It was n't the sporty maraud I 'd ever led. Rolf, that cub motherfucker, made a huge dissonance killing one of the spotter. The half-wit had stabbed her instead of slashing her throat, and her scream echoed up and down the beach before she was finally silenced. Confused 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, obeisance and arrows, and pitchforks.

Luckily, my warriors were in perspective and I signaled them to loose a volley of arrow. From my vantage power point, I saw a half-dozen men and cleaning woman fall as iron tips pierced hide and flesh and shattered osseous tissue. A big man carrying a shortsword—probably the village chief—took an arrow in the taking into custody, roaring in pain as he fell backwards. A woman staggered drunkenly with an arrow in her pharynx, vomiting rake all over her skin top. As the villagers stood transfixed, a second fusillade fell, striking down at least four More villagers. A girl with short, brown hair and minor breast sank to knees with an arrow low in her belly, screaming shrilly in shock and pain.

The villagers scattered, but not before a third volley struck down the unlucky and the slow. A man carrying a bow—a real threat—fell with an arrow in his back as he ran to cut across. A young mother lay in a rapidly-expanding syndicate of blood on her own threshold clutching an arrow in her breast. 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 arrow had broken any attack 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 hunter notched an arrow to his cheek, but a throwing axe split his skull, sending the jibe wide.

A young teenage young woman braced her spear against the oncoming bearing. She stood naked and noncompliant, holding her fizgig as if in a shield-wall. But she was alone—in early words, loose prey. I started shoving my way towards her. But before I could confront her, Hrolf was there, bloodlust clear on his face.

"Damnit, Rolf, you dumb son of a bitch !"I shouted. Rolf ran straight at the fille. When she thrust the fishgig to spike him, he deftly side-stepped at the last second. Without breaking footstep, he swept his steel across her belly and continued on. Blood splattered at her feet. A ragged split opened up across her belly from hip to hip. The spear fell from her hands, her weapon hobble by her sides.

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

The girl stared down at the ruin of her body in disbelief. line of descent sheeted her belly, her genital organ, her thighs, her legs. A lowly curl of puce entrails lay at her foundation. More intestine bulged in the mouth of the undecided combat injury. She staggered, over-corrected, and fell to her knee joint. The impact jarred loose the rest of her guts, and slimy grummet flopped give up of her stomach with a sickening put-down. Slowly, she tilted her fountainhead back and let out a blood-curdling screech of torture. She wrapped her coat of arms around her entrails and screamed again, pulling them to herself as if to keep them from touching the solid ground. I couldn't watch her struggle any longer. Seasoned warrior though I was, the muckle made even me sick.

Elsewhere, my warriors were occupy putting an end to enemy resistance and corralling the entrance villagers into the central square. One by one, isolated and outnumbered shielder were surrounded and subdued. A sodbuster with a pitchfork was tackled from the English and knocked out with a shock to the head. A youth woman was clubbed and dragged unconscious out of her house by her hair's-breadth, her husband and tyke close behind. Only the most rock-ribbed of guardian, mostly adults who fought tooth-and-nail to maintain their home, were put to the blade.

I tasked Sigurd, my help, with sorting the shekels 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 grave wounds—two broken bones, one oceanic abyss cut, and two shoal shot. Ivar had taken a powerful black eye to the head and was idle. We had captured around twenty adults, a similar figure of teenagers, and fifteen baby of varying ages. They were herded into the center of the second power. For now, the bruise that couldn't relocation lay where they'd fallen.

Nine villagers lay deadened. The three sentries lay in the surrounding dunes in improver to the one killed by Rolf, their pharynx slit and their consistence growing cold. The hamlet chieftain had been put to the sword and his torso still lay in the square. The young female parent's struggles had ceased, and she lay in a consortium of lineage and shit on her doorstep.

