It started out as a slow dull ache that started in his hips, moved all the way down to the balls of his sore feet, then spread back up through his arms until every breath was a labor of will. No matter how much he hurt, he couldn't stop. There were people counting on him, people that were depending on him. He had to keep moving, keep running to stay away from his pursuers. There was no knowing how many of them remained on his trail, not unless he wanted to stop and take count. He couldn't stop. He had to keep going.
Twinges of pain shot up his sides and he gasped, involuntarily sucking in a lung full of frigid morning air. The cold burned through his lungs and he faltered, stumbling as he reached the cobbled stones of the Glinden City Bridge. Not much father until his goal. He could keep going. He had to.
He clutched the sealed letter tight in his fist, wary of the stray wind that had chosen that moment to strafe across the river. Icy fingers of air cut through him, scratching at his skin as if it were trying to tear the rolled parchment from his fingers. The wind was laughing, he was sure, mocking his frail human body as it slowly succumbed to fatigue. He'd gone too long without sustenance or rest. His body was starting to shut down, will he or no.
His foot stuck on a rough stone and he stumbled again, almost falling but he caught himself on the stone railing, heaving himself back onto his feet. The wind roared around him, pressing him towards the ground. He set an unsteady foot out on the stones and kept moving. The wind lowered to a murmur as if unsettled by his rugged determination. Below him, past the railing, the river churned in sharp blue waves. Like the wind, it was waiting for him to fail, but it would rather see him fall into its deathly embrace.
He was almost there, halfway across the bridge. From there it was a simple matter of passing through the gates, past guards that wouldn't dare stop him when he flashed his seal, and a long trek uphill to the manor, though that trip would not be nearly as long as his journey thus far.
The wind died completely. If he were less exhausted and more aware of his surroundings, he might have seen that for the warning it should have been. Instead, he glanced down in surprise as an arrowhead blossomed through his lapel, red blood fanning out like petals around the silver metal. The pain of the wound was nothing compared to the dull ache of his body but it was enough to set him over the edge, quite literally. The wind lent a helping hand, roaring up in a mighty gale to push him over the railing.
Muddy waves welcomed him.
"Praise be to our Lord, who in all His mercy has seen to grant us the happiness we enjoy today. In the light of His kind attention we thrive. In His divine knowledge..."
Delian shifted in his seat at the far back corner of the upper balcony. The Great Hall spread out below him, a magnificent display of their God's mercy. Or at least that's what Arch-Bishop Tremare called it. Delian called it a lavish waste of parishioners' money, though never aloud. He shifted again, angling the book in his lap until it caught in the faint light that had managed to trickle through the high-vaulted eaves. Brother Krafton glared at him from his perch to Delian's left, more out of annoyance at being jostled than at Delian's irreverent behavior. His fellow priests were used to the later. There were reasons, after all, why he was only a librarian.
Loyalty to Delian's family, or more precisely loyalty to his family's money, was the only thing that kept Delian invested in the parish. The lowest, darkest, and most secluded parts of the parish to be exact, back where the only ears to listen to his pointed opinions of the church's fallacies belonged to rotting wooden shelves, rough stone walls, and books older than the church itself. The arrangement worked out well for the most part. As long as Delian didn't say anything too sacrilegious outside of the church grounds, he was left to read in peace. He was spared the trouble of dealing with his father, and his father was spared the trouble of dealing with him, while the church continued to receive yearly 'charitable contributions' from his family.
Brother Krafton elbowed him sharply, a bit harder than necessary, most likely revenge for the earlier jostling. The priests around him rose and Delian hastily tucked away his book. The Arch-Bishop spoke and he blithely parroted back the empty prayer. There was no piety in the man, only a fondness for showy ceremony and a comfortable lifestyle. No one spared him a glance if he missed a word or two. God knew where he stood, and no amount of prayer would change that.
The crowd in the upper balcony started moving as soon as the final words of the prayer settled over the hall, all of them eager to get out of the opulent chamber and back to their own livelihoods. He sat back down, cracking open his book while he waited for the other priests to shuffle away. Brother Krafton edged his way along the pew and out into the press of bodies, not looking back as he walked away. If any of the priests spared Delian a glance, they were either new or looking for someone else. No one wanted to associate with the black sheep of the church.
