Mercenary of Lastia - BtLH - Ch 55 (Patreon)

Lys’ eyes flickered to the hand on her shoulder, her eyes narrowing. “What is with headman’s sons and being full of themselves?”

She grabbed his wrist and wrenched it in a twist. He screamed and tried to pull away, but she jerked him back toward her without letting go. He stumbled, trying to regain his balance and perfectly positioning himself for her.

She swept his leg, catching his ankles and sending him crashing to the ground. He landed hard on his stomach, the air rushing from his lungs in a pained grunt.

Her boot went on the back of his neck. At the same time, she drew her sword and placed the tip against his back, right over his heart.

The stunned village men stared at her in shock.

She swept her gaze over them, anger fueling her glare. “If any of you make a move, he’s dead first. Then the rest of you.”

She shifted her weight onto his neck slightly, turning his screams into a panicked shriek. “Do what he says! Do what he says!”

Lys lightened the pressure. A little.

“You heard him. Get the garbage you loaded us up with out of our wagon and put the good stuff in there,” Lys ordered. She turned to the other recruits.

Plainfield, Stormwell, and Woodrow had their own swords out. The rest were in shock.

She gestured to the village men with her head. “Watch them and make sure they do nothing else!”

Group One moved to obey. It was a tense wait as she kept the headman’s son pinned to the ground. When the carts were unloaded, she looked to Plainfield.

“Make sure they don’t put any more of that rotten stuff in,” Lys ordered.

He complied, checking each bag and crate carefully as the villagers brought it. When they were finally fully loaded, Lys shoved her prisoner away with her boot before sheathing her sword.

He rolled away, finally coming to a stop and standing up holding his bruised ribs. His face twisted with rage. “Take our food,” he spat. “You’re no better than the bandits!”

Lys ignored him, turning to her team. “We’re leaving.”

Show no weakness. Like dealing with a pack of starving wolves in human skin. She led them out of the village, her head held high.

Once they were out of the village, she headed straight for Finn and Swift, who were overseeing the fortification work.

“Sergeants, we have a problem,” she said, her voice tight. “The villagers gave us rotten supplies and then attacked us when we confronted them.”

Finn’s brow furrowed. “Attacked you? What happened?”

Lys recounted the events, her anger simmering just beneath the surface.

Swift shook his head. “This is unacceptable. We can’t have our recruits being threatened like this.” He turned to Finn. “We need to call off the fortification work and deal with this.”

Finn nodded. “Agreed. Lys, gather the recruits and have them stand down. We’ll handle this.”

As Lys rounded up the recruits, she could feel the tension in the air. The villagers glared at them from a distance, their hostility palpable.

Later that day, the headman arrived with a posse of villagers, their faces grim. “Why have you stopped working?” he demanded.

Finn stepped forward. “Your son attacked our recruits, and you provided rotten supplies. We won’t tolerate this disrespect.”

The headman’s face reddened. “Your men nearly murdered my son, and then you took what you wanted. You’ve been paid.”

Lys watched from afar as the argument escalated, the villagers shouting and gesturing angrily. But Swift and Finn held their ground.

Eventually, the villagers turned and left, their backs stiff with resentment. Swift turned to Lys. “Double the sentry duty tonight.”

Lys nodded. “I’ll organize it right away.”

As she set about assigning the recruits to their posts, Lys couldn’t shake the feeling of unease that settled in her gut. Something told her this wasn’t over yet.

She was wrong. Nothing happened that night.

In the morning, they departed Tradow on the southern road for Mythshell, leaving the fortifications half-done.

The recruits moved at a brisk pace, as if eager to put distance between themselves and the hostile village. Lys led the column with Group One, but her mind was still churning over the events of the previous day.

“Keep it up, recruits!” Finn barked. “I want to make good progress before lunch.”

The company responded with a chorus of “Yes, Sergeant!” and quickened their steps.

Lys fell into the rhythm, her boots pounding against the dirt road. The physical exertion helped clear her head, pushing aside the lingering unease.

By midday, they had covered a considerable distance. Finn called for a halt near an abandoned stone fence, and the recruits gratefully sank to the ground, pulling out their rations.

Lys perched on the weathered stones, biting into a strip of dried meat. The air felt cooler than usual for summer, and a breeze ruffled her short hair. She glanced up at the sky, noting the gathering clouds. “Looks like rain,” she murmured to no one in particular.

“Aye,” agreed a recruit beside her. “Better enjoy the dry while we can.”

They finished their meal and resumed the march, but Lys’s prediction proved accurate. By late afternoon, as they began setting up camp, the skies opened, and a steady rain pelted down.

“Keep moving!” Swift shouted over the downpour. “Get those tents up and secure the supplies.”

It was a wet job and her clothes quickly soaked through. The ground turned to mud, making everything harder. Or more filthy. She gritted her teeth and pushed on, driving the tent stakes deep into the soggy earth.

Despite the miserable conditions, the recruits maintained their discipline, following the sergeants’ orders without complaint. She left her boots outside the tent to keep the muck out.

The next three days dragged on in misery, the weather an unrelenting assault.

Cool rain pelted down in heavy sheets, cold enough to chill to the bone. When the rain finally ceased, the sun emerged, turning the land into a steaming cauldron of humidity.

Lys trudged along with the other recruits, her boots squelching. The road had turned worse than the grass beside it. That slowed them down a lot, especially with the wagons.

Sweat trickled down her face, stinging her eyes, but it was useless. The air was full of water already.

The only respite came at night when the temperature dropped to almost chilly levels, allowing her to shiver herself to sleep.

Despite the harsh conditions, the company pressed on, marching without pause. Lys focused on putting one foot in front of the other, her mind numb with exhaustion. She barely registered the passing of time, each day blurring into the next.

On the fourth day, they came to a sudden halt mid-day.

Lys looked up. A river fork lay ahead, its waters swollen and churning from the recent rains. The current looked too strong to ford safely.

“Make camp!” Finn shouted over the roar of the river. “We’ll wait here while we figure out a plan.”

The recruits scattered to their various tasks. Lys led a group to collect firewood, their faces drawn with fatigue.

They talked about a lot of things, from the fire lizard to Tradow, the loot, their promised pay, and Dragonblanc.

Lys remained silent, too tired to join in the conversation.

When they got back from collection duty, she focused on pitching her tent, her fingers clumsy with exhaustion. As she worked, she glanced over at the sergeants, who had gathered by the riverbank, their heads bent in discussion.

She wondered what they would decide. Would they risk crossing the river, or would they have to find another route?

The morning sun peeked through the clouds, casting a pale light over the camp. Lys emerged from her tent, stretching her sore muscles. The recruits gathered around Sergeant Swift, who stood before them with a grim expression.

“Listen up, recruits,” Swift said, his voice carrying over the murmur of the crowd. “I’ve got some bad news. There’s no other route around this river.”

A collective groan rose from the group. Lys frowned, her brow furrowing.

“The road normally crosses the ford,” Swift continued, gesturing towards the swollen river. “Going around would add weeks to our journey. And the high water? It’s liable to last just as long.”

“So what do we do, Sergeant?” a recruit asked, his voice tinged with desperation.

Swift’s gaze swept over the assembled recruits, his eyes hard. “There’s only one solution.”

Lys leaned forward. She watched as Swift’s lips parted; the words hanging in the air.

“We have to build rafts.”