Guns of the Temple (The Polaris Chronicles Book 1) by Bryan Choi, E H Carson Page A

Though tiny compared to the dead knight’s hand-cannon, her pair of ancient pistols marked “26 Austria” were far better tools of destruction, and entirely worthy of her power.
    Aslatiel scanned the interior more closely. It was a powder repository where the frigates’ spare shells and bombs were stored. Naked explosives stacked on wooden shelving gleamed with cosmoline in the light of the Imperial torches.
    “Yes… But I fucked up,” he muttered, a sick feeling mounting in his gut. Using that tactic had been a mistake. One misplaced shot or ricochet and she might have blown the lower levels up. It would have meant an abrupt end to everyone’s life, and most of all, failure in the eyes of his master. Ba’gshnar was right. Lucatiel could take care of herself, but he still had much to learn. A solid punch to his arm shook him out of his dreadful reverie.
    “Aslatych, just how bad of a shot do you think I am?” Lucatiel said, crossing her arms in frustration. “I’m not going to get blown up by some stupid warhead. If I did, who would protect you then?”
    Aslatiel had to smile, despite himself. He was foolish to have doubted her in the first place, and they were most definitely alive. Gently, he took her hand and touched his lips to it with as much chivalry as he could muster.
    “Luca, my dear, you are the only woman I would fear to face in combat. If you weren’t my sister I’d want you as my wife.”
    She beamed in pleasure before suddenly drawing him in and wrapping her arms around his waist with a grunt of effort. The bear hug was capable of crushing an enemy’s spine, and Aslatiel struggled to breathe. He was embarrassed, but at the same time, flooded with an unreasonable sense of fulfillment.
    “I’ll hold you to that,” she said, looking intently into his eyes.
     

     
    Taki panted as he reached the wooden doors to the winch house. Everything else could fall or burn but this one place. Below, the keep’s innards were protected by two kilotons of solid steel gate that would never fall to even the most determined ram. If he protected it well, the Imperials would have to turn back. He didn’t care that the squad wasn’t there to back him up. With the exception of the captain, the others had shown their true nature as conniving layabouts. He angrily pushed against the doors, and they grudgingly swung open with much creaking and flying dust.
    To his surprise, there were no soldiers tugging at the wheel, and no barrage of lead screaming his way. Merely a single woman wielding two straight swords, a demure smile, luxuriously straight midnight hair, and the sapphire eyes of a murderess. She gave Taki a coquettish wink and tilted her head from side to side. Though she was comelier than any other woman he’d seen in his life, the sight of her made his blood run cold for some reason.
    “I-identify yourself!” Taki leveled his saber at her.
    “You can call me Lucatiel,” she said with a playful curtsey.
    “I am Taki Na—”
    She raised a hand to cut him off. “No need, dear boy. It’s really not important.”
    Taki glared. “So be it, Imperial. Will you surrender or will I be forced to dispatch you?”
    Lucatiel let out a chuckle. “Why don’t you be good and sit in a corner until your fellows arrive?”
    Taki flared his nostrils and tightened his hold on his weapon. No matter how comely this Lucatiel was, she’d have to die for such an insult. He let out a battle-cry and lunged at her with his blade raised high to cleave her neck. She raised one of her swords to counter, but her movement seemed too slow to counter his. He could almost taste her blood.
    His vision flashed white and he instinctively pulled back before he’d have completed the downstroke. Everything he saw was doubled and spun around crazily. His ears rang with painful tinnitus and his sword-arm spasmed involuntarily. His yatagan had been reduced to a jagged stump and its fragments littered the ground before him. Something salty