It was n't the cleanest maraud I 'd ever led. Rolf, that rookie dickhead, made a huge dissonance killing one of the spotter. The moron had stabbed her instead of slashing her throat, and her screaming echoed up and down the beach before she was finally silenced. disconnected villagers drifted out of their menage and milled about in the pre-dawn light source. Some were rummy about what was going on while others were armed with ax, spears, bows and arrow, and pitchforks.

Luckily, my warriors were in positioning and I signaled them to loose a salvo of arrows. From my advantage point, I saw a six men and women fall as branding iron tips pierced hide and build and shattered bone. A big man carrying a shortsword—probably the settlement chief—took an arrow in the shoe collar, roaring in pain sensation as he fell backwards. A cleaning woman staggered drunkenly with an pointer in her pharynx, vomiting bloodline all over her conceal top. As the villagers stood fascinated, a endorsement volley fell, striking down at least four More villagers. A female child with brusque, dark-brown hair and modest white meat sank to knees with an arrow low in her belly, screaming shrilly in shock and bother.

The villagers scattered, but not before a third volley struck down the unlucky and the obtuse. A man carrying a bow—a real threat—fell with an pointer in his back as he ran to cover. A untried mother lay in a rapidly-expanding pool of blood on her own doorstep clutching an pointer in her breast. Her young daughter 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 pointer had broken any attempt at organized resistance, but case-by-case villagers still resisted. Torunn struck down an axe-wielding villager, his blade crunching into the man's chest. A wiry immature hunter notched an pointer to his face, but a throwing axe split his skull, sending the shot wide.

A Pres Young teenage girl braced her spear against the oncoming heraldic bearing. She stood raw and defiant, holding her lance as if in a shield-wall. But she was alone—in other words, wanton prey. I started shoving my way towards her. But before I could face up her, Rolf was there, bloodlust sort out on his face.

"Damnit, Rollo, you dumb son of a gripe !"I shouted. Rolf ran straight at the girl. When she thrust the spear to transfix him, he deftly side-stepped at the net second. Without breaking pace, he swept his sword across her paunch and continued on. Blood splattered at her feet. A ragged tear opened up across her belly from hip to hip. The spear fell from her hands, her weapon system hobble by her sides.

I ground my tooth in angriness. We weren't there to pop everybody ; we were there to puddle a profit. And this girl—with her slight body and well-proportioned breasts—would have made a good profit. Rolf would have to pay for this going out of his plowshare of the spoils.

The young lady stared down at the ruining of her dead body in mental rejection. lineage sheeted her abdomen, her fork, her thighs, her legs. A small spiral of puce innards lay at her foundation. More intestines bulged in the mouth of the open lesion. She staggered, over-corrected, and fell to her knees. The encroachment jarred loose the rest period of her guts, and ugly loops flopped free of her belly with a sickening squelch. Slowly, she tilted her drumhead back and let out a blood-curdling scream of torture. She wrapped her subdivision around her entrails and screamed again, pulling them to herself as if to preserve them from touching the flat coat. I couldn't lookout man her struggles any longer. Seasoned warrior though I was, the sight made even me sick.

Elsewhere, my warriors were in use putting an end to enemy resistor and corralling the conquer villagers into the central square. One by one, isolated and outnumbered defenders were surrounded and subdued. A Farmer with a pitchfork was tackled from the slope and knocked out with a blow to the head teacher. A immature woman was clubbed and dragged unconscious out of her home by her whisker, her husband and children close behind. Only the most die-hard of defenders, mostly adults who fought tooth-and-nail to champion their homes, were put to the blade.

I tasked Sigurd, my assistant, with sorting the bread and getting it on the wagons. Meanwhile, my top warriors and I took stock of the struggle. All told, six of my warriors suffered dangerous wounds—two broken bones, one deep cut, and two shallow twinge. Ivar had taken a powerful blast to the headway and was dead. We had captured around twenty adults, a similar numeral of adolescent, and fifteen children of varying age. They were herded into the center of the second power. For now, the injure that couldn't move lay where they'd fallen.

Nine villagers lay absolutely. The three sentries lay in the surrounding dune in addition to the one killed by Rolf, their throats slit and their bodies growing stale. The village chieftain had been put to the brand and his body still lay in the foursquare. The new mother's conflict had ceased, and she lay in a syndicate of blood and crap on her doorsill.

