Why are we here?

What does it all mean?

What are chicken nuggets really made of?

Why haven't I updated in so long?

These questions cannot be answered by mere mortals, so just read on and be happy.

Chapter 17

"What are your orders sir?"

"What can we do against such hateful beasts, against such ruthless power?"

"What do you mean? Chief, what are we going to do now?"

"For generations we've been able to fight them off, beat them back, and protect our homes. But now…"

"Where do we go, what do we do? The houses are all gone and with winter coming-"

"Leave me alone!"

The people of Berk emerged from their shelter onto a scene of utter ruin. Daylight revealed the full extent of the dragon's destruction. Below them, not a single building remained standing, the entire village had been flattened in a single night.

The Hooligans were no strangers to rebuilding, but this was something different. It would take months to undo the desolation that had been wrought. The earlier dragon raids were about as tragic as a broken fingernail, compared to this apocalypse of destruction.

Smoke still rose from piles of ash and embers, and black marks had been scorched onto the very rock of the island. A thick layer of soot lay over everything, as if the village had been built on a volcano. Black water from the night's downpour gathered in deep puddles, and ran in dirty streams towards the shore. Some gagged as the smell of burned flesh drifted through the ruined streets.

The caves had been reopened, and a steady stream of red eyes and stony faces picked their way down the side of the mountain. In places, the staircase had been obliterated, leaving only a ragged hole in the rock face. Planks and upturned wooden carts straddled the gaps, and groaned under the weight of frightened yaks and sheep as they were lead back down to the scorched fields.

Even without the smoke, the sun would not have been visible. Berk was bathed in the pale grey of a thick overcast, threatening drizzle at every moment. The bursts of wind brought stinging cold, but even that was not enough to clear the choking smell.

Vara gently laid her hand on her husband's shoulder, gesturing to his subordinates to leave them. He continued to stare unblinkingly at the remains of his village.

"Angarr, you must give your men some orders, we can't just stand here."

"The boys. Are my sons-"

"Your heirs are fine Angarr. They were never in any danger, I was looking after them, remember? He tried to smile.

"What orders can I give, love? There is nothing they can do, nothing!" He buried his head in his hands and groaned painfully. "I can't do it. I shouldn't have… I never"

She slapped him hard on the cheek. The chief's face turned red as the villagers stopped to see. With an icy glare, he sent them back on their way, staring at their feet. Nobody wanted to cross the murderous new leader of Berk.

"What has happened to you Angarr Hofferson? What happened to the man I knew, the Viking who stepped up to the challenge when there was nobody fit to lead, who saved these people's lives?"

"I've saved nobody. I've doomed them all Vara. Look around for Odin's sake!

After his warning, few of the soot covered villagers turned to see the private drama. Most were picking their way through the rubble, stunned beyond words.

"Angarr, you told them to shelter in the caves. What do think would have happened, if all these people were caught out in the open? Now I don't know what the Hel those dragons were thinking, burning everything, but now is not the time for weakness."

"And where has strength got me? A charred shell of a village and an island full of corpses and refugees-" She slapped him again, harder this time.

"I am not waiting here for another attack to drive us into the sea. I'm sorry, but you don't have a choice. Tell us what to do next!" Angarr sat down heavily on a rock, his sigh long and loud. Vara knelt down next to him and spoke softly into his ear.

"What would Astrid do?"

He tensed up angrily at the mention of her name, but stayed where he was.

"What would she do in your place? Would she give up like her father?"

Angarr spoke through gritted teeth. "She would be fearless, like her uncle. She would think of something, she always did."

"Yes, exactly!"

"She would never wait around until the next dragon attack drove her into the sea… Hang on, into the sea…" He stood up slowly, the first glimmers on an idea flashing through his head. "Into the sea! Vara, you're a genius!" He hugged her and ran off towards the harbour, shouting orders as he went. That's the man I married, thought Vara.

The Marauder fleet would have made for a terrifying sight, had it appeared out of the mist one foggy evening to raid the distant shores of Albion, or set about pillaging some ancient Roman fort. However, to those used to the chaotic flames of a dragon attack, the cluster of wooden ships felt a lot more fragile. Stoick and Gobber did not share the rest of the sailors' enthusiasm as a strong wind filled the sails and carried their little armada north and west.

