The third week of my new job is underway and going perfectly. I’m happy with it; working from home is the best thing since bread and cheese. Hired as a Pricing Coordinator for a parts distribution company in Portland, I hope to build a career that I can sit comfortably with for many years. It is taking up my time and energy, but I’m confident once my schedule is concrete; I’ll be able to make serious progress on my writing.

Hannah and I picked up a new family member, a little puppy mut we named Turin. He’s been greedily taking up our time and sleep. Our five-year-old shepherd, Feanor, has been good with the puppy, which makes us happy campers. If you love puppy pictures as much as I do, you can find some on my Instagram (Links on my social media page).

Chapter 2 – Part 2 of A Cold Task is now available for reading pleasure. I hope the story is enjoyable as it is to write it. I will be updating it on and off. The writing process is fluid, and there are always edits or revisions. As this is a writing exercise for myself, I’m open and encourage all constructive criticism. My goal for A Cold Task is to give readers a sense of my stories and if they like them.

The story is several chapters in a novel I wrote years ago—a side quest for the main characters. Razi had a minute role but made an impression on me enough to want to explore his nature. 

I’m happy to say I’ve started working on Morvelving. I’ve received a handful of feedback and criticism, and it is time to start the third draft. Gathering all the files and notes and tracking down specific edits that resonated with me has been overwhelming. I’ve outlined the new chapters. Once I finish writing each, I’ll start working on the inline improvements.

The story has expanded. There were vital character moments that were missing. The story’s intrigue is partially fleshed out. I’m aware and super excited to make the changes.

Let’s talk more about Morvelving – the Sword of Mourning. What kind of story is it? A lone wolf and cup ‘found family’ High and Dark fantasy adventure story (think Mandalorian meets up with Way of Kings and the Blacktongue Thief in a pub for the best time). Set in a chaotic bronze age, where most civilizations are city-states, elves are imperialistic, and evil creatures go unchallenged. A wild period in time when gods, magic, and more ancient races like Centaurs, Minotaurs, and Mulranei are more active.

I originally wrote the story as a grim and dark story. As I thought more, I realized I wanted the story to be an ‘intro’ novel—a way to ease readers into my universe. So, I don’t throw elves, centaurs, minotaurs, and dragons at you all at once (that would be fun, though). I keep the themes I love and make them narrower in their focus. The story starts when the main protagonists – Morvelving and Nippiktua, meet for the first time and start traveling together. A whole city unknowingly targets them, and they must stay ahead of their pursuers while avoiding arrogant princes, warmongering centaurs, and mercenaries with no battles to fight.

As I progress through the third draft, I’ll have more details to share, so stay tuned!

In A Cold Task Chapter 2 – Part 2, Razi and Anmeli follow the Grenh’s trail, which leads them back to Bangthros. Confronted by Prince Tabrum, Razi finds an understanding and ally with Anmeli.

The temple grounds were empty. When Razi had pilgrimaged to Pavind before, the road and holdings were cramped with pilgrims and merchants, and the smoke from the Light of the People was visible from a great distance. The large stone basin was cold, with not one tendril of smoke. Its flames had burned continuously for over a hundred and fifty years. 

“It’s clearly been here,” Anmeli said; he stood before his horse Goda. “If it’s one day ahead, it is, undoubtedly, in Bangthros.”

Razi nodded and swallowed the lump in his throat.

The statue of Jami, usually surrounded by people offering prayer, was darkened. The blue-painted four-armed Great God sat crossed-legged before the stone basin. Razi looked away. On either side of the statue, highly decorated granite curves shaped the passages into the interior, empty now where gawkers usually stood.

 Seven levels high, the temple towered over trees, a prominent spire with sculptured heads of mamphants, their tusks with golden rings, and tall headdresses sparking from the myriad gemstones. Each level had intricate arches and statues depicting the gods and goddesses and their deeds – tremendous and nefarious. The base level was painted light blue, the second bright orange, and the third blue again until the top. 

