R.J. Larson's Blog, page 2

Prophet, the German Translation

PROPHET, the German translation
Indulge me, please, while I celebrate.

Prophet has been translated into German, Die Prophetin. Special thanks to translator, Alexandra Wolf, and to the amazing team at @ReformaZion Media. This is a privilege and a blessing I never expected. Praying readers who love German enjoy Ela's story. Have fun, dear everyone!

Our (or, rather, my) New Website!

R.J. and Kacy: Some of our books
At last!
After more than a year, I've created a joint website for Kacy Barnett-Gramckow and R. J. Larson.
Apologies for the delay. Throughout the past year, I debated the value of an author website, and whether I should create one for both of my writing names, or a separate site for each.

Why did I decide on a new website at all? One word: emails. Some readers strongly prefer to land on an author's website and submit genuine emails--and I (we) love receiving emails!

I finally decided on a host, paid fees, transferred domains, paid for domains, jumped through hoops, paid for email addys, and possibly yelled in frustration once, then made numerous phone calls to very patient techies who ironed out wrinkles. After making all those payments for just one domain, I (we) decided that one site had to work for both genres--despite all the rumors, authors need to budget their money.

Yes, the site's 'look' is more Kacy Barnett-Gramckow than R. J. Larson, but R. J. must learn to share, right?

Without further ado, here's my (our) new site!  https://www.gramcoink.com

Prophet Alert!

Prophet, the ebook, is on sale for .99 cents throughout August, 2019!

Prophet, by R. J. LarsonWhat is life like for a prophet? Ela Roeh is about to find out.
"This tale captured me and held me hostage to the very last page. Breathlessly waiting for the next book."--Donita K. Paul, author of The Dragon Keeper Chronicles and The Chiril Chronicles

Ela Roeh of Parne doesn't understand why her beloved Creator, the Infinite, wants her to become His prophet. She's undignified and bad-tempered, and at age seventeen she's much too young. In addition, no prophet of Parne has ever been a girl. Worst of all, as Parne's elders often warn, if she agrees to become the Infinite's prophet, Ela knows she will die young.

Yet she can't imagine living without Him. Determined to hear the Infinite's voice, Ela accepts the sacred vinewood branch and is sent to bring the Infinite's word to a nation torn apart by war. There she meets a young ambassador determined to bring his own justice for his oppressed people. As they form an unlikely partnership, Ela battles how to balance the leading of her heart with the leading of the Infinite.

Legends of the Forsaken Empire: FORFEITED

As the dark ages end, the spirit of an ancient forsaken empire stirs when a lost book is discovered and rescued ... at a terrible cost.
Generations have passed after Realm of Thorns' chaos. 
As the dark ages fade, an ancient book is discovered and rescued from oblivion, and the Spirit of an ancient forsaken empire stirs. 
When a young scribe of the Religious is granted
sanctuary by the powerful and wealthy Valo-Treour family, he brings with him the very heart of a long-forgotten faith.


But following this new faith comes with a terrible cost.

The Valo-Treours are irresistibly drawn to the book's forbidden scriptures, which threaten their rulers' claims to power.

Wealth, strength, and a long-revered name cannot save them from paying the price of their devotion.


Scroll down for sample chapter!Legends of the Forsaken Empire: FORFEITED, Chapter One:










Copyright 2019 by R. J. Larson
Researched and written by R. J. Larson
All rights reserved in all media. Without limiting the rights under the copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in, or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without prior written permission.
For permission requests, please contact: https://www.facebook.com/RJLarson.Writes/
Printed in U.S.A.This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
While every effort has been made to ensure the accuracy and legitimacy of the references, referrals, and links (collectively “links”) presented in this e-book, R. J. Larson is not responsible or liable for broken links or missing or fallacious information at the links. Any links in this e-book to a specific product, process, web site, or service do not constitute or imply an endorsement by R. J. Larson of same, or its producer or provider. The views and opinions contained at any Links do not necessarily express or reflect those of R. J. Larson.
Cover design by: Kacy Barnett-GramckowBackground and images: Kacy Barnett-Gramckow.Map icons: Kacy Barnett-Gramckow 



