The best fantasy audiobooks from Next Chapter [February 2023]
A subgenre of speculative fiction, fantasy novels are often inspired by mythology or folklore. The difference between science fiction and fantasy is the absence of scientific and/or technological concepts in fantasy, although the two genres do occasionally overlap.
More recently, fantasy novels have expanded into movies, TV shows, games and, as is the case with this list, to audiobooks. We’ve collected some of our best fantasy books in audio format below, as of February 2023. All of the books here are also available for eBook and in paperback, if you’re into that sort of thing.
If you enjoy one of the stories below, please don’t forget to leave the author a review! Don’t agree with our choices? Please leave a comment and let us know your favorite :)
Bronze Magic (The Sorcerer's Oath Book 1) by Jennifer Ealey
When the fuss following the ceremony had subsided, Tarkyn found himself seated with his back against a log between Autumn Leaves and Waterstone. Despite a lifetime of adulation, he was still dazed by the honour the woodfolk had accorded him. Sparrow was asleep on his knee, leaning into the crook of his left arm, and he was already the worse for wear to the tune of several glasses of wine. He leaned his head back and said dreamily, “What a long week… Firstly, I was bashed up and nearly died from my injuries.” He rolled his head towards Waterstone to watch his outraged expression. “And I was nearly killed by the forestals for sweeping my hair out of my eyes. Then I let them tie me up. I hated that bit, but what else could I do? You can’t talk sense with frightened people. Then I endured a week of being sidelined… Actually, I mostly expected to be dead by now but instead, amazingly, I am now officially a woodman.” Tarkyn grinned. He fiddled with the bandage on his right arm, his eyes idly roving over the similar bandage on Waterstone’s arm. After a moment he said, “You never told me Ancient Oak was your brother. More classified information, was it?”
Waterstone shook his head and smiled, “No, I did tell you about him… in that time when you were semi-conscious. I suppose you just don’t remember.”
“Oh. And have we been waiting all week for Ancient Oak to arrive so that he could be at the ceremony?”
The woodman laughed. “Partly. I could not have done it without his agreement or without his presence at the ceremony. But for such a momentous occasion as this, we needed a full gathering of woodfolk to reach an accord and to witness it. So we were also waiting for people from the more distant groups to arrive.”
“I see. So was the true purpose of this gathering to consider making me a woodman?”
“Partly.” Autumn Leaves raised his eyebrows. “Although, in case you’ve forgotten, there is still someone out there trying to hunt us down.”
“Oooh dear,” Tarkyn gave a gusty rather wine-soaked sigh. “I’m being a very bad forest guardian. I had forgotten all about that.” His eyes twinkled, “Well, almost.”
A Chronicle Of Chaos (The Light And Shadow Chronicles Book 1) by D.M. Cain
“ATTACK ME!” Phantom screamed. His ferocious, dark eyes blazed, and he held his powerful arms out wide. A thin, wiry man flung his sword at him with as much force as he could muster. There was a loud clang of metal as it was swept aside. “Pathetic! Attack me properly, Anathema, and mean it!”
The swords clashed with immense force, sparks flying. They pulled their weapons apart, and threw themselves into the next swing, grunting with the effort. Phantom grinned with malice and swung his immense broadsword in a vicious downwards strike. Anathema jumped to the side, narrowly missed by the descending blade. He returned a fast counterthrust but it was parried easily. He frowned and lunged again, determination etched on his face. He allowed his hatred to consume him, to give him strength and focus. He struck with more precision this time, aiming for his opponent’s head, but the strike was once again batted aside. His failure infuriated him, and he lost his concentration for a second.
Phantom’s sword flew through the air towards his unprotected chest. The sharp tip pierced his skin and ripped through the flesh beneath. Anathema froze, his eyes wide with surprise. An evil glint shone in Phantom’s eyes, and he grabbed Anathema’s shoulders and pulled him closer, forcing the blade deeper into his body until, with a final, brutal push, it burst out through his back.
Phantom gave a savage chuckle and tossed him aside, pulling his sword out as Anathema slumped to the ground. Phantom sheathed his weapon and stood, arms crossed, looking down at his defeated opponent. Anathema groaned with pain, pressed his hand to his chest and sat up. His shirt had been ripped by the blade, and he pulled the material aside just in time to see the wound slowly closing. No blood poured from it, only a sprinkling of ash seeped from the gaping hole. He watched as the pale, white skin closed over the gash and then glared at Phantom.
“Was that really necessary?” Anathema snapped in the harsh language of Hell, acidic to the ears of humans.
Phantom sneered, “Yes. You’re not good enough to fight a child at the moment—you need to learn. And speak the local tongue, not ours.”
