Mercenary of Lastia - BtLH - Ch 36 (Patreon)

Lys was up before dawn, slipping out of her tent and making her way to the latrines. She took care of her business.

The encampment was still, the air only broken up by the soft snores of her fellow recruits and the occasional rustle of canvas. She caught the movement of a few sentries near the edges of the camp, walking along the walls.

She moved quickly, careful to avoid anyone who might bump into her. Instead of making her way back to her tent, she made a detour.

As she passed by the medical area, Lys spotted a pile of extra bandages sitting out in the open. Bingo. She had seen some similar arrangements the day before, and she had hoped they hadn’t been moved around. It looked like she was lucky.

Without hesitation, she snagged a few, then hurried away. She made it back to her group’s section. Just as she ducked inside, the sound of Swift’s booming voice filled the air, causing her heart to skip a beat.

“Up and at ‘em, recruits!” he shouted. “Time to break camp and pack your tents!”

Lys groaned inwardly, her body still aching from the previous day’s battle. She had hoped for a few days of rest, but it seemed one day was all they were going to get.

Everyone began to stir, and she stepped back out. Orin rubbed his eyes, peering out of his tent flap. “Looks like we’re leaving,” he said, his voice thick with sleep.

“You think we’re going after the Rusty Lathes?” Lys asked.She started on packing everything up, too.

Orin shrugged. “Could be.”

They worked in silence, rolling their canvas around the rods and cinching it onto the bottom of their travel packs. As she secured her tent, Garrett glanced over at her, his brow furrowed.

“Is your arm more wounded than you let on?” he asked, nodding towards the bandages peeking out of her pocket.

Lys blinked, her mind racing for an excuse. “Oh, no,” she said, forcing a laugh. “I just wanted to be prepared, that’s all.”

Garrett and Orin exchanged a look. They both shrugged.

“Stealing supplies is a big offense,” Orin warned, his voice low.

“It’s not stealing if they’re needed,” she countered, her tone defensive.

Orin held up his hands in surrender. “True enough. But let’s hope we don’t end up needing quite that many.”

Lys muttered her agreement under her breath. She secured the last of her belongings, cinching the straps of her backpack tightly. Around her, the camp buzzed with activity as the others finished gathering their gear.

“Alright, recruits!” Swift’s voice cut through the morning air. “Now that you’ve got your own kit sorted, it’s time to pack up the rest of the camp.”

They all moved to take down the larger tents and load them onto the wagons. She grunted as she hefted a heavy canvas. It tried to get away from her.

“Here, let me help,” Orin said, grabbing the other end of the tent. Together, they folded it and tossed it onto the growing pile.

Next, they tackled the mess tent, stacking the benches and tables before rolling up the large canvas. Lys wiped the sweat from her brow, her eyes scanning the camp for their next task.

“Lys, Orin, give me a hand with these barrels,” Garrett called, waving them over. They spent the next hour loading supplies, their backs aching and their hands blistered.

As the last of the wagons were loaded, Lys approached Swift, her brow furrowed. “Sergeant, are we going to dismantle the walls and ditches?”

Swift shook his head. “No, we’re leaving them behind.”

Orin frowned. “How can we leave it all behind?”

Swift fixed him with a sharp look. “I think the merits of building the camp are obvious, considering the battle we had yesterday. If it wasn’t for that hard work, we’d all be dead or captured by Irongians.”

Orin’s eyes widened. “Yes, sir!”

“The fort will be left behind,” Swift continued. “The locals will dismantle it or leave it here. If the company needs to camp at Swiftmorest again and it’s still standing, we’ll use it instead of making a new one.”

Garrett spoke up, his voice hesitant. “What if the enemy comes back and uses it?”

Swift grunted. “It’s happened before. Then you will learn what a contravallation is.”

Lys winced. That sounded like more construction work. She trudged near the back of the formation.

The camp had been efficiently dismantled, leaving behind only churned earth and scattered debris. She glanced over her shoulder at the empty interior, a strange sense of melancholy settling in her chest.

“Where do you think we’re headed?” she asked, turning to Orin.

He shrugged, adjusting the straps of his pack. “Hopefully we’re going after those Rusty Lathes bastards who attacked us.”

Lys raised an eyebrow. “Even after yesterday? You still want to fight them?”

Orin grunted, his jaw clenching. “I just want to get even with them, that’s all.”

Garrett fell into step beside them, his brow furrowed. “Maybe they’ll keep us with the main cohort this time, instead of leaving us behind.”

“If they do have us camp again,” Lys said, her voice low, “I hope they at least leave some regulars behind to help defend. I don’t fancy another battle like that without more experienced soldiers around.”

The others murmured their agreement, their eyes fixing on the road ahead. Behind them, the wagons creaked and groaned. The recruits marched in formation, their feet falling into a steady rhythm.

As they crested a hill, Lys caught a glimpse of the surrounding countryside. Rolling hills stretched out in every direction, dotted with patches of forest and the occasional farmstead. In the distance, the mountains loomed, their peaks shrouded in mist.

She took a deep breath, the cool morning air filling her lungs.

Cool morning air? Shit.

She looked to the west, and sure enough, there were dark clouds on the horizon. A cool summer storm blowing in from lake Fachue. The rain would be icy and then it would get horrendously humid for the remainder of the day.

At least, that was her guess.

It was going to be a miserable march.

The icy squall hit just as she had predicted, the rain pelting against her cloak as she pulled it tight around her shoulders.

