Following his father's death Hiccup is determined to do Stoick proud and fill his shoes in Berk. And he does... by slowly chipping away at himself. Sensitive Toothless knows his boy is getting lost but that's not the only troubling thing happening...
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Three prisoners trod, chained and shackled toward dungeonous holding cells beneath the nearest turret.
"Dagur," Heather whispered aloud. Her razorwhip replied with a soft hiss.
They were balancing delicately in the limbs of a large oak just outside the castle wall, hidden among the leaves.
"And Pallus, and Camicazi- but where's Liam and Hiccup?"
Trooper grunted from his perch; little puffs of smoke rose from his nostrils. He hopped onto the wall scratching out an angry little challenge.
"No Trooper wait!" The Berserker whispered. "We've only got one shot at this and Hiccup's got to be there."
Oh how he hoped he'd picked the right man for the job.
Artorījos had given the Chief of Berk the option of bringing a shield bearer. He didn't have a clue what he was going up against; part of him said Pallus because he was (allegedly) good with animals and a trained soldier. Plus he was just a tad more expendable than anyone else. But in the end he chose Liam since he knew the land and seemed to have a grasp on things non-dragon... despite the fact he was too old to be of any help in combat and a six-foot-ten bullseye.
"Tha an seann ghobhar sin gealtach,"
Artorījos servant, a gangly fellow with ears that stuck out and impressively high cheekbones, was not all that much younger than the King himself. He babbled on and on.
The King groaned. "Myrddin, Bidh thu an-còmhnaidh ag iarraidh orm èisteachd ri Dragonai."
"Tha fios agam. Ach fhuair e measgachadh e an turas seo. Tha iad math. Tha Wynfreda ceart, tha mi ceart. Gu sònraichte an tè àrd a tha fìor mhath as urrainn dhomh innse."
"...A bheil seo air sgàth gun do thionndaidh e thu gu bhith na mhial-mhàgach?"
"Dè? Chan eil."
"Fàg e Myrddin. Tha mi air òrdugh a thoirt seachad nach gabh a thilleadh."
The servant bit his tongue but concern still frocked his face.
"This Myrddin is trying to intercede for us." Liam said, puzzled.
Hiccup rolled his eyes, at the moment caring less about why and more about results. "Sounded successful."
Travelling a good distance out of the city and into the hills the party was met by a rider, steed in a frothy sweat and panting heavily.
"He's gone out for the mid-day hunt, Sire. You should have no trouble approaching."
They continued up the hill on a treacherous slope, Artorījos horse sure-footed like he knew the path well.
"Whoa," someone called. The trail ended at a mountainous, rocky outcropping in which was carved a very large cave.
"The Cleft of Albion." Liam repeated after Artorījos. "He says if you are not the Chief of Berk you should say so now- your sentence will still be death, but Artorījos hands are more merciful than Albion's talons, and he's willing to spare your friends."
