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

A hundred thoughts shot through Amantius’ head, tangling in his mind like vines on a trellis. Of them all, though, there was only one he absolutely needed to ask. “Ulam. His name is Ulam. Is he still…” He almost could not finish the question from fear of the answer. “Is he still there? Is he still alive?”

“I saw him.” The woman finally spoke, her voice as vitriolic as Amantius remembered. Her muscles loosened, though she still kept a tight grasp on the hilt of the dagger. “A couple of weeks ago, with the Count”

“Thank the Gods!” Amantius fell to his knees again, a wave of relief washing over him. He’s alive! I need to let him know I am too, let him know how to find me. He needs to escape Aldamar before he too is betrayed.

Somewhere down the road, there was an inhumane howling, the high pitched notes riding on the wind. Amantius knew it was the victory cry of his allies and realized they would be returning soon. The howl caused both mother and child to begin trembling again, the little girl burying her face into her mother’s bosom. He saw the woman’s eyes dart in the same direction, her fingers grasping the dagger’s hilt. The horrible image of a butchered golden-haired child came to Amantius’ mind, driving a spike of fear through his heart. He knew the tandem had to run now if they were going to have any chance of surviving. Or any chance of contacting Ulam.

“Do you know the way to Silverwater?” Amantius asked, capturing the woman’s attention.

“Aye,” she replied, her expression still grave.

“Then run, before they get here. I’ll stall them, somehow.” Amantius jumped to his feet and grabbed his sword, sliding the blade into its sheath. Without hesitation the woman leaped from the wagon, dragging the little girl behind her. She slung a satchel filled with provisions over her shoulder and then swept her child into her arms, the little girl’s face all the while still hidden by the woman’s body. The woman took a few steps and then turned, the scowl on her face now gone, replaced with gratitude.

“Thank you,” she said, tears welling. “I’ll never forget this.”

“Just do one thing for me,” Amantius replied, his eyes still focused on the road ahead of him. “When you get to Silverwater find Ulam, the Orc. Tell him his brother lives.”

“What if he won’t see me? What if he doesn’t believe me? I haven’t been the nicest person to him.” The woman yelled back.

“Just say the name ‘Pelecia,’ to him. It’s our mother’s name. That should be enough to convince him.” Amantius saw figures wearing animal furs appearing around a bend in the road, “Now go!”

He staggered down the road towards the others, his legs still heavy with dread. He did not risk a glance behind him, fearing the attention would expose the mother and child’s escape. His veins turned to ice as the returning warriors approached him, his heart pounded in his ears. A few of the more bloodthirsty members of their party came first, their helmets tucked under their armpits. Both were covered in gore, the red ooze matting not only their cloaks but their faces as well. Upon first sight Amantius would have believed the pair had feasted on the blood of the slaughtered, but he dismissed the thought as being far too deranged.

“You don’t have to worry,” the first man said, “we’re on your side. So you can go ahead and close your mouth now.”

“Aye, you might swallow a fly if you’re not careful.” The second chimed in while both of them chuckled.

As they brushed past Amantius the rest of their small group came into view, the glint of moonlight on Jaga’s armor announcing his arrival. The sight of the old warchief was somehow comforting, his presence being one of the few aspects of this mission that Amantius did not dislike. Behind him were the initiates, many of which were as gore-laden as the veterans, a sight that unsettled Amantius even further. Together the whole squad laughed and sang, each member taking a turn to celebrate their prowess in combat.

“You should have been there,” one of the initiates said as they drew near, “they would have gotten away if Skitch didn’t catch them. That damned guy is the fastest runner I’ve ever seen!”

“Oh please,” the one named Skitch said. He was short and lean, looking more like a thief than a warrior. “It wasn’t nothing more than an afternoon jog. Get some grub in m’belly and I’ll show you what speed really looks like.”

Amantius forced a smile for the sake of appearances. The banter between the initiates barely registered in his mind; all he could think about were the mother and daughter running desperately to their salvation. He took heart that no one had sounded an alarm yet, that no one suspected anything. With the sun having long set, they would also be aided by the cover of darkness, which Amantius hoped would be enough to save them.

Jaga approached next and gripped Amantius by the forearm in a display of respect that the latter did not think was warranted. “You better now? Find your legs?”

Amantius nodded, forgetting momentarily that he had killed a man. Suddenly an image of the dead man’s horror-struck eyes flooded his mind, creating an avalanche of self-loathing that swept across his whole body. His knees began to buckle, and his stomach turned rotten once again.

“Easy,” Jaga’s grip was all that kept Amantius from crashing to the ground, “you’re fine, lad, just take it easy.”

Amantius fought back the tears. That little rush of excitement or fear he had felt had completely vanished, leaving him feeling hollow inside. He was embarrassed, confused, hurt, and angry at the same time. He was so ashamed he could not look Jaga in the eye, shaking from a combination of humiliation and the ice-cold wind. I want to go home. I want to be on Mount Meganthus with Ulam again.

“The first time is