They left at first light the following day. Freshly changed, Peter wore his new coat and cardinal. He retained Van Gutter’s hat but replaced the old shredded pheasant plume with a crisp new one.

Peter tried to shave his ragged beard, but he had never used a razor. As he brought the blade near his neck, he had locked up. His mind flashed to the previous day when sentinels, enforcers, and vampires shot, stabbed, and hacked at him. He put the razor down with a shaky hand and left the beard.

The captain wore a compact tricorne and a black duster, with an officer's straight sword at his side and falchion strapped to his back. The falchion’s handle protruded ever so slightly from a clever slit in the back of the duster for easy access.

Peter finally understood the straps and buckles that he noticed in the coats. They were designed to conceal weapons. The captain’s coat held an impressive array of bolts, knives, and even a brace of gas pistols strapped inside. Owen wore a simple hooded cloak and carried a heavy crossbow and long rifle. He also had a staggeringly sizable full duffle bag with straps thrown over his shoulders. Peter couldn’t see any visible knives or melee weapons on his person.

Van Dijk carried a lance with a narrow blade and a sharpened wooden point on the other side. He had hooked sharp tools to his more armored, shorter jacket. With his wide-brimmed hat, he looked like a watchman. Isabella wore a thick leather breastplate that hid her figure and a heavy cardinal over her dark cloak. She had a Falchion at her side and a pair of comically large Premernox pistols holstered on her belt.

With the party impressively armored and equipped, Peter felt naked, armed only with a piece of jewelry. He had to remind himself that with the armlet, he was basically indestructible. They took their leave from Marko, who gladly stayed behind to watch the hidden safe house. The small company marched off. To Peter’s dismay, they moved at the same sprint-march pace the captain used before.

“You know!” Van Dijk said loudly after watching Peter’s struggle. “If not vampire speed or superhuman strength, you’d think a secret Court weapon would give you walking powers at least.”

“I’m sorry,” Peter gasped. “I’m … old.”

“Keep marching,” the captain ordered. We have far to go. Rahashelian scouts have already combed over us, but they could come around for another pass.”

Peter grew slick with sweat as they hiked west. The further they went, the more the landscape changed. Lone abandoned and unmaintained farms periodically dotted the landscape, and the road was in horrible disrepair. The sky was dark and foggy. No one else was in sight.

“Aren’t we headed into Shay?” Peter asked nervously.

“Yes,” Owen responded tersely.

“What happened?” Peter asked as he watched the sad, miserable landscape.

“You know how Court Rahashel ‘blessed the ancestors’ when he first arrived?” Van Dijk offered.

“Yeah. I mean, I wasn’t there. I made it to the ceremony when Rahashel turned on us, though.”

“Really?” Isabella asked in surprise, “So you saw everything?”

“I saw King Adrichem get murdered,” Peter said. “It was horrible. Rahashel leeched him in front of everybody.”

Isabella shuddered, but Van Dijk jumped back in. “So Rahashel actually cursed the tombs and graves. That was the night the dead started to walk.”

“Yeah,” Peter said. “I saw them.”

“Right, so, Shay is where most of the dead started to rise. No one comes here anymore, and there are no bodies buried here because they all walked to Stalpia when Rahashel turned.”

“But we’re still in Rahashelian Territory?” Peter asked.

“Not really. No one is willing to live here, so no ghouls need to come here. It’s a no-man’s land. Well, technically, it’s our land. It’s also the last place Court Rahashel would consider looking for us because it’s close to his capital. We’re hiding in plain sight.”

“Are you finished giving away our secrets, Private?” Captain Visser asked.

“Did you see his hand?” Van Dijk protested. “He’s one of us! What would Captain Van Gutter say if he heard you speak poorly of his son?”

“He’d probably regret giving the weapon to him. Van Gutter died getting that armband, and now we still don’t have it,” the captain said sharply.

Peter flinched. He didn’t mean to provoke the captain, but without the weapon, he would have no leverage at all, let alone a possible path back to Iris. They passed a ravaged fence, skirting around massive shallow holes that erupted out of the firm-packed earth. The soil was pocked and rutted, making their path tricky.

“Welcome to ground zero,” Van Dijk said with an exaggerated wave, like a narrator in a play. “Wherein all first ended, so then all again began: the somber and silent Shay graveyard!”

