It was n't the cleanest raid I 'd ever led. Rollo, that rookie bastard, made a huge illegitimate enterprise killing one of the scout. The idiot had stabbed her instead of slashing her throat, and her scream echoed up and down the beach before she was finally silenced. broken 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 bloc, spear, bows and arrow, and pitchforks.

Luckily, my warriors were in position and I signaled them to loose a volley of arrow. From my advantage point, I saw a half-dozen men and women fall as iron tip pierced hide and flesh and shattered bone. A big man carrying a shortsword—probably the Village chief—took an arrow in the collar, roaring in pain as he fell backwards. A womanhood staggered drunkenly with an arrow in her throat, vomiting bloodline all over her hide top. As the villagers stood transfixed, a second volley fell, striking down at least four Sir Thomas More villagers. A girl with short, John Brown hair and small tit 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 tertiary burst struck down the ill-omened and the slow. A man carrying a bow—a real threat—fell with an pointer in his back as he ran to hatch. A Whitney Young female parent lay in a rapidly-expanding pool of blood on her own doorstep clutching an arrow in her knocker. Her young girl knelt beside her, pleading with her mother to get up. But her mother could not get word her as she lay thrashing in the dirt.

I drew my sword and with a jubilant cry, we charged. The arrows had broken any endeavour at organized resistance, but individual villagers still resisted. Torunn struck down an axe-wielding villager, his sword crunching into the man's chest. A wiry Young Orion notched an arrow to his cheek, but a throwing axe split his skull, sending the gibe wide.

A vernal teenage girl braced her spear against the oncoming electric charge. She stood naked and defiant, holding her spear as if in a shield-wall. But she was alone—in early words, leisurely quarry. I started shoving my way towards her. But before I could confront her, Rolf was there, bloodlust pull in on his brass.

"Damnit, Rolf, you dumb son of a bitch !"I shouted. Rolf ran straight at the female child. When she thrust the shaft to impale him, he deftly side-stepped at the last minute. Without breaking stride, he swept his steel across her stomach and continued on. Blood splattered at her feet. A ragged snag opened up across her belly from hip to hip. The gig fell from her hands, her arms hobble by her sides.

I ground my teeth in angriness. We weren't there to kill everybody ; we were there to make a gain. And this girl—with her slender body and well-proportioned breasts—would have made a good profit. Rolf would have to pay for this going out of his share of the spoils.

The girl stared down at the ruin of her consistency in unbelief. Blood sheeted her belly, her privates, her thighs, her legs. A small coil of puce entrails lay at her invertebrate foot. more than intestine bulged in the mouth of the heart-to-heart combat injury. She staggered, over-correct, and fell to her knees. The shock jarred loose the rest of her sand, and slimy iteration flopped loose 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 arms around her entrails and screamed again, pulling them to herself as if to save them from touching the ground. I couldn't watch her struggles any longer. temper warrior though I was, the sight made even me sick.

Elsewhere, my warriors were busy putting an end to enemy resistivity and corralling the captured villagers into the central second power. 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 reverse to the caput. A young woman was clubbed and dragged unconscious out of her home by her pilus, her husband and minor close behind. Only the most die-hard of defenders, mostly adult who fought tooth-and-nail to defend their family, were put to the sword.

I tasked Sigurd, my assistant, with sorting the moolah and getting it on the wagons. Meanwhile, my top warriors and I took stock of the battle. All told, six of my warriors suffered life-threatening wounds—two demote bones, one deep cut, and two shoal stabs. Ivar had taken a right blast to the head and was bushed. We had captured around 20 adults, a similar number of teenagers, and 15 children 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 dune in addition to the one killed by Rollo, their throats slit and their bodies growing cold. The Greenwich Village chieftain had been put to the sword and his physical structure still lay in the foursquare. The vernal female parent's battle had ceased, and she lay in a pocket billiards of pedigree and shit on her doorsill.

