by Guy Antibes
That quieted Vish. He felt his swollen cheekbone and winced as he touched stitches.
“Vaka likes it when he leaves you marked. Makes him feel good every time he sees you.”
“But what he did wasn’t fair.”
Tosytan’s pleasant face turned grim. “Fairness is something you left back in the Imperial City. Out here there is no fair, just a procession of indignities. If you make it through, those go away. Remember that. Peshakan won’t last forever. Go to the building with the blue door after you’ve put on your uniform.” Tosytan left Vish in the infirmary without another word.
“Fairness is something I left behind, eh?” he said to the empty room. After putting on the well-worn used uniform, Vish inspected the healer’s supplies. They filled all of the shelves. The military wagon had boxes in the back. Perhaps the newer items came with Vish.
He walked out the door and heard the voice of Vaka behind him.
“Attention!”
Vishan snapped to attention. He didn’t want to give the sergeant the excuse to discipline him.
“At ease!”
Vishan put his hands to his back and spread his legs. He looked straight ahead and grit his teeth as he noticed other soldiers grinning as they looked at him and Vaka who had to be behind him.
“Just where were you going, Flag Bearer Daryaku?”
“Healer Tosytan instructed me to go to the building with the blue door.”
Vaka walked into view and put his face up to Vishan’s. The sergeant was half a head shorter and that surprised Vish. “Aren’t you the lucky one? That is Captain Bishyar’s personal residence. Step foot through that door without the Captain’s permission and you’ll get your privates removed. Am I clear?”
“You are, Sergeant Vaka.” Vish kept his eyes forward. The man had certainly mastered the art of intimidation.
A blow to his stomach, took Vish’s breath away. He struggled to stay erect. Evidently Vaka could still beat him physically. Maybe one blow to the head. Vishan didn’t know. His stomach was starting to rebel at the punishment.
Vaka spoke in Vishan’s ear. “You know what, boy? When I’m done with you, my baton will bounce off of your midsection. You got that?”
“Yes, Sergeant Vaka.”
“Good. Take one of the red doors and get yourself some food. I won’t have you fainting before I’ve had a chance to give you a reason to faint. You are dismissed.”
“Thank you, Sergeant Vaka.”
“Don’t you ever thank me, Flag Bearer Daryaku, even if I deserve it.”
“Yes, Sergeant Vaka.”
“Go.”
Vishan scoured the post for a red door. Actually there were two red doors in either side of a large hall. He chose the double door where there were more men coming and going. He walked slowly across the grounds. His head began to pound again to match the pain in his stomach and the way he felt, he didn’t dare faint.
~
The temptation to tap into the nexus for the power to punish his punishers always bubbled up into Vishan’s mind. He always pushed it back down from where it came. He didn’t know the protocol for using his Affinity in the army. No one seemed to use any and Vish had learned early to call as little attention to him as possible. Every morning, Vishan fell out with the other trainees and drilled all day long in the heat and the dust.
At least the army didn’t stint on food and Vishan began to fill out with muscle and even grew a bit taller. After six months as Flag Bearer, the army promoted him to Junior Lieutenant. Sergeant Vaka seemed to enjoy telling him that he had just reached the pinnacle of rank during his time at Peshakan. His new rank didn’t seem to give him any additional advantages over common soldiers.
Vishan tried not to think about much and took his training day by day. Now that he attained his new rank, he began training with a greater variety of weapons. He worked with swords, knives, spears, pikes, halberds as well as hand fighting. Vishan liked ballistics the best. That included siege engines, cross bows, slings and bow and arrow. He rated himself as proficient in all of the weapons, above average in the ballistic weapons, especially the sling.
“You like the sling, eh?” a veteran said, sitting down next to him at breakfast.
“I do. It’s easy to carry. You don’t run out of arrows and I’m a good shot.”
The vet laughed. “It’s a boy’s weapon. A steel sword is the glory weapon. Run a man through with a three-foot long blade and he’ll be good and dead. Wing a man with a rock and he’ll still be able to come after you.”
