It was n't the cleanest raid I 'd ever led. Rolf, that cub bastard, made a huge noise killing one of the sentinel. The retard had stabbed her instead of slashing her pharynx, and her scream echoed up and down the beach before she was finally silenced. mazed villagers drifted out of their homes and milled about in the pre-dawn Christ Within. Some were curious about what was going on while others were armed with axes, gig, bows and arrows, and pitchforks.

Luckily, my warriors were in position and I signaled them to loose a volley of arrows. From my vantage dot, I saw a half dozen men and women fall as iron pourboire pierced skin and physique 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 woman staggered drunkenly with an arrow in her pharynx, vomiting blood all over her obliterate top. As the villagers stood transfixed, a second volley fell, striking down at least four more villagers. A girl with abruptly, brown pilus and small knocker sank to knees with an arrow low in her belly, screaming shrilly in jar and pain.

The villagers scattered, but not before a third volley struck down the unlucky and the slow down. A man carrying a bow—a very threat—fell with an pointer in his back as he ran to cover. A young mother lay in a rapidly-expanding puddle of descent on her own doorstep clutching an pointer in her white meat. Her Loretta Young daughter knelt beside her, pleading with her mother to get up. But her mother could not listen her as she lay thrashing in the dirt.

I drew my brand and with a jubilant cry, we charged. The arrows had broken any try at organized resistance, but individual villagers still resisted. Torunn struck down an axe-wielding villager, his sword crunching into the man's chest of drawers. A wiry new hunter notched an pointer to his impudence, but a throwing axe split his skull, sending the slam wide.

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

"Damnit, Rolf, you dumb son of a cunt !"I shouted. Rolf ran straight at the girl. When she thrust the spear to impale him, he deftly side-stepped at the death irregular. Without breaking stride, he swept his sword across her belly 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 arms hobble by her sides.

I ground my teeth in anger. We weren't there to wipe out everybody ; we were there to make a net. And this girl—with her slim consistency and well-proportioned breasts—would have made a good net. Rollo would possess to pay for this exit out of his share of the spoils.

The lady friend stared down at the ruin of her body in disbelief. blood sheeted her paunch, her genital organ, her thighs, her legs. A minor gyre of puce entrails lay at her pes. more bowel bulged in the mouth of the unfastened injury. She staggered, over-corrected, and fell to her knee. The encroachment jarred loose the residue of her guts, and vile loops flopped free of her belly with a sickening squelch. Slowly, she tilted her head word back and let out a blood-curdling shrieking of anguish. She wrapped her arms around her innards and screamed again, pulling them to herself as if to preserve them from touching the basis. I couldn't watch her struggles any longer. Seasoned warrior though I was, the survey made even me sick.

Elsewhere, my warriors were busy putting an end to enemy impedance and corralling the captured villagers into the central square toes. One by one, isolated and outnumbered withstander were surrounded and subdued. A farmer with a pitchfork was tackled from the English and knocked out with a gust to the header. A young woman was clubbed and dragged unconscious out of her home by her hair, her husband and small fry close behind. Only the most die-hard of protector, mostly grownup who fought tooth-and-nail to fight down their homes, were put to the sword.

I tasked Sigurd, my helper, with sorting the pillage and getting it on the wagons. Meanwhile, my top warriors and I took stock of the battle. All told, six of my warriors suffered sober wounds—two broken bones, one oceanic abyss cut, and two shoal shot. Ivar had taken a mighty blow to the head and was all in. We had captured around twenty adults, a exchangeable phone number of teenagers, and XV children of varying ages. They were herded into the centerfield of the square. For now, the maimed that couldn't motility lay where they'd fallen.

Nine villagers lay utter. The three scout lay in the surrounding dunes in addition to the one killed by Hrolf, their pharynx slit and their soundbox growing cold. The settlement chieftain had been put to the sword and his consistence still lay in the foursquare. The young female parent's battle had ceased, and she lay in a pool of blood and shit on her doorstep.

Surveying the battlefield, I thought another seven would die shortly. stemma bumbled in the oral cavity and in the gaping chest wound of a grandiloquent warrioress. She had been able to offend two of my warriors with cipher more than than a knife, but could not parry Ranveig's sword as it plunged between her bombastic, round boob. The gutted teen was a kettle of fish. There was blood smeared seemingly across her entire dead body. Ropy entrails extended more than a time behind her as she used her munition to scuff herself away on her belly, her gumption trailing in her viewing. She'd dug a bloody itinerary from where she had originally fallen, where the ground was churned red by her battle, sandy stain mixing with blood, shit, and innards.

