The library stayed quiet for most of a fortnight. Delian played the role of meek, quiet librarian perfectly, ensconcing himself in the lowest vault. Musty history tomes kept him half amused but tantalizing memories of the sun and sea air haunted him in the dark chamber. The white sails stuck out most in his mind, bobbing along the wall in the flickering shadows caste by the caged lamps. His mind seemed permanently distracted. Not even the most interesting of books could keep his attention for more than an hour at a time.
He'd almost forgotten about the incident at the harbor when an unfamiliar acolyte came to fetch him. "Arch-Bishop Tremare wishes to speak with you, Master Delian."
Delian nodded quietly. As soon as the acolyte was out of sight he sighed, rubbing a hand wearily over his face. He had a strong feeling that this would not be a pleasant meeting. At least his robes were clean today, though he doubted Tremare would even notice the state of Delian's robes if he was truly mad.
He wound his way through the church halls, ignoring the glances and whispers that followed him through the halls. Brother Krafton caught his eye and smirked, no doubt reveling in the fact that Delian was getting in trouble. Two armored church guards stood at either side of the Arch-Bishop's door, not moving as he knocked quietly.
"Enter," Tremare's voice sounded dark even through the thick panel of wood.
Plastering a blank expression on his face, Delian stepped quietly into the ornate office. Gold glittered on almost every surface. What metal work was in the room was made of gold, and anything that would take etching had gold leaf worked in. He kept his eyes down as he walked across the plush carpeting to stand in front of the Arch-Bishop's massive wooden desk.
"You called for me, Arch-Bishop?" Delian bowed slightly.
"Delian," Tremare spoke the word as a warning. He clutched a rolled parchment in his left hand, throttling the paper as if it were alive. Delian imagined the Arch-Bishop was wished he could do the same to Delian. "When did you meet the Duke of Ketter?"
Delian resisted the urge to sigh. He'd known trouble was coming the instant he'd met Lord Ketter. Keeping his expression humble, he responded in quiet, even tones. "I met his lordship briefly a fortnight prior. A young boy had fetched me while I was retrieving a book, and bade me tend an injured man his father found in the river. The injured man was a servant of his lordship."
Tremare's eyes narrowed. "Lord Ketter said you fetched him from the palace."
Delian nodded slightly, studying Tremare surreptitiously from beneath his bangs. "The man was being tended in the harbor district. There was no one around I could send that would have been able to reach the palace compound."
"And you could?" Tremare's voice was ice.
Delian raised his eyes to meet Tremare's gaze with equal coldness. "I am of the noble class, Arch-Bishop."
Tremare frowned but didn't respond. His fist clenched the note tightly, fury clear on his face. As much as he loved Delian's family's money, Tremare hated any reminder that Delian technically stood higher than him on the social scale, Delian as the son of a Duke while Tremare was of common birth. Finally Tremare broke the stare, tossing Delian the note in his hand. He caught the paper easily, not bothering to glance at the contents.
"His Lordship the Duke of Ketter has requested a priest to accompany him on his latest voyage. He requested you in particular," Tremare snarled. No doubt it galled him that the lord would chose Delian over one of the many higher-ranking priests Tremare had in his pocket. "I needn't remind you, Master Delian, that you are to keep you opinions to yourself during this voyage, now do I?"
"Of course not, Arch-Bishop." Delian bowed politely.
"While you're out," Tremare continued, his mouth lifting in a self-satisfied smirk. "I suggest you keep your eye out for smaller parishes, because you'll be leaving for one as soon as you get back."
Only years of practice kept Delian from frowning outright. As it was he had to struggle to keep his face neutral as he bowed. "Yes, Arch-Bishop." His stomach rolled as he glanced over at Tremare's smug expression. "Is there anything else you require of me?"
"That will be all." Tremare practically crowed.
Delian turned quickly, the parchment loose in his hand as he headed for the door.
"Oh, Delian?"
He paused at the door, half-turning towards Tremare.
"If you so much as breathe a word of your blasphemous notions to his lordship, I will see that your father hears of it.
