VIKING: THE THRONE OF BEOWULF: The Killing Beast Was Released (Viking, Throne, Legend, Thriller, Beowulf, Murder, Gotland Saga) Read Online Free Page B
spy become common knowledge, his very life would be in danger,” Wiglaf muttered in understanding, “Onela would have struck him down on the spot.”
“Indeed,” Beowulf nodded at his second in command and Eadgils sighed.
“I understand,” he said heavily. For a moment, silence reigned and then Eadgils looked up, meeting Beowulf’s eyes squarely.
“So what do you propose to do now?” he asked.
The ship rocked again, even as the entire cabin was lit up in a flash of lightning. Beowulf looked every inch the predator he was in that single flash – the mad gleam in his eye, the white grin of his teeth and the curve of his smirk. It made Wiglaf wonder what his Lord had in mind this time.
“I shall ask my man on the inside to set a course to Faro. The island is close enough that they will be able to make it with their broken ship; however, we will race across before they do and set up an ambush for them. The moment they land on the shores, we capture them and have Onela duel us, face to face like a man instead of the coward he is.”
“But will they not see us as we race past them?” Eadgils frowned. “Evidently, they caught sight of us the first time. What’s to say they won’t a second time too? Plus, the weather is clearing – the storm has passed. Clear skies and calm waters are over the horizon, are they not?”
“A valid question,” Beowulf nodded, “One easily answered. Onela’s ship is broken enough that he will take at least a week to get to Faro.”
He pointed at the scroll in front of them, tracing a path down the side of the map with his index finger.
“If we take this strait,” he pointed, “We will be circling back the long way, passing through the Lake of Vänern. Our crew and ship are strong enough that we will be able to make the trip. Onela will not be able to see us and we will entrap the Svears on Faro.”
“’Tis a good plan,” Olaf grunted and Wiglaf nodded in acquiescence.
“Except that we are running short on supplies,” Eadgils pointed out. “The storms has seen to that; we have little food and water, just enough to get us through for the next week. Will the men be up to the task of fighting on empty stomachs?”
“We can fish if we absolutely must,” Hondshew grunted, “And our men are not such dastard cowards that they would shy away from a little rationing.”
“My apologies,” Eadgils muttered, “I meant no insult.”
Beowulf nodded, “’Tis of no consequence,” he answered, “You make a valid point… I am concerned as well, but this is the best opportunity we have of defeating that blasted usurper once and for all.”
Eadgils’s face tightened, no doubt remembering the manner in which his beloved brother had been slaughtered. With a quick nod, he signaled his acceptance and then sat back down on his seat, clutching at his head with his hands.
“Vengeance,” he murmured, “Vengeance, uncle, for my father, my brother and the kindly lord whose lives you stole…”
He looked up at Beowulf who met his gaze steadily.
“Vengeance will be mine,” he declared, and Beowulf nodded.
“Indeed, Milord,” he muttered, “Indeed.”
Outside, the storm continued to rage on, coming to a close.
- -*
Beowulf’s plan had merit and Wiglaf had to admit, everything happened exactly as his Lord had said it would. It took them six days to get to Faro, with the men pushing hard against the winds and the current. The storm had passed after the first day, but the relative calm they settled into after did little to soothe their nerves. Tempers ran high, what with the lack of fresh drinking water and food.
Still, they managed, under Beowulf’s strict eye, and here they were now, standing on the shores of Faro, the island as familiar to Wiglaf as Gotland itself was. It was but a few hundred leagues away from their home and both Wiglaf and Beowulf had spent much of their time on these shores in their boyhood, training under Beowulf’s strict grandfather.
They
“Indeed,” Beowulf nodded at his second in command and Eadgils sighed.
“I understand,” he said heavily. For a moment, silence reigned and then Eadgils looked up, meeting Beowulf’s eyes squarely.
“So what do you propose to do now?” he asked.
The ship rocked again, even as the entire cabin was lit up in a flash of lightning. Beowulf looked every inch the predator he was in that single flash – the mad gleam in his eye, the white grin of his teeth and the curve of his smirk. It made Wiglaf wonder what his Lord had in mind this time.
“I shall ask my man on the inside to set a course to Faro. The island is close enough that they will be able to make it with their broken ship; however, we will race across before they do and set up an ambush for them. The moment they land on the shores, we capture them and have Onela duel us, face to face like a man instead of the coward he is.”
“But will they not see us as we race past them?” Eadgils frowned. “Evidently, they caught sight of us the first time. What’s to say they won’t a second time too? Plus, the weather is clearing – the storm has passed. Clear skies and calm waters are over the horizon, are they not?”
“A valid question,” Beowulf nodded, “One easily answered. Onela’s ship is broken enough that he will take at least a week to get to Faro.”
He pointed at the scroll in front of them, tracing a path down the side of the map with his index finger.
“If we take this strait,” he pointed, “We will be circling back the long way, passing through the Lake of Vänern. Our crew and ship are strong enough that we will be able to make the trip. Onela will not be able to see us and we will entrap the Svears on Faro.”
“’Tis a good plan,” Olaf grunted and Wiglaf nodded in acquiescence.
“Except that we are running short on supplies,” Eadgils pointed out. “The storms has seen to that; we have little food and water, just enough to get us through for the next week. Will the men be up to the task of fighting on empty stomachs?”
“We can fish if we absolutely must,” Hondshew grunted, “And our men are not such dastard cowards that they would shy away from a little rationing.”
“My apologies,” Eadgils muttered, “I meant no insult.”
Beowulf nodded, “’Tis of no consequence,” he answered, “You make a valid point… I am concerned as well, but this is the best opportunity we have of defeating that blasted usurper once and for all.”
Eadgils’s face tightened, no doubt remembering the manner in which his beloved brother had been slaughtered. With a quick nod, he signaled his acceptance and then sat back down on his seat, clutching at his head with his hands.
“Vengeance,” he murmured, “Vengeance, uncle, for my father, my brother and the kindly lord whose lives you stole…”
He looked up at Beowulf who met his gaze steadily.
“Vengeance will be mine,” he declared, and Beowulf nodded.
“Indeed, Milord,” he muttered, “Indeed.”
Outside, the storm continued to rage on, coming to a close.
- -*
Beowulf’s plan had merit and Wiglaf had to admit, everything happened exactly as his Lord had said it would. It took them six days to get to Faro, with the men pushing hard against the winds and the current. The storm had passed after the first day, but the relative calm they settled into after did little to soothe their nerves. Tempers ran high, what with the lack of fresh drinking water and food.
Still, they managed, under Beowulf’s strict eye, and here they were now, standing on the shores of Faro, the island as familiar to Wiglaf as Gotland itself was. It was but a few hundred leagues away from their home and both Wiglaf and Beowulf had spent much of their time on these shores in their boyhood, training under Beowulf’s strict grandfather.
They
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