Mercenary of Lastia - BtLH - Ch 73 (Patreon)

Swift took command of the front line of the defenses, while Ashton moved to command the rear and inner barricade. Hawkins looked over the wounded and organized weapons and supplies to those who were fighting.

The circle of defenses they had built formed one ring and two semi-circles, with deep trenches crisscrossing the ground between each one. Only the inner one was reinforced by logs, but they all had dirt mounds and stakes built into them.

Lys watched as the enemy formation reached the first ditch. The front row threw down their shields to use as a bridge; she popped up and started loosing as many arrows as she could into the uncovered flesh.

It was enough to send an entire sprawl of men tumbling into the ditch.

That wasn’t enough to stop the attack.

“On the line!” Swift barked. “Now!”

Recruits swarmed the dirt mound with spears and shields just in time. Enemy soldiers started to climb over, only to be jabbed in the stomachs and shoved back into their comrades. Spikes hindered their attempts to scale it, and in the few spots that they managed to get enough men up over it, Lys opened fire with the other archers.

They were fully exposed, and easy targets. The attack floundered.

It wasn’t a full wall, though. There were several areas that weren’t fully covered and the enemy began to work their way around the barrier to the sides.

“Enemy at the Flank!” Ashton shouted from behind. Lys wrenched around only for her stomach to drop. Suddenly the full-tilt charge into the defenses made more sense. It was a distraction.

Another entire company of enemy soldiers was charging the rear.

She let an arrow go toward them by sheer reflex, but that wasn’t what was needed. An arrow wasn’t going to stop that.

Jumping up she grabbed the nearest archer while he was mid-aim and shouted. “Up! Shields and spears!”

There were others moving to support the front. She grabbed them and redirected them.

Stormwell hurried over, looking at her in confusion. “We need everyone!”

“Peel them off. We need a section on the center!” Lys ordered.

He didn’t argue, instead he moved to help her. By the time the enemy reached the ditch in front of the central redoubt, they only had a dozen to hold it.

That was everyone left that were not engaged on the front. Hawkins hefted a soup ladle and pointed at the enemy. “Keep them out!”

“Where is your sword, sir!?” Lys shouted. Another recruit passed her a weapon, and she shoved it into the cook’s hands.

The ditch was just enough to slow them, not stop anything. A few men fell onto spikes, but most of them were up on the log wall in an instant.

A soldier lunged at Lys’s position, his face twisted with rage. She jabbed at him with her spear but he pinned the tip of the weapon into the dirt with his shield and screamed at her.

She backhanded him with her shield, smacking him to the side only for another enemy to jump over. She got her spear up one-handed in time for him to fall onto it before he could stab her with his sword. There was no freeing her spear from that so she took his weapon and stabbed the first man who was climbing back onto his feet.

“There are too many of them!” Jarold called out, sweat dripping down his face as he jabbed his spear at another attacker.

Lys winced and stepped up to take a stab at the next man before he could scale the barricade. The enemy was struggling to navigate the spikes and ditch, that was the only reason they hadn’t been overwhelmed immediately.

A few enemy arrows thudded into logs, but then arrows went back out in reply, striking men stuck on the spikes. Her head whipped to the side, Plainfield and two others had taken up bows and got up onto a high spot for a clear line of sight.

They were badly exposed, but…

“Keep firing!” she ordered the archers. “Aim for any exposed parts!”

Arrows flew from the position, striking arms, legs, and any unprotected flesh they could find. The enemy’s advance faltered, bodies piling up against the defenses.

“We’re holding them!” Plainfield shouted, his voice filled with grim satisfaction.

Lys felt a surge of determination. They could do this. She turned and jabbed an enemy attacking another recruit in the wall while he dealt with another coming over. An arrow slammed into a man who moved to try the gap she had left.

Behind her, she could hear Swift shout over the clang of steel. “Fall back to the second ring!”