Peter raised a speculative eyebrow. “Are you quoting something? That sounds familiar.”

“The first part is Johannes Bakker," Van Dijk said. “The second bit was me.”

“J. Bakker is deeply advanced literature,” Peter said in surprise. “Did you go to a university?”

Van Dijk snorted. “I didn’t finish primary school. But hey, a man’s got to have hobbies, right?”

“Let’s move!” Captain Visser cut in, his dark eyebrows pinched to a V. “Maybe you can get a scholarship after we save the world.”

Peter swallowed and followed at a distance, careful not to accidentally leech the others.

They marched across the uneven ground, stepping over collapsed gravestones and statues. Sculptures of angels that once looked beautiful were now frightening, with broken wings and cracked bodies. The fog certainly didn’t help.

Great mounds loomed suddenly ahead, rising out of the mist.

“The Royal Tombs. The Sacred Burrows,” Peter marveled. He had visited once on a school history trip. Then, the Royal Tombs were a half circle of mounds built into a giant cemetery. Everyone who could afford it tried to be buried in Shay, near their kings. It was a beautiful burial ground, almost sacred by tradition. Now, it was nearly unrecognizable in its current depressed state.

“Welcome to headquarters.” This time, it was the captain who spoke up.

“You’re kidding me! Your base is in the Sacred Burrows?”

Even at a distance, Peter caught the captain suppressing a smile. He was proud of their operation; even if he hated Peter, he loved his people.

The captain let out a peculiar bird whistle, and after a few seconds, an eerie response floated out of the fog. “Let’s go!” Captain Visser grunted, leading the way. As they approached the fog-feathered mounds, Peter saw figures in the mist —silhouettes with long-barreled gas rifles.

There were six hill-sized burial mounds, and the captain led them to the furthest mound. Large stone doorways at the mouth of each mound had thick wooden doors mounted to them. Those doors were new. The last time Peter was here, the doorways were covered by great stone slabs that now lay cracked on the ground. Peter wondered why the broken slabs hadn't been moved after so long. This base might have only recently been developed, and they hadn't gotten around to it yet, or maybe the slabs served a symbolic purpose and were left as a reminder of Rahashel's deeds.

None of the sentries stopped them as they entered the front tomb. Captain Visser called out loud, “I need everyone to back away! I'm putting a thirty-foot perimeter around my cell now!”

Peter followed several paces behind Captain Visser and got his first look at the headquarters. There were around thirty people in the tomb, illuminated by white gaslight lanterns. They were primarily men, but several women and children were also present. They all dressed in similar styles: cloaks, coats, and hats.

They jumped and scattered promptly at Captain Visser’s command. The tomb itself was a large, spacious cavern built from great stone slabs. It had been buried at its construction, and grass has since grown over the artificial hill.

“Stay here!” Captain Visser instructed Peter before walking deeper in and going through a door in the side. It would have been the actual burial chamber, back when the dead stayed dead. The cavernous entry used to be a mausoleum, where people left tributes and offerings for their kings at their burial. Peter couldn’t recall which king’s tomb he was in.

His thoughts were undercut with a flush of embarrassment as everyone fell silent. He could feel every pair of eyes examining him. Peter caught motion at the tomb's entrance and saw several armed men looking in, crowded in the doorway.

A man and a woman stood out from the rest in the tomb. He wore a black and white armored valet suit, apron, and black cotton gloves, and she wore similar garb, replacing the trousers with a black skirt — the uniform of the House of Nyamar. Peter gawked in surprise. Why had the House of Nyamar sent domestics to Nine Fingers? Had the House joined the fight against Rahashel? If anyone could fight back, it would be the House.

The captain entered the tomb from the side chamber, escorting another man in a dress shirt and armored vest.

The newcomer was an aged man with slicked-back white hair and a trim, short beard. Sharp eyes peered out of his angular face, assessing the room before flicking back to Peter.

Peter flinched when the man looked his way, suddenly feeling very small. The man's gaze felt almost tangible. His features and posture exuded intelligence, experience, and a hint of violence.

The captain and the newcomer cut through the crowd. Those around made way and nodded, not at the captain, but at the older man.

The author's narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

The Commandant, Peter assumed.

