“I didn’t think so. Train him well. And if you’re not sure, ask someone who’s been around longer. We all need to work together right now. Got it?”
“Got it. Sorry.”
Shireen nodded once, handed the practice sword back to the young man and returned to where Orlando stood watching, the amusement written plainly on his face.
“You half did that for fun, didn’t you?” he said quietly when she was next to him again.
“No. Well, maybe a little.”
She would have reached out for his hand, but it wouldn’t have been fitting here and now, so she stayed next to him, taking comfort from his presence, and watched over the sparring.
♦ ♦ ♦
Later, when she felt compelled to return to her office, she found very few items waiting for her on her desk. That had become the new normal, ever since Samuel turned up.
She went back to the outer office where her aide sat and looked at his desk. There were more, a lot more, papers here, arranged in neat stacks. Samuel would take one from his left, examine it, write things down, and put it off to his right. He showed none of the stress that she felt when dealing with it all.
“How can you do that?” she asked.
Samuel glanced up at her, then returned his attention to his work.
“Do what?”
“That. Sit there at that desk all day and shuffle papers.” Shireen realized that her question came out sounding like an insult, which wasn’t how she meant it. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it that way.”
“It’s fine,” Samuel smiled. “I don’t know. I find peace in organizing things and watching the flow of how the House runs, helping it along. Lord Jediah said I had a gift for it.”
“He was right. You’ve only been here a couple of days and I don’t know what I’d do without you already. But you know you can take a break, right? Go outside, get some air?”
“Thank you, Lady Shireen. Believe me, I get my exercise. When I’m done here, I often walk the compound; occasionally I’ll go out among the trees at twilight. And I have to confess, I’m something of a birder.”
He looked up sheepishly as he said that, as if he had just confessed some shameful secret.
Shireen sat down. “You’re a what now?”
“A birder. You know, one who watches birds.”
“Oh, that. Why?”
“I like them. And I like to see how many different ones I can spot.”
She shifted in her chair. As much as she loved the Greenweald, she couldn’t understand taking your free time to walk around and look at birds.
Samuel noticed her discomfort and laughed. “It’s all right, Lady Shireen. Most Folk don’t quite get it. But it brings me peace as much as the work here does.”
“Eh, I don’t have to get it. If you enjoy it, you deserve to do it. You’ve certainly earned it with the work you’ve done here.”
Samuel smiled at her and she sat until the silence started to feel uncomfortable. “Well,” she said then, “I should get back to it. Orlando is coming in shortly. Just send him in.”
“Certainly.”
Huh. Birds, Shireen thought as she returned to her own office.
♦ ♦ ♦
She was reading over a request to promote a junior officer when Orlando entered. Shireen looked up, always glad to see him and for the excuse to do something other than paperwork for a few minutes.
“How’d the rest of the training go?” she asked as he fell into a chair.
“Good. Especially Gloria, the one you beat up. She had a real change in attitude. Before I left, she was working with three trainees, and they were all starting to get it.”
“Great. And I didn’t beat her up.”
“The one you taught a hard lesson to, then.”
“You’re a pain in the ass, you know that?” she said.
“But I’m your pain. That’s why you wanted to see me.”
She stood and walked around the desk, taking the chair next to him. “Right on one account, wrong on the other. I’ve got a job for you, my pain.”
“Really?” Orlando straightened in his chair. “Sounds kind of ominous.”
“No, nothing like that. I need to send you out.”
“A scouting mission? I can do that, certainly, although it won’t be the same going without you. But why me? There are still plenty of good scouts you could send out.”
Shireen shook her head. “Not a scouting mission. Something bigger than that.”
Orlando raised his eyebrows.
“I’m worried,” she continued. “We’re too open, too weak right now, and we’ve done nothing about Jamshir and that secret House. They could attack at any minute.”
“And?”
