C.P.D. Harris's Blog, page 27

The Shadow Wolf Sagas: The Whores’s War 3.19

Hello! this is my weekly serial, written raw as a writing exercise. This week as a bonus I was sick and exhausted to boot!

You can find the first post in the series here.

Last week’s post is here.

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Following Carmen through the streets of the Bonemarket, I made an effort not to glance up at Night’s Finger looming over us. The building was fascinating at this distance, a jumble of towers woven together, some of which appeared to be made from black glass, others from bricks of dark grey stone. I did not want to stand out by gaping at it.

The Bonemarket was less crowded than most districts in Myrrhn. The people on the streets moved with purpose, and there were no buskers, food carts, or wagons where merchants sold goods. There were very few shops in general, but I was always surprised at the number of inns, taverns, and fountain squares we passed through.

I did not see anyone who looked like an Assassin, of course.

Carmen had pulled down her hood, and pulled off some of the fake skin that made her look like an old woman. She moved through the streets with real familiarity, ducking through alleys and hidden doorways to shorten our trip. Soon enough we arrived at a sturdy doorway in a back alley courtyard.

“Welcome to my lair, Old Wolf. Come on in.”

I hesitated for a moment, unsure of myself. Was Carmen  just being flirtatious or seeking something more? And what if she was.

Carmen’s was already pulling off her clothes as I entered the little house, hanging the baggy robe in one of three walk-in closets in her front hall. Distracted by the sight of her lithe form appearing from beneath the dumpy clothing, it took me a while to realize that her abode was actually much larger than it appeared from the outside.

“Do you like the view?”

“Yes. The room is nice too.”

By the time that my attention snapped back to Carmen, she was down to her underwear. It was far more functional than the frilly garments that some women wear for display, and much sturdier than the practical stuff. It was held on with sturdy straps almost like a suit of leather armour. As I watched, Carmen’s fingers deftly undid the straps lifted the bra off. Her breasts were not especially large, but they practically exploded as the garment containing them fell to the ground.

“Gods, that thing is restrictive.”

“Combat bra?”

“Something like that. Custom made and very expensive. Do you like it?”

“Sure, I have to say it does look better on the floor though.”

“Thank you. Maybe we can compare equipment a little more thoroughly sometime.”

Carmen stretched, giving me a lovely view of her profile and the muscles beneath her sun-kissed skin. I laughed. Being a doorman for The Doxies’s Union meant I was used to conversations with beautiful and alluring women in various states of undress. Carmen was a skilled flirt, but I wasn’t breaking a sweat as I enjoyed the view and the conversation.

“Honestly, I would enjoy that, in any sense of the sentence, Carmen. You seem alright for an assassin, although I wonder if you are trying to give an old man a heart-attack as part of a contract.”

“You don’t need to worry about my knives anymore, Ragnar. I might have other plans for you, but you’ve shown me great kindness.

“You have been helpful to me as well…”

“Actually, I haven’t.”

I raised a brow. Carmen seemed to deflate a little, shifting from seductive to vulnerable.

“I was thinking of fucking your brains out to assuage my guilt over this, but it seems like a stupid idea now.”

“Over what?”

Carmen looked me in the eye. All thoughts of sex fled as I read the signs of inner conflict in her gaze.

“Do you remember the crates that Cinder was loading onto her ship, and how Ulfgorr was after them?”

“How could I forget? Was that one of the Thirteen with you?”

“Yes, Master Stiv.”

I nodded. I had heard of old man Stiv before. It did not surprise me that one of the Thirteen would appear if Wolki and Ulfgorr were involved.

“You see Ragnar,” said Carmen. “After you set me straight in our meeting in Cliffshadow, the Nightblades gave me instructions to steer you toward Cinder. You have a way of… breaking… complex entanglements.”

“What was in the crates?”

“I don’t know about the ones that we recovered from the ship, but I do know that both The Guild and Ulfgorr searched for the crate that fell off the boat. They found the crate, but not the contents. Ulfgorr attacked you because he thinks you have it; a sword I heard. I don’t know much else, and The Guild would be very angry with me for telling you this much.”

I absorbed the information, surprised at Carmen’s candor. Could I believe her? And what kind of sword would set Wolki and the Nightblades against each other?

“Thank you, Carmen.”

