Swords of the Imperium (Dark Fantasy Novel) (The Polaris Chronicles Book 2) (16 page)

Taki blinked and allowed her to help him. “Who the hell
are
you?”

“You don’t have to be so sour about it,” she pouted, and crossed her arms.

“I’m not being sour!”

“Yes, you are!”

“You could’ve killed me.”

“But I didn’t.”

“You’re too reckless.”

“You’re pissed off because you were saved by a girl. Admit it.”

“I’m angry because I almost died! Look, let’s display his body and be done with it.”

Enilna opened her mouth to retort but then started to laugh. “I just noticed something,” she chortled.

“What?”

“When you get flustered, your lips twitch.”

“So what now?” Draco asked.

Lotte narrowed her eyes. “We advance. We win, or we die.” She gazed at Irulan. A ragged hole marred the front of the woman’s chestplate. “How badly are you injured, Surenovna?”

Irulan smiled and shook her head. “It’s not even worth—” She was cut off by a coughing fit and hacked up a line of blood into the sand. Elsa rested a hand on her, trying to stanch the hemorrhage.

Lotte shook her head. “Gillette, get Emreis and put her on a litter…”

“You’ll not keep me from the fight,” Irulan chuckled, and wiped her lips. “I have a bet with the rector. If she kills more of them than I do, I have to marry one of her grandsons.”

Lotte resumed her place at the front of the tercio and raised her baton to command them. “Those who can fight, to the front! Wounded, to the rear!”

“Here they come,” Draco said. He shoved a clump of rags beneath his armor to stanch the blood from an earlier spear thrust and straightened his posture. The last column of rebels began to move, preceded by a line of horse gunners. At a slow trot, their aim was impeccable, and they methodically fired and reloaded with practiced ease. Lhasa pikemen started to fall.

Draco spat. “I guess this is the part of the story where we all die, eh?”

Lotte stared ahead, pointing her swords at the oncoming army. A ball smashed into her shoulder, and she stumbled but regained her footing. The main gauche fell to the ground, but she held her thrusting sword firmly. Her wounded arm felt as if the flesh were boiling under her steel, but she bit her tongue and endured the pain.

Karma fell, clutching his midsection. The cavalry now broke to the sides, satisfied that the tercio was softened up. The Mandate infantry quickened their pace in anticipation of an easy slaughter. Lotte let out a throaty roar and lunged forward.

A high-pitched whine struck their ears before the ground seemed to well up and burst like a pustular boil, sending Mandate men and pieces of men flying. Lotte could barely comprehend the sight before there was another whine and another explosion, and then another, and another. An endless stream of explosions that turned the world white and orange and unbearable. When Lotte opened her eyes again, where the enemy had stood, there was now only smoke and crater.

Scattered pockets of rebels wheeled around in a fugue. Fewer still attempted to run back to the fortress, only to fall to their knees at the sight of a man’s body suspended over the parapets by his ankles. Beneath Jamukha’s corpse was an unbroken red stripe over immaculate white.

After the bones were set, bleeding stanched, and infections burned away, it was time to lay the fallen to rest. Whether friend or enemy, the bodies had to be burned. Otherwise, the spread of plague would cause tenfold more deaths in the months to come.

Before the row of blazing funeral pyres was a small altar to Tengri, the omnipresence who oversaw the endless plateau from on high along with his riders. Piled on the altar were bowls of rice and handfuls of fruit. Countless joss sticks smoldered atop it and released a sinuous cloud of perfumed smoke. Flanking the altar in two lines, saffron-clad monks beat against wooden fish, sending an undulating beat into the surrounding night. They chanted in a throaty basso, in a language at once familiar and ancient.

Taki knelt at the altar, feeling awkward. What he was doing would have counted as blasphemy, were he still in his homeland.
But I’m not there anymore. I’ll probably never return. Just like so many in this army won’t.
Only a sliver of the Fifty-Fourth Suppression Army had escaped harm. It seemed like a greater blasphemy to abstain from paying respect, even in a heathen fashion.

