The Severed Empire Collection: The Complete Series

Book summary

Immerse yourself in the epic fantasy realm of 'The Severed Empire' by Phillip Tomasso, now available as a complete collection. The fallen Rye Empire faces a new threat as the ambitious Mountain King seeks to unleash evil magic upon the land. Seventeen-year-old Mykal and his friends embark on a perilous journey to gather talismans and save their realm from eternal darkness. Experience a captivating tale of magic, danger, and personal sacrifice in this enthralling fantasy series.

Excerpt from The Severed Empire Collection

They sat around a table inside the tavern. The place was dark and musty. An ample-breasted woman in a dirty apron set a piping rabbit pie down on the table. Blodwyn asked for another loaf of bread, while Quill requested a second round of ale for the three of them. The thick coffyn crust cracked under the heel of Mykal’s spoon. Fragrant steam poofed into the air, escaping from the center opening.

“Smells amazing,” Quill said, and lifted the pie, scooping gravy, rabbit and chunks of potato and carrots onto his plate, over his hunk of bread. “I dare say I was getting tired of crow on the mountain.”

Blodwyn piled pie onto his plate next, and Mykal went last scraping his spoon around inside the tin until every last bit dripped onto his plate.

“How are the horses?” Blodwyn bit off a piece of bread, and stuffed a spoonful of it into his mouth. Dark gravy trickled onto his beard.

“I spoke with the man tending to them. He is going to have them ready for riding soon.” Mykal wasn’t sure why he put the last bits onto his plate. He could have eaten directly out of the tin. He shoveled food into his mouth. The hot pie burned his tongue and the insides of his cheeks. He didn’t care. It was a much better feeling than nearly freezing to death. “I did tell him there would be an extra coin for his troubles. I know I spoke out of turn—”

“Because you have no coin?” Quill held his fork in a fist, the tines protruded above his thumb. He licked gravy off his knuckles.

“I don’t have any coins. That’s true.” Mykal lowered his head. He should have known better than to promise someone money he didn’t have.

“I have you covered.” Blodwyn hefted his mug his mouth, and took a generous sip finishing off what had been left of his ale. The act ended with him smacking his lips together. “Once we finish eating I want to stop and talk with Copper. Then, as soon as the horses are ready, we’ll be on our way.”

“I’m sorry, Wyn. I shouldn’t have told him there’d be extra coins involved.”

Blodwyn just smiled as he shook his head. “Most things are more important than coins.”

“I suppose our first business will be in the forest, then.” Quill spoke with his mouth full. He slid a piece of bread around on his plate, sopping up gravy before tossing it into his mouth, as well. He sucked more gravy off of his thumb and finger. “I need to tell the men about Anthony, and his courageous death against the Cavers. It has been a rough time for us. We’ve lost so many men.”

Mykal cocked his head to one side. With a mouth full of rabbit pie, he said, “So many men.” It wasn’t as much a question, as a comment he didn’t mean to voice out loud. He’d burned an Archer to death with his magic. He didn’t just blame himself for the death, he took on full responsibility. It was a regret—a weight—he’d carry forever.

“There was a hanging in Grey Ashland. Four of our men. That was just a week before you arrived searching for the mirror.” Quill uncurled his fingers; the fork fell, and clattered onto the empty plate.

Mykal choked down unchewed food, and cleared his throat. “I was there. The king said they were guilty, that they’d snuck into the realm intent on robbing the people, and worse.”

The server brought over a fresh loaf of bread. It looked like it was just out of the stone oven. Steam rose from the golden, butter split crust. “Will that be all?”

“The ales,” Blodwyn reminded her.

“Aye,” she said, and walked away.

“You were there?” Quill sat leaning forward, his shoulders swallowed his neck. “What do you mean? What does that mean?”

“Gary Slocum. Richard Styman. Carl Wondfraust. Thomas Blacksmith.” Mykal could not take his eyes off his uncle, as each name mentioned looked like it caused Quill pain. He winced as if daggers were being driven into his flesh.

“You remember their names?” Quill sounded surprised.

Mykal would never forget the names. Not now, and he understood why it had been so important. “Grandfather makes me. He cannot go to the executions. It’s just too far for him. He reminds me a million times to pay attention to the names, so when I return home I can tell him who was hung. I’d asked him over and over why it was important. He always dodged answering the question.”

Quill let his tongue slide over his upper lip almost thoughtfully as he relaxed his muscles, and then moved away from the table, leaning back in his chair. “Your grandfather was checking on his sons; keeping a finger on the pulse of the Archers.”