“I’m sorry, Ragnar.”

“Don’t be. I understand conflicting loyalties.”

“I’m an idiot, let me get dressed.”

“You are not, and I am certain that the sex would have been fantastic.”

She laughed. “Thanks, I may take an I owe you on that, Old Wolf…”

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New Year’s Resolutions (As a Writer)

Due to a family emergency, I missed posting this yesterday, but the sentiment remains the same.

2016 was a fairly good year for me as a writer. I made a bit of money, and managed to put out two books. Better yet, I managed to get a few enthusiastic reviews and had some enjoyable dialogue with people who have read my work. I even had a person put up their amazon review of my work on the US and UK sites, which is super nice (why Amazon does not collect all reviews for all marketplaces is beyond me).

Joining the Friends of Vocamus press genre writer’s circle in 2016 has been a boon as well. I have been to two of the monthly meetings and learned some interesting things about the local writing scene as well as some useful promotional ideas.

What I failed to do in 2016 (aside from convince people that voting for Cheeto Jesus is a bad, bad idea) is adequately promote and market my work. I have had a decent year with Twitter, but could drive more people to my blog and Facebook page. With eight books under my belt, and decent reception from people who read them, it is time to figure out marketing and social media (while keeping my soul and dignity intact).

Considering this has got me thinking about what I can do to improve my writing and book promotion in 2016, aside from the obvious improving of the fundamentals. Here are my writers resolutions for 2016.

Promote my summer release on at least five secondary book sites: This requires money and the ability to schedule in advance. Secondary book sites, places like Bookbub, can drive a lot of traffic toward your sales and book releases. I would like to explore these for my next major release.
Learn to type: I have written and published over 800k words and I do not know how to type. W T F. I could save myself so much time here.
Put more effort into adwords and facebook ads: My third resolution is a bit more complex. Both adwords and facebook ads are very, very tunable. As an amateur user I can put in quite a bit more time learning the ins and outs of these systems to get more bang for my buck. One of the suggestions from my author circle that I wanted to try was concentrating add buys on the weekend instead of running the same amount every day of the week.

Simple stuff, but also time consuming…

As for what is up for release this year, I am starting the first draft of the seventh Domains of the Chosen novel after I post this (2017 and I am already 1500 words behind… yay). I am also working on the third Shadow Wolf novella, which should release in the fall.

If I have enough time and energy I may re-release book one of the Domains series with a new cover and some additional information, but that seems overly ambitious for a year where I am taking on extra hours at my dayjob already.

 

The Shadow Wolf Sagas: The Whores’s War 3.18

Hello! this is my weekly serial, written raw as a writing exercise. This week as a bonus I was sick and exhausted to boot!

You can find the first post in the series here.

Last week’s post is here.

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I drank with Birgir and his men late into the night, long after Wolki and his men left. There was no doubt in my mind that the current master of the Shadow Wolves would seek out his henchman, Ulfgorr. Later, when the beast was healed, he would seek me out again, Wolki would make certain of that. I would have to ready myself for that encounter.

I set those thoughts aside and enjoyed my time with the Sea Wolves. Birgir listened to my tales of Myrrhn and repaid me with a wealth of news from Nordan lands. I found it hard to conceal my hunger for news of my homelands and old friends.

It was dark when I left Cassander’s Shield, I doubted that Wolki and Ulfgorr would dare to attack me so close to protected ground, but I kept to well lit and well-trafficked areas on my return home.

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Vethri and Eiskra greeted me as I returned home. Eiskra seemed amused as I related my exploits at the Nordan stronghold, while Vethri rolled her eyes.

“Did you remember to ask about who killed Rake?” asked Vethri.

“As soon as Wolki spotted me that line of inquiry was scuttled. Given his surprise at my presence though, he could not have been involved.”

“Are you sure he wasn’t faking, Ragnar?” asked Eiskra, her face taking on a comical expression of surprise.

“Wolki never fakes something that would make him seem less knowledgeable or less in control of the situation. His reaction would have been different had he expected me there. He seemed genuinely surprised that Murith and I bested Ulfgorr as well.”

“Speaking of which, with Murith’s testimony you could take news of Ulfgorr’s attack to The Nightblades; they will not look kindly upon an outside assassin acting in Myrrhn,” suggested Vethri.

