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

Ulam grabbed the axe hanging from his side, giving the green blade a few practice swings in the dark. Newfound courage spread through his body as he listened to the blade whistle in the air, its sweet melody remedying any remaining fears. In his mind’s eye, he saw himself slay the Sanctuary fiend once again, and felt a swell of confidence invigorate his soul. I have defeated evil before, I shall defeat it once again.

Ulam emerged from the shadows, axe in hand, prepared to fight whatever came his way. Realizing he would need light to see his enemy, he methodically sought out lanterns and lit them, basking every room in a soft yellow glow. As he did so he saw the bodies on the floor, all of whom wore the purple and silver of the Castle Guard. Their corpses were covered in blood, many of the bodies mutilated beyond recognition. Judging by the puncture wounds in the armor the men had been killed with blades, even though their throats had been ripped out as well. While anyone else may have run away from this grisly sight, Ulam felt a small degree of relief sweep over him. These same deathblows were widespread the night they were ambushed in Silverwood Forest, and also at the site of the massacre along the Western Pass. Ulam knew who his enemy was, but more importantly, he knew he could kill them. No monster or crazed lunatic did this, this was the work of the Mad Raven’s Flock.

He pushed onwards, checking for survivors in each room of the castle on his way to the grand hall. But everywhere he searched he only found more death as the blood-soaked bodies of the Castle Guards littered each room. Though he would not allow the bloodshed to discourage him, as he neared the entrance to the grand hall Ulam had a moment of uncertainty. He was unsure if he alone would be enough to defeat the Mad Raven’s Flock, especially since their numbers were a complete mystery to him. Once again he debated whether or not he should leave the castle and return with the City Guard, but he feared doing so would not only lose valuable time but also leave the city unprotected. As he stalled he heard the sound of iron striking iron coming from inside the grand hall, followed by a death cry. Ulam tightened his grip on the axe handle and pushed open the doors, his decision made. To battle.

The grand hall was in chaos. On one side of the room was Captain Karraman and four Castle Guards, all protecting Count Aldamar. Across from them were ten of the enemy, wearing an assortment of helmets designed from the heads of wild beasts. Corpses from both sides littered the area in between, with a pool of blood staining the tiled floors red. Without any hesitation Ulam ran across the room to Captain Karraman, who stood in front of the Count with his sword held high.

“It seems we’ve evened the odds a little more, you bastards!” Captain Karraman yelled across the hall before turning to Ulam. “Damn, I’m happy you’re here.”

There was a twinkle in his eye, a genuine enjoyment of what was happening. Initially, Ulam thought Captain Karraman had lost his mind, but as he stared across the hall at his enemy he felt a flicker of excitement in his heart as well. “I am too.”

One of the enemies stepped forward. “Surrender Aldamar and we will spare you. This does not have to get bloody.”

“Get bloody?” Captain Karraman almost choked on the words. “Get bloody! Look around you, we’re already swimming in a lake of blood, and there’s only one way this ends. With your heads separated from your shoulders! Follow me, lads!”

Captain Karraman charged the enemy, screaming a battle-cry as he crossed the room. Instinctively Ulam followed, raising his axe high as he roared like a lion. Before he could swing his weapon Karraman had already decapitated someone, the Captain moving with such power and grace that Ulam was sure victory would be theirs. The Orc barreled into a man wearing a helmet shaped like a stag’s head, with antlers protruding from the top. He used his disproportionate bulk to send the man flying, bringing his axe down before his enemy could recover. Ulam then felt something heavy scrape against his back and was thankful the chain links of his mail turned away a blade. With almost no effort he swung his axe and shattered his new enemy’s sword, the metallic rasp of iron filling their corner of the grand hall. Ulam then unleashed a flurry of blows until he had completely overwhelmed his foe, the jade green of his axe painted red with gore. He stopped for a breath and saw the man was on the ground, his neck exposed. Without any hesitation, Ulam swung his axe and watched as another head rolled across the floor.

Having been engaged in combat Ulam lost track of friend and foe alike, becoming completely unaware of what was happening around him. As he looked for his next victim he saw Captain Karraman fighting the last of the enemy, with a trail of headless corpses behind him. Of the four Castle Guards, three were dead from puncture wounds, while the fourth desperately clung to life. Count Aldamar was in a corner, his expression unreadable. Their eyes met and Ulam approached, feeling some degree of duty to stand guard now that no one else could. By the time he navigated the carnage the last of the enemy had been slain, one more bodiless head a gruesome decoration for the grand hall.

“Is that all of them?” Captain Karraman called from across the room in between breaths.

“Not quite.”

Three more entered the room. One person wore a helmet with a wolf’s head, one wore one with a cougar’s, and