astrid explained.

"He know," Hiccup growled, sitting down and looking thoughtful.

"I'll be there too," Heather supplied. "I won't be able to help directly, but I can… get underfoot. Cause a bit of mayhem. Nothing too suspicious, but enough to throw them off a bit. Maybe I can sneak Dagur off and get him to you somehow."

"Yes, good. Spine-throwers?"

"Erm, I've seen four ballistae, several catapults… It's hard to count the bows they've got. Maybe thirty? Armed with dragonroot too. The number keeps changing as ships come and go."

"We need find where he getting that," he said with a huff, lowering himself to lie on his chest.

"I'll see if I can find out," she promised, and he nodded at her.

"Are you staying for long?" Astrid asked Heather, taking a few steps to the door and hefting her axe. "Up for some sparring?"

"Intent on evening the score?" Heather teased with a grin; in their last match, Astrid had clawed back two hits before Heather managed to get the third point for the win.

"You betcha," she said eagerly. "You won't get me with your tricks this time."

"We'll see-"

"Oh, Heather!" Fishlegs said as he walked inside. "I saw Windshear outside and figured you were here." He sounded cheerier than he had, there was no longer a heavy gloom in his voice.

"Hey Fishlegs," she greeted him just as warmly. "Been keeping well?"

"Yep, very. I think I've cracked the recipe for Gronckle Iron-"

"You did?" Hiccup chirped, head swivelling back to look at him.

"I'm not really sure yet… The Defenders had the ingredients, but not the ratios. Iron ore, limestone, sandstone, and regular rock. I found a thing in the Dragon Eye that looks like some sort of process, with four ingredients, but I'm having trouble getting it working. One of the ingredients doesn't look right, so it's a bit of trial and error. I wasn't going to mention it until I was sure."

"There much on that Rock-Scale eye," Hiccup rumbled slowly. "Not others?"

"I mean, probably? Gronckles are the best dragon." Hiccup growled. "Uh… Anyway, I'm more familiar with them so it's easier to work stuff out. And come on, if we had a Night Fury lens, would you really be poring over the Terrible Terror?"

Hiccup snorted and lay his head on his paws.

"Anyway, Heather, I was thinking, if I could get it working we could try replacing the handles of your axe with it? It'll be lighter and faster, which I think would suit your style of combat."

Heather thought about it for a few moments. "That sounds really great… But if anyone started wondering where I got it from…"

"Ah, yeah, fair enough…"

"Maybe after?" she offered; she really did think it would be a great improvement, and she didn't want to shoot him down.

Tuffnut chose that moment to burst into the room, Ruffnut hot on his heels. "Hiccup! We did it! Oh, hey Heather. It took a few days, but we made a few little huts, just like you asked!"

"Wait, why do you sound so excited about it?" Astrid asked suspiciously.

"Because he's gonna blow 'em up!" Ruffnut exclaimed gleefully. "Something about testing explosions in a building or something, I dunno. Can we do it now? Can we can we can we!?"

"We use our fire freeing dragons," Hiccup churred apologetically. "After tomorrow."

"That didn't sound like a yes," Ruffnut said worriedly.

"It was not," Tuffnut said sadly.

Astrid shook her head and beckoned with her axe as she walked to the door. "Come on Heather, let's leave these muttonheads to their games."

Dreamer took a deep breath of the cool night air, then glanced around the boat. Mala stood tall at the prow, gazing out at the island they were headed to. Throck stood by her side, her faithful second in command. Behind him, standing under the taut sails, were ranks of Defenders, hands to weapons and faces set in determination.

To his side, Wanderer, looking disinterested and bored. To his other side, Fishlegs, who was going to be running messages between ships. The other dragons were spread out among the fleet, so that they could react more quickly to something unexpected.

This was not the entirety of the Defenders' forces, though it was most of them. After many sleepless nights and much anxious waiting, it was time. They had all been on many raids before, but this was bigger, a much larger scale. Perhaps as big as the battle when the Berserkers had raided Berk, once the fire had culled the first wave…

Dreamer shook his head, putting the thought from his mind. Focusing on the now was much easier when he'd slept much of the previous afternoon and into the night, at least.