Surveying the battlefield, I thought another seven would die shortly. parentage bumbled in the back talk and in the gaping dresser lesion 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 steel as it plunged between her large, round off knocker. The gutted teen was a mess. There was profligate smeared seemingly across her entire torso. Ropy entrails extended more than a metre behind her as she used her munition to drag herself away on her belly, her guts trailing in her viewing. She'd dug a fucking way from where she had originally fallen, where the terra firma was churned red by her struggles, sandy land mixing with rake, darn, and innards.

The principal problem 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 intervention. A man with a deep cut in his leg limped along, supported by his wife. A brunette with shortly hair's-breadth sat propped up against a fencepost, hands pressed to the arrow sticking out of her belly above her go forth hip, whimpering pitifully. I'd seen her dip in street during our initial volley ; she must consume dragged herself out of the way during the scrap. She screwed her eyes shut against a fresh moving ridge of pain as her vesica released and piss splashed her blood-encrusted thighs.

I turned to my lieutenants."Torstein, kill the elderly and any halt single you find. Byrn, see the two men over there ? The one missing a hand and the one with the ruin leg that needs to be amputated. Put them down. Sami with the fair sex with the shatter shoulder ; she won't make it. Ulf, notice out how many of the wounded can walk—and get with Sigurd to find out how much blank is left in the carts."It was a long journey home and I didn't like spending any more time than necessary in enemy territory.

They all acknowledged and went to work. Satisfied that matter 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 amber, tool, salt, and other items of value onto one of the go-cart. memory board of food were loaded onto two more. Ivar's body was wrapped and placed onto a cart with our supply. Our offend were placed onto the conclusion 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 mob of the man with the broken leg protested, the wife beating her manus against Byrn's breast. He backhanded her across the human face, knocking her down, and stepped forward as one of his warriors held the villager steady. Byrn drew his knife and slit his pharynx. Not the most good decease, but it couldn't be helped.

"My Jehovah,"said Ulf, signaling me to where some of the wound 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 trip back. Sigurd says there is infinite for three wounded on the carts."

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

"Kill the four who won't survive. I see two with minor wounds—pack them in there and I'm certainly we can fit a fourth on the pushcart. 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 cleaning woman lying on the ground with an pointer below the curve of her entire boob. Fear, then resignation showed on her human face. As he drew his brand, she thrust out her chest, inviting the steel. In her affection she wasn't ready to die, but she feared a lingering end. With a grunt, he rammed his sword through her chest and into the scandal. Her eye went wide-eyed and she coughed descent. Her eyes blinked once, twice, then her headland lolled to the side of meat and she lay still. The former three, two men and a boy, were similarly dispatched.

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

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

Next was a sandy-haired teen who was sitting up with the help of her older Sister. An pointer from hind end had pierced her high on her left shoulder, the arrowhead emerging above the crestless wave of her diminished white meat. Her older sister tried to comfort her as she cried into her shoulder."She should be finely on the way back,"said Ulf.

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

The hold up was a pale-skinned, blonde teen gyrating slowly on her back in the grime. Her script were pressed tight to her right side in a vain endeavour to stanch the flow rate of roue. Ulf moved her blinking custody to establish me the lesion and she cried out in pain. A sword had slashed deeply into the flesh and muscle above her hips. I could barely realize out what looked to be the puce eyelet of an intestine writhing inside her belly.

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

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

"Well then have her get to it ! Tell Sigrid to do by 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 pointer in her shoulder to walk. Kill the fat bloke ; he won't fetch a good price."

As Ulf turned to hold out his lodge, I looked around again to wee-wee indisputable we hadn't missed any of the bruise. The miss Rolf had gutted was still alive somehow. She was on her back, the gaping rip in her stomach visible even at this space. well-nigh of her catgut were strung out past her substructure and between her ramification, but her script still kneaded the ropy entrails at the rent's mouth as if to shove them back in. Her stage 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 loot and wounded had been loaded onto carts and the enchant villagers were all tied together. I never burned Village ; the smoke attracted unwanted attention and we could not outrun any pursuit.

"Move out. ”