The Far Realm Chronicles Anthology

by Annette Archer

  Estogan stood near her, outfitted in regal blue leggings and a shirt of the same color trimmed in thick gold thread. A ceremonial dagger in a jeweled hilt rested at his right hip. His own crown, a circlet of polished bronze, held gemstones of various colors around the outside. It looked as gaudy as he did, in her opinion.

  The Truthsayer, the religious leader of her peoples and the one who would oversee this ceremony, stepped forward from the back of the dais in a long flowing green robe, his back hunched from age but his eyes bright and full of life. He raised his hands and those assembled to watch this historic union fell silent.

  “Friends, and honored guests of another people,” the Truthsayer began, his voice booming out around the vaulted ceiling of the room. “We have come together here today to form a union not only of two people, but of two races. The Princess Melodielle and the Prince Estogan, the Crystal Elves and the Humans.”

  He paused, his arms coming down so his hands could clasp together, his smile fading. “But there is one other who has asked to join this ceremony.”

  Estogan’s head whipped around, his scowl fierce. He was close to his goal now, Melodielle knew, and everything that stood in his way was seen as a threat to him.

  Just like Tolan had been. Just like she was about to.

  “My people,” Melodielle called out, taking up the dialogue. “Please make a space for another honored guest. He will join us here at the Dais.”

  Estogan put on a fake, rigid smile, and spoke to her through gritted teeth. “What is this, my Princess?”

  Melodielle had the pleasure of looking Estogan squarely in his dark eyes to say, “Do not call me your Princess.”

  The gathered crowd stepped to either side of the room, leaving a path through the middle of them. Through the doors at the far end, as if on cue, stepped three Crystal Elves all in shining armor, a thing reserved only for the most special ceremonies. This certainly qualified. Their helms hid their faces and the overlapping plates of metal clanked as they walked forward with their captive in the middle of them.

  The creature’s long, red arms loped along the polished stone floor as he was made to walk forward, his head hanging down, his face bruised and a cut at his chest staining his already dirty clothes with his own blood.

  A Red Goblin.

  Gasps and exclamations went up from everyone. She and Tolan hadn’t told anyone about what they were planning except the warriors under his command. And of course, her father.

  King Melandrake crossed his burly arms. “Ah, good. The night’s entertainment.”

  “My King, I demand to know the meaning of this!” Estogan blared loudly. “How dare your people bring one of these things here, on our wedding day, so soon after their attack on your own daughter!”

  “Because these Red Goblins are not the only ones responsible for what happened to my daughter,” Melandrake answered in a voice just as loud, for everyone to hear. “This demented beast is going to tell us all about it here and now.”

  Estogan looked frantic. His eyes went wide, his mouth hung open, working to say something even though no words came out. His skin paled. Then his gaze settled on the Red Goblin that had been brought forth to the foot of the dais.

  With no warning, Estogan pulled his dagger and threw it with deadly accuracy at the Red Goblin, sinking it deep into his throat. The creature fell over sideways, dead, without a word being uttered.

  Estogan seemed to relax in that moment, as all eyes stared at him. He smoothed his black hair, resettled his shirt to hang just so from his shoulders. He smiled.

  “I am sorry, King Melandrake. But I could not risk letting that thing hurt my bride. Not again. I suppose now that we will never know what information it might have told us. Pity.”

  “Yes,” one of the three warriors who had brought the Goblin in said. “Such a pity.”

  The warrior removed his helmet. For just the briefest of moments, there was complete silence in the worship space. And then everyone broke out into cheers upon seeing the face of Censor Tolan, thought to be dead, yet standing here alive.

  Everyone, that is, except Estogan.

  “You!” the Human Prince said accusingly, pointing a finger. “What are you doing? We thought you dead!”

  “Perhaps you thought that,” Tolan said to him as quiet spread among the gathering again. “Because you ordered your men to kill me.”

  “What! I…I did no such thing! How dare you say that!”

