“This is Burandu,” Dilladrum explained to the Emerald Storm’s crew in Apelanese. “He is Elder.” Dilladrum paused to think, then added, “Similar to the lord of a manor, but not quite. Beside him is Joqdan, his warlord—chief knight, if you will. Zulron is Oudorro’s oberdaza.” He gestured at a stunted, misshapen Tenkin, the only deformed one Hadrian had ever seen. “The closest thing to his office in Avryn might be a chief priest as well as doctor, and next to him is Fan Irlanu. You have no equivalent position for her. She’s a seer, a visionary.”

“Welcome, peoples of great Avryn.” Burandu spoke haltingly in Apelanese. Despite his age, betrayed only by a head of startling white hair, he looked as strong and handsome as any man in the village. He sat adorned in a silk waistcloth and kilt, a broad necklace of gold, and a headdress formed from long, brightly colored feathers. “We are pleased to have you in our home.”

“Thank you, sir, for granting us an invitation,” Wesley replied.

“We enjoy company of those Dilladrum brings. Once brothers in ancient days—is good to sit, to listen, to find each other. Come, drink, and remember.”

Zulron cast a fine powder over a brazier of coals. Flames burst forth, illuminating the lodge.

They all sat amid the pillows and hides. Royce found a place within the shadows against the rear wall. As always, Thranic and Bernie kept their distance from the rest of the party. They sat close to the four Tenkins, where the sentinel watched Zulron with great interest. Bulard invited Hadrian to sit beside him.

“This explains a great deal,” said the old man, pointing to the decorations in the hut. “These are people lost in time. Do you see those decorated shields hanging from the rafter with the oil lamps? They used to do that in the ancient imperial throne room, and the leaders mirror the imperial body, represented by a king and his two councilors, always a wizard and a warrior. Although the seer is probably an addition of the Ghazel influences. She’s lovely.”

Hadrian had to agree: Fan Irlanu was stunning, even by Tenkin standards. Her thin silk gown embraced her body with the intimacy of liquid.

Food and wine circulated as men carried in jugs and platters. “After eating,” Burandu said to Wesley, “I ask you, Dilladrum, and your second to meet at my durbo. I discuss recent news on the road ahead. I fear the beasts are loose and you must be careful. You tell me of road just traveled.”

Wesley nodded with a mouthful of food, then, after swallowing, added, “Of course, Your, ah …” He hesitated before simply adding, “Sir.”

Bulard looked with suspicion at the sliced meat set before him. Hadrian chuckled, watching the old man push it around his plate. “It’s pork. Wild pigs thrive in these jungles and the Tenkin hunt them. You’ll find it a little tougher and gamier than what you’re used to back home, but it’s good—you’ll like it.”