Mercenary of Lastia - BtLH - Ch 69 (Patreon)

Lys woke before dawn, her eyes snapping open in the darkness of her tent. She lay still for a moment, listening to the soft rustle of a breeze on canvas, before quietly slipping out of her bedroll.

She dressed quickly, her fingers deftly lacing up her boots and securing her weapons.

Outside, the camp was still, the only sound the occasional snort of one of the wagon horses or the crackle of dying embers from the cooking fires. Lys moved silently through the rows of tents, her footsteps muffled by the damp grass.

“Rise and shine,” she said, her voice low but firm as she moved between the individual tents. “We need to be ready to move out as soon as there’s light.”

The other recruits stirred, groaning and muttering as they pulled themselves from their bedrolls. Lys moved among them, helping to pack up gear and secure weapons.

They worked quickly and efficiently, striking tents and larger supplies, loading them onto the wagons. By the time Sergeant Swift arrived to wake the camp, Lys’s group was already packed and ready to go.

Swift’s eyes widened slightly as he took in the sight of Lys’s group, standing at attention with their gear stowed and weapons at the ready. He gave Lys a small nod of approval before moving on.

Within an hour, the entire company was on the move, the wagons creaking and the horses snorting as they set off down the road towards Dragonblanc. The sergeants kept them at a brisk pace, but not the punishing double-time march they had trained with before.

Lys approved of the decision.

If they were exhausted from the march, they would be in no condition to defend themselves if they were attacked again.

As they walked, she kept a sharp eye on their surroundings.

The road wound through rolling hills, the Whitfallse River periodically glinting on the horizon to their left. The road was strangely empty, with no other travelers in sight.

The absence of other people set Lys’s nerves on edge. From what she knew it was a major route. Dragonblanc and Eversheaf were supposed to be large, and this was an artery running north and south.

She could see the same tension in the faces of her fellow recruits, their hands never straying far from their weapons.

The company rounded a bend; the road curving around a hill like a serpent’s coils.

Lys’s eyes widened as she spotted a military company ahead, their formation precise and weapons at the ready. The glint of steel and the flutter of banners sent a chill down her spine.

“Halt!” Finn’s voice rang out, his hand raised in a fist. “Form ranks!”

The recruits scrambled to obey, shields locking together in a tight wall. Lys found herself in the second row, her own shield raised high to cover her head.

No sooner had they formed up than a volley of arrows hissed through the air, slamming into their shields with a series of dull thuds. She gritted her teeth as an arrow punched through her shield, the piercing head gleaming wickedly in the sunlight.

Her breath caught in her throat as she recognized the design.

Black Tortoise.

“Hold steady!” Swift bellowed, his sword drawn.

Finn’s voice rose above the din of clashing shields and thudding arrows. “We should have left earlier!”

Swift shot back, “We should have deployed scouts!”

“We don’t have any!” Finn retorted.

“Then we should have made some!” Swift’s face was red with anger.

A roar above and to the right twisted everyone’s attention as two rectangular squares of soldiers crested the hill, coming straight toward them in a phalanx. Swift and Finn shouted for spears, their argument forgotten in the face of the immediate threat.

Swift rushed to Lys’s side, his voice urgent. “Rotate the group toward the enemy!”

Lys scanned the battlefield, taking in the positions of the other groups. Group two was moving to cover their flank, while group three took up a position on their right. She barked out orders, her voice steady despite the pounding of her heart. “Shields linked and locked! Defensive position!”

Another volley of arrows hissed through the air, but the shields of the second and third ranks held firm, blocking most of the deadly projectiles.

Swift’s voice rang out again. “March forward!”

For a moment, Lys’s mind reeled at the order. The enemy had the high ground! But...

“Forward!” Lys echoed the order, her voice carrying over the clash of metal on metal.

By advancing, they would put the hill between themselves and the enemy archers, shielding them from the deadly rain of arrows.

As one, the company surged forward, their shields locked together in a wall of wood, leather, and steel.

