Perdition's Rest

by J. C. Placeres

  CHAPTER 1

  Those Remembered Few

  While Juxon City was the capital of Juxton and where the vast majority of Tormos resided, there was one other permanent city in Juxton - Deep Ridge. In a way Deep Ridge was nothing more than a smaller version of Juxon City built deep into the ground on the opposite side of the nation. Whereas Juxon City was in the farthest northern reaches of Juxton, Deep Ridge was on the very southern end of the country where the Tormos and Phlebos territories bordered.

  Separating Juxton and Aunia was a wide channel of water running through a deep canyon dubbed the Tempest Path. The chasm earned its name because the water that filled the Tempest Path was angry, constantly surging and crashing against the canyon walls. Terrifying winds that howled through the deep canyon were the cause of the constant surge of water. These incessant winds were the result of the great wall of wind that completely encircled Vesnia, long known as the Hollow Winds.

  The southern edge of Juxton and the northern edge of Aunia each suddenly dropped off at perfect ninety-degree angles, falling half a mile into the roaring waters of the Tempest Path which spanned a quarter of a mile in length from canyon wall to canyon wall.

  Just over eight hundred years prior, in 1204 AJD, the leaders of Juxton and Aunia agreed that the two countries, despite living happily in isolation, should show some unity in honor of their shared heritage. An idea was hatched by the rulers of both sides; they agreed to build a neutral town in the middle of the Tempest Path, making the exact center of the continent neutral territory. For the next eighty-seven years Tormos and Phlebos engineers and spellcasters worked together and built a massive stone bridge that stretched the entire distance over the Tempest Path to connect both nations. Where the two bridges met in the middle, they built a large platform which supported a meeting hall and several other buildings. The bridge and buildings atop it would forever serve as a means of trade and communication between the two sibling nations.

  When construction was finished in 1291 AJD, the Tormos and Phlebos agreed to name the town Armistan. On each opposing side of the canyon the respective nations built permanent cities to garrison military units. Over time though, Phlebos and Tormos citizens were recruited to the respective cities and what once were just an assortment of military barracks, soon turned into sprawling and bustling cities. On the northern side the Tormos built Deep Ridge which, similar to Juxon City, was not visible to the naked eye. The Tormos tunneled deep into the ground and built a hidden subterranean complex which was a maze of military quarters, residential rooms, warehouses and government run trading organizations.

  On the opposing southern side, the Phlebos built a city of marble and granite which mirrored Aun City. The Phlebos came to call their metropolis Aun's Light. The city was built directly upon the blood flows which stretched the full length of Aunia from Aun's Light to Aun City. The city garnered its name because, due to being built upon active and unstable lava flows, at all hours of the day, even in the dark of night, the city was constantly bright from the spewing lava geysers and raging fires that were kept both around and inside the city walls. The structures closest to the ledge of the Tempest Path, as well as the bridge to Armistan, belonged to the military. South of the military buildings were the government buildings and trade quarters. Lastly the furthest south and on the outskirts of Aun's Light were the residential buildings and warehouses. Whereas Aun City, despite being three times as large as Aun's Light, possessed a mixture of upper and lower class alike, Aun's Light harbored very few lower-class citizens as the city was home to mostly military personnel and affluent traders.

  Although both the Phlebos and Tormos had soldiers stationed in their respective cities, the militaries of both nations were quite different. The Phlebos prided themselves on their military might and boasted a much larger standing army than the Tormos. The Phlebos constantly flexed their might and sought to rule every corner of Aunia with an iron fist. The Tormos meanwhile possessed a much less formal military. While there was the royal guard which primarily guarded Juxton City, there was no official standing army. Due to their history of tribalism, the bulk of the Tormos fighting force was made up of militias, each unit of the militia commanded over by a champion, the greatest fighter of that unit. However, the Tormos did have a supreme general who ruled over all the militias, the grand champion, the greatest fighter the Tormos had ever known - Gunvold.