Delian preferred it that way.
"Master Delian?" The shrill youthful voice of an acolyte echoed through the vaulted cavern. No doubt the boy stood on the terrace at front of the chamber, hovering at the edge of the stairwell. Few ventured this far into the library by choice, the rows and rows of bookshelves daunting to those not used to the gloom of the library.
Stretching up onto the tips of his toes, Delian waved a hand over the top of the shelf. His fingers barely cleared the top of the bookshelf in front of him. "In the back." The aged wooden ladder beneath him wobbled.
Delian was ensconced in the very back of the chamber among the ancient history tomes. He'd spent the last two hours pulling first one then another dusty volume off the shelf, glancing at their spines in the dim light of the covered lantern hung from a peg on the side of the shelf, before slipping the books back into their places on the shelf. Occasionally he'd pull a book out and balance it on a lower shelf for later retrieval.
He took the time to check the last few books on the top shelf, but none of them contained what he was looking for. Acolyte Trey, one of the newer additions to the flock of Adena's servants, came scurrying through the maze of bookshelves. Delian smiled slightly as the boy rounded the corner, almost colliding with the precariously stacked pile of books at the end of the row. He remembered being a young acolyte like Trey, though he had never been quite so eager. The differences in their circumstances most likely separated Delian from this young boy. After all, the boy probably wanted to be here.
"Master Delian," the boy gasped, no doubt having run all the way down here. "A messenger came from a shop at the harbor. The man said he worked for a Master Dirk. He says there's a book in for you."
Delian fought down the urge to roll his eyes and plastered a kind smile on his face instead. The boy probably thought it was a matter of great importance, some rare and exotic addition to the library. He could imagine the Arch-Bishop's outrage if he even tried to add the book to the library. Either the old man would faint dead or have Delian excommunicated. Neither of them seemed too bad of an option, but Delian had other plans for the book, namely addition into his own personal collection.
The boy stood eagerly at the bottom of the shelf, waiting for an answer.
"Right." Delian turned away from the boy with a nod to carefully work his way down the ladder. "Thank you for letting me know."
"Do you need someone to fetch it for you?"
He couldn't hold back a chuckle at the boy's eagerness. "That's alright. I'll do it myself." He could sympathize with the boy's hope of leaving the church grounds, but Delian had few enough opportunities to do so that he wasn't about to pass it off on someone else. The boy's expression fell. "Though I could use your help."
Acolyte Trey perked up immediately, probably thinking that Delian would ask the acolyte to accompany him. Delian had a different idea.
"Hold out your arms," he commanded genially. He pulled out the books he'd balanced on the shelves earlier and stacked them on the boy's arms.
"If you'd be so kind, could you set those on my work table?" He didn't wait for the boy's response before he started off through the shelves. "If any of the priests come looking for me, I'll be out."
He wove his way through the shelves with practiced ease. The library was more his home than any other part of the church, particularly the deeper levels. He knew at least the name and general content of every book on all five floors of the library, though in his fifteen years here he had only read less than a quarter of the books.
A set of stone steps was carved out of the wall at the front of the cavern, spiraling up to a small terrace. Both of the lower floors of the church library had once been part of a cave formation, now isolated from the other caverns with all the fissures sealed until they were almost air-tight. The floor above also connected with a series of storage areas and cells, but the only thing linking the lowest floor to the rest of the church was the tight stone stairwell that wound its way through the press of stone.
As he walked up the stairs, Delian plucked absently at his spotted and stained robes. There was a rather large wine stain on his sleeve, something that would surely cause Arch-Bishop Tremare to launch into a long-winded tirade about the proper care of a priest's robes. Delian really didn't care what the Arch-Bishop said about the dignity of the church. Stilling his hands, he let his robes go at their current state. A little indignity would do the church some good in his opinion. Tremare was too high-strung in his opinion. In Delian's opinion, the amount of time the Arch-Bishop spent worrying about etiquette and dignity would be better spent helping the sick and poor. He had a strong feeling Adena agreed.
