Mirian

By D. S. England

“This station is responsible for protecting Mirian’s market district. You’ll be dealing with theft, murder, violent gangs, angry shopkeepers, fires, drunks, lost cats and everything in between...you’ll see the best and worst of people. You’ll see enough blood to rival the city’s busiest fish mongers and surgeons and there will be times you’ll want to crawl into a hole or a bottle and not come out. But if you can keep a keen eye on the man beside you and remember that in this district you follow my orders, not the Commander's, the Count’s or the God's if you can handle all of that then I’m happy to have you...if not I’m sure the Talon are looking for men...” – Watch Captain Nathan Tam

Follow the overworked and underfunded City Watch as they endeavor to keep the port city of Mirian and themselves alive whilst competing against a vicious mercenary group to enforce a brutal crackdown on crime which forces a group of thieves to take whatever jobs they can to survive. However unbeknownst to all, a new threat moves through the city’s catacombs intent on transforming Mirian into a fetid grave for its inhabitants.

• Language: English
• Publisher: D. S. England
• Release date: Jun 27, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301090235

D. S. England

I never know where to begin when writing a biography, the 'about me' sections on profile pages usually result in me staring at a computer screen for a length of time, wondering if one more coffee would help. But this time I'll just start with the basics and see where it leads. My name is David Stephen England, I was born in the 'radical!' eighties and was an army brat, which meant a fair amount of moving from base to base but my roots have always been firmly planted in Leicester. I had been writing for a number of years as a hobby whilst doing the nine to five grind either behind a till or a computer but after being made redundant then later bankrupt I decided to attempt turning writing from a hobby and into my profession... and here I am! My debut book 'Mirian' is now out and if I'm lucky, it will be well received enough that I can keep writing and release a few more.

Book preview

MIRIAN

By

D. S. England

SMASHWORDS EDITION

Also available in print from most online retailers

Copyright © 2013 D. S. England

All rights reserved.

ISBN-13: 9781301090235

ASIN: B00DHNAC9Q

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book 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 Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales are purely coincidental. The characters and locations are productions of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.

Table of Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

CHAPTER ONE

The frost covered window fails to keep the chill of Mirian’s bitter winter from Nathan as he stares at the gathered Watchmen in the courtyard below him. Each like him, wearing the standard dark brown tunic, long duster and wide brimmed hat of the Mirian Watch, the only noticeable display of Nathan’s rank to distinguish him as Captain of the Market District would be the small bronze stars either side of his otherwise standard duster's collar.

A knock at the door finally breaks Nathan from his gazing and brings his attention back to the office in which he stands. Its numerous oil lamps offering a false promise of warmth as their flickering light fills the room revealing the various books testing the craftsmanship of his bookshelves, the worn desk standing on mismatched legs holds the piles of last month’s untouched reports forcing him to groan with every glance he pays them.

Enter Nathan calls to the closed door.

Sorry to disturb you sir. The young Watchman says as he enters the room, wringing his wide brimmed hat as he speaks. His soft features, plain starless tunic and impeccable duster combined with Nathan’s unfamiliarity with him makes the Captain ask his name, hoping they have not met before today.

Matthews sir, me and Marcus just arrived with the Commander.

A frustrating sigh escapes Nathan at the mention of the Watch Commander's arrival. Where’s Marcus?

Getting us both some gear from the armoury sir

He didn’t think to say hello before raiding my cupboards? Nathan says with a smile.

The Commander ordered him to sir, said I could pass on whatever greeting you wanted to give us. Matthews nervously answers still fidgeting with his hat as he does so.

Nathan fights against the urge to sigh again at the mention of his superior and simply goes into the same speech he has given every Watchman that comes under his command.

Fair enough...As you know this station is responsible for protecting Mirian’s market district, You’ll be dealing with theft, murder, violent gangs, angry shopkeepers, fires, drunks, lost cats, and everything in between...You’ll see the best and worst of people. You’ll see enough blood to rival the city’s busiest fish mongers and surgeons, and there will be times you’ll want to crawl into a hole or a bottle and not come out. But if you can keep a keen eye on the man beside you and remember that in this district, you follow my orders, not the Commander's, the Count’s or the God's, and if you can handle all of that then I’m happy to have you... If not I’m sure the Talon are looking for workers. Nathan pauses a moment for Matthews to take in his speech Did you get all that? asks the Captain as Matthews seems unsure what to say next.

