Beowulf:

Curse of the Dreygurs

GORDON BREWER

A Monster Slayer Book

This book is a work of fiction.  Any references to historical events, people, or real places are used fictitiously.  All characters in this book are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

First Edition

Thorn Bishop Press

Text Copyright © 2016 Shannon G Brewer

All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form.

ISBN-10:  1-945590-04-1

ISBN-13:  978-1-945590-04-7

Cover Illustration Art © SelfPubBookCovers.com/ktarrier

Amazon Version

DEDICATION

I dedicate this work to any person who found inspiration in the epic poem upon which this book is VERY loosely based.  I hope you find this North Sea world, where monsters and warriors meet in deadly duels, to be a place worthy of the honor and sacrifice displayed by the greatest of fighters; Beowulf.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

A special thanks to my son, Teige, who spent part of a summer break as my beta reader and editor.  To my wife, I thank you for your steadfast support of my crazy ideas.

Introduction

History, sometimes lost in the mists of time, may eventually reveal themselves in obscure manuscripts.  Such is this tale of a young Beowulf.  Found inside the crumbling walls of soon to be demolished schoolhouse, the partially damaged work called the Codex Lyge Gēatas provides the first glimpses into the early years.  Known as the Book of Lying Geats, the work was written by Sigibert, an unknown monk who trained under the Celtic priest, St. Columbanus.  This Codex follows the adventures of Beowulf during his travels around the North Sea many years before he is the leader of the Geats.  Fantastic adventures of the young warrior help fill in the missing pieces of great king’s early years.

The following excerpt comes from one of Sigibert’s letters found in the Codex.

To the holy Lords and Fathers or Brothers in Christ, the Bishops, Priests, and remaining Orders of Holy Church, I, Sigibert, the sinner, forward Greeting in Christ.

I render thanks to my God that for my sake so many holy men have been gathered together to treat of the truth of faith and good works. Moreover, as befits such, to judge of the matters under dispute with a just view of this Codex to which the exploits of the Geat King Beowulf laid forth as I may recall them with my unworthy memory.  While this leader’s pagan past is known throughout the lands of the north, my brother monks have begun to take these adventurous tales to lay on parchment the foundation of our great faith among the local wretches.   These stories of great courage and fortitude in which the Geats destroy many hellish creatures that roam the lands, doing the devil’s work, plant a seed of waking in the infertile minds where we travel.  Carrying a sword called bjollugæti (giant killer), blessed and banded by the words of Christ on the blade, a pagan and his followers unknowingly follow God’s work to create a path spreading the gospels among the heathens.  Our monks assist this effort, by hurling these arrows, as it were, of earnest prayers to help the people in their need to find the faith. By showing the power of our Lord’s sword in the hands of this great pagan, we receive great tidings of goodwill and blessed events.

Fathers, pray for us as we also do for you, wretched though we may be; for we are all joint members of one body under the Lord, whether Angle or Dane or whatever our race be. Let all our races rejoice in the comprehension of faith and the fear of the Son of God.

First letter reference: The Codex Lyge Gēatas written to the Papal Council by Sigibert in AD551.

CHAPTER 1

THE LAND OF ANGLES

Let whoever can win glory before death. When a warrior is gone, that will be his best and only bulwark.

- From the poem of Beowulf

It was the dead of night across the lands of Bernicia when the oxen in the pen began to snort and bellow, their increasing alarm waking a man from his sleep.  Inside the small structure nearby, the gebur jumped out of bed and threw on his long brown woolen tunic over his wool pants.  From the noise the animals made, the farmer decided to take extra protection as he quickly slid in his seax or long knife into the leather belt fastened around his waist.

“Stay with the children,” he told his wife who woke at his movements and the noise outside.  As a freeholder of the land, the gebur prepared to fight off what he suspected were a pack of wolves prowling in the area.  Gathering several long rushes dipped in animal fat that sat in a clay pot, he lit them from the still hot coals in the hearth which sat in the center of the round home.  After the small batch of rushes caught fire, the small farmer quickly exited his house, instinctively ducking to miss the low-hanging crossbeam at the top of the doorway.

Outside, his nose wrinkled at the foul stench that filled the night air.  The smell reminded him of dead carrion, and he wondered what the wolves might have found.  It was winter and the wolf packs were known to dig up the shallow graves of humans.  However, there were no burials near his farm and the wolves usually dispensed with the cadaver long before returning to the forest.  Despite the threat of the wolves, the farmer knew they would be hesitant to attack someone holding fire.  He crossed the open yard to the pens, feeling the cold, hard ground through his leather shoes.  In the dim light given off by the rushes, he could see his breath and the outline of the pen.  Getting closer he saw the three oxen running back and forth in the small pen.  Their wide eyes showed their panic at the smell which overwhelmed strong odor from the oxen dung from the crowded pen. The man tried to calm the beasts, softly talking to them about the green grass of spring when he reached the split log fence.  He put his foot on the bottom rail, about to crawl over when he heard the nearly silent movement behind him.

