Perdition's Rest

by J. C. Placeres

  * * *

  Lorne pondered in silence inside his large command tent which was erected in the town center of Hope’s Bastion. Although the city barracks was available, Lorne preferred not to reside in such a humble setting, therefore he and his officers had commandeered the town center around the church for their tents. Before him on a large table lay sprawled a detailed map of the surrounding landscape of Hope’s Bastion. In the corner of the map Lorne noticed in tiny print the name Sielan written. Jorlan leaned over the table studying the parchment intently. Yulor, there simply because honor and Lorne had demanded it, sat back from the other two, his arms crossed, clearly disgusted with the situation. Yulor tried not to glare at his superior officer, the archer general feeling his red flesh getting hotter by the minute from having to be near Lorne. Compounding the worst defeat in the history of the Phlebos military was the fact that Worloh had fallen in battle as well. Yulor initially was certain that the loss of Lorne's best friend would deeply wound the high commander, but for all outward appearances Lorne seemed completely unchanged.

  “As much as I would love to charge into the Singing Forest right now and begin the campaign against Black Cleaver, I clearly cannot underestimate him again" said the high commander breaking the silence. "While they lack our fighting prowess, the undead are adapting which is a truly troubling thought. I know what happened today occurred for a reason and while we may not understand why Aun allows such an atrocity to unfold, we must respect his wishes. The time of Worloh and his brave soldiers has come to pass and now they are forever in the warmth of the Southern Sun, never to reincarnate again. We must now begin recovering and preparing while our army is still intact. Our rapid mobility has been hindered and it will take time to fully replenish the cavalry. Tomorrow I’ll begin thinking in earnest of who should succeed Worloh as cavalry general. In the meantime, we will counteract our weakened mobility with a massive show of force. Jorlan, you will ride north to Green March and quickly mobilize the units stationed there. I will send a runner to the north west to Red Watch who will send half of their forces to Green March and the other half here to Hope’s Bastion. Jorlan, you will command the northern army and I will command the southern army. Together we will march into the forest in a pincer formation to trap and crush Black Cleaver’s forces.”

  “What about the cities? Who will be left behind to guard them?” Yulor asked the question from his position across the tent, his clean-shaven face barely containing his anger.

  “You will stay here at Hope’s Bastion Yulor," began Lorne. "The archers won’t be of much use in the thick woodlands of the Singing Forest. Plus, we won’t be gone long, we now have a good estimate of the size of Black Cleaver’s forces and there aren’t many caves leading into the depths of Vesnia around these parts. His horde is slow moving and our scouts will catch up to him quickly enough.”

  “What about the other cities? Will Green March and Red Watch be left unguarded?” Yulor continued in his stream of questioning to the high commander.

  “They will be fine Yulor," said Lorne with a slight hint of annoyance in his voice now. "As I stated, Black Cleaver can’t move his horde that fast and we haven’t seen any small packs of undead for a long time now. I believe he has sucked up every undead in the Singing Forest into his horde.”

  “Do you think maybe you’re underestimating them again Lorne?” Yulor knew he might be taking his interrogation a bit too far, but the rage was building in him and he couldn't hold it back now.

  “No, I’m not," said Lorne looking up from the table to glare at Yulor. "Aun granted them this victory, but he will grant them no more. They are crude, they are weak and the only reason they won today was because they were more prepared, that won’t happen again.”

  “I think it will, just look at yourself." Yulor stood up from his chair waving his hand in a dismissive gesture towards his superior. "You are planning on blindly marching into the Singing Forest and shaking a stick at some bushes hoping Black Cleaver pops out. If he had the foresight to plan this trap ahead of time who knows what he has waiting in the depths of the woodlands. There could be an untold number of hidden trenches full of undead or Three knows what. Your answer to everything is a head on assault holding nothing back. For thousands of years it has granted you costly victories not because it is a superior tactic, but because you were fighting inferior foes. This Black Cleaver is like nothing we’ve seen before; he’s turned the shambling unorganized undead masses into something more.”

  “Your objections are once again noted Yulor," said Lorne firmly. "However, this is the course of action we are going to take. Black Cleaver is on the run, he knows he can’t stand up to us in a fight, so we will chase him down before he gets the opportunity to plan again. Aun guides my hand, I entrust my fate to him.”

  “No, you entrust your men's fate to Aun!" Yulor shouted in anger at Lorne letting loose his full emotions. "When the Red Empire stumbles blindly into those woods teeming with horrors it will be the common infantryman who dies with a rusty axe in his gut, not you.”

  Lorne's eyes narrowed and his jaw clenched, Yulor could see the high commander was trying his best to hold back his anger at his subordinate. “Are you questioning my honor?”

  “No, I’m questioning your ability to reason." Yulor had walked over to the table and now stood opposite of Lorne. In between the two of them sitting in a chair at the table was Jorlan looking uncomfortable. "I’m questioning your ability to think independently and rationally. I’m questioning your ability to feel empathy towards others. I’m questioning your faith, because I don’t believe a man as devoted to the Southern Sun as you would willingly throw away the lives of the children of Juxon.”

