Arrow on the String: Solomon Sorrows Book 1

by Dan Fish

  “Will we dance again?” she asked. “Could we hold each other again?”

  She turned away from the walls and windows. Crossed the room to a desk set near the center. She lifted a coil of wire from its surface, brushed her thumb along the tightly wound strands until one drew blood. She studied the bright, red bead welling on her skin, healed the wound with a thought and put the coil away. She sighed again.

  “Could you learn to love me?”

  ✽✽✽

  HE FOUND HIS room eventually. Inside, the bow was propped in a corner, curves gleaming in the light of the glowstone lamp, cloak hanging on a chair beside it. The room was cold, quiet. His breathing was loud in his ears. He heard every scrape of his boots on the floor. He sat on his bed, forearms on knees, hands clasped, thinking of what to do. He was alone.

  And then he wasn’t alone. Two green hands took his, pulled them apart. A body slipped forward into the space between his knees. The hands moved to his face, soft, lifting his chin, lifting his eyes. Mig.

  They stared at each other. Her thumb brushed the side of his face. He waited for a slap, but it never came. He wiped away a tear that slipped onto her cheek. He waited for her rebuke, but she didn’t speak. He wondered how long she had been with him. What she had seen. He searched her eyes, but they revealed nothing. He searched her face. Wet cheeks, lips tight, chin trembling. But not angry. Eyebrows lifted. Nostrils flaring with shallow, rapid breaths. Afraid. He looked closer. She wore the same cloak she had in Mishma Valinor’s tomb. Her hair was done in the same loose braid hanging down her back. The collar of the buttermilk dress was just visible at the base of her neck.

  “Where have you been?” he asked.

  She looked at him, shook her head slowly. Hesitated. Her body language said she knew. She knew everything. Guilt knotted his stomach. He took her shoulders. Had to explain. She’d left. Jace was aggressive. He’d resisted as well as he could.

  “Mig, I—”

  She pressed her fingers against his lips, stopping him.

  “She’s dead.”

  Her voice was little more than a whisper, 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 onc
e.”

  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 Jace is,” Mig said. “And you know elves.”

  “They’re better at everything.”

  “Everything.”

  “Could it have been an accident?”

  Mig shrugged. “If Jace tried to return to the gods-stream and Bex tried to stop her, the two might have fought. But Bex would’ve kept herself slipped and Jace had no reason to pull her back into the gods-stream. If anything, Jace would’ve been fragged.”

  “She should have told me the first time we went to the Quarry. We could’ve slipped instead of slow-footing it. Then you could’ve warned me about sticking her with Bex.”

  “Maybe. What will you do now? Should we leave?”

  Sorrows shook his head. “More daughters will die if I do.”

  “Have you found a Seph yet?” What about Julia?

  “No.”

  “Oh. Have you been looking?” What about us?

  “No.”

  “Oh.”

  Sorrows said nothing, leaned against the wall. Mig returned to the edge of the bed. They sat in silence for a breath, her feet dangling, his arms folded across his chest. She looked up at him.

  “Have there been any more—”

  “Killings?” he asked. He shook his head. “No.”

  “That’s good, right?”

  “We still haven’t caught the guy.”

  “You will, Sol.”

  Mig leaned back, put her feet on the bed. Her buttermilk dress pulled tight across her thighs. The hem slipped over her knees. Her collar had fallen over one shoulder, and her skin shone like moonlit moss in the wash of the glowstone lamp. Her hair was pushed back, hanging long and loose down her back. She watched him with big, black eyes. She patted the empty space beside her.

  “I missed you,” she said.

  The problem was he missed her too. Like a bow without a string. Which complicated things. Even if he thought Mig had left, Jace was an elf. Mig had standards, unwritten rules. If he told her about the flirting, the kissing, the almost more, she’d be angry, hurt. And with Jace keeping secrets and Bex fragged, the landscape had changed, grown darker. More tense. Mig might leave for real, for good. Which meant he couldn’t tell her what had happened. Not if he hoped to keep her close. But he had to. Wasn’t one to run from the truth. He sat down, put his arm around her. She leaned into his chest, rested her head under his chin. She smelled like sweat and dust.

  “You need a bath,” he said.

  “In a bit,” she said. She pressed against him. “What are you going to do about Bex? She was strange, but Jace killed her. That’s not right.”

  “We don’t know what happened. Not yet. I need to find Jace, confront her. Find out the truth.”

  “Will you bring the bow?”

  Sorrows laughed. Small, dismissive. “Would you be afraid of a bow? Or a blade?”

  “No, I suppose not.”

  “Wouldn’t matter, anyway. She’s elf. Needs to be handled by the Mage Guard.”

  Mig sighed, laid her hand on his chest. “Be careful. You saw Bex.”

  “She won’t hurt me.”

  “Maybe I should come with you. I could stay slipped in case you needed me.”

  “No. Can’t risk her finding you.”

  “What if you need me?”

  “She won’t hurt me.”

  A goblin’s gaze is as black as the back of your eyelids. And despite expressive features, any goblin with a modicum of self-control becomes unreadable behind that gaze. It’s like looking into shadow. Wondering what lurks within. Mig stared at him, said nothing. He stared back, searched her face for signs of what she knew, what she suspected. Unreadable. Full of self-control. The kind of self-control that helps a person wait a year without moving on.

  She pushed away, still held his gaze, nodded slowly, spoke softly. “I see.”

  He said nothing.

