Mercenary of Lastia - BtLH - Ch 49 (Patreon)

Lys relaxed on a log while the other recruits chatted, their voices mingling with the crackle of the fire. She leaned back to stretch, her stomach full from the hearty stew they’d eaten for dinner.

“I can’t believe we made it in time,” Plainfield said, plopping down beside her. “I thought for sure Swift was going to have our hides.”

Woodrow chuckled. “You worry too much. We’ve got this down to a science now.”

“Easy for you to say,” Stormwell grumbled. “You didn’t have to dig the latrine trench.”

Lys grinned, shaking her head. “At least you won’t have to fill it in.”

The recruits erupted into laughter. As the chatter died down, Swift strode into the firelight, his face serious.

“Listen up,” he said. “We need to set the watch for the night. From now on, you will all be equally responsible for the security of the camp.”

The group fell silent, their attention focused on the sergeant. Swift’s eyes swept over them, his finger moving to point out six recruits, including Lys.

“You six will take the first watch,” he said. “The other units will provide six as well. That’s twenty-four sentries per watch, of which there will be three.”

Lys nodded to herself. That was a lot of sentries. Almost a quarter of the entire group would be on alert at all times? Were the sergeants worried about another Irongian attack? “Sir?”

Swift glanced at her. “What is it, recruit?”

“Are those numbers standard, or are we expecting trouble?” she asked.

“We’ll be expecting trouble all the way back—we won’t have the luxury of the rest of the cohort to watch our backs, and by the time we reach Dragonblanc we plan to have you all trained and ready to be self-sufficient, even as a detached unit.”

Swift looked over at the others. “The rest of you, pick the second and third watch and then turn in early for some rest.”

Everyone had their preferred watch slot, and the picking went quick. Lys fell in with Stormwell as they collected their gear. Others lingered by the fire.

“Ready, Trekhill?” Stormwell asked, holding up his shield.

Lys nodded, her own weapon already in hand. “Let’s do this.”

She took the lead, following along the path that skirted the edge of the camp. The flickering torches cast a warm glow, but she knew better than to let them blind her to the darkness beyond.

“Keep to the shadows,” she said, her voice low. “Don’t silhouette yourself against the torches. Don’t look into them either, will ruin your night vision.”

Stormwell nodded, falling into step beside her. “Where’d you learn that?”

“The regulars. They taught me a thing or two about night patrols, or just going about at night, really.”

They walked in silence for a while, their eyes scanning the tree line for any signs of movement.

“So, what brought you to the White Dragons?” Stormwell asked, breaking the silence.

Lys hesitated, the memory of Caius’ scream echoing in her mind. “I had to leave my village. Broke a guy’s leg for trying to hurt me.”

Stormwell let out a low whistle. “Damn, Trekhill. I can see you doing that.”

“You think I’m violent?” Lys asked, her brow furrowing.

“Nah, not violent. Just skilled. And tough as nails, despite being on the small side.”

Lys grunted, kicking a pebble with the toe of her boot. “Then why does everything feel like such a big deal?”

Stormwell laughed, the sound startling in the quiet of the night. “Because we’re still fucking recruits, that’s why. We’ve got a lot of work to do before we can call ourselves veterans. Someday maybe we’ll retire as trainers or buy a farm near one of the big towns.”

Lys snorted. “You? A farmer? I’d pay to see that.”

They continued their patrol, their banter fading into a comfortable silence as they focused on their task. The first watch seemed to drag on forever, but finally, it was time to wake the dark watch.

“Poor bastards,” Stormwell muttered as they made their way back to camp. “Having to wake up in the middle of the night, then try to fall back asleep.”

Lys shrugged, a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. “Better them than us.”

“I’m sure it will be our turn soon enough,” Stormwell replied.

The shelter of her tent greeted her and sleep came easily after the long summer day’s march.

She woke to the sound of Sergeant Swift’s booming voice cutting through an early morning fog. She sat up, rubbing the sleep from her eyes, and saw the other recruits already stirring.

“Rise and shine, recruits!” Swift bellowed. “We’ve got a long day ahead of us. Breakfast in ten minutes, then break camp. I want us on the road within the hour.”

Lys stretched. She’d slept soundly. Around her, the slower to rise recruits grumbled as they rolled out of their tents.

“I feel like I just fell asleep,” Plainfield groaned, his hair sticking up at odd angles.

