A Four Moon Series: Legacy of Blood

The Beginning of the End

Col. Loconi folded his orders and tucked them into his linen shirt pocket.
"That's all," he said. Dodging a satchel that hung to his knees, a shirtless Wapiti messenger boy ran off to resume his deliveries. Loconi followed him out the flap of his tent, bending his scarecrow frame at the waist to keep from brushing his fine white hair against the fabric. As usual, there was nothing serine or quiet about the hour. Overhead, the third moon of the day inched slowly past the yellow sun like an ink-blot dripping down a lemon peel. In their camp, such as it was, the hours between the falling of the second moon and the rising of the third, marked a reprieve for meals and rest. Once the third moon turned to shadow inside the yellow glare of the sun, soldiers knew a return to duty was expected. Today there had been no reprieve. The raucous clamor of soldiers breaking down tents and shouting orders as they prepared to move greeted him as he covered his eyes from the dusty breeze.

A post of five hundred men was not easily disassembled, particularly a post more than ten years in building. At the beginning they had only small tents, makeshift pavilions. Over the years basic necessities of sanitation, water, and routine assembly had required more sophisticated accommodations. Then came gambling houses for entertainment, arenas for sport (particularly popular was the Babirusa races), and houses for every imaginable form of unsanctioned traffic. They even built corrals for large jungle cats purchased from the Wapiti and camels bought from the nomadic salt-desert clans. The cacophony of demolition outside was nothing less than the flesh and bones of their temporary city being striped and broken to discourage deserters from returning to their previous shell while their brothers in arms marched north.

He took the orders from his shirt pocket again. Ready in days? Only Gen. Oshioko would bother ordering something so impractical as a march north based on mere rumors, then insist on rushing into it. Loconi took his purple silk scarf with the four half moons sewn beneath a star emblem that denoted his rank as colonel within the Island's armies, and wrapped it around his neck as he stepped into the sea of dust and chaos. The deep royal hue tucked just below his white hair assembled a distinguished presence. He passed a cafeteria as soldiers placed cookery into wooden crates, the sound of broken clay pots hardly took his notice. His thoughts were trained on the conversation he must attempt, again...

What could he say to the General that he had not already expressed? He understood why the General felt compelled to act, but the when felt haphazard, even desperate. Like many sons of fortunate families, Gen Oshioko was bound by a legacy not his own. If not for his uncle's good fortune, the expectations of his command would have been more realistic. The mines in the southern mountains had yielded incredible wealth for General Oshioko's predecessor, Gen. Yurhil. But now the rich flow of gold and diamonds from beneath the mountain had finally begun it's inevitable cessation. Yet the need for wealth had only increased. The plunder of the southern mountains had funded countless temples, bridges, palaces across the Islands. Some were even built here in the old world, along the river basin known as Espoja. The wealth funded a massive military expansion made possible by armies of mercenaries and conscripts, all of which had expanded Island territory without capturing anything near the treasure contained in that mountain to their south. 

Sustaining these new projects required more gold than the southern mountains had ever produced, and so General Oshioko must provide new revenue unless he wished to be replaced. Gen. Yurhil had failed to meet the growing demand and had been recalled back to the homeland two years ago. Sadly, the former General, famous for his vigor and strong physical command, became suddenly and mortally ill on the return voyage and his body was unceremoniously cremated in the mud-desert. General Oshioko, being the nephew of the recently deceased commander and the next in the chain of command, received the news along with the implicit message. His only chance to ever see his family again or gain the expected status of investiture would be to find the wealth that the senate desired and escort it back personally.