Peter also noted that the commandant was missing his ring finger.

“I think you'd better come with me,” the commandant said and motioned as he turned to return to his office.

Peter nodded and followed after him.

Some unfortunate bystanders got too close to Peter, and a faint purple light whiffed off of them.

“lich!” The cry cut through the silence, though Peter was unsure who spoke.

With the sound of many mechanical clicks, Peter found about thirty pistols or crossbows aimed at him.

“Umm,” Peter stammered, finding himself on the wrong side of every weapon in the room.

“Stand down,” the old man said, waving a hand. “This one’s on our side.”

His declaration drew a series of whispers and chatter as pistols decocked. Peter noticed that not all of the Nine Fingers operators returned their weapons to their concealment.

Peter’s heart raced in his chest as he followed. This was their commandant. There was absolutely nothing about him that didn’t say he was in perfect control of the situation. Considering Peter’s ability to automatically steal the life force of anyone who got too close, the commandant electing to isolate himself with Peter spoke volumes.

The Commandant opened a door to a room with a long bier in the center. At one point, the platform must have held a sarcophagus but now acted as a desk. It was an office.

The Commandant pushed one chair to the far side of the room before sliding his own chair to the opposite wall. Taking a seat, he motioned for Peter to enter. Peter obeyed, creeping along the wall, keeping as much distance from the commandant as possible. Once they were both seated, the commandant rubbed his knuckles thoughtfully.

“What’s your name, son?”

“Pe — Van Seur,” Peter corrected himself.

The Commandant's eyebrows arched in amusement. “So you’re using one of our names?”

“It’s only fair,” Peter said, showing him his missing finger. “I think that I’m your grandson.”

A ghost of a smile reflected on the commandant's face.

“So Van Gutter saved you? I take it, by his absence, that he didn’t make it?”

“I’m sorry,” Peter said. “He was bleeding out when he woke me up.”

“I’m sorry, too,” the commandant said. “He was one of our best.”

Peter nodded but said nothing further. He hadn’t really known Van Gutter, even if the man had saved him.

“My name is Sebastian Van Graif,” the commandant introduced himself. “I can see by that band on your arm that Van Gutter didn’t die in vain.”

Peter instinctively touched the metal circlet. Standing against the angry captain was one thing. Withholding it against Commandant Van Graif was almost unbearable. Everything in him whispered that it would be better to hand it over — everything, that is, except for the part that remembered Iris.

“Quite honestly, I’m impressed you can wear it without going mad or losing yourself. Do you know what that is?”

Peter paused and thought back to what the Vampire Vincent had called it. “A Bedorven?” Peter said. “I think I know what it does.”

“Do you, now?” Sebastian asked with a chuckle. “And what exactly does the Bedorven do, Mister Van Seur?”

“It leeches people who get too close, and I can’t die if I have it on. I’m quite sure of that.”

The commandant let out a deep laugh. “What else?”

“There’s more?” Peter asked.

“Why, yes. Do you know what you are with that thing?”

Peter shrugged. “The guys keep calling me a lich.”

“Very far from the truth. So long as you wear that band, you’re a court.”

“I can’t say I even know what a court is,” Peter admitted.

“A court is a death god,” Commandant Van Graif said steadily. He leaned forward and watched Peter intently.

Peter’s jaw dropped and hung open. “You mean …”

“You have the power to rival Court Rahashel,” Van Graif said, leaning back, tapping the bier with his four-fingered hand. “The ability to raise corpses and turn them into ghouls. Power to leech time, power to give time. It means you’re a death god, Van Seur.”

Peter looked at the armlet, this time in disgust. The power of a death god. A court. He suddenly felt nauseous. That wasn’t a power he wanted.

“You’re going to make me give it to you,” Peter said slowly, as he realized the significance of the armlet.

“Not necessarily,” Van Graif said. “Like I said, it should have driven you mad with power. I have people who have been training for a long time to be able to wield it, but how can we train to do something we have no notion of? You don’t seem to have any problems using it. There’s a degree of stability in that.”

“I’m not sure avoiding death a hundred times in one day is something I want to do again,” Peter confessed. Then he caught himself. The commandant’s self-assurance and logical approach made Peter naturally inclined to cooperate. What about Iris? If anything could save Iris, this could.

