“I understand why they look at him,” said Nelos. “But they also look at you.”
“I have a past here,” said Matthias.
“We all have a past,” replied Nelos. “We were pirating not long ago.”
“Well, it seems that the Granduers are a great judge of character,” said Matthias.
“Grandeurs are merely the servants of the Mighty One, the Creator of the World,” said Tylin.
“I stand corrected then,” replied Matthias. “Although, I wonder if there's some great misunderstanding. A Bourne, pirates, and a well-hated man … hardly the Acolytes one would imagine.”
“Who is running this camp?” asked Luras.
“A sickly old man. He was a scholar of some type,” replied Nelos.
“I thought he was a farmer. His name is Heams. Ryland Heams,” said Tylin.
“He wasn't a general or commander?” asked Matthias.
“Not that I'm aware,” replied Nelos.
“I would like to meet him,” said Luras.
“They are discussing plans in that large tent there,” said Nelos. He pointed to a large crème colored tent made from thickly woven canvas. It was stretched around wooden posts.
“We take your White Ruins back tomorrow. They've been going over the plans the last few days. Captain Dowr is with him now,” said Tylin.
“Why the ruins? The land is barren and deserted,” said Matthias.
“Not anymore,” replied Tylin.
Two Acolytes approached the men. They wore oiled leather tunics and pants with green and brown cloaks. Each man had a quiver on his back and a sword at his belt. They each wore beards. One man's was wrapped with a leather strap at the chin. Their eyes glowed like the other Acolytes. They walked with purpose and had a pensive look. Matthias had seen the look before. It was the look men had before battle. It was one thing to die, but another to send men to their deaths.
“You there,” said one of the men. “The general would like a word.”
“I didn't think there was a general in charge,” said Matthias. He looked at Nelos and Tylin.
“There is and he would like a word,” said the other man.
“We should see what he wants,” said Luras, rising to stand.
“Only him,” said the man.
“Am I now being detained by this group?” asked Matthias, incredulously.
“I've no orders to detain you. The general only said he wanted to speak with you,” replied the man.
“He can wait here until you return,” said the other man.
“Of course, he can. He is an Acolyte just like the rest of you,” said Matthias.
“Go. I will be here,” said Luras.
“You've no reason not to trust him,” said Matthias, as he stood.
Matthias followed the two men towards the large canvas tent in the center of the camp. The grass had already been trampled in areas making dirt pathways throughout the camp. The wound on his waist began to grow warm and throb again. There was a dampness against his skin; he felt the slight trickle of blood. Matthias walked slowly behind the men. The pain in his waist was more intense with each step. He noticed the stares and whispers from others as he past. Other Acolytes looked at him and then spoke to one another in hushed tones. Matthias could smell the general's tent with each approaching step. Mint and lavender drifted from the tent. It was not a natural scent. Instead, it was heavy and medicinal. It lingered around the tent like warmth from a fire. Matthias followed the men inside.
There was a table in the center of the room. It was made from wagon boards. They were laid across a series of wide tree stumps. The stumps had been flattened with precision. The boards laid perfectly flat across them. A cured leather skin made from oxen was draped over the table. A map of the four realms was etched in the leather skin with meticulous detail. Painted stones were strewn across the map. They represented various armies and fortresses. Matthias saw a blue stone that sat upon their location on the map. A black stone sat upon the White Ruins. Three wooden chests were in one corner of the room. They were aged. The red stain on the wood had long worn off. The metal latches were covered with rust and oxidation. They were the size a family would use to put clothes and valuables in when traveling. However, these were open and filled with books, maps, candles, and glass vials filled with medicine and oils. A lantern hung from the center beam of the tent. It had a small tin bowl attached above it. Scented oil and medicine were poured in the tin to heat over the flame. A small stream of translucent gray and purple smoke drifted up from the bowl. It was the source of the mint and lavender that encased the tent both inside and out. Matthias had smelled it outside the tent. However, once inside, it made his eyes water and his throat feel slightly numb.
