Rebirth and Second Chances

Chapter 329: Beowulf

Ogedei waited almost a week before he began heading north. My spies reported he needed the time to resupply and allow his men and horses to rest. What little I could assess of his personality from the tidbits of information I received seemed to suggest a logical, practical leader.

He wasn't the type of commander to yell and berate his people. He dealt with them respectfully and in such a manner that no one was afraid to approach him when there was a problem. That meant issues were brought to his attention before they became more extensive.

One of those issues he had to deal with soon after his arrival was the need for feed for the horses the Mongols used. The camp had resources large enough for the standing army, but Ogedei had arrived with tens of thousands more warriors.

Although the Mongol horses had been bred not to need to eat every day, they still needed to be fed. On the steppes, this was quickly done. The horses were used to foraging on their own and were left to graze. Their hardiness made them a practical solution for war as they cost almost nothing to maintain. They were content to feed each time they rested.

The problem now was that the number of horses had swollen beyond expectations. They had been too tightly corralled, and the grasses they were free to consume were not sufficient to feed double the number of animals planned for. The forage they could access had become over-grazed. Ogedei simply had the horses moved to a new area, one rich enough in grasses to serve for weeks or months.

It did require assigning a detachment of Mongols to patrol and guard the horses, but that was quickly done. Ogedei wasn't satisfied with solving the current crisis; he demanded and created a rotation for herding the horses into different fields. This method of moving the animals would cycle the horses to other areas at specific intervals before forage was destroyed.

The horses were highly efficient at finding pasturage. They could even use their hoofs to break through snow to get to the grasses hidden underneath.

Ogedei didn't have to worry about his soldiers' needs. The issues that plagued most large armies'- sanitation, burnout, illness existed, but no one was foolish enough to mention them. The Mongols were not the barbarians most considered them.

Still, they were a well-regimented and dedicated people that had complete trust and loyalty in the Great Khan and those appointed to lead by him. It was the only reason any discipline existed.

I had my own preparations to make the week Ogedei took to regroup. And I used that time before he set out to gather Sidhe troops to invade and destroy the camp once he left.

I recruited Korrigan, Goblins, and Slaugh; they had the numbers needed to destroy the warriors who would be left behind. I had thought about using illusion to make them appear as Vikings before having them massacre the camp but decided against it.

There was an easier way since I had no intention of leaving even a single survivor alive.

It would be less complicated to have the Sidhe kill everyone and burn the camp to the ground. At the same time, I would have Balfour use illusion to take the shape and form of one of the Mongols, one of the men who served as a messenger to ride and report the camp's sacking and place blame with the Vikings.

The Mongols did have a written language, but only the highly ranked were taught, so a messenger, even an unknown messenger bringing news, would be accepted. As long as Balfour kept his illusion in place and appeared to be riding one of the horses the Mongols had bred, he would be fine.

Unless Ogedei was the kind of leader, who killed messengers bearing bad news. I didn't think he was, not from the short observation and intelligence I had gathered. Still, I might be wrong, and Balfour was instructed to use glamour and fake a death if necessary.

I used a few days while waiting for Ogedei to move out to have the Slaugh raid the Viking's land, killing warriors that traveled alone or in small groups and collecting their bodies, gear, and horses. I would leave the corpses of these warriors and their mounts as evidence of the Viking's involvement.

"Teigh," Balfour said, gaining my attention. I was in the process of storing the latest Viking bodies and horses in my [Ring of Hidden Depths]. It wouldn't do to have the bodies more decomposed than they should be. "Beowulf wishes to meet with you."

"Send a message saying I will arrive in a few moments," I replied, agreeing to the meeting right away.

The connection of Underhill with the Sithern Portals made the trip from here to there a matter of minutes. It was possible that Beowulf might attack when I arrived, but strategically, there was no reason to. Beowulf may be Beastkin, but that didn't mean he lacked intelligence. I would be safe, at least until Ogedei and his army had been diverted.

The transition between portals was seamless. A step between here and there, a search to make sure I was going to the Underhill in Kievan Rus, and I arrived. Findabair, one of the more powerful Hags, had been installed as Lord of this Underhill.

She had a somewhat convoluted connection to the Sea Hag. She wasn't as powerful, very few creatures or individuals were, but she wasn't as introverted as the Sea Hag. She was willing to work with others.

She had volunteered to lead this Underhill. There was something about the Beastkin that resonated with her. Maybe because of her own bestial nature. Perhaps because she liked the taste of Beastkin.

She was not waiting for me when I came through the portal; instead, she had a sprite waiting. There was no real need for me to find an exit. Underhill did not work like that. It was a place betwixt and between, and entering and exiting was simply a matter of intent.

And blood.

A small cut to release a drop of blood opened the barrier between Underhill and the real world. A rift formed, large enough for me to step through but protected. The opening keyed to my energy signature. No one else could enter or exit using the tear in space, not without my permission.

I would need to extend my unique auric signature to surround anyone else I wanted to travel Underhill. It was how Lleu Llaw Gryffes had keyed the multiple Underhill on the Isle of Wight to exclude those Sidhe he found expendable.

Without access to the blood-key he had created and used to seal the twelve Underhill locations, no one could pierce the barrier that protected the residents that had been hidden within. The [Geas] he used to cement his command was woven into the barrier's defenses, a drop of his blood the means to tie and bind the people and places to his will.

The Beowulf that waited to greet me was nothing like I expected. Instead of the Hero that stood ready to defeat Grendel, it seemed in this world Beowulf had become Grendel.

He was vaguely human in shape but much bigger, even larger than Sidhe Redcaps. He abhorred clothing, except for a loincloth made from the skin of some monster. His arms were ringed with clawed scales and spurs, spikes, and welts as resilient and tough as the hardest steel. His hands were fashioned into claws, the nails on each forming talons caked with blood.

His eyes glowed with a baleful light; projecting madness barely contained. He may have once been a man, but the changes he accepted by becoming Beastkin had left him monstrous. He moved in, lurching starts and stops, with none of the grace that defined the Sidhe.

If he had been born Sidhe, he would have been considered Unseelie, but his form and function contained none of the monstrous beauty that even the most horrific caricature of Sidhe enjoyed. There was nothing redeeming in his features. The only redemptive quality was his determination to withstand the frenzy of bloodlust.

I could tell at a glance that Grendel was a berserker and shared some commonalities with Werewolves. I wasn't sure if he was tied to the moon's phases as those monsters were, but it was indisputable that the spilling of blood would destroy the tenuous control he had over his primal rage and instincts.

Grendel was a monster. One with the intellect of Man. And the lost soul of the damned..

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