The Long March

We have been marching for days now, with only short breaks for sleep. We crossed the border on the Night of the Blood Moons and somebody started praying, whispering warnings of grave mistakes. You do not cross into the Chreshkri Lands under the gaze of the Blood Moons they said. I did not hear the words myself, nor have I seen the execution that followed, but I saw the traitor hanging from the tree.

The first blood that we spilled was our own. Was that an omen? Is this what the traitor was trying to tell us? That the Blood Moons will shine on us and our blood will seep into these lands?

I am not sharing my thoughts with the others, I have seen their looks, I will not be the next one who hangs off a tree.

We keep marching forward, under the red haze, the nights here are long and the days we spend hiding and resting, but so far, we have not seen a soul, and it seems that nobody, except for the moons, have seen us march through these lands.

I do not know what quarrel our masters have with local folk, but we will fight against these savages with all of our might. Each night there are more traitors discovered among us. Night after night, they are being strung up on the strongest tree that we are passing by.

It seems that the numbers are growing. Everybody is suspicious. I served with these people my entire life but I could swear that some of them have a gleam in their eyes that was not there before, it's like they are waiting, waiting for the loyal to go to sleep, so they can cut our throats. My best friend next to me had that gleam in his eyes too. I did not hesitate to pull him up onto the tree.

There are... there are only a few of us left now. The path that we have marched... it is littered by hangmans in arms.... hangmans... he he... he he he.

I woke up to a red light shining through the clouds, I must have collapsed, why did noone wake me? And then I see it, the fort of our enemy standing quietly under the red moons. And the row of gallows that stand tall in front of the first gate.

All those that were left, they are hanging there, swinging slowly in the wind. And there, among them, is empty noose, ready for the last soldier of the Egridion. Waiting... for me.