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

The women in the crowd went berserk, their shrieks of joy drowning out any dissenting opinion. Amantius spit out a mouthful of ale while Ulam froze, confused by what he just heard. Mother? Surely not!

The woman then removed her hood, revealing her identity for all to see. She was, indeed, Pelecia Jeranus.

Ulam hopped the fence he was behind and rushed to her, lifting her high in the air. He was so proud of her at that moment, not just because she had won the contest, but because in doing so she had beaten so many prideful men. Pelecia laughed as he did so, imploring him to put her down, but Ulam did not care. His mother had just won the most prestigious event in the Monarch’s Festival and he wanted everyone to know.

“For the last time, Ulam put me down!” Pelecia said as he lowered her to the ground. “You are too drunk to be lifting old ladies into the air.”

Ulam chuckled and then turned towards Amantius, who was still motionless behind the fence. He had not moved at all; one hand clutching the stone brick, the other wrapped around the waist of a brunette. I am not too drunk, but perhaps he is.

“Come, child, let’s go home,” Pelecia said as she collected her javelin-shaped trophy, “And let’s save Amantius from his stupor too.”

As they crossed the range people came to congratulate Pelecia, even the two men she had just defeated. The majority of the crowd then began filtering away, returning to their homes as the sun dipped behind the city walls towards the sea. Those who remained were mostly workers paid to clean the city’s streets of litter and vomit, as well as those revelers who had too much to drink.

“Come, Amantius,” Pelecia said as they approached him, her eyes drifting to the woman beside him. “It is time we retire for the evening. You do not want to stay out too late, you might catch fleas.”

Ulam chuckled.

After they returned home Ulam set about cleaning everyone’s clothes, washing the dirt and sweat that had accumulated on them during the day. He was tired, but he knew he needed to rinse the fabric now before the grime permanently settled. As he did so Amantius sat in the corner of the courtyard, pouring buckets of water over his head. He did this not only to clean himself but also in hopes of sobering up too.

“That was a fun day,” Amantius said as water fell from his chin. “I love festivals. But by the Gods, I’m going to have a headache tomorrow. I can already feel it starting. But at least all three of us brought home trophies, right? Your medals, Mother’s javelin, and my brick!”

Ulam grunted as his foster-brother cackled. It was an entertaining day at least. Who knew Mother was so skillful with a javelin?

Suddenly a bell rang, but in a solemn, low tone. Ulam thought it strange that a bell was ringing at such a late hour, for there could not have been a wedding or spiritual function at that time of night. Powder blue flames suddenly appeared on top of the two towers flanking the palace, the fires burning with such ferocity they basked the city in an azure glow. Within moments Ulam heard wailing coming from the homes of his neighbors, followed by the sounds of people running in the streets.

“The King is dead!” He heard someone say. “The King is dead!”

Ulam knitted his brow and pushed open the courtyard door, exiting into the main street. He saw messengers bearing the insignia of the royal family, a white sun on a cobalt background, shouting the news. A youth wearing a tunic with the same crest ran near Ulam, who only needed one arm to grab the boy and pull him into the courtyard. As he did so Pelecia appeared, instantly demanding Ulam to release the terrified lad.

“What has happened?” Ulam grumbled as he let go of the messenger, who immediately ran to Pelecia’s side.

“King Roderic has passed.” The boy said, tears in his eyes. “His illness has finally claimed his life.”

Pelecia let out a sudden shriek, though it was quickly muffled as she buried her face in her hands. Amantius himself looked saddened, though visibly much less distressed than Pelecia. Ulam’s expression remained unchanged, he was not even surprised. Because the King had been sick for a very long time with no signs of ever recovering, Ulam had expected this news at any moment. If anything he felt some relief, for he questioned the effectiveness of a bedridden King, no matter how beloved.

“Is there any other news from the castle?” Amantius shouted over the growing noise in the city. “What of the three princes? Or the Queen?”

“The Queen is in mourning, obviously,” the boy replied, “Prince Zeno has gone missing, as has Prince Balian. There are rumors though,” he stopped, shaking his head. “No, I should not say anything, rumors are seldom the truth.”

“What rumors?” Ulam asked, focusing his intense eyes on the messenger. The boy squirmed before his gaze, but was able to keep most of his composure.

“Well, there are, I mean, there is, someone has been,” the boy stuttered.

“On with it!” Amantius shouted.

The boy took a deep breath. “Prince Varian is already sitting on the throne, issuing commands. Prince Zeno left the city with a warband an hour or two ago, heading towards Mount Meganthus. I don’t know what any of this means, but…I must be going. I’ve said too much.”

Suddenly the messenger sprinted past Ulam and back into the street, disappearing into the chaos and darkness of the night. Ulam remained stoic, though his mind was racing. Prince Zeno left the city? Prince Varian is on the throne? Nobody knows where Prince Balian is? How has such madness happened so quickly, especially when the day was so peaceful?

“Come, back into