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

“It’s warm, always.” Amantius started, his voice soft, like a distant echo. “No one ever wears a coat, really. In truth, I had only seen them on trade ships before arriving here. It’s an island, as I’m sure I’ve mentioned before, where everyone knows everyone else.”

“Is it small?” Morganna asked, reclining in her seat with her goblet of wine near her lips.

“The city? It’s bigger than Silverwater, possibly twice as big. I’ve heard stories of cities on this continent that are much bigger than Accaria, though. Outside the city are some fields with farms; cows, chickens, sheep, the usual. A few villages dot the island, mostly no more than a dozen fishing huts in each. Trees of all types form a dense forest that surrounds the mountain at the heart of the island. Mount Meganthus.” Amantius stopped, imagining the little nook he had found with Ulam years ago. He felt his heart tighten, remembering all the evenings spent together there. “I used to go there a lot, with my brother.”

“The Orc?” Morganna said. “I do not remember his name. To be honest, I thought you feverish when we spoke for the first time in the healer’s hut. I was not even aware Orcs were still around; I cannot remember the last time I saw one.”

“His name is Ulam. I’ve only seen one Orc in my life, and it’s him.” Amantius said with a shrug. The more he thought about Ulam the tighter fear gripped him. He worried about the Orc, forever afraid that he was no longer alive, that he had died in the meadow during the ambush or in the Silverwood afterward. Even if he received word that Ulam was still living, the news would only bring him a modicum of relief. After all, if Ulam was alive and well in Silverwater, he would still be a pawn in Aldamar’s nefarious schemes.

“I can see the worry on your face,” Morganna said, herself appearing concerned. “There was a time when I would have felt the same about my brother.”

“Aldamar,” The words tasted like poison on Amantius’ tongue. “He sent us to die.”

Morganna nodded, a sad smile passing over her lips. “Men of his type will always do this. They send others to fight in their stead, to die for their cause, offering them gold in return. Unfortunately for many of those poor souls, they never see their payment. Instead, they die in a foreign land fighting someone else’s war. You know this more than anyone, Amantius. Fortunately enough for you, you are here now.”

“Will you make me fight too?” Amantius asked, afraid that his voice would somehow reveal cowardice. Images of the man he had killed flooded his mind, as though they broke from a dam he constructed in his mind.

Morganna sat up and took in a deep breath, smiling warmly as she exhaled. “I do not require anyone to fight. Everyone here does so because they want to, because they want to exact revenge on Aldamar for the pain he has caused all of us throughout the years. You are not the only one that used to be part of his ranks, there are a few others here that defected to our side. So no, you do not have to fight if you do not want to fight. Not everyone is a warrior at heart, despite what the tales of great heroics would have us believe. All I ask is that you do not hinder our operations, and ultimately, you do not betray us.”

A silence set on the room, the only noise coming from the gentle pouring of the stream along the rock wall. Amantius held Morganna’s stare for a few moments, until she focused her attention on her goblet of wine. While she drank his thoughts turned to the mother and daughter he had let escape, wondering if they safely reached Silverwater. What if I have already betrayed you?

“What is on your mind?” Morganna asked.

I cannot tell her. What if she has me killed?

“Amantius. Dear. What ails you?” Morganna asked again. Her voice was as sweet as honey, yet there was a stern undertone to her words.

“Forgive me,” Amantius said as he broke eye contact, looking at the wine cup in his hands. “I’m afraid I might have already betrayed you.”

“How so?” Morganna leaned forward, setting her goblet on the table between them.

Amantius sighed. “When we were gone, we ambushed a passing caravan. You know the story.” He stopped, debating whether or not to proceed with the story. This is going to be your death.

“Yes, I know. They pulled their weapons and a skirmish commenced. Jaga told me.”

A massacre, more like. “Everyone ran off after the survivors, those who fled. Everyone but me. I stayed behind, to guard the wagons.” Not entirely true. “And I heard some whimpering. There were two people hidden in the blankets. A mother and a daughter, both scared out of their minds.” He stopped speaking, taking a deep breath, trying to gather the strength to say the next few words waiting to jump from his tongue.

“Go on,” Morganna said.

“I let them go.” Amantius finished, saying the words so quickly they almost sounded as one whole word. “I set them free. I covered for them so they could get away. I am, I am so sorry, my lady.”

Amantius continued to stare straight into his wine cup, not daring to look at Morganna from fear that she was boiling with rage. With each passing second he waited for her to call the guards, for Movan to come in and strike him dead with a blow to the head. He almost welcomed the cold bite of a blade, for he was infinitely ashamed of betraying Morganna and her hospitality by giving aid to those that opposed her.

Suddenly Amantius felt something warm grip his forearm gently. He looked up, saw Morganna staring at him with a smile on her face, the dimples on each cheek forming. The fear in his heart, the anxiety, all melted away at that