It was n't the neat raid I 'd ever led. Rolf, that rookie bastard, made a immense racket killing one of the sentries. The retard had stabbed her instead of slashing her pharynx, and her scream echoed up and down the beach before she was finally silenced. Confused villagers drifted out of their menage and milled about in the pre-dawn light. Some were singular about what was going on while others were armed with axes, spears, bows and arrows, and pitchforks.

Luckily, my warriors were in place and I signaled them to relax a volley of pointer. From my vantage point, I saw a half-dozen men and womanhood fall as branding iron point 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 woman staggered drunkenly with an arrow in her throat, vomiting blood all over her hide top. As the villagers stood transfixed, a second volley fell, striking down at least four more villagers. A girl with short, brown hair and belittled breasts sank to knees with an pointer low in her belly, screaming shrilly in shock and pain.

The villagers scattered, but not before a third volley struck down the luckless and the slow. A man carrying a bow—a actual threat—fell with an pointer in his back as he ran to cover. A young female parent lay in a rapidly-expanding pool of blood line on her own doorsill clutching an arrow in her bosom. Her young daughter knelt beside her, pleading with her mother 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 exulting cry, we charged. The arrow had broken any attempt at organized resistance, but mortal villagers still resisted. Torunn struck down an axe-wielding villager, his sword crunching into the man's chest. A wiry young hunter notched an pointer to his cheek, but a discombobulate axe split his skull, sending the guessing wide.

A Lester Willis Young teenage girl braced her spear against the oncoming charge. She stood nude and defiant, holding her spear as if in a shield-wall. But she was alone—in other quarrel, easy prey. I started shoving my way towards her. But before I could face her, Hrolf was there, bloodlust clear on his fount.

"Damnit, Rolf, you dumb son of a bitch !"I shouted. Rolf ran straight at the daughter. When she thrust the gig to impale him, he deftly side-stepped at the last secondly. Without breaking stride, he swept his brand across her belly and continued on. Blood splattered at her foundation. A devil snag opened up across her belly from hip to hip. The spear fell from her hired hand, her sleeve hobble by her sides.

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

The girl stared down at the ruining of her consistence in disbelief. Blood sheeted her venter, her crotch, her thighs, her leg. A belittled coil of puce innards lay at her feet. More intestines bulged in the mouth of the surface wound. She staggered, over-corrected, and fell to her knee joint. The impact jarred loose the residue of her guts, and vile grommet flopped free of her venter with a sickening squelcher. Slowly, she tilted her point back and let out a blood-curdling screech of torture. She wrapped her branch around her entrails and screamed again, pulling them to herself as if to hold them from touching the ground. I couldn't watch her struggles any longer. veteran warrior though I was, the sight made even me sick.

Elsewhere, my warriors were busy putting an end to enemy resistor and corralling the fascinate villagers into the cardinal square. One by one, isolated and outnumbered defenders were surrounded and subdued. A farmer with a pitchfork was tackled from the side and knocked out with a gust to the head. A young cleaning woman was clubbed and dragged unconscious out of her home by her hair, her husband and children close behind. Only the most die-hard of defenders, mostly adults who fought tooth-and-nail to maintain their plate, were put to the brand.

I tasked Sigurd, my helper, with sorting the loot and getting it on the wagons. Meanwhile, my top warriors and I took blood line of the battle. All told, six of my warriors suffered severe wounds—two broken off-white, one deep cut, and two shallow shot. Ivar had taken a powerful blow to the head and was stagnant. We had captured around XX adult, a similar number of teenagers, and fifteen tiddler of varying ages. They were herded into the center of the square. For now, the wounded that couldn't relocation lay where they'd fallen.

Nine villagers lay dead. The three sentries lay in the surrounding sand dune in addition to the one killed by Rolf, their throat slit and their torso growing inhuman. The village captain had been put to the sword and his body still lay in the lame. The young mother's struggles had ceased, and she lay in a puddle of blood and shit on her doorstep.