Delian couldn't keep the frown off his face this time but he nodded silently before leaving the room. He stalked through the back halls in a dark mood, doing his best to avoid any other humans. His best was actually quite good, years of stalking the halls of the church allowing him to make his way to his room without passing anyone. Once the door was locked behind, Delian finally allowed his face to slip into a dark frown.
"I hope you know what you're doing," he muttered skyward.
Sitting on his bed he unfolded the wrinkled parchment. The note was simple, once he got through all the flowery wording of the formal request. Lord Ketter asked for Delian by name to accompany him on a voyage, destination not specified. There was little else in the note other than elaborately worded thanks for helping Ketter's servant. Setting the note aside Delian glanced around his small cell, trying to think of what to pack first.
"Master Delian," Acolyte Trey knocked quietly on Delian's door, waiting until Delian bade him enter before opening the tiny door.
"His Lordship the Duke of Ketter is waiting in the outer courtyard," Trey announced politely.
Delian nodded his thanks, grabbing two small saddlebags from his bed. Several larger packages littered the bed. "Would you mind performing a small service for me?" Delian asked.
The boy nodded eagerly, his face lighting up instantly.
Delian smiled and gestured to the packages on the bed. "Would you and some of your fellows take those packages down to Master Dirk's shop at the harbor?"
Trey beamed, bobbing his head eagerly. "Of course, Master Priest."
He handed the boy a small square of parchment. "I drew you a map to the shop. Follow the main avenue down and then it's just a short walk through the harbor district."
With a smile and backward wave, Delian left the excited boy to his task. He took the main corridors out, making sure that at least one of the priests that reported to Tremare saw him leave. A few priests turned away as he left. No doubt word had circulated that Delian wouldn't be returning to the church. He doubted he'd be missed.
The early morning sun beamed down as he stepped out into the courtyard. All the men Delian had seen in Lord Ketter's sitting room over a fortnight ago waited on elegant horses, as well as the injured man and another with darkly tanned skin in similarly common dress. A tenth horse stood waiting, the reigns held by the redheaded fighter.
"Good morning, Master Priest." Lord Ketter greeted him with a broad smile.
Delian bowed once before stepping over to the rider-less horse. He held his palm next to the horse's nose, waiting until he nuzzled his hand before stepping up to affix his saddlebags.
"Need help mounting?" The redhead asked with a faint smirk.
Delian shook his head without a word, crossing to the opposite side of the horse to affix the second bag. Grabbing the pommel with one hand, Delian easily lifted himself up into the ornate saddle. The redhead's eyebrow rose as he watched Delian but he handed over the reigns without a comment.
"Interesting robes," Lord Ketter nodded towards the brown robe Delian wore. A split traveled up the front and back of the robe, appearing seamless when he was standing but falling easily over his legs as he sat on the horse.
Delian nodded once to the lord to signal that he was ready. "Some priests have been known to travel by horseback from time to time."
"You're the first I've seen," the redhead commented with a snort.
Lord Ketter smiled slightly and turned the procession out onto the church bridge.
"And the first I've seen to travel so lightly," the gray-haired man that rode next to Lord Ketter noted.
Delian shrugged easily but chose not to respond.
"This is Viscount Faolan of Arin," Lord Ketter introduced, gesturing towards the gray-haired lord. He continued pointing around at the men with them. All were dressed plainly, in simple riding clothes that belied their noble heritage. They were all well armed, each with at least one sword, two with quivers of arrows on their back. Delian had the distinct impression that he was being drug along on something dangerous.
Ketter pointed to the blonde that had been so elegantly dressed the first time Delian had seen him, now appearing almost a simple commoner. "Baron Rory of Clay." The nobleman nodded as Ketter pointed next to the redhead riding close behind Delian. "Lord Blair of Cryr." Lord Cryr made no notice of the introduction.
