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

“Shall I pour you a drink as well?” The Count’s voice sounded from behind Ulam. Had his joints not been stiff from hiking through rough terrain, the Count’s voice would have caused him to jump.

“Wine warms the soul just as much as the body,” he continued. Count Aldamar silently glided across the room and filled an empty cup with wine. “Besides, I feel we have a great deal to discuss.”

Ulam grunted. That we do. He followed the Count’s movements, noticing the man’s eyes were focused on the book resting on the table.

“Have you found it?” Aldamar said without removing his eyes from the text. “Have you found the Sanctuary?”

Ulam nodded. I found more than the Sanctuary. The dying woman’s pleading eyes flashed in his mind: dark green and filled with fear, pain, and gratitude. A shiver ran down his spine as he remembered her weeping, a river of sorrow ran straight through his heart. The smell of the cold, hard ground from her grave was still fresh in his mind, as well as the odor of burning flesh that had lingered in the air. Even then, standing in front of Count Aldamar, Ulam had trouble wrapping his mind around everything that had occurred during his excursion. Did all of that really happen, or was it all just a dream?

“Abandoned, I assume?” Count Aldamar continued. “Much time has passed since any news reached Silverwater. Though that is not unusual considering the Orcs are a fairly private people. A pity, really, I have always had a particular affinity for your race. Of course, you already know that.”

The Count raised his chalice in the form of a salute and drank, Ulam mimicking the motion. The man wore a thoughtful expression on his face, his eyes forever looking into the darkness. As they stood quietly in the library, Ulam even believed he witnessed sadness spread across the Count’s face, an unusual display of emotion from an otherwise stoic man.

“Yes, abandoned,” Ulam broke the silence. “Mostly, abandoned.”

Curiosity flashed in Aldamar’s eyes. “Mostly? Did you find other Orcs?”

Ulam slowly shook his head, the hair on the back of his neck stood as he remembered the bright yellow eyes of hatred and corruption staring at him in the darkness. “No. There was something else there. Something evil.”

Count Aldamar arched an eyebrow. “Evil you say?”

“A man, twisted by some malevolent force,” Ulam replied. Was it a disease? A curse? Dark magic?

Count Aldamar smirked. “Most men are born twisted, Ulam. But please, continue.”

Ulam recounted his encounter with the fiend, sparing no details. Count Aldamar listened, interrupting rarely to interject his musings. When Ulam had finished, the Count released a deep sigh, clearly troubled by what he had heard.

“Do you think it was the same creature that…” Ulam’s words trailed off, he did not want to offend the Count by mentioning his sister.

“The same that changed my sister?” Aldamar finished for him. “I appreciate your concern and hesitation, but my days of grieving are long past. No, I highly doubt this fiend was one and the same. Could this man have been afflicted with the same condition? Perhaps, though your experience sounds different than my own.”

At that moment the library door opened, Captain Karraman stood at the entrance. Behind him were a pair of figures, obscured by the poor lighting, though one was much smaller than the other. As they entered behind the Captain, a jolt of familiarity shot through Ulam’s mind; he somehow knew this woman.

“Jalkett, what is the meaning of this?” Aldamar said, his face stiff and voice stern.

Captain Karraman was unfazed, dismissing the Count’s tone with a lazy shrug. “This can’t wait.”

“Forgive us, my Count, but this is urgent.” The woman said, her voice trembling. Her gaze alternated between the three people in the room, while a child whimpered behind her skirt. “We were attacked on the Western Pass. It was the Mad Raven’s Flock.”

Ulam shifted his eyes to Count Aldamar, who looked more impatient than concerned. If they were attacked on the Western Pass, then the Mad Raven is growing bolder, getting closer to the city. Does the Count even care? He looks bored.

“We’re merchants, we come to Silverwater a few times a year to sell our wares. But…” the woman broke down into tears, the child behind her finally emerging to embrace her mother. The flash of golden hair in the otherwise dark room caught Ulam’s eye, and then he saw a glimpse of the child’s face and knew exactly who they were. Though he felt incredibly sad for the child, spite suffocated any sympathy he may have had for the woman.

“They came from the forest, swarming us before we had a chance to defend. And they had these claws, long and sharp like a bear’s, that they used to rip apart our friends and family.” The woman began wailing, squeezing her daughter tightly. “Some ran away, some were butchered where they stood. My daughter and I hid under the blankets and prayed for the Gods to protect us. And that’s when he saw us.”

“Who did you see?” Aldamar asked, impatient, yet intrigued.

The woman pointed at Ulam. “His brother.”

Chapter 27

Amantius

For days Amantius kept to himself, going out of his way to avoid any interaction with the men and women who had participated in their highway banditry. He had overheard the story of their attack a dozen times over, the initiates bragging about their exploits to others over a pint of ale, each telling less truthful than the previous. Amantius wanted no credit for his role in the affair, cringing if anyone spoke of his involvement, especially if someone mentioned the man he had slain. His dreams were still haunted by the dead man’s face, the blood-soaked blade shaking in his hand. He had grown fearful of sleep, knowing only nightmares and guilt awaited him.

He kept busy around Home, the wintry weather guaranteeing no