Six months later...

The coach bounced down the road and turned to the south for the most dangerous leg of the journey. Her lady in waiting, Solveig, was already almost in hysterics but Lady Astrid Hofferson, the only child of the noble Lord of Scauldron Bay, was made of sterner stuff. Her father, not discouraged that his only child was a daughter, had given her the same martial training as any son of the nobility and she was equally skilled with the sword, bow and battle-axe as any of the young men she had been offered in marriage. Of course, none of that mattered now because the new ruler, Prince Spitelout, had demanded that she be delivered to the grim Berkingham Castle to be married to his cosseted and spoilt son, Snotlout.

She sighed. As a rule, she was a hardworking and independent young noblewoman who despised the entitled young men who expected her to become their brood mare and possession: she sought a husband who would treat her as an equal and a person in her own right. There had been only one young noble who had shown the qualities she had sought-and he had been declared a traitor and outlaw six months earlier. She folded her hands in the flared sleeves of her azure gown and stared at the solid wooden floor of the carriage.

It had been a long six months where the nobility had learned to mind their tongues or lose their heads. Three Lords who had declared for the usurped King and dishonoured Prince had been executed out of hand by Dagur the Deranged, the new ruler's favourite attack dog and his right hand-Alvin, Sheriff of Berkingham. Taxes had escalated out of control and the occasional dragon raid from the north had drained the coffers of most Lords and all the peasants until it was becoming a struggle to put food on the table. People were suffering but all Spitelout and Alvin demanded were more taxes, more food, more slaves for his castle. Those who couldn't pay were lodged in the dungeons or were sent to the slave-markets of Meathead lands to pay off their supposed debts. Nobles like Lord Hofferson ensured grain and dried meats were supplied to those who had lost their homes to the tax collectors to prevent them starving but even so, deaths were becoming far more common.

And amid this, there was now a bandit, an outlaw attacking anyone of means who used the only road joining the northern and southern portions of the kingdom, passing through the notorious Raven Point Forest. He never attacked peasants or serfs, sparing them or-allegedly-sending them on their way with heavier purses and bags full of poached meat but for soldiers, tax collectors and nobility, it was a different story. Calling himself Night Fury, he expertly ambushed those of means and relieved them of their portable wealth as a 'tax' for passing through his realm. No one was ever killed-unless they resisted seriously, and only then those who worked for Spitelout or his minions. And he was rumoured to be charming to the ladies unfortunate enough to fall into his grasp.

Of course, Sheriff Alvin had placed such an enormous bounty on his head, four hundred kronor, that it should have the starving and penniless people of Berk falling over each other to betray him but intelligence was almost totally lacking. Alvin had spread the word that Night Fury was a blood-thirsty cutthroat who mercilessly slew his victims and ravished and despoiled the woman. A few-like Solveig-bought the propaganda-but more listened to the whispers of their servants and realised he was-in fact-awfully well-mannered for an outlaw.

"We're going in, Lady Hofferson," Jorgen, the coachman called to them. "I'll be whipping the horses on now. Hang on!"

"Freya protect us!" Solveig wailed and gripped the seat with white knuckles. Astrid rolled her eyes and grabbed her trusty battle-axe, her weapon of choice. If any outlaws threatened her virtue, they would be leaving lighter several body parts. Then the horses neighed and the clack of the wheels accelerated as the trees began to whizz faster past the windows.

The forest was mainly open spruce with thick bracken and brambles beside the road: ideal cover for bandits. Astrid lowered her head and her sea blue eyes scanned the wood for signs of movement. Her senses and instinct told her that they were being watched. Solveig was a gibbering mess as they swayed and had to slow as they approached a tight corner and Astrid knew this would be it. Then she heard it: the thud of boots landing on the wooden roof of the coach.

