The Elder's Curse by Andrew Walbrown (ereader for textbooks TXT) 📕

desire to be with the Crimson Owls diminished so greatly that it began to affect other areas of his life, specifically his own ambitions.

Am I doomed to be here forever? Ulam thought as he watched water stained brown with dirt drip from a rag. How can I see the world without any money? But how am I to get the funds without working? It is a depressing pit into which I have fallen. I guess that is why they are called dreams, because they are not meant to be reality.

“What are you moping about now?” Amantius called from his makeshift bed. “And don’t tell me you’re not. I can tell. Your face is completely different; you look like a very sad puppy when you’re moping about something…and a very ugly puppy at that.”

Ulam grunted, but added a nod too. “I do not want to ever see that stage again; this job has not been what I expected. I just feel as though I am stuck, and I do not know how to free myself from this cycle.”

“Like I want to be here,” Amantius muttered as he sat up. “But it could always be worse, Brother. There could be monsters rampaging about, monsters like…” Amantius’ words trailed off as he looked away.

Like vampires? Ulam specifically avoided talking about Silverwater, Count Aldamar, and especially Morganna. He felt a deep pity for Amantius, knowing he still was not over what had happened within the halls of Silverwater’s castle. I wonder if he will ever accept his decision, regardless of the fact that it was the correct one. I guess not many people have been forced to behead their lover because they discover the man or woman is a vampire and murderer.

“Like chimeras and harpies?” Ulam offered, hoping to pull Amantius’ thoughts away from Morganna.

Amantius smiled, though it was hollow. “Yeah, like chimeras and harpies.”

Ulam stood stage left, holding a wooden construct carved and painted to resemble snow-capped mountains. On the far side of the stage, he could see Amantius, a couple of props in his hands as well. A dozen actors were halfway through the second act of The Jester’s Court, a bad name for an equally bad show. Ulam found the jokes to be atrocious, the dialogue somehow worse, and the few emotional scenes forced and downright unwatchable. Judging by the dwindling crowd, he was not the only one who held that opinion either.

Ulam had trained himself to block out everything, to stare endlessly into the sky or to focus on a squirrel in a distant tree. It was his only defense, the only way he was able to stomach the disaster happening on stage every night. He often dreamed of faraway lands, specifically the storied Orcish homeland of Wrothvar, and what it must have been like during its golden era. He wanted to go there more than anywhere else, hoping that the ancient Mograth Valley held the keys to his past. Perhaps he would even find other Orcs living there and expel the notion that he was the only one left in the world, but he did not hold out hope for that. Just as watching squirrels in trees was a self-defense mechanism for The Jester’s Court, not holding onto hope was Ulam’s way of guarding himself against the possibility of being the last of his kind.

The second act ended with a hailstorm of boos, a response that was so common it barely registered in Ulam’s mind. He waited until the actors departed the stage before bringing the wooden mountains to the rear of the stage, just as he had night after night. But unlike other nights, instead of returning to his post, this time Ulam just stared at the snow-caps painted at the top of the prop, his mind still miles and centuries away in Wrothvar. What happened to us? How did an entire race simply vanish?

In the corner of his eye, Ulam saw Amantius jumping up and down from the other side of the stage, waving his hands like a maniac. At first, he could not understand why his foster-brother was being so dramatic, or why his attention was needed so badly. With a shrug he turned around, intending to head offstage again to the dark corner where he was free to daydream uninterrupted until the next scene change. But upon turning around, his eyes grew wide as the world suddenly started shrinking around him. He felt a cold hand grip his heart, fear and anxiety spreading like wildfire throughout his entire body. Everything was quiet; no one spoke or coughed, or even sneezed. Birds refused to chirp, and their nocturnal neighbors beneath them did not dare squeak. Together their mutual silence was not only deafening but overwhelming as well. At that moment, Ulam had a thousand eyes on him and him alone, waiting for his next move.

Chapter 2

Amantius

“Get off the stage, you fool!” Amantius said through gritted teeth. He shifted his eyes to the crowd, expecting to hear a cacophony of insults erupt from ignorant, mostly inebriated mouths. So far in Thornsgrave Ulam had been fortunate, having avoided such hostility by using the large props as a shield against any bigotry or intolerance. On this night, though, Ulam had made a mistake, one Amantius was sure would bring about a renewed display of hatred.

To his astonishment, not a single person in the audience threw anything at Ulam. Nor did they curse him, or shout obscenities. Every person’s face indicated curiosity rather than vitriol, which had never happened before. They had been met with fear and venom in every corner of the Emberi Empire, one often feeding the other. For whatever reason, here in Thornsgrave, there was no blood in the eyes of the audience, only interest with a subtle dash of enthusiasm.

Amantius turned his attention back to Ulam and noticed his foster-brother was standing flatfooted in the center of the stage, looking dazed, as though he had just suffered an invisible blow to his head.