Stoick stood at the helm, breathing the salt air as he closed his weary eyes. For all his fears, there was something inherently liberating about the sea, something in his blood that had drawn him to danger and adventure since he was a boy. Only Raynir's bellowing voice could be heard above the crash of the waves.

"Faster men! Faster! How can we be going so slowly when my destiny awaits?"

The Jarl had his own vessel, one full ship length ahead of the others, but it was not a barrier to his voice. The Hooligan ship was the only one brave enough keep pace, the rest of the fleet lagging conspicuously behind the billowing black and red sail, giving the Jarl a healthy lead. His ship was enormous compared to the traditional Viking longships, its lower deck towering twice as high as that of the others. At the stern it rose even higher out of the water, a floating castle complete with ramparts, and a comically large wheel.

By the looks of things, the Jarl had actually brought his throne with him, or at least a wooden copy. It was hammered into place behind the wheel, and gave the would-be admiral the perfect place from which to shout at his men.

A few good archers, and it would also be a perfect place to shoot from, Stoick wondered.

The galley was slower than the other ships, but wider and stronger with room for perhaps three time the men. Doubtless the Jarl had captured it on some distant raid down south, there were still arrowheads sticking out of the ramparts, and the occasional torn plank that hinted at a violent past. No Viking tribe ever created such a ship.

It looked more at home carrying barrels of ale then it did warriors, which was just as well. There were various pieces of cargo on board, many hidden from view with lengths of old sail. Towards the centre of the ship, things took a turn for the bizarre. The deck was littered with cages of all shapes and sizes. Open, closed, bent, rusted, wood, iron and some which were broken altogether. It took only one look at the thunderous face of the Jarl to know that he would be coming back with dragons, trained or otherwise.

Stoick turned away from the flagship, and retook his position at the helm of the Raynir's donated longship.

"Am I the only one whose got a bad feeling about this whole wee plan?"

"No Gobber" Stoick grumbled "You're not, but we don't have a better one, so just get used to it."

"Aye, but I was just wondering. What exactly do we tell the Jarl if there are no dragons left, and how will we win back the love and support of our rebellious brethren?"

Stoick frowned as his list of worries grew even longer. "Just one thing at a time Gobber, I'm sure Hiccup will come up with another one of his plans, and save the day, as usual."

Hiccup and Astrid were nothing but a black dot, hanging far above the fleet. From that height, they appeared to glow in the light of the setting sun, as the rest of the world darkened. The older Viking could only imagine how pitiful the ships looked from up there, or how vulnerable.

"I have a plan…. to save the day... oh Odin"

Clamm leaned over the side of the ship to throw up his guts for the sixth time that day. The Jarl had provided the Hooligans with extra crew to help 'steady the ship in case of rough seas', although Stoick had his own theory, considering who they had been given.

"Honestly, Clamm, I don't know what is wrong with you. Motion sickness only occurs when the perceived or experienced motion does not align with that which is interpreted by the eyes. On waters as calm as these it's a wonder that –"

The ship hit a gentle wave and lurched upwards a millimetre, Helgi was immediately sick into the bucket he had been cradling between his legs for the past hour.

Gobber rolled his eyes and turned back to his friend, who chose not to comment on their crew's unsurprising lack of competence.

"I won't lie to you Gobber, I'm worried. Whatever happens when we reach Berk, I don't know if I can… If I can bring myself to…"

"Relax Stoick, it's like you said, Hiccup will think of something. He'll just do some fancy flying and the rest will be history. We'll give lizardhead over there his shipment of dragons, and everything will go back to normal."

A sleek black shadow flicked over the deck.

"Well, almost normal."

"I'm not hurting any of my people. They will not suffer from any more from my mistakes."

Stoick caught Raynir's eye as the Jarl shouted yet another gleeful order. He was practically frothing at the mouth, his damp and salted hair hung untamed around his neck as his velvet cloak tugged in the wind. There was something dangerous in that man, Stoick thought, as he glanced back at the twisted cages. Something unhinged.

