Blaze forest, south of Oriens
III Provisional camp set up by Lino, or what is left…
Year 568
The ground, dyed in a crimson red, became wetter as it was punished by a torrential rain.
Soaked, still their bodies were bleeding, wounded, aching and staggering.
Some, sitting on stones, lying on the ground, tried to process in their fragile minds what had happened. Others wept for the loss of those close to them.
"Do not bury the corpses," Druso refused at the insistence of the soldiers to give the fallen a dignified burial, "let this be a demonstration to the next legions that settle in these parts that Linus' power is not as great as he claims it is."
"So what do we do now?"
"Gather the few horses with their respective carriages that we have left, and get all the supplies you can."
He was questioned as to the reason for his orders.
"We will go north, not northeast through the Nashka valley, where we are likely to encounter the central guard, which you know well that punishes the legions that fail in their missions. But to the northwest, an area that according to what I have been informed, there are small towns that could well help us to return to Raecum in good health, or, in the worst case, to settle in them."
The idea of having to live in exile, because of the marginalization they would go through having failed, and the mere thought of not seeing their families again, made several of them wrinkle their foreheads, and they put a hand to their chests because of the tightness they felt.
Sighing, they obeyed his words.
It was less than thirty horses that they gathered, and only ten carriages that they could find in good condition.
"Ten carriages with their three respective steeds; another ten free horses... And nine hundred and fifty per-persons."
A bead of cold sweat trickled down his forehead as he scanned the soldiers with his eyes.
"And now?" He was questioned.
"I need forty of the oldest to divide into the carriages, and ten of the strongest to ride the remaining horses."
The soldiers looked at each other sideways.
However, since thanks to him they had survived, the least they could do, was to obey.
'Now there are only nine hundred and ten left...' He thought.
"Well, to march, we will take a formation that I will now indicate to you... The first group of the line will be formed by the sick; the second, by the carriages; the third, by the horses; the fourth, by the common soldiers; the fifth, by the other hundred strongest among you; and, at the end, I will be alone."
Many made confused grimaces.
It was the first time they had heard of such a formation, and even worse: in the end, I will be alone.
"Excuse me," a soldier approached him, "what do you mean, in the end it will be just you?"
He spoke with relative confidence.
In spite of what happened, they still had the same rank.
"I am Druso Lupus, from a family dedicated to hunting," he smiled. "The wolves," he said, referring to the daros, "tried to hunt us. We were their prey, and because of their overconfidence we became their hunters. Now we have become a pack, and I am their alpha. And the alpha always goes at the end, protecting the back of the pack, making sure that all the members of the pack are together."
The soldiers looked at each other dumbfounded at the serene manner in which he uttered things that could have come from someone going mad.
They did not question him further.
In groups they began to load the supplies into the carriages, and helped the older ones to assemble the carriages.
The tents collapsed in on themselves.
Bodies littered the floors, the rain continued to darken their souls.
Everyone took the positions Lupus had assigned them.
In their hearts, they entrusted to the Nintu the safety of their journey, however, they knew that, if they were assaulted or something went wrong, it would be because that was the will of the one they prayed to.
And every will is for something in the future.
Druso positioned himself at the end of the formation, and, with a thick voice he shouted:
"Let's go!"
◇◆◇
Hamlia, northwest of the Blaze Forest
"Director, the wounded keep coming in." Her voice trembled with the helplessness of not knowing what to do.
Hamlia, a town known for being led by the leader of the local church, Monsignor Fortimbrio Hario, began to receive many wounded from the tribal war against the daros.
"Beds are in short supply, as are medicines." The nurse, who had gone to the hospital director's office to let him know about the problem they were having, frowned, her arms trembling. "What do we do?"
The director, having listened carefully to her words, stroked his chin, keeping a neutral expression, staring at nothing.
"We don't have much money left," he said as if talking to himself.
Then he rose from his seat
"I'll go talk to the monsignor, maybe he can get us some medicine."
She nodded, and bowed her head in respect as the director headed for the exit.
Through the corridors of the hospital, already worn by time, could be heard the moans of the wounded and the screams of the caregivers, who, with the shortage they were facing, were looking for a way to cure them.
"Where are you going, Director?"
"Little Maria," he spoke with a warm smile to the little girl who had been orphaned during the war, "I'm going to talk to the Monsignor."
"And will it be long?" Her lips curved downward, her eyes moistened.
