6
Dagmar made it to the north end of the arena before Tork was even halfway there. Seeing that she had plenty of time to do what she wanted to do, she squatted down until her cuffed hands were on the ground and the cuff-chain between them lay in the dirt. Then she moved one foot backward behind the chain, followed by the other foot.
When she stood up, her cuffed hands were now in front of her. It didn’t really improve her chances against a dwarf with a battleaxe, but it was a start. And it made her feel a little better, a little more in control.
Tork was now ten feet away and closing in fast. Well, relatively fast. He lumbered along in his heavy mail, a snarl on his lips, his eyes full of murder.
Dagmar ran to her left, giving Tork a wide berth, and raced toward the south end of the arena.
Behind her she heard Tork groan and say, “Tukul dim vornot.” She guessed it was some kind of dwarvish curse.
The Marauders in the stands mocked her as she ran past.
“Coward!” shouted one.
“Whaddaya expect,” snorted another. “Girls can’t fight.”
“Don’t let Em hear you say that,” said a third.
Others started a chant: “Run, bunny, run! Run, bunny, run!”
The chant infuriated her. She wished she didn’t have to run. She wished she knew how to fight well enough to leave Tork and the rest of these bastards in little red pieces.
But she didn’t, so she ran.