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

winked, straightened. Turned toward a guard tower beside the east gate, waved. He pulled his spear free in a spray of rock, gestured Sorrows, Davrosh, and Ga’Shel forward.

“Good to see you, Sorrows,” he said. He glanced at Ga’Shel. “Ostev.”

“Pesh,” Ga’Shel said.

Pesh turned to Davrosh, inclined his head. “Hope to see you again sometime, Master Davrosh.”

Davrosh said nothing, offered a small smile, and led Sorrows and Ga’Shel from the clearing.

✽✽✽

DAVROSH STOMPED ALONG stone-paved streets, fifteen paces across, meticulously straight. If you were tall enough, you could see from the east gate all the way through to the heart of the city. Sorrows was tall enough. He studied the city as they walked. Knew their destination lay to the right, to the south of their path. Past stone and more stone. Roads intersected, square, precise. Clean lines. Dwarf magic. If an arrow flew as true, Sorrows might never miss. They passed a tavern. The bellowing of dwarf revelry seeped through the windows and door. The sweet, warm smell of brown ale and black bread wafted in the air.

They turned a corner and the tower, which had loomed overhead, appeared in front of them, separated from the street by a moat of grass and sculpted shrubbery. Dense evergreen bushes had been pruned into bears and elk; wolves giving chase to stags; dwarves riding to battle on boars. Hammerfell Tower stood tall amidst the decor, solid at its foundation with great, uncut boulders. The rough surface of the raw stone gradually gained order. Lines appeared, faint at first, but growing in prominence as the tower rose above the city. A mountain in the mist, a gift to the elves for the Mage Guard who resided within its walls. But shaped by dwarf hands to suit dwarf sensibilities.

Davrosh and Ga’Shel strode through the gardens, exchanging brief greetings with elves wearing black and gray. Sorrows followed, watching, listening. No hidden dismay for Davrosh, no delayed deference. The two Masters exuded confidence as they approached the oak doors, spoke to the guards, waved Sorrows inside.

“The Overseer will be down shortly,” an elf said as they stepped inside.

She was short for an elf, dark-haired, pale-skinned, violet-eyed. Easy to understand why she was in Hammerfell. Another elf waited beside a door in the back, presumably to escort Oray when he arrived. Tall, but awkward with his height. Gangly. Red-haired. Another obvious choice for Hammerfell. Godscry Tower had been filled with golden hair and gray eyes. The elf standard. Anomalies were sent elsewhere. Talented enough to join the Mage Guard, but not Godscry material. Other elf towers might have one or two anomalies. But for the dwarves? No need to waste good elves on dwarves. Davrosh fits right in, Sorrows thought. He also wondered why Ga’Shel had been assigned to Hammerfell.

The faint ringing of steel on steel caught his attention, echoing from somewhere in the tower. He tipped his head, listened. Davrosh noticed.

“Weapons practice,” she said. “We have training rooms in the lower levels of the tower. An archery range as well.”

The door opened, swinging silently on oiled iron. The stairwell or corridor or room behind was dimly lit. Not the bright lamplight of Godscry. The dwarves were as comfortable underground as above. Light was an extravagance. Luxury. Unnecessary. The elves had probably disagreed. A compromise had been reached.

Oray emerged, brown hair, gray eyes. Another anomaly. He walked briskly, gray cloak unbuttoned, flowing behind him. Black jerkin crisp, skirt straight and brushing against the stone floor, boots flashing beneath. He was rejuvenated, imposing. As though he drew his strength from Hammerfell Tower and had been revived upon returning. Most likely he did. Blessing of home and hearth, Sorrows thought. Dwarf magic. Worked into the stone when the tower was built. Davrosh had found a second wind, as well. Her eyes were bright, her uniform was crisp, and despite the days of travel, she had tamed her hair enough to look somewhat put together.

Davrosh and Ga’Shel walked forward to meet Oray. Sorrows lingered behind, following slowly. Oray said something to Davrosh. She turned, glanced at Sorrows, then she and Ga’Shel left through the same door Oray had come out of. Oray strode forward.

“Welcome to Hammerfell Tower,” he said, glancing from side to side. My tower, his eyes were saying. Wolf eyes. “I can arrange for someone to show you around, if you’d like.”

“I’ve been here before,” Sorrows said.

Oray raised an eyebrow. “Oh? I think I’d remember that.”

“Before your time.”

“I’ve been stationed here for—”

“Before your time,” Sorrows said.

Oray nodded. “I see. Well, come with me. I’ll show you to your room.”

He didn’t wait for Sorrows to respond. He turned, gestured to the door, and fell in step beside Sorrows. They passed through the door into a dimly lit corridor. The floor spiraled downward in a gradual, wide arc that left forty paces of stone walls and floor visible. It gave the impression that someone might be lurking ahead in ambush. Sorrows didn’t like it. Knew it was intentional by the dwarves. Strategic. Doors appeared randomly, some on the right, leading to the interior of the tower. Others on the left, leading outward, beneath the tower grounds. No sconces, no lamps hanging from iron pegs. Glowstone had been worked into the ceiling, casting pale light. Dwarf magic. No tapestries, no decoration. Forty paces of nondescript walls and the occasional door. Disorienting. Strategic.

“I don’t get a room in the tower?” Sorrows asked.

“The lower rooms are well-furnished,” Oray said.

And more difficult to escape, Sorrows thought.

“Do you have my bow?” he asked.

Oray stared at him for a moment, nodded. “It’s in your room.”

Sorrows felt something akin to relief. “Good.”

“Did you discuss the killings with Davrosh?”

“We didn’t just talk about the weather for four weeks.”

“Any ideas?” Oray asked.

He studied Sorrows, suddenly intense.

Sorrows shook his head. “You’re missing something. I don’t know what, but I know you won’t find this guy until you find it. Which means you have three weeks before you’ll need to figure out a way to protect eighty-three girls over the coming month.”

Oray