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

by Andrew Walbrown

  “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 shortage of tasks to be completed. He often found himself in the middle of the forest, a hatchet in hand, hacking away at the trunks of trees. He liked gathering firewood, each swing and proceeding thud easing the anxiety that permanently lived in the pit of his stomach. Mostly he enjoyed being surrounded by the giant oaks and pines, finding peace in the solitude it provided. It was just like his childhood in Accaria, save for the snow and ice.

  “Never seen snow before,” Jaga said. His approach had been announced by the crunching of snow underneath his boots. “Doesn’t snow where you’re from either, does it?”

  “No,” Amantius spoke, watching the steam escape his mount and disappear in the air. “They say the last time it snowed in Accaria was hundreds of years ago, something about a God who had been displeased with an impious priest. I don’t remember. It was just an old wives' tale.”

  “Probably. That’s what old wives do.”

  They stood together in the clearing, a dozen small logs loaded on a sled nearby. In the distance a branch heavy with snow snapped, the sound scaring away a few cawing crows. Amantius rotated his shoulders and stretched his neck, then hoisted the hatchet once again. Don’t want my muscles getting tight.

  “Some of the others have noticed you haven’t been around,” Jaga said as splinters of wood fell near him. “They’ve been whispering.”

  Amantius shrugged. “Let them.”

  Jaga sighed. “You’re already considered an outsider, lad. No need to make things harder on yourself than you need to.”

  Amantius dropped the hatchet, the blade disappearing in the snow. “Or what? You’ll have them chop me up like those poor folks we met on the highway?”

  Jaga narrowed his eyes. “Don’t give me that lip, boy. They pulled their weapons; it was self-defense. Hell, you even killed a man.”

  Like I don’t remember! Amantius picked up the hatchet and continued chopping at the trunk of a tree. Anger and shame fueled his arms as each progressive swing became more vicious. “It didn’t need to happen. You told me there wouldn’t be any killing…”

  “Unless it was necessary!” Jaga shouted at him, his patience disappearing quicker than the breath from his words. “What would you have me do? Let any rabble of merchants and has-been mercenaries dictate who gets robbed and who doesn’t? What good are our disguises if no one fears us? Stop being a child; sometimes there are no good endings to the stories we are writing.”

  Amantius returned to hacking the tree, refusing to turn to face Jaga. I am not a child! I’ve had to go through so much in the past year! First I lost my home and my mother! Then I lost Ulam! Hell, I don’t even know if he still lives! And now I am just here, and I do not know why!

  Jaga sighed. “This fight against Aldamar has gone on for too long. It feels like a hundred years, to be honest. But it feels like it’s coming to an end, soon. The Countess is growing restless; she’s been telling us the time to strike Silverwater is now, while Aldamar is still weak.”

  “Then why doesn’t she?”

  “There’s a lot of emotions and personal feelings involved in this business, lad.” Jaga frowned. “People don’t think straight when they can’t look at something objectively. Plus, we’re being cautious. We’ve all lost a lot, some of us our entire families, and all we have left is each other. I think there’s a fear that if we attack now we’ll lose even more, possibly too much.”

  “So if the time to strike is now,” Amantius replied, finally turning to face the old warchief, “then why are you here, in the middle of the forest, talking to me?”

  “The Countess wanted me to find you, to talk to you.” Jaga’s face was stone cold, revealing nothing. “She has taken an interest in you and wants you to stay here, be one of us. Those whispers I mentioned? She’s heard them too.”

  Amantius felt his heartbeat thunder in his chest, the flow of fresh blood warming his stiff limbs. She wants me to stay? It’s a shame she sends Jaga instead of telling me herself.

  “If you stay,” Jaga continued, “I am to train you to be a warrior. To help with your swordpla
y, though I feel like you are better suited for a spear instead. That is if you don’t mind getting knocked on your ass multiple times a day.”

  Amantius snorted at the jab. The insult did not affect him much, though, because his mind had already moved on. If I stay, will I ever know the truth about Ulam? What if we assault Silverwater, slay Aldamar, and Ulam is not there? Will I just be at Morganna’s side, much like Jaga has been, for the rest of my life?

