The Zoya Chronicles Boxed Set

by Kate Sander

  The view was marvelous. Being on the King’s council had its perks. As the Head of Peace, he had control of the armies of the King of the Sun. They were in Solias, capital city of Langundo. Far across the Eastern sea was Carabesh, but he had never been there. He hadn’t seen the sea in thirty-five years, this view was enough for him.

  The marble arches opened in front of him, revealing the Golden City of Solias glinting in the sun. With too many turrets to count, the castle itself was an ode to wealth and prosperity. All was painted gold, the floors made of pristine white marble were polished to a shine, their intricate white and grey patterns telling stories for themselves. Armend took a deep breath of the cool morning air and set off to council.

  As a member of the council, Armend lived in the upper levels of Solias, within the castle itself. Surrounding the castle were the various gardens that the Queen kept, as well as the training grounds for the army of Solias, the illustrious Sun Gods: keepers of the peace. Surrounding the training grounds was a twenty-five foot high wall that rose seamlessly from a rushing river. Below the moat was the market. These were the merchants and the traders who set up shop below the castle to sell their goods. The scents and colours of the market provided a variety of exotic experiences. The market slowly faded into the slums. This was where the depraved, the poor and the lazy spent their time. Armend tried to avoid going to the slums, although business sometimes called for it.

  Exiting the hall into an open courtyard, he stopped to admire the morning training of a troop of rookie recruits of the Sun Gods. Children of Solias were recruited at ten years old, both male and female. One child from every family must serve in the Sun Gods. As added incentive, the more children who served in the Sun Gods the higher the family rose in political standing. Some families had all their children enter training and bragged about their illustrious offspring at various cabarets and masquerades. Only half of the rookie class survived to wear the armour. Peace was a noble calling, one which required blood and sacrifice.

  Today, these young children were training with swords. No practice swords in the Sun Gods, no sir. Armend was training an army, not having play time with friends. These were full weight, sharpened swords. Parries were rarely missed if a cut was suffered as result. He stood and watched the rookie class train. There were forty children practicing drills, with four instructors walking slowly back and forth across the line, correcting form.

  Crack.

  The sharp sound of a sword hitting the ground caused the other children to falter.

  “Continue,” an Instructor barked. The children listened, all looking away from the ten year old girl who’d dropped the weapon. An instructor approached and cuffed her in the head, sending the girl sprawling to the ground. Shakily, she pulled herself to her feet, keeping her eyes level with the instructors and picked up her sword. She would make a fine recruit. Resilience was key in a good soldier, and this one could get back up after she was knocked down. Obviously, the instructor agreed and, with a slight nod of his head, she continued with the drills.

  Later in her training, if she survived and was top of her class, she would be given the opportunity to join the Exalted. The Exalted was Armend’s pet project, one he started with the previous King, King Sol XVII. They were specially trained and the most feared group in all the land. Deadly skill, combined with mastery of Pulse weapons led to a lethal force. The current King Sol, XVIII, had recently tried to have the Exalted disbanded as he believed they were no longer useful. Armend had just moved the location of training and took the unit underground. The King would need them someday, and he would be glad he had them.

  He waited and watched a while, when a shadow fell on his shoes. Sebastian, his personal bodyguard. Not all members of council required a bodyguard, but the business of peace was a dangerous one.

  “Hello, Sebastian,” he said without turning his head, “How are we this fine summer morning?”

  “It’s a little chilly,” came the reply, a coarse and reedy voice, very much the opposite of Armend’s. Armend turned to look at his rogue bodyguard. Pale, with a pointed nose and long shoulder length brown hair pulled back into a bun, Sebastian looked as though he hadn’t seen the sun in years. His dark eyes were black, which matched his habitual dress of black pants and a loose black shirt, covered by a black cloak. Both forearms were wrapped with the specialized black leather compartments that held the Pulse packs for his weapons. Wires ran from the Pulse packs to the palm of his hands, where a black metal plate was located in supple leather gloves. The Pulse would run from the packs in his forearms to the plate in his palms. Knives created by Alchemists and Blacksmiths snapped into these plates, making the blade electrified. It took great skill to master Pulse weapons, and most who tried ended up killing themselves. Sebastian had excelled in rookie class, especially in dagger throwing and stealth. Armend had picked him after his Exalted trials six years ago.

