Black Wing, Blue Wing

2 - Hiccup

"You will be a soldier. I don't care what it takes. Be it blood, bone, or bravery, it will happen. Being a Rider is in the family name. You live up to the name, or your name will become someone else's. Enjoy Basgiath." —Recovered Correspondence from Stoick Haddock to Hiccup Haddock

I've watched exactly forty-seven people die today. The other Wingleaders--the ones who actually know what they're doing--assure me it's not supposed to be this many.

It's usually more.

What a comforting thought.

The rain pelts down from the sky as I watch yet another recruit step onto the Parapet's slippery surface. They say that the dragons claim lives, but it's really Basgiath's creeping jaw that thins out the snacks for the terrible lizards to feast on.

I hear shuffling footsteps, and my head instinctively turns to see another cadet approaching the entrance to the Parapet, her arms rigid and at her sides. Her straw hair flops against her head from the rain, her leathers hug her body, providing protection to obvious weak spots. But it's not any of those things that grabs my attention.

It's her eyes.

Her diamond eyes, sparkling in the falling rain. They look as close to gemstones as possible, something that belong in a dragon's hoard, and it strikes me like a bolt of thunder.

I know this woman.

Something in me screams it, like the sound of a thousand dragons roaring in a battle cry.

I know this woman. I don't know how. But I know this woman.

And judging by the look she's giving me, she knows me, too.

A horrible screech pulls my attention away from the cadet. My eyes fly back to the Parapet. Two recruits are fighting atop it, one trying to survive, and the other with every intent to kill.

I have to stifle a yawn. This? I've seen thirteen fights today.

It's surprising how many murders walk away freely here. Then again, Basgiath is a War College. Everyone here is a murderer in their own way.

Even me.

A shiver runs up my spine.

If one dies, you should frighten that girl-cadet, a deep, rumbling voice speaks up from my mind.

My dragon.

Toothless, that's a horrible idea. I don't like to scare people with Mindspeaking, I say.

I know, but it's fun to freak humans out. Besides, you could use the practice.

Fine. I'll do it.

I watch as the men fight, and one is pushed back closer and closer to the edge. He's shoved to the edge of the Parapet, barely clinging on with one hand. Then, the other man stomps on his fingers. One more screech, and that's one less recruit to worry about.

It also makes forty-eight deaths I've witnessed today.

Speak to her, Hiccup, Toothless demands. I want to see her confusion.

I take a deep breath, Maelek save me, and reach out for her mind.

It isn't hard to find among the others there. Hers is complex, critical, gorgeous and deadly, tainted with poison and perfection, all in one person, one head, behind a set of two diamond eyes.

I love seeing peoples' minds.

I reach for hers and grasp it, trying to keep the connection from slipping between my fingers.