The men and women of the fort paid him no mind, carrying on with their business. Amantius heard the usual sounds of a settlement: dogs barking, people chatting, and the distinct high notes of a blacksmith’s hammer crashing into an anvil. By all accounts, this place was no different than Silverwater, only much smaller and much more comely. Amantius could not quite explain it, but he already felt a connection here, as though he belonged.
“Probably not what you expected,” Jaga said as he handed Amantius a large branch to use as a walking stick.
“Not at all,” Amantius replied, his words barely audible above the sounds of hundreds of birds chirping in the canopy above. “Where are we?”
“Home, or at least that’s what we call it.” Jaga shrugged. “I guess we didn’t feel the need to give it a great name when we first came here. We didn’t mean to stay here for so long.”
“What do you mean?” Amantius asked, relieved that the branch he was now leaning on was thick and strong.
Jaga’s lips tightened until he began to scowl, “Doesn’t matter. Ask the Countess if you really want to know.” He took a few steps forward, “Want a tour?”
Jaga led a hobbling Amantius around the compound, explaining the different structures as they passed. Amantius was surprised by the number of people living in this forest village, the trees cloaking the actual size of the settlement. They had everything they needed; blacksmiths, bakeries, an armory, infirmary, storehouses, multiple wells, even a temple. For people who “never meant to stay long” they appeared to have been settled here for many years.
“I have to admit, I’m impressed,” Amantius said as they approached the wooden palisade. His legs were numb, having been used more in the past hour than they had in the past week.
“We have a few good carpenters, and there has always been a strong supply of lumber and labor.” Jaga leaned against a stout timber pillar, his expression dark. “Well, at least there had been. Now our numbers are so few.”
Jaga’s words trailed away, but Amantius knew what he meant. The two warbands from Silverwater had inflicted a significant amount of casualties, the graves still covered in fresh dirt from the most recent battle. He wondered if the survivors from Silverwater had created a cemetery in the middle of the forest as well, burying their dead in a mass ceremony. What if Ulam was one of them, if he is buried out there somewhere? What about me? Does everyone think I’m dead?
“Look alive, kid,” Jaga said as he stood, straightening his tunic, “Countess Morganna is coming.”
Amantius’ heart leaped at the mere mention of her name, goosebumps forming on his arms and neck. The energy shot through his veins, willing him to stand even though his legs felt as though they were being stabbed a thousand times over. He placed almost all of his weight on the branch he used as a staff, hoping it was sturdy enough to support him.
Then he saw her, approaching from across the fortress with a few bodyguards flanking her. She wore a modest raven black gown, the same color as the flowing locks of hair that gently poured over her shoulders. The dress was trimmed in white and purple, the fabric hugging her curves perfectly. Amantius thought he was in the presence of a goddess, come down from the heavens to grace the unworthy with her divine beauty. Though she might not have been a deity, she wielded an almost supernatural power over him. To Amantius, it was as though there was nothing else in the world; no trees, no sunshine, no people, just her.
“Close your mouth, boy,” Jaga growled behind him. “And keep it closed.”
“Feeling better, I see,” Morganna said, dimples forming from her radiant smile. “But please, relax. I can see you are placing a great strain upon yourself by standing for me.”
Amantius scolded himself for appearing weak in Morganna’s presence. Though he wanted to impress her with his toughness, he was somewhat relieved that he was allowed to sit down again. His lower limbs were screaming in pain, the muscles having already stiffened during the stroll he took with Jaga.
“Showing him around Home around you?” Morganna asked. Jaga nodded silently, his usual grimace plastered on his face. “So Amantius, what do you think of our little community?”
“I’ve never seen anything like it,” Amantius replied. There were many aspects of Home that impressed him; the sheer vastness of the place, its hidden location underneath a thick canopy, even its efficiency as a proper city was notable. There was a natural beauty to the forest stronghold, and the wafting aroma of wildflowers and fruit made Home the best smelling settlement he believed he would ever see. That is if he was ever allowed to leave. After all, he was still Countess Morganna’s prisoner.
“There’s much worse places for me to be held captive,” Amantius continued with a faint smile. He winced at the last two words. I shouldn’t have said that, hopefully she wasn’t offended. I don’t feel like a prisoner, and she doesn’t make me feel like one either.
Countess Morganna smiled, though there was no warmth in it. “Held captive? But Amantius, you are not being held captive here. We are simply healing you, and when you feel you have recovered entirely, you may leave if you wish.” She took a few steps closer and laid a hand on his shoulder. “Although, I hope you would stay here, with me. I would be ecstatic if you became one of us.”
Amantius’ heart thundered so loud he feared it would rip from his chest. Countess Morganna’s eyes slowly drifted to where his heart was, as though she could hear it too. No, that’s nonsense. She can’t hear my heartbeat. Maybe she can feel it, though? Who cares, she wants me to stay here! With her! How can I say no?
“You do not have to answer now,” Morganna said as she pulled away, the smile on her face indicating she already knew what he would choose. “Take a fortnight, rest a while longer. Come to my hold when you have decided,” she began to walk away, her bodyguards following. A few steps later she abruptly stopped, turning to face him again. “Or come to my hold just to see me.”
