Chapter 17:

It felt like he had been hit in the chest with an axe, the sudden pain and disorientation overwhelming as Astrid turned away and stormed up the steps and through the tunnel back into the castle, a jet-haired young woman walking swiftly behind her. Dagur looked after her, a unreadable expression on his face.

"Oops," he said smugly. "Looks like Princess Astrid won't be waiting to be rescued any time soon. Just how I wanted." And then he turned back to look at the shocked auburn-haired shape, looking up with distraught emerald eyes. "And you know that no one now is thinking about you. You're all alone, boy. And that's how you'll die. You're fighting Rjodr next-and no one beats the champion."

I killed a man whose name I never knew-and now Astrid believes I am a traitor, in league with Dagur... He paused and read Eret's smug expression. And I know who gave him the information. He must have gone back to Berk with his pack of lies-just long enough to put them off the trail and then find out Alvin had failed and I had fled with Astrid? He lifted his face, glaring at the two men who had cost him the friendship of the Princess, the only woman he had ever kissed...and who he realised now, he had fallen for. So his fists tightened as he glared up.

"All champions lose, one day," he managed to grind out, clawing at anger to try to dull the searing pain in his chest.

"But not, I think, tomorrow," Dagur sneered. "Will you be watching, my friend?" Eret made a show of thinking about it-and then shook his head.

"Much as I would love to ensure the final disposal of this persistent little rat, I have more pressing matters-concerning an overdue delivery to my master, the Count," he said smoothly. "Just promise me he'll die, Dagur and I'll be content."

"Tell ya what," the Berserker Lord grinned madly, "I'll prove it. Once he's dead, I'll send you his pretty head."

oOo

"Tell me again how this was a good idea?" Fishlegs protested as the trio hoed a very muddy and clayey field. They had managed to sneak to a local tavern just north of the castle of Bazerk, the capitol of Berserker lands, and stolen the oversized rough hessian tunics, floppy hats and leather capes of common field workers that were hanging on the pegs outside-and had promptly been corralled by an irritated farmer who believed his workers were slacking. Worst of all, they had been put to preparing his very muddy field for winter swedes.

"Well, we're in disguise, we have a view of the north road out of Bazerk so we can see if anyone goes that way and we're getting pork belly broth for dinner," Tuff replied, hoeing the same square yard for the seventh time.

"At this rate we'll never be done," his sister grumbled, speeding along the row she was meant to be preparing.

"But dear sister, I have an excellent view of the main road from this spot so I can hardly move," Tuff argued, neatly hoeing the same clod for the ninth time.

"We can all see the damned main road," Ruff growled. "It runs alongside this field and there isn't even a fence between us and it!"

"But I am sure..." Fishlegs began and then turned back to his hoeing with a diligence that had the others staring-until they heard the thud of hooves approaching. All three were suddenly the models of agricultural workers as the train cantered past. Sneaking a glance, Fishlegs almost dropped his hoe as he recognised Eret, with his short and none too bright groom riding behind him. A phalanx of Berserker soldiers flanked them and the upright shape of Princess Astrid, wrapped in a rich, fur-lined cloak and wearing an unfamiliar dark blue gown, though she remained on the elegant shape of Stormfly.

The three squires watched the party continue north, directly along the road and vanish round a curve in the road before they all raced together, hoes cast aside.

"Oh Thor-Eret's got her-and this time he's taking her to Count Drago himself," Fishlegs said worriedly.

"No sign of Hiccup though," Ruff sighed. "Shame. I was really wanting to be on his team."

"He could still be alive," Fishlegs said suddenly.

"But can we take the chance with the Princess?" Ruff asked. For a long moment, the husky squire stared back at the jagged silhouette of the Berserker fortress, an unexpected sense of loss washing over him. He had really wanted to prove his friendship to Hiccup, to make up for failing the young man when he should have been braver and loyaler to a friend who had not deserved the disgrace heaped upon him. And then he shook his head.

"I'm sorry, Hiccup," he said quietly. "But we can't fail Astrid again." Then he looked at his companions. "Okay-get the horses. We're going after the Princess!"

oOo

Hiccup heard the voice and at first, he thought he was hallucinating. His wounds had been treated and he had been given some more of the appalling gruel and dry bread which he had eaten because he was starving...though he didn't feel much better after the meal. His stomach was still dancing, his chest felt tight and all he could see was the look of contempt in Astrid's azure eyes as she turned away from him.

She believed him, he realised, his heart breaking even as he thought of it. I do everything I promise, I risk my life for her...and she buys Dagur's lies. Well, why wouldn't she? He's a noble and I-as she so accurately pointed out-am just a menial. Nothing. And I will die without anyone to miss me.