"Stop and I won't put an arrow in your neck!" a clear, slightly nasal voice ordered from above. There was the sudden slowing of the coach and cries of 'whoa' from Jorgen, who had his orders not to endanger his own life. As soon as the coach stopped, men erupted from the undergrowth and Astrid gripped her axe as the door of the coach was wrenched open by a husky blond man whose eyes popped wide as he saw the passengers. Especially as Astrid brandished her axe and narrowed her eyes.

"Get your filthy hands off of my possessions!" she snarled and slammed the door shut.

"Er...Fury?" the blond man called uncertainly, stepping back. The outlaw chief leapt from the roof, landing agilely and nodding to his men, who had pulled Jorgen down from his seat and had him on his knees, in full sight of the passengers. The lithe figure walked calmly up to the door and stood casually by the coach. He wore a mask of leather, concealing the whole of his face except his stunning emerald green eyes, his messy auburn hair almost reaching his collar. His brown leather armour had seen better days, the right shoulder marked with a crudely daubed black dragon motif and his tunic and leggings were of grubby olive green. He sketched a slight bow then, when nothing happened, rapped his knuckles on the side of the coach.

"Er...Milady, if you remain in your coach, I will have no choice but to steal all your possessions and run away," he said mockingly. "I admire your valour but your plan seems astonishingly poorly thought-out!"

Astrid gave a snort of annoyance, then kicked the door open and exploded into the clearing, her axe swinging ferociously. The outlaws backed away as she spun, aiming straight at the outlaw chief. He leapt back, his sword swiftly in his hand and parrying the next swing with a loud clang. "Get. Off. My. Possessions!" she snarled. The outlaw backed away, his eyes hardening as he assessed her.

"Clearly, that would make all our efforts pointless, Milady," he suggested, parrying cautiously. "And while my social calendar is looking rather sparse, I still don't have that much time to waste on a fool's errand! I mean, taking the gang out for a spin while not stealing anything? Duh! Even Snotlout would realise that was stupid...or would he?"

"I don't deal with bandits and outlaws!" she snapped, swinging fiercely at him. He stood his ground for a moment and swapped blows with her.

"And yet you are on your way to the Castle!" he noted sarcastically. "You keep to that, you won't have many people there you can talk to!"

"Argh! I will chop you into little pieces!" she shouted, swinging even more wildly-though very firmly.

"Milady, I endeavour not to allow bloodshed if at all possible," he told her, retreating measuredly from her ferocious attack. "But in your case, that may prove rather difficult though extremely regrettable. I only seek material possessions, not blood or virtue. A few coins and jewellery can be replaced: lives cannot. I urge you to reconsider your actions."

"I am not going to be your next victim, you foul, murderous, treacherous, lying..."

He moved like lightning, his sword slamming into her axe twice and them slapping on her hand, smacking her knuckles hard enough to disarm her. She cried out and as she turned, he grabbed her and pulled her back against him, her back to his chest and sword across her throat.

"I may be many things, Milady," he said, his voice cold, "but treacherous and murderous are not two of them." He paused and his voice became a little embarrassed. "Lying and thieving...maybe a little more..." He nodded and his men hastened to the back of the coach and grabbed her valise and her strongbox. Fury nodded and his men wrenched the strongbox open, revealing a pile of silver coins, some gold and a pouch of jewels. The husky blond man-Fishlegs-poured them into his broad hand and there was a chorus of 'ooohs' at the workmanship and gleaming gemstones. Fury leaned forward and inspected the loot.

"Those are family heirlooms," Astrid spat. Fury lifted the sword from her throat, though he kept her held close to his body.

"What, all of them?" he asked in a disbelieving voice. Astrid paused.

"Um...all except the one with the big ruby in," she admitted. "That was a gift from Lord Snotlout. Erm...yuk." He paused and then nodded, eyeing the gaudy bauble.

"As Milady says...yuk!" he said then paused, seemingly thinking. "Fish-take the coins and the ruby locket. Restore the remainder of the jewels to the Lady Hofferson." He released her and she stared at him, her mouth hanging open in shock. "Though their beauty does not compare to yours, Milady, I would not separate such a beautiful woman from her jewels." He paused. "But I would request your spare clothes? There are men and women without warm clothing or even a roof over their heads." She looked at him as the husky man handed the pouch back to her. She frowned and closed her mouth.

