by Choi, Bryan
“Remember, you and I serve the padishah,” he cautioned her.
“Only because I like you very much, dear brother,” she replied, rolling the curling edge of her towel between thumb and forefinger like one would handle a round of milligrad.
It was Aslatiel’s turn to avert his reddening face from his sister’s inquisitive gaze. “Are you looking forward to our new mission?” he asked, bringing her back to more mundane matters.
“Of course! We’ve waited for a very, very long time to see Irulan again.”
Aslatiel nodded. “Our efforts will hasten the end of the Dominion.”
Lucatiel rolled her eyes. “I thought you’d be more excited to see your woman again.”
“We haven't been together since our time at the bihara. Surely she’s moved on by now. Perhaps forgotten me.”
“I’ll wager my pistols that she hasn’t.” Lucatiel’s palm came to rest on his knuckles and her fingers curled their way in between his.
For a moment, Aslatiel savored the sensation, but quickly moved his hand away. “What’s important now is the war. Go back to your quarters and get dressed, sister. I must meditate. I must be stronger.”
Days later, they had arrived in Pristina, the Duchy capital, and deep behind enemy lines. Aslatiel finished his mug of mint tea cut with teeth-shattering amounts of sugar, and gazed casually at his surroundings to make sure they were not being eavesdropped on. Around him, Pristina bourgeoisie went about their business of eating, cutting deals, and planning their days. Most of the men and some of the women puffed on clay pipes packed thick with resin-flavored tobacco leaves, permeating the streets and alleyways with sweet-smelling smoke.
Spirits were high in town, at least among the Khazari. Though fall was approaching, the harvest had been decent, and the worst of the seasonal plagues had already moved on. Dyscrasias, fluxes, and distempers claimed a certain number of lives every year and maimed forever many more. The dead were buried and the living endured these trials that they believed were sent from on high to test their faith. When the specter of disease began to wane, it was time for celebration.
Aslatiel, like other spetsnaz, was party to the forgotten knowledge that miasmas and fevers were not in fact the will of the Lord, but rather a result of infestations by creatures too small to be seen by the naked eye. Bathing regularly, washing one’s clothes, and rinsing the hands after defecating were all ways to avoid coming into contact with these creatures. In his troop, hygiene was taken one step further in that they were not allowed to drink water, but only hot or cold tea like Ba’gshnar did. Gutrot was thus unheard of in Alfa Gruppe, and the practice had since spread to other units in the padishah’s service.
Aslatiel glanced at his men, or rather, two women and another man. His squad, he thought to himself with a swell of pride. Only in the Imperium would such disparate individuals be brought together so willingly and with such dedication. Elsa, a woman from Gujrat, should have been mortal enemies with Mikhail, a Mohammedan from the Caliphate. And the von Halcons should have been enemies with both. Not under the padishah, however. The king of kings had united the broken peoples of the old world and given them singular purpose under the guidance of The Way. Here, in this blighted, corrupt place, Alfa would make a difference and bring light to the wastes.
After a final check with his enhanced senses to make sure that no one was spying, Aslatiel spoke to his squad in a lowered voice. “It took a while, but the papers we passed on to the resistance have been vetted and we can finally meet their organizer.”
“You mean Irulan, don’t you?” Lucatiel asked.
Aslatiel nodded.
“I hate having to wait to see her,” Lucatiel said. “It’s irksome that we had to go through such a long process with the locals to even meet with her. A paranoid bunch, they are.”
“This region is now considered highly probable for auto-annexation,” Aslatiel replied. “The majority of the population is Arben and Szerbek while the Dominion-backed ruling minority is Khazari, and their leader, the Duke Gul, is a notorious enemy of ours. The brutality he practiced in his original lands is magnified tenfold on his current subjects. The majority, if given the chance, will likely want to join the Imperium, which will destabilize the Dominion and likely set off a chain reaction of similar defections.”
“But, dear brother, that still doesn’t answer what we’re supposed to accomplish here.”
