Riders of B E R K

Part 34: No winners

"Going somewhere?"

Spitelout looked up from his jeep, his hand tightening on the grip of his gun. He turned to face his brother and gave a thin smile as Stoick slowly walked forward.

"I have an urgent errand, brother," he said quietly. "I need to leave now-before things get out of hand." Stoick's grey-green eyes narrowed and he inspected the stocky shape of his brother closely. Spitelout was in cold weather gear and clearly on the brink of escape.

"I suspect they already are, Spitelout," he said directly. "If I asked why, would I get any sort of an answer?" Spitelout lifted his weapon and aimed it squarely at the General's head.

"Thanks for the tip on the Kevlar, brother," he said calmly. "Now I know where to aim."

"So do I get any sort of explanation why I am to be killed?" Stoick asked him, wondering where everyone was-and recalling that they were confined to quarters under lockdown. Spitelout cocked the trigger and his blue eyes grew cold.

"This isn't a Bond film where the bad guy explains the plot and then gets caught," he said sneeringly. "Suffice to say, none of us are getting younger and I need a pension."

"And your son?" Stoick asked quietly. Spitelout laughed.

"He's an idiot!" he scorned. "He was given ample chances to join me but he keeps blathering on about 'Uncle Stoick' and how he wants to be a hero, just like you." Spitelout's ice blue eyes narrowed. "I might have known, older brother: it was always about you, wasn't it? Your own child is a pathetic, useless weakling runt so you steal my boy for your own!"

"So you turn to Alvin and cause so much trouble? The injuries? The deaths?" Stoick asked. Spitelout narrowed his eyes and took one pace closer.

"He's right," he sneered, staring along the barrel of the gun. "We control weapons of unbelievable power and stealth and we should rule with them-but instead, we hide in a mountain and just foray out when corrupt politicians and businessmen tell us! Well, guess what, brother: I got a better offer!"

"You killed Ozzie."

"Dagur demanded it," Spitelout said easily. "He would have uncovered us too soon. But even with that, your little runt had to stick his nose in. Shame Dacre didn't finish him when he had the chance."

"He never had a chance," Stoick said faintly. Spitelout smiled.

"Never mind, when Alvin gets him, Dagur will really have some fun with him. You never believed him, did you? You never listened to your own son. And you dismissed your son's pleas and fears of traitors out of hand and told my men to interrogate him. But I watched on the monitors as they tortured your boy for the location of his dragon in this very base and erased the main tapes. It wasn't a civilised interrogation, Stoick, despite what I told you all-it was cold and it was brutal and it was very bloody. You even visited and shouted at the boy to give the dragon up and stop resisting, not seeing his bruises and his broken fingers and his pain. And all the while, Dagur was on the base, breaking your boy, piece by piece. Beating him, whipping him, breaking his bones and his spirit. You know, I think he probably blames you for that? You were in charge. Is it any wonder he ran?"

"It's over, Spitelout," Stoick said quietly. "We know everything..."

"Then you know nothing!" The Colonel gave a smile. "Good bye, brother. At least everyone will be used to you being dead so there shouldn't be any worries when you actually turn up dead now."

"Drop it, Dad!" Snotlout's voice was steady but shocked. The young soldier emerged from the side of the garage, his weapon levelled and ready. Spitelout flicked his icy gaze to his brother.