The Elder's Curse Andrew Walbrown (red scrolls of magic .TXT) 📖

the afternoon sunlight. From his mannerisms and gait, Ulam did not think this newcomer had ever been a soldier, instead believing him to be a governor or orator. Though he doubted the man was a war-hardened veteran, Ulam could see the authority the elder statesman exerted over his peers, as well as the respect his subordinates showed him. He must either be the commander or the administrator of the Crescent Fort.

“I know where it is, but no one has lived there in many years,” the man continued.

Ulam was not disappointed by the news; he had been expecting such an answer. He had long given up hope of finding Orcs within the borders of the Emberi Empire, having concluded that if any remained they would most likely be in Wrothvar or the surrounding valley. And even though there were no Orcs where he was heading, Ulam was still excited about walking in the echoes of his ancestors while exploring the local Sanctuary.

“Do you know what happened?” Ulam asked.

The man shook his head. “That’s been a matter of debate for many years, Master Orc. Some say they migrated elsewhere, some say they died of disease, others say war claimed their lives.”

“And what do you say?”

“Foul magic, Master Orc,” the man replied, his voice flat and ominous. Though it was the middle of summer, Ulam felt the hair stand up on the back of his neck as an ice-cold breeze swept through the forest, the wind forming a thousand wordless whispers. The change caught Ulam off-guard because only minutes prior the sky was cloudless, while the sun was both bright and fierce. But now rumbling thunder announced the approach of dark clouds, like a herald to a capricious lord.

“Come inside,” the man said, waving to Ulam as the other soldiers ran back inside the fortress, “we shall talk more from the safety of our walls. We have ale and food aplenty, and a spare bed if this storm is not of this world.”

“Not of this world?” Ulam repeated. Perhaps he is too old, yet another person in this world who believes everything is mythical in hopes of appeasing one of the Gods.

“As I said before, Master Orc,” the man replied, “foul magic.”

Chapter 6

Amantius

Damn Ulam, why couldn’t you have left better directions?

Amantius sat inside the tent that he once shared with Ulam, reading the letter his foster-brother had written as thick droplets of rain pelted the canvas above him. A tempest of emotions swirled inside him as he reread the letter over a dozen times. Among them was anger, his pride wounded by Ulam’s abandonment, so sure had he been that his foster-brother would have stayed. He felt betrayed, that once again they were separated, even though they had vowed innumerable times since Silverwater to always stand by each other’s side. He was also hurt that Ulam did not say his farewell in person, the lack of forewarning stinging him to his core. Above all else, though, Amantius felt remorse for creating the divide between them.

I should’ve listened to him more, Amantius thought as he watched the dark silhouettes of raindrops slide down the outside of his tent. He hated every second of this; he only went onstage every night because of me and how much I enjoyed it. And I enjoyed the hell out of it, that’s for sure. And why shouldn’t I have? I hadn’t felt so alive in so long; it was like I had recaptured a piece of who I am, or who I was before I left Accaria and met…

Amantius stopped his thoughts there, not wanting to think her name. But the harder he tried, the more her face filled his memories. He could see her dark, alluring eyes, smell the strawberries on her breath, and feel the coolness of her skin on his. At that moment Amantius was not by himself in a tent in Thornsgrave, but miles away in the embraces of the former Countess of Silverwater.

“Morganna.”

He could not explain why her name still had power in his heart. Their romance had been so brief, yet far more passionate than anything he had ever experienced. Perhaps that was why she still haunted his dreams, because he was unable to find the same level of carnal ecstasy he had shared with Morganna. Amantius had used the fame showered on him from A Dragon’s Peace to sleep with every woman he could, hoping to drown out her memory with sheer numbers. But all those nights were empty, the woman beside him in the morning just as faceless as the next. No matter how much booze he could consume, nor how many women he could bed, there seemed to be no cure for his tortured heart.

“Still nothing?”

Nilawen stood by the tent’s entrance, her leather tunic and breeches soaked from the downpour. Water dripped from her hair, forming a puddle on the ground where Ulam’s makeshift bed had once been. Amantius wondered how long she had been standing there; whether or not she had heard him muttering to himself. He had never told Nilawen about Morganna, and he was certain Ulam had not betrayed his trust either.

“No. Some people saw him leave, said he headed west, towards the mountains.” Amantius showed Nilawen the crudely drawn map Ulam had scribbled. “Aside from the triangular mountains, I can’t make sense of anything.”

Nilawen took the map and studied it over. “There’s a fort to the west, an old entry-point into the Emberi Empire. He may have gone there. Did he say in the note if he was coming back?”

“He’s not.”

“How do you know?”

“Because I know Ulam,” Amantius said while rising from his seat. “Once he has decided to do something, he doesn’t change his mind.”

Nilawen nodded, a fresh trickle of rainwater falling from her hair. They stood in awkward silence for a moment, listening to the pitter-patter of droplets on the tent. A flash lit up the outside world, followed by a boom that jolted Amantius into motion. Within seconds he