Hiccup and Astrid soared beneath the clouds, shadowing the fleet from above. They had climbed high in the morning, almost out of sight of their Viking friends, but Astrid's keen eye never lost sight of Stoick's glowing beacon of a beard. They hung in the silence of anticipation, but neither was willing to break it for a good few hours.

"Astrid?"

She was caught off guard, jolting awake from near sleep.

"What do think you'll do when we reach Berk?"

Astrid chirped with a slight inflection.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, do you think they'll let us live there? Do you think they'll ever understand? What about… you know, Angarr…"

Astrid closed her eyes. She knew full well what the real purpose of the Marauder's fleet was; to take back Berk from the rebels, from her father. Even if Stoick regained control, both their families would be damned. Plagued by quick glances and rumours, the lives of the dragon-magic rebels and the dragon-loving traitors would be torn apart.

But then again, if they didn't return, Stoick, Gobber and Hiccup would all be homeless, exiled from Berk, and all because of her. How long before Stoick grew impatient, tired of the dragon who had cost him his life? How long before he remembered the screams of his wife, and looked at Astrid with hatred?

Either way she lost.

For the millionth time she cried out to the gods from inside her head, the only place her human voice still existed.

She hadn't even considered the other dragons yet, how they would react, how she would react during the raids. There was still the other Night Fury to worry about. Things could never go back to normal, and she might never change back

"I guess we'll just have to impress the village, like we did the Marauders. They'll come round eventually. After all, the Hooligan's aren't known for their grudges or stubbornness."

She barked a laugh. "Or their intelligence."

She was fairly sure that Hiccup understood, given the way he smiled, rolling his eyes.

Astrid straightened up and focused on flying. It was the best part about being a dragon, despite her misery. It was indescribable, the effortless power, the thrilling speeds, the sense of absolute, unrestrained freedom.

She could feel the air flowing around her scales. It was cool, but she was never truly cold, fuelled by an internal flame that she could not describe or understand, only feel.

They flew on in silence for a little longer, Astrid letting go of her worries and doubts before they overwhelmed her. A feeling of great calm washed over her, and she felt one with the sky. Her thought's dulled, retreating back to a near sleep as she flew on instinct.

She gently descended, eying the sea for the distinctive glimmer as shoals of fish circled just beneath the surface.

"Yes, fish, perfect for hunting."

Astrid blinked in shock, losing her concentration and dipping slightly. Hiccup jolted at the sudden drop, but relaxed as he saw they were not in danger, mentally blaming the wind.

"Dive, dive and kill."

There it was again, a voice in her head. It wasn't a voice exactly, not as any Viking knew. It spoke in feelings, urges; simple desires that arose from within.

"Food."

The impulse rolled through her scaled frame as her eyes turned back towards the water. She fought to keep from diving there and then. Claws clenched, the Viking girl focused on clear coherent thoughts. She muttered to herself, too quiet for Hiccup's human ears.

"Remember who you are, Astrid Hofferson. You may look like a dragon, but you feel like a Viking, you act like a Viking, you think like-"

"It matters not what you think…"

Astrid froze, tense from nose to tail as the voice in her head became that of the other Night Fury.

"Astrid?"

For a second she lost control.

They screamed towards the water, dragon eyes slit with a predator's focus. The wind tore violently at Hiccup as they smashed all their previous speed records. It was all Hiccup could do to shout, desperate to be heard amidst the howling of air.

"ASTRID! What are you doing?!"

"Food!"

Silence gripped the fleet as the crews gawped in awe, unused to the dangers of a dragon attack. They listened as the Night Fury cry grew louder, almost unbearable as she blasted the water, showering the Marauders with water and open-mouthed amazement.

The dragon pulled up in between the ships, rocking them with the force of displaced air. A black blur had cleared the last ship and was already turning as the Vikings shouted and stomped their applause.

Hiccup let Astrid lead the way as she skimmed across the water, filling her mouth with fish. All the while Hiccup made the necessary adjustments to stay airborne, leaning and matching her every move.

Feeling full and thoroughly pleased with herself, Astrid powered back up to altitude, leaving the rest of the fish men leaning overboard with buckets. As quickly as it had started, the hunt was over.

