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

by Andrew Walbrown

  “And how are you so certain of that?” Amantius asked as he joined Ulam on the rampart, “The Mad Raven, whatever she is, has her Flock. And if the stories are true, each has the strength of ten men and…”

  “Stories are rarely true, Amantius,” Ulam interrupted, quickly dismissed such fears, “If stories are to be taken as truth, then my favorite meal is the raw flesh of Human children.” He cracked a smile at the lunacy of such an idea.

  Amantius snickered, though Ulam sensed he was not entirely convinced. He was not too surprised, though, his foster-brother had always been more apt to believe rumors and legends. After all, this is the same Amantius who believed fairies lived inside lava and would give him magical powers if he caught one. Damn fool almost got himself killed.

  “Fear not,” Ulam continued as he kept his eyes fixed on the horizon, “Count Aldamar would not send members of his own personal guard to their deaths intentionally.”

  “And how do you know that?” Amantius exclaimed. “I know you do not believe me, but there is something malevolent about the man, Ulam. I can’t prove it now, but I will in due time.”

  Ulam slammed his fist down on the stone parapet, loosening a rogue pebble that fell to the ground. “Again with this nonsense. I understand we have differing opinions of the man, but you need to move on. You have been trying to prove your theories ever since we were first acquainted with the Count, and each time you have uncovered nothing. Abandon this fruitless pursuit, Amantius, before you get us both thrown into a dungeon!”

  Ulam returned his gaze to a spot on the horizon, where a single cluster of trees stood. He had been harsher than intended, but his words carried much weight with them. He did not think Amantius quite comprehended that they were foreigners in a foreign land, a land where no one would come to their rescue in a moment of crisis. This was painfully obvious to Ulam, perhaps because he was an Orc and knew his punishment would be far worse than that of his Human counterpart.

  Amantius did not speak during the rest of their patrol, which Ulam believed to be a godsend. He welcomed the silence, the consistent hum of civilization filling the space between them. Ulam watched as storm clouds darkened the sky, flinching when the first droplets of cold rain hit his skin. He felt bad for the army marching in the direction of the blackest clouds; he could not imagine how frustrating marching in such conditions must be.

  After their patrol ended they retired to the barracks for the night, the building left virtually empty from all the men who had marched off to war. Ulam found the rows of vacant beds pleasing because for the first time since coming to Silverwater he would be able to read a book by candlelight. Practically every time he had tried prior, he was interrupted by rowdy, drunken guards or men returning from their patrols. He smiled, because on this night he knew there would be no interruptions.

  A few days earlier Ulam had visited a bookshop in one of the wealthier areas of the city, a place where he knew he would be able to find books. While there he used his wages to purchase a specific book, a narrative about Orcish history. It was a subject that he knew little about, which embarrassed him to no small degree. In a way, he half-believed if he read this book he would better understand his heritage, and quite possibly learn how he came to Accaria as an infant.

  Ulam waited a few extra minutes until he heard Amantius snoring; he wanted to make sure before he delved too deeply in his book that his foster-brother would not start some meaningless conversation again. As soon as he heard the first few snorts, he opened the book to the first page and began reading.

  Dawn arrived far sooner than Ulam expected. The first few beams of gold poured into his eyes from the windows, their presence prevented him from going back to sleep. As he sat up in his bed he heard swords cutting into wooden decoys, their clangs echoing off the walls of the nearby courtyard. Beside him, Amantius kept snoring, until the main door swung open and the overnight patrol returned to the bunkroom.

  “Quiet night?” One of the guards asked the returning men.

  “Quiet and wet,” the other guard groaned, “And of course the damn sun decided to come out right before our shift ended.”

  “Lucky us,” Amantius said as he jumped out of bed, slapping Ulam on the shoulder as he stretched. “Come on, Beautiful, it’s our turn.”

  Ulam put away his book, disappointed that he had fallen asleep during the night and was unable to read more. Not only that, but he also did not retain much of what he read before closing his eyes. Such a waste of time. Oh well, perhaps I will be able to read tonight.

