Guns of the Temple (The Polaris Chronicles Book 1) (14 page)

“Aye,” Draco said. “The templars literally sew things like severed hands and feet onto their own bodies if they think the part is better than their own, and will hunt you down until they get what they want.” He stuck his tongue out with disgusted, boyish glee. “If one of them ever sees my manhood, I’m in trouble!”

Taki resisted the urge to gag.

“No one wants to see that,” Hadassah admonished. Draco casually flipped her off.

“That’s probably a myth, but it does go to show that we need to be careful, even in death,” Lotte said. “Anyway, unless this Gillette has turned into soup, we’re to take him back.”

Hadassah shook her head and sighed.

“Yeah, I get it, but still, it’s kind of depressing to know you’re kinda like a piece of market meat. Can’t even get left for the rats.”

“I’d buy you for a bent reload,” Draco said, pretending to weigh her. She lazily kicked at him and missed.

“Actually, Natalis, I should probably know this already, but where did you come from before you joined the academy?” Lotte asked as they continued to trudge along the dirt road to Pristina.

“I don’t really remember much, actually. I think I grew up on an island, maybe, but after that it’s all hazy until the orphanage,” Taki said.

“Good lord, an orphan?” Hadassah sighed. “How much more cliché can you get? Next thing you know he’ll pull Emmy’s manhood out of a sheep’s bung and become the basileus!”

“You should be so lucky to witness it!” Draco countered. “Besides, that means my member is a legendary sword. Go ahead and tug it, Natalis! Become the Chosen One!”

“Er, Emreis,” Taki cringed. “Can you not
thrust
in my direction?”

“Emmy, that’s illegal,” Hadassah countered half-heartedly. Sensing her waning enthusiasm for bickering, Draco smiled and left it at that.

Lotte looked to the sky, displeased with what she saw. “We should get a move on, or it’ll be dark before we get to the walls.”

The dreary sky had turned to diluted ink by the time Tirefire the Lesser entered the duchy fortress. From the headless icons dotting exposed brick, the building had likely been a cathedral in a more peaceful era. Over the years, it had slowly accumulated more militant features. An outer palisade of poured concrete over twisted metal rebar was studded with embedded broken glass. Access was only granted by a drawbridge over a dry moat lined on the bottom with rusting, lacerating husks of trashed relics from the Fall. Footmen patrolled the walls and parapets, sweeping their crossbows and rifles over the rest of the city with callous disregard.

The farmlands of the region were fertile enough and the ancient asphalt roads mainly intact. The city of Pristina had the benefit of an underground river passing through, which allowed an easier time during a siege. Whoever occupied the capital controlled a swath of land of over ten thousand square kilometers in area. Control of the duchy was a prize worth clutching no matter how much it cut the hands.

“So you’re the guys Niketas sent to fuck shit up?”

Duke Gul Hekmatyar, Hero of the Dominion, reclined on a leopard skin-pattern throw draped over a sagging throne in the middle of what Taki could only describe to himself as a perversely appointed dungeon. Tapestries of naked prisoners being beheaded hung from sweating walls tinted garish crimson. Mounted swords and arquebuses cluttered the rest of the space without any thought to proper arrangement, and flickering torchlight cast everyone within the chamber in an infernal rather than regal light. A waifish girl barely past puberty leaned up against the duke on one side holding a cigar and clad only in a pink loincloth. Her twin propped up the other side holding an ashtray. Taki started to go agog at the sight, until he saw the healing bruises on their faces under makeup and the thin skin over jutting ribs.

The duke himself was younger than expected—mid-forties, with dyed-black hair and a camouflage-pattern tabard adorned with golden chains and medals for valor. Most notably, his long cloak was trimmed with ermine, a privilege only the basileus enjoyed. In a shoulder holster sat a large and heavy old world revolver done in gold tiger stripes and engraved with the crest of the Duchy on mother-of-pearl grips. There were four other guards of his at the corners, all wearing thick boiled leather and carrying Simonov rifles with bayonets extended. Lotte motioned for her squad to kneel.