Hiccup leant back against the cold scales, arms aching with the effort of holding on. He looked up at the sky and frowned, deep in thought. They flew that way for a while, dragon and rider silhouetted against the clouds.

From below, the jolly echoes of another Viking sea shanty drifted upwards, but it could not break Hiccup's concentration. The way Astrid was fishing, with such enthusiasm, and ability. He watched as she licked spots of blood away from her lips. Impressive as the display was, it made Hiccup feel uncomfortable.

"Astrid?"

She chirped in response, lifting up her head and tearing her gaze way from the water.

"That, uh… display earlier. Were you feeling… were you controlling?"

The dragon tilted its head with confusion, eyes narrowing slightly.

"I mean, you've never done that before, with the fish and all. I just feel that maybe…"

Hiccup stared into Astrid's eyes as they swivelled back to meet his. He was trying desperately to imagine her thoughts, to interpret her body language. It was all much harder when they gliding high enough to clip the clouds. At least, that's what he told himself.

"It's just that, seeing you do that with the fire, and then swooping down like that, without a word. It was like watching, well, a wild dragon. Hunting,"

There was a moment of silence. She twitched

Astrid barked and threw herself to one side, rolling over and into a dive.

"Astrid! What are you doing, why? … Astrid Stop, STOP!"

"Human, Viking." The voice practically spat the word. She felt a great anxiety, deep within her, rising in her blood until it every inch of her tense frame was screaming it.

"DANGER!"

Somehow, an enemy had climbed on her back, and she would not allow it.

She acted with all the calm and poise of the predator she was, slipping into a dive with practised ease. The voice was right, he needed to be gone.

That word, 'wild'. It bit into her, and released a flood of supressed anger. She was consumed, and acted helplessly on impulse.

"Wild? I'll show you wild you barbaric little…"

So what if she'd been 'hunting'. She had finally been enjoying herself, coming to terms with her condition, but also her strength. She had enjoyed the power, screaming down from above on her helpless victims, stunning them with fire and eating them whole, laughing as they slid down her throat. It was justified. Did not Vikings the world over hunt for flesh just as she did?

"I am Unstoppable." She gritted her teeth as she dived. Hiccup frantically worked the pedal, clinging to some sense of control, but in a full dive with her wings and tail fully retracted, there was nothing to stop them dropping.

"I am a Dragon." He had no right, NO Right to criticize her, and the voice agreed. She, who had been given the body of her worst enemy. She, who would be killed on sight by her own family. She, who was the more powerful than any living man.

Hiccup was screaming, "Astrid, please, NO, stop STOP!"

She laughed as the boy's feet flew from the fragile stirrups. Viking's couldn't fly, but she could.

The water was approaching rapidly. At this speed, it would act as a smooth rock against the boy's soft flesh. Men gathered at the sides of their ships, laughing and shouting, making bets on how many fish she would stun.

The boy had stopped screaming, perhaps out of fear. Maybe he had passed out. Astrid didn't care. He would die, just like the others. They dropped together, as men's smiles turned to shouts of concern. She could already taste her freedom, and breathed a sigh of gentle relief.

Panic. Astrid flared her wings and screeched as her eyes and mouth shot open.

Her wings almost tore from their sockets as muscle and tendons were stretched to breaking point. Hiccup was almost thrown from her back as they rapidly decelerated.

She flapped desperately, spinning towards the dark water as her single tailfin failed her. Sick dread rose in her stomach, mixed with the adrenaline, she felt dizzy with shock and fear. She strained her neck against the force of spin, trying to look back over her shoulder. She roared in relief as she glimpsed Hiccup, clinging onto her back still.

She spluttered and flapped, praying for Hiccup to hold on as they tumbled together at shocking speed.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I am so sorry."

"Almost… Almost…"

The world had become a blur of sky, sea and scale as they twisted in the air, helpless. She had stopped breathing, utterly unprepared for the impact with the icy water.

"HA!"

Hiccup shouted in triumph as he slipped his outstretched boot into a stirrup, shortly followed by the other.

He was back in control.

They swept up low, brushing against the mast of Raynir's flagship. It rocked violently

Her eyes were wide as she skimmed the water, irregular beats clipping the waves. Astrid's heart was bursting in her chest, horrified at what she had almost done. Her head darted back and forth, her body was outrunning her mind. There were a thousand things to focus on, a thousand contradictory instincts to fly, fight and hide.

