Pulse: Book One of the Zoya Chronicles

by Kate Sander

  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-jawed, 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 at 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.

  Armend made his way through a small, well-lit hallway. The King and Queen only knew of these prisoners, kept in luxury. They were told the rest of the cells were empty and unliveable.

  It was laughable how little his dear monarch know.

  These cells had plush, soft beds and the prisoners were kept full and healthy. Solias high-borns, often on two or three month trump charges such as adultery or tax evasion were kept here. They were housed in comfort, even allowed visits from family, then released better than when they came. At the end of this hallway was the dungeon armories and main office where Intelligence worked.

  Three quick raps on the door, then Armend waited patiently.

  “Come.”

  He entered her office, nodding to the guard dressed in black standing at attention just inside the door. Intelligence was kicked back in her chair, her feet on the top of her dark wood desk. She had the same cherry red robes on as the morning, but with a black cloak on overtop to protect from the draft. Her choppy blonde hair stood out in every direction. She kept it short, as she didn’t like hair in her eyes when she worked. Blue eyes blazing when she saw him walk in, and she shot him a big toothy grin.

  Armend couldn’t help but return the excited smile. Oh the young, he thought.

  “Peace!” she chirped, standing up from her chair, “About time! You like to keep a lady waiting, don’t you?”

  “Not when it matters.”

  She gave a pandering chuckle and, walking around the table, took his arm, head barely came to his shoulders. “Let’s go to work! It should be a real treat. This one has kept her wits about her, I tell yah. But I enjoy the challenge!” and she led him out of her room.

  Turning to the guard on their way out, she said in a crisp voice devoid of warmth, “Get four other men with Pulse sticks. We’re taking 6-1-3 to 7X. Hurry up, we don’t have all day.” The man nodded and followed them out the door. “We’ll start making our way down to floor six, Peace. They will meet us there soon.”

  “Why do we need five men? Surely one or two with you are enough to control one woman,” he said as they started down some stairs. Already lost in the maze, Intelligence guided him with her hand on his elbow. Anxiety hit when he realized that if she were to disappear he would surely die down here.

  Intelligence gave his elbow a reassuring squeeze and said, “You don’t know 613. She killed three of the guards, well-trained Exalted guards nonetheless, on one occasion when we fetched her for a chat. With her bare hands. Now we have the sticks which will give her an electric shock, but will not kill her. Terribly helpful, though we’ve only had them the last year.” She led him down more steps and into a corridor. “The Melanthios are a different breed. There’s a level of… brutality in her, one I’ve never seen before. One man she killed by gauging his eyes out. She had her thumbs in his brain by the time we got her off him.”

  Armend blanched, bile rising as he pictured the scene. A feral woman gauging out eyes. Maybe they did need five people to control her.

  Intelligence laughed when she saw his face. “Not to worry! We have her trained like the bitch
she is now. One look at the Pulse sticks and she calms right down.”

  They stopped at a door indistinguishable from the rest. Another bout of anxiety hit when he realized that no one knew he was coming down here with Intelligence. Not even Sebastian. She could just push him in one of these dungeons and leave. A cold sweat dripped down his back and he could feel his pulse in his neck.

  Intelligence misinterpreted this as being scared of the prisoner and gave him a reassuring head nod. Armend started to plan his escape (he thought he remembered two lefts and a right after a set of stairs) when he was interrupted by five jogging Exalted guards. They had Pulse packs on their forearms, and carried black metal sticks that glowed blue. They were armed and ready.

  Intelligence slipped on a pair of gloves. “Stay at the door,” she commanded Armend, who bristled indignantly at the order. Intelligence ignored him and nodded to the guards.

  Crash.

  A guard kicked the door open and they flooded into the room with expert precision in single file, batons raised. Prisoner 613 was kneeling in the center of the cell, head bowed, breathing deeply. Her white shawl was wrapped around her, her eyes were closed. To Armend, she looked simple and unassuming, with one strand of hair tucked behind her ear. The guards circled her and waited. With a nod from Intelligence, they approached the prisoner slowly. The Pulse batons crackled in the silent room as the guards worked their way forward, one unison step at a time..