Disclaimers & Warnings: See Part 1

After a night of feasting, and a few candlemarks' rest, Beowulf's company set off in the morning for the port. There they met the remainder of his men, and they looked over a wagon loaded with weapons and armor. There were bows and quivers of arrows, spears, axes, swords and daggers, shields, helmets, mail hauberks, greaves and bracers, breastplates and gauntlets. With this cargo, Beowulf would be able to equip fifty warriors. Gabrielle wondered if there would be room aboard the ship for her horse, borrowed from her Amazon sisters so far away.

By early afternoon, with the ship loaded and the crew settled in shifts at the oars, they heaved off from the dock and rowed out, seeking the winds of the North Sea. It was a gray and overcast day. An icy chop buffeted the small ship, and as the wind increased, the sails were set and the creaking of the oars fell silent. Soon foam ran alongside the craft as its carved dragon prow cut the waves and its speed increased. In the stern, Gabrielle stood calming her horse. She was more than thankful that, with the cessation of rowing, the ear rending attempts at singing by the oarsmen had ended. The drumbeats of a Roman slave galley would almost have been preferable.

"They were the worst singers I've ever heard, Xena," the blond whispered, looking around, but there was no answer.

For almost two days, the ship made its heading north by east, until finally, in the evening of the second day, the rugged coastline of Norway came into view. As darkness fell, the crew pulled at their oars, driving their craft up a fjord to their homeport. Every man was thinking of a hot meal, a warm bed, and perhaps warmer company at the journey's end. They had successfully completed a mission they had expected to die at, and none of them would choose to spend another cold night on the water with home so close at hand. At this time in the evening, the swell of the tide came to their aid. Oars pulled by the promise of home sped the small ship on its way, and a league up the fjord they hove to against a creaking dock at the village of Kaupang.

Lookouts had spied their ship, and now the families of Beowulf's warriors clustered around, to welcome the voyagers home. Most were happy, but Gabrielle saw the shock and sadness on the faces of people whose warriors had lost their lives fighting in Denmark. There would be tidings to be told, but that responsibility fell to Beowulf as their chieftain. For Gabrielle, there was little to do but smile grimly in response to the questioning glances she was receiving. She held the reins of her mount and tried to stay out of the way of the men unloading the cargo of weapons they had brought back.

Around them, the families of the surviving warriors ushered their kinsmen home. Beowulf gestured for Gabrielle to accompany him to the village tavern, where he would relate the news of their trip to the families of the departed. Gabrielle was a little surprised that no one awaited Beowulf himself. Neither family or beloved, nor children or parents came to take his hand. I guess we're both alone tonight, she thought. She followed the somber group clustered around him as they made their way to a nondescript building, lit by a few lamps. The group went inside and for a moment she was left alone.

"Welcome back, Gabrielle," a soft loving voice whispered to her. It could have been the wind, but she knew different.

"Thank you, Brunnhilda," she answered to the night. After entrusting her horse to a stable hand, she followed the others inside.

Within the building was a single large room, where a fire burned brightly in a massive stone hearth. A dozen tables with benches were spaced evenly around the interior, except for a cleared area, directly before the fire on the right. Opposite the hearth, along the left wall, a bar ran the length of the room, behind which, tapped kegs were visible. At the far end of the room, an open doorway behind the bar led to a well lit kitchen, while another next to it led up a flight of stairs. A closed third doorway, on the far right, appeared to be a back entrance. Gabrielle guessed that it led to the outhouse. Though it was not late, only a handful of people sat at the bar, or clustered around a couple of the tables. Their heads turned in unison when Beowulf and his group walked in. They were still looking when Gabrielle joined them.

One of the men at the bar rose from his stool and approached them. His head of shaggy blonde hair was as tangled, and his clothing as unkempt, as she remembered. He smiled his welcome, and made his way straight to Beowulf, where he clasped his arm in greeting and welcome. Other than Beowulf, his was the only familiar face Gabrielle had seen in the Norselands.

"Welcome back, my friend. How did the voyage go?" Wicglaf asked Beowulf directly.

"I swear, never has so miserable a venture brought such welcome results," Beowulf declared, before sadly adding, "though the gains were not without cost."

Wicglaf was eyeing Gabrielle with sidelong glances. It was obvious that he thought her familiar, but it was just as obvious that he couldn't place her. Both Beowulf and Gabrielle noticed his confusion.

"Wicglaf, you remember Gabrielle? Xena's soulmate? From the Ring of Fire?" Beowulf asked, taking pity on his friend's discomfort. The last time Wicglaf had seen Gabrielle, she'd had long hair, and had been dressed in her skimpy traveling outfit. Now her hair was much shorter, and she was bundled in furs to fight off the winter chill. "Never mind, it's a long story and I'll tell you later. Now where's Ubchulk?"

"Ho, Ubchulk!" Beowulf called out. "Barkeep!"

The tavern keeper had appeared out of the kitchen while they had been talking, and had quietly come to stand unnoticed behind them. He was a heavyset man, with merry twinkling eyes and a full snowy beard. Ubchulk reminded Gabrielle very strongly of Senticles.

"Beowulf, you don't have to yell!" He bellowed, before chuckling when he saw the warrior jerk, and offering his arm in greeting. "I'll hear your news soon enough, so for now, what will you have?"

"What did you say?" Beowulf asked, wriggling a finger in his ear and feigning deafness. It appeared to be an oft-enacted scene, for soon the Norseman smiled and grasped the barkeep's arm, returning his greeting. "Ale for me, and whatever Gabrielle here wants, perhaps some stew?" He asked her with a wink.

Gabrielle was never one to turn down a meal, and after Beowulf got his ale, she asked what Ubchulk's kitchen could offer. Shortly later, she found herself devouring a pastry filled with gravy, chicken, and vegetables; what the cook had called a potpie. Although the portion was sized for the larger Norsemen, she had no trouble finishing it. She sat trading comments with Wicglaf, and listening to Beowulf telling the families of the dead warriors of their heroism. In fact, once he'd started telling of the voyage, everyone in the tavern, including Ubchulk and the remaining tavern staff, had gathered at the surrounding tables to hear the news. As the story progressed, the listeners' eyes more and more often strayed her way. By morning, most of Kaupang's inhabitants would know the story by heart.

After the people had left, Gabrielle, Beowulf, and Wicglaf spoke of their plans for the near future. They drank ale and cider, talking softly, long into the night.

"We have another thirty-odd warriors," Wicglaf reported, "driven from their homes. They're ragged men, but yearning to fight."

"Then it's a good thing we got the arms we sought in Denmark." Beowulf said. After a moment's thought, he continued. "Have them muster at the second candlemark after dawn. I'll meet them and we'll make sure they're equipped for battle."

"Where is the fighting, Wicglaf?" Gabrielle asked.

"There've been a lot of battles, and many dead," he reported, with a touch of anger, "but Odin's main army has moved south, from the area near Asgard, headed for the Rhein. I think he means to cut the country in half and then sweep away all here who oppose him to the south."

"Actually, Wicglaf, Gabrielle has foreseen his strategy." Beowulf told him. "He is moving against the Rhein to secure his approach for an attack against the Rhein Maidens sanctuary. He lusts after the Rheingold."

"We have to stop him," Gabrielle told them gravely, "I don't believe he'll stay in the Norselands. Once he has the Rheingold, he'll move to conquer Germania and perhaps even contest with the Romans. A ring forged from the Rheingold will corrupt him with dreams of ruling the known world, and he'll fear no other gods."

Wicglaf gulped. "The last battle was only four days' march from here, and that was two days ago. They numbered over three hundred and fifty, and it was a slaughter. The army could be two days' march from the Rhein by now. If that was their goal, then only the village of Hentsridge stands in their way."

"What's Hentsridge like?" Gabrielle asked, hoping for a way of delaying Odin's army.

"The village of Hentsridge stands barely one and a half days march away above the Rhein, and by land it can only be reached by a pass through steep uplands," Wicglaf said, "a defense would be possible there, even with a smaller force."

Gabrielle knew this was true. Xena had several times held whole armies at bay where they were forced to cross a bridge or narrow path. Where are you now, she wondered.

"Then tomorrow after the men are ready, we'll march to Hentsridge and hope to intercept Odin's army," Beowulf decided, "or failing that we'll make for the Rhein Maidens' sanctuary to mount a defense. The only problem is, its location is a secret."

"I know where it is, Beowulf," Gabrielle volunteered, "I went there once with Xena, when she returned the Rheingold."

