It was n't the unclouded raid I 'd ever led. Rolf, that rookie bastard, made a huge racket killing one of the sentries. The changeling had stabbed her instead of slashing her throat, and her scream echoed up and down the beach before she was finally silenced. Confused villagers drifted out of their nursing home and milled about in the pre-dawn light. Some were rum about what was going on while others were armed with axis of rotation, shaft, bows and arrows, and pitchforks.

Luckily, my warriors were in situation and I signaled them to loose a burst of pointer. From my vantage point, I saw a half-dozen men and char fall as branding iron tips pierced pelt and flesh and shattered bone. A big man carrying a shortsword—probably the village chief—took an arrow in the neckband, roaring in pain as he fell backwards. A woman staggered drunkenly with an arrow in her throat, vomiting blood all over her obliterate top. As the villagers stood transfixed, a arcsecond volley fell, striking down at to the lowest degree four More villagers. A daughter with shortsighted, brownness hair and small boob sank to knees with an pointer low in her belly, screaming shrilly in shock and pain sensation.

The villagers scattered, but not before a one-third volley struck down the unlucky and the ho-hum. A man carrying a bow—a very threat—fell with an arrow in his backbone as he ran to track. A youthful mother lay in a rapidly-expanding puddle of blood on her own doorsill clutching an arrow in her breast. Her untested daughter knelt beside her, pleading with her female parent to get up. But her female parent could not find out her as she lay thrashing in the dirt.

I drew my sword and with a triumphant cry, we charged. The arrow had broken any attempt at organized electric resistance, but soul villagers still resisted. Torunn struck down an axe-wielding villager, his brand crunching into the man's bureau. A wiry young hunter notched an arrow to his face, but a flip axe split his skull, sending the shooter wide.

A new teenage fille braced her spear against the oncoming charge. She stood nude and defiant, holding her spear as if in a shield-wall. But she was alone—in early words, easy prey. I started shoving my way towards her. But before I could present her, Rolf was there, bloodlust crystallise on his typeface.

"Damnit, Hrolf, you dumb son of a bitch !"I shouted. Rolf ran straight at the girl. When she thrust the gig to transfix him, he deftly side-stepped at the last second. Without breaking stride, he swept his sword across her belly and continued on. rake splattered at her feet. A ragged tear opened up across her belly from hip to hip. The lance fell from her hands, her arms limp by her sides.

I ground my teeth in anger. We weren't there to kill everybody ; we were there to make water a net. And this girl—with her slenderize consistence and well-proportioned breasts—would have made a practiced profits. Rolf would have to pay for this red out of his share of the spoils.

The fille stared down at the ruin of her body in skepticism. line of descent sheeted her venter, her crotch, her thighs, her legs. A pocket-size coil of puce innards lay at her feet. More intestines bulged in the oral fissure of the undecided wound. She staggered, overcompensate, and fell to her articulatio genus. The impact jarred loose the residue of her gut, and slimy loops flopped free of her stomach with a sickening squelch. Slowly, she tilted her head back and let out a blood-curdling scream of anguish. She wrapped her arms around her entrails and screamed again, pulling them to herself as if to stay fresh them from touching the ground. I couldn't scout her conflict any longer. flavour warrior though I was, the sight made even me sick.

Elsewhere, my warriors were occupy putting an end to enemy resistance and corralling the captured villagers into the central second power. One by one, isolated and outnumbered shielder were surrounded and subdued. A farmer with a pitchfork was tackled from the slope and knocked out with a blow to the head. A untested adult female was clubbed and dragged unconscious mind out of her home by her fuzz, her hubby and tyke close behind. Only the most rock-ribbed of defenders, mostly adult who fought tooth-and-nail to defend their place, were put to the sword.

I tasked Sigurd, my assistant, with sorting the loot and getting it on the coaster wagon. Meanwhile, my top warriors and I took stock of the battle. All told, six of my warriors suffered good wounds—two breach bones, one deep cut, and two shallow stabs. Ivar had taken a mightily nose candy to the oral sex and was utter. We had captured around twenty dollar bill adult, a similar numeral of teen, and XV children of varying ages. They were herded into the centerfield of the lame. For now, the injure that couldn't movement lay where they'd fallen.

Nine villagers lay beat. The three sentinel lay in the surrounding dune in addition to the one killed by Rolf, their pharynx slit and their organic structure growing cold. The village chief had been put to the sword and his body still lay in the square. The Lester Willis Young mother's conflict had ceased, and she lay in a pool of blood and shit on her doorstep.

Surveying the battlefield, I thought another seven would die shortly. parentage bumbled in the mouth and in the gaping chest wound of a tall warrioress. She had been able to injure two of my warriors with nothing Thomas More than a knife, but could not parry Ranveig's steel as it plunged between her large, round titty. The gutted stripling was a mess. There was blood smeared seemingly across her entire physical structure. Ropy entrails extended more than a m behind her as she used her arm to drag in herself away on her belly, her guts trailing in her Wake Island. She'd dug a all-fired path from where she had originally fallen, where the priming was churned red by her struggle, arenaceous soil mixing with blood, cocksucker, and viscera.

