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Mercenary of Lastia - BtLH - Ch 67
🕑 Added 2024-07-11 17:22:52 +0000 UTCThe morning air hung heavy as the company broke camp. The rumor mill had been hard at work the previous evening.
Whispers of bandits drifted through the ranks, setting everyone on edge. Lys winced as Plainfield startled at a rustling in the underbrush, his hand instinctively reaching for his sword.
“Easy there,” Woodrow muttered. “It’s just a rabbit.”
Plainfield let out a shaky laugh, his face flushed with embarrassment. “Right, of course.”
Lys couldn’t blame him. He had to have the worst luck in the company and the mood was impossible to ignore. It seemed to press down on all of them. Even Stormwell was uncharacteristically quiet, his eyes scanning the tree line as they marched.
It was enough to totally wipe away the excitement that had been building about nearly Dragonblanc.
“If they raided that caravan, they’d have to know word would spread fast,” Lys mused aloud, keeping her voice low. “They probably fled after taking their loot, right?”
Woodrow shrugged, adjusting the straps of his pack. “Makes sense. No point in sticking around and risking a run-in with the authorities or a mercenary company like us.”
For lunch, they stopped in an open field nestled between two thick forests. The Whitfallse River glimmered on the horizon, a ribbon of silver cutting through the lush green landscape. The further they went the more they angled away from it.
Lys settled down on a fallen log, pulling out her trail bread and jerky.
As she chewed, she hummed to herself, a tune her mother used to sing while baking bread. She wondered what her family was up to now. Had Bran moved to Heartlehelm with Elie by now?
She’d been gone for months. They might have had enough time to save up for the move if Bran had worked hard with the woodcutters.
Now that she had plenty of money from her pay, the starting funds they had given her—and she hadn’t needed at all—felt like a waste. They could have used the money much better.
Lys sighed and brushed the crumbs from her hands and stood, stretching her legs. Along the road, everyone was slowly being roused back onto their feet. The break had been short, but welcome.
She fell back in line with the others as they resumed their march. Hours passed, the monotony broken only by the occasional banter. Lys found herself lost in thought, her mind drifting from her family, to the bandits, to what she might expect at Dragonblanc. Maybe she’d finally get the answers Yasir hadn’t been allowed to share?
“Hey, Trekhill!” Stormwell’s voice jolted her back to the present. “You’re awfully quiet. Something on your mind?”
She shook her head, adjusting her pack. “Just wondering how much further we have to go. Shouldn’t we be setting up camp soon?”
Plainfield chimed in, “Yeah, it’s getting late. We don’t want to be caught out here after dark.”
Woodrow, ever the voice of reason, spoke up. “I’m sure the sergeants know what they’re doing. They wouldn’t have us march too late without a plan.”
As if on cue, Sergeant Swift’s voice rang out from the front of the column. “Alright, recruits! We’re almost there.”
Lys exchanged puzzled glances with her companions. Almost where? They were deep in the forest, with no sign of a suitable campsite.
As they rounded a bend in the path, things became clear. Nestled among the trees was an old campsite, the remnants of a previous military encampment. Firepits dotted the clearing, and there were even a few permanent shelters.
Most importantly, there were already some abattis and trenches in place.
“Well, would you look at that,” Stormwell grinned, clapping Lys on the shoulder. “Looks like we won’t have to start from scratch after all.”
Lys nodded, relief washing over her. Setting up a new camp would have taken hours, and they were all tired from the long day.
They began to spread out inside, each group picking a line for their row of tents. Sergeant Finn’s voice boomed across the clearing. “Don’t get too comfortable! We’ve still got work to do. Firewood needs gathering, and those shelters need patching up. Let’s move!”
There were a few groans. It was going to be a long evening, but at least they had a head start. Lys shook her head. She just hoped the bandits were far behind them and that the rest of their journey to Dragonblanc would be uneventful.
They drew sticks to sort the watch rotation. She ended up winning first watch, which was nice. Dusk came alive with the symphony of summer, a chorus of crickets and rustling leaves filling the air.
Lys walked the perimeter of the camp, her senses attuned to the darkness beyond the flickering firelight. She didn’t know her partner’s name, though. Or had forgotten it. He was from group three.
By the time dusk had given way fully to the dark he let out an enormous yawn, his eyelids heavy with exhaustion.
The sound felt too loud, and she realized that the insects had stopped making noise. A sudden unease gripped her, an all-too-familiar sensation that set her nerves on edge.
Lys paused, scanning the shadows, trying to discern what her uncanny intuition was warning her about.
“Something’s wrong,” she muttered, grabbing the other recruit by the shoulder. He startled, his eyes wide with surprise. “Go warn the sergeant. Now.”
The recruit hesitated, confusion etched on his face. “Are you crazy? It’s Finn on watch tonight. Do you want to get us all in trouble?”
