VIKING: THE THRONE OF BEOWULF: The Killing Beast Was Released (Viking, Throne, Legend, Thriller, Beowulf, Murder, Gotland Saga) (8 page)

For the killing beast was fast sinking into the mud, low groans and moans escaping his gnarly lips.

“Mo-mo-mamot-”
he was mumbling under his breath and a part of Beowulf – the humane part that loved children and pure women – ached to hear it. In the anguished sound, he could hear Kanin, the brother who had murdered his own because he was lost and terrified.

No, he would not further the beast’s agony. He was a warrior, but he was not cruel. Grendel would sink into the swamp and suffocate to death – what use would it be for him to jump in after and try to kill the beast, already so clearly destined for hell?

With a quiet sigh, he saluted Grendel and turned back in the direction from which he had come, running back to his people and the Danes. His task was accomplished – he had done as Hrothgar and Wealhtheow had asked, protected the Danes and kept Grendel at bay. There was nothing more for him to do here.

So he returned to Daner, victorious.

That very night, when the moon was at her highest and the darkness spread under the canopy of the trees, deep within the woods, something – a shadow, a silhouette, something
more
– moved, unseen, but waiting…

Always waiting.

Daner welcomed him back with open arms. The people fawned over the great warrior that had defeated the terrifying monster that had been haunting their homes and Hrothgar bowed low in his gratitude.

“Thank you,” he murmured, voice shaking and tears in his eyes as he clasped Beowulf’s hands, “Thank you. You have done us a great service and we will never forget it.”

“Thank you, Milord,” Wealhtheow repeated her husband’s words and leaned in to place a soft kiss on Beowulf’s cheek.

“’Twas of no consequence,” the hero muttered, blushing and drew back quickly. Wiglaf watched in quiet amusement as Beowulf staggered over himself. For all that he was a strong and brave warrior, his Lord could really not handle much interaction with people; he could turn into a bashful boy at the drop of a hat and it never failed to amuse the younger man.

“Quiet you,” Beowulf snapped as Wiglaf chortled. Grumpily, he turned away, coming face to face with the arm of Grendel that hung high on a pike in the middle of the hall.

“Tonight,” Hrothgar announced, “Tonight, my lads and lasses, we shall celebrate the death of the monster that has haunted us for so long! Our gratitude, Milord Beowulf, for all that you have done for us – without your aid, we would have been decimated by that killing beast!”

He raised his goblet to the skies and pulled Beowulf forward, “To Beowulf!” he cried.

“To Beowulf,” the rest of the Danes answered, pitching their own goblets up in response and Beowulf bowed low to show his respect.

“Go on then, lad,” Hrothgar slapped him on the back, “Enjoy the revelry! Drink mead, bed a couple of whores, enjoy yourself!”

Wiglaf wriggled his eyebrows at Beowulf who chuckled and nodded.

“As you wish, Milord,” he said graciously. “But we must depart on the morrow… Gotland awaits our return with bated breath and I… well, I have a responsibility to my people.”

Hrothgar’s glee quickly became subdued at the reminder of Beowulf’s impending coronation.

“That’s right, lad,” he murmured, “You are to be the ruler. Accept my condolences on the loss of Headred. He was a good man and a good king.”

“You will be just as good, I think,” he peered at Beowulf over his goblet and the younger man looked away, unable to meet his eyes. It was his biggest fear, Wiglaf knew – that somehow, he would let his people down, that taking the throne would change him in a manner far beyond that which he could understand or reconcile himself with.

Sometimes, Wiglaf thought, his Lord was truly blasted stupid.

Snorting to himself, he sipped his mead from his goblet, letting his beard hide his face as he quietly listened to Hrothgar’s advice.

“As king, lad,” he said softly, “You have but one edict… to serve your people. No matter how much your blood sings for glory, no matter how much you itch to go out into the world and have yet another fearsome adventure… your duty is to those who have placed their undying faith within you, ready to serve you till the day they die. You must do unto them what they have done unto you.”

“I know,” Beowulf whispered, “’Tis no easy burden, the weight of this crown.”

Hrothgar nodded, “Indeed it isn’t. And I… I
failed
, lad, to take my own advice. Had I been a trifle less selfish, had I not wished for that eternal glory… scores of my people wouldn’t have died… they wouldn’t have been slaughtered like pigs in a row.”

He shook Beowulf’s shoulder hard.

“Learn from mistakes, lad,” he said insistently, “Don’t make the same ones. Learn to put your people and their needs over your own personal vendetta and glory. Leave your warrior days behind you – pride will serve you little as a ruler. Learn the humility that Kanin, that
Grendel
lacked... had he been as humble as Abel, no doubt we would not be here today. And-”

“Milord, that’s quite enough,” Wealhtheow cut in softly, reaching out to stroke her husband’s cheek. “What’s done is done… ‘tis all in the past now. Lord Beowulf appreciates your advice, I am certain, but come now, leave all this heavy talk behind and enjoy yourself!”

She leaned in close to kiss the corner of his mouth and Wiglaf watched in amusement as the old bastard pinched her bottom, making her shriek and slap his arm lightly. Hrothgar may have gotten old, but he was as rowdy as the rest of them and it warmed his heart to know that a warrior could turn into a good king such as that and remain happy.

It gave him hope for Beowulf.

The rest of the evening was passed in pleasant celebration, the Geats mixing freely with the Danes. A dozen women offered themselves up to Wiglaf who blinked in surprise – surely, he wasn’t all
that
wonderful?

But he was the warrior who helped defeat Grendel!
one of the doe-eyed beauties protested, pressing her breasts against Wiglaf’s chest, blinking her lashed demurely. The man grinned in response – well, if they wanted him, what was a man to do?

Mead flowed like water and food was aplenty, as was music and dance and revelry. Wiglaf woke the next morning with a pounding behind his head that he had not seen since his boyhood – his naked body was wrapped around three women, all of whom were snoring away to glory, their soft skin glinting in the early morning light.

He untangled himself from them and pulled on his tunic, on his way to find his Lord. Beowulf was in the main hall with the king and queen, breaking bread with them and Wiglaf smiled as the older man motioned for him to join them.

“We shall take your leave today, Milord, Milady,” Beowulf bowed low to them and Hrothgar slapped his back. Wealhtheow smiled sweetly at them, curtsying as only a noble lady could.

“We are forever in your debt, Milord,” she answered and Beowulf kissed her hand, bowing once more to Hrothgar before stepping back. Wiglaf offered them his own bows and then followed his master out of the hall.

An hour later, they were back on the ship, rowing their merry way back to Gotland. It would take them another two days to make the return journey and they would make docks this time on the cliffs of Hoburg instead of Birke – neither Wiglaf nor Beowulf wanted the fanfare they knew would happen if they landed in the middle of the marketplace.

“You did it, Milord,” Wiglaf muttered as Beowulf stood at the prow, staring out at the horizon once again.

“One last adventure, Wiglaf,” he whispered back. “And now…”

“Now,” Wiglaf said gently, “Now we go home.”

Gotland awaited them.

As did Beowulf’s throne.

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