How to Train Your Dragon: How to Cheat a Dragon's Curse, Page 2

  the Belch’s nose before YOU become the Chief of the

  Hooligan Tribe.’

  Snotlout snapped the whip, and it curled cruelly

  forward at Hiccup, hitting him on the chest.

  It would have been a very painful lash, if it hadn’t

  been for the fact that sleeping down Hiccup’s waistcoat

  was Hiccup’s small, disobedient hunting dragon,

  Toothless.

  The cutting edge of the whip hit Toothless on

  the hard, horny skin of his behind, and woke him out of

  his hibernation sleep.

  Toothless climbed up out of Hiccup’s collar, sat

  on his shoulder and puffed out his neck in fury.

  ‘S-something hit T-t-toothless on the b-b-

  bottom! H-h-how can T-t-toothless s-s-sleep

  with things hitting him on the b-b-bottom!’

  ‘Why isn’t your ridiculous pinprick of a hunting

  32

  dragon hibernating like all the others?’ blustered

  Snotlout.

  ‘I was worried he was getting too cold,’ replied

  Hiccup, soothing Toothless by scratching him softly

  in between the horns. ‘He didn’t dig himself a deep

  enough Hibernation Hole, and if a dragon gets too cold

  he can stay asleep for centuries. So I dug him up and

  I’ve been carrying him around with me to keep him

  warm.’

  ‘And now T-t-toothless woken up too

  EARLY!’ raged Toothless. ‘Issa f-f-freezing!’

  ‘What,’ scoffed Snotlout, ‘what is your pathetic

  pinprick of a dragon,’ (for Toothless was the smallest

  hunting dragon anybody has ever seen, before or since)

  ‘what is your ridiculous frogspawn of a reptile wearing?’

  Toothless was wearing a fur coat.

  Hiccup had made it in a desperate attempt to

  keep the little dragon warm.

  ‘Oh this is too good – hold me up, Dogsbreath!’

  snorted Snotlout. ‘Hiccup has made his ickle teeny

  dwagon an ickle teeny furry DRESS!’

  ‘Issa c-c-coat!’ hissed Toothless. ‘Issa C-C-

  COAT!’

  ‘A dragon in a dress!’ squealed Snotlout.

  ‘HA HA HA HA!’ roared the boys. ‘A dragon in

  a dress!’

  33

  Even the Sabre-Tooth Driver Dragons joined in.

  ‘Oh my Claws and Jaws,’ drawled

  One Eye. ‘I do believe that is the

  smallest hunting dragon I have EVER

  seen dressed up in HUMAN

  WRAPPINGS! Has it no

  shame?’

  Poor Toothless

  stood up very straight and

  stiff on Hiccup’s shoulder.

  Beginning with his horns and

  spreading slowly downwards, he turned

  a delicate shade of pink. He closed his

  jaws tightly and smoke rings blew out of

  his ears.

  ‘Issa v-v-very stylish winter COAT,’ he

  said gruffly. ‘Yer all j-j-jealous.’

  Snotlout started barking out orders. OK,‘ we’ve

  wasted enough time here… everybody get themselves

  into pairs and grab on to the harness of one of these

  Sabre-Tooth Brutes… you two LOSERS,’ he pointed at

  Hiccup and Fishlegs, ‘can have the half-blind one.’

  ‘You don’t like us humans much, do you,

  One Eye?’ said Hiccup, as he and Fishlegs shuffled

  themselves into position behind the enormous

  Sabre-Tooth.

  34

  One Eye spat a great

  burst of fire into the snow.

  ‘Don’t like you?’ he hissed. ‘I

  LOATHE you with every drop of

  my pure green blood…You

  Humans are treacherous,

  ignorant, greedy and

  violent. I have been

  Leader of my Pack for

  forty years through good

  times and hard. What

  does Snotlout know about

  TRUE Leadership?