“I will!” Amantius blurted out, instantly regretting his eagerness. You can’t let a woman know what you want, Amantius. Gods, you are a fool.
Countess Morganna walked away, disappearing behind a row of buildings. Amantius sat still for a moment, his heart thumping so hard it began to hurt. His stomach felt as though he had swallowed a family of butterflies, his arms and legs suddenly felt light. He began to giggle quietly to himself, unaware of anything else in the world.
Then he felt a pain in the back of his head.
“I told you to keep your mouth shut,” Jaga muttered, his expression forever unchanged.
Chapter 20
Ulam
Ulam spent countless hours in the depths of Count Aldamar’s personal library, stacking dozens of books all around the desk where he read. Scouring each text for anything regarding the Orcs and their disappearance was how he kept his mind off Amantius, plunging himself into a world of yellowed pages to escape his current reality. Initially, it had been difficult to fight the urge to return to the Silverwood, but with each passing day he accepted the helplessness of his situation even more. Though his pride wanted him to believe he could rescue Amantius by himself, he knew Count Aldamar had spoken the truth. If I were to go, it would be a suicide mission. The enemy knows the lay of the land far better than I, and no matter how strong I may be, I am still just one person against many.
When he was not reading, Ulam continued his weapons training. Initially, it was difficult to find a sparring partner, however, as Ulam was so much bigger and stronger than the others. Even though he was not trained for combat, he was able to overpower many of his comrades, inflicting punishment even with wooden weapons. One by one people began refusing training with Ulam, until eventually Captain Karraman himself picked up the mantle. By that time the Captain had fully recovered from his injuries, having resumed the full responsibilities of his post.
The first few weeks of training were rough for Ulam, because while his brute strength would defeat a less experienced duelist, it did not work well against Captain Karraman’s speed and fine
sse. Time after time the Aldamar’s captain defeated Ulam, expertly parrying heavy blows from the Orc while also landing counterattacks. Despite the constant beating he received from Karraman’s wooden sword, Ulam never gave up. Each day he returned to the practice yard, and each day he left with new bruises. As time went on, the bruises became fewer and less severe, until one day the roles were switched and he struck Captain Karraman first.
“By the Gods,” Karraman said as he retreated, rubbing his shoulder where the wooden practice axe had crashed into him. “I’m going to have to start wearing armor just to protect myself against wood.”
Ulam smiled, unable to contain the pride swelling inside him. Captain Karraman was a tough old veteran, having fought more battles than he could count. He had scars on his arms, walked with a limp, and could drink more ale than the rest of the Guards combined. He was a warrior at heart who lived for the rush of battle and the stories that inevitably followed. And although he never complimented someone directly, Ulam took the Captain’s groans of pain as the highest form of praise.
After the sun slipped behind the city walls, Captain Karraman and Ulam headed for the Bride’s Oasis to quench the thirsts and lick their wounds. As usual, the tavern was full of women, most of which paid them no attention. Although as Ulam scanned the room, a few smiled at him and even called out greetings. Finding himself in unfamiliar territory and unsure how to react, he grunted and headed straight for the bar, like an arrow seeking its target. Their friendliness is strange. Why are they being so friendly? No one is friendly to me, except for the barkeep, Captain Karraman, and Count Aldamar. Ulam chuckled to himself. Strange company I keep these days.
“Hello, my good Guards,” the barkeep shouted as he hurried to the end of the bar, where Ulam and Karraman were sitting. He was as cheerful as ever. “What can I do you for this evening?”
“Same as usual, Korso,” Captain Karraman said. It was the first time Ulam had heard the barkeep’s name used.
The barkeep returned with two mugs of ale, giving them to Ulam and Karraman. The Captain tossed a few copper coins on the counter, which Korso swept into his pockets in a single motion. He held up a hand as Ulam reached for payment of his own. “No need for that, lad, the first one in on the house. Business has picked up since word got out that you drink in here. It seems the women-folk feel safer here than in their own homes. Since you jumped into that fire and pulled out that woman and her kid, you’re kind of a folk-hero now.”
Ulam grimaced as memories of the hungry flames biting his skin resurfaced. He looked at the scar running the length of his forearm where had been severely burned, tracing it with his other hand. He then thought of the fire in the camp and how he had been paralyzed in fear; his grimace quickly became a snarl. How could I have been so weak? Now Amantius is gone, possibly dead because of my failure to join the fight. Not to mention, will I always be afraid of fire?
“Cheer up,” Captain Karraman said with a jab to Ulam’s bruised ribs. “The man just told you that you’re a hero and you’re sitting there sulking into your beer.”
“I am not a hero,” Ulam replied before drinking half his beer in one gulp. I am a coward.
Captain Karraman finished his beer and then smiled. “That’s what a hero would say. Cheer up, lad, be thankful you’re one of the few who returned alive. The Gods know I am.”
Ulam grunted. How can I be thankful for anything? I dreamed of being free of Mother’s promise from the moment I made it, and now that Amantius is gone, all I feel is emptiness and shame.