Chapter 1Ceyfraland, Autumn 1125
A ferocious graspstartled Brother Davin awake, even as Brother Gregaraii’s husk-dry old voice pleaded, “Davin, help me save them!”“Save who?” Davin turned over on his thin, hard pallet, peering through the darkness of their stark, narrow, stone cell.Brother Gregaraii didn’t answer. At least not with words. Robes rustling, he scooted toward the doorway, his movements insubstantial as creeping, enfeebled shadows. Gathering his senses from sleep, Davin listened hard in the nighttime gloom. No sounds of mortal distress proclaimed the need to save anyone this instant. Had Gregaraii finally lost his distracted wits?Davin sighed and ran one hand over his face, then sat up.A tiny, metallic click cut through the darkness, informing Davin that his elder had lifted the cell door’s latch—strictly forbidden among the Religious during their few mandated hours of sleep. Only illness or an act of the Eternal could excuse this transgression. Yet Gregaraii had virtually ordered Davin to help him with whatever jumbled task had overwhelmed his addled mind. How could Davin at fifteen years, and newly ordained, argue with his revered elder? Indeed, Gregaraii would bear any responsibility for the night’s forbidden excursion.Though the distraught old man might get lost in their own corridor. Davin tugged on his thin, leather shoes, tightened his thin rope belt, then followed Gregaraii out into the narrow, high-vaulted corridor that made echoes of the slightest sounds.A young, fierce whisper beckoned from the tiny, barred window of an adjoining cell’s door. “Davin! Where are you two going?”Davin halted, reining in his frustration. Trust his ever-zealous friend and fellow boyhood pledge, Thomen, to be alert and awake tonight. Davin leaned toward Thomen’s cell. “I don’t know. Brother Gregaraii’s in distress. Stay here. I’ll try to guide him to the infirmary.”“Oh.” Thomen drew away from the tiny, barred window, clearly disinterested in Gregaraii’s plight. But he recited by rote, “Go in peace. May Syphre guard your path.”“And yours.” Davin quickened his pace to catch up with Gregaraii’s thin, old form—hunched and crabbed with the rheumatism that slowed his steps—as the old man led them outside.The swift-setting moon threw silvering light among shadows along the flagstone walkway, forcing Brother Davin to stare hard at the night-muted path before him—at Brother Gregaraii’s scuffing feet and flapping black robes. Brother Gregaraii hissed and muttered unintelligibly as he walked. Sighing, Davin rolled his gaze toward the chilly, star-scattered skies. Eternal, why was he following an old man’s whims toward possible punishment?He ought to be asleep. His eyelids almost creaked their weariness as he opened them wider to perceive the shadowed outlines of Gregaraii’s intended destination, a vaulted stone archway. Irritated by Brother Gregaraii’s rasping, indecipherable whispers, Davin groused beneath his breath, “What are you muttering?”Gregaraii halted and leaned toward Davin, his whisper becoming almost inaudible. “Our verses.”The muddled old book they’d been translating in the library? “Impossible.” Davin stared into the old man’s night-dimmed face. Was Gregaraii going insane? “You’ve said yourself that your translation must be incorrect—that I was to ignore your keyword chart. That the verses are nothing but gibberish!”“They’re not gibberish.” A guilty pause delayed Gregaraii’s shame-tinged explanation. “I wanted them to be wrong. I fear I’ve understood them for the past five years.”Davin sought his addled mentor’s gaze. Why would Gregaraii risk soul-crushing forfeits over an old book? “Good sir, forgive me—you must be going mad!”“As you ultimately will, young Davin.” Gregaraii pushed down the latch and leaned into the door like a knight pressing against his shield as he lunged amid battle, though he was merely entering the library’s hall.Beneath his breath, Davin grumbled, “If I’m following you, I’m already insane.”Gregaraii waved him through the library’s entrance. “Obviously—by all your babbling. Let’s hurry.”Punctuated streams of moonlight slid through the ancient, polished-stone library, shining against pale marble columns, dark wooden shelves, and tables boasting centuries-worth of routine waxing and oiling. Gregaraii’s fluttering form faded in and out of sight as he passed through successive patches of silvery moonlight, his shambling pace carrying him inexorably toward the far door—the rare-manuscripts collection.Two thin streams of light gleamed from a pair of high windows, illuminating the old-parchment-scented room, overpowering the central night lamp’s modest glow. Gregaraii shuffled over to a cave-like niche that sheltered his obsession, the ancient manuscript clasped between two leather-clad wooden covers—a rarity he’d studied, by his own count, for more than twenty years. Gregaraii hefted the massive tome over to the nearest table and set it down gently, as if it were made of glass. Exhaling, he tucked a clutch of folded notes inside the book’s cover, then muttered to Davin, “I cannot do this alone. You will help me.”“Help you do what?”“Save this book. This evening, the abbot borrowed all my translations—except for these few notes. Most likely he intends to claim glory for my life’s work. But when he reads my translations and identifies this book and its threat to the power of the Religious, my life will be forfeited.” Gregaraii continued, distracted as if thinking aloud. “I’m old. I need only die. But what will they do with you, young Davin, when they finally understand these words? When they believe you know them because you’ve sketched and decorated the imagery I described?”A chill lifted all the hairs over Davin’s arms and along the fringe of his shaven scalp. Could merely sketching, painting, and gilding the book’s imagery—the illuminations he’d deduced from Gregaraii’s descriptions—threaten his life? “What are you saying?”“You’re holding the Rone’en.”The Rone’en? The fabled, nonexistent Sacred Word of the ancient Syvlande Empire? “You’re certain?”“Yes, and I’ve repented to my very soul! Think about your work, young Davin! Consider all those illuminations you’ve been crafting as a single work. You’re holding the actual Rone’en! If we don’t escape, we’ll be silenced—burned with these verses, and they must be saved!”He’d be condemned for illuminating the laborious translation of an old book? And for being randomly assigned to the cell of an addle-pated old scholar? Davin shook his head. “Sir, granted, this might be the Rone’en, but who’d condemn us for merely—”His protest dried and died in his throat, silenced by Gregaraii’s knife-sharp glare. The old man’s pale amber eyes glittered like molten gold amid the gloom. “Do you know everything, young Davin? No! How easy your life is, boy, when an elder carries your burdens!”What in the rotted world did the old man mean? Burdens? Who was guarding whom tonight? And yet... Gregaraii’s glance was suddenly young. Acute and warrior fierce. Commanding respect.The old man shoved the heavy book at him, knocking the breath from Davin’s lungs. “Follow me, if you wish to survive a while longer, you condemned fool of a boy!”Gregaraii lifted the night lamp from its wrought-iron stand and tottered off to the far corner of the rare-manuscripts room. He halted before a locked door, produced his prized iron ring of master keys from a cord on his belt, and shook one discolored key from the others. Fumbling at the lock, he finally worked it open, then exhaled his relief as Davin followed him into the passage beyond. “We’ll gain enough time to complete a translation, using my notes.” He closed the door behind them, then turned the key in the lock, sending the tumblers rattling through the lock’s rusty box, which was undoubtedly older than Gregaraii. A musty stone hallway gave way to narrow, downward-winding steps, and several more doors. As Gregaraii lifted the lamp to light their way, Davin shivered, eyeing the lumpy, filmy shadows clinging to the grimy walls. Was that moss? What part of the abbey was this? According to the floor plans offered to the novices for inspection upon acceptance to the abbey, no hallways or rooms existed on this side of the library. Only walls.What else did the abbey conceal? Certainly, it concealed this hallway, and those stone steps leading down to the narrow doorway that Gregaraii was unlocking.Old Gregaraii nudged Davin through the narrow doorway, onto uneven steps of dirt-rimmed stones that merged into a clay path within a dank stonework tunnel. As Davin blinked, willing his eyes to adjust, the old man closed the narrow door and locked himself and Davin firmly outside. Or were they still inside or beneath the abbey? From what he could discern within the lantern’s light, ancient ages-worth of soil and roots had oozed and crept through the tunnel’s stonework, with chunks of stone resting here and there along the tunnel’s dirt-strewn stone floor. “Sir, where are we, precisely?”“In a place that doesn’t exist.”Davin flinched, avoiding a clump of roots that extended, claw-like, downward from the tunnel’s ceiling, just skimming his razor-shorn scalp. “How did you find this place?”“Young Davin…” Clearly summoning patience, Gregaraii paused, then shifted the lamp away from another clump of roots, “You seem to think I was never a pledge your age, full of high spirits and inclined to adventure. My cellmate and I found this tunnel long ago, before locks were placed on these lower doors. We came down here a few times, searching for gauatchen.”The legendary nighthound of Vrydn Abbey? Davin suppressed a snort. He might be young, but at least he’d never wasted time searching for a freakish ghostly hound imagined by some long-buried monk who’d probably intended to merely frighten gullible novices. “Obviously you didn’t find the nighthound.”“A time or two we thought we’d heard him,” Gregaraii mused. “We were probably listening to our own footsteps echoing back to us. This tunnel was in better shape then, and so was I.” He ducked away from another scraggly hand-like extension of clawing roots, then crept forward in the tunnel. “We’ll request hospitality of my cousin in the Vales.”