Wealtheow pressed her back against the old king's granite cloak, shaking convulsively. The smell was overpowering, and she could not move. Her hand gripped Beow's fur as if he were the one solid thing that stood between her and Grendel. And indeed he was. A ragged sob of terror began to form in her throat—
The sigh rent the air like a death-scream, a soft tortured farewell to life. And then the sound- a horrible noise, the crunch of tooth parting bone, accompanied by the slap of flesh on the stone floor. And Grendel feasted on those Wealtheow loved.
She would not have it.
Her lungs filled with acrid fumes, and she stood, trembling with emotion so different and strong that even Beow gave way before her as she stepped from behind the king.
But her knees nearly gave when she saw Grendel.
He crouched, a fetid mass of bloodied scale and clotted hair, over a pallet in a room so changed as to be hardly recognizable. Blood streamed as if from the very walls, gushing forth from piled arms and clumped fragments of unrecognizable flesh. The monster bent over a face she could hardly recognize, rending skin and eye and red-gold hair. She staggered, but her fingers found security. Beow was beside her, steadying her hand.
Grendel looked up.
Child faced monster on the hellish field of ambush. He leered, and redness dripped from his grinning jaws. Here was the one, the last one. She would never have the chance to cry out. Grendel dropped the mutilated skull in his claws and crept forward…
The sudden light, clear as a newborn star, erupted before him, bright and pure, driving back the shadow-clouds like a wave of riders sweeping over the enemy. Wealtheow saw it reflected in the beast's terrified, blinded eyes as it gleamed on the matted blood that was slathered over him.
And Grendel, monster of the darkest night, fled.