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

by Andrew Walbrown

  “Give this man refreshments, and send a host of healers and others to assist those returning.” Count Aldamar said to a few guards who had just arrived, his voice strong and unwavering, “When they have been fed and rested, bring them to me; I must know everything before we decide upon our next course of action.”

  A new course of action? Ulam thought, a grimace unknowingly forming on his lips. He turned to Amantius, who was lost in conversation with a nearby comrade. Are we next?

  Chapter 15

  Amantius

  Dead, they’re all dead. Well, not all, but close enough.

  Days had passed since the survivors of Captain Karraman’s warband returned to Silverwater. Only six remained, the Captain amongst them. His health had not improved much, but it was an encouraging sign that he had not died yet. Their return cast a permanent gloom over Silverwater, as the townsfolk and guards alike exchanged worried looks and paranoid whispers. Even within the ranks of the Castle Guards an uneasiness grew, the men fearful of the future. While most believed there would be no more forays into the wilderness, they knew if another attempt was made they would be the ones dying.

  Amantius sat alone in the castle’s courtyard in front of a garden of flowers, watching a bee happily jumping between petals of blue and yellow. To some degree he envied that bee, completely unaware of the panic spreading through Silverwater. Unlike many in the city, the fuzzy little creature did not have to worry about potentially fighting the Mad Raven; its only purpose in life was to visit as many flowers as possible. You have no idea how good you have it, Little Bee. Enjoy it while it still lasts.

  Amantius worried about the future, about what plans Aldamar and his advisors were concocting at that very moment. He feared he would be sent, along with the rest of the Castle Guards, to hunt down the Mad Raven and her Flock. But he questioned the logic behind such a decision, because if Captain Karraman could not bring her to justice then every other attempt would surely fail as well. Hopefully the Count is smart enough to realize that. But even if he is, will he care?

  “Heard anything?” Ulam said as he approached, his voice gruff as always.

  “Nothing other than whispers. Any word on Captain Karraman?”

  “He woke up today,” Ulam replied, “he has been in counsel with Count Aldamar for half the day. No one seems to know what happened out there. I have heard all kinds of rumors, but I am not sure if any are true.”

  “What have people been saying?” Amantius asked. He found it kind of odd that Ulam knew more of the local gossip than he did. The Orc had never been one to tell tales or spread stories.

  Ulam grunted. “Nonsense mostly. Dark magic, monsters, the usual. I am sure those are all not true; they were probably ambushed in the forest somewhere. If I were the Mad Raven, that is what I would have done. You have seen how thick the brush grows here; you can hide a whole army in it and still have room for the horses. We will have to keep an eye out for traps like those when we go looking for her.”

  Amantius felt a sudden tremor shoot through his whole body. He knew it was a possibility, but he did not want to think about hunting down someone, or something, that had so easily killed an entire warband. “When? How do you…”

  An uncomfortable look flashed on Ulam’s face for the briefest of moments, but the Orc quickly settled back into his natural countenance. “I might have overheard a conversation…”

  Amantius started laughing, the raucousness interrupting Ulam’s words. “You were eavesdropping? You, the one who told me to keep my nose out of the Count’s business, spying on…”

  Ulam shot a fatal glare as he began to growl. “Be quiet you nitwit! Are you trying to get both of us killed?”

  Amantius shook his head, still smiling. He did not care who heard him, he simply found too much humor in Ulam admitting to spying. His joy was short-lived, however, as the reality of their situation started to take hold. What am I going to do? I’ve never fought in a battle before!

  Amantius heard the sounds of a metal boot on gravel approaching from behind, the familiar clinking of iron on rock indicating one of his comrades was approaching. He turned and saw Emmon, the man left in charge of the Castle Guards in Karraman’s absence. Amantius did not know much about the man, other than what he could see on the surface. Unlike Captain Karraman, Emmon was shorter, with an average build and a calm, collected way of speaking. He was a man of few, but important words.