"Ahhhh, that must have been after you rode away with Xena and Grinhilda," Beowulf realized. "Say nothing of this to anyone else, Gabrielle."

"So tomorrow we march to battle," Wicglaf confirmed, his desire to fight apparent.

"Also, I think we may be wise to send to Hrothgar for aid." Gabrielle told them. "It will be almost a week before they can arrive, maybe longer before they meet us in battle."

"You're right," Beowulf agreed, "in the morning I'll send messengers to Hrothgar, telling him how our plight stands."

Having made their plans, the meeting broke up soon after. That night Gabrielle stayed as a guest in Ubchulk's inn. In spite of everything, a full stomach and the room's warmth soon lulled her into a deep and peaceful sleep. Beowulf had another room that served as his home and headquarters when he was in Kaupang. For some time he paced the creaking floor, thinking about the battle to come. He was confident that his men could hold the pass to Hentsridge for days, but he wasn't looking forward to fighting a god, ring or no ring. Like Hrothgar, Odin had reason to hold a past grudge against him, for he had aided the Warrior Princess more than once when she'd opposed the god. He worried about Gabrielle too, but then chided himself. Don't be a fool Beowulf, if she falls in battle, it shall be long after you are slain. He had to grin at that, for he wasn't a man of false pride. Gabrielle, like Xena before her, was a great warrior. But even so, he thought, I could watch her back in battle.

Ubchulk closed the kitchen and common room, drawing ale to fill a pair of mugs. He settled himself onto a bench next to his cousin, a rune master of some renown. He asked for a casting of the runes of the stranger's name, and by the proximity of the marked pebbles, interpret perhaps somewhat of her future. The runes fell on the tabletop and Ubchulk's cousin gave his reading. The foreign woman would accomplish great things in the north, but her destiny lay far away. The tavern keep thanked his kinsman, but determined to keep his counsel within his heart. Beowulf was his friend, and in the future years, no word of what he'd learned passed his lips.

The morning came, and the muster of the troops was arranged. Thirty-seven dirty angry men stood in a row, glaring at Beowulf, and glancing at Gabrielle. They pledged their swords and honor to the Norseman, to fight with him against those who had driven them from their homes. Then Wicglaf took over the dispensing of the weapons and the armor.

In Kaupang, Beowulf held the allegiance of another thirty-four warriors, among them, the ones who had returned the day before with him from Denmark. Of these he chose three, to sail with the tide, leaving the actual handling of the ship to fishermen of the village. His three warriors would travel back to the court of King Hrothgar, beseeching him for aid in their war against Odin's army. They had been directed to return by way of a different fjord, that would bring them to the village of Hentsridge, by water. There they would rejoin Beowulf's forces, to travel overland with Gabrielle's directions, to the defense of the Rhein Maiden's sanctuary. It seemed like a good plan.

Two candlemarks before noon, the small ship shoved off from the dock, and the oarsmen pulled the craft into the fjord. Their rhythmic strokes faded in the distance, as the current drew the men downstream on their mission, out towards the North Sea. Beowulf and Gabrielle turned away from the docks. Soon they would march into the steepening uplands. Including themselves, their force numbered seventy-one warriors. They hoped to defeat an army of five times their number, led by a god.

It's a fool's quest, but for the best of reasons, Beowulf thought, though we'll be lucky to survive to see Hrothgar's men.

Well, I've seen worse odds, Gabrielle mused, haven't I Xena? Xena? Where are you, my love? I haven't seen you in a week. You've never been away so long. I'm worried and I miss you. Please be ok.

"Ubchulk, take good care of my horse," Gabrielle said to the tavern keeper, "she's a good beast from the southern Amazons in Macedonia, and she's a long way from home."

"And she'll be fat and happily awaiting you," he promised her, "don't worry, Gabrielle, animals like me." He winked, and Gabrielle noted the apple slice he'd palmed behind his back as her horse discreetly lipped it from his fingers. She smiled back at him, having accepted him for the friendly soul he was. I just hope he doesn't spoil her to uselessness, she thought.

If there was any benefit to having a smaller force than their enemies, it was that they could travel faster. Beowulf set a quick pace, and the men's thirst for vengeance drove them to cover the distance like racehorses chomping at their bits. To Gabrielle, the march in the cold was tiresome, but she'd walked many paths and trails through many highlands, and so she kept pace with the column of warriors. By nightfall of the first day's march, they had covered two thirds of the distance, and Beowulf was pleased with their progress.

"At this pace we'll see Hentsridge a candlemark before noon tomorrow," he told her, "rather than in the late afternoon as I'd thought. It could make all the difference."

"I agree. The last thing we want to do is approach a high ground held against us by a superior force." She replied. "And I have an idea."

"What's that?"

"That I take a couple warriors and scout ahead on the trail," she suggested, "it could save us from meeting the enemy, or perhaps give us an idea of their position if they're close. The Greek army, the Romans, and the Amazons always used advance scouts when travelling. In enemy territory, Xena often sent men a full day ahead of her main forces."

Beowulf thought about it for a moment. He had to admit it was a good idea. His own experience came from commanding small parties of warriors. He also had to admit that he'd never commanded an army, or any group as organized as the Amazons, the Romans, or the Greeks. In spite of his misgivings, he could find no good reason to disagree.

"Your suggestion makes good sense, Gabrielle. Take whoever you need, and please be careful." Beowulf said, looking at her with concern.

He agreed more easily than Xena ever would have, Gabrielle realized, and he didn't try to hide his lack of experience behind some false pride. He takes me seriously.

"I need two men who can be silent…maybe men who are known as hunters or trackers."

"Guthlaf, Marborg…over here." He called two men from their campfire, gesturing for them to join him. They approached, still shoveling rations into heir mouths and somehow grumbling at the same time. When they seated themselves, he continued.

"Guthlaf is the best hunter in Kaupang," Beowulf claimed, indicating a robust man with a graying beard, of medium stature, "and Marborg is his tracker. They often hunt together." He told Gabrielle, gesturing to the men in turn. Marborg appeared younger, slightly taller, slimmer, and had a harder glint in his eyes. "Gabrielle needs your help to scout the trail ahead of us, and perhaps spy the enemy's position. I want the two of you to go with her as far as she feels necessary, and then return with your news."

"Sounds ok to me," Guthlaf said, chuckling after spitting out a hunk of gristle and watching with approval as it bounced off the log Marborg was sitting on, "at least we'll have the chance to strike the first blows against them."

"It's ok with me too," Marborg agreed, smiling. "Since I'm the tracker, I guess I'm in charge, right?"

Beowulf shook his head, and Gabrielle stifled a smile. It really wasn't funny.

"You are both to follow Gabrielle's orders," Beowulf sternly told them. "You are going for the sake of spying the conditions of the trail, not to attack the enemy, if you even find them. The most important thing is that you come back to tell what you saw."

The two men stared at Beowulf in disbelief, then looked at each other, before finally staring at Gabrielle. Guthlaf puffed up his cold reddened cheeks and spat out another lump of gristle. Gabrielle's reflex movement as she flung the chakram was too fast for them to react to. The circular blade caught the gristle in midair and pinned it to the log. The weapon stuck, quivering, a foot from Marborg's knee.

"We are a scouting party, not a raiding party," she quietly told them, "and we cannot afford to reveal ourselves by fighting. We need to move unseen and return undiscovered." She had risen and yanked the chakram from the wood, shaking off the gristle with a look of disgust. "Beowulf believes you two are the best for this mission. I am the best to command it. Now let's go."

Marborg gulped after looking down at the deep cut in the log. Guthlaf tilted back his head and gave a hearty laugh. As Gabrielle moved off towards the trail, they rose and followed her, falling into the stealthy silence of hunters.

Beneath the trees it was a dark night on the trail. The moon was in her first quarter, and her scant cold light barely penetrated the branches. Three figures moved with speed and stealth, passing among the shadows as though they were but spirits. Gabrielle set a brisk pace, but with caution. The numbers of their enemies would reveal themselves, even if they had set a cold camp. With cook and watch fires, they would be visible for miles. She was wary because Odin's army should be following her own wisdom, and if they were approaching the pass to Hentsridge, then their scouts could be near. Beowulf was right, she thought. Guthlaf and Marborg moved in silence, taking their mission seriously.

They had traveled almost two leagues, and the trail was climbing more steeply. Above, Gabrielle could see the stark peaks, and the notch of the pass. Somewhere ahead lay a crossroads, and this was her goal. The trail they had followed would join a larger road from the north, and that road led to their enemies. Several paces ahead, she saw the shadow that was Marborg raise his hand, signaling them to halt. Silently he turned and rejoined them.

