The Mad Raven's Tale (The Accarian Chronicles Book 1)

by Andrew Walbrown

  After Ulam finished cleaning he dumped the bucket of brick red sludge into a ditch that ran parallel to their home, relying on the next solid rain shower to carry it to sea. He then collected the torch and returned inside to find a quiet house, both Pelecia and Amantius presumably having turned in for the night. He thought about joining his foster-brother in the room they shared, but he knew Amantius had always been a light sleeper, and his big Orcish footsteps would undoubtedly awaken him. As an alternative, he decided to sleep on the sofa in the foyer, an old but comfortable piece of furniture. He crashed into the cushion and stretched as far as he could, allowing the lower half of his legs to dangle off the very end. He stared at the ceiling, successfully pushing out all external thoughts, and simply allowed himself to relax. He felt the aches in his muscles, listened to the sound of his breathing, and melted away. Within moments his eyes grew heavy, and before he was aware Ulam had slipped into the realm of dreams...

  Sunlight touched Ulam’s face, a warm kiss announcing morning’s arrival. The smell of cooked eggs drifted to his nose, rousing a hunger in his stomach that had grown overnight. He sat up on the sofa and discovered a sharp pain in his neck, the result of having slept awkwardly. Ulam yawned as he stood, careful not to cut himself on the tusks jutting out of his bottom row of teeth. He peered at the table in the dining room and saw Pelecia sitting alone by an open window, allowing a warm salt-breeze from the ocean to fill the house. The sounds of cheering crowds and musical instruments filtered inside as well, the occasional sudden roar of applause echoing within the walls of the small home. I am surprised Amantius is sleeping through this.

  At that moment Amantius appeared in the doorway to the bedroom, dressed in the finest tunic and breeches he owned. He wore an incredulous expression on his face, as though he were confused by what he saw. As he looked from Pelecia to Ulam, the smells of breakfast wafted to his nose, causing him to pull a sour face. He instinctively clasped a hand to his mouth while shaking his head.

  “Ugh, eggs!” Amantius muttered as he quickly brushed past Pelecia and Ulam, heading for the main door. “Really, I don’t know how you two can eat those things; they make me want to vomit!”

  “Practically everyone in the world eats eggs, Amantius,” Pelecia replied before she took a bite. It was a statement she made practically every morning, a daily ritual Ulam found rather comedic and endearing. “Someday you very well may have to choose between eggs or starvation.”

  “Then I’ll choose starvation,” Amantius’ mumbled voice said from behind his hand as he pushed open the door and into the courtyard. He gasped for fresh air, which Ulam assumed was for the sake of drama. Amantius then turned and waved to the Orc, beckoning him to join.

  “Come on, Ulam,” Amantius yelled from the safety of the courtyard, “the festival has already started! We’re going to miss out on all the best food and ale!”

  What you mean is we will miss out on the contests; there will always be plenty of food and ale. Ulam had no desire to attend the Monarch’s Festival; the thought of dealing with large drunken crowds annoyed him. He never knew what to expect, sometimes revelers would leave him alone, while sometimes the biggest drunkards would try brawling with him. Regardless, he knew Amantius would either pressure him into contests or simply enroll him in tournaments without his permission, which he hated more than anything. There was no one on the island stronger than he was, so contests such as arm wrestling and tug-of-war were empty challenges that brought him no joy or pride. The only part of the Monarch’s Festival Ulam appreciated was when he melted down the trophies afterward and sold the materials to local smiths or merchants because then he could provide some income for their family. It was his way of giving back to the woman who brought him into her household and raised him as though he were her own.

  Ulam grunted and went to the table, swallowing the contents of both his and Amantius’ plates in a matter of minutes. He then proceeded to his room where he changed clothes, for he still had been wearing the tunic soiled with the dark red mud from Mount Meganthus. After he finished he returned to the dining room and kissed Pelecia on the forehead, and then walked outside, following Amantius into the city streets.

