Draven

  Draven circled the room, inspecting the furniture. It was old and worn, but serviceable. The window was narrow, with glass in it, and through it he could see the castle courtyard. People bustled to and fro down there, unloading crates and bags from a wagon that had just arrived.

  Who were these people, and what was a revenant? His questions were piling up, and no one seemed willing to answer them.

  He found a mirror on the inside of the wardrobe door. Stripping off his armored vest and shirt, he examined the tattoos. They swirled down his back, forming a row of circles halfway down his spine. What did any of it mean?

  Across his chest was a vicious pink scar, newly healed. Draven ran his fingers along it. It didn't have much feeling in it. This must have been what killed him: some kind of massive blow to the chest. It probably destroyed his heart and lungs at the same time. But what had done it? A blade? A bullet?

  Next he studied his own face. He saw a man with a sickly complexion and unsettlingly bright eyes under a harsh, calculating brow. His head had been shaved, leaving stubble that might have been black. He ran a hand over his head ruefully. No wonder everyone stared at him–he looked like a savage who would cut loose and kill them all. The armor was no help, giving him a barbaric look.

  The robot flew into view, peering into the mirror with him. Compared to Draven's sinister looks, the robot looked cartoonishly cheerful. "Getting a good look at yourself?" he said. "It's not much to work with, but once your hair grows back, you might not be so ugly."

  "Thanks a lot," said Draven dryly.

  The robot left his shoulder and flew a circuit of the room. "If we can persuade Adolphus to give you a servant or two, they could fix this room right up, make it homey."

  "A fire would be a good start.” Draven sat on the hard bed. "What's a revenant?"

  The robot wagged back and forth in midair as if shaking his head in disapproval. "They shouldn't have called you that. Very rude. A revenant is an undead slave, raised to do a certain task for its master." He flew to Draven's face and floated so close that he almost touched his nose. "You are resurrected, not undead."

  Draven frowned and pushed the robot away with one finger. "So you say. But I fit the description, at least as far as Lord Adolphus is concerned."

  The robot made an affronted clicking sound. "If you want my opinion, I don't think you were properly dead. According to the records I dug up, you've been in a freezer for three years."

  Draven recalled drifting in the darkness of eternity, the only memories he couldn't seem to shake. "If that's true, shouldn't I be able to remember my past?"

  "Depends on what happened to put you in that freezer," said the robot. "Mortal chest wound, head wound, or maybe you died of magic. Magic-related deaths can be incredibly nasty."

  Draven pointed to the scar on his chest. "How about this?"

  The robot eyed it. "That does look mortal. After being dead for three years I imagine there wasn't much left of your brain."

  "I guess." Draven got up and wandered around the room, touching each article of furniture. After a while he said, "If I'm Draven Shadowmend, what's your name?"

  "I'm just a field stabilizer," the robot replied. "They don't name stabilizers. But you could call me Stab for short."

  "Stab?" said Draven, grinning. "What, do you want me to tape a knife to you?"

  "Ooo that would be neat!" said the robot. "Then I'd actually be dangerous!"

  "Yes, so dangerous," laughed Draven. "Then you could help me fight darkwraiths."

  "I'd need a decent beam sword, not just a knife," said the robot. "Do you have a better name?"

  "No, I like Stab," said Draven. "It's the exact opposite of what you're capable of."

  "Don't underestimate me!” Stab made small lunges in midair as if attacking an opponent. "I could be dangerous! But I think you're dangerous enough for both of us."

  "That's the truth," muttered Draven, looking at his breastplate and gauntlets on the floor.

  A knock at his door made him jump. "Come in," he called.

  Lord Adolphus strode in, his thin face and beak-like nose set in a grave expression. Behind him walked a huge man with muscular arms and calloused hands. Stab immediately took his place at Draven's left shoulder.

  "Hello, Draven Shadowmend," said Lord Adolphus. "I see you are settling in already. This is Sid, our palace weapons master. He will educate you, both in the ways of the world and with weapons."

  Draven looked Sid up and down and decided he didn’t want to try to beat him in a fight … not yet, anyway. Sid's similar appraisal didn't seem so favorable, because his lip curled in a sneer.

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  "You are to begin your training at once," said Lord Adolphus. "I expect you to be patrolling the roads within the week and fighting on the front lines in a month. Sid, I don't care what it takes, get him in fighting shape. I want complete obedience."

  Now that the shock of Draven's resurrection was over, Adolphus was all business. He wore a formal blue coat over a white shirt and tie, and pressed trousers without a stray wrinkle. Draven wondered what he was lord of, and how much power he had.

  Sid ducked his head respectfully. "Right away, my lord."

  Adolphus departed, leaving Draven alone with Sid. Draven suddenly felt vulnerable, standing there in trousers, boots, and no shirt. Stab floated at his shoulder, not making a sound, but watching Sid.

  "I have questions," said Draven.

  "I imagine you do.” Sid had a slow, rolling baritone with a slight accent. "Give me fifty pushups and I'll answer one question."

  Draven hesitated.

  Sid swayed forward threateningly.

  "I–I don't know what a pushup is," said Draven apologetically.

  Sid gave a bark of laughter and demonstrated, his massive arms working like pistons. "Like that," he said, climbing to his feet. "Fifty. Go."