“I suppose that’s up to Irulan.” He shrugged. “Ah, there’s our contact,” he said, turning his head to someone approaching the table behind him a tawny-faced older Arben clad in a simple linen caftan. Deeply tanned and rutted skin and a lean but powerful figure told them that he was probably a farmer. His eyes told them he likely knew how to handle a weapon as well.
“Mirëdita, honored guests,” the farmer said. “I am to take you to Suren’s daughter.”
“Ni hao,” nodded Aslatiel. “I trust you remember the terms of our agreement?”
The old man nodded.
“Then we place ourselves in your care.”
“In ten minutes, meet me at the stables. We have a wagon prepared for you.”
Aslatiel’s pupils constricted with the sudden influx of light as his blindfold was removed. After the initial discomfort, he took in his surroundings with veiled interest. As promised, Lucatiel, Elsa, and Mikhail stood nearby and appeared unhurt. They were underground, he could tell by the musky and mossy smell. Whatever structure they were in had probably either been a wine cellar, as evidenced by the wooden shelves lining the walls, some of which still had long-empty bottles placed on their racks. Around the Alfa were Arben and Szerbek rebels with stolen straight-pull kalash rifles in their hands, staring at the newcomers with trepidation, but not being impolite as to muzzle-sweep them.
“Aslatiel! Is it really you?” asked an excited female voice as someone squeezed through the ring of armed guards to face the group. “It is you! You finally came!” Irulan said. Of medium height and build, her most memorable features were dirty golden hair and heavily-lidded eyes that gave her a look of childish innocence.
“Fahnrich Surenovna,” Aslatiel replied, a bit stiffly. “Alfa Gruppe stands ready to render assistance.”
“I accept your offer on behalf of the Resistance,” she said with a bow. “You came just in time, too. There’s been another massacre and even the sideline villages are starting to come around.”
“Can you start by giving us a briefing on the military strength of your group?”
Irulan waggled a finger. “I’ll be sure to bring you all up to speed, but first, the custom here is to share a meal. It makes you guests and thus grants protection. It just so happens you’re in time for supper, too.”
As promised, Alfa Gruppe supped well that night. Steaming plates of lamb hot from the tagine shared table space with bowls of lentils and greens, minced cabbages with beets, and a copious amount of scented rice. The air was sweet with tobacco, and an ancient record player scratchily piped frenetic notes into smoky currents. Aslatiel, however, spent the majority of the time not eating, but exchanging pleasantries with the rebel leaders who’d been convinced to pledge their loyalty to the padishah once the duke was no more. Irulan was an operative from Vympel Gruppe, which excelled at fomenting local insurgencies for the benefit of the Imperium, and enjoyed a far more insidious reach than Aslatiel’s Alfa ever could. She’d been hard at work in Kosovo, he could see.
When he’d gotten past the formalities, Aslatiel excused himself from the dinner. He was a fighter, not a diplomat. He also ached to see Irulan in private, which he hadn’t done since their last days at the bihara under Ba’gshnar. She intercepted his silent signal to rendezvous and also departed the feasthall.
“I would like you to fight alongside me once more,” Aslatiel said once they were alone.
“I was afraid you’d never ask,” Irulan said, and slid fiercely into his embrace. “The duke’s hired from the Cloud Temple. ‘Tirefire the Lesser’ is the company name.”
&nb
sp; Aslatiel’s eyes narrowed at the mention. “We’ve had dealings before. I can assure you, they will not be an impediment this time. Are your preparations ready? For the parade?”
“Yes, my darling. We’re going to start a revolution.”
8
Taki moved without thought, his only impulse being Lotte’s hand clamped around his wrist as she tugged at him. He bowed his head and focused his vision on nothing. He was too nauseous to vomit, and too breathless to pass out. The squad had ridden back from the village in silence, and had entered the barracks with nary a word to each other. It quickly became apparent that Hadassah and Draco had violated their orders and followed from a distance, and they too had witnessed the events in the woods. Lotte had chosen not to discipline them, at least not harshly enough to leave visible marks. Taki, however, was a different case.
