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

As soon as Ulam entered the inn he drew the attention of everyone inside, many patrons eyeing him with a mix of surprise and fear. It was a reaction Ulam came to expect, the daily exposure in Silverwater numbing him to their stares. Over time he learned to look past the gawking of strangers, instead placing emphasis on locating concealed weapons. After Ulam assessed the level of danger he stepped towards the counter, where an old man with wispy strands of white hair was counting small stacks of money.

“It’s two coins a night if you want a room,” the old man said in a raspy voice without looking at Ulam. “Or if you want to chop trees for a day that’s worth one night also.”

Ulam placed a couple of coins on the desk, the metallic ringing gathering the old man’s attention. He swiped the coins off the table and finally looked up, squinting as his eyes scaled the towering Orc.

“I haven’t seen one of your types in a long time,” the old man said, “I didn’t know any of you still existed.”

That was another sentiment that no longer affected Ulam; if people were not treating him with fear and hate, they were paralyzed with awe and wonder. No one has seen many of us in a long time, it seems.

“You guard types hardly ever come out this far,” the old man continued, his bony fingers pulling on Ulam’s cloak. “Ah yes, the crescent moon of Silverwater. Thought I saw that.”

Ulam could not help himself from laughing. Does he only see me as a guard?

The innkeeper looked at him with a strange expression on his face. “Nothing funny about what’s going on out here. Surprised Aldamar only sent one person to check into the attacks on the Western Pass. But Aldamar always was selfish and interested in protecting his own hide. Can’t blame him I guess, I’d be the same way if I were him. That’s why you’re here, right? Not too long ago we had a mother and daughter come through here, had my sons escort them to Silverwater. They were all kinds of distraught, those two.”

Ulam nodded. “Yes, I am checking into the incidents on the Western Pass, but not on Count Aldamar’s behalf. I am doing it on my own.”

“On your own, eh? Well, I wish you luck.” The innkeeper yawned. “Tell me before you leave in the morning. Also empty out your chamber pot before you go, if you don’t mind. You can use the stables, the horses don’t care.”

The next morning Ulam did exactly as he had been asked, checking out with the innkeeper before leaving. He left right before dawn, determined to use every minute of the sun’s struggling light to his advantage. He covered a lot of ground before midday, jogging at a steady pace while keeping a watchful eye on the edges of the Silverwood Forest. He knew from the account of the survivors, as well as his own experience, that the Mad Raven’s Flock preferred to emerge from the forest’s depths to waylay unsuspecting travelers. He did not think anyone was waiting for him, but he knew it was always better to be safe and alive than reckless and dead.

Shortly after midday Ulam came across the markings of an ambush site, the ghostly remains an unsettling scene. Dark red stains painted entire sections of the cobblestone while rotting bodies littered the highway. The foul stench of death and decay lingered in the air like an invisible beacon for crows and ravens, which they gladly followed. The scavengers barely noticed Ulam as he explored the carnage, continuing to gorge themselves on their magnificent buffet of necrosis. Ulam had to use every last ounce of strength not to vomit, and even then he was not sure if he would be able to withstand the urge.

This must be where the mother and child came from. He looked further up the road and saw more corpses strewn about, while two blackbirds fought over the same dead body. If the Flock left after this attack then they should have gone north from here. Ulam looked to the northern side of the road and immediately spotted a clue: a pair of rivets worked into the hard mud where a wagon had been taken into the forest.

This must be the way to their lair! Excitement poured through his body, and before long he was sprinting on a manmade route through the forest. At first, he tried to temper his emotions from fear of false hope, but as he cut through the Silverwood he became more and more convinced he was on the right path. Not just the path to the Mad Raven’s mysterious lair, but to Amantius as well.

Eventually Ulam came across a deserted wagon, rendered defective by a broken wheel. The insides had been emptied of anything valuable, all that remained was a wool blanket covered in holes. In that moment Ulam realized he had lost track of time, cursing when he discovered the day was much later than he had anticipated. He knew soon he would have to decide where to camp for the night, though he did not like any of his options. Either he would have to trek all the way back to the inn in darkness, or spend the night in the abandoned wagon.

At least it still has the canvas on top, Ulam thought as he inspected the wagon, but if I am correct, I will be very close to the Mad Raven’s lair. Luckily they did not leave anything behind in here, so the chance they come back for the wagon is slim. He looked down the path towards the highway, remembering the stench from the rotting bodies in the road as though the smell was trapped in his mind. I also do not want to smell that again today. If ever. 

Though some daylight still lingered Ulam did