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

“Then why the bedroom?” Sorrows asked. “Dwarf houses are filled with rooms. And he knows the Mage Guard are watching the women now. Yet, he still chose Mishma. And he still chose the night of her birthday.”

“Because she was twenty-seven.”

“Not just twenty-seven, or else he’d have an entire year to work with,” Sorrows said. “I think it’s important that she had just turned twenty-seven. It’s specific. It has significance.”

Davrosh took a long pull from her ale, leaned back, studied the ceiling. She pressed her lips together, pushed them out, raised her eyebrows. She nodded.

“Yeah, I think so. I think you’re right.”

Chapter 13

THEY WERE CLOSE. The sun was at their backs, still low on the horizon, hidden behind a scattering of white clouds that formed pillars in the sky. The mountains would appear eventually. Until then, they would walk across flat, golden grassland that stretched endlessly before them and endlessly behind. No hills, no rivers, no obstructions. No distractions from the monotony of Davrosh’s stomping feet. Sorrows had taken her rucksack, though. Small victories.

“Tell me about Julia,” Davrosh said.

“No,” Sorrows said.

“The bow?”

“It’s elf-crafted. Havenwood maple. It’s a gift from an enemy of mine. Was stolen by the Mage Guard a few weeks ago. What else is there to know?”

Davrosh sighed. “You’ll get it back in Hammerfell.”

“I never should have lost it.”

“You said yourself it’s elf-crafted,” Ga’Shel said. “Perhaps it was never yours to lose.”

“That’s between the elves and Ashra. I do the job.”

“Except you haven’t done the job for the past year,” Davrosh said. “In which case, you have an elf bow that you use for what? Hunting deer? Elk?”

“I would put it to better use on the Edge,” Ga’Shel said. “Fighting the Cursed.”

Sorrows said nothing. Davrosh and Ga’Shel gave up asking any more questions. They walked until Davrosh tired, then made camp, ate supper, slept. They broke camp when the sun had climbed to a mid-morning height. Mountains loomed in the distance, dark shadows rising from the flat, brown horizon into a blue sky unburdened by the clouds that approached from the east. The road, which had narrowed to little more than a trail across the plains, grew wide again. Other trails emptied onto it. Fewer cities remained to scatter travelers across the land. A matter of time and distance. Easy to understand. It meant every step forward made Hammerfell the more likely destination. Soon it would be the only destination and the road would be paved in stone. Every step forward meant Sorrows was a pace closer to the bow and Julia, which meant a pace closer to being done with the Mage Guard. The thought put him in a better mood.

“Tell me about your sister,” Sorrows said.

“Why should I?” Davrosh asked. “You haven’t said two words since I asked about Julia.”

Sorrows shrugged. “Fine. Forget I asked.”

They walked. Clusters of pine and cedar speckled the grasslands, gathered in the hollows, sheltered from storms like the one building in the east. Sorrows knew the land well enough. Could imagine the wind blowing from the north. Could imagine it biting at his skin, sending cold fingers into the folds of his cloak and tunic.

“She’s the third-born daughter of House Davrosh,” Davrosh said.

Sorrows glanced at her. “Davrosh? You took on the house name?”

“Father insisted. Garia wouldn’t agree to it at first but gave in eventually. Didn’t win me any friends.”

Sorrows shook his head. “No, I suppose it wouldn’t. You two get along?”

“Me and Garia? Some days are better than others.”

“What about you and Nisha?”

“She used to hate me. Always loved our father. We get along well enough now. Mostly because it makes life easier.”

“Easier for everyone or easier for you?”

“Easier for me. Her life is already easy. She’s a daughter. She has a pretty smile, sweet disposition, eyes like sapphires. The brothers dote on her. She’s smart, rides well, hunts. And she’s a Stoneshaper.”

Sorrows raised an eyebrow. “A Shaper?”

Davrosh nodded. “Father suspected it early on. She had always excelled at rock climbing, and one day when they were on the mountain together, he saw that her fingers sank into the stone when she climbed. She was seven.”

“Why didn’t you two get along?”

“You know why we didn’t,” Davrosh said. She sighed. “She’s her mother’s daughter. The irony is, Garia treated me better after Nisha was born. But when you’ve hated a person for so long, you do things without realizing you’re doing them.”

“What things?”

Davrosh shrugged. “Some little things, some big things. What difference does it make? I wonder sometimes whether if Nisha had been born before I showed up, Garia would have accepted me from the start.”

“Will you do her paint?”

Davrosh laughed. “Of course. I might be half-elf most of the time, but I’m half-dwarf whenever Garia needs something from me.”

“Is Nisha afraid?”

“Yes and no. You know how these things are.”

“How’s that?”

“Garia worries, and I’ve warned the family to watch for anyone or anything suspicious. But Nisha’s twenty-six, a daughter, and a Shaper. She thinks herself invincible. Or at least she did until Mishma.”

“Why Mishma?”

“The two were old classmates, friends. I had to leave shortly after Mishma was found, but before I left, Nisha seemed different.”

“Different? How so?”

“Worried. And she asked when I would be back, which is out of character.”

Sorrows nodded, glanced at Davrosh. She stared at the mountains, chewing the inside of her lip as she stomped along. They walked in silence for a spell. The road turned to paved stone. Pine, spruce, fir and cedar grew on either side, forming a corridor of granite and evergreen.

“Stone Mother’s road,” Ga’Shel announced. “We’re close. There’s an elf waypoint ahead. We’ll stop there to rest, and then on to Hammerfell.”

Davrosh grinned. “You getting tired, Ostev?”

Ga’Shel snorted, said nothing. Glanced at Davrosh with a look that said, I could make the trip back to Godscry.

Sorrows slowed a step. Stone Mother’s road. Stone Mother.

“Did you paint all four daughters?” he asked, turning to Davrosh.

“What?”

“The four victims. Did you paint their Stone Mother’s mask?”

Davrosh shook her head. “No. I did Mari and