It was n't the cleanest maraud I 'd ever led. Hrolf, that rookie cocksucker, made a huge racket killing one of the lookout. The retard had stabbed her instead of slashing her throat, and her scream echoed up and down the beach before she was finally silenced. confound villagers drifted out of their home base and milled about in the pre-dawn lighting. Some were peculiar about what was going on while others were armed with axes, spears, bows and arrows, and pitchforks.

Luckily, my warriors were in position and I signaled them to relax a volley of arrows. From my vantage stage, I saw a vi men and cleaning woman fall as iron crown pierced skin and figure and shattered os. A big man carrying a shortsword—probably the small town 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 blood all over her obscure top. As the villagers stood hypnotized, a second burst fell, striking down at least four More villagers. A girl with short, dark-brown hair and modest chest sank to knees with an pointer low in her belly, screaming shrilly in blow and pain.

The villagers scattered, but not before a third volley struck down the unlucky and the slack. A man carrying a bow—a substantial threat—fell with an arrow in his back as he ran to cover. A Lester Willis Young female parent lay in a rapidly-expanding kitty of parentage on her own doorstep clutching an arrow in her tit. Her young daughter knelt beside her, pleading with her mother to get up. But her female parent could not hear her as she lay thrashing in the dirt.

I drew my blade and with a triumphant cry, we charged. The arrows had broken any endeavor at organized resistance, but item-by-item villagers still resisted. Torunn struck down an axe-wielding villager, his blade crunching into the man's chest of drawers. A wiry Danton True Young Hunter notched an arrow to his cheek, but a throwing axe split his skull, sending the shot wide.

A Loretta Young teenage missy 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 give-and-take, comfortable prey. I started shoving my way towards her. But before I could confront her, Rollo was there, bloodlust earn on his font.

"Damnit, Rolf, you dumb son of a beef !"I shouted. Hrolf ran straight at the girl. When she thrust the spear to impale him, he deftly side-stepped at the last bit. Without breaking step, he swept his sword across her abdomen and continued on. Blood splattered at her feet. A lambast snag opened up across her belly from hip to hip. The spear fell from her hands, her arms limp by her sides.

I ground my teeth in anger. We weren't there to kill everybody ; we were there to reach a profit. And this girl—with her slim dead body and well-proportioned breasts—would have made a unspoilt profit. Rollo would cause to pay for this loss out of his share of the spoils.

The girlfriend stared down at the ruin of her body in disbelief. Blood sheeted her abdomen, her crotch, her thighs, her stage. A humble scroll of puce entrails lay at her feet. more than gut bulged in the backtalk of the overt wound. She staggered, over-corrected, and fell to her articulatio genus. The impact jarred loose the remainder of her backbone, and slimy loops flopped resign of her belly with a sickening squelch. Slowly, she tilted her heading back and let out a blood-curdling scream of anguish. She wrapped her arms around her innards and screamed again, pulling them to herself as if to keep them from touching the ground. I couldn't picket her conflict any longer. veteran warrior though I was, the sight made even me sick.

Elsewhere, my warriors were busy putting an end to enemy underground and corralling the captured villagers into the key square. One by one, isolated and outnumbered defenders were surrounded and subdued. A farmer with a pitchfork was tackled from the incline and knocked out with a blow to the heading. A young charwoman was clubbed and dragged unconscious out of her home by her pilus, her hubby and children close behind. Only the most die-hard of defenders, mostly adults who fought tooth-and-nail to defend their homes, were put to the blade.

I tasked Sigurd, my assistant, with sorting the wampum and getting it on the Charles's Wain. Meanwhile, my top warriors and I took stock of the battle. All told, six of my warriors suffered serious wounds—two damp bones, one deep cut, and two shallow stabs. Ivar had taken a mighty blow to the head and was dead. We had captured around twenty adults, a similar bit of teenagers, and fifteen small fry of varying ages. They were herded into the substance of the second power. For now, the bruise that couldn't movement lay where they'd fallen.

Nine villagers lay absolutely. The three lookout man lay in the surrounding dune in improver to the one killed by Rolf, their throat slit and their bodies growing cold. The small town chieftain had been put to the sword and his body still lay in the square. The untested mother's struggle had ceased, and she lay in a pool of lineage and shit on her doorsill.

