Mercenary of Lastia - BtLH - Ch 38 (Patreon)

The bow Dax picked out for Lys felt perfect in her hands, the draw weight just right for her strength. She settled into an easy rhythm with the regular skirmishers, absorbing their tips and advice like a sponge.

“Keep your elbow high,” Dax murmured, adjusting Lys’s stance. “And don’t forget to breathe.”

Lys nodded, focusing on the target downrange. She inhaled deeply, then released the arrow at the end of her exhale. It flew true, thudding into the bullseye.

“Not bad, rookie,” Dax grinned and clapped her on the shoulder.

Sergeant Tilledge’s voice boomed. “Alright, skirmishers, let’s see what you’ve got! Rapid fire, on my mark!”

Lys nocked an arrow. At Tilledge’s signal, she let the arrows fly, her hands a blur as she loosed shaft after shaft. When the dust settled, her target was peppered with arrows, all clustered tightly in the center.

The regulars whooped and hollered, and Dax slapped Lys on the back. “Damn, kid, you’re a natural!”

In the mornings, she fell back into the grueling routine with the other recruits, running, digging, and sparring until her muscles screamed. Orin and Garrett pestered her constantly, eager for details about her new assignment.

“What’s it like, training with the regulars?” Orin asked.

Lys didn’t answer right away, parrying Garrett’s thrust with her shield. When he backed off, she glanced at Orin. “It’s intense, but I’m learning a lot.”

That was to be the motto for the next week, for sure.

As the days wore on, the fortifications around the Irongian camp grew more robust and complex, a sprawling network of trenches and berms sealing off the enemy on their hilltop. Most of the defenses remained at the bottom of the ramp, where the danger was highest.

Occasionally, small teams of Irongians would venture out under the cover of large shields, harassing them with archer fire. But the attacks were minor, more of a nuisance than a genuine threat.

Lys settled into the tempo of the siege, long days of training and fortification blurring together. It was exhausting work, but there was a certain satisfaction in it.

It was early in the morning when shouts pierced through the haze of sleep, jolting Lys awake.

She scrambled out of her bedroll, heart pounding as she took in the shouts erupting around her. When she poked her head out of her tent, flames licked at the canvas, casting an eerie orange glow across the camp.

“What’s happening?” she mumbled, still groggy.

A flurry of little flames arced through the air above her, and Lys squinted up at them, trying to make sense of it. Orin came barreling towards her, his shield raised high.

“Wake up, stupid!” he yelled, yanking her down and covering them both with his shield.

Fire arrows thudded into the ground nearby, setting more tents ablaze. The acrid smell of smoke filled her nose.

“I’m awake, I’m awake!” she said, fumbling for her weapon.

Swift’s booming voice cut through the din. “Recruits, form up! Now!”

Lys fell into formation with the others, her fingers tightening around the hilt of her sword while she hefted her shield. All around them, men rushed to man the fortifications.

A deafening roar erupted from the hilltop above, and Lys felt a shiver run down her spine. She moved with her group to the wall, straining to see through the darkness. Shadows moved on the hill, lit by the flickering torchlight. With a sinking feeling, Lys realized what was happening.

The enemy was mounting a sally.

Her heart pounded as she watched the enemy forces surge towards the recruit section of the wall. It was as if they knew exactly where the weakest point would be. The regulars moved in, sandwiching her group and thickening the defenses.

Things were happening far too fast. Well, that was the point of the sudden attack, probably.

“Shields up!” Swift shouted, his voice cutting through the chaos.

Lys fumbled with her shield, the realization hitting her she should be running off to join the skirmishers. But the chance to slip away was lost as Swift maneuvered them into a shield wall formation.

The sound of arrows buzzed overhead, a deadly exchange between the opposing forces. The inky black sky, clouded and moonless, cast everything in an oppressive darkness. Lys strained her eyes, trying to make out the shapes of the approaching enemy.

“You!” Swift’s voice snapped her attention back to the present. He was staring directly at her, his eyes narrowed. “Keep your shield up higher, recruit!”

Lys swallowed hard, her throat going dry.

She flinched as arrows thudded into the shields held above their heads, the sharp impacts reverberating through her arms.

A flaming arrow struck Orin’s shield, sending burning liquid dripping down between them. The fire sputtered to life, licking at their feet until Orin quickly smashed it out with his boot.

Panic surged as she tried to remember her training. Sergeant Swift’s voice boomed over the chaos, urging them to hold their ground. She gripped her weapon tightly, the rough wood biting into her palms as she peeked out over her shield, scanning the battlefield beyond the wall.

The enemy forces rushed closer, their shadowed forms illuminated by torchlight and the false dawn. Screams and shouts filled the air, a chorus of terror. Garrett yanked Lys back down, his eyes wide. “Watch your head, idiot!” he hissed.

Another volley of arrows whistled overhead, the shafts raining down on their section of the wall with alarming precision. She felt a sinking feeling that her earlier guess was right: the enemy was targeting them specifically, concentrating their fire on the weakest point in the defenses.

And there was no question that the recruits were going to be the weakest section. A week of extra training wouldn’t change that. Most of them didn’t even have full sets of armor!

The Irongians reached the first ditch, scrambling to clear the obstacle as another group moved up behind them.

A sergeant barked an order, and the regulars let loose a barrage of rocks from their slings. The missiles vanished into the darkness, their distinctive whirling sound cutting through the air. Cries of pain erupted from the enemy ranks as some of the stones found their marks.