Suddenly, there was the harsh cracking sound of wood splintering, along with the terrified screams of his wife. The farmer turned to see a dim outline of men by home, pushing through the door.  Enraged and alarmed, the man sprinted back to his house, pulling his dagger from his belt.  When he closed in on one of the men entering through the doorway, he raised his hand and drove the long blade of the knife into the rusting chainmail covering the man’s back.  To the gebur’s shock, the man did not fall.  Instead, the seax still embedded in its back, the figure turned.  The blue light coming from the chest of the armed creature revealed an evil skeletalface under a rusted helmet, the open jaw filled with large animal-like teeth.  Letting out a terrified scream, the farmer tried to back away, but the dead creatures gathered around him.  Like a wolf pack, the monsters pulled the man down, ignoring his pitiful cries for help, their savage bites quickly silenced his cries.  Screams and cries coming from inside the building stopped right after, and the undead feasted upon warm corpses.  When the monsters finished, some of the inhuman beings slowly continued their walk along the trail heading to the nearby village.  A few of the creatures trudged toward the pen where the oxen frantically struggled to escape through the fence.  After a while, the bellows of the victims stopped, and an eerie quiet fell upon the surrounding countryside.  Soon, the blood covered nightmares shuffled after their comrades, an army to prey upon the living.

~~~

It was a cold, bright morning on a winter morning they reached Bernicia.  Beowulf listened to his men complaining about the chill and lack of fire.  He glanced at the men while he saddled his horse, observing their reactions while the men milled about the hard packed road.  Waiting was not something that came easily to the group of warriors or their leader.  Dressed in dark leather plated armor that lay over the top of his finely woven mail shirt, Beowulf hardly noticed the cold, protected by his woolen undershirt and breeches.  Turning to look at the dock again, he tapped the fingers of his right hand on the leather wrapping of his single edge sword, which he called Nægling.  It was a habit which signaled the man grew irritated by the complaints he heard.

At first glance, Beowulf looked much too young to lead his group of fighters.  His clean-shaven appearance, combined with a slightly pockmarked face gave Beowulf an appearance of a young assistant, not a leader of such noble warriors as his thegns, each of warrior blood like himself.  Only his piercing green eyes and attitude showed the depth of his fierce temper and dignified demeanor.  He was only seventeen years old, but his strong, muscular frame and ability to wield a sword helped convince his followers that he was an atheling, a leader of noble blood.  While some within his tribe considered him too young to be a champion for the king of the Geats, Beowulf shook off such thinking as jealousy.  A hero did not listen to the words of those who were envious of his achievements.  Already well-known within the Geat tribes, he understood that heroic deeds solidified a person’s standing with the Witan or council of leaders.   And he was intent on becoming a renowned hero of the Geats.

Scowling, he tried to ignore the stiff breeze whipping his long dark brown hair back into his face.  It made it hard to focus on his options.  There was no escort waiting as they expected.  In fact, there was no one on the pier at all.  His own knar, as the Geats called their cargo ships, strained against the ropes from the wind.  Tied at the end of the pier, the ship floated high above two trading ships docked alongside.  Both appeared abandoned.  Yet, supplies remained unloaded upon their decks and, on the dock, boxes containing foodstuffs were exposed to the freezing conditions.  Something was clearly wrong.

Beowulf heard someone laughing and turned to scan his men.  It was Osberht telling silly jokes to the fighters, and the Geat leader gave a brief smile.  He considered the men to be the best warriors in the North, equally skilled at fighting or sailing.  He was justified in such praise when he thought the nearly flawless navigation and sailing during their journey to this desolate stretch of Bernicia.  Over the two weeks of hugging the coast as they moved through the cold North Sea, sailing past the home of King Ida in Bamburgh.  His men used their skills as excellent seamen to guide the single sail vessel to the river channel.  They used their strength as oarsmen propelled the large craft upstream where they muscled the ship around in the lazy current of the Tynemouth River to dock at the tip of the pier.

Now they waited.  After he and his warriors had unloaded their horses, they packed the animals with weapons and supplies, each man occasionally looking over at the quiet village.  As they looked for things to do to relieve the growing boredom, the men glanced at Beowulf, wondering why he did not send one of them to scout ahead into the village.

Beowulf turned back to the shoreline and looked up at the isolated old Roman battlements of Caer Urfa.  He did not send out a scout immediately after they arrived so he would not to inadvertently insult his host who might be coming late.  However, his observations of the hill overlooking them showed the fortress carried no flags, and only birds watched them from along the parapet.   His eyes turned their focus to the tree-obscured road leading to the village that lay just over the rise in the distance.  He could see no movement of men or animal.  It was eerily silent, and he had to admit that a shiver of dread struck him as he walked along the dock.  No merchants or slaves came from the few nearby buildings to greet his boat arriving at the dock.  While he and his men did not expect a joyous welcome to these lands, any ship arriving at this port would find curious onlookers at the cargo to be found aboard.  But the lack of anyone at the dock left the young man wondering about their next steps.  He quickly sent a couple of men to look around the small huts setting along the shore near the dock.

The Geat leader once again surveyed the brown and green landscape, taking note of scattered trees and brush filling the land along the river. He stroked the side of his horse’s neck as he considered his options, trying to ignore the chatter behind him.  But the complaints of his men caused the young Geat noble to grow more upset with each gust of wind, forcing him to keep his temper under control.  As a member of the king’s family, he knew control of one’s emotions was a part of becoming a great leader.  Beowulf also understood his quick temper could be a weakness at times.  Forcing his attention back to the road, he realized it was the lack of sound coming from the village that bothered him.  It was too quiet, he decided.  Even the birds lacked their usual revelry in the morning air.

After his men had returned from their inspection of the nearby buildings, they reported no one was around and nothing appeared to be out of place.  Gathering around to listen in on the conversation, the warriors turned away, talking among themselves.  Some of the men started sharpening their weapons with their small grinding stones they carried while others retightened their saddles or fed their steeds for the upcoming journey.

Thinking about his distant uncle, Beowulf believed it unusual for King Ida to meet with him at Caer Urfa.  It was on the northern outskirts of the Bernician kingdom, many days ride from Ida’s home in Bamburgh.  Everyone in the North Sea knew King Ida held only a tenuous grip in the borderlands around his kingdom, very near to this place.  It made more sense for the Angles and Geats to meet in Bamburgh fortress.  It also bothered Beowulf that he had little idea of the danger which might lie before them.  When he received word of trouble in the northern kingdom held by the Angles, Beowulf jumped at the chance for adventure.  However, now as he had time to think about it, he realized he should have asked for more details.

“Well, too late to worry about that now,” he thought to himself as he took another long look at the dilapidated remnants of the fort perched on the cliff above.  It appeared abandoned.  Even a lazy king would station lookouts in the fort above to carry word of any foreign ship arrivals.  And he knew better of King Ida.  Stories filled the halls about the wily and experienced fighter, known as Flamdwyn, or Flame-bearer.  Ida was well known throughout the lands of the North Sea as the Angle, who drove King Morcant Bulc from Bernician land.  No king with such mettle would leave this fort unattended along his northern water boundary into his lands.

The young warrior recalled the advice given by his own King Heardred, ruler of the Geats.

“Do not forget the Brythonian enemies surrounding Ida’s lands,” King Heardred reminded Beowulf before the warrior left.  The young king told his champion about the many rivalries within the lands of Rheged and other nearby lands.  The Angles were not welcomed.  Recent invaders, the tribes of Angles, Saxons, and Jutes defeated many of the the native clans of this North Sea land.  Forced out by the Angles, the Brythonians held deep grudges against King Ida and his people.  Nearly lost in thought, Beowulf heard the soft footsteps coming from behind him.

“It appears your friends have forgotten us,” said Weohstan stepping next to his leader.  The bulky warrior was a gedriht, like the rest of Beowulf’s followers, fighters sworn to die in combat.  A powerful man who feared little, Weohstan carried a quiet but cocky manner.  Even though only slightly older, he was also one of his closest confidantes to the young leader.

Beowulf grunted, his eyes surveying his men before he shook his head.  “I don’t believe so.  Although he is old, my uncle is not feeble minded.  He is not one to seek us out by special messenger, only to leave us at the docks of this small village.  You know as well as I do that the Angles would not insult our king in such a way.  If he said he would be here, I believe him.”  He turned to his friend as he patted the shoulder of his horse lightly.

“The question remains, why he directed us to meet him here.  It still puzzles me.  Something is wrong.  We’ve seen no ships have gone by on this river since our arrival, not even fishermen going out for the daily catch.”

Weohstan nodded in agreement.  “It appears abandoned and looks like some pestilence came through.  I fear some dark deeds may be at work.”  His friend sniffed the wind. “You don’t have to be a great monster slayer to recognize there is blood in the air. The horses are spooked.  The wind is whipping around too much to find the source of death, but I’ll wager it comes from the silent village.  We should have sent over a couple of men to scout the area.”

The leader of the thegns nodded as he let the pointed jest against him slide.  “Perhaps you’re right.  However, I hoped my uncle was only slightly delayed.  Now, I believe we’ve waited long enough.  Let’s go investigate this silent place.”

He knew his older friend enjoyed the reaction of others after the bearded warrior slung his sharp words on occasion.  It amused Weohstan to take a jab at the Geat leader who he considered nearly a younger brother, and, at times, treated him as such.  Beowulf might have resented the comments, but he valued Weohstan and his role as mentor, allowing the man to say things others would never dare.  And Beowulf understood Weohstan’s jab.  Since Beowulf destroyed the Piast, a sea monster which attacked Geat villages a season before, Beowulf’s fame spread across the North Sea into the lands of friend and foes.  But the stocky Weohstan held no ill towards his leader’s growing recognition.  Loyalty, devotion, and kinship were the code lived by the warriors.  The men who followed Beowulf received little attention despite their vital role.  When the scobs, as the minstrels were called, sang the great stories of heroes around the lodge fires, thegns seldom received attention.  Only an outstanding act of heroism elevated a warrior above others, especially over those nobles of a higher class.  Yet, Beowulf knew he could depend on upon the fierce allegiance of his men to follow him and whatever causes he might choose for them.  It was the way of the Geats and the way of those who came with him.

Beowulf placed his leather boot into the stirrup of his high-backed saddle.  “Well, enough of the waiting.  It is our good fortune to have a fine sunny day.  Come, we will go find my uncle and his warriors who must have lost their way.” Swinging himself on to the great horse, Beowulf smiled to himself at the jest.

His action immediately sent his men to their own tall mounts.  As intended by King Hrethel, the man who fostered Beowulf for many years, the large horses were a symbol of Geat power.  Beowulf and his men appeared as giants on the large animals, towering over the smaller horses ridden in this land.  Patting his mount’s neck, Beowulf fondly remembered when his king brought the mounts into Geatland from areas far south, sending a ship filled with fine bronze weapons in exchange for the animals.  The Geat king recognized the value of the horse, telling Beowulf the animals would display power and prestige since each imported animal stood several hands taller than the native horses around the North Sea.  When combined with the leather armor covering the mounts, the mounted warrior and horse were an impressive display, intended to dominate rival tribes and clans of the Northlands.

Despite his shorter height among his compatriots, the young man looked the part of a warrior atop his horse.  His broad shoulders and strong arms, built from years of training using all types of bronze and iron weapons, allowed Beowulf to easily carry the leather and chain armor, which hung low on his body to cover vital areas.  The man put on his helmet of iron, which held long cheek-plates running down on both sides of his face along with a long, thin nose-guard covering the front area of his face.  A chainmail curtain covered his neck providing extra protection, and it was a characteristic of his tribe’s helmets.  At the top of his helmet crest, the sculpted figure of a boar invoked the god Freyr for protection during combat.  Properly outfitted for any enemy, Beowulf set off for the village.

As their leader passed them, his men lined up behind him, adding the noise of their mount’s hoofs to the clattering echoes filling the still air as he led them from the wooden dock onto the old cobblestone road.  The trail was well worn from many years of traffic at this ancient stopping point.  Empty carts lined the area closest to the path, indicating the village was a trade center for many goods in the nearby area.

Over a small crest of the ancient river bank, the short ride quickly stopped when they came upon an abandoned two-wheel cart in the middle of the road, still filled with goods.  Suspicious, two of the men drew close to inspect the wagon, sliding off their mounts.  As the fighters started to pull it out of the way, Osberht noticed the yoke leather ripped from the cart.  Picking up the blood stained leather harness which hooked the animal to the wagon, he held it up for the others to see.  Weohstan pointed out the large dark stains of dried blood on the ground around the front of the wagon.  Beowulf said nothing, but he sent two of his men to move into position along either side of the road to look for other signs before leading the rest his men into the town.

The group of men rode on, rounding a bend in the road, where they discovered the remains of a small shop.  Located just off the road, the smoldering ruins were nestled in a thin, semicircle grove of trees.  The scorched, blackened walls still stood, while occasional whiffs of white smoke rose only to be blown away by the gusting wind.  The Geat leader sent Sigibert to check the rubble and watch with some amusement when the young man jumped down from his mount, nearly tripping from excitement at his task.

The young man quickly covered the area, stopping near the corner of a standing wall.  He bent down and pulled on a charred piece of wool cloth.  The sight he revealed caused the man to gasp, giving the sign of the cross as he mumbled a prayer under his breath.  Osberht immediately jumped down from his brown horse, running to see the cause of Sigibert’s reaction, all the while the warrior was mocking the God’s thegn as they called him for his diffidence.  Suddenly, Osberht stopped in his tracks when he saw the body in the rubble.

“Well, what did you find?” yelled Beowulf impatiently.

Osberht’s pale face looked up, “It was a young child, I think.”  Sigibert peered at the remains while still giving a prayer in Latin, a language which none of the others understood.

“What do you mean? Is it a child or not?”

Sigibert looked up. “It is hard to say.  It appears something ripped apart and ate much of the body.  There’s not much left of the poor thing, but the clothing remains.”  Osberht nodded in agreement.  While both men viewed death and butchery before, neither expected half eaten remains inside the burned out building.  Sigibert stood and stepped his way carefully through the debris, returning to his horse.  Osberht looked around for a moment and followed the monk out of the rubble.

“Well, some scavengers must have been scrounging around, a wolf pack perhaps,” suggested Weohstan.  “They might have gotten the oxen as well.”

Aeschere, sitting on his gray mare, overheard the words and shook his head.  “I’ve never heard of a wolf pack able to destroy a home.  No pack of animals would be entering a house to burn it down.  Besides, where are the bodies of the oxen?  Wolves can’t carry off something that large.”

“Well, we can sit here and speculate till the winds of Thunor come, or we can go find out from the Angle leader of this land,” said Beowulf impatiently, scowling as he considered the mystery around him.  “Whatever caused this is probably part of the reason my uncle has failed to meet us here.  No doubt he is hunting down the culprits as we speak.”

Sigibert asked Beowulf if he could bury the remains of the child.  Beowulf gave a perplexed look to the monk as he slowly nodded his head.  This child was not worthy of such a ritual.  Those unable to reach hebanwang, as paradise was called, would often be left to the elements.  Burial of the dead was grand endeavor where ships would be burned or high mounds built as gateways to the gods.  It was a ritual only for the noble and worthy dead, such as warriors.

“Very well,” the Geat leader looked over to Osberht who was rolling his eyes at Sigibert’s suggestion.  “Osberht can stay with the monk.  I want someone to keep a sharp eye out since we’re not sure what happened here.”

The Geat leader caught the flash of animosity directed at Sigibert, but the warrior reluctantly nodded his head. Beowulf knew the two men were often at loggerheads, and he quickly decided that Osberht would learn to work with monk whether he liked it or not.  While smirks and remarks were flung at Osberht, Beowulf dug his heels into the black mare’s flanks, forcing the rest of his men into a race to catch up with him.

When the group entered the village, the first small house revealed a gaping hole where the front door should be.  Barely hanging on its hinges, parts of the wood remained, but most of the weathered oak planks were scattered on the ground.  It was evident to all that heavy blows, backed by strong arms, were used to smash through the door.

Aeschere suddenly noticed tracks near the road in the mud.  “These prints are not animals, but men,” he exclaimed as he pointed the tracks out to the others.  “Look, the footprints and the lines along the prints; it appears several men move toward the building, and they seem to be dragging off something when they leave.”

“There is something wrong with those footprints,” said observed Weohstan.  “Each print appears to struggle with each step; the marks show the shuffle of an old man.”

“Very strange,” Beowulf agreed, pausing for a moment.  “But we now understand that men did this.  Probably the Brythonians came across the river overnight. Let us push on.”

He turned to Weohstan, “I want some men sent out to cover the outskirts around the village and meet us in the center.  Look for any signs and let me know if anybody is found.”  The young leader spurred his horse back to the trail, quickly moving forward.  Pointing to the men as he followed his leader’s instructions, Weohstan sent four riders several paces off either side of the path.  Then, he had the others follow him.

Riding past more of the small wooden hovels with thatch roofs, the riders found the same signs of violence and the occasional bloody footprints on the hard packed soil.  They reached the public square, which was nothing more than an old well in the center of a crossing point for wider roads leading in and out of the village.  A small feasting hall stood near the crossroads with its large entrance doors were broken down.  One door swung in the wind, creaking with each gust.  Weohstan jumped from his horse, running up the steps to look inside.

Inside the great room, he recoiled instinctively, struck by the foul stench of death.  He found the bloody remains of bodies scattered across the large open room.  The hardened warrior, shocked by the sight, backed out of the entrance.  He told those riding up about the discovery.  Beowulf slid down from his mount, taking the few wooden steps up to the entrance.  Curiosity caught most of the others and they quickly followed their leader.  Weohstan decided he had seen enough, moving to tie off the mounts which grew nervous from the smell in the village.  The fighter knew well the raw violence and brutal killings during the slaughter of battle.  However, such experience did not stop his disgust for what he saw in the hall.  In battle, at least, a warrior had the opportunity to save himself with his weapon and cunning.  It was evident the poor victims inside had little to defend themselves beyond a few sticks and clubs.  It was a massacre, not a fight.

Beowulf and his men spent time slowly wandering across the thick oak planks as they observed the death within the lodge.  It was worse than the Geat leader expected.  It was as bad as some of the nightmares they remembered after their battles.  Most of the bodies were mangled, ripped apart by some type of being with immense strength.  It was hard to identify either man or woman from the limbs strewn across the wood floor.  Other parts of bodies bore the bite marks of animals with large pieces of missing flesh.  Whatever came to this place, killed the inhabitants, then ate the dead, maybe even the living.  As people skilled in the tools of battle, none of the fighters could understand what type of men could tear apart other men and eat their remains.  The oldest warrior, a man named Ecgberht, who calmly walked through the gore, stating the world of the giants must have come into the world of humans.  A look at the man’s expression showed he believed what he said.

Beowulf suddenly noticed no Angle warriors were among the dead.  The shredded clothes showed only simple farmers and merchants families in the hall.  He decided the villagers must have tried to hold out inside the strongest building during the attack but to no avail.  As the young leader attempted to recreate the brutal battle which occurred during the night, Beowulf was struck by the fact that no bodies of the attackers lay on the floor.  He believed it must have meant the attackers took their dead with them.  Or worst, none of the attackers were destroyed.  Finally deciding there was nothing more to be learned, he left the hall even more determined to find King Ida.

He said nothing to his men when he climbed on his horse, looking around the quiet town.  Weohstan asked if anyone spotted other signs of the creatures on their way into the village.

Ecgberht, the best tracker, grunted and shook his head.  “Only the tracks we saw were coming into the hamlet from the same direction they left.  They follow the road heading west as it follows the path of the river.”  He pointed as he spoke the others who nodded in agreement.

As his man spoke, Beowulf noticed Sigibert and Osberht riding up after finishing their burial task. Their clothes showing the dirt from their digging.  The expressions on the men’s faces told them all they needed to know about what lay in the building.  Sigibert quickly asked if he should bury the bodies, but the leader said no.  The atheling loudly told his men they would set fire to the hall when they left the village.

“This hamlet is gone.  The people fought valiantly against their enemies, and they will be honored for such a fight.  It will be up to Angles to populate this area again.”

He turned to Sigibert.  “You know this country.  Where does this road lead?”  He pointed at the trail the footprints led.

The young man looked around, his voice quiet.  He was not used to being the center of attention.  “That would be to Segedunum,” he told them.  “There is another old fort there as well, which lies off this old Roma road.  It’s just a few leagues away; we can reach it before the sun reaches…. um…. it's height.”  The monk caught himself from using the Latin term ‘Sext,' or Sixth Hour.  He remained careful in using such foreign words around Beowulf and his pagan thegns since the Geat leader remained suspicious of the monk’s beliefs.  He remembered what his bishop, Columbanus, told him, Sigibert would bide his time among the infidels, learning about them and their ways.

“I want you to take a few men to look at the fort,” Beowulf pointed to Hrethric and Aeschere when turned to Weohstan.  “If you find anything important, send a message back to us.  Otherwise, follow us to this place called Segedunum.  It appears it should be easy to find if you follow the road.”

Beowulf watched the two warriors join Weohstan, galloping off toward the fort before he turned his steed “Sigibert, you will lead the rest of us to this village.”  He noticed the young monk sliding behind in deference to him. The warrior glared at him.

“I told you to scout ahead, now get up there.  It’s time to earn your keep with the group.” The monk immediately galloped ahead of the group, his face growing red at the rebuke. When he got several horse lengths in front, the monk slowed to keep the band behind him in sight.

Beowulf heard a few of the men chuckle when Osberht said something under his breath.  The leader turned in his saddle, catching Osberht’s smug smile.  He knew that warrior’s sarcastic nature was a way to keep the spotlight on him.  As the younger brother of Weohstan, the man wanted to live up to his brothers’ fame in battle.  But Beowulf decided the young warrior needed another lesson.

“Osberht, since our young God thegn wears no armor, I want you to join him and make sure he doesn’t get lonely.  I suspect your armor and wicked tongue should be protection enough for the two of you.”  Beowulf did not bother to look back.  There was a smattering of laughter, and the Geat leader could hear the angry man dig his heels into his mount, sending the horse into a gallop past him.  He watched with some satisfaction as Osberht quickly reached their scout, pulling in next to Sigibert.  Beowulf could imagine the sarcastic comments directed at the young monk.

While Sigibert was thin with an almost timid demeanor at times, he would stand up against the massive, overbearing Osberht when he mocked the young monks’ beliefs.  Beowulf thought the two thegns could pass as quarreling brothers, if not for the difference in their looks and stature.

Despite King Heardred’s distrust of the monk and his religion, Beowulf believed in the young man.  The monk came from a noble warrior stock and showed exceptional sword skills during battle.  The monk also knew how to read and write in many languages, a rare commodity in the North Sea.  Traveling among the many diverse tribes and fiefdoms outside his native Geat land, Beowulf learned the hard way such people were valuable to him.

“A good king learns from all those around him.” The warrior recalled the words of Ecgtheow, his father.

“He doesn’t seem to learn,” Ecgberht spoke quietly, bringing Beowulf out of his thoughts.  The old warrior steered his mount alongside his leader after setting the mead hall ablaze.  The men watched the spreading fire for a moment before turning their horses and trotting out of the small town.

“No, he has a thick skull,” agreed Beowulf, smiling as he thought of Weohstan’s brother.  “Fortunately, it’s saved him a couple of times in battles.”  He heard the old warrior smirk at the jest.  Ecgberht remained next to Beowulf, and the young fighter realized his comrade wished to talk.

“I always wondered why the monk joins us,” remarked the old warrior in characteristic bluntness.  “He is fearless in battle, but acts like a eunuch among the men.”

“We’re not used to his ways,” Beowulf told him diplomatically.  “While he appears meek, King Heardred said that Sigibert’s father was a mighty warrior named Clinoch who was the scourge of Bernicia.  I heard his father fought against King Ida at some point before dying young.  Sigibert is the youngest son.”

The old warrior chuckled, then spat.  “The seed appears to have fallen far from the tree.”

Beowulf suppressed an urge to defend the young monk.  He realized he must balance the personalities within his group, knowing Ecgberht had little thought for anything beyond the warrior way.  Plus, the old fighter remained a guiding influence within the group.  The aging warrior, who was older than any man he knew, came from an unlikely background.  Ecgberht was once a slave.  Unable to pay a debt caused by his family, the fierce and resourceful warrior pulled himself out his low status, eventually becoming a free man.  Such a deed was highly respected among the Geats.  Beowulf knew his people valued the man’s skill and wise words.  Most of the time, the Geat leader agreed with the advice given by Ecgberht.

“Have you any ideas about what happened in the village?” asked Beowulf.

“Only myths that I’ve heard,” said the old warrior.  “I don’t believe myths.”

“I didn’t really believe in monsters until our first adventure against the Piast outside our village.  You saw that creature.  Now, as we go into other lands, don’t you believe that mythical beasts must exist?    I think our gods enjoy putting such fiends in the world for us.  How else can one become known as a hero?”  Beowulf stared ahead, wondering what the old warrior was thinking.

“I heard many sad tales from a kinsman when I was younger.  I remember the man,a scop captured by the Picts, told us one story about this land.  The storyteller said creatures would come from the mounds to wipe out towns.  This man claimed the creature was greatly feared by the blue people in the Northlands.”  The old warrior went quiet again, leaving the air filled with the sound of the mounts plodding hoof beats and their occasional snorts.

“And?” asked the leader.  At times, Ecgberht could be infuriating with his sparse words.

“This storyteller called them dreygur which meant after-walker,” said the man.  “It seems these dead creatures attacked the Picts of the Northlands and other native tribes in the area.  I remember he claimed the monsters were used by the dwarves to wreak havoc on the living.  Some of the stories about dead criminals and evil warriors who come back to hunt down living.  They come in revenge for past wrongs or the bodies are sent by powerful sorcerers.”

Beowulf thought about what his comrade told him.  Although he never heard of these after-walkers, for the Picts to be afraid of something impressed him.  However, the man knew a lot about the little creatures, called Dweorgars by his people.  The inhabitants of the underworld enjoyed inflicting misery and violence upon humans.   They were nasty little human like creatures with large heads and brutish features with formidable magic, often creating talismans for humans.  Because of their keen sense of treasure, the dweorgars often broke into the tombs of humans where the little people would feast upon the corpses after stealing any valuables. Dwarves were notorious for craving gold beyond rational thinking.  The creatures also carried an evil lust for human women.  Stories of the bards told of the women who would be captured if they strayed too near the dwarves’ gateways to their underground homes.

As the Geat thought about the dwarves, he remembered one story concerning their underground doorways in the mountains which a hero of the tale used to enter the afterworld.  However, entrance only came by giving a gold token to the little creatures.  The problem was a person could never be sure where they might send the human.  Sometimes, devious underground mazes devised by the creatures became deathtraps for the individual who gave up their gold to enter the underworld.  The atheling tried to remain unconvinced, assuming the stories he heard as a youth were only half right.  He remembered how many of the old warriors were men given to grand tales meant to impress the young ones.

“It doesn’t seem to match what I saw in the mead hall,” countered the Geat warrior as he carefully guided his horse down the rocky slope near the river’s edge.  The trail followed the edge of a small forest, which came up next to the level bank next to the river.

“The scop sang about dreygurs, who had the strength to rip apart cattle.  I remember the tale scared the young ones in the house of my master.  After-walkers who devour the flesh of those they hunt and that the monsters stank of the grave.” Ecgberht seemed lost in thought for a moment as he recalled the sad song of the bard.   “What they could not eat, they carried back to their graves where they would consume the flesh.  The undead must be people who were unworthy of Neorxnawong, either bandits, cowards, and traitors.  Once awakened, they cannot die unless cut down by a real warrior.” Adjusting himself in the saddle, he looked back to his leader, the old warrior’s eyes revealing his worry despite the scorn he heaped on the story.

“Like I said, it is a fable,” the warrior concluded.

Beowulf nodded as he went over Ecgberht’s words.  If men unworthy to reach the shining realm of Neorxnawong were condemned to rot in the lower dominion, why not these Dreygurs.  However, the thought of going against an unknown army of two underworld creatures bothered him more than he was willing to admit.

“We’ll know soon enough when we reach the next village.  Perhaps they have a knowledge of your myths,” the Geat noble hoped aloud.  Ecgberht grunted his response as the sun fell behind thick clouds.

As the ride continued, Beowulf turned his gaze to the stone path they traveled.  The road showed far more construction skill than the Geats used.  As his eyes followed the path, he paid closer attention to the solid wall of stone that ran with the road.  Beowulf tried to remember some of the stories about the long-dead people who built the many paths and structures in this land and others in the region.  However, a burst of cold wind gripped at him, causing him to shiver.

The winter breath of wind felt colder with the loss of the sun.  While covered by thick layers of overlapping black leather plates on top of the finely woven chain mail armor, Beowulf felt the chill cutting through his woolen garments.  The winter cold was biting as the north winds pushing through would soon make the ground rock hard overnight.  He hoped they would find the village soon.

It was near middæg, or midday when Weohstan, Hrethric, and Aeschere finally caught up with the rest of the band after completing their search of the fort back at Caer Urfa.  They reported finding only bloodstains and weapons discarded during an apparent fight.  The other warriors looked at each other.  Weohstan told Beowulf that his men gathered a few supplies they could find.  Their leader nodded, still wrapped in his thoughts.

Overhanging limbs from the trees obscured some of the landscape, but Ecgberht noticed the frantic waving from Sigibert ahead of the core fighters.  Beowulf and Weohstan galloped forward to the scouts.  From the forward vantage point, they could see the town of Segedunum just in sight.  The men waited until the rest of the thegns joined them before moving to the outskirts of a village.  Soon they found the charred remains of more huts scattered along the road.  Beowulf was about to send his scouts around the outside of the hamlet when Swidhun noticed movement along the road.  A man walked toward them holding a pole above his head which flew a green flag, the color symbolic of Ida.  Beowulf instantly galloped with his men to the figure who stopped near the middle of the village.  When they reached the warrior, the group saw the man’s ripped and bloodstained clothes.

“We see you bear the colors of King Ida.  I am Beowulf of the Geats.  Give me some good news of my uncle.  You look in a terrible state.”

“My lord is in the fort above,” reported the man, disregarding the comment about his clothes as he pointed to the road leading past the village.  “He awaits your arrival.”

“We will go there now.  You are welcome to the back of a horse.”

“No, my lord.  I will remain here until nightfall.”  The warrior’s eyes revealed his concern at the thought, but Beowulf did not bother to ask about it.  A warrior had his duties to perform.  He guessed he would learn more when they reached his uncle.  The atheling nodded to the guard, kicking his heels into the flanks of his mount as he galloped on through the small town.

As the men hurried through, they saw the same signs of destruction as they witnessed earlier that day.  With doors burst open and significant slices cut through the wood and lathe walls, the thegns guessed the enemy must have been using hatchets and axes.  The group came across one small building with its thatched roof caved in.  It seemed like a giant hand pushed the roof down between the four walls.  The group of warriors came to an ancient stone bridge which allowed them across the Tynemouth River.  As they followed the trail up to a low-slung fort situated on an embankment next to the river, they found their first dead Angle warrior. Clad in similar armor like the warriors on horseback, the body was missing its head and limbs.  A few paces away they came upon the rest of the dead man’s remains.  It appeared something tore the warrior apart.  Closer to the fort, the group came upon more Angle warrior bodies strewn across the trail.  The team moved past the ghastly sights slowly, looking at the damage inflicted on the men while their horses snorted a growing fear in the blood and death that filled the air.  The fighters observed the aftermath of a battlefield, unlike anything they ever experienced.

“By the gods, what is that?” exclaimed Aeschere.  Beowulf over to see Sigibert give the sign of the cross while the other men stared at the thing beside the road.

A headless body lying chest up in the green grass was something that, at first, appeared to be a warrior.  However, the odd-looking leather and metal armor covering the body was unknown to the Geats.  The stench of death coming from the body sent chills through the horses, causing them to back away in a near panic.  Jumping down from his mount, Beowulf handed his reins to one of his men, and he was quickly joined by Aeschere and Ecgberht.  Coming close, they found a body which changed their ideas about the lands of Bernicia.

Once human, the corpse which lay across the road had a blue hue to its mummified skin, stretched tight across the exposed parts of the creature’s arms and legs.  An ancient breastplate, rusted through at points, covered the chest, matching the green tinged armor covering parts of the skeletal upper arms and lower legs.  Rotting remains of a wool cloak, draped down across to the other side of the body, clasped high on one shoulder by an elaborate pin.  Aeschere pointed out the gnarled fingers of the man, somehow elongated, now had long animal-like claws.  Ecgberht found an unusual rusted helmet lying nearby.  The helmet had a crest along the top, as well as neck guard behind and high cheek guards on either side. Reaching down, the old warrior picked up the green bronze only to have a mummified head tumble out on the ground.  The grotesque trophy appeared human as well.  However, with corpse-pale skin, tightly stretching over the noseless face, it was the face of a smiling demon.  It's opened eyes, dark and soulless, combined with animal teeth gave the men their first look at their hideous enemy.

Aeschere stared at the headless body, asking Beowulf if he knew about the type of unfamiliar armor the creature wore.  Beowulf shook his head, remaining quiet as Ecgberht tossed the helmet to the ground.

“I’ve seen such metalwork and swords before.”  Ecgberht kicked at the body with his foot before walking back to his horse.

“Where?” Sigibert asked, his impatience showing as he waited for the old warrior to respond.

Ecgberht slowly pulled himself up on his horse before he gave the monk a scowl, “If you knew your land, you would know this armor comes from the Romwarena.  The men who conquered these lands years ago.”  He looked back at the armor, before saying more.  “It doesn’t make any sense.”

“Why not,” Beowulf spoke up.

“I’ve heard the Romwarena always burned their dead.  And the armor I’ve always seen is handed down, reused by the Brythonians and other tribes of this land.  It’s valuable.  Except for the metal on this skeleton is long past useful, rusting and nearly worthless.”  Ecgberht scratched at his beard.

“So the armor must be from the land of Rome,” Sigibert agreed quietly.  “I remember a story of about ancient priests who stayed after the legions left.  They fought in this armor against the Picts along with the tribes who remained.”

Ecgberht spat on the ground. “Well, if the scops are right, these dead are not warriors but outlaws.  They must have found this old armor to use.  Still, this doesn’t explain how the dead walked here to die again,” the old warrior said.

“Let’s hope my uncle may have some ideas.”  Beowulf quickly got on his mount, impatiently waiting for his men before he led them to the fort.

Overlooking the river valley, the old remains of the fortress had a square ruin standing flat and squat on the ridge.  Extending from the main entrance were the gatehouse watchtowers where the crumbling walls ran along with the riverbank far along the hills in the distance.  While imposing at a distance, the Geats saw significant gaps in the walls from villagers removing the cut stone for other uses.  The walls of the main fort rose above them, and they could see two watchtowers at either end.  Parts of the gatehouse structure, near the top of the battlements, along with the walls, were gone, fallen over during the years since the Romwarena left.  Blocks of fallen stone were in piles around the base of the structure where the locals could retrieve them for their fences and buildings.  The massive, wooden gate doors, banded with iron, still remained.  However, the gates lay against the arched entrance, the brackets holding them now gone.  It was no longer a fortified spot for long forgotten warriors to defend the valley.  Instead, it became a place of their refuge.

Above them, the group noticed movement inside one of the towers as an Angle warrior stared down.  Several of King Ida’s warriors suddenly appeared in front of them.  Like their comrade in the village below, their armor and clothes were covered with bloodstains.  They held their weapons at the ready as Beowulf stopped his mount several paces in front of them.  He climbed down from his horse, approaching the men calmly.  These men appeared experienced, but they were on edge.

“This is not the welcome I expected from my uncle,” said Beowulf, his voice nearly a growl. “Your guard below knew of our coming from the village.  Now announce the arrival of Beowulf to your king.”

All the men but one quickly scurried back through the gate.  The atheling turned his head, nodding to his men who dismounted and followed him into the fort.  Weohstan stopped Sigibert, handing him his horse’s reins, ordering the young man to take the mounts to a protected spot within the walls.  The monk knew by the look and task that he was to stay out of the way of the other warriors.  Sighing, he took the reins, gathering up the other horses and led them inside, behind the group traveling past the gate.

Sigibert split from the others, taking their horses to a grassy area between several wooden buildings, each nothing more than a pile of rubble covered with the slate from the roofs.  The grass was high, and the monk tied the mount’s reins to thick poles which still stood.  The monk quickly caught up with Beowulf and his men at the back of the fort where a large building still stood.  Made of brick, it was the largest building.  Once covered in plaster that lay in white heaps at the base of the walls, the structure still had large steps leading past two fallen columns.  Inside the building, the elaborately decorated mosaic floor displayed pictures of men dressed in the same armor as the headless dreygur they found outside.  Among the displays were pictures of sea creatures along with naked men and women, their images still shining on the dirty floor and on parts of the plaster attached to the walls.  Sunlight pierced through the open arched windows to give ample light within the columned room.  In the shadows, they could see many doors that led to other rooms.  The thegns of Beowulf were quiet in undisguised awe at the impressive structure, which rivaled the largest wooden mead halls they knew.

“My nephew, please come in and join us.”  An older man with a long gray beard stepped from the shadows.  King Ida wore a bright chain mail shirt, partially covered by a bloodstained tunic ripped in battle.  Gray hair hung over his shoulders while his pale, lined face showed the years of battle and rule.  However, his eyes were bright with the excitement of his latest conquest.  He swept his hand toward the room around them.  “I must apologize for being detained.  I fear you have come at an unfortunate time within Bernicia.”

Beowulf stepped forth to greet his uncle, grasping the king’s strong forearm as the older man returned a powerful grip as well.  King Ida looked into Beowulf’s eyes, and the Geat knew his distant uncle was studying him.  His youthful appearance was always the first impression he needed to confront.  The old warrior stood taller than Beowulf, but his lean body grew frail over the years. Only the king’s powerful arms and his cold eyes hinted at a ruthless past to achieve dominance over Bernicia.  And something in the old king’s face burdened him, although he hid it well.

“King Heardred sends greetings and asks that the great god Tyr watch over your house,” Beowulf released his grip and bowed before Ida.  “I have come as instructed to offer my sword for your service.”

“You please me with your words, my young thegn,” Ida replied, pressing a fist to his lips as he struggled to keep from coughing.  “Unfortunately, we have not quite recovered from the night.  No doubt you have seen the reason for my message on your journey to this ancient fort.”  Beowulf nodded.  Behind the king, he could see two servants struggling to bring long pieces of timber, which they placed upon blocks of stone already positioned, forming a rough semi-circle.  The great warrior introduced his men, and his men bowed before the gray-haired man.

“Come, let us sit and you can tell me about your journey while my servants find us food and drink.  Unfortunately, there are no tables for our men in this old fort.”  King Ida turned and led the Geat to their temporary seating.  Beowulf waited until the old man sat before sitting across from him. To the Geat leader, it was apparent why the Angles had not gone after the monsters at daylight.  Even more clear in the light of the sun, which showered down in the middle of the room, the old man suddenly appeared tired.  The Geat warrior noticed two men stepped from the shadows to join them.  They sat across from Beowulf and Weohstan as they were introduced.  The king’s two oldest sons, Glappa and Appa nodded at their introduction.  The rest of Beowulf’s thegns took up places on the mosaic floor while Ida’s remaining warriors sat across from them, each side maintaining their distance.                            Mead came to the men, and Beowulf told the crowd of their journey along the coast.  During the several rounds of mead which came, more introductions were given along with plenty of small talk among the group.  When the talk subsided, Ida finally decided to tell Beowulf of the troubles in his lands.

“When I sent for you, my sons and I started out to confront the evil told to me by my people.  I would expect more fighters from my land, but they have not arrived yet.  As I look at your men, I’m not sure what your small group can do?”  The king looked at the Geat noble and his men, his face showing the concern over the youth sent to help him.  “The number of these vicious monsters we battled last night was nearly overwhelming.  And your overlord, King Heardred sent me a leader who is younger than most of my retainers.”  Ida nodded to his servants.

Laughter from King Ida’s men broke out in the room while a few mutterings whispered among Beowulf’s men rose in the background as well.  Weohstan watched as his leader squeezed hard on the pommel of his sword, suddenly afraid they would be in a fight soon.  But Beowulf’s face remained a mask, easing his loyal second’s concerns as the Geat leader refused to take the bait offered by the king.

“My lord, don’t judge the size of one's deeds by the look of their age.  It was I who made the decision to volunteer my Gedriht, these trusted thegns.  Each of us knows how to fight.  Our king accepted this decision with no reservations.  Here in the wilds of Bernicia, you may not know of my exploits, but I have fought and destroyed a sea monster twice the size of this building.  With my loyal men, I would put us against an army of ten times our number and wager we would defeat such a force.”  The murmur among Ida’s men rose as Beowulf placed his hands on his hips in a display of his confidence.   The old king raised his hand and rest of the room fell silent.

“My young nephew, my words meant no slight to you or your men.  I was only stating the fact that you are inexperienced in this land and lack the number of fighters I expected,” the old warrior repeatedly coughed until he was able to stifle it with a drink of mead handed to him by a servant.  Beowulf saw one of the two sons watching his father, concern showed on the son’s face.  While his temper rose at the indirect snubs coming from the king, the Geat leader remembered the words of his father and kept his temper in check.  If he were in the shoes of Ida, he would probably have reservations about a young, brash warrior coming to him to do battle against such wicked creatures.

“Perhaps you can tell me more of the evil?  Then, you and I can decide if we cannot meet the challenge.”  Beowulf tried to keep his voice calm, but his men heard the edge in his words.  They knew their leader’s temper when confronted over his youth.  While beneficial in a fight, Beowulf sometimes let his anger get the better of him.

King Ida briefly smiled at the young man, enjoying the way his nephew was handling himself.  The Angle leader knew about the young warriors’ travels and the destruction of a horrible beast.  The tales of this exploit filled the lands of the Angles, Saxon, and Jutes.  Ida knew more about the young warrior than Beowulf realized.

Nodding, Ida told the Geats their story.  “We were attacked in the middle of the night while we were in the town.  We were fortunate to have been able to get to this fort,” Ida told the group of newcomers. “Foul monsters that stank of death swarmed over the village.  When they attacked, they were nearly impervious to our weapons.  My men were able to fight them off as we moved up the trail to a better defensive position.  However, several more bands set upon us before we got into the fort. Now I have only a small group of warriors left, scarcely enough men to travel with me as I raise more for the defense of my kingdom.”

The Geat warrior glanced briefly at Ecgberht, “Yes, my men know of these beasts.  We saw the destruction of the villages as we came here.  Do you know what these monsters are and where they come from?”

Surprise evident on his face concerning the news of another village destroyed, the king glanced at his sons. “One of the locals told my son they are called dreygurs,” said Ida.  “It seems they move only at night when evil is at its peak.  We are unsure why they have suddenly come into our lands.  However, they can be destroyed by removing their heads.”

“That explains what we found on the trail.  Since it appears the monsters carry off their dead along with some of the victims, it would seem an easy task to follow them to their hideouts.”  Beowulf looked at his men, and they nodded their agreement.  “I assume your warriors have already begun to follow the monsters’ trail?”

The Geat noticed the sharp look that Ida gave his sons.  “No, my fighters are too few to go after these creatures.  The men are looking after the dead and wounded.  Many of the injured died of the terrible wounds inflicted by the savage beasts.”  The old leader declined to tell the Geat warrior that he kept his two sons close, deciding they would remain with him rather than seeking out their deadly enemies.  With the dreygurs even more dangerous to Bernicia, Ida decided to return to his main fortress and marshal his few remaining fighters in defense of Bamburgh.   As for his sons, the heirs to the throne knew their father was dying, and each man was determined to take over upon his death.  Neither saw the need to go after the monsters for the moment.  The old Angle king began a fit of coughing which again confirmed everyone’s belief on the man’s fragile condition.

Beowulf waited until the Angle recovered.  “While it’s unfortunate your people did not find their lair; we should proceed to destroy these creatures.  I doubt their trail will be hard to find, and there is plenty of daylight left.  We will ride to catch these monsters and slay them before they can commit even more foul deeds against your people.”

“You speak boldly for a man who has never fought these undead,” Appa spoke up.  The second oldest son of King Ida swaggered over to stand in front of Ida’s men.  His long, blonde hair and blue eyes gave him a look of a god.  However, his smirking demeanor quickly changed the image. “We had many a bold warrior who talked like you before night last, and now their bodies lay scattered on the trail.  Yet you act like you will destroy these monsters by yourself.”  He looked down to his father’s men, who were sitting or kneeling on the hard floor. The men nodded their agreement at the challenge.

Beowulf stared at the man and immediately disliked him.  “That’s because the monsters have never dealt with me before.”  The young atheling assured the thegns in the room.  “Let me be plain.  My fighters know well the brave and difficult deeds I put upon them. Yet none of my men hesitates since they understand the road to eternal life lies in everlasting fame, here and in the afterlife.  They follow this path because we act as one,” he looked around the room, giving a dramatic pause as he glared at Appa.  “And they know I would not have allowed my men to die in the night while I still drew a breath.” The Geat warrior moved his hand carefully to his sword.  The expected reaction from the king’s son came when the Angle reached for his sword.

Ida stepped between them.  “Appa, your manner reminds me of an ass.  This warrior came as a guest of me.  You will not treat him in such a way,” the old king roared as he quickly moved to confront his son.

Appa quickly apologized to his father, but Beowulf carefully watched the man glaring at him.  He knew this son of Ida would not forgive the insult.  To question the Angle leader’s courage in public was a serious affront.  Tension filled the room.  Weohstan stepped next Beowulf, quietly reminding him of the need for diplomacy.  The king’s other son rose from his chair and stepped close to his father, whispering into his ear.  Nodding, Ida turned back to the Geat warrior.

“Beowulf, you honor our kingdom with by coming here.  I would accept your service and those of your men in my realm on one condition. However, be warned it appear these dreygurs come from other lands.  Bernicia cannot afford a war with our many enemies around us.  You will need someone who knows this territory along with the lands of our enemies.  I suggest that my son, Glappa, would be an excellent guide to join your group.” The Kings’ tone indicated it was not an option.  However, after sizing up the warrior next to the king, Beowulf quickly decided to accept the offer.

“I would be pleased to have the son of Ida at my side,” said the Geat warrior.  “I have heard great things of Glappa in the poems of the scops who travel our lands.  Together we will rid the lands of these monsters and add to the glory of our names.”

“You honor me with your words,” Glappa replied, obviously pleased.  As the tension in the room disappeared, the warrior extended his arm to Beowulf, and the men gripped the other’s forearm in a warrior’s handshake. “Let us find that trail now.”   Their act sealed a bond as new comrades.

Glappa ordered his men to get his mount as he quickly stepped into the throng of Angle men, heading to the entrance.  Beowulf turned to Ida and thanked him for the honor, bowing slightly before he followed Glappa’s lead.  The thegns following their respective leaders scrambled across the hall amid the din of voices and the yelling of orders.  In a few moments, the room was nearly empty of warriors, leaving Appa with his father.

“Do you believe they have a chance?” the son asked.  Ida said nothing to his son as he walked away, thinking about his decision and trying to stop his constant coughing.  His son followed him into the back room where a few slaves were attending the warriors who survived.  One of the slaves came to the Appa, bowing before them.

“They need more help than we can give them, my lord.  The scratches they have been like poison to them,” the slave lowered his voice.  “The men grow weaker.”

King Ida nodded his head and told the slave to help them as he could.  After the slave had left, Ida put his hand on his son’s shoulder, leading him out of the room.

“Tell those that can walk to get their mounts and gather all the equipment and horses from the dead.  We will go back to Bamburgh where I can gather more men.  The next time we come against these beasts, we will be prepared.” The old warrior told him.

“And what of those that cannot go?” Appa wondered aloud.  “I would expect the dreygurs might return.”

“Keep a slave with the men to help them to meet the gods and let the slave know that when he returns to Bamburgh, he will be given his freedom.”  King Ida stopped and lowered his voice. “They don’t need to know that the monsters might return.”  Appa nodded, coldly calculating like his father, that the slave and wounded were being sacrificed.  As they left the room, the son again asked about the Beowulf leading the charge against the dreygurs.

“Obviously, these Geats is not capable of destroying the monsters that roam this land.”  The son told his father.  Why are you sending Glappa along?”

“You would do well to observe those around you.  Those men who follow Beowulf showed me skill and experience in their armor and weapons.  Their eyes and scars reveal seasoned fighters.  The fact they support someone who is so young should give you pause.  Your brother, Glappa, noticed this when he asked me to join them.”  The old man enjoyed the surprised look Appa had given him before he continued.

“I know if your brother is killed along with your cousin, you would not shed many tears but are you so sure these men cannot defeat the creatures?  You would be wise to learn about great people and how to use them to protect your interests if you wish to become a king.  That youth and his warriors were known to me before I sent my message to King Heardred.  This Beowulf might have been king of Geats had he wished it.  Instead, he submitted himself to Heardred’s rights as direct heir to the throne.  For such an act, he was made a champion of the Geats, and he’s known for his adventures already.  If he and his men succeed against this monsters, Glappa will become quite famous within my lands.”

The old king paused for a moment.  “And you might consider this, my son.  If they fail in their quest, you will have to answer to rumors of why you choose to stay behind with me.”  Ida continued his slow walk while Appa suddenly stopped.  He realized his devious father had just put one of the heirs to the throne in a precarious position.  If Glappa died, the aldermen and other nobles of Bernicia would never trust Appa.  Gazing after his father who left the building, the son decided he must change the situation.

Beowulf and Glappa rode together, leading the rest of the group as they followed the trail of footprints leading away from the fort.  A quick search around the outside of the fortress found many prints in the dirt and sand heading north and west into the lands inhabited by the Brythonian, the original inhabitants of Bernicia.  Glappa told his new comrades they would be into a no man’s land between the Angles and the native inhabitants.  The warrior briefly described with great pride how his father and his people drove out Morcant Bulc and his followers only a few years before.  After the defeat, the Brythonian king resettled in the wilderness of Gododdin between Rheged and Bernicia, which became home to all manner of outlaws and raiders.

The old cobblestone road quickly gave way to a rough two-lane path filled with ruts and mud holes.  As the group crossed the river into the bandit areas, every fighter understood that even with Glappa; they could not expect any help from the Angles. The warriors rode in two lines following Beowulf and Glappa, who rode together in the lead.  The Geat leader sent Weohstan and Osberht ahead as scouts.

“The trail seems to be leading us towards the Sigemund hills where they must be heading.  I believe we should make camp soon.  The hills are considered an evil place of hægtesse, the worst kind of witches,” said Glappa.  His tone indicated he believed this to be true.  Witches were a demon in human form, able to bring plagues upon the lands.  Most often, a hægtesse came forth in vengeance for some wrong committed in the past.  Either way, such a creature would bode evil for them.

“Have you ventured into this area of Gododdin before?” Beowulf asked.

“No, King Ida has forbidden it.  The Angles have kept away so not to entice the enemy to gather more allies.  We only have tales and rumors, but those people who have come from the areas all say the same things.  They warned us of a great danger coming to our people from these hills in the north, not far from a village called Routhebiria.  The attacks from the monsters appeared to be pushing people into Bernicia.  This is why my father asked for you and your men.  He considered it better to have an outsider enter this wilderness area first.”  Glappa explained. “Before the dreygurs attacked last night, I didn’t believe the tales.”

The explanation from Glappa gave Beowulf an insight into Ida’s thinking.  Better to have he and his men to find out about this trouble.  Also, easier for the king to blame them if something went wrong, he thought.

“I wonder if the locals of this town called Routhebiria are the cause of these creatures?” Weohstan suddenly asked.  He rode on the flank of his leader. Glappa turned his head to give the man a hard stare for interrupting his conversation with Beowulf, but the warrior returned the stare.  Weohstan made it clear another thegn, even a king’s son, would not intimidate him.  His loyalty and deference remained with Beowulf.

“That is an interesting thought,” said the Geat leader, immediately trying to lower the tension he saw.  “I want to know why they are coming from this area.  It might lead us to understand what is behind this.  The gods don’t send monsters unless there is a reason.”

“That is what we thought of after they left this morning,” agreed the son of Ida.  “Our warriors know nothing of armor we saw on the undead.”

“According to Ecgberht, they are dressed in Romwarena armor and carry their ancient weapons.  However, since the Romans burned their dead, he believes they must be dead outlaws using such items.  However, even with the rusty armor and decaying bodies, the dreygurs appear to be formidable foes,” the young Geat leader replied as he looked at the afternoon sun.  “We will need to find a fortified position before nightfall.”

Glappa nodded in agreement.  “Your warriors told me about the other fort near the spot your ship is docked.  It would seem they attacked our lands at the two places my father would be meeting you.”

“Too much of a coincidence,” Beowulf told Glappa, who slowly nodded.  “And these creatures are retreat back to the lands of your enemy.”

“Seems unlike the dwarves,” Weohstan said.  “They would bring their own to attack from the underworld.  Could it be a witch?”

Glappa remained quiet for a while, listening to the rhythmic hoof beats as they echoed in the ravine their road cut through. “A witch could be the cause, I suppose.  But we’ve not heard of such things from the villagers.”

The men riding nearby could tell the Angle leader was thinking hard about the idea, and they were not sure if he told them the full truth.  The Geat warriors shot knowing glances to each other.  Each man questioned the Angles who were too willing to let others do the fighting for them.  Such questions left many of them with a bitter taste toward their new allies.  Beowulf didn’t see the reaction of his men.  His thoughts remained on the monsters.

CHAPTER 2

ROUTHEBIRIA BURROWS

The group of Geat and Angle warriors pitched camp inside a large circle of big stones topped by an enormous capstone.  Inside the cromlech, the men unpacked their woolen bedrolls along with their bags, pleased to find such a good spot for the night.  The massive stones holding the capstone contained spacing between them only wide enough in most places for a single person to enter, giving them a natural defensive position.  The stone roof provided some protection in case of snow, much better than using their lean-to tents of woolen cloth.  Also, the large structure allowed them to place their horses at one end of the structure to help heat the area and provide the animals some measure of protection as well.

In the distance, stumpy hills of brown grass and green areas of forest could not hide the outline of a destroyed farmhouse, ravaged by the dreygurs as they passed through.  The cromlech looked down upon a deserted village of Routhebiria, which appeared abandoned.  While some of the thegns complained quietly about not going into the village where they would find building to warm themselves, most felt reassured by the stone around them.  Weohstan arrived, telling them about the trail of footprints he followed which split away into two trails.  One set led into the hills while another line of prints followed the path past the village.  He pointed to a large mound in the distance that melted into the landscape as the sun fell in the west.

The Geat warrior told Beowulf he noticed movement in the area along the road behind their camp.  At first, the man thought nothing of it, but by the time he reached the cromlech, Weohstan felt the presence of someone was following and watching them. Beowulf, who was crouching next to the fire, stood up while rubbing his hands together for warmth in the frigid temperature.

“A scout or spy you say,” he smiled.  “When the night becomes black, we should ask them why they follow us.  I will have a couple of warriors join me to seek out this spy.  And if the dreygurs are bold enough to attack us, they will find Nægling able to speak for me.”

The Geat leader tapped his scramasax, the single edge sword given to him by King Heardred, to emphasize his point.  He looked over to Weohstan.  “If you hear a battle, you will join us.  Now, let us pull out our bags of food and drink to ready ourselves for the night.

After the moon finally crept from behind a few clouds on the horizon, a pale cast fell across the landscape.  Beowulf shook Swidhun and Aeschere from their slumber to begin their mission.  The largest warrior of his thegns, Swidhun joined his leader on the outside of the stone circle.  Quiet and remote, the large man was a Saxnat or spirit chaser.  The warriors in the group knew he communicated with the spirit world, often giving advice on future events. In battle, the man fought with a determined savageness.  His massive chest and thick arms gave him a great advantage when using the spear.  Swidhun said little, but his fierce green eyes showed others his mood.  Aeschere, on the other hand, was not a Geat but a Dane from the nearby peninsula.  The warrior, who stepped next to Beowulf in the cold air, joined the group just before Sigibert.  Actively competitive, the Dane warrior boldly challenged his future leader to a wrestling match before King Heardred.  While Beowulf finally overcame the Dane, both men were bloodied and bruised from the great brawl. Despite coming from a different tribe, instant respect went to the blond hair man that night in the mead hall.  Soon, the other warriors regarded Aeschere as one of them.

The three fighters moved quickly in the open land on foot, taking a full circle around to the spot where they noticed the figure earlier.  As they closed in on the area, they could smell the wood smoke of a campfire which was hidden from sight.  Using hand signals in the pale light, Beowulf had his men spread out into a semi-circle as they closed in.  Slowly each fighter pressed forward, keeping low to blend into the night.  Several paces away from the place where the smoke drifted from, they saw the intermittent yellow flame jumping above the improvised fire pit made of stone.  Near the fire, two men slept, both wrapped in dark colored blankets.  Signaling stop, the Geat leader paused while he listened for any trap.  All he heard was the crackle of the fire.  Then, he saw one of the figures roll over.  Beowulf signaled to the other men as he stood up, charging into the camp.  As the warriors let out their war cry, the surprised people fell out of their covers, each trying to get to their weapons.  However, they were too late.  Looming over one of the waking men who was frantically trying to arm themselves, Beowulf yelled for everyone to stop.  He held his sword at the neck of the blonde man he recognized.

Appa looked up in stunned shock before his expression turned bitter when the noble realized who stood over him.  He looked around for his partner, another Angle warrior.  The man tried to sit up while shaking his head after being struck by Swidhun’s massive fist.

“Why are you invading my camp?” the son of Ida gathered up his arrogance for display.

“A better question is why are you following us?”  Beowulf sheathed Nægling back to its scabbard which hung from the baldric over his shoulder.   “A king’s son should know better than to sleep with no guard on watch while they are in the land of enemies.  It appears you wish for an early death.”

Appa scowled, realizing the Geat warrior was right, but he refused to acknowledge it.  After a slight pause, the young man told them they traveled after the group to join against the monsters.  The words caused Aeschere to laugh outright, bringing a small smile to Swidhun’s typically sad face.  Beowulf tried to remain stoic, sending a dark glance at his laughing comrade who went quiet.

“I’m sure your brother will welcome you at our camp,” he said to Appa.  “Next time, try to enter during the daylight so we don’t have to escort you.”  Beowulf turned, letting the sarcasm of his words sink in.  He signaled to his men to follow.  “I’ll let Glappa know you are coming.”  The Geat and his thegns quickly walked back into the darkness.  Appa knew the leader of the Geats was mocking him, and the fire of revenge burned bitter inside him.

The next morning the group of warriors gathered around the fire.  There was an open split between few Angles and the followers of Beowulf.  Each man was finishing his breakfast of dried meat and mead, trying to warm himself next to the small fire while refusing to talk with their allies.  Coming back from a brief walk around the stone circle, Beowulf could feel the tension.  However, the young leader remained oblivious to his role the strain.   The public embarrassment of Appa during the night caused the warriors to view the king’s son as little better than a fool.

Because he believed his brother was sent by their father, Glappa made it clear to Beowulf that the Geat leader should consider making some small amend with Appa.  However, Beowulf refused to entertain such an idea after the two men spoke in the early hours.  The leader of the Geats was too proud to consider such an option, believing the request beneath him.  Beowulf curtly informed Glappa that his brother should focus on becoming a better warrior with monsters attacking his kingdom.  The eldest son of Ida held his tongue, but his eyes revealed his anger at the comment.

“It would appear we need to follow the trail past the village since the dreygurs have not returned,” Beowulf told the Angle warriors.  “What is the name of that unfortified village lies up the trail?”

Appa glanced at Beowulf, refusing to acknowledge the question.  Glappa spoke for them.  “That would be Routhebiria.  I don’t know much of the village, but it appears to be deserted.  Probably abandoned by those refugees who came into our lands.”

“Since I just saw smoke coming from the village,” replied Beowulf, “it appears we may have some who don’t fear these monsters.”

His observation sent the men scurrying out of the cromlech, each catching sight of the white smoke coming from the largest building in the village.  Beowulf followed the rest into the high grass, chewing on a piece of dried deer meat while holding a metal mug of mead as he walked over to Weohstan.  “I would have thought our guard would have seen this earlier.  Did someone fall asleep?”

Sigibert, standing nearby, immediately turned around, protesting he had not slept.  He told them no smoke was coming from the village when he went to the fire for food.  Beowulf stared at the young monk for a moment, deciding the man had no history of lying to him.

“Very well,” Beowulf told him.  “Go prepare the horses for us.  We will go into the village and see who might be there.  I must meet such brave people.”  He watched with satisfaction as the monk ran back into the circle of stones to retrieve the mounts. He did not hear Glappa come up close to him.

“How does a learned man with such strange beliefs become a thegn in your group?” asked Glappa, watching the monk running to his duties.

“Sigibert came to me on his own.  He carries noble blood, and his family is from this area. Since he reads and speaks many languages.  I’ve found that such men are useful at times,” the Geat atheling replied as he wiped his hands on his pants.

“Until they are cut down by a blade!” interjected Appa who stood next to his brother. “Father sent such men into exile when he invaded the lands.  Look, he wears no armor but a helmet and carries no shield.”

“True, he is a strange one at that,” added Weohstan as he joined in the conversation. “He says he is protected by this one God.  Calls it God armor.  But don’t fool yourself about his ability.  His sword is fast and sharp as any in this group.  He is fearless against an enemy.”

“That is true,” said Beowulf as he turned back to the campfire.  “I remember when he showed up at our king’s mead hall, impulsively pledging himself as a Geniht before our tribe.  The men of my tribe laughed and ridiculed him mercilessly.  Yet, he showed great courage to stand in front of us, taking such scorn while trying to make himself heard.  I thought the king might have him tortured and killed for daring to bring his ways into Geat lands.  The king must have noticed something in the man, and he was right.”

Glappa shook his head.  “He is not of your kin or tribe. Seems risky to take on such strangers.”

“Why not allow men to prove themselves?” Beowulf took a swig of mead.  “I’ve seen how the monk fights, and his skill with the written word has proven useful at times.”  The Geat motioned to Glappa to join him as he moved to a better view of the village.  As expected, Appa joined them as well.

“I think I will take my men into the settlement.  What are your thoughts?”

Glappa gave Beowulf a slight nod, appreciating the public display of cooperation. “I think that makes sense,” he replied.  “However, since it’s a small village, we might split our forces to scout out ahead as well to ensure where the trail of the dreygurs leads.”

“What say you, Weohstan?” asked the Geat leader, looking over to his large friend.

“I agree with Glappa.  I’ll take my brother and Hrethric to scout ahead,” said Weohstan.

“Good enough,” replied Beowulf, turning back to Glappa.  “You and your brother can decide who they wish to join.”

“I think I’ll go with you into the village.  I’m sure Appa will join me.”  Ida’s son glanced over at his brother, Appa, who quickly nodded his agreement.  The men walked away to get their mounts.

Weohstan watched them leave, and when they were out of the range of his voice, he turned to Beowulf.  “They are seeking fame at your expense,” his friend spit on the ground in disgust.

“Fear not, my friend, from the number of monster tracks, I think there will be plenty of these creatures to go around.”  The Geat warrior smiled broadly as he put on his helmet.  “Besides, I like the competition.  Who knows what evil may lurk in this village that is unafraid of these monsters,” Beowulf’s expression suddenly turned serious.  “Remember, they are sons of Ida, so we can’t let them get killed, no matter how much you dislike them.”

It was Weohstan’s turn to smile.  “No need to worry, I’ll only feed them to the monsters if I get the chance.”  From his tone, Beowulf knew the warrior was only half joking.  But, he trusted the man completely.  Beowulf laughed at the joke watching Sigibert bringing his saddled horse to him.  He told the young monk to have his sword ready.

“Since we have no idea of our greeting in the village, it is better to trust in your steel than your God,” said Beowulf, lightly kidding the youth whose face instantly turned red.  The Geat knew Sigibert wanted to say something, but he gave the young man credit for deciding to remain quiet, walking away with his mount.  Beowulf ordered his men to their mounts as he threw his leg over the saddle and began the short ride toward the village.

The group of fighters split up just before entering the village, with three warriors peeling off to the follow the trail of the dreygurs.  The Geat leader slowed his horse, looking around the village when they passed the first line of homes. The familiar look of broken doors and ripped open walls greeted them.  However, no bodies could be seen as they galloped over to the main hall where the light smoke came through the open hole in the roof.  Made of timber with a thatched roof of straw, the mead hall was long and unlike the others, it held an unusual symbol.  On the door, hung a large cross, of the same design as the one that Sigibert wore around his neck.  Beowulf nodded to Sigibert.

“Those inside the building, come out now.  No one will be hurt.” The monk yelled out

Beowulf slid off his horse, putting his hand on his sword as he waited, unsure of the reception they would face.  After a short while, the door opened with a creak.  A large head stuck itself out looking at the warriors.

“Who dares threaten a house of God?” roared the giant figure, using the language of the Angles with a thick Celtic accent.  He stepped out, filling the doorway.  The bearded man looked at the warriors with a bitter look.  He turned piercing gray eyes to Beowulf in front of the door.  “Boy, tell me which of this rabble is your leader so I can tell him I only take orders only from our eternal Lord.”

The Geat leader’s expression immediately went dark, as he stepped up to the man who towered over him.  He pulled his sword slightly from the scabbard.  “I’m Beowulf of the Geats, you runt of a man.  You need to learn some manners from your betters.  Cross me and I’ll string you up to watch me burn this village.”

The bearded man stopped, confused by the warrior confronting him.  Then, he let out a booming laugh. “Well, I’ll be damned,” the man said with no sign of fear at the threat.  “I had no idea they made foreign fighters so young now.  Please, my warrior friend. Don’t take offense at such a misunderstanding.  All are welcome inside this house if they enter in peace.  Come, and we’ll find a drink for thirsty men.”  He waved them inside as he walked back into the building.  Beowulf stared at the man for a moment, his face red with anger at his dismissal by the large man.

Suddenly, the Geat shook his head, giving a hearty laugh as he thought of the courage he just witnessed.  He waved his men down from their mounts.

“Any person who shows no fear of armed men in his midst is someone I need to know more about,” Beowulf told them.  “Come, let us join him to find out more.”

The Geat leader followed the bearded man into the building, his eyes trying to adjust to the dim light inside.  His men quickly followed him.  The line of fighters found the giant bearded man sitting at a large table as he waved them over.  The large Celt ordered several of the women around him to bring drinks, and they quickly scurried to a vat of mead near the hearth.  Other villagers, mostly men dressed in the robes of farmers, remained in the back of the hall, eyeing them suspiciously.  One young girl, no older than Beowulf, immediately caught his eye.  He noticed his men staring at the raven hair girl as well.

“Introductions are in order. I’m called Malo from Henllan, follower of the Church,” said the man.  His thick accent made it difficult for the Geats to fully understand him at times.

“Those who stay with me are native Brythons as well as some of the refugees who come from Bernicia after the Angles invaded.  All who stay here believe in our Lord.  These families and their slaves have come to me instead of running from evil.  They know the right path to salvation.”

Malo waved over the villagers to introduce themselves to the strangers, and they did so, clearly nervous before the heavily armed warriors.  Only the slaves, a few men, and women remained in the back of the hall.  Their status made them unworthy of introduction.

It was evident the free villagers and farmers fully trusted the generous priest who turned to Beowulf when they finished.  “So tell me, my young friend.  What brings you to this village?  The Geats haven’t joined with those damned Angles to invade the lands of these virtuous people.”

Beowulf shook his head.  “We track the evil creatures you spoke about as they came through this area.  I must admit, I’m baffled why you are here.  Your accent says you’re an outsider as well.”

“This is true,” replied Malo.  “I come from the monastery at Henllan as established by Dubricius.  I’m sure you have heard of this.”  Seeing the blank look on the warrior’s faces except for Sigibert, the priest frowned.   “Eh, it is clear only one of you knows of such great things.  It is worse than I realized.”

Beowulf interrupted the big man.  “We are here at the invitation of King Ida.  We are following a trail of creatures that attacked lands to the south.  The trail leads north of this village which we first thought abandoned until we saw the smoke of your fire.”  The Geat leader took a drink of the weak beer, his eyes following the dark hair woman as she made her way to a seat away from the warriors.  He noticed the woman did not sit close to the other followers of Malo.

“This Ida has no say in the land ruled by Morcant Bulc of Gododdin.  Brythonians rule here so you will not find support for your travels.  You must know this by now.”  The priest’s eyes narrowed.  “If Morcant Bulc finds you here, he will destroy you and attack these simple folk.  Fighting among humans can be worse than the demons from hell you follow.”

“I was told this is borderland,” replied the Geat. “Neither king controls this land.”

“You are correct that no men control this area without his spear and sword.  However, that does not stop them from claiming it for their own.  Your warriors will bring trouble to the people here.”  From the tone of his voice, it was plain the priest was concerned the villagers would be caught in the crossfire of King Ida and Morcant Bulc.

“No need to worry, my new friend.”  Beowulf held his mug high in toast, drinking it down despite the disagreeable taste.  “Although your beer might bring us back, I swear we are only after the monsters that creep across your lands at night.  You have my word; we will leave this area when we finish destroying these beasts that stir trouble.  Now tell me how you, a foreigner, came to lead a village.”

The big man laughed, “I’m of noble Brythonian blood. My father once drove off the Picts from this land.  After he had died, I was sent to the monastery, learning the correct path under Dubricius.  When the Lord asked me to come to this village, naturally I could not refuse.”  He looked at Beowulf assuming the warrior understood.  The young Geat nodded for him to continue although Beowulf could not understand such thinking.  The priest went on.  “While Morcant Bulc and his queen are pagans, they leave me to shepherd my flock since he sees me as no threat. In fact, I believe he leaves us here to help those fleeing the land of Bernicia.  Saves him from dealing with those who have nothing and work the ground.  But the Brythonians come by on occasion trying to add warriors for an army to take back Bernicia and to make a tribute to his cause.”

“That makes you a threat,” a voice in the background rang out.  Appa pushed past his brother.  “The Angles will never give up our lands.  We should burn this village and drive you from the land.”

Malo stared up at the man briefly, before turning his attention back to Beowulf.  “It seems you brought along troublemakers.  I would tell you that our people are just peasants tied to this region.  They don’t care which noble claims to hold sway over them.  You would think a learned man might know that driving people from his home will leave nothing but bitterness for your small group.  Sowing salt into the ground does not bring fortune to a farmer, or a few warriors.”

Malo stared at the son of Ida as the men around the table took in what the Celt said.  They could not hope to find the monsters without the support of the local population.  The priest made it clear that his village would help Morcant Bulc, and those communities across the land could soon turn against the men of Beowulf.  It was a moment which called for discretion.

“Well, then we should drink more of this excellent beer so our young ones can learn when to shut their mouths,” piped up Weohstan suddenly and the men in the room broke out in laughter. Appa grew red, placing his hand on his sword.  However, Glappa grabbed his brother’s arm and whispered something in his ear.  Appa stared at Weohstan as he stomped away to the end of the table.

“That is an excellent idea, please tell me more of the dreygurs,” said Beowulf as the laughter fell away.

Malo paused, assessing the young leader. It was apparent he thought the Geat was inexperienced, probably not up to the task.  However, the big man sensed a determined person, duty bound to follow an oath.  The priest leaned over, resting his large head on his hands as he told them of their last few weeks in the village before the dreygurs went south.

“These are demons from Hades, who attack the innocent and wicked alike.  Just the mention of them has driven out many of those who tend flocks in the pastures along with their families,” said the man who spit on the floor for emphasis.  His face carried an abundance of freckles that went along with his auburn hair and beard.  “But it was pagan villagers who left, and the dreygurs followed after them.  As you can see, we stayed here, and no attacks have come.  We decided would make this village unsuitable for any creature from hell.”  He crossed himself and touched his lips with his finger.  It was a strange gesture, which the thegns knew from watching Sigibert.

“Are you saying the dreygurs don’t bother you in this village?  Even when they returned?” asked the Geat leader suspiciously.  “Unless you are controlling these monsters, such a thing is not possible.”

“Really,” said Malo, placing his arms across his chest in defiance.  “You actually believe my flock, or I would control such agents of hell.  No, my friend, these dreygurs come from the evil ways of witches who control such things.  Only those of the true faith remain protected from such wicked beasts.  You see for yourself that our hall remains protected, not even a scratch at the door.”  His words caught the attention of the thegns who remembered the destruction throughout the rest of the small village.

“Very well, I’ll accept you and your families are protected by some magic. What of the monsters?” Beowulf asked, his patience tiring of the big man preaching at him.  It distracted him from his duties.

An old villager called Corpre spoke up. “They are transformed by a galdere.  These charm speakers raise the dead in vengeance over the living.  You cannot kill them as humans.  Death for the undead only comes by their beheading.”

“And don’t forget you must walk three times between the head and body always keeping it on the left,” said another villager.

“Plus you must sprinkle holy water on the grave to stop them from coming back,” Malo interjected.  “That is the most important task to stop such evil.”

Beowulf and his thegns listened to the people as they slowly open up about the dreygurs, all of them pointing to up the road to the mound where Weohstan and his men were heading.  One of the Geats asked if more mounds were holding such creatures and a local farmer told them the land had many places where such evil might rise.

“This is an area filled with the graves of the condemned,” said the old farmer, his hands gnarled by the years and work.  “But that mound on the rise does not contain nobles or warriors.  It was a place where prisoners of the Picts were buried.”  As the people told their stories, they grew less wary of the pagans, telling them of the peaceful land before the monsters rose.  It became apparent they felt the continued fighting between the native Brythons and the Angles brought forth the beasts from their graves.

Beowulf continued to glance at the raven-haired girl as the priest’s followers told their stories, noticing her quick reaction Corpre’s comment about the charm speakers.  Her dark eyes flashed hard at him when the villager spoke against the galdere.  The Geat leader realized the woman continued to stare at him.  Her expression made him suspect the woman had more information then she might be willing to give among the group of villagers.  He wondered if he might be able to talk with the woman alone and mentioned it to Ecgberht who sit next to him.  The old warrior carefully nodded, whispering back to his leader that they would need to get her away from the group.  Beowulf gave a slight grin; glad the old warrior saw the same thing in the girl’s eyes.  Beowulf suddenly came upon an idea as he caught Sigibert staring at her.  He decided the young God thegn from a nearby noble family might be able to find out more information than he could.

As the locals continued to debate the monster, the Geat leader motioned for Sigibert to join him.  As the young monk came to him, the muffled sound of hoof beats came from outside.  Hrethric rushed through the doors, pushing through nearby warriors to reach Beowulf.  The man told him about finding a grave burrow and the deep crypt under the mound.  Catching his breath, Hrethric explained they found many corpses inside the tomb.

“Weohstan believes we have the dreygurs! the man told them.

His excitement rising, Beowulf sent Hrethric back to the mound, telling him he and the rest of the men would be there soon.  Heading to the door, the Geat leader took Sigibert aside as he urged the warriors outside.  Beowulf quickly told the young monk to stay with Malo and to learn more about the raven hair woman.  Looking over, the Geat leader loudly gave Malo his thanks and soon joined his men who were waiting outside on their mounts.  Sigibert watched his comrades from the door, and Beowulf told the monk they would return before nightfall.

Spurring their mounts on, Beowulf and his men galloped at full speed to the mound.  When they arrived, the sun was at its zenith in the clear blue sky.  The horses immediately grew agitated, their nervous snorts and tossing heads catching their rider’s attention.  Weohstan stood by a stone entrance into the mound, walking over to Beowulf as he slid off his mount.  Suddenly, his horse tried to bolt, rearing back and he nearly lost control of the animal.  Fortunately, Ecgberht swiftly brought his mount alongside, grabbing the reins before the animal was able run away.  The old warrior pulled the horse away while yelling out for the men to dismount away from the grave.  He told Aeschere to tie them off at the flat brush nearby as he climbed down and walked over to join his leader.  The old warrior remained oblivious to Beowulf’s glare.  While infuriated at nearly losing his horse, the Geat’s anger remained focused at Ecgberht for suddenly taking charge.  The old man’s personality showed little patience for deferring to others.  It was a sword which cut both ways.  Trying to keep his composure, Beowulf marched to the entrance.

“This tomb is full of the dead,” Weohstan told him.  “We found all type of weapons, shield and armor types, some of the armor we didn’t recognize.  Plus, we found half eaten parts of people and animals.  The place smells worse than you can imagine.”  He shook his head as he recalled the scene.

“I have my brother making more torches for us.  However, I don’t know what we should do with the dead inside.  How do we kill something already dead?”

“The villagers have given us some ideas,” Beowulf told him as he walked past, ducking his head to enter through the gateway.  Inside it was too dark to see far and the man turned back, looking out from the large hole. But he could smell the death inside.

“How far back does this go?” he asked, stepping back into the sunlight.  Weohstan told him a long passage was at least fifty paces with a large curved area at one end, where the bodies lay.

Osberht came running with the torches and lit them using sparks from flint on a mound of dry grass already built next to the entrance.  He handed the Geat leader an unlit torch made of a bundle of reeds with one end covered in animal fat, tightly wrapped with green bark.

“I want you and your brother with me,” Beowulf told Weohstan.  The rest of you stay near the entrance if we need you.” The leader of the group pointedly stared at Ecgberht.  “I want you to keep an eye out for any surprises that might be coming from across the grasslands.”  The ex-slave nodded, realizing the young man was still upset with him.

As Beowulf watched King Ida’s sons step forward to join them, he debated with himself on the wisdom of having them come along. Quickly deciding not to risk their alliance, he suggested the Angle warrior named Sebbi, who came with Appa, join with them.

Once through the low hanging entrance, the six fighters stood in a long tunnel, the ceiling arching high above their heads.  Made of thick, hand-cut stone pieces, the grave shaft stretched deep into the cairn, an enveloping blackness waiting just outside the dim yellow lights gave off by the torches.  Beowulf led them forward with Weohstan right behind him.  The men heard the drip of water coming from above, sometimes landing on their helmets.  The sound, along with muffled echoes of their footsteps and shallow breathing, gave them their first look at a death chamber.

“We thought of filling the place full of wood and setting it on fire, but it will take us more than a few days to haul in enough wood to do much,” whispered Weohstan, as if he read Beowulf thoughts.

“The locals back at the village told us to remove the heads of the monsters.  They must have some experience since they survived these creatures.”  The Geat leader took another reed bundle from his warrior friend, setting it ablaze from the dying fire on his torch.

“That is a surprise.  Must have the protection of Thunor on their side,” said Osberht.

Beowulf laughed, “I doubt their leader, Malo would agree with you.  He favors the new God.  He might be a good ally to have in this country.”

“I don’t understand why you left him alive? Our father would have him killed for the disrespect he showed our gods and us,” said Appa, his expression of disdain masked in the dark.

“Yes, I left him alive.  When someone gives me a drink and information, I find them more useful if I don’t leave them as a stinking corpse,” said Beowulf sarcastically.  Weohstan could not suppress his high-pitched laugh that echoed down the tunnel while Osberht just snorted.  Glappa smiled as well, enjoying his brother’s position.  He couldn’t see it, but he knew Appa’s face was furious at the cut, his lips, a thin line in anger.  The first son of Ida had little use for his brother’s knack at opening his mouth at the wrong time.  Also, he knew his brother to be too reckless, not worthy of the attention his father showed to the younger man.

When they reached the end of the tunnel, the line of fighters followed the turn into the outsized beehive antechamber.  The structure towered over them, stretching back beyond the pale yellow light.  However, the stench nearly sent them back into the tunnel.  Holding their noses at first, the men’s attention centered on the many corpses packed tightly on the stone floor.  The bodies had a similar appearance to the dreygur they found the day before.  Each body was skeletal with mummified dry skin stretched over the bones.  The armor and weapons with the creatures were a hodgepodge of ancient relics to new, shining metal and leather.  A few monsters held a shield in one hand or some sort of weapon in the other.  Each skeleton’s face had grotesque animal teeth giving a wicked death grin for their visitors.  It seemed every evil, discarded bodies of Brythons, Picts and Romwarena were gathered in one spot, sleeping in eternal peace.  Except these dead had parts of recently killed humans and animals around them to quench their appetite.