Anathema hissed with rage and continued in the language of the humans. “I can’t get this stupid human body to do what I want. It’s too weak.”
Knowledge Revealed (The Nememiah Chronicles Book 1) by D.S. Williams
I had no idea what time it was when I woke, there was no clock in the bedroom and I couldn't judge by the light outside. One of the problems of living in the north of the United States, as winter approached, it was perpetually overcast and difficult to estimate time without sunlight for guidance.
It took a minute or two to figure out where I was – laying between the soft cotton sheets, my head cradled against downy pillows was enormously comfortable – and definitely not my own hard cot and sleeping bag. I drew myself into a sitting position, looking around the room I'd been too drowsy to notice last night. This wasn't the cottage, that fact was indisputable. This room was roughly the same size as the entire cottage, the walls painted a sumptuous shade of claret with oak wainscoting covering the lower half. The bed was ornate, an oak four-poster which seemed almost medieval in appearance, carved motifs decorating the frame. Matching bedside drawers stood on either side. Fresh roses, in the deepest shade of crimson, sat on the oak dresser opposite the bed and I could smell their heady fragrance permeating the room.
Comprehension filtered into my sleep-addled brain, my cheeks heating with humiliation. Lucas must think I was an absolute lunatic. First – I walk in front of his car and get myself hit. Then, he has to stop me from plunging over a waterfall. And to add insult to injury, he brings me to his home and I fall asleep on the couch. I scored a perfect ten in the crazy stakes; there was no doubt about it. If there were a gold, silver, and bronze medal for making a complete fool of myself, I would take the trifecta.
I dragged myself out of bed, standing beside it uncertainly. Should I try to sneak out? It was Friday, perhaps he'd already left for work, but I dismissed the notion immediately. I couldn't be that lucky. Besides which, he probably wasn't thrilled about leaving a nutcase alone in his house. His very impressive house, I reflected, studying the room distractedly while I figured out what to do. In my whole life, I'd never seen a house like this. I cringed as I imagined Lucas in the tiny cottage, seeing my shabby furniture and bedside table made from a cardboard box. And that reminded me – how had he gotten into the cottage? I hadn't asked. How did he know where I lived? Another question I'd failed to ask. It seemed in things concerning Lucas Tine; I had only questions and no significant answers.
The Swordswoman (The Swordswoman Book 1) by Malcolm Archibald
They rose sheer from the sea, a group of small islets surrounded by waves that leapt up the cliffs and splintered into a curtain of spray and spindrift before the constant westerly wind blasted them clear, until the waves gathered strength for the next onslaught, and the next and the one after that.
Wave Skimmer dipped her prow to a rogue wave so that scores of gallons of sea water surged on board, ran the full length of the vessel, soaked every one of the crew, and gushed out through the scuppers.
'Mother,' Melcorka stretched her neck backwards as far as she could to view the cliffs, 'why are we here?'
Bearnas gripped the sea-eagle of the figurehead until her knuckles were white. 'We are here so you can find your destiny, Melcorka.'
Melcorka heard Oengus' rough laugh stop abruptly. 'What do I have to do, Mother?'
'Find your destiny,' Bearnas repeated.
'But how do I do that?' Melcorka asked.
'It's your destiny to find,' Bearnas told her, 'not mine to give you. You must decide what to do.'
A sea sea-swell lifted the ship, so she surged up, closer to the cliffs. The voice came from on high, faint, feminine and familiar; only the words escaped Melcorka although she strained to listen.
'What was that?' Melcorka asked.
Bearnas held her gaze but said nothing.
'Did you hear that?' Melcorka tried again.
Unofficial Detective (Half-Wizard Thordric Book 1) by Kathryn Wells
Thordric fought with himself all evening, pacing back and forth in his room. He began stepping so loudly that his mother had to shout up the stairs to get him to stop. He almost told her then, but his inner voice started asking, why should he? It was none of his business after all, and if the Inspector had thought him trustworthy enough to be left alone, he wouldn't have seen anything. But he had.
Why did he care about it anyway? High Wizard Kalljard had hated half-wizards, and so Thordric had hated him. Why should he be concerned that his death was not as it appeared to be? Because I'm decent, he thought to himself. He was part of the local police after all, even if he was just an errand boy.
In that instant, he found he'd already made his choice and, feeling a lot less guilty, he marched downstairs to find his mother.
'Oh, Thordric,' she said, looking up from her desk. 'What were you doing up there? I thought the mountains had taken it upon themselves to crash down around us.'
'I was only thinking.'
'Thinking about what?' she said.
'About Kalljard's body,' he replied, his voice quavering a little. He coughed, forcing it to behave.