Lys risked a glance. The enemy had swamped the first defensive level and was making their way through the trench to hit the front line. Falling back would reduce the area they were forced to defend and leave the enemy climbing over two humps to get to them instead of one.

She didn’t have time to worry whether the others could fall back in order, though, as another enemy stormed the back wall. “We need more back here!”

“Watch your left!” Stormwell yelled, appearing at her side to thrust his spear at an enemy who’d climbed over.

A pile of corpses was forming at the bottom of the barricade, and she almost tripped over one of the first men she had put down when moving sideways to deal with another.

The redoubt wasn’t that large. Lys took a deep breath, then shouted as loudly as she could toward the other side. “Sergeant, we need support!”

She could see him glance her way, then grab two recruits by the shoulders before shoving them toward her. It wasn’t enough, but it would help.

“Move it, lads!” Swift shouted, urging them to move faster.

They drew their swords and held up their shields as they rushed to reinforce the back line position. A heavy wooden barricade was heaved into place as the last recruit retreated into the center. It blocked easy access from the trenches with a heavy, sharp stake wall.

“Watch out!” Jarold yelled as arrows began to rain down, most clattered harmlessly against the abatis or log walls. The men trying to come over stopped at least—not wanting to get skewered by their own archers.

Lys popped her head out to scan the forest. Broken formations of Black Tortoise soldiers in their dark armor lurked everywhere, milling about, regrouping, and turning into larger groups. The assault had faltered and drawn back.

Falling back to the weapons cache, she grabbed a new bow and bundle of arrows, then headed toward Plainfield’s group.

“Keep your heads down!” Ashton called from behind.

She ducked as arrows thudded into the ground, into wood, and even corpses.

Her spirits sank. How were they supposed to last another day, much less until reinforcements arrived? If they even arrived. What if Woodrow and the runners didn’t make it?

“Focus, damn it!” Plainfield snapped, grabbing her uniform and pulling her down into cover before arrows skewered the area that she had been walking.

“Where is that coming from?” Lys breathed.

He shook his head. “Everywhere!”

Bah, they were surrounded. Well, they had known that was going to happen, at least deep down. Lys popped up to sight a group of enemies, then ducked down. When she was ready, she stood up and loosed her arrow, watching it embed in the shoulder of one of the enemy soldiers.

He fell back, his companions grabbing him before the group threw up a wall of shields. She drew another arrow, her movements automatic, driven by muscle memory and training. The arrows sent the enemy rushing for cover adding to the chaos of their retreat.

She got lost in the shooting until hands grabbed her shirt and pulled her to the ground. A dozen arrows thudded into the barricade a second later.

Plainfield looked down at her with a frantic expression. “What are you doing? You’re going to get yourself killed!”

“M’fine, let me up!” Lys hissed.

She sat up and dusted herself off. The inside of the redoubt filled with recruits. Lys winced as she noticed that they’d lost a few more men at the front.

“Take a breath, but it’s not over yet,” Swift shouted. Recruits grabbed water skins and downed them in a rush to cool down. The sticky summer heat clung to everyone, and spilled blood and bowels tainted the air.

Lys hugged her knees and accepted water from Stormwell. She took a gulp, then splashed some on the top of her head. They were well and truly fucked.

“They’re not giving up,” Plainfield muttered.

Lys nodded, eyes narrowing. “We just have to—”

Swift stared at them and pointed as he shouted. “Brace yourselves!”

Lys’ eyes widened as she turned—two enemy soldiers came up over the wall, landing on top of Stormwell and Plainfield with a thump. Two more jumped over. She punched one in the gut, sending him over her head to land behind her while she fell onto her back as the fourth landed on her.

She had an arrow in her hand and reached up to jab it into the side of his neck. The arrowhead pierced flesh easily, and the man’s eyes widened. She couldn’t place his expression—shock of the pain, shock of landing on her, terror of impending death?

