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

got the whiskey, but sunshine here made me break the bottle.”

Ga’Shel had his back to Sorrows. He turned his head, but kept his shoulders squared to Fen. Kept his eyes focused sideways on the goblin.

“You back there, Oray?” he asked.

“I’m here,” Oray said. “You find it?”

“Yes.”

“Good. We’re leaving.”

Ga’Shel straightened, pulled his jerkin tight, smoothed his cloak. Fen relaxed, set the top of the whiskey bottle on a table. Walked around the puddle on the floor to Sorrows. The crowd lingered in the hope that a fight might break out.

“You all right?” Fen asked.

“Sure. You?” Sorrows said.

Fen snorted. “You think an elf could touch Fen Costenatti?”

Sorrows bent over, picked up a piece of glass. Lowered his voice.

“He’s good?” he asked.

“He’s good,” Fen said quietly. “Real fast. I wouldn’t be surprised if he could do Hammerfell in ten. I lost sight of him once or twice.”

Sorrows nodded, said nothing.

The crowd was conversing again. Goblins returned to their tables, glancing at the elves. The serving girl appeared with a bucket, some rags, and a sour look which she directed at Ga’Shel. The sun-haired elf ignored her, took a step toward Oray.

“Clean that up, Ga’Shel,” Oray said, pointing at the spill.

Ga’Shel stiffened. His face reddened, but he said nothing and turned toward the mess. The crowd dispersed. Sorrows returned to the table and Ga’Shel appeared a moment later.

“I pegged you for a lavender guy,” Sorrows said. “But I don’t smell anything. Restoration not as easy as forest-walking?”

Ga’Shel gave a small smirk. Looked to Oray. Nodded toward Sorrows.

“Is he going to help?” he asked.

“No, he’s not,” Sorrows said.

“We don’t need him,” Davrosh said.

“What are they talking about, Sol?” Fen asked.

Oray sighed. Not the tired sigh of a burdened Overseer. A sigh of preparation, the gathering of thoughts. The wolf had returned.

“We need you, Sorrows,” he said.

“Not interested.”

“You’d have your share of the Hammerfell bounty.”

“Doesn’t matter.”

Oray, Davrosh, and Ga’Shel stared at him. No one sat. No one smiled. The five of them stood around the table. Three elves, a goblin, a human, and no joke to fit the punchline. After a moment, Oray broke the silence.

“Why, Sorrows?” he asked. “You knew two of the families. Why not help?”

“You want the gods’ honest truth? It’s Davrosh. She’s got one name for me, and it’s the wrong one. She’s elf arrogance with dwarf stubbornness. No, thanks.”

Oray rolled his eyes, shrugged.

“You said it yourself, she has a lot at stake on this one,” he said.

“Then pull her off,” Sorrows said. “Use someone else. You’re the Mage Guard. You have resources.”

“That’s true. If I reassigned Davrosh, would you help?”

“No way, Oray,” Davrosh said. She hurried around the table to stand beside him, looked up, pointed a finger at his face. “You don’t stand a chance without me, and you know it. Nisha is as good as dead without me.”

“I might consider it,” Sorrows said.

“Orchole,” Davrosh said, turning to him.

Her cloak was askew, caught on a clasp on her jerkin. Her jerkin was twisted so that the neat row of buttons down its middle ended over her left thigh. Her skirt was riding up her boot. She was disheveled from head to toe. And beneath her unkempt hair she wore a dark-eyed scowl that complimented nothing on her already plain face.

“You’d need her, Sorrows,” Ga’Shel said. “You’re a fool to think otherwise. Remma’s the best we’ve got.”

Oray raised an eyebrow. The closest thing to unguarded surprise that an elf could manage. It was practically a gasp. Sorrows glanced at Ga’Shel.

“You know about her sister. She’s too close. When you’re close, you miss things. The little things. And with a case like this, the little things matter.”

Ga’Shel shook his head. “You’re wrong about this. There are no little things right now. Not for Remma. This is her family. Every last detail is significant.”

Davrosh grinned. A crooked grin that matched her clothes and hair. Smug, confident. She looked at Oray.

“Let’s go. We’re wasting time with this orchole,” she said.

“No,” Oray said. “I’m the Overseer and it’s my call. Last chance, Sorrows.”

“Or what?” Sorrows asked.

Oray glanced at Ga’Shel then Fen then looked at Sorrows.

“You know what,” he said.

“That was why you brought me to Godscry Tower,” Sorrows said.

Oray nodded. “It’s elf-crafted. Full of magic. Easy to find if you know what to look for.”

“And I get it back once I agree to help.”

“Something like that.”

“If I run again once I have it?”

“Didn’t take us long to find it, or you. And now that Ga’Shel has the feel of the goblin’s magic, you won’t move as fast.”

Fen had been turning his head from side to side, watching the conversation. His eyes grew wide, and he vanished. A moment later he reappeared beside Sorrows, panting.

“Gods, so tired,” he said between breaths. He looked up at Sorrows. “It’s gone, Sol.”

Davrosh set her jaw, defiant. Willing to do whatever it took. Ga’Shel smirked. Oray stared. The wolf.

An arrow has no fear. Has no knowledge of it. No need for it. An arrow is death at one end and calm control at the other. It navigates the wind. It flies between trees, over obstacles. It ignores distraction, follows the will of the hunter unerringly to its target. It is not threatened or intimidated. It does not resist the string at its back. It moves forward. Doesn’t offer pity or show mercy to any in its path.

Sorrows took a deep breath. Let it out slowly through his nose, a ponderous thing that he felt in the back of his throat.

“This is why nobody likes elves, Oray,” he said.

“It’s not my job to make you like me, Sorrows,” Oray said. “It’s my job to catch a killer.”

Davrosh shook her head, eyes fixed on Sorrows.

“Orchole.”

Chapter 9

FEN SWIRLED WHISKEY in a glass, stared at the liquid, avoided eye contact with Sorrows. Sorrows leaned back against the wall, legs stretched out across the floor. Mig rubbed her head against his chest, one arm tucked beneath her, one arm draped over him.

“This is my fault,” Fen said.

“How is it your fault?” Mig asked.

“I