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

by Andrew Walbrown

  Sometime during this he remembered who he was, remembered that he was an Orc named Ulam. He remembered Amantius, Pelecia, Count Aldamar, Captain Karraman, and the little girl with the flower. He recalled the smell of lavender, the taste of ale, and the joy of laughing. A warm glow began to spread through his body again, causing him to feel alive once more. The craving to travel and adventure around the world had been rekindled, the desire to experience everything the world had to offer burned in his soul.

  Then suddenly the pearled silhouette exited, leaving Ulam feeling empty once again. Whatever light she had provided abruptly drained from the fabric of his being, his memories and aspirations going as well. She looked at him with two golden eyes; a saddened expression formed on her face. Then she turned away, heading for the opposite side of the room, where a new door suddenly appeared.

  “Wait,” Ulam shouted as he watched, “where are you going?”

  The silhouette turned back to him. “It is not your time quite yet.” Her voice was celestial, unlike anything Ulam had ever heard before. “You have made your decision. Now go back to the world of the living.”

  Thump. Thump. Thump.

  Ulam thought someone was playing a drum inside his skull, every beat vibrating through his cranium like a thousand thunderclaps. He struggled to open his eyes, his eyelids were as heavy as stone, locked in their place. In between the poundings, he thought he heard a chair scrape on the floor nearby, his ears hypersensitive to any noise. He had no thoughts, at least none that were complete; his mind entirely fixated on the crushing pain in his head.

  He heard voices, distant and echoing. He wanted to turn his head to see who was speaking but he could not move, even his arms and legs refused to budge. He felt frustration building inside him, an anger burning with the fire of a thousand suns. He tried to open his mouth to shout, to scream, but little happened. All he could feel other than the throbbing in his brain was the vibration in his throat, where his yells had been stifled by immobility.

  Ulam tried again, and again and again. To him, it seemed as though he attempted to move or scream a hundred times, all of which ending the same way. Then suddenly he felt a foot move, then his arm. Then he stretched both his arms, wildly punching the air before gripping the sides of whatever he was laying upon. He tried to move his neck, but a great pain ached in his muscles, keeping his head in position. Last his eyes opened, a surge of light burning his pupils all the way to his skull. The sensation amplified the constant pummeling in his brain, but at least he could see again.

  With time his eyes started focusing, the bright light slowly retreating until it was relegated to the hearth burning in the corner of the room. Ulam immediately realized he was in the barracks, the surface he was laying upon being a bed. He tried sitting up but the immense weight in his head kept him shackled to the bed. He opened his mouth but no words came out, his throat too dry to do anything other than wheeze. Ulam tried time and again to speak, hoping whomever was nearby would hear him, but his efforts were in vain. He struggled so much that he began to cough, a horrible, burning sensation setting his already dry throat further aflame.

  Then he was aware of a presence nearby, an unknown entity hovering beside his bed. It had been quiet on its approach, as silent as a ghost, having given away no indication of even being in the same room. For a moment fear passed through Ulam’s heart, but it quickly subsided, being defeated with logic. If they wanted to kill me, I would already be dead.

  “How nice of you to return to us.” An eloquent voice said beside him. “Your brother will be pleased.”

  “Amantius?” Ulam managed through the burning coughs. “Where is he?”

  “He should arrive shortly. I sent word when I saw you were beginning to stir.”

  Ulam heard the door crash open, the noise sending a new shudder through his brain.

  “Is he awake!? Ulam!”

  Ulam heard footsteps running across the floor and saw Amantius suddenly appear. He could see tears forming in his foster-brother’s ocean blue eyes as their hands interlocked, the big Orc even struggling to keep his own dry. He felt a smile spread across his face like the sun spreading light at dawn, his world no longer cloaked in darkness. They were finally together again. At last.

  “How do you feel?” Amantius said as he kneeled beside Ulam’s bed.

  “Like death,” Ulam replied through a grunt. No matter how much joy their reunion was bringing, Ulam could not escape the hammering in his head.

  “Well, you look the same too,” Amantius replied with a grin, “don’t smell any better either.”

  Ulam grunted and squeezed Amantius’ hand until he began to whelp, the sound causing both to laugh. Meanwhile, the shadowy presence beside him passed a chalice to him, the smell of red wine drifting to Ulam’s nose.

  “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 was a fat man, as you can gather by the size of the castle’s kitchen. He was quite old when I arrived, never having married or siring any children of his own. He was a drunkard as well, a glutton in every sense of the word. He received me when I arrived, and we spent days, weeks, months gorging ourselves over lamb, beef, fish, whatever he wanted. We emptied the cellars of every last bottle of wine, then imported more, and drank those as well. He liked me because I could drink from sunrise to sunset and not feel anything. I could eat all day, and never be full. When he grew ill he passed the title of Count to me, officially making me Count Aldamar the First.”

  “Aldamar the First?” Amantius said. “I thought you were the Third?”

  Count Aldamar smiled, an empty, lifeless gesture. “Oh yes, I am that as well. I was Count Aldamar the First, Count Aldamar the Second, and now I am Count Aldamar the Third. Soon I shall become Count Aldamar the Fourth. This curse has given me an unnaturally long life, I am afraid. I am 172 years old.”

  172 years? And to think, Amantius was sleeping with his sister.

  “172 years!” Amantius shouted, “That means…”

  “Yes, Morganna was 168 years old.” Count Aldamar replied as Amantius vomited.