Blind in panic and sick with horror, she desperately searched for somewhere to land, even if it was little more than a crash.

"Ahh… Ahhh.. Hiccup!"

Her thoughts turned to her silent rider. She twisted her eyes backwards, relieved to see the boy conscious and attached. Fists clenched and coated with sweat and spray, he worked the pedals as Astrid panicked, keeping them just high enough to avoid a certain and watery grave.

She twisted around in the air, burning as much speed as she could, a tight circle that put yet more strain on the pair of them. She rounded on Stoick's ship, fast approaching the sharp wooden bow. She twisted her wings, manipulating the air beneath them as she shot upwards, turning their speed directly into altitude.

They slowed, and for a second they hung in the air motionless, level with the tip of the mast. Her wings quickly shot out again, long flaps to keep them from plummeting into the brittle wooden planks below.

She came to a hovering standstill over ship as men applauded all around, blissfully unaware of the drama that had just taken place. Raynir gave them a standing ovation, ordering more drinks to be brought up from the hold.

Astrid's wings gave way, and they dropped hard on the deck. Hiccup jumped and rolled away, but the dragon landed solidly on her shoulder. Yelping and pain and anguish, she curled up into a tight ball, racked with muffled sobs.

Stoick leapt forward, grabbing his son and patting him down as if to confirm that he was really there. There were no obvious injuries, but no one knew what such terrifying speeds and manoeuvres would do to the human body.

He looked round to see Gobber hobble over to Astrid as her cries rattled the deck. He caught the eye of Raynir, gripping the railings with white knuckles, staring back with a look of anger and confusion. Stoick tore his eyes away, his son was more important.

The boy was white faced and breathing hard, but alive. He tried to stand, but his legs were shaking too hard. He rolled over onto his knees and retched. Stoick picked him up and cradled him in his arms. The boy managed a weak smile.

"Hi Dad, still here" he sputtered before collapsing back into a coughing fit.

"Hiccup, thank the Gods you're alright." Relief washed over the big Viking, but his features suddenly hardened. Stoick had seen Hiccup fly a few times, but even the marauders knew something wasn't right.

"Hiccup, what happened?"

The boy was shocked for the most part after his near death experience, and words came with difficulty.

"I…" He turned to look at the black wretch, huddled to itself on the bare planks. Gobber lay his hand on Astrid's scaly head, trying to sooth the shuddering creature.

"I just don't know anymore…"

The scrape of sawblades and the clashing of hammers rang out across the water. Shattered masts and leaking hulls were pieced back together. Sails, stained black by soot and ash were unfurled. Confused orders were shouted over the noise of the repairs as the entire population of Berk prepared to set sail.

With every building levelled, the island had become uninhabitable. Even without the constant threat of dragon attack, there was barely enough food to last the winter, and no firewood. There was only one option; they would retreat to the south, find a new home, rebuild, wait until the dragons grew careless and then strike back.

'Retreat'. It stung Angarr to even think of the word, let alone put it into practice. He knew the spirits of his ancestors would understand. There was no other way. A brave man could fight and die on a single day, but a clever man could live to fight another, bide his time and eventually see his enemies' homeland in ash. He offered a silent prayer to Loki, that his gamble might succeed.

Angarr looked grimly on as his people filled the ships with all the provisions they could carry. Grey, lifeless faces met his eyes as struggling villagers stumbled under the weight of barrels and weapons. Having worked ceaselessly to scratch tunnels out of the side of the mountain, and a sleepless night fending off the worst attack in living memory, everyone was exhausted. Only stoic, Viking determination kept their legs from collapsing under them.

"Sir, we have six ships ready to sail, complete with all the-"

"SIX! That's not enough, not for everyone."

"We reckon on three more longships afloat by this time tomorrow, but if we wait a few more days then-"

"We don't have a few more days, idiot! The dragons will be back soon enough and I do NOT want to be caught in the harbour when that happens. Do you understand me?"

"Yes…. Yes sir" the man sighed with fatigue and looked down at his feet.

