Seven Days Ago
The knocking to the door tore General Halibart from his slumber. He grumbled and rubbed over his eyes-the pre-dawn light was seeping faintly into his quarters. He sat up, scratching his head and running a hand down his bare chest. Without so much as a whisper of warning, the door creaked open and an older man, stooping but sharp, strode in.
"HALIBART!"
The general frowned, yanking the thin sheet up over his lower body. "What in the gods' name is wrong with you, barging in like that? I've seen prisoners show more courtesy, old man."
The senior chancellor, a wiry figure with tufts of white hair and hollowed eyes, didn't stop to apologize. His voice shook. "There's no time for formalities. I've just come from the council meeting."
Halibert's eyebrow shot up-unimpressed. "Oh? The great hall of whispers, is it? You look like you've added another decade to your life in the past day. Spit it out-what's got you all in a tizzy?"
The old man went taut, his bony fingers grasping onto a rolled parchment as if it scorched him. "These orders are from the Emperor himself.
Looser cast of features veered at mention of the Emperor, and Halibert settled his back against the wood-framed headboard of his bed, the tiniest smile tugging at his lips. "What does the tyrant want now? Can't think of another excuse to drink wine and waste my time?
"Enough!" The voice of the chancellor shook. "You are to effect a forced migration. All life in the outer empire is to be transported to the inner territories. All men, women, and children. Without exception."
The smile left Halibart's face, and he looked hard at the old man, his voice suddenly keen and incisive. "What do you mean? A forced march of civilians? Are you out of your mind?"
"Not out of my mind. His orders."
Halibart swung his legs off the bed, stood up, towering over the old man. The parchment crackled as Halibart snatched it from him, his eyes scanning the text rapidly in green. "This… this is the worst task ever handed to me. Forcing them to migrate? No, this isn't migration. It's cruelty. It's going to get people killed."
The chancellor's eyes never wavered from his face, but dancing upon his face, a flicker of shame was. "I know how this must appear, General. But this is not an assignment that we can evade."
Halibart flung the parchment onto the desk beside him, tension in his shoulders. "What does he think this will achieve? Move tens of thousands across rivers and broken roads? Impossible.
"It is his will," the chancellor said with a face suddenly gone sour. "And we both know what happens when his will isn't acted upon: blood would flood the council chamber itself."
A moment of silence followed from Halibert. At his sides, he clinched his fists in, turning and pacing the room as his face contorted in a maelstrom of thoughts. "The Emperor's really taking the word tyrant to a whole new level. I joined this army to fight wars, not pull people out of their homes.
"Then fight for those who can't," the chancellor quietly said. "Obey the orders and lead them, Halibart. If it needs to be done, better they march under your protection than under the command of someone crueler."
The only sound left in the room, after that, was a faint rustle of wind from outside. At last, Halibart let out a deep sigh, shaking his head. "Fine. But later, words will be said with that man upon his damned throne.
The Chancellor bowed his head, his face pained. "Prepare yourself, General. You leave tomorrow."
---
Day 1
The sun was brilliant as General Halibart rode at the head of the column numbering 10,000 soldiers. He was all armored now, his blue and gray insignia gleaming in the light. A great cape fluttered behind him, the edge dancing as he adjusted his helmet, turning his gaze around him. The rolling fields reached up toward the horizon to either side of the road, a little wind whispering among the grass. The quiet before the storm.
Beside him, his right-hand man, Lieutenant Oris, rode a black steed. Oris was younger, lean but with sharp features and short-cropped hair. He glanced at Halibart with a mix of unease and curiosity.
"You've been quiet, General," Oris remarked. "That's never a good sign."
Halibart snorted. "You want me to sing, Oris? Would that put your nerves at ease?"
"Seldom," Oris replied dryly. "But I wonder what you're thinking. We're leading 10,000 men on an errand no soldier should be proud of."
Halibart's face clouded. "I think the Emperor's gone mad. That he's lost sight of the distinction between leadership and slaughter." He glanced over his shoulder at the men behind them-weary, loyal soldiers riding in disciplined ranks. "We're guardians. Not murderers."
Oris nodded, his voice heavy. "And yet we ride."
Halibart didn't immediately answer him. His gaze lanced out to the horizon where the sun had begun its decent. "We will take our rest in Arkoli tonight. It is a quiet town along the river."
Oris raised a dubious eyebrow. "Think they will welcome 10,000 men?"
"They will have no choice."
---
Day 2: The Death March Begins
By the time the army of Halibart reached Arkoli, the streets were empty of people. The head of the town greeted him himself -a middle-aged man who smiled nervously. He allowed the soldiers to stay in barns and warehouses or spare rooms, though it was clear his hospitality was born from fear.
Thus, the next morning, the march began: Halibart, on his horse, had watched his men drive villagers around, town after town, as if they were cattle. Men clutched their children tight, and women clutched on to whatever they could. Sobs and shrieks, incomplete and chaotic, became the background noise.
"Move along!" the soldiers yelled, but even in their voices, it shook, and through their orders, guilt bled.
Halibart rode in silence, face carved from stone. Oris rode up beside him and spoke in low tones. "They're dying, General. Look at them. Some haven't eaten. The young ones can't keep up."
Halibart clenched his jaw, his fingers digging into the leather of the reins. "I know, Oris. I see it."
By the fourth day, they reached Arkoli again, the same town they had departed from. The remaining civilians staggered into the square, their bodies frail, their eyes hollow. Halibart dismounted, his boots kicking up dust as he walked. Oris followed closely behind.
"Report," Halibart muttered.
A soldier approached hesitantly. "Sir… we've lost nearly a quarter of them. Illness. Hunger. Exhaustion. The people have begun calling it…"
The voice trailed away and the face went white. Halibart wheeled to him abruptly. "Calling it what?"
"The Death March, sir."
There came a silence. It was as though the words hung there in the air-a curse.
Halibart's eyes shut and his chest rose in great slow heaves as he strove to keep his temper in. The men about him shifted uncomfortably; their morale was gone.
"Dismissed," he said coldly.
The soldier was gone now, and Halibart turned to Oris. In a low, acid-voiced tone, he said, "The Emperor thinks he can move people like pieces on a board. Look at them, Oris. What kind of ruler does this?"
Oris didn't answer, though his silence said enough.
Again, Halibart looked around, his hate for the man upon the throne silently boiling under his skin.
To be continued…