“By the gods,” exclaimed Glappa as the rest of the group took in the horrible view.

Appa pushed his thegn, Sebbi, forward after giving the man a torch.  He told the Angle to find the back of the room.  As the man tried to find a path through the bodies, Appa stooped down, looking closer at one creature. “Those are the things we fought alright.  I get a bad feeling about this place, they were nearly indestructible before.”

Beowulf spoke up. “An old farmer told us that these undead bodies must be beheaded.  If so, it should be easy while they sleep but we will have our work cut out for us.”

“But how can we be sure? Just because some local says this, how do we know they are speaking the truth?” asked Sebbi, his eyes wide with fear.  He swept his torch in front of him as he neared the back of the cavernous room, carefully stepping past a small pile of recent human remains.  Beowulf could see Appa glare at the man for speaking up.  The rest of the group slowly stepped deeper into the tomb.

Suddenly, a blast of wind raced down the tunnel, howling like a wounded animal, whipping its cold lash throughout the honeycombed vault.  The tomb plunged into pitch-black darkness when the torches flames blew out.  The men began cursing in the echoing chamber while those holding the smoldering torches while trying to find a way to relight the stems they held.

“What is that?” asked an unidentified voice in a high pitch.

“Curse the gods, what are you talking about,” yelled the voice of Beowulf as he tried to pull a piece of flint from the bag, by a belt slung over his shoulder.  Then, at his feet, he saw the blue glow light suddenly appear. Peering around he saw more blue lights appearing on the floor around him.  The glow began to fill the room allowing the Geat warrior to see the light came from the chest of the dead bodies at their feet.  Beowulf took one knee, reaching out to grab the light when he heard a shriek from across the room.

“They’re alive.  Help me,” screamed Sebbi, quickly going silent.  Then, a gargling sound filled the chamber as the thegns could see the brief fight going on in the dim blue light.  Several dreygurs quickly rip the Angle apart using their hands and teeth.  The sound of steel suddenly came alive as the thegns whipped out their swords.   The men struck at the undead who struggled to reach them.   Appa quickly pushed back away from the screaming thegn, attempting to get to the tunnel.  However, two dreygurs cut off his path.  While struggling to pull his sword, Ida’s son backed into the wall as the two monsters came at him.  A sudden smashing blow of steel was heard when Weohstan came to his rescue, striking the undead in the helmet with his sword and sending the creature into the other beast.  The distraction allowed the king’s son to escape.  The foul air in the tomb quickly filled with the raging sound of battle as steel struck upon steel and wood.  The thegns gathered into a small group, closing together in a defensive position.

Beowulf, remembering the words of the old farmer, struck down several of the undead monsters, sending their skeletal heads across the room.  The armor covered bodies fell to the floor in a heap.  However, more of the creatures joined in the fight as Beowulf struggled to join his men.  He pushed and hacked his way through several more of the beasts to join with his men.  The group of warriors tried to fall back to the entrance, but they were cut off by the swarming mass of undead rising near them.  The dead creatures quickly formed a staggered line, many surging forth with their rusted swords and shields.  The living fighters pushed to attack, but Beowulf held them back, screaming above the din to hold their line with a shield wall.  As if they heard an order, the bulk of dreygurs suddenly attacked the line of the living.  The howling wind again entered the vaulted chamber as the clash happened.  Terrible fighting occurred between the living and the dead with the thegns striking their swords into mummified flesh while the monsters hacked at the shields and armor of the living with their claws and ancient weapons.

One of the undead warriors slammed into the side of Beowulf, sending the young man sprawling.  Fortunately, Weohstan stepped in, lopping the monsters head off with a flick of his razor sharp sword.  Pulling himself up, Beowulf quickly stood next to his comrade in arms.

Another wave of the undead hurled themselves against the Geats who were backed against the rough stone side of the crypt. The thegns did significant damage to the skeletal creatures, but more of the monsters continued to rise and attack again.  Soon, their rusty weapons inflicted wounds upon the living.  Osberht caught an ax blow to his shoulder from an undead creature that sent the young thegn to the ground.  Glappa helped the man up while Weohstan and Beowulf beat back the ferocious charge.  Both men hacked apart the dreygur while their comrades fought with more of the creatures who continued to press their attack.

“We cannot hold out like this,” shouted Weohstan over the din.  “We have to get to the entrance.”  Glappa heard the warrior and told them he would push toward the tunnel.  He grabbed Appa and pointed his brother toward the exit.

Beowulf shook his head, stubbornly roaring he would stand against the horde.  While the group fought their way along the wall, Weohstan grabbed the armor of their leader, pulling him along with the others.  Another wave of monsters struck at them, desperately trying to get through the shields and swords.  As one monster fell, another of the undead quickly fell into its place.  The dim blue lights provided enough light for the fighters to see they were close to the arched gateway leading into the tunnel.  Weohstan continued pulling Beowulf along, coming close to losing his leader as the mass of undead warriors closed around them.

When Appa reached the tunnel, he quickly scrambled away in the darkness.  Osberht stumbled to the ground after Appa retreated.  Fortunately, Glappa came alongside the young warrior, helping him to his feet.  The young Geat joined with the Angle as they moved through the passageway.  Weohstan and Beowulf backed into the tunnel, fighting off the undead trying to follow the group.  The narrow passage proved helpful in the defense since only a few dreygurs could attack them at a time.  Undeterred, the monsters continued pushing forward relentlessly, and the two men had difficulty using their swords in the narrow confines while retreating.

Despite the onslaught, for every step they retreated, Beowulf became more enraged.  He never fled from an enemy before and the very thought caused him to forget his tiring arms as he sent another walking corpse down without a head.

Glappa rejoined the Geat leader and his comrade in the vicious struggle.  Now, the narrow passage became a hindrance with the additional men as the mass of undead pressed forward and the living fighters unable to easily wield their weapons.  One of the dreygurs fell to the floor, but it was able to get its animal teeth upon the leg of Weohstan, ripping past the man’s woolen leggings.  Blood flowed as the man let out a scream.  Other monsters grasped the man, trying to pull him into their midst.  Beowulf landed his pommel on the back of one skeleton while thrusting his sword into the head of another.  While he didn’t kill the creatures, he was able to fight off the beasts, helping pull the injured warrior away.  Seeing his comrades tiring quickly with more monsters moving toward them, Beowulf finally decided they would need to leave the tunnel and regroup at the entrance to the mound.

“Fall back,” he cried to Glappa behind him. “Get Weohstan out of here.  I’ll hold them off.”  As the Angle dragged the wounded comrade away, Beowulf kept up a flurry of strokes from his Nægling.  His sword landed heavy blows upon the armored horrors pushing toward him while his shield kept him from their claws.  Using his body for extra force, the Geat fighter rammed his shield into one of the skeletons trying to get past him.  The amulet around the creature’s neck broke away, landing on the floor. The frame of the dreygur immediately fell into pieces.

Beowulf quickly spun around, impaling another monster trying to rush him.  It was a mistake.  His sword thrust went completely through the rusting armor, becoming stuck between the bones of the creature’s ribcage.  The undead warrior, carrying no weapon, held on to the cross guard of the man’s sword.  The creature attempted to pull the Geat leader back into the group of monsters.  Backing away, Beowulf held on to the rapier.  Then, he heard his great weapon snap, breaking off the blade inside the monster. Suddenly released by the broken metal, the fighter nearly fell over Ecgberht, who moved up next to his leader.

“Get out of the tunnel,” roared Beowulf.

“Only with you,” the old warrior shouted back defiantly as he slid alongside the younger man, now forced to defend himself using only his shield.  Ecgberht slashed his short sword across the neck of the creature still holding the blade of Nægling in its belly, and the monster fell down as another creature rushed forward.  A well-placed strike using the side of Beowulf’s shield sent the head of the attacking dreygur into the air, sending it back into the other oncoming creatures.  The old warrior saw something blue fly off the creature, and he instinctively grabbed it, catching the amulet which he let dangle around his wrist.

Both warriors slowly backed out of the tunnel, keeping the monsters at bay by using sudden rushes into the undead.  Their tactic forced the creatures to keep pushing through the lifeless bodies of monsters in their path.  As the men got closer to the entrance, the light from behind grew stronger.  Beowulf suddenly realized they would have no way to stop the undead from following them out of the tunnel.

“We need to block off the entrance,” Beowulf shouted loudly over the din inside, looking behind to make sure the warriors outside heard him.

Ecgberht, huffing between swings of his swords, bellowed out the men were working on that.  Not long after, Weohstan’s voice echoed in the chamber as he called for them to leave.

“Time to get out of here,” Ecgberht told Beowulf. Immediately, the man turned, dragging the young fighter along.  The two men ran the final steps out into the sunlight.

Once outside, the Geat leader immediately saw the ropes coming from the stone beam at the top of the shaft, running back to the saddles of two mounted Geats.  As Beowulf and Ecgberht exited the mound, the mounted warriors dug their heels into the flanks of the horses, pulling away from the beam.  A harsh grating sound filled the air as the entrance to the mound caved in, coming down on top of the remaining creatures trying to kill Beowulf.

The warriors gathered around, waiting for the cloud of dust to settle while they listened with anticipation.  When the air cleared, they could see no movement in the tunnel between the rocks.  For the moment, they were safe.

Beowulf turned around and immediately confronted Ecgberht.

“You heard me tell everyone to get out of the tunnel, yet you stayed with me.  Do you not understand your place?”  The young man’s face was red with anger as he stepped close to the old warrior.

“You forget that I’m a gedriht to you and a free man,” said Ecgberht as he stood his ground.  “My place is with my leader, to die with him if needed. You know this as well as any man.  Your anger is directed at the wrong person.”

As the others watched them, most expected the two strong-willed men to come to blows.  However, the older man’s words got through the temper of Beowulf.  After a moment of tense silence, Beowulf threw down the remains of his sword to the ground, stomping away in disgust.  He walked away, taking a deep breath as he looked across the open fields.  The man knew his comrade to be correct, and it pained him to agree.  His lashing out at the old warrior was his failure.

While he thought about his actions, it was difficult for the young leader to accept such defeat.  It was unknown to him.  In his heart, he knew he was destined for great things.  Beowulf grew up knowing he would be the best warrior and a great atheling.  He took another deep breath, slowly coming to the realization that Wyrd, as fate was called, sent such trials at him before.  Each path given was not an end destination, but something continuous within the lives of the Geats.  The warrior turned, looking back at the proud man who watched him.  Beowulf stepped over to him.

“My friend, you are correct,” he told Ecgberht.  “Not only did I lose the scramasax of my ancestors but I was not able to stop the monsters.”  The man put his hand on the old warrior’s shoulder.  “However, it was your foresight and wisdom that allowed me able to fight another day against these undead.  You are the dolsceada mare of my thegns.”

Ecgberht smiled at the words of his leader, proud to know the young man could see through his anger.  The ex-slave was equally proud of what he heard.  Beowulf gave him a title, destroyer of monsters.

He placed his hand on Beowulf’s shoulder.  “You honor me with your words.  We will not let these dreygurs prey upon these lands again.”

Beowulf realized the group of warriors watched the exchange between him and Ecgberht.  He joined them as most stood next to the wounded men.

“All of you did well against these creatures,” he declared.  “Now we will plan for their final defeat.”

The leader knelt near Weohstan and his brother.  “How are you and Osberht doing?”

“We will live,” said the older brother, “but I could use some mead.”  Weohstan was pressing his hand down on his leg to stop the bleeding while Osberht moved carefully, his arm in a makeshift sling.

“You will have it, my friend.  I’m sending you both back to the village,” said Beowulf as he stood up, holding up his hand as the wounded warriors protested.

“Hold your breath,” he told his friend.  “I need you to find out what Sigibert has learned.  More importantly, I need another sword.  You might as well scour the village for any weapons.  We both know villagers will hide such things for trade.  Perhaps we will get lucky.”

Beowulf turned back to his men.  “In the meantime, we can camp here and wait for the undead to come out.  I doubt that cave-in will keep the dreygurs penned in the tomb.”  As if the monsters could hear him, the rubble at the entrance of the mound shifted, causing all eyes to look over at the slight ground movement.

“I suggest we should return to the village.  We know another trail of the dreygurs went on into the mountains so why wait to worry about this batch?  They look secure enough for a while.” Glappa spoke up.  His tone gave Beowulf a pause.  He needed to keep the king’s sons as part of the group, but he would not allow them to question his leadership.

“That might work,” he said diplomatically while gritting his teeth.  “But what if they escape?  If these monsters escape it would allow them to combine their numbers against us.  We don’t know who’s behind this.  I say we stay here and strike them when they leave, destroy them forever.  Then, we can find the others.”

Glappa considered the words and agreed.  However, Appa suddenly mocked the idea.  “So much for the great monster slayer and his boasts before our father.  I recall your words about taking on the dreygurs,” he said spitefully.  “Now, we wait for these beasts to come to us when they crawl from their grave.  Shall we go to Neorxnawang through such deeds?  I think not.”

“Your mouth speaks louder than your actions,” Beowulf’s eyes narrowed, his face trying to remain calm as he clenched his fists. “I didn’t see you return for the fight.  If you want to go back to the safety of the village, please join the farmers and women.”  The sarcasm in his voice was evident, causing a couple of the Geats to smirk.  Appa had taken a step toward the Geat leader before his brother grabbed him by his arm.  Glappa recognized the men following Beowulf reaching for their weapons as well.

“We stay with you and follow your plan, Beowulf.”  Glappa tried to reduce the tense situation, apparently aware of his brother’s peril.  “I’ll make sure my brother will join me as he learns to keep his mouth shut.” The older brother pushed Appa away with him, telling him under his breath to remain silent.  The two brothers walked away, bickering at each other over who had the better idea.  Beowulf watched for a moment before turning to his men.

“I still need to find a sword,” he looked at Weohstan, holding out his hand as he helped him up.  “Did anyone grab weapons and other spoils from the dreygurs?”

As ring bearer for his men, it was up to him to provide his fighters with supplies and arms along with a split among any spoils of war.  The warrior’s obligation consisted of unyielding loyalty to their leader.

Weohstan shook his head as he took the offered hand, pulling himself up.  “No, nobody had a chance,” the fighter said as he tested the injured leg.  “Most of their weapons wouldn’t last in a fight anyway.  I’ll stay and have my brother check when he gets back to the village.”

“No, you go as well.  Such a cut from those monsters needs to be cleaned and mended.  Glappa said some of the Angles were poisoned by the dreygur’s claws.” Beowulf’s tone told his friend there would be no argument.

Reluctantly, Weohstan nodded as he helped up his brother. “Well, at least, I will find something better than that weak broth the big man calls a drink,” said Osberht sarcastically.  Beowulf smiled as he helped them to their mounts.  He watched them ride back to Routhebiria before turning back his remaining group of warriors.

“Alright, let’s get a fire built and food some in our bellies while we wait,” the Geat leader told his men.  Ecgberht came back to his side, showing Beowulf the amulet he caught earlier.  The two men noticed the symbols, which seemed somewhat similar to runes used by the mystics of the tribe.  However, no one in the group could decipher the scratched lines.  As he talked with the old warrior, he noticed Glappa had joined them without his brother.  Beowulf had Ecgberht show the talisman to Ida’s son, but the Angle told them he did not know of such writing.  While Glappa looked over the necklace, Beowulf briefly wondered what became of the man’s brother.  Then he decided it was better for the morale of his men that the annoying Angle noble was not around for the moment.

As Beowulf wondered where Appa might be, the Angle warrior rode his mount away from the mound toward the patch of trees in the distance.  Appa still fumed at the Geat leader mocking him in front of his Geats, with the implicit agreement of his brother.  He considered the young warrior to be a braggart and fraud.  Worse, he resented the attention and dedication the man received from others, including his own brother.  Coming to a small stream, the man steered his horse along the water to a flat area where the water collected in a shallow pond.  He stopped and slid off the saddle, tying off the horse to a tree limb, and he went over to the edge of the stream.  Appa dipped his hand into the cold water and quickly drank several handfuls.  He lightly splashed the water on his face to clean off some of the dust from the battle with the undead.  He was still kneeling when he heard the sound of his horse suddenly become spooked after failing to hear soft footsteps behind him.

“I’ve been waiting for a while,” a voice behind him said.  He whipped around, fumbling for his sword to find a young woman standing a few paces away.  Her attractive face showed no fear of the warrior.  She just smiled with a gleam in her green eyes.

Appa looked confused, “What do you mean?”

“Are you not Appa, son of Ida?” she asked, her smooth voice, laced with the air of vast superiority.  Her eyes entranced him, and the young warrior could only nod.  “Then, I was waiting for you.  Come.  Join me.”  She walked over to a quiet flat spot in the middle of several small, thin stones, turned gray from the years of weathering.  He noticed she went to an area away from his horse, which whinnied at her presence, and he wondered where her mount might be.  No one would be traveling alone on foot in these lands.

She carefully sat upon the soft grass, leaning back on her hands as she watched him join her.  He wondered how she maintained such poise in the cold air.  She had no cloak, and her black two-layered dress seemed too thin, even with the underdress of linen and a black overdress of wool. Around her waist was a belt of woven cloth that had a pouch of wool embroidered with a figure of some unknown beast.  However, around her neck hung a necklace that kept his attention, for the amulet at the end of the black leather cord was the same design worn by the dreygurs.

Appa sat cross-legged in front of the beautiful woman, leaving his sword in its scabbard. Something in the pit of his stomach gnawed at him, but her eyes and face told him what he wanted to hear. “Ok, you have my attention,” said the son of Ida.  “First, explain how do you know me and how could you know I was coming this way?”

“I will reveal all in due course, my young warrior.  I have ways of knowing such things,” said the women coyly. “But first, I should introduce myself since we will become quite close.  I am Verch.”

The Angle warrior scrambled to his feet, pulling his sword.  His quick scan of the open area and the nearby trees revealed nothing.  He looked down as she began to laugh.

“You have nothing to fear from my Brython warriors, for the moment,” the tone of her voice was light and soothing, but he took note of her caveat.  “Please sit and listen for we have much to discuss if you wish to rid your lands of this Beowulf.”

The young warrior returned to a spot in front of her, looking around to make sure others were not around.  “You say you will help me,” he laughed at her while still looking around cautiously.  “What makes you think I won’t just take you as my prisoner?  Your ransom would leave me with all I need.  How can a lone female far away from your king and warriors stop me?”

Her face smiled, but her blue eyes were cold.  “Very well, it appears you need a lesson.”  She placed her thumb upon the blue stone that hung around her neck, which immediately glowed.  She spoke a few ancient Brythonic words that the warrior did not understand.  When she finished, he laughed at her before he could feel the ground suddenly shake and move.  He tried to stand, but the ground gave way, sending him down.  As he reached out to the woman still lounging on her side, he could feel the pressure of hands pulling on him.  He looked over his shoulder and nearly screamed at the specters behind him.  Skeleton hands and a corpse face rose from under the earth, grasping the struggling warrior.  His mind raced as he felt more of the bony fingers wrapped around his shoulders, trying to drag him down.  Appa yelled out for her help, the woman calmly stopped the spell and the hands suddenly released him.  The son of Ida continued to struggle, finally releasing himself from half unearthed bodies.  Skeletal arms extended from the soil.  He stood up panting, looking down at the remains in the upturned earth, the brown head smiling up in death.  He kicked the skull, sending it tumbling into one of the stones circling the area.

“As you can see, my protection comes from myself.  I can use warriors, either living or dead,” her voice said defiantly.  “I need no protection from the likes of you.  Now, you need to decide, would you like to be my ally or my enemy?  I can promise you the benefits of joining me will be far more pleasurable.”

Taking a deep breath, the young warrior thought about her words for a moment as he looked down at the skeleton.  “So, you control the dreygurs.  What does the queen of my enemy have in mind?  And most importantly, how can I trust you?”

This woman called Verch stood up and came next to the young man, taking his arm as she led him away from the gravesite.  “We have a common enemy in the Geats,” she purred, “and I have a need for a young, strong warrior to replace my sick husband.  Together, you and I can bring our two kingdoms together, becoming the most powerful in Britain.  But it will take all of our skills in this battle.  My visions tell me the Wyrd are against us at the moment.”

“What do you mean? How can fate be against us?  We never met before,” asked Appa as he felt suddenly lost in a dream walking with this mysterious woman.

“Simply that our fates are linked,” she replied.  “Don’t look so shocked.  My talents are extensive, and one of them is the power of foresight.”

“And what does your ability tell you?”

She stopped him, looking into his eyes.  “You will become King of the Angles soon for your father is dying.”

Appa was unimpressed by her answer.  “Everyone knows my dad will not last long.  You forget my brother, Glappa, will be king before me.”

She smiled, “Only for a while.  How long depends on you.”  The woman walked away as he thought of her words. She impressed the young warrior with her cunning and power.  He looked over her striking figure and decided she might be a worthy partner for him.

“What of Beowulf?  How does he play into your scheme?”  He watched her stop and coyly turning her head back to him.

“If we have an understanding, we can discuss it over the mead you have packed on your horse.  I’ll meet you by the stream.”  She continued back near the trees where they first met.  Surprised that she knew the contents of one bag on the horse, he hurried to his mount to retrieve the mead.  He began whistling as he followed the young queen to a quiet spot near the stream.

Back at the village, Sigibert came out of the hall at the sound of the horses when Weohstan and Osberht rode up. His surprise was evident, and he immediately understood why they were back.  He hurried inside, asking Malo if they had a healer in their group.

“Aye, we have a healer,” the fat monk looked at the wounded carefully.  “Leofe, come give aid to these men.”

Malo and the raven hair girl came out of the doorway as the wounded men came from their horses.  With visible reluctance, the woman immediately took charge, ordering Sigibert to gather a herb she called plantagos, which he did not understand until she pointed to a patch of still green plants the Geats called wegbrade.  He knew the fresh leaves made an excellent poultice which would draw out the poison.  It was used to help stem the bleeding of a sword cut.  The thegn quickly gathered up the leaves from the plants while Leofe directed the fighters inside where she had fresh water brought to her along with clean cloth of wool.

Her first attempt at cleaning the dried and crusted wound on Osberht’s shoulder sent the wounded man into a rage, and the young Geat began cursing at her in his native language.  Her eyes flashed, and she mocked him as a child, her words a combination of Angle and Brythonian.  Weohstan laughed loudly at his brother, who gave him a glare but the warrior now remained stoic as the woman cleaned his wound thoroughly.

Weohstan smiled at his brother, placing his wounded leg next to their healer, indicating he would be next.  The young lady untied the leather pieces that held up his leggings, exposing the deep gash.  As she began washing the wound with the water, she told him it would hurt.  The warrior braced himself, pressing his fingers into the bench he sat on.  However, he refused to yell out.  Instead, he grunted in pain while Osberht began to tell Malo about their exploits inside the burial mound.

After the monk had returned with the leaves, he took caustic comments from Osberht for taking so long.  Shaking her head at the banter going on, the woman crushed the stems of the plants with the side of her long knife.  Then, she applied the crushed leaves on to both men’s wounds before covering the area with a wrap made of cut linen strips.  Satisfied with her work, she told the warriors to remain quiet for the herb to begin working and to help stop the light bleeding.

Sigibert overheard the fighters talking about their fight against the dreygurs and the loss of Nægling.  When he heard of the amulet found by Ecgberht, the monk noticed the young woman suddenly hurry to the back of the room. Weohstan asked Sigibert about finding a sword for Beowulf and the young monk went to Malo, who was in the middle of the hall.  The priest was brewing another batch of his weak beer over a fire, while some of the flock watched on.  Sigibert spoke briefly to the missionary who stopped his work for a moment.  Hesitating, the big man finally pointed to one of the farmers sitting nearby.  Hesitant to speak, the old man shuffled his feet, looking down to avoid eye contact, keeping his hands inside his brown robe.  Malo stepped close to the man, speaking quietly as he led the older man to the entrance.  The man finally nodded, and then quickly left the hall along with Leofe.  The young monk wanted to say something, but he noticed that Malo stood there, waiting on the man.  “Patience is virtuous,” he reminded himself.

After a while, Sigibert heard the sound of footsteps passing by the building from the back.  Soon, the old man entered the hall, holding a long bundle, wrapped in an animal pelt in his hands.  He gave the bundle to Malo, who nodded, thanking the man for his generosity.  The old man smiled, showing a single upper tooth as Malo gave him a blessing.  The big man turned to Sigibert, handing him the bundle.

“The old man says he found it in another village, left by merchants who feared bandits would take it.  However, we cannot be sure,” Malo looked at the man who backed away slightly, refusing to look into the monk's eyes.  “He says it came from the monks who were slaughtered by the Saxons raiders in the South.  It is called Eotenisc by the Angles, it means giant killer,” said Malo. “While it’s a weapon from the southern lands, someone blessed this blade.  Look, you can see the engraving consummatum est put into the steel.  It means it is finished which was our savior’s words on the cross.  It is no wonder the pagan Saxons refused to keep it.”

Sigibert hesitated at taking the bundle, his eyes betraying his confusion.  “I know what you are thinking,” continued the massive man.  “Why give a pagan leader such a sword?  Listen to me carefully. I’m not sure, but I do feel inspired by my prayers this morning.  Pagan or not, this sword is known as the giant killer for a reason and needs a warrior worthy of it.  I don’t see any true Christian kings around here.”

The big man pressed the wrapped item into the thegn’s arms.  “Take it to Beowulf.  It may help to convert the barbarian who wields it, and it will be far better to see such a weapon in battle than to remain hidden by the villagers.”  Sigibert thanked his new friend, immediately heading for the door.  As he passed by his wounded comrades, he told them he would take the sword to Beowulf.

“Let me see this sword,” ordered Weohstan.  Sigibert unwrapped the item from the wolf skin and gave him the sword.  The blade flashed in the thin stream of light from the door, the rare metal appearing grained, like hundreds of tiny snakes dancing in shadows. Weohstan held it in his hand, testing it for balance.  Whipping it around, the warrior could feel the sword acting as an extension of his arm.  He was impressed although he did not like the two sided weapon which he told the monk.

“You want to give a sword like that to our atheling? Offering him a feeble blade from a weak god, do you want your death?” asked Osberht, unable to test the weapon for himself as he slowly positioned himself closer to look at the sword.

“Call it a test,” replied the young monk.  “While it is an unusual weapon compared with the single sided blades we use, I can see advantages to this sword.  It’s longer than the scramasax we carry.  And the other edge of the blade can be utilized.”

Nodding, Weohstan gave the weapon back to the thegn. “Go to Beowulf and have him decide.  It seems made of sturdy metal.  Probably the only one we’ll see around here.”

Sigibert gave Osberht a smug grin, receiving a glare from his comrade.  The monks quickly flourished the sword in the air practiced ease before sliding it into the scabbard.  He ran out of the building to get his mount while wrapping up the sword in the animal pelt again.  He tied off the weapon on the back of his saddle, and he was soon heading out of the village on the path to the mound.

Not far from the village, he came upon Leofe walking on the trail.  In the short time, he was in the hall with the other Christ followers, the monk was unable to get the girl to acknowledge his presence.  Surprised and concerned at the thought of the young woman traveling alone, he pulled up his mount.

“Where are you going?” he asked.  The girl ignored him, continuing her walk.

“Have you taken leave of your senses?  You are heading on the path to the dreygurs.” Still, she ignored him until he decided to force her to respond, leading his horse in front of her and stopping.  She frowned as she told him to get out of her way.

“Not until you tell me why you are going this way,” the monk responded.  “You should remain with your people.”

She looked up at him.  “I have no people,” said the girl bitterly, her eyes growing dark. “They were slaughtered by the Angles during the invasion.  I come and go as I please so out of my way.”  She walked around his mount.

Seeing her anger, Sigibert decided to take a different approach.  “I agree it is not for me to tell you what to do.  However, I offer you a ride on my horse to make the journey to the mound if you go there.”

She paused, looking up at him.  “Very well, if you are going to this Beowulf, I will join you.”  The woman took the young monks hand and leaped up, throwing herself over the animal.  She held the man’s robe as he jabbed his heels into the mount, as they galloped away.

The two riders had traveled for a while before Sigibert slowed his mount, remembering Beowulf’s order to learn about the woman.  He began by telling her of his discussions with Malo before bring in his own conversation to their shared faith.  She seemed interested in this, and he talked about his days learning from the monks in the land called Íraland.

“You have the accent of a Brython, yet you travel with the Geats.  How is this possible?” Leofe spoke quietly.

“I’m a Brython, youngest son of Clinoch.  My family is from Elmet,” said Sigibert, pulling back his hood to hear her words better. “I was sent by my father to learn the written word from King Gwallog ap Llaennog in the land of Hibernia.”

Shocked by this, the girl exclaimed, “How can you support this Beowulf?  He is an invader of your family’s lands.”

“No, the Geats never invaded these lands.  They have not crossed the North Sea to settle like the others.  I follow Beowulf who is a noble warrior.  He came at the request of his kinship, King Ida.”  The monk considered his words as he spoke, unsure how he could convince her of his actions.  “I have sworn an oath to Beowulf as his personal geneat, a vassal if you will, just as the other men.  Since he lacks the knowledge of the written words, I will help where I can since I must obey my oath.  I cannot forsake my pledge when I return to this land.”  He sighed, “While it is not an easy task I’ve been given, I trust in the Lord and my oath.”

“You may convince yourself, but your words are tangled like a serpent,” replied Leofe hotly.  She stared at the man’s brown, red hair around the shaved skullcap.  From what she knew of this new religion, it told her the thegn was determined individual, even in the midst of the pagans around them.  The difficulty the man must be facing in the struggle between his duties to his religion and his people made him as guilty as the Geats.  As long as he remained a retainer for this Beowulf, he would be a traitor to Brythons.

The conversation between the two dropped, each left to their thoughts.  After a while, Leofe decided to ask about the Geats.  “I’ve heard that like the Brythons, the Geats live by their oaths.  This Beowulf seems such a person,” she wondered aloud.

“Better than others I’ve known,” the monk agreed.  “He can become the greatest warrior as foretold by their scops, even for one that is as so young.  If they are correct, he will be a mighty king.”

“But he’s not a believer.  The Angles would not allow someone such as you in their presence.  How did you come to join this group?”  The girl grew intrigued by the conversation despite the fact she considered him a traitor to her people.

“It’s a long story which we will have to talk about later.  We are here,” the God thegn told her.  Leofe looked up to see the men standing around a campfire near the collapsed entrance to the mound.  Beowulf and Glappa stood near the area of the crypt where strange sounds could be heard.   The woman slid off the horse before Sigibert could reach out to help.  The monk kicked his leg over and followed her off the mount to stand on the dirt trail.  He gave the reins to the girl, asking her to hold them while he talked with the Geat leader.  The thegn removed the skin wrapped sword as he walked over to Beowulf.

“What are you doing here?” the Geat warrior asked, noticing that Appa came walking back to the mound.  He did see Glappa going to his brother who was smiling as the men walked away.

“I bring a gift from Malo and the villagers,” Sigibert slid the sword from the pelt, presenting it to Beowulf.  The young warrior took it and began inspecting the sword carefully.  He stepped away to test it, slashing the air with a series of battle practice movements, feeling its balance and handling.  It had two edges unlike his broken scramasax, appearing more like the ancient’s swords held by the dreygurs earlier. However, this weapon was longer and adorned with inlaid triangles of copper, brass, and silver, which bore Latin inscriptions he did not understand.  Satisfied with the temper of the weapon, he came back to Sigibert.

“You have done well, my friend. Tell me of the inscription upon the blade,” said Beowulf.

“It’s called Eotenisc, brought by Angle traders,” the monk decided against saying more.

The young atheling paused, looking up at the monk with a raised eyebrow. “You are not telling me something.”

Turning red, the monk explained the inscriptions.  “It says consummatum est.  It means it is finished in Latin.”

“So, the Angles call it giant while these Romans call it the finisher,” replied Beowulf after thinking on the words.  “It appears to be well crafted.”  He stared at the blade for a while, “I will have to find out the strength of its steel.  However, for now, I think it will do.”  The monk could see his leader coming to his own conclusion, although he was not sure it was the lesson he wanted to teach him.

Naturally interested in the new weapon, the other men drew close to see the steel blade that Beowulf held up.

“It appears made from six twisted rods of iron, which only a few skilled armors could do.  It reminds me of others that the Roman used.  But it’s longer with a wider blade,”  Ecgberht told them.  “My guess is the weapon must have come other lands, perhaps unknown to us.  That would mean it should carry a great warrior legacy.  Are you sure it will work for you?”

“Yes, it will do,” the Geat leader told him. “I appreciate the generosity of our new friends in the village.”  He slid the blade into the scabbard before turning his attention back to Sigibert.  Then, he caught sight of Leofe staring at him.  “Now, my God thegn, tell me why this woman comes among us?”

“I can speak for myself,” said Leofe, stepping forward.  Her manner said to Beowulf he would not intimidate her.  “I come to let you know that your wounded thegns should be better with some food and rest.”

Beowulf smiled.  “So you come all this way to inform me about something I already knew.  Please tell me the real reason for your visit?”  The woman flushed as she gave him a hard stare.  The warriors who overheard the conversation began laughing.

Their leader laughed with them, waving her over to him as he moved away from the group.  “Come; let us talk in private since you must have something you wish to say.  Sigibert, find something to drink while I speak with your friend.”  Beowulf waited for Leofe to join him, which she reluctantly did.  As he led her away from the mound, he could tell by her silence she resented his sharp tongue.

“You have great courage to come alone among us barbarians,” he observed.  “Are you not afraid of what we might do to a young, beautiful Brython?”

She kept quiet for a moment, her eyes staring at him confidently.  “If you are half of the hero that I’ve heard about, I have nothing to fear.”  Carefully, she watched as the warrior laughed heartily at her words.  He liked a woman with strength.

“So, explain why you come to us.  You are one of the new followers, but I saw by your expression at the great hall that you did not agree with Malo about the galdere.”  The Geat warrior glanced over to see her face.  The woman showed no surprise at the words.

“You are observant,” she said.  “If I tell you something, will you keep it to yourself?”  Beowulf stopped. Surprised at the request, he nodded slowly.

The woman thought for a moment, before continuing. “I’m a galdere, but this doesn’t mean a charm speaker is evil.  Charms are only as virtuous or bad as the person casting the magic is.  But, the remaining villagers follow Malo, and he doesn’t agree with my abilities.  He says the Church considers such things to be the devil’s work.”

“I’ve seen such people banished or given worse punishment for using evil charms.  Elves and trolls cast spells leaving the lands barren and the rivers without fish.” Beowulf interjected.

She grew angry at what he said, “I’ve never seen such work from trolls or elves.  But I know people.  They will accuse the innocent because they fear the invaders in their lands.  Already, Angles fear the night so much they bring more foreigner invaders to rid them of the monsters they cannot hope to control.”

“You must learn to get to the point,” said the warrior warily as he began walking again.  “You know why we are here and what we must do.  So, what do you come to tell me?”

“I came to warn you that it must be a powerful magic which commands the dreygurs,” said Leofe.  “When I overheard your warriors speaking of the blue stone, I knew who it must be.”

The leader of the Geats stopped, turning back to her.  “You know who is doing this?”

“Yes, I believe so.  But if I tell you, I must have your solemn oath that you and your warriors will leave this area?”  There was a note of pleading in her voice.

“I wish I could make such a promise,” said the warrior.  “However, I’ve made an oath to destroy the creatures the wreak havoc on the lands south.  I cannot disregard such a vow.  Why do you ask this?”

“If you remain here, Morcant Bulc will gather his forces along with others from neighboring lands.  They will come and slaughter you,” said the woman bitterly.  “And once you and your thegns lay rotting in the grass, the victors will come to the village to destroy us and take the weak as their personal slaves for even allowing your men into the hamlet.  I’ve seen this before, and I don’t wish such a fate upon me or any of the people I live with.”

Beowulf thought about her words, stepping away while the woman waited for his answer.  He believed the woman was telling the truth.  War could come to this area once this vanquished king of the Brythons heard of their movement.  While he had great faith in their capabilities against this Brython and his men, he could understand her position.  A thought suddenly struck him.  He wondered if King Ida intended for him and his thegns to enter these lands.  The old warrior had a reputation for ruthless cunning.  The Geat immediately considered the two sons of Ida who rode now with him, wondering if they were involved.  He decided to be more careful until he understood their real interests.  Walking back to the woman, Beowulf made up his mind.

“Very well, tell me what you know, and I’ll leave this area to hunt down the evil behind these monsters,” he said to Leofe.

The raven hair woman smiled at him.  “I’ll accept your word, but you won’t like the name I give you.  She is a hægtesse, one of the evil witches you spoke of earlier.”

“Just give me the name,” the young warrior exuded confidence as he steered her back to the group of thegns.

“Very well, but be warned that she is a powerful witch.  She is known as a shape-shifting demon.  I can feel her presence is close.  She must control the undead raids.  You and your men will need to find Verch.”

“It is only one woman, despite the tall tales your lands,” said the Geat as they came among the warriors who watched with interest. “Where do we find this witch?”

“In the lands to the west of here, you should find her. However, be careful for she is not as she seems.  From the stories I’ve heard, she will be happy to slit your throats.  It is said she remains young by bathing in blood,” said Leofe almost as an afterthought.  She could hear the smattering of laughter coming from the warriors who overheard the conversation.

“Legends can spread about those who follow the witch,” Beowulf humoring her belief.  They knew witches, while evil, were no stronger than other dark creatures of the night.  He spoke to his men.  “Leofe informed me that she knows the witch who controls the monsters.  After we finish here, I have given my oath we are leaving to find and destroy this woman called Verch.”  He smiled as the men nodded in approval.  Ecgberht quickly piped up his belief that a witch might provide them with great treasure.

“Oh, I can tell you she will have a treasure.  This hægtesse is the queen of King Morcant Bulc, who will be looking for you and your thegns if you remain in this land,” said the woman, her voice betraying her happiness.

Beowulf gave her a sharp look, suddenly upset at this news.  He glanced at Glappa wondering how he could give up on his word to King Ida.  He had just committed to destroying the queen of Brython.  The Geat warrior briefly considered going back on his word but, just as quickly, dismissed the thought.  Despite this fool’s errand, he could not go back on this vow before his men.  He suddenly doubted if he was as smart as the scops sang about him.   Intentional or not, the lovely words of a woman put him in a trap which could cost a hero his life, or worse, his reputation.

CHAPTER 3

THE TALISMAN

When the pair came back to the group, Leofe immediately took notice of the blue stone necklace Ecgberht was showing to his comrades.  The woman asked where the item came from, and the ex-slave began to regale the woman with his fight against the dreygur who lost its head.

“Can I see it?” she asked.

The old warrior immediately refused, holding it tightly as he backed away slightly.  The woman smiled brightly, extending her hand to him as she reassured him she didn’t want his trophy.  Beowulf interjected, telling the old warrior to let her inspect the item.  Still suspicious, Ecgberht turned the amulet over to the raven hair woman who took it reluctantly.  She examined the blue stone of sapphire, holding it up to the light at various angles to read the engraved inscriptions.  The finely woven interlocking gold threads which formed the necklace confirmed her initial suspicions.  Finished she gave it back to Ecgberht, telling him to destroy it.  Shocked, the old warrior spat on the ground in disgust, telling her that he feared no stone, especially a valuable one.

“What you have is enchantment stone with an evil curse,” Leofe explained, knowing the men would have difficulty understanding.  They may believe in the ancient ways, but she knew such fighters were a naturally skeptical group when it came to valuables.  “I’ve heard of no counter spell for such a talisman.  If you wear it, your body and spirit will no longer be yours to command.  This is how the dreygurs have come about.  Someone must be putting these amulets upon the corpses that arise from the mounds.”

“So, if we remove these from the dead, they cannot awake to kill the living?” Beowulf sounded surprised.  “Why didn’t the villagers tell us this before?”

The girl looked at him.  “I said that Malo will not consider the ancient ways.  Those among him follow his beliefs about the charms.  They believe his religion is a stronger force than ancient spells.  They think just using the cross will stop such evil.  But I know only a powerful witch can stop such magic.”

“Or a saint,” offered Sigibert.

“I will not follow such ways?”  Ecgberht countered; unhappy he would lose his trophy.  “You’re too young to know of the world.  There is no power to lead us to Folkvangr but Freyja.  This new religion you speak about is not for warriors but the weak.”  He spat on the ground again.

Beowulf suddenly interjected.  “That is not the point.” He turned to the woman.  “You’re sure that destroying these talismans will rid the land of the dreygur?”

She nodded, “Yes, I’m sure of this.  You can see the words, Boadicea Luigsech Mathghamhain.  It is part of the spell used to control the dead.  My mother was a charm speaker for our village who taught me many things.”  The woman looked up at Beowulf, her dark brown eyes softening in remembrance.

“I’m sure of this,” she repeated confidently.

“Very well,” the warrior turned to Ecgberht.  “We know witches can hex the living, so why not the dead.  Destroy that stone.”  Beowulf exuded the confidence of his decision, smiling to his disappointed thane.  “Fear not, my warrior friend.  You can keep the elegant gold necklace, and I’ll find us valuable to replace your stone.”

Reluctantly, the old fighter walked to a nearby rock to smash the amulet with the pommel of his knife.  As several of the men glanced at each other, wondering if they would lose valuables on this journey.  Beowulf and Weohstan both noticed some of the looks.  Trophies were part of the bond between the leader and his men.

“So, now we take orders from a cup-bearer?” smirked Appa to his brother as they walked up to witness the destruction of the amulet.  Beowulf immediately flew into a rage at the insult, grabbing his new sword.  However, before he could confront the Angle, Ecgberht, with surprising swiftness, already had his dagger in the Appa’s face as he grabbed the front of the Angle’s tunic.  The other thegns surrounded Ida’s sons.  Glappa was only able to pull his sword halfway from the scabbard before three swords were pointed at his throat.

“Back away, Appa is mine,” Beowulf ordered his men who grumbled before taking a step back.  Ecgberht slowly released the young warrior, whispering a death threat in his ear.  Beowulf stepped forward, moving close enough to Appa that he could smell a slight scent of perfume from the Angle.  The unusual scent he dismissed, focusing his sharp gaze into the man’s eyes for a long moment before he spoke.

“You have insulted me for the last time, son of Ida,” said the Geat, his voice a low growling sound.  “You only live now because of your father.  However, if I hear another word out of your mouth, I will pay the wergild to your family after I cut your tongue out.”  Beowulf stood slightly over the warrior, staring at him, waiting for the man to say something sarcastic or to pull his sword.  Blood duels were common enough in their world, and many combatants ended their life in such a duel.  However, as the Geat leader believed, the young Angle noble quickly averted his eyes from his opponent’s glare.  Appa realized he went too far, and the thought that Beowulf would fight him left him little option.  The Angle warrior knew he would probably lose and if not, the other thegns would quickly kill him and his brother.  Knowing this Geat fighter would be willing to pay a blood-price and face the possible retaliation of King Ida, Appa was forced to reconsider his actions.

“I apologize for our misunderstanding, cousin Beowulf, said Appa quickly.  “You are renowned for your steadiness and forbearance.  I swear that I will keep my thoughts to myself and learn from you.”  He bowed his head, struggling to retain his control.  For the moment, he needed to remain with these thegns, and he could not afford a fight against all of the Geats.  And he silently wondered if he could defeat this man in front of him.  He felt the grip of his brother on his arm, pulling him away from Beowulf.

Beowulf continued to stare at the young man. Suddenly, their quarrel was interrupted by sounds coming from the broken entrance to the crypt.  Beowulf crushed to the mound, pulling on his helmet as he grabbed his sword.  He yelled orders to his men as stone and rock pitched forward, away from the entrance.  The breakout of dreygurs came during the waning sunlight.  Several of the monsters made it out of the hole they created through the rocks.  Beowulf quickly dispatched one of them while the rest of the fighters joined with him.  The Geat’s sword whipped through the air, creating a high-pitched hum as it struck, cutting through the old blade held up by a dreygur.  The effect caused the man to pause, then he swung the weapon again, cutting through most of the upper body of the monster.  At that point, Beowulf decided that his new sword, Eotenisc, would remain by his side.

More dreygurs spilled out of a small opening on the other end of the entrance, coming at the warriors who met them.  In the momentary pandemonium, Appa and Glappa fought side by side, striking down the monsters that drove through.  In time, several of the undead creatures were able to get through, surrounding the pair of Angle nobles.  Sigibert jumped into the fray, and with a sudden inspiration, expertly swung his sword at the blue amulet.  His stroke sent the talisman flying into the air, and he watched as the creature suddenly collapsed to the ground.  Glappa caught sight of the monk’s actions, immediately using the technique on next monster attacking him.  The dreygur fell on another, all remains of life vanished with the removal of the necklace.  Beowulf caught a glimpse of Glappa’s actions.  He quickly ordered his fighters to strike at talismans hanging on the dreygurs. Soon, the swordsmen on either side of the entrance used their new technique to destroy the monsters near them.

Swidhun came in close beside Beowulf, using his long spear to expertly remove the necklace from the attacking dreygur.   The creature dropped in its tracks. The large man went after more of the undead creatures as they struggled to crawl from their tunnels.  Beowulf closed in with him, and they took turns destroying the dreygurs who silently emerged, crawling out with their weapons.  Soon, the warriors finally stopped the remaining monsters able to free themselves from the mound.

Beowulf looked over the group of thegns which stood over the many collapsed undead at their feet.  The men were panting, winded from the short but intense battle.  He immediately came over to Glappa, shaking his forearm.

“Well done,” he told the Angle warrior, “I spotted your technique to remove the amulets.”

The son of Ida smiled broadly at the compliment, quickly noticing Sigibert standing behind the Geat warrior. “I cannot take the credit for this,” said Glappa.  “Your God thegn came up with the idea.  I just decided to use it.”

Beowulf turned to the young monk. “You continue to surprise me. First, you give me a sword worthy of Tiw, the god of war, and now you fight well in our battle against these dreygurs. You are earning your keep.”  The man turned back to his thegns.

“I have not forgotten my duties.  First, we finish here. Swidhun I want you to make sure the entrance holes are filled in with stone, take whoever you need to help you do this.  Everyone else can look for anything of value among these dead.  Make sure that all of the talismans are destroyed but bring back the gold necklaces.  Tonight we celebrate in the village.”

A loud rejoicing came from the men as some of them hurried among the dead bodies, looking for trophies and necklaces which they would carry back to the village.  Later, Beowulf would give back the spoils of war to his thegns in a move to reinforce their roles.

As Beowulf walked toward his horse.  Leofe, raised her voice over the din of the thegn’s laughter while stepping in front of him.  “You promised to leave,” her angry face still showing a beauty the young warrior enjoyed.

“I will keep my promise,” he told her as he walked past her.  “But I didn’t say immediately.  We will stay the night under a sturdy roof for we need supplies, which your village will provide for our trip.  As ring bearer to my men, I will decide when and where we go after they are rewarded for their heroic work here.”

Beowulf swung his leg over his mount, staring down at her with a grin after he pulled off his helmet.  “You have nothing to fear, my men will not harm your villagers.”  He wanted to offer his hand to her so she would ride back with him but realized it was beneath his status.  Despite her attractiveness, she was from a Brython tribe.  Instead, he told Ecgberht to have one of the men give her a ride back to the village as the old warrior looked up while shoveling a trinket into his moneybag.  Nodding, Ecgberht agreed before joining the others in their work. Beowulf reminded the men to destroy the stone amulets they found before looking back at the young woman.

Leofe flashed him a stubborn grimace. “I’ll walk,” she said defiantly.

Beowulf laughed, enjoying her defiance.  “They’re your feet,” he turned his horse, riding off to let his men finish their duties.

Appa climbed on to his dead thegn’s mount near the woman and rode slowly next to the woman.

“Your defiance seems misplaced,” the son of Ida leaned over to whisper. “But then, these Geats tolerate weakness.  If I were in charge, your village would have been put to the sword.  And my men would have a pretty little slave for their pleasure.”  The woman looked up at the young blonde warrior, wanting to slap the evil smug smile off his face.

“I noticed you came back without your horse,” the cupbearer replied.  “It is strange you didn’t say anything about it to the others.”

“Yes, nothing for you to worry about,” Appa’s smile turned into a grim line.  “Those lovely eyes notice the wrong things.  It could lead someone to pluck them from your head.  Remember that before you sleep tonight.”  Appa raised himself high in the saddle as his brother rode up.  The two brothers said nothing to each other as they turned to ride off toward the village with others quickly following them.  Leofe followed them, walking slowly and looking up at the sun falling from its peak.  She knew she must hurry to get back to the village before dark.  The undead were not the only monsters in the night.

Sigibert walked up behind the girl with his mount in tow. “You should really learn to trust those who can benefit you and avoid those who will do you harm,” he told her.  His tone was light, and he smiled at her.  However, Leofe could see his eyes held a warning to her.

“Then, why do the Angles join you?” asked the woman.  “They don’t seem to want the same as your leader.  And they would be happy to lay waste to our land and people if they could.”

“I agree with you.  Glappa, the older brother, comes for the adventure.  Also, this action will spread his fame across his father’s kingdom.  That younger brother….well, I’m not sure why he showed up, but I can guess it was to keep an eye on his brother.  It appears he would follow the winds of Njord himself to control the lands of his father.”  He pulled himself on the large horse.  Looking down at her, he smiled again and offered his hand.  “Come, there’s no reason to walk alone back to the village.”

Leofe hesitated, and then accepted his hand.  It was the first time that she noticed the young man’s arm was bleeding from under the robe.  She stopped, automatically reaching for the small bag of herbs she carried on her belt.  “Hold it, I have some waybread.”

Sigibert tried to pull back. “It’s nothing.  I’ll tend to it later.”  But the girl gripped his hand tightly, pulling up his robe sleeve to expose the wound.  It was a thick puncture wound just below the elbow on his forearm that had already clotted.

“No, we will fix it now.  Did one of the dreygurs do this?”

He nodded his head.  “One of them caught me with its old spear just as I was able to get the talisman sliced off his neck. It doesn’t hurt much.”

“Stay there,” she ordered.  Leofe bent down to find a flat rock and took out her dagger to crush the plant between the blade and the stone.  Standing, she pulled her knife, reopening the gash and rubbed the plant remains into the open wound.  Her actions caused the young man to grimace, clutching his teeth.  The charm caster smiled at him.  “So, it doesn’t hurt much.”

“Only when you do that,” he complained, grimacing back at her as he watched her tie off the end of the wool sleeve to hold the leaves in place.

“I’ll do a proper wrap when we get to the village,” said Leofe.

Sigibert thanked her for her help, awkwardly turning to extend his other arm to help her up on the mount.  Settling in behind the monk, they rode back to the village.  The black haired woman tried to wipe the conflicting thoughts from her mind.  She watched this young man fight against the creatures, showing bravery and aggressiveness.  Yet, at times, he seemed too gentle to ride among the pagan warriors around him.  The thought brought her back to the young Geat leader he followed.  Bold and fearless, almost to the point of foolish bravado, she thought about Beowulf’s encounter with Appa.  The woman saw how Beowulf fought to control his temper at any perceived slight.  Yes, she was impressed with his innate ability to listen to his men and others he met.  The Leofe found it odd for such a noble to follow the advice of those around him, even someone like herself, a potential enemy.  Although she knew little of Geat warriors and their ways, this Beowulf was interesting to observe.

Ahead of the others, Beowulf reached the village as the light faded from the darkening sky.  During his short journey, he thought about their next tasks, his confidence soaring after the discovery of the dreygur’s fatal weakness with the talisman.  While the spoils they discovered among the creatures at the mound would be meager for their celebration, destroying dreygurs should be relatively easy after they found the other group.  Then, they could return to King Ida, giving validity to Beowulf’s expanding reputation.  Sliding off his horse, the fighter walked into the hall where they found their wounded comrades waiting.

“Welcome back,” Weohstan came hobbling forward with his wrapped leg.  “I trust you have finished off the dreygurs.”

Beowulf grabbed the warrior's armor at the shoulder, smiling.  “Yes, the men did well, and tonight we celebrate.  Our comrades will return soon.  We must find food and drink.”

“We have already taken care of this.  I had the villagers canvas the buildings.  With a little trading from the gold rings I have, we have found smoked meat and even a cask of mead.”  The warrior seemed pleased with himself.  Beowulf laughed, clapping him on his shoulder in approval.

“That is good news.  Make sure we have enough supplies to take us after the other trail of dreygurs.  We will leave in the morning.  I’ve made a promise to the villagers to leave before this Morcant Bulc decides to come here.  With luck, we can get to the other mound before he even knows we are in the area.”  The Geat led the man back into the great hall, telling him of his conversation with Leofe and his encounter with Appa earlier.

“It appears that young son of Ida resents those worthy of attention.  Should I have a man keep an eye on Appa?  I don’t trust him, or his brother.”  Weohstan’s face grew somber as they walked into the dimly lit room.

“No need,” said Beowulf, “I can handle him.  He is but a coward at heart.  Glappa, on the other hand, has shown his mettle to me.”  The warrior saw his friend remained unconvinced.  “Anyway, we need to plan for our next journey.  I believe it will be even more challenging since some of the routes may be unknown to the Angles or us.  However, we will discuss this later.”  The Geat was looking at one of the village women pouring mead into large clay mugs.

“Make sure the men know that these village wives will not be molested tonight.  We don’t need any battles with husbands.  We have this village on our side, I intend to keep it that way.”  The Geat leader told his friend.

“What about maidens, like Leofe?” Weohstan asked, looking for a reaction as he watched the raven hair girl walk into the hall with Sigibert.

Beowulf gave him a grin, eyeing the woman who joined Malo.  “Yes, even maidens in the village.  Look out for her.  She might give you one of the talismans we found on the dreygurs.”  As the two men watch Malo and the woman talking, Beowulf explained the source of the dreygur’s power and weakness.  Soon, Beowulf and Weohstan went to the long table where Malo was seated.   The monk stood, clasping the Geat leader’s forearm.

“Welcome back,” said the monk, his vast bulk hovering over the man. “I cannot say how happy I am to know you and your thegns will be leaving in the morning.  Sparing these villagers from the wrath of the Brython king is indeed a noble gesture.”  Beowulf glanced at the young woman, noticing her satisfied grin.  He smiled before turning to see Sigibert and Malo exchanging greetings.  The Geat could see the two monks were becoming fast friends, despite the short time they had known each other.

“You and your followers have been very helpful.  In the morning, we will follow the trail of the other monsters away from your village.”  Beowulf motioned for the monk to sit, and he placed himself next to the man.  Beowulf reasoned if the fat priest held some influence beyond the area, he and his men would be less of a threat as they continued their journey.  Rumors and tales spread faster than horses could run.  However, by sitting next to the monk, the Geat knew he was walking a fine line concerning the religion of his people and those of area.  Nevertheless, he believed it would be worth the risk to aid him in his quest to expand his reputation.

Malo waved over the villagers standing in the back of the room.  Beowulf noticed his men had arrived back from their tasks at the mound.  Weohstan waved the warriors over.  Soon, the wooden table was filled with a few respectable swords, helmets and shields salvaged from the undead creatures, hastily shined up by the men while they were at the gravesite.  Each piece still able to be traded.  However, it was the small bands of gold bracelets and a few gold cups in the mix which caught Beowulf’s eye.  The objects told the warrior leader at least one of his men had crawled into the grave again.  He smiled at the bravery of this thegn.

“Who gave us the cups for our feast,” he asked loudly as his men sat around the table while the village men came over carrying wooden platters of food.  The women brought over clay mugs of mead as customary for their status.

“That was Swidhun and Aeschere,” Ecgberht told him as the Geat leader rose from the bench to take the cups and the gold bands in his hands.

“Then, they will receive a cup each for their bravery.” He gave the trophies to his men who stood, holding their prizes and mugs high in tribute.

“There will be a song about this victory over the mound dwellers, byrgen herelof.  The spirits of our ancestors look upon us with pride.” Beowulf beamed at his men while he handed out the remainder of the gold bands found in the mound.  He knew the expensive trinkets came from the leftover remains of corpses brought back to the mound by the dreygurs.  The swords and shields would be useful for trophies when they returned with their tales.  Beowulf knew his thegns would follow him into death, but it was the giving of gold and the spoils of war, which cemented his right to continue to lead them.

His thegns slapped the table in approval as several village women, including Leofe, came to bring more mead to those around the table.  Beowulf then handed out some of remaining gold items to his men.  Offered several bands containing the precious metal along with a small golden crest of an eagle, Glappa politely refused.  He told those around him that he could not accept such a generous gift at the expense of his father.  Beowulf, quickly agreed, telling the son that they would turn over any remaining gold items to King Ida upon their return. Glappa heartily approved with a toast to Beowulf while Appa kept a sulking silence.   The young son of Ida glared at Beowulf, ashamed at his brother for joining in the feasting as the men pulled out their knives to eat.

Beowulf paid no attention to the Angle as he watched Swidhun showing his comrades the metal Roma greaves he found on one of the last monsters.  The quiet man had spent the afternoon polishing the tarnished brass legging armor.  His friends laughed at gleaming shin protection he wore on both legs as he romped around the hall proudly.

Soon the room filled with the tales and songs of the great warriors and heroes of the Geats.  The men drank and sang while Weohstan made sure the married women left the hall.  As the tall tales of battles, monsters and myths went on through the night in the revelry, only the slave women remained.

The next morning, the thegns were roused out of their sleep by Beowulf who was visibly upset, loudly cursing them for their sluggishness.  He asked how such warriors could be able to fight off more dreygurs while sleeping like babies.  As he walked by Ecgberht, he saw the old warrior give him a goofy grin and a wink.  The young Geat kept his stone face with great difficulty.  The ex-slave understood what the leader was doing, and he approved.  After celebrating late into the night, the thegns struggled from the floor, many looking pale and ragged from the lack of sleep and too much mead.  Now they had to follow the next trail of monsters.

Overnight, a light snow fell across the lands, and the air instantly woke the men as they retrieved their horses.  Despite his sore arm, now properly wrapped by Leofe, Sigibert helped the two wounded brothers get on their mounts.  After getting Osberht on his horse, the monk waited for the expected snide comment from the thegn.  Instead, the young warrior gave Sigibert thanks for his help, saying he did not realize the monk had been injured in the battle the day before.  Momentarily dumbfounded by the gesture from Osberht, Sigibert nodded before moving to help Weohstan.  After the thegn had ridden away to join the others, Weohstan got on his mount, putting his hand on Sigibert’s shoulder.  He reminded him that Osberht seldom gave a kind word to anyone.

“It is a good sign,”  Weohstan adjusted himself on the saddle carefully since his injured leg still hurt.  “If you can win over my brother, you will soon be an equal.”  He winked at Sigibert, who thanked him for the information.  The young priest scrambled to his mount, hurrying to join with the others.

Traveling south on the road to Bernicia, the group soon found the path the other dreygurs took. Glappa volunteered to scout ahead for the group, for which Beowulf thanked him.  The oldest son of Ida told his brother to follow him, and the two men rode off ahead of the Geats.  After they had left, Beowulf asked Weohstan, to keep an eye on the scouts.  The warrior could tell something was bothering him about the two Angle leaders.

Weohstan pulled ahead of the rest, watching the Angles in the distance and glancing at the ground.  The light wind blew away the light snow, filling in the old tracks of the dreygurs but their paths were not hard to follow.  As the sun climbed the morning sky, most of the thegns were quiet, feeling the lack of sleep.  They let their mounts trail the leaders, the cold wind causing them to hunch over, trying to stay warm under their woolen tunics.  A few men wore their blankets wrapped over their shoulders for extra protection.  Those shivering from the air looked at their leader wondering how Beowulf could stand the wind with just his leather armor and chainmail over a wool undershirt.  Most failed to understand the Geat leader willed himself to forget the bitter wind, focusing upon the next quandary he faced.   While the young man was setting an example for his fighters, Beowulf turned over the events of the days since they arrived.  He kept wondering about King Ida and his sons, along with the missing horse of Appa.  While Beowulf noticed the missing animal only that morning, an excellent horse was not something that a noble would give away.  And, if the horse bolted, why did Appa not ask for assistance to find the animal.  Even a dead horse’s saddle held value.  As he thought about the situation, the more he was convinced the son of Ida played another game.  However, Beowulf believed his options remained limited as long as his brother, Glappa, stayed true to their mission.  The first son of Ida showed himself a worthy leader in battle.  The Geat warrior respected such a fighter, even more so, if the person was a relative, no matter how distant.  Noble ties meant much in his world.

Later in the afternoon, Beowulf looked up to see the beginnings of a thick forest.  Sigibert, who quietly rode by the side of him, saw the Geat leader look around at the surroundings and told him they would be entering the forests of Hagustaldes ea.

“The trail is leading to the village which lies on the other side of the Tynemouth River,” said the monk.  “I’m not sure what burrows may be hidden in those forests.  But if they are as large as the last mound, we may have another difficult fight on our hands.”

“Wyrd has been kind to us.  More monsters to destroy means greater fame,” replied Beowulf, enjoying the brief respite from the wind, which grew calm.  “The trail of the creatures is easily followed despite the snow.  Even I could follow this, and I’m no stalker of men.”

A couple of people overheard Beowulf’s jest and gave a light chuckle. They knew their leader to be boastful in front of rulers; it was the way of their world.  But, they knew he was right, his skill as a tracker failed to match the ability of other men in the group. As the day wore on, the monk noticed those in the group were chatting more often.  At one point, Sigibert thought their leader would stop for food and rest, but instead, Beowulf pulled dried meat from the bag behind his saddle.  The young monk sighed, trying to adjust to the discomfort of the hard seat.  He glanced up at the sun, guessing it was a little after midafternoon so he gave his ninth hour prayers, called the None, before pulling out a stick of the dried flesh to gnaw on.  He watched the rest of the thegns fight off their hunger as they chewed the stringy meat as well.

It was not long before Beowulf saw Weohstan motion for him and the Geat leader rode forward.  The expression on his thegn’s face told him something was wrong.  He looked down at the trail, spotting two lines of hoof prints leading away from the dreygurs footprints.

“I watched as Appa split with Glappa,” the warrior told the king.  “I let him get out of sight before I signaled you.  As you can see, the small path he’s following.   Should I follow him?”

Beowulf nodded.  “Keep well back and just observe.  Like you, I don’t trust him.  How is your leg doing?”

“I’ll be okay,” said the warrior.  “That healer back at the village did well.”  He rode off down the path, intent upon following the Angle warrior.

Briefly watching as the man followed the set of tracks, Beowulf turned ahead to see Glappa far in front of them, continuing to follow the trail to the village.  The Geat waited for the rest of his thegns who sped up to catch their leader.

“Weohstan will see where that path leads,” Beowulf told his thegns when they arrived.  Ecgberht, you take the point and keep an eye on Glappa.  Make sure to let us know if something seems amiss.”  The Geat warrior watched as the old fighter spit on the ground and kicked into the flank of his mount, sending man and horse forward.  Beowulf looked back at his men, and he could see from their expression they wanted to know what happened.

“One of the Angles seems to be following another path,” the Atheling told them before turning his horse and heading after Ecgberht.  He decided that information was enough for the moment.  The men glanced at each over as they spurred their horses on.

As the remaining warriors followed Beowulf, Weohstan finally caught sight of Appa in the open field just before the blonde man pushed his mount through the line of dense foliage.  The Geat continued to follow; trying to make sure he stayed out of sight despite the open land around him.  When the warrior reached the forest line, he entered, following the same trail which ran back to the north. The thegn questioned where the son of Ida rode since the direction they took made little sense.  Proceeding carefully while listening to the sounds of the forest, Weohstan up at the canopy overhang, still green here the pines stood.  Soon, the noises of the creatures stopped, leaving him with an uncanny feeling.  Weohstan stopped his mount when he noticed movement nearby, just off the path in front of him.  The warrior put his hand on his spear, pulling the weapon slowly from his saddle as he nudged his horse forward.   The stillness of the cold air felt oppressive, and he could hear the sound of something moving through the foliage.  He caught a glimpse of a brown horse with a small robed figure in the saddle.  Weohstan decided the brown robed rider was tracking Appa as well.  Keeping the person in sight, the Geat decided to follow as long as the traveler kept on the same path.

Suddenly, the rider stopped.  The Geat warrior did the same, his eyes searching for any movement in the forest around him.  He saw the rider slid off their horse and begin to crawl forward, leaving the horse near thick brush. Weohstan jumped down, silently tying off his mount and slowly moved forward.  He kept the robed figure in sight as he tried to avoid large areas of fallen leaves, which might signal his presence.  Creeping along, he stopped on occasion to glance around for movement.  Seeing nothing, he circled around the rider’s mount until he finally came upon the figure just a few strides away from him.  The rider wore a brown robe with a hood that covered the person’s hair and face.  Frozen in their crouch, the traveler stared ahead at something inside the clearing which the warrior could not make out.  But he could hear parts of a conversation going on past the rider.  Weohstan thought he heard the voice of Appa.  Working to get a better vantage point, the warrior crawled to his right and silently pushed through the foliage.  Suddenly he spotted a brown body of a horse, lying across the narrow trail.  Getting to his feet, the man circled around the dead animal, noticing a large gash in the animal’s throat.  Bending over the carcass, he noted only a small amount of blood on the ground which surprised him.

Then, he overheard the voice of Appa, coming toward him.  At first, he wanted to confront the Angle, but he suddenly backed away, when he heard another voice.  Wanting to know more, the warrior re-entered the brush where he could see the outline of the Angle warrior coming through the brush followed by someone in a white robe.  Weohstan pulled back the foliage trying to identify the other person, but he only saw glimpses of the two individuals.  Fortunately, the pine needles covering the ground helped to cover the noise of his footsteps as he burrowed low through a line of thick undergrowth.

“Why did you do this?” he overheard Ida’s son.  The Geat heard the small hint of fear in the man’s voice.  “I cannot explain this loss of a horse to the Geats.”

“I have my reasons, and did what is needed,” the woman’s voice replied, confident and cold as she put her leather boot triumphantly upon the dead beast.  “You will come to understand soon. But you must learn not explain your actions unless it benefits your cause.  Think of your father’s abilities.  A king must find ways to keep things hidden from view.  Men will show you no respect if you answer to them.”  She knew her partner was not convinced.  Verch sighed.  “Tell them wolves attacked and got the horse when you return,” She turned back the way they came, wondering if this young Angle warrior might not be smart enough for her needs.  “Since I have no horse, you must take me to a place where the rivers merge as one. I can show you the way.” She turned, quickly walking away from her trophy.

Appa followed the queen, trying to keep up with the robed woman as they moved from the area.  Weohstan attempted to push forward to view the stranger, but he could only glimpse her garments.  The clothes were those of a noble, a white flowing robe and leather breeches.  He could not see the lady’s face or hair with the hood covering her head.  As listened to the two scheming, he forced himself from not jumped out to confront them.  He remembered the words of Beowulf to follow and report back.  It was becoming apparent that the Angle was involved with something, the thegn could not defy Beowulf’s command.  So he was forced to remain hidden until they left, unable to follow from his place of concealment for the moment.  He missed the rest of the conversation after the two figures voices drifted away.

While fuming about his treatment, Appa caught up with the robed figure of Verch.  She led the way, hurrying on the trail since she needed to return to Morcant Bulc before she was missed.  She turned her head to tell the young Angle that he would go back to Geats with a talisman she made for him.  She said she would return to her husband to prepare for the next part of their plan.

“But why not stay here?” Appa remained transfixed by the woman’s figure walking in front of him.  “I can take care of the Geats.  Next mound we come to, I’ll send them in and let the tunnel collapse on them.”

Appa heard the woman laugh.  It was not pleasant to his ears. “I’ve seen the visions about these Geats and your brother. You told me about their destruction of the dreygurs, and they know the secret of the monster’s rebirth.  If those monsters cannot destroy them, you can’t do it alone.”

“My plan is a good one,” the Angle told her defensively.  He took her by the shoulder, stopping her as he forced her to look at him.  “Besides, I need to know what you are planning.  A good king must trust his wife.”

She smiled at him, pulling away.  “Take me to the river, and I will tell you all you need to know.”

Soon, the two were in the clearing where the man’s horse reared back, whining as the woman approached.  Appa ran in front of her to calm the animal, thinking the horse probably smelled the blood of its former stablemate.  After a while, the horse calmed enough for the woman to climb on the high back saddle.  Appa untied the reins from the brush, handing them to the woman before he climbed up behind her.  They took the trail away from the village, leaving the area where the brown robed rider watched them.

The slim form of the rider skirted through the foliage, heading back to its mount.  Suddenly Weohstan was on top of the figure.  The Geat warrior instinctively felt the rider pulling a seax and the man grabbed the thin wrist while striking the hooded figure in the head with the pommel of his sword.  The rider dropped hard to the frozen soil, long black hair spilling out from under the hood.  At first, the Geat thought he killed the person.  However, the figure stirred, groaning as Weohstan used his foot to turn the stranger over.  Then, he saw the young Brythonian girl called Leofe shaking her head.  Instead of fear, he saw her enchanting eyes blazing at him when she looked up at him.  He kept his sword pointed at her while glancing over at the figures now out of sight.

“Why did you attack me? I was right with them.”  She whispered urgently.

“First off, I didn’t know you. And that’s my job to keep with Appa,” he told her, trying to watch for movement in the forest.  He was afraid Appa was getting away.  “You need to go back to your people,” said the warrior as he ran off, limping badly.

The man’s injured leg slowed him as he pushed through to the bushes.  Struggling, he got on his horse sending the animal on a straight line through the forest. He hoped he could cut Appa off after seeing the main trail curved down through the sloping terrain.   He remained oblivious to the needles of the pines as they struck his face and upper body.  His horse tried to slow, but he spurred the animal forward.  Continuing through the trees, he sought to find where the small trail would circle back.  He slowed at the last minute when he nearly stumbled on the path.  The warrior heard the sound of a horse coming down the trail, and he backed his mount away, pushing deeper into the brush.  Soon, he spotted Leofe riding fast coming up behind him, trying to catch Appa and his mysterious woman.  Weohstan stuck his heels into the horse’s flank, turning his animal across the path of the oncoming mount.

“Out of my way,” the girl hissed at him.

“No, you stay with me,” he ordered.  “Don’t make me slap you down again.”

The woman tried to pass him at first but realized the Geat would not let her by him.  “Ok, you can lead,” she finally conceded.

“Good, now keep your mouth shut, and we will see if we can track them down.  Follow my lead,” Weohstan said as he turned his mount and drove them back on the path.  The warrior could feel her eyes boring into him, but he paid little attention, his eyes focused on the ground.  Glancing up on occasion as they traveled, the bushes gave no indication of their prey.  Ahead of the riders, the forest grew dense with the pine trees giving way to giant oaks and hawthorns.  Below them, the dormant vegetation, brown leaves, and green brush spread across the landscape.

To their surprise, the bright day suddenly became overcast, and a dense gray fog descended on the area.  Their mounts reared back in fear at the white vapor enveloped them.  Weohstan heard the woman say something in Brythonian, which he did not understand.  Then, Leofe told him in their language that fog was supernatural.  She pointed the way along a narrowing, rocky trail, taking the lead to the north and west, away from the village.  Weohstan asked Leofe what she meant about the fog.

“Look at it, have you seen fog come in with such speed while so cold.  No, this means Verch is near, probably trying to confuse us.  They are going north to where the Tynemouth River leads to the lands of the Picts.  It appears your friend has a terrible enemy on his side.  If you hadn’t attacked, I would have been right behind them.”  The woman’s sarcasm annoyed him.

“Why are you here?  You have no stake in this.  Beowulf kept his promise to you when we left the village.”

“That is my affair,” she sniffed.

“You want me to smack you again,” said the warrior, looking around at trees he could only barely make out now.  “I’m in no mood for secrets.”

She hesitated, reluctant to confide in someone she considered the enemy.  Finally, she told him.  “I believe that Queen Verch schemes to bring a great evil over all the lands.  Rumors say the woman hates the Angles, and she wishes to destroy King Ida.  This is an example of her work.”

“Not that I believe this but I would assume her husband the king might have a say in that idea.” His tone told her he thought the woman was crazy.  She went on to explain her dream that night before.

“I understand you don’t believe, but when you meet her, you will know,” said Leofe calmly.  “Now, I’ve joined with Beowulf to help.   My vision last night told me I must help.

“And what are you planning to do?  While you are a good healer, you are not a warrior. It makes no sense for a lone cup bearer to search out for this queen, especially if she’s as bad as you say.”  Weohstan was leaning over to the side of his mount.  It was evident he was having difficulty following the trail of the rider on the stone path.  The trail leading through the forest were the remains of an ancient cut stone road, similar to the Romwarena roads they traveled in Bernicia.  As he focused on any telltale signs, her words barely registered.

“May the dwarves and trolls rot,” he cursed aloud.  “I think we’ve lost them.”

The two riders slowly double backed up the trail, starting at a clearing where several small footpaths came together.  Both of them swept the area for any tracks leading them to their quarry.  However, neither of them could make out any signs to follow.  Circling around the area, they finally came together near a clearing, the air around them still thick.

“Looks like we’re out of luck,” the man sighed, embarrassed at his failure.  “My leg held me back more than I expected and now this mist.”

“You shouldn’t have stopped me,” Leofe chastised him again.  The warrior glared at her, holding up his hand to keep quiet.  Listening for normal sounds of the forest, there were none.  It was quiet as a crypt. After a while, he turned back to the woman.

“We will go back to tell what we know to Beowulf.  Then, you can explain to him why you are following Appa.  Don’t make the mistake of trying to outrun my horse.”  The Geat warrior’s tone told her not to argue as he turned back to lead them to Beowulf.

It took longer than expected before the two riders were able to get out of the fog.  By the time they reached the Geats, the setting sun’s rays barely peaked out from behind the horizon.  The thegns made camp in a clearing near a stream along the trail.  As they approached Weohstan saw Glappa talking with Beowulf.

The Angle noble arrived back at the camp after scouting the area ahead.  He informed the Geats that no enemy scouts appeared to be in their path.  The son of Ida also stated the locals were staying near their farms, and all seemed to be normal.  Beowulf thanked the Angle noble for his help, asking where his brother was.  Glappa told him his brother left him as they entered the forest, saying he would scout out for any troops along the nearby river.  Beowulf said nothing but Glappa knew the Geat leader was unhappy at the turn of events.  Before Glappa could say more, they spotted Weohstan and Leofe coming into the camp.

The odd couple rode into the circle of surprised warriors who quickly gathered around seeking news.  Beowulf strode forward for a report.  Weohstan told his leader about the things he witnessed and overheard about Appa.  Also, he made sure to tell Beowulf of the eerie fog which surrounded them.  The Geat leader struggled to remain calm in front of his men.  His suspicion of the Angle man proved correct, and now a Brythonian queen seemed able to use some great spells against them.  The atheling knew that keeping Appa with his group of thegns was dangerous when they started.  Better to have banished him at the time, he thought as he looked over at Glappa.

“I don’t believe it,” the son of Ida told Beowulf.  “My brother is a noble son of the King, not a traitor.  If this is truly a hægtesse, then she has put a spell upon him.”

Reluctantly, Weohstan agreed, saying such a thing was possible since Appa seemed to follow the woman’s lead.  Ida’s son quickly promised those around him that Appa would not be allowed to leave them on his own.  Beowulf slowly nodded, unconvinced but willing to avoid the painful alternative he faced about Appa.  Untrustworthy or not, the noble was the king’s son.  It was something Beowulf told himself he should have carefully considered.  The Geat turned focus to the young woman who grew nervous as he took the reins of her horse.  As she slid to the ground, the woman knew he was not happy to see her.  For some reason, his lack of a welcome disappointed her.

“Why are you here?  Does a cup bearer wish to join our group?” His sarcasm caused those around him to laugh.  Disregarding the mockery, she told him about her travel following the group.  She said she took off after Appa when he broke away from Glappa.  Suddenly interested in her tale, Beowulf asked her why.

“I don’t trust him,” she replied. “He reminds me of a little rat, always looking for something to get into, no matter the smell.”  Her description caused the group to break out in laughter.  Even Glappa gave a grin at the description.  Smiling briefly, Beowulf told her it might be a good story, but it did not explain why she followed them.

“I had a vision.  It led me to find Queen Verch.  The spirits told me that she is more than a galdere,” said the woman.  “They said the queen burns a great hate against the invaders and is willing bring a potent evil across the land to drive out the Angles, and now, the Geats.”

Beowulf studied her closely, surprised by her confession as he rubbed his chin, pacing in front of her. “So, you’re a saxnat as well?  I’ve known of only one spirit chaser before.  Why didn’t you say this before?”

“It didn’t matter before.  I thought you and your men would leave and our village would go back to normal.  Then, before you left this morning, the spirits woke me.   They gave me a vision of despair and misery where dreygurs ruled the night.”

“Why didn’t you tell us this before we left?”  Beowulf’s voice remained suspicious.

The attractive woman signed.  “One of the villagers spoke to Malo early this morning telling him that I was against Morcant and that I had visions.  When I went to Malo, I found out that rat called Appa lied about me.  He told some of the women in the hall many falsehoods about me late night.  If King Morcant Bulc comes to the village, my life would be forfeit.  It was Malo who told me I should leave since he thinks the villagers will no longer stay quiet about my powers.”

The sound of the murmuring among the thegns grew, many suspicious and skeptical of her words.  Even Beowulf had difficulty believing some of what she said.  Several spoke up asking why they listened to the words of the woman.  Beowulf remembered the woman’s happiness at the trap she set for him to take on the Queen of the Brythonians.  Ecgberht and Weohstan immediately spoke out against the woman, saying she couldn’t be trusted if her own village sent her away.  Only Sigibert spoke in her defense.

“It is said a great evil lies in the underworld ready to spring itself upon the lands.  This is told in the stories of the gods of the Geats, and it is well known in my religion.”  The monk crossed himself.  “If the dwarves and trolls suddenly sprang out of the underworld to join with this witch called Verch, what could you do against them? I just heard the Angle was bewitched, and he is not banished from our group.  Shouldn’t you give Leofe the same treatment as Appa?”

So forceful in his words, the young man caught the Beowulf and his men by surprise.   Turning to the woman, he tried to find any hints of betrayal in her face.  The woman remained calm, but the Geat could see the hint of vulnerability in her eyes as he weighed the decision.

“I guess this is possible, but I remember how eager she was to trick us into going after Verch yesterday,”  Beowulf said aloud.  “However, there is truth in Sigibert’s words.  And I know that something is rotten here, and we must find out the extent of the trouble.  I believe we should be fair with Leofe as Appa.”  Beowulf walked away from the group, letting the men talk among themselves at the decision.  He knew it would not be a popular choice among his thegns as he looked at the night creeping upon them.

The young man thought her words made sense, but Beowulf hoped he wasn’t making a mistake by allowing her to stay.  At the same time, the man struggled with the reason behind Appa’s disappearance.  He could not really believe the son of Ida could not have turned against his father and sided with the Brythonians against the Angles.  On the face of it, the enemy of his father would quickly betray him.  Beowulf could see Glappa’s point.  It made sense Appa was bewitched.

Just as Beowulf was about to return to the campfire, he spotted movement in the forest.  A single rider came toward them, and Beowulf immediately recognized Appa.  As much as he wanted to confront the man, he suddenly decided to use Glappa for the task.  Beowulf went to the Angle, who stood alone while the rest of the men looked at him doubtfully.  Glappa noticed the tension.

“Your brother returns.  You heard what Weohstan told me about this woman in the forest,” Beowulf explained to the Angle warrior, keeping his voice low.  “Perhaps he’s found love among the Brythonians, but I doubt it.  I ask that you find out his whereabouts and what he is up to.  He will not tell me the truth.  You know I don’t trust him.  You are a strong leader so you find a way for him regain that confidence or there will be a bloodletting.  We both realize, neither of us can afford such a thing to happen.  Your father has my word, but I cannot keep a traitor in this group.”

Nodding, Glappa thought about his predicament as his brother closed in on the camp.  The expression on his face told the Geat leader of the struggle he held inside, for his brother and for his mission.

“My brother is not a traitor.  Of this I’m sure.  However, his lies are many.  From now on, I will hold him responsible.  While I’m not close with my brother, he would not let something valuable like a chance at King Ida’s throne escape his grasp,” said the Angle warrior.  “I know he resents the fact that I’m the oldest, destined to the throne. Appa would do nothing against interests of my father.  I will do as you ask.”

“Well, he must resent you since he knows you are the most capable, I’m sure.  I understand this is complicated, but we are in a difficult situation so deep in unfriendly lands,” said Beowulf.  “See what you can find out, and we’ll talk later.”

The Geat leader walked to the campfire where he spoke with Weohstan, who was sitting, nursing his leg.  Beowulf asked his friend about the leg, and the warrior told him he was fine; the leg would recover.  Sitting next to Weohstan, Beowulf lowered his voice. He stated he wanted someone to keep a close eye on Appa and Glappa.  Weohstan nodded, saying that he would make sure the brothers were watched.  Beowulf gave a brief smile of thanks, reminding the warrior to keep his suspicion to himself for the moment.  The Geat leader could not afford any uproar among his men.

