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 Reagent Press Books by Robert Stanek

Keeper Martin’s Tales

The Kingdoms & the Elves of the Reaches #1 - #4
In the Service of Dragons #1 - #4

Dawn of the Ages

Rise of the Fallen

A Daughter of Kings
Betrayal
Deliverance
Rebirth
Discord

Illustrated Encyclopedia of Ruin Mist

Magic of Ruin Mist

Magic Lands
Journey Beyond the Beyond (Into the Beyond)
Into the Stone Land

Absolutes & Other Stories

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The Kingdoms and the
Elves of the Reaches
Keeper Martin’s Tales
BOOK ONE

ROBERT STANEK
This is a work of fiction. All the characters, names, places and events
portrayed in this book are either products of the author’s imagination or are
used fictitiously. Any resemblance to any actual locale, person or event is
entirely coincidental.

The Kingdoms and the

Elves of the Reaches
Copyright © 2007 by Robert Stanek.

No part of this publication may be reproduced in whole or in part, or

stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form, or by any means,
electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without
written permission of the publisher. For information regarding permission,
write to Reagent Press LLC, Attention: Permissions Department, P.O. Box
362, East Olympia, WA 98540-0362.

ISBN 1-57545-128-X
Text and illustrations copyright © 2007 Robert Stanek
All rights reserved. Published by Reagent Press LLC. RP BOOKS,
REAGENT PRESS, RUIN MIST, and associated logos are trademarks
and/or registered trademarks of Reagent Press LLC.

Printed in the United States of America.

REAGENT PRESS
www.reagentpress.com
 Three Lives Transformed
Crying out into the darkness, alone, afraid and drenched in sweat, Vilmos
awoke. His thoughts raced. The whole of his small body shivered
uncontrollably. Opening eyes and uncurling his huddled form from a
corner, moist with his own perspiration yet still cold from the night’s chill,
was a slow, time-consuming process.
“It was only a nightmare,” Vilmos whispered to reassure himself—a
nightmare like no other. In the dream he had used the forbidden magic once
too often and the Priests of the Dark Flame—opposers of all that is magic
and magical—came from their temples to slay him.
Vilmos stood uneasily and dipped trembling hands into the washbasin
beside the bed. The cool water sucked the hurt from his eyes and mind and
gently began to soothe and awaken his senses as nothing else could.
Carefully he dabbed a wet cloth to the corners of his eyes and only then
did he become something other than the frightened boy who in his dreams
huddled into the forlorn corner because of the sense of security it gave him
to know his back was against the wall and that nothing could sneak up on
him from behind.
Only then that he became the boy of twelve whose name was Vilmos.
Vilmos because it was a trustworthy name. Vilmos because it was his father’s
name, who was named Vilmos because it had been his father’s name.
Vilmos, the Counselor’s son.
Readying for the day’s chores, he tried to push the last of the dream
from his thoughts, but as he leaned down to rinse his face once more in the
cool water of the basin it was as though he was sucked into the water and
when he opened his eyes, he was in a different place. In this place, there was
no moon or stars, only boundless lines of fire cutting into the ebony of the
heavens.