“Your cousin is a freedman in the Vales?”Mild-voiced Gregaraii said, “My cousin is earl of the Vales.”The Jareth Valo-Treor of the Vales? That proud old warrior descended from long-forgotten kings? Impossible. Or was it? Despite Gregaraii’s humility, only noble blood could cause Vrydn Abbey to overlook Gregaraii’s quirks and grant him that ring of master-keys. Battling astonishment, Davin followed Gregaraii. Only silence could pay his mentor appropriate respect.As they approached the next clump of roots dangling from the ceiling, Gregaraii lifted his lamp and scooted around an odd pearlescent curtain that dangled in wide, loose twists from the knotted roots. Following his master’s example, Davin sidestepped the big, shimmering coils, eyeing their peculiar pattern. Those scales, that sheen … it could only be a snake skin.A giant snake’s skin.Davin swallowed and allowed his gaze to follow the skin’s lowermost loop, which trailed along the passage ahead in an endless glowing and ghostly swath. For the first time, Gregaraii faltered. “Na’khesh.”The giant snake of ancient local lore? Davin shook his head. It couldn’t be. All na’khesh vanished centuries ago, if they’d ever existed. Gregaraii exhaled a perilously direct prayer to their Creator. “Let this creature of the Adversary, the Soul Hunter, be far from us, oh Endless Liege!”Liege? What was the old man babbling? Gregaraii led Davin slowly, both of them eyeing the skin, which trailed onward, finally ending in the ghastly replica of a giant serpent’s monstrous, wide-open mouth. As Gregaraii froze, Davin choked out, “Who needs a gauatchen! We’ve this beast nearby. Shouldn’t we go back, sir?”Gregaraii’s golden eyes widened in the lamplight, his olive face ghastly as a wax sculpture. “Oh, Eternal, where’s this na’khesh?”A subdued creaking behind them made Gregaraii turn. Davin glanced over his shoulder and stared hard into the darkness. The tangle of skin-draped roots shifted in the shadows, and one particularly large root unfurled from the broken ceiling and descended in monstrous sinuous coils. Gregaraii shoved the lantern and keys at Davin. “Take these!”Davin grabbed the lamp and keys, clutching the heavy book closer, gawping as more shadowed coils slipped from the roots above. Serpentine scales shimmered, pearlescent in the wan lamplight. Davin shoved at his mentor. “Sir! Hurry! Let’s run!”Gregaraii flapped one aged, gnarled hand at Davin. “Go, or we’ll both die!”Behind them in the tunnel, the gleaming-pale sinuous serpent reared its massive head and hissed, its fangs glistening white in the lamp’s flickering light. Gregaraii screamed. “Save the book! Run! Don’t look back! Run!”Davin fled, his robes flapping. Talon-like roots clawed toward his scalp and face, drawing blood as he ran.Gregaraii’s agonized scream echoed behind him, then ceased.***Agony jolted through Gregaraii with the giant serpent’s first strike. Paralysis seized his limbs, trapping his final gasp in his lungs as he dropped to the stone floor. Accepting the storm of searing pain in silence, Gregaraii Valo-Treor sprawled on the stone floor as the serpent coiled around him. If Davin escaped with the book, then these next few moments meant nothing. Nothing. …Clenching his teeth, Gregaraii prayed inwardly: Let me enter the perfection of Your Presence! Let me see Your face and live forever! Eternal Liege, all my trust is in You. Take my soul!A cup of celestial celebration would replace his pain. Soon—! The venom burned through his body, rendering him motionless, unable to breathe as the monstrous serpent tightened its grip. Darkness closed Gregaraii’s eyes as his heartbeat stopped.***Davin staggered from the cave into the predawn air, tears and blood drying on his face, his heart thudding an army’s worth of cadences. Where was he? A mighty cliff stood behind him, housing the cave and supporting the ancient abbey above. Around Davin, trees and tangled shrubs loomed, shadowed and bleak. He must escape to the Vales. The snarled shrubs rattled their drying autumn leaves and raked their harsh limbs over his torn face as he forged a path. But what were mere branches and leaves? He’d seen a nonexistent na’khesh. Gauatchen must certainly be near. Neither this huge book in his arms, nor the iron key-ring dangling from his wrist would protect him from another such beast. Davin licked his split lower lip, tasting blood as he charged through the shadowed woods.***Clutching the huge book to his chest, Gregaraii’s iron key-ring dangling from his arm, Davin knelt on the stone floor before the brawny, silver-bearded tawny Earl Jareth Valo-Treor of the Vales. Seated in an oak chair on a dais in his banner-hung, blue-and-white great hall, formidable as any despot king, Earl Jareth’s bright-amber gaze cut through Davin, exactly like Gregaraii’s.Davin fought tears as he placed the ancient book on the stone floor. How could he have doubted his mentor? He should have been stricken down, not Gregaraii. Daring another look up at Earl Jareth, Davin begged, “Forgive me, my lord. I’m Davin of Vrydn. Your cousin Gregaraii is dead. He sent me here to seek refuge.”News of his cousin’s death sent a flicker of surprise across the proud nobleman’s bronzed, weathered, silver-bearded face. Taking a breath, the earl shook his head as if reflecting upon some long-forgotten memory and then dismissing it without sentiment. He straightened and spoke, his big voice grating like stone raked against stone. “Dead? But then … I lost him years ago. So, after all these years of silence, he’s sent you—a scrawny starveling—here? Why do you need refuge?”“From destruction—of myself and of his life’s work.”The earl grimaced. “That dusty book is his life’s work? And who are you? His son?”Son? Among the Religious? Davin forced down scandalized outrage. “No. He was my mentor until his last breath. May the Eternal forgive me for not appreciating him as I should have.”“Why shouldn’t I return you to the Religious?”“They probably believe I’m dead.” Forcing strength into his plea, Davin said, “It was Brother Gregaraii’s dying wish that I continue his work.”“How did my cousin die?”Davin winced, hearing Gregaraii’s final scream. “Of a na’khesh strike.”“Na’khesh? Impossible!”“My lord, as I live, it’s true. I saw the beast.”The earl’s amber eyes stared, huge and shocked, too much like Gregaraii’s for comfort. But then he roared out a laugh that filled the empty, lamplit great hall. “My Religious cousin, felled by a mythical serpent’s strike!” He guffawed, then shook his head and caught his breath. “Ah, the irony! If only his brothers were alive to hear this. Their deaths were nowhere near as glorious—our faithful Gregaraii, taken down by the symbol of his adversary, the Soul Hunter!”Unable to laugh, and too scraped and journey-wearied to move, Davin sagged and lowered his gaze to the book. The earl’s laughter faded. He sighed gustily, then wiped his face. “I’m sorry. Poor Gregaraii—I respected his intellect and counsel. Except for his youngest sister, he was the last of my extended family. How I wish he were here.”“As do I, my lord.”“Yes,” The earl grumbled, “I’m sure you do. You stink of remorse. So, what am I to do with you? It’s a fist in the eye of the Religious for me to keep you here, and I’m not sure you’re worth the trouble—you younglings eat your weight in food daily. Do you write? Read? Recite Religious principles? Decipher mathematics?”“Yes, my lord. All those. And I illuminate books.”Silence followed. Davin glanced up. The earl wasn’t looking at him, but at an elegant, veil-wreathed, olive-complexioned young woman, who stepped around the embroidered hunting tapestries behind his great chair, her silken robes and jewels gleaming, dazzling. Davin swallowed. How could she be real? More beautiful and regal than any statue of Saint Syphre. As the young noblewoman’s magnificently sculpted dark eyebrows drew together in a thoughtful frown over her brilliant amber eyes, the earl lifted his silver-bearded chin at her. “Isolde, my girl, what say you?”The young Lady Isolde smoothed her shimmering crimson gown, revealing her advanced pregnancy. Her gaze rested upon the book. When she finally spoke, her voice was as calm and cool as the earl’s was boisterous. “My lord-father, he’s bound to our family through your cousin. If the Religious would truly kill Sir Davin, then shouldn’t we keep him? Furthermore, you know how much I enjoy my books, and we’ll need a trained clerk to keep accounts, since old Sir Reginald has begged to be pensioned off.”The earl shrugged, then stood. “If Gregaraii valued this boy enough to become his mentor, then he might be worth a bit of a scrimmage. Tell your lord-husband that I’ve hired a new clerk for you while we’re gone. You’ll need someone to manage your revenues if the two of us die in battle.”Visibly pained, her olive skin turning ashen, the young woman widened her golden eyes at the earl. “Father, don’t say such a thing. I won’t lose you and Evard. You’re being dramatic.”“I’m as much a realist as Gregaraii was a dreamer. We’ve an arrogant young fool as king, and enemies on three borders, while all the lords in this kingdom battle each other. No one is safe, girl. Not you, not me, not Evard, and not this meek and beaten boy-clerk sent by my cousin.”The earl stepped off the dais and planted his booted feet before Davin as if he’d step on him as readily as insult him. “Don’t presume you’ve found a permanent haven here. You’re seeking refuge and peace from a family that’s known none since the old empire unraveled a thousand years past. Nevertheless, serve us faithfully, and we’ll shelter you. Cause one whiff of trouble, and you’ll be flung back at the Religious to meet your fate—unless my daughter or I use you for target practice first. Do you hear me?”Dry-mouthed, Davin nodded. The earl swaggered from the hall. As his footsteps faded, the Lady Isolde lifted one hand and beckoned Davin—her poised elegance extraordinary and unnerving for one so young. She was much his own age, between fifteen and twenty. As he approached, she stared at the book in his arms, then smiled. “You’ll be known as Sir Davin here, to hold respect among our villeins—they’re uncommonly peevish over rights and ranks. I’ll have my servant Meriel assign you a chamber, ointment for those cuts on your face, and whatever provisions you need for your work. I appreciate books, by the way, so I’ll intercede for you when my lord-father loses his temper with you. What’s written in your book, sir?”“Ancient legends, lady.” A chill ran over Davin as he spoke. Were they mere legends? Hadn’t the na’khesh been a mere legend before it killed Gregaraii?“Legends?” The Lady Isolde shook her head. She gathered her rich, flowing garments and stepped down from the dais, an aristocrat firmly in control of her domain. “I doubt it. No man among the Valo-Treor would devote his life’s work to a mere collection of legends, much less assure its safety with his dying wish. That book’s obviously far more than dry old stories spun of ancient whispers, and if I’m sheltering something extraordinarily important within the Vales, I will know what it is, sir.”For all her grace and civility, this young lady certainly commanded respect and everything else within the Vales. Davin caught his breath. What if he failed to understand Brother Gregaraii’s miniscule notes? Davin offered his fears aloud. “Lady Isolde, I’m more an artist and scribe than an ancient language expert. If I fail to translate these verses, then perhaps it’s for the best if the book remains as nothing but a collection of markings and ancient paintings. According to Brother Gregaraii, true understanding of these words will bring madness—the knowledge is dangerous.”“Knowledge is a weapon, Sir Davin, and I intend to be armed. I’ve always believed that certain authorities strive to keep us ignorant, thus maintaining their supremacy over our lives and souls.” Lady Isolde clasped her long hands together, the rings glittering on her fingers in mute, dazzling testimony to her family’s astounding wealth. “As for madness, sir,” she softened her voice to a well-bred murmur. “My lord-father believes Ceyfraland is yet again descending toward war on all our borders and within them. Madness is in the very air around us, so breathe deep! The Vales can survive whatever’s in that book. Therefore, I command that you translate and share it—madness and all.”Was she so confident of her sanity? Of his?Syphre save them all.