"Boy?"

The voice was gruff and creaky, the voice of someone who hadn't spoken much to anyone for a long, long time. Hiccup leaned back against the wall and realised it was the man in the cell next to him.

"Yeah?"

"You fought well."

Hiccup thought about that: the other man-who he realised was Rjodr, the man who was assigned to kill him later that day-had been given a grandstand view of his best moves.

"Thanks. I guessed getting killed would serious hamper my promotion chances."

There was a low chuckle from the next cell.

"I like your spirit, lad. Is there anyone to miss you, anyone I should pray for?"

Me, Hiccup longed to say but he closed his eyes, wrapping his arms around his cold shape. "No," he admitted. "Family is dead, friends abandoned me and everything I had was stolen from me. Dagur's lies took the last thing I had left, the last hopeless dream that could give me any reason to get up." He chewed his lip. "So no-no one to mourn me. And no ghosts to haunt you."

"You fought bravely, lad," the man repeated. "And I will make it quick. My family died a long time ago and maybe one day, someone will put me out of my misery and let me join them." There was a pause. "But I do not think you are that man. No offence."

"Um...none taken-though you won't mind if I don't take your word for it? I doubt my father's memory would appreciate me just lying down and dying." Hiccup's tone had turned sarcastic and there was another chuckle from the next cell.

"I like you, lad-and in another life, maybe we could have been friends. Just take a tip from me. Focus on what you have to live for, what your goal is-and at least you won't disgrace your ancestors in our match."

That's easy, Hiccup thought as his eyes closed and he tried to get some rest. I want to find some way-even if I am to die-to kill Dagur and make him pay for losing me Astrid.

oOo

Astrid found the note in her pack, wrapped in a warm blue angora scarf that also concealed a slim pair of daggers that she slid into her boot and her bodice respectively. The writing was unfamiliar but she dragged the scarf around her neck and pulled her silk-lined hood up as her azure eyes scanned the words.

Lady Astrid,

I hope you appreciate my gifts. I can't free you but these may offer some options on your route or at the far end. Even if the freedom they offer is not the safe passage home you had hoped.

I have to set one thing straight. I know my brother made you believe that your squire was in league with him, that your 'Hiccup' approached him to betray you. That was untrue. I know this.

Lord Eret suggested that he play the charade in order to break your spirit, to make you think that the one person you could rely on was a traitor. And to accept your fate. And of course, to amuse my sadistic brother.

The truth is that your friend performed brilliantly and his face when you spurned him showed you had broken his heart. I know my brother thinks he will give in now-so he has matched him against Rjodr, the champion. He is meant to die. I will do what I can for him, but I fear that will be little, if anything.

I am sorry to tell you so late and only by letter, but my brother did not want me near you in case I tried to help you escape from him. Maybe you can pray for your protector, because he needs every help he can get.

Your friend, Heather.

Staring at the words in utter shock, the Princess reread the letter and then a low groan thickened her throat. How could she believe such an obvious lie? But she had still been mad at the betrayal of her knights and squires and her anger at her situation, imprisoned in Bazerk with no apparent hope for rescue, had led her to blame the nearest target-the wholly innocent shape of Hiccup. And when he had needed her belief, her prayers most, she had cruelly cut him down and rejected him.

And now she was on her way to Nordlund, the northern stronghold of Count Drago. No one knew where she was and there was no one left to rescue her. And though he was an imposter, a former squire and disgraced would-be knight, Hiccup was the only one she had wanted to protect her. He would die, believing she hated him when she was hot-tempered, swift to judge and prideful. And she had never told him that she cared for him and didn't care that he was poor and disgraced...because clearly deep down, she had cared. She had brought it up when she was disappointed, when she believed he had betrayed her and she had lashed out to hurt him, using the thing he felt worst about. He had been a brave and loyal companion and she had hurt him over and over about his mean status.

She was shocked to realise there were tears on her face, her throat tight with sobs and nose damp as she tried to smother her grief. And the terrible, scorching shame. Hiccup had given everything for her-and she had treated him like dirt. She had fallen for him-but her pride and anger overcame her heart and she had lashed out, instead of trusting the young man who had suffered so much to rescue her.

She swiped her face with her hand and blinked hard. She deserved all she got.

And then her hand dropped to the hard shape under her tightly-laced bodice, the cold metal warm now against her skin. She had two knives and she knew what to do with them.

The first was for Eret-for his treachery and betrayal-including the final act with Dagur. The second was to bury in Drago's dark heart-or failing that, her own.

