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

Ulam had been functioning on pure emotion for days, reinvigorated by his discovery and all its potential. Despite his excitement the Orc knew he had to resist the desire to push the Count too hard on sending an expeditionary force to attack. He realized there was something about the topic that made Aldamar uncomfortable, whether it was nostalgia or something else Ulam could not tell. In the event that the Count would dodge the subject again, Ulam was already planning the logistics of a covert operation to find Amantius. He decided if he must save his foster-brother alone, he would have to bring enough provisions to last a week or more. Ulam figured the abandoned wagon would suffice as his base of operations since it was close enough to reach the Mad Raven’s lair within a few hours of walking, but far enough away that no one would accidentally discover him.

Count Aldamar had been sitting on his high chair at the end of the grand hall, his crescent-engraved wine chalice attached to his lips. The news did not affect his disposition at all, if anything the Count looked annoyed.

“And pray tell, where is it?” Aldamar said with a wave of his hand.

“Where I thought it might be,” Ulam replied, “it’s your childhood home.”

Count Aldamar sighed. “Do not waste my time, Ulam. There is no way you traversed the Silverwood by yourself, with no map, and returned safely. In less than a week, nonetheless.”

Ulam felt a little offended by the Count’s lack of trust. He did not think the distrust was justified, for he had succeeded in everything that had been asked of him. A surge of pride swelled in his heart, causing him to stand taller and puff out chest. “I do not lie. I have found the Mad Raven’s lair.” He said again, louder and with more conviction. “It is where I told you. If you do not believe me, I will take you there.”

Before Aldamar could reply, Ulam recounted his trip to the Silverwood and back. He spoke of the inn along the Western Pass, where the proprietor openly lamented the lack of protection. He then told the Count about discovering the ambush site, as well as the hidden trail through the forest north of the road. He spared no detail of what he saw, including giving an accurate account of the unguarded palisade with its decrepit defenses. Ulam then speculated the neglect was because the Flock believed their remoteness was more than adequate protection against intruders.

“Makes sense,” Captain Karraman chimed in, “it sounds like they are so deep in the forest they don’t expect us to ever find them.” He grinned. “But we found the bastards anyway, it’s just a matter of time until we can muster the strength to attack. Good work.”

“Yes, excellent work,” Count Aldamar echoed, though the tone of his voice seemed hollow to Ulam. “As Jalkett says, though, there is nothing we can do until we raise a warband. And I have told you on various occasions, this will not happen until after the beginning of the year. Perhaps in a few months.”

Ulam felt the wind in his sails leave; he still had hoped Aldamar would agree to attack sooner rather than later. His only solace was knowing that he knew the way to the Mad Raven’s lair, and by extension, Amantius as well.

“And I forbid you from seeking out your brother,” Aldamar said as he stood from his chair. He crossed the room, as quiet as a ghost. “If you get caught, then they will know we know their location. It is more tactical to be patient and strike when ready.”

Ulam grunted. Waiting is more tactical, but he is mad to think I will wait. I’m leaving at the first opportunity. I just need to buy some more food and refill my skins of water.

“Do you understand?” Aldamar’s voice was stern, so much so Ulam shuddered a little.

“Yes.” I understand, but I will not abide.

“Excellent.” Aldamar walked away, eventually vanishing into the shadows of the castle.

“Come on, Ulam,” Captain Karraman said with a jab to the shoulder. “Let’s celebrate at the Bride’s Oasis. You’re probably starving. I’ll even pay.”

Every fiber of Ulam’s being wanted to collapse into a bed and not wake for a week, but the mere mention of food caused his stomach to growl. He had rationed nuts and dry fruits for days, his limited provisions having dwindled quicker than he expected. The idea of freshly smoked herring or a slab of mutton sounded like a godsend to him.

Ulam followed Captain Karraman to the Bride’s Oasis, where he devoured two plates of smoked fish that Korso had brought him. He had never been so hungry in his life, eating so quickly he choked a few times. He washed it down with two or three ales, the alcohol relaxing his muscles as it spread throughout his body. I needed this.

The meal had sapped the rest of Ulam’s energy, his levels so low he questioned whether or not he had the strength to return to the barracks for the night. As he sat on the stool he remembered the tavern had lodging in the attic and thought maybe he would spend the night there. He reached into his pocket, pulled out a couple of copper coins, and tossed them on the counter.

“Will that cover a bed for the night?” He asked, too tired to care about manners.

Korso swept the coins off the bar and nodded. “Sure will.”

Captain Karraman gave Ulam a sidelong glance. “Too tired to walk back up the hill to the barracks, are you? Surely you’re not drunk already; you’ve only had three beers so far.”

Ulam did not respond, he was too tired to care about forming sentences. His eyes were so heavy that his vision became blurred; he was no longer able to make out individual faces in the tavern. After Karraman departed