'High Wizard Kalljard, Thordric. Yes, I must say I've been thinking about it too. The way the Inspector described it made it sound fascinating, I would love to have a look myself, from a professional point of view.'
'I think you might be able to yet,' Thordric said, shifting his weight from side to side.
'What do you mean? The official burial will be closed casket, and it's unlikely that I'll make it with all the work I've got to do.'
'That's not exactly what I meant. I-I saw something on it, while I was there with the Inspector. And there was a strange smell too,' he mumbled.
The Kalis Experiments (Tides Book 1) by R.A. Fisher
It was strange that Ormo had asked Syrina to meet him in his suite instead of his Hall, and it pricked at her thoughts as she crossed the broad courtyard toward the Palace, where the fifteen towers of the Syndicate crowded together like a bundle of blunt spears. The northern sky was thick with winter fire dancing against the glow of the Eye, whose purple and red gibbous loomed to the south and gobbled any starlight that might have competed with the flickering green and yellow in the north. The black ellipse of a private airship etched itself against the moon as it drifted toward the western dock tower.
Winter fire splashed against the high marble and obsidian walls, while the Eye drained the world of all detail, reducing the dry fountains and pacing guards to vague, two-dimensional shapes. The dull hum of the naphtha generators resonated beneath the flagstones under her bare feet and combined with the groan of a steamship whistle rolling across Eheene from the harbor.
The cold was intense. The mercenaries manning the priceless iron gates and the tops of the walls were layered in hound skins and silk underclothes, but Syrina could still see them shivering in the dim conflagration of light. She was naked, the cold a faint nuisance in the back of her mind. No one was looking her way, and if they did, they wouldn’t see more than a tick of motion across the marble flagstones their eyes wouldn’t be able to follow.
She was covered with fine black tattoos. They seemed to move, coming together and branching again in infinite complexity, like a fingerprint, from the top of her bald head to the bottoms of her feet, over her lips and under her nails. Just her green eyes, guarded by black lashes, could be clearly seen. The same minute manipulation of her muscles that kept the cold at bay blended her tattoos into the surroundings until she was just a shadow, even to herself.
The Palace doors, like the larger gates to the compound behind her, were emblazoned with the Spiral of Skalkaad, but instead of etched steel, the doors were black burnished brass. The three white arms of the Spiral were opal. The three black ones set with tiny black pearls.
Syrina forced eye contact with the black and silver clad Seneschal posted at the doors until he noticed her and stepped aside with a hasty, nervous bow. The hallway stretched beyond the foyer, built from blocks of obsidian. Every twenty paces, there was a short stairway of white marble leading up to the next tier. The hall was lined with iron doors marked with spirals, but otherwise unlabeled. Above each portal was a large marble hand, palm upward, holding a hissing bluish flame. Syrina had no idea what lay behind any of the doors except for the second-to-last one on the left, and that’s where she went.
The Keepers (Connor Chronicles Book 1) by Dormaine G
I woke up to the rousing of the wind whistling. It sounded like a storm was brewing and was about to land at any minute. I covered my head with my cozy down blanket and rolled over drifting back to sleepville.
I stirred for the second time tonight from a commotion at my window. It was a repetitious clatter, preventing me from going back to sleep, probably the tree branches taking a beating from the stormy wind knocking into my window.
Worried about rain getting in, I unburied myself from my safe haven and checked to see what time it was. My alarm clocked glowed 2:00 a.m., still early enough for me to get a few more hours of sleep.
I rolled out of bed to make sure both sides of my windows were closed, since I have a habit of forgetting to latch them before going to bed. There was a chill in the air, forcing me to slip on my bunny slippers, Mr. Ears, to keep my toes warm. I stumbled over, and to no surprise, they were slightly open.
I loved when it rained, and watching it was one of my favorite things to do. I guess that is why I love swimming so much, simply because I love the water. I peered out only to find a clear sky.
As I stared out, I heard my name below. I looked down and saw Tony standing in the bushes, holding some pebbles. He was the noise I kept hearing, not the trees or wind against my windowpane. He motioned for me to come down and pointed toward my backyard.
“What are you doing here? You better leave before someone sees you,” I tried to whisper, but it didn’t quite come out that way. I am going to be grounded if my dad hears this.
“I’m not leaving until you come down,” he whispered. “Fine.” Not that I am easy or anything. I mean, I just met the boy, but curiosity caught the better of me, so I decided to go. “Give me two minutes,” I said and held up two fingers.
“Hurry,” he whispered.
There you have it - the best fantasy audiobooks from Next Chapter in 02/2023. We hope you enjoy the stories - and if you do, please leave a comment below, or a review in Audible or Goodreads. It would mean a lot to us!
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