  “No matter,” Tolan said, stepping up onto the dais and bowing to the King before coming to stand right next to Melodielle. “I know the only ones there who could verify my story were your own people. I’m sure none of them would speak against you. My word would be taken as truth among the Crystal Elves, but among the humans who would believe me?”

  “No one, I assure you,” Estogan said, finally smug once more. “My King, can we please remove this person so that the wedding can commence again?”

  No one moved. No one spoke. Estogan looked from face to face, confused.

  “There will be no wedding,” Tolan said firmly, and Melodielle caught hold of his hand to squeeze it tightly. She truly liked the way that sounded. “There will be no ceremony here, no joining of our two peoples. I may not be able to prove that you have been behind the recent Red Goblin attacks,” he paused as everyone around them began mumbling to themselves over that tidbit of information, “but I don’t have to prove it, either. All I had to do was let your own actions speak for you. And so they have.”

  Estogan looked from Tolan to King Melandrake, to Melodielle, then back to Tolan. “I don’t understand.”

  “Of course you don’t. That’s because you never bothered to learn our customs. This was supposed to be an easy win for your, a quick way to secure power for yourself. You made a mistake, however. Several, in fact, but one major one. You disrespected our customs.”

  “What are you talking about, you oaf?” Estogan growled at him.

  Melodielle smiled as the man she loved pointed at the dead body of the Red Goblin and explained what had just happened to Estogan. “You have committed murder in our holy place. You have defiled our sanctuary to the Maker. We can have no dealings with you now, at all. None. You are to return to your homeland, Prince Estogan, with nothing.”

  Estogan sneered at him. “You have no authority to order me to leave, Elf.”

  “True,” King Melandrake said with a nod of his head and a menacing step forward. “But I do. You and your men are to leave my home and my lands immediately, Prince Estogan. You may never set foot here again. I don’t envy you having to explain to your father or his advisors why you ruined this chance they had at an alliance with us. Warriors!” he called out, and there was the sound of every Crystal Elf Warrior in the room coming to attention. “Escort these Humans from our lands and make sure no Red Goblins attack them on the way.

  Melandrake leaned in very close to Estogan with a wolfish smile. “I would hate for anything to happen to them on their way out.”

  Chapter 6

  Melodielle lay in bed next to Tolan, naked, sweaty, her chest heaving in breath after breath. He had promised her it would only get better between them. He had been right.

  “I spoke to your father,” he said to her, rolling onto his back, his glorious body exposed to her thirsty eyes.

  “Did you now?” She wondered how long they would have before dinner. Maybe long enough for them to do what they had just done all over again. “And what did you talk to my father about?”

  “Well, I was saying to him that since the people had been expecting a wedding, maybe we should give them one.”

  The points of her ears twitched. “Oh? But who would get married?”

  Pulling her over to him, he pressed his lips tightly to hers and whispered against her mouth, “We would, my love. We would.”

  ETHELIA

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6


  Back to Main Table of Contents

  Ethelia

  Chapter 1

  On a warm summer’s day, the sun beat down from a cloudless blue sky and a breeze wafted over the Utopian Plains. Long grasses bowed in that strong wind, birds soared high, and Prince Thanus thought that if there had ever been a day to thank the Maker for being alive, this was that day.

  His stallion was beginning to flag under him. It had been a long ride from the Sargenian Kingdom on his way to the Kingdom of Rikketh. The Far Realm was immense, and sometimes population centers were few and far between. Thanus knew he would have to stop soon, to allow his horse to rest, and to get some rest himself. It would be another day’s ride, maybe two, before he reached his ultimate destination.

  Thanus had plenty of time to get to where he was going. The matter was somewhat urgent, however. The problem with the Blue Sisterhood’s clerics having assumed control of lands along the borders of his Kingdom, the dragons at their side, could no longer be ignored. There had already been deaths. Thanus’s father, King Ichanus, wanted him to investigate.

