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

Ulam pulled the object into the moonlight, revealing an ancient axe, one unlike any he had ever seen. It was not like the iron weapons forged by Silverwater’s smithies, or the bright, highly impractical blades used for ceremonies in Accaria. This axe was dark green, jade even, with wicked curves and mysterious symbols etched into the blade. Though both handle and blade were made of some unknown metal, the axe was as light as a feather and whistled in the air with each practice swing. Ulam grunted in approval.

As his initial excitement began to settle, Ulam towards his defeated enemy, assuming to find it dead in a pool of its foul blood. But when he turned around the creature was missing, leaving a trail of black ooze leading out the main doors. The sudden disappearance caused fear to pierce his heart once again, but he was able to suppress it with a concentrated effort. Cautiously Ulam followed the blood trail, his new axe ready to strike if needed.

As he neared the doors a cold breeze blew through the doorway, overwhelming his senses with the fetid stench of death. He looked outside and saw the fiend hunched over an object, the silhouette obscured by the lack of moonlight. It was feasting on something, the sloppy sounds of teeth tearing into flesh enough to unnerve even the bravest warrior. Ulam knew he had to strike while the fiend was distracted, otherwise he ran the risk of being overpowered by the monstrosity once again. Quietly he tried to step over the fallen doors, but the wood shifting under his weight was loud. Too loud.

The noise alerted the foul creature to Ulam’s presence, causing it to spring to its feet and begin howling. Much to Ulam’s surprise, there was no indication of a dislocated jaw or any other injury, even the stab wounds to the shoulder and heart had completely healed. What the hell is this thing and how do I kill it!?

The fiend charged once more, its dual-voices filling the night sky. Though its wounds had disappeared, Ulam noticed it was slower. There was little doubt the fiend was sluggish due to their first bout, but it was still far from weak. It tried to tackle Ulam, but the Orc’s stance was stalwart enough that the creature bounced off and landed in the dirt at his feet. Ulam then raised his newfound axe high and swung downward, keeping his eye on the fiend’s exposed neck, and watched as its head harmlessly rolled away.

He kicked the lifeless body a couple of times, still not trusting the abomination had truly died. As he watched he saw the yellow in the fiend’s eyes disappear, while its fangs retracted back into the gums. The body began to rapidly decay before his eyes, the stench magnifying tenfold. With the battle won, and to prevent any further retching, Ulam decided to return to the hall for the rest of the night. But as he turned around he heard a noise, one that stopped him dead in his tracks. It was not the maddened howl or shriek of a dying monster, nor the call of nocturnal scavengers waiting for dinner, but instead the pained cry of someone gravely injured.

Suddenly the clouds parted, allowing the moon to bask the area in silver light. The silhouette that Ulam could not make out in the dark was no longer a shadow, but a woman in a nightgown, her dress soaked in blood. He ran over to her as a new type of panic overcoming him, his heart thundering with each step. Her eyes were shut tight as she desperately clung to life, the occasional whimper escaping her lips. Ulam saw the bite marks in her neck, large chunks of flesh missing where the fiend had feasted on her. His heart sank as he looked at the wounds, realizing there was nothing he could do to save her. Quickly Ulam shot a glance at the fiend, still headless and immobile behind him, which was only a small comfort. I hope you rot in the Otherworld, you bastard.

While he cursed the fiend’s very soul, Ulam was not completely without pity for the creature. After all, that corrupted person had once been a man, perhaps even with a family. He could not fathom what kind of torture the dead man must have experienced while the curse polluted his soul and destroyed any remnants of humanity within him. A soft whimper beside Ulam pulled him away from his endless speculation, drawing attention to the woman suffering beside him. She was ghostly pale and shivering from the frigid air, with an expression of abject terror etched across her face. Ulam had seen the same look before in many times before, usually in sheep and cattle the moment they understood they were doomed to be killed by a butcher or sacrificed by a priest. He had never seen that primal fear expressed by a person before, and now that he saw it on the tender face of the woman beside him, it threatened to shatter his heart.

I must end this for you before you become an abomination as well. No one should have to live the life that thing did, feeding on the innocent. I wish there was some way to save you, but you are in agony. I will make it quick; that is the right thing to do. Quick and painless. 

“I am sorry,” he whispered in her ear, unsure if his words would even register in her mind. Ulam brushed back her hair gently to expose her neck, a steady stream of tears pouring from his sad gray eyes as he did so. “Rest easy. Soon you will have peace.”

Ulam raised his axe.

Chapter 25

Amantius

Everything was a blur.

Amantius was kneeling in the center of the road, the old stones scraping his knees. His hand trembled violently,