  On a day when the sky and sea were particularly angry, Gunvold sat outside the main entry way into Deep Ridge. Here at the borders of the two nations, it was more apparent than anywhere else just how drastically different the two lands were. Despite the storm being over both Deep Ridge and Aun's Light, to the north in Juxton the storm poured snow on the desolate and empty lands. To the south, just half a mile across the Tempest Path, the same storm poured rain on Aun's Light. Gunvold sat in the freezing blizzard wearing heavy layers of fur even though low temperatures did not affect Tormos similar to how heat did not affect Phlebos. Two identical entrances to Deep Ridge existed, each several hundred feet apart and opening to the north. These entrances were tunneled into the ground itself and sloped downward leading into steel gates, thus for any Phlebos gazing across to Juxton, all that would be seen was the flat endless expanse of the tundra. Gunvold sat on a wooden chair atop the ridge of the western entryway into Deep Ridge and looked down upon the opened steel gateway. The blizzard was picking up in ferocity and his furs and shaven head were peppered with white flakes.

  Gunvold was a physically imposing figure. Whereas all male Tormos were muscular, Gunvold was even larger than the average Tormos. He stood at least a head or two above every other Tormos and had an extra fifty pounds of muscle over anyone. His skin was a dark silvery color that seemed to occasionally reflect the light around him. He kept his head completely shaven out of practicality more than anything else, so that his hair could not be grasped in battle.

  Whereas normally small militia groups patrolled the area around Deep Ridge, most soldiers, residents and traders were deep beneath Juxton at the moment. With the raging storm over Armistan, no trading would take place today. Gunvold saw the blizzard as a means to get away from the huddled masses down below and cherished being battered by the blizzard. Gunvold was unique in Tormos society; he was so infamous that he had earned many nicknames over the years. Some were said to his face in an honorific sense, whereas others were only uttered in whispers and never in his presence. The Titan, the Giant, and most notably the Behemoth were his common titles. The titles that were whispered in secret included the Bloody One, the Destroyer and the Sinner. Slung across Gunvold's back was his legendary weapon which never left his person, a massive two-handed black war mace. The gigantic mace had arched hollow spikes jutting out from the top and connecting to the highest point of the long grip. These hollow joints caused the air that passed through the openings to whistle when he swung it, resulting in a shrieking sound that would emanate from the mighty weapon. The brutal war mace dubbed Goredallion was almost as famous amongst the Tormos as Gunvold himself. It was named after the darkest period in Tormos history, the period in which Gunvold rose to infamy, but which he could no longer remember.

  Not long after the departure of Lunara, the various Tormos tribes were united under Thun of the Vold tribe. One tribe though, the Dallions, refused to unite, instead wishing to retain autonomy in order to preserve the old ways. The United Tribes, while not in agreement with the Dallions' decision to turn their backs on their brethren, none the less acquiesced to their desires and the southeastern corner of Juxton, which contained the only forest in the empire, was bequeathed to the Dallions to live in as they wished.

  For one hundred and three years the Dallions lived in peaceful separation from their other Tormos brethren until one day, for unknown reasons, the Dallions attacked the United Tribes. Without warning the Dallions began raiding Tormos encampments breaking the one law of utmost importance - no Vesnian shall ever kill another Vesnian. In little more than a month the Dallions had complet
ely wiped out two Tormos families of the Anidul tribe which largely controlled the area bordering the Dallion Forest.

  Gunvold, the grand champion, quickly organized the Tormos militias in response to the betrayal by the Dallions. When the militias of the United Tribes marched into Dallion territory, the rebel army was in the process of looting and destroying a third nomadic Anidul family unit. Gunvold personally led the charge into the village and clashed with the disorganized Dallion rebels. What ensued was a slaughter of the Dallion rebels. In less than an hour the Dallions were pushed out of the town and began falling back into the Dallion Forest.