“You snore like a bear,” Woodrow teased. “I’m surprised you didn’t wake yourself up.”

Lys grinned as she relaced her boots. “At least he doesn’t talk in his sleep like Stormwell.”

“I do not!” Stormwell protested, his face turning red.

“Oh, yes you do,” Lys countered. “Something about a girl named Lily and her soft...”

“Enough!” Swift interrupted, his eyes narrowing. “Get your asses to the mess tent. Now.”

The recruits scrambled to obey, grabbing their mess kits and hurrying towards the smell of cooking food. Lys fell into step beside Woodrow, her stomach growling.

“What do you think they’re serving today?” she asked.

“Probably the same slop as yesterday,” Woodrow replied. “But I’m so hungry, I don’t even care.”

They lined up, holding out their bowls as the cook ladled out a thick, steaming porridge. Lys inhaled deeply, savoring the scent of cinnamon and honey.

“Smells good,” she said, grabbing a hunk of bread from the basket.

They ate quickly, shoveling the food into their mouths as they discussed the day’s march. Lys listened, nodding along as she chewed.

There wasn’t much time allowed to eat, but they were used to that. The cooks began to breakdown the mess tent before they had even finished.

“Time to break camp,” Swift called out. “I want this place cleared out and your packs on your backs in thirty minutes.”

Lys gulped down the last of her porridge and hurried to her tent.

She rolled up her bedroll and stuffed it into her pack, then set about dismantling the canvas shelter. Around her, the others did the same, their movements practiced and efficient.

One thing was for certain: they’d be repeating the same scene over and over on the trip. They had a long way to go.

Before the deadline, the tents were down and the recruits were lined up, their packs on their backs and their weapons at the ready. Swift surveyed them, his eyes critical.

“Not bad,” he said. “But we can do better. Let’s move out.”

Lys trudged along the winding road, the group’s boots kicking up dust.

The sun beat down on her neck, and she could feel the sweat trickling between her shoulder blades. Around her, the other recruits marched in formation.

“How much further?” Plainfield groaned.

“As far as Sergeant Swift says,” Woodrow replied.

Lys shook her head. “It’s only the second day, and we have nice weather, relax.”

She glanced at the surrounding landscape, noting the subtle changes. The dry terrain had given way to patches of lush greenery, and the air felt cooler as they descended from the gap. They were making good time. She inhaled deeply, savoring the scent of pine and earth.

Suddenly, Plainfield broke ranks, darting towards a clump of bushes along the road. “Hey, look at this!” he called out, his voice excited.

“Plainfield, get back in line!” Swift barked, his face turning red.

But Plainfield ignored him, reaching into the foliage. A second later, he yelped and stumbled.

A giant turtle emerged from the bushes, its jaws snapping menacingly at Plainfield’s boots as he scrambled back toward the group. The creature was easily large enough to take off a foot—or a head—with a sharp snap.

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

Lys and the others quickly formed a tight formation, pulling their shields off their backs. They let Plainfield pass through the wall and then interlocked their barrier.

The turtle lunged forward, its head bashing against them with a heavy thud.

“Spears out!” Swift commanded.

Lys gripped her weapon tightly, her heart pounding in her chest. She watched as the turtle circled them faster than any ‘turtle’ had the right to be. The damned thing was a monster, and its eyes glinted with predatory intent.

When it attacked again, she thrust her spear forward, feeling the satisfying resistance as it pierced the creature’s thick hide. It screeched and bit down hard, taking off a massive chunk of her shield. Metal banding included.

The other recruits followed suit, their spears finding their mark. The turtle thrashed and hissed, and the formation fell back to give it space. Lys let herself catch her breath as they spread out to strike in groups of two or three at the monster’s back before retreating.

Eventually, the turtle succumbed to its wounds, collapsing in a heap. Individually, it had been a monster, but it was mindless—and did not have a strategy to counter the coordination.

“Well done,” Swift said, his tone grudgingly approving. “Looks like we’ll be having turtle soup for dinner.”

That evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, they got to savor the rich broth. The turtle meat was tough but flavorful, and Lys found herself going back for seconds.

“I can’t believe Plainfield almost got killed over a damn turtle,” Stormwell grumbled, picking at his teeth with a bone.

“Hey, I didn’t know it was that big!” Plainfield protested, his face flushing.

