What would happen if the man who did it were essentially unkillable? How long would it take for that man to retake control? She didn't have to ask herself the question, not seriously. It would be impossible to keep him out of power, even if he had to kill every member of the party who tried to stop him.
He had, after all, all the time in the world. No, they would either have to find a way for him to die and to stay dead, or they would have to accept that a free Gunnar was in control of the party.
She saw out the rear flap a pair of men carrying Gunnar, still mostly-limp from the beating he had taken, toward his tent. If they were going to do something to stop him from taking power, they would need to do it soon.
But, she realized with a shiver, it didn't matter all that much who was in power. It was a matter of time until Gunnar realized the ruse that she had used on him. She wasn't going to be free from this prison, she feared, until she died.
Every opportunity she had, she'd missed.
Gunnar didn't remember what had happened. He'd been so sure that he would succeed. Clearly Valdemar had seen his attack coming, and had acted to ensure that he won the fight. But then he'd seen red and that was the last that Gunnar could remember.
His head hurt, and the gouge in his side, previously numbed from Deirdre's ministrations, now hurt worse than it had before the fight. He'd definitely torn it back open from what healing he'd managed to get.
He tried to sit up, but the pain that shot through him managed to convince him to lie back down. Looking around, he was alone. He should have died. He hadn't won the duel, that much was certain. Why had Valdemar let him live after?
Rain was coming, he had known it before the raid that morning. It was merely a matter of time before they were all soaked through, so a march in the morning was unlikely.
That would be enough time, he reckoned. Enough time to let his wounds close up, enough time to recl
aim control of the band. Valdemar had beaten him, though, with what seemed to be every advantage. With a weapon he rarely used, he'd been faster, been stronger, been smarter than Gunnar. He'd had the edge in defense, in offense, in strategy.
How could Gunnar beat him, if they were to face each other again? He wasn't suddenly going to grow seven inches, nor grow twenty pounds. He wasn't getting any younger, either. Now that he had lost his ability to heal from wounds—
He touched the tender spot beneath his arm, where Valdemar's blade had cut him, feeling the smooth skin. What could that mean? The ache of the wound in his chest told him without needing to check that it still stayed with him, but he hadn't kept a single wound from the duel.
Even his head was beginning to clear. He had to think clearly, and he'd never been able to do it on his back. Gunnar pushed himself up with what little remained of his strength, crawled over to the box that he used as a table.
He tried not to remember the sight of Deirdre, sitting on the box. The distraction of thinking about her was unwelcome, when he wanted nothing more than to think about getting his revenge.
No, he wouldn't be able to become stronger than Valdemar. There was no chance of that, regardless of how much time he had. Quickness, he had always had. If he weren't injured, Gunnar thought, then he might have been able to take the berserker in a straight fight.
But that wasn't what had happened, and he had chosen the time of the duel himself. There were no excuses to be made, he'd lost a fair duel.
He'd have to have a plan, and it would have to account for time to heal his wounds. How long that would be, he wasn't sure. But it would be enough to make sure that he did heal. Sitting up might not have been the best course of action, with the way that the strain had screamed through his entire body.
He couldn't afford to kick the can down the road any further, though. He needed a plan, and a plan that he could start working on now.
Gunnar tried to think through the situation. The bad news, well, he'd already figured out. Valdemar had always been a physical specimen. Had always insisted on trying to take power, too, Gunnar noted silently.
He was injured, and unlike most of his wounds it continued to hurt after hours upon hours. If this was what most men felt when they took injuries, they could keep it. He didn't want it.
What were his strengths? He was quick, and he was experienced. He could take dangerous wounds, as it seemed Deirdre's miracle cure must have only worked as he chewed the bitter herbs.
Then again, Valdemar had always been like a hungry wolf, going further and further in his quest for power. He'd never had control before, and now that he had it, where could he go from there? He would be complacent, and that was where Gunnar could find his advantage.
He was the one who was hungry, now. Victory would make Valdemar soft. Had already made him soft, Gunnar noted, or he wouldn't have woken back up in his tent. He'd have woken in Hel or Valhalla, but he wouldn't have stayed here on earth.
No, he needed Gunnar, for something, though he wasn't sure what. That was Gunnar's other strength, he decided. No matter what happened, he had something Valdemar needed. Something that he wouldn't let Gunnar die so he could have.
If he needed Gunnar, then he had all the time in the world. He could afford to pick his battles, to pick his moment. There would be time to heal, and then he could challenge again for control, right when the moment was right.
Turn for turn, it would hardly be improper to challenge Valdemar when he was hurt. Everyone had seen Gunnar accept a challenge wounded, it would be sheer cowardice to refuse to reciprocate.
The opportunity would come. More than one. If he waited long enough, they would return to Denmark, and it wouldn't matter. He'd be able to organize another raid, and then it wouldn't matter what Valdemar did.
Time was on Gunnar's side, he reminded himself. Time was absolutely on his side, so there was no reason to panic. As long as he waited, the opportunities would come to him. Until then, he needed to rest, to make himself useful, and to let Valdemar think that he wouldn't be any threat.
Valdemar would think that he had complete control, and that Gunnar posed no threat. Gunnar wanted to let him think that, wanted him to lull himself into a false sense of security. The more that he relaxed, the more that Gunnar could take his time. The more that opportunities would present themselves.