Mercenary of Lastia - BtLH - Ch 61 (Patreon)

“I need to get back to my group,” Lys said, trying to keep her voice steady. She backed away slowly, hoping to slip off without further confrontation.

Jace was huge. His muscles rippled, and his uniform struggled to contain them. He was easily two heads taller than her.

And he wasn’t having it. “Not going anywhere, kid.” He reached out and grabbed at her wrist.

Lys reacted instinctively, slapping his hand away with a sharp crack. The sound seemed to echo through the group. Everyone stared, stunned. Jace seemed to notice that, too. His face twisted with rage.

He lunged forward, his fist aimed directly at her face. Lys slid to the side, remembering her sparring practice and taking a deep breath.

Her entire body tingled with energy as she saw an opening. She slammed her fist under his guard, connecting solidly with his chin. Jace’s head snapped back, and he toppled backwards, landing in a heap on the ground.

The other regulars continued to stare, stun turning into shock. Lys turned to walk away, her heart pounding in her chest. But before she could take more than a few steps, she felt a hand close around her ankle.

Jace, trying to drag her down.

She kicked out, freeing herself from his grip, but then a blow from behind slammed into her back. Lys stumbled forward, rolling with the impact and coming up in a crouch.

She scanned the group, trying to figure out who had hit her, but it wasn’t obvious. The other regulars were helping her attacker to his feet. All of them were angry now.

Jace bellowed, then shrugged off the others and charged her like an enraged boar. Lys braced herself. But before he could reach her, another man stepped between them.

Sergeant Swift’s gauntleted fist connected with the side of Jace’s head mid-stride, sending him crashing to the ground again. The impact was heavy, and Jace lay still, stunned by the blow.

“What in the seven hells is going on here?” Swift roared, his voice cutting through the tense atmosphere like a knife.

No one answered or moved. She wasn’t sure the other mercenaries knew what had happened. It had transpired so fast.

She jumped up and stammered out an explanation, her words tumbling over each other in a rush. By the time she finished, the entire event had drawn the attention of the 2nd Cohort sergeants, who began to demand answers as well.

Swift made her sit cross-legged on the ground, but she felt her stomach twist as the 2nd Cohort sergeants turned on him.

“What’s the meaning of this, Sergeant Swift?” one of them demanded.

Swift straightened up, his expression unreadable. “Your boys were giving my recruit here an impromptu training lesson. Nothing to worry about.”

The other sergeant scoffed, gesturing towards Jace’s prone form. “And why is it that only my man has a broken face, then?”

“Seems to me like your boys need better training,” Swift replied, his tone even until it turned into a sharp stab. “And especially discipline.”

Lys watched the exchange, not entirely sure she followed the undercurrent of meaning. But before she could dwell on it further, Swift had hauled her to her feet and marched her out of the 2nd Cohort’s camp without delay.

Once they were out of earshot, Swift rounded on her, his eyes narrowed. “Alright, recruit. I want to know exactly what happened back there.”

Lys took a deep breath, repeating her recount of the altercation.

When she finished, he fixed her with a piercing stare. “And you really laid out that brute like that?”

“Yes, sir,” Lys replied, meeting his gaze steadily.

To her surprise, Swift threw his head back and laughed, the sound echoing through the night air. But just as quickly as it had come, his mirth vanished, replaced by a serious expression.

“Listen up, recruit,” he said, his voice low and intense. “Don’t fuck up like that again, you hear me?”

Lys opened her mouth to protest, to argue that she had only been defending herself. But something in Swift’s eyes made her reconsider.

She nodded slowly. “I’ll do my best to make sure they don’t get back up next time, sir.”

Swift stared at her for a long moment before shaking his head.

They trudged back to the 1st Cohort’s recruit camp. The confrontation with Jace and the other regulars left her feeling skittish, completely opposite of the day before.

Swift turned to face her. “Trekhill, I need you to organize Group One to haul the evidence and scraps from that carriage to the 2nd Cohort’s camp,” he ordered, his voice brooking no argument.

Lys nodded, straightening her shoulders. “Yes, sir.” The order left her feeling a bit confused, though. Was it a good idea to send her back there already?

She gathered everyone she could, including Plainfield, Stormwell, and Woodrow. Those three, she let know about the trouble. After they loaded the wagon, everyone collected their weapons. Swift hadn’t told her they shouldn’t escort the evidence unarmed after all.

As they made their way to the 2nd Cohort’s camp, Lys could feel the hostile stares of the regulars boring into her back, but with her friends around her, they didn’t dare try anything.

“You weren’t kidding.” Plainfield mumbled.

Stormwell shook his head, a look of disgust on his face. “Thankfully, we’re moving on tomorrow. The sooner we’re away from those bastards, the better.”