Hoping to avoid the creeping helplessness that sought to overcome him, Razi looked to the colossal white-crowned Mithar Mountains that half surrounded the valley. The range extended west to the Rithian Plains, north to the Adamant Sea, and east, where it sunk into the Nurgalen Desert.

“We should continue on,” Anmeli offered, trying unsuccessfully to hide his unease. Like Razi, he hated seeing the temple dissolute and plundered. 

Razi spurred Atil so he could look around the side of the temple. It was vacant as well. “Not yet. Quickly ready a torch. I want to search the grounds for any clues. Perhaps, our wayward foreigners are or had lurked about.”

Anmeli rummaged through his saddlebags as Razi dismounted. “You think they’re here?” he asked, looking around more earnestly.  

“We’ll know soon enough,” Razi said; he loosened his shamshir in its scabbard still and fished out a torch from his bags. Atil remained motionless and alert. He had no fear she would run. He was knocked from his saddle at the battle of Charmathras Pass, but Atil halted and kept the Rithain footmen at bay. Saving his life multiple times.

Near the left arched awning, Anmeli offered his personal knife to Razi, blade first. Its sharp, bright steel looked dull in the overcast light. Razi nodded his thanks and pricked his finger. He drew the Runic Ring with blood and willed flame on his palm. The air felt dry and smelled acrid as he felt Ergald invisibly rise from the earth. A small flame erupted on his palm, the blood dissipating into red mist in the magical exchange.

“Quick before it goes out.” Razi extended his hand as Anmeli lit his torch. The flame on Razi’s palm snuffed out. He would need more of his blood to keep the blaze going. If he kept it aflame without giving more blood, the Ergald exchange would become imbalanced, and in compensation, the earth would take part of him – a feeling or desire first. If he continued to use it for the flame, his soul would be sapped away to replenish Ergald. Razi shook from the cold shiver slithering down his neck. 

“I’ll go first then,” Anmeli offered and lit Razi’s torch, seeing Razi discomforted from Ergald leaving him. “You still haven’t finished your Ergald lessons.”

“I’ve had enough to worry about.”

Razi was more than adept in arms, tactics, and law skills. He felt learning magic would only distract him. And there were the risks. He would let the Jikado, warrior priests, fight with Ergald.   

“The Prince still begrudges you the lack of captives from the Talm River pirates?” Anmeli asked over his shoulder as he slowly walked into the temple. The light illuminated the bright murals of Jami’s great works. On both sides, a congress of gods listening to Jami’s law.

“How did you hear about that?” Razi asked, thrown off guard.

“Razi. Razi. All Bangthros knows how displeased our prince was that you didn’t bring him captives to play with.” Amneli’s voice was dripping in sarcasm. 

Razi shook his head, frustrated. He didn’t agree with the prince’s many . . . inventive interests. There was nothing he, a mere Katafrant from a lower Mamluk family closer akin to the southern Sel’Juke, could say or do. 

Heir to the royal Mamluk Turmank family, Prince Tubram’s words were law. Razi did try to take the pirates captive. But He had told them their fate and allowed them the means to cut their own lives. Better to die by their own will than a slow, agonizing death. He didn’t report that to the prince, only that the pirates fought to the end. 

“The pirates were a problem. One I took care of, and the prince expressed his gratitude,” Razi said as they neared the end of the hall. 

“By sending you to hunt a monster.”

“You are here as well,” Razi said, annoyed. “I’m more than happy to rid the people of this terror if possible. I -”

Black spots and smears defiled the beautiful mural depicting the goddess Saraswati raising the moon from the abyss. Razi followed the long streak that confirmed what he knew awaited; it led to the temple sanctuary, dark before them except for the bright beams of light entering from high windows.

“Ugh,” Razi covered his nose. The smell of blood already arrested his nostrils, iron and sharp with salt. It was accompanied by refuse exposed too long and not dried. Razi held back from gagging.

“Look,” Anmeli pointed to the stone floor. Dark prints stained the sacred ground. Large wolf-like imprints led out of the temple until they faded halfway. The forepaws were more like hands, with long fingers ending with claws.  

