by Dan Fish
“Mig,” he said.
“You’re sure?”
“No. But I’ve seen her wear things like this.”
“She’s got a bit of fire in her, doesn’t she?”
Sorrows shrugged. “She’s goblin.”
“I like it.”
“I don’t. Not now. Hoping this belongs to someone else. She’s no match for Jace.”
“She wouldn’t try to take on Jace alone, would she?”
Sorrows said nothing. They both knew how goblins handled problems. All haste, no subtlety. He put the pin in a cloak pocket, shrugged.
“I’ll worry about that later. Right now we need to open the rest of those doors.”
“Do you remember which ones La’Jen opened?” Davrosh asked.
“Doesn’t matter. We’ll check them all if we have to.”
Davrosh stepped beside Sorrows. Looked up at him. “How did you know he and Ostev were headed to Beggar’s Hollow?”
“Didn’t. Was always the plan to come here.”
“Why?”
“Hunting.”
Davrosh made a face. “Gods, what’s there to hunt in the Hollow?”
“Monsters.”
Sorrows walked to the next door, opened it. Another body. More blood. No hands. Mouth hanging open, lips torn. Forehead caved in. He left the hovel, shut the door, continued down the row of homes. Davrosh fell in beside him. They knocked, opened, stepped in or moved on. Methodical, thorough. They stopped in the early afternoon with the sun overhead. The last four doors they’d opened were occupied. The trail ended. They’d found nineteen bodies.
“Cursed?” Davrosh asked.
“Not Cursed,” Sorrows said. “Too similar. Face, hands. Just like Utuur. This is worse.”
They walked the road back to the City Guard armory. The day was bright, blue. Snow clung to rooftops. A good day for a walk, if not for the smell of Beggar’s Hollow. Sorrows pulled his cloak over his mouth, tried to inhale as little as possible.
“The hands can’t be coincidence,” Davrosh said. “I think Jace is involved somehow.”
“Probably.”
“She didn’t say anything to you? Just stuck the pin in your hair and disappeared?”
“Something like that.”
Davrosh sighed. “You realize, if that’s Mig’s pin—”
“I know.”
“I liked her, for what it’s worth.”
“Not worth much. You didn’t know her.”
“Don’t need to know her to like her, orchole. We shadowed you and the Costennati twins in Tam for a day or two. Ga’Shel wanted to be sure he could track Fen. Learned to track Mig, too. Just in case. After watching her for half a day, it was clear she could do better than you.”
“That so?”
Davrosh barked a laugh. “It is and you know it. But the heart wants what the heart wants. Nothing we can do about it.”
Sorrows felt the pin in his pocket. Felt the memory of Jace on his lips. He sighed.
“Nothing we can do about it.”
✽✽✽
THEY ARRIVED AT Galagrin Manor early. Granite and white marble. Columns, balusters, twin staircases. Rugs deep blue like the new night sky, decorated with silver stags standing among silver trees. After a while, the homes of the wealthy all seemed the same. The same walls, same floors, same foyers and halls leading to the same sitting rooms and great halls. Only the paintings changed. New dwarves with new looks. The Galagrin matriarchy was bare-faced, stoic. Eyes like gemstones, amethyst and sapphire. A dozen sons to a generation. Broad chests, wide shoulders. Black beards braided and hanging to their waists.
Sorrows and Davrosh shared a whiskey with Reishi’s parents, spent the evening studying the crowd, picking at plates of cold chicken, cheese, dried fruit. The music was warm, engaging. Many of the same songs played by many of the same musicians. Sorrows recognized two of the lutists and the drummer. Davrosh knew them all. And they all knew Davrosh. For all her supposed disinterest in attending the parties, she was at ease and admired. A handful of dwarves sought her out in the first hour, striking up conversations, laughing a little too easily at her jests. The less bold watched her with sideways glances. She stood a handspan taller than most dwarves. Her brown hair set her apart, as did her more slender build and fine features. Sorrows conceded her appeal among dwarves, though he didn’t share their tastes. As the evening wore on and ale flowed more freely, the less bold gained courage. Sideways glances became hesitant attempts at dialog. When Reishi had finished her dance and the floor was opened to guests, the bold and less bold approached Davrosh. She was gracious but firm in her refusals, which Sorrows found confusing. The heart wants what the heart wants, she had said. Sorrows wondered who Davrosh’s heart wanted.
