Interlude 0.6

Meanwhile, in the grandest sense of the term meanwhile...

From a birds-eye view, it appeared to be a small patch of darker brown moving across an enormous expanse of tan which stretched out in all directions. From closer, it becomes apparent that the patch of darker brown is an army, slowly treading their way across a never-ending desert.

They were making slow progress across the desert. They had been marching for almost a week now; stopping during the day to rest and conserve their energy, and treading their path at night, seeing only by what little light the moon exuded.

Today, though, they walked during the day. They could see their destination, and they would arrive at night at this rate. Exactly as planned.

The troops were demoralized, though. The captain had done his utmost best to keep their spirits up, but it was difficult, if not impossible. They were weak. They had run out of food, and most were out of water.

As they marched, one of the troops – a soldier who was staggering along with the rest of the contingent in the back – collapsed. His compatriot next to him stopped and looked, an expression of hopelessness overtaking his face. He started walking again; he didn’t want to be next to fall. A gust of wind began the long process of burying the unfortunate corpse. If the soldiers passed by here again they would find no trace of him.

The commander, a young man rising through the ranks of the military, turned to look at the men under his command. He swept his thin hood off of his head and brushed the lengthening hair out of his eyes. He hadn’t cut it in a while, and it was starting to get into his eyes.

He was weary, and he could tell that his soldiers were even more tired than he was. He turned forward again – there were at least five hours until they arrived. He would give a rousing speech when the sun went down. It would be useless before then, as any emotions he could muster would dissipate as they continued their march.

Instead, he unclasped the water container he had on his belt and popped the cap open. Turning it over, he opened his mouth to receive what water would fall. A small, single drop fell out. After another few seconds, a second drop followed.

That was it then. Out of water, out of food.

The next few hours were some of the longest of his admittedly short life. Though he hadn’t the life experience of the other grizzled commanders back in his city, he had been promoted based on merit – he had accomplished every goal set in front of him. These tended to be smaller skirmishes and one-off battles, each of which he had swiftly and ruthlessly won.

Everything that he had accomplished getting to this point paled in comparison to the hellish torture of this funereal march. Every so often he surveyed his forces, noting their cracked, bleeding lips and their loose hanging armor. Fortunately, the only casualty was the one soldier earlier.

As the sun set, the march eased. No longer did the touch of metal on their body sear their skins, and their incessant sweating stopped robbing their bodies of the precious liquids they needed to survive.

Yes, this was the capital’s strongest contingent; reduced to a host of starving beggars. They were close enough now. The captain turned around clenching his fist in the air where all of his men could see it.

“Men,” he started, but the words came out dry and wheezy. He coughed, swallowed, and began again.

“Men. We all know what we came here for. We have traversed this nightmarish dryland for the noblest of reasons. We came to conquer.”

He saw that his words weren’t having as great of an impact as he had hoped. The small metal band curving around his left ear, curving into it gave a small sting as it tried to send him the optimal data on what to say. Unfortunately, it had stopped working at the same point where he could no longer be rid of it; an unfortunate coincidence to say the least.

It didn’t matter. He had long since learned the language, and long since learned to be a convincing orator.

“These people are guilty of grossest injustice against the Kingdom. They live under our protective graces, yet they refuse to bow. They refuse to pay their tax. They sin against the gods!” That got a response. He had found that referring to the gods almost always got some sort of rise out of his troops. They were either very religious, or not at all.

It didn’t even matter what he personally believed. He could speak as though he were the most fervent believer of either side of a debate, and more importantly, could convince both sides that he were on theirs.

“Though we use subterfuge, we are still working for a higher cause. We have just survived a trip through hell on earth, and we are stronger for it!”

“We will win!” He shouted.

“We will conquer!” He exclaimed.

“We will welcome fate, and welcome war, and we will be victorious!” He roused.

As his soldiers began stamping feet with what little energy they had remaining, and clapping hands, beating swords against shields, he thought;

“I will be guilty.”

“I won’t be able to undo this,” he thought.

“I’m sorry,” he thought.

--

As the soldiers were found the next morning, passed out on the outskirts of the village in disarray, they were hurriedly brought into shelter, and given food and water. They were nursed back to life by the caring citizens.

The next day, the soldiers piled all of the bodies up in the middle of the village, and lit one single pyre.