"But...but...they say..."

"Many things which aren't true," he sighed theatrically and she got the impression from his voice that he was smiling under the mask. "You have paid my taxes: go on your way in peace!" And he offered her his hand to help her back into the coach. She swatted it aside and stepped proudly in but his warm hand curled around hers and pulled it against his mask where his mouth would be. "Safe journey, Milady Hofferson," he said and closed the door. Jorgen needed no encouragement scramble back into his seat and whip the horses to gallop away as fast as they could run. The outlaws watched for a moment-until Hiccup pulled up his mask and wiped his brow.

"Er, dude-why did we let her get away with all that loot?" Tuffnut asked. The male twin was lanky but muscular and his long blonde dreadlocks were unusual. His twin sister, Ruffnut, stood at his side, her long blonde braids the match of his and appearance almost identical. She scowled.

"She's privileged and rich," she snapped. "She should have paid everything she could!" Hiccup stared after the coach, then shook his head. Ruffnut had her reasons to hate the nobility but Lady Hofferson would never be a target in his eyes.

"We have enough," he said quietly. "I wouldn't harm Astrid and I recognise some of those pieces from her mother. It would be a shame to steal every last thing she has of her."

"Dude-you know her?" Tuffnut asked and Hiccup blushed then turned away.

"A lifetime ago," he murmured. "Back to camp, gang! We need to count the coins and get them and any clothing out to the villagers as soon as possible. Al has thought up another tax he can harry them with and we need to be ready."

"Yeah-what's that about?" Ruffnut muttered. "I mean...Roof tax? How is that fair?"

"Well, they had Well tax previously-a coin for every time you used the village well..." Fishlegs offered.

"And Lice tax!" Tuffnut added. "Wow-that was fun watching them make their assessments. And people claiming they had fleas instead of lice..." Hiccup rolled his eyes and rubbed his forehead. He was starting to get a headache and knew the twins could come up with stupid-but in fact real-taxes Alvin had tried to enforce over the last six months for ages if he did nothing.

"CAMP. NOW!" he ordered and they picked up the valise and the strongbox then vanished into the undergrowth once more.

oOo

The remainder of the journey to Berkingham was uneventful but it was conducted at a breakneck speed. Solveig was definitely hysterical by the time the coach clattered through the gatehouse and into the castle while Astrid was trying to make sense of the encounter. Night Fury had been courteous, kind and respectful and she had the impression they could have disarmed and hurt her very easily. Then she blinked: he had known her name. She frowned and tried to force her memory back to where she had heard that voice before...and then the coach jolted to a halt and a footman dragged the door open. Steps were placed under their door and she elegantly stepped down onto the hastily-laid carpet that led to the steps.

At the top, the stocky shape of Snotlout waited for her in his deep blue velvet tunic and black hose. At just twenty, Spitelout's son was a young version of the usurper, with jet hair, sparkling blue eyes and unfailing self-confidence. He had been pampered his entire life and expected everything as a matter of right-and that included the hand of the daughter of House Hofferson. He scampered down the steps and almost tripped, so she had to catch him. His hand closed tightly on hers, his meaty grip slightly sweaty and gross and she tried to wind her hand free.

"Welcome, my Princess," he said unctuously. "Your radiance lights up the day."

"It's night, Lord Snotlout," she pointed out, pulling her hand free and unconsciously wiping it on her skirts.

"And was your journey uneventful?" he asked, inviting her to lead up the stairs. She tossed her sun-blonde hair, the braid neatly resting over her left shoulder and tufts of hair flopped over her left eye. She snorted.

"We were attacked by the outlaw Night Fury and our coin and clothes were stolen," she reported coldly. Snotlout stopped and his face darkened with rage. "I am afraid my lady in waiting has suffered extreme anxiety as a result. If you could have the palace women take her to my rooms to recover...?" Snotlout scowled, then remembered himself and his role as host.

