It was n't the cleanest raid I 'd ever led. Hrolf, that rookie bastard, made a immense racket killing one of the sentries. The idiot 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 dwelling house and milled about in the pre-dawn illumination. Some were peculiar about what was going on while others were armed with axis vertebra, spear, stem and arrow, and pitchforks.

Luckily, my warriors were in position and I signaled them to release a volley of pointer. From my vantage point, I saw a 6 men and cleaning lady fall as iron tips pierced hide and flesh and shattered bone. A big man carrying a shortsword—probably the Village chief—took an arrow in the choker, roaring in pain as he fell backwards. A woman staggered drunkenly with an arrow in her pharynx, vomiting stemma all over her fell top. As the villagers stood mesmerised, a endorse volley fell, striking down at least four to a greater extent villagers. A girl with short, browned hair and small breast sank to knees with an arrow low in her belly, screaming shrilly in shock and pain sensation.

The villagers scattered, but not before a third gear fusillade struck down the doomed and the boring. A man carrying a bow—a actual threat—fell with an arrow in his backbone as he ran to cover. A young mother lay in a rapidly-expanding kitty of stock on her own threshold clutching an arrow in her white meat. Her young daughter knelt beside her, pleading with her female parent to get up. But her mother could not take heed her as she lay thrashing in the dirt.

I drew my sword and with a triumphant cry, we charged. The arrows had broken any endeavor at organized resistance, but individual villagers still resisted. Torunn struck down an axe-wielding villager, his sword crunching into the man's chest. A stringy vernal hunter notched an arrow to his cheek, but a give axe split his skull, sending the shaft wide.

A untested teenage girl braced her fishgig against the oncoming charge. She stood naked and defiant, holding her spear as if in a shield-wall. But she was alone—in former Bible, easy prey. I started shoving my way towards her. But before I could confront her, Rolf was there, bloodlust clear on his font.

"Damnit, Rolf, you dumb son of a bitch !"I shouted. Hrolf ran straight at the missy. When she thrust the spear to empale him, he deftly side-stepped at the death second. Without breaking pace, he swept his sword across her stomach and continued on. pedigree splattered at her invertebrate foot. A ragged 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 tooth in anger. We weren't there to kill everybody ; we were there to make a profit. And this girl—with her slim trunk and well-proportioned breasts—would have made a good gain. Rolf would hold to pay for this going out of his ploughshare of the spoils.

The daughter stared down at the ruin of her body in mental rejection. rake sheeted her belly, her crotch, her thighs, her leg. A small coil of puce entrails lay at her feet. Thomas More gut bulged in the oral cavity of the open wound. She staggered, over-corrected, and fell to her articulatio genus. The impact jarred loose the rest of her guts, and slimy iteration flopped free of her belly with a sickening squelch. Slowly, she tilted her read/write head back and let out a blood-curdling scream of anguish. She wrapped her weaponry around her entrails and screamed again, pulling them to herself as if to keep them from touching the ground. I couldn't watch her struggle any longer. flavour warrior though I was, the lot made even me sick.

Elsewhere, my warriors were meddlesome putting an end to enemy ohmic resistance and corralling the captured villagers into the central foursquare. One by one, isolated and outnumbered defenders were surrounded and subdued. A Fannie Farmer with a pitchfork was tackled from the side and knocked out with a blow to the head. A Edward Young cleaning woman was clubbed and dragged unconscious out of her dwelling house by her hair, her husband and children close behind. Only the most die-hard of guardian, mostly adult who fought tooth-and-nail to guard their homes, were put to the brand.

I tasked Sigurd, my assistant, with sorting the loot and getting it on the wagons. Meanwhile, my top warriors and I took bloodline of the struggle. All told, six of my warriors suffered serious wounds—two broken bones, one deep cut, and two shallow stabs. Ivar had taken a mighty blow to the head and was abruptly. We had captured around twenty adults, a similar turn of teen, and xv youngster of varying years. They were herded into the center of the foursquare. For now, the maimed that couldn't move lay where they'd fallen.

Nine villagers lay dead. The three watch lay in the surrounding sand dune in gain to the one killed by Rolf, their throats slit and their organic structure growing frigidity. The village chieftain had been put to the sword and his body still lay in the lame. The Brigham Young mother's battle had ceased, and she lay in a pool of blood and diddlyshit on her threshold.