  Apparently, he just had the same thought. Though initially trying to suppress his humor, Ulam could not help but break out into a fit of laughter. He flicked his eyes towards Count Aldamar, who also had a mischievous smile on his face. Amantius gave them both a sour look.

  “Every so many years I have Jalkett start spreading rumors about a child that I have had, who then becomes my heir. It is a ruse, of course, there has never been any child. In fact, I do not believe vampires can have children, at least that is what the consensus is amongst scholars on the matter. Eventually, my subjects accept they have a new Count with the same name, just with a different regnal number. In fact, it is almost time for Jalkett to spread rumors once again.”

  So Captain Karraman is alive. Ulam felt a swell of pride inside, realizing he had successfully prevented Karraman from being killed by Jaga. But if the Count has used him before, does that mean Captain Karraman is a vampire too?

  “What if someone visits you, wouldn’t they realize you are the same count as before?” Amantius asked. “Or what if they wish to see the child, your heir?”

  Aldamar shrugged. “There are enough bastard children running around this city to fill that need if it should ever arise. As for not knowing I am the same man, it is not difficult to hide that secret since I rarely have visitors. Most people do not care, nor do they live long enough to suspect anything. This system has been working for quite some time, and I do not expect it to fail anytime soon.”

  “How long are you going to live?” Ulam muttered.

  “Unfortunately, I do not know.” Count Aldamar said with a sigh. “Perhaps I am immortal, assuming I do not have my head removed from my shoulders. That seems to be the most effective way to kill a vampire, though I have discovered an enchanted blade to the heart of a vampire will kill one as well. That is why both Jaga and the other one died without having their heads removed. The dagger I always carry with me,” Aldamar retrieved an unassuming weapon from his sleeve, “is one such blade. I bought it from a vampire hunter turned caravan master a century ago. To test it Jalkett and I caught a vampire and stabbed it in the heart. The man did not lie.”

  “Captain Karraman is a vampire too, then?” Ulam asked.

  “Yes, sorry, that particular detail slipped my mind.” Count Aldamar said. “In the process of capturing the vampire, Jalkett was bitten. Together we share in this curse, which makes this ordeal a little easier on us both. If you look at his neck he still has the red marks as well.”

  Ulam nodded, feeling his neck hurt from the stiffness. He finally found the strength to sit up in the bed, leaning on the wall for support. All his muscles screamed for him to stop and the pounding in his skull returned, but he was happy his body was erect. It was easier to see both Count Aldamar and Amantius since they were sitting on opposite sides of the bed from each other.

  “Those red marks are what saved my life,” Count Aldamar said. “They only disappear if you spread the curse further. Jalkett discovered we can eat cow hearts and livers to keep away the thirst and hunger for blood, and that is why you went on that midnight excursion with him some time ago. Our cupboards were bare and we were hungry. You must believe that we do not wish to spread this curse to anyone. If anything, we would aim to eradicate it from this world.”

  Ulam grunted. If he has suffered for over 150 years with vampirism and has not given into his unholy cravings, I believe him. He turned his attention to Amantius, who listened with a stone-cold face but with interest in his eyes. “How did you know about the markings?”

  Amantius’ features softened as he gripped Ulam’s massive, green forearm. “You told me, of course. You were reading that book right before we left Accaria.”

  Ulam smiled, his tusks shining in the firelight. “You were listening?”

  “I do from time to time,” Amantius replied with a matching smile.

  “What do we do now?” Ulam said, turning his attention to Count Aldamar.

  “The Mad Raven is gone, the people will rejoice with a feast. The weather is almost warm enough to travel again. I will raise a warband to go to my childhood home and demolish it. Amantius, if you wish, you can lead the expedition. The decision is yours, I will not hold a refusal against you. The two of you are free to do as you wish, I absolve you of any oaths to me you may have made, as well as any grievances I may have held. You will receive boarding for as long as you wish, and are always welcome in my castle. Jalkett and I are forever in your debts, gentl
emen. If there is anything you need, please do not hesitate to ask.”

  Count Aldamar stood and walked to the exit, forever as quiet as a shadow. He turned and faced Ulam, his bright yellow eyes glowing in the darkness.

  “One last thing,” he said, his voice grave, “my condition must remain a secret between us. If I learn you have told anyone my story, I will hunt you down, even if you are my friends.”

  Ulam felt a shudder go down his spine; he looked at Amantius.

  “At least he called us his friends.”

  Epilogue

  I have made the journey south to Silverwater, situated at the bottom of our continent of Qerus. It is an ancient place, known around the world for its wine. The trip was an uneventful one, aside from the occasional traveler becoming motion sick while we crossed through the heartland’s hilly terrain. I, on the other hand, loved the entire experience, often spending hours on the back deck of the caboose, taking in the world around me. I have never seen a more beautiful sunset than those which set in the bluffs of Redgate, nor had I seen fields of deer grazing happily on the lush vegetation beneath them. Though Hollowcross will always be my home, I cannot help but wonder if I have wasted too much of my life in dark rooms filled with musty books, instead of experiencing the world’s vibrant riches. A man at the railroad junction in Eastlock even told me that he heard rumors of a set of twins working on a device that would allow people to fly. To fly! What an exciting era in which we live!

  Back to the task at hand, I am not sure how different Silverwater is now compared to the time of the Mad Raven’s Tale, though I can see the city is much larger. The northwestern gate mentioned many times over is no longer in use, in fact, the city walls barely exist. I have found some pieces of the wall, ruins covered in grass and vines, echoes of a bygone era. The only semblance of an operational wall and gate system is on top of the hill where the castle is located, just as it was in the Mad Raven’s Tale.