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

Emmon bowed, “I thank you, my Count. When we find the Mad Raven, do you wish her alive or dead?”

A bloodthirsty grin stretched across Count Aldamar’s face. “Dead, of course.”

Chapter 16

Ulam

They had been marching for days, pushing further into the dark depths of Silverwood Forest. Ulam and Amantius had been among those chosen to attack the Mad Raven’s lair, the two of them marching beside a wagon train filled with provisions. A few days prior they had come across the abandoned wagons of the first expedition, the foodstuffs and supplies having been picked clean by the victors. A day later they found the site of the first ambush, the scene so grisly even the most hardened warriors debated turning back. There was no shortage of vomit from the ranks of the warband as the smell of rotting corpses reached their noses, the chests of the victims torn apart with the feral tenacity of a ravenous bear. A murder of crows dined on the dead, so drunk from their feast they did not bother to move as the new warband passed through. If anything they watched with gluttonous excitement, for those little scavengers knew the second course would soon be served.

Almost all the remaining Castle Guards had been selected for this expedition, with only a few remaining behind to protect the castle and Count Aldamar. Ulam was not surprised that he had been among those chosen to fight, his size and strength practically cementing his place in the warband. He was not upset by the selection; he actually had been quite excited initially. He was able to escape the castle and see parts of the world he never knew existed, as well as trees and flowers he had never seen before. But as they continued marching into the mysterious depths of the Silverwood, he began to feel a little uneasy about their foray into the forest. Though his spirits were still high, the scores of dead men littered across the ambush site did nothing to soothe the quiet paranoia growing in his heart.

Amantius was beside him, the aroma of a brothel lingering on him, sweet yet repulsive. Ulam had spent the days before their departure sparring with some of the veteran warriors in their warband, believing that would be the best use of his time. Amantius, on the other hand, had spent the same amount of time practicing a more carnal technique. Ulam did not fault him; the prospect of excruciating pain and death was what provided most of the business for brothels. But he still felt disappointment that Amantius had chosen to practice the wrong kind of swordplay before leaving Silverwater.

Ever since Amantius’ drunken debauchery came to an end his mood was one of perpetual gloom, the harsh reality of marching to battle heavy like fog covering a valley. During the first couple days Amantius did not cease complaining, his chattering only stopping when the fear inside grew to such an extreme that he could no longer hide it. Ulam felt pity for his foster-brother; Amantius had never wanted to come, instead wanting to be among those chosen for guard duty at the castle. The Orc did not quite understand the reasoning behind the stance, considering how much Amantius detested and feared Count Aldamar. Better the devil you know, I suppose.

The whole warband was restless, which Ulam thought was a positive thing, because that anxiety would keep them alive. There had only been one death so far, a man had fallen into the Silver River on the second night and drowned. Since then they kept a safe distance from the river, ever wary of the loose soil near its banks. Ulam thought it interesting that most of the men of Silverwater did not know how to swim, considering almost every Accarian could before their tenth birthday. Different cultures, I guess.

Accaria. He did not think of the island much, wanting to focus on the present and future. He could not help but wonder, though, what was happening there. He worried about Pelecia, praying that she was safe. As the sun began to set, homesickness stabbed him in the heart as he thought about a warm meal at the dinner table with her and Amantius, one he was sure they would be late for as well. An image of Pelecia floated in his mind, her arms crossed, scowling at them as they crossed the courtyard to the house. He chuckled quietly.

“How can you possibly laugh in a place like this?” Amantius said, his nerves getting the best of him.

Ulam hesitated. Amantius had not mentioned Accaria recently, which he hoped was a sign that his foster-brother was moving on. The Orc debated whether or not he should tell Amantius the truth, but he feared he would break open a dam of pent up emotion if he did. No, now is not the time. He is already on edge.

“Alright, don’t tell me, I don’t care anyway,” Amantius continued, twitching at every snap of a branch, every call of a bird or beast he did not recognize. “There’s more important things to care about right now.”

Ulam was surprised by the fear that consumed   Amantius, if not a little disappointed. He understood they were in a foreign land, in an alien forest, hunting a mysterious enemy that had massacred a warband already, but he simply could not feel the dread. He only felt excitement, which seemed utterly absurd to him. How can I possibly be excited? Surely I am marching into danger, and most likely death. Perhaps the barkeep was right, maybe I am naturally drawn to combat and killing.

“We make camp here for the night,” Emmon shouted from ahead. The warband had marched into a small opening in the forest, where a creek weaved its way through tall stalks of grass. Within minutes the men began to spread out, transforming the quiet meadow into a city of canvas tents. Though the glade was small, it was still large enough to fit