  “I have been looking for the both of you,” Emmon said as he approached, the same indifferent look on his grizzled face, “I have called a meeting inside the barracks; it is mandatory.”

  Amantius did not like the sound of that, but he figured he was not going to like the sound of anything soon. “Is this about Captain Karraman’s return?”

  Emmon gave away nothing, instead rolling his eyes in annoyance in lieu of a reply. Quietly he returned to the castle, leaving Ulam and Amantius alone once again. After giving Emmon enough of a head start, the pair followed, heading for the barracks as soon as they were indoors. As they entered the barracks they were met by a large number of their comrades, none of which looked excited by the emergency meeting. Though no one openly spoke about Captain Karraman and his failed expedition, everyone knew precisely why they had been assembled.

  “Everyone here? Good.” Emmon said as he surveyed the room. He then ceded the floor to Count Aldamar, who had been lurking a few steps behind him.

  “Captain Karraman is conscious once again,” Aldamar said, starting a chorus of whispers, “food and rest have brought him back to life, Gods be praised.”

  Some of the men repeated the phrase, Amantius arched an eyebrow. How can a man so inherently malevolent praise the Gods? He shuddered at the thought.

  “Though most of his warband has been…lost…they succeeded in other ways.” Aldamar began pacing the room, a faint smile on his lips, or so Amantius believed. “The Mad Raven’s lair has been located; we now know where she and her Flock have been hiding. According to Captain Karraman, their numbers are not so great anymore. If they had not been ambushed, he believes his warband would have prevailed.”

  “So they were ambushed.” Someone said towards the back of the room. It was not a question, more of a statement.

  “Yes.” Count Aldamar fixed his gaze upon the man in the crowd, cold and fatal. Amantius shivered and thought he could feel a collective ripple as the Count’s dark eyes shot a hole through their ranks.

  “No doubt people have heard rumors; it is only natural that these things happen in a time such as this.” Aldamar began to pace once again, not focusing on anything as he walked. “I am sure you have heard rumors about the Mad Raven herself. Supposedly she is three times the size of a man, can use dark magic, and cannot be killed with iron. Her Flock are monsters themselves that eat human flesh and use claws instead of swords and spears.” He looked at the crowd once again, a playful smirk on his face. “Come now, this is absurd.”

  A few of the guards in the room laughed, their level of discomfort obvious in the intensity of it. Amantius was more unsettled by the strange expression on the Count’s face. Somehow, he thought the man was telling the truth, and that was far more terrifying.

  “Now that we know where she lives, and that her numbers are diminished,” Count Aldamar continued as the laughter stopped, “another warband will be sent to strike her lair.” He turned to Emmon, “I am naming you warchief for this expedition. Take as many of these men as you wish. Your warband will be bolstered by local warriors and militia loyal to Silverwater, unlike that mercenary rabble I wasted money on. Your numbers will almost double those of Captain Karraman’s warband, which should be more than sufficient to defeat her. I wish for you to leave at the first opportunity, no longer than three days from now.”

  Emmon bowed, “I thank you, my Count. When we find the Mad Raven, do you wish her alive or dead?”

  A bloodthirsty grin stretched across Count Aldamar’s face. “Dead, of course.”

  Chapter 16

  Ulam />
  They had been marching for days, pushing further into the dark depths of Silverwood Forest. Ulam and Amantius had been among those chosen to attack the Mad Raven’s lair, the two of them marching beside a wagon train filled with provisions. A few days prior they had come across the abandoned wagons of the first expedition, the foodstuffs and supplies having been picked clean by the victors. A day later they found the site of the first ambush, the scene so grisly even the most hardened warriors debated turning back. There was no shortage of vomit from the ranks of the warband as the smell of rotting corpses reached their noses, the chests of the victims torn apart with the feral tenacity of a ravenous bear. A murder of crows dined on the dead, so drunk from their feast they did not bother to move as the new warband passed through. If anything they watched with gluttonous excitement, for those little scavengers knew the second course would soon be served.