He trudged through the gilded halls, a moving smudge marring the pristine glamour of the church. Most of the priests ignored him, a few bother to notice him long enough to turn up their noses at him. The guards at the main doors didn't even glance his way. They were more interested in turning away the ragged beggars that might stain the halls than watching for any real threat entering or leaving the castle.
Sunlight warmed him as he started down the church steps. The light glinted off the white marble surrounding him. Every structure on the small island had been constructed from the expensive stone, at least on the outside. The low walls, the stone courtyard, even the steps were pristine white. Young acolytes and the servants at the church spent their mornings scrubbing the floors to maintain the opulent shine. All of it was an enormous waste of time.
Delian nodded briefly to the guards that stood on either side of the open gate. Neither responded back. A light breeze ruffled his hair as Delian crossed the tiny bridge spanning the small river that cut off the church from the city proper. The breeze brought with it the heat of the sun, the warmth spreading comfortably through his body. Summer would be on them soon, but even on the worst summer days the heat never made it down into the library vaults. It was on these rare trips out of the church that he was reminded just how much he missed a summer day's warmth, and the freedom to be out under open sky whenever he wished. As a young boy he'd loved the outdoors, though his love for books had always been stronger. He'd spent days hiding up in one of the orchard trees at his family's manor with a book in his lap. By the time he'd left to join the priesthood, he'd read every book in his family's meager scrapping of a library at least five times.
His father had never had much use for books, or for Delian.
As he stepped into the courtyard on the opposite end of the church bridge, he was greeted by the sights and sounds of city life, both fair and foul. Two cobbled avenues branched off from the courtyard. The right road led to the open gates in the walls surrounding the upper city, home to the palace and the richest of merchants and nobles. The left went to the harbors, and a slightly seedier part of town. As one more farther away from the upper city, the houses grew less opulent though even close to the harbor the buildings still maintained a vague sense of decency. The worst part of the city was on the river banks outside the walls of Glinden.
From the courtyard he could see the white masts of several galleys docked at the harbor. The twinkling ocean spread out to the south as far as he could see and he couldn't help the smile the crept onto his face as he moved down the hillside towards the ocean. Blue waters beckoned him, peeking out between the sparse clear areas between buildings. As he wove his way lower into the city, the ocean and the promise of freedom it always welled up inside of Delian slipped behind the press of shabby buildings.
Once the masts of the ships were no longer visible from the avenue, Delian turned off the road, choosing instead to navigate his way through the side streets that were almost as familiar to him as the church library. Trader Dirk's shop stood a bit back from the harbor, in a quieter part of the bustling district. If Acolyte Trey had accompanied him to the shop he would be quite disappointed to learn that what the boy likely assumed was a high-class and reputable bookseller was really more of a worldly man who procured a variety of goods. Delian's history with the man went far back, when he was still fresh in the priesthood. He didn't care what was bought and sold at the shop, or the questionable nature in which it was attained. What mattered to him was that Dirk's men were willing to scout out books for him whenever they stopped at foreign markets, and that Dirk didn't charge him much for them.
"Priest!"
Delian turned as a little boy charged up, almost crashing into him. The boy skidded to a halt in front of him before grabbing his robes and swinging around to tug Delian back the way the boy had come. "You have to help us. A man's been hurt." The boy was small, appearing to be in his early childhood still though his eyes reflected more age than his appearance warranted. He dressed in shoddy clothing, dirt splotches and holes marring what once might have been a half decent shirt. His black hair was unkempt though not as bad as some of the children of the slums Delian had seen. The boy's family was poor but they at least took some care of the child.
Delian stepped up his pace to keep up with the boy. "What happened?" He didn't have anything with him to tend to a wounded man but he could hopefully salvage some supplies from wherever the boy was taking him.
"He fell in the river," the boy explained as he drug Delian through a maze of alleyways. "Daddy said he's hurt real bad."
"He sent you to get a priest from the church?" Delian kept his tone from straying into disrespect when he mentioned the church. Few there would have any idea what to do with a wounded man.
