The Mad Raven's Tale (The Accarian Chronicles Book 1) by Andrew Walbrown (the lemonade war series txt) 📗

the warband’s numbers while also providing plenty of visibility in the event of an attack. Within an hour scouts were sent in every direction to collect reconnaissance, while small teams of men collected firewood and other resources from nearby.

As evening gave way to night, Amantius and a few others built a bonfire, the light and warmth provided by the flames welcomed by all except Ulam. As they sat around the fire smoke began drifting into the Orc’s face, the bitter smell almost causing him to gag. He felt as though he was inside another burning house, trapped within smoke-filled walls as a raging inferno devoured everything around him. Suddenly Ulam became lightheaded, forcing him to escape to a clearing where he sucked in the sweet, fresh air of the forest. As he calmed down and his heart rate returned to normal, the fear which had overwhelmed him slowly disappeared, only to be replaced with shame. What is wrong with me? Why am I so weak?

“Are you alright?” Amantius said as he approached from behind.

Ulam grunted while straightening his shoulders. Though he could feel the cold sweat dripping down his forehead, he hoped the collective light from the camp was too faint for Amantius to see it. “Yes, I just needed some air. And to relieve myself.”

Amantius frowned, clearly not convinced. “Was it the fire?”

Ulam grunted again. If you are waiting for me to say yes, then you will wait until the end of time.

“I understand,” Amantius said as he stood beside Ulam, staring out into the darkness with his foster-brother, “it’s the same reason Mother was afraid of dogs. One bit the back of her leg when she was a child, and the memory never went away.” He began to giggle. “I was so angry when she wouldn’t let us have a puppy, remember?”

Ulam smiled. He appreciated Amantius changing the subject and hoped the conversation would not return to his sudden aversion to smoke and fire. “I never knew she was afraid of dogs.”

“Oh yes,” Amantius replied, laughing still, “I was so angry at her at the time. I think I was, ten? Maybe eleven years old? I did not learn until a few summers ago, when I caught her standing on the table because a stray had wandered into the courtyard and curled up for a nap at the front door.”

They laughed together for a few minutes, a story of home the perfect blanket on a chilly night. They both stared into the darkness, listening to the crickets and other creatures of the night sing their songs, as they had many nights in Accaria. Coming from the camp were the raucous sounds of men drinking, shooting dice, and singing songs. A cool breeze blew across the clearing, rustling the small piles of leaves resting on the ground. Nearby a flock of birds flew from the trees in front of them, the symphony of chirping adding to the ambiance. Ulam watched as they flew over the camp and across the moon, joined by even more of their kind from the other side of the forest. He thought it strange that two separate groups of birds on opposite sides of the clearing would suddenly fly away at the same moment, as though they had secretly coordinated their exodus. In fact, he found it too strange.

“We should get back to the camp,” Ulam muttered, keeping an eye on the edge of the forest as he slowly stepped away. “Now.”

“Why?” Amantius replied, his voice shaky. “What is it?”

“Hopefully nothing,” Ulam grumbled, “but hope does not make for good armor.”

A howl came from the woods, inhuman and deranged. Then another from a different direction, joined by dozens more. A whistling sound pierced the night as a flaming arrow cut through the darkness, embedding itself into a canvas tent. It was followed by hundreds more, together the barrage setting the entire encampment ablaze. The death-screams shortly followed as men of the warband found themselves being attacked by dark figures rushing from the edges of the forest, the bitter screech of iron on iron filling the clearing. Within minutes the entire meadow had fallen into chaos, everyone desperately fighting for survival.

Ulam fell to his knees in the tall grass, unable to move any further. He watched in horror as his comrades were being massacred before his eyes, the dark figures seeming supernatural to him. They moved with such speed and precision that Ulam’s eyes could not follow, only appearing long enough to kill before vanishing into the bedlam once again. They continued to howl and shriek as they butchered the warband, no part of the camp making an organized effort to defend. Though deep inside Ulam wanted to run back to the camp, find a weapon and start cleaving these devils in half, he could not find the strength to move. His limbs were heavy, numbed by fear.

“Ulam, come on, we have to join the fight!” Amantius yelled, suddenly finding either courage or a sense of duty. “Why are you sitting there? Let’s go!”

Ulam sat quietly, watching as the battle was lost before it even began. Though the demons attacking the camp were nightmarish, they were not the reason he remained paralyzed with fear. In fact, he wanted to slay a few to satisfy his curiosity, as well as to quench a sudden bloodthirst running through his veins. What scared Ulam was not the murderous banshees cutting through the warband like a scythe through wheat, but the flames burning the camp to the ground.

“Amantius I cannot go,” Ulam said as a cold bead of sweat dripped down his forehead, “the fire. There is fire.”

“What? The fire?” Amantius turned, watched as a small group of warriors made a stand against their attackers, “You are afraid of fire? You weren’t when you ran into that house!”

“I know,” Ulam replied, his eyes downcast. He felt a great shame building in him, knowing his comrades were being slaughtered as he lingered in the tall grass, far enough away from the fight that