Woodrow shook his head. “I’m surprised Swift let you go with just the embarrassment.”

Lys chuckled, shaking her head. “At least we got a good meal out of it.”

The next day, they reached Swiftmorest.

The old camp fortification stood waiting for them, its walls and trenches greeting them like an old friend. Though it was too large for their reduced numbers, they settled in.

As the recruits gathered around the campfire that evening, Swift addressed them. “We’ll be resting here for a day,” he announced, his voice carrying over the crackle of the flames.

Groans erupted from the gathered recruits, but they didn’t dare voice anything until the sergeant had left.

“Resting?” Plainfield muttered. “More like extra drills and training.”

“You know Swift,” Woodrow agreed. “He’s not going to let us off that easy.”

Lys poked at the fire with a stick, watching the sparks dance in the night air. The prospect of more work didn’t bother her much. She’d grown used to the constant demands of training.

Plus, whatever had happened to her made it all easier.

She had avoided meditating or practicing her breathing on purpose since they had started the march, but that hadn’t seemed to stem the limitless stamina it felt like she now had.

The next morning, Swift gathered them again. “The villagers have requested our help,” he said. “They need timber to improve the road through the village. We’re going to haul it over to them.”

Lys and the others spent the day dismantling the outer walls, pulling out the heavy logs and loading them onto sleds. The summer heat didn’t help as they hauled the timber into the village, sweat streaming down their faces.

Around her, the other recruits stripped off their shirts, their skin glistening in the heat. The village girls watched them work, their eyes wide with admiration. Lys kept her own shirt on.

“Hey, Trekhill!” Stormwell called out. “You’re making the rest of us look bad, keeping your shirt on like that.”

Lys ignored him, focusing on the task at hand. She helped the others place the logs into the ground, reinforcing a section of the road that had started to slide down a hillside.

As they worked, she could feel the eyes of the village girls on her, their whispers carrying on the breeze. “Look at that one,” one of them said, pointing at Lys. “He’s so slender and graceful.”

Lys ducked her head, her face burning. She didn’t want their attention, didn’t want to be singled out. She just wanted to do her job and blend in with the others.

Lys wiped the sweat from her brow as she helped plant the last of the logs. The village girls’ chatter drifted over, their giggles and whispers grating on her nerves. She just wanted to finish the job and get back to camp.

“Hey, Trekhill!” Plainfield called out, jogging over to her. “Some of the guys are talking about going into the village tonight, maybe meeting up with those girls. You in?”

Lys shook her head. “Are you crazy? Swift would have our hides if he found out.”

“Come on, it’ll be fun!” Stormwell chimed in, a grin spreading across his face. “We deserve a little break after all this work.”

“No way,” Woodrow replied. “We’re here to train, not chase after girls.”

“Woodrow’s right,” Lys agreed. “We can’t risk getting in trouble.”

Plainfield sighed. “Fine, fine. But you guys are no fun.”

“Better to be boring than on latrine duty for a month,” Lys retorted.

The others nodded in agreement, and the conversation turned to other topics. Lys let their voices wash over her as they headed back to camp, her mind already drifting to the comfort of her bedroll.

“Just think,” Plainfield said, his eyes gleaming. “Once we’re regulars, we can visit the camp followers whenever we want.”

Lys grimaced at the thought. The fallout from someone finding out she wasn’t exactly carrying the same equipment as the rest of them… well, she had no idea what it would be, but it wouldn’t be good. Despite what had happened with Orin.

She kept her thoughts to herself, obviously.

They made their way back to camp as the sun began to set. Food was already out, and she grabbed and devoured her portion of what was left of the turtle stew.

Then she crawled into her tent and closed her eyes, letting the sounds of the camp lull her to sleep.

It seemed like only moments had passed when someone was urgently whispering at her through the canvas. “Trekhill, wake up. It’s time for morning watch.”

Lys groaned, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. She stumbled out of her tent, blinking in the predawn light. Around her, the camp was silent except for the other very early morning sentries being woken up.

No trouble, then. It looked like whoever had the bad idea of mingling with the village girls had been overruled and reigned in by smarter heads.

Lys looked up at the still dark sky, thin wispy clouds lit by a sliver of moon. Soon the sun would add its own hues to the mix and they’d be back on the march to Dragonblanc.