Ulf stepped through the door, his helm removed and sweat streaming down his face. "Gunnar, there you are."
The smell of smoke was going up, now. They had finished without him, that much was a strange relief.
"Here I am, indeed. What is it?"
"Leif said that he saw a pincushion leaping through this window, I thought perhaps you had gone to see Lord Odin."
"No," Gunnar answered, breaking off one of the shafts that had caught in his leg and pulling it out with a shout of pain. "Not yet, Ulf."
He turned to go, leaving Gunnar sitting in the room, his breath struggling. Another broken shaft, another arrow pulled straight through, and his breath started to come back as his lung healed the puncture a moment later.
No, he would not be going to sit and drink at Valhalla. Not until that damn witch-woman found out how to cure him. She tried to play her tricks, tried to say that she knew nothing about his condition or how to cure it, but he knew better. They were knowledgeable about many things, these witches.
Maybe she knew nothing at the moment, but she knew more than she let on. That, or taking her had been a waste.
Not a waste, part of his mind thought. There are more uses for a woman that beautiful than for her magic. He pushed the thought away again. He had to be a leader, had to keep pushing himself harder. Otherwise, he would be overtaken, whenever Valdemar decided that it was time to make his move.
It would be soon, Gunnar knew. He would have to find his answers before that time came—or be prepared to answer the challenge.
Four
There was a cold wind blowing across the hilltop where they had all been left, and it let Deirdre watch the Northlanders take their long, loping strides across the hills toward Malbeck.
It was the high angle that let her see when they were far enough that they were little more than specs, and then when they went down the last hill, into the basin where the next town over laid.
Deirdre waited a long moment before she spoke, and when she did she wasn't sure how long they'd let her. After all, the ones who had come from Clifton knew her for what she was. The rest, she supposed, might have guessed. Or perhaps they thought she was something worse still, a woman who tried to buy her freedom with her body.
"They can't see us any longer. Now's our chance."
Nobody said anything, nor even moved beyond a slight turn of the head.
"Come on, now! We can get away, we've got time. Haven't you got any fight left in you?"
They looked at her again, their expressions tired and disinterested. What on earth were they thinking? They could die at any moment, staying with these men. At least if they were to escape they might live.
"Well, I'm going," she announced, loudly, and pointedly looking from one face to the next. "Anyone who will come with me is welcome to."
"And if they have someone watching the camp, just out of sight? What will you do then? Oh, I'm sorry. I forgot. You're their favorite, so naturally you're safe. I'd forgotten." The man glowered at her, his eyes burning like coals. "No, I'll stay right here. I'm not going to risk anything happening. When the chance comes, I'll be safe."
"You're a fool," Deirdre said softly, but part of her wasn't sure. What if he was right? What if there was someone out of sight? She'd kept watch, but she didn't have eyes in the back of her head, regardless what the villagers thought of her.
One could have slipped off, circled back. If anyone could stay out of sight, then she supposed that these men could, and she hardly had the advantage of her herbs to make her sight clearer. No way to focus more than she had.
"T
hen what," she said, at last. "What do you wait for? To be enslaved? Killed?"
"We wait for an opportunity. A safe opportunity. We want to live, witch." Another had spoken this time, a man she'd seen before in Clifton. She thought he might be a baker.
How, she wondered, had they captured him? It was hardly as if they were in the business of taking prisoners. They'd killed that boy for little more than giving the leader a nasty look. If he'd been caught with a weapon in hand… he'd be rotting in the mud right now, but he might have taken one of them along. Each of them might have sent one of the northmen to Hell, if they'd only tried. If they'd had the guts to go after one of them with a knife.
Deirdre stopped speaking abruptly. What was the point of talking to a bunch of cowards, after all? It was just as well if she stayed silent, because with her hands tied behind her back it would take more than a little bit of focus to get herself off of the pole, tied to the lot of cowards that allowed the band of powerful northmen to raid the countryside.
She could already see the smoke beginning to rise from the beginnings of fire. Whether that meant they were finished, or that they were merely getting started, she couldn't be sure.
The only thing she was sure of was that she wasn't looking forward to having to tell the leader that she couldn't give him what he wanted, what he needed. She worked her shoulder to loosen it, where it had been stiff from being continually forced behind her.
Then, once she'd managed that, she started to try to work her hands down, moving the rope down and under her plump bottom, down to her knees…