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

but it filled the room, echoed off the walls, lingered in the air.

“What? Who?” he asked.

“Bex. Bex is dead.”

IVRA JACE left the topmost room of Hammerfell Tower and began the spiraling descent. She walked at a brisk pace but didn’t run. Running through the tower was conspicuous. A group of mage guards crowded the corridor. She passed them with long strides that said, I’m in a hurry or I don’t have time for you. Not that it mattered. The elves were too dismissive and arrogant to notice someone acting dismissive and arrogant.

“Ivra,” someone said.

Jace kept walking. Her pace quickened.

“Ivra Jace,” the same someone said more urgently.

Jace gave a frustrated sigh, forced a smile, and turned.

“Master Davrosh,” she said. She inclined her head “How nice to see you.”

“If you’re on your way to see Sorrows, you just missed him,” Davrosh said. “He left the dining hall ten or fifteen minutes ago.”

Jace’s forehead wrinkled. Her smile faded.

“Oh?” she asked. “Where did he go?”

Davrosh shrugged. “How should I know? Back to his room, I’d guess. When do we leave for Wixfeld?”

“We?”

Davrosh nodded. “La’Jen wants me to tag along. Make sure the two of you behave.”

Jace paled.

“Behave?”

Davrosh laughed. “I’m only kidding, of course.”

Jace smiled faintly. “Of course. We leave an hour past lunch.”

Davrosh grinned, nodded. She turned, waved a hand, called out over her shoulder, “See you then.”

Jace watched for a moment, then turned and ran down the corridor. Ignored the stares of wandering mage guards. Ran all the way to his door, pulled it open. Empty. Cloak missing. Bow resting on the bed. She stared at it for a moment, turned and ran back up the corridor. She opened a door, passed into the entrance hall. She studied the gathered black and gray, pursed her lips, shook her head. She crossed to the front doors and stepped out into the storm.

✽✽✽

THE ROAD TURNED to gravel. The snow made it impossible to see more than a body length ahead, behind or around. It was cold, but they were slipped and sheltered from the wind, which blew about them in slow, furious gusts. They passed few dwarves on the streets, fewer half-born, and only one goblin. Sorrows held Mig’s hand to offer comfort and to avoid being separated. When they arrived at Bex Gellio’s hut, Mig hesitated, pulled away from Sorrows.

“I’ll stay out here,” she said.

“I won’t be long,” he said.

He ducked through the triangular doorway into the starlit twilight of the hut. Mig returned him to the gods-stream. The roar of the wind filled his ears for a heartbeat before the cold bit at his skin. Bex lay in pieces on the floor. Parts of arms, half a hand, most of a leg, a piece of scalp with wiry, red hair. No blood. Flesh and bone cut impossibly clean. He studied what he could. Didn’t take long. Not much to see. He turned, walked away. Mig slipped him from the gods-stream.

“Where’s the rest of her?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” she said. “Scattered over the city, most likely. I searched for a few hours, then I left to find you.”

Sorrows looked at her, hesitated. “A few hours? Mig, you’ve been gone a month.”

She shook her head. “A month? Gods. I had to go thick, Sol. Real thick. Her body’s been pushed way down. I almost didn’t see her at first. But I needed to prove it to you. I kept looking so you would understand.”

“Understand what?”

“Only another Walker could’ve done this to Bex. She fragged when she was pulled into the gods-stream, and the pieces of her were slipped back out and scattered.”

“By who? There are only three Walkers in Hammerfell, and one of them is dead. Was it Ga’Shel?”

Mig shook her head. “Not him. Her.”

“Who?”

“Jace. She’s a Walker, Sol.”

Chapter 26

SORROWS PACED AND Mig watched. Her head tracked left, right, and left again. Her fingers drummed on her arm. Slow, then fast. She tapped her foot in the air as it dangled.

“Gods, Sol, just sit,” she said. She patted the bed, half annoyed, half playful.

The playful half bothered Sorrows. It reminded him of conversations to be had, or secrets to be kept. The annoyed half was easy. He was annoyed too. Annoyed because what Mig had shown him complicated things. Jace was keeping secrets. Annoyed because he’d had a month to find a Seph and lay Julia to rest. Instead, he’d spent his time attending parties and flirting with Jace. Annoyed because flirting had almost turned to something more. And part of him wished it had. Which brought him back to the playful half of Mig’s invitation to sit. He kept pacing.

“How’d she do it?” he asked.

“Do what?”

“Frag Bex. How would you do it?”

“I wouldn’t. I’m not a killer.”

“Neither is Jace.”

“Are you defending her?”

Sorrows shook his head. “No, but we don’t know anything for certain. How’s it work?”

Mig slid off the bed and picked up the hood of the glowstone lamp. She held two fingers in front of the light, looked at their shadow on the wall, pointed them down so her fist became a bulbous body on thick, black legs.

“When we slip, we can go thin,” she said, and moved her hand away. The shadow became small. “The gods-stream turns to a trickle. Time slows. Or we can go thick, and the gods-stream becomes a river. Time rushes past us.”

She moved her hand closer until the shadow filled the wall, then moved the hood over the lamp.

“In either case, though we perceive it differently, the true flow remains the same. Steady, constant. That’s why a Walker needs to be careful. Half the trick of slipping is pulling a person in or out all at once.”

She dropped the hood. The room went dark.

“All out. Safe.”

She lifted the hood until the tips of her fingers created shadows in a crescent of light.

“Halfway out, halfway in. Fragged.”

“Gods,” Sorrows said.

“She has a real mean streak, that elf friend of yours.”

Sorrows shook his head. “Bex is a Walker. She could’ve stayed slipped.”

“Depends on how strong