She would never surrender to Drago-even if it cost her life.

It was the least she owed Berk...and Hiccup.

oOo

He had dozed off when the door was opened and he was dragged out of the cell. He was cold and almost wondered why he should even bother-but his vow reared its head and the desire for revenge scorched across his thoughts once more. All he needed was a sword and he could half climb the wall and thrust it deep in his heart. He would be cut down before he could get away but he no longer cared. There was no way out and he had lost everything-including Astrid. Gobber would look out for the kids and help Gustav care for them. Maybe they could even get away from the castle one day and find somewhere kinder, where their poor birth wouldn't be an issue.

Beside him, the powerful shape of Rjodr emerged, his enclosing helmet keeping his face hidden from view. Close up, the man was even bigger, topping Hiccup by a head and three times his width. His massive shoulders bulged with muscle and his leather tunic and kilt squeaked as he moved.

"I've got a treat for you all!" Dagur announced. "Rjodr, our champion, is undefeated...and today, he faces the brave but ultimately hopeless and worthless menial who defeated Grundir."

So that was his name. Funny-thought I'd be more bothered...but now I'm about to die, it no longer matters. Because I'm going to die nameless and unmourned.

He moved sideways as two swords were thrown onto the ground in front of the two men and he dashed forward, grabbing one and backing away, leaving the other for his opponent. Rjodr walked confidently forward and lifted the other sword, inclining his head as he apparently inspected the young challenger.

"Why didn't you take both?" he asked as Hiccup watched him move.

"I only need one," he said simply. "I only fight with one. Any more would throw me off." And he paused. "Besides-I am no butcher. If I have to fight, I will fight man to man."

"I thought like that-once," Rjodr noted, lifting his sword. "I'll give you the first blow."

Do I want it? Dad always said to let the other man strike first, to see his weaknesses and his balance. Not that I need to because I can already see his-and I noted them when he killed that man. So is there anything I can use? He's got the advantage in weight and reach and legs like tree trunks-so I can't easily trip him. Maybe my only option is to try to hamstring him-yeah, like that's any option-or maybe that move he told me he used as a last resort...

"Thanks, but I defer to age and wisdom," he replied, backing away and focussing his eyes on the man's blank helmet. His form tensed and he launched a steady but very heavy attack that Hiccup blocked using standard techniques that Gobber had taught him. He kept his feet moving and watched as the man shifted his weight, then suddenly cut backwards, almost decapitating Hiccup. He threw himself backwards and hit the ground, then rolled to his feet, springing sideways to miss the chop that cut exactly where he had been. He rolled, kicking dirt up, even though he knew the man had a protective helmet and he slashed hard at the man's side, the blow exactly tagging a point just under the man's ribcage-that was unfortunately protected by the reinforced leather armour.

And I'm dead. That really was my last trick. Beyond that, it's just trying not to get cornered and waiting until he finally wears me down. Thor, I am so sorry. I let Dad down.

Backing away from the the shape of Rjodr, Hiccup flicked his emerald eyes across to the shapes in the Royal Box and saw Dagur laughing with a couple of merchants, scoffing at the poor showing he was making. His knuckles whitened and he shifted his weight.

Okay-I'm going to die anyway so I may as well finish Dagur off in payment for his treachery. Thor, give me strength...

And he exploded forward, sprinting as fast as he could across the arena, arms pumping and eyes fixed on the rock wall that led up to the Royal Box, already identifying a couple of places he could put his feet as he sprang up in his deadly mission. He was almost there...

...when a huge hand grabbed his heel as he leapt, throwing him back across the arena. This time, he hit the ground hard, rolling, though he had slashed out with his sword, catching the champion across the shoulder. His sword bounced away as he slammed into the compacted earth and he scrabbled desperately for it but a boot slammed into his side and tossed him further away from the blade. Clutching at his painful side, he cast around for something...anything...that could spare him. But as the man stood above him, lifting his sword over his heaving chest, he lay back, breathing hard.

"Please...make it quick," he sighed, staring bravely up to meet his death without fear. "With honour and with duty, I surrender my spirit to Valhalla."

The champion stiffened, the sword wavering for a moment-and Hiccup saw a scar on his shoulder, two lines crossed almost like two swords...and under it, three runes...

S...V...H...

"Impossible..." Hiccup breathed as the champion leaned closer, staring closely at the lean and underweight young man, seeing brilliant emerald eyes, tousled and messy auburn hair...

...and a small pale scar under the right end of his lower lip.

Unseen eyes narrowed, dredging up images from years earlier, of a younger boy, always solemn and dedicated, of a son he had told had been slain...

