by Choi, Bryan
“I really wasn’t. How about you, Shastirch? Will you continue to be the padishah’s dogsbody until senility?”
“I like to be on the winning side. And I have no intention of staying as a dogsbody.”
“Hah! Now, that’s the man I once knew. So when are you planning to assassinate your master?”
Chronicler shrugged. “I wasn’t. I find him fascinating. He’s certainly charismatic, as far as centuries-old demons go. He was actually around during the Fall, you know. Now he feels like it’s his responsibility to lift mankind from the ashes. Through conquest, of course.”
“Come, Chronicler, you’re not saying you believe in his cause? World domination? How trite.”
“It’s not trite when he has the power to actually achieve his goal.” Chronicler’s eyes flitted from side to side. “He’s set his sights on the Ring, and I intend to help him take it. Against his armies, even a thousand twice born don’t stand a chance. And again, I want to be on the winning side.”
Hecaton glowered. “What did he promise you in exchange for betraying our home?”
Chronicler shook his head. “I want to save it. I will rule in his stead there and make sure that what happened to us never happens to others.”
“So, a dogsbody to the end.”
“Call it what you want. I’ll ask you one final time, Sirin. Will you join me and bring order to the Ring?”
Hecaton turned away. “No. You embark on a fool’s journey. Try not to die on the way.”
“The same to you, my dear. I advise you not to get in my way.”
With that, Chronicler leapt off the top of the steeple and was gone.
2
Nestled in the foothills at the base of the Cloud Temple, the town of Sasori stood between the road up the mountainside and the old Egnatia Odos highway. Dead during the day, it revived at night for the arrival of younger Polaris eager to spend precious liberty exchanging cartridges for whores and liquor. The exarch tolerated the town’s presence because relieving frustration kept the peace in his domain, and the villagers profited from the influx of milligrad while being protected from booze-induced destruction, thanks to the watchful eyes of the Black Cross.
Taki sipped at his tankard of beer and let out a satisfying, sour belch. Since the first time he’d gotten smashed on rotgut in the Duchy of Kosovo, he had grown more tolerant of alcohol. Now, he even enjoyed the taste of certain ales, though he still could not comprehend the appeal of wine other than as a cheap intoxicant. The louse-bitten hole he was currently drinking in was called the Dawnbringer. One of the larger swill houses in the village, it offered filling fare and nightly music. Drinking was also a great way to forget what had happened in Athenaeum. It had been a day since their return, but nothing seemed to have changed. At first, he’d thought of asking Lotte for advice but had quickly quashed the idea.
“Good showing, Natalis! I can smell you from here.” Draco chortled as he fanned the air in front of his face. He reached into a wooden bowl and tore a piece of black bread away from a communal loaf before dipping it into a mash of chickpeas and sorghum.
“Just keep it coming,” Taki grunted, and helped himself to a dollop of the sour dip. A wealth of food and drink was set before him on their spindle table. Normally, he would’ve been aghast at pissing away all of the squad’s funds at the taverna, but considering the danger that loomed around every corner, he simply didn’t care anymore. He was on his fourth tankard. Or was it the seventh? He’d lost count. Twanging chords from the zither-and-fiddle duo playing nearby drowned out any nascent misgivings.
“Hey, if the purser’s not complaining, then we must be doing something right,” Lotte said. Like Taki, she’d also drained more than her fair share of tankards. She grabbed a full one and raised it. “A toast, you minions!”
Taki raised his pint. “Er, to what?”
“To Tirefire the Lesser! May the glorious name of our squad e’er be—”
“Consecrated in shame!” Draco said, and drained his mug.
“Show some pride, damn you,” Lotte said. “We’re just as good as the other companies. Even though we, like, lost a castle and let a duke get killed and got our arses kicked by…”
“Heathen scum,” Draco said with a laugh.
Lotte waved a sausage to Karma and Hadassah, who were in the process of furiously making out. “Hey! No fucking in public, you two.”
Hadassah flashed a fig in response and drained her beer before returning her attention to petting.
“I hate couples,” Draco said. “Happy people in love should just die.”
“Sinners.” Lotte ripped a chunk of sausage away with her teeth.
