Arrow on the String: Solomon Sorrows Book 1

by Dan Fish

  One breath. Only one. The bow and arrow came together, the string drew back. Release. The string snapped forward; the arrow struck Oray through the eye, drove through the back of his skull. Blood sprayed against the door. He went limp, fell to the floor.

  But an arrow can’t hit two targets at once. Steel rasped and rang. Nisha Davrosh screamed.

  “Splitting hells,” Davrosh said.

  Sorrows turned. Mig stood beside him. Davrosh beside her. Ga’Shel crouched two paces away, sword in hand, stance narrow. Blood trickled down his neck from a crimson line around his throat. He looked at Davrosh, Mig, and Sorrows. He hesitated, then vanished. Reappeared by the balcony door. Sorrows took a step, but a hand found his ankle.

  “Let him go,” Jace said.

  She lay on the floor, one hand grasping the hem of his trousers, the other pulling the runed box from beneath her cloak. The dagger lay in front of her.

  “Let him go?” Davrosh asked. “Have you lost your gods-shunned mind? He’s the killer. He has to be. Why else would he be here?”

  “You’re right,” Jace said. “He is.”

  “Then why aren’t we following him?” Davrosh asked.

  “Zvilna,” Sorrows said.

  “Yes,” Jace said. “Zvilna. Her soul lingers in Oray’s body, as does his. She’ll be cast out soon to wander. She deserves rest. I’ll take care of Ga’Shel.”

  “What will you do?” Davrosh asked.

  “I won’t kill him. If that’s what you’re worried about.”

  “Will you bring him back to the tower?”

  “That will be up to him.”

  Jace stood, rubbed her hand where the blade had cut her thigh. Walked to Sorrows, lifted the amulet from around her neck. Closed her hands around it, hesitated. He stepped closer.

  “Why did you steal it?” he asked. “I can understand the bow, but why the Grimstone? Were you worried about Oray?”

  “No. I hadn’t planned on taking it. That night in the street, with the Seph nearby, I just thought… nothing. I acted selfishly. Foolishly. I made a mistake.”

  “Not so foolish,” Mig said. She offered a small smile.

  Jace returned the smile, took another step toward Sorrows, clutched the Grimstone. Whispered in his ear.

  “Do you love me, Solomon?” she asked. “Tell me the truth.”

  Quiet. Her breath on his skin, her thoughts in his mind. A world apart from Davrosh Manor.

  He stepped back. Looked at her. Really looked at her. She wore a cloak that was little more than a pile of rags. But she was still beautiful. Her hair was golden, fine; loosely braided and tied in leather cords. Her eyes sparkled like deep water beneath the sun. Her skin was cream, and her lips were rose petals. She smelled of wildflowers and honey. He knew what it was to touch her, taste her. Knew what it was to hear her laugh, to listen to her talk of the world with childlike wonder. Knew what he felt just from looking at her. But knew he didn’t want any of it. At least, not right now. But maybe sometime.

  “I don’t know,” he said.

  She placed the Grimstone in his hand.

  “Fair enough. And more than I expected. If you figure it out, find me.”

  She moved fast. Was around him in a heartbeat, already at the balcony door when he called.

  “Where are you going?” he asked.

  She stopped, turned.

  “Hunting,” she said. “I will find you again someday. Until then, be safe, Solomon Sorrows.”

  She disappeared in a swirl of snow and the fluttering of her patchwork cloak.

  “She’s still a whore,” Davrosh said. “Can’t say that I’ll miss her.”

  “I will,” Mig said. She stared at the door.

  Sorrows looked at Mig. “I don’t understand.”

  Mig turned, smiled. Laughed softly.

  “No. No, you don’t. And it’s better that way. For now.”

  ✽✽✽

  THE GRIMSTONE WOKE to his touch. He closed his eyes, sank into its power. Called out in his thoughts.

  Zvilna.

  Nothing. He drew a deep breath, let it out through his nose. Cleared his mind.

  Zvilna.

  Silence. Sorrows shivered, felt the chill of the grave against his skin. Forced it out of his mind. Called once more for Zvilna, then waited.

