Bonus Content: In Medias Res (Sti Mési)
This chapter serves as bonus content for The Laskar Series, Book One. The events of this chapter occur a month prior to the beginning of our story.
The bright sphere of golden sun climbed high above the heads of the king and queen as they raced to the ancient throne room. Clara Argyros, known affectionately by the people as Vasílissa, Gemáti Páthos — The Passionate Queen — walked with a tempo she typically saved for speeding to feasts and festivals, not for a meeting of the kingdoms’ rulers in the Common Lands.
“We’re late!” Clara confirmed for the fourth time to her husband, King Damon Argyros, the Visionary — Oramatistís. The queen inched the hem of her gown above her ankles and increased her pace.
“Everything will be fine, Clara,” Damon assured her. He reached over to give her free hand a gentle squeeze and hoped to regain an air of repose in their pace.
Clara knew this tactic all-too-well and only slowed to frown at him. She could see past his calmness and into the anxious thoughts on his mind that matched her own.
“You couldn’t have so easily forgotten what happens when Ambrus sees someone as being disobedient,” she remarked, her mind lingering on the horrifying and chaotic memory of the last time they’d arrived late when abruptly summoned from their home.
However, that memory was cut short by a haunting shriek that echoed down the corridor.
Clara and Damon exchanged glances to establish that they finally agreed on their current situation. The first being that they were late. The second, that someone down the hall — likely King Ambrus, the one who called this meeting and had a particular affinity for horrified screams — took notice of their tardiness. And finally, this meeting was going to be more complicated than renegotiating kingdom borders.
They’d both assumed this meeting to be a ruse from the moment they’d received the notice. But the king and queen were only a day’s travel behind the other rulers, which — with the violence — begged the question of the true reason behind the summons to the Common Lands. Ambrus always had a covert agenda, but this felt more sinister than his previous intentions.
The weight that came with acknowledging they’d not been called to the Common Lands to negotiate kingdom borders grew heavier as the scream faded back into the clicking of Clara and Damon’s shoes on the marble floors.
As they neared the end of the hall, Damon held up a hand in front of his wife, hoping their approach was quiet enough so he could assess the level of danger present within the throne room without being noticed. Another cry rang out into the hall from their destination — but this one was muffled by gurgles and pained gasps.
Damon had no way to comfort Clara as she fussed under her breath. He could feel the rush of adrenaline begin to fill his bloodstream. The call to battle roiled in his guts. He knew at least one person inside of the throne room was injured. Though it was more likely that they were dead. Damon hoped it wasn’t one of their friends. But if that were the case, he was ready to fight.
Clara pushed past her husband to be the first to look into the throne room. Damon watched her back jolt from what he assumed was shock before peering in himself.
Ambrus paced in front of one of his guards, prone and writhing in pain — a pool of blood forming beneath him. A corpse, marred beyond recognition, sizzled at the center of the room.
The couple’s gaze jumped to the semi-circle of thrones at the front of the room, where three other rulers sat quietly, looking anywhere but at the man dying on the floor. Seeing that their friends were alive, anxiety drained from the Argyros’ bodies. But they all were still in danger.
Knowing the answer was no, Damon scanned the room for any threat more significant than the man standing in the middle of it.
The Argyros’ could see from their vantage point that Ambrus’ soldiers around the room were shaking with fear. Watching one of their fellow guardsmen drown in his own blood had not been something they were expecting.
Damon straightened, entered, and cleared his throat to announce their arrival.
Clara followed steps behind with a ferocious look settled into her delicate features. “You pig,” she snapped at Ambrus’ back, “Do you not even feel guilty for what you’ve done?”
Damon stepped between Ambrus and his wife, glancing at the smoldering body ten feet ahead of them.
King Ambrus pivoted with leisure. When he faced them, he threw his hands into the air with a melodramatic flair, “Ah, Damon and Clara, how nice of you to finally join us.” Either he hadn’t heard her, or he was choosing to ignore her.
“It’s not like we had a choice in the matter,” Queen Argyros spat under her breath.
Damon tensed again, but Ambrus simply continued to sneer and motioned for them to sit next to the others. The couple took their designated seats between two of their fellow rulers, King Mercier and Queen Charlize.
