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Mercenary of Lastia - BtLH - Ch 19
🕑 Added 2024-05-22 00:54:49 +0000 UTCLys watched a group of survivors huddled around a small fire. She didn’t want to just go up to the recruiting line without getting more information first.
She approached carefully, and then cleared her throat a safe distance away to draw their attention. “Excuse me, do any of you know about the White Dragons?”
An older man with a gray flecked beard looked up at her, his eyes narrowing. “The mercenaries? What about them?”
“I heard they’re recruiting,” Lys said. “Do you know if it is a good idea? They have food.”
The man nodded. “Oh, aye. They gather up the recruits and then send them back to their headquarters for training. They’re paid well, but more importantly for the young men here… they feed you good.”
Lys smiled, thanked him for the information, and moved on. The next group had good things to say as well.
A woman with a child clinging to her skirts sighed. “My grandson joined the White Dragons,” she said. “He’s always been a powerful lad, and he wanted to make something of himself. He sent back silver twice a year.” The woman’s smile turned to a frown. “But I don’t know what’s going to happen now.”
That was an all to common theme she found, in just about every conversation. People didn’t know what was going to happen or how they were going to survive. The Gap and Silverpines were on the edge of Lastia’s eastern wilderness.
The White Dragons worked for the prince, she learned, and were an official part of the principality’s military. Respected, even feared, by many.
A man with a bandaged arm told her how the mercenaries had helped people after the burning, distributing food and medical supplies. That had apparently stopped the first day when it became clear it would take much more than they had available to spare.
Another woman spoke of how they had defended the town against raiders in the past.
Lys frowned, her brow furrowing as she took in the information. If the White Dragons were so capable, why weren’t they doing more to help now?
She wandered through the camp, her ears pricked for any mention of the White Dragons. She approached a group of men huddled around a fire, their faces weathered and worn.
“Excuse me,” she said, her voice carrying over the crackling flames. “I heard the White Dragons are recruiting. Do you know anything about that?”
One of the men, a grizzled veteran with a scar across his cheek, looked up at her. “Aye, they’re always looking for fresh blood. Good pay, too, if you can handle the training.”
Lys’s heart quickened. Pay. Training. It sounded promising. She thanked the man and moved on, seeking others who might have more information.
A woman stirring a pot of stew nodded when Lys asked about the mercenaries. “My son joined up last year. He sends coin home every few months, more than he ever made working the fields.”
Lys bit her lip, considering. The White Dragons could take her far from Thornfield, far from the Magistrate’s reach. She’d hopefully get training and develop a way to make her own way in the world.
She thought of the work she’d done for Bran, lumber jacking in the forests. She knew how to debranch trees. Climb up them and tie restraining lines. She knew how to shoot a bow, which was maybe worth even more. She was agile and could be counted on to carry things, although maybe not as much as a larger man.
Even if she wasn’t the largest or the strongest, the White Dragons would have need of such skills, surely.
By the time evening arrived, she had decided. She’d try joining. It was a better idea than trying to forage the wilderness on her own and trying to return to Thornfield or travel west with no rations.
Lys approached one last group, a family huddled together beneath a tattered awning. The mother looked up as Lys drew near. Lys asked her question.
“The White Dragons?” she said, her voice soft. “They’re a good company, from what I hear. But...” She hesitated, glancing at her husband.
Lys leaned forward, her brow furrowed. “But what?”
The woman shook her head. “They only take men, love. No women in the ranks.”
Lys blinked, her heart sinking as her hopes crumbled.
Only men.
Of course.
She thanked the woman and turned away and hurried off before her distress could be noticed. She’d thought she had found the perfect solution, a way out of the mess she’d landed in. But now…
Retreating to her camp spot nearby, her mind churned with frustration and anger.
It wasn’t fair.
It felt like a door had been opened, only for it to be slammed shut in her face.
Did she have to accept that?
No.
She looked around—she was alone. Pulling out her knife, she cut her spare shirt into a long, flat piece of cloth as best she could. Her regular wrap came off and then she wrapped the long strip around her chest tight.
It was immediately uncomfortable, and it restricted her breathing slightly, but it was… workable.
Most importantly, her chest was flattened. Her breasts had never been that large in the first place, but now they wouldn’t be noticed at all. She hoped.
Next she reached up and combed her hair with her fingers. The long brown strands straightened easily as they usually did and then her father’s knife came out.
It took an hour to slice it short, doing her best to not make it look like a hack job. Her mother would be livid. The cool air on the back of her neck felt strange, and there was a sense of lightness to her head.
The last concern she could deal with later when it happened. She had a while to go, and by then she’d either be a recruit or not.
She checked her kit and then ate her last meat ration, savoring the salty flavor on her tongue. Settling back against a tree trunk, she let her eyes drift shut. Tomorrow would bring challenges, and for that she needed rest. She got her bedroll ready as the forest hummed around her, a symphony of crickets and rustling leaves.
It lulled her into a fitful sleep.
Lys woke with a start, her body aching from sleeping on the ground. She sat up, rubbing her eyes, reaching for her pack for her waterskin. Her stomach growled, reminding her she’d not be having breakfast.
As she shifted and stood up, her chest wrap dug into her skin. She tugged at it and adjusted it as best she could. Actually, it was probably responsible for the soreness. She’d have to just get used to it.
Her mind drifted to her plan as she packed her bedroll.
She couldn’t think of a better one. Returning to Thornfield would be disaster. Even if she tried to avoid the village, sneak to visit the lumberjacks and… then what? Have Bran secretly deliver food to her every day?
