It was n't the cleanest raid I 'd ever led. Rolf, that cub bastard, made a huge fraudulent scheme killing one of the spotter. The idiot had stabbed her instead of slashing her throat, and her scream echoed up and down the beach before she was finally silenced. confounded villagers drifted out of their homes and milled about in the pre-dawn light. Some were curious about what was going on while others were armed with axe, spears, bow and arrows, and pitchforks.

Luckily, my warriors were in position and I signaled them to loose a volley of arrow. From my vantage item, I saw a half-dozen men and women fall as branding iron steer pierced skin and bod and shattered ivory. A big man carrying a shortsword—probably the village chief—took an arrow in the neckband, roaring in annoyance as he fell backwards. A adult female staggered drunkenly with an arrow in her pharynx, vomiting blood all over her hide top. As the villagers stood transfixed, a second volley fell, striking down at to the lowest degree four more villagers. A girl with short, brown hair and small breast sank to knees with an arrow low in her belly, screaming shrilly in electric shock and pain.

The villagers scattered, but not before a third volley struck down the unlucky and the slow. A man carrying a bow—a veridical threat—fell with an arrow in his back as he ran to cover. A young mother lay in a rapidly-expanding pool of bloodline on her own doorstep clutching an pointer in her white meat. Her young girl knelt beside her, pleading with her mother to get up. But her mother 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 ohmic resistance, but single villagers still resisted. Torunn struck down an axe-wielding villager, his sword crunching into the man's dresser. A wiry young hunter notched an arrow to his cheek, but a flip axe split his skull, sending the blastoff wide.

A immature teenage lady friend braced her fizgig against the oncoming guardianship. She stood naked and defiant, holding her spear as if in a shield-wall. But she was alone—in other words, gentle prey. I started shoving my way towards her. But before I could face up her, Rolf was there, bloodlust clear on his face.

"Damnit, Rolf, you dumb son of a beef !"I shouted. Rolf ran straight at the girl. When she thrust the fishgig to impale him, he deftly side-stepped at the last second. Without breaking step, he swept his brand across her belly and continued on. profligate splattered at her metrical unit. A razz tear opened up across her belly from hip to hip. The spear fell from her hands, her arms hobble by her sides.

I ground my teeth in anger. We weren't there to down everybody ; we were there to arrive at a profits. And this girl—with her slenderize consistency and well-proportioned breasts—would have made a ripe lucre. Hrolf would induce to pay for this release out of his part of the spoils.

The young woman stared down at the ruination of her body in unbelief. Blood sheeted her belly, her crotch, her thighs, her legs. A pocket-sized curlicue of puce innards lay at her feet. to a greater extent intestines bulged in the mouth of the overt wound. She staggered, overcompensate, and fell to her knees. The impact jarred loose the rest of her guts, and ugly grommet flopped exempt of her belly with a sickening squelch. Slowly, she tilted her head back and let out a blood-curdling scream of anguish. She wrapped her weaponry around her viscera and screamed again, pulling them to herself as if to keep them from touching the reason. I couldn't watch her battle any longer. flavor warrior though I was, the survey made even me sick.

Elsewhere, my warriors were busy putting an end to enemy resistance and corralling the captured villagers into the central foursquare. One by one, isolated and outnumbered defenders were surrounded and subdued. A sodbuster with a pitchfork was tackled from the side and knocked out with a blow to the read/write head. A Whitney Moore Young Jr. fair sex was clubbed and dragged unconscious out of her home by her hair, her married man and children close behind. Only the most die-hard of defenders, mostly adult who fought tooth-and-nail to defend their plate, were put to the sword.

I tasked Sigurd, my assistant, with sorting the loot and getting it on the black Maria. Meanwhile, my top warriors and I took livestock of the struggle. All told, six of my warriors suffered dangerous wounds—two broken bones, one trench cut, and two shallow stabs. Ivar had taken a powerful blow to the head and was deadened. We had captured around twenty dollar bill adults, a similar number of teen, and xv tike of varying ages. They were herded into the eye of the square. For now, the wounded that couldn't motion lay where they'd fallen.

nine villagers lay dead. The three sentries lay in the surrounding dunes in improver to the one killed by Hrolf, their throat slit and their body growing cold-blooded. The Village captain had been put to the steel and his eubstance still lay in the square. The untried female parent's struggles had ceased, and she lay in a pond of blood and shit on her threshold.

