Eden-South (26 page)

“Does that surprise you?”

“No, it just worries me. People start to
doubt their leader during times like these. People do unexpected,
dangerous things. I don’t like some of the looks I caught between
the lords.”

“They just worry for their lands. A lot of
their estates are outside of the city walls. They don’t want them
to be destroyed by the approaching army.”

He lay back on the bed, staring at the
extravagantly decorated ceiling above him. There were pictures of
angels and gods, the light hitting the gold that the artists used
in their paint. Sometimes he wondered what the point of it all was.
All the wealth and gold, the overindulgence of the court, made him
feel guilty, unworthy. Melaine snuggled in beside him, resting her
chin on his chest like she often did.

“Do not let the thoughts of others distract
you from your decisions. You are a good King, and you know what is
best for your people.”

He looked down and smiled gently at her,
stroking her long hair absent-mindedly. “War is a difficult time,”
he sighed. “The lords and ladies of the Capital will have to reduce
their pleasures, which I’m sure most of them aren’t ready to
do.”

“Let them decide how and where to spend
their money. If they don’t use it wisely during a time of crisis,
that is their fault. You can’t be responsible for everything.” She
stroked his chest with the tips of her fingers. He loved it when
she did this—it made him relax for the first time that evening.

The problem he had was that they did expect
him to be responsible for everything. If the city—may the God and
Goddess forbid—happened to find itself in a time of famine, all the
blame would land on him. It was a proven result of war. Many
villages were destroyed during these times, meaning all the men and
women who farmed outside the city walls, providing everyone with
their food, would be dead. If they did happen to survive, their
crops were most likely dead, causing a shortage of food. Hungry
people were angry people, people who would cause riots and chaos
within the city walls. The war wouldn’t end with one army winning,
because they would still have to deal with the people of Eden
afterward.

He couldn’t understand Callum. It was rare
that he thought about his younger brother, but in the passing weeks
his thoughts would turn to him more often than not. Jameson could
understand his feeling betrayed at not being given the crown; he
had been surprised back then himself. To turn his back on his
people, though, to attack the ones he loved, the city he loved and
grew up in? None of it made sense. He often wondered if he had been
brainwashed by the sorcerer. Maybe it wasn’t his brother doing all
this; maybe his mind had been taken over by an evil spirit. The
priests had stories of people like that—he remembered studying them
when he spent some years at the sanctuary in the south.

His father, may the God and Goddess bless
his soul, sent him there when he was in his late teens. Jameson’s
escapades with Turk were well known by then, and his father thought
it would do Jameson some good to be away from his childhood friend.
The sanctuary had felt like a prison the first couple of days. It
wasn’t until Jameson found their cellar where they kept the
ceremonial wines, that his stay there took a turn for the better.
He also found a doorway that led out through the gardens, the
outside of it covered by overgrown vines. This was his way out in
the nights, to enjoy the diversions the south offered during their
long, warm nights. His memories went back to one such diversion in
their pleasure district. Her name had been Eve, and she had eyes as
blue as the sky, and hair as brown as the milkiest chocolate.

He sighed, causing Melaine to look up at him
questioningly. Those had been easier days, he thought wistfully.
Turk had even arrived secretly at one point to come see him. It had
cost his friend thirty lashes when he got back. Turk still had the
scars to prove it.

“Where is your mind, my love?” she
whispered.

“Everywhere,” he sighed. “Nights like these
are always a whirlwind of thoughts for me. I suppose it will be
like that until this all ends.”

“Will you leave soon?”

“As soon as tomorrow, if we can manage it.
Our forces need to be there before the northern army arrives. We
need to give them no other choice than to fight at the place of our
choosing.”

“Then you will come home to me, victorious.”
She smiled, stretching up to kiss him slowly on the mouth. He
remembered how young she was—only twenty that year. He was almost
twice her age. The severity of the situation was lost on her, her
young optimism overriding any fears.

“We can only hope,” he said after.

