I rolled to my feet—well, foot—sword hanging from my hand, and for a moment we faced each other. Over Snorri’s left shoulder the last burning scrap of the sun fell behind the mountains.

“You’ve got a bit of . . .” I mimed with my hand, scraping at my chin. “Um . . . something in your beard. Lung, I think.”

He reached up, a slow movement, eyes clearing as he did so. “Could be.” He flicked the gobbet of flesh away. A grin. Snorri again.

“There are more coming?” I asked.

“There are more,” he said. “Whether they’re coming or not is yet to be decided. I think there are eight remaining.” He wiped his face, smearing the crimson. Where clean skin showed he looked far too pale—even for a Norseman. The dark and flowing nature of the gore beneath his ribs on the left suggested that not all the blood belonged to our enemy.

“Edris?” I asked.

Snorri shook his head. “Him I would remember putting down. He’ll be bringing up the rear, making sure none of his stragglers decide the mountain’s too steep.” He leaned back against the rock, axe dangling from his hand, flesh white beneath the scarlet now, veins curiously dark.

“We should give them something to think about,” I said. I knew the power of fear better than most men, and Snorri had left a frightful mess. I took hold of the man Snorri had ripped his axe out of to save himself from the spear thrust. His left boot proved the least slippery part of him and I tugged him towards the drop where our ledge fell away to the next. I’d moved him about six inches before discovering that while blind terror is a great anaesthetic in the moment, once the immediate danger is passed the effect wears off rapidly. I fell back clutching my ankle and inventing new swear words that might more effectively convey my distress. “Bollockeration.”

“Toss the corpses over?” Snorri asked.

“It might make them think twice.” It would make me think just the once, and the thought would be I’ll come back later.

Snorri nodded and, taking two men by the ankle, threw them over the edge. They landed with a sound that was wet and crunchy at the same time, and my stomach lurched. It would be the path the mercenaries’ rear guard would likely take—the route we had taken. Meegan and his companions had only been inspired to the alternative and more difficult ascent by the sounds of battle. The sensible desire to flank Snorri rather than face him one by one in the narrow defence point he’d chosen had driven them up a more dangerous path.

Still sat on my backside, I grabbed another man by the wrist, braced my good leg against a ridge of rock, and started to tug him by inches towards the drop. I moved him about a yard in the time it took Snorri to toss all but one of the rest in the area.