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The Mad Raven’s Tale

Andrew Walbrown

Copyright © 2020 Andrew Walbrown. All rights reserved.

Published by Oldtown Creek Press

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No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever, including internet usage, without written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

First Edition

First Published 2020

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is completely coincidental.

Cover Design by Cristina Tănase


Library of Congress Control Number:




For CC

The Ulam to my Amantius


My name is Rasmus. I am an apprentice mage at the Academy of Echona, where I have studied the field of restorative magic for most of my life. Currently, I am tasked with filtering through many long-forgotten texts that have been buried in the archives of our prestigious institution. My chief function, as far as I have discerned, is to determine the importance of these works and ultimately decide their fate. Many crinkled pages have been incinerated under my watch, old court proceedings about land markers that disappeared generations ago being chief among them. Parchment regarding taxes and other financial information from more fiscally-minded archmages have joined them in the embers of the furnace. All in all, it is a monotonous affair, but I must pay my dues if I wish to ever advance in rank.

Among the border disputes, tax information, and incoherent ramblings of a bygone era, there were a few books that stood out to me like a beacon in the dark. Books, not scrolls, written by someone with a superior handwriting skill many ages ago. These volumes are not decorated in any fashion; they are simply leather-bound books filled with parchment stained yellow from age. Upon picking up the first volume, entitled The Mad Raven’s Tale, I discovered a story of two friends from different races, raised by the same woman, in a place known as Accaria. I have never heard of this place, and I cannot seem to find anything in our modern records indicating it ever existed. But if I am to believe the date inscribed on the first page to be accurate, then this story is at least as old as the Academy itself. The Academy is over one thousand years old, and this Accaria may have existed long before her.

I have thumbed through the first two volumes of the series, and have found the fifth book, but not books three and four. This gives me great exhilaration and anxiety, the former due to the excitement of recovering a relic lost in time, the latter because I am afraid I will never find the complete set. But while I search, I will take care to copy the words from the books I possess by using this newly invented device known as a “typewriter.” By using this machine, as well as our superior paper, perhaps I can cement this saga’s legacy forever.

The names of the protagonists are Amantius Jeranus, a naïve youth from an island kingdom known as Accaria. His foster-brother, an Orc known simply as Ulam, was raised by Amantius’ mother Pelecia from an early age. In the first volume, the duo embarks on a voyage across the sea to the City of Silverwater. I know this name, for that city remains at the bottom of our continent to this very day. Perhaps if the third volume remains missing, I shall board a train southward and try my luck in Silverwater’s library. Assuming, of course, my superiors approve of my absence.

Until that time, I give you the first volume of what I have labeled as The Accarian Chronicles. Titled by its original author as The Mad Raven’s Tale.

Chapter 1


A lad of eighteen years stood at the edge of a cliff, halfway up a mountain named Meganthus by the first human settlers of the island. He was taller than average, with straight, midnight black hair tied into a small ponytail at the nape of his neck. His skin was sunkissed, darkened by his love of the outdoors. A fine layer of stubble decorated his face and upper neck, a result of his indifference for shaving. He leaned on a branch he found while passing through the nearby forest, having fashioned it as a sort of walking stick. From a cliff, he stared across the ocean, the water as blue as his eyes, a serene look across his face. He breathed in the salted air, the sensation tickling his nose.

“Beautiful as always, isn’t it, Ulam?” He asked the traveler beside him, who made the trek through the forest and up the slopes of Mount Meganthus with him daily.

Ulam grunted, his typical response. He found a flattened rock and sat down, pulling a book from his bag. Within moments he was reading, oblivious to the world around him.

“I have never met an Orc that reads so much,” the lad said, watching as his green-skinned friend made himself comfortable on his stone sofa. “Especially with such beauty around him.”

Ulam looked up, his stone gray eyes fixed on his raven-haired friend. He was large, easily stronger than any man on the island. He had two tusks jutting out of his bottom row of teeth, as white as pearl and as sharp as any knife. His charcoal-colored hair reached his shoulders, unbound, with a braid on each side. His face was a perpetual scowl, regardless of his mood. Though his eyes were deep-set, there was a softness in them.

“Amantius,” Ulam began, his voice rough, yet strangely proper, “You have never met another Orc. As far as I know, I am the only one in the world.”

Amantius smirked. “You have a point. And to think, if it wasn’t for Mother, I might not have ever met you. And we definitely wouldn’t be brothers.”

Ulam grunted. It was the truth, Amantius’ mother had adopted the Orc from an early age, though she refused to

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