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

by Andrew Walbrown

  Jaga grimaced. “Who said killing? If no one pulls a weapon on us, then no one will die. Think of it as a toll for using the road.”

  Amantius still did not like the idea of stealing from honest people, depriving them of their livelihoods. But Jaga had a valid point, they did not have enough food to feed everyone. If the gardens are dying, then we’ll need to “forage” plenty of food. Maybe I should go back to Silverwater instead and not be part of this. But if Ulam is not there, then what do I have there? Aldamar? He shivered.

  “Come on, lad, I need an answer,” Jaga said impatiently. “Time is wasting, and the longer we stay here, the less food we get to eat.”

  “Couldn’t we just pay them for their goods? Like a market?” Amantius said.

  Jaga sighed, which turned into a laugh. “With what coin? Amantius, I understand you don’t want to hurt anyone, especially people you have no quarrel with. But lad, if we don’t get anything to eat, we will all starve to death. Me, you, everyone.”

  “Even I will,” a heavenly voice said behind Amantius, sending his heart aflutter. He did not need to turn around to know who was speaking. “Go arm yourself, Jaga, I will speak with him.”

  “Very well, my lady,” Jaga said with a half-bow and followed the others to the armory.

  Amantius turned and saw Morganna standing only a few steps away. The butterflies that had been sleeping in his stomach had suddenly awakened, filling Amantius with a child-like nervousness. She smiled at him, the dimples appearing on both sides of her face, reducing the world to just the two of them and no one else. In the back of his mind, Amantius knew others were nearby, specifically her bodyguards, but he did not care.

  “M-m-my, my lady,” Amantius stuttered while awkwardly bowing too far, too fast.

  “Relax, Amantius,” she said, gently grabbing his arm, the same smile on her crimson lips. “I am only human.”

  You’re a goddess. Amantius thought. He focused on her hand, her thumb gently caressing his skin, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake. He felt himself blush, red swelling his cheeks. Keep it together, man! You’re making yourself look like a fool in front of her.

  “Walk with me, will you?” Morganna said, wrapping her arm around his, pulling herself closer. Amantius could smell strawberries on her breath, the aroma sapping his legs of their strength.

  Amantius walked with Morganna through the fortress, arms interlocked, as though he was escorting her to a royal banquet. As they walked in silence he focused his eyes on the Great Hall, not wanting to give the appearance of a love-struck fool. But at one point his will faded, and when he turned to her he saw she had been staring at him the whole time.

  “You have been here for quite some time now,” Morganna said as she looked up at him, her beautiful dark eyes melting his heart. “Are you enjoying your stay?”

  “Now I am,” Amantius blurted out, embarrassment quickly settling in.

  Morganna giggled. It was soft, angelic. “Oh?”

  “What I, what I mean is,” Amantius began to stutter again. Keep it together, Amantius. You look like a dolt. “Now that I have my mobility back and my muscles don’t scream at me, I am enjoying this place more. I don’t like being inactive.” Good recovery.

  “I understand that,” Morganna replied, “I have noticed you have been more active lately. Helping clear the leaves, helping with other chores. My followers have spoken highly of you.”

  “They have?” Amantius felt good knowing that he was impressing people close to Morganna. More important to him, though, was that she admitted noticing his actions lately. Her sudden admission overwhelmed him with excitement. So she is watching me.

  “But of course. We are a small community, in many ways we are simply one large family.” Her smile disappeared for a second, replaced with a quick flash of pure hatred, before her countenance returned to an angelic glow. Amantius saw the sudden change and recoiled, but not enough for Morganna to notice. Though he had never been more attracted to any woman he had ever laid eyes upon, there was something about that moment that unsettled him deeply. Just now, she reminded him of someone he had met before.

  “But family cannot always be trusted,” Morganna said, sadness filling her words. “For some, they are everything. You stand by them against the world, would do anything for them.”

  Pale skin.

  “However, that is not the case for everyone. Take my family for instance. When I was still a girl, my family was strong. Nothing could hurt us, tear us apart.” Morganna stopped, stared at the entrance to the Great Hall before them. “But all that ended when Mother died. Father grew delirious, violent even.”

