Mercenary of Lastia - BtLH - Ch 60 (Patreon)

The next days were spent training while the other recruits enjoyed their breaks out on the town.

On the third day, they were all ordered to pack up in the morning.

Lys marched out of the barracks with the others under the early morning sun, heading west. Two more recruit groups from other areas had joined the company, swelling their numbers.

The road stretched wide but looked old and less traveled. Lys walked beside Sergeant Swift when they broke for lunch. “Sergeant, what’s the story with the road? Looks worse than the one between Tradow and Mythshell.”

Swift took a bite of his rations before answering. “This route used to be critical, but the bridge was destroyed during the lizardman invasion about 70 years ago. Before our time.”

Lys furrowed her brow. “Another river? How will we cross then?”

A smile tugged at the corner of Swift’s mouth. “We haven’t crossed a river, yet. That was just a swollen stream. But to answer your question, we’ll turn north and follow the river to a ferry at Eversheaf.”

“But why head west first?” Lys persisted, her curiosity getting the better of her.

“We like to show the recruits the ruins,” Swift said. “It’s a good reminder of what can happen if we let our guard down. Plus, it’s a sight not to miss.”

Lys nodded, her mind already conjuring images of crumbling structures. Those visions turned into reality after two days of march.

The ruined arch dwarfed Mythshell entirely, the ancient stone structure crumbling under the weight of time. She couldn’t see where it had been purposely destroyed, like Swift said. It was just too darned big. Mythshell would have fit on top of the massive columns that still jutted out of the water.

The river slowly drew Lys’s attention next. It was vast—more water than she could understand. The other shore was barely visible. This was a river? That made little sense. It was too big.

“That is a river?” The words tumbled out of her mouth, disbelief coloring her tone.

Sergeant Finn chuckled. “You think that’s big? Wait until you see Lake Fachue. And the ocean? Even bigger than that.”

Lys shook her head, struggling to wrap her mind around the concept. She glanced at her fellow recruits, their expressions mirroring her own shock. None of them had ever been this far west or encountered anything like it.

“Alright, listen up!” Sergeant Swift’s voice cut through the murmurs of amazement. “We’ll be setting up camp on the edge of the bridge ruins. Keep moving!”

As they approached the stone arch, Lys marveled at its sturdy construction. The first sections of the platform remained intact, lifting into the air at a shallow angle that would have allowed carts to travel up it smoothly.

“You could build a town on it.” Plainfield whispered, his eyes wide with wonder.

“It’s incredible,” Stormwell breathed, running her hand along the weathered stone. “I wonder what happened to it.”

“Probably the lizardmen,” Woodrow speculated, his gaze moving to Lys. “Sergeant Swift mentioned that, didn’t he?”

She nodded. “How could you even go about destroying something like this, though?”

They set up camp like normal, minus the digging. That was nice, but it gave them more time to goggle at things. The bridge had high side walls, though, that blocked most of the view of the river. There was still plenty to look at, though.

But… She climbed atop one of the lower pillars with a flat top, her eyes scanning the vast expanse of the river below. The sun danced on the water’s surface, creating a mesmerizing display of light and shadow. She inhaled deeply, savoring the fresh air and the sense of freedom being perched on the stonework gave.

A frown crossed her face as she spotted something on their side of the riverbank below. Destroyed wagons and debris littered the area, their broken forms standing out compared to the white stone ruin and green ground cover.

“Recruit! What in the blazes are you doing up there?” Swift shouted up at her.

Lys blinked and jumped down, landing with a soft thud. “Sorry, Sergeant. I was just getting a better view.”

Swift scowled. “Well, don’t go breaking your fool neck.”

“Sergeant, there’s something you should see,” Lys said, pointing towards the riverbank. “I spotted some destroyed wagons and debris down there. It didn’t look right.”

Swift’s brow furrowed as he considered her words. With a grunt, he nodded. “Alright, let’s check it out. Gather a group of six and head down there.”

Lys quickly assembled a team, and they made their way down to the riverbank. As they approached the wreckage, it became clear that whatever had happened was recent.

Shattered wood and twisted metal lay scattered across the ground, intermingled with a half dozen stripped corpses.

“Bandits,” Swift muttered, his eyes narrowing as he surveyed the scene. “And that carriage belonged to a messenger of the Prince.”

Lys frowned. The thought of bandits attacking a royal messenger was deeply unsettling.

Swift turned to the group. “Alright, listen up! We need to prepare a pyre and search the area for any evidence that might help us track down the bastards responsible for this.”

They all split up to search. She rummaged through the wreckage of the carriage. The other recruits spread out, their faces grim as they sifted through the grass.

