The tall man squatted before the fire, warmed his outstretched hands. "Strange names, these. Zeus? Athena? I know them not. And how might I, Beowulf, provide succor to one such as you, when I seem unable to even help myself. I sit here, lost, knowing neither north nor south, east nor west."

He spoke quietly, calmly. For all the strangeness of these proceedings, his face showed no fear, his eyes reflected only constant vigil.

"I can tell you why I am here. Zeus sent me to find what creature is imprisoned beneath these waters, and what manner of prison it be. It is plain, from your words; and from the prints upon the sh.o.r.e, it is imprisoned no more."

Beowulf responded musingly. "I walked 'neath moonlight across the moors, alone. The sound of wings, and huge white owl flew by. And then the moors were gone, moonlight faded, and I stand upon this forsaken sh.o.r.e of some strange pond. I feel overcoming me a dread that once before I felt, only once before. And that when I fought 'neath murky waters with the mother of Grendl. Is there no end? Have I come here once more to meet a fiend in mortal combat? And each more powerful than that which went before?"

Demo eyes lit up. "It was Athena. She knew of you, though you had never been. And if she has brought you here, it is with good cause. Grendl, and the mother of Grendl. Who, or what, are these of which you speak?"

"Fiends, creatures of night and corruption, that prey on good folk, weak and helpless. Alone I have met them, and that in their own lair, and brought upon them such destruction as they had sown. Monstrous though they were, yet did I feel not dread as I feel in this dark cove. What manner of creature dwells in yonder tarn. In my mind my thoughts are dark, and Wyrd himself peoples them."

"Wyrd? I know of Zeus, of Pluto, and of others of like ilk. I know not Wyrd."

For a moment Beowulf sat silent, eyes on the ground before him.

"Wyrd is he who awaits us. Before all, he was. When all has faded and pa.s.sed on, he will be. Though I fear him, I shall not bow to his power. Strangely, I believe he dwells here. I know not why."

Demo spoke now, glancing at the tarn in apprehension. "Legends have it that, before the t.i.tans ruled, another walked this world, held it in a grasp of iron. Then the t.i.tans beguiled him in some strange manner, and with fetters formed of dreams entangled him. After that, that he might never again escape they locked him away in caverns far beneath Tartarus' depths."

He gazed at Beowulf, back at the tarn.

"It is said he once more walks the earth, and he is not a stranger even to the streets of Olympus. Nameless among us, perhaps Wyrd is the name he bears."

Beowulf took from its sheath his sword. Light reflected from its surface in strange patterns, and the sword's edge seemed alive and moving in the sun's rays.

"I grow old. Yet, it seems, there is one more toil, one battle more. Well, so be it. Every man dies. But it is given to some to live and die for a cause. For a cause that makes their having lived worthwhile. Boy, I will stand beside thee. Against this one none has ever prevailed. How will fare a boy, and an old man?"

He laughed. "Well, well, until I came none had prevailed against Grendl. Nor against Grendl's mother. Be of good cheer.

We shall do what flesh and blood can do. And if that be not enough, then surely we shall die as men, sword in hand!"

The day pa.s.sed swiftly, and shadows were lengthening. Demo built a fire, warmed the food his mother had hastily packed.

Beowulf ate of dried meat he carried.

"Your friend, I think, will return once more this night. Sleep by your fire. I shall rest against the trunk of that oak, and when he comes I will greet him. If your Zeus be powerful, pray unto him, for this night one walks the earth as evil incarnate.

And of us three, I fear none shall view a rising sun."

Beowulf rose, walked to the tall oak, sat at its base. He lay the naked sword across his lap, closed his eyes. Whatever dread he felt, it showed not in his demeanor or action. Though he slept Demo knew no sound or motion would escape his attention.

It was the sleep of one ever alert, ready for the life and death struggle that might lie ahead.

A fog rose from the cold surface of the tarn, and driven by a light breeze, drifted onto the sh.o.r.e. Demo huddled close to the fire, eyes watching anxiously that fog-shrouded tarn, the mist-shrouded trees. His hand clutched his bow, and an arrow lay beside him, ready to be notched.

With sunset the grotto lost all semblance of light. Vague winds rustled tree limbs, calls of night birds sounded, and other sounds. Sounds that brought quick apprehension to his mind. And then they faded - then returned once more.

Suddenly Demo sat up!

He had fallen asleep. A noise, a movement? Something had surely wakened him.

The crescent moon had risen, and in its light the trees and bushes cast soft shadows.

Quickly he glanced toward the huge oak.

Beowulf was gone!

Slowly he turned his eyes toward the tarn.

It was there!

Moving toward him with deliberate stride, dark except where the moonlight reflected from its eyes.

Quickly he notched his arrow, drew the bow.

Nearer it came, and nearer. It seemed nearly upon him when he loosed his arrow. It struck the creature full in the chest, dropped harmlessly to the ground.

"Athena, farewell!"

The creature's claws touched his arm, cutting effortlessly through cloth and through flesh.

"Face me, worm of death. I've traveled through s.p.a.ce and time to challenge you, and you return to your lair only through me."

The creature rose, loosed the boy. It turned to face Beowulf.

Throughout the forest the scream of anger sounded!

It charged the waiting swordsman.

Claws extended, fangs bared, it leaped with fury on its foe.

Quickly they were joined by sound of blows, the whistle of Beowulf's blade in air. With every motion the sword gleamed with a strange and changing light. Now a deep and glowing red. Then a green that seemed to flow its length, changing to sunlight yellow. And all besmeared with the blood of Wyrd!

Blood flowed, both red and green!

Beowulf fell before the onslaught, rose again.

Demo watched, transfixed. Even in the horror of nightmare was not seen such fearsome battle!

Wounded both and bleeding, and still the battle continued!

The moon dropped from view, and the gentle stars looked down on the frenzied struggle.

In despair Demo saw Beowulf fall, his sword dropping from his hand.

Demo lunged forward quickly, was struck down as quickly. He felt a b.u.mp rising on his head where the blow had landed. He crawled forward, fell, lay still. The creature turned once more to Beowulf, its blood-drenched claws extended.

From the tree tops the white object plummeted, opened wide its wings and flew into the face of the fiend. Startled, the monster fell, rolled over and quickly slipped into the frigid waters of the tarn.