The boy led him to a small shack by the lower harbor. The neighborhood was poor but the locals didn't appear criminal. They watched curiously from doorways and windows as Delian was drug through the muddy yard and into the small house. The inside was obviously poor but still respectably so. It was clean at least, if sparsely furnished. A burly man hung inside the small room, the worried wrinkles around his eyes easing as he saw Delian. He bore a distinct resemblance to the young boy, but where the boy seemed small for his age, this man was larger than a number of fighters Delian had seen.
"I didn't think they'd be able to get anyone here this soon." The man's gruff voice had an air of command, signifying that this was a man used to having at least a minimal force working under him. He was moving as he spoke, not wasting time with greetings as he showed Delian into the second, and apparently only other, room of the shack.
"What happened to him?" Delian questioned as he followed what he assumed was the boy's father into the room. A pale man lay on the table with what appeared to be the shaft of an arrow sticking out of his chest. Delian's eyes widened and he stepped forward quickly to press cool fingers against the man's even cooler skin. A pulse beat faintly in the man's neck, barely there. If the boy had found any other priest, there was no doubt that this man would have died. At least the strange man had one piece of luck working in his favor today.
"Get me some bandages and hot water," Delian barked the command. He started stripping off the man's shirt, careful of the fragment of an arrow still stuck inside of him. The rear must have snapped off some where. It was a wonder the man hadn't bled to death yet, though he appeared seconds away from doing so.
Delian watched out of the corner of his eye as the bulky man hustled his son out of the room. "Close the door behind you," he shouted, haste making his voice rise unnecessarily loud. "Don't come in here unless I tell you it's alright."
The second the door clicked shut Delian started chanting, foreign words rolling off his tongue with ease. He spoke to Adena through an ancient prayer, asking for a miracle. His fingers grasped the wooden shaft as he felt the power tingle in him and around him. A soft white glow filled the room, gathering above the injured man. Gripping the wood, he yanked sharply and watched as the light filled the hole left by the arrow. Through his link to the magic he could feel muscles and flesh knitting. The man's breathing eased, and as he touched the skin by the man's neck he could feel his pulse growing stronger.
Blue eyes stared back at him and Delian started, a brief burst of panic filling him as he realized he'd been seen. But then he noticed the dazed look in the man's eyes and he forced himself to calm. The man wouldn't remember anything.
A weak hand clutched at Delian's robes as the man look over at him. "The note..." His voice came out in a strangled whisper. "Lord Ketter needs the note..." As suddenly as the man had woken, he passed out again.
"Master Priest?" A knock sounded against the door.
"Come in," Delian shouted. The owner of the hut walked in with a bowl of water and some wads of cloth. Delian directed the man to place the items on the table. "Your name, sir?"
"Teran, sir."
"Call me Delian. I'm not high enough in the ranks to warrant honor." Delian smiled, dipping one of the smaller cloths in the water and wiping away the blood on the injured man's chest.
"You saved a man's life, sir. That's enough to warrant honor."
Delian shook his head. "I didn't do much."
Teran came over as Delian finished moping up the blood on the man's chest. He lifted the man upright, holding him there as Delian washed off the man's back. The water was turning red as Delian rinsed the small cloth, blood forming a thin film at the surface of the water.
"Trevor!" Teran shouted. "Bring us more water."
Delian nodded his thanks as the young man ran in with a fresh bowl of water.
"Run over to Ada's," Teran commanded the boy, "and ask her for some bandages."
The child ran off again without a word.
"You have a good child," Delian commented.
"He is," Teran agreed. "When he's not off day-dreaming, at least."
A smile spread across Delian's face as he remembered his own childhood. He'd been fond of day-dreaming as well. He'd spent hours out in the fields, imagining that his life was something other than it was meant to be.
"The boy wants to be a swordsman," Teran continued. "I keep telling him that it's impossible. He'd need a noble sponsor and no noble in his right man would sponsor a man from the harbor. But he still dreams."
Delian's smile slipped slightly as he remembered his own childhood dreams, all of which were displaced when he joined the priesthood. "Dreams are a wonderful thing to have."
"Aye, they are." Teran agreed. Sharp eyes racked across the unconscious man's chest. "This man's injuries are surprisingly small for being shot through the chest.
Delian glanced sharply at the harbor-man but kept his mouth shut. The man didn't press the issue, staying silent until his child returned with fresh bandages.