  “A month is a long time, isn’t it?” she asked. “You probably thought I left.”

  “I did, but it’s not like that.”

  “It’s always like that, Sol. Gods, she was throwing herself at you from the start.” She sighed. “You stupid, stupid man.”

  Sorrows said nothing.

  “She could be dangerous,” Mig said.

  “I know.”

  “I don’t think you do. Not really. She’s pretty, and you have a weakness for pretty.”

  “You’re pretty.”

  “Don’t be a split,” Mig said. She slid off the bed, walked a pace away, turned. Her chin quivered. The self-control cracked a bit. “You should ask yourself why she didn’t tell you.”

  “I am.”

  “She’s hiding things.”

  Sorrows said nothing. Mig stared at him, arms folded across her chest. Brow knit, jaw set, trembling. Eyes damp with hurt. Her self-control was crumbling.

  “She has a job to do. The Archmage is pulling her strings.”

  “Are you defending her?”

  “No. I’m saying she may not have a choice.”

  “You are defending her.”

  Sorrows shook his head, rolled his eyes. “Gods, whatever.”

  It’s rarely a good idea to piss off a goblin. The species has two very specific rules for dealing with perceived slights. First, address all insults immediately. Second, no other rules apply.

  It’s never a good idea to piss off a Walker. They move too shunning fast. Sorrows had just registered Mig vanishing when her hand found the side of his face with enough force to turn his head. When he looked again, she’d moved beside the door and was blowing on her palm.

  “Gods, Mig,” he said, rubbing his jaw.

  She stared at him, said nothing for a moment. Her forehead smoothed and she took a step forward.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “Does it hurt?”

  He gave a dismissive wave. “Not your fault. I deserved it.”

  She shook her head. “I just… I can’t believe you’d get close to an elf. Did you two kiss?”

  He sighed. “Yes.”

  Mig tensed, jaw flexed. Clenched her hands into fists. Looked like she was going to scream. She vanished. Sorrows waited a breath, then another. She reappeared, breathing hard.

  “A month, Sol. I was gone one splitting month. And I didn’t leave angry.”

  “I know. Entirely my fault.”

  Mig shook her head. Didn’t look at him. “Did you two tangle?”

  Hesitation is death on the battlefield. With Curselings swarming, or a tempest looming. A heartbeat is all that separates an arrow in the eye from a claw in the gut; a sword buried in a foe from a friend buried in the ground. Hesitation was an enemy, one Sorrows knew to watch for. Still, it caught him on occasion.

  He meant to deny, to assure Mig he’d turned Jace away. But in that moment, with the question hanging in the air, he instead remembered Jace’s lips on his, her hands under his shirt, on his chest. He wondered how he’d said no. And he hesitated.

  Her eyes widened.

  The room went black.

  ✽✽✽

  DAVROSH LEANED OVER him, eyes like emeralds, brow bunched like the curves of a bow. She was slapping his face. Harder than necessary, but it did the trick. He blinked his eyes open, sat up, shook his head, immediately regretted it. He gently probed his hair with his fingers until he found the lump where Mig had hit him. It was egg-sized, tender, on the back of his head. He sighed, hoped she hadn’t broken her hand.

  “You fall, orchole?” Davrosh asked.

  “Sure,” he said.

  Ga’Shel suddenly appeared beside her. She g
lanced at him. He gave a small shake of his head. He was saying, No one else is here. Sorrows wondered if he was looking for Mig or for Jace. Wondered if they even knew Jace was a Walker.

  “Why are you here?” Sorrows asked.

  “It’s time to leave for Wixfeld,” Davrosh said.

  She extended a hand. Sorrows grabbed it, and she pulled him up with surprising ease. Dwarf strength. Sorrows glanced at Ga’Shel.

  “We’re slipping?”

  Ga’Shel scoffed. “No. La’Jen wants me in the tower. I’m only here because Remma asked me to check out the room.”

  Davrosh glanced at Sorrows. “You’re sure you only fell?”

  “Yes,” Sorrows said.

  He sat up, his vision stretched and swam a bit. He rolled onto his knees, grabbed the side of the bed, stood. His legs shook as his muscles warmed up. He looked at Davrosh.

  “Where’s Jace?” he asked.

  “How the hells should I know?” she asked. “She was looking for you after breakfast. I sent her here. Haven’t seen her since. I figured you two would be waiting in the entrance hall. When you didn’t show, I thought you both might be here.”

  She shrugged. “I was half right.”

  It was the half wrong that bothered Sorrows. He stepped to the chair, pulled his cloak off the back. He’d been gone for an hour when Mig took him to see Bex. If Jace had come to the room, seen his cloak missing, she would have gone looking for him. A Walker would move through the tower quickly. She would’ve started guessing he had left around the same time he and Mig arrived at Bex’s hut. Jace wasn’t waiting when he returned, which meant she had gone out searching. Meant there was nothing more he could do. He shrugged into his cloak.

  “Let’s go,” he said. “It’s a long walk. Storm won’t make it any easier.”

  Ga’Shel walked to the door, turned. “Be safe, Remma.”

  “Thanks, sunshine,” Sorrows said.

  Davrosh nodded at Ga’Shel. He turned and left. Didn’t bother holding the door open. Sorrows crossed the room, grabbed the handle, pulled. Turned to Davrosh, who was standing looking at him.

  “What?” he asked.

  “You sure you fell?” she asked.

  “Yes, I’m sure. You’ve asked me three times. Why?”