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