“And we need to get the other Houses involved. That’s where you come in. I want you to go around, recruit them so that we’re all protected. We’ll all come to each other’s aid if needed. And so that when Solomon comes back, we’re all ready to confront Jamshir together.”
Orlando nodded. “Why me? It’s not like I’m a diplomat. I’m a scout.”
“You’re also the person I trust more than anyone else.”
“I don’t like leaving you here,” he said, “but I get it. All right. When and where should I start?”
“Tomorrow morning. And start with Whispering Pines. They’re our closest ally, so it will be the easiest.”
Chapter 12
Choking, Solomon opened his eyes. He was lying on the ground, among dead leaves and undergrowth, the sun beating down on his face. Birds sang in the trees, and somewhere nearby water was running through a streambed. He groaned and turned his head, only to find a pair of enormous, hairy feet standing nearby. Squinting against the brightness of the light, he followed the feet up to short bandy legs, long arms hanging nearly to the ground and a huge, sloped head, punctuated by upright fangs. Brilliant brown eyes, flecked with gold stared at him curiously.
The Guardian. He was back in the Greenweald, near the Guardian’s cave. The water spirit had lied to him and simply brought him back here. It would be her mistake, though. As soon as he gained a little of his strength back, he would reclaim his sword and go back to her pool, fulfilling the threat he made to her earlier.
Gingerly, he sat up, hands pressing against his temples. Everything ached. His head was pounding, his chest hurt from holding his breath, and his body felt like he had been beaten.
“I’m going to need it back,” he said, not looking at the Guardian standing silently nearby. “I’d prefer to not have to fight you for it again.”
“I’d prefer that, too,” the Guardian answered, but there was something wrong with his voice. Solomon turned his head and shielded his eyes against the sun.
The Guardian watched him, showing no signs of aggression, or of helping him either. And the voice was higher pitched than he was used to hearing.
He looked closer. This wasn’t the Guardian after all. Swelling at the chest indicated breasts, although they were hidden under long, shaggy hair every bit as coarse as that of the Guardian’s.
Solomon smiled wryly at his mistake and took better stock of his surroundings. Yes, he was in a forest, but it was definitely not the Greenweald. Trees surrounded him, but they weren’t nearly the size of the ones at home, nor as dense. Sunlight penetrated much more easily, and that should have been his first clue. Plus, he was sitting in thick undergrowth, and while that wasn’t unheard of in the Greenweald, it was rarely this abundant.
He slowly rose to his feet, wincing from his soreness and taking a quick inventory. His sword was still on his belt, his boots on his feet. All his clothes were soaking wet, which was to be expected. And there, a few feet from him, was his pack, still lashed shut.
It appeared that he misjudged the water spirit. She did deliver him elsewhere as promised. Now, as long as it was the same place she had brought Celia…
“I’m Solomon,” he said, turning back to the large figure. “I’m not from here.”
The creature s
miled, her face crinkling. “No, you’re not. I can see that.”
“I came looking for someone.”
“Who?”
“Her name is Celia. She was brought here several weeks ago. Did you happen to see her?”
The creature stopped smiling and nodded. “Yes,” she said. “Yes, I did. You better come with me.”
Without another word, she turned and moved off, surprisingly quiet for such a large individual.
“Hey, wait!” Solomon grabbed his pack and quickly limped after, until he fell into step next to her. “You’ve seen her? Where?”
“It would be better if you spoke to my father first.”
“Why? Why can’t you tell me so that I can go after her?”
“There is more to the story, and I don’t know it all.”
“But still, you know where she went, don’t you?”
“Yes, or at least where she said she was going.”
“Then, please, tell me!”
The creature stopped and faced him. “Gan-Solomon, I understand your haste. But acting in such a manner will only delay you more. My father is wise and will give you guidance, which will lead you to that which you seek more quickly. Please, trust me on this.”
She stared at him, her brown eyes calm, until he nodded. Solomon was enough of a tactician to know that information was invaluable. As hard as it was to be patient, he’d be foolhardy to run off without learning all he could.