"We have reached the crossroads," he whispered, barely to be heard, though they stood with their heads together. "All appears at peace."

"Stay concealed while I take a look," Gabrielle ordered. The men nodded and moved into the trees beside the trail.

Slowly, barely breathing, Gabrielle advanced to the trailhead where Marborg had stood. A chill breeze blew gently down from the north. She was between trees at the side of a rough road. To her right, the road curved upwards, climbing toward the pass in a set of steepening switchbacks, and finally disappearing, a mile ahead, into a cutting between rock walls. There was no movement. Gabrielle swung her head to the north, following the road downhill where the enemy would come from. About thirty yards away, a hump in the road blocked her view of what lay below. She waited, holding her breath, trying to hear the sounds behind the silence. She perceived nothing near, but at a slightly greater distance, she felt a threat that grew ever larger.

"Danger ahead, Gabrielle," a soft voice barely whispered with the breeze.

Moving slowly from shadow to shadow among the trees, never stepping into the road, she moved north, towards the hump that blocked her view. It took her almost a quarter candlemark to cover those thirty yards. Finally she had a line of sight into the lowlands down the road. Her stealth had been well worth the effort. Not twenty yards away, moving carefully down the middle of the road, were six warriors, armed with bows, swords, and spears. Beyond them, perhaps three leagues north, in a valley straddling the road, lay the enemy army. Sixty campfires burned in the night, easily visible across the nine miles of crisp clear air. On the road, she could see several patrols moving, those within a league of her position were dark. The ones closer to the camp bore torches.

Holding her breath, lest the steam she exhaled give her away, she moved back out of sight. In silence she retraced her steps, alert for any changes in her surroundings. After what seemed like a lifetime, she reached the trailhead and slipped down into the darkness. When she had reached the place where she'd left the two men, she moved off the trail. She had just hissed like a snake, bringing Guthlaf and Marborg melting out of the shadows to join her, when she felt her senses tingle. She raised a hand and they froze; Marborg in midstride. Above them on the road came a telltale shifting of gravel and the unmistakable sound of a footstep. The patrol Gabrielle had seen had continued their rounds, probably charged with securing the way up to the crossroads. With minimal movement, she extended three fingers twice…six men, and pointed to the road with her thumb. Guthlaf and Marborg nodded.

Now they could hear occasional footsteps on the trailhead above. Gabrielle closed her eyes and reached out with her senses. She felt the breathing of three of the six men, moving closer down the trail. Try as she might, she could find no way to let them live without them rising an alarm. A company of seventy-four fighting against three hundred and fifty could keep no prisoners. They were less than twelve feet away, but their guard was only moderate. They felt safe, and so they were moving in a group, close together. A fatal error, she thought, and she prepared herself.

Two of the three had passed her and the third was abreast when she moved. The katana's soft hiss as she drew it was followed by a whisper in the air. She'd timed the stroke perfectly, and the necks of the closest two men were half-severed. Guthlaf and Marborg caught their bodies by reflex before they could fall, while she slashed the third man's throat with her return swing. He remained standing long enough for her to ease him to the ground. On the road above, the remaining three scouts had heard something, but there had been no screams or clashes of arms, and so they chose to maintain their stealth. They snuck down the trail, looking for their comrades, finally finding them sitting together beneath a tree. They came to stand in front of them in the dark, still not willing to make unnecessary noise, and they never saw the three swords that impaled them from behind.

After despoiling them of their weapons, Gabrielle rigged their bodies fifteen feet up in the boughs of the trees. It was the last place anyone would think to look for them. Then she led her scouts back to Beowulf's camp as fast as they could safely go. When they reached the camp, a candlemark later, it was barely midnight. She immediately went to report to Beowulf.

Guthlaf and Marborg were elated. They had accomplished their mission and had slain the first of their enemies. Now their admiration for Gabrielle knew no bounds. Not only had she dispatched three of their enemies in a silent heartbeat, but they believed she had drawn the enemy scouts to their deaths, allowing them to do valiant deeds as well. They took to spreading the tale around the camp at the speed of sound.

"We must move immediately," Gabrielle explained to Beowulf. "If we are to take the pass, it must be done tonight. The enemy lies three leagues north, with scouts on the road. We must get to the high ground before them, and so we must march now."

Beowulf was still rubbing sleep out of his eyes. He heard her words and they woke him faster than a plunge into cold water. For a short time he could still seize the advantage, and for a short time the defense still had a chance. The next few candlemarks would decide the battle. He rose from pulling on his boots, smiled at her, and nodded in agreement.

"Again, but for you we would be lost, Gabrielle," he said. "I'll wake the camp and prepare the men to march double-time. When we get close we'll have to be quiet to avoid their patrols, right?"

"That's right, Beowulf. They have men holding the road from their camp up to the crossroads, but I saw none on the road leading up to the pass."

"Good, then they feel safe, and they won't suspect our presence if we can pass them in the dark." He said as he led the way to the center of the camp.

"We'll have to be very careful once we get onto the switchbacks. For the first mile, we will be visible to the patrols on the road."

"We number only seventy, Gabrielle, and the patrols can't report us…if they're dead."

"Right," she agreed, "and even if we have to kill one or two patrols, we can probably be out of sight before the third patrol arrives to check for their missing men."

"I'll wake the troops."

But it seemed that most of the camp was already awake, for Guthlaf and Marborg had spread their happy news that the war had begun with the deaths of six enemy scouts. They had proudly displayed the weapons they'd seized as trophies. The warriors were enthusiastically questioning the two, and so it was with little difficulty that Beowulf roused them to march. They all wanted their chance to strike a blow against Odin's army and slay their enemies as soon as possible. Given the choice between sleep and slaughter, no Norseman would think twice. In half a candlemark, the camp was struck and the company was on the move.

Though Beowulf's warriors couldn't move as fast or as silently as the three scouts had, still, they reached the top of the trail less than two candlemarks after Gabrielle's return. She stopped them thirty yards from the trailhead, and again with Marborg and Guthlaf, she led Beowulf to the crossroads. So far fortune smiled upon the small company. No enemy patrols were in sight, and the road to the pass was still empty. Again, Gabrielle moved down the road in silence, seeking a better view. When she reached the hump in the road she saw no patrols for a half-mile, and she quickly returned to her comrades. Beowulf ordered his men to the trailhead with all speed, and at a signal from the scouts, they crossed the road and started up the switchbacks.

Gabrielle had taken a position at the hump in the road, keeping watch on a slowly approaching patrol. She kept in contact with Guthlaf, waiting at the crossroads, and Marborg, who stood midway between them, with hand signs. Beowulf's company had moved up half-a-mile towards the pass when she felt the nearest patrol was getting dangerously close. She signaled Marborg and Guthlaf to start up the switchbacks, and then she disappeared into the trees.

The six-man patrol moved quietly past the hump in the road, passing her position. Good, she thought, now they're out of view of the other patrols below. Suddenly one of them raised a hand, pointing to the switchbacks. The rest of the patrol followed his gesture, tracking the movements of shadows on the road to the pass. Beowulf's men had been spotted. They were still watching when a soft whine cut the air.

The chakram slammed into three of the men in quick succession, then ricocheted away, back to Gabrielle's outstretched left hand. She was already charging the survivors at a dead run, the blessed blade held horizontally at arm's length, glinting in the moonlight on her right. For a moment, the remaining three soldiers stood in shock, and it cost another his life as the katana whispered in the air, passing clean through him. The last two barely had the time to draw their swords before they too were cut down. Gabrielle left their bodies in the road and fled uphill towards the pass.

As she climbed, rapidly closing the distance to Beowulf's column, her view of the lands below opened up. By the time she caught up with Guthlaf and Marborg, she could see past the hump in the road. The three of them looked to the north, noting that the next patrol was still a quarter-mile from discovering their dead comrades. Above them, the warriors were three-quarters of the way through the switchbacks. They might just be out of sight before the bodies on the road were discovered. Now the three practically ran uphill, moving as fast as they could, knowing they would not be seen. They finally caught up with the other warriors a hundred yards before the road disappeared into the cutting. Just before they filed between its steep rock walls, they heard the faint sounds of a shout and running feet from far below. They put on a burst of speed and met Beowulf and Wicglaf as they fell back through the ranks to join them.

"Well, they know they have company," Gabrielle gasped between breaths of frigid air, "and in a short time they'll guess where their attackers have gone."