The enemy phalanx loomed ahead and above, their spears glinting in the sunlight. Lys gripped her own spear tightly, her breath coming in sharp bursts as they closed the distance.

The two forces met with a deafening crash, shields slamming together and spears thrusting through gaps in the defenses on both sides.

Lys thrust forward into the enemy ranks. Her weapon found its mark, piercing through a gap and into the flesh of an enemy soldier.

She felt a surge of satisfaction as the man cried out in pain, but it was short-lived as her spear was wrenched from her grasp, pulled away by the weight of the falling body.

Plainfield stood in front of her, his shield held high as he stabbed at the enemy with his sword. Lys placed a hand on his back, steadying him against the enemy’s weight. She drew her own sword, the blade rasping against its scabbard as she pulled it free.

“Hold the line!” Lys shouted, her voice carrying over the din of battle. A chorus of cries took up her call.

She scanned the battlefield, taking in the positions of the other groups.

Group two was flanking the enemy on their left, while group five did the same on the far right.

They outnumbered the attackers. Five groups against what she estimated were two. The advantage of numbers was clear, even as the enemy pressed down on them from the high ground.

Something wasn’t right. Why would they attack with such a small group against the entire company?

“Push forward!” Swift’s voice rang out, urging them on.

Lys echoed the order, her own voice rising above the clash of metal on metal. “Forward!”

The recruits shoved upward against the enemy line, their shields locked together as they pressed men back. The weight of numbers was telling, and the enemy was forced to give ground.

But shoving men up the hill was hard work. One slipped and fell, and their line moved over him. Lys gritted her teeth and slid her sword into his chest before he could stab Plainfield’s legs.

A counter attack by a spear slipped over the shield wall and toward her face, right over Plainfield’s shoulder.

She barely raised her own shield in time to deflect the attack over her head.

It was a good thing she did, too, because a black arrow stabbed straight down through a gap and into the wood, clacking off into the air. All around, more projectiles rained down on them, striking both sides indiscriminately.

Cries of pain and surprise erupted from her fellow recruits as the deadly projectiles found their marks.

An enemy sword thrust at Lys. She parried swiftly, deflecting the blade upward. A gap in the line had formed in front of her, and Plainfield was under attack from the side.

She lunged forward, driving her blade into the attacker’s arm. In one fluid motion, she slammed her shield into the wall, plugging the gap. “Press!” she shouted.

The wounded enemy stumbled, his comrade attempting to drag him to safety. Seizing the opportunity, Lys struck again, this time the tip of her blade finding his neck. His agonized scream pierced the air as blood spurted from the wound, creating a momentary break in the Black Tortoise’s line.

A recruit behind Lys capitalized on the opening, thrusting a spear over her shoulder to strike the enemy soldier trying to retrieve his fallen comrade.

The battle raged on, steel clashing and wounded crying out. Another man appeared to plug the hole in the enemy line, slamming his shield into hers. Her teeth gritted against the strain.

Plainfield’s hoarse voice carried. “Group Two is hitting their flank!”

Lys risked a glance to the side, catching a glimpse of their fellow recruits slamming into the enemy’s rear. The Black Tortoise soldiers wavered, their attention dividing between the two fronts.

“Keep pushing!” Lys urged. The two enemy groups pressed together and lost their cohesion, forming a tight, round lump as they struggled to defend against attacks from three sides.

“We’ve got them!” Plainfield cried, his own sword red with blood.

Lys braced herself, her shield locked against Plainfield’s, as they formed the anvil for Group Two. The enemy became more desperate, pushing back and stabbing at her and the others in the line like a trapped animal baring its claws.

She cursed at them, called them names and stabbed repeatedly, most of her strikes finding wood or steel.

Why wouldn’t they break? They were dying more than her friends were—they were surrounded and outnumbered!

Why wouldn’t they break?

A horn blows and the blue sky at the top of the hill is replaced by another wall of black armor.

A lump surged up her throat.

That was why—the enemy had reinforcements.

Now her entire company was stuck in the thick of it and couldn’t maneuver!