  He felt a hand on his shoulder, soft, tentative. He opened his eyes. The room was dark. Zvilna Gorsham stood before him, pale, small. Her face was masked in holly leaves and primrose. Her lips were painted red. She looked at him, meek and afraid. Her eyes glistened. The ornate box lay at her feet.

  Are you here to punish me?

  Sorrows shook his head. Punish? Why?

  I didn’t mean to hurt all of those people.

  No one blames you. You deserve rest.

  Sorrows extended a hand and offered the Grimstone. It was what he did. The job. But Zvilna shook her head, refusing.

  I don’t deserve it. Not after what I did. I just… I’m sorry. I let you down.

  He shook his head. No. Their blood is on my hands. Not yours. I should have been there.

  Zvilna gave a faint smile. Not your fault; you were in love. That’s what the Maiden’s Dance is about, isn’t it? Besides, what would you have done against Master Ga’Shel? What could any of us do against a Walker?

  Nothing. They could do nothing but die. Five already had. The disorientation from slipping the gods-stream was too much. A Walker with a blade might conquer an army if he was patient enough. Yet Jace had revealed Ga’Shel. Had forced him and Oray back into the gods-stream. It was a gift Sorrows had never heard of. An unknown. And he didn’t like not knowing. But he knew he could trust her, despite his ignorance. Knew, somehow, she’d catch Ga’Shel, bring him to justice. Wanted to see her again afterward. He had questions. But they were questions that would wait for the time being. He offered the Grimstone again.

  Take it. Find peace.

  Zvilna took a step forward, reached. Hesitated.

  Mari, Shael, Prida, Mishma… they’re all waiting. Could you see to them?

  Sorrows nodded. Of course. It was the job.

  Thank you, Solomon Sorrows.

  She touched the stone. Her image faded, then vanished. A light appeared where she had been. Small, orange. Half firefly, half flame. It didn’t sink into the Grimstone like the human souls did. It rose. Floated above Sorrows, above the bedroom, then passed through the ceiling and was gone. Sorrows should have been alone. Was always alone in these moments after he’d gathered a soul. But he wasn’t. He felt a hand on his shoulder, then a chin, then a face pressed against his.

  “I miss you,” a voice said.

  It was a voice he’d imagined for centuries. A voice he hadn’t heard in over a thousand years. He didn’t turn, didn’t want to risk losing her. Lingered in the nearness and realness of her.

  “How?” he asked.

  “A gift,” Julia said. “From someone who loves you.”

  “Who?”

  “Does it matter?”

  Sorrows shook his head, felt Julia’s hair brush against his cheek. It didn’t matter.

  “How long do we have?” he asked.

  “Not long enough, but long enough.”

  He lifted a hand to hers.

  “I should’ve been there,” he said.

  “It wasn’t your fault.”

  “I should’ve been there.”

  “You would have died as well.”

  “Who was it?”

  She sighed. “Gods, Sol, think about what you’re asking me. What difference does it make?”

  It wouldn’t make any difference. But he wanted to know. “Who?”

  “I didn’t see him. Only heard his voice.”

  Sorrows nodded. Didn’t know why he'd asked. Didn’t know what he’d expected. Julia tensed behind him.

  “I do remember he smelled like sandalwood and cloves,” she said.

  He said nothing. She said nothing. Her hand slipped from his shoulder. Her arms wrapped around his chest.
She pressed against him. Kissed his cheek.

  “This is better than only seeing you,” she said.

  The words cut deep. Reminded him of things that had to be done. The job. He sighed.

  “My fault,” he said. “I’ve kept you too long. It was selfish of me. I’ll find a Seph. I will, I promise. I’ll bring you peace.”

  “No.”

  It is a simple thing, the knock of an arrow into its target. Brief, sudden. A sound that faintly echoes in an empty forest. A sound that is swallowed on the battlefield. Too soft a sound for the pain that it carries. Sorrows shook his head.

  “Julia, I can’t—”

  “I don’t need peace,” she said. Her hands gripped his tunic, pulled him tight against her. “I need you.”

  “Julia—”

  “I won’t go, Sol.”

  “You deserve rest.”

  “I don’t want what I deserve.”

  “You’d be trapped in the bow. We won’t have this again.”

