Eden-South (30 page)

“Morning,” Wolf greeted Aiden as he walked
up. He mumbled a hello back, focusing on strapping everything to
the back of the horse.

“How are we feeling this morning?” Logan’s
bright voice called out.
Figures he’d feel just fine,
thought Aiden bitterly. They were used to drinking like that.
Aiden, on the other hand, should have known better.

“Like crap,” he replied bluntly. Logan
laughed.

“Well, I would have guessed that. We
finished three whole bottles last night.” Aiden shuddered, not even
wanting to think about it. If he never had another drink of alcohol
again, he’d be fine with that. “How is your rear end?”

That was another reason he was in such a
foul mood. His entire body ached, especially his butt and thighs.
All his limbs were stiff, and ached at the thought of having to
ride all day again. What other choice did he have? Climbing onto
the back of Ty, he kicked the horse forward, not answering Logan’s
last question. He didn’t feel like talking to anyone at that
moment, so he headed to the front of the group where he’d be left
alone.

Riding through the camp, he could feel the
anticipation and anxiety from the rest of the men. Today would be
his time to think through any plans he could come up with. It would
be a long day, and quiet reflection might be the best idea for him
right now. Perhaps he should even talk with the King and Captain
Turk, he thought logically. They would no doubt have input about
the situation. He could see their large figures up ahead and rode
toward them. Elisa was there too. He wasn’t sure he felt much like
talking to her, but on the other hand, her situation wasn’t really
her fault, and she clearly didn’t like it any more than he did.

“Good morning, Aiden,” she said as he
neared. Her smile lifted his spirits a little bit, enough to elicit
a smile of his own. “How are you feeling?” she asked, looking
genuinely concerned.

“Horrible,” he answered truthfully. “I don’t
think I’ll ever drink again.”

She smiled sympathetically. “Not many boys
can keep up with those two. I should have warned you.” They fell in
beside each other, their horses walking at a decent pace. “Look,”
she began, “I just want to apologize for last night. I shouldn’t
have let him get to me like that, and it wasn’t fair for you to
witness all that. I hope you don’t think any less of me.”

He looked at her in shock. As if anything
she could do would make him think less of her. He wanted to say
just that, but didn’t have the courage to do so. “No need to
apologize,” he waved it off, wanting nothing more than to forget
the whole incident himself, for reasons of his own. “People argue
all the time. You don’t have to be sorry for that.” She smiled in
gratitude, letting the topic drop.

“Aiden!” Captain Turk barked, making him
jump in his seat. “Get up here!”

Aiden looked questioningly at Elisa, who
shrugged her shoulders in return. Kicking Ty lightly in the sides,
he rode up to follow in step with the King.

“Your majesty,” he greeted the King, bowing
his head. No one had taught him the proper manners used around the
King, so he figured that would be enough.

“Good morning,” the King said, smiling.
“From the shade of green on your face, I’d hazard a guess that our
young Rider and his faithful sidekick kept you quite busy last
night.” They both had smiles on their faces, not mocking ones, but
smiles that understood what it was like to be young and carefree.
The Captain chuckled a little as Aiden just stared back
blankly.

“Don’t worry, my boy. You won’t get into
trouble from us for those things. As long as you don’t do it the
night before the battle—that would make it a much harder day for
you.” They both continued to smile as Aiden shuddered at the
thought of drinking any time again.

“I think I’m done with alcohol,” he replied
honestly. They both laughed, looking knowingly at one another.

“How many times have I said that?” the King
said to Turk.

“More than I can remember.” Sitting up in
the front with them, Aiden finally got a clear feeling of how close
these two were. There was definitely a long-shared friendship
between the High King and his Captain, something that went deeper
than most friendships. These two trusted each other with their
lives. That said a lot about them.

“We wanted to discuss your attack,” the
Captain started to say.

“I’m glad you bring that up,” replied Aiden.
“I actually wanted to talk to you two about that myself. Any ideas
or suggestions you might have for me?”