At Last! Realm of Thorns!

Celebrate with me!
In my previous post, I touched on the theme of my new series. Counting the Cost of possessing our Scriptures. Today--at last!--I'm celebrating the release of the introductory novella, Realm of Thorns!
Yes, I've been waiting all these months, holding onto this post and waiting to celebrate my newest book-baby's release into the world. Sorry for the delay, but I pray you'll decide this series has been worth the wait!

Blessings, dear everyone!

At Last! Forfeited

Celebrate with me!
In my previous post, I touched on the theme of my new series. Counting the Cost of possessing our Scriptures. Today--at last!--I'm celebrating the release of the introductory novella, Realm of Thorns!
Yes, I've been waiting all these months, holding onto this post and waiting to celebrate my newest book-baby's release into the world. Sorry for the delay, but I pray you'll decide this series has been worth the wait!

Blessings, dear everyone!

Legends of the Forsaken Empire: Theme

At What Cost?    


One of the first pieces I wrote for publication, and undoubtedly, the most widely distributed--many years ago--was included in The Women's Devotional Bible, Classic version, and made its debut in Regal's bestseller, A Moment A Day. I wrote under my pen name, at that time, Elizabeth Larson. (Sound familiar?)
My devotional, Counting the Cost, pondered the debt modern believers owe to courageous women--and men--throughout history, who risked and often sacrificed their own lives to preserve freedoms to read the Scriptures. According to a medieval bishop, women, and men, who "make themselves so wise by the Bible" were dangerous, and worthy of absolute scorn. 
Why am I returning to this devotional from my earliest writings?

Because it's the main theme of the Legends of the Forsaken Empire series.

This book, these ancient scriptures, wield power even in our modern times. And possessing those scriptures and reading them freely comes with a cost.

Are we willing to pay the price?

My Legends of the Forsaken Empire characters must ultimately decide for themselves.

Blessings, dear everyone, and celebrate your freedoms as you read your favorite verses.

Details-DETAILS!

Lost Chaplet PendantRecently, I decided to practice sketching on a landscape from my imagination (and a Staedtler sample sketch), inspired by Legends of the Forsaken Empire, Forfeited, Book 1.

A field and meadow overlook the sleepy, mist-shrouded village of The Vales, with ancient ruins on the distant hillsides, and a grand chapel guarding its woods to the west. This seemingly tranquil pastoral scene is hiding secrets--one a symbol of a shattered faith, which future generations must restore.


Lost Chaplet Pendant detail
Legends of the Forsaken Empire follows a powerful family's struggles with faith, corruption, scandal, political battles, and--yes--some mysterious books and beasts, which shouldn't exist except in legends.

I hope my sketching skills progress to the point of offering readers glimpses of the mysterious beasts that hunt our beleaguered Legends characters.

Until then, here's a symbol of broken faith and a quiet village surrounded by a mist that's not as benign as it appears.


Let me know what you think!

Blessings,

R. J. (and Kacy)

Realm of Thorns: Intro to Legends of the Forsaken Empire Series

Introductory Novella: Realm of Thorns
While Realm of Thorns, and its sequel series, Legends of the Forsaken Empire, are written as a standalone series, readers of the Books of the Infinite series will recognize those stories as a *possible* ancient history of the Syvlande Empire and future stories in Legends of the Forsaken Empire.
Why?

Because Books of the Infinite illustrates the building of a fantasy realm’s Sacred Word, while the Legends of the Forsaken Empire series portrays the political and spiritual effects the Sacred Word has upon mortals struggling to survive in a fallen world. Think of the Legends of the Forsaken Empire series as a medieval fantasy family saga inspired by Earth’s actual history.