Draco grinned. “Say, I’ve got an idea, Captain. Why don’t the rest of us poor saps all hit a cathouse?”
Taki raised an eyebrow. “You mean, hire a…”
“Good idea, Emreis,” Lotte said. “I’m lonely enough to bang either of you at this point, and that’s a problem.”
“A true emergency!” Draco howled. “Off we go, then. I’m gonna choose me a wench who looks like Hundred-Arms Mezeta!”
Taki’s cheeks reddened, and he turned away so Lotte couldn’t see him. He still hadn’t forgotten what it felt like to be kissed by her. He’d become awkward in her presence since that time but hadn’t found the gumption to talk about it with her. But if she was lonely, and they were both drunk enough, perhaps there was no better moment.
And if I’m to meet my end soon, I might as well. For all the good it’ll do. He reached for her. “Captain, a word?”
Before he could speak further, someone checked him from behind, and the contents of his tankard sloshed in his lap. His bolted from his stool and frantically tried to wipe the sodden mess from his leggings. Beer worked its way through the seams in the leather and chilled his manhood.
To have his clothing fouled was irksome, and for it to happen in front of his squad was embarrassing, if ultimately inconsequential. But to have it happen in front of Lotte burned in a way he hadn’t predicted. To make matters worse, she laughed merrily along with Draco and the others. Taki whirled to face the cause of this disaster.
A burly man with a lieutenant’s chain chuckled and started to walk away.
“Hey!” Taki said. “Apologize, you lout!”
The lieutenant turned and gave Taki a snort. “Shouldn’t have been in my way.”
“Lowly cur. I said apologize!” Taki grasped at the man’s shoulder, only to be swatted off.
“You ready to back that up with steel?”
“I can do better,” Taki said. Prana tingled at his fingertips. Yes, this isn’t the Temple. I can blast him.
“Wait, I’ve seen you,” the lieutenant said. “In Athenaeum. You were the old basil’s catamite!”
“I wasn’t a catamite!”
“What else could you have been? Certainly not a guard. Niketas loved boys, though.”
“You bastard, I did nothing of the sort.” Taki’s face burned, and he clenched a fist. He needed to cow the arrogant ass in front of him, even if something rational within begged him not to. “In fact, I’m the one who killed him!”
Lotte’s hand clamped over Taki’s mouth. “That’s enough!”
A small crowd had watched the argument out of prurient interest but resumed their conversations without missing a beat. The lieutenant shook his head and left to mingle.
Lotte eased her hand away. “How besotted are you?”
“S-sorry, Captain. I had too much,” Taki said. He shook and tried to take a seat.
“Heaven defend our asses,” Draco said, and grabbed Taki by an ear. “Hold your liquor, man!”
“Quiet, Emreis,” Lotte said. She looked furtively around. “How many people heard?”
“You actually worried, Captain? No one would ever believe Natalis to be a regicide. I mean, he’s not, right?”
Lotte peered at the crowd once more. “If that lieutenant really saw him in the capital, there could be trouble. We should leave.”
&nb
sp; “Then, to a house of ill repute?”
“Aye, wherever. Just get us out of here.”
Before they could rise from their seats again, a nearby door opened, and three cloaked figures glided in and took their hoods off. Taki’s bleary eyes opened wide in recognition at the man and especially the two women; his throat constricted, and his chest felt crushed in a vise. “Tirefire the Lesser, you are all a sodden mess,” the man said, and crossed his arms.
Taki fought the urge to shit down his leggings at the sight of Aslatiel von Halcon, the Oberleutnant commander of Alfa Gruppe. Out of the millions of Imperial soldiers that made up the eastern hordes, Alfa were the most feared, respected, and hated. Their officers’ faces were known throughout enemy lands, and each carried a sizeable bounty on his or her head. Any companies that had dared engagements with Alfa had all met grisly ends, save for Taki and his companions.
To Aslatiel’s right was a sapphire-eyed, raven-haired beauty with a slasher smile. Even more feared than her brother, Lucatiel von Halcon had once reduced a hundred fully-armored chevaliers to oozing mincemeat with little more than her bare hands. Known from that encounter as the “Prince of Maladies,” Lucatiel’s odd title chilled the bones of veterans and fresh conscripts alike.