  They headed for the King’s Gardens, where the majority of the day’s festivities would occur. The Gardens were a patch of land near the center of the city refashioned from the ruins of the old palace, which had been built by the original settlers of Accaria centuries before. The beautification of Accaria had been one of the cornerstones of King Roderic’s reign, aside from the increase in trade and prosperity the city had enjoyed over the past two decades. Twenty years prior Accaria was a poor, fetid cesspit wracked with plague and infighting, but under Roderic’s guidance, it transformed into a land filled with personality and beautiful scenery, with a vibrant culture as well.

  As they neared the King’s Gardens the throngs of people grew thicker, as the aromas of roasting meats and vegetables began tickling Ulam’s nose. Crowds cheered, dozens of musicians strummed their instruments while bards attempted to impress maidens with their soothing voices. Banners and flags of all colors and designs waved in the wind, with cobalt blue and white, the colors of the royal family of Accaria, being the most predominant. Soon the smell of ale reached Ulam as well, awakening a thirst deep within the Orc. His throat felt like a desert, completely devoid of all moisture, with his only salvation being a river of beer coursing through his body.

  Amantius was a few steps ahead of him, flirting with a young woman in the shade of a large palm tree. Ulam overheard his foster-brother reciting a poem, one he had heard a dozen times over to mixed success. Though they were raised by the same woman Ulam could not help but marvel at how different they were; he could not imagine imitating Amantius’ actions in a thousand lifetimes. While Amantius used words like “beauty” and “love” to describe women, Ulam used those same words to describe books.

  He could not see the maiden’s reaction, though ultimately it did not matter to Ulam whether or not Amantius was successful in his pursuit. Regardless of the outcome, Ulam knew he had a few moments to partake in the one aspect of this day he enjoyed the most: draining mugs of frothy delight. After all, if he was going to be pressed into participating in many of the day’s events, a little liquid reinforcement would make him more tolerant of the stares he knew he could not avoid.

  Though no one was outwardly hostile towards him, the crowd still shared a collective consciousness of where he was at all times. Ulam may have not looked at any individual directly, but he could still feel the hundreds of eyes following his every step. He still heard the whispers, and even outright conversations, of those who had never seen an Orc before. They were mostly denizens of the outlying villages, mountain folk and fishermen who came to the city only for festivals. No matter where Ulam roamed, there was a collective awe that always followed him. Even amongst neighbors and acquaintances, at times Ulam felt as though he had become nothing more than another exhibit in a sea of attractions. He had become equivalent to an exotic animal hailing from a distant land, paraded around for the amusement of the masses. At least I am not in a cage. Or rather, I am not in one I can see or touch.

  After gathering a mug full of copper-colored beer, Ulam sat on a nearby stone bench shaded by an ancient tree. The spot was away from the main cluster of people, yet still close enough that he could observe the festivities. He put the mug to his lips and drank, the bitter taste of strong ale a perfect medicine for what was ailing him. Within moments he could feel the ale’s effects; his muscles began to loosen, his humor improved, he even found himself laughing at a nearby jester’s antics. As he watched he mindlessly imbibed the first mug of beer, bought two more and started sucking those down too.

  “Slow down, Ulam, save some for the rest of us,” Amantius said as he approached, a mug filled to the brim in each hand. “Besides, you need to be sober if you’re going to win all those tournaments today.”

  Ulam grunted. What little joy he had obtained from the moment qui
ckly diminished, a cold apathy supplanting it.

  I guess it was only a matter of time.

  Chapter 3

  Amantius

  An alabaster tower stood at the center of the King’s Gardens, known as Kevea’s Spear. It was named after the Goddess who slew the Mountain Witch, allowing the first Accarians to settle the island. Over the centuries The Spear had many uses; first as a lookout post, later as a beacon, and then finally as a hallmark of a bygone era. The archway leading into the tower collapsed generations ago, instantly condemning the building and causing every king and queen ever since to forbid anyone from attempting to climb to the top. King Roderic changed course, though, allowing anyone willing to attempt scaling the massive battlement to do so, but only during the Monarch’s Festival. If they tried at any other time of the year they would be arrested on the spot, assuming they did not fall to their death. Many people had attempted over the years to reach the top, to touch the blue skies high above the city, but no one ever succeeded.

