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⚔ THIS FIELD AFAR ⚔ Sample Chapter Excerpt: ____________________________________________________ “The first words spoken in this world were a lie,” the mage said. “Can you tell me what that means?” The young prince pinched the bridge of his nose. He sighed as he answered for the thousandth time, “It’s, uh, it’s a riddle. It’s meant to address the fact that the first herald of the Sunlord professed, ‘Upon this firmament and in this field afar, humanity shall find peace,’ - yet, it was a lie. Humanity found war on the skin of Motherworld.” “Ah!” The mage thrust a single finger into the air. “But is that strictly true? For, after the Epoch of the Ethers and the Epoch of the Demons, came the Time of the Hand-Scrapings and the Age of Expansion. But then-” The prince interrupted, “-But then the Age of Peace, which lasted 20,000 years.” The obviously impatient young monarch glanced out the tiny window of their transport toward the falling snow. He raised a clenched fist as he finished, “Not so peaceful for the long-dead and long-forgotten first inhabitants of Motherworld.” To this, the mage said nothing. For a moment, the gentle swaying and occasional scraping noises of the Royal Vol-Groffe armored carriage filled the air. Aside from the finest silken draperies, endless throw pillows and embroidered linens, the tiny personal car was filled with the prince’s personal effects: a picture of his long-dead mother, a picture of his long-dead sister, a picture of his long-dead grandmother and grandfather, the former King and Queen Vol-Groffe. Prince Vol-Groffe’s attention lingered upon a locket picture of a nineteen-year-old girl. Asian in descent, the young lady boasted exceedingly long, straight hair as black as a raven’s wings, and eyes like tiny, smooth roundels of rare onyx. The mage noted the faraway stare in the young prince’s gaze. He inquired, “Your highness, are you taken with The Lady Quimoka?” The prince said, “She’s beautiful, she’s excessively wealthy, and soon-to-be queen of the Eastern Empire. Of course I’m taken. Who the hell wouldn’t be?” His voice tapered down to a whisper. “I’m nervous about meeting her for the first time, that’s all.” “And she’s a few years older than you,” the mage pointed out. “I’m certain her worldly experience is superior to yours. Nerves are perfectly natural.” Prince Vol-Groffe rolled his eyes. “Thanks.” “Have you ever kissed a girl before?” The prince slowly turned his head and cast daggers with his eyes at the mage. “Of course I’ve kissed a girl before.” “Not your sister, rest her soul. Not anyone related to you, sire.” The prince shook his head, filled with a confusing mixture of rage and embarrassment. He growled in admittance, “Then I suppose not. And you’re a horse’s ass.” “Yes, well,” the mage said, “No doubt because of decades of experience in the Vol-Groffe dynasty - that’s my excuse. What’s yours? You’re sixteen. You really should have gotten out more. There are millions of common girls in our fair Middle Kingdom. You should have taken some skank wenches, and-” “-Oh, my god,” the sixteen-year-old prince sighed. “Can you drop it?” He slid back the gilded lead armor panel further to reveal more of the world outside. Prince Vol-Groffe’s gaze drifted to the mounting blizzard-like conditions. He observed, “We’re slowing. We must be approaching Yorktowne.” “Indeed,” the mage said. “Are you prepared, highness?” “Aye. Absolutely,” the prince ironically shook his head. “Ready as I’ll never be." The Royal Vol-Groffe war caravan of sick metal slowly ground to a halt in its immense tracks. The massive, armored steam locomotive exhaled plumes of gigantic gray clouds into the slurring, roiling, snow-laden sky. A single, reinforced toxin glass cabin held the coachman that drove the war caravan. Should a fool with envy and greed in their heart try to break the toxin glass and attack the coachman, their fate would be sealed instantaneously. Toxin glass was notoriously, immediately lethal, and without antidote. The coachman’s cockpit was located above a sick metal grill that stretched out from the huge steam locomotive like a twisted iron grin. Most prominent on the face of the royal train was the crest of the Vol-Groffes, a field of azure and gold emblazoned with the white sigil of the dual-horned Clydesdale - the ‘Dicorn’. Potential train-jackers and robbers and thieves would know the penalty for their transgressions before they could commit them. Yet, before any would-be hijackers could take the Vol-Groffe war caravan, they’d have to contend with the sick metal construction of the vehicle. Sick metal, the only iron available planet-wide, was so violently radioactive in its nature that its use required gilded lead protection. “Your highness?” the mage snapped his fingers. “Sire?” Prince Vol-Groffe’s notoriously short attention span had gotten the better of him again, and he stared back at the cozy comfort of the safe cabin he’d just exited. Maybe he didn’t want to go through with this, after all. The mage said, “I know you like trains, but we really must attend to the matters at hand.” The prince blinked and took a deep breath. He nodded. He turned around. His family’s royal entourage had arrived at the designated meeting area: the Forge. Overlooking Yorktowne proper, the Forge was a clearing near the iconic and extensive trade bridge that stretched over Hattan Bay and led into the bustling city. Yorketown boasted a population over a hundred thousand. It was easily the largest city in Middle Kingdom, and some argued it was the largest city in the entirety of all Motherworld. The Forge had been set aside for this first international consortium by the taxpayers of Yorketown, who provided the land, the labor, and the security. A hundred hours of hasty toil had resulted with the Forge boasting an immense marble stadium capable of holding a thousand comfortably. On this opening day, the stadium was filled past capacity. Outside the stadium, two thousand more excited peasants and commoners jostled through the mud and snow. Barely held in check from too much rowdiness by the gilded knights and their sick armor, the average denizen of the Middle Kingdom knew they ought not draw the ire of people wearing full plates of lethally irradiated iron. It was best to give the security force a wide berth of space. Prince Vol-Groffe heard the turrets cranking, and the young man felt snow dapple onto his face as he looked up. To protect the emergence of the King, a pair of guards manned two Gatling turrets that had popped up from within the royal train caravan with their rapid-fire sick metal bolts at the ready. Despite his wish to appear confident, the prince had to take a deep breath and steady himself as he stared out at the thousands. Two mounted sick metal gun turrets ascended further, following the King’s movements from atop the royal train as below, King Vol-Groffe trod upon the firmament for the first time. His retainer leaned over to whisper into the King’s ear, but King Vol-Groffe waved away the advice as if swatting away an annoying gnat. “Let’s get on with it. I’ve been on that iron beast for three and a half damn days.” Two Dicorns emerged from the train, and the crowd in the stadium audibly gasped. The beasts neighed and whinnied, their hot breath steaming up into the gray sky. The prince half-grinned at the astonishment of the commoners. Dicorns were intimidating - nearly twice as tall as a normal horse, these dual unicorns sprouted two massive antlers that could be trimmed, tapered, and sharpened until a pair of cruel jousting daggers jutted from the beasts’ foreheads. ___________________________ ⚔END OF EXCERPT ⚔

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