 7 
 At his feet lay a dirt road and ahead beyond a crossroads was a forest of
dark trees. The dark trees, glowing with an eerie radiance, called to him.
Puzzled, Vilmos clutched his arms about his chest and followed the dirt road
toward the strange light in the distance.
Beyond the crossroads was a long stretch of empty road. Vilmos hurried.
As he approached the forest, the shadows grew long despite the glow in the
treetops. It was within these shadows that Vilmos saw a mass of black darker
than all the rest. Slowly the mass took form and it was only as he stumbled
through the great ruins that he saw someone sitting within the folds of the
great shadow. When the figure looked in Vilmos’ direction, two thin beams
of light radiated from eyes the color of a silver moon.
Stare as he might, Vilmos could only see the strange eyes within the
folds of the figure’s hood. He asked, “Is this a dream?”
“If a dream, it is a waking dream.” The voice seemed to be that of a
man.
“Who are you?” Vilmos asked.
“You can call me ‘Shaman’.” The shaman stood. Vilmos was surprised
to find he could look directly into the shiny eyes without looking up. The
strange eyes, hypnotizing and dazzling, danced as the shaman regarded
Vilmos, and then the shaman took Vilmos’ hand. The hand in Vilmos’
seemed a piece of hardened leather and not the hand of a man at all.
Vilmos repeated, “Who are you?”
“Who I am is not important at the moment.” The robed figure lowered
his hood to reveal childlike features riddled with lines that spoke of ages past
and of hardship. Although few of the ancient ones ever ventured into the
kingdoms, Vilmos had read about them in the Great Book. He knew in an
instant the figure was a gnome and kin to the mighty dwarves who lived in
the bowels of the earth.
The shaman raised his eyes to the fires etched in the skies and then
waved his hands one over the other until a glowing orb of brilliant white
appeared. Within the orb was a face, the face of a woman young in her years,
though still older than Vilmos. Her cheekbones were high and rosy. Her
eyes were green and her hair, long and black. In a way she was strikingly
beautiful, yet there was such sadness in her eyes and this sadness cut into his
heart.
“Who is she?” Vilmos asked.
“A princess and the one you seek,” whispered the shaman. For an
instant, tension and pain was evident on the shaman’s face, and then a new
figure appeared within the orb. “Take a long look, Vilmos. He is of a race
swept from the world of the seeing long ago. Their legend is recorded in the
Great Book of your realm, yet few ever knew the truth of their
disappearance. Change is sweeping the land, all the lands, and the kingdoms
of elf and human are no exception.”
Vilmos beaded his eyes, his heart filled with hatred. “Elves are our sworn
enemies.”
The shaman grabbed Vilmos’ shoulders and shook him violently.
“Remember the faces. The two and the one will be drawn together as are the
winds clashing against the fourth unseen. Your dreams will bring them.”
As he spoke, the shaman turned to the forest. “The land called Ril Akh
Arr and within dwell the shape-changing beasts of the night. Be forewarned,
they come for you, for the princess, for all who would stand in the way.”
The shaman paused to suck in the heavy air, and then wheeled his hands
in a great circle. Just then, shadows swept through the skies blocking the
fires of the heavens and the ground beneath Vilmos’ feet shook violently.
“This place is called Under-Earth and you, Vilmos, are the second. The first
was taken from me before I could reach her.”
Vilmos was puzzled. Were the stories true? Dare he ask the question that
was on his tongue?
The shaman sighed. “My kingdom and people were taken away so many
years past I cannot recall the day.”
“Your kingdom?”
The shaman grabbed Vilmos’ hand, the grip numbing as he drew a
jagged blade from a scabbard at his belt. As he spoke, he dug the blade into
Vilmos’ palm. “Elves, gnomes and humans are all very real. I will come for
you, Vilmos. When I do, the dreams end and the journey begins. Remember
the faces and forget not that the fourth can blow across the mountaintops.
Remember there was another before you and that they reached her before I
did. Now return to your affairs. Listen to the one who will lead you to me.”
The shaman paused. The shadows directly overhead now blocked out all
light from the fire-streaked skies. As a great hand reached down from the
heavens to grab them, the shaman hurled a brilliant green orb at Vilmos and
spoke a single word, “Awaken.”
Vilmos blinked and found he was leaning over the water basin beside his
bed, water and blood dripping from his upturned hands. He shook his head,
blinked again. In the other room, he heard his mother calling him.
The aroma of fresh-baked black bread and honey cakes pungent in the
air about the kitchen, mixing with the growling of his stomach, made him
aware of an enormous hunger. The night had been unbearably long and he
had not eaten since supper of the previous day.
“Late again. You’ll sleep your life away. Already an hour past first light,”
said his mother. She stood in front of the hearth. The words were not meant
to be harsh, nor were they taken thus. They were a standard greeting.
“I know mother, I am sorry,” replied Vilmos, tossing gnarled hair to one
side surreptitiously, hair that should have been combed. He started to hurry
away.
“Vilmos, where are you going?” Lillath asked. “Must I always remind
you of your lessons? Someday you will fill your father’s position. Someday
you will be Counselor of Tabborrath Village. Now, recite the lore of the
peoples.”
“Mother, do I have to?”
Lillath didn’t say anything, she just stared.
“Can I use the book?”
“From memory.”
 “The tale of the Four Peoples is the lore of four kingdoms,” Vilmos
began, beaming with Lillath’s smile upon him. “Small in number, strong of
will, united they stood against powerful kingdoms of the North. Four vast
kingdoms would conquer the Four Peoples, but the will of the Four Peoples
was too strong. Lycya, mightiest of the kingdoms, was swallowed by barren
desert. North Reach and the clans over-mountain were consumed by the
twenty-year snow. Queen of Elves and all her people were washed into West
Deep by the three-year rain. Only the Alder’s kingdom, once the smallest
kingdom of the North, survives.
“To survive, the Alder’s kingdom formed an alliance with the Four
Peoples. Their Graces, King Alexas of Yug, King Jarom of Vostok, King
Peter of Zapad and his Royal Majesty, King Charles of Sever, are the
wardens of the Four Peoples. The four wardens maintain the alliance and
protect the Four Peoples.”
Lillath maintained her smile. “Well, yes,” she said, “that is the lore of
the four kingdoms and thus the tale of Four Peoples. But it is not the lore of
the Four Peoples. You need to take great care in your listening. Listening is
the counselor’s greatest skill. Each tale, each bit of lore, tells a lesson. Relate
the lesson through the lore; it is the way of the counselor. Choose the wrong
tale, give the wrong advice. Do you understand?”
“Yes, mother.”
“Now tell me the correct tale and guess the lesson.”
Nervously, Vilmos played his tongue against his cheek. “From
memory?”
“You may use the book if need be, at times even your father reads from
the book.”
“Mother,” began Vilmos, looking into her eyes with much sincerity, “is
it not time to—”
“Run along,” she said. “Wood for the day’s fire.” There was a hint of
mirth in her voice as she watched him wet his hands and settle his unruly
hair.
 Vilmos briefly, but closely, studied his mother’s features as he did each
morning. Offset by a touch of gray, dark black hair the color of a starless
night sky fell to her waist. Her face, ripened with age in a pleasant way, was
deep-set with eyes of hazel that seemed always to be calling out. This
morning they said, Hurry along or you’ll be late.
He looked like her, not like father, thought Vilmos each morning as he
did this—a father who barely tolerated him. Harsh words chased through
the boy’s mind. “Vilmos, why did you do that? I told you not to!” or
“Vilmos, go to your room.” With an occasional, “I should send him away,”
thrown in when his father thought Vilmos couldn’t hear.
“He is only a boy,” Vilmos often heard in rebuke. “He will change in
time. Give him more time.” There was a deep love between the two, mother
and son.
Wood for the hearth could be gathered easily from the brambles on the
edge of the thick woods near the outskirts of the village and it was to this
place that Vilmos started to go, but the outside air this morning was chillier
than usual and it sent a shiver racing down Vilmos’ back. It carried with it
sadness and a sudden flood of remembrance. In the back of his mind,
Vilmos knew the real reason he watched his mother so closely. One day he
would indeed be sent away, far away, because one day the dark priests would
come for him.
Vilmos returned to the house to collect his short cloak. As he ran
through the kitchen he stopped beside his mother. Rising up on the tips of
his toes, he gave her a single peck on her cheek. For an instant, a smile broke
her tired face and fondly she touched hand to cheek.
“That’s better,” Vilmos shouted to no one in particular as he ran
outside, slipping the sleeves of his shielding cloak into place. He could
endure the cold now, and in a way, the memory as well.
“Hurry, breakfast!” shouted Lillath after him, while unconsciously
raising a hand to her cheek once more where soft, young lips had touched.
Vilmos looked back only for a moment to see this and to catch her eye. She
added as he dashed away, “Remember to be careful… Remember what
happened to the girl from Olex Village.”
ILLUSTRATED ENCYCLYPEDIA
OF RUIN MIST

