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

his sword clattering off the hard ground. Someone’s blood was splattered across his face; he did not think it was his. The blood dripped from his chin, forming a puddle on the ground, the sight of which caused his gut to churn.

They said no one would get hurt. They said we didn’t even need our weapons.

Faintly Amantius heard screams, heard the death cries of those around. His vision was fading, his heartbeat echoing in his head. Shapes shot past him as he tried to focus; he assumed they were allies. Had they not been, he would have been slain in that spot.

He felt a mailed hand heavy on his shoulder and looked up to see Jaga standing above him, his customary somber expression unchanged by the events. Blood matted the fur on his wolf’s head helmet. “Are you hurt?”

No. At least not physically.

“Amantius, are you hurt? He didn’t put a knife in your belly did he?” Jaga used the end of his bloodied falchion to point towards a nearby body.

“No, I’m fine.” Amantius muttered. The words felt distant, as though someone far off had spoken them.

Jaga nodded his head. “Good.”

“They ran this way!” Someone shouted. Who and from where Amantius could not tell.

“Stay here. Compose yourself, lad.” Jaga said with a pat on the shoulder and then ran off, quickly disappearing behind a line of wagons.

Amantius sat there, in the middle of the road, reliving the sequence of events in his mind a dozen times over. The plan had been simple: pop out of woods, scare the travelers, and then steal their goods when they had run away. Quick, easy, nonviolent. But everything had spun out of control so quickly. No one had expected the merchants to be armed, to put up any kind of resistance, especially to a host of hell-beasts from the Otherworld. They resisted, though, and now the road was littered with their corpses.

What have we done? What have I done? Amantius felt numb. His eyes shifted to the man he had killed, motionless and bloodied. A fresh wave of guilt pulsated through his soul; his gut began to retch. Luckily he was able to remove his helmet before he vomited.

After his stomach had been emptied, Amantius marveled at how quiet the world had become. Moments ago there had been a skirmish, a bloodbath, with the screams of the dying echoing off the nearby wooded hills. Now, though, the only sound came from fallen leaves rustled by a gentle wind. He sat up, using a nearby wagon wheel as a backrest. He fumbled around his belt for a skin of water, hoping to wash away the foul taste in his mouth. As he did so he heard something new: weeping.

Amantius immediately grabbed for his sword, and with a shaky arm aimed its point at a pile of moving blue and green blankets. “Who…who is there? Show yourselves!” I guess they know I’m not a demon now.

A head popped out, a woman’s, followed by a golden-haired girl’s. Both wore terrified expressions, though Amantius could see the fierceness in the woman’s eyes. It was the same look that transcended all species: the look of a mother protecting her child. He knew from chasing woodland creatures through the forests of Accaria that she was equal parts afraid and dangerous, and any wrong move would be the last he would ever make. That was not all, though, for there was something about this pair that seemed strangely familiar.

“I know you,” he heard himself say, his words hardly more than a whisper. “Where have I seen you before?”

Neither offered a reply, the golden hair child continued whimpering while the mother scowled. A glint of sunlight flashed off something metal from within the wagon, the glare blinding Amantius for a brief second. He shielded his eyes and instantly saw the woman clutching a dagger at her side. No! There’s already been too much killing!

Amantius stepped back and lowered his sword. “I don’t want to hurt you. I didn’t want any of this.” He gestured with his free hand. “I don’t even know why I’m here.”

He stood in silence for a while, keeping his eye on the fingers wrapped around the hilt of the woman’s dagger. He was not sure what to do. Part of him was afraid that if he let these two survivors leave one of his comrades would see them and slay both the mother and her child. The other part of him was terrified of having to kill them himself, whether out of self-defense or because of duty to Morganna’s cause. How could I kill a child? 

The golden-haired child suddenly stopped sobbing and wiped her eyes, focusing them on Amantius. Her stare made his skin crawl, as though he had already committed the terrible atrocity. Within a blink of an eye, though, everything had changed. Her wide-eyed terror disappeared, transformed into a softer, even comfortable expression. The little girl seemed to be no longer afraid of Amantius, but rather the exact opposite.

“I remember you,” she said, her eyes red from her sobbing, “I remember you! You’re the Orc’s brother!”

Amantius dropped his sword, suddenly remembering everything. The golden-haired girl in the wagon was the same that gave Ulam the lavender flower in the market square when they first arrived in Silverwater. The woman beside her was her mother, the foul woman who had incited a riot that nearly got both Ulam and Amantius killed that same day. Seems like forever ago.

“And I remember you,” Amantius said, a dash of hope in his words, “you were the little girl who was nice to us.” He had to use every fiber of his being not to glower at her mother, remembering full well everything that had happened that day. This bitch might yet still try to put a hole in me. Should’ve held onto my sword.

“Yep! That’s me!” The little girl nodded fiercely, her smile brightening an otherwise dark atmosphere. She tried to crawl towards Amantius, but her mother’s free hand snagged her by the ankle and dragged her back