"Ada gave me some salve as well." The boy handed Delian a small jar.
Popping open the lid, Delian sniffed the crème. He could smell a number of herbs he recognized and he nodded in satisfaction. "Thank you."
Delian spread the cream on both sides of the man's wound before tightly winding the long string of bandages around his chest. He tied the bandages in the front, nodding to Teran to lower the man to the table.
"Did the man have anything with him?" Delian asked quietly.
"Aye, he did." With a quick nod, Teran turned to a small chair at the side of the room. He handed Delian a small pouch and a roll of parchment. "The paper's sealed somehow," Teran commented. "None of my men could open it."
Delian nodded absently, tucking the paper away inside the sleeve of his robes. Obviously this was the note the man was referring to. If this was Lord Ketter's man then someone apparently didn't want the note to reach Lord Ketter. Ruffling through the man's pack he found nothing of note aside from a small gold mark. Picking up the coin he examined it in the dim light of the hut. The royal seal was unmistakable on the coin. Delian quickly tucked the coin back into the man's pouch and handed it back to Teran.
"I'll go alert this man's master. Someone should be along soon to collect him."
Teran nodded wordlessly, his expression blank as Delian turned to leave. Delian paused in the doorway to the small room, half-turning to glance at the injured man. Looking up, he met Teran's eyes in a serious gaze. "For your best interest, I suggest you leave off mentioning to anyone that you have this man here."
"Aye, sir."
Delian let his fingers brush the door as he left, muttering a quick phrase low under his breath. A quiet series of notes sang in the air, sounding almost like metal chimes blowing in the wind. If Teran saw the tiny flash of light that sparked around Delian's fingers, he didn't comment and Delian left it at that.
"If men come, shut the door with yourself inside and don't open it again until I return."
The sun welcomed him as he stepped out of the hut. Delian paused for a moment, letting his eyes adjust to the bright sunlight, before setting out at a brisk pace towards the inner city. He walked fast, barely glancing at his surroundings. The sun was lowering past the zenith, marking the day as past mid-afternoon. He avoided the main roads. This time of day they'd be packed thick with the market crowd. Instead of heading straight north towards the nearest inner city gate, he turned west, moving towards the second. The closest stood not far from the church. He'd been gone long enough on his errand for some of the higher ranking priests to possibly take notice. If one of them spotted him there'd be no way for him to deliver the note.
Crowds parted before him as he moved. Even in the lower city, people still respected the authority of a priest's robes. He moved swiftly, making it to the inner city gate before half an hours time might have passed. The guards there gave him no notice. To them he was just another face in the ever shifting crowd. From here he followed the wider roads, heading straight for the palace compound at the center of the city. A new set of wall rose in front of him as he approached.
The guards there did give him notice, glancing at his stained robes with a look of disgust. One of the men stepped in his path, a hand on his weapon. "Where do you think you're going?" The man sneered.
Delian drew himself up to his full height and stared the guard down. Pulling a ring from his finger he shoved the metal sigil in the man's face. "Know your place," Delian snarled with such vehemence that the man stepped back a pace, dropping in a hasty bow.
"My apologies, Lord. It was my mistake."
Delian swept past without a glance at either guard, trusting that neither of them would mention the sigil for fear of being called out at not recognizing one of the nobility. Once he was several paces into the compound, Delian dropped the false bearing with a sigh, tucking the ring safely back into his pocket. As much as he hated his connections to the nobility, they did have their uses every once in a while.
He was familiar enough with the palace compound from his childhood to get into a side entrance of the castle but from there he was lost. Smiling gently, he grabbed a young serving girl by the sleeve as she passed near.
"Pardon me, miss," he asked sweetly, "but could you direct me to Lord Ketter's chambers?"
The girl curtsied immediately. At least the palace staff had some respect for his profession. "Of course, Master Priest. Right this way."
Delian paid attention as she led him through the halls, mentally marking the route so that he would be able to find his own way back. The glory of the palace was lost on him. He'd seen similar elegance all of his childhood, and it held no glamour for him.
