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

she said over her shoulder. “Even though I’m too close to the situation to do it right.”

She stopped, turned, looked hard at him.

“But at least I’m close enough to give a piss.”

✽✽✽

HE FOLLOWED. DAVROSHstomped thirty paces ahead of him, leaning against the wind. A ghost passing in the night. The storm, which had dulled the sun during the day, now blanketed the sky and hid the moon. Snow covered the road, turned to a tangle of meandering ruts by the day’s crowds. A thick blanket of white covered storefronts and benches. Glowstone streetlamps wore domed caps like tall, spindly children, hunched and watching a half-born and her human shadow pass beneath.

The side street was a mess. Davrosh struggled and slowed, and Sorrows inevitably caught up with her. He took the lead, carving a path through waist-high drifts, using his hands to scoop through deep accumulations. An hour passed, and another, and they found the bridge—which meant they were close. Gorsham Manor lay somewhere before them, hidden by darkness and blowing snow.

“It’s just ahead,” Davrosh said. “With any luck, La’Jen and Ostev will be there already.”

She struggled with a deep drift. Sorrows offered a hand. She took it, pulled herself up and through.

“Why didn’t you show?” she asked.

The question didn’t matter. There was no answer that would change anything. Sorrows had been to twelve parties in seven days. Had only missed one he meant to attend. He wished to the gods he hadn’t missed any.

He shrugged. “I meant to.”

“But something else happened.”

“Yes.”

“Something between you and Jace.”

“Yes, but not what you’re thinking.”

“But your goblin friend found out, didn’t she?” Davrosh asked. “You didn’t fall in your room.”

She’s the best we have, Oray had said. Sorrows could see it. Davrosh noticed things. Made the right assumptions. Guessed well most of the time.

“Yes,” he said. “She knows.”

Davrosh nodded. They walked in silence for a spell.

“How did a goblin get into Hammerfell Tower?”

“Walker,” Sorrows said.

Davrosh clucked her tongue. “Bet she hit you hard.”

“Pretty sure she used the bow.”

Davrosh whistled, glanced at the back of his head. They kept walking.

The snow off the main road was smooth, untrampled. Only the lampposts marked the road, like will-o’-the-wisps marching in mirrored lines all the way to Gorsham Manor. The wind grew colder, fiercer. It whined and whistled along stone walls and slate rooftops. It shook clusters of white pine and red cedar. It blew in gusts against Sorrows, snapping his cloak and slipping fingers of cold air into his hood, down his collar, into his tunic. Occasionally it carried the vanilla and tobacco scent of Davrosh’s magic.

Gorsham Manor might have been any other mansion, its front path swept clean of snow, its windows bright in the darkness. Sorrows and Davrosh had passed dozens like it as they walked the street from the main road, over the bridge and into the outer edge of the city. But it wasn’t any other mansion, and a pallor hung over it, thick, sensory. He heard it as they approached the front door, the mixed sounds of mourning and anger, sobs and raised voices. He smelled it in the air, a blend of wood smoke and the City Guard’s sled dogs. He felt it in the hesitation of his own hand upon the knocker, a slowing of the muscles, a heaviness in his limbs, a dread of what lay behind the door.

“Just knock,” Davrosh said. “No sense postponing the inevitable.”

He knocked. Footsteps sounded.

“This day keeps getting better and better,” he said.

The door opened. They stepped inside.

Chapter 29

THE GODS ARE pleased. You know it as fact. The feeling of satisfaction that lingered in the room after the kill; the absence of the human; the ineptitude of the City Guard. The gods guide your steps to mastery. They shadow your every move. They find joy in the prospect of adding you to their ranks. You share their exhilaration. Zvilna Gorsham was flawless, start to finish. You relive the memory of her death, the memory of your performance. You remember every nuance, every last detail. You had more than a month to prepare. You were well-rehearsed. You can relive each step because you planned each step.

You search for mistakes, inefficiencies, but there are none. The wire held, as it always holds. It cut, as it always cuts. The mask, the magic. It was all as it should be. But you, well, you moved more quickly through the movements than ever before. You slipped from moment to moment like a god. You were confident. You were poised. You were focused.

You are most proud of your focus. You are most proud of your ability to ignore the beseeching stares, the screams, the tears. These weighed on you previously. They distracted, hindered, slowed. Even with sealed lips, muted despair is still despair. But not with Zvilna. You were not swayed. You did not hesitate. Delicate Zvilna with her meek manner, so easy to pity. You remained merciless. Not out of cruelty, but for the sake of your mastery, the expectations of the gods. They test you. They want to see what you are capable of. They want to see if you are worthy. They probably thought you would fail with the twins. Yes, the twins were your first real test. It was with the twins that the shadow and the dagger appeared. Even the gods, it would seem, have backup plans.

✽✽✽

CITY GUARD SLED dogs have thick, double-coated fur. Warm and protective. Clean. Black and white coloring. Like shadow on snow. Their eyes are the pale blue of early morning, bright with intelligence. They’re strong dogs, not too broad, not too slender. Hard-working dogs, running in teams of four or six to a sled. Loyal dogs, ready to bare teeth and bring muscle when called upon. Sorrows had always liked the breed. Saw more than a few of its kind throughout the years. Saw a number of them on the Edge, fighting the cursed. They were as much a part of dwarf culture as beards, whiskey,