Razi moved around, examining the others. Three pairs followed the Grenh. “Dwarf by the width,” he said. “The bare feet the Nurgi.Shoed the Westerner. Our foreigners are after the Grenh.”

“They can’t be hunting it with only a Bedri saber between them?” Anmeli asked incredulously. 

“I can’t say,” Razi’s words muffled by his hand. He moved his torch to the sanctuary. 

“Need we go on. It arrived before us, and its foreign hunters are after it.”

Razi grimaced as the torchlight showed what his noise smelled – butchery. He couldn’t discern who had been slain if it wasn’t a temple. He turned, hoping it wasn’t the whole priesthood of Pavind. It was hard to tell how many.

“No, let’s leave. The foreigners are ahead. If they’ve taken the road, we may overtake them.”

“I pray it is so,” Anmeli answered as they hurried out of the gloom. “I’d like to get my hands on those responsible.”

Razi took a deep breath of fresh air. Part of him wanted to give the priests a proper burial. There was no time.

“We don’t know for sure if it was their doing,” Razi said; it was the obvious explanation, which often was misleading. “But yes, I hope to find answers. Bangthros is large and defended enough; the Grenh will be unable to repeat what it did here at Pavind.”

“There are hundreds of Katafrants protecting the Prince and thousands in the city garrison,” Anmeli said. “It would be a death trap for the beast.”

“I hope you are right,” Razi said, dousing his touch. “We’ll find out when we arrive.” 

Part of him hoped that was what they would find at Bangthros. The Grenh was slain, and their journey was fruitless. Guilt and his own cold despair told him otherwise. His father restlessly worked himself to an early grave to see Razi married into the Mamluk Astaspharan family. Only for the bargain to be broken and when Razi’s father was most vulnerable. Nothing his father had desired had fallen into place, and even after all his work, nothing. 

Joining the ranks of Katafrants enabled Razi to remain a class above the theti, but he had no value to his name. First, the river pirates and now the Grenh brought him more unwanted attention. If the prince was displeased with him, no family would unite with his own, ever. His family would cease to exist. 

Atil nosed his shoulder, shaking Razi out of his dark thoughts. Anmeli was ready, and there was a day’s ride to ponder whether he would be further disgraced.

Scattered clouds and a calm northern wind countered the warm sun. A flock of white river fowl swayed back and forth overhead. Their cheerful calls were out of place among the silent doom over the city.

Smoke from funeral pyres rose above the red-tiled roofs, and the mourning banners covered windows and hung over awnings. Bangthros, a fortified city defense against the wilds of the jungle, was no longer safe.  

Razi adjusted in his saddle. His rump was sore from hard riding. Atil nickered fretfully at the smell of death. Even resting as little as necessary and only stopping for the horses, they arrived at Bangthros by noon. The eclipse by the Dark Moon, home of the lesser gods, cast a strange light. Razi shook his head and tried not to focus on the odd shadows cast on the ground. The wind made it worse by making the shadows from banners and fabrics hang over the road dance. He always hated when the sun was highest, and the petty gods had to remind the world of their presence. As a child, he had naively cursed them, for he would become sick every day when their black home blocked the sun. Don’t waste your breath, His father had said. They don’t care either way.

According to the guard at the Red Gate, the Grenh had entered the city three nights ago and had returned each night to butcher, carrying a victim out of the town.

“You could hear the screams far into the night,” The guard said, shaking his head. 

“What parts of the city did it attack?” Anmeli asked. The city was one of the largest in Phanu. They could set up a perimeter if it was focused on one area. 

“The palace, Katafrant. Or, so we heard.”

Razi glanced at Anmeli, who returned the look of alarm. Razi spurred Atil on, passing through the gatehouse. The golden images of past kings on the red-painted stones watching the two Katafrants pass.  

