Mercenary of Lastia - BtLH - Ch 72

“Who do you think can handle it?” Lys asked, keeping her voice low.

Woodrow pointed to a wiry recruit. “Jaren’s fast. He could outrun a deer.”

Plainfield nodded toward another. “Verik has endurance. He’ll last.”

Stormwell added two more names. “Rafe and Kellan. Both solid runners.”

“I’ll go too.” Woodrow said as he stepped forward.

Lys stared. Was she bad for not knowing who any of the other recruits were except the small group from the original Group One?

Whatever the special mission was, it would be dangerous, and Woodrow… Lys glanced at him and nodded. She couldn’t argue. “Alright, let’s get them.”

They approached the chosen recruits, explaining the situation in hushed tones. Jaren, Tomas, Rafe, and Kellan all nodded, determination in their eyes.

“Follow me,” Lys said, leading them to Swift.

The sergeant stood near the edge of the camp, his expression grim. He looked over at the assembled group and nodded.

“You’re going to run the road,” he began, his voice steady. “Get past the enemy company and make it to Dragonblanc. Warn them about our situation and get aid.”

Shock rippled through the recruits. Jaren was the first to speak up. “How are we supposed to get past them?”

“You’ll run,” Swift replied. “Possibly not on the road for a while to avoid detection. Travel light—just enough water for the trip.”

Lys did the math in her head. “It’s forty to fifty miles, sir.”

Swift met her gaze. “I know.”

“That’ll take days!” she protested. “Help won’t arrive in time.”

“Not if they go fast,” Swift countered. He looked at the assembled young men. “And light. Carry only water skins, clothes, and boots.”

The recruits exchanged uneasy glances but slowly nodded in acceptance.

Lys couldn’t believe it.

“Once you alert the company, they can send mounted units for rescue. They can reach us in less than a day,” Swift continued.

A knot of conflict tightened in her chest. This mission felt like a death sentence, but arguing was pointless.

“Get ready,” Swift ordered.

The recruits moved with purpose, gathering minimal supplies—water skins, dried meat, and hardtack biscuits. Lys watched them prepare, her own resolve hardening.

“We’ll make it,” Woodrow said quietly beside her.

Lys forced a nod.

As they finished their preparations, Swift gathered them one last time. “Remember, speed is your ally. Stay off the main road at first. Run down by the river. Once you’re to the forest on the other side of the valley, split up. Don’t all go in one group.”

Jaren tightened his pack straps. “Understood.” The others shifted and Woodrow nodded.

Swift stared each one of them in the eye and clasped their arms. “Go now, and may fortune favor you.”

Lys watched.

The other recruits headed off into the trees, down the slope toward the river, just as instructed. She turned her attention back to the company.

They were resting. She joined them. Swift too, sitting in a circle with Ashton, Hawkins, and another sergeant she didn’t know his name. He was the head of Group Four. The others were… gone. Lys frowned and grabbed a piece of hardtack, tearing off a piece and chewing slowly.

Plainfield sat down beside her. “You think the runners will make it?”

“If any of them do, Woodrow will get us help,” she replied, her voice steady despite the worry gnawing at her insides.

Stormwell plopped down across from them, his face a mix of exhaustion and irritation. “I hope so. I want to visit another tavern without having my time there interrupted!”

“Bunzard, all you think with is your cock,” Plainfield muttered, shaking his head.

He shot Plainfield a dirty look while Lys rolled her eyes. “Eat and get some rest. The enemy won’t leave us alone after spending so much blood trying to kill us.”

Stormwell looked up from his bread. “Why are they doing this?”

She sighed, glancing at Swift, who was deep in conversation with Ashton and the other sergeant. “I think it has to do with the raid on the prince’s messenger,” she mumbled. “That’s the only clue I have.”

Plainfield nodded thoughtfully. “Makes sense. If they wanted to cover their tracks, they’d need to eliminate any witnesses or potential threats.”

“Exactly,” Lys agreed, taking another bite of bread.

Stormwell chewed on a piece of hardtack. His brow furrowed. “But how do they know we know about it?”

Lys frowned, thinking. “Only the 2nd Cohort would really know. We gave them the evidence.”

Her eyes widened as the realization hit her. The enemy must have spies in the company, or at least in the 2nd Cohort. Or… was she just grasping at straws? Maybe the Black Tortoise wanted to hurt the White Dragons for some other reason.

She grumbled, pulling her cloak tighter around her shoulders. “It’s not even our job to figure things out. We just need to survive. Wake me up when it’s my turn to watch.”

Plainfield glanced around the camp. “Who’s taking first watch?”

Stormwell looked directly at Lys. “Not him, apparently.”

Plainfield chuckled. “Throw hands?”

Stormwell and Plainfield extended their fists, and on the count of three, revealed their choices. Rock crushed scissors.

Plainfield grunted, standing up. “Alright, I’ll organize the first watch then.”

Stormwell stretched out on the ground. “I’ll take last watch. Lys, you’re taking dark watch.”

“Fine with me,” Lys said, closing her eyes. She was too tired to care and needed to turn off immediately. The sounds of the camp faded into a distant murmur as exhaustion pulled her under.

The next thing she knew was Plainfield gently shaking her awake.

“Your turn,” he whispered.

Lys blinked, rubbing her eyes. “Anything happen?”

“Just chirping bugs,” Plainfield replied, stifling a yawn.

“Great,” she muttered, pushing herself up. Her entire body hurt, the rest hadn’t been enough.

The camp stirred with the quiet movements of other recruits waking for their shifts. Dark watch was always the worst, breaking sleep into jagged pieces.

Tonight, it felt even worse. The enemy would be out there, maybe sulking about to harass them in the dark.

