Mercenary of Lastia - BtLH - Ch 57 (Patreon)

Lys blinked awake, her eyes adjusting to the dim light filtering through the small window of the bunkroom. The unfamiliar sensation of a mattress beneath her back served as a reminder that she was no longer on the march, but rather in the barracks at Mythshell.

She sat up, rubbing the sleep from her eyes, and glanced around the cramped space. The room was a cubbyhole, with eight bunks lining the walls, two to a bed. Smaller than the room she shared with her sister and little brothers in Thornfield.

She had been fortunate enough to secure a bottom bunk. The top ones would have had the ceiling close enough to threaten to smack her in the head.

And she wasn’t the tallest recruit by far.

She swung her legs over the side of the bed and then stood and stretched. The single door in the room led to a tiny armory that held all their kits and gear. She grabbed her light pack and left everything else behind.

As she stepped outside, a large training field greeted her, while a small deck ran parallel to the building. There were dozens and dozens of small quarters, each shaped and sized for a squad in the most efficient way possible.

“Lys! Over here!” Stormwell’s voice carried across the courtyard, drawing her attention. He stood alongside Plainfield and Woodrow, their faces alight with excitement. “Hurry up, we’ve got to get our pay!”

Lys couldn’t help but smile at their enthusiasm. It was their group’s day off. That meant a chance to explore the town. She joined her companions, and together they made their way to the quartermaster’s building.

Building—not a tent. The barracks had a permanent structure for all the company’s normal group tents. The wagon they used to haul their belongings sat empty. To the side of it, the two large loading doors were locked shut.

The line of recruits waiting for their pay snaked out of the door, and they took their place at the end. The chatter among the recruits grew louder as they waited, each speculating about how they would spend their hard-earned coin.

“I heard there’s a tavern in town that serves the best ale in the region,” Plainfield said, his eyes gleaming with anticipation.

“Forget the ale,” Woodrow chimed in, “I want to see the markets. I bet they have all sorts of exotic goods we’ve never seen before.”

Stormwell nodded in agreement. “I wonder if they have a good smith that makes weapons or armor. It’d be nice to upgrade.”

Lys rolled her eyes at Plainfield, but the market and gear search interested her a lot. It was easy to picture herself equipped like one of Tilledge’s regulars—personal armor, personal weapon, a high-quality set of boots, and a slightly bigger tent and bedroll. One with double the padding…

She barely noticed the line moving until she found herself at the front, face to face with Sergeant Ashton.

“Trekhill, come with me,” the quartermaster said, his tone businesslike as he led her into a separate partition of the building. The space was sparse, containing only a table and two chairs. Ashton gestured to one of the chairs. “Have a seat.”

Lys complied, watching as the sergeant went into the other room and retrieved her chest—the one she had assembled upon joining the company. He placed it on the table. She fished the key out from underneath her shirt where it had been hanging along with Garrett’s lucky coin.

“If there’s anything you want to take into town, get it,” Ashton explained, his gaze fixed on Lys. “But if you come back with it, you’ll need to deposit it again.”

The chest unlocked without protest and as she peered into it, a wave of nostalgia washing over her. It felt like an eternity since she had joined the White Dragons, though in reality, it had only been a month or so?

She shook her head. “I don’t need anything, Sergeant.”

Ashton nodded as he sat down, producing several sheaves of paper along with a quill and ink.

He tapped a finger on the parchment.

“You have a legal mark here, recruit,” Ashton said, his voice even.

Lys’s brow furrowed, her mouth suddenly dry. “Sir?”

“The company took in the magistrate’s warrants for Mythshell—and the entire province. Considering how long you spent in the Gap, and the timing of your departure from Thornfield, a warrant for your arrest should have already reached the province’s capital.”

She wasn’t following. “Where is the province’s capital, sir?” Lys asked.

Ashton looked at her, an eyebrow raised. “Mythshell, recruit. Mythshell is the capital of the province. Don’t they teach geography to everyone?”

“Sorry, sir,” Lys said, her cheeks burning. “Not much use for it in Thornfield, I guess.”

Ashton sighed, leaning back in his chair. “Based on your words to Finn when you were recruited, there should have been a warrant for you, but there wasn’t. Normally, the company would deal with that type of legal matter—one way or another.”

Lys frowned, her stomach churning. “Is the company going to give me to the Magistrate if one comes later?”

“No,” Ashton said, shaking his head. “Recruits are pardoned for non-capital crimes—the company possesses a warrant from the Prince himself. It’s one of the main drivers for recruitment. As long as you didn’t murder the headman’s son, it’s fine.”

“I’m not sure he’ll ever walk again,” Lys admitted, her voice quiet.

“In a worst case, the company would pay a wergild for you—coming out of your pay, of course.” Ashton glanced at the papers again, his eyes narrowing. “Do you have a sister, or were there any others involved in the incident?”

Lys bit her lip. “I have a sister, but she wasn’t involved. Why?”

Ashton smiled, a glint in his eye. “I think I know where they made a mistake. The Magistrate put down the wrong name and gender on the warrant.”

Lys swallowed as her throat tightened. No, they definitely had her gender right. She wasn’t sure what to say or do.

“Looks like it’s your lucky day, recruit. The warrant will be invalid, and we won’t have to worry about it right now. The company will deal with it if they ever bother to issue a correction.” Ashton straightened another set of papers, his demeanor shifting. “I’ll be explaining as I do the math for your pay to the current date, so pay attention.”

“Yes, sir,” she replied automatically. Whiplash, it felt like whiplash.