Her knee came up hard. The blow flung him off of her, but there were far more enemies coming over the wall. How had so many got so close with no one noticing? She already knew the answer. Everyone was exhausted, and they were keeping their heads down.

The retreat had just been another ploy.

Plainfield struggled with the man that landed on him, fighting a knife aimed for his face.

Lys drew, aimed, and launched an arrow into the enemy soldier’s head, twisting the equation into a reverse. Plainfield ended it a second later.

She didn’t have time to feel anything but the drive to survive as she backed up. More recruits from the redoubt flowed over to support, forming a makeshift line.

It held the next dozen men in a pocket, spears thrusting, arrows flying. The enemy faltered, then crumbled, and then those leaping over the barricade cut off.

Only for another group in another section to appear on the other side. Lys shouted and pointed—they all turned and rushed the new breach. They didn’t have enough men left to hold the full circle properly…

The pressure was relentless. They couldn’t hold forever. Was this going to be the end?

“Push them back!” Ashton’s voice rose above the din. Hawkins appeared and stabbed a man going for the other sergeant’s back.

Lys glanced around at her fellow recruits, her heart pounding frantically. Fear, determination, exhaustion—everything was etched onto their faces. They had to hold. Moving to the center where the ammunition was stored, she took a deep breath, nocking another arrow.

“Keep fighting!” she yelled, her voice stronger than she felt.

The recruits echoed her shout, a surge of defiance rippling through their ranks. Enemies pressed harder over the wall, dropping in larger numbers. The recruits were waiting for them, refusing to give an inch.

She spotted men coming over the wall where there were no recruits, black armor glinting as sunlight danced through the trees. She nocked an arrow, aiming at the first one.

The arrow flew, embedding in the man’s chest between two plates. Another arrow flew, hitting the next man. Then three more came—she dropped them one at a time, but it took long enough for another six.

Too many, too fast. Dropping her bow, she grabbed a spear from the ground. A few other recruits noticed and followed her.

The impact of her charge jarred through her arms, her spear driving through the enemy’s shield and into his gut. His companion swung at her but she twisted and the sword slashed her spear in half instead of her head. She jabbed him in the face with the splintered end sending him screaming.

An axe swing narrowly missed her shoulder as she jumped back—another recruit caught her and slapped a sword into her hand just in time for her to parry an attack. She didn’t have time to reply as a spear darted from behind her to jab the attacker in the sword arm.

It turned into a chaotic scuffle of six versus three. Lys danced between them, jabbing one when they were preoccupied with another recruit and then bouncing back to slash the other’s ankles.

When she straightened, right under a third’s shield, she drove her sword through his chest. The man gurgled blood at her as he pressed forward, trapping her between him and his shield and the ground.

She levered him off of her with a knee, then rolled onto her knees and started to stand.

Another Black Tortoise swung at her. She parried the best she could with no foundation—badly—and stumbled backward as she lost her sword.

Her head hit a wagon with a sickening thud.

The world spun, her vision narrowing to a dark tunnel.

The ringing in her ears drowned out the battle cries.

A sword descended towards her.

She rolled, kicking upward, the toe of her boot smashing the man’s wrist upward and disarming him.

He fell on her, a knife flashing in his hand.

Panic surged as he straddled her, the blade coming down. She twisted, grabbing his wrist.

“Get off him!” Stormwell’s voice cut through the air. His spear pierced the soldier’s chest, the weight going limp on her.

She shoved the body off, gasping for breath.

All around the barricade, the enemy hesitated, halting their relentless pour over the walls. The ones inside died. Arrows thudded into the ground and barricades like rain.

Lys staggered to her feet, clutching her head where it throbbed. Around her, the wounded cried out.

Recruits moved swiftly, executing the wounded enemy without hesitation.

Bodies were thrown over the defenses, thickening the already gruesome barrier.

She sank back onto the ground, pulling a water skin off the belt of a dead man. She drank deeply, the cool liquid soothing her parched throat.