She took a deep breath, savoring the slightly humid forest air. Rain seemed to threaten them, or at least a light storm. A breeze had kicked up to rustle the canopy and foliage, and the temperature was dipping lower than usual, even for the night.

She nodded to another recruit stretching nearby. “Morning.”

“Morning,” he replied, pulling on his boots.

Lys approached him. “What’s your name, group?”

“Jarold, Group Four,” he said, fastening his cloak. “You’re Trekhill.”

Lys nodded. “Let’s patrol together,” she suggested.

Jarold nodded back in agreement, and they began their rounds along the perimeter. The makeshift fortifications were impressive for how fast they had been made—trenches dug deep and barricades built high. All their practice setting up fortified camps had paid off.

They walked in silence, eyes scanning the darkness. Lys strained her ears, listening to the night. The usual forest sounds surrounded them—the rustle of leaves, the distant hoot of an owl. But something felt off. Plainfield had mentioned bugs earlier.

She grabbed Jarold’s arm, stopping him mid-step. “Be alert,” she whispered urgently. “Something’s up.”

Jarold tensed, his hand moving to his sword hilt.

An owl call pierced the night, that felt off, too. Lys’s instincts flared. She grabbed Jarold’s arm.

“Ambush!” she hissed, raising her shield toward the sound.

An arrow whistled through the air, embedding itself in a nearby tree. They retreated back to the defenses.

“Enemy’s nearby!” Jarold shouted.

Recruits scrambled to ready themselves, weapons drawn and eyes groggy with exhaustion. Swift stood in the center, his face a mask of grim determination.

He extinguished the lone light in the center of the redoubt, plunging them into near-total darkness. The moon and stars failed to penetrate the thick canopy above.

“It’s dark enough to make us hard to hit,” Lys whispered, her voice steady. “Don’t make too much noise.”

They waited, breaths held, ears straining for any sound. The forest seemed to hold its breath with them. Then, a dull thud as an arrow struck a nearby tree.

Plainfield cursed under his breath. “Maybe they just have one man out there, trying to keep us all awake.”

Lys clenched her jaw. “It might work too.”

The silence stretched on, each second feeling like an eternity. Suddenly, a barrage of arrows slammed into the camp. Even poorly aimed, the sheer volume made it dangerous. One recruit screamed in pain as an arrow found its mark.

“Get under the wall, and cover with shields!” Swift barked.

Curses filled the air as recruits ducked behind the log barricades, shields placed in front of them in case arrows came from another direction. Lys felt a surge of anger but forced herself to stay calm.

“They’re trying to break us,” she muttered.

Jarold nodded beside her, gripping his sword tightly. “We won’t let them.”

Another wave of arrows rained down, clattering against the ground around them. No one moved or made a sound, a few other recruits tending to the man who had been hit by an arrow earlier.

Lys glanced at Swift her eyes slowly adjusting to the darkness. The fool was still standing unflinching in the center. She jumped up and moved to him.

“You need to take cover too,” she said through gritted teeth.

Swift met her gaze, but didn’t resist as she grabbed his wrist and pulled him into cover with the others.

“We need to get out there and do something,” Lys suggested.

He shook his head. “Going out there will be suicide. We need the defenses.”

She cursed.

A full attack didn’t materialize, but harassing arrows plagued them the rest of the night. Eventually, they managed to get some sleep, anyway. Wedging themselves between a shieldwall and a log barricade wasn’t ideal, but most of them exhausted enough that it didn’t matter.

Those who couldn’t sleep dug more trenches, working their way out of the circular cordon to create more lines outside of the barricades. Being in the hole was protection enough from the arrows.

“Keep digging,” Lys urged, her voice low but firm.

Jarold grunted as he shoveled another heap of dirt. “How deep do we go?”

“Deep enough to cover our heads while standing,” she replied, wiping sweat from her brow.

Plainfield crawled over, his face smeared with dirt. “I guess this is better than getting skewered by some random arrow.”

“We’ll be fine,” Lys assured him, though doubt gnawed at her. “Just keep at it.”

The night dragged on, punctuated by the occasional thud of an arrow hitting the dirt or a distant rustle in the trees. They worked in silence, the only sounds the scrape of shovels and their labored breathing.

“Take a break,” she said to Jarold, who looked ready to collapse.

He nodded gratefully and sank into one of the trenches, his eyes closing almost immediately.

Plainfield took up his position, keeping watch with a wary eye on the forest. “You should rest too,” he suggested.

She got another burst of sleep and the recruits rotated to the next shift, some digging while others kept watch or tried to snatch a few moments of sleep. The cool earth pressed against her back felt better than the wooden barricades.

A sudden roar shattered the dawn’s quiet, jolting her awake. She scrambled to her feet, heart pounding.

“They’re coming!” someone shouted.

Recruits sprang to life, grabbing weapons and shields. Lys tightened her grip on her bow, her eyes scanning the treeline for movement.

Plainfield cursed under his breath. “Here we go.”

Arrows rained down again, but this time, they were ready. The barricade, the new mounds of dirt, and their shields absorbed the impact.

“Hold your positions!” Swift’s voice cut through the chaos.

Lys grabbed her bow, strung it in a single motion and then nocked an arrow.

A shadow moved between the trees. She made a snapshot in the space of a breath. A man cried out and fell to the ground. One less enemy.

“Got him!” Jarold called out from his trench.

She nodded grimly, already looking for her next target. The enemy roared again, a formation of men broken up by the trees rushing toward them, weapons and shields raised high.

“Form up! Out of those holes! Shieldwall!” Swift shouted. Recruits lurched up to obey.

The battle had begun anew.