He glanced at Lotte, who knelt beside him. To his surprise, her face was streaked with tears. As long as he had known her, she’d seemed like one who only took enjoyment from battle. He chanced a whisper. The others wouldn’t be able to hear over the monks’ droning.

“Captain, do you feel ill?”

She turned her head to face him. “No. Why do you ask?”

“You look morose.”

“And what of it?”

“Beg your pardon. I didn’t expect you to…”

“Oh, Natalis.” She shook her head. “Tell me honestly. Do you think me a monster?”

Taki flinched. “No!”

“Many times, I’ve been given lives to spend. Every officer has. But I’ve spent frivolously. I’ve squandered. I can’t stop. I cost all of those garrison men their lives. One day, I’ll spend you.”

“That’s fine!” Taki snapped, despite his best efforts at restraint. “I owe you my life. Everyone else does, too. You’re my captain, and I’ll follow you to the end. Spend me without regret. I could ask for no more honor.”

Lotte fell silent but slid her hand over to rest on his. Their fingers intertwined. Overhead, the night sky seemed to swallow the earth and all of the people who lived and died upon it.

The next morning, a massive object in the sky darkened the Potala and obscured the sunrise for a wide swath of Lhasa. Taki stared up at it, agog, his watch duties forgotten.

“Marvelous, isn’t she?” Aslatiel said.

Taki nodded, his neck aching from tilting his head back for so long. “But just what is it?”

“A zeppelin. A secret of the old world brought back to us by the padishah’s wisdom. That one is the
Lyudmila
. She will take us from here to Sevastopol, as we are conveniently on the way.”

“Can it fight?”

“Yes, though she is better used for scouting. I’ve been told the crew is transporting a survey team sent to explore the waters east of the Goryeo Peninsula. Perhaps we will get to talk with them.”

Taki had to stop staring for fear that his neck would start to spasm. The ship was slowly descending, and the tiny forms of the crew were starting to become more visible. Mooring lines fell like silvery threads onto the roof of the palace. The Imperium had fearsome resources at its disposal.
But they lacked a God Hand, and thus I’m still alive,
Taki thought. He looked at Aslatiel. Normally unflappable and almost inscrutable, the man seemed anxious. Like everything else about him, however, the effect was subtle.

“Are you thinking of Lady Irulan?” Taki asked.

“I’m thinking of all who were injured in that battle,” Aslatiel said. “She is one of the severe cases.”

“I guess I meant on a more personal level
.
”

Aslatiel raised an eyebrow, and his lips thinned with a smile. “You’re very perceptive. I’m glad I didn’t kill you the first time we met.”

Taki’s scar throbbed. “You were close. I was worried I’d be crippled for life.”

“Being unable to eliminate your squad was a source of aggravation for my sister and me. We were convinced that you were all protégés of the Agia Triada. Imagine our embarrassment when we learned the truth.”

“That’s a bit unfair.”

Aslatiel bowed. “My apologies. I didn’t intend to demean you or your fellows.”

Taki cast his gaze downward. “No, it was I who reacted overmuch. It’s just that, in the past, we suffered greatly because of your actions. My captain most of all.” A shiver coursed through him as he recalled his hatred of Archangel Jibriil.

“Captain Satou is one of the most formidable warriors I’ve worked with in my career. You are lucky to be one of her soldiers. And I am lucky to have her on our side.”

Taki nodded and turned his toes inward. “Do you believe in fate?”

Aslatiel shook his head. “We make our own destiny, within certain limits.”

“I agree, but I also disagree. How would I have ever ended up here other than through some great design that I can’t even fathom?”

“Keep in mind that I’ve never claimed to have all the answers to those questions. Just because I don’t believe in a guiding hand that controls our destiny doesn’t mean I’m right.”

“May I speak frankly?”

“Always.”