“I don’t know…”

“Well, it might be worth visiting Night’s Finger regardless,” said Vethri. “If Lily Gemarkand is nervous, she might have a price on her head.”

All active assassination contracts are displayed in Night’s Finger, a process that allowed the potential victim to outbid the person who placed the contract, often creating a bidding war of sorts.

“Couldn’t she just buy it out?”

“Not if her available money is tied up in some other pressing venture,” said Vethri. “It is worth checking…”

“…And asking about Ulfgorr while you are there,” added Eiskra, grinning.

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Night’s Finger is one of the most recognizable structures in Myrrhn. Visible from several islands away, it thrusts arrogantly into the sky, crooked and irregular looking. Its odd appearance is due to the fact that it is actually several adjoining towers that have been built into and atop each other over time.

Night’s Finger dominates the Bonemarket, a small district island in the middle of the Myrrhnese archipelago. The tower itself is off-limits to most, save for the foyer at the very bottom where the public can access various records related to assassinations and buy contracts.

More important clientele can arrange meetings with representatives of The Guild at one of the Luxurious hotels or brothels on Bonemarket, or elsewhere in the city.

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I arranged to meet Murith at the bottom of Night’s Finger, but shortly after entering the Bonemarket I sensed someone was following me. Rather than trying to throw them off my trail, I merely stopped and waited.

After a moment an old woman approached me.

“Ragnar, how did you know?” said a familiar voice; Carmen, once an apprentice to my enemy, Sildus.

It took me a moment to see lithe, beautiful Carmen through the wrinkles. I laughed.

“I had no idea, actually. Just though I was being followed. You should have been more patient my friend.”

“Ugh,” Carmen’s wrinkled prosthetic face took on a sour look briefly. “Your friend Murith arrived early with a watch delegation. They are meeting with Guild representatives. Since this disguise is now useless, I want to change. How about you follow me?”

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The Shadow Wolf Sagas: The Whores’s War 3.17

Hello! this is my weekly serial, written raw as a writing exercise. This week as a bonus I was sick and exhausted to boot!

You can find the first post in the series here.

Last week’s post is here.

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“Your dog left this behind when I sent him running, lord.”

Holding up some charred fur from Ulfgorr for all in the Great Hall of Cassander’s Shield I will admit that I enjoyed the look on Wolki’s face immensely.

Ulfgorr has a notorious reputation among the Nordan; as rage driven as a berserker from clan Bloodaxe and yet cunning, and given to ambush. As the champion of Clan Shadow Wolf, few could match him in battle and fewer still in the shadows. Like Wolki, he was unpopular with the other clans because of his scheming. The skalds would tell of this, I knew, even though I was an exile.

Wolki’s handsome face was a mask of barely suppressed anger. His men looked ready to kill me, their hands on blades and knives, faces red with outrage. Then the anger vanished from Wolki’s face replaced with his customary half snarl. Before he could unleash his words upon me, however, the silence in the hall was broken by booming laughter.

“I see that the rumours of your cowardice appear to have been greatly exaggerated, Grimfang,”said the Sea Wolf.

The speaker was tall and broad-shouldered, wearing the heraldry of Clan Sea Wolf. He looked familiar, but I could not place him; I had been too long from the North. The way his men deferred to him, made me think he was of high rank.

Laughter rippled through the hall as the stranger clasped hands with me. Wolki sat down haughtily, ignoring my presence while sending one his men to retrieve the piece of Ulfgorr. I knew he would remember this moment though; Wolki’s only flaw as a leader was that he never let go of a grudge.

“You have the advantage of me, lord,” I said. “I have been too long from the North.”

“I am Birgir Hurnsson, called Wind-rider,” he said. “You knew my father well enough I wager.”

I smiled. “I did. How is old Tharn?”

Birgir chuckled as did his men. “My father is the Jarl of Clan Sea Wolf now. He is old and grey, and getting fat from too much sitting around and attending to the high king.”

“The honour is well-deserved, though he must miss the open sea.”

“Too true, Grimfang. He used to love these halls. Clansmen of ours came to the North with tales of your bravery in a battle against The Devout and a treacherous assassin. My father was pleased to hear it, said your exile always struck him as unjust. Come, sit with with us and tell us of your battle with the Ulfgorr the Destroyer.