On Aslatiel’s left was a blond woman Taki identified as Irulan Surenovna, Alfa’s commissar and the Imperial padishah’s eyes and ears on the front lines. With the authority to land even Aslatiel in the gulag for the slightest hint of sedition, she was possibly the most dangerous of the three. Taki also remembered that she was an excellent shot, to boot.
The tavern went silent for a moment and then exploded into whispers and pointing.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake!” Draco said. He pinched himself before whispering in Taki’s ear: “Bad news. It isn’t a dream.”
“Imperial pigfuckers!” someone in the crowd bellowed. “Get the hell out of here!”
Aslatiel ignored the jeers and bowed to Taki. “We meet again, Taki Natalis.”
Taki grimaced and tried to make himself smaller. It was awkward enough to be approached by Imperials in a tavern full of drunken, restive Polaris sore from losing a war. But it was another matter entirely to have an enemy commander greet him personally in front of the same resentful crowd.
“Why do those bastards know shitty Tirefire?” another Polaris shouted.
Aslatiel put up a warning finger. “Our nations have signed an accord of cooperation and cease-fire. We are not your enemy. We’re from the Imperium, and we’re here to help.”
Taki scanned the tavern. Many had now armed themselves with bottles, tankards, and knives. The wave of mounting anger was almost palpable. They had lost friends during the war. Vengeance was a right, treaties be damned. He returned his attention to the three Spetsnaz at the center. Aslatiel seemed unconcerned, but the two women behind him tensed for action. Go away, dammit, he thought at Aslatiel.
“Hey,” the burly lieutenant from earlier said. He stared at Taki. “Didn’t you say you killed the basileus?”
Taki’s stomach turned. “I merely jested—”
“And now your Imperial masters are here to take you away! I didn’t believe it, but God damn. You’re a traitor! You’re a regicide! Everyone, to arm—”
Lotte’s fist crashed into the lieutenant’s jaw and bowled the man over, but it was too late to stop the rallying cry from sounding. As if a hive of angry bees had dropped from on high, the Dawnbringer erupted into chaos.
Taki was rushed by two cornets and thrown across the table, knocking a heap of sausages and bread to the floor. Made slick by spilled beer and grease, he slid easily off the edge and crashed to the ground. A boot stomped on his midsection and turned the world into a blurry mess. He curled into a ball until the cornets were distracted by a thrown bench, and then he crawled his way through a tangle of snarled furniture and legs.
When he’d regained his wind, he sprang to his feet despite his throbbing belly. A chair smashed against his back, but the wood was rotted and it snapped without knocking him over. Taki wheeled on his attacker and smashed his fist into a scruffy face. The man stumbled back and was absorbed into the hateful melee within moments, earning Taki a moment of respite. He hopped on top of a grand table to try to locate his companions.
He saw Hadassah smash a stool into another woman’s shoulder and knee another in the groin. Despite her triumph, a glass sailed across the room and smashed into her head, dropping her out of sight. Nearby, Karma ducked to avoid the swing of a broken bottle and swept at the feet of a lance corporal to knock him down before being kicked in the back and bowled over. A sergeant groped at Lotte’s chest, and she pitched him out of a nearby window for his trouble.
With great cacophony, enforcers of the Black Cross stormed the tavern with shields and cudgels in hand. The brawlers forgot about the Imperials and each other and now fought the lawmen with relish.
A flailing man sailed through the air next to Taki, narrowly missing him. But someone was also trying to sneak up from behind him. There was no time for a sutra. He wheeled on the new adversary, aiming a solid kick at her midsection.
Lucatiel gave Taki a derisive snort as she caught his ankle in a joint lock and threw him to the wooden tabletop. His eyes widened as they met hers, and he yelped when he caught the unmistakable flash of steel in her hand. Shit! He tensed for death. With a dull thud, the fighting dagger sank almost to its hilt in the rough oak, right next to Taki’s ear.
“That’s for Pristina,” she hissed, and eased her knee off of his chest. Another Polaris tried to tackle her from behind, only to be unbalanced and thrown off the side like discarded bread crust.
Taki patted frantically at his head to make sure that she hadn’t simply driven the knife into his brain without his knowledge.
