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 smiled, 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?”