  Almost all the remaining Castle Guards had been selected for this expedition, with only a few remaining behind to protect the castle and Count Aldamar. Ulam was not surprised that he had been among those chosen to fight, his size and strength practically cementing his place in the warband. He was not upset by the selection; he actually had been quite excited initially. He was able to escape the castle and see parts of the world he never knew existed, as well as trees and flowers he had never seen before. But as they continued marching into the mysterious depths of the Silverwood, he began to feel a little uneasy about their foray into the forest. Though his spirits were still high, the scores of dead men littered across the ambush site did nothing to soothe the quiet paranoia growing in his heart.

  Amantius was beside him, the aroma of a brothel lingering on him, sweet yet repulsive. Ulam had spent the days before their departure sparring with some of the veteran warriors in their warband, believing that would be the best use of his time. Amantius, on the other hand, had spent the same amount of time practicing a more carnal technique. Ulam did not fault him; the prospect of excruciating pain and death was what provided most of the business for brothels. But he still felt disappointment that Amantius had chosen to practice the wrong kind of swordplay before leaving Silverwater.

  Ever since Amantius’ drunken debauchery came to an end his mood was one of perpetual gloom, the harsh reality of marching to battle heavy like fog covering a valley. During the first couple days Amantius did not cease complaining, his chattering only stopping when the fear inside grew to such an extreme that he could no longer hide it. Ulam felt pity for his foster-brother; Amantius had never wanted to come, instead wanting to be among those chosen for guard duty at the castle. The Orc did not quite understand the reasoning behind the stance, considering how much Amantius detested and feared Count Aldamar. Better the devil you know, I suppose.

  The whole warband was restless, which Ulam thought was a positive thing, because that anxiety would keep them alive. There had only been one death so far, a man had fallen into the Silver River on the second night and drowned. Since then they kept a safe distance from the river, ever wary of the loose soil near its banks. Ulam thought it interesting that most of the men of Silverwater did not know how to swim, considering almost every Accarian could before their tenth birthday. Different cultures, I guess.

  Accaria. He did not think of the island much, wanting to focus on the present and future. He could not help but wonder, though, what was happening there. He worried about Pelecia, praying that she was safe. As the sun began to set, homesickness stabbed him in the heart as he thought about a warm meal at the dinner table with her and Amantius, one he was sure they would be late for as well. An image of Pelecia floated in his mind, her arms crossed, scowling at them as they crossed the courtyard to the house. He chuckled quietly.

  “How can you possibly laugh in a place like this?” Amantius said, his nerves getting the best of him.

  Ulam hesitated. Amantius had not mentioned Accaria recently, which he hoped was a sign that his foster-brother was moving on. The Orc debated whether or not he should tell Amantius the truth, but he feared he would break open a dam of pent up emotion if he did. No, now is not the time. He is already on edge.

  “Alright, don’t tell me, I don’t care anyway,” Amantius continued, twitching at every snap of a branch, every call of a bird or beast he did not recognize. “There’s more important things to care about right now.”

  Ulam was surprised by the fear that consumed Amantius, if not a little disappointed. He understood they were in a foreign land, in an alien forest, hunting a mysterious enemy that had massacred a warband already, but he simply could not feel the dread. He only felt excitement, which seemed utterly absurd to him. How can I possibly be excited? Surely I am marching into danger, and most likely death. Perhaps the barkeep was right, maybe I am naturally drawn to combat and killing.

  “We make camp here for the night,” Emmon shouted from ahead. The warband had marched into a small opening in the forest, where a creek weaved its way through tall stalks of grass. Within minutes the men began to spread out, transforming the quiet meadow into a city of canvas tents. Though the glade was small, it was still large enough to fit the warband’s numbers while also providing plenty of visibility in the event of an attack. Within an hour scouts were sent in every direction to collect reconnaissance, while small teams of men collected firewood and other resources from nearby.

