He’d had injuries far worse than this. “I can make it.”
Cian nodded and sprinted out into the dirt path again, checking back to ensure Faust followed.
Faust ignored the pain in his leg by sheer will and followed Cian through several back alleys until they passed through an archway in the stone wall around the town toward the outskirts of a forest full of movement and sound from the Guild of Antiquity. He counted several Volliare, each armed like the ones who had attacked Konrad’s base and full of stone users.
A tall, well-built man with light skin and bright red hair bellowed orders for the guild to prepare for takeoff.
“Gawain! Hurry it up,” Cian shouted. He hurried toward a flagship with the guild’s insignia burned into the side and tapestries hanging off the edges.
Faust quickened his stride, hissing under his breath. His leg throbbed. He observed everyone he passed, self-conscious of his ability to blend in. Their clothes were of finer materials but still layered in the way his was.
“Cian,” Gawain bellowed, his bright hair swaying with the sharp turn he took. “What the fuck is going on?!”
“I have a new assistant,” Cian said, stopping at the hull entrance. “We ran into a bit of trouble. Marc’s coming for us.”
Gawain jogged closer, clearly exasperated. “Well, fuck. Get inside and explain this guy to me later.”
Cian shook his head. “We must protect him.” Gawain opened his mouth to retort, but Cian cut him off. “Trust me. We must protect him, or we will all die.”
The weight of Cian’s statement shot through Faust like lightening. Why would Cian think that?
Gawain snapped his jaw shut, his eyes cautious and disbelieving. “Fine. Get inside and lock your study. I’ll come to you if we’re boarded.”
Cian nodded, jerking his head at the Volliare to Faust. “Follow me.”
Faust tailed Cian through packed hallways, using the wall when he could while keeping an eye out for any wolves, but he didn’t hear or see any. This guild didn’t seem to carry any animal companions like the Guild of Smithery.
Cian walked up to an unassuming wooden door and picked a heavy iron key from his waist belt. The lock gave way with a loud thunk, and Cian pushed the creaky door inward, motioning to Faust.
Faust walked inside. Journals, books, knickknacks, and trunks of all sizes lay haphazardly around the room. Small pathways zigzagged through the mess toward a large table piled with various antiques in the center of the room, and strange fire lights hung from the ceiling, illuminating the space.
Cian locked the door, hooking the metal key to a belt at his waist.
Faust faced Cian, assessing the man once more. He didn’t sense any malice, just confusion, and Cian’s aura had yet to reappear. Cian knew how to hide. Faust hoped this wasn’t a common thing in Drokan or he’d be in trouble.
Cian shifted on his feet under Faust’s scrutiny. “Let’s get your leg patched up.” Cian wove through a few stacks of journals to the large table and rummaged through a box under the table, waving Faust closer.
Faust limped through the stacks, standing on the opposite side of the table. “Why did you save me?”
“You carry two swords and wear clothing that was fashionable over two centuries ago,” Cian said, pulling out bandages and other supplies. “I wouldn’t be surprised if you were hiding armor under your tunic either. The amount of coin I heard on you caught my attention, too. Letting the Drokan Knights have you would have been disastrous. You know things.”
Faust pursed his lips. Cian figured out way too much from a simple glance.
“Where did you get all that?” Cian asked, setting the supplies on the table.
“I do not know.”
Cian shrugged and motioned to the room. “You can confirm my conclusions within these books and read up on anything else you’d like.”
Faust furrowed his eyebrows. “You believe me?”
Cian nodded. “I have little reason not to. I have seen many strange things in my time. Please have a seat.”
Faust remained where he stood.
“I’ll protect you, Rath. You don’t need to worry.”
Faust kept his gaze steady, but Cian’s aura reacted to the statement, flickering white around the man’s shoulders—a new Blessed for Sortiris.
Cian walked around the table, pulling up some chests. “Please prop your leg so I can treat it.”
Faust winced, lifting his leg to rest on a chest. “It only grazed me.”
“You’re not bleeding out at least,” Cian said, hands hovering over Faust’s wound. “This might sting a bit. Try to hold still.” Cian grabbed a small cloth and dipped a small container of liquid onto the cloth. “I have to clean it out and then we can patch it.”
Faust gripped the side of the table, uncertain if he wanted Cian to treat him. The man wasn’t a healer.
Cian set the container down, pausing. “I treat wounds like this all the time. Don’t worry.”
Faust nodded slowly. Cian cleaned out the wound fast, forcing a loud hiss from Faust’s lips, but Cian didn’t hesitate, his movements swift and precise, like Roe’s.
Cian tossed the bloodied rag in a nearby bin and inspected the wound. He picked up a small knife. “It’s not deep, but I need to cut your pants a bit more to place a better bandage on it before I wrap it.”
Faust shook his head. “I will cut it.”
Cian nodded, handing Faust the small knife hilt first.
Faust cut the area wider until Cian touched his hand to stop. Faust set the knife on the table as the Volliare lurched and groaned with liftoff.
Cian narrowed his eyes, stopping mid-movement for a small jar of salve. “This might get rough sooner than I thought.” Cian snatched the salve and slathered it on Faust’s wound.
Faust sucked in air and grabbed Cian’s hand.
“My apologies,” Cian said. “We must hurry. If Gawain made such a rough liftoff, the knights are trying to board.”
Faust let Cian’s hand go, gritting his teeth through the rest. The first layer of bandages stuck to Faust’s skin with a small patch of padding over his wound. It was different, but the bandages Cian wrapped around his thigh were familiar strips of cloth.
Cian set the supplies back in the box under the table and pulled out a canister and a small vial of red medicine from a different chest. “Please drink some water and take this.”
Faust resigned himself and drank the medicine, downing the water in a few gulps. He hoped it helped with the pain soon. Faust missed Roe’s treatment, and in hindsight, he shouldn’t have let Cian treat him. He could hear the scolding he’d receive later.
Faust took a deep breath. He needed to focus on integrating into the guild so he could get to Vinas and see what that circle on Qinn’s map meant.
“Before this gets ugly, I want you to look at this.” Cian stood and grabbed a book, flipping it open about halfway, and set it in front of Faust. “Can you read the old tongue?”
Faust nodded, his heart thundering at the slip. Cian shouldn’t have had to ask. Faust scanned over the text and sketches, aware of Cian’s eyes on him. The clothes resembled what he wore and were recorded two hundred years prior, but Faust felt a strange sense of nostalgia from the designs.