Yes sir I’ll be dealing with drunken gangs of shop keeping cats. The young Watchman responds with a grin despite his nervous disposition.

Nathan’s wide smile and light chuckle quickly begins to put the nervous man at ease. Good you can tell Marcus when you see him. Grab my hat would you? Captain Tam asks, pointing to the hat hanging on the back of his door.

As Matthews picks up the wide brimmed hat, he looks noticeably confused and seems to be looking for another.

That’s the one. Nathan says.

Matthews’ confusion grows as he delicately hands over the hat, seemingly afraid that the scuffed, scratched and somewhat singed hat will crumble in his hands. I’ve had it since I was a recruit. Nathan explains whilst placing it firmly on his head.

Lucky charm Sir?

Nathan nods. Something like that.

Seems the Commander thinks you need all the help we can get to, Sir adds the young recruit.

How’s that?

He’s got a few Talon mercs with him.

Great...Find Marcus and join the others outside. Nathan sighs losing his light hearted tone.

Yes sir. Answers Matthews just as Nathan storms out leaving him alone in his office.

Nathan pays no mind to the biting cold seeping in through the armoury’s stone walls and barred windows. The room is lit exclusively by large braziers, each of which has a small group of Watchmen basking in the warmth they provide, their trading of jokes and stories pauses only for a brief moment to greet Captain Tam as he passes them.

Nathan inspects the numerous racks of short swords before him. Although not the most elaborate swords in the world the simple hilt and masterful construction by the Watch’s smithies make it a reliable blade. Nathan picks up a relatively fresh looking blade from the rack, free of any scrapes or gouges as a familiar voice grabs his attention.

Finally getting in on the fighting then!

Clarke? Captain Tam asks before turning to see his old friend.

Instantly noticing Clarke’s aged features have been fatigued by wounds; his nose was clearly broken recently, his bruise circled eyes, and a distinct lack of teeth in his smile makes Nathan cringe. Even his long duster and hat look as if he just wrestled them from a freezing homeless man.

Looks like you’ve seen enough for us both. Nathan says.

It’s a constant scrap at the docks mate. Our house is split into shifts; one rests while the other raids or patrols. Clarke explains with an unmistakable note of fatigue to his voice.

Have you lost many? Nathan asks as he plucks a worn, simple leather belt and sheath from the racks behind.

A few squads

You lost whole squads? Nathan yells in disbelief before quickly cursing himself for unnerving every Watchman in the armoury.

I meant raids, when did you start losing entire squads? Nathan asks softly.

Clarke frowns as he answers Since the start of this mess...You not seeing our reports?

They only mention the odd dead Talon merc or injury. The two Watchmen continue their whispered conversation as they leave the armoury and head for the courtyard.

Clarke curses under his breath before angrily continuing with venom in his words Our captain must be changing the reports for the Count.

Wouldn’t surprise me mate but if things are so bad at the docks why are you here? Nathan asks.

Clarke’s tone suddenly brightens as he speaks To help a friend... It’s a God’s effort you’ve got tonight Nate...Although if I knew you’d be wearing that tatty old hat I wouldn’t be caught dead with you.

As the two men start to laugh the large wooden courtyard doors violently swing open revealing a large bald brute of a man. His face is harsh and cold, his leather armour is held together by his own poor stitching, and a hefty axe head pokes out behind his immense shoulders. This man has clearly led a harsh and violent life making the finely crafted and delicate looking silver Talon belonging to some bird of prey that hangs around his thick neck stand out, even without the aid of the constant polishing it clearly receives.

Oi Clarke! The large brute bellows as he barrels towards the Watchmen. Despite the arresting sight before him, Nathan is still able to notice Clarke’s hand slowly moving toward the hilt of his sheathed sword.

You’re keeping us all waitin’ in the cold The brute growls as he looms over Clarke Have you been hiding from me little man? Continues the Talon mercenary.

Noticing Clarke is slowly inching his sword free Nathan steps between the two men.

Actually you’ve been waiting for me, Captain Tam, I command this district. Nathan interrupts at an attempt to grab the brutes’ attention.

