She had to use it to her advantage, and she had to make sure that it gave Gunnar as much opportunity as she could create. Then, Gods willing, she would be able to get away without any trouble. She had to hope, because otherwise she had to recognize that unless things went perfectly according to plan, then she would be joining those two men on the chopping blocks.
Was it worth it? The question hadn't entirely occurred to her. It had seemed obvious that it was, but now that she was facing the very real threat of being killed, it seemed to be brought into a new focus.
The odds of making it out of here were slim at best, the odds of being killed high. She was no fighter, after all. She was a healer. But the fact was that she had been taught over everything to do what had to be done. This had to be done, or she would be left with nothing. And she couldn't bear that.
Deirdre took a deep breath and steadied herself. Gripped the blade. Gunnar was drawing close, but she knew he hadn't seen her. It was better if he didn't know that she was there until the time was exactly right.
They couldn't have any warning. He passed by her, his head resolutely forward, and in that instant Deirdre pulled the knife from her pouch and settled her fate by ducking under the arm of the guard holding back the crowd and plunging it hilt-deep into the rear guard's ribs.
Gunna
r wasn't afraid of death. He forced the smile on his face. So long as he greeted death without fear, he was already doing well for himself. He tried to remind himself of it, but the words rang empty. No, he wanted to live. Wanted to see her one more time. But if it wouldn't happen, then it wouldn't happen. He wouldn't waste any time worrying about something that was already decided.
Something moved behind him, too fast for anyone around him to react. Not too fast for Gunnar to turn and see Deirdre slam, full force, into the man behind and send him, and the man beside him stumbling to the ground. They had been lax, he decided, or too focused on Gunnar and Valdemar to see the threat coming from their side.
Gunnar could hear the sound of swords being drawn all around him. Damn these chains, he couldn't afford to have his hands bound behind his back at this point. He would need to answer the threat, but with his hands bound behind his back… how would he? Someone stepped forward to claim Deirdre and Gunnar pushed him away with one powerful leg. He would keep her safe as long as he could.
The other rear guard was starting to rise, and Gunnar kicked him hard in the jaw, knocking him senseless. The two in front had turned, their swords already drawn, ready to end Gunnar's defense before it truly began, but a scream from the crowd drew their attention, and at that point everything started happening at once.
The city folk, packed in so tightly, now fought to surge away, knocking guards back and down, rushing past them like a river. They gave the prisoners a wide berth—smart, after the two of them had managed to fight ten armed soldiers to a standstill the night before, he thought.
What had caused their panic, though, he couldn't say, until he saw Leif's face in the crowd. Gunnar should have expected this. His own friends would not have abandoned him, and Magnus and Arne would never have left Valdemar's side willingly unless he had ordered it.
Gunnar had known these things, but at the same time it burned knowing that he hadn't predicted it. Still he kept himself pivoting, kicking out as best he could without losing his balance to keep any who got too close away from the girl. He turned to check that she was alright, but to his great surprise, she was nowhere. The knife she had stolen, the knife he had given back to her before his capture, laid in the guard's chest.
"Gunnar!" Ulf's familiar voice called. "This way!"
He was at Gunnar's elbow an instant later, pulling him along. The peasants had already fled, leaving what seemed to be a hundred soldiers, half of them not getting up from the ground after being trampled by the panicked crowd, and the remaining Danes fought them, save Magnus and Ulf who were making quick work of the chains on Valdemar and Gunnar.
He moved and flexed his arms to get feeling back into them, then pulled the knife free of the man's ribs and wiped it on his tabard. It had saved both of them, now. A good knife indeed. Then he unbuckled the sword-belt hanging at the side of the slain guard and fitted it around his own waist, slipping the knife in, regardless of the fact that he had no sheath for it.
The blade inside was not quite so nice as the one he had stolen before. It didn't gleam so much, didn't feel so well-made, but it looked as if it had seen considerable use. Until he had been killed by his own inattentiveness, the blade had served its master well, and Gunnar would see that it served its new one as well.
If they stayed then the fight would become too much for them, he knew. Even with the advantage of the crowd helping to injure so many guards, they couldn't hope to fight the full might of the city's guard force with just the thirty of them. Not in open combat like this.
But if they fled too quickly, they would leave themselves open to attack. Between himself and the giant, they formed the leading point of a wedge, cutting through the guards and making a space. After their stunt the night before, he had been left without dinner. He frowned. No, he wasn't happy about it. But it was all he could do.
The guards had decided that the gate seemed to be the right place to defend, and Gunnar had to agree. It was the right place. But they should have closed it.
Valdemar let out a cry and rammed sword-point-first into the thick mass of men, bowling the first two rows to the ground and then started the mad slashing that made him a force on the battlefield. Gunnar strode by, the whirling mass of gore seeming to miss him as if by chance.
Yet he knew that if Valdemar wanted to cleave him through, it would have been an easy thing, and there was no chance in his survival. His own blade met the attack of another guard, turned it aside, and plunged into the man's bowels. Ulf cut another wide arc that saw men falling back and away, and then the way was cleared for them.
The time to go was now. Gunnar called out the retreat, and stood by as the men ran past. He would follow last of all, to ensure that no one was left behind. The men had taken a great risk in saving them, a risk that he would have told them not to take if he had the opportunity.
But he hadn't been there, nor had Valdemar. So they were left to make the decision themselves, and they had made their decision. That didn't mean he was going to let them take more risk than they had to. And it didn't mean he was going to run like a coward.
"Go! I'm right behind you!" The last man through went by, and Gunnar slotted in behind, making sure to stay a step or two behind. If someone were going to be caught then it would be him. But he wasn't going to let it happen easily. They ran hard, but they ran.
His lungs burned with the effort, though he reckoned that he could have run harder if he were ten years younger. A full belly might have done wonders, as well, but he kept up without trouble, until they were free of the city. Then they ran harder. There were few guards that followed, and the ones that did, never made it back to report on their location.
They were far from clear of any danger, Gunnar thought, but at the very least they were able to take a night's rest. They had earned that much, and when they'd had times to lick their wounds and recover themselves, they would move to the coast.
Valdemar might not like it. He might see more glory to be had, more raiding to be done. He was a born raider, same as Gunnar. But where Gunnar was tempered by experience, Valdemar was still raw. But he would have to listen to reason, Gunnar thought. He hoped so, anyways.
If the berserker wanted to fight him on the decision then he would find himself with quite a fight on his hands. They were going home, and the only thing they would wait for was to make sure that nobody was too injured to leave.
That, he told himself, and until he found the woman he was bringing with him.