Satisfied, the creature moved off again, and Solomon followed.
“What’s your name?” he asked.
“Yag-Morah,” she replied. “It is good to meet you Gan-Solomon.”
He tilted his head at the unusual treatment of his name but let it pass.
“And you, Yag-Morah. Where are we going?”
“To my village. Or rather, I should say, my village for the moment. Tomorrow, it may have moved and the Mar-trollid will have gone on to another place.”
“The Mar-trollid? Is that what your people are called?”
She nodded and kept moving. “Of course. It means ‘those who seek’. Don’t your people have a name for themselves?”
“Nothing so descriptive. We call ourselves the Folk, and for the most part, live in a place called the Greenweald. But ‘those who seek?’ What are you seeking for?”
Massive shoulders lifted in a shrug. “It is different for all of us.”
“And for you, Yag-Morah? What are you seeking?”
She glanced at him. “At the moment? I’m seeking the rest of my people.”
Solomon laughed, then saved his breath for keeping up with her.
♦ ♦ ♦
A short while later they left the forest and walked across open grassland. In the distance, Solomon could see tall wagons, like boxes balanced on large wheels. Off to the side several immense animals grazed contentedly. Huge horns grew from their square heads, and long hair covered their powerful bodies as it did Yag-Morah’s.
“Ah,” she said. “There they are. Exactly where I left them.”
“Did you really think it would be otherwise?”
“Who could tell? If it became time to move, the Mar-trollid would have no choice. It would simply be time.”
“They’d leave you behind?”
“And trust in me to find my way back to them. If not, then it was meant to be that I would find something else instead.”
It was a philosophy that Solomon, raised inside large stationary trees, the furthest thing from mobile, had a hard time with. For the Folk, someone lost in the Greenweald took priority over anything else. No House rested until the lost one was found and returned to their home.
Here, things were obviously different.
His arrival caused a few curious looks, but no excitement in the camp. Mar-trollid sat, walked or stood in groups all around, and mostly paid no attention to him. Apparently, the arrival of a stranger was not the event that he might have believed it would be.
Yag-Morah led him to a wagon, almost identical to the others. Large, boxy and made of a dark wood, with steps leading to a door in the rear. In the front was a seat, placed high above the ground, with long leads leading down to the double yoke.
Solomon stopped and looked at the huge conveyance. “Wow. This must take some serious muscle power to move. I’m guessing that’s what those animals out there are for?”
“Yes,” Yag-Morah answered. “They are valued members of our families.”
“What are they called?”
She looked over her shoulder at him, mouth twisted. “Cows.”
Yag-Morah turned away, climbed the steps and opened the door. “Welcome to my father’s house.”
Solomon slowly climbed the oversized steps, his legs protesting. Inside, the wagon was well-lit and comfortable, with thick cushions placed on the floor. Books lined one wall and were stacked on the floor, and a small, woodstove burned, warming a kettle placed on top.
But it was the occupant who drew Solomon’s attention. Like both the Guardian and Yag-Morah, he was large and covered in dense, matted hair, only more so. Even seated, he towered over Solomon. He looked up when they entered, and his eyes were milky-white.
“Daughter,” he rumbled, “you’ve brought someone here. Another of the Folk, unless I miss my guess.”
“Yes, father,” Yag-Morah replied. “Perceptive as always. Gan-Solomon, allow me to introduce my father, Gan-Rowe.”
“Greetings, Gan-Solomon,” the elder said. “Welcome to our home.”
“Thank you,” Solomon replied. “And greetings to you, also.”
“Come in. Sit. Daughter, tea for our guest.”
Solomon slowly sank into a cushion. Despite his apparent blindness, Gan-Rowe followed his progress easily.
“And what is it that brings one of the Folk so far from the Greenweald?” he asked.
