Arrow on the String: Solomon Sorrows Book 1 by Dan Fish (no david read aloud TXT) 📕

“I know about hollow weapons,” she said. “I’ve read books on the topic.”

“Books.” Sorrows said, stepping behind the sled. “And what did your books tell you?”

Davrosh climbed into the basket, pulled a wool blanket over her legs. “They spoke of ancient weapons crafted by the elves during the war with the Seph. But some were stolen by the Seph, imbued with human souls, and used against the elves.”

Sorrows started pushing. His voice was strained, half-grunt, half-growl. “More than some. Hundreds.”

“Right,” Davrosh said. “But I thought you’ve found most of those. Isn’t that the job you always allude to?”

“It is. And I have. It’s how I’ve seen that dagger before. Hells, I’ve used that dagger before. Tell me, Master Davrosh, did you read anything about the hollows holding dwarf souls?”

Sorrows shouted, then leaned as the dogs turned the sled onto the main road. The tower loomed ahead.

“No,” Davrosh said.

“And do you see how that might be a problem for your family? For other dwarf families?”

“You think the Seph are returning?”

“You don’t?”

“I might if you showed me this box I’ve heard nothing about.”

“I can’t show you the box.”

“Why not?”

“Because Jace took it.”

Davrosh turned in the basket, stared at Sorrows. “What?”

“It was in my room. Now it’s gone.”

“How do you know it was Jace?”

Sorrows said nothing, only gave Davrosh a look that said, Who else would it be? She looked away, then turned to face forward again.

“Right. What do we do next? Or are you still working on it?”

“Something like that.”

Davrosh barked a laugh, shook her head. “Gods, Jace is going to steal the clothes right off your back.”

“She caught me off guard last night.”

“So you’ve said. Tell me again how strong and fast she is.”

“She is.”

“Right. It’s a wonder you broke free from that stranglehold she had on your tongue.”

Sorrows said nothing. Had nothing to say. No defense. He’d known what Jace was, what she’d done, what she was likely planning to do again. Had known he needed to stop her, to bring her to some semblance of justice, as though one life could ever recompense what had been taken. She’d killed daughters. She’d ended lineages that spanned millennia. And somehow, in doing so, she’d birthed a monster in the untethered soul of Zvilna Gorsham. And Jace had probably killed Mig as well.

He’d known all of that. Yet, when she appeared in the street after the Seph, he couldn’t resist her. Needed her. Could tell she needed him. Or so he thought. He thought he’d sensed her urgency, desire. Instead, she’d stolen his bow and the Grimstone. And in doing so, made a mistake. A big mistake.

He called out commands, and the dogs pulled the sled onto the main street. He called out commands twenty or thirty minutes later, and they stopped in front of Hammerfell Tower. He walked off the sled toward the twin oak doors. Davrosh stomped close behind. They passed through the doors, through the entrance hall, down the corridor. Sorrows opened the door to what he thought was his room and was greeted with smooth stone.

“Next one down,” Davrosh said. “Seriously. You’ve been here for months.”

“Feels like I’ve been here a century,” he said.

He walked to the next door, opened it, entered his room. He strode to the corner, picked up a wool blanket wrapped around something dog-sized and moving. Wasn’t a dog. He turned and left the room to join Davrosh in the corridor. She gagged.

“That smells like death,” she said.

“They all smell like death.”

“And this will work?”

“Hope so.”

They walked up the corridor, back to the entrance hall, back to the sled. Sorrows set the bundle in the basket and pried apart the folds of the blanket until he met two eyes.

Two eyes, one big and brown from a dog; one solid black from a goblin. They sat in a face pieced together from strips of green goblin skin and matted brown dog fur. The nose was dark and hollow. No lips, no ears, no hair upon the skull, just a patch of fur that ran from the dog’s eye on the left over the head to the back of the skull on the right. The creature had a dog’s neck and chest, deep and thin. But goblin arms attached at the shoulders, slender and agile. The creature had no legs; it just ended at the dog’s abdomen.

It smelled of rot. Black ooze seeped at the seams of goblin and dog, seeped beneath the eyes, trickled from the corners of the mouth. The dog’s chest swelled with breath and exhaled stench. It stared at Sorrows. He stared back.

“You know who I am?” he asked.

“Hollow Man,” the creature said, voice rasping, whining. High and thin; a quiet scream shaping words within a mouth that split into countless tentacles. Grasshopper mouth, flaring, flowing like grass in a stream.

“That’s right. You know what I do?”

The creature nodded slowly. “Kill, kill, kill.”

“You want to live?”

“Yes.”

“You feel the pull?”

“Yes.”

“Point to it.”

A finger appeared in the crook of the wool blanket, pointed south and west toward the Quarry.

“What’s it doing?” Davrosh asked.

“It feels the Grimstone,” Sorrows said.

“Gods, you’re serious?”

“Like a fish on the hook.”

Davrosh grinned. Chin stretched a little. “So, we’ve got her.”

Sorrows nodded. “We’ve got her.”

He left the basket, walked to the back of the sled. Davrosh looked up at him, shook her head.

“Oh, piss the hells off,” she said. She pointed at the basket. “No splitting way am I riding with that thing.”

“It’s a Seph, not a thing.”

“I’m not riding with it.”

“Neither am I.”

“Fine.”

“Fine.”

He stepped behind her, reached over her, started pushing. Davrosh braced herself. The dogs started mushing. When he felt the sled slipping away, Sorrows jumped on, stood close behind Davrosh. Their bodies jostled and pressed against one another. Davrosh glanced over her shoulder.

“I don’t want to hear any jokes from you,” Davrosh said. “Got it?”

“What?” Sorrows asked. “You feel nice.”

“Not another word.”

She turned around, Sorrows grinned, the Seph pointed, she gave the commands. The crowds parted, and the sled moved quickly over packed snow. They traveled