“Your previous balance is eight half-silver quinarius and 67 libra,” Ashton stated, his eyes fixed on the papers before him. “The total value is 1,067 libra.”

Lys furrowed her brow, confusion evident on her face.

Ashton glanced up, noticing her expression. “Have you ever used money before, Recruit?”

“Uhh, to buy apples for a copper, sir,” Lys replied, feeling a bit embarrassed by her lack of knowledge.

Ashton grunted, leaning backward in his chair. “Coins have names. A ‘copper’ is a libra, the lowest denomination of coin. It takes 125 libra to equal one half-silver quinarius. Two half-silver make a denarius. Ten denarius to a half-gold quinarius, and two half-gold to an aureus.”

He stared at her intently.

“I get it, sir,” Lys said, nodding her head.

“Do you?” He looked down and drew a chart.

| Coin Values |

| Libra: 1 |

| Half-Silver Quinarius: 125 Libra |

| Denarius: 250 Libra |

| Half-Gold Quinarius: 2500 Libra |

| Aureus: 5000 Libra |

“A recruit’s standard wage is one denarius per month,” Ashton continued. “You have three months’ pay so far.”

Lys felt confused. “Three months… sir?”

“Everyone got triple-pay. There’s a list of events that call for higher pay and they stack up. We’ve had an eventful time, haven’t we?” Ashton said.

Lys nodded. Curiosity got the better of her as another question blossomed, “What’s a regular’s and sergeant’s pay, sir?”

Ashton grunted. “Four denarius for a regular, eight for a sergeant. Do you have more questions, or will you let me run the numbers?”

“Sorry, sir. Please continue,” Lys said quickly.

Ashton returned his attention to the papers, his quill scratching against the surface as he began to calculate Lys’s earnings. She watched intently, but it was impossible to read anything with the paper upside down to her.

Sergeant Ashton added more numbers to the ledger. The room was silent save for the sound of Ashton’s writing and the distant chatter of recruits outside.

“Battle pay for Swiftmorest is an additional two denarius,” Ashton said, his eyes never leaving the ledger. “And for the defense against the Rusty Lathes attack on the cohort, another two denarius.”

Lys nodded, trying to keep track of the growing sum.

“Now, for the assault on the Rusty Lathes camp,” Ashton continued, “you operated with the regulars. I’ve confirmed that you’ll be paid for that as a regular, not a recruit. That’s a battle pay of 8 denarius, plus loot rights to 9 denarius and 121 libra.”

“Loot rights?” Lys asked, curiosity getting the better of her.

Ashton glanced up, his expression neutral. “Since your group contributed and didn’t get a chance to loot the camp, the cohort takes a tax of loot from the rest of the cohort and pays the auxiliaries and specialists like your team with it. This way, you don’t have to worry about not being rewarded properly for your special role.”

Lys nodded, understanding dawning on her.

The sergeant added one more line to the ledger before speaking again. “Finally, the fire lizard. You’re getting battle pay for that—2 denarius—plus an extra three denarius, one half silver, and four libra for the material harvest.”

Ashton set down his quill and leaned back, the ledger full of figures laid out before him. “Your total battle earnings and loot rights add up to 30 silver denarii,” he said with a pointed look.

Lys listened intently, trying to calculate what that might mean for her purse.

He continued, “When we combine this with your previous balance of 1,067 libra, and convert it into the largest denominations for convenience, you have...” Ashton ran the final calculations, then looked up at Lys. “Your total in libra amounts to 8,567 libra. That’s 1 gold aureus, 1 half-gold quinarius, 4 silver denarii, and 67 copper libra.”

What? Lys sat up straighter, absorbing the full weight of the number.

Ashton’s expression softened for a moment. “Well earned, Recruit. Your valor has been well rewarded.” He flipped the paper around and slid it over to her.

She stared at the ledger, the numbers swimming before her eyes.

The sum was staggering, more than she had ever imagined possessing.

A distant memory surfaced, her father’s voice filled with pride as he recounted how he had purchased their family home in Thornfield for a single gold coin.

Even if that had been a full gold and not a half-gold, she had earned more than that in a month with the White Dragons.

She swallowed hard, trying to process that. Sergeant Ashton coughed, cutting through her thoughts.

“You can’t draw on your full ledger unless you’re at Dragonblanc or have a compelling reason,” he said, his tone matter-of-fact. “As a recruit, your withdrawals are restricted to what you need. I suggest eight half-silver and a hundred libra as change for a night out in Mythshell. That’s a generous amount.”

Lys nodded, her mind still reeling. “That sounds fine, sir.”

Ashton counted out the coins, the silver and copper glinting in the dim light of the room. He handed her a small money pouch, the weight of the coins unfamiliar.

“Remember, you’ll need to deposit what you have left with me when you return,” Ashton reminded her, his gaze stern.

“Yes, sir,” Lys replied, securing the pouch to her belt.

She hurried out of the building, eager to join her friends. The shock of her newfound wealth still lingered, disbelief churned in her gut.

“Lys! What took you so long?” Stormwell called out, waving her over to where he stood with Plainfield and Woodrow.

“Just sorting out my pay,” Lys replied, trying to keep her voice steady.

“Well, come on then!” Plainfield urged, his grin wide. “We’ve got a town to explore and coin to spend!”

Lys fell into step with her companions, the weight of the money pouch pulling at her side.
**

I spent waaaay too long trying to get the math on the coins right. I hope they are right. Oh god why did I do this?