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

it around Pesh’s body. No sign of Oray, no sign of Ga’Shel.

“Where were you?” Davrosh asked.

Sorrows nodded. “But something else. Something new.”

“What?”

“I can’t be sure, but I thought she said, 'Lay my soul to rest.'”

“How? Does she mean the Grimstone?”

Sorrows shook his head. “No. The Grimstone is for human souls.”

“Then how?”

Take it, Gray Walker, and lay her soul to rest. Sorrows remembered the Fates, thought of the box. “I’m working on it.”

Davrosh let her hand slip from his shoulder, and knelt beside him, ran a thumb across the fletching of one of the arrows.

“Your bow didn’t work.”

“No.”

“Two good shots. Both in the head. Both fatal. Worked for the half-born and goblin.”

“Yes.”

“What changed?”

Sorrows sighed. “Julia.”

Davrosh turned, stared at him. He turned, stared back.

“What do you mean,” she said.

“She doesn’t enjoy killing. She withdraws.”

“Can she do that?”

“Apparently.”

“Will she come back?”

“She usually does, in time.”

“How much time?”

“Depends. I should try visiting her today. Might help.”

“Do it. If these possessed keep showing up every couple days, we’ll need all the help we can get.”

“Right.”

Sorrows stood. Davrosh joined him. They walked to her blade. He picked it up from the snow, cleaned off the blood. She took it, sheathed it. Handed him his bow. He loosened the string, slipped into the bindings on his back. He had seven arrows left. He’d pick up more at the tower. They walked to the sled. More dwarves had arrived. Half a dozen teams crowded the clearing. Thirty-six dogs, eighteen dwarves, and a dead orc. Less than idyllic. The shop where the orc had emerged was searched, bodies found, five in total. A half-born family. Faces torn, skulls bludgeoned, hands missing.

Gorsham and Bravigan arrived, gave commands. The black and gold of the City Guard hurried about the clearing, knocking on doors, asking questions. Pesh’s body was bundled and put on a sled. The orc was bundled in a similar, but less respectful manner. Still no sign of Oray or Ga’Shel. Davrosh suggested returning to the tavern. Sorrows agreed. She climbed in the basket. He started pushing. The dogs found purchase; the sled gained speed. Sorrows had just jumped on and settled into a comfortable lean when another horn sounded to the west.

Davrosh looked back. They locked eyes.

“More?” she asked.

He nodded, grim. “More.”

He steered the team to the west, and she restrung her bow.

Chapter 40

IVRA JACE OPENED the door and stepped into darkness. She walked to the table, lifted the copper hood from the glowstone lamp and looked around. The bed was in disarray, the sheet and coverlet tossed aside. A tub of cold water rested by the wall beneath the tapestry of an elf scholar. She looked at the water for a long moment, then shook her head. Slipped out of her patchwork cloak and rested it on the back of the chair in the corner. Walked to the bed and turned, sat down.

She pulled off her boots, then her socks. Flexed her toes. Smoothed the legs of her gray wool trousers. Pulled at the hem of her white linen tunic. She lay down and pushed her hair out behind her, shifted her shoulders back and forth until she was comfortable. Stared at the ceiling, traced her fingers over the bedsheets. She lay there for an hour, then another. Glanced at the door. Sighed.

“I love you, Solomon,” she said to no one. “I know it complicates things, but I’ve felt it for some time now, and I needed to tell you. About that, about everything. I don’t expect you to forgive me. Definitely not right away, maybe not ever. I know it’s difficult to understand the past; to make sense of the death, the killing. I don’t blame you. But the future could be more. So much more. I want to be with you.”

She took a deep breath then exhaled slowly, letting the air rasp over her lips. The ceiling was bathed in pale light. She raised her arm, held her hand high above her face, studied her splayed fingers for a moment, then wriggled, curled, and twisted them, forming shadows. She shifted, rolled her shoulders, pressed her head into the pillow.

“I love him,” she said again. “I know it complicates things, but I’ve felt it for some time now, and I needed to tell—”

Ivra Jace stopped, rolled onto her stomach and elbows, reached under the pillow. Pulled out a long, wooden box. She ran her fingers over its surface.

“These are elf runes. Old. Full of ancient magic.”

She spun her feet onto the ground, gathered her hair behind her head, tied it with a cord.

“I recognize them. And I have a good idea of what this box is meant for.”

She pulled on her socks, her boots, her cloak. Tucked the box into a pocket, walked to the door.

“And if I’m right, Solomon is in danger.”

✽✽✽

THE FIRST SHOT did nothing. Nor the second. A third shot struck the half-born’s chest. Slipped between ribs, plunged into a heart no longer beating. It, too, did nothing.

“Nice shot,” Sorrows said.

“Thanks,” Davrosh said.

“Sword,” Sorrows said.

“On your right,” Davrosh said. “I’ll take the bow.”

Sorrows looked to his side, took the hilt of Davrosh’s short sword, handed her his bow, turned and ran.

The street was not idyllic. It had no trees, no makeshift public square. It had no painted doors. The road was gravel and deep ruts. A tavern, a brothel, and somewhere close, a pigsty. Even if Sorrows hadn’t heard the beasts, he could smell them. One body lay broken in front of the tavern. No hands, torn face, collapsed forehead. Another half-born. Yellowed skin and eyes, sunken cheeks. He didn’t have much more life in him, but Sorrows guessed he’d have chosen a different end.

Zvilna’s soul had found a big fellow. Not as tall as the orc, but with enough dwarf in him to broaden his chest and shoulders into something menacing. He was fast. A fighter. Maybe a bouncer for the tavern. He held a spoke of black iron like a blade and swung it with enough conviction to slow