The girl paused in front of a broad set of double doors, the rich wood inscribed with ornate depictions of a field of battle. "M'Lord Ketter will be in his sitting room at this hour, Master Priest." With another curtsy, the girl disappeared down the hall.
Taking a deep breath, Delian knocked on the door. A voice answered from inside and Delian pushed open the door, stepping inside quietly. Several lords were gathered inside, most unfamiliar to Delian though he could guess at the identities of a few from what he vaguely remembered of parties from his childhood. Lord Ketter he recognized, the black-haired noble sitting in the center of the room with the others surrounding him.
The handsome noble looked up as Delian entered, a slight frown marring his features as Delian shut the door behind him. "I didn't send for a priest." There was confusion in the lord's quiet tones, his voice cultured as only years of living with the aristocracy could do. He wasn't more than a decade older than Delian. A fine swordsman, if rumors were accurate, and fiercely loyal to the king.
"You didn't, sir." Delian answered as he stepped further in the room. A red-haired man on the right shifted back a fraction of a step, his hand twitching slightly to his sword. Delian marked the lithe redhead as a protector, possibly bodyguard for Lord Ketter.
"Your messenger was waylaid," Delian explained softly, pulling the rolled note from his sleeve and holding it out for one of the noblemen to take. "He asked me to deliver this note to you in his stead."
Lord Ketter's eyes sharpened and he nodded imperceptibly. Out of the corner of his eye, Delian saw the redhead relax slightly though his hand still stayed close to his sword. The noble closest to Delian took the note, a gray-haired man that looked barely older than Lord Ketter. He guessed this man to be Lord Arin, a close advisor to the king.
The note was passed over to Lord Ketter, who unrolled it with haste. His eyes scanned the contents briefly before passing the note to the tall blonde on his right. The note disappeared into the blonde's doublet as Ketter stood, winding his way through the circle of chairs towards Delian.
"You said my man was waylaid?" Ketter asked, concern lining his voice.
Delian nodded. "He was found by a man of the harbor who in turn found me. I've seen to his injuries. He's in no harm of dying though he will need several days rest until he's fit to serve again."
"Show me to him." Delian nodded easily, turning towards the door. Through the curtain of his hair he saw Ketter gesture and four of his men rose. The redhead followed a set behind his lord, joined by a black haired man dressed in light armor, a short-cropped blonde in plain clothes, and a brunette in an elegantly embroidered suit.
Lord Ketter led the way through the palace halls to the front door of the palace. In the presence of the lords, no one spared the unkempt priest a glance. Once out of the palace, Delian took the lead, following the main road once they were out of palace compound. There was no way he could push the group towards an alternate path without raising the question of why a priest would avoid the church. He spared a quick glance to the church as they passed but no other priests were around to notice Delian in the company of the noblemen.
The air hummed as they neared the harbor and Delian turned his eyes away from the path to search the rooftops and the alley shadows. He was tempted to ask Lord Ketter about who might have attacked the messenger but he wisely kept his mouth shut. He didn't need the lord's attention. Already he'd done enough to force him to keep to his books for a long while, assuming the Archbishop didn't catch word of who Delian was keeping company this night.
"This way, my Lords." Delian turned off the main road, leading the nobles through the same path the boy had taken earlier. His unease only rose as the buildings closed around him. A tingle of warning ran up his spine and he stopped at the edge of the courtyard before the little hut. The yard was silent, none of the earlier noises of the small community audible. The doors were all shut, including the door to the hut he'd left earlier.
"Can't remember where to go?" The red head scoffed a pace behind him.
Delian glanced back, his face expressionless as he took in the man's arrogant smirk. He turned to Lord Ketter at his side. "The men who were after your messenger," he started quietly. "Would they come after him inside the city?"
Sharp blue eyes turned on him and Delian knew he had just given part of himself away. He didn't have a choice. Something moved on the corner of the roof to the far right of the hut and Delian took a step back into the shadows.
"They're here," the redhead spoke.
Delian shot the redhead a glance, resisting the urge to snort. Instead he faded to the background. He stayed out of the way as Lord Ketter signaled to his men. The redhead stepped forward first, entering the courtyard in a sudden shower of arrows. Men spewed from the sides of the buildings. Ketter and his men stepped out with weapons drawn. Delian watched from the shadows as arrows flew.
