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

company, he can find a lover by nightfall. He can take his pick. He can choose from almost anyone he wants. Male, female. Dwarf, goblin, half-born. You laugh. A short, barking admonition of your own blindness.

It makes perfect sense. The human. The simple laws of attraction and lust. You shake your head. Foolishness. But harmless enough. The elf is here because the human is supposed to be here. But the human is late, and you don’t see the elf anywhere. Probably they missed meeting by two or three minutes. Such is life. Days and years and decades pass by, but the moments which matter most are often shaped by mere seconds. If the human had left for the manor a little earlier; if the dogs had run a little faster; if the elf had lingered a little longer. If all that had happened, you might have come upon the elf watching the human. But none of it did, and so you don’t. You leave the lovely mage guard sitting in her chair. You turn to leave and realize you’re not alone.

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A HUNTER KNOWS when another predator stalks the woods. Something in the silence pricks at his ears. It is not a silence caused by the hunter. It is a silence he walks into, like stepping from warm sunlight into cold shadow. It lifts the hair on his arms. It takes the slack out of his muscles. He walks softer, listens harder, searches the woods more intensely. Sorrows had come across mountain lions and wolves often enough to know the feeling of being watched, measured, and considered. He’d come across bears and dragons often enough to know when it was his scent being smelled, tasted, and tested for signs of fear or weakness. His hand slipped from the handlebar as the sled slowed. His fingers found the hilt of the blade hanging at his hip.

The front door was open. Light and sound and smell spilled into the night. Fire and music and spiced cider. Lanterns and laughter and mincemeat pies. The air was cold, and he was mostly sober. Mostly alert. Davrosh showed no lingering effects from their afternoon at the tavern. Dwarf magic of a sort. They left the dogs to be fed, watered, brushed. They went inside to eat, drink, stand guard. Davrosh’s father greeted them, then her mother, then Nisha. Davrosh followed her stepsister into the great room, and Sorrows followed Davrosh.

It could have been Shealu Hallovel’s dance, or Nimola Kravel’s, or any number of Maiden Dances he’d attended in the past week or the past months. The same songs were played by many of the same musicians. The same food was served, the same drinks washed it down. Variations on a theme. Elsewhere in Hammerfell, three other parties were filled with the same laughter and dancing. Oray would be at one, sitting alone, making everyone around him uncomfortable. Ga’Shel would be at another, standing aloof, making everyone around him feel insignificant. Sorrows and Davrosh stopped following Nisha and moved into a corner where they stood, neither aloof nor alone, and everyone looked at them.

Everyone looked at them for a moment. A glance, some sideways, shy; some unguarded, blunt. Some waved, and Davrosh waved back. Some nodded, and Sorrows nodded in return. They’d been expected. Now that they were there, they were accepted, and if there had been any undercurrents of tension before they arrived, there were no traces remaining now. Within minutes they were as much a part of the gathered family and friends as anyone, as though they had been there all along. And Sorrows wondered how different the next morning would be if Jace chose tonight; if Jace chose Nisha Davrosh.

“What are you thinking about?” Davrosh asked. “Gods, you look near ready to start a fight again.”

“Was thinking about Jace,” Sorrows said.

“Well, in that case, I don’t mind the look much at all. If she comes and sees that face, she’d likely turn around. So, keep scowling, orchole.”

Davrosh grinned, elbowed his ribs. He eyed her, lifted an eyebrow.

“For someone who would find reasons not to attend these parties, you seem to enjoy them.”

“That so?”

“Just an observation. You seem to know everyone, and everyone likes you well enough. Maybe more than well enough.”

“I suppose,” she said. Someone waved, and she smiled, waved back. “Maybe once all this is done and we’ve caught that elf whore, I might find my way to one or two of these. If I fancy. And what about you? What will you do next? Will you stay in Hammerfell?”

“Probably. I need to figure out the box, which probably means finding a dagger. Meanwhile, I need to collect Ju—to finish the bow, which is just as easily done here as anywhere. Hells, with the amount of time I’ve spent in one place, there might be a pilgrimage of Seph standing at the city gates.”

Davrosh nodded, then frowned. “Why’d she take it? I understand the bow, but why steal the amulet?”

Sorrows thought of the Grimstone, of the souls held within, of the names and abilities of those he’d collected.

“I don’t know,” he said.

“Orcpiss,” Davrosh said. “I can see the answer in your eyes, but you’re keeping it off your lips. Fine. I won’t pry. But I thought we were friends.”

“So, we are friends now? You weren’t so sure at the tavern.”

“You were half-drunk on whiskey,” she said. “I didn’t want you falling in love with me.”

He looked at her. Studied her. She’d managed to capture all her hair in her elf cords. Her jerkin was facing the right way, and she’d undone enough of the top buttons to show a glimpse of fair skin and collarbone. Her skirt was smoothed, her face still flushed from the cold. Her eyes sparkled and her smile was easy, natural.

“Can’t promise anything.”

She snorted, slapped him on the back. “Go back to scowling. Make sure Jace knows she isn’t welcome at Davrosh Manor. As for me, Nish is waving me over. I’ll find you later.”

Davrosh left, and Sorrows