  “We might. You don’t know.”

  Sorrows sighed. “Or we might not. We might go back to faded moments. We might lose those. What if I lose you?”

  “If you were in the bow and I were in your place, would you leave me?”

  “You know I wouldn’t,” he said. The truth. Hated himself for saying it.

  “Then you understand.”

  He understood, but he didn’t like it. He started to turn, wanted to see her again. But they’d had long enough. She vanished. Left him sitting on the floor. Bow on his lap, ornate box in front of him. He sighed. Forced himself awake. Opened his eyes, saw Davrosh standing in front of him, Mig standing behind her. The room was empty and bright with morning.

  “That took a while,” Mig said.

  “Zvilna had things to say,” Sorrows said. A half-truth.

  Davrosh shifted, glanced at the box in his hand. “Were you able to…” Is Zvilna’s soul at rest?

  “She returned to her gods.”

  Davrosh sighed, relaxed. Smiled faintly.

  “Then we’re good?” Mig asked.

  A Mage Guard Overseer dead. A Mage Guard Master fleeing justice. The pair responsible for the deaths of five gods-born. Dwarf daughters. Lineages ended. Big problems.

  But it was the hollows that bothered Sorrows. The dagger, the bow, the sickle sword. Killing gods-born was one thing. Imbuing ancient weapons was entirely different. An even bigger problem. And a problem that was likely to find him again in the future. He sighed, nodded.

  “We’re good.”

  Chapter 48

  TWO WEEKS LATER a storm swallowed the city. Sorrows sat with Mig to his left and Davrosh to his right and stared out the windows of the topmost room in Hammerfell Tower. He knew a message had been sent by mind and magic to Godscry following the death of Overseer La’Jen Oray. He knew Godscry Tower had access to its own Walkers. He knew someone had arrived late in the night. And he’d guessed, since they summoned him before breakfast, that Tu’ell Eldrake had made the trip. He’d guessed and, since he was an intelligent man with a fair amount of experience and an abundance of bad luck, he’d guessed right. But he hadn’t guessed Overseer Shen would be with her. That was a surprise. But since looking at Shen was a good measure better than looking at Eldrake, he considered it a good enough surprise. Beside him, Davrosh didn’t seem to mind, as well.

  The room was cold, and the wind howled outside. The snow blew sideways against the glass, so that at times it looked like the tower might be spinning in the storm. It matched the twisting Sorrows felt in his stomach. He didn’t like that Mig was caught up in whatever matter was important enough for Eldrake to be seated across from him. Didn’t like it but didn’t much see a way around it. A Mage Guard Overseer was dead, a Master disappeared, and that same Master had been accused of killing five gods-born. Dwarf daughters. A big problem.

  No one spoke. No one sighed. No one coughed, smiled, shrugged, or did anything to convey any sort of a message to anyone else. Each seemed equally puzzled at where to begin. Unsure of how they'd ended up at the same table, sitting across from one another in the topmost room of Hammerfell Tower. It seemed as though they would rather be anywhere other than that topmost room. And since Sorrows was sure they were all thinking it, he decided to say it.

  But Eldrake spoke instead. Like she had been waiting for him to start just so she could cut him off.

  “Oray is dead,” she said.

  “Yes,” Sorrows said.

  “You shot him.”

  “Yes.”

  “Gods,” Shen said.

  The room fell silent. Davrosh shifted beside Sorrows. Mig sat quietly with her hands folded on her lap. Eldrake took a deep breath. Tapped a finger on the table, slow, like she was counting. Exhaled through her nose, loud, tired.

  “Why?”

  Sorrows explained the scratches on his face. Described the wire around Ga’Shel’s throat. Described the Overseer who was dead but not dead. Didn’t mention the dagger. Eldrake closed her eyes, shook her head.

  “Ga’Shel is dead, as well?”

  Sorrows shook his head. “No.”

  “No? Why is he not here?”

  Sorrows described the killings. Described a killer who slipped past guards. Described the wounds on wrists, ankles, faces. Described the arrows in foreheads, the arrow at Ga’Shel’s feet. Described Ga’Shel’s capture and escape. Still didn’t describe the dagger. When he finished, Shen swore. Davrosh sighed. Mig continued to sit quietly.

