The fighting hadn't died down yet, but he heard fewer sounds of metal-on-metal. With a little luck, they'd switched to trying to solve their problems with their fists. He'd be able to leave, easy and calm. But then, he wasn't lucky, was he?
The fire still burned, a half-cooked hare still spitted, starting to char on one side. He turned it as he passed. No reason to spoil good food, even in an emergency. He didn't have much need for stealth, not at this point. Who would see? Every one of them would be behind the line of tents, but as he got closer he slipped back into the shadows and kept himself to the tents.
A peek around the wall told him everything he needed to know. Valdemar was alive, and so were his friends. He took a longer moment to pull it all in. There were perhaps five men on the ground, but they all moved. That, at least, was a comfort.
Deirdre could heal their wounds—and then he remembered that she wouldn't be there to do it, not if she had her way. He pushed the thought away, into the back of his mind. It wasn't something to worry about right now. They would be alright, Deirdre or no, but it meant that they would need to be even more certain to avoid the English ambush.
Leif was hitting a man with his shield. He went to the ground, but it wasn't more than a moment before he was back on his feet.
Ulf had given up his sword as well, after lodging it deep into one of the greenhorns' legs. Now he had one thick arm wrapped around a man's throat. One of Valdemar's lackeys, Arne, Gunnar thought. Well, he wasn't dead. He was kicking too hard.
Eirik was taking a bad hit in the eye from a big, blocky fist that belonged to Valdemar himself. That kind of blow could addle a man's brains, he thought. Then again…
Gunnar watched, his head only inches past the edge of the tent, as one by one men fell down, either too hurt or too tired to continue.
That was enough. He could head back now. Whatever happened from this point on, he knew what he needed to know.
They'd live, and they'd heal from the wounds they took, for the most part.
There were bigger risks on the horizon for them.
Twenty-Two
Deirdre didn't know where to put her eyes, so she put them on everything. The soldiers she had been caring for all this time were sleeping soundly. She could usually tell when they were faking, but they seemed genuinely asleep. They looked oddly peaceful, not at all like the violence that she saw in the face of their compatriots.
Her hands were shaking. She didn't want to think about it. There was something upsetting about the entire idea that she couldn't fight—the idea that she was being overwhelmed by what was going on around her. She wanted to be gone.
She reached over and used the knife to loosen the knot around the ropes that held her, and then pulled at it until the entire thing came apart and she was free to move wherever she wanted. It didn't help, and she was surprised to find that she didn't try to leave.
So she looked out at the stars, tried to count the constellations again. But she couldn't concentrate on it. All she could think about were the sounds of battle behind her, the sound of the battle she knew was deciding her fate at that very moment.
Why did he have to leave? Consciously, somewhere in the back of her mind, she knew. But the answers she was getting weren't the answers she wanted to hear. She wanted to feel completely validated, completely righteous.
Instead, she just felt tired and alone.
"I want to go home now," she said aloud to the night sky.
A pair of hands wrapped around her waist, picking her up and setting her butt back onto the back of the cart. Gunnar was back.
There was something in his expression she couldn't read. Like he was thinking about something, unsure how he was going to decide about it. But she didn't have time to worry about that, because he was back.
"I see you got yourself free."
"They've been more lax about letting me have my space. Not like I could have gotten away."
"So this isn't the first time you've done this, then."
"Not really," she answered vaguely. Why was she so distracted? Why were they wasting time on this conversation, for that matter?
"I think they're going to be okay, more or less."
"You weren't seen, were you?"
"I don't think so," he said softly. "Other than before, but that can't be changed. I had to warn them."
"O—oh."
"Other than that, I'm sure that nobody saw me watching. I don't know how it's going to end, though. Could be a close fight, but they've mostly switched to using their bare knuckles, so aside from a few bad wounds they'll just have bad headaches in the morning. They'll need it for what's coming."