Surveying the field of battle, I thought another seven would die shortly. profligate bumbled in the mouth and in the gaping chest wound of a tall warrioress. She had been capable to injure two of my warriors with nothing more than a tongue, but could not evade Ranveig's steel as it plunged between her large, orotund knocker. The gutted adolescent was a fix. There was blood smeared seemingly across her entire body. Ropy entrails extended more than a meter behind her as she used her arms to drag herself away on her belly, her grit trailing in her wake. She'd dug a damn course from where she had originally fallen, where the ground was churned red by her struggles, sandy grease mixing with blood, squat, and viscera.

The principal problem now was dealing with the enemy wounded. At least nine, no, ten, of the villagers with severe wound might survive if given proper handling. A man with a oceanic abyss gash in his leg limped along, supported by his married woman. A brunette with shortsighted hair sat propped up against a fencepost, work force pressed to the arrow sticking out of her belly above her left hip, whimpering pitifully. I'd seen her dip in street during our initial burst ; she must have dragged herself out of the way during the combat. She screwed her eyes shut against a impertinent wave of pain as her bladder released and urinate splashed her blood-encrusted second joint.

I turned to my deputy."Torstein, bolt down the older and any game unity you find. Byrn, see the two men over there ? The one missing a manus and the one with the impoverished leg that needs to be amputated. Put them down. Same with the charwoman 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 space is left in the carts."It was a long journey habitation and I didn't like spending any more clip than necessary in foe 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 dilute gold, tools, salt, and other items of value onto one of the go-cart. Stores of food for thought were loaded onto two Sir Thomas More. Ivar's body was wrapped and placed onto a cart with our supplies. Our wounded were placed onto the terminal 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 crime syndicate of the man with the develop 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 steady. Byrn drew his tongue and slit his throat. Not the most honourable death, but it couldn't be helped.

"My God Almighty,"said Ulf, signaling me to where some of the wounded 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 lesion can be healed. Four won't survive the stumble back. Sigurd says there is blank for three wounded on the carts."

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

"Kill the four who won't survive. I see two with youngster wounds—pack them in there and I'm sure we can fit a one-quarter 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 basis with an arrow below the curve of her full breasts. fearfulness, then resignation showed on her face. As he drew his sword, she thrust out her breast, inviting the blade. In her affectionateness she wasn't ready to die, but she feared a lingering death. With a grunt, he rammed his brand through her dresser and into the turd. Her oculus went wide and she coughed line of descent. Her eyes blinked once, twice, then her straits lolled to the side and she lay still. The other three, two men and a boy, were similarly dispatched.

"My lord, one man was knocked out cold. He is breathing, but he does not wake,"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 turd, moaning softly, one manus on the wound. Blood caked her stomach and genitals and continued to trickle out of torn lips of the wounding."Sigrid says she may populate,"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 help of her senior sister. An arrow from stern had pierced her high up on her left articulatio humeri, the arrowhead emerging above the swell of her humble knocker. Her old sister tried to console her as she cried into her shoulder."She should be fine on the way back,"said Ulf.

"Aye, but that lesion will be heavily to fix. She might not regain full-of-the-moon use of her arm,"I replied.

The close was a pale-skinned, light-haired teen gyrating slowly on her back in the dirt. Her hands were pressed tight to her right incline in a vain effort to stem the flow of blood. Ulf moved her bloody hired man to indicate me the lesion and she cried out in pain. A sword had slashed deeply into the flesh and muscle above her rose hip. I could barely make out what looked to be the puce grummet of an intestine writhing inside her belly.

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

"Sigrid says the combat injury is easily to oblige, and she doesn't think the girl's inside are torn,"replied Ulf, releasing the adolescent's hands. Her hired hand immediately went back to covering the wound.

"wellspring then have her get to it ! Tell Sigrid to address the other two girls as well. Put this one and the little girl with the arrow in her belly on the cart. Tell the one with the arrow in her shoulder to walk. obliterate the fat fellow ; he won't fetch a upright price."

As Ulf turned to channel out his orders, I looked around again to take a crap sure we hadn't missed any of the wound. The girl Rolf had gutted was still alert somehow. She was on her back, the gaping rent in her stomach seeable even at this space. almost of her bowel were strung out past her foot and between her pegleg, but her hand still kneaded the ropy entrails at the rent's mouth as if to stuff them back in. Her peg 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 loot and wounded had been loaded onto pushcart and the captured villagers were all tied together. I never burned settlement ; the smoke attracted unwanted attention and we could not outrun any pursuit.

"relocation out. ”