It was n't the cleanest raid I 'd ever led. Rollo, that rookie bastard, made a vast racket killing one of the scout. The moron had stabbed her instead of slashing her pharynx, and her scream echoed up and down the beach before she was finally silenced. Confused villagers drifted out of their homes and milled about in the pre-dawn light. Some were peculiar about what was going on while others were armed with axes, spear, arc and arrows, and pitchforks.

Luckily, my warriors were in view and I signaled them to unloosen a burst of arrow. From my vantage full stop, I saw a 6 men and charwoman fall as iron steer pierced fell and figure and shattered pearl. A big man carrying a shortsword—probably the Village chief—took an arrow in the collar, roaring in pain as he fell backwards. A woman staggered drunkenly with an arrow in her pharynx, vomiting stemma all over her cover top. As the villagers stood transfixed, a secondment volley fell, striking down at least four more villagers. A girl with short, brown hair and small breasts sank to knees with an arrow low in her belly, screaming shrilly in shock and pain in the ass.

The villagers scattered, but not before a third volley struck down the unlucky and the slow. A man carrying a bow—a genuine threat—fell with an arrow in his cover as he ran to cover. A young mother lay in a rapidly-expanding pool of descent on her own threshold clutching an arrow in her breast. Her young daughter knelt beside her, pleading with her mother to get up. But her mother could not hear her as she lay thrashing in the dirt.

I drew my sword and with a rejoicing cry, we charged. The arrow had broken any attempt at organized electrical resistance, but individual villagers still resisted. Torunn struck down an axe-wielding villager, his sword crunching into the man's chest. A wiry young Hunter notched an pointer to his face, but a flip axe split his skull, sending the shot wide.

A young teenage girl braced her lance against the oncoming charge. She stood au naturel and defiant, holding her spear as if in a shield-wall. But she was alone—in other words, easy prey. I started shoving my way towards her. But before I could confront her, Rolf was there, bloodlust clear on his face.

"Damnit, Rollo, you dumb son of a squawk !"I shouted. Rolf ran straight at the little girl. When she thrust the spear to impale him, he deftly side-stepped at the last 2d. Without breaking stride, he swept his blade across her stomach and continued on. descent splattered at her ft. A bedevil tear opened up across her belly from hip to hip. The fizgig fell from her hands, her branch limp by her sides.

I ground my teeth in anger. We weren't there to vote down everybody ; we were there to make a earnings. And this girl—with her slim physical structure and well-proportioned breasts—would have made a estimable profit. Rolf would experience to pay for this passing out of his share of the spoils.

The missy stared down at the ruin of her torso in unbelief. Blood sheeted her belly, her fork, her thighs, her legs. A small helix of puce viscera lay at her understructure. More gut bulged in the sass of the give wound. She staggered, over-correct, and fell to her human knee. The shock jarred loose the rest of her moxie, and slimed loop flopped discharge of her paunch with a sickening squelcher. Slowly, she tilted her brain back and let out a blood-curdling scream of torture. She wrapped her arms around her innards and screamed again, pulling them to herself as if to save them from touching the earth. I couldn't spotter her struggle any longer. seasoned warrior though I was, the lot made even me sick.

Elsewhere, my warriors were busy putting an end to enemy electric resistance and corralling the captured villagers into the fundamental square. One by one, isolated and outnumbered defenders were surrounded and subdued. A James Leonard Farmer with a pitchfork was tackled from the side and knocked out with a black eye to the header. A young fair sex was clubbed and dragged unconscious out of her home by her fuzz, her hubby and children close behind. Only the most die-hard of guardian, mostly adults who fought tooth-and-nail to hold their menage, were put to the sword.

I tasked Sigurd, my assistant, with sorting the loot and getting it on the wagons. Meanwhile, my top warriors and I took stock of the battle. All told, six of my warriors suffered serious wounds—two intermit ivory, one deep cut, and two shallow twinge. Ivar had taken a mighty blow to the head and was beat. We had captured around twenty dollar bill grownup, a similar number of adolescent, and XV children of varying ages. They were herded into the center of the square toes. For now, the spite that couldn't relocation lay where they'd fallen.

Nine villagers lay dead. The three sentries lay in the surrounding sand dune in addition to the one killed by Rollo, their throats slit and their dead body growing cold. The village headman had been put to the sword and his physical structure still lay in the square. The Pres Young female parent's battle had ceased, and she lay in a pool of blood and damn on her doorstep.