"It doesn't matter now, Gabrielle," Beowulf said, his lungs fighting for oxygen, "we've passed their gauntlet. You did it…we did it."

"They'll have to fight uphill against us in a closed space," she answered with effort, "and anyway, it'll still be a while before they get word back to their camp."

"We'll reach the top soon," Wicglaf choked out, "thank the gods."

"And we should be thinking of traps to set on this stretch of road."

"Again you're right, Gabrielle."

In the next quarter-candlemark, the last of Beowulf's warriors had gained the top of the pass. It was a small, widened area in which stood a traveler's shack. On the far side of the pass, the road wound down steep switchbacks to the village of Hentsridge above the fjord of the Rhein. They could see the twinkling of lamps in the buildings below; homes resting at peace below darkening clouds of war. Beowulf dispatched two tired warriors, who went staggering off downhill to warn the villagers and prepare them to evacuate in their boats.

The rest of the men sat or lay where they fell, panting and groaning, and trying to catch their breath. Soon, they were recovered enough to begin the task of preparing for the assault of their enemies. The activity was welcome. All of them were far too excited to think of sleep, and their camp would be cold, without any fires to give the enemy rumor their numbers or position. Working helped them stay warm. By the time dawn lightened the eastern sky, boulders had been gathered and placed, forming a pair of collapsible walls, that blocked the lower part of the road. The warriors had manned their places for the fighting. Beside the forwardmost troops, pots of oil, in which arrows would be dipped and lit, awaited a torch. Further up the road, piles of boulders balanced precariously over the edges of the cutting, where a dozen men had been detailed to bombard their attackers from above.

Before the enemy started up the switchbacks, they had already been spotted on the road below. As they moved higher, they formed up into seven companies of about fifty men each. Each company marched with a gap of thirty feet between themselves and the company following. Long before they reached the cutting, their front ranks locked shields together in a wall, while those following carried their shields above their heads.

"They're advancing like a Roman column," Gabrielle observed, "behind a rank of shields. Shooting at the front rank will do them little damage."

"Then when they get close, we'll have to collapse the wall on them and hope it breaks their ranks," Beowulf decided. "Maybe then we'll be able to get some shots in."

"I don't think there's much to gain by lighting the arrows," Gabrielle said, "and our archers will be firing while retreating."

"Then lets just pour the oil on the wall, and send it at them in flames," Wicglaf suggested.

When the first enemy company saw the low wall of boulders ahead, they paused, but their commander ordered them to advance. They came on with shields locked in front and above, for they could see a row of archers standing behind the wall, ready to shoot. They had gotten within thirty feet and were still wondering why no arrows had been loosed at them, when the wall went up in flames. As the fast spreading fire engulfed the boulders, the wall collapsed, and the hundreds of pounds of flaming rock came rushing down at them.

It wasn't that any of the boulders were so very large. In fact, few weighed more than a hundred pounds. But the fact that they were moving en mass, downhill towards them as a wall of fire, caused the enemy ranks to panic. Men fell trying to turn away. Some trampled each other, while others were injured by the boulders. The shield wall failed and then the arrows rained down on their ranks. A dozen archers fired into the press of enemy bodies while retreating uphill, picking their targets as if every arrow were precious. Before they emptied their quivers, the few surviving soldiers in the enemy's first company had fled downhill. The road was now blocked by a pile of burnt rock and arrow shot bodies. The company of archers climbed over the second wall, fifty feet further uphill, to be congratulated by their fellow warriors.

While Beowulf's archers were refilling their quivers, the destruction of the enemy's lead company was being reported their leader, the chieftain Teuboldt. He called a halt and went forward to inspect the conditions. When he reached the scene of the massacre and saw the bodies of his men, he was filled with bloodlust and a hatred of his enemies, but he looked ahead and saw the second wall. He noted the archers standing behind it, and he even saw some fighters he recognized. He also knew the recent scene would be repeated at his army's next assault. He couldn't see much past the wall, but he didn't believe that a dozen archers, Beowulf, his stooge Wicglaf, and his blonde whore were the only warriors who opposed his army and the will of Odin. He understood that the battle for the pass would be hard fought.

It's been an easy campaign of conquest so far, he mused as he examined the defenses, perhaps too easy. Until now, there had been no organized resistance, and he'd known that it had to get tougher sometime. May as well taunt them a bit, he thought.

"Beowulf," Teuboldt called out in a clear voice, "I recognize you. Why am I not surprised to find you here, opposing our god Odin…again? Yes, I have heard the tale of the aid you gave the Warrior Princess. You're a poor excuse for a Viking, sucking up to foreigners and betraying your kin."

"Ho, Teuboldt, you simpleton," Beowulf yelled back in his most mocking tone, "I see you've finally been given an army, after all the years of not being able to command one yourself. What pittance did Odin promise you as the price for your soul?"

Beside him Gabrielle and Wicglaf rocked with laughter. It was a tactic.

"Some army you have at your command, I see," Teuboldt shouted back, drawing his sword, "thirteen men and a woman. You are doomed Beowulf. Odin will make me like a god for my service, while you will not even contest with his dogs for Valhalla's scraps."

"Teuboldt, you are only fit to be Odin's jester. You are no warrior, being so easily hoodwinked. Odin will give you nothing when he can keep all of value himself. Your service will earn you only a craven's death."

Teuboldt raised his sword overhead, striking a gallant pose. "I shall be overlord of all the Norselands, and if you survive, Beowulf, you shall be my court jester at Herot."

Gabrielle couldn't resist. While Teuboldt was still shouting, she flung the chakram, watching expectantly as it's whine sang in the morning air. It ricocheted from one wall of the cutting to the other before clipping the blade from his sword, a hand's breadth above the crossguard. The blade clattered on the road at his feet. The chakram caromed off the rocks a final time, striking a few sparks, and returned to her hand. "Tiresome braggart," she muttered to herself, as they watched Teuboldt flee downhill.

Those of Beowulf's warriors who had seen the exchange were doubled over with laughter, while those who heard of it later enjoyed it no less. In the scheme of things, winning at boasting was almost as good as winning with swords. It was another kind of duel.

Teuboldt had rejoined his troops and decided that if another company had to be sacrificed to overrun Beowulf's defenses, then so be it. He found a replacement sword and ordered the second company and the remains of the first to advance. He held the rest back, to attack after the second wall had fallen.

Predictably, that's exactly what happened. The second company attacked, and the burning wall fell onto them; Beowulf's archers decimated the survivors, and then pulled back. When the flames had subsided, Teuboldt ordered the remaining companies to advance behind their wall of shields. The men were greatly unnerved, having to walk over the fallen bodies of their comrades, but their officers goaded them on with promises of vengeance. They had already lost about eighty men.

When the advancing army passed the ruins of the second wall, they faced a phalanx of Beowulf's warriors about thirty feet ahead, taunting and jeering at them, as was the custom. They couldn't resist answering with taunts of their own. With their attention focused thus, they never noticed the men standing above them on the walls of the cutting, lighting the wicks of oil filled bottles. At Wicglaf's order, the men threw the firebombs down on their enemies, cutting off the leading company from those that followed, with a wall of flame. Then Beowulf's warriors charged.

The battle was fierce, for the numbers were roughly even. But Beowulf's men had the high ground, and they attacked with greater ferocity, not having recently lost so many of their comrades. Morale and position became the deciding factors.

Unfortunately, the battle lasted longer than the flames. As the oil in the firebombs was consumed and the wall of fire failed, the enemy swarmed forward to reinforce the survivors of the trapped company. They drove hard against Beowulf's men, and step by step, forced them back uphill thorough the sheer force of their numbers. The battle had been hard fought, but now it turned bitter as more and more of Beowulf's men were slain. The cutting was only wide enough for a dozen men abreast, and so the battle line was driven towards the crest of the pass as the men at the front tired. They had only one more card to play.

Now forty-five warriors stood with Beowulf and Gabrielle, while below them almost two hundred and forty advanced against them. They found themselves backed into the wider space at the crest of the pass, and they retreated past the traveler's shack. The enemy surged forward, sensing that their ranks were about to break, and anticipating a route. It was only the rumbling of the rock fall that stopped them.

If the boulders in the two walls had been deadly, then the ones piled above the cutting walls were a disaster for the attackers. Double the volume of rock that had built the walls came plummeting down onto their ranks, forming a barrier six feet high across the mouth of the cutting. On the side of the pass leading to Hentsridge, Beowulf's warriors fled downhill, while behind them, dust settled as the screams of crushed and dying men rang in the morning air. For the loss of twenty-odd warriors, Beowulf and Gabrielle had reduced Odin's army by over a third.