History fanatics might recognize a few similarities between the kings of Legends of the Forsaken Empire, and some of our own, more notorious, medieval rulers. Much of this series is grounded in actual medieval accounts and traditions.

Realm of Thorns—set in their world’s New Testament era—details the Syvlande Empire’s beliefs and links us to Eliya and Valo’s descendants in a distant medieval future. I hope you enjoy their family’s story!


Copyright 2018 by R. J. Larson
Researched and written by R. J. Larson
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Cover design by: Kacy Barnett-GramckowBackground and images: Shutterstock.






Books by R. J. Larson:
Books of the InfiniteProphetJudgeKing
Realms of the InfiniteExilesQueenDownFallenValor
Legends of the Forsaken EmpireRealm of Thorns (A novella)


Chapter 1
To whom can I speak and give warning? Who will listen to Me? My people refuse to hear; they turn away. The Eternal’s Word offends them; they find no pleasure in it. From Books of the Prophets, The Rone’en
Willing herself toappear serene, Eliyana of Khelqua watched her teachers. Seated opposite her at the gold-inlaid amethyst table, the revered Torena’s dark eyes glinted, fiercely at odds with her sedate wreath of silver-plaited hair, which gleamed beneath sheer formal veils. Her opponent, the smooth-shaven Kiyros—rotund as a subtly wrinkled tawny russet plum—waved her off dismissively. Shaking his silver-curled head, he lectured Eliya. “Ignore her, Lady Eliyana. The revered Torena forgets that insecure victors rewrote history! Queen Cyphar and her consort, Gueron, instituted many social reforms that advanced our culture, yet they were unfairly maligned—their reputations besmirched by the ancient prophets and fanatics of Khelqua.”“Unfairly maligned?” Torena planted her long brown hands on the study table’s shimmering surface. “Cyphar murderedall but one of her own grandsons and, according to the Sacred Word and Khelqua’s official scribes, Gueron was a paid assassin. How was she fair?”Kiyros’ voice oozed contempt. “You’re certain she wasn’t? The ‘Sacred Word’, your treasured Rone’en, was written by those scribes and so-called prophets who scorned our Chaplet faith and brutally executed Cyphar and Gueron.”Torena exhaled, a woman controlling extraordinary impatience. “Were you there? No! We must rely on contemporary accounts. Ancient scribes and prophets recorded events independent of each other, which testifies to their veracity. Furthermore, your Chaplet faith is nothing but Cyphar’s self-serving pagan creed mixed with just enough of the Eternal’s scriptures to make it inviting to Khelqua and the continent. The Chaplet goal is to obliterate our past! Yet, to deny and suppress the Rone’en is to scorn the faith that created and bound our Syvlande Empire.”“Faith?” Kiyros snorted. “Tyranny built and bound the empire. It deserves to crumble!”Eliya gazed up at the palace study’s carved stone roof-beams, then at a crack tracing it’s way along the plastered walls from a recent quake. Once per week, her teachers contended with each other, their verbal battles so vociferous that one or both teachers should expire at every lesson from sheer exhaustion. Ironically, the following week, her teachers might argue the opposite opinions with equal ferocity, until she was convinced that Torena followed the Chaplet faith, and Kiyros harbored devotion to the Eternal Liege—and that they’d thrash each other while defending their views. How could such behavior be proper while training a princess? She ought to scold them both. “Sir, and revered lady, I’m leaving.”Obviously not hearing her, Torena snapped at Kiyros, “If the empire falls, it will be because headstrong spoiledcitizens rebel against common sense by calling laws tyranny, since too many citizens are reluctant to perform honest work! If you believe your life will be better after the empire falls, then you’re deluding yourself.” “We will be free!”Enough. Eliya tapped her fingertips on the glistening amethyst tabletop. If she reported half of her teachers’ hot-headed utterances to her lord-father, they’d be imprisoned or worse. Particularly if Kiyros truly wanted the Empire to fall. Eliya abandoned her seat and shooed off Kiyros as if he were an errant bird. “Go then! Be free. And don’t return. You’re dismissed. Permanently.”Torena stood, her scholar’s face calm. Mask-like. “Forgive me, Lady Eliya. I’ve forgotten—this was your last lesson.”Kiyros reddened visibly, then turned flustered. “Her last lesson? We’re dismissed? And no one told me? Lady Eliya—”“It’s been kept secret.” Not that she’d welcomed all the secrets. Eliya replaced her writing quills and inkstand in her silver carrying case, then closed its lid. “Don’t worry, good sir, you’ll be paid for the entire year’s lessons as agreed.”“But …” Kiyros hesitated. “What about the year’s remaining lessons?”Was he worried about lost prestige? Of no longer serving in her father’s royal courts? Eliya smiled at him. “You’re free, remember? Make arrangements with new students at your leisure. I’m being married off. Tomorrow morning, I leave for the northern realms as Trisguard’s future queen.”“Well.” Kiyros regathered some of his composure, then reached for his notes and reference scrolls. “That was sudden. The empire’s northern realms, eh? Not surprising. I’ve heard rumors that Ceyphraland’s rejected you, and that Belvasae’s prince is in love with a commoner.”Though renowned for his discretion and keeping royal secrets, Kiyros delighted in sharing unflattering gossip he’d dredged from other citizens. Did he hope to enrage her? Eliya shrugged. “We’ve heard nothing from Belvasae or Ceyphraland. Whether the rumors you’re spreading are true or not, my lord-father believes this northern alliance with Trisguard is Khelqua’s best option. For, despite all its talk of leading the Syvlande Empire and possessing the imperial Sun Crown, Belvasae rarely manages its own lands competently. Unlike Khelqua and Trisguard. Farewell, Kiyros. I’ve enjoyed our debates.”His face scrunched like a drying, darkening plum, Kiyros swept up his writings and scribe-box and stalked out. Torena watched him go, then spoke, her voice low and tranquil. “He’s been a sometimes-worthy opponent.”Eliya studied her childhood mentor. “You seem content, revered lady, being newly-retired and no longer employed by the royal court.”“Oh, but I amemployed, lady.” Torena bowed her head, her sheer veils shimmering and drifting gently. Composed as a revered teacher should be, she gathered her scrolls and writing gear. “This morning, the king appointed me to escort the empire’s only marriageable princess to Trisguard, then serve as your official attendant and scribe until you’ve acclimated to your new realm.”“Ah, there’s another secret revealed.” Eliya rested her parchments and wax note-tablet atop her writing box. “I should have known I wouldn’t escape you, dear Torena. Not that I long to.”At least in Torena’s company she’d have a perpetual reminder of home. As they walked through the glistening amethyst-and-gold halls of Khelqua’s royal Ariym Palace, Torena asked, “What have you gleaned from enduring all our weekly debates with Kiyros?”“That scholars can be stubborn and tiresome.” Eliya shifted her writing gear, then teased her elder with a grin and a nudge. “And, that one teacher in particular can be trusted with an empire’s secrets.”“Not the whole empire’s worth,” Torena protested. “I’d eventually be hunted and shot down by some Chaplet nobleman who’s desperate to keep his own secrets to avoid paying for spiritual pardons. Don’t worry, lady. I’ll serve you only two years, and then retire. You’ll be free to appoint your future companions from Trisguard’s courtiers.”An unexpected pang nearly checked Eliya’s footsteps. Only two years? She’d miss the revered lady. Just as she’d deeply miss her family and Khelqua. “Torena, I’ll hate to leave Khelqua.”“Lady, Khelqua will hate to see you leave.” Before misty sentiment fogged Eliya’s gaze completely, Torena added dryly, “The jewelers and fabric merchants will lose half their business the instant you step out of our lands.”If Torena had been one of her siblings, Eliya would have shoved her. Instead she laughed, then sobered. Tomorrow, she’d leave Ariym forever. Within days, she’d cross Khelqua’s borders and never return. “I wish my departure could be delayed. What if my future husband’s fanatically devoted to his Chaplet faith? What if he asks me to cease reading the Liege’s words?”“We pray and trust that the Eternal Liege will shelter you, lady.” Hugging her treasured copy of the Rone’en closer, Torena added, “As for myself, I can’t give up the Sacred Word, no matter what the cost. If reading it means that I’m sent onward from mortal life to the Eternal, I’ll have no regrets.”Torena’s composed, austere face, and her near-maternal grip on the Sacred Word, assured Eliya that she’d indeed give her life for her faith. Eliya shivered. Could she be as steadfast? “Don’t plan your death. I need your courage. I know nothing of my future home. If Trisguard’s Chaplet laws tighten, and my true beliefs are discovered and deemed traitorous … even my royal blood won’t save me.”They walked together, silent except for their sandaled feet clicking briskly against the corridor’s amethyst and marble pavings. As they turned into the palace’s main gold-and-amethyst corridor, Torena spoke, low and urgent, as if conveying a reluctant message. “Whatever your misgivings, lady, it’s imperative that we leave as planned. I feel the Eternal urging us away from Ariym—from Khelqua itself. By the Liege’s living Spirit, we must depart. Do you trust Him, Eliya?”