“If I wing a man and he’s still advancing, then I’ll pull out my sword,” Vish said, with a grin.
“There is that. I used to like the sling. Still keep one in the bottom of my pack. Want to learn how to make a real good one?”
Vishan wondered if this was another of the constant pranks the soldiers played on each other. “Yes, I would.”
The veteran nodded. “There is a cost, Junior Lieutenant Daryaku.”
Vish furrowed his brow. Here came the punch line.
“Teach another how to make one. That’s all I ask. Keep the favor going. I made the same promise decades ago and it’s time I made good on my vow. You are the lucky one.” The veteran smiled. “I’m Guardsman Haryr.”
“You obviously know my name.”
“I do indeed. When do you have an hour or two of free time?”
Vish rolled his eyes. “I guess after mess tonight?”
“Suits me,” Haryr said. “I’ll bring the supplies, but they are simple enough. I’ll be at the stables, since the leather working gear is there. Bring your own lantern.”
Vishan spotted Haryr training with another unit from across the parade ground of the outpost. He wondered if he’d be attacked in the stable. The man seemed genuine. The concept of passing on knowledge intrigued him.
The sky had begun to darken when Vish made his way to the stable. Sure enough, Haryr sat at a work table. The normal array of bridles and harnesses had been cleared away and leather thongs and scraps of leather were in their place.
“Pull up a stool and learn something new. Have you ever wondered what makes a good sling?”
Vishan shook his head. He looked around for attackers, but they were alone except for the napping guardsmen who had stable duties. He looked back down at Haryr.
“Good leather. Pliable, but tough. You could make a sling from wrapping twine and the cloth from your shirt in a pinch, but it won’t last long. The sides of old shoes, anything that will hold the projectile will work. If you use stiffer leather, you can always oil it up. That keeps it more waterproof. My pack sling is so well-oiled; I can use it easily in the rain where bowstrings will loose their stretch. You don’t have to worry about stretch in a sling.”
“I suppose a sling has three parts, then,” Vish said. “Two thongs and a pouch.”
“Indeed. One of the thongs has a loop on the end for your finger, but you already know that. Let me show you a few tricks.”
The session with Haryr was a bit of a break from the rigors of military training. Vish now knew how to shape a pocket from the right kind of leather and learned about the leather strip on the finger loop that made the loop easier to put on. The padded the finger helped with aiming the sling. The leather tongue from an old boot made the best pouches according to Haryr.
“What about technique?”
Haryr laughed. “Everybody has their own technique. Yours is a good start. I’ve seen you at work. It takes practice, is all. A well-slung rock takes timing and timing takes practice. There.” Haryr slapped both of his hands on his legs. “I’ve done it. If you’ve got the chance, teach someone else. Simple enough.”
Vish smiled back. He’d spent a bit over an hour with the guardsman and had made his first sling and a friend, of sorts. Vish could see that it was an improvement over the standard issue, which looked like a child had made it. Perhaps they had. That was better than listening to the banter in the barracks. He might be rated as an officer, but he still
bunked with all of the common soldiers.
“Thanks, Haryr. I’ll always remember this session.”
“Do that. I’m the one to thank you. It’s a little thing, I know, but a promise is a promise. And now I’ve fulfilled it.” Haryr collected up the scraps and put them in a scrap bin. He left Vishan playing with his new weapon.
Back on his bunk, listening to the last bit of talk among the guardsmen in his unit, Vishan looked up at the plank ceiling and had to smile at the little interlude. The lesson surprised him. It wasn’t so much the sling making as it was the honor involved in Haryr’s offer. He had just made the same promise as the one Haryr had fulfilled.
There really was more to being human than politics and assassinations and the relentless jockeying for power. The healer’s talk that the outpost wasn’t fair had disturbed him and was just talk to scare him that first day. Vish could see the infusion of honor and duty in all of the little rites and protocols that he learned at the outpost. He judged the notion of honor as a higher quality than fairness. Even the title of Flag Bearer, that he once held, had its own element of honor and duty. He deduced he could live without the fairness in trade for honor.