The dance ended, the guests departed, and Reishi climbed the stairs to her room. She invited Sorrows to stand watch inside, as he’d expected. He agreed, to her delight. She smiled, her eyes sparkled, her words slurred. Beneath her Stone Mother’s Mask, her cheeks would be flushed from drink. She made an advance at Sorrows, then another. She was young and lovely with bright, violet eyes. But Sorrows claimed duty and suggested postponement. It was a weak denial, but it worked. And soon after, Reishi snored and Sorrows sat in the dark, talking to Davrosh through the door.
“You were popular tonight,” he said.
“How’s that?” Davrosh asked.
“Whenever I saw you, you were talking to a different dwarf.”
“You jealous?”
Sorrows smiled in the darkness. “Maybe. But I’m the one who gets to spend the night next to you. They should envy me.”
Silence. Maybe a small laugh. “There’s a door between us.”
“I can still hear you sucking on your teeth. Besides, I’d guess there’s another who I should envy. If I were the envious type.”
“Oh? Who’s that.”
“Maybe a certain Mage Guard Forestwalker. Tall, sun-kissed hair, enough arrogance to rival the gods.”
Davrosh laughed. Loudly.
“Ostev? He’s not my type and I’m not his. Keep guessing.”
“Gods, it isn’t Oray, is it? He’s as old as I am.”
“I respect La’Jen, that’s all. How’s Reishi doing?”
“I’m not done guessing.”
“How’s she doing?”
“Snoring. She’ll sleep soundly. I don’t think Jace will try anything tonight. Not after what we saw in Beggar’s Hollow.”
Davrosh was silent for a spell. “I was thinking about the bodies. The hands, faces, foreheads.”
“Right. You see the pattern,” Sorrows said.
“You know souls. What’s going on?”
“I think it might be Zvilna.”
“Gods, why Zvilna? She was such a sweet thing.”
Sorrows shared the words spoken by the half-born corpse. Where were you? Reishi turned in her bed. Davrosh shifted against the door.
“How?” she asked. “Only the Seph take on bodies. And only humans at that.”
“And the orc.”
“That was still a Seph. I’ve never heard of a gods-born soul possessing a mortal.”
Sorrows sighed. “It’s my own piss-poor guess. I’m still working on it.”
Davrosh snorted. “Gods. I can’t be thinking about this right now. La’Jen’s right. We need to stay focused, work faster. We shouldn’t have gone to Beggar’s Hollow.”
“Do what you will. I need to go back to the Quarry.”
“Alone?”
“Working alone’s just like working together, but without the dead weight.”
“Piss off.”
They didn’t speak for a spell. Sorrows leaned back against the door, stretched his legs out.
Davrosh asked, “What if Jace finds you?”
“I hope she does.”
“You’re no match for a Walker.”
Sorrows thought of the kiss. Thought of Jace’s eyes as she broke away.
“She won’t hurt me.”
“
Would you hurt her, I wonder?”
The heart wants what the heart wants.
“When the time comes, I’ll do what I need to.”
“I can’t stop you, but I’m not going along this time.”
“I won’t ask you to.”
“We need to catch Jace.”
“We will.”
The night passed, and the morning woke with clouds and coffee. Reishi thanked Sorrows for watching over her, then whispered an apology for her behavior. He smiled, kissed her on the cheek, and wished her well. He and Davrosh left, taking a sled back to the tower.
They were through the fifth night. They had two days left until Nisha Davrosh.
Chapter 37
YOU UNDERESTIMATED THE Mage Guard and the human. They set their traps; they lay in wait. They plan and strategize. They’ve learned much about you. Almost everything. It is flattery. It is assurance. The gods will have no choice but to welcome you as one of their own. Not when you manage death amidst this much adversity. They will no longer deny your mastery. And of course, if they do, you are not without your own leverage.