Lucatiel cuffed him across the cheek. “Stop flailing! Meet us in the alley nearby!”
“Why are you even here? Why are you people always trying to screw me?”
“Pissant! Do as I say, or I’ll cut your balls off!”
Not wishing to inflame her further, Taki took a running leap from the table top and careened out of one of the nearby windows into the darkness outside. An earlier shower had made the ground muddy, and he slipped up on the landing and thumped his rear on the dirt.
Taki groaned, rolled onto his belly, and pulled himself to his feet. The night had taken one bad turn after another. Nothing could ever be simple or go pleasantly, at least not while he remained in Tirefire the Lesser. Even his plans to go to the cathouse had failed in spectacular fashion.
But if I’m to die anyway…
Taki reached into the small sack on his belt and came up with a pair of brass Lugers. They were more than enough to buy him admission to the Kitten Pile, which Draco had always raved about. He didn’t need to listen to the insane Imperial woman. She was still an enemy, no matter what some treaty said. Furthermore, if the three Alfa hadn’t shown up, perhaps things would have recovered in the end. He wouldn’t have been outed in front of his fellow Polaris and might have ended the night correcting his most shameful character flaw. But now it had all turned to shit.
He couldn’t change much right now, except for one thing. For a moment, he considered the slim possibility that Draco and the others were being lined up against a wall and shot by Imperial infiltrators. Or being cudgeled to a crimson pulp by angry Black Cross thugs. The images made him almost want to seek his squad out.
Oh, fuck them!
If his time with his companions had taught him anything, it was that the four were like roaches who always found a means to survive—or even prosper—amid chaos. They would be fine without him for a night. Taki smoothed his tousled hair and tromped off in the direction of the Kitten Pile.
Later, he let out a quavering sigh and allowed himself to smile. The Triada Suite was the epitome of ostentatious luxury. He soaked in a cast-iron enameled tub large enough for four, with rose petals floating atop freshly boiled water scented with cardamom and citrus oil. Though he’d
been advised to wait for a spell before entering the bath, he’d disregarded the instructions and immediately immersed himself. As a result, his skin had flushed to the point where he resembled a boiled crayfish, but he minded not. After such a terrible night, he needed this.
His thoughts wandered to his companions. They were either dead in a ditch or piled on top of each other in a prison cart. Either way, they were freezing, wet, and smelly. Good, he thought spitefully, and took a swig of wine from a glass nearby. In just a few minutes, the woman he’d chosen would arrive. Then, he’d be able to stop obsessing over a stupid kiss that didn’t mean anything.
Taki heard the door unlatch. He smiled and kept his eyes closed while a pair of footsteps approached. There was no need to hurry things. Moments like this were meant to be savored. Someone sat nearby on the edge of the tub.
“Would you like to join me?” Taki purred.
In reply, a hand dipped into the water. Fingertips brushed over his chest and traced languid patterns across his skin. A woman—he could tell by a certain indescribable quality of her scent—leaned in close to his face, and her breath tickled his earlobe. Her hand wandered lower, down the center of his abdomen, ever closer to his sex.
Taki sighed with anticipation and slowly opened his eyes. It was time to behold the woman who’d make him a man.
Lucatiel grinned back at him. “What? Were you expecting some cute girl?”
Taki opened his mouth and let out a shrill scream.
Later, he hurriedly toweled the luxury-scented bathwater off while silently fuming and cursing his rotten luck. Under other circumstances, he might have thanked his creator for the fact that Lucatiel hadn’t turned him into a rosewater-scented corpse. But now there was only bile. His companions weren’t free from his ire, either. In fact, he suspected they’d encouraged the Prince of Maladies to drop in and terrorize him in the first place. He threw on his rank-smelling shirt and emerged from behind the partition into the suite.
His squadmates were busy wallowing in crapulence brought on by the wine and food he’d paid for in the room he’d paid for. Draco was even neck-deep in the tub while Hadassah sat on the edge and soaked her bare feet. Periodically, she applied a pumice stone to the rough spots on her heels. To Taki, they might as well have been in their barracks, save for the fact that the deadliest fighters in the Imperium were within arm’s length.
