She shook her head. “Repay me by getting strong—ah, but I do have a favor to ask of your friend Hay-dree-on. Joqdan, warlord of the village, asks that he speak with you at the sarap.”

“Me?” Hadrian asked, looking across to where the man in the bone necklaces sat. “Is it all right if Royce joins us? I’d like to keep an eye on him.”

“But of course, if he is up to it.”

Hadrian helped Royce to his feet, and as the rest watched with envious stares, the two followed Fan Irlanu out of the ostrium. The sun had not yet set, but for what little light the jungle permitted, it might just as well have. Oil lamps hung from branches, illuminating the path, decorating the village like a Summersrule festival. The rain still poured, so they left the lodge under the protection of palm branches. Hadrian knew sarap translated to “meeting place,” or “talking place.” In this case, it was a giant oudorro tree, from which, he had recently learned, the village took its name.

The tree was not as tall as it was round. Great green leaves thrived on many of its branches despite the center of the trunk’s being completely hollow. The space within provided shelter from the rain and was large enough for the four of them. A small ornately decorated fire pit dominated the center of the floor and glowed with red coals. Around this they took seats on luxurious pillows of silk and satin. The interior walls were painted with various ocher and umber dyes smeared into the wood, apparently by stained fingers. The images depicted men and animals—twisted shapes of strange visions. There were also mysterious symbols and swirling designs. Illuminated by the glowing coals, the interior of the tree was eerily talismanic, creating a sensation that left Hadrian on edge.

Joqdan was already there. He had not waited for a boy with the palms, and his bare head and chest were slick with rain. They all exchanged bows respectfully.

“Pleased am I,” Joqdan greeted them. “Mine speech …is, ah … not good as the learned. I warrior—do not speak to outsiders. You are”—he paused for a moment, thinking hard—“special. Am honored. Welcome you to Oudorro, Galenti. I …” He paused, thinking again, and quickly became frustrated and turned to Fan Irlanu.

“The warlord Joqdan regrets that language skills are not good enough to honor you, and he asks that I speak words,” Fan Irlanu told them as she removed her wet wrap. “He says that he saw you fight in the arena at Drogbon. He has never forgotten it. To have such a legend here is great honor. You do not wear the laurel, so he thinks you do not wish be recognized. He has asked you here to pay proper respect in private.”