  He’s just a pig with a whip in his hand. My fangs

  ACHE with my hatred… my claws ITCH to scratch

  out every single Two-Legged, Mud-Bound, Jaw-

  Flapping Human on this entire planet…’

  ‘Oh great,’ said Fishlegs nervously. ‘We have

  a Driver Dragon who

  HATES us. This morning

  just gets better and better…’

  By the time they got

  going, with One Eye dragging

  them VERY SLOWLY up

  the gorge, and through

  a thick pine forest,

  there was no sign of the

  other boys.

  The forest ended as suddenly as it had begun,

  and on the final sheer climb to the top of Mount Villainy

  they did not pass a single tree. One Eye halted at the

  peak of Mount Villainy. A lone boulder marked the

  Highest Point. Hanging on firmly to this rock to prevent

  the wind, or the sheer dizzying pull of the abyss, from

  carrying him over the edge, Hiccup peered down

  the other side of the mountain into the Wrath

  of Thor.

  Normally, the sea and the Doomfang roared

  and raged through that spiteful slit, whirlpooling and

  spiralling and crashing into each other. Now the crack

  was still and frozen as Death itself, and the only sign of

  the Doomfang was a dreadful moaning that drummed

  in the ears like a headache, and a dark shadow moving

  slowly under the ice, like a gigantic cloud building up

  before a thunderstorm.

  ‘Let’s get out of here as quickly as we can,’

  shivered Fishlegs. ‘There are a lot of grim, creepy places

  in the Barbaric Archipelago, but THIS has got to be the

  GRIMMEST and the CREEPIEST.’

  I don’t know whether YOU have ever tried

  Hunting-with-Bows-and-Arrows-on-Skis, but it is

  really quite a complicated skill. Skiing downhill itself

  is difficult enough, and then you have to concentrate

  on actually HITTING the pesky little Semi-Spotted

  Snowpeckers, not too easy because they flit about like

  humming-birds.

  On top of the basic difficulties of the sport,

  Fishlegs was the most appalling skier and a terrible shot.

  His bow whirled around like a windmill as he tried to

  keep his balance, and even if his hands had been as

  steady as a rock, a dreadful squint meant that his eyes

  were as crossed as his skis, and frankly, any chance of

  him hitting ANYTHING AT ALL would be a matter of

  38

  pure fluke. He wobbled forwards, knees bent as if sitting

  on the lavatory, skis pointing inward in the snowplough

  position, and at the first hint of a little bump in the snow

  he fell over and his skis fell off.

  Hiccup wasn’t as bad as Fishlegs, but any sport

  is not just about skill, it is also about HEART. And

  Hiccup’s heart wasn’t really in this. He was

  secretly on the side of the Semi-Spotted

  Snowpeckers, charming little birds that

  Hiccup often watched from his window.

  They built themselves interesting little

  nests like tiny igloos.

  So after an hour and a half, despite the fact

  that Semi-Spotted Snowpeckers were jumping all around

  them like fleas on a cow’s back, Hiccup and Fishlegs had

  shot not a single bird.

  ‘Both
er, bother, bother!’ exclaimed Hiccup, as he

  missed yet another one.

  One Eye seemed hugely amused by the whole

  thing.

  ‘You ARE interesting Humans,’ he drawled.

  ‘I’ve never met Vikings like this before… You’re

  tiny and not very tough. You can’t ski. You can’t

  hunt. You can’t yell for toffee.’

  ‘Oh, shut up,’ snapped Hiccup crossly.

  39

  40

  Fishlegs had fallen over

  exactly fifty-four times. He was now

  covered with snow and wet through

  and his aim was not improved by a

  violent shivering. On top of all this, he

  seemed to be catching a nasty cold.

  ‘Oh this is HOPELESS!’ he exclaimed.

  ‘Absolutely HOPELESS! A-A-ACHOOO! Snotlout

  and Dogsbreath will have probably murdered half the

  bird population in the Archipelago by now and we can’t

  even get ourselves one measly Snowpecker corpse!

  Why won’t the wretched little birds stay still for just a

  MILLISECOND?’

