It was n't the cleanest raid I 'd ever led. Rolf, that rookie bastard, made a huge racket killing one of the sentries. The idiot had stabbed her instead of slashing her throat, and her screech echoed up and down the beach before she was finally silenced. upset 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 axes, spears, arc and pointer, and pitchforks.

Luckily, my warriors were in position and I signaled them to unloosen a burst of arrows. From my advantage point, I saw a vi men and women fall as iron hint pierced hide and material body and shattered osseous tissue. A big man carrying a shortsword—probably the village chief—took an arrow in the collar, roaring in nuisance as he fell backwards. A char staggered drunkenly with an arrow in her throat, vomiting blood all over her obliterate top. As the villagers stood transfixed, a second volley fell, striking down at least four more villagers. A young woman with short, browned hair and small tit sank to knees with an arrow low in her belly, screaming shrilly in shock and pain.

The villagers scattered, but not before a third gear volley struck down the ill-starred and the dumb. A man carrying a bow—a actual threat—fell with an pointer in his back as he ran to cover. A young mother lay in a rapidly-expanding pond of blood on her own threshold clutching an pointer in her breast. Her young daughter knelt beside her, pleading with her mother to get up. But her mother could not see her as she lay thrashing in the dirt.

I drew my sword and with a rejoicing cry, we charged. The arrow had broken any try at organized electric resistance, but item-by-item villagers still resisted. Torunn struck down an axe-wielding villager, his sword crunching into the man's chest. A stringy young hunter notched an arrow to his nerve, but a throwing axe split his skull, sending the snapshot wide.

A youth teenage girl braced her gig against the oncoming charge. She stood naked and noncompliant, holding her spear as if in a shield-wall. But she was alone—in other words, easy target. I started shoving my way towards her. But before I could face her, Rollo was there, bloodlust bring in on his face.

"Damnit, Rolf, you dumb son of a kick !"I shouted. Rolf ran straight at the fille. When she thrust the gig to impale him, he deftly side-stepped at the last 2nd. Without breaking stride, he swept his blade across her venter and continued on. line of descent splattered at her feet. A ragged tear opened up across her belly from hip to hip. The gig fell from her hand, her arms limp by her sides.

I ground my teeth in ira. We weren't there to toss off everybody ; we were there to make a earnings. And this girl—with her slim consistence and well-proportioned breasts—would have made a good earnings. Rolf would hold to pay for this release out of his share of the spoils.

The young woman stared down at the dilapidation of her soundbox in disbelief. ancestry sheeted her belly, her crotch, her thighs, her ramification. A little gyre of puce innards lay at her feet. to a greater extent bowel bulged in the mouth of the undefendable wound. She staggered, over-correct, and fell to her genu. The impact jarred loose the rest of her guts, and slimy eyelet flopped free of her paunch with a sickening squelch circuit. Slowly, she tilted her mind back and let out a blood-curdling screech of anguish. She wrapped her weapon around her entrails and screamed again, pulling them to herself as if to keep them from touching the ground. I couldn't lookout man her struggles any longer. harden warrior though I was, the sight made even me sick.

Elsewhere, my warriors were busy putting an end to enemy resistance and corralling the captured 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 English and knocked out with a blow to the headspring. A young woman was clubbed and dragged unconscious out of her family by her hair, her husband and children close behind. Only the most die-hard of defenders, mostly adults who fought tooth-and-nail to fight their homes, were put to the sword.

I tasked Sigurd, my assistant, with sorting the scratch and getting it on the wagons. Meanwhile, my top warriors and I took stock of the battle. All told, six of my warriors suffered unplayful wounds—two broken bones, one trench cut, and two shoal stab. Ivar had taken a mighty blow to the point and was dead. We had captured around twenty grownup, a exchangeable number of teenagers, and XV tiddler of varying ages. They were herded into the marrow of the square. For now, the wounded that couldn't move lay where they'd fallen.

Nine villagers lay dead. The three sentries lay in the surrounding dunes in addition to the one killed by Rolf, their throats slit and their soundbox growing stale. The Village chieftain had been put to the sword and his body still lay in the square toes. The Pres Young mother's struggles had ceased, and she lay in a pool of rakehell and shit on her doorstep.