“Sit,” Lotte commanded, and pointed to a nearby wooden bench in front of a grease-stained table. She had dragged him to a now-deserted mess hall in their barracks. The Hekmatyar legionnaires were elsewhere celebrating their victory with gunfire and spirits. More than one of them would likely die of falling bullets or old vendettas that flared up with the aid of vodka and knives. In the distance, Taki could already hear faint popping sounds and cheers.
“Captain-”
“No. I talk, you listen,” Lotte said. “But first, drink. You’re wired to shit and I need you to remember what happens from now on.”
She set a pair of tumblers on the table, sloshed yellow-hazed rotgut into both, and sat down. Without waiting for Taki, she took one of the tumblers and downed it. She poured another measure in and also downed that. She looked at Taki expectantly. With shaky hands, he clutched his glass and deposited its contents into his stomach.
The astringent burn shook Taki out of his hazy stupor. Now he remembered another tip the instructors had taught him. In combat, it always paid to take a swig from one’s canteen. He had given the words little thought, but now he noticed his heart slowing and his thoughts coming back to a semblance of clarity.
“What you did was stupid and could have gotten everyone killed,” Lotte said, to which Taki nodded, glumly. She sighed. “I’m not saying I’m better than you. What I did when we first met the duke was also incredibly dumb. I shouldn’t have drawn my blade, even if I wasn’t going to actually swing it. You and I both have a problem controlling our impulses. But I’ve learned, though incompletely, to keep them in check. If you can’t master that skill, you’ll die quick.”
“I’m sorry.” Taki looked into the bottom of his glass, unable to meet her eyes. “I’ll accept any discipline you see fit to give me.”
“Attacking a friendly officer means death.”
“Then give me death.”
Lotte reached out and slapped him across the unwounded side of his face. “Look at me.”
Taki raised his head and tried to stare at the space between the top of her mouth and the bottom of her nose. In response, Lotte slipped a finger under his chin to bring his gaze to meet hers.
“I like you, Natalis,” she said. “So does Emreis and even Mikkelsen. You’re uptight and kind of a suckup, but you’ve got a soft heart like any decent human being. You really want to serve a righteous cause and be rewarded justly for it. You also really want to ditch us and get into a good unit.”
Taki nodded, sheepishly.
Lotte smirked. “Don’t worry, I take no offense. I’m a captain in command of a whole two corporals and a foul-mouthed lance. Meanwhile, Pantheon has a hundred and twenty of the deadliest fighters in the Dominion. Ours isn’t a real company. It’s the Temple’s midden, where all of the unwanted people go to disappear. You shouldn’t have ended up here. You were duped by the major, and I can’t say why. She’s always been inscrutable.”
“It wasn’t because I can write?”
Lotte chuckled. “Let me tell you something. That woman regards us as little more than smelly, hairy savages. She once told me that she could smell my cleft from thirty meters away and that I was forbidden to raise my arms in her presence lest I cause her to retch. Our only good attribute is our predisposition to kill with great brutality, and that amuses and benefits her. She doesn’t care if you can write. It’s all a joke to her.”
Taki frowned, not so much from the major’s purported view of the Argead race, but from what she had said to Lotte. “Captain, why are you so loyal to that horrible major, then? Why, when she’s so godrotting cruel and…”
“I won’t have you defame her, Natalis, and it’s not just because of the Code.”
Taki bit his tongue. “Beg pardon, Captain.”
“She owns my life,” Lotte said. “Mind you, I didn’t say she saved my life. She owns it.”
“I don’t follow.”
Lotte sighed. “A while ago, I commanded a much larger regiment. Guilty Throne, we were called. A stupid name, as the major would say.”
“What happened?” Taki asked. He brought the edge of a thumb to his mouth and started to nibble.
“I killed them all.”
“How? I don’t...”
“It was before the armistice with the Ursalans. I led a hundred and fifty souls—my company—to take out the border fortress guarding the Sankt Gotthard pass. Locals call it the Teufelsbrücke. It was strangling our trade with the Cantons. Or maybe it was executing too many Argead citizens trying to cross. I forget exactly why it was so rotting important. I thought we could assault it from the front and overwhelm them with our strength. The Ursalans tore us apart. I’d like to tell myself it was because of an informant in our ranks, or because they had ancient Teutonic weaponry but the bottom line is that I was arrogant and didn’t listen to wiser counsel.