~~~

Late that night, Queen Verch arrived in the camp of her husband, Morcant Bulc.  At first, the beautiful woman appeared as a ghost with her white robe flowing as she walked toward the few warriors still gathered around one fire.  Immediately, they stiffened, going silent when the queen came close.  The men rightly feared the woman.  She carried the evil power the fighters discussed among themselves only.  Morcant Bulc allowed no person to talk counter to his wife.  Some of the men she passed believed the woman to be a demon in the shell of a human.  They heard the rumors of her blood sacrifices.  Also, stories whispered that her real mother was a Fomorian, an ancient race of demon followers.  The men carefully watched her as she went to her husband’s giant tent, pulling open the entrance flap.  The king of Gododdin slept in a large round tent, laid on a conical frame of long wooden poles, covered in linen cloth.  The woman stepped inside, ignoring the looks she felt.  It was dark and quiet but for the rhythmic sound of her husband’s snores as he lay on one side of the tent in a bed of fresh straw.  Ducking her head, she rounded the bed, removed her robe, and slid between the covers of woolen cloth, topped with animal furs.

As she lay there, the woman thought over the day.  The queen felt the eyes of people following her and Appa on her trip back so she used a spell on the winds to create the fog which filled the forest behind them.  She left young warrior not far from her camp, sending him back to Beowulf and his men.  She knew the Angle had little honor and not much intelligence.  Like a game of fidchell, the pieces on the board were aligned to destroy the opponent.  Queen Verch decided the time was right for her to inform the king about the Geats, allied with Angles, entering his lands.  Sending Morcant Bulc against Beowulf and his thegns would be the next step.  She smiled, feeling content as she ran her hands over her renewed skin brought about by the blood of the unfortunate horse.

As she settled into the warm spot among the blankets, giving blessings to her mother, Carmun, the great sorceress who taught her the evil spells.  Soon she would bring her power against the Angles and lead the Brython kingdoms against Ida and his Angles.  She would be the next warrior queen that restored the Brythonians back to their rightful place over Bernicia.

The next morning the queen awoke before her husband, going to the cook and servants to make sure his meal and drink would be ready when he woke.  She had much to explain and knew he would be more receptive if she acted her role to meet his needs.  Since she left a few days before, the woman knew her husband would ask her whereabouts.  But a sprinkle of her special potion in his food would soon turn him back into the compliant king.  Her spell, using ground black henbane and mandrake root, turned the man into a mumbling fool, easily held hostage to her whims.

Morcant Bulc woke not long after the Queen, yelling for his servant.  The young boy ran to the tent to help his master dress for the day.  When he finished, the Brython king stepped forth to greet the chill, pounding his hands on the outside of his arms.   Dressed in the royal purple tunic that lay over his woolen undergarments, the short man with a long flowing gray beard stalked across the short distance to the open campfire.  Turning to warm his backside, he greeted Verch.

“Well, I see you decided to grace me with your presence today.”  His dark eyes looked her over, wondering where she spent the day before.

Verch came to him, handing him a mug of his favorite drink.  “I’m sorry I was late but my horse foundered, and I had to walk the final miles to reach camp.  It was quite late, and I knew I shouldn’t disturb you.  Your health is important to the Brythonians.”

The king accepted his wife’s excuse grudgingly.  It was not the first time she left to go alone into the forest.  He noticed she gave him a cheery smile today, and he quickly thought about how young she remained.  Despite the years of marriage and hard travel since they were forced out of Bernicia, his wife remained as youthful as when they married some twenty years before.  He relished the envy of the other Brythonian nobles when they saw his wife and his good fortune.  It helped him believe such jealousy bred evil rumors spread about her.  He heard the whispers about his wife and the information weighed on him heavily at times.

“You must be more careful,” said the king, his face showing his concern.  “I will send along servants with you next time.”

“You should not concern yourself.  I’m quite capable.”  She came next to him, putting her arm in his to guide him to his table. “Come, the cook has an excellent meal made for you.  After you eat, we can talk about the things I have learned during my journey.”

~~~

Several days later as the morning awoke; Beowulf and his men entered the village of Hagustaldes ea, which consisted of a few wattle and daub buildings along with small huts which were homes for the villagers.  Located along the river near an ancient stone bridge, the town nestled against a long dilapidated wall, still taller than any of the buildings.  The thatched roofed buildings looked comforting in the cold of the morning frost.  However, the villagers of the town were sullen and unwilling to talk.  Even the words of Beowulf, translated by Leofe, who promised them no harm failed to impress the people.  An old hag, sitting on a bench outside of a small mead hall, openly derided the Geat’s words.  Hrethric, a Dane, who joined Beowulf early that year, jumped down from his horse, pulling his dagger from his belt.  He swore at the old woman, telling her he would remove her tongue for talking against his leader.

“Stop,” Beowulf shouted at his thegn.  “You cannot make people love you by threats of their death, especially if they can’t understand you.” He smiled to the laughter at his joke.  Hrethric shoved his dagger back in his belt, sullenly taking his mount away.  Beowulf paid little attention to the woman who mocked him in the native language.  It appeared dreygurs were preferred over armed strangers riding with Angles.  Beowulf sent Sigibert and Ecgberht across the river to look for any signs of the Brythonians.  The Geat leader split up the remaining thegns, sending several upstream and the rest of them downstream to follow the banks of the river to look for signs of the dreygurs.

Beowulf rode out onto the bridge, stopping at the top of the arch, which gave him a strategic view of the river plain.  In the distance, he could see his men slowly moving through the countryside.  The young man was still thinking of the hægtesse called Verch that Leofe seemed so sure was the cause of these monsters.  If the queen of the Brythonians met with Appa, he expected trouble would soon follow.  The Geat leader disliked how the gods were playing games with him. Soon, Beowulf heard Glappa and Weohstan ride up next to him, and he asked about Appa.

“He is traveling with those thegns heading upstream,” said his brother.  “I spoke with him about his journey.  He told me that a pack of wolves took down the horse of his thegn.  He even mentioned meeting a woman who said she was part of wood cutters within the forest.”

“Women of such status wearing fine linens of white,” said Weohstan. “I’ve never heard of such a thing.”

“Neither have I,” said Beowulf, looking over at Glappa for a comment but the Angle remained quiet.  He saw in the Angle’s eyes an unspoken agreement that he believed his brother to be lying.

“I cannot accuse someone if I have no proof,” Glappa reluctantly stated.  “I’ll keep him close.”

Beowulf nodded in agreement. “Very well, it is agreed.  I thank you for this assistance.”  Glappa rode off to find his brother.  Weohstan stayed asking why the man refused to send Appa away.

“If his thegn still lived, I would have sent him back to your father and lived with King Ida’s displeasure.  However, I cannot send him back alone and be accused of leaving an ally in enemy lands.  We cannot risk having relatives becoming enemies.”

Beowulf turned his mount around, heading back to the village as his comrade rode with him.  The Geats kept an eye on the local men who remained aloof, glaring at them. Weohstan spotted Leofe coming out of a tannery shop.  He pointed her out to Beowulf who stopped, getting down from his horse, and walking over to the woman after handing the reins to his friend.

“It appears you have a use as a translator in these lands.  Should I ask for you to give your oath to me?”  He smiled at his joke, but the woman raised an eyebrow.

“The great Geat says I must ally myself with an enemy in my lands.  Since I’m but a dumb woman, I must learn more about how your generous nature helps me.”  Her tone dripped with sarcasm.

Taken aback by her comment, Beowulf turned serious.  “It was not the Geats who asked you to join us.  And as for women, most I’ve met are quite intelligent.  Even a few who are natural leaders, scheming to attain power over their men and their tribe. Most seem to know what they cannot get through force, they achieve through their wiles.”

“You have a cynical view of women,” Leofe told him.  “Perhaps it is not a cut and dry as you believe.”

“Perhaps,” admitted the warrior,” but I’ve not seen it.”  He took her by the arm and led her away from a group of villagers standing nearby.  “Given the looks we are receiving from these locals; you should not risk yourself walking alone among them.”

At first, she thought he was joking until she looked up, realizing the man really was concerned about her safety.  The young woman laughed lightly.  “This is a great day for me.  The great Beowulf is worried about me.”

“Don’t mock me,” the young warrior’s face turned dark.

“No, you’re correct, I shouldn’t.  It was a noble gesture,” the woman agreed, pausing to think about the Geat’s concern.  She took a quick look around to make sure no one overheard them.  “I was teasing you. But you needn’t worry; the villagers don’t consider me a traitor. They believe you have forced me to come along.  I talked to several of them, including the old hag.  She doesn't like your men, and she distrusts you.  However, they have little meat, so I traded some of your meat for information.”

Visibly impressed, Beowulf grinned at her.  “So, you told the old woman you would give her our supplies.  Like I said earlier, women achieve through their wiles.”

Leofe turned red, “Ok, I made your point but still it’s not true.  Now, do you want the information or not?”

“Since we paid for it, I should hear it,” the man agreed with a twinkle in his eye.

The woman continued. “The dreygurs passed through here a few days ago. But they attacked no one.  Farmers claimed they lost sheep, and the blacksmith told people of dead warriors crossing the bridge at night.  However, no one really believed him.  The old woman said to me that the creatures were returning to the earth.  She stated that high mounds lay not far from here.”

“Good enough,” he told her.  “Since you made her a friend, you can give her the meat.  I’ll tell Weohstan to get the supplies for you.”

As she walked with him, Leofe didn’t understand why but she was enjoying the attention.   However, they heard the sound of hoof beats galloping toward the village from upstream.  They could see Swidhun riding up fast along with Glappa and the rest of the thegns from upstream.  Swidhun reached Beowulf first.

“We have a horde of Brythonians moving toward the village.  They are not far behind us.”  The man and his mount were breathing hard from the long, intense ride.

“How soon will they arrive?” asked Beowulf.

“They are several leagues still behind us. They are moving steady but not in a hurry.  I’m not sure if they know we are here or not.  But we are heavily outnumbered if we stay.”  Glappa interjected as he and the rest of the thegns joined their leader in the middle of the village street.  Beowulf noticed Appa just arriving behind the other thegns.

“Between a rock and a hammer, I believe. If we go to the mounds we have dreygurs to contend with or stay and fight an army,” said the Geat leader grimly.  He turned to Weohstan, “Can you and your brother go find the rest of our scouts downstream?”  The warrior nodded, and Beowulf continued.  “Good, when you find them, have them cross the river and meet the rest of us on the main trail heading south of here.”  He pointed at the far side of the river where the road led away from the bridge.  The Geat warrior turned to the others.  “We will head to the mound that Leofe told us about.”

Suddenly the air filled with shouts as the thegns noticed a line of Brythonians coming out of the forest on foot.  Arriving from a different direction than expected, the enemy warriors cut across the road, leaving the Geats no escape back to Bernicia.  Soon, the men moved in two lines at the village.  The Brython warriors, clad in dark brown tunics and leather helmets came at them, closing in as they prepared to throw their spears.

Beowulf ordered Weohstan to head downstream then he ran with Leofe toward their horses.  Unfortunately, several enemy warriors launched their spears into the village, striking one of the mounts.  The action forced Beowulf to change direction, immediately charging into the enemy along with Swidhun.  The fight between the Geats and Brython fighters was brief but deadly as the thegns forced the enemy back, killing two men as Glappa joined him.  Beowulf struck down one of the Brythonians; the enemy’s square wooden shield no match for his new sword, Eotenisc.

Deciding to get out of the village before the enemy overwhelmed them, he ordered those around him to get to their horses.  After getting to his mount, he noticed Glappa still fighting two of the enemy, while other warriors were running up fast behind him.  Beowulf did not hesitate, spurring his horse forward with Glappa’s mount.  Entering the fray, the Geat leader used his mount to knock down one of the men attacking Glappa, placing himself between the Angle and the oncoming Brythonians.  Glappa finished off the other enemy and pulled himself onto his mount.  Beowulf spurred his mount into the oncoming warriors, using his shield to deflect sword blows coming from a nearby enemy on foot.  He did not see the spear coming his way, but there was a flash of black as Swidhun swung out his shield just in time to deflect the deadly missile away from Beowulf.  The giant warrior had moved up next to his atheling to fight with him.

Unperturbed by the near miss, the Geat leader remained focused on getting out of the area with his men.  He watched as Glappa joined them, and together they sped off toward the bridge with Swidhun following, quickly outrunning the enemy on foot.  Several spears launched by the enemy missed the group as they crossed the bridge.  The fighters dug their heels into the horses, trying to make as much distance as they could away from the village.  As they followed the trail where they soon ran into Sigibert and Ecgberht, who were heading back to the village.

Pausing briefly on the trail to get the group together, the men sped off as Ecgberht asked Beowulf about sounds of battle they heard in the hamlet.  Beowulf quickly told him what happened before he enquired about the road in front of them. The ex-slave said the path looked open for many leagues ahead.  Looking back at the bridge they left, only Glappa realized they were heading to the lands of Rheged.  Although he realized they had no choice, the son of Ida did not like where they were going.

CHAPTER 4

TO THE KINGDOM OF RHEGED

While Beowulf and his men rode to the southwest, on the other side of the river, Leofe finally caught up with Weohstan.  The warrior huffed when she called out to him, keeping his horse at a steady pace.  He kept glancing at the ground following the trail of the remaining thegns.  The girl dug her heels into the horse, quickly making up the final distance to join the Geat.

“Why did you follow me?” asked Weohstan, his tone harsh.

“You will need me,” said the girl confidently.

“Yeah, like a spear in the belly,” grumbled the warrior.

Leofe just laughed lightly, refusing to take the Geat seriously.  The woman believed she already understood this warrior better than most.  He was proud and stubborn as the rest but seemed willing to listen to a woman despite his threats.  She noticed how he looked at her at times with his big brown eyes, which gave him a kind of sad look on his young but weathered face.  His impressive size and rude manner belied an underlying sense of caring and loyalty he held for those in his charge.  Even though an enemy, Weohstan was someone, she felt would be honest with her.

The pair moved quickly through the thinning forest of trees near the river.  While the river wasn’t very wide, Leofe recognized the current moved swiftly through the channel, making the area much too dangerous for them to cross.  She mentioned this to Weohstan, who grunted.  Not long after midday, they came upon the rest of the comrades who missed the fighting.

Osberht, Ecgberht, and Aeschere were coming back to the village.  Weohstan could see his young brother was about to let out a sarcastic comment concerning Leofe, but he would not give him a chance.  The older brother quickly shut him up when he spoke about the attack on the village by the Brythonians and the orders from Beowulf.  The warrior asked about a place to cross, but the men told him the river remained swift as far as they had traveled.

“You will have to ride many leagues further downstream to find a bridge to cross,” the young woman informed them.

“We can’t do that, it will take us too much time,” replied Osberht.

“That’s why I’m here to help.”  The woman slid off her mount.  She reached into a leather bag on the back of the horse, pulling out several small clay pots.  Leofe took them to the edge of the river, placing the vessels on a flat rock.  Squatting over the stone, she began a soft chant in a language unfamiliar to the nearby Geats who watched with increased interest.  Osberht waved over the thegns still too far away to witness the strange ritual.

The woman pulled out the wooden stoppers, and she slowly poured out the liquid from two of vessels, which gave the water a blue-green tinge.  As she began to chant louder, repeating the same words over and over, she threw out most of the contents of the third pot out into the water.  With a wave of her arm, she yelled out the word, isarno, and the thegns watched in disbelief as an opaque structure suddenly shot across the running water.  The crystal path, suddenly solidified across to the other side, with a burst of crackling sound like heavy ice breaking underfoot.  Within a blink of an eye, a blue-green ice sheet of frozen water lay in front of them. The men sat upon their horses, staring in disbelief while Leofe took her little clay jars back to her horse.  Swinging her leg over the saddle, she started across the ice bridge.

“I would hurry across soon since this spell only works for a short while,” she told them with a smile, enjoying the mixture of trepidation and awe she saw on the Geat warrior’s faces.   Only Weohstan’s face remained a mask.  The man followed the woman to the river’s edge, watching her coax her horse on the bridge which was already slowly melting.  Once across the makeshift bridge, she dug in her heels into the animal and took off over the short ridge, quickly out of sight.

Weohstan yelled for Ecgberht, and the two followed the woman, refusing to let her witchcraft scare them.  Ecgberht yelled back to the younger men.

“Buck up your courage and cross now.  We have a long ride ahead of us.  I don’t want to explain to Beowulf why the woman caught up with him before we did.”  When Weohstan reached the midway point across the river, he gestured to the others who reluctantly followed him.  As their mounts slipped on the ice, Aeschere cursed when he heard the ice give a loud crack beneath them.

“Woman will get us killed,” complained the warrior as he tried to encourage his reluctant horse forward.

Osberht nodded agreement, his focus on the dissolving edges of the path on either side of them.  “I wouldn’t have believed it, but she’s a witch alright.  Now, what will happen?”

The group reached the shore and, as the last mount rode off the ice, the men heard a sudden snap.  Turning in their saddles to see the blue-green pieces of their bridge floating away on the swift current.  The image left them feeling even more uncertain as the group rode away, their focus on catching up with the Brythonian hægtesse.

“I don’t like this,” Aeschere scowled as the men galloped along.  “Beowulf needs to know what we have in our midst.  She could be the one bringing those dreygurs out of their graves to attack us.”

“I’m not so sure,” Weohstan spoke up.  “She is not the woman who met with Appa in the forest.  Anyway, she hasn’t killed us yet.”

“Maybe not but who’s to say she’s not working with the other woman?” asked Osberht.  “I heard her say she is of noble blood just like this queen she speaks of.”

“She could have done more to us before now,” argued Weohstan, his face sour as he considered the thought.  He hoped the woman was not a threat to them.  However, one could never be sure of the loyalties of a hægtesse.

“We have to consider the possibility, I would guess,” said Ecgberht quietly.  The old warrior usually remained silent so his interjection into the conversation gave weight to his words.  The other thegns thought about his comment in silent agreement.

The former slave continued his thoughts.  “She seems quite taken with Beowulf and, if I’m not mistaken, he likes the way she looks.”

“Don’t we all,” said Osberht, causing a ripple laughter among them as they saw the woman’s horse moving fast in front of them.  “She is a fair one to watch.  And she would make a good cup-bearer.  However, she is not a Geat or even an Angle.  Even those in the village didn’t trust her.”

“Then someone should need to keep a close watch on her.” Weohstan thought aloud.

“Are you volunteering, brother?” Osberht threw his brother a glance while the others chuckled.

“Perhaps I am,” replied Weohstan with a sudden thought.  “I can keep Beowulf away and get a little closer to the woman.  Either way, I win.”  He chuckled with the others at his statement.  However, his brother thought he heard a hint of nervousness.  Osberht said nothing but vowed he would watch over his brother.

Beowulf and his men were waiting impatiently near a fork in the trail when the last group finally arrived.  With Swidhun at his side, the Geat leader impatiently paced the road, while the sun slowly moved across the sky into the afternoon.  While happy at their return, their leader made sure to chastise them for being so late as they climbed down from their mounts.  Osberht immediately spoke up, trying to tell him about what they saw from Leofe but the atheling interrupted him.

“I don’t have time for excuses.  We need to move fast away any more of the Brythonian warriors who may be coming,”

Beowulf went over to Leofe.  “Do you know which path we should take to the mound of the dreygurs?”

“The old woman told me the trail led away from the river and another day of riding to the west,” she replied.

“That is not wise,” interjected Glappa. “That will lead us into the heart of Rheged, home of King Urien.  They are not friends with Angles.  Nearly as bad as the Gododdin.”

“Does the son of Ida want us to stop?  I cannot believe your father would want this.”  Beowulf made it clear he would not accept such an answer either as he waited for the Angle’s reaction.

“I didn’t say that,” Glappa snapped back at the Geat, “but they are far more numerous than we are.  We could be trapped between two walls.”

“Very well, what do you propose?” asked the Geat.

“I’m not sure,” the Angle looked embarrassed at his response.  “If we must go forward, we need to have a plan and a way to get out.  I wanted you to know what we have in front of us.”

Beowulf paused, nodding.  “Well, your thoughts will not go unheeded. I agree we need to understand our situation.”

Beowulf's eyes swept across his men, “We have many people coming after us.  Now, we are aware we have many enemies in front of us.  I say we now have better odds than when we landed in Bernicia.  At least we know who the enemy is.”  His confident smile pushed away some of their internal misgivings and a few nodded in agreement.

“I’m not worried about a king I’ve never heard of or a weak people who cannot fight such monsters.  I think we push into Rheged, finish our mission, and bring home the spoils to my uncle.” Beowulf paused for effect.

“What say you, Glappa?”

The son of Ida slowly nodded his agreement despite his reservations.  He warmed to the idea of a victory over monsters.  The man knew returning to Bernicia after finishing the dreygurs would send his name across the seas as a hero.  Even better for him if he were to thrust a spear into the Rhegeds who sent their warriors into Angle lands on many occasions.  While risky, his father would probably approve.  Glappa decided a moment like this required strong fighters of the same cause.

“The sons of Ida would ride with you to fight Seaxneat,” the Angle cried, trying to match Beowulf’s confidence.  It was a bold claim for the Angle since fighting a god was worthy of only the mightiest heroes. The Geats gave a quick yell in support of Glappa’s words.  Beowulf kept the exuberant mood going by running to his horse.

“We have leagues to go and an enemy on our trail.  Let us find the dreygurs and settle our account with them first,” Beowulf told them as he pulled himself on his mount.  The thegns quickly retrieved their horses and joined their leader.

Only Appa trailed behind the rest, disgusted at the display of respect and admiration he witnessed from his brother.  He considered the remarks unworthy of a future king of Bernicia.  Appa had his own plans, and they did not include his brother, the Geats and their hero.  He would gain power and control over Bernicia and into the surrounding lands.  It was something not even his father considered when King Ida sent for the Geats.

As the thegns made their way from the river, the trees thinned to open grassland, and they found small farms dotting the landscape.  The locals paid little attention to the group, only occasionally did they appear concerned at their unfamiliar armor the Geats wore.  Nevertheless, the Geats remained friendly, helped by Leofe, who acted as translator and guide.  They discovered the farmers knew about the dreygurs, telling the strangers that the monsters attacked their cattle and sheep with the savageness of wolf packs.  The natives repeated the rumors that came to them concerning farms destroyed by a trail of walking dead.  From their conversations, it was evident the inhabitants of the lands expected their own king to rid them of these creatures.  They were unhappy with King Urien’s failure to help.  Beowulf told the woman to remind the farmers that the Geats came to destroy the dreygurs who attacked other lands.  He made sure to have her say that he and his men were great warriors who would stop the attacks.  Leofe looked at the leader carefully about the boast, but she had to admit his confidence was infectious.  Even a few villagers were inspired enough to give them directions to a large mound where they said the after walkers were heading.

At one point during the conversations with a village leader, Beowulf leaned in close to the woman, quietly telling her not to mention the involvement of King Ida and his sons in their venture.  He hoped that word of friendly strangers coming into the lands after the monsters might delay a sudden, violent response from the overlord of Rheged.  She could tell the Geat did not intend to explain this to Glappa or Appa, and she wondered at his motive.

Later during their journey, Weohstan pulled his mount next to Beowulf.  He told the Geat leader about the things he and the others experienced with Leofe’s spells and the unease of the men about her motives.  Surprised by the extent of her magic, Beowulf asked the warrior about his impression of the woman.  Weohstan told him that she seemed honorable, but he planned to keep a close watch on her activities.  Beowulf nodded his agreement, wondering of her motives.  At the time, he questioned why the woman seemed so willing to join the Geats who worked for her natural enemies, the Angles.

Later that night, as the sun set across the ridgeline to their west, the group of thegns made camp, each person tired from the long day of riding.  Leofe told Beowulf that she believed them to be near the graves of the dreygurs.  The Geat leader thanked her for the information and suddenly asked her about Queen Verch.

“Any idea if she is following us?” he asked.  The question surprised her.

“I feel her presence more than I know she is following us,” she told him.  “It’s not clear.  Perhaps I will know more after tonight.”  The warrior gave her an odd look before walking away.  She watched as the young leader wandered among his men, reminding them of the great adventures they would soon encounter.  The witch tried to keep from staring at the head of the Geats, but she was intrigued by him.  There was something in his presence and bearing that attracted her more than his physical looks.

Weohstan came to Beowulf by the campfire, suggesting they have two warriors remain on watch during the night.  Beowulf agreed to the idea, telling his friend that Osberht and Sigibert should do this.  Beowulf smiled at the reaction of Osberht, who overheard the conversation.  Osberht walked over to Sigibert who was sitting alone.  He told the monk what he heard, complaining that Beowulf and his brother seemed to enjoy putting the two men at the same tasks.

“You know I have this watch with you because you missed the smoke in Routhebiria,” the Geat huffily informed Sigibert.

“Yes, I’m sure all your troubles come from my presence,” the monk countered, his face untroubled by the accusation.

Since the young monk had worked on the warrior’s injury, Osberht and Sigibert were on better terms.  The thegn knew Sigibert to be brave, and as a Geat, he respected that despite not understanding the God thegn’s beliefs.  However, that did not mean the younger brother of Weohstan would stop his biting comments at the expense of the monk.  Osberht sat next to the young monk, quietly telling Sigibert about what he saw when Leofe made the ice bridge, going into details about the structure, which appeared as if the gods created it for her.  The monk gave him a skeptical look, and the Geat warrior could not stop his needling of the monk.  He mocked Sigibert, saying his religion couldn’t match the thin woman who carried a few clay pots.  Osberht smiled while the man’s eyes flashed anger at his words.  Nevertheless, the monk refused to take the bait to start an argument with the other warrior.  Instead, Sigibert left the fighter who began laughing.  The young monk walked over to where Leofe squatted by a fire she just started.

“What did you do at the river?” he demanded of the woman.  Leofe looked up at him, confused at first.  Then, she told him of her spell.

“It’s the devil’s work,” the monk said flatly. As he turned to walk away, the woman jumped up after him.  She grabbed his sleeve.

“You can’t judge me for that is reserved for the god you worship,” declared the woman as she forced Sigibert to look at her.  “I’ve heard the teachings of Malo.  All I did was use this power to help your friends.  Or don’t you believe in them?”

“Of course, I do, that’s why I help them to know the truth.  I know what Malo told you.  Believers understand that the use of such witchcraft is a road to evil.  Look no further than a queen that you say is causing these problems.  Perhaps this is why even your own people don’t trust you.”  Sigibert gritted his teeth, his words barely heard by her.  He stared at her for a moment, then he pulled away, quickly walking away to be alone.  He realized she had a point, but he also knew deep down that she could bring the wrath of the Almighty against them.

Leofe shook her head as went back to the campfire, refusing to look at men near her, some of whom overheard the conversation.  But she could feel their eyes as they went about their work, removing the saddles from the horses and finding their place to sleep.  The woman sat in the thin grass still green despite the deep cold settling into the area.  She picked up a twig and began to draw symbols in the dirt as she thought about Sigibert’s words.

The monk was correct, they never trusted her when they learned of her abilities as a charm caster.  She truthfully believed in Milo’s God against the darkness.  It was another reason for her to learn the ways of the new God from the priest in her adopted village.  Yet she knew her abilities would never be a secret for long.  It caused suspicion from those who followed the old beliefs or the new ones, leaving her with more questions than answers.  To her, the new religion should not mean giving up her talents.  Her power to help people with such magic should not throw her into the same pot like the evil one, Queen Verch.

As she thought about Verch, Leofe knew she could never do the things needed to follow that path. The queen’s blood sacrifices to the goddess of terror called Alaisiagae, who gave her a kind of immortality along ample power to cast spells.  But it came at a significant risk.  The goddess might ensure triumph, but she demanded substantial payment.  It was the queen’s following of such evil that those of the new religion thought all spell casters shared.  She could not understand how Malo and Sigibert could condemn her power to help.  As the girl sat by the fire, she did not hear Beowulf come up next to her.

“It is good you are using the Algiz for our protection,” The Geat leader told her.  “I have a feeling we will need this magic and more in the coming days.”  Leofe looked down and realized her doodles in the soil showed such a symbol.  It could mean either a shield or protection against evil.

“The gods must have shown me,” she said, eyeing him.

“But your mind is not on this.” He sat next to her, pulling his seax from his belt.  He used the dagger to draw a line in the dirt, the symbol of ice.  It meant a barrier or obstruction.  “I overheard your words with Sigibert,” he murmured.  “I would appear the challenge you have is hard.”

“And what makes you think you know this?” Her eyes stared at the symbol.

“I learned from a great king named Hrethel.  He always told me to open my eyes while I listen to those around me.  It is a trait of leader to learn from those who guide him,” said Beowulf thoughtfully.  “I’m not a wise man, but I realize you live in two worlds.  Therefore, you’re not trusted.  I know men have suspicions about you.   Some would like you to be gone from our midst.”

“Does that include you?”  She looked at him, searching for a clue in his expression.

“Perhaps less than the others,” he confided to her.  “But then, I’ve watched you, and you have given me no cause to doubt your intentions.”  He paused, looking around to make sure he was not overheard.  “Yet you have no family ties to my men or me. And you have declared us to be enemies of the Brythonians.  Still, you help us.  Therefore, I must ask myself how a beautiful Brythonian of noble birth is not be married.  How can you have no family in a village where the only people left are of a new religion?  Somehow this hamlet remains safe from dreygurs so I have many questions with only suspicions to believe.”

“Oh, so you want to know more about me.  I guess that is expected.”  She sighed, looking down at the symbols on the ground before making up her mind.

She took a deep breath.  “My family, like Morcant Bulc, are descendants of the Votadini once lived in these lands from long before the invaders.  My mother died when I was young, and father sent me to the lands across the sea to marry one of the nobles of Osraige.  My family believed we could gain status and allies through such a marriage.  However, just before I arrived, the man who would be my husband died in battle.  The Osraige took me in a while my family worked to arrange another marriage.  I attempted to know their religion and beliefs.”

She stabbed harder at the ground as she recalled her past.  “When my father died during the Angles invasion, the Osraige no longer had a need for me since the Angles controlled our lands.  I think they learned of my charm casting and turned against me.  They considered me an outcast.  Their priests escorted me back to this land,” Leofe told him, her dark brown eyes showing her vulnerability as she explained.  “What I said before is the truth.  Sometimes I see things, and these visions tell me what I should do.  Just like the symbol I made.”

“It seems you are caught between the visions of your past and the thoughts of your future.  It strikes me that it takes an extremely brave or an incredibly rash woman to come in among a group of warriors.

“So what do you think?” she asked.

“Why, I believe you are daring.  It is Fate, of course, that brought you to us,” said the Geat firmly, his eyes bright as he spoke.  “Wyrd always leads us to unlikely people during my journeys.  I have known this since I first saw you in the hall.  Just as I was plucked out of the sea as an infant by a great king to do great things, you stay in a village until we arrive.   Like me, you are here to destroy those who hurt the living.”

“You seem to know the gods better than themselves.” Leofe immediately regretted the sarcasm of her statement.  Beowulf just smiled at her, letting it go.

“I can understand more than you might think.  Despite the limits in my youth, I can understand the difficulty you have with the old ways of the charm caster and this new religion.  I’m afraid it is a dilemma shared by some in this land.  It does make me wonder about the future of my people.”

“And what have you decided about this new religion?” she asked.

The Geat warrior stood up.  “I follow the ways of my ancestors.  However, I will use any god who provides me the means to destroy my enemies and who brings me a glorious death.”  He smiled as shoved his dagger back into his waist belt to emphasize his point.

She watched him walked away; slapping the back of one of his thegns as he passed the man crouched over a fire.  The woman realized he had learned more of her in their few moments than she still understood about him.  While he might be young, the Geat leader could be quite stubborn and, at the same time, willing to bend as he needed.  She decided this man called Beowulf liked to leave people guessing about his intentions.  Then she smiled to herself as the woman just realized her insight into the young man.

~~~

As the group of strangers to the land of Rheged slept that night, the moon rose over the campsite sending pale rays through the trees.  Two warriors watching over the area tried to keep themselves awake, crouching for warmth over the fire.

Snap!

The noise caused Sigibert to look up, bringing the young warrior out of his nodding head.  The monk jumped up, pulling his sword halfway out of the scabbard.  He looked down to see Osberht sitting by the fire in a half snooze, unaware of the sound.  He reached down and shook the large man’s leather armor at the shoulder before he crept toward the direction of the sound he heard.  The warrior picked up his spear and a torch from the fire as he caught up with the monk, was stopped looking around.

A small shadow moved in the distance, and Osberht instinctively crouched down when he saw it.  He motioned to Sigibert, who could not see what the warrior pointed at so the young God’s thegn swept over to his right, trying to get a better angle.  He stopped for a moment, watching as Osberht slowly crept toward the edge of a shallow line of trees.  The Geat warrior could not see anything of substance in the dim light, relying upon his torch to reach the area where the shadow moved earlier.  As the man reached the line of ancient trees, he caught another glimpse of the small shadow moving silently behind the twisted remnant of a long-dead oak.  Osberht frantically signaled with his hand for Sigibert to join him.  The monk quickly ran across the open ground while his partner headed to a shadowed area just a few strides from the twisted oak.  Sweeping his torch slowly over the ground, Osberht found several footprints leading to the tree.  The tracks appeared human.

The warrior waved Sigibert over and pointed out the tracks when the monk arrived.  Sigibert nodded and whispered he would take a circular route and come in behind the tree.  Osberht murmured his agreement and waited while the thin outline of the man slowly crept around to the backside of the twisted tree.  Then, the warrior slowly snuck forward.  In the dark shadow of the large trunk where the moonlight could not reach, he saw a quick movement.  Two green eyes looked at him, and he could just make out a large head with a short, squat body.  The creature suddenly disappeared.

“Dwarf!” he breathed quietly as a chill went through him.  One of the small ugly creatures could bring misfortune to all of the warriors.  He quickly sprinted the remaining distance holding his spear and torch in both hands.  When the fighter reached the darkness behind the tree, the creature was gone.  Osberht bent down, poking around when Sigibert arrived.

“What are you doing?” the monk asked.

“I saw one of those dwarves,” the warrior replied, still prodding into the ground with his spear.

“There, see that.  Here’s the hole he went down.”  Osberht pushed is torch down into a dark opening.  They could smell sulfur filling the air.   When he pulled up his torch, he could see Sigibert staring at him.  He could see from the look on the monk’s face, that his comrade did not believe it.

“Upon my word,” said Osberht.  “It was a dwarf.”

Taking a deep breath, Sigibert stared down at the darkness.  “If you say so, I will believe you. I did not see anything but shadows.”

Osberht was about fire curses at his comrade when both men heard the rustling sound of footsteps through dead leaves.  In the pale moonlight, they witnessed several figures slowly coming from the trees into the open area, heading to the camp.  The glint of metal weapons showed from the walking forms.  Then, the men saw a blue glow coming from about chest high on the figures.

“Dreygurs!” yelled Sigibert and Osberht in near unison.  They immediately charged the forms.  The creatures turned to the living warriors rushing toward them, snarling with vicious teeth bared.  Clashing near the middle of a clearing, the Geat thegns quickly found themselves encircled by the undead warriors.  By focusing their spears and swords on the blue glow around the chests, the thegns dropped several creatures immediately.  For a moment, the fighters thought the battle would be finished swiftly just as the moon fell behind clouds.  The sudden darkness gave them pause as their eyes gradually recognized more blue glowing lights filling in around them.  An army of undead warriors emerged out of the darkness of the thin forest.  The creatures came at the living, stiffly but quickly shuffling across the few step to strike at the warriors.  With a primal scream, the two men attacked the creatures.

Immediately recognizing the yells of his men, Beowulf scrambled from his blanket with his sword, Eotenisc, in one hand.  He pulled a torch, quickly lighting it in the fire, racing off to the sound of battle.  The remaining warriors along with Beowulf arrived to join in the bloody chaos.  Weohstan and Ecgberht stood on either side of him as the trio immediately hacked their way toward the two thegns nearly overwhelmed by the number of monsters.  With the monsters focused upon the two surrounded thegns, the Geat leader struck from behind, his blessed sword sending the dreygurs to the ground.  Defenseless on their bellies, the men swiftly destroyed the dreygurs as they removed their skeletal heads with a sweep of their sword.

With the remaining thegns joined in the battle, the onslaught of the living gradually overcame the monsters.  Osberht and Sigibert worked in tandem to extract themselves from the trap, rejoining their comrades.  Aeschere came next to Glappa and Appa as they rushed the undead monsters from another side.  Despite the tide of battle turning for the living fighters, the remaining creatures continued to attack.  And just as suddenly as the monsters attacked, the blue lights on their chests went dark.  Almost immediately, the remaining dreygurs fell to the ground in heaps.  The night became as quiet as the grave.

Out of the north, a bitterly cold wind swept across the warriors, followed by a thick fog that blanketed the area.  Soon it was nearly impossible for the fighters to see beyond the length of their swords.

“What sorcery is this?” asked Beowulf aloud.

“Your nightmares are just beginning, great warrior.  Your allies will curse your name upon their death at the hands of my creatures of the night.  Then, your Geats will watch as invaders of Brythonic lands are condemned to die a coward’s death.”  The voice of a woman filled the air, but it seemed to come from no direction.

“Step forward to meet your doom,” yelled Beowulf, receiving back the sound of laughter from the voice.

“Your metal toys cannot defeat the power of my spells, foolish young warrior.  Bravery behind the shield appears to be all your invaders are capable of achieving.”  The voice mocked him.  “But rest easy for I have a particular use for you and your men.”

As the sound of the voice died away, Beowulf suddenly felt light headed as the air around him turned thick, making it difficult to breathe.  Gasping for air, the warrior finally dropped knees, glimpsing others dropping as well.  The torch at his side nearly went out as the air around them quickly died away.  Behind him, Beowulf heard the soft sound of running footsteps.  He looked back to see the faint outline of Leofe coming to them from the camp.  The woman waved her hand in the air as she hurried into the group, continually repeating the words, blad ædem.  When she got closer to him, Beowulf saw her splashing out the liquid from the bladder she held under her arm and then casting the droplets into the air.  The hideous smelling liquid immediately caused the fog around her to dissipate.  She came next to Beowulf and Ecgberht, throwing more of the liquid into the air while still chanting the unfamiliar Brythonian words.  As the mist lifted, the smothering pressure on his chest disappeared, and he could begin to catch his breathe again.  However, the stench made him draw back as he understood the liquid in the bladder she carried.  A foul mixture smelled of putrid urine and fermented fish.

As he coughed and gagged from the smell, the Geat watched Leofe run to the other thegns, sending more of the liquid into the air while saying the words.  Soon, the fog lifted and the men struggled to their feet.  Most men focused their complaints on the noxious odor that filled the area.

“What are you trying to do?  Destroy the monsters with your stench.” Osberht grumbled.

“I don’t know why you are complaining.  I’ve smelled you Geats for several days.”  The woman replied with a thin smile.

Beowulf let out a brief laugh at her comment before he joined the woman and men in the middle of the clearing. Around their feet were the bodies of the undead.

“Ecgberht, I want you to take Sigibert with you and find the trail of those dreygurs. Find out where they came.”

Osberht spoke up, telling everyone about the dwarf he and Sigibert saw just before the attack. Beowulf glanced at Leofe who nodded.