  Dark eyes. They’re so dark, almost black even. It could just be the lighting.

  “But he was still a good man. He did not deserve to be killed. Murdered.” Morganna’s words were heavy with longing, though there was an element of anger lurking in them as well. “Especially by his own son. My own brother.”

  Brother? An image floated in his mind, a man’s face. The answer to his question was so obvious now, hitting him like a kick to the gut. No, it cannot be!

  “You know him.” Morganna continued, her grip strengthening around Amantius’ arm. He flinched as her nails dug into his skin. “He is your employer, the man you fought for. The man whose claim so many have died defending.”

  “Count Aldamar!” Amantius spat the words from his mouth as though they were poison resting on his tongue. A thousand thoughts shot this his mind, like a barrage of arrows, each with a different question attached. Morganna is Aldamar’s sister? He murdered their father? How can this be?

  “Yes, Aldamar,” Morganna replied, her voice surprisingly calm. “I refuse to give him the title, though. I am sure you can understand.”

  “I never liked him, I knew there was something evil about him,” Amantius replied, the words flowing like water from behind a broken dam. “I could tell the moment I met him.” What of Ulam? If he is still alive, he would still be in Silverwater. By the Gods! How could we have been so blind!? I need to go back, I need to rescue him.

  “Well, unfortunately not everyone is as astute as you.” Morganna continued, tracing his bicep with a finger. “He has fooled many throughout the years, no more so than the people of Silverwater. That is why I fight, Amantius.” She broke away, walked to the steps of the Great Hall, and turned.

  “I fight so that someday I can liberate those poor souls under his rule.” Morganna began, her voice louder, as though the world was her audience. “When he has been defeated, and defeated he shall be, I will welcome an era of peace and prosperity for Silverwater County. Something this land has not seen in many years.”

  A couple of the veterans milling about echoed her sentiments before returning to their tasks. Amantius turned and saw Jaga coming towards him, wearing a full set of armor, looking the part of a warchief. His cloak was long, reaching the ground, a mix of gray and black fibers. It had been made from the pelt of a great wolf, one large enough to cover Jaga’s frame. Under his arm was his helmet, decorated with the wolf’s snarling head. If this turns into a fight, he’ll look like a demon-wolf.

  “You should come,” Jaga said, the same grim expression on his face, “going out there will do you some good. If you stay in here too much longer you might go mad with boredom. And boredom may get you into trouble; if you get what I mean.”

  Amantius chuckled, though it sounded more nervous than he intended. “Well, when you put it that way.” He began to follow Jaga when he remembered Morganna on the steps, but when he turned to say goodbye she had vanished. Though he could not spot her or her bodyguards, he could still feel her eyes on him. Just like her brother, only infinitely more beautiful and less terrifying.

  “Check the armory,” Jaga said as they strolled across the fortress, “Wear whatever you can find. Also, find a helmet. We should have a few spares in there. Generic, some don’t even look like real animals. It doesn’t matter, people go blind when they see the fangs.” Jaga stroked the polished teeth
of his wolf’s head.

  “Do you trust me to carry a blade?” Amantius said as he split off, walking towards the armory. “After all, I am technically your prisoner.”

  Jaga’s face tightened, and for the first time in weeks, Amantius felt as though he was being judged. “Should I not trust you?”

  Amantius hesitated. You should be able to trust me, but I don’t know. This would be much easier if Ulam was here, or at least not possibly still fighting for Aldamar.

  “Suit up, Amantius,” Jaga continued, his frame relaxing. “You’re one of us, now, even if you don’t know it.”

  Jaga walked away, disappearing into the group of people gathered at the gate. Amantius watched for a second, Jaga’s words echoing in his mind. You’re one of us, now, even if you don’t know it.

  “Yeah, maybe I am,” he muttered, “but Ulam isn’t.”

  Chapter 22

  Ulam

  Days passed without Ulam seeing Captain Karraman or Count Aldamar. He found it quite strange, considering their midnight mission had been conducted in secret. But he did not mind the lack of contact, though. He wanted to be alone, to give himself time to reflect on that night; the scenes of which played a million times over in his mind.

