"Easy, Heimon." Somner's voice said. His hand pressed gently against Hermes' shoulder. "You gave us all a scare."
Hermes licked his lips, throat dry. "What… happened?"
Somner shifted uneasily, glancing at the others before answering. "The Norse tried to cut Glasán down, and you stepped forward to shield him. You took the blade instead."
His voice wavered, but steadied again. "Glasán did the rest. He turned the hall into a grave for every last raider."
Aphrodite, seated nearby with a book clutched tight against his chest, leaned forward.
His voice was quiet, hesitant. "We arrived just in time, Heimon. Ailbe and I. We saw it all. Glasán's voice carried through the hall… and none of the Northmen left it alive."
Hermes turned his head slowly toward Glasán, who stood a little apart, shoulders bowed as if he were ashamed of his own strength.