  “Ga’Shel was the killer?” Shen asked.

  “Yes.”

  Eldrake held up a hand. “We don’t know that.”

  “You might not,” Sorrows said. “But I know what I saw.”

  “I don’t doubt you saw Oray restraining Ga’Shel—”

  “He wasn’t restraining anyone,” Davrosh said, firm, sharp. “He’d looped wire around Ostev’s throat, and he’d have taken his head off in another minute.”

  “Rash actions, I’ll concede, but perhaps Oray was overcome by emotion when he came across Ga’Shel preparing another victim.”

  Davrosh shook her head. Described the coil of wire they’d found beneath the bed. Described her stepsister’s lack of wounds. Explained the lack of binding. But also didn’t describe the dagger. Shen nodded, shook her head, nodded again.

  “Oray wasn’t a Walker,” she said. “He would’ve needed Ga’Shel to go unseen. They would’ve been working together from the start. But the partnership soured.”

  “It would’ve soured from Oray’s perspective, not Ga’Shel’s,” Sorrows said. “Ga’Shel wouldn’t have suspected Oray. No way Oray catches Ga’Shel unaware otherwise. Ga’Shel should’ve just pushed Oray back into the gods-stream.”

  “Oray could wakewalk.”

  “Right,” Davrosh said. “Then Ostev must’ve panicked. He was always skittish around blood. Remember Zvilna Gorsham?”

  “That was a lie. He was probably hiding evidence.”

  “Shun it,” Davrosh said. She slapped the table. “I bet you’re right. He slipped at every crime scene.”

  Eldrake frowned, stared at Sorrows. “Something’s missing in your story. There’s something you’re not telling me. Some reason why you’re not searching for Master Ga’Shel instead of talking to me. What is it?”

  “There was someone else in the room with us,” Sorrows said. “An elf. Mage guard.”

  “Who was it? Why isn’t he here?”

  “She.”

  “Was she killed?”

  “No.”

  “Injured?”

  “No.”

  “You’re still hiding something. What?”

  The room fell silent again. Shen traced a finger back and forth across the table. Davrosh leaned back, glanced at Sorrows. Leaned back further, glanced at Mig. Eldrake tapped a finger and waited. Like she wanted someone else to start speaking so she could reassert who was in charge. But she didn’t expect Mig to be that someone else. So she was caught off guard when Mig spoke. And she didn’t expect
Mig to ask her a question, so she was caught off guard again. And since Archmage Tu’Ell Eldrake didn’t like being caught off guard at all, let alone twice with one question, her frown grew and her tapping stopped.

  “Your predecessor was also named Tu’Ell Eldrake, was she not?” Mig asked.

  She sat with her hands folded in her lap. The points of her ears poked through her long raven hair, which cascaded over her shoulders. She stared at Eldrake with wide black eyes nestled in moss-green skin, soft and smooth. Her eyebrows arched innocently. She was saying, I’m just a simple goblin of humble upbringing. I don’t know the things you know. You’re so wise and generous for humoring me. It was a demure look that caused Sorrows to breathe a bit faster; caused his heart to beat a bit harder. It was a deceptive look, and Sorrows watched, interested.

  “Yes.”

  “Because you give up your name when you become Archmage.”

  “Yes, but this is irrelevant. I want to know—”

  “You knew the Archmage of Hammerfell Tower.”

  Eldrake pressed her lips together. The lines in her face darkened. She looked old, angry. She was saying, I am the Archmage of Godscry Tower and I am not interrupted. She sighed through her nose, loudly, slowly.

  “Yes.” She emphasized the word.

  “But she passed away several months ago.”

  “Yes.”

  Mig nodded, her forehead wrinkled, and pursed her lips. A sympathetic look. Still deceptive.

  “You two were sisters.”

  Shen’s fingers stopped tracing the table. Davrosh straightened. Mig continued to sit with her hands folded in her lap. Eldrake turned toward her, spoke slowly.

  “Yes.”

  “Twins, if I’m not mistaken.”

  “Where are you going with this, Mig Costennati?”

  Mig shrugged. “I wanted to be sure of the details before I told you her name.”