  "How dare you talk to me in such a manner!" Lorne shouted his retort, standing up tall and straight in the process so that he towered over the smaller general. "Have you lost your mind Yulor? You are talking to your superior!"

  "Friends, I think we all need to take a step back for a moment," began Jorlan, standing up and trying to defuse the situation.

  "Shut up you lap dog," Yulor coldly said to his fellow general. "Do you know what the most insulting thing was about this? The trap Black Cleaver set wasn't even that smart. If we had used infantry and archers, the trap would have failed. The undead had no idea we would be stupid enough to do a blind cavalry charge, they just got lucky. If your ego, hubris and blind faith hadn't gotten in the way Worloh would be sitting at this table with us right now!"

  "You will back away from this table right now general!" Shouted Lorne, his flesh fully shifting to a bright red color in the process. "You have crossed a dangerous line; your words are quickly approaching a mutinous level. I am the Red Empire. Think wisely about the next words you say to me general."

  "No," laughed Yulor in open mockery. "You are not the Red Empire high commander. Worloh and the other one hundred and forty dead Phlebos in this city tonight, they were the Red Empire. How many corpses is your glory worth Lorne?"

  Lorne balled his fists and pounded the table with a furious blow. For a second Yulor thought the table might crack under the force. “Enough! I have long put up with your slights against me and my judgment. I have done so because I respected you and your ability but enough is enough. I am Lorne, high commander of the Phlebos Military. I did not choose for my men to die today, Aun did! Their deaths are acceptable losses in the eyes of the Red Empire. Your insults against me and my position end now! Yulor, general of the red archers, I hereby strip you of your command and position. In light of your past service and abilities I will not exile you from our society for your treasonous and mutinous acts. You will be sent to Red Watch where the mayor of the city will find a suitable position for you.”

  Jorlan stood back, mouth agape at what just occurred. Never in the history of the Phlebos Military had any officer been stripped of his position, in fact, never in all of Phlebos history had someone been punished for treason or mutiny. Yulor sneered in derision but used every ounce of willpower he had from contin
uing his verbal onslaught against Lorne.

  "Guards!" Lorne shouted the demand as loud as he could which resulted in a cadre of the high commander's personal bodyguards storming into the tent weapons drawn. With narrowed eyes Lorne out thrust his hand and pointed at Yulor. "I command you to strip that man of his armor, ribbons, medals and weapons." Without a word the soldiers approached and quickly disarmed Yulor who didn't even attempt to put up a fight. While two soldiers held his arms, the others proceeded to detach all the armor from the former general until he was in nothing but plain yellow linen pants and a shirt.

  The personal guard released Yulor and stepped back, however their weapons were still drawn in case Yulor decided to do something stupid. The former archer general stepped back from the table and went down to one knee averting his gaze in the process. With thinly veiled contempt Yulor spoke a loud. “As the Red Empire wishes, so shall be done. May the Southern Sun shine forever upon you high commander.”

  Lorne straightened his back and nodded towards Yulor. “May the Southern Sun shine forever upon you peasant. You are dismissed.”

  Yulor stood and turned, the personal guard following close behind him, and exited the tent. In their wake they left the strewn about armor and ribbons previously attached to the archer general. When quiet returned to the tent Lorne turned to address Jorlan. “When you leave my friend, please get one of the servants to draft an official decree stripping Yulor of his rank and title for me to sign.”

  “As you command Lorne,” replied Jorlan. “Before I leave though, might I ask you something?”

  “Speak freely my friend,” said Lorne sitting back down in his seat at the head of the table.

  “While I do agree Yulor has been out of line for a long time now, do you not think your actions were too soft? Why did you not exile him? The Red Empire cannot abide by such blatant disrespect.”

  “Though his actions questioning the empire were no doubt treasonous, he did not go so far as to slight the Three. Yulor loves the Three, but his strong belief in free will is disturbing. He has never fully accepted the truth that all we are, and all we do, is guided by Aun’s hand. That truth means Aun made him the way he is, why I don’t know, but we cannot hope to ever comprehend all the decisions made by the Three. Exile is only ever applicable should a Phlebos mock or insult the Three. Red Watch will be his prison in a way. The city is full of peasants and scholars studying the blood flows. He will live out his days in peace far away from any important decision making. This I grant him as a blessing for his years of service and love of the Three. This I give him in punishment for his treason.”

  Jorlan faintly nodded his head in understanding. While Lorne spoke with certainty, his face looked unbelievably tired and full of doubt. Jorlan did not envy Lorne's position of having the weight of the empire resting on his shoulders. “You are truly wise Lorne; it is an honor to serve under you.”

  “It is an honor to serve with you as well Jorlan," said Lorne, "I wish you Aun’s speed tomorrow on your ride north to Green March.”