ROBERT STANEK
This is a work of fiction. All the characters, names, places and events
portrayed in this book either are products of the author’s imagination or are
used fictitiously. Any resemblance to any actual locale, person or event is
entirely coincidental.

Illustrated Encyclopedia of Ruin Mist:

The Essential Reader’s Guide
Copyright © 2008 by Robert Stanek.

No part of this publication may be reproduced in whole or in part, or

stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form, or by any means,
electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without
written permission of the publisher. For information regarding permission,
write to Reagent Press LLC, Attention: Permissions Department, P.O. Box
362, East Olympia, WA 98540-0362.

ISBN10: 1-57545-157-3
ISBN13: 978-1-5754-5157-2
Text and illustrations copyright © 2008 Robert Stanek
All rights reserved. Published by Reagent Press LLC. RP BOOKS,
REAGENT PRESS, RUIN MIST, and associated logos are trademarks
and/or registered trademarks of Reagent Press LLC.

Printed in the United States of America.

REAGENT PRESS
www.reagentpress.com
 Chapter 1
An Introduction to Ruin Mist

Ruin Mist is the name used for the fictional universe of Robert Stanek. The
name “Ruin Mist” is the common language translation of an ancient elvish
word, which means “the lost ages” or “the ruins of time.”
The history of Ruin Mist is divided into four ages:

• The First Age: the Age of Titans

• The Second Age: the Age of Men, Elves, and Dwarves
• The Third Age: the Age of Men and Elves
• The Fourth Age: the Age of Men

Ruin Mist has three distinct realms of existence:

• Over-Earth – the home of dragons and titans. But don’t forget

 about the eagle lords. Those three are the great races of Ruin Mist’s
past.
• Under-Earth – an otherworldly realm that has blood-red skies, and
no sun or moon.
• Middle-Earth – the home of elves and men.