“It’s too bad you missed me firing the help a few moments ago,” Ambrus drolled as they sat, “I’ve honestly been meaning to do it for weeks, but you both know how I like making an example of those with disappointing performances.”
Damon looked over at his friends, those who — for years — he’d sought counsel from, fought for, and supported through heartbreak and loss.
No one met his gaze. Two sat in stiff shock. However, Queen Pennington, who had ruled the Midwestern realm in her young nephew’s stead for the last five years, had begun to inspect her nails with halfhearted interest.
“What do you really want, Ambrus? Border renegotiation is hardly something to call an emergency council for. Why are we really here?” Damon demanded.
The other king stopped pacing and looked at his guards. “Out,” he ordered, and his men were happy to oblige.
Damon and his wife shared a look and a singular thought — he was getting rid of witnesses.
The Law of Koiná Edáfi wasn’t one they needed to consider often, as it only applied in the Common Lands. Without the protections that the royals could levy in their own realms against Ambrus, they would be seeking this realm’s council if an incident occurred. The Common Lands were notorious for protecting speech that would be considered high treason in any other kingdom. Ambrus had gotten away with making many threats in this room before. And most of those threats were also carried out.
Once the throne room’s door shut, Ambrus turned back to his captive audience. “I believe I asked you to take a seat,” he remarked.
Damon hesitated, not even realizing that he’d stood to take a defensive stance. But he knew that the guise of cooperation would get them to the true nature of this meeting faster, so he sat.
“Now, to answer your question, Damon. I didn’t misrepresent myself when I shared that this meeting would be about updating the kingdom borders,” Ambrus began, half smiling to himself. “It’s come to my attention that rebellions are on the rise across the regime. Laskar is growing wildly out-of-hand.”
Queen Pennington scoffed, not looking up from her nails, “Maybe they are rebelling in your land. My people live peacefully.”
Ambrus’ gaze fell on her with that remark, finally giving her a reason to look up from her nails. She shrunk back in her seat. Like many other things, speaking out was equal to defiance in Ambrus’ eyes.
“From what I hear, there are factions across your kingdom who are demanding that your young nephew be given his crown early. Just because you choose to ignore these requests, whether that be due to your—,” Ambrus paused, as if he were searching for a word, “distaste for the boy and his deceased mother, or just due to sheer stupidity—there is unrest.”
Damon knew that people across the kingdoms were unhappy. Even within their own domain, there was talk of rebellion. This could often be quelled with tax breaks and a good harvest. Others hadn’t seen similar luck or were unwilling to give their citizens what they asked.
“We all must see that there is imminent danger to the tradition passed down to us through our bloodlines. These militias are threatening our very birthright.” Ambrus paused, letting his words sink in, “The only solution to this problem is to take out the traitors, with whatever force is necessary to do so. We will make an example of them so that no one ever thinks to question our right to the throne again.”
The air thickened as he spoke. “Now, back to the point I was making before I was interrupted,” he continued. “You all are too loose, too forgiving of those who would defy your laws. Now, I don’t blame you for this. You all have soft hearts, formed by the careful accreditation of status, wealth, parental favoritism, and whatever else brought you to your specific worldview. I, on the other hand, was brought into this position by nothing other than an act of God, and I’m not willing to watch this gift go to waste.”
In the few moments of silence, Damon saw all the possibilities of this conversation leading to one outcome—death. More death than Laskar had seen in a very long time.
“Just get to whatever point you’re trying to make,” King Mercier, ruler of the Eastern forests, finally spoke up, his throaty voice filling the room.
The smile that Ambrus had been holding back cracked across his face. “Alright, if that is what you wish. It’s time to dissolve the borders and reinstate one clear ruler over Laskar, and it should be me. This way, rebels will meet their end, one way or another, and the true birthright given to us by the prophecy will be fulfilled. I will kill what’s killing Laskar, and then I will restore it to what is right, just as the prophecy says.”
The seated kings and queens glanced at one another worriedly. This wasn’t a negotiation. It was a demand. And since they were all in the Common Lands, Ambrus’ order couldn’t be considered treason against the kingdoms, because the Common Lands were a free realm.