  The two friends shook hands and Jorlan left the command tent leaving Lorne all alone. The high commander picked himself up from his chair and walked into a partitioned section of the tent where his sleeping cot was. He saw official messages on the table next to his bed that must have arrived earlier in the morning. He quickly flipped through the messages; almost all of them were from various local officials complaining about small problems which Lorne could care less about. Lorne found it curious that so many officials were complaining about Phlebos not speedily resurrecting, however he brushed off the concerns and tossed the messages away. He came to the last message in the pile, the one sealed with the sigil of the Red Empire. Lorne cracked open the message and found a letter from his wife. He quickly and voraciously read every word of the note carefully. His wife's words detailed how she was headed west with Sielan to investigate supposed failed reincarnations. He paused for a moment and thought of the reports he had been reading about concerning the same topic but focused primarily on ensuring his beloved was safe. After finishing the letter, he took out some parchment as well as a quill and some ink. The high commander began feverishly writing a letter by candlelight to his wife telling her of what had transpired during the Golden Plains Massacre, and as a he wrote, tears began streaming down his face, the warm drops of liquid silently falling onto his letter and smudging the fresh ink.

  * * *

  After leaving the command tent Yulor was escorted to his own personal quarters where he was kept under guard. At all hours of the night Yulor could hear soldiers patrolling outside his tent while additional guards were stationed at the entrance to his temporary abode. The former archer general couldn't help but smirk in humor at how quickly the mighty had fallen. A few hours ago, he was one of the most powerful people in the land and now he was barely above a criminal simply because he voiced his opinion.

  Yulor didn't get much sleep that night knowing at earliest light he would be transported, under guard of course, west across the Golden Plains to Red Watch. Since his altercation with Lorne, the rage he had been experienced had died down some and now Yulor was left with nothing but dread and concern. While at first, he thought Lorne was un-phased by the events of the day, he now knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that Lorne had changed, if not outwardly, then inwardly.

  The defeat and death of Worloh had dealt a mighty blow to the high commander. As far back as he could remember, Yulor had been questioning Lorne’s decisions and policies. Granted tonight was a far more heated argument than the two had ever previously had, but Yulor's temper and beliefs were nothing new to Lorne. Clearly the knee jerk reaction by Lorne was a direct result of his frayed nerves from the day’s events. While he was not exiled, being stripped of rank would make him nothing short of a pariah amongst the Phlebos. Although Yulor's pride was stung at losing his lofty position with the army, he never garnered that much respect as archers were looked down upon. Lorne always chose to run head long into the fray in pursuit of glory and, because of that, archers rarely saw the field and were secretly considered cowards for fighting from afar. The Red Army didn't even employ any pyromancers in its ranks due to its established belief that fighting from a distance was un-honorable. Although Lorne had the utmost respect for the pyromancer's guild since his wife was the guild master, he viewed pyromancers as just another type of scholar who were not meant for battle. To Lorne, battle was purely the domain of sword and shield. Yulor's previous duties were thus primarily making sure his men were comfortable while pointing out the insanity of Lorne’s decisions. At the same time though he felt a pang of guilt. The Red Empire, now more than ever, needed a capable high commander to guide its hand, and Yulor knew Lorne was not that leader.

  Yulor realized Red Watch would be a prison where he could do no real harm or good. Yulor wanted to act though, he didn’t like standing by and watching atrocities happen, but he knew his ability to influence decisions was now non-existent. He would make Red Watch his home, he would do whatever job he was assigned, and he would pray fervently to the Three that Lorne’s plan succeeded, not because he wanted Lorne to earn his glory, but because he didn’t want to see anymore Phlebos blood spilled in the name of arrogance and blind faith.

  * * *

  Early the next morning, as Aun broke over the horizon, a royal messenger arrived in Hope’s Bastion from Aun City. The messenger carried an official summons for Lorne and demanded to speak only to the high commander. Once inside the command tent the royal messenger issued the summons, Mielor was recalling Lorne to the Aun City, effective immediately. Lorne demanded to know the meaning of the summons as there was no possible way news of the Golden Plains Massacre could have reached Aun City that fast. The messenger informed Lorne that he was being recalled due to a national emergency, every high-ranking official in the Red Empire was being sent to the capital for a mandatory meeting. Lorne demanded to know the reason for the meeting as he was involved in the middle of a military campaign that held the very fa
te of the empire in the balance. The messenger would not, nor could not, explain the details. Mielor had personally requested Lorne’s presence, the discussion was over.

  For now, Lorne’s plan of leading a pincer attack in the Singing Forest was placed on hold until the unknown national emergency had been resolved. Jorlan would remain in Hope's Bastion with the Red Army and await further word from Lorne on when the campaign was to begin. Along with his personal guard, Lorne and the royal messenger rode out later that day through the smaller southern gates of Hope’s Bastion. No crowds lined the streets for Lorne’s departure and no cheers filled the air in honor of his presence. More than ever Lorne felt defeated, but he kept his faith in the Three. They would see him through these dark times. This was the greatest test Aun had ever laid before him and he would not fail, for all had been preordained. From the beginning of time until the end of time Aun would guide his hand and his actions. For that reason, he knew he would prevail.

  As the group rode south over the Golden Plains towards Aun City, Hope’s Bastion became increasingly smaller on the distant horizon. Not long after departing though, a large black cloud began to fill the sky to the north of Hope’s Bastion. Lorne refused to look back at the darkness looming over the city for he knew what it was – the acrid smoke coming from the corpses of one hundred and forty-one Phlebos soldiers being cremated.

  CHAPTER 4