The next morning, they prepared to move out on the road north toward the ferry. “Several more days of this to go,” she muttered, adjusting the straps of her pack.

Woodrow grinned, his eyes sparkling with enthusiasm. “That’s fine with me! I love this easy river road marching!”

Lys chuckled. “Yeah, it sure beats the hills back home. Just hope it doesn’t rain, right?”

Despite tempting fate with the comment, it did not rain. The road remained in good condition, and they made excellent time. When a village came into view on the fourth evening, it was a bit of a shock. They’d made it an entire day early.

The village bustled with activity around an enormous set of piers, where the ferry to Eversheaf waited. Instead of heading straight toward it, Finn called for them to set up camp.

“Finally!” Plainfield exclaimed, dropping his pack on the ground. “I thought we’d never stop.”

Stormwell chuckled, stretching his arms above his head. “You’re just weak, Plainfield. A little marching and you’re ready to collapse.”

“Says the guy who was complaining about blisters yesterday,” Woodrow teased as he set hit tent stakes.

Lys smirked as she listened to her friends’ banter, positioning her own tent.

“You think we’ll get a chance to explore the village before we head out?” Stormwell asked.

Lys shrugged, glancing towards the piers and ferry. “Maybe. Depends on how long we have to wait before we can board that, I would imagine.”

“I heard it’s pretty busy,” Woodrow chimed in. “Lots of large groups use it to cross over to Eversheaf.”

Plainfield groaned. “Great. More waiting.”

Lys rolled her eyes. “Quit your whining. At least we get a break from marching.”

“Yeah, but we never get a break from setting up camp and digging, do we?” Plainfield countered.

“I’d rather have a ditch in front of Irongians or a fire lizard than not,” Lys retorted, her voice laced with sarcasm.

“Damn right,” Woodrow agreed, nodding his head.

The recruits moved with practiced efficiency. Tents finished they collected their shovels. As they worked, Stormwell’s voice cut through the air. “Hey, you think there’s a tavern here?”

Woodrow’s laughter echoed through the camp. “Mythshell was your first time, and now you’re already chomping to go again!”

Plainfield joined in the laughter. “Must be missing that buxom blonde, eh?”

Lys shrugged, a small smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. “She was pretty, I’ll give you that.”

Stormwell’s face flushed, and he turned his attention back to his work, his movements more hurried than before.

Plainfield’s gaze shifted to Lys, a teasing grin spreading across his face. “What gives you the right to poke at him, Trekhill? You ran away from that redhead faster than a rabbit from a fox!”

Woodrow nodded in agreement, his eyes sparkling with mirth. “Yeah, what’s up with that?”

Lys rolled her eyes, a chuckle escaping her lips. “Unlike you lot, I’m not thinking with my sexual organs.”

The remark hit home, but didn’t stop the banter. The flow of words helped keep the flow of dirt moving. When they finished, the smell of cooking food and campfires greeted them as usual.

“Finally done,” Plainfield groaned, stretching his arms above his head. “I thought we’d never finish.”

“Stop complaining,” Stormwell chuckled, tossing a small pebble at Plainfield’s feet. “It’s not like you did most of the work, anyway.”

Lys shook her head. “You two are worse than an old married couple.”

“What’s the plan if we get to go into the village, or Eversheaf after we cross? Tavern?” Woodrow asked.

Lys hummed, a thoughtful expression on her face. “I think we should look for a leather shop instead. You all need new boots.”

Plainfield’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Boots? What’s wrong with the ones we have?”

“Trust me,” Lys said. “A good pair of boots is worth its weight in gold, especially considering how much we end up marching. Or, well, silver.”

“How much did yours cost?” Stormwell asked, eyeing Lys’s feet.

“Half a silver,” Lys replied, shrugging her shoulders. “Worth every libra, though. I’m serious. The difference so far has been night and day.”

Plainfield’s jaw dropped. “Half a month’s pay? Are you serious?”

Lys nodded, a look of satisfaction on her face. “No blisters.”

His expression turned thoughtful at that.

As the night turned cool and the recruits were left with a bit of extra freedom, Lys found herself drawn to the riverbank after taking care of her business.

With morning watch she should have got to sleep early, but tiredness eluded her for once. So she walked along the shore, the sound of the water lapping against the rocks.

A large rock jutted out into the water and she stopped her stroll to sit on the edge of hit, feet dangling above the river’s current.

Nothing could stop her eyes from being drawn to the lights of Eversheaf, barely visible in the distance. A soft sound of laughter and music drifted over the water.

Lys leaned back on her hands, taking a deep breath of the cool night air. The stars glittered above her. The vista made her imagine a vast expanse of possibility.

Eversheaf would be the last stop before they reached Dragonblanc, and it promised to be even larger than Mythshell.