Swift appeared, his stern gaze softening as he crouched beside her. “You alright, lad?”

Lys wiped blood from her face, forcing a grin. “Never better,” she lied.

He patted her shoulder, standing up. “Good. We need every man we’ve got.” He walked away, giving new orders.

And woman, she wanted to add.

She took another drink, watching her comrades tend to the wounded.

They had held.

She leaned back against the wagon, exhaustion washing over her. Things passed in a blur. Plainfield and Stormwell both talked to her at some point, then moved on.

The enemy did not return the rest of the morning, which was a blessing and a curse.

A blessing because they were all too exhausted to fight much longer.

A curse because the rot and viscera was cooking in the summer heat, despite the forest’s shade. Insects found them quickly.

The smell of copper and spilled bowels reeked around the circle, a miasma of death. Half their number were wounded, including her.

Lys organized a few bundles of arrows at the center. The harassing fire from the enemy slackened, but a warning or threatening shot still whistled in randomly every few minutes. Enough to let them know they were still there.

Conversation was muted, morale shattered.

She couldn’t argue with that. The next attack would be their end, almost certainly.

Swift and Ashton conferred, both covered and caked in blood. Hawkins lay against a wall with a white bandage wrapped around his head and arm.

“How long you think we got?” Jarold asked her as she walked by, his voice a hoarse whisper.

“Not long,” Lys replied, stacking the arrows neatly. “If they hit us again like that, we’re done.”

Jarold nodded, wiping sweat and grime from his face. “Figured as much.”

Nearby, Plainfield leaned against a tree, his hand pressed to a bandaged wound on his side. “Wish they’d just come already,” he muttered. “Waiting’s worse.”

Lys didn’t respond. She hefted another bundle of arrows, feeling the ache in her muscles and the dull throb in her head from where she’d hit the wagon. Her lungs burned dangerously, a warning not to try anything beyond her normal limits.

The central point seemed more like a tomb with each passing minute.

“They might be waiting for reinforcements,” Stormwell said, crouching beside the barricade. “Could be regrouping.”

“Or licking their wounds like us,” Plainfield retorted. “We’re not the only ones who took a beating.”

Swift’s voice cut through the murmur of the camp. “We need to stay sharp. Keep your eyes on the tree line.”

Lys glanced over at Swift and Ashton, their faces grim, eyes scanning the horizon. They still had resolve, even if it felt like they were all approaching their doom.

“Think we’ll make it?” Jarold asked, a note of desperation creeping into his tone.

“Does it matter?” Lys said, bitterness seeping into her words. “We fight. We survive. That’s all.”

Ashton approached, his expression hard. “Reinforcements are on their way. We just have to hold.”

“Easy for you to say,” Plainfield muttered. “You’re not the one bleeding out here.”

Ashton’s gaze flickered to Plainfield. “Are you sure about that, son?”

Plainfield winced and looked away after realizing Ashton had a bandage of his own.

Ashton shook his head. “Don’t shit where you sleep, son, even when you’re hurting. We’re all on the same side here.”

“Sorry, Sir,” Plainfield mumbled.

Ashton nodded and continued on to another section of recruits. Lys watched him go, feeling the weight of the situation pressing down like a heavy stone.

“Got any arrows left?” Stormwell asked, breaking the silence.

“Lots,” Lys admitted. “Most of them are training arrows, but the field points are still dangerous. Plus, we have a lot of donations.”

He chuckled. “Great, maybe we’ll thin them out enough to not be a problem.”

She managed a nod, tightening her grip on her bow. The waiting gnawed at her just like it did Plainfield. The uncertainty of when was worse than the fighting. She wasn’t sure who wouldn’t feel that way.

The stench of death and decay hung thick. Persistent.

Lys tried to relax the tension in her body, then steeled herself. They would hold. They had to.

She went back to collecting enemy arrows to shoot back at them.