“Found something!” Stormwell called out, holding up an arrow.

Lys joined the others to examine the find. The craftsmanship was distinct, the black feathers and piercing tip standing out.

She nodded, adding them to the wagon of evidence. “Good find. Let’s keep looking.”

They found five more arrows scattered about in various broken states. The combing of the area produced little else, though, and Swift ordered them to collect everything—including the shattered wagon.

That was a lot more work.

Plainfield grunted as he hefted a section of a broken wagon wheel. “Why are we hauling all this junk? It’s not like it’s going to bring them back.”

“It was a prince’s messenger,” Lys reminded him, her tone firm. “Whoever they were, they were important. We need to gather everything we can. Or at least that’s what Swift told us to do, which is the most important part.”

Stormwell groaned, wiping the sweat from his brow. “More work. Just what we needed.”

Lys shot him a wry grin. “Come on, you know you love it. Nothing like a bit of manual labor to get the blood pumping.”

The recruits chuckled at that. They worked diligently, packing the remnants into a wagon. The ruined bridge even offered some shade from the sun. That was actually nice.

As they finished loading the last of the debris, Lys straightened up, her gaze sweeping over the riverbank. The destruction was a stark reminder of the dangers of travel.

The two Irongians who killed Jorg came to mind. That felt like forever ago, and a jolt of panic ran through her. She had never sent back a letter home to tell them what had happened.

Everything since joining the White Dragons had been a mad rush to figure things out, or a structured schedule she barely fit in. Now that she was more experienced, things were not as stressful, but it still had slipped her mind.

And she had no excuse. They had been taught the procedure for writing to family and friends and sending letters early on.

“Alright, let’s get this back to camp,” she said, her voice carrying over the sound of the rushing water. “We still need to build the pyres.”

Stormwell let out a groan. “Shit, more work. I thought we were done for the day.”

Lys clapped him on the shoulder, a stupid grin on her face. “You know us, Stormwell. We just can’t get enough of it.”

That evening, pyre flames and smoke licked the sky.

Lys didn’t let it bother her, though. One thing she had learned so far—danger was around every corner. One moment you could be digging in the trenches with your friends and the next they would be dead, their blood spilled without warning.

At least, that is what it had felt like, after they had started the march to Dragonblanc.

That night she focused on scrawling in her journal, making out letters and writing a first attempt at a message to explain everything that had happened. She could have simply gone to Ashton and had him transcribe it, but after so long it felt like she needed to pen the thing herself.

It quickly became clear that was going to take a bit more practice to pull off, even if she knew exactly what she wanted to say.

Maybe she’d have it ready by the time they reached Eversheaf. It wouldn’t make a difference if she delayed until then, because the company would be leaving the mail there to send, anyway.

Eventually it was late, and she had last watch and had to wake up early, so she went to sleep.

A member of the dark watch gently woke her later. The hints of false dawn hadn’t even started yet as Lys emerged, stretching her limbs and inhaling the crisp air. Sentry gear equipped, she joined a recruit she didn’t know on patrol.

The ruined bridge offered them protection from three sides, so they needed a lot fewer sentries than normal. Someone else might have called it bad luck to be picked, but the quiet early morning was pleasant, and her partner didn’t seem inclined to break that.

False dawn began, and Lys found a nice spot that had an unbroken view of the river and the approaches up to the camp on the bridge. Sunrise over the water was magical.

The sounds of activity beginning to pick up as they prepared to move out finally drew her away.

The scent of cooking fires and the murmur of conversation filled the air, a familiar routine that had become second nature over the past weeks. Tents began to break down and wagons prepped to move. Lys joined the others for breakfast and then saw to her own tent and kit.

Less than an hour later, she fell into step beside Stormwell. The sun was already warm, but it was not hot as a decent breeze passed over them and the dirt road paralleling the river.

“Can you believe this weather?” Stormwell grinned, his face tilted towards the sky. “It’s like Bunzard is smiling at us.”

Lys chuckled. “Don’t jinx it. We’ve still got a long way to go.”

“I’ll take a day like this over slogging through mud any time,” Plainfield chimed in from behind them.

She nodded. Who wouldn’t?

The recruits bantered and laughed as they walked, the camaraderie easing the miles beneath their feet. Even the sergeants seemed in good spirits as they kept the pace steady but unhurried.

As the sun began its descent, Sergeant Swift called for a halt. “Alright, recruits! Let’s make camp for the night. Woodrow, take a team and scout the perimeter. The rest of you, get those tents up and fires going.”

Lys watched as half of Group One departed to scout, then moved to help drive stakes and hoist canvas until all the group tents were up. Group Two and Three got the chore of digging the trenches and latrines while Group Four worked with Hawkins to prepare dinner.