Surveying the battlefield, I thought another seven would die shortly. Blood bumbled in the backtalk and in the gaping chest wound of a tall warrioress. She had been able-bodied to injure two of my warriors with nothing more than a knife, but could not deflect Ranveig's brand as it plunged between her heavy, around chest. The gutted teen was a mess. There was ancestry smeared seemingly across her full trunk. Ropy entrails extended more than a meter behind her as she used her weapons system to sweep herself away on her belly, her guts trailing in her wake. She'd dug a bally course from where she had originally fallen, where the ground was churned red by her struggles, flaxen soil mixing with blood, shit, and innards.

The principal problem now was dealing with the enemy wounded. At least nine, no, ten, of the villagers with serious wounds might survive if given proper discussion. A man with a deep gash in his leg limped along, supported by his wife. A brunette with short hair sat propped up against a fencepost, hands pressed to the arrow sticking out of her belly above her lead hip, whimpering pitifully. I'd seen her declination in street during our initial salvo ; she must have dragged herself out of the way during the fight. She screwed her heart shut against a sweet moving ridge of pain in the neck as her bladder released and spend a penny splashed her blood-encrusted second joint.

I turned to my lieutenants."Torstein, kill the elderly 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. Same with the woman with the shatter shoulder joint ; she won't make it. Ulf, find out how many of the wounded can walk—and get with Sigurd to find out how often place is left in the carts."It was a foresighted journey menage and I didn't like spending any more clock time than necessary in enemy territory.

They all acknowledged and went to puzzle out. 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, putz, SALT, and former item of time value onto one of the carts. Stores of nutrient were loaded onto two more. Ivar's body was wrapped and placed onto a cart with our supplies. Our hurt were placed onto the last 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 kinsfolk of the man with the break down leg protested, the wife beating her hands against Byrn's bureau. He backhanded her across the face, knocking her pile, and stepped forward as one of his warriors held the villager becalm. Byrn drew his knife and slit his throat. Not the most good decease, but it couldn't be helped.

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

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

I frowned. I could feel 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. establish me the others."

As we walked towards the bruise, 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 broad breasts. awe, then resignation showed on her facial expression. As he drew his brand, she thrust out her breast, inviting the leaf blade. In her spirit she wasn't ready to die, but she feared a lingering end. With a grunt, he rammed his steel through her chest and into the dirt. Her eye went wide and she coughed blood. Her eyes blinked once, twice, then her head 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 low temperature. He is breathing, but he does not wake up,"said Ulf pointing at a portly man.

The short-haired brunette with the arrow in her paunch had been moved from her fencepost. She lay in the scandal, moaning softly, one manus on the wound. Blood caked her belly and private parts and continued to filter out of lacerated lips of the combat injury."Sigrid says she may be,"said Ulf,"the arrow is not too deep and her innards are not torn.

Next was a sandy-haired teen who was sitting up with the supporter of her erstwhile sister. An arrow from behind had pierced her high gear on her left hand shoulder, the arrowhead emerging above the dude of her belittled tit. Her one-time babe tried to soothe her as she cried into her shoulder."She should be hunky-dory on the way back,"said Ulf.

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

The endure was a pale-skinned, light-haired teen gyrating slowly on her back in the shit. Her hands were pressed tight to her right on English in a vain endeavor to stem the flow of blood. Ulf moved her bloody hands to record me the wounding and she cried out in pain. A sword had slashed deeply into the build and muscle above her pelvic arch. I could barely make out what looked to be the puce iteration of an intestine writhing inside her belly.

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

"Sigrid says the wound is slow to constipate, and she doesn't think the girl's interior are torn,"replied Ulf, releasing the teen's hands. Her hands immediately went back to covering the wound.

"Well then have her get to it ! Tell Sigrid to treat the other two daughter as well. Put this one and the girl with the arrow in her belly on the cart. recount the one with the arrow in her shoulder to walk. Kill the fat bloke ; he won't fetch a soundly price."

As Ulf turned to carry out his orders, I looked around again to piddle sure we hadn't missed any of the wounded. The girl Rolf had gutted was still animated somehow. She was on her back, the gaping tear in her breadbasket visible even at this distance. virtually of her guts were strung out past her ft and between her peg, but her hands still kneaded the ropy entrails at the tear's mouth as if to stuff them back in. Her peg kicked slowly, heels digging ditches in the dirt.

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

Byrn saluted and ran off.

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

"motility out. ”