"They will be noticing us shortly," Mala announced. "Dreamer, Wanderer, it is time."

Dreamer chuffed an acknowledgement and leaped into the air, working his wings to lift him into the sky; there was little wind to work with, an hour before the dawn, but he had no real difficulty.

It was only a minute's flight to the island, which remained still and silent. The invasion had not yet been noticed. Such tactics were taboo for Viking tribes, but Viggo was not above underhanded tactics himself so fair was fair. "Fire when I fire," he said to his friend, who had flown up with him, and Wanderer chuffed agreeably.

Four ballistae, as Heather had said. Six devastating shots between the two Nightstrikers, but they were keeping one each for Dagur. Those five targets were the only real threat to the Nightstrikers, though the other dragons only needed to worry about dragonroot arrows.

A start of movement on the island below, solitary figures running around. It was time to begin.

Dreamer folded his wings, pulling them close to his body but still using them to guide his descent and shape the air into his sub-wings to produce the rising shriek. He focused on his target, the ballista closest to the shore, and watched the echo of his shriek for danger. The camp below them exploded into life, but it wasn't enough; it was never enough. Twin bolts of fire lanced to the ground and obliterated two of the heavy weapons, and they peeled off and rose back into the sky.

Lining up his second dive, constructing the shot and letting it launch itself from his mouth, he watched it shrink into the distance and then bloom into a destructive blossom of fire and shrapnel. He heard the string of the ballista snap free and whip away into the night, and then he was landing on one of the catapults. The weapon was capable of flinging rocks heavier than himself, but the crank and gears to wind it back could bear no such weight, and for good measure he also bit through the rope.

Speed was the strength he was playing to here, something he had in droves over the hunters; they were organised, but it took time for them to respond, and by the time they even noticed he was there he was leaping back into the night to bank around and into the next catapult, driving his shoulder into the mechanisms and snapping the big wooden gears.

Gouts of fire signalled Astrid and Snotlout taking out their own targets, and an explosion spoke of the twins doing something too. That would be all the catapults, now to-

He startled back with an undignified shriek as a wooden pole as long as his tail thudded into the frame of the catapult right in front of him, and he reacted on his first thought to duck through the catapult and fling himself back into the air with roars of alarm, danger! He worked his wings hard to put himself out of range of the weapon, listening for the sounds of projectiles cutting through the air, and only dared slow to look back once he had reached a safe distance.

The others had all made it out safely, thankfully, but several new ballistae were being wheeled into position overlooking the harbour that the Defender ships were minutes away from docking at. The fighting promised to be brutal regardless, but those weapons would slaughter the back ranks. He nearly wheeled around to come up behind them, but the presence of dozens of archers dissuaded him; he was resilient to arrows, not immune, and a lucky shot was all but guaranteed if he was being pelted with them.

He barked twice, their call to fall back and regroup, and angled back for Mala's ship, noting that the Defender fleet had spread out somewhat and already engaged with a few of the hunter ships. He thumped down to find Fishlegs already present, and the other riders landed shortly after in a cacophony of wings.

"What has happened?" Mala asked tersely, and Meatlug lit her maw for Fishlegs to see by.

"More spine-throwers, two pawfuls. Flying-claws protecting them, not can get near."

"We could carry a team of Defenders up there," Astrid suggested after Fishlegs translated, and Dreamer winced a little. This was the Defenders' fight, he wasn't going to beg them not to kill, but this would be dragons enabling them to kill…

Viggo was giving them little choice either way. "Same as last flight?" he asked, glancing back at the Defenders on the ship and immediately seeing a problem. "Too worried for fight," he growled; they could trust his claws to their throats as much as he wanted, but he wouldn't be certain of it with how wound up they were.

"Take me to the next ship over," Mala commanded, then leapt into the saddle behind Astrid, and they all took to the air again.