Ambrus would happily, and with few questions, kill any one of them to gain more power. But he knew that if he killed one of them in this throne room, he’d have to kill them all, and this would destroy his ability to take control of Laskar. No matter how bitter they were toward their kings and queens, the people would fight to the very last if they believed his ascent to the throne was through betrayal. While he considered the benefit of ridding his realm of the scum, ruling required having subjects and years of war would deprive him of such.
For a moment, Damon was tempted to rise and skewer the heart of the mad king before him. But Ambrus’ kingdom had long been filled with those just as power-hungry as he. There were few laws to protect the weak in the realm, and many had taken advantage of that. Ambrus’ people believed he had the most claim to Laskar. They had fought loyally for him in every battle he’d sent them to. If Ambrus was claiming Laskar now, his men would soon be on the move to take what they wanted and destroy what they couldn’t get. Either would work for Ambrus, as long as he got his solitary throne at the end.
Damon shifted uncomfortably in his seat, and Clara reached across the space between them, grasping his hand.
Ambrus made it evident that he didn’t want to continue until Queen Argyros’ hand returned her seat. He waited. The silence dragged, and Clara knowingly refused to move.
“So, given your silence, I’m assuming we’re in agreement then? I am to rule all of Laskar,” he continued after the silence had gone for too long.
Clara’s small attempt at dominance would not change his agenda.
Again, a gruff voice met his, “You know that Damon would have more claim than you if he wanted it.”
The Argyros’ heads snapped to stare at King Mercier. While he hadn’t meant to do so, he’d placed a glaring target on Damon and Clara’s backs.
A second act of defiance almost fired the king up, but he took a moment to gain composure before responding, “If you recall, I have far more power on my side than Damon. A power that I’m more than willing to use whenever I need to.” Ambrus gave a side-long glance at the bodies on the floor beside him.
“You mean to say killing innocent people,” piped Queen Charlize. She ruled the Northern realm. While there was an entire kingdom between her and Ambrus, her realm had seen years of war from him. The last of which caused her husband’s death and the loss of most of her kingdom’s infrastructure.
“Is anyone truly innocent?” Ambrus mocked. He pulled a glint of metal from under his cloak. A gun—a weapon banned from introduction to Laskar — and his finger was on the trigger.
Clara’s hand tightened on Damon’s. There were few ways to get to and from Earth, and most of the time, the coming or going happened by accident. The Argyros’ knew he had sent agents there before, but they’d assumed they only been one-way trips.
Damon stayed quiet, working on an escape plan for when things got ugly. His queen, on the other hand, couldn’t remain silent.
“You think you can just shoot us if we don’t give you what you want?” she asked, her anger obvious. “Our people will never have you, and our children will take the throne and destroy you!” She wasn’t visibly shaking, but Damon could feel a tremor through their linked hands.
Ambrus walked forward until his face was only inches from hers. His grip shifted, the trigger now free from his finger, but his hand was clenched so hard that it was turning white.
“If I remember correctly, dear Clara, the last of your line wasn’t even able to draw its first breath. There’s not much a child can do from a grave,” he hissed. Clara slammed back into her seat as he straightened and walked back to the middle of the room.
“But I do know that killing all of you right now wouldn’t be the prudent thing to do. I have to earn this title in some way beyond your deaths, and God-willing, I will. That is when you will all die — as traitors who rallied against the next Great King, alongside all those who would stand with you.”
He wanted a war.
“I can offer a gift to you if you should choose to fight against me. I offer a quick death at the end of all of this — if you make it that long,” he said, swiveling the gun in his hand carelessly. “I’ve also noticed some confused faces among us in regards to the weapon in my hand. Let me give a little demonstration to assure you of this act of mercy I’ve offered here today.”
Ambrus called for one of his guards, and everyone pressed back into their seats, knowing that they would witness another murder. The guard barely made it in the door before Ambrus pulled the trigger. A boom echoed around the room.
The bullet hit the man in the chest, and it became clear — very quickly — that it had ruptured one of his lungs. Queen Charlize shuddered, letting out a small sob as the man fell to his knees, gasping for air.