As the large man’s attention slowly turns to him, Nathan begins to feel the full extent of the mercenary's glare. Forcing his heart to quicken, his muscles tense, making him hope that Clarke still has a hand on his sword.

Do you really? The brute scoffs walking off.

With the powerful mercenary disappearing into the courtyard, Nathan begins to relax I take it you two know each other?

I didn’t think Rosh would be here... Clarke utters with a tremble.

But before Nathan can enquire further Clarke speeds away forcing the Captain to follow him across the ice covered cobbles of the courtyard until he arrives at the gathered Watchmen.

As the Watch Commander sits comfortably on the back of his well groomed horse, he casts a judgemental eye over the small force. His dark brown tabard displays an unmistakably large golden bird of prey; his chain-mail covered arms, however, are barely visible due to the thick fur cloak shielding him from the cold. Yet despite the Commander's appearance Nathan is still surprised to see he is carrying the ornate dress sword of his office instead of a blade better suited for the coming battle.

Although, given the dozen Talon mercenaries that surround the Commander it seems unlikely he’ll be doing any fighting. The rugged Talon members all seem to be wearing similar fur cloaks that given their fresh appearance have only just been given to them by either the Watch Commander or the Count of Mirian. Much to the annoyance of the assembled Watchmen, who must cope with their thin dusters against the bitter winter.

Good of you to join us Captain. The Commander’s loud superior voice calls out through the courtyard.

I could’ve waited a bit longer Nate mutters a man standing behind Captain Tam.

Don’t let him get us killed Captain. Another calls out before Nathan responds to the Commander.

Wouldn’t miss it sir. Nathan’s sarcastic tone apparently goes undetected by the Commander as he nods his head and begins to address the men.

We are about to raid a warehouse a short walk from here that we believe is home to a group of dangerous smugglers. To aid us in bringing this scum to justice the Count has allowed me to use the Talon that his Lordship has gracefully hired to aid in this crackdown on crime. The Talon exchange scornful looks with the Watch as the Commander continues to address them.

You will work with them and respect them as you would a member of the Watch. A torrent of muttered slurs and curses pour from the Watchmen as the Commander continues. I want captures tonight men, there is a lot of room left in the Counts hulk, and you will help fill it. A charge of excitement courses through Nathan as he suspects it does for a number of the Market District Watch.

Captain Tam has only seen the Hulk a few times when passing the docks. The immense hull being bathed by moonlit winter waves is a sight that always springs to mind when he thinks of the enormous prison ship; as does the thought of how frozen the prisoners must be as they sit in their crowded cells hoping to survive weeks of waiting until a transport ship can take them to a permanent prison.

To ensure we get the maximum number of captures tonight the Watch will be leading the raid with the Talon waiting in reserve if you should require their aid. The Watch Commander continues.

The wide brim of Nathan’s hat casts a shadow to conceal his glare but can do nothing to cover the venom in his voice So as Commander of the Watch I assume you’ll be with us sir?

The Commander ignores the loud chorus of curses and slurs directed at him from the gathered Watchmen as he responds No Captain I will be coordinating the attack from afar like an officer should. However if you feel your men cannot handle the task without direct involvement from their superiors then you may lead them into the warehouse. The Commander matches Nathan’s venomous tone whilst the Talon members chuckle at the infighting before them.

I wouldn’t have it any other way sir. Nathan says making his men smile and nod in acceptance of their Captain.

Then lead them out Captain. The venom in the Commanders voice has not subsided as he orders Nathan through the large iron gates of the frozen courtyard and into Mirian’s dark, winding streets.

* * *

Harth examines the outwardly abandoned warehouse as the boarded windows stop the moonlight from revealing what waits inside. He considers turning around and heading back to the taverns where the fireplaces and flowing ale can keep him warm unlike his small jacket, thin shirt and trousers. The small blades concealed beneath his jacket feel as if they are made of ice as they press against his shirt, freezing the skin below.

Shaking his head at himself Harth hesitantly approaches the warehouse against his better judgement and knocks on the door which to his surprise is slowly opened.

The open door allows him to peer in and witness the flurry of activity in amongst the flickering light of a few scattered lanterns. There are easily two dozen men inside each packing crates and sacks with some unknown items ready for transport. Harth recognises some of them from various gangs across the city clearly forced to work together by the recent crackdown.