Surveying the battlefield, I thought another seven would die shortly. Blood bumbled in the mouth and in the gaping chest wound of a magniloquent warrioress. She had been capable to injure two of my warriors with nothing more than a knife, but could not parry Ranveig's sword as it plunged between her large, assail breasts. The gutted adolescent was a mess. There was blood smeared seemingly across her entire eubstance. Ropy entrails extended more than a time behind her as she used her arms to drag herself away on her belly, her guts trailing in her wake. She'd dug a all-fired path from where she had originally fallen, where the ground was churned red by her struggles, sandy soil mixing with rip, shit, and viscera.

The main job now was dealing with the foe wounded. At least nine, no, ten, of the villagers with serious wounding might survive if given proper intervention. A man with a inscrutable gash in his leg limped along, supported by his wife. A brunet with short pilus sat propped up against a fencepost, hands pressed to the arrow sticking out of her belly above her left-hand hip, whimpering pitifully. I'd seen her descent in street during our initial burst ; she must have dragged herself out of the way during the fighting. She screwed her oculus shut against a freshly undulation of pain as her bladder released and piss splashed her blood-encrusted second joint.

I turned to my police lieutenant."Torstein, kill the elderly and any lame ones you find. Byrn, see the two men over there ? The one missing a hand and the one with the break off 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 find out how much distance is left in the carts."It was a long journey home and I didn't like spending any to a greater extent time than necessary in enemy territory.

They all acknowledged and went to work on. 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 load gold, peter, saltiness, and early items of economic value onto one of the go-cart. Stores of food for thought were loaded onto two more. Ivar's organic structure was wrapped and placed onto a go-cart with our supplies. Our wounded 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 syndicate of the man with the disclose leg protested, the wife 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 knife and slit his throat. Not the most honourable death, but it couldn't be helped.

"My Creator,"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 injury can be healed. Four won't survive the trip back. Sigurd says there is 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 nipper wounds—pack them in there and I'm certainly we can fit a fourth 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 cleaning woman lying on the ground with an arrow below the curved shape of her wide breasts. fear, then resignation showed on her face. 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 demise. With a oink, he rammed his sword through her chest and into the shit. Her centre went wide and she coughed blood. Her eyes blinked once, twice, then her head 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 frigidness. He is breathing, but he does not wake up,"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 dirt, moaning softly, one hand on the wounding. Blood caked her belly and genitals and continued to dribble out of torn mouth of the wound."Sigrid says she may live,"said Ulf,"the pointer is not too late and her innards are not torn.

Next was a sandy-haired teen who was sitting up with the service of her older baby. An arrow from posterior had pierced her gamy on her pass on shoulder, the arrowhead emerging above the clotheshorse of her small bosom. Her older sis tried to ease her as she cried into her articulatio humeri."She should be very well on the way back,"said Ulf.

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

The hold up was a pale-skinned, light-haired teen gyrating slowly on her dorsum in the dirt. Her script were pressed tight to her correctly face in a vain attempt to halt the catamenia of blood. Ulf moved her damn hands to indicate me the combat injury and she cried out in pain. A sword had slashed deeply into the flesh and muscle above her rose hip. I could barely take a leak out what looked to be the puce loop-the-loop of an gut writhing inside her belly.

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

"Sigrid says the wound is easy to hold, and she doesn't think the female child's insides are torn,"replied Ulf, releasing the teenaged's hands. Her hands immediately went back to covering the wound.

"wellspring then have her get to it ! William Tell Sigrid to treat the early two girlfriend as well. Put this one and the daughter with the arrow in her belly on the cart. assure the one with the arrow in her berm to walk. toss off the fat fellow ; he won't fetch a salutary price."

As Ulf turned to acquit out his orders, I looked around again to make sure we hadn't missed any of the wounded. The girl Rolf had gutted was still alive somehow. She was on her back, the gaping rent in her tum seeable even at this distance. well-nigh of her bowel were strung out past her metrical unit and between her legs, but her hands still kneaded the ropy entrails at the economic rent's mouth as if to stuff them back in. Her stage plain 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 gear up to go. All the loot and wounded had been loaded onto handcart and the captured villagers were all tied together. I never burned villages ; the smoke attracted unwanted attention and we could not outrun any pursuit.

"Move out. ”