“I am Captain Satou of the Cloud Temple,” she said. “We have been ordered to carry out your will against Imperial sympathizers in your demesne.”

“God bless the Dominion.” The duke grinned. “Five witches to command—that’s as good as an entire army. Hey babe, why don’t you have your guys join up with me and we’ll go and knock the basileus off and screw on his throne?”

“Your pardon, milord?”

“What are you, deaf? Let’s go fuck Niketas up. We’ll rule the land together.”

Is he asking us to commit treason?
Taki felt his guts churn in anxiety.
What the hell is going on here? Isn’t he the greatest hero of the lands?
He raced through the Hoplite’s Code in his mind, trying to figure out what to do. Polaris were employed by the lords of the realm and beholden to their orders while lawfully engaged, but if a lord spoke openly of revolt, then…

Lotte answered his question by drawing her flamberge in a single, fluid motion. Her decisiveness cut through Taki’s panic and he warmed with gratitude. Now, all he had to think about was the simplicity of combat. He chopped the edge of his hand against the charging handle on his Bastard to rack the bolt and shouldered the carbine. A heartbeat later, he aligned sights on one of the dumbfounded guardsmen and started to put pressure on the trigger. Something flashed in the corner of his vision.

“Not so fast, Christmas Cake,” a polaris said as he phased into view in front of Lotte and pressed a stiletto to her throat.

Draco cursed and jammed the muzzle of his LeMat against the new arrival’s scalp.

Lotte peered at the man who had put her in check, and cracked a half-smile. “Lance Corporal Karma Gillette, the penalty for assaulting a superior officer with a weapon is death.”

“Nice to meet you, too,” Karma said, wincing at the steel pressing against his temple hard enough to dent bone. “Mind telling Biggie there to drop his iron?”

“Emreis, kill hi-”

“This is fucking great!” the duke cackled as he applauded. “Man, you witches are the real deal. Hey, if you train my guys to do those fancy tricks, I promise you I’ll give you each a
belt
of 'grad for your time. Seriously, I know how to pay people well, that’s why I’m in charge here. Anyway, what I said earlier, it’s a joke! I love Niketas like a brother, and he loves me too. I mean, why’d he send all you guys to me when he just lost that castle of his?”

“Belay the order…for now,” Lotte said, and slowly sheathed her flamberge. Draco’s annoyance was unmistakable as he slowly eased down the hammer of his LeMat, pausing after each click of its resetting action. Karma’s knife edged away and disappeared into a sheath hidden in the folds of his buff coat.

Taki eased his finger off the trigger of the Bastard. He had beaten his target to the draw with ease, and he relished that fact. Compared to the humans, he was like a demigod. And if this was how the triada, or the exarch was compared to novices like Taki, then truly their ancestors had been the scourge of the old earth. The guardsman grimaced. Taki winked in condescension but quickly realized he was straying. Making the less powerful feel like ants was wrong, he had always been told. The lords of the Temple did not stoop to this level.
And yet archangel Jibriil is forcing my captain to share his bed…
Taki realized where his thoughts were heading and quickly chided himself for blasphemy.
Foolish bastard! The archangel is your lord and your better. Never forget that if you want to get out of this shitty unit.

“Shit, you guys need to learn to relax,” the duke scoffed with malice barely contained under a cocky grin. “Normally I’d spit you all from ass to mouth for threatening me like that, but I know you did so out of loyalty to Niketas. I’d expect you to kill any of my men who talked about going against me, too. So, let’s forget about this and begin again.” He waved over a servant. “Sasha! Fucking get these guys drinks. Put on some music! What the fuck else do I let you live for?”

Scratchy accordion chords erupted from an array of angrily sparking relics hung from scaffolding above. One of the guards hurried to a nearby bar and started to pour spirits into mismatched, lopsided glass tumblers.

“Your Grace, we need to discuss-” Lotte began. The duke seemed to look through her as he rose from his couch, turned, and approached one of the rifle-wielding guards. The man attempted a bow only to be answered by a savage punch to the face which toppled him where he stood. Almost methodically, the duke started to kick at the guard’s exposed back with his pointed and gilded metal boots. Sasha continued to slosh murky fluid into glasses, and the other guards looked onward, stony-faced. Lotte’s expression soured, and she started to move toward the pair.

