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

the city was big, and other smells lingered. A matter of population. The smell kept most people away. Which made Beggar’s Hollow the shadow’s heart, attracting only the desperate, or those who wished to keep their business far from prying eyes. Far from the gray and black.

Ivra Jace watched Overseer La’Jen Oray and Master Ostev Ga’Shel turn a corner, passing the City Guard armory which marked the southernmost point of Beggar’s Hollow. They’d slipped the gods-stream. They moved quickly and didn’t notice her. She followed.

The road beyond the Armory was gravel, as were all roads in the Quarry, but in Beggar’s Hollow the gravel was sparse. Sparse enough that Oray’s and Ga’Shel’s boots didn’t crunch when they eventually returned to the god-stream outside a hovel. It was little more than a wall and roof of mismatched planks stretched between two similar walls and roofs to either side. The pattern continued the length of the road. A seemingly endless wall of splinters and crooked, vertical lines. Each of the hovels had a door which was more of the same mismatched planks, painted in dull colors. Red, green, blue, yellow. Colors of nature, of wildflowers and evergreen. Nothing bright, nothing new. The paint was thick, like jam on toast, hiding the flaws of the wood underneath. Oray and Ga’Shel approached a door the color of dandelions in the evening. Oray entered without knocking, Ga’Shel stayed outside, leaned against the plank wall, then thought better of it and just stood, folded his arms and waited.

Across the road, a hedge of scrub oak and juniper mirrored the homes. Past the hedge, a slope led to a canal of creeping water and waste. The air smelled of rosemary and piss and rotten eggs. Jace had shed the black and gray of the Mage Guard and wore a simple patchwork cloak, which she pulled up over her mouth and nose. The morning was bright, and the hedge was still heavy with snow, but she found the pockets of shadow that kept her hidden. She edged closer until she could look past the dandelion door into the dim interior of the hovel where Oray knelt beside a body. Silver-hair, moss-colored skin, naked—from the little Jace could see.

Oray poked at the body, rolled it onto one side, tipped his head, studied it for a moment, stood. He left the hovel, squinted in the sun, stared across the road. If he noticed Jace, he gave no indication. He said something to Ga’Shel, and the two walked to the next door, a dirty-blue color, like trampled cornflower. Ga’Shel stood outside, Oray entered. A while later Oray returned outside, and the two moved further on. They opened eight doors before they finally slipped the gods-stream and left Beggar’s Hollow. When they turned the corner at the City Guard armory, Jace ran across the road and snuck behind the dandelion door.

A half-born body lay naked on the floor, still on its side. Heavy-limbed with pale green skin. Half goblin, half dwarf. The floor was packed earth, dark with dried blood. The air was thick with the smell of death. The half-born’s face hung in ribbons, teeth and gums showing through torn lips. Its forehead was caved in. Its arms ended in bloody stumps, hands missing. Jace stared at the body, studied it a moment, then nodded.

“Here,” a voice said outside. “This door’s open.”

The hovel was small, empty. A mat of woven grass lay against one wall, a bundle of branches lay in one corner. Nowhere to hide. Jace hurried to a dark corner, dropped to the ground, pulled her hood over her face, huddled beneath her cloak. She rocked on her feet, watched the door.

Watched Solomon Sorrows fill the rectangle of mid-morning light, then step through. Jace lowered her head, rocked a little faster. Master Remma Davrosh entered the hovel.

“Gods,” Davrosh said. “There’s someone else in here.”

Her footsteps fell heavy on the packed earth. She crossed to the corner and placed a hand on Jace’s shoulder.

“Are you hurt?” Davrosh asked.

Jace said nothing, shook her head. She kept her gaze down, kept her face hidden, kept rocking back and forth.

“Shock,” Sorrows said. “Must’ve come back to this.”

“Or saw it happen,” Davrosh said.

“Don’t think whoever did this is the type to leave survivors. Looks a lot like Utuur.”

“Can’t be the half-born. La’Jen ordered that body turned to ash.”

“Not the half-born, but like the half-born.”

“What should we do with the body?”

“Nothing,” Sorrows said. “Leave it to whoever that is.”

Davrosh sighed. “I’m sure she or he has a name.”

She put her hand on Jace’s shoulder and moved to pull back the hood. Jace jerked her head away, shook it side to side. Davrosh backed away.

“Easy,” she said, low, soft. “We won’t hurt you. We’re with the Mage Guard. Like those elves who visited earlier.”

Jace kept rocking.

Davrosh sighed. “Seems cruel to just leave them here.”

“That’s Beggar’s Hollow,” Sorrows said. “Besides, we need to keep moving. From what I could see, Oray opened at least half a dozen doors.”

Davrosh sighed and stepped outside, leaving Sorrows alone. He lingered for a moment, studied the body, then turned to leave. Jace got up, leapt over the corpse, grabbed Sorrows by the shoulder, and spun him around.

Her hands found his face, his hair. She pulled him close, pressed her lips against his. She kissed him hard, then broke free, pushed him away, ran out the door.

She was gone by the time Sorrows rushed onto the road. Davrosh never saw her. Jace never looked back. She didn’t slow when her boots touched stone pavers, didn’t slow when she turned onto a narrow side street. She found the hidden door, pulled it open, stepped inside. There she slowed and stopped, leaned back against a wall, chest heaving. She lifted a hand to her mouth, brushed the tips of her fingers against her lips.

“I miss you, Solomon,” she said to no one. “But we’ll be together soon. I swear it.”

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SORROWS LOOKED UP the road, turned, looked the opposite way. He spun in a