Lys shook him, her grip tightening. “Just go!” The urgency in her voice seemed to break through his reluctance. With a nod, he turned and hurried back towards the camp.
She took a few cautious steps into the forest, her hand resting on the hilt of her sword. The night seemed to hold its breath, an eerie stillness settling over the trees.
An arrow whistled past Lys’ face, the sharp sting of its passage grazing her cheek. She dove behind a tree. Behind her, a cry of pain rang out, followed by the sound of a body hitting the ground.
Her patrol partner sprawled on the ground, an arrow protruding from his back before he made it back through the defenses. She dragged her shield from her back, the weight of it reassuring in her grip.
Stupid, stupid. They’d grown complacent. Hadn’t the regulars told her to keep the shields out all the time? Blood trickled down her chin from the cut on her face.
This was why.
“Attack!” she shouted, her voice echoing through the night. “Alert the camp! Attack!”
She retreated, her shield held high in front of her as she walked backwards toward the other recruit. Shouts erupted from the camp as they responded to her warning.
A wave of arrows washed over her, and she fell to one knee behind her shield, the heavy thud of arrows embedding into the wood. One arrow punched through the shield above her arm, the shaft getting stuck in the wood and stopping the point inches from her face.
She fell back further, reaching her patrol partner. She dragged him with her as she sought cover behind the abattis. It wasn’t dense enough to stop the arrows, but neither were the tents. Behind her orders were shouted and recruits formed up into shield walls.
Woodrow and Plainfield were suddenly at her side with their own shields, and Stormwell pulled the injured recruit away from her and the five of them fled to the relative safety of the rest of the company. They parted and pulled them all behind the line as another volley of arrows slammed into the tortoise formation.
Lys tripped, falling to the ground, and a scream tore through the air beside her. Another recruit writhed on the ground, an arrow protruding from his gut.
Without hesitation, Lys jumped on him and held him still before slapping his face. “Hold still!” she commanded, her voice cutting through his cries. “You’re making the damage worse!”
The recruit’s eyes were wide with pain and fear, his breaths coming in short, rapid gasps. “Breathe,” she urged, her own heart pounding in her chest. “Just breathe.”
Around them, the camp descended into chaos.
Lys held the injured recruit steady, her hands slick with his blood. She struggled to remember the brief course on first-aid. Keep pressure? No, it was a gut wound. Don’t keep pressure? She rolled him to his side. There was a tent in his uniform where the arrow had punched through his back.
He began to thrash. “Hold still, damn it!” she growled, but his eyes were glazed with pain and fear. He couldn’t seem to hear her.
She grit her teeth. She couldn’t keep him still, so the arrow had to come out. Gripping it firmly, she broke the shaft just below the fletching and then pulled the rest through in one swift motion.
He screamed and beat at the ground.
Fumbling with shaking hands, Lys pulled off the extra bandage she kept wrapped around her middle, pressing it against the gushing wound.
Plainfield shook his head. “Now I get why you’re always wearing those.”
Stormwell, crouching nearby, shook his head. “All that sweat can’t be great for them,” he muttered.
“Better than bleeding out!” Plainfield retorted, helping Lys tie the bandage securely around the wounded recruit’s midsection.
She wiped her hands on her uniform to clean the slick blood off of them. Shouts and the clang of metal surrounded them as the formation moved out of the camp.
“Trekhill!” Swift’s voice cut through the din. “On your feet, now!”
She scrambled up, turning to face the sergeant. Plainfield and Stormwell were already lifting the injured man onto a stretcher.
“Get him to the medic tent,” Swift ordered, jerking his head towards the center of the camp. “The rest of you, with me!”
What medic tent? They didn’t have medics in the recruit company!
She moved to help with the stretcher, but Swift’s hand clamped down on her shoulder. “Not you, Trekhill. I need you in formation.”
She hesitated, glancing at her friends. Plainfield nodded, his face grim. “We’ve got this. Go.”
With a quick nod, Lys turned and fell in line with the other recruits. Swift paced in front of them, his eyes hard. “Trekhill, you’re in charge of this squad. Get them organized and ready to move.”
“Yes, sir!” Lys stepped forward, turning to the half-sized group one. Her voice carried over the shouting. “Shields up! Form a line!”
The recruits scrambled to obey, locking their shields together in a tight formation. Lys took her place at the end of the line, her own shield held high.
They advanced towards the trees, following another shield wall already in position. Shouts and curses filled the air as they moved, everyone on high alert.
“Any sign of them?” Lys called out to the group leader of the other squad.
He shook his head, his face tense. “None. Looks like they’ve fled into the dark.”
Lys scanned the trees, her heart pounding. The attack had been sudden, but it seemed the enemy had no intention of engaging in a full-scale battle.
The night’s peace had been shattered. Sleep would be scarce for any of them.
Comments
Jonathan Wint
Very Gorilla tactic! Ether that or they were planning to assassinate and or Rob them? Company Payroll?
JHD
Thanks for the chapter.
