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

penmanship was awful, it was just legible enough for Ulam to read. “I was told there were a few Sanctuaries near here. The closest is a two or three-day walk north of the city. Hopefully, I find Orcs there; I am starting to become road-weary.”

“Only a few days north of Silverwater?” Ulam said aloud. Though his voice was just above a whisper, it echoed in the silent library. Without hesitation, Ulam removed the map and note, latched the book shut, and exited the library. He did not bother putting away the books, feeling as though there was no time to do so.

He made his way out of the castle and to the barracks, where he ignored the curious looks of his comrades as he rummaged through a trunk of his belongings. He packed a bag full of provisions, slung his cloak over his shoulder, and grabbed a one-handed axe. Though no one asked what he was doing or where he planned to go, he felt like he should give the men in the barracks some information.

“I will be gone a few days,” Ulam grunted. He reached into his pockets and pulled out a few copper coins, tossing them onto a nearby bed. “Take these as compensation for covering my patrols while I am gone.”

“What will we tell the Captain or Count Aldamar? It’s not like you blend in with the rest of us.” One of the men asked as the others collected the coins.

Ulam had not thought about that. In truth, he was not sure if Captain Karraman or Count Aldamar would even notice he was gone. So many days had passed since he had seen either man that he wondered if they were even in Silverwater.

“If they ask, tell them I am searching for Amantius,” Ulam replied and turned his back, not waiting to field any more questions. He did not like lying, but this time a lie was easier than the truth.

Ulam left the castle grounds and descended the hill towards the northwestern gate. After passing through the arch into the fields surrounding the city he proceeded northward, following a road leading towards the Silverwood. Memories of the march came back to him, as well as the night Amantius disappeared. He could still feel the heat of the roaring flames in his face and the fear that had paralyzed him, rooting him to the ground. His heart clenched tight when he thought of Amantius; his mind delving too deeply into what may or may not be happening to his brother at that very instant. Though Ulam knew he had to put those thoughts out of his mind, he failed to do so; the quiet countryside provided scant distractions.

The open, flat fields surrounding Silverwater disappeared a few miles north of the city, being consumed by rolling hills thick with briars and other prickly bushes. A stone-paved roadway winded through the hills and vegetation, many of the gray blocks worn down with extensive usage. Connecting Silverwater County with the rest of the Empire fated the road to be heavily traveled, much to Ulam’s chagrin. He passed scores of people, most of whom stared at him with a mixture of fear and hate, even a little curiosity. Their gazes reminded him of how spoiled he had become in the castle, its stone walls sheltering him from the pervasive ignorance of the Human race.

Ulam was thankful no one attacked him on the road, though the men and women who passed him shot arrows with their eyes. He realized the further he was from Silverwater the more vulnerable he became, that no one would come to his aid in a fight. As the sun began to hang low in the sky doubts about his quest crept into his mind. Should I turn around? There may be bandits about, though I have nothing of value aside from this cloak. What of the Mad Raven, or her Flock? Are they out there, setting traps for fools like me who travel alone?

Ulam stopped at a fork in the road, the main highway continuing north while a smaller path hugged the base of a hill before disappearing. He reached into a pocket and removed the map he had found, remembering the artist had drawn a fork in the road miles north of Silverwater. Ulam assumed he was at the spot, estimating the smaller path led to the Orc Sanctuary.

What if it is not even there? What are the chances this Sanctuary still stands? Judging by the reactions I receive I assume it is abandoned. Gods, is this a fool’s errand? Ulam walked further on, his mind swarmed with hundreds of thoughts. The road he traveled suddenly disappeared; the smooth, gray stones of the main highway were replaced with a dirt path covered in crunchy, brown leaves. It was clear to Ulam that this passage was rarely used, though there were signs that someone, or something, used this path at some point. The vegetation that normally envelopes a forgotten area had been stunted, preventing vines and branches from reclaiming what was originally theirs.

What if the Sanctuary is still there, hidden by this sea of trees? Perhaps the Orcs there have carved out their own society, away from the malevolent eyes of Humans. I cannot blame them if they have.

Ulam pushed through, his heart full of excitement. After a hundred paces he came across a column on the side of the path with words etched deep into the stone. It was in a different language, one Ulam could not speak and did not believe he had ever seen before. He traced the letters with a finger, brushing dirt and plant decay from the column’s face. Bexataar Khag? Is that Orcish?

Beside the column was another dirt road, though it was much more concealed by overgrowth than the others. Ulam followed the road with his eyes as far as he could, though he lost the trail as it ascended a heavily wooded hill. He pulled out the map and looked for any indication that