"I want three more ships ready to go in the next hour, we will be gone by nightfall."

For all the devastation that the dragons had wrought, the harbour had been relatively untouched. It was too far away from the rest of the village, and only the huts and storerooms had been burned. Amidst the rain and spray of the ocean, the ships had mercifully been spared the flames, but the distinctive blast of a Night Fury left many of the ships with holes in the hull, and even more lying on the bottom of the ocean.

The villagers knew the seriousness of the situation, and had worked themselves into a frenzy of activity, as much as their exhaustion would allow. Barrels of supplies were loaded onto the decks, tied down or covered under spare fabric everywhere they could. There was not an inch of spare space aboard any of the ships.

Along the shore, livestock were hastily butchered and skinned, the meat either preserved with salt or cooked immediately. The smell of cooking meat went someway to mask the choking stench of smoke and ash, and a good meal gave the workers enough energy to carry on long after their fingers and minds were numb with the effort.

Men and women waded into the sea, splashing their faces even as the salt stung their eyes. The water turned dark as the soot and blood washed away.

Sparks flew as swords were sharpened. Burned axe hafts were replaced and shields were nailed back together. The blacksmith had been badly damaged, but Gobber had built it strong, and mostly fireproof. There was plenty of weapons to go around, and nobody was taking any chances.

Angarr stood alone atop the cliff, watching the waves to the rhythmic sound of Vikings at work. He let a thin smile creep across his lips.

We are a busy people, practical and precise. He unsheathed his dagger, feeling the fine, delicate carvings under his rough skin. He wondered, not for the first time, who had built it. Which ancient heroes had used this same steel to defeat their enemies, plunging it into a dragon's heart as they were locked in mortal embrace? The same strength and skill that had forged this dagger had built ships that could sail around the world. It could fell forests and crush-mountains, tame seas! He gripped it tighter.

It was the strength and skill of Vikings that would defeat the dragon menace, once and for all. He closed his eyes, recalling the words of his old father as he told his children the tales of old.

'The Hooligan tribe will never perish, not while good men still carry good steel.' He watched as small catapults, ballistae and bola-throwers were loaded onto the warships. Each ship could hurl a barrage of sharp rocks and spears that could carve through dragons for more than a mile, if they got the angle right.

"Where will you take them?"

"South Vara, always south. We'll be done with the bitter winters and those bastard dragons, at least for a while."

"They won't forget this, you know that? Not with our stubbornness. The Hooligan tribe will never forget their homeland…"

"Or the chief who ran." Angarr's shoulders slumped. He knew that fleeing was only a temporary measure, but the thought of his name going down as a coward still ate at his conscious.

"Or the mad Chief who tried to befriend a dragon. We know why you've chosen to leave, they know that you had no choice. Angarr please."

"I've seen the way they look at me, Vara. The older families, Stoick's allies, Spitelout's son. Sometime I think… Sometimes I fell that I won't survive the winter, not if my people cut my throat and throw me overboard in the night."

"You still have friends Angarr Hofferson, sail south, find the Marauders, they-"

"Are too arrogant to help a Hooligan in need. The pretentious barbarians are too busy raiding the Franks, or Saxons, sitting on a pile of gold or growing fat on rich meats. I'd sooner see my people drowned then look to that obsessed Raynir and his-"

"Listen to yourself, we haven't left the island and you're already making enemies. Whatever happens, you need to be strong now, for your people, your family, for me. You have saved this tribe and you will again. You're a good man Angarr, and we need you now more than ever."

"Aye, you're right."

"We will return, and you will get your revenge, our revenge, I know it." Vara drew her husband in to an embrace.

"Go" she whispered.

The chief lifted his head, nodding. Chest out, he marched back down the ramparts and into the harbour, making his voice heard above all the others as the fleet prepared to sail.

In the end, eight ships left Berk, just after mid-day. They had enough provisions to get them safely to the mainland, although some of the more damaged vessels sat dangerously low in the water, straining under the weight.

They sailed together in silence as stone-faced Vikings stared back at the lingering clouds of ash and smoke. Only the gentle lapping of the waves could be heard as they abandoned their ancestral home for good. Far behind them, dark clouds threatened a storm as distant thunder carried on the wind.