  As Hiccup helped Fishlegs to his feet for the

  fifty-fifth time, he thought he heard something almost

  like deep human laughter. It seemed to be coming from

  some distance below them, from behind a snowdrift.

  Leaving Fishlegs leaning on one of his poles,

  warning Toothless to be quiet, Hiccup peered cautiously

  over the top of the snowdrift.

  And there, a hundred metres down the side of

  yet another slope, was a sight that sent a nasty trickle of

  fear down Hiccup’s spine.

  41

  HYSTERICS.

  Behind Hiccup’s left shoulder, One Eye the

  Sabre-Tooth growled grimly. The spines on his muscly

  back all stood up, his eyes narrowed. His tail with the

  spiky point swayed dangerously from side to side. ‘Now

  THOSE Humans,’ he hissed, ‘THOSE Humans

  really ARE Badder than most…’

  ‘What’s going on?’ asked Fishlegs, wiping his

  runny nose on his sleeve, and rubbing his bottom, sore

  from falling over so often.

  ‘Hysterics…’ whispered Hiccup. ‘Get down…’

  There were six Hysterics dressed in black sitting

  on the slopes below them. Five enormous stags lay dead

  on the ground beside them, their blood very red against

  the white snow. The Hysterics had clearly stopped for

  breakfast before the long ski back to the Hysterical

  Village on the other side of the Wrath of Thor. They

  had built a small fire, and were eating bits of deer

  in their fingers.

  Their skis and their bows and arrows were jammed in

  the snow behind them.

  ‘Thank Thor they haven’t seen us,’ breathed

  Hiccup to Fishlegs. ‘Come on, we’ll just ski quietly back

  the way we came.’

  This would have been an excellent plan.

  But something weird was happening to Fishlegs.

  He was already looking terrible, his eyes

  streaming and his nose running with snot. He was

  shaking a little with fever, and now as he watched the

  Hysterics, his face turned first pink, and then a brilliant

  red. He snorted furiously. ‘The Big Brainless Muscle-

  Bound Idiots!’ he muttered.

  ‘Yes, yes,’ whispered Hiccup, ‘but come on…’

  ‘The murderers… they’ve only gone and killed

  those poor deer in broad daylight… the great Stinking

  Gormless Brutes…’

  ‘This is all true,’ said Hiccup, ‘but we need to get

  out of here before they kill us…’

  But before Hiccup could stop him, Fishlegs had

  staggered to his feet and drawn his sword, crying out

  ‘COWARDS!!!!’ at the top of his lungs.

  The Hysterics stopped eating. They looked up in

  astonishment.

  They couldn’t have been more flabbergasted than

  44

  Hiccup, as Fishlegs set off down the hill straight at the

  band of fearsome Warriors, in his lunatic uncontrolled

  slowplough. His ski-poles flailed around frantically, his

  arrows flew out of their quiver like a hedgehog shedding

  needles, he was gaining speed every second, and

  shouting at the top of his voice:

  ‘YOU MISERABLE MOLLUSCS! YOU

  WHINGEING WIMPERING WINKLES! I COULD

  TAKE YOU FRITTERING FAIRY FOLK WITH

  ONE HAND BEHIND MY BACK! STAND

  AND FIGHT LIKE MEN, YOU COWARDLY

  COWERING CUTTLEFISH!’

  46

  47

  3. THE HUNTERS BECOME

  THE HUNTED

  Open-mouthed, almost in a trance, Hiccup watched

  the furious frantic progress of his friend down the

  mountainside.

  ‘YOU HORRIBLE HALITOSIS HADDOCK!’

  shrieked Fishlegs in a frenzy. ‘YOU PATHETIC

  PIECES OF PLANKTON! I CAN SEE YOU –

  YOU’RE BLUBBING LIKE BABIES AT THE

  THOUGHT OF FIGHTING A REAL VIKING!’