  “Regardless, the Countess wants to see you.” Jaga continued. He walked over to the sled loaded with timber and grabbed a handle. “That is if I wasn’t successful convincing you to stay. And judging by the dumb look on your face every time I mention her, we can just pretend I wasn’t successful. Now help me drag this damn wood back.”

  Together they returned to the compound, toting the wood-filled sled behind them. Jaga helped unload the firewood into a storage shed before disappearing into the frozen landscape, leaving Amantius alone in the abandoned street. A part of him wanted to go back to the healer’s hut, which still served as his quarters, and warm his hands and feet. However, a more convincing voice in his head told him to go to the Great Hall and seek out Morganna. She’ll have a fire blazing in there, as well. Plus, she’s much easier to look at then that old hag that calls herself a healer.

  Amantius’ nose was filled with the smell of roasting spruce as he approached the Great Hall. After two knocks the door was opened, a wave of warmth greeting him, as well as the stares of Morganna’s personal guard. In the center of the hall, the hearth was being fed by a servant, while the few children in Home were scrubbing at red stains on the tables. Amantius guessed dinner had ended only moments ago, the main course being some kind of meat.

  It was the first time he had been in the Great Hall, never having the courage to call on Morganna. Though she had clearly taken an interest in him, and Jaga had directly told him as much, Amantius still could not work up the courage to request a meeting with her. After all, she was a Countess and he was no one.

  “State your business,” one of the guards spoke, stepping out of the shadows.

  “I have come to speak to, with,” Amantius stuttered, “with the, with the Countess.”

  “Amantius, is that you?” A honeyed voice spoke from the back of the hall, “Why this is a pleasant surprise, I was beginning to fear I would never have you as my guest.”

  Morganna emerged from behind a beautiful, exotic tapestry that obscured a doorway, wearing a fire-red gown with a silver brooch just above her left breast. Her hair cascaded over her shoulders like a waterfall, breaking over each side of her face to frame the smile on her ruby lips. Amantius could not tell what burned hotter; the flames in the hearth or those in his heart.

  “Speak when you are spoken to,” a dead-eyed guard muttered, a stark coldness contrasting the warmth emerging from Morganna at the end of the hall.

  Amantius nodded nervously. “Y-y-yes, it is me. It is I.” Which one is right? Dammit, man, pull yourself together!

  “Don’t forget who you’re addressing,” the same guard growled.

  Gods, Amantius, you are such a nitwit. “Yes, my lady.”

  Morganna descended the dais at the end of the hall and motioned for the guards to stand down. She sat at a table along the hearth and beckoned Amantius by quietly patting the open space beside her with the palm of her hand. All around the scrubbing children disappeared, vacating the hall for Amantius, Morganna, and a couple of loyal bodyguards to share. The last person to leave was the servant resuscitating the flames in the hearth, and even he left before the job was completely finished.

  Amantius noticed little of what was happening around him, his vision clouded by the desire burning in his soul. He could feel Morganna’s eyes on him as he crossed the hall, trying his best to find some degree of composure. His breathing shortened, and time felt as though it stood still.

  He took a seat near Morganna, although not the one she had indicated with her hand. He attempted to straighten his posture, an aspect of polite society that had always eluded him. As he did so he could hear his mother chastising him, telling him he would someday regret not learning the basics of high society. I should have listened to her. Maybe I wouldn’t look and feel so stupid right now, especially with Morganna watching me. You’re such a moron, Amantius.

  Morganna watched the awkward display, a playful smile on her lips. She poured two cups of wine, sliding one across the table to Amantius. She then leaned on one elbow, calmly sipping the wine in her goblet. She said nothing, choosing to observe instead. When she was not drinking she was tracing the top of the goblet with her index finger, her skin glowing from the light from the hearth.

  Surely she isn’t waiting for me to speak. I don’t even know what to say. With only a few gulps Amantius drained the wine in front of him. He had originally planned to ration, to take small sips, but he was too nervous for such restraint. So nervous, he unintentionally consumed two entire cups before Morganna finished her first. You’re already a fool, Amantius, and if you don’t slow down you’re going to be a drunken fool instead.

