Mercenary of Lastia - BtLH - Ch 18 (Patreon)

The next day, Lys continued to pick through the ruins, asking about her Uncle and Aunt. She approached some survivors huddled around a makeshift fire, their faces drawn and weary.

“Excuse me,” she said, her voice hoarse from the smoke-filled air. “I’m looking for Aldric and Elara Trekhill. Have you seen them or heard anything about their whereabouts?”

The survivors shook their heads, their eyes filled with a mixture of sympathy and resignation. One man, his face lined with age and sorrow, spoke up. “I’m sorry, lass. We haven’t heard of anyone by that name. It’s been chaos since the attack.”

Lys nodded and thanked them. She moved on, her feet carrying her through the rubble-strewn streets.

Everywhere she looked, she saw the same scene repeated: people sifting through the debris. What they were looking for, she didn’t know, but she could guess.

As the day wore on, Lys pieced together the story of what had happened. A company of Irongian mercenaries had stormed and sacked the town, leaving a trail of devastation in their wake. It was only the timely arrival of another mercenary company, the White Dragons, that had driven the Irongians off.

Lys made her way to the outskirts of town, where the soldiers had set up their camp. The line for asking about lost family had grown even longer.

She approached cautiously, keeping a safe distance and observing the mercenaries as they went about their tasks.

Soldiers practiced drills, their movements precise and disciplined. Another group sat around a fire, cleaning weapons and sharing quiet conversations. Lys noted the mix of young and seasoned fighters, each one carrying an air of quiet confidence.

She lingered there for a while, weighing her options.

The camp was bustling with activity, and the sense of purpose among the mercenaries was palpable. She considered approaching them, but uncertainty held her back. What could she offer? She was not anyone special, and she had already seen them turn away dozens of people asking for food and supplies.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, indecision gnawed at her. She couldn’t stay in the town—it was too dangerous.

Night fell, and she sought shelter in the nearby woods again.

She settled beneath a large oak tree on the edge of the forest, its branches providing a canopy against the starry sky. The sounds of the wood—the rustling of leaves, the chirping of crickets—offered a small measure of comfort.

She wrapped her cloak tightly around her, feeling the chill of the night air seep through the fabric.

Lys woke to the sound of voices, distant but growing louder. She poked her head around the trunk, watching as people wandered down the road. It seemed that everyone was just as adrift as she was, searching for something, anything, to cling to in the aftermath of the attack.

She ate and then continued to look through the ruins. It seemed hopeless, and she considered her other options more than she asked about her Uncle.

The situation only seemed to be worsening. A group of men harassed a woman and her child, taking what little they had left. The desperation was palpable, and she knew that as supplies dwindled, things would only get worse.

Her own rations were running low, her dried meat and the cheese from Arlos and Meya’s farm dwindling. What was she going to do? Try hunting game? She was confident with her aim, but not in her ability to track anything.

She made her way back to the mercenary camp and joined the line of people seeking information. Repeating her question, the man searched the list.

“Sorry, miss. No record of anyone with that surname except yourself,” he said.

She thanked him and stepped out of the line with a sigh. As she looked around the camp, she noticed women going about various chores—cooking, mending, and tending to the camp.

Maybe it was an opportunity?

Lys spotted an older woman standing nearby and approached. The matron looked her over skeptically as she drew closer, the woman’s weathered face creasing with a wary frown.

It was impossible not to fidget under the scrutiny.

“Well, girl, what do you want?” the matron asked, her voice sharp.

“I saw the women working,” Lys said, her voice wavering slightly before she found her resolve. “I wondered if there was work available.”

The Matron let out a bark of laughter, the sound harsh and grating. “You don’t look as desperate as some of the others.”

Lys lifted her chin, meeting the woman’s gaze. “I’m trying to think ahead while I still have my things.”

The Matron’s eyes narrowed, appraising. “My name is Tara.”

“I’m Lys.”

“Well, Lys,” Tara said, crossing her arms over her chest, “the company takes in new camp followers. I’ve already taken in two girls, and I expect more, considering what happened.”

Lys nodded, her heart quickening at the prospect. “How does the pay work?”

Tara’s gaze sharpened, her lips pressing into a thin line. “It’s hard work, and the pay isn’t great, so don’t expect riches, even when the men come back with loot, which is rare.”

Lys blinked, her brow furrowing. Why would the men coming back with loot pay the women more? “Do we get a wage?”

“Aye, you’ll get paid one silver a day for sure,” Tara said, her tone matter-of-fact. “Rent for a tent and room and board is twelve silver a week.”

Shock rippled through Lys, her eyes widening. That was a lot of money, and the math didn’t add up. “But that means the pay is less than the rent.”

Tara’s weathered face softened, the lines around her eyes crinkling with pity. “Aye, girl, the first week’s rent is waived, as long as you pull your weight with cleaning, cooking, and other camp activities.”

Lys frowned, her brow furrowing as she tried to make sense of the arrangement. “Just the first week? How can anyone afford to pay the rent after that?”

Tara shook her head, a sigh escaping her lips. “Are you daft, girl? You need to attract at least one of the men, and he’ll pay you for your services.”

Lys blinked. What?

Tara’s eyes raked over her, assessing her from head to toe.

“You’re young and pretty enough,” Tara said. “You’ll probably have a half-dozen men coming to your tent in a few days, so you shouldn’t have any problem.”

Lys’s confusion only deepened. “Why would they come to my tent and give me silver?”

Tara stared at her, disbelief etched across her face. She raised her eyes to the sky, as if begging Bunzard for patience. “So they can have a go between your legs, sweetheart. What do you think camp followers do, other than the chores?”

“I... I didn’t know,” Lys stammered, her eyes widening as the realization crashed over her like a wave.

Tara scoffed, her patience wearing thin. “Don’t waste my time, girl.”

Lys nodded. “I’m sorry. I had no idea.”

Tara’s expression softened, a flicker of sympathy passing over her features. “Go then,” she said, her tone gentler. “You can come back after thinking about it more if you want.”

Lys hurried away, mind reeling as she retreated from the camp. She found a quiet spot to sit.

She watched as people filtered in and out of the mercenary camp. The line of inquiry stretched. On the opposite side of the camp, a much smaller line caught Lys’s attention.

Young men stood waiting their turn.

As she watched, one of them stepped forward, shaking hands with the man behind the desk. A soldier then escorted the young man into the camp, and realization dawned on her.

They were recruiting soldiers.