  Amantius stood in the massive shadow of Kevea’s Spear, the light of the afternoon sun glowing on the fringes of the white stone. He stared at the top, wondering whether he was brave, stupid, or sober enough to try scaling the side of the building. He felt nothing in his heart as he craned his neck back and looked at the pointed tip of The Spear. There was no fear, no excitement, nor any confidence brewing within him. Yet, despite the complete absence of thoughts or emotions, there was a voice in his head telling him to attempt the climb, a strange desire in his gut compelling him to do so. Amantius could not explain why, nor was he sure if even he knew the real reason, but deep within himself, he knew he must try.

  I really wish Ulam was here, Amantius thought as he looked around at the crowd surrounding him and the other contestants. He’s probably halfway through winning the arm wrestling tournament now. Oh well, looks like I’ll have to get the extra encouragement from the ladies watching. That shouldn’t be a problem.

  Amantius looked around, noticing only a few women were in attendance, none of which were contestants. He shrugged. So much for that. I guess women don’t care about a bunch of guys trying to climb to the top of a tower to prove their manliness. But, now that I think about it, of course they don’t care. Why would they! We’re all going to fail anyway.

  “Remember lads,” the man in charge of the event shouted, “if you think you’re going to fall, or you wish to come back down, signal for help. Priestess Issa will bring you down safely with her abilities.”

  Oh good, the palace mage is here. So at least if I fall her magic will catch me. Probably. How effective can her spells be? She’s about a hundred years old.

  A horn sounded and the other nine climbers began racing for Kevea’s Spear, battling for footing as they started to ascend the tower. Amantius remained still, though, watching as his opponents jostled for positioning. He traced paths up the side of the building, calculating his route in his mind. He saw the first person slip and fall, Priestess Issa quick to catch him with some form of magic Amantius had never seen outside of this yearly contest. If not for her annual appearance at this event, he would have thought magic, witches, and wizards to be nothing more than a myth. He watched the second person fall, then the third, fourth, fifth, and sixth. The seventh and eighth bumped into each other and tumbled at the same time, causing an exchange of insults as the crowd roared in laughter. Only two contestants remained, a masked man halfway up the tower and Amantius, who still had not yet begun.

  “Are you going to even try?” Ulam’s deep voice grumbled from behind. Amantius turned to see his foster-brother wearing three champion’s medals around his neck, the gold from each glittering in the sunlight.

  Amantius smiled and felt a swell of pride grow inside him. Though the Orc won the medals, Ulam was his brother, and his victories brought honor to the Jeranus household. “Of course. I can’t let an ugly Orc like you have all the glory, now can I?”

  Ulam grunted.

  Amantius approached The Spear, got a firm grip on a stone jutting out slightly further from the rest, and began to climb. He followed the same path the others had taken, stopping to rest when he reached the halfway mark, where the fifth man had fallen. His muscles began to contract, his joints started to ache, while sweat dripped from his hairline and into his eyes. There he waited for them to stop stinging, hoping his vision would soon return. From above he heard grunting as the person ahead of him struggled to climb any higher, while below only a murmur of the crowd reached his ears. There was a part of him that wanted to give up now, to fall backward off Kevea’s Spear, and allow Priestess Issa to gently guide him back to the ground. But seeing Ulam with all those medals around his neck inspired him to keep climbing, not out of envy, but because he wanted to share the fraternal pride with his foster-brother and go home as a family of champions.

  Amantius reopened his eyes, focusing them on each stone brick of The Spear. He was forming a new path in his mind, determining which blocks would provide the most support. He decided not to follow the masked competitor above him, noticing the man’s progress had completely stalled. Amantius looked to his left and saw the sunlight creeping along the surface of the tower, highlighting a set of bricks that had been previously camouflaged by the backdrop of the city. A smirk spread across his face as he followed them upwards, allowing himself to believe he found his way to the top of Kevea’s Spear, the first to ever do so.