“Well, I should hope so,” the King
interjected, turning toward his friend. “I didn’t make him the
Captain of the King’s army for nothing.” Turk gave him a sarcastic
look, turning his eyes back to Aiden.

“We’ll sit together tonight and discuss it.
Come find us when we’ve stopped for the day.” Aiden wondered how
long that would be, feeling exhausted at just the thought. Nodding
his head, he retreated back beside Elisa.

“Everything all right?” she asked. He nodded
his head, working through his thoughts as he rode. There had to be
some ideas in his brain that he could offer to them. He didn’t want
to come off as completely useless when they met later, but what did
he really know about planning attacks?

He spent the better part of the day
rummaging through any and every thought he had in his head. Elisa
rode beside him silently. It was nice to be riding with her,
instead of the other boys. The other three wouldn’t have let him
keep to himself like this, but she didn’t seem to mind. It was a
nice silence between the two of them, not awkward or tense. They
stopped once at midday for some lunch, but it was brief, and
neither of them saw the other three until later that evening.

As he made his way to the back of the area
where they had stopped, he could see Felix struggling with their
tent. He reined in Ty as he drew nearer, lowering himself stiffly
to the ground.

“Here, let me help you,” he said, grabbing
one side of the tent.

“Thanks,” he answered, smiling gratefully.
“My arms and hands are so stiff, I can barely move them.”

“I know the feeling.”

Jameson sat in his tent, looking over his
map of the field where they were headed. They needed to utilize the
space the best they could, leaving little room for the northern
army. The north might have the trees for cover, but they also
provided little space for them to move, which could be used as an
advantage for their side. He hadn’t been sleeping well the last
couple of nights, with too many thoughts running through his head.
It would be the first time in ten years that he would see his
brother. He wondered if he would even know him amongst the army
from the north. Brutus the Red would be easy enough to find: he was
big, and he was red. Callum, on the other hand, was small-boned and
appeared non-threatening,, and he was most likely to blend into the
crowd. Even when he did see him, Jameson thought hesitantly, what
would he do? Would their eyes meet? Would something pass between
them after all these years? Would he see what their father had
built for them, and so readily be willing to destroy it all?

There were just too many questions, and no
answers to satisfy them. Even Aiden was a question in his mind.
What would he bring to this battle? What could he realistically
accomplish for their side? He was a simple boy of fifteen, living a
life that Jameson surely couldn’t understand, and now he had been
thrown into the middle of a war between brothers. There was fear in
the poor boy’s eyes, uncertainty of his purpose, and he couldn’t
help but feel the same way. Turk seemed to be confident that he
would come through as an asset, but even he couldn’t explain
how
exactly. The man simply trusted Alistair and the God and
Goddess’s wisdom. That was enough for Turk. It wasn’t enough for
Jameson, however.

A cough came from outside the tent flaps,
signalling someone’s presence. He already knew that cough,
however.

“Just come in, Turk,” he called out. “Since
when do you announce yourself so discreetly?”

The big man he had called his friend for the
better part of his life entered the tiny space with a tense look on
his face.

“What is the matter?” he asked, able to read
his friend’s face like a book.

“Someone is here with me,” he said
ominously.

A figure walked through the tent flaps, a
deep blue hood covering the person’s face. Jameson stood up from
where he sat, looking to his friend for any hint of the person’s
identity. In one motion, she flew back her hood to face him.

“My lord,” she said, bowing low to the
ground.

“Diana?” He was surprised by her appearance.
He hadn’t seen her since he was crowned, or more so since she had
taken her last oath as a witch. The life she had chosen over one
with him. Just to look at her hurt his heart. There was still an
empty place inside him where she once fit. She hadn’t changed a bit
since the last time he saw her. It was as if she were frozen in
time. Her long blonde hair was braided down her back, the front of
her hair framing her pale round face and clear blue eyes. She was
breathtaking, still as much as she had been the first time he laid
eyes on her.