The main problem now was dealing with the enemy wounded. At least nine, no, ten, of the villagers with serious wounds might survive if given proper treatment. A man with a deep slice 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 arrow sticking out of her belly above her left hip, whimpering pitifully. I'd seen her fall in street during our initial volley ; she must have 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 make water splashed her blood-encrusted thighs.

I turned to my lieutenants."Torstein, vote down the elderly and any lame ones you find. Byrn, see the two men over there ? The one missing a bridge player and the one with the break in leg that needs to be amputated. Put them down. Lapp with the cleaning 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 find out how much distance is left in the carts."It was a prospicient journeying household and I didn't like spending any more time than necessary in enemy territory.

They all acknowledged and went to work. Satisfied that affair 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 former detail of economic value onto one of the carts. Stores of intellectual nourishment were loaded onto two more than. Ivar's trunk was wrapped and placed onto a cart with our provision. Our spite were placed onto the net 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 die leg protested, the wife beating her hands against Byrn's dresser. He backhanded her across the aspect, knocking her down, and stepped forward as one of his warriors held the villager brace. Byrn drew his knife and slit his throat. Not the most honorable expiry, but it couldn't be helped.

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

"My Divine, besides the three Byrn killed, there are ten whose wounds 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 amber slipping through my fingers.

"kill the four who won't survive. I see two with nipper wounds—pack them in there and I'm sure we can fit a 4th on the go-cart. Show me the others."

As we walked towards the wounded, Ulf signaled one of his men, who nodded. The man stood before a gallant blond woman lying on the background with an arrow below the curve ball of her wide knocker. fright, then resignation showed on her aspect. As he drew his sword, she thrust out her thorax, 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 sword through her breast and into the dirt. Her optic went extensive and she coughed blood. Her eyes blinked once, twice, then her head lolled to the face and she lay still. The other three, two men and a boy, were similarly dispatched.

"My Lord, one man was knocked out moth-eaten. He is breathing, but he does not ignite,"said Ulf pointing at a portly man.

The short-haired brunet with the arrow in her belly had been moved from her fencepost. She lay in the dirt, moaning softly, one hand on the wounding. Blood caked her venter and genitals and continued to dribble out of pull lips of the combat injury."Sigrid says she may live,"said Ulf,"the pointer is not too deep and her viscera are not torn.

Next was a sandy-haired adolescent who was sitting up with the help of her older sister. An arrow from tail had pierced her high on her leave articulatio humeri, the arrowhead emerging above the dude of her small breasts. Her older sister tried to comfort her as she cried into her shoulder."She should be fine on the way back,"said Ulf.

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

The last was a pale-skinned, light-haired teen gyrating slowly on her back in the soil. Her hands were pressed tight to her right hand side in a vain endeavour to stem the flow of blood. Ulf moved her blinking hired man to demonstrate me the wound and she cried out in pain. A brand had slashed deeply into the physique and muscle above her hips. I could barely make out what looked to be the puce closed circuit of an intestine writhing inside her belly.

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

"Sigrid says the wounding is tardily to hold, and she doesn't think the miss's insides are torn,"replied Ulf, releasing the teenager's hands. Her hands immediately went back to covering the wound.

"wellspring then have her get to it ! William Tell Sigrid to cover the other two fille as well. Put this one and the young woman with the pointer in her belly on the handcart. severalize the one with the arrow in her shoulder to walk. vote down the fat bloke ; he won't fetch a respectable price."

As Ulf turned to carry out his order, I looked around again to make for sure we hadn't missed any of the wounded. The young lady Hrolf had gutted was still alive somehow. She was on her back, the gawk rent in her stomach visible even at this distance. Most of her intestine were strung out past her metrical foot and between her peg, but her hired hand still kneaded the ropy entrails at the rent's mouth as if to glut them back in. Her legs 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 ready to go. All the boodle and wounded had been loaded onto carts and the beguile villagers were all tied together. I never burned village ; the grass attracted unwanted attending and we could not outrun any pursuit.

"move out. ”