The Mad Raven's Tale (The Accarian Chronicles Book 1) Andrew Walbrown (early readers TXT) 📖

the king because no one would care about the illegitimate son of a dead king. Sneaking onto a ship could work, but most likely he would be discovered and tossed overboard. There was still the possibility of paying for passage, but he did not see the point in doing so. Even if the ship found a receptive landing, to return to Accaria now would be a death sentence for him.

“You’re right,” Amantius muttered finally, “I guess we should head to Silverwater.”

Ulam grunted and slapped his foster-brother on the shoulder before returning to his sand-covered bags. Amantius followed, his legs as heavy as lead, leaving a trail of ankle-deep gashes along the beach. With every step, he was one step further away from Accaria, not just in body, but in his heart as well.

They began their journey northward, along a twisting cobbled road. It was a path made of thousands of stones, gray and chipped from centuries of usage. It followed the coastline on the right, with the edge of an ancient forest to the left. From time to time Amantius and Ulam would peer deep into the malachite green canopy and spot wildlife that neither had ever seen before. There was a four-legged animal with horns sticking out of its head that Amantius was particularly fascinated with, which Ulam identified as a deer. He was not sure if the Orc was right or not, but regardless he found the animal subtly majestic.

They traveled for hours, taking in as many new sights and sounds as they could. Over time the colossal brown trunks gave way to a clearing, where farmland dominated the landscape for as far as they could see. On the horizon was a walled city, the outline of a castle looming on a hill high above. As they drew nearer the farmlands gave way to vineyards, with supple fruits dangling from every vine.

“I’ve never seen grapes like these before,” Amantius said as he marveled at the size and speculated about the juiciness of the fruit. “They must make the best wine here. I wonder how they taste…”

He reached out to pluck the fattest grape he could see, but before his fingers could make contact with the fruit’s succulent magenta skin, he felt a heavy Orcish hand crash down on the back his palm. He pulled back immediately and scowled, incredulous with Ulam.

“What the hell was that for?” Amantius yelled as he rubbed his reddening hand. He stretched his fingers time and again, hoping to ease the stinging sensation.

“You do not know what kind of fruits these are,” Ulam said in complete severity, “they may be poisonous. Besides, I will not tolerate thievery, especially in a land where we are both strangers.”

Amantius sneered at the first comment, but he knew the merits of the second. It was true, they were foreigners in this land, and there could have been grave repercussions if he had been caught stealing grapes from the vine. Still doesn’t mean he had to hit me. 

“Fine,” Amantius said, “I’ll just buy some at the market then, when we have some coin.”

Ulam grunted.

Not much longer they arrived at the front gate of Silverwater, where high above a flag of crimson and white danced beside one of purple and silver. A dozen men equipped with basic polearms meandered at ground level, while Amantius caught a glimpse of archers patrolling from the towers above the gatehouse. Getting into Silverwater was no difficult task; scores of men and women traveled through the south gate on this day. Amantius saw the usual riffraff, merchants and farmers going to market, but there was a mass of people very different from the rest entering as well. They sold a different kind of ware than the others.

“Ulam, is it me, or are there a lot of whores here?” Amantius said as he watched scantily-clad women practically throw themselves at anyone who displayed any kind of wealth. Accaria had plenty of ladies, and a few men, who practiced the “art of pleasure,” but he had never seen so many gathered in one spot in his life.

Ulam shrugged. “It did not occur to me until you pointed it out.”

“Far more than Accaria,” Amantius replied as he ogled one of the women, though she would not return the attention. It looks like she can smell my empty pockets.

“A man wrote a book once, long ago,” Ulam began as they squeezed their way through the crowd, “where he stated that a mass of such women only happens on two occasions: when there is a festival and when there is an army.”

Amantius’ heart began to beat quickly as thoughts of a grand feast shot through his mind. “Of course! There must be a festival soon, and that is why the grapevines remain full! By the Gods, Ulam, what luck we have!”

Ulam planted his feet, his legs reminiscent of the massive oaks in the ancient forest they passed earlier. “Yes, Amantius,” he began with a grunt, “what luck we have.”

A sudden crashing noise caught their attention, where nearby a group of drunken men were wrestling near stockpiles of weapons and armor. Instead of being greeted by the joviality of a grand feast, Amantius found himself in the company of soldiers and mercenaries. The feeling of defeat washed over him as he watched the men pummel one another, for he had hoped at the end of their long voyage from Accaria there would be some cause for joy. But instead of a never empty goblet of wine and a bed filled with women, Amantius was met with more gloom and despair.

“Now what do we do?” Amantius asked, his voice searching.

Ulam grunted. “Look for employment.”

They headed to the nearest tavern, but finding it filled to the doors with people they decided to look elsewhere. Everywhere they went people stared at them, though not in the same manner as they had become accustomed to in Accaria. There was something different, something even sinister, about the hundreds of eyeballs following their every movement. Crowds made way for