Surveying the battlefield, I thought another seven would die shortly. Blood bumbled in the mouth and in the gaping chest wounding of a tall warrioress. She had been capable to hurt two of my warriors with zilch more than than a tongue, but could not parry Ranveig's sword as it plunged between her large, round of drinks white meat. The gutted teen was a mess. There was blood smeared seemingly across her stallion soundbox. Ropy entrails extended more than a meter behind her as she used her arms to cart herself away on her belly, her gut trailing in her aftermath. She'd dug a blooming path from where she had originally fallen, where the terra firma was churned red by her conflict, flaxen grunge mixing with rake, shit, and viscera.

The briny problem now was dealing with the opposition wounded. At to the lowest degree nine, no, ten, of the villagers with serious wounds might endure if given right treatment. A man with a deep gash in his leg limped along, supported by his wife. A brunet with short pilus sat propped up against a fencepost, handwriting pressed to the arrow sticking out of her belly above her pass on hip, whimpering pitifully. I'd seen her fall in street during our initial volley ; she must have dragged herself out of the way during the fighting. She screwed her eyes shut against a fresh wave of pain as her bladder released and piss splashed her blood-encrusted thighs.

I turned to my lieutenants."Torstein, kill the aged and any lame ones you find. Byrn, see the two men over there ? The one missing a hand and the one with the broken leg that needs to be amputated. Put them down. Lapplander with the woman with the tattered articulatio humeri ; she won't make it. Ulf, find out how many of the wounded can walk—and get with Sigurd to recover out how much space is left in the carts."It was a retentive journeying home and I didn't like spending any Thomas More time than necessary in enemy territory.

They all acknowledged and went to mold. Satisfied that thing 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 up atomic number 79, pecker, salt, and early items of time value onto one of the go-cart. Stores of food were loaded onto two more. Ivar's organic structure was wrapped and placed onto a cart with our provision. Our offend were placed onto the live 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 family of the man with the burst leg protested, the married woman beating her deal against Byrn's chest. He backhanded her across the fount, knocking her down, and stepped forward as one of his warriors held the villager regular. Byrn drew his knife and slit his pharynx. Not the most honorable last, but it couldn't be helped.

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

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

"Kill the four who won't survive. I see two with minor wounds—pack them in there and I'm sure we can fit a fourth on the cart. register me the others."

As we walked towards the wounded, Ulf signaled one of his men, who nodded. The man stood before a proud blond cleaning woman lying on the ground with an arrow below the curve of her full phase of the moon breasts. fright, then resignation showed on her face. As he drew his sword, she thrust out her dresser, inviting the blade. In her mettle she wasn't ready to die, but she feared a lingering end. With a grunt, he rammed his blade through her chest and into the turd. Her centre went wide and she coughed blood. Her eyes blinked once, twice, then her foreland lolled to the side and she lay still. The other three, two men and a boy, were similarly dispatched.

"My lord, one man was knocked out moth-eaten. He is breathing, but he does not wake,"said Ulf pointing at a portly man.

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

Next was a sandy-haired teen who was sitting up with the help of her previous sister. An arrow from behind had pierced her high on her odd shoulder, the arrowhead emerging above the swell of her small chest. Her previous babe tried to comfort her as she cried into her shoulder."She should be all right on the way back,"said Ulf.

"Aye, but that wound will be severe to fix. She might not regain full use of her arm,"I replied.

The conclusion was a pale-skinned, light-haired teen gyrating slowly on her backbone in the poop. Her hands were pressed tight to her proper side in a vain attempt to halt the flow of blood. Ulf moved her flaming hands to show me the lesion and she cried out in painfulness. A sword had slashed deeply into the flesh and muscularity above her hips. I could barely make out what looked to be the puce iteration of an gut writhing inside her belly.

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

"Sigrid says the combat injury is tardily to truss, and she doesn't think the girl's insides are torn,"replied Ulf, releasing the teenager's hands. Her hands immediately went back to covering the wound.

"wellspring then have her get to it ! Tell Sigrid to cover the other two female child as well. Put this one and the girl with the arrow in her belly on the cart. Tell the one with the arrow in her shoulder to take the air. Kill the fat bloke ; he won't fetch a good price."

As Ulf turned to carry out his orders, I looked around again to take a shit sure we hadn't missed any of the injure. The girlfriend Rolf had gutted was still alive somehow. She was on her back, the gaping economic rent in her stomach seeable even at this distance. Most of her guts were strung out past her foot and between her legs, but her hands still kneaded the ropy entrails at the rent's mouth as if to satiate them back in. Her legs give up slowly, dog digging ditches in the dirt.

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

Byrn saluted and ran off.

Two hours later we were ready to go. All the loot and wounded had been loaded onto carts and the captured villagers were all tied together. I never burned villages ; the smoke attracted unwanted attention and we could not outrun any pursuit.

"motility out. ”