The makeshift fleet struggled to stay together, stringing out as they circled round the island. The fastest was little more than an armed regatta vessel, crewed by younger, eager Vikings. With the help of a narrow profile and a bank of oars, she was surging forward.

Ahead of them, the crumbling ruin of what had once been Raven point marked the most Eastern point of the island. Jutting far out from the rest of Berk, it was a formidable natural obstacle, even more so now it had collapsed. Past that, the open ocean invited a clear run to the south.

Angarr's ship sat immediately behind smaller boat. His flagship was the largest, the most heavily armed, but also one of the fastest in Berk. Built for dragon hunting, Angarr's undamaged longship was the pride of the shambolic fleet.

He grunted in annoyance as the young Vikings rounded the point, coming dangerously close and risking falling rocks to get there faster. With a shout, they disappeared round the corner.

"Slow up!"

At his command, oars were lowered into the water and held there, slowing the warship with a lurch. With a single command, the drums were beaten, and the left bank of oars pushed back in reverse. The ship groaned along its length as was pulled to the side and clear of the rocks. Angarr gave them a wide berth, he didn't want to take any chances.

The drums stopped, and the oars were pulled back in, the sound of the drums could still be heard as it echoed off distant rocks and across the water.

Angarr listened closely for the sound to die away, returning them to silence.

It didn't.

Suddenly, the younger ship shot back into view, rowing hard back the way it had come. Shouts of confusion flew between the ships, as Angarr pulled hard on the rudder to avoid them.

The drums were getting louder.

The Chief of Berk watched with sick horror as they rounded the point. Arrayed before them was an armada of ships, far outnumbering the forces of Berk. At the centre sailed the largest ship he had ever seen. It rose higher than a house in the water, and its sail alone could have covered the deck of three of his ships.

Along the line flew the colours of the Marauders, holding steady in a line on the horizon. Despite the distance, he could clearly make out the bright hair of the former chief of Berk, pressing ahead of the enormous flagship, leading the charge. Angarr was apoplectic with rage, turning a shade of deep red.

"That BASTARD! First the dragons, and now… this. The Marauders too? I'll have his head!"

Panic rippled through the men as they realised what faced them. The chances of victory would be low at the best of times, but with women and children aboard the rearmost ships, the exhausted crew were on the verge of collapse.

"Retreat!"

"Turn around, pull down the sails."

"Look at the size of that ship…"

"Disengage!"
"It's not worth it."

Angarr looked around in horror as his men's resolve began to waver. Oarsmen sat hesitantly, clueless as to which direction to row, some struggled to pull in the sails whilst others fought to keep it open. Their ships had lost all sense of purpose, and sat idly around Raven's Point in a confused mass.

A captain next to him pulled a horn to his lips, no doubt to signal the retreat. Angarr quickly grabbed it, crushing the horn as the order to retreat died away in the captain's throat. Angarr roared his orders.

"Battle formations, full line we'll match this pathetic challenge head-on."

"But sir, their ships, the numbers…"

"DO IT!"

The man slunk away to give the order to the drummer. Angarr's outburst had silenced the confusion, and his men looked to him in desperation.

"Men, I'm not much of a speaker, but hear this. These are your people on these ships, your families. If these Marauders win, they'll have your island and your women, and all thanks to that disgrace of a chief. That traitor." Angarr spat the word out with disgust, not caring to even mention his enemy's name.

"Make no mistake, we either kill these men, or we get killed by the dragons, and I'd take one of you Hooligans over ten of those worthless mainlanders any day!" He was greeted by a cheer and the beating of hammers on shields.

"Oh, and one more thing. Whoever brings me that ginger head will get to keep his ship. Onwards, warriors of Berk. Let's show these scum what we dragon-fighters are made of!"

The cheering continued as the sky began to darken and the storm snapped at their heels. For the second time that day, the drums boomed across the water as the ships found their place in the line. Some sense of order returned to the Hooligan fleet as the first drops of rain began to fall. They had the wind on their side, and it filled their sails as the last ships of Berk surged forward.

There was death in Angarr's eyes as he took position at the head of his forces.

"With water and blood, salt and steel, this ends today! Stoick, this is the day you die."

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