Swords of the Imperium (Dark Fantasy Novel) (The Polaris Chronicles Book 2) (25 page)

“Godrotting…” The curse died in his mouth as she put more weight against his spine. He relented when his fingers and toes started to tingle. “What do you want?”

“I know you were promised an idiotic sum for some dagger work. But face it—you don’t stand a chance against her. When you try to scheme against the likes of old lady Mezeta, you’re drowning in a nightmare you can’t possibly comprehend, let alone survive. So back off with your retarded plan, let me keep an eye on her, and we’ll strike when the time is right. But
only
then, and
only
on my say-so. If you play your cards right, you’ll get much more than the measly hundred K that the primate wasn’t going to give you anyway. Believe it or not, I’m on your side,
Ringo dearest
. Understood?”

He swore under his breath but nodded. “You’re spetsnaz, aren’t you?”

Samara laughed and let off the pressure from her knee. The blade slowly retracted, gliding menacingly on his skin without breaking it. “Let a girl have
some
secrets. I don’t need to tell you what happens if you spread rumors, do I?”

“No, you don’t,” Ringo said, and rose to dust his breeches off.
Damnable bitch, I’ll kill her first.

“Oh, and from now on, we’re lovers on the side.”

“What?”

“You heard me,” she said. “Now, get a move on. We don’t want to keep the hag waiting.”

There were great tracts of land where the skies still rained ash. Rifts in the earth belched fine dust, like suppurating wounds that refused to heal, and formed giant, fragile white dunes that migrated slowly to an uncertain end. Humans could not farm or live in these places, though they could certainly die in them.

Taki stared blindly at the beauty of the toxic landscape outside his train window. Flurries of choking particulates blew past the glass, pantomiming snow. He would have closed his eyes and dozed away the boredom if not for the fact that Jibriil snoozed nearby. Though the man’s chest rose and fell as if he were in sleep, there was no way to be sure. Earlier, Enilna and Taki had set up a watch system so that one would keep watch over the former archangel at all times. It had been Enilna’s turn to nap, and thus Taki resolved to stay awake for her sake.

He turned his attention again to the outside and wondered when—and how—the rails had been laid in the first place. He knew he was lucky to even have the option of riding the ancient relic, else the journey north would have taken weeks, if not months. The world, scarred as it was, was still terribly large.

The unlikely trio had ridden the train for two days from Astarte’s outskirts and, based on their location in the ash plains, would arrive at the Salted Fortress in three more. That was assuming that they didn’t run out of fuel early, that enemies hadn’t sabotaged the tracks, or that bandits weren’t foolish enough to try to rob a train flying the primate’s banner.

And how ludicrous this all is
, Taki thought as he glanced over at the other passengers. All of them were Ursalans, whether they were merchants, messengers, or mercenaries. Though the primate had purged the loyalists and had a princess killed, he still flew the Ursalan crest over his own. The fortress that was the train’s destination had only passed into Imperial hands within the last season, and though Aslatiel had assured everyone that spetsnaz agents would send advance notice, Taki wasn’t sure he would receive a welcome devoid of bullets and explosions. He squeezed his eyes shut to try and force the thought away. He drew in a breath and held it. The resultant exhalation fogged the window.
Strange. It’s not really snowing
.

Something bumped him, and he looked over to see Enilna’s head resting on his shoulder. He’d noticed that when the girl slept, she slept hard. Her lips were parted, and she snored softly. A line of drool connected the corner of her mouth and the canvas of his brigandine. The sight made him cringe, but he decided against shifting away. It was unusual to see her so unguarded. He wanted to reach out and run his fingertips through the auburn waves atop her head but didn’t.

Just friends,
he resolved. He touched his lips instead, savoring the memory of when Lotte had come to him. If Enilna hadn’t barged in so boorishly, would more have happened? Might he have tumbled in bed with his captain? The thought brought a smile to his face, and yet for some reason, Aslatiel’s words came to mind again. But was it really so terrible to consort with someone of a different rank?
I’m a man, dammit. Not a servant girl being victimized by some overlord.
It was easy to despise himself in these weak moments.
He gnawed on a thumbnail and turned his attention back to the silent storm outside.