He’s waiting upstairs. A voice whispers from behind the door.

Peering around the door to see a young scrawny boy pointing to what looks to be an office at the top of some delicate stairs. Harth slowly begins to make his way over taking care not to lower his guard as he goes.

Entering the door-less office Harth sees a man sitting at a candle lit table feverishly writing into a small journal. Harth walks over to the man’s table taking care to step over the empty wine bottles and bowls of half eaten, festering food. The man’s fine crimson robe is covered with as much spilt wine as it is ornately woven thread and his greasy grey hair sticks out from beneath a tattered skull cap.

After patiently waiting for what feels like an age for the man to finish writing he suddenly stops and places the book into a satchel before acknowledging Harth How are you Harth?

Surviving- Harth answers taking another look around - how are you Garet? Harth grimaces as he sees a couple of rats scurrying along the floor, each one with a chunk of mouldy food in its mouth.

I’m leaving. Garet says before standing from his desk and walking over to the office windows. Wiping a layer of grime away with his sleeve allows the greasy man to peer at the streets below.

Why?

It’s not safe. Garet states with a paranoid mutter.

Harth watches Garet strain his neck left to right in an attempt to see as much of the street below as possible clearly troubled by some imaginary threat It’s a crackdown Garet, not the end times.

The Count’s crackdown does not concern me! Garet snaps smashing his fist into the decaying frame of the window. I have outwitted the Watch for decades long before you picked your first pocket or bedded your first whore!

As Garet begins to pace his disgusting office; Harth folds his arms to cover the fact that he is slowly slipping a hand beneath his jacket to grip one of his hidden blades.

Well if it’s not the Watch then what is it? Inquires Harth with as much poise as he can muster while thinking about the best way to kill the greasy, paranoid man should he have to defend himself.

I feel a bigger fish has come to Mirian Garet mutters.

Tired of hearing him speak in paranoid riddles Harth asks Why am I here Garet? Making no effort to conceal his frustration.

I need you to take this to Artemus. The grime coated man explains as he collects a small steel lock box from beneath his desk.

What’s in it?

Something for Artemus. Garet smirks.

I’d best leave it for him then Harth shrugs turning to leave.

I’ll triple your usual fee! The desperate, paranoid man cries out.

Making no attempt to hide his smile Harth quietly turns back and collects the lock box Drop the pay in the usual spot.

Then we have an arrangement? Questions Garet as he extends his hand to shake Harth’s.

Not wanting to shake the filthy hand Harth simply smiles at Garet and says I’ll take you at your word. Although troubled as to why Garet doesn’t just have one of the men downstairs, or deliver the box himself, Harth cannot afford to turn down such healthy pay.

* * *

Captain Nathan Tam stands in the shadow of a small warehouse as he looks across the way towards their goal; An apparently abandoned warehouse, despite the windows being boarded up he can see the faint glow of candlelight thanks to a small hole amongst the blacked out windows on the warehouse's second floor.

With one final look around Nathan pulls his tattered wide brimmed hat lower, takes a deep breath and advances on the warehouse closely followed by the rest of his men.

Clarke, take Mathews and three others to the back Nathan whispers as they huddle by the warehouse’s front door and with a nod Clarke vanishes around the corner of the building. We’ll give them a moment to get into position then head in. Nathan whispers to his remaining men looking to the nearby alleyways to see the Talon getting into position.

What’s he doing? The concerned Watchman beside Nathan asks. Following the Watchman’s line of sight he immediately spots the brutish Rosh striding alone toward them with his eyes fixed firmly on the warehouse door.

The Captain’s stunned stare transforms into sheer disbelief as the imposing brute obliterates the door; flinging it violently open into the dimly lit warehouse, if not for the sound of cracking wood, Nathan would have thought the door was unbarred given how effortlessly Rosh just destroyed it.

The loud crash from below forces Harth to grip the lock box tight and rush to the office exit whilst Garet beings frantically rummaging through the satchel on his desk. Nothing seems to be amiss on the warehouse floor until Harth notices the scrawny man that had let him in flying through the air and violently crashing into a stack of thick wooden crates.