She set about collecting some of the Defenders they had carried last time, putting them with the same dragons where possible. Dreamer eyed his first charge a little warily, and was immediately presented with his sheathed sword. "Carry it for me, if you wish," the young man said primly, and Dreamer hooked a foreleg through the strap before presenting his back, subtly scenting him on the way past to ensure he wasn't carrying a dagger or something. He couldn't be more than twenty, but he seemed eager for the fight. The flight too, probably.

The others quickly made similar offerings with no complaint – it wasn't as if caution was unwarranted, given past history – and quickly, but not quickly enough for comfort, he was carrying two Long-Paws through the dark sky to the island, sweeping around behind the defences.

With their charges offloaded and weapons returned, Dreamer and Wanderer prowled into the darkness to look for easy marks at the edges of the fighting. They just needed to take out these ballistae, and the fight would go much more smoothly.

They also had a Long-Paw to hunt down.

Dreamer watched as the fifteen or so Defenders split up and rushed through the darkness, their dark armour undoubtedly making them difficult to see; he of course could see them clearly, but he was the exception. The first group reached the nearest ballista, and the hunters manning it fell swiftly. The second group reached theirs shortly after, engaging in a much fiercer battle.

He ducked behind some crates as a pawful of hunters jogged down towards the battlefront, where the ships would soon be docking, then trotted silently and low to the ground towards the next weapon. The sounds of battle were starting to garner attention, the hunters manning his target already working to turn it towards the nearest fight over another ballista, but it was also a distraction.

Wanderer sped past as Dreamer fired a tiny bolt of fire at the torch, plunging the immediate area into darkness, and they exercised their usual tactic of overwhelming any resistance with sharp claws and razor teeth applied with sheer speed. There was simply no fighting a Nightstriker in its element.

"An' tha's why we fire warning shots at 'em," one of the hunters groaned. "Still think yeh could take one?"

"Shaddup," another replied, his voice strained; probably the one Dreamer had dropped his weight onto after tripping him over, a particularly effective means of beating the fight right out of any hunter. It was good to know his little understanding or whatever he had with Viggo was still in effect, even after the auction fiasco.

But this ballista still posed a threat, and its taut string could be lethal if not handled carefully. "Stay back," he huffed to Wanderer, then reached forward and picked at it with a claw. It produced a deep strumming sound, not unlike some musical instruments. Plink, plink, went the little fibres as they began breaking. He jumped back right before the string snapped, and the weapon leapt as its tension was violently released. For good measure, he then jumped on it, breaking the wood under his paws.

The small bluff had a good view of the island beneath it, and they were just in time for the first Defender ships to reach the docks and start unloading warriors. Two ballistae still remained, but the squads already on the island were taking care of them…

Faster than he could even think to do anything, both squads were suddenly overrun with hunters. He spotted Mala single-handedly holding off an attack from a dozen hunters on one side while Astrid, Snotlout, and the others dealt with the weapon and its operators, but the other squad went down almost instantly. A loud crack signalled one of the Defenders putting their sword through the string of the ballista before he went down, so they had at least bought time.

Dreamer sighed and turned away from the carnage. This was what these people wanted, in a sense; there had been a lot of talk on the boat, looking forward to getting into battle, and more than a few wistful fantasies of joining Thor in the feast. Stormfly, Hookfang, and Barf and Belch circled above, out of range but close by if their riders needed them. There was nothing more for the dragons to do in this fight. Now, it was time…

A quiet and distant whistling pricked his ears, one he intellectually knew to be little threat but that nonetheless needled at his spine and tugged at his wings to protect himself-

Thunk

Wanderer screeched, short erratic expressions of pure agony as Dreamer spun to him to find him writhing on his side. An arrow protruded from his flank at an oblique angle, which Dreamer wasted no time in yanking out with his teeth, but it did nothing to calm him – the maddening stench of dragonroot was heavy on the wound, the effects of which he was all too familiar with.

He could not blame his friend for his screeching, however much it worried him and tore at his heart, but it was attracting attention. Hunters were closing in, though they were more hesitant when Dreamer prepared his fire and kept watch with his sound-sight, warding them off with snarls and his glowing, fang-rimmed maw.

