Snorri stood, letting the bench fall as Rike reeled back, then in one quick stride seized the man behind his head with both hands and rammed him face-first into the table. The impact sent my ale vaulting out of its cup and into my lap. Rike himself slid to the floor trailing a long red stain across the beer-soaked boards. The killer stood behind his fallen companion. Red Kent they called this one. His hand on the hatchet at his side, a question on his brow. ‘Ha! Let him sleep it off.’ Snorri