"Calm down," he gave her a soft kiss on the forehead.
He broke off, and pulled an hourglass out of his pocket.
"I'll be back when all the sand on top is down."
The girl accepted his words, and with her small hands grabbed the object, hugging it as if it were a stuffed animal.
The man looked at her with pity, she was afraid, now, of losing those who had become her new family.
She left the hospitality, making her way through the modest-sized village, inhabited by quiet people, a place where there was no scandal, or at least before the war there was none.
The Monsignor's residence, very humble for someone of his position, lies in the center of the town, surrounded by beautiful gardens, protected by wooden fences.
"Eh?" He asked in confusion as he heard the church bells begin to ring frantically.
"Warn the monsignor!" dhouted Diedo Kutorio, head of the town guard, to a group of soldiers who were on their way to Fortimbrio's residence.
"Kutorio", called the man.
"What is it, Director?" He turned to him, revealing the sweat dripping from his forehead.
"Why are you ringing the bells and looking for the Monsignor? I was just on my way to see him to discuss some business with him."
"You will excuse me, Director, but we have something much more important to discuss now."
That indirect offense did not make him lose his composure.
He took a deep breath, and with calm words he spoke:
"What could be more important than resupplying the medicines?
At that question, Diedo's face paled.
"Don't t-tell me that p-please."
He turned in the opposite direction, and with a trembling hand, pointed to the horizon, the southeast side of town.
"A battalion of legionnaires is approaching, most likely in need of medical attention....."
The director nodded, analyzing the situation, thinking of some way to help them.
"We'll have to resort to medicinal plants," he announced, glancing sideways at the droopy-eyed man, "perhaps I should turn to the ancient writings to try to find other methods of healing until we get the drugs."
"I suppose so..." Finger twisted his lip.
"Well," he turned in the direction of the hospital, "my talk with the monsignor will have to wait. If you need me, I'll be in my office", And he left.
Diedo sighed, in his heart he wished he had the serenity of the director.
The soldiers entered Fortimbrio's residence, which always remained open to receive a stranger or anyone seeking his advice.
"Your presence is requested, Monsignor Hario," said one of the guards.
The old man put aside the book he was reading.
"Then let's go.
They took him out of his residence, and, at a fast pace, took him to the southeastern area of the town, where, driven by curiosity, several villagers were already standing, who were astonished to see a whole formation of legionaries located only ten meters from the entrance.
From the end of the group, a young man with deep gray eyes approached, wearing bloody clothes.
"Who do you claim to be, young man?" Questioned the monsignor, positioned in front of all the dwellers.
"Druso Lupus, alpha of this pack," he turned and pointed to the battalion.
All his soldiers were wearing muffled expressions.
Monsignor agreed.
"What happened to you?"
The young man sighed at the question, ducked his head, and looked down at Fortimbrio's bare feet.
"Our consul sold us to the enemy, abandoned us. The daros came close to massacring us... I took control of the legio and issued orders based on the stories my grandfather told me. So I managed to save us," he looked up, "and as you can see, many of our people perished."
Desolate looks came to the villagers after Druso's story.
"What did they call the one who sold you? -With a sign he indicated to the wounded that there was no impediment to their entry into the village."
"If I am not mistaken... Andrio Canrrio Crásico."
Monsignor lost serenity, frightened he became, the curious turned pale in their faces, confusion arose in Druso.
"Is something wrong, do you know him?"
Fortimbrio remained mute, moving out of the way.
Thus, a man with semi-long hair, missing a leg and an eye, began his march towards them with the help of his canes.
"Morrel Blacas claims to be."
"What happened to him?" Druso looked at him with trembling eyes.
"It was him," began Morrel, who was already in front of the wolf, keeping a vacant stare. "Crásico left us, too. I-I belonged to the III Christus."
"But that legio was annihilated by the daros long ago," Druso raised his hands, with which he ran them over the man's torso, still unable to believe what he was seeing and hearing.
"I was the only su-su-sur-survivor...."
"That Crásico," lord placed his hands on the hapless shoulders. Heard in abundance is here. "Wounded report him for abandonment to fate."
Druso and Morrel exchanged glances.
Their souls connected, they shared the same pain.
Trembling was present in both of them.
Their eyes watered.
Monsignor lowered his hands, and, before turning to the others, before the tears of the unfortunates he spoke thus:
"You need it, weep, O young men, weep."