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

“It’s the job,” Sorrows said.

“And you’re good at it,” Oray said. “We need your help.”

Sorrows laughed. A loud, sharp laugh that silenced the tavern. Heads turned. He leaned across the table.

“Pick a hell. Go to it.”

Oray and Davrosh stared at him. He stared back. Impasse. Blades crossed. Steel scraping steel. The murmur of conversation returned as goblins found better things to do than watch three people not talking. Oray sighed.

“Someone’s killing the gods-born,” he said.

“I know. You tried to convince me I was the one doing it, remember?”

“They’re daughters.”

“That’s your problem, not mine,” Sorrows said. “No such thing as vengeance of the human.”

“You orchole,” Davrosh said.

Oray glanced at her, gave a small shake of his head. She stared at him, dark circles under her eyes. The hair on the left side of her head had freed itself from the elf cords she wore. It looked like patches of coarse brown grass growing around her ears.

“Could you make it your problem?” Oray asked, still watching Davrosh.

“Why would I?” Sorrows said.

“You know dwarves. You’ve fought with them. You know how they think.”

“You think a dwarf did this?”

“You don’t?”

“I’d sooner believe it was me.”

“Maybe it was a dwarf who fought the cursed,” Davrosh said. She was sinking further onto the table, her second tankard half empty beside her. “Maybe something happened that scarred him.”

“Gods, Davrosh. Scarred him or scarred you?”

“Huh?”

“You keep circling back to trauma. Like it’s all you think about. And I’m wondering who you caught with it.”

“Orchole,” Davrosh said.

“An elf,” Oray said. “Gruesome killing. Victim was a half-born woman, and we had no leads. Remma found a neighbor who had spent a century fighting the Cursed.”

“A century,” Sorrows said. “Gods.”

“Caught him, dagger in hand, entering the house of his next victim,” Oray said. “He was the first, but there have been others. And other motives. Remma’s our best. She knows what to look for.”

Sorrows glanced at Davrosh. The half-born was almost drooling on the table.

“Your best,” he said.

Oray nodded. “She is.”

“Then why do you need my help?”

“I like your cheery disposition,” Oray said.

“Orchole,” Davrosh said. She slumped onto the table, eyes closed, mouth hanging open.

Sorrows reached for her tankard, tipped it, saw the bottom. Glanced at Davrosh.

“Your best?”

Oray leaned across the table. His eyes flicked to Davrosh, then back to Sorrows.

“She has a twenty-six-year-old sister,” he said.

“Twenty-six?”

“And a half. Maybe three quarters. The Sturms were family friends. When Mari was found, Remma took it personally. Then the twins happened right under her nose, and she became obsessed with finding the killer. She doesn’t eat. She doesn’t sleep. She’s going to catch this guy or die trying.”

“It’s her funeral,” Sorrows said.

Oray’s face turned red. His jaw flexed. “She deserves a little sympathy. Especially from you.”

“Why? Because of what I lost? I don’t feel sympathy toward her. I pity her. And I pity you. If she’s your best, then you’ll never find the killer. She lost the case the moment she made it personal.”

“Orchole,” Davrosh said. Her eyes were closed, and the word came out half-formed and groggy.

“Real gem you got there, Oray,” Sorrows said.

Oray leaned back, stared at Sorrows. Sorrows stared back. They sat in silence, attending to their drinks. Fatigue darkened Oray’s eyes and the lines of his face. He finished his ale, pushed his tankard to the side, and took a deep breath. He straightened, lowered his head slightly. Aggressive. Posturing. I will get what I needfrom you, he was saying.Sorrows knew a wolf when he saw one. Knew it better to walk away from one that was wounded or cornered. And Oray was both. Sorrows waited, wary. But Oray said nothing. Did nothing. And with an unflattering snort, Davrosh woke herself up. She wiped her face on her sleeve. Looked around, confused. The wolf faded, and Oray offered Davrosh a sympathetic grin.

“How long was I asleep?” she asked.

“Not long enough,” Oray said.

Davrosh glanced at Sorrows and turned back to Oray.

“Is he going to help?”

“No, he’s not,” Sorrows said. “He wants no part of this.”

Davrosh ignored him. “Then we don’t need him. We’ll return to Hammerfell and keep working the Cursed angle. We’ll ask around.”

“If you think that’s best,” Oray said.

“I do. We’ll ask again. We’ll find something,” she said.

“Why the Cursed?” Sorrows asked.

Davrosh turned to him with a look that said, You’re still here? Gave a quick sigh. Orchole.

“The daughters,” she said. “They all looked... the same.”

“What’d they look like?”

Davrosh shook her head. “I don’t need your help.”

Oray glanced at her, weighed the options in his head. “Arms spread out to the side. Mouths shut. Eyes wide. Like—”

“Scarecrows,” Sorrows said.

“Yes,” Oray said.

“Gods,” Sorrows said. “Your sister.”

Davrosh’s face reddened.

“Don’t you worry about my sister. I’ll find this guy.”

“No, you won’t,” Sorrows said. He turned to Oray. “You need someone else. Get two or three, if that makes you feel better. Use her on other things, but not this. She’s too close to this.”

“She doesn’t trust anyone else,” Davrosh said.

She stood up from the table. Her chair slid backward, scraping across the floor. The noise was sudden and jarring, but it was tavern noise. It went unnoticed. Just another note within a song of revelry and merrymaking. Davrosh took a step toward the door, gestured at Oray, let’s get out of here. Back to work. Back to the murders. Back to finding the killer before her sister’s twenty-seventh birthday.

Glass shattered, and liquid splashed onto the floor. Tavern noise, but noise that demanded attention. Heads turned, fingers pointed.

“Orchole!” Fen said. Loud, angry.

Sorrows stood, pushed his way through a ring of goblins. Tables had emptied at the breaking of the glass and a crowd had spread like grease on water. Fen and Ga’Shel were a bit of soap in the center, forcing the goblins back as they circled one another. Fen held half a bottle in one hand. Broken, empty. Its contents spilled onto the floor. The jagged edge hung at his side. Not a weapon. The two were breathing hard, moving slow. He saw Sorrows and nodded at Ga’Shel.

“I