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

by Choi, Bryan

  “You didn’t have much of a choice, either. I hope we find Mezeta.”

  “I have a feeling we’ll be on her trail soon,” Lotte said. “She’s the sort who relishes chaos, while the Imperials want conformity above all else. All we have to do is wait and listen.”

  “Captain, what if Sir Aslatiel doesn’t want to act against her? What will you do?”

  Lotte laughed. “You don’t know Hecaton like I do. The entire world will want her dead at some point. In the meantime, your job is to survive and learn. Remember what I said to you, and try to gain what enjoyment you can from all of this.”

  “I’m relieved, Captain,” Taki said.

  Lotte smiled and placed a hand on his shoulder. “You did well today. This is the closest we’ve been yet to finding the rebels.”

  “I should’ve anticipated that creature,” Taki protested. “It nearly got us all killed.”

  “You can’t anticipate everything that’ll go wrong in battle. The only thing you can do is adapt quickly and marshal your strengths.” She leaned in. “Also, you should learn how to take a compliment more gracefully.”

  Taki blushed.

  “Make sure you rest after you’re relieved. We’ll have to move quickly once the rebels figure out what happened. Hopefully, they won’t pull up roots and move on.”

  She left through another iron door, leaving Taki to his solitude. He breathed to calm himself and opened the door to the cellblock.

  The prisoners were housed in a large, communal cell with a latrine in one corner and a few lice-infested straw mats shoved against the walls. Most sat sullenly on the floor or lay on their sides, facing away from the bars. Torchlight on Taki’s end was the only source of illumination. A simple bench and long table, along with a rack of leather-wrapped cudgels, were the only furniture present. Though he expected jeering and cursing, Taki only found silence from the men. He sat on the bench facing the prisoners and already wished for Mikhail to relieve him.

  “Young master?”

  Taki started at the voice and instinctively reached for his saber. Silly. No one’s escaped. He scanned the cell and locked eyes with the man who had spoken. He looked to be either a Chung-Kuo or a Tatar, middle-aged but still fit, with a lean, lined face accented by a short goatee and waist-long hair in a ponytail.

  “I startled you. My apologies, young master,” the prisoner said.

  “Yes?” Taki chose his words cautiously.

  “If it is not an undue burden, may I ask for you to pass that bowl through the bars?” The prisoner pointed to where some yak butter tea sat unattended. The brew was cold and had separated, giving it a nasty look. “One of my companions suffers a fever and thirsts badly.”

  “I’ll call for some water,” Taki said. For some reason, he felt guilty at hearing the man’s words. “Or get some myself.”

  “My people prefer pocha, actually,” the man said with a smile. “I also do not wish to cause you anxiety over leaving your post. Your companions are resting, and the local guards are off drinking, so who will watch us? Just that tea will do. Tea is cleaner than water, after all.”

  Taki rose from his bench, took the bowl, and motioned for the man to step back. Satisfied that no one could grab him, Taki carefully placed the bowl on the prisoners’ side. The goateed prisoner bowed, waited for Taki to step back, and then took the bowl. The man knelt near a companion on one of the straw mats and carefully tipped the fluid into his mouth. The stricken prisoner shivered and coughed, but the tea seemed to calm his rigors.

  “My sincere thanks,” the goateed prisoner said, and placed the empty bowl on Taki’s side of the bars.

  “Not a problem,” Taki said.

  “You’re not from a spetsgruppa I’m familiar with.”

  Taki raised an eyebrow. “How do you know I’m one of them?”

  “I was a hauptmann in the army. The Alfa standard is well known among the troops. And if you were fighting alongside them, I assume you are also Spetsnaz. Am I correct?”

  Taki shrugged. There was probably naught to gain from lying, as the prisoner posed little threat behind the bars. “You are.”

  “You also have an Argead accent, young master. Are you of the Cloud Temple?”

  “How do you know of the Temple?”

  “I was among those sent to take eastern Ursala. We were prepared to fight your kind and take your holy site. From what I’ve heard, the Dominion has fallen already. You have my condolences.”

  “I don’t mourn for it much, despicable as that may be.”

  “All mourning must be earned. What’s your name, young master?”

  “Natalis.”

  “Are you a foundling?”

