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

Ulam grabbed a nearby wooden chair, its dimensions just wide enough to fit his bulk. His eyes drifted back to the books as he waited, so desperately wanting to read every last title on the shelves. The entire world’s knowledge must be on these shelves. Perhaps I can find even more information about my race here.

“You must wonder why I have brought you here, why I have singled you out from the rest,” Aldamar began, drawing Ulam’s attention once more. His words echoed off the walls, his face expressed the utmost sincerity. “I have questions, and I need answers.”

Ulam grunted.

“Specifically, I want to know what happened in Silverwood Forest. It has come to my attention that you believe your enemy was not a host of monsters from the Otherworld, but men dressed as such. Speak freely, I wish to know everything.” Count Aldamar stared, his dark eyes fixated on Ulam.

Ulam told the Count everything he could recall, from the mad howling to the unmasking of the dead goat-warrior he had slain. His pride would not allow him to tell the Count about his new fear of fire, and how the flames had all but petrified him. As he spoke he felt shame growing inside him, the embarrassment of not rushing into action sooner. With some effort he was able to push those thoughts away, choosing instead to focus on Amantius’ disappearance. He told the Count of how he searched every corpse and found no signs of his foster-brother, shivering as images of those mutilated bodies with their chests ripped open flooded his mind again. The Count’s expression did not change throughout the story; he showed no signs of worry or anger. He remained exactly how he always was, even-keeled and lost in thought.

A deep silence ensued after Ulam finished, the only noise coming from the low hum of burning torches. Count Aldamar stared at him for some time, before breaking his concentration to rub his face. For a moment Ulam thought he saw a crack, as though the Count’s defense had been broken by his own thoughts. His always perfectly placed white hair had become disheveled, as a sort of exhaustion suddenly overwhelmed his physique.

“I believe you, Ulam,” he said, breaking the silence, “I believe every word you have said. About the monsters being men, about the disappearance of the enemy’s slain bodies.”

“You do?” Ulam replied, surprised by the Count’s words. There was a part of him that wondered if he spoke the truth, or if his memories were warped by recent events.

“I do.” The Count fixed his hair, instantly regaining the strength that he always emitted. “I have heard reports from spies, farmers, and merchants of men wearing the pelts of wolves and bears and setting upon them. I simply assumed they were nothing more than common brigands, wearing costumes as a means of causing more intimidation. Never did I imagine a whole army, in Silverwood Forest, dressed as such.” He stood and began to pace. “As for Amantius, I believe I know what happened. You say he was nowhere to be found, as well as the bodies of your ambushers?”

Ulam nodded with a grunt, a sick feeling brewing in his gut.

“They must have thought Amantius was one of them,” The Count finished, his voice indicating he was completely sure of his conclusion, “Why else would he be taken away?”

Ulam thought for a moment, disappointed in himself for not having entertained that conclusion before. For weeks he had assumed either Amantius had run away and was still lost in Silverwood Forest, or he had been slain and his body had yet to be recovered. But the more he thought about Aldamar’s explanation, the more apt he was to believe it. Or rather, the more he wanted to believe it. Because if true, that would mean Amantius was probably still alive.

“I need to go,” Ulam said, unable to contain his words, “I need to get him. I need to rescue him.”

Count Aldamar frowned. “With what army? I am sure they will not let you stroll into their camp and retrieve him. And, beg my pardon, I highly doubt stealth is an option for you. You are rather large and quite loud.”

Ulam grimaced, helplessness leaving a bitter taste in his mouth. He is right, I am completely useless.

Chapter 19

Amantius

Damn my body hurts. Oh well, at least I can stand again.

Amantius stood from his bed and stretched, feeling his muscles burn with a thousand aches as he did so. He had been confined to the cottage for a long time, longer than he could remember. Aside from the metal cuff shackling his ankle to the bed frame, he hardly felt like a prisoner. His meals were warm and plentiful; he was given clean clothing and bedding as well. He never wanted for company, often chatting away the day with whoever was standing guard. Occasionally Countess Morganna would visit, though those visits were incredibly rare. Each time the door opened he hoped to see her slender figure enter the room, only to be disappointed when he saw the glinting armor of Jaga, her warchief.

“Standing now are you?” Jaga’s voice called from the doorway as the sunlight temporarily blinded Amantius.

"Burns like a thousand fires, but I’ve had worse,” Amantius said as he shook his leg, the chain rattling on the metal bed frame. “How much longer are you keeping me here?”

“Depends if Countess Morganna wants you here,” Jaga replied with a shrug. He shut the door, “She seems to like you, though. If she didn’t, I’d already have gutted you like a fish.”

Amantius shivered at the comment, though he was not completely unnerved by Jaga’s words. Over the past weeks, he had become somewhat fond of his captor. Jaga was a bald, grizzled warrior with a scar from a bear attack across his face, but he was an honest man who was forever loyal to Morganna. He might have been