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

“Think you can walk?” Jaga asked.

Amantius shook his leg again, the sound of metal on metal loud in the close quarters of the cottage. “If you removed this I would think might chances of walking would be higher.”

Jaga sighed. “Doesn’t matter, I suppose. You can’t escape even if you wanted to.” He stood up and walked over to the bed, pulling a key from a pocket as he kneeled before Amantius. With a click the pressure around Amantius’ ankle was gone, the weight of iron no longer pulling down on his leg. Amantius rubbed the skin where the shackle had been and smiled.

“There,” Jaga said as he returned to his seat. “Don’t make me regret doing that.”

Amantius walked around the room, quickly realizing his legs did not have their full strength yet. With each step, he thought his leg would buckle, as though he was standing on the deck of a rocking ship. Being released from the shackle around his ankle may not have been utter freedom, but it was a step in the right direction.

“You won’t regret it,” Amantius said as he stumbled towards the main door, his legs as reliable as a broken staff. He was not going to let their weakness keep him inside any longer, the desire to see the outside world once driving him forward. He smiled at Jaga and the other guard as he reached the door. “Don’t worry, I don’t think I can run very far.”

He pushed the door open, and for the first time in weeks he felt fresh air enter his lungs as sunlight kissed his skin. He stood there for a moment, taking in the warmth of the sun’s golden rays. The sensation was so overwhelming tears began to form in his eyes, surprised by how much he had yearned to be outside.

Jaga followed, the heavy thud of boots on wooden planks announcing him. The noise made Amantius open his eyes, his ocean blues now focusing on his surroundings. During his captivity he expected he was in a cottage in the middle of a small town, judging by the noise that crept through the solitary window and penetrated the walls. Instead, he was surprised to learn he was in a fort, virtually impregnable from the rear due to a sheer rock cliff that shot straight into the sky. A palisade wall surrounded the complex, fortified with a series of watchtowers. Built a couple of hundred paces away in the shadows of the bluffs was a great hall, where Amantius assumed Countess Morganna resided. Trees littered the area, great oaks, poplars, and elms soaring high above the settlement. He quickly realized that unless someone knew where they were going, they would most likely never know this place existed. It seemed to be at its own corner of the world, away from all society.

The men and women of the fort paid him no mind, carrying on with their business. Amantius heard the usual sounds of a settlement: dogs barking, people chatting, and the distinct high notes of a blacksmith’s hammer crashing into an anvil. By all accounts, this place was no different than Silverwater, only much smaller and much more comely. Amantius could not quite explain it, but he already felt a connection here, as though he belonged.

“Probably not what you expected,” Jaga said as he handed Amantius a large branch to use as a walking stick.

“Not at all,” Amantius replied, his words barely audible above the sounds of hundreds of birds chirping in the canopy above. “Where are we?”

“Home, or at least that’s what we call it.” Jaga shrugged. “I guess we didn’t feel the need to give it a great name when we first came here. We didn’t mean to stay here for so long.”

“What do you mean?” Amantius asked, relieved that the branch he was now leaning on was thick and strong.

Jaga’s lips tightened until he began to scowl, “Doesn’t matter. Ask the Countess if you really want to know.” He took a few steps forward, “Want a tour?”

Jaga led a hobbling Amantius around the compound, explaining the different structures as they passed. Amantius was surprised by the number of people living in this forest village, the trees cloaking the actual size of the settlement. They had everything they needed; blacksmiths, bakeries, an armory, infirmary, storehouses, multiple wells, even a temple. For people who “never meant to stay long” they appeared to have been settled here for many years.

“I have to admit, I’m impressed,” Amantius said as they approached the wooden palisade. His legs were numb, having been used more in the past hour than they had in the past week.

“We have a few good carpenters, and there has always been a strong supply of lumber and labor.” Jaga leaned against a stout timber pillar, his expression dark. “Well, at least there had been. Now our numbers are so few.”

Jaga’s words trailed away, but Amantius knew what he meant. The two warbands from Silverwater had inflicted a significant amount of casualties, the graves still covered in fresh dirt from the most recent battle. He wondered if the survivors from Silverwater had created a cemetery in the middle of the forest as well, burying their dead in a mass ceremony. What if Ulam was one of them, if he is buried out there somewhere? What about me? Does everyone think I’m dead?

“Look alive, kid,” Jaga said as he stood, straightening his tunic, “Countess Morganna is coming.”

Amantius’ heart leaped at the mere mention of her name, goosebumps forming on his arms and neck. The energy shot through his veins, willing him to stand even though his legs felt as though they were being stabbed a thousand times over. He placed almost all of his weight on the branch he used as a staff, hoping it was sturdy enough to support him.

Then he saw her, approaching from