Surveying the battlefield, I thought another seven would die shortly. line of descent 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 naught more than a knife, but could not parry Ranveig's blade as it plunged between her large, fill out breasts. The gutted teen was a mess. There was blood smeared seemingly across her entire torso. Ropy entrails extended more than a meter behind her as she used her arms to drag herself away on her belly, her guts trailing in her aftermath. She'd dug a bloody way of life from where she had originally fallen, where the ground was churned red by her conflict, sandy soil mixing with blood, shit, and viscera.

The main problem now was dealing with the enemy wounded. At least nine, no, ten, of the villagers with serious injury might survive if given proper treatment. A man with a deep gash in his leg limped along, supported by his wife. A brunette with short hair sat propped up against a fencepost, script pressed to the arrow sticking out of her belly above her forget hip, whimpering pitifully. I'd seen her declension in street during our initial volley ; she must have dragged herself out of the way during the scrap. She screwed her middle shut against a saucy wave of pain as her bladder released and piss splashed her blood-encrusted thigh.

I turned to my lieutenants."Torstein, kill the aged and any gimpy single you find. Byrn, see the two men over there ? The one missing a mitt and the one with the broken leg that needs to be amputated. Put them down. Saami with the woman with the shattered shoulder ; she won't make it. Ulf, find out how many of the wounded can walk—and get with Sigurd to determine out how much space is left in the carts."It was a long journey nursing home and I didn't like spending any Thomas More time than necessary in enemy territory.

They all acknowledged and went to operate. 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 atomic number 79, puppet, saltiness, and other point of economic value onto one of the carts. Stores of food for thought were loaded onto two more. Ivar's body was wrapped and placed onto a go-cart with our provision. Our wounded were placed onto the cobbler's 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 intermit leg protested, the wife beating her hands against Byrn's dresser. He backhanded her across the font, 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 honorable decease, 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 Lord, besides the three Byrn killed, there are ten whose injury 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.

"Kill the four who won't survive. I see two with pocket-size wounds—pack them in there and I'm for sure we can fit a quartern 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 majestic blond woman lying on the ground with an pointer below the curved shape of her full tit. Fear, then surrender showed on her font. As he drew his sword, she thrust out her chest, inviting the vane. In her pump she wasn't ready to die, but she feared a lingering decease. With a grunt, he rammed his steel through her thorax and into the dirt. Her eye went wide of the mark and she coughed blood. Her eyes blinked once, twice, then her headspring lolled to the side and she lay still. The early 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 brunette with the arrow in her belly had been moved from her fencepost. She lay in the crap, moaning softly, one script on the wound. Blood caked her venter and genitals and continued to filter out of displume lip of the combat injury."Sigrid says she may live,"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 previous baby. An pointer from backside had pierced her senior high school on her left articulatio humeri, the arrowhead emerging above the swell of her small bosom. Her older Sister tried to comfort her as she cried into her articulatio humeri."She should be fine on the way back,"said Ulf.

"Aye, but that wound will be grueling 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 backbone in the dirt. Her hand were pressed tight to her right side in a vain attack to halt the flow of blood. Ulf moved her bloody helping hand to show me the wound and she cried out in pain. A sword had slashed deeply into the flesh and brawniness above her rosehip. I could barely make out what looked to be the puce loop of an intestine writhing inside her belly.

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

"Sigrid says the injury is easy to bind, and she doesn't think the girl's inside are torn,"replied Ulf, releasing the teen's hands. Her hands immediately went back to covering the wound.

"well then have her get to it ! William Tell Sigrid to address the former two fille as well. Put this one and the miss with the pointer in her belly on the cart. Tell the one with the pointer in her shoulder joint to take the air. wipe out the fat bloke ; he won't fetch a near price."

As Ulf turned to carry out his club, I looked around again to make sure we hadn't missed any of the wounded. The young woman Hrolf had gutted was still alive somehow. She was on her back, the gaping rent in her belly seeable even at this distance. Most of her guts were strung out past her feet and between her wooden leg, but her hands still kneaded the ropy entrails at the rip's mouth as if to choke up them back in. Her peg kicked slowly, hound 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 conquer villagers were all tied together. I never burned villages ; the grass attracted unwanted attention and we could not outrun any pursuit.

"Move out. ”