Mercenary of Lastia - BtLH - Ch 68 (Patreon)

Lys’ guess was right on the money. No one was able to sleep after the attack. Her group had been assigned as sentries through the dark, dug in behind cover to watch for any approach.

When the morning sun finally pushed through the light forest canopy, instead of moving on, the sergeants pushed for them to comb through the brush near the camp.

For evidence and clues.

Lys pointed toward a thicket, within bow range of the encampment. “Trampled.”

The undergrowth was trampled and flattened where a number of men had been gathered. Broken branches were visible everywhere.

Plainfield nodded. “There were at least a dozen of them here, maybe more.”

“Did you turn into a woodsman now? How can you know how many?” Stormwell demanded.

“Just going by how wide the trampled area is, twelve abreast would have done it. They might have had deeper ranks, but they were shooting in the dark, so probably not?” Plainfield mused.

Lys shrugged. “Someone go grab Swift, and don’t walk on any of the smashed stuff.”

Two of the other recruits nodded at her order and hurried back to camp.

“Why would bandits come shoot at us and then just flee?” Plainfield asked.

Stormwell shook his head. “Maybe they were trying to scare us off?”

“Or they were testing our defenses,” Plainfield countered.

Lys crouched down, her fingers brushing against the dirt. “I don’t think it was bandits,” she said quietly.

They both turned to look at her with brows furrowed before speaking in unison. “What?”

Lys picked up an arrow, the piercing head glinting in the sunlight. It was the same arrow that she recognized from two other places: the one used to raid the caravan they had helped on the road—and the one same one that had been used in the raid on the Prince’s messenger carriage.

“They’re the same,” she whispered. She hadn’t put together the first of those until seeing the arrow for a third time after being hit my one of them. She rubbed her cheek where it had been shallowly sliced by the arrow which had killed her sentry partner.

Swift arrived faster than expected and she stood up and held the arrow out for him. “Are piercing points more common in the west than the east, for some reason?”

He took the projectile and glared at it, like he could squeeze information from it with force of will alone.

“These are the same we found stuck in the Price’s carriage.” Swift echoed.

The others exchanged glances, a silent understanding passing between them.

“No,” Swift said slowly, his eyes narrowing. “They’re not common.”

Lys nodded. If the same type of arrow had been used in all three attacks, it meant they were connected. But who was behind them, and what was their goal?

“We need to keep searching,” he said, his voice low and urgent. “There might be more clues out there.”

Lys nodded, her hand resting on the hilt of her sword. She scanned the surrounding trees, her senses on high alert for any sign of movement or danger. The others fanned out, their weapons at the ready as they combed through the undergrowth.

There weren’t any more clues to be found, though.

“It’s no use,” Plainfield said, wiping the sweat from his brow. “They’re long gone.”

Stormwell kicked at a rock in frustration. “We should have pursued them last night.”

“And risk getting picked off in the dark?” Lys shook her head. “No, we made the right call. Just not sure why we aren’t moving on.”

They all headed back to camp. As soon as they returned, Swift called her name and led her over to a meeting.

By the time she realized just who she was meeting with, it was too late.

All the sergeants of the company looked back at her. She nervously glanced between Swift, Finn, Ashton, and the others. The tension rolled over her like a stormy breeze. She wasn’t in trouble, was she?

Swift cleared his throat. “Lys put two and two together—all the incidents had the same piercing style arrowheads,” he said. “They all have the same type of fletching as well.”

Woodrow appeared beside her, and Lys rose an eyebrow. She hadn’t seen him approach.

“There’s more, sirs,” Woodrow said, his voice shaking slightly. “The Black Tortoise mercenaries who were holding the archery contest in Eversheaf—they had the same arrows.”

Finn shook his head and cleared his throat. Everyone turned to listen to him. “I believe this makes it fairly clear: the bandits who attacked the messenger and are raiding the territory aren’t bandits at all. They’re another Lastian company. Likely the Black Tortoises, although we only have circumstantial evidence.”

Ashton nodded, his expression grim. “This is dangerous. We don’t know why they’re doing this.”

“They aren’t just any old riffraff,” Swift added, his voice low. “Those were likely scouts, testing us. We could run into worse.”

Finn grunted. “We need to get this information to Dragonblanc as soon as possible.”

“We might be getting close, but it is still a long way to the fortress. They might be looking to ambush us again,” Ashton warned.

Swift sighed. “This won’t be the first time the last leg of the journey is the most dangerous.”

That wasn’t good. A shiver ran down Lys’ spine. Even though they had figured out what they were dealing with, nothing was really sure. Other than they could run into something they weren’t ready or prepared to handle.

Finn turned to Lys and Woodrow, his expression serious. “You two, let the other recruits know what we’re up against, but do it discreetly. We might be facing professional soldiers, not just bandits.”

Woodrow nodded, his jaw clenched. “Yes, sir.”

“And from now on, no more training on the road,” Finn added. “We need everyone at maximum alertness.”

“Understood, sir,” Lys said, her voice steady despite the unease churning in her gut.

Finn dismissed them and they turned and headed back to the others, leaving the sergeants to discuss the situation among themselves.

Woodrow glanced at her, his brow furrowed. “You okay, Trekhill?”

Lys nodded, pushing aside her worry. “Yeah, just processing it all.”

They reached the center of the camp, where the other recruits were gathered around the cooking fires, chatting and laughing. Lys scanned the crowd, picking out the other group leaders.

“Let’s split up,” she said to Woodrow. “You tell our group and I’ll handle the rest.”

He nodded to her and then she worked her way through the different groups, gathering the other recruit group leaders.

“Listen up,” she said. “We’re not just dealing with bandits here. The Black Tortoise mercenaries are likely behind these attacks.”

The group leaders exchanged glances. “Are you sure?” one of them asked, his brow furrowed.

Lys nodded. “The arrows they used match the ones we found at the other attack sites. It’s too much of a coincidence.”

“So what do we do?” another leader asked, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword.

Lys glanced up at the sky, noting the position of the sun. “Considering the time, we won’t be breaking camp this evening. We’ll probably leave in the morning.”

“We need to organize a double watch for the night,” Lys continued. “Fully armed and sentry groups of four. Shields out rather than on their backs.”

“That’ll make us less mobile,” one of the leaders pointed out.

“But better protected,” Lys countered. “We can’t afford to take any chances.”

The others murmured their agreement.

“Alright,” Lys said, her voice firm. “Each of you, go inform and organize your groups. Make sure everyone knows what’s going on and what’s expected of them.”

The group leaders nodded, then turned and headed off to their respective tents.

Lys watched them go, then made her way to group one’s tent area. She scanned the crowd, looking for Woodrow. She needed to make sure he had told their group everything correctly and organize the watch.

She found him sitting by the cooking fire, his brow furrowed as he sharpened his sword with the others.

The serious look on their faces mirrored her thoughts.