"We meet again," a frighteningly familiar voice said slowly, and Dreamer roared at Dagur so loudly it drowned out the sound of battle across the island. Not now! The man was calmly walking through the midst of the hunters, wielding his signature axe and what looked like a Gronckle Iron shield. "Can't just run away this time, or he dies." Another pained shriek from Wanderer tore Dreamer's glare away for a moment. "Fight me, Night Fury, dragon-a-mano, and I'll give you the DEATH you DESERVE!"

Dreamer was barely paying attention, frantically thinking through his options. Two shots, but that would not do much to Dagur with that shield; this more than qualified for using his reserve. He couldn't lift Wanderer, he doubted Wanderer could lift him, but fighting Dagur like this was outright suicide, when putting any sort of distance between them would get Wanderer killed…!

He fired, hoping Dagur had been paying attention. He hadn't expected to land the shot, but the ease with which Dagur brushed it off was demoralising.

"Ryker thinks three shots," he said over Wanderer's ongoing cries of agony as he walked through the lingering smoke, "We've seen five now… Do you have the last one?" He grinned widely as Dreamer snarled at him; so much for that ploy. "Oooh, fight me Night Fury, because I just can't WAIT to SHUT HIM UP!"

Something swooped low overhead and a black figure thudded down between them, mostly obscured by their long coat, though the long curved sword held out to the side was distinct in itself. "Over my dead body," Mala practically growled as she rose to her full height.

Dagur laughed gleefully, swiftly swapping his shield for a sword as he lunged forward-

The two combatants met in a storm of ringing steel, the strikes coming faster than Dreamer's own frantic heartbeats and distorting his vision. He stared, unable to keep up as flashes of steel flickered between and around them. No, he needed to get Wanderer out of there! But even if he had a clear shot at Dagur, he wouldn't be able to take it with that ringing in his ears…

Wanderer let out a long, low moan, and then hissed in pain and clawed at the grass. Dreamer whimpered for him, but could only hunch over his body and glare at the hunters hemming them against the cliff. Some of them even had bows, preventing Stormfly or Hookfang from picking him up. And the nearby assault of steel wasn't helping him think!

Astrid shouted something – he couldn't tell what, he just recognised her voice – and he glanced around the sky to pick her out. She was frantically gesturing down… Down, out of the sight and range of the hunters' arrows, where she or Hookfang could catch him.

He glanced back at Mala, expertly blocking every attack and somehow finding openings to make her own attacks, only to be blocked by Dagur's undisciplined but superior speed. That they appeared to be a match for each other was incredible, in their own rights.

One of them would fall sooner or later, there was no reason to take that chance. Dreamer hooked his paw around Wanderer's foreleg-

Wanderer screeched again and tried to throw him off, slashing wildly at nothing, and Dreamer had to pin him down with a comforting, if harried, croon. As best he could, he started dragging him back towards the cliff, a sheer drop that wasn't particularly far; both of them had fallen much further. Something brushed against Dreamer's paw as he went, and he had the presence of mind to take a moment and grab the arrow in his teeth. The snapped tip of the long, thin arrowhead deeply troubled him, but that was a problem for later.

He roared loudly to signal what he was about to do – then suddenly had to duck behind his wings as he was pelted with arrows, thankfully the more mundane kind, shielding Wanderer with his own scale and hide.

"Hey, what are you doing!?" Dagur shrieked, disengaging from Mala, then shouted loudly as he was grabbed by Windshear suddenly appearing on the scene, who instantly lifted off again and carried him away.

With the cessation of the ear-piercing ringing of blades, Dreamer could begin to think a bit more clearly, and noticed the Defenders fighting fiercely through the hunters. The impacts on his wings also ceased, allowing him to get a better look, and Hookfang landed next to him a moment later. "We gotta get out of here!" Snotlout shouted frantically from his saddle, and Dreamer reluctantly stepped back to allow Hookfang to grab Wanderer and drop off the cliff with him.

Even with Hookfang's broad wings, he had to work hard for altitude, speeding down the island – through the corridor the Defenders had taken and were holding – and then Dreamer sighed in relief as they cleared the docks, and started flying back to the Defenders' island and their skilled healers.