  One Eye, the Sabre-Tooth Driver Dragon, was

  watching Fishlegs with something approaching awe.

  ‘You know, I underestimated your friend,’ he

  grunted respectfully. ‘I thought he was a complete

  weed, but I have to admit, that is BRAVE…

  Suicidal, of course, but definitely brave…’

  The Hysterics were so completely amazed to

  find themselves being attacked out of the blue by a

  single, undersized, under-age member of another Tribe

  that for a moment they just froze, jaws hanging open,

  hands filled with deer halfway to their mouths.

  Fishlegs skied straight at the Hysterics, swinging

  his sword furiously when he got amongst them,

  48

  but missing of course, and skiing straight over their

  campfire and on down the hill. For a moment his furs

  caught on fire, but the wind blew them out again.

  The Hysterics paused for one second in their

  astonishment as they watched the small shrieking

  figure careering down the mountainside. They then

  looked at one another, and you didn’t need to see

  their faces to know that it was a grim, Let’s-Murder-

  Him-Now sort of look. They fastened on their skis in a

  businesslike, unhurried fashion, hoisted their bows on

  to their enormous hairy shoulders, and set off after him.

  ‘Oh, by the Bouncing Buttocks of Beaming

  Baldur,’ panicked Hiccup, setting off down the slope

  after Fishlegs, ‘they’re going to kill him, aren’t they?

  What am I going to do?’

  ‘Do?’ asked One Eye, bounding beside Hiccup

  in long easy strides. ‘There’s nothing you can do…

  your friend is as good as dead… he’s what we in the

  Sabre-Tooth Pack would call a Walking Corpse… or

  a SKIING Corpse in his case. There’s nothing you

  can do, and if you ski in this direction YOU may end

  up dead too…’

  It looked like the dragon was right. Hiccup was

  working hard to keep up with the Hysterics. Hysterics

  are enormous and very strong skiers indeed.

  49

  And Fishlegs was travelling at a very fast speed himself,

  on account of not doing anything fancy like TURNING,

  a
dmittedly totally out of control, and it was amazing he

  hadn’t fallen over already. Hiccup could see him twisting

  his head every now and again to shout more insults over

  his shoulder.

  The Hysterics were gaining, and one Big

  Brute carrying a gigantic, double-headed,

  black and gold axe, fastened an arrow to his

  bow.

  Hiccup screeched to a stop, sending out a fan of

  snow. He fixed an arrow to his own bow.

  ‘Oh my horns and whiskers!’ squealed

  Toothless. ‘He’s going to d-d-do something! Don’t d-d-

  do it, Hiccup! Don’t do it!’

  Hiccup took careful aim, and let go of the arrow,

  which sailed through the air, and hit the Big Brute with

  the Axe who was about to shoot Fishlegs, right bang

  splat in the bottom.

  51

  It was the first successful

  hit Hiccup had had all

  morning.

  ‘Good shot!’

  roared One Eye, enjoying

  himself hugely.

  The Big Brute with the Axe let out a roar, and

  his arms flailed around wildly. He let fly his own arrow,

  which, in a streak of glorious luck, soared in a perfect

  arc… straight into the bottom of the Hysteric skiing in

  front of him.

  ‘Oh, this is too good…’ breathed One Eye.

  ‘Pinch me… it must be my birthday…’

  That Hysteric then screamed in pain, and pitched

  forward into a complete somersault, taking out the

  Hysteric in front of him, who slid on his back into the

  legs of the last three Hysterics, upturning them like

  skittles, and all SIX Hysterics ended up in a groaning,

  tangled, furious, snowy heap.

  ‘Good, good,’ muttered Hiccup. ‘Now, please

  make all six of them follow me, not Fishlegs.’

  ‘I think they will!’ cried One Eye, crying with

  laughter, ‘Oh, I think they will…’

  ‘OVER HERE!’ yelled Hiccup, making quite sure

  they saw who had caused their downfall, and then for

  52

  good measure, ‘IF YOU’RE NOT AFRAID OF