The main problem now was dealing with the foeman wounded. At least nine, no, ten, of the villagers with serious lesion might go if given proper treatment. A man with a deep slice in his leg limped along, supported by his wife. A brunette with brusque hair sat propped up against a fencepost, manpower pressed to the arrow sticking out of her belly above her left hip, whimpering pitifully. I'd seen her declivity in street during our initial volley ; she must have got dragged herself out of the way during the fighting. She screwed her heart shut against a sassy wave of pain as her vesica released and urinate splashed her blood-encrusted thigh.

I turned to my lieutenants."Torstein, bolt down the elderly and any game ones you find. Byrn, see the two men over there ? The one missing a hand and the one with the weaken leg that needs to be amputated. Put them down. Same with the woman with the shattered shoulder ; she won't make it. Ulf, find out how many of the wounded can walk—and get with Sigurd to happen out how much space is left in the carts."It was a long journey place and I didn't like spending any Thomas More time than necessary in foeman territory.

They all acknowledged and went to knead. Satisfied that things were well in-hand, I sat back and observed. My men looted and celebrated while the villagers—wounded or healthy—cried. Sigurd was directing warriors to load gold, tools, salt, and former items of value onto one of the carts. entrepot of food were loaded onto two more. Ivar's eubstance was wrapped and placed onto a cart with our supplies. Our wounded were placed onto the stopping point one.

I watched as Byrn and two of his men went to each of the villagers I had pointed out and executed them one-by-one. The mob of the man with the broken leg protested, the wife beating her hands against Byrn's chest of drawers. He backhanded her across the face, knocking her down, and stepped forward as one of his warriors held the villager steady. Byrn drew his knife and slit his pharynx. Not the most honorable death, but it couldn't be helped.

"My lord,"said Ulf, signaling me to where some of the wounded villagers had been gathered. I walked towards him and we stepped off to the side out of earshot.

"My Divine, besides the three Byrn killed, there are ten whose wounds can be healed. Four won't survive the trip back. Sigurd says there is space for three wounded on the carts."

I frowned. I could palpate the gold slipping through my fingers.

"killing the four who won't survive. I see two with tiddler wounds—pack them in there and I'm trusted we can fit a fourth on the cart. Show me the others."

As we walked towards the wound, Ulf signaled one of his men, who nodded. The man stood before a proud blond woman lying on the ground with an arrow below the curve of her full white meat. reverence, then resignation showed on her case. As he drew his blade, she thrust out her chest, inviting the brand. In her spunk she wasn't ready to die, but she feared a lingering death. With a grunt, he rammed his sword through her chest and into the grime. Her eye went widely and she coughed blood. Her eyes blinked once, twice, then her principal lolled to the slope and she lay still. The other three, two men and a boy, were similarly dispatched.

"My Lord, one man was knocked out coldness. He is breathing, but he does not waken,"said Ulf pointing at a portly man.

The short-haired brunette with the arrow in her abdomen had been moved from her fencepost. She lay in the scandal, moaning softly, one hand on the wound. Blood caked her belly and genitals and continued to dribble out of pluck lips of the wound."Sigrid says she may experience,"said Ulf,"the pointer is not too deep and her innards are not torn.

Next was a sandy-haired teen who was sitting up with the help of her older sister. An arrow from rear end had pierced her high on her left shoulder, the arrowhead emerging above the sheik of her pocket-sized bosom. Her old sister tried to comfort her as she cried into her shoulder."She should be fine on the way back,"said Ulf.

"Aye, but that wound will be hard to fix. She might not retrieve full phase of the moon use of her arm,"I replied.

The last was a pale-skinned, light-haired adolescent gyrating slowly on her back in the grunge. Her work force were pressed tight to her right side in a vain attempt to stanch the flow of roue. Ulf moved her bloody deal to show me the wound and she cried out in pain. A sword had slashed deeply into the physique and muscle above her coxa. I could barely gain out what looked to be the puce loop topology of an intestine writhing inside her belly.

"You seriously think she'll survive ? That wound is serious,"I said.

"Sigrid says the wound is easily to attach, and she doesn't think the girl's insides are torn,"replied Ulf, releasing the stripling's hands. Her hands immediately went back to covering the wound.

"Well then have her get to it ! Tell Sigrid to address the early two girls as well. Put this one and the little girl with the arrow in her belly on the cart. Tell the one with the arrow in her shoulder joint to walk. bolt down the fat fellow ; he won't fetch a good price."

As Ulf turned to run out his edict, I looked around again to attain for certain we hadn't missed any of the wounded. The miss Rolf had gutted was still alive somehow. She was on her back, the gaping rent in her stomach visible even at this distance. Most of her guts were strung out past her feet and between her leg, but her paw still kneaded the ropy entrails at the tear's mouth as if to stuff them back in. Her legs kick back slowly, heel digging ditches in the dirt.

"Oh, and Ulf ? Put her out of her misery."

Byrn saluted and ran off.

Two hours later we were make to go. All the lucre and wounded had been loaded onto cart and the catch villagers were all tied together. I never burned settlement ; the smoke attracted undesirable attention and we could not outrun any pursuit.

"motion out. ”