~~~
CHAPTER EIGHT
~
AFTER VISHAN’S FIRST YEAR, THE MILITARY TRANSPORT BROUGHT A SURPRISE to the Outpost. Seven of his half-brothers jumped out of the wagon. Sergeant Vaka ordered Vishan to greet them.
“Welcome to Peshakan Military Outpost. I am Junior Lieutenant Daryaku.”
The brothers all laughed. “So are we!” a few of them said.
Vishan felt a bit of a blush. “I am Vishan Daryaku, son of Princess Yalla.” He looked at his brothers and recognized that one of them was Astyran, the brother who tried to kill him during the Royal Hunt six years ago.
If anything, Astyran had grown in arrogance. “I seem to remember you when you were twelve. You haven’t changed much.” His voice dripped with condescension. “You got me into quite a bit of trouble. Lost my allowance for three months.” Astyran leaned closer to Vishan and spoke through his teeth. “I’ll make you pay. No one cares out here.” Astyran had seemed much taller when he was twelve. Now Vish stood half a head taller and he knew that Astyran had never served or he would have known that the army did care.
Vishan merely moved back. He didn’t recognize any of the other brothers. The princesses didn’t generally allow their own children to mix with any of the others. The practice met with Vishan’s approval. None of his brothers showed the least bit of friendliness.
“Blue door, yellow stripe, Lieutenant,” Sergeant Vaka said. “Show them to their quarters. Once you’ve done that, you will join them.”
What was this? Vishan had gotten used to the barracks and life with the common soldiers. He was still the only Junior Lieutenant who bunked with the soldiers.
The Daryaku brothers’ barracks were a step or two above the common quarters that Vishan had slept in. These walls were finished and the room had tile floors. The bed frames were larger with thicker mattresses rolled up and tied with a cord on each bed. The room looked as if it hadn’t been inhabited for some time.
“Clean it up, Junior Lieutenant,” Astyran said. “Make yourself useful.” He threw his bag on the floor and turned to leave.
“Pick that up, soldier,” a familiar voice said, standing at the door. Vishan’s eyebrows rose as Captain Bishyar glared at the group. The common barracks had never been visited by an officer of any rank for the year Vishan had trained. “I’d like to remind all of you that your father has placed you under my command, until he chooses not to. Some of you have spent time with us before.” The captain referred to a sheaf of papers in his hand. “Parvenu, Havyr and Daryan. Vishan is still training with us and has done at least as well as the three of you, who have returned. Daryan is the oldest of those who have been at Peshakan and will be your leader while at the outpost.”
Vishan stood a little straighter at the Captain’s compliment, the first feedback he’d ever received regarding his proficiency.
“You are all here for advanced strategic training. Call it practical War College experience, but under the Outpost’s discipline. There will be no excessive drinking or carousing while under my command. Those of you who have been with us before know there are few opportunities for such. Lieutenant Vishan will escort you to the Quartermaster’s building for proper uniforms. He is not your servant and has earned his rank. The only one who can command him is Daryan, who left us as a Junior Lieutenant, as well.
“May I be perfectly clear,” Captain Bishyar paused and looked each of the brothers in the eye. “You are under the discipline of the army. It does not care who your parents are. If you deserve physical punishment, there will be no quarter. Do I make myself clear?”
“Yes, sir!” Vishan and three of the others snapped to attention.
“At ease. Daryan?”
“Here, sir,” a shorter brother took a step forward and stood at attention He looked to be in his late twenties.
“Inform your brothers of what is expected here. They are to join in all morning activities with the common soldiers. Special instruction will occur in the afternoons and evenings in the room above this one.”
Vishan couldn’t resist lifting his eyes towards the ceiling. He’d rather train outside than spend all of his afternoons with his brothers.
