Mercenary of Lastia - BtLH - Ch 48

Lys woke at dawn. She stretched and then began packing her belongings. Before lights out, Tilledge had informed her she’d be going back to her recruit group. There had been a handful of goodbyes and then everyone had gone to bed.

Her tent came down easily. The motions were familiar now, and she dealt with it with practiced efficiency.

As she made her way to the muster point, Lys spotted Plainfield, Woodrow, and Stormwell. The familiar faces were a relief, but she wished that the ones they had lost...

No, none of that. She should be glad to see them. Period. They had all lost friends.

“Trekhill!” Plainfield called out, grinning. “Thought you’d gone and joined the skirmishers for good.”

Lys shook her head, a smile tugging at her lips. “And miss out on all the fun with you lot? Never.”

Woodrow clapped her on the shoulder. “Glad to have you back, mate.”

Sergeant Swift’s voice cut through the chatter. “Alright, recruits, listen up!”

The group fell silent, turning their attention to the sergeant.

Swift’s gaze landed on Lys. “Welcome back, Trekhill.”

“It’s good to be back, thank you, sir,” Lys replied, standing a little straighter.

Swift snorted, his eyes narrowing. “Let’s hope running with the skirmishers didn’t ruin your discipline.”

“No, sir!” Lys said, her voice firm.

“Right, then,” Swift continued, addressing the group. “This morning, you’ll be filling in trenches. After lunch, it’s weapon drills. Understood?”

“Yes, sir!” the recruits chorused.

As they set off towards the work site, Stormwell fell into step beside Lys. “So, how was it with the skirmishers?”

Lys shrugged. “Different. More responsibility, but also more freedom.”

“Sounds like a trade-off,” Stormwell mused.

“Yeah,” Lys agreed, her thoughts drifting to the strange changes she’d noticed in herself. “But I’m glad to be back with you all.”

Filling in the trenches around the fortification progressed smoothly. She found the physical labor far less taxing than expected. Her shovel sliced through the earth with surprising ease. Muscles no longer felt strained under the exertion.

The other recruits took notice.

“Bloody hell, Trekhill,” Plainfield exclaimed, wiping the sweat from his brow. “What’d they feed you over there with the skirmishers?”

Lys shrugged, a grin tugging at her lips. “Must be something in the water.”

“Well, maybe we should all go train with them for a bit,” Stormwell chimed in, his tone light. “Might do us some good.”

Laughter rippled through the group. As the sun began to reach its zenith and they put up their tools for lunch, Sergeant Swift homed in on her.

“Trekhill,” Swift called out, his voice gruff. “A word.”

Lys approached the sergeant, her heart beating a little faster. Swift’s frown deepened as he studied her, his eyes narrowing.

“You been holding out on us, recruit?” he asked, his tone accusatory. “People don’t just improve like that in a few days, especially not after getting hurt.”

Lys shook her head, meeting his gaze. “I’m not sure what’s happening either, sir. But didn’t you talk to Sergeant Yasir about it when he asked before?”

Swift grunted, nodding. “I did. Fine. But you need to be careful not to injure yourself. That’s just as important as giving it your all.”

Lys swallowed and nodded. “Yes, sir.”

He continued to stare at her. “Good. Now get something to eat. You’re still half the size you should be. And pay attention to the formation drills this evening. You missed quite a few of those and it’ll be the last chance for a while. We’re breaking camp in the morning.”

“Sir?” Lys asked, curiosity getting the better of her.

“We’re heading to Dragonblanc,” Swift explained. “Separating from the cohort.”

Lys nodded, holding back her excitement. Finally, they could finish their training, and maybe she’d get some answers for herself!

Lunch, and then the promised formation drills rushed by in a flash, and that evening, she found herself meticulously organizing her belongings. Everything was quickly packed and ready to go.

Sleep didn’t come as easily, but not because she was feeling sick anymore. Actually, despite Yasir’s promise that it would take her weeks to recover, she felt better than ever.

Yasir. Lys sucked in a breath. Was he going to be going with the recruit cohort? There would only be about one hundred of them—the admin group wouldn’t be leaving the main cohort.

There would be no one to bail her out with a magic potion if she messed up.

When morning roll call came, she had her kit ready at her feet. Just leaving her tent to be rolled up.

Swift’s gaze landed on her, an eyebrow raised. “In a hurry, Trekhill?”

“Just prepared, sir,” Lys replied, her voice steady.

“Well, you better be,” Swift grunted. “It’s a five hundred mile march to Dragonblanc.”

Lys’s eyes widened, a soft grunt escaping her lips. “I didn’t realize it was that far, sir.”

“Two months at least,” Swift confirmed. “We’ll likely be arriving just before fall.”

The other recruits that had arrived murmured amongst themselves.

“Listen up, recruits. We’re breaking camp and heading to Dragonblanc. Pack your things, take down your tents, and be ready to move out.”

His gaze settled on Lys once more. “Trekhill, you need to turn in your armor to the armorer.”

Lys blinked. She had thought she’d get to keep the armor, but a quick glance at her fellow recruits confirmed that no one else had any either.

“Yes, sir,” she acknowledged, her voice even.

Swift surveyed the group one last time. “Alright, get to work. We’ve got a long march ahead of us.”

Lys left as the other recruits dispersed, moving through the camp with purpose. The armory tent was already busy, a few early risers already leaving as she approached. Ducking inside, Lys returned her light leather armor to the armorer.