He sent a prayer to Adena, asking that she flaw the archers aim. The air lifted and suddenly arrows flew askew, hitting the attacking men instead of the nobles. Delian stepped out of the alley, walking unnoticed through the throng of men. Ketter and his men fought expertly, taking down their foes with practiced ease. Delian winced in sympathy as he saw one of the attackers skewered through the stomach by the redhead's sword. Life faded from the man's eyes and Delian wrote it off as too late. There wasn't much Adena would do for men like this. Compassion she had in droves, but not for men like this.
The redheaded man dispatched the last of his foes and turned, searching for more. He caught sight of Delian and frowned, reaching out to grab Delian's arm roughly.
"What in God's name are you doing out here, priest?"
Delian ignored the slight to Adena and pointed to the hut in front of him. "Your friend's in there."
"They'll be waiting."
"I know."
The redhead stepped in front of him with a frown, pushing Delian to the side of the doorway. "Stay back until I clear the room."
Before Delian could answer the soldier was moving. He kicked the door in with a shout, startling the two men waiting inside the hut. The first was dispatched with a slice along the neck, his body not halfway to the floor before the redhead turned to engage the second. A third man moved in the hut. He'd been standing in the back, probably trying to break through the door into the second room. Blood splattered as the redhead's current opponent died with a sword through his gut.
Delian slipped in as the two fighters engaged, moving past them through the disheveled hut to easily open the inner door. The harbor-man lay inside, blood seeping from a gash in his side. His child knelt next to him, staunching the flow of blood with a piece of cloth, his eyes lighting up as Delian appeared.
Shutting the door behind him, Delian hurried to Teran's side. He glanced over at the child worriedly, then up into the harbor-man's dimming eyes. Throwing his eyes heavenward he prayed to Adena for luck and let ancient words roll off his tongue. For the third time that day white light flashed in the hut. The boy's eyes went wide as his father's flesh knit and healed, the wound closing until it was just an angry red line along the burly man's side.
"Don't speak of this," Delian admonished before the man or the boy could utter their thanks.
He started to rise just as a pounding came on the door. Lord Ketter's voice sounded from outside, carrying clearly through the thin wood.
Delian opened the door to see the lord's surprised face. No doubt the man had been trying unsuccessfully to force the simple door open, confounded as it didn't budge.
"Your man is safe," Delian spoke softly as he stepped aside. He nodded towards Teran and his boy. "These are the ones who pulled him from the river."
Lord Ketter and his men swept inside, moving quickly to their messenger's side. The lord was giving instructions, ordering his men to get the injured man back to the castle as fast as they could. Only the harbor man saw Delian slip out quietly. The man watching the outer door was looking to the far side when Delian emerged and he quickly slipped around the opposite side of the house.
Once behind the house he made his way into the dark alleys, slipping safely out of sight before anyone would even think of looking for him. It was better this way. The last thing he needed was word of any of this to get back to the Archbishop. His dealings with the nobles he could explain away but the strange happenings would give the Archbishop reason for suspicion. Delian couldn't afford to have the Archbishop cast him more than a cursory glance. If he looked too hard into Delian's past no number of prayers to Adena could save him.
Delian made a quick stop to Dirk's, a single glance all he needed to convey his need for haste to his old friend. Dirk handed over the book without a word, though he pointed to a spot on Delian's robe with a serious look. Delian fought down the urge to curse as he realized that he'd gotten blood on his robe sometime during the fight. He was going to have to be extra careful when he returned to the church to avoid any undue questions. He nodded his thanks to Dirk as he left, keeping to the alley shadows the rest of the way back to the church.
It was nearly dusk by the time he made it back to the church. His knowledge of all the church's back passageways came in handy as he snuck inside, keeping himself to the shadows until he made it to his room. Shucking his robe quickly he tucked it away beneath the bed, dawning a new one before hurrying down to the library. News had undoubtedly spread to the church officials by now of his absence and someone would be looking for him after the evening meal. In his mind he calculated a believable story to account for the lost time, apologizing in advance to Adena for the lie though he had no doubts she'd forgive him.
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