  An accomplished bodyguard, Armend’s enemies didn’t know they were in trouble until they were already dead. Armend flinched away at this thought. He hated the idea of killing with weapons. He was a man of peace after all.

  “Can’t you just be happy, for once in your life? And stop fingering the daggers on your belt. What? Do you think one of the Sun God ten year old recruits would come after me?” Armend scoffed.

  Sebastian looked at him blankly.

  “No of course not,” Armend said, “You don’t get paid to think. Come on now Sebastian, let us go to council! Today will be a good day, I can feel it in my bones.”

  Without a backwards glance, Armend strode towards the meeting.

  The plan was set, the trap was laid.

  This meeting would change everything.

  Armend smiled. It was a beautiful morning, indeed.

  3

  Armend

  Armend arrived at council ten minutes early, as usual. He believed in being prompt. A long, oak rectangle table gleamed in the center of the room. Around the table were plush purple velvet chairs with the King’s well decorated head chair rising above the rest. Armend sat on the kings left, the Queen sat on the King’s right. Sebastian disappeared into the shadows of the room. Bodyguards weren’t generally allowed in the council, but the King allowed Sebastian as an exception.

  The Head of Treasury sat alone at the end of the table, his white haired head buried in a book. The Head of Intelligence, a petite blonde woman of twenty-four, was leaning easily against the oak, talking to the giant Head of Justice. A large, black-skinned young man from Carabesh, he’d come to Langundo at the age of twelve. They barely acknowledged Armend’s entrance into the room and continued talking animatedly. It was no secret that Intelligence and Justice had similar thoughts in most of the council’s decisions and often formed an alliance against the rest of the council.

  Armend smiled as he remembered the incident where, in the heat of the moment, the old Head of Goods had accused Intelligence and Justice of being lovers. The council had stopped yelling and stared at him, slack jawed. His lips had gone white and thin as Intelligence had risen from her chair and stepped to his side, whispering something in his ear that made him blanch. He was found floating in the moat three days later and the current Head of Goods was appointed by the King at the next council meeting. Evidence pointed towards a robbery by a vagrant, who had quickly confessed to the murder after being sent to Intelligence in the dungeons. He was just as quickly convicted and hanged by Justice. “Terrible timing,” Intelligence had said to Armend at the hanging, the vagrants feet kicking in the wind, “I wanted to kill old Goods myself,” and she had winked and sauntered away.

  The current Goods walked in the door, a man of weak character of about forty. The Head of Housing quickly followed. Mid-fifties, she had long flowing white hair and sky blue eyes. She had been appointed to the council thirty years ago by Sol XVII. The ancient Alchemist Omega followed her, walking slowly and leaning on his cane, shaking slightly. The King followed the Alchemist.

  King Sol XVIII was a strong-jawe
d, blond haired man of thirty-seven. Keeping a strong physique was important, and he believed in being battle ready (which, Armend mused, was odd considering all the King wanted was peace). His large shoulder bulged under his thick, purple robe. After the death of his father in 191 AN, he had taken the throne. A strong, handsome man, with more brawn then brains. However, his looks had nothing on his wife’s. The Queen entered the room behind the King and everyone scrambled to find chairs. Where King Sol was strong, Queen Anita was beautiful. Wearing thick green dress with gold and silver highlights, she carried herself higher than anyone in the room. Her long , curly brown hair perfectly framed her soft features. As smart as she was beautiful, men had been sent to the slums in embarrassment after being bested in wit.