“Everyone died horribly except for me, my major Enishi, and a lance corporal Sion. We were gravely wounded and then captured. The castellan wanted to send two of us back to the Cloud Temple to tell the exarch what had happened. If there was just one, they could question the truth of what happened, but with two, they’d believe us. But there were three of us, so one had to die.” She took another swig of vodka.
Taki winced, both from her words and the fact that his cuticle now bled freely. “Captain, you don’t have to…”
“He made me pick. It couldn’t be me. Said he didn’t have all day and that if I didn’t choose he’d just throw us all from the peak. Enishi looked at me with those clear blue eyes of his and said if I didn’t spare Sion then he’d never forgive me. I chose. I chose wrong.”
“I’m sorry.”
“For what? You didn’t throw their lives away.”
Taki could only nod, stricken.
“After I returned, I tried to rejoin my unit. Mezeta invaded my chambers, called me a coward, and started to beat me with a cat-o-nine, so I had no choice but to duel her right then and there. Sometimes I think I only lost because I’d already damned near bled out before the fight even started. In the end, she forced me into debtorship.”
Taki grit his teeth. “That’s horrid! Dishonorable to the extreme!” And so like the godrotting major!
Lotte laughed and squeezed his forearm with her hand. “You remind me of a cornet I once had. She was about your age and knew her figures like none other. She most wanted everyone to get along and be happy, and was a total pain about keeping us from overspending. Once, I ordered her to authorize us some extra grog, and she refused right to my face. The girl had some nerve, but she stuck to her principles, whereas I was dissolute and intemperate. Now, she’s a paragon of success. So I don’t blame you at all for wanting to move on with your life. I’m a broken-down disgrace, and I deserve everything I get. But you still have potential. I’ll help you develop it, but you have to grow up, first.”
“How can I do that?”
“Come with me,” Lotte said, and rose from the table. She set her glass down and extended a hand. “I’ll show you what a real Hero looks like.”
When he was sober and not surrounded by armed men, Gul Hekmatyar seemed almost warm. Strangely devoid of pret
ense and that overbearing bravado that he had greeted them with on their arrival. Taki and Lotte found him with his wife, a kindly-looking woman, and his two daughters of ten and eleven. They seemed well-fed, well-dressed, and well-adjusted. Lotte knelt before him and Taki did the same. “I’ll do the talking,” she had told him beforehand.
“Captain, to what do I owe the pleasure of a sudden visit?” Gul asked gaily. Casually, he waved a hand and two of his guardsmen nodded before herding the wife and children away.
“Milord, are you aware that your men carried out a massacre of unarmed innocents from the village of New Petrovic?” Lotte asked him, skipping pretense and greeting. Gul seemed to ignore her for a few seconds to peer down at the indoor garden in one of the palace courtyards. His wife now played with the children below.
“My daughters are named Alexia and Marija,” he said, smiling broadly at their tiny forms below. “My fondest dream is to make them a world in which they do not have to worry about the things that I had to worry about all my life. Starving to death, fighting for your life, being a slave, getting eaten by the mutated things out there. I want them to live never having had to fire a gun to kill someone. Never having had to feel hunger or cold of their own blood coming out of a wound.”
“An admirable goal, milord, but that does not answer my question.”
“But it does. Because the only way I am going to accomplish this dream of mine, for my daughters, is to give them a better world than the one I was born into. A world without criminals or strife, where everyone knows their place and is happy for it. A Khazari world.”
“You stand to dishonor your good name, milord. Your peers may punish sedition, but they do not murder.”
“We are cleansing the region of filth and mutation. It is slow-going, because like vermin, the subhumans are constantly breeding and spreading. I can tolerate them for a while when they obey their masters, but otherwise I gladly put them to the sword. One day I will be able to exterminate the plague of inferior beings once and for all.”