“Not much for conversation tonight, are you? It’s all the same, I suppose. I’ve noticed you’ve garnered some favor with Count Aldamar recently.” Captain Karraman said with a satisfactory nod, changing the subject. “Good. He needs people he can rely on in times like these, and I fear that list isn’t as long as it once was.”
Ulam grunted. He is a very private man; I can understand that.
“Don’t drink too much,” Karraman said as he finished his beer and stood from the bar. “I’m going to need you to be sober tonight. I have an…errand…I must run tonight and I need someone to help me. You don’t have to come, but if you want to, meet me in a few hours on the training grounds. Also, try not to wear anything too expensive.”
Captain Karraman then headed for the exit, Ulam staring at his back all the way. He meandered for a few moments after finishing his beer, wondering about the Captain’s orders. He was curious why Karraman wanted to meet at such a late hour, especially since they had already spent the better part of the day together. Ulam grunted, shrugged his shoulders, and made for the exit as well.
The night’s air was crisp, the constant wind a refreshing change from the musty, ale soaked walls of the Bride’s Oasis. Aside from a few guards escorting women home from various places, the streets were abandoned. Ulam heard laughter and screams of delight coming from the direction of a brothel, and for a moment thought of Amantius. No doubt if he were here he would be in there tonight.
Before he realized it Ulam was standing in the castle’s gateway, staring across the city. Tall plumes of peaceful smoke danced in the wind, born from the hundreds of fires burning in the hearths of Silverwater’s homes. Bats occasionally darted overhead, squeaking in delight as they roamed the skies. They held Ulam’s attention only for a moment before he returned to scanning the city. He was not looking for anything in particular; he was simply staring.
“Where are you, Amantius?” Ulam heard himself mutter, his words dripped in worry. He had spent many nights with his foster-brother standing vigil over the castle’s entryway, listening to him ramble on about anything and everything. Though he had hated it, at that moment he would have given anything to hear Amantius’ pointless ramblings once again. Gods, it was annoying. Never thought I would miss it, though.
Ulam spent the following hours in the library, the aroma of stagnant air and melted wax comforting to him. He usually poured over texts regarding his race, but his mind was focused on a different topic this time. Instead of researching Orcish history, he carefully studied a pristine map of the region, attempting to memorize every geographic marking. He grunted when he realized Accaria was not on the map, wondered if the omission was due to a lack of space on the parchment.
Ulam reached into one of the nearby drawers, rummaging through old documents and other clutter until he found what he was looking for. He wrapped a hand around a cold, glass bottle filled with a dark liquid, placing the object on the desk before him. He then grabbed the goose’s feather that was in the same drawer, its tip stained black from use. Ulam proceeded to open the bottle, dipping the tip of the feather into the black liquid settled at the bottom. He then aimed the darkened quill’s point into the ocean southeast of Silverwater and drew a peculiar shape, labeling it “Accaria.”
“There,” he muttered to himself after he finished, a grin splitting his face. Though he realized it was highly unlikely anyone would ever see this map, let alone use it to find Accaria, he was satisfied with his addition.
His eyes scanned the rest of the map, a highly detailed work by an incredibly gifted cartographer. The handwriting was superb as well, Ulam guessing the author had been a scribe. By comparison, he felt embarrassed by his sloppy letters, vowing to practice his penmanship in the future. Perhaps my hands are just too big for this quill? Which bird has such large feathers that my hands will not dwarf a quill made from one? I will grab a book on the subject, after I finish with the map, of course.
Ulam was surprised to see how large Silverwood Forest was, not realizing its magnitude as they had marched with the warband. He noticed a bare spot a few leagues into the forest, unmistakably the meadow where the ambush had taken place. He grimaced as the image of Amantius running towards the battle resurfaced in his mind, the shame of watching helplessly washing over him again. He closed his eyes and willed the guilt away, the void filled with anger instead. Anger at the Mad Raven, anger at Count Aldamar, and anger at what started everything: King Roderic’s death. Bu
t most of all he was angry at himself for having been so afraid, for having been so weak in the presence of fire.
He opened his eyes, allowing himself to relax. He focused on the map once again, the orange glow of the candle illuminating the far side of the parchment. He saw a small “X” deep in Silverwood Forest with a description written above it in a different hand. It appears I am not the only one who has updated this map.
“Home?” He muttered. “What does that mean?”
Ulam heard voices echoing off the halls outside the library and knew it was time to meet Captain Karraman. Before standing he placed a heavy book on each side of the parchment to prevent the edges from recoiling and smudging the fresh ink he added. He then grabbed a lantern and exited the library, immediately coming face to face with both Captain Karraman and Count Aldamar.
“As you see, I am correct,” Count Aldamar said with a smirk as he stepped around Ulam and entered the library, “I knew he would be here, surrounded by my life’s work. We share a common thirst for knowledge, a thirst that is sadly lost upon men of your caliber, Jalkett.”
Captain Karraman rolled his eyes, mocking the Count with a slow clap. “Yes, yes, congratulations, you found the only Orc in Silverwater. You must feel so accomplished.”
The Mad Raven's Tale (The Accarian Chronicles Book 1) Page 14