  Not letting up for one moment, Gunvold pursued the Dallions into the depths of the forest. After initially routing the Dallions, Gunvold and the Tormos militia, before moving on the capital of the Dallions, searched out and eradicated every single rebel family unit in the woodlands. Every camp was razed to the ground and every Dallion was slain, no mercy was shown to the traitors. After two weeks of total annihilation, the United Tribes came upon the last, and main, encampment of the Dallions, located just south of a series of caves known as the cavernous depths. While encircling the Dallion capital encampment to ensure not a single traitor could escape, the various champions under Gunvold begged him to leave the remaining Dallions as they were. Most male Dallions had been slain and the fringe tribe was now a tiny fraction of what it once was. Only a few hundred Dallions remained alive after the previous two weeks of genocide. Gunvold's champions pleaded with him that enough Vesnian blood had been spilled, the deaths of the pillaging Dallions were necessary in self-defense, but how could Gunvold justify the extinction of an entire tribe in the eyes of Lunara, the White Watcher?

  Gunvold was unphased, for the entire duration of the campaign he rarely rested for more than a few hours. The Behemoth even refused to bathe; he became a man possessed; a specter of death still caked in the blood of dead Dallions from the previous two weeks. Gunvold scowled at his subordinate champions and scoffed at their cries for mercy. "Should any of you wish to challenge me for my position than do so," said the grand champion to his underlings, "otherwise if you are done being gutless cowards you will follow my orders or face the consequences. Kill them. Kill them all. If any Dallion should still be alive when Aun sets I will personally hold each of you responsible. Today the Southern Sun sets on the Dallions."

  The champions knew they could not best Gunvold, even if all of them fought him at once, his fighting prowess was unworldly. With heavy hearts, each champion put forth the call to attack. The militias of the United Tribes fell like an avalanche upon the Dallions and massacred every last man and woman. Gunvold fought like a mad man in the slaughter, laughing and smiling while his two-handed war mace repeatedly cracked the skulls of the Dallions before him. As Aun set that evening only one Dallion remained alive, the chieftain of the tribe, Jondallion. The final Dallion settlement had been reduced to ashes, some of the tents still ablaze in the waning light of Aun. Strewn throughout the village were the dismembered and already cooling corpses of the Dallion tribesmen and women.

  Jondallion knelt before Gunvold in the town center, his feet and hands bound behind him. Gunvold towered over him with wild and fevered fire in his eyes. The Behemoth's body from head to toe was covered in the blood and gore of the massacred tribe. Gunvold appeared to be something other than Vesnian, as if a wraith from some demonic plane, a creature of pure carnage and destruction. With a voice as emotionless as stone, Gunvold spoke aloud so that all could hear him.

  "Jondallion, chieftain of the Dallion tribe, for heinous acts committed against the United Tribes which include destruction, treason and murder, I, Gunvold, as grand champion of the United Tribes, find you guilty and hereby sentence you to death. Before I carry out this execution and eradicate your misbegotten tribe from the history of our people, I give you this one opportunity to explain yourself. Why did you turn your back on the Three and choose to murder your brothers and sisters in cold blood?"

  When Gunvold's words finished echoing across the smoldering remains of the village, a silence descended upon the ruins. As Aun slipped beneath the horizon, the White Watcher rose high in the night sky casting her pale light on the ravaged battlefield. Jondallion uttered a laugh which quickly turned into a hacking cough resulting in him spitting up blood at Gunvold's feet. In a low quaking voice Jondallion muttered his response. "You haven't seen what we have seen."

  "What have you seen?" Gunvold questioned with a booming voice.

  "The forgotten ones, we found them," said Jondallion, his voice sounding distant, as if his mind was not with his physical body.

  Gunvold grimaced, "make sense Jondallion. I'm sure you don't want your last words to be the nonsensical ramblings of a traitorous dog. Atone for your sins!"

  "We saw everything," said Jondallion, with blood bubbling at his lips. The chieftain's eyes glazed over, and he turned his head away from Gunvold staring off into nothingness. Then, barely above a whisper, Jondallion spoke. So soft was his voice that only those Tormos nearest Gunvold heard the last words of the dying chief. "We know the truth now; we had to leave the forest. The impure needed to be purged."