He took a few moments to compose himself, Mala briefly looking back to check he was okay before ordering the retreat, then snarled at the sky. One more thing…

"Why!? WHY did you pull me out!? Those were my NIGHT FURIES!"

"Because," Heather shouted to the man thrashing in her dragon's claws, "you were about to be overrun. They'd taken that whole area. What point is a good kill when you're dead?" She was also pretty sure he would have pulled some stunt to get around that crazy swordswoman, such as throwing his sword at her, and gone straight for the vulnerable Furies. She'd been powerless to do much else, but this she could do.

The thrashing stopped, and she pondered something. Dagur was safely in Windshear's claws, unable to do anything but hang there. She could fly him directly to these attackers' island and give him straight to the Furies. Would that even work? Would she be able to keep her cover, when so many hunters had seen her take off with him?

She noticed the distant rasp right as Windshear dropped a little in the air, as if some extra weight had landed on her for a moment – then gaped at the small blue light that overtook them from below, hissing past to detonate ahead of them.

"Whew, that was close!" Dagur said happily as he climbed up into the saddle behind her, though she was no longer thinking of taking him to the Furies.

"They're trying to kill you!?" she asked hysterically, trying to navigate her way through what had just happened. The dragons who had scolded her for taking revenge, threatened her into not taking any more lives, were practically firing on her!?

"It wouldn't be any fun otherwise!" Dagur replied gleefully.

"I think we need to set down," she said faintly. On one hand, maybe Hiccup was being hypocritical; regardless of whether it was him or Toothy endangering her and Windshear to get a shot at this guy. On the other hand… she had to wonder what kind of person they would want dead more than Viggo…

"Razorwhip, huh?" Dagur asked calmly. "This isn't a bad way to fly." He could speak for himself, Heather was suddenly far less comfortable with him being at her back.

The surprise lasted less than a heartbeat. Wanderer then wasn't coherent for anything as complex as surprise, too preoccupied with the sheer pain coursing through him. It lasted an eternity, each moment timeless and infinite.

It faded a little, eventually, the sensation of claws raking through every muscle simmering down into a horrible nausea that he felt through his entire body. He was dealing with too much sensory input to comprehend sight or sound, but when something pushed against him he lashed out at it to keep it away, even though every muscle he used was set afire. He was struggling against something, though he no longer knew why, just that it was something in this void of sickness.

And then he was falling, endlessly, the wind providing no comfort for his tortured mind or body. He did not remember blacking out, but he remembered waking many times to find himself still falling, his wings oblivious to his attempts to guide his descent before he hit the ground or the sea.

The eventual impact was sudden, in that he woke again and was already on the ground, but he jerked reflexively with the perceived collision. There was weight on him too, and his flank was on fire, a sharp and cutting fire that dug into him.

When he next woke, again oblivious to having blacked out, he did not hurt so much. He did not feel good, but nor did he feel as if something was tearing him apart from inside. "Water," he moaned through his scratchy throat, and something wet brushed his face a moment later.

He opened his eyes, uncomprehending of anything beyond the hollow-tree-thing at his nose, which he dunked his face into to greedily guzzle the clear liquid it contained.

Dreamer crooned something, but more importantly the precious water was pulled away, and he whined as he clawed his way after it. A sterner sound met his ears, and then the water in his belly churned uncomfortably. He decided he didn't want any more anyway.

The scent of fish – had he blacked out again? – was appealing when it came, and he blindly clawed them to his teeth. They didn't feel good in his belly, but they felt better than the void that had been there before.

Distant sounds of a Long-Paw nest roused him again, and his eyes fluttered open. To his relief, he wasn't caged or trapped, he was in the familiar den in the Defenders' nest that Dreamer kept needing to visit. It was dark, but darker than he last remembered; it had been at least a sky-fire-cycle.

"Dreamer," he moaned, and a dark shape in front of him moved, perking up and then leaning in to scent his face. He didn't care about that, and grabbed his Dreamer to hold him close.

His flank still ached, and he still felt generally wrong, but it was fading. "What happen?" he asked weakly.

"Sick-making claw," Dreamer hissed quietly, then tentatively nuzzled him. "You not feel… like need attack?"

