The Imposter

Chapter 18

"Bored now," Snotlout announced from his seat by the fire in the little tavern the squires had found. It was a meagre place with thick walls, unkept thatched roof and plentiful but poor quality ale, yet it commanded a clear and unobstructed view of the main road south from Bazerk and had sufficient stabling and rooms for the errant apprentice knights. Dogsbreath looked up from where he was arm-wrestling Halvard and scowled.

"I'm not," he commended, winning again. "We can wait here all week for all I care. There's mead, good food and hospitality...what more could we want?"

"Who's watching the road?" Thuggory asked from the corner, where he was wagering with Knut over a deck of cards.

"Derek and Ulf?" Snotlout asked. "This was your idea...otherwise I would have asked Fishface and the twins..." There was a pause and Thuggory slowly got to his feet.

"I think that they didn't come this way-or they were intercepted," he said gravely, looking at the relaxed squires across the room. "And if they were intercepted...they would be sent north...towards Count Drago..."

"Meaning we're in the wrong place?" Snotlout huffed, rolling his eyes. "So let me get this right. We have to ride across Bazerk, avoiding the Berserker patrols and get to the north road to Nordlund assuming they haven't already passed...?" Thuggory nodded. "Well, that should be straightforward."

"Except Dagur is insane and hostile to everyone and is rumoured to make his prisoners fight to the death in the arena," he snapped back. Snotlout folded his arms.

"Not my problem," he sneered. "I can take anyone here."

"But can you take anyone there?" Thuggory retorted. He looked around the room and the unwilling-and in some cases, completely inebriated-shapes. "Okay-wake the others up. We need to move and intercept the Princess before we lose her forever..."

"Do we have to go now?" Snotlout whined, resuming his padded seat and inching closer to the roaring fire. "It's nearly Dinner! We'll wait for stew and pudding and then maybe we can head out and see if we can find her."

Thuggory glared at the senior squire: by the time they had eaten, almost all of them would be drunken and unfit to ride...and it would already be dark and cold and all sensible men would hunker down for the night, avoiding wild beasts and lawlessmen. Their departure would have to wait until after breakfast tomorrow. And in the meantime, it could already be too late-for Astrid and for their chances of ever becoming knights.

oOo

Stoick rode along after his son, watching the tall, skinny shape ride with a skill and precision he recognised from long years of hard practice. His instinctive style had Fury galloping up the main road north and Stoick was having to work hard to keep up. And honestly, he was kicking himself for not recognising his son immediately but he had stopped paying attention to the men in the arena; stopped looking at the faces of the men he would kill and he had paid little heed to the skinny young man, save that he had killed  his first opponent reluctantly. And Stoick had not expected to see his son, because he had been told he was dead, executed by his former Liege after Stoick's disappearance.

But it was clear time had not been kind to Hiccup, for he was thinner than he should be and there were more bruises and wounds on the young man than he would expect. His auburn hair was thicker and shaggier than he recalled but the emerald eyes were as bright and intelligent, though wary and shadowed with hurt. And he had no sword, pack or equipment, seeming to be dressed in a borrowed tunic and leggings. And no back up, no one waiting for him.

"Son?" he called and pulled the huge red charger alongside. The Commander was referring to him as 'Crusher' since he trampled his way through all obstacles-including two gatemen who had been foolish enough to try to get in his way-and curiously, the ferocity of the charger had been easier to deal with than his son's single-mindedness. "Hiccup?"