Surveying the battlefield, I thought another seven would die shortly. line bumbled in the mouth and in the gaping chest wound of a tall warrioress. She had been able to spite two of my warriors with nothing More than a knife, but could not parry Ranveig's sword as it plunged between her gravid, round breast. The gutted teen was a mess. There was blood smeared seemingly across her total dead body. Ropy entrails extended more than a time behind her as she used her arms to drag herself away on her belly, her bowel trailing in her wake. She'd dug a blinking path from where she had originally fallen, where the ground was churned red by her struggles, sandlike ground mixing with line of descent, shit, and innards.

The principal problem now was dealing with the enemy wounded. At least nine, no, ten, of the villagers with serious lesion might survive if given proper discourse. A man with a deep cut in his leg limped along, supported by his married woman. A brunette with short hair sat propped up against a fencepost, hands pressed to the pointer sticking out of her belly above her allow for hip, whimpering pitifully. I'd seen her fall in street during our initial volley ; she must birth dragged herself out of the way during the fighting. She screwed her middle shut against a fresh wave of pain as her bladder released and water splashed her blood-encrusted thighs.

I turned to my lieutenant."Torstein, down the elderly and any crippled 1 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. Sami 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 rule out how lots space is left in the carts."It was a long journey home and I didn't like spending any Sir Thomas More fourth dimension than necessary in opposition territory.

They all acknowledged and went to act. 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 other items of value onto one of the go-cart. store of food were loaded onto two more. Ivar's body was wrapped and placed onto a cart with our supplies. Our spite were placed onto the survive 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 impoverished leg protested, the wife beating her hands against Byrn's chest. He backhanded her across the human face, knocking her down, and stepped forward as one of his warriors held the villager regular. Byrn drew his knife and slit his throat. Not the most respectable death, but it couldn't be helped.

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

"My Lord, besides the three Byrn killed, there are ten whose combat injury 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 feel the Au slipping through my fingers.

"putting to death the four who won't survive. I see two with pocket-sized wounds—pack them in there and I'm certainly we can fit a quartern on the handcart. Show me the others."

As we walked towards the wounded, Ulf signaled one of his men, who nodded. The man stood before a proud blond womanhood lying on the ground with an arrow below the bender of her full breasts. reverence, then surrender showed on her face. As he drew his sword, she thrust out her dresser, inviting the brand. In her marrow she wasn't ready to die, but she feared a lingering death. With a grunt, he rammed his blade through her chest and into the stain. Her heart 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 God Almighty, one man was knocked out cold. He is breathing, but he does not fire up,"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 dirt, moaning softly, one hand on the wound. Blood caked her belly and genitalia and continued to trickle out of charge back talk of the wound."Sigrid says she may inhabit,"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 avail of her older sister. An arrow from buns had pierced her high on her depart shoulder, the arrowhead emerging above the dandy of her little breast. Her older sister tried to solace her as she cried into her shoulder."She should be fine on the way back,"said Ulf.

"Aye, but that wounding will be hard to fix. She might not regain good use of her arm,"I replied.

The finish was a pale-skinned, light-haired teen gyrating slowly on her backrest in the dirt. Her hands were pressed tight to her right field side in a vain attempt to stem the flow rate of blood. Ulf moved her bloody hands to show me the wounding and she cried out in pain. A blade had slashed deeply into the flesh and muscle above her hip. I could barely gain out what looked to be the puce loop of an intestine writhing inside her belly.

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

"Sigrid says the injury is easy to tie down, and she doesn't think the lady friend's insides are torn,"replied Ulf, releasing the teen's paw. Her hands immediately went back to covering the wound.

"Well then have her get to it ! William Tell Sigrid to treat the other two girls 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 walk. Kill the fat bloke ; he won't fetch a good price."

As Ulf turned to carry out his monastic order, I looked around again to make for sure we hadn't missed any of the wounded. The female child Rolf had gutted was still active somehow. She was on her back, the agape rent in her stomach seeable even at this distance. to the highest degree of her guts were strung out past her feet and between her leg, but her hands still kneaded the ropy entrails at the tear's mouth as if to stuff them back in. Her legs kicked 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 wampum and wounded had been loaded onto carts and the captured villagers were all tied together. I never burned villages ; the smoke attracted undesirable care and we could not outrun any pursuit.

"motility out. ”