  “I do not know about the customs in Accaria,” Morganna began, a smirk forming on her lips, “but in this part of the world, when a guest visits, they at least attempt to converse while drinking their host’s wine. Perhaps you are exhausted from the day’s labors. After all, if you did not continue to cut firewood for us, I am afraid my hall would be quite chilly.

  Amantius nodded, grinning sheepishly. He could not tell if she was praising or chiding him. Maybe a little bit of both. “Apologies, my lady. My mother always said I wasn’t the best type of guest.”

  “On the contrary, you have been a most pleasant guest.” Morganna smiled, dimples forming on her cheeks. “You must remember, when you arrived here you were my enemy. Sworn to slay me and everyone who fights for me, or rather, against my brother. And now? We are in my home, sharing wine together, basking in the glow of the hearth. I would say you have been the best kind of guest.”

  “And you have been the best kind of captor,” Amantius replied, adding extra emphasis to the word “captor.”

  Morganna chuckled at his jest, the joy filling the room and Amantius’ heart. She had politely laughed at his silly jokes before, but for the first time he thought she was genuinely laughing. She raised her goblet in a mock salute to him. “To the best prisoner I could have. May your sentence be long.”

  He returned the gesture. “And to the best captor, may the key to my invisible cell never be found.”

  They continued to drink, creating nonsensical chit-chat to fill the conversation. As time passed the butterflies in Amantius’ stomach disappeared, and eventually he grew bold enough to sit next to the Countess. They swapped stories of their childhoods, joked about how serious Jaga always was, and even played a few card games. After everything that had happened in the past year, Amantius needed a night like this, one where he could just relax and be himself. Ever since he was exiled from Accaria he felt trapped, as though all the gaiety of life disappeared as soon as he stepped foot on that ship bound for Silverwater. But in this moment with Morganna, Amantius felt the warmth of happiness return to his soul, a feeling he thought had long abandoned him.

  Time slipped away from them as they enjoyed each other’s company, the fun only ending when Morganna emptied the last bottle of wine. Amantius felt a pang of disappointment at seeing the last red droplet fall from the bottle into her cup. He had hoped that whichever entity had slowed down time earlier would perform the same action now, only so that the night would not have to end.

  “It appears we have exhausted our supply of wine,” Morganna said as she placed the empty bottle aside. “At least for this room, anyway. I have my own personal stash of wine in my chambers, we can continue playing cards there. That is if you want to join me.”

  Of course! Amantius screamed internally, and he would have spoken the words aloud had it not been for the sudden emergence of one of Morganna’s bodyguards from a dimly lit corner. It was the sam
e person from before, with the same dead eyes that made Amantius feel uneasy. In truth, everyone else had been so quiet and out of sight that he had completely forgotten they were not alone in the Great Hall.

  “Beg my pardon, my lady, but I am not sure if that is a good decision.” The guard said, his voice as steady as stone.

  “Not a good decision?” Morganna repeated, her tone instantly changing from warm and inviting to cold and commanding. “Why is that? Please, humor me.”

  Amantius shifted in his seat as the guard shifted his gaze to him. He watched as the man sized him up, examining every last inch of his body. The lifelessness behind the man’s eyes unsettled Amantius, much like Count Aldamar had the first time they had met. The longer the man’s attention remained focused on him, the more Amantius thought his mind and heart were being exposed. In response he forced himself to think of anything other than what he was truly thinking, which had been his defense against Aldamar as well.

  “Because, my lady,” the guard said, his stare intensifying as the words left his mouth, “this man is our enemy. He fought against you, and even now may be plotting an assassination. I would prefer him to be within my eyesight at all times because we do not know his true motives.”

  I thought my motives were pretty obvious. It’s late, she’s beautiful, and there is wine involved. It doesn’t get too much more obvious than that. Amantius would have laughed, but the guard’s piercing gaze still burned hotter than a thousand suns. He was afraid to laugh, fearful of hurting the man’s pride in front of Morganna, knowing he would forever have an enemy here. Amantius sat still, fixing his eyes on the Countess instead, taking solace in one aspect of this exchange. One thing is for certain, though, I know he can’t read my mind. Otherwise, we would be talking about sheep. Big, fluffy, sheep.