“Want some?”

Taki started at Jibriil’s voice, and he bumped Enilna’s cheek. Jibriil squatted in the aisle with his hand out to offer a strip of thick, dried beef encrusted with peppercorns. It took Taki a few breathless seconds to realize that the man wasn’t armed. “No…thanks,” he muttered.

Jibriil shrugged. “Thought I’d ask.”

Enilna’s eyes had fluttered open when Taki had shifted, but she had fallen back into slumber just as rapidly.

“I had a meal already,” Taki said, feeling relieved that he hadn’t entirely spoiled her rest.

“I, uh, noticed that you rip your cuticles,” Jibriil said.

Taki hardened his features. “And that’s your concern because?”

“Don’t misunderstand—I wasn’t criticizing you. I actually had the same problem for a long time. My fingertips looked like worm-eaten bark, and people would recoil if I showed them my hands.”

Taki blinked. “You said you had the problem. So did you beat it?”

“Whenever I caught myself with my fingers in my mouth, I substituted something else. After much trial and error, I found beef jerky to work best. Probably because the texture was similar. Sorry, I know that’s disgusting.”

“No, I can see that working quite well,” Taki said. Despite his apprehension, he let out a chuckle.

Jibriil cracked a wry smile. “I always made sure I had some in my pouch. Within a season, my fingers were whole again. It took some getting used to, having nails again.” He offered the jerky once more. “So, want any?”

Taki started to reach for it but stopped. “It’s…uh, too much.”

“Don’t worry, I take no offense,” Jibriil said, and bit off a small piece near the end. “Not poisoned. Better now?”

“Yes, thanks,” Taki said, and took the strip.

“Hope it works for you. Wenches—not to speak of respectable women—won’t let your fingers anywhere
near
their nethers in that state,” Jibriil said with a laugh.

Taki reddened but let out an inadvertent snort of amusement. “Aye, I’ll keep that in mind.”

Jibriil nodded and eased back into his seat. He cozied up against the bulkhead and closed his eyes. Within minutes, he snored again.

Taki looked down at the jerky in his hand. Part of him wanted to cast it aside and tread on it. Not for suspicion of poison or spoilage, but because of whom it had belonged to. The cuts on Taki’s back from the cat-o-nine tails had long since faded into tiny pink lines, but when he regarded Jibriil, they throbbed.
Silly.
It isn’t the meat’s fault. I’m stronger now, and he’s weaker.
After a moment more, Taki opened a pouch on his belt and slipped in the jerky. Perhaps he’d give Jibriil’s method a try. After all, if he ever got to tumble, he didn’t want his partner to be disgusted.

The last bits of clinging ash fell away as the train slowly rumbled to a stop. A whistle sounded, long and mournful, to announce the train’s arrival to the nervous Imperials in defilade nearby. Taki held his breath as he waited for the pings and thumps of a full-out assault, but they never came.

“Looks like your officers pulled through on their end,” Jibriil said. “We’re not dead ten times over.”

“Aye. Sir Aslatiel’s a responsible sort,” Taki said. He pulled his pack out of the netted pouches overhead and checked for the hundredth time that he was still armed. His saber rattled reassuringly in its sheath, and his Herstal was snug across his chest. Then, he got up from his seat. It was liberating to be on his feet again after all that time riding.

Jibriil trudged on ahead, awkwardly hefting his own kit. Taki had made another unspoken rule that the archangel was never to see their backs if they could help it.

“Hey.” Enilna tugged on Taki’s sleeve. “So is this place really made out of a huge block of salt?”

“I don’t think so. More like there were probably salt mines around the place. Far as I know, the walls are stone.”