During the early

ages of Ruin Mist,
travel between the
realms was
accomplished using
the Gates of Uver.
Uver is one of the
great elven kings of
old and the founder of
Greye in Under-
Earth. In all, there are
believed to be seven
gates fashioned by the
Uver from a magic
substance once mined
from the deepest,
darkest reaches of the Samguinne.
Each gate is fashioned for a different purpose and a different kind of
traveler. Two gates are recorded in the histories of men. The gate in the
Borderlands, fashioned for men, is opened with the following words of
power: “Eh tera mir dolzh formus tan!” The only other known gate is located
in the Twin Sonnets. Both gates are masked from the world by a veil of
illusion.
 Magic Lands
Journey Beyond the Beyond

Robert Stanek
This is a work of fiction. All the characters, names, places and events portrayed in
this book are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any
resemblance to any actual locale, person or event is entirely coincidental.

Magic Lands
Journey Beyond the Beyond
(Deluxe Edition)
Copyright © 2007 by Robert Stanek.

All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book, or portions thereof, in
any form. Printed in the United States of America.

Cover design & illustration by Robert Stanek

ISBN 1-57545-133-6

RP BOOKS WASHINGTON
REAGENT PRESS
 THE DEEP

Keeping the sun at his back had turned him in a relatively wide arch, and by the
time it was hugging the horizon low behind him, Ray was exhausted. No one had
told him it would be easy, but then again no one had told him it might take more
than one day to reach the place lost and deep, and in a way, he was disappointed. He
had been looking forward to this day for so long, and now it seemed that he would
have to wait another day.
The thought of a night alone in the deep did not frighten him so much as worry
him. He would have to find a safe place, and soon.
Thinking deeply and hurrying, he misplaced his step. The wet was quick to
gather him in. He crossed out with his staff, bracing his fall so he did not sink too
far, and then he carefully lifted his heavy body. He didn’t see the bull until he placed
a reassuring hand on the dry, and in fact, he had almost wandered straight into the
other’s abode.
He stared the bull in the eye, quickly thrashing the space between them. This
one was smaller than the one who was his companion, though not his companion of
choice. He didn’t have time to ponder the other’s whereabouts; he would have to
deal with this one first. This bull was younger and swifter than Old Bull, who was
craftier and wiser.
Snapping jaws and lurching tail were Ray’s primary concerns. He used the end
of his staff to rap the bull, a stout blow on his snout in the tender spot between the
eyes.
The bull was wary but not excessively so. “I’m sorry to have invaded your home,
I will not do so again, if you let me go,” he called out. He was stuck. He couldn’t
jump backwards, a return trek into the wet now would be fatal and he couldn’t get
around the bull without a struggle.
 He thudded the ground as hard as he could, prancing the stick from left to right.
“Stay there,” he cautioned, “One moment and I’ll be gone, if you oblige.”
White teeth glistened against the red-fire light of the setting sun. Tiny balls of
perspiration licked Ray’s brow, but the smile had not faded away—he was somehow
excited by this encounter and not frightened as he had been before.
Renewed vigor surged through him. “If you eat me, you’ll get a belly ache, this I
promise you!” he teased. One step right, he told himself, moving gradually in that
direction. Soft mush beneath his feet told him to retreat to the left.
His hands were trembling now as he rapped the bull again, coaxing it to scamper
right. One step left, he told himself.
 He saw the bull’s eyes flash just as the beast’s tail lashed at him. He braced
himself, using the stick as he had been taught. His eyes became wide, ripe circles and
his mouth dropped open as he fell. He was left staring into the eyes of the young
bull and swallowed a hefty lump in his throat.
Somehow, he knew this was the end. Testing your luck twice in one day was
much too much. The young bull would lash out with its tail, set its jaws upon him,
and that would be that. But the young bull didn’t move. It just looked at him. In the
wet behind him, Ray heard a nearby splash and the deep rumbling challenge of Old
Bull.
The challenge set Ray’s feet to work. He jumped away, running for all he was
worth, and did not stop running until he was half a dozen houses away. He glanced
back then, searching for a dark shape in the wet, mumbling hurried thanks before he
continued. He was not one to easily forget debts owed, and guessed that perhaps
Old Bull would one day get his reward, but not if he was quicker.
A closely woven section of brambles spread out in front of him, again forcing
him to detour. The tangled area was several blocks long and he would have to make
a full circle around it. The sun was settling from the sky, brambles before him and
bulls behind him, Ray stopped and took a deep breath. He cleared his thoughts,
focusing on his goal: a place to safely spend the dark hours of night.
In navigating around the thick undergrowth, he came upon a beleaguered, time-
bent tree, whose trunk sagged heavily. The ground here was hard and he saw no sign
the residence was occupied. Moving his back up against the trunk so that his eyes
faced the wet, he settled in for a while.
“My path is long,” he whispered to himself, suddenly considering all that was
ahead of him. Tomorrow, he was sure, would be a day of choosing.
The Kingdoms and the Elves of the Reaches
Don’t miss this bestselling series…
In the Service of Dragons – The sequel series to
The Kingdoms and the Elves of the Reaches
Discover what happens when the dragons are revealed…