“More than I’d ever trust the Chaplet faith’s revered Cyphar.” Never mind that the legendary Cyphar’s regal, golden-eyed image watched Eliya from every corner of Ariym’s palace. Even now, the ancient queen’s cutting gaze studied her unblinkingly from a quake-fractured mural framed within a wall’s golden arcaded stones. Was Cyphar truly Eliya’s ancestor? Perhaps. Eliya’s eyes were the same clear gold. Her lord-father’s eyes. The eyes of a lion sighting prey. Eternal spare her from ever becoming as merciless. Eliya hurried onward.Keeping pace to her right, Torena exhaled. “If you mistrust the Eternal, then I’ve failed you and your lady-mother.”Suppressing weakening memories of her gentle, ever-devout mother, Eliya murmured, “No. Torena, you’ve not failed. And it’s not that I don’t trust the Eternal and His son, our Liege. Rather, it’s my own family that’s caused doubts. Their loyalties are so fleeting, that I question myself. Am I as flighty? Is my faith a fancy? I’d like to believe that it’s not—that I’m capable of building a substantial and useful life, reflecting my faith. But then I look at … others.” Her lascivious lord-father, frivolous stepmother, and unreliable siblings, for example.Could she trust any of them with her innermost secrets?Torena shook her revered head. “How distressing. Such doubts from my most excellent student—the only one who never shirked lessons week after week.”“Your lessons were an escape from palatial boredom, revered lady, and they’ve given me a thirst for truth. Thank you. But now, the lessons have ended, and I’ve even more questions and concerns than I had when I first bowed to you as an apprentice-scribe.”“Your concerns are understandable, but I trust your abilities, Lady Eliya—and I’ve listened to many a noble-born who believes he or she could conquer the empire with less than half of your abilities. You will become invaluable to Trisguard.”Invaluable? To Trisguard’s allied northern realms? Doubtful indeed, considering that she’d not received one hint of assurance from her future lord-king husband, Laros Rakiar of Trisguard, that she’d be truly welcomed.Never mind the trinket-filled gold box his messenger had placed at her feet two weeks past, accompanied by Laros Rakiar’s own note, filled with tributes to her beauty and accomplishments. Every exquisitely written word obviously paraphrased details he’d heard from some flattery-filled envoy.Apparently, the lord-king of the northern realms didn’t contemplate her, his future wife. She was a pretty formality. A trade agreement. A costly ornament to be stored away in dim apartments within his palace, unaccompanied by anyone from Khelqua except Torena and, perhaps, her personal maidservant, Vaiya. Her own friends, ladies, and even her relatives would be regarded as interfering interlopers within other royal courts. Father had emphasized this grievous detail more than once during Eliya’s childhood. It didn’t matter who married her—she must become a citizen of her wedded realm and not drag packs of ‘foreigners’ with her from Khelqua. Yet she dreaded the isolation. What if no one in Trisguard’s court befriended her, or could be trusted? What if Laros Rakiar secretly scorned her? What if he never loved her as Father had loved her lamented late-mother? Worse, what if Trisguard’s ruler was so strictly bound to the Chaplet faith that he ultimately persecuted her for trusting in the Eternal Liege? To the Eternal, the Lord of all Sacred, she formed a silent prayer. “Defend me, I beg You! Protect me from my future enemies as I enter Trisguard.”Particularly if her most noble enemy should ever be her own husband.His silence unnerved her.***[image error]Her dark curls tamed and held back in a golden mesh caul, her rare purple robes in perfect order, Eliya knelt on the cold, smooth amethyst tiles before her father’s gilded throne and her step-mother’s honored bench, situated within arm’s reach of the throne. “My lord-father … I beg you … let me stay in Khelqua one more week.”Her father, Rodiades, tetrarch of the empire’s western realm of Khelqua,hid a yawn, smoothing his puffy face and silvering beard with one gnarled, ring-weighed hand. Sounding like a man longing for a nap, he grumbled, “Eliya, you’ve had the last nineteen years to visit your family and Khelqua. What use is one more week? Don’t lose courage now—too much depends on your ability to captivate the northern realms. Trisguard’s cavalcade is already traveling to meet you at their border, beyond the mountains.”What were her father’s plans? Why did he need this alliance? She studied his bored visage and faded-gold eyes. If only she could read his mind. Or call upon insights from the Eternal, as prophets had done in the past. But—according to the Chaplet priests—the prophets were dead. And she was a mere princess whose royal father couldn’t be bothered to speak her full name in a formal audience. Unless he thought Eliya washer full name.Her stepmother, Amara—Rodiades’ second wife, elevated from a league of royal darlings—leaned forward. “How I wish your royal mother had lived to see this day! She’d be so proud of your beauty—your dignified presence. Dear girl, believe me when I vow we’ll miss you. But you must leave tomorrow as planned.”“Don’t disgrace us with tears,” her father urged. “Now … your brothers and sister are in the courtyard, anticipating your farewell banquet. Don’t keep them waiting.”He wouldn’t attend? Eliya willed gentleness into her words. “My lord and father, because it is my last night, would you visit us later? After you’ve rested?”“I cannot promise. I’ve letters to write to Belvasae and Ceyphraland tonight, announcing your marriage and formally inquiring as to why our correspondence is so sadly diminished. Not that I blame Belvasae and Ceyphraland for neglecting Khelqua. I’ve neglected them for Trisguard’s concerns, and yours.”She bowed, then departed from the echoing amethyst throne room.Willing herself to ignore the sting of tears.***[image error]In the arcade-framed courtyard, Eliya smiled as her siblings cheered her arrival. The eldest, twenty-year-old Lord-prince Iscah, strode toward her, sun-bronzed and more vital than their father had been in years. Iscah held out his hands, drew Eliya near, and kissed her cheek. “You look sad. Don’t brood, El. If you hate your husband, then I will gather an army and chase him from the northern realms.”His clear yellow-gold eyes sparkling with a seventeen-year-old’s restless mischief, Eliya’s second brother, Valo, joked, “I’m with Iscah. I say that Rakiar’s gotten off too easily. He should wage an all-out battle for you. In fact, you’re leaving months too early!” He waved at the courtyard’s blooming fruit trees. “Spring is the time for war. Summer’send is the time for treaty brides.”Eliya swiped Valo’s arm. “I forbid you and Iscah to attack my future husband. What if you defeat him? He’d hate me.”“Then we’d oust him and every other petty king from the empire and give Belvasae’s sun-crown to Iscah.”A Khelqua prince wearing the emperor’s sun crown. Such a marvelous feat hadn’t been accomplished in three generations. Eliya smiled but shook her head. “You’d risk Khelqua.”“We’d guide the empire to its greatest glories.” Iscah’s lowered tone warned Eliya that he’d seriously considered the matter. “The Syvlande Empire is fading. Isn’t this what the prophets warned? We must reunite the realms and strengthen our grip on the continent!”Twelve-year-old Jesca, the youngest, and Eliya’s only sister, laughed and edged into the middle of their conversation, her golden-brown eyes not as bright as Valo’s or Eliya’s, but afire with her love of schemes. “You should. We should! The empire would thank us, and future citizens would praise our names.”“If they don’t kill us first.” Valo goaded Jesca out of the circle, then followed her, calling over his shoulder, “Enough small talk! We’ve a feast to attend, and Eliya doesn’t want to discuss warfare all night.”Just beyond the courtyard’s entry to the palace, bells chimed, warning of approaching company—a dignitary they weren’t permitted to ignore.Iscah scowled at the entry, annoyance darkening his smooth-skinned bronze face. “Some highborn foreigner’s intruding upon our feast.”Indeed. Eliya muted a sigh. Naturally, their last evening together would be consumed by formalities. Probably some finicky elder-diplomat from Belvasae’s southern realms, who would complain about his difficult journey, bad food, and the fact that correspondence between the realms had dwindled to an insultingly meager level. Well, her lord-father could voice the same complaint against Belvasae and Ceyphraland. If either country dared to—Her indignation froze as a tall, black-clad young man strode into the garden, his full mouth subtly pursed as if wary of the unexpected feast. Surveying Khelqua’s royal siblings, his dark eyes gleamed. As he glanced at Eliya, he lifted one commanding eyebrow, countless unspoken thoughts hinting in his gaze. She held her breath, staring, listening as the servant called out, “Lord-king Danek of the Walhaisii.”Eliya blinked. Had the old Walhaisii lord-king died of his lingering illness earlier this year? Apparently so. Yet, no one had cared enough to mention it to her within her secluded court. But why should they? What was a minor upstart highland king compared to Khelqua’s ancient lineage? Yet Lord-king Danek was certainly imposing. Even Iscah seemed impressed, his grim displeasure replaced by courtesy. Though Iscah’s civility could just as easily be inspired by the fact that this Walhaisii king could undoubtedly throw him aside with a careless swat. As Eliya stepped back, clearing a path toward the table, Jesca gripped her arm and whispered, “I’m so glad he’s not your husband! I want to marry him. I’ll ask Father.”