Shadow's Son by Shirley Meier, S.M. Stirling and Karen Wehrstein ...

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
Fifteen strokes, Sova thought. At least it wasn't to falling, the flogging that lasted as long as your
strength, and one stroke longer. Fifteen strokes she'd be able to count. It was hardly as if she'd never
been struck before.
The army was in the usual bustle and confusion of making camp; the flogging-posts were always among
the first things set up, eighty thousand warriors, now, producing a good deal in the way of discipline
problems. She'd watched before, as they were off-loaded from a wagon, work-crews standing in the
bed of the vehicle to pound them in with stone-headed mauls: old oak posts with frayed tops, dark and
stained. She'd expected not to get any closer acquainted. Those to be punished waited, some bound and
under guard, most standing with knots of their friends, faces contrite and nervous. Dust made her sneeze,
and there were the usual smells of dung and leather and sweat and greased iron.
She'd told Echera-e the first day he'd been up and around, two days after he'd been hurt; it was another
two days now, and he'd been judged fit. "Fifteen stroke… we getting light cause she you' motser," he
said. "Somekras outcahst, forrh tsaht. Most flahg to falling. Bet she say us it tsaht, next time." Now he
stood beside her, his rough-callused hand in hers; his friends were there, more subdued than usual. They
seemed to agree with him that the sentence was on the light side of justice, though, if anything. Sova had
felt it was harsh, until she thought about it.If everyone ran around doing what they wanted , they'dcut
through us like old cheese .
The two hadn't been sure whether they'd get the choice, but each wanted to go first. They'd toyed with
the idea of having the whip-wielder alternate strokes; but that, they realized, would make it last twice as
long for both. The anticipation between, they both knew, was as bad as the pain. Sova swallowed; there
was a fig orchard just north of the punishment field, and she could smell the over-sweet smell of the
dropped fruit, hear the wasps buzzing about them.
Shkai'ra rode up on Hotblood with most of the Slaughterers behind her, and Megan, perched on her
pony, worry lines on her face. "Attention to orders!" the Kommanza barked.
Echera-e and Sova looked at each other and straightened, stepped forward to stand before the
commander; the Yeoli's eyes stopped for a moment on the man uncoiling the whip by the post, one of his
own countryfolk. That was the rule, in this army, formed of nations that had in the past often been
enemies, and were still sometimes touchy about perceived humiliations. Sova swallowed.
As one they exchanged the salute with Shkai'ra. Her voice continued in a tone like iron.
"Sova Far-Traveller, military apprentice, and Echera-e Lemana, common rank, did willfully disobey
orders while in action and in the face of the enemy; specifically, did refuse to obey the signal to retreat
although they heard and understood same, thereby endangering the mission and the good order and
discipline of this army."
"Therefore, they are sentenced to punishment corporeal, for their own improvement and as example
general. In light of the fact that the offense was committed while attempting to rescue a wounded
comrade with courage that would be commendable in other circumstances, and in view of their youth and
previous clean records of both parties, sentence is commuted to fifteen strokes. I warn Military
Apprentice Sova Far-Traveller, and am authorized by his own commander Makalina Shae-Sorel,
rigaryekrachaseye , to so warn Echera-e Lemana, that the next such offense will be punished by
flogging to falling. The sentenced may choose the order of punishment and whether they will be bound."
"Told you," whispered Echera-e.