  Before long he found himself atop the ramparts with Amantius again, wondering if he had ever left. His previous shift seemingly blended into the current one, as though there had been no time in between. Perhaps in the past he would have cared about the lack of free time, but ultimately it did not matter. There was nothing he wanted to do in this city other than eat, drink, sleep, and read, and most of the time he was able to do at least three of those things.

  “Weather isn’t so bad today,” Amantius said as they reached their posts. “How long do you think we’ll be up here? You know, until the Captain’s warband returns?”

  Ulam grunted, then shrugged. “Who knows? I do not even know where the Mad Raven’s…” his words trailed off as his nose picked up some smell. Silverwater had as many odors as any city, some pleasant, some not so, but there was one that Ulam had not smelled here before. He paced around the wall, following the wafting aroma as it grew stronger and stronger. “Do you smell that?”

  “Smell what?” Amantius asked.

  “It smells like…” Ulam crinkled his nose, his eyes expanding as soon as he saw a plume of black smoke spiraling towards the sky. “Fire!”

  A couple of houses near the northern wall were on fire, a raging inferno of red and orange engulfing both structures entirely. Without any hesitation Ulam found the nearest staircase and ran, abandoning his post. The screams and ringing of bells giving his legs a boost of adrenaline as he sprinted through the courtyard and into the city proper.

  “Ulam!” Amantius called from the top of the archway. “Ulam! Wait!”

  There was no time to wait. He cast off his heavy armor, dumping the chainmail at the base of the castle’s wall, and darted through the streets. Men, women, and children ran in the opposite direction, their shrieks of terror joining the symphony of crackling wood. In the distance behind him, Ulam heard Amantius’ voice calling him, but the words were lost in the turbulence.

  Ulam turned the last corner and saw the bedlam awaiting him. The first home had already imploded, the second undoubtedly following shortly. Whatever emotion that compelled him to rush to the fire now left, leaving only a sense of futility. There was nothing he could do except watch.

  “Ulam!” Amantius yelled as he crashed into the Orc, panting. “The river is the other way! Come on, let’s get…”

  “Help! Someone help me!” Amantius’ words were interrupted by the screams of a teenage girl standing near them, her face matted with ash. “Someone help, please!”

  Ulam dashed towards her, nearly crushing the girl with his heavy arms. “I am here, child. Tell me what you need.”

  “My mother and sister!” The girl continued to wail through her sobs. “My mother and sister are in there!”

  She pointed at the second home, the structure still somehow standing amidst the chaos. Flames leaped high on all sides, almost as high as the castle walls. Ulam looked at the house, bit his lip, and started to run for the burning building.

  “Ulam, what are you doing!?” Amantius shouted, “You will die if you go in there! We should wait for the others, they will be bringing water!”

  Ulam did not hesitate, he jumped through the flames and into the house.

  Chapter 13

  Amantius

  Amantius watched as Ulam’s hulking shape hurdled a fallen beam and disappeared into the leaping clutches of the blaze. Unlike the Orc, who charged in without a second thought, Amantius was frozen to the spot. His legs were as heavy as
stone, his knees weak. A sickening feeling churned in his gut as he watched and waited, hoping Ulam would see the folly of his decision and come back before it was too late.

  Why did I let him go in? Amantius thought, although he was not sure he could have stopped Ulam even if he had sincerely tried. What if he dies? What if I am left here, alone, in this city?

  He stared wide-eyed at the house, its walls now blackened entirely. All that remained of the adjacent home was the thick logs used for the frame, and even those were not going to last much longer. The heat from the inferno was unbearable, so much so that Amantius had to remove his armor. The metal had heated to such an extreme that his flesh began to bake like a roast in an oven, though the smell was much less appealing.

  Beside him the teenage girl was inconsolable, having collapsed on the ground in misery. She no longer looked at her home, instead keeping her eyes closed tight. She tried to scream from time to time, but her voice was so hoarse that she could no longer force words from her mouth. Amantius kneeled beside her and cradled her head against his chest, stroking what remained of her singed hair. Deep inside he was crying with her, but for some reason, no tears would leave his eyes. He was too numb, too paralyzed by fear, to feel emotion.