  “Yes, I am. How did you guess that?”

  “It was no guess. ‘Natalis’ means ‘a birth’ in many of the old tongues. A name often used for children with no parents.”

  “And what is your name?” Taki’s expression softened slightly.

  “Jamukha.”

  “Why did you turn to smuggling? A captain earns a decent wage.”

  “I grew disenchanted with the army.” Jamukha wiped at the corner of his mouth. “Well, that’s slightly unfair. To be more accurate, I grew weary of the Imperium itself.”

  “How?”

  “My people are born riders. We can burst the eye of a sparrow a hundred meters away with a carbine, while riding at full gallop, without killing the bird. For three thousand years, we lived on steppes as proud warriors, and even more so, as proud men. My father was a noyan of a minghan, or what you would call a captain of a hussar division. His men, who later swore loyalty to me, fought in countless battles from Pokhara to Gdansk, all for the glory of the padishah. And though we subjugated countless cities and crushed countless armies, we never once set foot in the lands of our births. I was actually born in Donetsk, and until I was a full-grown man had never set foot in my own homeland. But my father and his attendants always told me stories about this place and made sure to teach me the language and customs of my people. I grew up a warrior and rose in the ranks.”

  “I don’t understand,” Taki said. “It sounds like the Imperium was nothing but good to you and your family.”

  “It was, for a time. Eventually, my father died in battle. Only then was I allowed to return to my homeland for the burial. When I returned to Lhasa, however, I saw the wages of occupation. The place my father had promised me since my birth was disfigured beyond recognition. No longer were boys taught to ride and fight like their proud fathers were. No longer were we warriors of the steppes but, rather, docile, servile sheep.

  “The only remaining men were in my unit, with fewer and fewer boys joining every year. We were always told that there was simply less and less interest in our honorable life, and when I went back home, I saw why. Imperial schools had killed our culture, while we remnants of honor were sent out to die in the borderlands, fighting against our mirrors. We were always sequestered from our homeland, so we could not spread our ways back at home. This was a slow but sure way to eliminate us. Not just our bodies, but our memory.”

  Taki bowed his head. “I’m a foundling. My life wasn’t mine to begin with. So for me, things like honor and culture aren’t really important.”

  “Then what is important to you, young Natalis?” Jamukha crossed his arms.

  Taki remained silent. The door unbolted, and Mikhail stepped over the threshold.

  “You’re relieved.”

  “Try not to stay so malleable, young master,” Jamukha said with a bow and a smile. “It will take a greater sense of purpose to survive the fight to come. The Mandate of Heaven is named so for a reason.”

  “You misunderstand me,” Taki said. “I don’t care about traditions and ideals, but I do care about my companions.” He rose and left.

  Talking with Jamukha had stoked his appetite, and Taki thought about finding the kitchens to see if there was anything but repulsive tea to fill his belly. Trail rations of nut flour and suet were available, but they caused te
rrible binding in his guts.

  “You can have this,” Enilna said, as if reading his thoughts. She stepped out from an alcove in the wall and proffered half of a stuffed bun. It was cold, but the odor of the minced meat and scallion filling made his stomach growl. He started to take it but noticed the bite marks.

  “Are you seriously giving me this after you ate half of it?” Taki pouted.

  Enilna laughed. “If you don’t want it, I’ll finish it off. But you know, there’s only pocha otherwise. That or the nut bars.”

  Taki sighed. “No, I’ll eat it, but don’t expect me to praise you.” He bit into the bun and savored the gaminess of the meat.

  “It’s all right. Seeing you get grease on your face is good enough.” Enilna clasped her hands behind her back and swayed slightly. “So, I’ve got to ask, what’s our prisoner’s deal, anyway? ‘The Imperium is killing my culture!’ and stuff. That sounded dumb as hell!”

  “Hey!” Taki frowned and wiped his cheek with a sleeve. “Were you eavesdropping?”

  “What else?” Enilna blinked. “I can’t read thoughts like Ba’gshnar can.”

  “Weren’t you supposed to be on guard duty?”

  “I was. Aslatiel put me outside as backup in case you got overpowered in there.”

  “Now I’m insulted,” Taki said.

