The Outcasts kept firing; seeing me topple had spurred their arrows. Belch and Barf dove into the clouds, where no one could see or hear us. Stormfly followed; Astrid nudged her to halt. Hookfang spun in, while Fishlegs coaxed Meatlug into stability.

Gobber and I made a deal; in exchange for devising a Sleeping Soup that Toothless would swallow, he would tell me about my mother, Valhallarama the Great. Toothless didn't look amused.

Gobber sat by the smithy door. He was comparing Gronkle incisors to Thunderdrum fangs, having removed both from Meatlug and Thornado earlier.  I tried to sidle by. Toothless peered at the rotten teeth with curiosity, still limping.

"All right, first session done," Astrid said. "What's next on your list?" "Saddle-making," I said, heading toward a spare dragon cage. She followed me, as did Toothless.

"Why do we always blame Mildew when something goes wrong when we can't do anything against him?" Tuffnut complained. "What's the point of not beating up the bad guy?" We were all sitting in the mead hall, huddled around large tankards. Dad had tried to get some mead down my throat, but one sip had burned my throat. Astrid had pushed her tankard away, but the other were chugging theirs down. Fishlegs had poured his share down Meatlug's throat. Ruffnut had already fallen asleep after downing half a tankard. Her braids had hung from the dining table. I could see why Dad wanted drinks to go around; scouts had returned from the vacant hut from where the Outcast prisoners had escaped. They had held slashed ropes and hard expressions. "Someone cut the Outcasts loose." Dad had viewed us, muscles quivering. "Someone also provided them with a net that could catch an injured Toothless." Toothless had groaned on hearing this. Gobber had sat him by the fire and was sewing his reopened wounds. "That explains why it was metal and not standard rope," Fishlegs had said. His dragon belched. "Generally we don't use metal for fishing nets because of rust." "Ay, that I've learned the hard way." Gobber had snapped the thread with his rock tooth. Toothless had grunted. "But making a net of that size is a waste of time and metal; you know I wouldn't make something like that." "I've always trusted you, Gobber," Dad said. "Hiccup wouldn't make a sharp-edged net either, and you two are the only blacksmiths on the island." I gave a sarcastic cough. "If I were just a blacksmith, Dad, Alvin the Treacherous wouldn't have put out that Wanted poster." "None of the Outcasts we carried off the ship had a barbed net either," Astrid commented. She kept her hands folded. "We stripped them of weapons before tying them up, and they only had axes." "That could only mean one thing," Dad said, putting his tankard down. "The same person who cut the Outcasts loose provided them with the net. We have a traitor in our village." "But who would betray the chief's son to Outcasts?" Snotlout asked, wiping his mouth. His eyes had turned blood red. "Who would be brave and evil enough to risk death?" I had raised my tankard at the same time Astrid did, as did Dad. Gobber had to make do with his bone needle. "Mildew," we said, clinking in morose unison. Toothless growled after we clinked metal. That's when Tuffnut had asked his whiny, drunken questions. "I never thought I'd say this," I said, "but Tuffnut's right. Mildew has tried his best to get rid of our dragons, but he never leaves behind proof. There's no point in accusing him if we can't secure that evidence."  "But would he try getting rid of you?" Astrid asked. "We only think it's him because it's always him, but would he risk your father's wrath and execution?" "Well, let's see." I ticked off a finger at a time. "He framed Toothless for blowing up the armory, which left us defenseless to the Outcasts, and we know that he tried to give me up to Alvin before you knocked him out." Dad straightened. "WHAT?" Astrid shot me a glare. "You didn't tell my father that Mildew tried to identify the Dragon Conqueror?" "It didn't seem important at the time," she said with gritted teeth, "and you gave yourself up anyway." "It doesn't matter," Fishlegs said, saving the situation. "He'd just say that he was thinking of protecting the hostages, and that the Outcasts wouldn't believe that the hiccup of the tribe was a dragon conqueror. He could probably make a career out of making logical excuses." "Odin help us all if that happens," Dad replied. He leaned back. Ruffnut snored against his elbow. "We need to find out which villages Alvin is approaching," I told him. "If we can cut him off before he can recruit more soldiers, then maybe we can reduce the amount of potential invaders." "Not until you can fly your dragon," he said flatly, "and we'd need to visit dozens of villages. Our best bet is to attend the next Thing, since that's coming up in a week. We can convince the other chiefs that if their men want to fight the Dragon Conqueror, they fight honorably and fairly."  "That is reassuring," I said under my breath.  "And until then?" Snotlout asked. "Will we get to burn more ships?" "Unfortunately, yes." Dad looked at me. "You only leave the village with me and Thornado, Hiccup; they wouldn't dare attack a Thunderdrum or myself in tow. Astrid can lead the defense brigade against more Outcast ships, and you can come up with battle strategies at the Dragon Academy when not accompanying me on chief duties." I hid my sullen look by peering at my nearly-full tankard.  "Hiccup can also create new weapons in the smithy, and Astrid can help him develop a fighting style." Gobber came and grabbed my mead, downing it in one gulp. "Toothless, stay by the fire. It's good for your limbs." Toothless mimicked my sullen look but lay down. I went to sit by him and examine the stitches. "Why can't the rest of us help Hiccup?" Tuffnut asked. "I love clobbering things." He gestured and spilled ale on the table. Ruffnut's snore came out as a snort. "Because I'M the best fighter in Berk," Astrid reminded him. "Besides, you wouldn't know when to stop hitting." "That's what helmets are for." He grinned with crooked teeth. "This is ridiculous," I said. "Astrid, you may be the best fighter, but the Outcasts are twice our size. I only got lucky with the one who attacked me, but none of them are going to wait for a lamb to fall in my hands." "No, but none of them expect you to be a threat without a dragon," she pointed out. "You need to be prepared if they separate you from Toothless." Toothless growled at her. The flickering flames made his slits for eyes look more threatening. "I'm with you, bud." I scratched his long ears.  "You don't a choice in this, Hiccup," Dad said. "Size doesn't make a Viking; skill does." For the first time a smile entered his face. "It was amazing what you did with that metal leg. Imagine what more you could do." It was my turn to glare at Astrid and lay my cheek on Toothless's warm, shiny scales. She pushed her tankard towards Snotlout, and I saw the scratch on her face more clearly. That's when my glare disappeared. If the Outcasts kept coming, then Alvin would do anything to get his hands on me. I couldn't let Astrid get in his line of fire.