They lay together, until he finally heard
her breathing slow. She was asleep. He wiggled his way out from
under her and placed her head gently on the pillow. Walking over to
the balcony, he opened the two large glass doors and walked out
into the cool night. The men stationed there ignored him, used to
his nightly habits. He hadn’t been able to sleep for months now. It
was finally taking its toll.

“Can’t sleep?” a deep voice spoke from
below. Jameson looked down to see Turk standing on the balcony
under his. That would have been a guest room. He didn’t know what
Turk would be doing there.

“What are you doing down there?” he said,
asking the obvious.

“Waiting for you to pop your old, tired head
out of that room.” He smiled at his friend’s jest. From the day he
was crowned, Turk still hadn’t changed the way he spoke to him. He
appreciated that. It would have killed him if he had suddenly
become formal and traditional with him. Turk’s large body was
climbing up the lattice to the balcony, surprisingly effortlessly
for an older man. He pulled himself over the ledge, a huge grin
covering his face.

“I’ve always wanted to do that,” he said,
chuckling.

“I’m glad you haven’t, in case one of my
guards were to mistake you for an assassin.” Turk shrugged his
shoulders casually. “Is there something urgent you needed to speak
to me about?”

“No,” he answered, shaking his head. “I just
knew you wouldn’t be sleeping, and I couldn’t sleep either, so I
thought I’d come find you. Just like old times, sitting up till the
sun rises.” Jameson smiled back at his friend.

“Shall I order us some wine?”

“Why even ask?”

The two of them sat out in the night air,
drinking warmed wine under thick blankets. The air was quite cold
for spring.

“We haven’t done this in a long time,” Turk
commented.

“Too long,” he answered. “I suppose that’s
what happens in life—we grow up, lose some of our freedom of
youth.”

“Says who?” His friend laughed. “We only
grow old if we let ourselves.”

Jameson sat quietly, lost in his thoughts
again. Turk remained quiet for him, used to his frequent silent
spells. Eventually, Jameson spoke again, confessing his inner
thoughts to his oldest friend.

“I don’t think I can kill him,” he said
quietly, almost inaudibly.

Turk simply nodded. “Perhaps it won’t come
down to that,” he offered. Jameson looked up at the sky, quiet
again. “Some people get misguided during their life, and it takes
someone who loves them to help them see that.”

“I don’t even know if I love him.” Callum
and Jameson had never been close, even though they weren’t far
apart in age. When they were really young, they would often play
around the palace grounds together, but eventually their different
interests led them apart. Callum had always been interested in
books, studying things, and the politics of court. He would watch
their father and his advisors, memorizing the things they said.
Jameson, on the other hand, could always be found outside. He was
riding, or exploring the forests. Then he started his training in
the military, and his friendship with Turk led them down a new path
altogether. The brothers’ paths would barely cross, except during
ceremonies and court gatherings, which Jameson would notoriously
sneak out of before the end.

“He is your little brother. Of course you
love him.”

“Do I? I don’t think he loves me,” he
admitted out loud. It was true—he doubted it very much. Callum had
nothing but contempt for Jameson and his ways their entire young
adult lives. It had never bothered Jameson, but it made him doubt
his brother’s affection.

Turk shrugged. “Our problem,” he started,
changing the subject, “is that cursed sorcerer. As long as he is
alive, he will make more beasts than we can kill. As our men kill
the ones they have now, he’ll be somewhere else just making
more.”

This was a true statement, and the one thing
they had both been worried about since the beginning. It was one
thing for two armies to fight, one winning, the other losing. Both
sides lost men, but one side was always victorious as they cut the
other side down. The northern army was drastically different,
however. They had magical beings, monsters that were nothing their
men were used to dealing with. What was worse was that Aziz could
make as many as he wanted to, and they had no way of stopping him.
By the time their men reached the northern army’s men, many would
already be dead from the beasts. Even if they kept their numbers
strong and defeated the opposing men, Aziz could conjure up more
beasts and the vicious cycle would never end. Not unless he was
killed. Killing him would be difficult, since all the reports
they’d received told them that Aziz was not actually with the
northern army. Apparently, no one knew where he was exactly. The
man had locked himself away somewhere, devoting his days to these
evil acts.