"I guess you would have been proud of me, Xena," Gabrielle whispered that night, as she sat by herself in the camp they'd made on the far bank of the Rhein. "We met Odin's army and bloodied their nose. It was horrible. We didn't win, but we didn't lose. Now we're on our way to try to defend the Rhein Maiden's sanctuary." For a moment she looked around, but saw no ghostly Warrior Princess. Finally she turned her gaze to the night sky. "I know this army is a threat, but they aren't the ones we'll have to beat to win. They're just the tools of a god, like all those warlords in Greece that Ares had under his thumb. The funny thing is, I'm not really scared of Odin. I should be I suppose; I mean he is a god, after all. Somehow I just feel that things will turn out ok. I'm worried about Beowulf and Wicglaf, and the rest of the Norsemen though. I wish you were here, Xena. I miss seeing you and talking to you. It seems like forever since you've been near me. What happened, Xena? Where did you go?" She checked again, but there were only the Norsemen, celebrating nearby. "I love you, Xena…please be ok," she softly whispered.

Behind her there was a movement in the undergrowth, and turning, she saw Beowulf approaching her. He looked worried. She snapped back from her musings.

"Gabrielle, I foresee a problem for us in the next half-week."

"Only one?" She joked, bringing a smile to his face.

"One new problem, I guess," he said, still chuckling, "I need to bring my men to the Rhein Maidens' sanctuary ahead of Odin's army, or all is lost. Unfortunately, only you know the way. Hopefully, in several days' time, Hrothgar's men will be meeting us near here. Their boats cannot pass the rapids upstream from the dock below Hentsridge. They will need to find their way to the sanctuary as well. Unfortunately, only you know the way."

"Well, I guess I'll have to tell you the secret of finding the Rheingold," Gabrielle said, "since there's only one of me, and the men need you to lead them there now. I guess it seems like I should stay and lead Hrothgar's men later."

"But…?" Beowulf asked, suspicious since Gabrielle's offer seemed too easy a solution.

"But, I've only traveled there once, over three years ago, by air, and while I might recognize the landforms from a different approach, I doubt if I could describe them well enough for you to find them."

"So we have a problem…"

"Yes, I guess we do," Gabrielle agreed. "Let me think about it overnight. Maybe I'll remember a landmark or something that I can tell you."

"Then I hope the night brings you wisdom, Gabrielle," he said, withdrawing, "I'll speak to you about it more tomorrow."

For a long time, Gabrielle looked up at the sprinkling of stars, and the half moon that overpowered their light when it sailed near. She sought her memories of that rocky grotto, with its warm pool and the beautiful guardians of the Rheingold. The land all around had been a generic jumble of upthrust rock, deep-water fjords, and treacherous bogs. It was a harsh land, of no value to farmers. The fjord was probably cut off to sailors by the rapids above Hentsridge, which had resulted from some massive ancient landslide. No matter how she tried, she couldn't think of any landmark so unmistakable that she could entrust Beowulf's mission to it. She was only moderately certain of finding the place herself. Finally, with a deep sigh, she curled up in her blankets and let herself drift off to sleep, shivering in the cold of another camp without fire. Having nothing better to do, she dreamed.


She was standing in a clearing on uneven rocky ground, among trees that were gnarled and twisted in their age, tortured by the cruel and tireless will of the world. Above her the sun lit a flawless blue sky, modeling such detail into the clouds that she could almost caress their fluffiness. Ghostly wisps of vapor slowly danced up from the earth, driven into the air by the rapid warming of the damp ground.

From somewhere nearby, a horse gave a spirited whinny, and suddenly hoof beats clattered on the ground behind her. She turned and beheld the landing of a Valkyrie; her battle dress torn and tattered from fighting, several sword wounds visible on her arms and torso. Still, she kept her seat until her mount came to a halt but a few paces away.

"Help her, Gabrielle," a soft voice whispered from the mist to her mind's ear.

The Valkyrie's large warm eyes showed pain that Gabrielle felt came as much from her heart as from the wounds she bore. Her long brassy hair was disheveled, but she still held herself with dignity. Gabrielle moved instinctively to help her dismount, holding the reins, and then steadying her with a hand at her elbow when she staggered. The Valkyrie straightened, looking deeply into her eyes.

"Soon, Gabrielle, my sisters will be coming, seeking to finish with me. I know your mission. Take my horse. It knows the way to the Rhein Maidens."

Anger blazed in her heart at the words. This was the noblest of her kind. She had aided her soulmate at great cost to herself. She would not be hunted down like a dog, nor would Gabrielle leave her and take her horse.

"They will be sorry they came here, Grinhilda," she promised, turning to search the skies for the enemy. She couldn't see them, but she could feel them up there, closing in.

From the direction of Valhalla, in Asgard to the north, three horses came down from the clouds, bearing Odin's hunters to finish off their wounded quarry. Gabrielle drew the katana and pushed the wounded Valkyrie behind her, against her horse. The three landed a few yards away and dismounted; their bearing overconfident and careless. A fatal mistake, she thought. They eyed Grinhilda and sneered at Gabrielle. They still thought of her only as Xena's weakness.

"So, I see Xena's partner has gotten herself lost in the Norselands again. We should have killed you long ago," their leader spat.

"Give it your best shot," Gabrielle hissed without thinking twice about the words.

The Valkyrie attacked, and they lasted no longer than they had against Xena after she'd put on the ring. The katana sheared the outstretched blade from the leader's sword before slicing through her chest. The sword spun as the warrior pivoted, the arc of its movement ending with the beheading of the second Valkyrie. The third hunter swung her sword at the blonde, and found her attack blocked against the backspine of Gabrielle's blade. And then the blessed blade was sliding down her own, too fast for her to pull away from, before it buried itself a hand deep in her chest. Gabrielle pulled the blade free with a hiss. Without a second look at the fallen, she turned to Grinhilda and began examining her wounds.


When dawn first lit the sky, Gabrielle awoke. Around her the other warriors were just beginning to stir. She rolled up her blankets and armed herself, then made her way to the bank of the Rhein to wash up. When she was done, she returned to the camp and found Beowulf and Wicglaf quietly discussing what to do next. She knew they were waiting for her. She cast a glance back across the river, to Hentsridge, on the far side of the Rhein. The villagers had made their escape, bringing Beowulf's men across on their boats before fleeing downstream. At least they had left no craft on the far side for Teuboldt's army to cross in. Gabrielle watched the eddies of smoke, still rising from the burnt buildings.

"He's a complete jackass," she commented.

"He's always been a jackass," Beowulf agreed, "even when we were children."

"You knew him as a child?" She asked incredulously, turning to face him.

"Oh yes," he said with a smile, "so it surprises me not at all that he burned the village yesterday afternoon, rather than using it for shelter last night."

Beside her, Wicglaf, and then Beowulf began chuckling. It was infectious, and soon she was laughing as well. As they sat, they ate trail rations for breakfast and watched the enemy across the fjord. The sun was rising, warming the night's chill in their bones. It looked like it would be a beautiful day.

"I don't suppose anything occurred to you overnight?" Beowulf asked finally.

"Nothing but a hunch," Gabrielle answered, looking at the clear blue sky and the fluffy clouds above them, "but maybe something will present itself…it's just a feeling."

After a silence, she stood, but when they moved to join her, she gestured for them to remain seated. "I think I'll take a short walk. Be back in a half-candlemark."

The two men watched her move inland, off into the woods, curiosity and confusion on their faces. Gabrielle walked for most of the time she'd given herself, noting that the trees grew older and more deformed the further she went. The ground was treacherous underfoot, with loose and hidden rocks ready to shift below the leafmould and moss. Wisps of steam rose from hidden puddles, heated by the morning sun. Eventually she came to a clearing of sorts, and stood still, getting her bearings. From behind her she sensed movement in the air.

The Valkyrie came down on her horse, wounded, as in her dream, and as in her dream, Grinhilda seemed to know of her mission.

"Soon, Gabrielle, my sisters will be coming, seeking to finish with me. I know your mission. Take my horse. It knows the way to the Rhein Maidens."

"They will be sorry they came here, Grinhilda."

And then she could feel them in the clouds above. She moved Grinhilda behind her, and turned to face the place where they would land. They didn't disappoint her, and as in her dream, they threatened, paying her too little attention.

"Give it your best shot," she told them with a sneer, and they died in a few heartbeats.