Surveying the battleground, I thought another seven would die shortly. Blood bumbled in the oral fissure and in the gaping chest wound of a tall warrioress. She had been able to injure two of my warriors with aught more than a knife, but could not parry Ranveig's brand as it plunged between her big, flesh out tit. The gutted teen was a deal. There was profligate smeared seemingly across her entire body. Ropy entrails extended more than a meter behind her as she used her arms to drag in herself away on her belly, her catgut trailing in her wake. She'd dug a crashing route from where she had originally fallen, where the ground was churned red by her battle, sandy ground mixing with rip, shit, and entrails.

The independent problem now was dealing with the foeman wounded. At least nine, no, ten, of the villagers with severe wounds might hold up if given right treatment. A man with a deep slash in his leg limped along, supported by his married woman. A brunette with myopic hair's-breadth sat propped up against a fencepost, manus pressed to the pointer sticking out of her belly above her go away hip, whimpering pitifully. I'd seen her twilight in street during our initial salvo ; she must stimulate dragged herself out of the way during the fighting. She screwed her eyes shut against a sweet wave of pain as her bladder released and pissing splashed her blood-encrusted thighs.

I turned to my lieutenants."Torstein, kill the older 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. Lapp with the char with the tattered articulatio humeri ; she won't make it. Ulf, discover 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 farsighted journey dwelling house and I didn't like spending any more time than necessity in enemy territory.

They all acknowledged and went to cultivate. 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 charge gold, tools, salt, and other token of value onto one of the handcart. Stores 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 hold up 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 broken leg protested, the wife beating her helping hand against Byrn's chest. He backhanded her across the case, knocking her down, and stepped forward as one of his warriors held the villager steady. 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 Jehovah, besides the three Byrn killed, there are ten whose wounds can be healed. Four won't survive the slip back. Sigurd says there is space for three wounded on the carts."

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

"putting to death the four who won't survive. I see two with child wounds—pack them in there and I'm indisputable we can fit a fourth on the cart. 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 woman lying on the ground with an arrow below the breaking ball of her full bosom. veneration, then resignation showed on her nerve. As he drew his sword, she thrust out her breast, inviting the vane. In her heart 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 stain. Her eyes went wide and she coughed blood. Her eyes blinked once, twice, then her head lolled to the position and she lay still. The other three, two men and a boy, were similarly dispatched.

"My nobleman, one man was knocked out cold. 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 dirt, moaning softly, one script on the lesion. Blood caked her abdomen and genital organ and continued to dribble out of rupture lips of the wound."Sigrid says she may experience,"said Ulf,"the arrow is not too late and her viscera are not torn.

Next was a sandy-haired teen who was sitting up with the help of her aged sister. An arrow from tail end had pierced her high on her left shoulder, the arrowhead emerging above the clotheshorse of her low breasts. Her elderly babe tried to soothe her as she cried into her shoulder."She should be o.k. on the way back,"said Ulf.

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

The lastly was a pale-skinned, light-haired teen gyrating slowly on her binding in the dirt. Her hands were pressed tight to her right position in a vain attempt to stanch the menses of lineage. Ulf moved her blooming hands to show me the wound and she cried out in bother. A sword had slashed deeply into the physical body and muscle above her hips. I could barely make out what looked to be the puce grommet of an intestine writhing inside her belly.

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

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

"wellspring then have her get to it ! William Tell Sigrid to regale the other two girls as well. Put this one and the daughter with the pointer in her belly on the cart. Tell the one with the pointer in her shoulder to walk. Kill the fat bloke ; he won't fetch a good price."

As Ulf turned to express out his orders, I looked around again to make for certain we hadn't missed any of the wounded. The girl Rolf had gutted was still live somehow. She was on her back, the gaping rent in her stomach visible even at this distance. Most of her grit were strung out past her invertebrate foot and between her legs, but her hands still kneaded the ropy entrails at the rent's mouth as if to overgorge them back in. Her branch 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 gear up to go. All the plunder and wounded had been loaded onto cart and the capture villagers were all tied together. I never burned village ; the smoking attracted undesirable attending and we could not outrun any pursuit.

"motion out. ”