CHAPTER 2: The Elephant in the Carriage

‘The saddest tragedy is a restless heart that remains silent.’

Maerik watched the moonlit fields roll past the carriage window, their long grasses bending beneath a wind too gentle to hear over the thunder of six horses.

Silver light washed the countryside in an almost sacred glow. Above it stretched a cloudless sky, sparsely jeweled with stars. Such nights were common in the season of Sun, the gentlest and most consistent of the five seasons: warmth beneath the sun, coolness beneath the moon. A season made for peace.

Maerik found the thought insulting.

He sat rigidly against the carriage wall, his hands resting on his knees, while something hot and restless smoldered behind his ribs. To his left sat Kallikrates. Across from them, Waltz studied the passing darkness with the air of a man attempting to solve it.

Their destination was the main encampment of King Edwin II’s army. And every turn of the wheels carried them deeper behind enemy lines.

“Tell me,” Maerik said at last, “is it wise to place ourselves at the mercy of a king who shows none?”

Waltz looked up, surprised less by the question than by the sudden end to Maerik’s silence. Kallikrates turned as well, but Waltz answered before he could speak.

“While negotiations are underway, neither side may initiate an attack or advance its forces. You know the tradition.”

“I know the tradition. I question the man.”

“Precisely.” Waltz leaned forward.

“The question is whether a ruler who considers himself above the law will honor that law when dealing with people he does not even acknowledge as people. But therein lies the answer, why go through with the façade of tradition and honor when you consider yourself above it and will not honor it? He will honor it merely because this is all a game to him. But it’s HIS game.

Maerik rolled his eyes and returned his gaze out the carriage window. Waltz had a gift for making the obvious sound profound.

Kallikrates rested his elbows on his knees.

“Well, Akashi? Do you believe he will honor the negotiations?”

For a moment Waltz seemed to look straight through him. Then he nodded.

“I believe the odds favor us.”

Maerik struck the carriage door with his fist. The wood shuddered.

“Odds? What prevents him from slaughtering us the moment we arrive? What would he lose?”

“Dishonoring sacred customs carries consequences,” Waltz continued. “Even for those who imagine themselves exempt from them.”

“For the love of the Gods, speak plainly.”

A thin, humorless smile touched Waltz’s mouth.

“No creature rules by strength alone. An ant queen may be torn apart by her colony of workers. A queen bee can be mutilated by her hive. And a king who believes himself a god may yet be dragged from his throne by peasants.” His gaze settled on Maerik with a smile.. “Or by marked-ones.”

“Then you trust the king to fear his subjects?”

“I trust him to understand the danger of teaching them that his own laws mean nothing.” Waltz paused. “Honor and morality are frameworks the puppet master's construct. They make the puppets dance—and laugh when the strings tighten.”

Maerik turned back toward the window.

Poetic fly mud.

The carriage lurched over a rut. Its wheels hammered against the uneven road, tossing all three men in their seats. Maerik caught himself against the door and muttered a curse as the horses hauled them onward.

When the road smoothed, Kallikrates spoke.

“Maerik.”

He did not turn immediately.

“Thank you for coming with us. You ought to be traveling toward the Dead-Lands with my children and the others. Instead, you have chosen to ride beside Waltz and I. I will not forget that loyalty.”

Maerik studied his face. There was no mockery there, no hidden challenge. Only gratitude. Somehow, that made the words harder to bear.

“It is my duty,” he said. “I am your right hand and first captain. Besides, I wished to see what sort of man this king truly is.”

Both statements were true. Neither came close to the whole truth.

He wanted to seize Kallikrates by the shoulders and shake sense into him. He wanted to curse him. Some part of him wanted to strike him, if only to make him understand what he was asking of those who would survive.

Kallikrates nodded, apparently satisfied.

Good.

Silence was safer. Maerik could feel the beast of his temper testing its chains, and he would rather unleash it upon Edwin’s soldiers than upon the man beside him.

We should kill the king while we have the opportunity.

The thought came sharp and clean. He would never commit such an honorless act under the protection of negotiations. Yet he could not deny the cruel logic of it.

The meeting was a farce. They would not surrender. Edwin would not grant them freedom. When the talking ended, the king would send his army against them, and the fields would soak in blood.

They had challenged their masters. They had refused the whip, rejected the lash, and dared to taste freedom instead of merely dreaming of it. The Kingdoms would demand payment for that defiance.The only question was how they would meet their deaths.

If Maerik had commanded the rebellion, there would have been no retreat. He would have armed every marked-one capable of gripping steel—the old, the wounded, the sick, the women, even the children—and met the Kingdoms in one final, terrible battle. No flight. No hiding.

But command was no longer his to claim.

Several suns earlier, he and Kallikrates had settled their disagreement by duel. The victor would remain to lead a desperate charge against the Kingdoms’ overwhelming forces, stalling, for the defeated man to escort the elderly, the injured, and the young into the Dead-Lands.

The Dead-Lands. A refuge that might prove worse than the death they fled. He was born in the Dead-Lands. He had suffered a life of starvation, fear and horrors yet to be imagined.

I could have beaten him.

His fingers curled against his knees.

Even with that God-forsaken mirror sword.

“Commander Kallikrates,” Waltz said, breaking into his thoughts, “I owe you an apology. When I argued for the retreat, I did not intend to undermine you. Strategically, I believed it offered the greatest number of marked-ones a chance to survive.”

Kallikrates dismissed the concern with a gentle motion of his hand.