At mess, he learned that he was five years younger than any of the other brothers. One of them would be likely crowned Emperor. His father wouldn’t have thrown them all together like this unless he had a reason. He put his own inclusion with the group due to coincidence more than anything else since he was already serving at Peshakan. Another test? For whom? To Vishan, their presence only meant personal danger.
Daryan seemed to be the only one who would talk to him. “How long have you been here?”
“One year and one month,” Vishan said. “I thought it would be worse than it’s been. You have to take the bad along with the good.”
“What’s the good, for you?”
“I like Ballistics. I’m better with thrown weapons.”
Daryan nodded and smiled. “Do they still withhold any letters?”
“Yes, I’ve heard a bit of news from the troopers, but I don’t know what’s going on in the Compound.”
“Ah, your mother is Princess Yalla? Nothing has changed for her, but your little brothers died half a year ago. If I remember right, bad reactions to a swarm of insects in your gardens. It happens to princes. There are only sixteen of us left, you know. There probably won’t be any more.”
Sixteen heirs! A year ago there had been twenty. Had his father been winnowing out the weaker ones? He barely made it though his twelfth year despite his father’s test. Half of the remaining princes sat at this table.
“I’m shocked.” He truly was appalled to hear about his little brothers. He nearly choked on the news. They didn’t deserve to die at such early ages. He remembered his last evening in Baku, telling them stories. His eyes watered a bit, but he shook it off. Sentiment wasn’t an acceptable emotion to show in the army.
His mother must have been crushed. She would take action against the killers, for Vish had no doubt the boys had been assassinated. What if it was the Emperor himself? Two heirs at once? Vish didn’t want to accept that. He felt helpless to assist Princess Yalla, so far from Baku. The knowledge only made him more wary of these seven princes.
Daryan had given him a moment of reflection and then spoke again. “In a way, we all are. Most of the casualties are the result of some kind of test or other that the Emperor has ordered. But your brothers’ deaths aren’t Father’s style. I heard that you were attacked by Astyran.”
Vishan sighed. “Long ago.” He waved away the incident casually in front of his brothers, but he remembered every detail. “It can’t be safe for any of us in the Imperial City. I’ve survived a few assassination attempts.”
“Haven’t we all? I doubt if it will be any safer for us here. Stay aware of your
surroundings. Any of us could take advantage of our isolation, even me.” Daryan got up and joined three of his brethren.
Alone again. Perhaps he was safer that way. Regardless of the heat, Vishan would become constant friends with his mail shirt once more. He spent the rest of his meal pulling up as many memories of his little brothers as he could. Suntar and Leshyr. Suntar had just barely gotten his tutor.
The string of deaths that went along with succession persisted with every Emperor and every dynasty that Vishan had studied. If an Emperor successfully stopped it, his successor might succumb. The struggle to rule Dakkor continued. It was no less savage than the reports of the Cuminee barbarians’ fights for tribal dominance.
Not for the first time, did Vishan wish his father had been a common merchant or a farmer, like Peleor’s. How was Peleor? It sometimes seemed like he had lived a different life back in the city, but as he observed his brothers defensive demeanor, the objectionable intrigue of Baku had come to Peshakan.
~
Most of the day, Daryan’s duties consisted of reminding where the brothers needed to be. Vishan’s life became a bit easier. Less of Sergeant Vaka and more of the four lecturers that arrived the day after his brothers did on a significantly more comfortable carriage than the military wagon. These men stayed in the Captain’s quarters and obviously ate at the Captain’s table. Vishan had never seen them in the mess.
He doubted if they would be spending a year educating all of them, but Vishan never underestimated his father’s unpredictability.
A week later, Vishan sat at his usual spot at the front of the room by himself. His other brothers paired up at the two-person tables and the first day, they made clear to Vishan that he was on his own. He held no illusions about what his brothers thought of him, but Vish’s only wish was that he sat at the back instead of the front.
“We will be talking about the Great Emperor and his strategy for ruling the world from Ayrtan.”
