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
~
A fter 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
“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
~
A fter 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
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