A frail man stood over the table peering down at the various stones. He was tall and thin. He looked to be in his mid-seventies. His hair was gray and cut short. The skin on his face was closely shaved. He was ordinary in his appearance. His clothes were plain wool like that of a farmer or laborer. The wrinkles on his face were more pronounced around his eyes and brow. He had a tired looked about him. His movements were both purposeful and deliberate, due to his waning strength. The only vibrance about him was the blue glow around his faded brown eyes. A man with skin as dark as coal stood beside him. He had muscled arms and an imposing frame. He appeared to be in his early forties, as his hair was just beginning to show some gray. He had a thick curly beard. His hair was very short and stubbly. It was as if he had been bald just days prior. His eyes were a soft hazel but now glowed blue like an Acolyte. He wore a thick leather vest that was worn and faded from the sun. It had been heavily oiled, but sun damage could still be seen. It flaked and bent at the seams. The vest had a bronze circle attached to the chest. A map of the Western Isles had been etched upon it. He wore wool pants with stripes of brown and faded maroon. His boots were black and had a buckle on one side. The man's muscled arms were adorned with ink drawings, like the other men from the Western Isles.
“Commander Thorne, sir,” one of the men said to the old man.
“Thank you both. Rest. Get some food,” the old man replied.
The two men had a hesitant look.
“It's quite all right,” said the old man.
The two men nodded and left the tent. Matthias stood putting his weight on the side that was not wounded. He could feel a steady trickle of blood.
“I take it you are Ryland Heams, the general here. You must be Captain Dowr,” said Matthias.
“I am hardly a general. I was a teacher of military strategy and, of course, history. A few months ago, I was on my farm. I was in bed thinking that my time here was coming to a close,” said Ryland Heams, coughing. “Now, here I stand.”
“There you stand,” said Matthias. “So, you aim to lead the Acolytes to victory?”
“There is no victory for us. The Acolytes are to bide time. We keep the enemy at bay, giving honorable men a chance to rally.”
“And if they do not rise to the cause?” asked Matthias.
“We hold the enemy back as long as we can. I believe some will rise to the occasion, Commander Thorne,” replied Captain Dowr.
“I am no longer a commander. You may call me Matthias, but not commander.”
“Captain Dowr and I were going over the plans for tomorrow.”
“The White Ruins. I heard. We were just speaking with some of Captain Dowr's men.”
“You and the other one - the Bourne,” said Captain Dowr, in a deep voice accented with the tongue of the Western Isles.
“His name is Luras. He is an Acolyte just like the both of you,” replied Matthias.
“No one denies this,” said Ryland Heams. “Nor, though, can we deny that the Bourne nearly enslaved the world. Now, one walks into our camp. Surely, you understand our basic concern.”
“There's no foul motive to Luras. He was selected by a Grandeur the same as you,” replied Matthias.
“Nephalis was a Grandeur,” said Captain Dowr.
&
nbsp; “Not all Grandeurs revel in good. There has always been a war. Sometimes, it comes to the surface. It did a thousand years ago and it does today,” said Ryland Heams.
“I don't speak for all Bourne or for Grandeurs. This, I do know - the Bourne in your camp has fought alongside me for days now. If anything, he has a childlike notion of right and wrong.”
“That's why, when a Bourne decides to be evil, the world reaps their wrath,” said Ryland Heams.
“Here, I thought I was to be detained yet again. Instead, there is only talk of Bournes and deeds done a thousand years ago,” said Matthias.
“The Bourne is an Acolyte, as far as we know. We simply have questions - concerns like any rational person would. We only ask that you keep watch. We are not sending him away,” replied Ryland Heams.
“Good. Because, otherwise, you would be acting against the wishes of those that chose you - all of you.”
“And you,” said Captain Dowr. “You are an Acolyte yourself. You are not including yourself in your speaking.”
“I am here, am I not?” replied Matthias.
“Yes. There you stand … bleeding it seems,” said Ryland Heams.
“We were attacked a day ago. Skin Slavers and wolves,” said Matthais.
