A barracks for the warriors of this warband. With a snarl he ran at them. He hit a knot of men before they had any time to react, his knives tracing a red ruin across their bodies. In moments he was through them and hurling himself at a new wall of men. Weapons thrust at him, but the battle-rage was upon him, the world seeming to slow and he twisted and flowed around every blow aimed at him, his knives licking out to slice throats, puncture groins, cut hamstrings. Dimly he heard the clash of arms behind him, knew his men were following. Faces appeared before him, grim, fearful, shocked; all
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