“You spoke honestly, Waltz, and your counsel was sound. I have always valued it.” He paused, regarding the Akashi with a warmth that made Maerik uneasy.

“You left your family and those you love to take on a task most would call impossible. You are not a marked-one. You were under no obligation to share our suffering or fight for our freedom. Yet few have done more for our cause than many. Gratitude.”

Waltz lowered his eyes.

“You have served us extraordinarily well,”

Kallikrates continued.

For the first time that night, Waltz seemed unable to find an answer. Moisture shone in his eyes; the practiced composure of the strategist fractured beneath the weight of a few sincere words.

“The honor has been mine, Commander,” he said softly. “My only regret is that I could not do more.”

Maerik bit the inside of his lip.

Kallikrates had grown compassionate of late. Forgiving. Some would have called it weakness.

Waltz was brilliant; Maerik would not deny it. His plans had delivered victories on and off the battlefield, often against impossible odds. But a plan did not bleed. A strategy did not stand before an enemy blade. It was Maerik and Kallikrates who had carried steel into the battles and had paid for those victories with their own blood.

For an instant, Maerik considered leaping from the carriage and running the rest of the way. Only the fact that he did not know the encampment’s exact location kept him seated.

Kallikrates turned to him again.

“And I owe you gratitude, for another thing, Maerik. For holding your tongue when I know it has cost you dearly.”

Maerik spat through the open window.

Their decision to let Euphraeta stay was a fool's decision.

But she was not Maerik’s wife. They were not his children. What right had he to command the fate of another man’s family?

“Do not thank me for remaining silent while my comrades make foolish decisions, I have done only what a loyal captain must. Though loyalty and good judgment do not always travel the same road.”

Waltz glanced at Kallikrates. Kallikrates met his gaze, and then they both turned to Maerik.

“You are more than my captain. You are my right hand, my comrade. Give me equal respect..”

His meaning was welcomed..

“You and Waltz are fools.”

Both men straightened.

“Euphraeta was essential to the escape. She was meant to help us lead your children and the others safely into the Dead-Lands. Instead, you have condemned her to die beside you. And for what? A few more moments on a battlefield?” Maerik’s voice rose. “It is foolish. And selfish.”

“I considered all of that,” Kallikrates replied, keeping his voice level. “But the retreat succeeds only if we hold the king’s army long enough. To do that, I need every advantage I can gather. Euphraeta’s powers may be invaluable.”

“Then let me stand with you.”

Kallikrates did not answer.

“If strength on the battlefield is what matters, let me fight at your side. Send Euphraeta with Waltz. Let them raise your children.”

“That is not possible.”

“Why not?”

The question rang louder than Maerik intended.

Kallikrates allowed the silence to stretch before he spoke. “There are plans already in motion that I cannot explain. But one reason is simple. Waltz cannot teach my children to wield a sword as you can. He cannot teach them what it means to bear our mark, or the history and burden of our people. You can.”

Maerik shook his head.

“Is that the only reason?”

Something shifted in Kallikrates’ expression. Waltz stirred uneasily across from them.

“Maerik,” Waltz began, “I think your feelings are—”

“I was not speaking to you, Akashi.”

Waltz fell silent.

Intelligent enough to advise an army, but not clever enough to know when to close his mouth.

He turned back to Kallikrates, expecting a rebuke. Instead, his commander drew a long breath.

“I don’t know.”

The words were scarcely louder than the creak of the carriage.

Kallikrates stared at his hands. “I honestly don’t know.”

Silence settled between them, rough and jarring as the road they had crossed.

Then Kallikrates lifted his head.

“What would you have me do? What would you do in my place?”

What would I do? Could I ride off into battle while my

Wife and children escaped with another man?

If she were mine, would I share her?

Honor. Glory. Pride. He had built his life upon those three pillars. Yet now, faced with the shape of Kallikrates’ choice…

Anger swirled in his chest.

“Then why did you win?” he demanded. “Why not feign defeat?” Even the thought sickened him. “You could have gone with them.” His voice sharpened into something crueler. “Has Kallikrates, the First Rebel, finally decided that honor and glory matter more than the bonds of love?”

Pain crossed Kallikrates’ face so plainly Maerik instantly regretted it.

Why did I push?

He had struck too deep. Worse, he knew the accusation was dishonest. He would have despised Kallikrates for surrendering the duel deliberately. He would have called him a coward. And now he was condemning the man for refusing to do precisely that.

Waltz’s eyes moved from one warrior to the other.

Kallikrates released a weary sigh.

“The truth is, I do not know why I claimed victory.” He looked toward the darkened window, though Maerik doubted he saw the fields beyond it. “Perhaps I needed to prove that I was the better warrior. Perhaps I believed I alone could accomplish what must be done. Or perhaps I have simply lost my senses.”

He swallowed.

“I do not know.”

.

“But there is one thing I know,” Kallikrates said, turning back to him. His voice hardened, not with anger but with certainty. “Fuck honor and glory. Only a fool would cling to either when the fate of a beautiful family hangs in the balance.”

No one answered.

Outside, the horses slowed. The carriage rocked once, then rolled toward a halt. Through the window Maerik caught the glint of spearheads and the movement of armed guards beneath the moon. A guarded station marked the approach to Edwin’s encampment.

Enemy territory waited just beyond it.

Maerik let a small smile escape him. Whatever truths had been spoken in the carriage, they would soon be tested beyond the reach of words.

By this time tomorrow, we will be in chains, struggling to survive in the Dead-Lands—or, better yet, dead.

And for the first time since the journey began, the rage inside him stilled.