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

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.

Both houses had become smoldering ruins, no more than a few thick beams that would burn for hours. As time went on the guards and townspeople started working together to extinguish the last of the flames, not wanting to take any chances. The sizzling of water hitting the burned wood replaced the sounds of burning thatch, the smell a little more bitter than before. Slowly Amantius became aware that the crowd surrounding them was clapping, even cheering. He thought it unusual because only a few hours ago the townsfolk would have happily murdered Ulam if they believed they would not be punished for the crime. But now, they were shouting his name like he was a hero of old.

“I thought you were dead,” he said, wiping away the streaks his tears had made on his soiled face.

“Why would you think that?” Ulam replied, genuinely confused.

Amantius grinned, “You’re such a slow runner, those big legs…”

Ulam jabbed him the ribs. It hurt, but the pain was worth the joke. They both started laughing, the pent-up emotion flooding out from the dams they had built. Though Ulam bellowed on, Amantius’ laughter was cut short when a flash of yellow on top of the castle caught his eye. There, in the shadows of the tallest tower of the keep, stood an ominous figure.

“Aldamar,” Amantius whispered. He had no proof, he just knew. The same cold shiver he always felt near the Count once again shot down his spine.

“What about him?” Ulam replied, a hint of surprise in his voice.

“He’s watching us,” Amantius said, still whispering. Why is he watching us, though?

But before Ulam could look, the silhouette had disappeared.

Chapter 14

Ulam

Though none of his injuries were major, Ulam still spent a few days recovering. He had only suffered minor burns and a cut across his arm where he punched out the window, nothing that some rest could not heal. Initially, he thought he was fit enough to return to his patrols, but his coughing episodes still happened from time to time, and they were quite violent. Often times a black liquid would ooze from his lungs, burning his throat and leaving him utterly exhausted. And since his post was frequently at the top of the castle walls, he figured a few more days of rest was a sound decision. To survive an inferno only to fall to my death would be quite unfortunate, not to mention embarrassing as well.

Ulam saw little of Amantius during this time, which was both a blessing and a curse. In one way he was happy with the silence and the alone time, finally finding the opportunity to read the book he had been dying to read. On the other, he was afraid Amantius would get himself into trouble, especially after his foster-brother thought he spotted Count Aldamar watching from afar. Ulam became deeply worried about the obsession with the Count, believing the newfound fame and celebrity would further embolden Amantius to act upon his suspicions. And since Ulam was not by his side to watch over him, to prevent him from doing anything irrational, anxiety constantly hovered over him like a black cloud.

Ulam decided to push those thoughts from his mind, realizing if he continued to worry he would only drive himself mad. Instead, he picked up his book and continued reading, getting lost in a different time and place. Over the last few days, he had learned a lot about Orcish history, how they had warred with both Humans and Elves until their sudden, mysterious demise. He felt a keen sadness while reading the text, believing had he lived during that time he would have been able to mend the distrust between the different races. But he was born too late, and as a result, the relations gap between Orc and Human had never been wider.

He burned through the pages, consuming every word until there were none left to read. Upon finishing