  Ulam’s memory was impeccable; he could still see and feel every detail of that night. He remembered waiting on a hilltop, a brisk wind nipping at his neck. The silence was then broken by a series of screams and a thunder of barking dogs. He remembered the fear that struck him at the sound of the alarm, which only intensified when Captain Karraman sprinted by him. He remembered the stomach-churning stench from inside the bag, the squish of the organs as he tossed them at the pursuing hounds. He remembered the sound of the stream as they splashed around, washing the blood from their bodies. By the time they returned to Silverwater the sun had risen, forcing them to use back alleys to avoid the eyes of any early risers. When back at the castle Karraman had taken all the sacks of organs and disappeared in the castle, promising he would explain later.

  But when will “later” be?

  Ulam was in The Bride’s Oasis, working on his fourth mug of ale. He began frequenting the establishment more after that night, choosing to drown his thoughts in alcohol and friendly conversation. Korso the barkeep was always quick to provide either.

  “Have you heard the latest news?” Korso said as he polished a mug, “Rumors from the south, apparently a farm was attacked by wraiths the other night...or something like that.”

  Ulam grunted. “Wraiths?

  “Aye, wraiths,” he put down the mug and grabbed the next. “Don’t know if I believe it or not. Never seen one. Now, that doesn’t mean I don’t believe it. Hell, after all, we have the Mad Raven running amok out there. So why not a wraith?”

  Ulam grunted again. Was that us? His heart began to beat a little faster, a cold sweat forming on his brow. “How many died?”

  Korso shrugged. “Who can say? One person says twenty, another says zero. That’s the best part about rumors, they’re almost always complete horseshit. Probably wasn’t anything supernatural about the attack, either. Most likely a couple of jackass kids raising a little mayhem, scaring some farm folk.” He started to chuckle. “The Gods know I did my fair share back in the day.”

  Ulam did not like that Korso had news regarding a night attack on a farm community to the south of Silverwater. Not because he did not like or trust the barkeep, but he knew that such an isolated man would only know such information if someone had told him. If Korso, a barkeep in a predominately female tavern in the far corner of Silverwater, knew about Ulam and Captain Karraman’s night raid, then everyone else in the city knew as well. Hopefully, no one learns the truth. It took saving a family in a burning building just to get people to stop glaring at me with hate in their eyes.

  “Well there’s someone I haven’t seen in a while,” Korso shouted, breaking Ulam’s concentration. A blast of chilly air pushed through the front door, sweeping brown leaves onto the wood floorboards. “Been wondering if you were still alive, Jalkett.”

  “I go a few days without seeing your face and you wonder if I’ve been killed?” Karraman replied, his tone light. “I’m hurt.”

  “Well you never know,” Korso replied as he placed a full mug of ale in front of Karraman, “these are weird times, my friend. First, we have the Mad Raven, and now we have wraith sightings. Hell, not to mention an Orc is my most loyal patron!”

  “Wraith sightings?” Karraman sounded confused, but there was something about his reaction that seemed forced. Or at least, Ulam thought he was pretending to be surprised.

  “Just told your comrade here about a farm down south that was attacked by wraiths a few nights ago. Probably just superstitious folk being superstitious. You know how farmers are.”

  Captain Karraman and Korso continued their small-talk for a bit longer while Ulam waited impatiently. He needed to have a private conversation with Karraman; he needed answers to the questions that had been keeping him awake at night. I need to know the truth, dammit.

  Korso eventually disappeared into the far reaches of the tavern, leaving Karraman to his drink. Ulam knew this was not the time or place to ask his questions, but he was being driven mad with curiosity. He felt his lips moving before his brain was able to stop himself from speaking. “What did we…”

  Karraman held up a hand. “Not here.”

  “Then where?” The Orc’s voice was an irritated grumble of pent-up frustration mixing with the embarrassment of broaching the subject in public.

  Captain Karraman sighed. He swirled the remnants of his beer before putting the mug to his lips for the last sip. “Meet me in the castle after the sun goes down. I suppose you should know the truth.”