Razi had left the city with jovial tones still ringing in his ears. Now it was silent, foreboding. The streets were full of marketgoers and merchants. They hurried out to their chores or errands in silence. The shops – linen, spices, fruits – watched for buyers only, making no calls for the best price. Children poked their heads out of windows to catch a view of the two Katafrants as they rode past. Razi did the same when he was a child. He tried putting himself in their sandals to understand their fear. All he could think of was how the prince would scold him for not being at the palace when the beast attacked.

Already, he prepared to suppress the scorn and feeling of unfairness. 

Other Katafrants under the prince’s command were mixed Mamluk and Sel’Juke. It couldn’t only be the failure to bring captive river pirates.  

The streets twisted through the city, steep on a slope and circling atop knolls around homes, towers, and temples. Merchants watched Razi pass, their large turbans making them look like a patch of multi-colored mushrooms. Commoners rushed to the side, their clothing brown with remnants of the white it once was. Razi saw signs on the doors in the theti quarter of the city below the citadel and Banthros’s fortress. He slightly tugged on Atil’s reins so he had time to read the hieroglyphs. 

Hieroglyphs were the method of communication the ancient elves who lived in Phanu passed down through the centuries. Only the commoners use it now. Often, they used the wrong characters and symbols or added their own from the complex Elven Pictobalrithm. Each character was roughly drawn, and the meaning was clear: Blood for the Prince. 

An old man was sitting crossed-legged next to the door with the sign. His face was a dark spot surrounded by a silver cloud of hair floating above his thin and bony limbs. He didn’t do the traditional bow to Razi. Instead, he smiled a toothless grin.

“Jami brings judgment to the faithless,” the old man said before he began to laugh hysterically and uncontrollably. 

Razi bit his lip and adjusted Atil’s reigns, signaling the horse to move on with his knees. The old man was being impertinent. He wasn’t wrong, though. The prince was young yet had a mind for malice and ill vices, and his advisors were lax in guiding him. Now the Grenh was haunting the city. To the people, this was a clear sign Jami was judging the prince. 

All he needed was another riot in Bangthros that the prince could place on his shoulders precisely and the Katafrant Order in general. Thankfully, Razi had dealt with the river pirates during the last one. 

He caught up to Anmeli just as the Katafrant entered the outer gatehouse to the citadel fortress. It rose from the city on a rocky ridge, with granite walls overlooking the tiled or flat roofs. The gatehouse was painted orange and yellow with depictions of Mamluk history drawn in blue – taming the mamphants and riding into battle for their conquests. A marble statue of a mamphant with flower ribbons over its back and gold bands on its tusks stood in the center of the gateway behind the gates and under the gatehouse arch, forcing Razi to keep behind Anmeli as they passed under. A troop of guards was passing on the other side. Razi caught a glimpse of a face above in the murder holes, watching them pass. 

The courtyard was a large rectangle with the palace at the far end rising as if to touch the clouds. Its domed roof was outlined with extravagant arcs and statues of gods, men, and animals. There was tension and fear in the silence of the courtyard, thick like morning fog in the valley. Razi felt it oozing off as the scent of overused wash rag from each guard and servant he saw or passed by. 

Anmeli went straight to the stables and dismounted. Stable boys hurried to care for his horse. Razi did the same, accepting the trained young hands to treat Atil properly. 

He removed his helm and pushed his matted hair back. Anmeli was looking around the courtyard. 

As one of the stable boys passed by, Razi asked him, “Where did it attack?”

The boy bowed and mumbled, “The Frevila, Mamluk Katafrant.” 

Razi glanced at Anmeli, who nodded and went to the palace. Razi followed. 

The Frevila was a sacred place of revelry and all forms of debauchery – highly valued by the prince. How the Grenh found its way there, he couldn’t guess. It was one of the highest rooms in the palace. The beast must have scaled the walls, or had it broken through the gates? He looked back at the main entrance. There were no signs of forced entry.  

Falling in step with Anmeli, Razi ignored the gold gilded doors to the palace, though usually, he liked to look at the intricate craftsmanship. “I see no reason why it would attack in the Frevila rather than more accessible parts of the city,” Razi said, as their boots and armor ringing echoed off the polished marble floors. 

