Beowulf - Curse of the Dreygurs - Chapter 4
Tales of a Scob
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Chapter 4
Beowulf suppressed an urge to defend Sigibert. Balancing the personalities within his group was more difficult than he ever imagined. Beowulf kept quiet since he knew Ecgberht had little thought for anything beyond the warrior way. Plus, the fighter remained a guiding influence within the group.
Coming 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 of his inferior status, eventually becoming a free man. Such deeds held great respect among the Geats. Beowulf recognized the man’s skill and wise words. Most of the time, Beowulf agreed with the advice given by Ecgberht.
“Have you any ideas about what happened in the village?” asked Beowulf to change the conversation.
“They look like the myths that I’ve heard about in this land,” his thegn replied. “I don’t believe myths.”
“I didn’t believe in monsters,” Beowulf smirked. “Our first adventure against the Piast outside of that village changed my mind. You saw that creature. It nearly wiped out the village. It was our gods who steadied my hand as I drove my spear into its eye. The gods enjoy putting such fiends in the world for us. How else can one become known as a hero?”
“This is true enough,” Ecgberht nodded. “I heard many tales from travelers when I was younger. Some are stories to scare the little ones.”
“Do you know of tales about a monster attacking villages like we just saw? It might be useful to know what we’re up against,” Beowulf reminded him.
“Yes, I remember meeting a scop who the Picts captured,” the warrior said as he nodded in agreement. “He played songs and told great poems about the Picts. One story I recall was about this land where the creatures would come from the mounds to wipe out towns. This man claimed the blue people in the Northlands feared the monsters.”
He went quiet again, leaving the air filled with the sound of the mounts plodding hoof beats and their occasional snorts.
“And?” growled Beowulf.
At times, Ecgberht could infuriate with his sparse words. In no hurry, Ecgberht spit on the ground.
“This storyteller called them dreygur, which means after-walker,” he finally continued.
“It seems these dead creatures attacked the Picts of the Northlands and other tribes in the area. The scop claimed the dwarves controlled the monsters. They brought them out to wreak havoc on the living. Then, there are tales about criminals and evil warriors who come back to hunt down the living. They come in revenge for past wrongs, or a powerful sorcerer controls them.”
Beowulf thought about what his comrade told him. Although he never heard of these things called after-walkers, the fact the Picts were afraid of the dreygurs impressed him. Still, Beowulf knew a lot about the dwarves, called Dweorgars, by his people. The Geats hated the nasty little human-like creatures with enormous heads and brutish features.
As inhabitants of the underworld, Dweorgars enjoyed inflicting misery and violence upon humans. Because of their keen sense of treasure, the dweorgars often broke into the tombs of humans. The little monster feasted upon the corpses after stealing the valuables left for the warrior’s spirits. Dwarves were notorious for craving gold beyond rational thinking. Occasionally, they would create talismans and work for evil humans. Tales throughout the region told of women captured by the creatures if they strayed too near the dwarves’ gateways. Taken in the mountains, the women bore children for the evil creatures.
Beowulf remembered the stories of heroes who used a dwarf to lead them into the afterworld. However, entrance only came by giving a gold token to the little creatures. The problem for such heroes was that a person could never trust the little monsters. Devious underground mazes devised by the creatures turned into deathtraps if one was not careful.
As he listened to Ecgberht, Beowulf tried to remain unconvinced. He assumed the stories he heard as a youth were only half right. 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 Beowulf.
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.
“Dwarves will not overpower villagers barricaded inside a mead hall,” he mulled the idea aloud.
“No, I said they controlled the after-walkers,” the warrior said with a foul grin. “For gold, a dwarf will do the bidding of a human. You know that.”
Beowulf remained quiet as his friend continued.
“The scop sang about these creatures of the night who had the strength to rip apart cattle. These after-walkers devoured the flesh of those they hunted, and they stank of the grave.” Ecgberht continued as he appeared lost in thought for a moment.
“What they could not eat, they carried back to their graves where they would consume the flesh. The undead are likely people who were unworthy of Neorxnawong, such as bandits, cowards, and traitors. Once awakened, they cannot die unless someone destroys the body.”
Adjusting himself in the saddle, he looked back to Beowulf, the old warrior’s eyes revealing his worry despite the scorn he had heaped on the story.
“As I said, it is a fable,” Ecgberht concluded.
