The Mad Raven's Tale (The Accarian Chronicles Book 1) by Andrew Walbrown (little red riding hood read aloud txt) 📕

“Come join us, this is important,” Karraman waved as Amantius and Ulam moved nearby. “As I was saying, on the morrow I will be leading an expedition to find and capture the Mad Raven. A few of you will accompany me, but the majority will remain here to defend the castle. In my absence, Emmon will handle the assigning of patrols and other daily tasks, and he will do so until I return.” He then turned to the stranger standing beside him, “My lord, Count, do you have anything you wish to add?”

Amantius flinched involuntarily. He had suspected the unknown man was the Count, though a part of him had hoped otherwise. In his mind, the Count would be much more buoyant and adorned in the finest clothes and jewelry, as many of the noblemen and noblewomen of Accaria were. Instead, the man that stood before him appeared sickly, deathly even, wearing a purple robe so dark the fabric appeared black.

“There are quite a many things I would wish to add, though, I fear time is not our ally.” Count Aldamar replied, speaking with the eloquence that begat a well-bred man. Both his hair and skin were as white as milk, as though he had never stepped foot outside his castle.

“I feared this day would come; the day in which you brave men would engage in hostilities with the dreadful Mad Raven.” Aldamar’s voice indicated that he felt deeply troubled by recent events; his gestures and expressions matching. “But alas, the day has arrived. For those of you about to depart for the wilderness, I bid thee good luck. I shall pray to the Gods for your victory and safe return. And upon your return, we shall have a great feast honoring your feats!”

Some men cheered while others encouraged their brethren, already making plans for the prospective feast. While this happened Count Aldamar turned to leave, but he stopped by the exit to glance at Ulam. He stared at the Orc for a few moments with surprise and curiosity melted together across his face. He muttered something under his breath, words so quiet they were virtually inaudible, and then shifted his gaze to Amantius.

As the Count stared, Amantius realized his initial observation of the man had been rather flawed. There was something fraudulent about the Count, some specific idiosyncrasy that Amantius could not quite resolve. Though he at first believed Count Aldamar was an old man with few precious years left to his life, he now saw hidden robustness within him. Where he had at first appeared old and fragile, he now appeared fierce and strong. As he stared into the Count’s eyes, he felt as though Count Aldamar was staring into his soul, reading his thoughts. In response Amantius immediately began thinking of some completely unrelated topic, hoping his silly precaution would prevent having his true feelings exposed.

The corner of Count Aldamar’s mouth curved so slightly that it was virtually non-existent, but Amantius saw the change. He felt a chill go down his spine; the hair stood erect on the nape of his neck. His blood turned to ice, spear-shaped glaciers knifing through his veins. He tried to remain stoic with what little resolve he still possessed, but he knew even his best efforts were trivial.

Suddenly Amantius felt a heavy blow to his ribs, the jab courtesy of Ulam’s elbow. He turned to the Orc and was about to say something, but Ulam’s expression stopped him. His foster-brother held a stern, even worried, demeanor, one that nonverbally begged him to keep his mouth shut.

“Welcome,” Count Aldamar said, the sinister smirk affixed to his face. He then turned towards the doorway and left the room, his footsteps silent on the cobblestone floors.

“Something isn’t right about him,” Amantius said just above a whisper. “Do you feel it too, Ulam?”

Ulam grunted. “Perhaps, but he is a man of power, and we would be smart to not interfere with him.” He grabbed Amantius by the bicep, “What I mean is you would be smart not to interfere with his affairs.”

Amantius pulled away, rubbing his arm where the Orc’s powerful hand had squeezed.

At least if the Count read my mind he only learned that I’ve never liked blondes.

Chapter 12

Ulam

Ulam could not quite understand Amantius’ opinion of Count Aldamar. For days after their encounter that was all he spoke of; as if he had become obsessed with the man. He began to loathe the moments they spent alone atop the castle walls, or in a tavern, or anywhere else. Amantius would not shut his mouth about the subject, and Ulam increasingly became more paranoid someone would overhear his ranting.

Ulam believed the Count was an eccentric man, much unlike any other he had met before. He believed that behind the Count’s dark, brooding eyes was a gold mine of wisdom and knowledge, a level of which that far exceeded even the most intelligent of beings. Ulam respected that, and his respect for such brilliance unexpectedly bred a fiber of loyalty to the man. For all his quirks, Ulam did not suspect anything sinister about the Count. If anything, he thought Count Aldamar was a misunderstood introvert, much like himself.

Ulam was patrolling above the castle’s gatehouse, watching as Captain Karraman’s battalion departed from Silverwater. A strong wind blew across the city, causing the banners of the departing soldiers to dance in the breeze. The warband marching to battle was quite a spectacle, far more impressive than anything Ulam had read in any of his books. He stood in silence as the entire army poured through the northwest gate and into the farmland surrounding the city, as stray dogs and supply wagons followed closely behind.

“They’re marching to their deaths,” Amantius’ voice suddenly came from behind.

Ulam grunted. Although he recognized the possibility of his foster-brother’s statement, he still could not come to agree. “Captain Karraman has too many able-bodied men, strong men who have seen lots of combat.