Guns of the Temple (The Polaris Chronicles Book 1) (23 page)

Taki kept a nervous eye on the horizon for the next few days, expecting the gold and midnight banners of the Cross to crest over at any given moment, but they never came. When he wasn’t scanning the roads and wheat fields for signs of trouble, he taught Draco and Hadassah more letters to keep himself from dwelling on what awaited them back home. They had failed another mission, and could likely expect another lashing, or even some time on the rack followed by a branding. This knowledge, however, seemed to make Taki’s companions paradoxically more carefree. The night before the caravan deposited them at the entrance of the mountain trail leading up to the Temple, they shared Karma’s last, small bottle of fine Ursalan wine.

When Tirefire the Lesser reached the gates of the Temple, however, there was no Black Cross escort to greet them with rifles and spears. The palisade seemed poorly manned, complementing a sudden sense of desolation that chilled Taki more thoroughly than his previous stint in the brig. Was the campaign against the Imperium really going that badly to require the services of nearly all able-bodied fighters in the Temple? He did not want to conjecture, for conjecture led to loosened lips and loose lips led to whippings. Perhaps their failure in Kosovo had already been forgiven in the name of expediency. His heart sank, however, when he saw who waited for them instead. He knelt and expected the worst.

“Lieselotte,” Jibriil said as he wiped a runny nose with the hem of his gold-embroidered sleeve, “Get to my quarters and get changed into something more presentable. Your armor is unsightly enough without holes all over it.”

“Yes, milord,” Lotte said. She rose and turned to the others. “Squad, turn your guns in at the shrine and report to the kitchens for regular duty.”

“Yes, captain,” they said in unison. Though Lotte tried to flash him a reassuring smile as she left, Taki still trembled. Jibriil didn’t seem like he wanted to kill her, and for now, it looked like they’d be allowed to skip the brig.
But he summoned her to his quarters, not to the exarch’s tower or even before the rest of the triada.
He realized what it meant and tried to suppress a grimace.
Keep your head down. Trust her and do what she says. Don’t lose your wits like you did at the village.

“And you, Gillette! Get over here,” Jibriil snapped. An uncertain expression washed over Karma’s face and he walked over to where Jibriil was. Before Karma could kneel, Jibriil grabbed him by the collar of his doublet and drew a dagger. “I should slit your throat, you cowardly, mercenary fuck. Did you seriously think you could leave me and become the duke’s lapdog?”

Karma shrugged. “I came back, didn’t I?”

Jibriil sheathed the dagger and slapped Karma across the face. “I sent you to collect. Where’s the ‘grad?”

“In heaven, with the Hero,” Karma quipped. Jibriil drew back his free hand and slapped twice. Rings on the Archangel’s fingers raked across Karma’s cheeks and tore skin away.

“The only reason you still have your manhood or your life is because your mother is in the diacheiristes,” Jibriil snarled. “Once she falls out of favor, I’m going to feed your balls to my hounds. Now report to the barracks, on the double.”

Wait a second, Gillette is in the archangel’s regiment?
Taki realized.
That means he’s in the…

Karma flashed a blood-streaked grin. “But milord Archangel,
major Hecaton Mezeta
says I’ve been booted down to Tirefire the Lesser. I’m sorry, milord. I
really
wanted to stay in the Pantheon.”

Jibriil’s eyes went wide with rage and he kicked Karma in the chest to lay him out in the dust. “Subhuman wretch. Wallow in disgrace.”

Karma closed his eyes as Jibriil spat in his face. The archangel seemed to want to kick him again, but instead, turned and walked away.

The others stayed kneeling until they were comfortable that Jibriil was out of sight. Temple law required them to prostrate themselves before a member of the triada, and they did not want to inflame someone as volatile as Jibriil.
He’s the real wretch,
Taki thought in indignation.
How did that vile bastard rise in the ranks? How could the exarch be so blind to his faults? And just how many flaws does the exarch hide?