You have ascertained the dagger’s purpose. You know what the gods truly seek. It is the reason they showed you the wire. A slow first death which influences the second. It is the true aim of your mastery. The gods were not interested in the killing. It was about the souls. The souls of dwarves, still tethered to their gods. Strong, powerful. Stronger than those of the humans, who’d orphaned themselves. And centuries ago, the souls of humans were enough to drive back the Seraseph when they landed on the eastern shores of the kingdom. Back when they walked with their own feet in the sand, feigning surrender but wielding destruction. The history has been all but lost to time, but you know it. You found it during your studies. Your patient turning of ancient pages. You sought knowledge for your mastery, but you found many other things besides. Hidden things, dark and best left secret. They taught you what elves were capable of. They taught that sacrifices must be made for the greater good. It was in that box of scrolls, all but hidden in the bowels of Hammerfell Tower, where you learned of your heritage. It was with those faded words that you embraced your purpose and strengthened your resolve.
The same resolve which will demand the gods recognize you as one of their own. Because the time of harvest has arrived. The gods have sewn their seeds and spread their bonds across the kingdom. Now they look to end the Seraseph abomination once and for all. Weapons will be imbued as they were long ago. Ships will sail. Lands will be invaded. Battles will be won. But first, a harvest. And for that, they will need you. The scythe swinging in the field. The harvester. The killing god.
✽✽✽
ORAY SLAMMED BOTH palms on the polished stone table, stood from his chair, glared at Davrosh. The wolf was in his eyes, rabid, baring its fangs. Wrinkles like war paint.
“You did what?” he asked.
Sorrows wasn’t one to envy. Not normally. But he envied Davrosh her proximity to Oray. She was close enough to stretch across the table and send a closed fist hard into his face. Which is precisely what Sorrows wanted to do at that moment.
“Stop being an orchole, Oray,” he said. “We watched you. You opened, what, six doors? We kept going. Finished the job. Nineteen victims. You’ve got a problem brewing. You should be thanking us.”
“Thanking you?” Oray asked.
Each syllable cracked like a whip. Davrosh turned to Sorrows, shook her head. Her eyes were wide; emeralds set in pearls, or holly leaves in snow. Her face said, Would you splitting shut up. But Sorrows found her face easy to ignore.
“If anything, you and Ga’Shel should sit tight in the tower,” Sorrows said. “Sunshine can’t stomach the sight of blood, and you’ve clearly got too much on your plate. You’re an overseer, for gods’ sakes. Let Davrosh and me handle this one.”
Oray closed his eyes, looked down. Davrosh swallowed and leaned back in her chair, tried to put space between her and Oray. Ga’Shel hid a smile and quiet laugh behind his hand. Sorrows caught his eye and winked.
“Get out,” Oray said.
He didn’t yell, didn’t slam his hands on the table, didn’t glare. He didn’t do anything. Just said the words, soft, patient, while his face turned red.
“Go to hells,” Sorrows said. “I want to talk about what we saw and what’s going on in Beggar’s Hollow. You studied the bodies. First the daughters with their wrists severed. Now Utuur and the other victims missing their hands. This is no coincidence.”
Oray said nothing, lifted his gaze to Sorrows, stared hard.
“He could be right, La’Jen,” Ga’Shel said.
Oray kept staring at Sorrows. “I don’t care if he’s right. I want him out of the tower.”
“No, you don’t,” Sorrows said. “Not now. Not until you’ve caught Jace. But I think this might be her first mistake. Which makes it our first opportunity.”
“She was there,” Davrosh said. “In the first home. The orchole saw her, then she disappeared.”
The hunter can see a strike before the arrow reaches the target. The flight of the shaft, the movement of the prey, the hidden heartbeat of time passing. It comes together in a moment of clarity and revelation within the hunter’s mind. Sorrows watched Oray straighten, stand. His face relaxed, the war paint faded. But his brow furrowed, and his eyes narrowed. Curious. The arrow struck. He turned to Davrosh.
“Ivra Jace was in Beggar’s Hollow?”
“The first house,” Davrosh said. “The wretch in the corner.”
Oray glanced at Ga’Shel, raised an eyebrow, shook his head.
“I only saw the corpse,” he said. “No one else. Did she say anything?”