  The council was all in the chamber so the meeting could begin. The King took his place at the head of the table, with the Queen to his right. The King and Queen ruled in tandem, though not often in agreement. Many of the councils were spent with the King and Queen fighting over an issue. If they did like each other, they never showed it in public.

  The Queen took her seat and everyone followed suit. Alchemist Omega remained standing and said, “Today, on the sixth day of April, 206 Apre-Nocturnum, the Council of the King is meeting. We remember all who came before us in the dark, and we remember Alchemist Alpha who, 206 years ago, invented the Pulse and brought us into light. May we take a moment to reflect on this and remember this man.” They all bowed their heads in tradition and waited. His job done for the day, Alchemist Omega slowly lowered himself into his chair. Armend didn’t need to move his head, his snores told him Omega was asleep.

  The King spoke, “Thank you for your presence council. We have a few items on the list today. First, there was another attack by the Melanthios on missionaries sent for a treaty. Peace, enlighten us so we get a handle on the situation.”

  Armend stood and, wasting no time, said, “The missionaries were on their way to a Melanthios town in the forest east of the city. A special division of the Sun Gods, they are taught peace tactics instead of war. Only three returned to Solias after they were brutally ambushed. The Melanthios have been attacking the missionaries like this for years, Sir. We still do not know why.” Armend retook his seat.

  The King leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes, pondering the information.

  “Did the missionaries declare peace before they were ambushed?” The Queen asked.

  “Yes,” Armend replied, “They were instructed to carry the white flag with them so the Melanthios knew they were not a threat. They were slaughtered without a reason.”

  The King opened his eyes and said, “I want peace. The war my father started with the Melanthios tribe over Quicksilver was unnecessary and brash. Alchemist,” Alchemist Omega woke with a start, “Where are we with a Pulse alternative that does not require Quicksilver?”

  Alchemist Omega blinked slowly, his heavily wrinkled face confused, “Sir,” he said, recovering relatively quickly, “Myself and my apprentices have attempted multiple alternatives. Quicksilver is the only way to get such a Pulse with such little material. Others cannot produce even enough to get illumination and it takes far more power for Pulse weapons.”

  “We told you to focus on illumination,” the Queen said, “not weapons. We want peace. Developing a Pulse pack that works for weapons is not a priority. Goods, where are we with Quicksilver stores?”

  Armend barely listened to the response. The talk was boring. Goods stood and blabbered on about low stores and only enough for a year with new mining developments needed. Armend caught the eye of Intelligence and gave a small nod. Hiding the grin on her lips, she stood, completely cutting off Goods. Annoyed at the interruption, the Queen sent Intelligence a cold look. Those two women did not get along. Goods stuttered and attempted to look indignant, and with little success sat down.

  “Intelligence, you were not called upon. What is so important?”

  Intelligence smirked, “I have a prisoner that will know where the Melanthios main camp is located. We have learned from others that this camp is on the biggest source of Quicksilver ever discovered, enough to have Pulse for another hundred years.” She had everyone’s attention, “I ask permission to gain information from her.”

  “I wiped torture from these dungeons years ago,” the King said. “It is a barbaric practice and this Kingdom will have nothing to do with it. How do you expect to gather this information?”

  “Sire, I have not tortured anyone since you decreed that it was barbaric. You have checked many of the prisoners yourself, there were no marks.” She smiled widely, “I simply ask for information in exchange for favors. Most prisoners cannot refuse.”

  “What favors, Intelligence?” The Queen asked coldly.

  “Well, my Queen,” Intelligence said, dripping sarcasm, “as my post is the head of the dungeon, it would not do for me to divulge all my secrets. We never know when someone here might have to come see me.” The veiled threat hung in the air. “I get information. That’s my job, and I excel. And I’ve excelled so much that I am the youngest member of this council.”

  “Enough,” the King said, “Where is this prisoner from? Why does she have this information?”

  “She was the leader of a raiding party,” Armend replied. “Two years ago she slaughtered a group of missionaries. Stalking. Killing. Picking them off one by one.”