The first hall was a mausoleum for the Turmank Royal family, with items and trinkets of great value on display on either side. At the hall’s center stood a raised throne decorated with gold plating and red cushions. On either side, arched entrances with stone stairs led up or down. And guards were posted the hall’s length at each pillar holding up the balcony and roof. Each guard held a gilded glaive, the polished blades reflecting the dancing light of the candelabras. They were armored like Katafrants, scale lamellar, except for the steel masks that gave them the face of Prince Tubram. An adult Tubram, which always made Razi confused. Here, the prince would greet guests or have formal meetings before moving to the great Feasting Chamber.

“Nor I,” Anmeli said as they passed the raised throne to the upper halls and chambers of the palace. He added in jest: “Unless the Grenh enjoyed its meals spiced with avseh and drink.”

Razi stopped mid-step, eyes brow burrowed. “That’s it exactly.” 

Avseh was a fragrant mushroom that put men in a pleasant stupor and filled their eyes with many visions. It was rare. As such, only wealthy Mamluk families could afford it. 

Anmeli faced Razi several steps ahead of him. The windowless stairway was dark except for the flickering light from a candle ahead. “Does it work that way?”

The Grenh drank the blood of its victims in a frenzy, some remaining alive after others butchered. Razi had seen the aftermath. “I have no idea,” He admitted. “It’s the only explanation I can think of why the Grenh ignores the thousands of people in the city for a few in the palace.”

“To test it would put more lives at risk, including the prince,” Anmeli said. He was right. If the Grenh was focused on any one of the avseh, the prince was in more danger. It was no secret he frequented the drug.

He doubted the prince would take well to the suggestion especially from himself, “We’ll have no proof this is the reason.”

“I’ll offer the suggestion.”

Razi looked up sharply, taken aback. Anmeli knew Razi had fallen from the prince’s favor. The prince held grudges dearly. Razi was loved in that regard. Anmeli was watching him, face unreadable. Razi didn’t know what to say. 

“Thank you,” he said finally, thinking now he had misjudged Anmeli and thankful to find an ally.

They found the prince and his retinue in his private chambers. Six guards were posted outside the large oaken doors with gold gilding. One swung a door open, the sound of the strained hinges drowned out by the outbursts of a three and ten seasons old boy. 

Prince Tubram, heir to the Turmank Mamluk Royal line, descendant of Kings and the Great Conqueror Dehlihaazam Razian, and Protector of Pravilyant was face down on his bed, flaying his arms, legs kicking at the air, and his screams muffled by the plush blankets.

A troop of servants lined the far wall face down on the floor, their bare backs flinching with each muffled exclamation. Two Katafrants, the city’s Yuzban – Mazab Guchlin, and a younger one Razi didn’t recognize. Standing behind the thrashing prince was the Turmank Family advisor, Viceroy Ajashin. His narrow face turned to Razi and Anmeli when they entered. His expression was relieved. Razi felt no comfort Ajashin now had a scapegoat for Prince Tubram’s tantrum. 

Ajashin bent so his face was close to the prince’s ear while also evading Tubram’s flailing fist. The tall and lean Viceroy looked like a tree bending in a monsoon. 

Exotic birds fluttered their wings, cawing and moving in agitation, adding to the raucous. Razi eyed the cage. It was as high as the ceiling twenty paces above. The birds hunched or shook their feathers. Razi wanted to hide. 

Prince Tubram’s tantrum ceased as soon as Ajashin spoke to him. He looked up and surveyed the room. Razi and Anmeli prostrated themselves before him. 

“Razi Vaaklima, where have you been? Last night that b-beast,” Tubram shouted, his voice quivering angrily. “That . . . Wolf from Nemastar’s Depths ruined my soiree.”

