Mercenary of Lastia - BtLH - Ch 43 (Patreon)

Lys watched as the White Dragon infantry formed tighter squares, their shields locked together as they carried ladders and other equipment up the steep hill. There was no way for her to tell where the other recruits were in relation to the rest of the formation, though.

The enemy ranged units had perched atop the earthen walls and began to rain arrows down upon them. The deadly projectiles clattered against the shields.

“Alright, it’s time,” Sergeant Tilledge said. “On your feet and to the edge.”

Lys stood up with her bow. The others moved to the edge, close enough to make her anxious. She tugged on her safety line to make sure it was still secure and joined them.

“Keep enough space not to jostle each other,” Dax added.

She scooted over. The air was dead still despite the elevation, and that was going to help with shooting so far. Their position meant they had direct shots at the enemy below.

It sort of made climbing up worth it. Even if it was insane.

So insane the enemy would never expect them.

Tilledge’s voice gave them direction. “Fire at will, and remember your priorities. Make every shot count.”

Lys closed her eyes, taking a deep, steadying breath.

She needed the power, the focus, more than ever if she was going to hit her targets. Her eyes snapped open, flickering to the group of enemy archers standing behind the wall, their bows angled high as they fired into the advancing infantry squares.

She nocked an arrow, drawing the string back to her cheek. Lys aimed for the first archer, her breath escaping in a slow, controlled exhale as she released. Her target was tiny. Certainly farther than she had ever shot before.

The arrow whistled through the air, disappearing into the chaos below.

Reaching back, Lys pulled three more arrows from her quiver, holding two in her draw hand as she readied the third. Around her, the rest of the skirmishers began to fire, each man handpicking his own targets.

The twang of bowstrings and the whistle of arrows filled the air as Lys loosed her second shot.

Lys loosed another arrow, watching it arc through the air before finding its mark in the chest of an enemy archer. Or at least she assumed she hit him. The arrow was too small to see. But he crumpled, bow clattering to the ground beside him.

She fired her other arrows into the same clump of archers. The wind picked up into a gentle breeze, tugging at her hair and clothes. Her last arrow swam off course slightly. The enemy was packed tightly enough on the wall. Did it really matter?

The enemy was focusing all their attention on the attackers below, and none of them were accounting for the sharp downward angle she and the skirmishers were firing from.

It was almost too easy, firing into their backs. Shot after shot drilling down into necks and shoulders from behind and slightly to the side.

Lys took a breath. The twang of shots continued, no one speaking. Everyone seemed content to do the bloody work of sniping with silent focus.

The battle below raged, the infantry squares reaching the first ditches and placing equipment to cross them safely. Despite the effort, she could see dozens falling into them as they were shot or hit by rocks from the defenders.

Ladders went up, and the attacks by the defenders became more intense.

“Don’t stop shooting, Trekhill,” Tilledge warned.

Lys bit her lip and drew six more arrows. Were they really making a difference? She knew her recruit group was being given a ‘safer’ job than most after what happened, but they were still down there. Maybe even dying.

She needed to make that difference in the battle happen. The rest of her quiver poured out until her fingers brushed empty air. She turned and grabbed a second bundle of ammunition.

A movement in the archers below caught her eye. He had turned toward their position, his bow drawn. Without hesitation, she loosed an arrow, aiming for his throat.

His bow flew up in the air as he collapsed.

“Focus on the enemies near the ladders!” Sergeant Tilledge shouted. “Help our men breach the wall!”

She sighted down the shaft of her next arrow, shifting the aim to the left. There were thick clusters of men around the points where the siege ladders had bitten into the fortification. All of their shields were planted toward the scaling infantry.

That left them more vulnerable to her group. A small breeze pushed again, and she adjusted her aim to compensate before releasing. There were too many targets to worry about whether or not she hit. She drew and fired repeatedly.

“Good job, Lys! Keep it up!” Dax called out from beside her, his own bow twanging as he loosed arrow after arrow.

The battering ram reached the enemy’s gate, the men carrying it huddled beneath a wooden and leather protected roof. Shields to the sides protected those who pushed the siege weapon into place. The enemy focused their efforts on it, and she spotted more than one man throwing down large rocks.

She targeted them next. It felt like the assault was faltering, despite the vast difference in numbers. The White Dragons were slowly stalling out on the walls, just like the enemy had done when attacking her and the recruits.

An arrow clattered into the rock at her feet, bouncing back off the cliff.

“They spotted us! Keep it up. Make them hurt!” Tilledge bellowed.

The enemy archers dispersed and took cover as the realization they were being targeted spread. Lys ignored them—the few shooting up at her group were so far below their shots struggled to climb to them. They certainly weren’t shooting with any accuracy.

There were multiple sections of the wall that were undefended, but the attackers had no idea. With the clear view of the battle, she wanted to scream at them where to go, but that was impossible.

Worse, the ladder attack was faltering badly.

They were going to lose?

A chill ran down Lys’ spine. She didn’t want to be trapped on the cliff.

Her focus narrowed as she fired faster at the men near the gate targeting the ram. To her, it seemed like that was their best bet for breaching the defenses.

The battering ram slammed into the gate, the heavy thud of wood against wood echoing across the field. Men swarmed up the ladders, their shields raised to deflect the hail of arrows raining down upon them.

She took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. The world dissolved until there was nothing remaining but her targets and her bow. Each inhale and exhale was perfectly timed with the release of an arrow.

It was a level of focus she had never reached before.

An arrow clawed its way toward Dax and she snapped a shot out that deflected it. Then came a volley of enemy arrows, and she let loose a rapid chain of shots that punched the dangerous ones back down. Instead of grabbing one arrow at a time, she began to loose two, then three, and finally a handful.

Tilledge reached over to stop her, yelling something about wasting ammunition, but Dax grabbed his arm and stopped him and pointed.

The areas her shots were landing were crawling with wounded and men who had shifted their focus to huddling underneath their shields, allowing the attackers to gain ground.

The others stopped shooting and simply handed her ammunition.

It felt like she had taken hold of the world and had changed a fundamental law: her arrows simply did not miss.

The attacks on the battering ram stopped and the massive iron bound log smashed its way through the barrier and then a surge of soldiers pushed through. They mounted the wall from the inside and raised the White Dragon banner.

That caused a surge in the attack. From the gate, they surged sideways across the walls, clearing the way for men to climb the ladders. In the center of the camp, the enemy regrouped.

Without the advantage of defenses, numbers overwhelmed.

Lys reached for an arrow and realized there was none. She looked behind her and the others looked at her with a shock that mirrored her own.

Her head began to spin, and she suddenly realized she couldn’t breathe. Her lungs felt locked in her chest, as if something had constricted around them. She gasped, trying to draw in her, but her entire body constricted, refusing to cooperate.

The ground jerked underneath her and she suddenly became very aware that she was standing at the edge of a cliff.

A firm hand circled her arm and jerked her back away from the edge. For that, she was very grateful.

It was Dax. “Lys, are you alright?”

“What was that?” Cole said, his eyes wide with disbelief. “We kept giving him our arrows, and he just kept shooting.”

Lark helped Dax lead her to the back of the ledge to sit down. “Easy there. Just sit down and catch your breath.”

Lys sat heavily, her vision swimming with little flecks of light. She managed a small gasp; the air burning her lungs as she fought to breathe. Her heart pounded in her throat, threatening to burst from her chest.

Sergeant Tilledge stood above them, his gaze fixed on Lys. “Bunzard’s beard,” he said, shaking his head. “I’ve never seen anything like that before.”