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

“Drink,” the voice said, “you must be parched.”

Ulam chugged the contents of his chalice without stopping to feel the burn of wine in his throat. The cup was refilled a few more times, each time Ulam finished before he actually tasted the wine.

“My thanks,” Ulam muttered, “Not just for the wine, but for saving my brother as well.”

“It is not I who saved your brother,” the shadow said, “but rather he who saved me.”

Count Aldamar moved into Ulam’s vision then, a series of silver cuts and gashes adorning his skin. Of all the wounds, he saw a small outline spreading across the Count’s neck, something he had never seen before. Must have been from the fight. But who would have given it to him?

“Where is the Mad Raven?” Ulam turned his attention to Amantius, who was looking away. There was pain in his eyes, a grief he was trying to hide. With one look he understood what had happened, or at least he thought he did. He might not know the means, but the end was evident.

“She is gone,” Aldamar replied, a touch of sadness in his voice. The emotion surprised Ulam, but he understood. After everything, ultimately she was still his sister.

Ulam grunted and decided not to ask any more questions related to the Mad Raven. “How long was I unconscious for?”

“A few days,” Amantius replied, returning to the conversation. “I thought you were going to die too. Everyone else did.” The last words he whispered. He then let go of Ulam’s hand and stood up, shaking off the dust on his clothes. “I’m going to get food for us, I’ll be back in an hour or so. Rest, Brother.”

Amantius then exited the room, leaving Aldamar and Ulam alone in the barracks. A silence settled over them, the Count sipping wine while pouring a little for Ulam. With every taste the alcohol quieted the drum march in Ulam’s mind, providing him with enough relief to organize his thoughts. There was one that prevailed over the others, though. How is Amantius still alive?

“I can see you are not satisfied with Amantius’ recounting,” Count Aldamar said, his voice steady. “You wish to know what happened, yes?”

Ulam grunted. Aldamar proceeded to tell Ulam of how he struck down Jaga and then became interlocked in combat with his sister while Amantius stayed away. Ulam felt tears form in his eyes as Aldamar explained how Amantius held his head while he was unconscious, even amidst the melee. Finally, he explained how Morganna held a blade to his throat after he had been crushed by a broken slab of stone, only inches away from beheading him.

“I thought my life had finally come to an end,” Count Aldamar continued, “Morganna was on top of me, pushing a blade down to my neck. You can see the scar she left as it cut into my flesh. Then Amantius appeared and began to argue with her.”

“Argue?” Ulam repeated, not sure if he heard correctly. “About what?”

“Yes, argue.” Count Aldamar leaned over the bed into Ulam’s sight and pulled his collar down, exposing two red marks on the side of his neck. “Over these.”

Ulam looked but did not know what he was seeing. Freckles? That is a strange place, and allocation, for freckles. What are those?

“That is peculiar,” Aldamar said as he returned to his seat, “Those are what saved my life. Those are what caused Amantius to…”

“Kill her.” Amantius’ voice called from the entrance. “I killed Morganna, the Mad Raven. I cut off her head.” He entered the room, bread and smoked fish in his hands. “She had tricked me. Led me to believe she was something she wasn’t.”

Ulam’s eyes grew wide as he shifted them towards Aldamar. Everything began to make sense to him, like a thousand puzzles pieces finally fitting together. He remembered the vague conversation the Count and the Mad Raven had before the clash of arms in the grand hall, the story of how Morganna turned into a savage monster that had killed his family. He then focused on the red marks on Aldamar’s neck, suddenly realizing what they were. The mark of a vampire!

Count Aldamar’s eyes began to shine yellow, reminding Ulam of the fiend he had killed in the Sanctuary. A coldness shot through his veins, turning his blood to a river of ice. He began to shake and he reached for his axe, but it was not there.

“Easy,” Amantius said, laying a hand on Ulam’s shoulder, “you need rest.”

“He is a vampire!” Ulam said, gripping Amantius’ tunic with his free hand.

“Yes, you are correct.” Count Aldamar replied, his voice balanced. “I am, in fact, a vampire, and so was my sister. Before you accuse me of leading you astray, or of betraying your trust, I have done no such thing. I told you the truth, many moons ago. My sister was bitten in that cave, deep within the Silverwood, by a vampire. She turned into one, growing ever more violent as time passed until she feasted upon our entire village. Myself included.”

Count Aldamar stood, retreating into the darkness. His eyes turned back to their normal color, no longer reflecting the flames leaping in the hearth.

“In our struggle, she had bitten me, and with time, I too turned into a vampire. Of course, at the time, I was unaware of what had befallen me. With every day I felt a new strength in my body. I was able to run further, jump higher, and lift heavier objects. I no longer grew hungry for traditional foods, but I forever had an unquenchable thirst. I drank copious amounts of water, perhaps even enough to fill an ocean, but nothing would whet my palate. I traveled far and wide looking for answers, all the while drinking different concoctions, hoping anything would satisfy me, but nothing did.”

“My uncle was the Count of Silverwater at that time. He