  Enilna frowned. “Why? Because I’m a girl?”

  “No, because apparently Sir Aslatiel thinks I can’t fend off a dozen men dying of their wounds.”

  “I’m sure he didn’t mean it like that. Besides, everyone else is at the interrogation, and there’d be no help if something unexpected were to happen. I hear the questioning is absolutely horrific, by the way.”

  “Spare me the details, please.”

  “If you insist.” She looked disappointed. “Besides, this is all the fruit of your labor. You should be more proud of yourself.”

  “It was really the others who did most of the work. I just thought of the basics.”

  “And don’t forget, I provided tea.”

  “I remember.” Taki brightened. “I appreciated the fact that you made us normal tea, not that oily stuff. Though I did kind of float out on a wave.”

  Enilna smiled. “I can’t stand yak butter, either. I want to go fight Ursalans so I can drink beer again.”

  “Aren’t you a little young for beer?”

  “I’m old enough to kill for the Padishah. The least that geezer can do is allow me to drink whatever booze I want. Besides, you’re not much older than I am.”

  “Fair enough. You’re Kosovar, right?”

  “I was. But fuck that place. I left and never looked back. I hear they still haven’t expelled the Khazari.”

  “I wasn’t there when you killed the Duke,” Taki said. “How did you do it?”

  “Maybe some other time,” Enilna said, looking aside. Taki blinked and decided to leave it at that. For all of her bravado, that still seemed a touchy subject. He poked her playfully in the arm.

  “So why were you listening in? Aren’t all soldiers supposed to learn how to shut their ears off?”

  Enilna shrugged. “I was bored. But you see, I’m glad I did it.”

  “Oh?”

  “Before you got that other guy tea, I expected you to make him beg or gloat over him. But you didn’t. It kind of made me feel funny inside. I realized you’re a nice person.”

  Taki blushed again. “I am not nice,” he grumbled.

  “M’qifsh karin!” Enilna rolled her eyes and laid a dramatic hand across her forehead. “Big Sis was right! You’ll stay a bachelor forever at this rate!”

  Taki reddened. “I’ll tell Lady Irulan you’ve been slacking off instead of keeping watch!”

  “Oh no you won’t!” Enilna whirled around to face Taki and planted a kiss on his lips.

  His eyes widened, his pulse throbbed in his ears, and he felt overcome with the urge to faint. Her lips were chapped but also intoxicatingly soft. She smelled of sweat, as he did, but for some reason her odor was pleasant, sweet.

  “Ew, gross,” Hadassah said as she emerged into the hallway.

  Enilna backed away with her face hidden. Taki lurched forward and stopped himself from falling.

  Hadassah stuck her tongue out. “I deign to come get you, only to catch Chomeo and Juliet live in theater!”

  Taki frowned. “Who or what the hell is ‘Chomeo’?”

  “It’s a por…a porm…a portmantle! A combination of ‘child molester’ and ‘Romeo.’ You know, the hero from that famous play by Elvis of Murricania,” Hadassah said, clearly reveling in the chance to show her newfound knowledge.

  “Has Emreis been feeding you blasphemy again?” Taki placed his hands on his hips. His heart still pounded against his skull despite his best effort to seem nonchalant.

  “I know better than to listen to that windbag. But Prince Lucatiel is actually quite the woman of letters. She introduced me to Romance of the Journey to the Western Kingdoms and the works of Confuseus. You could learn a lot from her, but you have to beat her in arm wrestling first. Took me a few tries, but it’s possible.” Hadassah flexed her right bicep into an unexpectedly large knot of muscle.

  “Wait,” Enilna said, with a quizzical look to the ceiling, “wasn’t Romeo and Juliet actually written by Bacon of Ursala?”

  “Hush, Chomeo,” Hadassah sneered.

  “Shouldn’t I be the male?” Taki objected.

  “As I was saying”—Hadassah cut him off—“we’re getting ready to ride. We got a prisoner to spill his guts, so we’re moving out quick.”

  “Where are the rebels?” Taki asked.

  “Some fortress I can’t say the name of without eating rocks at the same time. Just come along. Godrotting kids.”

  “Okay, old biddy,” Taki muttered.

  “Butt-boy.”

  “Poseur.”