Someone would find out, and then eventually Gaius would find out. Depending on how well he twisted the Magistrate, they’d send a manhunt after her.
That wasn’t an option.
So… travel west to the next town on her own? Chance things on finding enough game and hunting along the way, or starving to death on her arrival? If she could even make it that far without food… it was twice as far as she’d traveled so far.
That was a very distant second choice.
The White Dragons offered a way out, a chance to start fresh somewhere new. They would provide training, pay, and… friends, maybe?
She could learn new skills, make a name for herself.
She wasn’t afraid of hard work.
The difficulty would be pretending to be someone she wasn’t, hiding her gender. Risking discover, and the consequences that would come with it…
She couldn’t deny it was a risk.
Would the consequences be worse than starving to death or putting her family in danger? Worse than roaming about the ruined town until someone attacked her for her things once she was too weak to defend herself?
Lys chewed on her lip. Was she willing to take that chance, to gamble everything on this one desperate plan?
Her stomach growled, and she had her answer.
She needed food, and she needed a way out of this place.
The White Dragons offered both.
Lys stood up, brushing the dirt and leaves from her clothes. She would make it work, somehow.
Her heart pounded as she approached the mercenary recruiter’s tent. She wasn’t sure what to expect, but the man was there just as she expected. There was no one in line yet.
The grizzled man looked up at her as she approached. He rubbed his eyes, stifling a yawn. “You’re here early, lad,” he said.
Lad—the word echoed in the back of her head. She’d managed to pass on first glance.
Lys nodded. “I want to learn more about joining the White Dragons.”
He raised an eyebrow then looked her up and down. “You sure about that? It’s not an easy life, and you look a bit light.”
Lys straightened and looked him in the eye. “I’m sure. I don’t have anywhere else to go, and I’m not afraid of hard work. What do I need to do?”
He leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. “Well, first things first. What’s your name?”
“Lysand—” she caught herself, her heart skipping a beat. “—ander. My name is Lysander Trekhill.”
The man nodded, pulling out a piece of parchment. “Lysander, eh? Well, Lysander, I’m Sergeant Finn Strongarm. I’ll be overseeing your training if you make it that far.”
Lys swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry. “What do you mean, if I make it that far?”
Finn chuckled, a low, rumbling sound. “Not everyone’s cut out for this life, lad. It’s hard work, long hours, and a lot of danger. You’ll need to be strong, fast, and smart to survive.”
Lys nodded, her jaw set. “I can handle it.”
“We’ll see about that,” Finn said. “Let’s talk about what you’ll be doing. You’ll start as a recruit, learning the basics of combat and survival. All your needs will be provided for. If you prove yourself, you’ll move up the ranks to become a regular, maybe even become a sergeant someday.”
Lys leaned forward, her eyes bright with interest. “What kind of training will I receive?”
Finn smiled, a glint of amusement in his eyes. “Oh, all sorts. Swordsmanship, formation fighting, archery, hand-to-hand combat. You’ll learn how to track, how to survive in the wilderness, how to lead men into battle. What you learn to do will be based on where your talents take you.”
Lys nodded, her mind racing with the possibilities. “And the pay?”
“Better than most,” Finn said, shrugging. “Pay is a single half-silver a month for recruits. Four for half-silver for regulars. You’ll also get looting rights and combat pay when such occurs. Those can earn a lot—several months to a year in one go, but it’s rare, and dangerous—it’s not uncommon for it to be sent to a soldier’s dedicated recipient instead of enjoying it themselves.”
“Ah, right. I have family in Thornfield. I would like it sent to if… if something happens,” Lys mumbled.
"Finn waved his hand. “Quartermaster sorts that sort out, later. You aren’t from Silverpines, then? Not one of the refugees?”
Lys shook her head. “No, I traveled here to meet family from Thornfield. I was going to live with them, and now… I don’t have any supplies or anywhere to go.”
“You can’t go home?” Finn asked.
“It would cause problems for my family, so no,” Lys answered.
Finn nodded, his expression softening. “Not too far from most of the stories I’ve heard. We’ve got over two dozen new recruits already.”
“I bet there will be more as people run out of food, too,” Lys said.
“Aye, you’re probably right about that.” Finn leaned forward, his elbows resting on the table. “Now, let’s talk about the terms of service. It’s a five-year minimum, and you’ll have to sign a written contract.”
Lys nodded, her heart pounding in her chest.
Finn’s brow furrowed, his voice growing serious. “And I have to warn you about the penalties for desertion. It’s 20 years of hard labor in the Prince’s mines. One of the worst sentences out there. You need to be very sure about joining.”
Lys’s eyes widened, a chill running down her spine. She hadn’t considered the consequences of leaving once she’d joined. “What if I can’t serve for some other reason?” she asked.
Finn waved a hand dismissively. “Medical discharge happens if needed. The company takes care of its own if you’re injured or get sick.”
Lys took a deep breath, her decision solidifying in her mind. “I want to join.”
Comments
Jim Smith
It may just be my math, but the camp women get a silver a day, and pay 12 silver in rent per week for the tent as well as room and board. Assuming they work 7 days a week, that means each camp follower is short more than a regular soldiers monthly wage each week. Even if the soldiers pay to “have a go” at exorbitant rates the math seems suspect. You might want to edit one or both sections. I do like the series though. Also, “Four for half silver regulars” needs an update.
Jonathan Wint
She better work on her voice. Puberty can Explain some she what 14 and probably looks like a 13-year-old if passing as a boy? But over the next 2 years it got to deepen maybe be do a RFK Voice? TY!