Beowulf nodded as he grew less skeptical about the dreygurs. The shining realm of Neorxnawong condemned men unworthy to rot in the lower dominion. They would make perfect monsters. The thought of going against an unknown army of two underworld creatures bothered him more than he would admit.
“We’ll know soon enough when we reach the next village. Perhaps the Angles know your myths,” Beowulf hoped aloud.
Ecgberht grunted his response as the sun fell behind thick clouds and the cold ride continued. Beowulf turned his gaze to the stone path they traveled. The road showed far more construction skill than the Geats used. His people were content to follow the paths developed from years of travel between villages.
As his eyes followed the path, he paid closer attention to the solid wall of stone that ran along the road. Beowulf thought back to stories about the people from the south. Long before his people settled around the North Sea, an emperor came to this land. They built stone roads along with massive temples and forts around the region. A burst of freezing wind gripped at him, causing him to shiver.
The winter breath of wind felt colder with the loss of the sun. Despite being covered by thick layers of overlapping black leather plates on top of the finely woven chain mail armor, Beowulf felt the chill. The wind cut through his woolen garments while the winter north winds swept over the area. Soon, the sandy soil would turn rock hard. The body heat from his mount was the only source of warmth. Beowulf leaned over to warm his hands on the animal’s skin as he hoped they would find the village intact.
It was near middæg, or midday, when Weohstan, Hrethric, and Aeschere finally caught up with the rest of the column. Their search of the fort back at Caer Urfa found only bloodstains and weapons discarded in testament to a fight. Weohstan told Beowulf that his men gathered a few supplies they could find. He just nodded, still wrapped in his thoughts, while the men glanced at each other.
The winding path obscured the whereabouts of the scouts, but Ecgberht heard a shout. He noticed Sigibert, who waved for them from a bend in the road ahead. Beowulf and Weohstan galloped forward, leading the group to the monk.
When they rounded the bend, they saw the town of Segedunum. Moving to the outskirts of a village, they smelled burned wood as a smoky haze covered the route where the charred remains of huts sat on either side of the road. Soon, they came upon a man coming toward them. He held a pole that bore the green flag of Ida’s tribe. Beowulf instantly galloped with his men to the figure near the middle of the village. When they reached the flag bearer, the man’s ripped and bloodstained clothes revealed recent fighting. His youthful face showed his weariness.
“We see you bear the colors of King Ida. I am Beowulf of the Geats,” he told the guard. “Give me news about my uncle. You look in a terrible state.”
“My lord is in the fort above,” the warrior reported, disregarding the comment about his clothes.
He pointed to the road leading past the village.
“King Ida awaits your arrival.”
“I welcome you to ride with us back to the fort,” Beowulf replied.
“No, my lord, I will remain here until nightfall.” The guard said, then hesitated.
His eyes revealed his concern at staying, but Beowulf did not bother to ask about it. Every warrior had his duties to perform. He would learn more when they reached King Ida. Beowulf nodded to the guard, kicking his heels into the flanks of his mount as he galloped on through the small town.
They followed the scenes of fighting as they headed to the fort. The hut showed doors ripped from their hinges, and large gashes cut through the wood and lathe walls. The thegns guessed it was the work of hatchets and axes. As they passed one small building with its thatched roof caved in, their immediate impression was a giant hand pushed the roof down between the four walls.
Soon, they came to an ancient stone bridge which allowed them across the Tynemouth River. As they followed the trail up to a low-slung fort sitting on an embankment next to the river. They discovered their first dead Angle warrior. The body was missing its head and limbs. The leather armor, similar to the armor worn by the Geats, did little to protect the dead man. A few paces away, they came upon another warrior’s savaged remains strewn across the trail.
The team moved past the ghastly corpses while they looked at the damage inflicted on the men. Their horses snorted, with growing fear in the blood and death that filled the air. The fighters observed the aftermath of a battlefield which was unlike anything they ever experienced.
“By the gods, what is that?” Aeschere asked while pointing to the side of the road.
It was a headless corpse lying in the green grass. However, what caught their attention was the odd-looking leather and metal armor covering the body. The foul sulfur stench of death coming from the body sent the horses backing away in a near panic. Jumping down from his mount, Beowulf handed his reins to one of his men, and Aeschere and Ecgberht quickly joined him. The dead thing at their feet changed their ideas about the events happening in the lands of Bernicia.
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