  “He’s gone,” Amantius whispered. For the first time, he heard the brass bells ringing from the towers, as well as the shouts of the townsfolk. Much like the girl he closed his eyes, hoping to shut out the noise.

  Suddenly the main beam over the entrance to the second home collapsed, shooting a squall of embers into the sky. Amantius’ heart turned to solid ice as he watched, realizing Ulam’s escape was now barred by certain death. Renewed shrieks filled the area, causing the teenage girl in his arms to begin moaning once more. Amantius hugged her tighter, hoping his embrace would bring her some comfort, though in his heart he was the one seeking comfort.

  “Amantius!” A voice suddenly roared from within the house. It was deep, guttural, and filled with urgency. “Where are you!?”

  Amantius sprang to his feet, his eyes locked on the entranceway. He searched every inch of the collapsing house for the voice, knowing in his heart of hearts whose voice was calling to him.

  “Ulam!” He yelled, his heart feeling as though it would explode. “Ulam, where are you!?”

  “Side window!” Ulam yelled back.

  Amantius rushed to the other side of the house, where Ulam's face appeared in a broken out window. A thin layer of smoke poured out of the puncture Ulam’s fist had made in the glass, and together the two of them worked to remove the rest of the shards.

  “I thought you were dead,” Amantius blurted out, the tears no longer holding back.

  “I will be if we do not hurry,” Ulam replied, his voice grave. Amantius noticed that his foster-brother’s face was darker than usual, covered in soot. “I have both the mother and daughter, but they are not conscious, if they are even still alive. I am going to pass them through the window, I need you to grab them and take them away from this building.”

  Just then a part of the roof snapped off and flaming boards fell all around Amantius, reminded him that time was precious. Ulam passed the child through the window first, a little girl no older than five. She was small, frail, and easy to hold. Her clothes had been burned off, her skin covered in soot; Amantius could not tell if she was breathing or not.

  He ran away from the burning home, cradling the little girl in his arms. When he reached the crowd a priestess showed herself, accepting the child into her care. Without hesitation Amantius ran back to the house, his chest burning from the black smoke swirling inside his lungs. Under normal circumstances, he may have taken a break and allowed himself to recover, but knowing Ulam’s life hung in the balance was the ultimate motivation to fight through the pain.

  When he reached the inferno he saw the city guard had arrived with buckets of water from the river, dousing the flames nearest the crowd. He realized they had condemned the burning homes to a smoking ruin, concluding they were a lost cause, and set about preventing the fire from spreading. Amantius cursed, but there was no time to argue, he needed to get Ulam and the other person out of the house.

  “Ready?” Ulam said as he arrived, a thick trail of smoke flowing out of the broken window. He lifted the woman to the opening and gently passed her to Amantius, who grabbed her under the arms and pulled her out of the house.

  She was not a heavy-set woman by any means, but Amantius’ energy was fading. His muscles ached from a mixture of overuse and dehydration, while the shortage of clean air left him panting like a dog. He felt like he was on the verge of suffocation.

  “Let me carry her,” a guard said as Amantius dragged the woman to safety. The man threw a blanket over her body to protect her decency, because much like her daughter, the mother’s clothing had been eaten by hungry flames as well.

  “No, I have her,” Amantius replied, “save my brother.”

  “Your brother? Is he in there?” The guard said, his voice turning to shock.

  “By the window,” Amantius said and nodded towards the side of the house. He left the guard, continuing to take the woman to the priestess. When he was within sight a few men ran from the crowd and took her from Amantius’ arms, leaving him to collapse from utter exhaustion. He stared upwards into the cloudless, blue sky, his eyes following a lone gull. While lying there he heard footsteps near him and watched as a cloud of street dust floated above his face. He coughed violently, not because of the dirt, but from the smoke he had inhaled. He then turned on his side and vomited, the convulsions far more painful than anything else.

  “Are you alright?” A woman said suddenly. “Hey! I think he needs help!”