"H...Hiccup...?" the man murmured. He lowered his sword.

"KILL HIM!" Dagur yelled, on his feet and leaning forward, a finger stabbing at the champion. "KILL THE BOY!"

Rjodr reached up and pulled his helmet off, revealing flaming red hair, grizzled with age and hardship and cut short to fit under a helmet...but the full flaming beard was still as Hiccup remembered, along with the grey-green eyes and stern expression. The thud as the helmet hit the dirt was loud...but not as loud as the pounding of his heart.

"Hiccup?" the man breathed and dropped his sword. Hiccup slowly sat up, eyes locked on the face he had never imagined he could see again. Older, grimmer and with a couple of new scars...but unmistakeably...

"D-Dad?" he murmured. "I-I thought you-you were d-dead?" Slowly, he clambered to his feet, looking up into the lined face.

"KILL HIM!" Dagur yelled. Eyes flashing with anger, Rjodr-otherwise known as Commander Stoick Haddock- leaned down and grabbed his sword.

"Son-I will explain in a moment but this may be our only chance to get out of here," Stoick said urgently, his hands resting lightly on the young man's bony shoulders. "Are you with me?"

"Just...promise me you didn't..." Hiccup couldn't even say it, fearful of what he may learn but his father leaned close to him.

"I am a prisoner as much as you," he murmured. "I was betrayed by Ack and captured by Dagur on my mission. I have been here ever since, forced to fight like a slave. I never surrendered...but I was told you had died. That my failure to return had led to you being slain by the King. That the last person I cared for was dead...and it was my fault." Hiccup took a shuddering breath.

"I think Dagur has cost us both more than he should," he said quietly. "He's lived too long."

"So what is your plan, son?" the Commander asked, ignoring the yells of the Berserker Lord and the approaching guards. And finally, Hiccup allowed a small smile to tilt his lips.

"Kill Dagur, rescue Princess Astrid and restore your honour," he said evenly. There was a pause as footsteps approached and Stoick smiled.

"That's my boy," he murmured. "Never lacking ambition!" Then he turned, slashing the first two men open and tossing a sword to his son. Without hesitation, Hiccup blocked a blow at his flank and spun to stand back to back with his father, fighting hard. Stoick, though, used all his skills honed in the arena and made short work of the guards, who began to hang back, trying to avoid the thirsty sword of the champion and the young challenger. But as they moved back, Stoick saw his chance.

"Go!" he snapped and the young man turned, blocked a blow at his head then ran towards the Royal Box. He could hear his father behind him but Hiccup accelerated, his feet finding the small purchase he had identified ahead of time and raced up the wall, leaping over the top and landing inches from the shocked Dagur. His bloody sword immediately dug into the man's neck as he shoved Dagur back in his chair.

"Give me a reason why I shouldn't kill you right now," he growled, the image of Astrid turning away still scorching across his memory. "NOBODY MOVE UNLESS YOU WANT A NEW LORD!" he yelled.

"Er...because it would be murder...or an act of war?" Dagur sneered. The sword dug harder into his neck, nicking the skin and his pallid eyes widened in surprise.

"You wanted to kill me," Hiccup said harshly, all his training screaming at him that this was wrong. "But as a traitor and a nobody, it can't be an act of war." He leaned close. "When you captured my Dad, you cost me my honour, my place in the squires, my friends, my future and dreams. So I'm nothing and nobody...and that's who's gonna kill you, Dagur."

"Easy, son," Stoick said, appearing over the edge and standing over the Berserker Lord.

"He's official!" Dagur yipped as his men tensed. The champion 'Rjodr' spun round and cut them all down with one deadly stroke, then glared back at the Berserker.

"No," Stoick said coldly. "I'm dead-and was declared a traitor. So no one will care who killed you, Dagur." He paused and stared across the box. The merchants were huddled, whimpering, in the corner, Dagur's guards were dead...and his sister stood to one side, her face bloodless. "Son-take Lady Heather to the stables. Kill her if anyone tries to stop you."

There was a long, rebellious moment as Hiccup almost argued...but he nodded, dodging sideways and grabbing the slender jet-haired woman who had walked after Astrid, his sword pressed hard against her neck. Stoick leaned over Dagur, his eyes narrowed. Hiccup cast him one look...then dragged Heather back along the tunnel where Astrid had vanished and hauled her along.

"Where are the stables?" he demanded and the young woman looked at him calmly, green eyes placid.

"This way, Hiccup," she said slowly. "I promised Astrid I would try to help you if I could...but I never thought there would be a chance!" He stared at her then nodded.

"I will kill you if you betray me," he promised her and she nodded.

