Guns of the Temple (The Polaris Chronicles Book 1) (11 page)

I haven’t even been out of the academy for a month and I’m already being judged.
Taki panicked.
It’s not fair. It wasn’t my fault we lost the keep! It was…
He glanced at his fellow accused.
It was theirs!

“Natalis,” Draco whispered. The rest of Tirefire the Lesser was similarly fettered and as wretchedly attired as Taki was. “Natalis, listen to me.”

“About what?” Taki hissed.

“I know things look bad, but it’s okay.”

“It’s
not
okay!” Taki squeezed his eyes shut and bit his lip.

“It is. Look, we’ve all been here before. Trust the captain,” Draco said.

Taki blinked, incredulously.
But you’re wrong!
When a squad committed an offense, it was the duty of the senior officer to administer the lashings, or hangings, or both. If someone like Lotte were to flog him, there would be no flesh left on Taki’s back. Tears escaped from his eyes and dripped to the floor. He would die from a lashing, or they’d decide to hang him. If by some miracle he survived the inquest, he was absolutely sure to never be promoted or transferred. He’d die a mere corporal in the worst unit in the Cloud Temple.

“I said
order!
” the sergeant barked at Draco, who returned a derisive raspberry. The sergeant shook his halberd in warning. A door swung open within the chamber, and three figures emerged and sat in thrones on a wooden dais in front of where Taki knelt.

Taki’s eyes widened in recognition of who the trio were. Of course, he knew from the academy who to expect, but they were still an impressive sight. Second in power and authority only to the exarch of the Cloud Temple, the three men and women of the Agia Triada judged all cases and decided all punishments. Only the exarch could judge them in turn, and since the man was practically never present, the triada had authority over nearly all affairs of the Temple.

In the foremost and largest throne, a blond man with widely-spaced eyes and a pious-looking bowl-cut sat at weary attention. He let out a perfunctory sigh and passed his gaze over the shackled squad before him. Taki lowered his head and tried to surreptitiously edge the hem of his tunic down to cover his loins. When he could not, his cheeks burned in shame. Thankfully, the archangel Michail either did not notice or did not care. He finally focused on Lotte.

“Satou, do you realize what you’ve done?” Michail asked. Lotte raised her head and met his eyes.

“No, milord,” she said. “I only know Vergina has fallen, milord.”

“Show some respect and avert your gaze, hussy,” snapped the archangel on Michail’s left. A woman with an oval face and an upturned nose, Yuriel was second after Michail in rank and could bend rivers and oceans to her will.

“Yes, milord,” Lotte said, and bowed her head.

“Let it be,” Michail said. “She’s always been defiant. A character flaw even our love cannot diminish. The important thing here is the keep that you helped lose, Satou. Its fall has cost us not only men and milligrad, but also
face
in the eyes of our enemies. Now the Osterbrand scum will be emboldened, and as a result, more of us will die when the inevitable sieges begin in earnest. We had a fine détente going and you ruined it.”

“My deepest regrets, milord.”

“To think that you were once the exarch’s protégé,” sniffed Yuriel. “I’m glad he recognized you for the trash you are.”

“Milord Yuriel,” Lotte said, ignoring the latter statement, “how fares Lord Choniates?”

“He’s in Athenaeum right now, answering to the basileus for your mistakes. Fortunately, Niketas Palaiologos is a man of infinite compassion and wisdom. Still, you should be ashamed of putting our exarch in this position.”

Lotte locked her eyes with Yuriel’s. “The loss of one castle does not mean we give up and show our bellies to our enemies. Did our captain not tell us this when I was your lieutenant, and you my cornet?”

“Temperance, Satou,” Michail barked. “You know I will not brook disrespect to your betters.” Lotte bowed her head. Yuriel looked as if she wished to speak, but merely flashed an indignant glare at Lotte instead. Michail continued. “Who put you up to the task, anyway? The defense of Vergina was supposed to go to Pantheon, not Tirefire the Lesser.”