The Commandant, reading Peter’s face, cut in. “I’ll make you a deal. If you can take that off, I’ll let you keep it for now — with some house rules, of course.”

“Really?” Peter started to slip it off but stopped. “Is this a trick? Are you going to shoot me once it’s off or something?”

Van Graif held his hands up to show they were empty.

Peter glanced around the room. A hidden compartment could house a sharpshooter, or the commandant himself could probably cross the room in time to stop Peter from putting it back on.

Peter let out a long, low breath, keeping his eye on the commandant, and slowly slid the metal band off.

It was the commandant’'s turn to look bewildered.

“What were those rules you were talking about?” Peter asked.

“Right, umm,” the commandant momentarily lost his imposing presence. His eyes flickered to Peter’s face, then away quickly. He seemed perplexed. “No leeching anybody; stay far away from everyone.”

“Right.” Peter agreed. “I would never do that intentionally.”

“Don’t tell anyone what you are. We can only do so much to keep you a secret, but you must never intentionally reveal the nature of that band. Some people in our ranks would betray us to Court Rahashel if they understood the nature of the Bedorven. People seem to have decided you were a lich. We’ll support this theory. We’ll tell everyone that you’re a lich turncoat. I assure you, it’s in your best interest to convince them of this story.”

“Okay.”

“Also, from here on out, you’re with the Nine Fingers. You will obey the proper chain of command and help us as expected.”

Peter thought about Captain Visser’s dislike of him and grimaced. He was already doing a great job at following orders — he’d come here, hadn’t he? He tried to speak calmly, without betraying his frustration.

“Okay, but …”

“I mean it. You must follow every order,” the commandant said sternly.“This is a military operation. Without orders and commands, we are nothing but desperate groups of incompetent rabble more prone to fall apart than accomplish anything. A true fighting force needs to be unified and disciplined. You will be a soldier and nothing more. You’re not a god but an asset. You will not deviate from command. As far as I'm concerned, you will not be a person; you’re the property of Nine Fingers. Unless, of course, you don’t think you can handle it?”

The Commandant turned his eyes sharply toward Peter. There was a warning in those eyes. It was clear that he was ready to step in and destroy Peter in every way if he failed to obey.

Peter swallowed, suddenly unsure if he wanted to keep the Bedorven. “I will.”

Commandant Van Graif nodded. “The last rule is that you must always wear the Bedorven, but conceal it. It is imperative that you agree never to remove it unless I command it.”

That one caught Peter by surprise. “What?”

“We have no way of keeping it safe. If we stick it in a vault somewhere, the enemy will stop at nothing to get it back. If you have it on, no one can take it from you unless you surrender it willingly.”

“That’s true,” Peter agreed.

“I mean it. No taking it off, ever, unless I tell you otherwise.”

Peter grimaced at the thought. He couldn’t be physically near anybody, and he couldn’t explain why. A faint bead of sweat slid down his forehead.

“Okay.” he agreed, “But I need one thing from you.”

“Oh?” the commandant asked.

“I have a friend in Stalpia. She’s a crop. I need your help getting her back.”

Peter suddenly became aware of the warm, damp patches growing under his armpits as the commandant watched him, his expression neutral, his face unemotional. This was a man who could probably force the Bedorven away from him if he wanted to. Who was Peter to be making demands? Vincent and his vampire friends certainly could have made Peter surrender the court band if the captain hadn’t shown up. Who was he kidding? He wasn’t all-powerful in any way.

“I’m afraid you couldn’t have requested that at a worse time,” the commandant said. “We can’t do it ... right now.”

“Well, when can you?” Peter asked frantically. She was so old, and after he accidentally leeched her, she grew older still. Peter knew inside that she didn’t have much time left, but if she were going to die, he would make sure she did it as a free woman.

“As we speak, Court Rahashel is preparing an attack on Julleck. It will be the first Nosmerian city he’s moved to in a long while. If that city and the surrounding areas fall, he will claim the lives of hundreds of thousands. Do you want us to sacrifice all of their lives to save your friend?”

Peter shook his head. Obviously not. “So you’re going to stop him?” Peter asked.

“We’re going to stop him,” the commandant corrected. “By breaking into his vault and stealing the tiles he uses to power his ghouls.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Peter said. “What are tiles?”

