by Choi, Bryan
“Maybe our ancestors did go out of control at one point, but it doesn’t mean we’re at fault. That’s why I don’t give to those damned beggars.”
“You don’t?” Taki crossed himself, aghast.
“Of course not!” Draco crossed his arms and laughed. “They’re all fakers, anyway. They spend your 'grad in the cathouses.”
“That’s heresy.”
“No, that’s just Emmy being jealous,” Hadassah said. “The real problem is that the priests all claim they’re praying for the restoration of the old world, but look around you. All that’s survived is rubbish, plastic, and crumbly ruins that smell like rotten eggs. For every good relic there’s a whole mountain of shit. Was that really all the golden age was? If that’s the case, I don’t want it back. I’d rather live my life in the now.”
“As long as you only fight easy enemies and have unlimited time to loot the dead,” Draco said.
Hadassah flared her nostrils. “You think this is a game?”
“Alright, enough bitching! You three, fall in!” Lotte ordered.
“Captain, how’re your wounds in this rain?” Draco asked.
“A bit sore, but I’ve had worse. I’m angrier about what the blue-eyed girl did to my shield and armor.”
“The look on her face was priceless when we stormed the place. I’ve never had a woman look at me with such malice. She was poetry come to life! ‘All that’s best of dark and bright met in her aspect and her eyes,’” he sighed, wistfully.
Lotte shook her head. “No, the bitch was just crazy. I hope we won’t be encountering her again.”
“Captain,” Taki began. He almost raised his hand but remembered not to. “Speaking of those Imperials, who was that old, asiatic man? He didn’t seem like the rest of them.”
“Oh yeah, that guy! The way he and the major talked to each other, you’d think they were a married couple,” Hadassah said with a snide chuckle.
“I can’t say, Natalis. I’ve never seen him before,” Lotte said.
“Mikkelsen, did you understand what they were saying?” Taki asked.
“Of course not,” Hadassah said. “But a lover’s spat sounds the same no matter the tongue.”
“You’ve never had a lover,” Draco said.
“I’ve also never gotten the pox, unlike a certain someone,” Hadassah sneered.
Syphilis? Taki grimaced. Draco didn’t seem quite so pretty anymore.
“That’s a…a nasty rumor,” Draco huffed. “I’ve never had the sores.”
Hadassah snickered. “They say it settles in your brain and drives you mad!”
“Enough!”
“Venereal disease aside, she has a point,” Taki said. “The old man and the major definitely know each other from before. They also had similar facial features, and spoke the same language.” He frowned, scratching his chin in thought. “Captain, you have the major’s ear. Have you asked her about what happened back there?”
Lotte shook her head.
“After we got back home, she went off to the capital with the exarch. I know nothing that the rest of you don’t. The best we can do right now is to concentrate on our mission.”
Taki nodded. Lotte had to know more than she was letting on, but he decided to drop that line of inquiry for now. Appearing too persistent would make him lose esteem. “We’re to meet up with this Duke Gul and help him quash rebellion, right?”
“Yes. We’re to aid him in driving out insurgents. Mainly Imperialists, I’m told.”
“Captain,” Draco began. “You have to wonder. Why are all the rebels trying to go over to the Osterbrands, anyway? The Ursalans also love to incite the rabble, and their lands are practically next door. So what are the Imperials offering that’s so enticing to your average peasant?”
“I know not, Emreis,” Lotte said. “But it’s better for you not to persist with that line of thought. Trying to understand the enemy is an easy trap to fall prey to. They’ll entice you with sweet lies and then slaughter you when you’re drunk on their poppycock. But you will always find the truth in war and blood. Split someone open and you will see her true character: the shit in her guts and the pus in her womb.”
“Aye, Captain,” Draco said.
Taki swallowed in awe. Lotte hadn’t simply been performing for Hecaton, earlier. His captain was an unyielding warrior and a born killer, and he very much wanted to be like her in that moment.
Lotte continued. “Also, we’re to investigate the fate of one of our own. One of the Archangel Jibriil’s men, a certain lance corporal Gillette who disappeared recently. If he’s dead, we’re to recover his remains. If he’s alive, he’s going to have to explain why he hasn’t sent a single report to the Temple for months.”
“You don’t suppose he’s turned traitor?”
“It’s always a possibility. If that really is the case, we’re to execute him and await further instructions.”
“Ugh, if he’s dead, why can’t we just leave him for the crows?” Hadassah asked. “I don’t want to lug a body around. They always smell like poo and ooze juices on you.”
Taki wanted to ask her how she knew that, but decided against it. He had seen dead bodies being readied for final rites at the Temple, but had never touched one himself. There had been little time to remember the recent battle, and the three he had killed. When the enemy attacked, he had countered without needing to think, and this pleased him. The academy instructors always told scornful tales of new graduates who upon seeing an enemy for the first time froze with indecision and were struck down. He had avoided that disgrace, but now had blood on his hands. It was important to not feel guilty, though. If he started to imagine the men’s faces in an idle moment, he simply repeated to himself what the instructors had taught him: They died gladly for their masters. You will one day do the same. For now, it worked. Still, the thought of hauling a corpse across hundreds of kilometers…
“Even in death, we’re still the exarch’s property,” Lotte replied. “You wouldn’t just leave a brass casing out on the field after battle, right? That’s valuable stuff—it can be melted down or reloaded.”
“But we all just get cremated anyway,” Hadassah said.
“That’s just because there’s no space for a graveyard. But more importantly, it’s so that the impurities in our flesh aren’t used for evil purposes. There are creatures out there that’ll mutate into even more dangerous forms if they consume one of us. Plus, well, the Ursalans.”
“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 count
ered. “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 thr
oat 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.