Fake News, Professional Conspiracy Theorists, and Magical Thinking.

This is political. It also relates to systems and magic, which are topics I often delve into in my blog.

Some people, possibly a large number of them, find conspiracy theories more compelling that evidence based conclusions. In my opinion this goes well beyond the usual accusations of confirmation bias and the Dunning Kruger effect that we see whenever opposing views clash on the internet.

It has to do with what people see as a trusted source and what they want from their news, but first let me tell you a little story.

A few weeks ago a woman threatened to kill one of the parents of the Sandy Hook shooting. You can read about it here, from a source I trust.

My introduction to the Sandy Hook conspiracy was through Alex Jones, a professional conspiracy theorist. Jones is the force behind Infowars, and also calls himself the founding father of 9/11 truthers, the people who claim that 9/11 was an inside job. Jones is to news as snake-oil salesmen are to medicine; he makes money selling bullshit to the credulous and then pats them on the head and calls them smart.

But Jones is neither only nor the worst of the the Sandy Hook conspiracy theorists. These people believe that the massacre was faked (by the gov’t) in order to provide justification for increased gun control. The woman who made the threats was a consumer of this news and likely felt that she was doing a good deed by protecting second amendment rights.

And therein lies the secret to understanding the conspiracy minded. For them it is all about a compelling narrative and the source that provides it. These people trust Alex Jones over the New York Times because they feel the NYT represents the interests of coastal elites. Conspiracy theorists tap into that and provide them with a narrative hook that they find compelling.

A few nuggets of truth that mesh with a person’s confirmation bias are served up as bait for potential consumers and then once they are reading/watching it the story that is told is what keeps them coming back. Usually the story involves a few rebels who have been awakened to the truth, defying an all powerful force that has some overarching agenda that is far more offensive and sexy than the slow erosion that usually leads to societal problems. Thus instead of a tragic event leading to sensible gun control they believe there is a conspiracy to take away all guns as the first step to fascism.

None of the conspiracy consumers ever questions why an all-powerful fascist leaning government does not simply kill or jail people like Alex Jones (like say, Putin does to dissenters in Russia or Hitler did) or why they would need a pretext to put in a law that will help them to do something even worse, that Americans would violently resist regardless of the justification.

Magical thinking is at work here. I mean seriously, we live in a society where more people seem to be worried about Fluoride in the water secretly mind controlling people than lead in the water actually poisoning people. It seems that some people are more willing to believe tenuous links from sources that offer the narrative that they want than well sourced and researched journalism.

Fake News depends on magical thinking as much as it depends on confirmation bias. While we all want to believe the worst about our enemies, it takes a leap of faith to believe that the slim evidence provided by Birthers is somehow realistic. The GOP spent eight years undermining Obama; it is beyond illogical to believe that they would let him continue serving as president and never bring it up or even have a hearing about it if he was not born a citizen of the US. If they had any evidence at all they would have tried to impeach him. And yet, Birtherism survive, not only because it tickles the confirmation bias of certain people but also because it provides a narrative that is more exiting/entertaining than the reality of the situation.

Ultimately Fake News is paving the way for a new form of propaganda. The Nazis, who pioneered modern propaganda techniques, felt that narrative was far more important than truth in influencing people and with little regulation on internet news I don’t see much that stands in the way of the worst of this. I fear that sooner or later, people who believe the narrative that these conspiracy theorists are selling will start killing. Of course, I’m sure Alex Jones has a theory to deflect from that event as well…

The Shadow Wolf Sagas: The Whores’s War 3.16

Hello! this is my weekly serial, written raw as a writing exercise.

You can find the first post in the series here.

Last week’s post is here.

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In the northwest part of Myrrhn, on a small, rocky islet, one can find the Dragonship docks, a field of piers filled with ships from all of the clans. On a nice day it is a veritable forest of bright sails and leaping banners. Of course, nice days were rare in Myrrhn, and when I ventured onto the docks the wind was howling and the rain lashed the ships. Only fools or madmen would choose to let sails fly close to land on such a day.

Looming over the Dragonship docks was Cassander’s Shield, a brooding fortification built when the Nordan laid siege to Myrrhn long ago. The smooth grey stones of the walls showed little signs of age or disrepair even though it served as more of a meeting place now.The sounds of merriment from within could be heard over the wind.

