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

was still awake. On occasion fear would strike him in the gut, worried Captain Karraman had been discovered or captured. But the feeling was easily suppressed. I have heard no shouting, no screams. Surely that is a sign of luck.

Suddenly a woman screamed, her terror echoing in the night.

There goes our good luck.

The collective glow of a half dozen lanterns filled the valley floor; Ulam now aware of the size of the farming community below. Two homes on the left, another on the right, no more than simple shacks built by the best craftspeople the small community could offer. At the far end of the compound was a large barn, dozens of pens filled with various farm animals. Ulam heard horses and cattle call out in alarm as well, a clear indication that everyone and everything knew Karraman was skulking amongst them.

Ulam remained crouched on the hill, his eyes searching for any sign of his comrade. Figures emerged from the homes holding cleavers and pitchforks, gesticulating wildly at one another. Within moments a dozen lanterns were spreading in every direction, like a colony of ants evacuating an anthill. Though Ulam’s heart rate had increased tenfold, he was still in complete control of himself. Instead of worrying about being discovered or captured, he was excited.

“Ulam, you brute, get down here.” Captain Karraman’s voice called from the base of the hill. “These bags are too damned heavy.”

Ulam sprung to life and ran downhill, intercepting Karraman halfway down. The Captain was covered in a dark liquid; his burlap sack stained black. In each hand he carried a bag, shapes bulging from below, the same liquid dripping out of one.

“Here, grab these.” He yelled as he thrust both bags into Ulam’s hands. Wet and slippery, what is this?

At that moment the moon reappeared, shining its light, revealing the answers to Ulam’s questions.

“Blood?” Ulam heard himself say, surprise mingled with horror. He stared at the Captain.

“Aye,” Karraman said as he limped up the hill, “And there’ll be more if you don’t get your legs moving too.”

Without another word Ulam ran up the hill, overtaking his comrade at the crest. As they descended the other side, the shouts of the farmers behind them became fainter, until they were all but gone. A new sound replaced the yelling, though, indistinguishable at first but slowly becoming louder. When Ulam realized what they were he stopped and turned around, watching as the first few shapes poured over the hill. Hounds. Lots of them.

“Keep running, you oaf,” Karraman said in between breaths as he passed by.

“They have hounds,” Ulam replied matter-of-factly. Even he was surprised by how emotionless his voice was.

Karraman stopped in his tracks and began rummaging through his bag, cursing loudly as he did so. Ulam watched impatiently, the barking echoing in the night, growing louder with each heartbeat. He was beyond anxious, his legs involuntarily moving again. He saw Karraman pull something from his bag, the object dark and oozing liquid.

“Grab something from your bag and drop it,” Karraman said as he tossed the thing on the ground. “That’ll buy us enough time to get away.”

Ulam reached down and felt a dozen slimy items inside, his stomach churning as he failed to grasp any of them. Everything inside was too squishy, the texture slick and nearly impossible to grip. Eventually, his big Orcish fingers wrapped around something firm, like finding a stone in a puddle of water. He pulled his hand out of the bag and held up the object, his eyes growing wide as he realized what he was holding.

“It’s a heart.” Ulam heard himself mutter, though he had attempted to remain silent.

“Who cares what it is,” Karraman yelled a dozen paces ahead of him, “just drop the damn thing and keep running.”

Ulam was as still as a statue, watching as the blood twirled down his arm and dripped into the grass. Sickeningly, he almost believed the heart he was holding was still beating, but he knew the thumping he felt was his own banging inside his chest.

“Drop. The. Damn. Thing. And. Run!” Karraman screamed from somewhere in the darkness.

Ulam turned his gaze towards the hounds and saw they were in full sprint, no more than thirty paces away. He pulled his arm back and tossed the heart, watching as it nearly smacked one of the beasts in the face. To his surprise the hound stopped, sniffed the heart, and begin to feast upon the organ, no longer caring that Ulam was standing close nearby. Ulam then reached inside the bag and tossed another object in their direction, a kidney or liver perhaps, and then a few more until a dozen fights broke out amongst the greedy curs. When the charge of hounds had been completely broken, Ulam turned and chased after Karraman.

After running for what felt like an eternity, Ulam finally caught up to his leader, who was sitting on a large stone along the main road back to Silverwater. Karraman smiled as the Orc approached, a laughter of relief coming in between ragged breaths. “I’ll be damned; you’re still alive.”

Ulam sat down beside the rock, gasping for air as well. He had not stopped running since he gifted a dozen organs to the hounds, fearing one would wonder what Orc-flesh would taste like. Dawn began to break in the east, the black sky slowly transitioning to gray. For the first time Ulam noticed that both he and Captain Karraman were covered in blood, the burlap sacks they wore soaked stiff. Though they were a gruesome duo, he was thankful that none of the blood was their own.

“Alright,” Karraman stood up, “there’s a stream nearby. The water will be cold, but we need to wash up before returning to Silverwater. The townsfolk may think we murdered an entire village together if they saw us like this.”

Ulam grunted. Did we?

Chapter 21

Amantius

Amantius stood along the riverbank directly outside the timber palisade, skipping stones into the gentle stream. An earlier attempt had skipped six times, a new personal record, and