  Amantius tried focusing on the person above him, but his vision had become blurred. His whole world began spinning, causing him to vomit until there was nothing left inside him other than black smoke. When he finished he felt someone place a cup of cold water against his lips, the much needed liquid disappearing within seconds. Amantius drank three more cups of water before he stood up again, using a fifth to wash the smoke, grime, and sweat from his face. Though his head pounded louder than a brass bell, and his eyes burned hotter than the sun, the water had given him enough energy to continue.

  When Amantius returned he saw a few guards hopelessly fighting the flames near the window, Ulam nowhere to be seen. Amantius’ heart sank as he searched for his foster-brother, his desperation driving him to grab a nearby hatchet and start hacking at the side of the house. In his panic, he hoped to create a big enough hole for Ulam to crawl through, though in the back of his mind he knew he was also weakening the house’s structural integrity. But Amantius did not have time to debate the logic of his plan, he only had enough time to hack away. Each consecutive strike was more desperate than the previous until at last the blade had become so dull it was virtually useless to him.

  Amantius tossed the hatchet aside, his frustration and fear so severe he started punching and kicking the hatchet-scarred boards in front of him. As he bloodied his knuckles on the blackened wood he heard a series of crackling noises emanate from within the house, and watched as the whole house started to sway back and forth. Amantius stepped back, certain the building was about to collapse under its own weight. His thoughts immediately turned to Ulam, and if he had not been so exhausted, tears may have flooded his ash-covered cheeks. But all he could do was slump to the ground and stare in horror.

  The guards who fought the flames alongside Amantius had retreated as well, collectively agreeing they had done all they could. Many were slumped over, each desperately trying to quench their thirsts by sucking dry any container with liquid inside. Some had minor cuts and wounds that were dressed, while others orchestrated the removal of any bystanders. A few people were shouting nearby, though Amantius could not hear their words. His mind was solely focused on the house and his failure to rescue Ulam, all other sights and sounds would have to wait.

  Then suddenly he heard a howl, one unlike he had ever heard before,
followed by an ear-shattering boom. A barrage of warped wood shot through the air, eliciting a cacophony of shrieks from the nearby crowd. Amantius turned his head to protect himself from the thousands of embers riding the debris, wincing as a few pieces landed on his forearms. When he turned back around to observe the destruction he was greeted with a very different sight, one he thought he would never see again. Instead of a burning pile of rubble, Amantius saw Ulam, blackened from head to toe, a grimace on his face and a crazed look in his eyes. The Orc took a few steps before falling to the ground near a battalion of city guards, all of whom jumped to their feet to remove him from the chaos.

  “Ulam!” Amantius tried to yell, but his dry throat produced no sound. He grasped a nearby discarded canteen, but there was not even a single drop to aid him. He attempted to stand, but his legs buckled like a newborn calf’s. All he wanted was to be at Ulam’s side, but his arms and legs were too heavy, as though they had turned to stone. He watched helplessly from a distance, praying his foster-brother would survive.

  “No major burns,” Amantius overheard someone say, followed by murmuring. Slowly people crept out of the alleyways to fill the area around, staring and speaking in hushed voices. Amantius’ initial reaction was anger; he did not want Ulam’s pain and potential death to be a public scene. Though the longer he listened, the more he realized the people surrounding the plaza were not gawking at Ulam, but praying for him. Some helped bring more water for those that had fought the flames, one person even brought some cool refreshments for Amantius.

  As he was drinking there was a sudden gasp, followed by men and women giving thanks to the Gods. Amantius immediately tossed the water aside, now finding the strength not to only stand, but jolt over to Ulam. He saw the Orc sitting up now, a pearl white smile spreading across his face, his tusks gleaming in the afternoon sunlight. Ulam stood as well, batted the ash off his mossy skin, and stepped towards his foster-brother.

  Amantius wrapped his arms around Ulam, no longer holding back his tears. He felt his heartbeat in his ears and thought the organ would tear straight from his chest. Instead, he felt the massive arms of Ulam crush his torso, popping his spine as the Orc embraced him. They stood together in the plaza, both smothered in black ash, holding one another as they would never let go.