“Our lord-father would say you’re too young.” And giddy. Jesca’s thoughts flitted from one idea to the next, her lively infatuations usually fading by sunset. However, the Walhaisii lord-king provided plenty of reason for infatuation, from the sheen of his dark hair, to his understated, perfectly fitted gold-edged black robes, polished boots, and the wide leather belt emphasizing his warrior-worthy physique. Iscah led Lord-king Danek to the feast. As they relaxed around the table, sharing soft bread, richly spiced simmered meats, dried fruit and cooled wine, the Walhaisii king said, “I’d no intention of barging into your feast uninvited, but the servants brought me here after sending word to your lord-father. He answered that he’d greet us later this evening. I owe him the Walhaisii’s pledge of loyalty.”And a tribute, undoubtedly. Eliya swallowed her bread. Only the promise of some other king’s rich gift would bring Khelqua’s king out of hiding this evening. Even she had been unworthy of Father’s notice. How unjust and—No. She must not be angry with her lord-father when she departed in the morning. Rodiades had also obliquely insulted Lord-king Danek by not greeting him immediately. Above all, she must remind herself that her lord-father was even-handed in dispensing signs of arrogant indifference.Impetuous as ever, Jesca smiled at the highlands’ king. “My sister, Eliyana, has been ordered to leave tomorrow for the northern realms—Trisguard. Tetrarch Laros Rakiar’s pledged to marry her. You should have spoken for her instead. Then we’d have her just beyond our borders.”As a stinging blush warmed her face, Eliya shook her head at Jesca. But Iscah grinned, and Valo joked to their guest, “What kept you from asking? Have stories of her bad temper reached you in the highlands?”Lord-king Danek laughed, so good-natured with her teasing siblings that Eliya forgave Valo. Danek met Eliya’s gaze, admiring her even as he jokingly quoted, “‘The king of brambles and thorns said to the king of oaks, ‘Give me your daughter that my son might marry her!’ But the next morning the brambles were hacked to pieces and the thorns burned to ashes.’” Lowering his voice self-mockingly, Danek said, “I must preserve my realm, minor as it is.”Iscah lifted a gilded goblet of wine. “Are you saying the empire’s remaining leaders would turn upon you? Don’t you trust them?”“The Syvlande’s kings and lords haven’t given me reason to mistrust them yet.” Danek nodded at Iscah. “What’s your opinion of the empire’s future, Lord Iscah?”Iscah’s golden eyes shone over his goblet’s gilded rim, and he paused before drinking. “The empire needs a strong ruler, not a league of quarrelsome kings.”“Or the empire needs to dissolve,” Danek countered mildly. “Cooperation between the allied realms is breaking down—and if one tetrarch lord-king attempts to rule the others, we’ll have open warfare from Khelqua’s shores to the far beaches of eastern Ceyphraland.”Was Iscah going to choke on his ill-timed gulp of wine? Eliya watched her brother swallow hard, then set down his cup.And, when Danek glanced away, Iscah’s scowl toward their guest held promises of daggers.[image error]***Masking his disdain, Danek swiped a fold of bread into his portion of tender spiced meat, then ate it. Agree to one all-powerful Syvlande emperor? Never. Marry a princess of Khelqua? Not in a fit of madness, much less cold sanity. Clearly, the young Lord-prince Iscah fancied himself mature and capable of managing an empire. The Syvlande’s remaining tetrarchs would wipe him out in a single battle, then hold a banquet over his grave—just before they turned upon each other. As for marriage … Danek pitied the sad, golden-eyed princess. Beauty notwithstanding, Lady Eliya was a mere game-piece for the allied northern realms. Their leader, Laros Rakiar, tetrarch of the north, undoubtedly envisioned himself as the next emperor. Only the Eternal could help the princess if she failed to bring the western realm’s armies to his side.And with this Iscah as her brother, she’d ultimately fail, for Iscah would obviously help no one’s cause but his own.Yet …. Danek mastered a frown. Was he being too harsh with these sheltered, inexperienced royal younglings? He wassix years older. At their age, he’d also been overconfident. Convinced he could rule. Now, after governing the Walhaisii for only three months, his own mistrust, doubt, and cynicism darkened his judgments of others.Nevertheless, Khelqua deserved scorn. The royal younglings’ lord-father had betrayed the Eternal Liege twenty years past by bowing to adherents of the Chaplet faith, who’d clamored for the guiltless Liege’s death. True, the Eternal Liege had returned to life among mortals—just long enough to prove He’d conquered death, but Khelqua’s Tetrarch Rodiades wasguilty of collusion and causing a wrongful death of the highest order.How had Rodiades of the western realm failed to comprehend the Liege’s significance—His Eternal Spirit within humble mortal form? All the Liege’s miracles and the fulfilled prophecies had meant nothing to Rodiades. To preserve his own mortal wealth and power, Rodiades condemned an innocent man to die for teaching the truth of the ancient Word—the Rone’en. As a result, the Sacred Word was scorned and suppressed by factions devoted to the legendary figures of Cyphar and her consort, Gueron.Danek’s family, sheltered in the highlands, had refused to enter Khelqua for years after the Liege’s death, fearing persecution for their beliefs. Even at age five, Danek perceived his parents’ turmoil. Refugees from Khelqua unfailingly arrived with fresh stories of imprisonment, torture and death, inflicted upon the Rone’en’s believers by adherents of Cyphar’s worldly Chaplet faith.The charming pre-adolescent Princess Jesca beckoned Danek from his reverie. “Lord-king Danek, how long will you visit us?”“Only for a short time, lady.” Tonight only, if he dared to be rude. This palace, in fact all of Khelqua, set his flesh a-crawling with an agitation he couldn’t explain. “I’m needed in the highlands.”“Your kingdom of thorns.” Young Jesca’s lighthearted laughter offset any offense. As did the Princess Eliya’s defensive rebuke. “Jesca! How can you be rude to our gracious guest?”Still smiling, Jesca leaned toward Danek. “I apologize, my lord.”“No need, lady. I appreciate your concern.” He included Eliya in his glance. She looked away. Toward the sound of distant calls and bells echoing from the palace corridors beyond the arcaded walls. Prince Valo stood, his pale eyes brightening in his tawny face. “Our lord-father’s visiting us after all.”Four guards entered the courtyard, unnerving Danek with their mask-like coldness as much as the swords and javelins they bore. A flicker of a story opened within his memories—accounts of an ancient queen-mother slaughtering her grandchildren. Danek stood, one hand relaxed alongside his gold-and-gem-decked courtly sword.His hand twitched to draw the weapon as Rodiades himself entered the courtyard. But not even the Eternal Liege would condone this proud tetrarch’s murder. Danek subdued his loathing and bowed his head toward Rodiades. “Sire.”“Welcome, Walhaisii.” Rodiades’ golden eyes shone like old gilt in the afternoon sunlight. “How long will you stay?”Or how soon could Khelqua be rid of him? Danek smiled. “I’ve come to pledge loyalty to you and pay tribute, though I can’t delay—I’m needed in the highlands, and I’m in mourning for my lord-father. Apart from my tribute, I won’t bring much joy to your courts.”“Understandable.” Rodiades eased himself into Prince Valo’s empty chair. “My condolences for your father’s death.”“Thank you, sire. As for the length of my stay … if you wish, as a favor to Khelqua and Trisguard both, I’ll pay tribute and pledge loyalty tonight, then depart in the morning to lead your daughter’s cavalcade safely through the highlands.”He almost regretted the offer the instant he voiced it. He’d be weeks guiding the sad princess from her home toward a realm that might not appreciate her, and this marriage was an imperial matter he’d no sane reason to take on. Rodiades grinned, genuine warmth turning his tired gaze from worn gilding to shimmering gold. “Thank you, my lord. I’ll remember your kindness and repay you in the future.”Danek bowed his head toward Rodiades. Good deeds too often provoked unfortunate rewards.Why had he offered?Nevertheless, he’d keep his word—particularly if it meant leaving this quake-cracked old palace and Khelqua’s scheming king.