“What brings you here, exile?”

I was not forbidden from the Nordan part of Myrrhn, but I was not exactly welcome at Cassander’s Shield. There were active guards there at all times, and as often as not, they would make me wait or turn me away. I doubted the guards would let me in if I told them that I was investigating a murder, even if the method of execution was of significance to the Nordan.

“I was attacked by Ulfgorr tonight. He was wounded. There were two others with him. I seek news.”

“Has Garm addled your brain, exile?” said the largest of the guards. “The likes of you could not stand against Ulfgorr.”

There was a murmur of agreement from the rest of the guards. I fingered the satchel at my side.

“I make claim on having done so. I may be an exile, but none can dispute my honesty.”

“If you are so desperate to see death again, Grimfang, I’ll not stop you. Let him pass!”

I nodded. The guard was right about that: claiming that I had fought Ulfgorr was a sure way to draw his wrath. It was a challenge that could not go unanswered, especially by the champion of a clan. Of course, Ulfgorr already wanted me dead, so it did not change much, other than the perceptions of my countrymen.

A few of the Nordan that I passed on the way to the keep spat on the ground as they recognized me, but a table of sea wolves nodded and raised a glass as I passed. I caught the name Harald from their conversation as I passed, a reminder of my recent battle with The Devout and Harald Magnisson who fought, and fell, at my side in a battle under the ruins of the old port.

I found myself walking toward the one table in the hall that bore men wearing the black wolf insignia, the badge worn by my former clan, The Shadow Wolves. As always they sat apart. The Shadow Wolves cultivate a sinister reputation, and generally keep to themselves when they can.

To my surprise, I saw a familiar face at the table. He did not see me approaching until I was within spitting distance.

“Lord Wolki,” I said loudly. “I am not surprised to find you here.”

The Jarl of the Shadow Wolves raised his head and met my eyes. The men around him, his bodyguard, looked at me with surprise as silence spread through the great hall of Cassander’s Shield like ripples on a pond.

For just a moment, Wolki stared, but he recovered quickly enough. “Ragnar the Exile, have you come to beg forgiveness?”

It was a poor jest, but his men laughed nonetheless. No one else in the hall did.

“No, Lord. I have come to return something that belongs to you.”

Wolki did not react as I expected. He went pale and his eyes roamed my body for a brief second and then he seemed to relax.

“I have no idea what you mean. You have nothing that I want exile.” Wolki punctuated his speech by spitting at my feet. A score of men followed his command. I could hear mutters coming from the other tables as well. After all, unpopular as he was, Wolki was still a jarl and I was only an exile.

I opened my satchel and pulled out a charred piece of flesh holding it up by a string of coarse black fur.

“Your dog left this behind when I sent him running, lord.”

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Tuesday Teaser

This week we have a scene from my upcoming book, Bloodlust: Red Fangs, which should be available around Christmas.

This particular scene is a late addition, added to flesh out a few characters and provide some plot clarification for the next book. It is still a little rough.

“Who’s your new friend, there?”

“Berkhilda. It’s not romantic at all Eiskra.”

“It is odd that you still think that way after twenty years, Ragnar. We know your type, Vethri and I, and we make no claim on you but friendship.”

“And, as you know me, then you know my view is different.”

Eiskra laughed wrinkling her nose.

“Now the one we tied up is more your type: beautiful and dangerous.”

“Like you?” I slipped my arm lightly around her waist as I spoke.

“You would know, Old Wolf.”

“Apparently, you are our enforcer,” said Vethri, gliding into the room. Both of the Twins were wearing high collared silk dresses, and looking distinctly formal. It had not stopped them from helping us secure Zavra, who was now sleeping.

“Oh?”

“Yes,” said Vethri, moving to adjust Eiskra’s collar. “It has actually been helpful to have you out of the way lately.”

“Ouch.”

“What I mean, Ragnar, is that having you hovering around us protectively would give the wrong impression right now.  We are close to coming to terms with the Dawnside houses, which should bring us enough votes to assume control of The Union. The appearance of confidence is paramount at this stage.”

“Well, an end to The Whores’s War is desirable. The Doxies need unity now more than ever. I will try to stay out of the way.”

“Ragnar I’m sorry–”

“What Vethri is trying to say, Old Wolf, is that we can’t risk any of the other whores making a play at you,” interjected Eiskra. “You are far too important to our plans for conquest!”