"She does care for you, you know," she said as they descended a narrow stone stair rapidly. He said nothing. "I could see it." He jabbed her in the back with the point of her sword and she accelerated for a few steps before she cast him an irritated look.

"Princess Astrid is being taken to Count Drago, believing I betrayed her to your brother," Hiccup said grimly. "She believed him without hesitation-which tells me all I need to know." He gestured her forward. "Stables. Now." They walked on in silence, quickly reaching the stables. Hiccup grunted to the woman and she stood quietly to one side as he whistled...and there was an answering whinny. Finally, Heather saw the young man's face switch to an expression of relief.

"Fury?" he called and there was a stamp and a loud whinny. He turned, his hand suddenly grasping Heather's arm, and dragged her to a stall with a large black stallion within. Deftly, he secured her wrists with cord and then dropped the sword, walking to the horse and gentling the muzzle as he leaned close. "Hey, bud," he murmured softly. "Glad to see you too!" Then he turned to Heather. "I'm trusting you, Lady Heather. If you call out, it will be your last utterance in this life!"

As she watched, he rapidly located his saddle and pack and readied the horse to leave...and then he scanned the stables. There was no sign of Thornado, his father's huge grey but there was a huge reddish war charger that the young man approached cautiously, identifying him as the only ride suitable for his father's huge frame.

The horse tried to bite him but Hiccup just laughed, remaining calm despite the urgency and calming the beast so it would allow him to pull a bitless bridle on and approach him with a saddle. "Hey, buddy...you don't want to stay here, do you? I think you'd like coming with Dad and me."

Heather stared and watched his obvious skill in taming and calming the huge red horse, the grey forelock flicking as the stallion shook his head but he accepted the saddle. Hiccup had amazing aptitude with horses and was quick and decisive. It was clear to her that he was deeply hurt at Astrid's acceptance of Dagur's words and her rejection of him but she knew he would rescue her anyway. And Heather, though she could not say, hated the idea that another female Heir could be traded like a beast when Dagur would not tolerate his own sister being treated thus.

"There are packs readied in that cupboard," she said suddenly, gesturing to a door to the side and Hiccup nodded, then found packs filled with food, blankets and warm clothes. He had just grabbed water skins when Stoick arrived, a skinny merchant with dark eyes and a greying beard being dragged along as hostage/guide.

"Thank you, Johann," the Commander said gravely, releasing the merchant who cowered back and gave a servile bow. Johann was known across the continent and tried to be pleasant to everyone.

"It is an honour to serve the great Commander," he said, still sweating anxiously. "However improbably he survived!" Stoick gave a small chuckle at the merchant's chagrin and then stared at the horse his son had chosen.

"Hmm...he's a fine beast, son. Good choice." He offered the stallion his hand and the horse bared his teeth...before nudging the hand with a grudging gesture. "Stubborn, too. We should get along well!" Then he turned to the young woman and she stared up into his cool eyes, fearing the worst. "My Lady Heather..." he began and then paused. She swallowed.

"I understand," she said quietly. "He was my brother but he was insane and he killed for fun." Stoick bowed his head.

"Lady Heather, I bear you no malice," he said. "Your brother imprisoned me and sentenced me to die in the arena, not you. I just want my freedom...and to help my son to rescue our Liege, Princess Astrid." The young woman looked over at Hiccup and saw him nod, the determination shining in his eyes. And she recalled her first impressions of the Princess and her auburn-haired escort.

"He is her protector," she said decidedly. "And I am her friend. Go with my blessing, Commander Haddock, Squire Hiccup. Rescue my friend...and take her home." The two men mounted and rode out without a backwards glance, vanishing into the gloomy afternoon. And Heather was standing there, still staring after their vanished shapes, when the guards and the two Generals, Vorg and Ivar, arrived.

"Highness," Vorg said gravely. "I have grim news. Your brother...was murdered by Rjodr."

She paused and took a deep breath. Hearing the words spoken was very different and much more final than Commander Haddock's quiet and respectful words. And then she recalled years of bouts of men willing and unwilling, forced to fight to the death just for the amusement of her brother and his wager-hungry friends.

"Highness-you are now the leader of all the Berserkers," Ivar said urgently. "The murderer is getting away. We must track him down and..."

"No," Heather said firmly. "The Norns decreed an end to my brother and used the man he had imprisoned and wronged to effect their will. Rjodr the champion has killed his last man at a Dagur's command. I release him. And the other prisoner." She smiled. "Let us go back and plan my late brother's funeral." But she stole one last glance after the two fugitives before she turned away, sending her fervent wishes after the pair.

Gods speed to you both.