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

They were back in the room with the polished stone table. Sorrows sat near the door, Davrosh and Ga’Shel sat at the opposite end, Oray stood near the center. Davrosh had put half a decanter of wine into her stomach upon sitting down, and the remnants of a crust of bread were scattered on her jerkin. She sucked on her teeth and watched Oray nod then shake his head.

“Ostev checked those rooms,” he said. “No traces of a Walker.”

“Did you slip?” Sorrows asked.

“No,” Ga’Shel said. “Why would I? I can see your little green friend’s trail all over the tower. I don’t need to slip to see a Walker.”

“How long does a trail linger?” Sorrows asked.

“A day or two. More than enough time.”

“You ever see any other trails in the tower?”

Ga’Shel shook his head. “No, why?”

“Doesn’t matter,” Oray said. “We’re getting off track. Even if he was a Walker, that doesn’t explain the arrows or Zvilna’s wrist.”

“Still working on that,” Sorrows said.

“Work faster. We need to catch this guy.”

“We will,” Davrosh said. “We know what to watch for now. We can warn the daughters not to paint their wrists or use magic. Something. Anything. We’ll get a step ahead of him. Catch him off guard. He’ll make one mistake and we’ll have him.”

Oray frowned, furrowed his brow. I need better than this, he was saying.

“One more thing,” Sorrows said.

“What?” Oray asked.

“I know Jace is a Walker.”

Ga’Shel leaned forward. “Who?”

“Ivra Jace. The elf the Archmage assigned to watch over me.”

Oray sat down, stared hard at Sorrows. “Ivra Jace? You’re sure?”

“I’m sure.”

Oray’s frown disappeared. He leaned back, looked around the room. “I’ll speak with the Archmage. If the tower has a second Walker, I want to know why I wasn’t told. You three get some rest. We examine Zvilna Gorsham after breakfast. Then there are three dances in the evening. I want one of you at each.”

Ga’Shel sighed, stood, and left the room. Davrosh burped, stood, and followed. Sorrows stood, and Oray held out a hand.

“Stay,” he said.

Sorrows said nothing, waited.

“You’re sure about Ivra Jace?” Oray asked.

“Yes.”

“She must talk in her sleep.”

Sorrows paused a breath, looked at Oray. “Something like that.”

“There was a fire in the Quarry today.”

“That so?”

“It is. An old hut that belonged to a goblin Walker by the name of Bex Gellio. You know her?”

“I do.”

“You did. She’s dead.”

“You don’t say?”

“I do. Odd, though. Some of her bones were missing. Quite a few, actually. And some of the ones that were left, well, they didn’t look right. Like they’d been cut clean through.”

“Strange,” Sorrows said.

“Strange,” Oray said.

He stared at Sorrows. Sorrows stared back. Two looks passed between them. One said, This is my tower and I know everything that happens within its walls. The other said, I don’t give an orc’s split about you or your tower.

“Good night, Oray,” Sorrows said. He stepped toward the door.

“Good night, Sorrows,” Oray said as the door swung shut.

✽✽✽

YOU ARE FRUSTRATED. Your emotions got the better of you. It is a humbling realization. Perhaps the gods were right to doubt. You panicked. Your attraction to the human blinded you to his aptitude. He carries within him the wisdom of ages. An odd burden for a mortal. Though perhaps not as odd for him. You vow not to underestimate him again.

You know what he will look for. You know what to hide, what to destroy, what to leave behind. You know his own emotions can be used against him, can be used to lead him astray.

You take a deep breath. You set aside your frustration. Nisha Davrosh is eight days away. Only eight. With your patience, your years of study, your abilities, you can keep one human busy for eight days. If anything, it will help pass the time.

Chapter 32

THE SPIRAL CORRIDOR went deeper and deeper. The air grew cooler, closer. Sorrows passed one door, then another, then another. Somewhere after six he lost interest. When he lost interest, he lost count. Davrosh stomped beside him, leading the way further into the mountain. She stopped in front of a door. The corridor continued ahead, and Sorrows wondered how much further it descended. Wondered what other rooms lay in the bowels of the mountain. But those were questions for another day.

He followed Davrosh into a bright room. Bright enough that he squinted a bit until his eyes grew accustomed. A clean room with straight, unadorned walls and a smooth floor. A large room with two tables at the far end. Long gray slabs of granite. He could have lain down on either with room to spare. Narrow tables. His arms would hang off the sides. Low tables. The tops came to just below his waist. They were identical in most respects, except the one to his left was empty and the one to his right held Zvilna Gorsham.

Oray and Ga’Shel stood behind the table Zvilna rested on. They were talking with two elves, both dressed in white tunics, white trousers, white gloves, white boots. Both with black hair tucked neatly into white hoods tied beneath their chins. She was tall with yellow eyes. He was short with thick lips. They spoke easily with Oray, nodding, gesturing to Zvilna.

Zvilna looked small in the room, on the table, away from Gorsham Manor, her parents, her grandmother. Small and alone and too still. Death was always like that, turning life to stone; muscles slack and unmoving; no breath, no restless gaze. Eventually, she would lie in a cradle of rock like Mishma Valinor, withered and hollow. Eventually, her grandmother and mother would take their places in the catacombs beneath the Gorsham Estate. Eventually her father, eventually her brothers. And then House Gorsham would be no more.

Oray turned toward Davrosh as she crossed the room. His gaze drifted to Sorrows, and he offered a nod. The wolf was in his eyes again. He wore his wrinkles like Centaur war paint, deep and dark and full of confident menace. Ga’Shel stood beside him, alert, smug.