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

silver. In silence they left the castle behind them, taking the main avenue through Silverwater as they headed towards the south gate. Aside from the occasional patrolmen or drunkards, the city felt entirely abandoned. Ulam assumed the brisk night’s air was the main culprit, its sharpness convincing denizens to remain indoors. With tales of the Mad Raven quickly spreading, though, he knew only the brave and foolish dared the streets at night.

They passed through the south gate unobstructed, the sentries dutifully removing the heavy plank that kept the gate shut. After passing under the archway, Ulam found himself in the vineyards south of the city, along the road he had taken with Amantius upon their arrival in Silverwater. The landscape was a far cry from how it appeared on that day. Grapevines still aligned both sides of the stone-gray road, but now many were no more than a tangle of skeletons. With each gust of wind, a medley of brown and yellow leaves shifted across the ground, the smell of rotting foliage new to Ulam’s nose.

Ulam felt his moss-colored skin begin to prickle with goosebumps, his body shivering from time to time. Both were new sensations. By Kevea’s grace, I miss Accaria’s weather. Is this what it feels like to be cold? I cannot say I much like this feeling. Should have worn more than a linen tunic and breeches, something warmer. Like cotton. Oh well.

Ulam quickened his pace, hoping the extra energy would generate enough heat to keep his teeth from clattering. His mind wandered to Accaria, the tropical island kingdom with its lazy palm trees swaying in the wind. The hot days and warm nights, with a sweet summer sea breeze blowing off the waves. He would be firmly entrenched in a chair, a book appearing miniature in his big, Orcish hands. He would be wholly engrossed by the words on the pages, whether he was reading a history book or an anthology of fairy tales made no matter. Amantius would be nearby complaining about the heat, using anything to wipe the sweat from his brow. Pelecia working a thread and needle, her concentration unfazed by her child’s moaning.

Something strange happened as he reminisced; Ulam felt a fist clenching around his heart, a pit of emptiness in his stomach. It was not a feeling he expected by any means, in fact, he had worked hard to convince himself that he was invulnerable to such emotion. But as he trudged through the countryside with a silent Captain Karraman, Ulam was overcome with homesickness, a longing to be back in Accaria with Amantius and Pelecia.

I should have cherished those moments, Ulam thought as he continued following his comrade up a hill. But how were we to know? I suppose that is one of the cruelties of the world. We do not recognize the best of times until they are over.

An owl ended Ulam’s reminiscing, returning him to the present. He found himself on a grass laden knoll, Silverwater’s silhouette decorating the horizon behind him. When he squinted he could see the outline of the castle, a series of black shapes jutting into the indigo sky, tiny beams of orange and yellow dotting the city walls where the guards kept their fires. In front of him was a shadowed vale, the tall trees on the other side preventing the moon from illuminating the landscape. A gentle breeze blew, Ulam’s nose crinkling as the smell of dung filled his nostrils once again. He did not need to see anything to know where he was or what was in the valley before him. Why have we come to a farm?

“What’s wrong? Don’t like the fresh air?” Captain Karraman said with a smirk. “Come on, put the sack over your body. We don’t have all night.”

“Why?” Ulam said, hesitating. “Why are we here? Why do we need these?”

Captain Karraman looked away, staring into the vale as well. “Does it matter why we are here? Now put it on, we’re about to get messy.”

Ulam quietly slipped the burlap sack over himself, the armholes almost too small while the hole for the head and neck was comically large. The coarse fabric and remnants of grain irritated his mossy green skin, as the sack had not been cleaned before being repurposed. Meanwhile, Captain Karraman’s clung tightly at the torso, like a flimsy chainmail shirt. Hopefully, there is not any fighting tonight. I cannot imagine this material being able to stop a thrown acorn, let alone a javelin.

Although the sack was irritating him to no ends, Ulam was far more uncomfortable not knowing the nature of their midnight excursion. Or specifically, why he had been chosen to accompany Captain Karraman on this mission. It was obvious to him that the Captain had been here before, the farm’s location so remote that even finding it in daylight would have been quite difficult. Not sure why I have been chosen, but I am flattered to be trusted with this secret. Is it a secret though? It certainly feels like one.

“Whatever happens tonight, you can’t tell anyone. Just so we’re clear,” Karraman said with a nod; Ulam thought the man had read his mind. “Hopefully nothing happens. But, you never know with farm folk. Stay here, keep watch.”

Captain Karraman disappeared down the embankment, his silhouette becoming one with the shadows. Clouds had passed over the moon; the world pitch black except for a hearth burning in a nearby building, the smoke a welcomed break from the dung. The Orc stood alone on the hilltop now, not entirely sure what he was supposed to be doing. Be a guard, he thought, but what does that mean? What if someone comes? Do I yell? Or do I remain still, hoping they pass by without noticing? 

Ulam crouched down, hoping the stalks of grass were long enough to sufficiently hide him. His eyes flickered back and forth, searching his entire field of vision for any signs of movement. As time passed he began to become bored, the icy wind being the only reason he