  His first thought had been to go to the source, to the dragon clerics themselves. When he’d tried, nearly all of his escort had been killed. The clerics, apparently, didn’t wish to talk about it.

  Rumor was that the Kingdom of Rikketh was somehow in league with the dragon clerics of the Blue Sisterhood. Thanus sighed. King Jelanus of Rikketh had never been known for his even temper. Thanus figured he’d be lucky if just asking for an audience didn’t cause war to break out between their two Kingdoms.

  The village of Damiste was just a few more miles ahead. Thanus looked up to the sun and then wiped sweat away from his brow. His dark hair clung to the back of his neck and he wished now that he had left his heavy purple cloak in his saddle bags. This morning, when he’d started out, it had been chilly and dew had wet down his stallion’s hooves and brown legs. Amazing, how weather could change so much in just half a day’s travel.

  He shaded his blue eyes and looked ahead past the wide open fields to the horizon. Yes. There was Damiste and its tall central spire. A landmark for travelers and a religious site for the locals who practiced a pagan religion called Temporalism. Thanus didn’t quite understand the ins and outs of their cult, but he knew the practitioners were considered odd even by the oddest of religions in the Far Realm. Something about how all men were holy and all women evil.

  Thanus had known some truly evil men, in his experience. Moreover, he’d always known there to be some redeeming quality in every woman he’d ever known, especially in the ones receptive to coming into his bed.

  As Damiste came closer, Thanus suddenly realized how dry his throat was. There was a little water left in his canteen. No one would be fool enough to start out in a ride across the Far Realm without at least one full canteen. But he had a taste for something stronger to slake his thirst.

  He’d been in Damiste twice before and knew of just the place to get such libation. A place called The Empty Cup, which was a small place with excellent liquor and pretty waitresses.

  If he was lucky, perhaps his thirst wouldn’t be the only thing slaked while he was there.

  He was thinking on that as he came into the outskirts of Damiste, the streets becoming packed dirt and then gravel as he went past modest homes of baked clay bricks or rough boards. Closer to the center of town, businesses began appearing: general stores, weavers, even a couple of fruit vendors selling apples and loquis fruits.

  At the first intersection of streets was a stable. Thanus brought his weary horse to a halt, the loyal animal whinnying and hanging his head, great chest heaving. As he dismounted, Thanus patted the horses neck.

  “Good boy, Hurricane. Ready for a rest?”

  The horse, Hurricane, nickered as if he understood the question. Taking hold of the reigns, Thanus went to lead him inside.

  From the corner of his eye he caught a commotion from down the street, where past the intersection a group of people had gathered, with a lot of shouting and arm waving. Some of them appeared to be simple townspeople, humbly dressed in brown or white homespun fabric. Others, however, wore the purple robes of the Temporalists, tied with gold braided rope belts at their waist.

  “Religious zealots,” Thanus mumbled as he unhooked his cloak to stuff it back into his saddlebags.

  “Most definitely, good sir,” the stable master said as he came up to Thanus. “But they run the place now, so I’d not say that again too loudly, were I you.”

  Thanus smiled, embarrassed. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize anyone would hear me.”

  “Just me,” the man assured him with a smile of his own. “Martin Criss, owner and operator of Horseflesh Stalls, at your service. And I respect my customer’s privacy.” He lifted a thick finger to scratch behind his ear. “You are a customer, aren’t you?”

  Thanus regarded Martin, muscular and lean, a leather apron over a white shirt stretched tight across his chest, dark hair damp with the sweat of honest work. Thanus decided he liked this man.

  “Yes,” he said. “I am a customer. One night’s rest for my horse.”

  “Fair enough, good sir.” The stable master took hold of the reigns from Thanus and led the animal inside the barn. “Come with me, good sir,” he called back to Thanus, “and we shall discuss the terms. I’m sure you’ll find them very reasonable.”

  “I’m sure.”

  Thanus’s attention was on the scene in the road, however.