"I'll have Lady Heather take her up this minute," he said dismissively. "Princess, are you harmed?" She shook her head and paused to look back a him. She loathed being called 'Princess': the gentle 'Milady' that Night Fury had casually used was infinitely preferable to her ears.

"I protected my virtue," she reported sternly. "But I regret that your betrothal gift was taken by the bandit."

"WHAT?" His face locked in rage. "That cost me half a year's allowance! Damn him!" Astrid bowed her head, secretly amused: the locket had been amazingly ugly and ostentatious-hardly to her liking any way and a part of her was pleased that the hated object may benefit someone less fortunate. She feigned a sigh.

"I regret its loss," she lied politely and then yawned. "It has been a tiring and very trying journey, my Lord. I shall retire to rest and recover." Then she turned away and he bowed, seething. But as soon as she was gone, he stormed to the Great Hall, slamming the door open and stomping up the dais, where his father and his cronies were debating. Lacking any diplomacy or sense of propriety, he had no qualms about interrupting them.

"That Odin-cursed bandit!" he swore. "He's robbed Astrid Hofferson and stolen my betrothal gift to her!" Spitelout looked up and Alvin grinned. The Sheriff was a huge man, tall and broad with a massive jet beard, cruel dark eyes and a scarred, mocking face.

"Well, yer wouldn't let me do what I 'ad proposed so what did yer expect?" he asked casually. "I presume yer little boy's girlfriend 'as been robbed by yer runaway prince?" Spitelout leapt to his feet, his face scarlet with rage.

"He is no Prince!" he shouted.

"Tell it to 'is Daddy!" Alvin suggested to the Prince. Spitelout sat back, seething as Dagur gave a maniacal laugh.

"Oh, I doubt Daddy will come home this side of Ragnarok!" he scorned. "Our tribes as well as the Dragon Hunters are already on the lookout-and we have had news today from Bludvist's envoy that the Prince of Blood will be joining the effort to exterminate Stoick the Vast-if the pirates haven't been kind enough to achieve that for us!"

"Face it, Spitelout-yer brother ain't never comin' 'ome!" Alvin grinned yellowly and raised his pitcher of mead to the Usurper. "To King Spitelout!"

"What about my locket?" Snotlout growled. His father grinned indulgently.

"Lord Dagur-Would you mind taking my son hunting?" he asked mildly. "He wants to go looking for the wolf's head, Night Fury."

"Hmm, we haven't gone looking for my brother for a couple of weeks, so it may be fun!" Dagger giggled and grinned. "Okay, Snotling-we leave at Dawn!" Snotlout moaned loudly.

"Um-could we make it nine? I hate getting up early!" he whined. Dagur and Alvin rolled their eyes. This was supposed to rule Berk in the future?

"Fine, we leave at nine!" the Deranged one sighed.

oOo

The scrawny and half-grown mid-teen edged back from the servants' entrance to the Hall and ducked his head, taking the empty pitcher to the kitchens and advising the duty server that the Lords needed more mead and pronto. No one paid much heed to a ragged boy with black hair and grey eyes. His cheeky face was usually grinning but tonight he looked thoughtful as he dived to the old culvert and prepared to lower himself into the cold water. A strong hand grabbed him.

"Ow! That's mean, sis!"

"Gustav-I swear, one of these days, you will get yourself caught and have to answer to the axeman!" the black-haired girl told him, brushing water off her grey satin gown. The boy sighed, shivering in the gloom.

"You'd save me, wouldn't you, sis?" he whined. She sighed.

"You're my only family, Gustav but you take stupid risks," she told him.

"We all do, sis," he reminded her. "I got news for the prince: they're coming after him again and he'll need to know!" She released him and watched him duck into the icy stream and dive through the hole in the grille to breach the walls unseen.

"And he's another one who takes too many risks," she sighed. Then Lady Heather rose, dusted herself down and went back to check on Astrid's hysterical lady in waiting...