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Mercenary of Lastia - BtLH - Ch 17
🕑 Added 2024-05-20 08:10:01 +0000 UTCMud squelched beneath Lys’s boots as she trudged along the sodden path.
The rain had ceased, but the overcast sky remained a dreary, oppressive presence. Her feet sank into the soft earth, and each step required extra effort.
She maintained a steady pace, despite the challenging terrain. Thankfully, she didn’t have a cart to bog her down.
The rhythmic squelch of her footsteps and the occasional rustle of her cloak in the breeze became her companions on the lonely journey.
Two days passed, and Silverpines remained elusive.
Lys’s brow furrowed as she recalled Jonas’s estimation of the journey’s duration. Had she misunderstood? Or had the weather and muddy roads conspired against her progress?
It hadn’t felt like she had lost time, but maybe that was an illusion.
As the second day drew to a close, she sought a suitable spot to rest for the night. She settled beneath a sturdy oak, its broad canopy offering shelter from any potential rainfall. With practiced efficiency, she unrolled her bedroll and nestled into its warmth.
Sleep came quickly, her body eager for respite after the long day’s trek.
The first light of dawn found her already on her feet, a strip of dried meat dangling from her mouth as she resumed her journey. The road stretched before her, a winding ribbon of mud and gravel.
A frown tugged at the corners of her mouth as an acrid scent wafted through the air. Smoke. Lys’s eyes darted along the path, searching for any sign of a fire or campsite. Nothing. The smell persisted.
As Lys crested the next hill, a dark smudge on the horizon caught her eye.
She squinted, her hand instinctively reaching for her bow. The smudge thickened, tendrils of black smoke snaking into the overcast sky.
Lys’s heart pounded as she realized the dampness had masked the scent of burning. The acrid smell grew stronger with each step, the wind carrying it towards her like a warning.
Her fingers brushed against the hilt of her axe. She stringed her bow, then slid it over her shoulder.
The smoke billowed, its dark trail painting an ominous picture against the gray sky.
Lys hesitated, her feet rooted to the spot. She bit her lip. Should she hurry toward the source, or approach with caution? Turn back altogether? No. She’d already come this far. She couldn’t turn around now.
She pushed forward while keeping an alert scan around her.
When she cleared another hill, she discovered several clusters of tents huddled against a dense patch of trees beside the road.
Men and women moved through the camp, a few campfires flickering weakly, insufficient to account for the plume of smoke rising behind the next hill—Silverpines was either burning or smoldering.
The disaster had clearly unfolded a day or two earlier. Right when she had been about to leave Arlo’s farm.
Lys moved toward the camp with caution, each step measured, her breathing controlled and deep. A group of men sat slumped against a stone fence, their bodies echoing the weariness of defeat.
Their lifeless glances met hers briefly as she neared.
“I’m from Thornfield. What happened here?” she asked, her voice cutting through the heavy air.
A weathered man raised his head, his eyes shadowed by exhaustion. “You should go back, traveler. There is nothing left of Silverpines.”
“Irongians,” another spat bitterly.
A third man, eyes dark with distress, continued, “They sacked the town and looted everything of value. Took as many women as possible.”
The news tightened Lys’s chest. What was she supposed to do now? Was her Uncle and Aunt and their children alright?
She had to look for them. People would know where the tannery was, maybe.
“Thank you for telling me,” her whisper barely reached them.
She faced the direction of the town, her resolve hardening with each step forward.
There was no turning back now. There was nowhere to turn back to, not really. That she had decided earlier, and this did not change things.
She wasn’t ready for the sight that greeted her at the top of the next hill.
Thornfield was a small village, and generally every family knew the others. If she included the lumberjacks and visitors, it was probably over two hundred people.
Silverpines was a town, and over ten times larger. There were more buildings than Thornfield had people—or at least there had been. Not anymore.
Several buildings were still burning, but most had already burnt themselves out. The few still standing were made of stone, and they had been the rare exception.
She spotted people walking through the rubble. They were too far for her to make out clearly. Outside the town, across an open field, there was a sea of tents. Survivors?
No. They were armed. She could spot the glint of spear tips of several sentries. An army?
Lys navigated toward the ruins, each step revealing more of the once-thriving town now reduced to smoldering wasteland. She stopped before a man whose face mirrored the surrounding devastation.
“Excuse me, sir,” she managed, her voice softer than intended. “Could you tell me where Aldric’s tannery is located?”
He gave her a blank look, his gaze distant. After a moment of silence, Lys moved on to another survivor.
“The tannery?” a hollow-voiced woman echoed. Pointing towards the eastern edge of town, she added, “It was over there.”
Expressing her thanks, Lys tread carefully among the rubble.
Men nearby sifted through debris, unearthing bodies to fill a cart. The sharp, pervasive smell of smoke assaulted her senses, mingling with the char of mass pyres where the dead had been released.
The sight made her stomach churn. There were more bodies than she had ever seen people.
