Episode 1 – A Name Not Uttered

A gentle wind blew through the village, chilling the late autumn air.The quaint wooded pastures of Norwood were located in the far northern reaches of theEmpire, in the province of Sugauth, away from the gleaming seaside cities. It was a cold land inan empire known for its hot weather, its seaside palms, its flowers and myrtles—the farthest onecan go and still be called an Imperial, as the locals said. Near the center were the town hall, Nick Coldwater’s apothecary, the shambled stonechurch of Terryn, goddess of harvest and home; and the Buckhorn Inn, where our tale begins.A young man named Reev sat at a table, rubbing his hands together by the fire. Theoaks, maples and aspens south of the road formed a beautiful mosaic of dark orange, burnt redand creamy yellow; and the leaves still dripped from yesterday’s rain, glowing like crystals in thesunlight.Lifting his ale stein to his lips, he anxiously waited for the innkeeper, Reek, to bring out atray of his cornbread—known for miles around as the very best in Sugauth. The two Ratlingcooks that ran the Buckhorn Inn, Reek and Neek, took care of Reev while his mentor, Gastreel,was away.He had been gone for over two years now—and it would be three in just a few days.“A plate of baked goodness for Master Reev!” exclaimed Reek as he brought out a hotsaucer. He slid the plate of cornbread and gravy-drizzled turkey on the table. Nearby, a lute-player sang on a varnished stage. The tune he strummed filled the innwith palpable excitement.

Craft me, fairest gypsy lass, A magic spell of arcane pow’r Let my candle brightly glow And when the wick is gone, to hell I’ll go

A man in a gray-green cloak with thick black hair and a beard threw a silver penny at hisfeet. Reev reckoned he had come from the southern coasts; his skin was bronzed, and a buttonemblazoned with an albatross, the symbol of the island city of Peregoth, pinned the cloak together.Outside, the sky had gone dark and the air grew chilly.Constable Goffins, the porcine chief of police, stumbled inside, breaking Reev’sconcentration. His white mustache drooped below his neck. He held a brightly-burning lantern,which illuminated the area around him.“Everything all right, gentlerats?” Neek sprang up from behind the bar. “Peachy,” he said, “Nothing the matter, Constable.”Goffins nodded. “Some people have had trouble coming into town. Be on your guard.

There may be

buffoons

on the loose.” He paused. “Curfew is in an hour. Oh! And a birdiedropped this. It’s addressed to you, Reev!” He pulled a scroll out of his pocket. “From a man by the name of G! You’ve certainly got some funny friends, Mr. Nax.”

That’s an initial, dummy,

Reev thought. And doubtlessly “G” stood for Gastreel.Excitedly he went up to the constable and grabbed the letter, seeing it was folded up and sealedwith cheap red wax.“Be on your guard, everyone!” the constable advised and left.Reev broke the seal and unraveled the folded parchment, reading the meticulous ink writing carefully.

Reev…Come to my house at once. Be careful.-G.

Nearby, Reek carried a steaming plate of corn and turkey to the man in the gray-greencloak. Reev walked over to Neek.“Can I help you?” said the Ratling.“I’m headed to Gastreel’s house,” Reev said.“Oh,” squeaked Neek. “The old codger is back again, eh?”“He is.” Reev smiled. “I’ll see you soon.” Neek nodded and waved farewell.The streets were dark, even in the light of the flickering lamps. Silence and emptinessreigned. The air was cold in late November, and they expected snow at any time. Throughoutthe village, once-grassy yards were strewn with colorful leaves. Brown and black squirrelsscrambled down trees to harvest acorns, and deer bounded through the colorful forest. Not asingle snowflake had fallen yet, though it wouldn’t be that way for long.Turning south from the village green, Reev thought he saw torchlight in the alleyway.And, to his surprise, the glint of metal.He turned down Church Road. Constable Goffins appeared right before him with hislantern. The porcine man stamped his foot, his moustache quivering with indignation. “Excuseme! The curfew is on!”“The bells haven’t rung.”“Now you listen to me! Don’t question my authority!” Goffins spewed, “A constable’scommand is law! I’ve been endorsed by Mayor Coldwater, who’s endorsed by the governor,who’s endorsed from the Zaar-taken, gods-forsaken, son-of-Isdar emperor himself!”“I know, Mr. Goffins, but—”“There is no excuse!”“Excuse for what?”“That’s enough out of you! I’m going to fine you two pence!”

“What?” Reev cried, “That’s ridiculous!”Goffins growled.Then a deep-throated, acidic voice bellowed from behind him. “Listen to the boy, porky!” Eyes gleamed in the torchlight—yellow, inhuman eyes. Steel rang as a sword wasdrawn from its sheath. A blade plunged straight through Goffins’ chest. The fat old mancrumpled over and gasped, but found no breath.Reev shrieked and took off like a frightened deer.Gastreel’s home was small, more a pile of stones than a proper house. Reev ran to thedoor nervously, covered with icy sweat. The wizard’s garden had sunk into disrepair, overgrownwith gnarled weeds. The shell of a rotten pumpkin lay within, left over from last year. Besidesthat, the lot was vacant. The windows, dull and dirty, glowed a bit, revealing the fire that burnedwithin the house.He heard footsteps approaching and turned in terror.A snarl issued close by. Panic gripped Reev, and he wondered hopelessly whether hewas going to die.“You Reev Nax?”Yellow eyes gleamed and a blade was pulled from a sheath.“Ansa’ me, boy!”Reev had nowhere to run! He was as good as dead.Then Gastreel kicked open the door and leapt out, a staff in his hand. A strange blue runeglowed with magic light on his forehead, and he thrust out his hand. A searing fire sprayconsumed Reev’s pursuer, and he burst into a pile of charred bone and ash.“Damned Rokahn,” the wizard mumbled. The man was old, in his late sixties, but stillrobust. He had a close-shaven white beard, and wore a robe of forest green. “We have littletime,” he said, “Come inside, Reev. I must explain and quickly.”Reev felt tears form in his eyes. He embraced Gastreel. “Three years,” he said, “Threeyears without you.”“I love you dearly, Reev, but now is not the time.”Together they strode in as Reev wiped the wetness from his eyes.Gastreel’s hovel was disorderly. Hot coals smoldered in the stone hearth, filling theliving room with warmth. A wooden staircase led up into the bedchamber, while a smallcorridor led through a varnished door into Gastreel’s private library. Otherwise the house wasvery small. A half-finished meal of red wine and trout sat on a table before the hearth.“We have a horrid foe pursuing us, Reev,” Gastreel explained as he moved toward a tablein the corner, stacked with books. “The darkness thickens. A name not uttered in hundreds of years thunders from the mountains of Galiope, as fierce and loud as a clarion-call!”He picked up a thick, dusty book, dated from the time of the Great Shadow War—beforeGaliope was founded by the ancient Woodsmen, and before Pereis laid the first brick of theEternal City.“The name I speak of is Seymus, lord of all that is wicked and cruel—champion of the black abyss, and adversary of the

danen

. He seeks the Script of the Sage, for only he and oneother can use it.”“You speak in riddles.”“Silence!” Gastreel demanded, “You must go to the inn and retrieve the package you hid