“I thought you called it a quick death,” King Mercier said.
The man crumpled to the floor, blood gurgling in his throat.
Ambrus nodded, took a couple steps forward, and after the echoes of a second shot dissipated, silence hung in the room. The blood pooling from Ambrus’ most recent victim crept along the floor and started to mix with the other guard’s blood.
Ambrus returned the gun to its original hiding spot under his cloak and turned to face the others with a hollow, emotionless exterior. “I always thought the scarring on this eye affected my accuracy,” he said, not needing to point to the dulled scar across the right side of his face. A childhood accident had left him partially blind and permanently bloodshot in that eye. “No need to worry yourselves — I’ll continue practicing.”
Damon had stood again, knowing that they all needed to leave and fast. These next few moments were critical in achieving that.
Clara popped up next to him, the others following suit. They knew the danger they were in, but Damon knew Ambrus better than any of them. He had to take the lead.
Ambrus eyed all of them suspiciously, waiting.
They couldn’t attack him unless they all wanted to die today. It was foolish, but as demanded, they’d left all of their guards waiting in the lower parts of the castle. Ambrus also wasn’t likely to just let them go, either. Not without an answer, anyhow.
Damon cleared his throat, “You’ve given everyone here quite a bit of information to dwell on, Ambrus. I think it best that we all get a couple of days to think through all that you’ve offered to us.” It was the perfect response, yet it still struck a nerve.
“Is that all? You have nothing else to declare here today before your fellow rulers?” Ambrus asked, pushing Damon to make a mistake. Any inclination of disagreement now would give him the grounds to dispatch his troops and capture each of them on the other side of the Common Lands. The war would be lost before any of their armies could know it had begun. Laskar would be his.
Damon nodded, looking over at Clara now for strength, “Just that I’d like to retire for the day with my wife. It’s been a long journey for us. And I’m sure the same can be said of the others here.”
“Take your leave. But mark me, I expect all of your thrones relinquished to me within a fortnight,” Ambrus spat before turning and leaving the room through a hidden staircase.
No one spoke as they left the castle. The four royal families rode out of the Common Land’s capital, stopping to make camp just as the sun began setting. They would go their separate ways in the morning.
Shortly after supper, four riders were dispatched with instructions for each commander of the houses’ royal army to muster troops for war.
“If it’s a war he wants, it’s a war he’ll get,” Clara said, patting their courier gently on the arm. “Ride quickly, and conceal your name to everyone until you get to your father. If our armies don’t rise with us, all will be lost.” The boy was no more than eighteen and by nature hardly fit to be a royal guard, but he was all his father could find on short notice. A war would change that. For now, Clara just hoped he was a quick rider.
He bowed deeply before jumping on the saddle, “I won’t let you down, Gemáti Páthos.” A sad smile crossed her face before stepping away and watching him ride out.
At the fire, the other rulers sat close.
“Who will tell the children?” Queen Charlize asked.
Her question was directed at King Mercier, but Queen Pennington spoke up. “Your options are limited. There are only two people here who know the location of your boys and who are known by them. A woman traveling through the kingdoms alone provides no real discretion, and traveling together is unwise since, in a few weeks’ time, we will need to be as uncapturable as possible.” Her eyes flashed to King Mercier.
“Even with the fastest rider, my troops will be the last to join us, with or without me. I will fetch the boys,” the king replied. The conversation died at that point, and Damon stood to join his wife on the outskirts of the camp.
She didn’t have to look to know it was him. “Everything we’ve done — it doesn’t feel like enough,” she said, her arms crossing her chest.
“We always knew there was a possibility that he’d figure out how the magic worked well enough to get through,” he responded, knowing there wasn’t an easy answer from here forward. “Once we ensure that our army is raised, we’ll go home.”
Clara’s sigh gave away her disappointment, “I’m not worried about that part. The people will rise and fight, and hopefully we’ll see a better Laskar come out of it. I’m just worried about the…,” she trailed off, looking out into the growing dark in front of them.
“The inevitable,” Damon responded. “The day had to come, timing be damned. But let’s not think beyond what needs to happen next, at least for a little while. We’ll get through this — together.”