As she turned to leave, a glint caught her eye. Garrett’s coin, still attached to the armor. Her breath caught in her throat, and she reached out, carefully detaching it.

The armorer raised an eyebrow. “Important to you, lad?”

Lys nodded, her fingers closing around the cool metal. “It belonged to a friend who didn’t make it.”

The older man grunted. He rummaged through a drawer, producing a leather strap. He held out his hand. “Let me see it.”

She gave him the coin, and he wrapped it up, transforming it into an amulet. Pressing it into her palm, he said, “Should help keep it from getting lost.”

“Thank you,” Lys whispered, slipping the amulet over her head and tucking it beneath her shirt.

She made her way through the camp, taking a small detour that wasn’t strictly approved by Swift. As long as she didn’t take too long, it wouldn’t be a problem.

The familiar faces of Dax, Cole, and Lark came into view, their expressions brightening as they spotted her approach.

“Well, look who it is!” Dax called out, a grin spreading across his face. “Thought you’d forgotten about us already, Trekhill.”

Lys shook her head, a smile tugging at her lips. “As if I could forget you lot. Just wanted to say goodbye before we head out.”

Cole clapped her on the shoulder. “You did well out there. Keep it up, and you’ll be a regular in no time.”

“Thanks,” Lys replied. “I learned a lot from you guys.”

Lark chuckled. “Just remember, when you’re a big shot officer, don’t forget about us little people.”

She snorted, rolling her eyes. “As if that’ll ever happen. I’ll be lucky if I survive the march to Dragonblanc.”

“You’ll do fine,” Dax assured her, his tone sincere. “Just keep your head down and your wits about you, and if we meet up again, we’ll have your back.”

Lys nodded, a lump forming in her throat. “I appreciate that. Really.”

The four of them stood in silence for a moment. Finally, Lys cleared her throat, stepping back.

“Well, I better get going. Don’t want to keep the others waiting.”

The skirmishers nodded and she turned to leave, but Lark’s voice stopped her.

“Hey, Trekhill!”

She glanced back over her shoulder, eyebrow raised.

“Stay safe out there!”

Lys grinned, nodding. “I’ll do my best. Take care of yourselves.”

There was a spring to her step as she strode back to her tent. Her stuff was already packed up, so despite the detour and delay, she was still ahead of some of the other recruits.

She got to work and dismantled the shelter. The canvas folded easily, and she secured it to her kit, ensuring everything was in its proper place.

“You’re getting pretty good at that,” Woodrow remarked, his own tent already taken down.

Lys grinned, shouldering her pack. “Practice makes perfect, right?”

“Or just makes you faster,” Stormwell chimed in, his pack slung haphazardly over one shoulder.

“Better than being slow,” Plainfield countered, his tent still half-standing. “A little help, Trekhill?”

Lys rolled her eyes but moved to assist. Four hands were faster than two. “There. Now you might actually be ready on time.”

Plainfield scoffed, but a smile tugged at his lips. “Thanks, mate.”

They gathered near the mess tent, the smell of morning stew wafting through the air. They ate quickly, the anticipation of the journey ahead thrumming through their veins.

As the last bowl was scraped clean, Swift’s voice cut through the chatter. “Form up, recruits! It’s time to move out.”

Lys fell into line and they headed out of the slowly dissolving encampment. Three other recruit units joined them and the column stretched out like a snake winding through the grass.

With a last glance at the camp from the next hill over, she turned her gaze forward, her feet falling into the steady rhythm of the march. It took half the day to reach the road to Swiftmorest.

Once on the road, they made even better time. She enjoyed the rhythm of the march. The summer heat had fully settled over the gap, but the dry air made it more bearable.

“I never thought I’d say this, but I’m starting to miss the training,” Plainfield grumbled, adjusting his pack.

Stormwell snorted. “Careful what you wish for, mate. I’m sure the sergeants will find a way to make us work, even on the march.”

“At least the scenery’s better out here,” Woodrow chimed in, his eyes scanning the horizon.

Lys nodded, a smile tugging at her lips. “It’s nice to be moving again. Feels like we’re actually going somewhere.”

As the sun began to dip towards the horizon, Swift’s voice rang out. “Halt! We’ll make camp here for the night.”

The recruits fell out of formation off the road, but they were quickly formed up into a muster.

“Listen up!” Swift barked, his eyes sweeping over the group. “We need to be able to set up camp in less than three hours every day. After the last two battles, the reason should be obvious.”

Lys exchanged a glance with her friends. Sergeant Finn rolled up with a wagon full of tools.

Oh, they were going to be digging again.

Digging every day from the sound of it. She sent Plainfield a dirty look. Did digging count as training?

“You heard the sergeant,” Stormwell said, grabbing a shovel. “Let’s get to work.”

The recruits split into teams, some digging trenches while others pitched tents and set up cooking fires. Lys found herself working with a shovel, biting into the hard-packed earth.

“Think we’ll make it in time?” Plainfield asked, wiping the sweat from his brow.

Lys shrugged, her own shirt clinging to her back. “We’d better. I don’t think Swift’s in the mood for excuses.”

The trench wasn’t nearly as large as the one called for during the siege, but it was still deep enough to trip someone up and hinder movement.

As the sun slipped below the horizon, everything began to take shape.

Tents stood in neat rows, and the trenches and the waist-high earth wall provided a measure of protection against any potential threats. The smell of stew wafted through the air, drawing the tired recruits like moths to a flame.

Lys sat with the others, savoring the food, fire and the camaraderie of the group.