“You’re helping me,” Solomon said.
“I didn’t say that I didn’t do it. Just that I have a hard time making myself care.”
As if to illustrate her point there was a sharp sting on the back of his calf. He flinched.
“Sorry,” Mia said. “That was poor timing. Had to break the thread. Now let’s see about that hand.”
Solomon slowly rolled over. His leg was feeling better but was still a little swollen and hot.
“Anyway,” Doc Mia said, examining his hand. “I imagine that eventually whatever those things are will have had enough and will move on. Hopefully they’ll take those damn rats with them. Maybe then the town can recover… or maybe we’ll all be gone.”
Solomon’s head was swimming again. The temporary relief he got when he first came in was fading. But there were people in need. He assumed the weird people they were talking about were the same as the thing he fought in the Mar-trollid camp, and he recognized the signs of evil when he saw them. He could walk away from it. Find Celia, then the gate, then go home. This wasn’t his worry.
Like he wasn’t Old Sam’s worry last night, or Doc Mia’s now.
“I need a sword,” he said.
“What?” This from both Doc Mia and Old Sam.
“A sword,” he repeated. “They took mine. If I’m going to help you get rid of those things, I need a sword.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Doc said, reaching up to open his eye with her fingers and peer at him. “You’re delirious.”
“No, I’m not. And I’m looking for someone that I’m even more worried about now.”
“Then you should go find them. As soon as you’re better.”
“I will. But I can help you guys, too. She’d want me to.”
“Crazy,” Doc Mia muttered, and slit open his hand.
Chapter 36
The inside of the Glittering Birch main tree matched what Shireen saw on the outside. Neglect was evident everywhere, from the amount of dust on furniture, to the smell coming from some of the rooms. Nothing was being taken care of.
Servants were still present, but those that didn’t simply loll about talked with one another in hushed tones. They stopped and openly stared when Jamshir led Shireen’s party by. Guards were no better, slouching against walls, or in some cases entirely absent from what should have been their positions. Neither Jamshir nor Bragnold acknowledged anything being amiss.
Jamshir led her further into the tree and up a set of wide stairs to what was once a grand room. She remembered it from her last visit here with Jediah and Florian, but now it was filthy. Jamshir sank into a large chair, with a stained and soiled cushion.
Shireen motioned her senior scout to come near.
“Spread out, search from top to bottom. I don’t think anyone is going to stop you but be respectful. There’s no reason to antagonize Jamshir at this point.”
Neither Jamshir nor Bragnold made any comment, or even seemed to notice when the Towering Oaks forces slipped away.
“Sit, dear, sit,” Jamshir said, closing his eyes.
There were other chairs, haphazardly strewn across the room, some on their feet, some lying on their sides or backs. She grabbed one, righted it and sat facing the ruler of the Greenweald. General Bragnold took up a spot next to Jamshir’s chair, staring vacantly at the large room.
The windows on the wall to her right let in plenty of light, enough to expose the filth that had accumulated.
“What’s happened here, Lord Jamshir?” Shireen asked.
“Hmm? What do you mean?”
“Your House. It’s… not being seen to.”
Jamshir looked around the room with a puzzled expression. “I’m not sure what you mean. This is what you requested, isn’t it? To see the grandeur of Glittering Birch again, something to tell your children. Do you have children?”
“No, not yet. Someday perhaps.”
Jamshir leaned toward her, his eyes hooded.
“Well, no time like the present. How about if we try to fix that right now?”
His breath was fetid and the odor from his unwashed body was vile. Shireen fought to maintain her composure.
“I don’t think Orlando would like that.”
“Bah. What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him. And you can say the brat is his. I won’t mind.”
“Again, thanks, but I’ll decline.”
“Suit yourself.” He leaned back in his chair and let his gaze wander around the room. He frowned, his lips moving as he spoke silently to himself.
“Lord Jamshir,” Shireen said, keeping her voice low, “do you have any idea what might have happened to my aide? His name is Samuel and he was attacked near our compound. Now, he’s missing.”
“Samuel? No, I know no Samuel. What about you, General?”
Bragnold continued to stare at the wall, then slowly shook his head. Shireen was appalled to see a thin line of drool hanging from the man’s lip.
“No. See? No Samuel here. Now, what can I do for you?”
“What I just said. I’m looking for my aide.”
“Ah, right. He was attacked, you say?”
“Yes, Lord Jamshir, by a Soul Gaunt.”
Jamshir straightened, his eyes opening wide. “A what?”
“A Soul Gaunt.”
“Impossible. Soul Gaunts haven’t been seen in the Greenweald in years. Ever since I defeated that one with my flaming sword.”
For a moment, Shireen wasn’t sure if Jamshir was trying to make a joke, but his eyes told her that wasn’t the case. No, he was serious. In his mind, Solomon’s story was now his own.
She was about to speak again when Jamshir rose to his feet. “Drinks. We must have drinks. Wine!” He banged his fist on the arm of his chair and spun in place. “Wine! Bring wine for my guest!”
There