  “Philistine.”

  Enilna rolled her eyes at them.

  With much jangling of irons, the shaking smuggler was led away by two of the local gaolers. Aslatiel had forbidden any locals from being within earshot of the interrogation, for fear of eavesdropping by spies and sympathizers. To smooth bruised egos, Aslatiel passed a round of milligrad to the master jailer and bowed.

  “For your men’s lunches,” he said. “You may let the magistrate proceed with charges.”

  “Much appreciated, Spetsnaz,” the master said.

  Taki ducked into the chamber as the man left.

  “Good,” Lotte said. “Everyone go use the jakes once last time if you need to. We’ll be riding all night back to Lhasa, and you can’t piss off the side of a horse without making a mess.”

  “Where’s the rebel base?” Taki asked.

  “Gyantse Dzong. The prisoner also says that’s where the students are being held. We need to get back to Lhasa and mobilize the army. Time for a good old siege!”

  Aslatiel tugged at the heels of his gloves. “We must make haste. Word of our battle will spread quickly, and the rebels will pull up roots the moment they hear the smugglers have been captured. Move out.”

  “Oh, Emreis,” Lucatiel said. She placed a hand on Draco’s shoulder just as he was about to step out. “I…I apologize.”

  Draco flinched. “You, er, what?”

  “Until now, I thought you to be delicate and lacking in conviction. A preening beauty unsuited to the rigors of war. But after witnessing your true brutality, you have my lasting respect.”

  “Oh!” Draco chuckled weakly. “I don’t know whether I should be mortified or scared or pleased.”

  “Pick the third one, moron,” Hadassah said.

  “Shush! I mean yes! Yes, I’m pleased! I accept your apology and such,” Draco said with a sweeping, awkward bow.

  “I expect great things from you in the future,” Lucatiel said with a smile before leaving to make ready.

  Taki’s jaw dropped slightly. “What the hell did he do to the man? Do I even want to know?”

  “I’ve interrogated a lot of peopl
e,” Elsa said, “but this was like nothing I ever saw before.”

  “He sat down in front of the man like this,” Hadassah said, miming a bow-legged seat on a stool. “He pulled a knife and just stared at the prisoner for a while. And then, he took a potato and just started silently peeling it. When he was done, he just started on another. Had the rest of us start a fire and find some cooking oil.”

  “And all this time, he does nothing but stare at the guy and peel,” Elsa said. “Not that I’m flirting with you or anything, but that gave me shivers, Emreis.”

  A frown crossed Mikhail’s features but dissolved quickly.

  Elsa continued: “About a half bell later, the prisoner broke down and told us everything. Where Mandate of Heaven is based. How many of them there are. Even that they were intending to use that manticore for a siege of the Potala.”

  Taki shook his head. “I still don’t understand, but I guess I missed out on something. What’ll happen to those men now?”

  “Smuggling carries a five-year sentence,” Elsa said. “Knowingly aiding rebels and foreign aggressors can get you ten. You can reduce your sentence if you agree to join a liberation army or row for the navy. It’s a rough life, either way, but fair, considering what they’ve done.”

  “So what gets you splattered?” Hadassah asked.

  “The usual. Rebellion, rape, desertion, various murders. It’s all done with one rifle shot to the head and another to the heart. The first padishah outlawed all other methods. I hear you Argeads did things like having horses tears limbs off and boiling in oil. Totally medieval.”

  “But don’t some crimes deserve a bit more suffering than that?” Hadassah frowned. “If someone killed my child, I’d want him to roast in his own juices. Then I’d eat him, because nothing says ‘fuck you’ like eating your enemy.”

  “But who decides what deserves certain punishments? Besides, all that gory stuff makes you crazy to look at overlong.”

  “Perhaps they should just make you padishah, Dassa,” Karma quipped. Hadassah nodded solemnly and then pinched him hard on the arm.

  5

  For the tenth time that day, the Lhasa battalion not only had failed to mimic the basic maneuvers of a pike phalanx but had also tangled the long shafts so badly that two of the troops had been trampled and needed to be sent to the infirmary. Marching on Gyantse Dzong by the end of the week was looking less possible by the day. With a wave of her baton, Lotte signaled for the formation to halt.