Gabrielle tended the worst of Grinhilda's wounds, and then she helped her into the saddle. She caught up the reins of the other three horses, and together they took to the air. Gabrielle thought to herself that at one time she hadn't even been comfortable riding Argo, a relatively normal horse. Now she was flying high above the trees, watching the land pass beneath them in a blur, and finally pointing out Beowulf's camp to the Valkyrie. When they touched down, the men could only stare at them in wonder.

She led Grinhilda to her travel bag, and pulled out her healing pouch, mixing herbs in a mug, and preparing dressings for her sword wounds. Beowulf and Wicglaf joined them, the rest of the men circling them at a distance. Gabrielle had finished cleaning and bandaging, finding to her joy that only one of the cuts required a few stitches. Then she needed to steep the herbs that would strengthen the Valkyrie's blood and hasten her healing.

"I should risk a fire to heat the water for this infusion," she said, "and I think I can keep the smoke to a minimum."

"Actually, there's no need, Gabrielle," Grinhilda told her with a smile. "Just set the mug down on that rock"

The Valkyrie began a soft chant, very similar to the one Brunnhilda had once recited, and a wavering blue flame engulfed the rock and the mug. She held the flame steady to the count of thirty and then let it fade. Gabrielle looked at the contents, and saw small bubbles on the inside of the mug. The water had been heated to just below boiling. Slowly it cooled and the liquid darkened as the herbs steeped. When it was ready she handed it to Grinhilda, who quaffed it down.

"Eeeewwwwww!" The Valkyrie exclaimed, sticking out her tongue and blinking at the bitterness of the medicine. Gabrielle chuckled, thinking, my sentiments exactly.

After a short discussion, it was decided that Grinhilda would take the warriors to the Rhein Maiden's sanctuary, in groups of seven, two per horse, in a series of trips, until they had all arrived. On the first trip, she would take Gabrielle behind her, to refresh her memory and plot the route for Hrothgar's men. It took them only seven trips, for Beowulf now had less than fifty warriors, and Guthlaf and Marborg demanded to remain with Gabrielle.

Later in the afternoon, Guthlaf spied two of Teuboldt's soldiers trying to cross the fjord on a makeshift raft, hoping to take back a fishing boat from their side. They made fine shooting practice after they'd been allowed to get close enough. As the small raft drifted off down the fjord with its dead crew, they swore they could hear Teuboldt cursing them from across the water. Shortly later, they saw his army picking their way along the far bank, heading upstream in the gathering gloom.

"So I suspect they're displeased that we killed their hopes to bring a small ship to their side, and then use it to bring across all their men." Marborg sarcastically commented.

"It would have been many trips anyway," Guthlaf said, feigning sympathy.

"One thing it tells us," Gabrielle observed, "is that since they wanted to cross, we must be on the right side of the water, while they are going to have to cross somewhere upstream."

Guthlaf and Marborg stared at each other for a moment, then both started laughing heartily, making Gabrielle wonder what she'd said.

"What…?"

"Gabrielle," Marborg choked out through tears of laughter, "the only place for him to cross in the next hundred miles, is the northern bog."

"If he doesn't lose half his army in there, he'll still have to deal with the ghosts."

"What ghosts?" Gabrielle asked, curious to understand Teuboldt's impending setback.

"Why, the ghosts of all the warriors not good enough to enter Valhalla," Guthlaf chortled. "He'll be haunted the whole way by the inept, the cowardly, and the unlucky."

"True, true," Marborg cackled with glee, "and they shall beseech him to join his army."

"If he doesn't get lost and end up joining them," Guthlaf said, wiping tears from his eyes.

Gabrielle had to admit the picture was hysterical. She imagined Teuboldt, surrounded by the ghosts of warriors of less than Joxer's caliber, unceasingly pestered by those shades for acceptance into his ranks. He might just go crazy, she thought. Soon she was laughing along with them.

For Gabrielle, Guthlaf, and Marborg, four days passed so slowly that they felt as if each candlemark lingered half a lifetime. Though they were fairly sure that Beowulf's men held the Rhein Maidens' sanctuary, they had no way to tell when, or even if, Hrothgar's warriors would arrive. One errand Marborg undertook, unknown to Gabrielle, was the perusal of the battleground where she'd fought against the three Valkyrie. When he came back into camp on the third afternoon, with two swords and three daggers, she was shocked and amazed. In passing, Marborg mentioned that the cadavers had borne evidence of being picked by ravens, and this made Gabrielle shudder. The men gleefully replaced their battered weapons with the gleaming blades of Asgard. The possibility of turning them against Odin's warriors was greatly appealing to them, and they believed the Valkyrie's weapons enchanted as well. Gabrielle sighed; knowing it was more often the warriors than the weapons that decided a battle. Even so, she accepted the third dagger.

To Beowulf and his men, the wait was even worse. They had no idea how Gabrielle, Guthlaf, and Marborg had fared against Teuboldt's army. They had only a guess as to when Hrothgar's warriors would arrive, if they ever did, and they couldn't tell when Teuboldt would threaten them. They waited, having strengthened their defenses as much as they could, though they had almost nothing to work with. Of course, the Rhein Maidens were no help with anything so practical, for they never left their pool. (This in itself amazed Beowulf and even Grinhilda. Not because the water was uncomfortably cold, but because the Rhein Maidens never pruned. In fact, they'd remained unchanged for the thirty-five years between Xena's visits. They were ageless bimbos and it was unnatural. The only possible explanation was their constant proximity to the Rheingold).

One question they finally found an answer to. After a couple of days, Grinhilda succeeded in spying Teuboldt's army in the northern bog, slowly making their way ever closer. She thought it would take them at least half a week before they could threaten the Rhein Maidens. In the meantime, she spoke much with Beowulf and found him to be honorable, courageous, and hopelessly in love with Gabrielle. She decided he was only a short step away from hero worship too, and tried to give him a realistic impression of her. The problem was that Grinhilda knew relatively little about the blonde herself, and from what she had seen, small warrior had changed deeply since their last meeting. Still, she was chronically romantic and an idealistic soul, and so she maintained her hope.

On the fifth day after Beowulf had left, Guthlaf spied a pair ships rowing strongly up the fjord towards them. By their prow carvings and markings, they determined that Hrothgar's warriors had at last arrived. That night there was a celebration. The Danes were happy to set foot again on land and they were looking forward to battle. Gabrielle, Guthlaf, and Marborg were happy that their wait was over and that their allies had come. They made a bonfire, feasted on a stew and mead, and sang so horribly that Gabrielle thought she'd go deaf. The only real surprise to her was that Hrothgar himself had come.

The next morning she awoke to watch the Danes heaving a small fishing boat out of the water and onto the bank. They hauled it up using one of their own ships like she would have used her horse, pulling backwards on a line run around a tree and tied to the fishing boat's prow. Between the oarsmen and the Danes on land rolling logs under the hull, the boat was soon on dry land. She hadn't expected it to work. She was even more amazed when the Danes simply picked up the boat and marched off. Finally, they tossed it into the fjord above the rapids, having carried it almost a hundred yards. During the rest of the morning and afternoon, they repeated the process two more times. As evening fell, they loaded the three small boats, and boarded. Gabrielle eyed the waterline.

"Nothing to worry about, bard," Hrothgar happily proclaimed. "They sit low, but they'll save us days of walking according to the directions you've given us."

"Hrothgar, there's barely a foot between the water and the gunwales…."

"Like I said, nothing to worry about."

Gabrielle felt even more nervous when the margin fell to ten inches as he settled his bulk in the prow.

"Haul on the oars men," Hrothgar jovially commanded, "onward to battle, glory awaits us, and you'll never get to Valhalla if Beowulf has all the fun."

The men seemed to take him dead seriously, pulling on the oars until the boats were cutting bow waves and moving swiftly forward against the current. True to his words, the travel by water was much faster than overland. Even Gabrielle could see that it would cut their travel time in half. Still, she worried about the boats swamping, the presence of Odin's ravens at the remains of her battle with the Valkyrie, and the absence of Xena. And more than once, she found herself worrying about Beowulf, and whether he was yet facing Teuboldt's army, at a disadvantage of four to one. Through the candlemarks of darkness, the men rotated their shifts at the oars, and even as Gabrielle dozed, they drove the boats relentlessly upstream. When morning came, they had covered a third of the distance they could travel by water.

