The Eden Series: The Complete Collection (25 page)

“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.

“He’s here,” he said to Callum, making the prince sit up straight. “We need to meet now.” Callum pushed his chair back, rising immediately. They both hurried out of the tent, neither of them looking at her as they left.

Slowly getting up, shaking her legs out momentarily because they both had fallen asleep, she walked over to the entrance and peeked out through the tiny slit of the flaps. The whole camp seemed to be moving: men bustled about, shouting at one another. She looked at the expressions on their faces, and each one wore a look of apprehension, one could say almost fear. Rose had no idea who had come, but she knew something big was happening, which made her more afraid than she could say.

They hurried across the camp, heading for Brutus’s tent on the far side. When they walked in, they saw him standing there already, his back turned toward them.

“Aziz,” Brutus greeted him. “It is about time you joined us.” It was said lightly, but Callum read the accusation underlining it. He knew how angry Brutus was that they hadn’t known where Aziz was located all this time. It didn’t make sense that he would keep it from them, especially since they were all in this together. It bothered Callum too, but he had become accustomed to this man’s eccentricities.

As Aziz turned toward them, Callum almost gasped out loud. He had never seen a man so changed in such a short period of time. The once tall, strong-looking man, with his rich brown skin and dark eyes, was now withered and pale. His eyes constantly darted around the room, like he couldn’t concentrate on one spot. He looked mad, like the men you would see who had been taken by spirits. His hands shook as he held his staff, his nails long and black. It was like looking at the ghost of the man, a fraction of what he once had been. They knew that he had been creating a large army of beasts, fanatic in his magic, but this was completely unexpected. He had explained to them, before he had even started making any, that to make the creatures correctly, to ensure that they would be loyal only to him, he would need to give each one of them a part of himself. He had said it would link them to him better, and help him feel what they were feeling when they were far away. It was useful, but it had clearly taken a toll on the man himself.

“Aziz,” Callum greeted him, nodding his head politely. He didn’t know what else to say, how to react in front of this thing. He almost didn’t look like a man at all, the bones in his face sticking out, his long hair knotted and unwashed.

“Something has happened,” he said. His voice was like a snake hissing, not the strong, deep voice it had been only a few months ago.

“What?” Brutus asked, appearing unfazed by his change in appearance like Callum was. That, or Brutus hid it better than he did.

“One of my beasts fought a boy by the forest, one of two young King’s men practicing near the edge. He thought it an easy fight, seeing the inexperience of the boy, and he was hungry.”

Callum sat down on one of the low sofas that Brutus had in his tent. It had been given to him by Aziz, a magnificent piece of furniture common in their parts. The fabric was intricately woven, with threads that sparkled in the light. The wooden arms were carved by hand, depicting the ivy and lilies that floated in their waters. Callum didn’t mind it, except that it was so low to the ground, another common thing in their parts. He didn’t understand the concept—it made it much more difficult to get up afterward. Perhaps that was the point, he thought, to make people sit longer and relax.

“What is the problem then?” Brutus asked, annoyed. “Get to the point already.” Callum looked at him in warning, silently asking him to be patient.

Aziz didn’t seem to be bothered by his rudeness, picking up his story where he had paused. “The boy—he killed the beast.”

Callum and Brutus looked at each other questioningly. It wasn’t that alarming to have one killed. The boy must have gotten lucky.

Aziz continued, not waiting for either to speak. “He didn’t complete the kill, however, before my beast bit him in the leg. That is where the problem arises. He didn’t taste right.”

“Didn’t taste right?” Callum asked, confused. “How do you know that?”

“What does that even mean?” Brutus asked, clearly confounded.

“I sense everything that happens to them. I can taste what they taste, hear, see, feel what they do. This one didn’t taste right; there is something different about him. I sent another to watch afterward, and it saw him in the woods later. His leg was healed, completely. We could not smell any open or torn flesh. It was as if there was no bite at all.”

We could not smell
, Callum echoed in revulsion. He spoke as if they were one. It was almost sickening.

“How is that possible? The witch, perhaps?” Brutus asked, turning toward Callum.

“I think not,” Callum replied. “She is not a healer.”

“This is their weapon,” Aziz hissed. “The one we wondered about, the one thing that will give them an advantage. Whatever this boy is, they have him to use against us.”

Brutus looked at Callum, his thoughts perfectly read through his eyes. The man thought Aziz was crazy, and Callum was quick to agree with him. What kind of weapon could one boy provide for a whole army? The idea was slightly ludicrous.

“I don’t see how one boy could make a difference against your creations,” Callum said, keeping his voice respectful. The last thing they wanted to do was insult this man.