“Alright, that means we will need to keep on the lookout for them as well.  The rest of you, get those talismans back to me, and we will destroy them.”  The men groaned but went to their work.

Beowulf turned to Leofe. “The monsters were about to be destroyed, yet suddenly we are attacked by fog.  Do you know what was that all about?”

“It was Verch.  It appears she decided to kill you with some kind of spell, a kind of death fog I’ve heard about.  Weohstan and I saw a similar fog when we lost track of her before.” Leofe tried to make light of the concern she felt.  The queen’s approach appeared to be changing, but she was uncertain why.

“I take it you had a counter spell within the foul liquid you covered the area with?”  The Geat leader scanned the moonlight covered area as the girl nodded.  “There is no one near us, but we could hear the queen talk like she was next to me. She must be close by.”

“I doubt it,” said Leofe firmly.  “Her powers are great and getting stronger as you and your men have experienced.  I fear she is now using the dreygurs as a way to lead you into a hostile land.  You can see she controls the undead with that amulet around their necks.  It appears the dwarves help her as well.”

She turned and walked back to the camp.  Stopping the woman looked back at Beowulf.

“I believe she knows you can destroy the undead.  Perhaps it’s time to think about killing her,” Leofe told him before returning to camp.

His face revealed the turmoil in his thoughts as Beowulf picked up a still lit torch from the ground.  Walking among his men scattered around the area, he collected the talismans and the leader suddenly wondered where these necklaces of stone were coming from.  And who could be putting them upon the dead bodies with old pieces of armor?  He cursed himself for his feeble mind.  Why had he not thought about it earlier?  Of course, dwarves must be helping the queen.  Even with her power, he should have realized even a powerful witch like Verch would need allies to put these amulets and weapons on the dead.

After he had collected all of the necklaces, Beowulf went back to the camp along with the rest of his men.  He sent his men back to sleep, telling Osberht he would wait for the return of Ecgberht and Sigibert.  The young Osberht surprised his leader when he offered to finish his watch while Beowulf waited.  Usually, the warrior would have jumped at the chance to get more sleep.  The Geat leader could tell that Osberht remained worried about the monk.  It meant that Sigibert had a new friend.   Nodding his approval, Beowulf watched as Osberht began to patrol around the perimeter of this camp.  With a slight grin, Beowulf knelt next to the fire, stoking it before he added more wood.

The words of Leofe came back to him, and he looked over to see her lying with her back toward him, curled up with a blanket.  Beowulf watched the young Brythonian witch.  While she was correct, it left him with a problem.  He was tired of waiting for Verch to strike, but there would be enormous repercussions in striking down a queen, especially since his group walked in unfriendly lands.  Beyond that, he too few men to go against the army of her husband.  If they followed through with killing the queen, it would probably start a war between Bernicia and her neighbors, leaving the Angles in an even worse situation.  As he turned over the terrible options in his mind, he came to the realization that they would need to destroy the next mound of dreygurs.  Then, the group would need to find a way to disarm the evil queen.  The man threw the piece of wood he still held into the fire with disgust and rose to walk in the darkness.  Perhaps the god, Seaxneat, would join him and give him guidance.

~~~

Far to the north, Queen Verch stomped away from the clearing where the body of a slave lay in the tall grass growing cold.  She slid the recently cleaned dagger into her scabbard, tied to her tunic belt. Her face revealed a cold fury regarding the consequences of her latest spell.  Interrupted by the magic charm of another hægtesse, the queen now knew she was up against a powerful ally of the Geat king.  She sacrificed a slave for nothing, and her wretched Angle conspirator failed to tell her about this witch among the Geat warriors.  As the queen thought back about the people Appa described within Beowulf’s group, she decided the witch must be the Brythonian woman.  His incompetence added fuel to the fire she felt welling up inside.  She was beginning to rethink her ideas about him as she headed back to her husband’s camp.  When she arrived by the light of the fires, the queen found her husband stumbling about the area looking for her.

“Where have you been, my sweet? I’ve told you that you mustn’t leave without an escort.” His voice croaked as he tried to focus his eyes on her.  He knew something was wrong, but he could not seem to shake the lethargy that flowed over him.  “I don’t understand why you keep going into the darkness.”

She stopped, lashing out in disgust.  “I told you I don’t need someone to watch over me.  I’m quite capable of taking care of myself.”

The king shook his head, trying to shake the fog.  “You cannot speak to me that way.  I’m king and your master.”  His expression and weak response nearly caused her to burst out laughing.  Instead, she pushed past the man, going to their tent.  The king followed her inside, oblivious to the incredulous stares from the warriors as they watched the display.  It told them where the real power of this kingdom lay.

As the tent flap closed, one of the king’s advisors, a large man named Karney, motioned for several of his associates who joined him away from the rest of the warriors standing about the area.

“It is a female fiend our king follows into that tent.  What has happened to Morcant Bulc?” asked one of the leaders to Karney, keeping his voice low.

The big man shrugged his shoulders.  “I have no idea. It's hard enough to get his attention.  He sleeps all the day, only coming around to stumble around the camp at night looking for her.  I would think him drunk but for the fact, his cups are no more filled than ours.”

“Is he bewitched?” asked a small man named Gall.

There was a long silence at the question.  All thought the same, but they were unable to speak such a thing.  The leaders among the king’s men knew the evil woman was controlling Morcant Bulc.  Unfortunately, the rest of the nobles feared the woman far more than they feared the king.  The Brythonian nobles remembered the brutal death of the bishop of Kilmadock, who joined them after their defeat at the hands of the Angles in Bernicia.  The bishop claimed he would send God’s wrath upon the hated Angles.  The man appealed to King Morcant Bulc, stating he would return the Brythonians to their homeland.  However, the man lasted only a few weeks before Queen Verch cursed him during a bitter argument witnessed by many of the warriors.  The next morning, several of king’s advisors found the bishop’s battered body at the foot of an enormous carved Pict stone filled with geometric symbols and representations of an adder and a wolf.  Rumors spread that the stone came alive to crush the man after Verch cast the spell of death upon him.  None of the warriors would risk the queen’s wrath after this event.

“It does not matter as long as the king has her by his side.  No warrior will risk his retribution,” replied the big warrior.

“Or hers,” replied Gall.  “But we are going into the lands of Rheged.  King Urien will not be an ally with our cause.  There is a risk we could be going into a war.  Doing this because our ruler lacks his judgment.”  Gall’s eyes darted around making sure he was not overheard.  The other men glanced around as well.

“We have no choice,” said Karney.  “We go after the enemy who invades our lands.  Perhaps Urien will send them back to us?”

“Only at a price,” said the little man.  “The king of Rheged will want something from us.”

“Then we should give him the queen,” Karney replied.  A sudden burst of laughter broke out among the others before they stopped at his grave expression.

Gall spoke up. “What do you have in mind?”

“An idea has come to me,” said the big warrior, lowering his voice to a whisper.  “I must think of it more, but we can discuss when the queen leaves again.” Karney pointed at Gall. “You will need to find out where the queen goes and report back what you see.”

“Why me?” asked the man, his voice betraying his fear.

“Everyone knows you have a thief in your family.  Send your cousin, Diob, to find us this information.  Find out who she sees and where she goes.  If you need incentive, just remind your cousin about the penalty if the queen realizes Diob stole from her.”  Gall’s face dropped. Nevertheless, he nodded.  The group of Brythonian nobles broke up with each warrior returning to their tent.

Inside the tent of King Morcant Bulc, the queen tried to keep her temper as she listened to her generous husband continue his pleas.  She despised the weakness of the man in spite of the fact it was her who continued to poison his food and drink to keep him in such a state.  The queen decided she needed time to think as she felt the warmth of the stone on her skin as it hung from her necklace.  She pressed the stone between her thumb and forefinger, turning around to show Morcant Bulc.  He stopped in mid-sentence, transfixed by the sight of the blue stone.  The queen’s potions kept his mind weak, and now he walked toward the light in a trance.  Since she first started using the medicines on her husband, the man gradually became more compliant to her will.  While she knew, eventually, the person would lose all of his willpower to become like a mindless child; the queen believed her position over the Brythonian lands would be secure enough to cast him aside.

When the king reached her, the woman struck him with her fist.  However, the blow went unnoticed as he stared at the stone.  She scowled from the pain in her knuckles, hating her lack of physical strength against the foolish men around her.  Rubbing her hand, she hissed out her spell, and the king of Gododdin immediately went to sleep, falling in a heap at her feet.  Verch stepped over the man, going the king’s throne, one of the few possessions they were able to keep during their flight from Bernicia.  She sat upon the heavy throne drawn in their travels by ox cart.  As the woman reflected upon her plans, she eventually drifted into a light slumber.

The smell of sulfur brought Queen Verch out of her sleep and, for a brief moment, she panicked when she spied the large head of a creature with green eyes staring at her.  She sat upright on the throne, grabbing her stiff neck as she looked down at a dwarf.  The ugly creature greedily ran his gaze over her.  She immediately wondered what he was thinking.  Dwarves were notorious for their ability to invade the dreams of humans, turning thoughts into nightmares.

“What are you doing here?” she hissed out, instantly angry.  She did not like the leader of the dwarves coming to meet her.  The dweorgar gave her a hideous leer, which could have been a smile in the underworld realm where he lived.

“You sleep well for the burden you carry,” said Fullangr, in typical dwarf vagueness.  His husky voice boomed in the silence of the night.

“Keep your voice down unless you wish to take on the soldiers of this camp,” she said in a whisper.  Her initial concern disappeared as she tried to guess at the creature’s meaning.  “Why are you here?”

“World of the humans grows tiresome for me.  I think our bargain no longer exists.”

“Don’t you try that with me,” the queen stood up quickly, pulling her dagger.  “I’ll decide when our bargain is finished.”

The dweorgar gave her the same hideous leer as before, and he stood his ground refusing to back away as he shook his head.  “The great queen is not as mighty as another master of the spells.  You know the price on talismans goes up when Geats look into my world.”

“Talk clearly, little man.  Are you telling me the Geats saw you?”  The dwarf nodded as he continued to stare in his unblinking fashion.  It was not news Verch wanted to hear.  She walked away, nearly stepping on the snoring form of her husband.  The disgust evident on her face, even in the dim light, she walked around the man as she considered the creature’s words.  Beowulf must know where the amulets were coming from.  With such knowledge; her rival witch in his midst might find ways to make her spells useless.

“If you had strong magic, this would already be over,” the woman decided to press the dwarf.  “However, Beowulf and his men live, and King Ida rules over Bernicia so you have not fulfilled our bargain.  Since Beowulf and his thegns know you are involved, perhaps I should make sure they know where to hunt the dwarves instead of the dreygurs?”

The dwarf stepped toward the tent entrance.  “Your threats mean little to those of my realm.  We fear not your kind.  I quit giving blue trinkets for undead. Leave you to your warriors.”

“Alright Fullangr, you must have something in your scheming little mind.  What is it?” The queen knew she still needed dwarves to keep the undead rising.  Moreover, the little creatures used their mastery of nightmare spells to maintain the advisors of her husband.  Their fear of her remained a powerful tool to keep control of the warriors.

“Fear has not worked for these Geats know battle well. But, some young distrust, even thinks about betrayal.  It is a path you know well.”  The dwarf placed a necklace upon the tent pole at the entrance.  It turned back to her.  “The great Queen Verch spells are powerful however her world is small.  Lose too much, and the king will no longer sleep at your feet.  And the price is greater now.”

“You cannot change the terms of our bargain,” said the queen.

The Dweorgar gave her his smirk again. “It is changed.  We stop helping the queen unless double the gold is given.”

“And if I refuse?”

The dwarf gave her a quizzical look, his thick eyebrows rising slightly on his misshapen face.  “Dreams can become the truth for those in this camp.  Then, dreygurs will come to remove the head of the great queen.  We use your head for our magic.”

“Ok, your point is made.  But what if I find you something worth more than the extra gold?” the witch asked Fullangr as her eyes lit up with an idea.

The small man cocked his large head.  “What have you?”

“If I give you a hægtesse for you as a special gift, then we will both have something we want.  Are you interested in such a deal?”  The woman’s voice purred while her immediate plan worked through her mind.  More magic meant more than gold to the Dweorgar and a human witch entering their realm would be a sacrifice both her and Fullangr could use.  The little man nodded his head slowly; his eyes coming alive at the same thought.

“Should a witch come to us, good deal stays like before.” The dwarf agreed to the terms.

“And, one other small item.”  The witch told the creature as it turned to leave.  “I need bad dreams to sow distrust in the minds of the Geats and the Angles.  Can you supply this?”

The dwarf stared at her shortly before nodding his head slightly.  “Ask more, costs more.”

Verch pulled several gold coins from her belt, watching as the creature’s eyes greedily follow the items in her hand.  She gave a thin smile and threw the golden pieces on the ground next to her unconscious husband.  The dwarf immediately reacted, quickly sprinting the few steps to grab the shiny objects.  The creature turned back at her as the little king of the Dweorgars instinctively shook the coins in his cupped hands.  The woman stood from the throne, and Fullangr realized the witch was mocking the dwarves’ weakness.

“You really should curb your appetite at times.”

Before the queen could say anything more, the creature quickly went through the flap into the darkness.  Verch looked the amulet dangling on the pole, and her eyes grew dark.  The woman didn’t like the little creature’s clear threat; pay up, or the king and his warriors would soon know the truth about her.  Even her potent spells could not stop that.  Moreover, unless the witch traveling with Beowulf went into the realm of the dwarves, the dreygurs would soon be attacking the Brythonians in revenge.  It was not something she could allow.  She made the bargain, knowing it would bring the invaders to their knees. Now she would need to devise a way to get her rival into the dwarf’s realm.   And she would plan for Fullangr’s eventual betrayal of her.  It was normal for the little men to deceive humans.   Years taught the woman, her male allies could never be trusted.

The sorceress took the amulet and went back to the throne where she leaned back against the engraved splats while thinking out her next steps.  This Beowulf led his fighters into the lands of Rheged, meaning they would be risking a clash with their King Urien.  The king of Rheged had a reputation for ruthless savagery but also known for having many concubines.  Verch realized it was an opportunity for her to trap the Geats.  She would meet with this king and convince him to ally against the Geats.  With luck, the monarch could remove the Geats and Angles, leaving her a clear path into Bernicia.  She smiled at her thoughts until she heard her husband stirring from his slumber as the light of morning filled the tent.  A severe frown appeared on her lips, and the woman rose.  When the witch left the tent, the king of Brythonian woke as he heard her calling for servants and horses.

~~~

Early the next morning, Beowulf awoke to the sound of his men grousing among themselves.  At first, he wanted to curl up in his wool blanket, but that was impossible for a leader.  A long night of walking combined with vivid nightmare left him tired.  He sat up, throwing off the blanket as he braced himself for the chill.  Dressed in his linen undershirt and woolen pants, he quickly slid on his chainmail and leather armor.  Soon, The Geat pushed into the circle of warriors gathered around the campfire.  As the fighters warmed themselves, they talked in undertones about the monsters and the spell that fell upon them during the night.  While they chewed on the dried meat, washing it down with ale, some of the men joked about the monsters.  However, they could not avoid the spell that nearly killed them.  Beowulf could see some of the fear still in their eyes.

Ecgberht, first to arrive at the fire, patiently listened to the conversation and before Beowulf could say anything, the old warrior suddenly made a joke about the choking spell.  “It seems to me that we have a queen who cannot finish what she starts.  Sounds like one of my wives,” he laughed aloud but only received a couple of grim smiles for his trouble.  The others glanced around, many suddenly remembering the weird dreams about the battle, which kept them on edge.  The old warrior grew hard as he openly mocked the thegns around him.

“I’ve seen slaves huddle in the rain, fearing the unknown.  Would not thegns to the great Beowulf have more courage than a slave?” His words suddenly caused an uproar as some of the men who lashed out.

“I fear nothing mortal,” Aeschere told the old warrior.  “But, like a warrior without a shield, we cannot stand long against such attacks.  We cannot die an honorable death, suffocating at the hands of a woman.”

“Since when did my thegns become afraid of the night?” Beowulf roared, his quick temper getting the best of him.  “Does it matter to die against monsters or a queen in battle?  Like all heroes who seek to drink and feast in hebanwang, I’ll fight the gods themselves to die in honor.  Are not my men interested in joining me there?”

The Geat leader’s words sent a stir through the group, and they went silent, ashamed of the reminder.  As Gedriht, the men realized their fears were letting down their leader.  Beowulf stomped off from the group, cursing under his breath.  Immediately, he went to the spot where he slept, quickly rolling up his blanket and grabbing his saddling.  As he walked by the thegns still huddled around the fire, he refused to look at them.

“I will travel the place of the dreygurs today and destroy them.  Either join me or remain here and worry about a single witch.”  The Geat leader walked over to his mount and began to saddle the animal.  Immediately Weohstan and Ecgberht were yelling and cursing at the men as they quickly gathered their gear.  The rest of the thegns scattered to break camp and collect their horses.  But for the sound of the work and talk of the two oldest combatants, the area around the campfire was silent as the men prepared for their journey, pushing back the unwanted thoughts from their minds.

As Leofe saddled her horse, she wondered about the sudden display of tempers coming from some of the Geats.  She guessed it was natural in the aftermath of the spell from Verch, but the men lacked their usual banter.  Something seemed amiss.  She did not hear Sigibert step beside her.

“You seem lost in thought,” he told her softly.  She nearly jumped at the sound of his voice.

“Yes...I was thinking about last night.”  She told him as she continued her work.

“I’ve come to apologize for my words last night.” The young monk hesitated a moment.  “You saved us, and there must be a reason.”

“So you’ve just now come to understand this,” she did not like how the sarcasm came out.  She remembered too late that the young thegn was not like the other thegns.

Sigibert let the comment go as he continued.  “After much thought this morning, I’ve come to realize you are only using those skills which our Lord has given you.  It is not my place to condemn you as much as to help guide you.  I should have thought about that before I spoke.”  As the thegn turned away, she stopped him with her words.

“And how do you go about that?  I’ve seen the look on your face along with the others.  You don’t trust me, just like Malo and his flock.”

Sigibert glanced at Beowulf getting on his horse before turning back to the woman.  “As I prayed, I saw the sun casting a brilliant glow just before it broke over the land.  I had a vision come to me,” he patiently explained.  “I was reminded that despite seeing such light directly from the Almighty, I cannot begin to understand how warms me.  It is the same when the Lord comes down to help us.  We cannot know how or why we just realize the good in those who help.  I hope you can remember, there are some who trust you more than you realize.”

He walked away before the woman could reply.  However, Leofe noticed confidence in how the man spoke along with the manner in his stride.  It appeared some type of inspiration came to him in his morning devotions.  As she finished with her horse, she watched Beowulf say a few quick words to Weohstan before he rode off.  The woman could tell by his face that the young Geat was still upset.  She sighed, thinking it would be a quiet and lonely ride to the mound of the dreygurs.

CHAPTER 5

NEW ENEMY

On the same night that the Geats fought for their lives against Verch, King Ida passed through the gates of his castle of Din Guardi near the town of Bamburgh.  As he looked upon his home recalling his great victory several years earlier, the old man remembered the first time he passed the stone archway.  Now his body ached from the long journey and the constant pains of his illness.  The trip had taken longer than normal due to frequent stops which frustrated him.  The leader of the Angles slowly slid himself from his mount where he was met by a retainer.  The young boy helped steady his king as Ida worked to get his legs to respond, numb from the long ride.  The unlikely pair worked their way through the entrance, paying little attention to the large main hall.  Other attendants scurried about, unloading and carrying various leather bags and trunks.

The head of the castle guard stepped up to his master.  He quickly informed the king about the latest news of the castle as he joined the pair.  “My lord, I received your message about Glappa joining the Geats, but we have no news from Appa.”

The frail man nodded, “I understand.  Appa went with his brother against the dreygurs.  Have Aethelric join me in my chambers.”

The leader of the guards immediately set out to find the king’s third son while the Angle leader and his servant walked down the vaulted hall to the king’s bedchambers.  By the time the pair reached the heavy wooden door, Aethelric could be heard rushing down the hallway to greet his father.  He followed the king into his room, taking the place of the servant who they sent away.

“Where are my brothers?” he asked.

“They have joined with Beowulf,” said the old man as he nearly collapsed upon the great bed.  “Both have decided to be the king upon my departure.  When they return, they will bring glory to themselves and the lands of the Angles.”

Aethelric said nothing but his face betrayed his emotions about the dangers his kingdom faced.  The brother’s rivalry among the family filled much of their lives; the younger son knew Appa would challenge his brother for the throne when their father died.  As he thought about the future problems, he helped his father lay back, stopping briefly while the king began a violent coughing fit.  Aethelric covered his father with a thick wool blanket.

“Take heart, my son,” the old man told him, knowing his third son was upset at his brothers.  “The Witan will make the decision after my death.  The council is made up of wise men.  A person of valor and quality will be chosen and, I promise, you are not disadvantaged by staying with me.”

His son gave his father a thin smile. “I will try to remain worthy of your praise.  Now rest.  I will care for the small matters that drain your strength.”

King Ida closed his eyes and thanked him, telling him he would speak with the council before long to let them know his wishes.  While Glappa was the heroic warrior, the old man trusted his third son’s strategic knowledge and ability to forge the coalitions needed to maintain their kinship rule of Bernicia.  His grip on the power required the careful coordination and, at times, a firm hand on the families making up the Angle tribes.

After the king fell to sleep, his son quietly left, walking down the hall to his chambers.  Aethelric knew his father considered him to be the most capable person to keep the lands of Bernicia under the Angles, even over his older brothers.  However, he could not shake his concerns.  He knew Appa’s ways.  Several of their kinsmen, who made up the council, might side with the scheming brother over Glappa.  The only solution was for the Witan to agree before the king’s death that Aethelric would lead Bernicia.

As he thought about the problem, Aethelric walked the long hallway, paying only scant attention as a pair of guards standing nearby.  Then, he came upon a plan.  The warrior decided he would call the members of the council to fortress where they could meet with his father individually.  Realizing he must be cautious, the third son knew it would be a risky path, given his father’s noticeable ill health.  Some of the kinship leaders might decide they should be the next ruler.  To avoid the possibility, Aethelric would ensure each one of the tribal leaders gave their sworn oath to the king in public.  Then he would keep the Witan from meeting until after his fathers’ passing.  He smiled to himself as he waved over the two guards standing close.

The young man realized his brother’s travel with the Geats offered him an opportunity to ensure he was the next king. A brief hope came to him that perhaps this Beowulf might just get his brothers killed.  However tantalizing the thought was, the noble knew he could not rely on fate.  Aethelric must put his plan into action and make sure all of the relationships among the kinsmen which kept King Ida in power were transferred to himself.  The third son of Ida told the guards he would need several men for delivering messages in the morning.

~~~

Deep in the lands of Rheged, Beowulf dozed lightly in his saddle as the morning slowly passed.  He did not hear Swidhun come next to him.  The silent giant waited until the young atheling noticed him.

“Alright, my friend, what is it?”

“I’m not sure,” admitted the big man as he tugged thoughtfully at his beard.  “Something is bothering the spirit who came to me.”

Beowulf nodded absently, waiting for the man to continue.  He knew Swidhun rarely spoke but when the Saxnat expressed his thoughts, it meant something for the group.  It was usually something bad.

“The spirit told me there is turmoil in the netherworld and dweorgars are involved.  When I asked about the talismans on the after walkers, the spirit whispered tragedy awaits with perilous magic.  I wondered if the little creatures would attack us so I asked the spirit, but it disappeared.”

Beowulf nearly laughed when he saw the earnest expression coming from the big warrior, so concerned about the small creatures.  He suppressed his smile by looking away as he stretched.  While the dwarves were known for giving evil talismans like those the dreygurs wore, the Geat leader never heard about the creatures taking on a group of warriors directly.  They waited to rob the dead, and feast upon the bodies.  Still, the spirit chaser seldom missed the mark with his predictions.

“Well, they are nasty clever so we should be on our guard,” Beowulf placated his thegn.  “I’ll see if Leofe might see such things as well.”

“No, she is a witch.  They care not for the spirits.  She’s only interested in power,” the big man’s face made it clear he did not trust her.

“All right, I get your point,” the Geat leader grew tired of the conversation.  Too many of his men continued to keep up their distrust of the woman despite her role in saving them on two occasions.

“I’ll think about what you have told me,” Beowulf promised.

Swidhun nodded as he let his horse slow, letting the other thegns move past him.  When Sigibert came along the side of the big warrior, Swidhun reached out to the thin monk, signaling for him to slow the pace.  Soon the two men dropped behind the group.

“Why do we drop behind the others,” Sigibert asked suspiciously.  He saw the large man talking with Beowulf earlier.

“Does your God know of the spirits?”  The man tugged at his beard again, his green eyes staring intently at the monk.  The question surprised the monk, but he quickly recovered.

“Of course, the Lord arose as a spirit to his disciples following his death on the cross.  He is spirit everlasting.”

Swidhun took in the words.  “It is as I heard,” he spoke aloud, looking ahead as he nodded in agreement.  “The spirits I speak with are warning us.  Do you know of this?”

The God thegn realized he was on a narrow line with the warrior.  Sigibert understood the Saxnat and his belief in the netherworld like the rest of the pagans.  The monk also remembered his prayers early in the morning.  Perhaps it was a sign.

“I don’t have your gift to know the spirits so well,” Sigibert told him carefully.  “But when I rose this morning, I asked for guidance from the Lord, and I could feel his spirit fill me.  Perhaps this helped in what you know.  God favors the brave and noble.”

The big man shook his head.  “The spirits know evil dweorgars are up to something.  I don’t like those little creatures since they try to invade my dreams.  Perhaps your God helps?”

The young monk nodded his head. “I’ll certainly pray for his help and to rid you of such dreams,” the man told Swidhun earnestly.

If dwarves invaded the dreams of the spirit chaser, he wondered what other deeds they were planning.  Because of his initial reluctance to believe Osberht the night before, he decided to take Swidhun’s concerns to heart.  He knew the warrior had no sense of humor so he doubted the large man would play a prank on him.  What the man told him now made more sense.  Despite their hatred of humans, dwarves would be happy to work with a witch if they received something of value in return.

“I wonder if Verch called these creatures to help her,” Sigibert thought aloud.  Swidhun nodded his agreement.  Despite the views of the church elders, the monk knew such creatures to be as real as the wolves and bears that could inflict harm on a person.  He decided Swidhun would be a valuable ally if he could influence the giant man.  He also realized he would need to be careful for the spirit chaser had a cruel streak as well.

“Perhaps we can speak more about this later?  I would like to know more about the spirits.  I was taught to learn from those who understand the world.”  Sigibert tried to appear casual in his request.  Swidhun gave the young man a once over before he grunted.  He spurred his mount to catch up with the group of thegns, leaving the young monk to question if the grunt meant something good or bad.

Not far ahead of Swidhun and Sigibert, the two Angle nobles were talking.  Appa continued to complain about Glappa’s deference to Beowulf.  He told his brother, it was not the way of a king to follow.  Glappa tried not to listen for a while.  However, the nightmares from the night before wore upon him, and he finally had enough of his younger brother.

“Enough of your whining!” the older Angle snapped, his eyes blazing.  “You’re a wandought! Yes, that’s right, nothing but an impotent deceiver.  I’ve kept you from being hung on the nearest tree by the Geats.   I would have left you to the scavengers, were you not my brother.  How long do you think they would allow you to live?  By the gods, I would join them if you were not of my blood.”

Appa went silent at his brother’s threat.  He had not expected the man to know about his time with Verch.  Still, he saw little reason to bring his rival into his confidence.  Finally, he decided to string his brother along.

“You are correct, my brother.  But you should know that this Verch is powerful.  She overwhelmed me with her magic, saying I should be a spy for her.  However, I give you my oath that I haven’t betrayed the Angles.”  Appa held up his hand in a solemn vow while giving his best impression of fidelity to his brother.

Glappa looked at him suspiciously. “Then, why must I bring this news to you?  Don’t play me for a fool.”

“And how was I supposed to tell you?  You act as if you are beholding to the Geats.  Can I come to you and say that this woman bewitched me?  I don’t know whose side you are on.”  The younger brother faced showed the distrust and pain of his dilemma.

“You know I always do what’s right for our people and our father.”  The older brother softened his approach.  Appa’s words made sense to the tired man.  He told his younger brother that the secret would remain between them.  Appa thanked Glappa, promising him that he would not allow the Geats to come between them.  The two brothers fell into a thoughtful silence as they heard Swidhun and Sigibert join up with them.

Around midday, the group of warriors came upon a village, showing the damage of the dreygurs.  Assuming the hamlet held no survivors, the Geats and Angles rode among the quiet buildings only to find themselves among a group of angry farmers and townspeople with makeshift weapons.  Surrounded at the edge of the town, the suspicious people of Rheged outnumbered the warriors.  One of the villagers recognized the Angle symbol on Glappa’s tunic and the people closed in, forcing the men together.  The fighters looked to their leader who pushed himself toward several villagers inciting the others.

“Stop before you die.  We come to destroy the dreygurs.”  Beowulf’s shouting was hard to hear over the din of the crowd, and it was unclear if they understood him.  Frustrated, he pulled his sword and placed it at the throat of a large, bearded man holding a wooden pitchfork.

“Tell your people to quiet themselves.”  The man’s eyes wide, he looked over to Sigibert who quickly translated Beowulf’s words.  Nodding the man complied.  His bellowing voice rose above the crowd, yelling for calm.  Beowulf told the monk to translate his words for the group.

“Hear me good people of Rheged.  I am Beowulf, the slayer of monsters.  I’ve come here to destroy those who have harmed your people and your village.”  His voice now carried across the mass of people and backed by the clear words of the native Brythonian monk.

“You are Angles, here to invade.  You brought the monsters with you,” shouted a tall, thin man, his white hair contradicting his youthful appearance.  A thick leather apron covered the front of his gray robe, and he held a heavy mallet.  He spoke in the familiar language of the Angles.

Looking around at the angry faces, Beowulf did something unexpected.  He dismounted from his horse, handing the reins to Glappa.  Moving toward the white hair man, the Geat leader kept his sword low.  “Don’t add more misery to these people,” he calmly warned.  “Any farmer here will tell you that these monsters came through during the night.  We have trailed them since we landed in Bernicia.  Look around you, do you think we Geats would bring but a few warriors if we wanted your lands?”  The young leader gestured to his thegns as some of the crowd nodded, mumbling to their friends. “If you heard of me, you know my word to be true.  Will you show us the way to the mound which hides these evil creatures?”

“What of the Angles with you?  They are not welcome. Our lands have people forced from Bernicia by these invaders.”  The white hair man stepped closer to Beowulf.

“What is your name?” the Geat asked, impressed by the villager’s knowledge of his language.

“I’m called Elmet.  I’m the blacksmith of this village.”

“Elmet, the Angles suffer from the same plague as you.  They have asked for our help, and these noble men have come alongside us to destroy the creatures terrorizing their people.  You seem a fair man.  Don’t you agree they should have this right?”

The blacksmith started at the Angle warriors for a moment, then nodded before he turned to the crowd gathering around him and Beowulf.  He told villagers of his conversation, speaking forcefully to several people who remained unconvinced.  Slowly some within the group began to move away, and Elmet directed the larger men toward several buildings.  Leofe slid off her saddle, coming next to Beowulf.  She told him the blacksmith was telling the villagers to remove the bodies from the damaged buildings.

Turning back to them, Elmet asked about Leofe.  “You Geats have a curious group.  Judging by the clothes, if I didn’t know better, this is a Brythonian noble.”

Beowulf grinned and introduced Leofe.  “This woman comes with us for her own reasons, probably to keep us from fighting with the locals.”

Elmet’s face remained unimpressed as he acknowledged the woman.  “I won’t ask your reasons, but you should not stay with this group.  King Urien will not be pleased to see a Brythonian with Angles.”

“I can handle myself,” the woman told him coolly.  “He probably won’t like a blacksmith knowing the language of Angles and Geats either.  Are you from Bernicia?”

With a brief smile, Elmet bowed before her.  “My travels to Bernicia are unknown by the village and remain with me.  Let us keep it that way.” His face turned into a mask again when the Leofe agreed with a nod.

“Let’s speed you and your friends on your way,” the blacksmith told Beowulf. “The longer you are here; the more danger you bring to these people.”

“I agree,” Beowulf interjected, his face revealing his irritation at Leofe for her brief conversation with the man. “Where is this mound?”

Elmet pointed to the north, telling them they would not need to follow the tracks of the creatures.  The main road would lead them to a small trail near a stream.  There, they would follow a footpath to the large burial mound.  He warned them that locals feared the area, never camping overnight for any reason.

“Well, we will put a stop to that,” declared the young Geat leader.  “Thank you for your help.”  After watching the blacksmith leave to join his people, Beowulf mounted his horse and spurred his animal to the main road as the group of his warriors hurried behind him.  Leofe and the Angles followed close behind.

The shadows within the forests of Rheged grew long and dark as the thegns of Beowulf finally came to the large mound.  They came across the many tracks left by the dead creatures as they entered a clearing where the large earthwork crypt appeared as tall as the treetops.  Weohstan suggested to Beowulf that they should bypass the mound for the night and return in the morning.  He tried to remind the young warrior of their encounter the night before.  However, the Geat leader shook his head stubbornly.

“We’ll fight them now and end this,” he vowed.  “Have the men gather reeds and sticks for torches.  And check for other ways to enter the mound.  We don’t want to be surprised by them.”

Weohstan thought for a moment before he slowly nodded, his face showing reluctance at the plan.  However, he ordered the other thegns to their duties, sending Osberht and Sigibert out to scout around the area.  The two Angle nobles joined with Beowulf, who held his nervous mount as he looked at the mound.

“I seek a favor.”  Glappa interrupted the Geat’s thoughts.  “I wish to lead when the men enter the hill.  My father would consider it a great honor if an Angle directed the destruction of these last dreygurs.”

It was an unexpected request that Beowulf had not considered and quickly rejected.  The Geat leader decided he would lead for the glory against these monsters.  When he told Glappa his decision, Beowulf failed to see the look of dismay on the Angle noble’s face.  However, the expression was not lost on Appa or Weohstan, who overheard the exchange.  Weohstan hoped Beowulf would find a way to keep the slight against the Angle from becoming a wound as he called for the men to gather at the entrance.  The burly warrior had Sigibert build a fire near the dark opening.

The Geats and Angles stood outside the dark opening to the tomb, waiting for Osberht who was tasked with finding any openings into the mound.  After a quick run around the small hill, the warrior arrived saying it looked like there was only one way inside the tomb.  Nodding, the Geat leader had the men light the torches, telling them to be ready for anything.

“It is good tidings if these dead still sleep, then we can remove the talismans from their necks without a fight,” Sigibert said aloud.

Beowulf looked at him strangely.  “That is an odd thought.  One cannot achieve lasting glory by simply robbing a grave.  If they are not awake, I’ll have Leofe wake them.  The thegns of Beowulf will return them to their eternal sleep while we win everlasting fame.”  His smile told the monk that he was not joking.  The warriors around him nodded in agreement as they began a war chant.  They enjoyed his bravado, a sign of a fighter.

Sigibert joined in the song, watching Leofe, who remained quiet, shaking her head as the men readied themselves.  The woman went to her horse, assuming the worst would come when they entered the tomb.  She soon returned with the few herbs and canisters she still had available.  While the men finished building their torches, Leofe simply watched and waited.  The woman expected evil, but she was not confident her spells would be powerful enough if there were too many of the undead.

When he saw a sliver of the moon rising in the sky above the mound, Beowulf suddenly wondered if fate might turn against him.  But just a quickly the man dismissed the thought, convinced in his plan.  He walked over to Leofe, ignoring the smirks and grins of his men.

“I’ve heard the moon will help evil spells.   Do you think the night will wake those in the mound?” He asked.

“It is possible, but it depends on upon Verch.  You should listen to Weohstan.”  The woman’s motherly tone caused Beowulf’s face to grow dark.

“I don’t need your advice on how to fight these monsters,” he replied hotly as he turned back to his men.  “Follow me, my loyal fighters, and let’s get this over with.”

Beowulf entered the tomb cautiously, remembering the last time the undead suddenly awoke.  He held a torch with one hand and his sword in the other as he followed the long, narrow tunnel.  Glappa and Appa pushed in behind him, forcing the other Geats to remain in the rear of the column.  The water dripped on them from the stonework above, and they saw the mist of their breath in the cold, dank air.  Now silent, they walked along the tunnel, each fighter lost in their thoughts.

Crouching slightly to avoid the stone beam, Beowulf entered the cavernous tomb, sweeping his torch ahead of him.  The light penetrated only a short distance revealing little to him.  Standing, he stepped deeper into the room, looking for the blue lights of the talismans.  The leader heard the footsteps of the others as they spread out in the tomb.  Pale light spread ahead of them, showing the long and trapezoidal room with an out-curved façade at one end.  Remnants of crudely painted figures peaked through the mold covering the wall of the façade.   Around the room, they saw the outline of many bodies lying upon slabs of stone.  Dressed in their armor, the corpses appeared unmoved since their burial.  Leofe went to the nearest body, wondering why the dwarves failed to add the talisman around their necks.  She stopped when she realized the corpse was covered in a white robe with a round shield covering its midsection.  In the hands clasped across the body’s chest, the woman saw a cross.

“It appears monks have used this tomb,” Sigibert’s voice caused the woman to jump slightly.  “At least they came in this place years ago judging from the bodies.”  The stretched flesh of the corpse gave leather like appearance over the skull.

“And the figures appear to be undisturbed.  Look at the others,” she swept her torch over the area.  “You can see some of these remains have no dust covering them.  They must have left and returned, but their necklaces are gone.  Why would someone remove them?  And why didn’t they put an amulet on these few priests?”

Leofe heard Ecgberht snort behind her.  “Why bother?  Don’t need to waste magic on those who can’t fight.”  The old warrior stepped forward, slapping the side of his sword on the wooden shield held by the corpse.  “Nothing but a dagger on this one.  I don’t understand why someone would bury a monk with a shield.”

“Because he was a warrior and a believer,” shot back Sigibert, his voice echoing.  “Look at his arms.”  The thegns saw the massive right arm of a warrior, even shriveled after death.  “This monk knew of weapons and fighting.  But he gave the weapons up for he wears the garments of his pious life, knowing he would go before the Lord for judgment.”

“I don’t really care about that.  Where are the dreygurs that entered this tomb?” Beowulf interjected.

“Over here,” Aeschere called out from the back of the room.  The warriors quickly moved to join their comrade.  The man was looking at a particularly hideous creature with sunken cheeks exposing animal like teeth.  Open eyes appeared as coal black pits of death.   Like the first gravesite, the undead lay sprawled about the stone floor.

I just don’t see any talisman,” Weohstan told them as he went over to another body and found no necklace either.

“Curse the gods,” Beowulf replied.  “Someone must have removed them.  Look around; there might be others with the amulet on them.”

The thegns quickly moved around the area, but they could not find any magical devices on the bodies or in the chamber.  Leofe, searching near the wall, came upon a small hole.

“Here’s a dwarf tunnel!” She cried.  Beowulf nearly ran over Sigibert to see the hole.

“Well, that could be a tunnel to their world,” The Geat leader declared as he got on his knees.  “If I can get through, I’ll see if I can find one of the little creatures.”  Beowulf tried to push into the opening, but his broad shoulders stopped him.  Leofe and Ecgberht pulled him back.

“Are you crazy?  The tunnels of the dweorgar extend for leagues and no human can return once they enter,” the enchantress told him.  “Even the magic of the greatest sorceress is limited against them.”

Rebuffed at her caution, Beowulf gave the woman a cold stare.  “This is not a worthy ending to our adventure.  No fight to finish off the dreygurs.  Taking the gold from this tomb is unworthy, nothing more than grave robbing.  It is a bitter leaf we chew.”  He stood, sliding his sword in the scabbard with disgust.  “It makes no sense why they took the amulets.  Verch should have wanted us to fight these monsters.”

“Now what do we do?” Weohstan asked.

Suddenly, a smile came to Beowulf’s face.  “It appears we need to go to the source of the magic.”

“You want to go against the dwarves?  That’s even crazier.”  Glappa spoke up with his brother nodding his agreement.

“No,” the Geat growled.  “The source of the magic against us is controlled by Verch.  Why do we go after monsters when she can have more of these things come to life at the call of the dwarves? She probably wants us to run around looking for every burial mound in the land.  I say we find this queen.”  His words echoed in the chamber which seemed to rally his thegns.  They felt resentful at the lack of battle they expected against the monsters.  However, his men took heart from the new direction.  Only Angles disapproved.

“We cannot have a war,” Glappa reminded the Geat leader.  “My father will not support any action that would kill the queen.  She may be evil, but many would use this as an excuse to raid Bernicia from all sides.”

Beowulf paused for a moment.   “Perhaps your father would approve of his son’s returning empty handed, but for the few trinkets we took at the first mound?”

Glappa slowly shook his head.  “I don’t like that idea, either.”

“But if we were to capture this queen alive, would your father not want a hostage to negotiate with Morgant Bulc?”  Weohstan suddenly asked aloud.  Glappa and Beowulf looked over at the bulky warrior at the same time.

“That sounds like a fair plan,” Beowulf agreed. “What say you, Glappa?”

“It’s risky.  And how do you plan on getting to Verch?”  The Angle asked.

“That’s easy.  We use your brother,” Beowulf pointed at Appa who gave the Geat an evil stare.

“What do you mean,” Glappa replied.

“Verch met with Appa before.  He can find her again.”

Appa realized the secret was out among the Geats as well.  He could feel the sweat under his armor as he glanced at his brother.

“He was bewitched,” Glappa defended his brother.

“This is true.  I’m embarrassed to admit it.” Appa quickly told the group.  However, skeptical expressions from the Geats showed Appa they didn’t believe him.

“Now that I understand this, I can help you find this Verch,” the Angle looked to Beowulf, sensing an opportunity.  “I know I should have told you about this, but you know how powerful this witch can be.  I’ve changed.  Let me redeem myself to you and your men.”

Beowulf stared at the young man.  Finally, he nodded his head.  “If you are willing to take this risk to capture the Brythonian Queen, I’m ready to give you a shot.  Glappa, are you in agreement?”

Glappa glanced at his younger sibling.  “Yes, but we must take her alive.  We cannot have any mistakes.”

“Then, it’s agreed.  Let us leave this depressing place and get food and sleep.”  The Geat leader walked passed Appa who kept up the appearance of cooperation.  Leading his followers out of the vault, Beowulf quietly told Weohstan to have one of the thegns watch Appa carefully.

The group left the tomb, talking among themselves at their disappointment.  However, they welcomed the chance to eat before getting rest that night.  One by one, they exited the mound into the black night, seeing little beyond the pale rays of their torches.   None realized many eyes were watching them from the dark shadows of the nearby line of trees.  Beowulf and Glappa stepped from the tunnel in a discussion about where they would find Verch.

“Enemies of Rheged throw down your weapons! You will be judged by good King Urien.” The commanding voice came from the blackness.  The thegns instinctively drew their weapons as they frantically searched for the unseen enemy.

Beowulf moved forward to accept the challenge when he felt a massive body blow into his back.  Falling forward, the Geat fighter quickly rolled, coming to his feet just as the smaller man who jumped him came at him with a dagger.  Grabbing his enemy’s hand, the Geat flipped the man over his shoulder while trying to pull his sword.  Suddenly, the Geat leader was surrounded by enemies who were coming down from the mound above and out of the tree line.  Beowulf felt a mace hit him in his shoulder, causing him to turn, instantly striking at the warrior behind him.  His sword caught the man’s helmet, sending it flying off into the night.  However, Beowulf was unable to go after the wounded man as other Rheged fighters struck at him.

Weohstan shouted for the men to join with Beowulf as the man tried to ram through the mass of enemy combatants. The Geats charged into the chaos, striking down several of the Rheged men.  Sigibert came next to Beowulf, his sword slicing into an opponent who was trying to drag the Geat leader to the ground.  The young monk fought with the tenacity of several warriors, forcing the enemy to back away as he hurt them with precise strikes against vulnerable areas.  Unfortunately, more of the Rheged fighters surged into the dark brawl as torches fell into the dirt during the mayhem.  Most of the light now came from the enemy lines, as more of the leather-clad men wearing black helmets pushed forward, enveloping the Geats and Angles.

Beowulf slammed his sword into the attacker, sending the man to the gods.  However, he witnessed Sigibert fall to the ground, struck by a spear just as another wave of fighters came at him.  Weohstan finally reached Beowulf, but the Geat thegn took a blow to the back of his helmet.  Weohstan landed face first on the ground and didn’t move.  Swidhun slammed two enemy warriors to the ground using his massive body.  However, he was soon overwhelmed by men striking him with clubs and maces.

Despite the ferocious defense put up by Beowulf and his men, the tide quickly turned.  A final wave of Rheged fighters ran into the melee and overwhelmed the remaining warriors of Beowulf who was dragged to the ground.  The Geat leader kicked out at one of the enemies attempting to secure his legs.  His leg caught the man in the face allowing the Geat to nearly get to his knees as he tried to light himself.  However, a mace slammed into his helmet, and Beowulf collapsed.  As he fell into unconsciousness, the man thought he saw Appa running away into the darkness, leaving his brother Glappa who went down nearby.  Beowulf’s last view of the chaos showed him Sigibert’s white face staring in disbelief at the spear sticking out of his lower belly.  The lights went out for the atheling before the capture of his remaining warriors.

When Beowulf came out of the blackness, he had a massive headache, and the Geat saw two leggings next to him.  The heat of the burning torch came close to his face, causing him to blink and turn his head.  The man heard someone call out, but he did not understand the words.  But he did see another pair of leggings arrive.

“Judging from what your men tell me, this must be the great Beowulf we heard about.  Too bad, my enemy appears much smaller than the bards would have us believe.  Well, you can never trust what people say.”  The voice spoke in his Geat language with a thick Brythonian accent. Nearby, someone apparently translated the words, which caused a ripple of laughter among the men standing around him.

Beowulf struggled, but the tight bindings held his hands behind his back.  “Untie me, and I’ll cut your venomous tongue from your skull.”  He stared up at the two men standing over him.  Instantly he knew which warrior was King Urien.  A bearded face stared down at him with hard dark eyes.  Under the crook of his arm, the king held a silver helmet.  Dressed in an elegant linen tunic of green and gold with a wide decorated belt at the waist, Urien pointed his sword down at the Geat’s face.

“You should be grateful I won’t remove yours just to enjoy myself.  However, such silence lessens your value as a slave, so I’ll leave it will be up to your new master to decide.  While our treacherous little spy would rather have you and your men dead, I have other plans for you.  I will let you live and receive a handsome profit from the Picts in the North.”

The man turned to his warriors, giving instructions.  From what Beowulf could understand, they would go to the king’s fort.  The Rheged warriors stripped their prisoners of their armor and weapons, taking their time to ridicule the captured men.  One enemy fighter stole the Geat leader’s helmet, mimicking Beowulf’s fall after being struck with the mace.  With each scornful gesture, Beowulf’s anger grew along with his humiliation.  He remained silent when one of the Rheged men pulled him to his knees, wrapping a rough rope around his neck.  Placing Beowulf between Swidhun and Ecgberht with the same rope around their necks, the Rheged men forced the Geats to their feet.

As the warriors led their prisoners to the captured horses, the Geat looked over at the bodies on the ground.  While it was hard to get a good view of the area in the darkness, lying face down was Weohstan with several enemy bodies next to him.  Next to his friend, Beowulf saw the back of Sigibert’s still form on his side, still holding the spear in him with both hands.  He could see no other Geats on the battlefield.  A quick survey of the rest of his group revealed two missing, Leofe and Appa.

The sound of catcalls rising from the Rheged warriors caused Beowulf and his men to look as King Urien pushed Glappa to his knees.  The king told his men that the son of Id would bring them ransom for the death of the Rheged men that night.  The warrior’s cheered, many remembering the humiliation of losing to King Ida and being pushed out of Bernicia a few years before.

Climbing on his mount, the king of the Rheged had Glappa placed on his mount and the group prisoners tied the horse.  Quickly having his men gather their dead, along with the capture enemy armor and weapons, the Rheged king led his people away from the mound, forcing the newly captured Geat warriors to keep pace with the victor’s horses.

Beowulf remained quiet, caught in the despair of his humiliation.  To be trapped in a battle against such a foe hurt him deeply.  Worse, he failed his men.  The young leader realized his terrible mistake of not scouting the area before nightfall.  Worse, he left no one to watch over their mounts and to provide them with a warning.   As he walked along, the leader felt the bitter irony of his future.  To have the Geat champion end his life in slavery at the hands of an unworthy king.  The shame he felt left Geat leader feeling sympathy for the whispers of his men, who were cursing fate for their fortune.  His fighters understood the dishonor the Geat champion felt, and they blamed themselves.  Ecgberht spoke up at one point, cursing himself for not doing more and vowing he would not be sold into slavery.   Osberht nodded his agreement, vowing revenge for the death of his brother.  But for now, both would bid for time.

“You saw that Weohstan and Sigibert are dead,” whispered Ecgberht to Beowulf, bringing their leader out of his trance.  “Too bad it’s only the Brythonian girl and that coward Angle escaped.  We’ll not see them again.”

“I’m not so sure,” Beowulf replied quietly.  “The girl is resourceful.  She may surprise us, but Appa….”  The old warrior just nodded when his leader stopped talking.

After a long pause, Beowulf finally spoke again.  “I failed you and the others.  Poor choices on my part got good men killed, and Aeschere is severely wounded.”  The Geat leader looked back, watching the wounded thegn struggling to keep from falling as he limped along.

“You are a warrior.  Now act like it!”  The growled words from Ecgberht stunned the atheling.  The voice reminded him of his father, Ecgtheow, always repeating duty and honor.  The voice rang loud in the Geat’s ear.

Nodding, Beowulf took a deep breath.  “You’re right.  Pass the word for the men to help Aeschere.  He’ll strangle himself if he can’t move at this pace.  Also, have them keep their eyes and ears open.  I’m sure the gods will give me a chance to redeem myself.”

Despite the positive words, Ecgberht noticed the hesitancy in the young warrior’s voice when he mentioned the gods.  It was the first time he heard such from Beowulf, and it bothered him.

“Gods always throw hurdles in front of us.   Take it from an old warrior; they like to test our mettle.” The ex-slave advised.  Beowulf remained quiet as the group of Geats stumbled along the dark road.

Not long after the enemy warriors left the area around the mound, something moved among the forest edge.  The slight figure slowly moved forward, creeping in the darkness to the large shadow of the hill.  The hot embers on top of a torch glowed red, and the figure walked toward the light.  Nearly stepping on a body, the person stopped, giving a slight gasp before carefully stepping around.  Reaching down, the person slowly picked up the torch, pulling some ripped cloth to nurse a small blaze from the spark.  After a while, the smoldering linen caught fire, revealing the face of Leofe. Coaxing a steady flame from the torch, the witch began walking the bloody ground.  Nearing the curled up form of Sigibert, she felt a pang of remorse for a young man she barely knew.  Leofe felt a growing brotherly kinship to the monk.  Stepping past him, she heard a soft groan, which nearly caused her to drop the torch.  She pointed the flaming torch close to the face.  The brown eyes of the monk looked at her.

“Curses, don’t blind me with the fire. I’m not a ghost yet.”  Sigibert hissed.

“Neither am I,” came the voice of Weohstan as he walked into the light.  “Fate saved us this day.”  He limped into the light, his face was covered with drying blood.  He saw the look on Leofe’s face.  “Never mind, it’s just a cut, looks worse I imagine.   Knocked me out for a bit and gave me a bad headache but it fooled those idiots who call themselves warriors.  They should have used my spear to make sure I was dead.  How’s the monk?”

“By the grace of God, I’ll live.  The spear caught me and hurts like the devil touched it.”  Sigibert tried to straighten himself, but the pain was too much.  Leofe kneeled next to the monk, pushing the end of the torch into the ground.  She carefully followed the iron shaft to his pelvis area with her hand.  The young man’s eyes widened when she touched him, pulling parts of his robe away, revealing his white skin.

“You might have the luck of your god,” the woman told him.  “It’s deep, but the spear looks like it went into the side, near the hip.  Probably didn’t hit anything vital.”  Leofe directed Weohstan to hold the spear shaft as she used her dagger to cut away the robe from the spear.  Then, she retrieved some dried moss from one of the small sacks, which hung from her belt.  She looked up to the old friend of Beowulf and nodded.  Before the monk realized it, the spear came out of his wound.  However, the man yelled from the intense pain while the woman forced his hands away so she could apply the moss to the wound.

“We must keep that area clean and find more of the tree moss to keep the wound from infection,” she told them.

“That is just a part of it.  We need to find weapons and catch up with Beowulf.  I have failed to keep him from capture. And now that king intends to sell him and my friends as slaves.  That cannon happen.”  Leofe heard the bitterness in the man’s voice.  She knew loyalty, but the Geats carried a special bond to their leader.  The woman glanced over as he picked up an extinguished torch which she lit with hers.  Weohstan stalked off looking around on the ground.  She told the young monk to rest before joining Weohstan with the torch.

“I was able to get to one mount when the fight started,” she said to him.  “I have the horse tied off in the forest.  Let me look at your wound.”

At first, Weohstan refused, but Leofe insisted.  Finally, the man relented, and she looked at his scalp while he held the torch.

“You will live, but I need to close that wound.”

The Geat shook his head.  “That probably makes sense, but we can wait until light.  We need to find weapons first.”

Leofe let out a breath, upset at his stubbornness.  However, she started looking around the grassy area around her.  After a while, the warrior suddenly spoke up.

“You might make a real fighter in time,” he told her.  She smiled at the comment; knowing it was as close to a compliment she would receive from him.

When the waning sliver of the moon finally fell low in the sky, the pair came back to Sigibert carrying several spears and one shield left behind in the haste of the Rheged fighters to leave.  Leofe retrieved her mount, and they loaded the weapons on the horse.  After carefully helping Sigibert on the horse, Leofe climbed on the mount, behind the monk.  Weohstan took the reins, and the warrior began a slow run, leading the mount along as they began following the trail of the Rheged king.

