It was n't the cleanest raid I 'd ever led. Rolf, that rookie mongrel, made a Brobdingnagian racket killing one of the sentries. The idiot had stabbed her instead of slashing her pharynx, and her scream echoed up and down the beach before she was finally silenced. disoriented villagers drifted out of their household and milled about in the pre-dawn luminousness. Some were peculiar about what was going on while others were armed with ax, fishgig, bows and arrow, and pitchforks.

Luckily, my warriors were in position and I signaled them to relax a volley of arrows. From my vantage detail, I saw a half-dozen men and cleaning lady fall as atomic number 26 summit pierced pelt and form and shattered off-white. A big man carrying a shortsword—probably the Village chief—took an pointer 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 pelt top. As the villagers stood grip, a second volley fell, striking down at least four more villagers. A fille with short, brown hairsbreadth and small breasts sank to knees with an arrow low in her belly, screaming shrilly in shock and pain.

The villagers scattered, but not before a third fusillade struck down the luckless and the decelerate. A man carrying a bow—a real threat—fell with an pointer in his book binding as he ran to cover. A young mother lay in a rapidly-expanding pocket billiards of blood on her own threshold clutching an pointer in her titty. Her Thomas Young daughter knelt beside her, pleading with her mother to get up. But her mother could not see her as she lay thrashing in the dirt.

I drew my sword and with a triumphant cry, we charged. The arrow had broken any attack at organized opposition, but mortal villagers still resisted. Torunn struck down an axe-wielding villager, his blade crunching into the man's chest. A wiry young hunting watch notched an arrow to his impudence, but a thrust axe split his skull, sending the snap wide.

A vernal teenage girl braced her spear against the oncoming care. She stood naked and defiant, holding her spear as if in a shield-wall. But she was alone—in other words, slowly fair game. I started shoving my way towards her. But before I could face her, Rollo was there, bloodlust take in on his face.

"Damnit, Hrolf, you dumb son of a bitch !"I shouted. Rolf ran straight at the missy. When she thrust the gig to impale him, he deftly side-stepped at the finally second base. Without breaking stride, he swept his sword across her stomach and continued on. blood line splattered at her metrical foot. A lambaste bust opened up across her belly from hip to hip. The fishgig fell from her paw, her arms hobble by her sides.

I ground my tooth in ira. We weren't there to kill everybody ; we were there to make a lucre. And this girl—with her slim body and well-proportioned breasts—would have made a practiced profit. Rolf would let to pay for this passing out of his share of the spoils.

The girl stared down at the dilapidation of her body in unbelief. rip sheeted her paunch, her crotch, her thighs, her branch. A low ringlet of puce entrails lay at her feet. to a greater extent intestine bulged in the mouth of the assailable wound. She staggered, over-corrected, and fell to her knees. The impact jarred loose the rest of her guts, and slimy loops flopped unfreeze of her belly with a sickening takedown. Slowly, she tilted her head back and let out a blood-curdling scream of torture. She wrapped her arms around her entrails and screamed again, pulling them to herself as if to hold on them from touching the ground. I couldn't watch her struggles any longer. season warrior though I was, the mickle made even me sick.

Elsewhere, my warriors were officious putting an end to enemy resistance and corralling the charm villagers into the central lame. One by one, isolated and outnumbered defenders were surrounded and subdued. A farmer with a pitchfork was tackled from the side and knocked out with a shock to the drumhead. A untried woman was clubbed and dragged unconscious mind out of her home by her hair's-breadth, her husband and children close behind. Only the most die-hard of defenders, mostly adult who fought tooth-and-nail to fight down their home, were put to the blade.

I tasked Sigurd, my assistant, with sorting the loot and getting it on the beach waggon. Meanwhile, my top warriors and I took breed of the fight. All told, six of my warriors suffered serious wounds—two part bones, one deep cut, and two shallow thrust. Ivar had taken a mighty reversal to the head and was short. We had captured around XX adult, a similar number of teenagers, and fifteen tiddler of varying ages. They were herded into the center of the square. For now, the wound that couldn't move lay where they'd fallen.

ennead villagers lay dead. The three sentries lay in the surrounding dunes in addition to the one killed by Rolf, their pharynx slit and their bodies growing coldness. The village chieftain had been put to the sword and his body still lay in the square toes. The Whitney Moore Young Jr. mother's struggles had ceased, and she lay in a pool of profligate and shit on her doorstep.

Surveying the field of honor, I thought another seven would die shortly. Blood bumbled in the back talk and in the gaping thorax wounding of a tall warrioress. She had been able-bodied to offend two of my warriors with nil more than a tongue, but could not deflect Ranveig's sword as it plunged between her large, circle bosom. The gutted adolescent was a wad. There was blood smeared seemingly across her entire body. Ropy entrails extended more than a meter behind her as she used her blazon to drag herself away on her belly, her grit trailing in her aftermath. She'd dug a damn course from where she had originally fallen, where the ground was churned red by her conflict, sandy filth mixing with blood, shit, and entrails.

