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Jaggens & Ruins: Arb Collection: Volume 1
Jaggens & Ruins: Arb Collection: Volume 1
Jaggens & Ruins: Arb Collection: Volume 1
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Jaggens & Ruins: Arb Collection: Volume 1

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The Emerald Empire has risen and fallen; magic has flourished and died. Now everyone battles to take control of their fate, before the Arb decides for them.

Marta hides her secrets well, but they will place her and those she loves in great danger. Sheartooths and jaggens roam the forest; Marta will learn it is no place for a child to play.

Cast into the great cullis pits of Maulesh, Vippen must survive what lurks in his cell, if he is to discover the nature of his crime. Only the Judges of Maulesh can provide the answer.

Juda's destiny is servitude and routine. His certainty is thrown into chaos when he offends a proud Aarchen lieutenant, and a tattered spectral creature emerges from the shadows of the forest.

Welcome to Jaggens and Ruins. The first short story collection in the new Arb series by M.W.Paul.

LanguageEnglish
PublisherM. W. Paul
Release dateNov 18, 2017
ISBN9781370334728
Jaggens & Ruins: Arb Collection: Volume 1
Author

M. W. Paul

A writer of dark fantasy, sci-fi and strangeness. Originally from Brighton, though grew up in the wilderness of the Sussex Weald. Now based in Eastbourne, His first effort 'Jaggen & Ruins' an introduction to the dark world of 'The Arb' is now available. 'The hardest task is getting the typing to keep up with the imagination.' A lover of manga, Magritte and Edgar Allan Poe among many others Martin strives to create worlds and images that entertain and explore the dafter views on life.

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    Book preview

    Jaggens & Ruins - M. W. Paul

    With Love to

    Yao, Mya

    Mum, Dad and Sis,

    Without you this book could never have happened.

    Thank you to

    Audrey,

    Heather and Tony,

    Everyone at Anderida Writers Group,

    who gave their advice and support to this first time writer.

    JAGGENS & RUINS

    Tales from the Arb Vol:1

    By M. W. Paul

    Copyright 2017 M.W. Paul

    Smashwords Edition

    Smashwords Edition, License Notes

    This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favourite ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

    Contents

    Shadow of a Secret

    The Broken City

    A Fate in Ruins

    Shadow of a Secret

    Marta wiped her frosted breath from the cold window pane. Kneeling on her bed while hiding behind the curtain, she spied on the cottage across the road. A faint orange glow from her neighbour’s fire rippled on the windows.

    In Black Holt it was the same every night. The moon rose above the jagged Black Mountain, the tall trees rustled quietly in the chill breeze and her neighbour never extinguished the fire.

    A tall pale figure arrived at the cottage, forced the weather beaten door open, and dragged it shut. His gaunt face appeared at the window, his piercing gaze swept left and right; Marta grabbed her blanket and hid under it. Satisfied the lane was empty the pale man walked from the window to the large hearth and vanished from sight.

    Marta shifted closer to the window. Brushing back her long black tousled hair she pressed her button nose against the thick glass.

    The pale man re-appeared, holding a large axe and a crossbow. He set both on the table by the window and disappeared into the corner of the room again. Marta tried to get a better glimpse of the finely crafted weapons. Each was made with black wood and set with polished brass. The axe blade and the bolt that sat in the bow, had honed silvery edges.

    Marta slid quietly out of her bed, and crept across the room. Her sister, Isabella, snored loudly. Quickly, Marta lifted the corner of the straw stuffed mattress and pulled out a small knife. It had a narrow silvery blade and a black wooden handle inlaid with polished brass. Its bolster glimmered in the moonlight and Marta smiled to herself as she carefully lowered the mattress. Isabella turned over to face the rough plaster wall, while Marta scurried back to her bed.

    Safely hidden under her blanket, Marta began turning the knife over in her small hands. She let it slide in her grip and thought of the vile beasts she would tame with her mighty blade. Marta queen of the Black Mountain, all would bow before her. There was a loud snort from the back of the room. Startled, Marta looked around her room. She finally settled when Isabella snuffled once more and returned to her deep sleep.

    Fear had got the better of Marta’s zeal and she crept back to her sister’s bedside. Once she had hidden the knife under the mattress she slunk back into her own bed. In the midnight gloom she continued her watch from underneath the blanket.

