The Tyrant's Tomb

Frank glanced around us, checking if anyone else was in earshot. We
were heading up one of New Rome’s many winding cobblestone streets into
the residential neighborhoods.
“Hard to say,” he told me. “From the legion itself, at least twenty-five.
That’s how many are missing from the roster. Our maximum strength is…
was two hundred and fifty. Not that we actually have that many in camp at
any given time, but still. The battle literally decimated us.”
I felt as if a Lar had passed through me. Decimation, the ancient
punishment for bad legions, was a grim business: every tenth soldier was
killed whether they were guilty or innocent.
“I’m so sorry, Frank. I should have…”
I didn’t know how to finish that sentence. I should have what? I was no
longer a god. I could no longer snap my fingers and cause zombies to
explode from a thousand miles away. I had never adequately appreciated
such simple pleasures.
Frank pulled his cloak tighter around his shoulders. “It was hardest on
the civilians. A lot of retired legionnaires from New Rome came out to help.
They’ve always acted as our reserves. Anyway, that line of prophecy you
mentioned: Bodies fill the Tiber beyond count? That didn’t mean there were
many bodies after the battle. It meant we couldn’t count our dead, because
they disappeared.”
My gut wound began to seethe. “Disappeared how?”
“Some were dragged away when the undead retreated. We tried to get
them all, but…” He turned up his palms. “A few got swallowed by the
ground. Even Hazel couldn’t explain it. Most went underwater during the
fight in the Little Tiber. The naiads tried to search and recover for us. No
luck.”
He didn’t vocalize the truly horrible thing about this news, but I
imagined he was thinking it. Their dead had not simply disappeared. They
would be back—as enemies.
Frank kept his gaze on the cobblestones. “I try not to dwell on it. I’m
supposed to lead, stay confident, you know? But like today, when we saw
Terminus…There’s usually a little girl, Julia, who helps him out. She’s about
seven. Adorable kid.”
“She wasn’t there today.”
“No,” Frank agreed. “She’s with a foster family. Her father and mother
both died in the fight.”