The selections always seemed random, and she wondered how the sergeants decided who did what every day.

The aroma of stew soon wafted from the cookpots, drawing the hungry like moths to a flame.

Seated around the fire, Lys savored the warmth of the bowl in her hands and the companionship of her fellow soldiers. Plainfield regaled them with tales of his childhood misadventures, his animated gestures drawing laughter.

Just as she thought things were perfect, a shout rang out from the edge of the camp. “Riders approaching!”

Everyone was on their feet in an instant, food set aside. Lys grabbed her spear and shield, her heart pounding as she raced towards the forming line. By the time Swift started to look to give them orders, the entire camp was on its feet and in formation.

As the riders approached, Lys gripped her spear tightly, her heart pounding in her chest. Twenty men on horse, she counted. Everyone stood shoulder to shoulder, ready to raise their spears in a phalanx like they had been trained for resisting cavalry charges.

The sound of hoofbeats grew louder, echoing through the still evening air.

Sergeant Swift stepped forward, his hand raised. “Hold steady, recruits,” he called out, his voice firm and commanding.

The riders drew closer, their forms becoming clearer in the fading light. Lys squinted, trying to make out their features. Suddenly, a murmur rippled through the ranks.

“They’re wearing White Dragon colors,” Plainfield whispered.

Sure enough, he was right. Relief washed over Lys as she realized the riders were not a threat. Swift approached the newcomers, exchanging a few words before turning back to the recruits.

“Stand down,” he ordered, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “These are scouts from the 2nd Cohort.”

The tension in the air dissipated as the recruits relaxed, lowering their weapons.

The next day, they marched to meet up with the 2nd Cohort’s camp.

The full 2nd Cohort. The camp of a thousand men easily swallowed her and the other recruits up. On the edge, they found a spot to set up their own tents and latrines.

“Trekhill!” Swift’s voice cut through the chatter. “Come with me.”

Lys followed. They weaved through the tents toward the center of the writhing mass of soldiers until they reached a larger one, its entrance guarded by two heavily armored men.

Swift ducked inside, motioning for Lys to follow. As she stepped through the flap, her eyes widened in surprise. There was a long table, flanked by men marked as sergeants. At the far end, a man stood with an officer’s coat. The Lieutenant.

She’d never met or even seen the 1st Cohort’s Lieutenant. The company relied on its sergeants for leadership and everything else, so seeing an officer was a shock.

“Recruit Trekhill,” the Lieutenant began, his gaze piercing. “We understand you were among those who discovered the ambushed carriage. Tell us what you saw.”

Lys swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry. She glanced at Swift, who nodded. Taking a deep breath, she recounted the scene they had stumbled upon, the broken wagons, lifeless bodies, and the strange arrows strewn across the riverbank.

The Lieutenant listened intently. When Lys finished, he dismissed her with a curt nod and word and turned to Swift.

As she walked back to camp, she was just left with questions. Why had they singled her out? What did it all mean?

Lost in thought, she didn’t notice the group of 2nd Cohort regulars until they were right in front of her.

Lys blinked as they blocked her path and then surrounded her, their faces alight with mischief.

“Well, well, well, look what we have here,” one of them drawled, a smirk playing on his lips. “A fresh recruit, ripe for the picking.”

Another regular chuckled, slinging an arm around Lys’s shoulders. “Come on, lad. Let’s show you how the real soldiers live.”

Despite her protests, they steered her towards their camp, their laughter ringing in her ears. Lys found herself seated around a crackling fire, a mug of ale thrust into her hands.

“Drink up, recruit,” a burly regular urged, his eyes glinting in the firelight. “It’ll put some hair on your chest.”

Lys shook her head, setting the mug aside. “Thanks, but I’ll pass.”

The regulars exchanged glances, their smiles faltering. “What’s the matter, boy? Too good for a little drink with your betters?”

Lys stood, setting down the drink and brushing off their attempts to make her stay. “I should get back to my group.”

As she turned to leave, one of the regulars stepped in front of her. His face twisted in anger. “You think you can just walk away? After we went to all this trouble to welcome you?”

Lys held her ground, meeting his gaze steadily. “I appreciate the gesture, but I’m leaving now.”

Another regular placed a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “Let it go, Jace. The kid’s not worth it.”

But Jace shrugged off the restraining hand, his eyes never leaving Lys’s face. “I don’t think so. This little pup needs to learn some respect.”

Lys flexed her hand. At least it wasn’t a headman’s son this time? Although was she sure? Maybe she should ask his parentage…

Or maybe she needed to get boots that made her a few inches taller so people would stop fucking with her or something?