Vethri rolled her eyes, but I laughed.

“I will remember that.”

“So, are you going to tell us why you have all of your adventuring buddies meeting in our basement with two women who look suspiciously like Vampires? We’ve hear rumours of you all over the city…”

“The big one who looks like a Nordan woman is Berkhilda, daughter of Lazar Vintul and a Questioner. I met her while tracking down the person behind Delilah’s murder. The other one is the leader of a rebellious faction of bloodsuckers who is trying to start an uprising.”

Both women looked at me.

I shrugged.

Trump the Iconoclast, Trump the Orthodox, Trump the ‘Hero’

I find it increasingly hard to turn away from the ugly spectacle of American politics. Part of this is envy; I honestly wish that I could have cast my vote (Bernie, then Hillary) in this seminal election, a transition (I hope) from the industrial age to the information age. I live in the shadow of American news and politics, and while I love Canada, it is hard to ignore the tug of that great country south of us.

I often talk about systems on this blog. I feel that systems and institutions are the villains of modern stories more than singular figures.

Enter Donald Trump.

Trump is a man who has shown absolute willingness to cast aside institutions and ideas. Depending on how you view his motivations this is either a good thing or a bad thing, obviously. I see his motivations as guided by contempt for expertise, the power of persuasion, revenge, desire for personal gain, and an ideology that places wealth and business above all else. Some of his followers see a heroic iconoclast that will break the chains that have held back their country for decades and allow them to cast down their enemies at last.They see him as akin to Alexander confronting the Gordian Knot, as Jesus sweeping the money-lenders from the Temple.

We both might be right.

[What is an iconoclast?  a person who attacks settled beliefs or institutions, literally a destroyer of idols.]

Trump shut down the TPP, instantly dealing a blow the flow of decades of globalization. I actually am in favour of this, but mostly because the TPP is full of harmful laws that limit freedoms and make life easier for climate change deniers. If I could bring myself to trust Trump (spoiler: he lies quite frequently), this alone would be enough to gain my support.

I also don’t trust foreign intervention or intelligence agencies; Trump is currently at odds with both.

I can see why some of Trump’s followers view him as a heroic figure, come to break down regulations and set things right.

The problem is that what guides Donald Trump is not a desire for justice or to make America a better place for everyone. Donald Trump’s destruction of institutions and ideas is purely motivated by personal gain and to enhance to power of the wealthy. In this way he often acts like an orthodox republican: spouting tax cuts, attacking climate science, and seeking to enhance the power of the nation with military might over diplomacy.

In this, he is willing to be iconoclastic as well. He does not care about the truth, spewing whatever he reads on his twitter feed without fact-checking. He does not seem to realize the responsibility that seems to come with his office in this regard. His racism and sexism is well noted, but seen by many as a reaction to stifling political correctness, a bullshit claim in my opinion.

Trump is even willing to violate the constitution (article 1, section 9) in order to keep ownership of his business interests, arguing that his voters knew that he is a businessman, wiping out hundreds of years of tradition in a single stroke. What is fascinating is that his followers and party are, so far, willing to go along with this, even though it is a glaring example of the corruption they despise. In fact, the more his corruption irritates liberals, the more some of them seem to like it.

Trump has already changed so much of american politics and he is not even in power yet. And yet, rather than bringing the country into the future, Trump seems to want to return to a mythical era in the past when coal and manufacturing propelled the economy, businessmen were objects of unqualified adoration, and people did not have to give a fuck about political correctness. In this fashion we can see the orthodoxy that shapes his attacks, a hatred of the directions that the country has taken since his youth.

And yet that bygone era has one defining feature that Trump rejects with great vehemence: The Cold War with Russia. Trump loves everything from that time but rejects butting heads with the dictator, Putin. In many ways this is laudable, but in Trump I think we can see how it is motivated by self-interest. The CIA and the NSA have both sounded warnings about Russian hacking in the election and Trump refuses even to talk about it.

I wonder what is in those tax returns, another tradition that he has broken with.

The Shadow Wolf Sagas: The Whores’s War 3.15

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Further discussions about the contents of Lily Gemarkand’s letter to The Twins bore no fruit. Eiskra was angry, but allowed Vethri to talk her out of rash action. We could not find proof of Lily’d gambit, not determine what would upset her enough to engage in a direct threat with little to gain. In the end her motivations and goals remained a mystery, for now at least.