The seventh day following the Battle of Hentsridge dawned clear, and in the midmorning, Grinhilda reported that Teuboldt's army would probably arrive by evening. More disturbing, she had spied a raven shadowing their march. She had also seen the Danes, furiously rowing upstream, a little more than a day away. She was almost sure the enemy would arrive first. In spite of this, Beowulf breathed a sigh of relief when she told him that she had seen Gabrielle in the prow of the lead boat, standing with Hrothgar himself. The Valkyrie noted that he hadn't looked so happy in days. She raised an eyebrow, but hid the grin she felt tugging at the corners of her mouth.

As dusk fell on the seventh day, Teuboldt and his warriors came out of the swamp, cursing their luck, and ready to fight with each other if they couldn't find their objective soon. The raven that Grinhilda had reported was probably unnecessary, as Odin could have easily heard their bickering all the way from Asgard. The army marched less than two miles to the area that Teuboldt had been instructed to assault. They surrounded the outcroppings of granite in preparation for their siege. Once in place, they set up a camp, for they had been ordered to await their master's signal in the morning to attack.

At about the same time, Hrothgar's three boats full of warriors pulled to shore about two leagues from the Rhein Maiden's sanctuary. The remainder of their trip would be through the thick woods that surrounded the area. In the dark, and trying to maintain silence, the going would be slow. Seventy-four souls made their stealthy march according to Gabrielle's directions. Their advance scouts soon reported the area held against them, and they hid themselves among the dense trees to await the dawn. With the light, they hoped to be able to somehow let Beowulf know that his reinforcements had arrived.

Gabrielle and Hrothgar moved close to the encampment that their enemies had set up to encircle the rocks of the sanctuary. The blonde warrior remembered how secluded and peaceful it had been when she'd come here with Xena to return the Rheingold. She'd hiked directly over to the path leading into the grotto, and stood watching as her soulmate had surfaced in the pool. Now the ground where their horse had landed that day was a bivouac for a hostile army, while the path was blocked with rock and guarded by warriors. Even Gabrielle didn't know where the secret underwater entrance came from. She looked once more at the siege being prepared, and memorized the details. Then she turned away and walked back into the woods, finding a place to stretch out in her bedroll. To her surprise she had managed to doze off easily, when the soft voice of the once Valkyrie intruded into her thoughts.

"Gabrielle, they are coming to fight against you."

"Brunnhilda?"

"The Valkyrie are coming. Beware."

"They still serve Odin, it is expected."

"They will come with the dawn."

"And I will be ready," Gabrielle replied, and the presence that accompanied the voice was gone. I wish you were here with me, my love, she thought as sleep reclaimed her, I wish you could just hold me.


She had just freed a group of villagers, but the battle was still raging all around her. Lin Chi was standing over the piled bodies of Khan's soldiers, all bearing the mark of the Green Dragon. She looked at Xena, and saw that she was rising from her knees, exhausted by the strain of maintaining a shield against Khan's rocket attacks. Yet, from some reservoir of fortitude, Xena had found the will to have no will. The blast of power had leapt from her hand, as from the hand of a god, and it had struck down three of Khan's cavalry. And then Gabrielle had seen something she'd never seen before or since, even from a god. The soldiers around them had cried out in pain, the emblems of the dragon had glowed green, and Khan's army had turned to stone. Without moving, Xena had killed 100,000 men. Anything is possible.

Suddenly she was in a place so strange that at first she had no way to comprehend it. The walls were metal, the entire room vibrated with power, and there was an unsteadiness that was not the rocking of a ship on the sea. It was loud and it was cold. A man sat with his eyes pressed against something she didn't understand…a machine of some kind, perhaps, but more finely made than any machine she had ever seen. His clothing had the semblance of a uniform, but he wore no armor and carried no sword. He held up what looked like a dagger pommel, without a crossguard or blade, and his thumb depressed the butt cap. Suddenly he spoke; his voice, unnatural and rasping, had come from a box near her head. Though his words were strange, she understood them…"the bomb's away," he said. And then the room tilted, and the humming grew louder. The pitch rose and she perceived that they were fleeing. In what seemed like the next instant, the very light of the sun flared behind them in a flash. The room felt as if it had been slammed forward. A deep rumbling grew in her ears. It was an explosion, like the black powder, but unimaginably greater. She turned to a small window and gazed out.

Their room was nowhere on earth. Far below her, she could discern the land and the sea. Their room was flying, she was flying, and on the ground below there was a fireball expanding. It was larger than all of Athens. In the next moment, the cries of dying souls came to her ears. It was a multitude in terror; the screams of 80,000 lost in a moment, shadowed by 60,000 more who were doomed in the aftermath. In the distance another fireball bloomed, and then another, and another. The land below was scoured by fire. With senses that heard what was behind the sounds, she knew that a million had died in a few short moments. She tore her eyes away and sank to her knees, sickened. This was war in some time yet to be. Horrifying, and at the same time familiar. Somewhere behind the maelstrom, she heard the laughter of the God of War. Somehow she understood that it was August 6, 1945, and the Americans had destroyed all of southern Honshu.



Five years before in Macedonia, a treasure hunter had stumbled on a tomb. Being an ambitious man, Smyth had proceeded inside without a thorough understanding of the warnings carved on the walls. In a hidden chamber, he had met great wonder and then his death. The God of War had lived free ever since Xena had restored his godhood with Odin's golden apple. The moment the mortal had entered the tomb that held Gabrielle's scrolls, he had known of it. And as he had for centuries, he had come to ensure its sanctity. Melinda Pappas had no incentive to ever cross the Atlantic, and there was no Janice Covington


When she awoke again, the sky was still black, and she didn't even need to check the stars to know that it was almost the time of peace before the dawn. But for the watchmen, the camp was silent a little longer. With great effort she banished her memories of the dream. She would approach them later, perhaps after the battle, for this small fragment of the night was sacred. Of all the day, this time had become the most blessed.

Gabrielle rose and washed her hands and face, rolled up her bedroll, and armed herself. She moved off, nodded to a sentry, and passed through the lines of the patrol, heading for the vantagepoint, to observe the siege. When she reached it, the sky was still dark, the stars were still bright, and the night was still silent. She sat softly and watched the grotto, and for a moment, she could swear that she saw a warrior revealed against the sky.

And now the spell was cast. The stars began to fade in the velvet dome above, and the magic they had rehearsed for three billion years unfolded as if for its premier, and it was for her alone. Across thirty leagues of crystalline air, and mountains capped with eternal frost, she clearly saw and heard the Valkyrie preparing for war. She felt Beowulf awaken among the granite boulders of the sanctuary. She saw the Rheingold aglow, hidden deep in its watery cave. Anything is possible, a voice she knew like her own whispered, and on this morning, she believed. The sky lightened, and for an instant, just before the first of Eos' light dimmed the last of the stars, she saw a tall girl with brown hair, wielding a sword and a torch against wolves.

Bards say the dawn comes like thunder, and on that day it was true. It rose with Odin's purpose in its wake, driving before it his coldhearted plan for domination of the north. Beneath the thunder of the wheels of Apollo's chariot, the doom of nations yet to be was paved. In the growing light, the siege camp came to life. Men donned their armor and weapons, rations were consumed, and ranks formed for the assault. Fire, leather, sweat, and steel…the breeze carried the scents of war. Only the smell of blood was lacking, and this only for a short while. In the woods behind her, the Danes readied themselves, moving forward for the charge they would make, strengthening their resolve and preparing to win renown. Gabrielle watched with her eyes, but her mind was far away.

Once I wanted to know all that you knew, she thought, and I begged you to teach me. By the time you wanted me to know all that you knew, I would have been happy to know only you. Today I will have to use all the lessons I learned from you, my teacher. Today I will have to try to be all the things you tried to be, my friend. And today I will again serve the Greater Good, though if I had my way, I would try to solve this war with love, instead of weapons. Like you though, I guess I don't really have that option, and so I'll do what I can, just as you always did, my love. I wish you were here.

The sun had cleared the peaks and shone bright, cruelly harsh in the morning sky. Below, she could see the ranks of warriors that Teuboldt commanded for his god. Among the granite outcroppings of the Rhein Maidens' sanctuary, she could see a warrior standing defiantly, leaning on his axe. Next to him stood a woman wearing the battle dress of a Valkyrie, her hair flowing in the breeze like living burnished gold. Beside her a war-horse pawed the ground impatiently, snorting and shaking its head, yearning for battle. They were scanning the skies to the north. She longed to call out to them, to let them know that they didn't stand alone, but she knew she couldn't give away her position.

