Grendel's Curse
A sword of legend in the hands of an extremist…Skalunda Barrow, Sweden, has long been rumored to be the final resting place of the legendary Nordic hero Beowulf. And there's something of Beowulf's that charismatic and zealous right-wing politician Karl Thorssen wants very badly. Intent on getting his hands on the mythical sword Nægling, Sweden's golden-boy politico puts together a team to excavate the barrow. A team that American archaeologist Annja Creed manages to finagle her way onto. She wouldn't miss this possible discovery for anything.With Nægling at his side, Thorssen could be invincible…a Nordic King Arthur. What his followers don't know–and Annja is beginning to suspect–is just how far Thorssen will go to achieve his rabid amibitions. When Thorssen marks Annja for death, she quickly realizes that this is much more than a political game. And the only way to survive is to match Thorssen's sword with her own.
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A sword of legend in the hands of an extremistâ¦
Skalunda Barrow, Sweden, has long been rumored to be the final resting place of the legendary Nordic hero Beowulf. And thereâs something of Beowulfâs that charismatic and zealous right-wing politician Karl Thorssen wants very badly. Intent on getting his hands on the mythical sword Nægling, Swedenâs golden-boy politico puts together a team to excavate the barrow. A team that American archaeologist Annja Creed manages to finagle her way onto. She wouldnât miss this possible discovery for anything.
With Nægling at his side, Thorssen could be invincibleâ¦a Nordic King Arthur. What his followers donât knowâand Annja is beginning to suspectâis just how far Thorssen will go to achieve his rabid amibitions. When Thorssen marks Annja for death, she quickly realizes that this is much more than a political game. And the only way to survive is to match Thorssenâs sword with her own.
Could it really be Nægling?
Thorssen reached out to touch the fabled blade, closing his eyes to truly experience the feel of the silver sword against his skin.
It felt alive to his touch.
âDoes Creed know what was found?â Thorssen licked his lips. He knew what he was looking at. Heâd grown up with the legend of Beowulfâs broken swordâthe great blade that had slain the dragon but broken in two because of the sheer force that the warrior had used to deliver the fatal blow.
âImpossible to say.â
Thorssen liked that about Tostig. He never guessed, he never speculated, he just assessed a situation quickly, calmly, and responded to the information he had at his fingertips.
âThen we assume that she does.â Thorssen picked a shard of debris from the edge of the blade with a carefully manicured fingernail. The corrosion flaked away to reveal the still-shining metal beneath.
It wasnât as though they could just ask Creed if she knew what had been unearthed. It was a case of damned if they did, damned if they didnât.
âThere is only one way we can be sure she wonât cause trouble,â Tostig said. He never threatened, he simply floated the idea, knowing Thorssen spoke the same language: the language of death.
âTake care of her.â
Grendelâs Curse
Alex Archer
Contents
Prologue
Fiery brands had been driven into the earth to create a path of light from the settlement on the hill to the barrow that would serve as his final resting place.
Tonight there was one more legend to dine with the dead heroes in Valhalla.
Tomorrow there would be one less hero to stand against the creatures of the dark.
Every single one of them, every man with his head bowed low, every woman with her tearstained cheeks, every child wondering how the world could still go on without him, would have killed for the honor of carrying his bier down the path of light.
The clan kings led the procession, followed by his thanes and the men of the Wulfings. He had been one of them and yet he had been more than all of them put together. Skin may wrinkle and bones crumble, but the tales wrapped around the old man were an armor death could never pierce. The stories of his life and the great battles that finally brought peace to the land would live on in the hearts and minds of all of them.
And as the day came and the flames from the path of light turned to ash, the winds would scatter his stories across the world and thus his legend would spread. The path of light was a long and winding walk, but those who walked it now would have traveled to the ends of the earth if he needed them there, such was their love for the man.
The sky glowed red in the east, heralding the sunrise.
Now was the time to say goodbye to their king as he began his final journeyâhis greatest quest of allâfrom this world to the next.
His mortal remains would be kept safe, held inside the burial chamber they had constructed deep inside the great barrow that had been built to honor him. He would remain there until the end of time, watching over them, still clad in his armor, his twin swords that had been so much a part of his life at his side. They would whisper, of course, that he would rise again at the time of their greatest need. There was comfort in such thoughts. The mourners had shifted earth to build the great mound; they had carried stone to form to chamber. A few had even stripped the carcass of the great beast he had slain and who in turn had slain him, and used her scales to line the chamber where his body would lie in wait for Ragnarök. Once it was sealed and the earth spilled down over its entrance, no living soul would set foot inside the barrow again.