“Come on, New—Natalis,” Hadassah said to him. “The schmuck’s long-gone. Let’s just go to the shrine already.”

Taki nodded to her, and looked over to Karma. “Right. Is he coming with us?”

Karma crossed his feet and linked his hands together behind his head, staring up at the dreary sky. Hadassah sighed and started to walk toward him, but Draco reached him first. Taki tensed.
He’s not going to kick the man while he’s down, is he?

“Come on, Gillette,” Draco said, and extended a hand. “If you claim to be a Tirefire, you’d best get to peeling. I’ll show you how.”

Karma looked somewhat taken aback, but slowly reached out to accept.

Before he could reach the kitchens, Taki was again abducted into a closet by Hecaton Mezeta and not permitted to leave. Her fingertips felt like a small iron vise against the tender cartilage of one of his ears, and he would have yelped in pain if not for the fact that he wished to preserve some semblance of dignity in front of her. Even doing that was difficult, however. In such close quarters he could smell the faint odor of lavender and burnt cordite suffusing her hair. His heart started to race wildly and he flushed.

“Don’t get your hopes up, virgin. I’m not about to molest you,” she said and flicked him on the face right over the gash that Lucatiel had given him. The stinging sensation brought forth tears. “And if I catch your eyes anywhere below my neck I’ll put them out.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said, swallowing nervously. What sort of horrific arrangement would she force on him this time? He would not be duped again, he resolved. Still, his career was effectively over, so what damage could she possibly do at this point? The greatest hero in the Dominion was dead and his territory ceded to the Imperium by now, and it was his fault.

Hecaton let go of Taki’s ear. “Are you familiar with the houses of the diacheiristes?”

“I know they’re the most trusted and powerful vassals of the basileus,” Taki said. “But I know them not personally, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Then it’s your lucky day. You’re about to meet one of them.”

“Who?”

“Amilia Gillette. Otherwise known as the Minister of the Exchequer. Also, the reason lil’ Karma is such a lovely turd.”

“What? What does she want with me? I’m not an officer or a noble. I’m a nobody.”

“You’re completely correct,” Hecaton said, beaming. Taki glowered at her. “But I’ve known her for quite a while. Let’s just say she did me some favors and I did her some favors. Since you all are like my dysfunctional, barbarian children, I tend to talk about you all. She heard you weren’t just
pretending
to read like most of the scribes in Athenaeum, and that you could probably count to greater than ten. So she wants you to come over to the capital and work for her for a while.”

“Am I... being transferred to the praetorians?” Taki asked, his heart picking up again. A transfer to the Minister’s personal guard would be an answer to his silent prayers. An impossible second chance for his crippled future. Most of all, it meant no more kitchen duty, fighting with legendary enemies, or being sent back to places like New Petrovic. Elation welled from within. And yet, he also could not stop thinking about the faces of the others, particularly Lotte. He wondered to himself how he would break the news.
No, it’s not important.
He clenched his teeth to drive back the thought. He needed to think of himself, after all.

“Of course not,” Hecaton said with a callous chuckle. “You’re too useful to me. I’m just loaning you out for the time being.”

Taki’s fantasies of success broke to pieces before his eyes. “What am I, your catamite?”

Snapping back at anyone, much less a superior, was unlike him. But even more so was the fact that he didn’t regret it as much as he should have. Rudeness to his betters was punishable by a whipping and would delay promotion.
Then again, I’ll never be promoted, so what’s the point?
Hecaton laughed, loudly this time.

“That term implies we’re friends,” she said. “Now, be quiet and take these passes. They’re to prevent the deathwatch from shooting you, and let you get on the next caravan out to the capital. Once there, you are to go to the old Grande Bretagne where you will be given further instructions. You are of course forbidden from discussing this with your squadmates. Understand?”