“Major Mezeta ordered us to the citadel.”

“Is the old hag causing trouble yet again?” whined the third archangel, on Michail’s right. Jibriil, the most junior of the triada, tugged at the spiked collar of his leather jerkin and scratched at his bristly neck. “Can we just kill her yet?”

“Hold your tongue,” Michail snapped at him. “We will deal with Hecaton Mezeta at a later juncture. For now, these miscreants are to be judged.” He turned his attention back to Lotte. “Regardless of the inherent malice of your flag officer assigning your squad to a task it could not possibly carry out, you must still be held accountable for your failure, Captain Satou. I bequeath you ninety-nine lashes of the cat to administer to your men.”

“I beg of you, Archangel Michail, to increase the number threefold,” Yuriel said. “Or, if you are inclined, make them all undergo a sound birching. Do not forget that this particular band is also under chastisement for blasphemy.”

“I already gave them permanent potato duty for that,” Jibriil chimed in, merrily.

“Self-congratulation is a
sin,
Archangel Jibriil,” Michail said. “I wish that you would come up with a more appropriate punishment for their recalcitrance. For the loss of the fortress, my judgment stands.”

Taki grew pale and started to tremble. Was Lotte not even going to argue in their defense? Why was she not demanding Hecaton’s presence as their advocate? Why was there no mention of the spetsnaz and the one-eyed overlord who had cowed even the infamous Hundred Arms? Thirty-three lashes from his captain with a cat-o-nine tails was more agony than he would be able to stand. And even if he succumbed to unconsciousness, it only meant that Lotte would have to wait for him to wake up before continuing the flogging.

An idea raced through him at the speed of panic. Before the triada left, he would throw himself at their feet and beg for mercy before his honor and his back were forever scarred. There was little reason for them to decline, after all. He was one of the few initiates who could wield the elements on any appreciable scale. He had graduated near the top of his class. He knew how to read, write, and factor. Surely his future was worth more. Surely the compassionate, powerful archangels would lift him up from this hell if he could only make a sincere plea. He opened his mouth to speak.

“Then I invoke the Code and my privilege as commanding officer of my squad,” Lotte said, and stood. “I will take all ninety-nine blows.”

Michail frowned and opened his mouth to speak, but was beaten by Hadassah.

“Absolutely not! Draco and I will take our even share, and so will Newboy.” She glanced over at Taki with an expression that did not brook dissent.
“Right, Newboy?”

“Right,” Taki yelped. His eyes widened in shock and he would have clapped his hands over his mouth if not for his manacles.
Did I just agree? What the hell is wrong with me? Speak now, damn you! This is your last chance!

“Silence!” Michail bellowed, half-rising from his throne. “I wished to teach you an important lesson on accountability, Satou, but I see that you continue to defy my efforts. Very well. I sentence you all to twenty-five lashes each, administered by an executioner of the Cross. The punishment is to be carried out immediately. We are adjourned.”

“See, Natalis?” Draco winked at him. “I promised you could trust the captain.”

Taki slumped forward in anguished disbelief and let his forehead rest on the stones. The triada had already left, as quickly as they had arrived. There would be no more chances to save his future. Now that he had taken lashes with them, he would remain a Lesser Tirefire forever.

When the executioner arrived, Taki gave no resistance as he was hauled up and dragged away to the next chamber, where the punishments were carried out. The fearsome sights within—the glistening rack or the pile of irons glowing red-hot in the hearth—were nothing compared to the loss of his prospects. He’d die a corporal in Tirefire the Lesser, and now the only question was whether he would do so fast or slow. Taki let his head roll forward as his manacles were secured to a length of chain dangling from above, and he was hoisted upright by his wrists.
Everything’s ruined. Everything’s shit.