The night seemed to darken, but the villagers were far from ready to settle down. Gobber gathered all of Lambie's dirtied fluff and placed him in wheelbarrow. He found a blanket in the smithy and covered the fluff. "We'll have a funeral for him in the morning," he told Ingie. "Give him a proper sendoff to Valhalla." "Thank you," she said. "Don't encourage her!" her mother said.  "She should be in bed!" Her father added. "I'm sorry she bothered you, Hiccup." "She didn't bother me." I broke away from Astrid to approach them. My voice became terse. "She saved my life with her stuffed lamb; he deserves a proper funeral." Ingie's parents looked shocked. Perhaps no one had ever questioned their nurturing methods. Ingie remained impassive. "It wasn't her fault or the lamb's that Alvin the Treacherous found you on the beach that night," I continued, "You know that she's had to live with that worry for weeks, all because you called her toy bad luck?" Astrid reached out to grab my shoulder. "They get the message. Let's go." Ingie's parents retreated with their girl in tow. They looked rebellious.   "You might want to get that frown off your face," Astrid said.  "What look?" "The look like you're about to slice through a man's eyeball. It's not natural." "Astrid-" "She's right," Gobber piped up, coming to join us from the wheelbarrow. "If you weren't the shortest and skinniest Viking around, every Outcast would be fleeing in terror just by seeing your face." "Yeah, just like they fled in terror right now." "They ought to, the way you defended yourself without a dragon. Maybe we need to come up with a new style of fighting. 'Hiccup combat.'" Gobber gestured with his metal arm. He kept his voice cheerful, although his eyes darted to the bloodied arrows on the ground.  Astrid looked concerned. I turned away from her face. Toothless walked with us among the armed Vikings. My father had hopped of Thornado, his dragon. He had restrained the two Outcasts who were alive. His muscles and beard were twitching.  "I thought I told you to stay in plain sight, Hiccup," he shouted. "Can't you follow the simplest orders?" I flinched. Dad had once shouted those words the night I had caught Toothless with the automatic bola. We hadn't returned to those times, had we? "It wasn't his fault, Stoick," Astrid said. She never challenged my father, not in such a calm voice. "No one was expecting the Outcast prisoners to escape." "No, no one was." Fishlegs waddled towards us. "Logically speaking, men trussed up in an enemy village would not attempt to carry off the chief's son when they're outnumbered and lacking firepower." Dad calmed down, but his eyes kept twitching. "Then those men weren't thinking logically." "No, they weren't." At least we could agree on that. "The man who attacked me said that he needed the thirty sheep." An odd statement. Most families didn't need that much milk. "We need to discuss this over mead and ale," Dad said. "That's the best way to exchange bad news. For now, we have to take care of the body and the other two men." Spitelout had left the dead man under a moth-eaten sheet. He handed my father the hunting knife. "That girl would make a good warrior," he said. "Clean blow between the eyes." "Good," Stoick muttered. "That's one less worry."