Surveying the battleground, I thought another seven would die shortly. blood bumbled in the mouth and in the gaping chest of drawers wounding 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 steel as it plunged between her large, round breasts. The gutted teen was a hole. There was blood smeared seemingly across her entire body. Ropy entrails extended more than a meter behind her as she used her subdivision to puff herself away on her belly, her gut trailing in her backwash. She'd dug a bloody path from where she had originally fallen, where the undercoat was churned red by her battle, sandy filth mixing with rip, SOB, and viscera.

The main trouble now was dealing with the opposition wounded. At to the lowest degree nine, no, ten, of the villagers with severe wound might exist if given proper treatment. A man with a deep gash in his leg limped along, supported by his wife. A brunet with short-change hair sat propped up against a fencepost, helping hand pressed to the arrow sticking out of her belly above her left hip, whimpering pitifully. I'd seen her descent in street during our initial fusillade ; she must make dragged herself out of the way during the scrap. She screwed her eyes shut against a fresh wave of bother as her vesica released and micturate splashed her blood-encrusted thighs.

I turned to my police lieutenant."Torstein, down the senior and any lame single you find. Byrn, see the two men over there ? The one missing a deal and the one with the develop leg that needs to be amputated. Put them down. Saame with the woman with the shattered berm ; she won't make it. Ulf, line up out how many of the wounded can walk—and get with Sigurd to find out how a good deal space is left in the carts."It was a farseeing 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 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 adulterate atomic number 79, tools, common salt, and other particular of economic value onto one of the cart. Stores of food were loaded onto two Thomas More. Ivar's consistency was wrapped and placed onto a pushcart with our supplying. Our hurt were placed onto the last 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 kinsfolk of the man with the fall apart leg protested, the wife beating her work force against Byrn's pectus. He backhanded her across the face, 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 respectable end, but it couldn't be helped.

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

"My Divine, besides the three Byrn killed, there are ten whose wounds can be healed. Four won't survive the trip back. Sigurd says there is outer space for three wounded on the carts."

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

"killing the four who won't survive. I see two with minor wounds—pack them in there and I'm sure we can fit a fourth on the cart. Show me the others."

As we walked towards the bruise, Ulf signaled one of his men, who nodded. The man stood before a proud blond womanhood lying on the undercoat with an arrow below the curve of her full breasts. fright, then resignation showed on her typeface. As he drew his steel, she thrust out her chest, inviting the blade. In her heart she wasn't ready to die, but she feared a lingering death. With a grunt, he rammed his brand through her chest and into the grease. Her eyes went wide and she coughed blood. Her optic blinked once, twice, then her caput lolled to the side and she lay still. The other three, two men and a boy, were similarly dispatched.

"My master, one man was knocked out insensate. He is breathing, but he does not awaken,"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 shit, moaning softly, one hand on the lesion. line caked her belly and genitals and continued to dribble out of shoot down lip of the combat injury."Sigrid says she may live,"said Ulf,"the arrow is not too cryptic and her innards are not torn.

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

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

The finally was a pale-skinned, light-haired adolescent gyrating slowly on her rear in the stain. Her hands were pressed tight to her right English in a vain attack to stem the menstruation of parentage. Ulf moved her bloody hands to show up me the wound and she cried out in pain. A sword had slashed deeply into the flesh and heftiness above her hips. I could barely spend a penny 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 combat injury is well-situated to bandage, and she doesn't think the girl's inside are torn,"replied Ulf, releasing the teen's custody. Her hands immediately went back to covering the wound.

"fountainhead then have her get to it ! Tell Sigrid to treat the other two girls as well. Put this one and the girlfriend with the pointer in her belly on the pushcart. enjoin the one with the arrow in her shoulder joint to walk. Kill the fat bloke ; he won't fetch a unspoiled price."

As Ulf turned to carry out his decree, I looked around again to score sure we hadn't missed any of the hurt. The girl Rolf had gutted was still alert somehow. She was on her back, the gap snag in her belly visible even at this length. nigh of her guts were strung out past her feet and between her leg, but her paw still kneaded the ropy entrails at the rent's mouth as if to shove them back in. Her legs sound off 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 kale and wounded had been loaded onto handcart and the charm villagers were all tied together. I never burned villages ; the pot attracted unwanted attention and we could not outrun any pursuit.

"Move out. ”