“That’s lame if true,” Enilna said. “I kind of thought we’d get to see cooler places, like Vistula. I hear it still gives off smoke from the walls, kind of like Berlin.”

“That sounds less likely than a castle made of salt.”

“You know that thousands of our boys lost their lives to take the smoking fort? But then the old general who used to lead Alfa Gruppe—before Aslatiel did, but he’s dead now—stayed up for a straight fortnight to prevent his men from just sacking the place and raping all the women inside. I wish I’d met the guy.”

Taki chuckled. “Sounds like something the old exarch would’ve done.”

“Well, all old bearded men look the same, so maybe they think the same.”

“That’s really simplistic.”

“You’re just jealous you’re not an old bearded man. Actually, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you shave.”

“Because I don’t,” Taki said with a shrug. “And you shouldn’t be spying on me.”

“I’m an Imperial kadet. Spying is my job,” Enilna said.

As he stepped off the train, Taki was immediately struck by the omnipresent smell of sulfur in the air. He hoped he’d get used to it quickly. If nothing else, Jibriil did not plan to tarry here for long. Beyond the loosely gathered bunch of Imperial porters and musketeers that had come out of the portcullis to meet the train, there was little evidence of life around the Salted Fortress. The ground was barren, and not even crows circled overhead.

The actual walls were of sloped brick and built as a many-pointed star. At each point were a pair of long-range cannons for distance and a mortar for close-in work. Ravelins and tenailles completed the defensive array. Almost obscured by smoke and fog, the keep itself loomed high on a nearby motte.

After a cursory inspection of his papers, Taki passed by a pair of janissaries with halberds and came out on the other side of the gates. The inner courtyards smelled strongly of wood smoke from countless cookfires that rose from brick stacks attached to hastily erected housing. It appeared to him like a smaller, ramshackle version of the Temple, complete with enterprising soldiers selling snacks and copies of the on-base gossip rag.

“The latest news from the heartland and annexed territories! A twenty-two will do!” one of them cajoled in a singsong voice.

“Can we?” Enilna said.

Taki shrugged and handed a dusty cartridge to the merchant girl, in exchange for a flimsy sheaf of onion paper. One of the larger lines of print caught his notice.
New Head for the Polaris.
Jibriil’s story had been true, as far as he could tell. The Archangel Mikhail now called himself exarch. There was no mention of the rest of the Triada. For a moment, he almost felt sorry for Jibriil.

“Hey, let me see that,” Enilna said with a tug of his elbow.

Taki handed it over to her. “You can read?”

“Aye! Though not all of the words. They taught me how, in Sevastopol. I hated it, though. Too many smacks.”

“But that’s how you learn best.”

“All it did was make me hate the instructors.”

“When I taught Emreis and Mikkselsen, I did the same. Now they fill their heads with new blasphemies every day. If you wish, I could teach you.”

Enilna stuck her tongue out. “If you ever smack me, I’ll take your hand.”

Taki sniffed. “Perhaps I won’t, then.”

“Yeah, I’m kind of a bitch like that.”

“I don’t think so. You’re just spirited. I like that about you.”

“Mmm, you’re getting better at interacting with women,” Enilna said as she sagely flipped through her periodical. “You might be able to sweet-talk Captain Lotte into bed in about a decade.”

Taki fumed. “Shut up! I’m much closer than that. You…you saw what we were doing!”

“Yeah, and it was
gross
!”

“Maybe to a runt like you.”

“You’re calling me a runt? You’re the manlet here.”

“Big words from a kid I rejected!”

At that, Enilna growled and kicked at Taki’s shins. He hopped away and stuck his tongue out at her; she threw a clod of dirt at his head before trying to tackle him. Taki pivoted and avoided the missile but failed to step out of Enilna’s way and found himself with his back on the ground. His pack made it hard for him to right himself, and before he could roll away, Enilna was on top of him. She smacked him across the face with her sheaf of papers, and he grabbed her wrists to restrain her. She hissed and struggled.