  Heat radiated from the bricks directly exposed to the Accarian sun; they were hot, but not enough to burn his skin. Amantius cursed loudly, preparing himself mentally for the challenge that lay ahead. He knew by leaving the shadow he would no longer only have to fight gravity, but the sun as well. Two forces that are undefeated all-time. I like my chances.

  Amantius took a deep breath, steeled his heart, and swung around the face of Kevea’s Spear. His fingers tingled as they wrapped around the first block, a wave of heat spreading into his hands and down his arms. Suddenly he felt the suffocating oppression of humidity, the invisible adversary draining his limbs of all energy. Amantius began to suck in great gasps of air, his throat burning with each sun-roasted breath, while a fountain of sweat poured down his face and back. His clothes started sticking to his skin, forcing him to instantly regret his decision to leave the comfort of the dark side of Kevea’s Spear.

  Though he felt like he was melting into the surface of the tower, Amantius did recognize three major advantages to being on the sunlit side of The Spear. First, he could see his path to the top much more clearly, each progressive brick waiting to be climbed. Secondly, there was no one else on this side of The Spear, which prevented someone above him from falling and taking him with them. Lastly, and most importantly of all, the surface of the sunny side of The Spear was beginning to become so hot it served as extra motivation for Amantius to climb faster.

  With lightning speed Amantius scaled the side of Kevea’s Spear, hardly stopping to think of his next move. Within moments he passed his last remaining competitor, who stared at him quietly between the two holes cut into his emotionless mask. As Amantius continued to climb he spiraled around The Spear even more, until eventually he was on the exact opposite side from where he started. There he found an old window to jump through, falling to his knees as soon as he was inside. He scrambled out of the sunlight immediately, joy quickly filling his heart as he avoided the sun’s tyrannical rays. But that joy was short-lived, for as he rested he looked around the room, spotting thousands and thousands of cobwebs decorating every corner. A cold shiver went down his spine, for although he was not afraid of spiders, the thought of thousands of them swarming his sweat covered body was enough to give him goosebumps.

  I can’t catch a break. Amantius stood up and hobbled to the window, groaning as the sunlight hit his flesh again. Though he had only been resting for a quick moment, he could already feel his muscles stiffening from inactivity.

  Amantius climbed into the window sill and immediately looked down, curious as to how far he had climbed a
t that point. As he took in just how far he was from the ground, the strength in his legs vanished, forcing him to sit down once again. From there the people were the size of mice, their little faces all staring up at him. Ulam was the only person he recognized from such a great height, the Orc’s large green head the easiest to see. Amantius searched for others in the crowd, specifically Priestess Issa, but he was unable to find her. Panic infiltrated his spirit as he kept looking because without her to safely lower him to the ground, the smallest miscalculation would mean certain death.

  “Where the hell is she?” Amantius yelled towards the ground, but he was too high up for anyone to hear. “How the hell am I supposed to get back down?” Aside from jumping.

  Though his complexion was dark from years of running through fields and beaches, he could feel the sun piercing through the shield and begin roasting his skin. More out of desperation than determination, Amantius jumped to his feet and continued his climb, hoping there would be a staircase at the top that would allow him to safely descend to the bottom of Kevea’s Spear. This thing was part of the palace once; there have to be stairs inside. Right?

  Amantius had spent so much time worrying about falling, he did not realize he was almost to the point of The Spear. He was so close he could even see the ledge at the very top, as well as his path there. The excitement began to build in his stomach, victory and a sense of accomplishment were starting to overwhelm his other senses. The pain in his limbs disappeared, a second-wind filled his lungs, even the sun did not seem so bright; Amantius had become drunk on the notion that he was about to become the first person in history to conquer Kevea’s Spear. There was only one more brick to go before he could hoist himself over the top, undoubtedly to the cheers of the entire city. My name will be remembered for eons. Mother and Ulam will be so proud of me…