“You were cut by a Skin Merchant? Has the wound gone green?” asked Captain Dowr.
“No. A northern soldier cut me. Scared and hacking away. There's no rot to the wound. I just need it sewn.”
“We haven't a healing table or proper apothecary. Captain Dowr and his men are quite proficient at fixing wounds,” said Ryland Heams.
“I would prefer to keep my foot,” replied Matthias.
“Ah, Nelos would agree with you. Sadly, his foot was gone before he left the water,” said Captain Dowr.
“Good. Thank you, Captain,” said Ryland Heams. “Do you think you will be able to fight tomorrow?”
“Depending on how well they sew. I plan on going with Luras,” replied Matthias.
“You are both welcome on the Lisbeth,” said Captain Dowr.
“So you are taking boats to the ruins. Then what? Walk the bar?” asked Matthias.
“There is no good strategy for the White Ruins. It will rely on force and numbers. A sandbar surrounds the island, two hundred yards all around. We have to strike before they fortify their defenses,” said Ryland Heams.
“My ships will go as far as they can. Then it will be skiffs and ladders to the bars,” said Captain Dowr.
“The men will be running the bars to the ruins. Perfect targets for arrows,” said Matthias.
“The first men out will hold back to fire arrows,” replied Captain Dowr.
“Their arrows won't reach the ruins, only the beach, possibly the old village,” said Matthias.
“It is enough pressure to send out any foot soldiers or scouts hiding in outskirts,” said Ryland Heams. “There is no real strategy to the White Ruins. It's how they were designed. You take it by force and numbers … or not at all.”
“And if you take it? What then?” asked Matthias.
“It's cursed ground,” replied Ryland Heams. “For us, it does not serve as much purpose. For our enemy, it is a perfect staging area before entering the realms. Nothing will grow there and we do not need another port, especially one with a sandbar like the ruins.”
“Then what?” asked Matthias.
“Claim it. Burn what we can. Leave a scouting party behind to warn us of the first sight of others,” replied Ryland Heams. “More importantly, marking the entry of the Acolytes into the war, at least, the war here.”
“Are other Acolytes already fighting elsewhere?” asked Matthias.
“You are one step ahead,” said Ryland Heams, smiling. “Get sewn and bandaged. Rest. The war for a new age is upon us. Nothing will be the same after tomorrow.”
“And Luras?” asked Matthias.
“Keep him close,” replied Ryland Heams.
“You will find that the closer he is to you, the better your chances of living,” said Matthias.
“Understood,” replied Ryland Heams.
Matthias turned to leave but stopped. He paused for a moment and turned back to Ryland Heams and Captain Dowr.
“I will only say this once. You appear to be a decent man. I understand that his being a Bourne is of concern. However, if you cross him - Acolyte or not - there will be a reckoning. I will see to it,” said Matthias.
“Matthias, history is full of reckonings. It is what ultimately awaits all of us. Now, rest. A much larger reckoning begins tomorrow,” said Ryland Heams.
Chapter 30
The White Ruins
Nylah stared out the window of the wagon. It was a thin slit in the wood. There were no bars. The opening was too small for even an arm to stick out. Climbing through it would be impossible. The smell of salt and moist air drifted through the window with each gust of wind. There was a wooden bench built into the wall covered with silk and linen pillows. Nylah stood with her knees on the bench. She held onto the window with her fingers to brace herself while peering out. The ocean swells caused the ship to rise and fall at the will of the water. The gorgon caravan had reached the end of the northern territory two days prior. Their ships were waiting for them. The fleet had anchored safely in the ocean during the invasion. The gorgon armada returned from the ocean to take the caravan to the ruins. The captives were herded into long black warships. The masts held large sails dyed yellow and black. The ships cut through the restless ocean, as they sailed towards the White Ruins.