~~~

Bruised and battered, Beowulf and his thegns finally walked between the thick rock walls of an old fort, a place their capturers called Kirkhaugh.  Inside, they found a village made up of several wooden buildings with thatched roofs along with a stable and quite a few huts scattered near the buildings.  Still, given the boasting of the Rheged king, Beowulf was not impressed.  The prisoners trudged by curious women and children while the Rheged warriors proudly told their people about the conquest over the Geats and Angles.  King Urien stopped his mount in front of the small main hall where he slid off his horse and climbed the two wooden steps to look at the gathering crowd.  His men pulled Glappa down from his horse, forcing the son of Ida to his knees in the mud at the feet of the king.  The humiliation of this action caused Beowulf and Ecgberht to push forward against the guards surrounding them, cursing the king.  Several of the Rheged fighters quickly pummeled the two men, sending them to the ground.

Slowly standing while vowing vengeance under his breath, Beowulf tried to understand the king’s language while the man regaled his people about his night’s exploits.  The tone and mocking nature when he pointed to Beowulf and his men kept the embers of humiliation burning in the young leader.  Despite the weariness from lack of sleep from walking all night, he vowed he would not forget the lessons of his mistakes.

When the Rheged leader finished his story, the crowd showed their appreciation with yells of support while shouting abuse at the prisoners, some even hurled rocks at Geats.  The men around King Urien shackled Glappa on a pole near the entrance to the hall.  The fighters marched Beowulf and his men to a small building, near the stables.  Pushing them inside the wooden structure, the Rheged fighters slammed the door closed.  The stubby walls of the shed had no windows, and the small size forced most of the men to stand.  Several of the warriors moved together, allowing Aeschere to slide down where he could tend to the wound on his leg.  Next to the door, Beowulf heard the guards secure the door by driving a metal spike into the wooden handle.  After the sound of footsteps had faded away, Beowulf spoke up.

“We will serve vengeance upon these Rheged.  This is something I can promise you.  Look for any places in the walls and roof of this building where we might find a path to escape.  While we wait, we will take turns to sit for a rest while others stand.”

At first, no one moved.  Beowulf felt his anger rising until he saw Aeschere slowly pull himself up from the floor, gruffly telling the others to get to work.  The generally quiet warrior turned around, groaning at the movement, to use his hands to probe and push at the wood planks of the wall.  His action caused others to begin a close inspection of the walls and floor.  Osberht hoisted himself up into rafters of the roof, using a boost from Swidhun.  He tried to remove the slats of the roof, but he could not budge them.  Twisting himself around, he laid himself across the beam where he could catch glimpses of the outside world through the thin opening between the ceiling and the wall.  He quietly told Beowulf he could see only one warrior guarding the area.

“The wood is new up here. But if I had a dagger or a long piece of metal, I might be able to pry a place open,” the man whispered down.  Cursing, he slammed his hand into the wood.  “I swear I’ll kill these swine for what they did to my brother if I can get out of here.”

“Save your strength,” Beowulf warned him, “and keep looking for an escape.  We will get our revenge.”

However, after the thegns looked over every small area of the building, they found nothing which might allow them to escape.  Unusual for the buildings seen in Brythonian villages, iron nails held the thick overlapping planks to the wall and the roof.

“Even this clay floor is as hard as a rock,” the Geat leader said disgustedly as he kicked the dirt.  At the comment about the floor, Ecgberht noticed the bronze greaves showing under Swidhun’s trousers the Rheged men had missed.  It gave him an idea which he whispered to Beowulf, who nodded excitedly.  Then, Ecgberht quietly spread the word among the thegns.  They would wait until the night to begin their plan.

~~~

A single black horse carrying a female rider trotted along the trail leading away from the camp of Morcant Bulc.  Queen Verch felt quite happy with herself after watching the capture of the Geats.  She traveled behind the Rheged king and his warriors, part of the way back to Kirkhaugh, ensuring the hero of her visions would be banished.  The witch queen smiled to herself, remembering how she nearly burst out laughing when the woman heard Urien would sell the Geats as slaves.  Even though, the king would not kill the prisoners, the humiliating end to her enemy still tasted sweet.  She would soon make a sacrifice to the Alaisiagae in tribute.  The woman toyed with the idea of using her dimwitted husband as the blood sacrifice.

As the horse made the sharp turn at the fork in the road, a blur came from the tree above, landing behind her.  She felt herself being pushed to the ground as the man behind her took the reins of the startled horse.  The wind knocked from her as she struck the dirt, Queen Verch could only writhe in pain while two men quickly stepped next to her.  One pointed his spear at her while the other called their companion back with the stolen steed.

“Well, look what we have here,” the man with the spear said, his face giving her a lascivious grin.  “A fine noble woman traveling alone, now you don’t see that around here.”

The man on stolen horse rode up, dressed in the same dirty green robe as the others.  His face carried the scars of disease.  He looked at the woman approvingly.  “She might be worth something.  See if she brings any gold.”

A large man reached down, grabbing her belt and pulling her up from the ground as the others laughed while as he ripped off the belt holding a moneybag.  Recovering her breath, the queen remained stoic, backing away and covering her exposed thigh with her robe.  Her eyes held no fear as she began chanting one of the first spells her mother taught her.

The large man was still laughing as he stepped toward the woman.  However, his face went white as he grabbed his throat, dropping to his knees.  Struggling to breathe, Verch gave the bandit an unpleasant smirk, nodding as the man’s face turned blue as he fell to his side.

The Queen directed her gaze at her horse, mumbling out another chant.  The horse suddenly reared back, dumping the surprised thief onto the ground.  Turning, the animal immediately began stomping and kicking at the human. The terrified thief tried to scramble away, screaming for help but the fearful horse increased its attack.  Soon, the body of the man quite moving and the mount’s legs were covered in blood and gore.

At first, the remaining bandit stood frozen by what he saw at first, then as he tried to lift his spear he felt something invisible and cold wrap around him, refusing to release him.  The thin man could only watch the deaths of his comrades.  When the beautiful woman looked at him, he felt the cold grip released and he fled away from the scene.  As he reached the edge of the forest where he attempted to make his escape, an Angle warrior stepped from behind the tree.  Before the bandit could stop, he ran headlong into the sharp sword pointed at his belly.  The man’s surprised expression caused Appa to smile grimly while he pulled his sword out of the dying man’s body, letting the man fall to the ground.

“You need an escort, Verch,” Appa told the woman confidently.

The woman snorted.  “You have the gall to come to me and act like I need your help.  What makes you think I won’t do the same to you as these wretched thieves?”

Appa wiped his blade using the bandit’s robe, sliding his weapon into the scabbard on his belt.  “Queen Verch has great powers.  But I’ve followed you with the Rheged.  And I’ve seen the other witch who matches your ability and she remains outside of your clutches.  If we are smart, we can help each other,” he looked up at her and smiled.  She looked at him doubtfully.

The Angle knew he was playing a risky game with a cold killer.  “I see you need to be convinced,” he told her.  “I could tell you that Beowulf and his men know about the dwarves you are using.”

“That makes no difference to me.  Captured and soon to be enslaved, the fate of your brother and this Beowulf mean nothing.” Queen Verch told him.

“Perhaps, but knowing the stories of the dwarves, I wonder how you intend to come up with enough gold to meet your end of the bargain?  My guess is your husband might not know of your bargain.  No king would take the risk you’re taking.”  Appa could tell by her expression, his words got to her.

“I’m betting as the next king of Bernicia, I might be able to help you.  My father might be persuaded to trade me for gold.”

“So, you would be a willing hostage?  How does this benefit you?”  She showed the surprise at this devious man’s plan.

“You’ve already taken care of my brother, my only rival to the throne.  Obviously, you wish something from the Angles, or you would have not sent the dreygurs.  Perhaps I can help?”  He slowly walked toward her.

“And I’m betting you want Bernicia again.  Why fight for something that we might achieve together?  If you and I can come to an agreement, we can gain much from each other.  Remove your husband as part of the deal, and I might be able to give you this other witch.  Then, nothing can stop you.”

Retrieving her moneybag from the corpse, the woman climbed on her mount as Appa walked up to her, his face giving her the quick impression of a rat.  She considered her options.  If he could deliver the Brythonian girl to her, he would be useful.  His deceitful character nearly matched hers so she knew this Angle could never be trusted.  Worse, he was from the family of King Ida, a hated enemy.  Still, in spite of this, his noble blood could be useful to her plans, either alive or dead.

“Climb aboard, my fair warrior.  We can discuss your usefulness as I travel back to my husband.  It will not be difficult to use you as a hostage with my king.”  She held out her delicate hand to the young Angle.

After he had settled in behind the hægtesse, Appa began happily humming a tune, convinced he could control two kingdoms since he understood the thinking inside the mind of his deadly companion.

~~~

Night fell across the lands of Rheged and, as expected, Beowulf heard the muffled, riotous sounds coming from inside the mead hall across the compound.  Despite the chill outside the building, the stifling air inside the cramped room made him light headed.  A constant, grating sound of metal sliding across the hard dirt floor came from below as Swidhun kept swinging down a piece of brass metal overlooked by the capturers.  His greaves, hidden under the giant warrior’s leggings, allowed the Geats an opportunity to escape.  However, the slow pace of the digging on the hard dirt floor forced the men to take cumbersome turns while resting on their hunches or moving around their standing positions.

Beowulf stood near the Aeschere.  He asked Ecgberht about the Dane’s wound and warrior spoke up for himself.  “The bleeding has stopped.  I’ll keep up when we get out of here.”

“Good enough,” his leader smiled down, doubting what his man told him as he looked at the pale face.  However, they had no other options.  The warrior would have to keep up, no matter what they encountered.  He spoke quietly to his men.

“Now, I’ve thought about our situation all night.  Our enemy holds the greater numbers, but I say we give them the bitter taste of irony.  When we escape from here, we will slip inside the mead hall.  You can hear their celebration, and we will take advantage when they sleep.  Take their weapons, along with their king, and when they awake, we’ll show these Brythonians how noble warriors seize the day, and the spoils.”

The makeshift shovel suddenly struck a rock, causing a loud metallic sound, interrupting Beowulf as he looked down at Swidhun, who immediately stopped his work.  Breathlessly, the men waited several long moments, expecting guards to suddenly charge into the makeshift prison.  However, no sound came from outside the building.  Osberht, who climbed back up on the rafter, gazed out in the dim light between the boards.  He reported seeing the outline of a guard stomping around to keep warm.  The noise the Rheged warrior made as he walked drowned out the soft sound of digging and caused Osberht to smile.  He whispered down to Swidhun to begin his work again.

Near morning, the hole they dug under the wall was finally large enough for the men to escape.  Beowulf went first.  Lying on his back, he wormed his way through the dirt until he could see the pale morning sky above him.  Using his legs to slide himself through, the young warrior silently lifted himself from ground.  The village remained silent which the Geat leader expected with the heavy drinking and eating he overheard coming from the mead hall much of the night.  He waited, hoping no farmers or wives would be coming by.  Ecgberht found his way through the hole first.  Beowulf whispered instructions to the ex-slave who nodded, waiting for the remaining men.

Beowulf crept around the side of the building until he reached the corner.  Slowly, he glanced around the rough framed wood, seeing a single warrior sitting on the steps, his back against the door.  The guard dozed, his head down in his chest.  A quick look around the camp showed no movement.  Silently crossing the few paces to the man, Beowulf locked his large arm around the man’s neck.

“Make a sound, and you die,” the Geat told him as the waking man stiffened.  While the Rheged warrior did not understand the words, the viselike hold around his throat kept him silent.

Beowulf pulled his prisoner away from the entrance and Swidhun stepped into the early morning light, immediately grabbing the guard.  Before the man could think to yell out, Swidhun turned him and slammed his fist into the warrior’s jaw.  Beowulf let the unconscious man fall to the ground while Osberht and Ecgberht came around the corner.

“Grab his weapon and follow me,” the leader of the Geats growled to his men.

As he crossed the open ground to the hall, Beowulf noticed Glappa was not at the entrance.  He hurried to the edge of the building, waving his men to gather around him.

“Keep your tempers about you.  I know each of you could slip up on those drunken mongrels and cut their unworthy hearts out.  But I want them alive, especially Urien.  They will remember who took their weapons from them inside their own mead hall.  Remember the plan, and we will have great tales for the elders.”  He reinforced his order by looking each man in the eye.  Each fighter nodded in return.

“Good,” he grinned at them with a gleam in his eye.  The confidence of their young leader returned, and his men radiated in it.

Beowulf sent Ecgberht and Osberht to the back of the mead hall, reminding them to enter quietly while the rest arrived in the front.  Sliding past the nearly closed door, they found many of their enemy lying on the benches or on top of the tables in a drunken stupor.  Some of the men held their wives or half-clothed village girls in their arms.  The thegns stepped carefully between the sleeping men and women, swiftly collecting the weapons, which they silently carried to the entrance.  Satisfied at his men’s skilled work, Beowulf immediately sought out the king.  As he approached the back of the long hall, he passed a sleeping Glappa, chained to the table where King Urien sat.  At first, he did not recognize the Angle noble.  Swollen and bloodied, young warrior’s face showed the effects of his beating by the Rheged.

Enraged, Beowulf rushed into the back of the hall where the king slept.  The Geat warrior stopped when he saw his sword hanging on the back of the large throne, trophy to the victorious king.  Beowulf grabbed his Eotenisc and his shield next to it, deciding it was time to meet the king on his terms.  He went past the bearskin curtain, which isolated Urien from his subjects.  Entering the darkened area, the leader of the Geats felt a body slam into him.  King Urien and Beowulf tumbled into a large table, sending weapons and plates across the floor as the king called out for his men.  The Geat warrior struck Urien in the mouth as he tried to push the heavily built man away.  Urien pulled his dagger, but before he could drive it into Beowulf, the Geat caught him in the face with the pommel of his sword.  Rolling around on the wooden floor, the evenly matched men grunted and struggled.  Using his free hand, Beowulf grabbed the wrist of the king’s dagger hand.  Able to get on top of his adversary, the Geat slammed the king’s wrist into the floor, and the knife slid away.  Unfortunately, the king hit the Geat leader with his forehead, knocking him back and the king rolled away.  Urien found his knife and came after Beowulf, who struggled to his feet.  Then, King Urien felt a blow to his head, and the man fell to the floor in a heap.  Glappa stood over the king, holding Beowulf’s shield, which the Geat lost when Urien tackled him.  The Angle held the shield high about to slam the edge down into the king to kill him.

“Don’t, Glappa.  We need him!  I have his queen,” Ecgberht came up behind the Angle, carrying his sword and shield.  In his other arm, he held a lovely woman, partially dressed in linen undergarments.  Beowulf scrambled forward, getting his hands on his shield.

“Ecgberht is right.  Leave your vengeance for another day.  You know better than I that your father does not want war with all the Brythonians.”  The Geat leader watched Glappa, feeling the shield shake.

“I would gladly let you, but we need him to be the prisoner now,” Beowulf said calmly.

Glappa finally let loose of the shield.  He said nothing but leaned over, roughly grabbing the king who he pulled from the floor.

From the other side of the bearskin divider, the group holding the king suddenly heard the rest of the hall exploded in chaos.  There was shouting among Rheged warriors woke into consciousness by the surprised scream of a woman entering the building.  The king’s fighters attacked the Geats, trying to overwhelm them while trying to find their weapons.  The Geats struck down several men while the Rheged fighters used wooden benches to push forward, seeking to reach their arms near the entrance.

Driving the king and queen in front of them, Beowulf shouted into the ear of Urien, telling him to stop his men from fighting.  When the king hesitated, Beowulf pointed his sword at his neck.  The king finally complied, roaring above the din in the room.  It took a while before the fighting gradually ceased, leaving only the moans of the injured and dying men.  Death stares among the living remained as the line of fighters slowly separated with the long table between them.

Beowulf and Ecgberht pushed the king and queen forward with swords at the back while Glappa took the lead, using his spear to keep the Rheged warriors from their path to the door.  When they reached the front of the hall, Osberht entered.  He told them the rest of the village was quiet and, more importantly, he had their mounts at the front door.  Beowulf nodded, quietly telling him to gather his weapons and armor.  He motioned for Aeschere, who limped over.

“Go to the mounts outside and have an extra ready for the king and queen ride with us.”  Beowulf saw by the look on Urien’s face that he understood he was to be the hostage now.  However, the Geat noble did not realize the queen next to him knew his language.  She began yelling to the Rheged warriors, telling them a filthy Geat would never take her.  She threw herself at Beowulf’s sword, forcing the man to move his weapon to keep from impaling her.  The queen’s actions were enough to let King Urien sprint away, joining his warriors.  He cried out for his men to attack the Geats, sending the hall into pandemonium.  Geats and the few Brythonians who still carried weapons began a fierce fight.

Swidhun stood alone to defend the pile of Rheged weapons as several men came at him.  Beowulf joined him, telling his men to get to the horses as the sounds of steel on steel filled the hall.  Glappa took a lit oil lamp from one of the post beams, throwing it into the cache of arms.  He ran to another lamp on the way nearby and threw it into the rising fire.   Flames rose along the wall, forcing Swidhun and Beowulf away from the corner.  One of the Rheged fighters came at Beowulf with a spear and the noble warrior struck the man down.   Beowulf followed the rest of his men out of the hall, glancing back at the enemy fighters attempting to pull their arsenal of weapons away from the fire.  The Geats and Angles climbed aboard their mounts and started for the entrance gate into the fortress.  Soon they found their way impeded by the rest of the Rheged’s horses, seeking the same exit.

“I guess I forgot to close the gate at the stable,” a beaming Osberht told Beowulf.  “The Rhegeds can pay us back with these horses.  They may be small but their worth something in trade.  I got our dreygur treasure back as well.”

Beowulf gave him a brief grin before he began spurring his mount through the milling horses.  The horses pushed into the two guards who were still protecting the entrance.  Beowulf pressed his horse through, coming close to the Rheged guard whose wide eyes showed the fear of becoming trampled by the rider and mount.  In jumbled Brythonian and gestures, he placed his sword at the guard’s throat while telling him to open the gate.  The man said something to his companion, and the two men lifted the heavy wood beam to the side.  Ecgberht jumped down among the mass of animals, helping to push the gate open as the animals and their Geat riders spilled out of the fort.

Dust filled the area as Beowulf and his thegns galloped away from the home of King Urien.  The king briskly walked to the gate, trying to gather the men he could find.  When he looked back at his cherished mead hall, the king’s eyes grew dark.  His men were busy fighting the flames, but he knew the structure would be destroyed.  Turning back to watch his best horses galloping off with the retreating thegns, Urien decided his life would be dedicated to extracting revenge upon this upstart called Beowulf.

CHAPTER 6

SAVE A TRAITOR

The fleeing Geats and their Angle companion reached the edge of the forest, taking the trail toward the border.  However, they came across Leofe along with her two ghosts.  Sigibert and Weohstan appeared as pale as the dreygurs they chased.  His old friend still carried the bloodstains on his face.  To the evident relief of the thegns, they stopped briefly, gathering around the pair of warriors.

“It’s about time to you joined us.  We must move fast.  Weohstan, take your pick of horses,” Beowulf offered his forearm to Weohstan, giving him a sympathetic grin.  “I’m glad you made it.”  The warrior grabbed Beowulf’s forearm, thanking his friend.

“How about you, my friend?” Beowulf asked Sigibert.  The monk gave his leader a thin smile that looked like a grimace.

“God willing, I’ll last as long as the rest of this group,” the young man declared.  The Geat leader gave a hearty laugh as he watched Leofe slide off the mount Sigibert sat on.  His eyes followed her taking one of the smaller ponies.

“I’m glad all of you survived. It should make the rest of the journey easier for us.”  Beowulf told them wryly as the woman caught him watching her.  He turned his mount, and the group set off toward Bernicia.

During the long ride, the group swung by the mound where they were captured, but they found no trace of Appa.  While Glappa made one more pass around the area, Weohstan told Beowulf about his escape from death during the fighting the night before.  His friend mocked those Brythonians who failed to finish him off before telling Beowulf the extent of Sigibert’s injury and Leofe’s skill attending to their wounds.  He also complained about losing his weapons.

Beowulf laughed as he slowed the line of men and horses for a moment, “Fear not my friend.  We got our arms back before we escaped.”  He had Swidhun pull the Weohstan’s sword from the pile on the back of his mount.

“So, what are we doing now?  It appears we are retreating.”  There was disapproval in Weohstan’s voice as he sliced at the air several times before sliding into his scabbard.

“Yes,” Beowulf replied, refusing to say more as he spurred his mount slightly.

Weohstan went quiet, knowing his friend was disappointed.  He realized the young leader made the bitter decision to get his outnumbered men away from the Rheged warriors.

As he rode in silence, Beowulf burned with humiliation as he reflected on the past few days.  He knew the scops would soon spread the disgrace of his capture across the lands.  While they escaped with horses as trophies, he still felt like he lost to King Urien.  The thought gnawed at the pit of his stomach, and the man wanted some way to atone for their capture.

Worse, doubts began to fill him again. He nearly left his friends in unfriendly territory.  Beowulf had no plan now and no real idea of what to do next.  The man realized they were free, but he was running away from an enemy.  Verch must have let Urien know about Beowulf and his men in his lands.  That would mean they would have to find her while the Rheged fighters chased them.  Bitterness and uncertainty were two things the Geat leader seldom encountered.  Now, they were at his elbows, helping him flee.

The Geat leader’s attention turned to Glappa who galloped to the group, returning from scouting ahead.  The Angle told them he found the trail of his brother, going in their direction.  The news just added to Beowulf’s darkening thoughts.  While he listened to Glappa, the clouds turned dark, covering the sky and the Geat knew the gods were now testing him.  Leaving the area, they rode into a stiff, cold wind coming in from the north.  Soon, the group found the bodies of two men lying in the road.  Beowulf and Glappa dismounted to look at the corpses.

“Strange,” the Geat spoke as he rose from his squatting position over the body.  “This man seems to be strangled to death while that one appears beaten to death.”

“No, look at the hoof marks,” Ecgberht spoke from his mount.  “I think a horse did that.”

“We have another body over here,” shouted Osberht, near a tree.

The rest of the group went over to look while Leofe and Ecgberht got off their mounts to look at the dead man with the blue face.  When Glappa arrived, he pointed out the boot tracks nearby.

“That’s the work of my brother,” he said grimly.  He saw how his brother waited, hiding until the man came to him.  He disapproved of the trick, believing it was better to fight a person directly.

“And your brother came back this way,” Beowulf followed faint impressions heading back to the road.  When he reached Ecgberht, he could see man’s tracks stop and the hoof prints leading away.

“It appears your brother found a horse.” The Geat leader told Glappa.

“And an ally,” Leofe said to herself, not realizing Ecgberht overheard her.

“There are two on that horse,” the old warrior spoke to Beowulf before he walked away, getting on his mount.  He listened to the conversation between Beowulf and Glappa.  The Geat leader stopped to tell the ex-slave to follow the tracks.

“We will catch up with Appa,” Beowulf growled at the group.  His men heard the impatience in the Geat’s voice, watching as he climbed back on his mount.   “Come on, I want to have words with him,” he barked as he spurred the horse along the road.

The day wore on, and the first hint of snow began to fall.  Guided by the information from Ecgberht who was tracking Appa, the group got off the main road, following the trail of hoof prints.  The prints led them to the top of a plateau.  Leveling off in the open country, they rode hard as the snow whipped into their face.  Soon, they could find no trail as the snow covered the ground.

During the trip, Leofe tried speaking with Beowulf, but his short responses showed his foul temper, making it clear he was in no mood to discuss anything.  Falling back, she rode next to Sigibert and Osberht, watching the young monk and his friend.  Unusually quiet, the Geat thegn gave Sigibert his blanket for extra warmth.  She felt the presence of another rider come up next to her.  She looked over to Glappa, who smiled at her.

“You worry a lot about these Geats, even though they are allies of the Angles,” he observed.  At first, she thought he might be mocking her, but his face showed sympathy.

“From the way things are going, they need my help,” she replied quietly.

“I see,” Glappa said, going quiet for a while.

Looking around at the Geats, she saw the quiet men hunched down in their blankets trying to keep warm.  She slowed her mount, letting them fall behind the others.  “These are not the same confident men that came to my village.”

“So, you don’t think this Beowulf is the warrior my father believes?”  Glappa said lightly, but his eyes were serious.

“That’s not what I said.  No one could have known the Rheged warriors would be waiting for us.” Leofe said defensively.

“A more experienced leader would leave guards to watch over the horses.”  The Angle leader handsome face turned somber as he thought aloud.  “Perhaps, someone should have sent scouts to look over the area first.  Even, wait for the daylight.”

“And when did you advise him about this? It seems natural to think of such things after the mistake.  You sound like your brother,” she said, noticing his eyes turn hostile at the remark.

“A real leader would see such things without advice,” he countered.  He realized he might have said something at the time, but he was unable to let the woman win the argument.

“By the way, I heard that it was Beowulf and his men who rescued you from King Urien.  And I noticed Appa left when the fighting started.  Being falsehearted is not something a Brythonian leader aspires to.  It makes one wonder why the Geats didn’t just leave you and Appa in this land” Leofe smiled sweetly before she spurred her horse to catch the rest of the group.

As he watched her through the snow, he realized how much her words upset him.  As a warrior and heir to the throne of Bernicia, he initially felt little regard about what this woman might say.  She was from enemy lands, and she made no secret of her disregard of his family and the Angles as rulers of Bernicia.  However, as he watched her and grew to know her, he became more impressed with Leofe.  He knew well his brother’s deceitful ways, but he could not leave a family member among the Angle’s enemies.  The son of Ida spurred his mount to catch the group as he digested her words among his thoughts.

~~~

The snow meant little to Queen Verch, as she knew exactly where her husband’s camp would be along a small stream.  Her keen senses knew the path, even in the blinding snow.  She felt the warmth of the amulet on her chest as its power guided her along the covered trail winding through the scattered trees.  In the waning light, she felt eyes watching her.  While she could never see them among the brush and trees, she knew the dwarves grew restless.  No doubt, they were watching her. However, fate remained kind as she felt the warmth of the young warrior who snuggled close behind her.  Appa’s willingness to become a hostage gave the woman all she needed to keep the Dweorgars satisfied.  She smiled to herself, ignoring the annoying repetition of the same whistled song coming from her hostage.

Soon, the pair sniffed wood smoke drifting along the wind as they closed the distance to the camp of King Morcant.  She saw the hazy yellow from campfires in the valley when their horse trudged over a small ridge.  As she led the mount into the camp, the air filled with shouts from the warriors as they quickly surrounded the pair.

“I have a prisoner for the king,” she declared.  The men around her hesitated.  “Take this Angle away,” Verch yelled at the nearest warrior.  With a grim smile, the man grabbed Appa’s tunic, pulling him down from the horse.  The Angle noble tried to get up only to receive a kick in his stomach, knocking the wind from him.

“You fool, don’t harm him.  He is worth gold to the king as our hostage.”  The queen slid down from the horse, confronting the warrior who backed away.

“I’ll take care of him,” Karney, one of the king’s leaders, stepped forward.  “Gall, remove his weapons and tie this Angle to a tree.”

Verch stared at Karney shortly, before walking between him and Gall.  “Make sure he doesn’t escape, or the king will stretch your neck on that same tree,” she warned them with a chilling whisper, going to Morcant’s tent.

Inside, she found the king upbeat, finishing off a large mug of mead.  Instantly, she knew her spell over him wore off during her absence.  Verch was not happy, but she immediately smiled, telling her husband she brought great news.  His face turned to a scowl in her presence, and the Queen realized she must make amends.  Bowing deeply, she placed herself on her knees at his feet.

“I know I made a mistake by leaving, but I’ve come with great news.  I have the son of King Ida as a hostage for you.”

She saw his face light up again at the news, but his eyes remained hard.  “My dear queen, you indeed bring joyous news.  However, your escapades are becoming intolerable.  Rumors about you are swirling among my people, including something about meeting with the king of Rheged without my knowledge.”

Realizing she was in a precarious position, she immediately begged him to forgive her.  “I did this for you, my king.  You have been unwell, and I simply did what I could to keep this Beowulf from making a fool of your kingdom.  Have I not always served your needs?”

King Morcant considered her words and he slowly exhaled.  Despite his deep love for her, he understood he could not trust her.  Yet he had no real proof of any real threat against him.  While it was evident his closest advisors did not like the queen, they would not speak out against her.  As she looked up at him with her dark eyes so vulnerable, his temper receded.

“Make sure it doesn’t happen again,” the man extended his hand for her to kiss.  After she had pressed her lips to his ring, he told her that he would be watching her.  “The gods have restored me, and I intend to remove these Angles from our lands.”

“Nothing would please me more, my lord.  You have my undying gratitude and support,” the words gnawed at the woman who spoke them.  “I have this young Angle warrior called Appa tied to a tree outside.  Should I summon him before you?”

King Morcant Bulc smiled down at his devious wife still on her knees, “No, join me, and we will go to this Angle and determine if he is worth anything to us.”  He took her hand and the couple into the chill of the morning air.  They found Appa securely tied to the tree, his face showing the puzzled expression of a man unused to such treatment.

“Well, it seems our illustrious guest is a valuable hostage.” The king spoke to Appa in the Angle language.  “Yes, I know your tongue.  I learned it from a priest who traveled in your lands long before your father decided to invade.  Now we must decide upon your value.  Tell me, which son are you?  I’ve heard your mother bore many children.”

“I’m called Appa,” the young noble told the king defiantly. “King Ida will bring great suffering down upon your people if you fail to release me.”

Morcant laughed, “You are most amusing with your words.  Many tales come to me saying your father grows old and frail.  He is hardly capable of removing a few monsters from his land, and you really think he will come for you.  You are as foolish as the Geats wondering the grounds of Rheged.”  The king translated his words to the Brythonian warriors gathered around the tree.  The men burst out laughing as well.  Appa stole a glance at the queen who ignored him and indignation quickly filled the young Angle.

“You may laugh, but in the end, you will see that I’m right, and your head will be on a pike outside my father’s castle,” Appa told the king with more confidence than he felt.  The king laughed as he cuffed the young man in the ear.   The hard slap added insult to his situation and Appa turned his head from the pain and humiliation.

The amused king turned at the sound of hoofs approaching at high speed.  A Brythonian warrior jumped from his horse and ran to his king.

“I have seen the Geats and Angles coming along the trail left by our queen,” the out of breath man told him.  King Morcant Bulc glanced at his wife before smiling broadly.

“So, our prey comes to us.  We must offer a warm greeting for such renowned warriors.”  He raised his hand as his men laughed, his face now serious.  “No, let us prepare to turn the snow red with their blood.  None shall return to our homeland alive.”

The Brythonian warriors shouted their approval at his words, many spoiling for a fight after losing their comrades to the Geats.  The men scattered to prepare their equipment for the coming fight. As the king walked through his fighters, he issued orders and instructions.  Anticipation filled the air as the men and woman of the camp scurried about with their duties.  It was the forceful king they remembered

Morcant went to his tent as his wife followed him.  Verch passed the young Appa and paid no attention to the Angle.  For now, the king was in charge, and the queen decided to play the faithful wife once again.  Inside, the Angle worried that he had been outsmarted by the goddess of fate, Wyrd.  He expected the witch to remove the king, leaving him as a comfortable hostage until they went to Bernicia.  If Morcant destroyed the Geats and his brother, the son of Ida would truly be a hostage.  Appa decided not even a powerful witch like Verch could kill off the king after such a victory.  Morcant’s followers would surely destroy her if she tried.  Again, Beowulf interfered with Appa’s plans.

Nearby, the group of Geats followed the trail toward the camp of Morcant and his men.  The snow had let up and along them to see a curving line of scraggly trees which shadowed a stream.  Prominent above the tree line sat a ruined Roman watch tower near their trail.  With no villages nearby to remove the gray and brown cut stones, the tower retained much of its façade.  As their journey took them closer to the ruins, they saw a large opening where the wall fell away near the gatehouse.  Leofe briefly wondered what caused the damage when she heard the sound of a galloping horse in the distance.  Riding hard, Weohstan pushed his mount toward his leader.  After reaching the group, it took the warrior a while before he was able to catch his breath.

“The Brythonians have Appa, and they know we are coming.  They are preparing for us.  I just came around some of their scouts who are out searching for us,” he told Beowulf as the group circled around Weohstan slid off his mount.  He took a large drink of water from the bag offered by Sigibert.

“How many?” Beowulf kept this voice calm despite the flurry of thoughts running through his mind.

“We are greatly outnumbered.  I counted over fifty mounts in the camp.”  Weohstan told him.  The murmur among the men grew at the grave news.

“Well, it appears we will not surprise them,” observed Glappa.  “Do we leave my brother as a hostage?”

“That’s a good idea,” agreed the Aeschere, as he took a drink from the bag as well.

“I’m not retreating from the enemy, and we need to bring the son of King Ida back.” Beowulf settled the question.

“But how?” asked Leofe.  “You cannot win against such an army.”

The Geat leader gave her a sharp glance but remained silent as he mulled over his limited options.  His gaze got sight of Ecgberht, who only pointed to remnants of the watch tower above their group.  The leader immediately understood from the old warrior noticed something the young Atheling had missed.  Take the high ground against a larger opponent.

“For now, we go to those ruins above us and wait for our enemy to come to us.”  The Geat leader told the group.  “We can watch over the area and use the land to our advantage.  It appears to have a river on one side which might benefit us.”

Glappa stared at the ruins.  “That may work.  It will be difficult to charge us going up that slope.  And the area is too large for just fifty fighters to keep us surrounded after dark.  With no moon, we can slip away.”

“And go right to the camp of this Morcant where your brother will be,” Beowulf smiled as part of the plan came to him. “I always wanted to meet this enemy of my cousin.”

“Don’t forget Verch will be there as well,” warned Leofe suddenly.  It was clear who she considered the greater threat.

Beowulf’s smile turned grim.  “I haven’t forgotten anything.  I’ll be happy to parade her back to King Ida as my personal slave.  But right now, I have some questions for you.”

Weohstan listened as Beowulf talked with Leofe.  He wanted to interrupt and remind the leader about the problems that would come if they captured Verch.  She was a queen.  The complications for Ida and the Angles could be high after the Geats left.  However, he knew from the look on Beowulf’s face that he would need to discuss it later while they were alone.

Soon, the group rode to the fortress, Ecgberht came along side of Beowulf to remind him that the fortress must be guarding a bridge.  Even if the bridge no longer existed, it would be a possible escape route for them.  Beowulf nodded as he considered the options they had before them.  Somehow he felt even more confident.

Later that morning, Sigibert looked across the valley from his precarious perch inside the ancient rampart, putting his trust in God.  Despite the assurances of his soul meeting his Savior, the young monk refused to look down at the ice covered stones.  What he saw coming worried him nearly as much as his morbid thoughts of plunging to the stony ground under him.   The monk recognized the two lines of warriors moving toward the ancient fortress, each coming from opposite paths.  One line was the Rheged warriors under King Urien while the other formation of fighters wore the distinctive leather helmets of the Brythonians.  Carefully trying to keep from slipping over the edge, he leaned over one side of the stone wall and called out for Beowulf.

“Two lines of our enemy are approaching.  It appears Urien and his men will run into the Brythonians,” he yelled down at the men below him.  Fighters immediately ran over to Beowulf who joined the others staring at the enemy from central defense wall.  Sigibert viewed Beowulf talking with Weohstan as the two men assessed the oncoming warriors.  The monk noticed Glappa hurry over to Beowulf, excitedly pointing out the Brythonians.  Sigibert could make out only part of the conversation, but it appeared that Glappa thought the Brythonians might be attacked by the warriors from Rheged for entering their lands.  Sigibert looked back over to the lines of soldiers who would soon intersect at the crossroads near their defensive position.  He waited breathlessly until the two lines of brown clad warriors slowed.  Then, the monk watched the figures of several men break away from the opposing groups to meet at the crossroads.  Sigibert gazed as the small band of men broke up after a brief discussion and galloped back to their lines.  Disappointed, the young man gave a short prayer when he saw the two armies turn their focus on the old Roma tower.

“They are still coming,” he shouted down.  He realized there was little more to say since the other thegns saw the same scene.  Sigibert guessed his own comrades would soon be retreating across the river, heading into the thin forest beyond.  He began to carefully pick his way along the frozen steps to join the men below when he heard Beowulf call up to him.

“Sigibert, focus your attention on the leaders and find out where they make their camps.  After you tell me this, stay there and watch for any signs if the enemy starts coming this way.  They might attempt to attack immediately and not wait.”

The monk stared down incredulously, watching as Beowulf waved over Glappa and Weohstan from their perches along the broken walls overlooking the scene below.  Obediently, Sigibert turned back to his task, wondering how long he could hold out between the ice at his feet and the line of men coming to kill them.  He quickly took to his knees, praying for delivery from their peril.

Below the nervous monk Beowulf waited until the other fighters arrived.  He could see the concern in Glappa’s eyes so he spoke first, making sure to override the apparent wisdom of their retreating across the river.

“As I watched our enemies coming toward us, I suddenly remembered a dream I had as a child.”  His green eyes looked past the men, staring at the oncoming lines. His words surprised Glappa. “It was a vision of unending warriors bearing down upon me.  Everywhere I turned, I struck down one enemy after another until I could barely raise my arms from the heaviness of my sword.  However, just when I thought I had no strength left for another warrior, a sudden haze dropped across the field of my enemies.  When the mist finally lifted, the enemy was no more.  I remember in the dream that I looked down at my hand in which I held a strange sword unlike anything used by our tribe.”

He looked pulled out his new sword, Eotenisc, holding it for all to see.  “I realized this coming battle is a gift from the gods.  We cannot run from this opportunity.  Especially now since we have the gods on our side.”

Beowulf looked directly at Glappa, who briefly considered the young warrior to be insane.  The Geat continued.  “We need to be smart, and I have now seen a plan come from this dream.”

“What plan? Glappa asked as he considered the odds.

“If your vision shows such a haze, I think the gods are with you.” Leofe suddenly spoke up in the background.  “You have a river next to us, and it will soon turn dark.  Fog can be made to allow an escape.”

Beowulf smiled at the woman while the warrior came in close, confused and unsure of this dream they never heard about before.  At the same time, they were intrigued by the conversation.

“Well, escape is the last part of the plan,” Beowulf assured the woman.  “Why do you think Sigibert resides in the tower while you remain with us?  Your talents will be needed along with the fighting skills of this group.”

~~~

As Morcant Bulc rode with his men along the path to the old Roman fortress, he was thinking of his hasty agreement with Urien of Rheged.  Since he and his warriors traveled far inside the lands of the Rheged people, Morcant knew he must have an alliance against the Angles with a man he did not trust.  The Brythonian King knew it was better to have the two sides working together against the upstart Geat. Plus, his small kingdom could not withstand a prolonged struggle with the Rheged.  And Urien was quick to point this out to Morcant.  To make matters worse, Morcant Bulc did not like how Urien looked at his wife.  He briefly wondered if Verch might have gone to Rheged with other intentions in her devious mind.  He looked back to see his wife following the main body of his warriors, her eyes staring at the target of their quest.  The view reminded the king of a cat stalking its prey.  He leaned over to his closest advisor, Karney.

“You have done well, my friend.  Our enemy waits for us to destroy them and we have an ally on our side.”

Karney bowed slightly in his saddle. “You honor me with your words.  It's nice to have our king back to deal with our enemies.  However, I don’t like our allies.”

The King adjusted his position in the saddle and then lowered his voice. “Yes, I agree with you.  You know it was an agreement for the moment.  I’m not such a fool to trust these Rheged.  Things can happen in battles to settle old scores.”

Karney glanced over to his king, looking at the evil grin on the fat man’s face.  That was the king he remembered, ruthless and ambitious.  The big warrior pondered what the king was planning for Urien.  As one of the older Brythonians, the man remained suspicious of coming battle.  Although outnumbered, the Geats and their Angle comrades were allowing the two advancing armies to surround them.  On the surface, only a fool would try to defend such a derelict fortress.  But the Geats showed their skill against some of his men already.

“It appears the young leader called Beowulf lacks the expertise of combat.”  Morcant’s words cut through Karney’s thoughts.  “Perhaps the poets sing false praise about this warrior.”

Nodding, Karney looked back at Verch, who was looking at the Angle prisoner she brought in that morning.  It was evident she approved of the young man’s looks, and it reminded him how much he detested the woman.  “It is not just the enemy in front of us who worry me.”

The king quickly understood who Karney looked at.  He did not like the conversation. “Ah, just suspicion by envious men.  What proofs have you against my queen?”

Karney turned back to Morcant.  “Our queen scares the people more than the monsters of the night.  She appears to enjoy the company of the Angle she brought into our camp.”

Morcant did not bother to look back. “Verch brings visions of the future which are useful to my needs.  You forget she foresaw the dreygurs and these invaders into our lands.”

“Yes, but she did not see the Angles sweeping into Bernicia before they arrived.  And we now have other invaders next to us from Rheged.”

Morcant’s temper rose.  “What are you saying about my wife?”

Karney turned to his king, his face showed no fear.  “My Lord, you know my loyalty remains with you like your father before.  I can no longer stay quiet.  When you were struck with illness, our queen found too much time to leave our village and left your care to slaves and servants.  Then, the monsters and our enemies arrive and we are sent upon this path, wandering around our kingdom and now lands of the Rheged.  I don’t believe this to be a coincidence.”

The king of Brythonians kept himself from lashing out at his old friend.  “You need to be careful with your words.  Show me proof or keep your tongue silent.”

“Very well my king, I’ll bring you this proof.  However, I plead with you to be careful in your tent with her.  Her slaves disappear when they leave alone with her.  They have not returned.  No bodies are found, and nothing is said.”  The giant warrior looked at Morcant impassively, letting the thought since in.

“I will scout ahead for any traps the enemy might have for us.”  Karney dug his heels into his horse, sending the horse into a gallop as he raced ahead of the column.

Morcant nearly ordered the man to halt, but he suddenly remembered the unfamiliar slave who came to his tent.  The fogginess that filled him for so long in the months before left him with only vague memories of the familiar faces who served his wife.  The images unleashed a sudden wave of doubt about his queen.  While he questioned some of his friend’s words, the Brythonian king decided he would proceed cautiously.  A spear in the back during the upcoming battle could bring a sudden change in the fortunes to any kingdom.

Across the narrow trail, King Urien studied his new ally, noticing how the fat man continued to look back at his wife, Verch.  Urien smiled to himself as he ignored the cold light snow that started again.  For a leader of warriors to worry about his wife meant only weakness in the eyes of the Rheged king.  While Verch used her sex to entrap her prey, Urien considered himself immune to the beautiful woman.  His distrust of the Brythonian queen came from an instinctual hate of the hægtesse, who he felt were responsible for the death of his father.  While Morcant might disregard the witch, the Rheged leader knew Verch held dark secrets.  And the king had no intention of allowing the woman to live once he achieved his goals of controlling of the lands of Bernicia along with the small area currently controlled by the Brythonians.  For now, he would let the woman play her game until it no longer advanced his needs.

A rider approached, causing the king to turn his attention back to the fortress looming ahead of his fighters.  It was a scout reporting the Geats and Angles remained behind the walls.  He smiled again, thanking the gods for his chance to extract revenge upon his new enemy, Beowulf.  He heard of this young leader from tales brought by the poets but the easy capture of the man and his thegns caused the king to dismiss the warrior.  It was a mistake, Urien promised himself that would not occur again.  He would find a truly satisfying ending to the Geat and his men.

“The enemy hides behind the walls since they found the bridge to be impassable.  It appears they are defending only the front walls since they lack the men to cover the fortress.”  The rider pushed back his leather helmet.

“But the night will fall before we are ready to attack,” lamented one of his trusted advisors.

“Then, we need to move faster,” declared Urien.  “Tell that fat man to get his people to pick up the pace.  We’ll take that place even if we go in with torches.”  He spurred his horse, and the column quickened the pace.  He watched with pride as his men accelerated their pace, causing the Brythonian king to look over at the line of Rheged men. Morcant quickly motioned for his men to keep pace and the two columns of warriors began the steep ascent to their waiting enemy.

CHAPTER 7

THE TRAP

The two columns of enemy warriors reached the first crest of the hill where broken walls of the small fort overlooked them.  The darkening sky made the watch tower look small with only one small fire showing from the top of the tower where the figure of a man stood looking over the area.  Other small fires came alive along the walls when the Rheged and Brythonians fighters stopped along the trail.  The scouts already reported to the enemy leaders that the wooden gate no longer remained.  However, a mound of broken stones covered the entrance now.  The Geat enemy had toppled the top of the gatehouse onto the path leading inside the walls to stop a mounted charge.  However, the stones could not stop a determined enemy from sending men over the top of the mound.  And the people on both sides knew this.

Inside the walls, the Geats and Angles prepared to spring their plan.  They gathered around a small fire while Leofe was on her knees near the wall, molding a spell to greet the Brythonians.  As she toiled using noxious weeds combined in a bowl with rotten meat, her voice chanted ancient words of her ancestors while she held the blue amulet, pulled from around her neck.  The women did this knowing that Sigibert and Malo would be appalled if they understood what she was doing.  The men around Beowulf watched with him as the young woman held out a charm, very similar to the stones worn by the dreygurs while her chants rose in pitch.  The blue color slowly changed to a pale red as the woman fell into a trance, falling back on the ground.  Her thin body began to quiver and shake as the words coming from her suddenly took on an ominous, deep growl.  The sounds caused the men watching her back away.  Swords would not stop a demon from possessing them.  They understood the danger since Leofe’s chants reached into the depths of the underworld, seeking the ancient Celt god known as Arawn, or the Dark One.

On the darkening trail below the fortress, Urien and Morcant confidently prepared their men for the upcoming battle.  Using the last of the daylight earlier, they had their fighters gather reeds and sticks to create lights needed for their coming battle.  The torches were lit, creating a sea of pale yellow light to guide them.  The two kings conferred briefly before sending their men forward.  They agreed to send the fighters against the fortress in a frontal attack through the entrance while sending another group around to ensure their prey did not escape.

Usually, the king would be expected to lead their men into the fortress.  But since the fighting would be at night, it would be difficult to determine friend or foe.  Morcant decided to hold himself back until the fighters overwhelmed the enemy.  Urien, impatient to exact is revenge on the Geats and Angles, took charge of his men, urging them on while he remained on his horse.  Morcant stopped his mount, making sure his wife and his prisoner had front row seats to the coming battle.  While the line of warriors traveled the old narrow road, Verch and Appa watched the line of yellow torch light ascend up the last league to the fortress, now nearly invisible but for a few fires on the battlements.

Morcant slid off his horse coming to his wife as a slave prepared a campfire nearby.  The fat man could see the woman’s eyes were alight at the thought of the coming battle.  He told her that he personally would follow to ensure the heads of Beowulf and Glappa were placed on pikes above the fortress.  The woman nodded her head, suddenly asking for a cup of their blood to mix as a sacrifice to the gods protecting them.  Morcant readily agreed, failing to understand why his wife’s face brightened at the news.

“And what of me?” asked Appa. “Do you intend to take on the Angles when they hear of your deeds?”

Morcant looked over at his prisoner.  “For now, you have no reason to fear me, son of Ida.  According to my talented wife, your brother’s death makes you next in line.  I have strong doubts your father will be invading my lands anymore as you will be used as a hostage.  Word reaches me that your father is very ill as well.  But if he dies, well your benefit is no longer needed.”  The king’s voice trailed off at the threat.

If King Ida dies, Appa realized he was no longer needed.  He could tell by the woman whose slight grin led him into the clutches of Morcant, he would be sacrificed as well.  A knot crept into his stomach as the Angle noble as the man searched for an answer. Silently he watched the long line of warriors going up the hill, split into two lines which began to encircle the fortification.  He saw no ability for the small group of Geats and his brother to avoid their fate.  Suddenly, an idea came to him.

“Yes, my father is ill.  It would seem to be a wise choice for a great king like yourself to make allies with those who would step into the role of the king over Bernicia.  Someone able to unify the Angles to accept a Brythonian king.  I think my abilities are worthy of such a position.”  Appa spoke confidently as a devious plan surged through his mind.  As if she read his mind, Verch turned her attention to the young Angle.

“My king, our scheming prisoner may have stumbled upon a magnificent idea.”  The woman leaned close to her husband, her voice nearly purring in his ear.  “You have the ability now to control all of what you want when this night is finished.”

