Fortes Fortuna Adiuvat IV

Part Four: The Aftermath

The Legate Mario Flavius was riding at the head of his legion. At his side was a young carpenter's apprentice named Calvus was at his side. The young man had demanded an audience with the Legate a few days before and had advised him that there was a massive horde of zombii that had attacked the fort garrisoned by Commander Larcius. The youth's testament of what had happened was supported by about thirty men who had been sent as various skilled workers and labourers on the fort.
Legate Flavius was not an ornory man nor was he a fool and he called to arms the legion under his command and they were underway the next morning. That had been two days ago. They were now approaching a smouldering ruin. What had once been a Roman fort was now ashes and smoking timbers and the stench was unlike anythink the Legate had ever smelled. One didn't become a Legate without first experiencing the taste of war but this was not the smell of any battle he could remember.
As they spurred their horses forward and the legion deployed behind them in a defensive position the Legate, Calvus and a small cadre of men on horseback rode forward to determine what had happened to the fort. Legate Mario Flavius had a sudden ache in his gut as he considered that zombii's were not creatures capable of buring down a fort and feared for a moment that this was a trap elaborately executed to bring his legion into an ambush. However his logic took over when he considered that his advance scouts had found nothing but the burning fort hours earlier and were still patrolling the surrounding country. The horses began to protest and they were forced to dismount and continue of foot. All of them covered their noses to block out the horrid smell. The acrid smoke was at least dissapating after what had obviously been an intense blaze.
"What happened here?" The Legate asked out loud. The question was not directed at anyone and he received no answer. Everywhere he could see scorched armour and charred bones. There was a massive amount of timber scattered on the ground, obviously the whole store had been lost to the hungry flames. There was oil too, it was contributing to the awful choking stench. "Someone burned this place to the ground," The Legate said looking back at Calvus. The boy had a helmet in his hand. It was badly scarred and it's horsehair crest had long ago been burnt off but it would have been the helmet of the Commander Larcius. In it was a skull, it was also burnt but had been protected by the helmet from completely burning up in the fire.
"They were here. Thousands of zombii's...they must have found a way to kill them all..." the boy said looking down at his grotesque tricket.
The Legate ordered the skulls to be counted and the helmets as well and they did find that there were over two thousand skulls amoung the rubble and ash. Armour for the full detachment of men was also discovered as well. The Legate officially issued the destruction of the fort as a mystery in his report to the Emperor. The unexplainable nature of what happened was not made any easier when all the tribes and villages of the surrounding area were abandoned. There was no further inquiry made into the event and no further expedition was sent into that territory. The young carpenter's apprentice took the only memorial away from that burnt field. The scorched helmet of a Roman Commander.



Epilogue:

The tavern was full of men and women of many different languages and races. It is always such in a port city and the servant girl carried two bottles of wine to the table with the three Roman looking men and the three Slavic looking men. As she poured the wine into their glasses she considered the odd nature of their appearance, strong builds but with weary eyes and travel dirtier clothes. Mercenaries? She dismissed the thought and walked away from the table as the biggest of the Roman's with the dark hair and the beard raised his glass to the others.
"To our Commander Laricus, he burned and died so that we could live. No greater sacrifice has ever been made. He was my best friend. Viktor..."
It was one of the Slavic men that returned the sentiment, a rather rough looking fellow that said, "I could say no more than you Ruffus, I intended to live my life, his gift to us as he would have wanted us to. Let's drink."
"To Laricus," all six men echoed as the servant girl moved out of earshot. Another group of old war horses drinking to a lost comrade-in-arms. There was certainly nothing out of the ordinary about that.