He only groaned in response, content to just lay there. This wasn't how Dreamer had described it, other than the blinding pain. But he vividly remembered the scars over Dreamer's hide, pawfuls of sick-making hurts. He whimpered as he thought about how many times Dreamer had been through this.

Dreamer purred sympathy, worry. "Rot-head not-alpha attack, Defender alpha protect us. I not could kill him… But safe now. Also hunters leave small-land, we not lose… but I not feel we win…"

"Sick-making claw?" Wanderer mumbled, not quite coherent enough to understand all that, but wanting to know how the claw had hit him.

Dreamer pawed something over, something that rattled on the hard ground, and Wanderer blinked rapidly to clear his vision and stare at it. The claw looked a little different, its sharp bit long and narrow, though the tip looked snapped off-

He craned around to check his flank, finding it bound in white not-skins. "Piece was inside you," Dreamer said quietly. "Defenders pulled it out, not worry." He then picked at the claw, propping it up. "Head is two metals. Inside is softer metal, normal for claw. Outside is Rock-Scale metal, very sharp. More thin than normal claws."

Wanderer didn't really understand what all that meant, but he knew the result all too well. "Our hides not protect us from these claws," he said in a low growl.

Agreement, worry, Dreamer growled. "But, hard for make these claws. I not think they have many…" But as just one was enough to do this, that didn't really make a difference.

"I good now," Wanderer said semi-truthfully. "You good also…?"

His Dreamer sighed. "More danger now. We not can stop fighting hunters, but not want put you… us, into that danger. Maybe I make us new scales, not know… I need think…"

Wanderer purred quietly and pulled him closer, eyes drifting shut of their own accord...

Ryker strode through the camp, ignoring the Hunters quieting their conversations and watching him warily, overly obvious in trying to avoid his ire. With a glare at the guard, daring him to speak up, he shoved his way through the cloth opening of the big tent and slammed his bow onto Viggo's desk. "Ah want some answers, brother," he said sternly.

"Do you think yourself capable of comprehending them?" Viggo asked, resting his elbows on the table and lacing his fingers as he looked up.

Ryker knew he had not meant to be offensive with that statement, but he grit his teeth anyway; he wasn't in the mood. "Firs' you wan' ter capture 'em, then yeh don't, now yeh wanted this?"

Viggo beamed up at him, suddenly looking much more his age. "It worked then? Marvellous, truly marvellous!" He paused with a frown. "You did not kill him, did you?"

"Dagur nearly did, it were close," Ryker said with a scowl. "Tha' Defender woman 'eld 'im off. It go' away, can' say more than tha'."

"Remarkable… I admit I underestimated her. I am eager to read the-"

"Answers," Ryker firmly reminded him, leaning on the table. "Ah may not 'ave known 'im as well, bu' 'e were my grandfather too. My tribe."

"I have been planning this for ten years. Do you think I could explain it in an evening? It is delicate and complex, ever changing, and some of it relies on everyone's ignorance, including yours."

Ryker snorted. "You were fifteen. Yer still a kid, in some ways, little brother."

"Just because I do not take dull company, however feminine," he said with a roll of his eyes, "but we digress-"

"You were tellin' me wha' yer plannin', an' why our grandfather scattered our tribe ter the winds."

Viggo huffed, gesturing to a seat, which Ryker promptly took. "That, I have no doubt was excessive. He was… never one to do things in halves…"

"Hah," Ryker grunted, "I remember he weren't known as 'The Nutjob' fer nothin'."

"Indeed. But he had a reason, and if we want to know why, we need many things. Including a Night Fury. And if we want to undo the damage he did, we need funds and prestige. But we do not want the Night Fury yet, just for them to ease off our operations a little. Trust me, brother, I know what I am doing."

"An' how am ah suppose' to do tha' when you won' even trust me?" By Viggo's own words, these Night Furies were unbelievably dangerous, and he was playing with them as if it was all just a harmless game. It was going to get them killed at this rate.

Viggo leaned forward, a devious smile on his face. "Let me tell you about Project Shellfire…"