Harth races down the rickety stairs, the growing dread in his stomach helping him to move his feet that little bit quicker. As he nears the bottom of the staircase, he freezes at the sight of a large axe wielding brute shortly followed by a group of Watchmen.

Support Rosh! Bellows the Captain despite his anger towards the impatient mercenary. Whilst waving his men forward; a slender unarmed man in rags charges for Nathan. Smashing the hilt of his sword into the man’s brow quickly drops him to the floor in an arc of sprayed blood.

Not wanting to get any closer to the conflict at the entrance Harth grabs hold of the stairs railing and jumps over. Only to land on a stack of crates causing him to spill painfully onto the warehouse floor and lose grip of the lock box. ‘That could have gone better’ thinks Harth as he slowly picks himself up to retrieve the precious package. Pulling the concealed dagger from his jacket Harth quickly moves for the box only to have a Watchman stagger in front of him as he desperately tries to parry the incoming blows from an enraged sword wielding smuggler.

With the Watchman distracted Harth rushes in to restrain his sword arm allowing the attacking smuggler to get the upper hand and dig his blade into the watchman’s gut. Thanks for-The smuggler starts until Harth shoves the impaled Watchman into him and races off deeper into the warehouse.

Nathan ducks the wild swing of a club wielding smuggler to slice his blade across the man’s thigh, causing him to buckle over in pain and allows Nathan to drive the pommel of his sword into the criminal’s collar bone making the man shriek in pain as a sickening crack fills the air. Noticing Rosh hacking down another smuggler a surge of anger courses through the Captain Rosh, we need them alive!

Rosh returns a nasty curse before disappearing behind a stack of crates and out of the Captain's view. Looking about to see how his men are faring, Nathan sadly sees the stomach churning sight of a pair of thugs utilizing some old hammers to brutalize one of his Watchmen who is desperately trying to crawl away from the relentless onslaught.

As Harth makes his way to the exit, he catches a glimpse of Captain Tam standing over a motionless Watchman fighting two outmatched hammer wielding maniacs. Fearing the watch will put an end to this fight before he manages to slip out he quickens his pace and reaches the back-door which thankfully is already hanging off its hinges.

Darting through the exit Harth’s attention is drawn to the sound of combat where much to the young rogue’s surprise he sees the axe wielding brute cutting down one of the Watch before discarding his axe and tossing another aside. Ignoring the confusing infighting Harth manages to keep his wits about him and quickly bolts through the exit into the cold Mirian streets.

Clarke clenches his teeth as the back of his head connects with the solid cold floor. The scraping pain in his skull has his eyes widen in disbelief, but before he can pick himself up Rosh’s large hands clasp onto him and hoist the dazed Watchman to his feet allowing the Talon mercenary to smash his forehead into Clarke’s nose forcing blood to spurt from his nostrils.

As Clarke staggers backwards into the wall, tasting his own blood, he struggles to see through teary eyes. But thankfully Rosh’s impressive girth makes him hard to miss, allowing Clarke to throw a series of solid, desperate punches into him before forcefully being shoved into the wall by the overpowering brute. Trying to brush off the sharp ache climbing up his back Clarke kicks wildly, luckily landing his boot against the side of Rosh’s knee pulling a painful grunt from the mercenary as he crumples to the floor.

With the mercenary down Clarke claws through the pain racking his skull and back to rain down vicious punches onto Rosh slowly lowering him with each knuckle busting shot.

* * *

Sprinting through the dark alleyways with the lock box safely tucked under his arm Harth is desperate to out run the Talon mercenaries that have pursued him since he exited the warehouse. Hearing their footsteps echoing through the alley Harth is unsure how close behind they are but refuses to look back, instead choosing to quicken his pace and push his racing heart even further.

The gruelling pace is starting to wear the young rogue down; the box he carries seems to be getting heavier with each step as the cold winter air stinging his face does little to ease the burning in his lungs.

After a few more minutes sprinting, Harth finds himself in ‘Ale Alley’; the long alley is a familiar sight to the young rogue as it serves as the back entrance to several taverns making Ale Alley’s gutters the last stop for many of the port city’s heavy drinkers. Paying no mind to the passed out drunks scattered about or the taverns' staff rifling through their pockets, Harth charges through the back door of