Vocabulary[image error]In General Order of Appearance:Eliyana   El-ee-AN-ahEliya   El-EE-ahKhelqua   Kell-KWAHTorena   Tore-ENNAKiyros   KEE-RosCyphar   SEE-farGueron   GYEH-ronSyvlande   SEEV-landCeyphraland   SEH-fra-landBelvasae   BELL-vas-ayTrisguard   TRICE-guard or TRISS-guardAriym   ARE-eemRodiades   RO-dee-AidsRone’en   RONE-enLaros Rakiar   LAY-rose RAY-kee-areIscah   ISS-cahValo   VALL-oh or VALE-ohJesca   JESS-cahDanek   DANE-ekWalhaisii   Wall-HAY-seeVaiya   VAY-ahAretes   AH-ree-teesAniketos   An-ee-KEY-tosAdalric   Ad-AL-rickBelkrates   Bell-CRAY-teesBelkian   Bell-KI-anValeria   VAL-ere-ee-ah

Why I deleted my websites

Stumbled across a trail block.Yes, my websites for R. J. Larson and Kacy Barnett-Gramckow have vanished from the not quite limitless reaches of the w.w.w.Never fear. I wasn't hacked, nor did I fail to pay my sites' host. 
Due to the recent kerfuffle over the European Union's new GDPR rules, I dug into my site and my site host's information and community pages to be sure my sites complied. To my knowledge, they didn't. Worse, I couldn't find any information on the data my site host collects (notice the said host is unnamed.) No phone numbers. No generic little notices for site owners like me, who receive visits from readers in the E.U. Nada. Nothing. (Huff!)
So I deleted both sites.
Then I received an email. With a phone number, and a formulaic plea from the site host for information. ("Was it something we said?"). But I was tired after hours of searching and striving and fretting. Did I want to continue to pay a large and inconvenient site host each month, who'd proven so difficult to reach--not to mention seemingly oblivious to its European visitors?
Nope!
However, I did want at least one page--for now--that listed my books as both R. J. Larson and Kacy Barnett-Gramckow for curious readers searching online for info. Here it is. Gram-Co-Ink. 
When life settles down, I might build a new site elsewhere. Until then, I'm still on Facebook, Pinterest, Twitter, and--from time-to-time--Goodreads. Hint: I answer notes on Facebook almost daily.

Blessings, dear everyone! Now, I'm returning to work on Realm of Thorns!The characters are becoming impatient.