The sounds of people crying and moaning filled the air. She steeled herself and pressed on, asking another person about the tannery’s location.
It took her several hours of searching, navigating the maze of destruction, before she finally found the building. She recognized it because of the vats. Although Arlo had mentioned there being multiple so… she wasn’t even sure it was the right one.
Exhausted, Lys sat on a broken wall, overlooking the remains of the business. She stared at a burnt arm poking out of part of the rubble. There was no hint of who it belonged to.
Her relatives were gone, their fate unknown, and the refuge she had sought in Silverpines had been shattered.
What was she supposed to do now? It was a question she had been asking herself over and over lately.
It was hard to not close up on herself and hug her knees. Everything had gone wrong. Glances from survivors slid over her with alarming frequency, enough to make her realize she stood out.
She still had things. Her cloak, gear, and pack. Most of the people she saw had been stripped down to the clothes on their backs. It was much worse than the camp at the edge of town.
She was now surrounded by the people who hadn’t left, because they were still searching for something—and they had nothing at all.
A man approached her, and she almost flinched.
“Hey, girl… do you have any food?” the man said weakly.
It wasn’t the booming demand that she had expected. Nearby eyes slid onto the exchange, pricking her alarm.
“I ran out of bread on the road, and now the town is burned,” Lys said, offering a weak smile. It was true, mostly. She had eaten all the rolls Meya had given her already.
There was no need to mention the jerky and cheese in the bottom of her pack.
His shoulders sagged and he walked away.
Lys stood up. Staying in one place, in the open, was not safe.
She needed to look for her Uncle Aldric and Aunt Elara. If they had survived, they would be able to offer refuge or advice.
If she couldn’t find them… she’d have to move on.
The next nearest town was to the west—Mythshell. It was twice as far away as Thornfield was from Silverpines. That was all she knew, other than it lead to the heart of Lastia and closer to the capital.
Lys wandered aimlessly through the ruins of the town. She stopped a man who seemed to have a sense of purpose walking down the street. “Excuse me, sir. How are people finding missing family members?”
The man paused, his eyes softening with understanding. “The mercenaries have been keeping rolls of survivors. You should check there.”
Lys thanked him and made her way towards the tents she had seen earlier. As she approached, she noticed a small gathering of people waiting in line. She joined them, her eyes scanning the camp. It was full of soldiers in uniforms.
The contrast was striking. While the survivors huddled together with grief and despair, the soldiers seemed upbeat, their campfires well-stocked with food. The scent of roasting meat mingled with the ever-present smell of smoke.
“Next!” the man sitting at the table called out.
Lys stepped forward, her voice trembling slightly as she spoke. “I’m looking for my family.”
“Lot of people are.” The man grumbled, pulling out a sheet of paper. “Name?”
“Aldric and Elara Trekhill,” Lys replied. “Or any other Trekhill.”
The man rifled through the lists, his brow furrowed in concentration. Minutes ticked by, each second an eternity for her.
Finally, he looked up, his expression grim. “Not here. They either didn’t give their names, or they’re dead.”
Lys nodded, her throat tightening with emotion.
She turned to leave, but the man stopped her.
“Wait. You should give your name in case someone is looking for you,” he said.
“Lysandra Trekhill,” Lys replied.
The man nodded, scribbling her name on the paper.
Lys walked away from the table and headed back to the edge of Silverpines. Her stomach rumbled, but she didn’t dare open her pack to eat.
Each step felt heavier, the burden of her pack growing as fatigue clung to her limbs.
Ahead, the shell of a once-bustling tavern stood defiantly against the backdrop of destruction. Its walls were blackened and charred by flames that had licked at the stone.
Pausing nearby, Lys eyed the cluster of survivors gathered at the entrance.
Their voices drifted towards her in the cool air. Her silver coins pressed against her side, tempting her with the comfort of a warm meal and a soft bed.
A few of them looked over at her, and a ripple of unease washed over her. Something was off. Maybe it was their tense postures, or the nervous shifts of their feet, but the idea of going in suddenly felt more perilous than a night out in the open. Or in the forest.
She shifted the weight of her pack and turned toward the road. She pushed forward, leaving the dubious tavern and ruins behind. It didn’t take long before Silverpines’ silhouette receded; the road taking her past gnarled trees under a sky slowly bruising with the colors of dusk.
By the time she found a promising thicket of trees, it was almost too dark to find a clearing to set her bedroll. Branches snagged at her cloak and hair as she pushed her way in.
That was good because anyone doing the same would make enough noise to wake her. She found a spot that seemed well covered and not visible from the road.
The earthy scent of the forest enveloped her, filtering out the grim smell of smoke. She pulled out one of her strips of jerky and ate.
She would make her night’s refuge here.
It would do.
Comments
Jonathan Wint
Grim!
Aphanvahrius
Well, that went just about how I expected. Btw, wrong chapter number. Should be 17.