    Her neighbour had returned to his weapons by the window. He placed a small battered tin box on the table beside his axe and began inspecting the crossbow. Marta wondered how he could stay awake for so long; the question hung in her thoughts until it was replaced by the gentle tug of sleep. Marta raised her hand gave her quarry a wave and pulled the brown curtains shut, just as her sister let out a roaring snore. Marta had shared a room for eight years with her sister and Isabella had never learned to sleep quietly. She gave up trying to think of a solution, turned over and drifted off to sleep.

    Marta woke as the early grey sunlight crept through a chink in the curtains. She climbed out of bed and pulled the heavy curtains back. From the window, she saw her quarry slouching in his chair. He was chewing slowly on a ragged piece of bread and sipping hot green tea from a small cup. When he'd finished eating he dragged himself out of his chair and shuffled out of sight.

    Marta, breakfast! Yelled her mother.

    Struggling to pull a brush through her thick black hair, Marta gave up and threw the brush back on the stool by her sister’s empty bed. After checking the door, Marta took the knife out from under Isabella’s mattress.

    GET A MOVE ON MARTA HESSUN! Her mother shouted again.

    Marta wrestled herself into a large ugly dress that resembled a long tunic, made from a fabric that she was sure matched the curtains. She tucked the knife carefully into a large pocket inside her dress, threw on her heavy leather boots and thundered downstairs for breakfast.

    Her mother served up eggs, toast and fried mushrooms. Marta looked at the wilted brown fungus and back at her mum. Are these from the stall again?

    Her mother scowled and Marta ate her breakfast in silence. When she had finished eating, her mother cleared the plates and set to cleaning the dishes.

    You're helping your dad today.

    Yeah, I know, said Marta glumly. She slid from her chair, ran to the hall and took her thickest coat.

    Leave Sylver alone, her mum shouted from the kitchen.

    Yes mum. She moaned.

    And shut the front door properly for once, said her mother.

    Leaving the front door gaping, and her mum cursing, Marta ran out of the house. The grey window panes told her Sylver’s fire was dead and that he slept. She turned away from the old cottage and ran up the hill.

    At the top of the hill sat the market place. An aged gathering of tables, stalls and awnings clustered around the four great pillars of the bell tower. The great bronze bell idled in the breeze. The sun had risen, though it was still too early for trade. Marta passed the fur trader and the carpenter busy piling their stock. At the empty Blacksmith’s stall she stopped, her eyes wide with surprise.

    Where'd all the weapons go? She said.

    They have been bought. The blacksmith replied with a satisfied tone.

    All of them? Even the big silvery axe?

    The vendor raised his large hands to the sky and smiled. Yes, I am afraid your favourite axe now belongs to your friend Heydra’s father, he said, with a broad toothy smile, the word ‘jaggen’ is very good for my business, though not so good for others. He coughed apologetically and threw a glance to the miserable looking fur trader.

    A jaggen? Marta replied excitedly. You’ve seen one?"

    No, the blacksmith hesitated and seemed unsure if he should explain. Well not yet

    Will it come here?

    It may not, he said, as he raised his eyes to the skein and offered a silent prayer of hope.

    Oh, replied Marta, slightly dejected. The smith rubbed his calloused hands together and offered some words of comfort.

    I will make some more axes soon. I will make one for little girls to fight even the mightiest jaggens.

    Really? her eyes widened. The blacksmith laughed aloud.

    Marta! A deep voice bellowed across the market place.

    Marta sighed her goodbye to the blacksmith and trudged to her father at the fruit and veg stall.

    I told you to keep away from the blacksmith’s stall, he said, dragging Marta to the counter and looking her dead in the eyes. Marta knew she was in trouble, but her father couldn’t hide the warmth in his eyes for long. You don’t play with blades.

    I know…They ain't toys, girl, grumbled Marta mimicking her father’s stern tone. I only wanted to talk to the blacksmith. Marta looked up into her father’s brown eyes. I won’t do it again.

    Good, he muttered. Did you close the front door?

    Yes dad, said Marta, as innocently as she could. Dad, is there really a jaggen going to come here?

    Her dad glared and Marta wished she hadn’t asked. He picked up a basket of apples and thrust it into Marta's arms, she staggered backwards.

    Sort these…please, he said, not looking to see if she was still standing. He began to set out the stall.

    Yes dad, sighed Marta.

    She sat behind the stall, and began her search for the rotten apples. Quickly she hid several of the better ones inside her large skirt. The rotten ones were sifted and the best made ready for display. After placing the basket on the stall, her dad ordered her to do the same with the potatoes and the yams. Again she tucked the smaller tastier

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