“I’d let it go for now, Cake. Anger the duke more and he’ll send those girls back to their parents in a bag and demand payment for his trouble,” Karma interjected softly, tilting his head toward the two slaves. “Of course, they’re dead anyway so it really doesn’t change a lot.”

Lotte exhaled slowly, and faced Karma.

“Lance Corporal Gillette, you heard me announce my name and rank. So why are you calling me ‘Christmas Cake?’”

“Oh, it’s a saying from the far eastern lands. ‘No one wants a Christmas Cake after twenty-five.’”

His chuckle died in his throat as one of Lotte’s hands closed around it and the other shoved her Colt down the front of his trousers.

“If I was
really
angry with you I’d just let you mouth off to the major, but you’re kind of cute, so I’ll simply blow your left nut off to teach you a lesson.” Her smile was positively saintly.

“No more lip from me, Captain,” he gasped. Lotte slowly let go of him. He rubbed at the reddened marks on his neck.

“Why have you stopped correspondence with the Temple? That could be construed as desertion.”

“I’m no deserter, and the situation here is a lot more complicated than it looks. We should discuss this at a more opportune time. Please.” Karma’s hand strayed unconsciously over his manhood as if it would actually protect him from a dum-dum bullet.

“Very well, Gillette, I’ll let you off the hook for now, but I’m keeping you under watch. Effective immediately, you’re my man, not the Duke’s, and you will follow my orders without question. If you have cause to object, you may roust the archangel Jibriil from his chambers. Understood?”

“Yes, madam.”

“I’m not an old lady,” she warned. “Calling me ‘captain’ is fine.”

A few seconds later, the squad found themselves with shotglasses of rotgut in their hands being encouraged to toast to the basileus, the Dominion, the Trinity, and to the padishah taking it up the ass with a red-hot poker. Liquor seemed to smother whatever resentment still remained in the duke for the earlier show of force, so they drank and drank and drank.

Later, Taki half-slumped against the back cushion of one of the smelly couches and peered at his squad mates and also at the duke. A shot of the fiery booze burned his stomach and filled his eyes with tears, so he had feigned intoxication in order to avoid having to partake of more. The duke had laughed and derided him as a lightweight, but Karma had managed to steer the man’s attention away. This was the first time Taki had been in such close proximity to an actual noble of the Dominion, much less an epic hero. Perhaps foolishly, he had expected the man to look and act like the exarch, who Taki had heard speak soon after he had sworn his vows and entered the academy. Constantin Choniates was gravely dignified, powerful and purposeful, and of course incontestably righteous. Even a neophyte could see that. One day Taki would die for the exarch in the line of duty and if he were lucky, his name would be remembered fondly by the man. At first, he privately doubted the truth of this oft-repeated phrase. After seeing the man, he had lent it more credence than he thought possible.

Gul Hekmatyar, however, seemed like no more than a petty thug who had inherited both a lot of milligrad as well as a chance friendship with the basileus. He was being generous with his liquor and his praise, but there was a sense of underlying malice to it all that gave Taki pause. He was filled with the desire to leave, but quickly extinguished it. Who has he to question the virtue of a man who had saved his entire people and paid the iron price a thousandfold for it? The duke was the greatest hero in recent history and Taki was but a mere fledgling in comparison. The histories always said that martial men were rough around the edges, even impolite, but that was because they lacked duplicity. Duplicity gave rise to softness and invited evil in. No, the duke’s mannerisms were signs of honor and bravery, and Taki would have to learn from them to succeed. He had a career to consider, after all, and earning the Duke’s favor now would be valuable later.

By chance, he glanced at one of the girls sitting at the duke’s pleasure. For a moment, his eyes met hers. She looked at him and smiled unhappily. He could see small, scabbed-over blotches riding up the insides of her arms, and knew she was here for life. He looked away and forced a nagging feeling back into the depths of his consciousness. “They died gladly for their masters,” he repeated under his breath.