  “Enough!” Gunvold roared with remorseless rage as he reached down with both hands and grabbed Jondallion's head in a vice grip. The Behemoth squeezed with unnatural strength and a sickening crunch resounded across the battlefield as Gunvold crushed the Dallion leader's skull with his bare hands, brain matter oozing out of the orifices of what once was Jondallion's head. The chieftain's lifeless body collapsed on the ground and the grand champion wiped away Jondallion's brains onto his already gore caked clothing.

  "There will be no burial ceremonies," began Gunvold. "We will not burn their bodies. Leave their corpses where they lay. The wolves will feast on the flesh of traitors tonight."

  The legend of Gunvold began that night, how many Dallions the Behemoth had slain was unknown. Legends speak that he alone may have single handedly murdered half the tribe. The black war mace which Gunvold carried had ended so many Dallions that the caked-on blood never fully came off. More superstitious Tormos claim that the whistling sound the mace makes when Gunvold swings it is the sound of a thousand Dallion souls screaming in terror. Thus, the weapon took on a legend of its own and earned its infamous name: Goredallion, a reminder of the bloodiest period in Tormos history.

  A bolt of lightning cracked across the sky and Gunvold glanced back at the gate to Deep Ridge. A crowd of soldiers and civilians were clustered just inside the city entrance milling about, quietly talking and most likely debating if the storm would end anytime. Gunvold sneered in derision, he hated them all. While the pompous and arrogant Phlebos bore the brunt of his hatred, he likewise despised all Tormos of the lower castes and many of the upper class as well. Gunvold knew it was most likely sinful to hate his fellow Vesnians, but he didn't really care. Although he believed in Lunara, Aun and Nua as all Vesnians did, he had killed more Vesnians than any other person alive and he was still standing. There had been no wrath brought upon him from above, he was still in a position of absolute authority. The only person he bowed to was Thunvold, none other could look down upon him.

  Through the cacophony of snow and thunder Gunvold could suddenly hear gravel crunching and the outline of a figure appeared in the blizzard. Gunvold grimaced, his face covered in scars and cuts, each a memory lost in time of battles the Behemoth could not recall. Through years of training and honing his senses, the grand champion could hear and see the figure approaching even through the obscuring storm. Gunvold could instantly tell who was approaching. Through the storm Gunvold shouted out to the stranger. "Why do you disturb my solitude Gowinda? Couldn't you wait until after the storm to badger me with your ineptitude?"

  As the figure came closer into view it took the shape of a squat muscular male Tormos. His skin was light brown and speckled with white spots throughout. His hair was long and braided down his back, a popular style amongst the Tormos. A long series of silver rings adorned his ears. His face,
just like Gunvold's, bore scars from battles that he could not remember. Gowinda, the champion of the Deep Ridge, stepped closer to Gunvold so that he could see his superior through the storm, the insult that Gunvold uttered being lost on the dimwitted champion.

  "I bring word that messengers have arrived from Juxon City," yelled Gowinda over the storm. "They entered the city through the east gate not too long ago."

  "What news could be of such importance as to drag you away from your warm hearth?” Gunvold said with thinly veiled contempt to his subordinate.

  "I do not know sir," responded Gowinda still shouting, "however they will be waiting for you in the war room. They refused to deliver their message to anyone but you. You should be aware that Tulinda has accompanied the messenger."

  Gunvold's cragged face contorted into a snarl and he stood up from his seated position suddenly towering over the smaller champion. "You stay here Gowinda, I'll go and find out what news she brings."

  Gunvold turned and began to walk away but Gowinda shouted after him into the storm. "Grand champion, why do I have to stand out here in the storm?"

  Gunvold knew that there was no reason Gowinda needed to sit out in the storm, but the Behemoth had never liked his subordinate, viewing him as a weakling and undeserving of the champion title. Gunvold felt it important to constantly remind those around him of the social hierarchy and that he must always be obeyed without question. Gunvold, a disappearing shape in the snow, shouted back through the downpour to Gowinda. "When I return, if you're not here, I'll break your limbs to cure you of your inability to sit still."