  There was a woman on the ground in the middle of the crowd, down on her knees and one hand, her other held up defensively as insult after insult was hurled at her. Her cream colored dress was dirty and torn along the sleeves. Her deep red hair, the color of rubies, was covered in dust from where it had dragged along the street. She was obviously in distress, and obviously in need of help.

  Thanus shook his head and turned to follow Martin into the stable: small town politics... there was always someone to hate. He knew better than to get involved. At best, it would delay his getting to Rikketh and at worst, it would wrap him up in some local dispute that he had no reason or desire to get involved in.

  The poor woman, whoever she was, most likely deserved what she was getting anyway.

  Martin helped Thanus take off Hurricane’s saddle and tack, and as he brushed the horse down and arranged for a meal of oats and barley, the stable master laid out the fees involved in a night’s lodging at the stable for the animal. The terms were very agreeable, actually, considering that Thanus had expected to be taken advantage of. Twenty coppers took care of securing a stall and food and curative rubdown that Martin promised would have Hurricane feeling like a colt again.

  “Fair enough,” Thanus agreed. “I’ll come for him in the morning.”

  “Fair is as fair does,” Martin said, a phrase he was obviously used to saying quite a bit. Thanus shook his hand and, with a final last pat against the side of Hurricane’s strong neck, went to leave.

  Martin called after him as he set his workers to tending Hurricane. “If you’re looking for a decent place to spend the night yourself, good sir, I’d recommend the Flying Hog. Up the street a ways, straight through the intersection, on the left. Should be a few rooms still available.”

  “So, up past the mob of angry people?” Thanus quipped with a wry twist to his mouth.

  Martin nodded, scratching at his ear again. “Pay no mind to that, truly. There’s always someone mad in Damiste these days. The Flying Hog serves a good dinner, as well.”

  Thanus nodded. “A relative of yours runs the place, I take it?”

  That made Martin smile broadly. “True enough. My cousin. A small man with big dreams. I won’t steer you wrong though, good sir. He runs a decent place.”

  Thanus touched the first two fingers of his right hand to his temple. “Much obliged.”

  Martin stiffened when he saw that little motion Thanus had made with his hand. “Uh, can I get your name, sir? In case there’s a problem or…something?”


  Thanus knew Martin had recognized the salute he’d made, a common gesture in the regions of the Far Realm where the Sargenian Kingdom was located, but no matter; he was who he was.

  “Thanus,” he answered the man. “My name is Thanus.”

  Martin’s eyes got wider and he turned immediately to shout more orders to his workers. “Step to it, lads! We’ve a prince’s horse here. Let’s show him how well we do our businesses!”

  Thanus turned away, shaking his head. Now he’d be lucky not to come back and find certain unexpected “fees” tacked on to the care and keep of his horse.

  Ethelia

  Chapter 2

  Back out in the sunlight, Thanus blinked to get his eyes used to the sudden brightness, then set his feet to take him up the street toward where Martin the stable master had told him the Flying Hog would be found.

  The crowd was still there, he saw, still harassing the woman.

  Wisely, he crossed to the other side of the street, avoiding a passing carriage and two-horse team as he went. He could hear some of what the crowd was shouting as he got closer. He had thought that by now they might have lost interest in the object of their derision and dispersed. Apparently this was going to be an all-day thing for them, though.

  “You shouldn’t be here,” one man shouted down at the woman. Spittle flew from his mouth as his fist shook. “You know better than to bring your heathen temptations here!”

  “She tried to entice my husband,” a woman was screaming to anyone who would listen, the scrawny man next to her with the haggard expression obviously the husband she was complaining about. “She wanted him to do nasty things with her. He told me so!”

  “This woman has come here to ruin us!” That last came from a very tall man near the center of the crowd, clothed in a purple robe that hung off his thin frame, his head bald and paler than an Ice Maiden’s skin. His dark eyes pierced everyone he looked at, even Thanus.