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

Mishma, but not the twins. My fee was too high for the Brightles. Did you think I was the thread?”

Another false trail. He shrugged. “Maybe a rival, jealous of your work. Or some zealot who didn’t think a half-born should paint the mask.”

“That would make the killer a dwarf,” Davrosh said. “Not possible.”

“It was a guess.”

“It was a piss-poor guess,” Davrosh said. She gave a chin-stretching smirk. “Keep trying. orchole.”

✽✽✽

THE ELF WAYPOINT came and went. The Stone Mother’s road climbed from the grasslands to the foothills to the mountains. The storm that had been building in the east caught up with them, turning the day dark. The trees swayed slowly. Clouds of early snow drifted in the air. They stuck to the road when it veered north and skirted a lake, then followed its gradual ascent past crags and granite-strewn valleys toward Hammerfell. The storm subsided, and the day turned bright. Sorrows followed Davrosh and Ga’Shel to a clearing, four paces square. Two dwarves stood along one side, each with a spear, each with a scowl. The guard on the left had his mouth open, mid conversation. The guard on the right was nodding slowly.

“I tell him he’s got no chance at bedding a daughter, not with half a leg chewed off by the — gods shun it, Ostev.”

The guard on the left stumbled back, raised his spear. The guard on the right started but held his ground. He stared at Sorrows.

“That an orc?” he asked.

Sorrows said nothing. Davrosh shook her head. “This is—”

“Too ugly to be an orc,” the guard on the left said. He lowered his spear.

Sorrows said nothing.

Davrosh looked from guard to guard. “He’s not an orc, he’s—”

Ga’Shel put a hand on Davrosh’s shoulder. Gave a small shake of his head. The guards didn’t seem to notice. Their eyes were locked on Sorrows.

“She’s right. He’s no orc,” the right guard said, stroking his beard. He gave Sorrows an appraising look. “Looks like a half-born. One half orc—”

“And the other half the tail-end of a centaur,” Sorrows said. He grinned. “Your beard’s getting shorter, Pesh. Or your belly’s growing.”

“You know this guy?” the left guard asked.

“Wish I didn’t,” Pesh said. He directed his words with a series of gestures. “Jokkib, Sorrows. Sorrows, Jokkib.”

He drove the point of his spear into the ground and extended a hand to Sorrows. Sorrows offered his own, and they shook. A dwarf handshake. Firm, brief. Good to see you, it said. No sense dragging this out. Davrosh shifted on her feet, anxious.

“We’re on our way to the tower,” she said. “If you could clear us.”

Pesh offered a gracious frown, held out his hand, palm down. I’ve got this.

“Since when are you on Walker watch?” Sorrows asked.

Pesh nodded at Ga’Shel and Davrosh. “Since someone’s killing daughters. If you’re here to see Snow, she should be back soon. Passed through about an hour ago on her way out to the forest.”

Sorrows shook his head. “No slipping for me. Just finished five days thin. I need to rest.”

“Five days,” Pesh said, scratching his jaw. “Vesh?”

“Grayshore.”

Pesh glanced at Ga’Shel, gave a low whistle. “Good gods. Grayshore in five while carrying two? Impressive, Ostev.”

“Thanks, Pesh.”

Pesh turned back to Sorrows. “Why’d they bring you?”

“The tower thought I might be the killer,” Sorrows said.

Pesh laughed, hard and short. “You? I’d guess another dwarf before I guessed the Gray Walker.”

Davrosh stiffened. “We need to get to the tower, if you—”

“You catch anyone trying to slip the gate?” Sorrows asked. Davrosh turned on him, red-faced.

“Quit interrupting me, orchole,” she said.

“Learned his middle name, did you?” Pesh asked.

“Right after we met,” Davrosh said.

Pesh grinned, eyed Davrosh up and down, measuring.

“He’s an agreeable sort,” he said. “As long as you’re the one agreeing with what he’s saying.”

Davrosh nodded. “Exactly.”

Pesh leaned on his spear, in no rush to take his eyes off Davrosh. “He’s as much an orc split as any elf I’ve met—no offense, Ostev—”

“None taken,” Ga’Shel said.

“—but if you’re in a tight spot, there’s no better sword or arrow to have at your back. And that’s the gods’ honest truth.”

“Though it takes some time getting used to his smell,” a voice said. Feminine, low, husky.

Sorrows turned, nodded at a hooded figure in a brown cloak. She hadn’t been there a moment before. Stood there now with a pair of rabbits slung over her shoulder. One hanging down the front, one in back. Gutted, tied together with twine.

“Bex,” he said.

“Sorrows,” Bex said. “Did you bring Mig?”

She kept her face hidden in the shadows of her hood. Kept her hands hidden in her sleeves. Sorrows shook his head.

“She stayed back in Tam.”

“Pity,” Bex said. “Always a pleasure to have her around.”

“Careful, Snow,” Pesh said.

Davrosh cleared her throat. Bex turned, kept her hood tipped low.

“I know who you are, Master Remma Davrosh. Rest assured, I’ve got no desire to see the Mage Guard knocking on my door. I keep to my own. Don’t bother no one anymore.”

Davrosh said nothing, kept staring.

Pesh turned to Sorrows.

“Haven’t had anyone slip the gate.”

“Not that you know of,” Bex said.

Pesh frowned. “No one passes unless we want them to. Not even old Ostev here. Last I checked, Jokkib didn’t let anyone through. Did you, Jokkib?”

“No sir,” Jokkib said. “Haven’t seen any slipped, save a handful of goblin smugglers a few days back. Sent them away a couple barrels lighter. If you catch my meaning.”

“There you have it,” Pesh said. “Nothing’s got past Jokkib. Which just leaves me.”

He shrugged. Nothing left to say, he was saying. Davrosh cleared her throat. He glanced at her, then waved a hand.

“Head on in, Bex. I’ll be by in an hour for supper.”

Bex snorted, then vanished. Davrosh folded her arms.

“How long are you going to keep us here? It’s cold as all hells and we’ll need to get this orchole to his room before we meet with Overseer Oray.”

“Just doing my job, Master Davrosh,” Pesh said. He glanced at Sorrows. “We take our time when orcs come to the city.”

Sorrows grinned. “Always a pleasure, Pesh.”

Pesh