  Ulam watched as the Captain slung a cloak over his body and left the tavern, letting another flurry of leaves sweep inside once again. He waited a few moments and then followed, shivering as the wind brushed against his skin. Ulam had never experienced such bitter weather before; the coldest of nights in Accaria was usually a thing to celebrate, a respite from the oppressive heat and humidity of the island. Silverwater was different though, which surprised Ulam, because the palm trees and sand dunes in the area suggested a much warmer locale. And for the most part this was true, but in recent days the weather had become downright unbearable to him. However he was not the only one who felt this way, most of the townspeople openly complained about the icy blasts of wind and lack of sunny skies. Even they seemed surprised by the sudden change as well.

  Ulam headed straight for the armory upon returning to the castle, hoping to find anything to help check the bitter wind. Although none of the clothing was large enough for his body, he opened a chest and found a silver and purple Castle Guard cloak that was clearly too large for any human. He pulled it out, slung it over his shoulders, and clasped the top. It was a little short, the bottom touching his upper legs, but he was content with his discovery. After all, he did not have the money to have a tailor make clothes to fit his broad shoulders and chest. Free and short is better than nothing at all.

  The sun had completely disappeared over the horizon as Ulam exited the armory. Silverwater was now an ocean of lanterns, yellow and orange glowing across the whole city. Along the surrounding walls he could see the small bonfires lit by shivering sentries, their silhouettes contrasted by the bright flames. Although Ulam had a newfound fear of fire, even he dreamed of being near one, basking in its heat.

  He entered the castle, his boots echoing off the cold stone walls of the entrance hall. The interior was characteristically dimly lit, only a few torches burned in their sconces. Ulam followed them, partially because of the heat they provided, but also because he assumed Captain Karraman had left the trail for him to follow. Within moments he found himself in the grand hall, a wide, mostly empty room with a dais at the far end. On top of the platform was a rather plain velvet chair, a large, purple cloth bearing a silvery crescent moon draped over its back. Above him was a massive iron chandelier, the can
dles of which were aglow. From their light he was able to distinguish a row of paintings aligning the walls of the Great Hall. Upon further inspection, he discovered the paintings were actually portraits, each depicting a different former Count of Silverwater. Ulam noticed the last three looked very similar, as though they were the same man each time.

  “The resemblance is uncanny, I know,” a soft, yet stern, voice said from behind Ulam, causing him to jump. “I never believed I looked so much like my uncle, the former count. However, the artist clearly disagreed.”

  Ulam turned and saw the cold, black eyes of Count Aldamar staring at him, a whimsical smile creasing his lips. He did not hear the Count come into the grand hall, nor did he hear the man approach him. How did I not hear him? Was he there the whole time?

  Count Aldamar’s smile was empty and void of any warmth, much like the grand hall itself. Ulam shifted his weight, with every second of silence he grew more uncomfortable. Though Aldamar was staring at him, Ulam’s eyes flickered around the hall, looking for Captain Karraman, hoping the man was also present. He was nowhere to be found.

  “No doubt you are searching for your captain, seeing how he arranged this meeting,” Count Aldamar began pacing the room, his footsteps were as light as a feather. Ulam closely followed each of the Count’s steps, his eyes honed in on the man’s highly embroidered shoes. Does he float? How does he walk so silently?

  “Jalkett trusts you,” Count Aldamar said. Although his back was turned to Ulam, his voice still echoed off the walls of the grand hall. “You should feel honored, he is not one to blindly place faith in others.”

  The Count walked further into the darkness that engulfed the room, becoming nothing more than a silhouette with snow-white hair at the edge of Ulam’s vision. There was a sudden pop, followed by the sound of liquid being poured. A moment later Aldamar returned with two crescent-engraved chalices in his hands. Even from a distance Ulam could see inside the cups, where dark red wine threatened to spill over the brim. The Count extended an arm and nodded, a rueful smile creasing his lips. “I stash wine underneath my chair. I find it much more preferable to have wine nearby at all times, instead of rummaging through the cellar or kitchen at all times of the night. I have scared more servants and guards than I care to remember.” He tasted the wine and smacked his lips. “Perhaps that is why no one lasts longer than a month, or why I rarely have visitors from the other counties of the Empire. Not that I care, mind you, the less the better.”