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

“Really?” Amantius said, now looking the old warchief in the eye.

“Oh yes,” Jaga replied, nodding, “you never forget the first time. But just because there have been many more, so many more, since then, that doesn’t mean it gets any easier. Your mind just processes it differently.” He slapped Amantius on the back. “Take it easy on yourself, lad. You’d have to be psychotic not to feel some remorse.”

Jaga’s words were encouraging, and although they did not remove the feeling of anguish gnawing at Amantius’ soul, he took heart in knowing that what he felt was natural. He was happy to know there was not something wrong with him, that he was not a freak. But if I’m not the abnormal one, then what does that say about the others?

“Remember, lad, psychopaths.”

Chapter 26

Ulam

It had been a nightmare; the unfortunate woman’s anguished face still seared into Ulam’s memory. He had spent the morning after burying her, giving her as proper of a grave as the hard soil would allow. As for the fiend that had kidnapped and fed on her, Ulam set fire to his corpse. He figured he could never be too cautious with curses or diseases.

Poor weather forced Ulam to stay an extra two days in the Sanctuary, causing his already limited provisions to run thin. Realizing he would not be able to survive much longer in the frozen wilderness he hurried back to Silverwater, relieved when his eyes spotted the familiar outline of the castle. He was famished, his legs begged for a reprieve, but he knew resting would mean certain death. The wind was too cold, too unforgiving, and a layer of frost blanketed the land. The thought of a fire and a warm bowl of stew kept him going, giving his aching body the strength necessary to stay the course. Just a little further, I am almost there.

Silverwater’s city guards were huddled around a fire as Ulam neared the northwest gate. He could see four on duty, all of which wore enough fur to be mistaken for a family of bears. Upon seeing the approaching Orc, one of the guards broke away to offer him a cup of a steaming liquid.

“It’s just water, no one thought to bring food with them,” the guard shrugged, “but the heat should warm you up a little.”

“My thanks,” Ulam muttered while taking the mug. He wrapped his big, Orcish hands around the outside, absorbing as much heat as he could. “How do you stand living here?”

The guard shrugged. “I’ve never seen anything like it, even the old folks don’t remember ever seeing frost. There’s something unusual about this year, and the sun hiding behind the clouds for this long doesn’t help.” He looked at the axe slung across Ulam’s back, an inquisitive expression passing over his face. “Where did you come from?”

“Up the road,” Ulam grunted, then drained the cup of warm water. He did not want to speak of his trip to the Sanctuary, especially to someone he did not know. “I must go; I need to see the Count.”

Silverwater’s streets were largely abandoned, the frigid weather preventing anyone from being outside for too long. There were a handful of community fires blazing about, acting as unofficial checkpoints for people traveling from one side of the city to the other. Ulam used these to his advantage, standing near the blaze whenever he could, though he involuntarily flinched every time a flame jumped high. He still did not like fire, the terror of black smoke filling his lungs and the searing pain on his skin still fresh in his memory. But on this day he assumed freezing to death was not only much more likely, but also much worse.

Ulam crashed through the castle doors like a battering ram, eager to be out of the elements. A few of the Castle Guards nearby came rushing over, relieved to find the nearly frozen Orc standing before them. They hurried him to the fireplace in the antechamber while another poured a bowl of soup for him, the scent of fish reawakening the ravenous hunger in his stomach.

“Care to explain your absence?” Captain Karraman’s voice echoed from somewhere behind him. Ulam did not care to turn around, he simply grunted while slurping the soup.

“We’re already missing many men, and a few more have died because of this weather. We need everyone we can muster at the moment, and I can’t have my guards disappearing.”

And where have you been? Ulam wanted to shout the words at him, the frustration only tempered by a full mouth of burning hot soup and the desire to consume more. He still had dozens of questions about the night they terrorized the farm community, specifically why they filled sacks full of hearts and livers.

“Well?” Captain Karraman came into view, “Are you going to tell me or not? As your captain, I demand…”

“Leave him be, Jalkett,” Count Aldamar’s measured, yet commanding voice called from deeper within the castle, “I gave him leave to pursue an inquiry for my personal gain. Ulam, proceed to the library, I will accompany you after I have a brief discourse with Captain Karraman.”

Ulam quickly finished the rest of his bowl, pleased with the warmth spreading through his limbs but lamenting the lost chance at seconds. Though he wholeheartedly expected the inner depths of the castle to be inhospitable with a frigid staleness, he was pleasantly surprised to find each room was of a tolerable warmth, especially the library.

Ulam stood in the middle of the room, surrounded by dozens of shelves overpopulated with dust-covered texts. Fires burned in the dual fireplaces located on each side of the room, providing enough light and warmth to make the library a cozy place. On the table nearby was the book that revealed the location of the Orc Sanctuary, exactly where he had