The Emerald Storm (The Riyria Revelations #4)

“Getting blood from him is nearly impossible,” Levy grumbled.

“I will start the test with these, but I’ll also see what I can do to get fresh blood. He will need treatment soon.”

“Treatment?”

“The jungle does not abide the weak or the wounded for long. He will summon me or die.”

“How much gold will you want?” Thranic asked.

Zulron shook his head. “I have no need for gold.”

“What payment then?”

“My reward will not come from you. I will reap my own reward, and it is no concern of yours.”





***




The Tenkin granted them the use of three sizable huts, and Wesley divided his crew accordingly. The accommodations were surprisingly luxurious, subdivided by walls of wide woven ribbons that gave the impression of being inside a basket. Carpets of tight-threaded fibers inlaid with beautiful designs covered the floor. Peanut-shaped gourds hung from the rafters, burning oil that provided more than enough light.

Having convinced Wesley to linger in the village, Hadrian watched over Royce, who looked worse with each passing hour. Royce’s skin burned and sweat poured down his forehead even as he shivered beneath two layers of blankets.

“You need to get better, pal,” Hadrian told him. “Think of Gwen. Better yet, think what she’ll do to me if I come back without you.”

There was no reaction. Royce continued to shiver, his eyes closed.

“May I enter?” a soft voice asked. Hadrian could only see the outline in the doorway, and for an instant he thought it was Gwen. “It ’as been said ’e grows worse, but you ’ave refused Zulron to see ’im.”

“Your oberdaza has been keeping close company with the man who nearly killed my friend. I do not feel comfortable letting Zulron treat him.”

“Vill you allow me? I am not as skilled as Zulron, but know some dings.”

Hadrian nodded and waved her in.

“I am Fan Irlanu,” she said, dipping her head into the hut while outside two other women waited in the rain, holding covered baskets.

“Hadrian Blackwater, and this is Royce.”

She nodded, then knelt beside Royce and placed a hand to his forehead. “’E ’as fever.”

She motioned for the oil lamp and Hadrian pulled it down, then helped her open Royce’s cloak and pull back his tunic to reveal the stained bandage that she carefully removed. Irlanu grimaced as she peeled back the cloth and studied the wound.

She shook her head. “Et ez dee shirlum-kath,” she said, pressing lightly on the skin around the wound causing Royce to flinch in his sleep. “See ’ere?” she scraped a long nail along the edge of the bloody wound and drew away a squirming parasite the size of a coarse hair that twisted and curled on her fingertip. “Dey are eating ’im.”

Fan Irlanu waved to the women outside who entered and deposited their eside her. She spoke briefly in Tenkin, ordering them to fetch other items that Hadrian was unfamiliar with, and the two dashed from the hut.

“Can you help him?”

The woman nodded as she took out a stone mortar and began crushing bits of what looked to be dirt, leaves, and nuts with a pestle. “Dey are common ’ere vis open vounds. Left alone, dee shirlum-kath vill devour ’im. ’E die soon vis out help, so I make a poison for dee shirlum-kath.”

One of the women returned with a gourd and an earthen pot in which Fan Irlanu mixed the contents of her mortar with oil, beating it until she had a thick dark paste that she spread over Royce’s wound, packing it into the puncture. They turned him over and did the same to the exit wound. Then she placed a single large foul-smelling leaf over each and together they wrapped him in fresh cloth. Royce barely woke during the procedure. Groggy and confused, he soon passed out once more.

Fan Irlanu covered Royce back up with the blankets and nodded approvingly. “’E vill get better now, I dink. I brew drinks—more poison for dee shirlum-kath and a tea for strength. When ’e wakes up, make ’im drink both, eh? Den ’e feel better, much faster.”

Hadrian thanked her, and as she left, he wondered what was it about Royce being near death that always summoned beautiful women.





***




When Royce woke the next morning, the fever was gone and he was strong enough to curse. According to him, the draught Fan Irlanu provided tasted worse than fermented cow dung. The tea he actually liked. By the following day, he was sitting up and eating, by the third he was able to walk unassisted to the communal ostrium for his meals.

No one complained about the delay as the rain continued. Seeing Royce in the ostrium that morning, Grady winked and asked Hadrian if it might be possible for Royce to have a relapse.

“’E ez good?” Fan Irlanu asked, coming to them after the evening meal concluded. Her movement was entrancingly graceful, her dress glistened like oil in the lamplight. All eyes followed her.

“No—but he’s feeling a lot better,” Hadrian replied. His mischievous grin left a puzzled expression on her face.

“My language is perhaps not—”

“I am very good, thank you,” Royce told her. “Apparently, I owe you my life.”

She shook her head. “Repay me by getting strong—ah, but I do ’ave a favor to ask of your friend, Hay-dree-on. Joqdan, varlord of dee village asks dat ’e speak vis you at dee 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 ’e ez up to et.”

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 and 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 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 fact that the center of the trunk was 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 felt eerily talismanic creating a sensation that left Hadrian on edge.