Now she felt the approach of Odin's chosen warriors. From the north, four riders charged down out of the clouds; Valkyrie loyal to Odin, sent to martial the assault. Below her the voices of the enemy army rose in a cheer that grew into a thunderous battle cry. They raised their weapons overhead, shaking axes, stamping their boots, and clashing spears against their shields. The warrior felt their confidence; they thought themselves assured of victory, for even with the Danes, they outnumbered the defenders almost two to one. The Valkyrie rode lower, beginning their final approach, their horses galloping just above the treetops, preparing to land. In the next instant, they would pass directly overhead. Gabrielle calmly unclipped the chakram. Her next act would bring down the wrath of a god.

"That never stopped you," she whispered, thinking of her soulmate, "and today I am all that you were." And then she moved, launching the weapon with a vicious sidearm cast, driving it with the coiled energy of her whole body. Her feet actually left the ground.

"I love you, Xena," she whispered, as the deadly ring sped into the sky.

The Valkyrie were the chosen warriors of the King of the Norse gods, but they were mortal, and Gabrielle knew well that they could bleed. The chakram divided in the air, its throbbing whine becoming a pair of warbling whistles. Each half struck a rider across the neck and then each ricocheted, changing direction with perfect accuracy and slicing a second rider's throat. The bodies of the proud Valkyrie tumbled in ruin to the ground, as their lifeblood pumped from their necks. The two halves of the chakram sang as they rejoined, floating weightless for a moment before dropping to her waiting hand.

From the sanctuary and the forest, shouts of defiance rang out, while from Teuboldt's warriors came a gasp of horror. In that moment of confusion, sixty bows sang, from the defenders and from the woods above the siege army, and Gabrielle saw the dark cloud of arrows mow down men who had only moments before felt victory within their grasp.

Was the rain of arrows like that in Japa, Xena, Gabrielle silently asked? Did they come like a cloud of locusts, too numerous to dodge or swat away? The archers fired five times before the survivors below raised their shields in an organized defense. By then the Danes and Norsemen had slain half of Teuboldt's army; nearly one hundred and twenty men. Then with a bloodcurdling shout, the defenders and reinforcements charged like beserkers. From her vantagepoint, Gabrielle watched the unfolding carnage. She saw no need to take part. The warriors seemed to be doing fine and she still found war was hard on her soul. Then her senses tingled again, and she looked expectantly to the sky.

High above, a dark speck was fast approaching from the north. Quickly it grew, taking on shape and detail. It swept down, and soon she could discern a white horse bearing a caped man with a slender axe. Today I will do what I can, just as you always did, my love, Gabrielle promised. Then she walked out onto the battlefield to meet the King of the Norse gods.

There was no hesitation in his approach; he knew whom he sought. Odin brought his horse down hard not a dozen feet away. He spared his fallen Valkyrie but a glance, then turned his attention to Gabrielle.

"So, Xena's partner, Gabrielle," he said, his voice the very definition of imperiousness. "You are every bit as much trouble as she ever was, but she's dead, and you don't have the power to slay gods."

He dismounted and strode towards her, seeming to loom over her though he was still six feet away. Gabrielle drew her katana with a hiss and faced him in a guard position.

"Don't you have anything to say? Hmmm?"

"Nothing you'd understand," she told him sadly.

"Well understand this," Odin yelled, as he flung a bolt of energy at her, "today is the last day of your life!"

Like Xena before her, she parried it with her sword and sent it back at him. He barely ducked away in time. He roared at her and threw another. She deflected the second bolt, sending it across the battlefield where it struck his general Teuboldt, slamming him to the ground. The third bolt she flung back at him, where it exploded on the earth at his feet, blinding him momentarily with debris. When he regained his bearings, Gabrielle was standing in front of him again. Enraged, Odin flung another energy bolt and then another and another. He knew he only had to hit her once, but so far she had parried them all, and he noticed that she was actually advancing, drawing closer to him. That he didn't understand. Even Xena had kept her distance.

Finally she was within sword range, and he prepared to fling another bolt, but he was knocked off his feet, actually tackled physically by a mortal. He couldn't believe it. He realized it was that irksome Beowulf, who should have been dead several times by now. Instead, the man just kept collecting scars and turning up again like a bad copper. Odin smashed him in the head with the handle of his axe, knocking him out cold, and then regained his feet.

"Beowulf!" Gabrielle screamed in horror, leaping towards him. Beowulf lay between her and Odin, unconscious and still.

It wasn't inspiration on his part. Without love, Odin could never have understood her willingness to protect another person. He flung an energy bolt at the fallen warrior, intending to blast his body out of the way of their combat, but Gabrielle had actually dove on top of him, using her own body as a shield.

For a moment, the king of the Norse gods thought he saw something glow. Then the bolt came back, magnified tenfold, striking him at point blank range, and knocking him twenty feet through the air. The back of his head slammed into the granite of the Rhein Maidens' sanctuary. Just before his world went black, he saw the bright image of an Eastern Dragon glowing on her back, as she struggled to her feet. In a way, love had decided the battle, for after Odin's fall, the remainder of his army fled.

It was a full day before Beowulf regained his wits. He was lying in his room in the tavern in Kaupang, that much he could tell. How he'd gotten there, he had no idea. He remembered trying to knock Odin down, to give Gabrielle a second's distraction in which to attack, but that was it. He looked around the room. Ubchulk sat on a stool, whispering with the Valkyrie, Grinhilda. On the other side of his cot, blue-green eyes smiled down at him from under a mop of unruly blonde hair. Gabrielle wrung water into a bowl from a cool cloth and wiped his forehead.

"Glad to see you decided to rejoin us at last," he heard her say clearly, though there was still a slight ringing in his ears. "How much do you remember?"

"I remember trying to tackle a god," he told her with a grin as the others gathered around, "after that, all becomes somewhat…fuzzy."

"I'm not surprised, considering he almost broke the haft of his axe on your skull," Grinhilda joked. "You are very brave and very foolish…the ideal Norse warrior."

After the laughter died down, he had to ask. "What happened? I mean, I hurt too much for this to be Valhalla, so I guess we all survived."

"You rode a Valkyrie's horse, and don't even remember it," Grinhilda scolded with mock exasperation. "Most warriors I carry are already dead. Count yourself lucky."

"And what of Odin?"

"Well, actually I called on a friend of mine to come and give him a little therapy," Gabrielle said cryptically with a wink to the Valkyrie. "If anyone can straighten him out, she can."

He nodded his head, and then gave voice to his real concern.

"I rejoice that you're ok, Gabrielle. I know you're very good, but you can't slay gods like Xena could. You pledged you'd stand beside me through this. My honor couldn't leave you to stand alone against Odin. Though the effort proved futile, still I had to try."

"I never meant to kill him, Beowulf, and there are some things I never got around to telling you…weapons I have that Xena didn't have. But that doesn't diminish your courage or the truth in your heart. And that nearly cost you your life. I am very sorry."

Beowulf couldn't believe what he was seeing. There were tears welling in her beautiful eyes, and even as she leaned down to hug him, they overflowed. He wrapped his arms around her and held her, gently stroking her back, until she finally pulled away and sat back up. Now she had a smile on her face, and it lit his world like the sun. He wouldn't have believed it, but the smile on his own face mirrored hers. Perceptive as she was, it didn't go unnoticed.

"So how did you end up defeating Odin?" He asked her, wondering if his distraction had been helpful after all.

"Well, he tried to fry you with one of his energy bolts, but he hit me instead," she said with a grin, "and he ended up getting the worst of it when it came back at him."

"But how? Did you deflected it with your sword as you did the first ones he threw?"

"She means," Grinhilda told him with a smile, "that when she threw herself over your senseless carcass, her body magnified it, repelled it, and it knocked him out cold. She wears an enchanted protection against the gods."

He looked back and forth between Gabrielle and Grinhilda in disbelief. The beautiful heroic woman he practically worshipped had protected him against a god's wrath with her own body? The Valkyrie said she carried magickal protection against the gods? She had struck down Odin with his own power?

Gabrielle could see his confusion and wonder, but she could also see his devotion and esteem, his gratitude, and his love. She could sense that it was "without strings", and if she chose, she could ride away tomorrow without diminishing his feelings for her. She had done so before. She realized he had always felt that way, but now she treasured it.

"When I was in Japa, a spirit gave me a blessed tattoo of the Eastern Dragon. It was for protection, and it had the virtue of repelling blasts of energy. In Xena's final battle, I brought her the enchanted water from the Fountain of Strength. I swallowed some of it myself when I was hit by a demon's fireball. Now I guess the dragon has the power to magnify as well as repel energy blasts. They always seem to seek their source. It was that way in Japa with Yodoshi, and it was that way here, with Odin."