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Worse still, what would happen if she were completely successful and she gave him the warrior's death that he wanted? Valdemar promised her freedom, and she had little choice but to trust that he was telling her the truth about letting her go when he had power.
But that didn't mean that the Weak man couldn't get power. She caught herself thinking about the men in those terms and realized her mistake, silently correcting. She had no idea who was who, from her vision. Only that of these thirty-odd men, there were five who stood at the center of the storm to come.
And that the one who would end the bloodshed was marked by his weakness. Another, marked by his strength, another a priest, a madman, and one seeking approval.
What roles they would play, and which faces were attached to them, she couldn't have begun to say, and it was important to remember.
What use was the ability to gain insight into the secret goings-on if she wasn't able to make a difference between them? The weak man and the powerful man were going to come to blows, she saw that. She had seen Valdemar, beaten and laid low by Gunnar. She could put those two in those places.
That left three others, and a very real question of what part they had to play in the coming difficulties. She didn't look forward to finding out, but the vision was becoming clearer and clearer by the day.
There would be a great deal of blood shed. She no longer needed the vision to see that. Deirdre didn't like to make guesses. It wasn't part of what her teacher had taught her. In fact, it was the very opposite: she had always said, Deirdre, trust your feelings, but investigate further.
Never use your guesses alone.
But now it seemed that if she wanted to prevent more bloodshed, she had to make the right guesses, and she had to make sure that it happened quickly.
The bracing wind blowing through the hills wasn't helping the emotional atmosphere in the band as they marched. Gunnar could feel something stirring, something brewing, though he couldn't say what it was yet.
He looked left, looked right. There were serious questions to be asked, now. Two ambushes. They weren't hitting unprepared villages and towns that weren't going to do anything about them, not any more. From now on it was only going to get worse and more violent.
He'd been thinking more and more about it, about their chances moving forward. What had been forty had dropped below thirty-five. At what point do you start to give serious consideration to your chances of making it off the island at all?
Gunnar didn't want to leave. He'd come here for riches and glory, and he knew that nobody was happy with what they'd taken so far. There had to be so much more, even as they'd gotten plenty. He took a deep breath and came to a stop atop the hill, looking into the distance. There was a real choice to be made here, and he'd put it off as long as he could.
The road split. Left, they go inland. There would be more money to be found inland, bigger cities. To the right, they stay on the coast. There are choices that are more important in hindsight, things that seemed as if they were of little or no consequence at the time.
This wasn't one of those times. Gunnar didn't need to consult with Eirik to know that the Gods were watching him, judging him based on what he would decide at this very moment. A portentous moment.
Valdemar and Eirik seemed to come up beside him at the same moment, on each side. Valdemar, for once, spoke softly. As if he weren't trying to issue a challenge, which was a gift in and of itself.
"We go to the left. The path is more traveled, we'll run into more on the road. We'll find a larger target."
"We've already lost men," Gunnar responded softly. "How many more?"
Valdemar stepped in front of him, his face showing shades of anger for a moment before he managed to hide his frustration. "Where was your concern for the men who would be lost when you ran off after your English whore?"
The words were soft, soft enough that the men behind might not have heard them. That did not mean that they didn't demand an answer.
Gunnar had no answer to give. He had known this would come, if not from Valdemar then from another, but there would be no defense. He had made the decision that he had to make, but that did not mean that he was happy that he had made it.
Eirik spoke after a tense, silent moment. "Valdemar is in the right. There's more glory to be had, and the Gods haven't turned their eyes away from us just yet. We continue to march."
"We should return home," Gunnar said, soft but firm. "There's too much risk in this venture, with fewer than forty. We can regroup, recruit a few new hands for the next leg of the journey, and come back."
Eirik was insistent. "That's a coward's way of thinking, and the Gods will not ignore it. I cannot make that any clearer. We need to make the right decision now, to keep them happy and supporting us."
Gunnar knew better than to argue with him, but knowing that Valdemar would have his way stung at Gunnar's pride. He looked Eirik in the eyes, and then Valdemar, who still stood with his chest nearly pressed against Gunnar's.
Then he turned and called back to the group. "We go to the right! We continue along the coast!"
Valdemar's voice shouted from behind. "You coward! Has your woman made you afraid of glorious battle? Do you fear going inland? I do not fear it! I think only of the riches I could win, and the tales I will tell in the halls of Valhalla!"
The murmur from the crowd told Gunnar exactly which sentiment they supported, and it made it all that much harder to answer him. Valdemar was many things, but he was hardly a fool.
Aside from Gunnar's rivalry, he had to admit that the man was likable enough, as well. He understood the men, and argued from their perspective as often as he did from his own. They would hear his sentiment, not the argument for a cautious, safe raid. They hadn't seen what Gunnar had seen, didn't know the dangers. He closed his eyes.
There was no choice, even though it burned. They would have to go inland, now. The argument had already been made, it couldn't be taken back. The only choice he had now was to either go inland, or look a coward. No, he couldn't afford to look cowardly. No amount of immortality would save him if the men left. He'd be left to find his own way home.