  As evening gave way to night, Amantius and a few others built a bonfire, the light and warmth provided by the flames welcomed by all except Ulam. As they sat around the fire smoke began drifting into the Orc’s face, the bitter smell almost causing him to gag. He felt as though he was inside another burning house, trapped within smoke-filled walls as a raging inferno devoured everything around him. Suddenly Ulam became lightheaded, forcing him to escape to a clearing where he sucked in the sweet, fresh air of the forest. As he calmed down and his heart rate returned to normal, the fear which had overwhelmed him slowly disappeared, only to be replaced with shame. What is wrong with me? Why am I so weak?

  “Are you alright?” Amantius said as he approached from behind.

  Ulam grunted while straightening his shoulders. Though he could feel the cold sweat dripping down his forehead, he hoped the collective light from the camp was too faint for Amantius to see it. “Yes, I just needed some air. And to relieve myself.”

  Amantius frowned, clearly not convinced. “Was it the fire?”

  Ulam grunted again. If you are waiting for me to say yes, then you will wait until the end of time.

  “I understand,” Amantius said as he stood beside Ulam, staring out into the darkness with his foster-brother, “it’s the same reason Mother was afraid of dogs. One bit the back of her leg when she was a child, and the memory never went away.” He began to giggle. “I was so angry when she wouldn’t let us have a puppy, remember?”

  Ulam smiled. He appreciated Amantius changing the subject and hoped the conversation would not return to his sudden aversion to smoke and fire. “I never knew she was afraid of dogs.”

  “Oh yes,” Amantius replied, laughing still, “I was so angry at her at the time. I think I was, ten? Maybe eleven years old? I did not learn until a few summers ago, when I caught her standing on the table because a stray had wandered into the courtyard and curled up for a nap at the front door.”

  They laughed together for a few minutes, a story of home the perfect blanket on a chilly night. They both stared into the darkness, listening to the crickets and other creatures of the night sing their songs, as they had many nights in Accaria. Coming from the camp were the raucous sounds of men drinking, shooting dice, and singing songs. A cool breeze blew across the clearing, rustling the small piles of leaves resting on the ground. Nearby a flock of birds flew from the trees in front of them, the symphony of chirping adding to the ambiance. Ulam watched as they flew over the camp and across the moon, joined by even more of their kind from the other side of the forest. He thought it strange that two separate groups of birds on opposite sides of the clearing would suddenly fly away at th
e same moment, as though they had secretly coordinated their exodus. In fact, he found it too strange.

  “We should get back to the camp,” Ulam muttered, keeping an eye on the edge of the forest as he slowly stepped away. “Now.”

  “Why?” Amantius replied, his voice shaky. “What is it?”

  “Hopefully nothing,” Ulam grumbled, “but hope does not make for good armor.”

  A howl came from the woods, inhuman and deranged. Then another from a different direction, joined by dozens more. A whistling sound pierced the night as a flaming arrow cut through the darkness, embedding itself into a canvas tent. It was followed by hundreds more, together the barrage setting the entire encampment ablaze. The death-screams shortly followed as men of the warband found themselves being attacked by dark figures rushing from the edges of the forest, the bitter screech of iron on iron filling the clearing. Within minutes the entire meadow had fallen into chaos, everyone desperately fighting for survival.

  Ulam fell to his knees in the tall grass, unable to move any further. He watched in horror as his comrades were being massacred before his eyes, the dark figures seeming supernatural to him. They moved with such speed and precision that Ulam’s eyes could not follow, only appearing long enough to kill before vanishing into the bedlam once again. They continued to howl and shriek as they butchered the warband, no part of the camp making an organized effort to defend. Though deep inside Ulam wanted to run back to the camp, find a weapon and start cleaving these devils in half, he could not find the strength to move. His limbs were heavy, numbed by fear.

  “Ulam, come on, we have to join the fight!” Amantius yelled, suddenly finding either courage or a sense of duty. “Why are you sitting there? Let’s go!”