Turning in his saddle, Lord Ketter pointed to the men ranging along the right side of the procession. Baron Marcas of Sarta was a plain clothed man with short-cropped blonde hair and a handsome face. Lord Hector of Iagan was dressed in the light armor, the same as he had been in Lord Ketter's sitting room, though now a half-helmet covered his short black hair. Viscount Kendrick of Drughill seemed out of place in his riding clothes. The ornate clothing he'd worn when Delian had last seen him fit the long-haired brunette much better. The tanned man was introduced simply as Jahir. Delian suspected the man was from the southern kingdom of Aydran.
Finally Lord Ketter turned to the man Delian had healed. "And I'm sure you remember Callen Kerras."
Delian nodded once in acknowledgement. Callen rode easily, a sign that his injuries had completely faded.
"Thank you for your help, Master Priest," Callen bowed slightly in his seat.
"Just Delian is fine," he answered quickly, "and it was nothing. Your injuries were not that grave." Delian felt eyes turn on him and he knew Lord Ketter and his me had been waiting to speak to him about this.
"Quite the contrary," Lord Ketter commented as they reached the west gate of the city. "Callen tells me there was an arrow sticking through his chest."
The guards at the gate let them pass with a simple nod, the few travelers heading into the city moved aside on the bridge to let the nobles pass.
Delian smiled easily. "He must have been mistaken, Lord Ketter. No offense," he nodded towards Callen. A chill wind rose around them, carrying with it the scent of the river below.
"Please, call me Allesan. We prefer to speak informally while traveling." Delian nodded once to Lord Ketter. The horse's hooves clicked loudly on the stone bridge. Callen frowned, keeping his eyes on the water below until they cleared the short bridge.
"The man at the harbor collaborated Callen's tale," Viscount Arin commented with a sharp glance back at Delian. "He saw the arrow pierce clean through."
If these men were trying to ruffle him, they were doing a poor job. He'd lied to the head of his church a number of times, it was no trial to lie to inquisitive nobles. He had to. Adena would forgive him.
"I'm afraid he's mistaken, my lords." Delian answered easily, unruffled. "If the arrow had pierced clean through he would never have survived."
"I saw it." Callen insisted firmly, moving his horse next to Delian's.
"That's impossible." Delian turned to regard the man calmly. "You were tired, fatigued. It's not uncommon for men who have overexerted themselves to have delusions."
"And would you say the men of the harbor were sharing a delusion as well?" Faolan asked evenly. This man was the negotiator of the group. If Delian wanted to keep his secrets hidden he would need to avoid prolonged conversations with the Viscount of Arin.
"I have no explanation for their accounts, Lord Arin. I only know what my eyes and my knowledge of medicine tell me. A man cannot survive such a wound as you are describing."
"Not without magic," the previously silent Jahir commented with a stilted accent.
Delian smiled ruefully. "There is no such thing as magic."
Lord Ketter watched him sharply. "Is that so?"
"Of course." The open countryside stretched in front of him and Delian paused for a moment to inhale the fresh country air. How long had it been since he'd left the city walls? A good five years at the least. Soon he'd have all the countryside he could stand until he wasted away from it.
"Some might say the trick with the door was magic." Allesan commented offhandedly.
Delian could feign innocence better than any court actor. "What door are you referring to, Sir Allesan?"
By now he was certain the noblemen had caught onto his denial but they continued to press him with questions.
"The door at the fisherman's hut. It wouldn't budge for anyone but you, Delian." Lord Faolan seemed to content to let Allesan continue the questioning for the moment, though the gray-haired man still watched Delian with a sharp eye.
"The door stuck for me a number of times as well." Delian let his eyes wander to the forest that rose ahead of them. Despite the consequences of Lord Ketter's attention, Delian found it was almost worth it simply for a chance to get out of the city. "May I ask where we're headed?"
"West." The conversation died at that point, leaving Delian to observe the scenery in silence. With his face turned away from the noblemen he let a small smile play across his face.
By the time they reached a secluded inn shortly after dusk, Delian was ready for the stop. He'd forgotten exactly how sore traveling by horse could leave a person. The rest of the ride from the city but the surrounding woods had kept it far from silent. Delian found himself smiling more than once at the call of a bird or the chattering of a squirrel. He'd caught sight of larger beasts farther in the woods, their eyes strangely turned on the priest for the briefest of seconds before scampering further into the woods.