“I’m looking for someone,” Solomon said. “Someone who…well, she’s…”
Gan-Rowe smiled. “I understand. And yes, we’ve seen her. Assuming, of course, that the one you seek is of your kind.”
“She is.” Hope bloomed in Solomon’s heart. This was the right world. “When was she here?” he asked eagerly.
“Several weeks ago, now. She stayed with us for a few days. We clothed her, made sure she was healthy, and she went.”
“You let her go on her own?”
“She was seeking. As most are. It is not the way of the Mar-trollid to interfere in that. And now you come to us, also seeking. We will not impede your journey either.”
Solomon nodded, then remembered that the blind creature couldn’t see him do it. “Yeah, that makes sense. But does that mean you won’t help me either?”
“Of course not,” Gan-Rowe laughed. “Your people and ours have had a long friendship, although you may not know of it. There is still one of us who lives among you.”
“The Guardian. I know him well.”
“Yes, the one you call the Guardian.”
Solomon stopped to consider. “Then what is the Guardian seeking?”
“Who can say? It could be knowledge. It could be security for others. Perhaps he does not even know himself. Ah, thank you, daughter.”
Yag-Morah handed her father a large steaming mug, then returned with another for Solomon. He needed both hands to hold it, while it appeared tiny in Gan-Rowe’s hand. He sipped it carefully, and a relaxing, soothing feeling flowed through him.
“Thank you,” he said to Yag-Morah. “It’s very nice.”
“It will help you recover from your journey here. Be careful with it. It’s powerful for one such as yourself.”
“I can believe it.” The slight disconnected feeling he was getting from one sip was enough to convince him.
“Drink, Gan-Solomon,” Gan-Rowe said. “At least a little more. Let it take you into sleep. It will heal the rigors of your journey and refresh your mind and spirit. When you wake, we will discuss Yag-Celia, and where she has gone.”
The sip he took was making Solomon sleepy, soothing his ach
es and pains. He took another, then carefully set the mug aside and leaned back into a cushion. “Only for a few minutes,” he mumbled, and a curtain of darkness gently fell on him.
Chapter 13
Jocasta walked into the library to find Childress already there, flipping through a book and waiting for her. She was beginning to understand her cousin’s love for this room. There was something relaxing about being in here, surrounded by the rich wood and the books lining the shelves. In the past few days, she’d even taken a few down and leafed through them. One of them was now in her own bedchamber, a few pages read every night.
Who knew Florian had a taste for adventure stories of the high seas? And although Jocasta laughed at how inaccurate they were, they were a nice distraction when trying to fall asleep.
A distraction that most of House Whispering Pines thought was being provided by Darius, but that wasn’t the case. She had no interest in him that way. Instead she saw intelligence and ambition, mixed with a certain amount of resentment for his station in life. Jocasta was sure that sentiment ran in many of the servants. In Darius’s case, she could use it.
Childress was a valuable ally, with experience, wisdom, and connections. But she wanted someone who was loyal to her and her alone. Eventually, she would need more than that, but for the moment, Darius would do.
“Ah, Jocasta, dear.” Childress smiled up from his book, closed it and set it aside. “Lovely day, isn’t it?”
“It is,” she said, taking a seat across from him. “What did you want?”
Her bluntness unnerved most other Folk. They were more used to the endless platitudes and politeness that she had no time for. Things needed to get done.
“The training is coming along well?” Childress asked.
That wasn’t what he came for, but there was no hurrying the old man. He would get to his point when he felt it was time, and all of Jocasta’s terseness would roll off his back in the meantime. Frustrating, yet admirable.
She sat back in her chair, resigning herself to the fact that Head of House or not, this meeting would be conducted in Childress’s time.
“It’s going fine. We have lots of new recruits. I’ve got the more experienced ones helping out. We’re not going for anything fancy. This is a sword. There’s the edge and the pointy end. Hit someone with it before they can hit you. That’s good enough for now. Later, we can work on finesse.”
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