Arrow on the String: Solomon Sorrows Book 1 Dan Fish (best book club books .TXT) 📖

prevent your mastery. One who would stand in your way, blocking your path. You had suspected as much. You have already taken precautions. But what happened in the aftermath of the orc confirmed your suspicions. You accept this as another obstacle to overcome. Another aspect to measure and influence and measure again. What choice do you have? Complications arise. They are expected. True, you did not expect your enemy to side with the elves, but no matter. You will adapt to this, as well. The Mage Guard, the enemy, the increased scrutiny of the dwarves, these are not insurmountable. Not for you. Not for one with your patience. Not for one with your knowledge.

You have more than a month to prepare. Ample time. Excessive. Indulgent. The next kill will provide your greatest challenge, your greatest triumph. It might provide the insight into Death of the Soul which has eluded you thus far. If so, it would mark the end of your days in Hammerfell. If so, it would be your last killing of dwarves. They were only ever the inferior of the two gods-born species after all.

And true mastery demands better than second-best.

✽✽✽

“TELL ME ABOUT the gods-bond,” Sorrows said. “How do you know it’s broken?”

The sun hung low ahead of them. Their shadows stretched on the road behind, legs impossibly long, arms thin and moving in exaggerated sweeps as they echoed the forward and back swing of the travelers.

They had returned to the gods-stream in Grayshore, an elf city that stretched along the western edge of Lake Eshven. They filled their packs with enough food to last them a few days, then slipped again and continued their journey. The land flattened into something open and expansive. The trees remained, though they thinned. Their leaves had mostly fallen this far west. The horizon was a tangle of silhouettes, branches and trunks turned black and bare against the orange and crimson of the evening sky. Davrosh stomped in the center of the packed-earth path, Sorrows to her left and Ga’Shel to her right. Sorrows looked over the top of her head, half because he was talking to Ga’Shel and half to keep the sun from his eyes.

“I would think you an expert on souls and their tethering,” Ga’Shel said.

“Human souls, not dwarves,” Sorrows said. “Only thing I know about a dwarf’s gods-bond is that it’s tied to the hands. Cut off their hands, sever the bond. But now you’re telling me the daughters still have their hands, and not their souls.”

“That’s right,” Ga’Shel said.

“How can you tell?” Sorrows asked. “What do you look for?”

Ga’Shel shrugged. “I look for the bond. I know when I see it. I know when I don’t see it. What does a human soul look like?”

Sorrows lifted a hand to his chest, felt the amulet.

“It doesn’t look like anything. It’s more of a feeling. Like I’m remembering something.”

“You get that feeling from a soul-imbued weapon?” Ga’Shel asked.

“Something like that.”

Ga’Shel nodded. “It’s the same with a slain gods-born, except the soul isn’t tied to a sword or bow, it’s tied to the gods-born body. If the body dies before the soul leaves, then the soul lingers. This is why the elves and dwarves perform rituals of passing. To encourage the soul to return to the gods.”

Davrosh stumbled, and Ga’Shel caught her arm. He offered a small smile.

“We can stop to make camp, if you’d like, Remma?” he asked.

“I’m fine,” she said.

Her shoulders were hunched. She clutched the straps of her pack, one in each hand. With her cloak and the added supplies, the burden made her look like she was being attacked by a bear cub. Sorrows extended a hand.

“Give me your pack.”

“Go to hells.” Expected.

Sorrows shrugged. “You’re taking two steps to our one.”

“Are you saying I’m slowing us down?”

“No, I’m saying you’re short. And you are slowing us down.”

“Our pace is adequate,” Ga’Shel said. “I’ve kept us thin. There is no need to tire ourselves.”

Sorrows turned, looked ahead. A copse of oak and maple lay a hundred paces off the road. He lifted a hand and pointed to the trees, opened his mouth to suggest making camp there. Davrosh’s rucksack hit him in the stomach with enough strength to force all the air from his chest. He stopped, bent over, found his breath, looked up. Davrosh and Ga’Shel had kept walking. Davrosh looked back over her shoulder with a smirk that made her chin take up half her face.

“Thanks for the help, orchole,” she said.

Sorrows slung Davrosh’s pack over a shoulder and caught up. They kept walking.

“The souls were gone,” Ga’Shel said. He glanced at Sorrows as though nothing had happened. “No lingering memories. No feeling of being watched.”

“Being watched?” Sorrows asked.

“You suggest a soul feels like a memory. I feel as though I am being watched.”

“I like my way better.”

Ga’Shel shrugged. “Are you afraid of souls, Sorrows?”

Run and hide, run and hide! Seph will find you, go inside!

“No,” he said. “They’re just people wronged by the Seph. I prefer to remember them that way. Being watched sounds a lot like being hunted. Makes it seem like the soul’s nothing more than a predator.”

“Prey keep a watchful eye, do they not?” Ga’Shel asked.

Sorrows looked at him. “That would make us the predators. I’m not a predator, despite Davrosh’s piss-poor guesses. Are you?”

Ga’Shel shook his head. “No, I suppose not. A poor analogy, then. Whatever the feeling, it was missing for all four daughters.”

Davrosh stumbled again. Ga’Shel caught her again.

“Time to stop?” he asked.

“Time to stop,” Sorrows said before Davrosh could disagree.

✽✽✽

TWO DAYS HAD passed, and the third was halfway gone. At the pace Ga’Shel maintained, Sorrows guessed they were halfway to Hammerfell. A hawk drifted overhead, gliding in slow, sweeping arcs. Leaves crept sideways across the path, golden, tumbling, hinting at a north wind that Sorrows couldn’t hear or feel. The day was bright. The sky was the pale blue of fall turning to winter. Sorrows lost track of time. A benefit of forest-walking. Davrosh stomped