“Yes,
madam,
” Taki said, wanting to be away from the cramped confines of the closet, and most of all, away from Hecaton. He was about to try and squirm out of the closet, but he thought of Lotte again, and also of Jibriil. Taki paused. Hecaton was a woman, at least on the outside. She would understand the unjustness of what the damned corrupt archangel was putting his captain through. Perhaps the major’s spiteful nature could be put to some use. “One last thing, then. I’ll do whatever dirty work you want, but in exchange, you’ll grant me a boon.” It was a directive, not a request.

“Pfft,” Hecaton snorted. “Who do you think I am? Satan Claws?”

“You know more than you let on, Major. You know that the archangel Jibriil is coercing and abusing my captain. I want him stopped. He clearly fears you, so do something about it.”

Hecaton wagged a finger. “Let’s say I went up to the archangel and threatened him. Would that help Lotte out, truly? Or would he simply displace his wrath against me onto her? Would his unwanted caresses turn to beatings?”

“Then kill him instead! You have the power, don’t you, Major? She’s suffering!”

The fact that Taki had just requested the murder of an archangel of the Temple was not lost on him, but he was too indignant to care. And even if Hecaton were averse to killing Jibriil, Taki would ask her to make it so the archangel would never walk again, never see again, never feed himself again, and definitely never bed a woman again.
If I had the major’s power, I’d show him what suffering really was,
he thought vengefully.

Hecaton knocked her forehead against his. “You still fail to understand something, boy. You assume that we women have not the will to protect ourselves, nor that we have the smarts to recognize a blackguard for what he is. Your captain bears her burden solely to protect your dumb asses, and if some white-armored templar tried to swoop in and save her, she’d cut his godrotting head off. If you wish to help her so badly, leave her be and work to bring your unit success.”

Taki tried desperately to hold onto his wrath and failed. The godrotting major was right, of course. If Jibriil died, then the squad would be at the mercy of Michail or even worse, the current Yuriel. He had just tried to undermine everything Lotte had paid for in pain and humiliation. The thought filled him with shame. He swallowed and straightened his back. “Aye, Ma’am. Forget I asked.”

“Now, git out! You smell like bad lo bak gao,” Hecaton said as she opened the door and shoved him out. Taki found his footing again and shook his head. Despite the fact that he’d failed in his task, he had to give himself credit for attempting to extort Hecaton Mezeta and living to tell the tale. The thought filled him with hope.
Remember what that Imperial told you. You can still change things from within, and this is your opportunity to do so.
He started plodding back to his quarters to change into traveling clothes, and glanced back as an afterthought. Curiously, the major had not left the closet yet.

Athenaeum was one of the world’s oldest surviving cities, and if the legends were to be believed, the birthplace of rule by mob decree. Like many other large cities around the known world, it had been blasted away during the Fall and slowly rebuilt to its current state in the ensuing centuries. Vengeance-driven fights between cursed children had subjected entire populations to the most twisted fates imaginable by the inhuman mind. It was said that when the fusion warheads fell from the skies like heavenly fingers touching the stricken lands, those underneath wept with joy at their impending deliverance.

The Argead capital was built on the side of a small mountain overlooking a deep-water harbor. The harbor made the city a center of trade across the Dominion and its neighbors, especially the caliphates to the far south. In the first stages of Athenaeum’s restoration it had been a cluster of shanty houses enclosed by a barrier of rusting shipping containers and razor wire. In the modern era it boasted many a gleaming white concrete edifice harkening back to its storied past. The metal crates and hovels never truly disappeared, and ringed the city like a crumb-ridden beard.

Two days after his encounter in the closet, Taki passed through the gates and was immediately struck by the sheer dirtiness of the place. Every surface within the Cloud Temple was aged and pitted by the harshness of the mountains, but the capital was simply a squalid mess picked over by festering dogs. Rubble and decaying offal mounded in the streets, and wherever he went it smelled like a latrine. Though he was hungry when he arrived, he could not bring himself to purchase from the street vendors. It was a shame, because he had always wanted to try the famous harspud kebab.