Suddenly, ladders slammed against the wooden wall, the teeth biting into the posts with a sickening crunch. Lys lunged forward, desperately trying to shove the nearest ladder back, but the weight of the enemy soldiers bore down on it, making it impossible to dislodge.

She raised her spear, gripping it tightly in her sweaty palms as she stabbed at the first man clambering up the ladder. The tip grazed off his shield, and he continued his ascent, undeterred. She thrust again, panic rising in her chest as he drew closer, until Orin’s spear found its mark in the man’s side, sending him tumbling back down.

Another soldier immediately took his place, and Lys jabbed at him frantically, her breath coming in quick gasps. The wall seemed pathetically low now while the enemy’s ladders were sturdy and unyielding.

“Shields!” someone shouted, but the warning came too late.

A volley of arrows slammed into the line, one whizzing past her ear with a terrifying hiss. Beside her, Orin grunted in pain, a fletching protruding from his shoulder.

Lys lunged forward, trying to stab the next attacker, but his shield blocked her thrust, leaving her with no leverage. Garrett leaned over the wall, his sword flashing as he slashed the man’s arm, eliciting a shriek of agony.

The wounded soldier retaliated, his blade arcing towards Lys’s chest. She barely raised her shield in time, slamming it against his with a bone-jarring impact. Fumbling with her spear, she let it clatter to the ground, drawing her sword.

The Irongian pressed forward, forcing Lys back, her feet sliding on the blood-slicked earth. A solid presence braced against her back—another recruit supporting her.

Lys gritted her teeth. She slipped her blade around the enemy’s shield. With a forceful thrust, she drove it deep into his flesh.

His face contorted in agony, eyes wide with shock. Blood seeped from the wound in the torchlight, staining his armor crimson.

He fell back and his body collided with the man behind him, sending them both tumbling onto the soldiers below before the bodies rolled into the stake-filled ditch.

Another wave of arrows rained down, followed by another, pelting the recruits relentlessly as the assault continued unabated. Down the line, two enemy soldiers broke through, pushing the recruits back from the wall and allowing more Irongians to swarm up the ladders and onto the breach.

“Hold the line!” Swift roared. “Don’t let them through!”

But they were peeled back, their formation crumbling. Lys cursed. Who had the great idea of putting them on the wall? What had given away the location of their section on it? Lys shoved another man back as Garrett kicked the ladder, trying to loosen it.

The crack of dawn arrived, casting a pale light over the battlefield and revealing the entire enemy army massed below the wall, their archers and slingers raining projectiles into the defenders’ ranks. It wasn’t just their section being attacked—they were trying to storm the wall along its length, keeping the other sections too busy to help.

But it seemed like they were making progress only in one area, and they knew it. The brunt of the attack was falling on her and her friends.

Orin stumbled back, the arrow still protruding from his shoulder. Another recruit took his place, shield raised.

Garrett shoved the man on the ladder in front of him sideways, sending him crashing into the Irongian facing Lys. They tumbled together sideways, a tangle of limbs and weapons hurling toward the ground.

How many did they have to toss back? The answer was too many.

The recruits to their right reformed and smashed the attackers off the earthworks and retook their positions, but to the left, the recruits were pushed back and the formation continued to crumble.

Lys saw the recruit that replaced Orin fall, a gash opening his throat while lifeblood spewed out in pulsing geysers. Instead of a friend filling the space, an enemy pushed forward from the side, targeting her. She raised her shield to block, but the enemy soldier stepped on her boot, pinning her in place.

“Hold the line!” Swift bellowed. The call had become frantic.

Garrett roared, slamming past her and shoving the Irongian back and picking him up and tossing him like a boulder off the wall, but not before taking a stab to the side.

Lys thrust her sword up, catching the next attacker on the ladder through the throat as he came over the wall. The man fell, wrenching her blade from her grasp.

Disarmed, she grabbed Garrett, helping him back as others moved to shield them. They hobbled away, arrows pelting the ground around them.

Lys tripped on a body, and they both went down. She rolled on her side, her eyes meeting Davian’s blank stare. He was dead.

Lys’s heart raced as she scrambled to her feet, the chaos of the rout swirling around her. She grabbed Garrett’s arm, hauling him up beside her. His face was pale, his eyes wide with fear.

“Come on, we have to move!” she shouted.

Through the smoke and dust, Lys caught sight of Sergeant Swift locked in combat with two Irongians. His sword flashed in the pale dawn light as he parried their blows, his shield a blur of motion.

“Shields locked! Advance!” a voice boomed from the side.

Lys turned to see a phalanx of regulars moving in, their shields interlocked and spears bristling. They marched forward with precision, carefully stepping over fallen bodies as they allowed the retreating recruits to filter through their ranks.

“Stab! Push! Stab! Push!” a sergeant barked, setting a steady rhythm for the phalanx.

The Irongians scrambled to form their own shield wall, desperate to hold their ground and allow more men to climb up the ladders. Arrows whistled overhead, finding marks among both the defenders and attackers.

Lys gripped Garrett tighter, feeling his weight sagging against her. Blood soaked through his tunic, warm and slick against her hands. She found the wound on his side—it was wet and poured out precious life blood. He shouted in pain as she squeezed the fabric of his uniform against it tightly while holding him up.

“Hold on, Garrett!” she yelled, her voice cracking with desperation. “Just hold on!”