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

before, optimistic. He thought of her leaving the way she came, disappointed, but already looking ahead to the next family. He wondered when her optimism had broken. Maybe after five families she was stomping more loudly than normal. Maybe after ten she was muttering under her breath as she and Ga’Shel walked outside the gods-stream. By their last daughter, Zvilna Gorsham, each word would be laced with frustration; each sigh rooted in defeat; shoulders slumped, quick to avert her eyes. The walk back to the tower would have been long, loud, and full of swearing. He glanced at Jace and pitied Ga’Shel.

Hallovel Manor was modest compared to the likes of Valinor or Sturm, but it still towered among the trees. A goblin in black and silver livery approached from the house. His hair was streaked with gray and gathered into a small knot on top of his head. He wore a wide smile that fell short of his eyes. Behind him, a male dwarf watched from the front door, arms folded across a broad chest. Other faces watched from windows along the front of the house. The goblin clasped his hands and inclined his head to Jace.

“Greetings, my lady,” he said. “We did not expect a second visit from the Mage Guard so soon. To what do we owe this honor?”

His tone was polite but firm. He clipped his words. His face said, We’ve already told you no once. Don’t make us do it again.

“I’d like to scout the manor. Get a feel for the landscape,” Sorrows said, loud enough that the dwarf standing in the door could hear.

The goblin seemed surprised that Sorrows had spoken instead of Jace. He glanced at Sorrows.

“I did not realize you could speak,” he said. A goblin with an attitude. Expected.

Sorrows brushed past him, ignored his muttered protests. The dwarf rocked forward, shifting on his feet, and squared himself in the doorway.

“My daughter will have her Maiden’s Dance however she sees fit,” he said. Dwarf stubbornness. Expected.

Sorrows extended a hand. “Solomon Sorrows. Not here to convince you how to protect Shealu.”

Dwarves don’t pass up handshakes. A hand offered is a gauntlet thrown. An invitation to match strength. A civilized battle disguised as a greeting. The dwarf glanced at Sorrows and grinned. He reached forward and his hand clamped shut. A strong handshake. As strong as any Sorrows had felt before. The dwarf grinned, jutted his beard toward Sorrows.

“Wegg Hallovel,” he said. He squeezed. “I don’t need convincing. I know how to protect my family.”

Drinnegan Pine, Sorrows thought. The amulet hummed against his chest. He felt it in his bones, spreading down into his ribs, up through his shoulders, along his arm to his hand to his fingers. Drinnegan was the biggest human Sorrows had found. His soul was a good head taller than Sorrows if summoned. But Sorrows wasn’t looking to fill the manor with shades. He just wanted to balance the scales. Maybe tip them a bit in his favor.

Wegg’s eyes grew wide, and he glanced at his hand.

“Easy, Solomon,” Jace said beside him.

Sorrows ignored her.

“Here’s the thing, Wegg,” Sorrows said. “Maybe Trailswell Sturm didn’t know better. And maybe Gorn Brightle had no reason to worry. But House Valinor was wary. They had the Mage Guard stationed outside Mishma’s room. Her father and brothers thought they knew how to protect her. Now the name of Valinor is threatened. As is Sturm. As is Brightle. You know how rare it is to have two daughters born of the same mother. You need my help.”

Wegg winced, his fingers went slack. He brought his free hand to his forearm.

“Solomon,” Jace said. She grabbed his arm.

“I’ve heard of you, Gray Walker,” Wegg said, gasping. “You couldn’t protect your own family. Why should I risk mine? We all know about the arrows, and we all know you carry a bow.”

The snow had stopped. The air was cold. The snap of bone echoed off the manor walls. Wegg cried out, dropped to one knee, clutched his hand. Jace rushed to his side.

“Stay out of my house,” Wegg said, jaw clenched.

“Go to hells,” Sorrows said.

He stepped over Wegg into Hallovell Manor. The front door opened into a foyer with marble floors and an arched ceiling fifteen paces overhead. A chandelier of crystal and glowstone, curving mirrored staircases with bronze balusters and handrails sculpted to look like vines and flowers, a second-story balcony with marble balustrade. House Hallovel might be a lesser house, but it wasn’t that far behind the Valinors. Another daughter, another generation of expansion, and Hallovel might match Sturm in influence. They were a family with wealth, yet Davrosh had said she wasn’t doing Shealu’s mask. And Ga’Shel had claimed the Hallovels couldn’t afford the fee. Expected. Elf arrogance would have demanded a lie. The truth was nobody liked elves, but some people went a step further and disliked the arrogant pricks. Elves ignored those people. They made excuses. They concocted stories. Stories like a dwarf family not able to afford a half-elf painter and elf magic.

Sorrows walked into the great room, glanced at the fireplace, the cushions spread out for seating, the heads and antlers of dead animals mounted on the walls. It was an open space. No blind corners, no shadows to hide in. Defensible. With Shealu in the center of the room, it would force the killer to expose himself to reach her. Footsteps sounded behind Sorrows, he turned. A red-faced Wegg Hallovel stomped into the room, flexing his hand. Jace followed, looked at Sorrows with a face that said, That was stupid. He returned her stare with his own raised eyebrow. You can heal?

He focused on Wegg. “Shealu should spend the night here. With you. Anyone else you trust?”

“Get out,” Wegg said.

Behind him, two female dwarves stood and watched. Shealu and her mother. Both with coarse black hair. Both with the hint of dimples on either side of pursed, frowning lips. Both looking at Sorrows as though he were a storm coming over the