The first cut of the cat-o-nine abruptly broke him out of his stupor, and he let out a pitiable cross between a squeal and a gasp. He had been given a taste of the whip once in the academy, but that was only because the instructors had wanted everyone to know what awaited disobedient students. That time didn’t count, and thus the pain wasn’t so bad. The next blow came before he could brace himself and he let out a shrill cry of terror. With the next kiss of tails he started to whimper. Surviving twenty-two more of these seemed like a fantasy. The pain was compounded by the shame of knowing that the rest of his squad hung nearby receiving their drubbings without complaint.

“Natalis, your attention!” Lotte commanded. She had been strung up to face him. Her rags left nothing to the imagination, and Taki tried to restrict his gaze to above her neck. It struck him as strange that he was worried about propriety when nothing about his situation was actually proper. “Listen,” she began, “when I was a corporal, my captain taught me a trick to lessen the pain. Do you want to know it, too?”

Taki nodded, desperate.

“It may sound strange, but you need to remember your first time. Who the girl or boy was. Where you were. Was it in a bed, or in a pile of hay? Where did you touch each other? Just remember, and concentrate on reliving the memory.”

“Captain…” Taki burbled, and shook his head. “I can’t!”

“
Try,
Natalis. If it helps, you can look below my collar,” Lotte offered.

“Don’t you dare look in
my
direction,” Hadassah growled, before sucking her teeth at the force of a lash.

“Captain, you don’t understand,” Taki said, now crying in earnest. “I haven’t
had
a first time!”

Lotte’s compassionate visage broke under disbelief. “Wait, you’re really a virgin?”

Hadassah started to giggle uncontrollably, and Draco let out a chuckle that rebounded off the walls. Taki’s cheeks burned freshly as he even heard his tormentor with the cat-o-nine snicker from behind.

“Hey, Executioner!” Draco chortled. “Try not to lash the kid so hard from now on, eh? He’s in pain every day of his life!”

“A true paragon of self-abuse,” Hadassah gasped.

“Onani-Master Natalis!”

“He’ll be dancing with himself.”

“Watch your tongues!” Lotte snapped. “Oh, Natalis, I’m so sorry!”

“Alright, alright, you lot shut up and stop giggling,” growled the masked man wielding the cat-o-nine.

“What’s the matter?” Hadassah asked. “You mad ‘cause Newboy’s better than you at
whippin’ it?
”

“I said, silence!” the executioner roared.

“Yeah, why don’t you help him beat something else?” Draco cackled.

“He doesn’t have time for that! He’s got bishops to choke and monkeys to spank!” Hadassah said.

“Executioner, give me that whip!” Lotte growled as she tried to kick at Draco. “I’ll flay them myself!”

The executioner stomped his feet and buried his face in his palms.

“Everyone just
behave,
already!” he whined.

Hadassah’s eyes narrowed and the ends of her lips curled with sudden recognition.

“I’ve got a better idea. Let us all down, or I’ll tell your mother you’re flogging virginal boys,” she said.

“You’re not telling her shit.”

“Oh yes I am,
Herschel.
Don’t think I don’t know who’s under that mask. My poor
tante!
Still thinks her innocent little son is a scribe. Instead, he’s doing unspeakable things to helpless, pure young men, not to mention pelting
me
on my
bare
ass!
”

“Screw off, Hadassah! You’re the rottenest!”

“Are you going to let us go, or do I have to keep belittling you?”

“Fine, I give! I’ve got better things to do than whip your pimply rear! But don’t tell the triada about this, and especially not mother.”

Taki’s feet hit the ground as his chains were lowered and he sunk to the floor on jellied knees. His back felt simultaneously soaked and on fire, and he had not strength to stand. Whether it was from shock or mortification, it didn’t matter. He felt arms wrap under his shoulders and hoist him up, but this time with a gentler touch. The rush of blood from his head overwhelmed his senses, and he knew no more.

When he woke up, Taki noticed that the cuts on his back had been bandaged, and even the aching gash on his face had been smeared with a coat of menthol-smelling liniment. He was still in the brig, though in a different and much warmer cell than he had previously occupied. Careful to avoid putting undue strain on his wounds, he gingerly sat up. From the top of his scalp to the bottoms of his feet, he felt a century old.