  The other’s at the table shifted in their chairs uncomfortably.

  “After watching all his friends die horrible deaths, one of the missionaries, a true hero, managed to hit her in the head with a rock and bind her. She was brought to us. I believe you ordered her to the dungeons, Sire.”

  The King nodded slowly, “Yes, I remember. She is still here then? She has not given the reasons for the slaughter of those missionaries?”

  Intelligence answered with an easy smile, “No, my lord. Sometimes it takes years to get information, as torture is barbaric.”

  The King gave her a hard look, but her smile never faltered. “Question her, do not torture her. There has been enough bloodshed,” turning to Treasury, he said, “How are we in the stores?”

  This time Armend really did check out. Treasury started going on and on about how the life expectancy in Solias had lowered again, and this has resulted in fewer taxes available, as more and more people are dying early. Completely bored, Armend figured that Treasury had really stretched his imagination to come up with the excuse for the lowering Krit stores.

  Finally the King had enough, “Sit down,” he commanded. White-faced and trembling, Treasury sat down.

  The King slammed his fist against the table, “I am tired of war! I want our country to be at peace. The Melanthios need to understand this. Peace, cease sending missionaries. We have lost enough men and women. Goods, make the Quicksilver last, send more men into the mines. Alchemist Omega, double your efforts to develop a Pulse that does not require Quicksilver. Treasury, implement a tax to Carabesh merchants. Only 0.5%, we don’t want to scare them away. This meeting is adjourned. Peace,” he barked at Armend, “We will see you in our chamber for dinner this evening.” The table rose with the King and Queen, and bowing to each other, they left the room together.

  Intelligence sauntered up to Armend as he headed for the door “Well Peace,” she said, “Wanna come with? Might be entertaining.”

  Armend scowled, “I hate torture, it’s barbaric.”

  “Peace! I’m surprised at you,” she said, eyes glinting, “Didn’t you hear the King? I have not tortured anyone in years. I listen to my lord.”

  “Intelligence, I am not as naïve as our dear monarch,” he said, turning away from the room but beckoning her to follow, “However, I will join you. As much as I hate torture, I want to hear what this prisoner has to say.”

  Intelligence clapped her hands, beaming, “Wonderful! I will set it up for this afternoon! What fun!” Turning on her heel, she walked through a door leading to another part of the castle.

  Armend shook his head a
t her enthusiasm and, without turning, said to Sebastian who had appeared behind him, “Get a troop of Exalted geared up. We may have the location of another village by the end of the day.”

  Sebastian nodded and turned away, sinking back into shadows. Armend kept walking down the hall to his chamber. There was just enough time for a meal with his darling wife before he headed to the dungeons.

  4

  Armend

  Armend strolled down the steps to the dungeons. He disliked torture for information, but they needed results. King Sol wanted peace but he was unaware of the cost. Ignorant of how it was attained, he thought that he could pound the table in the council room and peace would magically materialize. This King was weak and stupid. The old King Sol had understood how peace was achieved. He had understood that sometimes action had to occur for there to be a reaction. Armend and the old King Sol agreed on action, without question. Their friendship had been long and trusting, and Armend vowed that he would someday realize his friend’s dream for a healthy Solias. And a healthy Solias meant no more Melanthios. He would just have to act without the King’s knowledge. Only then could Solias prosper.

  Reaching the bottom of the stairs, he pulled open the large steel door into the dungeons. The dungeons had been built in the dark ages in a pre-existing cavern under the city. It was a full scale city underground, with multiple floors and hallways formed from the stalagmites and stalactites in the cave. The ancient people of Solias were primitive and did not have Pulse so they lived in the darkness, but they had been expert craftsmen. There was no escape from this prison. The maze of hallways and floors meant certain starvation and death if someone managed to get out of their cell. But to starve, the prisoner needed to avoid the guards, taken from Exalted training, who would ruthlessly track them down.