“No,” Davrosh said. “But she—”
“She pushed past me and fled,” Sorrows said. “Davrosh didn’t see her, and she’d slipped by the time I turned around.”
He glanced at Davrosh, held her gaze long enough to say, That’s as much as they need to know. Oray tapped his chin, considered Sorrows for a moment. Might have considered him for a moment longer, but a knock pulled his attention away. Sudden, loud, obtrusive. It echoed off the stone walls, ceiling, and floor. Davrosh and Ga’Shel turned. Sorrows leaned back, watched the faces of the other three.
“Sir,” said a voice. Female. Sharp, bright. Urgent.
“What is it?” Oray asked.
“It’s Captain Bravigan, sir. He just arrived and asked to speak with you immediately. He says it’s urgent.”
“Send him in.”
The door closed. Davrosh leaned forward.
“Bravigan?” she asked. She didn’t wait for an answer. “That’s Beggar’s Hollow. They must’ve found the rest of the bodies.”
“This is worse,” Sorrows said. “The nineteen brought them to the tower the first time. To come again already means—”
“They found more,” Oray said.
Sorrows nodded. “Enough to warrant a captain making the trip. Could be a lot more.”
“Probably more than we can handle,” Oray said. “We’re stretched thin enough covering the dances.”
Footsteps sounded outside the door. Distant, heavy, growing louder. Oray sighed, watched, and waited.
Captain Bravigan wore black leathers adorned with the golden bear of the City Guard emblazoned on the right breast of his jerkin. His hair was streaked with gray, his eyes were emerald set among deep lines. He wore an axe on one hip and two feet of slender steel on the other. He stepped into the room ahead of the Mage Guard elf and stopped at the end of the table.
“Twenty more dead,” he said. “But we’ve caught the killer. Have her at the armory. Best you come quickly. She’s a strong one.”
Oray had started walking and was out the door with Bravigan by his side when the captain finished. Sorrows followed with Davrosh and Ga’Shel close behind. They turned right, heading down the spiral corridor to the entrance hall. Sorrows continued past, opening doors until he found his room. He grabbed his bow and eventually found himself standing alone outs
ide the tower with the other four nowhere in sight. But a dwarf in the black-and-gold stood beside a sled, and Sorrows grinned when he saw him.
“Heard you were still in town,” Pesh said. “Figured you’d have stopped by for whiskeys by now. You still mad I beat you at knives that one time?”
“Livid,” Sorrows said. “I’ll tell you all about it on the way back to the Hollow.”
“Would be my hide if I left my captain.”
“He’s long gone. Slipped with the elf. If we hurry, we shouldn’t arrive too far behind.”
Pesh nodded, and they left. The morning was gray with clouds and the promise of an evening storm. The dogs ran hard, and the sled moved quickly over packed snow. But the delay cost them an explanation. They arrived to the sounds of fighting mingled with the smell of mint and piss.
✽✽✽
ORAY, DAVROSH, AND Ga’Shel were nowhere to be seen. Bravigan had his axe in hand, along with half a dozen other city guards. They surrounded a slight figure with raven hair, mossy skin, and large black eyes. She’d been beautiful once, but her face bore the signs of addiction. Mage dust, by the look of it. Teeth missing, cheeks sunken, dark rims beneath her eyes. Her hair was dirty and wild. Her fingernails yellowed, cracked. She was naked and disfigured, her body riddled with wounds as the half-born had been. Finger’s width gashes, deep and dark and oozing blood. A dagger’s work.
Bravigan rushed forward with a quick thrust of his blade, but the goblin sidestepped and pushed the sword away with a strike of her palm against the flat. She lunged, but he scrambled backward. A dwarf at her back rushed in. The goblin spun, set her feet. Goblins were fast, but not that fast. She didn’t behave as goblins were supposed to behave. An anomaly. She should have been dead from the wounds on her chest and abdomen. Another anomaly. But she paid them little heed as she rushed forward, grabbed hold of one of the dwarf’s hands with both of her own. He screamed and she pulled, twisted. Bone cracked. Another guard rushed in from the side, sending his sword deep into her chest. She ignored it, kept pulling. The dwarf kept screaming. Sorrows loosed an arrow.