Morcant smiled at the thought, noticing Urien of Rheged turn his mount toward them, watching them.  “Yes,” he agreed.  “I didn’t realize our Angle was willing to give up so much for his life.  And now I can get much of what we want with just the people within my camp.” His words were lost on Verch as she remained focused upon Appa, deciding the young noble might still be useful in her ambitions.

Just as the first of the Brythonians reached the makeshift stone barrier, lightning suddenly swept across the sky behind the fortress.  The startled warriors stopped in their tracks from the ominous display during the cold winter night.  From the ground between them and the watch tower, a cold steam escaped as if carried from the underworld mouth of Hel.  The smell of sulfur mixed with a creeping smog quickly swept over the area.  Inside the haze, men began to panic as their thoughts suddenly rang out, echoing the feelings of their neighbors.  Terrifying thoughts of death and destruction filled them as the smog flowed down the hill, quickly enveloping the rough road.   The makeshift camps of the two kings filled with the foul fog.  While the irritating smoke forced coughing fits and occasional blinding of the warriors, the noise from the din around them caused some of the men to panic.  The first wave of men turned to run from the smoke, landing into the mass of confused warriors behind them.

While their enemies stumbled around outside the fortress, Beowulf and Glappa suddenly emerged through the gate.  Quietly as possible, they scrambled over the top of stones, using the pale red light of Leofe’s amulet to guide them.  Swidhun carried the dazed Leofe on his back while walking just behind them, his waist tied off with a line of rope which the remaining men held with one hand as they followed in single file.  Each fighter held their swords or spears in their empty hand.  Only Sigibert remained behind in the fortress, in charge of the horses.  Instructed to take the mounts along the dangerous, small path between the river and the fortress walls after the haze moved away, the monk would meet his companions at the bridge on the river’s edge.

The quiet group went into the mass of blinded Rheged and Brythonian warriors, quickly pushing through the main line with little effort.  The smog surged forward with the thegns as they headed toward the campfires they saw earlier, and they were protected somewhat by the amulet.  Beowulf led them past several small groups of the enemy who failed to notice his distinctive helmet or the armor he and his men carried.

Suddenly, the chaos grew worse as all around them, there were clashes of swords and shields as groups of fighters ran into other groups.  Beowulf led them toward the Brythonian camp where Glappa expected his brother to be held.  He and Beowulf decided their objective would be the queen of the Brythonians.

Avoiding the sounds of minor battles, the group soon found the outskirts of Morcant’s camp.  Glappa noticed a large tent first as the yellow light of campfire cut through the misty haze. He steered the line of men toward a campfire, warning them about the figures of enemy warriors he saw outlined around them.  However, the broad lines of the enemy disappeared as quickly as they appeared while the thick haze continued.

“Remember we need them alive,” Glappa reminded Beowulf as the group burst into the camp.  Beowulf quickly ordered Weohstan toward the first tent, telling Glappa to join with him at the other tent.  They would regroup back at the first shelter.

Weohstan led Osberht forward, and they were followed by Swidhun.  In the tent, the thegns found King Urien and his personal attendant.  Both men were heavily armed, and the fight was instantaneous between the warriors.  Amid the vicious attacks and counterattacks, the Swidhun stepped away, dropping Leofe to the ground.  Seeing himself in danger, the Rheged king sliced himself through the back of the tent, after pushing his attendant in front of him.  Urien began yelling loudly for his men to gather around him.  The man turned just in time to catch a spear hurled by Swidhun.  Penetrating through the king’s leather and chainmail armor, the weapon rendered his right arm useless.  However, before the Geats could get to the king, he escaped into the white haze covering the area.  Reopening his injured leg during the fighting, Weohstan was able to strike down the attendant who was shouting for help.  Osberht helped his brother limp away while Swidhun covered their retreat, grabbing Leofe and hefting her over one shoulder.  Knowing the Rheged king’s men would soon gather there, the thegns made their way back to Beowulf.

At the other end of the camp, Glappa and Beowulf entered the other tent with the remaining men.  Inside he found Verch, alone and comfortably laying on her side atop a bearskin.  She appeared unfazed at his entrance.

“You look shorter than I expected,” her voice purred.  “But you’re young.  I would expect you might grow.”

“And you don’t seem to know your enemies.” Beowulf tried to growl his response despite his surprise at her attitude.  She smiled at him as she rose, making sure to show him her naked legs.

“Oh, I know more than you can imagine, my young friend.  However, I must admit I was surprised in your ingenuity at this escape.  You impress me.”

Frustrated, Beowulf put his sword, Eotenisc, to the woman’s throat. “Where is Appa?  Give him to me now, and you might live.”

“And you would threaten a queen?  I’ve don’t believe a hero would kill unarmed nobility.  What of your reputation, my young friend?”  Her smooth voice mocking him, he was annoyed that he could not intimidate her. But, she was correct; he would not kill her in cold blood.  The stakes were too high.  As she turned around, she told him that Appa meant nothing to the Brythonians.  Then, he realized the woman was trying to delay him.

“Enough, I’ll take you instead,” he grabbed her by the arm, dragging the women out of the tent.  She fought him, kicking and biting him but he was too strong.  As she began to chant a spell, he put his sword to her throat and her eyes grew wide with fear and confusion.  She relented, her shocked as her powers suddenly drained from her body.

When they reached Glappa, he was there standing with his brother.  “I found him tied to a tree.  We need to leave.”  The sound of hoof beats now echoed around them.

“Where is Ecgberht?” Beowulf demanded.  “He was with you and the others.”

Before Glappa had a chance to answer, shouts were heard, and the sound of hoof beats faded away.  Immediately, the screams and noise of a vicious fight broke out nearby.  The group could see outlines of men in the haze and Beowulf found Ecgberht.  He realized the crafty ex-slave had taken Hrethric to run off the horses of the enemy.  However, the leader also saw the thegns were fighting with a group of warriors led by King Morcant.

The Geat grabbed a wounded Weohstan as he came out of the fog, next to the fire.

“Follow our plan and meet Sigibert,” Beowulf ordered those around him as he ran forward to join Ecgberht.  “Take care of Leofe.”

The Geat leader joined with Ecgberht and Aschere fighting the fat king.  Soon they were forced to fall back as more Brythonians entered the fighting.  Beowulf was instantly impressed how tenaciously the big king fought.

Glappa joined Weohstan by Leofe, watching the young hægtesse whose fair skin took on a blue, green shade of death.  The god of the underworld drained her spirit as payment for the fog covering the area.

“You mean this little thing has been causing all my problems?” Verch asked incredulously, staring at Leofe.  “She is just a child; it's really a shame I will have to destroy her,” the queen’s calm, mocking voice suddenly returning.

However, Verch did not see the giant Swidhun behind her.  The man grabbed a handful of her long hair, pulling hard while he put his sword to her throat. “You hurt my friend, evil one and I hurt you.”

Verch suddenly cast a spell, sending a blinding, painful flash into the giant man’s eyes.  The flash forced the others to look away.  However, Swidhun still held on to her hair as the queen pulled away, causing the woman to scream.  Appa suddenly laughed, watching with delight as the woman held on to her bleeding head where the hair was ripped away.  Immediately, Verch sent out another spell and fog began to disappear around the group.

Forced out of her trance, Leofe felt some of her energy return.  Verch now had the attention of the underworld god, intent upon using the power against the Geats and Angles.  Unaware of the dual between the witches, Glappa grabbed Leofe’s arm which he pulled over his shoulder and leading her away, ordering the others to follow him.  Weohstan and Aeschere trailed them, each grabbing a torch from the fire before they left.  The giant, Swidhun, blinked hard as he still saw stars from Verch’s spell.  However, he pushed the hesitating Appa in front of him, making sure the target of their recent quest remained with the group.

Despite the danger caused by regrouping Rheged and Brythonian fighters, the battle between Beowulf and Morcant quickly started.  “Morcant, back away from us now,” he yelled in crude Brythonian as he ran headlong at the king, deflecting a swing of Morcant’s blade at him.

“You dare to challenge me,” Morcant called back, his face red with anger. “I’ll mount your head along with the Angles.”

As the two leaders fought with bitter fury, Ecgberht noticed Glappa and the others moving to the river as planned.  The old warrior fought his way next to Beowulf, telling him they must get away from the area.  As two more Brythonians joined with their leader, Ecgberht suddenly pushed Beowulf to the side, attacking the king of the Brythonians.  The thegn howled for Beowulf to lead them away before the strange fog dissolved.  The young man hesitated, then sent his men toward the bridge at a run, following them closely.  He yelled out for Ecgberht to join him.  However, the last vicious clash between his old warrior and the big king.

With the smog around them nearly gone, the thegns could make out the path to the bridge by the faint light of the line of other Geats far in front of them.  While they moved rapidly, the sound of enemy fighters hunting for them remained distant.  Their luck held for the moment with the enemy warriors remained scattered across the area.

“We ran all the horses away,” Ecgberht quietly told Beowulf as he joined the group in the dim light.  “The Rheged will have a long walk home.”  For the first time, Beowulf noticed his friend holding his arm across his belly.  Instinctively, the Geat leader realized the wound was severe, but he said nothing.  They must get across the river and worry about their injuries after finding safety.

“You did well, my friend.  It should keep them from finding us quickly.  Let us hope Sigibert has our mounts waiting for us. Otherwise, our journey will be pretty short.”  Beowulf told them to pick up the pace to catch the shadows of their comrades ahead.

Glappa, still helped the weakened Leofe, as the two of them fell behind Weohstan and the rest of the thegns leading the way.  Faint torchlights ahead of them guided the two along.  Leofe, her mind still filled with terrible visions from the Celtic god of the underworld, felt like one of the undead as she forced herself to keep placing one foot in front of the other.  The aftermath of the spell she used to gather the fog was a sharp reminder why she didn’t use the dark magic loved by Verch.  When she heard Glappa encourage her forward, the woman gave the Angle noble her appreciative thanks for the help.  She didn’t see the warrior smile at the gesture, thinking the witch had far more courage than many men he knew.

Just Beowulf and his men reached the pair, the group came to the river crossing where Sigibert held their mounts.  Already on their horses, Weohstan and Aeschere were moving across the makeshift ramp onto the ancient bridge.  Quickly built and crude, long wood beams made of split pine trees were thrown across the large, open crevice between the pillars of the stone foundation that still stood on either side of the gorge.  Without proper tools and running out of time, the thegns could not test the sturdiness of their wooden planks, clumsily tied to the beams with strips of rope and leather.  Weohstan used the torch he carried to help the horse avoid the wide gaps between the planks.  The sound of the rushing torrent below filled him with dread as he glanced back at his comrade who was just behind him.  One mistake and they would be carried off to their deaths.

When the men and horses reached the other side, Weohstan signaled the rest over by waving his torch.  Slowly, the others began to follow, carefully going across in single file.  The last person to cross the makeshift bridge was Beowulf, who took a cloth already soaked in tallow and dropped it on the wooden ramp.  He threw down the flaming stick he carried and waited long enough to watch the fire gather on the makeshift crossing.  As he rode to catch up with his group, the fire began to consume the last bridge across the river for many leagues.  The Atheling believed they would be safe for their trip back to the Bernician capital.

~~~

In the tent of King Morcant, the fat man growled in pain as his wife treated his wounds.  His personal battle with Beowulf ended in a draw but the old warrior named Ecgberht left a long gash in the king’s leg.  While Morcant took some comfort at the severe wound he gave the old fighter, the Brythonian knew he lost his opportunity to destroy the Geats and capture the Angles.

He angry lashed out at his loyal friend, Karney. “Why haven’t you followed our enemy?  I expect their heads as a present before me.”

Karney did not blink as he stared back.  “Our enemy burned the bridge after they escaped.  I have some of our men trying to find our horses.  However, we have gathered few of our fighters with those mounts we found and they are heading downriver to intercept them.”

“Well, that’s something,” the king grumped while his wife applied a poultice to his wound.  Still irritated, Morcant asked about his Rheged allies.  Karney replied that King Urien was also injured, apparently with a much more severe injury.  It was something that pleased the fat man.

“That should send Urien back to his lands,” Morcant declared hopefully.  He noticed several of his top warriors quietly standing at the entrance.  The king knew they were unhappy with staying in Rheged, wanting to return to their homes.  “If Urien follows the Geats into Bernicia, they will expect us to join with them, using our quick agreement as the bargain.  I cannot allow this.  Even if we are in their lands, Ida could use it as an excuse and would put us in an awkward position.  King Urien doesn’t have to worry about the Picts like we do.  It is better for us to keep the Angles off balance and dealing with those dreygurs.”

“You could send King Urien south to the Roman wall,” Karney spoke up, his eyes bright.  “Urien’s people may believe this Beowulf would head south to find more allies in the land of Deira.  It is known some Geats are part of the Saxon tribes there.”

Morcant glanced at his wife, looking for a reaction to his advisor’s words.  The king saw her eyes narrow at the suggestion.

“It is the sign of weakness,” she quickly advised her husband.  “What will Urien think of a king who lets his enemy run back into the lands of the Angles?  Can you let the man who gave you this wound retreat without knowing the Brythonian wrath?  It would shame our people.”

“What she says has some truth,” his advisor stated.  “But even combined with the Rhegeds, we lack the strength to attack King Ida’s fortress in Bamburgh.  Ida would be happy to have our bones bleaching upon his fortress walls.”

“But I’ve seen how much Urien wants this Beowulf,” the king remained unconvinced he could influence the direction of his ally.

“If we can convince them that the Geats traveled south, the Rheged king would follow Beowulf to the sea.  And if King Urien and his warriors take such a path, it would cause the Angles of Bernicia to worry about their southern border.  No doubt, Urien will burn some villages on his way, and he might even run into hostile Saxon tribes in Deira.  So much the better.”

Morcant nodded slowly as he thought about his next moves.  “And our great friend and ally King Urien would soon suffer hardships with getting provisions along the way while he is met with hostile tribes.  Supplies would soon dry up,” continued the king as he grimaced from his wound.

“Yes, should we convince the fool to keep the Angles busy, it would be better than monsters.  King Ida would join with the Saxons to go after the Rheged while they remain in Bernicia.”  He slowly stood, refusing the help of his wife but placing his hand on Karney’s shoulder.

“Yes, yes.  It is an excellent idea.  Now, we must put this idea into action.  Should all go well for us, not many of these Rheged fighters will return to their home.  Then, it would appear Urien’s people would need a new king, someone who can combine our lands into a force to take on Bernicia when Ida dies.” The king’s lips smacked at the thought of expanding his power.  “We will make sure these Geats return to Bamburgh and return home to ensure we can take over Rheged.”  Karney nodded in agreement as he smiled grimly at Verch, knowing he would have to watch his back now.  Having betrayed the witch queen, he put himself at great risk.  But the warrior felt confident he had the backing of the other leaders of the Brythonian warriors who supported the king.  Together, the fighters decided that Verch must be dealt with.  Today, they would start that effort.  Karney reminded the king of Urien’s distrust of Verch.

Morcant agreed. “My dear queen, you will stay in this tent since our ally may believe this idea comes from you.  I’m afraid your lies might come back against us.”  The king let his insult be heard by all as Verch lowered her head.

After the king left, Verch angrily slapped her male slave who quickly scurried away.  Fuming at the insult from her husband, she vowed she would not forget the way Morcant treated her.  Once she restored the Brythonians over Bernicia, she promised herself she would find the most dreadful poison to slowly kill the king, and laugh as he begged her for death.  But her temper shifted back to the Geats.  She had been outwitted by Beowulf using the power of Leofe.  Only her quick spell of appeasement to the pagan god called Arawn allowed the fog to lift.  As the woman stomped around the tent, kicking various items out of her way, she racked her mind for a plan.

With her fool husband setting his sights on replacing Urien and taking over Rheged, she knew it would delay her.  While it was more natural for the Brythonians to join with their native Rheged brothers under a single king, it would cause even more delays to her plans.  Worse, her bargain with the dwarves would come due.  Morcant would never pay gold to the dwarves on the promise of his queen. Despite her powers, as a human, she remained vulnerable to the creatures of the underworld.  Her mind raced as she thought of her dilemma.  Then, she remembered her rival and the discussion with the dwarf.  Perhaps she could pay off the nasty little creatures and give herself the supremacy she knew she was entitled.  Such an idea gave her an evil grin, and she quickly exited the tent.  She had to find a quiet spot to bring forth a puca, or a woodland sprite. Then, she could settle the score with Leofe.

As the regrouped Rheged warriors stood around their wounded king near a hastily built fire, Morcant pushed through with several of his men carrying him on a chair.  Urien looked at his ally’s leg, noticing the long wound.  It was the first he heard of the other king’s injury.

“It appears our prey has sprung from their trap,” observed Morcant.  Urien frowned at the obvious statement.  He still seethed with revenge.  Shirtless, despite the cold, Urien’s shoulder was nearly covered with rough felt strips that his wife and a servant worked to finish covering his wound.

“Not for long.  I’ll follow this Beowulf into Bamburgh and hang him from the tallest tower,” vowed Urien.  His men growled their agreement, including a few of the Brythonian warriors behind Morcant.  The fighters did not take kindly to the escape of the Geats and Angles.

The bearded king smiled, “I heartily endorse the idea. However, this Beowulf may not be going to Bamburgh.  Karney tells me that King Ida’s son spoke a lot about the Geats and their plans.  It appears they will backtrack to the south.”

Urien eyed the man, his eyes showing the distrust. “I trust Appa as much as I trust the Brythonians.  They will follow the river back to Appa’s father.”  The man spat on the ground.  His wife placed robe over his shoulders.

“Perhaps he lies,” Morcant agreed.  “But you will look very foolish if they go into southern lands where other Geats live.  They will let Appa and Glappa travel to their father, hoping you enter Bernicia alone against Ida.  Your men will be greatly outnumbered if those Geats join as allies of King Ida.  I don’t believe this Beowulf came over for hunting monsters.  He must have worked an arrangement with Ida.  Why else would they probe your kingdom and mine?”

The Rheged leader grew quiet as he considered the option.  He did not trust Morcant.  The words could have come from his deceitful wife.  Yet, he realized he would not be able to reach Bamburgh before the Geats.

“And what of you?” Urien wondered aloud.

“I’ve sent the few men who still had horses to catch the Geats and make sure to force them away from Bamburgh.  They cannot afford to lose Glappa and Appa by fighting my men so, with luck, they will force the Geats to go on the trail leading south.  If the Angles leave the group, then so much the better for we can destroy Beowulf without interference from Ida’s men.  The old king is no fool.  He wouldn’t risk a war with our two kingdoms.  He knows I’ve been in talks with the Picts to the north.”  Morcant guessed Urien didn’t realize the Picts were unlikely to join with him.

Urien stroked his beard with his hand as he considered the options.  “Yes, Ida is no fool.  However, that little mouse Appa would be happy to run back to the tits of his mother.  But his older brother is stronger, more like Ida.  As hostages, they would be useful to me.”

“And myself as well since we are allies in this,” the king reminded the other.  “As you can see, I’m unable to ride fast enough to keep up.  However, I’ve already sent my men out prevent them from reaching Bamburgh directly.  Beowulf and his people will have no choice but to go south.”  Morcant smiled as if he actually believed his words.  “If you move quickly, soon they would be trapped between us.  And no magic will be able to save them.”

“And if they go to Bamburgh?” Urien still did not like the plan.

“Unless you can conjure up the greatest storm from the ocean, the Geats will hide in the fort of Ida.  And our force will be unable to get them out.  We will starve and freeze outside the walls before spring.  As you know, the farms of this land have already been overrun by the dreygurs, leaving little for us to find.”

After a moment, the Rheged leader finally conceded.  “It appears we have little choice.  I will move us south and cut off the head of the viper.”  He stopped with a sudden thought.  “I expect my ally to join me when we cut off our enemy.”  There was an underlying threat in Urien’s words.  Morcant nodded, swearing his oath to Urien before hobbling away.

After Morcant and his men had gone back to their campfires, Urien signaled to one of his men.  The lanky red-haired archer listened to his instructions.  When the king finished, the archer nodded and slowly walked into the night.  Soon, a horse was heard heading along the trail taken by the Geats.  Not far from the camp, the horseman caught a glimpse of the skinny form in a dark cape cross the path far in front of him.  When the warrior rode by the spot, he slowed momentarily, but he could no longer see the form.  Shrugging his shoulders, he spurred on his mount to catch Morcant’s scouts.

After the warrior had passed her hiding place, Verch continued looking for a footpath leading to an isolated semicircle of open ground within the trees near the river.  She stopped when she heard the sound of more hoof beats, catching the faint outline of another rider on the trail of the first.  At first, the woman thought the large frame on the horse might be Karney following her.  Before she could think of a spell to be used against him, the rider continued on.  Turning she continued.  The cold night bit through her cape and she could barely see the world around here under the starlight, but the woman remembered the path from earlier that evening as she remained focused on her plan.  Unhooking a small leather bag from her belt, she sat in the middle of the area and pulled colored stones and small bones from the bag.  After placing them around her, she drew several symbols into the frozen patch of soil while repeating an ancient chant of her people.  In the middle of one symbol, she placed a small loaf of bread she had her slave retrieve for her before Verch snuck out of the camp.

The cold wind swirled around the woman as she chanted softly.  Then, the wind stopped, but the air around her grew even colder as the witch shivered violently to keep warm.  But she continued her chanting over and over until, at last, she heard a soft movement in the brush coming from the river.  Before long, a slender creature with a human-like head appeared out of the foliage, staring at her with wide red eyes.  Standing no taller than her knee, the Puca stepped forward.  Nervously, the slight creature ran for the bread, trying to drag it away while watching the woman.  However, Verch held onto the food, whispering a protection spell.  The winged creature to finally relented.  Only a hægtesse with the knowledge of Verch could stop the creature from sending a terrible disease against her.  The puca sent pestilence against the humans when deprived of a gift.

“What does the human want for her bread?” The small voice whispered. It was hard to know if the red-eyed creature was unhappy from its expressionless face.

“You will deliver a message to Fullangr,” Verch told the puca.  “I have a gift for him and a sacrifice for Arawn.”

The slender spirit shook its head.  “Human asks too much.  Fullangr’s magic might sacrifice puca instead.”

Verch narrowed her eyes.  “Fool, he won’t kill another magical creature, your power is not enough.  You give him my message, and he will leave you in peace. Tell him I will give him a human sacrifice with power nearly as mighty as mine.  The one I speak of travels along the trail heading to Bamburgh.  Have him capture the young witch, and I will join them in the great caverns to perform the blood ceremony to the god of the underworld.  Remind him that the gold horde given by Arawn will be larger than the old dweorgar can dream.  Tell him that, and the bread is yours.”

The creature thought on her words before finally nodding in agreement. Verch repeated her words as the puca backed away, nibbling on the bread.  Once the little creature was out of sight, she heard a rustling of wings slowly lift into the sky.  Spirits lifted, she covered the symbols on the ground before hiking back to the camp.

~~~

It was just past sunrise as the thegns and their companions prepared for the ride toward Bamburgh.  The low clouds kept the sky dark, and the cold permeated the air around them.  Only a few hours of sleep with no campfire caused even the hardest traveler to wake from sleep shaking from the bitter wind.  While they might have escaped the clutches of their enemy, everyone knew they still had an arduous journey before them.

As he walked among his thegns, Beowulf joked with his men and reminded them of the mead and food they would find at Bamburgh.  He proclaimed that tales would fill the mead halls about this adventure.  His banter was something copied from his friend, Weohstan.  The leader of the Geats was a quick learner, knowing he needed to keep the spirits of his thegns up.   Despite their ability to thwart the Brythonians and the Rhegeds, the atheling knew he must find a victory soon.  As ring bearer, a leader could not live on stalemates, only goods won in battle kept a person as the leader of his group.

Beowulf stopped and knelt next to the wounded Ecgberht as Leofe and Sigibert finished cleaning his wounds.  A quick look at old slave’s ashen face and deep wound in the abdomen told him that his brave warrior would probably not make it much further.  Morcant Bulc sword had gotten the best of the older man.  Leofe’s quick glance to Beowulf confirmed his suspicion.

“You needn’t look at me like that,” the graybeard warrior told him.  “The gods always get us in the end.”  He waved his hand to have the Geat leader draw in closer.  “You must get those Angles back to King Ida.” The old warrior whispered.   “Leave me to distract those following us. By the gods, I can slow them down.”

The young leader stared at his friend, groping for words to say.  He knew death.  He walked hand in hand into battle with those who ended up in Neorxnawang, or Heaven as told by Sigibert.  But Ecgberht always gave Beowulf a sense of immortality.  This vision was suddenly dashed.

“You will be renowned for saving my life.” The words finally came out.  “The scops and gleemen will carry your name to all, I will see to that.”  The words caused the old slave to smile briefly.

“Then, help me stand to go to my mount.  I will ride forth to avenge my death against the enemy.”  With his words, Ecgberht struggled to his feet, Beowulf helping him.  At first, the surprised Leofe tried to stop them before Sigibert pulled her away.  The young monk explained to the woman the old warrior would attempt to delay the Brythonians.

“But they won’t stop to fight one wounded person,” she argued with the monk. “

Ecgberht suddenly yelled out, his words echoing in the still morning.  “I’ll be the judge of that, woman!”  He slowly trudged over to his mount which Osberht quickly saddled for him.  Struggling, the warrior finally climbed on his horse.  He turned the animal, pulling it to a stop near Beowulf.  He was breathing hard. “Last night, noticed the bridge where the enemy come across if they follow us on the other side of the river.  I’ll wait there.”

“Then, take this to keep you warm,” the Geat champion gave his friend a small bag containing the last of his mead.  Nodding his thanks, Ecgberht handed Beowulf a little trinket.  It was the talisman from the first dreygur the old warrior killed.  The Geat leader took the item, giving his thanks and willing himself to let his thegn go to such an honorable death.

Nodding, Ecgberht began to ride back on the trail from which they came.  As he passed by Leofe and Sigibert, he came to a stop and threw down a large leather bag to Sigibert.  It contained old warrior’s loot of gold and jewels, his share of their journey’s victories.  “I’d rather meet Woden with a sword and spear in my hand, not lie on the ground waiting for the worms.  Monk, I don’t know about your beliefs but take these from me with my thanks for your attempt to delay the inevitable.” The old warrior winked at Leofe before spurring his mount.  Beowulf joined the woman and the monk.

“I will go with him,” the Geat leader suddenly declared aloud.  When Beowulf turned for his mount; both Weohstan and Swidhun moved to stand in front of him.

“You will dishonor that warrior if you do that.  You have others here that must live on,” warned Weohstan, making it clear it was not an option.  As head of his thegns, Beowulf might lead his men into a suicide mission, but he could not abandon his fighters. The young leader turned to watch Ecgberht, waiting until the old friend disappeared over a ridge.  After a long moment, Beowulf turned, shouting at his fighters to finish packing their mounts.  The men slowly went back to their work, saying little as they reflected on the coming death of an old friend and comrade.  Beowulf was looking at the ridge still when the rest of the group followed Weohstan and Glappa toward Bamburgh in silence.

~~~

At the narrow wooden bridge crossing the fast moving river, Ecgberht waited.  After gingerly climbing down from the mount one last time, the old warrior stroked the animal’s cheeks and muzzle as he enjoyed the warmth next to him.  When he heard the sound of hoofs coming toward him from the rocky trail ahead, he pulled his horse around to face the direction of his friends.

“Go swiftly to your new master,” he whispered as he pulled his sword from the sheath on his belt.  Stepping to the rear of his mount, he suddenly whacked the animal on the butt with the flat side of his blade, screaming the cry of his people.  The gray beard hid a smile as he watched the animal nobly gallop away.  Satisfied his horse would return to the thegns, he forcing himself to the middle of the span.  The effort drained him and when he stopped the warrior grabbed the flat, heavy rail on one side that supported the structure.  Catching his breath, he watched while several Brythonian horsemen appeared on the embankment across from him.  Surprised, they stopped, glancing at each other.

“Give way, old man, or we’ll run you over.” A young Brythonian warrior yelled out.

Ecgberht released the rail next to him and stood high, spitting in his enemy’s direction.  The young opponent immediately charged the former slave at the slight.  Digging his heels into the flanks of his mount the enemy rushed forward while his comrades laughed as they trotted behind.  They expected the Geat in front of them would be quickly overrun.  They did not realize the old warrior intentionally placed himself in the middle of the bridge.

Pulling an iron-tipped spear from a belt, he took two steps forward, launching the deadly weapon directly at the horse.  The spear struck the animal directly in the chest, killing it instantly.  As the horse fell forward, the motion sent its rider head over heels landing hard the rough planks.  Landing only a few paces away from Ecgberht, the young Brythonian lay on his back, stunned and winded.  The old warrior kept one arm on his belly from the pain, quickly stepped forward and slammed his weapon into the stunned man on his back.  The young enemy quit moving on the second stroke of the Geat’s sword.

When Ecgberht turned back to the other enemy warriors, he was unable to avoid a Brythonian spear which struck him in the chest.  The former slave and mentor of Beowulf fell sideways over the rail, tumbling into the cold water below the bridge.  The last image Ecgberht saw was the face of a beautiful blonde woman dressed in bright gold armor who held her hand out to him.

The bridge cleared of their enemy, the Brythonian warriors stared down at the dead horse which barred their path.  Unable to jump over the body, the men considered how to drag the animal away.  A single Rheged archer watched from a line of thin trees.  After leaving camp, the red-haired youth caught up with the group of Brythonian warriors during the night.  Following King Urien’s orders to spy on the men of Morcant, the man decided he could stretch his long frame from the tiring ride.  Pulling back his hood, he kept an eye on the cursing fighters as they struggled to move the remains.  The remaining two Rheged men climbed over the animal to retrieve the body of their fallen comrade.  So intent on watching the scene, the archer did not hear the soft sound of footsteps slowly coming from behind him.  His mount began to pull away, and when the young man reached for the reins, he suddenly felt a sharp pain under his left arm where his thin leather armor did not cover.  Turning around, the youth observed a large Brythonian man coldly staring at him while holding a long bloody dagger.  The red headed man looked down, then toppled over on his side, landing hard the frozen ground.  The surprised expression remained on the youth’s dead face.

Karney stepped from the line of trees leading his mount and the archer’s mount.  He took the short walk to the bridge where his men huddled around the obstacle that blocked their path.  None of them really wanted to begin the grim task that lay ahead of them.  Unable to get two horses on the bridge to pull it off, they would be forced to butcher the dead horse.  None of them liked the idea of doing such work in the freezing cold.  One of the men noticed the familiar figure of Karney drawing near, and they walked over to meet him.

“Take the body of our comrade and bury him.  We have no time to burn him.” Karney pointed to the first man.  “The rest of you pull out your knives and axes.  You will remove that animal from the bridge.  Our king is only about one half day behind us.”  He saw their reluctance at his order as he growled out his commands.  “Make haste, or I will remind Morcant you have let a single Geat stop his advance.”  He smiled when he saw them quickly pick up the pace at his words.

It was long after the Rheged scouts finished the job at the bridge when Morcant and the rest of the Brythonians finally reached the river crossing.  The king’s injured leg forced them at a slow pace.  However, the king paid little attention to the wound as he watched the last of the Rheged warriors disappear far on the other side of the long valley.  King Urien must have seen the Brythonian fighters were following the plan agreed the day before.

Morcant began to smack his lips thinking of his coming treachery.  Snow was falling again, small flakes which began to cling to his beard and stung his face as the wind picked up.  He smiled, congratulating himself of his fortune.  Soon, the weather would blanket the area, leaving him with perfect cover to exit the area and leave his rival King Urien to his fate in the land of the Angles.  Karney walked to the king with a bow, recognizing the advantage given to them by this unexpected opportunity.

“It appears the gods approve of your plan, my lord,” Karney smiled.

“Yes, it is unfortunate we will be unable to grab that Geat and his men.  But why to eat a minnow when we can use it for our bait?”  Morcant beamed back, happy with his analogy.  He looked over as his wife stopped her mount by his side.  “No doubt my fair queen approves now.”

Verch forced herself to smile, sweetly cooing her gratefulness at having her husband back to his old ways.  She did such a good job in her lie that the king happened to believe it.  “You are wise to have Karney’s step forward as your primary advisor,” she continued.  “It’s only unfortunate we must stay outside in these Angle lands while this snow falls.”

Karney spoke up immediately, telling them he noticed a small village not far down the road where they could spend the night.  It would be on the road back to their homeland. Morcant quickly agreed, as his leg throbbed and a warm hut sounded better than his tent. Verch readily agreed to the idea as well.

“That is most appropriate for my injured husband.”  Her words aroused Karney immediate suspicions.  He expected resistance to his idea.

The queen turned her horse back to the trail, and Verch excused herself, telling the two men she must get the slaves and servants moving to the village to arrange for the king’s arrival.  Morcant ordered several of his men to go along, advising the queen to be cautious.  Both men watched the beautiful woman ride away as she took charge of the small entourage of servants and warriors.

“It appears you have made quite an impression on her,” Morcant chuckled to his friend, who nodded.  Karney’s face held a scowl which the king mistakenly thought was caused by the snow silently coming down.

CHAPTER 8

MONSTERS

As they rode along the trail to Bamburgh, the group of thegns following Beowulf and Glappa seldom spoke, most were huddling in their woolen clothes.  Crossing into Bernicia again gave them little comfort.  It was snowing, and Ecgberht no longer rode with them.  To make it worse, they had just passed several abandoned farms.  Quick inspections revealed the blood and destruction recently inflicted by the dreygurs.  Apparently satiated by their feast, the monsters left human remains mixed with those of the farm beasts.

Weohstan found the tracks of the undead followed the trail leading to the north, away from the capital.  Relief filled Glappa, who glanced over at his brother.  However, Appa noticed the concern on his older brother’s face.  The monsters were still creating havoc in their homeland.  It would be difficult to explain to their father why they had failed to stop the attacks.  The thought boosted Appa, and he began whistling the only tune he knew.

The group paused as Glappa made it clear he and his brother were eager to return to Bamburgh where they would get more warriors to hunt down the monsters.  Beowulf hated the idea, but he could not let the brothers go back to Bamburgh alone.  He didn’t trust Appa.  Plus, there was the chance that Morcant and Urien would follow after them.  The Geat believed King Ida might consider sending Beowulf and his thegns away as failures.  The young leader remained quiet as he sought a way out of his dilemma.    While they might have spoils from the mound graves of some dreygurs along with horses from an enemy, he knew that Verch remained the real threat.  She would continue to send forth the dreygurs into Bernicia despite the assurances from Appa that Morcant now controlled the Brythonians.  While the man never spoke of his betrayal by Verch, the young noble wove an intricate lie, explaining he captured Verch only to be set upon by the Brythonians.  While none of those within the group actually believed his tale, he seemed to be a different person around the Geats.  Appa seemed much less assured of himself and more willing to follow Glappa’s charge.

Yet, Beowulf felt only a little comfort in Appa’s change.  Ultimately, his exploits had not brought resolution to the problems of his uncle.  To gather additional warriors from King Ida meant he failed.  He could hear the tales of his failure ringing in his ears as if the scops rode next to him.  The death of Ecgberht along with his thoughts weighed down on him like the blanket of white covering his horse.  However, he could see no way out of his box for the moment.  They would be forced to return.

The weather made travel increasingly difficult as the wind barreled into them with large flakes of stinging snow, causing whiteouts at times.  Even Glappa and Appa began to doubt their way.  The white drifts covered the trail, and the familiar landscape was gone. Unsure of their direction or even how far away they remained from Bamburgh, they continued forward in the hope they would soon encounter a village or farm.  Yet the group could only see just a few horse lengths in front of them and Weohstan had the thegns close their formation so not to lose a comrade in the blinding white.  Only Weohstan and Glappa remained ahead of the group as the two men searched for signs of a path.  Late in the afternoon as the day turned dark, Beowulf viewed Swidhun’s mount struggling to get out of a massive hole which the snow filled in during the storm.  He told the group they must seek a place of shelter quickly.  His words could hardly be heard over the wind, but all of them realized the darkness held great peril if they stumbled into a ravine or broke through snow covered ice along a river.

Suddenly, Sigibert called out to Beowulf when he noticed Leofe’s mount reared back, rebelling at her attempts to ride on.  Beowulf and Swidhun dropped back to help, leaving the line of thegns ahead of them.  Swidhun laughed as they watched the young monk struggling through the deep snow around Leofe while she struggled with the horse.  Beowulf smiled as well, but the two fighters reached the monk and the woman, the horse Leofe held suddenly reared back, it’s wild eyes showing how spooked the creature was.  The small woman fell face first in the snow while the monk jumped out of the way as the mount bolted.  The animal dragged Leofe a short distance before she was able to free her hand from the reins.  Unfortunately, neither Beowulf or Swidhun arrived in time to catch the terrified mount as it quickly disappeared into the white blizzard. The young woman stared at the spot where the horse was last seen.

“Fate can never make it easy,” the woman cursed in her native Brythonian language.  She glanced uneasily at Beowulf, unsure what he might do with her now.   Despite her help on the journey so far, the Geat could leave her to die of exposure.  It would surely help him with King Ida who would not welcome a Brythonian witch into his fort.  As if the goddess, Wyrd agreed, the wind blew even stronger.

The Geat leader smiled down at her, realizing the woman remained unsure of his intentions.  The lady was genuinely afraid he would abandon her.

“So, can’t you conjure up a horse for yourself?  It’s going to be a long, lonely walk for you.”

His mocking tone made her suddenly angry, but she knew he was baiting her.  She kept quiet for a moment, staring ahead.

“What do you want?” she quietly asked as she saw Sigibert finally join them, leading his horse next to Swidhun. “Would it please you for me to beg for your assistance?”

“Just a simple ask is enough,” the Geat leader laughed as he leaned down offering his hand.  “Come, join me on my mount. It was only in jest.”

“Very well, I’ll accept your thanks for my help,” she responded tartly as she took his hand.  The woman skillfully swung herself on the back of the saddle as the Geat laughed at her bravado.  He enjoyed her ability to give back a little sarcasm as much as she received it.  The warrior felt the woman pull in close behind him, and he enjoyed the feeling.

“Time to go,” Swidhun reminded them, his booming voice necessary in the howling wind.  His tone told Beowulf the giant man was worried.  While Sigibert climbed back on his mount, the Geat leader began to worry.  The snow and wind made it nearly impossible to see more than a horse length away.  He suddenly wondered about the rest of his thegns.  Beowulf spurred his horse, and the group made their way back to the trail, following their horse’s prints in the snow.

Ahead on the trail, the rest of the thegns failed to notice some of their comrades were missing.  As familiar landmarks began to fill in the details for Glappa, it was not long before the Angle found the fork in the road which led to the river.  Stopping briefly, the Angle convinced Weohstan they would make better time if they followed this old trail into Bamburgh.  He assured the Geat fighter that the path would allow them to use the trees for protection against the wind.  Soon, they would find a small village where they could rest for the night.  As they signaled back to the trailing group to follow them, Glappa shivered from the cold before wrapping himself tighter in his single wool blanket.  He began to hum a tune of his ancestors as he thought of the warmth of a hearth fire at his feet and a heated mug of mead in his hand.

~~~

The wind and snow caused King Morcant to stop early after he turned his small army back to the Bernicia border.  It was Verch who convinced her husband to stop.  After she handed him drink to ward off the cold, the wound on his leg suddenly began to bleed through the wrap, causing him terrible pain with each step of the horse.  She told him she could not allow his wound to make her a widow, expressing such deep worry about his injury, the king relented.  He ordered an unhappy Kearney to pitch camp near the river.  It was not far from the spot where the Geats had managed to escape the night before.  Kearney quickly took charge of the king’s attendants, making sure he remained near the king at all times.  Carefully watching the queen’s slave clean Morcant’s wound, Kearney refused to look away from the procedures.  He didn’t see the queen gave him a deathly glare.  However, the look not lost on the king despite his pain.  When Verch finally left the tent, Morcant sent the slave away.  Kearney stayed, standing with his arms crossed.

“I see the Queen still does not enjoy your company.  It's a shame. Kearney, my good man, please fetch me some mead.”  The fat man adjusted himself while his friend brought him a mug.  Smiling to himself, the king swirled the cup while staring at the liquid inside.  “Yes, Verch doesn’t like you at all.  That’s why you will continue to have your man follow her.”  The king’s eyes sparkled when he saw the reaction on Kearney’s face.  “Yes, I hear more than many of my advisors would believe.  With my wits now back, I know your little man Gall, has seen things, and he tells me what he sees.”

“Then, you know that your betrayer is not a warrior or a man,” Kearney told him haltingly, unsure of how much to say.  “Much happened while you were ill.”

The king swirled around his mug as if contemplating its contents. “I’m afraid I know the truth now.  A hægtesse is a dangerous creature as many people have found out.  It is so much more challenging when they are beautiful, just like the first time we met.  It leaves a man unable to see through the haze.  However, I don’t intend to end up the same way as that friendly bishop.  I didn’t understand his religion, but he interested me with his power.  Unfortunately, my wife is unyielding in spirit and will.”  He suddenly dumped his drink on the dirt floor.”

“Now, find slave of my wife and execute her.  Then, fetch me some mead from the warrior’s cask.”

Kearney did not move. “And the queen?”

Morcant smiled as he leaned back against the back of the chair.  “A little whisper in my dreams told me she might have bitten off more than she can chew.  It confirmed what you said.  While I don’t have visions, the dreams give me a reason to see how it plays out.  It’s funny how creatures of the night are willing to come to a human when they believe such mortals may help them.”

~~~

Squinting as the stinging snow struck his face, Beowulf called out to his small group, motioning them to stop.  As if the gods heard of his thoughts about shelter for the night, the outline of a small structure emerged in front of them, barely visible on the slope of the hillside.  No lights came from the windows.

“What do you think?” Beowulf pulled down his makeshift scarf from his wool blanket covering his upper body.  The cape provided some protection for his passenger as well.

“I’m not sure,” Leofe spoke close to his ear, “I don’t like the feel of the place.  But it will be warmer than out here in the middle of the storm.”

“I’m not sure how far away from the trail we are,” Beowulf spoke over the wind, nodding to Leofe’s comments.  “I’ll go ahead and check it out.  Who knows if we might run into our Brythonian or Rheged friends again.”

“No need to freeze out here. If there’s danger, I’m coming along.” Sigibert suddenly spoke up to him.  Beowulf frowned at first but then reconsidered.  Such loyalty declared by the young monk meant a great deal to the Geat leader.  Besides, if it were a trap, his monk’s skill with a sword would be a good ally to have.  Accepting his partner, Beowulf told Swidhun to wait with Leofe, telling them he would signal when they got to the structure.  Leaving their horses with the woman and the giant warrior, the monk followed his leader as they trudged ahead on foot.  Through the blinding snow, they moved cautiously, each looking intently for any warning signs.  But the hut remained deadly silent, nothing moved, and no light came from the small windows.

Reaching one side of the small wood building, Beowulf whispered for Sigibert to continue while Beowulf slid along the rough wall covered with a dried dung and mud plaster.  When he got to the corner, he took a careful look at the back.  Not far away, a ramshackle lean-to stood inside an empty fenced pen.  The open gate moved back and forth, each gust of wind sending the gate scraping across the ground to stop in a snow drift.  Returning to the front of the hut, they passed the door lying on the earth, ripped off its hinges and nearly covered in snow.  Inside, the single room had two beds on the straw and snow covered floor.  The wind blew through a small hole used as a window in the back, giving off the sound of a strange flute on occasion.  The men looked at each other, knowing the dreygurs were the last occupants.

“Beats staying outside,” Sigibert reminded the Geat as he inspected the dark stains covering the ripped blankets.

“Maybe,” countered Beowulf as he stepped over to the center of the room and began to put wood and tender in the stone circle hearth.  He pulled a piece of flint from a bag on his belt and used the back of his dagger to create a spark.  After several tries, he got a fire started.  He left the monk rummaging around the hut as he went outside and waved Swidhun and Leofe to the shack.

Soon, the rest of their small group arrived, grateful to get out of the cold.  Beowulf sent the young monk to put the horses in the open pen, telling him they would be standing watch ensure no harm came to their transportation.  Turning back inside, Beowulf noticed Swidhun appeared uneasy about the house.  He knew the giant man feared little, certainly not the small bit of dried blood they found, so the atheling decided to talk with his thegn later.  First, he needed to get food and drink as he listened to his stomach growl.

After they had finished their meal of a few biscuits which they washed down with melted snow, the group huddled around the hearth.  It was quiet as each person enjoyed the warmth but also an unsettled feeling, almost like anxiety, ran through them as the weather and Fates seemed to align against them.  Usually optimistic, even Beowulf felt the subdued nature of those around him.  The wind continued to howl, only paused slightly by the door they were able to put over the entrance.

“Well, the weather will slow down our enemy,” the Geat leader spoke up suddenly as his mind rebelled at the lack of conversation.   He decided he needed a distraction from his stomach which continued to growl loudly.

“Now we need to ready ourselves for the morning.  When we get to Bamburgh, we can stuff ourselves at King Ida’s table.  We can thank fate for that anyway.”

“Do you think the others will come back for us?” Leofe asked.

“My men will wait for us until spring if needed. We just need to find the trail again when the sun comes up.  The way East does not change,” the Geat noble stated confidently.  “I’m sure the others are not that far away, no doubt they found refuge now.  Since we are in Bernicia now, the Rhegeds and Brythonians will head back to their lands.  They cannot risk a battle far in their enemy’s lands during the winter.”

“So we’ve escaped?” the woman appeared doubtful when Beowulf nodded.

“I can’t speak for the enemy, but even they will see the truth.  Now who stands watch over our mounts?”  The Geat noble quickly changed the subject.  His confident smile turned to a frown.

“I do this,” Swidhun spoke up which surprised them.  The group saw the man already gathering his blanket.  It was evident the warrior wanted nothing to do with the hovel.  He preferred to sleep among the horses.  The young leader of the Geats told his thegn that Sigibert would relieve him of the watch later in the night, but the giant man shook his head.

“No need, I sleep fine.” The big warrior pushed the door open, sending a blast of frigid wind inside as he quickly exited. After the gust of cold air faded, an uneasy quiet filled the room but for the occasional shriek of the wind outside.  The occupants gathered themselves closer to the hearth, stretching out on the floor, pulling their blankets around them.

While they lay waiting for sleep to overcome them, Beowulf struggled to calm his fears.  He could not understand the periods of self-doubt the crept into his mind recently.  It was something he never experienced before.  Despite the external bravado, the young Geat was lost.  He would return to his uncle with little to show for their travels.  Worse, he no longer with his group. The man knew his thegns would be looking for him, but travel in the blinding conditions meant they might be on the wrong trail now. Only at sunrise could they be assured of their direction but even then, there was the possibility that Morcant and Urien might still be trailing them.  The reward for capturing the sons of King Ida might be worth the risk to either king.

As he fought for sleep, he turned his head to stare at the woman across the hearth from him.  Her eyes were closed, the woman appeared relaxed.  For the first time, Beowulf noticed the slight dimple on her chin when she unconsciously brushed her raven colored hair from her face.  While not a ravishing beauty like Verch, the Brythonian woman’s thin face was attractive.  The realization struck the young man.  So focused on his push to destiny, the leader had little thoughts about women.  He always assumed he would find a good match based on the needs of his king.  Geat custom meant many marriages were arranged to keep the peace between clans.  Beowulf believed his king would find the appropriate match soon enough.

But the young woman sleeping across from him invaded his thoughts more and more as their journey together continued.  And those thoughts bothered him. The next gust of wind carried the sound of horses snorting and whinnying as if they smelled something in the wind.  Almost as suddenly, Beowulf felt a heavy feeling envelop him.  The Geat smelled something as well; a fragrant smoke struck his nostrils.  As his mind tried to move his body, his eyelids forced themselves closed.  He heard the sound of scratching at the broken door just as a black void opened up for him.  Soon, the warrior fell into a world of bizarre dreams.

Sigibert forced himself awake, his numb mind struggling to move his muscles.  The light of the morning sun filtered through the open window, casting a red glow to the room.  He suddenly realized how cold he felt despite noticing the wind was calm.  The building felt brutally cold, and he shivered under the blanket before finally turning himself over to stare at the cold gray ash in the hearth.  Then, the young monk saw the empty place where Leofe lay when he went to sleep.  He sat up, looking around the small room but the woman and her blankets were not in sight.  The man quickly stood, trying to shake the wooziness in his head as he stumbled over to the still sleeping Beowulf.  He struggled to get the atheling to wake.

Both men realized the broken door stood open, and a small snow drift crept inside the room.  Beowulf beat his upper arms with his hands as he stepped into the calm morning air.  The snow covered ground showed no tracks around the front of the hut.

“Strange that Leofe would leave,” the monk commented, mostly to himself.  Nodding, Beowulf ordered Sigibert to one side of the building, telling the thegn to look for tracks while the Geat leader went to find Swidhun taking a path around to the other side.

When Beowulf reached the wooden lean-to where the horses pawed the ground, looking for food, he did not see Swidhun at first.  Then, the atheling noticed movement in the back of the structure.  The giant thegn slowly pulled himself up from underneath the blanket.  Blinking his eyes from his stupor, Swidhun did not recognize his leader at first.

“Something evil was here,” the warrior finally spoke, shaking his head as he got to his knees.  “We must leave.”

“Have you seen Leofe?” Beowulf asked.

The Geat warrior shook his head. “I’ve seen no one.”  He paused, trying to recall something.  “I remember horses nervous, and then I see you.”

The Geat leader reached out a hand to his thegn, “It is the same with me.  I smelt something like smoke and Leofe was gone when Sigibert and I awoke.”  Swidhun grasped the hand of Beowulf and stood.

“I’ll feed mounts and make them ready,” the thegn stated firmly as Sigibert ran up to join them.

“I saw tracks leading to the north, going over the ridge,” the monk panted, nearly out of breath from his short run through the snow.

Immediately, Beowulf turned the God thegn toward the spot the monk pointed.  “Take me to the tracks.  Swidhun, get our mounts ready and follow us as soon as you can.”

Both men began the exhausting push through the drifts left by the storm.  When they finally reached the trail of footprints, Beowulf stared down at the numerous tracks, shading his eyes from the blinding morning sun.  The large prints showed several people heading to the ridge, along with the impression of a blanket edge being dragged.

“Do we follow these?” Sigibert asked.  “Perhaps it’s some local farmers.”  The tone of his voice indicated the monk did not believe his words.

Beowulf shook his head.  “Are these the only prints you found?” He asked, and Sigibert nodded.  “Then, we must follow these.  The feet leave prints which are larger than most men, and they don’t drag like the dreygurs.  And we can see something is being carried.”  The pair began to follow the prints, each person wondering where the trail led.

The two men were nearly exhausted from trying to get through the drifts that barred their way.  As the two men reached the top of the ridge, they were relieved to see Swidhun and their mounts moving quickly up the incline to them.  From their vantage point over the valley below, the sun showed a blinding layer of snow mostly covering the grasslands.  Only an isolated tree poked through as they looked across the expanse, trying to discover any movement.

“Why would anyone kidnap Leofe?” Beowulf said aloud the thoughts of both men. “And something about those tracks which don’t look right.  The feet are large but whoever we’re following is very light.”

Sigibert tried to catch his breath as he focused on the tracks.  The Geat leader was correct, although the footprints were larger than most men; the impressions only went down half the depth of the tracks he left in the snow.

“Dreygurs?” Sigibert said, then shook his head. “No, they would have killed and eaten us.  And these don’t appear the same as those we have seen before.”

“My thoughts as well. But then I remembered what creatures are helping Verch.  I wonder if the dweorgars might be who were following,” suggested Beowulf.

“Damn them,” blurted out the monk, as he crossed himself.  The young man knew the stories of dwarves capturing human women for bearing children and for sacrifice, especially those women known for their strong supernatural abilities.  While Sigibert refused to follow the pagan beliefs of many of his people, he knew enough to realize those creatures of the underworld used magic and spells to further their aims.  The Church recognized the dangers of such evil and sought to rid the world of this scourge.  Sigibert’s thoughts were interrupted when Swidhun joined them.

The men quickly mounted their horses, and the Geats were able to cover the ground at a better pace.  Following the trail was easy enough until the trio reached the valley bottom where the small but densely entangled forest stopped them.  The echo of rushing water told them a stream or river was not far away.  Beyond that, they could see a line of steep cliffs.

“Well, someone will have to go in there after them.” Beowulf stared into the tangle of small pine trees mixed with low-hanging thorn bushes intertwined with unusual ivy, still green under the snow covering the brush.  It was a dangerous path, not meant for a human to willingly enter.  Yet, the tracks indicated the kidnappers took the track while still carrying Leofe.

“We go around,” suggested Swidhun, point to the deer trail that led off to their right.

The Geat leader shook his head as he reached down for his helmet, unhooking it from his saddle. “Yes, it appears that trail should reach the river. You and Sigibert will follow that path and track back to me along the stream.  If you hurry, perhaps we can cut them off and surprise them this time.”  He pushed down his black helmet over his head and got off his mount.  Pulling a spear and his shield from his saddle, Beowulf paused at the entrance of the small opening.  He looked at the needle sharp thorns, debating the best way to enter.  Finally, he pushed forward with his shield in front to burrow through the thick foliage.

His comrades waited until Beowulf quickly left their sight, listening to the sounds of his journey for a moment.  The two thegns turned their mounts to the deer trail and proceeded to follow the path as it led along the outskirts of the trees.  At several points, the thegns were forced to adjust their route as thick drifts barred their way. They took several full deviations which appeared to get them no closer to the end of the forest.  It was near midday when they finally reached the stream’s edge.  Sigibert told Swidhun the flow led back to Bamburgh so they would be able to find the rest of their comrade if they followed the water to the east.

“We go there,” Swidhun stated as he was not paying attention to the young monk. His eyes focused on the dark path which followed the path of the stream.  The giant warrior noticed the unnatural quiet.  No bird songs or small creatures moving mixed with the normal sounds of the forest.  It was as dead as the village of Caer Urfa when they first arrived in Bernicia.

“I don’t like the look of this place,” the young monk said as he crossed himself.

“Bad things are there.  I sense the woman, Leofe and….” the giant warrior paused, sniffing the air.  “I sense something evil.”

“Blood?” asked Sigibert. But Swidhun remained quiet, shaking his head as he nudged his unhappy horse forward.   Sigibert crossed himself again before spurring his horse to join his friend.  He had to tug Beowulf’s mount along as the horse began to balk at the path they were taking.  The young monk spoke quietly to his horses trying to quell his and the animal’s unease.  He hoped they would find their leader soon.

For his part, Beowulf looked nearly as bad has he felt going through the underbrush. He part way through the journey he reconsidered the wisdom of entering the trail lined with sweetbrier and wild roses.  Despite his shield, armor, and helmet, the dastardly needles and thorns kept hanging his clothes, slowing him down and finding unarmored areas of his body to stab into him.  His face bled lightly from several scratches and his arms and legs held even more of the painful wounds.  The heavy snow helped deaden the pain but, for a while, it was slow going.  The Geat finally reached an open area inside the forest where he paused to catch his breath.  The sun stood at its zenith as the young man surveyed the ground.  The trail still showed the prints of his quarry, but now there was an extra set of smaller tracks.  He could see where Leofe fell into the snow, only to be dragged for a while by her captors. He could picture her mistreatment and the mental image suddenly enraged him.   Finding new strength, he set off in a slow jog.  Fortunately, the drifts of snow had not pushed through the dense trees, and he made better progress reaching the stream.

Beowulf could hear the running water before he found the broad, rocky shallows.  A small cliff jutted out of the ground across the meandering brook.  Even in the bright sunlight, the rock face stood dark and foreboding.  Following the tracks led to the water’s edge, Beowulf could not find where the group came out of the stream on the other side.  As he walked upstream looking for prints on the sandy bank, the man noticed a sliver of movement in bushes near the top of the cliff face.  The young warrior stopped, unsure of what was there.  At first, he thought it might be the wind, but then he remembered how calm it was.  The man decided it must be one of those who captured Leofe

Steeling himself, he quickly crossed the icy water, nearly falling in from the slippery, moss-covered rocks.  After reaching the other side, he stomped around trying to get the water to drain from his leather leggings and shoes.  The cold dampness remained as he searched the bank.  Soon he found the trail of the group he was following.  The only sound around him came from the steady gurgle of the stream.  The young fighter followed the footpath as it led toward the ridgeline.  The brush and ivy growth grew thick across the path, slowing his progress.  However, the footprints were easy to follow.

Near the top, just off the narrow area of the trail he followed, the tracks suddenly veered into the bushes.  Carefully, he pushed through the branches, discovering a small hole dug straight into the cliff face.  A quick inspection revealed the round hole was chiseled by hand, and Beowulf recognized the marks with the same uneasy sensation from his time inside the burial mound in Rheged.

Dweorgars definitely had Leofe!

She was now a captive in their realm.  The stories of the dwarves and their human captives came flooding into the mind of Beowulf.  Anger rushed through him, and he immediately tried to push into the hole. Just wide enough for his body, the Geat leader struggled to get his sword and shield angled in front of him to enter the passageway.  After a couple of attempts, he was finally able to slide himself through.  Sloping downward, the rocky passage was slick from the constant moisture raining in from above.  His hurtling body picked up speed, and in the darkness, Beowulf faced unnerving thoughts of what he might run into.  Quickly, the warrior used his shield edge to slow himself down.  As the young man cursed himself for jumping into the dark hole without a light to guide him, the tunnel suddenly leveled off, bringing him to a stop in the thick muck.  Still cursing himself for not having a torch, he crawled forward using his hand to search for any wood or dry material.  As his eyes became adjusted to the darkness, he glimpsed a faint glimpse of light in the distance ahead of him.  Struggling past a narrowing of the tunnel, Beowulf finally reached an opening into a wider cavern.

Along the stream near the entrance to the dwarf’s cave, the two thegns of Beowulf caught sight of their leader as he climbed the trail.  Sigibert yelled out, but they were too far away to be heard.  The men spurred their mounts, galloping to an open clearing they saw ahead.  By the time they reached the clearing, Beowulf was out of sight.  Using their mounts to cross the stream, they reached the path leading up the cliff.  Quickly tying off their horses, both men shouted for Beowulf, but there was only the gurgle of the stream in reply.  Sigibert immediately went up the path, armed only with his sword, while Swidhun followed with his spears.

The men reached the spot where Beowulf disappeared, and both were taken aback by the small tunnel.  The two men looked at the hole, dreading where they knew it must lead to.  Sigibert crossed himself, muttering a prayer under his breath as he learned to do around the Geats.

“To the home of Dweorgars,” Swidhun said simply as the spirit chaser held up his hands to cover his face.  He wanted no part of any evil vapors that might belch from the tunnel.  He stepped back.

Sigibert pushed past the larger man. “We have to go and help.  Beowulf needs our help.” The young monk pulled himself into the hole headfirst.

The quick note of fear fled from the mighty Geat warrior’s face when he recognized his duty.  Nodding, Swidhun tried to follow the thin young man.  Unfortunately, he quickly found his broad shoulders kept him from continuing.

“Stop, I cannot get in,” Swidhun grabbed the monk’s foot, pulling the monk back out of the hole.

Sigibert stared at his comrade for a moment before a thought came to him.

“If you cannot follow, then you should seek out the rest of our group.  We know they will be looking for us.  We may need more men to get Beowulf and Leofe out of this underground realm.  Maybe the Angles can help you find another way into this cliff.  Go locate the rest of Beowulf’s men,” the monk ordered.

“What about you?”  Swidhun asked.

“I’m going to get some wood for a torch and follow Beowulf.  I can keep him from doing anything until you bring help.”

Swidhun’s face showed his doubts at the young warrior’s plan.  He did not believe Sigibert would be able to halt their leader once Beowulf’s mind was made up, but slowly the giant warrior nodded his agreement.  The large man quickly started down the trail to the mounts while Sigibert started searching the nearby brush for the materials he needed.