“Razian One,” Razi addressed the prince with the Conqueror’s honorific, his nose touching the polished marble floor. Embarrassed, again, why his father chose to name him after Dehlihazaam Razian, the King of Kings and Conqueror of the Known World. It was a common name now, too familiar. Perhaps it was why the prince begrudged him so, Razi wondered. “I followed the reports and attacks on the Grenh as you commanded.”

“I commanded you! Ajashin!”

“You did, Razian One,” Ajashin confirmed.

“Well, if you’ve come to tell me the Grenh is in Bangthros, I’ll have my guards behead you here,” Prince Tubram pouted. 

“No, Razian One,” Razi said. “Anmeli and I found the Grenh’s first attack was at Magalayi. Four foreigners were in the town. Three escaped on the day of the attack. We assume they are eastern traders fallen foul with Bedri nomads.”

“No explanation why it interrupted the Frevila!” The prince said, screeching to finish ‘Frevila.’ 

“We think it is the libations and the avseh, Razian One,” Anmeli said. “The Grenh has acquired a taste.”

There was a long silence disrupted only by the caged birds squawking. 

“Well, I can’t blame the beast,” Prince Tubram said, snorting. “Foreigners, you said, invaders? Ajashin?”

“No, Razian One, the Katafrants said eastern traders. The warmongering Rithians are dilatory during the winter season.”

“Dilator – Huh,” Prince Tubram considered his advisor’s words. Razi dismissed his own irritation. The prince rarely listened to the words spoken to him. It was common knowledge the Rithians never campaigned during winter. Razi’s legs began to numb and back ach from facing the floor for so long.

“Ajashin, make a proclamation.” The prince paced back and forth by Razi. His foot brushed Razi’s fingers, then stepped on his fingers. 

“Oh, get up, you two! You’re in my way.”

Razi stood swiftly. He didn’t look at the prince but beyond him. Tubram was average height for his age, so he didn’t rise past his chest. His loose robes hid his wide girth well. Somehow his face was lean and jawline sharp. He was scowling at Razi, annoyed he had to look up to do it. 

“My Prince, the proclamation?” Ajashin asked.

“Yes, I want a price on the beast’s head. Since our Katafrants can’t seem to kill the fiend, perhaps hunters or bounty seekers and their ilk will.”

“An excellent idea, Razian One.”

Razi blinked once. Unbelieving at the absurdity. They need only set a trap for the Grenh, which will be slain. There was no need to bring distrustful mercenaries and hunters to the city. He moved to speak, but Anmeli cleared his throat. 

“Do you wish to speak? “The Prince glared at Anmeli. “Which one is this, Ajashin?”

Ajashin nodded at Anmeli, who introduced himself and said, “Impressed with your plan, Razian One. I am humbled.”

Tubram’s eye twitched. “Yes, good. Now that the Grenh will be dealt with, Ajashin send for Master Lemekyojan. I will hear what festivities are planned tonight in the Frevilia. You two are dismissed. Shoo!”

Razi promptly followed Anmeli out. “Razian One, is it wise to indulge with the beast-“Ajashin’s words were cut off when the doors shut behind Razi. He took a deep breath.

“I can’t believe he wants bounty hunters flocking to Bangthros,” Razi couldn’t help saying. 

“I believe the prince does what pleases his mind,” Anmeli said. “I see a benefit for us.”

They proceeded down the hall away from the guards. “And what is that?” Razi asked, genuinely curious. 

“A price for the Grenh will bring our elusive foreigners to Bangthros,” Anmeli smiled. Pleased he had thought of it first.

Razi nodded, warming to the idea. They were responsible for the horrors at Magalayi and everything in between. Razi offered a prayer to Jami. He would see the Grenh destroyed and those responsible for justice. In so, making his family name recognized. 

“I will patrol the main roads, see if I can’t spot the foreigners before they enter the city,” Razi said.

“I will see what defenses can be made in the Frevila.”

Razi parted from Anmeli. No weapons were allowed in that room. Razi shook his head; it was madness to still gather there for festivities. No wonder the theti believed Jami was punishing the prince for his indulgences.