“Our men are strong, Jameson,” Turk said
suddenly, his voice full of encouragement. “We will beat them no
matter what they send at us. We have the God and Goddess on our
side, and you are the High King. Fate alone smiles down upon you.”
He got up to refill their glasses. Jameson was pretty certain they
were both drunk already, but he didn’t reject the offered cup.

“Are we leaving tomorrow?”

“I’m going to try, depending on how quickly
the men can be packed and ready to go. The earlier we leave, the
better; we can cover more ground.”

They sat in silence again, considering all
the things that needed to be done before the army took off. A small
number would have to be left behind, at least a hundred men, just
in case any attacks were made on the city walls while they were
gone. The rest of the army would have to travel to the emerald
fields, most on foot, about two hundred on horseback. There were
almost six hundred men in total, so their progression would be
slow. It was a large number to travel together, making it harder to
cover ground at a decent speed. He could only hope it would be
enough. The Riders in the west, the Sand People in the east, and
the southern army had all offered their assistance. The High King
had warned them not to come, telling them that once the Capital was
taken, the northern army would turn their sights to one of them. It
was Brutus’s desire to rule all of Eden, not just the Capital, so
they all had to stay on guard. No one knew just how big their
forces were, so it was quite possible that they would attack them
shortly.

“You know what advantage we haven’t utilized
to the fullest?” Turk said, his voice slightly slurring. Jameson
watched as the first touches of morning lit the far-off horizon.
The sun would be rising slowly, casting its orange glow upon them.
He had always loved to watch the sunrise. It was like the God
giving him a gift.

“What?” he asked lazily.

“Diana.”

Jameson looked at his friend.
Diana
.
That was a story all on its own.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

They sat in the tent together, both involved
with their books. Rose was reading a book of poetry Callum had
brought her one day. She guessed he had stolen it from a house they
rummaged, but the distraction was welcome. He sat at his desk, as
was usual, reading letters sent to him. She didn’t know who they
were from, or what they involved, and she didn’t want to know. The
army’s progression had been quick; they travelled almost
constantly. Currently, they were camped near the border of north
and central Eden, awaiting the arrival of something, or someone.
Callum never discussed details with Rose, which she appreciated.
Sometimes it helped her to pretend like she didn’t know what was
happening around her, but at night she would find it hard to sleep.
So many were dead already—innocent farmers and villagers, taken
from their homes and brutally murdered. As they rode past a village
one day, with Rose behind Callum on his horse, which was becoming a
routine now, she saw a man’s severed head stuck on a spear. The
mouth was frozen open, as if the man had been screaming in the end,
his eyes wide in terror and pain. She almost vomited then. Callum
whispered to her to look away, and she had buried her face in his
back.

Surprisingly, she was getting used to being
around the prince, sometimes finding his company to be enjoyable.
He would tell her stories about the Capital, explaining the
twisting lanes and the grand palace. He told her about the
festivals and palace parties that took place, explaining in great
detail all the riches the Capital had to offer. She had never been
there herself, and couldn’t help but find his stories intriguing.
It made her wonder more about her brother, and what his life was
like now that he lived in a place like that. It was so different
from their village, full of life and excitement.

The tent flaps flew open, Brutus pushing his
way in with speed. He nodded in Rose’s direction, a sign of another
surprising relationship she had established. Brutus seemed to have
taken a liking to her, not in a sensual sense, but in a friendly
way. He would often stop by in the evenings, sitting to talk with
Callum, but always including her as well. He said he found her
amusing, laughing his loud bark at her sarcastic comments. He would
constantly tell Callum that he had his hands full with this one,
which would bring a weird look to the prince’s face. Rose ignored
this. She was no one’s mistress, and they both knew this. She was
certain the others in the army thought differently, but she didn’t
let that get to her.