The wheels had been removed from the two large one-room wagons that held Nylah and the other prisoners. They were now simply wooden rooms, a mobile cell. They were both put onto a supply ship. It dwarfed the smaller gorgon warships. Oxen, provisions, and weapons were loaded along with the two wooden cells. Nylah could see the other warships. The other captives held onto one another, as the warship cut through the swells. They were no longer roped together. There was nowhere for them to run.
The other captives with Nylah were sleeping, except for one of the twins named Desa. She had thick curls of red hair that were twisted into a thick braid. Freckles laced her pale cheeks and nose. Desa was seventeen but looked much younger. She lacked the curves of other girls her age. She had followed Nylah's lead and was staring out the small window on the other side of the cell. Like Nylah, Desa was unable to eat or sleep as much as the other captives. She had a constant feeling of dread.
“Nylah, come look. I can see them,” whispered Desa.
“The ruins?” asked Nylah, as she got down and walked towards Desa. She stepped over and around the other sleeping captives.
“Yes. There it is,” replied Desa. Nylah stood on the bench beside her.
The White Ruins drifted within the small framework of the window. They stood looming in the distance, relics from another age that refused to be forgotten. There was a massive cathedral made of chiseled stone in the center of the island. The stone looked to be quartz or alabaster. The roof was a dome that was twisted into a spiral. Although, a wide section of it had long since split and fallen. Gulls sat along the fractured framework of the dome. They cried out into the expanse of sky around them. Three towers extended from the cathedral. They were of varying heights, but even the smallest one stretched high above the cathedral. The wooden storm windows for the towers had rotted off leaving gaping holes scattered throughout the stonework. Two of the towers had broken and crumbled apart. A patchwork of stone and sun-burnt timber jutted out from the severed towers like a broken bone. One of the towers was still standing. It was the smaller tower. Like the cathedral, it had a domed roof that twisted at the top. It was constructed of bronze, which was somewhat clean, but heavily scratched from the onslaught of wind and sand. The bottom borders of the dome were coated a tarnished green and brown. Rocks and debris littered the ground around the ruins. A statue of a grandeur was erected near the rows of cracked steps in front of the cathedral. It held a sword in one hand and a piece of parchment in the o
ther. The bust of the statue had long ago split and fallen. The head and pieces of the wings laid in different places around the base of the statue. The coastal village that wrapped around the cathedral was a now dilapidated mess of stone and exposed timber. The rotten wood had faded and turned gray from the sun. The bones of the dead villagers had long ago turned to dust and blown into the sea.
“Other gorgons are already there,” whispered Desa.
“Preparing for our arrival,” replied Nylah, quietly.
“I don't want to go. They mean to take our souls. I'll kill myself first. I will,” said Desa.
“I know,” replied Nylah. She put her arm around Desa's back. “Maybe, there will be a chance for us yet.”
“How? They are everywhere,” whispered Desa. Her eyes welled with tears.
“I don't know, Desa. I don't know.”
Chapter 31
An Entrance at Dawn
The three boats cut through the dark water with a quiet precision. They were skiffs made for day sailing. The villagers of Gist used the boats for day trips. They traveled along the coast hauling Dill root to the neighboring villages. Finn and the others had only taken three of them. They planned to return them if they could. The majority of villages were deserted anyway, as it was dangerous to travel. The boats did not have a cabin, only a long narrow hull. They were meant for swift travel, rather than a voyage of any significant amount of time. The boats had one square sail that caught the wind with ease. Borman, Gilnor, and Dord each manned one of the boats. They had lived much of their lives traveling on the water. They maneuvered the boats for stealth and speed. Gilnor had Torin in his boat. Dord had a boat to himself. The extra room would be needed for those they took back from the gorgons. Finn and Ellison rode with Borman.
The clouds were very dark and moved quickly in the night sky. There was still some time before the first hints of dawn spread over the horizon. The moon was radiant and hung low in the darkness. It reflected strips of light across the black water. Finn looked up at the sky. His cloak was pulled tightly around him. Small swells and waves beat rhythmically against the boat, splashing water onto Finn and the others. The closer Finn was to the ruins the more angst he felt. It was hard to know that Nylah was so close yet still a captive.
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