The inn they entered was nearly deserted. Thick wooded walls gave the building a rustic feel though the notches in the wood told Delian that a night here could be far from peaceful. Two cloaked men sat in the corner and Delian found his eye drawn to the men as Lord Ketter arranged for a set of five rooms. The innkeeper bowed happily, overjoyed at the sudden influx in business. A sense of unease rose in Delian as the two cloaked men stood. Metal glinted beneath their cloaks.
The door to the inn opened again and Delian took a step back towards the bar. Lord Ketter was just starting to turn as over a dozen men rushed in with weapons drawn. Hector and Blair were the first to draw, meeting the attacking men while the other nobles were still drawing their weapons. Lord Ketter grabbed him by the sleeve, pushing Delian back towards the stairs while the nobles fanned out. Three of the attackers were down but more kept pouring in.
One of the two cloaked men slipped past the already over-engaged, advancing on Delian with a wicked sword and a wickeder smile. Delian frowned, backing up until his back hit the wall. The sword raised and Delian looked towards the skies.
"Adena!" He called.
Suddenly Callen was there, blocking the cloaked man's swing. The dark man tripped, his cloak catching underfoot. Callen took advantage of the man's distraction to press his sword through the man's stomach. Light left the man's eyes as he fell.
Whirling, Callen turned to shout at him angrily. "Pull out a weapon and fight."
Delian frowned, holding up empty hands. "I'm a priest. I can't fight."
"Then stay out of the way." Callen shoved him towards the stairwell to the side, placing himself in front of the entrance as two more men raced towards them.
Delian backed up a set, torn between his urge to help and his own need for survival. These men already suspected too much. If he helped them then they'd know and Delian would be finished. If he didn't then he'd be forced to sit back and watch as the nobles were slaughtered by the overwhelming press of men. For each man that fell, another stepped through the door to take his place. Delian watched the turmoil of the common room over Callen's shoulder.
Blair dispatched two men near the doorway, switching sword arms as one of the dying men landed a lucky strike on his right arm. No man stepped up to take their place at the door and Delian had a moment's hope that they would win. Then Faolan fell, followed shortly by Kendrick and Delian knew he had to try something. Turning his eyes away from the battle, he prayed to Adena for luck. The men attacking Faolan and Kendrick turned away, seeking new target.
Then Callen cried out, a sword sticking through his stomach to gleam in the dim light of the stairwell. Delian screamed as Callen fell, power surging at his fingertips as he called for Adena.
"Stop!"
The attacking men fell at once, weapons clattering to the floor as the men slumped unconscious. Delian was down the stairs before the men had even started falling, kneeling quickly beside Callen. The black-haired man stared up at him with dimming eyes.
White light flashed between them, singing the air under Delian's hand. Callen gasped, his chest lifting sharply as the wound healed and closed. The light followed Delian as he moved. It reached out to touch the wounds of the nobles he passed, mending the skin in seconds. He knelt next to Kendrick, whispering the same chant he'd used for Callen. The lord's wounds weren't serious, disappearing completely under Delian's swift touch. Faolan watched him as Delian moved next to him, muttering soft thanks as Delian tended him. Kendrick and Callen were already rising as Delian stood shakily.
Grabbing his packs off the floor, Delian shot a sharp glance at Lord Ketter. "Speak of this to no one," he snarled, grabbing a key off the counter as he stormed past the lords.
He was halfway up the stairwell before any of them reacted. Thankfully his room was just off the top of the steps. Footsteps sounded on the stairs as he stumbled into the room, dropping his packs by the door before falling on the bed.
"Delian!" Lord Ketter was the first one at the door, his shadow falling across the room.
Rolling on his side Delian didn't have to try hard to ignore the nobleman. His eyes closed and he let his body go limp even as the lord moved into the room. Sleep claimed him before the lord could ply him with questions.
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