Taki felt his cheeks redden and his heart quicken to meet Aslatiel’s gaze. “Part of the reason I believe in fate is that—I couldn’t have ever imagined myself saying this—I like serving with you. Now that I’ve seen what you fight against, perhaps the Way is something worth defending. I’ve never felt proud of my nation until now.” Taki paused and shook his head. “Then again, your nation really isn’t
my
nation, is it?”

Aslatiel placed his hands on Taki’s shoulders. “Wrong. You followed the Way long before you even knew it, and when asked to uphold our principles, you did so willingly. That means you are a true citizen of the Imperium, and I’m pleased to have you, and even your companions, as its defenders.”

Taki felt a strangely pleasant heaviness in his chest.
He always knows what to say at the right moment. Dassa was right: he really is a gigolo.

“Of course, while you are very perceptive, Natalis, I am as well,” Aslatiel said. “I’ve noticed that Shpejtspate harbors some affection for you.”

“Did—did she go around spreading rumors?” Taki said indignantly.

“She comports herself better than that. But it’s quite obvious when she pines. I haven’t intervened because nothing has happened yet. However, keep in mind the fact that you are a junior officer and she is merely a kadet. Such an imbalance in rank makes for an exploitative relationship.”

“I’m not exploiting her,” Taki grumbled. “Besides, I wish she’d lay off me. I’m not even sure I really like her in that way.”

Aslatiel chuckled. “I know you mean no harm, and I know you haven’t inflicted any. It’s just that you’re both very young. Though we may compel you to fight and kill, we also want you to lead fulfilling lives, as hypocritical as it may be. You don’t have to grow up too quickly.”

“With all due respect, how old are
you,
sir?” Taki pouted.
Gigolo, my ass!

“Twenty.”

“I’m seventeen, you know.”

“And cute as a button.” Aslatiel walked away and left Taki fuming.

A fortnight later, cabin fever had dampened everyone’s spirits. Taki had taken to spending long hours on the top deck practicing his swordsmanship, which he had come to realize was lacking. If his track record from before wasn’t proof enough, having Aslatiel as his opponent was.

“Argh!” Taki grunted in pain as the kriegsmesser scored a hit on the meat of his shoulder. A blotch of crimson stained his padded jerkin. Aslatiel had volunteered to teach both him and Enilna the finer points of blade combat, and Taki soon found that his teacher had no compunctions about cutting flesh to teach a lesson. The wounds were all superficial but stung fiercely, and the itching from his scabs added to the torment.

“Focus on me, not my blade,” Aslatiel said. “You tripped up and got lost in the footwork, and you didn’t see my hips telegraph the strike.”

“Sorry, master,” Taki said.

“No apologies. This is to aid your own survival. Again.”

Aslatiel drew back into a low
posta coda
. They had been at each other for a full hour by now, but Taki’s desire to score even one hit overpowered his urge to rest. This time, he approached head on but feinted first, as if he were trying a wide slash. Midway, he drew back against the expected counterstrike and pirouetted to close the gap and try to nick his teacher’s thigh. Aslatiel twisted aside and smashed his fist into Taki’s solar plexus. Taki collapsed, sputtering for air.

“You…you didn’t say we could use fists.”

“I did not. You must be ready to use every weapon at your disposal, including your bare hands. Still, the fact that I was forced to use mine means that you are doing better.” Aslatiel offered his hand. Taki took it, considered trying a throw, and decided not to. He was tired and did not want to turn a small victory into a major defeat. Despite overwhelming soreness, he smiled at the compliment.

“Natalis, take a break. Shpejtspate, your turn,” Aslatiel said.

Breathing heavily, Taki reclined against the deck railing and watched Enilna spar. For a mere kadet, she was surprisingly adept at swordplay, more so than he. This only meant that Aslatiel could lay her out in six seconds as opposed to three.
How did I ever survive the likes of him,
he wondered. Enilna’s rapier clattered to the deck, and she raised her hands to yield.