Mercenary of Lastia - BtLH - Ch 20 (Patreon)

Finn leaned back in his chair, eyeing Lys appraisingly. “Can you read and write, lad?”

Lys blinked, caught off guard by the question. “I can read,” she said, her voice hesitant. “But I haven’t really written anything before.”

“That’s fine.” Finn said, pulling out several sheets of parchment from a stack on his desk. He handed them to her. “Take these and have a seat over there.” He pointed to a cluster of wooden crates nearby.

Lys nodded, clutching the parchment to her chest as she made her way to the crates. She perched on the edge of one, the wood creaking beneath her weight. The sun had risen higher now, its rays heating the skin of her neck. Getting used to short hair was going to take a while.

She took a deep breath, her eyes scanning the first lines of the contract. The words seemed to swim before her, the legal jargon unfamiliar and daunting. She chewed on her lower lip, her brow furrowed in concentration as she tried to make sense of it all.

“Once you’ve got an idea of your answers, get back in line and I’ll write them down for you,” Finn called from his desk, his voice cutting through her thoughts.

Lys glanced up, meeting his gaze across the tent. She nodded, determination settling over her like a well-worn cloak.

Her fingers traced the words as she carefully read the parchment.

The parchment crinkled as she pored over the contract, her eyes scanning each line with meticulous care. Finn’s brief explanation seemed comically inadequate compared to the labyrinth of legalese laid out before her.

She paused, her gaze lingering on a section outlining the legalities and obligations. Terms of service, strict adherence to orders, and the unwavering commitment demanded by the White Dragons—the list was as lengthy as it was daunting. Lys swallowed hard, feeling a flicker of doubt. Was she truly ready to sign her life away?

The contract detailed promotions, pay scales, combat bonuses, and death benefits. It was all cold, hard facts, but buried within were glimmers of opportunity.

She could earn bonuses from looting and gain combat pay that far exceeded anything she could hope for back in Thornfield. It was a chance to prove she was more than just a girl from a small village.

As she neared the end of the document, Lys found herself confronted with a series of questions. They were sharp and to the point. They wanted to know everything—her background, her skills, her reasons for joining. She chewed on her lower lip, considering each inquiry carefully.

What did she bring to the table? Lys thought of her archery, the countless hours spent mastering the bow in Thornfield’s forests. Formal training might have been lacking, but raw talent certainly wasn’t. This wasn’t the time to be modest.

Then came the harder questions, the ones that made her heart pound—especially the one about criminal activity or actions. The contract’s harsh warning about lying stared back at her, the consequences as dire as those for desertion.

Honesty was her only option, but the fear of baring her true circumstances gnawed at her insides. Would the trouble with Gaius prevent her from joining?

Taking a deep breath, Lys steeled herself. As she dredged up her memories, she realized the one lie she had braced herself to tell—the one about her gender—was unnecessary.

The contract made no mention of gender requirements.

She stood up and rejoined the line of recruits. The minutes seemed to stretch forever. She twisted the hem of her tunic as she waited for her turn.

Finally, she reached the front of the line once more. Finn nodded to her, his eyes searching. “Are you ready?”

Lys nodded.

“Always answer, never nod,” Finn said.

She gulped. “Yes, I’m ready, sir.”

Finn stood up, his chair scraping against the dirt. “Good.” He turned and gestured to another mercenary standing nearby. “Hilk, get over here.”

A young soldier, probably only a few years older than herself, hurried over to them. He stood at attention, his posture rigid as he awaited Finn’s orders.

“Mind the table until I get back,” Finn instructed, his tone leaving no room for argument.

“Yes sir,” Hilk replied. He took Finn’s seat, then greeted the next in line.

Finn turned to Lys. “Follow me,” he said, gesturing toward a nearby tent.

Lys swallowed hard and pushed down her nerves as she trailed behind him. They entered the tent, the canvas walls muffling the sounds of the camp outside. Inside, a simple table and two chairs awaited them.

He gestured for Lys to take a seat as he settled into the chair across from her. The table between them was bare, save for parchment, a quill, and an inkwell. Lys perched on the edge of her seat, her hands clasped tightly in her lap.

Finn watched her, his elbows resting on the table as he prepared the quill with ink. “Full name?” he asked, his voice neutral.

“Lys Trekhill,” she replied.

He nodded, jotting down her answer. “Age?”

Lys hesitated for a moment before responding, “Eighteen.” She would be soon enough, anyway.

Finn raised an eyebrow but said nothing as he continued to write. “Place of birth?”

“Thornfield.”

“Parents?”

“Elena Trekhill.” Lys paused, her throat tightening. “My father is deceased.”

Finn grunted in acknowledgment, his quill scratching against the parchment.

The questions continued, each one a simple fact about her life. Lys found herself relaxing slightly, the tension in her shoulders easing as she fell into the rhythm of the interview.

“Any skills?” Finn asked, his eyes flicking up to meet hers.

Lys straightened in her seat, a flicker of pride sparking within her. “I’m very good with a bow,” she said, her voice growing stronger.

Finn’s eyebrows lifted, a hint of interest in his expression. “That’s good. What else?”

Lys bit her lip, considering. “I made the trek from Thornfield to Silverpines?” It came out as more of a question than a statement.

To her surprise, Finn chuckled. “Traveling is an excellent skill too,” he said, a hint of amusement in his tone.

Lys blinked, not quite understanding his reaction. She glanced down at Jorg’s axe hanging off her belt. “I have experience with an axe,” she offered, her fingers brushing against the handle. “For climbing and tying off trees, and debranching them after they’ve fallen.”

Finn grunted, his eyes appraising her. “You do look a bit agile,” he said, his tone thoughtful.

Lys shifted in her seat, suddenly self-conscious under his scrutiny. He must have noticed her unease because he added, “Smart, agile soldiers are needed as well—strength isn’t everything.”

She nodded, a small sense of relief washing over her. The interview continued, Finn asking several more questions about her background and abilities. Lys answered each one as best she could. Things were going well.

Then Finn reached the question she had been dreading. “Any criminal history or problems?” he asked, his tone neutral.

Lys swallowed hard, her mouth suddenly dry. “I... I don’t know,” she managed.

Finn leaned back in his chair, his gaze boring into her. The silence stretched between them, the only sound the distant chatter of the camp outside. Finally, he spoke. “How about you tell me what you don’t know about, and I’ll decide whether it is a problem or not.”

Lys nodded, her heart pounding in her chest. Slowly, haltingly, she began to recount the events that had led to her departure from Thornfield.

She told him about Caius bullying her friend, about her standing up to him and the ambush that followed. Her voice shook as she described breaking Caius’s knee, the lumberjacks intervening before Gaius could take her, the sending for the Magistrate and her hasty departure.

Finn listened silently, his quill scratching against the parchment as he took notes. Lys couldn’t see what he was writing, and the uncertainty gnawed at her insides. When she finished, she fell silent, her hands twisting in her lap as she awaited his judgment.

Finn grunted, setting down his quill. “That isn’t a problem,” he said, his tone matter-of-fact. A wicked grin spread across his face. “Hopefully, the bastard won’t ever walk again.”

Lys blinked, startled by his response. Before she could react, Finn slid the parchment across the table to her, handing her the quill and inkwell. “Make your mark,” he instructed, tapping the bottom of the page.

With a trembling hand, Lys dipped the quill into the ink and scrawled her name on the line.

As she set the quill down, Finn stood up, his hand outstretched. “Welcome to the White Dragons,” he said, his grip firm as she shook his hand. “I look forward to seeing what you can do, recruit.”

**

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