Murith and I set forth to Burning Hill once more. She was set to report in for duty, and I wanted to make certain that she arrived safely; if Ulfgorr still lived he would revisit his hurt on Murith if he could.

We walked through the busy streets of Myrrhn only when necessary, navigating through alleys, hidden under-bridges, and out of the way tunnels to move across the city rapidly. We saw others making their way through these paths and I watched them closely, but none approached us or paid more mind than basic courtesy required.

We did happen upon a vendor selling ginger cakes at the fountain in the Sea King Grotto, and when we stopped to buy some our conversation returned to the murder.

“It has to be related to one of Lily’s schemes; who else would have something to gain from framing you for the murder, Ragnar?”

“It doesn’t really count as framing me for murder. I’m not even being questioned in regards to the crime.”

“I meant what I said,” Murith looked up at me from her ginger cake.  “Lies often run far ahead of the truth Ragnar, and the bigger lies only seem to excite more interest as they travel. People will see the lack of investigation as confirmation of the sway of The Twins or the corruption of The Watch. For most of them, the truth is irrelevant until well after the event. I have arrested more than a few murderers who thought that their partner or lover was cheating on them and only found out that it was just a rumour after the deed was done.”

“There’s truth to that.”

“Could Lily have hired Ulfgorr?”

“It is possible. Ulfgorr only acts at the behest of Wolki, the current leader of the Shadow Wolf clan though, and I cannot see a connection between him and Lily.”

“What about money?”

“Wolki is not interested in gold.”

“Everyone is interested in gold Ragnar; you keep stacking treasure in front of them and eventually you will get anyone’s attention.”

“Fair enough, but Lily is too miserly to appeal to Wolki’s greed. She would have to have something else he wanted.”

“What about the stuff from Cinder’s ship?”

“The Nightblades took that. I know Lily would not risk their wrath again. She learned her lesson with Sapphire’s death.”

“Which brings us back to Ulfgorr. We need to find out who killed Rake and if it wasn’t Ulfgorr then we need to know why he was waiting for us in the carving house.”

“Well someone is bound to have seen Rake before he died. He was a vibrant enough figure. The only problem is that I cannot question any of the Doxies he worked with since they might think I’m involved.”

“I can do that, Ragnar. Meanwhile, why don’t you check among your Nordan contacts? The method used to kill Rake is Nordan, and even if none of your countrymen is involved whoever did it had to learn it from one of them?”

“Well, it is a thin lead, but I have nothing else to follow.”

“Good, I will let you know what I learn.”

Teaser Tuesday

It is still Tuesday somewhere, I am certain…

Anyways here is a Teaser from my next book, Red Fangs (The Shadow Wolf Sagas #2)

After searching a few of these we found ourselves in an area called The Husk, where an entire street had been consumed by green flame over a decade ago and not yet rebuilt. It was a dismal sight, the bones of once vital buildings looming through the mist like the carcasses of long forgotten beasts.

“The basements on most of these places are still be intact,” said Murith. “We often get called into clear this area of vagrants. It has been quiet for weeks though.”

“Tis a great place for an ambush.”

“Cinder is a coward and a trickster,” said Berkhilda. “He would favour traps over direct confrontation.”

“Do either of you know what he looks like?” asked Murith.

“No.”

“He wears a red mask,” said Berkhilda. “And I am told that he is not large of stature.”

“That’s not much to go on.”

I raised my hand for silence and walked forward, concentrating, letting my senses go. The smell of smoke and ash and ash was overpowering, but underneath it all I could detect the scent of blood and the chemical smell from the bloodsuckers who attacked Murith and her squad. This was the place, then. Cautiously, I sifted through the other scents. Human waste. A venomous creeper vine. Cheap liquor and old sweat. Still, despite the confirmation, something bothered me.

“This is the place,” I said. “Cinder had the basement cleared out and proofed against scent and sound. But I can clearly smell blood and that drug. I think we are meant to find this place. I can hear something else too.”

“So it’s a trap.”

“I think so,” I could definitely hear a sound now, a faint but steady sobbing muffled by layers of earth and broken buildings.