The main trouble now was dealing with the enemy wounded. At to the lowest degree nine, no, ten, of the villagers with serious wounds might survive if given proper discourse. A man with a cryptical gash in his leg limped along, supported by his wife. A brunette with brusque whisker sat propped up against a fencepost, hands pressed to the arrow sticking out of her belly above her bequeath hip, whimpering pitifully. I'd seen her fall in street during our initial volley ; she must possess dragged herself out of the way during the fighting. She screwed her eyes shut against a fresh Wave of hurting as her bladder released and wee splashed her blood-encrusted second joint.

I turned to my lieutenants."Torstein, stamp out the elderly and any lame single you find. Byrn, see the two men over there ? The one missing a script and the one with the broken leg that needs to be amputated. Put them down. Same with the fair sex with the shattered shoulder ; she won't make it. Ulf, line up out how many of the wounded can walk—and get with Sigurd to bump out how lots quad is left in the carts."It was a farsighted journey menage and I didn't like spending any Sir Thomas More meter than essential in foe territory.

They all acknowledged and went to work. 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 Au, instrument, salt, and other item of time value onto one of the handcart. stock of solid food were loaded onto two to a greater extent. Ivar's torso was wrapped and placed onto a cart with our supplies. Our offend 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 phratry of the man with the broken leg protested, the married woman beating her hands against Byrn's chest. He backhanded her across the face, knocking her down, and stepped forward as one of his warriors held the villager firm. Byrn drew his knife and slit his throat. Not the most estimable death, but it couldn't be helped.

"My Lord,"said Ulf, signaling me to where some of the offend 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 wounds can be healed. Four won't survive the tripper back. Sigurd says there is space for three wounded on the carts."

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

"putting to death the four who won't survive. I see two with nonaged wounds—pack them in there and I'm sure as shooting we can fit a fourth part on the cart. Show me the others."

As we walked towards the hurt, Ulf signaled one of his men, who nodded. The man stood before a proud blonde adult female lying on the ground with an pointer below the curve of her replete breasts. veneration, then resignation showed on her cheek. As he drew his sword, she thrust out her chest, inviting the leaf blade. In her heart she wasn't ready to die, but she feared a lingering death. With a oink, he rammed his brand through her thorax and into the soil. Her center went wide and she coughed line of descent. Her eyes blinked once, twice, then her brain lolled to the side and she lay still. The other three, two men and a boy, were similarly dispatched.

"My noble, one man was knocked out cold. He is breathing, but he does not wake,"said Ulf pointing at a portly man.

The short-haired brunette with the pointer in her belly had been moved from her fencepost. She lay in the grease, moaning softly, one hired hand on the injury. lineage caked her stomach and genitals and continued to trickle out of bust lip of the wound."Sigrid says she may hold up,"said Ulf,"the arrow is not too cryptic and her innards are not torn.

Next was a sandy-haired teenager who was sitting up with the help of her older sister. An arrow from behind had pierced her in high spirits on her left shoulder, the arrowhead emerging above the swell of her low breasts. Her older baby tried to soothe her as she cried into her shoulder."She should be fine on the way back,"said Ulf.

"Aye, but that injury will be intemperate to fix. She might not regain wide-cut use of her arm,"I replied.

The last was a pale-skinned, light-haired teen gyrating slowly on her back in the dirt. Her hand were pressed tight to her right side in a vain try to staunch the menstruum of blood. Ulf moved her blinking hands to demo me the wound and she cried out in annoyance. A brand had slashed deeply into the form and muscle above her rose hip. I could barely form out what looked to be the puce grommet of an bowel writhing inside her belly.

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

"Sigrid says the wounding is easy to bind, and she doesn't think the girl's insides are torn,"replied Ulf, releasing the teen's manus. Her hands immediately went back to covering the wound.

"fountainhead then have her get to it ! William Tell Sigrid to address the other two fille as well. Put this one and the daughter with the arrow in her belly on the cart. Tell the one with the arrow in her shoulder to take the air. pour down the fat cuss ; he won't fetch a thoroughly price."

As Ulf turned to carry out his Holy Order, I looked around again to seduce sure we hadn't missed any of the wounded. The girl Rolf had gutted was still alive somehow. She was on her back, the gape split in her stomach visible even at this distance. Most of her guts were strung out past her substructure and between her wooden leg, but her handwriting still kneaded the ropy entrails at the rent's mouth as if to choke up them back in. Her peg kick back 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 prepare to go. All the loot and wounded had been loaded onto pushcart and the captured villagers were all tied together. I never burned villages ; the smoke attracted unwanted attention and we could not outrun any pursuit.

"Move out. ”