“We need to get you trained,” the commandant muttered, mostly to himself. He cleared his throat. “Let’s see. A ghoul is little more than a vehicle programmed to obey its overseers. The tiles work as fuel for them — like a premernox gas canister, but instead of gas, they use time. So, if there’s no fuel …”

“No ghoul,” Peter nodded. Then he winced. He didn’t intend to rhyme.

“You get the idea,” Van Graif continued. His mustache twitched ever so slightly. “Ahem. Unfortunately, we are short on hands and manpower. Stealing that court band proved costly. We lost a lot of men.”

“I’ll help,” Peter said eagerly, then blushed slightly. Anything that could put them in a position to get Iris back. “That is, if you'll have me?”

“Are you kidding me?” The Commandant said. “You can’t die, man. You’re immortal. You are the front line.”

Peter’s stomach twisted uncomfortably.

“You will receive special instructions and expedited training. Just because you can’t die doesn’t mean you can’t be stopped,” Van Graif warned. “Let me promise you, there are things much worse than death.”

Peter swallowed. He was just a kid. He had a weak body and no knowledge or skill in fighting the monsters that stole his life and threatened humanity. But now that he had nothing left, it gave him plenty of room to focus on the war at hand.

“I’ll do it,” he said finally. “Help me make Rahashel pay.”

“That’s exactly the fighting spirit we need!” Sebastian said with twinkling eyes. That little affirmation gave Peter great relief.

“But after we rob Court Rahashel dry,” Peter said, “You’ll help me get Iris back?”

“If Court Rahashel is without ghouls, getting your friend back should be easier done than said.”

Peter smiled. He would steal Court Rahashel’s power and then save Iris. The mission was noble enough. Peter had never had anything so compelling or driving in his life. Then again, he was seventeen.

“Van Seur,” Van Graif continued. “To my knowledge, we are the only humans to get our hands on a Bedorven. You carry a huge responsibility.”

Peter nodded. “How many are there?”

“Courts?”

“Yes. I thought it was only Rahashel.”

“So far we’ve counted five on Boslic and at least that many on Chur and Dinn.”

“You’re a Tri-Worlder?” Peter asked, “You believe Chur and Dinn are inhabited?”

“Son, the courts fell from the sky. We’d be stupid to dismiss the fact that the other worlds are inhabited.”

Peter agreed. Records indicated that nine generations had passed since they could commute to the other worlds, but many didn't believe those accounts. Something else was picking at his mind.

“How did we get this Court band?” Peter asked, tapping the band in his hands.

“Do you know why we haven’t been wiped out?” The commandant asked.

“Because of you?” Peter asked. “The resistance?”

The commandant gave a short bark of laughter. “We’re not at war with Court Rahashel. He doesn’t even see us as a threat. We’re just a resource to him. The only things the courts consider to be threats are each other. Rahashel hasn’t taken all of Nosmeria because most of his forces were fighting Court Rasminfrey across the Vet Channel. Only recently, Court Rahashel managed to kill Court Rasminfrey, though the war destroyed Calacray. We stole the Bedorven while it was being transported back to Rahashel’s palace in Stalpia.”

“Calacray was destroyed?” Peter asked in disbelief. The country east of Vet River was small, but it was a country!

“Yes,” the commandant said. “But now we’ve made ourselves a target. Rahashel wants that court band.”

“And now that Court Rahashel has Calacray …” Peter thought out loud.

“He marches onto the rest of Nosmeria. Van Seur, we mustn’t fail in this mission. It is critical that we don’t let your band fall into enemy hands. We know that Rahashel has the means to kill a court, and if Rahashel has another Court under him, there’s no telling what he could do.”

Peter felt like shrinking and jumping at the same time. The fire that burned within him to see Rahashel fall was also linked to the impending weight of the responsibility that came with the court band. He was almost tempted to throw the arm ring away or to plead with Commandant Van Graif to give it to someone else. But he knew he was nothing without it.

Clutching the band, Peter nodded. “I won’t let you down,” he promised the commandant. Even though she couldn’t hear him, Peter was also promising Iris and just about everyone else in Nosmeria. He couldn’t fail them again.

“Well then, my grandson. It’s time to train while you can. We don’t have much time.”