~~~

On the other side of the valley, the remaining thegns of Beowulf discovered the small farmer’s shanty where their comrades spent the night.  After a long night of worry, Weohstan convinced Glappa to help them find the lost party.  Appa, sensing no advantage to his fortune in this endeavor, told his brother he had no time to find a frozen corpse and rode off to Bamburgh at first light.  Relieved by his brother’s absence, Glappa helped the group retrace their path to the fork where Beowulf and the others became lost.  While they found no trail, a hasty search revealed a lost garment from Leofe on the wrong road.  Soon, the rescue party found the hamlet and the path their comrades took, heading to the north.

“There isn’t much there.  Only a valley and small forest on the other side of that ridge,” Glappa told Weohstan.  “Beowulf could not mistake the way to the east.  Why did they travel this way?”

Appearing to answer the question, Osberht, scouting ahead, called out to the others.  “They are following someone.  Looks like a raiding party might have come by.”

When the rest of the group arrived, they looked at the prints and asked the same questions that confounded Beowulf earlier.

“There is no blood and no bodies so I don’t think a raiding party was involved.  You can see from the tracks three horses are following a large group.  It won’t take Beowulf long to find anyone who travels this deep snow by foot.  You can see the monk’s horse track there.”  Aeschere pointed to the hoof print missing the impression of a horseshoe, something Sigibert could not fix since his horse threw the horseshoe back in Rheged.

“Well, we know that they are alive and after someone.  Could be they are trying to find a quicker way to Bamburgh,” Weohstan stated, not realizing the relief in his voice carried to the others.  When he saw some of the grins on those around him, the warrior immediately became gruff, ordering the thegns ahead.  Glappa smiled at the man as they continued toward the lost group.  Weohstan glared at him but said nothing.

~~~

For his part, Appa arrived at the side of his father late in the morning.  King Ida lay ill in his bed with his younger son, Aethelric, tending him.  His sons traded evil looks at each other but kept their tone civil.  The king held his stone face, but the young noble knew he surprised his father by his sudden return without his brother or Beowulf.  While Appa spoke briefly of his journey, the king stopped him and told Aethelric to set up a banquet that evening to celebrate his brother’s return.  After the young noble had left, Ida turned back to Appa.

“Where is your brother,” the old man asked.

The young liar’s face turned sour.  “Glappa felt the need to join the Geats to recover the body of their atheling, Beowulf.  Not much wisdom in the group, I’m afraid.”

“I see,” the king replied.  “So as I suspected, the oldest leads the way.  We will discuss this later after I rest,” the old man sighed, quickly dismissing his son.  As the young noble stepped out of the room, he saw Aethelric staring at him.  Appa glared back.

“You haven’t fooled anyone; you know that?  Father sees past your lies.” The younger man said.

Appa stepped forward and stood close to his younger brother.  “Perhaps, but I remain older than you.  When I become king, I will remember how my friends treat me.”  He brushed past Aethelric, forcing him into the stone wall.  “And I’ll especially remember my brothers.”  As he walked down the hall, he suddenly began to whistle the same tune as he rode with Verch.

As the cold day finally turned to dusk, many of the men and women nobles of Bamburgh gathered in the great hall.  Long tables lined the middle of the room around a large hearth holding a roaring fire.  Salted fish along with mussels and oysters provided the main course along with dark bread and lots of beer which they used to toast the king and his son.  Despite his frailty, the king rose and toasted his advisors and clan leaders.  Finally, he asked Appa to share his exploits over the previous days.

The son of Ida stepped forward, basking in the limelight of those watching him.  Appa could not resist the talking about his own exploits against the monsters as well as the Rheged and Brythonian battles.  Every truth he twisted to make himself be either the hero or victim depending upon the ease of the tale needed.  King Ida raised an eyebrow upon occasion at the mention of Beowulf’s lack of valor or Glappa’s poor leadership.  However, the king seemed to accept the tales at their face value, asking no questions of the young noble.  The wily old King seemed content to let his son talk and impress the crowd.

Appa recounted their exploits against the dreygurs at the mound, conveniently forgetting to tell the audience about losing his own thegn and failing to recover any treasure.  When he mentioned his capture, he turned the story into an elaborate trick to infiltrate the Brythonian king’s court.  His vivid description about Morcant Bulc and Verch impressed the crowd.  Even King Ida leaned forward to glean useful information about his enemy.  Just as the young Angle was about to reach the climax of his adventures, there were shouts from men as they ran into the room.  Curiosity quickly turned to tension as the men and woman tried to overhear the news when the captain of the guard ran up to King Ida.

“Dreygurs have gotten past the main gate and have entered Bamburgh.”  The warrior told his king breathlessly.

~~~

Deep in the tunnels of the dwarves, Beowulf moved along cautiously.  Earlier, after coming out of the small tunnel, the Geat found himself in a larger tunnel.  It allowed him to nearly stand in an uncomfortable crouching position.  Fortunately, a series of finely tooled bronze oil lamps lit the way and the tunnel came to a turn and ahead he could see another turn.  Suddenly, Beowulf stopped.

He remembered the stories of humans becoming lost in the dwarf mazes near the entrance.  Wandering around a Dweorgar’s maze could spell disaster for him.  Taking one of the series of finely tooled bronze oil lamps that lit the way, Beowulf poured a bit of the oil on the wall.  The flame quickly burned on the wall of rock, leaving black soot marking.  Now he had a trail to follow back to his starting point.  Holding the lamp in front of him, the Geat proceeded into the tunnel.  He followed the winding passage until he ran into a fork where the tunnel between two.  Again, he marked the spot with the soot from the lamp.  Beowulf continued on his journey.  Not long after, after the passage twisted and turned, he stepped out into another tunnel. After another winding trip, the man came to another fork.  About to go on, the man almost missed the line of soot. The path had taken him back to the place where he entered the maze.  He smiled to himself as he wondered how many people might have died in these traps set up by the dwarves throughout the mountains.

Taking the other tunnel, the Geat warrior continued his journey through the maze for what seemed like an eternity, forced to continually backtrack and reassess his position.  He lost all track of time and the oil lamp burned away much of its fluid.  He finally heard the first sounds in the quiet as he took another turn at a fork.  Quickly dousing the flame of the lantern he carried, the man crouched.  He saw a faint glow of blue light along with echoes of foreign words and rhythmic chants. Creeping ahead, Beowulf pulled Eotenisc from its sheath and took his shield from the baldric that ran across his back.

As he reached the mouth of the tunnel, he saw it open into a large cavern.  The soft blue light filling the air came from the veins of rock which lined the walls of massive, carved archways of columns and stalagmites.  He quickly scurried forward to a spot behind a small boulder, marveling at the grand design of the underground structure.  The cavern was greater than any building he had ever seen, at least five times the size of King Heardred’s grand feasting lodge.  As he looked closer at the rock in front of him, he could see red and gold flakes embedded in the clear crystal gave the whole boulder a golden, bloody sheen.

Movement in the center of the room suddenly caught his attention.  Many dwarves stood around a large flat golden rock.  Above them was a large stalactite pointing down, appearing as a large arrow tip at the slab of stone below it.  At one end of the rock, an unusually large dwarf sat on a throne made bones.  Beowulf noticed the unusual item the king of the creatures wore like a crown.  Even from a distance, the Geat leader saw the article was the top part of a human skull, carved out to fit the creature’s misshapen head.  In the open eye sockets of the skull, two gold coins were embedded, reflecting in the light.  As the creature turned its overly large head, the skull cap gave an eerie illusion of two watching eyes of gold.  The grotesque crown, coated in red paint, glistened in the light.

A familiar voice echoed across the area.  Beowulf instantly recognized the hated voice of Verch who told the crowd in Brythonian that the show would soon begin.

“King Fullangr, mighty leader of the Dweorgar, on this evening I give you this offering to your underworld god.  May Arawn drink the blood of this unworthy creature and bring a fortune in gold and magic to your people.”

With great fanfare, Queen Verch of Rheged strode from the shadows.  Behind her, two dwarves dragged the bound and struggling Leofe to the slab.  Other creatures helped their comrades pull the young woman on top of the stone slab, binding her wrists and ankles to the stone.  The king of the dwarves looked on approvingly while those creatures around him spoke excitedly in a language Beowulf did not recognize.

As he watched the events unfold, the young warrior grew livid.  The evil hægtesse joined with the dwarves to capture Leofe, right from under his nose.  Now the queen would sacrifice the young woman to Arawn.  Before he realized what he was doing, the Geat warrior stood and walked from behind his hiding place.  His sword and shield at the ready, he struck down the first dwarf to come at him.

“Hear me now you evil bitch.  I will place your head on a post for King Ida and all of Bernicia to curse.”  Beowulf yelled as he pressed forward with his attack.

Those unarmed dwarves quickly scattered. However, many others pulled their weapon of choice, stout, two handed spears they called a gaisce.  Quickly, the dwarf fighters moved forward as an echoing uproar enveloped the cavern.  Fullangr sent his warriors toward the human, his voice clicking and chattering the strange language.  Beowulf struck down several of the creature foolish enough to charge at him individually.  However, a line of dwarves quickly formed a layered wall in front of him. Despite towering over the smaller foe, the atheling now realized his error.  Far outnumbered, he would soon be overwhelmed when they charged.  The leader needed to even the odds quickly.

An old poem repeated itself in Beowulf’s head as the man watch the dwarf king, move to stand next to Verch.  An inspiration suddenly came to him from the lines of a poem he recalled.  He quickly searched his belt, fumbling through the bag.  The young fighter pulled a handful of gold coins.

Throwing them to the other side of the cavern, Beowulf shouted to the dwarf king.

“The mighty Fullangr makes a poor deal.  Only Beowulf gives your people gold,” the young man yelled in broken Brythonian.

However, the sight of valuable mineral caught the room’s attention.  Parts of the line in front of him immediately broke.  Armed and unarmed dwarves scrambled for the gold coins.  Beowulf quickly pushed his way through the line in the distraction, sending several creatures to meet one of their gods.  The Geat threw several more coins behind him and watched with satisfaction as more dwarves scrambled to the golden glint on the cavern floor.  The Geat raced forward with his sword striking down those who still stood in his way.  Fullangr’s eyes grew wide at the immediate danger.  The king held up a staff that held the brilliant blue stone, chanting a spell.  To the dwarf’s amazement, nothing happened.  The little king heard Verch muttering her own enchantment.

Beowulf closed the distance with his two enemies when he suddenly struck an invisible wall.  The force sent him reeling back, losing his balance and he tumbled to the floor.   Quickly regaining his footing, the man moved forward, probing the air with his shield.  When he struck the invisible boundary again, his shield scraped across the invisible wall, sending sparks into the air and filling the cavern with screeching echo.  Then, he saw Verch move toward the bound Leofe.

His mind raced as saw the queen’s evil eyes look down upon the captive Leofe.  He knew as if he could read the witch’s mind about what she would do.  Verch calmly walked the few steps to reach the young woman.  Drawing a dagger from her blue robe, the enchantress lifted the weapon over the body of the struggling Leofe.  Slowly, savouring her victory, Queen Verch gave the warrior a broad smile.

“While the dreygurs remove your Angle friends tonight, I will give this offering to the goddess who will give Bernicia back to my people.  Fullangr will crown himself with your skull.”

His heart began to sink, realizing he would be too late.  Out of desperation, Beowulf hacked at the wall with his sword attempting to pierce the concealed covering.  Suddenly, Eotenisc pierced through the invisible wall.  Verch’s eyes went wide, and the hægtesse dropped the dagger she held over Leofe.  Screaming in terrified agony, the queen witch fell to the ground as if struck in the back by a sword.  Recovering, Verch got to her feet, backing away as Beowulf ran to the slab of stone.

A quick cut by his sword on one of the ropes holding her to the slab and Leofe quickly began to unbind her other hand.  Beowulf immediately propelled himself at the dwarf king and his ally.  Verch’s eyes were locked on her rival and queen appeared to be ready to cast another spell when Fullangr raised his arm, loudly saying something in his dwarfish tongue.  Trembling with anger, the witch stopped, her face filling with confusion.  Leofe looked around, noticing the dwarves around them suddenly stopped their advancement.

Beowulf noticed how the Fullangr stared at his sword, the small man’s eyes following every movement of the blade.  The pause allowed the young Geat to reconsider his position.  There were still far too many of his enemies around him, and he had little gold left.

“You picked the wrong side, Fullangr. But I can make you an offer nearly as good,” stated Beowulf.  He suddenly evoked his stepfather’s wily ways in dealing with other kingdoms.

Fullangr pulled his eyes away, his face lighting up.  “You bargain for your life.  Not enough gold.”

Beowulf forced himself to stay calm, smiling back confidently. “No, I bargain for your life and let you get the sacrifice you seek.”

“No position to ask. I take witch girl and get my way.”

Beowulf kept smiling.  “I think not.  You know this sword.  That is why you stopped.  I keep it and Leofe.  You let us walk away, and no more dwarf’s blood flows on the ground.”

The big head on the small man shook.  “No bargain for me.”  The king raised his staff.  Verch whispered harshly to the king in his language. Beowulf knew she wanted them to attack and finish him off.

“I have more,” Beowulf shouted and the king paused.

“The hægtesse next to you!”  He pointed to Verch.  “She brought me into your realm with my sword. I give you her and her power in fair trade. Sacrifice her to Arawn.”

Fullangr stopped moving his arm at the thought.  Leofe grabbed Beowulf’s arm, shaking her head at what he said.  “You can’t make such a deal.

However, the atheling ignored her, pulling his arm away.  “Has Queen Verch kept her bargain with you?  I’m sure she promised you great riches.  Where are they?” The young warrior reminded the king.

“I won’t listen to this,” Verch suddenly yelled over Leofe as she cast a spell at the woman.  However, the only thing that happened was Beowulf’s sword blade suddenly turned a bright red hue before changing into a blinding white.  His new sword looked like it was taking on the heat of the hottest furnace. Suddenly, Eotenisc returned to its silver cast, the spell broken before any damage was done.

The Brythonian queen reared back to try again, but she failed to see Fullangr silently lift his staff. Suddenly those dwarves closest to Verch jumped on, swiftly pulling her to the ground.  Before the woman knew what happened, several more of the creatures grabbed her legs as she kicked at them.  They raced her to the stone slab where Leofe just lay and bound the human witch to the slab.  Verch tried to scream out a deadly spell against the dwarves, but one of them shoved a piece of dirty cloth into her mouth.  While she struggled, the self-satisfied king of the creatures stepped next to her.

His greedy eyes were alight at the sight of his captured trophy.  To Leofe, Fullangr suddenly looked like a small version of the Svartálfar, dark elves that drank the souls of their prey.

“Verch is evil, but you are making this worse,” Leofe protested to Beowulf. “The dwarf wants her power, not revenge.  How can you leave a human to him?”

The concern on the woman’s face caused Beowulf to suddenly regret his deal with the dwarf king.  Leaving Verch to the dwarves was a hasty decision which might leave them in greater danger.

“This hægtesse she should be brought to human justice.  Let me give her to King Ida.  He will make sure she suffers.”

The little king shook his misshapen head.  “No, idea of human solves problem.  You go.  I give one chance.” The dwarf made it clear the conversation was finished as he turned to his struggling prey on the slab.  Placing his staff upon the Brythonian sorceress, he chanted a spell and the woman immediately let out a blood-curdling scream.  It appeared her entire spirit was being drawn out of her body.

The scene was too much for Beowulf.  He immediately went after the dwarf king.  Unfortunately, the young Geat did not account for the other dwarves, waiting for the warrior to move at their king.  Scores of the little fighters attacked him and Leofe.

The fight turned bloody as the little monsters tried to overwhelm them.  Leofe cast a spell which struck the first wave of attackers, leaving several of them on Beowulf’s back where they were frozen like statues.  The combined weight nearly sent the warrior to his knees.  He slowly swung around, trying to shake the creatures from him while trying to fend off the incoming spear points being thrust at him.  Unarmored, the young woman took a spear tip into her shoulder.  Despite the pain, she instantly blinded the dwarf along with several of his comrades attacking her with a shower of intense light scattered from her hand.  The woman saw Beowulf receive a sharp blow to the head, and she realized the pair were out of options.  The witch backed into the Geat, and she grabbed hold of her necklace.  The lost words she spoke were forbidden by her mother’s training.

“Alaisiagae, vek eg þig dauðra dura, Galdra þú mér gal, Alaisiagae, hún hér ræður,” the woman screamed in Gaul above the din, and the blue light of the cavern suddenly went dark.  The large room when pitch black and the battle rapidly came to a halt.

“What did you just do,” Beowulf flung the last paralyzed dwarf from his back as the blue light of the room gradually came back to life. He was about to say more, but the rock beneath them began to shake.

“Never mind,” Leofe grabbed the warrior by his shield.  “We have to leave here.”

“What about Verch?” Beowulf tried to stop the young woman.

“She will meet her god.” The look in Leofe’s eyes told the man there was no time to discuss it.  She pulled again on his arm, and he relented.

Chaos filled the cavern as the two humans pushed past the smaller creatures who heard Leofe’s plea to the terror goddess, Alaisiagae.  Many came rushing to Fullangr.  The king, distracted by his relentless torment of Verch, unexpectedly found himself battered as his people sought refuge in his magic.  Catching a glimpse of the escaping humans among the turmoil, the king dwarf struggled to counter the incantation of Leofe.

The ground shook violently, sending many of the dwarves to the ground.  The slab of stone holding Verch broke apart when it dropped to the cavern floor.  Suddenly freed, the Brythonian enchantress rose to confront her torturer. Vengeance filled her, and she paid no attention to the bedlam around her. Instead, she zeroed in on the king as she picked up a discarded dwarf spear at her feet and plunged the weapon’s tip deep into the dwarf king’s back.  The little king gasped his last breath while the queen stood triumphantly over the body.

Just as Leofe and Beowulf reached the tunnel escape, a loud explosion burst from the floor of the cavern.  Knocking nearly everyone down, the foul, nauseating odor of carrion filled the air around them.  Terrified screams forced the Geat to stop as he got back on his feet while the Brythonian noble woman tugged at him again.  The pair watched as a huge crevasse in the cavern floor opened, sending screeching dwarves tumbling into the pit.  Rising out of the depths, a hideous giant creature pulled up to the surface.  The naked female hag knocked more of the dwarves into the pit as she climbed out.  It had wrinkled bleached skin, the color of a maggot which glistened with slime.  Extra-long, sinewy arms dragged the long body from the pit below.  The hag scanned the cavern with empty eye sockets, greasy strands of pale gray hair covered part of the hideous, skull-like face.  When the monstrosity reached the cavern floor, the monster quickly jumped over the petrified dwarves surrounding Verch, landing next to the queen.  The blood drained from the witch’s face at the sight of the goddess next to her.

“Alaisiagae!” Leofe frantically pulled at Beowulf to leave.

However, the Geat leader held back, fascinated by the sight of the goddess of terror.  His gaze centered on Verch’s reaction as the woman immediately fell to her knees, offering a wailing plea to the creature before her.  The giant hag paused at the action, standing straight as it cocked its head.  Curious at the sight of the human bowing and paying homage, the goddess slowly reached down to pick up the Brythonian queen.  When it did so, fire suddenly enveloped the witch.  Verch’s tormented screams piercing forever into Beowulf’s mind.  He watched as the hag creature quickly tossed the burning witch into the pit.  It did the same with the dead body of the king of the dwarves.  An evil voice filled the minds of the humans.

“Arawn sends me for his sacrifice.”

Unlocked from the imaginations of nightmares, the terrible hag met devastation to all in her presence.  Those dwarves, seeing the judgment of their king, now panicked scrambling blindly to escape while the giant fiend slowly began to twirl.  Long arms extended, the goddess spun around faster and faster until it’s body rose above the floor as an evil voice filled the cavern.

“Arawn will take his sacrifice.”

Leofe screamed into the warrior’s ear. “Beowulf, you fool move now, or we die,”

Her words finally caused him to react when he turned to the woman who was running away.  Spurred on, he quickly followed her into the tunnel.  Beowulf felt the air around him suddenly charged like before a nearby lighting strike.  Just as he took the first turn in the tunnel, the pair heard the rush of air blasting down the passage.  Beowulf saw the light in the tunnel suddenly brighten in front of them, and the fighter sensed they were losing the race against whatever was coming from behind.  The intense light exposed the next turn within the maze, and he pushed himself to catch the Brythonian.  With a final push, Beowulf finally reached her as they were coming to the next corner of the passage.  They cornered at the same time.  Falling forward to the ground, the pair lay just outside the blast of superheated air rushing down the tunnel behind them. They felt the temperature rising and soon it was nearly impossible to breathe.  Then, just a suddenly the tunnel went still.

Coughing and gasping for air, the man and woman struggled to their feet forcing themselves forward, trying to find fresh air.  When the pair finally reached the next turn of the maze, they collapsed to their knees.  Neither person saw the two feet in front of them until they heard a familiar voice.

“In the name of God, what just happened?” asked Sigibert.

CHAPTER 9

TALES OF THE VICTORS

Just before Beowulf entered the domain of the dwarves, another vicious battle was occurring inside the thick fortress walls of Bamburgh.  After overwhelming the few guards at the gates, the undead killed many of the living inhabitants who fought.  The horde pushed forward in packs with unrelenting attacks, overwhelming the defenders who they brutally tore apart.  Forcing the human prey out of the grand hall and into the courtyard, the living fighters attempted to defend strategic areas.

Despite the experience gained with his brother when they faced the dreygurs, Appa failed to lead men in the fighting.  Instead, he observed his sick father repositioning the warriors as they reformed their lines to cover the areas.  Appa took the responsibility to gather reinforcements from other parts of the fortress before he volunteered to lead women and children down into the bowels of the fortress.  He assured his father, the people would be protected by the thick walls and secure doors.  When Appa finally made it back to King Ida, the dreygurs were overwhelming the makeshift barriers put up at the main entrance to the courtyard.

Ida carried his single edge sword and round shield which he used in his battles against the Brythonians years before.  His thin body no longer appeared frail and weak as he confidently and calmly guided his warriors.  While his men steadily fell back against the overwhelming numbers of undead who kept coming, the people around King Ida followed his commands without hesitation.  After their initial surprise about the enemy had worn off, the defenders of the castle worked methodically to hack at the living corpses. However, the rusting armaments of the walking dead along with their powerful animal jaws created terrible wounds on the lightly armed defenders.

From the battlements above them, dreygurs began jumping down behind the lines of the living.  Somehow, the monsters found a path to the ramparts where the few human guards were quickly dispatched.  As the tide of battle quickly turned against them, Appa backed away, watching Aethelric and another fighter hacking away at one of the creatures.  When the rotting corpse finally fell apart, the blue amulet flew out of the dry chest cavity and landed at the foot of the stunned noble.  Suddenly, he realized the dwarves changed their tactics, for now, they embedded the magical stones inside the armor of the dreygurs, making the monsters even more formidable.  As more of the creatures landed upon the defenders near him, Appa stared in disbelief as the savage monsters bit and ripped apart a large man within a few moments.  Fearing for his own safety now, the noble ran to this father, telling him of the danger and the creature’s weakness.

King Ida immediately shouted instructions for his men before he sent his son to help reorganize another line of defence inside the main hallway.  Some of those manning the barricades were pulled down more of the dreygurs who jumped from above.  The savageness of the killing around them caused survivors to panic, scrambling past the king who tried to stop them.  Shouting at the terrified men, the old warrior tried to stand his ground.  However, the fear overwhelmed the fighter who ran over their king.  While the old man tried to rise, Aethelric raced to help him.  However, a dreygur reached the king first.  Landing on the thin man’s back, the animal jaws of the undead beast bit down on his neck.  Death was instantaneous.  The great King Ida’s body lay face first in the courtyard.

Aethelric arrived just in time to sever the head of the undead corpse.  Maddened into revenge by his father’s death, the young son of Ida quickly hacked the creature’s body before the fighter slammed his hand into the chest of the undead and pulled out the amulet.  Caught within the revenge of the moment, he nearly forgot about the other advancing monsters.  Wildly swinging his sword, the young fighter avoided the onrush of several creatures as he fought his way back to the narrow entrance to the main hall.  There, Aethelric regrouped with those men who stayed nearby.  All knew about the death of their king.

“Find anything you can get to cover this entrance.” He ordered the men, oblivious to his older brother Appa who appeared in shock.  “Grab doors and anything heavy. We will leave just enough room for them to enter one by one.” The young man’s eyes were alight with deadly intent.  “Then, we will rip them apart.  I will get revenge upon the thing that put this magic into the dreygurs.”  He flung down the amulet he pulled from the chest of the corpse at the foot of Appa.  The men around the room realized that Aethelric held his brother to be responsible.

However, the potential confrontation between the brothers stopped when next wave of dreygurs surged against the door barricade.  Aethelric ordered the defenders to allow the undead push past a small area still open.  As the monsters tried to go through the trap, they were instantly hacked apart by fighters next to the entrance.  For a while, the plan of the younger noble appeared to be working until terrible cries echoed from behind them.  Aethelric and the men turned to see a couple of the dreygurs dropping down from above after squeezing through the high rectangular windows that allowed light into the two-story hall.

“They’re getting behind us,” shouted Appa, his voice rising.  Immediately he ran toward the new menace along with the last of the fortress guards.  Just as they reached the middle of the hall, more of the creatures jumped down, nearly landing upon the Angle leader. However, his luck held as the men around him picked up the fight.  A melee broke out around him as monsters and humans fought a desperate battle to the death.  None of the defenders around him lived long enough to see the son of Ida escaping past them, running into the darkness of the long tunnel.

When Appa finally reached the families of old men, wives and children cowering in the dimly lit tunnel, he recovered his nerve enough to reassure them. And his devious mind had already decided upon a lie for them. The man had transformed into a fully confident presence before he entered the final door.  Appa remembered a small escape route which led to the river next to the fortress and he intended to get there.  The man pushed through them, telling them he was on a vital mission to help save them.  Covered with the blood of his comrades, some of the people moved aside.  However, several of the wives came forward asking about their husbands.  With a confident smile, he assured them of their men’s valor in their defense.

Leaving the room, the Angle noble told them would lead more fighters to cut off the monsters, the defenseless humans shouted their thanks and blessings.  After entering a side room, the man found the door leading to the seldom used tunnel.  His conscience felt a slight pang of guilt, but he shrugged his shoulders, telling himself he must survive to carry forth the line of King Ida.

Back in the main hall, the remaining defenders were forced to retreat again.  This time, they were cut off from escape, leaving just a few men remaining around Aethelric.  As they held off the undead, they were slowly backing toward the unarmed families knowing they would be forced to make a final stand.  However, their strength ebbed from the continued fighting, and many of the defenders carried vicious wounds caused by the monsters.  Aethelric, assuming his brother dead, limped along with a large wound to his thigh caused by a rusted ax of one of the skeletal creatures.  Still, the son of Ida kept his men in order as they fought, pulling them back to regroup and rest while waiting for the next wave of dreygurs.

When the fighters reached the final door which held the families, even Aethelric realized the end would be soon.  “We have good fortune tonight, my friends.  For I have fought with the bravest of the lands,” he told his comrades.  “You will be renowned for fighting those who cannot die.  And we will soon join in the mead halls of Týr, celebrating our deeds in Folkvangr.”  The men gave tired smiles, many deciding to welcome their fate.  And they waited for the monsters.  Some people remained silent while others spoke about old tales of adventures and the grandest stories of the gods.

After a while, the defenders began to realize that no sounds came from behind the barricaded door in front of them.  Moving closer, half expecting the monsters to burst through as they crept close, Aethelric slowly put his ear to the door.  Only the sound of his breathing, along with the distant wails of children in the next room behind them could be heard.  He listened for a long time, but not even a shuffle could be heard.  The son of Ida turned his head, looking at his men.  Several of them shrugged, shaking their heads in agreement with his confusion.  Finally, the Angle pulled back the first latch, holding his breath as he waited for any sound.  Waiting for a moment, as he pulled opened the door, something pushed the door open.  Through the entrance fell two dreygurs.  Quickly he tried to close the door, but the bodies blocked the door open.  As the others began to strike at the undead, Aethelric instantly realized the monsters were not moving.  He shouted at his men to stop.  He opened the door wider.  In the dim light, the floor was filled with the corpses of long dead along with the bodies of their comrades.  It took a while for the idea to finally sink into the defenders of Bamburgh.  They survived the battle against the dreygurs.

~~~

Beowulf and Leofe stared up at the young monk called Sigibert for a moment, unsure how to answer him.  But the heat and stench of the blast from the cavern soon filled the area, sending them away coughing and gagging.  Immediately, the trio went back through the maze, this time with Sigibert leading while holding a lamp.  Each person held the cloth of their sleeves to their mouth and nose, trying to avoid the toxic and foul smell.  Beowulf worried they would soon be lost, but the young Brythonian appeared to know his way despite the many small oil lamps extinguished during the blast.  After a while, they pulled far enough away where the musty underground air felt like a fresh spring breeze.  Stopping them for a moment, Beowulf asked how Sigibert knew the way so confidently.  The young man smiled, pulling a piece of soft white stone from his belt.  Motioning for them to follow him, the man walking to the next fork in the tunnel where a lamp was burning low on the wall.  The monk drew the mark of the cross above another.  Both drawings were next to the smudge mark made by Beowulf earlier.

“I learn quickly,” Sigibert told them.

“Indeed you do, my friend. Now can you take us to mounts?” Nodding, Sigibert turned down the passage.

“I’ll have to watch out for him, he might convert me,” he told Leofe.  But the way Beowulf said the words bothered her.  Usually, his eyes would have lit up in jest.  Now, he seemed utterly distracted. She followed him, trying to get Beowulf to speak but he remained silent. She could not understand his sudden moodiness.

When the trio finally made it out of the tunnels and back to the cliff face, it was very late at night.  Only the stars showed above them, and the fierce cold wind struck them as well.  Weohstan was on watch outside the narrow tunnel entrance.  Even in the starlight, Beowulf observed his friend’s happy expression at his return.  Near the stream, the remaining thegns were camped, either trying to sleep or huddling next to a large fire.  Those asleep quickly awoke to the news of Beowulf’s return. After the initial excitement had died down, Weohstan directed the group back to the fire while the thegns peppered the trio with questions.

“Enough, my friends,” Beowulf told them, holding his hands up while giving a slight smile. “Can we find something to eat and drink first?  It’s been a tiring day.”

At his words, several of the warriors came forth with a bag of mead and bread.  Glappa brought them the remains of three cooked rabbits still skewered on a limb near the fire.  While only small bits of meat remained among the bones, it was warm and tasty.  As they ate, Beowulf briefly told them of his exploits inside the tunnel.  He forced Leofe to speak of her treatment at the hands of the dweorgars and her spell which cleared the cavern of the evil witch and her allies.  When the young woman tried to tell the others of Beowulf’s daring attack, the Geat suddenly stopped her, turning to Sigibert to recount his ability to defeat the maze.  When Osberht asked about the encounter with Verch and Fullangr, the Geat leader changed the subject.

“It appeared the dwarves carried you back to the tunnels.  How did they get to us so easily and when did you realize you were captured?” Beowulf quizzed Leofe before he took a long drink.

The young woman reddened with embarrassment.  “I remember little beyond a smell that entered the hutch.  I woke when they tried to pull me into the tunnel.”  To howls of laughter, she recounted kicking one of the dwarves in the groin when the creature sought to disrobe her.

She grew serious for a moment.  “I’m sorry I didn’t realize they were following us.”

“No, I don’t think they followed,” Beowulf interjected quickly. He held out his hand to reveal the blue dreygur talisman given to him by Ecgberht.  His young face showing how tired he felt.  There was also a sad reflection in his eyes.

“I believe they knew where we were.  It appears I was the cause of our capture.  Curse me for I only realized this in the caverns when I saw the power of Verch and the dwarf king with their amulets.  It was clear they used this talisman which I was foolish enough not to destroy.”

The group went silent for a moment as Beowulf suddenly stood and walked away from the group.  He walked back to the tunnel while Weohstan followed him, telling the others to go back.  The flames of the fire cast a pale yellow light which danced in the brush near the trail.  Weohstan came next to his friend and remained silent.

“Verch and Fullangr never feared me. Because they feared Leofe’s power, they cared only for that. I realized we were nothing more than pawns to be used by Verch.  She led us along like the undead.  The dwarves didn’t even bother to slit our throats as we slept.  Some monster hunter I’ve become.”  Beowulf kicked his foot at a small exposed root on top of the frozen ground.

Weohstan waiting for a moment before he spoke, “Are you not the one who attacked and defeated the dreygurs?  Are you not the same person that I was just told fought off an overwhelming number of dwarves along with an evil witch?”

“It was Leofe who chanted the spell to bring Alaisiagae into the caverns, not me,” Beowulf reminded him.

“And, as I heard it, she would be sacrificed if you had not saved her.  And another thing, it was Ecgberht who kept the amulet even after you ordered it destroyed. Sometimes I want to cuff you on the head.”  The mentor growled at his leader.  “Don’t you think that Verch and Fullangr know of you now as they roast with the terror goddess?  By now, the gods know of such deeds as well.  Tomorrow, others will know.  It will be just like when you destroyed the Piast.”

The outrage in his friend’s voice forced Beowulf to take notice.  He turned to look at the group huddled around the fire, many trying to listen to their conversation but not hearing much of it.  Weohstan started back to the fire.

“It’s too cold to be freezing out here.  I’m getting some sleep.  If you want my advice, give yourself some rest and tomorrow you will see a new light.”

Beowulf watched the thegn walk away, and after a moment, a grin came to his lips.  “He’s right about one thing. It’s too cold to worry about the fate that the goddess Wyrd gave him,” the man thought as he slowly walked back to the camp.

~~~

The sun sank behind the open plains behind them when the group of Geats, Angles and Brythonians finally reached Bamburgh.  As soon as they came inside the city, Glappa commented on the surprising silence coming from the generally busy venue.  While the house and businesses appeared untouched, only a few people looked out from their homes.  Those passing them seemed to be in shock and grief.  When the Angle noble stopped one of the merchants who came out of his tavern, the man failed to recognize Glappa at first.  Then, the group heard the terrible news.

“My lord, I’ve heard monsters attacked the fortress overnight.  They say many are dead, and your father is injured.”  He pointed to the smoke in the distance.  “They are burning the dreygurs on the beach.”

Before the man could finish, Glappa spurred his horse ahead.  Beowulf and his followers followed, but the Angle soon outdistanced them.  By the time they reached the fort, Glappa was nowhere to be found.  Outside the main gates, the remains of the unfortunate guards and some of the dreygur corpses still littered the area.  Leaving some of his thegns with the horses, Beowulf led the others in a search for Glappa and King Ida.  After wandering through the destruction left from the battle, the small group of Geats found the young noble next to his brother.  Aethelric lay on a bench, talking with Glappa.  It was clear the younger brother suffered a painful leg wound.  Beowulf noticed he and Aethelric looked to be the same age.  He also saw Appa standing next to several Angle elders several paces away from the bench.  Despite the dried blood on Appa, his armor and appearance did not show the wear of battle that Beowulf expected.   The words of the wounded brother caught the Geat leader’s attention.

Despite the pain, the young Angle spoke with an immense pride about the valor of his men.  The young man only made a brief mention of Appa, but there was apparent disgust in his words which was not lost on those who overheard.  As he described their fight, he remained calm as he recounted the overwhelming numbers.  The only time the third son of Ida became emotional was when he told them about the death of his father.  When Aethelric finished, Glappa squeezed his brother on the shoulder, praising him for his bravery.

“I’m sorry I did not return quickly to the fortress and help you.  For this act, I will always condemn myself,” Glappa told his brother so softly only Aethelric heard.

“No, brother.  It is better that you survive and lead our lands now.  Father wanted it that way.”  The words said to the older brother were loud enough for all to hear.  Beowulf and those around him were greatly impressed by the young Angle.

Glappa said nothing for a moment and then stood, looking at those around the room.  “We will honor our king and my father with a proper funeral. Where is Appa?”

Out of the back, the second son of Ida step forward. “My brother, I’ve already taken father’s body to the dock.  We need only to prepare a vessel.”

Glappa looked at Appa, apparently mulling over options in his head.  “Take some of the men and see that the rest of the monsters are destroyed by the fire.  But first, I want to see every amulet is returned to this fort for my personal inspection.  They will be smashed in front of us.”

Clearly disappointed in the unenviable task, Appa hesitated. “Perhaps we should talk, my brother.”

Glappa now gave his brother a stern look that reminded those around, including Beowulf, of King Ida.  “No, we will talk later.  There is much work to do, and we have only a few hours of daylight left.  Now see to it!”

Appa suddenly understood his brother would be the acting king and he bowed slightly, knowing he would need to bide his time.  As he left, Beowulf wondered what the young Angle might be plotting.

“To those Angles who are unaware, Beowulf and his thegns have returned from our king’s mission.  Together, we have destroyed the evil ones who brought this pestilence to Bernicia.”  Glappa’s words soared through the large room. “As part of the feast for our departed ones, we will celebrate the destruction of our enemies.  Let us prepare for this evening.”

Eventually, the room cleared as the preparations for the dead and the celebration were given to those still living.  Beowulf offered the help of his men which was gratefully accepted by Glappa.  Soon, the thegns and their leader helped carry the dead to the dock near the fort.

That evening, not far from the dock, a line of mourners carrying torches formed a semicircle around a small beached ship.  Inside and across the deck, the former defenders of Bamburgh lay upon the wood.  Around the bodies were pottery jars filled with food and drink, along with sacrificed animals, to provide for the dead in the afterlife. Above them, on a specially constructed platform, lay the body of King Ida.  His platform covered with even more items, including the body his favorite horse which was sacrificed as well.  Weapons and shields outlined his burial platform.

After a multitude of people completed their songs and poems to the loved ones and to the gods, Glappa took his torch and threw it onto the deck.  The oil covered wood quickly caught fire, and the mourners watched as the flames filled the sky.  There was silence but for the crackling sound of burning wood as the crowd backed away as they felt the heat.  Beowulf noticed Sigibert speaking with Leofe, explaining the Angle burial ritual.  It was similar to those used by the Geats.  When the fire subsided, the ashes would be covered by a mound, marked with a long stone inscribed with symbols.  While Sigibert explained the pagan ways, the monk and woman started a conversation about their Brythonian beliefs and the Church rituals.  Their subdued conversation caused Beowulf to slowly move closer, trying to overhear what was being said.  Osberht watched his leader, shaking his head at the obvious signs of resentment Beowulf was displaying about Sigibert’s closeness with Leofe.  He nudged his brother and Weohstan immediately joined Beowulf.

“We should plan for our journey home,” the warrior told Beowulf.

Surprised, Geat leader looked at his friend.  “We must help Glappa rebuild.”

Turning his friend away from the group, Weohstan steered Beowulf to the water’s edge.  “It’s Glappa’s kingdom now, and you do your friend justice.  But have you been asked to stay?”

The young leader thought for a moment on his friend’s words.  Weohstan the nuances of kingdom politics.  As he considered how he would react to the situation if he wore the crown, Beowulf understood.  He nodded to the warrior.

“Yes, our time will be short as my word was with King Ida.  I can see Appa making trouble for Glappa if we remain here.  As much as I would call that vermin out, it would not help any of us.”  Beowulf suddenly felt relieved as he began to realize the weighty responsibility that ruling a land would become in the future.  Fighting monsters held far more interest to him than the politics of running a kingdom.

The next morning, while many of the Angles recovered from the long night of feasting and drinking, Beowulf and his thegns left Bamburgh.  In the bags on their mounts, Beowulf, and his men carried their share of the treasure they retrieved from the dreygur mounds and their escape from Rheged.  The night before, as custom dictated, the new king of Bernicia took the spoils during the feasting, only to give much of it back to the Geats to fulfill his father’s agreement.  For his part, Beowulf presented the largest gold trinket to Glappa as a gift to cement their relationship with the new king and his noble kin.  The new king took the golden crest of an eagle with great pride, thanking his friend.

Now, Beowulf and his thegns traveled the road back to battlements of Caer Urfa where they began their adventure in Bernicia.  While the atheling thought of his ship and sailing back to the lands of his king, he noticed Leofe riding next to him.  Surprised at her presence, he looked approvingly at the young woman whose raven hair shined in the early morning sun.

“So, you go with us to return to your village?” Weohstan asked as he rode up next to them.  He tried to appear nonchalant, but the two caught Weohstan’s disapproving tone.

“Actually no,” the young woman told the man before turning to Beowulf.  “I’m coming with you for I swear allegiance as your personal geneat.”  She smiled as she recalled Sigibert’s words.

The men around her howled with laughter while Beowulf suddenly grew red.  Such a thing was unheard of in his culture.  Osberht immediately mocked her words, crying out in a falsetto voice that Leofe considered herself to be a great warrior thegn.  His comments drew another round of ridicule at the idea.  The woman grew angry, lashing out at Osberht.

“I’ll remember this when you lay bleeding, you son of a hog.”

“Enough!” Beowulf spoke up angrily.  “I make the decision about such things.”  He stopped his horse and looked at Leofe for a moment. “You are not a warrior,” he declared.

“Obviously,” she retorted.  “But can you name one of your thegns who stopped Verch’s spells or healed your men’s wounds?”

Her words caused Beowulf to stiffen, suddenly silent.  The other men grew quiet as well.

“Her words are true,” the generally quiet Swidhun interjected suddenly.  Beowulf looked around at his thegns and Weohstan spoke up.

“Mind you, I don’t like this idea.  But an enchantress can be as useful as a scribe to this group.”  While the warrior did not look at Sigibert, all knew who he spoke of.

“Everyone has their use before God, even non-believers,” the young monk smiled as he teased his comrades.  Osberht rolled his eyes while Aeschere groaned shaking his blonde head.

The leader of the thegns glanced around before he spurred his horse forward.  As his comrades fell in behind him, Beowulf thought about the group he built.  By the time they reached the road leading back to his ship, he had decided fate had brought them together from all the corners of the world for some reason.  The gods must have another adventure laid out for him.

“We will give Leofe a chance to prove her worth within our group, just like Sigibert.” Beowulf declared loudly, not bothering to look back.  “Her first task will be to keep up with us on our way back to Caer Urfa.  Don’t be late.”  The Geat smiled to himself as spurred his horse to a gallop.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

The author of the Clovel Sword Series of fantasy books, Gordon Brewer is the pseudonym for a professional geek, history buff, and full-time dad.

As a longtime fan of Beowulf, Gordon decided to enter the domain of new adult fiction with a story around the Geat hero before he became the legend.

Raised on a farm in Kansas, the author spent nearly 5 years in the US Navy traveling to 12 different countries during this time. After his discharge, he received his BS degree with double majors in History and Political Science.

Over the next 20 years, Gordon focused on the business and IT world. His experiences left him with a need to explore wide-ranging interests in multiple genres, each with historical consideration given to the characters and settings.

You can find out more about the author and his works at www.gordonbrewer.com.