He had been in the south at the time, ending
his two years there at the sanctuary. Turk had come down to bring
him back, a gift from Jameson’s father. He knew Jameson would be
happiest with Turk’s presence. They embraced, smiling from ear to
ear, after not seeing each other since the last time Turk snuck
down there. He showed Jameson the scars that were the consequence
of that trip. As a celebration, they headed over to the pleasure
district, where there was Jameson’s favourite tavern, with all the
prettiest women. They all had long dark hair down here, bronze
skin, and dark eyes. Sometimes, you could find one with green or
hazel eyes, which popped out of their tanned skin. They were curvy
in all the right places, and wore clothing that showed a man
exactly what he’d be paying for.

The city was a maze of excitement and
excess. The tall white buildings shone like the hot sun down there;
even in the night-time there was a brightness about the place. The
streets were made of stones, pink and greys, that would lead you to
anything you desired. It was a simpler life, one lacking any rules.
The soldiers who walked the streets were nothing like they were
used to. If someone got too out of control, they would not hesitate
to control the situation, but their idea of ‘out of control’ was
drastically different from the one in the Capital. It was rumoured
what kinds of torture took place in the dungeons of the palace,
another example of the extreme behaviour of the south.

It was while they were walking through the
crowd of people, heading toward the place where only men went,
except for the women who worked there, when they saw the coach
coming up the street. The city streets were much smaller than those
in the Capital, so it was unusual to see a coach inside the walls.
Most people walked, finding a coach to be useless amongst the
narrow lanes. This one was rich, white with painted gold leafs on
the sides. The drawn curtains were a deep red, signalling someone
of importance. A large white horse, one of the wild horses from the
west, led it, and a small black man held the reins. What gave the
person away was the star and half moon that were painted in silver
on the door. Everyone knew what that meant.

Turk gave him a meaningful look as the coach
approached them. He gave a shrug to his friend in return, motioning
with his head that they should just continue. They didn’t get far
before the coach suddenly stopped, dust swirling around the large
wheels. The curtain on the door was pulled aside, and they could
see her face looking out. Latona was old by that time, wrinkles
covering her entire face. No one knew exactly how old the witch
was, but some rumours said her age was somewhere in the hundreds.
Personally, Jameson always felt nervous around her—she made him
feel as if she were looking into his soul. Her white hair hung down
around her face; deep brown eyes looked straight at him.

Turk and Jameson stopped, bowing in front of
the coach. “Good evening, my lady,” Jameson said politely. “To what
do we owe this immense pleasure?”

The old witch smiled at him, acknowledging
his formality. “I heard news that you were here,” she said in her
smooth voice. One would expect someone so wrinkled and aged to have
a haggard voice, but hers still sounded as strong as it did in her
youth.

“Unfortunately, yes,” he replied, smiling.
“My friend here has come to bring me home now.”

“By permission this time, I should hope,”
she said, giving Turk a critical look.
Figures she would have
heard about that,
Jameson thought.

Turk smiled, seemingly unnerved by the
witch. “Yes, my lady. I wouldn’t dare disgrace my father a second
time. Nor could I survive the consequences of such actions.”

“No doubt,” she said and smiled. “I am on my
way home as well and would appreciate an escort, if you don’t mind.
When do you leave?”

“Tomorrow morning, my lady,” Jameson
answered.

“That shall do. My student and I are staying
at the inn by the palace. You can meet us there. Don’t be
late.”

“It would be our pleasure,” he said, bowing
again. Turk followed suit, his face neutral. The coach took off,
offering a quick glimpse of the figure that sat beside her. A
vision of white and clear blue caught his eye, and then it was gone
a second later. Jameson stood riveted in his spot, watching the
coach as it disappeared.

“What is the matter with you?” Turk asked,
nudging him in the ribs.

“Did you see that?”

“The old hag?”

“Hush! What if she can hear you?”

Turk laughed. “She is a witch, Jameson, not
some super-hearing Goddess. A witch that we are apparently
escorting home. Why did you agree to such a thing? Don’t you
realize how boring that will be?”