The other recruits hunched against the wind, their faces grim as they trudged across the path that was quickly turning to mud. They were lucky that the wagons didn’t get stuck.

“This is terrible,” Orin grumbled, his teeth chattering.

“At least it’s not snow,” Garrett said, his voice muffled by his scarf.

Lys remained silent, her mind focused on putting one foot in front of the other. The rain soaked through her clothes, chilling her to the bone, but she refused to let it break her stride.

As quickly as it had come, the rain relented, leaving behind a thick petrichor scent that filled the air. Lys inhaled deeply, savoring the earthy aroma, but her relief was short-lived.

The sun emerged from behind the clouds, its rays beating down on the drenched landscape. Water vapor rose from the ground, enveloping the marching soldiers in a suffocating haze.

“I miss the rain,” Orin panted, wiping the sweat from his brow.

Lys silently agreed, her shirt clinging to her back as rivulets of sweat trickled down. The heat was oppressive, sapping everyone’s energy with every step.

She hated, absolutely hated this type of weather. The whiplash was horrible. Made her feel icky, and this was on top of everything else.

By the time they finally stopped for the evening, she was exhausted. Her muscles ached, and her feet throbbed in her boots. She stumbled to her tent, her fingers fumbling with the canvas as she struggled to set it up.

“Need a hand?” Garrett asked, appearing at her side.

Lys shook her head, gritting her teeth as she forced herself to focus. “I’ve got it,” she said, her voice strained.

After what felt like an eternity, her tent was finally erected. There was no hot meal to stay up for, and she definitely didn’t feel like socializing and all her other duties were taken care of.

So she crawled inside, collapsing onto her bedroll with a groan. Her entire body rebelled, every muscle screaming in protest as she stretched out on the hard ground. It seemed like all the fatigue from the battle was hitting her at once, a day late.

Sleep came almost immediately.

Lys woke with a start, her heart pounding in her chest. She lay still for a moment, listening to the sounds stirring around her.

Reaching for her pack, she rummaged through it until she found the bandages she had stolen the day before.

She quickly changed the bloody cloth in her trousers, burying the soiled remains inside her tent. Her arm wound would definitely not make a satisfying explanation for anyone, so she had no choice.

Swift’s call jostled the group into its morning routine a little while later.

As she emerged into the morning light, Lys spotted Garrett and Orin already packing up their gear. She hurried to take care of her own then moved to join them. It wasn’t long before they fell back into step as they headed out.

Breakfast was jerky on the march.

“I wish we knew were we were going. Any idea?” Orin asked, his voice low.

Lys shrugged. “Shouldn’t I be the one asking you? I’ve never been this far north. But we still have our weapons, so they must be expecting trouble.”

Garrett gave her a scrutinizing look. “Speaking of weapons, where’s your spear?”

Lys blinked, realizing with a start that she only had her shield and sword. “I... I don’t know. I never got one after using the bow. The Sergeants took it away after the battle.”

Orin shook his head. “That’s shitty luck, mate. Now you’ll have to ask a Sergeant.”

Lys nodded. She needed to fix the situation. She waited until they stopped for a brief lunch break before approaching Sergeant Swift.

He frowned at her as she approached, his eyes narrowing. “What do you need, recruit?”

Lys swallowed, forcing herself to meet his gaze. “I don’t have a spear, Sergeant. I was hoping to get one.”

Swift grunted, motioning for her to follow him to one of the supply carts. He rummaged around for a moment before thrusting a spear into her hands.

“Don’t get yourself killed,” he said gruffly. “You’ve got a talent for shooting.” He looked her over, his expression unreadable. “Or is it for killing?”

Lys felt her stomach twist at his words. “I’d prefer to use the bow if it’s needed, Sergeant.”

Swift snorted. “It’s needed, but some idiot fucked up our supplies. We don’t have the arrows for you today.” He shook his head, dismissing her with a wave of his hand.

Lys blinked, surprised at his candor, before hurrying back to join the others.

Before long, they trudged up a tall hill. The weight of her pack, the long day’s march, and not having much time to rest were taking their toll, leaving her feeling used up.

She was always exhausted and sore.

She glanced over at Orin and Garrett, noting the weariness etched on their faces as well. She wasn’t sure how much more they could take.

As they crested the hill, Lys’s eyes widened at the sight before them. A rocky escarpment was there to meet them, a flat area surrounded by sheer cliffs that rose straight up at least thirty meters. A single narrow ramp led up to the top, where a sprawling encampment of tents and hastily constructed palisades stood. Her position on the top of the hill let her see part of it.

“Is that the enemy camp up there?” Orin asked. There was no mistaking the apprehension in his voice.

She shook her head, as she took in the scale of the fortifications. “It’s big enough for an entire cohort.”

Sergeant Swift strode past them, his gaze fixed on the hill. He glanced back at the recruits, a grim smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “Looks like you’re going to get an early lesson on contravallation after all.”

Lys frowned, the unfamiliar term rolling around in her mind. She watched as the rest of the 1st Cohort spread out below the escarpment, setting up their own camps at what she assumed was outside of arrow range.

“What’s contravallation?” Garrett asked, voicing the question on everyone’s minds.

Swift chuckled, the sound devoid of humor. “It’s when you surround an enemy fort with your own fortifications, cutting them off from supplies and reinforcements. Looks like we’re going to be here a while.”

Lys swallowed hard, her stomach twisting at the thought of a prolonged siege.