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

Ulam smiled, unable to contain the pride swelling inside him. Captain Karraman was a tough old veteran, having fought more battles than he could count. He had scars on his arms, walked with a limp, and could drink more ale than the rest of the Guards combined. He was a warrior at heart who lived for the rush of battle and the stories that inevitably followed. And although he never complimented someone directly, Ulam took the Captain’s groans of pain as the highest form of praise.

After the sun slipped behind the city walls, Captain Karraman and Ulam headed for the Bride’s Oasis to quench the thirsts and lick their wounds. As usual, the tavern was full of women, most of which paid them no attention. Although as Ulam scanned the room, a few smiled at him and even called out greetings. Finding himself in unfamiliar territory and unsure how to react, he grunted and headed straight for the bar, like an arrow seeking its target. Their friendliness is strange. Why are they being so friendly? No one is friendly to me, except for the barkeep, Captain Karraman, and Count Aldamar. Ulam chuckled to himself. Strange company I keep these days. 

“Hello, my good Guards,” the barkeep shouted as he hurried to the end of the bar, where Ulam and Karraman were sitting. He was as cheerful as ever. “What can I do you for this evening?”

“Same as usual, Korso,” Captain Karraman said. It was the first time Ulam had heard the barkeep’s name used.

The barkeep returned with two mugs of ale, giving them to Ulam and Karraman. The Captain tossed a few copper coins on the counter, which Korso swept into his pockets in a single motion. He held up a hand as Ulam reached for payment of his own. “No need for that, lad, the first one in on the house. Business has picked up since word got out that you drink in here. It seems the women-folk feel safer here than in their own homes. Since you jumped into that fire and pulled out that woman and her kid, you’re kind of a folk-hero now.”

Ulam grimaced as memories of the hungry flames biting his skin resurfaced. He looked at the scar running the length of his forearm where had been severely burned, tracing it with his other hand. He then thought of the fire in the camp and how he had been paralyzed in fear; his grimace quickly became a snarl. How could I have been so weak? Now Amantius is gone, possibly dead because of my failure to join the fight. Not to mention, will I always be afraid of fire?

“Cheer up,” Captain Karraman said with a jab to Ulam’s bruised ribs. “The man just told you that you’re a hero and you’re sitting there sulking into your beer.”

“I am not a hero,” Ulam replied before drinking half his beer in one gulp. I am a coward.

Captain Karraman finished his beer and then smiled. “That’s what a hero would say. Cheer up, lad, be thankful you’re one of the few who returned alive. The Gods know I am.”

Ulam grunted. How can I be thankful for anything? I dreamed of being free of Mother’s promise from the moment I made it, and now that Amantius is gone, all I feel is emptiness and shame. 

“Not much for conversation tonight, are you? It’s all the same, I suppose. I’ve noticed you’ve garnered some favor with Count Aldamar recently.” Captain Karraman said with a satisfactory nod, changing the subject. “Good. He needs people he can rely on in times like these, and I fear that list isn’t as long as it once was.”

Ulam grunted. He is a very private man; I can understand that.

“Don’t drink too much,” Karraman said as he finished his beer and stood from the bar. “I’m going to need you to be sober tonight. I have an…errand…I must run tonight and I need someone to help me. You don’t have to come, but if you want to, meet me in a few hours on the training grounds. Also, try not to wear anything too expensive.”

Captain Karraman then headed for the exit, Ulam staring at his back all the way. He meandered for a few moments after finishing his beer, wondering about the Captain’s orders. He was curious why Karraman wanted to meet at such a late hour, especially since they had already spent the better part of the day together. Ulam grunted, shrugged his shoulders, and made for the exit as well.

The night’s air was crisp, the constant wind a refreshing change from the musty, ale soaked walls of the Bride’s Oasis. Aside from a few guards escorting women home from various places, the streets were abandoned. Ulam heard laughter and screams of delight coming from the direction of a brothel, and for a moment thought of Amantius. No doubt if he were here he would be in there tonight.

Before he realized it Ulam was standing in the castle’s gateway, staring across the city. Tall plumes of peaceful smoke danced in the wind, born from the hundreds of fires burning in the hearths of Silverwater’s homes. Bats occasionally darted overhead, squeaking in delight as they roamed the skies. They held Ulam’s attention only for a moment before he returned to scanning the city. He was not looking for anything in particular; he was simply staring.

“Where are you, Amantius?” Ulam heard himself mutter, his words dripped in worry. He had spent many nights with his foster-brother standing vigil over the castle’s entryway, listening to him ramble on about anything and everything. Though he had hated it, at that moment he would have given anything to hear Amantius’ pointless ramblings once again. Gods, it was annoying. Never thought I would miss it, though.

Ulam spent the following hours in the library, the aroma of stagnant air and melted wax comforting to him. He usually poured over texts regarding his race, but his mind was