  Draven began doing pushups, breathing steadily to draw in energy. It came with each breath, empowering his muscles, strengthening him. Stab floated nearby, moderating the energy as it came. The pushups added up quickly, and Draven had time to narrow down his questions to one.

  He rose to his feet, dusting off his hands. "Why should I serve Lord Adolphus?"

  He'd expected another bark of laughter, but Sid put a hand on his chin, considering how to answer. "We'd best go to the library for this. Put your shirt back on."

  As Draven obeyed, he noticed Sid staring at his tattoos, but the big man made no comment.

  Draven accompanied Sid out of his room and through the castle. They climbed to an upper story and followed a passage to a room full of books on shelves. It was growing late by this time, and the castle's occupants had moved downstairs for supper, where a murmur of voices and clinking dishes told of their presence. Stab flew along without a word, although his bright green eye took in everything.

  Sid went to the shelves, rifled through the books, and took one down. He opened it on a small table in the corner. "Here, kid," he said. "Do you know how to read a map?"

  Draven looked at the pages, his robot peeking over his shoulder. A series of lines and words squiggled across them, some areas marked in different colors.

  "I'm afraid it means little to me," he confessed.

  "Can you read at all?" said Sid sharply. He pointed to a word at the top of the page. "What's it say?"

  "Catalonia," said Draven, then wondered how he knew.

  Sid grunted in satisfaction. "Catalonia is the name of the world. Humans live in this little part of it. We settled on this moon eighty years ago, been colonizing it ever since." He waved a hand over the map. "Three kingdoms. New Olympus, Kelcaster, Viena. Kelcaster's the smallest, up here in the mountains, but they operate the mines, so they're the richest." His thick finger moved to New Olympus. "Oldest kingdom, highest population. They own the forests here and defend this territory here. When the Rift opened, their defenses saved them." His finger trailed across a long, purple tear that scored across the western side of the map.

  "Rift?" said Draven.

  "Getting there," said Sid. "Third kingdom is the United Viena Territories, where we are now. Right along the seacoast, we have the most land, best soil, best cattle, you name it. It's run by four lords. Biggest territory is Burgundy under Lord Adolphus." He swirled a finger inside a piece of land the size of Kelcaster. The end of the Rift protruded into it, Draven noticed.

  "Lord Philip is over Cleaves," Sid continued, indicating their nearest neighbor to the southeast. "Lord Francis is over Romany, here." He indicated a smaller territory on the southwest. "And last is Lord Edward's Palmo, down here," he said, indicating a long, skinny country that took part of the coast and curved inland. "Lord Edward died when the Rift opened and his widow rules in his place."

  "And the Rift?" Draven pressed.

  "Yes, the Rift," said Sid with a sigh. "A couple of years ago, some foolhardy scientists wandered off into these hills and found ruins of an unknown civilization. They screwed with some artifacts and set off a string of events that opened the Rift. The darkwraiths poured out. Nobody knows how to close the Rift because nobody can get near it. The wraiths tear people apart like paper. Now, Lord Adolphus dumped a lot of time and resources into resurrecting you, because you were the only man who could ever stand against the darkwraiths."

  "Did they kill me?" Draven asked with great interest.

  "No," said Sid. "As far as I know, your death was a tragic accident. Your past is pretty unremarkable except for the wraith thing. Lord Adolphus's lands are overrun with darkwraiths because of the Rift eating into his land. It's spreading, you see. During the umbral months it spreads a foot or two per day. We worry it'll eventually consume all of Catalonia. That's where you come in."

  "So I was a hero," said Draven with relief, stepping back and grinning into Stab's green eye. "The hero who fought the darkwraiths. Does Lord Adolphus want me to close the Rift?"

  "He wants you to fight wraiths and protect his people," said Sid. "I hear you made a good showing earlier this afternoon."

  "It was the first thing they had me do after I woke up," said Draven. "I couldn't even see properly yet."

  "And you killed over two hundred of the buggers with no backup," said Sid approvingly. "You've still got the touch, somehow."

  "They're not hard to kill," said Draven. "They weigh almost nothing and their heads are easy to cut off."

  "The fear, though," said Sid. "Didn't you feel the fear?"

  Draven cocked his head. "The what, now?"

  Sid pointed at him. "There it is. The darkwraiths immobilize humans with a blast of psychic fear. Most people can't even keep their feet in the presence of one. But you're immune."

  "I … guess I am," said Draven, thinking about that afternoon's skirmish. "They didn't particularly worry me, once I figured out how easily they die."

  "Right " said Sid. "Now, Lord Adolphus is in the greatest need, and he financed your resurrection. That gives him some claim to your fealty, don't you think?"

  Draven gazed at the map for a long moment, committing it to memory. "Did I serve him before I died?"

  "Don't know, don't care," said Sid. "All that matters is that you take his orders now. My job is to train and equip you so you don't die again. Resurrection is expensive."

  Draven gazed at the map again. Then he drew a deep breath, feeling the air's energy ripple through him. "Then I'll serve Lord Adolphus. I have many more questions."

  "That's enough for tonight," said Sid, closing the book. "Have they fed you?"

  "Juice and broth," said Draven in disgust.

  "Come have some more, then," said Sid. "We have to get you on solid food if you're going to survive what's coming."